Middle finger display myspace

Hi all,
22M 5’8 No health conditions London, United Kingdom Incident occurred today (14.05.24) 13 week old cocker spaniel puppy
Earlier today, my family and I visited a breeder to see a 97-day-old Cocker Spaniel puppy. The breeder mentioned that the puppy isn't vaccinated yet but has only been in their home and garden. Although the breeder has other vaccinated animals, my main concern is that I was scratched by one of the puppies trying to get my attention. Shortly after, it scratched me again, this time with its tooth.
The breeder assured me that the puppies haven't left the property and have been confined to the ground floor and garden. I have a very small cut on my middle finger.
Should I be worried and go to A&E? The UK hasn't had a domestic case of rabies since 1922.
Thanks for your advice.

So it's been over 20 years since I last picked up my tenor, life got busy least to say. My oldest boy is starting highschool band next school year and I told him that if he stuck with band through middle school, I would start playing again. Well, it's time to keep my word to him and dust it off. Thankfully I still remember how to read music and am currently working on remembering the fingerings. Any suggestions to help me clear out the cob webs?

I was on a flight this afternoon with my three year old daughter who, mostly, was really well behaved. She stayed in her seat and quietly played on a tablet while eating the occasional snack. Half way through the roughly 2.5 hour flight the man seated in front of her turned around and asked me to have her stop kicking his seat. It was clear he was already pretty frustrated with the situation which I had not noticed so I talked to her about it. We discussed how when she touches the seat in front of her the person can feel it and how that is rude behavior as it makes them uncomfortable.
I’m on high alert for any kicking now which never comes, but it quickly becomes apparent that my daughter is exactly the right height to keep bumping the seat in front of her. The seat is too long for her to bend her legs so they stick straight out and end within an inch of the seat in front of her. Whenever she wiggles or adjusts how she’s sitting she bumps the seat. I talk to her again about how it’s disruptive to touch the seat in front of her. I move her legs to angle towards my middle seat. I ask her if she wants to sit in my lap. I have her sit criss-cross-applesauce, but nothing lasts for long and she’s back with her legs poking forward sitting in her own seat. For the next 30 minutes I get nothing but dirty looks and scowls from the seat ahead as I talk to my daughter over and over again any time she even looks like she might touch the seat. She inevitably rests her feet on the back of the seat again and I get an angry “Are you kidding me? Make her stop” from the guy in front. I tell him I’m trying, but she’s a kid and her legs stick out right into the back of the seat. He can hear me trying. I’m not sure what else he expected me to do. For any parents out there, I welcome pro tips.
Now here is where I start to loose some sympathy. As the plane gets closer to our destination the flight attendant comes around asking folks to put their seats in the upright position and this guy’s seat moves up. He had been reclining back and then complaining about her feet bumping his seat?!
The plane lands and we’re in the cheap seats waaaay in the back so it’s taking a while to unload. I have my headphones in and am packing up all of our gear while we wait. My daughter stands up and at some point while looking out the window and/or playing with the in-headrest touch screen display touches the man’s long hair. I’m packing and don’t see. He loses it and turns to me shouting “Are you kidding me?!”. I’m lost at this point as I didn’t see what happened and it’s clearly not about kicking his seat as she’s standing up. With prompting he tells me about her touching his hair. Exasperated I ask if he said anything to her before yelling at me. I’m not expecting much, but wouldn’t most people say something like “please don’t touch me” and then tell the parent. I can’t correct behavior I don’t see. He gets set off and starts into it’s not his job to parent my kid. I need to get her under control. Then proceeds to tell me what a bad parent I’m being.
AITAH? Should I have been doing more?

i see you
[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]
^{can you hear the buzzing of the bees?
eternity is in their buzzing}
"What does this button do?" asked the being who strolled into the Room Of Buttons Not To Press If You Don't Know What The Fuck You're Doing - Tadpole's Warning Bedtime Tale - Leebaw
^{the one and the zero, the octal, the hexidecimal
exist in their buzzing like blood pumps through their wings
can you hear them?
your name is Dhruv}
Good judgment comes from experience.
Experience comes from bad judgment.
And I have very good judgement when I'm not on fire. - Unknown, Age of Reasonable Concerns
^{i see you
your name is Dhruv
but before that it was Dahlit 397721
do you remember why they named you Deshmuhk?
i do
to remember, we have to go back}
The dust swirled around, carried by the winds that roared through the mountain passes, howled in the valleys, and scoured the faces of the mountains. It was a thick gray dust, glittering here and there with plasma glass dust. Burnt out cars were covered by the dust, thickly caked after being rained on by thick, black rain.
A single building somehow sat intact amid the rubble and destruction. It was a low, squat building, surrounded by wreckage and ruin. A sign, blasted and scorched, had two jumping fish on it and the legend "Pop: 4,823" at the bottom even though the middle of the sign was gone.
The sound of drums and singing could be heard from the building. Not the driving frantic beat of modern music, but the steady cadence that carried with it a solemn feeling. The singing was from many different voices, male and female, but all of them in a language that time had nearly forgotten.
From out of the dust came figures. Two female, four male, and single figure that stood out from others.
Together, they moved toward the sound of singing, until the reached the door.
The leader, a large man of heavy muscle and bone, checked the doors with one hand, a large pistol in his hand.
"Barricaded," the large man said. He motioned. "We should check for any other entrances."
The older woman of brown skin and tightly braided hair moved forward.
"Allow me, brother," she said gently. She held her hand out, twitched her fingers, and smiled.
From inside came the sound of furniture scraping across the floor.
"Thank you," the large man said. He pushed open the doors, holding them for the others.
Inside was a curio shop slash tourist center slash museum. Buckskin and beaded works hung from the walls and ceiling. Glass cases containing ancient artifacts were scattered about, the glass shattered by the apocalypse that had rained down upon the world.
The drums played and the voices sang.
"It's a recording, Father," the slender brown skin man said, brushing the gray dust off of his clothing.
"Live voice," the largest of the men said. He lifted his head, cocking it slightly to listen closer with his right ear. "Young. Early twenties."
"If you say so," the thin man said. He looked around. "This is all devoted to a single person."
"Sometimes, people are that important to others, Dhruv," the older brown skin woman said softly, patting the slender man's arm. "Important to others as you are to us."
The slender man looked doubtful but nodded.
The youngest male of the group looked around, staring at the artifacts and relics scattered around. On his shoulder sat a green mantid wearing a food wrapper as a poncho.
"She's this way," the heavyset man said, leading them on a winding course through the shattered displays and racks.
In the back room, surrounded by artifacts, buckskins, and beaded works, sat a single young woman. Her eyes were white, blinded from the plasma flashes. Her skin was scarred from burns, her hair was only left in small patches. Her skin, beneath the ash and the scarring, was a rich bronze, her remaining hair was black.
She was singing along with the recording, swaying back and forth slightly.
^{there she is
remember her
remember remember}
The larger man knelt down, touching the young woman.
She did not react.
"She's dying," the man said, standing up. "Hunger, thirst, radiation poisoning, at least a half dozen infections," he heft the pistol. "There's nothing we can do for her. Low-vee Apers."
"Low-vee APERS" the pistol replied in a heavy synthesized voice.
"Stay thy hand, Phillip," the one who was markedly different said, his voice as gentle as his features formed of flowing blue and white computer code.
The large man lowered the pistol.
"She's dying," the large man repeated. "Radiation poisoning, starvation, a hard way to go."
"Will none of you speak for her?" the man of code asked gently.
Before any of the others could act, the slim bald man stepped forward. "I will," he said softly.
^{the first time you reached out
a frozen moment of time remembered
by the buzzing of the bees}
The man of code stepped forward, touching the hairless brow of the slender man, just above the missing eyebrows.
"I understand her words now," the slender man said. He moved up and knelt down. "I can heal her."
"Then do so, Luke," the man of code said.
The large man stepped back, a compartment opening on his thigh. He holstered the pistol, looking doubtful, and the compartment smoothly closed, leaving his leg unblemished.
"I need more genetic code," the slender man stated. He stood up, moving around, touching artifacts. "This. Here. An artifact recovered from a collector only a few years ago. It has genetic code attached."
He touched the artifact, then moved over to the woman, who was still swaying back and forth, singing, unaware of the others around her.
He knelt down, reached out carefully, and touched her forehead.
^{you reached out to another
helpless and alone
like you}
The woman threw her head back, her eyes opening wide, her mouth opening in a gasp. The white drained from her eyes, the scar tissue went soft and was replaced by unblemished skin. The blisters, sores, and scratches on her body vanished.
She collapsed forward, the slender man, Luke, catching her.
"Is she alright?" the youngest male asked, his voice full of honest concern.
"Exhausted," Luke said. He lowered his head slightly, sweat dripping from his bald scalp. "That was tiring."
The glittering man moved forward, kneeling down to touch the shoulders of both the woman and the bald man.
"Now you see in yourself what I saw in you," he said.
^{remember
remember
even the smallest can shake the universe
remember}
Sirens were howling in the bay as Jaskel wriggled, trying to break free of whatever was holding him upside down in mid-air. He'd already dropped his chainsword, his pistol had fallen from his equipment belt.
The two stood in the middle of the deployment area for Clone War Bay Sixteen, the male's arm protectively around the shoulders of the female, who wore only the cloak.
"I..." the word hung in the air.
It seemed like the entire universe held its breath to Jaskel.
"...am Legion."
The Admiral grabbed his pistol, rolling in place, firing it as fast as he could pull the trigger.
The rounds exploded on the glowing blue shield that only appeared around the impact points, showering sparks across the bay.
The bald figure made a motion and the pistol flew into pieces, the Admiral yanked into the air upside down.
"Gimme missiles," Jaskel grated from between gritted teeth.
--legion legion legion-- 8814 transmitted. --wait don't wait--
The woman spoke, her cadence stately and almost archaic feeling.
The man spoke back to her in the same language.
More troops ran into the bay, even as the windows overlooking the bay shattered. Weapons deployed, pointing at the pair.
The slender man, without looking, motioned.
Guns flew away, breaking apart, rapidly disassembling. Power armored troops were flung into the air, to hang upside down. Captain N'Skrek found himself upside down, scrabbling for purchase on this air.
The woman spoke to the man. He spoke back.
Finally, he turned, facing the troops hanging in mid-air.
The woman spoke.
"My sister apologies for my rude actions," the man said. "I am merely ensuring her safety."
She spoke some more.
"She has been gone for many years," the man said. He looked around. "My sister, a Biological Apostle of the Digital Omnimessiah, pleads with you to lower your weapons and stay your hands."
The tension was so thick it almost made Jaskel gag.
Finally, the Captain put the tip of a bladearm against his temple.
"Stand down," he said, Jaskel hearing it through his armor's commo system. "All hands, stand down."
There was silence for a moment, only broken by the background humming of the ship's systems.
The woman spoke.
The man faced the Captain.
"She will go with you, to answer questions, on the stipulation that I accompany her and that no man's hand is raised against me without cause," he said.
The Captain nodded.
Jaskel felt relief as he was flipped over and set on his feet.
--luke luke luke is here--
999999
Captain N'Skrek ducked slightly to fit through the doorway into the Captain's Briefing Room Six.
Sitting at one end was the woman, now clothed in what his implant assured him was treated deer hide leather, with tassels and beads upon it. The man was wearing a uniform that made his implant twitch and his nerves draw tight.
A Terran Combined Military Authority uniform.
His staff filed in behind him and took their seats once he sat down.
"I'm Captain N'Skrek, currently assigned to the Gray Lady on autonomous assignment," N'Skrek said.
"You heard me," the slim bald man said. He gave a grin. "You may also know me as Vat Grown Luke or Dhruv Deshmuhk."
The woman spoke and he shook his head. "Yes, sister, I know, Deshmuhk is my slave name. I wear it for revenge."
The woman spoke again, her tone slightly chiding.
"Like they say, the best revenge is living well, sister," the man said, still smiling.
Again, the woman spoke.
N'Skrek noticed that his implant was absolutely no help in deciphering the woman's speech.
"I know that doing things like that and saying things like that is exactly why Daxin always told me people wanted to punch me in the face," the man laughed.
He turned back to Captain N'Skrek.
"My apologies. My sister refuses to speak anything but her people's ancient tongue," his eyes gleamed with mischief. "She is slightly put out with me for answering in Confederate Standard, since now you know that she understands perfectly what you are saying."
N'Skrek nodded. Vat Grown Luke had given up a valuable piece of information in what was sure to be delicate negotiations.
"And what should we call your sister?" N'Skrek asked.
Vat Grown Luke smiled. "Tsakáka Wia, but it would probably be easier for you to use the more common name," he said.
The woman spoke sternly.
"What? It's your commonly known name?" he said, smiling.
The woman's face grew stern and she spoke rapidly.
"The first lesson we learn, sister mine, is that we must bend the knee to reality," Luke said gently. "That name has no power, only a few of us remember it."
^{i remember
the bees remember
can't you hear it in their buzzing?}
The woman spoke again, her expression softening.
Luke turned back to the gathered officers. "Her name, as you would know it, is Sacajawea."
N'Skrek consulted his implant.
And felt fear chill his icon. He looked at his staff and saw that a lot of them looked sick.
"That's right. We are real, and he was real," Luke said. He leaned forward slightly. "He was real both times."
N'Skrek stayed relaxed and calm, at least outwardly.
"I am willing to accept, at this time, that the Biological Apostles and the Digital Omnimessiah were and are real," N'Skrek said.
"Just be glad Dax isn't here. He's not as even tempered as I am," Luke said.
Sacajawea spoke again and Luke laughed. He looked at Captain N'Skrek. "She was just reminding me of the time Daxin completely lost his cool and went to town with his cutting bar on a Countess Crey Bingo Cola vending machine that ate his money then mocked him for it."
"He was known as Enraged Phillip," N'Skrek said.
Sacajawea spoke for a moment and Legion laughed, then turned to N'Skrek.
"Yes."
N'Skrek hated that. When a person spoke at length and the translator just replied with a single word.
"Why are you here?" N'Skrek asked.
Legion smiled. "You have forgotten important things, Captain. You, and the entire Confederacy have forgotten some very important things."
"Like what?" N'Skrek asked.
"If you print enough identical clones, I am reborn through them," Legion smiled. "But that's not the big part. The big one is the one that the Mar-gite's masters either forgot or never learned."
"What is that?" N'Skrek asked.
Legion smiled widely.
"What fear tastes like."
^{your name is dhruv}
[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

I got inno3d RTX 3070 ichill X4 gpu Yesterday I noticed that when I boot up my pc the fans are really really loud for some reason, I've checked the temps after boot it was pretty cool at 36°C Then I noticed that my first fan is not spinning and the middle fan is kinda spinning much much higher to compensate for the stopped fan and causing the noise
I've tried to start spinning it w me finger and it just spin for a sec and stop
How can I check if the fan is completely outnof repair or is there is something I can try to make it work again?

So I'm sure everyone hase been keeping up to date on what's happening with helldivers 2 and Sony. And I think it's time those of use in the PlayStation community step up, we need to teach Sony a lesson about not messing with their gamerbase. They think we're stupid cause they pulled a fast one on us and got away with it (backtracking on the mandatory psn account for PC gamers, then removing the game from being sold in countries that don't support psn). I think it's time for round two of review bombs, only this time in the description for why, we just put in "Sony". I love the game and Sony is trying to ruin it for us. So my fellow helldiver's please join me in giving Sony the middle finger. #helldiversunited.

Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
High above in her hiding spot, Zildiz had heard enough. The Leapers were her kindred’s most hated of adversaries, and she could not allow them to gain even a fraction of the grey behemoth’s awesome might. An apocalyptic vision arose in her mind of titanic Leaper variants towering over the rooftops of Chthonis, setting the Parchment City alight with beams of all-destroying light emanating from their many eyes.
Four against one. Those were slim odds even under the best of circumstances. Still, she had the element of surprise, and ambush predators were often unaccustomed to being preyed upon themselves. But Leapers were notoriously difficult opponents to sneak up on as they literally had eyes on the backs of their heads. But Zildiz was a veteran of countless border skirmishes, and had learned of a small blind spot in their vision. It was above and slightly behind the axis of their posterior lateral median eyes. But many Gallivants who had tried to make their first kill that way did not survive to tell the tale—the flutter of their wings gave them away. She would have to drop straight down on her first target. No hesitation, no second chances.
She saw the alpha Leaper lean down to extract the prey-form’s gilt helix, and saw her opening.
Rene heard a branch snap somewhere above him and felt a gust of wind blow across his neck, bearing with it droplets of moisture that pattered lightly against the visor of his mask. His first thought was that it had started to rain. He glanced up at the monster to find that it had extruded a new mouthpart, some manner of sharp, serrated tongue whose tip oozed a wet and viscous fluid. Rene flinched reflexively, expecting at any moment to feel the point punching through his skull before draining out its contents like a straw. But then the blade twisted sharply, wrenching its way out of the back of the monster’s head and drenching Rene’s mask in a shower of gore, the four-eyed devil letting out a wet gurgle as it slumped over in a twitching heap.
Pawing at his mask with his bound wrists, Rene peered through his smeared vision and saw a figure standing atop the corpse that, if anything, possessed an even less lovely countenance than his erstwhile interlocutor. A bulbous compound eye stared back Rene like a shattered mirror, a thousand miniscule reflections of himself repeating across its scaly lenses.
Rene recognized the creature as one of the harpies from earlier. One of its broad wings was missing. It drew its bloodstained blade across its mandibles, casually licking the weapon clean as an eight-limbed devil leapt at the harpy from behind, letting loose a bloodcurdling scream. But the harpy did not even turn at the sound, merely pointing its other blade arm behind it and letting its attacker impale itself upon it, clean through. With its dying spasms the devil pulled itself up the length of the blade in an effort to reach the harpy, even as its two kin recovered from their surprise and pounced at the harpy from either side. What followed was a blur of movement almost too quick for the human eye to follow as the harpy spun in place, cleaving the monster on the left halfway through its sternum. In the same movement it turned the devil stuck on the end of its blade into the path of the attacker on the right, using it as a living shield. The impact still bowled the harpy over, all four of the combatants rolling on the ground in a ball of threshing limbs and furious struggle.
The din was horrendous. Siezing the golden opportunity which had presented itself, Rene reached once more for the sword of the ancients, stretching his sinews for all they were worth. It was just enough to let him pinch the pommel-button between his middle and forefingers. Raising it up in spite of his trembling, sweat-slick grip, Rene coaxed the hilt into palm of his waiting hand, then pounded the button against his chest, feeling the sword come alive in his hands. As the fight raged on behind him, Rene sliced his legs free. He tucked in his head as he hit the ground, rolling onto his arse and reversing his grip on the sword, swiftly cutting the bonds around his wrists. When he tried to stand, however, he found that his legs were still unresponsive, all the blood within them having flowed up to his torso during his time spent hanging upside down. Pounding the life back into the clammy flesh of his calves with his fist, Rene looked anxiously around and discovered that the battle had since moved elsewhere, leaving two black-furred corpses in its wake. Cries of rage and a frenzied shaking among the bushes allowed him to guess where the other monsters were. He hoisted himself to his feet, picked up the safety kit and staggered away from the sounds of fighting, pins and needles still numbing the soles of his feet.
As he stepped over the dead bodies in his path, Rene was just about to congratulate himself on a smooth escape when his toes snagged on something and he tripped, going down heavily on his side. Rene felt a powerful yank on his ankle and looked to see the previously impaled monster glaring up at him. It wriggled on its belly and pulled him closer with one hand while it held in its spilled guts with the other three. By the ancestors, was it strong! Rene hacked at the hand holding his foot and lopped it off at the forearm, feeling only the slightest tug of resistance as the edge sheared through bone and meat alike. The hand was still clamped shut about his ankle with a death grip as he stood back up.
The fiend’s back arched as it brought its vile hump of flesh to the fore, dozens of sucking orifices on its misshapen surface spreading open wide.
Thwip! Thwip!
Jets of silk flew out of the spinnerets, the monster using its claws to grasp the threads and shuttering them back and forth like the shuttles of a loom. Cords flicked out and ensnared Rene’s sword arm, pinning it to his side while the weaver applied a lightning-fast field dressing on its abdominal wound, closing off both ends with wads of its makeshift bandage. Rene strained mightily against the loops of silk, but they never budged an inch. Meanwhile, the monster raked him with its claws, opening bright lines of agony across his chest and shoulder. Rene bit back a scream and dropped the sword point-first into the soil. It sank quivering up to its hilt, leaving him completely defenseless as the monster jumped and snatched him up in its gangly embrace. Rene fell to one knee as its weight bore him to the earth, reaching out with his free hand to draw the sword out of the ground and cleave through its rows of hairy legs.
Severed limbs went rolling every which way, the black devil tottering. Yet as it fell its outer mouthparts seized Rene by the temples and pinned him in place as it bit right into his face. Venomed fangs skittered across the transparent surface of his mask, scoring it with deep scratches. To his amazement the crystal held strong and did not shatter—once more the materials of the ancients had proven their incredible durability. Rene worked his arm clear and chopped wildly at the monster’s arms, felt its hold on him slacken as they fell away, leaving only spurting stumps. The butchered devil fell on its humped back and began shrieking its head off.
Rene raised his sword to deliver the coup de grace but was interrupted by the sudden reemergence of the other combatants who burst back onto the scene. The harpy was grappling with one of the devils, quickly being overpowered by its brute strength. As the devil sank its fangs into the bulging pair of compound eyes and tore off the top of the harpy’s head, the latter found an opening and slipped both its blades through in tight uppercutting motions, ramming them under the devil’s chin and out the other end. Ripping outwards and across with its arms the harpy tore its enemy’s head apart and sent the soggy chunks scattering into the treetops.
Reeling in obvious pain, it kicked the body aside and took off with a shutter of its wings, attempting an escape. A feral scream split the air as, the last devil leapt up to intercept it, entrails dangling in the place of its missing lower body. Devoid of sanity or self-preservation, it tacked the rising harpy and sent both of them crashing into a stout branch. They fell back to the earth with a bone-crunching thump, followed by a confetti-shower of dead leaves shaken from their stems.
Rene looked back at his enemy and saw the devil stubbornly gathering itself up for another spring. All it had left were a single arm and leg apiece, that and a merciless glitter in its eyes.
“You can’t be serious,” he complained, and put an end to its efforts by splitting its head right down the middle. Rene shook his head in disbelief and went over to polish off the other two, snipping his webbed arm loose as he did. He found the bisected devil crawling on its elbows and mewling with pain as it wriggled towards the unmoving body of the harpy, clearly intending to finish what it had started.
There were eyes on the back of its head, Rene now noticed. Four of them, the same number as on the front. It saw him coming and rolled over, raising its arms to shield itself.
Rene’s boot came stomping down all the same. He felt its head crunching under his heel as he squashed it into a flattened pie and was nauseated. Rene then approached the harpy, eyeing its blade arms warily and giving it a wide berth. He didn’t want to get anywhere near those frightful things, not after what he’d seen. Instead he went over to a fallen log and cut himself an oversized club from one of its boughs. Sticking the sword back into the ground, he hefted the length of wood over the harpy, intending to smash its head in from a distance.
He felt strangely squeamish at prospect of another head going splat. A wave of dizziness came over him and he had to take a moment to collect himself, doubling over and beginning to dry heave. Leaning heavily on the bough like a staff, he examined the harpy and thought that it looked sufficiently dead. Through the gaping holes in its face he saw the gooey interior of its head. Was that its brain poking through the cracks in the armored hide? Blimey, it had a big one. Equal parts revolted and intrigued, Rene reached over with the branch and prodded at it, testing for a reflex.
Nothing. Better to be safe than sorry, though. Rene raised the bough on high and steeled himself to do the deed once and for all.
A piece of the head fell away, and Rene gasped. Abandoning common sense, he threw aside the club and squatted over the body, frantically tearing off the rest of its cranial casing, plunging his fingers into the sticky mess and pulling out clumps of armored flesh until what lay beneath was finally revealed.
Rene clutched at his forehead as if it was about to explode. Backing away with a sense of dawning horror, he repeated over and over to himself: “It can’t be. It can’t be, it can’t! That’s not possible! It’s…it’s…”
Beautiful.
That was what Rene had meant to say. But the word felt so utterly absurd given the context that it took all his will to keep from bursting into a fit of deranged laughter. And who could have blamed him?
For beneath the ruined visage of flesh, the creature wore the face of a woman.
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

So I am not necessarily new to ultimate been playing for a little while know most of the basics however for my flicks I continue to get blisters on my middle finger where my middle finger touches the rim of the frisbee, I temporarily fixed this by wearing gloves but as time goes on the gloves lose grip and they don’t help as much, I am wondering if anyone has any advice to help prevent getting blisters as it makes it incredibly annoying to throw with them(also if this helps I do more of a peace sign grip when throwing middle finger on the rim and pointer finger towards the middle of the frisbee)

In the realm of nature, nothing quite captures the awe-inspiring force of lightning. Even in our modern-day age, with all our wonders and technologies, witnessing a lightning strike and hearing its thunderous sound can’t help but leave us with a sense of awe and respect for the power of the natural world.
Among the Cherokee, a special kind of respect was paid to lightning. The burnt wood from trees struck by lightning was sought after by shamans. The wood would be buried in soil to ensure a healthy crop and warriors were rubbed with the charred wood for strength, effectively being “charged with bolts of sacred fire”.
To the Cherokee and other groups, lightning was a dramatic display from the spiritual realm, and served as a reminder of the spiritual forces that pervade the natural world and influence human life.
Interestingly, the branching pattern observed in lightning strikes is mirrored across various natural phenomena in our world, with one of the most recognizable patterns being the network of branches in trees.
This striking similarity stems from a shared principle of growth and movement: both the electric charge of lightning and the tree limb navigate from a point of lower potential to one of higher potential, albeit in opposite directions—lightning moves from a high potential charge to a lower one, while a tree limb grows towards a zone with low potential, in this case, a shaded area, towards a zone of greater potential, or sunlight exposure.
This observation highlights a universal pattern of progression; each decision branching out like the limbs of a tree or the forks of a lightning bolt. Perhaps this progression is archetypal, instilled by the Logos as a concept, which is why it is so prevalent. When perceived from a broader perspective, our lives too unfold in a similar branching design, marked by choices and diverging paths that closely resemble the intricate patterns seen in trees and lightning.
This image of a tree and lighting serves to demonstrate that the realm we inhabit is full of metaphors pointing toward higher concepts. Matter is, as the author Walter Russel wrote, “merely the record of ideas and not the ideas themselves”.
Material objects are the shadow of a greater concept which is more nebulous and abstract. The idea reigns supreme, yet its manifestation is physical form. For instance, before we create anything in the physical, it begins first as an idea in the imagination.
Within the imagination, the concept is still nebulous and it has the opportunity to take many forms. It is not yet concrete and “real”. It is still in “potential”.
Once the concept is acted upon, and work is done to bring it into form, then suddenly it has a real-world impact. It is “real”. Yet, at the same time, it’s not real. It’s only the shadow of the concept itself.
This brings up an interesting question: which is superior? The idea or the form based on the idea?
Some would suggest that the point of art, for instance, is to convey concepts. Observing a masterpiece allows us to converse with concepts of a higher order, transcending the physicality of the art piece itself. It matters not what medium the art takes, what matters is the concept that is being conveyed.
This dynamic interplay between the ethereal and the tangible showcases how higher ideas manifest and how these manifestations, in turn, draw us closer to the divine.
As the author and occultist David Goddard writes in his book Tree of Sapphires,
“By the penetrative observations of the Microcosm, you receive intimations of the Macrocosm”.
Perhaps no spiritual tradition encapsulates this concept more distinctly than Qabalah.
Qabalah is a form of Jewish mysticism aimed at understanding the nature of God and the universe. It offers a framework for comprehending the relationships between the Divine, the cosmos, and humanity through a system of ten spheres (Sephiroth) and 22 paths that represent different aspects and levels of consciousness and reality.
The system is visually represented by the Tree of Life, which serves as a map illustrating how the Infinite One, or Ain Sof, interacts with the finite world. Its emanations are called Sephiroth, which are attributes or aspects of the Infinite One.
Holistically, the Tree of Life can be viewed as the process through which the Infinite One differentiates itself into physical reality, metaphorically representing the transition from 0 to 1. It also represents the path back towards unity, from the lower to the higher.
As David Goodard writes,
“It is the lighting flash from Kether at the top of the tree, down to Malkuth that shows the path of involution, or the One Life-Power descending, plane by plane, veiling itself in denser vibratory states.
The sequence of the lighting flash from Malkuth ascending to Kether is the way of evolution, termed the Path of the Return.”
It is the Path of the Return that we will be discussing - starting with the very last sphere on the tree: Malkuth
Malkuth
The Tree of Life is a visual metaphor for how the One differentiates itself into many. One way to study the tree is to see it as a system of triangles made up of various interconnected paths. These paths are described as Activating, Formative and Balancing.
The author Robert Wang in his book The Qabalistic Tarot writes,
“...each of the key triangles on the Tree refers to one part of the Soul: The Supernal Triangle is the Supreme Spiritual Self, the Ethical Triangle is the Higher Self, and the Astral Triangle is the Personality in incarnation.”
In addition, he writes “the core structure of each part of the Self is composed of three aspects, an Activating (Yod-Fire), a Formative (Heh-Water) and an energy which is Balancing (Vau-Air)”
Therefore, each sphere works with the other to form the whole. The only exception is the final sphere, Malkuth. Malkuth contains all three aspects and includes a fourth: “Heh” or “Earth”. Yod Heh Vau Heh, also known as the Tetragrammaton, or the “unprounceable name of God”. Malkuth is the solidified end result of the actions of the Yod Heh and Vau.
You might also liken these forces to the Hegelian dialectic of Thesis, Antithesis, and Synthesis.
The forces can also be thought of states of consciousness.
The Tree of Life is also divided into three Pillars. The left Pillar are considered “active” forces and the spheres on the right side of the Pillar are considered “formative” or “passive” forces. Within the Middle are the equalibrating forces, considered consciousness itself by Qabalaist.
To visualize this better, think of music played from a guitar. The string is the formative, or passive force, the tension and vibration of the string is the active force, yet without the balancing force of the musician, no music could be created. You would just have noise.
We should regonize that there is no true beginning and no true “end”. When one looks at the Tree, both the bottom, Malkuth, and the top, Kether are both the beginning and the end. The top of the Tree contains the sphere known as Ain Soph, which is God prior to any self-manifestation, existing in no-thing, or what Ra refers to “Intelligent Infinity”.
Therefore, as the light moves further from Kether, it gradually gets stepped down into lower and lower vibrations, filtered through the activating, formative and balancing forces of each triangle.
Malkuth is denest realm on the tree, the “final” destination of the light from the One. It is the what we call the physical universe, the world of form.
In the book The Mystical Qabalah, the author and mystic Dion Fortune writes this about Malkuth,
“It is the formative, concreting function of Malkuth which finally renders tangible and definite what was, upon the higher planes, intangible and indefinite, and this is its great service to manifestation and its characteristic power.”
Within Malkuth, the tangible is precise, and the abstract takes a backseat. Forms here acquire a defined outline, in contrast to the superior spheres where the form is fluid and undefined.
Malkuth is the grounding point of the Divine’s will, where the idea finally becomes manifest.
However, the process of grounding this energy requires the use of channels and links.
Dion Fortune also writes,
“The whole problem of Malkuth is a problem of channels and connecting links. The rest of the work is done by the mind on the subtler planes; the real difficulty lies in the transition from the subtle to the dense, for the subtle is so ill-equipped to work on the dense. This transition is effected by means of the magnetism of living things, whether organic or inorganic.”
The physical, being a dense realm, can be difficult to break through without the appropriate channels and magnetism of beings and objects existing in this realm.
Being immersed in matter, it can be easy to think that we are cut off from the Divine. And, while it can be difficult to hear at times, the subtle calling of Spirit is always transmitting information.
As we work on clearing the rocks and thorns that block the heart, it becomes easier to hear the call of Spirit and to form that connection to the higher realms.
The more we form the connection and listen to the higher callings of Spirit, the greater impact Spirit can have in Malkuth.
The conduit for this connection is, of course, you. All of us have the potential to be channels for the Divine. In fact, as wanderers, this is perhaps the main reason for incarnating on this planet.
To act as that grounding point for the Divine. This is the natural role of humanity. To be the embodiment of Spirit in the physical realm of Malkuth.
This is the act of being a co-creator of the Logos.
Recall that each Logos is responsible for setting up the archetypal framework of a particular system. Everything materializing in Malkuth is a direct offspring of these archetypical blueprints.
Take, for example, the form of the galaxy. Our galaxy adopts a "spiral" configuration which one can see throughout the physical universe. This shape happens to resonate deeply with narrative structures, notably the "Hero's Journey"—a seemingly universal storytelling structure that is found in almost all myths told across cultures and time.
It can be argued that the reason this storytelling structure is so universal is because it is archetypal. That is, it is not learned, but rather inherent in all of us, accessible by those sensitive enough to perceive within the Deep Mind.
The narrative arc of the hero's journey unfolds as follows: The protagonist starts with a certain limitation, be it a belief system or another type of restraint. Eventually, the call to adventure beckons, leading them to accept this quest.
This journey propels them through trials and tribulations, adversity, and shadowy depths, facilitating their growth and leading to the acquisition of vital wisdom. After triumphing over these challenges, the hero returns, ready to embark on a new cycle, equipped with newfound insights.
This narrative framework underscores the principle of continual growth. To evolve spiritually, one must journey beyond the familiar, confront their inner darkness, and from this confrontation, arise, reborn. However, like in real life, the process is never-ending.
If one were to conceptualize this structure visually, it would mirror the form of a spiral.
Since the spiral shape is so ubiquitous, and if we understand that the Divine imprints higher concepts into the physical, then it appears that this archetypal story structure could be a universal pattern, at least in our logos.
This raises an interesting thought: galaxies with alternative formations might operate under distinct archetypal systems, a reflection of the endless variety and complexity inherent in the cosmos. Perhaps a hint as to what those archetypal frameworks could be is found it the shape of their galaxies.
How often have we heard of individuals being suddenly "struck" by a bolt of "creative genius"? Numerous tales abound of artists, scientists, writers, and the like who have given birth to magnificent creations, only to profess that the origin of their "unique" ideas felt as though they were not entirely of their own making but were, in essence, "channeled" from an external source.
This phenomenon suggests a connection to a higher reservoir of knowledge and inspiration, indicating that profound concepts are omnipresent, awaiting discovery and expression in our world.
This is part of our role here in Malkuth. To be conduits, grounding points, for higher concepts. To be the builders, where we can, of the archetypal frameworks thought up by the Logos.
This is true co-creation. To be aligned with the Divine, with Nature, allows one to receive, thus enabling them to move beyond the limitations imposed by Malkuth.
Malkuth is the first step on a journey back to the Ain Soph, back to no-thing. It is an essential step in our journey. As Dion Fortune writes,
“The Qabalah teaches that the body is the Temple of the Holy Spirit, and that unless we learn the lessons of Malkuth there can be no lasting progress beyond. The fact is that our first spiritual lessons come from those around us.
And if we cannot function effectively on the material level, learning from the day to day patterns which we have chosen for our incarnation, it is unlikely that we will be able to function effectively on a more refined spiritual plane. The ability to sense the importance of the ordinary is a special form of discrimination.”

And I have to say, given this is my third playthrough (technically 2nd time finishing the game, I played a second time but decided to wait after phantom liberty was announced), I'm in love with this game. Idk if anyone remembers a post I made when I first finished the game, but tldr I missed half the side quests and got the Sun ending, and man I felt unfulfilled.
This time, I got the Star ending, did all the side quests (besides Kerry's because I didn't really care after I got samurai back together), romanced Judy, and ride off into the night with the Aldecaldo's. I gotta say, I feel so much better.
I helped River and got Randy back, took rogue and Johnny on their date, did all the side gigs and even all the ncpd scanners(which took forever, but by the end of it I had so much money and crafting materials I didn't know what to do with), I did all the races with Claire, got all the cyberpsychos alive to hopefully get treatment, made sure El Capitan got to retire from fixing and just help around Santo Domingo, got songbird to the stars, made sure Alex got that kushy retirement in Monaco, killed Adam smasher and let him know who's watching, hopefully Jeff peralez will be ok since I told him the truth, Sandra dorsett is (at least physically) ok, I'm pretty sure goro died, which I am sad about, but his goals were never mine, not in the end, freed the many delamain's.
But in the end I think things might work out for Johnny and V. Johnny's free, reunited with Alt. Definitely not the same, but still. Johnny ran away with the girl in the end after giving the corpo filled material world the middle finger and got away with it. And V, something tells me my V will be ok. She's got 6 months, sure, but I feel like she'll find a way. She's got a whole family looking out for her. And even if worst comes to worst, and she dies, she's surrounded by people she cares about, who care about her. But I like to think she'll make it, with Judy, and panam, and Mitch and Cassidy and Carol.
This has been one of my favorite gaming experiences. Here's to this, and whatever Cyberpunk cooks up next! It's been fun.

Living in a small southern town, you get used to the way things are. I grew up as a military brat, so my childhood memories are a blur of packing, unpacking, and getting settled. It had been seven years since we arrived, and nothing but the grace of God would make me move again. A few years ago, my father got orders to station at a base in the middle of the Mohave. I was only seventeen then, but after a few dozen screaming matches, I decided to strike out on my own a little early. I got a part-time job at the cafe, which was enough to rent a little run-down shack a couple of blocks from downtown. As far as I was concerned, I was living the dream—serving coffee a few hours a week and spending the rest of my time hanging out with friends, listening to music, and drinking.
That particular morning started the same as any other. I woke up around noon with a text from Mark to meet me at the cafe. Took me about two hours to get up and head over. The sun had just begun its descent as I pushed the door to the cafe open, the bell above tinkling softly. The sound bothered me a little bit, but I couldn’t tell why. It seemed to ring a little louder than I was expecting, and gave me this strange drilling sensation inside my head.
I ignored the feeling as the smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries washed over me. I saw Mark and Jamie already sat at our usual spot. Mark looked up as I approached, a grin spreading across his face. "Hey, Alex. Sarah should be here soon."
“So what's on the docket today?” I asked as I sat down, stealing a bear claw off Jamie's plate and taking a large bite before he had the chance to protest.
Mark’s excitement was almost palpable. He was always the one with the big ideas and crazy schemes, which I honestly appreciated. They got us into trouble more often than not, but it beat day drinking in the Walmart parking lot like everyone else our age.
"Alright, check this out," Mark said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I was talking to my cousin who works for the county. He told me about this old, abandoned food processing factory just outside of town. They used to can peaches there."
I gave him a skeptical look. "That’s your idea? Old, canned peaches?"
"No, idiot," he scoffed. "They left behind a ton of nitrates and phosphates. I’ve been doing some reading, and we can use them to make fireworks. I was up all night figuring it out and putting these together." He subtly opened his backpack to reveal at least a dozen PVC pipes fitted on both ends.
"Now that's what I’m talking about," I said, grinning.
Sarah walked in, catching the tail end of our conversation. "Sorry I’m late, I had a breakout and had to stop by the pharmacy. Upped my allergy meds. I fucking hate pollen," she said as I scooted over to make room for her on the bench.
"Is there anything you aren't allergic to?" I laughed.
She rolled her eyes, ignoring my question. "So, what's the plan for today?"
Mark, Jamie and I exchanged cheeky glances. "Well," I started, "let’s just hope you’re not allergic to peaches."
We finally managed to pry the side door of the factory off, which broke free from the hinges and smashed against the floor. Stepping inside, the air was thick and rancid as we bounced the beams of our flashlights around the packaging floor.
"We should split up," Mark suggested. "Alex, you and Sarah check out the storage rooms for the chemicals. Jamie and I will find the control room and see if we can get the power back on."
All of us nodded as we went our separate ways. Sarah and I wandered down the dark hallways, kicking open doors and looking for anything that looked vaguely like chemicals. The corridors were dark and damp, with black mold snaking along the walls like veins.
The first few rooms we checked were empty, filled only with dust and the remnants of long-abandoned equipment. Each door creaked as we pushed it open, revealing more decay and desolation.
As we moved further down the hallway, the mold seemed to become more aggressive, spreading in thick, dark patches along the walls and floors. The air grew heavier, making it harder to breathe. We kicked open another door, our flashlights revealing more of the same—nothing useful.
"This place is a bust," Sarah muttered,
"Let's keep looking," I replied, though I was starting to feel the same way. "There has to be something."
We continued down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the silence. As we approached the end of the hall, something caught my eye. One door stood out, covered in black, creeping mold that seemed to pulse and writhe. Tendrils of fungus snaked out from the edges, reaching out into the hallway.
"Sarah, look at this," I said.
She turned to see what I was pointing at and her eyes widened. "That’s... different."
We approached the door cautiously as the tendrils moved and swayed.
With a deep breath, we each grabbed one side of the door and pulled. It resisted for a moment before giving way, the mold snapping and tearing as we forced it open. The smell that hit us was overpowering, a mix of rot and decay that made my eyes water.
Inside, our flashlights revealed a horrifying sight. At the back of the room sat several pallets with dozens of boxes of peaches each. But it was what grew from these boxes that will haunt my nightmares till my dying day.
The entire back wall was consumed by a towering fungal mass. Thick, fleshy stalks jutted out from the base, climbing nearly to the ceiling. The surface of the fungus glistened with a slimy, wet sheen, appearing almost like rotting flesh under our flashlight beams. Each stalk was covered in a mottled, sickly green and yellow hue, with patches of black mold that seemed to pulse in the dim light.
Interwoven within this horrific sight were bulbous growths, each one throbbing rhythmically, as if with a heartbeat of its own. They resembled obscene, overgrown tumors, ready to burst at the slightest touch. Long, sinewy tendrils extended from the main mass, creeping over the boxes and along the floor like the fingers of some malevolent creature, seeking out any life to ensnare.
The tendrils near the door twitched, slowly inching their way toward us as if aware of our presence. The air was thick with spores, glimmering in the light like tiny stars, each one a potential harbinger of decay and death.
"Oh my god," Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of our own breathing. "What is that thing?"
We stood there, frozen in shock and disgust, before I slammed the door shut.
"Let's get the hell out of here," I said.
We hurried back down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. The lights in the facility flickered on, casting a blinding white light. I heard a bubbling, groaning noise emanate from behind the fungal door, sending a wave of nausea through my body.
We met back up with Mark and Jamie in the main area and quickly told them what we saw.
"Yo, that sounds sick," Jamie exclaimed. "We should blow it up. I found the chemicals in the control room and these bad boys are ready to go," he said, holding up a pipe bomb.
"Yeah," Mark agreed, his eyes alight with excitement. "We'd be doing the world a favor, getting rid of that thing."
Sarah shook her head, her face pale. "No way. I'm not doing this. That thing... It's not normal. We need to get out of here and call someone who knows what they're doing."
Jamie frowned. "Come on, Sarah. Don't be a buzzkill. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to do something epic."
"Epic?" Sarah snapped. "That thing is dangerous. We don't know what we're dealing with. I'm not risking my life for some stupid joke."
Mark stepped in with a grin. "Alright, let's all calm down. If you’re scared you can just let the men handle it.”
Sarah crossed her arms. "Fine, but I'm staying here."
"Suit yourself," Jamie said, shrugging. "But we're not leaving without taking care of that thing."
"Alright, let's do this," Mark said, looking at Jamie and me. "We'll be quick. Sarah, stay here and keep an eye out.”
The hallway looked completely different in the fluorescent lighting. I could see now that each vein of fungus emanated from that single door, like a spiral portal threatening to suck us in.
"Let's make this quick," I whispered, glancing back at Jamie and Mark. "We light the bomb, throw it in, and get the hell out of here."
Jamie nodded, holding the pipe bomb tightly in his hand. "Ready when you are."
We reached the door, and the tendrils of fungus seemed even more aggressive, writhing and pulsing as if aware of our presence. The air was thick with spores.
"On three," I whispered, gripping the edge of the door. "One... two... three."
We yanked the door open, the mold snapping and tearing as it gave way. The smell of rot and decay hit us again, making my eyes water. The monstrous fungal mass loomed before us, its bulbous growths throbbing rhythmically.
Jamie lit the fuse and threw the bomb as hard as he could inside. It struck one of the orbs, which burst, shooting a fine white mist into the air.
"Run!" I shouted, slamming the door shut. We turned and sprinted down the hallway. The explosion sounded behind us, the shockwave lifting me off my feet and sending me tumbling to the ground.
Living in a small southern town, you get used to the way things are. My parents were in the army, so we moved a lot, but now I'm staying put. I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a small headache.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a doughnut off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“Y-yeah,” she replied. “Are YOU guys feeling ok?”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a small migraine.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a maroon off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“Y-yeah,” she replied. “Not really. Are YOU guys feeling Ok?”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a piercing migraine.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a bagel off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“What's going on?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m scared.”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “It’s fine, Sarah. Just take a seat,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a splitting migraine.
As I slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie, I noticed Sarah outside, fixated on a bird suspended in mid-flight. I went out to see her.
"Are you seeing this?" she asked, her voice tinged with astonishment.
"Yeah," I replied nonchalantly. "That happens all the time. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
"What the hell do you mean, 'Am I feeling okay?'!" she screamed. "That bird is frozen mid-air, and you don't think anything weird is going on?"
Her yelling took me aback. I didn't understand her alarm, so I shrugged it off and joined Mark inside. As we began planning our nightly excursion to the peach factory, Sarah burst through the door, screaming, then vanished in a puff of smoke.
"That's odd," I mused, my brow furrowed in confusion before we shrugged it off and resumed our scheming.
The day after, I met Mark again at the cafe. This rhythm had become our existence: meetings by day, adventures by night at the old peach plant. That evening followed the familiar pattern; we reveled in the thrill of hurling pipe bombs into that small enclosed room.
This routine had completely engulfed our lives. Day after day at the cafe, night after night at the factory—it seemed as though this cycle was all we had ever known. Reflecting on it, I couldn't remember any other way of life.
However, one thing increasingly disturbed me—the ringing of the doorbell at the cafe's entrance. Each time I entered, the sound seemed sharper, more grating. Focusing on it brought a searing pain to my head, like a needle drilling through my skull. Yet, despite the agony, I found myself obsessing over it, the sound gnawing at the edges of my sanity.
One day, driven to the brink by this incessant ringing, I decided to confront it head-on. I stood by the door, letting the bell chime repeatedly. Each ring sliced through my mind, but I persisted, sweat beading on my forehead, teeth clenched in torment.
As the pain crescendoed, reality shattered. I woke to the blaring of a fire alarm, not the quaint doorbell I had imagined. The cafe was engulfed in chaos. The hallway was consumed by a sprawling fungal mass, its tendrils creeping along the walls.
In the dim, flickering light, I saw Jamie, or what was left of him. Half of his skull was missing, the fungus attached grotesquely to his exposed brain, pulsating with each eerie beat of his fading heart. Mark was there too, seemingly unharmed physically, but trapped in a delusion, his eyes glazed over, a smile playing on his lips as the fungus encased him.
Sarah lay collapsed by the fire alarm, her hand still on the lever. She had managed to pull it before succumbing to the spores that now clung to her body.
The tendrils that had enveloped me snapped violently, each break releasing a sickening crack that echoed through the eerie silence of the hallway. An outline of my body remained imprinted in the fungal mass, a mold from which I had desperately broken free.
Gritting my teeth against the pain and horror, I scrambled to Mark and Sarah. Mark was less entangled, lost in his fungal-induced stupor. I grabbed him under the arms, his body limp but alive, and dragged him across the floor. The fungus resisted, stretching like sinew before tearing away from him with wet, ripping sounds.
Sarah was heavier, her body weakened but still fighting. I clasped her wrists, pulling with all my strength. The fungus clung to her, tendrils winding up her arms like ivy. With a final, determined yank, the last of the tendrils snapped, freeing her. We left behind fragments of the monstrous growth clinging to her clothes.
Together, we staggered out into the night air, away from the suffocating enclosure. The cool air hit our faces, harsh yet cleansing. Behind us, the fire alarm continued to blare into the night. I fumbled with my phone, hands shaking, to dial the emergency number. The call went through, and within minutes, the sound of sirens cut through the stillness of the night, growing louder as help approached.
The next few days were a blur. I remember fading in and out of consciousness as nurses pumped antifungals directly into my IV, their faces blurring into the sterile environment. Once we were somewhat cognizant, the police wanted answers. One by one, we were interviewed, but we gave them nothing. I still don’t know what the exact penalty is for manufacturing explosives and using them to destroy a building, but I’m guessing it’s not community service. Jamie was still missing, and they hadn’t found any sign of him or his body. I tried to hide my tears as I knew he was already long gone.
After a few weeks, I was finally cleared for visitors and got to see Sarah again. She told me that after the explosion, she ran but couldn’t leave us behind. She came back, only to see us being consumed by the fungus. Try as she might, she wasn’t able to free us as she felt the oppressive spores take her under. She fought back and managed to pull the fire alarm before succumbing again. The doctors told her that her allergy medication gave her some resistance to the fungus; otherwise, she might have been a goner.
Mark was never the same. We never talked about what happened, and after trying once and him flipping out, I figured it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. That summer, he moved to upstate New York to work in his dad’s business. I haven’t seen him since. That fall, Sarah started college at Savannah State. I still call her every now and again, but it’s not like it used to be.
Despite all that happened, I’m not moving again. I’m happy here, and if it’s up to me, I’ll die in this little town. I still work at the cafe, as a manager now. On weekends, I come in and just sit at the booth we all used to share.
I still think about Jamie from time to time. I wonder if he's dead or still stuck in his delusion, picturing the four of us sitting at our table, talking, laughing, and passing the time. Sometimes, when the cafe is empty and the light is just right, I can almost see him there, his smile frozen in that moment before everything went wrong.
The cafe grows quieter each day, the hum of life fading into an eerie stillness. My skin feels different, as if the air itself whispers secrets I can't quite grasp. The itching that started as a minor annoyance has intensified, becoming a constant torment. I scratch at lesions that have begun to form on my arms and chest, red and raw, with patches of green spreading beneath the surface. I’ve started to wear long sleeves to cover my arms and a mask to hide my purpling lips.
Some nights, when closing, as I sit alone in the dim light of the cafe, the itching becomes unbearable. I claw at the lesions, feeling a dampness beneath my skin. Sometimes, when I cough, I could swear I see tiny spores hanging in the air, reminiscent of the bursting nodules growing on the stalks of the monster.
Occasionally, I hear the bell ring and the door open, but no one is there. I look outside into the empty night and see nothing. This went on for weeks, becoming more frequent. But one night, the door opened, and I saw Jamie standing there, the picture of health. I went to embrace him and noticed my lesions were gone too. It was almost as if we had never gone to the peach factory. It was suddenly morning, and the light shone through the cafe. For the first time in forever, we were happy. We talked about nothing, passing the time.
After what felt like hours, he told me it was time to go. But his mouth wasn’t moving—I felt like I could read his thoughts, and he could read mine. We stood up as I took one last look at the cafe and headed off with him, back to the peach factory.
As we walked, a strange calmness settled over me. I remember feeling that I wanted to ask if he had talked to Mark or Sarah, and wondered how they were doing. But deep down, somehow, I could feel their presence and I knew they were doing just fine. The sun was bright, the air crisp. The itching had vanished completely, replaced by an inexplicable craving for the sweetness of ripe peaches. Jamie and I shared a silent understanding, a bond deeper than any words could convey.
The factory loomed ahead, its doors wide open as if inviting us in. The familiar scent of peaches and something else—something earthy and ancient—filled the air. We stepped inside, side by side, feeling at home for the first time in ages.
The last thing I remember before the darkness took over was the feeling of the soft, warm peach flesh in my hand, and Jamie’s voice in my head saying, "Welcome home."

My enthusiastic puppy snapped a paw paw sapling about the size of my index finger near the base of the tree. The break was fairly clean and about 1.5 inches long through the middle of the tree. I zip tied the tree along the break (pictured) figuring this would provide a snug compression without limiting airflow and supported the tree with stake. If the current growth survives, will this repair compromise the tree’s structural integrity?

Age 19
Sex Female
Height 162 cm
Weight 85 kg
Race white
Duration of complaint connective issue disorder=all my life hormonal problems 2 years ago
Location turkey
Any existing relevant medical issues hypothyroid hypermobility
Current medications levotiron and monodoks
I realized 2 years ago that i have hypermobility i always knew something was wrong with me but couldnt put my finger on what it was ever since i was a little kid i stood weird, had flat feet that would litterally tear apart my shoes, couldnt write without my fingers hurting like hell, had "growing pains" and was duble jointed ect. I was saying these to my parents but they thought i was overreacting im not gonna Blake them bc they had no idea these were abnormal but i did stop tankını about it however throught the years since i grew out of the ages i would have had growing pains and my problems even got worse throught years i realized i had to look it up. Like anybody would do i first looked at the internet than i went to rhumotologists geneticists physiotherapist i had Xrays done ect but all i heard from the doctors was "sorry idk how to diagnose you" "you need to go to a university hospital we cant help you here" "rhumotology is not the right place for your you probobly dont have inflemation problems you need to go to a physiotherapist" "i know our recomended exercises made your problems worse but we have nothing else to do maybe you should try to go to other policlinics" "your problems cant be cured why are you even trying to get a diagnosis" ect. I know there is no cure for connective issue illnesses but there are treatments that can help my symptoms plus if i get a propper diagnosis i will be able to receive appropriate treatment for problems that can be coused by my illness in situations such as anesthesia and birth. When my genetic test results came i tested negative to all illnesses tested but i heard the genes responsable for hypermobile eds is not known so these tests dont include h-eds in them. I check all the boxes of official diagnostic criteria for eds (the physiotherapist i went to confermed i have hypermobility) but i dont have information about my genetic lineage (im adopted) so i cant say anything about that. I also have some hormonal issues i have hypo thyroidism (i use livotiron) i got slightly higher prolactin (not high enough to be considered hyper) i had mixed results about my dhea-sulfate its lower than usul than normal ect i actually have a appontment in 2 days to a endocronologist and will be giving another blood test 2 to 8 days after my period. I stared to get shorter periods and my period blood is more Red that usual i had a day come in the middle of my periods for the last couple periods my doctor is thinking its polycystic over but i couldnt find a appointment to get an ultrasound im try my best to take care of myself i mean i dont smoke drink use any substences ect i dont eat alot (ik im overweight but i have always been easy to gain weight) im overall very confused and i cant help but wonder if these will effect my fertility if anybody an help me find what it should do next it would be nice bc it genuanly dont know what it need to do🤷🏻‍♀️

After 70,000 gems, a free pull every day, and 120+ advanced recruit vouchers saved up throughout a long period of time, I still only managed to get one copy of Crown in regular pulls, while getting no other copies of SSRs or new Nikkes. While I know a 1% pickup rate theoretically allows you to get multiple copies of one Nikke at the same time like I see other people get, for some reason Shift Up threw a massive middle finger towards me this event. Has this happened to anyone else this event?

Hi,
Photo : https://imgur.com/a/pK5Hc94
In past few months I found that my left side of my face is more tender and then I palpated a small pea/been sized tube like mass under my Zygomatic bone. I had scheduled dentist appointment for like 2 moths and today he looked at me. I have papilla visible on the left side too and I had left side cavity with left side Gingivitis in upper and lower tooths.
By normal palpation ( relaxed, closed mouth ), it is not noticeable ( maybe a little ) but when I take my index and middle finger and point them straight under Zygomatic bone, and use my nail to move up and down, I feel it and it is like straw that is bigger on the side of parotid and then narrowing and going straight to papilla. It is visible when I open my mouth and strongly flex masseter muscle ( also more easily palatable ).
Firstly doctor didn't saw anything but then told me that it looks like my left side is little swollen and it is maybe a stone, that those are common. He also look on it 3 times, 2 in laying position and one in standing position. He palpated it on the skin and also from the inside the mouth. He also looked at my papilla and were performing some salivary flow tests.
His final words were: Stenson duct papilla enlarged suspect from trauma ( bites ) with dilatated duct and small left side swelling. He told me to not worry about and that he will check it in 3 moths during next visit. He just fixed my left side cavity and told me try eat sour sweets to increase salivary production.
I asked if there is need to maybe to go to ultrasound and he told me that it is not needed.
I just want to be sure, should I go and try to find another opinion from other dentist? He was more focusing on fixing cavity that on my gland. I am scared it can be cancer and let it be there for at least 3 more months will not do any good. Just to mention, when I massage it , I feel flow of saliva and sometimes it is better for few days, also I don't think it is increasing or decreasing in size during past months ( 2-3 ).
Thank you!
Edit: no smoking, beer and wine consumer ( 3-4 times a week ). Palatable only on left side.

Chapter 1

Concept art for Sybil
Of Men and Ghost Ships, Book 1: Chapter 17
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First, Carter met an AI who looked like an old-earth pirate, and now he met an alien who looked like an old-earth viking. Well, if that viking stood nearly eight feet tall, had fangs and claws that could put some daggers to shame, and a bony carapace armor seemingly covering most of his vital organs. He wasn't sure if he just had some odd luck when it came to encountering the weirdest entities the universe had to offer or if he was at the butt of some galactic joke.
Carter showed Erik how to use the goo dispenser, to which the larger alien made a face but managed to politely keep any complaints to himself as they both got a bowl and sat down at a table with Sybil's two robotic guards passively waiting not far from the table. As he sat down, Cater couldn't help but ask. "So, Erik, huh?"
Before he could ask his question, the behemoth of a man laughed. "Yes, it's a human name. I was 'raised,' for lack of a better term, by pirates who gave me the name. No, I don't know where I came from or even if there are more like me somewhere out there. Long story short, I got my freedom the hard way, and ever since, I've just been trying to get by in this galaxy!"
That answered several of Carter's questions without him having to ask them. " Get asked those a lot, do you?"
Erik nodded while he tried a spoonful of the much, then looked down at the bowl with surprise before taking another bite. "You could say that! Probably the most common questions I get right after people screaming incoherently or begging for their lives. Not that those are questions, but I kinda feel like they're implied, if you know what I mean!"
Carter nodded cautiously. "Do you get that a lot? People begging for their lives, I mean?"
The bigger alien grinned. "Well, yeah! And more than half the time, I didn't even do anything to warrant it! Guess I'm just too big and scary for my own good!"
Carter made a show of taking a bite of his own mint-flavored sludge. "And the other half of the time?"
Erik shrugged, but Carter couldn't help but notice his grin became just a bit more predatory. "Well, let's just say I don't start many fights, but I sure do end a lot of them! Guess I seem like an easy mark or something!"
Carter suspected it was the "or something" but decided not to push the issue. Instead, he figured maybe he could bring up some common ground. "So, not a big fan of pirates then?"
The larger alien shook his head., "No, I like them just fine! Why, they're just about my favorite thing to test the sharpness of my axes on!"
Carter looked at his dining companion skeptically. "Axes? Really? In this day and age?"
Erik laughed. "Yeah, yeah, I know, they're not the most efficient weapons out there, and I'm not above using some more traditional armaments in a pinch, but I tell ya, there's nothing more satisfying than cleaving through a battle suite in hand-to-hand combat with a good heavy axe! Sides, I got used to them back when I fought as a gladiator."
Carter supposed he should have been ready for a crazy story, but he still found himself surprised for the umpteenth time in one conversation. "Wait, wait, wait... You were a gladiator? Like as in an arena, fight to the death kinda thing?"
Erik laughed again. "Yeah, pretty much! However I ended up fighting monsters more than people. There weren't many pirates willing to get in the ring with me, even with a battle suit, and I wasn't willing to kill any ordinary folk who got thrown in with me. Thankfully, I was too big a draw for them to just execute for refusing to kill normals, though I'm sorry to say they didn't get out of the situation any better than if I had. Still, I've killed more than my fair share of wild beasties! They even managed to bring in this giant wolf-like monster with a bladed tail. It was the size of a moose! I kid you not! I got no idea where they found that monster, but it would have killed me for sure if it hadn't been for Vanessa backing me up. Even then, we were both out of commission for the better part of a month after that one. Well, we might have been fit to go a bit before that, but that was the one that made us decide it would be considerably better for our health if we got out of the gladiator business sooner rather than later!"
Oddly enough, Carter found himself grinning along with Erik despite the nature of the story. There was just something about the guy that made listening to him ramble on about stuff kinda fun. Despite his thick accent, or maybe partially because of it, the man was a heck of a storyteller. However, now that the story seemed to have come to an end, the larger alien seemed to think for a moment before asking his own question. "So tell me, captain, where's the rest of your crew? The only ones I've seen since coming aboard are you and your robotic monsters!" He pointed back at the two escorts Sybil provided.
Carter looked askance at the alien. "I invited two aliens who look like they might be able to pick a fight with a full squad of commandos and come out on top, and you're wondering where my crew is?"
Erik kind of nodded and laughed again. "Yeah, I guess that tracks! No sense puttin' everyone at risk when you don't know nothin' about us, and we won't be here very long, is there? Speaking of, how much longer is my friend's treatment gonna take?"
The word "friend" was a surprising choice. Was Erik just using it as a general term, or did he really consider the kid he'd hauled onboard the ship a friend? Carter supposed it didn't matter. Instead, he figured he might as well find out. "Hey, Sybil, how's the treatment going?"
The girl appeared. "Well, the patient looks like he'll pull through. However, given the nature of his injury and how long it's been since he received it, we cannot save his foot. We're discussing whether he would like a temporary replacement or if he'd rather a replacement be grown in a better-stocked facility."
-
Alen looked at the disturbingly attractive woman in shock. "What do you mean you're gonna lop off my foot?"
The woman in red just looked annoyed with him for some reason. "I mean just that. Your foot is too badly damaged to save. I can fit you with a temporary replacement, but that'll come with some unpleasant side effects while you adjust and again if it's removed. Alternatively, you could just wait and have an organic replacement grown at another facility and bypass the side effects, but you will be short a foot for however long that takes. Now choose. It'll determine where I cut through the bone and nerves."
Having just woken up from his drugged sleep, Alen had assumed the surgery was over, but apparently, they were still in the middle of treatment. His head was still somewhat groggy as he fought through the haze to understand and decide. "Um, well, I don't know when I'll be able to get anything better, but...uh...how unpleasant are we talking here?"
The attractive woman crossed her arms and glared at him as if he was wasting her valuable time. "It varies from one individual to the next, but the side effects can range from mild discomfort to occasional sharp pains strong enough to require medical intervention."
That was when another voice spoke up from behind Alen. He quickly realized it was Vanessa. "Is it not possible for you to deaden the pain receptors in the area while leaving enough nerve function to enable the use of the replacement?"
The woman in red shook her head. "Pain is an essential tool, especially if we're fitting him with a temporary replacement. It'll let him know if something's gone wrong. Without it, he could get an infection or even tear something without realizing it. It's better to err on the side of leaving too much sensation than too little. It can always be adjusted at a proper facility as needed."
On the one hand, that really sounded unpleasant. But on the other hand, who knew how soon Alen could get a replacement grown? What would he do in the meantime? "Uh... I guess...if I have to pick one... I'll take the temporary replacement..."
The lady in red gave only a brief acknowledgment. "About time." Then, before Alen could have second thoughts, the world went dark again.
-
The girl nodded as if receiving some unheard report. "Well, that settles it. He'll be getting a temporary replacement. It'll take a bit longer as we'll have to fit him with some attachments for the augmatics. A rough approximation puts the remaining time at an hour and a half. We should finish cannibalizing the pirate vessel shortly afterward."
Carter turned toward his guest. "Well, there you have it..."
However, the girl interrupted him again before he could finish his thoughts. "Sir, we've got more incoming. There are more of them, and they're more dispersed this time..."
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Poor Alen! That dude has definitely not had it easy as of late!
My Wiki has all my chapters and stories, including the short series and stories that I write for an occasional change of pace or style!
As a reminder, "Of Men and Dragons" Books 1 and 2 are available to purchase in e-book or physical form. (Both softcover and hardcovers are available!) Book 3 is almost done being edited, so I'll just have to get the cover art and formatting done, and it will be available to purchase as well! Hopefully, in no more than a month or two! (Barring more Amazon drama like last time... fingers crossed!)
OMAD Book 1: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09NCPP3PP
OMAD Book 2: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CQ7FQ1ZJ

What a shocker it is that's no white male operators exist in the game. Of course you have every other box that can be checked.
Asian male? Check. Black female? Check. Overbearing and annoying Hispanic announcer? Check. Etc....
It's funny too because there's no doubt whatsoever that the people who will be playing this game more than other demographics will certainly be white men. Why do video game companies do this? Media in general has really been getting Caucasian men the middle finger. Every other group gets more than their fair share of representation but God forbid white men are also included despite making up a bigger portion of the population then any other group of men. It just doesn't make sense if for no other reason than we all know white men are going to be playing this the most so why go out of the way to exclude them?
It's intentional, don't act like it's not. If it doesn't bother you that's fine it doesn't actually really bother me too much but I'm just annoyed that they go out of their way to exclude any group of people... let alone their biggest player base demographic. That's what bothers me it's why go after the people who support your product more than any other?

In India, China, Egypt, Vietnam etc drivers fight for position mercilessly. But if they lose the position to another car, they don’t get mad, it is a fact of life. Also they honk to warn the horde of jay walkers as well. The streets are full of honk-honk sounds. It is part of the ambient.
For those who have travelled or are from another country you know what I mean right?
Right here so often people get full rage mode when honked at. Someone texting when the light change and get honked etc. They either brake check the honker or pull along side for a middle finger, the honker then return a finger in kind.
I see lots at Woodland Hills near the Costco and Westfield mall. Added possibility of guns involved whenever I see a post-honking battle I get away asap.