Dull pain in back and shoulder

Reflecting on 2021, truly marked the zenith of my young career. The pandemic was coming to an end, I was fresh from the hallowed halls of a prestigious but unheralded college, thrust into the corporate labyrinth where, as a mere sidekick to the big shots, I contributed to a deal of record-breaking magnitude. My modest corporate minion life was exaggerated into legend by my professors during an alumni reunion, leading to a rather embarrassing episode where I was paraded around as the poster child of their education career’s success. My parents, not ones to shy away from a bit of pomp, lauded my achievements to anyone within earshot.
But as 2022 unfurled its chaos with the epidemic, my professional life spiralled downwards as swiftly as it had risen. I was laid off, and replaced by a nepotistic hire—my boss's new mistress's nephew. During my dismal final days, my colleagues, once comrades became corporate sharks, whispers of them scheming to claim my last efforts as their own filled the empty office spaces.
Compelled by financial duress to abandon my central city dwelling, I relocated to the outskirts with two college mates, Jaz and Kath, who had similarly found themselves victims of the economic downturn. We settled into apartment 606, a unit with dubious charm, suspiciously affordable on the 13th floor of a dreary building, its corridor haunted by a flickering sensor light that was only designed to function on rare occasions. Yet, the apartment itself was surprisingly very well furnished, almost like something that jumped out from a design mag, out beating sample rooms in Ikea, boasting a spacious balcony, a living room ready for an impromptu soirée, a dining table that’s good enough to hold a banquet(became our co-working space) and a kitchen isle that became our sanctuary and curse.
When we first settled into our new abode, we discovered a trove of fine kitchen utensils, perfect for whipping up sophisticated cuisine and crafting cocktails worthy of a swanky soirée. Tucked away in the fridge, among the remnants of the previous tenants' life, was a quaint note: “The three of us really enjoyed our stay here, especially our meals and nights spent by the kitchen island. We hope you find as much joy in it as we did. Use it well.” With a casual flick of my wrist, I dismissed the note into the garbage can, oblivious to the depth of its seemingly innocuous message. Little did I know, that piece of paper was more a passing of the torch than a simple goodbye.
Our initial days in apartment 606 brimmed with camaraderie and impromptu celebrations: movie nights sprawled on the living room sofas, barbeque dinners under the stars on our balcony, and co-working sessions at the dining table, peppered with resume tweaks and contemplative conversations over cocktails. We even scored a second-hand karaoke machine, allowing me to channel my inner diva—a throwback to my musical theatre days in college and my stint as the voice of corporate presentations and negotiations at my previous job, where I was known for my resonant yet finely tuned voice.
Yet, as the months wore on and the job market remained unyielding, our early merriment slowly surrendered to a creeping anxiety. The kitchen island, once the heart of our home where laughter and shared meals flowed freely, gradually morphed into the epicenter of our collective unease, bearing silent witness to the quiet desperation settling over us.
One evening, in the suspiciously affordable yet stylish apartment, I sank into the sofa, my spirits dampened by my favorite team's disheartening loss. The mood was grim, mirroring my fears of my beloved player's potential retirement at season's end. Later, as we congregated around the kitchen island for dinner, I transformed into an impromptu sports commentator, passionately preaching about the game’s disappointing details that led to failure and my favorite player’s fine qualities. Meanwhile, Jaz updated us on a friend's melodramatic breakup, with guesses that something ugly must have happened behind the scenes. Kath, ever the culinary enthusiast, not only served up her delicious pasta but also dished out the latest celebrity gossip, each tidbit as spicy as her sauce.
The next day, during a late breakfast at the same kitchen island—our unwitting oracle—we were hit by a triple whammy of reality checks. The news of my favorite player's retirement broke, echoing my gloomy predictions from the night before. Jaz chimed in with an update that our friend had uncovered a cheating scandal worthy of its own reality TV special. And Kath, never one to be left out of the drama: her favorite celebrity was now the star of a scandal.
By the third morning, as we sipped our coffee, the newspaper slapped me with another bizarre twist. I was going through the devastating economics and politics sections, then I saw the sports section——featured an irate coach, hell-bent on convincing my favorite player to dismiss retirement plans and keep his jersey on a little longer. Meanwhile, Jaz had good news for a change: it turned out our friend's love story might have a second act after all, as misunderstandings were being cleared up. Amidst these revelations, Kath, who had been grumbling about the nearby supermarket’s inability to stock anything remotely gourmet, and hadn’t had a taste of her favorite Blue Mountain coffee since the beginning of that year, triumphantly found a can of Blue Mountain coffee, and it was on sale and therefore affordable—proof that miracles happen, and sometimes they even go on discount.
As I sat there, absorbing the serendipity of our discussions manifesting into real-world events, I couldn't help but marvel at the mysterious knack of our kitchen island. Was it merely a coincidence, or had this stylish piece of decor become the unlikely conductor of our lives symphony? One thing was certain: life in apartment 606 was never dull, and our kitchen island seemed to be more than just a place to eat—it was a place where, apparently, you could stir the pot of fate.
I decided to conduct a whimsical experiment with our now seemingly magical kitchen island. Clearing my throat theatrically, I declared, "I should be interviewed for a director position." To my sheer astonishment, the next day a headhunter rang me up, claiming I was the ideal candidate for a directorial role at a prestigious corporation in my field. Despite the other candidates possessing decades more experience which defeated me with no effort, and my own lingering self-doubt from months of unemployment, I sailed to the final interview round with the company's executives.
Upon returning to our apartment, I found Kath flaunting a chic dress from a designer brand brand she’d snagged on clearance—a little luxury courtesy of our wish-granting island. Inspired, I approached the island and cheekily requested, "Get us jobs. Something fun." Lo and behold, the following day was spent lounging and binge-watching Netflix, only to be interrupted by a call from a former bigwig at my old job. He was venturing into a more illustrious company and wanted me onboard. The informal chat that followed was a breeze, and just like that, I was back in the game with a fancier title and a fatter paycheck.
The subsequent week was a flurry of celebrations. Jaz secured a senior-level position, and Kath landed her dream job at an influencer management agency. Feeling triumphant, we decided to indulge in a night of fine dining—our first in months. That Friday evening when I went from office to restaurant, on a whim, stopped at a convenience store to grab snacks and cigarettes for our post-dinner revelry. Outside, I encountered a homeless person. After offering him a sandwich (which he traded for a cigarette instead), he took a drag, peered into my eyes, and ominously muttered, “Look, young lady, this isn’t my business, but be wary of what you wish for; everything comes with a price. Good luck and god bless you.”
His words barely registered until later that evening when a mishap occurred that seemed to underline his warning. As we enjoyed syphon coffee post-dinner, a barista accidentally tripped over Kath’s flowing dress. The resulting spill left her with first-degree burns, abruptly ending our night as we rushed to the emergency room. Though it was "just" a first-degree burn, the pain was significant enough to require several days off for Kath’s recovery. Amid the drama, I couldn't help but wonder about the cryptic caution from the man outside the store—had our fortunate streak come with a hidden cost?
We chalked up the coffee calamity to bad luck. The next month flowed smoothly: Kath's fingers healed, she returned to work, and I quickly found my groove at the new job. With all of us gainfully employed, our communal meals at the kitchen island became rare. My mornings were a whirlwind of grabbing breakfast and coffee on the go, followed by an hour's commute to a job that had me scarfing down instant noodles by nightfall, just in time for a quick shower.
As the busy season kicked in, my workload ballooned—not just from the seasonal uptick, but because I was hell-bent on proving my mettle. I quickly outshone most of my peers, and my employer, recognizing a budding overachiever, piled on major tasks, which I eagerly accepted. What started as the occasional hour of overtime soon devoured my weekends. Unpaid overtime, as the fine print in my contract gleefully noted, became my new norm. Driven by a mix of ambition and expectation, I had become the go-to young hotshot, the erstwhile record-breaker now expected to continually outdo myself.
Mentally, I was too swamped to entertain thoughts of anything beyond work, which, in a twisted way, felt like a break. Physically, however, the strain began to show. A bout of flu caught on a business trip escalated into a fever. Sick as I was, deadlines waited for no one, and I soldiered on medicated and miserable. By the time I made it home, my voice had abandoned me. Unable to utter a word the next morning, I resorted to emailing my manager about my sorry state.
That week, robbed of my voice, I mused that it was perhaps a well-deserved hiatus for my overworked vocal cords—a silent retreat if you will. But when my voice did return, it was as a raspy whisper, a shadow of its former crisp and melodious timbre. My doctor offered a grim prognosis: slight improvement might come, but the golden tones were gone for good—scarred by the relentless grind. Ah, the price of ambition—a scratchy throat as a permanent reminder of my corporate conquests.
It seemed I had unwittingly exchanged the clarity of my voice for the tumult of career success. In the midst of our domestic enchantment with the possibly mystical kitchen island, Kath unearthed the contact of a reputed psychic, hailed as the finest in the land. However, the consultation fee was nothing short of princely, and with Jaz vehemently dismissing anything that couldn't be explained by cold, hard science, she promptly opted out of splitting the bill. Kath and I, unwilling to drain our wallets on what could be mere phantasmagoria, reluctantly let the opportunity pass.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but notice a curious change in Jaz’s routine. She had ceased dining at the kitchen island, avoiding it as if it were cursed—or perhaps, in her view, simply out of style. The Saturday morning brought a particularly harsh twist: a murder of crows took to spiralling above our balcony, their cries as sharp as the plot of a Poe novel. We found ourselves drawn to the infamous kitchen island, lined up like the cast of a macabre play, silently praying for the birds to disperse. Kath, ever trying to restore some semblance of normalcy, offered up cups of Blue Mountain coffee. She absentmindedly inquired if I wanted cream or sugar in mine—a blunder that made me realize just how long it had been since our last coffee klatch at this very spot. My inner monologue couldn't resist a dark wish for the crows to scatter, perhaps too dark, for they began to dive bomb our balcony in a feathery kamikaze. The spectacle was enough to knock Jaz off her feet—literally—as her mug met its end on the floor. Kath, meanwhile, made a hasty retreat to worship the porcelain god, and I sat frozen, my brain offline, pondering the twisted power of our kitchen island's apparent wish-granting.
After the unnerving spectacle of crows turning our balcony into a scene straight out of a Hitchcock film, our first rational step—post-collective fainting, of course—was to summon cleaners to manage the feathery carnage. Then, still rattled but increasingly curious, we visited a psychic, who, contrary to the crystal-ball-gazer image, operated out of a posh boutique in a high-end mall and dressed more like she was headed to a fashion show than a séance. We laid bare our saga of the seemingly cursed kitchen island, complete with photographic evidence of where domestic bliss meets eerie phenomena.
The psychic introduced a term that chilled the air around us: “limbo,” the threshold between our world and the otherworldly, and she dubbed our kitchen island the "Devil’s Bargain Counter." According to her, our wishes came with a heavy and unpredictable price, because we have accidentally started trades with beings from the netherworld. Her advice was disarmingly simple: cease all trades on the island. To address the repercussions of past wishes, she advised us the first line of defence, which was an eclectic mix of offerings laid out on our cursed countertop: raw meat(rooster works the best), a cocktail of spices(coca and cinnamon preferably), liberal splashes of spirits(whiskey and rum ideally), and an eerie bouquet of black flowers(luckily I found some black roses at a flower shop of the mall). In a grander gesture of appeasement, Kath relinquished her shiny new diamond bracelet, Jaz her absurdly expensive headphones, and I parted with cash—— a hefty slice of my bonus in hopes of placating whatever capricious spirits we'd angered.
Our return to normalcy was brief but sweet, prompting us to plan a getaway, eager to forget about our nefarious kitchen island. Yet, the respite was merely a tease. Jaz, in a stroke of spectacular misfortune, narrowly dodged disaster twice in one day—first nearly becoming subway track fodder on her way back after work, and then almost getting knocked out by a rogue plant at our apartment building’s doorstep. Clearly, our previous offerings were mere appetizers to whatever forces we'd stirred. The psychic, summoned once again to our now-dubious sanctuary, decreed that the spirits had developed rather expensive tastes, unsatisfied by our initial gestures.
In a desperate bid for closure, we had the psychic over for a nighttime ritual, timed perfectly with Earth's closest approach to the netherworld, according to her. Our living room turned into a ritual chamber, with windows blacked out for days, to keep the otherworldly dealings strictly nocturnal. That night, we arranged ourselves around the island, now less a kitchen fixture and more an altar of last resort.
The psychic, amidst a chorus of Latin incantations, directed us through a chilling séance that included a mirror that reflected nothing but darkness and a burning black candle, the three of us sat in a row, joined hands, eyes closed. When the black candle was flickering at its last, the first eerie scratches heard prompted our eyes to open prematurely, we saw a command appear on the island, written by invisible hand and pen, in blood-red script, urging us to find the next "succeeder" before our lease on otherworldly disturbances could be terminated.
With bated breath, we agreed, and as if by magic, our signatures materialized on the countertop, then faded as the candle sputtered out. We tore off the black cardboard taped on the windows at dawn, the sunrise revealed a final message etched into the surface: "Debt cleared." As the daylight grew, the ominous inscription dissolved into nothingness, signalling the end of our spectral saga.
The ordeal, now officially behind us, left us enjoying a semblance of normalcy: life in 606 returned to its mundane rhythm, with dinners and movie nights back on our social calendar. Though not without its scars—literal and figurative.
It’s been two years since then, Jaz, in the throes of romantic bliss, is now gearing up for a new chapter waiting to be written alongside her soon-to-be spouse; Kath, her career finally taking a lucrative turn, was poised to upgrade her living situation, she secured a lease on a lavish serviced apartment in the city center—a place that matched her newfound financial swagger.
I’m not without my own leaps forward. With a modest boost from my parents, I took the plunge into homeownership, snagging a property within the city’s vibrant confines. The process was a whirlwind of paperwork and decorating decisions, culminating in a space I could truly call my own.
As we are packing up now, my last act is to type out our story, at the infamous island, and of course, I left a note in the fridge for the next tenants:
"Welcome to 606. We had a wonderful time here, especially at the kitchen island, filled with joy and unforgettable moments. We hope you find as much happiness as we did. Use the isle well. Warm wishes, the previous tenants."

Not sure what is going on with me. Ever since yesterday (Monday) evening, I have felt tightness in my chest when I breathe deeply. It wasn’t super noticeable until this morning. It did wake me up once in the night. Since this morning, I feel like I can’t breathe deeply and my lungs ache in my upper chest when I do , I am a bit short of breath, I have aches in my head, neck, and shoulders, slight cough when it feels like my breath is taken away, and I now have a fever (peaked at 102). I went to my doctor and had a negative COVID test, negative flu test, negative xray for pneumonia, and the ct scan showed no pneumonia or blood clot. My doctor is saying she suspects a viral infection but the chest tightness/lunch ache seems like a weird symptom of a virus.
Back story is I had my surgery may 1st and recovery went well. I used a brand new cool mist humidifier every night and most days. At night I will note that the humidifier would fog out my whole room to the point where it was visible. I was not warned by my ENT about pneumonia risk. I rested/laid down elevated majority of my recovery. I did get up periodically but did not know I should make a point of it.
Any advice???

My events are 100m 12.6 200m 26.09 400m 59.77 long jump 16 foot 7 inches (5.0546m) My I main 400m and Long jump
Does this workout have to much volume, to little, or is it just right? I dont know a lot about off season training any help/advice is appreciated
Monday-Max velocity/plyos/strength
20m flys x4-6 (3-5 min rest between reps)
Depth jumps 3x5
Weighted squat jumps 3x6
Kneeling to vert jumps 3x3
Box squats 3x6-8
Hang cleans 4x3
Nordic curls 2x6-8
Tibialis raises 2xFailure (Each foot)
Tuesday-Chest/triceps/shoulders/core
Bench press 3x8-12
Push ups 3x15-20
Tricep push downs 3x8-12
Lateral raises 3x8-12
Shoulder press 3x8-12
Leg raises 3x10-15
Russian twists 3x30
Plank 1 minute
Wednesday-Acceloration/Speed endurance/plyos/strength
20m Hill sprints x4-5 (3-5 min rest between reps)
(Every 3rd Wednesday no acceloration workout instead speed endurance workout)
150m x3 (5-8 min rest between reps)
Single leg box jumps 2x5 (Each leg)
Drop in broad jumps 4x3
Pogo jumps 4x20
Hip flexor training 2x15 (Each leg)
Weighted step ups 2x6-8 (Each leg)
Bulgarian split squats 2x8-12 (Each leg)
Calve raises 3x10-15
Thurday-Back/biceps/core
Pull ups 3x4-6
Single arm cable rows 2x8-12 (Each leg)
Barbell rows 3x6-8
Shoulder shrugs 3x8-12
Bicep curls 4x8-12
Leg raises 3x10-15
Russian twists 3x30
Plant 1 minute
Friday-Max velocity/plyos/strength
30m flys x3-4 (6-8 min rest between reps)
Depth jumps 3x5
Weighted squat jumps 3x6
Single leg bounds 3x10m (Each leg)
Squats 3x8-12
Hip thrusts 3x8-12
Quad extensions 3x10-15
Romanian Deadlifts 3x8-12
Saturday-Tempo run
5x200m 60%-65% (2-3 min rest between reps)
Sunday-Rest/recovery

The shadow reared up and inhaled deeply, a loud rush of air into a giant bellows.
The light from Hadrian’s aura sparked off the creature’s jet-black scales and burned back the darkness so that a soft, nimbus glow revealed the dusty throne room of a long-dead mountain fortress.
He knew his Aura wasn’t enough to defeat the mighty dragon or even to harm it. But the sting of its touch would provide a distraction, sap a portion of the dragon's power to defend against the light.
He smiled behind his visor. Wherever there was darkness, he would bring the light. This was his oath.
The dragon’s head reached nearly to the ceiling atop a long sinuous neck, thick as a tree, and covered in armored scales the color of midnight and stronger than steel. The creature’s body curved behind it, vast and muscled, covered in the same black scales and leathery wings folded at its sides. Shiny black talons like curved longswords dug deep ruts into the stone floor. The dragon was a terrifying sight to behold, power-given flesh. Any other man would have trembled at the sight of it, lost his bowels to fear and his mind to madness. But Hadrian was no ordinary man. He was a Paladin of the White Rose, armored in his faith and blessed by his god. He traveled the land, hunting out the dark. That meant evil trembled before him.
The dragon probed the defenses shielding Hadrian’s mind from psionic attacks. He felt this as a slight pressure in his thoughts, the featherlight touch of falling gossamer. Then it was gone—repelled by the strength of his mental wards.
The dragon roared its fury.
Hadrian stood tall before Xegotargetol, the mightiest of the shadow dragons.
Slowly, he drew Dawnstar from its sheath and held it aloft, paying homage to his god. The sword gleamed like polished silver, double-edged and etched down both sides of the blade with intricate runes of power. In his other hand, he held Smite, a mighty tower shield the color of ivory and traced with shimmering runes. A gift from High Priest Adleson for the head of an ancient and terrible scourge.
“Fool!” Xegotargetol’s voice was a crash of thunder. Chunks of masonry fell from the ceiling. Dust drifted down. “You think to match your feeble power against mine?” Xegotargetol’s eyes glowed terribly in the dark, livid with crimson rage.
The air around Hadrian began to tingle, and the hairs on his arms under his armor stirred, like in the moments before a lightning strike.
Hadrian lifted his shield.
A bolt of crackling power thundered from the dragon’s maw, arcing and clawing toward him with murderous exaltation.
Hadrian muttered a word of power. Runes glowed to life on Smite.
He caught the lightning on his shield, and the metal heels of his burnished sabatons screeched sparks on the stone as he was pushed back. Ozone filled the air, and the roaring snap and crack of the lightning drowned out the dragon’s laughter. “You will not defeat me, foolish human!”
Hadrian clenched his teeth, muscles aflame, and with trembling effort, crossed his blade over the place where the lightning writhed on the face of his shield. There was a loud clap and a mighty roar, and Hadrian stumbled forward a step as the force pressing against him abruptly vanished.
Smoke rose from his shield. He peered over it, sword held at the ready.
Wisps rose from the dragon’s scales, dull and charred.
“Clever trick,” Xegotargetol growled out the words. “But it will not save you.”
Power gathered around the dragon until the air shimmered. “Behold, I am unleashed! Be gone, fool human!” The dragon reared back and snapped its maw forward like the tail on the end of a whip. A sphere of smoldering darkness streaked toward Hadrian.
He muttered a prayer to his god and braced his shield for the impact.
Darkness enveloped him.
Not the kind of utter blackness you’d find at the bottom of a grave, but a flickering, seething murk that carried him away on a flood of rapids. He clutched his shield close and his sword closer. On and on, he tumbled and spun, dashed among the inky waves until a bright speck appeared in the distance, growing in size with each heartbeat.
A moment later, Hadrian clattered out of the light onto hard ground, rolling and skidding to a stop. He lay there for a long moment, breathless and bruised, his mind reeling with all that had happened.
You were a fool ever to think you could defeat me. The words came as a fading whisper in his mind.
He rolled over and pushed himself up on hands and knees, and froze.
The ground was made of dark metal, and the air carried a blend of strange scents and dizzying sounds. Strangefolk in strange attire gathered around him, murmuring in words he could not understand. They held small devices that emitted a dot of light and wore art painted on their bare arms and shoulders. Evil spawn.
Hadrian rose to his feet, sword and shield at the ready. He turned slowly in place, studying the people as anxiety swelled in his heart. Massive buildings of exotic design surrounded him, soaring to disappear high into the sky. Lights in every color imaginable blinded him, blared strange music and jumping pictures. Strange beasts roared past in the air. But the strangest thing of all was the moon, or rather, that there were two of them, one half the size of the other; both glowing a pale, hazy blue.
What abyss is this?
Then, a familiar sight snagged his eye. He stopped, staring at a reflection.
It was him, standing in his armor, silver plate inlaid with ivory and bronze, fancy traceries running up and down his arms and over his chest. There could be no mistake. But it wasn’t a reflection, was it? This was something else, some kind of apparition. A magic projection contained within a wide rectangular simulacrum taller than his father’s inn.
He took in his surroundings, dread building to a boil.
This was not Aeterna or any place he’d ever heard of. This was some kind of hell, a decaying abyss full of madmen and fevered dreams. This was his nightmare made reality.
A metal dragon covered in flashing lights roared down out of the sky. It screamed words at him he did not understand.
I warned you, fool.
Hadrian firmed his jaw and hefted his sword. Time to cleanse this place.

Humans don’t look like much at first glance.
Herevordal had heard the stories of human berserkers and their battle lust, adrenaline, it was called. Fearsome stories, to be sure. Yet he’d never had the pleasure of battling one sword to sword through all the years of war, until now.
One stood not ten meters from him in the center of the battleship’s main corridor. And he had to admit he was unimpressed. Soft skin, small, no natural weapons, no armor. But at second glance, he saw the eyes, piercing and fathomless. You could tell a lot by reading the Kaal in your enemy’s eyes.
The human stood shirtless and glistening, small wounds striping its body, holding some kind of energy weapon. Herevordal sneered. Only a coward used such things in single combat. A true warrior needed only his blade. Though he shouldn’t have been surprised, this was a human. Yet the eyes gave him pause. Predatory, violent. A promise of death. Perhaps there was more here than what showed on the surface. Herevordal decided to proceed with caution.
The human glanced at Herevordal’s Sha’kai, the large crescent-shaped blade of a Rahkee—the mark of a true warrior. The human shifted its gaze from the Sha’kai into Herevordal’s eyes and, astonishingly, tossed its energy rifle aside. Slowly, the human drew a long, slender sword from a scabbard belted at his hip. How had Herevordal not noticed it before?
He shifted his gaze to the corpses of his Rahkee brethren strewn down the corridor behind the human, limbs tangled in death or curled peacefully around their wounds. Fear stirred his back spines. Could this one human truly have defeated a dozen of the elite Re’Kael guard by itself?
No. That wasn’t possible. There must be others about. Many others. They were probably all dead now, and this was the last of their horde.
Herevordal sublimated the fear rising in his twin hearts and drew himself up to his full towering height. The transverse, spiny crest on his head snapped up and rattled, heightening the effect.
The human showed no reaction.
“Come,” Herevordal growled in his native tongue. “Time to die, human.”
The human cocked its head. It showed a flash of teeth. Square, dull, unimpressive. Herevordal was told this was called a smile; it suggested amusement. He growled deep in his throat.
“You dare mock me? You have no honor.”
The human’s sword came up, and it kissed the blade, muttered something Herevordal did not understand, then, with a sudden rush, leaped forward, accelerating faster than Herevordal would have believed possible.
He brought his Sha’kai up to guard, following the human with his eyes. Gods, but the thing was fast, nearly a blur. Yet he was confident he could anticipate the coming strike.
At the last moment, as Herevordal moved to parry, the human juked left, spun into the air, and bounced off the wall, its blade whistling in a high, downward killing arc.
Herevordal didn’t even have time to flinch.
It wasn’t possible. Nothing could move so swiftly at such abrupt angles. *Gods! *
His Sha’kai never came close to the human’s steel.
There was a flash of hot pain across Herevordal’s throat and a second sharp explosion in his skull.
Darkness.

33, male, 135lbs, 5’9
Non smoker, ZYN user No drugs, no drinking
No medication
I’ll preface this by saying I’m a veteran with PTSD, however I’ve had lifelong GI issues wayyyy before the military, mostly ibs and GERD. In 2020 I started getting severe pain in my “epigastric” area solar plexus whenever I eat. I’m talking 10/10 pain and it remains until my digestive tract in fully empty the next morning.
I went to a local community GI he did a endoscopy found grade A esophagitis and referred me up to Boston. The motility specialist I saw looked at my chart on the first visit saw PTSD and before even doing any tests told me I had functional dyspepsia and it was a miscommunication between my brain and gut. I insisted on tests anyway and got the full work up. Despite me having clinical evidence on my PH study twice showing GERD she said it wasn’t enough to cause damage and irrelevant, (yet I’ve had esophagitis since 2020)? I feel like I’m being gaslit.
She has had me try, every PPI, every TCA antidepressant, Lyrica, Wellbutrin, gabbapentin and nothing has helped, some actually landed me in the hospital. She is at a point where she said I’ve failed treatment and there’s nothing else she can do. I went back to my community GI in November 2023 and he did another endoscopy found I still had esophagitis and mentioned a feeding tube since I’ve lost so much weight and said he’d continue to monitor me for malignancy over the years.
I’m not sitting around in 10/10 pain for the rest of my life and I’m sure as hell not waiting to get cancer. What are my options here? How do I find someone willing to be impartial and find the cause of the pain/dyspepsia and not give up on me? I’m in such bad pain I’m becoming suicidal and I can’t really take it anymore. It’s ruining my entire life and I have no idea how or where to get help. Side note I do see mental health specialists for my PTSD.

I hate people, why am I the one ending up like this, f*cking fuming with anger but can't talk/reason with the person, can't punch anything, so it's crying and hyperventilating and then the wave of pain remembering/ knowing theres no comfort at the end, imagining a parent figure drop to their knees and hug the kid in pain, (even though I'm an adult now)
Just get yourself back up, tomorrows another day honey, come on, tomorrows one day closer to something better
It's ok, we don't need people, not those people, who just make life so hard
And then the not caring sets in, love a bit of detachment, fuck em, wouldn't want their help anyway, I can do it on my own, who needs to feel soothed by someone, I never have and I don't need to start tonight

40/F, 5’6”, 110 lbs. It started in my ring finger in February. Soaking it in epsom salt and using neosporin helped, but it wouldn’t go away. Telehealth doctor prescribed Amox/Clav 875mg/125mg in March. That and the soaking helped, but still didn’t go away. Saw a dermatologist in April and was prescribed a topical antibiotic (Neo-synalar) and recommended adding a vinegawater soak to my routine. Between the cream and 4 soaks a day, it got a lot better but not gone. Went on vacation 2 weeks ago so I stopped my routine for 4 days, and it’s back with a painful vengeance. I’m still soaking 4x/day and using the neo-synalar and it’s not helping. I also took Cedfinir 300mg for a UTI at the end of March, and Amoxicillin 500mg mid April for strep throat. I would love to not have to take antibiotics again but I don’t know what to do anymore. Help!! Thank you in advance!

Age: 37M white 5'8" 161lbs
Hi all-- I was somewhat of a heavy drinker late into my 20s and early 30s, otherwise healthy. I did have an unknown stomach issue from 2020 through 2021 that exhibited GERD-like symptoms (which was the remote clinical diagnosis due to COVID lockdown), but it mysteriously disappeared over the course of 2 months and has never resurfaced. I lost a good 20 pounds during that time and really was only able to eat bland food apart from the monthly attempts to reintroduce normal foods/spices/acidic drinks/alcohol back into my diet.
Buzzed my head this morning as I always do, and I never noticed these spots before (though I very rarely pay attention to the back of my head).
I am concerned that this may be liver-related and will get tests later on this week as I have also felt occasional discomfort in my right ribcage over the last couple of months (occasional sharp pain, 2-3 out of 10). Back in February, the doctor thinks that I could have pulled some sort of muscle in my ribcage and suggested I monitor over the coming weeks. At that time, metabolic tests were normal as well as GGT/total estrogen levels/platelet count.
Have noticed what look like 3 small spider angiomas on the face (2-3mm wide, looks like a single capillary) and, while they could have been there for years, I just noticed them over the past month or so.
The spots on the back of my head are flat, not raised, and I don't feel anything out of the ordinary (no itching, pain etc.). If I press down on them, they disappear for a second and come back.
Pictures here and here.
Thanks in advance!

Spacers came, and spacers went.
And the airlock doors to Tug's Roadhouse never stopped spinning.
“Another,” Rory pushed his glass across the polished mahogany bar and signaled the owner. He preferred Tug’s place over other joints in this sector because the staff were organic. No Bots or drones. Who could have a meaningful conversation with a drone?
“Same,” said Xueagtol, adding her glass to Rory’s. “And none of that synth shit either. The good stuff, Tug. From the glass bottles.”
Tug grunted, turned and selected a large rectangular bottle full of dark liquor from a vast array of options. “Ice?” he rumbled over the music playing softly in the background.
“Nah,” Rory said. “Not for me.”
“One cube,” Xueagtol grinned. “I like a little sparkle in my drinks.”
Tug grunted.
A single square crystalline cube clinked into her glass. The liquor glugged softly, and the ice snapped and cracked. Then he filled Rory’s glass.
“Where’s Hastion?” Tug asked, glancing around the large but sparsely populated lounge. “Never see you guys without him. He still favor Farstarian Sundrop for his drink?”
Rory lowered his eyes to the bar and fiddled with his fingers. Xueagtol glanced at him, then back to Tug. Her four dark eyes glittered with hidden pain. “He is here, Tug,” she said, gesturing at a small brass urn sitting on the bar in front of the seat beside her.
Tug blinked, scratched at his long golden mane, and studied the urn. He hadn’t noticed it before. Was this some kind of joke?
“I don’t understand.”
Rory looked up. “We promised him a last drink to send him off.”
Xueagtol nodded and sniffed. “Never be another one like Hastion.”
It hit Tug, then. The urn. The subdued mood and sad eyes.
“What happened?” His voice was a gentle roll of thunder.
“Nothing,” Rory said, lifting his glass to his lips and sipping. “Old age. Found him in his bed.”
Xueagtol sipped her drink and nodded. A single blue tear broke free from one of her eyes and tumbled down her cheek. “Miss him.”
“Yeah,” Rory said.
Tug set the bottle down and turned to reach for a clear decanter of softly luminous orange liquor. He filled a tumbler to the brim and gently set it before the urn.
“Here’s to Hastion,” he said and lifted the bottle to his lips.
Rory and Xueagtol nodded appreciatively and did the same.
Tug emptied half the bottle before he stopped to breathe. He looked thoughtful. “I’ll be right back,” he said, holding up a claw-tipped finger and setting the bottle down.
He disappeared into the offices behind the bar and returned a moment later. He had three thick Gendari cigars in his big paw.
“Gonna send him off proper,” Tug said, brandishing a silver lighter.
Rory shared a look with Xueagtol. A few patrons passing by gave Tug strange eyes.
“No smoking in facilities in Fed territories,” Rory said. “Could shut you down.”
Xueagtol said nothing.
She stared at the cigars in Tug’s paw like she’d never seen something so spectacular.
Tug shrugged and refilled their drinks. “Fuck it,” he rumbled. “That the right way to say it?” He was looking at Rory.
Rory grinned. “Yea. You got it.”
Tug nodded. “Good. Then I’ll say it again. Fuck it. Fuck the Fed. This is my place.” He glanced at the urn. Hastion had been coming to his bar for as long as he could remember. Wasn’t right to see him off without a traditional smoke.
He handed them their cigars and lifted the other to his lips. He bit down and smiled with his teeth. Tears showed in his eyes, but they didn’t fall. Hastion was as good as they come, a proper spacer with leather hide, ice for blood and sunshine for a heart.
He said as much to Rory and Xueagtol as he lit their smokes. They nodded and lifted their glasses in salute. “To Hastion.”
They spent the next few hours reminiscing about the good times, recalling Hastions’ daring exploits. He'd lived three lifetimes in his short years. A hell-raising, fem-chasing Farstar of impeccable tastes.
The lights were low, and the bar empty, when the last drinks were emptied and the smokes crushed out.
They stood before the small galley airlock and watched the urn drift into the darkness. It was what Hastion wanted.
He was home.

I started my grounding sheet approx a week ago. I could feel the minor vibrations when I slept on the sheet. I’ve never had sleeping problem before but one of my client recommend me so I thought that I would give it a try.
My review after using it for a week, it was like extremely deep sleep, like I have gone too far then I felt difficult to come back, in turns I slept in in the morning which has never happened to me before. And also lots of vivid dreams that I could remember them afterwards.
Then I started to develop some flu symptoms, itchy throat, headache, body pain. ; but I’m not sure if that’s because the temperature drops recently)
I slept with my husband. My husband doesn’t feel any change. He used to toss and flip when he was sleeping and woke me up. Last week I didn’t wake up by this issue. I have no idea if he stopped it or I just went into deep sleep thus I couldn’t feel it.
I turned off the power of the sheet last night, and I woke up fresh. No feeling of going too far and vivid dreams and woke up fresh n got up straight away.
It did some changes to me but I don’t think they are positive to me. However I’m not going to return the sheet maybe I’ll give it a go when I actually develop some sleeping issues.

Before anyone tells me to just go to the emergency room, i already did. that's why i'm resorting to reddit. (for reference im an 18 year old female. 5’7 and 132 pounds. only medical history is two seizures in 2023 diagnosed as PNES) i smoke weed every day and vape, alcohol consumption maybe once a week if anything. i’m on birth control and take seroquel 50mg every night. it started a little over a month ago. i've been working two jobs so i figured it was the usual back pain. fast forward to about two or three weeks ago, and i can't get through a shift without crying or taking otc pain relievers. about 5 days ago i woke up in agonizing pain, throwing up, shakes, all that shit. went to the emergency room, assuming it could be appendicitis. as i'm walking in i can feel this round ball/organ rubbing up against my right lower stomach, a little lower than my belly button. The ER staff gave me a CT scan and all the other standard tests. my appendix was clear and so were my ovaries, however i was told they can't see everything with only the equipment in the ER. the only thing that was found was the smallest abnormality in my pee. i've had a kidney infection and excruciating utis run in the family so i'm no stranger. there are zero issues with urination, a little constipation but this pain is completely on the right side. this is not that i'm almost 100% sure. they put me on antibiotics and gave me 350 mg naproxen for the pain and 500mg cephalexin, said to come back in a few days if it still hurts. it's been almost a week and the pain is the same if not worse. i'm scared and i don't rlly know what to do or what this could be, any ideas are much appreciated :/

Hi, all,
I’ve been dilating (very inconsistently—will fix this) for 2 months now and my issue is the length of the dilators. Both the smallest dilator (equivalent to IR dilator 1) and second smallest (equivalent to IR dilator 2) go up about the same length before I hit something that hurts.
I prefer size 2 (size 1 is too pointy) but I am really struggling to get it up farther, right now I think I’m getting about 2 inches in. The pain isn’t bad, like 2/10 and dull, but it stops me from pushing further and I’m not sure what I’m touching. Is it possible I’m not angling it right? I’ve tried standing and laying down.
I don’t think girth is as much of an issue for me as length—even my bf can penetrate a few inches before he hits a wall and he is about the size of IR 8. Any advice?

I don't really know what i'm looking for here. Advice? but also trying to find a way to write this down without it all seeming absolutely mental.
My father has been an alcoholic for as long as i can remember. Growing up there has been more than one occasion me and my mum have fled to a hotel overnight or went and lived with my nan for a number of weeks before my dad would come begging for my mum to come back (spoiler: she did). When I was 12 he pushed my mother into the fireplace and broke her arm. I remember being told we had to tell everyone that the dog did it running into her. It was always seemingly perfectly timed around some sort of important event (e.g the night before i had my first a level exam). I could list off things that have happened but we'd be here all night so i'll skip ahead. My mother never left him.
Back then he was what you would call a high functioning alcoholic. Binged Friday, Saturday and sometimes Sunday night but maintain the normal work week life. My mum would say he was a different person in the weekdays, on the weekdays he was David, and on the weekends he was 'Dave'. Over the years hes got worse but since the pandemic he has sunk so low that I didn't know it was possible without a body failing. He is his own boss now in his company and so with that mixed with work from home he will be binge drinking almost every night. When he drinks he is incredibly abusive to my mother. He will send her abusive text messages when she has excused herself to bed early. He has blocked her cards before when she goes out grocery shopping in order to embarrass her. He hides her items around the house. Broke her phone multiple times so she cannot contact me.
Just before the pandemic he convinced her to move away from her family to a new city 2 hours away (alot for uk) I'm now 28 living in Norway with a family of my own. I didn't set out to move to a different country but it has led to my mother being even further isolated. When we visited 2 summers ago and i was pregnant I walked in on him holding a knife to my mums throat in the kitchen and when I got him off her he tried to attack me (all was okay but incredibly scary). Ever since this i have been recording incidents down as they happen and sending them to myself so I have the memories as they were at the time incase i need it in the future.
I tried to get my mum to call the police and she is just too scared to do it. She is scared if she finds somewhere to go she will not be able to to take her dogs with her (2 golden retrievers) and they truly are her babies. He has also been working on her to tell her she is the abusive one, not him and that's where i lead to.
I talk to my mum on the phone almost everyday around 8pm so she can talk to her grandson a little and we talk about how things are. the last few days shes been telling me about my dads recent ailments. a few days ago he fell down the stairs from drinking and has smashed his shoulder in and needs an x-ray. He has turned this into saying my mother did it to him and she is abusing him. Last night he went out to get more alcohol and the bag with his red wine broke and smashed on the floor, he stood on it and got a deep cut on his foot. Now he is saying my mother has also done this to him,
Today I get a message on my phone from him telling me that he is filing for divorce from my mother on the grounds of physical abusive.... that she will get no money and its what best. she thinks he is clever enough that he will be able to pull this off...
I just can't believe the audacity of this man, but i'm also really scared for my mum. In my honest opinion he needs sectioning.
I wonder if anyone has been through anything similar with an abusive partner and have any outcomes they can share with me?
tldr: my abusive father is filing for divorce against my mother and saying she is the abusive one. She thinks he will be able to convince people of this and she will end up with nothing. How can i help her?

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}
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Back in 2020 one of my employees/friends was crossing the street in Midtown after his shift & was hit by a drunk driver. He was on the shoulder, she swerved into the other lane and then swerved into the shoulder and struck him. He battled & battled, unfortunately he ended up passing away from the extent of injuries. It was bad. & I had a front row view. Fast forward to last week girlie finallyyyyy gets her day in court. They asked me to provide a victim statement & was told it would help the judge with sentencing. I debated on doing this for so many reasons, but ended up providing the statement in front of the court because it’s what he deserves. Well once I got to court, we realized she had already agreed to a plea. They were pretty much letting me say my statement for ‘closure’ is what I was told by a victim counselor. Reckless driving, no time served. In 5 years that will come off her record. That is it. Now I know nothing will make this better or reverse it. I know that ruining girlies life is NOT what I want. But how in the fuck is she walking away from killing someone?!?! That day in court last week was the first time that any of us had even seen the girl. She sat in court waiting for her case giggling with her husband & talking about lunch plans. When she gets up to the stand she looks at the ceiling the whole entire time. No remorse. No guilt. Nada. Apparently this judge is known as ‘the defense judge’ and is often agreeing to pleas. I have a friend with a DUI charge (didn’t get as lucky with the judge assigned to her case apparently) & she ended up spending 48 hours in jail & was on probation for 2 years plus a lot more nonsense. She killed no one. Not super sure what the point of this post was but I’m sad, frustrated & all those images I worked so very hard to get away from years ago are now painfully fresh & for what? It just seems that he got absolutely no justice & no one knows or cares about it. I know that every single day people are failed by our justice system & that is truly so awful & disappointing & im not trying to belittle anyone else’s situation, etc

About a week ago, I posted to the subreddit about my recent lower back pain. Following some advice, I fast tracked a doctor's appointment I already had to see about the pain. The doctor didn't do any of the slump test or straight leg tests or whatever, but did talk to me about the pain and felt my back and all.
Coming out of it, the doctor said it was muscle spasms, I walked out with two shots (solumedrol and ketorolac) and three pill medications (Medrol, Tramadol, and Methocarbamol). The Tramadol was a 3day supply, and the Medrol was in a pack that decreased the dosage every day, so today I'm basically just on the Methocarbamol; I have maybe like 5 days more of the medicine.
I feel a lot better recently, but I don't know how much of that might go away when I stop the Methocarbamol, as that's the muscle relaxant. I'm hoping there's not return of too much pain, since the medicine makes me a little foggy, so I'd prefer to be off it. My sleep still sorta suffers, and the positions that I've found to help (on my side with pillows) is sorta unnatural to me, since usually that was a way of making my back feel bad (I have to like curl up a lot more than usual).
But in the meantime, some other issues have cropped up. I've recently been having some upper back pain, though this is a more traditional stiff back sort of pain. Perhaps my upper back is in some way compensating, or it's not used to me sitting with a proper posture. Similarly, I've also been getting a stiff neck; it feels like a I have a crick in it that I can't crack. (Also, though not really an issue, my back cracks really easily? Like, if I'm sitting down, and realize my posture is slightly off, shifting to that posture cracks my back? It's weird.)
I've also started to sit with a more proper posture, get up more often from my desk, and I have started doing the "Big 3" exercises and some glute exercises, in the hope of mitigating future back pain. I'm basically following this exact webpage entirely, so hopefully everything there is correct. I didn't realize how much the Big 3 exercises were like, actual exercise, so I'm currently doing them like every other day instead of every day.
I'm just wondering is there anything more I can do to help my current situation, and to help prevent issues in the future.

• Signalment: male, 1 year old Maine coon cat, neutered, 8.7kg
  
• Short history: repeated regurgitation daily/every other day and diarrhoea from my Maine coon. No apparent lethargy or lack of appetite.
  
• Clinical signs: frequent regurgitation, chronic diarrhoea, bad breath.
  
• Length of time you have seen these changes: approx 3-4 months total, it was infrequent at first, now it’s almost daily.
  
• Your general location: UK
  

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Hello all, I’ll preface this by saying I’m booking a vet appointment ASAP, but I hoped someone could potentially shed some light on what may be happening with my cat.
I have a just over one year old Maine Coon cat, fully registered from a reputable breeder. For the last few months he’s had issues with frequent regurgitation and diarrhoea. His food has not changed, he’s an indoor only cat so it’s unlikely he’s come into contact with anything. What’s strange is he will sometimes go 2-3 days with normal poops/no regurgitation, but then it comes on all of a sudden. I’ve ruled out certain flavour foods being the issue as it’s always a different flavour each time.
I do not think it’s an environmental issue as I have another Maine Coon who eats the same food, lives in the same house and has none of these issues. We have no toxic house plants or any potential hazards he could have ingested.
He does not eat particularly quickly, he’s fairly picky with his food, he rarely clears his plate fully, and does not gorge himself. I’ve tried reducing his portions and feeding him more frequently and this has not helped. I’ve also tried changing his food to a different brand and this also did not help (slow changeover to new brand over a 2 week period). Rarely gets table scraps, if he does it’s usually small amounts of rotisserie chicken or very rarely, a cube of freshly cooked salmon. He is drinking fine, so I’m not too concerned with him being dehydrated. I pulled his scruff back and his skin is springing back to normal immediately. He has 2 water fountains and enjoys drinking from the sink, he loves playing in water. He’s otherwise a happy, boisterous cat, loves to play.
His teeth are fine, no redness in his gums, they’re a normal pink colour, no loose teeth or any plaque. No belly distension, no apparent pain when I touch his abdomen (he lives for belly rubs). There was a point maybe 6 weeks ago when he was off his food, vomiting, total lack of appetite, refused his favourite yoghurt treat which is extremely abnormal, but this lasted maybe 12 hours and the day after he was back to normal so we never went to the vet.
I’ve added a daily probiotic powder to his breakfast for the last month but this has not helped.
He has had a once over with the vet around 2-3 months ago and I mentioned it at this point but as it had just started and was infrequent, the vet was not concerned. I’ll be taking him for testing to hopefully rule out any parasites or infections. I’ve been hesitant to go to the vets till this point as I have a hair trigger reaction any time either of them so much as sneezes, and my husband is convinced I’m over reacting and it’s a normal cat thing, but frankly for the duration it’s been happening I do not think this is normal.
Can anyone offer advice on what I should ask my vet to test for? I feel like I’m going in blind and all my googling is leading me round in circles for issues that don’t fit his symptoms. I just want him to be comfortable because right now, I can’t imagine he is.
TIA x

So i shared som pics on Reddit earlier asking if anyone Could se any swelling (got like one comment and the person said he/she Could def see it). At that point the swelling felt like it was deep down behind the muscle. I sent the pics to My doc she said i looked fine so i trusted that. Today a week later 2 tiny things have popped up on the place i «imagine» im swollen. Can only see them When turning My head, they Are very small (or i dont know normal size of lymphs actually, never seen one, if thats what it even is tho haha) and not painfull or anything.
1-2 pic is the tiny stuff 3pic 1week ago relaxed looking fwd 4pic 1week ago looking to the sides
Btw, ive been on sick leave for some weeks already because of so much pain in My body and rheumatic bloodwork just came back negative. I dont want to bother My doc again, so i’ll try here hehe

Hello! I’m a dancer that needs a bra for a performance. It needs to be clear shoulder straps and clear back strap. I’ve tried bras from specific dance brands but they never fit. For reference I am a 34H in Us size and An FF in UK size. Help!!!

Last week Thursday when I took my Apple Watch off before going to bed I noticed a red welt about the size of a nickel on my skin under the watch face. It was mildly irritated, but did not itch, so I didn’t think anything of it, put a small bit of healing balm over it and went to bed. In the morning when I went to put my watch on I noticed it was blistered and quite red, so I didn’t put my watch on. As the day went on and I watched, it looked like a burn. There was zero irritation around the spot, other than some redness, nothing extending like a rash or anything indicative of an allergic reaction, no hives and no itch. It wasn’t painful, but was sore to the touch. Being human, I googled “Apple Watch wound” and the photos that came up all looked exactly like what was on my wrist and said their watch had burned them.
So I reached out to Apple, assuming there must be something malfunctioning on the watch itself. When I gave the reason for my call I was immediately told I’d need to speak to a “senior safety technician” and was transferred. He was nice enough, but asked me about a dozen questions about the “irritation spot” (he never used the word burn or wound), my personal medical history (any history of allergies, eczema, or skin conditions) and asked for photos of the wound as well as a clear photo of the front and back of my watch. I was told he’d send the report to their advanced engineering department for investigation. I found it a little odd that they didn’t have me do any kind of diagnostics with the watch, but he told me someone would call me back Tuesday and I thought maybe that was when we’d go through some diagnostic steps.
Cut to today, the same person called me back to tell me it had been determined that what likely happened is I’m having an allergic reaction to something in the watch itself, and/or some kind of irritant got onto the back of the watch and I need to clean it “better”. I’m a little offended because I wasn’t seeking their opinion on the wound itself, if it gets concerning I’ll reach out to an actual doctor, not an engineering technician who is only looking at a photo.
I told him I am only reaching out to Apple to have them investigate potential issues with the actual watch, and I find it unreasonable that they can tell me there’s nothing wrong with the watch because they looked at a picture of the front and back, and didn’t check it in person or run any kind of diagnostics. He said if it made me feel better, he’d set me up with an in person appointment at an Apple Store to have the watch checked in person.
I am concerned that they are going to look at the watch and claim there is nothing wrong with it. I haven’t been wearing it because I want to let the spot heal, which it is, and I know that I can’t operate on what if’s. I guess what I’m looking for is advice on anything I should or shouldn’t do or say. I don’t want to forfeit any future liability against them should something happen again with the same watch, but I also am not looking to start some huge class action lawsuit. I honestly just want to be able to wear and use my watch again without worrying that it’s going to harm me. I just get the feeling they won’t admit to any kind of problem with the watch because then they’d be admitting liability to the wound, and I’m stuck with a watch I either can’t wear anymore or will wear but it’ll potentially continue to cause physical issues.
I did not go to the doctor, because it’s a mild wound and doesn’t appear infected. It’s healing and I’m keeping it clean.
Watch is an Apple Watch series 9 45mm GPS purchased from Apple in September 2023. I wear it with a braided solo loop band purchased with the watch and I always wear it in the same spot on my left wrist, for about 12-14 hours per day since I got it without any issues or signs of skin irritation. I do not sleep, shower, swim, or exercise with it on. Prior to this I had a series 6 that I wore the same way on the same wrist for about 2-3 years. I did try wearing it on my right wrist the day after this happened, and noticed a red spot where the face makes contact after about an hour so I took it off. I will say, though, it’s much more snug on my right wrist than my left. The watch is still under warranty with Apple Care+. I clean it about once a week with a microfiber cloth, and do not use any kind of cleaning agents on it.
I am located in Michigan, if that matters.
Thank you so much for any guidance in advance! I know this was long, I just wanted to give any and all details that could be important.