Bill Rogers locked the garage door, slid the hose into the driver’s side window, climbed into the back seat, laid down and shut his eyes. When he woke up, he was surrounded by clouds and a blue sky. A man, neither young nor old stood next to him. He wore a coat like an Afghan goat herder, Bill thought, maybe made of sheepskin, or cowhide—tough to say, as Bill was no expert in husbandry. The man was small where Bill was large. Bill was six-three and two hundred and fifty pounds. He had played tight-end in college and lorded his physical stature over small men all his life. He felt it gave him an advantage at contract negotiations. He always made sure to be sitting when the opposing lawyers walked in because his size was hidden. Then he would stand up from behind table—a great reveal, a physical imposition—in an effortless attempt to intimidate the other team. It was mostly an effective strategy. The man, nearly a foot shorter, and a petite lady’s-weight less was standing almost eye-level with Bill. He sheepishly looked at Bill and asked if he was happy now.

“I suppose so,” Bill answered, rather dazed and unaware of all that was happening. “Are you God?” asked Bill. The old man smiled knowingly and set his delicate hand on Bill’s shoulder. “What can I do to make you comfortable?” Bill attempted to stand up but the man’s hand held him in place without applying any extra force. “A scotch would be nice! Do they serve scotch in heaven?” he laughed. The man laughed and gave Bill a scotch.

“Let me tell you, God, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it! When do we go through the pearly gates?”

“I’m afraid you’ve seen too many Hollywood movies. That’s not how it works. Tell me, how was life on Earth?”

“Well, I guess you can tell by how I checked out it wasn’t great. But I am feeling better now. Sometimes you just need a good night’s sleep, I guess, right?”

“I guess so. You weren’t very happy down there. But that’s what I’m here for. You can fix it all now. Tell me, what went wrong in your life?”

“Wait, is this Purgatory then?”

He chuckled, “No. Don’t be silly. What went wrong down there?”

“I knew it—those nuns were all off. Well, for one, I worked too much. I spent 80, 90, 100 hours a week every week for years—hell, probably decades when you add it all up—in the office, chasing the ring, getting the promotion.” His thought broke and he looked at the man and said, “you know I cleared 950-k last year?” Sinking back into his thoughts, “but it wasn’t enough for her. She could give Cleopatra a run for her money. Man she could spend. I worked all the time, always on the road to a different client’s office, eating airport food, never exercising. Traded my health and youth for wealth, then she got to enjoy it. I ended up all alone in my big house, all by myself and my LonelyFans Platinum subscription. Look at me, I got so fat no pretty woman could stand to look at me. If I could do it again, I’d go back and just make 60k a year, keep my health, my good looks, and go to clubs every night and dance with beautiful women. I wasted so much.”

“Wow, thanks for being so honest, Bill. I’m glad you were honest, because now I can give you the chance to fix it. I am going to give you the opportunity to craft the life you always wanted, the life you dreamed of! This is your chance Bill, to do it right this time. You had a full life, you tried out things: some worked, some didn’t—that trip to Tokyo probably didn’t help your marriage, did it; but now that’s all behind, now you get to create the perfect one based on everything you learned. Now you get to play God to yourself. You will have the power to create any life you want: money, women, food, servants, power, glory, the revenge on everybody who did you wrong—anything.”

“Oh, Good Lord, heaven is even better than Mother Superior led on! I get to do that? Now?”

“Yes, I’m granting you this power. Total freedom to do what you want. You deserve it! You’ve earned it, Bill.”

“Ok, so what do I do? Just point and make something happen?”

“Sure,” he said with a chuckle, “everybody always wants to point at things like some Vegas magician. The entire creation was spoken into existence, but ever since Adam people want to point things into existence—whatever makes them happy, I guess. Anyway, you’ve got the power of the Lord, do it however you want!”

Bill pointed to a cloud in front of him and a new truck appeared before his eyes. “Holy moly, I can’t believe it’s real.” The sun reflecting off the chrome was just a big blur to Bill Rogers water-filled eyes. He had to squint to see that it had the turbodiesel engine he had imagined. “I’m not going to get carried away on the wealth. I learned my lesson there. It doesn’t buy happiness. I had eight digits in my savings account,” he looked to see if the man was listening, “and look at where that got me. No, just a simple life for me,” he pointed to a cloud and four-bed, three-bath house with in-law suite and three car garage next to a lush green lawn appeared. It fronted a cul-de-sac. “You can’t take it with you, right?” he laughed.

“Is that it, Bill? What else do you want?”

“Well, like I said, I want to be young and healthy.” His stomach disappeared into his abdominal muscles and the brown spots and wrinkles on his hands vanished into a smooth clear skin.

“And what are you going to do with your time? Go back to your old job?”

“Ohh, you got a good sense of humor, God!” The old man laughed along with Bill. “Like I said, I just want to live a normal life and go to the bars at night, talk to beautiful women. Dance with them, smile, laugh. Have fun, that’s all.”

“Your wish, is my command,” he said, and Bill asked if that is how it really worked, and the old man laughed: “no, but people really started to ask for it after Aladdin got big, so I started doing it.”

“You’re a real people-pleaser, aren’t you, God?”

The small man’s sheepish smile resurfaced and a faint pink tint rose up to his pale cheeks.

“That is it for now, enjoy your new life, Bill. I’ll be back to check on you after a while.”

“Thanks, God, you really are great.”

“Oh, wait, one more thing—I almost forgot. In your newly made, perfect, heavenly life— do you want your children here?”

Bill let out a huge laugh, “of course! How could I forget! Yes, of course, I want to see my children! Not every day—and don’t have the Queen of Sheba bring ‘em by either, if you know what I mean,” he nudged the old man with his elbow, almost knocking his small frame over, “but yes I always regretted not having more time with the kids.”

“Great, I’ll make that happen. I’ll be ba-a-a-a-a-ck,” he said as he turned around.

A door appeared out of nowhere and the old man glided over to it, with his sheepskin coat dragging behind him. The door opened and he walked through it. It began to close, but his coat got caught in the door, and he had to reach back and yank it through. As the coat flew up, Bill thought he saw the tip of a German Sheppard’s tail and wondered if the dog had been there all along, but soon didn’t care as he saw his new neighbor, a young blonde woman in yoga pants and high heels getting into her Mercedes coupe. He tried to get her attention, but she was focused on fixing her lipstick and hair in the mirror as she drove away.

Bill settled down into his new life, got comfortable in his small house and extended cab truck, and began going out to bars and clubs, just as he had imagined. Every night there was a bar to go to filled with beautiful women, and they all were happy to let him buy drinks and chat for a while. Sometimes he would invite one or two to dance and they’d agree, and then disappear with their friends. Other times he would meet a young woman in pub and talk to her; they’d laugh and joke and maybe she would give him her number and maybe not. But he never saw the same woman twice. If he called or texted a woman, she never responded. If he asked a woman if she’d like to go somewhere for coffee she always declined and said she had to get back home.

On the rare chance that a woman did sit down and talk with him, the conversation was always the same: polite introductions, niceties, some flirtatious exchanges. He tried to talk to the beautiful women about life, what they wanted, what mattered to them, but they all just said they liked to have fun to some degree or another.

After three weeks of going to the bars and trying to talk to women, Bill got tired of going out. He stayed at home for a week, then he tried to find his neighbor again. He saw her car in the drive and rang the doorbell, but nobody answered. He only ever saw her driving away.

After a couple slow weeks, he tried going out again, but it was the same routine: a few drinks, a few laughs, nothing to talk about and goodbye, never to be seen again. Bill sat in his truck in the garage and contemplated his after-life. He wiped a tear from his cheek and heard someone knocking on his front door. He let the old man in, and Bill sat down at the barstool.

“Can I take your coat?”

“No, I like to keep it on. I came by to see how you are doing?”

“This isn’t what I thought heaven would be like,” said Bill, hunched forward, hands between his legs, staring at the floor.”

“Heaven?” said the old man, looking up at Bill. “Where did you get that idea?”

“Who are you?”

The old man took off the sheepskin coat and Bill saw the gray and white fur all over his body. The gray tail dragged on the floor, and the old man’s face looked like the snout of a grey wolf.

“This is your own doing, Bill. You made the life you wanted. You’ve had two chances now. This one you are stuck with, forever. No escaping. No crying, no laying down in the back of your truck for eternal sleep. This is the eternal sleep.”

“This is hell.”

“Call it what you will.”

The wolf got down on all fours and walked to the door. “Can you let me out?”

Bill opened the door and the wolf ran outside, almost knocking over the two people walking up Bill’s sidewalk.

“What are you doing here,” he shouted at them.

“We came to see you!”

“No! Get away! Get out of here, go! Go!”

The woman was getting in her Mercedes and looked over to see what the ruckus was about, but then looked away before making eye contact.

“Dad, we missed you! So, we followed you here. The old man told us how to find you! He asked us what our perfect life would be, and we told him ‘we just want to be with our Dad.’”

***
Follow u/quillandtrowel for more at Medium & Twitter (links in bio!).

Bill Rogers locked the garage door, slid the hose into the driver’s side window, climbed into the back seat, laid down and shut his eyes. When he woke up, he was surrounded by clouds and a blue sky. A man, neither young nor old stood next to him. He wore a coat like an Afghan goat herder, Bill thought, maybe made of sheepskin, or cowhide—tough to say, as Bill was no expert in husbandry. The man was small where Bill was large. Bill was six-three and two hundred and fifty pounds. He had played tight-end in college and lorded his physical stature over small men all his life. He felt it gave him an advantage at contract negotiations. He always made sure to be sitting when the opposing lawyers walked in because his size was hidden. Then he would stand up from behind table—a great reveal, a physical imposition—in an effortless attempt to intimidate the other team. It was mostly an effective strategy. The man, nearly a foot shorter, and a petite lady’s-weight less was standing almost eye-level with Bill. He sheepishly looked at Bill and asked if he was happy now.
“I suppose so,” Bill answered, rather dazed and unaware of all that was happening. “Are you God?” asked Bill. The old man smiled knowingly and set his delicate hand on Bill’s shoulder. “What can I do to make you comfortable?” Bill attempted to stand up but the man’s hand held him in place without applying any extra force. “A scotch would be nice! Do they serve scotch in heaven?” he laughed. The man laughed and gave Bill a scotch.
“Let me tell you, God, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it! When do we go through the pearly gates?”
“I’m afraid you’ve seen too many Hollywood movies. That’s not how it works. Tell me, how was life on Earth?”
“Well, I guess you can tell by how I checked out it wasn’t great. But I am feeling better now. Sometimes you just need a good night’s sleep, I guess, right?”
“I guess so. You weren’t very happy down there. But that’s what I’m here for. You can fix it all now. Tell me, what went wrong in your life?”
“Wait, is this Purgatory then?”
He chuckled, “No. Don’t be silly. What went wrong down there?”
“I knew it—those nuns were all off. Well, for one, I worked too much. I spent 80, 90, 100 hours a week every week for years—hell, probably decades when you add it all up—in the office, chasing the ring, getting the promotion.” His thought broke and he looked at the man and said, “you know I cleared 950-k last year?” Sinking back into his thoughts, “but it wasn’t enough for her. She could give Cleopatra a run for her money. Man she could spend. I worked all the time, always on the road to a different client’s office, eating airport food, never exercising. Traded my health and youth for wealth, then she got to enjoy it. I ended up all alone in my big house, all by myself and my LonelyFans Platinum subscription. Look at me, I got so fat no pretty woman could stand to look at me. If I could do it again, I’d go back and just make 60k a year, keep my health, my good looks, and go to clubs every night and dance with beautiful women. I wasted so much.”
“Wow, thanks for being so honest, Bill. I’m glad you were honest, because now I can give you the chance to fix it. I am going to give you the opportunity to craft the life you always wanted, the life you dreamed of! This is your chance Bill, to do it right this time. You had a full life, you tried out things: some worked, some didn’t—that trip to Tokyo probably didn’t help your marriage, did it; but now that’s all behind, now you get to create the perfect one based on everything you learned. Now you get to play God to yourself. You will have the power to create any life you want: money, women, food, servants, power, glory, the revenge on everybody who did you wrong—anything.”
“Oh, Good Lord, heaven is even better than Mother Superior led on! I get to do that? Now?”
“Yes, I’m granting you this power. Total freedom to do what you want. You deserve it! You’ve earned it, Bill.”
“Ok, so what do I do? Just point and make something happen?”
“Sure,” he said with a chuckle, “everybody always wants to point at things like some Vegas magician. The entire creation was spoken into existence, but ever since Adam people want to point things into existence—whatever makes them happy, I guess. Anyway, you’ve got the power of the Lord, do it however you want!”
Bill pointed to a cloud in front of him and a new truck appeared before his eyes. “Holy moly, I can’t believe it’s real.” The sun reflecting off the chrome was just a big blur to Bill Rogers water-filled eyes. He had to squint to see that it had the turbodiesel engine he had imagined. “I’m not going to get carried away on the wealth. I learned my lesson there. It doesn’t buy happiness. I had eight digits in my savings account,” he looked to see if the man was listening, “and look at where that got me. No, just a simple life for me,” he pointed to a cloud and four-bed, three-bath house with in-law suite and three car garage next to a lush green lawn appeared. It fronted a cul-de-sac. “You can’t take it with you, right?” he laughed.
“Is that it, Bill? What else do you want?”
“Well, like I said, I want to be young and healthy.” His stomach disappeared into his abdominal muscles and the brown spots and wrinkles on his hands vanished into a smooth clear skin.
“And what are you going to do with your time? Go back to your old job?”
“Ohh, you got a good sense of humor, God!” The old man laughed along with Bill. “Like I said, I just want to live a normal life and go to the bars at night, talk to beautiful women. Dance with them, smile, laugh. Have fun, that’s all.”
“Your wish, is my command,” he said, and Bill asked if that is how it really worked, and the old man laughed: “no, but people really started to ask for it after Aladdin got big, so I started doing it.”
“You’re a real people-pleaser, aren’t you, God?”
The small man’s sheepish smile resurfaced and a faint pink tint rose up to his pale cheeks.
“That is it for now, enjoy your new life, Bill. I’ll be back to check on you after a while.”
“Thanks, God, you really are great.”
“Oh, wait, one more thing—I almost forgot. In your newly made, perfect, heavenly life— do you want your children here?”
Bill let out a huge laugh, “of course! How could I forget! Yes, of course, I want to see my children! Not every day—and don’t have the Queen of Sheba bring ‘em by either, if you know what I mean,” he nudged the old man with his elbow, almost knocking his small frame over, “but yes I always regretted not having more time with the kids.”
“Great, I’ll make that happen. I’ll be ba-a-a-a-a-ck,” he said as he turned around.
A door appeared out of nowhere and the old man glided over to it, with his sheepskin coat dragging behind him. The door opened and he walked through it. It began to close, but his coat got caught in the door, and he had to reach back and yank it through. As the coat flew up, Bill thought he saw the tip of a German Sheppard’s tail and wondered if the dog had been there all along, but soon didn’t care as he saw his new neighbor, a young blonde woman in yoga pants and high heels getting into her Mercedes coupe. He tried to get her attention, but she was focused on fixing her lipstick and hair in the mirror as she drove away.
Bill settled down into his new life, got comfortable in his small house and extended cab truck, and began going out to bars and clubs, just as he had imagined. Every night there was a bar to go to filled with beautiful women, and they all were happy to let him buy drinks and chat for a while. Sometimes he would invite one or two to dance and they’d agree, and then disappear with their friends. Other times he would meet a young woman in pub and talk to her; they’d laugh and joke and maybe she would give him her number and maybe not. But he never saw the same woman twice. If he called or texted a woman, she never responded. If he asked a woman if she’d like to go somewhere for coffee she always declined and said she had to get back home.
On the rare chance that a woman did sit down and talk with him, the conversation was always the same: polite introductions, niceties, some flirtatious exchanges. He tried to talk to the beautiful women about life, what they wanted, what mattered to them, but they all just said they liked to have fun to some degree or another.
After three weeks of going to the bars and trying to talk to women, Bill got tired of going out. He stayed at home for a week, then he tried to find his neighbor again. He saw her car in the drive and rang the doorbell, but nobody answered. He only ever saw her driving away.
After a couple slow weeks, he tried going out again, but it was the same routine: a few drinks, a few laughs, nothing to talk about and goodbye, never to be seen again. Bill sat in his truck in the garage and contemplated his after-life. He wiped a tear from his cheek and heard someone knocking on his front door. He let the old man in, and Bill sat down at the barstool.
“Can I take your coat?”
“No, I like to keep it on. I came by to see how you are doing?”
“This isn’t what I thought heaven would be like,” said Bill, hunched forward, hands between his legs, staring at the floor.”
“Heaven?” said the old man, looking up at Bill. “Where did you get that idea?”
“Who are you?”
The old man took off the sheepskin coat and Bill saw the gray and white fur all over his body. The gray tail dragged on the floor, and the old man’s face looked like the snout of a grey wolf.
“This is your own doing, Bill. You made the life you wanted. You’ve had two chances now. This one you are stuck with, forever. No escaping. No crying, no laying down in the back of your truck for eternal sleep. This is the eternal sleep.”
“This is hell.”
“Call it what you will.”
The wolf got down on all fours and walked to the door. “Can you let me out?”
Bill opened the door and the wolf ran outside, almost knocking over the two people walking up Bill’s sidewalk.
“What are you doing here,” he shouted at them.
“We came to see you!”
“No! Get away! Get out of here, go! Go!”
The neighbor was getting into her Mercedes and looked over to see what the yelling was about, but then looked away before she could make eye contact.
“Dad, we missed you! So, we followed you here. The old man told us how to find you! He asked us what our perfect life would be, and we told him ‘we just want to be with our Dad.’”

***
Follow u/quilandtrowel for more at Medium & Twitter. (links in bio)

For context, I use fl studio and make beats using that and I wanted to get into a drum machine so I can work on my creativity and I love chopping samples, or just the idea of it, I usually write melodies in fl, rarely chop because it feels trash with no pads.
I got this thing less than a week ago, and It's mega fun I've been sampling a shit ton and flipping samples and chopping them.
An issue I have is for example, today I found some random song on samplette and the sample came out reaally nice (IMHO), but it feels like no drums go over it, it's 68 bpm played over 4 bars and I try to play some drums and it feels super hard, none of my sounds would go with the sample and I can't even come up with a drum loop, so I make a doubletime pattern with 8 bars and try to play some drums over it thinking it would be easier on doubletime, and it still sucked ass..
Also the sample chop just by itself sounds pretty sick, with some small bass lines played, but it's super jazzy maybe it's just not meant to be played with hiphop drum patterns
So here are my questions:

1. Do some samples just don't need drums when chopped (are some unhiphoppable) ?
   
2. How do I come up with new drum patterns because I just suck ass at it?
   
3. Would learning finger drumming help with question 2?
   

I guess this is a rant/vent post as well as wanting advice, i just had a really bad conversation with my GP and i kind of have no idea what to do.
I've been suspecting hEDS/HSD for a few months now and a few weeks ago I had a GP appointment with this guy with an interest in musculoskeletal and hypermobility.
Without any prompting he told me he suspected EDS based on my symptoms and family history, he said there wasn't much more he could do for me at that level so he referred me to rheumatology!! i was so happy, i thought i could really get help.
Unfortunately i just got a call from him today that apparently from the symptoms he told them they do suspected I have HSD. and ?? apparently they've decided not to see me ? I'm baffled, i have no idea how they can suspect HSD or hEDS and then refuse to see me but also not give me a diagnosis.
My GP then refused to prescribe me stronger pain medication, directly after telling me that i'd have chronic pain for the rest of my life ??? Ibuprofen and paracetamol, at their maximum safe doses, barely even dampen my pain?! i don't understand how i'm supposed to live, he told me he wouldn't prescribe the stronger ones (they aren't even opiods) to me because they had side effects of drymouth and dizziness . I don't know what to do, the pain is so goddamn bad every day and i was kind of clinging to the idea of being given pain meds that actually worked. I think he doesn't take me seriously because i'm 18 but man, my life is falling apart. i went from pretty much fully abled with manageable pain to disabled and insanely struggling to leave the house even with my mobility aids (crutches + cane) in about 6 months. why on earth would i care about dry mouth and drowsiness when it would help with this inescapably bad pain every day.
I asked him how i was supposed to get disability accommodations for uni (but also EVERYWHERE??!?) with no diagnosis as proof (as places really often require the proof of diagnosis) and he told me really confusedly: "but this doesn't affect your studies ???" ?? what ?? yes it does . i can't be in any position other than lying down flat on my back without my shoulders trying to rip themselves out. i can't stand for more than a few minutes because of my knees. i have constant fatigue and pain. and this absolute numpty thought that it didn't effect my studies ?!? I want to be able to ask for a goddamn shower stool if by some miracle i get into uni, i want to be able to request an accommodation with a lift or on the ground floor. I want to be able to have more flexible deadlines and a shorter commute and ground floor or elevator connected classes. I can't get these accommodations without a diagnosis.
I don't understand !!! he told me that rheumatology highly suspect i have HSD (i don't even care that they're trying to ignore the hEDS possibility without even seeing me i just Need one of them) but that they won't see me and they won't diagnose me . They're just giving up on me ?!? i'm so upset, what am i supposed to do ?? i feel like i can't go on, my old school kept just penalising me for being disabled and struggling since i had no proof. i can't go through that again, i really can't, i thought when i got my referral that this could be my chance but now i feel like i'm drowning.
what do i do. i need a diagnosis to live and they literally do think i have it !!! suspected HSD is now on my goddamn medical records from Rheumatology but they ?!?? won't see me and won't diagnose me ?? i'm so hurt and upset, they're just giving up on me but i swear to god i cannot live without being able to request accommodations and i can't do that without proof. I live in england, this is the NHS to clarify. i need advice. they suspect HSD but won't diagnose but also won't see me to clarify. I don't know what to do. i cannot live without accommodations, i'm not even able to cope right now. I'm so upset. they just gave up on me. i'm heartbroken. i'd really love some advice on how to get a diagnosis after this, if i even can.
thank you

Okay, I've just played a little with the new update and I'm digging everything so far. I've been playing lots of Stardew with that update's recent release and an idea came to me regarding the stamina changes in the Dinkum Autumn update. What if there some way to permanently increase your stamina bar like the stardrop fruit in SDV?
I really like Dinkum's new stamina mechanic and I know that wattle brew will allow the bar to grow temporarily, but it would be cool if there was an Easter egg that allowed an incremental permanent increase to stamina. I'm finding using the dirt printers particularly draining on stamina and the cool down time to be a bit tedious as I develop an area. What do y'all think?

Hey guys! I’m a 22 year old female and I started the lose it app a few weeks ago! I was eating pretty health at the start but now I’m not really choosing healthier choices. I find it hard to track everything cause sometimes idk how much I ate, like last night i had a few bites of a chocolate bar. But I haven’t had any soda and have only drank water and Gatorade zero. I haven’t gone over my calories for over a week, and I’ve been doing 30 minutes of cardio everyday. I am looking into getting a personal trainer as well! I’m hoping to lose quite a bit before my trip to Jamaica in January! But cant lose much now cause I’m in my cousins wedding in October, and we already picked the dresses😅 any tips? Ideas?

Weird question: we have an awkwardly laid out restaurant (it’s an old barn, converted into a brewery and the food side of things wasn’t planned out). There’s no clear sight lines to the pass and it’s difficult to notify servers when food is up. We’ve discussed pagers, and the dreaded bell, but neither of these are things anyone is excited to use. One idea that would help would be a small light that we could install beside a server stand and behind the bar. Ideally with a wifi controlled switch that the chef could activate to notify people in those areas. I’m having no luck finding one though. Does anyone have any experience with anything like this? Is it a terrible idea? Could you point me in the direction of a product like this? Thanks so much for any help :)

This is going to be a long one so I suggest sitting down and eating a snack lol. This honestly starts back from kindergarten when I first met my boy best friend (21M) who I'll call Joey to keep things private. Joey and I grew up together, we've lived across the street from each other for the past 15 years. I would say our friendship didn't start to pick up till the 4th grade. It was me, Joey, My brother (18M), Tom ( 21M), Diana (21F), and Joey's little brother (18M). Diana was my best friend the girl I hung out with everyday and spent all my time with, shared secrets with. Tom was that type of person to joey. Joey and I have always had some form of mutual crush towards each other and I honestly I believe it started in the 4th grade. Growing up our parents were best friends and to this day still are. So Joey and I spent a lot of time together, we would watch movies, go to the park, go on trips together, go to the the local community street and just hang out we spent all of our time together. The first time I told Joey I liked him was in 5th grade, I've always known I loved him, He was my first love, my first kiss, the first boy I cried about, the first boy who made me jealous although we never dated, there was a lot of first between us. Joey use to be really mean to me, would always make fun of me, constantly chase me, and just in general say mean things and always shut me down whenever I confessed my love to him. Everyone knew I liked him, I would never stop talking about it. Our friends would have us kiss during truth or dare or have us confess our love for each other. Thats just how it was growing up. In middle school is when things started to change and I started to get involved with other guys. It was nothing more than the middle school relationship, just people I liked. I can't remember exactly what summer it was but I believe it was 8th grade summer going into 9th grade when things between really started to pick up. During that summer our family went on 2 week long camping trip and joey and I got really close and he confessed his love for me, but nothing came from it and when we got back from that trip we shared our first kiss together during a scary movie we were watching at my house. After that there was nothing. I started high school and we really drifted apart. I remained with Diana and some other close friend while Joey made new friends and kept his distance. It was like that all of high school. But a lot happened during that time. I dated my first boyfriend who i broke up with within a year and I dated my second boyfriend who I broke up with 3 years ago. My second boyfriend is honestly the root cause to things getting messy. I started dating my second boyfriend at the end of 10th grade, and that summer I went on a trip and Joey and his family and some of my cousins. That trip joey and I flirted a lot, spent all our time together and just got really close. But when it was over it was if nothing had ever happened and I went on to continue dating my boyfriend. Without getting into too much details about my ex lets just say he was a horrible person who physically and mentally abused and manipulated me and basically turned me into the person I am today. He ruined a lot for me and he tore apart my friend group. Joey, Diana, and Tom all saw how much my ex was hurting me and they tried multiple times to get me out of the relationship but It just never really happened and things got messy. Joey continued to distance himself from me and Tom started to fill joey's mind with horrible thoughts about me which honestly really turned joey against me. The summer of 2021 is when I was finally able to escape my ex but the way it panned out wasn't good. My friends first tried to force me and joey to date even if It was as rebound, they used our history as an excuse to get me out of the relationship and well that didn't work. And a month later I tried to kill myself, I ended up in the hospital with 11 stitches in my wrist and lots of therapy. I ended up going back to my ex a few days later. Thats when I saw joey and tom distancing themselves and honestly they said some hurtful things to me. My now boyfriend is the reason I was able to leave the relationship. 3 days after I broke up with my ex, my best friend Diana got with him and yeah thats another story for another time. But basically to keep it simple after that happened they all left me and I was just left alone in pain with my now boyfriend picking up the pieces. Everything went well since then. I grew up and I really matured and got my life in order. But last week something unexpected happened. Joey entered my life again. I was at the bar with my parents when he arrived with his parents, I would be lying if I said I wasn't already drunk, But I was way drunk. And I got wasted even more after joey arrived. But we talked for hours that night and I found myself confessing my love for him all over again. And he started confessing his love and basically he had to carry me home cause I was wasted. I waited 10 years for this boy to tell me he loved me and now I don't know what to do. He went on to apologize for all the things that happened and how he was never there for me and he basically was just sorry. I kept asking him why he never dated me or why he never took the chance when I gave him chance after chance. And he told me he was jealous and mad at me for all the times I went out with other guys and he thought that I didn't genuinely care for him. I basically told him I felt like you constantly played with my feelings. Now I am in a relationship. A very loving relationship fully committed one too. We live together already. But after hearing joey's words and the things I said when I was drunk I feel so conflicted and have no idea where to go from there. Joey told me he would wait for me as long as he is still in love with me. He told me he's been in love with me for that past 14 years and that there's never been anyone else for him. He's never dated anyone the closest he's ever came to was me. My boyfriend knows some of the story he knows basically all the childhood drama and everything that happened, and he knows Joey is back in my life as a friend. I don't know if the love I had always had for joey is the same or if i'm acting based off old emotions. I don't want to hurt anyone but I know someone is gonna get hurt. And for more reference tom joined the marines and isn't really in anyones life atm and diana is getting her veterinarian license. Joey just graduated from college and is joining the army in 3 months. I am just focused on my career and planning out my future with my boyfriend. What should I do. Joey and I have talked a lot about just rebuilding our friendship and getting to know each other again because the last we talked like this was 6 years ago so we definitely have grown and matured since. I love my boyfriend but I worry I still love joey.
TL;DR! - To sum everything up my first love confessed he's still in love with my and is willing to wait for me as long as he loves me. I confessed I still loved him when I was drunk. But I am planning out my future with my boyfriend.

Hi guys,
I'm looking to buy a bike between £2-3k, I just had a pre purchase bike fit done and came out of it with a much better idea of the kind of bike I want/need. I'm relatively new to cycling, I've been on and off with it for the past few years having done a few sprint triathlons on a £400 used bike with the long term goal of an ironman. Ideally looking for the bike to get me there.
These are the current options my bike fitter has suggested and was looking for some help deciding or if anyone else has any other recommendations, my size is a 51/52.
Giant TCR Advanced 1 - https://www.pedalon.co.uk/acatalog/giant-tcr-advanced-1-disc-2024.html
Cannondale Supersix Evo 4 - https://www.westbrookcycles.co.uk/cannondale_supersix_evo_4_road_bike_-_black_2024-28282?stockid=382328&gad_source=1&gclid=Cj0KCQjw3ZayBhDRARIsAPWzx8pRiRuJxeO9OxvUj4d6di4oBcTzJmUoyEAXe4a6fnVm78mzUEjU1woaAqBQEALw_wcB
Trek Emonda SL6 Pro Di2 - 52cm - seemingly no stock in my size anywhere
Specialized Tarmac - https://www.balfesbikes.co.uk/bikes/road-bikes/specialized-tarmac-sl7-sport-105-road-bike-2024-in-carbondark-navy__58489?currency=GBP&chosenAttribute=90623-6061&gad_source=1&gclid=Cj0KCQjw3ZayBhDRARIsAPWzx8r3_HuF4y5m_kv-a_-6zf6khAuio3VEV1gT7tiSqHJXEP6nVFOX9FQaAoHFEALw_wcB
Cervelo Caledonia - https://www.wheelbase.co.uk/product/cervelo/cervelo-caledonia-105-metallic-black/?size=54cm&colour=Metallic%20Black&gad_source=1&gclid=Cj0KCQjw3ZayBhDRARIsAPWzx8pSvvbWoIYr9bNcWXZMuheQ8i2VNIG9-1cNxy2l6V6JPKKPZ6fotzQaAgz2EALw_wcB
The TCR and Supersix are the current top picks as they are at an ideal price and would support adding aero bars which I am keen on adding. I don't care too much for Di2 but it would be nice. Could even go slightly over £3k if I found the right bike as I'd probably be looking to upgrade the wheels at some point which would take me over the £3k mark anyway.
Thanks in advance

Started my HP laptop today to do some work, tried to turn up the brightness but it instead turns down the brightness by 40%. Pressing the brightness DOWN button instead brings it down 60%. After the brightness bar has gone all the way down to 0, the brightness UP button works again — but it only brightens up to a maximum of 20%.
I should mention that it doesn’t move bit-by-bit, but will move incrementally instantly at the press of the button. I’ve already turned off any battery-saving or content-aware settings. Any ideas are appreciated 🙏.

Hi all, I'm trying to change the color of a stroke by linking it to a menu control but I keep getting the error "Error in line 1 'Color' of layer, undefined value used in expression."
I've used this same expression in other comps without a problem but for fill color never for stroke. Any ideas as to what I might be doing wrong? Please help about 2 errors from yeeting my computer out the window (:
Here's my expression:
temp = thisComp.layer("Bar Color Control").effect("Dropdown Menu Control")("Menu");
[temp, temp, temp, temp]
if (temp==1) {thisComp.layer("Bar Color Control").effect("Color Control")("Color")}
else if (temp==2) {thisComp.layer("Bar Color Control").effect("Color Control 2")("Color")}
else if (temp==3) {thisComp.layer("Bar Color Control").effect("Color Control 3")("Color")}
else if (temp==4) {thisComp.layer("Bar Color Control").effect("Color Control 4")("Color")}

The pain was the worst thing`Dominick Mason had ever known…and he knew what it felt like to die. It felt like his brain was in a blender, being chopped to liquid for a Jeffery Dahmer smoothie and though it seemed melodramatic, he imagined he could feel himself losing brain cells by the minute. The sun, Merrick told him, would not burn him, but it would decay him faster, so sleep or rest during the day. With the sick, throbbing agony in the center of his brain, however, that was impossible. He spent most of the day curled up on his side, hugging his knees, and moaning. He had flashbacks to dying in his apartment, and that made things even worse. The room became too small, too close, the air too stale. His heart, filled with the blood of last night’s meal, pounded in his chest, and he went from slightly chilly to hot and feverish as blood was forced through his circulatory system. It mixed with the embalming fluid and left him feeling full and constipated. He didn’t want to get up, but he also didn’t want to go on lying there. He was the definition of miserable.
Before long, the pain became too great and he got up to pace, pressing his hands to the sides of his head and gritting his teeth. Merrick, who slept very little if at all, sat in his chair and watched, trying his best to talk him through it. “It’ll be over soon,” Merrick said. “The pain receptors in your brain are the first to go. When they burn out, you won’t feel anything.”
“When?” Dom asked, his voice raising with the tide of pain.
“A couple days?”
“A couple days???”
“The pain will lessen gradually,” Merrick said, “this is the worst of it.”
Dom believed that this was, indeed, the worst of it, but he doubted it would lessen gradually. For the rest of the day, the pain got worse and worse until every light blinded him, every sound turned his stomach, and the smell of anything made his gorge rise. The cloying smell of the embalming fluid, the light but unmistakable odor of dead flesh, and the scent of stale blood sitting in decomposing stomachs made him want to vomit, but he was afraid to. He didn’t think he could handle the sight of blood rushing from his mouth and splattering the floor. He still possessed enough of his facilities, he believed, to go insane.
Pain has a way of darkening one’s mood, and by the time the sun began to set, Dom was in the most sour mood possible. Even Merrick’s calm, fatherly voice was beginning to get on his nerves. When he took the oath to him the day before (or was it the day before that?), he turned his faith and trust over to Merrick entirely. He was finally accepted, included, finally had the love and fellowship that, in the pit of his soul, he had always wanted. Merrick understood him, Merrick was kind to him.
But deep down, Dom realized that he didn’t fully trust him. He said that his brain didn’t rot because he was “lucky.” That sounded like some bullshit to Dom. Why wasn’t Joe a blithering idiot too? Was he lucky as well? Did lightning strike in the same place twice? In life, people had done nothing but hurt and lie to Dom. Why would death be any different? He thought back to the strange liquid that always seemed to leak from Merrick’s nose, and Joe’s. He thought it was embalming fluid, but it never leaked from his own nose, or from anyone else’s. He tried to tell himself that it was far too soon to judge, but once he began to doubt something, his mind raced away. He felt a twinge of guilt, as Merrick had done absolutely nothing to deserve his doubt, but goddamn it, his head was on fire and he wanted it to stop. Anything to make it stop.
Just after sundown, the music began as Club Vlad opened for the night. It throbbed in the center of Dom’s head and made him want to claw his eyes out. When it became too much for him, he slipped away and stumbled into the sultry summer night. He came out in the alley running behind the club, clutching his head and breathing through bared teeth. He staggered, bumped into a metal trash can, and roared at the top of his lungs, as if he could purge himself of the pain by screaming.. His voice echoed and came back to him, making the pain worse.
Merrick was lying. He knew it. People always lied to him. His brain was rotting and PEOPLE WERE LYING! Flashing with anger, he slammed his fist into the brick wall of a Chinese restaurant. He barely felt anything so he did it again and again until his hand was lumpy and shaking. He sat heavily on the ground and pressed his hands to his head. It felt like maggots were burrowing into his brain, and he was suddenly terrified that they really were. He needed to stop this awful pain, but how?
An idea came to him.
The funeral home.
Maybe there was something there.
He was on his feet and lumbering there before the thought had even finished reverberating through his mind. It was a long shot, but he was desperate. On the way there, he stuck to the shadows, staying out of the light cast by the streetlamps and avoiding people. When he passed them, he kept his head down. When he reached the funeral home, he went to the back door where he and Jessie had gone the other day. He tried it, and it opened.
Inside, he bounced off the walls like a pinball, knocking over an end table and tearing at the flesh of his head, pulling it away in long, gray strips. He panted like a wild animal, his body a raging tempest of emotions. It was reaching a crescendo, he thought, his brain was about to go supernova. The world dimmed, things got really echoy. The young man he’d picked the embalming fluid up from was there, looking scared.
Flashing, Dom grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the wall, knocking a painting of a flowery field to the carpet. Everything seemed to go in slow mo. “How does Merrick keep his brain from rotting?” Dom heard himself demanding from far away. “How does he keep the pain away?”
The man trembled. “I-I-”
Dom slammed him again. “Tell me or I’ll make you like me.”
“No!” the man wailed. He shook his head from side to side, his eyes wet with fear.
“How?”
“He-He uses a solution,” the man stammered. “Some kind of special thing. It preserves his brain. That’s all I know.”
An idea occurred to Dom.
Holding the man by the back of his neck, Dom dragged him into the embalming room and pushed him against the table. His head felt like it was swelling. Hot, screaming, getting ready to explode. He looked around, found the embalming machine, and grabbed the hose. There was a sharp tip on it so that you could jam it into a body. He held it in his hand, hesitating for just a moment before pressing it to his temple. The man watched in horror as Dom slowly shoved the tip into his head. It tore his flesh, broke through his skull, and sank into his brain. He felt no pain, only pressure, but cried out anyway. His eyes rolled up into his head and a shudder went through his body.
“Turn it on!” he yelled.
“That’s not what he -”
“TURN IT ON!”
Starting, the man turned the machine on. Cold embalming fluid squirted directly into Dom’s brain. Almost at once, the pain began to ebb away, replaced only by a fuzzy sense of numbness. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, looking for all the world like an addict taking a hit of his favorite substance after a long and trying day. Fluid leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes and dripped down the back of his throat.
The man waited for a long time, then turned the machine off.
The pain was gone.
At least for now.
“Tell me again,” Dom said.
The man did. Merrick used a special preserving agent to keep his brain intact. Joe, the man suspected, got it as well. So Merrick had lied to him.
Dom felt betrayed.
And angry.
Leaving the man (Dom realized that he didn’t even know his name), he walked back to Club Vlad, his hands fisted in his pockets. All his life, he had been hurt, lied to, and ignored. All his life, people had done wrong to him. And all those years, he just took it.
He resolved not to be so accepting in death.
At last, he was going to stop being a sniveling little bitch and stand up for himself.
When he reached Club Vlad, he slammed through the back door and took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he called out Merrick’s name. The old man was sitting in his chair, being attended to by Jessie and Matt. He looked startled when Dom came in. “You lied to me,” Dom said, stalking over to his benefactor.
“What are you talking about?” Merrick asked, doing his best to sound innocent.
“You lied to me!” Dom screamed. He bent over and got so close to Merrick’s face that he could have kissed him. “You told me there was no way to save my brain, but that’s not true. You’re pumping your head full of shit and letting the rest of us rot.”
A dark shadow flickered across Merrick’s face. “Watch your tone when you talk to me,” he said. His voice was low, menacing.
“Fuck you,” Dom said. “I should k -”
Suddenly, Dom was being grabbed from behind and yanked back, an arm around his neck. He cried out in alarm as Joe swung him around and slammed him face first into the wall. He heard his nose crunch, felt his teeth shatter. Next, Joe wrestled him to the glitter-sprinkled floor and wedged his knee between his shoulder blades.
Merrick watched with a sneer of disgust, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. He wheeled himself over, Jessie holding his IV stand steady and following behind. “Listen, you son of a bitch,” Merrick said, “you’re lucky to be a part of this family.”
Cold fear filled the pit of Dom’s stomach, yet he wouldn’t back down, couldn’t back down. He had lived his entire life like a mouse in a burrow, he wasn’t about to live his entire death the same way.
“Fuck your family,” he said defiantly. “And fuck you.”
Merrick’s face darkened and he sat back in his chair. He looked at Jessie and nodded. She went away and came back a moment later holding something in her hand. Dom’s eyes widened when he saw what it was.
A wooden stake, one end honed to a razor point.
Why they had one of those lying around, Dom didn’t know; it’d be like Superman keeping a piece of kryptonite on the mantle over the fireplace. Merrick directed Max and Matt to hold Dom’s arms down/ Joe pivoted, kneeling on his head now so that Dom’s back was exposed. Dom’s heart slammed with terror and tremors raced through his body.
“Is this what you want, Dominick?” Merrick asked. “To die? To truly die?”
Dom swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to live, to love, to have a family one day. He wanted a happy, normal life, the life TV and social media had been promising him since he was a little boy.
But all of that went out the window the night he died in his little apartment. There was no life anymore, just a grotesque parody of life. What was there for him other than death? Clinging desperately onto life for decades like Merrick? Stuffing himself full of embalming fluid and moth balls? Grinding for one more minute just so he could sit hooked up to a machine?
Dom spoke.
“What?” Merrick asked, not having heard.
Dom licked his lips. “Just fucking do it.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Expectation hung in the air. Finally, breaking the tension, Merrick nodded to Jessie. Kneeling down, she brought the stake up, and Dom closed his eyes.
This was it.
He braced himself for death.
Jessie brought the stake down just as a shot rang out, deafening in the small space. Her head whipped back, embalming fluid, skull fragments, and gray, sickly pieces of brain showering from the back of her head. She flopped back and landed on the floor with a sickening thud.
A woman cop, her black uniform in stark contrast to the burning white light, stood in the doorway to the hall, her gun drawn. Everyone did, indeed, freeze, more out of surprise than respect for authority. They all looked at her, their dead mouths agape, resembling children who’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Everyone on the ground!” she barked.
No one knew what to do. They hadn’t expected to be raided by the police so had not prepared. She jerked her gun and everyone instinctively flinched. “On the ground!” she repeated. To Max: “You too, bone boy.”
The first one to react was Joe. He sprang at her like a big, undead frog. She brought the gun around and fired, but he was already crashing into her. The shot went wild and struck the IV bag next to Merrick; he ducked and let out a sound of fear. The others rushed her, and Dom got quickly to his feet. Jessie lay on the floor, her mouth open in a silent scream and her bony fingers frantically examining the ragged hole in the center of her forehead. For a moment, he was frozen; everything was happening too fast. Then, when Merrick saw him and cried, “Stop him!, he came alive. Jessie tried to grab at his leg, but he kicked her hand away and stomped on it like it was a giant spider. On the other side of the room, Matt, Joe, and Max had forced the cop to the ground. Perhaps excited by all the action, perhaps just hungry, they began to tear her apart. She howled in pain, and the last thing Dom saw before he fled was her open, blood-filled mouth. Her eyes were filled with pain…with terror.
After that, Dom ran.
***
When the interloper was dead, Merrick directed Joe and Matt to dispose of the body. “Get rid of it,” he said wearily and rubbed his temples, “make sure it isn’t found.”
They rolled her into a carpet from the office, and the way her feet stuck out may have been comical under other circumstances.
Goddamn it, this was bad. Merrick’s entire philosophy rested on avoiding detection. He had done well in that regard. Whereas other vampires had attacked their villages and gotten themselves dug from the ground and staked, he had made it four decades. He never shat where he ate, and there is no bigger turd than killing a cop. They might dawdle on all the boys who’d gone missing - taken because their blood was stronger and more robust than the blood of girls - but they would not take a cop dying lightly at all.
Merrick owned various businesses around the country. He and the others would simply move on. Tomorrow night, they would disappear into the night. They had done it before and they would likely do it again. Once things were settled at their new base of operations, he would have Joe killed for all the trouble he’d caused.
And Dom?
Let him go.
The little rat wouldn’t last a month on his own.
“Jessie?”
Jessie sat against the wall, gazing into space.
“Jessi…start packing. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
She didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear. The shot had all but lobotomized her.
Damn it.
Joe backed the van up to the back door of Club Vlad, and then helped Matt carry the carpet-rolled body down the stairs. They loaded it in and closed the back doors. Together, they drove around looking for a place to dump it. Merrick wanted it to go unfound, but Joe doubted there was anywhere isolated enough in the city. On a whim, he drove to Washington Park, a vast expanse of green trees and shadows. There was a large pond there. It seemed the best option. They were leaving tomorrow anyway, so did it really matter?
Joe backed the van to a railing overlooking the dark water and put it in park. He and Matt got out, fetched the body, and carried it to the railing. They lifted and heaved it over. It splashed. Thus, they rid themselves of Vanessa Rodregiez.
***
Bruce sat anxiously up in his easy chair and waited for his cell to ring.
Parked in front of the TV by warm lamplight, a beer wedged between his legs, he’d been watching the 11’o’clock news when the phone rang. He picked it up and it was Vanessa. “Hey,” she said, “I think I found our body?”
“Which one?” Bruce asked and took a drink. “We have a lot of those these days.”
“Dominick Mason.”
Bruce sat forward in his chair. “Dead Dom? Where?”
“He just came out of a funeral home, ironically enough.”
“That sounds about right,” Bruce said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m following him east on Central.”
“Are you sure it’s him?” Bruce asked.
“I think so, but I’m not sure. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”
Bruce sat the phone aside and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At some point, he fell asleep sitting up, his head lulled to one side and his mouth open. He snorted himself awake, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He checked his phone and was perturbed to see that it was past 2am.
Vanessa hadn’t called.
He dialed her number and let the phone ring until it went to voicemail. Sighing, he ended the call, then waited a few minutes and called again.
Still no answer.
It was possible she had forgotten. Maybe the guy turned out to not be Dead Dom after all. She followed some random guy around, realized it, and that was that. Hell, she was probably too embarrassed to call and tell him about it.
Something told him that wasn’t right, however.
There was something else going on here.
Something…darker.
Just before 3am, his phone rang. He snatched it off the end table next to the chair and answered it. It was Burt, the night sargent. “Rodriguez is missing,” he said simply.
Bruce’s heart sank. “Missing?”
“Yeah, she hasn’t checked in for hours and she isn’t answering calls.”
“I’m on my way,”
Bruce tore through the house, pulling on his uniform, socks, and shoes in less time than it took a Daytona 500 pit crew to service a car. In ten minutes he was speeding down 787, the Albany skyline rising in the distance. As he hurried to the station, he thought back to his last conversation with Vanessa. She’d found Dom the Dead Man, the “corpse” who’d scared Ed Harris out of a 20 year career. Despite all their talk about vampires and the living dead, Bruce didn’t believe it, not really. Even so, he was sure that Dominick Mason had done something to Vanessa.
He checked in at the station before doing anything else. They had triangulated Vanessa’s last known location via cell towers. Cops were already out searching the streets for her. Bruce went out as well, intending to start from her last known position and work his way east on Central. The closest funeral home was Tebbutt and Frederick on Central. There was also Lasak & Gigliotti on North Allen Street. Bruce didn’t know which one Vanessa had seen Dom come out of, so he checked both.
Both were deserted at this hour.
Undeterred, Bruce drove up and down Central Ave. At one point, he noticed a shape in an alleyway that looked human. He hit the brakes, jumped out, and pointed his gun at it. “Freeze!”
An old wino stepped out of the darkness. “Alright, you got me,” he said, hands up. “I started COVID. It was an accident, I swear.”
Bruce sighed and put his gun away.
For two more hours, Bruce searched the streets of Albany for Vanessa. At 4am, he spotted a squad car abandoned in the rear parking lot of an abandoned gas station on lower Lark Street. He called it in and the desk sergeant confirmed that it was the one Vanessa had signed out that night.
Still there was no sign of Vanessa herself.
Just after dawn, as the city came alive and CDTA buses began lumbering up and down the streets, Bruce got a call on his cell. “A jogger found a body in Washington Park.”
Bruce was in his personal car. He had no bubble light, no siren. Even so, he sped through the streets like he did, blowing through red lights and stop signs with little care to himself or anyone else. When he got to Washington Park, he found an army cops by the pond, the scene cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. He slammed on the brakes, threw open the door, and jumped out without even turning off the engine.
The body was rolled up in a carpet and lying on the bank. Two beat cops unrolled it at Bruce’s direction. “We should wait for -” one of them started, but Bruce cut him off.
“Do it.”
They compiled, and at the carpet’s center, like a rotten cream filling, was the body of Vanessa Rodregiuez. Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes wide and staring. Her throat had been mangled and ripped away, her head nearly severed. Even in the black and red mess, Bruce could make out the teeth marks and puncture wounds. They may have looked like something else to anyone else who saw them, but he knew, in that moment, what they were dealing with.
A sharp pang of horror sliced through him, and his knees went weak.
“Jesus Christ,” one of the beat cops drew.
Bruce fell to, rather than knelt on, one knee. He bent over the body, a mixture of horror and grief welling his throat. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her in death, but he stayed his hand. Instead, he visually examined the body. She had bruises on her face, defensive wounds on her hands, and her gun was gone. Whoever had attacked her, she put up a fight.
Something glinted on her pants.
“What’s that?” one of the cops asked.
“I dunno,” the other replied, “but it’s all over the carpet.”
Indeed, there were glinty little specks all over it, winking like mocking eyes. Nice work, eh? We really fucked her up, didn’t we? Wink wink.
“It looks like…”
The other cop cut him off. “Glitter.”
Bruce flashed back to his visit to Club Vlad the other day.
There had been glitter everywhere.
Bruce stood up.
He had work to do.
***
Instead of going back to the station to start his shift, Bruce went to Lowes. There, he bought a mallet, a gas can, and a dozen sticks of wood. An employee in a blue vest used a machine to sharpen them to a wicked point and he took his purchases to the car. Next, he drove over to the Mobil station and filled the gas can. He was so hellbent on revenge that he sprang for premium, the good stuff. No expense shall be spared.
His final stop was at a Catholic church. He filled a canteen with holy water from the marble font by the door, then swiped a crucifix from the wall. He stopped by the station, went inside, and grabbed a black duffle bag with POLICE written across the front in yellow. He opened the gun cabinet in his office, took out a shotgun, and loaded it with shells. He grabbed a handful from the box and stuffed them into his pocket.
He was just finishing up when Bertha came in. “There you are,” she spat, “I’ve waited long enough for you to do something. I demand -”
Bruce shoved the duffle bag into her arms. “Make yourself useful.”
“What?” she demanded.
“We’re going to get your granddaughter,” Bruice lied. Kind of.
Bertha’s demeanor changed. “Good. It’s about time. I was starting to think you were a complete incompetent.”
Bruce didn’t answer. Outside, he plucked the bag out of Bertha’s hands and tossed it into the backseat. He slipped behind the wheel and Bertha sat in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Club Vlad,” Bruce said and started the engine.
“I want all of them arrested.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bruce said.
She barked orders the entire way there. Bruce was so deep in his thoughts that he barely heard her. The image of Vanessa’s ruined throat and terror-twisted face haunted him, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. Hot tears filled his eyes but he blinked them back and forced himself to calm down.
I’ll cry when I’m done killing, he thought.
A few minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of Club Vlad. It was a hot and sunny day and the place seemed even more ominous because of it. The windows were black, the front cast in perpetual shadows by the old marquee from when it used to be a theater. The place was surely closed, but Bruce could hear music still playing from inside, some techno dance bullshit. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go.”
Getting out, he slung the dufflebag over his shoulder and carried the shotgun, the canteen full of holy water clasped to his belt. Bertha carried the gas can, looking confused. “Why do we need this?” she asked.
“We’re burning the place down.”
Bertha blinked in surprise…then an evil grin carved across her face. “That’ll show the bastards.”
Unlike last time, the door was locked. Bruce used the butt of the shotgun to break the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the door, being careful not to cut himself. This was the point of no return. What he had in mind would probably get him kicked off the force or even thrown in jail - and we all know how tough jail can be for a former barnaclehead. The memory of Vanessa’s contorted face pushed him on, however.
He’d suffer any consequences he needed to just so long as he got the sons of bitches who did this to her.
Inside, the club was cool and cave-like. Strobe lights flashed, on and off, black and white, dazzling Bruce’s eyes. The bartender was at his station, cleaning up from the night before. When he saw Bruce and Bertha come in, he started. Bruce pointed the shotgun at him. “Don’t fucking move,” he commanded.
The bartender hesitated, then reached for something under the bar.
The shotgun kicked in Bruce’s hands, and the bartender flew back, turning as he crashed into the barback. Bottles, glasses, and mugs crashed to the floor along with the bartender. Bruce racked the gun, and the shell flew out. He moved low and fast now, expecting to be swarmed by vampires, living thugs who worked for vampires, or vampire thugs who worked for themselves.
Though the shot had been like thunder, no one came.
Bruce had no idea where to go, but he imagined that vampires were naturally gravitate to the lowest part of the building. Was there a basement? Shit, he should have looked up the building plans at city hall. Damn, this is what happens when you go off half-cocked. He searched around a bit, opening doors and sweeping the rooms beyond with the shotgun. He found no basement, only stairs leading up. “Stay close,” he said to Bertha.
In the lead, Bruce crept up the stairs, the flashlight on the shotgun providing a cone of clean, white light. At the top of the stairs, he went right, and came to an office and a store room. Backtracking, and bumping into a bungling Bertha, he went into the next room. It was large and open with a vaulted ceiling, almost like a ballroom. Here the same strobe lights throbbed on and off, making him dizzy. Was this to dazzle prospective vampire hunters?
Either way, this was the place. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, some curled up on their sides and others in the classic vampire pose: Flat on their backs with their hands laced over their chests. In the center, like the sun to the planets, Merrick Garvis lay slumped back in his wheelchair, his neck exposed for any potential assassin to come and cut. Not that it would kill him. At least Bruce didn’t think it would.
“They’re all dead,” Bertha whispered. She looked around and gasped. “There’s Jessie.”
Jessie lay on her back, her hands folded on her chest. She had a ragged bullet hole in the center of her forehead. “Oh, God,” Bertha wavered, “someone shot her.”
He hoped it was Vanessa. And he hoped it fucking hurt.
Looking around, Bruce couldn’t find Dominick Mason. Was he the one who killed Vanessa? Was it a group effort? He wanted the little son of a bitch bad, but it looked like he’d have to go on without him. They didn’t have much time.
Unshouldering the duffle bag, he knelt down and rummaged around. “Start splashing that gas on the bodies,” he said.
“But -”
“Just do it,” he snapped.
There must have been a harder edge in his voice than normal, because Bertha jumped and did as she was told. She upended the can and began to splash gasoline onto the sleeping forms, the smell of it acrid and strong.
Taking out a stake and the mallet, Bruce went over to Merrick and knelt down. He gripped the stake in one hand and placed it firmly against Merrick’s chest. He brought the mallet up and hesitated, the gravity of what he was doing finally reaching him. What if he was wrong? What if -
Merrick’s head whipped up and their eyes locked.
Too late.
Bruce brought the mallet down as hard as he could. The stake drove deep into Merrick’s heart, and the vampire let out a howling screech that rang through the chamber like the cry of a banshee. His bony fingers clawed at the stake and his head whipped from side to side, his back arching and his robe coming open. In the quick strobe pattern, Bruce was shocked to see that his body was little more than a wood frame, chicken wire, and cotton balls. His blacked heart was hidden behind a screen of mesh that the stake had easily torn through. It throbbed, seemingly in time with the strobe lights, and Merrick let out another wail.
Bertha screamed, and Bruce jumped to his feet.
The vampires, drawn by their master’s cries of distress, were rising to their feet. Two, four, six of them, pale and ethereal like ghosts in a gothic mansion. They came toward Merrick, and Bruice fell back a step. The old man had gone still and lay slumped to one side, his eyes open and his mouth slack, embalming fluid leaking from the corner of his lips. Jessie bent over him and touched his face. Though she moved like a zombie, with no human emotion, Bruce was crazily sure that it was a touch of tenderness and love. Merrick didn’t stir.
He was dead.
Jessie looked at him. Yellow liquid leaked from her eyes like tears. Instead of attacking him, she turned on her grandmother and slammed her against the wall. Bertha screamed and dropped the can. It landed on its side, its contents sloshing out onto the floor. A man that resembled the pictures Bruce had seen of Joe Rossi only deader rushed him, slamming into him and knocking the shotgun aside. It hit the floor and skidded away. Joe grabbed Bruce around the throat and squeezed. Still the lights flashed, off and on, off and on. The walls thrummed with the mechanized beat of dance music, pierced only by Bertha’s screams as Jessie ripped out her throat.
Joe leaned in, his fangs wicked and glowing in the light. Bruce clawed at the monster’s face, tearing away strips of dead flesh. Joe turned his head to the side, and Bruce kneed him in the groin. Even dead, getting kicked in the balls hurt like hell, apparently. Joe’s grip loosened and Bruce was able to shove him off. Bruce unclasped the canteen and frantically screwed the cap off as Joe recovered. Joe sprang at him again, and Bruce splashed him in the face.
A sound like sizzling meat filled the air, and Joe screamed at the top of his lungs. He pressed his hands to his face and danced around the room, his skin liquifying and oozing between his fingers. The others were coming now, led by a terrible skeletal thing. Bruce scooped the shotgun off the floor, brought it around, and fired. The blast hit the thing dead center, tearing it literally in half. The top half flew back, an all too human look of surprise on its face, and the bottom half fell over with a wet thud. Another vampire came at, and Bruce slammed it across the face with the butt of the gun. He heard its jaw crack, saw teeth flying.
Bertha lay dead on the floor, Jessie bent over her. The smell of Bertha’s blood attracted the others, who seemed to forget about Bruce, Merrick, and everything else. Joe was on his knees, wailing in pain, and the skeletal thing was pulling itself toward Bertha. A feeding frenzy broke out as vampires fought to get a piece of her the way piglets might fight over their mother’s teat. Bruce watched in a mixture of horror and fascination, but recovered himself. He grabbed the gas can from the floor and dumped the rest of its contents on Merrick’s body, the feeding vampires’ backs, and the floor, using the last of it to make a little trail to the door. He tossed the can aside, bent down, and stuck a match.
A huge, fiery whump filled the room, and fire streaked along the trail. The vampires all went up in a huge ball of flames, and fire shot up Merrick’s body, catching his robe, his hair, and the wooden frame that had kept him semi upright for God knows how long. Letting out inhuman screams, the vampires broke from Bertha’s corpse. One stumbled around, bounced off the wall, and fell; another toddled toward Bruce before falling to its knees. The half skeleton kept drinking from Bertha’s neck even as it burned.
The heat was enormous, baking. Bruce backed away, and the last thing he saw before smoke obscured his vision was Merrick Garvis.
He was literally melting.
***
Dominick Mason tried to go home, but he no longer had a home. All of his worldly possessions sat on the sidewalk in front of his building, discarded coldly as easily. His key didn’t work in his door and there was a FOR RENT sign on it. Why would it be any other way? He was dead. Sooner or later, everyone forgets you when you’re dead, and all the things you held so dear wind up in the trash. It was a hard pill to swallow, but most people aren’t around to see it after they die.
He was.
From his building, he walked east toward Washington Park. In the distance, thick, black smoke billowed into the air, and sirens rose. He barely noticed and wouldn’t have cared even if he did. No more rubbernecking for him. That was for the living.
The pain that had plagued him so the previous day came back, only less this time. Maybe he was imagining it, but it was getting harder to think. Not that he cared, really. What was there to think about anyway? How he had no one to mourn or miss him? How he died and not one single person, except for maybe his mother, cared, or even noticed? How he had done nothing with his life? Even to the women he’d slept with, what was he? Just another dating app hookup. They probably didn’t even remember his name.
Merrick had been right about one thing. Death was easy. It was life that was hard…life that hurt.
With that in mind, Dominick made his way to Washington Park. It was a vast and deep place with many small caves and thickets. Kids played on the playground, their cries of laughter scenting the still air. It had grown cloudy and began to rain. Still, smoke poured into the sky in the direction of Club Vlad. Dom didn’t wish ill on Merrick and the others, didn’t hope it was them burning. He didn’t care anymore. Not about them, not about anyone. For better or worse (and he would argue it was worse), his life was over. His time came days ago, he just missed the boat.
Picking out an isolated little area, Dom sat against a tree with his legs splayed out in front of him. He titled his head back and closed his eyes. Yes, thinking was hard now. His mind felt sluggish, cold. He was thirsty…so, so thirsty, but he ignored it.
Slowly, the bugs found him. Flies buzzed around him and laid their eggs in his skin. Beetles scuttled over him, followed by worms.
Next, it was the birds. They ate out his eyes and nibbled at his blue, bloated skin.
The animals came last.
Their appetites were bigger.
And they left little remaining of poor, outcast Dominick Mason.
***
That night, Bruce sat alone in his little trailer, a bottle of whiskey wedged between his legs and unshed tears in his eyes. He stared at his reflection in the darkened TV set and took long swallows from the bottle. He planned to drink until he forgot or passed out, whichever came first. He tried to not think about Vanessa, but in his addled state, he couldn’t control himself, and began to cry. When that storm passed, like the others before it, he chugged from the bottle.
As distant church bells clanged the hour - midnight - a feeble knock came at the door. Bruce took another drink and it came again. Getting up, he stumbled, nearly fell, and gripped the bottle tightly. He didn’t want to lose one precious drop.
Again, the knock.
“I’m coming,” Bruce slurred. He staggered to the door and fought with the lock. He was dizzy and seeing double.
When he got it, he opened the door.
The bottle dropped from his hand and clanked onto the floor.
Vanessa, clad in a puke green hospital gown, stood on the step, her hands pressed to her chest and a look of anguish on her milk white face. Her head tilted to one side, the wounds on her neck cleaned but open, gaping. Her dark eyes shone with tears. “I’m dead,” she said.
Breaking down in tears, she collapsed against him and they sank to the floor. She was cold and smelled. Bruce wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest anyway. “Shhh, it’s alright,” he said drunkenly. “Hey, it’s alright.
“I’m dead,” she repeated, and her voice broke. “I don’t want to die.”
Bruce held her close, trying to warm her icy skin. He didn’t know what to say, so he cried with her.
“You’re safe now,” he said, “it’s going to be okay.”
“I want blood,” she said and sobbed harder, “I want to hurt people.”
“Shhh,” Bruce said again. “It’s okay.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a utility knife. He flicked the blade across his wrist and searing pain shot up his arm. “Here,” he said and offered her his blood, “drink this.”
He did this without care and without thought. She needed him, and one barnaclehead always backs up another.
Vanessa hesitated, looking from his face to the oozing blood, unsure.
“Go ahead,” he told her.
Vanessa brought his wrist to her mouth.
And began to drink.

Hello,

I recently moved into a new apartment and while I generally think I'm OK at designing other people's spaces I am getting stuck on my own. Luckily I don't have a lot of stuff yet due to having sold most of it prior so I am open to getting some new pieces.
My biggest issue is the placement of the couch in the main room. I have tried bisecting the room into two spaces but it feels overly crowded
The room is unified in the posted pictures and I have tried to have the couch each way. Longways the room is way too big and you are too far from the TV. In its current formation the couch is kind of floating in the room (to allow access to the sliding door behind it). If I flip the formation then the couch is still floating (to allow access to the bar stools) but there is a great view behind the windows.
The desk can go anywhere, I am looking at ways I can possibly hide it but the large screen makes that difficult. Open to any ideas to make it look bettehide it and find a good place for it. Please excuse some of the mess!
https://preview.redd.it/lom1a1x4tt0d1.png?width=640&format=png&auto=webp&s=d630b61f515aa2e6f85684d4df87ff5f48376b72
https://preview.redd.it/su3fylp6tt0d1.png?width=640&format=png&auto=webp&s=0e987d9977fac43766264baeacb0e2a56967d650
https://preview.redd.it/fl8ix8w7tt0d1.png?width=640&format=png&auto=webp&s=0bdf591660665dcdb1c45a34e5b4f47c66b09ef3

My previous post was removed because I didn't specify clearly enough that I have been diagnosed with IBS by my doctor. But I've some doubts since I don't experience any pain. Here's what's going on:
About ten years ago I first started to deal with severe digestion issues. Luckily, after a year of testing and talking with my doctors, I got better after starting antidepressants. Back then I was under a lot of stress and suffered from depression. I have been doing really well mentally for the past 8/7 years or so. Low stress, good mental health, finished my degree and landed a stable job.
Yet, for the past 2,5 years my digestion has been deteriorating rapidly. My issues currently are:

• daily foul smelling gas, starting around lunchtime and sometimes going on until late into the evening/night
• concurrent with the gas; bloating, fatigue and brain fog. I regularly have to lay down and often even fall asleep (this is start to interfere with my work as well)
• soft or sticky stools, often (not always) diarrhea-like. However, frequency seems somewhat normal (once or twice a day)

I am happy to say that at least I don’t have pain, cramps, constipation, burping, sudden diarrhea (having to run for the bathroom), and fortunately this time around I’m not loosing weight like I was last time. However, due to the lack of pain and cramps I'm also doubting whether this really is IBS. [Even though my GP has said it's IBS after excluding other possible causes, such as celiac disease, Crohn's, etc.]
My GP and I are at a loss of what we can do to improve my situation. We’ve tried lots of interventions and treatments by now, and my GP said we’ve run out of treatments and tests. So far we’ve tried:

• FODMAP elimination (no clear triggers, as symptoms hardly subsided during the elimination phase)
• caffeine elimination
• gluten elimination
• bloodtests for allergies / celiac disease as well as Crohn’s disease
• elimination of sucralose and other sweeteners
• digestive enzymes supplementation
• betaine HCI supplementation
• l-glutamine supplementation
• ginger extract supplementation as well as consuming lots of ginger
• psyllium husk supplementation
• s. boulardii supplementation
• simethicone supplementation
• zinc supplementation
• sertraline (50 mg)
• amitriptyline (10 mg)
• enteric coated peppermint oil
• mindful eating and breathwork

I eat a vegan diet (quite varied albeit less so since the FODMAP diet) and my bloodwork is all good, I workout 3-4 times a week, get 8 hrs sleep/night, and never consume alcohol. I make sure not to swallow excessive air when eating and I chew my food well. I also used to meditate for 10-20 min a day, and tried self-hypnosis techniques learned in therapy (but lately have given up on that, as tbh I’m starting to get really tired with trying all sorts of things to improve my situation when nothing seems to work). I am considering trying some sort of oregano oil/berberine supplementation regimen as I’ve read that for some people who suffer from hydrogen SIBO this could help. However, there isn’t really a good way of testing for SIBO in my country, and my GP says that at home breath tests are too unreliable at this point in time. So I’m not sure if oregano/berberine supplementation is going to be of much use. (GP discourages it atm anyway, although they also understand my desire for relief/treatment.)
I was in a very good place before this “relapse” and it’s really starting to take its toll on me. I wonder if anyone has any further ideas of what could be going on or what I might be overlooking. I may just have to accept that I’m never going to get rid of this, but I am really hoping for something that can alleviate my symptoms. At this rate it’s starting to affect my mental health as well and I’m also running into issues at work because of my fatigue.

I was really excited to finally try Arc when it comes to windows as people seemed to love it and it always looked interesting and clean to me. Here I will write a short review of what i've noticed with using it a few days.
I won't touch so much on the subject on side tabs, Spaces, "bookmarks", these are not really issues and are definitely subjective and different, some people might like the new approach, some dont.
Here's a quick summary of my thoughts on the most notable "features" (Sidenav, Spaces, Different Logic for Bookmarks)

• I personally like the side nav, i like how easy it is to see everything and is forcing me to use my keaboard more for navigation (Ctrl+S, Ctrl+T, Ctrl+W), which i enjoy. It also looks great
• Spaces, and similar features like it in other browsers, is something that's not a part of my workflow typically. I like everything in one place and don't like unnecessary overhead. However, i see great potential in this for people who want to separate personal life and work, or multiple different works in an organized way.
• I don't use bookmarks as heavily as some people either, but it definitely feels weird having them act as tabs, maybe I could get used to it.

I just wanted to mention those obvious and biggest selling points of Arc; however, these are subjective features and changing the way people think about browsers and navigation, I don't want to talk about this atm. Each person should decide if they like what Arc has to offer when it comes to these "breaking" changes.
I also don't want to talk about any early Windows bugs, I'm sure those will be sorted out soon.
What I primarily wanted to talk about is some missing features. Sadly, at this point in time, Arc feels like a downgrade. Many features are missing or abstracted in a very weird way, and its not clear why, most of the things I'm about to talk about would not impact the "nature" of Arc, so I'm not sure why they were left out or not implemented.

1. Favourites (Quick access, or h/e you wanna call it)

When I started using Arc, considering that there is no way to customize the default home page, I was disappointed to see that theres no way for me to quickly open up some my most visited places. Then i found the Favourites, and i was pleasantly surprised, they looked clean, were accessible at all times, didn't take up too much space, perfect. That's what i thought until i was disappointed again.
The way favourites behave is just dumb, i have no other way of putting it. Its horrible and mostly unusable.
Example: Let's say I favorite Netflix. I click on it to open it, it's not gonna create a new tab, its just gonna open it in favorites. I play a movie and navigate off. There is NO WAY for me to tell that Netflix was ever even opened, that I have an entire movie playing in the background, i would have no idea where its coming from, what is playing, or anything about it, until i finally click on it to see whats going on. It's a horrible experience.
This somewhat intertwines with the way current "bookmarks" behave, except that this type of behavior is never expected from a quick-access menu. Atm these are just glorified tabs, but worse since they have no title, no indicators for being opened or playing audio, nothing.
To fix this simply make clicking on this open a new tab, I don't see how the current approach is better.

2. Titles

I can't for the life of me figure out why this is the case, but some webpage titles are overridden. Most notably I noticed Gmail, but I think i saw other cases as well.
In other browsers the title bar would show something like: Inbox(5) - [myemail@gmail.com](mailto:myemail@gmail.com)
In Arc it shows: Gmail
Just why? A very useful piece of information coming from the third party website itself is overridden for a worse user experience.

3. Multi-monitomulti-window support

For this part it might be important to notice the difference between Windows and Mac users. Correct me if I'm wrong but Mac seems typically focused on one monitor (considering the product), and the workflows for MacOS apps are built with that in mind. I'm not saying that all windows users use multiple monitors, in fact most don't, but it seems more common to have those types of customizability.
Now that Arc is on Windows the "Mac way of doing things" seems to remain, and everything feels slightly off.

• Technically you can have multiple arc windows, but the only way to make them is to drag and drop tabs. However, this creates an entirely new unnamed new space, and I'm not sure if that is what i would want.
• Creating new windows lacks the UX compared to Chrome, where you can just drag it out anywhere and it works natively the way a windows app is expected to.
• Middle-clicking the Arc icon in the taskbar doesn't do anything (should open a new window). And Right Click->New window opens the original Space with the same tabs,it feels very off and buggy, I don't see the benefit.
• Splitting is probably the closest I found to match the way I typically use a browser. However these are also not very intuitive, its hard to navigate, replace/add/close tabs, theres a weird white border, you cant split vertically

4. Settings

I couldn't wait to dive into the settings and personalize my Arc experience to fix all of these "issues" I was having. Only to find that settings pretty much don't exist. There is nothing.
(I'm not talking about chromium settings, these need to exist. But even these are impossible to find for an average user)
Here are all the available options

• Change the Theme between the two (they seem exactly the same)
• Change default search engine
• Setup when tabs are archived
• THATS IT, those 3 settings are the only ones that exist.

In such an "innovative" browser I expected intinitely more options to tweak things around. The way it currently is, if you don't like Arcs very opinionated way of doing things, you can't do anything about it. This is probably one of my biggest downsides.

5. Why?

• Opening a URL/Search window always shows "The Browser Company" youtube channel as one of the option? At least disable it when opened once, or put more rows in this menu, you remove an entire space for most recently opened places for an ad.
• Navigating off a page playing a puts a video in a small window over your other stuff. Maybe 1/20 times i watch a video I might want this to happen, the rest of the time, its a music video, podcast, something to listen to, you just navigated quickly off of it, etc. At least add an option to remove this. (As I was writing this i found a way to disable the "picture in picture", I will leave the section to show my initial thought, but im pleasantly surprised i was able to fix this and im willing to give other features a try the same way)

Conclusion

I will still be using Arc for a while to see if I can get used to some of my current pain-points and to give it a better shot, as well as wait for potential upgrades.
Let me know what you guys think and if you found a workaround for some of my issues. Or have any other benefits to Arc that i filed to notice.
Thanks for reading

I'm going to redo my house, primarily the kitchen, and am looking for ideas where I can reach everything, but don't require step stools. Very high ceilings, so some type of Ferris wheel I'm thinking. What are some of the adjustments you've made?

Is anyone else majorly annoyed by the way Respawn almost completely ignores finishers? They literally NEVER add new finishers unless it's part of a mythic skin and those only even became a thing recently. They've never put a finisher in the battle pass, never put new ones in the store, never have them as part of an event, NOTHING.
I've personally always thought that heirlooms should've come with a finisher that includes the heirloom in it. But we get mythic skins that have special finishers? Instead of... a finisher.. that includes the use of the literal weapon that your character is holding? Like, I'm running around the map with this weapon that I can literally hit people with and yet I don't get a finisher that shows my character USING said weapon to finish off the enemy? But the SKIN that I'm wearing gets a special finisher???
Don't get me wrong, I think the mythic skin finishers are sick and I think that if a skin is going to be mythic rarity, it absolutely SHOULD have a finisher with it. But it's BIZARRE to me that the idea for a SKIN with a finisher happened but no one thought of giving the melee weapons a finisher?!
But even beyond that, why can we not get new finishers just in the battle pass or with a new season? We get new emotes. We get skydive emotes. Wattson only has two finishers. Octane only had two before his mythic skin, as did Bangalore. Gibby has three. Mirage has three. And they've just been sitting there, collecting dust, nothing new added. It's especially frustrating because you already get one automatically unlocked with the Legend, so there's only one or two to unlock and that's it forever unless your character gets a mythic skin, in which case you have to shell out $100+ to get the base version and then grind until it upgrades to tier 3. There's a complete lack of variety. If you finish someone with the basic finisher, it's like, "Wow, you only have the base one?". But if you finish them with the other one (or one of the other two) it's like, "Okay... I've still seen this a million times."
Finishers are SO COOL and yet they're just COMPLETELY forgotten about. You get the finishers you get when the Legend drops and that's all you'll ever get. Again, barring the $100+ mythic skin they have or might get eventually at some point maybe.
But by all means, keep stuffing the battle pass full of trackers. Because that's truly what we all want. Trackers and holo sprays.

About ten years ago I first started to deal with severe digestion issues. Luckily, after a year of testing and talking with my doctors, I got better after starting antidepressants. Back then I was under a lot of stress and suffered from depression. I have been doing really well mentally for the past 8/7 years or so. Low stress, good mental health, finished my degree and landed a stable job.
Yet, for the past 2,5 years my digestion has been deteriorating rapidly. My issues currently are:

• daily foul smelling gas, starting around lunchtime and sometimes going on until late into the evening/night
• concurrent with the gas; bloating, fatigue and brain fog. I regularly have to lay down and often even fall asleep (this is start to interfere with my work as well)
• soft or sticky stools, often (not always) diarrhea-like. However, frequency seems somewhat normal (once or twice a day)

I am happy to say that at least I don’t have pain, cramps, constipation, burping, sudden diarrhea (having to run for the bathroom), and fortunately this time around I’m not loosing weight like I was last time. However, due to the lack of pain and cramps I'm also doubting whether this really is IBS.
My GP and I are at a loss of what could be going on. We’ve tried lots of interventions and treatments by now, and my GP said we’ve run out of treatments and tests. So far we’ve tried:

• FODMAP elimination (no clear triggers, as symptoms hardly subsided during the elimination phase)
• caffeine elimination
• gluten elimination
• bloodtests for allergies / celiac disease as well as Crohn’s disease
• elimination of sucralose and other sweeteners
• digestive enzymes supplementation
• betaine HCI supplementation
• l-glutamine supplementation
• ginger extract supplementation as well as consuming lots of ginger
• psyllium husk supplementation
• s. boulardii supplementation
• simethicone supplementation
• zinc supplementation
• sertraline (50 mg)
• amitriptyline (10 mg)
• enteric coated peppermint oil
• mindful eating and breathwork

I eat a vegan diet (quite varied albeit less so since the FODMAP diet) and my bloodwork is all good, I workout 3-4 times a week, get 8 hrs sleep/night, and never consume alcohol. I make sure not to swallow excessive air when eating and I chew my food well. I also used to meditate for 10-20 min a day, and tried self-hypnosis techniques learned in therapy (but lately have given up on that, as tbh I’m starting to get really tired with trying all sorts of things to improve my situation when nothing seems to work). I am considering trying some sort of oregano oil/berberine supplementation regimen as I’ve read that for some people who suffer from hydrogen SIBO this could help. However, there isn’t really a good way of testing for SIBO in my country, and my GP says that at home breath tests are too unreliable at this point in time. So I’m not sure if oregano/berberine supplementation is going to be of much use. (GP discourages it atm anyway, although they also understand my desire for relief/treatment.)
I was in a very good place before this “relapse” and it’s really starting to take its toll on me. I wonder if anyone has any further ideas of what could be going on or what I might be overlooking. I may just have to accept that I’m never going to get rid of this, but I am really hoping for something that can alleviate my symptoms. At this rate it’s starting to affect my mental health as well and I’m also running into issues at work because of this.

Hi all,
I had a previous therapy session last week where my therapist was going through the general questions about my week, how I'm feeling, etc. I told her about an incident weeks where I went out of town and had some stomach problems after eating with feelings of the floor moving and my legs feeling wobbly when I went to a couple of different malls. As of now, I'm waiting for my CT scan results due to the lingering stomach aches and unhealthy looking stools after eating. I also randomly experience the ground moving and wobbly legs generally when I'm in higher elevated places (parking garages, hospital buildings, big flight of stairs upwards, etc). Maybe it is my PTSD/anxiety kicking in because I was never like this prior to my incident in January.
However, during the discussion of all that, she suggested that if my CT scan comes back normal that I could consider getting on medication for my anxiety. I also told her I still deal with hyper vigilance/hyper arousal/trouble focusing or concentrating on the moment.. like, lack of mental clarity. I expressed my thoughts when she suggested medication telling her that me and SSRI's don't get along. I was on Lexapro where I lost a bunch of weight then got put on Zoloft that made me feel like a zombie... emotionless, no happy, no sad. I eventually took myself off of it and was fine ever since.
I'm trying to find different natural coping mechanisms and supplements that I could take to regain proper cognitive function and reduce anxiety, rather than get out on SSRI's.
Any ideas?