Congested head dry throat

Long story short, I had an unnecessary cerebral angiogram (I trusted the doctors..) 2 weeks after I got COVID for the first time. I thought I was over COVID. Right after the angiogram I started having left ear pain and now almost 3 months later the symptoms are only getting worse. It all sounds like a CSF leak to me, but a cerebral angiogram uses a catheter that stays in your arteries...how could it even come close to puncturing the dura? I'm praying it's ANYTHING else than a CSF leak. I saw some posts on here of people with long COVID symptoms...could it be long COVID?
These are my symptoms:
left ear pain, pressure fullness - pain all around neck, vascular and muscle - recurring black spot in left peripheral vision -wet feeling in left ear - ringing tinnitus - bubbling/pop noise in head and both ears all day -neck bubbling/cracking sounds - base of skull is sore - laying on back causes pain on skull base - pressure in head on top and both sides - mild throat pain in left side - muscle spasms all over body CONSTANTLY - Pressure and pain in head when bending over - double vision - base back of neck pain - occasionally pain in left eye - brain burning feeling - ears popping - right top of foot and hand tingling and numbness -Right arm heavy and tingly, on and off

I've had it with this ubo! Karon naka mata napud ko tungod kay gahi kaayo akong ubo. Sunday last week kay nag general cleaning kos akoang kwarto tas murag na expose kos grabeng abog kay kalimot kog suot og mask pero eventually nag tabon ra gihapon dayun ko gamet sanina pina ninja style with my eyes only exposed ra dayun. Pero akong nabantayan inig human nakog pang limpyo kay gi hubak naman nuon ko. Galisod gyud kog relieve sakong kauligalingon after ana kay dli kaayo ga gawas ang phelgmz so I tried consulting a doctor about it and gi tagaan rako niyag resitas tambal. Pero hantod pa lage karon naa pagihapon, kamata pa gali ko kay katol akong throat and sige kog hubak og gahi so I had to dry water pa kay para i relieve nako akong kaugalingon. Where are y'all on this ba? Unsa kaha pwede nako itambal ani nga maka pa ayo gyud nga maka pa gawas tanan phelgm ani. Basin naa moy mga ma recommend pud nga tambal nga basin mo angay sa ako ba nga mapaayo ko. Anyways thanks ahead sa inyong mga answers.

I received my diagnosis on October 4th of 2023 and completed four rounds of dose dense AC followed by 12 rounds of Taxol on March 15th. Starting with the Taxol I began experiencing a stuffy nose and sinus congestion, which I chalked up to another chemo side effect. I waited a few months before visiting an ENT who took a quick look and the told me to start using a sinus rinse and Flonase, which I did. It didn't seem to do much to help. It has now been a few months since I finished chemo and the situation has improved slightly but is definitely still there. Every evening my nose gets stuffy and it makes breathing a little challenging. I still tend to think this is a slow chemo recovery thing, but when I have searched for others with this experience I'm not finding much. Of course now my head goes to the possibility of it being sinus cancer, but it's so hard to know any more what is an expected side effect and what is something to worry about. I have scheduled a CT scan to have it checked out just to be safe but thought I would post here to see if anyone else has had this experience with chemo or after treatment.

September 2nd - 07:00 Service to London
The morning commute always felt too early for Simon. Now autumn was rolling in, and the night ate further into the morning, he could barely keep his eyes open. So when he saw it standing across the platform, he was happy to blink and rub his eyes until it was gone.
September 9th - 07:00 Service to London
The same platform, the same spot, shivering. Why had he been this stupid not to bring a jacket? Oxford station was as nondescript as you could get, for a city so beautiful and ancient, it stood out like a big grey concrete thumb. He stood under the canopy sheltering from the rain, sadly it wasn't doing much in the way of protection. Every gust of wind brought icy shards of rain scratching at his face. Looks like he wasn't the only one suffering.
Across from him stood a man. Drenched to the bone, his white shirt clung to him, a tie stained blood red cutting through his torso. With every gust he stood still. Not flinching. Not moving. His eyes locked on Simon. Simon scanned him from head to toe, like a mirror the man responded, tracing his every move. Feeling the rush of a train approaching, Simon took a step back and like a child discovering their legs for the first time, the man stumbled forwards.
Feeling anxious warmth flooded his face, Simon scrambled onto the train. He was safe here. He was safe.
September 16th - 07:00 Service to London
He approached the platform with caution today, yes last week was weird, but it was early and he was tired. When he looked up at the departures the bad mood started. 20 minutes delayed. It was as grey as usual this morning, not raining though, that was a bonus he thought. He stood endlessly scrolling through social media, head locked down. Then he heard it, a high-pitched whistle. His head shot up, and then across from him, there he stood. The same white and red clothed man staring. Simon could feel his heart beating in his throat, his stomach turning in knots. Dark cold eyes were tied to his from across the void of the platform, sucking the warmth from his body. Simon knew he couldn't move, he couldn't bear to watch the man copy him. Breathing heavily he dragged his eyes to the departures, not daring to move a single limb. 3 minutes. He had to hold out for three minutes. He was alone out there, the platform was a lonely headland out at sea, it was just him and the man.
They stayed eyes locked, standing stock still. Simon didn't dare to breathe too heavily. Time was moving, he knew that, but every second was an eternity. Out the corner of his eye he could see a faint light growing brighter and brighter. The train was coming. He would be safe. Then in a split second the man broke his gaze. He was running. His body moved in perfect symmetry flying along the platform, getting closer and closer to the passenger bridge. He can get me. He can get me! Simon's mind was screaming. Alarm bells ringing. The man was getting closer. There was a hollow thud of thunder as the man's feet stormed across the bridge.
The train was pulling in now, its brakes hissing as it glided to a stop. Simon slammed his hand against the button frantically waiting for the doors to slide open, and they did. Inviting him into the warm comfort of the carriage. The man arrived at the bottom of the steps, fixed his gaze on Simon and ran. Gaining on him, 10 metres, 5 metres, 1 metre. The doors slid shut. And the man slammed against them. Simon’s stomach clamped in on itself; he could feel the sour taste of vomit flood his throat and mouth, pouring out onto the floor. His eyes stayed fixed on the glass of the train door. He was looking at his reflection. But this was no trick of the light. The man had his face and he was smiling.
September 16th - 16:34 Service to Worcester
Simon spent his entire day scanning faces. Anyone who crossed his path was a potential threat. He made it through the work day, he would get home, call the police and get answers. Boarding the train with hundreds of other passengers he was shielded, nothing could get him. Every station they passed he checked every face twice. But his mind and body grew tired, he’d spent the day on high alert and he was feeling the effects. His breathing was slowing down, every thought came at half speed and his eyes drooped and drooped until he slipped into a dark dreamless sleep.
The thud of closing doors ripped him from his sleep. He was awake, alert, heart pounding. He could see a station by the window. Charlbury. He'd gone too far, three stations too far. He got up and looked around the cabin and not a single face turned to meet him. He was alone. It’s fine, he thought. He'd get off at the next station and turn around. He'll be home in no time. He sat there pushing every bad thought from his mind, humming a tune he didn't even recognise for comfort. Then in a matter of minutes they were pulling into a station. Standing at the door he surveyed the platform as they slowed. Empty. Completely empty. Then from the corner of his eye he saw it, a flash of white then red, and finally that face. His face. Shit. Shit. Shit. He had to hide. He ran back into the carriage and fell to the floor between two seats, making sure no part of him could be seen above the window. He heard the door hiss shut, and they were moving. He didn't dare to move. Was he alone? He sat still, not allowing a single muscle fibre to twitch. Then like rolling thunder the sound of heavy boots progressed down the carriage. Slow and methodical, they stopped at every row before moving to the next. Fuck it was coming. They were just inches from him. He craned his head up to look.
The eyes staring down at him were pure black. Obsidian marbles studded in the face he saw every day. He tried to scream but his throat clenched shut. A smile stretched across that familiar face. It was no smile he'd ever given. His breath felt like it was coming out in chunks. He couldn't think, couldn't speak, couldn't move. Then out of its pocket something glinted in the light. He saw his own cowering reflection in the blade. Tears streamed down his face. He knew the pain about to follow would be the last thing he'd ever feel.

Not funny. I didn't laugh. Your joke is so bad I would have preferred the joke went over my head and you gave up re-telling me the joke. To be honest this is a horrible attempt at trying to get a laugh out of me. Not a chuckle, not a "hehe", not even a subtle burst of air out of my esophagus. Science says that, before you laugh, your brain preps your facial muscles, but I didn't even feel the slightest twitch. 0/10 this "joke" is so bad I can't believe anyone legally allowed you to be creative at all. The amount of brainpower you must have put into that "joke" to make it unfunny has the potential to power every house on Earth. Get a personality and learn how to make jokes; read a book. I'm not saying this to be funny; I genuinely mean it to articulate how this is just bottom-barrel embarrassment at comedy. You've single-handedly killed humor and every comedic act on the planet. I'm so disappointed that society has failed as a whole in being able to teach you how to be funny. Honestly, if I put in all my power and time to try and make your joke funny, it would require Einstein himself to build a device to strap me into so I can be connected to the energy of a billion stars to do it, and even then all that joke would get from people is a subtle scuff. It was like you told a knock-knock joke without the door. It's as if you stumbled upon the concept of wit in a dark alley and decided to mug it of all its charm before clumsily presenting it as your own. Maybe you should take a crash course in joke construction because what you just delivered was like watching someone fumble through a minefield of missed punchlines. I have to say, your attempt at humor was as dry as a desert in a drought. It's like you reached into a bag of jokes marked "expired" and pulled out the moldiest one you could find. I'm all for a good laugh, but your joke was more cringe-inducing than comedic. It's as if you were aiming for a chuckle but hit the mark of awkward silence instead. I've seen funnier things on the back of a cereal box. Honestly, your joke was about as refreshing as a sip of flat soda. If laughter is the best medicine, then your joke was like a bitter pill that's hard to swallow. It was about as funny as getting a root canal without anesthesia. Your joke was like a deflated balloon, lacking any wit or originality. Next time, maybe try a different approach, because this one fell flatter than a pancake beneath a steamroller. Your joke was about as amusing as watching paint dry in a retirement home. I've seen more humor in an instruction manual for assembling IKEA furniture. Your attempt at wit was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, except the needle was laughter and the haystack was your punchline. I've heard funnier jokes from a malfunctioning GPS trying to give directions through a corn maze. Your comedic timing was so off, it's like you were playing a different game altogether. If your joke were a movie, it would have been titled "The Unfunny Chronicles" and gone straight to DVD. Even crickets were silent after that attempt at humor. You're lucky I still have the slightest of empathy for you after telling that joke. Otherwise, I would have committed every war crime in the book just to prevent you from cracking an attempt at humor ever again. We should put that joke in textbooks so future generations can be wary of becoming such an absolute comedic failure. I'm disappointed, hurt, and outright offended that my precious time has been wasted trying to understand that joke. In the time that took me to understand I was planning on helping kids who have been orphaned, but because of that "joke", you've wasted my time explaining the obscene integrity of your terrible attempt at comedy. Now those kids are suffering without meals and there's nobody to blame but you. I hope you're happy with what you have done. I'd recommend you stick to something safer, like telling knock-knock jokes to a wall because at least the wall won't groan in agony at your punchlines.
My own.
original :)

In the rain storm the other day we were headed to virgin gorda and were unsure of which dock we were going in Cruz Bay. It was pouring off and on. The island was ultimately closed upon arrival and we had to go to Jost Van Dyke. So on my way to the dock leading my family through the pouring rain I saw a local sitting at a table with cover adjacent to an information sign. I didn’t think he was the employee but I thought it was funny in hindsight. So I said “hey man… pause … do you know where to go for the virgin gorda boat?” And then he just gives me the ol “good morning” so I say good morning and ask again. This time he responds, and obviously wasn’t going to if I didn’t say good morning. I’m from the south but I just figured a greeting would suffice given the circumstances and I wouldn’t ever do that to someone from New York visiting Birmingham. I feel like I did a greeting, showed some patience in the situation, but as a dry person not lost it’s a lot easier to mind your manners lol. Like at what point are you being the disrespectful one? Kind of saw it as someone being passive aggressive to someone else standing in the rain? Since then I’ve certainly said my good mornings, perhaps it was a moment of thinking too quickly, but sheesh.

September 2nd - 07:00 Service to London
The morning commute always felt too early for Simon. Now autumn was rolling in, and the night ate further into the morning, he could barely keep his eyes open. So when he saw it standing across the platform, he was happy to blink and rub his eyes until it was gone.
September 9th - 07:00 Service to London
The same platform, the same spot, shivering. Why had he been this stupid not to bring a jacket? Oxford station was as nondescript as you could get, for a city so beautiful and ancient, it stood out like a big grey concrete thumb. He stood under the canopy sheltering from the rain, sadly it wasn't doing much in the way of protection. Every gust of wind brought icy shards of rain scratching at his face. Looks like he wasn't the only one suffering.
Across from him stood a man. Drenched to the bone, his white shirt clung to him, a tie stained blood red cutting through his torso. With every gust he stood still. Not flinching. Not moving. His eyes locked on Simon. Simon scanned him from head to toe, like a mirror the man responded, tracing his every move. Feeling the rush of a train approaching, Simon took a step back and like a child discovering their legs for the first time, the man stumbled forwards.
Feeling anxious warmth flooded his face, Simon scrambled onto the train. He was safe here. He was safe.
September 16th - 07:00 Service to London
He approached the platform with caution today, yes last week was weird, but it was early and he was tired. When he looked up at the departures the bad mood started. 20 minutes delayed. It was as grey as usual this morning, not raining though, that was a bonus he thought. He stood endlessly scrolling through social media, head locked down. Then he heard it, a high-pitched whistle. His head shot up, and then across from him, there he stood. The same white and red clothed man staring. Simon could feel his heart beating in his throat, his stomach turning in knots. Dark cold eyes were tied to his from across the void of the platform, sucking the warmth from his body. Simon knew he couldn't move, he couldn't bear to watch the man copy him. Breathing heavily he dragged his eyes to the departures, not daring to move a single limb. 3 minutes. He had to hold out for three minutes. He was alone out there, the platform was a lonely headland out at sea, it was just him and the man.
They stayed eyes locked, standing stock still. Simon didn't dare to breathe too heavily. Time was moving, he knew that, but every second was an eternity. Out the corner of his eye he could see a faint light growing brighter and brighter. The train was coming. He would be safe. Then in a split second the man broke his gaze. He was running. His body moved in perfect symmetry flying along the platform, getting closer and closer to the passenger bridge. He can get me. He can get me! Simon's mind was screaming. Alarm bells ringing. The man was getting closer. There was a hollow thud of thunder as the man's feet stormed across the bridge.
The train was pulling in now, its brakes hissing as it glided to a stop. Simon slammed his hand against the button frantically waiting for the doors to slide open, and they did. Inviting him into the warm comfort of the carriage. The man arrived at the bottom of the steps, fixed his gaze on Simon and ran. Gaining on him, 10 metres, 5 metres, 1 metre. The doors slid shut. And the man slammed against them. Simon’s stomach clamped in on itself; he could feel the sour taste of vomit flood his throat and mouth, pouring out onto the floor. His eyes stayed fixed on the glass of the train door. He was looking at his reflection. But this was no trick of the light. The man had his face and he was smiling.
September 16th - 16:34 Service to Worcester
Simon spent his entire day scanning faces. Anyone who crossed his path was a potential threat. He made it through the work day, he would get home, call the police and get answers. Boarding the train with hundreds of other passengers he was shielded, nothing could get him. Every station they passed he checked every face twice. But his mind and body grew tired, he’d spent the day on high alert and he was feeling the effects. His breathing was slowing down, every thought came at half speed and his eyes drooped and drooped until he slipped into a dark dreamless sleep.
The thud of closing doors ripped him from his sleep. He was awake, alert, heart pounding. He could see a station by the window. Charlbury. He'd gone too far, three stations too far. He got up and looked around the cabin and not a single face turned to meet him. He was alone. It’s fine, he thought. He'd get off at the next station and turn around. He'll be home in no time. He sat there pushing every bad thought from his mind, humming a tune he didn't even recognise for comfort. Then in a matter of minutes they were pulling into a station. Standing at the door he surveyed the platform as they slowed. Empty. Completely empty. Then from the corner of his eye he saw it, a flash of white then red, and finally that face. His face. Shit. Shit. Shit. He had to hide. He ran back into the carriage and fell to the floor between two seats, making sure no part of him could be seen above the window. He heard the door hiss shut, and they were moving. He didn't dare to move. Was he alone? He sat still, not allowing a single muscle fibre to twitch. Then like rolling thunder the sound of heavy boots progressed down the carriage. Slow and methodical, they stopped at every row before moving to the next. Fuck it was coming. They were just inches from him. He craned his head up to look.
The eyes staring down at him were pure black. Obsidian marbles studded in the face he saw every day. He tried to scream but his throat clenched shut. A smile stretched across that familiar face. It was no smile he'd ever given. His breath felt like it was coming out in chunks. He couldn't think, couldn't speak, couldn't move. Then out of its pocket something glinted in the light. He saw his own cowering reflection in the blade. Tears streamed down his face. He knew the pain about to follow would be the last thing he'd ever feel.

Hello everyone, I was really hoping to get any help/tips in relation to how to go about getting a diagnosis and oif MCAS is what I’m experiencing. I’m a 39yo female living in the US, trying to navigate the medical system, which so far, has been disheartening. I realized that my symptoms slowly started to show themselves when I was about 16? It all started with me getting the most intense heart palpitations after eating, which then would turn into headaches and a loss of energy to do anything at all. Laying down would not help either with the heart palpitations. I suffered with this ever since then, with varying intensity (it has gotten better when my diet became simple, but I still experience it). Then around my 20’s I noticed when I walked faster than my usual pace or ran, I would develop this incredible itch that would get excruciating- the itch would turn into pain and I simply had to stop to gather myself . I ignored these symptoms , thinking that I’m out of shape but even when I became active, they didn’t go away. In the past 4 years, the particular itching has spread to the rest of my body. If I walk at a faster pace, the itching starts in my legs and now goes all the way up to my face. The best way I can describe how this feels- is that I want to crawl out of my skin . There were times when I had to stop and just cry out of pain and desperation. My feet also felt like they’re on fire, too! Another thing that added onto it was that, also around 4 years ago, I started experiencing hair loss. I went to see a dermo, who told me it’s stress induced hair loss that could potentially turn into permanent hair loss. I don’t have anyone in the family who has had hair loss- because he insisted that it’s hereditary, if it does turn into a permanent thing. He suggested I take minoxidil but I can’t take it since I already have low blood pressure. For the last year , my scalp has become extremely sensitive , to a point where when I put my head on a pillow, it hurts. I can’t move my hair from side to side because that hurts too. I went to see another demo who said the same thing and basically said everything I’m experiencing is a part of hair loss. Not to mention the constant itching in my scalp- it’s literally NON STOP. I don’t use any hair products, I don’t blow dry my hair… I sense that the hair loss is connected to the bigger picture of what’s happening with my health. I’m leaving out many other symptoms out of worry that I wrote too much. I finally got an appointment with an allergist but I can’t help feeling discouraged. I’ve been dismissed by doctors many times .. I’ve been told to go to therapy - which is probably implying that they believe this is psychological. I don’t know what tests to ask for because the ones they do, all come back normal. I am always tired and I have to push through to go to work.. to try to live my life and do what I can but there’s always the underlying lethargy. My sleep isn’t good.. even when I go to bed at the same time every night. Anyway, I would appreciate any input, even if you can relate to what you’re reading - that would really help, too! I appreciate your time!

So, a week ago today I came back from a 10 day vacation with my long distance girlfriend. We hadn't seen each other or had sex in about 4 months, so naturally we were going at it quite a lot, all unprotected (she uses NuvaRing). My GF has genital HSV-1, but she was infected almost 3 years ago and she takes viral suppression drugs whenever we're going to be together. She hasn't had any outbreaks besides her first one.
My only symptoms right now are an occasional, very slight but noticeable burning sensation during and after urination, and an occasional very slight itching of the urethra near the head of my penis, which I can only relieve by squeezing just below the head of my dick. Occasionally, some watery discharge that looks and feels like precum. I also had a random sore throat starting the day before I left to go home, which lasted for 3 or 4 days, but it wasn't scratchy or painful except for when swallowing, and my lymph nodes weren't swollen.
It's worth mentioning that I tested positive for chlamydia once a long time ago, in December 2020. I did the whole treatment regimen and tested again 9-10 days later, came back negative. Given my previous experience with chlamydia and the slight chance of exposure, I'm feeling a tad paranoid. What could be causing this? Possible non-STI bacterial infection from all the unprotected sex? Not always urinating after ejaculations? Using lubricant that's 3 years old? Non-specific urethritis from oral sex? My GF and I have been each other's only sexual partners for at least 11-12 months.

So I start out the year with really intense headaches, neck pain, dizziness, tinnitus. The headaches feel like needles wrapping up the back of my head into my forehead- so I go to a neurologist who first tells me I may have a dissection in my vertebral or carotid arteries.. so he gets MRIs and MRAs.
Then he tells me he found two small brain aneurysms, but to not worry because they’re small. So of course I worry, i worry for a month with zero insight until I can’t take it and I schedule an appointment to go see one of the top neurosurgeons in Boston- who tells me no, they’re not brain aneurysms they’re just normal variations of veins.
Meanwhile I’m still getting these headaches, dizziness, nausea so the same neurologist says he saw a bulging disk at c4-5 and a fully protruding disk at c6-7 and that the symptoms probably aren’t from that but he would write me a referral for physical therapy. So I go to physical therapy and start making moderate progress until they have me doing deadlifts where I was told “don’t focus on posture your body will self adjust” so I do and then injure my neck even worse than when I went in.
So I go to acupuncture since at this point I’m having such severe headaches that I’m throwing up and having to call out of work. On top of that I’ve got a flare up of gastritis because I accidentally ate gluten because I didn’t check the beef jerky for wheat(which I’m not supposed to do with celiacs)
The acupuncturist (she’s licensed with LAc and a health insurance referral) I go to used a technique I can only describe as a mix between dry needling and acupuncture- well, she punctures my chest wall, I get a pneumothorax within 15 min of leaving and my left lung collapses.
Now I’m sitting here with pain in my chest from the pneumothorax, unable to sleep because of my neck pain, and in just unreal pain and I have literally no idea how to solve it but I have to go back to work in two days because I don’t get PTO and I’m fee for service.

Title: Sow the Tide, Reap the Storm
Author: WearyBlues
Link: AO3
Rating: M
Language: English
Length: 215k
Status: Ongoing
Fic Summary:
Quen felt peculiar up on the dais, flanked by stags and lions and wolves.
The Usurper had once been a formidable man, with blazing eyes and a massive war hammer. Now, he was just a red-faced fat man, a pathetic drunk who ate as gracefully as a half-starved hog.
His Queen seemed to be a perpetually unhappy woman. Cersei Lannister was as beautiful as the singers said, though the woman had all the warmth of a dead fish.
She might have done well in the north, Quen thought, almost pitying.
(Or: The gods in their blind malice give Theon the feeble body of a woman.)
Chapter Summary:
Mother leaned over and kissed the top of her head. Her drying hair tickled as it brushed Arya’s face, and for a moment she wished her mother would hold her again.
Yet the scent of meat made her stomach growl. At the center of the lavish spread sat a haunch of stag, dripping blood and grease.
Lord Edmure caught her eye, amused. “Hungry, girl?”
I’m not a girl, she thought as Robb cut off a slab of meat and added it to her plate. The blood burst on her tongue as she bit down. I’m a wolf.

Has anyone who is fully healed been sick and had a sore throat since? I had a head cold and my sore throat was so different from what it was before. When I had a sore throat previously it would be mildly uncomfortable and my tonsils were very large. Of course now that I don’t have my tonsils there is no uncomfortable “unable to breathe“ feeling but my sore throat almost feels like cat scratches??? very scratchy and before surgery i wouldn’t ever really use cough drops, i was able to just deal with it but if I have a sore throat now, I have to eat cough drops like it’s nobody’s business and they barely help ! Curious to see if anyone else has this issue !!!

Title: Sow the Tide, Reap the Storm
Author: WearyBlues
Link: AO3
Rating: M
Language: English
Length: 215k
Status: Ongoing
Fic Summary:
Quen felt peculiar up on the dais, flanked by stags and lions and wolves.
The Usurper had once been a formidable man, with blazing eyes and a massive war hammer. Now, he was just a red-faced fat man, a pathetic drunk who ate as gracefully as a half-starved hog.
His Queen seemed to be a perpetually unhappy woman. Cersei Lannister was as beautiful as the singers said, though the woman had all the warmth of a dead fish.
She might have done well in the north, Quen thought, almost pitying.
(Or: The gods in their blind malice give Theon the feeble body of a woman.)
Chapter Summary:
Mother leaned over and kissed the top of her head. Her drying hair tickled as it brushed Arya’s face, and for a moment she wished her mother would hold her again.
Yet the scent of meat made her stomach growl. At the center of the lavish spread sat a haunch of stag, dripping blood and grease.
Lord Edmure caught her eye, amused. “Hungry, girl?”
I’m not a girl, she thought as Robb cut off a slab of meat and added it to her plate. The blood burst on her tongue as she bit down. I’m a wolf.

First I print and then it starts disconnecting the little boat preset halfway through. Then It starts going all twisty curvy at the top and plastic gets all over the head, then dries to the nozzle and gets detached from the plate leaving the printer to start printing plastic all over the place. I now have multiple shitty little half made boats or 3 or 4 layers of a few boats that are so messy and broken. I don't know why I bother. All of this for the fucking printer to be a huge pain in my ass. Everything I do is wrong with these things. Please can someone who knows printers please just talk to me, someone I can have a conversation with to help me because the instructions are good for fucking nothing and I need help
Anycubic kobra 2 NEO,
Anycubic 3d printer PLA
Default speed
Preset stuff models the first 2 prints were fine
Printer seems to control itself nicely
Worked correctly twice now nothing works

I think that what triggers me the most is the fact that I WAS NOT DRUNK.
I'm dry since the start of december so i'm now 6 months in, and I totaled my car because of innatention.
Thank god no one was hurt except for my willpower into sobriety. Of course he first idea that poped in my head after this was, go get drunk, kill this anxiety, eat and sleep it off. But I know it won't help, break the streak and most surely lead to a relapse. I have to deal with it.
I did't had the car for one month yet! Not that's it's brand new but I was on foot for 6 years because of an old DUI and me not getting my shit togheter. Now that I have my shit togheter, stopped drinking, salary raise, bought a car, put a breathalyzer in it and now this... fuck me right?

So when I was 19 I met a 36yo he was a DC police official who had the look that drew attention to his dick. Everything about him was just so perfect for me when I was younger and had no experience in anything. But he had plenty of experience and he saw me as a goal. So we started dating when after about a month he started talking about what I would do if he brought someone else home to his apartment while I was there for the purpose of fucking me. I asked him why would he want that for me? He said, because I want to see how you look when you’re getting fucked by another guy. I said why? he said, because I want to know if you would like me or it more? I said well what about you? He said that he would wait until the other guy finished loading me up with his seed. Saying if you’re going to do it you would do it raw. He wanted me to be used by somebody else before him. Then he would enjoy more the wet slick fucking, more than he enjoys it without the cum from another guy. By this point I was harder than I ever was before. I was incredibly interested in what he wanted, cause I loved the sex with his cock enough badly. But if I said no? I felt like it might break up the relationship between us. Cause I wasn’t really interested in what was driving him, to get to the point where he wanted me to do that. So I said who? He said I would find someone and blindfold you. So you don’t know who they are. Cause I don’t want you to connect with them on any level. He said, you will stay just mine. But you will suck, and get fucked by other guys with 8 or more inches. To put their seed deeply in your ass, or throat wherever they decide. You cannot talk or ask questions. Just listen and do what I ask for you to do. If you choke on it that’s fine too just tap on him to signal to stop if you think you’re gonna throw up or pass out. God this is going to be fucking good for us. I was thinking so many things. I was going to satisfy his curiosity about it. Because that’s what a partner does when they are in love. He continues just If you want to do that, fine for me. Then I will be happy with you forever. Heard that and said I want forever because I really loved the guy. He told me that I was that good that he wanted to let other guys nail me because they should have a piece of me and I have a piece of them. So he could have the whole piece already used open so he could do different sexual activities with me and I was happy to take the challenge that he offered me. I wanted to make it happen because it seemed hot as hell and he deserves to be satisfied with it. So I said yes. We have the next 9 years together, and I don’t know how many guys he let fuck me. But I did do everything he wanted when he told me to do it. I enjoyed it. He started later on in the months following our first 3 some. Saying that he thought it would be fair for him to be able to find guys for him to unload his cum into because he said you love it. And I want to love it too. So I said alright and worked with him on finding men he could juice up. That was the hottest thing I ever did for him. I don’t know why I love it. But he ended up leaving the house because he found something that was better than what I had to offer. Thats ok. I was devastated by that as I really wasn’t knowing anything else but his way to me. So I spent 4 years singing the blues. Gladly I recovered from heartbreak and went back to the dating scene. I met someone new and he is my favorite person in the world. I told him because he is so vanilla with sex. That this guy was checking himself out, and he seemed intrigued by it. So I asked him what would he do if I brought someone home for him to fuck? One he thought was cute and fuck-able? He said are you kidding me? With no chance to actually answer he questions me. What do you think? I will fuck him. I 1 quickly said yes in my head. 2 I turned to him and said I’d like to start looking then. But you can’t fall in love with him because I love you and I can’t go back to alone. So he’s agreeing to not falling in love with someone else. Couldn’t believe it came out of nowhere but I am glad that he’s game. And for now that’s good for me. We have been doing it for a week now and only 2 guys so far. But he’s really loving it too the same as me. I like to ask him questions about his experience with the other guys. And I ask him if he would save their cum in his mouth after sucking them off after he fucks them. So that he could French kiss me while he has the cum on his tongue. He said sure that’s sweet to me. I couldn’t agree with that much more. So I just wanted to know if I was the only fag who doesn’t mind being second to another guy. That my partner would want to land in his loads into. For the taste of it all, it’s worth it I think. 🤔 Fill me in on your thoughts on this topic please.

Synopsis: Markus is summoned from Earth by evil beings looking for a 'weak and primitive' creature to use as sacrificial entertainment. What they got instead was a human. Immediately after arriving, Markus awakens to an ability so rare, so powerful that it makes every god on Firellia desperate to recruit him as their new champion.
Learning to control his innate mastery over mana, Markus will devour the very essence of any monster, demon, or god that dares get in his way, determined to never lose his freedom again.
——
First Prev Next Patreon
Markus felt the air slicing right past his shoulder, but the blade never made contact. With an explosion of pain and power, he forced the goblins away with intangible, spiritual force, a white-blue energy emanating from him as he clutched his axe hard, fresh blood leaking onto the handle.
[Mana Capacity at 366%. Overcharge, E Grade is in effect. Growth increased. All physical stats temporarily increased by 75. Physical damage resistance increased.]
[Mana Poisoning II is in effect.]
He stared out at the five targets before him, all of them frozen, inert, watching to see what he’d do next. The injured sword user still stared dead at him, but it wasn’t just hatred in his eyes, no. Not anymore.
There was another feeling in there, one that grew with each passing moment as Markus began to close the distance between them. Now it was his turn to advance, theirs to shy away, to back up, to brandish their weapons wildly in an attempt to deter his hellmarch.
Markus had started off limping, but he soon managed to stand tall. His injuries barely affected him in this state. They still hurt, they still throbbed, they still itched and burned beneath his skin, but the pleasant, stimulating, thrumming warmth of mana flowed through him at full tilt, guiding his motions and giving him clarity of vision, confidence in his gait.
His heavy, deliberate steps crushed the sand below. He was no larger than life, yet a monster of gargantuan proportions in the face of these pitiable beasts.
They swung and stabbed forth with such forlorn intensity, such maddening whines. They sensed the danger, backing up continually even as they continued to try and keep Markus at bay, huddling in a tenuous attempt at a battle formation.
None of this deterred Markus. He could see their attacks for what they were now. Untrained. They’d used their weapons far more than he ever had, yes, but they were still clumsy. Slower than he’d been with the glaive. Moving aside to dodge a sword swing or the poke of a spear was rudimentary at this point. Almost effortless.
Still, dealing at four weapons thrusting in his direction at once was still difficult. When another rock sailed past his head, this one just barely missing due to a split-second reaction, he instinctively responded, chucking the hand axe straight at the far off goblin with the slingshot.
His weapon travelled about ten feet before embedding itself directly in the creature’s chest.
He fell in an instant. There would be no survival, no miraculous return to his feet. One strike was all it took.
He’d given up his weapon. It didn’t matter. Markus had a thousand other ways to make the remainders’ defenses crack.
Shield user was heading up the middle of their formation, which made the most sense, the two polearm users standing at either side a small distance behind and continually thrusting with their spears. The four of them were stood in something almost akin to a V formation, the leader pressing his right arm into the chest of the goblin beside him and encouraging them to keep backing up.
Markus attempted to draw out the Flame Mana within his body. He was still clumsy, still having difficulty with selecting specific mana types to use, and when he attempted to focus his Flame Mana on a point and ignite one of the specific goblins, he found that having a point in Pyromancy didn’t just give him the power to spontaneously combust things.
Well, at least not yet.
So Markus settled for a different method. He attempted to use Manifest for the first time, drawing the Spirit Mana out of his body and attempting to form it into a shape, something long and sharp, resembling a blade or a stick or a poker, an instrument he could use to break up their formation, to make himself an opening. He continued to visualise as he walked, imagining his desired extension of Spirit as best he possibly could and attempting to bring it into the waiting world.
When the object first began to form within his hand, he found it to lack a handle, a shape, a curve, any delineating feature that might mark it as a distinct object, that might give it purpose. As it stood, the object looked something akin to a plain blue quarterstaff, its shape uniform as it lengthened, its colour a consistent, shimmering blue all the way along, complete with white rings that circled its length over and over as it continued to grow in length.
Markus shifted his focus over to Empower. He gave the makeshift weapon a test swing as he began to coat the surface of the ethereal staff in an orange glow, markings both spreading and radiating in each direction of the conjured weapon and warming Markus’ hands. It felt light in his hands, lighter than a baseball bat. Lighter than his glaive. Attunement didn’t apply here. This weapon was an extension of him. He understood how it moved.
There was a collective ‘what the fuck’ on the face of the goblins. They stood their ground, weapons stilled, ready to deflect his strikes as in the background, the announcer went through his latest bout of losing his damn mind at the spectacle unfolding before him.
The crowd seemed to have changed their tune. The cheers and cries of excitement from above were overwhelming—Markus put them out of mind. Stored them for later. Removed them from his focus.
All that mattered now was advancing. Surviving. Winning while he still had mana to spend.
Markus swung forwards with all of his might. Sparks and licks of flame alike danced through the stifling air, roaring upwards as his weapon collided with the middle goblin’s shield, staggering him and shaking all four of them in turn.
He could feel the reverberation coursing through him, but he stayed the course, retracting the weapon and reengaging with a lunging thrust, one leg extended, power and momentum coalescing even as he focussed the tip of his conjured staff into a red-hot tip.
The sparks that flew as the staff collided served as ample kindling, the wooden shield on the goblin’s arm catching flame. He waved his arm madly as he struggled to detach the large slab of wood from his arm, disrupting his comrades as Markus swung forth again, smacking the same goblin again in his sword arm and causing him to drop his weapon, staggering backwards and howling as the flames along the shield continued to spread, threatening to melt his flesh any moment as still he fought to detach it with no arms to do so.
Markus stared at the spreading flame, feeling intention rising within his body as he focussed the same energy he could feel dissipating from the staff after his second strike, retaining the feeling while he still recognised it and aiming it directly at his last point of impact.
The rate of the spreading flames doubled, a roar erupting from the shield as the wood split and frayed, the goblin screaming and throwing himself to the sand below, desperately attempting to douse his shield.
Markus ran forwards the moment their formation was broken. He focussed the leftmost goblin first, this one with a poleaxe, smashing the long staff into its side and then uppercuting the goblin’s chin with the staff’s backend, closing the gap between them in moments and sending the monster flying.
Markus felt a spear strike him in the right arm once more, and immediately felt the weapon he held in his hands dissipate.
Earlier, he might’ve panicked. Now, he grabbed the wooden pole sticking out of his arm before it could be retracted and snapped it in half.
A speartip embedded in his right arm, at least three other stab wounds littering his body, various cuts and scrapes and bruises forming even as he continued to defiantly march forwards, the glowing aura still pulsating and bleeding through his pores even as he bled into the sand, Markus must’ve looked like a fucking nightmare.
He felt like one. He didn’t take pleasure in the suffering of the goblins, but he almost wanted the fuckers to get back up. He wanted to show what came of taking him so lightly.
What he did to every goblin here today, the lengths he’d go to in order to win this, he wanted that to echo through the minds of every sick, terrible creature that thought to torture or torment him, a reminder that while so many might dwarf his power, while so many might make him look weak and helpless now, he would only grow stronger, and he would only get better.
And while Markus survived each horrific encounter he was thrust into, while he learned from his mistakes and devoured his enemies and consolidated his strength, he’d remember the ones who put him here…
And they’d be lucky if they weren’t [Devoured] next.
Markus punched the goblin to his right, swinging a left in a narrow arc. He heard a crunch, watching the goblin hit the floor as Markus adopted a boxing stance, left foot behind him.
He felt weird strange unorthodox, but even with the regeneration and pain reduction flowing through him from Overcharge, he’d still been stabbed in his right arm twice. He couldn’t rely on it for power now, so he was a southpaw until further notice.
That was fine. There was such power even behind his lefts right now that he floored these creatures with almost every strike. Overcharge was no fucking joke.
Not only that, but as Markus swung for shield goblin, who’d finally sprang to his feet and charged him, left arm looking slightly mangled, he realised that his fluidity of movement was only increasing the more time he spent on throwing these punches. He was improving as he went, adjusting to the change in his agility, tanking yet another grazing slash against his torso before kneeing the offending goblin in the face, sending the creature flying back to the dirt.
Pain exploded from his right leg as soon as he did so, and he had to fight to remain balance. He took a couple more slashes as once again he focussed power into his punches and concentrated on trying to take the creatures down, but the more he attempted to repeat the process, the more they kept getting back up, and the more Markus began to wonder what would wear down first at this rate, the four enemies he was fighting or his mana reserves?
He could take more punishment, but he needed to be able to give some back out. A good thrust from one of these goblins could still be lethal, and even if they were a lot slower than him, it was difficult to dodge multiple attacks at once when stood around sand.
Markus decided to change his approach, attempting to coat his knuckles in mana. Manifest created small protrusions at the end of his knuckles as he poured focus into the prospect. They weren’t spikes, he apparently couldn’t be so exact yet, but they at the very least seemed solid.
When he punched with them, he’d expected it to hurt pretty badly, but if anything, it cushioned the blow against what were surely broken knuckles by now. More than that, however, was the effect, a concussive blow that seemed to knock the first goblin he struck silly, allowing for an easy follow-up, and then allowed Markus to take the second one out with a single punch to the chin.
Two down, looking they wouldn’t get up for a minute, Markus singled out a third, the goblin with the burnt, broken shield, charing him and piledriving him to the ground.
He ignored the uncomfortable crunch below him as he drove his fingers into the goblin’s neck, choking and stabbing his fingers into his flesh simultaneously as the creature latched on and attempted to throttle him in turn, claws scratching in final, fitful jolts as the life was forced from his eyes.
Markus managed to drain a little from him and activate [Devour] before he returned to his feet, having only spent moments executing the creature.
As the new power flowed into him, Markus felt a stick smash against the back of his neck. He gasped, sucking air through his teeth as he turned to find the sorry culprit.
It was the goblin whose spear he broke earlier, the one whose metal tip was still embedded in his arm. Markus stared at him. Raised a finger at him, as if he were about to reprimand a child.
Then Markus punched him. The creature once again went flying backwards as Markus continued to rub his pained neck.
It was almost laughable, but this one minor injury hurt more than any of the others. Maybe it was because he hadn’t expected it. Maybe because he’d discounted that goblin from the fight already, disarmed and seemingly out cold.
The other two were still rising to their feet. One the leader, still injured, the other the poleaxe user, using his weapon to help raise himself to his unsteady feet.
He thought Overcharge would make this fight easy. He thought this fight was meant to be easy in general. A showcase of power. More like a showcase of struggle. Overcharge might’ve turned the fight in his favour, but each second of this battle was grueling, even with many of the enemies dead or out of commission.
And these things were pretty relentless. He almost respected the drive these things had to keep going, to stand up over and over no matter how many times he put them down. They must’ve been hoping they could wear him out eventually. He wasn’t gonna let that happen, though. Not while he still had a say in things. All he needed to do was single another one of them out and—
Poleaxe swung past his face, almost giving him a triple-close shave. This weapon looked sharper and shinier than the other gear the goblins boasted, and he didn’t wanna get nicked by the blade, so Markus attempted to once again yank the weapon away from the offending goblin, placing both hands on the pole, but the creature pulled back with such force that it threw itself back to the floor, causing the weapon to slip from Markus’ grip and cut both of his palms on the way out.
The goblin barreled back with his momentum, rolling, but before he could find his feet again, Markus was behind him. A kick to its head pushed it back into the sand, and two more kicks followed by a single stamp solidified the goblin’s defeat.
As Markus turned to face the leader, the goblin kicked sand in his face.
He was immediately blinded, unable to defend himself as the goblin stabbed him directly in the thigh with his short sword and immediately barreled into him, driving him to the ground and pounding his head against the floor beneath repeatedly, biting a chunk of flesh from his cheek as it dug its fingers into his neck, intent on crushing the life out of him once and for all.
This was fucked. He was going to die. He’d made one fucking slip-up and he was going to die! Markus kicked and thrashed with all of his might, but it was all too soon ebbing, and with the size of the creature and its pressure on his chest his legs couldn’t find any purchase. He attempted to move his arms up, to find a spot to drain the goblin from, but he wasn’t going to be able to drain the thing faster than it choked him out.
Markus attempted to wrap his arms around its back, to simply crush it with his enhanced strength, but even when he squeezed with all of the death-defying strength he could conjure, he could barely do more than force a strangled crunch! from the goblin’s ribs.
He needed to break its grip. His thoughts were slowly fading. He needed to break its…
He bit the creature right back, right on its chin, causing it to flinch back just long enough that he could snake his right arm from where it was pinned and grab its left with both his slippery, bleeding hands. He attempted to prize its hands apart, but its focus was too great, its determination too single-minded to give up its endeavour even as he pulled it from his neck with all of its might…
He barely got seconds of breath, only able to break its hold for moments at a time, his neck raw, his gasps pained, laboured, and above all infrequent.
If he couldn’t stop it from grabbing him again every time he pushed its arm away…
Then he’d have to take its arm.
Markus focussed as much of his mana as he still could into his bleeding hands, seeking a means to pierce the goblin’s arm. His world slowed as he desperately attempted to coat his hands in energy, to bolster his grip, to pinpoint an area around the elbow that would allow him to pull at full force without slipping, without allowing the strength to fade from him entirely…
Markus closed his eyes. He was playing tug of war for his life, heart, and soul. Everything he’d ever known and cared about were on the line. Dreams, thoughts, wishes, emotions, all of them drifted by in the miasma of intangible nothingness that gently beckoned him past the epoch, that told him to let go, that told him he didn’t need to worry and fight anymore, that he’d bled enough, that this next breath could be his last…
Markus pulled. He pulled with the scream spilling out from his soul, for his lungs couldn’t carry it, with a bellow that shook the foundations of peace, for even in strangled silence, his spirit was unfathomably loud.
And the world trembled. Heaven’s gates closed. He tugged with all of his might, and above him, Markus heard a sickening snap.
His body flung back into the sand the moment the goblin’s arm dislodged. It stared at him in abject horror, attempting to move its dangling appendage, but seeing an opportunity, Markus moved faster, took advantage of its distraction, forcing the goblin off of his chest and smashing it into the floor.
It attempted to swing for him, but he beat it with more intensity than it could muster, his heart a war drum, lungs igniting with sulfuric heat as he gasped and panted for breath, his very existence a testament to the will of man.
He beat and smashed the goblin with his fists, even through the pain of his broken knuckles, but when the fucker still wouldn’t die despite his many concurrent blows, when it still attempted to claw and bite at him with every spasmic motion of its beaten body, Markus ripped the flailing arm from its side and drove the appendage into his face, able to use his full strength now that his body wasn’t the conduit, smashing the goblin with its own arm over and over in a fervent expression of vitriolic irony, for they’d sent him here unarmed, and now he was very much armed indeed.
The death gasps of the goblin leader were punctuated by bludgeoning strikes from its own broken, mangled, severed arm. Markus leant over him, body littered in wounds, looking as if he might die or ascend to Valhalla at any moment, as the crowd clapped and cheered and roared in satisfaction.
“Yeah?” Markus coughed the word out. He could barely speak. His voice was only scarcely being held together by the tendrils of overwhelming mana. “You like that, you sick fucks?!”
He raised himself to a sitting position, bathed in crimson, looking over the battlefield, staring out at what he’d done.
There was a chance he’d die to these injuries. Even Regeneration surely had its limits. He stuck his fingers to the throat of the dead goblin beneath him, attempting to drain some residual mana from his body, poisoning be damned. He hoped he could at least get something to stem the tide of his many wounds. He [Devoured] the creature’s core, too, just to be thorough.
His focus was broken by the sound of the final goblin scurrying up beside him. It was the one whose spear he’d broken. The one he simply punched away earlier.
It stood holding a short sword, one he must’ve picked up from one of his dead comrades.
He looked at Markus. He poised his body, as if he were ready to strike.
Markus simply stared at him, raising the dead goblin’s arm as he did so.
The little goblin held that position for roughly three seconds, not moving even a single inch, Markus doing the exact same.
It dropped the sword, then ran as far as it could in the opposite direction, crouching and covering its head with its hands as the crowd laughed and jeered.
Markus sighed a laboured breath as the announcer took over, his complete victory having been finally declared for all the rabid, screaming onlookers above.
Good thing he looked so terrifying right now. He was pretty sure one good hit would’ve been all he needed to do him in for good.
Hell, even a bad hit probably would’ve done the trick at this point.
He saw a digital image of himself projected up high, though he could barely make it out through the blurring of his eyes.
He looked as if someone had painted half his body red. He felt as if he’d been ran through a woodchipper.
If I survive my injuries, I’d better get a fucking good reward for this.
Markus would survive his injuries. And he would get a fucking good reward.
//
First Prev Next Next (Patreon)
A/N: Hey! Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed, and that you enjoy what comes next! What do you think Markus needs most in his situation, besides a way home? I'm curious!
If you wanna help support me and this story, or you just can't wait for the next chapter, the next eight chapters of this story are available right now on my Patreon!

I’ve been trying a bunch of different things and not sure what’s wrong
Resmed 11 - N20
Have temp set to max and have tried manual and auto humidity
I can avoid rainout if I’m on 1 maybe 2 humidity level but then it’s too dry and my sinuses feel terrible
Cpap is on my night stand with tube going up and hanging on wall over my head - not sure if this positioning matters or if it would make it better to change it
Any advice would be great

It has 2 parts, the top (also left)part is 麻; the bottom part is 鬼。
麻 is for phonetic. But it is also to indicate the numbness feeling affected by 魔！
In turn, 麻 is hemp or flax， it has numbness effect。 Its fiber is used for clothing. It is the most important fiber before the more recent cotton fiber.
In turn, 麻 has 2 parts. The top is 广， a big house-structure what has top but no surrounding walls (note it is similar to the radical 宀, which means a house).
It’s bottom is 林。 but here it does not mean forest, it simply means to show sun-air drying the fiber in or next to the house.
鬼 means the ghost. It has 3 parts. The top is the big head. The bottom has 2 parts. The trunk is 人， means human，the body of the ghost.
The small 厶 , indicating meaning 私，private, because ghost behaves privately. Note that 厶 is only used as a part (“radical”). The character 私 should be simplified into 厶. It is also related to 公， whose top means “back of” or “opposite of”, so, it means “public”.