Fat women lift and carry

I’ve tried the laying down and lifting my head and using my my fingers method, but it’s hard to tell due to only being 11 weeks postpartum (from a twin pregnancy) due to still having so much fat and loose skin. I was in shape prior to my pregnancy, but the pregnancy was tough and I developed preeclampsia so I could not exercise during. I have so much “glob” for lack of a better word on my stomach that I feel like my fingers don’t penetrate down through the excess skin. I definitely have an overhang of skin and probably fat. Should I wait until I’m further postpartum? I don’t have the available days at work for a doctor’s appointment right now. My fingers go down to what is possibly my muscle layer, but they sink down through so much skin and fat. I can’t feel an indent in what I would assume is my muscle layer, but maybe it’s wider than 4 fingers? I guess my question is for women with a gut on them how did you tell you had it without being diagnosed? Is 11 weeks postpartum from a rough pregnancy too soon to tell if you have it?

An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

Part 72 Gene mods (Part 1) (Part 71)
[Support me on Ko-fi so I can get some character commissions done and totally not buy more Gundams]
“Alright, calm down. It's really not that serious.” Though the holographic representation of War Chief Neshkaname, complete with ocean blue eyes and linear facial tattoos on his tan face, looked quite noticeably tired, his overall demeanor seemed fairly positive. “I just got out of a meeting with representatives from the different protesting groups and all of them agree with the general idea of what we're trying to do with our united defense fleet. There's just quite a bit of disagreement about how our Confederacy should approach the questions related to Earth, Mars, and everyone in Sol.”
“What kind of questions are we talking about here?” General Robert Andrews, the now former General of the US Army, was the first to speak up amongst the crowd of military leaders. “Nothing about invading Earth, I hope.”
“Well…” Though Rob was only half serious about his comment concerning Earth, the way the commanding officer of the Nishnabe Militia’s Blue Fleet began his response put a genuinely concerned expression on a few faces from Sol. “It's only a small percent of our population who are calling for war to reclaim land. A few million people at most, none of whom hold any positions of leadership in our military. Luckily, there are far more people calling for boycotts, embargoes, or blockades as opposed to anything direct.”
“War Chief, to many governments on Earth, an embargo, and especially a blockade, would be considered akin to a direct declaration of war.” General Renee Descartes, the former Chief of Defense Staff of France and Second in Command of the European Union's Unified Military, despite the dark bags under her eyes implying she hadn't gotten anywhere near enough sleep before this meeting, retained her rather elegant poise when adding that bit of necessary context. “You see, the economy of Earth is highly reliant on importing raw materials from space. With the climate being as delicate as it is, no one is willing to risk the kinds of planetside resource harvesting necessary to keep the thirteen billion people in the Earth’s Sphere of Influence employed, fed, and happy. More importantly, we are starting to run out of easily accessible mineral deposits in space.”
“Yes, the lunar mines and the near-Earth asteroid colonies still under UN-E control simply aren't producing nearly enough material to meet growing demand.” Admiral Nathaniel Adeoye, who had also given up his position as the Chief of Astral Naval Staff of the African Federation, chimed in with a clearly worried tone in his deep voice. “While I can understand the rage some of your people must feel, especially towards Americans, the many different people of Africa were in no way responsible for the colonization of America. In fact, we were subject to colonialism ourselves.”
“At least y'all still got yahr homelands!” Commandant General Daniel Chasinghorse, the former Commander of the entirety of MarsGov's Void-Marine Corps, didn't mean for his statement directed at Adeoye to sound as vitriolic as it did. However, the idea of him, his Lakota people, and all the displaced Native American Nations who were now mostly living in space or on Mars potentially being included in the Nishnabe’s reasonably negative reaction towards the people of Earth had put him on edge. “Sorry for snappin’ at yah like that, Nate. But the people livin’ on Mars ain't nothin’ done to deserve bein’ restricted by an embargo or blockade. We need all the extra-Solar tech we can get if we're gonna keep our population's health from declining even further. And I’m sure the African Lunar colonies could really use that medical and gravity tech too!”
“Nothing's been decided yet, and most people on Shkegpewen want peace, we just haven't reached a consensus on how that peace will look.” War Chief Msko Pkwenech, the commander of the Nishnabe Militia’s Red Fleet, interjected while making an open gesture with his hands to try to pat down the tension building up in this meeting room. “And if helps at all, we did take quite a few public votes concerning technology sharing for things we consider essential. But Maser probably has quicker access to the results than I would.”
“About ninety percent of respondents voted to immediately authorize and start sending out medical and gravity tech, including a production ship to come out and make things in-system, which is well above the seventy-five percent consensus needed to move forward.” As soon as the Light-born AI holographically representing their consciousness as an androgynous human began to speak in an incredibly soothing tone, the stress levels in the room began to fall. “There are currently a few councils debating the finer details and arranging logistics of what will be sent. However, the specifics of who gets what and when they get it will be negotiated between the respective governments in Sol and the Nishnabe Intergovernmental Council. Our job as the United Human Defense Fleet is not to interfere with diplomacy between nations, just to ensure that diplomacy is handled in a reasonable and non-threatening manner. Now, with that said, the vote to provide essential assistance was just one if a few taken over the last couple weeks. And while that poll was overwhelming and definitive, the ones concerning visas, immigration, galactic trade, and interspecies relations all fell below the consensus threshold for the Confederacy to adopt an official policy. When we say embargoes and blockades, we are purely referring to trade interactions between species, not between humanity and your economic exclusive zone. Once the relevant councils develop updated options for people to vote on, the next vote will be held.”
“An’ how long's all that gonna take?” Commandant Admiral Carol Nez, as the former head of MarsGov’s Astral Intelligence Collective and Councilmember in the Navajo Nation of Mars, was keenly aware of both the pressing urge of many on the red planet to live on a world with a breathable atmosphere and how just long it often took to for Native Nations to build a consensus. “Everaday we got at least a thousand babies born in Martian maternity stations an’ at least thirty percent ‘ave some kinda health issues. The sooner we get y'all's medical tech, the more kids that're gonna grow up to be happy an’ healthy!”
“We are well aware of the negative health implications of trying to raise children in low-gravity.” Msko already had his tablet out and was in the process of sending over the relevant information to his counterparts from Earth and Mars. “Our genetic modification technologies require individualized sequencing but they can be applied before or after birth to correct any serious issues. They can even be used well into adulthood. I got my eye color changed when I became an adult, so we can help anyone who hasn’t already gotten cybernetic replacements for affected body parts. All of our ships still in Sol are actively trying to produce as much of the base materials as they can and are working with doctors from your stations to get everything deployed as quickly as possible.”
“Why don’cha just teach our docs how to do it?” As soon as Carol got the question out, Msko and Nesh shot each other cautious glances before they both looked towards Maser.
“Well, Commandant Admiral Nez…” As soon as the hologram of the AI began to speak, it was clear their words were directed at everyone present from Sol. “To be completely blunt with all of you, we have reason to believe that the moment people from either Mars or Earth got full access to the genetic manipulation technology the Nishnabe utilize, someone would begin conducting experiments to turn humans into living weapons even more dangerous than the cybernetic ones you already produce. The cybernetics sported by many of your civilians would be legally considered military-grade combat modifications, and individuals with those cybernetics would be barred from entering many GCC standard space stations. We know there are doctors within both UN-E and MarsGov already working on projects to modify your species genome to produce what you call super soldiers, which something which is generally highly illegal under GCC laws. In fact, the genetic manipulation done to Sarah and Johnathan McAfree would likely be considered combat adjacent modifications according to GCC standards, and they would also be subject to various limitations due to their enhanced physiology.”
“Hey, now! Spooky an’ ‘er brother ain’t that scary!” Though he had been spending most of this meeting quietly sitting in his corner of the round table and trying to stay out of things he considered to be beyond his expertise, Professor Mikhail T. River felt compelled to say something now that his ex and her brother had been brought up. “Sure, she can bench press me. An’ Johnny can pick up the stove to sweep under it. But that ain't the gnarliest I ever seen! I mean, jus’ look at Comandante Harrison over here!”
/----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
While the members of the United Human Defense Fleet Council were in their meeting and discussing the rumors of Nishnabe protests Sarah had also caught wind of, that was far above her paygrade. Despite a tinge of concern fluttering away in the back of the unusually tall and rather athletically built Scotswoman’s mind, she wasn't worried about the things she had no control over. At the moment, she, her rather short and somewhat pudgy mother, and her colossal but cognitively limited brother were relaxing in the stables of the opulent nature area aboard UHDF DS-1 and spending time with the unicorn-like kaehi'xito that Mik had gifted to them. Though the three gingers were each busy with different things most of the day, Donna and Johnny with their Nishnabemwin and remote job training courses while Sarah performed her role as an intelligence analyst, the small family from Glasgow truly cherished this time they got to spend together. And the fact they were bonding with the closest living creatures in the galaxy to unicorns only made this even better for all of them.
“Hey Sarah! There you are!” As soon as Miakorva's voice called out from the entrance to the stable building, Sarah, her family, and the three unicorn-like creatures turned to see the Qui’ztar approaching them with familiar canine at her side. “And look who I found wandering around the ship! Did you know that Mikhail lets her walk around unsupervised?”
“Hiya Mia!” Being the closest to the entrance, Johnny was the first to greet the lanky and seemingly muscular blue woman before he crouched down low and extended a hand towards the Cane Corso. “An’ Micky lets her roam cuz she's a good girlie. Isn't tha’ righ’, Terry?”
“Terry Good dog!” Terry’s soft but deep whine was translated by her collar while she approached the man with her tail vigorously wagging.
“Terry's a trained station guard dog, Mia.” Sarah added while shooting the Qui’ztar intelligence officer a cheeky wink and coy smile. “It's ‘er job to wander a station, ‘r in this case a ship, an’ be on the lookout for trouble. An’ now that she can talk, she's a perfect workin’ animal. But wha’s up? Were yah lookin’ for me?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I was. But… uh…” Mia paused for a moment as she watched the massive beast of a dog place her paws on Johnny's shoulders and begin licking the man's face as if he had smothered some kind of invisible but quite tasty treat across his skin. “Isn’t there a concern that Terry may… Well… Hurt someone? Her species are non-sapient apex predators with strong hunting instincts, correct?”
“Tha's why she and most other workin’ dogs ‘re so well trained, love.” Donna replied with a giggle, the adorable display of affection between her son and Mik's dog forcing a massive smile across her freckled and slightly wrinkled face. “There's always a bit o’ risk with dogs, especially the biggins like Terry ‘ere. But if these unicorns aren't freakin’ out cuz o’ ‘er, then we don’ gotta be worried.”
“Kaehi'xito didn’t evolve with canine predators, so they likely don't even recognize her as a potential threat.” As Mia watched the beast of a dog lean more of her weight on to Johnny, she half expected the large and well-built man to fall over from the force. However, much to her surprise, the man stopped his energetic scratching on Terry's sides, wrapped his arms around her waist, and effortlessly lifted the gargantuan animal into the air, all the while it continued to lick his face. “But seeing you carry that creature like a baby would be enough to make almost anyone with caniphobia be cautiously curious about these creatures. And they must not be as heavy as they look if you can pick one up so easily.”
“Oh, Terry’s a thickin! At least fifteen stone!” In a motion that seemed in utter opposition to Johnny's comment, the man half-tossed the Cane Corso into the air so that he could reposition his hands to cradle the massive canine as if she were a literal baby. “But she's still a good lil pupper, ain't yah, Terry?”
“Terry, good baby!” Though Terry hadn't started flailing or showing any obvious signs of discomfort, she suddenly turned her head towards Sarah with a longing look in her golden eyes. “Pack-mother cuddle?”
“Yeah, sure, yah big ol’ lunk.”
Though Mia could believe a man as impressively large as Johnny may not have much difficulty in lifting a hundred kilo canine, she was completely flabbergasted by Sarah's ability to simply pull Terry from Johnny's grasp and continue to hold the animal up without even the slightest indication of strain. Not only had she just gotten confirmation that this creature was just as heavy as she thought, Miakorva was now being faced with the fact that the woman she had been cuddling with a night for quite some time was significantly stronger than she had realized. According to all the interspecies education she had received, which may have been slightly biased by the Qui’ztar professor teaching the courses, her own species had the highest ratio of strength to body mass of any Ascended species. And while she was aware that this woman she had formed a relationship with weighed about the same as she did despite being several centimeters shorter, Mia had yet to witness Sarah's capabilities demonstrated in such a casual manner.
“By the Matriarch, Sarah!” The lanky blue woman couldn't help herself as her bioluminescent freckles lit up at the shocking display of strength. “How are you that strong?!?”
“Gene mods.” Though Sarah didn't hesitate in her answer, she did wince slightly as she did so. “Me muscles’re almost twice as dense as the average human's. Tha's actually somethin’ I had to talk to Maser an’ NAN abou’ the other day. ‘Parently tha’ ain't a thing most species do for some reason. Bu’ I'm pre’y sure we talked abou’ tha’ already.”
“You did mention it but… Well… I didn't realize your people's genetic engineering was that sophisticated. But I guess that does confirm a couple of the rumors I've heard that I was going to ask you about.”
“Wha’ rumors?” Donna blurted out with a bit too defensive of a tone as her eyes fell upon her son who had gone back to brushing his vaguely moose-like unicorn. “An’ who's spreadin’ ‘em?”
“Well…” Mia hesitated for a moment, causing the two Scotswomen to shoot her suspicious looks. “I was assisting with the logistical planning with the Nishnabe in charge of the distribution of medicine to people on Earth and Mars, most of which involved genetic modification serums. And when I asked why there was no plan, or even consideration, of passing on the technology so it could be locally produced, the people I was working with told me there were rumors of… Well… My people would call it Qui'kijarto niko'txo, which would roughly translate to an enhanced soldier project.”
“Yahr people tried to make super soldiers, too?” Sarah asked with a laugh that implied a sense of relief.
“No!” The instant denial caused Sarah to cease her laughter and forced a slight frown on her rather pale and freckled face. “As soon as my people began developing genetic engineering almost thirty thousand years ago, our government and scientific community came together to completely outlaw any attempts to enhance our form in a way that would make us even deadlier in combat. Besides that, even after thirty thousand years of research, we have only recently mastered the ability to stabilize our genetics and guard against speciation due to diverse environmental conditions.”
“Yah really tryin to tell us yahr people never tried to improve themselves?” The older Scotswoman chimed in with a clearly doubtful expression. “No one ever tried to give their kids an advantage in life? Super soldiers experiments ain't the only thing we use gene modding for.”
“Well… No… I don’t believe we ever have.” Mia hadn't really put much thought into it, even when she and Sarah had talked about it before. But now she was starting to realize that an attempt to give a child an advantage in life by increasing their physical capabilities could directly translate to turning that child into an ideal soldier. “As far as I know, very few other species have engaged in that form of genetic modification. And the ones who have tried struggled to produce anything truly successful.”
“Gene mods ain't always successful, Mia.” Johnny didn't bother to look away from the unicorn he was brushing as he made the comment lest he see the sadness that suddenly appeared in his mother's eyes. “Bu’ I learned the other day tha’ Nishnabe gene tech is way better than wha’ we got on Earth. Maybe they'll ‘ave some stuff to teach us after they feel we're trustworthy enough to learn it.”

Hello everyone! I found other posts about people talking about their biscalp experience super helpful leading up to my surgery, so I wanted to post my experience as well! I just had my surgery Monday morning, about two days ago.
I'm a 31 cisgender white woman, and I got my procedure done through University of Michigan Health. Honestly, I had such a positive experience! I've never had any kind of surgery done before, so I didn't know how my body would handle it. I'm also heavier, and I wasn't sure if my weight would be an issue. Long story short, I had zero issues or complications, and my surgery only took 37 minutes!
The entire care team was super warm, and I had a lot of people checking in on me, going over the procedure, and so on. Since U of M Health is a big teaching organization, it felt like I had double the people checking on me - both the seasoned doctors/nurses/anesthesiologists and the younger residents. Honestly, it was more comforting than I expected, and I was happy that the majority of my care team, including my surgeon and surgical resident, were women!
They gave me warm blankets after I changed into my gown, and it took them a bit of time to find a vein for my IV. My hand is a little bruised since they couldn't find a good vein there. I'm actually glad they went with my inner elbow instead - hand IVs suck imo. They gave me Tylenol and anti-nausea meds orally and started the IV.
Then, various people stopped by to review recovery, confirm the procedure, and do the anesthesiology checks. They also took my post-op snack and drink requests! I probably waited like 30 minutes in pre-op, and we actually got to go to the OR ahead of schedule. When it was time to go, things kicked into motion pretty quickly. They gave me some medication in my IV that "would make me feel like I had a few stiff drinks." Things got fuzzy at this point, but I think it was like some kind of anti-anxiety med. They rolled me into the OR, where I scooted over to the operating table. They started doing all their verbal checks, and they gave me a mask with oxygen. I remember being told to breathe deeply, then I think they said they were switching to the anesthesia. I was out immediately, and I remember absolutely nothing past that point!
During my surgery, my partner got text updates in the waiting room, and he went to the in-house pharmacy to get my post-op meds. The surgeon called him when the surgery was over and said it went well! They kept him in the waiting room until I started waking up. The surgery itself only took 37 minutes, and they said I slept afterward for about 40 minutes or so.
When I woke up, I actually felt pretty good! I wasn't in much pain at all, and I was able to have relatively lucid conversations. I got ginger ale, crackers, and graham crackers, and the nurse made sure I took my time waking up. Apparently, I started humming/singing Hot to Go while I was coming to 😂. The nurse took off the various stickers and the puffy leg things they put on you in surgery. I felt like I had to pee, so I slowly got dressed and went to the bathroom with my partner's help. Turns out I didn't really have to pee, it was more just a feeling of pressure.
After I was more awake, my partner pulled the car around and they sent me on my way!
They called the morning after to check up on me. They also gave me laparoscopic photos of the surgery, which I wasn't expecting! They are both weird and fascinating to look at. One of my surgeons wrote, "No tubes!" in one of the post-scalp photos, lol. In my patient portal, there are also fairly detailed descriptions of how the anesthesia and surgery went.
I was prescribed Tylenol, Ibuprofen, Miralax, and five Oxycodone. I've been taking the first two in shifts, and I only take the Oxycodone to sleep. I've taken the Miralax a bit. Granted, I only had my surgery on Monday (two days ago), but I've been able to use the bathroom. I'm also drinking a ton of water, ginger ale, and kombucha.
For recovery, the biggest things have been keeping cats off my lap, avoiding any sort of strained movements, using lots of pillows to get comfy, and working with my appetite. I'm not really nauseous, but only certain things sound good. I've been using a lot of pillows to get comfy on a recliner, and I'm trying to both get up and walk a bit without overdoing it. I have a bit of shoulder discomfort, and my throat is still kinda sore and phlegmy from being intubated. I also just feel generally wiped out. My incisions are sore, but honestly, it's not bad. My abdomen is tender and bloated.
So now it's just the 4-week recovery period. No heavy lifting or strain on the abdomen for 4 weeks, which includes things like vacuuming. And, no using tampons for two weeks.
I don't want to jinx myself, but the whole thing is not as bad as I anticipated. Obviously, everyone's body is different, but I hope this helps put some folks at ease - it can go really smoothly! My surgeon is seriously a wizard. She thought she might have to make a larger incision since I carry weight around my belly, but she didn't! And I can't get over how quickly it went! I appreciate how much information I got about the surgery, too.
I feel lucky that I had such a positive experience. It's a huge weight off my shoulders, and I'm super proud that I took this step!
​

Hello!
Tldr: Lift weights, get 1 gram protein per poind body weight, and maintain a deficit. It works.
This post is geared toward people who are trying to maintain as much muscle mass as possible while losing body fat.
23 6’1” M SW: 223.7 CW: 193.2 GW: 180 (lbs)
I have been keeping strong for a solid 4.5 months now, and am down 30 pounds! Could be 35-40 if I didn’t take a couple maintenance breaks or enjoy the occasional vacation or 10-15 drink evening, but here is my advice based on my success so far:

1. Focus on your protein in order to feel full on a deficit. I aim for a 1000 cal deficit daily, which puts me at 1800 per day. In addition to helping preserve muscle mass while losing fat, protein is highly satiating, so eating chicken breast, ground turkey, and salmon has been huge for me. And whey/casein shakes depending on time of day. I aim for 200 g protein per day.
   
2. Lifting weights with light cardio mixed in is the way to go (for muscle mass preservation). I lift 6x per week, doing PPLPPL then a rest day. I got a DEXA done in January, and again about a week ago, and have been able to shed 33 lbs of fat while gaining 3 lbs of muscle. The people that say you can’t build muscle and burn fat at the same time don’t know what they’re talking about! While in a deficit, I have still gotten stronger in all of my lifts, again something that the naysayers claim should not happen.
   
3. Consistency is key. Now, I like going out on Fridays and Saturdays. And I am a big dude, so I can have 10-15 drinks without getting sloppy (or getting a little sloppy). Count the drinks. Count the drunk food. You’ll see that at most, you set yourself back 0.5-1lb over a weekend. Not the end of the world when you’re losing two per week! A lot of people say to cut out alcohol completely, which is probably better, but you do not have to completely cut out fun/going out to achieve your goals! It may just take a little longer.
   

I’ll be back here when I polish off these last 13.2 lbs, hoping to accomplish it in 8 weeks. Anything is possible when you put your mind to it, and it is all a numbers game with CICO. Some stuff on top helps for specific goals, but track, workout, and get that protein, and you can do it!

This is a long one, I am a (AMAB) who has a kid from a previous relationship. Ive had feelings of wishing I was a woman forever and for various reasons or I should say excuses inculding losing the ability to see my child I put those feeling away in a deep dark place and it has caused a lot of stress and pent up emotions. At the time I had assumed I was too young for love and our child was not planned so when that relationship didn't work out I continued to seek a "heteronormal" relationship and got into one with my now girlfriend a few years later. We quickly fell in love and had a child of our own so I had two kids and things felt amazing for a long time but deep in my mind I always still had those feelings. They still have been causing me stress and I hate the feelings of gender dysphoria I have as I age. Cut to now and she has gotten pregnant again and these feelings have just been intensifying to the point where it boiled over and I ended up telling her I have feelings of gender dysphoria and I'm not sure exactly what I want to do about it but I can't just continue being the same. I haven't outright told her I feel like a woman and want to be a woman on the outside as well and present as one but I think she gets the idea and has essentially told me that if I become a woman we won't work out which I do understand but it has made me so worried for my future in general. With my children, with my ex, with my current girlfriend. I don't want to feel like me being me is hurting people I care about. That's one of the feelings of shame I've carried. I told her I'm fully into women still and I love her and that won't change no matter what I do but I think she may end things and at that point I'm not sure what I would do or where I would go. I guess I'm at a point where I can't just keep it hidden and I want to accept that side of me but I'm afraid of the feelings of "losing my current life"

Long story short, I lost 80lbs back in 2019-2020 (keto, then carb cycling, while doing spin 4 days a week and body pump at our local Y). In 2021 I had a life altering event that triggered an autoimmune disease and put on about 20lbs. I've stayed at about 150-155, but I'm 5'2. I'm not huge, but my inner thighs, shoulders, and arms are where I carry a lot of my weight now versus my stomach where I used to gain.
I hate my arms and I want to tone them up, but I'm honestly not sure what to do. I obviously know we can't target fat loss so please know I'm not asking how to lose weight. The things I used to do are no longer working and I'm not sure 8f I need to just switch it up or if I'm just screwed.
Does anyone know of some legit workouts that are proven to help these hams for arms I got? The T-rex in me will forever be grateful.

I’ve stumbled on a kefir method that is making thick, pleasantly sour, not super yeasty, fully fermented milk kefir every time. And the best part is it’s full proof. I never have to think about it or overly watch it.
I use 1% milk because I drink a ton of this stuff to be both my probiotics supplement but also my protein supplement for weight lifting, so I don’t want the calories of full fat.
It’s also homogenized and ultra-pasteurized just because that’s what’s easy to get. I’m breeding all the microorganisms anyway, so I don’t really care.
This yields half gallon of kefir every two days with two tablespoons of grains.
Step 1: Add 2 tablespoons of grains to a half gallon of milk when I get home from work. Put the lid back on almost but not completely air tight. Keep on the counter for two or so hours. If you taste the milk after this, it isn’t any different
Step 2: Stick it in the fridge that same evening before winding down for bed. Keep the grains in there. Leave it in the fridge for about 36 hours. I take it out not that next morning but the morning after that. If you taste the milk at this stage it’s a bit different but you can still taste plenty of sweet lactose.
Step 3: Ferment for ~8 hours on the counter while you’re at work. After this point you get perfect kefir. Thick but still runny enough to drink, no meaningful chunks or separation, plenty soutart, not super yeasty, just a bit of carbonation, no/little remaining sweet lactose taste.
Step 4: Fish out your grains with a slotted spoon, refrigerate your batch and drink for as long as it lasts, plop the grains in the next half gallon of milk, and let the process start over again.

I have been together with my current girlfriend for almost 2 months. I can't complain about anything. She is selfless, caring and very clingy. She gets annoyed when I look at other women and started crying when I hugged a female colleague at a company dinner that I brought her to. She basically was saying " oh she's tall and looks like a model and I'm just your average girl next door, makes me feel lesser and unwanted ". Basically incredibly paranoid and self conscious. Requires a lot of validation and comforting to even get her back into a normal state of mind.
It has something to do with her ex or her childhood but she isn't willing to talk about it " yet ". Apart from extreme jealousy, there is nothing wrong. Friend told me that she's carrying a ton of baggage for a 23 Y.O and it's not worth the hassle. I like her and willing to stick it out and see where it leads.
Am I opening a pandora's box? What's the best course of action in these types of situations? I have never been in anything of the sort.

“Ready to make history, baby?”
I looked over toward Sheila as she stood on the gangplank leading up to The Burger. I still couldn’t believe she named our research ship ‘The Burger’... emotional relevance be damned.
“It's not exactly history,” I corrected.
“Oh come on! If your survey is right, this trench might run even deeper than the Challenger Deep, and you’re gonna be the first person to explore it! How is that not exciting?”
“Might be deeper, we only have a limited amount of topological data. And even if it is deeper, we’re talking only a few hundred feet at most, it’s really not that im-”
Sheila silenced me with a kiss.
“Nerd.” She teased, and I found myself too flustered to reply. After five years of marriage, she still could leave me speechless with just a kiss. God… how did someone like me end up with a woman like that?
Then again, how did someone like me end up where I was in general? It was honestly a little overwhelming. Standing on the dock, getting ready to board that ship and join the ranks of Jacques Piccard and James Cameron (yes, that James Cameron) as one of the few people to take a manned submersible down to the deepest parts of the ocean. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little scared too. Diving down that deep could easily be a one way trip if even the slightest thing went wrong. My submarine would be experiencing between 600 to 1100 atmospheres of pressure and while we’d tested it over and over again to make sure it would actually be up for the challenge, there was still a lingering iota of doubt in the back of my mind. All that needed to go wrong was one little thing, and that would be it for me.
The scariest part is that I probably wouldn’t even know what had happened… I’d simply be gone… and Sheila would be alone. The thought of that caused a momentary spike of panic in my chest that almost made me want to call this whole thing off.
Almost.
But, then I felt her hand close around mine. I looked up into her bright blue eyes, and saw her gentle smile.
“You’re gonna be okay, hun,” She promised. “You and your team have been running the numbers, right? It’s gonna go just fine!”
I nodded slowly.
“It’s gonna go fine…” I repeated, before she leaned in to kiss me, and gently pulled me by the wrist up onto the deck of the Burger.
She was probably right.
It probably would be fine.
Probably…
The trench I’d be exploring was a fairly recent discovery, located south of Greenland, in a vast stretch of water situated directly between Newfoundland and Iceland. It’d been uncovered during a topological survey in the area, and my team had taken an interest in investigating it further. At minimum, it was believed to descend to about 35,000 feet deep (over 10,000 meters), although the current theory was that it might have run even deeper. Determining the exact depth of the yet unnamed chasm was just one of the intents of our dive. The rest was studying the organisms that might be found down there, and how they might have differed from the ones found in other deep ocean trenches (some variation being expected given the isolated environment they were developing in.)
I had to admit, it would be exciting to see what new life might have developed in a place such as this, especially if it ran even deeper than our predictions… and that excitement was enough to make me chase the fear of the risks out of my mind, even if it was only briefly. While Sheila went to make sure we were ready to embark, I caught myself wandering out toward the rear of the ship where my submarine, The Tempura, waited for me. Did this submarine deserve a better name than The Tempura? Probably. But, this was my project, so I got to name it and since Burger was already taken, Tempura was the next best name I had. I liked to think that the subs namesake might approve… if she hadn’t died fifteen years ago. Shrimp don’t live very long.
As the ship began to depart, I caught myself reminiscing on how I’d ended up here… it really was all because of those damn shrimp, wasn’t it? Well… maybe not all because of the shrimp. But they were certainly part of it. Back when I was a lot younger, I never really gave much of a shit about anything at all. I guess I did have a thing for the ocean… the great, romantic vastness of it. The sense of adventure that it beckoned with. The endless mysteries that lay within its dark depths. I used to read about it all the time when I was a kid and I especially loved the classic adventures: Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, and Melville’s Moby Dick… but that love was just confined to my books. I didn’t really have any interest in actually going out and seeing the ocean. Hell, the idea of going to a beach and standing in the sun with my toes in the sand seemed miserable to me. I was happier (although calling myself happy might’ve been a little disingenuous) alone in my room, enjoying the company of books as opposed to people.
Then came the shrimp.
One of my online friends kept them as a hobby. He used to post pictures of his tanks all the time, and I always thought they looked kinda cool. He said that if I was interested in them, I should try keeping some for myself, and during a particularly bad bout of depression, I figured that maybe it might be worth a shot. So, I bought a cheap tank and some cheap decorations, bought myself some shrimp… and promptly watched them die over the next few weeks. That… that bothered me. I don’t know why but… it really bothered me. I’m still not entirely sure how to describe what it was that I was feeling. Guilt? Defeat? Shame? Here I was, trying to set up a habitat for these creatures just to have something to do to keep the suicidal ideation at bay, and I’d failed almost right out of the gate.
Was I just that bad? Was I just that much of a failure? Was this just going to go to shit just like everything else in my life did, because I was just such an abysmal piece of shit who barely deserved the life she had? Had I just not tried hard enough? Was I too apathetic? What had happened? What went wrong?
It bothered me.
It bothered me enough that I made up my mind to just dump the remaining shrimp down the toilet and toss everything. Forget about it. Move on. End of story. But… that wasn’t fair, was it? The shrimp didn’t all deserve to die just because I couldn’t be bothered, did they? Sure, they were just shrimp, but they were alive too, just like me. They deserved to be alive.
I owed it to them to try and keep them alive, didn’t I?
So… I didn’t dump the shrimp.
Instead, I started doing some reading. Started looking into what I was doing wrong and how to do it all better. I actually got really into it and a few months later, I had a nice planted tank. Looking back, it was amateur shit… but it made me happy. I’d even picked out names for my two favorite shrimp. Burger and Tempura. They’d been the last survivors of my original batch, and they were the ones I ended up caring about the most. Caring for Burger and Tempura gave me a purpose. It became an obsession… and that little obsession drove me to finally start turning my life around.
Like I said, shrimp don’t live for very long. Burger and Tempura were long dead by the time I graduated with a degree in Marine Biology. But they were the ones who inspired me to finally get my life in order. Hell, the shrimp were half the reason that I met Sheila. She was something of an aquarium fanatic too… we’d met on a forum, and gotten to talking. I found out that she just so happened to be studying Marine Biology at another school, and we bonded pretty quickly after that. After graduation, I moved to California to be with her and after that, the rest is history. She was my rock. She was the one who always pushed me to be the best possible version of myself… and I loved her more than I ever knew I could love someone.
A glance back at the shore, fading into the distance tore me out of my reminiscing, and I shifted my focus to the present, going over The Tempura to perform some quick checks. My colleagues and I would be checking and rechecking the submarine over the next two days as we made our way toward the dive spot. Considering the danger that descending that deep posed, I didn’t want to take a single unnecessary risk.
I had too much to live for, after all.
***
The day of the dive, I couldn’t notice how excited the rest of the crew seemed… well… Sheila’s usual crew seemed excited. I guess to them, this was just another research expedition, no different than the ones Sheila usually took this ship out on. Lately her research had been focused on the analysis and study of whale calls. Her recent voyages had involved following their pods, recording their calls and playing them back to see how the whales reacted. It was fascinating stuff, but my research was admittedly a lot different than that.
My obsession had drawn me to the denizens of the deep sea. I’d used The Burger for expeditions before, although none of them had been on quite the same scale as this one. Up until today, the most ambitious thing I’d done was send down unmanned submersibles with cameras. Those submersibles had typically returned. We had lost a few early on due to technical glitches, but the past few years had been blissfully uneventful. Logically, this dive would probably be uneventful as well. But it was still hard to get the jitters out of my head.
My team and I did the final checks necessary to make sure that The Tempura was good to go, before setting up the crane to begin lifting it up. In less than an hour, I’d be inside of that thing, descending to the darkest depths of the ocean.
It didn’t feel real.
I felt Sheila’s hand on my shoulder, and looked over at her.
“Moment of truth, huh?” She asked. She probably meant it to sound encouraging, but it just sounded ominous.
“Moment of truth…” I replied.
“You’re gonna be okay, honey. I know you will.”
She reached out to gently squeeze my hand and gave me a reassuring smile that I meekly returned.
“Yeah, it’s gonna be okay,” I agreed, although there was an element of a lie in it. Statistically, yes. It probably WOULD be okay. But there was that lingering anxiety in the back of my mind that just wouldn’t go away. I looked quietly out at the submarine before me and couldn’t shake the thought that it sort of looked like a giant coffin. Unconsciously, I found myself squeezing Sheila’s hand tighter than normal. She just held me close and pressed a kiss to the top of my head, before gently rubbing my back.
“You’ll be okay,” She promised.
“Dr. Jenner, we’re ready for you.” I heard one of my colleagues say.
Moment of truth.
I took one last look at Sheila, and gave her a quick kiss on the lips for luck. She smiled at me, and I smiled back anxiously at her before heading over toward the submarine.
The crew helped me enter the cockpit and get myself situated inside. The cockpit of the Tempura was fairly cramped and not particularly comfortable. Space and comfort aren’t really luxuries you can afford in a submarine like this. The instruments I needed took up a lot of space, leaving little room for me in there… and I am not a very big person.
Once I was inside, they sealed the hatch. Then the diagnostics checks began.
“Grayson, can you hear us in there?” I heard Sheila say through the radio.
“Loud and clear,” I replied.
“Great. We’ll keep in constant radio contact, just to monitor the signal. In the meanwhile, how’s everything looking in there?”
“Green across the board so far,” I said, although I hadn’t finished running all my final checks yet. Ultimately, nothing was out of place.
This submarine was as good to go as it was going to get.
“I’m all good in here,” I said once I was done. “You can drop me when you’re ready.”
“You got it, honey. Let’s get you in the water, run one final round of tests and start lowering you down.”
A short while later, I felt the submarine begin to move as the crane lifted it off the deck and lowered it into the water. The Tempura honestly resembled its namesake in a way, being long and cigar shaped, only vertically oriented instead of horizontally oriented. We’d admittedly taken more than a few design cues from James Cameron’s Deepsea Challenger. Why fix what isn’t broken, after all?
Once I was in the water, a 1000 pound releasable ballast weight would cause the submarine to sink. Releasing that weight was also my ticket back to the surface, and I could either trigger it from inside the cockpit, or, in the event that the release failed for any reason, it would trigger automatically after roughly 12 hours of exposure to salt water.
Ideally, this would be the first of a number of dives I’d be undertaking… and if all went according to plan, the Tempura could be the first of many similar submarines that would allow other researchers to safely and effectively descend to extreme depths. If all went well, this could be a massive leap forward for researchers like me, allowing us to better explore the deepest depths of the Hadal Zone and learn all we could about the ecosystems down there via direct observation.
If all went well.
If.
Through the viewport, I watched as I was lowered into the ocean. A few of the other crew members had donned diving gear to escort me down, and after they did their final checks and I did mine, we were fully ready to go.
“All’s green across the board,” I said into the radio. “You can start my descent.”
“I hear you, honey,” Sheila replied. “We’re letting you go. Have fun down there.”
“Yeah, I’ll try…” I said quietly as finally, my submarine began its descent.
I took a deep breath, and told myself again that everything would go fine. We had checked everything on this submarine. We’d tested it rigorously. I wouldn’t have allowed myself to set foot inside of it if I hadn’t personally assured that it was safe. But anxiety never really goes away, does it? The crew couldn’t accompany me far. After only a few meters, they fell behind me as I sank deeper and deeper into the infinite, empty blue of the ocean. Soon after, the tether was released.
I was officially on my own.
“60 feet,” I heard Sheila say over the radio. “How are you doing in there?”
“Good,” I replied. “Doing… doing good.”
The submarine continued to descend. Through the viewport, I could see a few stray fish, but nothing particularly eye catching. I almost felt alone down there… almost…
“120 feet…” Sheila said.
“Still doing good,” I replied.
The descent continued, as the waters slowly grew darker and darker.
“400 feet…”
Everything around me just kept getting darker and darker. Only a fraction of the light from the sun ever reached these depths… and I’d be lying if I said that darkness didn’t feel a little… oppressive.
“800 feet… still feeling good?”
“Yeah, still feeling good…” I said, although it was a bit of a lie. If anything, I was second guessing all of this, but I wasn’t about to say that out loud.
“1000 feet… still good?”
“Still good…” I murmured. “I hear you loud and clear.”
Deeper… deeper… deeper.
“1500 feet…”
Three miles. I was three miles away from home. Three miles away from Sheila.
“2000 feet…”
Still a ways to go.
“3000 feet…”
By this point, it was fully dark outside of my cockpit. Outside, all I could see was inky darkness. Even the submarine’s lights didn’t really cut through it. And the kicker? Relatively speaking, I wasn’t that deep. Fishing trawlers reached deeper than this. Better to conserve power until I was at the bottom. My descent continued.
“6000 feet… still good?”
“Still good…”
The check ins were becoming less frequent. My descent still continued… deeper… deeper… deeper. By now, I’d entered the Hadal Zone. But there was still so much deeper o go.
“8000 feet…”
This was past the depths that most whales would dive to… and I still had a ways to go.
“10,000 feet.”
This was close to where the ocean floor usually bottomed out… and yet there was still so much further to go. No. I was really only a third of the way there. How long had it been?Not much had happened beyond my descent and a few sightings out of my viewport, but time had been passing. A glance at my watch confirmed it’d been almost an hour since I’d started to sink… and I knew I wasn’t even close to the bottom yet. The submarine continued to descend, sinking ever deeper as I dropped into an infinite darkness that few had ever dared to witness.
“15,000 feet.”
This check in came later than the others. At this point, Sheila and the crew must have figured that no news was good news, and they were right. I just continued to sink peacefully, down into the crushing depths of the ocean.
These were the depths that one might normally find deep sea fish… and yet I was going somewhere even deeper than that.
“20,000 feet…”
So close…
I continued to sink.
“25,000 feet.”
Soon… and finally…
“30,000 feet. You still doing alright, honey?”
“Yeah… yeah, I’m doing good,” I assured her. I was so close…
By this point, my real work had begun. I’d engaged the lights and begun documenting what little I could see using the on board cameras. Granted, there wasn’t much life at these depths and what little there was, was scarcely documented. Most of what was down here consisted of invertebrates and microscopic life that seemed to float past my viewport.
The light seemed to draw a few creatures in search of food. Small, hardy things that resembled shrimp.
“How’s it looking, Grayson?”
“Dark,” I said, half joking. “We’ve got some life… shrimp. They’re translucent. Can’t get a great look at them… but we’ll see what the cameras pick up.”
“They’ve recognized you as a friend,” Sheila said. I could almost see the smile on her lips as she said it.
“Yeah…” I replied, “Tempura sent them a message, told them I’d be down. How am I looking on depth?”
“35,000 feet… you seeing a bottom yet?”
“No… not that I would until I was there.”
“Damn… how deep does this go?”
“It can’t go that deep…” I murmured, although I really wasn’t so sure about that.
The submarine continued to sink…
36,000 feet…
37,000 feet…
38,000 feet… and then finally, just past the 39,000 foot mark, I finally saw solid ground below me.
Looking through my viewport, I could see a familiar dark brown diatomaceous sludge, covering the seafloor. Microscopic life, likely similar to what had been observed in other deep sea trenches, such as the Challenger Deep.
I needed to gather a sample.
As my submarine reached the bottom, I extended the mechanical arms, pressed flat against the surface of the Tempura, and opened the collection port near the bottom of the ship. Slowly, I sifted some of the sludge into the port. My disturbance of the seafloor kicked up a cloud of the microbial colony, and I could’ve sworn I saw something wiggling through the debris. A pale, white thing, perhaps some sort of sea cucumber? I hastily angled my submarines camera to try and catch a glimpse of it, before returning to my collection. Even in this forlorn place, there was still so much to see! And here I was… completely forgetting my fear as the excitement took hold of me! Few people had ever been down to these unfathomable depths… and yet here I was.
It didn’t feel real but it was! I had reached the deepest part of the ocean!
“How’s it going down there?” I heard Sheila ask. Her voice was a little garbled. The connection down here was faltering.
“It’s beautiful…” I said. “I can’t wait for you to see it!”
“I’ll bet…”
“I’m going to do a sweep of the area, see what samples I can gather,” I said. “What’s my time right now?”
“Three hours. You’ve got nine before your connection to the weight deteriorates and you start to ascend.”
“I’ll make the most of it,” I said. The plan was only to stay down there for six hours, and I didn’t want to push that limit. Life support would only last me for so long, and one little error was all it would take for the ungodly pressure down here to crush me.
I began to move the submarine. Mobility was limited. This thing wasn’t built to travel far. But I still had some limited movement. I recorded all that I could, filming the shrimp that investigated my light, and the things that slithered and crawled through the muck, likely feeding on the carpet of single celled organisms that populated these depths.
The first two hours were… well… I hesitate to call them uneventful, they were actually very fascinating, but little of note happened beyond my recording of a few specimens.
Midway through the third hour though, as I was reaching one of the rock walls of the abyss, I noticed something just above the edge of my viewport swimming away from the light. I could’ve sworn I saw slender, pale tentacles of some sort. Was that a squid? Were there squid down this deep? I wasn’t aware of any species of known squid who could reach these depths… but in this unknown place, what use was the known?
I moved my light and my camera to try and catch another glimpse of it, but whatever it was, it seemed to be gone. Maybe I’d see another one. I still had plenty of time.
“You made a noise. What’d you see?” Sheila asked.
“Something big… I think,” I said.
“Down there? Like a fish?”
“Squid. You wouldn’t find any vertebrates down this deep… the pressure would crush their bones.”
“Jeez…”
I didn’t reply to that, still searching for the thing I’d seen. I shone my light up along the walls of the chasm and angled my camera up as far as it would go. I could see a few volcanic vents, spewing dark clouds into the darkness, and more diatoms. But not much else. Strange invertebrates crawled along the walls. Small creatures, no bigger than an inch long. Related to isopods, perhaps? If I could collect one as a sample, I would have… although taking any of those back to the surface would surely kill them. They were built to live under the impossible pressure of these depths. Taking them to the surface would rip them apart.
I went back to my research, and it wasn’t long until I saw something in the darkness, just on the edge of where my flashlight reached. Trailing white tendrils, snaking their way through the darkness. My eyes narrowed as I moved the submarine forward, trying to catch whatever it was in the light. I saw the shape move, its body turning… I saw its tendrils unfurling. Whatever this was, it was big. It was almost as big as The Tempura… although it was also slender. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought I was looking at some sort of floating debris, but this far down? No. And debris wouldn’t move like that.
This had to be a deepsea squid… or perhaps some other type of cephalopod? Something that preyed upon the various invertebrates down here, perhaps? It seemed to float, just out of sight for a bit, as I tried to get closer. I angled up my light to get a better look at it. The light seemed to shine through it, like some sort of ghost… but I did manage to get a look at it.
Although that look…
That single look made me freeze up.
This things slender tendrils certainly resembled a cephalopod of some sort, but the rest of it… the rest of it looked like something else entirely. Its body was thin, emaciated and translucent, yet despite that it still had characteristics that almost seemed… human. It wasn’t human! Not by any stretch of imagination, but the resemblance was there. It almost reminded me of an exhibit I’d seen in a museum once, depicting a preserved, fully removed human nervous system. I could see a similar shape in its translucent body. Its head seemed almost human as well… albeit with no eyes, and a lamprey like mouth I could only describe as fleshy yet crablike.
Still, despite having no eyes I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was looking at me. And that was when I felt something hit the submarine.
I felt a sudden jolt of panic in my chest. For a moment, I thought that the pressure had started to crush me, but no… no, everything was still fine. Something had just hit me. But what? It didn’t take long before I got my answer.
Another pale creature floated past my viewport, swirling gracefully in the cold dark waters. I watched it for a moment with wide eyes, before noticing its ‘head’ turning slightly toward me. Then, almost instantly, it launched itself at the submarine, darting toward me with blinding speed.
I heard a distinct THUD as its body collided with me, and I could see its pale tendrils pressing against the viewport, twisting and writhing violently. It was trying to attack me. The first creature that I’d seen lunged as well, pounding on my submarine with another THUD. And moments later, I could hear more impacts against the hull. There were more of them… and they did not like having me down there.
“What’s going on?” Sheila asked.
“Somebody doesn’t like me…” I said. “One of the animals down here… some kind of squid, it’s just started attacking the hull.”
“How bad is the damage?”
“Not sure… could be nothing, could be-”
I felt the submarine shake as I tried to move it. The thrusters that pushed me forward weren't responding. Had something gotten caught in it? One of the creatures perhaps?
“Grayson?!” Sheila asked.
“Lost propulsion…” I said. “Fuck… I can’t move.”
“Then drop the weight and come up!”
“No, it’s fine, there’s no other damage, I can still use the port and starboard thrusters to-”
“Grayson!”
I paused. There was genuine panic in her voice… enough to make me realize that even if these things stood little chance of actually breaching the hull, taking the risk would be a fatal mistake.
“I’m on my way up…” I finally said, before reaching out to disengage the ballast weights.
Immediately, I felt myself beginning to rise, although the tentacles clinging to my viewport didn’t disappear.
“We’ve got you…” Sheila said. “Rising up to 38,000 feet.”
The submarine continued to rise, but the creatures clinging to me went nowhere. In fact… I was sure I could see more of them. More pale shapes coming up through the darkness, and these ones filled me with dread. I thought I had been looking at some sort of eerie undiscovered life. But seeing what was coming up toward me now… I knew that I was looking at so much more. The creatures swimming up toward me through the darkness carried weapons… makeshift stone spears and daggers. Primitive tools… but tools all the same.
Signs that these were more than just undiscovered animals.
Much. Much more.
The word: ‘Mermaids’ crossed through my mind, but these were something far different than the ones I’d heard of in folklore. These looked like they’d swam out of the depths of hell itself. Boneless pale tendrils reached for me… and they were getting closer. The pale shapes reached my submarine as I rose higher. I kept praying to whatever God may be listening that the dropping pressure would force them off. The air in a submarine is pressurized, so during normal operation, there should have been no danger of decompression sickness for me.
For them… well… normally I’d feel a little guilty about subjecting an undiscovered species of deep sea mermaids to the horrors of the Bends. But given my circumstances, I didn’t have a lot of other options.
They didn’t let go, though.
They should have. But they didn’t.
What were these things?
I saw a splayed hand press against my viewport. Or… it somewhat resembled a hand. It had suckers on it, like a tentacle and the ‘fingers’ curled open like tentacles. The creature crawled over my viewport, clinging to The Tempura as it rose, and I could see the folds of its crablike mouth opening and pressing against the glass. I could see some sort of bile rising up through its translucent throat, before it secreted it all over my viewport. Was it trying to digest me? Was that how these things fed? How strong were its stomach acids? Were they strong enough to-
The window cracked.
My heart skipped a beat.
“No… no, no no…”
“Grayson, what’s wrong?!”
“They cracked the window… S-Sheila they… oh God… oh fuck, they just…”
“THEY DID WHAT?”
“It’s secreting some sort of enzyme… it’s on the window, it’s… FUCK… I’m gonna die… I’m gonna die… I’m gonna die…”
“You’re not gonna die, baby! Just… just keep ascending, okay? You’re at 30,000 feet… just keep going…”
I nodded, and kept on rising, although the question of whether or not the rest of the creatures were trying to digest the other parts of my submarine floated through my mind. How much damage could The Tempura take before it imploded? How much longer did I have? The submarine still continued to rise… 25,000 feet… almost halfway home… almost… almost.
The creature outside of my viewport slithered along the glass, searching for a better area to try and digest. Past him, I noticed a few of his companions dropping off. Maybe the change in pressure finally was getting to them?
From the corner of my eye, I suddenly noticed a flashing light. A warning. The hydraulics on one of the Tempura’s arms were shot… what else was damaged?
I checked my oxygen levels. 32%.
I should’ve had at least 14 hours of air. I’d only been down there for about 6 hours… I shouldn’t have been this low.
31%.
No… no, no, no, no… they’d damaged the air tanks!
30%.
29%
“20,000 feet!” Sheila said. “You still with me, baby?”
“Y-yeah…” I said. I didn’t mention my air situation. I didn’t need to worry her further.
The submarine continued its ascent.
15,000 feet.
24%. I was running out of time.
The creatures still clung to the Tempura. How had the pressure change not killed them yet? My oxygen was dropping faster than before. I was hemorrhaging air. Another crack formed across my viewport. I let out a little, involuntary gasp before trying to force myself to stop hyperventilating.
“Grayson, what was that?”
“I-it’s fine…” I stammered, “It’s fine!”
“Grayson what the hell is going on down there?!”
“They’re still on the submarine… they’re still…” I paused, looking at my oxygen levels. “19%...”
“19% of what? Grayson what’s going on!”
I paused.
18%.
“Air… I’m… I’m losing air…”
“That’s fine, you’re going to make it!” She said, although I heard her voice cracking a little. “You’re gonna make it!”
I didn’t answer.
12,000 feet.
11,000 feet…
My oxygen level continued to drop.
15%.
14%.
12%.
9,000 feet.
The creatures still clung to me, as the submarine continued to rise. The one on my viewport was still there, slowly crawling along the glass again. I stared into its eyeless face and swore I was looking at the face of my killer.
7,000 feet…
Oxygen had dropped to 9%. It dropped to 8% before I even got to 6,000 feet. I was going to die here…
The viewport cracked again and I squeezed my eyes shut. The submarine rocked. I was sure one of the thrusters had been damaged. My ascent slowed.
“Grayson, what’s going on?”
“I’m sorry Sheila…”
Another crack spread across my viewport.
“I’m… I’m not making it back up…”
“YES YOU ARE!”
“I’m sorry…” The tears started to come as the reality of my death became clearer and clearer… this was it.
“YOU’RE COMING BACK UP, YOU HEAR ME! GODDAMNIT, I’LL BRING YOU BACK UP!”
“I love you…”
That creatures face pressed against the glass. It vomited more of its stomach acid onto the cracked glass, and I wondered if this might finally be what broke it. Part of me hoped it would be… the one good thing about dying this deep was that at least I’d die quickly. My suffering would be over. Then, the creature suddenly pulled back, twisting and writhing violently. I saw other shapes moving past it in the water, other ‘mermaids’ that had been clinging to the submarine.
Something was agitating them.
Something was scaring them off.
Then I heard it, over the radio… whale songs.
“What the hell…?”
“Grayson, are you still there?!”
“I… they’re finally breaking off. Sheila, what did you do?”
“I’m broadcasting some of the orca recordings we’ve been using. Are they still clinging to you?”
“No! They’re backing off! I… whatever you’re doing, keep doing it!”
The submarine kept rising.
5,000 feet.
4,000 feet.
4% oxygen.
I could still do this, right?
The submarine continued to rise.
3%.
3,000 feet.
2,000 feet.
2%.
1,000 feet… so close… I was so close…
I could almost see the surface through my viewport, rushing up toward me. I tried not to breathe. Tried not to move. All I did was hope.
500 feet.
I closed my eyes.
“Grayson we have your signal, we’re coming to pick you up!”
Sheila’s voice sounded so far away as my submarine finally breached the surface of the water… and with the last of my strength, I pulled the emergency release on the hatch, and threw it open, taking in lungful after lungful of fresh salty air.
I didn’t dare so much as touch the water beneath me… but I was topside again, and in the distance, I could see The Burger!
“We see you!” Sheila said, “We’ve got you baby… we’ve got you…”
“I see you too…” I said through the tears. “Thank you… thank you…” I didn’t have any words left in me after that.
As soon as I was back on the ship, I collapsed into Sheila’s arms, breaking down into tears as I clung to her, terrified that at any moment, some sort of unspoken other shoe would drop and I’d lose her all over again.
“Shh… it’s alright baby… I’ve got you… you’re safe… you’re safe…” I felt her fingers running through my air and I knew that what she said was true.
I was home.
I was safe.
***
I left my colleagues to review the data that the Tempura gathered during its short expedition. As far as I know, they haven’t published anything. I have a few ideas as to why, but I’ll keep those to myself. Let’s just say that some people would rather this information not become public.
I have a feeling that the Tempura may not be diving again for some time, if ever. I will confess that I do consider that a bit of a shame. Despite everything… I would consider it a success. It endured far more stressful conditions than I had expected, and from what I heard, required fewer repairs than I’d thought it would. But, even if it was approved for another dive, it wouldn’t be me piloting it. No. I will never be setting foot inside of that machine again, nor will I ever be returning to what my colleagues have been quietly referring to as ‘The Jenner Trench’.
I can’t.
Every night, I wake up crying after dreaming of pale shapes outside of my cracked viewport, clinging to Sheila and sobbing. I can’t put myself in that situation again.
I can’t.
Instead, I think I’m going to spend the next few years on solid ground. There’s a teaching position available at a local university. I think that might be the best place for me right now. Who knows, maybe I can help some other deadbeat discover a passion for marine biology.
After everything, my love for the sea remains unchanged… I’m just a little more wary of it, these days.

Its early days regarding the tank changes, but so far it still feels very difficult to carry games above Diamond. I find myself wishing they would make more radical changes to Ball, because I don't think his core design works in a 5v5 setup. He's built to play as a disrupter that plays on an off angle to his other tank.
This isn't a post advocating for the return of 6v6 (as much as I preferred it personally, I've long since accepted it isn't coming back), but moreso talking about how we could return to that playstyle. The only thing I can think of is to just rework him into a DPS. They could trim the fat off his kit, shrink his size by 25%, lower HP to 300 with (100 base, 200 armour) and make his kit more lethal (up overall damage output by 20 - 30% by tweaking numbers.
If they did that, or something similar in that area, you could once again play off other tanks. You could dive with Winston, get bubbled by your Zarya when you go in, boop enemies into your Rein swings, etc. I'd be fine with them lowering our CC ability (less knockback etc) and being vulnerable to CC ourselves if we just had some lethality.
Anyone with me on this or am I on my own in feeling this way?

For context we have been married for 3 years and together over 4. He used to be aware of his surroundings and considerate of any sort of habits he has but now he has no consideration when he’s hocking up loogies in the trash, burping and farting during dinner, farting on me, and then proceeds to try to shove his tongue down my throat, grope me, and as horrible as it is to write and admit.. flop his dick and balls telling me he has something for me..it’s just so gross..
He loses his shit anytime you tell him anything you don’t like. You might as well tell him he’s not worth air if you express you don’t care for something he does. I do my best to be clean and considerate about any bodily functions. I blow my nose in the bathroom with the door close so no one has to hear it, to give you preface on how I carry myself.
The last thing I want to do is have sex with this man after he does all this nasty shit all day long. Yes he smokes cigarettes so I’m sure that’s a lot of it but why does it always have to be so loud and right in front of me? He’s constantly hocking stuff up or spitting every 20 seconds. It’s gross. He’s gross. I literally have to just deal with it and attempt to ignore it otherwise he picks every little thing I do apart that he doesn’t like. How do some men expect women to get on their knees at any given second when they act like absolute cavemen? He has become the furthest thing from a gentleman. How do y’all put up with shit like this?

Thank you to Space paladin for the canvas and u/Acceptable_Egg5560 for proofreading and critique
Content warning; Educator abuse and syrupy love
[First]-[Prev]-[Next]
Memory transcript: Maarchal , MESEA Astronomers. Date: [Standard Farsul calendar ] January 26th, 3667
PLUNCK
Ponthyts blue stick clattered on the board, rolling around in a circle. Before settling on three. He then pumps his paw and moves to move a soldier that many paces.
“Well, I got you cornered now, whatcha going to do about it?” I smirk at Ponthyts soon to be dashed confidence as I take out my red stick and flip in the air much higher than he did with his own.
It hits the board with a loud clatter, bouncing on each end before settling on rolling. To which it landed on seven. I move my last interceptor through his ranks and take his general. The gobsmacked look on his features was evident, with his previously wagging tail so still it made stone seem fluid.
“I win.”
“How did you do that?”
I rolled my shoulders and readjusted my legs underneath. “Well, you left a clear path for my interceptor.” I pointed to the gaps in his remaining pieces.
“I know that! I mean how did you know you'd get a high enough number to do that? Your interceptor was all the way back here and it's your last red piece!!!”
I lean my head back and lean against the wall behind me. “I didn't, I just saw an opportunity and took it.”
He pointed a digit at me “ Mershit, that was some grandmaster trap!”
I give him the ear position of resignation with a mirthful little grin. “I promise you it was just luck.”
He waves his paw dismissively. “I don't believe you.”
“Well believe it, because I don't plan ahead like that. Want to play another game?”
He shakes his head. “Nah I think four games is enough for one night.” He begins moving the pieces into their containers and folds up the board and places it on top of them. Closing the box. He then stands up and offers me his paw, I use it to pull myself up off the floor.“Well Maarchal, I’ll see you tomorrow at the observatory. I’ll bring the set if you want to play it during lunch if you want.”
I froze, “what! What time is it? He turns over to look at the clock above his strove.
“Ahh about Fifteen minutes past 18.”
“Uh, that's not that late! We could play another game! C’mon let's have a tie breaker!”
He rubs his eyes, “I’m tired and we have work in the morning. Is there something you're avoiding?”
I rub my upper right arm and look off into the corner. “...”
He took on a worried look, “Why don't you want to go home Maarchal?”
I sighed and took a seat at his dining room table. “I… I don't like that house, I’ve lived there since I moved to LIghra six years ago but it's not a… home like here.”
I looked around at the messy abode. Dirty cloaks were strewn about on the back of chairs and the rubbish trough was just barely not overflowing. Paintings either from family or Ponthyts own paw were hanged up in the hallways, and the lightbulbs cast a warm orangish light. While the dishes from our dinner were placed in the sink, covered with animal gravy slathered all over them. It was tidy yet just barely so. A place filled with all the markers of being lived in.
“You've lived here less than a year but it feels like it's always had you in it. I feel … so comfortable here. My own home is so… cold and sterile. I Worked a lot the first few months I moved here. I just never got around to making it a home. It feels so bare, I started to work overtime just to avoid it. Which just made the problem worse.”
He sat down across from me, He put his head in his paws and looked at the scratched wood of his table. He held that position for a minute or two before breaking it and placing his paw on my own. “Maarchal, you are my best friend, I want you to feel comfortable. So if you want you can sleep on my coach, I can also help you make your home feel like one."
​
I shake my head, “no no, I shouldnt of imposed on you. Making myself feel at home is a job I need to do and have been avoiding for far too long. It's just… it's just so much easier to avoid you know?” I grabbed his paw and squeezed it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
​
I stand up and make my way to his front door before he speaks up.
​
“Uh hey Maarchal?”
​
I turn to address him “yeah?”
​
He shifts in his seat and fidgets with his fingers. “I’m uh, going to Ootra lake next week. I was wondering If you'd like… to come with me? I promise if you don't have a tent I’ll bring you one. We could have a fire, roast some meat on it and share ghost stories and stargaze… if you want?”
​
“ What about work?”
​
He rocks in his chair. “We'd have to call in for a day or so.”
​
I contemplated his words and mulled them over. It would be the first time I’ve ever willingly taken off a day, tarnishing my perfect attendance. But the prospect of spending more one on one time with Ponthyt was overwhelmingly tempting.
​
“Sure, I’d love to go. But I haven't gone camping for years so you will need to bring me a tent.”
​
He leapt from his chair, launching it backwards, before calming himself down. “I’ll take care of all the prep. You just have to come along. I promise it’ll be loads of fun!”
​
I chuckled while I watched his clearly restrained display as I slowly closed the door.
​
I could hear him howl with enjoyment as I turned into the driveway to get to my auto.
​
**\*
​
“Huff, Huff, you doin alright there Ponthyt?” I turned back to see him walking behind me.
​
“Yeah, oof I haven't walked this much in years!”
​
I waited for him to catch up, we sat together when he did and we caught our breath before tuning to make our way back up the bluff. When we reached it there was a stone gazebo made of limestone. The angle of the sun let it shine into it. We walked into it and sat down on the stone benches. I looked around at the lake.
​
It was surrounded by steep hills with many rock faces visible, the layered stone was clearly visible. The topography of the area around the bluffs was shaped like a bowl, with the sight of land of higher elevation faintly visible in the distance despite its gradual slope. Giving a scene of depth that was not as extreme then in more mountainous areas. This view was normally hidden by the trees below.
​
“Well isn't this view alone worth the trip?” Ponthyt proclaimed.
​
I looked around letting the mid morning sun warm my back, I stretched my arms and breathed deeply. Taking in all the wonderful scents of nature.
​
“Yeah, it's beautiful.” I let myself relax, just letting the sounds and scents of nature calm me like I have never been since I was a pup on an archeological trip with mom and dad.
​
“Hmm, I've missed this.”
​
I don't know for how long I had been like this, but Ponthyt broke the silence “Ahhem, so, you've gone camping before?”
​
I nodded, “yeah when I was a pup my parents would sometimes go off to a site for a couple of weeks and we would come with them. We would have to get homeschooled then. But we would always have to camp and I and my siblings would go off exploring while they worked during the day.”
​
He smiled and his tail was wagging.” That sounds wonderful. I only got to camp for a couple days a year. It was always so hectic. Me and my siblings would just muck around the camp and eat, sometimes hiking around. Heh” Ponthyt looked towards the ground and held his paws together, rubbing his digits together.
​
“What's wrong Ponthyt?”
​
“Oh it's nothing it's-” I put my paw on his shoulder which drew his attention towards me.
​
“I know that's not true, you can trust me. Just tell me what's wrong ok?”
​
He gave a look of reluctance before caving to my request “… sigh… I grew up in a big family, and I love them all but… I was born at a strange time. I was second to last of my parents pups. Which meant they were busy with the older ones' events and taking care of the youngest. I kind of got mixed up and forgotten. My interests rarely lined up with the others and I often messed up tasks that my sibling would just fix or do for me. It got to the point that I… didn't really do anything. They will never say this but… I don't think my parents ever expected anything of me.”
​
I rub his shoulder,” well… I know that you have amounted to something. I mean, you're an astronomer! You work to understand the nature of reality. You're also so… kind and patient. I tried to scare you off but you weren't deterred at my standoffish behavior.”
​
He turned his head and gave me a shallow but joyous expression. “Heh well living in a house that's rarely quiet leaves you with a high tolerance for stubbornness. '' he wipes away a single tear “Sniff well… should we make our way back to camp? Or can I take out my stuff?”
​
I shake my head. ”Nah, you can paint. I’ll just sit here and let this place wash over me.”
​
He smiles and gets up and sets up his easel, taking out his supplies from his bag and gets to work painting the landscape ahead of him. He was slow and each brushstroke was as deliberate as he could manage. He… wasn't very good, only starting out when he moved here. But his drive to get better was admirable. Even in adulthood he tried to learn, to grow, to become more than he was yesterday.
​
I kept staring at him. Feeling something warm in my gut, something an academic wasn't supposed to feel. Shame overwhelmed me and I quickly turned away. Cursing myself for having those accursed feelings.
​
​
**\*
​
Ponthyt, returned from his cauto (Cargo auto -> pickup truck) with an armful of wood he brought with us. He set most of it aside and threw a piece onto the fire he had started, causing a cascade of embers to fly into the late evening air. The dull purple of the sky cast overhead between the canopy of the trees as the chill of the night began to come in. A pleasant coolness that most would take advantage of to seek the comfort of warming oneself close to a fire.
​
Not me, I paced to a fro as Ponthyt set up our campsite. He had placed his painting for the day inside the cabin of his cautoa and was now seasoning some raw meat strips to cook on the open fire. Snacking on one or two as he did so. He hung them on the tripod to roast, the fat that dripped off them as they were cooking sizzled as they burned on the coals below.
​
“I’ll have these done as soon as I can, please sit down Maarchal. Walking like that is only going to make the wait worse.” He says as he prods the suspended meat with a claw like utensil.
​
“Hmm, ok I’ll just sit and wait. Waste my time. Make a waste of the whole evening!!!” I snapped back at him, throwing my paws into the air.
​
Ponthyt recoils from my outburst with his ears pinned back. “ We’re camping, there is no way to waste it.”
​
I turned to address him, “we shouldn't be here! This trip means nothing and we are just wasting our TIME!!!” I cross my arms and scratch at the biceps. Rufflying the fur and making a mess of myself.
​
Ponthyt drops his utensil and walks over to me. “ We’re together and we spent the whole day just mucking about. How is this any more of a waste than that?” He says as he looks at me with eyes full of worry.
​
“We’re scientists, academics!!! We don't waste time like the ignorant masses! We should spend our time wisely!!! Every action of connection is just another moment we waste that could be spent to advance our field.” I had tears forming in the corners of my eyes. Scratching at my fur until I felt a wetness on my arms and paws.
​
“We’re supposed to sharpen our minds! No-not seek pointless relationships! ” I said as I bared my teeth and began growling at him.
​
The look of betrayal and abject worry he had on his face was overwhelming. I didn't want to hurt him. What am I doing? He doesn't deserve my ire. My legs gave out and I cried into my hands.
​
Ponthyt walked over to his cauto and brought out a cover. He wrapped it around me and rubbed my arms through it. He rested his head on top of mine while I sobbed. I couldn't take this anymore. Repressing and lashing out at any attempt to connect. Ponthyt hugged me and rocked back and forth. Humming and rubbing on the cover. He was warm and soft. I don't know how long we had been like this but by the time my sobs turned to a faint whine the meat over the fire was well done and the sky was pure black and the stars were out.
​
“I-I think i’m good no-now.” I choked out. Ponthyt grabbed my hand and helped me stand up. We didn't say another word. He collects the meat and places it on two plates. I stare at my portion for some time, Ponthyt doesn't eat any of his either.
​
“Sigh… I know you might not want to but… Could you tell me why you said those things earlier?” He says with trepidation clearly miring his words.
​
“Yeah, it's just… When I entered college It was… not what I was expecting… I was sort of a hyper teen. Always going off about some book I read. Drawing pictures of stars, space stations or colonies we would make on inhospitable planets.”
​
He sits up and places his plate by his side. “You draw? I’d love to see some of them.”
​
“I used to. But I haven't since that first year of college.” I turned to stare at the dying inferno warming us. I pull the cover around me tighter.
​
“When I was doodling before class one day the professor walked by me. He noticed what I was doing and grabbed my paper. I objected but he just stared at me. When he started to address the class he showed it off and mocked me for wasting my time.” Ponthyt turns his head to look at me.
​
“That's a dick move, But at least he couldn't do the same when you did it in your free time right?” I turned to him with a somber expression. He seemed to understand the implications though he seemed to be confused as to how.
​
“He couldn't have gotten into your room right? That'd be a huge breach of privacy!!!”
​
I grabbed the poker and stirred the coals of the fire. “You're right, he couldn't. But he didn't need to, my roommate would take them with her to class and he’d pin them up on the board to mock. I called the staff but since she was my roommate she didn't break any privacy laws and since my art was only ever worth the paper it was on it wasn't even enough to get a misdemeanor theft charge. I tried to hide it but she would always find them. I tried to get another roommate but he stonewalled my attempts and I couldn't afford to rent a place in town. ”
​
He took on a look of absolute despair. “... How… how could he be so aggressively intolerant of such an innocent hobby?”
​
I chuckled “It wasn't just mine, a few others had made the mistake of having a roommate with the same professor. I remembered one who loved going out in the woods for hikes. When he found out about that he mocked him for “Pointless exercise and admiring a random assemble of dead and dying shit””. I waved my arms about to emphasize how he inflicted his words.
​
Ponthyt stared at the ground between us with a look of utter confusion.” … He mocked someone for appreciating nature and being healthy?”
​
I nodded, “if you were not engaging with study of his topic you were wasting his and everyone else's time.”
​
Ponthyt looks at me with concern and shared pain. “Why, why didn't you go to a different school?”
​
I stared at him in his eyes. A scene of shame overtook me. “It was the top class in the country. My family was so proud of me. I was so proud of myself, I didn't want to disappoint them and me. Looking back on it, I realize my own pride was something I rarely contended with until then. It didn't help when he found out who my family was.”
​
Ponthyt recoiled and waved his arms in a “what” fashion. “Wait, what does your family have to do with this?”
​
I poked at a log to knock off the charcoal to expose the untouched wood underneath. “They were happy. He spent a lot of time in academic circles so naturally he met people who knew my parents. And the way they described this happy family irritated him something fierce. He gave me such a hard time with it. Mocking me for being a lazy nepotism pick who didn't deserve her seat in his class. He mocked anyone for having any kind of non professional relationship, we never spoke to each other outside of class. We never left or met with friends or family. If we tried too he’d find out and call the one in question a “Lazy sentimental idiot.””
​
I breathed in deeply, “... that hurt my pride so severely that I just stopped seeing them or any of my friends. I always said I was busy or had a field study, but I was just reading and rereading his lectures. I didn't even go home for the summer breaks, I just apprenticeshiped at his museum to study even more. At graduation he looked so… proud, I only realized he was proud of what he turned me into and not what I did a few weeks after I met you. How I let him turn me into an angry starile shell of a person.”
​
Ponthyt turned his head towards the fire. His ears straight up and a soft growl in his throat. “... If I ever meet that piece of.. nuclear waste, I’ll kill him.”
​
He turns to me and his features soften immediately. “Anyone capable of manipulating someone as passionate and creative as you... I can't even imagine the kind of living hell he made you seek…”
​
I chucked and a slight wag entered my tail.” I’m responsible for my life. MY pride kept me there for him to mold. I hate him, but I hate myself for it too.”
​
Ponthyt shoots up and screams at me “MERSHIT, Maarchal, you have nothing to be ashamed of. You had a right to expect your teachers to be respectable people. Not abusive and manipulative Sherkires (Ambush insect. Commonly seen as sneaky and unhonorable due to making pheromones and calls imitating other insects mating signals). He starts to speak softer as he turners to address me.
​
“Even this version of you, so cut off of why you love space in the first place is just.. You are one of the most remarkable people I have ever met. So humble with addressing yourself. You inspire me to be a tenth of the person you are.” He kneels in front of me and grabs my paws in his own.
​
“You are… you are so passionate, so creative. Even with being a self described shell. I can't even imagine how you will be when you open up again and explore your creativity in full and banish that monster's influence for good.”
​
I turn and I can't help but smile at his words.”... I haven't been in practice in years. But … I’m willing to relearn it with you.” I stared deeply in his eyes and that feeling again bubbles within me. The feeling of never wanting to leave his side, the feeling as though I found a piece I had been missing. Before I knew it I bit on his snout, recoiling when I realized what I had done.
​
‘I-I’m so sorry!!! You were just so close and and I felt something and before I knew it-” I was caught off guard when he bit my snout, holding my top jaw between his own set. I bit down on his lower jaw and we locked together. He tried to let go after a while. But I growled to let him know I wasn't ready yet and I used my leverage to lead him into my tent.
​
**\*
​
I got up and exited my tent. I stood up and stretched and twisted my back around. Lifting my arms above my head and pulling them as far out as I could. I looked at the coals still burning in our firepit, I could only tell they were burning from the heat going off of them as the glow was hidden by the sun's light. Before noticing the meat Ponthyt prepared last night still on the plates on the log we sat on.
​
“Pff, hey Ponthyt. Come out here!!!” I said behind me. He crawled out my tent with a head of messy fur.
​
“Wut ?” He said with half closed eyes and a disposition of utter exhaustion . I pointed to the cold meat. He still had a look of drowsiness before he realized what the significance of the strange strips were.
​
“Heh, I guess we won't need to make breakfast?” I chuckled as I sat down and hugged his head. I groomed his messy fur as I absorbed the morning sun. I don't know what the future of my career looked like anymore. But it was no longer the most important thing in my life. I loved space, I loved to learn. But In these years I had lost track of what was truly important. As I groomed him Ponthyt fell asleep with his head in my lap.
​
As I felt the joy of reciprocal love again for the first time in years I leaned back and watched the sunrise, caressing my love's head and breathing in the fresh air.
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Timestamp: https://imgur.com/gallery/HvfcLVl
Comment here before sending be a DM please.
[WTS]Microtech Socom BRAVO MINI S/E first owner. Carried but cut very little. Snail trails on clip and scales (see pics) perfect centering and lockup. Taken apart to clean and KPL/blue-Loctite. Comes w/factory box and paperwork. Asking $300 obo PPFF & YOLO is king. Ships USPS priority flat rate on Thursday or Friday at the latest. https://imgur.com/gallery/urlxxDm
[WTS] Spyderco Paysan First owner. Skiffs installed. This thing SPYDY PERFECTION!! Perfect centering and guillotines drop shut. After market stonewashed milled Titanium clip with small snails on the clip but they are hard to see. OG clip included with black/gold emblem pouch. Did not come with a box. It had the usual lock stick but it has worked itself out now (I can’t feel it).nAsking $600 obo PPFF & YOLO is king. Ships USPS priority flat rate on Thursday or Friday at the latest. https://imgur.com/gallery/mKfmtUg
[WTS] Spyderco Drunken with an A. Purvis clip installed. OG clip included. Second owner as far as I know. Super sharp, it appears to have been sharpened. Perfect centering and action. Did not come with box. Will ship in KnifeJoy pouch. Asking $400 obo PPFF & YOLO is king. Ships USPS priority flat rate on Thursday or Friday at the latest. https://imgur.com/gallery/rtk8e4s
[WTS] NULL Knives Raikou serial #29. Stonewashed model. First owner from the drop. Carried a couple times but no wear marks to be found. Everything original it shipped with will be included. Asking $300 obo PPFF & YOLO is king. Ships USPS priority flat rate on Thursday or Friday at the latest. https://imgur.com/gallery/dfoNmwa
[WTS] ALLIANCE DESIGNS KRAKEN designed by Matthew Christensen. This is the handrubbed ELMAX blade steel edition. Ti bolsterlock variant features beautifully contoured FatCarbon scales and full DarkTi accents. Perfect centering and action. 1st owner w/all factory items included. Carried a couple of times. One snail trail on scale and one factory blemish (see pics). Never sharpened and is SUUUUPER SHARP!! Asking $400 OBRO, PPFF & YOLO is king. Ships USPS priority flat rate on Thursday or Friday at the latest. https://imgur.com/gallery/4iMO7fy
[WTS] CUSTOM CHOPPED SMOCK by geckocustomz!! Second owner as far as I know after custom work was done. 2nd detent removed. Resized and chamfered spydie hole. LYNCH NW Ti clip installed. I has a. Hard to see mark on the front of the blade, snails on clip and super a super small mark from the mill work on the spydie hole. No box or pouch. Asking $350 obo PPFF & YOLO is king. Ships USPS priority flat rate on Thursday or Friday at the latest. https://imgur.com/gallery/5Qx8I01

I experienced a collapsed lung three days ago. Sharp pain in one area of chest that increased in pain with deep breaths and activity. I literally tried to “walk it off”. I had chest tube inserted and 24-hour hospital stay. I am a healthy 41 year old female. I eat keto, lift weights, and recently ran a marathon. I do not smoke, am not underweight, etc. I read that a possible cause could be endometriosis (which I have).
Have any other women experienced this? What was your recovery like? How long before you got back to exercising? Open to any suggestions/advice.
Many thanks!

Helpful advice/recommmendation.

• According to the Tushetian tradition, it is forbidden to make pork meat or any dish prepared with pork.
• There are several places in Tusheti where women are not allowed (ask locals when in doubt ).
• There is no ATM and currency exchange but guesthouses can often arrange for payment of services.
• There is no pharmacy and access to emergency medicine is often limited. ( always bring essential medications ) There is only one hospital in Lower Omalo Omalo with one ambulance and critical transport can be arranged by the military via helicopter.
• There are no petrol or car repair services in Tusheti if you decide to go with your car be prepared.
• There is no supermarket in Tusheti. There are only a few small shops. Before you go to Tusheti, it is better to ask your host what you can buy in the nearest store.
• If you have food allergies or restrictions there is not enough food options (if you stay in a hotel or guesthouse tell your host before you go).
• If you are a hiker be prepared before you will go, you cannot resupply at each village.
• If you bring a water purifier it is advisable to carry spare filters, sometimes, on rainy days the water is full of particulates.
• You will need summer clothes and warm clothes also. Weather is changeable and nights are cold - always carry layers.
• Most Tushetian drivers are experienced on the mountain passes (all our drivers have many years of experience on the Tusheti road).
• Guesthouses have water heatesolar panels as well as wood stoves. Some hotels only have solar panels and if weather changes there may not be hot water.
• Some of the guesthouses have no washing machines.
• Georgia’s mobile signal coverage is limited in Tusheti and only reaches about 40% of the 52 villages in the region.
• Shepherd dogs guard the flock of sheep, the shepherd's shelter, and the cattle. So if you do not cross their territory they are not aggressive and only swarm to warn you, but if you cross their territory they get very defensive. Avoid walking on their territory as much as possible. If you have no other choice and have to go through their territory show the dog that you are not afraid of him -just defend yourself and always get advice from locals about how to manage the animal encounters.
• It is better if you arrange a car in advance, especially in May, June, September, and October. Sometimes it is a challenge tofind a car at that time.

First of all Majority of Influencers/content creators in social media like Instagram for example are useless people.
I absolutely hate "I'm just saying my preferences, why are you mad" posts like you dumb fuck influencer who makes money on making people insecure, you don't have to put down other people to state your preferences.
Eg:
"Fat women 🤢" "Fit women 😍"
Now all the women in comments starts make fun of short guys and small dick guys (Especially this classic insult for every rude behaviour) because they're the easy target.
The person who posted that crap was conventionally attractive straight male btw and people will still find him attractive even after saying that crap.
Now, Me as small size guy🤡, I've to see thousands comments on how I'm not desirable and not preferable by women. If I try to say something in the comments like it has nothing to do with small size guys, now women be like "Incel" "aww triggered much😘" "small dick energy" WTF was those replies, what I'm trying to say and what are they doing and what's up with "😘💖" these emojis. Doesn't make sense. They're the ones bringing small size guys into this instead taking things with guy posted. Ok small size guys aren't your preference fine! Atleast stop using it as an insult when a guy behaves rudely. Why people even equate small size with rude behaviour. Now I'm worried someone will this post with small dick energy🧍.
It happens for women too like a Dumb bitch will post a stupid crap like
"Small dick 🤢" "Big dick 😍"
Now, all the guys will bring fat women into this for no reason. What did they even do. The women who posted this is conventionally attractive women btw.
Most annoying thing is atleast one stupid fuck will defend the person who posted like their life depends on it in the name of "girls support girls" "Bro code". Clown world and clown people smh
Rant over!!