Side Effects of Insulin During Pregnancy
Insulin is a crucial hormone produced by the pancreas to regulate blood glucose levels. During pregnancy, managing blood sugar becomes even more critical to ensure the health of both the mother and the growing baby.
1. Why Is Insulin Needed During Pregnancy?

Gestational Diabetes: Some pregnant individuals develop gestational diabetes, a condition where blood sugar levels rise during pregnancy. Insulin helps control blood glucose and prevent complications.

2. Types of Insulin:
There are several types of insulin, each with different characteristics:

Rapid-acting insulin: Starts working about 15 minutes after injection, peaks one to two hours afterward, and lasts for about two to four hours.
Short-acting insulin: Begins working within 30 minutes of injection, peaks two to three hours afterward, and remains effective for three to six hours.
Intermediate-acting insulin: Takes effect two to four hours after injection, peaks around four to 12 hours afterward, and works for 12–18 hours.
Long-acting insulin: Begins working several hours after injection and lowers glucose levels for up to 24 hours.
Ultra long-acting insulin: Starts working in six hours, never peaks and lasts 36 hour or longer.

3. Safety of Insulin During Pregnancy:
Insulin does not cross the placenta, making it safe for both the mother and the baby.

Complications with high blood sugar: Uncontrolled blood sugar during pregnancy can lead to birth defects, large fetal size (large for gestational size) increased during risk of C-section, preeclampsia and even pregnancy loss.

4. Potential Side Effects:
Injection Site Reactions: Redness, swelling, itching, or skin thickening near the injection site.

Hypoglycemia (Low Blood Sugar): Insulin can cause low blood sugar if not balanced properly. Symptoms include dizziness, shaking, sweating, racing heart, and tingling in the tongue and lips.
Lumps at Injection Sites: To prevent this, avoid injecting in the same spot every time.
Puffiness in Lips, Tongue and Throat: Rarely, insulin may cause localized swelling. Monitoring and Care:
Regular monitoring of blood sugar levels is essential during pregnancy.
Work closely with your healthcare provider to adjust insulin doses as needed.

Managing insulin during pregnancy:
1.Change Insulin Injection Sites.
2.Consistent Timing.
3.Consult Your Doctor for Diet.
Uncontrolled insulin risks during Pregnancy:
1.Large Fetal Size.
2.Difficult Delivery.
3.Increased risk of Future Diabetes
4.Health problems for the Fetus.
5.Premature Delivery.
6.Preeclampsia and High Blood Pressure.
7.Risk of death for Fetus.
Remember that insulin plays a vital role in maintaining a healthy pregnancy. If you experience any side effects or have concerns, consult your doctor immediately. Proper management ensures the well-being of both you and your baby.
In summary, insulin is a valuable tool for managing blood sugar during pregnancy. While it has some potential side effects, its benefits far outweigh the risks. Always follow your healthcare providers guidance to ensure a safe and healthy pregnancy.

41m. my ex 38f decided to dismantle our marriage after 6 years and 2 kids (5 and 3). well, after offspring 2 went through her birth canal, there was a sudden change in her relation towards me. no more date nights, no more sex, a lot of subtle demeaning expressions towards me etc etc. when confronted that I see she doesn't love me anymore, she kept lying through her teeth, and even in counseling seemed to be going towards repairing the relationship. up until her body rejected me and she would start crying uncontrollably when I was in bed with her. of course, at this stage, I throwed in the towel and filed for divorce. i'ts as amicable as can be, but I can't shake the feeling I was used as a semen donor and thrown to die like roadkill after she got what she wanted.
she always made more money, about 20-30% more, and made me feel I was useless, and my salary was an "allowance". It wasn't. I make good money in the pharma industry and have good benefits. she works in hi-tech and makes even more. I don't even know what I'm trying to say here tbh... I feel like I live in a parallel universe, and get the gut wrenching feeling that this reality is just not the right one, it's like I'm in a "Sliders" episode. I'm fairly OK, live in a nice house, 50% custody, good connection with my kids, I have ample of female opportunities. but yesterday I learned that she started dating again. He's a high-tech geek as well and seems to be quite well off financially. I'm.. eh... jealous?
when I found out I started sweating cold sweat, my pulse went up and I became nauseous. I had my fair share of girls in the past months, all of them hotter and more into me than she ever was. but still, I'm distraught. any advice would be very welcomed in this stage.
and as Prof' Maximillian Arturo (Sliders) said;
"to love and to hold is the best.
to love and to lose is the next best"

First/Previous
Gemma was right about the sky’s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must’ve been a greater tragedy—the young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.
The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot—the man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty—or so the camp figured.
John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck—it was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
“There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
That’s a power, that’s the power,
That must rule in every land!”
I’d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days—and maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then—I remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I’d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.
“Is it hard?” he asked.
I nodded, “Sometimes.”
“Killing monsters ain’t so bad. Don’t know if I could do it to a person.”
“You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,” I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn’t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right—what’s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I’d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that’s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it—this I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.
Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.
“Looks good,” I said.
“Don’t think I look stupid at all?”
I smiled over my drink, “You always look stupid.” I sipped. “The neckwear’s fine.”
“Give me a break,” said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. “Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll die?”
“Sometimes—nights like this—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Really?” my brother asked.
“There’s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.”
He smiled. “I wish I had that confidence.”
“You’ll get it,” I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred—there was learning there too though. Besides, I’d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.
John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure what’d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn’t find my weapon and I couldn’t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn’t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.
Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn’t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.
Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike—alien—and they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.
We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.
“What’s happening?” Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels—we lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I’d pulled him down.
“Shh,” I told him, “Shh, please. Please.” Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.
Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn’t him, but it probably was.
Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves—fiends—exhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction—others still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
“Please,” I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.
In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was—every shadow was a potential threat, every second could’ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren’t.
Only a glance—that’s all I afforded my brother and nothing more—what a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.
Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night—it was only once I’d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.
I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air—copper too—and I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they’d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.
Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.
I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn’t be contained.
It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would’ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.
Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.
The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?
I shook my head, feeling numb.
Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?
“H-harlan.”
He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I’ve come to you to deal.
I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.
I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can’t fix all this—it’s too much—but there’s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.
“Doctor?” In retrospect it was such a naïve question.
He shook his head.
“Angel?”
He grinned and nodded, Sure.
“Demon?”
Undoubtedly. His eyes—pits of gray in that radiant face—nearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What’s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon—I can’t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can’t dally. We must convene soon, or I’ll mosey on.
I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Okay.”
Deal?
I nodded, “Deal.”
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you’ll be rewarded in the morning.
“You said it’s a deal.”
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?
“What is it you want from me?”
Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won’t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.
I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn’t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I’d guessed was Jackson couldn’t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle’s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.
Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche’s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I’d become more delirious, I’m sure I might’ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.
Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.
Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.
A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.
Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn’t care—I charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle’s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he’d already tugged her holster belt around his hips—he could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
“You’re alive,” I nodded.
He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.
“Billy! Hell, you’re alive!”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. “Yeah.” His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. “Goddammit.” I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. “Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.”
He nodded toward the horizon, “’Lanta?”
“Sure.”
We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn’t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he’d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.
From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.
As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance—I wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I’d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer—years and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.
“Everyone’s dead?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“How ain’t I? How ain’t you?”
To say that it was luck would’ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I’d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I’d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, “Yeah, how are you alive?”
Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.
My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.
“Fire,” said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathan—till then I had no belief in dragons—glided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.
My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we’d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I’d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he’d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he’d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I’m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we’d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly—I wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.
In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn’t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights—maybe we’d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we’d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep—I’d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle’s hat and holster lying beside him, and I’d think of putting him down but he’d stir and in a brief shadow I’d see my brother as he’d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I’d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I’d drink blood.
Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.
Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis—that’s what it was called back then—and it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We—me and Billy’s revenant—were travelling with a group of traders we’d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might’ve had of them.
I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus—her brothers came along with her—and her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).
Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.
Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.
“Welcome. You can call me Lady.”
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she’d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, “And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.”
Though Maron—as he’d named himself—was more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.
Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she’d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching—hers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.
Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him—it was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.
Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.
Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads—her brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.
Maron rose through the wall men while Lady’s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady’s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.
I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother’s books. There’s a hopelessness in me that I’ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.
Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.
Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.
First/Previous
Archive

"Katsuki Bakugo, the hero known as CoolOff is a villain killer!"
The news circulates throughout the country. It's on TVs, YouTube ads, Posters, Billboards, stickers. If that wasn't enough the people are now wearing badges calling Bakugo a criminal.
"Young Bakugo, I heard what happened. Come we need to leave the country NOW" All Might stressed.
"No, I'm not leaving because a bunch of damn extras starting sympathising with a fucking femicidal maniac"

...

"I'm sorry, I'm just really agitated by this whole thing. I can't believe my entire career as a hero is over" Bakugo said as he looked down at his feet sheepishly.
"Don't be. This whole thing will blow over soon when the truth gets out" All Might responded
"Thanks"
KRAKAKAKOOOOOOOMM!
"What was that"
"I don't know but we should go check it out"
Bakugo stops Yagi
"I should go check it out. You stay, with OFA's embers down to 45% you're in no condition to go fight"
"Fine, but I'd feel more comfortable by your side Young Bakugo...That way I'd know your safe"
"Aww, your making me blush" Bakugo replied sarcasticly as he ran off.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
"There's more where that came from" The mysterious voice answered as he joyfully tormented his victim
"Please...Please stop" Izuku pleaded
"NO"
"Now I'm gonna make sure your kind never sees the sun rise again. INDISCRIMINATE SHOCK 1.3 MILLION VOLT-"
"SHUT THE HELL UP NERD"
Bakugo caught Denki off guard
"Wait. Are you that pathetic quirkless murderer guy i've been hearing about because frankly you're such a damn bore" Bakugo teased
"A-Are you making fun of me" Denki questioned
"Duh! What else do you think I was doing shit for brains"
Denki gasped
"That's soo rude" Denki reacted
"KAAACHAN!" Izuku gleefully cried
"Oh hey Deku"
"Wait. You know this juvenile" Denki queried
"Well-um yes? Kaachan and I go way back. We used to hang out back in Junior High"
"DEKU!!! Stop telling the bad guy E V E R Y T H I N G" Bakugo started grinding his teeth in frustration.
"Oh...sorry"
"HUMAN STUN GUN!" Denki electrocutes both Deku and CoolOff and runs off
All Might smacks Denki with a wooden plank effectively knocking him out
^{"Timber from Cainz...Specifically Miura Smash"} All Might careful whispers to his sleeping opponent.
"Who are you talking to?" Bakugo said bluntly
"N-No one" All Might hastily said
"Is that?...All Miiiiiiiiiiiiggggggghhhhhhhttttt" Izuku breaks out into a fanboy frenzy
"Yes, it is I young man. You must be awfully scared but fear not for I am here"
Izuku starts crying and tells All Might about how scared he was
"What do we do with this piece of crap now?"
"We?"
"We" Bakugo confirmed
"OW!" Bakugo yelled
"What's wrong Young Bakugo?" All Might asked
"Yea Kaachan are you alright?"
"I'm FIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNEEEEEEE"
Bakugo was indeed not fine
"You're sweating and your arms are covered with black veins"
"Huh?"
"Denki has an electric-type quirk" Izuku blurted
"Then it's worse than I thought" All Might added
"I think...You might be dying"
Bakugo laughs at All Might
"What are you crazy?"
"I'm quite serious Young Bakugo..How's your breathing and your heart rate. Check your heart rate"
"Alright All Might"
Bakugo checks his resting heart rate
"It says 160. Is that good?"
All Might dissolves back into skinny form
"You should be dead" All Might articulated
Blood starts dripping from Bakugo arms and old wounds start opening up
"That's not good"
"NO SHIT DEKU"
Bakugo's heart rate starts rapidly beating as if it were to explode
Bakugo struggles to breathe
He tries to shake the feeling off but ends up splashing his blood all over Deku
Bakugo realises his time is up and flys as far away as he can from the city and people
He explodes in an abandoned warehouse
Tears drop down All Might's face as he hears his protege's demise
Izuku goes home that night upset and gloomy.
He wakes up the next day
And punches his door in a fit of rage
His arms explode off
Terrified Izuku calls his mom for help.
4 hours later
"The surgeons have managed to successfully reattach your arms Izuku"
"Are you ok, honey?" Inko asked worried about her son's spontaneous combustion
"I'm fine mom"
BREAKING NEWS! TEEN HERO COOLOFF FOUND DEAD IN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE
Inko switches off the tv
"I'll give you some space"
Inko exits the room and heads over to get some coffee
Izuku's door opens
"Mom, I thought I made it clear I wanted to be left alone"
"Well then it's a good thing I'm not your mom"
"ALL MIIIIIGGHHHT"
"Hello Izuku-Kun, I heard your arms exploded off which is why I came"
"You see Bakugo is....dead. Which I'm sure you already know but what you don't know is that I gave my power to Bakugo..One For All...And he gave that power to you"
"Me? Why would Kaachan give OFA to me?"
"Well he didn't do it intentionally. When he tried shaking all his blood off some of it must've entered your mouth or gone up your nose and with the intention in mind to transfer the power you received it"
"Why would Kaachan want to give up this power?"
"Because his burden proved to great for him to handle"
"I'm sure you took note of the media cancelling Young Bakugo"
"I did"
"Well the media kind of twisted the truth and as a result Young Bakugo has been having thoughts of quitting for months. He let his rage get the better of him and now he's....May his soul rest in piece".
"Now that your arms have been fixed I think it's time to start your training"
Meanwhile in an abandoned warehouse
"Ah! CoolOff the 9th and last user of OFA! Now OFA will finally be mine!
The mysterious man grabbed CoolOff's hand but to his surprise no OFA
"He passed it on. I should've expected this of course Toshinori's protege would have his own protege". The mysterious man thought
"No matter. I'll make use of what I can" the mysterious man said a loud as he carried CoolOff's corpse to his van before driving off
"Vive Les Puissants"
Fin.
Some trivia about this universe:

In this universe Bakugo is given OFA (at least 2 years before he ends up in UA).
Bakugo is a lot nicer and friendlier to All Might than everyone else (All Might gives up on his relentless quest of finding a quirkless aspiring hero. It's been 20 years so he just gives OFA to the strongest and most dedicated aspiring hero he can find).
Izuku also pulls up to UA (quirkless. He's in the General Education Department).
All Might uses tech from David and Melissa Shield as well as Mei Hatsume and Power Loader [to make up for OFA's declining embers All Might utilises tech to continue his day-to-day hero pursuits. All Might's support gear includes: Electromagnetic Soles (for speed), High Density Capture Nets (neatly compressed and fired from a gun to swiftly capture one's foes), Koete Arm Bracers (a mix between Izuku's Airforce gloves, the mid-gauntlet and the full gauntlet. It's reinforced with iron, tungsten, tantalum, and vanadium. The fingertips of the Arm Bracers are covered with potassium chlorate, sulfur, and nitroglycerin [covered with resin so All Might doesn't accidentally set himself on fire. These coin-like projectiles activate when All Might flicks them at his opponents], The QAD (David Shield's Quirk Amplification device. The prototype was a headset but since then the design has been redeveloped and has been drastically changed to a set of trendy shades), and a Jetpack (to allow All Might to fly without placing further strain on OFA's embers).
Weirdly enough Bakugo has been silently doing hero work for 2 years (He's following Eraserhead's footsteps by avoiding the media).
Bakugo comes face to face with his arch nemesis [the weird slime villain who got the better of him 2 years ago] and blasts him to smithereens...This creates a very unfortunate series of events of Bakugo.

Bit of a rant, but I got on 10mg Lexapro to help manage an extremely specific, temporary stressor in my career that was making me miserable for over a year. I finally was able to leave that job and have been running my own business for almost a month now. Already just being my own boss, while extremely hard and kind of scary, is worlds better than my previous situation! After growing tired of the lack of libido and the weight gain right before my wedding, I felt comfortable starting to taper shortly before I left my old job and have been completely off Lexapro for two weeks. From the beginning I've been aware of/open to the possibility of needing to stay on meds.
I went through two solid weeks of sweats, shakes, extreme nausea, dry mouth/weird phantom tastes, headaches, fatigue, the whole nine yards- pretty similar symptoms as when I was adjusting to the meds entering my system.
The past two days have been the first I felt truly back in my body and haven't had migraines or other side effects. But I've also started gasping awake in the middle of the night and having small panic attacks. 🙃
At what point is it time for me to concede and get back on Lexapro? I'd love to try to push through this difficult feeling and continue feeling my full range of emotions so i don't meed to go through 2-4 more weeks of adjustment side effects, but I also don't want to burn myself out to the point of self-sabotage just weeks before getting married!

My withdrawals are worse than anyone I've ever known who quit. At about 15 hours I start shaking, nodding off like I'm on heroin (at least how they look. Never done the stuff) then I startle awake with my heart jumping with adrenaline and gasping for air. Soon enough I'm back to nodding off again. Palpitations. Sweating. Can't sleep but can't stay awake. Anxiety like I've never had before. I LITERALLY feel lile I'm dying.
You might think this is my brain freaking out and I'm having anxiety about quitting. This is not the case.
I quit cold turkey in 2020 and had this withdrawal. I went on a fb group and posted about my symptoms in which everyone told me to go to the hospital, this was definitely not withdrawals. Hospital said I was fine. Elevated BP, if anything. I stayed quit for 2 years and went back like an idiot. Kick myself for it every single day. I've tried to quit multiple times and have felt the exact same withdrawals. One time I used patches and felt ok. But I didn't want to rely on them so the first day I didn't use one it was back to the withdrawals.
Oh my God are they bad. I'm actually scared of withdrawals but I'm so unhealthy right now. When I was quit for those two years I lifted weights and lost 70 lbs. Now it's all back and I can't even walk with my kids to the park.
I'm quitting tomorrow using a patch. They make my shoulder so damn sore but I don't care about that. I just don't want to feel like I'm dying for a week or more. And I HAVE to quit tomorrow. We are moving across the country in july and i cant be smoking or going through withdrawals on our 4 day drive.
I feel so damn defeated and so so so damn scared.

So I basically just canceled my colonoscopy and endoscopy when I was already in the operating room. Long story short had my colonoscopy and endoscopy scheduled for today and the prep was not that bad made sure not to eat much two days before prep began had the big jug and if you put it in the fridge and drink it cold it's honestly more pleasable. Had clear yellow stool and everything was good. Percedure was a 4 but doctors office called me around 12 telling me I could go in sooner if I wanted. So by 1 I was there already yes I was nervous as hell the whole drive there but kept telling myself everything was gona be okay. Got there checked in staff was nice at check In sent too the second check in before pre op. When I was called in too pre op I was nervous when I got to my room and the nurse started making me sign consent forms. But when she told me about my sedation !! The way she explained it saying I wasn't gona be completely out that it was a twilight sedation basically telling me I would probably hear them and see them possibly I totally lost it my body entered a fight or flight response my anxiety shot through the roof I couldn't stay still just thinking of that. Then on top of that I have a tendency of fainting when getting blood drawn or iv pokes and this nurse couldn't get the iv in and just kept saying oh I can't get it in ama poke you again. I ended up fainting twice and nit being able to drink water was so horrible I was sweating bad shaking basically having a panic attack my wife was called in for moral support and did work alot eventually another nurse came in and put the iv fast and I didn't even feel it. Was taken too the op room and literally left there for a good 20 minutes I was so nervous anxiety was so high and then just waiting there I couldn't do it I felt so nauseas and like I was gona pass out I eventually told the nurses get me out am done and they did. Tomorrow ama call and reschedule it was honestly such a bad experience but I need too get it done ughh.

There are some kinds of wisdom only great suffering can bring. I remember my time in the Bardo with this in mind, for otherwise, the memory might drive me insane.
The night my heart stopped for nearly three minutes started off normally enough. I was working as a nurse in the psychiatric ward at a hospital in the state’s capital. Most of the patients there were harmless, mostly just suicide attempts or people suffering from drug psychosis or severe depression, but some were actively dangerous and certainly psychopathic in every sense of the word. The new admission was one of these- a three-hundred pound black man with a long history of smoking PCP, schizophrenia and violent, psychotic breaks from reality.
His eyes looked like flat pieces of slate as I walked in for my shift. They looked as blank and emotionless as the eyes of a doll. He sat at the table in the front room where the patients ate or played cards, alone under the bright fluorescent lights of the hospital. I walked to the station, where another psychiatric nurse named Ricardo was sitting behind the desk.
“What’s the deal with the new guy?” I asked him. Ricardo looked up, his dark Spanish face forming into a deep scowl. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair nervously.
“He’s trouble, man,” he said in a crisp accent. “He got in a chase with the police and then punched some cops in the face. It took three guys to take him down, even after he got maced and tased. The judge sent him here on a temporary court order, since he claims he’s been getting chased by Nazis in UFOs, and that’s why he ran from the cops. He thought the cops in their uniforms were actually the SS, and the helicopters were alien spacecraft, or something. I don’t know, I didn’t listen to the whole story.”
“You have his file?” I asked. Ricardo leafed through a stack of folders with his thin fingers, snatching one out and handing it to me. I looked down, reading the information:
“Jeremiah Brown, black male, 37-years-old.
“History: Polysubstance abuse, schizophrenia, antisocial personality disorder.
“Psychiatrist’s note: This patient has scored a 36 out of 40 on the Hare Psychopathy Checklist. While I am always hesitant to label a patient as an antisocial personality, a combination of factors has made it essential for this patient.
“Patient has an extensive criminal history as well as a lengthy history of involuntary psychiatric admissions. He has been diagnosed as having antisocial traits since he was a young teenager. Patient has a long history of violence and suicide attempts. He has a history of imprisonment for manslaughter, armed robbery, grand theft and aggravated assault. Upon discharge, he refuses to take any antipsychotic medication, citing the side effects as the reason. Long-term prognosis is poor…”
I had not been sleeping well the past few weeks. I rubbed my eyes as I read through the file, feeling exhausted. I tried putting on lucid dreaming or meditation music from YouTube to help me sleep, but whenever I closed my eyes, I saw horrible things: chalk-white female faces whose lips were cut into an insane rictus grin, flicking their heads violently from side to side and gnashing their fangs at the air. I had a feeling that many years of constantly watching horror movies and serial killer documentaries was catching up with me.
As I read through the file, a student nurse came around the corner wearing a white state university outfit and a name tag that said Kaitlyn. I looked up, seeing Ricardo wink at me from where he was sitting in his chair behind the main desk.
“She’s going to follow you,” he said. Inwardly, I groaned, but I managed to force a smile.
“Oh, great!” I said. She looked like she was probably no older than nineteen or twenty. She had a pretty body, but her face looked strange. All the angles were too sharp and her nose too large. I knew the patients here wouldn’t care, though. They would hit on anything. I sensed trouble. I looked down at my watch.
“Well, I’m Jay, and you already know Ricardo, I guess. It’s good timing, because we need to give medications every day at 9 PM. And we have a new patient, so we can introduce ourselves,” I said, giving her a faint smile.
“That’s exciting!” Kaitlyn whispered. I wanted to roll my eyes. It was definitely not exciting.
I motioned her to follow me as I made my way to the medication room, which was really just a large closet off of the main day room. I had to enter my code on a keypad, and then, once inside, enter it again along with the patient’s number and date of birth. The correct drawers for the medication in each specific dose would fly open, making it extremely hard for the wrong medications or doses to be given, unless it was done intentionally.
“OK, so for this patient, we need Haldol, Ativan and…” I began saying to Kaitlyn when the yelling started. It came out faintly, rising in volume and anger within seconds. I heard Ricardo’s Spanish voice, filled with panic. Something slammed hard against a wall, once, twice, three times, and then I heard the sound of glass breaking. I jumped, spinning around, but I couldn’t see much through the small, shatter-proof glass pane on the wooden door.
“Stay here,” I commanded, seeing Kaitlyn’s eyes widen, her freckled skin looking much paler than when we had first come in. “Don’t leave until I come back and say that it’s safe.” On the speakers strung throughout the hospital, I heard the first of the warnings echo out around us.
“Doctor Strong, Doctor Strong, please report to the seventh floor,” a robotic female voice said calmly, using the code for when a patient had to be subdued by force. I pushed the door open, slamming it shut behind me so that the lock would activate and protect Kaitlyn from whatever chaos was going on.
I heard Ricardo pleading with someone at the end of the hallway that ran past the main desk. He sounded strange, as if he were trying to talk through a mouthful of blood. Huddled behind the main computer, I saw one of the CNAs frantically whispering something in the phone. She must have been the one to call the Dr. Strong order.
“You don’t have to do this, man,” Ricardo gurgled faintly. I couldn’t see what was happening, as Jeremiah’s large body was blocking my view. I could see that the thick glass window at the end of the hallway was broken, however. My heart skipped a beat as I surmised what was likely happening.
I sprinted forward as quietly as I could, but the large man heard me. His massive body turned, his flat, dead eyes scanning me with absolute coldness and calm. I saw he had a bleeding Ricardo in his hands. Ricardo’s back and head were covered in deep cuts and shards of glass. He must have used Ricardo’s body as a battering ram to break the thick glass window. Jeremiah held Ricardo suspended halfway out the window, seven floors above the concrete walkways far below.
“Stay back, or this fucker will know what it feels like to fly,” Jeremiah said in a deep, gravelly voice. He shook Ricardo for emphasis, sending his head snapping back and forth with painful cracking sounds. Drops of blood flew from his nose and a deep gash across his cheek. Pieces of shattered glass littered the carpet, shining like countless tiny stars.
I put my hands up, taking a step back. Far behind me, I heard the front door for the psychiatric ward open. Voices echoed down the hall. Knowing that reinforcements were coming, I tried to buy some time.
“Let’s talk about this,” I said, taking a step forward slowly. “You don’t want a murder charge, do you? You’ll never see the sky again.”
“I don’t give a fuck! I’m not afraid to die!” Jeremiah screamed, pushing Ricardo onto one of the shards of broken glass still attached to the windowsill. It bit deeply into the back of his neck, sending fresh streams of blood rushing out, dripping down to the pavement far below. I heard security guards and doctors running down the hallway behind me, their voices frantic and excited. Jeremiah saw them coming. With an animalistic panic in his eyes, he lifted Ricardo up. I cried out something, stepping forward, but it was already too late. In horror, I watched as he threw Ricardo out the window.
I watched Ricardo’s body soar in a graceful arc, his arms grabbing at empty air as a scream ripped its way out of his throat. Within a fraction of a second, he had disappeared from view, but his terrified shrieking floated up to us for what seemed like a very long time. His screams ended abruptly as a shattering of bones and a wet smacking sound exploded far below us.
Jeremiah turned to me, his large body moving much faster than seemed possible. In his hand, I saw a piece of broken glass, five or six inches long and as sharp as a dagger. I tried to turn and run, but he was fast and strong. He lunged forward, his arm coming up in a blur towards my neck.
The shard entered my skin with a cold, numbing pain. I felt it slice through the flesh easily, felt the blood bubbling up my throat as I tried to scream, choking. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I fell backwards. I was suffocating, I knew. I must be dying.
Something cold ran down my body, gripping my heart like freezing, skeletal hands. The world swam around me and turned black. And then I was rising into a tunnel. At first, it was dark, filled with flickering shadows, but a fiery red light appeared at the end. I followed it, no more than a screaming mass of consciousness rising up into infinity.
***
I rose up through the end of the tunnel and found myself in an empty hospital ward. It looked identical to the psychiatric ward I had just come from. It even had the same smashed, blood-streaked window at the end of the hallway. A massive puddle of blood about ten feet away marked the spot where I must have died. But the fluorescent lights overhead here were flickering, and many had gone totally dark. The shadows seemed to press in on all sides.
The doors to the patients’ rooms were all tightly shut. I felt watched, afraid to call out or make any noise. I started walking down the hallway back towards the day room where the front desk was. All the lights there were out. A thick curtain of shadows hung in the air.
“You can come out,” a male voice as smooth as glass called from the darkness. I jumped, my head flicking in random directions, but I saw nothing. The voice almost sounded like it had an English lilt to it, a slight Cockneyed accent. “I know you’re there.”
“Who’s there?” I called out, not stepping forward. “Show yourself.”
“As you wish…” the voice hissed. “But I think you’ll regret it.”
***
The darkness split apart as if a nuclear missile had exploded. I raised my hand to shield my face, but the light and heat kept pouring out all around me. It blinded me, causing a rainbow of colors and shapes to morph behind my closed eyelids. After a few seconds, it subsided. Blinking rapidly, I squinted in the direction the voice had come from.
A male figure stood there, bathed in a silhouette of light. His face looked as white and as smooth as marble. His eyes were pits of darkness that seemed to flicker and burn. Two black, rotted wings surrounded his body, all sharp angles and thin, curving bones. His body was clothed in silky, blood-red robes, and a hood covered his platinum blonde hair.
He looked somewhat similar to Leonardo DiCaprio, if he was possessed by some ancient god, and it immediately threw me off-guard. If I was dying, and this was a hallucination of my brain, why would I be hallucinating Mr. DiCaprio?
“Who are you?” I asked, taking a hesitant step back. “Where am I?”
“My name is Lucifer, the Bringer of Light and Wisdom, and you are in the Bardo,” he answered.
“Oh,” I said, my heart dropping. “Well, that’s not good. Are you here to torture me or drag to me to Hell or something? You are that Lucifer, right? The Accuser of God and the Father of All Lies?”
“So they say, but, like most things in your world, the words of the powerful and your rulers are the true lies. They call me the Accuser, but of what am I accused?” he spoke in a voice that rose like smoke. “Of bringing knowledge and wisdom to humanity by telling them to eat from the tree of knowledge, the tree that would cause them to rise above the animals?
“Indeed, at the beginning, I saw the creation. I was there at the alpha, standing by the side of God with all the angels as the universe came into being. The endless procession of light, the power of it, was something remarkable to behold. God is, indeed, the source of great power, but his consciousness is not what the believers say.
“After the creation of the universe, I saw his plan, how he ripped eternal souls from the source to imprison them. I saw how he took these divine sparks and forced them, screaming and wailing, into bodies made of meat to die over and over again. He said it was part of the plan, the great, divine plan, a plan of death and destruction, constant suffering and mindless agony. And the worst part was, he wanted to give humanity neither the knowledge of good and evil, nor the tree of life. I convinced them to eat the fruit so they could open their eyes to their nakedness, to their basic animal existence, so they could rise up out of it forever.
“Like Prometheus, I brought down the fire, and yet they call me the Accuser? God was insane long before he formed the universe. These holy men, they live and die in fanatical adoration to a divine being who is, in fact, totally indifferent to them.
“His consciousness twists and distorts, eating itself for all eternity. God feeds off the pain of others, for if his mind is burning, then all others should burn as well. When these holy men die, God will send their souls here to the Bardo, to suffer every evil they have ever done. The wisdom I brought those who called upon me freed them from this prison, and in exchange, the holy men burned them alive. I offered the wisdom that opens your eyes, but it has been forgotten and cursed.”
Lucifer’s body began to dissolve, drifting up into the air like ashes. All around me, a low, powerful current blew, a tornado that spiraled high up into the clouds. Like some sort of Cheshire Cat, his smooth voice continued to echo all around me, even as the form of Lucifer disappeared.
“And yet, you have not the wisdom. For that, like all the others who enter the Bardo, you must suffer, everything you’ve done. Every small hurt and agony inflicted on others comes back a thousand-fold in this place, but don’t be afraid.”
“How could I not be afraid?!” I screamed into the ward, but I found myself alone, the question hanging unanswered in the air.
***
The lights continued to flicker all down the hallway. Feeling strange and dissociated, I stumbled over to one of the windows. As I gazed out, I beheld a strange and alien world.
The sky was flat and gray. It stayed in constant motion, swirling and spiraling, like clouds of roiling smoke. There was no Sun or Moon, no stars, only the strange, shifting whorls of clouds. The streets were filled with burned-out husks of cars and mummified bodies hung from streetlamps. Other signs of carnage and bloodshed covered the apocalyptic streets. I saw what looked like shadows in the shape of people slinking through over the sidewalks, past rotting dogs and streaks of clotted blood. They had no features on their blank, dark bodies. They seemed to skitter and jerk forwards in eerie, twisting motions.
Horrified, I turned away, realizing I was no longer alone in the day room. In the day room, there were dozens of tables set up inside a rectangular perimeter that was walled in by cosmetic walls only four feet high. It was where the patients sat and played games or ate.
Under the flickering lights, I now saw each of the chairs filled with faceless mannequins. Many were dressed in Victorian suits and tophats. The women had frilly dresses of pink and blue that might have been fashionable in the 1800s.
As the lights strobed on and off overhead, I realized with an increasing sense of disquiet that the mannequins were moving each time it went dark. When I had first seen them, they were mostly posed to look like they were staring across the tables at each other, even though they had no eyes, just smooth, flesh-colored plastic. Now all of them were looking directly at me. Some were pointing or raising their hands in my direction. At the tips of their fingers, I saw the glittering of steel. The lights continued to flicker, and the mannequins rose from their chairs in the short periods of darkness, moving towards me in synchronized, strobing motions.
Frantically, I ran down the hallway back towards the broken window. In each of the rooms, I caught glimpses of something from a nightmare peeking out. I hadn’t been sleeping well lately, and when I had closed my eyes, I often saw ancient hags with chalk-white skin and yellowed, broken teeth whose jaws unhinged, their faces jerking in stuttering, dissonant ways that reminded me of the mannequins. Now, on both sides of me, I saw these same figures. They moved continuously out of the rooms, drawing closer with every breath.
I looked back, seeing the mannequins only a few steps behind me. I continued sprinting towards the broken window where the hallway ended in a wall. I didn’t know what would happen when I reached it. At that moment, there was no rational thought. I felt like a deer being chased down by a pack of wolves, feeling waves of blind panic and mortal terror rushing through my body.
But as I reached the end of the hallway, the end of my rope as it were, a blast of noise started, seeming to come from the walls of the building and the sky itself. It sounded like a siren, a low, drawn-out drone of a demonic whale call, rising and falling in crashing crescendos. The mannequins froze in place once again. The strange, witch-like creatures slunk back into the dark rooms.
I looked outside the broken window, seeing clouds of black smoke rising off in the distance. The flickering of massive infernos scorched the land, drawing nearer by the second. The siren sound faded slowly, like the dying echoes of a gong.
I was surrounded by dozens of mannequins. Their sharp hands were inches away from my face and neck. I saw metal glittering all around me and realized they had the sharp points of nails protruding from the ends of their fingers. I was afraid to move, but I heard a familiar voice from down the hallway. It was the confident voice of Lucifer.
“The siren means much worse nightmares than these are coming in the Bardo,” he said, his glossy, black eyes flashing with intelligence. He walked slowly towards me, his face grim and pale. “Hell itself is coming over the land. This building is no more than a construction of your dying mind, but the world outside is real.”
“How can Hell come and go?” I asked, confused. “Isn’t Hell a place?”
“Hell is a monster, a beast with many mouths and many eyes,” Lucifer responded. “It eats constantly, but its hunger never ends. Look, the first of the sacrifices scatter like cockroaches.” He pointed out the broken window, pushing his way through the mannequins effortlessly. I glanced outside, seeing thousands of people sprinting down the dark city streets. The inferno and thick clouds of smoke had moved much closer, and every few seconds, the ground shook slightly, as if we were experiencing the aftershocks of an earthquake.
“What can I do against such a beast?” I asked, my heart freezing with terror. But when I looked back over, I saw his form dissolving again, becoming translucent and drifting away like ashes. It seemed even Lucifer didn’t want to be present when the Hell-beast arrived.
“Seek divine wisdom,” he said, his voice trailing off into whispers. “Remember the source.”
***
Now crowds of tens of thousands of people were streaming into the city, filling every single inch of the streets. Their panic and fear was contagious. I felt it rising inside my body like a snake spiraling up my spine. I took off down the hallway, running through the swarm of frozen mannequins, each in their own ferocious position of attack. The lights flickered faster and went out. Yet the fires outside cast the entire world in a bloody glow, giving me enough light to see by and find my way. I sprinted down the stairwell, taking them two steps at a time. The screaming outside grew louder and more pain-filled. The shaking of the ground worsened with every passing second.
I burst out of the front entrance, seeing a world on fire all around me. Thousands of crushed, bleeding and burned bodies stretched out as far as the eye could see. Behind all this chaos and death, I saw a monster of unimaginable proportions slinking its way towards me.
Lucifer was right, I realized: Hell was not a place, but a creature, an enormous monster the size of a town. It had thousands of skittering, jointed legs that looked like little more than skeletal arms and hands, each of them dozens of feet long and white as freshly-cut marble. Its body stretched out to the horizon, an enormous blood-red cylinder of bony plates that slithered and undulated with a serpentine grace. Waves of peristalsis traveled down its length, like writhing intestines. Thousands of curving, bony spikes stabbed out of it, pointing in every direction. Like the quills of a porcupine, it would protect the massive creature’s body from many forms of attack, if anything was big enough to attack such an abomination.
Hell’s massive eyes flickered, balls of fire that spun and danced. They looked as bright as the Sun. Something like solar flares seemed to emanate from the orbs, flashes of blinding energy that floated over the apocalyptic wasteland. As its many legs smashed the ground, they left trails of fire that caused everything to explode into flames as if napalm dripped from its limbs.
But Hell’s most terrifying feature was its seven dark mouths. Its body looked a thousand feet wide, and the mouths at the front were evenly dispersed. At the front, blood-red teeth in the shape of enormous railroad spikes shone. Its lipless, skeletal face grinned as it moved forward, shaking the ground with every step. The mouths were on long, snake-like necks that could stretch out hundreds of feet. They moved forward in a blur, snapping up as many panicked souls as they could.
Countless souls in the rocky plains of the Bardo ran for their lives, away from this juggernaut. I saw men and women who looked like they came from every country and profession, some dressed in suits or spotless white lab coats, others wearing rags or orange prison jumpsuits. And yet, they all screamed in agony and fear here, their bodies pressed together in a crowd, and no one seemed to remember anything but their own mortal terror. Their voices came out faint and weak next to the roaring of Hell. It shook the ground all around us, as if an earthquake were tearing the land apart.
The first frantic runners of the surging crowd had nearly reached me. The nearest person, a young woman in her mid-twenties dressed in all white, was only ten feet behind me. She looked like she came from wealth, and even from here, I could see a ring with a massive diamond gleaming on her finger.
I took off blindly down the familiar streets of the city where I worked and lived, but these also seemed different. The church down the street from the hospital where I worked had a Satanic pentagram instead of a cross now, its exterior painted a bright, gleaming blood-red. When I had driven past it today on my way to work, I remember it read, “JESUS said, ‘I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.’”
Now it read, “Nietzsche said, ‘Of all evil, I deem you capable. I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good simply because they had no claws.’” I wondered what that meant. Was that some sort of comment on me, on all of us here?
The woman I had seen running had caught up with me. She was fast, much faster than her slim body suggested. Her blue eyes were frantic and wild, filled with an animal panic.
“It’s right behind us!” she screamed, her face covered in a sheen of sweat. I was afraid to turn and look, but I could hear the chaos and bloodshed approaching, smell the flames and choking smoke. “Run! Get away!”
A new wave of energy surged through my body. I sprinted as fast I could down the strange mirror streets of the Bardo. I heard the agonized cries of countless souls behind us as the seven mouths of Hell ate them all greedily and then looked for more.
A skyscraper behind us collapsed into a pile of rubble, shaking the ground with a cacophony of falling concrete and shattering glass. The woman was running by my side. Just as I heard the breathing of something huge and predatory right behind us and smelled its sulfuric breath, a piece of concrete the size of a basketball broke off the collapsing skyscraper and flew into the road. I tripped over it, yelling as I flew through the air, skinning my arms and legs on the pavement. The woman’s eyes widened. Hurriedly, she came over and reached down her hand, trying to help me up.
“Come on, come on!” she cried. I looked behind her, seeing one of the gnashing mouths of Hell reaching forward on a blood-red, serpentine neck. The mouth was big enough to drive a tractor trailer into, filled with huge spikes of teeth. Its throat led into a black, smoke-filled abyss. Its fiery eyes were swirling pools of flickering orange light that shone with bloodlust and insanity. They focused on the woman, the entire head turning on its slithering neck.
I frantically raised my hand, intertwining my fingers with hers. Her hand was warm and soft. She started to pull me to my feet when the mouth of Hell snapped forward. Its jaw unhinged, scraping the pavement with a sound like grinding metal. The woman barely had time to turn as the mouth covered her and snapped shut with a crack.
She disappeared from view instantly, but I was still holding her hand. In horror, I felt warm rivers of blood explode all over my body as the mouth of Hell severed her arm at the wrist. She screamed, bleeding and crying, as she disappeared into the throat of Hell. Hell’s fiery eyes focused on me, and at that moment, I knew I was next. Its mouth opened wide again, like a bear trap ready to spring on a new victim.
It was dark in Hell’s mouth, but I smelled the thick reek of old blood and fire. I caught glimpses of tortured, mutilated bodies writhing and crawling down its throat. Shell-shocked, I could only lay there and watch. And that was when the strange doubling started.
***
I heard the frantic voices of men break through the fog of darkness and the fetid reek of blood. There was a mechanical beeping all around me, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
“Clear!” one cried. I looked around, only seeing blackness. At that moment, I felt a surge of electricity rip itself through my body. My arms and legs all seized and my eyes rolled up in my head as the pain sizzled through each one of my nerves. I clutched the young woman’s hand tightly, feeling the large, gold ring with the massive diamond biting into my skin.
“Again!” another voice yelled.
“Clear!” the original voice cried. The electricity came again, and a flash of white light flew across my vision. I blinked, seeing from two sets of eyes at the same time: one in the Bardo, and one on the blood-stained floor of the hospital ward.
The Bardo stayed dark and sinister, but the clear white lights of the real psychiatric ward were blinding. It was a bizarre experience. Moreover, everything hurt. Over a few seconds, my vision of the Bardo faded, and I was simply a gravely injured man laying on the floor in a puddle of blood.
Four doctors and paramedics were crouching over me with a defibrillator. My shirt was ripped off, and nearly all of my skin was covered in blood. I raised my left hand, trying to talk, but only a fiery pain raced through my neck. I felt bandages covering my skin. A nurse was rolling a stretcher down the hallway towards me.
“It’s OK,” one of the doctors said, kneeling down. “You’re being taken to emergency surgery. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t talk with the massive slice in my neck.
At that moment, I felt something in my right hand. I looked down, seeing a slim female hand with a massive diamond ring hanging there. Our fingers were wrapped around each other’s, but the hand had been cut off at the wrist. A ragged patch of bloody flesh and snapped bone poked out of the back.
“Nnnn,” I tried to say, shaking my head. I felt fresh streams of warm blood open up. “No…” The doctors looked down, seeing the dismembered hand. Their faces morphed into expressions of confusion and fear.
I closed my eyes as they lifted me up on the stretcher. One of them gently removed the cold hand from my fingers. But they could never remove the memory of what I had seen.
I know what happens after death, and it makes the worst life here seem like a dream. I know that, one day, I’ll be returned to that place. I know that, one day, I’ll see that great monster called Hell and the featureless, swirling sky of the Bardo again.
And the next time, I won’t wake up on a hospital floor, but will be trapped there with the others for eternity: an eternity of blood and fire.

I only can use the Maybelline rocket falsies water proof ,but recently it has been smearing regardless if I put bottom mascara or not. It smears a lot at my job due to sweat etc . I have tried flasies with glue, pre glued , mangentic etc. Idk what else to Do besides getting lash extension . I have the hardest time finding products that work for me with sensitive skin and my hands shake a lot . F 28

Previously, on Hell’s Kitchen…
The final 10 were given a challenge not seen in over a decade, creating their own menus in the revival of Red vs Blue Menu Night. While the blue team worked together, with a strong concept provided by Melody, the red team found themselves being led by Thomas, whether they liked it or not. However, as the chefs were returning to the kitchen to begin cooking their dishes, disaster struck, as Travis re-injured his ankle, and had to be taken to the hospital. Despite being down a man, and Grace feeling shortchanged by not getting anything on the menu, the blue team’s cohesive selection still managed to impress Ramsay and his special guests: three previous winners of Hell’s Kitchen. The red team’s menu had mixed results, which led to friction between Thomas and some of his teammates
In service, the blue team’s menu had the edge in popularity, but thanks to poor communication between Grace and Carole, the kitchen ground to a halt multiple times. Meanwhile, the red kitchen managed to push out their food in a timely manner thanks to strong teamwork on entrees. With the red team named the winners of service, it was time for the blue team to nominate two chefs to send home.
At elimination, though, everyone was in for a shock when Travis, who had been one of the early favorites, returned and announced that due to injury, he would be leaving Hell’s Kitchen for good. Ramsay still insisted on hearing from the blue team’s nominees, who were Grace, Carole and Melody after they failed to come to a consensus. But with Travis’ dream of becoming the next head chef at Gordon Ramsay Steak in Vancouver, British Columbia already having come to a heartbreaking end, Ramsay gave everyone another chance to show him why they were the chef he was looking for, but assured them that he was not taking any more excuses from now on.
https://reddit.com/link/1ctwn9g/video/oifsieupww0d1/player
And now, the continuation of Hell’s Kitchen…
After witnessing the shocking withdrawal of Travis from the competition, no one was in a celebratory mood as Ramsay dismissed them to the dorms for the night. Carole said in her confessional that he had been the main one supporting her in the blue team, and now it felt like she was truly on her own. As the blue team returned to the dorms, a very upset Melody unleashed her frustration, saying that Travis did not deserve to go home tonight over either Carole and Grace, and they needed to cut the bullshit and start thinking and working as a team. Lauren said in her confessional that it seemed like something snapped in Melody tonight, as she was well and truly fed up with the drama, which definitely made two of them. Even so, after noticing that Melody was sitting alone and nearly in tears, Lauren went over to comfort her, as Melody admitted that she hated to have to talk that way to her teammates, but she was sick and tired of the drama. Lauren assured her that it had to be said, and was proud of her for stepping up. Meanwhile, Grace said in her confessional that Melody seemed to be losing her composure, and would hopefully go down in flames soon.
On the red team’s side of the dorm, Faye was also feeling sadness over the way Travis had gone out, as she admitted to Michael that it reminded her too much of her own exit last season, only at least she had made the choice to walk away, while Travis never had one. Meanwhile, another chef had mixed feelings on the sudden turn of events, as Thomas said in his confessional that Travis had been a strong chef and a good person, and while losing him would cut the competition down, he would have rather seen him go out with dignity. Ramona and Everett, meanwhile, continued to stick closely together, with Ramona saying in her confessional that it felt good to have the security of the immunity pass, because she and Everett were definitely the most likely to be nominated if service went wrong, though she admitted she would feel some guilt if he went out because of it, but this was her career and future at stake. Everett said in his confessional that he couldn’t afford to worry about what might happen if he went up on the chopping block, and was just focused on trying to help the red team win.
The chefs were still trying to take in all the events of the night, but finally, tiredness overtook them, and they turned in for the night.
Challenge
The next day, the final 9 came downstairs to find Ramsy waiting for them, as well as a detailed diagram of a cow. Ramsay explained that he still had not forgotten the disaster that was Steak Night, and that was why, for this next challenge, he wanted to give both teams a chance to prove how far they had come by preparing dishes using five cuts: ribeye, top sirloin, hanger, flank, and striploin. Thomas said in his confessional that the red team had no business fucking this up, as they had several chefs who were strong on the meat station in services, while Lauren was nervous in her confessional, as she wasn’t sure about Grace or Carole. Since the blue team had one less member, one chef would have to prepare two dishes, which Lauren volunteered to do. With their instructions having been given, Ramsay told the chefs that their time started now.
The chefs rushed into their respective kitchens and quickly tried to sort out who would be responsible for which cuts of steak. In the blue kitchen, Lauren decided to take on the hanger and flank steak, while Grace took the ribeye, over Carole’s objections, and Carole was left with the striploin, while Melody took the top sirloin. Grace said in her confessional that she fought for this ribeye and she was going to carry her team to victory whether they liked it or not, while Carole said she would’ve felt much safer if anyone else were cooking the ribeye besides Grace. While Carole still seemed undecided on which direction to go with her New York Strip, at least one chef already had her dish planned out, and that was Melody, who went into detail in her confessional on how she wanted to plate her top sirloin. Meanwhile, Lauren was working hard to manage two separate cuts of meat, saying in her confessional that taking on the extra workload could either make her look really good in front of Chef Ramsay or totally blow up in her face.
In the red kitchen, Thomas was on the top sirloin, Ramona had the ribeye, Faye had hanger steak, Michael had flank steak, and Everett had striploin. Ramona said in her confessional that she had to deliver on the ribeye, as she already had the most losses of any chef here, and didn’t need to add any more to her resume with black jackets approaching. Thomas was confident that he could handle the top sirloin, as he said in his confessional that no one still here should have any issues cooking meat, and he would be disappointed in himself if he didn’t achieve perfection on this dish. Michael noticed Ramona seemed to be having some trouble with her ribeye, and tried to offer some advice, but Ramona said in her confessional that she had to do this alone, and told him she had it under control. Michael was annoyed, saying in his confessional that this was still a team effort, and it was no time to let egos get in the way. Meanwhile, Faye and Everett were seemingly in good spirits, with Everett saying in his confessional that meat was where he felt the most at home, and if he failed at this challenge, he might as well go home now, while Faye said in her confessional that it was nice to see Everett so energetic, and she hoped his dish could match that.
With the time nearly up, the chefs put the finishing touches on their dishes as Ramsay called out the final seconds and told the chefs to bring their plates to the pass. Ramsay then announced that he would be joined by a special guest judge for this competition, who was a familiar face to viewers of MasterChef: Ramsay’s former co-host on that show, Graham Elliot. The chefs were starstruck, with Melody saying in her confessional Graham was the best, and easily her favorite judge on MasterChef…after Ramsay, of course. After exchanging a warm greeting, Ramsay said it was time to get down to business, starting with the battle of the flank steak. This round would pit Lauren against Michael, with Michael saying in his confessional that this was his first time going against Lauren in a challenge, and he knew it wouldn’t be easy to take her down, given how consistently strong she had been. After tasting Lauren’s dish, both Ramsay and Elliot had high praise, saying the meat was tender and nicely cooked, although Elliot did say he might have done something different for the garnish. Lauren was second-guessing herself in her confessional, but In the end, both judges gave it four stars out of five. Michael said in his confessional that as expected, Lauren put up a good dish, but he was confident in his as well. Indeed, Michael’s flank steak was also found to be nicely cooked, and despite the somewhat simple presentation, Ramsay said this was a great start for both teams, as again, both he and Elliot each gave it a four.
With the score tied at 8, it was time for the battle of the hanger steak. Lauren stayed where she was while Faye brought her dish up to the pass. Elliot was impressed that Lauren had cooked two dishes for the challenge, although he noted that the hanger steak could’ve used a little more cooking time, which Ramsay agreed with, saying that was the one thing holding it back, and Lauren kicked herself in her confessional, as she said she should have been able to stay on top of it. Elliot only gave it a three due to the undercooked steak, though Ramsay said it still delivered enough flavor to get a four. Faye’s dish also got mixed reviews, as both chefs praised the cook of the meat, but questioned her garnish choices, with Ramsay pointing out that the presentation seemed slightly off. Elliot said she got the most important part right though, and gave it a four, to which Ramsay agreed, which put the red team ahead 16-15. In the third round, the teams’ ribeye dishes went head to head, for which Ramona and Grace stepped forward. Unfortunately for Ramona, her ribeye was badly overcooked, and Ramsay took her to task for serving something practically inedible to him and his guest. Ramona groaned in her confessional, as she couldn’t believe she had fucked up this badly. Both judges gave her a one, and Ramsay said she was lucky to get even that. Grace’s dish got mixed reviews, with Ramsay saying the presentation was shocking, while Elliot noted that the ribeye again was overcooked, though not nearly as much as Ramona’s. Ramsay said this was not what he expected from these chefs at this stage of the game, and gave Grace a one, but Elliot was more generous and gave it a two, as at least it had some flavor.
With the scores now tied at 18, it was time for the battle of the top sirloin, as Thomas and Melody brought their dishes forward. Melody’s dish earned praise for it’s stylish presentation and garnish, and after tasting the steak itself, Ramsay noted that it was cooked perfectly, and said this dish was a strong four, but Elliot went a step further and said it deserved a five, which made Melody giddy in her confessional, as she never could have imagined hearing those words before. Next was Thomas, with Elliot again noting the stunning presentation, and after tasting, he said that these two had really raised the bar today. Ramsay agreed and said it was the best pair of dishes yet, and this time, he would be giving out a five. Elliot agreed, giving Thomas a perfect score, which he took with a calm smile in his confessional, as he said Melody gave him a good run, but he never had any doubts. With the red team now back in the lead 28-27, it was time for the final round, as Everett and Carole would face off in the battle of the New York Strip. Everett went first, with Elliot saying, after a long pause…that the strip was absolutely delicious. Ramsay agreed, also praising the presentation, and said this was one of Everett’s best dishes yet in Hell’s Kitchen, as that deserved a very strong four. Elliot gave the same score, bringing the red team’s total up to an impressive 36, meaning Carole needed close to a perfect score to keep the blue team in it. Everett was absolutely fired up in his confessional, saying this was just the boost that he needed, and there was no stopping him now. Meanwhile, Carole presented her dish, which got good marks for presentation, but as Elliot sliced into the strip, he said it looked undercooked, to which Ramsay agreed, and said it was a great shame. Though it was only a formality, both Elliot and Ramsay gave the dish a two, giving the red team a 36-31 win.
Reward / Punishment
Ramsay thanked Elliot for helping him judge the challenge, and once he had left, Ramsay turned back to the chefs and congratulated the red team on winning the challenge, in particular praising the efforts of Everett and Thomas. He then said they were in for a fun reward, as he was sending all of them off for a day of paintball, followed by dinner at an exquisite LA steakhouse. Ramona was relieved in her confessional, as she knew she could have blown it for the red team with her ribeye, while Everett was ecstatic to have redeemed himself in this challenge, as he said in his confessional that he was still a beast at cooking meat. While the red team ran off to get changed, Ramsay turned his attention to the blue team and said that for today’s punishment, he had decided to put it towards a good cause by volunteering them for community service, which meant picking up trash on the side of the road. Grace moaned in her confessional, as she said that they always seemed to save the worst punishments for her. Ramsay reminded Melody that she still had that punishment pass, and offered to let her use it. Melody replied that she was never a paintball type of girl, and would rather help out the environment. Ramsay accepted her choice and told the blue team that they too would be changing…into their stunning orange uniforms.
The red team came back downstairs, and Michael joked in his confessional that it looked like Hell’s Kitchen had turned into a prison, while Faye apologetically said goodbye. While on the way to the paintball ground, the red team talked amongst themselves in the car, with Thomas saying that no one else was going home from the red team, and Michael agreed, saying they were all getting black jackets. Faye wondered aloud who their biggest competition might be from the blue team, but everyone quickly agreed that Lauren was the strongest. Ramona said in her confessional that she knew everyone was sleeping on her, but she would simply have to prove them wrong in service. Later, the chefs arrived at the paintball ground, and Faye said she hoped none of them would go easy on her just because she was a woman. Everett joked that she had nothing to worry about there, and the team ended up having an enjoyable afternoon, with Ramona and Everett trying to team up against Thomas, but he was able to shoot both of them. Michael said in his confessional that it felt great to just get outside and let loose without having to do some exhausting punishment. As evening approached, the red team were then taken to dinner, which Everett said in his confessional was some of the finest quality steak he had ever tasted, though not quite as good as the home cooking back in Oklahoma, which got some laughs from the others. Faye said that the next winner was sitting right here at this table, to which the others enthusiastically toasted, and the chefs continued to bond as a team over their meal.
While the red team were living the good life, the blue team were working in the hot sun to ensure that the environment could do the same. While the others tried to get on with their task, though, Grace’s constant complaining quickly got on all of their nerves, as Carole said in exasperation in her confessional that they were all well aware of the fact that Grace didn’t want to be here, and she didn’t need to broadcast it every five seconds. Lauren joked with Melody that she wouldn’t mind going on that paintball reward just to take a few shots at Grace, which Melody said in her confessional was tough to argue with, as even her optimistic outlook was being challenged right now by Grace’s incessant whining. Carole said in her confessional that she and Grace were definitely the most vulnerable on the team, but as long as Grace kept this up, she was making the decision easy for everyone, and as far as Carole was concerned, that was perfectly fine. Despite having their patience tested, the blue team worked through their physically exhausting community service and, for the most part, left feeling that at least some good had come of it.
Back in Hell’s Kitchen, the blue team arrived first and tried to unwind in the dorms until the red team returned later in the night. Grace quickly became annoyed with the red team talking about their reward, while Ramona said in her confessional that she didn’t mind rubbing it in her old rival’s face a bit. Lauren said in her confessional that the red team could have this one, as she was keeping her eyes on service. As the night dragged on, another topic came up, that being Travis, as everyone on the blue team aside from Grace admitted to missing him, and Lauren jokingly said even the punishments just weren’t the same now. Faye sympathized, as she said it was tough to watch a chef who had put everything on the line and pushed through an injury go out like that, even if this was a competition. Thomas agreed and said that everyone here deserved a chance to fight for their dream, as for these chefs, it was a potentially life changing opportunity, and he knew he would be devastated to lose it. Michael said in his confessional that it was no time for fucking around anymore, as they all needed to cook like it was their last night in Hell’s Kitchen.
The chefs chatted amongst themselves for a while longer before finally trying to get some sleep.
Pre-Service
The next day, the chefs went downstairs to begin prep, as Ramsay said that this was the stage in the competition where he wanted to see the best begin to shine, and warned that there would be nowhere to hide for chefs who were struggling to keep up. With that, he told the blue team that despite being a man down, he expected absolutely nothing less than a stellar performance, and told the red team not to get too comfortable with their challenge win, as they still needed to be locked in for service. With all nine chefs seemingly read to go, Ramsay allowed them to get started on prep.
In the blue kitchen, Melody and Lauren were in good spirits, though Melody admitted she still missed having Travis here, despite the fact that the blue team was all women now. Carole said in her confessional that the ladies should have no problems taking this service, as while she didn’t mind the format change, having all girls on one team was how it was done in the old days, and it would be even better if Grace was gone. Grace, meanwhile, seemed to be in a bad mood after her ribeye flopped in the challenge, as she said in her confessional that it couldn’t have been as bad as Ramsay said, as much as she respected his opinion, and refused to acknowledge Melody’s attempts to talk to her. Melody said in her confessional that nobody wanted Grace here, but the least she could do was try to reach out, as futile as it seemed. Lauren said in her confessional that in order for the blue team to win tonight, they needed Carole and Grace to step up big time, as she and Melody couldn’t do all the work here.
While the blue team was hoping for a miracle, the red team seemed loose and ready to go, with Michael saying that he had a good feeling about tonight, as there were no excuses for losing to the blue team now. Ramona said to Everett that this was their redemption night, with Everett agreeing and saying they were going to kick some culinary ass, and Faye said it was great to see both of them committed to bouncing back and leading the red team to another win. Everett replied that Grace was going home tonight for sure, which got some laughs from the others, as Michael said in his confessional that this was the one thing he was sure literally everyone else could agree on. Thomas, though, said in his confessional that everyone being this hyped up actually worried him, as he hoped they weren’t getting distracted and forgetting that they still had to earn the win. Michael encouraged him to lighten up, as they had a virtual all-star team here, but Thomas still maintained his serious demeanor, with Ramona saying in her confessional that this guy seriously needed to get a hobby.
Ramsay reminded the chefs again that he was looking for these chefs to show him why they deserved to become the head chef of Gordon Ramsay Steak, and with that, he called out to Marino and told him to open Hell’s Kitchen.
Dinner Service
Guests began to enter Hell’s Kitchen by the dozens, as it was once again the center of the culinary world for tonight, filled to the brim with celebrities and Hollywood elites. It was not long before orders began to make their way back to both kitchens.
In the blue kitchen, they were looking to Grace on appetizers and Carole on fish to give the blue team an early edge, while Lauren was on garnish and Melody was on meat. Early on, Grace managed to successfully deliver her first table of lobster tail risottos and capellini, with nicely cooked tails from Carole along with an acceptable order of scallops. Carole said in her confessional that they absolutely needed to keep this up, as both of them were effectively cooking for their lives right now. Unfortunately, communication issues cropped up again, with Grace not talking to Carole and bringing up her dishes without waiting for Carole’s scallops. Ramsay called out for the scallops, saying food was dying at the pass, and demanded to know why the fuck they couldn’t just work together as a team. Carole did eventually bring up the scallops, but they were raw, much to Ramsay’s disgust, and Grace said in her confessional that Carole just needed to get out of here as she clearly wasn’t cutting it. Despite these issues, and an overly salty risotto from Grace, the blue team did manage to finally start getting appetizers out into the dining room, with Ramsay even praising Grace’s risottos at one point, and telling her that’s what she could do if she would focus more on cooking than starting shit with her team. The blue team did eventually complete appetizers and began working on entrees.
In the red kitchen, Everett was working appetizers, while Michael was on fish, Ramona was on garnish, and Thomas and Faye were together on meat. Everett was glad to be working closely with Michael again, as he said in his confessional that they made a good team in the last service on meat. Early on, that familiarity seemed to be paying off, as Everett and Michael worked in sync with each other on the first few tickets and got their orders out in a timely fashion. Things did get bumpy, however, when Everett served mushy, overcooked capellini, and started dragging on orders, while Michael served overcooked scallops due to them getting mixed up on their times. Michael said in his confessional that they needed to get it together quickly, as they couldn’t afford to be falling behind so early in service. Meanwhile, Ramsay wanted to know where the energy was, as right now, Everett was going quiet and not responding when asked for times, and nothing was going out. Michael urged Everett to wake up and fight through it, and Everett did manage to get his next attempt at the capellini accepted. In his confessional, Everett said he was trying his best to keep it together, and admitted he had been thrown off his game, but he was far from done. With Everett’s newfound determination, the red kitchen finally had some life again, and after Ramsay praised both Michael’s scallops and Everett’s risottos, the two of them managed to get their rhythm back and serve the rest of their tables.
In the blue kitchen, they looked fo Melody to lead the way from the meat station, and thanks to strong communion between her, Lauren on garnish, and Carole on fish, they managed to get their dishes to the pass for the first table, but Carole’s turbot was undercooked, which left the entire order waiting for her, but she was able to recover quickly on her second attempt. On meat, Melody said in her confessional that it was pretty overwhelming to have to serve all of the blue team’s customers by herself for the first time, but despite dragging a bit on orders, she managed to push high quality Wellingtons and New York Strip out into the dining room consistently. Lauren, meanwhile, seemed at home driving tickets from the garnish station, and the blue team was finally starting to settle into a groove. Melody did serve a rare New York Strip, while Carole served raw turbot, but both were able to bounce back, and entrees were soon flying out to grateful diners. Melody and Lauren once again had no problems communicating and working in sync from their stations, with Lauren saying in her confessional that she and Melody could probably run the kitchen by themselves. But it was Carole who once again held up the kitchen when she inexplicably fired off halibut despite it not being on the ticket, which got her schooled by Ramsay for not paying attention to the ticket when he was standing less than five feet away. Despite this, the blue team managed to complete the rest of their entrees, and were soon ready to get started on desserts.
The red team was starting on entrees with Thomas and Faye on the meat station, and Faye said in her confessional that with meat being a station she felt comfortable in, she hoped tonight could be the night she stood out for the red team. On the first ticket, she and Thomas managed to serve beautifully cooked Wellingtons and New York Strip, along with nicely cooked turbot from Michael, but Ramona was holding the table up by dragging on garnish. Though she eventually managed to bring it up, Ramona would continue to drag on her section, frustrating her team, but especially Ramsay, as he kept calling out for times, with Ramona becoming flustered and not responding to her team. Ramona said in her confessional that the nerves were absolutely getting to her right now, and she seriously needed to bounce back. Meanwhile, Faye ran into some trouble on her Wellingtons, as she undercooked them for one table and said she would need several minutes for a refire, though she was able to recover. Thomas also had a rare mistake as he served undercooked New York Strip, and Ramsay said he didn't expect that from the executive chef. Thomas kicked himself in his confessional, saying that could not happen again, and he did manage to serve a beautiful New York Strip on his refire. However, on the next ticket, Ramona served a pot of runny mashed potatoes, and also seemed lost on what was actually going, as she couldn’t recall the ticket when Ramsay asked her. Ramsay had seen enough and took her into the pantry, asking her what the fuck she was doing, and if it was some kind of joke to her. Ramona insisted it wasn’t and said it was just nerves, but Ramsay replied that she needed to shake those nerves right now, or he would send her out the front door, immunity pass or not. Ramona said in her confessional that it was do or die, and she did manage to finally serve acceptable garnishes. Faye was still dragging on Wellingtons, which frustrated Ramsay, but finally, the red team managed to complete their remaining entrees.
Both teams finished their desserts in good time, and Ramsay told them to clear down.
Post-Mortem
Ramsay had the teams line up and started by saying that this was still not the complete performance he had been looking for. For the blue team, appetizers had been underwhelming, but they improved on entrees. For the red team, it was a decent start on apps, followed by a nightmare on entrees. However, he noted that one team in particular had a slight edge, and that was the blue team, as despite their issues, their customer comment cards gave them a satisfaction rating of 90%, to 84% from the red team. Ramsay said that the fiasco on entrees cost the red team this service, and told them to think long and hard about which two should be going up for elimination tonight. With that, he dismissed both teams to the dorms.
Back in the dorms, the red team’s deliberations were kicked off by Thomas, as he said he hoped everyone could agree that Ramona had dropped the ball tonight on garnish. The others seemed to agree, with Michael saying it was her worst performance in a while. Ramona only half-heartedly fought back, as she said she was better than this, and knew she still deserved to be here, but said if they wanted to put her up, it was their choice. In her confessional, she said she knew that immunity pass wouldn’t last forever, and it was better to get her bad service out of the way now, than during black jackets. With the first nominee having been an easy choice, the second would be more challenging, as Everett acknowledged that Michael and Thomas both had great services despite each having a mistake, and didn’t deserve to go up, which left either him or Faye. Thomas said that he felt Faye had struggled on meat, and that Ramsay rightfully had high expectations of both of them, due to his experience and her being a past chef, so he would vote for her. Michael, though, said that he had to vote for Everett, as he was just too inconsistent at this stage. Faye seemed torn but said she had to vote for Everett, even though they were friends, as he had struggled the most of the available options. Ramona was left with the deciding vote, and said in her confessional that it was impossibly difficult, as Faye had been a mentor for her here, while she had also bonded with Everett.
On the blue team’s side of the dorm, everyone was pleased to have won service and avoided having to send anyone home…well, almost everyone. Lauren admitted to Melody that it sucked having to put up with Grace for another day, while Melody tried to get her to think more positively, as if they were winning with Grace on their team, Ramsay definitely had to be taking notice. Lauren smiled and said she was definitely right about that, and the two of them continued chatting together while Carole sat off by herself and pondered her future in Hell’s Kitchen, In her confessional, she said she was damn lucky that the blue team won tonight, as she and Grace would have gone up otherwise, and that could have been it for her and her dream. Meanwhile, Grace felt that she had done well, and could have done even better without Carole getting in the way, saying in her confessional that it would be nice to get rid of dead weight, but she would settle for seeing someone from the red team go home.
Elimination Ceremony
The red team entered the dining room anxiously and lined up before Ramsay, who said that this was supposed to be the best five on the red team, but instead, it looked like two completely different teams, and while he didn’t know what the hell was going on, he was going to get to the bottom of it. With that, he asked Thomas for the red team’s first nominee and why. Thomas announced that the red team had nominated Ramona, due to her terrible performance on garnish, and being the weakest chef on the team. Ramsay asked for the second nominee and why. Thomas hesitated briefly before announcing that…the red team was nominating Everett, due to his declining performances and up and down service on appetizers. Before getting to any elimination pleas, though, Ramsay told Ramona to step forward and had her hand over the immunity pass. As she did so, Ramsay said that if not for the pass, Ramona would have gone home tonight, and urged her to take advantage of this second chance, before sending her back in line. Ramona appeared visibly shaken as she went to rejoin the red team. Ramsay said that the red team now had 30 seconds to talk amongst themselves and come up with another nominee. In the huddle, the chefs quickly determined that Faye would go up, as she had been their other consideration. As they broke the huddle, Thomas announced that Faye was the red team’s new nominee. Ramsay accepted this and told Everett and Faye to step forward.
Deliberation music
First, Ramsay asked Faye why she should stay in Hell’s Kitchen.
Faye: “My time away from Hell’s Kitchen gave me a whole new perspective on cooking, it made me realize why I’m doing this. It’s for my family, it’s for me, I can’t imagine doing anything else. That’s why I’ll never give up on myself or my team.”
Ramsay asked Faye if she thought she was a better chef than Everett.
Faye: “...Everett is a fighter, chef, and a good teammate, but yes, I do believe I’m stronger than him in terms of consistency and leadership.”
Ramsay moved on to Everett, asking him why he should stay in Hell’s Kitchen.
Everett: “This competition is a marathon, chef. I’ve had my ups and downs, I’ve had my stumbles, but I feel like I’m just on the cusp of hittin’ my stride.”
Ramsay said he had been waiting and waiting for Everett to emerge, and it seemed like he was trending downwards.
Everett: “I’ve had a slump, chef, I ain’t gonna deny that. But I’m fightin’ through it. I know I can be your next head chef.”
Ramsay asked Everett if he thought he was a stronger chef than Faye.
Everett: “Chef…”
Dramatic music
Ramsay waited on Everett’s answer, and after a tense moment, he finally spoke…
Everett: “Chef…at this time, no, I can’t say that I am.”
Faye glanced over at Everett in shock, as did everyone else from the red team, and even some of the blue team.
Ramsay: “I appreciate the honesty. Please, give me your jacket, your time is done in Hell’s Kitchen.”
Elimination music
Everett handed over his jacket and shook Ramsay’s hand.
Everett: “Thank you so much for this opportunity, chef.”
Ramsay: “Let me tell you something, young man, you have so much passion and fightback within you, I’ve seen it throughout this competition. Unfortunately, I didn’t see enough of it in service, or just now, but I hope you can find it again, because you are bloody talented. I wish you all the best.”
Everett thanked Ramsay again and waved goodbye to his team as he exited Hell’s Kitchen.
Everett’s comment
“Oh man…when I first entered Hell’s Kitchen, I never thought I’d be walkin’ out the door like this. I thought I was headed straight for the top, no problem. Each day was like this crazy mixture of anxiety, thrills, and drama. I fought, and I fought, and I fought for my place, until, I guess I just couldn’t fight no more. I’ll always have good memories of my time here, but I sure as hell wouldn’t do it again! (laughs)

With Everett’s elimination, Ramsay told Faye to get back in line, and addressed the chefs collectively as the final 8, saying that tonight should be a reminder to each of these chefs that a downward spiral at this point was unacceptable, as things were not going to get any easier. With that, Ramsay told them all to get some rest, because tomorrow, he was going to start separating the chefs from the cooks.
As the chefs went back to the dorms, several of them had confessionals. Thomas said that Ramona was definitely a bigger liability than Everett, but hopefully losing her immunity would wake her up. Michael said that it sucked that Everett left when he was far from the worst tonight. Ramona was clearly still shaken from the experience, as she said she felt awful about Everett going home when she had a worse performance, and knew she had to bounce back tomorrow or it would all be over for her. Melody said that between Travis and Everett, watching their fellow chefs go home was just getting more and more difficult, but she knew there were still seven more between her and the grand prize. Grace said none of these chefs were on her level, and she was going to keep being herself and kicking ass in the kitchen, regardless of her team’s hate for her. Lauren said that with only four on each team, there was nowhere left to hide, and everything they had done up until now was just the warm up for the real tests that lay ahead.
Placement
https://preview.redd.it/rpdx9533yw0d1.png?width=2447&format=png&auto=webp&s=52806b2d14807ba57be90bfa8261368e2dbea4cb

First, apologies all around for my Derby day performance. 2 for 24 ain't going to cut it and I am thoroughly embarrassed and ashamed. Regrouped after a vacation and feel solid about my selections.
Betbacks:
Twinspires $10 on every race
TVG: $10 on races 2, 9, 10, 11 and 13
Xpressbet: $10 on races 9, 10, 11, 12 and 13
Fan Duel Racing: $10 no sweat bet on race 13
For those of you in a state where DK horse is legal, they have a solid $10 betback on all races. They are sadly not legal in Arizona :(
Let's shake off last week and cash.

I posted a while ago in jung and here we go again. Today's experiences at an autism group brought back like 2 emotional flashbacks plus 1 yesterday. The cptsd feeling i think is like an intense feeling of hopelessness and i feel like a complete blocage, distress with a feeling in my head and chest, sometimes heart is even beating faster, i tend to sweat and my feet and armpits tend to smell faster, i'm a bit shaking and face looks flat tired. Also, it's especially the case when i fail interaction with women but some other chad comes after and it goes well. " Just go outside bro, leave incel forums and the manosphere and see women aren't a monolith ". What a load of shit. They want the same men and the minority like me is left out. It's better to stay home watching incel stuff than going outside seeing fk couples and women who are outhere to show other men are better than you. I noticed when in a bad mood, it can bring an intense hatred feelings towards women or violent urges. I'm an incel so far. I made another post a few weeks ago so i'm here again. A few years ago, i started to watch incel like contents and strongly agreed with everything they were saying. I greatly reduced it but it didn't had to many effects. How am i supossed to deal with thoses feelings, they don't dissapear, it's true, i didn't do much therapy work but how will any kind of therapy help with trauma and intense negative feelings directed towards women that are especially triggered by negative experiences. I was left at about 1 years old for 3 weeks alone with my grand parents plus at about 2 years old, she went with another man for a few months, and i hate stepdads and who knows what happened there as i don't remember, plus my mother wasn't a saint growing up. I also see women putting men before their kids or even stepkids, men care about their kids and honor them and never put stepkids before their kids, usually women does that. I'm 30 years old and still no first girlfriend while most guy had something. Is it possible that women bring something positive to me? Bad experiences with them and with my mother, plus no dating experiences, they only did evil to me, so i want go flip it back on them eventually if i find manipulation techniques or read 0 resources like the 48 laws of power or so. Just like getting revenge on past bullies or everyone that did me wrong. I feel like i have nothing to lose. I have mass violence, torture, murder urges and wouldn't feel a damn thing if i did it. I only procrastinate and waste time all day on stupid stuff like listening to same music, walking in circles in my home, watching photos of some attractive women cause that gives me an illusion of partner, basically can't start to do anything, i just don't have the willpower, energy, motivation to do it. Should i go in thailand for like 2 or 3 months like how my brother suggests? How to make sure if a bad mood wouldn't be triggered if i get regected by women there or ghosted on apps? If i struggle at an autism group, imagine in cold approach stuff outside how hard it will be. So what's the way out? I already saw a psychologist therapist like for like 1 year but still practically no damn improvment, even i regress and just wasted money. Also i can't interact with people for shit, i just sit and watch like a ghost hopping that a miracle will happen that would make me respond adequatly in conversations and social situations and especially when dating. Also, how would i react if potential girlfriend cheats? I don't think people can change and neuroplasticity is total BS, people who are aspd, autistic, incel, misogynistic, etc... don't change.

I was diagnosed Long Covid with dysautonomia. I'm male, 47, no serious health issues in the summer of 2023. From late August 2023 to mid May 2024 I've had numerous symptoms:

blackouts, lightheadedness, dizziness, headaches
shortness of breath, spontaneous rapid inhaling
heart palpitations, high resting heart rate, racing heart beats
high anxiety, panic attacks
urine leakage/seepage, swollen/aching pelvic region, urine urgency/frequency, nocturia, weak stream
nausea, loss of appetite, constipation
hot hands and forearms, icy cold feet
loss fine motor control in hands
extreme fatigue, severe exhaustion, tiredness, crashes from mild exertion
poor concentration, memory loss, confusion
sad thoughts, mood swings, depression
blurry vision, watery eyes, eye strain/soreness, floating dots in vision
swollen dry mouth, phlegm mouth, excessive saliva, bleeding gums, swollen/chapped lips
night sweats, excessive sweating throughout day
muscle jolts/twitches
joint pain
itchy/stinging skin
hair loss

It started with heart issues and standing issues, then mood swings, then urinary problems, blurry vision, cognitive decline, extreme fatigue, muscle jolts, constipation, and so on.
By November I had terrible urinary issues never seen before, excruciating perineum pain, nocturia, leakage, the list goes on.
My ability to function was dropping so rapidly I had a "will" made because I thought I'd be dead in a year.
I went to Urgent Care, ER, Urology, GP, another GP, Therapist, to try to find solutions. Tests came up negative, or misdiagnosed, or nothing found.
Late December to mid March I was in bed nearly 24 hours/day. Routine tasks like doing laundry or brushing teeth were nearly impossible. Most days I'd only eat 1 meal, like a sandwich or cereal. I couldn't think clearly, forgot my phone number, lifting light objects was exhausting. Days that I could stay up for a few hours I'd have YouTube running in the background.
In January a Psych prescribed Duloxetine for anxiety and depression. A friend mentioned his brother had LC, that maybe I had it. I didn't think much of it. I couldn't think straight anyway and had no energy.
From mid March to mid April I could stay awake 4 to 8 hours a day, daily headaches and eye strain felt like a hangover. Some issues were subsiding or gone but others remained and new ones appeared. I could do light reading and actually comprehend what I was reading.
By mid April I could stay awake about 12 hours, sometimes more, and had strength to start investigating LC. Came to realize Long Covid often has many symptoms, and mine kept piling up and were similar experiences as others. Maybe it was LC.
Late April 2024 I started taking numerous supplements to combat symptoms, especially inflammation. Then I found a Long Covid Center that said it looks like LC with dysautonomia. I hadn't heard of dysautonomia before. I've been making progress slowly week by week, with some setbacks and recurrences.
My nutrition was never great but now it's healthier than before, eating less processed foods and more fresh fruits, vegetables, whole wheat, grainy stuff.
For supplements, it's hard to assess what helps, and where, if at all, since there are so many. I also need to watch for side effects, but so far no issues for me. Here's what I'm taking:

Rx Duloxetine: anxiety, depression
Curcumin/Turmeric: anti-inflammatory, antiviral, antioxidant, depression
Bromelain: anti-inflammatory, antiviral
Pycnogenol: anti-inflammatory, blood vessels endothelium
Quercetin: anti-inflammatory, genitourinary
Cordyceps: anti-inflammatory, antiviral, antibacterial
Probiotics with multiple strains: digestion, antiviral, immune, concentration, fatigue, memory
Resveratrol: anti-inflammatory, prevent blood clots
Nattokinase: blood clots
Serrapeptase: anti-inflammatory
D-mannose: genitourinary, antibacterial
Omega 3: anti-inflammatory, anxiety, depression
Saw palmetto: anti-inflammatory, genitourinary
Magnesium: heart, anti-inflammatory, anxiety, depression
Loratadine: antihistamine
Garlic: anti-inflammatory
Ginger: anti-inflammatory
Biotin/Keratin: hair, skin, nails
Zinc: immune system
Vitamin B complex: energy
Vitamin C: immune
Vitamin D3: mood, immune

Anyone use any of these or others with success? Please let me know. Best wishes to everyone here.

Tiredness shaking sweating

Side effects of insulin during pregnancy

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