27F. 5’9”. 180 lbs
Is there any reason why I have suddenly gotten petechiae all over my body? It started just on my legs and now it’s all over my chest and arms too. I have had 3 CBCs and all values are within normal ranges. Also just have constant pain along my legs near both Achilles tendons

I recently got my right knee MRI scanned. The reason is that this March I played badminton, and started feel continuous discomfort after that night.
Actually last spring, after I had an intense badminton training session, I started feel pain on the right knee, especially when pressing the outer joint gap of the knee causes pain. And I can feel the temperature around that area is hot. However, if I rest for a while like a week, the pain will be gone. And if I played badminton intensely, the pain will come back.
The past winter I even traveled a lot, like going to Thailand, I didn't feel any bothers like walking, biking, diving, etc all daily activities.
However after this march's badminton play, I felt uncomfortable again, I got to see a doctor. The doctor confirmed that no swelling, mechanical symptoms, or instability. No numbness or tingling.
And negative for Ligamentous Exam and Meniscal Exam. Flexion is 140. Basically no typical meniscus tearing exam results.
Scheduled a MRI. Here are results:
FINDINGS:
Intercondylar notch: The cruciate ligaments are intact. There is mild mucinous degeneration of the ACL.
Medial compartment: The MCL, medial meniscus, and medial compartment cartilage are normal.
Lateral compartment: The lateral collateral ligamentous complex and posterolateral corner structures are normal. There is a complex tear of the lateral meniscus involving the body and posterior horn segments. This tear has radial, horizontal, and vertical components. There is 4 mm of lateral meniscal extrusion. There is high-grade and full-thickness chondral thinning and fissuring involving a 25 x 15 mm region at the posterior weight-bearing surface of the lateral femoral condyle with subchondral cystic change and bone edema. There is also chondral softening and a few high-grade chondral fissures at the medial and posteromedial weight-bearing surfaces of the lateral tibial plateau with mild subchondral cystic change and bone edema.
Patellofemoral compartment: The patellofemoral extensor mechanism is intact and normal in signal. The medial and lateral patellar retinacular complexes are normal. The static patellofemoral alignment is normal. The patellofemoral cartilage is normal. The TT-TG distance is normal at 10 mm.
Miscellaneous: There is a small effusion with mild synovitis. There are several small 1-3 mm osteochondral loose bodies at the posterolateral joint recess and popliteus tendon sheath. No findings of bone bruising, fracture, or stress response.
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Impression

1. Flap tear of the body and posterior horn segments of the lateral meniscus with moderate lateral meniscal extrusion.
   
2. Moderate lateral compartment osteoarthritis; most prominent the posterior weight-bearing surface of the lateral femoral condyle where there is grade 4 chondral loss with underlying subchondral bone edema and cystic change.
   
   1. Normal medial and lateral compartment cartilage.
3. Normal medial meniscus.
   
4. Intact knee ligaments. There is mild mucinous degeneration of the ACL.
   
5. Small effusion with mild synovitis. There are several small 1-3 mm osteochondral loose bodies at the posterolateral joint recess and popliteus tendon sheath.
   

​
​
The doctor's conclusions are 1. Right chondral defect in the lateral femoral condyle 2. Right knee lateral meniscus tear. He said it is more likely a chondral injury and defected chondral rubbing resulted in meniscus tear.
He discussed me with several options:

1. Since it does not affect too much, we can keep watching it without any treatment
2. Injection, like PRP. But he emphasized that it does not cure the tear, just let you feel better.
3. Surgery. He said, it can only be trimmed, meniscectomy, cannot repair it, because it is like a post horn radical tear in white zone. He can also conduct a typical chondral surgery like punching the chondral to encourage new cartilage development.

However, as I went over a lot of recent medical publications and some youtube channels. Nowadays Meniscectomy is not recommended, (recent findings show that meniscectomy has no difference from conservative treatment and can even result in faster osteoarthritis progress) and the doctor should try to repair at the best. Btw, also the microfracture is probably the only option for chondral loss but the data in recent publications shows the result is not good either.
So for now, what should I do? Can it be repaired? Should I check another doctor? I am just really worried about osteoarthritis progress in either way.
Thanks a lot.
​
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TW: Depression, thoughts of self-harm
Has anyone ever had tendinitis where you are most affected? I(24f) am hemiplegic, and mainly on my leg (sorry, I still struggle with the medical terms). Since February, I have had tendinitis/tendinosis on my left achilles tendon and may have to go to surgery. I'm in a walking boot for a while, and it's killing me. If I'm in the boot, my entire leg hurts. Not in the boot, my heel kills me. I have been to see 3 doctors, including a foot and ankle specialist, and all they want to do is throw boots at me and chuck me out the door. No pain meds, no follow ups, just...gone. I am in a lot of pain that is growing worse, and it's driving me insane. No doctor will listen to me about my pain, NSAIDs don't work, and my job has become more difficult due to the boot and restrictions. My depression is hitting an all-time high, and I'm to the point that I fantasize about taking a kitchen knife and "fixing" the heel myself. (I am safe, I am not intending to do so, both my SO and my therapist know) What do I do? Idk if I can stomach another "It'll all work out!" or "hang in there!" I feel like a zombie, unable to do anything anymore.

Here are some interesting statistics on Zach Edey's from the last college season. I'll also post some combine stats in the comments, where we can see Edey's mobility to be comparable to starting NBA centers.
We'll look at how the NBA careers fared of:

• college big men (above 6' 6") who played Forward or Center with all-time best NCAA scoring seasons
• college big men (above 7' 0") with all-time best NCAA scoring seasons who were drafted in the first round and scored over 500 points in college
• college players with all-time best win shares who competed in the NCAA Final Four
• players who posted similar NCAA seasons in terms of scoring, rebounding, and blocks per 100 minutes to Zach Edey

Note: we look at all-time numbers due to the lack of comparable propsects in the last 20 years (Hibert and Thabeet being really the only two above 7' that are remotely similar.)

Top-10 highest scoring seasons by players 7' 1" or taller in NCAA history who scored over 500 points, and how those players did in the NBA:

Player	PTS	Pick	Draft Year	NBA WS	NBA MP	NBA Pts	All Stars	NBA Titles	NBA HoF
Zach Edey	983	?	2024						FALSE
Kareem Abdul-Jabbar	870	1	1969	273.4	57446	38387	19	6	TRUE
Wilt Chamberlain	800	3	1959	247.3	47859	31419	13	2	TRUE
David Robinson	796	1	1987	178.7	34271	20790	10	2	TRUE
Bill Cartwright	710	3	1979	72.8	27491	12713	1	3	FALSE
Ralph Sampson	629	1	1983	20.1	13591	7039	4	0	TRUE
Tom Burleson	562	3	1974	22.9	9425	4190	0	0	FALSE

Player	FG	FGA	2P	2PA	FT	FTA	TRB	AST	STL	BLK	TOV	PF	FG%	2P%	3P%	FT%	TS%	eFG%
Zach Edey	336	539	335	537	310	436	474	79	11	84	90	76	0.623	0.624	0.500	0.711	0.659	0.624
Kareem Abdul-Jabbar	346	519	346	519	178	274	466					66	0.667	0.667		0.650	0.670	0.667
Wilt Chamberlain	275	588	275	588	250	399	510					63	0.468	0.468		0.627	0.514	0.468
David Robinson	294	484	294	484	208	331	455	24	59	207	86	100	0.607	0.607		0.628	0.621	0.607
Bill Cartwright	268	443	268	443	174	237	455	54	15	77		95	0.605	0.605		0.734	0.639	0.605
Ralph Sampson	250	414	247	409	126	179	386	34	21	103	86	96	0.604	0.604	0.600	0.704	0.630	0.607
Tom Burleson	228	442	228	442	106	162	377					93	0.516	0.516		0.654	0.541	0.516

Note: Lower-scoring seasons by the same people have been omitted.

Top-10 highest-scoring seasons by Forwards or Centers above 6' 6" in NCAA history and how those players did in the NBA:

Rk	Player	PTS	Season	Draft #	NBA WS	NBA MP	NBA Pts	All Stars	NBA Titles	NBA HoF
1	Elvin Hayes	1214	1967-68	1	120.8	50000	27313	12	0	TRUE
2	Glenn Robinson	1030	1993-94	1	39.8	25346	14234	2	1	FALSE
3	Zach Edey	983	2023-24	?						FALSE
4	Larry Bird	973	1978-79	6	145.8	34443	21791	12	3	TRUE
5	Rick Barry III	973	1964-65	4	128.9	38153	25279	12	1	TRUE
6	Dennis Scott	970	1989-90	4	33.4	17983	8094	0	0	FALSE
7	Larry Bird	959	1977-78	6	145.8	34443	21791	12	3	TRUE
8	Glen Rice	949	1988-89	4	88.7	34985	18336	3	1	FALSE
9	Dan Issel	948	1969-70	122	157.8	41784	27482	7	1	TRUE
10	Danny Manning	942	1987-88	1	55.1	24202	12367	2	0	FALSE

Rk	Player	FG	FGA	2P	2PA	FT	FTA	RB	AST	BLK	TOV	PF	FG%	2P%	FT%	TS%	eFG%
1	Elvin Hayes	519	945	519	945	176	285	624	59			90	0.549	0.549	0.618	0.562	0.549
2	Glenn Robinson	368	762	289	554	215	270	344	66	31	139	88	0.483	0.522	0.796	0.578	0.535
3	Zach Edey	336	539	335	537	310	436	474	79	84	90	76	0.623	0.624	0.711	0.659	0.624
4	Larry Bird	376	707	376	707	221	266	505	187	27	133	87	0.532	0.532	0.831	0.584	0.532
5	Rick Barry III	340	651	340	651	293	341	475				65	0.522	0.522	0.859	0.598	0.522
6	Dennis Scott	336	722	199	391	161	203	231	71	33	90	73	0.465	0.509	0.793	0.593	0.560
7	Larry Bird	403	769	403	769	153	193	369	124	28		88	0.524	0.524	0.793	0.557	0.524
8	Glen Rice	363	629	264	437	124	149	232	85	11	81	75	0.577	0.604	0.832	0.678	0.656
9	Dan Issel	369	667	369	667	210	275	363	39			81	0.553	0.553	0.764	0.594	0.553
10	Danny Manning	381	653	372	627	171	233	342	77	73	115	114	0.583	0.593	0.734	0.617	0.590

Note: we omit Hank Gathers from the list due his tragic death from a heart condition prior to the draft. (Otherwise he would be above Edey with 1015 points.)

List of NCAA players (since per-100-possessions stats started being tracked) with seasons averaging 15 rebounds, 40 points, and 3 blocks per 100 possessions on at least 60% FG shooting in at least 15 games:

Rk	Player	PTS	PTS/100	BLK/100	TRB/100	FG%	G	Season
1	Zach Edey	983	46.2	3.9	22.3	.623	39	2023-24
2	Zach Edey	757	43.8	4.2	25.3	.607	34	2022-23
3	Zion Williamson	746	41.2	3.3	16.2	.680	33	2018-19
4	John Collins	632	40.1	3.3	20.6	.622	33	2016-17
5	Zach Edey	533	45.5	3.9	24.3	.648	37	2021-22

Rk	Player	Season	FT/100	FTA/100	AST/100	STL/100	TOV/100	PF/100	FT%
1	Zach Edey	2023-24	14.6	20.5	3.7	0.5	4.2	3.6	.711
2	Zach Edey	2022-23	10.2	13.9	3.0	0.5	4.5	3.2	.734
3	Zion Williamson	2018-19	7.2	11.2	3.8	3.9	4.3	3.8	.640
4	John Collins	2016-17	10.4	14.0	1.1	1.3	3.8	6.2	.745
5	Zach Edey	2021-22	9.6	14.8	3.8	0.8	5.5	6.3	.649

List of NCAA players since 1974-75 who played in at least 30 games with at least 9.9 win shares:

Rk	Player	PTS	Season	WS▼	OWS	DWS	WS/40
1	Kevin Love	681	2007-08	11.3	5.6	5.7	.391
2	Andrew Bogut	715	2004-05	10.9	6.4	4.5	.358
3	Paul Millsap	648	2005-06	10.8	4.1	6.7	.384
4	Michael Beasley	866	2007-08	10.7	5.4	5.4	.413
5	Zach Edey	983	2023-24	10.5	7.9	2.6	.336
6	Tim Duncan	645	1996-97	10.4	5.5	4.9	.367
7	Wally Szczerbiak	775	1998-99	10.4	6.6	3.8	.386
8	Stephen Curry	931	2007-08	10.3	7.0	3.3	.345
9	Shane Battier	778	2000-01	10.1	4.9	5.3	.298
10	Elton Brand	691	1998-99	10.0	5.0	5.0	.350
11	Stephen Curry	974	2008-09	9.9	6.4	3.6	.348
12	Anthony Davis	567	2011-12	9.9	5.9	4.1	.310
13	Emeka Okafor	635	2003-04	9.9	3.7	6.2	.339

How they fared in the NBA:

• Andrew Bogut, #1 in 2005, 1x NBA Champ, 661 GS
• Kevin Love, #5 in 2008, 5x All-Star, 1x NBA Champ, 684 GS
• Paul Millsap, #47 in 2006, 4x All-Star, 746 GS
• Michael Beasley, #2 in 2008, 238 GS
• Tim Duncan, #1 in 1997, HoF, 2x MVP, 15x All-Star, 5x NBA Champ, 3x Finals MVP, 1389 GS
• Wally Szczerbiak, #6 in 1999, 1x All-Star, 393 GS
• Stephen Curry, #7 in 2009, 2x MVP, 10x All-Star, 4x NBA Champ, 1x Finals MPV, 950 GS
• Shane Battier, #6 in 2001, 2x NBA Champ, 705 GS
• Elton Brand, #1 in 1999, ROY, 2x All-Star, 868 GS
• Anthony Davis, #1 in 2012, 9x All-Star, 1x NBA Champ, 729 GS
• Emeka Okafor, #2 in 2004, ROY, 603 GS
• John Collins, #19 in 2017, 379 GS

GS = Games Started (regular season)
Note: Okafor's and Beasley's careers flamed out due to lots of off-the-court issues and well-documented personal/behavioral problems despite promising flashes.

2024 NBA Draft Combine

At the combine, Zach Edey posted an impressive lane agility time of 11.19 sec. Projected #1 pick Alex Sarr's time: 11.43 sec. Projected lottery pick Cody Williams had an 11.17 sec. time. Donovan Clingan was one of the slowest in the draft at 12.06, nearly a second slower than Edey.
Edey's 3.01 sec. shuttle run time was faster than Bronny James' 3.02 and Reed Sheppard's 3.03, and they're two of the most athletic guards in the draft. Alex Sarr's time? 3.23 sec. Clingan? 3.38 sec.
On the 3/4-court sprint (75 feet), Edey's time of 3.42 seconds compares well with times posted by current NBA starting centers such as Steven Adams (3.40 sec.) and Rudy Gobert (3.57 sec.).
Source: NBA.com. Note: prior years' draft combine results for lane agility and shuttle run drills are not directly comparable between draft classes.

Free throw attempts all-time:

Edey has:

• the #7 highest free-throw makes in a single NCAA season since 1947-48 with 310 (just below Oscar Robertson's 316)
• the #2 highest free-throw attempts in a single NCAA season since 1947-48 with 436 (tied with Pete Maravich)

The top 40 NBA players with the highest free throw attempts in an NBA season are all HoFers or future HoFers (unless Dwight Howard or Ron Artest doesn't get in).
Analysis of Edey's ability to live at the foul line here.

Defense Analysis

We already know the concern about Edey's perimter defense, and you can see that he posted the lowest defensive win shares among players with at least 9.9 win shares. The primary concern as to whether Edey can be a starter in the NBA been centered around Edey's ability to handle switching onto smaller players on the perimeter. Edey stayed an extra year at Purdue to work on his weight, lateral agility, and footwork in an effort to address this concern, which was raised following Edey testing the draft waters in the summer of 2023.
Here is a recent video showing examples of the progress Edey made this season on switches. He will never be Kawhi Leonard at the perimeter, but the consensus among many anaylists has shown a level of improvement in a short amount of time that alleviates enough of this concern that he is projected by many now as a late lottery pick or just outside the lottery. (The lastest ESPN mock draft has Edey going #15 to the Heat.)
Of course, aside from this one concern, Edey is considered a strong defender and rim protector. While it's unlikely he will surpass Victor Wembanyama in DPOY votes anytime soon, his college stats are skewed a bit due to generally trying to avoid fouls during the first half of games, opting out of moving contests and reaches. In the league, Edey will be more free to go after any and all attempts near the rim.

Offense Analysis

Edey's ability to score and get to the line has been rather unprecendented in recent history:

• Edey posted the highest offensive win shares of players who played at least 30 games in college, above the likes of Tim Duncan, Steph Curry, and Zion Williamson.
• Edey is third all-time in the NCAA for trips to the FT line in a season (and #8 in makes) since 1947-8.

Being able to get the other team into foul trouble while being a reliable free-throw shooter is a unique art that has defensive benefits and timeless value at the NBA level. Removing one of the other team's best players from the floor while also scoring points is not exactly a stat whose impact is easily tracked, but we all know how big a factor it can be in the NBA Finals (as any Portland fan who watched Sabonis foul out in the 2000 conference finals can attest!).
If you look at a list of the NBA's all-time leaders in free throw attempts per season, it is a who's who of the Hall of Fame. Wilt Chamberlain dominates the top 10 slots followed by Jerry West, Shaq, Jordan, Barkely, Malone, Robinson, Dwight, etc. Almost everyone non-HoF player on that list is either an active player destined to be in the HoF one day (Durant, Giannis, LeBron, Harden, Embiid, Westbrook) or they're Ron Artest. Yet while in the NCAA, most of those guys never came close to Edey's free throw attempt numbers.
While we keep hearing how it's harder now for NBA centers to get to the line, it seems like it's not any harder than it used to be. Now it's just easier for perimeter shooters to get to the line than in Jordan's era.
Still though, we have seen plenty of success from scoring bigs in getting to the FT line over the last 10 years: Joel Embid, DeMarcus Cousins, and Dwight Howard each have posted dominant seasons in this regard (perhaps in Dwight's case due partly to hack-a-Dwight, but I digress). Again, none of those guys posted FTA figures anywhere close to Edey during their NCAA years.
Another concern about Edey has been his perimeter and mid-range shooting. Edey has emphasized to the media that while it was not part of Purdue's offense, it has been something he works on diligently, and is ready to show off to NBA teams. At the combine, he did impress scouts with his shooting, but it remains to be seen how effective he could be in actual game situations. If his free-throw shooting is any indication, he has solid mechanics, and the former baseball pitcher could develop into a Brook Lopez trajectory if he is able to become efficient enough. When Jokic came into the league, he only shot 30.7% from 3 initially, but we have seen how his progression went.

Comparison to Clingan

In the 2024 National Championship game between Purdue and UConn, UConn's Donovan Clingan (Edey's primary rival in the draft), a 7' 2" center who averages 7.4 boards, was held to 5 rebounds by Edey in that game, while Edey went off for 37 pts., 10 rebs., and 2 blocks. (Purdue lost by 15, but I think it was mainly due to the rest of UConn's players dominating the glass, due to not being blocked out.)
UConn's own head coach said of Edey that if he is not a lottery pick with a tremendous NBA career, then "there's somethin' wrong with the NBA," while comparing Zach to Patrick Ewing and David Robinson. Source.
Clingan also missed time his senior year due to tendon injuries in his foot. Meanwhile Edey played the most minutes of anyone in the NCAA tournament at what appeared to be 100% health. In my personal opinion (and this is not at all scientific), Edey displays a symmetrical, well-proportioned look that reminds me more of Tim Duncan than of most 7' 4" guys like Boban or similar, which is a good indication for longevity. Asymetrical people like Greg Oden have experienced very short careers.
One argument I've heard in favor of Clingan has been that he "processes the game faster" than Edey. I have seen no evidence for this is, but Edey being relatively new to basketball (came over from hockey and baseball) could mean that his reaction times and perception of the game might be a handicap at the next level compared to someone who has been playing since a younger age.

Misperceptions

When we look at players with similar college seasons and accolades to Zach Edey, it is common for some reason for folks to lump Zach in with the likes of Luka Garza and Tyler Hansbrough: dominant centers in college who simply lacked the size, athleticism, and outside shooting to have much of a role in the NBA.
Of course, that is kind of a ridiculous comparison, since we don't know what Luka Garza's NBA career would look like, if he had been able to do similar things in college but was 7' 4" with a 7' 11" wingspan. Further, Garza did not put up numbers remotely similar to what Edey posted in the NCAA.
Similarly, when we look at players with similar size to Edey (and there are very few), most of them are just too slow and uncoordinated to ever get more than a few minutes per game, even if they can shoot (Bol Bol, Boban, etc.). So there's a misperception that Edey must be slow simply due to his size being similar to those types of players. Yet if Edey was really that slow, why were his combine times so good?
I suspect a lot of the opinions on Edey are misinformed due to being based on footage from his freshman or sophomore years and not indicative of who he has developed into, but feel free to leave comments with links to videos that you think provide evidence for Edey still being too slow for the league.

Bottom Line for the Blazers Draft Picks regarding Edey

The Blazers will forever have Sam Bowie/Greg Oden syndrome. Yet if we're objective about it, it should be clear that wasting a #2 pick on fit rather than "best player available" is always a bad call. Further, had Greg Oden remained healthy, few people doubt he could have led Portland on some deep runs.
Now, my argument has always been that Kevin Durant's display of overall basketball skill and shooting ability should have made him the #1 pick in that draft, or almost any draft. No offense to Oden. And further, when the Blazers checked Oden's medical history and discovered he'd had an early surgery to shorten one of his legs, this ought to have been enough of a red flag to make them not burn a #1 pick on him.
In this draft however, we're not talking about whether Zach Edey should go #1 overall. It's more of a question of whether he will be the best player available at the Blazers' draft positions of #7 and #14, or even just, the best center available.
ESPN sees Edey going #15 to Miami, so it's hard not to see that if the Blazers passed on Clingan but still wanted a center, then taking Edey at #14 would be a no-brainer.
So the real question is, could Edey go higher than #14? The top two projections I've heard for Edey in the lottery are OKC at #12 and San Antonio at #8. These teams could feel that Chet Holmgren and Victor Wembanyama might need a backup where you don't sacrifice any length or paint offense, so they can run a more consistent system.
I don't know whether that's realistic to happen, but if it starts to look that way, then is there a universe where it makes sense for the Blazers to take Edey at #7? Most people say "no."
But when you consider the all-time history of 7' 1" or taller players who could score like Zach in college, then the question is really, "Would Wilt, Kareem, or even Yao be a top-7 pick in the draft this year?" What did those guys show in their pre-NBA careers that Edey hasn't shown, which would have justified it?
I'm curious to hear your takes.

Hi, I'm a new reddit user and would like to share if I have the same experience as anyone. Asian. 28M. Weight 220 lbs or 100kg.
Lifestyle (When I was still feeling well: For around 3 years: Drink: I never drink water, mostly sugar free iced tea or coke zero. (As long as no sugar) Food: I had a big appetite with fatty/fried foods and lots of rice, I could eat 2 to 4 person serving. The feeling of having a black hole in my abdomen without feeling sick.
Lifestyle (Latest, 2.5 months, I started with keto.. I was still feeling well but just wanted to get fit (since I was fit back then lol) Drink: Started drinking water and Coke Zero (still often) Food: Fatty Fried Pork/Meat (I love meat), strictly no rice
After 2.5 months of Keto, one day I tried to cheat.. by eating fried chicken and rice for 3 person servings then at night I started feeling the pain.
1st occurrence: -Dull pain can be more painful when sitting up, lying down and any bending movements specially when my urinary bladder is full -Mild pain when resting position, breathing, coughing and walking -Bumpy rides can trigger the pain too
NOTE: I thought it was just indigestion I waited after 2 days of doing veggie and fruit diet, it felt better either gone or super mild that I can't almost feel it anymore. Also I want to empty my bladder as soon as I feel it because the pain increases when it's filled.
2nd occurrence (after around 10 days) -I decided to eat normally for 10 days and stopped keto because I thought it was causing it. -I ate 1 serving, or sometimes 2 person servings with rice) until the pain happened again.
I went to the doctor and did some tests: -Blood Sugar: Slightly above normal -White Blood Cell - High (infection is positive) -2 gallstones 1cm each -Colon wall seems to be fine according to the doctoradiologist -Urinalysis is positive for UTI -with mild fever -Stool has no blood, also can be solid formed or not based on what I ate -No feeling of nausea or acid reflux
Prescribed with Ciprofloxacin (which based on my research can snap tendons and is an alternative/not first option for antibiotic) Ursodeoxycholic acid for my gallstones
NOTE: went home and started medication with diet. The pain lasted for 7 days which is longer compared to the first and I thought the antibiotic wasn't actually working. But after 8 or more days it seemed to have subsided, almost super mild pain.
3rd occurrence (after around 12 days)
-In this 12 days, I started eating only 1 serving meals then on latter days I increased to two or even 2 and a half. I was feeling fine. So I continued again for a few days.. until..one day the pain happened for the third time.
I went to the a different doctor this time and did some extra tests on imaging: -Blood Sugar: Slightly above normal -White Blood Cell - High (infection is positive) -2 gallstones 1cm each -Urinalysis is negative (anyway, I don't know why I was positive on the first test lol) -with mild fever
extra imaging tests: -Appendix is normal (ultrasound) -Fecalysis is normal -Stool Culture is normal -Inflammation/thick terminal ileum (ultrasound)
Prescribed with Metronidazole and Spasmomen
NOTE and EXTRAS: -I don't have any cancer history with my family -Doctor recommends me to either Colonoscopy or CT Scan (but it's expensive, got no insurance as well) -Colonoscopy has limitations if something is causing it outside the colon/intestine -CT Scan might increase my risk of cancer prone -I don't think it's the amount of food intake since I used to binged a lot wayyyyy moreee before... like 2 to 4 servings based on the last 3 years life style which lead me to having big build -Then I tried doing keto diet for 2.5 months until one day decided to cheat food and this happened suddenly.. -What I can describe about the pain is that, it's right lower abdomen under the navel. -When urinary bladder is full - I can feel it even when lying down, bending, sitting up and walking -When urinary bladder is empty - pain decreased to half, but can still be felt when doing bending actions or sitting up. -Pressing the spot is not that painful, maybe because I have a big belly, I don't really know.. -Would like to add that there's a strange pain on my "right ureter spot" when the pain/inflammation occurrence happens (but it should have been detected in the ultrasound if there is blockage on my right ureter, I pee normally and I drink lots of water, no blood, clear and sometimes orange color urine)
It's been 7 days (current status)
-7 days of strict diet and more water, I don't know how I can eat or live normally again. Just a slight pain from bloating (eating fruits and veggies fiber) can already cause stress to me by thinking of another occurrence happening again..
Hope this information helps and find someone with the same situation that resolved it, please take time to read,

Tomorrow is the last day of a mini adult summer intensive I’m doing. I haven’t been doing pointe. At the end of today I started to experience really intense pain in my Achilles tendon on one foot. Doesn’t hurt to walk or plie but pointing my foot is painful and putting weight on my foot in releve is barely possible.
I’m resting this evening but not dancing tomorrow is not really an option, does anyone have a similar experience or advice? Sounds like tendinitis but the internet has mixed reviews on ice vs. heat and how much I should limit my dancing going forward.
I’ve been a dancer my whole life but haven’t and I never had issues with my feet. I’m sure it’s just an overuse thing because I haven’t trained this intensely in a few years so I’m hoping it will be resolved quickly.

To start this off, I have an urgent appointment with my gyno on Monday so i will be going to a professional!! I just wanted to get an insight of two different things: So i noticed that for the past 4-5 years i’ve gotten a lump in the same exact spot once a year around the same exact time on my bra line, and it disappears after two weeks. I’ve never honestly told anyone up until recently because when it started, i was probably around 13? And i’ve always had a genuine fear of doctors up until now (me being 17, almost 18), putting on my big girl pants and being more open about my issues. But has anyone ever experienced something like that? Or maybe it’s a coincidence? This year the lump is different, and the only thing different is now im actually having periods (after only having one in my life) and being on birth control. The lump isnt as thick/big nor internal- but more like a bug bite(without it being itchy or red) unlike the past yrs the past years and it doesnt hurt. My mom thinks it could be my horomones because ever since the beginning of may i’ve had breast pains since the beginning of my birth control packet, up until now and the lump just showed up around the 26th- so instead of waiting it out this time, i made an appointment. My mom has checked my breasts out and she thinks im perfectly fine, but the anxiety i’ve developed due to my birth control has been practically bodying me and i just want to see if anyone has had a similar issue or input before i go to the doctors on monday. Im very worried about breast cancer, especially since i have DDD’s and all of my symptoms are similar to it, but at the same time similar to hormone issues.

Blood Clot pt2
I'm out of the bathroom and am back in my car. I’ll pick up where I left off. If you haven't read the first part click here.
Feeling slightly more awake, I changed and disposed of all my used napkins after putting them in a trash bag. I had no idea what to do or think, especially since I had work the next day. Hafiz died to protect me from that demon and it did nothing. I drove into an abandoned parking lot and sobbed. My entire life was falling apart because of a single awful entity. My future now seemed impossible because of a grotesque monster who hated me for putting in effort to live. I couldn't believe what was happening and since my coping skills are admittedly pretty awful, I just distracted myself by finishing my notes. Eating the rest of my cashews and straining my eyes to read the page. I could have driven to the library but I had a limit on gas money.
I wasn't able to sleep for the rest of the night. The thought of seeing Tolc again plagued my mind every time my body started to rest. Every noise and visual kept me on edge. I prayed constantly, despite wishing I had a more proper environment to do so. That along with remembering the Quran’s words on perseverance kept me sane. When morning came I decided to bite the bullet and buy supplies. Stocking up on gauze and tissues. It was a hard call to make as the money I spent on the supplies was originally designated for food. Sure, not all of my food budget was spent on it but it was just enough to make me doubt my choice.
When I got back to campus I tried to act normal, but everyone could tell something was wrong. The dirty looks I got from classmates were exasperated as they stared at my wrapped hand. Their gaze was never one of sympathy, but disgust. I tried to ignore it but I couldn't help but overhear a girl mutter about how she thought I attacked someone. All the while I bit down on my lip to stifle a whine of pain. The craters in my hand were now inching closer to my knuckles. A palpable sting persisted each minute, bordering on insufferable once the layers of my skin grew flaky. I couldn't take the maddening sensation anymore and excused myself to use the restroom, unwrapping the bandage when I got inside.
“Come on,” I whispered through gritted teeth observing my trembling hand. It looked just as bad as it felt.
I grabbed some paper towels and patted my wound down. Finally allowing myself to wail in a mix of pain and relief. Making sure the water was cold, I ran my craters under the sink. I shivered from the temperature and recoiled as I rubbed soap over it. Muttering prayers to myself as the chill liquid slid through the cuts. After half a minute I dried it, laid down a layer of paper towels, and laid out my supplies, frantically cutting and applying the gauze. Rushing to pack my things since I still had a class to return to. As I swooped up my scissors, I heard a familiar voice.
“Woah what’s up with you?”
Instinctively I pointed the scissors in the direction of the voice. A choice I immediately regretted.
“Hey, don’t point that at me! What’s next you’ll run up with a bomb strapped to your chest.”
Chris, smiled, acting like his sad excuse for a joke was funny.
“I’m sorry, you spooked me. I just got done wrapping my hand and used these to cut the bandages.”
I nervously held up my wrapped hand as evidence and he furrowed his brow.
“Yeah, and I’m sure you got that cut from glass and not a blood sacrifice.”
His words completely perplexed me.
“Wait, what?”
“I know what you’re doing, I learned all about your people.”
I took a deep breath, dreading the conversation that was about to follow. Of course, the school’s resident racist conspiracy theorist walked in.
“Respectfully, whatever you think is going here isn't what’s happening. I did get it from glass. My hand split open when I was cleaning up a broken vase yesterday.“
I wanted to tell him that whatever hateful trash he was eating up was untrue, but if I even implied that he’d lose it.
“You’re just using my lie! Which I should expect because that book you worship is full of them!”
I sighed, putting my scissors away.
“I don't see it that way but you can say that if you want.”
I internally cringed at being civil with this man who smelled worse than the blood I just rinsed.
“Look, I’ve seen you around and haven’t said anything but I won’t let you bring your hellish beliefs to this campus like this!”
I averted my eyes and began to walk away.
“Boy, where are you going!” he yelled, pulling me back by my jacket.
Normally I wouldn’t give much attitude but by this point, I was too tired to keep being so docile. Respect is built into me but there’s still a limit.
“Back to class, to write a research paper you’d never read because it has facts.” I snarled, pushing past him and increasing speed.
“God, you’re delusional, you know that!” he angrily spoke without understanding the irony.
Luckily he didn't pursue me for the rest of the day, but the interaction stuck in my mind. Once my classes were done, I was feeling pretty exhausted. The deterioration in my hand had subsided but it was still there, and the lack of caffeine didn't help. When I got to my car I cracked open the second to last can of my emergency energy drinks. I had kept them in a lunch pale in the back pocket of my passenger seat for desperate times, this being one of them. I downed it before waking in, quickly fixing my hair as I entered.
I sat at my desk and checked to make sure the sewing machine was plugged in. Taking a deep breath while reminding myself to stay focused. The first few hours were a blur, I did what I needed to do but the moment I finished a piece it faded from my mind. The only thing I remember being the concerned comments from co-workers about my injury. Sometimes I even forgot what I was doing as I sewed it, needing to check my reference multiple times. Our store is open more than most custom embroidery shops, which is a blessing and a curse. It allows me to get more hours but at the same time, it makes my passion for what I‘m doing diminish. Which I know is what happens when a fun hobby turns into a job, but still. I was starting to get tired of stitching in logos.
The number of customers slowed, leaving me alone at my desk. Reflecting on not only that day but my life. Tolc’s words reverberated in my mind as I stared at my wrapped hand. All this work and I wasn't satisfied. I felt lucky to be alive and fully acknowledged what little privilege I did have, but I wasn't exactly happy. Things could be worse but it was easy to see the ways they could be a lot better. It took me a long time to accept it but in that moment I did. I wasn’t anywhere close to where I wanted to be.
”Maybe, he’s right.” I murmured to myself, struggling to keep my head up. I could feel that my body was moments away from a crash. I checked my phone, realizing that we were minutes from closing, and tugged on my hair to wake myself. I cleaned up my workspace, practically hobbling to my car. The cold hit me as soon as I stepped out. My lips quivered as I sat in the driver's seat. That in tandem with my tiredness made me struggle to hold myself together as I drove into a rest stop parking lot. I zipped up my sweatshirt, breathing into my hands, before turning on the heater.
“Wait,” I uttered, realizing that my blanket was in the trunk. Looking out my window I saw hail begin to fall from the sky.
“Of course,” I groaned, clicking my trunk open and running out. The frigid chunks felt like pebbles getting thrown down on me. I bit my teeth harder with each step, grabbing my blanket before running back in.
Curling up into a ball in my chair with a hefty sigh. I tried to stay up a little longer despite knowing I wouldn't be able to. After ten minutes I found myself slipping from consciousness. My eyelids dropped like the harsh hail from the freezing sky above me. Leaving me lying with the little warmth I had.
“Wow, you look like you haven't felt this shitty in a while, and that’s saying something.” that dreaded voice commented. I had the blanket over my eyes but I could tell he was smiling.
“Whoever told you ducking under the covers would save you from monsters lied.” he chuckled, pulling it off me. Yanking my bandaged hand up to his face.
“It's been a day and you already need gauze? Damn, I forgot how much my bite stings. I haven't done it in a while since I decided to spare your brother from it.”
“Let me guess I didn't get that treatment because in your opinion I got a chance to get better and he didn't?”
He nodded, grabbing my blanket and observing the embroidery on it.
“Aw, how cute, did your mom sew you this?” he mocked.
“Partly, every weekend she and I would work one patch together. Hate to break it to you but trying to make fun of me for having good childhood memories isn't that effective.”
He shrugged, tossing it over his shoulders like a cape.
“Maybe not, but I know it's making you miss those times.”
The chill from earlier had started to come back.
“Alright, just get to the point.” I snarled, curling back up.
He wrapped the blanket around his torso while responding.
“If you haven’t noticed already I’ve been going easy on you today. Just leaving your hand to fester.”
He slumped down sideways, resting his legs on my curled-up knees.
“I’m giving you this break hoping that it's allowing you to reflect on your current life and if it’s worth fighting for.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You seem to think I’m a lot weaker than I am. I’m not giving up after one day.”
He flashed his horrid grin again, red pupils shining the dark. The lights from the rest stop being the only thing preventing us from being swallowed in black.
“It’s funny, your kind always says the same thing right before the first crack in that armor forms.”
“My kind?” I sharpened my gaze.
“Yeah. Your kind. I told you last time, I go after a certain type of person, so I get a lot of the same responses. People like you are so predictable, putting up a fight saying that they’ll be able to beat a power like me.”
He snickered, strangely thick spit seeping between his teeth.
“The result is always one of two things. One, they kill themselves to escape the pain thinking that their death will somehow matter more than their life. Or two, I break them, assume their place, and make something better with the usable parts of their rubble.”
At that moment his smile appeared more sinister than it ever had before. His words were so viscerally wrong.
“So, with that being said, which route are you choosing?”
I slowly sat up, purposely moving my legs last.
“Neither.”
I swiftly shoved his legs off, almost making him fall over. His smile quickly faded as he was turned on his side. Moving out of the blanket wrap he threw it back at me.
“Alright, fine, you want to play with fire like that?” he yelled, yanking me by the back of my sweatshirt.
“You are sleeping in a car in 40-something-degree weather, working at a place that’s killing your passion, and SOMEHOW think that existence is worth picking a fight with a demon for!” he growled, letting go of my sweater and grasping my neck. I tried to pull his hands away but I couldn't make a dent in his grip.
“I’ve given you your chance to submit and pass on peacefully, just like I gave you a chance to be something and yet again you failed!”
I coughed, doing my best to breathe through my nose.
“So prepare yourself for the morning because now I’ll revel like crushing a burnt rodent like you!”
As oxygen failed to reach my brain, my eyes closed.
I woke up with a sprain in my neck with my blanket on the other chair. I got out of my car to stretch, the cold air wafting over me. My stomach grumbled as I remembered that I hadn't eaten the night before. I checked for snacks but I was out. I groaned and noticed that my throat was hoarse from earlier. I attempted to speak but could barely get a word out. It worried me but I decided not to focus on it. At this point, I knew I’d probably be late for my first class no matter what so I didn't rush myself.
I got a bag of dry cereal and started eating it with a plastic spoon on a bench outside. I knew I looked pathetic, but it was hard to care about it with how hungry I was. After a few minutes, I felt an ick in my throat and my ears started ringing. Immediately, I knew what it was. I rushed to my car to put away my food and grab my supplies. Walking back inside the rest stop and into a stall in the bathroom. My eyes stung and my ears throbbed, the feeling of fluid coming up from both palpable. I got on my knees and put sponges in my ears as I started to gag. I closed my eyes as they bled, gore leaking from the folds in my eyelids
My entire body shook as each hole in my face bled. My nose stung like it had been attacked by a bee hive and my mouth tasted like a lump of steel. I did my best to plug it up with tissues but it barely did anything. I flushed the toilet at least five times from all the bloodied tissues and tried to rinse my eyes under the sink. Luckily no one saw me bleeding, but it still added a layer of humiliation anytime someone came in and I had to act like I was okay. I know I probably should have reached out, but I honestly didn't expect anyone to help me.
It’s cynical, I know, but in my experience, most people see someone like me and decide to let me suffer alone. Besides, I already felt vulnerable enough, I didn't need someone else seeing me in that state. Anyway, it continued for about 20 minutes with short breaks between, and as I slumped against this filthy toilet feeling my life force gush out, I thought about how no one would likely ever know why it happened. They’d find the body of this brown man covered in his blood with no idea how he got there. Not like it would probably matter to them. I hate to admit it but Tolc was right in a way. People like me die all the time and no one cares to make a headline about it.
My reflection stared back at me in the mix of toilet water and blood. Everything looked slightly red and for a moment and I feared I’d lose my sight. Maybe my life isn’t that remarkable but if I died then I’d at least want to be known for my death with the full story included. So once I got my bearings, I started typing the first post. If I wasn’t going to make it I at least wanted someone to know even if they didn’t believe me. I got a lot of horrified looks as I walked out with my face barely rinsed, and a wave of shame clouded me. Each one of their eyes was a needle sewing into my self-consciousness, but I got through it. I changed my clothes, wanting to burn the jeans that I’d spent almost an hour in on that disgusting floor. I drove to the middle of nowhere to set up an inflatable pool I could fill water with, making sure I was far from where people could see me.
Even though it was just as embarrassing as any other time I had to do it, it felt like the best bath in my life. Sure the cost of the gas I had to use and the worry someone would see me raged in the back of my mind, but for once I was able to keep it at bay. I’ve been writing this in my car for the past hour and a half or so. I feel bad about missing classes but I just can't today. Honestly, I’m not even sure how I’ve been able to stay awake. That’s everything that’s happened so far, I'm as okay as I can be right now, but I’m even more hopeless than before.

I (trans man, anatomically female and without that sort of treatment yet, 17) used to run, spar, grapple, and hike, among other things, all the time. A year ago, I got achilles tendonitis on my left side. The problem is now bilateral and I have tendonitis in both wrists. One autoantibody test was positive, and another was negative. The positive one was in the morning and the negative was later in the day; it usually hurt most in the morning before my pain medicine. The lupus test was negative, among other tests. The doctor said not to spar or run or even grapple. Those are my favorite things to do, and I haven't been able to do them in a year. I just wanna spar again. I was reading a pathophysiology textbook, since I'm already interested in medicine, and it showed 2 images: one of normal connective tissue and one of connective tissue with autoimmune problems, both dyed with methylene blue and under a microscope. There was a clear difference, as the diseased one had way more lymphocytes. I think I'd have a diagnosis if the doctor took a connective tissue sample and looked at it under a microscope. Can that only be done after death? It makes sense that it could do damage, but I just want a diagnosis so I can get treatment so I can spar again. Have any of you guys had patients with my problems, and if so, what was their diagnosis? Is it possible for the lupus test to be a false negative just because of the time of day we had the sample taken, since that also affected the autoantibody test?

Hi, ash a 33f in New west. I'm a sunny person who is looking for new gal pals around my age and older. Some significant things of note about me:
I'm have a bullshit office job that gives me lots of time to study, read and watch youtube/Netflix. So if you also have a bullshit job hit me up! I have so much time to kill during my work days I'm considering going into making video essays for youtube with my wife 😅
I like being active and working out but I'm in recovery for a injury. I injured my Achilles tendon so I have been avoiding high impact activities. I love dancing but zumba and my switch dancing game aggravate my tendon too much. I have been considering trying ballet bar or pole dancing classes in hopes they are fun and less stressful on my leg so if you have an opinion or know another form of low impact dancing let me know!
I love swimming and going to the beach! I work close to kits beach and would love to be there basically every day it is hot enough to swim. So if you live or work around here let me know since it is so much for fun to go with other people. There is also a new swimming pool in New west I haven't been to yet but for the summer I would prefer the beach.
I am semi crafty. I got into sewing last year but haven't used my sewing machine much this year. I have been working on some hand embroidery stuff but am still very much a baby at it. Hand embroidery is easy to take with you to a coffee shop and chat unlike sewing
Anywhere those are some prompts and ideas. I have had mixed results on this subreddit so I hope this is a success again. I made three wonderful friends here last year!

Sometime during the season, you will have a season ending injury but will be able to recover by the start of the next season to do it all over again. You do not know when it would happen in the season, only that it will.
Injuries could range from sprained wrist on the last play of the season to tearing your Achilles tendon at the start of your season to a concussion halfway through.
Do you take the fame and money knowing that you may be seriously injured until next season or possible later complications in life?

My normal posts are 2-5 paragraphs. This is long because it's a starter.
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The sloping ground around the Kiaurk family mesa had been sculpted into shelves or terraces, and it was on one of those upper terraces that Kiaurk Nshurr now lounged beneath a pergola anchored to the striated stone face behind her. The mesa rose at her back: an enormous, looming, almost sheer outcrop that her family's dwellings had been carved into the face of. Wide, shallow steps cut into the artificial (but entirely convincing) sandstone wound their way up between landings and porticos leading inward, between tiny balconies shaded by bright solid-colored canopies, between rooms with flat walls and rounded corners that came jutting out to shadow the steps below. Rriigkhans rarely used glass as window barriers; smooth-edged holes had been cut through the rock in varying shapes and sizes. It could be difficult to tell which apertures were windows and which were entryways. A physical barrier that kept out the elements was obsolete in all but the crudest dwellings, though some of these larger holes were curtained with braided string or strips of cloth that served a purely decorative purpose.
From her high vantage point Nshurr could see the shelves stretching out below her as the base of the mesa leveled out to flattish terrain that was a wonderland of vegetation in muted rainbow colors: mustard yellows, clay reds, earthy browns and the occasional dash of sage or dusty blue. This scrubland lay like a blanket around everything below that was not part of the village between the mesas. Down there, adobe compounds never taller than two or three storeys seemed so squat compared to the mesas that Nshurr could see towering in the distance, many of those family mesas only a few hours walk from her own if she traveled by foot. The village sprawled, with tile parkways winding in serpentine fashion between the various buildings, courtyards, parks, and ponds. There were no property lines, no clear division of the land into neat little plots owned by the individuals who lived and worked in these places. It all seemed to be part of a whole, with a single unifying aesthetic. The village housed those rriigkhans of the lower castes, the kharratah and chelhautah, and the humans which were a caste all their own, haukagh-ar, except for a small number who lived with their masters in the caverns of the mesas or up on the plateau.
This planet, Sgarrl, terraformed over three hundred years ago, was home to more human servants than any other Ssaarian world – aside from Earth, of course, discovered eighty years ago. The fact that humans shared so much in common with rriigkhans made them the perfect species to incorporate into the rriigkhan caste structure as servants. They breathed the same mix of gases and required similar gravities, and their nimble little fingers were very useful for all sorts of work.
The rriigkhan language was not necessarily too complex for humans, but it was wholly unfamiliar – too many phonemes that did not fit comfortably in human mouths, from grunts to huffs, to rolling trills that might by voiced or not, sometimes rumbling out like a purr. To a human, Nshurr's name was a sigh and a trill, and yet she was accustomed to humans vocalizing her name in their heavy, slurring way: Na-Shuurr! Nasher! Sometimes simply: ɽ͡r! which she recognized more easily as her name, or at least part of it, and not some random sounds.
Still, despite the weird pidgin humans had made of her language and their English, she liked the little creatures. She had come to live with her Grandmother on Sgarrl only days ago, and had never encountered them before. The males only stood as tall as her collar. The females were shorter still, much like the males of her own species.
To human eyes Nshurr was felinoid, with a muscular swimmer's body and the broad muzzle of a big cat, with watchful, forward-facing predator's eyes that seemed unexpectedly expressive, because rriikghans had almost as many muscles around their eyes as humans did around their mouths to convey the nuances of emotion. Despite being larger than even many Earth men, she was considered sleek by rriigkhan standards. She made up for that with her broader crest.
The rriigkhan crest was something like the crest of Utahceratops – a keratinized plate growing up out of the skull, except divided into three lobes instead of two, with scalloped edges along the outer rim. Unlike depictions of Utahceratops, the rriigkhan crest was not covered by skin. At least, not on the top. Thick ropy veins squiggled under velvet fur on the underside, closer to the neck. (A thick, arching neck muscular enough to support the weight of that crest meant that Rriigkhans walked with a stoop that made them seem hunchbacked, to humans.) The surface of the plate on top was often rough, even bumpy or corrugated like deer antlers in some areas, smooth in others. Every female crest had four tines jutting from the front – a pair several inches above the eyes, and another pair further up. Directly above the lowest set of tines were twin holes, the howrf channels, just big enough for a human to insert a finger. These holes were very much like nostrils – much deeper, but damp inside, and lined with short, fine hairs to protect the sensitive mucous membrane from debris. The organs housed within these channels were the heart of rriigkhan culture, the foundation of all relationships, of sex.
Male rriigkhans, of course, had only their neotonous crests: diminutive, mostly smooth with rounded edges, without tines or howrf channels. Cute.
Nshurr's crest was wider than average, her upper tines spaced further apart, and combined with a compact face this made her look top-heavy. (A human might say that she was more snow leopard than lion.) Most female crests did not interfere with the movement of the ears – highly mobile, highly expressive paddle shaped things – but the edges of Nshurr's crest did jut out enough to almost shield them.
That her crest was weighty, that it was inconvenient, that she was often aware of it – this was Nshurr's pride. Her long tail curled in pleasure when she caught males looking at it. Humans seemed to be intimidated by it sometimes, as if she might decide to gore them with her “horns.” She considered herself a confident person; not a braggart, but self-assured, and to carry her jhekaah so visibly pleased her to no end.
Her fur was an almost peachy off-white, but a mask of pale peach shaded each seafoam green eye. The mask blended into the white further up her forehead until fur gave way to bone-tan crest, and was split between her eyes by the white of her nose. Oblong spots in that same peachy color, each blending from dark to light, streaked down her sides.
These weren't the natural colors of her distant ancestors. It was unheard of to see a rriigkhan who was not gene-modified in some way, even if those modded genes had been part of rriigkhan life for so long that no one thought of them as mods any longer. She also thought nothing of the subtitles her augmented reality implant displayed whenever a human spoke, AI translated to help her decipher the pidgin. AR was simply a part of her, had been since she was a kit.
Reclining as she was on a padded lounger in front of an iron brazier, full of cold ashes from last night's fire, Nshurr was dressed in a pale coral shift only a few shades darker than the peach of her fur. Medallions trailing fringes of cloth had been sewn onto the front bottom half of the knee-length garment. A row of those ornate medallions defined a plunging neckline that bared much of her chest, muscular and broad, possibly even masculine to a human. Her breasts were lower on her body and similar in appearance to a mare's udders: long nipples on a pudge of fat nestled close together on the pelvis, just above the place where her thighs joined her body. They were only small lumps beneath the shift when Nshurr stretched out her legs so that the thin fabric fell across them. It was the roundness of her hips and buttocks that marked her female to the human eye. (As if her crest didn't make that obvious!)
She was listening to the sound of two younger female cousins wrestling on a nearby terrace, and although from her vantage point Nshurr could not see them, she could imagine the scene from what she heard: Fherou and Lahk growling while they grappled with their arms, the crack of crest hitting crest and then the scrape of tine sliding against tine. Each was fighting to control the other's head, each trying to bite the other. It wasn't easy when each had a shaggy ruff to protect her neck, and any attempt to bite the other's face would be thwarted by an interposing crest. Rriigkhan hands were less dexterous than human hands, more pawlike with stubby fingers, but capable of delivering hard blows, and once or twice Nshurr heard a cousin snarl in response to a strike against her body.
The competitive pheromones her cousins exuded from their unextended howrfs, quite unconsciously, were beginning to make Nshurr's own heart beat faster. The end of her long tail, where it hung down from the reclining chair, lashed in agitation. She was beginning to imagine sinking her teeth into someone's skin herself, and if her cousins had not been so much younger and smaller than herself she might have gone down to their terrace to show them a thing or two. It was putting her off the human flute music she'd been listening to, fed directly into her own brain through her implant for her private enjoyment. (Certain aspects of human culture were very popular here on Sgarrl; she'd been curious about it.)
She did not feel like going inside to escape the pheromones; Nshurr craved the warmth of the sun on her fur, not the cool stone and artificial light of those warrens. Most of her male cousins had gone into the village for boating today. Well, perhaps she would go down and join them after all.
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OOC Information:
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For this prompt I imagine you'd play a human servant, probably a new arrival to Sgarrl but maybe someone who was born there. Even though I've set up a situation where my character would have a lot of power and yours very little, I want to clarify that I'm not interested in abusing your character I am looking for a slow burn interspecies romance that develops naturally. This story may deal with power imbalances and even speciesism, but I'd like to explore those topics realistically.
I want to explore all aspects of loving relationship... Flirting, cuddling, kissing, lots of romantic scenes and character growth. My “type” that I'm most attracted to are men with average bodies in the 40-60 age range, with realistic personality flaws. I am more than willing to tailor my character's personality and physical attributes to suit your tastes, within reason. I appreciate partners willing to do the same.
I prefer to reply more than once a day. 2-3 replies per day would be ideal, but I understand life gets in the way. I usually write 2-5 paragraphs, or 150-450 words per post. This starter is much longer than my typical post length, but my lengths vary according to need. If I'm introducing a new character or setting a scene, my post might go up to 1,000 words.
Please send a writing sample if you have none in your post history. No need to custom write anything for me, old samples are fine. Click here to PM me!

My husband and I are excited to attend the Montreal Grand Prix for the second year in a row. Last year, we took the metro and just waited in the crowds (particularly after qualifying).
My husband will be 3.5 weeks post op from an Achilles tendon repair surgery (he totally ruptured it) for this year’s Grand Prix. He will be on crutches/a knee scooter and unable to put any weight on the injured foot. I am trying to figure out a plan to get us to and from our grandstand (GS12).
I contacted the circuit and all accessible seating, parking and the ferry from the casino are sold out/unavailable.
It looks like GS12 is a very long walk from the metro (which will be extra challenging if the paths get muddy). Any ideas of how to efficiently get from public transit to GS12 would be greatly appreciated!

For context. F, 17, I weigh 90kg and I'm like 5'8. I've been recently thinking of going into diet and exercise but everytime I try to do it I immediately get like disheartened and immediately think
'This is not gonna work and I'm never losing weight no matter how hard I try'
It's a pretty bad mindset to start with but I cannot get out of it, and I always immediately think people will ridicule me if I start exercising and stuff.
So how do I stop this 😓 I really try my best to do some walking exercises but like my heels or my achilles tendon starts to hurt when I walk for like 5 minutes probably because I'm overweight and have a hard time walking. Gym doesn't work since I live somewhere rural, and I'm not really that flexible.
I already started on cutting out sugary drinks, and How do I stop craving things I don't need like fast food or candies. Any advice or hard criticism will help as long as I can get out of this lifestyle. I don't know if diet works for me since we constantly go out to eat

F, 17, I weigh 90kg and I'm like 5'8. I've been recently thinking of going into diet and exercise but everytime I try to do it I immediately get bored and return back to using my phone or living an unhealthy lifestyle.
So how do I stop this 😓 I really try my best to do some walking exercises but like my heels or my achilles tendon starts to hurt when I walk for like 5 minutes. Gym doesn't work since I live somewhere rural, and I'm not really that flexible.
I already started on cutting out sugary drinks, and How do I stop craving things I don't need like fast food or candies. Any advice or hard criticism will help as long as I can get out of this lifestyle. I don't know if diet works for me since we constantly go out to eat most of the time

I had my first lobes since I was a baby and one of them was a little high so I let it close and redid it in october last year. It was pierced with a needle and the initial jewelry was a titanium labret. I did make the mistake to swap it to a hoop after 4 months but I swapped it back to a labret in less than a day because I noticed it had a little bump in the back. It is still not healed, bleeds occasionally and has a hard lump inside. I am still not able to downsize it from the 8mm length it was initially pierced at, even though in the old lobe I was able to wear a 6mm labret, so the tissue thickness is not an issue. I also have 2 lobes that are almost a year old which are mostly healed, another lobe that I did at the same time with this one, 8 months ago, which is a little irritated but getting better, even my 4 month old lobe is looking a lot better and I was able to downsize it to a 6mm bar. I had the same type of jewelry in all of them and treated them the same, cleaned for the first few months 1-2 times a day with sterile saline solution and then cleaned them in the shower or rinsed them with water. Should I just keep on ignoring it and wait?

hi! this is a little thing i wrote (cosplaying as a 4chan post) and i'm just trying to get feedback and comments on what i could do better.
thank you for reading and i look forward to your comments and feedback.

 ***** 

be me

Twenty-three, half-drunk, sidling out of my room to see if the coast is clear. The den looks empty so I glide barefoot across freezing tile. Halfway to the kitchen, I hear my name.

mom is lying down on the couch

I turn and see her, swaddled in a blue blanket, pink satin scarf slipping more and more as she shivers. The scarf hides patches of grey hair that she refuses to shave. It’ll all grow back, you’ll see, she would say. I doubt that, I would reply, but then, moments later, I would Google: Does your hair come back after chemo? and tap on the same blue link from the last time I searched it. 3-6 six months, I remind myself. Three to six months to forget how harrowing the last year and a half have been. Three to six months to bury it all beneath a thick crop of silver hair. I ask her what is going on, and she says it’s a slight fever. Nothing to worry about. I nod slowly, transfixed by her slight stutter, each word bouncing back and forth in rhythm with her shivers. I offer to wet a towel and she refuses. Instead she warns me not to steal any meat from the pot in the kitchen.I roll my eyes.

dad is coming down the stairs and sees u enter the kitchen. he’s been asking you difficult questions

He bellows and the hairs on my neck stand. Our conversation last week replays in my head.

deerinheadlights.jpeg

I shove a piece of fried beef into my mouth. I can’t answer any questions if my mouth is full. It does not stop him from asking. The questions are assaults, rapid fire. So what's the plan? How’s job hunting going? Have you been going for therapy? What is in your mouth? I need you to take your life seriously. WHAT ARE YOU CHEWING. My friend, can you answer me?
Ironing the tell-tale tilt of my loosened tongue flat, my answers manage to match his questions in sharpness. He nods loosely and is about to walk away.

u tell him u want to do a mfa

He turns around and blinks.

he doesn’t know what a mfa is

I hurriedly explain. He stares blankly, then gestures that I follow him into the den. There he settles on the head of the couch and softly caresses my mother’s head. He asks more questions like: what do I plan to do after I graduate, and how do I plan to make money, and if I know school is for something sustainable and practical. I answer each one and shrug at the last. I see him turn my answers over in his head. I already know what's next: Are you sure? But before he can ask, my mother groans. Reflexively, he strokes her head faster, slipping the scarf more and more, while muttering under his breath. It’s okay, it’s okay. I offer to wet a towel again. I’m fine. I’ve taken medicine. I swallow a lump and insist. My father continues muttering, hiding most of his words as soft rumbles in his chest. The words that do escape lose me, but I understand it as prayer. Life can’t bend me because I pray, he had said last week. Prayer is the substance of strength, he said. Prayer as balm, prayer as fertiliser, prayer as deliverance. My mother finally relents, gesturing to a small hand towel in her bag. I run to the bathroom and wet it under a tap, blood pumping in my ears, so I can’t hear when my father is calling me.

he wants to know how much a mfa costs

My father, stroking my mother’s head, is asking me how much a MFA program costs. I see the thermometer on the table, and while rattling off costs per course unit, I point it at her head. Beep. 37.4 degrees Celsius. That's manageable from home, so we can avoid the sterility of another hospital waiting room. I can finally make out the TV in the background, stuck on two men arguing in a store. I drape the towel over my mother’s head and she recoils, teeth shattering. She begs me to take it off, but I make a dry joke about how she’d do the same when I was younger and ill. My father blinks too many times. Then he asks about how much a full year costs and then he goes, wow. He asks how I’ll pay for it. I shrug and say something about finding scholarships. Then he tells me to pray. Prayer as support, prayer as hope, prayer as possibility. Gazing softly at my mother, he says ‘All you need to do is pray, have faith, and leave the rest to God. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do’. I nod. He blinks faster, eyes reddening.

he’s supportive?

He sighs. He says: hope you've thought it through.

surprisedpikachu.gif

He asks if I believe in my writing. I say yes. My mother shivers. He asks if I’m sure. I say yes. My mother groans. He asks if it’s good enough to earn a scholarship. I say probably not. My mother suddenly mumbles, ‘You should believe in yourself. Don’t be a loser’. I smirk. My father smiles wanly. In three to six months, this will be funnier.

he’s supportive!

He tears into a long story about a woman he once knew and the power of her faith. The story eats itself, an ouroboros that I slip along, mindlessly nodding as we move past conclusions and beginnings until he arrives at the word faith again. On the TV, the arguing men have pulled in the owner of the store. My mother is still shivering, but less so. In three to six months, all grief will be subsumed in a crop of silver hair and laughter.
Umm what do I do with a supportive African father? Is he broken? [red text]

Disclaimer: I know the best option would be to see a doctor and do a scan. Unfortunately I have already tried and the doctor could not tell me what I have without a scan but he also did not refer me for a MRI and I can’t afford self referral unfortunately (I am in the UK)
I started having this pain on the outer side of my leg above the ankle on Monday evening. It started after a high impact hiit training all of the sudden. It was pretty bad and the day after I could walk very slowly and mostly in pain. I could feel pain mostly spread on my calf but also if I touched a specific spot on my leg above the ankle then it also hurted quite badly.
Wednesday seemed to better with almost no pain so I did hyrox training (swapping running with the bike) and it felt good no pain during or after.
Yesterday again I was doing well. I tried to do the hop test and a few tests to rule out something bad and I was having no pain. I tried to do my usual hiit workout. Didn’t really feel pain during the training but as soon as I stopped I couldn’t get up. Fast forward today and I am still in so much pain. There is a lump on the side of my leg above the ankle. It is not super big but I am unable to tell if it is the tendon or the bone. Do you guys have experience on how to distinguish between the two? I would say that today bearing weight is painful. But I had to walk to a shop because I live alone and needed some food and while I was walking super slow it didn’t get worse while walking. Also this morning extending my foot was also painful which makes me think maybe it is the tendon?
However you can’t never know. I teach a high impact class and I do train very often so I am aware that is on me and it probably an overuse injury. I am aware that I will be out for a month or more.
Thank you so much

Autopilot.
Aware that you cannot move or think or breathe on your own. The words that spew from your lips are nothing more than senseless garbage to appease the masses watching your every move.
You can't scream or cry or beg for mercy.
All you can do is watch your body, your mouth, your thoughts, be puppeteered by thousands of greedy, impatient eyes.
It's like being dead, and aware I'm dead.
Dead, while my body dances, my mind is no longer mine.
I smile a perfect smile. I don't notice the stitches holding me together.
I'm not allowed to notice.
So many layers of skin, flesh over flesh that is patchwork and does not belong to me. I am not allowed to think. I am not allowed to scream or cry, or tear into layer upon layer of Brianna Timberman’s sculpting me into beauty.
Perfection.
No thoughts, except one.
That suffocates me, strangling my words from my throat.
And I am put into autopilot.
I am Brianna Timberman.
I am Brianna Timberman.
I am Brianna Timberman.
Felix was my latest three day fling.
I was using him to make Sam jealous, but a drunken night had turned into another night, and suddenly it was Wednesday, and I was yet to leave his place.
Fuck.
He was supposed to be someone I could kick to the curb, someone to take out my frustration on. Now, Felix was more than a rebound. But even tangled in his bed, I couldn't stop thinking about Sam.
Sam Thwaites rejected me at seventeen years old, and had waltzed back into my life. As teenagers, I told him I loved him, and Sam got all flustered and started shaking his head, like I was something he didn't believe in.
Sam said words like, “I didn't know you thought of me this way.” and “Wait, you liked me?” with this dumb fucking look on his face. He told me he needed space, and left me in the pouring rain.
Five years later, he was standing in my parent’s lounge.
I could still smell him on my skin, and I hated it. I hated him.
“Bree!” Mom’s smile was wide. She and Dad were obsessed with finding me a suitor.
“This is Samuel.”
Sam Thwaites took my hand, entwining his fingers with mine. He was so warm, and I hated that I wanted to fall into him. I hated that my heart was pounding through my chest. I had already seen him, bumping into him in the snow.
I had already shamelessly fucked him in a stall without truly looking at him, angry and frustrated, and really, really, fucking hot. I wanted to tell him whatever he wanted to happen was over. I told him I hated him, curled against him, the two of us out of breath, my head against his chest, his head tipped back, half lidded eyes skimming across the ceiling.
The two of us were sprawled out on ice cold tiles, his fingers stroking through my hair. I told him to leave.
But there he was, standing in my parent’s house. In the exposed light, Sam was maturer in the face, losing his baby fat for more curvier, handsome features. Thick brown curls hung in playful eyes that wanted a challenge.
The slight curve in his lips told me everything I needed to know. Sam remembered our stupid childhood pact.
I could hear it in his voice, the satisfaction dripping from his tone.
“Hello, Brianna.”
I pulled him outside, straight into a downpour.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
Sam shrugged with a smile. “We’re both adults, aren't we?”
I thought back to our childhood pact. If neither of us had found anyone by the age of twenty, we would marry each other.
“You left me.”
Sam stepped forward, grasping my hands. “I did.” He admitted, “But I was a stupid kid, Bree. I had no idea what I was talking about, and I was… scared.”
“Scared?”
He nodded, blinking rain out of his eyes.
“I was scared of losing you.”
I laughed incredulously. You did lose me, Sam! When you left me in the rain.”
“But I'm not scared anymore,” his voice was soft. He got closer. So close, I could see his breath. Sam kissed me tenderly, one hand cupping my cheek, the other sliding up my jacket. His mouth found my ear, something wet and warm oozing down my neck.
“Take… it.” Sam’s voice was different, suddenly.
”Please.”
Pulling away from the kiss, I shoved him back.
“How much is my father paying you?”
Sam swiped at his… bloody? lips, and a question sprung to mind.
Where did the blood come from?
“Well?” I demanded, my voice collapsing into a sob. “Is my dad paying you or not? Is that why you came back?”
Sam didn't answer, his face crumpling.
“Bree–”
“Save it!”
I left before he could fully open his mouth.
Halfway down the road, I realized I was freezing cold.
Before a shadow loomed, an umbrella shielding me.
“You look like a drowned rat.” My colleague was next to me, avoiding my gaze. “Take this.” he turned away from me, curling his lip. “Do whatever you want with it, I don't care.” He twisted around, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
The next day at work, I couldn't stop thinking about Sam.
Felix, the lead singer of a local band, and a law student, was the perfect distraction. I met him in a bar.
He was the Aussie trying to get a Dualingo streak, downing shots like soda. His accent was cute. It reminded me of water, or maybe that was just my drunken state. The cadence in his voice was like…trickling.
I told him this, and he laughed. His suggestive wink took us to his apartment, and we spent the night together after I drunkenly told him I thought he was hot. I expected it to be just a one-time thing, but then we were having sex on his kitchen counter.
I told him it wasn't serious. However, a one night stand had become more of a three day friends with benefits thing.
Now, we were sitting outside my work drinking coffee, and I was starting to reconsider my initial stand on Australian Felix.
There was something about the way he smiled with all of his teeth, nervously tapping his coffee cup and occasionally losing himself completely, falling into a daydream mid-conversation. I liked it though.
I liked watching his mind jet off into space. His longing gaze was adorable.
Felix was sitting awkwardly, chin resting on his fist, talking about his favourite band, and I was enraptured by caramel colored eyes and the dimples in his cheeks. The sun was shining, and we were sitting under cherry blossoms I didn't remember seeing before. I was supposed to be working, and he had come to see me, armed with cupcakes and my favourite coffee. Dreamer Felix.
Dimpled cheeks Felix.
Felix with the trickly accent and slight lisp, who stumbled over his words and had a milk moustache I desperately wanted to wipe away. I did, leaning over the table and lightly brushing the curve of my finger across his upper lip.
“You've got a little…”
Felix’s eyes widened. He swiped at his mouth, chuckling. “Ah. That's… kinda embarrassing.”
A loud and overly exaggerated clearing of the throat made me jump.
“Urgh. I think I just threw up in my mouth.”
Looming over me like a bad smell, was my colleague Jasper, scowling as usual. Standing with his arms crossed over his apron, he shot me a patronising smile, completely blanking Felix.
The boy dumped my latte down, spilling half of it across the table.
Behind him, a group of teenage girls were giggling. I wasn't surprised.
Jasper really could pull off any look, and, just like the girls squealing over him, I couldn't resist handsome features and a killer jawline. It just sucked that he was one of the rudest people I had ever met.
He was wearing the exact same shirt from yesterday, his apron flung over the top, cropped blonde hair in disarray. Running his hair through it, he groaned.
“You're supposed to be workiiiing, Bree,“ He said in a sing-song. Leaning across the table, Jasper’s patronising smile widened. “Are we done here?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Sorry, Jasper.”
“You should be.” Jasper’s gaze flicked to Felix. ”You're a student, right?”
“Uh…” Felix nodded slowly. “Yeah? I guess.”
My colleague shot him a sparkly grin. “Five percent off at the Crap ‘N Shack this weekend! Student discount! Alcohol served after 9pm will be free.”
“Woah, really?” Felix downed the rest of his drink, his eyes wide.
I glanced at his cup. I could have sworn he'd… finished it.
“What about parking?” Felix asked. “Will… I still get a ticket?”
“Nope!” Jasper shot him a grin, and a thumbs up. “Make sure to bring a student ID, and parking is free! It's all going down at the Crap ‘N Shack! This Saturday! With a Special guest, local music artist, Tiema Wright! Performing his new song, “I'm sorry I left you in the rain, but will you marry me?”
Both boys turned to me with matching smiles, speaking in sync. “Will you be there, Brianna?”
I nodded, with a grin. “You bet I will!” I saluted Felix with my drink. “Shouldn't you be heading to class?”
“I love you Jasper!” one of the girls squeaked from behind me.
My colleague rolled his eyes, not even turning around to look at her.
“I know you do.” Jasper sighed, pulling out his notepad and pen.
He side-stepped to the next table, serving the people next to us. He licked his finger with exaggerated slowness, flipping the page. “But you're embarrassing yourself, sweetheart.”
“I'm free after work,” I said, “Maybe you could come back to my place?”
“You're on the late shift tonight with me, so no you're not free.” Jasper said behind me. When I twisted around to shoot him a look, he was tapping his pen on his notepad, mid-eyeroll.
“No, sir, we don't do refills. Nope, I can't make an exception, and no, complaining about it will just make me laugh.”
“I'll text you.” I told Felix.
“Sounds good.” He jumped up, finishing his coffee and grabbing his backpack. The Pikachu keyring on his zipper made me smile. “I have class, but I'll reply when I'm out, all right?”
Felix lifted his hand in a wave, took two steps back, and was crushed by a falling sheet of glass.
I'm not sure when it was my mind stirred, and I regained consciousness for the fraction of a second. It was enough for my vision to clear, my senses coming back to the surface.
The never ending script of words programmed into my brain stopped abruptly, and I was left suffocating on my own breaths.
I was awake.
Awake, blinking at Felix’s body being peeled from concrete.
Awake.
Awake enough to notice my colleague visibly flinched behind his notepad when Felix died. Awake enough to be able to breathe again, coerce words in my mind.
I had zero idea of who I was before Brianna Timberman. Who was underneath flawless skin and manicures and sparkling teeth. My senses returned in waves. Taste.
I had drank the same fucking coffee four times, and I could taste coffee grounds on my tongue.
Smell.
There were sweat patches staining my blouse.
Touch.
I could feel my coffee cup, running my finger around the rim.
I am not Brianna Timberman.
The thought slammed into me, and I felt my hands twitch by my sides, the overwhelming urge to tear off my skin, layer after layer until I found myself.
When did I regain my free will?
Maybe it was when Felix’s blood was seeping across my shoes, his body an unrecognisable mess of stringy flesh and lumps under splinters of glass sparkling like diamonds across the sidewalk.
It took me half a second to realize a woman was screaming in my face.
“Oh my god, sweetie, are you okay?”
Autopilot.
I nodded shakily, words already tumbling out of my mouth.
“I'm fine.”
“Was he your boyfriend?”
Autopilot.
“No.”
For some reason, my eyes found Jasper still hiding behind his notebook.
“He wasn't.”
No matter how hard I tried to fight it, Brianna’s feelings were already swamping me. I felt my cheeks heat up, my stomach fluttering. Before autopilot thoughts could spring out of nowhere, I remembered my colleague’s reaction to Felix’s death, as well as him subtly trying to stop me from talking to Sam.
There was zero doubt in my mind that Jasper didn't know what was going on.
If the rest of us were recycled lumps of skin, what was he? He was a love interest, but he wasn't one of Bree’s exes.
Sam explained my colleague was a curveball.
The so-called bad-boy playing with Brianna Timberman feelings.
With little to no thoughts of my own, I stated the facts in my head.
My life wasn't real. I was nothing but recycled flesh sculpted and moulded into a dead prom queen with her memories. That thought still had not sunk in yet, and when I started to register it, all I wanted to do was peel my skin from my bones until I found myself.
Who I was, hiding under patchwork flesh.
So many Brianna’s stitched onto me. So many lost souls.
I had been on autopilot for days. All that I had left when I came to, was a vague memory of every other death.
Ben, Alex, and Esme.
Car crash.
Suicide.
Carbon monoxide poisoning.
Now Felix.
Crushed to death.
Each of their deaths had been voted m by the townspeople.
It was only a matter of time before Felix would be erased from existence too.
Sam, or the boy underneath him, had shown me who I really was, a lump of flesh sculpted into Brianna Timberman.
Sam had the same fate.
He showed me where he came from, a factory that had turned the town's teen populace into the exact same four faces.
Brianna Timberman’s exes.
Ben, Alex, Esme, and Sam.
First, he was an Alex, then a Ben, and then an extra, who tried to warn me, before being abruptly converted into Sam Thwaites, a brand new love interest, and Brianna’s childhood friend.
Sam told me Brianna’s exes deaths were a joke, her love life controlled by the town through a popularity poll.
Brianna had committed suicide years ago, but the town were obsessed.
They wanted to watch her life. They wanted to see which person she would choose, voting for their favourites while dooming the loser to a fate worse than death. The least popular love interest would die brutally, and the cycle would continue. In this case, it was Felix.
The boy suppressed under Sam had shown me the truth, only to be captured and turned into one of my parent’s suitors. The realization was like a kick in the face. I was alone. Awake and aware of too-bright lights on my face, and unable to cry out or scream.
Brianna Timberman was dead, but according to the town, the show must go on.
Staying very still, I was suddenly well aware of patrons on their phone.
I glanced at a teenage girl, who was rapidly swiping right on an image of my colleague, while a man holding a briefcase lazily swiped left on Sam.
“Your boyfriend should have been more careful.”
I blinked.
Jasper was in front of me, arms folded across his apron.
Sam talked about a Red Zone in the bathroom stalls a few days ago.
He said it was where they couldn't see us, and I would be fully conscious, severed from whatever was in my head.
Jasper waved his hand in front of my face, and it suddenly occurred to me that if I wanted answers, such as where the Red Zone was located, I needed my colleague’s help.
Whether he was awake or not.
Brianna Timberman was in full control of my mind, however, so regaining free will was getting progressively harder.
Two days later, after being stuck on autopilot, I was serving a woman trying to calm her screaming kid.
Felix didn't have a funeral, and his name was already forgotten. In my half awake state though, I remembered him.
I had since met two people.
Adrianna, who was a quick make out in a bathroom stall.
She smelled just like Esme. Roses and cheap perfume.
Ren. The older college professor who I drunkenly kissed in the back of an Uber.
I can't pinpoint the times when I was fully awake.
Fully in control.
I was perfecting a foam heart on a customer's latte, when I realized I really wanted to fuck my colleague. The thought was explosive, immediately setting my cheeks on fire. Trying to suppress it was fighting a losing battle.
“Hey.” Jasper sided in front of me, tearing me out of my thoughts. Or Brianna’s thoughts. I had spent the last hour dazedly staring at his wonderfully sculpted jawline, unable to look at anything else.
Brianna liked to fantasise, and her mind wasn't exactly PG13.
It's not like I had control of my mouth. Autopilot meant my body and mind worked for me. I was just lucky to be conscious– or at least semi-conscious.
I had a semblance of a plan, and the first part was finding Sam Thwaites. Or the boy sculpted into Sam. The last time I saw him before I went on autopilot, I had no idea if he was awake or just a really good fucking performer.
The Red Zone was all I could think of.
If I wanted out of this nightmare, I needed to find it.
However, thinking is kind of hard when all I can think about was my colleague’s biceps.
I couldn't take my eyes off of the way he swung a carton of milk, mid-conversation with our manager.
Jasper caught my eye, scowling.
“Bree. Get your fucking head out of the clouds.”
My colleague’s tone was so shamelessly unapologetic, a group of girls in the queue burst into giggles. The guy was like a circus attraction.
Now that I had a semblance of actual thought, I realized our only customers were women, with the odd man every blue moon. Jasper cleared his throat, setting the milk down.
“Okay, look, I’m sorry your boyfriend got flattened, or whatever, but you need to stop moping around like someone freakin’ died.”
Autopilot.
There was a bright light suddenly.
I shoved him. Hard.
“Why do you always have to be such a dick?”
Jasper was unfazed. He didn't even stumble. I felt it, a shiver creeping down my spine, an insatiable need clouding my thought process.
Brianna Timberman was hot. Very hot. Jasper’s attitude, his movement, everything about him and being so close to him, was making her flustered.
She was sweating under her apron, and all she could look at, all she could focus on, was her colleague. Who was, against all odds, still playing hard to get.
All around us, patrons went silent.
The girls in the queue started nudging each other. My colleague stepped forward, his breath tickling my face.
He was a little too close. “I should be asking you the same thing,” he murmured, lips twitching into a smirk.
“You've been staring at me all morning.” Jasper stepped closer, backing me into the counter. I could feel my cheeks getting hotter and hotter, my thoughts clouding.
Another step, and we were nose to nose.
Jasper cocked his head. “Do I…have something on my face, Bree?”
It took every morsel of self control to turn away from him, back to the queue.
I smiled widely at the customer, making lattes and coffees. But my stomach was dancing, my mind foggy and distant.
It didn't help that every time Jasper shoved past me, he made it intentional, and the friction of his body against mine, his hands brushing my waist, was driving me crazy. Sam mentioned aphrodisiacs being pumped through the vent in the bathroom stalls to influence intimacy between Brianna and her love interests.
I had a feeling that is what was happening. Still, though, when I peeked at the ceiling, I couldn't see a vent.
I couldn't stop my own wandering hands every time he passed me.
It was a game, in a way.
Who would crack first.
I was in the break room trying to cool myself off, when Jasper stepped in front of me.
“Vegan milk.” He said. Despite acting cool and collected, maintaining his asshole smirk, I glimpsed a noticeable red blush spreading across his cheeks.
His lips found my ear. “Can you… help me find it?”
Autopilot.
Autopilot had taken us into the dark. My body and emotions and feelings were no longer mine, choking, drowning, in fog that contorted me into exactly what these people wanted.
I'm not sure how I got from the break room to the storage closet, pinned against a shelf, half naked, my legs wrapped around my colleague. He started, of course, with his mouth latched to my ear, muttering about Mulberry Milk offers, before his lips found mine.
His breath was heavy, his hands finding my waist, and sliding up my shirt.
God, I pretended a lot of things weren't happening for the sake of not losing my fucking mind.
I pretended I couldn't hear the wolf whistles and squeals rumbling in the walls surrounding us, that the pleasure riding through me was mine, and not theirs. We had an audience.
Somehow, that was even worse than my body being used to satisfy others.
I pretended I wasn't fully exposed, and even worse, that I wanted it.
I wanted to get closer to him, pressing my mouth into his clammy neck and burying my face in his shoulder.
I wanted him to continue, his lips in my hair.
Tipping my head back, my vision was blurring.
But I could see it.
Right above our heads, there was the vent pumping us full of aphrodisiacs.
Sex drugs, I thought dizzily.
I laughed, and it was so out of character, Jasper pulled away for a moment, brows knotting in confusion.
“The Red Zone.” I managed to grit out through Brianna Timberman’s mouth. “Where is it?”
When he didn't respond, I grabbed the back of his head, forcing him to look at me. Under the dim light of a flickering bulb, my colleague’s eyes were half lidded, his pupils dilated pools of confusing black. I had no doubt he hadn't been heavily drugged.
Jasper kissed me deeply again, and when I managed to shove him away, he tightened his grip on my waist, pressing his face into my shoulder.
“The Red Zone.” I repeated, my thoughts reduced to soup.
I only had a certain amount of time, and that time was running out.
I shoved him again. This time, I felt filthy.
His clammy hands all over my skin was like poison.
I felt suffocated, every time he leaned in.
The worst part is that this man had zero choice either.
The thought struck, sending violent tremors through me.
How many times had my corpse of a body been used like this?
How many times had I been fucked, or fucked someone else for this town’s sickening satisfaction obsession with Brianna Timberman?
“Tell me where it is!” I said through a shriek.
Jasper slowly started to respond, blinking rapidly. “The… wha?”
He was a good performer, awake or not.
“You knew what was going on when your friends dragged Sam away.”
I kept my voice low, kissing him harder to keep the narrative going. Especially when I could hear the dull sound of pounding feet. These freaks wanted us to fuck.
I made sure to let my mouth linger on his, aware of every inch of the two of us being watched, analysed, probably photographed and posted to the town website. “I saw you flinch when Felix died. Which means you were awake.”
I pulled away, slowly, playing with the collar of his shirt. But at the same time, I was looking for every possible escape route. Sam was right. To my left, I could see a subtle red light dancing across Jasper’s jaw.
And to my right, another skimming across my neck.
So, I grabbed the boy, shoving him against the shelf, switching our positions.
“You tracked me down that day,” I spoke softly, pretending to bury my head in his chest. “You knew exactly where I was. And you took Sam away. So, you know exactly where the Red Zone is. You know where he was hiding.”
Jasper surprised me with a chuckle. When I lifted my gaze, my vision was fuzzy, my body hot and flustered, and yet I was shivering. His head was tipped back, lazy eyes tracking the ceiling. He was following the exact same red light.
“You're a funny girl, Bree.” He murmured. My colleague leaned forward, keeping up the facade for our unseen audience. He was doing exactly what they wanted, the curve of his back almost too perfectly lit up.
It was exactly what Brianna Timberman had fantasised.
Jasper’s panting breaths found my ear. “Keep talking, though? You're going to fuck both of us over.”
His words sent shivers trickling down my spine.
In the corner of my eye, the red light was visible. If the room was too dark, that meant they were tracking and filming our movements. I didn't think.
Grabbing my colleague’s shoulders, I yanked him to his knees, dropping with him. Risking a glance behind us, the light was gone. Which meant (or at least I hoped) that we were out of shot.
Jasper regarded me lazily, inclining his head. “What are you–”
I slammed my hand over his mouth, cutting him off.
“The Red Zone. You know exactly where it is.” I hissed, tightening my grip on his shoulder. When he played stupid, I dug my fingernails in. “You're not an ex,” I said, “So, what are you?”
“Jasper?” my colleague muffled under my hand, pointing to his name tag. When I removed my hand, his lips spread out into a grin. But I caught his eyes frantically searching for those red lights.
“I have no idea what you're talking about, Bree!” He raised his voice significantly, “But… did you know vegan milk is made with only the best pasteurised milk from Mulberry Farms?”
This guy wasn't going to sing, so I had to get creative.
Above us, three red lights were scanning the dark.
They were looking for us.
“Please.” I whispered, searching his eyes for a hint of a human being.
“You're as much of a victim as me, right? Don't you want out of here?!”
Jasper responded with his signature eyeroll, maintining that plastic fucking grin.
“I… have zero idea what you’re talking about! But do you know what I really want to talk about? Mulberry Farms milk!”
I couldn't stop myself. Maybe it was frustration, desperation, or a mix of both. I wasn't fully thinking straight when I grasped the back of his head, and slammed Jasper’s skull into the metal edge of the shelf. I regretted it immediately when the guy’s eyes rolled to pearly whites, his body going limp in my arms, head lolling onto his shoulder.
When a single rivulet of red slid from his nose, I realized he was like Sam.
Sam, who must have given himself a head injury to wake himself up.
A severing.
Under the influence of the narrative, as well as aphrodisiacs choking my thoughts into arousal, I never really saw my colleague’s body. I only saw what Brianna wanted to see. Lean muscles and a perfectly sculpted v-line.
But now, away from the cameras, and in the fading light of a dying bulb, I saw them, running my trembling fingers over rugged stitched and patchwork skin moulding this boy, and so many others, into the perfect man.
I could see where parts of him had been replaced and cut away, his entire face airbrushed into a viewer’s fantasy.
But looking closer, his real eyes were mismatched contortions of blue and brown.
I waited for the sarcastic eye roll and immediate plug-in advertisement.
Instead, though, the man's expression was… softer.
He looked dazed, confused, blinking rapidly.
But, as he slowly drank in his surroundings, his expression started to twist into fear. Pain. Anger.
Anger that was so vast, so overwhelming, that he dropped to his knees, scrubbing at his face. I didn't know what to say. Sorry didn't mean anything. Sam was gentle when he told me I was recycled skin, nothing but a flesh puppet for a psychotic town.
But I didn't give him a chance to take it in. I plunged him directly into this cruel, horrifying reality.
Jasper’s frenzied gaze went to his hands, and then his hands were in his hair, clawing down his face.
His lips parted like he was going to speak, but I don't think he could.
Jasper’s eyes filled with frustrated tears. Terror that was something I could relate to, an existential dread and confusion and pain that was tearing him apart. I knew the questions at the back of his head.
Why me? Why was this happening to me? How can I be alive? How can I be real when the rest of me is nothing?
I felt my own fingers trace the scars across my own stomach.
Scars that only I could feel, deeply indented into my skin.
Skin that I wanted to rip into, to tear away.
Because… I was somewhere, right?
Underneath all of this, my old self was there.
I fucking HAD to be because I can't just be THIS.
Jasper stumbled back, clumsy on his feet, embarrassed and confused, trying to hide himself. When blood started seeping freely from his nose and down his chin, I found my voice. “Hey.”
I spoke softly, and his eyes finally found mine, resembling a startled deer.
“Can you tell me who you are?”
I swallowed thick slime creeping into my mouth.
“Who you were?”
For a sobering moment, it was just the two of us.
Not Brianna and Jasper.
His eyes found mine, truly drinking me in.
And something sparked in his expression. Recognition, or familiarity.
His hands cupped my face, fingers running down my cheeks.
The man was mute, speechless, and yet somehow, he was crying.
Crying for me.
A stranger.
Somehow, though, my hands, or at least part of my hand, the stitched and rugged parts of me, responded to his touch.
“Bree? Jasper?”
When the door flew open, I jumped to my feet, pulling the boy with me.
They were paranoid, I thought, mirroring Sam’s earlier words.
The town was making sure we were still satisfying them.
To my surprise, Jasper’s eyes dilated back to brown.
“Uh,” His voice was choked up, more of a growl, “Give us a sec, all right?”
Autopilot.
I bent down and grabbed my shirt, throwing it on.
Jasper buttoned up his own, brushing himself down.
He stepped back, winking.
“Same time tomorrow?”
Autopilot.
Brianna didn't speak. Instead, she headed towards the door.
She wanted him to chase after her for more.
But not before Jasper came close, hissing in my ear.
“You want to go on a suicide mission? Fine.” I was already pulling away, or Brianna was pulling away, because my body was being forced forwards.
Still, he held me, tightening his grip. “The thrift store across the street. Stall three, in the bathroom.” He said. “Just, please,” Jasper’s tone softened.
“Please never fucking do that to me again.”
So, I had a location.
The problem was actually getting to it.
Autopilot.
It was stronger, forcing me onto the stage.
I spilled coffee over a customer, and of course, Jasper came to the rescue.
When I dropped a tray full of drinks, slipping on someone's mess, his arms were already wrapped around me, catching me before I could hit the ground.
When our eyes met, Brianna Timberman’s heart fluttered.
The people surrounding us were already swiping right on their phones.
Jasper helped me stand up. “You… should be more careful, you idiot.” He grumbled.
I nodded, straightening up.
Jasper leaned against the refrigerator. “Do you know Sam Thwaites?”
I didn't look up from making coffee. “Yeah. He was…”
I blinked away memories of the two of us as kids.
“Just a friend.”
“He's bad news.” Jasper said. “The guy is working for your dad.”
“That's not… that's not true.”
“Oh, really?” He stepped in front of me, head tiled to the side. “So, he just came back into your life for no reason?”
“I don't want to talk about Sam.”
“But… Did he leave you anything?” Jasper murmured. “Like a… I don't know, a parting gift, maybe?”
Before I could reply, my colleague blurted, “What were you wearing when we were… “ He looked around nervously. “Looking for vegan milk?”
“I… don't know?” I prodded at my apron. “This, I guess? Why?”
“Oh, no reason!” he winked at me. “Did you know my Aunt died recently?”
“No…”
“Well, her funeral was all sorted within a matter of days,” Jasper continued, speaking through that same grin.
“Callister Funeral Care really did give me the comfort me and my family needed while we were in mourning…”
Autopilot.
I woke up halfway through my shift the next day, in the middle of serving three boys.
Immediately, I dropped what I was doing, darting to the door.
“I'm going on my break!” I yelled, grabbing my jacket and pushing through a group of girls. The town thrift store was empty. I was pushing through the door when a girl pushed past me, hard enough to knock my jacket out of my hands. When I scooped it up, something dropped out of my pocket.
Inside was a single black disk-shaped thing. I stuck the plastic down my bra.
“Bree? What are you doing here?”
Lifting my head, my colleague was standing over me.
Jasper’s smile was a little too big.
When he helped me up, his voice was a sharp breath. “How exactly are you planning on getting in the men’s bathroom, genius?”
I had a way.
But neither of us were going to like it.
Autopilot, however, did my job for me. I was in a bathroom stall on my knees, when reality hit, and I shook my head of fog. Jasper was already pulling me to my feet. Pressing his index over his lips and motioning for me to be quiet, he pointed above our head. Instead of a window, there was a hatch. “Red Zone Two.” He mouthed. "Fucking go!
I nodded, climbing onto the toilet bowl, throwing myself through the hatch.
This time, I felt directly into a pile of still-wet and still warm bodies.
But these weren't Alex’s or Ben’s, or Sam’s.
My own face, my perfectly moulded and sculpted Barbie doll face stared back at me. Brianna Timberman was everywhere. Her glazed blue eyes and wide smile were suffocating me. It when I stood up, did I start to see patches. I saw skin and hair, torn and stained clothes with body parts still attached to them. Different faces.
Girls.
Beautiful girls with their heads severed, their bodies reduced to mutilated flesh.
Smiles stretched into skeletal grimaces, and eyes scooped from the sockets.
As if I felt connection with the doll pieces around me, I started to claw at my legs.
Like I could find my own skin, revel in it.
I stood up, at the sound of a mechanical whirring. In front of me was a blood stained conveyer belt that wasn't moving, that was frozen. Just like the room with Sam’s, Ben's, Alex's, and Esme’s. I felt my fingernails rip into my arms, and my face. My gaze was glued to the cutoffs, the human bodies scattering metal flooring. Is this what I was?
I ripped into the skin of my face until I felt the sting.
But there was no fucking blood. Nothing to remind me I was human.
“Bree. You need to get out of here. Now.”
I was barely aware Jasper had joined me. He fished up my jacket.
“What are you?” I asked him, my voice shuddering.
“Wrong.”
His response surprised me. “Which is why they're going to kill me off soon, and I'll die the way I was supposed to.”
Jasper’s words collapsed into white noise.
Instead, I was someplace else, a memory splintering into dozens of memories.
I was… Clara.
Jamie.
Lily.
Kiera.
Becca.
Elizabeth.
I was running.
Screaming.
A guy was in front of me, tugging my hand.
“The far gate is the exit!” The voice in front was female.
“If we reach it, we’ll get out of here. Just keep running.”
A sharp flash, and I was standing stiff. Upright.
I was moving, a long line of girls in front of me.
I felt them, writhing, entangled around my bones.
Every girl I was made out of.
The cruel needle plunging into the back of her neck, instantly killing her.
A second needle injecting a solution that kept the body alive.
Her thoughts and feelings and sensations.
All of it was kept alive.
Conscious.
The whirring blades coming down and skinning away her face, her eyes, her lips, her screams falling on deaf ears.
Her sculpted body, naked and raw, was shoved forwards.
The next metal arms made sure to stitch up loose skin, adding and removing and slicing away what was no longer needed, adding a metal exoskeleton to assure no damage. Then came clothes, a yellow summer dress, exactly what she was wearing on the day Sam Thwaites dumped her in the rain. The final metal arm was more of a brush, a thing scraping across the face to make sure Brianna was perfect.
When she tumbled off of the conveyor belt, smiling widely, I wasn't Clara, or Jamie, or Lily…
Fuck.
I was Brianna Timberman.
Standing at the end of the line, with his arms folded, was Brianna’s father.
His smile was proud, eyes glinting with madness.
He stroked my face, eyes filling with tears.
“She's perfect.”
The memory shattered, coming apart, when something pricked my neck. There was a blinding white light on me.
“We’ve got her, sir.”
A muffled cry, and I could just see Jasper being wrenched back.
“Hey! I did what you told me to do! The pocket is empty!” his voice deepened into a growl. “Let me go!”
The figure who grabbed him seemed to enjoy his discomfort. She had wandering hands. “Five more seasons, pretty boy.” The woman hummed. “Brianna may have forgiven you, but your debt is with Mr Timberman.”
“Wait! No, we had a fucking deal you piece of– mmppphmmh!”
I was forced onto my stomach. “AND the love interest who appears to be faulty. It's the tracer who was supposed to be following her.” The voice swam in and out, as my mind plunged. *“Yes. I'll get him remodelled immediately. Uh-huh. Brianna is A-okay, sir. Do you have my permission to proceed?”
Autopilot.
This time it was deep, dragging me to impossible depths.
“Brianna!”
Mom’s voice snapped me back to half-fruition.
I was standing in my parent’s hallway in front of Sam.
Sam, who had lowered himself to one knee, a ring pinched between his fingers..
“Say yes!” Mom stood behind me, standing with my brother.
Autopilot.
My lips spread into a smile.
Two bright lights on the two of us.
“Yes.” I whispered, when he wrapped his arms around me. “I'll marry you.”
The walls around us were ooh-ing and ahh-ing.
When the lights switched off, and Sam’s smile stayed plastic and taut, I realized the boy underneath was gone.
But it was when his head was in my chest, did I remember his earlier words.
“Please. Take it.”
Autopilot.
The day skipped forward.
I was only aware of my mother’s hands tangled in my hair.
She was dragging me down the hallway.
“Don't worry Brianna!” She said gleefully, tightening her hold.
“No daughter of mine is this much of a nuisance, and the show must go on!”
I was shoved into a room, on autopilot.
But, after regaining myself, I can break myself out of autopilot.
The medic came to see me.
According to her, I'm slightly severed.
They're going to fix me. Like what they did to Sam.
Look, it's been three hours and I've been thinking about a lot of things. I know you can't save me. I live in the blip of a town, a town you can't find on a Google search. I know I'm a prisoner.
But I think I know how to save myself and the others.
Mainly. I want to cut Brianna Timberman away, and look underneath.
But I'm terrified that under all of these layers? They're will be nothing left.
I've already done most of it. Right now, half of my face is caught under my nails.
But I'm not
Fuck
I can't find me???
Im not bleeding, I can't see anything that looks like ME and when they come back they're going to patch me back up.
They'll stick someone else's flesh over me, and call me Brianna.
But I'm not Brianna?????
I'm not any of those girls, so who am I?