I have an ovarian cyst which caused me to have to be on Birth control (Northindrone? specifically) to try and shrink it and get rid of my period because the pains were horrific. I am going to have surgery in a couple months.
So my whole life i was underweight because i had/have? a very fast metabolism but since BC I have gained fat weight and lost my muscle weight but basically stayed at the same weight. My biggest issue is that i lost the perkiness in my boobs and they got flatter, softer and saggier. (I am a 34B?) I am worried they won’t go back once i get off BC, pls help and lmk if anyone relates in the slightest (mostly the getting off Northindrone and boob issue)

Hello just wondering if fibroids typically feel heavy? I'm not seeking medical advice, just some general info about what fibroids actually feel like.
Some info: I (38F) have been bleeding between periods since September last year - which isn't normal but not impossible - bc I have been using hormonal birth control since I was 19 to keep my periods in check due to PCOS. I was hospitalized for an emergency hormone shot and blood transfusion when I was diagnosed with PCOS due to dangerous level of blood loss - so my uterus has been a ticking time bomb for my entire adult life. This time I have become fatigued and easily out of breath to the point my asthma meds were not doing Jack shit. Finally in March this year I visited my PCP and demanded lab work for anemia and we found my ferratin, RBC, and iron levels are all extremely low. Was put on a sulfate med and told to eat more eggs and red meat, and PCP is re-checking labs every couple of months to monitor anemia recovery. On May 15th began having pinching or what feels like a pulled muscle around where the right-ish side of my uterus/ovary would be. My groin/lower abdomen have also felt extremely bloated and VERY heavy, like I am carrying around a big ol' sandbag inside my uterus. Starting around Memorial Day, the pain migrated to my lower back at times. Last week I began to have the sensation of having to pee every hour or can't empty my bladder all the way (normally I have a bladder of steel and can go an entire workday without needing the bathroom). So I messaged my OB/GYN and demanded an ultrasound as soon as possible to figure out what the hell is going on. I'm miserable. I can't shower or clean my house for more than five minutes or it feels like I have been sucker-punched in the uterus, then I have to lay in bed for hours at the mercy of a heating pad and ibuprofen. I work from home 90% of the time at a computer but recently had to ask my boss for accommodation/hold on my photography and videographer duties since that requires me to be on site and moving around a lot (which is hard enough with anemia and now add the groin pain). Just today I did some light cleaning like vacuuming the living room and packing up some trash/recycling from my kitchen and now am in excruciating pain. I still have my appendix but the pain is located too low, no GI symptoms, and no fever, I don't think it is appendicitis. I suspect it's fibroids but could also be an ovarian cyst ready to rupture. I have never had either before and have don't have my ultrasound until Tuesday (June 4th) but I'm just curious if fibroids normally feel this way?
EDIT: Wanted to also note there is no chance of me being pregnant. I haven't been sexually active in over 6 years.

Info: Male, 21, 220lbs, 6ft, no known allergies or health issues.
For the past two months my skin has felt like its ON FIRE while in varying degrees of pain but the skin shows no signs of irritation in the slightest. NOTHING in my lifestyle has changed. It feels like a sunburn, it feels dry when I move and its as if I can feel my skin stretching and it is extremely sensitive to touch.
Things I have tried to combat it:

• Changing my detergent to All Clear and Free detergent and doing three rinse cycles per load.
• Taking Zyrtec 24hr relief 2x per day, daily.
• Changing my shampoo to Vanicream Shampoo
• Changing my body wash to Cereve Hydrating Cleanser Bar
• After showers, applying Aveeno Eczema Therapy Moisturizer

Things that have worked:

• Biofreeze, for a very short period of time before it returncs.

Things that make it worse:

• Mainly friction, specifically when I am wearing a shirt

Areas of Pain: Body Diagram

• Shoulder caps
• Back of shoulders
• Traps
• Back of neck going up and stops at my hairline
• Collar bone area
• "Teres Major Muscle", googled this, idk how else to describe the area
• Sometimes I feel it slightly on my cheeks right below my eyes and on my forearms.
• Both sides of my waist, right above the hip bone

Please help me.

Stats: 26 YO Male 5'6 187 lbs. ~29 - 33% Body Fat
* 15 days ago I was 195 lbs.
I been weightlifting for like 2 years but then I got busy with school and work and relationships etc. Took about a year and a half break. I got back into weightlifting last month and I decided to combine walking. It was going great, so great in fact, I just felt like running.
GOAL: Fat loss while also gaining muscles and improving overall health.
I will not stop running. I know sprinters are jacked af but I want to improve my long distance running.
Anybody who does running and weightlifting, what do you make sure you do to fuel your workouts?
Info below is just my routine incase you guys are curious. Any advice on how to better my routine is much appreciated.
Earlier this week, I felt fine because I felt l was pushing my body normally. Here is what I do on my days off:
3 mim running 1.5 min walk 3 min running 3 min walking x2
I was able to keep up with this run and decided that I can do this instead:
3 min run 1.5 min walk 5 min run 2.5 min walk 3 min run 1.5 min walk 5 min run
^^ That kicked my ass. I felt like energy levels were down before my gym session.
Full body workout a couple hours later:
4 x 10 - 12 of either: Squats, Hip Thrusts or Leg Curls
4 x 10 - 12 of either: Chest Press, Flys or Incline Chest
4x10 - 12: Back Row, Lat pulldown, or Chest supported rows
4x10 - 12: anterior, lateral or posterior delts
2x10 - 12: Biceps 2x10 - 12: Forearms OR hammer curls
3 x 10 - 12: Skullcrushers, Cable pulldowns, Overhead cable extensions
I weightlift on my days off and try to run almost everyday. If I feel too tired, I will opt for a walk instead. 3 - 4x weightlifts a week. 4x - 6x running days a week.

With the amount of gripping we do in Judo in addition to supporting exercises like towel/gi pullups, farmer walks, etc., is it necessary to train the extensor muscles of the forearms as well? I've read that too much of an imbalance between the forearm's flexors and extensors may result in "claws" while the hand is relaxed.
If this is the case, is forearm extensor training worth adding? Do you need to do both wrist curls and wrist extensions, or just the extension part (since you're doing lots of grip training anyway for the flexor)?

Hello, i have really bad progressive weakness in both my arms, mainly forearms and mainly on right side. Picking things up, eating etc is struggle. Progressed over i think about 1 year. I have loads of bodywide muscle twitching, body wide pains and really bad gynocomastia in my breasts. Im 23 years old
Now to the question. My grandmothers sister, mother, uncle, and brother had a form of muscular dystrophy according to them, they all passed away from it but it took long progressive weakness. My grandmother has no symptoms of it, my mother does not have symptoms either (she has body wide pains and nerve pain in face but thats it).
Ive done EMGs, MRIs but they came back normal? Now the neuros said they want to stop testing, but now i cant really function on day to day things. They said they dont think neurological but im getting weaker and more painful? They didnt want to do any creatine kinase tests or genetic testing
Do you guys think its possible ive could have got it from my grandmothers side?
I also have diabetes type 1, tried to speak with my diabetes doctor, they just say they dont know and shrug their shoulders?
I feel lost, as no one is listening, ive been in the ALS hole, MS , and also DM...
How "bad" should i be before i go back to the hospital? how bad were you guys when you went to seek help?

Anyone found good remedies for this? I am getting shooting pains in the lateral sides of my forearms, especially when lifting the stretcher to load it in to the truck, or pulling/ pushing heavy patients via sheet drag.
I got a massage yesterday because some folks told me that can help but the pain is back already today as soon as I did even a little lifting for my shift. I have also been stretching, and for a while I was trying work on strengthening these muscles/tendons outside of work (at the gym) but I think that just made it worse so I had to stop.
I plan am applying some lidocaine patches and tiger balm for my next shift, and I've been intermittently taking Tylenol and advil, but I feel like those are all bandaid solutions. Would love to hear if anyone has found longer term solutions.

image sharing isnt allowed so i am sharing my other post (i hope this doesnt come under self promo) here, take a look for yourself
i have always had thin and boney forearms which were devoid of muscles, i have started playing cricket since 5th may and it has been 1 month and i haven't achieved major progress (except that slight muscle gain in slide 2,3) so what should i do ????, my arms dont even have much energy in them
ps - im just a kid with strict parents so high protein diet and gym are out of the box and one of my parent remains at home 24x7x365 so its almost impossible for me to workout at home
and im also a vegetarian due to religious reasons but i dont believe in god so i might eat some meat when i reach college

Hey everyone, I have been super hesitant posting on the thread about my medical mystery that has been ongoing for about 7 months now, I’m just at a loss and want to know if anyone has had any similar issues or advice.
Back in 2019 I had a hyperextension injury in my lower back, near my SI joint. Long story short, after scans were done, they found out I have spina bifida occulta, they told me that I’d have to live with the pain I was having and sent me on my way. Frustrated, I kept pushing through until the next issues occurred.
November 1, 2023, exactly 7 months ago now, I woke up one morning with a headache. Nothing out of the ordinary for me honestly, I’ve been told I suffer with a type of migraine disorder, but Tylenol always made it go away after a while. Skip ahead to now, June 1, 2024, and this headache is still here, I know it sounds crazy, but every single day I wake up with this headache and go to sleep with this headache, absolutely no medication has helped me, and trust me I’ve tried quite a few.
Along with this headache, I noticed a lot of other symptoms, and honestly so much has changed since then I can’t remember them all, but some include: weight gain, blurry vision (almost like a film over my eyes at times), extreme fatigue, extreme bruising out of nowhere, free bleeding every time I got even the tiniest scratch, not sleeping at night, random weakness and numbness in my hands, random entire body weakness, even more sugar drops than normal (I’m also Hypoglycemic), muscle cramps, dizziness, joint and muscle pain (more than usual), muscle cramps (more than usual), abdominal pain, extreme indigestion and heart burn, extreme bloating, TMJ flares 24/7, a knot on the side of my face located at my temple, major brain to speech delays that have almost made me speak differently now, brain fog, and the list could continue forever I feel like.
After what felt like forever with this headache and all the other issues, I go to my PCP hoping that they can help me somehow. They told me I was getting over a sinus infection and gave me antibiotics for fluid behind my ear, and muscle relaxers for my TMJ flare up which they said caused the knot on my temple as well. I didn’t think this was the issue, but did as told, and took the medications the course I was given, and to no avail, nothing changed. They said that they would refer me to a neurologist and stated that this could take a while and that they would also probably need a head CT for scheduling to accept me. No CT was scheduled and I hadn’t heard back from them in a while.
December 24, 2023, I ended up in my local ER with a debilitating headache, where I gave them my entire sob story over again, because at this point I felt so stupid coming to the ER for this. They done a head CT and gave me some IV meds that took the edge off the slightest, enough to where I could at least function some, but still in pain. They told me that my head CT was normal and that I needed to go to the neurologist after getting an appointment. So a wasted trip in my eyes because I’m still left in pain with absolutely no idea what is going on.
I get in with my now neurologist in the new year and start going to see them. They prescribed me a lot of different medications for a period of time over 3 months to see what would help, news flash, nothing helped, ever, it’s still here to this day. I have also had a brain MRI and a EEG done as well. They thought that maybe with my issues with spina bifida occulta, that I had a Chiari Malformation or some type of seizure disorder that had just made itself known. Guess what, all scans are normal, spectacular even as they all told me, my scans were the picture of health! Then why do I feel so bad every single day.
Fast forward to many appointments and medications and blood panels later. I have an appointment with my neurologist to go over what we should do next. I told them that I was also starting to experience major abdominal pain on my right lower abdomen. They assumed that maybe it was appendicitis, so we done some tests, they assumed that I was fine and sent me downstairs for bloodwork. Now,‘I’ve never had issues with getting bloodwork done, I’m a super nerd about everything medical and have absolutely no weak stomach to anything. I am getting my blood drawn and completely black out. I mean stopped breathing and had compressions started in the middle of the lab. When I finally came to, they checked all of my vitals, all normal, minus my bp was a little bit elevated. Everything else, even sugar, all normal. I was rushed to the ER that is closest to my neurologist, which is 2 and a half hours away from my house. They thought maybe I did have appendicitis and it burst. Or a possible ovarian cyst.
In the ambulance and in the ER waiting for a room, it almost happens a second and third time. I’m terrified at this point. They run an EKG, abdominal CT, bloodwork, urine sample, ultrasounds, the entire works. Guess what, all comes back normal, except they did find that my liver is slightly enlarged? Odd, but okay. I get set up appointments with a cardiologist, a GI specialist, an orthopedist spine specialist, and told to visit my OBGYN for the possible ovarian pain.
Now time for a speed round of these appointments: - OBGYN says my abdominal pain is pelvic floor muscle spasms, no reason why, gave me muscle relaxers, has gone away mostly - Cardiologist says I need a heart monitor to assess my heart palpitations, haven’t gotten that yet, so at a dead end with that for now - Spine specialist done X-rays, confirmed spina bifida occulta, also diagnosed me with degenerative disc disease (runs in my family and I done gymnastics my entire life to make it worse), I have Bilateral sacroiliitis, and Mild lumbar stenosis, sending me to PT and getting dry needling done, just had my first appointment yesterday, so ongoing. - GI specialist does an insane amount of bloodwork (yay finally), and now I’m scheduled for a fibroscan of my liver next month.
However, the following are the current bloodwork results: - High chloride - Low CO2 - Low Bun - High Alpha-1 Antitrypsin - High iron - High Transferrin - High AST - High ALT (almost double the normal amount) - Positive Antinuclear Antibodies (ANA) - ANA Titer value 1:80 - ANA Pattern Homogeneous
They also told me that even through I have had all of my hepatitis vaccines throughout my stages of life, that I am NOT protected against Hepatitis B and need to go get another round of the vaccine, however, have no active Hepatitis B infection.
And the little background I have: currently on birth control, Loryna® (Drospirenone and Ethinyl Estradiol Tablets, USP) 3 mg/0.02 mg, for oral use, I have been on this since early 2020. And I was on Lexapro 10mg for a little over a year between late 2022 to very early 2024. I am no longer taking Lexapro.
I am stumped and confused and frustrated beyond compare at this point and don’t know where to turn to next. Has anyone had an experience even close to this or any advice for where I should turn next?

Hi everyone, I recently hurt my left knee while doing a standing quadricep stretch last week (weight on left leg), I lost balance and tried to correct myself, I then heard a loud cracking sound from my inner left knee.
I am still able to put some weight on my leg, extend and compress my left leg with some minor to acute pain. I also get some minor muscle spasms around the quads on-top of my knee
I went to the physio ASAP, they did some stretching and cycling work, had some acute and dull pain afterwards. they recommended and MRI as they thought it may be serious.
I got my MRI report back recently, here are the results:
Clicking sensation inside left knee following stretching. Acute pains and dull ache when touched. Localises the pain anterior and posterior to the left knee joint both medial and lateral aspects in accompanying patient's data sheet.
Technique: Axial, sagittal and coronal proton density with and without fat saturation and additional coronal Tl of the left knee.
Findings: Extensive abnormal intrameniscal signal change in the body and posterior horn of the medial meniscus, but it does not appear to breach the superior or inferior borders of the meniscus to indicate frank tear and it does not extend to involve the medial third of the meniscus.
Posterior root and meniscocapsular attachment posterior horn medial meniscus remain intact and normal. Medial compartment cartilage quite well maintained. Anterior and posterior cruciate ligaments intact.
Lateral meniscus and lateral compartment cartilage well maintained. Popliteus tendon and posterolateral corner structures appear intact. Tibial and fibular collateral ligaments intact and normal.Patellofemoral joint cartilage well maintained. Reasonably formed trochlea notch of the distal femur. Medial and lateral patella retinaculum appear normal. Slightly more than physiological amount of joint fluid. No Baker's cyst is seen. Insall-Salvati ratio 1 .1 and normal. Patellar tendon signal normal. No retropatellar or Hoffa's fat pad oedema is seen. Quadriceps tendon appears within normal limits.
Conclusion: No evidence of patellar tendinopathy. Abnormal signal in the body and posterior horn medial meniscus, more extensive than simple degenerative intrameniscal signal change, but does not breach the superior or inferior border of the meniscus to indicate frank tear. Might nevertheless be producing symptoms. No other potential cause for the knee symptoms identified.
By reading this report, I'm not certain if it's a strain, minor injury to the medial meniscus or something else and seeking further clarification.
I am a 27 year old male, 5'10 roughly 79kgs, a little out of shape. Weak core, tight glutes and hamstrings. Also weak lumbar back due to recent back injury.
Also seeking guidance, supplements and exercises to increase my chances of a optimal and quick recovery.
This has also taken a toll on my mental health as well as my recent back injury.
Appreciate any advice.

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The following two brain scans were provided by the Neuro-Warfare branch of the Halcyon Security Division (HSD) for the purpose of analyzing the thoughts, behaviors, and information of notorious gangsters Vincent 'Troy' Cohen and Bruno (Deadname: Koraak Tel-Char). At the point of the recording of this archival shared, Bruno has since received his rebirth therapy, and Vincent is currently serving a long-term rehabilitative and reeducative sentence in the Erebus Supermax Prison on Io.
Warning: the contents of this archival shared may be especially disturbing to some audiences. Viewer discretion is advised.
Warning: the contents of this archival shard are for the sole purpose of analyzing the thought patterns and memories of certain degenerate criminals in an effort to ascertain vital information that can be used to eliminate their organizations. Only staff with clearance level Omega may view this archival shared, and the viewership of this archival shared by anyone of inadequate clearance level will lead to twenty years in prison and a fine of over a hundred thousand credits.
Booting up memory scan: Vincent 'Troy' Cohen, November 4th, 2446…
Loading and processing firmware data… translating… memories and subconscious simulated…
Beginning archival shard presentation…
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"Do you have visuals of the target, Troy?"
I knelt down in the alleyway, the bodies of me and my partners shrouded in long, waterproof, ashen-gray overcoats the shade of dirty street scum that we wore to ward off the constant heavy rainfall the color of osmium. Our faces were covered in a mix of scrapped respirators, visors, or full metal face masks carved with intricate designs to hide our identities. On our waists were our badges of honor: leather belts studded with interlocked rivets made from blackened titanium, each buckle forged of silver and shaped into the head of our gang's symbol, the black mamba. We hid amongst the shadows of the dark midday of Halcyon City, the heavy, oppressive rains blanketing the roads paved obsidian-black with asphalt and weathered concrete walkways. The street lamps were always on, like beacons of false hope in a storm of melancholy.
The city was dark and dreary as always, the planet of Proxima Centauri B, renamed Dawn's Lamentation over a century ago, orbited the red dwarf star of Proxima Centauri, and the atmosphere was thick with natural smog and ever-storming rain clouds. That didn't dissuade people from living here: there was plenty of money to be had for shrewd industrialists and hardworking pioneers, even in the urban sprawl. But that life also came with risks, especially for those on the bottom of the totem pole.
I was a ganger, and we were criminals; full stop. I won't assault you with some spiel about how we're the good guys fighting oppression because, at the end of the day, we could be just as bad, if not worse, than Halcyon's Security Division, or the HSD for short. We were traffickers, killers, extortionists, and money launderers. We dealt with everything from stolen tech and military-grade hardware to hard drugs and sentients.
Yes, sentients. We trafficked sentients, but not in the way you might think. They weren't prisoners, in fact, we were their saviors if they had the cash. We had developed a reputation for fighting the power, but it was still business: sure, freeing captives from the clutches of the Protectorate. The disruption of its many oppressive organizations held a certain satisfaction in my heart for sure, but we didn't help those who couldn't pay unless someone else paid on their behalf. It was about making sure me and my gang, my family, could live a decent life for another day.
It helped that most of us joined after leaving the state yard for partaking in acts of 'degeneracy' and 'anti-xenopet illegalities' as if those terms meant anything anymore other than that we were a threat to the local status quo. It was hard to pick up a job as a former inmate when even in something as harsh and backbreaking as a job in the iridium mines near the poles when the employment office had you blacklisted as a degenerate, which lead to the formation of many of the gangs: we needed to make a living somehow, and when all social programs were cut off from you unless you submitted for 're-education' and the only way to put food on the table was subverting, breaking, or even downright fighting the law, you did what you had to do or you died on the streets a scorned beggar.
It wasn't like the HSD made it easy for us on even a good day: the local HSD units were armed to the teeth with advanced, military-grade hardware that you'd often see on the front lines of the Second Authority War: armored assault transports, a myriad of advanced war droids, all sorts of chemical countermeasures that made tear gas seem like putting the garden hose on mist mode, and of course advanced firearms. Add that to the fact that they were authorized to use deadly force when they deemed it necessary and you had a ruthless, heartless, and nearly unstoppable enemy. But we could make that work: we weren't trying to stop them, just to withstand them.
"Yeah, I got eyes on the prize, Koraak; seven armored transports, two for droids, five for prisoners."
Today wasn't a day for a normal job: we were getting bolder, cockier, more ambitious. Our numbers had swelled for the last few years after the raid at Barnard's Star and the fall of the Blood Dragon Mafia. Their leader, Saito Yasuhide, had committed seppuku as their manor burned, and his twin sons had gone down fighting rather than allowing themselves to be captured simply to face a firing squad. In the aftermath, many of the family's associates had fled to the surrounding systems, and with the sheer size and scope of the criminal underworld found here, it was no wonder that many people who had developed skills of the less legal variety had decided to form ranks with the gangs, and with them they brought guns, tech, knowledge, contacts, and even something that we thought wasn't possible beforehand: a semblance of peace between the gangs, or at least the closest thing to peace that gangs could cultivate effectively. With the fall of the Blood Dragons, we saw the writing on the wall, and the writing couldn't have been clearer: work together or die together.
"Sounds like a massacre, Troy: are you sure we can handle seven?"
"We ain't got no choice, Cinder: this job's double the usual rate, and that's not including the weapons and gear we could scrounge if this goes well," I hissed, my eyes scanning for any resistance. There were at least four guards for each van, not to mention at least eight droids in total, meaning that we were already outnumbered, but we had the element of surprise: we could make it work. "So put your balls in your purse and get ready to spill some blood."
Koraak snorted at our antics, which sounded like someone pulling the ripcord on a lawnmower. He was a veteran Russu Corsair, and while his past of slaving, raiding, and killing was unsavory, so were the lives we'd lived, so who were we to judge? All we cared about was that he was a brutal and capable fighter and a loyal brother in arms. It turned out that being a ganger wasn't much different from being a Corsair: you lived and died by a code of honor, you fought to the death for your brothers, and you lived to die for the sake of your gang and your family, simple as that. In a strange, ironic way, it was an incredibly honest way of life: we were under no illusions as to what we were, what we did, and why we did it, and we'd long since accepted it. The Russu related to us in that aspect, in many ways I could respect, which is why I hated what the Protectorate was doing, and why I couldn't grasp how most of humanity could just collectively lose their marbles so long ago. What had happened for us to deem all other life below us in such a demeaning and infantilizing way?
The Russu were a race of tall, muscle-bound Saurians with avian features, and Koraak was no exception: reaching almost seven feet in height and weighing over four hundred and fifty pounds, he could be an absolute menace if he so desired. His skin was covered in stubby, knobby scales and dense plumage, with elegant feathers adorning the ridges along his back as well as his forearms, elbows, knees, and the crests on his head. He almost looked like how paleontologists described velociraptors, with razor-sharp talons, feathers shaded in vibrant greens, reds, and purples, and a maw full of sharp teeth, but at the tip of his snout was a sharp, beak-like growth meant for ripping flesh off the bone.
The Russu were strange as hell, but they also looked almost cute in the same way a fully grown alligator was cute: they were obviously dangerous, but humans would always have this innate desire to anthropomorphize them and to pet them for some inexplicable reason, although common sense usually prevented that, at least amongst the very few of us left that were sane.
"Shut up, Troy! All I'm saying is that that'll be rough, and you know it," hissed Cinder. Cinder was a tall black man whose coffee-colored skin was covered in tattoos. He wore an ebony mechanic's jumpsuit with metal inserts underneath his grimy overcoat covering his body and a faded black respirator on his face. His eyes were a startling blue that seemed sorely out of place, and his hair was braided into thick cornrows along his scalp. He wore a pair of heavy black combat boots and palmed his compact shotgun in his hands, the square barrel less than seven inches. Like a lot of the weapons the Black Mambas carried on their persons and dealt in, they fired caseless ammunition; in Cinder's case it was 16x40mm caseless shotshells filled with depleted uranium micro-flechetes no thicker than a toothpick. Cinder nervously fiddled with the detachable tube magazine underneath the barrel, his hands shaking. Despite the shit I have him, I didn't blame him for being anxious: I was anxious too, even if I refused to show it. The biting cold of unease and pessimism was in my stomach, and I ran all the way that this job could go wrong in my head over and over.
"Just hold yourself together, this ain't anything we haven't done before, there's just more of it," I reassured Cinder, "besides, we're not alone; we have reinforcements across the street. We'll make it out of this alive."
Cinder nodded almost absentmindedly, his eyes downcast and his breathing shallow. I turned from him and back to Koraak, who was making sure he had everything on his person; he had a synthetic leather bandoleer across his chest that contained the heavy eight guage depleted uranium slugs he kept loading and unloading into his much larger, longer, and more traditional shotgun he nicknamed ‘carnage’ and several leather straps that held his Tu'shan daggers: traditional Russu pyramidal blades forged from a silvery alloy with all three edges serrated and the tip barbed to leave behind horrible, gaping wounds that gushed blood. They were wickedly sharp and absolutely straight like a stiletto, and the hilts and pommels were beautifully decorated. He wore no clothes underneath his overcoat to cover the countless scars and blemishes he's earned in combat across his chest and abdomen, and instead of a normal respirator or visor, he simply wore a hood over his head and some traditional Russu facial armor to protect his mouth, eyes, and cheeks.
"You ready to fight, Koraak? The caravan will pick up and leave soon."
Koraak was silent for a moment before nodding, a human gesture he had picked up after serving as a soldier with the Black Mambas for years. "I'm always ready to fight," he said before lifting up his shotgun and aiming down the sights at the reinforced front wheels of the first armored car in the caravan. He exhaled and fired, the slug ripping through both front tires and causing them to deflate and fall apart. The echo of the shot rang through the alleyway and the street, causing pedestrians to panic and flee the scene as heavily armored guards poured out of the side doors of the armored cars and unholstered their carbines.
"Go, now!" I shouted, and both me and Cinder rushed out into the fray, our guns raised. Koraak was right behind the two of us, providing covering fire with his shotgun. Several guards fell quickly, Koraak's precise fire and the sheer force of the depleted uranium slugs putting them down for good as their heads were vaporized or their chest cavities were turned to mush. He emptied the tube with one final shot that painted the grey matter of a security guard on the door of one of the armored cars, then racked the shotgun and expertly loaded it in threes, his hands deft and agile as he reached for more slugs faster than any human.
With the cacophony of our initial assault, more Black Mambas poured out from the alleyways and the subways, armed to the teeth with all manner of weapons; shotguns, submachine guns, pistols, machetes, baseball bats, and all manner of homemade explosives. Molotovs and more potent concoctions shattered against the asphalt, herding in the caravan guards with their volatile contents as they were quickly gunned down. The assault was working, and we were winning.
Then I heard the robotic whine of a combat droid activating, and my heart sank. One of the armored cars in the back activated the four combat droids it held, the robotic assault units detaching from their charging ports on the sides of the large van and began to form up, each armed with a terrifying array of deadly weapons meant to quash any and all resistance. They were blocky, soulless, utilitarian things that stood at eight feet tall, with flat feet meant for stomping and blades, grasping claws designed to lacerate flesh and shatter bone. On each shoulder was a weapon: on the left was a multi-barrel rotary grenade launcher loaded with 15mm concussion grenades, and on the right was a burst-fire splinter cannon. They were all painted a dull grayish-green, the color of Halcyon's Security Division, although some had a few decorations on them: the one closest to me had a bit of graffiti on the side that said Mr. Hugs in Comic Sans, which I couldn't decide whether that made it more or less terrifying. They split up without hesitation and began to scan the chaotic battlefield, their single, red, beady lenses the security forces had the gall to call eyes focusing on specific targets to eliminate.
An entire group of Black Mambas was torn to pieces by a cloud of flechettes as one of the droids fired a withering three-round burst of shotshells from the four gauge splinter cannon mounted on its shoulder. Another picked up a Black Mamba in its hand and crushed her skull effortlessly before tossing her limp body to the side, its single, red, remorseless robotic eye tracking a new target. Most bullets that struck their thick armored chassis simply bounced off, and those that could pierce the armor didn't seem to phase the droids whatsoever, merely notifying them of a new potential target.
"Damnit," I shouted as I gunned down another guard only for two more to take his place. "Cinder! We gotta pop open the cars and scram! Get the maglock cutters!"
Cinder rushed and slid over through a dirty puddle, pulling out a maglock cutter from the inside of his coat and slipping it onto the back door of the first van. It immediately went to work, drilling through the maglock with a high-powered plasma torch nozzle, and within ten seconds we heard the telltale clunk of the maglock separating. I yanked the door open and ordered I side, ready to escort the prisoners out… only for my face to contort in shock and horror.
The back was empty. There was not a single soul inside of the back brig of the armored car.
"What the fuck…" Cinder gasped, his eyes wide with shock. "What the actual fuck… what the fuck is this, Troy?"
"I… I don't…" I stuttered the sounds of battle and carnage drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in my ears. All five cars were supposed to be filled with recently captured Russu from the front lines ready to be housed in the local Xenopet-Megaplex for processing and conditioning. The fact that this one was empty…
Suddenly, it all hit me at once with the force of a freight train, but it was too late. "We were set up, Cinder; our fucking client either squealed or was crooked to begin with…"
"Fucking bitch!" Cinder shouted as he spun around in an enraged arch, anger growing in his eyes. He aimed his shotgun at an approaching security guard and reduced his upper body to a fine red mist with a cacophony of shotgun blasts. "We gotta get everyone who's left out of here! Do you know what this means? The Jurors will be here soon, and then we're all going down! We gotta go, fuck the job!"
I grit my teeth. Not the Jurors, anything but the Jurors.
"Fine, gather everyone who's left and we'll slip through the sewers, the droids are too bulky to follow us there…"
As I spoke, my eyes wandered to the seventh and final armored car, the second of the droid cars, and my blood froze. Not only were all four ports empty, but they were also smaller and more shallow than the ports for the combat droids. That could only mean one thing.
"Oh fuck! Cinder, we gotta get our Russu members out of here! They've got arachnid droids!"
Arachnid droids were the stuff of nightmares. Resembling blocky, robotic arachnids the size of a manhole cover, they were specifically designed to take down sentient aliens, specifically the Russu, using sickeningly non-lethal means. They were equipped with full-body adaptive cloaking to blend in with their environments, paralytic agents that they could inject into their victims, built-in taser barbs, psychedelic gas ports for crowd-control, and a narrow-coned cacophony canon that disabled the Russu using incredibly high-pitched sounds that only they could hear, forcing them onto their knees and clutching the backs of their heads where their auditory organs were stored in agony. But worst of all was their stygian spinnerets: special ports near the end of their robotic abdomens that excreted a viscous, latex-like substance made up of millions of nano-bots. This substance could be used to render Russu blind, deaf, and mute by having it forced onto their faces, the black substance growing and enveloping their heads and working its way into every orifice. It was completely permeable to the standard atmosphere, but any Russu who had been 'webbed' was completely helpless and essentially captured, and the 'webbing' was both nearly indestructible and nigh impossible to remove without a triple-encrypted override key that was found in every arachnid droid's code, which was corrupted when the droid was destroyed or hacked into. Once you were 'webbed', you were essentially captured and the standard protocol was to leave you to the wolves since the nano-bots could be tracked, endangering the entire gang.
I turned just as I heard the deafening sound of Koraak discharging his shotgun, and I saw him squaring off against one of the assault droids. The droid has obviously been programmed to not use lethal force against Russu if possible, as instead of simply killing Koraak with it's shoulder-mounted splinter cannon, it approached with its claws extended, blades retracted. Koraak continued to back away and fire, pumping the droid full of depleted uranium slugs, its armor crumbling inward as the slugs pierced its chassis and damaged its internal cyberstructure. Eventually, Koraak ran out of slugs and instinctively reached to his bandoleer only to find that he had no more shells left at all, and he drew one of his knives and his sidearm, a simple high-caliber handgun. He tried to take down the droid with his handgun, but the bullets didn't even seem to affect the droid upon penetration, it's claws still extended as it attempted to apprehend Koraak.
In the corner of my vision, as I watched Koraak battle with the droid, I noticed a faint shimmer in the air on one of the black streetlight poles that was right behind him. I focused on it and blinked, believing my eyes had deceived me for a moment before realizing that it was actually a cloaked arachnid droid stalking Korvaak, ready to pounce and incapacitate him.
Before I could shout, it leaped from the pole and landed on Korvaak, causing him to shout in surprise while it began to coagulate its horrifying stygian webbing to disable Korvaak. Korvaak tried to wrestle it off of him, but the droid was agile and fast, clinging onto Korvaak and skittering around across his upper body as he attempted to grab it, forcibly wrapping the sticky black liquid across his face as he gagged like a spider wrapping up a fly. I rushed towards him to try and help, but I felt pain explode in my ribs as I was struck with the arm of the closest combat droid and launched into the chassis of a parked car, the metal denting from the sheer force of impact. I groaned in pain as I saw stars and my head spun, and just then I felt a blinding light be cast over me.
“Drop your weapons and kneel with your hands on your head, or you will be pacified with deadly force!” Shouted a loud, artificially deepened voice from above. “I repeat, drop your weapons and kneel with your hands on your head! Neither hostility nor hesitation will be tolerated!”
It was the Jurors, I could feel the air being pushed around from the thrusters on their drop ships, and I could hear screams and shouts as my fellow Black Mambas were quickly gunned down. I couldn’t see well since I was seeing double, but I could hear the slaughter as my eyes dimmed and I began to lose consciousness, my regrets crawling up my throat like vomit.
I’m sorry was all I could think as everything finally went dark, and the sounds of chaos, destruction, and combat faded away.
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Memory halted due to loss of consciousness. Booting next available memory in shard…
Booting up memory scan: Koraak Tel-Char Bruno, November 5th, 2446…
Loading and processing firmware data… translating… memories and subconscious simulated…
Beginning archival shard presentation…
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“Good morning, sleepyhead; it’s time for breakfast.”
My eyes shot open. I was not in the street anymore, nor was I home in my bed with my mate. I knew instantly that something was horribly wrong. I tried to stand up, but I couldn’t gain the leverage to do so: my ankles had been shackled together with magnetic cuffs and my arms were forced together in front of me.
I was wearing some kind of thick shirt. It was warm, fluffy, and comfortable on the inside, but it still made me incredibly uncomfortable that my arms didn’t have a free range of motion. I looked down to see that I was wearing some human garment I had heard about before, a straightjacket maybe?
The entire room was padded: the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. There was no bed or furniture; the floor was soft enough to serve as a bed in itself. There was nothing else except for the soft reddish-orange lights on the ceiling that somehow made me sleepy. I blinked slowly for a moment, my body screaming at me to just lay back down and lose consciousness, but I couldn’t do that: I needed to figure out where I was and how to escape.
Then I noticed who was speaking to me: it was a short human female, with crow's feet around her blue eyes, blonde hair braided down her back, and freckles all over her face. She had a soft smile on her lips, and her forehead was slightly crinkled. She wore a full-body white lab suit with a white overcoat and a pair of glasses for snugly on her face.
"There we go, now I can see those pretty eyes, such a beautiful shade of teal," she cooed softly, "You're such a handsome boy, even with all those scars: I'm sure you'll be adopted very quickly once we get you fixed up."
Fear gripped my heart as I began to piece all the evidence together. I had been captured; I was no longer on Halcyon, and instead, I was in one of the horrific space-born facilities I had heard so much about from the inside agents. I started to hyperventilate and squawk like a newborn hatchling, my eyes dilating in panic. This couldn't be happening! This has to be a nightmare!
The human woman merely wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into an embrace, cradling my head under her chin and speaking softly. I couldn't bite at her or claw at her: I was muzzled and wearing a straight jacket, so I had no choice but to allow her to coddle me.
"It's okay, sweetheart: I understand you're scared, but Julie's here to make all the pain and bad thoughts go away," she said as if she was comforting a child, which made anger blossom in my chest indignantly. "I'll be your caretaker for the next few months, and I'm going to make sure you're healthy, happy, and most importantly safe while you're under our care. I'm sorry to say that includes your restraints and restrictive clothing, but we have to make sure you aren't a threat to yourself or others before we can determine if it's a good idea to remove you from suicide watch."
I growled under my muzzle. Suicide watch? They must have had a lot of instances of Russu taking their own lives after being captured, something I wished I had been able to do before that damnable droid launched itself onto me and…
I shuddered at the thought of the black, viscous substance forcing itself into my nostrils and down my throat and windpipe, gagging me and rendering me completely helpless. It was so cold, so harsh, like slime, and when I had tried to tear it off of my face it merely attached itself to my claws and bound my talons together. I remember squirming on the ground as it enveloped me, unable to see, hear, or speak, and then everything went dark in an instant. It was the most horrible thing I had ever experienced, which was saying something.
"You alright, sweetheart? Oh, I know, you're probably hungry! Here, try some of this." She held up a piece of what looked like raw bacon and wiggled it in front of me before reaching out to remove my muzzle. In an instant, I attempted to snap at her only for pain to blossom in my forehead and my eyes to roll up in my head as I convulsed. It was like something was attempting to drill through my skull from the inside, and every breath felt empty and labored.
"Now, that didn't feel very nice, did it? This is why we have countermeasures in place because we can't trust you yet, sweetheart! Don't worry, we'll work on breaking you of all those bad behaviors and habits while you're here; after all, a well-trained pet is a happy pet!" She began to stroke the crests on my head as I slowly recovered, and she snugly fit the muzzle back onto my snout. "But I won't hold it against you this time, sweetheart; you're just scared and confused, but I'll make all the pain go away."
I struggled in the straight jacket, trying my best to break out of it, but it was no use. Eventually, I became exhausted and despondent, allowing my new caretaker to have her way with me as she gently ran her fingers through my feathers and along my ridges, quietly speaking to me in a hopeless attempt to cheer me up. She seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being, which concerned me even further: who could be this naturally twisted while attempting to be as benevolent and kindhearted as possible?
I felt the pain and terror build up in my chest, the anxiety from what horrific activities I imagined they had planned for me here. I couldn't take the infantilization, the lack of any autonomy, the dehumanization, and what I feared the most was if the rumors of 'rebirth' were true: would they take my personhood from me?
Suddenly, I felt her whisper to me. "Don't worry sweetheart, I know you're so scared and confused, but I promise you everything will be okay: it's going to be your birthday soon, and then everything will get better." She ran her fingers through the feathers along my crest lovingly. "It will be such a wonderful day, and then we'll choose for you the most wonderful family, and you'll spend the rest of your life happy in your forever home! Doesn't all of that sound wonderful?"
I wanted to die. I wanted to disappear. I didn't want to lose myself, not like this, not to these monsters!
"It'll be your birthday soon," she said wistfully as if she was remembering similar events to this in the past like I wasn't the first she'd done this too, "and you'll never be sad again."
I realized that I wasn't the first the stay in this particular cell, and I knew for certain that I wouldn't be the last: I'd end up like my brother, a broken, erased mess of a pathetic creature, reduced to nothing more than a pet for these humans to amuse themselves with.
"We took the liberty of picking out a nice name for you, sweetheart! Now, let me just slip this little programming chip into the port slot on your occipital bone, and... there we go! It will also help you calm down a bit and adjust."
I felt the chip begin to invade my mind, suppressing my thoughts. What made me me was slowly being ripped out of my mind. I couldn't remember my name my name is Bruno, and I needed to get out! I can't let them do this to me! Somebody help me! I was a good boy.
##Do not think. You are a good boy.##
I tried to scream, but my voice wouldn't work: I had trouble forming any words at all, the confusion clouding my mind like wet, slimy eels curling around my brain and sinking their teeth into its folds like needles. I couldn’t scream any longer, because I had nothing left: the chip was slowly beginning to take everything from me, robbing me of my identity and branding a new one into my psyche with a white-hot iron. Julie simply held me close, attempting to reassure me as I awaited the inevitable demise of my personhood. Soon I would be just like my brother: erased. My mind would be shaped into the mind of a loyal plaything, like a Dog.
##Relax. Allow caretaker [Julie] to comfort you. You will let go of your burden.##
Soon, everything was a blur. I quickly found myself resting my head in her lap as she whispered to me and fed me, my eyes bleary and my head fuzzy. I couldn't remember my name anymore My name was Bruno, and I needed to break free from this trance relax, and allow her to help me; good boys didn't resist help.
##Good Boy. Do not think. You are a good boy.##
You can't... I...
##Good boy.##
I wouldn't… good boys don't… I…
##Good boy##
I was a good boy… I was a good boy…
I was… I was… a good… boy…
Someone help me, please! I don't want to be erased!
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The following script is from episode #343 of Halcyon After Dark, a popular late-night and current events talk show hosted by Melinda Carter. This specific episode was sponsored in part by the Halcyon Security Division, with Director Lochlin O'Brien joining as a guest star to talk about the changing crime statistics in Halcyon City and the HSD's recent successes in busting organized crime as well as their plans for addressing the growing criminal underworld.
MC: Good evening Halcyon! I'm your host, Melinda Carter, and you're watching Halcyon's most popular late-night talk show, Halcyon After Dark!
The crowd claps and cheers as Melinda walks on stage and sits behind her desk, her glittering red dress waving as she does so from the special effects.
MC: Tonight we have a very special guest here to tell us about the state of crime in the city and his plans on resolving it: please put your hands together for the HSD's very own Director, Lochlin O'Brien!
The crowd cheers some more as HSD Director Lochlan O'Brien, a tall, muscular, caucasian male in his early forties with red hair and a well-trimmed beard steps into the room, waving at the crowd with a bright smile. He sits in the armchair angled next to Melinda's desk and gives her his full attention.
MC: It's so good to have you on the show, Director! Tell me, how are you doing on this fine evening?
LO: I'm doing excellent, Melinda: every day I wake up feeling fulfilled knowing I'm serving Halcyon to the best of my abilities and then some."
MC: That's the spirit, Director! Now, I know this question is just on everyone's lips, so I have to ask: how successful was the recent gang bust? I heard HSD forces took out dozens of gang members and liberated at least a dozen Russu Hounds from their abusive clutches, but I know that everyone in the audience and at home wants to know the numbers.
LO: I'd be glad to tell you, but I do have to preface this by saying that we still lost a lot of good officers that day, and while we did strike a crippling blow to one of Halcyon's biggest gangs, it doesn't change the fact that each death is a tragedy, and we're taking steps to prevent them in the future. That being said, those valiant officers did not sacrifice themselves in vain: we had over a dozen confirmed kills and several arrests, including the rescue of several corrupted Russu hounds.
MC: That's excellent, Director: proof that even when the number of degenerates and scum grow by the day, the HSD will always be here to keep the citizens of Halcyon safe.
LO: Absolutely, Melinda, and we're always working tirelessly to increase the efficiency and effectiveness of our units, as well as racing to stay several steps ahead of the many gangs of Halcyon at all times. My newest goal as Director is to vastly increase the funding given to our Robotics Department and our Neuro-Warfare Department to potentially reduce the number of casualties we may experience in the future, as well as to quickly and effectively detain, and if necessary, eliminate criminals. Within the next decade, I want to double the number of automated units each Security Platoon is assigned: droids are the future of public safety as well as countless other industries, and it would be foolish to be left behind.
MC: That is quite a lofty goal, Director: what about the displaced jobs from the increased automation? What will the union say?
LO: And to that, I say: what misplaced jobs? We aren't replacing our honored and beloved service members with droids, Melinda, we are simply supplementing our units with more droids to ensure that future gang assaults end with fewer HSD casualties and more gang members in prison or eliminated, simple as that.
MC: That makes much more sense, Director, thanks for clarifying. Now, I have one more question that I'm sure much of Halcyon wants to know the answer to before we take a short break: what plans do you and your fellow directors have to make long-term progress in reducing crime beyond just increasing funding? Have you proposed any plans to strike at the source of where crime and degeneracy flourish?
OL: That's an excellent question, and one I am proud to answer: my constituents and I have been working tirelessly on a two-step plan to greatly reduce crime levels in Halcyon. Step one would be to prevent people from becoming criminals and degenerates at all in the first place: a lot of young men and women, but especially young men, have lost either one or both parents or even a sibling, aunt or uncle, or even a close friend by the brutality of the Second Authority War, and while the service of their lost loved ones will always be recognized and honored, many of these young men and women are left bitter, angry and lost without the guidance these people give them in their lives. Oftentimes they seek to fill that void with others who claim to relate to them: career criminals. These criminals will fill their heads with lies and false narratives to make them feel like they're fighting back against the 'evil protectorate government' that took their loved ones from them by sending them off to war when in reality it was the rogue Xenopets of the Triarchy that took them away by resisting their just and inevitable unburdening.
In response, I have proposed a slew of special programs that will make sure local law enforcement and HSD officers are present and contributing to their local community, and we'll be providing easy and light job openings for youngsters and teens looking to make a career for themselves in the force when they grow up. We want to let these lost souls know that there are people who care about them, people who understand them and that you shouldn't turn to degeneracy to feel fulfilled. We want to help the youth of our great society soar to new heights!
MC: That sounds like a wonderful beginning to your plan, Director, but what about the second step?
LO: Well, the second step is to prevent criminals and degenerates from becoming repeat criminals. Sure, they've made their mistakes, some worse than others, but they're only human like the rest of us. Some of them have been through hell: some are traumatized veterans who don't know how to adapt to normal life, others were recruited when they were young and don't know that there's a better way to live, and even more are mentally ill. We're alone in this galaxy, and we can't leave so many people behind. That's why we've come up with an excellent solution: we've set up isolated communities on distant moons and frontier planets where these criminals can be reeducated, rehabilitated, and allowed to repay their debt to society. When they're deemed 'reformed' and have graduated from our program, they'll be granted a hefty stipend and their criminal record will be deemed irrelevant, allowing them to reintegrate and become functioning members of our proud society.
MC: all of these sound like incredible steps forward in the fight to better our society and make real progress, Director. Sadly, we do have to step away for a moment, but you best believe I'll be back, Halcyon, and we'll be asking the Director here some burning questions about allegations over the quality of life Erubus Supermax! Now, a word from our sponsors!
Halcyon Xenopet-Megaplex! Everything your xenopet could ever need in one place! Adoption is now free-
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Good, you’re still alive! The rest of this shard appears to be corrupted, which means this particular trail seems to have run cold here, but do not despair; you need to keep searching. Find out what happened. Find the truth.I cannot guide you any longer: they've already found me, and if I remain in contact with you they'll find you as well. Take the archival database, and see what you can piece together. Maybe if we discover what truly happened we can put an end to this madness once and for all. I'm counting on you. Don't cry for me, I don't fear death, but I fear what they'll do to me to get to you: there are far worse fates than death, after all.

After having emergency surgery and having all my samples sent to pathology…. There’s no proof of conception. The surgeon said to watch for pain because the ectopic could still be in there. I haven’t gotten my hcg blood test results yet, but my pregnancy test are still positive. I still have both tubes, she left them. She said they looked fairly normal besides the left one was swollen. Now I’m worried that maybe there is one in my left tube. The only thing is how can I tell the difference between surgery pain and ectopic pain? My surgery was Tuesday morning and I was in pain, but I had no idea I was badly internally bleeding. I had a cyst that burst (possibly containing the ectopic but it got expelled when it ruptured).
What was your pain after surgery? Did it cause pains in your sides? My left side feels like a pulled muscle when I move and aches here and there, but I just had surgery three days ago.
Note: hcg levels were 42 then 65 forty eight hours later. Then 96 hours later they were 99.

I have long Covid for 3 years +.. I was at a baseline for 2 years where I can work full time from home and go on walks and be happy with little to no symptoms. Short story is that I caught a cold this February and now I’m having issues where I feel like I have very little energy in my whole body .. it fluctuates during the day with muscle pains in my arms and forearms/shoulders. I think I do have PEM but not sure because I hurt all the time in the arms and feel heavy in my body when trying to barely walk. I can use the bathroom and move to the couch when I need to and be fine, but standing for to long is a no for me now. Typically around 5pm comes around symptoms tend to ease up a bit. Is there anything that can help? It’s been 3 months like this now and it’s terrible 😭.. any suggestions to ask for my doctors to test me for? I’ve never had these problems within my 3 years + of hauling ,Thank you guys 😓

So about 8 months ago, I (25 F, 5'7, 210lbs) was put on visanne (a dienogest pill) to help with my ovarian cysts. I'd tried everything. But they kept growing and rupturing and it was incredibly painful and the sizes they were getting were dangerous. So my doctor said okay. Let's try six months of visanne. The first month was hell, with major depression. But then I got accustomed to the pill and the depression went away. By the sixth month, i had been completely pain free. No more issues with cysts. But i had gained about 30 lbs. Despite eating well and exercising. The high stress environment of my work combined with the medication just worked against me with respect to my weight. My doctor wanted me to do two more months because i still had some small cysts. I did one more, and then decided to stop because I couldnt handle the side effects anymore. I decided to try to lose all the excess weight, and control my problem without medication. So i cut out rice, flour, any wheat products really, dairy, and added sugar. I dont drink fruit juices or any beverage that isnt water or herbal tea. It's been a sacrifice but I got accustomed and don't miss it anymore. I eat a lot of protein and vegetables, and fruit everyday. I focus on nutrient dense foods, and fiber. I make sure i get enough fiber. I also strength train everyday (a different muscle group everyday) and walk/jog for 30 mins to 45 mins everyday. Thing is i only lost 2 pounds in the past month. I have definitely gotten smaller. Jeans that were too tight fit me great now. Tight sleeves are not tight anymore. Measurements in inches are going down. I know I am losing weight. But why isnt the scale budging? It's been on the same number for the past 10 days. Not going up or down. It's kind of frustrating. (I weigh myself everyday under the same conditions and plot it on a graph to see how my weight fluctuates). I'm trying so hard. I have like 50lbs to lose. At this rate it might take me two years :( Can anyone comment how long it took you to lose 50 lbs? How did you deal with hitting a plateau?

/uw A long one today. Special thanks to u/Lilith_Anorthosite who co-wrote this with me. Previous post here.
Vashric rips through the City of Dis like a jagged knife. Having been discovered by the horde of demons, stealth is no longer an option. Disintegration rays fly wildly through the air. War devils are broken down and blown apart. Walls and frames are atomized, several buildings collapse around them. He wants to fly out of the chaos but his telekinesis is still focused on stabilizing his body, a constant effort even now. He extends his wings to take off but the war devils dog him down. The fight devolves into a grapple as the horde piles onto Vashric, stabbing, slashing, tearing.
A violet light emanates from the pile, then a massive flash. The closest devils are vaporized immediately, the rest are blinded and stunned. With his psychomantic power severely hindered for the moment, Vashric resorts to hand-to-hand combat. Punches, kicks, claw slashes, tail whips, even in his weakened state Vashric is a force to be reckoned with. As strikes land, the fiends are reduced to bloody mists and fileted corpses.
Hundreds of the demons are felled before an opening presents itself. He throws his wings out, knocking multiple fiends away, and takes to the sky. The smoke-laden clouds of Dis parts ways before him as he reaches hypersonic speeds. The leftover war devils make chase, but quickly disappear behind the horizon, unable to keep up with Vashric’s sheer velocity. The eyes on his wings open again, scanning the ground below for any hell gates. He soars over the city, on and on. His frustration nearly rises to a boiling point, before he finally notices a gate on the outskirts, guarded by four large devils. He lands immediately, the force shakes the ground around him. He approaches the enforcers.
The largest, a massive, scarred pit fiend, calls to him, “Hark, grey devil, what business do you have-”
“I don’t have time for this, get out of my way.”
The pit fiend only smirks, “Your insubordination offends, whelp. Your skull will make a fine addition to my collection.”
The fiend motions to the other three demons, they draw their weapons and move in on Vashric. One to his left readies to bring down its cleaver but freezes, “I really don’t have time for this,” in a blur, Vashric had buried his hand in the demon’s chest, gripping around its spine, crushing it. He lets go and the demon slumps onto the dirt. The other two are dazed. “Kill him!” the pit fiend snarls at his soldiers. They regain some resolve and move in for the attack. The exchange is short lived, however. Vashric grasps the forearm of one demon, tearing it off, then thrusts their blade through the eye socket of the other. The first demon clinches its bloody stump before Vashric removes its head.
The pit fiend growls at him as he approaches, “Perhaps you’re a little more than just a whelp,” the massive hellspawn lunges at Vashric, letting loose with a flurry of practiced cuts. They miss, though, Vashric weaves through each attack. An opportunity presents itself, one punch shatters ribs, the other causes skull fractures. The fiend falls to the ground with a low thud. It tries to curse him, but can’t form words as it fades into unconsciousness. Without a word, Vashric steps through the hell gate.
He’s brought to the next layer through a tunnel of fire. He gets that same, fleeting sense of nostalgia. The portal opens up to a mountainside overlooking the outskirts of another city, this one gothic in appearance. Tortured souls adorn the buildings, their bodies melded into the stone, whispering pleads. From his position, Vashric can barely see a group of sinners and demons. He uses his ESP to get a closer look, and it reveals an enslaved workforce of the damned. They’re being whipped and abused by their infernal masters as they’re forced to pull around large stones. They haul the masonry to a large monument under construction. A statue to some sort of leonide figure it seems.
“So, this is Pri-”
He keels over, hugging his chest. The pressure returns, he can feel the changes again, somehow spurred on by his traveling to another circle of Hell. His rematerialization kicks into overdrive trying to fight back the demonic transformation. He falls to the ground, totally immobile. After a few moments of pure agony, he finds the strength to send out a telepathic signal, hoping Lilith is close enough to hear him, hoping this too isn’t jammed.
“Rghhh, gods d-damn, that’s going to h-hurt in the- RGGHH- in the morning. An assist would be really nice right about now.”
Meanwhile, Lilith is roaming the streets of Pride in search of her friend. Having arrived not long ago after receiving Vashric’s nebulous message. Midstep she’s struck by his psychic call and responds immediately after catching herself, “I got your message. I came as fast as I could, but, from what I saw on the news, I don't know if I can help. Where are you right now? The city is huge.”
Vashric is confused for a moment, “The news? RGGHH! O-Okay, n-not important. I could use some h-help getting this demon magic un-under control. H-Hang on,” Vashric expends just enough energy to send out a psychic ping to Lilith, “There, did-did you f-feel that? That’s me.”
A silver cloud appears in front of Vashric, it quickly dissipates to reveal Lilith still in her work attire, “I'm here! Vashric, what's happening?!”
Vashric is spasming on the ground, his body ripping itself apart and desperately trying to put itself back together. Muscles tearing out of skin, bones contorting into unnatural shapes, a horrible sight. His voice grates past his teeth, “The ch-changes are b-back. They won’t s-stop.”
“This isn't normal! This is too much demonic energy for most demons to handle. That includes me.”
“L-Lilith, ple-ease. Anything w-will help. I’ve had t-t-to shatter a-nd rebuild my skel-skeleton like three times n-now,” Vashric motions to the bones jutting out of his arm.
Lilith’s mind races with potential solutions. She flips through years of magical knowledge in her mind but almost every solution she can think of requires time. Time she doesn't have. Only one seems feasible at the moment.
“I'm going to get in trouble for this but it's the only thing I can think of. I’m going to use some of your energy for a summon spell.”
“T-Trouble? Summon who?- No, it d-doesn’t matter. I’ll take the blame, I-I don’t care. How f-f-fast can you s-summon them?”
“The summoning should be quick. The main issue is that what I'm doing is illegal and may cause some issues,” Lilith begins preparing the spell.
Vashric gets to his hands and knees with a growl of pain, small fissures form across his skin as magenta hellfire streams out from the wounds. He tries to stand, “I’m n-n-ot very m-mobile at the moment, sor-sorry, you’ll h-have to for-forgive me.”
Lilith scans the area for a moment. She sees nothing, but decides to set a silence spell around the two, just in case. “I can't have others hear this chant.” She then starts to speak in Infernal tongue. As she does, the energy streams from Vashric into a singular spot. A deep red rift forms in the air. A clawed hand grips the edge, enlarging the tear. The massive and broad figure of a warrior demoness walks out.
Vashric growls in pain as the magenta flames burn ever brighter. His skin chars as he does his best to hold back further demonic transformation. Totally unconcerned with the she-devil exiting the portal.
The demoness speaks, her voice not of brimstone and fire but of care and worry, “Lilith why are you trying to summon me? You know you can just call me?
Fully stepping out of the rift Asmodian General, Liliana Obsidiantail finally gets a proper look at the mutating grey devil, “Lilith, what's going on?”
Lilith addresses her mother in a panic,“I'm sorry mama, but it’s my friend, Vashric. The one that absorbed all of that demonic energy. He’s changing again! It was manageable the first few times but something is different now!”
Vashric struggles to address Lilith’s mother, “H-H-ello, I’m Vash-ric. F-Friends call me Vash. It’s n-nice to finally m-meet you.” Vashric waves with a flame wreathed hand, “I c-c-could use some help.”
Liliana’s voice becomes rougher once talking to him, “We can leave introductions for later.”
She turns to the rift she came through and with a wave of her hand the destination changes to a military base. Her voice becomes a deep demonic growl as she yells orders. Lesser demons run about grabbing brimstone pylons from what look like weapons. The demons swiftly and efficiently set the equipment up.
“This should contain the excess energy. This isn't going to be pretty, though.”
Vashric lets out an otherworldly snarl as his jaws and teeth begin to extend past his lips, splitting the skin of his mouth, “Do it!”
“Lilith, make sure none of this magic is discharged into the surrounding area. The equipment isn’t made for this. If the energy doesn’t flow directly from him to the pylons something could explode. Either the pylons or your friend.” Her mother's command shocks Lilith out of her nervous panic as she prepares herself.
Liliana then turns to Vashric with a sharpened spike connected to the pylons by metal chains and stabs it into his chest. He barely winces at the stabbing, initially, but forms a low, rumbling grow as the siphoning begins.
The energy emanating from Vashric is continually guided into the pylons but it starts to affect everyone in the area. Lilith attempts to form a barrier to seal in the surge, increasing the intensity for everyone inside. Shadowy tendrils rise up from the ground, writhing and pulsing. The pylons begin to glow with the same searing magenta. If all present weren’t fiends, they would surely burn alive inside the barrier. Faint, infernal whispers become audible.
The lesser demons that set up the pylons grip their heads as they topple over. Lilith’s eyes go wide as she recognizes the voices from her dreams. Her mother's eyes become fiercer as she forces the spike deeper into Vashric’s chest. He howls as his eyes become pits of fire, the burning continues but the bodily changes seem to slow. The whispers rise in volume, now. They assault Lilith and Liliana. Only they can hear its message, “The black waters rise. Rejoice in His work.”
Liliana yells to Lilith, “Who or what did you get involved with? What in the Nine Hells is speaking to us?”
“Liliana, soldier of Hell. His kingdom is imminent. Join Him in the black waters, where the blood collects. Rejoice in His work.”
Her response is quick,“I’m loyal to Asmodeus and to my family. Burn your heinous tongue in the eternal fires.”
Their minds are filled with insidious laughter, “The black waters rise. Rejoice in His work,” With that, the voice fades away. Vashric comes back to consciousness, spasming slightly. The pylons are burning like suns, but his transformation seems to stabilize for now.
Lilith releases the barrier, exhausted. Liliana pulls the spike out of Vashric and drops it to the ground. She grabs him by the collar and her voice becomes like brimstone, “You have some explaining to do.”
Vashric turns his head, taking a moment to spit a black, tar-like substance onto the ground. It writhes like the shadows from earlier. His voice is raspy and haggard, “I appreciate your assistance, truly, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.” This was a half-truth, Vashric had a good idea as to what she meant.
“Now, could you put me down? I’ll repay you when I can, but I have to continue my journey.”
“You’re not going anywhere that isn't a holding cell.”
“...I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry, I know this probably isn’t how you wanted to spend your day. Why don’t we talk things out before someone does something they regret,” Vashric gestures to Lilith, “We shouldn’t fight in front of your daughter, my friend.”
Lilith speaks up, “Mama, could you put him down?”
Liliana’s voice softens a bit, “Lilith, your ‘friend’ has caused major destruction in Dis. Multiple laws have already been broken. I'm not even supposed to be in this circle. So, no, I'm not going to put him down.”
She yells at the demons under her command to get up and take the pylons back to base as she chains Vashric.
He struggles against her hold, “Hey! Excuse me, I’m going to meet Astaroth, grand duke of the 9th. I’m sure he’ll clear everything up when I get there,” Vashric grips Liliana’s arm, then speaks to her, both verbally and telepathically, “Now. Put. Me. Down. Please.”
His telepathy collides with Liliana’s warded mind, “We’ll send a message to the grand duke when we get to your cell. If what you say is true, you should have no worries waiting for his response.”
Vashric glares at her, but doesn’t want to make a scene in front of Lilith, and doesn’t have enough strength to fight back anyway, “Fine. I’m not going to move rings yet, though. Not until I have time to meditate and replenish some of my psychomancy. Every time I’ve traveled between layers so far, this has only gotten worse.”
“I wasn't planning to. Now, where is the enforcement in this city?”
Liliana looks to the horizon and eventually sees the group of sinners in the distance, still lugging around large stones, headed by their demonic overseers. She spreads her massive wings and turns to her daughter, “Lilith, hold on.” She scoops her up and flies towards the demons, Vashric dangling in her other hand.
Liliana flies low enough to speak to the overseers, hovering just above them, she calls out, “I am Liliana, Guardian of Debauchery. I need to know where the nearest prison is.”
One of the demons motions for the sinners to halt and looks to Liliana, “What’cha be doing in Pride? We’re a long ways away from your circle.”
“Doing the job of whoever’s guarding this entrance.”
The demon gives her a defiant look, but doesn’t argue, too busy with its tasks. It points towards a large black spire in the center of the city. “Most prisoners are taken to the citadel, Sabnock will want a word, but he ain’t here at the moment. The lieutenant can see you for now.”
“Thank you,” Liliana turns and starts to fly in the spire's direction, Lilith and Vashric in tow.
Vashric chimes in, “This is really quite unnecessary, I can fly myself,” But Liliana ignores him. He turns to Lilith and speaks telepathically, “Lilith, I was expecting your mother to be a lot kinder, like you…”
Lilith, in a slightly quivering voice, “Well, if this introduction had been over some tea she’d likely be much nicer. She’s supposed to be on the job right now.” As the mental conversation continues, Lilith’s appearance starts to change.
“Why didn’t you say anything? I could have conjured tea-” Vashric stops, “Were your antlers always that long?”
“My antlers shouldn't be your concern at the moment! What happened back there? This wasn't like your other transformations.”
“It’s been getting worse the deeper into Hell I’ve traveled. I don’t know why. What’s more, the-” He pauses, contemplating how much he should divulge, “I never told you, but there have been…whispers, voices. This isn’t the first I’ve dealt with them, but they’ve been getting worse ever since I turned. Don’t worry about me, though, I’ll be fine. It’ll take more than hell magic to put me down.”
“Whispers? We heard whispers when we were siphoning your magic. They spoke exactly like a figure in the dream I had last night.”
“You’re serious? They talked to you? They talked to you in a dream? What did they say? Lilith, I need you to tell me exactly what they said.”
“They just said a lot about a ‘Herald’ and ‘black waters rising.’ That ‘He’ will make things start anew. Also, they repeated ‘rejoice in His work’ a lot.”
“They mentioned black waters?... Shit. Lilith, you need to leave, you can’t be around me. If it’s spreading, you won’t be safe near me.”
“Is this a disease? What is going on? This is clearly a threat and I can’t just turn my back. I won't let more people I care about get hurt because I'm too weak to help.”
“This isn’t a discussion, Lilith, this isn’t a suggestion. I’m telling you, when we get to this spire and your mother so graciously locks me up, you leave and go back to the Prime. I’ll meet Atsaroth as soon as I can and get this sorted out.”
“Ok, fine, but can you at least tell me what’s happening? I prefer to be informed of danger.”
“Lilith I-” he takes a moment to compose himself, “I’m not sure. It’s something I’ve been dealing with for a long time. Well before all this devil transformation nonsense. Just let me handle it.”
“You were literally tearing apart from the inside! Vashric, what would have happened if you hadn't called me?”
“I would’ve figured out something else…”
The trio breaks through a thick layer of smog, the Citadel of Pride reveals itself. A massive spire, made of dread iron and twisted souls, overlooks the ring. A beacon of hellfire lights the top, everburning, its flames shriek with the voices of the damned. The tower is surrounded by a fort, walled off from the city. Soldiers and guards can be seen beyond the bulwarks, some training, some prodding sinners and prisoners along. Liliana lands just outside the main gate. A large, imposing devil stands before them.
“You there, what is your business?”
“I am Lilliana Asmodi Obsidiantail, Asmodean General and Guardian of Debauchery. I come with a prisoner and I need to meet with the lieutenant.”
The demon eyes her, “Highly irregular. You’re not supposed to be in Pride, general. I’ll call the lieutenant, he’ll surely want to speak. So will Lord Sabnock when he returns.” It activates a sigil on the wall behind it, sending a message inside.
“I didn’t expect to be here, but it appears that someone has been failing to do their job.”
The fiend snorts, “We do not fail, blame the other rings for dumping their trash in our layer. And I suggest you hold your tongue. This isn’t your territory, and we don’t take kindly to such accusations. Especially not Lord Sabnock. Now, the lieutenant will meet you inside, mind your damn manners.” The demon gestures towards the guard house at the top of the wall, the gate creaks open. It then motions for the group to head inside, scowling at them all the while.
Liliana resists the urge to reduce the demon to a stain and drags Vashric in as Lilith follows behind her, “I now remember why I don't visit Pride.”
Lilith attempts to soothe her, “Mama, you're about to be in a meeting. The calmer you are, the faster you can get back to Debauchery and, in turn, the faster you can see Mother again.”
“Yes, I’d like to see her soon. This day has been… less-than-joyous,” she seems to grip Vashric a bit harder.
Vashric scoffs at Liliana, “Don’t be upset with me, I’ve been pretty cordial considering the circumstances.”
Their bickering is cut short, however. A portly Amnizu robed in fine clothes approaches the trio. Its rich adornments stand in stark contrast to its grotesque figure. It addresses Liliana alone, paying no mind to Vashric or Lilith, “General Obsidiantail, what a pleasure to meet you, I’m Lieutenant Tg’grax. I understand you have a prisoner you wish to deposit in our fine citadel?”
“Yes.” Liliana holds Vashric out, “This was just outside the city. The smell of blood lingers on it. I believe it’s the fugitive that tore through Dis.”
“I won’t ask what you were doing on our layer, I’m sure you had your reasons… Hmm, a grey skinned devil. Yes, perhaps this is the one that cut swathes through Dispater’s realm, Lord Sabnock will want to see for himself. Very well,” Tg’grax motions to Vashric and a pit fiend tears him out of Liliana’s hold. “This one will be kept in a holding cell, as for the two of you, you’ll have to wait until Lord Sabnock arrives.”
Liltih sighs, “At least I’m already off work.”
Liliana's face turns sour, “Well, I'm not. Asmodeus isn't going to be happy that I'm gone from my post for so long.”
Vashric is hauled off to a warded cell, “What a fine fucking predicament you’ve gotten yourself into this time, Vashric... Oh well, not much I can do until I recharge,” he thinks to himself, before assuming a meditative stance. He begins to gather psychic energy from his surroundings, unbeknownst to the guards, “And now we wait.”

He could still feel the manacles on his wrists all these years later. The memory of being dragged from his prison cell to kneel before the king was as fresh in his mind now as it was when it occurred. Back then, he was a captive, a spoil of war, a reward from the opposition after it was so thoroughly crushed by the king's forces. He couldn't make sense of the mercy that was his imprisonment at the time, but in the present moment, he was grateful for the opportunity at redemption.
This thought came to him in the middle of bisecting yet another assassin in the middle of the night, just outside the hall leading to Princess Amelia's bedchamber. The chaplain cowered behind him, overshadowed by the mute knight's hulking frame as a crescent of blood flew through the air. The assassin, bearing the mark of the Silent Hand, had little chance to vocalize his agony as a gauntleted hand slammed into their face, the sheer force sending the top half of their body crashing into the ground.
As calm settled in the stairwell once more, the knight sheathed his longsword and knelt down to gather the assassin's remains, spilling entrails across the ground and provoking a quiet heave from the chaplain's doubled-over body. Turning to the adjacent door, the knight placed his foot near the handle and gave it a generous kick.
-----
The door exploded open as Princess Amelia skipped across the ramparts of the castle wall, the sunshine of midday bathing the exterior in golden light. She carried her favorite stuffed animal, Mr. Wiggles the Bear, by the arm, using her free hand to wave to the archers on the outer wall of the property. Close behind, the mute knight followed, seemingly floating across the path with little movement, something that the archers weren't keen on seeing. His dingy armor reflected very little sunlight, covered in dirt and grime from countless wars, some far before his current period of servitude.
He carried with himself a reputation of disdain. Because he didn't speak, others couldn't assume to know what he was thinking. As a result, he was constantly considered a threat, especially given his past as a prisoner of war - an enemy, former or otherwise.
Princess Amelia hummed as she arrived at the other end of the wall, fidgeting with the handle of the heavy iron door before her. She was no more than five years old at the time, and her childlike strength couldn't handle what the knight guarding her could, proven as much when a single index finger extended and hooked around the handle, pulling the door open with ease.
On instinct, Amelia belted out a "thank you" as she sped through the doorway, curving west and running down the deep red royal carpet to the massive doors that separated the throne room from the rest of the castle. The mute knight followed behind at a slower pace, meeting her at the threshold. With a single push, the giant door swung open, and Princess Amelia giggled as she slipped through the crack.
"Daddy!" she called out, her arms in the air as she ran to give her father, King Vengrand, a big hug.
The knight stood at the door, hearing noise but no words. There was a happiness there, distant from him, but existent. As he watched father and daughter interact in the otherwise heavy silence of the throne room, he thought back to three years ago, when the mood was much different.
-----
"What is your name, prisoner?"
Vengrand was met with labored breathing hidden behind sheets of dirtied hair, the shadows obscuring the prisoner's hanging head; within that darkness, silence. Guards stood at either side, keeping the prisoner aloft by supporting his otherwise limp arms. The king was unnerved by the quietude in the chamber. Where he was comfortable with the rabble of the citizenry, most of which was concerned with complaints and bemoanings regarding unsuitable living conditions, the eerie pall that filled the space was tense and unusual. It reminded Vengrand of the war.
"I'll ask again, prisoner," the king questioned, leaning forward in his dark oak throne. "What is your name?"
He was met with silence yet again. The king gripped the throne's armrests in anticipation and impatience. When that anticipation was unrewarded, he scoffed and settled back in his chair.
"Take him away," he commanded with a wave of his hand. "Interrogate him however you must. If he continues to resist--"
As the guards about-faced and began to drag the body back to its cell, the prisoner suddenly animated, swinging his lower body forward through the air. His legs came up above his head and locked around that of the guard on his left, who immediately let go of the prisoner's arm in a frantic attempt to free himself. The guard on the prisoner's right reached for their sword, missing the sight of the other guard flipping over themselves and smashing into the ground.
The blur was the prisoner twisted his arm in such a way that allowed him to grip the forearm of the standing guard, who yelped as they nervously drew their shortsword. As the guard lifted their blade high into the air, the wrist of their armed hand was met with a grip tighter than the noose around the neck of a swaying body. The prisoner lifted his bent leg and drove a knee into the standing guard's back, pulling back on their arms and forcing their body into an awkward scorpion position. The pain shooting through their spine compelled the guard to drop their shortsword, which the prisoner immediately caught and used to strike them in the face, knocking them out almost instantaneously.
Vengrand, watching this all unfold before him, attempted to hurriedly find the alarm whistle buried in his robes. Once he finally found the slender metal instrument with his fingers, he unearthed it from his clothing, failing to notice the shortsword hurtling towards him blade first until it was too late.
-----
The mute knight sat at a small table in Princess Amelia's bedchamber, staring through the slits of his helmet as he watched the frail girl pour a nonexistent tea into a pink cup. She hummed as she slid the cup, saucer and all, over to Mr. Wiggles the Bear, who sat unresponsive in a chair next to her.
"I'm glad Daddy let you watch over me," Amelia said with a smile, focusing on not spilling the tea as she poured another cup, this one for the knight himself. "Mr. Wiggles was getting lonely, and I'm glad he has a new friend."
An hour earlier, the knight watched King Vengrand hug his daughter and send her on her way as he returned to business in the castle. The line of citizens that perfectly divided the royal carpet in half lay waiting, and as the king surveyed Princess Amelia making her way back to the doors of the throne room, the knight could feel the king's stare. He was familiar with that kind of look. It was a look of contempt, born of fear, simmering in tension brought about by possibilities of the unknown. It was a look that said "I'm afraid you'll kill me."
"You can't drink the tea with your hat on, silly," Amelia giggled as the knight lifted the tea cup to his helmet. "The tea's going to spill. You have to take the hat off."
The knight didn't respond, lowering the cup back down to the saucer. Mr. Wiggles the Bear had shifted a little in its seat, its head leaning further over. Still, it smiled. Princess Amelia stared at the knight, as if waiting for the knight to act.
Slowly, the knight's hands lifted up to the sides of his helmet and pressed against the thick metal that kept most weapons from breaching the protection the armor provided, though he didn't need it. When he was found all those years ago and taken captive, he was dressed in simple clothes. Gripping the helmet, the knight raised his hands upward, sliding the helmet off and away from his head, then resting it against his side as he felt the cool air dance against his skin. As Amelia stared at the knight's face, her own smile faded.
"Mister... why do you look... sad?"
-----
Vengrand's hands clutched his mouth as the shortsword struck the alarm whistle, slicing it in half. The tip of the blade met the throne with such force that it split the wood, driving the sword halfway in. The prisoner began walking towards the terrified king, his shadowed face betraying no inkling of any emotion. His calloused feet started to ascend the steps, an action that caused Vengrand to assume the fetal position in his chair as he frantically attempted to pry the shortsword from the throne. As the prisoner summited the stairs to the throne, Vengrand immediately surrendered the thought of survival and flung his arms up to protect his face, blinding himself to his attacker.
If Vengrand expected pain, it didn't come.
The king's body started to relax and unfurl, his arms lowering to reveal that the prisoner wasn't towering over him. Vengrand looked down and found the prisoner kneeling before his feet, the captive's muscled back heaving and falling beneath the thin cloth of his shirt with each breath. Vengrand felt himself caught in a whirlwind of emotions, unable to respond in any way except to stare in a mixture of wonder, confusion, and terror.
-----
The assassin's jaw hung slack as the upper half of their body shook on the forest floor, chunks of flesh being ripped away by wild wolves in the pale moonlight. A streak of blood glistened on the surface of the outer wall in stark contrast to the bland palette of stone brown. The knight watched as the wolves had their fill of the hunt, pushing the lower half of the assassin's body over the ramparts and sending it down to the earth below. The body landed with a thud, joining its upper half in the forest, and the knight took notice of an absence on the outer wall.
"Sir?"
The knight turned to find the chaplain, pale and shaking, standing in the shadow of his massive frame. The chaplain had his arms drawn towards his chest, and in his clutches was Mr. Wiggles the Bear.
"I checked Her Highness' bedchamber," the chaplain stammered. "She's not in her room. Perhaps she's made it to the safety of her father?"
The knight knew differently, having watched Vengrand getting stabbed to death by the first assassin minutes before. If the princess were to go anywhere of her own free will, there would be no way she'd leave the bear behind.
In a swift response, the knight ripped the bear from the chaplain's grip. With one last look toward the holy man, the knight stepped up onto the edge of the castle's outer wall and threw himself over the side, sailing towards the ground. Before he spend what remained of his life eating dirt, he drew his longsword and pierced it into the wall, snapping the blade as he swung on the handle. He landed without grace, rolling across the ground and stopping himself with a gauntleted fist.
He was met with the growls of the wild wolves, who seemingly remained hungry, and with fresh meat on the horizon, they made the close in on what they assumed would be an easy kill. Their resolve, however, faltered under the shadowed gaze of the knight, who seemed to stare into their very souls. The pack of wolves splintered and escaped into the forest, leaving a stray behind to cower beneath the knight's towering form, but rather than be subjected to a brutal, merciless death, it was given something else - a scent.
The wolf's nose brushed against the soft fur of the plush bear, allowing a signature scent of peach and jasmine to flood its nostrils. It was a familiar scent to the wolf somehow, as it caught several hints of the same smell prowling the woods for food. The knight waited for the wolf to recognize the scent, watching as the animal's body turned to point north. Grabbing the remains of his shattered longsword, the knight watched the wolf begin its trot through the trees, following the scent into the darkness.
And with one heavy footstep after another, the knight's journey began in earnest.
-----
Original prompt by u/Tired_Autistic. You can (probably) find this and more on StoriesInTheStatic.
​

So two days ago, I donated whole blood and had a rough experience there.
It took five phlebotomists to properly find my vein and then the last phlebotomist had to hold the needle in my arm to get a proper flow. The way they were moving the needle in my arm hurt a lot and it felt like they were going too deep or hitting something that shouldn't be hit.
Partially through the donation, I could barely squeeze the ball they gave me because my hand and entire arm was so weak from not only holding and squeezing the ball but also from holding up the phlebotomist's arm too. She was resting it on my forearm to make sure she didn't move the needle.
The whole rest of the day, my arm felt like it was incredibly bruised and in pain. The day after, I woke up with extreme muscle pain in the right side of my body (the side the needle was in) and weakness in the left side. The whole day, I had on and off numbness in my right hand.
I woke up today with the same symptoms: shortness of breath, muscle weakness and pain, numbness in my hand, and heart palpitations.
I don't know if I should be concerned about this, but hopefully not.

Rory stared at the dressing room door and swallowed nervously. The arena rocked and shook as the entrance music of his opponent began to play. The whole crowd was stomping and howling a graxian war chant, wbich Rory could hear clear as day through the walls and floors of the arena.
Rory wondered how different this fight would feel like from inside the ring than the ones he had on earth. He remembered how frightening fighting in front of 20,000 at the QB Arena back home was. And this crowd dwarfed that. It was giving Rory goosebumps, and he hadn’t even seen it yet.
Plus, the broadcast… The promoter said this would have around twenty or thirty billion people watching. My biggest fight had only a hundred twenty thousand buys…
Rory snapped back into the here and now as his father, Bill, shook his son’s shoulders. “RORY! Now’s not the time to be away with the pixies. Go piss before we get your gloves on.”
“I’m good.”
Bill sighed. “Just try, will you.”
Rory growled, “I’m not a child anymore; I can tell when I need to piss for myself, thank you.”
Bill shrugged. “Your funeral mate.”
Bill strapped the gloves to Rory’s hands and secured them with tape. “Remember, son, one-twos and leg kicks. This Grax cunt may have four arms, but you have 6 inches of reach on him. And for Christ’s sake, stay off the ground, you can’t sto-”
Rory snapped at his father. “I know! I can’t stop a choke; he has four arms, I have two. You’ve told me a hundred times already!”
His father gave him a stern yet apologetic look. “Sorry, son. I’m just trying to pound it through that thick head of yours and undo everything I’ve taught you.”
Rory’s face flushed with anger. “Thick head?! That’s fucking rich from the dumb cunt that got us here!”
Bill’s eyebrow twitched. He was sick of his son’s chippy attitude. Rory was acting half his age, but Bill kept his frustration under control. After all, the kid had a point. It was his fault.
“I’m sorry, son. I just didn’t want to see you end up like me.”
Rory roared, “AND THAT’S WORTH DYING FOR!?”
He had more to say, but the appearance of a squat, toad-like alien shut him up.
The alien, a bunello, asked, “Am I interrupting something?”
Bill quickly said, “No. What is it.”
The greenish-blue toad in a three-piece suit said, “It's time. Follow me.”
Rory stood up and took a deep breath. “Just give me the fucking flag.”
Quiet activity filled the back of the studio while the broadcast commentators, Gallox and Klack, detailed Shaq’ta’s storied career.
Gallox, a yellow-green bunello in a white suit, said, “Shaq’ta is looking to improve his record to 58-7 with this fight and build on the deep run he made in the last Galactic Cup.”
Klack, a scarred and bespectacled grax wearing a blue suit, shuffled some papers on the desk and added, “We can expect Shaq’ta to come out swinging today. His coach told me that Shaq’ta spent the offseason training his boxing hard, sparring with a top 100 fighter almost daily.”
The producer leaned out from behind the camera and started to count down the commentators with two of his four twelve-fingered hands.
Gallox asked, “Whose this mysterious top 100 fighter? Is he one of your students?”
Klack laughed, “No, no, no. It’s a secret.”
At one, the human's walkout song, The Joker and the Thief, began to play, and the ring camera cut from Shaq’ta dancing in the ring to the opposite tunnel, showing the human fighter jogging out of the dressing room with a starry blue Australian flag draped across his back. The muscles in the human's chest bounced as he ran, and his blonde hair gleamed gold in the spotlight. At the halfway point, the human fighter slowed and started to shadowbox. The camera zoomed in on the jellyfish tattoos that coiled around the human's thickly muscled forearms.
Klack said, “And now for the challenger, a human named Rory Caldwell. Coming in all the way from the planet Earth in the Orion arm at 6’2 and 185lbs, this 23-year-old human is looking to make his species proud in humanity's first foray into interplanetary competition.”
Gallox chimed in, “If you folks at home haven’t heard of Earth or humans before, it's because they joined the confederation only two years ago.”
Klack added, “While this fight may seem to be no challenge to the great Shaq’ta, we cannot ignore the wildcard factor here. Humans are high category deathworlders, and the gravity on Earth is a bit higher than it is here.” The commentators and Rory were shrunk to the corners of the screen as a highlight reel of human fighters played. Klack continued as a clip of two blood-soaked human boxers exchanging a flurry of punches played. “These humans aren’t the quickest or strongest, but they have some otherworldly elusiveness, accuracy, and endurance.”
Gallox said, “That’s some nonsense, Klack. Can someone check if humans are deathworlders at all? Anyways, I think you’re taking this kid too seriously. Just because you were an underdog who proved the galaxy wrong doesn’t mean every underdog can, too. This human has never fought off-world, and on top of that, he only had four professional fights on Earth.”
The producer got on the mic. “Gallox, I ran a search, and it turns out Klack’s right, humans are category five deathworlders.” Everyone in the room except Klack paled. The producer continued. “Could be an error, but anyways, get this, he wasn’t even a champion on Earth! He finished third in wrestling at the Olympic games on Earth! AND he isn’t officially representing humans either.”
Klack began to say something, but the yellow-hued toad raised a webbed hand and said, “Klack, Shaq’ta is ranked 423rd IN THE GALAXY! THE GALAXY! And this human isn’t even acknowledged by his own planet! You can’t seriously believe this earthling is going to give a veteran like Shaq’ta a run for his money.”
Klack raised two of his arms in exasperation, leaned back in his chair, and said, “Stranger things have happened, Gallox. I think we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”
Rory regretted ignoring his dad’s advice. He had to piss the moment he stepped out of the dressing room. He could barely hear his song over the boos of the crowd. There has to be at least a million people in here…
Rory handed the flag to his father and slipped through the ropes, entering the ring. It was double the size of the rings he was used to. Seeing how much space he had gave Rory confidence. If he ever got in trouble, he could backpedal and use his jab to keep the grax at bay.
Rory walked to the center of the ring and stared down his grax opponent. Shaq’ta bounced on his feet, shifting side to side. Rory stood still and took deep breaths as he studied Shaq’ta, following the Grax with his eyes, counting four seconds for each inhale and exhale. The crowd started to filter out of his senses.
His foe stood on two legs, had beady black eyes and scaley gray skin, was a little taller than Rory, and had opted for knuckle tape instead of gloves on his four hands.
Rory sorely wished he could have at least gotten a spar with a grax in the three days he had to prepare for the fight.
The ref, a yellow-orange toad, shuffled over and switched on the translator box on his belt.
“No eye gouging, no strikes to the windpipe, no biting, and no low blows. If you do it once, you forfeit the round. Twice, and you forfeit the match. Understood?”
Rory answered, “Yes.”
Shaq’ta grumbled the same in graxian.
The ref continued, “There will be three five-minute rounds, and in the event of a point draw, the fight will continue in overtime rounds until one of the combatants is unable to continue or withdraws. Understand?”
Rory again answered, “Yes.”
Shaq’ta just nodded.
The ref patted both fighters on the shoulder and said, “Good. Return to your corners until the bell rings. Best of luck to both of you.”
Rory turned and walked to his corner. Bill set the stool down in the ring and gave Rory a sip from a water bottle before sticking his mouthguard in. Rory's father would have to act as a cut man, cornerman, and coach tonight.
The ref signaled that the fight was about to start while Bill rubbed Vaseline over Rory’s face. “Remember, son, one-twos and leg kicks. One twos and leg kicks.”
Bill slipped back through the ropes with the stool and shouted, “Show these cunts what a human can do!”
The bell rang.
Rory stalked out of his corner in a semi-crouch and met the gray grax in the middle of the canvas. He studied the creature’s guard. Shaq’ta had all four of his hands up, covering his head. Two at his jaw and two just below his eyes.
Rory stepped forward and snapped a jab into the alien’s face. While Shaq’ta checked his jab, Rory pivoted in, throwing a vicious shovel hook into the grax’s ribs. Shaq’ta grunted in pain and lunged for Rory’s arm while simultaneously throwing a right hook and left uppercut. Rory slipped his wrist out of the grax’s twelve-fingered grip and pivoted on his back foot, leaning out of the path of both punches while slamming his left leg into Shaq’ta’s thigh.
Shaq’ta grunted and tried to throw an overhand right in response. Rory slipped it and slammed his left fist through the gap in the alien's guard, connecting with Shaq’ta’s chin. Shaq’ta reeled slightly, but the grax went on the assault, landing two big body shots before the human danced out of reach, all while successfully blocking Rory's counterpunches.
Rory circled the grax with a little more caution.
The grax suddenly picked up the pace and started to chase after Rory. The human backpedaled, covering his retreat with jabs from his back foot.
Shaq’ta checked a jab and feinted an overhand, baiting a counterpunch from the human.
Rory stepped in and snapped off a right hand but found nothing but air. Shaq’ta ducked the punch and rocked Rory with a cross from his upper right arm while he shot forward and grabbed Rory’s right leg with his bottom arms.
Rory jerked out of Shaq’ta’s grasp in the nick of time, narrowly avoiding a single-leg takedown. He jabbed at the grax’s guard from his back foot as he retreated.
There were red marks on Rory’s leg where Shaq’ta had briefly grasped.
During his escape, Rory noted that the grax opened his guard when he went for a takedown, leaving his chin wide open. If I can bait him in…
Bill had seen the gap and knew that his son did too. He shouted, “TEST THE DISTANCE!” from the corner.
The two fighters circled each other. Rory stepped in and out of the grax’s reach while snapping off punches into Shaq’ta’s ribs before the grax could get a hand down to block. Slowly, Rory edged closer and closer, retreating less and less after his strikes.
The body shots were starting to add up.
Shaq’ta started to cheat one of his hands down when Rory jabbed at his body.
Rory stepped in and feinted a jab.
The grax dropped his bottom left hand a little too far. Rory punished the gap and rocked Shaq’ta in the corner of the jaw with a right cross.
Shaq’ta wobbled. The human followed it up with an onslaught of powerful body shots and rapid combinations, but the grax managed to check and weave away from most of Rory’s blows in an impressive display of defense and head movement.
Rory winced as Shaq’ta landed a big hook to his ribs. Rory tried to catch the gap the punch left in the alien’s guard with an overhand right, but Shaq’ta slipped his head to the side and landed a straight left over Rory’s eye, cutting his brow. Shaq’ta pressed the attack, throwing a big right hook and a simultaneous left uppercut.
Rory sidestepped the uppercut and leaned out of the hook, landing a shot to Shaq’ta’s ribs in the process. Rory stepped back out of the grax’s reach and went for a low leg kick. The grax leaped over the kick and diverted Rory’s fast right hand as he tackled the human to the ground.
The grax straddled Rory and pinned the human’s hands with his top arms while he pummeled him with his bottom arms. Rory slipped one of his arms out and rocketed his elbow into the top of Shaq’ta’s head. The grax’s grip faltered, and Rory reversed the alien.
Bill screamed for him to get out of there, but Rory saw a path to victory. He tried to get his arm around Shaq’ta’s neck, but the alien jammed two hands between the human’s arm and his throat. Shaq’ta pushed up onto his hands and knees with his free arms and violently jerked down, slipping his body out to the side of the human’s grip.
Rory saw something moving in the corner of his eye.
Oh fuck, that’s an elbow.
Light flashed in Rory’s eyes, and his ears rang. Pain washed over Rory’s face, and he felt blood running down his nose. His hold on Shaq’ta slipped. The grax scrambled to his feet. Rory growled and lunged into the back of the grax’s legs, tackling the alien back down.
The bell rang, and the ref hurried to pull the fighters apart.
Rory blinked tears out of his eyes and gingerly probed at his nose as he walked to his corner.
He plopped down on the stool and spat blood into a bucket hoisted by his father. His brow was cut, his eye swollen, and his nose broken.
Bill asked, “Can you breathe through it?” as he gave Rory a sip of water.
Rory shook his head.
His father set the bucket down and chided, “I told you not to fucking wrestle.”
Rory spat blood onto the canvas as his father held the cold press over his eye. The one-man corner was already showing its weaknesses. “Did you see anything?” Rory asked.
Rory’s father pointed his chin to the cold press. “Yes. Hold this for a sec.”
Rory traded hands with his father and held the cold press to his brow.
Bill grabbed a towel and wiped blood off his son’s face as he said, “Once you get close he sets up for a takedown. If you don’t back out of it, he’ll commit, and you can go in low and land a clean shot on his chin.”
Bill set down the towel and apologetically said, “This is going to hurt.”
Rory groaned as his father jammed gauze-covered rods into his nostrils. The flow of blood from Rory’s nose slowed.
Bill continued as he pulled the rods out, “Watch his knee; as soon as he drops it, go.”
The bell rang.
Bill cursed. He didn’t have enough time to reapply Vaseline. He took the cold press, put Rory’s mouthpiece back in, and hurried out of the ring.
As Rory left the corner, his father shouted, “Watch the knee!”
Rory came out in full crouch with his hands low. Rory eyed his gray-skinned opponent warily. He knew exactly what he needed to do; he just had to figure out how to do it.
As Rory circled his grax opponent, he remembered an old, old fight he had watched with his father. Rocky Marciano vs Jersey Joe Walcott.
Rory smiled. I’m going to knock this cunt out with a Suzie Q.
Rory leapt into action with an uppercut into the grax’s stomach.
Shaq’ta stepped into the punch and threw a jab, uppercut, and a hook in response. Rory dropped his head and sidestepped, slipping the jab, ducking the hook, and taking the uppercut in the shoulder. He stepped forward and landed a rapid one-two before Shaq’ta could get his guard up.
Watch the knee.
Shaq’ta was caught off guard by the human’s advance, but he welcomed it. The grax dropped a knee and launched forward, shooting his head towards Rory while reaching his bottom two arms for Rory’s legs. The alien threw a straight left as he came in, leaving only one hand to guard his head.
This is it.
Everything went into slow motion for the human. At that moment, Rory remembered the day his father had taught him how to punch for the very first time with remarkable clarity. He heard his dad telling him, “Punch through the bag, not at it.” as he swung. He even remembered the song that was in the background of the gym.
‘Cause I’m T.N.T, I’m dynamite!
T.N.T, and I’ll win the fight!
T.N.T, I’m a power load!
T.N.T, watch me explode!
The grax’s punch glanced off Rory’s head as the human took a step in and threw a lightning fast jab into Shaq’ta’s hand, knocking it completely clear of his face. Rory’s back hip shot forward as the human swung his whole body into a massive right hand. Rory’s fist whipped forward with all 185lbs of his bodyweight and every ounce of power his muscles could generate behind it.
Rory heard a sound like a gunshot as his fist connected with the side of Shaq’ta’s chin. Shaq’ta’s head snapped to the side, and the veteran grax fighter dropped to the canvas like a sack of bricks.
The arena erupted.
The fight was over.
Rory screamed and flexed as he stepped over his downed opponent. He walked towards his corner, wanting to see his father's reaction.
But the greying old man was looking past him, concern in his eyes. Rory turned and looked back to Shaq’ta’s motionless form.
Rory’s eyes widened in horror.
Shaq’ta’s head rested on the canvas at an unnatural angle. Blood pooled underneath the grax’s head as it seeped from Shaq’ta’s eyes, nose, and ears.
The crowd went quiet as the ref knelt beside the downed fighter to check his pulse. The ref looked to the judges and shook his head, confirming what everyone already knew. Shaq’ta was dead.
The crowd went wild.

Warning: this may be a very long text but I'd appreciate you reading it. It all began in August 2023. I had a BV at the end of June and my gyno prescribed me Nystatin for it and I was back to normal after a week and trough July. Suddenly in August in noticed a rash on my labia majora right beside the vaginal opening. I shrugged it off, thinking is was an irritation from shaving.
However, it turned worse over the days and I was back at my gyno :( she took a pap smear, which was normal, and prescribed me a cortisone cream(said it's a small infection). It got better but never went away fully. Some days later, I had sex with my boyfriend and suddenly I began to develop strong shooting vaginal pain on the right side. My gyno diagnosed me with a bartholins cyst. Spoiler: it was wrong lol. My pain got worse and worse and I was just told to take ibuprofen and deal with it. I was devastated.
I googled a lot, my symptons did not match with the diagnosis and I was questioning myself if it's maybe a muscle problem. Well, the rash and the pain got worse, and even worse than worse: I developed the same rash (or inflammation) on the tip of my left labia minora. It was burning like hell and had some itching too. Again at my gyno, got told she doesn't see anything, said maybe it's a psychological problem (LOL), but transferred me to a hospital for a dysplasia consultation. I was scared as shit. At the time of the appointment I was in so much pain I couldn't normally go to work. At the hospital I got diagnosed with a 'chronic inflammation' (Lichen sclerosus and eczema was ruled out) via biopsy, and the weird thing is that the numbing shot she gave me didn't work for the tip of my labia. It stinged and burned like hell I started crying, even the gyno was perplex and it seemed like she found it hard to believe me. This all was very traumatic. I got the cortisone cream 'decoderm tri' (german) and the inflammation went away over weeks. I was so happy. But the vaginal pain stayed, got worse over time and I STILL had a weird sensation on the tip of my labia. It felt inflamed and burned a little. Gyno said it's probably because my tissue is healing from the biopsy. Well, only the tip hurt, not the biopsy spot.
I went to several gynos for months and it's ridiculous how many of them don't know shit about the pelvic floor and chronic inflammations. I was prescribed many cortisone creams, they helped a little while using them but it never went fully away. Even 2 doctors told me I very tight down there and one of them had the audacity to say 'yeah it comes from your muscle but you can't do anything about it' It's truly a shame how we, as women, have to suffer and be constantly dismissed because many doctors don't know their profession good enough for women. Sorry for my cursing and my rant but I'm just so disappointed in doctors.
Anyway, I even got examined by a proctologist and she also said she feels more tension on the right side. But never mentioned my pelvic floor as a likely cause, only when I asked the doctor's assistant she comfirmed my question. Like what the hell. Today I have pain in my buttocks, I can't sit for too long it hurts, I have a feeling of pressure rectal and vaginal, the vaginal opening feels a little sore on the right side, my lower back and tailbown hurt, pain while urinating (IC and UTI was ruled out via cystoscopy), lower abdomen pain on the right side and the pain at the tip of my left labia switches sometimes to the right side. It's mostly still on the left side. I assume it's probably nerv pain caused by a tight pelvic floor.
As I switched to a new gyno I got the chance to do a MRI, got told I have several cysts on my ovaries (mostly right) and they suspected adnexitis. My gyno ruled that out through tests but I got metronidazol just in case, didn't help.
Went to an orthopedist and he agreed to my suspection for a pelvic floor issue. Got PT described which I will start on Tuesday and the therapist will check my pelvic floor first. I'll have a new hospital appointment and MRI appointment to rule other things out but I'm sure it coudln't be endometrioses for example because I don't have any of those symptoms.
Now I ask you if you have/had similiar symptoms or experiences? It's almost June and I can't believe I still suffer from this and that SEVERAL doctor's coulnd't find the cause. Only because I stayed determined to fight for my health I'm on my way to find out what's wrong with me. I kinda believe my unhealthy relationship with my ex caused those problems because all I got from him was stress and sorrow. I also chlenshed my cheeks and sucked my stomach in for years and maybe all those things combined led me to where I am now. I'm not sure if this is pudendal neuralgia, went to a neurologist and he told me it may be a gynecological problem. I'm sick of living this way. I'm not happy anymore. I really hope some of you have advice or at least encouraging words. Thank you so much in advance.