This story may be triggering to those who have experienced sexual violence, self-harm, suicidal ideation, or attempted suicide.
Healing and therapy can come in many forms. For some, body art can be a way to mark steps along a mental health journey and serve as a reminder of inner strength along the way.
Ahead, 13 people who have gotten tattoos relevant to their own mental health journeys share the stories behind their art, what the words or images symbolize, and how their tattoos help them carry on along the road ahead.
Flora and faunaEva Acuna Olivas says that her inner forearm flora and fauna tattoo was a gift.
The artist Chase Fielder etched it as part of an ongoing project in which artists offer free tattoo sessions to cover self-harm scars.
"I'm big on focusing on the beauty of things, even difficult or painful experiences, so I wanted flowers and plants to lay across the part of my body that had seen a great amount of pain," Olivas says.
"The flowers remind me of my ability to blossom from every experience and hardship that I am met with," she says.
Olivas also has tattoos of koi located on her forearm. Symbolically associated with strength and perseverance, the koi evoke joyful childhood memories of visiting the koi pond at the local park with her mother.
"When I look at these pieces, I'm reminded of my strength and beauty that has been present with me through all of life's turbulent experiences," she says.
If the ocean can calm itself, so can you
The words in Caitlin Migliaccio's tattoo derive from a Nayyirah Waheed poem, which she calls "a constant back-of-mind thought whenever I was getting particularly anxious."
The tattoo also includes the image of a ship navigating the wild curls atop a woman's head, a visual that popped into her mind whenever she thought of the phrase.
"To me, it means that nothing is insurmountable and I can weather the storm of even the big things."
Unbreakable gem
After a brutal breakup, Lynette Pettinicchi got this tattoo as a reminder of her ability to carry on, even when challenges seem insurmountable.
"It's facing the wrong way so I can look down — whether I'm having a hard time with life or even during a marathon — and remember that I'm an unbreakable badass who has a long, fun life ahead and to keep moving forward," she says.
Be Grateful for Today
The person who wears this tattoo, who asked to remain anonymous, says that she battled depression and anxiety for most of her teenage and adult life, making a series of "bad decisions" and enacting "reckless" behaviors while many others in her sphere were suffering from opioid addiction.
She got a tattoo around her foot that says "be grateful for today," the phrase flanked by angel wings. "It was a dark time," she says. "I decided I wanted to be different – shift my mindset to a grateful one. And so I got a tattoo that reminds me every day [to be grateful]. It comforted me. It helped me keep going. It helped remind me that every single day is a gift."
Semicolons
Many people choose to represent their mental health journeys with a semicolon tattoo; the semicolon serves as a symbol of mental health awareness as well as suicide prevention.
Casey Goldstein: "I was ashamed and felt guilty — I had a good life, what should I have been depressed about," Casey Goldstein says of her struggle with depression. "Turns out the chemicals in my brain didn't care about how 'good' things were."
But with medication, she found relief. "About a year after I started the meds, I got a semicolon tattooed on the inside of my pointer finger as a reminder to myself and others to never feel shame or silenced about their mental health issues."
Lindsey Wilderotter: Wilderotter got her semicolon tattoo decorated with a motif of the sun and the moon. "While it reminds me of the dark times that I have been through in my life, it also in turn shows me that there is light that follows it," she says.
"That was my biggest inspiration for this tattoo — a constant reminder that light does follow darkness and no matter how dark things may seem, the sun will rise the next morning."
Lisa Sass: Depression runs in Lisa Sass' family; her uncle died by suicide when she was 8 years old. She was 13 when she began cutting herself and 20 and 21 when she attempted suicide.
"I'm doing a lot better now, having gone to therapy over the years and surrounded myself with a healthy, loving support system," she says. Her semicolon tattoo with flowers is "a reminder that life doesn't have to stop for one bad thing. It's a moment — recognize it, but life can and does continue."
She also says the tattoo is a reminder for her family: she hopes it encourages her family to keep going and that she is here to support them.
Moths
Krista Hamelin has struggled with her mental health for most of her life, she says, and she has experienced moments where she has "spiraled down to some pretty dark places. Depression and anxiety can really get the best of you sometimes."
To that end, she has a moth tattooed on her sternum with a crescent moon just above it. While some people are turned off by the insect, she sees it as a powerful symbol.
"They only come out at night and are drawn to the moonlight… The tattoo is a reminder that no matter how dark things get or how dark your thoughts are, to always follow the light."
Further, since moths go through metamorphosis, "they also symbolize change and transformation," she says. "It's a reminder that sometimes going through tough times is necessary for your growth and to become who you are meant to be."
One day, one step
Daniel "Bokey" Castillo's tattoo translates to "one day one step" — or in other words, one step at a time.
"I went through high anxiety levels in the past and couldn't figure out a way to overcome it," he says, "The tattoo is a reminder that no matter how difficult or overwhelming things may get, you can conquer anything by taking it one step at a time."
Calming lavender
Lindsay Bell has two tattoos relating to her mental health journey: one is a linework of a lavender plant, and the other a quote that nods to overcoming self doubt.
"As someone with OCD, I obsessively think of the worst possible outcome in lots of situations and have to remind myself to also think of the good that can come out of a situation," she says.
"That quote is my take on reminding myself. The lavender plant is my reminder to breathe, because lavender essential oils are often used to help calm you down and relax. This way, I always have it on me."
You belong among
Natalie Bickel's arm tattoo includes the words "you belong among," lyrics from Tom Petty's song, Wildflowers.
"So many times I've battled with self-confidence and self-worth," she says. "This tattoo reminds me that I belong among those in whatever room I walk into. I'm allowed to take up space and do so with purpose."
Infinite strength
Samantha Crunkilton says that her arm tattoo represents infinite strength. As a survivor of a rape, she got the tattoo as "a reminder that I can overcome any challenges presented in my life," she says. "I made the decision to show strength and resilience every day rather than letting what happened to me consume and destroy my life."
Since then, she's faced many challenges and hurdles. "Having this reminder that I can and will have infinite strength to overcome anything thrown my way has been a great [resource] for me," she says.
Inhale, exhale
Emily Roethle's forearm tattoo reads "inhale exhale," a gentle reminder to breathe. "I am diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder and growing up, I dealt with frequent panic attacks," she says. "As a kid, it was very confusing."
She remembers how her father used to comfort her and calm her down from the physical symptoms by telling her to inhale and exhale while saying "relax" in her head. "It was the trick that continually helped bring me back to center," she says. "And this tattoo is a reminder to breathe and take a step back when things feel overwhelming."

Activities and Exercises for Further Research and Analysis:

1. Holiday Symbols Collage:
   
   • Ask students to create a visual collage incorporating symbols from different holidays studied. Encourage them to include brief descriptions of the symbols and their significance.
2. Comparative Essay:
   
   • Have students choose two holidays and write a comparative essay exploring similarities and differences in their cultural and religious practices. Emphasize critical analysis and the exploration of shared themes.
3. Interview Project:
   
   • Assign students to interview someone from their community who celebrates one of the holidays studied. Have them inquire about personal experiences, traditions, and the role of the holiday in their cultural identity.
4. Cultural Artifact Analysis:
   
   • Ask students to bring in or research cultural artifacts associated with a specific holiday. This could include traditional clothing, decorations, or items used in rituals. Have them present their findings to the class.
5. Historical Timeline:
   
   • Instruct students to create a timeline highlighting key historical events associated with a chosen holiday. Emphasize the historical context that shaped the celebration's development.
6. Geographical Exploration:
   
   • Assign each student or group a holiday and have them research the geographical spread and variations of the celebration. Explore how the holiday is observed in different regions and cultural contexts.
7. Culinary Exploration:
   
   • Organize a holiday-themed potluck where students bring in traditional foods associated with the holidays studied. Encourage them to research the cultural significance of the dishes they bring.
8. Creative Art Project:
   
   • Invite students to express the essence of a holiday through art. This could include painting, drawing, or crafting. Encourage them to incorporate symbolic elements from their research.
9. Guest Speaker Series:
   
   • Invite guest speakers from diverse cultural backgrounds to share their experiences and insights about the holidays studied. This can provide firsthand perspectives and foster a deeper understanding.
10. Reflection Journals:
    
    • Have students keep reflection journals throughout the lesson plan. Encourage them to record personal insights, challenges faced, and any shifts in their understanding of cultural celebrations.
11. Virtual Cultural Exchange:
    
    • Connect with classrooms or individuals from regions that celebrate the holidays studied. Arrange virtual discussions or collaborative projects to facilitate a cross-cultural exchange of ideas and experiences.
12. Community Engagement Project:
    
    • Encourage students to organize a small community event or presentation about one of the holidays studied. This could involve sharing cultural insights, traditional performances, or interactive displays.

These activities aim to deepen students' research skills, critical thinking, and creative expression while fostering a greater appreciation for cultural diversity.

TW: Depression TL,DR: Don't let anyone convince you that life is out of your own hands, even if your mental health is in a really bad state and you already feel powerless. You WILL feel better by taking the reins of your own story, and you CAN.
This might be a somewhat unusual post here, but I think it's important to share with others in the hopes that someone reading this might gain a better perspective from it on how we all feel from time to time.
I'm a 22-year-old guy, and I have been suffering from depressive episodes and intense mood swings most of my life. They come and go, and they can be severe to the point of debilitating. It's been a constant in my life since I hit puberty, more or less.
No, this is not a fake-inspirational, "I have been cured, shower me with praise" kind of post. I know myself well enough that I know how much I would hate to read something like that while I am down low.
I want to talk about one specific idea that I have been hearing from people for years and years, over and over in many variations. It's this notion that "it's all chemical imbalances" that are causing you to feel the way you do, and as long as you practice mindfulness/breathe/work out/get professional help/do drugs/get off the couch and do something productive/whatever else they might suggest, then your brain will just re-calibrate and you'll feel well again. Or, at the very least, you'll somehow adapt and find it easier to function "like a normal person".
In the same vein, every time I'd try to explain what was making me feel so terrible about myself and my life, every time I would say "if only x, then I might feel better right now", people would usually reply that I am holding on to false ideals and imaginary hopes brought about by my depression, and that the real culprit is just something-something-serotonin-neurotransmitters-something-hormones.
I know this is all coming from a good place. It took me very long to understand that properly, and I'd still recommend my mentally-well friends to not use this kind of talk on anyone who's struggling because the real intent is so easily obscured and misconstrued.
Case in point, I will admit that this line of thinking got under my skin. For the longest time, I assumed, at least in part, that my nervous system was the most to blame for the pain I was feeling, and that the right combination of therapy and drugs (ridiculously ineffective in my experience so far) would "fix" that chemical imbalance or at least keep it under control.
I now realize that this kind of thinking was genuinely damaging to me and in some ways making things worse. This is for two reasons.
First, it made me actually fall deeper into despair because it felt like I lacked agency to do anything about my condition. "This is just the way my brain is, so I'll just sit and suffer since there isn't anything I can do to change that", and so on. It made me feel bedridden, like I had some incurable, terminal illness (which I know from experience is what plenty of people would refer to their depression as). It made me feel like my own standards, my morals, my wants and needs, didn't truly matter as much as anyone else's, because whereas "normal people" do things they enjoy and avoid things they don't enjoy as best they can, I can't follow that paradigm because even pleasant things can fail to bring joy to someone who is depressed. Therefore, I often evaded my own agency, avoided making my own decisions, let everyone "take care of me" (which was, of course, kindly offered by them only to then be treated as a chore and complained about).
Secondly, I ended up realizing that, at least from where I am standing, the central assumption is just wrong. Even if it plays a large role, my brain chemistry is NOT the thing that matters most. And in fact, what happens around me and how I feel about it DOES matter, and it WILL affect my depression to a huge extent.
My world, my story - my experiences, my environment, the people I am with, my job, and far above all my sense of personal meaning and my life goals - all these things DO MATTER. I know I can never convince some of these people in my inner circle of this. They'll just bring up "children in Africa" etc. and argue that because there are people who have suffered much more than I have without being depressed, it proves their point.
But truly, I don't really care to convince anyone anymore.
I don't want to go into my whole personal story here, but the way I made this realization is by making a huge change in my life that I can best describe as "screw everything, pack up and leave to do that thing that everyone kept telling me and that I kept telling myself I can't do". It was intended as a middle finger to all these aforementioned friends and acquaintances and a way of venting my frustration with, well, everything in my life. It ended up being a bullseye decision.
Do I mean to say that this has fixed all my problems? Of course not. I am predicting it's going to be a very very bumpy road ahead. But it doesn't matter. Why?
Because with this plan and this decision in my pocket, I have a vision again. I have a goal, and a purpose. I am on this adventure that I came up with, for myself. Not for anyone else's sake, not because I had to, not because it was "the normal thing to do" or because it was the lesser evil out of a series of bullshit choices.
For once, I chose for myself what I am going to do, and even if it won't be perfect, I am just filled with this joy and love for life just because I made that choice. I do still get episodes of course - from my relationships to my financial situation and plenty of other things I am sure you can relate to very well, I still have plenty of things in my life to feel blue about. But with this new key in my pocket, it all feels so much lighter now, easier to deal with.
I have known this for a long time - that I can't truly feel fulfilled without having a sense of agency and control in my life. I need to know what I am doing and I need to know that I am doing that thing for a very convincing reason. Even knowing this in the back of my head all this time, it took me years to fully act on it properly.
Of course, I also know other people aren't necessarily like this.
For them, the kind of experience that I have had may spring from somewhere else. But whatever it is, I have become convinced that you CAN make a change, and there is very likely some change you could make right now (even if it does not physically change a thing, even if it is only a change in the sense of making a decision, making up your mind about something) that would completely alter your perception of everything.
Think about that for a moment. Think about the things that are in you "if only" list, and really scrutinize all the possibilities. Try to add a "why not?" at the end and see what happens.
I really hope that I didn't accidentally strike the wrong cord with anyone reading this. All that I wrote here is from the point of view of a longtime depressed guy wanting to help out his fellow comrades.
Stay safe everyone!

Hey everyone! Will make this short and to the point.
About a month and a half ago, I came down with a cold that started with a sore right side of my throat, a burning right nostril, and and a burning right eye which pretty much developed into a cold w/ lots of congestion but no fever (and no biggie it lasted about 4 days). During the middle of one of those nights, I had a weird symptom: my smell and taste kept going in and out. I tested twice while being sick and it wasn't COVID. It shortly came back a day later and I was pretty much back to normal at that point.
Fast forward to last week. I woke up with the same symptoms in the same order, but this time I developed a fever w/ aches and pains for a couple days along with it. I was confused since I really only get sick once or twice a year and definitely not back to back.
By the 4th day, I was on the come-up. Had no fever, no aches, my energy came back. Got prescribed Flonase too. Then at night my smell and taste would go in and out, but this time it hasn't come back and I'm starting to get a little concerned. Still congested and I can "feel" a bit of pressure in my face.
Is this normal for sinusitus? I feel virtually fine minus the congestion and lack of smell/taste.
Still taking the Flonase but my smell/taste only comes back very faintly and disappears throughout the day.
Tested negative twice for COVID as well.

An idea for a short story/novella I had. I won't write much about what I had in mind to not spoil the first chapter, if it catches enough attention I will write more about it in the second part!
***** “They said they were sending their best from the city,” Captain Treol said. “Are you sure you are ready for this kid? This is not something we see often, if ever…”
The old man had a tired expression. He had been up all night investigating the crime scene, interviewing witnesses, and looking for any clues on who could have done such a monstrous crime.
“They’ve sent their best, don’t worry about it,” Quinlan answered, keeping his cool deminer. “We see our fair share of nasty stuff down in the city.”
The Captain just shrugged his shoulders, happy to pass on this problem to someone else, and pointed towards the entrance.
He had heard a lot of buzz since last night about what happened, but still, nothing could have prepared him for what he saw inside the lab.
Body parts have been scattered all around the white sterile room. Blue, red, and yellowish blood had been sprayed all over the walls and even on the ceiling creating an abstract painting across the lab.
But the smell, the smell was terrible to the point where Quinlan gagged almost immediately as he entered the room. He had to take a step back and recompose himself before fully entering the room. Once he was in the middle of the lab, a woman in full body suit approached him.
“You must be Detective Quinlan,” the woman said, taking a position next to him. “I'm Dr. Juno Mercer, overseeing the forensic work on this case.” Quinlan nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze scanning the gruesome scene once more before settling back on Dr. Mercer. "Pleased to meet you, Dr. Mercer," he replied, his tone steady despite the unease that lingered in the air. "Can you tell me what exactly happened over here, I’ve heard dozens of versions on my way over here."
Dr. Mercer's expression turned grave as she began to recount the harrowing details of the scene. "Detective Quinlan," she began, her voice solemn, "we've determined that everyone in the lab was killed in less than a minute. Eleven lives were lost. The victims were a mix of species: one human assistant and ten others from three different alien species—Zerathians, Xerulians, and Dovorans."
Quinlan’s brow furrowed. “Of course no human scientists, only assistants.” Quinlan chewed on that sentence before continuing. “Who could have done this?”
"We still don’t know," Dr. Mercer continued, her tone grim, "there's no evidence of forced entry. The doors remained closed and unopened until the janitor discovered the scene late in the night. We've scrutinized the exterior security cameras, and there's no record of anyone entering the building besides the regular workers. It's as if the assailants materialized out of thin air."
Quinlan's mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle. "No sign of forced entry, no one on the cameras..." he mused aloud, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “What can you tell me about the way the victims were killed?”
Dr. Mercer swallowed hard and continued. "The manner of the crimes is... disturbing," she continued, her voice faltering slightly. "There were no firearms discharged. Most of the limbs that were severed appear to have been cleanly cut, almost surgically, as if by a very sharp blade." She paused, her expression troubled. "But that's not all. Some of the bodies had substantial chunks taken out of them, reminiscent of attacks by large predators. Rib cages were crushed, as if by immense force—"
"Like they were attacked by wild beasts," Quinlan finished her sentence. The mention of swords and predatory violence in a laboratory setting was unsettling, to say the least.
Dr. Mercer nodded gravely. "Exactly. It's as if they were facing multiple forms of assailants simultaneously, each with their own method of attack."
Quinlan thanked Dr. Mercer and allowed her to continue her work, and gave her an order to inform him if anything important is found out. He scanned the lab, trying to figure out where the attacker could come in, but the lab was tightly closed, with only one entrance with a password, a small vent opening, and no windows. The attackers could only be the scientists, but they were all dead, or they could have appeared out of thin air.
Walking around the lab in between the busy medical examiners, he felt a strange energy in parts of the room, unlike anything he had felt before. He tried to study the corner that gave him the feeling of unease, but there was nothing there besides one lab table that was crushed by the impact of something heavy falling on it, most likely one of the scientists.
Quinlan spent almost an hour in the lab going over the details, interviewing each of the medical examiners one by one trying to find different perspectives or tiny clues on what could have happened. His colleagues always found it weird when he questioned them on the crime scenes, but he had a unique process of solving crimes.
Before he decided to leave the crime scenes, the old Captain appeared in the doorway, not wanting to enter the room, and waved him over.
“There is someone here to see you kid,” The captain said.
“Who is it?” Quinlan answered. “And please don’t call me kid, my name is Quinlan.”
Captain seemingly ignored his plea and continued. “Governor and his entourage are here, they are waiting for you in the conference room on the third floor.”
The captain escorted him to the elevators. “Good luck kid,” He said before the doors closed and Quinlan couldn’t help but to smile a little bit. As soon as the elevator doors opened on the third floor Quinlan was welcomed with the sight of two bodyguards with large rifles on their shoulders.
Even though the bodyguards wore full-body nano suits and helmets with dark visors, Quinlan knew they were Dovorans. This Dovorans on average were eight feet tall on average and those two were at least ten feet tall each.
“This way Detective,” one of the Dovorans said with a robotic voice, pointing towards the hallway to his left.
They led him to a glass-coated conference room with one large table and holographic images flashed in the middle of it. When he entered the room two guards took positions in front of the door. Quinlan noted that there were at least eight Dovoran guards in full body armor present around the conference room.
“Detective Quinlan,” Governor said, standing up from his seat at the far end of the conference room and nodding slightly towards him. “I’ve heard only good things about you, that why I have appointed you to this case.”
That was a surprise for Quinlan, he had no idea the Governor himself appointed him to this case, but he didn’t let his face show it. “Thank you Governor Ribaz.”
Governor Ribaz was a Zeranthian, a humanoid species similar to humans, but they were taller, lankier, and light red-skinned with black eyes, that’s why they were often called devils or demons by humans. Governor wore a long dark brown robe, embroidered with yellow and purple details representing his House.
“Please take a seat,” the Governor said in Zeranthian calm tone and Quinlan obliged. “Did you find out anything on what could have caused that crime down in the laboratory?” The governor went straight to business.
“Not yet, but I have few working theories,” Quinlan said accepting a glass of red drink from one the governor's personal servants. “But I don’t wish to discuss them publicly yet before I have more details and time to process everything.”
“You humans and your time,” Governor said flashing a small smile, his lips curving just slightly. “You are the species with one of the smallest life spans in our part of the galaxy and you always need more time to do your work.”
“This is a delicate matter, Governor,” Quinlan said not trying to sound defensive.
“I know, I know,” The Governor said. “I wanted to give you more context so you might be able to solve this crime.”
Quinlan nodded and the Governor continued. “This is not the first time a massacre like this has occurred, it’s an eight-time total, and the fifth just in the last month. The first one appeared almost four months ago in the Docks down at the Nalibar City, fifteen killed.”
“I haven’t heard of it,” Quinlan said.
“That’s because we kept it a secret, all of it,” The Governor said. “But this detective work, solving the crimes, it’s something only you humans are good at, that’s why we called upon you here.”
Humans were part of eight species that were living on the planet Nova, a planet almost four times as big as human’s long-forgotten home world Earth. Humans were amongst the last species to arrive on this planet, and as such were treated poorly for the last two hundred years. They were limited to primitive hard work, they along side Nuoraks and Ozus were not allowed into high society, high-end collages. They were not allowed to advance through almost any sphere of life past a certain point.
Policing a city or a region, was strange and foreign context to all the species that lived on the Nova, that’s why most of the police force were humans with few Nuoraks and Ozus in the service. But they were still fairly limited in their power, most of their job was solving crimes in poorer parts of the cities and towns regarding human on-human crimes, or crimes of three lower species in the eyes of the leading quinumvirate.
That was the way of life, that’s what Quinlan’s father told him all his life, keep your head low, listen to the quinumvirate species and you will live until old age to see your kids and hopefully your grand and grand-grand kids grow up. But lately, that has been bothering Quinlan heavily and he struggled with his place in society.
“I will need all the details then,” Quinlan said after a few seconds of silence. “That is if you want me to help you solve this murder spree.”
Governor nodded and shot a look at one of his servants. “We will share everything we know with you.” Moments later a holographic view exploded with images and text. “You will also get everything of this on your personal data pad.
Quinlan nodded, taking in the images of various crime scenes, one particular graph catching his attention. It was a graph of murder victims, with the number of deaths of each species, In total more than two hundred deaths, only two humans, seven combined Nuoraks and Ozus and almost two hundred quinumvirate species.
“I am guessing you caught that graph,” Governor asked his expression now completely serious.
Quinlan nodded, nothing breaking his gaze on the hologram.
“That’s why we kept it a secret, with all the riots, all the talk of adding another species into the quinumvirate, well I guess it would have to be called hexumvirate or something easier so we don’t have to change the name every so often.” A smile reappeared on his face.
“Who leads the investigation on your part?” Quinlan asked and as the Governor started to speak, Quinlan had the same feeling of unease come over him as he felt down in the lab. The room's light started to flicker, and it drew away the governor's attention as well. His guards shifted slightly on their feet unsure what was happening.
As the unease settled in the room, the lights flickered erratically, casting an eerie glow across the faces of those gathered. Quinlan's senses heightened, his instincts urging him to remain vigilant. His gaze darted around the room, searching for any signs of danger, but everything appeared normal, save for the unsettling flickering lights.
Governor Ribaz frowned, his brow furrowing in concern as he glanced at the flickering lights. "What's happening?" he muttered.
Before anyone could offer an explanation, a sudden rip, in reality, manifested just outside the conference room. It was subtle at first, like a shimmering distortion in the air, barely noticeable against the backdrop of the sleek corridor.
Quinlan's heart skipped a beat as he registered the anomaly, his instincts screaming danger. He glanced at the Dovoran guards, noting their tense posture as they trained their weapons towards the rip, their visors concealing any hint of emotion.
The Governor's expression shifted from confusion to alarm as he too noticed the anomaly. "What in the name of the Gods is that?" he exclaimed, his voice trembling with uncertainty.
The rip expanded into an imperfect circle, its edges trembling with an ominous energy, and the room fell into a stunned silence. Quinlan's hand instinctively moved to his holster, his senses on high alert as he watched the anomaly with wary eyes. The Dovoran guards tightened their grip on their weapons, their robotic voices issuing terse commands to stand ready.
The Governor's voice wavered as he struggled to maintain his composure. "What... what is happening?" he demanded, his eyes darting between Quinlan, his guards, and the opening.
Before anyone could respond, three more rips manifested on the other sides of the conference room, each pulsating with the same unsettling energy as the first. The tension in the room escalated, a sense of fear gripping those present.
In the next instant, four cloaked figures materialized out of each of the rips. Their faces were obscured by the shadows of their hoods. And then, without warning, the rips closed abruptly, leaving behind a deafening silence in their wake.
Quinlan's grip tightened on his weapon as he assessed the newcomers, his mind racing to comprehend the sudden intrusion. The Dovoran guards shifted into defensive positions, their weapons trained on the cloaked figures with unwavering resolve.
The Governor's voice trembled as he addressed the mysterious interlopers. "Who... who are you?" he demanded.
The cloaked figures remained silent, their features shrouded in darkness as they regarded the room with an unsettling stillness. Then the four figures materialized large swords out of the thin air and leaped towards the Dovoran guards.

Hi All,
I am 32 weeks pregnant and my pregnancy induced carpal tunnel came on fast and strong… it started with numbness and tingling and quickly became dull burning pain to the tip of my middle finger and side of ring finger. It became so excruciating and kept me up all night so I decided to get the cortisone shots in both hands last Thursday (6/6).
The first injection in my right hand was honestly thee worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my life, in addition to the burning/stinging sensation I’d already been feeling, it also felt like my middle finger was getting electrocuted while simultaneously being twisted off ….
The doctor told me that it was because my nerve was already SO revved up and that because I was in so much pain this means he got the injection where it needed to be…
The injections worked for my initial CTS symptoms that were keeping me up at night but now 4 days later, any time I try and do anything with my hands I’m getting those painful zingers that are shooting from my wrist to the tip of my middle finger.
Is this nerve damage??
Will this go away soon?
It’s like I got rid of one symptom and now suffering from another and I just hope it’s better by the time baby gets here 😭

I work the night shift at a small, 24-hour convenience store. It's usually quiet—until a few weeks ago. That night, I was restocking the shelves when a young woman burst through the door, her eyes wild with fear. She was barefoot, her clothes torn, and she whispered frantically about "the music." I could see her arms, covered in fresh cuts and old scars, the telltale signs of self-harm. Before I could call for help, the lights flickered, and a haunting melody filled the air. It was an old, scratchy tune, like something from a dusty gramophone.
The woman grabbed my arm, her grip icy. "They're coming," she hissed. "When the music stops, they'll take you." She pointed to the clock. 3:33 AM. I noticed her fingers trembling, bloodied from the fresh cuts she had inflicted on herself. It was clear she had been trying to cope with something far beyond my understanding. I tried to reassure her, but her panic was infectious. The music grew louder, and I could hear footsteps—soft, almost shuffling—approaching the store. The woman screamed and bolted to the back room. I followed, heart pounding. In the back room, she cowered behind a stack of boxes, eyes fixed on the door. The music abruptly stopped, plunging the room into an oppressive silence. I heard the bell above the entrance jingle as the door opened, followed by heavy, deliberate footsteps. I peeked out and saw shadowy figures moving through the aisles, their shapes distorted and inhuman.
The clock ticked loudly. 3:34 AM.
One of the figures turned its head, and though its face was obscured, I felt its gaze pierce through me. The air grew colder, and I could see my breath in the dim light. I heard a soft, whispering chant, like an ancient ritual. The woman beside me started to mutter, her words nonsensical but desperate. She clawed at her arms, reopening old wounds in a frantic effort to ground herself in the terror.
3:35 AM.
The figures moved closer, and the chant grew louder, more insistent. The woman stood suddenly, her eyes blank and unseeing, and walked toward the figures. I tried to stop her, but an invisible force pushed me back, pinning me against the wall. She reached the figures, and the chant stopped. A deep, resonant voice echoed through the store. "The music has chosen."
The figures and the woman disappeared, leaving me alone in the silent, cold store. The lights flickered back on, and everything seemed normal, except for the lingering chill and the faint echo of the haunting melody. I could still see the bloodstains on the floor where she had stood, a stark reminder of her desperate attempts to fight off the unseen horrors. I've since quit that job, but every night at 3:33 AM, I wake up to the sound of that old, scratchy tune, and I know they’re still out there, waiting for their next victim. My sleep is plagued by nightmares of shadowy figures and the chilling melody. I've started to notice scratches on my own arms, wounds I can't remember making, as if the terror of that night is manifesting in my own actions. Each morning, I find myself in a daze, the faint echoes of the music lingering in my mind. I've tried talking to friends, to therapists, but no one believes me. They say it's stress, a coping mechanism, but I know better. The music is real, and it's a curse I can't escape. Sometimes, in the dead of night, I feel the urge to harm myself, to carve out the fear that seems to have taken root inside me. I fight it, but the compulsion is strong, as if the music demands a sacrifice. I keep a journal now, documenting every occurrence, every scratch, every note of the melody that haunts my dreams. I'm scared of what might happen if I give in to the urge, if I let the music take me too. But the line between reality and nightmare is blurring, and I don't know how much longer I can resist. All I know is that the music is waiting, and it's only a matter of time before it chooses again.

https://imgur.com/NnIi3xl
Mongol dies.
"Mongol watched the weary head of Agrippa sitting on a mountain top, but terrified by the hideous noise it was making, he began to turn, fleeing from the laden locust that came out of its mouth and those of its wrathful servants.
Since he couldn't outrun them, he chose to hide near the burial-mounds. There he awaited the arrival of Roach, an eight legged man-like creature with a crooked nose and an eyeless pink face. That moment never came. Startled, again, he leaped over the mounds and met his maker, a man who had once been a king and whose rule was unquestioned.
The world fell silent after he became a god. Even after his ascension, Mongol refused to serve. Mongol would serve no one. In his mind, the old world had still remained alive. Countless attempts at his life failed. And the perpetrators were punished with a fate much worse than death. With each breath their lungs grew in size, until they became as fat as Zeppelins.
Their ribs were shattered. Inhaling the poisonous and colorless gas that surrounded them made them grow infected stingers. Purple patches appeared on their fingers. They were paralyzed with fear as their bodies contorted into bridges. The weaker ones fell, while the strongest survived. The great god Agrippa had seen them rise and drop bombs upon his lands. But, instead of exploding, they released weird appendages that squirmed."
Tropes: Cosmic Horror, Lovecraftian, unreliable narrator, moral corruption.
TW: Graphical depictions of violence, body horror, suicide.
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1574796

24 f, 183 lbs, 5'9. I do vape but I'm in the middle of quitting so only a few times a day. Nothing else notable in terms of preexisting conditions. No vitamins, meds, or other substances.
I woke up just a moment ago and my left hand is very swollen. Very swollen. And actually it's pretty much just my middle 3 fingers, the pinkie and thumb aren't that affected.
Any thoughts? Did I just sleep on it funny or am I gonna die?

The royal retinue grew more and more concerned and they were forced deeper into the bowels of the seemingly unfinished warship. Pipes hissed and cabling sparked as more humans than anyone had ever seen swarmed the interior in a frenzy of activity. Their only acknowledgement of our presence was that they needed to stop working to move out of the way of the medical equipment we were dragging with us. Medical equipment... I dreaded the day we faced this horror. We all knew it was coming. We all prepared for it.
We desperately clung to the hospital gurney as we walked impatiently through the corridor towards a central chamber. The human marines with red crosses on their helmets seemed to have a greater command presence than the admirals and generals standing in their way. We were brought into a massive room and my mind almost stopped as I tried to understand what I was looking at.
A large dome-like structure seemingly haphazardly bolted into the ship's hull, dominated by a central pillar surrounded by strange machines. A room separated with two levels, the ground floor dominated by medical equipment and personnel. It was only now I noticed the dotting of other races, Elves, Ents, Dwarves, even an Orc dotted among the crew, each wearing a Terran Federation Uniform.
An Evish Elder, an ELDER of all things, wearing a doctor's lab coat snapped his fingers and just like that, the hustle and roar stopped. The medics holding the gurney were the only ones who didn't stop their work, and charged through the crowd towards the central pillar machine. The Marines worked quickly, and before we could do anything about it, began work with their desperately ill patient.
Crown Prince Rakhar, barely a child even by the standards of Elves, was with haste and great care, lifted from the hospital bed into one of the strange machines. It was a strange thing, appearing more like a mold cast that you would rest a precious toy into. They had to stuff pillows and cushions in with him in order for him to fit inside it. I would have laughed if the situation wasn't so severe.
The medics and doctors rapidly swarmed the device and attached various cables, catheters and other items to the child, and we all breathed a sigh of relief when the child produced a beep from the heart monitor. A screen above the 'bed' showed a strange set of oscillating waveforms. The elder, accompanied by several doctors, shockingly enough one of which was an Orc, crowded around the child and paid very close attention to what was going on.
The Elder used a hand to cast a gentle spell, an Appraisal or Investigation magic from what I could tell. He concentrated, his eyes closed with a short utterance of an unknown spell. "He's still there, but barely. Move quickly!"
"Op is a go! Op is a go! Code two! Code Two!" One of the medics yelled through his radio.
Just like that, the frantic hustle began with renewed vigor. We were shoved through doors to an upper level observation room as the massive number of people rushed around in a frantic haste to accomplish their jobs. Two dozen doctors, nurses and Healing mages swarmed the central pillar. Five Marines entered the room, all wearing some kind of strange bodysuit. They all moved over to the central pillar, entering their own 'pods' in the machines.
The room goes dark. The Elder calls for silence and the doctors quietly shuffle about in a state of constant alarm as they work. Any attempt at conversation or attempt to understand what was going on was met with one of the attendees shushing us. The people in the operation were communicating perfectly through only subtle nods, facial expressions and military hand signals and magic signs. We could see the LCD screens above each persons 'pod', showing how the waves depicted were oscillating.
Apparently the technicians on duty understood all of these things and each time a wave or frequency went the wrong way, a series of grunts and frantic typing and clicking followed. Doctors shuffled quietly on the floor, no footsteps, just shuffles, either in haste or slow and deliberate as they attended each patient. Each one doing the usual thing of checking pulses and heart rates, blood pressure and eye movement. Each time being done constantly, continuously, each by a different physician. Even mages were among the crowd, casting the occasional healing spell.
Clearly, this was a well practiced, well managed operation, each and every man and woman involved trained and grouped together in perfect harmony to accomplish their goal. I had never seen coordination like this outside of a military operation. Frankly, this level of cooperative single-minded focus was just as terrifying as the circumstances surrounding it.
Then... the Prince began to move. For the first time in two months, he opened his eyes and breathed a deep sigh. Before we could do anything, attendants nearby silenced us and made us quiet down. The doctors quickly worked, nurses cradling the boy to wake him and calm him down. He was quickly removed from the machine, hastily moved into an adjacent room with a dozen doctors and nurses attending.
One attendant approached, handing the Emperor himself a notepad with writing on it. The Emperor read it, removed his cloak and carried it with him, also removing his loud shoes and going barefoot. He looked at us and silently commanded us to stay. He was ushered through the room, as quietly and quickly as possible and allowed to see his son. We were shushed and gestured to be quiet and wait. An hour passed. One of the Marines came out of the pod and shook his head in a daze. Three doctors immediately swarmed and checked him.
They only used a series of quiet grunts, head nods and sign language or military hand gestures to communicate through the entire ordeal. The Marine was ushered out of the room down the corridor of his own accord and received an approving nod and pat on the shoulder from his commander. Minutes later, another Marine, followed by another, emerged from the machine and was frantically checked on by doctors. One appeared to be injured, with part of his uniform torn open and blood pouring from an open wound on his arm.
The injured officer was hastily bandaged, then ushered into a recovery room with the other heading down the corridor to his barracks. Again, he received an approving nod and pat on the shoulder from his commander. Ten minutes passed and one more Marine appeared. He grunted and growled at the doctors who came to help him and gestured urgently to the last Marine still in his pod. They attended, and he, now sporting a bleeding leg, grabbed a set of bandages and patched himself up, shuffling calmly into the nearby recovery ward by himself as doctors and healers tended to the last guy.
They all worked in a fevered manner and carefully tended to the soldier who was now twitching and moving in his sleep, his heart monitor clearly going crazy. Two minutes later he awoke with a gasp, then vomited a glob of blood as a sudden fury of yells, activity and screams shattered the abnormal quiet of the room. The Marine was hastily placed onto a gurney, stripped of his uniform as they moved and shoved into an operating theater with a half dozen mages casting every healing spell they knew.
The control room suddenly buzzed with frantic activity as the sound of typing and code phrases, coding language and other stuff filled the room. From dead silence to the roar of a stadium, the entire ship burst into a frenzy of activity. The rest of the retinue was allowed to wander away and do their own thing, seeing to the Emperor and his son. I walked up to the Elder and opened my mouth to ask a question. He raised a hand, stopping me, and brought over the human doctor who seemed in charge of everything.
"Can I help you?" He said.
"Yes. Ahem... WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?" I yelled loudly, my voice echoing through the whole ship.
He stood flabbergasted for a moment, then slapped me across the face. "This is a hospital Ser, a medical facility. I would kindly ask you to moderate your volume. As to your query, this is Noxcape - A Machine For Dreams."
I rubbed my sore cheek and stood silent for a bit longer. "Would you please be so kind as to elaborate a bit more?"
"So long as you remain cordial, yes I would be happy to. Come here, let me show you." He showed me towards the control room.
He said something to one of the control operators and they replied something before I could get close enough to hear details. He pointed towards the screen and pressed play on a video. It was from the perspective of a helmet mounted camera. The imagery was bouncy and jerky but it was watchable.
It showed a strange, discordant landscape of blood colored sand, gnarled trees and forgotten decrepit buildings. The camera moved and showed the other four Marines there, in uniform. They listened in, wordlessly and then barked orders at each other. They charged forward, weapons drawn at the sight of strange, monstrous creatures. They opened fire and reduced the monsters to atoms. They approached the horde and there, still in his sleeping clothes was the Crown Prince, screaming terrified.
They grabbed the boy carefully and one shielded him as the entire area completely changed, shifting, warping, remaking itself into a castle on a hill. Blue grass all around them, the clouds pink and shaped like odd toys or strange candies. An army of monstrous beings shaped like enormous rabbits with razor sharp teeth and giant claws stood at the ready and then charged the castle walls. They were no match for the Marines weapons, and the battle was over fast.
The area warped again and changed to a huge maze-like structure. The Marines all kept the child in close proximity, two front, two back, one protecting the kid in the center. The video shows various traps, monsters and other things in their path as they work their way through the maze, becoming separated as they continued onward by various means. The camera flipped past various perspectives as the maze shifted and twisted, cutting the squad off. One Marine was hit by a spike trap and got his arm cut open.
Two Marines got cornered by a monster and grabbed one of them, slamming him into the wall and cutting open the other one's leg before being mercilessly gunned down. Another Marine was brought to the brink of exhaustion running from a collapsing floor. The last shot of the video showed the Marine guarding the prince carrying the boy towards the center, barely dodging traps and beasts, shooting with his pistol and tossing the child into a portal at the center of the maze. The Marine stood to fend off the hordes as he waited for his comrades.
His camera perspective caught a red flare that went up, indicating he needed to go and he jumped into the portal. The camera showed each Marine arriving at the portal in the sequence they woke up, the last one to leave seriously injured, carried by his comrade. The video ended.
I just looked at the doctor in complete shock. "That... was the dreamscape. That was the- Oh gods… The place where demons of the Shroud and Aether take their victims to steal their souls! You… found a way in!"
"Yep. we did indeed." He replied with a smile..
"Where Aether or Psionic demons put a victim into a comatose state, torture them with nightmares and horrors to break their resolve, then slowly fight each other over who gets to keep the victims soul." The operator nearby said with a smile.
"Well... I... Uhm..." What could I possibly say to this?
"Well... First real successful field test I suppose. This is Noxcape - a Machine for Dreams. Named after the ancient videogame Slamscape, a video game about dreams, and Amnesia: A Machine For Pigs. It's the first ever functioning unit of a Psionic Interface Engine. It allows us to safely enter the Dreamscape and... retaliate." He said with a wry smile.
"If it is only a dream or conduit, how did those soldiers get injured?!" I asked in concern.
"The mind makes it real. The magic coursing through us all makes us feel the pain. You hurt the soul, you hurt the mind. You hurt the mind, you hurt the body. It may not be real here, but there, it's as real as it gets. Its how they hurt us." He responded, showing me a few snippets of the action that took place.
"Which means dear ambassador, just like any man worth the iron in his blood would do, those five men volunteered to face a potential horrific death to bring back your prince. You may thank them in person when they are back on their feet." The operator said to me with a smile, then resumed her work.
I went silent for several hours afterwards, and met the Crown Prince later that day to find the boy was more than just okay, he was more lively than we'd seen him in his entire life. Humans had created a piece of technology that could directly attack the Dreamscape. For the first time in tens of thousands of years, we had a way to get back at the creatures that had plagued us since we awoke to the Psionic Maelstrom and Magic Aether. Finally… We had a way to fight back.

So here we are, Battlehawks fans. The next day after a crucial loss in our first playoff game. The first playoff game for St. Louis in decades, to boot. It still stings, but we're still here.
The good: There was no quit in this team. Despite inept play calls from Gradkowski, this team did not give up. They kept fighting, capitalized on some key mistakes by San Antonio, and gave us a fighting chance to win it. AJ gave us the best moment of the night with his "I feel like shit" sideline commentary.
The bad: It wasn't enough. Whatever was going through the minds of the coaches on that final drive, one thing is clear. They didn't think we could win. Any coach who gives up when the possibility to win exists, no matter how slight, does not deserve to be a coach anymore. Becht might not have coached himself out of a job, but Gradkowski sure as hell did.
The ugly: Bruce Gradkowski's play calls. All night, it never felt like he was putting this team in the best position to succeed. SA's defense kept loading the box and stacking 5-6 guys on the line, creating 1 on 1 with our blockers. Did Gradkowski see that and start calling more shotgun plays with short routes over the middle where they had nobody in coverage? Nope! He refused to adjust to their scheme like some life size caricature of the Seymour Skinner "No, it's the children who are wrong" meme. And that last drive was the pinnacle of it all. 4th and 12 would've been an option, but we needed a FG first. Clock winding down, in FG range, and the coaches just let it slip on by.
All in all, we can't judge an entire season after one game. But it's safe to say Gradkowski should be replaced with someone who can adjust to the defense he's facing, especially in a big game. That kind of shit can't happen at any level.
I'm proud of my Battlehawks though. They lived up to the name, and fought through the adversity to even give us a chance. KAW IS LAW and always will be!!

39M 6'4" 215lb, no medication or medical issues. For about a week and a half my left arm has been having a line of mild pain when fully extended straight. It goes from 1/3 up my forearm ending slightly before my armpit. When not straightened there is zero discomfort. Its been slowly getting better but last night what looks something like a bruise has appeared exactly along that pain path. Searching suggests something with the median nerve but I can't find anything relating to the appearance of this discoloration. There is no hand pain or operational limitation of function of the hand or arm. However, for the last year when exposed to extended cold the middle finger only of the left hand will lose circulation and turn white until its warmed. Is there concern or shall I continue to let whatever it is heal on its own?
https://i.imgur.com/DjTewBn.jpeg

Feeling that bizarre itch? You know, the one right in the middle of your back where you can't reach for the life of you? I swear, it's like the universe is playing tricks on us. The more unreachable the itch, the more intense it becomes. It's like a conspiracy against our sanity. I mean, seriously, why does it always happen when I'm in public or in a meeting? It's like my back is conspiring with the universe to embarrass me.
And don't even get me started on those phantom itches. You know, when you swear something's crawling on you but there's absolutely nothing there? Is it just me, or does the universe have a sick sense of humor? Anyway, I'm curious, fellow Redditors, what's your go-to move when faced with an unreachable itch? Asking for a friend...

The first Wall Street Breakfast edition of 2024 was called the Year Of The Election, and things are rapidly changing across the globe as investors edge closer to the middle of the year. Some recent political shake-ups have been seen in India, South Africa and Mexico, while things are starting to shift in Europe as well. U.K. Prime Minister Rishi Sunak has called a general election for July 4, while results are still being digested from the European Parliament elections over the weekend.
How it works: European parties are basically big tent movements, with national parties from the 27 EU member states teaming up to form seven major European political groups with representation based on population. It's a big deal as the 720 lawmakers in the European Parliament approve the union's budget, negotiate EU laws, and approve the President of the European Commission in a vote that will take place on July 8 (after all, it is the year of the election). The remaining 27 commissioners are chosen by their respective countries under the European Council, which sets the bloc's political agenda, and will be approved by yet another vote in parliament on Dec. 19.
The biggest gainers from the last election were the EPP, which will be the largest party in the parliament with a projected 189 seats, as well as the Identity and Democracy group, which are known for their nationalism and euroskepticism (and would've seen even bigger gains if Germany's AfD wasn't kicked out of the party several weeks ago). The biggest losers were the Greens, which champion environmental and climate protections, as well as Renew Europe, which is known for its pro-European and liberal stance. Looking at things on the political spectrum, the EU as a whole shifted more to the center-right, conservatives, and even the far-right, which can bring a major shift to the bloc.
Already happening? Immediately after the election, French President Emmanuel Macron called for a snap parliamentary election, while Belgian Prime Minister De Croo resigned following a heavy loss (there were also big gains for the right in Germany and Austria). At the EU level, centrist parties like the EPP, S&D and Renew Europe will still have the majority of seats in the European Parliament, so the current coalition will likely continue, but priorities could change due to growing influences elsewhere. Energy and agricultural policies have already come under pressure amid a cost-of-living crisis and weak economic growth, national defense spending will be notable due to migration fears and border security, while industrial policy is also in focus due to rising competitive measures in the United States and China. Take the WSB survey.
The AI game Apple (AAPL) will kick off its annual Worldwide Developers Conference today with a keynote address that is perhaps the tech giant's most widely anticipated speech since the iPhone was introduced nearly 17 years ago. While the event isn't usually a catalyst for the stock, the fact that the conference is likely to focus on Apple's generative artificial intelligence plans could prove significant for investors. An AI-based Siri upgrade, Apple's OpenAI partnership and new features that will allow users to run generative AI commands on the iPhone itself are anticipated to take the spotlight. Notably, Apple is not expected to unveil any new hardware at the event. (12 comments)
Activist Airlines Elliott Management has reportedly accumulated an almost $2B stake in Southwest Airlines (LUV) and plans to push for changes, although the exact details aren't known. The activist, who is expected to engage with top brass at Southwest, is one of the carrier's largest investors. The news sent shares of Southwest soaring 6% in premarket trading, but the stock has underperformed its rivals YTD, falling nearly 4%, compared to Delta's (DAL) 25% gain and a 28% rise by United (UAL). Southwest, once considered the most profitable American airline, suffered a wider-than-expected loss last quarter as operating expenses weighed on profitability. (12 comments)
Safety scandal Five Japanese automakers have been accused of falsifying safety test data when applying to certify certain models, in a scandal reminiscent of Volkswagen's (OTCPK:VWAGY) 2015 Dieselgate. Toyota (TM), Honda (HMC), Mazda (OTCPK:MZDAY), Suzuki (OTCPK:SZKMY) and Yamaha (OTCPK:YAMHF) were directed to suspend shipments of the models, sending their shares tumbling last week. Japan also raided Toyota's headquarters, dealing another blow to the automaker that is facing governance concerns as well as safety testing issues at its unit Daihatsu. While Dieselgate, which violated U.S. clean air laws, eventually led to $30B in fines and damages worldwide, the current scandal has fueled calls for a review of overly stringent rules.
Today's Markets
In Asia, Japan +0.9%. Hong Kong closed. China closed. India -0.3%. In Europe, at midday, London -0.3%. Paris -1.8%. Frankfurt -0.7%. Futures at 7:00, Dow -0.2%. S&P -0.1%. Nasdaq -0.1%. Crude +0.1% to $75.61. Gold -0.4% to $2,315.30. Bitcoin +0.1% to $69,402. Ten-year Treasury Yield +1 bp to 4.46%.
Today's Economic Calendar
1:00 PM Results of $58B, 3-Year Note Auction
Companies reporting earnings today »
What else is happening...
Merger Monday: Oil driller Noble (NE) to buy Diamond Offshore (DO).
Responding to user protests, Adobe (ADBE) clarifies new AI terms.
Major push to stop new private sector coal financing ahead of COP29.
Virgin Galactic (SPCE) completes final spaceflight before Delta debut.
Tesla (TSLA) will not launch a refreshed Model Y this year - Musk.
... $56B pay package irks world's largest sovereign wealth fund.
'Bad Boys: Ride or Die' (SONY) tops the weekend box office.
Walmart (WMT) opposes store panic buttons due to false alarm risk.
Looking to reverse fortunes, Teladoc Health (TDOC) names new CEO.
Still volatile: GameStop (GME) on watch following Roaring Kitty's return.

Hi, this entire thing started with an argument that's been going on since mid May.
Our relationship dynamic is basically me, being the Overthinker who needs 2-7 days coming to terms with what I'm feeling and he the person instantly accepting all the things he can't change and searching for salutation the second after. Which makes discussions very hard.
(For some back information I have big trust issues and I'm always afraid of people manipulating me or if i am manipulating people which is why I only have two or three friends.)
The argument was about our plan to travel to Thailand (he's originally from there). We've been there last year for the first time and wanted to go again this year. Again meeting his family and brother, he would came over from Japan with his son. So big travel time for his entire family which costs a lot of money. But then (after several months of pain) I was finally diagnosed with an herniated disk. It didn't got any better over weeks and it's really dragging me. My mental and physical health is shit. I went to my doctor telling her about my condition. She told me from how I'm explaining my pain it sounds like I'm not only having a herniated disk in my lower back but also in my middle back and/or neck. When I asked her if I should participate this travel (an 1-Hour flight followed by a 9-hours flight and ending with an 1-hour flight. But with on overall travel time of like 22 hours) she said she wouldn't recommend but it's my decision to make. My physiotherapist said the same. My boyfriend and I talked about rather traveling or not. But from the beginning it was very clear we wants to make this travel. I was very anxious about all of this. I cried nearly everyday. Telling him everyday how afraid I am. He was searching the entire internet for advice how to travel with my condition and making preparations. He barley sees his family (sometimes not even seeing them in many years, so I know this is important to him). But he also said he's not going to travel alone. That put a lot of pressure on me until I exploded only a few days before the travel, nearly having a panic attack and directly telling him I'm not going to Thailand. This resulted in him being very angry and disappointed. I never saw him this angry and we didn't talk to each other for 2 days.
We talked a lot about this by now. He said he didn't wanted to put so much pressure on me nevertheless he's pretty sure I could have manage the travel and that I'm stronger than I think. While I felt very overseen by telling him this travel is all to much for me. This broke my trust in him because I always saw him as a person that deeply cares for me, always wanted the best for me even if the result is bad for him. I felt like I never really knew this man. I was wondering who that man is I'm together with for 5 years now. When I told him all this he finally explained to me that he didn't just wanted to go because of his family and all the money we're losing, but also because he's been planing to propose to me in Thailand. We've been talking about marriage from time to time. From the very beginning he said he doesn't believe in marriage and I said I always dreamed of marrying one day. Neither of us thought we will be together for more than two years so I didn't really cared about it at first. But now we've been together for 5 years. And we love each other. I was telling him about the financial benefits of marriage and how much security this is for a woman if a couple wants to have kids. I was very sad about how he didn't want marriage but with time I have overcome this and became okay with the fact that the man who loves me will never marry me. So it completely took me of guard when he told me he planned to propose. It showed me how much he cared for me and that he truly loves me. In this euphoria I instantly forgave him, thinking we all do mistakes and love is about trusting and should just have trusted more. I should have known that he wouldn't put me in this situation if it wasn't really important. But this euphoria ran down after two days and again I'm thinking "Should I trust him?" Was he, like the Ken he is, really just missing the forest for the trees?
I've been revisiting our entire relationship asking myself if there is evidence that I shouldn't trust him.
He is always taking care of me. Always asking what I wanna do. What I wanna eat. What movie I wanna watch. Etc. Like he doesn't care what we do, as long as we are doing it together. As the youngest of three kids and constantly overworked parents it was very new and comforting to me that someone took care of me and I didn't have to adapt to a compromise.
I'm not sure if he's doing all of this so I think good of him and he can manipulate me. But I don't know ... manipulating me into what? We barley have s*x and he's not very much interested in it these days. Maybe manipulating me in just staying? So he's not alone? But I think of him as a person being okay with being alone.
I want to tell myself he's not using me. I want to believe it. But now my mind is spiraling back to our first date. In the evening his fingers were coming closer to my V. I told him I don't want this but after a short break he did it anyway. I was in the deepest and darkest depression of my life back then and didn't really cared about what was happening to my body (also did self-harm during that time of my life). I didn't stop him and acted like I'm enjoying his fingering. We were both virgins and very inexperienced at this time. We didn't have any s*xual contact after this for weeks or months even thou we saw each other regularly.
This never happened again. But I know it was basically abuse. It's been 5 years since then and he himself brought this situation into conversation twice over the years. But both times I didn't had the heart of telling him the truth. So the convo was like: "You know back then? You told me to stop but I did it anyway. Am I a bad? You did enjoyed this, right?" "Yeah..." "Guess I'm a bad man :("
Should I trust him? Am I wasting my time on him? Should I give him a second chance?

Just a disclaimer "It may work on you or not"
But it did for me for real. I have been suffering from stomach pain from last 2 year, bottom left corner below the rib cage.
Got an endoscopy and biopsy done, mild gastritis with H.pylori was detected. Had multiple rounds of antibiotics, PPI. Nothing worked, pain was there, low appetite and constipation.
Then last week, as I am from India someone suggested as no medication has worked try to go to a Saint (baba) he technically fixes the navel displacement and damn dude it worked from the very moment I visited him.
All you need to do, please please can't emphasize on this more try this at home and let me know.
Need one more person with you, tell them to wack your right arm middle finger like for 3-4 times. Also check if you have navel displacement by putting both the hands together in such way the upper most lines join and check if your smallest figures line are aligned in a line ( if the small fingure lines are not aligned) you will get okay by doing the above recommendation.
Please feel free to dm me for this thing it worked on me, I am telling you guys I never felt like this on last 2 years, everyday I eat food now like I am having it for the first time.
Take care guys don't lose hope

I’ll never forget the first time I borrowed a day’s rations from a horse. I had a good ride on the sheltered side of my car, grateful for once to not have to ride dirty face. An unfortunate misadventure the day before had led three other people I was riding with to get left behind, so I was alone and had the whole porch to myself. This was somewhere in either Utah or Wyoming, there weren’t any water towers or other signs to tell me exactly where I was at the time.
I was headed in the right direction under good weather, and I looked forward to reaching the end of the line in Chicago. The only problem was that my jug and all my canteens were nearly empty. By my reckoning, the next significant stop on this line wouldn’t be until somewhere in Iowa, easily another full day’s ride over desolate, wide-open terrain. I needed to find a source of drinkable water soon or else I’d be forced to abandon my train and hitchhike to civilization.
I was riding an IM, but we must have been relatively low priority because we kept stopping to let other trains pass us at sidings. These stops made the water problem worse because I was forced to lay prone on the porch to stay out of sight. The full blazing sun overhead made the steel hot, and it baked me where I lay every time my train sided out to wait for her sisters to thunder past us. There was some relief while we were rolling because the moving air was cooler and I could sit in the small sliver of shade provided by the double-stacked shipping containers that accompanied me on my car.
The wind whipped the black nylon shoulder strap of my last canteen as I drained it. I closed the plastic screw cap, swallowed the final tepid mouthful, and thought about what to do. Even though I already knew what I would find, I dug around in my pack and pulled out all the food I had left. Three flour tortillas, about five ounces of peanut butter, half a dozen whole carrots, and a small package of quick oats. There would be some moisture in the carrots, but not enough to get me through the night and another full day.
If I’d known for certain that I’d be delivered directly to civilization within the next 24 hours, I could have toughed it out and just waited. The problem was that I didn’t know exactly which train this was, only which direction it was going when it left the yard in Sparks, Nevada. We might end up sitting somewhere up in the mountains for hours, we might divert to some facility or location that I didn’t know about. A mechanical failure might lead to a string of cars getting left behind to be reclaimed hours or days later. I might get spotted and pulled off the train by police, left to make my way on foot in the middle of nowhere. There were possible scenarios that made dehydration a life-threatening factor out here.
The fact that I faced this scenario didn’t come as a surprise to me, it was always like this, always that risk of getting stranded or detoured. I felt foolish though for not being prepared, for falling into this most simple and basic trap of too little water. I thought back to the gas station in Roseville, CA where I’d last replenished my supplies. It would have been easy to just spend two bucks on another gallon jug and strap it to my pack. The extra weight would have made the long walk to the hopout suck that much more, but I knew this route and I should have known better than to approach such a long hop with inadequate supplies.
I snapped a carrot in half and chomped a bite from it before stashing the rest of the food back down in the bottom of my pack. Whatever decision I made, I would have to wait until we stopped again or at least until we slowed down enough that I could dismount on-the-fly. The landscape around me was mostly rolling sheets of yellowish grass extending far off toward distant Rocky Mountain peaks. Other than the railroad itself, any signs of human progress were rare, and usually limited to industrial infrastructure like cell towers or solar panels in the distance. I could see a road about two miles away running roughly parallel to my train line. It was hard to make out individual vehicles from here, but there was some hazy movement that looked like traffic.
I came up with a plan and repeated it to myself internally, reinforcing my logical rules so that I’d act on them correctly when I was under duress. The next time my train stopped, I would hope and pray that it was miraculously near some good source of water. In the likely event that it didn’t, I would dismount, bring my gear with me, and run back towards the rear of the train. There was probably close to half a mile of train still behind me, and though I hadn’t seen the end of it myself, I figured there may be a slave unit back there. If that unit happened to have its doors unlocked, and I was fast enough to get back there before the train left me, I had a chance. The door should lead to an empty, uncrewed cab which would likely be stocked with dozens of unopened disposable water bottles. If the train left me behind, the unit’s doors were locked, or there weren’t any pusher units to be found, I would just have to walk toward that road and thumb it out.
It was hard to accept this decision. Walking away from a perfectly good train is something that no rider wants to do. It can be so arduous and difficult just to get a ride in the first place, the though of giving one up willingly is hard to fathom. I had to remind myself that I’d experienced dangerous thirst before and vowed to never again let myself get close to that terrible death. Even just being dehydrated for a few hours, I knew, caused me to think more slowly, react more sluggishly, and make bad decisions more easily. I had been lazy and foolish in bringing too little water in the first place, now I might have to pay for it by watching my train leave me behind. I had noone to blame but myself.
As I was sitting there battling internally to force logic down my own throat, I looked over the side of the train and noticed something up ahead of us to the southeast. Cows stood in a pasture, fenced in by barbed wire between ancient-looking wooden posts. This was a new feature in the otherwise empty landscape. At the same moment that my mind began to grasp the meaning of this new development, a telltale jerking clatter told me that we were slowing down. When the deceleration continued, I realized we were stopping, probably siding out. Sure enough, another set of tracks appeared directly beside ours. We continued decelerating. I peered toward the livestock and saw a separate pasture with four or five chestnut brown horses grazing within it. That was where I spotted the item I’d been hoping for: a water trough for the animals.
My hands were quick and busy as the train gave a stronger lurch of deceleration. I was disconnecting and separating all of my water containers from the rest of my gear. Before we came to a complete stop, I was already climbing down the ladder. I gently landed on the ground at a walking pace and my next two steps instinctively took me away from the train, clearing myself and my gear from the deadly steel wheels. I walked about another hundred feet alongside the train, keeping up with it and staying abreast the car I’d been riding. There were suicides and other lousy rides aboard this train, and I wanted my car back if I could get it.
As soon as the thing came to a stop, I dropped all of my gear except for the jug and canteens and then took off at a dead run toward the pasture. It was further than it looked across the open ground. I was light on my feet, picking my footsteps carefully, scanning the uneven ground with animal focus as I went. Dry yellow straw crunched under my boots, the empty water containers bounced and jostled around in my hands. I had to consciously pull my lungs down into measured breaths in rhythm with my bounding strides.
My heart was pumping in my ears as I approached the fence. I glanced behind me to see that my train was still there. The other train was already passing it going the opposite direction. I thought to myself that I’d made the right decision leaving my pack there on the ground. It would have been truly disastrous if my train left me behind and took my gear with it as it went. I’d heard of it happening to others. I was safe from that fate, but it would be far better if I could refil here and get back aboard. I’d have to hurry.
Was trying not to be frantic as I scanned the fence line. My eyes had to gather a lot of information all at once. I was looking out for vehicles or figures that betrayed the presence of any farmer who might object to me sprinting toward their livestock. I had an eye on the horses themselves. They were trotting around at the other end of the pastuer, kicking up dust and tossing their heads and tails about in a flowing display of red-brown hair. Whether they were perturbed by me, the trains, or just horses being horses, I couldn’t tell.
Just inside their pen I spotted an oval-shaped corrugated tub about twice the size of a bathtub with sides that came up to my knee. When I approached it to investigate there was about 18 inches of water in the trough, but it was dark green and slimy with the residue of dusty, alfalfa-fed horses drinking deeply from the depths. Another glance back at the trains showed that mine was still stopped and the oncoming one was still passing.
I shuffled a few yards along the fence and spotted another trough, this one was circular, about 6 feet across. What I was really looking for sat sticking out of a fence post, attached by bailing wire and several zip ties. It was a simple spigot faucet with a little T-shaped handle. I leaned in over the barbed wire and turned the old dusty, cobwebbed contraption. To my surprise, it turned easily and freely as if it had been recently greased. A strong blast of rushing water violently spurted from the faucet and into the trough, occasionally interrupted by the coughing sputter or air leaving the line. I left it running and bent down to uncap my jug. I held the old gallon milk jug there under the flow of water with one hand and uncapped my next canteen with the other. In quick succession, all the vessels were filled and their caps tightly screwed back on. I turned the faucet handle clockwise with a squeak and silenced the flow of water.
One more glance around, noone watching besides a couple of curious black cows. I whipped my head around to the train to see that her sister had finished passing. I bent down to gather up the now heavy collection water vessels and began walking back. About halfway across the field, I heard the soft hissing followed by the tick tick tick tick of air brakes opening up. My train was about to leave. These IM’s were infamous for accelerating quickly, often taking off with little warning. Keith a jolt, I began to run at a maddening pace back toward the rails. Somewhere in the open stretch of dead grass, my food caught on the hidden remnants of a half-buried old tire. I caught myself but dropped one of my canteens. I stopped to pick it up and heard the terrifying staggered thunder clap of slack being pulled out of the train. She was moving.
I didn’t know if I could make this. By the time I lept over a small ditch and onto the ballast gravel that lined the tracks, my the train had already pulled forward nearly half a car length from where I had left my backpack. In a desperate effort of awkward straining, I managed to transfer all of the water containers into the grip of my left arm. I bent down without stopping and grabbed my backpack and saxophone case with my right hand.
The train was accelerating. I made the split-second decision to give up my cushy sheltered porch and take the dirty face side of my car since it was about 50 feet closer to me at this point. I would have trotted up next to the moving behemoth immediately, but there was a stack of old railroad tie plates that I had to run around to avoid tripping. My muscles were screaming with the exertion. I managed to swing my left arm up and clumsily deposit all my water containers up onto the porch as I ran along side it. Then with my newly freed arm, I threw my backpack aboard, hefted my saxophone case onto my shoulder by its strap, grabbed the ladder with both hands, and hopped up onto my ride.
There was a solid shunting motion as the train continued accelerating. I corralled my scattered gear and sat down, still catching my breath. As we picked up speed and the landscape began to move past me once again, I peeked around the corner of my shipping container back rest and got one last glance at the corral. The distant figures of the horses had settled down and bowed their heads to munch on scrubby tufts of mountain grass. I opened a canteen and pulled deeply, gulping good, cold water. The adrenaline slowly faded and left me with a renewed sense of relief, peace, and gratitude.

Like the Title says i wanna become a femboy mostly because i wanna finally express my "true self" if you could say that and because i wanna show my family the middle finger because they mentally tortured me for years. But the problem is i look a bit like jabba and am as hairy as chewie and I could maybe be the voice of darth vader. I'm starting to workout and keeping an eye on my diet. I'm about 1,85 m tall and weigh right now about 150 kg. I really want to know if i could make a femboy. Any opinion helps me alot

This fun event took place around the holiday season at a post office.
For a bit of backstory, I'm in school taking 18-21 credit hours a semester, and I'm trying to keep my three kids and wife's schedules; we didn't have time to stop before this day. I had a random middle of the week off of work, and school just finished for the holiday; "Great! I'll ship those two presents to the nephews and a few other errands (Santa shopping)."
I stopped by the USPS to ship out the items. I don't typically ship items, and the last time might've been in 2018 before today. I see it's packed, parking in the dirt lot next to the post office. Take my stuff inside and join in the line of 9,000,000 people ahead of me. One of the workers saw me without boxes and asked me what I would like, and he provided me with a couple of boxes (literally two shipments). I ask, "Do I need a label or write down the address on anything?" He responded, "Is it just the two? Nothing else? You should be good. Just have your address ready." Copy that, I think to myself.
Well, in walks a couple. They try to cut in line, but someone up ahead tells them the line starts back there. I can see Karen get frustrated about going to the back of the line behind me. I'm ignoring them and, in my world, listening to a podcast on one headphone while listening to my surroundings. They're not being hostile or anything other than bad-mouthing everyone in life ahead of us. Clothing, hairstyle, someone "wearing pajamas in public? The nerve!", and more of the typical judging a book by the cover and not the person or situation.
As the line gets closer and closer, I hear Karen behind me start talking, and I'm ignoring her, thinking she's talking to her guy (possibly spouse). Nope, she's talking to me and is now saying, "Hey, big fella! You need addresses on those packages! Can't you hear me? Are you dead?! Geez!" Mind you, I'm 6'5" and 260; I know I'm a big guy, but I'll say, most of us don't like being called that, similar to calling someone short "half-pint"... Whatever, though. I politely say back, "Thanks! I asked that gentleman, and he said I'm good; I must have my addresses ready. They're out of labels for us." She responded, "Well, I'm just trying to help everyone BEHIND you and speed up your time here so we don't have to be delayed..." I said, "Thanks! I don't have anything to write with even if I had those labels. Again, thanks for the heads-up, but I've got it covered; much appreciated."
I went back to ignoring her and standing there. Well, Karen walks up to the desk of people being helped, grabs a pen, walks back to me, and goes, "Here! NOW there are no excuses..." While trying to force me to grab a pen while holding two boxes of items. I finally lost it. "Well, KAREN, I'd hate to delay you by a whopping 30 seconds as I write out two addresses. Mind you, I have them ready to go. One address: I don't have the city or zip, so I need to ask them what it is because my paper is rubbed off with those pieces of info. Now, THAT gentleman told me not to worry about it. How about you mind your business and I'll worry about mine."
Her face was filled with disgust and hatred, and while she threw the pen back up to the counter next to the workers, she told me that she'd never had anyone stand up to her.
I see another person adding a label and taping up a box because the one they had was too big. I turned back to the Karen and said, "Uh oh! You may need to rush in and help her! She's delaying us too! How dare she not know the USPS guidelines for shipping!? Go, take care of them as well, cuz you work for them, right?!" She gave me the biggest eye roll I've ever seen. I then said, "Oh! No? Then stay in your lane, Karen, and I'll stay in mine. Leave others alone, God!"
This part perked up her hubby, and he said, "Look here, young man! You need to show respect! To my..." I cut him off and said, "No! Respect is earned, not demanded. Now, why don't you go be a good old person, fall in the parking lot, and break a hip? Take your wife with you on that trip!"
While the USPS employee assisted me in finding the city and zip, I had the address on one and write out the second while she set up the first. Zero delays. The lady reboxing her stuff was, and Karen was fuming.