Fear of god essentials hoodie saks

I used to work at a reputable audit company. Those familiar with me will recognize the company. I'm certain my colleagues will come across this on Reddit, as I've seen them browse the site during office hours.
It's been approximately two days since the incident, and I can't shake the feeling of being watched. Each passing night, the shadows in my room seem to grow darker and have more substance. I fear I'm losing my sanity.
My fellow coworkers, as you read this, I'm uncertain if I'll still be alive. However, please, heed my warning. You must put an end to this curse before it's too late.
It happened on the night of June 23rd. It was around 11 PM, and anyone passing by the office building would have noticed that only the lights on the third floor were on. My colleague Awais and I were the only ones working late, as we had an upcoming deadline and, thus, had some unfinished tasks. It wouldn't be fair to solely blame us for the delay, as our client had taken their sweet time in providing the necessary data. Such was the life of an auditor.
My fingers glided across the keyboard of my laptop, the sound of typing echoed through the empty floor. Both of us were surviving on caffeine at this point, evident from the scattered paper cups on the table.
In the midst of entering an Excel formula, a faint scraping sound caught my attention. I had paused briefly to double-check my calculations, and that's when I heard it. As soon as I paid attention to it, it abruptly stopped. I looked up from my laptop, surveying the dimly lit office, but found no source for the sound. Awais, sitting to my right, seemed too busy with his work to notice. Shaking my head, I returned to my tasks, convinced that I had simply imagined it. However, as I looked back at the laptop screen, the scraping noise resumed, faint but distinct.
I immediately stood up, and once again, the sound stopped. I scanned the room and heard Awais making a strange noise. I turned toward him, and he burst into laughter.
"Bruh, you should have seen your face," Awais said, struggling to contain his amusement.
"Dude, that scared the hell out of me. Don't pull such pranks when we're up against a deadline."
"Yeah, yeah. You definitely need some sleep. You're losing it right now."
"I'll get some rest once I finish this," I replied, plopping back into my chair and letting out a sigh.
"I hate my job."
"Not much longer, right? This is our last day. Do you think our replacements will be able to complete this?"
"Probably. We gave them a thorough briefing about the work earlier."
I looked at Awais, and he slowly closed his laptop.
"You're leaving, huh?"
"I have a lot on my mind right now. I need to take a step back."
"Sure, I'll probably leave in a few minutes as well. You go ahead."
Awais started gathering his belongings, and in the midst of packing, he asked, "Have you heard from Asjad Bashir? He left the company a week ago, and we haven't heard a word from him."
"Same here. I've tried contacting him multiple times, but his phone was turned off."
"You think it's related to that rumored curse?"
"Nonsense. Do you believe in such things?"
"I don't, but lately, it seems more than just a rumor, doesn't it? They say those who leave the company vanish."
"Asjad not answering our calls would definitely have a logical explanation, rather than some absurd curse. He did say that his phone was causing all sorts of problems before he left"
"Sure, but what about Sarah and Ahmed?"
"They both had plans to move to China, so it's possible that they haven't had a chance to reach out to us yet."
"Junaid, it's been three months, and Ahmed, your work buddy, hasn't even contacted you."
"I understand that his silence is bothering you, but I have faith that he will eventually get in touch with us."
Awais didn't seem satisfied with my response. He stared blankly at the vacant office space.
"Don't worry about anything. You'll be fine. That rumor is just a tactic to keep us in the company," I assured him, giving his shoulder a pat.
"I want to believe that too. Anyway, I'm leaving now. Let's grab lunch sometime and talk shit about this company again," Awais said weakly, letting out a faint laugh.
"Sure thing, buddy."
We shook hands firmly, and Awais picked up his bag, heading towards the elevator. The doors closed, plunging the space into darkness once again, I returned to my desk and resumed my work.
About 20 minutes later, I stretched my arms.
"Man, the newbies are going to have a field day with this assignment."
I closed my laptop, preparing to pack up. I gathered the empty paper cups and tossed them into the nearby bin.
As I stood by the elevator, I took one last glance at the empty office.
"Never thought I'd witness this day, especially not after four years of being here."
With that, I stepped into the elevator. The doors closed, and the descent began, the floor numbers gradually ticking down from three.
Surprisingly, the elevator jolted and came to a sudden stop.
"Well, that was quicker than expected," I muttered.
I looked at the elevator panel, only to find the lower portion of "2" and the upper portion of "1".
"What in the world?"
Realizing that the doors hadn't opened, I pressed the buttons and attempted to force them apart, but to no avail. Of all the times, it had to be today. I decided to call the security guard, Kashif, I picked up my phone, and at that moment, the elevator doors opened.
Before me lay a dark corridor, without a single light. Glancing back at the panel, I noticed that it still displayed the same numbers. I tapped the panel and pressed the buttons, but nothing happened.
Letting out a sigh, I adjusted the strap of my bag and stepped out of the elevator. As soon as I did, the doors closed shut. I turned around, only to see the elevator panel indicating that it was descending to the ground level.
"You've got to be kidding me."
I found myself in an unfamiliar corridor. It didn't match any floor layout I was familiar with. With my phone's flashlight activated, I cautiously proceeded forward, noticing a partially open door a few meters away. In a final desperate attempt, I pushed the elevator button, but it remained fixed on the ground level. Admitting defeat, I slowly approached the door.
Carefully, I pushed the door open, my body on high alert for reasons I couldn't quite understand. Illuminating the room with my phone's light, I discovered empty workstations and chairs. I scanned the area, moving the light from one corner to another. In all my four years at the company, I had never seen this room before. I searched for a light switch, however, there were none, and I realized there were no windows either. Odd.
The only sound that came in the room was the sound of rushing air from the ventilation system. As I approached the first workstation, I noticed the name "Akhtar Ali" taped to the desk, accompanied by a photo of a man in his late thirties, I assumed the man in was Akhtar. Strangely enough, I had never seen or met him in the office before. I directed my flashlight towards the adjacent desk, where the name 'Parveen Nabil' was written—a name I had never heard in the office either.
Something felt off. I hurriedly passed by each table, each taped with a name tag and a picture of the person assigned to it. As I approached the end of the table, a particular name caught my attention. There was no mistaking it. Moving closer, I confirmed that 'Asjad Bashir' was written there, accompanied by a picture taken on his last day of work.
I took a step back from the table, feeling uneasy at what I had just looked at. Did the office maintain some bizarre memorial for all the staff members who had left? It sounded absurd, but that's exactly what was before me.
There were two desks next to Asjad's. I moved towards it, making me shiver at what I saw. The desks had mine and Awais' names taped on. What's more shocking was that the picture of either of us was the ones we took a couple of hours ago, when everyone had left.
"What in the world is going on? This is madness," I muttered.
I knew I had to leave. Something was severely wrong. At the far end of the room, there was another door. I approached it and cautiously opened it. Immediately, a horrendous, rotting smell invaded my nostrils, nearly causing me to throw up. Covering my nose, I took a step forward but tripped over something and stumbled to the floor. In the process, my phone was thrown a few feet away, its light illuminating the room. As I slowly rose, I noticed an arm lying next to my feet. Startled, I stood up, only to be confronted with a horrifying sight.
The floor was covered in dried blood, and several hooks with chains dangled from the ceiling. Lifeless bodies hung from those hooks, each with their mouths impaled on a hook. Limbs were strewn across the floor, as every body had been gruesomely dismembered.
I began to hyperventilate. What in God's name was I witnessing? This was sheer madness. Trembling, I reached for my phone, and as I retrieved it, I recognized the first body—the resemblance was unmistakable, it was Asjad Bashir. The corpse had decomposed slightly, but the face was still recognizable.
Three rooms stood at the end of the room, one of which was illuminated. I hurriedly made my way toward it, peeking through the doors' small window. Inside, a huge, obese man stood, easily seven feet tall and weighing over 500 pounds. His body was covered in scars and stitches, with a prominent red scar across his bald head. Gripping a massive meat cleaver, he was busy dismembering a lifeless figure on a table before him. With each strike, limbs fell off, and blood sprayed in all directions. I couldn't see the face of the body from my position.
"Gotta love it when the little fishy walks right into my hands," he chuckled, his voice hoarse.
Shocked and terrified, I stepped away from the door, realizing I needed to escape this place.
I heard movement in the room and quickly ducked into the next room. Just as I slightly closed the door behind me, the man emerged. Although I couldn't see what he was doing, I heard the sound of chains rattling and the piercing of flesh.
Footsteps echoed again, and it seemed the man was leaving. The footsteps halted, followed by the man sniffing the air, chuckling with delight.
"Oh boy, oh boy, looks like another little fishy was wandering around here. I do love me some good hide and seek."
With that, it sounded like he exited the slaughter room and entered the memorial room. Gathering my courage, I left the room I had hidden in, refraining from using my phone's flashlight to avoid being spotted. I used the light coming from the butcher's room to navigate my way to the butcher's room.
The room was a blood-splattered chaos. In the center stood a large table, with limbs on it from the previous victim. I frantically searched the room for a key, a button, anything that could help me escape.
But there was nothing. Overwhelmed with despair, I collapsed onto the floor.
"I don't want to die. I don't want to die."
All hope seemed lost. That monster was sure to return any minute and kill me. At that moment, I noticed a large finger hanging on a cleaver keychain from one of the walls. I got up and grabbed it.
Then, I heard the door behind me creak open, and I felt a force pulling me upright.
"Well, well, the little fishy has strayed too far from the fishing net."
I turned and saw one of the ugliest faces I had ever seen, grinning at me. I struggled to break free from his grip, but he was too strong.
"Oh, the little fishy is putting up a fight? I do love me some strong fish."
He flashed a toothy grin and threw me onto the table. Placing his enormous hand on my neck, he began to strangle me.
"Now, playtime is over, fishy. Please die for me and create the music of death."
He brought his face closer to mine, a sadistic smile spreading across his lips. I clawed at his hands, but his grip tightened. I gasped for air and that made the man laugh.
"Give me more music fish."
Summoning my last ounce of strength, I clenched the cleaver keychain tightly and drove it into his eye with all my might.
The man howled in agony and stumbled back. Coughing and gasping for air, I scrambled to my feet. With one goal in mind to escape, I sprinted out of the room.
"You piece of shit! I'll skin you alive!" roared the butcher.
I took out my phone and illuminated my path with its light. Hastily finding the door to the memorial room, I entered it. The room was now a mess, with overturned tables. I didn't have much time to assess the full extent of the butcher's rampage. I exited the memorial room, rushed down the corridor, and reached the elevator.
Frantically pressing the buttons, I received no response. "Come on, come on!"
Despite multiple attempts, the elevator remained motionless. I heard a loud explosion behind me, signaling that the man had entered the memorial room. Ready to give up, I remembered the giant finger I had picked up. I decided to use it to press the elevator button, and to my relief, the elevator started moving up.
The elevator doors opened and with that, the memorial room doors as well. The light from the elevator shone in the corridor and I saw him running towards me.
"Get here, you little fish."
He raised his cleaver and hurled it towards me. I used the finger and pressed the ground level. The doors closed, stopping the cleaver from impaling me.
The elevator descended and stopped at the ground level.
The doors opened, revealing the reception area of the office, with the security guard Kashif sitting there. As he saw me, he quickly stood and approached.
"What happened to you? You're a complete mess, and what's with all the blood?" he asked, bewildered.
"There... I... He..." I struggled to form any words.
With that, I bolted out of the front door. I ran and ran, not even bothering to call a taxi. I needed to distance myself from that place and everything I had witnessed.
I reached my house in no time as I didn't live too far from the office, I locked all the doors and hid in my room. I don't know how, but somehow I managed to fall asleep. The next morning, I attempted to call Awais, but received no response. I tried calling the security guard, Kashif, but his phone was powered off. Each number I attempted to call yielded the same result—no connection.
During all this confusion, I noticed a text message notification on my phone. It was from Awais, sent to me just after he left the office last night. The message read:
"Junaid, what the hell is going on in this office? Why the hell are there dead bodies being kept here?"

I used to work at a reputable audit company. Those familiar with me will recognize the company. I'm certain my colleagues will come across this on Reddit, as I've seen them browse the site during office hours.
It's been approximately two days since the incident, and I can't shake the feeling of being watched. Each passing night, the shadows in my room seem to grow darker and have more substance. I fear I'm losing my sanity.
My fellow coworkers, as you read this, I'm uncertain if I'll still be alive. However, please, heed my warning. You must put an end to this curse before it's too late.
It happened on the night of June 23rd. It was around 11 PM, and anyone passing by the office building would have noticed that only the lights on the third floor were on. My colleague Awais and I were the only ones working late, as we had an upcoming deadline and, thus, had some unfinished tasks. It wouldn't be fair to solely blame us for the delay, as our client had taken their sweet time in providing the necessary data. Such was the life of an auditor.
My fingers glided across the keyboard of my laptop, the sound of typing echoed through the empty floor. Both of us were surviving on caffeine at this point, evident from the scattered paper cups on the table.
In the midst of entering an Excel formula, a faint scraping sound caught my attention. I had paused briefly to double-check my calculations, and that's when I heard it. As soon as I paid attention to it, it abruptly stopped. I looked up from my laptop, surveying the dimly lit office, but found no source for the sound. Awais, sitting to my right, seemed too busy with his work to notice. Shaking my head, I returned to my tasks, convinced that I had simply imagined it. However, as I looked back at the laptop screen, the scraping noise resumed, faint but distinct.
I immediately stood up, and once again, the sound stopped. I scanned the room and heard Awais making a strange noise. I turned toward him, and he burst into laughter.
"Bruh, you should have seen your face," Awais said, struggling to contain his amusement.
"Dude, that scared the hell out of me. Don't pull such pranks when we're up against a deadline."
"Yeah, yeah. You definitely need some sleep. You're losing it right now."
"I'll get some rest once I finish this," I replied, plopping back into my chair and letting out a sigh.
"I hate my job."
"Not much longer, right? This is our last day. Do you think our replacements will be able to complete this?"
"Probably. We gave them a thorough briefing about the work earlier."
I looked at Awais, and he slowly closed his laptop.
"You're leaving, huh?"
"I have a lot on my mind right now. I need to take a step back."
"Sure, I'll probably leave in a few minutes as well. You go ahead."
Awais started gathering his belongings, and in the midst of packing, he asked, "Have you heard from Asjad Bashir? He left the company a week ago, and we haven't heard a word from him."
"Same here. I've tried contacting him multiple times, but his phone was turned off."
"You think it's related to that rumored curse?"
"Nonsense. Do you believe in such things?"
"I don't, but lately, it seems more than just a rumor, doesn't it? They say those who leave the company vanish."
"Asjad not answering our calls would definitely have a logical explanation, rather than some absurd curse. He did say that his phone was causing all sorts of problems before he left"
"Sure, but what about Sarah and Ahmed?"
"They both had plans to move to China, so it's possible that they haven't had a chance to reach out to us yet."
"Junaid, it's been three months, and Ahmed, your work buddy, hasn't even contacted you."
"I understand that his silence is bothering you, but I have faith that he will eventually get in touch with us."
Awais didn't seem satisfied with my response. He stared blankly at the vacant office space.
"Don't worry about anything. You'll be fine. That rumor is just a tactic to keep us in the company," I assured him, giving his shoulder a pat.
"I want to believe that too. Anyway, I'm leaving now. Let's grab lunch sometime and talk shit about this company again," Awais said weakly, letting out a faint laugh.
"Sure thing, buddy."
We shook hands firmly, and Awais picked up his bag, heading towards the elevator. The doors closed, plunging the space into darkness once again, I returned to my desk and resumed my work.
About 20 minutes later, I stretched my arms.
"Man, the newbies are going to have a field day with this assignment."
I closed my laptop, preparing to pack up. I gathered the empty paper cups and tossed them into the nearby bin.
As I stood by the elevator, I took one last glance at the empty office.
"Never thought I'd witness this day, especially not after four years of being here."
With that, I stepped into the elevator. The doors closed, and the descent began, the floor numbers gradually ticking down from three.
Surprisingly, the elevator jolted and came to a sudden stop.
"Well, that was quicker than expected," I muttered.
I looked at the elevator panel, only to find the lower portion of "2" and the upper portion of "1".
"What in the world?"
Realizing that the doors hadn't opened, I pressed the buttons and attempted to force them apart, but to no avail. Of all the times, it had to be today. I decided to call the security guard, Kashif, I picked up my phone, and at that moment, the elevator doors opened.
Before me lay a dark corridor, without a single light. Glancing back at the panel, I noticed that it still displayed the same numbers. I tapped the panel and pressed the buttons, but nothing happened.
Letting out a sigh, I adjusted the strap of my bag and stepped out of the elevator. As soon as I did, the doors closed shut. I turned around, only to see the elevator panel indicating that it was descending to the ground level.
"You've got to be kidding me."
I found myself in an unfamiliar corridor. It didn't match any floor layout I was familiar with. With my phone's flashlight activated, I cautiously proceeded forward, noticing a partially open door a few meters away. In a final desperate attempt, I pushed the elevator button, but it remained fixed on the ground level. Admitting defeat, I slowly approached the door.
Carefully, I pushed the door open, my body on high alert for reasons I couldn't quite understand. Illuminating the room with my phone's light, I discovered empty workstations and chairs. I scanned the area, moving the light from one corner to another. In all my four years at the company, I had never seen this room before. I searched for a light switch, however, there were none, and I realized there were no windows either. Odd.
The only sound that came in the room was the sound of rushing air from the ventilation system. As I approached the first workstation, I noticed the name "Akhtar Ali" taped to the desk, accompanied by a photo of a man in his late thirties, I assumed the man in was Akhtar. Strangely enough, I had never seen or met him in the office before. I directed my flashlight towards the adjacent desk, where the name 'Parveen Nabil' was written—a name I had never heard in the office either.
Something felt off. I hurriedly passed by each table, each taped with a name tag and a picture of the person assigned to it. As I approached the end of the table, a particular name caught my attention. There was no mistaking it. Moving closer, I confirmed that 'Asjad Bashir' was written there, accompanied by a picture taken on his last day of work.
I took a step back from the table, feeling uneasy at what I had just looked at. Did the office maintain some bizarre memorial for all the staff members who had left? It sounded absurd, but that's exactly what was before me.
There were two desks next to Asjad's. I moved towards it, making me shiver at what I saw. The desks had mine and Awais' names taped on. What's more shocking was that the picture of either of us was the ones we took a couple of hours ago, when everyone had left.
"What in the world is going on? This is madness," I muttered.
I knew I had to leave. Something was severely wrong. At the far end of the room, there was another door. I approached it and cautiously opened it. Immediately, a horrendous, rotting smell invaded my nostrils, nearly causing me to throw up. Covering my nose, I took a step forward but tripped over something and stumbled to the floor. In the process, my phone was thrown a few feet away, its light illuminating the room. As I slowly rose, I noticed an arm lying next to my feet. Startled, I stood up, only to be confronted with a horrifying sight.
The floor was covered in dried blood, and several hooks with chains dangled from the ceiling. Lifeless bodies hung from those hooks, each with their mouths impaled on a hook. Limbs were strewn across the floor, as every body had been gruesomely dismembered.
I began to hyperventilate. What in God's name was I witnessing? This was sheer madness. Trembling, I reached for my phone, and as I retrieved it, I recognized the first body—the resemblance was unmistakable, it was Asjad Bashir. The corpse had decomposed slightly, but the face was still recognizable.
Three rooms stood at the end of the room, one of which was illuminated. I hurriedly made my way toward it, peeking through the doors' small window. Inside, a huge, obese man stood, easily seven feet tall and weighing over 500 pounds. His body was covered in scars and stitches, with a prominent red scar across his bald head. Gripping a massive meat cleaver, he was busy dismembering a lifeless figure on a table before him. With each strike, limbs fell off, and blood sprayed in all directions. I couldn't see the face of the body from my position.
"Gotta love it when the little fishy walks right into my hands," he chuckled, his voice hoarse.
Shocked and terrified, I stepped away from the door, realizing I needed to escape this place.
I heard movement in the room and quickly ducked into the next room. Just as I slightly closed the door behind me, the man emerged. Although I couldn't see what he was doing, I heard the sound of chains rattling and the piercing of flesh.
Footsteps echoed again, and it seemed the man was leaving. The footsteps halted, followed by the man sniffing the air, chuckling with delight.
"Oh boy, oh boy, looks like another little fishy was wandering around here. I do love me some good hide and seek."
With that, it sounded like he exited the slaughter room and entered the memorial room. Gathering my courage, I left the room I had hidden in, refraining from using my phone's flashlight to avoid being spotted. I used the light coming from the butcher's room to navigate my way to the butcher's room.
The room was a blood-splattered chaos. In the center stood a large table, with limbs on it from the previous victim. I frantically searched the room for a key, a button, anything that could help me escape.
But there was nothing. Overwhelmed with despair, I collapsed onto the floor.
"I don't want to die. I don't want to die."
All hope seemed lost. That monster was sure to return any minute and kill me. At that moment, I noticed a large finger hanging on a cleaver keychain from one of the walls. I got up and grabbed it.
Then, I heard the door behind me creak open, and I felt a force pulling me upright.
"Well, well, the little fishy has strayed too far from the fishing net."
I turned and saw one of the ugliest faces I had ever seen, grinning at me. I struggled to break free from his grip, but he was too strong.
"Oh, the little fishy is putting up a fight? I do love me some strong fish."
He flashed a toothy grin and threw me onto the table. Placing his enormous hand on my neck, he began to strangle me.
"Now, playtime is over, fishy. Please die for me and create the music of death."
He brought his face closer to mine, a sadistic smile spreading across his lips. I clawed at his hands, but his grip tightened. I gasped for air and that made the man laugh.
"Give me more music fish."
Summoning my last ounce of strength, I clenched the cleaver keychain tightly and drove it into his eye with all my might.
The man howled in agony and stumbled back. Coughing and gasping for air, I scrambled to my feet. With one goal in mind to escape, I sprinted out of the room.
"You piece of shit! I'll skin you alive!" roared the butcher.
I took out my phone and illuminated my path with its light. Hastily finding the door to the memorial room, I entered it. The room was now a mess, with overturned tables. I didn't have much time to assess the full extent of the butcher's rampage. I exited the memorial room, rushed down the corridor, and reached the elevator.
Frantically pressing the buttons, I received no response. "Come on, come on!"
Despite multiple attempts, the elevator remained motionless. I heard a loud explosion behind me, signaling that the man had entered the memorial room. Ready to give up, I remembered the giant finger I had picked up. I decided to use it to press the elevator button, and to my relief, the elevator started moving up.
The elevator doors opened and with that, the memorial room doors as well. The light from the elevator shone in the corridor and I saw him running towards me.
"Get here, you little fish."
He raised his cleaver and hurled it towards me. I used the finger and pressed the ground level. The doors closed, stopping the cleaver from impaling me.
The elevator descended and stopped at the ground level.
The doors opened, revealing the reception area of the office, with the security guard Kashif sitting there. As he saw me, he quickly stood and approached.
"What happened to you? You're a complete mess, and what's with all the blood?" he asked, bewildered.
"There... I... He..." I struggled to form any words.
With that, I bolted out of the front door. I ran and ran, not even bothering to call a taxi. I needed to distance myself from that place and everything I had witnessed.
I reached my house in no time as I didn't live too far from the office, I locked all the doors and hid in my room. I don't know how, but somehow I managed to fall asleep. The next morning, I attempted to call Awais, but received no response. I tried calling the security guard, Kashif, but his phone was powered off. Each number I attempted to call yielded the same result—no connection.
During all this confusion, I noticed a text message notification on my phone. It was from Awais, sent to me just after he left the office last night. The message read:
"Junaid, what the hell is going on in this office? Why the hell are there dead bodies being kept here?"

Link to part 2
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/13qcl3m/the_big_rock_candy_mountain_book_2_finding/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
Well, this is going to be a little different.
First thing I want to say is that Kev will be back. I’m not the type to sugar coat things, he’s in a pretty sorry state, but he’s going to pull through. He’s a tough bastard.
In case you haven’t clued in yet, it’s Mike, I might not be as much of a wordsmith as Kev but I think I can keep your interest.
She was about five foot four, pale greasy skin and pitch colored hair that was just about to cross the double line from shiny into gross. Early thirties I’d guess, but with the strange shit Kev and I have gotten ourselves into she could be a million, or put together yesterday for all I know.
She was a “ Shame Monger” which was as esoteric of a job title as it sounds, and the first context me and my little buddy had on our current assignment.
The place we’re in is an old, decrepit arcade, I’m surrounded by shadowy figures sticking to the dark recesses like insects.
Kev is somewhere deep within the place sticking his neck out with God knows what ( I mean, I do as well, but I’ll let Kevin relay shit when he’s up to it.), and I’m making small talk.
“You human? “ I say, she’s not offended but raises an eyebrow.
“Are you? “ She has an edge to her, human or not, she’s seen some shit.
I laugh, running a hand over the branded lines mimicking clown patterns Art left me with after that stay in his gulag.
“Sometimes I forget about the braille.
Yeah, %100 sadly. “ I lean on the counter as I speak.
“Me too, you haven’t been working with the watchers long, have you? “ She sounds concerned, “ I’d suggest finding a new job. They have a bit of a reputation. “
“Long enough. “ I’m wary now, information is a resource I’m not willing to part with easily.
I don’t think she’s wrong, mind you, every day I spend with these wizards by another name, I like them less and less. Being sent with Kev, Jr, and the voices in my head, wandering across the country to find something called “The Fleshsmith”, is the best case scenario in my opinion. Gives me some breathing room.
“How do does one deal in shame? “ I say after a long silence. The glitched beeping of the machines becoming grating.
“Not as spooky as you’d think.
You play airsoft? I’m Tori by the way. “ Tori says, lighting up a small black cigar.
“Never got the bug, but I’ve heard of it, and I’m Mike. “ I reply.
“Well Mike, I play, and it’s a great hobby. Lots of physical activity, lots of equipment to learn about, it’s got something for everyone. For the most part, it’s an exciting activity .
But, think of the factory that makes the plastic ammunition. It’s integral, but it’s cheap, easy to make, monotonous, and far removed from any of the interesting facets of the hobby.
That’s me. I brush up against all kinds of folks, but besides the little wrinkle your friend is dealing with, all of the real spooky shit is well past arm’s length. “ she coughs, the thick, cherry scented smoke hangs in rings, “ It’s a living. “
“Honestly, I couldn’t be happier.
I hear ‘ Shame Monger’ and I was thinking torture, and, I don’t know, ghosts maybe? “ I shrug, motioning for one of the cigarellos.
She gives me one, it tastes of rose and a rich, almost syrup like tobacco.
“Sorry to disappoint. No, extraction is pretty painless, uses a kind of blotter paper. And to the best of my knowledge, ghosts aren’t a thing.
As I said, things are safe and boring. “ Tori says, taking a seat on a black waist high stool.
I let her statement hang for a moment.
“So what’s with the big guy trying to blend in, waiting for me to leave the counter? And why did he come with 2 friends and a running engine? “ I say, low but casual.
I can tell she’s annoyed at my insight.
“That’s nothing horror adjacent. Just a good old fashioned shake down, cost of doing business.
He doesn’t know exactly what goes on here, but him and his associates know it’s profitable enough they can squeeze ten grand out of me a month. “ Tori shrugs, putting out her cigar.
“You can’t give someone a discount to rattle their cage? “ I ask, curious.
“Listen to you. “ Tori laughs, “If your butcher asked you to get shot for them, would you jump at the chance? “
I make eye contact, I can’t help but smirk.
“I’ve gotten shot for less. “ My comment gets a sideways look.
“Mike, I’m seeing you, and I’ve got to say, kinda seems like you’re full of shit. “ Her reply is harsh, but I can’t blame her. I’m dressed like salesman, facial scars or no.
I don’t reply. I walk to the grimy, dim, wet floored men’s room.
Someone who chooses my line of work doesn’t get into it because they have great impulse control. And unfortunately, I’m not unique .
Since I’ve got here, I’ve felt scared, small, ineffective. I know you guys have seen Kevin’s point of view on things, and it makes me seem like some kind of wrecking ball, but that is 50 per cent showmanship, 30 per cent planning and 20 per cent not caring if I lose a piece or two.
But this situation, some low rent semi-connected asshole who thinks he’s Don Corleone? It calls to me.
The clothing I wear is designed to be reversable, and with a few adjustments, I’m no longer wearing a cheap looking used car salesman’s suit, but an antique tuxedo with a 1940s design.
The mirror is grimy as hell, I try to clear a spot, but the sad, octogenarian Esque flow from the tap isn’t up to the task.
But it’s clear enough to reflect him, standing behind me. I jump, and my heart starts to pound.
“Not the time for this. “ I say, pacing.
I try to look away, but there he is, in the corner of my vision, each time. I’d close my eyes, but that’s what he wants, he gets closer when I can’t see.
For a half second my vision is taken up by a crystal clear image of his face. That angular, pale visage inhuman by any standard, but haunting in it’s echoes of a past rooted in mortality.
I stumble backward, slamming into the wall. Panting, my eyes locked on his almost-there form.
He’s tall, wicked, and everything about him exudes power. He’s taken to looking like me more and more lately. But a twisted, malignant reflection, what I could be if I let this pulp novel of a corner of reality have it’s way with me.
“Fuck off Demi! “ I say, getting to my feet, “ I’ve got shit to do. “
Still don’t know if he is just another hallucination, or who he says he is, but Demi and myself are on pretty poor terms as of late.
I hear the bodyless old ghoul whispering what I assume are dark threats as I open a small tube of what I like to refer to as ‘Mike’s Mix’.
A combination of preparation H, topical anesthetic, and just a hint of clown white. Laugh if you want, but it stops a hell of a lot of incidental injuries in my line of work.
Demi starts to fade and I see what I can of myself in the dull mirror.
I’m a little too old for the phrase, but I’m sure a lot of you folks out there would refer to the cliché spook I’ve cultivated as “Cringe”.
I don’t disagree.
But, it’s the game I have to play right now. I’m not some invincible cursed killer, but you know what, I can certainly play one on T.V.
(Did I just try to relate to kids, then make a joke from a 40 year old commercial? This is why Kev does the writing.)
I walk out of the bathroom, reeking of fear sweat and tainted water. The foot and a half lucite rod is tucked up my sleeve, I tap the end of it against the wall as I walk.
The guy is six feet, easily, he’s fifty or so, but making up for it with trips to the gym and a few friendly doctors if I don’t miss my guess.
He doesn’t take the bait, just keeps talking to Tori, once he looks to me, I can tell he is asking her who I am, she’s smart, she shrugs after looking over.
I had an entire plan where I would embarrass the man, get him to send some guys, and make things so costly he just gave up on Tori. It’s a classic, but if it ain’t broke and all that.
But plans, like the people that make them, tend to fail at the worst times.
Once I get within striking distance, the guy turns, his speed isn’t supernatural, but a lot more than I was expecting. His punch lands well enough that I don’t remember starting to fall.
The second finishes the job before I can get my bearings.
The darkness creeps in and in it’s peace I realize how stupid it was to go in this half cocked. I was jonesing for a fight I could win so badly, I went in without a plan B.
I need someone to reign me in, back home it was Eli, here, it’s Kev. As the last bits of conscious thought leave me, I feel bad about leaving him alone.
It's the stifling heat that wakes me up, before my vision clears I smell hot, cheap leather, old vomit and years worth of attempts to mask the smell.
I’m soaked in sweat, the air is like a sauna. I’m sitting in the back of a car, I wouldn’t call it a limo, but it’s clearly built for comfort, in optimal circumstances. There’s a tinted glass partition separating me from the front seat, it’s cracked slightly, I try to tell if anyone is there, but have no luck.
“Can’t say this is a new experience. “ I say, to whoever may be listening.
I try kicking out the windows and the partition, they don’t budge a millimeter.
“If you are up for talking things over, I’m game. “ I try to pry the overhead light loose, and that’s when I notice it.
It's a note, in a thick plastic sleeve, wrapped around my forearm and stuck with some kind of adhesive.
The pain is horrible, made all the worse by the constant pouring of sweat literally putting salt into the wound.
Said wound isn’t deep, a few layers of skin down, enough to weep blood, but far away from pouring. But if this kills me, it won’t be exsanguination. Depending on how long, whoever, plans on keeping me in here, I worry about infection, necrosis, pretty much all the members of the Untreated Wound crew.
I take off the suit jacket, and tear it into strips to use as makeshift bandages, I have a feeling I’ll be needing plenty by the time this is over.
My left arm is slow and clumsy as I open the envelope. I hope it’s just shock, or swelling, not nerve damage.
It reads:
Hey, Dracula, or whatever the hell you are.
Fuck yourself, you think we don’t have ways of taking care of your kind?
Have Fun
Niko Ferang
“Well, can’t say the guy isn’t succinct. “ I say, laughing.
If I just went up to the guy with a threat and a pipe, I’d have either won or lost, and that’d be the end of it. But my genius self succeeded in convincing him I was scary enough to toss me… here.
It dawns on me that there is something obvious I haven’t tried.
As I pull the latch on the passenger side door, something inside me tells me to stop.
Visually, I can’t really describe what it looked like opening the door. The brief period before I saw what was beyond was the visual equivalent of trying to catch a greased pig.
I was left with a view, an identical car interior. The other car parked impossibly close, Their doors seeming to blend with their exteriors.
I enter, as a great man once said “Buy the ticket, take the ride. “, and my dumb ass need for assurance, bought me one hell of a ride.
Once I get in, the driver’s side door closes, and I find myself in the same sweltering heat, in the same backseat.
The damp leather sticks to my arms, I start to calculate how much water I’m losing by the minute, and the math scares the hell out of me.
I try going through the door a few more times, but the more I do, the more I realize, it’s the same car.
The fear becomes as oppressive as the wet heat, I’ve researched a hell of a lot of things from the watchers library, but infinite Oldsmobiles didn’t come up.
I’ve been disarmed, but left with my phone, and wallet. I’m kind of impressed they managed to find 99 per cent of the equipment I can hide in a suit, but hey, %1 is better than nothing.
The phone makes a useless bludgeon, I quickly retire the idea, and figure, even neutered as it is ( I find I can get online, but little else.), it’s better doing phone things than broken.
The good news is frighteningly slim.
I’ve got a few feet of polymar tarp, folded in the wallet, useful for a lot of things, but most important in my situation will be trying to get some kind of drinking water.
An emergency credit card knife, barely useful little thing, won’t do me any good in a fight, but might be a useful tool.
Three strike anywhere matches, a small hook and length of fishing line.
My lips are cracked and bleeding, it can’t have been more than an hour or two, but I’m starting to feel heat exhaustion set in.
I think I’ve found something when the knife sinks into the thin leather of the overstuffed backseat, but the shoddy blade encounters some kind of solid matter, and as I pull the knife out, the leather seals itself.
I stay still, trying to conserve energy, trying to formulate some plan.
He sits beside me now, his looming hunched frame bent in the confines of the car. His face is a blur, but I know beneath the shadows he's smirking.
“I’m way too tired for you Demi. “ I say, wiping what feels like a liter of sweat from my forehead.
His repeating, echoing laughter proves me wrong, I shiver, despite the brutal heat.
It can’t have been more than a few degrees, bit It feels like getting splashed with ice water.
The light in the car begins to dim, and with it, the soul crushing temperature of the luxury automobile drops.
I scramble to set up the tarp, I was banking on this, without some kind of temperature drop, the plastic sheet is useless.
Within an hour droplets have began to create a small stream, collecting at the cone shaped tip of the suspended tarp. Lacking anything to put it into, I catch the liquid in my mouth.
It's foul, and likely contaminated, but it’s my only option. If I’m stuck in here a week I can get by without food, brutalized by heat, I won’t make it 2 days without water.
I feel exhausted, wondering exactly how long I’ve been stuck here I check the time on my phone.
It’s almost random progression does nothing to comfort the surreal sense of dread that is enveloping me.
I don’t know when I passed out, but I wake up laying across the reeking leather, being dragged backward.
I feel fingers, dozens of them, clawing, scraping, trying to gain purchase. A crevice begins to open in the deep black leather, and I begin to be dragged into it.
I throw myself forward, landing painfully on the sticky, grime ridden floor of the car.
Fear, and the awkward ergonomics of my situation make turning around a slow, nerve wracking chore. Once I manage to, I regret the decision.
Hands, some small, some large, some seemingly cobbled together from mismatched scraps, slowly pull themselves from the crevice between the seat and back of the back seat.
They prod and crawl like insects, none ever giving way to arm, just a lumpen flow of calloused, wrist like structure, giving each an segmented, centipede like appearance.
I sit up, watching the macabre display, trying to make some kind of sense of it.
I actually scream when there’s a sharp, loud, mechanical ringing beside my head. The type of analogue noise that went out of style long before land lines did.
It doesn’t take me long to find the handle and pull out an ancient car phone, it’s a two part wood paneled brick of a thing, I pick up the receiver, “Hello” I say, a question as much as a greeting.
The voice is male, probably early twenties.
“Don’t worry about them. They can be an issue if you don’t sleep on the floor, but I’ve never seen one drag itself more than half way across the seat. “ He’s calm, but has a survivors hushed impatience.
“Who are you? “ I ask.
“I won’t lie to you man.
I’ve been in here a while, but now that there is someone else, I think I can get out. Call me Pol. “ I catch the hopeful tone in his voice.
“How? “ I say simply, still trying in vain to put more space between me and the hands.
“Not to sound cold, but if I tell you, there is a chance you just take the information and leave me here.
The first step is us meeting, you’ll know the plan by the time that happens.
I don’t lie. “ If nothing else I can say Pol seems smart.
“Fair enough, what can I do? “ I Trail off at the end of my sentence, one of the hands is pointing at me.
“You need to understand a few things about this place.
First, don’t travel at night. Nothing you are going to find is going to be any better than the crawlers.
Second, remember the numbers, 1, 5 and 9. I’m assuming you have a watch, or a cellular phone? If the time ends in one of those, you’re likely to find a new space.
Last, what’s outside of the car, on the driver’s side, pretend it doesn’t exist. “ The instructions are cryptic, but I’m in no place to turn down good advice.
“How do I know I can trust you? “ I ask, knowing the answer.
“Don’t see how I could be anything other than what I say.
Wouldn’t it be pretty obvious if I was trying to lead you astray? “ Pol’s response is reasonable, but a lifetime of being blindsided makes me wary.
“I guess so. What should I be doing now? “ I say, flipping off the hand like thing that continues to point at me.
“Get some sleep. Time, day and night cycles, they mean nothing here, and passing out in a hundred and fifty degree weather is a shitty way to go.
I won’t be able to get through during the day, so listen carefully.
If you time your travel right, you are going to be looking for two main things. The first is going to be a pillow mint, eventually you are going to starve either way, the human body needs more than just sugar, but you should be able to find enough to keep you going till malnutrition kicks in. The second is a soda can, it’s a sip, and it’s turned, but it’s better than trying to lick the droplets from the windows. “ I listen to Pol, hopefully memorizing his instructions.
Daylight brings with it reek and heat, I watch the hands scuttle back to within the recesses of the seats, shuddering a bit as I see wave like, movements in the cushions.
“God damn it. “ I say looking at the display on my knock off phone. About %50, for all I know I’ll be out in 15 minutes, but I’m not banking on it.
I watch the numbers flash by like a stock ticker, waiting to see if Pol is trying to screw me over or not.
I see 1:39 and crack open the passenger side door.
The same sweltering heat, the same basic backseat, but I know, at a glance, things are not quite identical. Part repetition from the day before, part a decade and a half playing private eye, but I can tell Pol was telling the truth.
Lipstick, smeared on the passenger window, an old handprint. It seems like something bad happened here.
The leather of one of the headrests is torn, I purposely avoid looking at the certainly not stuffing inside.
It’s like this place wants to tell a story, I can’t help but try and hear it.
I don’t find any soda, but I do find a single, red and white pillow mint, wrapper mostly in tact, sitting in a sticky patch on the floor.
I try my luck a few more times, using the cell phone as a kind of metronome, and while I do get a lot of repetition, every so often, there is a little change, or quirk.
I’ve collected two pocketfulls of mints, and found myself desperately hoping to stumble upon anything to drink. Another night of distilled sweat, dust, and God knows what doesn’t seem appealing.
I must have been too slow opening the door, I’d done it over two hundred times at this point, and the grey haze of this new variation set off every danger instinct in me.
It felt like I was being watched from every angle, despite the gloom the heat was worse, and seemed to bake a fungal reek into the air itself.
The door handle on the passenger side is mangled, the steel colored plastic twisted into a useless lump.
The leather seems slightly rotten, weather stripping peels, light fixtures are cracked and loose, it feels very, old.
I watch the phone, my eyes instinctively darting around, there are noises from the front seat and I doubt they have my best interests in mind.
I’m trying the mangled door handle but something is broken.
That being, said, with a car this old, the fish hook, with enough persistence could work,
I Peel back some of the stripping around the window, te hook begins it’s slow trek down into the mechanics of the door.
I scratch my wounded arm, it hurts, but that isn’t what concerns me. I feel a small, irregular lump.
I peel back my makeshift bandages, and what I see attempts me make to vomit stomach contents that weren’t there.
Small, brown grey mushrooms, a half dozen, about the size of a grain of rice. I feel a tingling in the wound, and panic sets in.
Opening a door like this requires a steady hand, but between the noises in the front seat, and the literally budding body horror on my arm, my nerves are shot.
I hear the partition begin to lower, and that rotten, fungal reek becomes nearly a physical force. My eyes water, my nose runs, and I hear a noise, like flowing sand.
I feel the hook dig under the proper part of the lock and pull up as I feel something wet soak through my shoe.
The door opens violently, not that I’m upset, I toss myself forward like I’m going for a touchdown, my forehead slams off of the armrest in the newest backseat I find myself in.
Before the passenger side closes I catch a glimpse of the mess that spilled from behind the partition. Rot and flesh, an aborted rotten attempt at life enraged at the universe that spawned it.
I actually feel relief at the blinding sunlight, and shining leather, and find myself relating to the monsterous mass I left behind.
I look at my arm, realizing I didn’t leave all of it behind.
“Oh, fuck me. “ I say, fumbling the credit card knife together.
The mushrooms had doubled in size, the cheap tin knife makes a terrible scalpel, I scream as I err on the side of caution, flaying a half inch around each.
I’m bleeding heavily, half of the makeshift bandages barely keeping the flow at bay.
My vision swims, I feel sick, and I fight the urge to break down into a mentally and physically broken heap.
That’s where I’ll leave everyone. Night is falling, and without a little more help from Pol, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last.
If this is the last time you hear from me, well I’m sure Kev will have you guys covered for the rest of what I hope is Art’s downfall.
If it isn’t, I’ve got a favor to ask, did you guys notice anything I didn’t? Is there anything that is more obvious from outside this displaced cluster fuck?

This post was originally meant for Islam, but I forgot I got banned. Hopefully the salafi bots flock here 🤣🤣
Bismillah Al Rahman Al Raheem
45:6 These are the verses of Allah which We recite to you in truth. Then in what statement after Allah and His verses will they believe?
Anyone who makes the claim that Allahs book cannot be understood without man, is in fact insulting Allah and his intellect. How dare you limit Allah and his wisdom to our mortal understanding of knowledge.
(5:48) And We have sent down to you the BOOK with the truth, authenticating what is between your hands of the Book and superseding it. So JUDGE between them by what God has sent down, and do not follow their desires from what has come to you of the truth.
Please brothers and sisters listen and think clearly about what you are saying. The Creator and All Powerful, being limited by mere mortal comprehension. Allahs chooses who he will bestow guidance to and no one else not even the Prophet can guide a soul.
18:109 Say, "If the sea were ink for the Words of my Lord, the sea would run out before the words of my Lord run out, even if we were to supply the same amount of ink as a supplement."
Unfortunately, the mods of this sub are clearly not able to defend their beliefs in a debate so they choose to censor, as the power of Allahs words overthrows any conjecture they have to offer. My warning to you mods. Have fear in Allah and let his verses be made clear.
13:6 But there are, among men, those who purchase idle Hadiths , without knowledge or meaning), to mislead (men) from the Path of Allah and throw ridicule on the Path): for such there will be a Humiliating Penalty. 13:7 When Our Signs are rehearsed to such a one, he turns away in arrogance, as if he heard them not, as if there were deafness in both his ears: announce to him a grievous Penalty.
These verses will stand witness against you.

Title: Understanding the Factors Behind the Altcoin Market Crash
Abstract: This paper aims to analyze the reasons behind the recent crash in the altcoin market. Altcoins, or alternative cryptocurrencies, have experienced a significant decline in value in recent months. By examining various factors such as market dynamics, regulatory changes, investor sentiment, and technological developments, we seek to provide insights into the causes of this downturn. Additionally, we explore the potential consequences and offer recommendations for market participants to navigate these challenging times.

1. Introduction: 

The altcoin market has witnessed a remarkable surge in popularity and growth over the past decade. However, recent months have seen a substantial decline in the value of many altcoins. This paper delves into the reasons behind this crash and its implications for investors, traders, and the broader cryptocurrency ecosystem. 2. Market Dynamics: One possible explanation for the altcoin crash lies in market dynamics. Cryptocurrency markets are notoriously volatile, driven by factors such as speculation, herd mentality, and emotional investor behavior. The recent downturn could be attributed to a combination of profit-taking, fear of a broader market correction, or the bursting of an altcoin bubble. 3. Regulatory Changes: Regulatory developments significantly impact the cryptocurrency market. Governments around the world are gradually introducing regulations to address concerns related to investor protection, money laundering, and financial stability. Heightened regulatory scrutiny, especially regarding initial coin offerings (ICOs) and unregulated exchanges, can erode market confidence and contribute to altcoin sell-offs. 4. Investor Sentiment: Sentiment plays a vital role in shaping cryptocurrency markets. The altcoin market crash might be influenced by negative investor sentiment resulting from concerns over market manipulation, lack of transparency, or high-profile security breaches. Moreover, broader economic factors and geopolitical events can influence investors’ risk appetite, impacting their willingness to invest in altcoins. 5. Technological Developments: Innovation and technological advancements are critical drivers of the cryptocurrency market. However, disruptive changes or perceived shortcomings in altcoin technologies can lead to a loss of confidence among investors. Issues such as scalability, security vulnerabilities, or concerns over the long-term viability of certain altcoins can contribute to their declining value. 6. Consequences and Future Outlook: The altcoin market crash has several implications for investors and the cryptocurrency ecosystem as a whole. Investors may experience substantial losses, leading to decreased confidence and a shift in investment strategies. Additionally, the crash could result in market consolidation, with stronger altcoins surviving while weaker ones fade away. This could also present an opportunity for innovation and the emergence of new altcoins with improved technology and value propositions. 7. Recommendations: To navigate the altcoin market crash, investors and market participants should consider the following recommendations:

• Conduct thorough research and due diligence before investing in any altcoin. • Diversify investments across different cryptocurrencies to mitigate risks. • Stay informed about regulatory changes and comply with legal requirements. • Monitor market sentiment and seek to understand underlying factors driving investor behavior. • Evaluate the technological fundamentals and long-term viability of altcoins before investing. 8. Conclusion: 

The altcoin market crash can be attributed to a combination of market dynamics, regulatory changes, investor sentiment, and technological developments. Understanding these factors and their interplay is crucial for investors and market participants to make informed decisions and navigate the challenges and opportunities presented by the altcoin market.
Disclaimer: This paper aims to provide insights into the altcoin market crash and does not constitute financial advice. It is essential to conduct independent research and seek professional guidance before making any investment decisions.

Here’s the tl.dr. version: told them and my mom was emotional about it and told close family and probably friends. and now I have to meet with stake president.
I made a rant post a couple weeks back about my financial situation and stuff and I decided to tell them finally but I do have some context to put out
So my aunt (on my moms side) pays me every month for mission stuff because her aunt (my great aunt who as a kid I had a pretty good relationship with and she saw me as a nephew and not a great nephew) set aside some money for me for mission and college and last month I had asked her to spare me a few bucks so I could buy snacks for a big farewell party for four of the elders in my district because I had made some poor decisions and didn’t want to dig into the money I still had and she said she would and then sent me a long post about how I have x amount left and that she agrees I have been making not very good decisions cause I’ve asked her a couple times back for other things and she told me that by the end of my mission I wouldn’t have very much left in terms of college money and that’s something I don’t want because I want half of my money from that and the other half from working for a year after my release to pay for the first two semesters because I want to try and avoid student debt as much as possible.
Anyways she sent me a more detailed email about the money situation and I told her with my upcoming jaw surgery in the fall that could help a little because I won’t be needing as much money for when I’m healing and I also told her with my dads math I would have plenty saved for college and I also said if I leave my mission earlier that amount could increase more
She then replies back with a long text saying that she knows from experience that a degree is a big need to get by if you want to have a good job and stuff and if I felt like I got the most out of my mission then that could be the best option and with my surgery coming up it’s (essentially) a sign from the universe that I need to reconsider. She goes on to say other stuff and then says no matter what you choose your aunt (referring to my great aunt) would be proud of you forgot to mention that she had passed on 12 years back.
Now I tell my parents both my mom and dad this and I didn’t argue or get angry, I listened to what they had to say and my mom says “I don’t think what your aunt said is true about your great aunt being proud either way and plus you know that (my aunt) isn’t in the church anymore so she’s clearly influencing you to think that you should maybe take the ending early route but the fact is, even before my aunt told me that I thought maybe this is a sign from life/the universe that I need to take into consideration. But after my aunt told me the same thing I thought ok yeah all the pieces are adding up
Secondly she asked “why would god call you to serve two years and then have you quit a little bit after” and I replied saying “you have a point there” just to make her think I was agreeing but in my mind I thought yeah I believe in a god but he didn’t call me on this mission, the church itself did so the god i believe in couldn’t care less about what I do.
Fast forward to this last Saturday after I spoke in a stake conference, she (my mom) was in the shower crying about what I told her and my dad and he goes and talks with her and I of course had to eavesdrop (their bedroom has a bathroom in it with a sliding door) and at one point my dad says, we just have to pray and ask that Heavenly Father can show him that he needs to continue his mission and at that point I left and little side note I had an ice cream cone that was mostly finished and after I heard that i was furious, furious at the church, furious at the fact my mom was emotional about it and so of course it being a ice cream cone it was easy to crush but I crushed that thing out of that anger I had.
Fast forward a little bit to yesterday my mom says, I told (our stake president) about your situation in hopes he can give you some advice and I said oh ok cool but realistically I thought “shit this is bad” and as I was doing something I thought ok when I get to that interview I’ll say “I know what you want to talk about so let’s get it over-with and coincidentally enough the stake secretary texts me and asks “can you meet with president so and so on Sunday” I said yes but oh boy I’m not looking forward to it.
On another note I’m doing better with my finances but part of me still wants to leave because even if I watch my money good and continue to have a good spending/saving habit there’s a couple people in my district that I’m not particularly fond of that make me want to leave.

In his book Activity and participation in late antique and early Christian thought (2012) Torstein Theodor Tollefsen tries to make sense of some basic ideas of Eastern Christian thinking, and he almost succeeds. He makes an excellent scholarly analysis of the many strange concepts, such as logoi and divine energeia. Importantly, he shows that, in the Cappadocian Fathers, the ultimate ontological category of God's being is not really 'the person', as in Meyendorff and Zizioulas (pp. 212-13). I find Maximus Confessor especially inspiring. I like his concept that each individual has his own logos, a personal essential activity and purpose whose center is the Logos, i.e., the Christ.
But I can't get my head around Eastern apophasis. After all, if God is beyond understanding, then we cannot know whether or not he can be known. From the apophatic standpoint follows that we cannot know that we cannot know God. So, in my view, the apophaticists are contradicting themselves. I am also skeptical about Eastern deification: through contemplative purification and with the aid of the Holy Spirit the mind can separate from all things and attain impassibility and detachment. In this process we are "made gods". Isn't this the very opposite of the Christian ideal of humility? And why would we want to become impassible and detached gods in the first place? In my view, to come closer to God means to adapt to life in one's own special way. It does not mean to sail away on a cloud of bliss. Anyway, this book gives a good insight into the mystical yet intellectually sophisticated thought-world of Byzantine and Eastern Orthodoxy. It is worth five stars.

Hi all, I'm sure there's tons of posts like this but tbh I have been a devout Catholic my whole life and I've never met someone who feels the same way I do. I love God and my religion but I have never found a church or a community I belong, and not for lack of trying. Feeling unbelonging deters me from the faith more than anything else, and at this point in my life, I have genuinely begun to lose my interest in being Catholic due to feeling zero connection with virtually every Catholic I meet. Honestly feeling unsure about even writing this...reaching out to a massive database of Catholics after admitting I dont like them? Not a great start, to be sure...but here goes:
Some context, I am 24, born and raised Catholic. My dad is a protestant convert and my mom rejoined the faith after her parents left (she was initiated in the faith but didn't really practice until adulthood), and so I come from an immediate family that is devout but no extended family. I have two older siblings, including myself, who were all raised religious and practiced up until adulthood. Me, especially so. I became so devout because of my parents' love of theology, and they led RCIA at our parish, so our home was a treasure trove of resources. By the time I was in high school, I knew the Catholic faith like the back of my hand. I was really into theology and philosophy, in my teens I understood the faith far better than most lay Catholic might ever learn in their lives, and not just verbatim rules, but the spirit of why we believe the things we believe. I went to Catholic school and my teachers always said they were blown away by my deep interest and understanding of the faith. As a teen, I found a group of church friends and became heartbroken as through the years, they all left, but I stayed friends with most of them and I discovered I actually had a really good skill for talking about Catholicism to people who do not like it. To this day, most secular people will say "Wow, I've never liked Christianity, but you've somehow explained it in a way that not only makes sense, but makes me want to hear more" and I can get lost for hours talking about it (if you want to know my secret, I avoid legalistic jargon and focus on my own experiences, and try and be open minded and have compassion about differen topics). So. If I'm such a great Apologist and the golden child of cradle Catholicism, with a Catholic family and plenty of religious childhood friends [sarcasm], how is it that I'm here, writing this post?
In some ways I know, in others I'm completely unsure. This is not my first time publicly expressing my thoughts to other Catholics, and I've heard it all. I've been urged to attend churches with more youth, join bible studies, join a student outreach like Focus or SPO, pray for it and bring my thoughts to God. Trust me when I say, I've done it all. I thought first, since I am from Kansas, that it was maybe the culture, but yeah, after living in Houston, Detroit, and Mexico and joining every single darn bible study in North America, I can safely say its not for me. I have joined two student outreaches, I went to three Catholic summer camps, I put in over 300 hours among different Catholic volunteer groups, I went to daily mass and Sunday mass offered in every church within a 15 mile radius of me in every city I lived in, I did spiritual discernment for several years, I went to a dangerous amount of Purity-based youth groups that left me with nothing but shame for myself (my only regret). I joined a convent (I will disclaim I did find the sisters to be extremely likable, but I wasn't particularly drawn to the communal lifestyle, so I went to college and started dating instead, and I liked that a lot more), I have done every thing that anyone has every suggested, backed with relentless, desperate praying that eventually I would find my people, and after 24 years of driving myself insane with it, I can finally confess: Other Catholics turn me off completely. After living the majority of my life in Midwest America, it does seem to me that a lot of Catholics are overly political and I have met far too many that lack empathy towards other people's ways of living, are disdainful of non-Catholics in a way that doesn't seem to make sense considering the fact that God did make 8 billion other people with lives, thought processes, and experiences so different to ours we can hardly fathom it, and He loves them all the same. But honestly, if that were all it was, I would have eventually come to the conclusion (and I did) that this is not a flaw unique to Catholics. This is a flaw of humankind, and because I grew up surrounded by Catholics, my experience gave me a correlation. So, it is not that Catholics are infuriating, its that human beings are infuriating. The vast majority of us have some sort of vice, and its our job to work through that and value the good that we all have as well.
When I realized this, I slowly came to the conclusion that while I have spent my whole life attaching to the Catholic Faith, that it's not just others pushing me away. Its myself, too. I love academia, and I love theology and philosophy but in terms of spiritualism, I am watering a dying plant. I'm exhausted. I'm tired of saying I get nothing out of 'Sitting with God' and being told it gets easier with time. 24 years of going to mass and it is still a battle to go, a fight that more often nowadays I am losing. 24 years of telling myself prayer is good for me and then lamenting at how slow the clock ticks. My older siblings have had the same experiences, and both of them have left the Church, and I feel not far behind. I used to tell myself that the best way to show God I loved Him was to use my free will to do good things in His name, to cultivate myself into a person of love and virtue, to love others adamantly. I have never doubted that God is Love and that He listens to me, but I lack purpose and desire to love Him back, the very statement doesn't even make sense to me. I feel nothing, as though He doesn't exist at all. I have heard of things like the dark night of the soul, and that other saints such as Mother Theresa experienced very little felt connection to Christ, but it doesn't provide much solace, as the issue remains that without any Catholics in my life (besides my parents who live 700 miles away), there is nothing keeping me accountable to go to Church or cultivate some sort of spiritual relationship with Christ other than fear of Hell, and after living a significant portion of my youth under fear of Hell, I refuse to let that be my sole motivator.
Right now, as I'm typing this, I can say that the closest of all my friends are all non-religious. My siblings are fallen away, my secular boyfriend of one year is wholeheartedly the most amazing person I have ever met and, to be frank, I have never felt more accepted and loved in my life than I do now. The more I tried to ingratiate with Catholic communities, the more I became depressed and anxious, and now that I have let go quite a bit, it feels like I am becoming myself again, that I have more interest in life, that I have more hope in my future. I feel like I never wanted to lose my faith, but at this point in my life I there is nothing drawing me back to the pew, where I have sat alone these last 4 years. Weirdly, I don't feel like I am lost from God. I know that He is always there, there is nothing that can keep Him from me, or keep Him from loving me. I trust Him, that all things will go accordingly to plan, and it makes me feel safe. My continuing belief in Apostolicity and His presence in the Eucharist reminds me that Protestantism isn't for me, and I don't have any plans to shift over. And yet, here I am, wondering where my place is in this 1 billion person religion that has yet to feel like home, where the very name -- Catholic, meaning universal -- ensures that I do indeed belong.
(If you've made it this far, thanks for giving me the time to explore some of these rambling thoughts. I'm not sure what I'm looking for, but I appreciate the space to speak about it, if nothing else.)

So I’m a therapists working at a community mental health center in Washington. I work with all sorts of functional impairments from anxiety to depression to OCD to psychosis to psychopathy. And Tool is my favorite band… obviously. I started using Tools music as homework and it’s been extremely effective in helping my clients.
One of the songs I assign most is The Grudge, especially with depression and anger. A few months ago I was leading a group for depression and realized that not a single member of the group could let go of any of the blame they placed on others… like the song says, ultimate prison cell.
And oh my god, Schism has changed my entire therapy game when it comes to teaching communication. So many people just don’t know how to communicate. What people tend to do is throw accusations around because it’s easier than being vulnerable. For example “you don’t care about me you fucking selfish asshole” is so much easier than “I feel lonely and unimportant when you do/say (XYZ) and it makes me scared.” Like the song says “cold silence has a tendency to atrophy any sense of compassion” and this is true for any relationship from lovers to brothers to friends to colleagues to family.
Have you ever had what I call Flood moments? I was wrong; this changes everything?? If any of you read tarot, flood to me has the same energy as the tower card; the crumbling of one’s foundation. “This ground is not the rock I thought it to be” is something everyone has experienced as they grow and evolve. That realization can be a spiritual one like I have had so many of them, or a deep realization about yourself and the world around you. For example, I once had a client with harm OCD who at one point recognized their diagnosis was incorrect and it was really a case of sadism which changed everything for them. Can you imagine the strength and bravery it takes to face that truth about themselves??
While we’re on the subject of facing one’s self… Forty Six & 2, motherfuckers, Forty Six & 2. This was the first tool song I really listened to. In graduate school I was in a theories course and resonated deeply with Jungian psychology. My husband at the time told me to listen to this song and I was blown away. I don’t have a PhD in Jungianism but individuation is something I actively do in my life and advocate for my clients to do the same. It takes a lot of courage to engage in individuation (which you probably know by the term “shadow work”) and only a select few want to do it. My favorite client ever, engage in it and recognize they were a psychopath and have now integrated it into their personality in a healthy way. Most clients say fuck that out of fear, but those who dive deep have my respect.
Then we have Pushit… the abusers and manipulators anthem… if you love me you would let me stick my whole fist up your ass. Now that’s gotta be extremely painful but some people need to cause pain to feel alive and powerful. The first step in stopping the cycle of abuse is recognizing it within one’s self. And that’s what the song is about. I use it when working with people with abusive tendencies in the hopes that they would recognize themselves within it.
Those are just some of the few songs that have been the most helpful to my clients. So many therapists use music because it’s great at reflecting one’s pain back at them but what Tool does goes way beyond reflection to transmuting it into growth. It’s the only band I know of that does that.
Anyways, I’m just wondering if anyone else uses tool in therapy as a literally tool for growth and personal evolution? After all it’s called Tool for a reason.
Hope everyone has a great night and weekend. I wish you all a flood moment in the near future :)

OK so - - - I’m a 41 yr old transfemme who has been exploring and kinda coming out over the past year. For the past two months I’ve been “trying” hormones - started out experimentally but have found myself quite liking the progress and I’ve kept going. And some tiddy has begun to form, some prominent sloping on my chest, nipples have been sore for past 3-4 weeks, it’s clearly happening. Was a little shocked at first, getting “very real”, but have found myself not wanting to stop and feeling positive…
So, for the past few years I’ve been recovering from some trauma and have been quite MIA with a lot of my family, haven’t seen them much and mostly all they’ve seen is me growing out my hair. I’ve mentioned to my sister and dad that I’ve been “exploring my trans identity”, and their responses were supportive 💕 so that’s good. To be honest I’m pretty concerned about how mom is gonna take it, though. But here’s the thing…….
My grandmother died today, mom’s mom. Which means in 7-10 days I will be traveling back home for the funeral. I found my mind wandering to certain things I could wear to hide the fact that I’m now hairless and swelling in the chest. But then it occurred to me - I will definitely be doing some hugging. There’s maybe more hugging and incentive to hug at a funeral than any other place. And when I hug people, particularly mom - she’s gonna notice. So not only will she have to adjust to me being trans, but there won’t be any way to hide the tiddy news without saying I’m also on hormones - and I can just sense that part will disturb her. Plus there’s a possibility every person I hug will notice this. My parents, btw are rightwing Christians (didn’t vote for Trump, thank god) - they’re pretty OK with stuff but sometimes I can just never tell, and I know dad follows lots of right wingers on Twitter who frequently say vitriolic shit about trans people. Sister, two years younger, is in my corner. Oh and I’m financially dependent on the parents at the moment…. It’s been a rough couple years. More stable now.
So. All this has hit me in the past 20 minutes - “Tiddy Ground Zero”.
Should I - do I HAVE TO - tell mom about this beforehand? I fear she’ll resent “having to deal with this” during this period of managing her own mother’s funeral. Am I perhaps just projecting my own fear, and give her a chance?
Or
Do i develop some elaborate padding apparatus for my torso and only wear long sleeves?
A little unnerved. Advice welcome.

Hi guys,
I was brought up catholic but never really practiced aside from taking communion and learning about it when i was young, but my mother is very religious. She prays regularly throughout her daily activities and reads her bible in the morning and at night.
At my lowest point in my life I finally prayed to God after a lot of self reflection and self loathing. And i begged God for help, forgiveness, guidance, you name it, while at my worst.
I had quite an experience when I did that. First i felt very hot and then it was overwhelming fear. absolutely terrified. Then like maybe a minute later, the total opposite. An amazing indescribable washing feeling at the perfect temperature, and all stresses removed momentarily, I remember having a feeling of someone having my back (not sure how to describe that, but that's what I felt).
This experience was a major turning point for me believing in God again. And to even share it with people is weird. I felt my christian friends would look at me like I'm lying or that I'm insane or something. I feel like they'd attribute it to some sort of mental disorder or something. Or they'd just brush me off because nobody in my life really takes me seriously.
So my question to you is, have you experienced this? And have you experienced it more than once? How do you perceive it?

Tagged and Timestamp below
https://imgur.com/a/eedaq7G
Paypal invoice only, please dont ask for fit pics, all items are measured
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Aj 1 TS og low and high: one of my first reps, bought 3 years ago from quinmin, sole is to yellow, condition 5/10 (maybe 4), some stains here and there, suede of the lows is pretty used, they are a bit smelly, perfect to take a walk with your dog or play with your kids or something you would normaly be afraid of wearing your j's, size 42,5 tts
lows: https://imgur.com/a/cqYMPd4
highs: https://imgur.com/a/OryyfyE
20 € each plus shipping, if you take both 35 €
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Bigboy stuff: Rhude Sweater fits like XL oversized imo. Bought it here for some weeks but the guy i bought it from provided wrong meassurments. So its to big for me. Note the measurements. condition 8/10https://imgur.com/a/amW9lv9
price 35 € plus shipping
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Fog 1977 hoodie, brand new, just to big for me, said size L but its more like xl imo, note measurements
https://imgur.com/a/0TqiiSV
40 € plus shipping
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Fog shirt: color sand, condition 9/10, fits like l oversized. only flaw is that the o-neck is a lil bit on the wider side. keep that in mind. i could measure it if your really interested.https://imgur.com/a/yss0Y8s
15 €
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Fog Black t, never worn, just washed, shrinked a bit and is to tight for me. fits like an oversized M imo but note the measurements. condition 10/10https://imgur.com/a/C5CgXKt
20 €
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Retail: lfdy sweater, bought on vented, its just to small for me. condition 6/10https://imgur.com/a/BcXutXm
35 €
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Represent T- worn once, washed once, size L
https://imgur.com/a/1EF1YtJ
15 € + shipping
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Essentials black t - never worn never washed, brand new with tags, material is a bit thin (sorry for bad picture quality)https://imgur.com/a/SK0vkKT
15 € + shipping
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Yellowish Essentials Knit Pullover, once worn, once washed, Size M, it has one lose stitch on the left shoulder (i can fix that if needed before shipping)https://imgur.com/a/0hcAvuM
40 € + Shipping
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Rhude Knit Shorts - Size M - L (note measurements), never worn never washedhttps://imgur.com/a/xIqKDqT
20 € + Shipping
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Rhude Shirt, worn once, washed once, jsut to small for me, regular fit Mill guess (just note the measurements), the colour is a vintage yellow,nearly whitehttps://imgur.com/a/jiPGGQD
10€ + Shipping
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Askyurself White 3M - Size L - XL (note measurements), worn couple of times, the writing is 3Mhttps://imgur.com/a/U1rO6Vc
10 € + shipping
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Represent Motorhead T, condition 7/10, size xl, note measurementshttps://imgur.com/a/3U7lDFo
Price 10 € + Shipping

I’m not an outdoorsy guy, but since I moved to Arizona and I became friends with some locals, I began to tag along on some of their camping trips.
These are guys who are pretty experienced in recreational camping, bring some firearms with them, know how to hunt, etc. Among other things of course they like to drink heavily on these trips until they eventually pass out in their tents.
The third time I went camping with them was in Bear Canyon in a particularly remote area.
When we arrived at our camping area we pitched our tents about 20-30 feet from the edge of a creek, got a fire going, ate dinner and started with the usual drinking antics.
After a couple hours of drinks a few of the guys started heading into their tents for bed time. I decided to stay up with two friends.
We kept drinking and chatting by the fire, listening to the creek and the crackle of the fire.
While talking with one of the friends, I noticed the other guy was turned around, towards the creek. He turned towards us with a confused look.
He said, “Do you guys hear that? It sounds like something keeps dropping into the water.”
We stopped talking to listen for a second, heard nothing, and started laughing at him thinking he just got scared.
“No, no seriously, shut up and listen…”
plop
We heard what sounded like a rock falling into water in the distance, maybe 30 feet away…
plop
We heard it again.
The friend I was talking to chimed in saying, “It’s probably an animal that just knocked some rocks off a cliff into the water.”
The other friend said, “yeah, you’re probably right”
We didn’t hear anything else so we kept chatting and talking about god knows what.
A few minutes pass us by, haven’t heard anything and have essentially forgotten about the sound.
I started talking about work, moving, and how great it was to now live in a place where a nice getaway with the boys was only a couple hours drive away.
While I was wrapping up my final thought, I heard it…
plop
My head turned rapidly towards the sound, wide-eyed…
plop
My friends’ heads whipped around towards the creek and I kept facing forwards towards the source of the sound…
plop
We all stood up abruptly…
plop
We looked at each other, flushed faces…
ch-ch
One of the friends had grabbed his shotgun, cocking it. He grasped the gun so hard you could see his knuckles turn white.
plop
The two friends looked at each other, nodded as if they had a conversation about what to do, and began walking towards the creek, the source of the sound.
plop
They took a few steps… some 20 feet from the sound…
plop
The sound grew louder… 15 feet from the sound…
PLOP
The sound grew louder with every step closer to the creek… 10 feet…
PLOP
We neared the waters edge… 5 feet…
PLOP
As we stepped on the bank of the creek, the friend with the shotgun pointed in the direction of the sound, directly in front of him, waited, and…
Nothing
The sound stopped as we came right up on the source.
We waited for what felt like an hour, with our feet on the edge of the water, and still… nothing.
We looked at each other, questioning if we had heard what we thought we had.
After waiting another minute or so we all nodded in agreement that it was time for bed. Maybe we had a few too many to drink.
We all headed back to our tents and with the help of the alcohol I was able to drift off.
I woke up a bit later with a chill, sleeping on the floor of the tent with only a sleeping bag between me and the cold earth.
I began thinking about the sound again… the intervals between them… they seemed so… unnatural.
It wasn’t as if a small stream of water was dripping into the bigger creek at a regular interval… it was more like rocks being dropped in the water at random.
How were these rocks being dropped like this? It couldn’t be from a small rockslide, it went on for too long.
And there wasn’t even a cliff or hill for the rocks to fall from…
PLOP
I shot up from my horizontal position, glaring at the closed entrance to my tent in horror.
PLOP
This sounded closer, like it could be coming from the banks of the creek…
PLOP
No, this sound was closer than the creek banks…
ch-ch
The familiar sound of setting a shotgun’s firing mechanism being set into firing position sounded out quietly and slowly from within the tent next to me.
PLOP
I sat… staring… realizing now the sound was right outside of our tents… as if it was on top of the now extinguished fire…
PLOP
Unable to move out of pure terror, I continued to stare…
plop
One faint, final sound rung out…
I waited for another… hearing the heavy breathing from the tent next door… petrified…
I sat there… waiting…
I waited until it was too late to even frivolously attempt to sleep again.
I sat there until I saw the light of the morning sun begin to glow through the thin walls of the tent.
zzzziip
Startled, I jumped at the sound of one of my friends opening their tent in the early morning light.
I reached forward and began to unzip my tent. I opened it enough to pull the tent fabric away to peer outside.
After seeing nothing, I felt confident enough to pull the tent wall away to stick my head out, and I see my neighbor doing the same… looking around to make sure whatever was making that sound was not near.
We caught each others attention and, with sunken eyes from a lack of sleep, we questioned what had happened last night, but knew we would not ask what it might have been.
We woke the rest of the group, packed our bags, left no trace, and went on our way.
We still have not spoken about that sound, and I don’t think we ever will.
But I have since lived in an apartment with a leaky faucet… and every once in awhile in the middle of the night….
plop
I shiver, and think back to what the source of that sound might have been…

This is a more holistic guide. I am not going to be mentioning specific resources for things in the body of this post, but if you have questions, comment them and I will answer! Apologies for the length...
I heard it from nearly everyone at the beginning of university- there are just thousands and THOUSANDS of people with near-4.0s and 520+ MCAT scores who never make it in, and are never interviewed. So when I finished 3rd year with a 3.98 and very few extracurriculars, I thought I would end up just like them. I made a post begging people on here what my chances were, and a couple people thought I was screwed unless I really put my ass to work in terms of ECs. When it was time to apply, I looked at every school and all I saw were potential problems. Ottawa only looks at the top 3 in every ABS category (i had 4 blank spots because of this!), Western and Uoft need extracurriculars and Queens is heavy on ECs in general... I was so certain there was no hope for me.
I see a lot of you on here worrying, in the same position as me. And to be honest, I'm not sure how I can help you best- my year was hit by COVID-19 closures and I'm not entirely sure if that means they were more lenient on people having fewer ECs than normal. I had a lot of research and volunteering lined up, but it was all cancelled because of lockdowns (for good reason, lol). I figured people applying this year are kind of in the same boat. My stats were: 3.97 GPA, 516 MCAT (129 CARS) and 4th quartile CASPER. I was interviewed at Mac, Western, Ottawa and UofT and i was waitlisted at the first 2 and accepted at the other 2. I am going to UofT this year, God help me.
I had at the end of third year: general member of 2 clubs, exec in one club, one 2-hour-a-week volunteer position, zero clinical experience and zero research. I still don't have any clinical experience, lol. I cried about this a lot, now I feel stupid about all the stress I took on.
I talked to a med student at the time and they told me: 1. I didn't really need to have the most intense and vibrant ABS ever, and that other stats would make up for it. 2. What I thought was "great ECs" was definitely being inflated by Reddit and Linkedin. In reality, people don't have that many ECs and they do get in. It's possible. 3. Those ECs I had weren't actually "bad"- they were for things I was very passionate about, quality over quantity. 4. It's never too late to get involved. I took a gap year, signed up for research, and by the time I graduated, I managed to get my name on a publication. But it was still in progress while I was applying which was a bit shit for me. I really recommend you try to get an internship in your fourth year because that saved me... (if you're at UTM this is BIO400 btw)
So how do you stand out without super-long and intense ECs?
- QUALITY over QUANTITY. Everyone told me this. I refused to believe it. I now know that it's true! Being able to speak in your essays about your involvements in an engaging and passionate way is very important. Tell a story, don't be afraid to get candid, and write in a voice that feels organic and personal. But make sure to link it back to CONCRETE SKILLS like those in the CANMEDS roles. Also, I dont think its enough to just link it to CANMEDs- try to also talk about why those traits are valuable in your image of a successful physician. "I'd like to be *a physician that* actively tackles racism in the field. To do this, being a *strong and compassionate leader* is essential, *because* it empowers people and makes their voices heard. This will be important to medicine as it grows and changes to accomodate people in the future". How you write about things is more important than what you write about, how long you did it for, and how many hours you got ;)
- Personality. Doctors aren't all the same, and neither are applicants. You have your own interests. Try to focus on your strengths. No one has a perfect application- everyone has a "weak point" in their apps. THAT IS OK! Just emphasize what makes you, you. Now note, this doesn't have to be some incredible niche thing that makes you "stand out", just being passionate about something is important, even if it's cliche. And... if that thing happens to be accessibility and activism-related, I would definitely mention it. Anyways, a personal cause or a "mission statement" makes it easier to understand yourself, your goals, your next steps and figure out how you want the adcoms to see you. I definitely saw a lot of importance being placed on activism and accessibility in the application cycle, but I think any sort of passion or zeal is appreciated.
- Pathways. If there was a legitimate reason why you could not do ECs, just mention it. You had a disability? Had to work? Were a full time caretaker? Don't beat yourself up. The ability to participate in ECs is a privilege for many, and there are vast explanations for why people aren't able to.
- Substitution. You need a VERY good Casper score, let's face it! In the absence of having ECs, you need to demonstrate that you understand important things like leadership, professionalism, teamwork, whatever. I'm a sociology major so I felt that helped during Casper, because I got to break down issues based on macro- and micro-structures, social norms and whatever, culture, whatever. I am aware that people sometimes question the validity of this test and personally I haven't looked into that. Note my typing speed was 45 wpm. I'd say my biggest advice for this is to make a huge mind map about how to analyze issues. Who is affected in the short term? Long term? On a larger scale? Shorter scale? What is the implication of your decision, and are your assertions always true? How do you relate to this scenario? Don't be afraid to mention the kinds of mistakes you've made, and how you've grown from them. Don't be like "My biggest weakness is that I work too hard" or something like that. Be real, be authentic, and try to play on your strengths as much as possible by relating shit to things that you are able to talk about (but don't bend over backwards to make connections). For example, I tried to talk about my research on accessibility wherever possible, because I know a lot about it and can talk about it extensively. From this experience, I got leadership, teamwork, critical thinking, advocacy, persistence, problem solving.... basically, if you got something going for you, you better MILK THAT SHIT! I am certain i 95th percentile-d this test because I got Ottawa A with 4 blank spots on the ABS, so maybe I will make a more detailed guide about that later.
See yall at UofT! By the way, if you have any more specific or more general questions I'm happy to answer. I love talking, as you can see. There are also a lot of emotional parts of the application process (stress, imposter syndrome, expectations) that I was going to add but decided to get rid of :)

I recently heard an interesting theory, something with "ego" in it. (I don't remember exactly what it was called so if I am wrong about what I am about to describe it is a simple mistake)
Essentially the theory goes that in the beginning only God existed and God is perfection (We can all agree on this hopefully) but God destroyed part of himself to create not just us, but everything we see around us. From the earth to our pets, all was once perfection and part of God.
Hearing this for the first time probably solidified my faith in Christianity when I was in my most doubtful days years ago. It just seems so incredible that God would sacrifice a part of his perfect self to create everything we see today.
But, I want to know what you all think of this theory. Is it even blasphemous? I am still learning about theology and would love to hear your opinions.

Disclaimer: Kinda long but I BOLDED the main points and saved the best for last so if you read nothing else, read the last two BOLDED things. Thanks
Right off the bat I want to say this isn't about Gameplay at all. They're two very different games and that's fine. I like it that way. Heck I actually much prefer DBFZ's gameplay but it's nice to have a chance of pace.
Also don't worry about bias because DBFZ is my favorite fighter of all time so if anything it would be the other way around (even though the original Street Fighter 2 is what introduced me to fighting games, but that was a lifetime ago and really has nothing to do with the suggestions i'll make)
Instead what I can't stop seeing in SF6 is all the non-gameplay stuff, that makes the overall experience so much better. I've noticed myself say the words "God, I wish this was in DBFZ" so many times that I finally just had to sit down and write this thread.
So let's get the obvious stuff out of the way

1. Rollback -- the netcode is amazing. DBFZ is a game where you probably won't want to play with someone if they're West Coast and you're East Coast, but SF6 you can have good games with people from entirely different continents.
2. Cross-Platform --speaking of Rollback, even when DBFZ finally gets it, it won't be coming to PS4 or Xbox One, meaning PS4 players won't even be able to play with PS5 players, let alone with PC players or Xbox X/S players. But SF6 has full Cross Platform, PS4 players like myself can play with PC players, Xbox players, and our PS5 brothers

In fairness to Arcsys maybe netcode stuff is extremely technical. I mean it certainly has taken them a long time to get Roll Back finished, so much so that even after announcing it a year ago, the Beta still hasn't happened.
But what about some simple quality of life stuff that wouldn't be that hard to put in the game? I genuinely believe they could do most of this stuff in less than a week:

1. You can queue up for both Ranked and Casual matches at the same time.

I mean holy shit this seems so obvious in hindsight but why do we have to pick JUST ONE?!?!? Obviously you can still have the option to pick one but why JUST one??? SF6 let's us check the boxes and you can choose one, the other, or BOTH!
And..... you can still look around the lobby for private matches and stuff so imagine potentially entering Ring Lobbies, or even looking for Arena matches while still searching for Ranked and Casual matches.
This way you not only have more options but you're more likely to find a match and whichever one finds you a match first is the one you go to! Super Simple.

1. You can offer to run another set with your opponent

Now this one is kinda the same as hitting rematch technically but it feels more like you're doing a whole new set thanks to how SF6 has multiple rounds per "Game"
5. You can offer to run (Ring Matches) with someone after you've played them in matchmaking with just one click of a button
If you want to continue playing with the opponent after you've run ranked/casual matches with them, there's an option right there where "rematch and quit" normally are to invite them to a private room (essentially like starting a ring lobby with them)
No need to message them and ask if they want to run Ring Matches. No need to tell them what Lobby you're in and all that mess, it'll put you in a "Ring" (private room) automatically
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I saved the best for last.

1. You can put people on a Block List

Think of it like the way the "Marker List" works except instead of just getting a red warning and manually deciding if you want to play them again, You CANNOT be matched up with them ever again (unless you remove them from the block list)
This means if people are:
-Laggy
-Toxic
-Smurfs
or even
-Annoying
You don't have to deal with them ever again. Not having this feature only benefits those people.
A little side story while I'm on the topic of how useless The Marker List is: There's this son of a bitch named SupremePapi that i've actually made like two youtube videos about. Instead of just smurfing like a normal smurf, he turns on matchmaking, puts his controller down, and just goes AFK for HOURS. So that he can lose, rank down, and then beat up on weaker players. From his replays i've seen he'll lose over 50-70 times in a row and then suddenly win 50 to 70 in a row. It's MADNESS.
He's the only person I have on both my Follow and Marker list so that I always know that it's him. Now you might be thinking "So? Just beat him and move on" but I don't want to artificially rank up so I don't want free wins. "Okay so just decline him then?"
Ah but that's the problem.... because his connection is so good and he's always available to play... he will show up NONSTOP. I've showcased this in my videos on him (on Natman2939) that as soon as I decline the match up with him, he'll just pop up again, I decline again, he pops up again. I once started counting and I declined him over 15 times in 1 minute.
DBFZ doesn't give a shit that he's on my marker list (and no having him on follow doesn't effect it cause I tried that) they just expect me to keep declining him over and over.
This means I have no choice but to just get off for a few hours because I'll spend the next hour declining him HUNDREDS of times in a row.
If this were Street Fighter 6....I could just Block him ONCE....and he would be gone forever. If he made a new account and smurfed. Block that account. The end.
And he's just the worst example but obviously there's so many toxic/laggy/smurfs or otherwise people I just don't want to play that might be one of the few people on at my rank and I just have to keep declining.
A Block List ends that problem completely.
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But my absolute favorite thing that SF6 does that DBFZ doesn't. The *chef's kiss* of SF6

1. It actually has severe punishments for Rage Quitting (and shitty internet)

I know what you're going to say "but I love Rage Quitters! They make me laugh!" me too. They really do. Heck if you saw my last youtube video (or many of my youtube videos including entire RQ compilations) I actually do get quite a bit of joy from them and am constantly celebrating and laughing when they do it.
But.... that doesn't make rage quitting cool, and doesn't mean they shouldn't be punished. I would laugh that much harder and celebrate that much more if they were.
Because frankly watching someone get to a rank they have no business being at because they RQ so much is just gross. Especially knowing there's virtually no consequences in DBFZ (except some very rare temp bans that you have to RQ like 50 times in a small period of time to get)
But here's what SF6 does....
If someone disconnects 5 times in a certain period of time they get a "yellow card" which is basically like a warning that they disconnect a lot.
But here's the funny thing..... THEY CAN ONLY PLAY WITH OTHER YELLOW CARD PLAYERS!!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Now you might be thinking "but Natman, I disconnect a lot because my internet is bad!" well buddy....you're hurting other people's experiences with that bullshit whether it's your fault or not so get it fixed or get your yellow card and go play with the others like you.
Now Capcom is super fair of course, allowing people to come back the regular player pool BUT.....only if they complete a certain number of games without disconnecting.
So RQ'ers and wifi warriors are in shambles.
But wait there's more!
If you continue to disconnect even while having a yellow card, you get a red card. This means you can only play your fellow red card players and you have to go like 20 matches in a row without an issue to lose it.
AND.....I hear the wait times for yellow and red are way way way worse than normal people, so enjoy your waiting simulator while the rest of us get to play the game without having to suffer your bullshit.
As if that wasn't more than enough, if you continue the bullshit even with a red card, you will get temporary bans.
Now I couldn't begin to count the amount of threads discussing rage quitters and horribly laggy wifi types that there have been in DBFZ. Can anyone (other than them.....) imagine how amazing it would be if this were in DBFZ?!?!?!?
Not only could you block them straight up, but if you chose not to, they'd be removed from the pools anyway. Because instead of a purple "match completion" warning that serves no purpose other than another reason for me to have to manually decline a match, instead their equivalent of the match completion warning, forces them to only fight others with the same warning, and then get straight up banned for 3 days or a week if they keep it up.
It's glorious.
All of these things combined make the online experience so much better in SF6 and would help DBFZ immensely.
I could also go into other things like training mode doing much better training set ups (like "anti air practice") or showing your exact plus/minus frames over your character's head... but obviously this is long enough for now.
So anyway, I'm in my 3rd year of playing DBFZ and I love the game but these are just a few ways it could be much much better. Maybe.... arcsys will take notes for future games.

Been lurking this sub for a while! Thought I'd finally leave a post (on a throwaway, just to be safe).
So currently, I (20) live with my mom, my two younger brothers, and our two cats. I don't know if my mom qualifies as truly being an nparent, she just comes off as pathetic to me. Anyway, I'm the result of a teen pregnancy and as such, my entire life has been completely unstable and really unfair. We all used to live with my ndad, but he was extremely verbally and mentally abusive to everyone around him, especially my mom and myself. They'd argue a lot and he'd run off in a hurry, and my mom would turn to me to be her emotional support. My memory of my entire childhood gets hazier by the day (repression is doing its wonders), but I do remember that my mom would sometimes leave with him to help him with his body building shows without telling me. This often left me to fend for myself and act as a sort of parent to my brothers. The only thing I remember from this is the absolute fear and dread of everything. My mom had this mentality that the world outside is scary and there's kidnappers in every corner, and my grandma would turn this up to 11 by going on and on about how there's rapists everywhere and they all want me specifically and that my only safety is at home. Due to this, I've grown up extremely sheltered and feel very powerless.
Skip some years and in 2016, my mom made the grand decision to move me and my brothers all to live with my grandma to get away from my dad. Her decision was SUPER rash, as we basically moved out within the same day as the pair had an argument (the argument was over me making a joke to my dad. He asked me to put a plate into the sink and I jokingly said,"I didn't sign up to be a slave". He immediately followed up with "I didn't sign up for you to be born"). At my grandma's house, everything was somehow worse. With my mom's decision, we had basically lost everything. All my toys at the time were gone (I was 13 and had an entire collection of littlest pet shop toys that I loved dearly. All gone except for 1 I hold onto to this day), half my clothes were gone, we were essentially 1 step up from being homeless (living with grandma), and we didn't even have a washing machine. My mom had to keep spraying our clothes with Tide Febreze spray, because she didn't even have enough quarters for the laundromat. The entire ordeal sucked. It wasn't helping that my grandma was absolutely god-awful.
EVERYTHING I did was wrong. I didn't microwave food correctly ("you're too messy"), I couldn't get cold water correctly ("you're lazy for not putting the water jug in the freezer!"), can't eat correctly ("you act like you never ate before!"), can't use the shower correctly ("you get water everywhere"), can't do anything right. My mom was still using me as a therapist, complaining about how wrong her life had gone. We had a cat at this point and he was my last fragment of sanity. I came home (ha... "home") one day and my mom had gotten rid of the cat while I was away because she KNEW I'd freak out if I saw her do it. I couldn't even say goodbye, and my grandma's first reaction to my crying was to mock me and laugh about how the cat probably died (fortunately he didn't, he was put into a shelter and he was adopted by an old lady within a week). At some point I completely broke and started screaming about how much I wanted to die, and my grandma's response was to mock me for it. She told me that she'd help me kill myself if I was so serious, talking about how she'd get a rope and tie it just for me. My mom even joined in, telling me she'd help me buy a gun so I can shoot myself. That entire scene is burned into my brain and it still really hurts.
Eventually we moved out and my mom finally took her spot as the antagonist of my life, because why not? Fortunately, this time period is way less eventful. Mostly just screaming, yelling, throwing me against a closet door and continuously throwing me back whenever I tried to walk away, her abusing the two new cats we adopted (we still have them now) and me yelling at her for it which immediately resulted in her throwing me to the ground and kicking me, her constantly calling me variations of "evil" and "mean" and "stupid", her calling me unlovable and telling me that no one will ever want to hang out with me just because I didn't like the fact that she was watching that old Ssoyoung mukbang youtube channel... Y'know! Uneventful! /s
She's finally chilled out in recent years and has become exceptionally clingy instead of outright abusive... Who am I kidding? Clinginess is just her being controlling and insecure. But I feel like I'm forced to just accept that this is the best she'll ever do. My grandma, though, is still horrendous. She got pregnant with my mom when she was 18 and I swear she never grew out of high school. Anything inconvenient is a personal attack, me wanting to be alone ever means I hate her altogether (happens often. I'm an introvert, have severe social anxiety, and am a massive loner), and if I don't do everything she says exactly as she wants me to in that exact moment, I'm evil. Just today, she said I'm exactly like my dad just because I didn't say "bye" to my brother who's leaving for 3 months to help our granduncle with his cleaning job. This same brother has ALSO said I'm exactly like my dad in the past because... I yelled at my mom for kicking one of our cats. Always evil, always bad, always a carbon copy of my dad, all for the most innocuous of things. I've had two therapists in the last couple years who I've been spilling all this to (first guy left the practice, hence why I had two), and I find it interesting that both of their reactions had spanned from very confused to very concerned whenever I tell these events. (I sure do wonder who's in the wrong here! /s)
I'm so tired of living here. I go to therapy every other week, and only in therapy did I learn that all of what my family has done to me is abuse, not love. Only in therapy did I learn that it's NOT normal for your family to insult you. It's not normal for your mom and grandma to make you their therapist, then treat you like dirt the moment you do something they don't like. It's not normal to be told that it's "greedy" to eat more than once a day and that you deserve to starve for running out of food (even though your mom only shops for groceries for 3 kids once every 2 weeks), leading to you to be VERY likely to develop an eating disorder in the near future. It's not normal for that same mother to then turn around and yell at you for not eating enough and tell everyone that you're anorexic, when she's the one who put you in this mess in the first place. It's not normal for your mom to fail to teach you essential life skills despite you asking repeatedly because you're "too young" and "have always been a little slow" but then immediately relent when someone else questions why you can't do said essential life skills (I couldn't do laundry until I was 18, I couldn't cook until I was 19, and I'm only set to get my driver's license now at 20). It's not normal to truly believe that you don't deserve compliments because you're too unlovable and anyone who says otherwise is lying, and it's not normal to treated like you're 10 one minute, but then be threatened to be kicked out the millisecond you do something wrong because, after all, "you're an adult!!". I'm always evil, never good. And it's only ever this family who says this, the couple friends I've managed to pull together say the exact opposite things about me. Isn't it funny how that works? Always horrible to the family, but everyone outside thinks you're great... It's not fair, man.
I'm really. Really tired. I'm currently in college full-time, living at home strictly to save money (it'd suck to move out and have to come back because student loan debt was worse than I thought). My brother (same one that insulted me), aunt, and grandma keep nagging for me to get a job and buy groceries for the family or pay rent because I'm a horrible selfish person or something (Surprisingly, this is one of the few things my mom backs me up on. She's completely fine with me focusing on college and tells everyone else to mind their business).
I can't work full-time while attending school, I could never handle the stress. I can only wait until I graduate, get a full-time job, save money, then leave. It also has to be in that exact rigid structure, I will freak out if it isn't (another problem I should probably get checked, hooray). I want to move to a state that's 2,300+ miles away (from Ohio to Washington). I've envisioned an entire life for myself there, complete with having my own found family. I don't need this family, I want one where people actually love and care about me. I want to get more therapy so I can properly heal. I want to get a dog, I want to be able to go outside without fear, I want to have lots of small pets who'll be properly cared for and loved. I've been questioning lately if I could even be trans, I want to find specialized therapy so I can safely explore this further. I want to change my name so I can sever my ties with this family. My name only gives me grief, I want a name that screams me. I want people who'd love me no matter who I turn out to be. I want people around who'd applaud my growth instead of downing me for never being good enough. I want people who are deserving of the me I've been trying to safeguard for so many years; a hypersensitive crybaby whose interests bounce around like ping pong and is in desperate need of a hug. I just want someone to care about me. And it's not fair that I don't have this. I didn't ask for this pain, all I did was be born. What did I do to deserve this?
TL;DR: I'm really really sick of dealing with my horribly toxic family. I can't explore myself as a person and despite being in therapy, can't truly heal since I'm stuck here. I can't drive, I'm really feeling trapped. I have dreams of moving far away and never coming back, but it still feels hopeless sometimes. I know it can't be, I know I can be free, but I can't do anything until I graduate college and save some money. Really sad about it. I'm really tired and want to go home, but home doesn't exist.

sometimes, leaving the fear of God on the left hand, and hiding

I'm trying to figure out what the hell the afterlife in fate is.
I've seen people say it's essentially wither the throne or reincarnation, but I don't think that's the case.
A somewhat flimsy bit of evidence is that Archer says that he "traded one afterlife for another." Implying that there is an afterlife.
Then their is the line from Ishtar in Demonic front Babylonia, "In the age of the gods, the heavens, the earth and the underworld are all very closely connected."
And seeing as Ishtar is a pseudo servant using rin with her memories, that implies knowledge of both eras. In essence, saying that the afterlife does exist in the modern era, it's just not something physically connected to the world anymore.
I know people say it's reincarnation, but is that truly the case?

For a person working on a project to translate All Tomorrows into Chinese, this is like a god given gift. Not only does the character 哭, pronounced "ku", look like the Qu, it also means to weep, to cry, or to shriek. A classic way to create a fictional alien species name is to add the character 者 afterwards, meaning "those who...", kind of like the "er" at the end of an occupation name. So to a chinese reader, "哭者" could be understood as, in a creepy and unnerving manner, "those beings who look like 哭". Or "shrieker" or "weeper", which adds to the fear. I like to imagine the Star People being terrified by their otherworldly shrieks.