I have long enjoyed magical realism slice of life as a somewhat specific favorite genre of anime and manga, especially if it involves food. Theres something about the atmosphere in a story that uses a world of magic as a backdrop, like you got dropped in the middle of a normal world, and then just tells a story of normal folk.
I found legends & lattes, which based on how I found this term and just pursuing the subreddit has got to be many folks entry point, as a sort of 'sick day read' when I wanted a lighthearted book instead of my relatively heavy one I was in the middle of. And I loved it, it was perfect for what I needed. And I'm looking through the history of this sub for recommendations and discussions and I love it so much.
So I figured I'd offer a trade - if you haven't read these manga, or haven't read manga at all, here's a handful of my favorite 'cozy fantasy' ish series you may enjoy. Just copy pasting the best descriptions I can find.
Flying Witch - Makoto Kowata, a novice witch, packs up her belongings (including her black cat familiar) and moves in with her distant cousins in rural Aomori Prefecture, in the far north reaches of Japan, to complete her training and become a full-fledged witch.
Drifting Dragons - Mika is a draker on the airship Quin Zaza. He earns his livelihood hunting the whales of the sky—dragons! The beautiful beasts are flying treasure troves, providing food and materials, and the Quin Zaza is among the last draking vessels. Mika's not just a talented hunter; he's also a gourmand with a refined palette and a taste for the exotic. Between his duties aboard the ship, his ambitions as an eater, and his new job training the rookie dragon hunter Takita, Mika's days are never boring. But even with the lively crew of the Quin Zaza as his family, the nomadic life of a draker can be lonely and dangerous…
Nobunaga no Chef - more historical than magical but still - Ken is a modern-day chef who wakes up one morning in war-torn 16th century Japan. Faced with an impossible situation, he does what he does best - he cooks. Soon, word of his wonderful food reaches the capital, and the ears of warlord Oda Nobunaga, who immediately orders Ken to cook for him. What will happen to Ken as he finds himself stumbling around in an era he doesn't belong
Isekai Izakaya "Nobu" - basically a Japanese restaurant dropped into a fantasy world - Imagine there is a bar with many weird kind of food and drink that might bring you to another world! The bar, so-called "Nobu" is located in a alley of the old city Aiteria. AT the very first step, diners feels like falling into another completely country, with cold, super cool beer, so-called "toriaezu Nama"!
Ancient Magus Bride - definitely both the most odd ball and action filled, but overall still a very peaceful if melancholic vibe throughout - Having been ostracized by both her relatives and partially by society, orphaned Japanese high school student Chise Hatori decides to sell herself at an auction in order for somebody else to take her in and have a new place to call home. At the auction in London, she is sold for five million pounds to Elias Ainsworth, a seven-foot-tall humanoid with an animal skull for a head. The magus, who seems closer to a demon than human, either brings her the light she desperately seeks or drowns her in ever deeper shadows in her new country, Great Britain. The series deals with a romantic slice-of-life storyline in a surreal and supernatural light.
Hope this isn't totally out of place! Just wanted to share some of what has fitted me towards this genre before I started reading them at all.

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My name is John, and I used to be a successful financial advisor with a promising future. But life took an unexpected turn when I went through a devastating divorce. The pain of separation tore at my soul, leaving me broken and lost. In my despair, I sought solace in the only comfort I could find—food. Slowly, my once-toned physique expanded, and I found myself trapped in the clutches of a vicious cycle.
With each bite, I felt a temporary escape from my inner turmoil. The food became my refuge, a fleeting moment of relief from the overwhelming sadness that engulfed me. But as the weight piled on, so did my self-loathing. I despised what I saw in the mirror, the reflection of a broken man who had lost control of his own life. "How did I let it come to this?" I would ask myself, the despair heavy in my voice.
The cycle seemed unbreakable, an unyielding force that pushed me further into the depths of my own self-destruction. The battle between my desires and my self-control raged within me, with each defeated attempt only reinforcing my sense of failure. "I'm trapped," I would mutter to the empty room, my voice filled with resignation.
As my waistline expanded, so did my isolation. Friends and family grew distant, invitations dwindled, and I retreated further into my own self-imposed prison. The more I ate, the more I withdrew from the world, sinking deeper into a sedentary existence. The echoes of my own loneliness reverberated through the empty rooms, each moment of silence a reminder of the emptiness I felt. "I'm alone," I would whisper, the weight of the words heavy on my heart.
The weight gain brought with it a suffocating darkness, shrouding me in depression and amplifying my sense of worthlessness. I felt like a shadow of my former self, robbed of vitality and purpose. "Who am I now?" I would question, the uncertainty in my voice palpable.
I felt trapped, both physically and emotionally, unable to break free from the chains that bound me. The cycle had become my reality, a vicious dance that dictated my every move. Little did I know that my darkest days were yet to unfold.
The days turned into a blur of desolation as my depression deepened. The weight of my self-inflicted misery grew heavier with each passing moment. There were moments when I would stare into the abyss of my own despair, feeling utterly consumed by the darkness that seemed to seep into every corner of my existence. "Will this emptiness ever end?" I would cry out in silent desperation.
Hoping for a glimmer of hope, I sought help from a doctor, praying for a way out of the abyss I had fallen into. The doctor's words were filled with compassion but also stark reality. They advised me to make significant lifestyle changes—exercise, eat healthier, and take care of my mental well-being. It sounded simple, but I knew deep down that breaking free from this vicious cycle would be an arduous battle, one that seemed almost insurmountable.
I followed the doctor's advice and tried medications and counseling, desperately clinging to the belief that they would be the panacea to my pain. However, the pills only brought temporary relief, masking the underlying anguish without truly addressing its roots. The counseling sessions, though helpful to some extent, felt like merely scratching the surface of the deep-seated wounds that plagued me. "Will I ever find solace? Or am I destined to be trapped in this torment forever?" I questioned, the despair in my voice growing.
Just when I thought I had hit rock bottom, fate dealt me an even crueler blow. I suffered a stroke, a shocking wake-up call to the toll my unhealthy lifestyle had taken on my body. I found myself in a hospital bed, immobilized and stripped of any semblance of control. The fear of losing everything—my health, my independence, and any chance at redemption—gripped me like a vice. As I lay there, vulnerable and fragile, the weight of my choices bore down on me with merciless force. "Is this the consequence of my self-destruction? Have I reached the point of no return?" I whispered, the words barely escaping my trembling lips.
Upon being discharged from the hospital, I returned to a life that was unrecognizable. The familiar comfort of my home was replaced by the stark reality of an empty apartment. It was a chilling reminder that my ex-spouse, driven to desperation by mounting medical bills, had sold our house to cover the expenses of my care. The emptiness echoed through the vacant rooms, mirroring the hollowness within me. I stood there, overwhelmed by a sense of loss, as the weight of my past mistakes settled upon my shoulders. "I have nothing left," I muttered, the words barely audible in the vast emptiness.
As I surveyed my new surroundings, a cold realization washed over me—I was not only stripped of my home but also my job. The once-thriving career that had defined my identity had crumbled under the weight of my personal struggles. I was now faced with the harsh reality of unemployment, further isolating me from the world and plunging me deeper into despair. The days stretched out endlessly, devoid of purpose or direction. "What am I without my career? Who am I now?" I wondered, the anguish in my voice reflecting my profound sense of loss.
In my isolation, I sought refuge in the vast expanse of the digital world. I found myself drawn to a large news website, losing countless hours scrolling through its pages. To fill the void within me, I created a horror-themed page where I could curate and share stories. However, instead of promoting the work of talented writers, I found myself inexplicably drawn to removing stories that evoked true terror, replacing them with frivolous and foolish tales that amused me momentarily. It was a paradoxical act—calling it a horror-themed page while actively sabotaging the very essence of what made a story truly chilling. It became a reflection of my own twisted state of mind. "I've become a purveyor of hollow scares, like my own existence," I mused bitterly, the irony not lost on me.
Amidst my bleak existence, a glimmer of hope emerged in the form of a peculiar offer. An anonymous benefactor reached out to me, promising a solution to all my problems—a magical exercise bike. Skeptical yet desperate for change, I cautiously accepted the gift, unsure of what awaited me. How could a mere exercise bike hold the key to my salvation? Still, a sliver of hope flickered within me, urging me to give it a chance. "Maybe this is my opportunity to break free from this cycle of despair," I whispered, the anticipation tinged with trepidation.
I watched as the old El Camino pulled up to my apartment building, its worn exterior bearing the marks of time. The air seemed to grow heavy with an otherworldly presence as the vehicle came to a stop. An elderly man stepped out, his features etched with deep lines, and his eyes gleaming with an enigmatic knowledge that sent a shiver down my spine.
Approaching me with slow, deliberate steps, the elderly man's voice carried a weight of hidden secrets. "I've come to deliver this exercise bike," he said, his words tinged with mystery. "It is meant for a divorced horror writer in need of reclaiming their life." His tone conveyed a deeper understanding, as if he knew more than he revealed. A sense of caution enveloped me as he continued, "This bike holds power beyond comprehension. It can grant you what you desire, but at a cost. The terrors that lie within must be faced, and the balance between fear and redemption must be maintained. Use it wisely, or the consequences will be dire."
Curiosity intertwined with trepidation as I gazed at the exercise bike, its sleek frame glinting in the dim light of my apartment. Unsure of what lay ahead, I nodded, accepting the enigmatic gift. The elderly man's lips curled into a cryptic smile as he handed it over, his eyes never leaving mine. There was a profound knowledge in his gaze, as if he had witnessed the depths of human darkness.
With a final nod, the elderly man turned away, disappearing into the shadows. The door of the El Camino slammed shut, and the vehicle rumbled to life, fading into the night. I stood in the doorway, clutching the handlebars of the exercise bike, contemplating the path I had chosen.
As the apartment grew silent, an air of anticipation settled around me. I placed the exercise bike in a corner, its presence looming over the room like a silent specter. There was an inexplicable connection, an unspoken agreement between man and machine. The promises of health, wealth, and inspiration danced in my mind, but a flicker of doubt pierced through my thoughts. What did it truly mean to reclaim my life? And what horrors awaited me on this enigmatic journey?
The night stretched on, and my curiosity wrestled with trepidation. The exercise bike stood as a physical manifestation of the unknown, beckoning me to unlock its secrets. The gleam in the elderly man's eyes, filled with wisdom beyond this world, lingered in my memory. It was a crossroads moment, a choice that would shape my destiny.
With cautious determination, I finally decided to embrace the bike's invitation. I approached it, my hand trembling as I took a seat on the padded saddle. The room's atmosphere changed, charged with an unseen energy. As my fingers curled around the handlebars, I felt a faint pulse, as if the bike itself was awakening to my touch.
A chill wind stirred through the apartment, the curtains whispering secrets in an ancient language. I inhaled sharply, my heart pounding in my chest. Casting a final glance around the room, uncertainty etched on my face, I took a deep breath and began to pedal.
The exercise bike hummed to life, its wheels spinning in harmony with my growing determination. A strange sensation enveloped me as I pedaled, a mixture of exhilaration and unease. Whispers, distant and ethereal, filled the air, weaving their way into my consciousness. Shadows danced at the edge of my vision, their forms shifting and contorting with every turn of the wheels.
Yet amidst the disconcerting atmosphere, I felt a glimmer of hope. The pounds began to melt away, my body growing lighter with each revolution. A surge of newfound vitality coursed through my veins, rekindling a sense of purpose that had long been dormant. It seemed the exercise bike's promises were not empty after all.
But as I continued my journey on the bike, I became aware of the fine line I treaded. The benefits multiplied, yes, but so did the terror that accompanied them. The bike demanded more than physical exertion; it demanded a confrontation with the deepest fears lurking within my soul.
During the second use, my breathing became labored, and the whispering noises intensified. My weight continued to drop, but with each passing minute, I caught glimpses of grotesque figures in my peripheral vision. Their contorted faces and elongated limbs sent chills down my spine.
The third use pushed me further as the whispers morphed into chilling voices that echoed inside my mind. I felt a growing sense of unease, as if being watched by unseen eyes. As the pounds melted away, I caught fleeting glimpses of shadowy figures lurking just beyond my line of sight. A cold, ominous presence filled the room.
The fourth use plunged me into a realm of terror. The voices grew louder, their words distorted and filled with malice. Nightmarish visions assailed my senses as I pedaled, my body drenched in sweat. The weight loss accelerated, but each moment on the bike became an ordeal. I felt icy fingers brush against my skin, and a cacophony of screams filled my ears.
The fifth use took me to the edge of my sanity. The voices now screamed in my ears, their words a maddening cacophony. The room became a hall of mirrors, reflecting twisted versions of myself. I pedaled with desperate determination, feeling my body grow lighter and weaker. The nightmarish visions became more vivid as I was thrust into a macabre carnival of horrors. The weight loss continued relentlessly, as if draining not just my physical form but my very essence.
Each moment on the bike felt like an eternity, as if time itself had become distorted. My mind struggled to distinguish between reality and the phantasmagorical realm I found myself trapped in. The boundary between fear and redemption blurred, and I questioned whether the price I paid was worth the fleeting benefits I received.
But even as the terrors intensified, a stubborn resolve burned within me. I had embarked on this journey for a reason, and I couldn't turn back now. I had to face the darkest corners of my soul, confront the demons that lurked within, and find the strength to endure.
With every pedal, I pushed myself further, confronting my deepest fears head-on. The exercise bike became a portal into the abyss of my own psyche, an unforgiving mirror reflecting the shadows I had long avoided. It whispered secrets, dredging up buried memories and forgotten traumas, forcing me to confront the skeletons in my closet.
It was a grueling battle, both physically and mentally. The torment was relentless, but I refused to succumb. I had to prove myself worthy of the promises made by the enigmatic deliveryman. The weight loss persisted, shedding not just the physical pounds but the emotional burdens that had plagued me for years.
And then, as if sensing my resolve, the exercise bike released its grip on me. The whispers faded, the nightmarish visions receded, and the room returned to its familiar surroundings. I sat there, panting and trembling, my body drenched in sweat. The silence that followed was heavy with a mix of relief and uncertainty.
I dismounted the exercise bike, my legs trembling from exhaustion. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a changed person. The physical transformation was undeniable, but it was the inner transformation that held the true power. I had faced my fears, endured the horrors that resided within me, and emerged on the other side.
But as the adrenaline subsided, a nagging doubt crept into my mind. What had I become in my pursuit of redemption? Had I lost too much of myself in the process? The exercise bike had granted me power, but at what cost? The line between triumph and tragedy was thin, and I had to navigate it carefully.
I took a step back, my gaze lingering on the exercise bike. It stood there, a silent witness to my journey, a constant reminder of the horrors I had faced. Its presence carried a weight of both temptation and warning, a duality that mirrored the path I had chosen.
As I stood there, contemplating my next move, I couldn't shake the feeling that the true test was yet to come. The exercise bike had brought me this far, but its enigmatic power still held sway over my life. It was up to me to wield it wisely, to find the balance between fear and redemption, or risk being consumed by the very horrors I sought to overcome.
And so, with a mix of trepidation and determination, I made a silent vow to myself. I would use the exercise bike sparingly, cautiously venturing into its realm only when necessary. I had learned the hard way that true transformation required more than shortcuts and supernatural assistance. It required the resilience of the human spirit, the willingness to face one's demons, and the strength to find redemption on one's own terms.
The enigmatic delivery had set me on a path I never anticipated, a journey into the heart of darkness. It was a path fraught with danger and uncertainty, but it was also a path of self-discovery and possibility. The exercise bike had become both my ally and my adversary, a reminder that the true horror lies not in the external forces that assail us, but in the choices we make and the consequences we face.
And so, with a deep breath and a newfound determination, I stepped away from the exercise bike, ready to face whatever lay ahead on this twisted and haunting road. The enigmatic delivery had changed my life forever, and now it was up to me to determine the ultimate outcome of this horrifying tale.
As days turned into weeks, I found myself grappling with the aftermath of my transformative journey. The weight I had lost began to stabilize, settling into a healthier range. My physical appearance had altered, but it was the internal shifts that intrigued me the most.
The horrors I had faced on the exercise bike lingered in my memories, haunting my dreams and shaping my thoughts. The visions and whispers, though diminished, still echoed within me, reminding me of the darkness that resided in the deepest recesses of my being. It was a constant reminder that I had confronted my fears but had not emerged unscathed.
In the wake of my transformation, a newfound sense of purpose and inspiration blossomed within me. The horrors I had experienced became fuel for my writing, infusing my stories with a raw authenticity that struck a chord with readers. My horror-themed website, once stagnant and overlooked, now garnered attention as I poured my soul into each chilling tale.
But with the success came a temptation, a seductive lure to exploit the supernatural power that had transformed me. As my audience grew, so did my desire for more, and I found myself straying from the path of authenticity. I began favoring shallow and amusing tales over genuine horror, seeking to please the masses rather than staying true to my newfound voice.
Blinded by my own arrogance, I reveled in the illusion of control. I believed that I had mastered the exercise bike's power, that I could harness its energy for personal gain without consequence. I became overconfident, ungrateful for the second chance that had been granted to me.
But fate has a way of reminding us of our fallibility. One fateful day, consumed by my self-righteous mission of curating the website, I inadvertently removed the latest story posted by my mysterious benefactor. It was the very last story, the final piece of their enigmatic contribution. The realization of my mistake hit me like a thunderclap, and a surge of panic coursed through my veins.
Dread gripped my heart as I comprehended the gravity of what I had done. The warnings of the old man echoed in my mind, his enigmatic words resurfacing with chilling clarity. The consequences I had dismissed as mere cautionary tales now loomed before me, ready to exact their toll.
As the realization sank in, I rushed to undo my mistake, frantically attempting to restore the benefactor's story. But it was too late. The story had vanished from the website, leaving an empty void in its wake. I had severed the connection, severing my ties to the very source of my transformation.
A deep sense of unease settled over me as I surveyed the now incomplete website, my hubris laid bare for all to see. The exercise bike, once contained and stationary, now broke free from its restraints. It defied the laws of physics, defying gravity as it levitated in the air before my eyes. Its presence loomed over me, a specter of my own making, an embodiment of the consequences I had unleashed.
I screamed, the sound of my terror reverberating through the empty rooms. But it was futile. The exercise bike had taken on a life of its own, carrying with it the weight of my arrogance and the burden of my choices. It was a haunting reminder of the price I had paid, a physical manifestation of the horrors that had consumed me.
As the exercise bike vanished into the darkness, leaving me in a state of desolation, my life spiraled into chaos. The job offer that had once held promise vanished, slipping through my fingers like smoke. My ex-spouse, sensing the shift in my demeanor, withdrew the possibility of reconciliation, leaving me alone with the consequences of my actions.
The weight that had once melted away returned with a vengeance, clinging to me like an oppressive burden. The pounds piled on, reflecting not just the physical toll of my choices but the emotional and spiritual toll as well. I found myself isolated and haunted, the memories of the bike's nightmares intertwining with the regrets that consumed me.
The horror-themed website, once my pride and joy, lost its allure. The twisted inspiration that had fueled my writing was gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness. My audience dwindled, questioning my credibility as my judgment came under scrutiny. I had become a mere shell of my former self, a cautionary tale of the dangers of hubris and the high price of redemption.
Each passing day unraveled me further, stripping away the fragments of the life I had built on the foundation of my arrogance. I was left to confront the consequences of my choices, a bitter reminder of the path not taken, the second chance squandered.
As I stood there, facing the wreckage of my life, I couldn't help but wonder if there was still hope for redemption. The exercise bike, now vanished, had left its mark on me, a reminder of the horrors I had faced and the lessons I had learned too late. It served as a haunting symbol of the choices we make and the responsibility we bear for their consequences.
Time passed, and I found myself back at square one, facing the consequences of my actions. The exercise bike's absence served as a haunting reminder of my hubris and the lost opportunity for redemption. The weight returned, a physical manifestation of my failures, while the echoes of the bike's terrors continued to haunt my dreams.
I was left to ponder the lessons I had learned too late. The exercise bike, once a portal to transformation and possibility, now stood as a testament to my squandered second chance. With a heavy heart, I contemplated the cycle of my life, knowing that unless I broke free from my destructive patterns, history would repeat itself, and I would lose everything and everyone all over again.
The exercise bike remained a cautionary tale, whispered among those who dared to seek shortcuts to their desires. Its whereabouts remained unknown, its power left unchecked. And as I grappled with my demons, I realized that the true horror lay not in the bike itself but in the choices we make and the consequences we face.
And so, I stood there, amidst the remnants of my shattered life, knowing that true redemption would require more than a supernatural shortcut. It would demand that I confront my deepest fears, make amends for my mistakes, and forge a new path—one built on humility, empathy, and the unwavering commitment to face the horrors within myself without seeking external sources of power.
The exercise bike had been a catalyst, a twisted gift that revealed the darkness within me. It had taken me to the edge of my sanity and forced me to confront the demons that lurked in the depths of my soul. But ultimately, it was up to me to rebuild, to find redemption within myself and seek a life free from the cycle of fear and hubris.
As I took my first uncertain steps forward, I carried with me the lessons learned from the enigmatic delivery. The exercise bike had been a harrowing chapter in my life, but it was not the end of my story. With determination and a newfound understanding, I vowed to break free from the haunting grip of the past and embrace a future shaped by humility, growth, and the pursuit of true redemption.

PAID: Participate in an Interview Study on Psychedelics Use in People with a History of Psychosis

Participate in an Interview Study on Psychedelics Use in People with a History of Psychosis
UAB IRB Protocol #: IRB-300009865
Principal Investigator: Haley Dourron, B.S.
Sponsor: UAB Department of Health Behavior; Source Research Foundation
How do classic psychedelics affect people with a history of psychosis? Researchers at the University of Alabama at Birmingham are currently conducting interviews with people who have experienced both non-affective psychosis AND have used psychedelics after their first psychotic episode.
Please do not comment. Contact the study team directly if you have questions.
To find out more about the study, see the screening survey landing page: https://uab.co1.qualtrics.com/jfe/form/SV_37WUW5cSvk7b2vA
What will you be asked to do?

• Complete a screening survey that takes approximately 20 minutes. This survey will ask information about your mental health history, drug use, and current quality of life.
• Participate in two confidential interviews with a researcher from the University of Alabama at Birmingham over a secure version of Zoom. These interviews will last between 30 to 75 minutes each. These interviews will focus on your experiences with psychosis, psychedelics, and possibly other substances, such as cannabis.

Who is eligible to participate?

• Volunteers who are over 18
• Volunteers who have used a classic psychedelic (such as “magic mushrooms,” LSD, or ayahuasca) after their first episode of psychosis.
• Volunteers who are not in an acute state of psychosis and/or currently receiving in-patient mental health treatment.
• Volunteers with a history of non-affective psychosis
• This could be a single episode of psychosis, or part of an illness such as schizophrenia or schizoaffective disorder. People who have only experienced psychosis within the context of bipolar disorder or Major Depression with Psychotic features do not qualify.

Will I be paid for participating?

• Each participant will receive up to $40.00 in payment for participation. For each interview you complete you will be paid $20.00. Participation in the screening survey is not compensated.

If you have any questions, please contact Haley Dourron ([[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])).
This survey has been approved by the moderators.

My name is John, and I used to be a successful financial advisor with a promising future. But life took an unexpected turn when I went through a devastating divorce. The pain of separation tore at my soul, leaving me broken and lost. In my despair, I sought solace in the only comfort I could find—food. Slowly, my once-toned physique expanded, and I found myself trapped in the clutches of a vicious cycle.
With each bite, I felt a temporary escape from my inner turmoil. The food became my refuge, a fleeting moment of relief from the overwhelming sadness that engulfed me. But as the weight piled on, so did my self-loathing. I despised what I saw in the mirror, the reflection of a broken man who had lost control of his own life. "How did I let it come to this?" I would ask myself, the despair heavy in my voice.
The cycle seemed unbreakable, an unyielding force that pushed me further into the depths of my own self-destruction. The battle between my desires and my self-control raged within me, with each defeated attempt only reinforcing my sense of failure. "I'm trapped," I would mutter to the empty room, my voice filled with resignation.
As my waistline expanded, so did my isolation. Friends and family grew distant, invitations dwindled, and I retreated further into my own self-imposed prison. The more I ate, the more I withdrew from the world, sinking deeper into a sedentary existence. The echoes of my own loneliness reverberated through the empty rooms, each moment of silence a reminder of the emptiness I felt. "I'm alone," I would whisper, the weight of the words heavy on my heart.
The weight gain brought with it a suffocating darkness, shrouding me in depression and amplifying my sense of worthlessness. I felt like a shadow of my former self, robbed of vitality and purpose. "Who am I now?" I would question, the uncertainty in my voice palpable.
I felt trapped, both physically and emotionally, unable to break free from the chains that bound me. The cycle had become my reality, a vicious dance that dictated my every move. Little did I know that my darkest days were yet to unfold.
The days turned into a blur of desolation as my depression deepened. The weight of my self-inflicted misery grew heavier with each passing moment. There were moments when I would stare into the abyss of my own despair, feeling utterly consumed by the darkness that seemed to seep into every corner of my existence. "Will this emptiness ever end?" I would cry out in silent desperation.
Hoping for a glimmer of hope, I sought help from a doctor, praying for a way out of the abyss I had fallen into. The doctor's words were filled with compassion but also stark reality. They advised me to make significant lifestyle changes—exercise, eat healthier, and take care of my mental well-being. It sounded simple, but I knew deep down that breaking free from this vicious cycle would be an arduous battle, one that seemed almost insurmountable.
I followed the doctor's advice and tried medications and counseling, desperately clinging to the belief that they would be the panacea to my pain. However, the pills only brought temporary relief, masking the underlying anguish without truly addressing its roots. The counseling sessions, though helpful to some extent, felt like merely scratching the surface of the deep-seated wounds that plagued me. "Will I ever find solace? Or am I destined to be trapped in this torment forever?" I questioned, the despair in my voice growing.
Just when I thought I had hit rock bottom, fate dealt me an even crueler blow. I suffered a stroke, a shocking wake-up call to the toll my unhealthy lifestyle had taken on my body. I found myself in a hospital bed, immobilized and stripped of any semblance of control. The fear of losing everything—my health, my independence, and any chance at redemption—gripped me like a vice. As I lay there, vulnerable and fragile, the weight of my choices bore down on me with merciless force. "Is this the consequence of my self-destruction? Have I reached the point of no return?" I whispered, the words barely escaping my trembling lips.
Upon being discharged from the hospital, I returned to a life that was unrecognizable. The familiar comfort of my home was replaced by the stark reality of an empty apartment. It was a chilling reminder that my ex-spouse, driven to desperation by mounting medical bills, had sold our house to cover the expenses of my care. The emptiness echoed through the vacant rooms, mirroring the hollowness within me. I stood there, overwhelmed by a sense of loss, as the weight of my past mistakes settled upon my shoulders. "I have nothing left," I muttered, the words barely audible in the vast emptiness.
As I surveyed my new surroundings, a cold realization washed over me—I was not only stripped of my home but also my job. The once-thriving career that had defined my identity had crumbled under the weight of my personal struggles. I was now faced with the harsh reality of unemployment, further isolating me from the world and plunging me deeper into despair. The days stretched out endlessly, devoid of purpose or direction. "What am I without my career? Who am I now?" I wondered, the anguish in my voice reflecting my profound sense of loss.
In my isolation, I sought refuge in the vast expanse of the digital world. I found myself drawn to a large news website, losing countless hours scrolling through its pages. To fill the void within me, I created a horror-themed page where I could curate and share stories. However, instead of promoting the work of talented writers, I found myself inexplicably drawn to removing stories that evoked true terror, replacing them with frivolous and foolish tales that amused me momentarily. It was a paradoxical act—calling it a horror-themed page while actively sabotaging the very essence of what made a story truly chilling. It became a reflection of my own twisted state of mind. "I've become a purveyor of hollow scares, like my own existence," I mused bitterly, the irony not lost on me.
Amidst my bleak existence, a glimmer of hope emerged in the form of a peculiar offer. An anonymous benefactor reached out to me, promising a solution to all my problems—a magical exercise bike. Skeptical yet desperate for change, I cautiously accepted the gift, unsure of what awaited me. How could a mere exercise bike hold the key to my salvation? Still, a sliver of hope flickered within me, urging me to give it a chance. "Maybe this is my opportunity to break free from this cycle of despair," I whispered, the anticipation tinged with trepidation.
I watched as the old El Camino pulled up to my apartment building, its worn exterior bearing the marks of time. The air seemed to grow heavy with an otherworldly presence as the vehicle came to a stop. An elderly man stepped out, his features etched with deep lines, and his eyes gleaming with an enigmatic knowledge that sent a shiver down my spine.
Approaching me with slow, deliberate steps, the elderly man's voice carried a weight of hidden secrets. "I've come to deliver this exercise bike," he said, his words tinged with mystery. "It is meant for a divorced horror writer in need of reclaiming their life." His tone conveyed a deeper understanding, as if he knew more than he revealed. A sense of caution enveloped me as he continued, "This bike holds power beyond comprehension. It can grant you what you desire, but at a cost. The terrors that lie within must be faced, and the balance between fear and redemption must be maintained. Use it wisely, or the consequences will be dire."
Curiosity intertwined with trepidation as I gazed at the exercise bike, its sleek frame glinting in the dim light of my apartment. Unsure of what lay ahead, I nodded, accepting the enigmatic gift. The elderly man's lips curled into a cryptic smile as he handed it over, his eyes never leaving mine. There was a profound knowledge in his gaze, as if he had witnessed the depths of human darkness.
With a final nod, the elderly man turned away, disappearing into the shadows. The door of the El Camino slammed shut, and the vehicle rumbled to life, fading into the night. I stood in the doorway, clutching the handlebars of the exercise bike, contemplating the path I had chosen.
As the apartment grew silent, an air of anticipation settled around me. I placed the exercise bike in a corner, its presence looming over the room like a silent specter. There was an inexplicable connection, an unspoken agreement between man and machine. The promises of health, wealth, and inspiration danced in my mind, but a flicker of doubt pierced through my thoughts. What did it truly mean to reclaim my life? And what horrors awaited me on this enigmatic journey?
The night stretched on, and my curiosity wrestled with trepidation. The exercise bike stood as a physical manifestation of the unknown, beckoning me to unlock its secrets. The gleam in the elderly man's eyes, filled with wisdom beyond this world, lingered in my memory. It was a crossroads moment, a choice that would shape my destiny.
With cautious determination, I finally decided to embrace the bike's invitation. I approached it, my hand trembling as I took a seat on the padded saddle. The room's atmosphere changed, charged with an unseen energy. As my fingers curled around the handlebars, I felt a faint pulse, as if the bike itself was awakening to my touch.
A chill wind stirred through the apartment, the curtains whispering secrets in an ancient language. I inhaled sharply, my heart pounding in my chest. Casting a final glance around the room, uncertainty etched on my face, I took a deep breath and began to pedal.
The exercise bike hummed to life, its wheels spinning in harmony with my growing determination. A strange sensation enveloped me as I pedaled, a mixture of exhilaration and unease. Whispers, distant and ethereal, filled the air, weaving their way into my consciousness. Shadows danced at the edge of my vision, their forms shifting and contorting with every turn of the wheels.
Yet amidst the disconcerting atmosphere, I felt a glimmer of hope. The pounds began to melt away, my body growing lighter with each revolution. A surge of newfound vitality coursed through my veins, rekindling a sense of purpose that had long been dormant. It seemed the exercise bike's promises were not empty after all.
But as I continued my journey on the bike, I became aware of the fine line I treaded. The benefits multiplied, yes, but so did the terror that accompanied them. The bike demanded more than physical exertion; it demanded a confrontation with the deepest fears lurking within my soul.
During the second use, my breathing became labored, and the whispering noises intensified. My weight continued to drop, but with each passing minute, I caught glimpses of grotesque figures in my peripheral vision. Their contorted faces and elongated limbs sent chills down my spine.
The third use pushed me further as the whispers morphed into chilling voices that echoed inside my mind. I felt a growing sense of unease, as if being watched by unseen eyes. As the pounds melted away, I caught fleeting glimpses of shadowy figures lurking just beyond my line of sight. A cold, ominous presence filled the room.
The fourth use plunged me into a realm of terror. The voices grew louder, their words distorted and filled with malice. Nightmarish visions assailed my senses as I pedaled, my body drenched in sweat. The weight loss accelerated, but each moment on the bike became an ordeal. I felt icy fingers brush against my skin, and a cacophony of screams filled my ears.
The fifth use took me to the edge of my sanity. The voices now screamed in my ears, their words a maddening cacophony. The room became a hall of mirrors, reflecting twisted versions of myself. I pedaled with desperate determination, feeling my body grow lighter and weaker. The nightmarish visions became more vivid as I was thrust into a macabre carnival of horrors. The weight loss continued relentlessly, as if draining not just my physical form but my very essence.
Each moment on the bike felt like an eternity, as if time itself had become distorted. My mind struggled to distinguish between reality and the phantasmagorical realm I found myself trapped in. The boundary between fear and redemption blurred, and I questioned whether the price I paid was worth the fleeting benefits I received.
But even as the terrors intensified, a stubborn resolve burned within me. I had embarked on this journey for a reason, and I couldn't turn back now. I had to face the darkest corners of my soul, confront the demons that lurked within, and find the strength to endure.
With every pedal, I pushed myself further, confronting my deepest fears head-on. The exercise bike became a portal into the abyss of my own psyche, an unforgiving mirror reflecting the shadows I had long avoided. It whispered secrets, dredging up buried memories and forgotten traumas, forcing me to confront the skeletons in my closet.
It was a grueling battle, both physically and mentally. The torment was relentless, but I refused to succumb. I had to prove myself worthy of the promises made by the enigmatic deliveryman. The weight loss persisted, shedding not just the physical pounds but the emotional burdens that had plagued me for years.
And then, as if sensing my resolve, the exercise bike released its grip on me. The whispers faded, the nightmarish visions receded, and the room returned to its familiar surroundings. I sat there, panting and trembling, my body drenched in sweat. The silence that followed was heavy with a mix of relief and uncertainty.
I dismounted the exercise bike, my legs trembling from exhaustion. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a changed person. The physical transformation was undeniable, but it was the inner transformation that held the true power. I had faced my fears, endured the horrors that resided within me, and emerged on the other side.
But as the adrenaline subsided, a nagging doubt crept into my mind. What had I become in my pursuit of redemption? Had I lost too much of myself in the process? The exercise bike had granted me power, but at what cost? The line between triumph and tragedy was thin, and I had to navigate it carefully.
I took a step back, my gaze lingering on the exercise bike. It stood there, a silent witness to my journey, a constant reminder of the horrors I had faced. Its presence carried a weight of both temptation and warning, a duality that mirrored the path I had chosen.
As I stood there, contemplating my next move, I couldn't shake the feeling that the true test was yet to come. The exercise bike had brought me this far, but its enigmatic power still held sway over my life. It was up to me to wield it wisely, to find the balance between fear and redemption, or risk being consumed by the very horrors I sought to overcome.
And so, with a mix of trepidation and determination, I made a silent vow to myself. I would use the exercise bike sparingly, cautiously venturing into its realm only when necessary. I had learned the hard way that true transformation required more than shortcuts and supernatural assistance. It required the resilience of the human spirit, the willingness to face one's demons, and the strength to find redemption on one's own terms.
The enigmatic delivery had set me on a path I never anticipated, a journey into the heart of darkness. It was a path fraught with danger and uncertainty, but it was also a path of self-discovery and possibility. The exercise bike had become both my ally and my adversary, a reminder that the true horror lies not in the external forces that assail us, but in the choices we make and the consequences we face.
And so, with a deep breath and a newfound determination, I stepped away from the exercise bike, ready to face whatever lay ahead on this twisted and haunting road. The enigmatic delivery had changed my life forever, and now it was up to me to determine the ultimate outcome of this horrifying tale.
As days turned into weeks, I found myself grappling with the aftermath of my transformative journey. The weight I had lost began to stabilize, settling into a healthier range. My physical appearance had altered, but it was the internal shifts that intrigued me the most.
The horrors I had faced on the exercise bike lingered in my memories, haunting my dreams and shaping my thoughts. The visions and whispers, though diminished, still echoed within me, reminding me of the darkness that resided in the deepest recesses of my being. It was a constant reminder that I had confronted my fears but had not emerged unscathed.
In the wake of my transformation, a newfound sense of purpose and inspiration blossomed within me. The horrors I had experienced became fuel for my writing, infusing my stories with a raw authenticity that struck a chord with readers. My horror-themed website, once stagnant and overlooked, now garnered attention as I poured my soul into each chilling tale.
But with the success came a temptation, a seductive lure to exploit the supernatural power that had transformed me. As my audience grew, so did my desire for more, and I found myself straying from the path of authenticity. I began favoring shallow and amusing tales over genuine horror, seeking to please the masses rather than staying true to my newfound voice.
Blinded by my own arrogance, I reveled in the illusion of control. I believed that I had mastered the exercise bike's power, that I could harness its energy for personal gain without consequence. I became overconfident, ungrateful for the second chance that had been granted to me.
But fate has a way of reminding us of our fallibility. One fateful day, consumed by my self-righteous mission of curating the website, I inadvertently removed the latest story posted by my mysterious benefactor. It was the very last story, the final piece of their enigmatic contribution. The realization of my mistake hit me like a thunderclap, and a surge of panic coursed through my veins.
Dread gripped my heart as I comprehended the gravity of what I had done. The warnings of the old man echoed in my mind, his enigmatic words resurfacing with chilling clarity. The consequences I had dismissed as mere cautionary tales now loomed before me, ready to exact their toll.
As the realization sank in, I rushed to undo my mistake, frantically attempting to restore the benefactor's story. But it was too late. The story had vanished from the website, leaving an empty void in its wake. I had severed the connection, severing my ties to the very source of my transformation.
A deep sense of unease settled over me as I surveyed the now incomplete website, my hubris laid bare for all to see. The exercise bike, once contained and stationary, now broke free from its restraints. It defied the laws of physics, defying gravity as it levitated in the air before my eyes. Its presence loomed over me, a specter of my own making, an embodiment of the consequences I had unleashed.
I screamed, the sound of my terror reverberating through the empty rooms. But it was futile. The exercise bike had taken on a life of its own, carrying with it the weight of my arrogance and the burden of my choices. It was a haunting reminder of the price I had paid, a physical manifestation of the horrors that had consumed me.
As the exercise bike vanished into the darkness, leaving me in a state of desolation, my life spiraled into chaos. The job offer that had once held promise vanished, slipping through my fingers like smoke. My ex-spouse, sensing the shift in my demeanor, withdrew the possibility of reconciliation, leaving me alone with the consequences of my actions.
The weight that had once melted away returned with a vengeance, clinging to me like an oppressive burden. The pounds piled on, reflecting not just the physical toll of my choices but the emotional and spiritual toll as well. I found myself isolated and haunted, the memories of the bike's nightmares intertwining with the regrets that consumed me.
The horror-themed website, once my pride and joy, lost its allure. The twisted inspiration that had fueled my writing was gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness. My audience dwindled, questioning my credibility as my judgment came under scrutiny. I had become a mere shell of my former self, a cautionary tale of the dangers of hubris and the high price of redemption.
Each passing day unraveled me further, stripping away the fragments of the life I had built on the foundation of my arrogance. I was left to confront the consequences of my choices, a bitter reminder of the path not taken, the second chance squandered.
As I stood there, facing the wreckage of my life, I couldn't help but wonder if there was still hope for redemption. The exercise bike, now vanished, had left its mark on me, a reminder of the horrors I had faced and the lessons I had learned too late. It served as a haunting symbol of the choices we make and the responsibility we bear for their consequences.
Time passed, and I found myself back at square one, facing the consequences of my actions. The exercise bike's absence served as a haunting reminder of my hubris and the lost opportunity for redemption. The weight returned, a physical manifestation of my failures, while the echoes of the bike's terrors continued to haunt my dreams.
I was left to ponder the lessons I had learned too late. The exercise bike, once a portal to transformation and possibility, now stood as a testament to my squandered second chance. With a heavy heart, I contemplated the cycle of my life, knowing that unless I broke free from my destructive patterns, history would repeat itself, and I would lose everything and everyone all over again.
The exercise bike remained a cautionary tale, whispered among those who dared to seek shortcuts to their desires. Its whereabouts remained unknown, its power left unchecked. And as I grappled with my demons, I realized that the true horror lay not in the bike itself but in the choices we make and the consequences we face.
And so, I stood there, amidst the remnants of my shattered life, knowing that true redemption would require more than a supernatural shortcut. It would demand that I confront my deepest fears, make amends for my mistakes, and forge a new path—one built on humility, empathy, and the unwavering commitment to face the horrors within myself without seeking external sources of power.
The exercise bike had been a catalyst, a twisted gift that revealed the darkness within me. It had taken me to the edge of my sanity and forced me to confront the demons that lurked in the depths of my soul. But ultimately, it was up to me to rebuild, to find redemption within myself and seek a life free from the cycle of fear and hubris.
As I took my first uncertain steps forward, I carried with me the lessons learned from the enigmatic delivery. The exercise bike had been a harrowing chapter in my life, but it was not the end of my story. With determination and a newfound understanding, I vowed to break free from the haunting grip of the past and embrace a future shaped by humility, growth, and the pursuit of true redemption.

It's just a rant where I feel like champions such as Brand and Ziggs are neglected by the balance team and there is some biases to those champs compare to other champs such as Neeko, Ahri, Katarina, they get some nice buffs or QOL reworks. While Ziggs, he is an okay champion (as of 13.10), however, he could benefit off from attack damage scaling, on-hit (sheen or manamune procs on his bouncing bomb), or lethality from his abilities.
And why is that? If you think about it, bombs in real life deals physical damage and will hurt you physically (fracture bones, traumatic injuries, concussion). I ain't no lore expert, some will say his bombs have some magical factor but who really cares what kind of bombs are made out of, they're bombs, they explode.
I feel like most players would disagree but when you have champs such as Kalista, Vayne, and Twitch having AP ratios, then why not give Ziggs abilities AD scaling? Who knows if this would even benefit him or make him a meta flex pick in botlane that you can either build AD and AP, it also would be funny if Ziggs can go full lethality aswell

My name is John, and I used to be a successful financial advisor with a promising future. But life took an unexpected turn when I went through a devastating divorce. The pain of separation tore at my soul, leaving me broken and lost. In my despair, I sought solace in the only comfort I could find—food. Slowly, my once-toned physique expanded, and I found myself trapped in the clutches of a vicious cycle.
With each bite, I felt a temporary escape from my inner turmoil. The food became my refuge, a fleeting moment of relief from the overwhelming sadness that engulfed me. But as the weight piled on, so did my self-loathing. I despised what I saw in the mirror, the reflection of a broken man who had lost control of his own life. "How did I let it come to this?" I would ask myself, the despair heavy in my voice.
The cycle seemed unbreakable, an unyielding force that pushed me further into the depths of my own self-destruction. The battle between my desires and my self-control raged within me, with each defeated attempt only reinforcing my sense of failure. "I'm trapped," I would mutter to the empty room, my voice filled with resignation.
As my waistline expanded, so did my isolation. Friends and family grew distant, invitations dwindled, and I retreated further into my own self-imposed prison. The more I ate, the more I withdrew from the world, sinking deeper into a sedentary existence. The echoes of my own loneliness reverberated through the empty rooms, each moment of silence a reminder of the emptiness I felt. "I'm alone," I would whisper, the weight of the words heavy on my heart.
The weight gain brought with it a suffocating darkness, shrouding me in depression and amplifying my sense of worthlessness. I felt like a shadow of my former self, robbed of vitality and purpose. "Who am I now?" I would question, the uncertainty in my voice palpable.
I felt trapped, both physically and emotionally, unable to break free from the chains that bound me. The cycle had become my reality, a vicious dance that dictated my every move. Little did I know that my darkest days were yet to unfold.
The days turned into a blur of desolation as my depression deepened. The weight of my self-inflicted misery grew heavier with each passing moment. There were moments when I would stare into the abyss of my own despair, feeling utterly consumed by the darkness that seemed to seep into every corner of my existence. "Will this emptiness ever end?" I would cry out in silent desperation.
Hoping for a glimmer of hope, I sought help from a doctor, praying for a way out of the abyss I had fallen into. The doctor's words were filled with compassion but also stark reality. They advised me to make significant lifestyle changes—exercise, eat healthier, and take care of my mental well-being. It sounded simple, but I knew deep down that breaking free from this vicious cycle would be an arduous battle, one that seemed almost insurmountable.
I followed the doctor's advice and tried medications and counseling, desperately clinging to the belief that they would be the panacea to my pain. However, the pills only brought temporary relief, masking the underlying anguish without truly addressing its roots. The counseling sessions, though helpful to some extent, felt like merely scratching the surface of the deep-seated wounds that plagued me. "Will I ever find solace? Or am I destined to be trapped in this torment forever?" I questioned, the despair in my voice growing.
Just when I thought I had hit rock bottom, fate dealt me an even crueler blow. I suffered a stroke, a shocking wake-up call to the toll my unhealthy lifestyle had taken on my body. I found myself in a hospital bed, immobilized and stripped of any semblance of control. The fear of losing everything—my health, my independence, and any chance at redemption—gripped me like a vice. As I lay there, vulnerable and fragile, the weight of my choices bore down on me with merciless force. "Is this the consequence of my self-destruction? Have I reached the point of no return?" I whispered, the words barely escaping my trembling lips.
Upon being discharged from the hospital, I returned to a life that was unrecognizable. The familiar comfort of my home was replaced by the stark reality of an empty apartment. It was a chilling reminder that my ex-spouse, driven to desperation by mounting medical bills, had sold our house to cover the expenses of my care. The emptiness echoed through the vacant rooms, mirroring the hollowness within me. I stood there, overwhelmed by a sense of loss, as the weight of my past mistakes settled upon my shoulders. "I have nothing left," I muttered, the words barely audible in the vast emptiness.
As I surveyed my new surroundings, a cold realization washed over me—I was not only stripped of my home but also my job. The once-thriving career that had defined my identity had crumbled under the weight of my personal struggles. I was now faced with the harsh reality of unemployment, further isolating me from the world and plunging me deeper into despair. The days stretched out endlessly, devoid of purpose or direction. "What am I without my career? Who am I now?" I wondered, the anguish in my voice reflecting my profound sense of loss.
In my isolation, I sought refuge in the vast expanse of the digital world. I found myself drawn to a large news website, losing countless hours scrolling through its pages. To fill the void within me, I created a horror-themed page where I could curate and share stories. However, instead of promoting the work of talented writers, I found myself inexplicably drawn to removing stories that evoked true terror, replacing them with frivolous and foolish tales that amused me momentarily. It was a paradoxical act—calling it a horror-themed page while actively sabotaging the very essence of what made a story truly chilling. It became a reflection of my own twisted state of mind. "I've become a purveyor of hollow scares, like my own existence," I mused bitterly, the irony not lost on me.
Amidst my bleak existence, a glimmer of hope emerged in the form of a peculiar offer. An anonymous benefactor reached out to me, promising a solution to all my problems—a magical exercise bike. Skeptical yet desperate for change, I cautiously accepted the gift, unsure of what awaited me. How could a mere exercise bike hold the key to my salvation? Still, a sliver of hope flickered within me, urging me to give it a chance. "Maybe this is my opportunity to break free from this cycle of despair," I whispered, the anticipation tinged with trepidation.
I watched as the old El Camino pulled up to my apartment building, its worn exterior bearing the marks of time. The air seemed to grow heavy with an otherworldly presence as the vehicle came to a stop. An elderly man stepped out, his features etched with deep lines, and his eyes gleaming with an enigmatic knowledge that sent a shiver down my spine.
Approaching me with slow, deliberate steps, the elderly man's voice carried a weight of hidden secrets. "I've come to deliver this exercise bike," he said, his words tinged with mystery. "It is meant for a divorced horror writer in need of reclaiming their life." His tone conveyed a deeper understanding, as if he knew more than he revealed. A sense of caution enveloped me as he continued, "This bike holds power beyond comprehension. It can grant you what you desire, but at a cost. The terrors that lie within must be faced, and the balance between fear and redemption must be maintained. Use it wisely, or the consequences will be dire."
Curiosity intertwined with trepidation as I gazed at the exercise bike, its sleek frame glinting in the dim light of my apartment. Unsure of what lay ahead, I nodded, accepting the enigmatic gift. The elderly man's lips curled into a cryptic smile as he handed it over, his eyes never leaving mine. There was a profound knowledge in his gaze, as if he had witnessed the depths of human darkness.
With a final nod, the elderly man turned away, disappearing into the shadows. The door of the El Camino slammed shut, and the vehicle rumbled to life, fading into the night. I stood in the doorway, clutching the handlebars of the exercise bike, contemplating the path I had chosen.
As the apartment grew silent, an air of anticipation settled around me. I placed the exercise bike in a corner, its presence looming over the room like a silent specter. There was an inexplicable connection, an unspoken agreement between man and machine. The promises of health, wealth, and inspiration danced in my mind, but a flicker of doubt pierced through my thoughts. What did it truly mean to reclaim my life? And what horrors awaited me on this enigmatic journey?
The night stretched on, and my curiosity wrestled with trepidation. The exercise bike stood as a physical manifestation of the unknown, beckoning me to unlock its secrets. The gleam in the elderly man's eyes, filled with wisdom beyond this world, lingered in my memory. It was a crossroads moment, a choice that would shape my destiny.
With cautious determination, I finally decided to embrace the bike's invitation. I approached it, my hand trembling as I took a seat on the padded saddle. The room's atmosphere changed, charged with an unseen energy. As my fingers curled around the handlebars, I felt a faint pulse, as if the bike itself was awakening to my touch.
A chill wind stirred through the apartment, the curtains whispering secrets in an ancient language. I inhaled sharply, my heart pounding in my chest. Casting a final glance around the room, uncertainty etched on my face, I took a deep breath and began to pedal.
The exercise bike hummed to life, its wheels spinning in harmony with my growing determination. A strange sensation enveloped me as I pedaled, a mixture of exhilaration and unease. Whispers, distant and ethereal, filled the air, weaving their way into my consciousness. Shadows danced at the edge of my vision, their forms shifting and contorting with every turn of the wheels.
Yet amidst the disconcerting atmosphere, I felt a glimmer of hope. The pounds began to melt away, my body growing lighter with each revolution. A surge of newfound vitality coursed through my veins, rekindling a sense of purpose that had long been dormant. It seemed the exercise bike's promises were not empty after all.
But as I continued my journey on the bike, I became aware of the fine line I treaded. The benefits multiplied, yes, but so did the terror that accompanied them. The bike demanded more than physical exertion; it demanded a confrontation with the deepest fears lurking within my soul.
During the second use, my breathing became labored, and the whispering noises intensified. My weight continued to drop, but with each passing minute, I caught glimpses of grotesque figures in my peripheral vision. Their contorted faces and elongated limbs sent chills down my spine.
The third use pushed me further as the whispers morphed into chilling voices that echoed inside my mind. I felt a growing sense of unease, as if being watched by unseen eyes. As the pounds melted away, I caught fleeting glimpses of shadowy figures lurking just beyond my line of sight. A cold, ominous presence filled the room.
The fourth use plunged me into a realm of terror. The voices grew louder, their words distorted and filled with malice. Nightmarish visions assailed my senses as I pedaled, my body drenched in sweat. The weight loss accelerated, but each moment on the bike became an ordeal. I felt icy fingers brush against my skin, and a cacophony of screams filled my ears.
The fifth use took me to the edge of my sanity. The voices now screamed in my ears, their words a maddening cacophony. The room became a hall of mirrors, reflecting twisted versions of myself. I pedaled with desperate determination, feeling my body grow lighter and weaker. The nightmarish visions became more vivid as I was thrust into a macabre carnival of horrors. The weight loss continued relentlessly, as if draining not just my physical form but my very essence.
Each moment on the bike felt like an eternity, as if time itself had become distorted. My mind struggled to distinguish between reality and the phantasmagorical realm I found myself trapped in. The boundary between fear and redemption blurred, and I questioned whether the price I paid was worth the fleeting benefits I received.
But even as the terrors intensified, a stubborn resolve burned within me. I had embarked on this journey for a reason, and I couldn't turn back now. I had to face the darkest corners of my soul, confront the demons that lurked within, and find the strength to endure.
With every pedal, I pushed myself further, confronting my deepest fears head-on. The exercise bike became a portal into the abyss of my own psyche, an unforgiving mirror reflecting the shadows I had long avoided. It whispered secrets, dredging up buried memories and forgotten traumas, forcing me to confront the skeletons in my closet.
It was a grueling battle, both physically and mentally. The torment was relentless, but I refused to succumb. I had to prove myself worthy of the promises made by the enigmatic deliveryman. The weight loss persisted, shedding not just the physical pounds but the emotional burdens that had plagued me for years.
And then, as if sensing my resolve, the exercise bike released its grip on me. The whispers faded, the nightmarish visions receded, and the room returned to its familiar surroundings. I sat there, panting and trembling, my body drenched in sweat. The silence that followed was heavy with a mix of relief and uncertainty.
I dismounted the exercise bike, my legs trembling from exhaustion. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a changed person. The physical transformation was undeniable, but it was the inner transformation that held the true power. I had faced my fears, endured the horrors that resided within me, and emerged on the other side.
But as the adrenaline subsided, a nagging doubt crept into my mind. What had I become in my pursuit of redemption? Had I lost too much of myself in the process? The exercise bike had granted me power, but at what cost? The line between triumph and tragedy was thin, and I had to navigate it carefully.
I took a step back, my gaze lingering on the exercise bike. It stood there, a silent witness to my journey, a constant reminder of the horrors I had faced. Its presence carried a weight of both temptation and warning, a duality that mirrored the path I had chosen.
As I stood there, contemplating my next move, I couldn't shake the feeling that the true test was yet to come. The exercise bike had brought me this far, but its enigmatic power still held sway over my life. It was up to me to wield it wisely, to find the balance between fear and redemption, or risk being consumed by the very horrors I sought to overcome.
And so, with a mix of trepidation and determination, I made a silent vow to myself. I would use the exercise bike sparingly, cautiously venturing into its realm only when necessary. I had learned the hard way that true transformation required more than shortcuts and supernatural assistance. It required the resilience of the human spirit, the willingness to face one's demons, and the strength to find redemption on one's own terms.
The enigmatic delivery had set me on a path I never anticipated, a journey into the heart of darkness. It was a path fraught with danger and uncertainty, but it was also a path of self-discovery and possibility. The exercise bike had become both my ally and my adversary, a reminder that the true horror lies not in the external forces that assail us, but in the choices we make and the consequences we face.
And so, with a deep breath and a newfound determination, I stepped away from the exercise bike, ready to face whatever lay ahead on this twisted and haunting road. The enigmatic delivery had changed my life forever, and now it was up to me to determine the ultimate outcome of this horrifying tale.
As days turned into weeks, I found myself grappling with the aftermath of my transformative journey. The weight I had lost began to stabilize, settling into a healthier range. My physical appearance had altered, but it was the internal shifts that intrigued me the most.
The horrors I had faced on the exercise bike lingered in my memories, haunting my dreams and shaping my thoughts. The visions and whispers, though diminished, still echoed within me, reminding me of the darkness that resided in the deepest recesses of my being. It was a constant reminder that I had confronted my fears but had not emerged unscathed.
In the wake of my transformation, a newfound sense of purpose and inspiration blossomed within me. The horrors I had experienced became fuel for my writing, infusing my stories with a raw authenticity that struck a chord with readers. My horror-themed website, once stagnant and overlooked, now garnered attention as I poured my soul into each chilling tale.
But with the success came a temptation, a seductive lure to exploit the supernatural power that had transformed me. As my audience grew, so did my desire for more, and I found myself straying from the path of authenticity. I began favoring shallow and amusing tales over genuine horror, seeking to please the masses rather than staying true to my newfound voice.
Blinded by my own arrogance, I reveled in the illusion of control. I believed that I had mastered the exercise bike's power, that I could harness its energy for personal gain without consequence. I became overconfident, ungrateful for the second chance that had been granted to me.
But fate has a way of reminding us of our fallibility. One fateful day, consumed by my self-righteous mission of curating the website, I inadvertently removed the latest story posted by my mysterious benefactor. It was the very last story, the final piece of their enigmatic contribution. The realization of my mistake hit me like a thunderclap, and a surge of panic coursed through my veins.
Dread gripped my heart as I comprehended the gravity of what I had done. The warnings of the old man echoed in my mind, his enigmatic words resurfacing with chilling clarity. The consequences I had dismissed as mere cautionary tales now loomed before me, ready to exact their toll.
As the realization sank in, I rushed to undo my mistake, frantically attempting to restore the benefactor's story. But it was too late. The story had vanished from the website, leaving an empty void in its wake. I had severed the connection, severing my ties to the very source of my transformation.
A deep sense of unease settled over me as I surveyed the now incomplete website, my hubris laid bare for all to see. The exercise bike, once contained and stationary, now broke free from its restraints. It defied the laws of physics, defying gravity as it levitated in the air before my eyes. Its presence loomed over me, a specter of my own making, an embodiment of the consequences I had unleashed.
I screamed, the sound of my terror reverberating through the empty rooms. But it was futile. The exercise bike had taken on a life of its own, carrying with it the weight of my arrogance and the burden of my choices. It was a haunting reminder of the price I had paid, a physical manifestation of the horrors that had consumed me.
As the exercise bike vanished into the darkness, leaving me in a state of desolation, my life spiraled into chaos. The job offer that had once held promise vanished, slipping through my fingers like smoke. My ex-spouse, sensing the shift in my demeanor, withdrew the possibility of reconciliation, leaving me alone with the consequences of my actions.
The weight that had once melted away returned with a vengeance, clinging to me like an oppressive burden. The pounds piled on, reflecting not just the physical toll of my choices but the emotional and spiritual toll as well. I found myself isolated and haunted, the memories of the bike's nightmares intertwining with the regrets that consumed me.
The horror-themed website, once my pride and joy, lost its allure. The twisted inspiration that had fueled my writing was gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness. My audience dwindled, questioning my credibility as my judgment came under scrutiny. I had become a mere shell of my former self, a cautionary tale of the dangers of hubris and the high price of redemption.
Each passing day unraveled me further, stripping away the fragments of the life I had built on the foundation of my arrogance. I was left to confront the consequences of my choices, a bitter reminder of the path not taken, the second chance squandered.
As I stood there, facing the wreckage of my life, I couldn't help but wonder if there was still hope for redemption. The exercise bike, now vanished, had left its mark on me, a reminder of the horrors I had faced and the lessons I had learned too late. It served as a haunting symbol of the choices we make and the responsibility we bear for their consequences.
Time passed, and I found myself back at square one, facing the consequences of my actions. The exercise bike's absence served as a haunting reminder of my hubris and the lost opportunity for redemption. The weight returned, a physical manifestation of my failures, while the echoes of the bike's terrors continued to haunt my dreams.
I was left to ponder the lessons I had learned too late. The exercise bike, once a portal to transformation and possibility, now stood as a testament to my squandered second chance. With a heavy heart, I contemplated the cycle of my life, knowing that unless I broke free from my destructive patterns, history would repeat itself, and I would lose everything and everyone all over again.
The exercise bike remained a cautionary tale, whispered among those who dared to seek shortcuts to their desires. Its whereabouts remained unknown, its power left unchecked. And as I grappled with my demons, I realized that the true horror lay not in the bike itself but in the choices we make and the consequences we face.
And so, I stood there, amidst the remnants of my shattered life, knowing that true redemption would require more than a supernatural shortcut. It would demand that I confront my deepest fears, make amends for my mistakes, and forge a new path—one built on humility, empathy, and the unwavering commitment to face the horrors within myself without seeking external sources of power.
The exercise bike had been a catalyst, a twisted gift that revealed the darkness within me. It had taken me to the edge of my sanity and forced me to confront the demons that lurked in the depths of my soul. But ultimately, it was up to me to rebuild, to find redemption within myself and seek a life free from the cycle of fear and hubris.
As I took my first uncertain steps forward, I carried with me the lessons learned from the enigmatic delivery. The exercise bike had been a harrowing chapter in my life, but it was not the end of my story. With determination and a newfound understanding, I vowed to break free from the haunting grip of the past and embrace a future shaped by humility, growth, and the pursuit of true redemption.

My name is John, and I used to be a successful financial advisor with a promising future. But life took an unexpected turn when I went through a devastating divorce. The pain of separation tore at my soul, leaving me broken and lost. In my despair, I sought solace in the only comfort I could find—food. Slowly, my once-toned physique expanded, and I found myself trapped in the clutches of a vicious cycle.
With each bite, I felt a temporary escape from my inner turmoil. The food became my refuge, a fleeting moment of relief from the overwhelming sadness that engulfed me. But as the weight piled on, so did my self-loathing. I despised what I saw in the mirror, the reflection of a broken man who had lost control of his own life. "How did I let it come to this?" I would ask myself, the despair heavy in my voice.
The cycle seemed unbreakable, an unyielding force that pushed me further into the depths of my own self-destruction. The battle between my desires and my self-control raged within me, with each defeated attempt only reinforcing my sense of failure. "I'm trapped," I would mutter to the empty room, my voice filled with resignation.
As my waistline expanded, so did my isolation. Friends and family grew distant, invitations dwindled, and I retreated further into my own self-imposed prison. The more I ate, the more I withdrew from the world, sinking deeper into a sedentary existence. The echoes of my own loneliness reverberated through the empty rooms, each moment of silence a reminder of the emptiness I felt. "I'm alone," I would whisper, the weight of the words heavy on my heart.
The weight gain brought with it a suffocating darkness, shrouding me in depression and amplifying my sense of worthlessness. I felt like a shadow of my former self, robbed of vitality and purpose. "Who am I now?" I would question, the uncertainty in my voice palpable.
I felt trapped, both physically and emotionally, unable to break free from the chains that bound me. The cycle had become my reality, a vicious dance that dictated my every move. Little did I know that my darkest days were yet to unfold.
The days turned into a blur of desolation as my depression deepened. The weight of my self-inflicted misery grew heavier with each passing moment. There were moments when I would stare into the abyss of my own despair, feeling utterly consumed by the darkness that seemed to seep into every corner of my existence. "Will this emptiness ever end?" I would cry out in silent desperation.
Hoping for a glimmer of hope, I sought help from a doctor, praying for a way out of the abyss I had fallen into. The doctor's words were filled with compassion but also stark reality. They advised me to make significant lifestyle changes—exercise, eat healthier, and take care of my mental well-being. It sounded simple, but I knew deep down that breaking free from this vicious cycle would be an arduous battle, one that seemed almost insurmountable.
I followed the doctor's advice and tried medications and counseling, desperately clinging to the belief that they would be the panacea to my pain. However, the pills only brought temporary relief, masking the underlying anguish without truly addressing its roots. The counseling sessions, though helpful to some extent, felt like merely scratching the surface of the deep-seated wounds that plagued me. "Will I ever find solace? Or am I destined to be trapped in this torment forever?" I questioned, the despair in my voice growing.
Just when I thought I had hit rock bottom, fate dealt me an even crueler blow. I suffered a stroke, a shocking wake-up call to the toll my unhealthy lifestyle had taken on my body. I found myself in a hospital bed, immobilized and stripped of any semblance of control. The fear of losing everything—my health, my independence, and any chance at redemption—gripped me like a vice. As I lay there, vulnerable and fragile, the weight of my choices bore down on me with merciless force. "Is this the consequence of my self-destruction? Have I reached the point of no return?" I whispered, the words barely escaping my trembling lips.
Upon being discharged from the hospital, I returned to a life that was unrecognizable. The familiar comfort of my home was replaced by the stark reality of an empty apartment. It was a chilling reminder that my ex-spouse, driven to desperation by mounting medical bills, had sold our house to cover the expenses of my care. The emptiness echoed through the vacant rooms, mirroring the hollowness within me. I stood there, overwhelmed by a sense of loss, as the weight of my past mistakes settled upon my shoulders. "I have nothing left," I muttered, the words barely audible in the vast emptiness.
As I surveyed my new surroundings, a cold realization washed over me—I was not only stripped of my home but also my job. The once-thriving career that had defined my identity had crumbled under the weight of my personal struggles. I was now faced with the harsh reality of unemployment, further isolating me from the world and plunging me deeper into despair. The days stretched out endlessly, devoid of purpose or direction. "What am I without my career? Who am I now?" I wondered, the anguish in my voice reflecting my profound sense of loss.
In my isolation, I sought refuge in the vast expanse of the digital world. I found myself drawn to a large news website, losing countless hours scrolling through its pages. To fill the void within me, I created a horror-themed page where I could curate and share stories. However, instead of promoting the work of talented writers, I found myself inexplicably drawn to removing stories that evoked true terror, replacing them with frivolous and foolish tales that amused me momentarily. It was a paradoxical act—calling it a horror-themed page while actively sabotaging the very essence of what made a story truly chilling. It became a reflection of my own twisted state of mind. "I've become a purveyor of hollow scares, like my own existence," I mused bitterly, the irony not lost on me.
Amidst my bleak existence, a glimmer of hope emerged in the form of a peculiar offer. An anonymous benefactor reached out to me, promising a solution to all my problems—a magical exercise bike. Skeptical yet desperate for change, I cautiously accepted the gift, unsure of what awaited me. How could a mere exercise bike hold the key to my salvation? Still, a sliver of hope flickered within me, urging me to give it a chance. "Maybe this is my opportunity to break free from this cycle of despair," I whispered, the anticipation tinged with trepidation.
I watched as the old El Camino pulled up to my apartment building, its worn exterior bearing the marks of time. The air seemed to grow heavy with an otherworldly presence as the vehicle came to a stop. An elderly man stepped out, his features etched with deep lines, and his eyes gleaming with an enigmatic knowledge that sent a shiver down my spine.
Approaching me with slow, deliberate steps, the elderly man's voice carried a weight of hidden secrets. "I've come to deliver this exercise bike," he said, his words tinged with mystery. "It is meant for a divorced horror writer in need of reclaiming their life." His tone conveyed a deeper understanding, as if he knew more than he revealed. A sense of caution enveloped me as he continued, "This bike holds power beyond comprehension. It can grant you what you desire, but at a cost. The terrors that lie within must be faced, and the balance between fear and redemption must be maintained. Use it wisely, or the consequences will be dire."
Curiosity intertwined with trepidation as I gazed at the exercise bike, its sleek frame glinting in the dim light of my apartment. Unsure of what lay ahead, I nodded, accepting the enigmatic gift. The elderly man's lips curled into a cryptic smile as he handed it over, his eyes never leaving mine. There was a profound knowledge in his gaze, as if he had witnessed the depths of human darkness.
With a final nod, the elderly man turned away, disappearing into the shadows. The door of the El Camino slammed shut, and the vehicle rumbled to life, fading into the night. I stood in the doorway, clutching the handlebars of the exercise bike, contemplating the path I had chosen.
As the apartment grew silent, an air of anticipation settled around me. I placed the exercise bike in a corner, its presence looming over the room like a silent specter. There was an inexplicable connection, an unspoken agreement between man and machine. The promises of health, wealth, and inspiration danced in my mind, but a flicker of doubt pierced through my thoughts. What did it truly mean to reclaim my life? And what horrors awaited me on this enigmatic journey?
The night stretched on, and my curiosity wrestled with trepidation. The exercise bike stood as a physical manifestation of the unknown, beckoning me to unlock its secrets. The gleam in the elderly man's eyes, filled with wisdom beyond this world, lingered in my memory. It was a crossroads moment, a choice that would shape my destiny.
With cautious determination, I finally decided to embrace the bike's invitation. I approached it, my hand trembling as I took a seat on the padded saddle. The room's atmosphere changed, charged with an unseen energy. As my fingers curled around the handlebars, I felt a faint pulse, as if the bike itself was awakening to my touch.
A chill wind stirred through the apartment, the curtains whispering secrets in an ancient language. I inhaled sharply, my heart pounding in my chest. Casting a final glance around the room, uncertainty etched on my face, I took a deep breath and began to pedal.
The exercise bike hummed to life, its wheels spinning in harmony with my growing determination. A strange sensation enveloped me as I pedaled, a mixture of exhilaration and unease. Whispers, distant and ethereal, filled the air, weaving their way into my consciousness. Shadows danced at the edge of my vision, their forms shifting and contorting with every turn of the wheels.
Yet amidst the disconcerting atmosphere, I felt a glimmer of hope. The pounds began to melt away, my body growing lighter with each revolution. A surge of newfound vitality coursed through my veins, rekindling a sense of purpose that had long been dormant. It seemed the exercise bike's promises were not empty after all.
But as I continued my journey on the bike, I became aware of the fine line I treaded. The benefits multiplied, yes, but so did the terror that accompanied them. The bike demanded more than physical exertion; it demanded a confrontation with the deepest fears lurking within my soul.
During the second use, my breathing became labored, and the whispering noises intensified. My weight continued to drop, but with each passing minute, I caught glimpses of grotesque figures in my peripheral vision. Their contorted faces and elongated limbs sent chills down my spine.
The third use pushed me further as the whispers morphed into chilling voices that echoed inside my mind. I felt a growing sense of unease, as if being watched by unseen eyes. As the pounds melted away, I caught fleeting glimpses of shadowy figures lurking just beyond my line of sight. A cold, ominous presence filled the room.
The fourth use plunged me into a realm of terror. The voices grew louder, their words distorted and filled with malice. Nightmarish visions assailed my senses as I pedaled, my body drenched in sweat. The weight loss accelerated, but each moment on the bike became an ordeal. I felt icy fingers brush against my skin, and a cacophony of screams filled my ears.
The fifth use took me to the edge of my sanity. The voices now screamed in my ears, their words a maddening cacophony. The room became a hall of mirrors, reflecting twisted versions of myself. I pedaled with desperate determination, feeling my body grow lighter and weaker. The nightmarish visions became more vivid as I was thrust into a macabre carnival of horrors. The weight loss continued relentlessly, as if draining not just my physical form but my very essence.
Each moment on the bike felt like an eternity, as if time itself had become distorted. My mind struggled to distinguish between reality and the phantasmagorical realm I found myself trapped in. The boundary between fear and redemption blurred, and I questioned whether the price I paid was worth the fleeting benefits I received.
But even as the terrors intensified, a stubborn resolve burned within me. I had embarked on this journey for a reason, and I couldn't turn back now. I had to face the darkest corners of my soul, confront the demons that lurked within, and find the strength to endure.
With every pedal, I pushed myself further, confronting my deepest fears head-on. The exercise bike became a portal into the abyss of my own psyche, an unforgiving mirror reflecting the shadows I had long avoided. It whispered secrets, dredging up buried memories and forgotten traumas, forcing me to confront the skeletons in my closet.
It was a grueling battle, both physically and mentally. The torment was relentless, but I refused to succumb. I had to prove myself worthy of the promises made by the enigmatic deliveryman. The weight loss persisted, shedding not just the physical pounds but the emotional burdens that had plagued me for years.
And then, as if sensing my resolve, the exercise bike released its grip on me. The whispers faded, the nightmarish visions receded, and the room returned to its familiar surroundings. I sat there, panting and trembling, my body drenched in sweat. The silence that followed was heavy with a mix of relief and uncertainty.
I dismounted the exercise bike, my legs trembling from exhaustion. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a changed person. The physical transformation was undeniable, but it was the inner transformation that held the true power. I had faced my fears, endured the horrors that resided within me, and emerged on the other side.
But as the adrenaline subsided, a nagging doubt crept into my mind. What had I become in my pursuit of redemption? Had I lost too much of myself in the process? The exercise bike had granted me power, but at what cost? The line between triumph and tragedy was thin, and I had to navigate it carefully.
I took a step back, my gaze lingering on the exercise bike. It stood there, a silent witness to my journey, a constant reminder of the horrors I had faced. Its presence carried a weight of both temptation and warning, a duality that mirrored the path I had chosen.
As I stood there, contemplating my next move, I couldn't shake the feeling that the true test was yet to come. The exercise bike had brought me this far, but its enigmatic power still held sway over my life. It was up to me to wield it wisely, to find the balance between fear and redemption, or risk being consumed by the very horrors I sought to overcome.
And so, with a mix of trepidation and determination, I made a silent vow to myself. I would use the exercise bike sparingly, cautiously venturing into its realm only when necessary. I had learned the hard way that true transformation required more than shortcuts and supernatural assistance. It required the resilience of the human spirit, the willingness to face one's demons, and the strength to find redemption on one's own terms.
The enigmatic delivery had set me on a path I never anticipated, a journey into the heart of darkness. It was a path fraught with danger and uncertainty, but it was also a path of self-discovery and possibility. The exercise bike had become both my ally and my adversary, a reminder that the true horror lies not in the external forces that assail us, but in the choices we make and the consequences we face.
And so, with a deep breath and a newfound determination, I stepped away from the exercise bike, ready to face whatever lay ahead on this twisted and haunting road. The enigmatic delivery had changed my life forever, and now it was up to me to determine the ultimate outcome of this horrifying tale.
As days turned into weeks, I found myself grappling with the aftermath of my transformative journey. The weight I had lost began to stabilize, settling into a healthier range. My physical appearance had altered, but it was the internal shifts that intrigued me the most.
The horrors I had faced on the exercise bike lingered in my memories, haunting my dreams and shaping my thoughts. The visions and whispers, though diminished, still echoed within me, reminding me of the darkness that resided in the deepest recesses of my being. It was a constant reminder that I had confronted my fears but had not emerged unscathed.
In the wake of my transformation, a newfound sense of purpose and inspiration blossomed within me. The horrors I had experienced became fuel for my writing, infusing my stories with a raw authenticity that struck a chord with readers. My horror-themed website, once stagnant and overlooked, now garnered attention as I poured my soul into each chilling tale.
But with the success came a temptation, a seductive lure to exploit the supernatural power that had transformed me. As my audience grew, so did my desire for more, and I found myself straying from the path of authenticity. I began favoring shallow and amusing tales over genuine horror, seeking to please the masses rather than staying true to my newfound voice.
Blinded by my own arrogance, I reveled in the illusion of control. I believed that I had mastered the exercise bike's power, that I could harness its energy for personal gain without consequence. I became overconfident, ungrateful for the second chance that had been granted to me.
But fate has a way of reminding us of our fallibility. One fateful day, consumed by my self-righteous mission of curating the website, I inadvertently removed the latest story posted by my mysterious benefactor. It was the very last story, the final piece of their enigmatic contribution. The realization of my mistake hit me like a thunderclap, and a surge of panic coursed through my veins.
Dread gripped my heart as I comprehended the gravity of what I had done. The warnings of the old man echoed in my mind, his enigmatic words resurfacing with chilling clarity. The consequences I had dismissed as mere cautionary tales now loomed before me, ready to exact their toll.
As the realization sank in, I rushed to undo my mistake, frantically attempting to restore the benefactor's story. But it was too late. The story had vanished from the website, leaving an empty void in its wake. I had severed the connection, severing my ties to the very source of my transformation.
A deep sense of unease settled over me as I surveyed the now incomplete website, my hubris laid bare for all to see. The exercise bike, once contained and stationary, now broke free from its restraints. It defied the laws of physics, defying gravity as it levitated in the air before my eyes. Its presence loomed over me, a specter of my own making, an embodiment of the consequences I had unleashed.
I screamed, the sound of my terror reverberating through the empty rooms. But it was futile. The exercise bike had taken on a life of its own, carrying with it the weight of my arrogance and the burden of my choices. It was a haunting reminder of the price I had paid, a physical manifestation of the horrors that had consumed me.
As the exercise bike vanished into the darkness, leaving me in a state of desolation, my life spiraled into chaos. The job offer that had once held promise vanished, slipping through my fingers like smoke. My ex-spouse, sensing the shift in my demeanor, withdrew the possibility of reconciliation, leaving me alone with the consequences of my actions.
The weight that had once melted away returned with a vengeance, clinging to me like an oppressive burden. The pounds piled on, reflecting not just the physical toll of my choices but the emotional and spiritual toll as well. I found myself isolated and haunted, the memories of the bike's nightmares intertwining with the regrets that consumed me.
The horror-themed website, once my pride and joy, lost its allure. The twisted inspiration that had fueled my writing was gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness. My audience dwindled, questioning my credibility as my judgment came under scrutiny. I had become a mere shell of my former self, a cautionary tale of the dangers of hubris and the high price of redemption.
Each passing day unraveled me further, stripping away the fragments of the life I had built on the foundation of my arrogance. I was left to confront the consequences of my choices, a bitter reminder of the path not taken, the second chance squandered.
As I stood there, facing the wreckage of my life, I couldn't help but wonder if there was still hope for redemption. The exercise bike, now vanished, had left its mark on me, a reminder of the horrors I had faced and the lessons I had learned too late. It served as a haunting symbol of the choices we make and the responsibility we bear for their consequences.
Time passed, and I found myself back at square one, facing the consequences of my actions. The exercise bike's absence served as a haunting reminder of my hubris and the lost opportunity for redemption. The weight returned, a physical manifestation of my failures, while the echoes of the bike's terrors continued to haunt my dreams.
I was left to ponder the lessons I had learned too late. The exercise bike, once a portal to transformation and possibility, now stood as a testament to my squandered second chance. With a heavy heart, I contemplated the cycle of my life, knowing that unless I broke free from my destructive patterns, history would repeat itself, and I would lose everything and everyone all over again.
The exercise bike remained a cautionary tale, whispered among those who dared to seek shortcuts to their desires. Its whereabouts remained unknown, its power left unchecked. And as I grappled with my demons, I realized that the true horror lay not in the bike itself but in the choices we make and the consequences we face.
And so, I stood there, amidst the remnants of my shattered life, knowing that true redemption would require more than a supernatural shortcut. It would demand that I confront my deepest fears, make amends for my mistakes, and forge a new path—one built on humility, empathy, and the unwavering commitment to face the horrors within myself without seeking external sources of power.
The exercise bike had been a catalyst, a twisted gift that revealed the darkness within me. It had taken me to the edge of my sanity and forced me to confront the demons that lurked in the depths of my soul. But ultimately, it was up to me to rebuild, to find redemption within myself and seek a life free from the cycle of fear and hubris.
As I took my first uncertain steps forward, I carried with me the lessons learned from the enigmatic delivery. The exercise bike had been a harrowing chapter in my life, but it was not the end of my story. With determination and a newfound understanding, I vowed to break free from the haunting grip of the past and embrace a future shaped by humility, growth, and the pursuit of true redemption.

I've been away from Yu-Gi-Oh! for a long time (20ish years) and just recently pulled my cards out.
I have created 1 display with some of my more expensive cards but now I'm looking to put together a display for my old deck. I still have the last deck I ran and I want to put it into a frame like a poster frame with some black matt and still in the sleeves.
The problem is, I kinds want to replace some of my Magic/Trap cards with Ultra\Secret Rare versions to make them look better now that their are better looking copies of these cards.
Out of my 40 card deck almost all of them have very slight bends in the top corner, not creased. Also 4 of them have small creases, 3 of them are rares, yay. Not sure sure if I want to replace them either.
I kinda want to get this display together for both nostalgia and for my kids to have something to sell once I pass.
So, do I bling it up or leave it? Bling it up, means looks better (shinyer) , not necessarily make it more expensive. I mean I'd replace them all with Starlights and Tournament Packs, if I had the money but I can't.
Maybe somehow have both the original and a shinyer one both on display? I really like the shinnys. LOL
IDK, any suggestions ?

Here is my stab at the magazine article from 2022: (if you have this article and notice anything that should be fixed lemme know):
From Witch Magazine (9th Month/release) Year 2022 (originally in French)
Q-You recorded your first duet for the Aurora album before even meeting physically. What attracted you to each other?
C - I have known aurora's music for years and the release of its first opus. In summer 2020 at the start of the pandemic I needed to stay creative. I wanted to release a new version of my album les failles by representing my duet songs with female artists exclusively. I contacted Joan Baez, Tove lO, First Aid Kit, but also Aurora. This project did not succeed but our label insisted that we still do something together.
A- they hooked us up like kids who we would organize a tea party for (laughs) around us a couple of times tried to get us together, but we didn't really listen to it. Then I released my new Album TGWCT, in a Norwegian castle whose story was French. So, I wanted the title "Everything Matters" to be partly French, like an ode to the ghosts that seemed to haunt this place. Pomme is the only person who has come to my mind. I find her wonderful.
Q- You both have in common a poetic and vulnerable approach to music. What guides your artistry?
A- I think I am guided by the light. I am permeable to the world around me and I am struck by how heartbreaking certain situations are. my writing is very influenced by that. For me, music is a form of therapy, it helps to add light to the gravity of dealing with sadness. this is what gives meaning to our artistic profession when you say you are doing something necessary.
P- It's the same for me. I wrote my first songs when I was 9 years old because I didn't quite feel like myself. I guess I was saying what I couldn't say. I don't want to say that it saved my life, but it certainly gave meaning to my existence. My very first song was for my white rabbit, Poppins, who died in 2004. So on the duel...
A-Mine too! death is the best subject to write about!
Q- Your sensitivities are also very spiritual. What would symbolize it best?
A- spirituality is for me carried by the feminine divinity, multicolored and multi-damaged. It takes a lifetime to figure out what it's all about!
P- me I would say the Moon. It is at the center of all my beliefs. She obsesses me strangely whereas I am rather a girl of the day. I never write songs at night.
A- but the moon is also the day.
P-yes it's true. I grew up in a Christian family. I went to church and I worshiped Jesus. When I left home at 17-18, to settle in Paris, I broke away from this heritage and became completely obsessed with the Moon. I could see it and feel it. I even participated in ceremonies to honor him.
A- she is magical and powerful. She has cycles, like us women. Above all, she is what you project onto her. You don't have to be sad and gloomy to love the moon. In the mythologist, Aurora is the sister of the Sun and the Moon. So to me, it makes sense that you're Moon.
Q- You are fascinated by magic. How does this come across to you?
A- I wear a lot of old clothes and jewelry - almost exclusively by the way - with the exception of my underwear. I like to put my jewelry in water, on Full Moon nights, in case they are cursed. And I train in emotional healing by hands or through music.
P- I also have my little rituals on Full Moon nights, but there are also a lot of things that just happen in my head. I have practiced the power of manifestation and magic a lot since I was little.
A I believe we have gone so far that we have lost our sense of play and the divine feeling of our existence, which includes immortality or magic.
Q- You denounced sexist and sexual violence in an open letter published on the Midiapart website.
P- we both started at a very young age. Aurora is much earlier than me, so I imagine it was even harder for you to live with.
A-yes, that's right. But I am not a feminist in reaction to my own experience in this world. I am a feminist because (sighs) half of us are still not considered equal to men. I like to be my own boss. I don't feel guilty. I'm proud of it and I find it natural for a woman to lead. we do it with both heart and spirit, being able to remain attentive and considerate. I love that.
P- same thing for me. It's still nice to run your own business, and I realize that we don't all have the same confidence in ourselves to do it. For me, this confidence is essential.
A-and it's important to show it off! in this world a woman is only attractive if she is unsure of what she is doing. The man can thus "teach" him. It's difficult for a woman to tell herself that she fully deserves everything she desires. And the younger you start, the worse things can go. fortunately, me, it made me grow.
Q- where do you locate your female power?
P- in my vagina (laughs)
A- I was going to say the same thing! It's the most beautiful thing in the world! Moreover, because our vagina is connected to the lunar cycles.
P- Seriously, not just there, because some women don't have a vagina.
A- All women can have a vagina spiritually speaking. The source of femininity comes from a place that is not related to the body. But you are right to rephrase.
P- We were born women with a vagina and I find some power in that, like I find power in being my own boss, writing songs, my feminine power is probably greater than what binds me to my body.
You hold high human values such as tolerance! Where can you be totally yourself?
A- on TV (laughs)! no, in nature of course, and in my own company.
P- ditto, and also with my dog Pizzaghetti and my closest loved ones. I also like to be alone but only if it is a choice.
Q- You both sing about your love for nature. What is your relationship to the Earth?
A- it's a killing machine, but it's also a source of life. She is beautiful and ugly, brutal and gentle in her ability to accommodate all species. The earth is like a wet cloth that we would have left aside and sure which would have developed an entire ecosystem. She is everything, obviously. Nothing would exist without it.
P- if humans hadn't built so much, we would just have to bend down to pick up what she offers us.
A- and we would all eat our fill. There is room and resources for everyone, although their wealth is not distributed equitably. it's rather twisted as a system.
Q- The music industry is among the most polluting, what are your actions to remedy it?
A world forgets to order change to the people who really have the power to change things and would have a huge impact. I am thinking of the richest, these untouchables. We prefer to postpone everything on the young artists of whom we already ask a lot. When Coldplay cancels its tour, it's great, but it's easier when you can afford it. I will never make young artists feel guilty, even if everyone has to get involved. We have ruined the world one by one, as individuals, and we can fix it the same way. It's the only way! I support the initiative of Brian Eno, who founded Earth percent.
You can also travel by plane if you have to, but by repaying your debt to the planet. Above all, we must open up the dialogue so that it is accessible to as many people as possible.
P- I couldn't have said it better.
A- I tend to get carried away when it comes to the environment (smile).

I request recommendation of any fantasy and/or scifi manga with a tower. There need be no relevant plot point around the tower. The tower simply needs to have existed in the present story time-line for at least one page.
I already know of these manga with towers by my description:
Tower of God
The Advanced Player of the Tutorial Tower
Danmachi
Tou No Kanri O Shite Miyou
My House is a Magic Power Spot

I could bullshit my way through a conversation. Just validate the other person and pretend to be interested. That's really draining however, and I hate it. When I try to have a genuine conversation with my mom, my mind is completely void of anything. I don't feel inspired to say anything. I don't have much genuine thought I suppose. It's scary for me because I don't want to offend people. I would like to talk, I just have nothing to say... Feels good to get off my chest. I've been holding that in for awhile. I've always just been people's sounding board. Just an ear, never a voice. It's no way to live. You end up resenting and disliking people even when people haven't done anything to intentionally hurt you. I know why I'm this way. It's the way my family conditioned me to be. They needed space to express themselves because they don't have that in their lives. They let other people use them to vent to. Now that I'm older and don't have to tolerate that, I cut them out, but I'm realizing I don't have anything to say. They robbed me of original thought. Everybody's born with original thought, so don't tell me it's not their doing. How does one develop original thought so they can talk about stuff that's meaningful to them? I look around on the internet and realize there's a lot of people who have been robbed of their original thought. We call them shallow. I think their victims. Narcissists demand so much of you all the time, that eventually they live in your head. It's like black magic, voodoo control shit. I hope and pray that I'll find things that I'm interested in and inspire me. Otherwise life certainly is not worth living. Please don't tell me to go get therapy, that shit is annoying and I am In the process anyway. A lot of people don't have the ability just to hold space for someone.

Hello all, Recently I have started writing a rewrite of EAH (which I had to redo as I didn’t like the original draft) Anyway here are the titles for all episodes of my rewrite (There are four seasons named chapters) If you want a summary of an epidoes just ask and I will answer the best I can
Ep1) One upon a time
Ep2) Fairytale 101
Ep3) The beauty of magic
Ep4) As white as snow
Ep5) For forever in shadow
Ep6) As black as ebony
Ep7) For the people I love
Ep8) Are you Royal or Rebel?
Ep9) Heritage hall
Ep10) Magic Mirror
Ep11) A Tale of sorrow
Ep12) Never the end
Ep13) Thronecoming
Chapter 2
Ep1) Don’t mess with a Queen
Ep2) Burn the witch
Ep3) To vanish or to thrive
Ep4) Castles and slums
Ep5) Clock strikes 12
Ep6) These Hollow Halls
Ep7) Wonderlandiful Events
Ep8) Somewhere over the rainbow
Ep9) A study into Riddlish
Ep10) Destiny
Ep11) Writings of the Brothers Grimm
Ep12) Shattered Mirrors
Ep13) Happily Never after
Chapter 3
Ep1) Second star to the right
Ep2) The ever changing
Ep3) The red roses
Ep4) We’re late
Ep5) Tiger Lilly
Ep6) A split on the yellow brick road
Ep7) A very wicked witch
Ep8) The great and powerful
Ep9) A deadly curse
Ep10) A way to get Away from this WonderlandifulDay?
Ep11) Like a poisoned apple
Ep12) The great Leviathan
Ep13) The fairest of them all
Chapter 4
Ep1) Intertwined in nature
Ep2) Chains of the unbroken
Ep3) Do not stray
Ep4) Magic brooms and swords in stones
Ep5) The Moores
Ep6) Sweet Sixteen
Ep7) At the Spine
Ep8) The Land of Voices
Ep9) The Frost bitten
Ep10) Decay
Ep11) Return to Ever after
Ep12) The climax
Ep13) Happily Ever After

People often talk about players committing war crimes, but tend not to be clear on the specifics. Here's some I can find:

• Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons Protocol II: Mines, Booby Traps and Other Devices

Traps are banned except in marked and monitored areas. Generally traps are used by the opponents, but Glyph of Warding seems to be designed for players to use.

• Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons Protocol III: Incendiary Weapons

This doesn't ban nearly as much as you'd expect. It only bans flame and heat produced by a chemical reaction of a substance delivered on the target, and only against civilians, or against a military target located within a concentration of civilians unless it's done from the ground, the military target is clearly separated, and all feasible precautions are taken to avoid hurting the civilians.
You could flavor fire spells as generally creating a burning substance rather than creating flames directly, in which case they could be banned, but it still seems pretty rare for that to come up. Meteor Swarm would probably qualify, but again, only if there's civilians.

• Chemical Weapons Convention

This bans chemical weapons. From what I understand, there's an organization that figures out which chemical weapons and to what extent they're banned, so if you argue that D&D doesn't work on real-world chemistry, that presumably wouldn't apply. But I imagine this would ban acid and poison. Probably including magic. I'd imagine magical fire is just hot air instead of anything actually burning, but I'd expect acid and poison would still have to involve acid and poison.

• Nuclear Weapons

The Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons bans nuclear weapons completely, but as far as I can find no nuclear country signed it. The biggest restriction I can find is the Partial Nuclear Test Ban Treaty, which only bans testing nuclear explosions. So if you're assuming Radiant damage is radiation (or Necrotic damage), as long as it doesn't involve an explosion you're free to use it.

• Other

Besides weapons, there's rules against killing enemies that surrendered, killing unarmed medics that are clearly designated as such, and things like that. Obviously in D&D people will focus much more on killing medics in real life, but generally they'll have some kind of spellcasting focus or something that could be considered a weapon.
Also, these are only war crimes if they happen between different countries. You can do whatever you want in your own country.
What war crimes have I missed that come up in D&D?

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Hey y'all! I'm Makeda (she/her), I'm a forever-DM-by-choice and it's been a while since I've been able to run more than a oneshot here or there. I'm looking for 5-6 players (18+) who are excited about committing to a weekly table.
I have a few campaigns in the tank, but I'm open to what folks are interested in playing! Generally speaking, my DMing style favors creative roleplay, careful note-taking, and juuust the right amount of goofing off - basically, less Critical Role, more Dimenson 20. Expect social intrigue, non-combat challenges, and a tone best described as "horror-comedy fairytale". I love spooking my players, grossing them out, and putting them in intense situations, but I also believe that D&D is first and foremost an imagination game that you play with friends, and that means it should be fun & magical :)
I'm looking to run weekly games of 3-5 hours, starting somewhere around 6pm UTC on Fridays. Please hit me up only if you're able to commit to a game somewhere in that time range.
Also, you don't *have* to be a person of color or identify as queer to play at my table - but it sure helps! All you need is to be able to commit to keeping the table a safe space for people of marginalized identities.
If that sounds interesting to you, message me your Discord tag and I'll add you! I'm heading to bed soon as of writing this but I'll be replying to folks starting tomorrow. TTFN!

Examples:

• American History X: Living a life marked by violence, neo-Nazi Derek finally goes to prison after killing two black youths. Upon his release, Derek vows to change; he hopes to prevent his brother, Danny, who idolizes Derek, from following in his footsteps.
• Antz: A rather neurotic ant tries to break from his totalitarian society while trying to win the affection of the princess he loves.
• Armageddon: After discovering that an asteroid the size of Texas will impact Earth in less than a month, NASA recruits a misfit team of deep-core drillers to save the planet.
• The Big Lebowski: Ultimate L.A. slacker Jeff "The Dude" Lebowski, mistaken for a millionaire of the same name, seeks restitution for a rug ruined by debt collectors, enlisting his bowling buddies for help while trying to find the millionaire's missing wife.
• Blade: A half-vampire, half-mortal man becomes a protector of the mortal race, while slaying evil vampires.
• A Bug’s Life: A misfit ant, looking for "warriors" to save his colony from greedy grasshoppers, recruits a group of bugs that turn out to be an inept circus troupe.
• City of Angels: An angel on Earth, a doctor unable to believe, a patient with a secret, a love story made in Heaven.
• Dark City: A man struggles with memories of his past, which include a wife he cannot remember and a nightmarish world no one else ever seems to wake up from.
• Deep Impact: A comet is discovered to be on a collision course with Earth. As doomsday nears, the human race prepares for the worst.
• Doctor Dolittle: A doctor discovers that he can communicate with animals.
• Elizabeth: The early years of the reign of Elizabeth I of England and her difficult task of learning what is necessary to be a monarch.
• The Faculty: When Casey Connor, Herrington High School's newspaper photographer, witnesses the murder of a nurse and sees her alive again, he decides to investigate the bizarre happenings.
• Fallen: Homicide detective John Hobbes witnesses the execution of serial killer Edgar Reese. Soon after the execution, the killings start again, and they are very similar to Reese's style.
• Following: A young writer who follows strangers for material meets a thief who takes him under his wing.
• Godzilla: French nuclear tests irradiate an iguana into a giant monster that heads off to New York City. The American military must chase the monster across the city to stop it before it reproduces.
• Happiness: The lives of several individuals intertwine as they go about their lives in their own unique ways, engaging in acts which society as a whole might find disturbing in a desperate search for human connection.
• Lethal Weapon 4: With personal crises and age weighing in on them, LAPD officers Riggs and Murtaugh must contend with deadly Chinese triads that are trying to free their former leaders out of prison and onto American soil.
• Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels: Eddy persuades his three pals to pool money for a vital poker game against a powerful local mobster, Hatchet Harry. Eddy loses, after which Harry gives him a week to pay back 500,000 pounds.
• Meet Joe Black: Death, who takes the form of a young man killed in an accident, asks a media mogul to act as his guide to teach him about life on Earth and, in the process, he falls in love with the mogul's daughter.
• Mulan: To save her father from death in the army, a young maiden secretly goes in his place and becomes one of China's greatest heroines in the process.
• The Negotiator: In a desperate attempt to prove his innocence, a skilled police negotiator accused of corruption and murder takes hostages in a government office to gain the time he needs to find the truth.
• Out of Sight: A career bank robber breaks out of jail, and shares a moment of mutual attraction with a U.S. Marshal he was kidnapped.
• Pleasantville: Two 1990s teenage siblings find themselves transported to a 1950s sitcom where their influence begins to profoundly change that colorless, complacent world.
• Practical Magic: Two witch sisters, raised by their eccentric aunts in a small town, face closed-minded prejudice and a curse which threatens to prevent them ever finding lasting love.
• The Prince of Egypt: Egyptian Prince Moses learns of his identity as a Hebrew and his destiny to become the chosen deliverer of his people.
• Ronin: A freelancing former U.S. Intelligence Agent tries to track down a mysterious package that is wanted by the Irish and the Russians.
• Rush Hour: A loyal and dedicated Hong Kong Inspector teams up with a reckless and loudmouthed L.A.P.D. detective to rescue the Chinese Consul's kidnapped daughter, while trying to arrest a dangerous crime lord along the way.
• Rushmore: A teenager at Rushmore Academy falls for a much older teacher and befriends a middle-aged industrialist. Later, he finds out that his love interest and his friend are having an affair, which prompts him to begin a vendetta.
• Saving Private Ryan: Following the Normandy Landings, a group of U.S. soldiers go behind enemy lines to retrieve a paratrooper whose brothers have been killed in action.
• Shakespeare in Love: The world's greatest ever playwright, William Shakespeare, is young, out of ideas and short of cash, but meets his ideal woman and is inspired to write one of his most famous plays.
• A Simple Plan: Three blue-collar acquaintances come across millions of dollars in lost cash and make a plan to keep their find from the authorities, but it isn't long before complications and mistrust weave their way into the plan.
• Small Soldiers: When missile technology is used to enhance toy action figures, the toys soon begin to take their battle programming too seriously.
• Snake Eyes: A shady police detective finds himself in the middle of a murder conspiracy at an important boxing match in an Atlantic City casino.
• Star Trek: Insurrection: When the crew of the Enterprise learn of a Federation conspiracy against the inhabitants of a unique planet, Captain Picard begins an open rebellion.
• There's Something About Mary: A man gets a chance to meet up with his dream girl from high school, even though his date with her back then was a complete disaster.
• The Thin Red Line: Adaptation of James Jones' autobiographical 1962 novel, focusing on the conflict at Guadalcanal during the second World War.
• The Truman Show: An insurance salesman discovers his whole life is actually a reality TV show.
• What Dreams May Come: Chris Nielsen dies in an accident, and enters Heaven. But when he discovers that his beloved wife Annie has killed herself out of grief over the loss, he embarks on an afterlife adventure to reunite with her.
• Wild Things: A police detective uncovers a conspiracy behind a case involving a high-school guidance counselor when accusations of rape are made against him by two female students.
• You’ve Got Mail: Book superstore magnate Joe Fox and independent book shop owner Kathleen Kelly fall in love in the anonymity of the Internet, both blissfully unaware that he's trying to put her out of business.

Of course, you're welcome to comment movies I didn't list.

Just curious to see the underrepresented instruments outside of a band/orchestra setting.
I play hammered dulcimer! Years ago, I saw Joshua Messick playing it on YouTube and fell in love. Its sound is so magical to me.

I studied in university over a decade ago, and I feel that if I had focused solely on studying, I could have completed my entire degree in one year. However, I have spent the last 10 years as an entrepreneur and have done reasonably well for myself. Nevertheless, I realize now that I have neglected my health and family, and I want to shift my focus to investing. I do not want to get a job or take other people's capital, but I do want to spend a year studying to understand investing better. I plan to invest my capital in a fixed deposit to minimize stress while I study. I also want to speak to a financial advisor. Although I am interested in creating and starting businesses on the side, I am primarily interested in finance, investing, the stock market, and economics. My current knowledge of finance and investing is limited, and while I am not looking to day trade, I want to invest my money in places where compound interest can work its magic. However, I also would like to allocate a small percentage of my capital to riskier companies that I understand. I understand that one year of studying will only take me so far, and that investing requires lifelong learning, but I am curious to know if it is possible to gain a solid understanding of investing in one year?
Thanks a lot appreciate the time.