Two copypastas I wrote

2021.12.03 12:52 ihonesltyjustneedone Two copypastas I wrote

Worlds 2023 groups tage day 1 - VIT vs C9. Caedral is the coach for VIT, LS is the coach for C9 VIT: -Renekton/Lee Sin/LeBlanc/Kaisaa/Nautilus C9: -Ivern/Karthus/Soraka/Kogmaw/Lulu Caedrel and LS shake hands and as they walk away both smile and think "damn, what a draft gap, are they trolling?"
It's game 5 of summer finals - C9 vs TL. TL is blue, C9 is red. They both draft accordingly, and it's shaping up to be an absolute banger of a game. Finally, R5 comes up. There are no toplane bans, everything is open, summit has counter pick.
Summit hovers the Karma, then the Jayce, then Malphite. With 2 seconds left on the clock, Summit swaps to renekton and locks it in.
Everyone loses their shit
submitted by ihonesltyjustneedone to Cloud9 [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 royalwinter_music The pandemic has been awful, but it also led to me reconnecting with a HS friend to write/ record new music together for the 1st time in 15+ years - virtually! So excited to share our new band Royal Winter and our single "Hurricane" (Love and peace in 2022)

The pandemic has been awful, but it also led to me reconnecting with a HS friend to write/ record new music together for the 1st time in 15+ years - virtually! So excited to share our new band Royal Winter and our single submitted by royalwinter_music to Alternativerock [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 rc3271 Closing in on 10k

Closing in on 10k submitted by rc3271 to BangaloreMains [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 Cadbury_fish_egg Are Spotify Exclusive “podcasts” truly podcasts?

A lot of my favorite podcasts have been going Spotify exclusive. I’d like to listen to them but I have been missing episodes lately because I prefer other apps and I forget to check Spotify.
So the great thing about podcasts was that they were freely available by using RSS feeds to distribute everywhere. It is like today’s version of am/fm radio. Anyone with a “receiver” can listen. By making them exclusive to one platform they are not universal. That makes them something else. “Spotcasts”. Maybe I’m being overly semantic but imo we should not call exclusive shows podcasts anymore.
submitted by Cadbury_fish_egg to podcast [link] [comments]

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submitted by Weak-Tradition-8424 to CryptoMars [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 KittyKat2100 Can tics caused by “Pediatric autoimmune neuropsychiatric disorders associated with streptococcal infections" last until adulthood?

Hi! English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes!
I've just found out that tics can be associated with streptococcal infections in childhood, but I'm not understading if this diagnosis is for children only, who had a infection recently, or if it can be the cause for tics in adulthood also. Does anyone know?
I got sick a lot during my early childhood and have tics since I was maybe 5, 6, 7? I have no idea of the exact age, I just know that I had tics when I was kid, but they weren't so bad. I don't think I had tics in my pre-teens, just like when I was really bored/waiting and stuff I did some muscles contraction, but I had a really bad phase when I was 14/15 to 16, and then they toned down again till the pandemic came and here I am again, in my early 20s, with tics from my forehead to my toes that I really *really* hate. I also got recently diagnosed with ADHD (also have anxiety and obssessive-compulsive behaviors) so I'm on vyvanse, which is working great for a lot of stuff, but my tics have gotten worse, like there are days that are kind of ok and there are days where I go to sleep with joint pain in my fingers and toes. I'm don't have an appoinment with my doctor this month so I'm searching about tics till I go to an appoinment and talk to him, I just really want to find out WHY I have those terrible tics and how I can make them stop (which I'm not saying I'm gonna self-diagnoses or anything, I'm just searching about it because this is all I can do in the moment and it will help me discuss with my doctor what might be the cause).
submitted by KittyKat2100 to Tourettes [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 lode_leroy Viking Lady

Viking Lady submitted by lode_leroy to whittling [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 Turbulent_Friend1551 Why Is This Pandemic Taking So Long? In One Word: Greed

Why Is This Pandemic Taking So Long? In One Word: Greed submitted by Turbulent_Friend1551 to InformedTankie [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 VigilantCreative Join Our WhatsApp Group, To Make Friends, Combat Depression, Anxiety, Traumas & The Loneliness Epidemic, Together.

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Click the link below, to join the Western Epic Wall group, where our Admins will assess you then place you in the primary WhatsApp group. 🔰
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submitted by VigilantCreative to coping [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 Efficient-Archer-579 Audience from Central and North states, what are your views on South Indian actors/actresses?

I have seen many posts regarding South actor's/actress' popularity in North states on Twitter (which I am sure that 90% fake). So, genuinely tell me your opinions on South actors/actresses (AA, Prabhas, Anushka, Nayanatara, Vijay, FaFa, Mohanlal etc.), and their general popularity in your state.
submitted by Efficient-Archer-579 to BollyBlindsNGossip [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 chill_musician 211204 LUCY - Twitter Update “End of the first day of ‘All kind of’ ✔ A stage that was hotter and more exciting than the long-awaited🔥 I’m already looking forward to tomorrow! Please stay with us until tomorrow’s concert 💙”

211204 LUCY - Twitter Update “End of the first day of ‘All kind of’ ✔ A stage that was hotter and more exciting than the long-awaited🔥 I’m already looking forward to tomorrow! Please stay with us until tomorrow’s concert 💙” submitted by chill_musician to LucyIsland [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 BuckWheat567 Guys... I'm a Genius

Guys... I'm a Genius submitted by BuckWheat567 to Youtooz [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 Tennisace33 [WTS] Breitling Superocean 42mm

submitted by Tennisace33 to watch_swap [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 sendpuppyphotos19 I have no life.

I have no life. submitted by sendpuppyphotos19 to rSlash_YT [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 MulhollandDrive [TOMT] [person] Need help identifying this well known person

Saw these on Twitter but can't place a name despite finding him familiar, not sure if he is a famous tech bro or an actor.
submitted by MulhollandDrive to tipofmytongue [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 sean_98_ W:Uny/AP refresh forest scout Chest piece, Right arm, Right leg H: Caps

submitted by sean_98_ to Market76 [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 kustarius_Sergius I have a problem.

I cannot survive longer than 1 minute in ffa and other modes. I do not have time to place points in the improvement of the tank and choose a class as the pumped boys overtake me and kill me. Please tell me what should I do?
submitted by kustarius_Sergius to Arrasio [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 jnicholass One underrated aspect of this season that I noticed today

I haven’t seen a single nephew on the main subreddit try to compare Booker to Donovan Mitchell.
Maybe a finals run will do that, but I was definitely getting tired of arguing over them.
submitted by jnicholass to suns [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 TrapLord2400 LGVN getting expensive to short! Shorts have no choice but to cover ASAP! Look at the data, we have them corned! Y’all want a TRUE short squeeze play? LGVN is it. $100 by next week is not a meme! 🚀

submitted by TrapLord2400 to Shortsqueeze [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 eyafalakuloa Bf gave me a clothing item that wasn’t mine

My bf (26m) told me (24f) that he had a surprise for me. He ended up giving me an old shirt that I was looking for for a long time and I was super happy that he found it cause it was one of my favorite shirts but he also gave me a pair of booty shorts I’ve never seen. He says he swears he remembers me wearing them but they are a size bigger than my side and from a store I’ve never heard of. We have been together 3 years and the only woman that goes in his room is his mom. Idk what to think of this honestly lol. Any advice ?? Thanks
Tl;dr bf gave me a clothing item that wasn’t mine and it’s a bit suspicious
submitted by eyafalakuloa to relationship_advice [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 Ponce_Die_Alone Neither / Neither World - Night of Hell (1992, Darkwave / Folk)

Neither / Neither World - Night of Hell (1992, Darkwave / Folk) submitted by Ponce_Die_Alone to sixthworldmusic [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 Al115 Has anyone had experience weaning their dog off phenobarbital?

Hi all! I have a senior small dog who has been on phenobarbital for more than half of his life. He had a series of two seizures when he was around 5, and the vet prescribed him 16.2 mg of phenobarbital to prevent further seizures. The prescription has worked, aside from a single seizure he had a few months after he began the prescription, and he has been on the prescription ever since. I had always been under the assumption that this is something he would be taking for the rest of his life, but I recently moved and got my dog set up at a new vet, who suggested we begin weaning him off the medication due to him not experiencing any seizures in years. A second vet at a different clinic suggested the same thing. Weaning him off the medication admittedly scares me a little (I am a worry wort and I'm terrified of him suddenly having another seizure), so I was just wondering if anyone here has gone through the process of weaning their dog off phenobarbital and how the process went? I plan on discussing this further with the vet within the next few months, but was just hoping to get some insight from others who have gone through the same thing with their dogs. Thank!
submitted by Al115 to dogs [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 cheesedessertsrlife I live in a rented flat so I can't get rid of this so I'm looking for some ideas to improve its look

It's pretty old but being a complete idiot at home improvement, i would really appreciate if i could get some tips on how to make it look better.
submitted by cheesedessertsrlife to HomeImprovement [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 PaveluzcatXO 22 M

22 M submitted by PaveluzcatXO to truerateme [link] [comments]

2021.12.03 12:52 JamesNTheGiantLeech I brought my husband back from the dead to share a few words

A lot has been said about the unfinished business of the dead. But there’s still plenty of that for us, the living. I want to tell you about the time I found closure in this life, so you know the same might be possible for you.
The first time I met Jessie, he was drunk and high and had a gash on his forehead that bled freely. A friend of his had taken him to the ER after he got tangled up in a, “slow-motion bar fight.” He was assigned to me, a triage nurse. At the time, I wasn’t paying much attention to anything more than his laceration, but he had me dialed in the moment I stepped into the room, he’d later tell anyone remotely interested.
We were nearly done, my mind already making room for the next patient, when Jessie leaned in close and asked the question, “Do you believe in fate?”
I looked down from his wound to his eyes - hazel and kind. He had a reddish beard and the sting of liquor on his breath. “I don’t,” I said, assuming this to be a come-on. Men like Jessie were always drawn to women in my position - caregivers, stand-in mothers. “Sorry, but no.”
“All good, I didn’t either. Not until tonight.”
“Oh yeah?” I said with an eye-roll, slapping the butterfly bandage over his wound.
“Yeah I mean, I knew I was gonna fall in love tonight, but I didn’t think it’d be with the woman patching a hole in my head.”
Classic Jessie. Always toying with your expectations. Always taking you for a ride.
He loved to talk about fate and destiny, as if there were forces beyond our control that make things happen. In his mind, from that day forward, we belonged together. “Our story is written in the stars,” he’d often remind me. “Nothing we can do about it, we’ll always be one.”
It took a while but eventually I did give into that belief, that we were destined to be together. It was comforting at times to remove all other options, to only see Jessie. Whenever things got bad between us I kept reminding myself that outside forces would never let us separate, and gradually sunk back into the deep folds of our relationship.
I got the call during a break on my shift, seven years after the day we first met. Jessie, now my husband, was involved in a car accident and pronounced dead on the scene. His body was on its way to the hospital, the one I worked at, where it would be received by the diener, my friend, who was calling to let me know. I thanked him, for some reason, then hung up the phone.
My stomach turned. I rushed over to a trash bin and dry heaved until something deep in my bowels lurched out and slapped against the bottom of the trash can. I stared down at the phlegmy thing, and not long after I was standing over the twisted remains of my husband with the same morbid fascination.
My friend, the diener who had called earlier, stood at a respectable distance. We were in the morgue at the bottom level of the hospital where the air was always cold and thin. I could feel him watching me, waiting to comfort me if needed. But I didn’t cry, not one single tear. Which might have been even more alarming for my friend to witness.
“Thank you for letting me know,” I said, still oddly formal.
His name was Russell and he always smelled like mouthwash and liked to joke about things that disturbed him, like farting corpses. Which usually made me laugh, too. My eyes didn’t leave my husband’s body, but I knew Russell had come closer when the air suddenly smelled like Listerine.
“It doesn’t need to end this way,” he said over my shoulder, barely above a whisper. “There are still options.”
I turned to him. His face oozed with compassion behind the protective plastic of his face shield. “What options?” I asked, devoid of emotion.
“Well, as you know more than most, the cells of your husband’s brain are currently starved of oxygen, so they’re bursting open and breaking down right now in a full-blown death spiral.”
I looked back down at Jessie’s body, imaging the cellular destruction wreaking havoc within.
“Sorry, not helpful, let me reframe,” he said. “Conventional wisdom tells us this process is irreversible, right? That’s how we’ve been dying and decaying since the beginning of time. But we’re living in the most unusual of times.”
He fished around in the pocket of his medical scrubs for a minute, and finally retrieved a small card that he handed out for me to take.
“You could arrange for your husband’s funeral, that’s one option. And a respectable one at that. Another option is you call the number on that card and let them know you’d like to participate in their clinical trial. And there's a chance they may be able to reverse this awful tragedy.”
I took the card. A cheap flimsy stock with nothing more than a phone number printed on it in smeared black ink. It was slightly damp, likely from how long it’d been resting there against Russell’s leg. An offer that had been waiting in his pocket for someone desperate enough to take it, someone like me.
“You have 10 hours from now to make the call,” he said, returning to a whisper. “After that, there’s no repairing the extent of the cellular damage. At least not yet, anyway.” He started to wheel my husband’s body away. “I’ll keep him cold for you until you decide. Sorry for your loss.”
I watched Russell push Jessie further into the morgue. I noticed for the first time the wall of metal lockers on either side of me that housed countless bodies, and thought of all those who like me had been robbed of the final moments with their significant others, the sense of closure that comes with getting in the last word.
Later that night, after completing my shift, I picked up my daughter from my parent’s house. I didn’t tell them about what happened to Jessie. I’d hidden so many other details about my life that self-editing was almost reflexive. I drove home while my daughter slept in her carseat. At every stop along the way, I looked back at her, my toddler with her curly tangled hair who would one day grow up old enough to start inquiring about who I am beyond her mother and what I’ve done with the life I’ve been given. By the time we pulled into our garage, I resolved to call the number on the card, knowing I would explain to my daughter one day why I made that choice. Fate, I’d tell her, is not something that exists outside of you - your life is entirely in your control.
“Hello?” I asked when the line clicked, my heart in a flurry.
“How can I help you?” a voice responded, chipper than expected.
“Uhm, yeah, so my husband just died, and I, uh, I was given this number by a friend who said there might be something you can do to help?”
The line buzzed with silence for a moment, as if I’d been placed on hold. The question I just asked looped back in my mind. How dumb and desperate I must’ve sounded. I was about to hang up when the woman came back on the line.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs Duncan. Is your address still 322 Granite St, apartment #404?”
I peered out the window with a partial view of the city. “Yes,” I said, shutting the blinds and turning off the lamp and sliding down the wall to the floor.
“Your husband, Jessie Duncan. Is he still at St Paul’s Hospital, down the street from you?”
It felt like I was starting to tip down a black void. “Yes,” I said, meekly.
My phone pinged, a text had arrived. “I’ve just sent you a release for your husband’s body. All you have to do is sign it, then await our call. Do you want to do that while we’re on the phone? We’re in a bit of critical window here.”
I pulled up the form on my phone and made a digital signature without reading the terms of the release.
“Thank you for participating in our trial, Mrs Duncan. The next time you’ll hear from us we will share an address that will either be the location at which you may pick up your husband, or the place where you will be able to collect his remains-”
“Wait,” I said, cutting in. “Sorry, but is there really a chance you can bring him back?”
“If by chance you mean is there a possibility of the impossible occurring through scientific intervention - the answer is always, yes.”
The line went dead. I stood in the living room and peeled back the curtains. The city was quiet and empty and the sun was starting to bleed on the horizon. I imagined that somewhere out there the gears of some Frankenstein-type machine were churning, ready to receive my husband. I prayed to anyone who would hear me that I’d have the chance to see him, just one last time.
“Happy birthday!” yelled my colleagues in unison, tossing confetti and colorful streamers.
I tried to blink away my surprise. Of course I had forgotten my own birthday, it hadn’t been the first time. Fortunately, they were all used to my monotone, Daria-like personality, so my lack of enthusiasm wasn’t noticed in the slightest. “Wow,” I said. “This is way too much.”
They ushered me to the front desk where a red cupcake with a glob of frosting and a single lit candle waited to be blown out. I had decided not to tell anyone about my husband’s accident until I knew more, so I carried on with the ceremony and pretended to make a wish then blew the candle out.
I hugged those who wished to be hugged, and high-fived the others who knew me less. It wasn’t long before the festivities were interrupted by a man in a cycling uniform who staggered in with his collar bone blown out through one side of his jersey. My colleagues snapped to attention while I snuck away to toss the cupcake in the trash and check my phone in private.
There was a text from a number with only four digits. It had arrived 6 minutes ago and simply read, “8383 Sycamore St.” No indication of the status of my husband, or what exactly I would find at this location. I thought about calling Russell down in the morgue to get his take, but didn’t want to disturb whatever kind of shaky reality I’d just entered in which it was actually possible for someone to come back from the dead.
No one objected to my request to leave hours early. They told me to get drunk and enjoy myself. I laughed and assured them I’d be sober by the morning shift. The moment I stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the garage my face fell and a sickness returned to my gut. I realized I had skipped all meals in the last 24 hrs. Should’ve eaten that damn cupcake, I thought as I frantically punched the button for the garage until the doors finally closed.
The building at the address given stood alongside other identical structures, each with a mirrored glass front that reflected the blazing sun. Staring at my reflection in the glass, I felt outside of myself, like someone else had taken over. This kind of impulsive behavior was something I deeply detested, and yet there I was skipping work to find the outcome of an insane and highly illegal procedure. Desperation excuses all kinds of illicit behavior, I discovered.
My phone vibrated. I looked down at the text from the same four digit number. “Welcome, Mrs Duncan. Second door on the left. He’s ready for you.”
I reread the last line, and shuddered. I imagined Jessie standing in some room covered in stitches and bandages, staring at the door, waiting for me to come through it. Once dead, now alive. As easy as flipping on a light switch. What would I say when I saw him, was I even capable of finding the right words to express myself.
Or maybe the procedure was a total failure and what I would find on the other side of the door was his mangled corpse. I was falling through those thoughts, plunging further into the black void, as I shuffled over to the door that buzzed open the moment I touched the handle.
I walked into a hollow reception area. The floors were polished and the fluorescent lights hummed softly above. It looked like a building that was still up for sale - no furniture, no company logo on the wall, not a single person in sight. On the reception desk, simply a small pile of medical scrubs, latex gloves and a face shield. I put them on and headed down the hallway lined with doors. The second on the left was partially ajar, so I pulled it open and drifted inside.
Three figures immediately turned to look at me. They wore white scrubs and their faces were covered in tight nylon hoods that cloaked their identities. They were hunched over the body of my husband. I caught a glimpse of wires and tubes running into his open chest before one of the three quickly covered him up.
“Mrs. Duncan,” said the one closest to me. “Congratulations, the procedure was a success.”
I looked beyond her to the elaborate device that brought my husband back from the dead. I recognized some of the equipment from the hospital, but dramatic modifications had been made. Essentially they were using an artificial organ to pump some sort of brown solution into his body, and measuring his neural activity with an EEG machine.
“He will require an extensive recovery period. His cognition is in a primitive state but it will continue to improve, as will the physical injuries sustained in the accident.”
“Can he hear me?” I asked.
“Not only that, he can feel you. In fact, all of his senses should now be back online.”
I stood watching the movement on his EEG machine indicating widespread neural activity.
“I was informed that you’re a nurse at a local hospital,” the cloaked figure went on. “So you can appreciate the magnitude of this achievement on multiple levels.”
I knew she was fishing for some kind of compliment or words of appreciation, but I said nothing in response. “Let’s give her a moment,” the woman said to the others. “Let her see for herself.”
The doctors, surgeons, fringe scientists, whoever was really beneath those masks, all shuffled out, and closed the door behind them. The room was still, only the flashing lights and scrolling data from the equipment. I walked over to Jessie and stood above him. His skin was glowing with vitality. Eyes closed but there was movement beneath his lids, maybe he already knew I was there.
“Jessie,” I said softly.
His eyes shot open, wider than I’d ever seen. He looked around the room, jittery. I checked his EEG machine to confirm his brain was still functioning, and when I looked back his eyes were locked onto mine. His mouth trembled as if he were trying to speak, but nothing came out.
“Shhh,” I told him, my hand wrapping around his. “It’s my turn to talk.”
Memories flooded in, the ones I’d had to suppress for the survival of myself and my daughter. Years of emotional and physical abuse, I skipped across the memories like a stone against water, finally settling on the day we first met. “Do you believe in fate?” he once asked me.
I leaned over his reanimated body, coming close to ensure he would hear me. Words came to me, the same ones I’d said to myself night after night. “I just wanted to let you know, you’re no longer in control of me. Not you, not fate - only me.”
His eyes pleaded with mine as I wrapped my hand around the thick plastic tube pumping life-sustaining fluids into his chest.
“Oh, and our daughter will never know your name.”
I yanked the tube from his chest. Brown liquid splashed out across the floor. I watched as Jessie shuddered on the table, the spiky waves of the EEG machine subsiding as he flatlined.
An alarm triggered. The cloaked figures rushed back into the room. They found me standing above Jessie’s limp body, his fluids continuing to pool on the floor at my feet.
“Can you bring him back,” I asked, innocently enough. “I forgot to tell him to rot in hell.”
submitted by JamesNTheGiantLeech to nosleep [link] [comments]