Amateur Sumo Events
Coming soon! (May through August) :

• Riverfront Sumo Open (FB) June 9-11, 2023 in Grand Rapids, MI, USA. Hosted by Grand Rapids Sumo Club (FB). Open to men, women, youth. Free to watch in person.
• Cowboy Cup 2023 (YT, FB, IG) June 17, 2023 in Dallas, TX, USA. Hosted by the Dallas Sumo Club (FB, IG, YT). Livestream on YT. Open to men, women, and youth.
• Iowa Sumo Training Camp (FB, IG) July 8th, 2023 in DesMoines, IA, USA. Hosted by Grand Sumo Breakdown (RD, YT, FB, IG). Open to men, women, youth.
• NC Sumo Camp (FB, IG) July 28-30 in Raleigh, NC, USA. Hosted by Rajin Sumo (FB, IG).
• Midvale Harvest Days Sumo Open (FB) August 5, 2023 in Midvale, UT, USA. Hosted by Salt City Sumo (FB). Open to men. Harvest Days is free to attend, sumo as well.
• Scottish Sumo Open (FB, IG) August 5, 2023 near Glasgow, Scotland. Hosted by Clan Sumo (FB, IG) / Scott Findlay of World of Sumo Facebook Group. Open tournament.

Past Event Videos
Rollertown Showdown by Dallas Sumo Club. YT livestream Part 1, Part 2. Gagamaru Seki was there (watching). But Gagamary did a training session too YT
2023 US Nationals on Grand Sumo Breakdown's YT
Kuma Sumo Bash on Grand Sumo Breakdown's YT
Mighty Eagle Team Tournament (METT) on Lonestar Sumo's YT
Socal Sumo Open on Maximum Effort Studio YT
Find your nearest club! Ask me for help to find one! I will use my network to find one for you or find an event!
I have more to put here- Please send me info for international events! Anyone have the Euro Sumo 2023 in Poland event links? I can remember where they are.
LEGEND
Demonstrations not listed! There would be too many!
Links: May lead outside of reddit: (RD) Reddit, (FB) - Facebook, (IG) - Instagram, (YT) Youtube, (LS) - Livestream in various media.
Format: Open means anyone can compete. Invitational means competitors must be invited to compete. Amateur sumo typically has men, women and youth divisions.

I am almost done with my first tray and the inside of my mouth is a horror show. I have been biting my cheeks and tongue every meal, no matter how small my bites or slowly I chew. I simply cannot chew without an attachment absolutely shredding my cheeks, and today somehow I nearly bit part of my tongue off. WTF?
Please tell me this is super temporary because it's depressing as hell and making me feel like a vain fool for putting myself through this for straighter teeth.

Advise is a good thing right? When you're friends are also his friends it's hard to ask them questions when they don't want to hurt the other person's feelings...
But my husband and I work together, same shift, (8:00-5:30pm) and we obviously ride to work together. We've been together for 7 years, and we've worked together for 4.5 of those. I work in a different department than he does but he's still kind of my boss. He's ASM and I'm a counter person. If I don't do my job he doesn't make any money. This is just back story and a little detail.
Every day, we wake up at the same time, 6:15am. He goes to one bathroom and I go to another. I'm ready well before he is; I let my dog out, feed my animals, make him breakfast and lunch, and then we go to work. It's a 15 minute drive without traffic. He doesn't like to talk in the morning so he listens to music really loud the whole way. Once we get to work he goes to his department and I go to mine. We cross paths so he can tell me I've forgotten something on a ticket or a price needs to be changed, and to get his lunch.
I don't take lunch breaks at work because I like when my paycheck is over 110hrs. (That's a lot of money) He does take lunches most days, but he spends a lot of his time in our shop talking to other people about their plans after work.. (I'm never included in them) he comes by my desk to tell me so-and-so is coming over to play music and then he walks away and back to his department.
When work is over, we get in the car and he immediately turns on his music and blares whatever he wants to listen to.. generally it's Ty Segal (whom I don't particularly care for.. but he does so I don't say much) when we golet home he immediately goes to feed his cat and spends 45 minutes on the toilet watching comedy skits and car videos on YouTube or reels. Then he goes to the kitchen grabs the fastest food item he can and goes to his music studio.. it's 6:30pm at this point. People start coming to our home and stay until about 9:30-10:00pm. They play guitars, drums, and keyboards the whole time.
I go to bed between 8:30 and 9:30 depends on when my medicine kicks in.. (I have cancer) He comes to bed around 11:30-12:00 so I'm more than asleep at this point. Then we start the cycle over again.
Sundays are our only DAYS OFF, as the company we work for is open every day but Sunday (yay Louisiana)
Today, we woke up at 9:30, his phone was going off and he rolled over to answer.. his friend (whom is a guy) wanted him to help with a break job on a Prius. To which my husband gladly gets out of bed for. He's been there since this morning... And came home to get speaker wire.. I asked him when he was going to hang out with me and he said, "I'm working on a sound board" then left.
My question or the advice I want or need.. or whatever is simple...
Do I have the right to be upset that my husband wants nothing to do with me? He doesn't want to hold my hand in public because he doesn't like PDA, he doesn't want to go to bed at the same time as me because it's too early, he doesn't want to leave work to go to doctors appointments with me, he doesn't talk to me, and he's never around or asks me how I feel.
I've been incredibly depressed lately.. and really have no one to talk to about it because my family is 15 hrs away from where I live, my best friend and I aren't speaking because she wants to be with an abusive guy, and my husband is too busy for me.
Im at my wits end because I love this man with every part of me.. and I don't feel like he feels the same way..
I don't know what to do..

1/18/2121 (Humunity Series, Part 14) On Saturday morning I went about my usual weekend ritual: got up, walked the eight steps to the kitchen and turned on the espresso machine, made a flat white that was seldom a flat white because my mind wandered when I steamed milk—which often didn’t swirl as fast as I wanted—into somewhere between cappuccino and latte foam, and sat down at my adjustable standing desk that I’d raised only three or four times in three years. I turned on my home screen. “Open GTIC docs”. I clicked on my work in progress, Idroids Dream Of Sleep, scrolled down, and read the last page I’d written on Sunday. “Open River, search for citrus juicers”. I scrolled down and saw a promo video for a juicer with an inbuilt strainer that was less than half price—only eighty-seven sats. “Buy with Hyatt credit”. Purchase confirmed. Expect delivery by 4:00 pm tomorrow. I swiped back to my GTIC doc. “Make this tale live for us in all its many bearings, oh muse,” I said. “Call from Braga,” said my split scroll. “Answer”. “Hey Jake, my dogs are missing you. Do you want to come over later and stay the weekend? I’m making Chilean sea bass for work colleagues so I can make for us too, and we can go to that breakfast place you like,” said Braga. She has a nasal voice. “Hey, I’d love to, but I already said I’d meet up with my friend Richard later so I won’t make it over to Bay Ridge this weekend, sorry”. I wasn’t sorry. After she hung up, I looked back at the writing on my screen and shook my head. “Fuck”. I got up and walked over to the kitchen, took the bag of matcha out the fridge and turned the coffee machine on again, spooned a teaspoon of matcha, whisked, poured, steamed some oat milk, and poured a white heart into a green froth. I sat back down at the desk and looked at the screen again and began to type: First Leon saw the bus stop, and then he saw the hare. I wrote about three hundred words in fits and starts, between going to the restroom, checking my messages, and dictating a shopping list—artichokes included—onto another GTIC doc. I couldn’t sit still or concentrate on the screen for more than five seconds at a time, so I decided to head for Sullivan Street Bakery on Ninth Avenue. ***** I like to sit at the corner table at Sullivan Street Bakery, next to a downlit alcove and it encouraged me that ‘my’ table was free—sometimes it was, sometimes it wasn’t, but a little more often than not it was, which continued to surprise me given how busy the bakery got. I said hello to a server I’d only seen there a few times—the other girl sometimes gave me free stirato sandwiches and pain-au-chocolats at closing time, not because I was poor, but because she liked me and didn’t want the food to go to waste—and ordered a latte (they didn’t serve flat whites here) and a piece of olive oil cake. I sat nestled in the corner observing the rest of the room: some familiar regulars—not that I knew their names—people I might say hello to, or at least smile or nod. Two men sat at the table next to me worked at one of the art galleries nearby. About a quarter of the clientele here were intellectuals, writers, artists. Another quarter were pseudo-intellectual, another quarter were tourists, and the final quarter were, well, anyone’s guess. I like to ease myself into writing by eavesdropping a little: “What do you think of the story that Reps are using AI to write their stories these days? I find that ironic,” said a white-haired woman a couple of tables to my left. “My sister’s niece had sperm stored in that facility and this has ruined her family plans. I couldn’t get a slot with my therapist today. Since the attack her schedule is full,” said the squinting dark-haired woman she was with. Younger female voices pulled my attention in front of me and to the left: “So I got these shoes on a discount”. “O-M-I, I love. They’re so meth” “They’re restock right?” “D-O-A”.
(This is Part 15 of the Humunity Series. Part 1 begins here: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/10i2vxz/they\_buried\_me\_in\_that\_great\_tomb\_that\_knows\_no/ )

Fans of Tapestry, convince me why I should buy this game. Enjoyed the how you play videos but not sure if it justifies the price

So I think a lot of us have seen the Game Theory video where Mat Pat was talking about how maybe the Tsaritsa and the Fatui are the heroes, and the archon's could be the villains (or other characters). I found some information that could be kind of important to proving his theory right or wrong, or telling us more about what is happening in Teyvat. I would just like to say, I don't know if this is already a discussion, or if other people have talked about it before, so if I have already been proven wrong or other people have already talked about it, I didn't know.
When you look up the names of the Archons (like Barbatos, Morax, Baal, etc.) the first images that show up are always pictures of demonic statues, and the first articles to show up are ocult wikepedia pages. I'm not really religous, so I don't necsassarily know what meanings they have, but I do think it is strange that the creators of the game chose to name characters that are presumed heroes/helpers after demons (the only exception being Raiden)
So first off, let's get into their names (I'll go in order of when they appear in the game's stories and archon quests). "Barbatos is the 8th spirit named among the list of 72 demons in The Lesser Key of Solomon. According to grimoire tradition, he holds the rank of Duke, and (like the demon Buer)) may appear when the sun is in the sign of Sagittarius)." (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbatos#:~:text=Barbatos%20is%20the%208th%20spirit,in%20the%20sign%20of%20Sagittarius.) I don't nescassarily know what that means about Venti, but Barbatos serving as "Duke" could tie into Venti distancing himself from being a complete ruler of Mondstadt.
"In demonology, Morax is a Demon, Great Earl, and President of Hell, having thirty (thirty-two, according to other authors) legions of demons under his command. He teaches Astronomy and all other liberal sciences, and gives good and wise familiars that know the virtues of all herbs and precious stones. This profile of the demon can be seen in Pseudomonarchia Daemonum (Johann Weyer, 1577) as well as in Goetia (S.L. MacGregor Mathers, 1904)." (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morax_(demon))). This article describes the demon Morax as being wise, intelligent, and being well versed in culture and sciences. I feel like that descriptor can fit Zhongli, as we saw him in the Archon quest being highly intelligent about Liyue culture; specifically Noctilucous Jade (a precious stone) and incense and other materials from Bubu pharamacy (herbs). Morax in this article is also said to be a commander of many lesser demons, which is like how Liyue is very proud that Rex Lapis is always in charge and watching over their country. This has more evidence to back up my theory with then Barbatos.
"Buer is a spirit that appears in the 16th-century grimoire Pseudomonarchia Daemonum and its derivatives, where he is described as a Great President of Hell, having fifty legions of demons under his command. He appears when the Sun is in Sagittarius). Like Chiron, the chief centaur of Greek mythology, he teaches natural and moral philosophy, logic, and the qualities and uses of all herbs and plants, and is also capable of healing all infirmities (especially of humans) and bestows good familiars.[1]#cite_note-1)" (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buer_(demon))). This one is a bit more diffucult, since we all know Nahida as a sweet and innocent telapath, but it seems that Buer is less of a ruthless demon and more of an immortal creature that comands others. If Buer is compared to the wise teacher Chiron, then it makes sense since Sumeru is the land of wisdom, and has vast forests with many plants which fits in with being the land of the dendro archon (and free health care which fits in with the healing part).
Now, as I mentioned before, Baal is the exception to the rest of the demons. Baal is actually a god in mythology and religion. I feel like this could have a connection to the Raiden Ei's veiws and her trying to cease visions. If the Tsaritsa is the hero, and we know she is trying to get rid of Gnossi and Raiden is trying to get rid of visions, Baal not being a demon would fit. "Baal (/ˈbeɪ.əl, ˈbɑː.əl/),[6][a] or Baʽal[b] (Hebrew: בַּעַל baʿal), was a title and honorific meaning 'owner', 'lord' in the Northwest Semitic languages spoken in the Levant during antiquity. From its use among people, it came to be applied to gods.[11] Scholars previously associated the theonym with solar cults and with a variety of unrelated patron deities, but inscriptions have shown that the name Ba'al was particularly associated with the storm and fertility god Hadad and his local manifestations.[12]%22-14)" (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baal#:~:text=Baal%20(%2F%CB%88be%C9%AA.,to%20be%20applied%20to%20gods.) There is nothing there that really connects to Raiden's personality or mannerisms like the other archons, but there are ways that it could connect, as discussed earlier in this paragraph.
Demons aren't always evil, but in this case I will say they could be. If the Tsaritsa really is the hero who is keeping Celestia at bay, then maybe this could give proof that the Archons are antagonists. Sorry for going all this way to write this but not really having a solid point to make. Thank you for reading this, and if you have any input and questions, please let me know! I would also like to say, I still love the archons as characters, and I am not saying they are bad characters.
(Thanks to wikepedia for the articles included)
As new Archons and regions are revealed or introduced, I will add more information.

hello! i decided to switch clinics from zerenia to alternaleaf. i recently had my pharmacist appointment and pain consultant appointment (same day, i think because they are a new clinic they have appointments ready and open)
ive asked a lot of questions to their team as well and everyone has seemed far more kind and understanding and actively helpful to me vs my experience with zerenia. they are more likely to actually talk about pricing and products and actually let me speak about the issues i have and would like medical cannabis to help where i didnt feel like i was allowed to speak much in consultations. obviously early days, but all been much smoother than my entire experience with zerenia. (not had any prescriptions yet, awaiting MDT (sp?) board)

So I know Andrew and JJ were going to revisit their predictions for top 4, relegation, POTY, and COTY. However, for fun I decided to relisten to their 10 big questions podcast that was at the beginning.

1. What promoted side will finish highest?

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JJ: Nottingham Forest
Andrew: Fulham
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2) Team most likely to finish outside the top 4 that finished outside last year?
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JJ: Arsenal
Andrew: Manchester United
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3) Manager in the hottest seat?
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JJ: Erik ten Hag
Andrew: Frank Lampard (HM: Ralph Hasenhüttl and Eddie Howe)
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4) Team that will make the biggest jump this season
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Both: Newcastle
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5) Player most excited for
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JJ: Brenden Aaronson (whole load of others I didn't write down)
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Andrew: Patrick Bamford
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6) Who are the title contenders?
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Both: Man City, Liverpool, possibly Tottenham
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7) Best Transfer as of August 2nd:
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JJ: Nathan Collins to Wolves
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Andrew: Christian Eriksen to Manchester United
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8) Outlandish prediction they can take back:
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Andrew: Vardy falls off
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JJ: Chelsea finish 6th or lower, Stevie G sacked right after world cup return, and Ronaldo plays in the Manchester United reserves and is assisted by Tom Huddleston
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9) Which player needs a big season?
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JJ: Harry Maguire
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Andrew: Mason Mount
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10) What are you most excited for?
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JJ: Podcasts after the games
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Andrew: The American Invasion of the Premier League
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Obviously hindsight is 20/20, but the only thing that strikes me as weird (and I remember it did so at the time) was how high they both were on Tottenham, a side that had to struggle mightily to get top 4 and who had a manager prone to these outlandish moments of exasperation in the previous season. They talked as if they were nailed on top 4 and in the conversation as outside contenders for the title race, when I remember thinking they were going to be scrapping with Arsenal and United for top 4 again.

[←Chapter 46] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 48→]
Efrain was left, more or less, with two things left to teach. First was the more complex magical motion, how to draw flows and glide things along them. The second was how that applied to the wondrous black metal, and then to shape it into whatever she had seen.
Efrain, not for the first time, wished that he’d seen the knife, that way he wouldn’t have to rely on the girl’s amateur talents. There was a good chance that she would not be able to construct it soundly or missed crucial details that were essential. It was a risk, giving her this greatly expedited tutelage, then making her build a magic tool with nothing but educated guesswork. Practically like explaining pulleys and counterweights, and then asking a student to design an elevator.
He didn’t let his mind rest on it for too long - he had enough horrors today without contemplating what lay beyond the stone. Still, it weighed on him, as even moving the water around was noticeably more difficult than it would’ve been in the free air. He set out another filled bucket and an empty one, provided gratis by the workers.
“Are you having fun yet?” he said aloud, drawing the attention and a few nervous chuckles.
“It might be good for you to listen in,” he continued, “magic is here, has been here, and will continue to be here long after any of us are gone. One of these principles might save your life one day?”
After a few moments, a younger member hesitantly spoke.
“Are there any schools? To teach magic,” he said, before immediately trying to shrink back into the crowd.
Efrain regarded him as he considered the question.
“Why? Do you have an interest?”
The men around him laughed, and the boy’s face flushed as he locked eyes with what must’ve been a very attractive bench.
“Yes. There are, and were, schools. The greatest was the Angorrah Academy in the capital, but it has long been ransacked and converted to other uses. Centuries ago, now.”
The men were listening with interest now. Efrain wasn’t surprised, given the way the church stepped on the toes of history when writing its edicts.
“Yes. Angorrah used to be a heart of learning of all kinds,” he said, gesturing off to the western mountains, “magic, science, the arts, craftsmanship. The academy was beautiful, in its way. Still… what happened happened.”
“The night of the burning tree?” one of the older men ventured.
“Indeed,” Efrain said, “the night of the burning tree. A bunch of hotblooded youths getting involved in open rebellion. Anyone care to take a guess at what the seniors were doing?”
No one responded, all were looking on with bated breath.
“Nothing. Sitting in their towers, sipping their wine. All the while a bunch of idiots painted a target on all of our backs, and they did nothing to stop them.”
He was conscious of the potential hypocrisy he was engaged in. It was only a couple of years after the night of the burning tree when he had awoken in his new body. For all he knew, he could’ve been one of the idiots involved. He would like to think that he was not so stupid as to burn the most holy symbol of the church. But there was no way to know for certain.
“Then the purges began,” he said, “I had left the city before. I saw the writing on the wall.”
“But that would mean you’re hundreds of years old,” protested one of the men.
Efrain looked at him, the other men looked at him, and the man faded back with a quiet ‘oh’.
“Yes, I’ve lived for a very, very long time,” he said, stretching as he did, “there’s several different ways you can go about it, but… well, the results speak for themselves.”
Now that caught their attention, as tales of immortality often did.
“Before you ask, there’s a steep price for extended life, regardless of which way you do it. Not to mention, it’ll most likely take decades upon decades of study, and help from others besides. Even with all that, it’s still a very risky business. One mistake, and you’ll be greeting death early.”
That seemed to quell most of the curiosity, though not extinguish it completely.
“Well,” he said, “back to the original question. As for the remaining schools of magic, you’re not likely to find anything west of the mountains. The church’s hold is too strong for any sort of formal study to flourish there. The best one would be…”
Efrain tapped his mask as he ran through the locations, hoping that two centuries hadn’t wiped them away.
“Karkos, to the south east,” he said, “though I haven’t been there for many years. I recall… well, there was the idea of a school once. If you’re really interested, that would be the place to try.”
Some of the men nodded thoughtfully, though Efrain doubted any of them were actually vying to go.
“What can magic do?” said one of the younger ones again, “can it make swords sharp, or on fire or…”
He stuttered out as he reached the limits of his creativity. Efrain didn’t mind - it was nice to have queries to take his minds off of recent events.
“Magic weapons?” he said, mentally thumbing through his collection of knowledge on the topic, “yes, you could. Most ordinary weapons can be infused with magic, with appropriate skill. As for things custom made for the purposes of handling magic, well…”
He thought back to his vault in his holdfast, missing home, as cold and isolated as it might’ve been. There were a handful of weapons in his collections, usually cursed, but little that he would actually use. They were mostly there for preservation and study, rather than actual warfare. His armoury on the other hand had enchanted items, but they tended to be more along alchemical lines rather than physical ones.
“They are rare, quite rare. Some of you are steel workers, I would think?” he said, witnessing a few nods, “well then, how many years would it take to become a good one, usually?”
There was a smattering of guesses, until a big, keg-chested man offered “five or tener’ years, depends.”
“Then I’m sure you can imagine, my friend,” Efrain said nodding, “combine learning magic and smithing, then learning how to weave the latter into the former. Many, many years. True master enchanters and magesmiths are not something seen since Angorrah’s golden years, and that was centuries ago.”
He remembered the site of the great forge works under the academy, situated near the cistern so that they had a constant supply of water to fuel engines and quenching pools. The smell of hot metal and burning wood barely eclipse the stench of sewage. There had been several doddering craftsmen by the time he’d left, though the days of their magnum opuses were long past.
“Even in my time, they were dying out, and when the Academy was ‘decommissioned’, well, most of their works and knowledge was destroyed. I only knew barely beyond the basics. In any case, most magic weapons are too expensive to be practical. However you could ‘enhance’ in the way you’re thinking’ - holding edges for longer and so on.”
He paused, trying to recall the few examples he’d witnessed first-hand.
“Why, they even used to pre-enchant metal at the academy, so you could temper them faster at higher temperatures, without risking warping or weakening.”
The men began to nod more fervently - this was a subject they were more familiar with.
“But nothing dramatic. To be sure, there are tales. Weapons of light, tools to replant forests and cure illness,” he said, reaching over for the cube.
Watching the streams and rivers of metal form and reform in his hands, he began to recite.
“Long lost, long lost, across the waves,
Past brothers’ tombs and fathers’ graves.
Long lost, long lost, across the sea.
Lands old and rich and everfree.
The first lands where we long to be,
Long lost, long lost, across the sea.
Where all are found, where all is saved.
Long lost, long lost, across the waves.”
“I know that!” one of the men said, “it’s in one of the church books the priest used to sing.”
“Aieadda. It’s an old poem, one of the oldest. It’s one of the few surviving writings from the times of Eblem.”
The name of Angorrah’s founding king turned the last of the bowed heads.
“You’ve been?” said a number of astonished labourers, drawing a mental grin from Efrain. The ‘first lands’ must’ve been a legend to them, something spoken about in terms of gods and myths.
“No, no I’ve not,” he said, “they do exist, far to the south west. Several weeks by ship, if the wind is in your favour. It’s a hazardous crossing. But, if the verses are to be believed, ‘anything’ can be found there. Magic runs strong in that country.”
He lifted up the now solid cube as an example.
“For instance,” he said, “and if this is the metalwork they could do, who knows what else they could create?”
The men were enchanted now, transfixed by stories they’d never heard. But it’d have to wait for later, he thought, as he saw Sorore led by Lillian cut around the corner.
“Right then, back to work. Though you are welcome to listen in as you wish,” he said, as Sorore sat down in front of him, frowning at the two buckets.
“You ready?” he said, and she nodded, “very well, let’s begin.”
“The second lesson of magical motion is as follows…”
For the next half-hour he taught her about the process of drawing flows. How to imagine an invisible line, like carving a channel for the water to follow. How to start from before the mass, and move magic through it, simultaneously pushing the magic through it, and pushing the mass on the magic.
“And to practise that, I’ve brought back your favourite teaching aid,” he said, gesturing to the pair of buckets in front of them.
He thought he detected the hint of a scowl on the girl’s face.
“Quite simple, really, just draw an arc between the two points. We’ll stop when you’ve filled the empty bucket to the best of your ability.”
The hour after that was relatively simple, Sorore imagined a line, drew magic across it, then drew the water across that. A few false starts and water explosions later, she had a steady stream falling into the bucket.
“That’d be useful,” said one of the men, “wouldn’t have to move around the smithy too much.”
“Solid objects get a little more tricky,” said Efrain, “if I taught you how, you’d spend just as much time learning how to dodge wayward tools.”
There was genuine, not nervous laughter this time. Sorore was sitting there, quite focused on the stream, though not particularly tense, watching as the water slowly filtered from one to the other.
“A fun minor lesson,” he said, “try to make a flow with right angles only.”
The girl’s concentration lapsed, spilling water on the cobbles to her annoyance. But regardless, she tried, and largely succeeded in the first part. When she attempted to push water up, it sprayed off past one of the men, leading to it being quickly dropped.
“Any object has mass, and thus momentum. Think of running and rapidly turning around. Takes a lot more effort, doesn’t it? Curves are almost always more efficient. Now, back to it.”
Within another twenty minutes or so, she had filled up the second bucket. The last of the drops were drawn over the arc, and vanished under the surface.
“Well done,” he said, “you now know the basics of moving liquids like water, and even gas like the air around us. Solids get a little more tricky, so there’s really no time to teach you that. When we get to forging the knife, let me handle that part.”
She nodded, beaming at the bucket that was empty less than an hour ago.
“You’re ready,” he said, “now for one little note about this material. This has no resistance to magic. You’ll have to create your own, for reasons that we can discuss later. Two forces, equal, pushing against one another. Are you ready?”
She nodded, fingers twitching in excitement as he handed her the cube.
“Merely make them equal as you can,” he said, “don’t try and-”
The partially liquid cube shot out to the left, which Efrain caught and circled around into the main mass. The girl’s magic was still quite chaotic, and it was potent.
“Try again, two opposite forces at the same time. Like pressing your finger tips against each other. You’re holding it under tension.”
She did so, and a couple of tries later, the cube collapsed into fluid.
“Well done,” he said, despite the gasp she made as she attempted to grab at the fluid, “now comes the hard part. You need to maintain that tension as you guide it along the flow.”
He demonstrated, letting the material pool and coalesce into a streamer that floated into the air.
“This will be tricky. We’ll work at it,” he said, letting it spatter back onto the pavement.
The girl tried, and tried, and tried, and tried. For hours and hours as her face grew pale and sweat once more dripped from her chin. They were well past midday before she managed to get a decent grip on the technique, even though it still vibrated violently.
Efrain was completely unsurprised by the imperfection. Working with material like this was a challenge even for senior students. She had managed it in an afternoon. On its own, she would be considered exceptional, even if she had years worth of theory to catch up on. Efrain seized control and moulded it back into a cube, letting it solidify once more.
“Well,” he said, “you’ve gotten the gist of it. Not so easy, hm?”
She nodded, brushing her hair back and rubbing at her eyes.
“Now comes the really hard part,” he said, with less sadistic, teacherly mirth than he might want to, “You need to create a flow that is the shape of the blade.”
Sorore’s eyes widened at the proposition, and she audibly gulped.
“How?” she said.
“Imagine the shape of the blade in space, and divide it up into flows that you can guide the metal to. Simple in theory. But far, far from easy. This is the challenge we’ve been leading up to. You need not worry about making it solid, just let me handle that. You need only to work on the shape.”
Sorore was eager to try, if a little daunted perhaps by the complexity of the task. First Efrain managed to make a concept wire piece of the blade with her. They discussed features, the chisel tip, the furled blades, the tang of the blade. The small rivulets and channels she’d seen in her ‘visions’ of it.
Then came the actual ‘forging’ of it, and by the Lost, was it difficult. Attempt after attempt after attempt fell apart, the girl growing grey by the exhaustion. As the light around them began to darken, they stopped, adjusted and retired. All to no avail.
“I just can’t…” she said, face red with effort after the latest attempt, “there’s too much to keep track of.”
Efrain had watched, with occasionally gentle prodding, as the girl attempted to fill in the gaps. The actual flow wasn’t particularly difficult, but forming the total structure of the blade, while maintaining cardinal paths for the metal to follow was clearly beyond her level. Efrain sighed - at least now, he had an idea of what the shape was and could make a good approximation of what was needed.
It was unfortunate that the young girl didn't manage to fully develop the skill over the afternoon’s course, but it was hardly unexpected. He had been pushing her far too hard, and at this point it was probably going to be more economical to just simply create the blade himself. It wouldn't be perfect, but he had to hope that it would be enough for the door.
"Well,” he said, “ it would appear that we’ve run out of time. Good progress despite. I think I'll try to finish the rest of it.”
As he’d expected, the dismissal made the young woman's shoulders slump further. He was almost tempted to reach out to her, but the ever-present glare of Lillian dissuaded him. She would get over it, assuming they all survived, and for that, he needed the knife. Soroe was led away into the afternoon, and Efrain was left to find a solution he wasn’t entirely sure existed.
Within a few minutes he had managed to get the basic shape, the details, however, were an entirely different story. Try after try after try, he spent what hours he had attempting to get every single detail he could. Night was oncoming before he had something he thought might work. The actual utilisation and technique he hoped weren’t as important as the structure. Efrain was not looking forward to the most likely outcome - the first usage of magic would immediately revert the solid metal to fluid.
Sighing, he finally rose, bizarre blade in his hand. With a nod to the rest of the labourers, well at work repairing blades and mending armour, he departed to the church. The remainder of the townsfolk were littered about, preparing for the siege. If they were lucky, they had a few more hours before the attacks began, but that did not still the fear obvious in their eyes.
Efrain crossed into the main hold of the church, and made his way to the stair door. Innie picked herself up off the stones and walked beside him.
“The child?” Efrain said, looking back towards the medic bay.
“Leave her,” said the cat, “she’s needed, and the happiest I’ve ever seen her. Did you have any luck?”
“She came close. Somewhat,” Efrain said, letting the black blade catch the light, “I finished it.”
“Oh that’s comforting,” said Innie, “using a tool you finished.”
“If you have a better suggestion,” Efrain responded with a snort, “we can’t get much more desperate than we are now. Is this or roof.”
“I'd rather fight them here on, at least that way I can burn the church down while I die,” she said.
The catacombs greeted them - dark, cold, and smothering. The duo came before the black stone wall, Efrain glancing over to check if there was nothing he’d missed. Finding that his powers of observation were sound, he raised the blade tip to the smooth black stone.
“Here we go,” he said.
[←Chapter 46] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 48→]

Hi there! I'm looking for a long term relationship with a sweet, caring, and funny/fun-loving guy in or near Tampa, FL who loves animals. Hopefully leading to marriage soon, and no kids. But maybe lots of hairy kids (animals) lol!
A little about myself: spiritually I am a believer in Christ. Personality wise I am quiet at first but fun-loving and kinda crazy on the inside. I love animals. I like to go outdoors, volunteer for the church and animal shelter occasionally, play piano and paint or do crafts sometimes, be spontanious and go on adventures, try out new things, hang out with family/friends, etc. Physically I am short and chubby. Perfectly fine with exchanging pics. Sexually (and out of the bedroom too tbh) I am submissive and would like to meet someone dominant in and out of the bedroom. I have a job and am studying veterinary assisting. Would love to meet a Christ-believing, loving, funny, dominant man between ages 25-35 who loves animals and wants a long term relationship/marriage(no kids) in Tampa soon! Hit me up please! Thanks for reading! Have a great day!

Are they underneath wood chips? or stone?

It was the year 1920 and my matante was just two years old when her and her family moved to America from Quebec. They bought this two story house in a city in the smallest state. It was yellow with a red roof. She was the oldest of 12 siblings. They all slept on the first floor of the house and the first floor was the living space where they sat, there was the kitchen, bathroom, and two extra bedrooms for the parents and two big porches. The basement was used as a sewing store and tailoring. My family owned that house for years and everyone in my family on my dads side grew up there even my aunt and mom did when she met my dad in 1st grade. No one ever really left. They always came back each day all day even if they even had there own homes. The yard was huge and there was a shed next to the house, a patio swing that my mon oncle built in the 40s that still swings in my aunts house today when we had to move out. There was a play set, a giant pavement hill where we rode our bikes up and down, a little tree next to the fence that we grew up climbing, there was a tree next to it but it got cut down because of a hurricane, there was a little tiny shed in the back of the grass path where nobody went near even though it was filled with stuff and things we could use. The ice cream truck came by every once and awhile. It was great. All of the toys were hand me downs that were in great condition. My matantes food was always great. When all of her siblings died, and her last baby was taken care of (me!), it was time for her to rest and she sadly passed away so we had to sell and remodel the house for it to pass inspection. As we moved the layers of wallpaper it was like different time periods being brought down. It was the saddest moment ever. We sold it a couple of years. ago. Anyways a couple of months ago I drove past it and took a picture and when I was going through the pictures I was pressing the lives and I saw the figure of a little boy looking out the window then just disappearing into thin air. I was looking through documents to see if the family had a little boy but they didn’t. When i was going through old pictures yesterday I saw the same exact little boy that I saw in the window. Also this isn’t the first time that there was a figure like this in a picture through the window. When we were selling the house me and my family saw another figure looking scared or hurt in the front porch window. Does anyone know what this could mean. Is my past family members ok.

Are there still public universities open for admission? T_T Hopefully around Manila, better if near Pasig City. As stated in the title, I wasn't able to apply for admission tests due to personal reasons. RN, my family wouldn't able to support me financially if I enroll in private univs.

Wretched screams were they that once filled this house. Horrible, blood curdling cries. The type that would pierce the ears and vibrate right through the chest. But it wasn’t just the cries themselves that scarred my existence. There were the workers too; always bumbling through the corridors, trampling around with their syringes and vials. “Help” is what they claimed to be. Yet, they deprive this house—MY house—of its serenity. I suppose some might say their sympathy and purpose was honorable, but the honor of such things is lost when they are applied to such a decrepit being. Upon such creatures, only death is honor—is mercy.
Now, only regret fills my time. Just a single recollection of the moment and it is as if my mouth were filled with ashes. It is not with ego that I say I am a man of great scholarly accomplishment. Certainly, a man of my station would never let madness cloud his mind. Surely, you will see that truth when I recount what started this all.
From the pounding of hooves in the night, I had awoken. It was a grave matter; they had said then. Only a man of standing, of academic connection could provide the aid for which they so badly wanted. How can one deny their own flesh and blood, especially when that hospitality was to be repaid? It was with the best, purest faith that I called in those resources that they lacked. A doctor in practice I am no longer, but the Hippocratic oath is still my code.
I stake my reputation on the fact that inheritances never entered my mind. How could one ever desire to take fortunes tainted by the ownership of that...that thing? I promise that it has never been said that I am unkind. Wounds never have I inflicted upon another human being. Not even to my hound I was cruel. But what kindness do we give the pests that have felled the tree? What care do we give the maggot that spoils meat? What empathy do we give the disease that rots a man’s flesh?
From the first I witnessed it enter my sight, clawing its way out the carriage and across the road to my halls all garbed in black shawls, my heart grew cold. At that instant, it became clear that the only action—the only rational action—was to cry that the agreement was voided, and that my doors would be shut to them, until it was once again corralled in a wayward carriage. But with my reputation, I had already drawn the finest of those in practice to my secluded home, and I would be breaking a vow to my own flesh and blood.
My life I would stake into the hands of every specialist who undertook this work. Perhaps, in the most fantastic of circumstances, a single physician of caliber could find themselves unwittingly misguided in their intuition. Within a league of such caliber, an already extraordinary possibility becomes so miniscule that it is rendered entirely impossible. Of course, as utmost professionals with a healthy level of respect—even admiration—of my work coloring their disposition towards me, they danced around it, never landing on the coarse truth at the heart of the matter. However, I could see it in their eyes—yes, I could see it—as clearly as I tell this tale to you now. A revulsion so all-consuming, that it was as if something of the soul had wasted away during their time in that room. With the most artful eye and mute foot, I observed them when they thought themselves out of my sight, their lips trembling with a truth unspoken.
One by one, they all left my house. Always, there was some polite excuse. Something or other about some important work they must return to. Like a sheet over a corpse, the real truth was obvious. In time, only a scant few of their interns were left with me, poor fools stumbling around the corridors of the house, trying to forget each breath they had taken from the sickening air of the room it had burrowed itself in to.
Ask anyone with which I’ve made contact, my word is my bond. Not a SINGLE stain is painted upon my history. Betrayal is a sin so horrible, that I endured months of this torment praying that nature would do my labor for me. It was with terrible weight of obligation pounding through my practiced hands that I arranged the right course—the only course—for full satisfaction of my promise. How many of those with not a third of the experience, utterly repugnant of any medicinal sense, would slander me as a quack, while they stand behind their little desks in clean linen? HA! Would a quack’s hand move with a maestro’s grace, divining the exact formulation to silence the beast? To those who would call me inhumane, do we not lance a boil? Cauterize a wound with searing flame? Slice through the bone of a decaying limb? As you can see, my methods were so merciful, so virtuous, that it is a credit to my character that I chose them in the first place.
With passionate clarity reserved only for those desperate times when a man must complete his task to live, I set upon my work with a meticulousness that surely couldn’t be considered anything less than logical. There were only 3 hours of the day in which it creeped back under its lair in the covers, the shrill shrieking traded for an unsettling wheezing moan. In only one of those three hours was it not under watch by the exhausted, empty eyes of whichever of the few attendants left who could bear it that night. Thus, I ascended the stairs only when I was absolutely certain the assistant unlucky enough to be on watch had retired to an uneasy slumber; stepping in time with the howling wind that battered the exterior of the house with a precision almost unnatural. Upon reaching the top of the creaking staircase, I paused with a soundless breath. I felt like a shadow gliding soundlessly towards the door, as if guided by the movement of some divine hand. There, I rested my handle gently—oh so gently—upon the iron knob of the door, preparing myself for the sight to come. I dared not peek through the glass opening in the door, not wishing to see any more of the thing than necessary. With a motion so slight it was barely perceptible; my fingers turned the heavy knob. The process was so painstakingly done that I couldn’t help but feel a small surge of pride at my composure.
Finally, the door lurched slowly forward, but I dared not move it more than an inch. A seeping stench invaded my nostrils, so moist it felt like it had left a dew inside me. It took all the fortitude I had to not be repelled backwards from the sensation. I lurched, stifling gags for what felt like an hour as I—ever so slowly—poked my head through the opening of the door. Mustering all the tolerance humanly possible, I gradually pushed the door open, the low grind of its movement against the wood floor masked by the raging storm outside.
Having numbed my senses to the room, I crept forward. My steps were slow and methodical, calculated for complete silence. As I approached the bed, I was unshaken about the deed before me. And why should I be? I was a veteran of countless surgeries. Balancing life and death at the tip of my finger was nothing new to me, nor was staking my livelihood on my capacity to do it successfully. If anything, this should have been easier. There was no tightrope to walk here—none indeed. I only needed to drip a few drops from my vial, and the whole operation would be over.
At the same moment as I hunched over to the bedside, a sudden spree of lightning bathed the windows pale blue. With the room momentarily lit, my destination took on a discernibility both terrible and ugly. Its fat lips quivered in a wheeze, surrounded by mottled flesh and blighted features. Every pore in sight spoke its putrefaction soundlessly. My eyes I kept locked in place—singularly focused. Even physicians have limits; Mine was taking in anymore of this deformity than necessary. Thankfully—oh so thankfully—muscle memory jolted in. The contents of the vial were dispensed in the creature before I could even consciously register it.
It was there that I thought my ordeal over, but before I could breathe a foolhardy sigh of relief, bony, calloused fingers wrapped tight around my wrist—tight with animal desperation. Instinctually, I drew my arm back in surprise, yet I only helped it rise to chest level. With its claws still digging deep into my wrist, it fought against my escape from its death bed. I dared not glance back, unfortunately, there was nothing I could do to protect my ears.
The last ounce of its strength was driven into a shattering scream, the most violent attack on my senses in all its time infesting my manor. Before that night, I had borne witness to many dying patients. Death was rarely a peaceful visitor, but this was something different—entirely different. What the thing produced in death, as in life, grouped it in its own class. The screech seemed to drill through my ears and then rattle across the caverns of my skull. It was not just heard—it was felt—and I speak not only of volume when I relay this to you. A wet spattering sprayed upon my head in enough bulk that beads of it oozed down my neck. Perhaps even worse than the physical assault was the spiritual; the cry was filled with an unfathomably deep anguish and venom. It was as if the thing, in its final revenge on life, had poured out every drop of darkness it had gathered from it.
Finally, the assault was alleviated by the silence of death’s departure, although I was so thoroughly shell shocked by the creature’s calamitous final act that several moments passed before I realized it. My ears still rung with an unheard echo as I finally glanced over and noticed the attendant at my side. For the slightest moment, I stared blankly, feeling my plans exposed, but I quickly regained my composure, despite the growing concern on his face as he continued to repeat his questioning. There was a certain authority I had, as not just a member of a respected field, but a distinguished one. I had the leverage here. Even so, the ease with which I evaded and disarmed the attendant’s concerns proved to myself that my sanity had not transpired with the creature.
By the time I—at last—departed from the room, the attendant was a willing—perhaps even eager—participant in removing the body. We wrapped its corpse in sheets—several layers deep—and delivered it for incineration with pace. The disposal was finished by the morning, and within days, my home was returned to its prior state. It felt as if I had awoken from a nightmare to serenity that seemed so long past it was almost forgotten. In my ignorance, I began to fall into an unearned sense of comfort. If only I could have remained in that ignorant bliss, but my mind was too active—my eye too discerning.
From what I’ve recounted thus far, it must be clear that I was stressed, but even clearer that I kept my faculties intact to complete the necessary cruelties a doctor cannot shrink from. Even with all that accepted—even with what trust has been earned—I expect doubt to overwhelm your reading as I confess my part in the tragedy that consumed this town. Lend your ear, for just a moment longer, and you’ll find I have saved lives—not taken them.
It was from within that my all too brief respite was broken. A gnawing sense of malaise, both of the body and mind, grew in such strength that it overwhelmed the peace I had rediscovered. Even with my acute perception and training, its source I could not immediately place. Only with the irritation and congestion did I finally come to the terrible realization—as a subtle wheeze began to creep into each breath I took. Surely, some who read this will think I am mistaken. That alternative explanations exist and what I read into the symptom was simply a delusion of paranoia. Were they privy to its breathing day and night? Do they have the rattled burned in their memory? No…this connection was not coincidental. As terrifying as it was to consider my own infection, worse yet were my thoughts when I began to consider the extent of its exposure beyond myself.
An awful, crushing weight had fallen on my shoulders. Undoubtably, many will say my response was criminal. You may feel the urge to join their ranks—to cry out damning the madman that destroyed your town. Yet, once you can see the whole story—see it from my eyes, you will find there was not a sliver of madness painting my actions. I had to make the ultimate sacrifice, and under this burden, I locked myself in my chamber for hours—perhaps days. No man—inside which self-preservation is natural instinct—could ever take my course without bone grating internal conflict. Only with the confidence uniquely obtained by suffering through meticulous consideration, did I finally move back into waking life.
Intervention was the only course to prevent an even bleaker fate, and I set upon it with scientific efficiency. I hired local stage drivers to help me enter into correspondence with all who had moved on from my manor out of town, then I drew up a route to hand deliver, from my personal stagecoach, an invitation to all who remained locally. While on that journey, I employed several former assistants. I made sure those I used were in the early stages—if sick at all. They were sent to secure accommodation for a feast while I secured its occupants.
It was the wait to complete this second task that created a wave of anxiousness in me. It rose to such an extent that it threatened to crack the stoic veneer I had learned to maintain from professional experience. Stress ate at me as much or more than sickness, as I awaited confirmation of attendance from those I invited and hoped I could continue to be convincing in my communications with them. It was imperative my net reach as far as possible, and despite the creeping doubt in the pit of my stomach, I soon learned my efforts were not in vain.
At last, the night came. My fears were unfounded, as the vast majority of those I invited were in attendance. The spread could still be contained. Surely, it will be suspected by doubters that I operated without discernment; that I went about my operation indiscriminately—WRONG! Every single invitee was admitted to the hall only after deliberate inspection—nobody’s eye is as sharply tuned to this affliction as I. Sadly, scarce few escaped the quarantine. Nearly all those invited were in the structure when I slipped out—having already addressed the crowd with a few perfunctory remarks on the value of their work and set them forward to enjoy the banquet free of expense. So cleverly had I set the attendees at ease, that they hardly noticed my disappearance, remaining entirely absorbed in the event as I barred the exits.
Most died happy as a silent cleanser passed to them via cup and plate. The few stragglers that remained met a less tranquil end via the chemical ignition of the entire building. All met a fate better than what the untreated progression of their illness would have achieved. As I prepare to join them and put an end to this procedure, I leave this letter to remain as a testament that my judgement never faltered.

I'm an older head so my taste will differ from the younger generation but some of my all-time favorites are: Biggie Nas Sean Price Method Man Ghostface Killah Inspectah Deck GZA Outkast (Especially Andre 3K) Kool G. Rap Bone Thugs N Harmony Yelawolf Eminem Busta Rhymes Redman Ludacris Kendrick Lamar Token DMX Jadakiss Styles P. Goodie Mob Mac Miller O.C. Schoolboy Q I'm definitely forgetting some so please forgive me 🙏

I have a lot of printers. Probably a dozen different HP printers (mostly LaserJets, and a few multifunction wide-format inkjets). I also use Canon photo printers and TSC/Zebra thermals.
I am very familiar with managing HP printers. Aside from the occasional software/firmware bugginess, I have few issues with them. Since I've mostly used the LaserJet Pro series I haven't run into most of the nonsense associated with HP inkjets and consumer printers. However, I've noticed that HP has now begun to expand their nonsense to the LaserJet Pro series with the "e" suffix (e.g. "Works only with HP toner, requires HP account and internet connection").
What I'm trying to figure out is which Brother MFP may or may not work for me. It's kind of hard to tell from their website, and I can't find too many good unboxing/tutorials on YouTube. Specifically, I have several of these kinds of HP MFPs: https://www.hp.com/us-en/shop/pdp/hp-color-laserjet-pro-mfp-m479fdw
There are two functions that I use on HP MFPs that are critical to my workflows:

1. Scan-to-email is the core function I need. I need the printer to have a relatively easily programmable local contacts list that makes it easy to duplex scan from a document feeder to an email address which can be selected from the screen. Workflow is something like this: a shipment gets picked up, final shipping paperwork is signed, warehouse manager consolidates all the paperwork (often two-sided) for that shipment and puts it into the document feeder, selects the appropriate email address to send to based on a pre-set list, and hits scan. PDF shows up a few moments later in the necessary inbox.
2. While not critical, but still very useful, is the ability to do email-to-print. HP's ePrint is fantastic for quickly printing documents remotely which aren't sensitive. HP lets you register the printer with them and they give you an email address that you can just send stuff too and it prints. It's kind of magically because you can just attach any regular file (PDF, DOC, XLS) and the printer just prints it off.

I'm in need of a new MFP and I was going to pick up yet another HP, but after seeing this e-series nonsense I'm considering other options. Brother seems to have a pretty nice selection in the price ranges I'm looking at (between $400-$800), but I can't seem to confirm whether or not they support these two features—and if they do, how they might be implemented or different from the HP that I'm used to.
Any input is appreciated.

Note: This is a series I want to create, centred around some given element or facet of worldbuilding and storytelling. Primarily, each post will either be a piece of hard science in terms of physics or logistics or otherwise core elements of the setting itself (such as military structure), or non-physical core elements of the people and their world (such as sports and personal enjoyment matters, for emotional regulation and social stability, among other reasons). In short: all the things that actually create a functional, realistic culture.
A random (meaning, I have just picked it at random for today), often overlooked element within space opera (and sci-fi in general) would be all things recreational. You might not find a good way to heavily feature this into your (say) novel, game, or screenplay, but it can be something to just touch upon, and have in your notes, as it will at least indirectly relate to the wider world you're building (so, it's worth knowing, as the author).
The logic is very simple: using humanity as a fundamental base (technically, an axiom), we can conclude that any humanoid or even alien species would have to gift themselves some kind of national sport, wargame, gambling system, or otherwise. The real-world examples literally encompass almost all of culture itself, making me believe that if your people are even remotely humanoid in their fundamental nature, then the recreational is a core facet of culture itself. This is so integrated into our real culture (rather, cultures) that we take it for granted, and don't even think about it when it comes to fiction-writing. But, it's a nice thing to add if you want added realism and stability, or an extra human touch.
For whatever reason, fantasy seems to feature invented sports and the like far more than sci-fi (unless such is the entire narrative of the sci-fi story, of course -- and, then, it's typically car-based). If we look to history, we clearly have the very creation of modern dice (India) as a gambling tool, and we have wargames (Go and Chess, etc.) as either direct military training tools (wargames proper), or abstracted wargames for more general use, since at least 3000 BC. Sports-wise, we see Blood Bowl (Warhammer fantasy sports game), Quidditch (fantasy; Harry Potter, which is akin to football mixed with netball in the air), and a dozen major examples from sci-fi, often featuring murder and cars (which we could see as a kind of replacement for the Roman and Greek sports), or else some kind of American sport hybrid. These include Real Steel, Futuresport, The Running Man, Rollerball, and Death Race (also, movies by the same names).
The aforementioned are obviously plot devices, and possibly don't have a place within your space opera setting and story. But, the fundamental drive and psychology are there. There are a few other examples from sci-fi board games and novels. Not to mention general sports and activities, such as Swimming.
Personally, I have made my national sport and recreation activity Swimming. The reason is four-fold: (1) it is a driver for both health and relaxation; (2) it can be social and peaceful; (3) for symbolic reasons; and (4) because there is likely not much water in space, yet humans still have a deep drive towards water (naturally, this is only applicable to any water-based culture, such as humans). It also occurs to me that water is a natural fitting for space, more so, if we take the TV trope, 'space is an ocean' (which does seem to be the natural categorisation, though it's not the only one). Another reason might be that it creates a reward system/social mobility, or at least the implication of such. Maybe, boarding a spaceship and taking a trip to the 'local' Swimming Centre is the week's holiday for your lower class people. On the other hand, maybe the high class types sit in Swimming Centres all the time. Not an uncommon trend throughout both fiction and history, as you might imagine.
That's just my own example, and may act as a springboard (no pun intended). You can justify dozens of real sports and otherwise activities, or invent your own. They may be readily accessible, or limited to certain classes of people or otherwise groups. There will likely be many different activities and sports for all your peoples, just as we see on Earth.
If you're writing a novel, just one trip to one sports centre or otherwise will do the trick, assuming you have planted in the reader's mind the notion that this is very normal and healthy for the culture/people. Best is to try and fit it into the wider plot, or else as a passing element (a few pages). One natural way to deal with this is to tie such into a wider theme or plot-point. Don't just have people randomly go Swimming just to inform the readers that they are Swimming. You need to work it in a bit better than that.
Depending on your culture, you may want a dozen violent/unhealthy sports and activities, or you (i.e. your culture's governing body, etc.) may only regulate more peaceful, healthy ones. I would try and tie this into the wider theme, anyway, and take into account the kind of people/culture you have. For example, you may or may not want Football with ant-like robots. On the other hand, bottle-tossing for big space Russians always sounds like a fun game.
If your culture is based on Americans or Hongkongian, for example, then you should think about their native sports and activities, and how that might fit into whatever you're doing with them in space/the future. Other than that, you need to consider the (a) disposition of your culture; (b) the history of your culture; (c) the function of your culture; (d) the state of your culture; and (e) the peoples of your culture. Although this is not an exhaustive list, it should suffice.
It also occurs to me, we just don't see enough sports in space outside of these movies/stories that are wholly dedicated to said sports, which is weird considering how sport-obsessed humans have become since 500 BC (but, especially since 1920 AD). This is often in relation to the ruling classes in rich, urban settings (cities/towns), or the average citizens in urban areas, finding a bit more free time on their hands (i.e. Scotland and England circa 1920 AD). Makes sense: you have bored, work-less nobles, or even workers with nothing to do. They need something to do; thus, they invented all sorts of games, wargames, and sports. You see this with horse-related games, ball-related games, and even something like fox tossing. Tennis was 'the game' (popular sport) of the middle classes and above by the 1880s through the 1980s (hence, most early video sports games of the 1950s through 1970s were all Tennis-based). Worth noting that most early video games were themselves sports games or wargames! Actually, most video games are wargames circa 2023 AD, with a vast number of the rest being sports. I stress this only to stress the importance of such things to human culture and entertainment... indeed, most of our entertainment is also either war-based (Boxing, etc.) or otherwise sports (Football, etc.). Not shockingly, most modern sports were invented, therefore, in the British Empire (sometimes with French or Dutch roots). Older sports are seemingly universal -- ranging from Africa to Native Americans to India -- and are typically ball-based (classically, often using heads, or else leather balls).
Of course, most sports are impossible in zero gravity, so I'm just assuming you're creating some kind of zero gravity war-based game, or otherwise sport (fundamentally throwing-based or ball-based), or your culture is on a planet or space station of some kind, which has artificial gravity.
Tron is a great example of offering some inspiration (duel type, and others), not to mention Spy Kids 3D (car race), Speed Racer (car race), and Ready Player One (car race). Then, you have combat training type games (I'll just call these 'physical wargames') and VR games (Gamer movie, for example), not to mention VR holiday trips.
Speaking of which, I'm reminded of Germany's vast, cheap, powerful cruise trip system by 1938, which saw millions of working (and fairly poor) Germans taking such Party-run trips and holidays (mostly a propaganda tool, funded with blood money, of course). In the more modern context, this is what we saw by the 1950s in America and England with various holiday sites, theme parks, modern cruise trips, and beach holidays (though these do date to at least 1920, but typically only by the middle classes and above). No less, Tolkien himself once came on holiday to the town I live in (on the coast, North of England), which was a famous holiday town back in the 1850s through 1960s. This was commonplace, including long walks through the woods and various built-up areas. Even in the 1700s, people began going to the 'sea air' for so-called health benefits. In reality, this was likely due to the fact the city air was unhealthy. The sea air was simply fresh, clean air (though, it likely is good for you, psychologically speaking, compared to the grey-state of city life). All of this to say that humans have a deep desire to be in nature, and to relax. This is true most of all for the rich and urbanised (as you can imagine).
Space theme park, anyone? Giant cinema on the Moon? Sure, why not. Titanic cruise trip across the galaxy? Doctor Who already did that, but you get my point! There is much to be done, and you only have to add a few such items, and briefly touch upon them, but I think it does wonders for the human connection, and some added realism (assuming such correctly fits your setting and themes).
There are many other activities of note, of course, including but not limited to art groups, acting/plays, drinking games, general board/video games, card/dice/token games, sword-based sports, hunting, Shooting (sport), and actual warfare.
The only other thing I should like to say is that gambling is not always wholly a negative, nor drinking. These ensure that people have something to do at the end of eacfh day/week, without rioting against the system or going insane/depressed. Gambling and drinking are about as old as modern culture itself (at least 7,000 years), so it's not a trivial matter. You may or may not want these in your setting in some manner: think that the key positive function to gambling is social mobility, as it allows poor people to climb up the social ladder by winning large sums of money (or, rather, gives them the hope of such). However, this needs to be contained, because (a) you actually need people to climb the social ladder, unless they are kept there; and (b) studies indicate that gambling doesn't actually work in this way, as most winners fall back to zero after 12 months. This assumes you have some kind of social caste system, which is money-driven, of course (which is very common). Drinking is simple: it keeps men off the streets and not as depressed, which is very good for a functional culture (despite the major negative social (and health) impacts of drinking itself according to studies). Alcohol comes to us via the Arabic, and I read that it comes from at least 7,000 BC. I read that gambling stems from many games/betting from 'knucklebones' (goats/sheep, mostly, around the Near East, then India, China, Greece, etc.), around 5000 BC (at least). I'm not sure if this was purely for gambling purposes, or the later form of divination (hence, the origin of dice). We still treat dice (such as in modern board games) as if we are fighting the gods of fate... as if we are making a bet with the future itself. This is part of 'divination', at least. This makes sense, if you think about it in a Jungian and Darwinian context (most of all, of the typical male brain pattern of high risk and high reward, clearly stemming from hunting). This would be pure speculation, but I like to think that these early gamblers were betting on Fate, struggling with the spirits of the animals of said bones (goats/sheep), maybe trying to get good omen/luck from them. We have certainly seen a great deal of such activity in the past, as evidenced by cave paintings and various omen rituals. I believe a future space human culture would have such things in place, too, just in different ways.
Right now, for example, the major form of gambling is hitting young boys via video games and their 'loot crate' systems, which is actually very dangerous and often illegal. These are almost always on war-driven games, so the connection back to hunting goats and bone-dice is not such a leap -- it's just a simulated, digital, nested form. Another major form of gambling over the last few decaes has been Boxing, which is literal combat/fighting between man. If your space opera has a primary focus on actual warfare, however, I think such sports and games are unneeded (for the most part). Only within a non-war context would your culture require such replacements (i.e. sports and wargames), but I do believe the royals/nobles of your setting would have such activities, as they are likely to have great amounts of free time, and not actively enage in warfare (though, you could primarily fill their time with politics and/or religion).
I have said enough for today. Ah, speaking of which: talking might be another consideration for your culture. This is literally as old as man, and does count as such an activity in the context of debate. You famously find this within the Jewish and Islamic worlds: likely because they don't enage with the other items I mentioned as much, and their religions require great moral debate and such. On the other hand, Buddhism requires a lot of silent thinking (which is a kind of debate, in a sense). This heavily depends on your culture's primary religion and otherwise. Some cultures are almost purely geared towards warfare, for example, like the Akkadian Empire (though we are likely a bit harsh on that). In this case, the focus would be on action. If your culture is anything like the modern West, then it's also going to be heavily driven by action, purely due to the speed of the culture and its workers. How this manifests itself depends on the type of government and culture you have in place (the Dutch Empire vs. the U.S., for example).
I'm sure I've forgotten a few key items and categories, and I'm sorry for that!
(Clearly, within a cyberpunk direction or more classical space opera context, the primary free-time activities and modes tend to be centred around sex, war, and/or slave-labour, as shown by Star Wars in general, for example. This may or may not fit your world and story, however. The other core negative item would be gambling, which is the only item which doesn't innately involve the body, though often bleeds over into various animal gambling games/activities. You may find that you have certain sci-fi/space creatures in your world, for example, and find yourself creating a gambling game out of that. Typically, you either make said creatures fight each other or race/run. This typically keeps the more lower classes engaged in the 'slums' sector (typically of a planet). Very common trope/theme, as noted in the bright-cyberpunk-space-opera sort of movie, The Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), when they go to a trading hub planet, filled with crime, sex rings, and gambling, including little weird creatures fighting each other, akin to dog fighting or such on Earth. But, again: you don't actually require this, it's just one popular way to go within the wider sci-fi context, and it serves a few purposes, in-universe.)

Hi there, I just recently finished MOPA and I still have my first year books on hand. These books include:
-A to Z Guide to Film Terms by Tim Moshansky
-Screenplay: The Foundations of Screenwriting by Syd Field
-Writing The Short Film by Pat Cooper and Ken Dancyger
-Adaptation: The Shooting Script by Charlie Kaufman and Donald Kaufman
-Making The Magic Happen: The Art and Craft of Film Directing by Peter D Marshall
All of the books are in good used condition (some minor wear or bending on some covers or pages). These are all required or recommended books for first year MOPA as of this past school year. The only book that is usually asked to be bought that is NOT included in this bundle is the Juno Shooting Script.
I'm looking to sell all of these books together to an incoming MOPA student for about $50 (regular retail price ~$200+ dollars). I can meetup in the Vancouver area or can mail anywhere in Canada if you pay for shipping. Contact me if you are interested.