Anyone has any info if this skin or bundle Is going to be available soon? Just came back into the game after like 2 years of not playing and I remember that I was drooling over this outfit when season 8 was coming to an end, couldnt get it cause it was the last unlock on the seasonboard (they look different nowadays, before you could only get what they gave you for next score rank and now you can kind of choose from available stuff) and I remember I just started playing moments before season 9 came and was like dont know maybe rank 5 - no outfit for me, not even a slightest chance for it x) Fell in love with this outfit cause it's the real OG armored vault suit vault dweller fallout look (drip). I've been watching some videos from the past atomic shop offers cause I was wondering what kind of cool new outfits they added to the game and saw that it was available in december and well of course here goes my luck - missed it. Saw some info that you can buy atomic shop stuff from bethesda support but when I tried to write and buy it they told me that they cannot sell it to me for some reasons, asked them when is it going to be available and got no response, no wonder lol big corpo. I GUESS IT WOULD SELL LIKE HOT BUNS AFTER THE SHOW AIRED... <-- just saying this in case bethesda reads this reddit board. xd If anyone got any info pls write.
https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/7d462bf9-74df-4fc2-a16a-43b22e9cbf14/df2dome-ea098e09-a5d5-4266-9c82-16d4b7fc2d4b.png/v1/fill/w_1192,h_670,q_70,strp/fallout_76_vault_survivor_outfit_by_spartan22294_df2dome-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9NzIwIiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvN2Q0NjJiZjktNzRkZi00ZmMyLWExNmEtNDNiMjJlOWNiZjE0XC9kZjJkb21lLWVhMDk4ZTA5LWE1ZDUtNDI2Ni05YzgyLTE2ZDRiN2ZjMmQ0Yi5wbmciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MTI4MCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl19.0qOZY1NpfcidLKiOE26lxvQ6RPSF4HdSRm3BQ5TksIo

To preface i'm writing not because I feel any shame or regret but just because I think its quite funny and couldn't really talk to any of my friends about it.
I'm a young guy starting dental school on top of a part time job with a lot of bills and not much time. Having a big passion about STEM and biology research in particular has made me very spiteful towards conspiracy theorists, anti-vaxxers in particular. My uncle got sucked into an anti-vax rabbit hole and nearly died from covid in 2021 which probably doesn't help my bias.
Anyways the instagram algorithm sent me a dating app for anti-vaxxers so they could stay "pure-blooded". I saw the potential for some trolling and also wanted to test my hypothesis that conspiracy theorists are in reality the group with the LEAST critical thinking, despite their bragging of being above the "sheep". So I googled "Korean model" on instagram and grabbed the first images that showed up and made a sloppy profile in around 5 minutes. I tried messaging some people but didn't get any responses in the first few minutes so I gave up and went to bed.
I woke up the next morning with around 30 DMs from the desperate, usually middle aged men, drooling over this profile. Not a single person bothered to reverse image search or was suspicious at all. I should also add the male/female ratio on the site was so bad men had to pay a subscription fee to join and women could make a profile for free. Anyways I started just planning to waste some people's time and just nodded along to all the old men talking about how evil bill gates is and how much smarter we were than the rest of society.
One asked me what I did for work and I had a little idea and just said I was a cashier and I was struggling a little financially. The geezer said he could help and asked for my PayPal. I was a little shocked but I made a quick fake one and gave it to him. He instantly sent me $100 and said to ask him for anything if I needed it. At this point I had at least 80 guys messaging me. Some I moved to a fake discord account or a telegram. I used the same trick casually bringing up I was struggling and nearly all of them offered to help me out.
one or 2 old guys who were particularly obsessed I kept up with the most and they sent hundreds of dollars at a time. I'd just go home log in and go "Wow you're so smart how do you know all this" or "I'm so glad I have someone as awake as you to show me the truth" and pretend to watch their weird schizo rumble and bitchute videos for an hour each day and got payments daily. Every now and then a rare one would get suspicious and ask to call so I downloaded an AI voice modifier that worked if I whispered. Then I'd act all embarrassed and ashamed and they'd send me money apologising for being too demanding. The largest I got was $2,000 from a real geezer for me to buy a premium fluoride water filter and to by a plane ticket to fly and meet him.
After that I got a little worried it was getting out of hand or too risky so I deleted the account, blocked them all and decided to quit while I was ahead. In total I made $6,130 sent through paypal + a $500 amazon gift card. I'm now fully confident that these people don't have any critical thinking since not a single stopped to think "should I really be sending hundreds of dollars to an internet stranger?". I also should add there was a big anti-jew sentiment and an anti-mexican sentiment among most of these guys. Common rants included the Jews controlling everything and making the vaccine to kill everyone and the mexicans invading all the southern states through the border.
Thanks for reading! If you think i'm an awful person thats fine but I'll never feel bad for those smug morons. If you think you're uncontrollable or immune to manipulation you deserve to be humbled in my opinion.

1) Will this be your first dog? If not, what experience do you have owning/training dogs?
I have always been around dogs including growing up with dogs and taking an active role in training and care. Family dogs have included two mutt rescues, two Goldens, and currently two Havanese (which I take care of when they can't travel with my parents).
2) Do you have a preference for rescuing a dog vs. going through a reputable breeder?
I'm open to rescue but would likely need a puppy (as I need to be able to train and socialize early on to get what I'm after)
3) Describe your ideal dog.
A clingy couch potato that doesn't regularly need a lot of stimulation outside of hanging out with me.
4) What breeds or types of dogs are you interested in and why?
It never would have been on my quick list, but looking at my needs no breed comes up more than a Bullmastiff. My concerns are the drool (I'm OCD), and with the size with regard to lifespan, food costs, and physical control- I have a bad back, but that's going to be an issue with any size poorly trained dog and most activity will likely be off leash.
I loved our Goldens and either one would fit nicely into my needs (save the long hair). But I'm worried we got lucky with low energy Goldens (they often didn't get daily activity and yet no behavior or health issues)- so because of energy levels they aren't on my list right now.
I like many of the pitbull breeds, they are a great size, I like the idea of combating the image of the big scary pitbull- but like Goldens they aren't on my list because of worries of energy levels.
I'm not inherently opposed to labs.
I always adored Corgis but I don't think they are a match to my needs (barking, energy levels, small).
I don't want to overly worry about energy levels, obviously most dogs out there don't get the ideal activity levels and they do fine. But it also feels risky going with breeds known to be higher energy.
5) What sorts of things would you like to train your dog to do?
Basics- sit/stay/come/heel/bang
6) Do you want to compete with your dog in a sport (e.g. agility, obedience, rally) or use your dog for a form of work (e.g. hunting, herding, livestock guarding)? If so, how much experience do you have with this work/sport?
No
Care Commitments
7) How long do you want to devote to training, playing with, or otherwise interacting with your dog each day?
I cannot commit to daily walks or fetch, but I'm home all day (and not WFH) so I will be attentive to pooch's needs and he will always get a lot of attention if not activity. I'm prepared for the fact that no two dogs are alike, and things like activity/engagement levels will adjust over time based on my dogs individual needs and his behavior.
Ideally he would spend all day with me, including multiple visits a week to my parents- where he can take advantage of a fenced yard and socialize with their two Havanese (which he would begin right away).
8) How long can you exercise your dog each day, on average? What sorts of exercise are you planning to give your dog regularly and does that include using a dog park?
Not a believer in dog parks. I think I mostly answered this question in the previous.
9) How much regular brushing are you willing to do? Are you open to trimming hair, cleaning ears, or doing other grooming at home? If not, would you be willing to pay a professional to do it regularly?
Similar to exercise I will respond to his needs. I'm not commiting up front to weekly baths and daily tooth brushing, but if his behavior or the vet indicates an area to focus I will do so. On a regular basis I mostly anticipate brushing weeklyish, nails regularly, ears/teeth etc. as needed. It will be more difficult, but the same stuff I keep up with already on my cat.
Personal Preferences
10) What size dog are you looking for?
It doesn't really matter though I'm not usually into smaller dogs.
11) How much shedding, barking, and slobber can you handle?
Barking must be minimal due to apartment living. Shedding and slobber are what they are, like anyone I would prefer zero, some is ok, with the right dog I will learn to love his slobber right? Lol
12) How important is being able to let your dog off-leash in an unfenced area?
Fairly but I'm a believer that virtually any dog is capable of this with decent training.
Dog Personality and Behavior
13) Do you want a snuggly dog or one that prefers some personal space?
I already have a cat, he gives me plenty of personal space to fill with a pooch!
14) Would you prefer a dog that wants to do its own thing or one that’s more eager-to-please?
Eager to please
15) How would you prefer your dog to respond to someone knocking on the door or entering your yard? How would you prefer your dog to greet strangers or visitors?
A bark is fine, but it needs to stop quickly both by command or naturally. Window placement means he wouldn't actually have much visibility to the front yard and cannot see people at the door.
16) Are you willing to manage a dog that is aggressive to other dogs?
No, but he will be socialized with other dogs on a regular basis right out of the gate. This is an example of where I would be apprehensive about rescuing.
17) Are there any other behaviors you can’t deal with or want to avoid?
Not that come to mind
Lifestyle
18) How often and how long will the dog be left alone?
Just for quick errands or appointments, an hour or two here or there.
19) What are the dog-related preferences of other people in the house and what will be their involvement in caring for the dog?
No one else in the home.
20) Do you have other pets or are you planning on having other pets? What breed or type of animal are they?
One cat, he has some exposure to adjustments including dogs, and I'm prepared for a slow introduction process. I'm able to block off an entire room for him with his box and he has lots of vertical options (Jackson Galaxy wouldn't be disappointed).
21) Will the dog be interacting with children regularly?
No
22) Do you rent or plan to rent in the future? If applicable, what breed or weight restrictions are on your current lease?
No
23) What city or country do you live in and are you aware of any laws banning certain breeds?
None that I'm aware of but my vet (family friend) will let me know when I talk breeds with him.
24) What is the average temperature of a typical summer and winter day where you live?
Fairly temperate with the odd spike in heat or cold, nothing unusual.
Additional Information and Questions
25) Please provide any additional information you feel may be relevant.
I'm disabled and there is a potential for a service dog. I don't think this route is worth pursuing though as the main physical service that I would benefit from is with waking (one goal with a dog is bringing some schedule and routine to my days), which any dog is inherently going to do. Otherwise the dog would mostly be serving emotional support needs (eg: providing pressure and comfort during panic attacks will be appreciated, but no need for a dog that can like alert to oncoming attacks). With that limited scope it doesn't seem like it would be worth the time and money to pursue, especially with people in much greater need out there. But, I guess I'm curious if anyone thinks that's worth pursuing.
26) Feel free to ask any questions below.
If I'm not mistaken puppy season is well upon us, if I do have to lean more into rescuing and look for a puppy- other than the obvious behavioral signs what should I look for? Are there mixes to avoid, a certain cutoff age I should set for myself, etc?

I don't need to tell anyone here that housing affordability is bad right now so I'll cut to the chase...
What can be done about it?
I got seven proposals to address the problem.
But first.. lets talk about what I call 'Non-Solutions'.
A Non-Solution is something that feels like a solution but isn't. For example: Scratching at itchy skin isn't a solution to a rash.
There's a few Non-Solutions I'm going to be avoiding with my proposals:

• Price Fixing: Simply mandating that X costs $N, at a government level, doesn't fix anything. Ask USSR. Prices determined by markets are not 'fair', but they are realistic outcomes to the situations which created them, whether it's a lack of regulation, lack of supply, etc. High prices are a symptom of bigger problems that need to be addressed.
• Free Money: While it seems like an easy fix, just handing out money until everyone can afford everything, you don't need to be an economist to know that doesn't work. Prices are a function of purchase power. If you increase everyone's purchase power equally, prices will adjust to match. We've all seen this, the inflation we're experiencing right now in Australia is likely a direct outcome of the spending during the pandemic.

Instead solutions need to be formed through means such as:

• Using the tax system to incentivise behaviour that results in cheaper housing, and de-incentivise behaviour that results in more expensive housing.
• Adjusting laws that result in more expensive housing, removing laws that are an obstacle to cheaper housing.
• Creating alternatives to the existing housing stock in the market.
• Government initiatives that increase housing stock.

So - what could we do?

Proposal 1 - The AAHC

I call it the 'Australian Affordable Housing Construction Company', aka, AAHC Co.
Government initiated housing construction company, similar to the NBN Co.
It has one goal: Build houses and sell them. It has a target rate of 'houses/quarter' it aims to construct houses at. That rate is set by an independent body that aims to keep the cost of housing to a fixed level relative to incomes, and controlled in a fashion similar to the official interest rate. Another lever on the economy. The rate increases when housing supply is low, and decreases when housing supply is high.
The AAHC builds houses. Then sells them. Simple as that. No other purpose. The goal is to break even, build houses, sell them at market value (no profit). The great thing is, this means the AAHC has a net zero funding cost for the tax payer - literally costs nothing to run, because it pays for itself through sales of houses.
The actual construction would be done by external private construction companies under contract who compete under bids to build suburbs worth of houses in large projects. Which is another benefit. Lots of jobs creation, a big boon for our local manufacturing and construction industry, and any related employment opportunities (construction companies don't just hire builders after all, they hire graphic designers, accountants, managers, receptionists, etc).
As additional benefit, because the government is building the houses, it can ensure the houses meet conditions and standards we the people want to see applied to future housing construction. So it could be mandated for example, every new home constructed must have air conditioning, must have solar panels, etc.
The AAHC Co in summary:

• Allows for a market based approach to control the cost of housing.
• Costs nothing (to the taxpayer) to run, self funded.
• Reduces the single largest expense we have in life (housing).
• Would create tens of thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands, of jobs.
• Can improve the quality of our supply of houses in the market by building better houses.

Proposal 2 - Nationalised Definitions of 'Tiny Homes', and Easing Of Laws Regarding Them

The reality is, there is such a shortfall of housing in Australia, that it may take a decade or longer to address the problem, even if we started implementing the right policies to do so today.
What people need is alternatives. Today.
Such as 'Tiny Homes'.
Tiny homes can be constructed in larger quantities, prefab, for cheaper than a house, and constructed on a trailer frame which allows them to be easily moved and transported.
They can be significantly cheaper than a house, and moved easily, opening up prospects for someone to own reasonable housing in Australia for a fraction of the cost of buying an established constructed house, by buying very cheap land, a cheap 'Tiny Home' and parking it permanently on their land. Then eventually moving it on, selling it even, once it comes time to upgrade to a permanent fixture house, or move into a larger fixed house.
Because they're legally defined as caravans, they subject to all the same rules.
The first problem is, those rules vary depending on where you live. Not just for each state, but even depending which council you live in. Some councils have no clear regulations at all, making matters worse. A nationalised definition of a 'Tiny Home', and national laws regarding them, would make life easier for everyone.
The second problem is, because currently Tiny Homes are defined legally as Caravans, they are subject to the same restrictions, which can be stifling, such as, subject to location (state or council laws vary). Here are some of the worst restrictions found around the country:

• Can not be placed on a vacant block of land without an existing dwelling
• No more than 1 is allowed on residential land
• Contains no more than 2 bedrooms
• Requires development approval every time they're moved
• May result in additional charges for council rates

A nationalised legal framework for tiny homes, and easing of laws around them, to make them easier and cheaper to obtain, install and live in, would open up possibilities for alternative means of housing to ease the burden on the existing housing market.

Proposal 3 - Housing Super Fund

Super is a well established method for ensuring individuals can afford their retirement without resorting to giving people free money or price fixing the cost of retirement. It forces employers to make contributions to employee's super funds, that then collect interest, grow, and eventually can be accessed at retirement age.
This is a mechanism we can borrow to achieve a similar result for renters, to allow them eventually afford housing.
I call it a 'Housing Super Fund'.
How it could work is like this:
Every tenant in Australia, could have a 'housing super fund' set up for them when they start renting. Every time a tenant pays rent, the land lord receiving the rental payment, could be required to deposit 5% of that payment into the tenant's housing super fund.
Land lords will insist, argue, that they will put up rents by 5% to compensate. But this is a lie. Prices are determined by customer purchase power. Renters will not have any additional purchase power as a result of this change. Rents won't go up in real terms over a long period of time, instead this change eats a cut away of rents from landlords and invests it on the behalf of tenants.
The housing super fund could be made accessible if and when a tenant is making their "first home purchase". If that never occurs, the funds could available automatically at retirement age instead.

Proposal 4 - Increased Property Taxes for Landlords & Elimination of Negative Gearing

While some people are facing the prospect that they may NEVER be able to afford a house in their lifetime - other individuals, might have as many as 7 properties, and are currently shopping for their 8th.
It's obvious, that the system strongly favours those who already own houses and have capital, ahead of those who don't.
So, simple solution, is to increase taxes for being a landlord.
Property taxes faced by individuals could be higher for those who own more than one house, and increase with each additional house owned.
And, Negative Gearing, eliminated, since it creates such a massive financial incentive to own more than one house.

Proposal 5 - 'Owner Occupier Only' Zoning

A new type of residential zoning.
Houses constructed in one of these zones, can not be used as investment properties. They can only be occupied by the owner of the home and with high taxes on vacant homes. This would remove some properties from the investment market entirely, freeing them up to be bought and lived in by people rather than rented out by landlords.
This new type of zoning could help first home buyers enter the market and create a market of houses that are free from the speculative nature of property investment.
An ideal goal would be to have at least 20% of residential zones rezoned to this new type of zone.
How would rezoning work? Existing rental properties in an area rezoned as 'Owner Occupier Only' could remain as rental properties throughout the duration of the remainder of the tenants stay in the property. After that however, it would no longer be possible to rent out the property, it would have to be either sold to an owner occupier, or moved into, or face high taxes for vacancy.

Proposal 6 - Harsh taxes on empty resident housing

A simple proposal.
There are empty houses across Australia.
Tax the owners until they either rent them out or sell them or move into them.

Proposal 7 - Housing HELP Loan

Saved the best for last. Got a HELP Loan? Then you know how this loan structure works.
You borrow money from the government to pay for education, and then pay off that help loan in your taxes, if and when your income is above a minimum threshold. In the mean time, the loan amount is adjusted based on interest rates at the end of each financial year.
There's no reason why we can't have a similar loan structure made available for housing.
'Housing HELP Loan' could be made available to cover up to 75% of the purchase price of an individual's first home, with the remaining 25% required as an upfront deposit. The loan then can be paid off as part of the individual's taxes if and when their income is above a minimum threshold.
This would enable millions who currently can't get a home loan to finally get one, and ensure the debt of a home loan isn't financially crushing when individuals end up in a situation where they are temporarily unable to pay off their loan due to loss of employment.
That's 7 proposals to fixing housing affordability in Australia.
Which ones do you think would work?
Which ones do you think would stand a chance politically of being supported by a major party and made into reality?

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Synopsis:
Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.
Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.
Chapter 239: Standing Start
A wine bottle rolled against the side of my boot.
Amidst a gallery of stunned faces and open mouths, it was easily the second most lively thing here.
The first was a clockwork doll clutching at her stomach in pain.
“Ahahahha~ ahahaha~ ahah … uck … ack … ughh … ahahaha~”
I pursed my lips.
Still, I said nothing.
For one thing, this was precisely what happened when one ate the mouldy cinnamon rolls combined with any grass growing by the side of the road. If Apple refused to eat something, then so should she.
But for another–
“What … What is this … ?”
It was because the first response was reserved for the baroness.
Her words came out in a quivering tone, matching the disbelief upon her face.
Frankly, she had to do better than that.
Only the wine from the bottle I nudged away dribbled into the soil. And also the line of drool from a comatose farmer. But I didn’t want to think about that.
Still, it was an excellent benchmark. Until her tears could properly overpower the sour aroma from the Château de Riaré Hensoise, I would deem her bawling to be incomplete.
She had a long way to go.
“How … How are you still …” she began, slowly rising from her seat. “This … This is impossible–”
I offered a tidy smile alongside a flick of my hair, relishing in the moonlight adorning my figure.
“I agree. It shouldn’t be possible. But I assure you, my skin is 100% natural.”
“E-Excuse me … ?”
“No magical enchantments. No unicorn elixirs. No witchly glamors. Just a healthy sleep schedule of however many hours I desire and a diet of fresh strawberry shortcakes.”
The baroness mouthed silently at my secrets being revealed.
A strange way of offering her gratitude. Other princesses hounded my door for this knowledge. Given her pale, blotchy skin and lips as dry as a pond in a desert, she should be pleading for more.
Instead, she pointed at the fallen drunk beside us.
“This … This shouldn’t be possible … no, wait … the clockwork doll … did she–”
She suddenly snapped towards Coppelia, her eyes widening.
“Uuh … ahaha … ugh, it hurts ... ahaha … it hurts so much … ahaha … my tummy … aha … oh no … I’m … I’m seeing daisies … aha … I … ugh … I think I need help …”
Coppelia hugged her stomach, writhing like a freshly hatched caterpillar. Her eyes darkened as hiccups of laughter assailed her defeated form.
The baroness pursed her lips.
Then, she turned to Renise instead.
“Did you–”
“A-Amazing! … I … I have no idea what you did … but it wasn’t just wonderful … it was beautiful! The colours! The warmth! It was like a rainbow come to life!”
With a smile worthy of any attendant, the maid brought her hands together in polite applause. Naturally, to be praised for my brushwork was nothing new to me. Nor was the sight of stars shining in her eyes with greater brightness than any in the night sky.
Why, that even came whenever I left my bedroom.
“You … how did … how did you defeat him … ?”
The strands of the baroness’s golden hair began to frizzle as she turned towards me. All I saw were her tonsils. Bright red and healthy. She should be pleased.
“This was … this was no common man … do you know who he is … ?”
Without offering a chance to ignore her, she stamped a foot, pointing at the fallen drunk with maddened jabs. The man offered no defence, now as spent and drained as the bottle beside him.
I raised a brow.
“Indeed, I do. He’s a farmer who made poor life choices. And between leaving his farm and offering his pitchfork to an overly ambitious baroness, the greater was you. My congratulations on being the superior mistake. I acknowledge your triumph.”
Bwam.
The baroness promptly slapped her palms down on the table.
“This man … is Willem of Hagel,” she said, her teeth gritted together. “A man desperate and cursed.”
“Yes, well, to be a peasant is a dire thing. But it could be worse. At least he isn’t nobility.”
A mouth further widened before me.
Indeed, this was a terrible time to realise her affliction. But I was no famed angel of healing for nothing. There was a cure for ambition. And it involved copious amounts of tears.
I was still waiting.
“There is no world in which you should have been able to defeat him … not if half the tales about him prove true … he is a famed opponent … all the while you are … you are …”
Suddenly, her eyes left my face for the very first time.
No longer feeling that my cheeks were in danger of being poked, she swept her eyes upon my person, as though hoping to find some blemish to signify I was as false as a field of corn.
She stopped at the sword by my side.
And also–
“A copper ring,” she said softly.
Suddenly, my 29th house of cards I was subtly constructing collapsed.
… T-The ring!
The blot on my finger! The insidious badge of shame! The symbol of the Adventurer’s Guild!
Why, I’d taken it for granted that my masterful disguise was impervious! But this was no ordinary noblewoman I was seated across!
This … This was one I’d previously sat across before!
I’d made a terrible mistake!
I was mesmerising! A beautiful princess as charming as I was modest!
There was utterly no scenario in which I’d be forgotten!
I … I should have removed the copper ring!
“O-Oho … ohoho … w-what copper ring?” I said, my hands vanishing below the table at a speed con artists could only nod at. “Ah, do you refer to the ruby inlaid ring I often carry on my hand? The one which changes colour depending on the longitude and latitude? In that case, you may very well have briefly spied something which resembled a copper hue. But it is in fact a thing of unparalleled beauty and craftsmanship. Not a disgraceful copper ring.”
The baroness slowly looked up at me, her eyes blinking.
“No. I wasn’t mistaken. I … I recognise that ring. It is a copper ring, the same size and shape as those worn by … adventurers.”
My mouth widened in horror.
At once, I immediately sought a plant pot or a heavy book. Something to immediately erase the past few seconds of her memory.
Why … if she knew my secret, then the shame would haunt me all the way until I’d found something weighing at least equivalent to a standard hardback!
“I see,” she mumbled, as much to herself as me. “I understand now …”
The baroness removed her palms from the table.
She stood up straight, a hard expression upon her face. One which calculated with each passing moment the optimal way to exploit this devastating information.
Then, she took in a deep breath–just as I began assembling the playing cards into a thick pile.
“… it must be a legendary artifact.”
As I began eyeing her temple … I blinked in non-understanding.
“Excuse me?”
She nodded, her frown harsh enough to permanently crease her skin.
“To wear such a plain, ugly and shameful ring … one which utterly demeans your history, your worth and your pride, destroying any semblance of dignity you possess–”
My hand went to my stomach, struck by as much pain as Coppelia had experienced in a single moment.
“–indeed, to wear a ring so easily mistaken as one belonging to adventurers, the vermin of the world … it must be a truly terrifying artifact.”
I blinked.
And then–
“Ohhho … ohoohho! You … You see the truth of it!”
The baroness squeezed her fists by her side.
“I knew it.”
I nodded, my bangs bouncing against my forehead.
“I-Indeed … ! This ring I carry on me … it is a masterful item of supreme quality, passed down along generations of my family! Why, its appearance matching those of rings worn by adventurers is no coincidence! Theirs are based on this very design! Although they have since tarnished it, it was forged back in the first days of the kingdom when copper was greater than gold! Poured within it is knowledge now lost to time! A power beyond compare, called upon from the depths of the Royal Vault!”
The baroness sucked in a hateful breath.
“Then that explains it,” she said with bitterness ringing throughout her voice. “You were able to defeat such a powerful adversary through the use of your family’s ancient heirlooms.”
“Indeed, this powerful ring with a rare ability I cannot disclose defeated a terrifying farmer! Therefore, there’s no need for you to relay any suggestion that I’m anything but a princess, as far removed from the Adventurer’s Guild as hygiene is to their members!”
The baroness gave no response.
A respite which lasted far too short.
“... I see, then it means the plan continues. Different, yes. But I’ll not be deterred.”
She smiled, the familiar sight of aristocratic opportunism mixed with an utter denial of facts shining within her grey eyes.
I could only react with horror.
“Plan?” I replied, convinced she was well and truly several sandwiches short of a picnic. “Do you mean the plan currently lying in a fallen heap beside us? Did you not just say I defeated your farmer? Your only plan now is to decide which part of the ground you wish to offer your forehead to.”
The baroness shook her head with renewed confidence.
“I think not. To defeat Willem of Hagel, you must have expended every effort you had available. Not a crumb of power could be spared, for to underestimate him would have resulted in your certain loss. Meaning …”
Without hesitation, she gave a multipurpose wave of her hand.
“... You’ve nothing left but a sword you cannot wield, and two retainers against all of mine. One of whom is incapacitated. The other a maid.”
She continued to keep her hand raised. Her simple call to arms.
It took several moments before she cared to even look around her.
A sad thing.
If she had, she would have realised the curiosity of her hoodlums was less than their prudence.
She would have noticed the eyes without loyalty, seeing only the fallen figure of a drunk they’d been led to believe was more than a farmer now watering the ground with his drool.
And she would have noticed the state of her dress, as dishevelled as her ambitions as those she relied upon slinked away in search of newer gutters to inhabit, following instincts she could learn as the last of their feet shuffled into the darkness.
The baroness paled.
It was far too early for that. She had no idea Apple was currently resting in her tavern, and wouldn’t be helping her haul all of the goods which needed delivering to a place less damp than here.
But I could sooth her forthcoming backache with a smile, at least for the assistance already provided.
“You have my gratitude,” I said, brushing a speck of … countryside from my lap. “For so long as the nobility continues to concoct slapdash schemes with no hope of success, the kingdom can continue to assign blame on you when all else goes wrong. When the mobs come calling and heads start rolling, it ensures a steady queue of necks can be offered before ours are reached. That is why the nobility continues to exist, you see, despite the ceaseless treason. So allow me to offer a word of advice when next you wish to survive in a position of responsibility. When fleeing, the best defence isn’t to run faster–it’s to trip the person beside you. And this means better hiring practices.”
I glanced pointedly around me.
All this empty space and not even a single eyepatched second-in-command to use as a distraction? An amateur mistake. One the baroness now realised as her mouth opened wordlessly, the realisation of her solitude only now dawning upon her.
Yet all it invited was a newly wrought defiance.
“I do not mean to flee,” she said, her fists tightly clenched. “I am Arisa Sandholt. And even should I be captured here, you would not be afforded a night’s rest. I am not alone. Whether tonight or tomorrow, this kingdom will fall. I am not alone in planning its demise.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Oh, please. Planning my kingdom’s demise is what everyone does.”
“What?”
“If it’s not being actively planned, it’s because someone’s in the middle of planning how to formulate a plan. And then once they’ve finished planning, they wonder why their plan didn’t work as planned. This is not a cause for concern. It’s a sign the world is still spinning the correct direction.”
The baroness feigned a dignified silence.
It was far too late, of course. By default, nobility had no dignity.
Still, I accepted the effort, and filled the silence with a tidy clap of my hands.
“Now, since you’ve no intention of fleeing, you can be useful instead. I’ll require a full inventory of your stock. I intend to requisition every single item you have in your possession. Every grain. Every crown. And every odd piece of tableware, carpet, candleholder and painting you might have.”
I pointed at the barn. A tragic thing to requisition. But if I was fortunate, it’d grow lacquered tiles and bay windows in the short steps between here and there.
Suddenly, the baroness’s eyes widened. The needless defiance dropped alarmingly from her face.
“Wait … what do you mean by that?”
I paused for a moment, puzzled by her reaction.
This was hardly the complicated part.
“I mean exactly what I mean. This should come as no surprise. I will be emptying every corner of the property you’ve misappropriated, including whatever manner of tunnels you’ve carved for your use. Rest assured, I’ll be employing the talents of my retainers extensively. With or without your cooperation, every single inch of your abode will be inspected by myself for the Royal Treasury’s benefit.”
She blinked between Renise and Coppelia. Although one was dressed as a maid and the other now appeared to be napping on the ground, their skills when it came to matters of unearthing valuables in my kingdom’s underbelly was not one I doubted.
Nor, from the way the baroness gulped, did she.
“I can do it,” she said suddenly.
I looked at her in confusion, uncertain what ploy this was.
“... Excuse me? Do what?”
“The items of value. I can bring them out. There’s no need to personally see to such a thing yourself.”
“While I’m in full agreement, I can hardly trust your reliability in this manner. And besides, I’ll hardly be playing the mule. I shall be supervising while closely assessing every item.”
Once more, the tonsils came out.
An appalling disregard of decorum. There was only one time that nobility was permitted to look so horrified in my presence. And that’s if they were copying my own after I discovered a list of marriage suitors posing as a napkin beneath the dessert spoon again.
“E-Even so … as the one who wronged you, I insist on not troubling a princess any further. If you give me a few moments, I can acquire the most important valuables for you in a fraction of the time you’d spend on finding them.”
“A few moments to hide them, you mean. No, I’m afraid that anything you wish to stuff beneath a floorboard will need to be appropriately examined first.”
I leaned away in mild alarm as a bead of sweat ran down the baroness’s face.
A moment later–
She finally did what only someone in her position could.
Adhering to the instincts of all nobility, she swept up her dress and suddenly dashed away.
Except it wasn’t towards the dark forest, to be lost amidst the shadows and the jaws of whatever awaited her there. It was back towards the barn.
I watched as she stumbled several times before even reaching the steps.
“... A desperate sight, no?” I said, with a sad shake of my head. “To throw away all semblance of the image she’d hoped to craft. Now she flees like a frightened towngirl. She should know that escape is now impossible.”
Beside me, Renise let out a hum.
Far from chasing after the baroness, she collected the pack of cards I’d assembled for memory wiping purposes. She began to build a house of cards.
I looked at her in puzzlement. She gave a strangely pained smile in reply.
“I believe we can offer her a few moments.”
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Can arfid be a result of anorexia recovery? I've struggled with eating since i was i think around 7. I have this vivid image of me looking at my friends legs, who didn't touch and thinking "could this be a reason why she's so popular and pretty while I'm not sociable?" from then on I haven't eaten breakfast in another 8 years. Between middle school and highschool it got worse and I was skipping meals at every given opportunity, not necessarily counting calories. I didn't binge nor make up for the cals i hadn't eaten in the one meal, but i was stuck at 47kg. Last summer it all worsened and i was religiously counting calories, and eventually i got to 42kg. Thrn i went to my sister's house (she's also struggled with food, mainly binge tho) and i felt like i was a disappointment in her eyes so i started trying to recover on my own (i had already tried many times but i thought i was hopeless). I restored my weight and got to 52kg around SeptembeOctober. I was not counting calories, i was just enjoying food as it was, and it was all fine, but between October and now I've lost 5kg again and went back to 47kg. I thought it was normal for people to feel sick of eating/nauseous every time something was in front of them. Spoiler: it's not. I went to a gig of my favourite singer who mostly sings about drugs, eds, unhealthy coping mechanism etc etc... (you get the type) And at one point they were singing a song i had actually already heard, but not memorised. And it basically was describing my experience with food the past months:LYRICS:
I plate it up then put it down I doubt that I will ever even eat this food The process it made me less hungry And soon I get distracted Distorted scale of importance I live, I live, but I do not survive so well Food and sleep are never prioritised by me
There's jokes about my tired eyes My stomach starts to sing A manic public episode and then I start to think Is this an inevitability stemming from my broken head Or have I just not slept and eaten again?
So I stay up cos I can't sleep, I say But really I'm just reading and watching and communicating
With people in a language that I think is flawed Next thing I know it gets too late I think of all I must do the next day and so I opt to stay awake
And I start drinking coffee
Now I know I need to eat so I go inside a shop But the food is not appealing and the choice there is a lot I pace around and panic, buy nothing and leave I tell my friends I've eaten when they ask me
After this i realised maybe i had other problems with food but idk. I mean arfid is most common in autistics and children (which is not the case for me), but i still can't even look at food if it gives me the ick in that particular moment. I love trying out new food etc, but sometimes i just look at .y plate, think about what it will taste like/texture/temperature and completely lose appetite, even though a second ago I was drooling. I can go even days without eating if nothing sounds good and everything i see makes me nauseous, And i think that's a problem.
What fo you guys think?

Last week in a post-deleted by the OP, there was discussion about how there is no point in stockpiling antibiotics and any attemps for lay people to practice any form of health care in a widespread grid down disaster was a waste of time
Myself and some colleagues wrote: Survival and Austere Medicine
Edit. New link. in a post below.
We are slowing working on a 4th edition with some new material and minor corrections - but it is taking longer than we thought!
But I thought given the above post, I would take the opportunity to post the introduction - which address the "why bother" question for a major long-term grid down situation. Apologies for the formatting and length
"There is a sense, when considering the issues around survival medicine practice, that everything is overwhelming, that it is impossible for lay people to provide a high level of medical care and maintain a high level of population health.
We don’t think this is the case at all. We believe that intelligent lay people with some basic medical knowledge, skills, and equipment can deliver high quality health care. While it is obviously impossible for lay people to safely and competently deal with every medical problem, and there remain many complicated diagnoses requiring equally complicated or technologically advanced treatments, for 80- 90% of the health problems afflicting humanity, simple things done well are all that is required to preserve life and limb and help alleviate suffering.
Consider the following:
1. Remote Medicine Practice:
Below are the results of one of our author’s experience in the provision of health care in various remote and austere locations (some third world, some first world) to nearly four thousand people over a cumulative 30-month period (spread over 18 years) – with more data there are few minor changes from the 2005 2nd edition, but the list is essentially the same – which is interesting. The record keeping was a bit unreliable at times, but the following summary is reasonably accurate.
Top 20 presentations (representing > 95% of consultations):
1. Minor musculoskeletal injuries - ankle sprains most common, included many minor fractures which didn’t require more than diagnosis and simple care
2. Upper respiratory tract infections
3. Allergic reactions/Hay feveAnaphylactic reactions/Rashes
4. Minor open wounds – included a mix of lacerations needing closure, many needing
cleaning and advice only, and some infected wounds
5. Gastroenteritis/Vomiting/Diarrhoea
6. Mental health problems
7. Sexual health/Contraceptive problems
8. Skin infections/Cellulitis
9. Dental problems
10. Abdominal pain - 4 confirmed acute appendix (2 treated with IV antibiotics and
subsequent delayed appendix removal / 2 required evacuation) + 1 gangrenous gall bladder. Many were "no cause found". Of the remainder with a clear diagnosis the most common were renal or biliary colic)
11. Fever /Viral illness
12. Chest infections
13. Major musculoskeletal injuries (fractures/dislocations)
14. Asthma
15. Ear infections
16. Urinary tract infections
17. Burns – mostly partial thickness within the realms of management in the environment the
patient was in. Several required evacuations. Several required rehabilitation due to location and sub-optimal initial treatment.
18. Chest pain
19. Syncope/Collapse/Faints
20. Early pregnancy problems
Major trauma was uncommon but was seen including several fractured femurs and a dozen cases of multi-system severe trauma resulting in a mix of in-country surgery and evacuations
Top 12 prescribed drugs (representing >90% of medications prescribed):
1. Paracetamol (Acetaminophen)
2. Loratadine (and other assorted antihistamines)
3. Diclofenac (and other assorted antiinflammatories)
4. Combined oral contraceptive
5. Flucloxacillin
6. Throat lozenges
7. Augmentin (Amoxycillin + clavulanic acid)
8. Loperamide
9. Nystatin (and other antifungals)
10. Hydrocortisonecream
11. Ventolininhalers(Salbutamol/Albuterol)
12. Morphine
What is of note here is that the clear majority of problems dealt with are simple and straight forward – there is still potential for serious consequences but there is scope for a well-informed lay person with a basic knowledge and access to a reasonable collection of reference books to provide reasonable care. Equally the vast majority of medication prescribed are from a very narrow well defined list – despite the fact 1000’s of drugs are on the market – the list of core lifesaving or comfort preserving ones is relatively brief.
2. Why children die
The World Health Organization (WHO) has identified the following conditions as having contributed to >75% of worldwide deaths in the under 5-year age group (in no particular order):
Pneumonia Pneumonia is an infection of lungs. Prevention of this condition is somewhat limited – although good nutrition, clean and warm housing, and a reduction in the exposure to respiratory irritants (smoke) all can help. However, the most common bacteria which cause pneumonia are frequently sensitive to penicillin – which is discussed later in the book and can be produced in a low-tech environment.
Diarrhea Death from diarrhea (dehydration) is almost 100% preventable with appropriate use of oral rehydration therapy. Dirty water or poor food handling causes much diarrhea – this can be virtually eliminated by proper hygiene practices and care with drinking water.


Pre-term delivery While we are limited in the direct interventions available in an austere environment to mitigate this problem contributing factors to early labor are young age, malnutrition, smoking, poor maternal health, so there is scope for indirect intervention based on optimizing mum’s health and environment. For babies who are born prematurely the necessities of life are warmth and breast milk. With attention to detail for both things, it is possible for infants as young as 33-34 weeks to survive without high-tech intervention.
Malaria. Prevention is better than a cure, knowledge about clearing stagnant water, mosquito nets and long sleeved clothes can significantly reduce the risk. Equally quinine is derived from the bark of the Chincona tree and the Chinese have been using the herb, Artemisinin, effectively for the treatment of Malaria for years. So, while not as easy to treat or prevent as diarrhea, there is still scope for significant reduction in death rates in low-tech ways.
Blood infection Blood infection or septicemia is rapidly fatal. The ability to intervene depends on the cause of the infection and antibiotics available. Broadly, infections causing septicemia can originate from the skin, the lungs, the kidneys or bladder, and the abdominal contents. While specific treatments for these may be lacking in an austere environment – all have prevention strategies and basic low-tech treatments that can be lifesaving when applied appropriately.
Lack of oxygen at birth Of these problems, this is the one with probably the least scope for impact. Unfortunately, even if foetal distress is detected during labor (with heart beat monitoring or signs of distress like meconium), without the ability to deliver the baby quickly options are limited. That said, a caesarian section is not a massively complicated operation (and discussed in Chapter 10), and in parts of the third world is performed by trained lay people with safety and success.
Measles Again, there is limited scope to intervene directly with the disease. Measles is always around and while vaccination reduced the incidence of epidemics, sporadic cases still occur. In the absence of vaccinations epidemics of measles every few years will be inevitable. There is however some scope to minimize the spread during an epidemic with isolation and respiratory precautions during outbreaks. While some of the serious neurological complications are unavoidable in a
Prevention is better than a cure, knowledge about clearing stagnant water, mosquito nets and long sleeved clothes can significantly reduce the risk. Equally quinine is derived from the bark of the Chincona tree and the Chinese have been using the herb, Artemisinin, effectively for the treatment of Malaria for years. So, while not as easy to treat or prevent as diarrhea, there is still scope for significant reduction in death rates in low-tech ways. small number of patients, basic care such as maintaining hydration can also prevent complications such as dehydration.
Neonatal tetanus The prevention of neonatal tetanus is easy. You don’t let the site where the umbilical cord attaches to the baby get dirty. It is as simple as that.
HIV/AIDS Prevention of maternal infection is the key to prevention of infection of newborns. The steps required to prevent exposure to the HIV virus are widely known: abstinence (not undertaking sexual activity), monogamy (maintaining a single sex partner rather than multiple) and if neither is a palatable option, then safe sexual practices.
Most the conditions above have an element of either preventability or the ability to be treated to some degree in an austere environment and significant improvements in mortality and morbidity can be made.

3. The greatest advances in medicine
Several years ago the British Medical Journal ran a poll trying to identify top medical advances of the last 200 years. The following is the top 12 from that poll:
Sanitation 1st Antibiotics 2nd Anaesthesia 3rd Vaccines 4th DNA 5th Germ theory 6th = The oral contraceptive 6^th = Evidence based medicine 8th Imaging 9th Computers 10th Oral rehydration therapy 11th Smoking cessation 12th =
Just as with our discussion above about the causes of childhood deaths, this list is introduced to show just how much impact a very basic health care knowledge can have in terms of optimising health in a post-disaster or austere situation.
Of the biggest advances of medicine in the last 200 years, between 7 to 9 (depending on your knowledge and available resources) of the 12 can be applied to care in a austere situation. In particular, the knowledge of sanitation, germ theory, oral rehydration therapy, and simple manufactured antibiotics and anaesthetic agents all have the potential to be able to be continued to be applied in a post-disaster situation and to continue to contribute to a high quality of low-tech health care. In the same way that we can substantially reduce childhood death rates in a low tech post-disaster situation, we can still continue to have access to some of the biggest advances in medicine even at the end of the world.
4. Surgery in the third world
A non-specialist surgeon working at a isolated bush hospital in Papua New Guinea published his experience of Emergency Surgery over a 14 month period (similar articles have been published with similar data):
Emergency Surgery 243
Tendon repair 33 Open orthopaedics 32 Dilation and curettage 31 General surgery 29 Incision and drainage 26 Laceration repair 26 Obstetrics 23 Manipulation under anaesthesia 15 Urology 15 Gynaecology 9 Ear, nose and throat 2
Emergency anaesthesia 243
Ketamine – spontaneous breathing 166 Local anaesthesia 33 Ketamine – ventilated 16 Spinal anaesthesia 12 Propofol / thiopentone 10 Epidural 5 Epidural / GA 1
The point of this reference is to help illustrate what someone can achieve in primitive conditions with no formal surgical training and no dedicated anaesthetist. We are not suggesting that the average layperson can safely practice to this extent or breadth of surgery, but it does demonstrate that a non-surgeon can achieve much. It also shows that most anaesthetics for surgery in an austere situation can be done under local or ketamine anaesthetics.
Why this is relevant?
Each of these four references gives you insights, one way or another, into low-tech austere health care. First, it gives you an insight into the likely clinical problems that you may see in a survival situation, and how much can be dealt with in that sort of austere environment. Second, it demonstrates how medically speaking it is the small things and simple knowledge which save lives and some of the biggest killers can be mitigated with these relatively low level interventions or strategies.
In our opening summary – “Medicine at that end of the world”, we describe a pretty bleak medical reality post-SHTF. Will million’s really die from lack of access to modern heath care as we have alleged?
The short answer is yes – many will die much sooner than they otherwise would have, from disease and injury, which currently are not immediately fatal. But the answer is not nearly that simple nor bleak. The reality is that while cancer, diabetes, malnutrition or serious injury may claim many of its victim’s sooner than with today’s health care, most health problems can be treated or mitigated to a degree in a low- tech environment, with a narrow range of medications and interventions – including some cancers, non- insulin requiring diabetes and many major traumatic injuries.
Most medical problems are relatively mundane and not life threatening. Truly catastrophic problems in medicine are fortunately rare. You should focus on learning and preparing to deal with the common problems, and doing common procedures well, and you will save lives, and possibly also improve the quality of those lives.
There will be a significant change to health care but with knowledge and some preparation it isn’t quite as dire as many (including our own opening paragraph) predict. "

Teething in babies is a natural developmental stage where a baby's first teeth start to emerge through the gums. This process can be uncomfortable for babies and challenging for parents. Here's a detailed look at the symptoms and remedies for teething in babies:
Symptoms of Teething

1. Drooling:

• Increased saliva production, leading to more drooling.

1. Chewing and Biting:

• Babies may chew on toys, fingers, or other objects to alleviate gum discomfort.

1. Irritability and Fussiness:

• Increased crankiness due to gum pain and discomfort.

1. Swollen or Tender Gums:

• Gums may appear red, swollen, and tender to the touch.

1. **Sleep Disturbances**:

• Discomfort can lead to disrupted sleep patterns.

1. Loss of Appetite:

• Babies may eat less because of gum pain.

1. Ear Pulling and Cheek Rubbing:

• Babies might pull at their ears or rub their cheeks, as the pain from teething can radiate to these areas.

1. Mild Fever:

• Some babies may experience a slight increase in temperature, though high fever is not typical and should be checked by a doctor.

Remedies for Teething

1. Teething Toys:

• Provide safe, chewable teething rings or toys to help massage the gums.
  
• Chilling these toys in the refrigerator can provide extra soothing relief (avoid freezing as it can cause more harm than good).
  

1. Cold Washcloth:

• A clean, damp washcloth chilled in the refrigerator can be given to the baby to chew on.

1. Gum Massage:

• Gently rubbing the baby's gums with a clean finger can help alleviate discomfort.

1. Teething Biscuits:

• Hard, unsweetened teething biscuits can be offered to older babies to chew on.

1. Cold Foods:

• For babies already eating solids, cold purees, applesauce, or yogurt can be soothing.

1. Pain Relief:

• Over-the-counter pain relief medications like infant acetaminophen or ibuprofen can be used if necessary (always follow the dosing instructions and consult with a pediatrician first).

1. Distraction:

• Engaging the baby with activities, toys, or a change of scenery can sometimes help take their mind off the discomfort.

1. Teething Gels:

• Some parents use over-the-counter teething gels, but these should be used with caution and under a pediatrician's advice due to potential risks from certain ingredients.

Additional Tips

• Maintain Oral Hygiene: Even before teeth emerge, wipe the baby’s gums with a clean, damp cloth after feedings to keep the mouth clean.
  
• Monitor for Other Symptoms: Teething should not cause severe symptoms like high fever, diarrhea, or a rash. If these occur, it's essential to consult a healthcare provider as they may indicate another issue.
  
• Stay Calm and Patient: Teething can be a trying time for both babies and parents. Maintaining a calm and comforting presence can help soothe a distressed baby.
  

By understanding the symptoms and using appropriate remedies, parents can help their babies navigate the teething process more comfortably. If concerns arise, it’s always best to consult with a pediatrician for guidance.

My baby is suffering from drool rash. We’ve been applying tubbytodd over the weekend which reduces it but then we send her to daycare (provided aquaphor to them) and she returns with the rash as if we didn’t take care of it. Any recommendations on how to fight the drool rash

If you are a doctor, please help give any ideas for testing of illness/disease/rare conditions. My daughter is 19, she was a perfectly healthy child all her life. The only issue she has ever had is sensitivity to sunlight and hives with a malar rash. Starting in November of 23 she began vomiting. It was severe and continued for 7 weeks while hospitalized. Many tests were ran and no cause could be found. She ended up with a picc line and tpn due to not being able to eat. Vomiting episodes last 1-5 days and then have a 1-2 day break in between. The malar rash almost always appears with the vomiting. She has severe nausea as well. Her gallbladder was removed and did not resolve symptoms. The following are the only issues to note: Nausea/vomiting (always dark green bile) Tachycardia during episodes (resting heart rate 125, walking 150) High blood pressure during episodes (145/99) Elevated alk-phos, alt, ast , GGT, Protein/potassium/blood in urine
All imaging done on livekidneys/etc normal. EEG normal, Ana negative (as well as other labs for lupus)
After 7 weeks of vomiting she stopped and was completely normal for 3 months, then suddenly started again 4 weeks ago. She had to have a port implanted due to not having access to veins because her potassium is constantly very low and the IV potassium causes IV to go bad very quickly. There have been no medications that control the vomiting. All meds for cyclic vomiting have been tried long term without any effect. The meds that help her slow vomiting the most are Valium/ativan and compazine as well as phenobarbital. Any ideas would be appreciated

If you are a doctor, please help give any ideas for testing of illness/disease/rare conditions. My daughter is 19, she was a perfectly healthy child all her life. The only issue she has ever had is sensitivity to sunlight and hives with a malar rash. Starting in November of 23 she began vomiting. It was severe and continued for 7 weeks while hospitalized. Many tests were ran and no cause could be found. She ended up with a picc line and tpn due to not being able to eat. Vomiting episodes last 1-5 days and then have a 1-2 day break in between. The malar rash almost always appears with the vomiting. She has severe nausea as well. Her gallbladder was removed and did not resolve symptoms. The following are the only issues to note: Nausea/vomiting (always dark green bile) Tachycardia during episodes (resting heart rate 125, walking 150) High blood pressure during episodes (145/99) Elevated alk-phos, alt, ast , GGT, Protein/potassium/blood in urine
All imaging done on livekidneys/etc normal. EEG normal, Ana negative (as well as other labs for lupus)
After 7 weeks of vomiting she stopped and was completely normal for 3 months, then suddenly started again 4 weeks ago. She had to have a port implanted due to not having access to veins because her potassium is constantly very low and the IV potassium causes OV to go bad very quickly. There have been no medications that control the vomiting. All meds for cyclic vomiting have been tried long term without any effect. The meds that help her slow vomiting the most are Valium/ativan and compazine as well as phenobarbital. Any ideas would be appreciated

Just here checking on how it went for others😔. My 12mo was diagnosed the day before her birthday. So far it's gone like this:

1. ⁠Thursday night Baby woke up in the middle of the night with fever and one blister in her diaper area
2. ⁠Baby went to doctor Friday. Drooling a ton, clingy and fussy. More blisters, generalized rash. Woke up every hour at night until 4:30a. 3.Saturday mood seemed improved, but more sores. Woke up every 15m-hour.
3. ⁠Sunday crying and tugging at ears (assuming there are some sores or an infection). Sunday morning makes 24+ hours with no fever. Probably closer to Saturday evening. Visibly better after a 2 hour nap and Motrin. Some sores scabbing. Finally ate something other than blueberries (yogurt mixed with baby food). While she may be on the mend ???, I now have a sore throat and fever.

I am terrified I will get progressively worse and not be able to care for her. I'm also worried my milk supply will drastically decrease and I won't be able to feed her. BF is the only type of food she's been consistently eating.

It’s bitter and not enjoyable without help of some sugar. Some were given oranges, lucky them. TBH, after all these years on earth being always the overachieving underdog, the weird repulsive one, I think I learned how to embrace it. It’s DOOM. Be violent, be rash and be however you feel like. If nobody expects good things from you, and any efforts you make to steer the ship don’t register, why bother? Manifest destiny. I’ve turned my life around by accepting it. I now have friends, my character suits the image I was given. I am the brutally sincere and eloquently insulting weapon. I don’t have any good social reputation, might just enjoy the bad reputation. Everyone loves a madman, a bad influence. It’s funny, its useful and you can even toy with your friends lowered guard. You own the group, they need you more than you need them. So my advice is learn to love hate, and like the stupid morons that believe in spirituality… the vibes will take care of the rest. Maybe lessons on magnetism were useful after all, even if polarizing. Be the one they need and learn to exploit it, it’s a good thing nobody expects good things from your ugly self. When you exploit your own group later you also have the perfect excuse, after all nobody would expect anything less than that.

My wife 26F, and I, 27M have been married nearly 2 years. For the most part we've had a fun and happy relationship so far. About 2 weeks ago we got the unfortunate news that my wife had a miscarriage. It was tough on both of us, as we were very excited to become new parents. To try and get past this and "reset", i took her on a long weekend trip to Florida. Vacation was fantastic; until the last night.
We ended the night at a local Tiki bar just across the road. We both had drank quite a bit. I told her we should probably get back to the condo as we were already pretty toasted and we had flights the following morning. She wanted to stay out a little longer, so i said "hey, no problem. i'll see you at the condo. have fun!"
Well an hour went by and she wasn't answering her phone, so i got worried and walked back to the bar. I spot her on the dance floor with a guy draped around her, explicitly groping each other and kissing. When i say i have never felt pain like this, i can't even describe it. i was so shocked and hurt at the same time. My jaw dropped as i watched for what felt like a lifetime, but was probably about 20 seconds.
I went over to break it up, and as you can imagine, it turned into a bit of a scene. I left before security got involved because i was seeing red at this point and didn't want to jeopardize going to jail for doing something rash to this man kissing my wife.
I feel like this is a fucking episode of Jerry Springer. Take my wife on a vacation to reset after we went through a miscarriage, and the whole trip ends with heart break and put us in a worse spot than before.
After talking with my wife today after letting her sober up, she seems remorseful. & she was absolutely blacked out by the time i got back to the bar. she claims she doesn't remember any of that. She knows there's nothing she can say or do to make this better at the moment. Am i in the wrong for letting her stay at the bar? Do i give her a pass as she just went through a lot of physical and emotional pain with the miscarriage? Is it grounds for divorce? I'm heart broken. I want to forgive her, if i can. I'm worried even if i try and forgive her, the image of her and that man will always be burnt into my head. I'm also worried if we try and make it work that i will always be worried about this incident happening again. I want to end this by saying this was completely out of character for her. i never thought in a million years she could do something like this. What do i do in this situation? Thanks in advance.
TLDR: My wife and a man (stranger) were kissing and groping each other on the dance floor at a bar on our last night of vacation after a miscarriage.

Bright illuminescant flashes bolted through the dark-lit sky, rushing and raging through clouds seemingly made of gossamer and finely woven felt. You could almost reach out and touch them if not for the raging storm ripping and hollering. It shone and splintered along the sky, splitting into a thousand arcs, each converging and convexing along the stars. Electrical currents spun like lavender spider webs along a farmhouse wall. The arcs traveled, painting a vibrant tapestry along its wake before reaching their climax and releasing a wicked KRAK as the lights slowly faded.
The gossamer clouds wept tears of dull acidic rain that fell, cascading downwards. Down to the swampy fetid fields below. Their droplets splashed and sizzled against the sand, slowly fizzing before hardening into a thin velvet glass before beginning all over again. A sad display of god’s fury laid bare and plain for all to see. The rain had begun just a week prior, but its assault had persisted in a constant pattern ever since. The swamp ached and squirmed in an agonizing way as the rain melted away any sign of basic life.
Puddles of the acidic deluge collected along a road leading to the once fertile silver mine, just three miles from the town of Crestfall. Near the edge of the road, a fork splits off into multiple directions. South of the fork leads to the entrance of Deep Rock Mine. The mine’s entrance stands agape, resting at the base of a mountain. The mine’s layout, a cavern of crisscrossing and haphazardly formed tunnels, awaited past the thick darkness entrapping the entrance. They curve and wind up the spine of the mountain, as well as descend deep into the now dead earth.
The face of the mountain was bare but rough. Rocks jutted and sloped along its curvature, forming a near mesmeric pattern of spiked granite. Towards the peak, a malicious and not all entirely natural pattern emerged. As the acidic rain fell, framing the mountainous backdrop, the pattern watched and waited. An almost human-like visage stretched along the face of the mountain like canvas pulled over a wooden frame. It’s design scorn into the rock itself as if meticulously laid out to warn any who dared breach the confines of the swamp.
Silence lingered amongst the misty atmospheric dredge, save for the muffled and subtle ambietic sounds of the rain. Through the dead foliage and gnarled remains of creatures recently passed, a sound rang forth. Distant exclamation and reverberated clanging rhythmically sounded from deep within the mine. Up and down the mine laid stalactites and stalagmites haphazardly stationed around every corner. Their abrupt positioning cast shadows wherever light felt unable to reach. The mine walls were smooth from years of work and toilage, along with the long uninterrupted tunnels, created an almost echo chamber for sound.
Abrupt crashes and distant thrashes echoed through the winding chamber. Its sounds detailed a fierce battle between clashing swords and fervent blows.
Or so it would seem.
A sword, emblazoned with the sigil of a raven, flew across the dimly lit room. Its body crashes and clings as it skips along the floor, its blade slashing and carving thin lines into the granite flooring as it makes contact with the ground. A fierce shadow sprawls along the cave walls, depicting a struggle between foes.
The wanderer-and recent owner of the raven crested blade-crashes to the floor. Leather straps firmly tied around his shoulder blades catch most of the weight of the fall, but pain still echoed through his nerves.
“Hells! You slimy bastard!” The wanderer winces and yells in a blinded fury. “You don’t play fair, and here I thought we were having a nice sport of it.”
No reply immediately came from his opponent, still standing off near a downed torch. Flame wisped and flicked along the ground, casting shadows and dreaded omens as if they were ripped directly from a child’s nightmare.
At once, the foe stepped forward. The shadows sprawled across the walls painted a disturbing picture of horror and grotesque form. Imaginative figures born from shadows were always so much more terrible than the beings that cast them, but in this case it was clearly the other way around. The foe opposite The Wanderer lurched forward, it's body a gnarled vestige of exoskeleton and mandibles. It almost resembled a large insect, like a praying mantis that decided its evolutionary cycle had not quite finished yet.
On multi-socketed legs, it snapped and convulsed along. Every movement of its body felt agonizing, as if the creature was hastily thrown together by a quite absent god. Various olive and violet fluids oozed and dripped from its husk like body as it vocalized terrible sounds. The creature-seemingly unable to speak-produced noises from its mouth that resembled a mix of gargles and marbles being tossed along a wooden floor. All the while, its grotesque pincer like appendage snapped and clicked almost involuntarily.
The wanderer-still recovering from his fall-slowly pushed his body along the cold rocky ground, his arm still pulsing with pain.
“Oh my, what big mouths you have.” The wanderer teased sounding much more worried than he intended. ‘Always good to keep in control of the situation. Confidence is key.’ As he was always want to say, but this wasn’t an ordinary situation.
His arm traced along the ground, reaching and prodding for his recently lost weapon. Daring not look away from the oncoming threat, he felt nothing. His sword was currently resting near the opposite side of the cave room, resting flat along the ground. Away from The Wanderer’s grasp, far away from being of any further use here it seemed.
Doubt surged through his mind, but only for a short time. ‘Doubt breeds more doubt, and further doubt breeds ruin’, another favorite.
Clenched palms moved along the granite flooring. Leather gloves scraped and bruised as The Wanderer lifted back to his feet, regaining balance and fervor. The arm that had broken his fall felt numb and altogether absent.
‘Dislocated most likely, not a big enough fall to break.’
The insect-like foe-still closing the distance between them-snapped and gurgled in an almost territorial display of aggression.
The Wanderer grinned, placing his uninjured arm against its opposite’s elbow, before violently, yet methodically, pushing it upwards. A clear snap, followed by a dull pop echoed through the room. Feeling began pouring back into his arm as the vibrating itch of numbness faded. Both arms began to raise, fists clenched, the leather gloves creased and squelched from the sheer pressure as his hands formed tightly wounded fists. Fists pointed squarely towards the all not entirely normal creature still gurgling and jerking along the shadow filled room.
“Oh...” The Wanderer began. “I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t enjoy every second of this.” His fists raised up, reaching level with the bridge of his nose. “Come one now, give us yer best.”
As if understanding -and altogether disliking- the series of vulgar remarks thrusted toward it, the creature squealed through its deformed face. The jerking motion its movement seemed to have before was replaced with a fluid dash as it quickly closed the distance between the two adversaries. Arms outstretched as its gnarled and jagged hands opened and closed with violent snaps and twinges. Reaching out, grasping the air between them. The gap closed quickly, much quicker than he anticipated, but not enough to catch him entirely off guard as he shifts weight from right the left. The slender frame of his body flanking to the side of the creature.
Shadows arched and flailed with each movement, creating a strange optical illusion across the cave walls. The subtle shifting wind and osculation of the two fighters created an almost mural of events through the flames. Clashing swords, trumpeting horns and creatures that rivaled the tallest spires in Etheral began to converge into an unrecognizable painting of events. The fire loomed, gazing at the creature, at The Wanderer. Its gaze almost purposeful and full of intent. Neither the two beings made any note of the grand display unfolding around them. Fire is known to be a harsh mentor, and an even harsher ally. If one was to wander too deeply into its wounding gaze, one might find themselves trapped, forever living in the tapestry it painted.
The creature was fast, but nowhere as fast as him. Once useless, now repaired, the dislocated arm wrapped between the creatures glistening forearm, interlocking before weight shifted again. The creature stalled as if to reorient itself to face the man, but its movements were not its own. Quickly and deftly, The Wanderer placed immense weight on his forward foot, counterbalancing against the creature as their locked arms rotated and shifted sideways. Arching forward, the shift in balance quickly broke as the creature began to lift in the air as The Wanderer’s rear leg lifted to relegate pressure onward. Flailing and spewing its noxious fluid, the creature flipped entirely, finally crashing to the floor in a savage crunch. The Wanderer stands above, looking downward as it convulses in a fit of pain (could it even quantify pain) and anger.
A greyish foul-smelling slime coated The Wanderer’s chest and forearm. Small indentions formed along the hard leather surface of his jacket, most likely from the not entirely cosmetic spikes embedded into the creature.
“Alright, now I’d say we’re fairly close to a draw here.” The Wanderer began. “How’s say we handle the rest with a bit more diplomacy and grace? No point and making a bigger stink than we already got, but telling by the state of yourself, I’d say you know all about stink.”
The maddening gurgle of the creature slowed as its body began to calm. Its arms moving outward, sprawling along the hard granite rock as its legs raise along with the rest of it. Wet dew drips along the ground, rippling and casting weird reflections from all directions as the creature steps slowly along their puddles. Slow anxious steps it takes. Its demeanor changes from a wild and disturbed animal to a more methodic and wary being. Eyes of bluish gray sink into its head, pupils moving slowly, analyzing and taking in information. It stands straight, back locked into an opposing stance. God it was big. The man couldn’t much get a good measurement before with its body slouched over in a hermit like stance. It must be at least seven feet tall, equally proportioned from its legs to its torso. The head was rounded, almost human, with its bug-like mandibles protruding in a horrific fashion.
The Wanderer had dealt with creatures before. Along his travels he had come across a litany of monstrous beings; Wargs, Secrolants, Jittering Fiends, Goblins, Spiderlings. None of them quite matched the state of this one. Although he had heard of such beings, none had crossed paths before. The way it moved, the way it thought, it all was abnormal. It's quite simple to take a beast down, some you anger and gain the advantage, some you outsmart, others you can simply scare away. But this one.... oh, he was a different breed entirely. The way its mood could change mid-fight, or how it seemingly understood what was being said. And the way it stared. Thoughts were jutting along in the bug brain of its, and when monsters start thinking, all strategy and preparation goes out the window. Unpredictable is what they become, and prediction was The Wanderer’s bread and butter.
Wary now he waits, staring back at the creature. Locked eyes, they waited. Eyes filled with thought, filled with understanding and reasoning -but most egregiously- they were filled with malice. The fight was not over, they had just reached half-time.
“Let it not be stated that I did not strive for peace and harmony at every turn.” The Wanderer quipped, his hand raised once more, ready for another assault.
A flame flickers, casting shadows once again. Shadows of a man holding wolves at bay, hands outstretched to create a distance between them. The wolves circled and plotted, looking for weakness at every tune, but finding none. Leaves fell, becoming ash as they reached the ground. A fire spreads amongst the ash laden floor, consuming the visage, the man, the wolves. All in consumed in an immense concentrated heat, until the shadows fade to nothingness once more.
The creature meanders onward, just a few steps at a time; looking on as The Wanderer holds his footing, fists raised and ready. Each step of its hard glistening exoskeleton crunches against small rocks and debris sprawled along the cave floor, knocking them aside, producing echoed wails that seemingly bounced from surface to surface. After the third step it abruptly launches at the man, arms outstretched once more in a fit of animalistic fury. Thought seemingly left its eyes as they glazed over into a dull grey, the feeling and reasoning sinking further and further to the back of its mind. The Wanderer grinned, his stance loosening as the soles of his feet began to trace an outline of movement, preparing and readying for a counteroffensive. As its dripping breached the outline, The Wanderer shifted his weight once more, quickly flanking the creature to the side once again, but something was off. His eyes traced the movements of its body, of its arms, of its legs. The animosity in them seemed to almost shift mid attack, becoming lucid and methodical. As if the creature was dancing along with him. Even tracing down to the ground, the footing was wrong. Not his footing. He was always perfect. The dance was memorized, trained, honed to a sharp edge. No, it was the creature’s.
Abruptly the creature’s body shifted, its legs tracing backwards, its torso shifting to the side. A corrective action, a counterattack to his counterattack. Shadows of the pair danced along the cave wall, depicting a wickedly abstract waltz. The creature’s arm whipped outward, its claws barreling towards the thin leather separation between his elbow and forearm. God, it was fast. Faster than The Wanderer. Rip, flash, a bright light, then the crashing of feet as the two returned to their original standing.
It all happened so fast. Faster than he could articulate. He was used to speed, used to tracking and understanding battle situations, creating countermeasures, analyzing the most likely move and executing it within a fraction of a second. All of that was done, but it was all wrong. The creature moved in peculiar fashion, acted as if it were moving on instinct while simultaneously acting with thought and strategy. How could it possibly go both ways?
As he thought, mouth slightly open, breath pouring between his lips in a hot and heavy fashion, he hardly thought of anything else. They had made contact, but there was no feeling. Checking for wounds mid-encounter was generally out of the question with beasts. Often, they gave little time for thought or first aid, but the creature stood and waited. The dull grey look in its eyes were gone again, replaced with the methodical gaze of a strategist analyzing a battlefield. The Wanderer lowered his right arm and traced it along the path of his elbow, reaching his shoulder before he felt it. A definite gash traced about two inches wide, the depth of it couldn’t be guessed, but it had breached the leather. As his hand returned to a fist, warm fresh blood dripped between the fingers, falling and coagulating against the dust and pebbles along the ground. He had indeed been injured, but there was no feeling to it. All felt well, and that’s precisely why all was, in fact, not well.
“You’re a strange one. Not quite like anything I’ve seen before, but I’ll get to know you real well soon enough.”
His eyes moved from the creature, scanning along the ground. Before when this was a simple clean-up, a weapon would be handy, but hardly required of someone with his skills, but this was anything but simple. Parameters had changed, he’d very much like his sword back now.
It was nowhere to be seen initially. The room was dark, with little else than a soft glow from the fallen torch illuminating a small area and casting shadows that obscured others. Then it appeared. Near the feet of the creature, the raven crested blade sat where it had since the beginning of this strange dual. Thoughts echoed along in his head, casting suspicions and doubt in every facet of the encounter. Things were not as they appeared.
A slight grin crept along his face again, before quickly subsiding. “Think I have enough time for one more go of it. Care to lead?”
The creature stood, watching and plotting before the dull grey of its eyes appeared once again, launching it into another fury. It lunged, arms outstretched again, running full speed to the man. He simply stood, his hands loosening from tightly wound fists of rock to loosely packed fists of snow. His palms opened slightly; his footing loosened as the heels of his feet digging into the hard rocky floor. They began to move slightly, tracing a straight horizontal line where he stood as he slowly began to back away. The creature, still in a frenzy, closes the distance fast. Seemingly faster than any previous assault as The Wanderer ceased his slow backing retreat, his feet returning to a strong stance, soles digging deep into the earth. He takes in a breath, his heartrate slowing. The light sounds of the cave begin to grow, becoming more apparent and concentrated. Small droplets of dew falling from the ceiling, wind softly blowing along, echoing through the harrowed halls and the flickering of a flame slowly speaking its ancient language. They all converged, mirroring themselves as The Wanderer’s eyes closed. Time seemed to slow as the creature came closer, its steps further apart, its maddening gurgling seemingly floating away. It stepped, stepped and stepped along the ground, pushing pebbles and dust without thought.
Finally, it reached the line carved into the rock. Its foot crunched, making contact with the earth, and in an instant its eyes reverted again. The grey dullness seeping away to its methodically stategistic norm. In that instant, The Wanderers eyes erupted open. The chittering thing’s arms stretch out for his neck, hoping to seize his artery with its horrific claws. Quickly, quicker than anything that day, The Wanderer moved in a fast range of motions that all seemingly happened at once. His weight once again shifted, flanking the creature. His arms locked into a position of counterattack. The creature quickly issued its own countermeasure, once again whipping its body and throwing its claw outward, aiming higher than before, aiming for his neck.
A flame moved. Shadows formed along the walls once more, although they showed a different scene. A scene depicting two swordsman locked in deathly combat. Their swords swinging violently but with grace and purpose. They clashed a thousand times. Each time sending a spray of bright sparks that swelled through the air creating intricate patterns that lingered before slowly fading.
The creature was stuck, unable to move, unable to continue its assault and unable to return to its desired location. The Wanderer's palm grasped the creature's wrist tightly, locking it into a hold. The grey of the creature’s eyes were completely gone now as its pupils darted around in panic. His hand arched forward, his foot kicking –what would assumedly be- the creature’s calf, buckling its knees and forcing it to the ground. Cracking and popping erupted from the joints of its arm as his grip tightened. It’s gurgling became sporadic, as if pleading to be set free. He simply watched it, once against studying its behavior, its patterns, its mannerisms.
“You really are special. Not like anything in the world I imagine, but what makes you so special.” The Wanderer clenched his hold tighter, the creature falls lower, its face pushing into the cold rock. “You were playing a game, weren’t you? You understand what I’m saying too, and that I can assure you is indeed something special. Predicting my movements, using the techniques against me. You weren’t just fighting for a meal. You were learning, weren’t you?”
The creature clicked and gurgled, chittering against the ground as the hard surface of its arm began to crack.
“Now, I’m not opposed to teaching if I aim to gain something from it, but what I won’t abide is being played with. Now...” He plants his foot against the back of the creature's neck, both arms holding its locked appendage in a pulling motion. “I think I deserve to know a little more about you my foul-smelling friend, and if I’m right up until this point, you outta know exactly what I’m saying. I also assume you know a threat when you hear one. So...” His grip tightens, his leather boot slowly crunched against the creature’s skull. “Tell me what you are, and where you learned to be so damn special.”
The creature’s eyes widen, the dull grey returning, filling its retinas as it begins to violently convulse. A shrill screech fills the room, echoing along the walls, traveling through the twisting and winding tunnels of the long-forgotten mine. Shadows creep along the cave walls once more, scattering and convulsing, twisting into horrid and unimaginable shapes. Creatures that belong to fables and horror tales begin flooding along the shapes as the flame whips and crackles. The torch quickly combusts, the flames turning a sharp blackish violet. Heat bellows from the waves of ember emitting from the now monumental display of hellfire as the shadows multiply, taking over every inch of coverage. The Wanderer’s ears tremble at the immense noise, his vision begins to weaken as the shrill echo reaches a climactic crescendo. Any more of this and it’s all over, lights out.
He looks downward to the creature, its mind warped with whatever dark arts influenced it. His grip tightens as his foot presses firmly against the back of its head. Slow crunching and cracking sounds begin to intermingle with the terrible sounds of its cry. As the boot came down, harder and harder, the creature’s terrible screech began to thin and grow in pitch, like the air being slowly released from a balloon. Then, a horrendous snap before the head was no more. Violet and green brain matter covered the area around its neck as small fragments of skull of tissue caked along the sides of his boots. All at once the cry stopped, and along with it the room slowly began to darken. The flame began to slowly dwindle back to its original size, its color returning to a soft orange glow.
The Wanderer stepped back; his eyes firmly planted on the now deceased creature lying before him. A pool of its blood slowly trickled along the floor, reaching for his sword. Slowly, his body lumbered to the lost blade. Its handle was wrapped in scaled pitch blade leather, its blade a vibrant silver, still glistening with oil. The visage of a raven prominently scorn into the finish of the blade itself. Before the foul-smelling blood reaches the blade, the man slowly leans down to collect it. His body ached, his arms felt heavy and as the world around him began to dim, he retrieved the blade. Weighing it in his hand he felt secure, like a lost piece of him was restored with its retrieval. It felt so much heavier than before, or maybe he had just been weakened from the encounter. He gazed down upon it, his hand clenched hard around the dark leather handle. A dark fluid began to pool around his hand, streaming softly down from his arm.
The Wanderer turned his arm over, now looking at the wound he had taken from the creature’s first counterattack. It didn’t seem very bad, or at least not as bad as previous wounds he’d sustained, but the bleeding was alarming. It streamed softly, almost without notice. The blood itself was dark as well, as if it had already begun coagulation. A strange wound. A worrying wound. Suddenly his head became light, the room began to dim, and the walls started to blur. No, everything about this was wrong.
In the strange lucid state he was left in, he almost didn’t notice the changes around him. A quite fell over the room, the flickering flame seemed to even quite down to a faint whisper. A soft noise crept along the ground. Soft tapping, the sound of pebbles and rock being pushed aside, dust parting between single soft strides. The pain in his head grew louder, his heartbeat thumping from his chest to his forearm, ending finally against his forehead.
What is happening to me?
As if to answer, a rapid movement jostled him back to reality as he quickly turned, sword still gripped tightly in hand. A quick flash of movement rushed towards him, its motioned and sounds all too familiar to him. As nimbly as he can muster, he raises his blade outward in an attempt to impale the newfound enemy now barreling towards him, but a twinge of searing pain in his shoulder halts the attack. All he manages is a defensive stance, sword raised, arm placed behind the blade to prepare for impact as the creature crashes into him.
They both fall, splashing into the violet puddle of dank smelling blood that has pooled along the cave floor. A creature –almost identical to the one lying dead beside him- lies atop the blade protecting his body. Its arms crash against the leather bracers protecting his soft flesh. Claws come crashing down, scrapping against leather, making large slashes in them but not enough to break fully through the thick coating. Slime and mucus drip down from its maw, coating The Wanderer’s arms and neck. His arms are placed defensively against the side end of the blade, separating the two, but he can feel himself weakening further and further. Rough outlines of the creature emerge through blurred vision. Heat travels along his arm and forehead, casting confusion and sweat to pour over his body.
What the hell is happening!?
Suddenly, the creature lunges its head down, breaching the space between the blade and The Wanderer’s neck. Its snapping pincer like mandible opening and shutting in rapid and rabid bites. Before it has a chance to make contact, The Wanderer frees one of his trapped hands and grapples the creature’s head. With strength slowly fading from his body, he fruitlessly pushed back the creature's disgusting face. With every inch he pushes, the creature seemingly gains two. A battle of attrition begins. Snapping, clawing, drooling the creature continues its unending assault. Reach for the soft part of his neck in hopes of ending the encounter in a single bite. Just one slip, and its lights out. Forgotten and left to be fed on to a host of disgusting bugs. The thought rips through his mind, his veins fill with hot fire, his muscles contract creating energy that wasn’t there before. He pushes hard against the creature’s head, pushing it past the breach in the sword until his arm reaches full length.
The energy’s fading, the small window of opportunity’s closing, and for once in his miserable life, he can’t think of a thing to do. The hand not grappling with the creatures head pulls free from the back of the sword. His fingers slowly begin moving, drawing a pattern in the air. Faint lines form, like strokes from a dry paintbrush. Lines sparkle and faintly crackle with weak power, power being sapped away. The pattern is rough and unfinished, its edges not straight, its lines fumbling. The feeling in his fingers is weak. Strength fading, the pattern breaks as his hand twitches before returning to the blade. Fire begins erupting from the torch again, the strange violet flame re-emerges and casts strange shadows once again along the cave walls. Shadows depicting men falling in the thousands, figures standing above them. A strange light emits from the wrecked battlefield as the dominant figures rise, floating above, breaching unending clouds and sending a cleansing fire downward. Fire spreads along the walls, engulfing the shadows, casting them far away as it shrieks and flickers violently. The Wanderer’s vision begins to fade. The world around begins to dull. Rocky walls, granite floors, the creature all fade, losing color and becoming shadows themselves. Heat wells in his head, as tears stream down his cheek.
I can’t.
Shadows slowly engulf him as the energy drains from his arms.
I won’t
The creature’s face inches closer and closer to its target.
This is where it ends.
The fire erupts, banishing the shadows away once more, filling the room with soft orange light as the creature lunges uninterrupted at its prize.
Then nothing. The pain of stabbing pincers ripping along his throat never occurs. Instead, a loud CLAP echoes along the walls. It’s deafening and almost endless, but it's over in an instant. A river of fluid splashes along The Wanderer’s face and body. It’s warm and thick like syrup but smells like rotten apple cores. For a moment, he contemplates if this is death. A strange death, and a strange place to end up, but who’s to know. Before long his eyes opened. The creature that stood hunched over him was still there, but its head was entirely missing. Fragments of skull and viscera lined the walls and floor around him as the creature stood cold, dead. Seemingly out of nowhere, its head just seemed to explode.
“Did...” The Wanderer began quizzically. “Did I do that?”
Before an answer could be given, a shuffle could be heard across the room, hidden against the far wall deep within the dark. Slowly The Wanderer rose, knocking the deceased creature away from him, the feeling and strength slowly returning to his body. He stared off to the dark corner, waiting in vain for his eyes to adjust to the dark. They didn’t. Bending down, he grasped his sword in one hand, and what remained of the faint torch in the other as he cautiously meandered to the muffled sound coming from the dark corner.
“Gods, if it’s one more of these disgusting fucking things, I’m straight gone.”
Slowly, the image of a man appears. He almost seemed affixed to the wall due to some form of slightly translucent webbing sprawled across his body. His feet were a few inches raised from the floor as he hung limply against the wall. A thin layer of the same substance covered his mouth as he muffled violently to The Wanderer, his eyes red and spread as wide as they could go. Near the middle of the webbing his right hand was tightly bound, unable to move. On the other side, it seemed he was able to shake loose enough to free it. A silver revolver with gold carved inlays held tightly between his fingers. Faint trails of smoke emanated from the pistol’s barrel. The smell of spent gunpowder lingered In the air, a smell The Wanderer had memorized.
The Wanderer looked puzzlingly at the man stuck to the wall, before a spark of remembrance and realization came to life in his eyes. Sweat beaded down the side of his head, slowing before soaking into his shirt collar. That chance encounter had taken its toll, and had gone on for longer than he thought, longer than he had hoped.
“Hells man, I had forgotten entirely of you. Why not speak up next time?”
The stuck man convulsed in a fit of annoyance and fury as The Wanderer laughed heartily.

For starters, what's all this "season" smeg, it's driving me bonkers. This is a British programme so it's "series," not "season!"
=== The Golden Age ===
Series 1 and 2 are character-driven. Things happen because of the actions and decisions of the characters, not because of plot points. I love the lonely melancholy that creeps in. Rimmer is an absolute powerhouse in early Dwarf. He's much easier to like when they tone him down from series 3 onwards, but from that point on he's just the butt of the jokes and doesn't dominate every frame.
3 is incredibly good fun, mostly light-hearted, way more colourful and exciting but rather cartoony. Series 3 captures the optimistic feel of the end of the 80s/start of the 90s in Britain: the end of the Cold War, coming out of recession etc. However it's definitely become a different show at this point. The continuity goofs start here and get worse every series.
4 and 5 feel interchangeable, they're not my favourites but still loaded with absolute quality. Like series 1 & 2, there is a visual continuity between 4 and 5, they're episodes you can chuck on late on a Friday night after a hard week and chill out with.
6 is the first series I actually watched through so it will always be one of my favourites. It's also the watershed, because after this RD will never get near its previous heights. (EDIT: I still prefer the depth of series 1&2 but 6 has Legion.)
=== The Age of Smeg ===
7 has aged incredibly well, mainly because we know Rimmer comes back, but in its day the loss of Rob Grant (the actual funnyman on the writing team) and Chris Barrie were a devastating heartache. Introducing Kochanski only worked for Duct Soup and Epideme, otherwise the whole thing was pure sewage. The tonal shift also threw everyone off. However there are some outstandingly good episodes, and that Ouroboros music.
8 is one of the funniest things I've ever watched, but it's so puerile and sex-obsessed, and did we really need Pete as a 2-parter? There are lingering sexy shots of the female cast while the males are reduced to drooling simps. They knew they smegged up with this one as there's never been a follow-up and Lister is suddenly the last human again?
Back to Earth, oh dear Cloister make it stop. (It's actually quite good until they go to Earth, but then...)
10 and 11, the Last of the Summer Wine era where the acting and writing are so low quality that it's just sad, just a faded echo of itself. The timing always feels off, the chemistry between characters isn't always there, the stories sometimes lack imagination (or are so poorly executed the idea is ruined). This is where the difference between loving a show and blindly loving a show come in: one is fandom, the other is zealotry. Have you ever in your life wanted to meet a zealot?
The Promised Land: The first 10 minutes feel like Red Dwarf is truly back. Then, aside from Holly firing the torpedoes, which is one of RD's great moments, it's a succession of terrible characters, unfunny jokes pushed way too far (the singing!) and stupid ideas. We finally meet the cat people - and their leader is a despot who decides the Dwarfers must die so it just becomes a running battle, yaay, we've finally turned into Star Trek Voyager.
What do people think, is this a fair assessment or do I need a toasted teacake?
EDIT 2: I don't know why that image is in my post, you need to click the link in the text and not the picture!

Hi all,
Looking at starting GP training next year.
Bit overwhelmed by all the different conditions and treatment guidelines I will need to know, and having to do it all in front of a patient within 15 mins.
Was thinking of just having a set of notes on one monitor and building it as I go to use as a crutch (which hopefully towards the end of training I won't need). Instead of having to look up ETG each and every time and trying to find where everything is, which may be awkward in front of a patient.
Which note taking app do you all suggest?
Requirements:

• Must be cloud based
• Must handle images well e.g. treatment pathways, images of rashes etc
• Good search / ctrl-F function
• Outline or something on the left side like word and google docs
• Be able to export if I ever need to in the future i.e. not be stuck within one program
• Don't mind paying

To date I have used google docs and MS word.

• Google docs I am finding some annoying features like the limited editing options, and stuff like the outline/headings not being collapsible on the outline (e.g. if I have a Heading and subheadings and want the outline to only show the headings it won't let me do that).
• Note sure if one note is still like this but I found the search almost unusable. E.g. if I typed "X Y" it would show me all the results for "X Y" and "X ............. abcbdbeg Y". I.e. it would show me sentences that had X and Y somewhere instead of just the exact 2 words I wanted.
• Evernote doesn't seem to have a document outline either (just installed and tested).

Thoughts on other apps such as Evernote, Notion, One-note for this purpose?
Thanks in advance!

And when the townclerk had appeased the people, he said, Ye men of Ephesus, what man is there that knoweth not how that the city of the Ephesians is a worshipper of the great goddess Diana, and of the image which fell down from Jupiter?Seeing then that these things cannot be spoken against, ye ought to be quiet, and to do nothing rashly

We started using antifungal cream Thursday night under my LOs chin twice a day plus aquaphor as her pediatrician said she has a yeast rash (after 2 other drs looked at it and said it’s just a drool rash) and it’s starting to look better but it’s still pretty red and bumpy in the spot it originated. We have a follow up appointment next week but I’m just curious what everyone’s experience has been with clearing this type of rash. Thank you!

We look the same and we always have but we couldn’t be more different from each other. I think that’s the best place to start with this. Some identical twins have a lot in common. They like the same foods, the same things on television, some even spend their entire lives dressing in the same clothes, but we were never those girls. For as long as I remember, it’s been hard for even our own parents to tell us apart were it not for our very different personalities. Our own mother can’t tell the difference between our voices over the phone to this day. We even have the same laugh, but after that we diverge. I’m extroverted and would much rather be outdoors than inside where she is bookish and reserved. As far as personality traits go, Lily and I have always shared very few.
We both have our father’s nose and our mother’s heart shaped face and her high cheekbones. The same raven-black hair falls in waves past both of our shoulders and the same emerald green, almond shaped eyes sparkle with hidden flecks of gold that you can only see if you take a look up close.
Still, there’s a connection between us that can’t be explained. We just feel it. Know it’s there. It’s a thing with identical twins no matter how truly different they really are. Some say it’s a sort of telepathy, if you believe in that sort of thing.
That’s the reason I knew something was wrong before I had proof. I knew when I woke up in the morning that something was happening and that it was big. I even knew when I finally got up the nerve to send her a text, she would reply this time; not right away–but this time–she would. She hadn't been replying to me at all lately, no matter how often I sent her messages. Something was different now. I'd hear back from her but it would be at least a week–possibly a few days more before I did. Sending this text was different. Something I could feel in my bones told me she'd finally tell me what was going on with her. Where had she been? In my heart, I knew the lack of communication over the past several months wasn’t something she had chosen. Somehow I knew she wanted to talk to me but for some reason she couldn’t and that was a very strange and unnerving feeling for a twin to have. In the past, before Lily’s recent radio-silence, she and I had rarely gone for more than a day or two without checking in. In the past year that had suddenly changed and I had no logical explanation for it.
This particular morning, a feeling of unease is everywhere around me and even somehow inside me. I feel it in bed before I even open my eyes. Like an itch you can’t scratch because you know it will just make the rash worse and trying to ignore it altogether will drive you mad. The worst part about the itch was knowing that after months of nothing, I would finally hear back from Lily. It was time. She was ready to talk. I knew it. I don't know how–I just did. Somehow after months of unanswered messages, my next text would finally garner a response and knowing that made me jittery. The itch was made worse by the inexplicable knowledge that the response was going to take days. At least I would get it, but I'd have to wait for it for days. If she hadn't replied to me in months, why should that make me feel so uneasy? I couldn't say. The whole prospect of this scenario made me nervous but I told myself I would send the message right after breakfast because my sister needed me to send it and she needed me to send it today. It was important that I reached out to her this morning.
Whatever happened is bothering me so much that I burn the pancakes and have to start them over three different times.
“Vibes are off today, Emily,” my wife Jasmine begins. She sits patiently waiting for me to serve her a plate of good ones, pancakes that aren’t burnt, at the table in our kitchenette, “I just changed that bag last night you know, and if you keep doing that I’ll have to take it out again before we even get to eat. What’s up with you?”
“Not me,” I reply, “it’s Lily. Something’s up with Lilly.”
“Oh? You finally hear back from her? What’s going on?”
“That’s just it. I haven't heard anything in months but that's definitely about to change. I don’t know. It’s just a feeling, babe. Hard to explain,” I say.
“A twin thing?” She asks.
“Exactly. It’s twintuition. It’s like–”
“–Intuition,” she finishes for me, “I get it. Did you try calling her or texting her yet?” Jasmine asks.
“No, but it’s because I’m afraid she won’t answer right away and I don’t want to have that fear be real.” I admit. “That’s weird isn’t it?”
“Very,” she says getting up from the table. She picks my phone up from the counter and grabs me by the waist, moving me away from the stove and spinning me around. She pecks a small kiss on my lips and lifts one of my hands, placing the phone into it. She gives me a little shove toward the kitchenette table and pulls out the chair for me.
“You’re going to sit here and write a text to your sister and I’m going to finish making breakfast.” She tells me.
I sit here looking at my phone for a while, unsure of how to start. Finally I type:

Anything wrong? Worried about you.

And I hit send.
_____________________________
Eight days pass before Lily texts me back and it’s a flood of texts in the morning from an unknown number. One after the other.

Sorry I didn’t get back to you right away. You were right about Eric. I didn’t tell you a lot because I thought you’d be ashamed of me. Or mad. You’ve always been so much stronger than I am.
I packed and left the night you text me. I was afraid to reply because I thought he might be able to read it somehow. He definitely was tracking the phone so I left it at the bus station that morning.
It took me a few days to get set up, but I’m in Echo Bay now and this is my new number. Just got one of those burner phones from Walmart. It’s nothing special but that’s on purpose.
I’m staying in a bungalow on the beach. Very cute. Just a few miles from you and Jasmine, actually. It’s nothing permanent, just an AirB&B. I figured coming here would be safest for now to figure out what to do next.
I never told him where you were and he’ll try to find me if he can. He’ll follow me to the end of the Earth. I should have told you about him. The whole truth. Now I finally can. If you’re not busy, come by today and I’ll tell you the whole story.

The last text she sends puts tears in my eyes and I call her right after I read it and we make plans…

I’m pretty sure if I stayed he’d have killed me sooner or later. Probably sooner.

I meet Lily for lunch at her bungalow in the afternoon and she’s right, it’s very cute. She, on the other hand, looks like a mess and I find myself both irate and awestruck. I don't understand how the bruises haven’t fully healed or even begun to heal a little. That bastard really did a number on her. It's eight days later and her face and skin is purple and green with bruises in so many places–appearing to be so fresh that you'd think she'd been at the bottom of a three-car pile up just the night before.
“He wasn’t always like this, you know,” she tells me, “in the beginning he was really charming…it took a long time to figure out that person wasn’t real.”
She doesn’t eat much, mostly just moves the food around on her plate with her fork. She goes quiet and drifts away from the conversation a lot which is strange for me because she was always the one with more focus. I’m the daydreamer. She’s the grounded one. That’s how we’ve always been. A few times while she’s sitting silently, she begins to cry. When I hold her hand, it turns into a wailing sob and I reassure her that none of this is her fault. That this sort of thing happens to a lot of women. That they feel trapped and never try to get out. Never try to escape. They don’t make it out. I reassure her that she’s still strong because she saw what was happening and she did something about it. She left. I reassure her quietly that although it shouldn’t be this way, that it shouldn’t happen, this still happens to lots of women anyway. She’s not alone. She escaped it. She’s a survivor.
“We can help find you a lawyer if you want,” I offer at one point, “we have money saved. We can pay for it,” and she immediately shuts the idea down.
“No. I’m not doing that,” she says adamantly, “I just want to be done with it. I came here to heal. I don’t know if I’m staying or not yet…”
She pauses for a moment and then adds: “I just need some time to figure out where I’m supposed to be.”
“But if you let him get away with it, he could do this to someone else,” I say, “you do realize that right? You need to do something. He needs to pay for this.”
“He does need to, but what if he gets away with it?” she asks, “what if I report all of it and he sits trial for it…and what if he gets off? I can't take that chance. It isn't worth the consequences of it. What if I don't win?”
“What if you do?” I ask her. She gets really quiet then, “promise me you’ll think about it.”
“I will,” she says and it’s almost a whisper, “I just need some time. I made it away and I’m safe. I don’t know if I want him to know where I am. If I do this then he knows I’m here and when he does, if I lose, he will kill me. You understand that don’t you? He will kill me. That man operates on some sort of twisted revenge. He won't even consider what would follow once he's gotten it. He'll just think about getting even with me.”
“Jail isn't a deterrent when you're dealing with a human grenade. He'll only want to explode–to destroy. He won't worry about what happens to him after that. He doesn't work that way.” She says.
She doesn’t want to let me take pictures of her bruises but I insist on it and somehow actually win that argument. She tells me she’s been trying not to even look in mirrors right now. She doesn’t want pictures of her looking like this on her brand new phone because what if she decides to take a picture of something beautiful, like a sunset, and she opens the camera and the photo gallery is right there and she has to look at this instead. I tell her that she’s still beautiful no matter what happened to her. All that matters is what happens next. So I take the pictures for her with my phone. She takes off her shirt and there are more bruises everywhere underneath and we take pictures of those too.
I manage to keep my own feelings bottled up for the entire afternoon until she takes her shirt off and now before I realize I’m doing it, I’m crying also.
“Shhh,” she whispers, “you can’t cry. You’re the strong one.”
I shake my head and tell her that we’re both strong and then we’re both sobbing and she presses her face against my chest and I press my head onto the top of hers until she steps away from me and tells me that I have to stop crying on her because I’m getting snot in her hair. We both laugh.
It’s not funny. Nothing about this afternoon has been, but we both laugh anyway and our laughs still sound the same.
I spend the entire day with her and as the sun goes down we leave her bungalow and take a walk along the beach.
“So, can I ask how you ended up falling for this guy? Identical or not we clearly operate on different wavelengths romantically and I just don't understand.” I say, and then add: “forgive me if that's too personal.”
“No. It isn't.” She begins, “and if only we operated on the same wavelength or even similar ones. I thought about you a lot in the past few years. Thought that if only I was a big old lezzie–like you, if I'd just went for girls, none of this would've ever happened.”
“Don't be so sure. Domestic abuse doesn't have a gender. There's shitty, abusive partners in queer relationships too.” I tell her.
“Well, regardless, I've actually asked myself the same question about a hundred times in the last week. What drew me to him and where and when did things change–you know? When did he go from the ideal boyfriend to an absolute monster?”
She tells me that when she met this bastard, Eric Warminster, it was like something out of a movie, and her story begins that way too–like a cheesy rom-com–so corny it sounds fake…I almost tell her how much I hate romantic comedies, I almost tell her to give me some horror flick any day of the week. I think better of it just before I do and don't say the thought aloud. She never went for horror, even when we were girls–and that's what she ended up with despite her aversion to it. That was what her life had become.
She tells me they were both in the produce section of the grocery, neither of them paying too much attention–he on the phone and she looking over her shopping list. They both reached for a pineapple–the last pineapple in the crate. He asks her what she plans to do with it if he lets her have it and she tells him she's just going to cut it up and eat it. He tells her he’s making a pineapple-upsidedown cake with it.
“I've never had that.” She tells him honestly; matter-of-factly and he invites her over to his place later that night to be the judge of whether or not his recipe is any good. Normally, she tells me, she'd never have done something like that. She tells me that she's not the type to just go to a strange man's place on a whim…but he was good looking and had a charming way about him. She fondly describes his smile. It’s out of character and she can't say exactly what makes her drop her guard and give this man her number, but she does…
And the dinner he cooks for her as well as the cake he makes are both excellent.
“That wasn't the only cake he made for me. One day when we were still getting to know each other he asked me a load of questions. What's my favorite color? Favorite flower? That sort of thing. Remember that movie ‘Steel Magnolias?’ I told him that was my favorite movie. He says he's never seen it. Not a week later, he tells me he watched it and asks me to come by after work. Says he's got a surprise for me...” She says.
“No fuckin way.” I said, interrupting her. I told you rom-coms aren't really my thing, but I'd known that was Lily's favorite since we were in middle school. Of course I'd suffered through it and we'd watched it together…her with a tissue pressed against her eyes and me rolling mine.
“He made the Armadillo Cake?” I ask, “you mean to tell me he watched the movie just because you mentioned it and then he made the cake?”
Lily smiles briefly at the recollection and nods.
“He was very romantic…in the beginning.” She tells me.
Eric does all sorts of things to win Lily's heart: he'd make her breakfast in bed, take her on picnics. She tells me he would even sit there calmly while she complained about her co-workers and instead of trying to fix the problem or offer his advice, by the end of the conversation he'd have found a reason to hate the people she said she hated in her story and have his own complaints about them too. According to Lily, he was perfect…and then shortly after she moved in with him, things started to change and they changed fast.
Little things at first…she accidentally buys the wrong type of cereal at the store and is met with: “Frosted Flakes? Really? Not Frosted Flakes! Mini Wheats! Are you stupid or something? Frosted Mini Wheats! How hard is that for your useless, stupid brain to remember?”
She tells me that once she folded the towels the way our mother always had when we were growing up. He didn't fold them that way so he calls her into the bathroom, throws open the linen closet and proceeds to yank each one of them out one by one, unfolding them with a flick of his wrist before smooshing them into balls and leaving them in a heap on the floor.
“Do it the fuckin right away the first time, or do it again, moron.” He shouts at her before storming out of the room.
“He told me all my friends were toxic next. I didn't have any friends except my coworkers so he told me he didn't want me working anymore. Most women would kill to be homemakers. Do the dishes. Spend the afternoon watching soap operas. He put me on an allowance and I couldn't buy anything without telling him I was buying it.” She says. “He told me you were toxic too. Said you didn't love me and the way he said it…how he explained it, it was so convincing. That’s the reason I stopped returning your calls.” After she says this, she begins to cry quietly.
He tells her if she tries to reach me or any other of her so-called “toxic” family, and he finds out, he'll sell the car he bought her and they'd start having everything–all the shopping and groceries–delivered. She becomes afraid if she lets anyone know what’s happening she’ll lose what little freedom he grants her and she'll be trapped in their house for good…trapped there with him for good.
There are a few other anecdotes just like those ones in her story and I find myself getting more and more angry as she recounts all of this to me. Then it hits me: each story is just another small escalation. I'm so mad I could run this man down with my car, then get out and curb-stomp his head before setting him on fire.
I can feel the desire to do that just from what she tells me up to this point…
She still hasn't gotten to the day he begins to put his hands on her and my blood is already boiling.
She gets quiet for a long time and we just walk. I reach out and take her hand, and when I do she puts the thoughts that I was having just a moment earlier into words:
“I can sense how mad you are. I haven't even told you about the first time he hit me.” She says.
“You can keep talking about it, but you don't have to if you don't want to.” I say.
“I don't want to, but I'm going to anyway. I'm ashamed.”
“You shouldn't be. None of this was your fault.” I tell her.
“I know. I am anyway.” She continues, “I feel like I need to tell you. I have to tell someone. I haven't talked about any of this. It's poison and I want it out.”
The first time he hits her, it’s a punch in the face. He doesn't even start off with a slap or something. He'd never hit her before and the first time he does, it's a closed fist. She isn't expecting it to happen. The reason he claims he did it afterward is that she'd overcooked his pork chop. They finish eating and as she collected his plate she askes him how it was. He says it was chewy and then out of nowhere he punches her in the eye.
After he discovers he can get away with something like that, it starts happening all the time…
He throws her against a wall for forgetting to charge his phone for him. She'd forgotten somewhere that she was responsible for every small thing when it came to keeping the household running–even things that she'd never been asked to do. Things as small as putting his phone on the charger for him so he wouldn't have to do it himself.
He didn't want a girlfriend or a partner…he wanted a slave.
If he was leaving for work and she couldn't tell him where his keys were, he'd choke her so roughly and long that her vision would go white–then black–only to stop moments before she was about to pass out.
She’d forget who she was dealing with and speak out of turn and he'd take her by a fist-full of hair and drag her into their guest room where he'd installed a padlock she hadn't noticed before. He'd lock her inside and leave her there for a full day–sometimes two–without anything to eat or drink.
He'd tell her how lucky she was to be so well kept.
He'd tell her that the first time she ever tried to leave him would be the last time she tried that because dead women can't leave anyone–ever.
The awful stories pour out of her. Sometimes slowly like the tears that well in the corner of her eyes, growing like drops at the tip of a leaky tap until big enough to fall… Sometimes in a deluge of rolling sobs as a powerful wave like a wall of water from a burst dam. I don't interrupt her. I don't know what to say so I only listen. I know my sister. She doesn't want me to say anything because nothing I could say would take away the pain of any of this for her.
Eventually the emotions and stories are all spent and she grows silent. When she speaks again, it's to change the subject.
“What’s that out there?” She asks, pointing out at a spot in the water. The sun has nearly set and the only thing we can see is a great dark space on the horizon. The place where I live is old and still has a working lighthouse; it’s more for nostalgia than anything else now. As if on queue, the light sweeps across the darkness revealing a large, not so distant island that mostly exists as an outcropping of rocks.
“The locals call it Mermaid’s Roost,” I tell her, “lots of the old-timers, the superstitious ones, say that’s where the sirens live.”
She smiles at that. I realize it’s the first time I’ve seen her smile all day and it’s an incredible feeling. It’s too soon to call it healing but it’s the beginning of something like it and I can feel it radiating from her. It feels warm. She lifts her phone and opens the camera.
“It’s gonna be my first picture in my new phone,” she says, “I was waiting for something beautiful. I wanted the first one I took to be something beautiful.”
“The Roost is why they put the old lighthouse here in the first place. Supposedly there’s dozens of old ships that sank out there,” I tell her.
“They heard the sirens singing and rammed their ships against the rocks to be closer to them.” Lily says, “The legend is that they’re still out there and you can still hear them if they want you to. If they want you to come out to them…when men hear them from the water it’s because they want to smash the ships. When they hear them from the shore it’s always a trick; a call to swim out to them. Most don’t make it. There's an awful undertow. They drown. If they do make it that far, the sirens just kill them and eat them. They’re not actually mermaids at all but birds with the heads of women. Weird right? They’re from Greek mythology, you know. Surprising anyone believes anything like that out here.”
“That’s right,” I say, struggling to hide my surprise, “but how do you know all that? You just got here.”
“There’s a book about it at the house,” she explains, “I didn't just get here. I’ve been here for about three days. I’ve read the whole thing twice. Didn’t realize it was a local thing. That explains two things…why it was in the house to begin with, but also why it wasn’t written very well. I thought it’s probably self-published or a vanity press sort of thing,” She shrugs and says, “I didn’t realize why it was at the house until now. I like it anyway. It’s just about the only thing there is to read in there.”
I’m flabbergasted, “Three days? You got here and waited three days to text me?” I heard the rest of what she said but that’s the only thing that registers.
“I was scared,” she says, “scared to tell you about any of this stuff.”
“I get it. I’m not mad or anything but Jesus, Lily, you’ve been this close for three days? I’ve been worried sick about you for over a week!”
“I know,” she whispers and grabs my hand, “I’m sorry.”
“We should probably get back before it gets too dark,” I say.
“Stay with me tonight? Say you will? Call Jasmine and tell her you’ll be home in the morning?”
I say I will and that we need to start to head back to her place. We’ve walked about a mile so it will take us a while to get back and this isn’t the kind of beach that’s made of gentle slopes of endless sand. There’s sand of course, but it’s also full of rocks to trip and bust your head open on in the dark.
When we’re halfway there and the sky is a deep, dark purple, like the color of wine when it's still in the bottle, she stops and looks back at Mermaid’s Roost. The shadow of it still looms on the dark violet horizon, like a giant sleeping in the sparkling black blanket of water. Her eyes grow wide and seem to fill with tiny golden diamonds, like flecks of light reflected by the stars. Her face glows with an uncharacteristically innocent wonder.
“Emily,” she whispers, “do you hear them too?”
And I think she’s fucking with me so I say “sure” and tell her to hurry up because I’m starving and I want to order us a pizza and call my wife to let her know I'll be staying with her in her bungalow. Also that my feet hurt. The truth is that I can barely hear her when she asks the question in the first place.
“It’s beautiful,” she says quietly and I agree because I think she’s talking about the town or the beach or the moon or the stars or anything else–anything real–and not some local legend that she can hear over the sound of the waves and wind that I can’t.
When we get back to the little beach house, she pauses in the doorway and stares for a long time back at the island of rocks. It’s distant, but big enough to still see, if only just barely when the light from the lighthouse sweeps across it in the dark.
_____________________________
The house is awash with the chill and the sounds of the sea wind when I wake up. We went to the master bedroom around 11:00pm to watch a movie. The plan was for us to stay in the same bed like we used to do sometimes when we were little girls. The house has a guest room and I could have slept in there, but Lily begged me to stay with her, so I did and the truth is that I wanted to.
It’s 3:00am and the cold is what’s roused me from sleep but it’s panic that pulls me fully awake now. She’s not here with me. I know she’s not in the house. I know this the same way that I know she turned the TV off when she left. She did this so a loud commercial didn’t wake me. I know this because it’s what I would have done if I was trying to sneak away and I didn’t want her to stop me. I know all of this the same way I knew she was in trouble but I didn’t know how or why over a week ago. Twintuition.
I’ve never had a feeling like this one before. It’s strong and clear but also deep and dark like the water outside. I know from the moment I wake up that I won’t see her alive again, but I search the entire house for her anyway. I go from room to room checking every closet, beneath both the beds and even behind the shower curtain in the bathroom. When I get to the living room I see the reason the house is so cold; she didn’t shut the door behind her when she left.
“The Legend of Mermaid’s Roost” is laying open on the counter and she’s used seashells to hold the pages open to where she’s circled a passage in black marker.

“When men hear the sirens singing, it is always without a doubt an attempt at temptation. Their beautiful and deadly song is said to be a lure calling sailors ever closer to the rocks of Mermaid’s Roost to smash their ships along the stoney shore, but the sirens don’t stop there. Their singing has not only been heard by men at sea, but by those who walk along the shores after dark. They call out to the men on the mainland trying to convince them to swim out to the Roost; a distance just over half a mile. According to the legends, most of those that attempted to swim the distance to the island would get caught in the undertow and drown. If they managed to make it the entire way, the sirens of Mermaid’s Roost would rip them apart with their talons and eat them alive while they screamed for a mercy that would never come. Death is always the fate of men who hear the song.”
“According to the myths, women almost never hear their enchanting calls from across the bay, but for those that do the call is never a deadly temptation, but rather an invitation to join them. To sing with them and lure men to their untimely ends. Those women that do hear them may choose to join their deadly flock if they wish to do so. According to the local histories this is rare and the women that choose to join them are never seen nor heard from again.”

At the bottom of the page, a note in her handwriting simply reads: “Figured out where I’m supposed to be. Thanks for today. I love you always.”
I rush outside knowing there’s no reason to hurry because I’m already too late. She’s already made her choice and I don’t need my twintuition to tell me that because I can hear her.
She’s singing…Mermaid’s Roost is over a mile away and I know it’s her voice because it sounds so much like my own. It’s quiet from this distance but the preternatural nature of her chorus spans the space between us with ease and clarity…but this song is not my invitation to join her…
It’s her last request.
When I offered to pay for a lawyer so she could make him pay for putting his hands on her, she was afraid she wouldn’t win but that fear is gone now. She’s found a whole flock that’ll be willing–that lives for the sole purpose of picking better men than him apart, and they will, as they’ve done to so many before him…that is if he even survives the swim.
He’s too far from here to hear her song but he’s not too far for me. I don’t know exactly how to reach you, Eric Warminster, but I know where you live and there can’t be more than one man with that name where you are. In the morning I’ll make a few calls until I find you and when I do, I’m pretty sure that Lily was right when she said you’d try to kill her if she ever left. I'm banking on her fear that you'd follow her to the end of the Earth. I’m also pretty sure you won’t know the difference between her voice and mine, especially not over the phone…our own mother can’t most of the time. I don’t even have to face you and I already know what I’ll say to get you out here too. I’ll taunt you and belittle you just like you did to her. I'll be laughing the entire time. You’ll come. It should be easy enough…our laughs sound the same…
…All I have to do is tell you to meet me at the beach after dark. I know by the sound of the song she's singing that she's changed so much already. I wonder if the transformation was instantaneous or if it takes time for her feathers to grow in and fully form. I wonder if that even matters. I wonder if she must complete her change before she can do what she means to do to you and something about her tone tells me, no. She's ready for you now. The words of her melody aren't in English anymore, but in a vernacular that up until now, I would have believed impossible. The sweet song seems to originate from a great creature both mythical and feminine and beautifully deadly. Birdlike, the calls drift out from the newly-formed and massive beak. I see her face has shifted and grown it already with my mind’s eye. The sound reaches out over the water for only me to hear. Lily sings in a language so musical and ancient now that the words themselves have long been forgotten. Yet, despite their foreign nature, I don't have to understand the tongue to understand the meaning of her song. The sound of the music of Mermaid’s Roost fills my mind. Entering my ears, it surges though my head before seeming to flow and tread before my eyes. I can see what she wants me to do in images that hover barely visible like an ethereal painting before me. She wants me to get you to this beach and I will. That’s her last request–her only request. Get you to the shore and she’ll take care of the rest.
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