Hey I was really hoping some people here that have been around dirtbikes for awhile could help me pick a new one out.
I currently ride a 2012 ttr230, the only dirtbikes I've owned as an adult, previously haven driven a Baja 90 and drz125 when I was a kid. I'm 6' and 170-200lbs depending on how I'm eating lol but often times carry a 25lbs pack as well. I should mention that I have owned road bikes of all sorts, everything from a Vulcan Mean streak to a goldwing to a zx10, so I'm by no means clueless to bikes. I just haven't ridden any other dirtbikes except for the ones I've mentioned, and would like some helping picking a new one.
I love the practically maintenance free nature of the ttr, all I need to do is change the oil/filter, clean the air filter every couple of months and check but rarely adjust the valves. That's my favorite part of the bike. The top speed is good enough too and I haven't been able to use a full tank in a day. Those are the parts I like.
The problems I face are with the suspension, acceleration, size and weight, in that order. The bike is by far the limiting factor when I'm riding fast. I oftentimes just like puttin around and these things arent much of an issue but I do like pushing it up a dry Creek bed sometimes or on a bumpy windy single track trail and I can only go so fast before I feel the bike basically start bending underneath me. And I can't stand up for anything more than a bump or two because it's just too small. Also while it has enough power to move me I could definitely use some more.
So I ride mostly back roads with rough trails in between. I love the maintenance free nature of this bike but having to rebuild the top end really or whatever really wouldn't be the end of the world for me, I just don't want to do have to do it so often it interferes with my riding you know? Also as long as it's cheap to do. I really don't want to have to spend hundreds of dollars for the parts, I can do it myself so I'm not afraid of the labor costs. Something that has better suspension, more power and is a bit lighter would be amazing. Also a little bigger so I can stand up over fast rough sections. There's just so much to choose from
Any suggestions would be a great help. Thank you

Hey all,
First time poster please be kind 😂 I’m surprising my best friend with a road trip from San Fran > South Lake Tahoe > Yosemite > DV > Vegas starting next weekend. Been addicted to refreshing the Tioga pass plowing updates page for the last month or so as it being open would save us a huge drive!
Does anybody know from previous years how long after the ‘initial plow complete’ stage the road usually opens? We’ll be doing the Yosemite to Death Valley drive 3rd June, do I need to give up hope yet?
Yosemite plans include UppeLower falls, Mist Trail, Taft, Sentinel, Glacier point, anything else I’ve missed that’s a must do? We’re staying at Yosemite Valley Lodge so hoping to squeeze lots into the 4 days we’re there! Advice welcome 😊 thank you!

The thing about this climate crisis that no one talks about is that economically, this is not new. This is the same sort of shift as any other massive economic shift we've seen in history, whether resulting from technology or environment or society or any combination of the three. It will be rapid; as rapid as the economic expansion of Europe when it discovered just how profitable colonisation and slavery were. But it's not really anything unseen in an economic sense.
How markets work is this: everything is just supply and demand. If there is a known demand for something, in a roundabout way, the market will ensure that demand is supplied. It might melt a few glaciers in the meantime, or be delayed by a war or two, but it's a force akin to that of nature, or evolution, or cause and effect. The markets will balance. Eventually.

A detour through history

The Chinese never developed eye-glasses. They didn't have the need for glass, because their drink of choice was tea, so the materials they worked with were mostly ceramics. In Europe, the cultural drink of refinement was wine. This didn't need to be kept hot, or be brewed and poured perfectly and all that stuff I'm told is important with tea. But it had requirements and qualities of its own, and one of them is that it looks pretty on display -- and that's why Europe developed and refined glass so much faster than China.
Glass is an incredibly old invention. It's fragile, much more fragile than pottery, so we rarely find it in archeological digs. But it's been invented in and/or expanded to many many cultures throughout history since at least 2000 BC in Egypt, Mesopotamia, and Syria, followed by the Greeks, the Romans, the Canaan, and the Persians. Basically anyone with an empire, including the Chinese, was making glass. Unfortunately they'd only just discovered transparent glass by the late Bronze Age, when the Bronze Age collapsed due to a series of environmental, migratory and urban changes.
(A good reminder that historically, periods of mass technological advancement are followed by civilisation collapses and dark ages. Until the present, of course. But that's been true of every present.)
A lot of glass-making technology was lost, but some important things were saved and some new stuff was rediscovered, and most of this discovering happened in Europe because they had, as I mentioned, wine. And rich people wanted to show off their pretty, colourful wine, and that only worked if your glass was transparent. And Italy had access to pure silica quartz, plus soda ash via their trade with the Levant, and so some clever spark there developed the first pair of eyeglasses.
And that's how you have Mecca, Italy and Venice (the latter of whom had been producing the famous Venetian glass, but moved all their glassmakers to Italy because they'd built all their buildings out of wood) all mass producing eye-glasses with consistent standards for Europe and the Middle East by the 14th century.
This might seem like a small development, but gradual loss of sight used to be a disability. Like, it seriously disabled people from doing many things. Far-sightedness meant artisans couldn't create and scholars couldn't read -- I can't even imagine how many people died falling off a horse just because they were short-sighted. For civilisations to have access to devices that got them decades of productivity out of some of the most skilled people in their societies was massive. And that's part of how you get European dominance over Asia, because the Chinese economic powerhouses didn't care about glass as much as Europe did. It's not enough to just invent something. To develop a technology, a society needs both the resources to play with and the need to play with it. That's why we get so much advancement from war. You can thank Germany for your microwave.

How on earth is this relevant to the market or our climate crisis?

Glass will be invented, and then it will be forgotten, and then it will be invented again. But only some economies flourished from it.
We have no control over anything but us. And that's terrifying. The climate change that crippled the Bronze Age wasn't even their fault and they still got thrown back to the Dark Ages.
We are going to see our own change in the market. We are going to live it. And one thing is true, whether National or ACT or BP like it or not: fossil fuels cannot continue to be relied upon as a commodity. Not long-term. It's a dying industry, slowly but surely, and it'll die whether we manage to wean ourselves off petrol or whether we use it all up first.
To a lesser extent, this is true of other non-renewables too. We are not at critical mass yet with our lithium-ion batteries, but we're now at the stage where people in the third world all seem to have cellphones. This is not a sustainable practice for a limited metal we have to mine from the earth. When something is running out, we don't have to stop using that material in the things we build; if we start to use it all up, it will soon get too expensive to build with, and that will stop us.
And that's why we have to stop using it: because if you as a country or industry pour all your energy and resources into developing technology based off that now-scarce resource, you will be left with no usable technology when that resource runs out.

What are National doing?

This is a political sub, so I won't mince words: something's gone wrong with National. Something's always been wrong with ACT, but National's change is recent. Power has been centralised in the board and the candidate selection process is no longer in the hands of the rank and file after Steven Joyce's shakeup, instead dominated by corporate interests. And they have dominated. We have a cabinet of lobbyists, and not just on National's side of the board; Luxon has pulled together the whole industry.
When we attribute "intentions" to things like forces and political parties, it can be easy to forget there's not a concerted, rational mind at play behind their decisions, and their actions are influenced by all of the people and factors and forces that make them up. When I say, "National has been bought by lobbyists", I don't mean every single person in the party is a corporate shill. I just mean that there is enough corporate, business, and big-money influence in the party that they are no longer being governed primarily by their voter base or even their party members.
Nothing makes this more obvious than National's direction in politics. When your LABOUR and GREEN parties are the ones proposing to fix your climate crisis via free-market ingenuity that we can patent, sell on and capitalise off, something has gone wrong. There is money to be made in climate change, and National are off chasing oil down the bottom of a well.
If we don't wean ourselves off fossil fuels, we will find ourselves paying for it the increased price for them when we don't have the green technology to utilise at the end of supply. If we don't put our minds to green tech and science, we won't have the environment-saving and cleaning and reinforcing products and knowledge to sell on when the demand for them peaks through the ceiling -- instead we will be buying from other countries at big prices, paying to ship their experts here to tell us how to manage our estuaries or dump sites or skink habitats or whatever it is we need to fix next. New Zealand got lucky with our green energy; we were already using renewables by sheer coincidence when the climate crisis struck, and it made our transition to this new world very smooth. We will not be that lucky again.
Look at what we produce as a country. We held on far too long to our wool market out of some idea that it was "what we were supposed to be doing", and it nearly wrecked the country. Because it took us so long to change, and because we'd converted all our land into pasture, the most effective market for us to turn to became beef. Now that market is thriving, and we are willfully ignoring the real economic costs that will come with being a beef export country, and that cost is methane. There is not a future where countries will be allowed to emit methane for free. And there are no methane-light cows to switch to. Not until we develop them.
And this is what people talk about when they talk about environmental solutions still to be developed -- as if other people are going to develop them. That is incorrect. WE are the Cow Country. WE are the ones that should be foremost of the cow-fart field. If we do, we will be the ones benefitting by selling our bio-engineered cows and our science that made it happen. But if we don't, if we trail behind, we let other countries get out in front, and then our industry relies on them, and their industry outgrows us.
And these are all individual product or problem examples, but we are dragging our feet across the entire green industry. Why?

Big Oil does not care if your tech is Green

I say big oil, but there are other anti-environment and pro-corporate interests at play here. And again, there's not some big puppetmaster moving his pawn pieces, but there is influence, and companies don't want the world to go green, because when they do, they stop getting money for all the things they're getting money from right now. They don't care about the environment because they don't have the capacity to care; they are not a they. They are a force, a conglomeration, a hivemind of workers breaking their back for the company, until they clock off and become their own person again.
Their only interest is keeping ahold of their incredibly profitable market, and that market needs machines that use oil, and consumers willing to buy those machines, and people who aren't thinking about switching to a non-oil version of their tractor that doesn't exist yet (because no one has found the need to invent it. Or had the right resources.)
Oil cares about oil. Mining cares about mining. Tobacco cares about tobacco. Beef cares about beef. And we get value out of these industries as a country, as a society, so when they say"This thing is bad for me", we do have to listen to that. Otherwise we won't get our beef, or our oil. But "This thing is bad for ME" isn't the same as "This thing is bad for YOU". And companies are relying on consumers to not know the difference.

Back to National

Tobacco lobbyists have bought out Parliament, and are literally drafting our tobacco laws. And they are just one interest around the table. But they have had a huge effect. Imagine what's happening to the interests of your politicians when you have your lobbyists working together. Imagine where the interests of lobbyists for mining and oil might meet. Now imagine fisheries has a guy in there too.
Our oceans should be feeling very nervous right now.
It's the small influences we can't see that make these big decisions later on. The people who select our future MPs. The people who decide, hey, I'm going to try this new glass technique. But it takes an awful lot of decisions to make a glassblowing society.
A lot of what we do, we don't do consciously, like developing eye-glasses. But the benefit of our open democries, of our information-based societies, of our unprecedented understanding of economies and markets and science and climate, should mean that when we choose to do something consciously, we can do it.
When we don't, something has gone wrong.

A Green Future

To get to the sort of green economy the non-business parties are picturing, you need someone who has the time and acumen to get us there.
That SHOULD be National. There is so much involved in politics; our politicians are running so much. And they're spending most of their time undoing the last guy's policies. Labour's policies sound like the Greens. National doesn't have any except "win". ACT are doing Charter Schools again. And the policies being made are being made in the interests of business people.
Our politicians don't have visions like Hollyoake of a New Zealand forging our own future, or Muldoon's determination to make things better for the average kiwi, or (heaven help me), Roger Douglass's respect for politics. None of the old guard are happy with how politics is shaping up, and certainly not the right, or who eventually became the right, in Douglass's case -- this is what he had to say on the subject: “John Key lived by the polls and it’s very dangerous. If you want to help people, you have to tell them the truth. The problem is that the politicians of today, they want to help themselves. So they poll in order to know what to say and it’s disgusting.”
I think in that one sentence, Douglass sums up everything wrong with the modern National Party. Once upon a time, National were in it to help people. They're not anymore.

Where to now?

It's all just markets.
If National won't change, they'll kill their market and they'll be replaced by a new party, just like the Liberal Party and Reform Party and Social Credit Party before them. National and Labour have always been around, but not always as these parties, or in these forms. The political spectrum will move to meet demand -- even when curtailed by corporate interests.
Or National will change, take control of their candidates and board, and live to fight for another century or so.
Either way, the economy will continue, and so will climate change. We will still need to develop new technologies using our available resources, and direct our technology-developing towards fixing environmental solutions. I hope New Zealand will benefit from this, and not just witness it. But if it's not National making the push, another political party will. We can see that happening right now, with the other parties suggesting their own green business ideas that National should be sweeping up votes for. There is voter and consumer demand for green businesses, and National are distracting us instead with shiny baubles because the corporations influencing them don't want you to see them.
Another thing Douglass was frustratingly right about: all our parties are doing at the moment is undoing each other's policies. It's hard to see New Zealand making any forwards progress at all if that's our direction.

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.

Advice please!
I live in Glasgow, and I'm looking for recommendations of places to go train-plus-bikepacking with my five year old. I drag all our camping gear in our trailer, and there's a limit to how long my daughter will sit on the bike, so we need the following:

• Accessible from Glasgow by train (or has somewhere we could stop for a few nights en route)
• Has a campsite within about 15 miles' easy cycle from the train station
• Is a very low traffic route to the campsite
• Has places we can get to by bike once we're there (we won't have all the stuff by then, so can handle more hills, but does still need to be safe - no country roads with cars hurtling round hairpin bends at 100mph)

So far the list of places I've found is as follows:
Largs.
Yep, that's it! It's an hour from Glasgow by train, has a lovely off-road cycle route all the way to Kelburn campsite, and once you're there there's loads to do without a car - forest trails, little cafe, the water, amazing ice cream. There's even a tiny soft play!

Before I go any further with this I know I have done some pretty stupid things over the years and I never really believed in the paranormal until this incident happened.
So about when me and my best friend were in highschool (year 11 to be exact) I was staying over at her place for the weekend after I had finished my work shift, it was around this time my best friend had an art project that was due soonish and she didn't have any inspiration to help her create something original. Then she came up with the idea to do a freaky photo shoot to see if that would help inspire her to create something ( and I ended up being her muse you could say) and mind you she is very much into special effects and stuff as she is a make-up artist in the making. So by the time she was finished with the make up you could say I looked like a decaying and walking corpse.
We decided to take some photos out in her backyard and then go analysis the pictures some got her attention and some didn't, so then I cleaned myself up and then we tried again, but this time an elf like character. That's when I got the "brilliant"(not so brilliant ) idea that maybe we should got to the nearby lake since there was some awesome places there that would be perfect. Mind you it was already 11:30pm at night.
The first mistake we made was actually going through with that idea at 11:30pm at night which well it was pretty stupid to begin with since will all the bad things happening around our local area ( missing people/ animals, murders etc), that alone should have been a clear indication that we shouldn't be going.
That wasn't a thought to us in the slightest,
So when my best friend drives us there and parks in the big empty car park( which was another clear indicator that we really shouldn't be there), we just sat in her car for a good minutes just discussing how the photos should be taken.....then that's when I got a chill down my spine and the sensation that we were being watched from somewhere. That feeling never left and to this day I can't believe my stupid self had just blantanly ignored that altogether. I wasn't the only one ,my best friend also got the exact same feeling I did and then we proceeded to get out of her car and start taking photos like we discussed. She has fake realistic swords and other weapons so we were using those as props and Everything was going perfectly fine (besides feeling like we were being watched).
What happened next still makes my heart stop, because the place we were at had hiking and biking trails as well as being surrounded by a woodland area. What we heard whilst in the middle of taking some more photos was the sound between a strangled and drying animal mix with a high pitch human scream and when I tell it sounded way too close comfort, I mean it sounded to close for comfort. That sound lasted for a good solid minute (just one singular sound with no breath in-between it) then it stopped and went erriely quiet. Way too quiet.
Now looking back on it, there was no sound of insects making any noise when we got out of the car and there was very certainly none after that sound. Which only means that there was a predator or something of the sorts nearby. I thought I was just hearing things or thought it possibly was just a native animal of sorts.
At this point me and best friend were starting to freak out a little bit, because then we heard the sound of sticks on ground snapping in half to the right of us near one of the hiking trails (which wasn't too far from where we were not that long ago) We tried to not panic and finish the last of the photos.(That was dumb idiotic idea know, but at this point we have made a few.)
I think I was zoning out and focusing on what she wanted me to ( for example,like hold the sword in a swinging position like you were about to slay down beast) I sensed that my best friend had stopped giving instructions and looked to her to see that she was standing and looking terrified to say the least
(This was our conversation in that moment)
Me:"uh... You good??"
My best friend:" slowly come over to me, but whatever you do. Don't .look , behind you."
When she said those words I instinctively and very stupidly looked behind me. To see that standing about a good 10 metres or so from me was a tall stocky but lean black figure that wasn't quite human nor animal from the looks of it ,but at first I thought I was a kangaroo ( yes I forgot to mention we live in Australia) with the way it was carrying itself. A very big kangaroo in this instance.
I then wished that I hadn't looked and now looked back at my best friend and now realised we needed to leave immediately. Because whatever the hell that thing behind me was, definitely wasn't friendly at all.
But we couldn't just bolt off back to the car as that would definitely cause the thing to chase down and it definitely would catch up with no trouble at all, so we had to as calmly as possible,pick up our belongings and slowly go back to the car. But since I didn't know what hell we were dealing with I didn't want to keep my back it as that would have very very stupid and I wanted to make sure it was still there. Thankfully it was but as soon as we got to her car and quickly got in(making sure the doors were locked), I look out the windshield and saw that it was no longer there.
We quickly high tailed it out of there and once back on the road, I then looked in the side mirror on my side of her car and saw the figure standing motionless in the middle of road watching us leave. That we when me and my best friend finally could process what just happened.
Then just before we got to the main road again, there was an actual kangaroo standing in the middle of the road which freaked us out more( but we didn't have a car accident from it) and went the car horn was beeped the kangaroo went on its way and so did we.
Once her place we quickly got inside and locked the doors, shut any open windows and locked as well as closed the curtains.The rest of the night and early morning we could hear scratching and tapping on the windows which we ignored and decided to go to bed.
Needlessly to say always trust your gut feeling or you may not live long enough to tell the tail.

Hi to everyone, typically i do not play games on anything, but consoles, but i got tired of how expensive it is to play on consoles long term. At least where i live it is become over the years by multitudes more expensive. And as im getting older i have less enjoyment to play inside, but i dont mind to play an hour or two outside.
That said heres what i bought for work and a bit of gaming :
.o+` ----------------------- `ooo/ OS: Arch Linux x86_64 `+oooo: Host: Katana 17 B12VEK REV:1.0 `+oooooo: Kernel: 6.9.1-arch1-1 -+oooooo+: Uptime: 1 hour, 11 mins `/:-:++ooooo+: Packages: 949 (pacman), 23 (flatpak) `/++++/+++ ++: Shell: fish 3.7.1 `/++++++++++++: Resolution: 1920x1080 `/+++oooooooooo/` DE: Plasma 6.0.4 ./ooossso++osssso+` WM: kwin .oossssso-````/ossssss+` Theme: Breeze-Dark [GTK2], Breeze [GTK3] -osssssso. :ssssssso. Icons: breeze-dark [GTK2/3] :osssssss/ osssso+++. Terminal: konsole /ossssssss/ +ssssooo/- CPU: 12th Gen Intel i5-12450H (12) @ 4.400GHz `/ossssso+/:- -:/+osssso+- GPU: NVIDIA GeForce RTX 4050 Max-Q / Mobile `+sso+:-` `.-/+oso: GPU: Intel Alder Lake-P GT1 [UHD Graphics] `++:. `-/+/ Memory: 6470MiB / 15697MiB
I tried other distos like ubuntu, mint and such as stock without changing anything, but it wasnt good experience, the issues i faced on xfce and few others is the greeter, i couldnt use touch pad, but only buttons under touchpad, im guessing there 2-3 of em. There were some other little thing that been annoying and i couldnt live w em, changing the desktop envirement and greeter on different distros been quite an experience, so i decided to land on Arch to see what is all noise about, it is about what i was expecting and feels better, but i couldnt fix the sddm and managed to breake it twice and went lightdm-gtk greeter and given arch wiki existence i managed to do some stuff i needed without breaking anything, yet i wish wiki were more detailed, had to look info i needed piece by piece wherever i could.
Now about the game, it is warframe and the issues i have few i would like to find solution to for.
First thing i would like to have vsync on, but with 60fps limit, it doesnt feel as good as 120-200 that system is averaging, but not much of a difference and the battery life is far more important for me. i tried mangohud, gamescop and libstrangle and non of em do work, the game doesnt start, not even a launcher, ive been switching between different versions of proton that steam has to offer (flatpak package) plus proton ge, same result. DXVK frame rate limiter doesnt do anything either. I see a lot of the hype about upcoming drivers 555 and some changes about it, including that gamescop should be working, had to go and read on that subject quite of few pages on the internet.
The second issue i guess cannot be fixed until next nvidia drivers or there anything i could learn about how to reduce flickering, screen tearing in a meanwhile? I do prefer to play in a windowed mode, so can keep an eye on things related to my work and such. When i installed Arch it was a bad experince to play it in a windowed mode, then after another typical sudo pacman -Syu it was great for a day or two bcz there were a kernel update and nvidia driver -4, my guess. But i had to reinstall steam bcz ive been trying to work with pacman/flatpak and set em to install all packages on a different partion, with no success. The instructions, even official, on any matter is so vague to my taste and it takes way to much time to learn about simple things.
EDIT: Thanks to Spodermarc i figured how to enable mangohud
I can live with the first two issues, sort of. But the third issue is bugging me. With that recent kernel update i launched warframe and to my surprise the sensitive of touchpad was like in the system, which i enjoyed until i had to resinstall steam, i guess. Its the same slow unresponsive experience now again. The actual game does work great and there no issues with sensitivity, but when i have to use the cursor for navigation in the UI it is like 4-5 times slowwwwwer. I begging to help me with that one. I havnt had that issue only on Mint cinnamon/mate, but i had that issue everwhere else.
And the forth issue comes from steam, the issue is "dbus-update-activation-environment DISPLAY" i ran it in the terminal as is and with --user argument. From time to time on a login steam refuses automatically to start with given error displayed. It does start no problem immidietly from the shortcut/ctl with no issues. Cant figure out how to track down that issue, the only solution as far as i can understand could be delaying autostart, but i havnt read on that subject anything yet, mint had that option, where it could be set on arch i have no idea atm, prolly gotta go through aur and find something related to autostart.

Round 1, Pick 13 - Brock Bowers, TE, Georgia:
NFL: This is the Raiders willing to adjust the offense to take the best player available. Bowers is a spectacular player who can line up anywhere along the formation as a tight end. There aren’t many holes in his game -- which should urge new OC Luke Getsy to get creative and get Bowers and Michael Mayer on the field together.
CBS Sports: C. He’s a heck of a player, but didn’t they draft Michael Mayer last year and signed Harrison Bryant this year? They have other needs. Don’t really like this pick that much. It’s not like he’s a good blocker for their run game. Strange pick with other needs.
ESPN: What a strange first-round selection, especially considering tight end was addressed last season with the second-round selection of Michael Mayer. Offensive tackle and cornerback were bigger needs. New general manager Tom Telesco must have simply relied on his draft board and gone best player available, especially with Oregon State RT Taliese Fuaga and every single CB still available. In fact, every defensive player was still on the board, and yet ... Bowers was considered a top-10 overall talent and should provide immediate production for an anemic offense.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Cries during Bluey but only at the opening credits.
Round 2, Pick 44 - Jackson Powers-Johnson, OG, Oregon:
NFL: Brock Bowers felt like a throwback Raiders pick to me, but JPJ really feels like an Al Davis classic. Powers-Johnson is a big, brawling interior lineman who played center last year but also can line up at guard -- the position he was announced at -- and bury the man opposite him, even if he's a little stiff and an average athlete.
CBS Sports: A. Instant starter inside. Guard size with mobile center feet. Shorter arms and some rawness in pass pro. But upside is through the roof. All-Pro caliber in that regard. Smart pick here.
ESPN: While Powers-Johnson played center at Oregon, the Raiders announced him as a guard, which makes sense since Las Vegas needs a right guard. Yes, even after the Raiders signed veteran Cody Whitehair in free agency. Powers-Johnson has started games at both guard spots and center in his college career. Last season, he started 13 games at center, was an All-America selection and won the Rimington Award as the nation's top center. He provides quality versatility, which is highly valued on the Raiders' offensive line.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: He somehow still uses a functioning Windows phone.
Round 3, Pick 77 - DJ Glaze, OT, Maryland:
NFL: A left or right tackle with great length and so-so athleticism, Glaze was considered a question mark because of some past injuries (including an ACL), but the Raiders clearly feel good about him here. He's likely a swing tackle to start out but could compete for a starting job down the line.
CBS Sports: A-. One of the more calculated OTs in the class. Rarely panics and has plus awareness. Requisite size and length to stay on the edge in the NFL. Athleticism is at times great but not a true speciality. Nothing overly standout about his game. Just high floor blocker.
ESPN: After taking a versatile interior offensive lineman in the second round in Powers-Johnson, the Raiders used their third-round pick to grab a college tackle who could also transition inside to guard in Glaze. The selection shows how much the new regime of GM Tom Telesco and coach Antonio Pierce value versatility on the offensive line, which is all but set on the left side and at center. Glaze has a long wingspan at nearly seven feet but is not known for being overly physical.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Prefers the arrows on the keyboard over WASD.
Round 4, Pick 112 - Decamerion Richardson, CB, Mississippi State:
NFL: I joked on Day 2 that the Raiders are having another Al Davis-flecked draft, and Richardson keeps the theme rolling. He's a straight-line speed demon with great length, two very encouraging traits. But his penchant for handsy coverage and no real track record for playmaking mutes his appeal just a bit.
CBS Sports: A-. Long, sleek burner who will make plays on the football when he trusts his eyes. Lacks physicality at times and that hurts him when attempting to stop the run although when he gets to the football, he’s a very sure tackler. Smooth athlete in off-man and zone. This secondary needed this type of CB specimen.
ESPN: The Raiders finally address their defense at defensive back in particular, with Richardson who is 6-foot-2 and ran the 40 in 4.34 seconds. He needs development but did lead Mississippi State with 7 pass breakups last season, even as he never had an interception. He's also not afraid to stick his nose in the scrum as he had a combined 164 tackles the last two seasons.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Thinks scotch tape smells like Christmas.
Round 5, Pick 148 - Tommy Eichenberg, LB, Ohio State:
NFL: Instinctive, throwback linebacker who lacks great speed. Eichenberg has the makeup to turn into a defensive tone-setter, even if his coverage ability is limited.
CBS Sports: A-. Ultra-active middle linebacker with a blitzing specialty. Smooth athlete a bit quicker than fast. Awareness is good in coverage, he will find crossers and understand in-breakers are working behind him. Strong tackler. Lack of speed and at times problems vs. blocks are weaknesses but this is a sound football player.
ESPN: Coach Pierce, who spent nine years as an NFL linebacker, gets his guy in the 6-foot-2, 233-pound Eichenberg, who provides depth while translating into a backup for Robert Spillane. Eichenberg did miss three games with an arm injury last season, a year after he was second-team All-American. More a thumper inside than a pass-coverage specialist, Eichenberg had 82 tackles (2.5 for a loss), a sack and a forced fumble in 10 games last season.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Played the role of background tree in his middle school play.
Round 6, Pick 208 - Dylan Laube, RB, New Hampshire:
NFL: Laube become something of a folk hero at the Senior Bowl, charming fans with his personality, elusiveness and pass-catching prowess. He had 295 yards receiving against Central Michigan alone this year and legitimately could emerge as a third-down weapon in the pass game.
CBS Sports: A-. Insane receiving RB. Built low to the ground and had fine testing figures before the draft. Low, side to side wiggle but lacks speed once he finds space. Contact balance is good too. Think the small-school Blake Corum.
ESPN: An FCS All-American all-purpose player, Laube projects more as a potential kick and punt returner in the NFL rather than a rotational running back. He averaged 31.1 yards on kick returns and 11.3 yards on punt returns and had a touchdown on each. He rushed for 749 yards and nine TDs, averaging 4.7 yards per carry last season, and also had 68 catches for 699 yards with seven receiving scores, including a 295-receiving yards game against Central Michigan.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Once wrote 250+ fake true facts for nfl draft cards like a moron.
Round 7, Pick 223 - Trey Taylor, S, Air Force:
NFL: Air Force has landed a few players in the draft the past few years after a long absence, and Taylor could make it either as a box safety or a special teams contributor.
CBS Sports: A. Thick, productive three-level safety best being closer to the line. Plays with controlled athleticism. Gets grabby against better athletes but that’s expected for a larger safety. Solid ball skills. Not ultra twitchy. Smart well-rounded type.
ESPN: The first-ever defensive back drafted out of the Air Force Academy, Taylor won the Jim Thorpe Award as the nation's top defensive back. He figures to provide immediate depth behind starters Marcus Epps and Tre’von Moehrig, but at 6-feet, 213 pounds, he has the size and instincts to be an immediate contributor. Taylor, whose cousin is Hall of Fame safety Ed Reed, had three interceptions, one pick-six, 74 tackles, five for a loss, four PBUs and a blocked kick last fall.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Yes, you reading this COULD have come up with better Facts.
Round 7, Pick 229 - MJ Devonshire, CB, Pittsburgh:
NFL: Devonshire is a fast, tough competitor with size limitations. He was never a full-time starter in college but had strong ball production the past two years.
CBS Sports: B+. Long CB who has the frame of a nickel. Fast, decently explosive athlete. Best in press man near the line. Average to slightly above-average ball skills. Zone awareness not there yet. High floor type.
ESPN: The Raiders concluded their draft by taking their second cornerback of the day in Devonshire, who is more a physical defender who does not shy away from bump-and-run coverage than a speedy DB, though he did run a 4.45 40. The 5-foot-11, 186-pound Devonshire led Pitt with four interceptions last season, including a pick-six, and had 10 PBUs in 12 games with nine starts. Las Vegas split their eight draft picks evenly between offense (TE, G, OT, RB) and defense (two CBs, S, LB).
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Likes bologna on white bread with mustard - it’s a flat hotdog!

This is like the best fucking thing that’s happened to me for three years or more.
I’m in a subdued state of bliss and this is a total 180 from the severe depression and ideation I was stuck in. It’s the first day I found I could control my emotions. It’s the first day I was present in my interactions with my kid without a sense of dread.
I was apprehensive pregnant and after giving birth for two whole years I was in dire straits. I lost myself. In the last half a year I started to perform as a musician mostly for therapy and I have huge social anxiety. Huge. Vibrating linking stage fright.
Today was the first time I could communicate my emotions clearly and I have been able to speak full sentences all day—instead of trailing off,
I feel like the song ‘I can see clearly now’ after days, months, years of brain fog. I’m up. I’m moving my body instead of doom scrolling for 6 hours a day.
I was like so afraid to touch it and sat on my rx for three weeks. I’m a full time business analyst in a lousy project that’s burned everyone out on my team—I felt didn’t really have the bandwidth or mental capacity to venture in a new mood drug because I had migraines throughout Wellbutrin. Yesterday I figured ‘it’s the weekend, I have pneumonia right now, let’s see how this goes’.
Well it’s going. I’m ecstatic. This is one of the best things to happen to my psyche in a long time.
I don’t even care if my joys are blunted I can kind of remember what a genuine smile tastes like.
Has anyone else had this really positive experience changing onto this drug?

"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”

He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”

Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.

Hi everyone,
I'm in the market for an EMTB and could use some help deciding between the Cube Stereo Hybrid 160 and the same model in 140. A bit about my background: I've only ever owned an XC hardtail, but I've always wanted a more playful full-suspension bike. I enjoy a riding style that includes drops, jumps, and manuals. I even learned to drop pretty quickly by pushing myself early on, which makes me lean towards the 160 model.
However, I live in Denmark, where the terrain is mostly flat with limited elevation, which makes me think the 160 might be overkill. Here are some specific points I'd love input on:

• Terrain and Usage: Given Denmark's limited elevation, would the 160 be too much bike for my local trails? I still want to make the most of drops and jumps, but I'm worried the extra travel might not be necessary.
• Playfulness: How do these two models compare in terms of playfulness and handling? I'm looking for something that feels lively and fun to ride, especially on flatter trails.
• Tyre Size: The 160 comes with 27.5-inch tires, while the 140 has 29-inch tires. I've read that 27.5-inch tires can make the bike more maneuverable and playful, which might be better for learning manuals. I do not care about overall speed around a trail, on the other hand I have never owned a 27,5-inch bike, only a 29. Any thoughts on how significant this difference is?
• Versatility: Which model do you think offers better versatility for someone who might occasionally travel to more varied terrains? I do plan on taking trips where there’s more elevation from time to time.
• Future-proofing: Considering I might push my limits and progress in my riding skills, which model do you think would be a better long-term investment?

Also, just to give some context, I'm a slightly overweight dad with limited time. I want the flexibility an e-bike offers to choose between having fun and getting a workout, depending on the day.
Any advice from those who have experience with either of these models would be greatly appreciated. Thanks in advance for your help!
Update: my height is around 181cm and weigh in around 97kg

I recently picked up a pair of Keen Targhee IV boots after reading so many recommendations from people on how they're well suited for people with wide feet. My previous pair of shoes were Salomon trail runners that fit too narrow and caused some inner knee pain.
When I was breaking them in, they felt fine for the first hour, and then I would start to get pain in my achilles tendon on both sides right where it met the top of the boot. This was despite keeping the lacing loose. I wore them consistently for a week to break them in, even doing a gym workout without any issue, but the pain reappeared if I wore them for too long. No blisters at all.
I hiked Mt Rinjani the week after (I know, dumb move with new boots) and thankfully I brought my Salomon's in the pack as I switched within 2 hrs of starting because of achilles pain. It disappeared after.
I'm not sure what conclusion to draw from this. Is this model not for me, or I should trick to trail runners?

This will be a pretty lengthy post, sorry !
So I’m fairly new to the game (I played on iOS—which I know isn’t exactly the same but still), been playing since 4/1 of this year. I’ve advanced far enough that I’ve upgraded Residential Services, built Nook’s Cranny, moved in the initial three villagers, and upgraded my house five times.
I say all that to show that while I’m still fresh—and have so so so much further to go before I’m even getting stars, let alone five of them (which I’m not sure is my objective, but I digress), and having this immaculate island—I’m starting to get a little frustrated ? by my plateau in progress.
One of my main goals since I unlocked it has been filling my museum with all the creatures possible. I spend hours diving for sea creatures only to find the same things I’ve already discovered; which I know a lot of them are seasonal, so it will take time, it’s just discouraging. I come during all hours of the day and never find any new bugs. I endure wasp sting after wasp sting (bc I’m crap at netting them bc anxiety 💀) hoping to shake a new bug out of trees and no luck.
I know one way to acquiring some of the things I’m looking for (fruits, flowers, etc.) is nook miles tickets so I do my tasks for miles and build up a good amount of miles and invest hella of them (like 25,000+ at this point, for the sole purpose of finding aforementioned items) just to get the same fruit (apples, my native fruit ofc lol; and I’ve gotten cherries twice that I’ve noticed), fossils I’ve already found; hell, even the same fish.
I also know that you can travel to other peoples’ island to get stuff that way, but I feel like a cheater and like I’m not doing the work everyone else has put in to make their islands extravagant and amazing (I almost had an aneurysm when I saw people having giveaways and having their own lil events bc hoooooowww). And if it requires online to do that, I don’t have that yet bc it can’t fit in my budget, as cheap as it is. Or if it requires me to open my island, I’m not ready to do that (if I even can bc idk it if requires online).
It’s all very disheartening and it’s hard to stay motivated to keep playing for any reason other than getting my daily ABD check in and to to check what’s for sale at Nooks and Able Sisters’ (which makes me spend bells I should be saving for upgrades and such). I guess I need advice on how to stay entertained without getting burnout bc I don’t wanna stop playing bc I’m not bored just yet and I also don’t wanna leave so long I have to come back to do major clean up/lose villagers.
Thank you in advance to reading this long winded rant, and for any advice my hardheaded stubborn self can get !
TL;DR: I feel stuck bc nothing new is generating in any category (bugs, fish, sea creatures, fruits and flowers on mystery islands) but I don’t wanna take the easy way out to get them, or if I even can.

https://ncode.syosetu.com/n5534co/
https://www.novelupdates.com/series/re-tale-of-a-hero/
https://forums.animesuki.com/showthread.php?t=141085
I don't really post much but I just want to know if someone in this sub already read about this isekai which for me one of the decent ones out there unfortunately it's not much translated.
It's a WN and have more than 2k chapters of main story and 1k+ chapters of sidestory back in earth.
Genre:Isekai,Harem,Fantasy,Scifi,Tragedy?(Flash back),PoV,Mystery
Main plot A whole school is transported to another world with our mc in it. Surprisingly enough all amenities are still working including water, electricity and sewage. People don't just get powers yhough amd yhey need to learn things to survive. The twist is the MC actually already get isekaid in this world , he even brought the former demon lord with him and is disguising as a student(she's his lover and she's not the only one)and is thinking of going back after creating the magic to do so, he thought it's a little bit early but surprised that he is transported back 500 years in the future. He now plans on guiding the whole school to survive in the background while hiding his powers, that mind you he doesn't really mind if discovered but it's easier for him if they don't know much about it( chaos will ensue if they think he can bring them home just because his op)
Characters: You can check the characters here but I'll mainly talk about MC Kaito Amane, the MC, normaly is a chill dude and level headed his your typical normal black haired mc the only difference is his been describe to be handsome instead of the usual loser mc has a circle of friends but is not one of those every body in school knows him type of popular. That is until he stops restricting his magic then he becomes brash and a little bit arrogant but not the douche type arrogant, just the confident one , he also is a battle maniac even if he doesn't want to admit it, and surprisingly this is actually his real personality the reason for him being so calm and collected type or quite type in his suppressed state is because mana is directly link to the psyche and suppressing it also suppresses his emotions or atleast lessen it.
Socially the guy know how to make friends, he hates slavers to his core (because of past experience) and think owning a slave is one of the worst thing a human can do(depending on how the slave state though , he understood that slaves can only survive as slave sometimes). On the Harem aspect of the story the guy is a chad , no rape (there's just that one time when schatach rape him because she's stronger that time), he don't engage sexual activities with minor(his older than he looks but there's a reason why he still go to highschool) and he does his best to givr time to each other harem mems(going on date and hanging out not just sex) and most of his relationships are actually just natural. Aside from that his a solid homie and us actually wingmans some other guy friends too.
The Story Story is freaking long, and slow burn fights Don't happened much but interactions are gold, when there's fights though it's actually epic and the power system is mwah frech kiss( I won't spoil this because this is one of the best parts although the different power systems are laid slowly). It has different PoVs and The MC don't just steam roll the problems and it make sense, the characters are very distinct to each other and have their own personalities. This WN have other guys not just the MC and not just MC harem and not everyone falls inlove with the mc. Something funny is that one classmate has his own unwanted harem and Kaito gets a feeling of comraderie( Kaito is not supposed to have a harem at first but the other worlds sense of value and sense of duty leads him to having one). Andy favorite part of the story os unveiling Kaitos past because every new thing we learned about Kaito new questions pops up. The story is also linked to earth which is cool. The PoV changes is one thing I enjoyed to here the PoVs are not meant to show the mcs opness (only sometimes) but to build the world to others eyes or just to show their daily life. The tone can change from a drop of a dime at one time it's fun and all and yhe next time you know theres death. The world itself is intriguing and the history for the 500 years that has beem skip is one of the biggest mystery in the story.
I think that's the point I caan think for now. I love it and the author is releasing regularly theres even a yime that he releases 3 chaps a day. It's a solid story that every isekai lover will love( I think ?)so give it a try.

TLDR; hirutism getting much worse despite a reasonably healthy lifestyle, need advice on how to mitigate it!
Hi there, I'm 23, and I have known I have had PCOS since about early 2021 when I went to my doctor (again) sobbing about my acne (as it had never gotten better despite being on the pill, then doxycycline for a number of years). I got a pelvic ultrasound which confirmed the left ovary was far bigger than the right, and I assume my bloods showed high testosterone etc, but I did not really have much help/follow up from doctors.
I am currently on year two of a Mirena IUD, and I had Jaydess in the past. Periods are too painful & heavy to not have contraception in, although I haven't been off contraception since 2019 (wondering if Mirena is interacting with androgens? Might be worth getting off it to see how things go?)
To give a full picture of me - they suspect I have endometriosis, possibly on lower colon as I have had IBS-related symptoms since I was about 17, although I have struggled with OCD & a phobia for as long as I can remember (a very anxious wee child). I was diagnosed with ADHD in 2019. (The endo has not been confirmed as I have not had a lap, but ever since I've had an IUD in the pain has been very manageable). I do struggle with very irregular periods, I seem to only get a few a year which upsets me a little as I wish they were regular.
Supplement wise - I am currently taking an Omega 3-6-9 complex, I've been taking it for 6 months consistently and have taken it on and off over the past three years. I have introduced a 500mg inositol supplement into my routine also in the last 6 months after reading about how much it helps, although I have only noticed my hirutism getting worse. I'm currently the most active I have been in two years as I have been working a ski season again (did this mid 2022 also and I felt my symptoms were much better during that period). I regularly take a Magnesium biglycinate powder, and have been a longtime magnesium taker. Due to cannabis being legal where I live, I do consume edibles on a regular basis but I always eat the high CBD content gummies, as I'm not super concerned about getting 'baked', and I know it helps with inflammation & lowering stress.
Diet wise - I went dairy-free when I was 17, and slowly started eating it again during a trip to Europe, and during first year of university but I kept having IBS attacks so I went dairy free again in 2020, and have been dairy-free since then, although have slowly reintroduced it again as I moved countries and find I tolerate the lactose-free products here a lot better, along with some hard cheeses & butter (low FODMAP). I find I get ibs attacks less frequently. Anywho, I also have dabbled in low-gluten and vegetarian/vegan diets but found I couldn't get enough protein in as a highly-active person if I give up meat AND dairy so I dabble in the two intermittently to ensure I get enough protein. I've been getting more into learning about gut microbiomes and whatnot so have been making a conscious effort lately to eat more probiotics/prebiotics such as greek yoghurt, kimchi, saurkraut and of course my favourite, kombucha.
I noticed hirutism appearing possibly around the same time as the dairy-free ness but I do naturally have very dark brown hair, my eyebrows & eyelashes are naturally pretty much black, and I've always had darker hair on my shins and pubic area. I try to avoid processed foods, but I do have an affinity for cured meats (salami is just a handy protein snack), and candy (but I find I crave it a lot less - is this inositol?). Worth noting I have never dealt with hair loss, it is very thick and grows super fast, and it has been dyed to absolute shit (which surprises me).
I remember occasionally getting the odd super long dark chin hair here and there, and I've been either microblading or using hair removal cream on my upper lip since I was about 17, but my acne has always superseded my opinion on my hair or made it difficult to wax/shave so I used to just pluck. I have had a little snail trail/lower navel dark hair for a long time too, and even got electrolysis on it for a bit when I was at high school but it just hurt too much. I take to plucking it when I get bored so I usually stay on top of it.
In the past year or so, possibly longer, I have noticed my hirutism has gradually been getting worse, as the usual 1 or 2 dark hairs on my breasts/chest slowly spread as the hair seems to be getting darker. I am feeling rather down about this and I don't feel as feminine whenever I find it. I accept I have naturally very dark hair but I feel at a loss as to why it's getting worse. I'm currently on my second round of isotretonin, which helped my skin considerably the first time around, but I did it during the winter, so my skin was fully clear when it came to summertime (have always found sunshine + ocean help my skin so much), for the first time since I was a child I had clear acne-free skin! I'm hoping the second time will kill it off but maybe I'm not so sure.
Worth noting also I am a healthy weight (I think?? my waist size is 28-30 inches, hasn't changed for as long as I can remember, some periods in my life I've been more of a 25-26. Probably have a bit more fat than muscle but been actually enjoying being a regular gym goer at the moment. Not a huge cardio person anymore. Do a lot of skiing. I weigh about 70 kilos and I am 173cm tall. Have not been near scales in about six months though haha). Not sure about insulin resistance or anything else.
I have noticed the chin hairs getting worse and worse, and there are longer, darker hairs going all down my neck now. I've always been a fairly hairy person but it's kind of getting excessive at this point and I'm at my wits end about it. Does anyone have any suggestions for lifestyle changes/tweaks I could try to mitigate it? Any supplements that help?

First / Previous
​
Suzanne thought it was absolutely brilliant of me to put books on a flash drive for Sun. She explained that Sun wasn’t as sophant (her word, not mine) as she might seem, more of a repository of information, but she was fairly intelligent. It was how she was able to connect Andrew being in pain to the fact that I was friends with Andrew, and that I would want to know that he was in trouble. Apparently some of Sun’s species had given some ‘wisdom’ to others in the past and it had made its way into mythology.
The key fact was that she was not smart enough to protect herself and her kind from the clever, organized poachers. With that information in mind, it was fascinating for me to think of how Sun took in and organized what she learned. It was almost as if she was a walking, talking library.
On the topic of tours, my first one went wonderfully, and I’m almost hoping Suzanne lets me do more of them. I know not all the tourists are going to be as awesome as these people were, but Suzanne gave me a lot of slack when it comes to dealing with them. She actually said that being a smartass is not grounds for dismissal, and that if I’m sarcastic or facetious to guests who are being ‘daft’ and they complain, she really doesn’t care. Is this the perfect job for me or what?
There were four guests in this party, two adults who were sisters and two children of one of the women, brothers aged thirteen and seventeen. The tour was a birthday gift for the older of the boys from his aunt, since apparently he was passionate about animal protection and conservation.
When they arrived at the front gate, I was sitting at Andrew’s desk, going over the booklet of information one last time. When the visitors pressed the button that sounded the alert buzzer, I tucked away in a drawer and let them in. I did have a cheat sheet with information about the animals on my phone just in case, a brief notation of each of them and which enclosure they were in, but I really didn’t need to use it.
Exiting through the front door, I saw them walk up the path toward me. “Hi, I’m Ripley,” I said, holding out a hand toward the woman closest to me.
She shook it firmly. “I’m Denise. This is my sister Carla and my nephews, Wesley and Jason,” she said, motioning to each of them in turn.
“I heard it’s your birthday,” I said to Wesley, giving him a smile. “You’re interested in animal conversation?”
“Back where we live, yeah,” he said, nodding. “The animals that you’ve got here are incredible. I can’t wait to see them.”
“Well, I can’t wait to show them to you,” I said. “Right this way.”
I led them on the path around the building, toward enclosure one. Despite the horrific memories of the animal killing Stanley’s friends, I knew it was just an animal, and I had to push past my feelings on what had happened. Keeping a small smile on my face, I motioned to the enclosure. “Fiercely territorial and amazing hunters, despite their large size, they’re arboreal and known to dart from tree to tree with barely a sound. This is one of only about two thousand left in existence.”
“Two thousand, three hundred and fifty six at last count,” spoke Wesley, his eyes on the trees.
I blinked, surprised and impressed. “Well that was fantastic. Do you plan on stealing my job when you graduate?”
Wesley looked at me with a grin. “Nah, everyone knows Suzanne only offers humans this gig. And I want to help animals like this one get off the endangered species list. The zoos are great for awareness and fundraising, but then the money has to go somewhere. I want to be doing the real work.”
“That’s really great,” I told him. “I wish you all the best in that career path.” At that, we saw the animal climb down from the tree, wandering a few yards from the tree line. This was because 90% of the time, when humans were at their enclosure and making noise, whether it was speaking to each other or calling out to the animal, it was someone bringing them prey to eat. Or, in my case, enrichment toys to play with.
“Whoa,” Wesley whispered.
“How close can we get?” spoke up Jason.
“The warding starts at the fence,” I told him with a small gesture. “So, just there.”
Both boys wandered closer and I glanced at their parents. It seemed that Suzanne’s zoo had a serious reputation for high quality invisible walls, because they didn’t look worried in the slightest about the boys being hurt or killed.
“They prefer dense forest as their home and have been known to make their nests in trees up to twenty meter in the air,” I continued. “And when hunting, they’ve been seen dropping eight meters straight down. They have incredibly dense yet flexible musculature, which allows them to tackle their prey without injuring themselves.”
There was more information about the animal that I continued to rattle off, though Wesley chimed in at certain points with the info I was about to convey. That was highly entertaining and very cool. When I’d been in school, I’d never met anyone who had my level of passion about endangered animals. I wondered if things were better where these folks came from, but realized that considering there were so few of these animals left, I guessed not.
The animal paced a little bit, seemingly waiting to see if we were the kind of humans that came bearing food, before deciding we weren’t and climbing back up into the trees as easily as I would climb some stairs.
As we moved onto enclosure two, Jason spoke up. “Are there any animals here we can touch or feed or something?”
I sighed inwardly before slowing to a stop. “Well, can you show me your hands?” Jason looked bemused, holding out his hands. “I mean…they both look like they’re in great shape. You can stand to lose one.”
The two women chuckled and Wesley smirked as Jason shoved his hands into his pockets. “Very funny.”
Grinning, I started walking again. “The animals here are all carnivores and all predators. You get to see them, but that’s it.”
“Alright.”
When we reached enclosure two, I started on my next spiel. “We’ve got three reanimated dead in this enclosure,” I spoke. They were just coming out from the trees as we arrived, presumably having heard our approach. “Marissa, Connor, and Bradley. They were donated by families who knew where they would be exhibited. Their next of kin, whoever they are, can’t stand the idea of putting them down. But we need to make sure they don’t have access to corpses, because one of them plus one corpse equals two of them.”
“They eat flesh though, don’t they?” Wesley asked.
I nodded. “Oh, yeah, but it’s from bodies that have already been dismembered. There’s no chance of them being affected by the transformation because it’s all parts.”
“Oh, got it.”
The creatures with blueish-white skin had superhuman strength, which is why they qualified for the security of Suzanne’s zoo. They also were likely the source of any Earth tales of people being brought back to life as zombies, specifically draugr, according to my research. They smelled like rotting flesh, so even as I kept talking about them and giving a background to the people they used to be, we were quick to move on once Wesley had gotten a good, long look at them.
“Enclosure four’s animal is a vampiric spirit. He’s a small, hairy humanoid creature with pointed ears. He wears a hat, and if he somehow loses it, he freaks out,” I said.
“They eat horses,” Wesley noted. “Also anything that gives them the chance to sit on it, usually catching them by surprise while they’re sleeping.”
The creature came out from the brush, giving us a suspicious look. He wasn’t in his humanoid form though; for some reason, he’d chosen to shapeshift to a dog.
I nodded. “Yep, indeed. Once the prey is dead, then he’ll eat it, and he has a voracious appetite. We have two wolves and two bears in the forest, which is one of the reasons I’ve got some self-defense items,” I said, patting my belt where my pepper spray (rated for bear) and my taser. “But the wards keep them out of this area of the zoo, so it’s really not much of a worry. It’s also a known shapeshifter, preferring the form of a dog, as you can see, as well as a cat, a snake, or even white butterflies, though the last one is rare.”
“The white butterflies are supposed to be a sign of good luck,” Wesley said, glancing to me. “Too bad we got the dog.”
“Yeah, otherwise you might be able to talk your mom into getting scratch-offs on your way home, huh?”
Wesley smirked at me.
The next enclosure was Spike, and he was waiting for us, dripping wet from having just emerged from the lake. I gave the introductory information about him, which included his propensity for eating animal eyes, nails, and teeth. “Recently, I’ve given him some enrichment activities, and I learned he likes artichokes, pecans, and hazelnuts,” I said, taking a bag out from my cargo shorts. “Wesley, do you want to toss this bag into the enclosure?”
The boy’s eyes widened and he nodded excitedly. He took a look into the paper bag before wrapping down the top to make sure nothing would fly out. Then he chucked it underhand past the fence. It landed a few yards from Spike, who waddled over to it quickly and tearing the bag open, spilling out the prizes inside. As the animal ate the pecans and hazelnuts, Wesley asked, “How’d you figure out he likes those?”
“It’s not all about taste,” I told him. “It’s mainly the difficulty of getting them out of the shells. He’s used to having to work for the parts of his prey he likes the most, so this mimics that activity, and he enjoys the process. I tried a bunch of different foods to find a few he liked.”
“Cool,” Wesley murmured, staring at him.
We watched Spike eat until he’d finished and then he went back into the woods, leaving us to move onto enclosure five. Japanese camellia were plentiful here, a type of pink flower, and that was because they grew anywhere near one of his species made their den. “This girl spends most of her time in the lake also,” I said, as the creature made its way toward the fence separating us from it. “But as you can see, she’s just as curious as the rest about what we’re doing here and whether we have food for her. She eats fish mostly, but she also regularly gets live prey.”
This creature was a spider-like monster, having six legs with long claws on each, and the head of an ox with two sharp horns. She was capable of shapeshifting to look like a human, but I guessed that she wasn’t fond of it, since I hadn’t yet seen her in that form.
“She prefers the easy way of catching prey, so to speak, by hiding in the lake and pouncing when something comes for a drink of water,” I explained. “Apparently humans are some of her favorite prey. She has an advantage of being able to spit poison, which often hits her prey in the eyes. But it’s usually used in defense rather than offense, since it secretes a limited amount.”
“What kind of animal would even go after something like this?” Jason asked, staring at her.
“Never discount one of its own species when you’re thinking about what might attack an animal,” I replied. “There are places that are breeding all of the animals here, but competition for mates is common. That means an advantage in a fight, like poison or venom, can make or break who the winner is.”
“Ah, gotcha.”
“It can’t spit past the warding, right?” Carla suddenly asked.
“Oh, no,” I assured her. “We’re fine. The wards wouldn’t let anything cross over.” She nodded, appeased.
The animal in enclosure six was the ginormous seal-hippo, Fiona, and she was looking at us as if she was imagining sprinkling us with herbs and spices and stuffing us in an oven. “This girl is one animal I’m going to work on enrichment activities for next,” I told them. “She prefers to feed on crayfish, though she’s happy to eat any humans that wander into her territory. She’ll even make a sound like a baby crying to reel us in. I’ve heard it a bunch of times.”
“Can you get her to make the sound?” Jason asked, perking up.
I grinned. “Not on command, sorry.”
“What enrichment are you thinking of trying?” Wesley asked.
“Possibly food placed in puzzle feeders,” I told him, “since she has claws that are pretty dexterous. Maybe a piñata made out of newspaper with flour inside, or a scarecrow that mimics a human.”
“Awesome,” he muttered.
After a little more educational tidbits, we moved onto Yui’s enclosure. “What is that?” Wesley asked, smiling.
“I got Yui the closest thing I could to a ping-pong ball,” I replied. “She quite likes it.”
“That’s so funny,” he said as she came out of the trees in her spider form. “I mean, the idea of her being a bloodthirsty hunter who seduces men to their deaths and eats them alive, but then on the other hand, she likes playing with something like this.”
“It is a little funny,” I agreed. “But when it comes down to it, all the animals here enjoy activities besides hunting.”
“She can shapeshift to look human, right?” asked Jason, trying to be casual about knowing something factual like his nerdy brother.
I nodded. “She looks like a woman from a region of Earth called Japan. And she’ll use strategies like holding out a hand to shake to get you closer. She tried that on me when I first got here but, as you can see,” I said, holding up my hands and waving them, “I didn’t fall for it.”
The boys both laughed as they got closer to the fence, watching her slowly pace near the trees.
Next was Sun, but she didn’t make an appearance as I spoke about her species. “Well…unfortunately we can’t guarantee that every animal comes out to say hi,” I sighed. “But…oh wait, here she is.”
The green lion with several horns and many eyes along her flank came out from the forest. “Hello,” she spoke.
“Hi, Sun,” I replied. “We have visitors.”
“What’s that?” Wesley asked suddenly, pointing at the small plastic bag that was still where I’d left it.
“Oh! That is Sun’s enrichment,” I said with a smile. “I put dozens of books on a flash drive and found that she can read them just like she’d read a shelf of books.”
Wesley’s eyes widened. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve read about anyone trying that before. That’s really cool.”
“The books are new and interesting,” Sun spoke, drawing our attention. “I’m grateful for them.”
I nodded to her. “You’re quite welcome.”
The next animal, unfortunately, wasn’t there, and we waited around for ten minutes as we discussed him. He was large and reptile-like with red eyes, with its hind legs and tail making him look vaguely like a kangaroo. Then, enclosure ten was a terrifyingly disturbing creature, the not-a-centaur with no skin, that I’d only seen a few times while walking my route. It gave a good demonstration of its ferocity, showing its sharp teeth and snapping at us a few times.
“I’m thinking of trying salt licks and other horse enrichment like a big bouncy ball,” I told Wesley, whose eyebrows went up at that. “Maybe give him more things to forage like scattered grains or a box filled with pinecones and seeds. Foraging is a huge part of a horse’s life in the wild, and humans have to do a lot of activities like that to keep pet horses busy. Of course, he also loves the little salt-water lake that was built for him.”
We spent some time looking at the animal before moving past our last stop, the empty enclosure of the animal was stolen. Carla glanced at me with a sad smile, knowing what had happened, it seemed. I gave her a nod as we continued on our way, walking into the office. “So, I hope everyone enjoyed themselves!” I said with a smile.
“That was the coolest birthday present I’ve ever gotten,” Wesley said, looking to Denise. “Thanks so much, seriously.”
“It was my pleasure,” she said with a nod. “I’d never been here before, and knew I’d find it fascinating. Thank you for the educational aspect,” Denise said, glancing at me. “I learned quite a lot.”
“Happy to hear it,” I said, returning the nod.
As I escorted the guests out of the zoo and locked the door behind them, I reflected on how much I’d changed. The first time I’d seen Yui’s tarantula form, I’d nearly passed out from fear. Now here I was, walking tourists around like it was no big deal. Humans really can adapt to anything, it seems.
That afternoon, Suzanne had texted me that she was coming by after my shift, and I met her in Andrew’s office, shutting the door to the security room behind me. “How’s Andrew?” I asked first thing.
“He’s doing well,” she said with a wide smile. “Back on non-hospital food. He’s allowed to order food on his phone, and to hear it from him, that’s the best news he’d received in a long time.”
I chuckled. “I guess some clichés are true for a reason.”
“Indeed.” She took a breath. “All right. Ripley…I would like to discuss something with you.”
My face went slack at the serious tone in her voice. “I’m not… Am I being fired?”
“What? No!” she exclaimed. Then she chuckled softly. “No, it’s nothing like that. Just, here, let’s have a seat.” Suzanne walked over to the couch and sat at one end, and I took the other. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve kept from you, that I wanted to keep from you until you found your sea legs here.”
“Well…I have,” I said with a nod. “So, what is it?”
Suzanne took a breath. “I knew your mother.”
The words hung in the air for a moment before making their way to my ears. It was a perfectly logical sentence, and yet it didn’t make any sense. “What?” I finally managed.
“When you graduated college, I decided to move the zoo from Italy to within driving distance of your home,” she said softly. “Near enough to your town that you’d see the advert. We ignored any other applicants and I hoped you’d apply. Actually, I expected you’d apply. Not just for the money, but considering the field you wanted to go into. As soon as I’d found out your major, I knew.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, holding up a hand. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “How do you know Patricia?”
“She owned the zoo before I did,” Susan explained. “Fourteen years ago…she was working to track an injured animal that we could bring into the zoo and she was killed by poachers.”
My heart calcified in my chest and a lump lodged in my throat. As my breaths became shaky, I stared at her in shock. “She…she’s really dead?”
“You suspected?” she asked softly.
“It…” I swallowed hard. “We had her declared legally dead after…I don’t know, seven years I think. My dad wanted to go after her for child support, but the police said…they said they couldn’t find…” Tears came to my eyes and I blinked them back before I met Suzanne’s gaze. “She owned the zoo?”
Suzanne nodded. “It was her baby, you’d say. When Patricia passed, I inherited it, which we’d discussed beforehand, a legal just-in-case that I never expected her to need. I’m under the impression that you were told she went to Africa for her photography career, but she was in fact going to remote areas back in my home world almost every time.”
“But I-I saw the photos,” I said, my eyes narrowing. “You’re telling me she put on a show of getting pictures that someone else took for us to see every time she visited? Did my dad even know?”
“I suppose that’s an accurate way to put it, putting on a show. And no, your father was never told. It’s not the way of things to tell humans unless it’s necessary. I won’t bore you with the details, but us and humans, we’re distant relatives, so we can still have children. But it wasn’t planned. Your mother fell in love with your father despite herself; she hadn’t meant to find love. Then she became pregnant with you and…well, the rest is history.”
“I think she had a different definition of love than the one I have,” I said tightly. “You’d think she’d have put her survival as more of a priority. Put being with the man she ‘loved’ as a priority. Her kids needed her. I needed her. She signed up when she became a mom. She could’ve screwed up all the time but she couldn’t even manage that one job: be there. When I was in the hospital, I kept thinking, ‘Where is she?’ and now you’re telling me that she put these animals above being there for her kids, and this whole time she’s been dead.”
“The hospital?” she asked, furrowing her brows.
“Never mind,” I said tersely, averting my gaze.
Suzanne hesitated before she nodded slowly. “I’m sorry for your loss, and not just for her death, Ripley,” she told me. “Patricia was…well, a ‘free spirit’ would be putting it gently. She always assumed the world would be there for her whenever she needed it.”
Staring at her for a long moment, I shook my head. “Why? Why come here and hire me?”
“I thought that would be obvious,” she said, smiling. “Your mother was so passionate about this place and once I found out your college major, I figured you would be as well.”
“Did you know that I hate her?” At that, Suzanne’s expression froze on the edge of shock. “She…she left us,” I whispered. “Didn’t tell us who she was or what she really did for a living and gave us no closure. And even when she was here, it was just visiting. Her real home was her work. She could give me all the presents she wanted, but even when she was here, half the time she was still on her computer doing work. It’s not like that stereotype of never making it to my tennis practice or something; it’s that it always felt like she was only partially here, even when I was sitting next to her. I don’t even know if I appreciate her turning me into a wildlife fanatic because it…it…makes me feel like I’m close to her in a way that’s just infuriating. She loved the animals more than she loved us.”
“Oh, Ripley-”
“Don’t,” I said, shoving myself to my feet. “Don’t try to convince me otherwise.”
“I wasn’t going to,” she said quietly. I pursed my lips. “I was going to say that I’m sorry that was the case. Your mother was…flawed, just like any other person. She had two loves in this world: her family and her work. And often, her work overcame her, her zeal for environmentalism getting in the way of being a good mum. She left your father trying to fill the role of two parents, holding your family together. You and your brother and your father, you all deserved better than that.”
My lower lip quivered but I bit down on it hard. It would’ve been a lot easier for me if she’d been speaking from a place of clueless reassurance about all this. But everything she said was making sense and that meant I didn’t have someone in front of me to be angry with.
“Why didn’t you tell me when Andrew hired me?” I sighed, sitting back down on the couch.
“Well, like I said, I wanted you to find your sea legs,” she said with a small smile. “I didn’t want the truth affecting whether or not you wanted to work here, whether you wanted to stay here after finding out about what the animals are. It would’ve complicated things, the emotions you’ll have to work through now that you know the truth. Whether or not you decide to give another tour, you also know what they’re like. That’s the benchmark I wanted you to reach before you found out about who you are.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Who I-” My face went slack. “Wait.”
Suzanne nodded slowly. “You’re only half human. Your brother too.”
The room seemed to tilt on an axis for a moment. “That means I’m also half…what?”
“We call ourselves Eldritch, these days,” she replied.
My eyes bugged out. “What?” I exclaimed. “So you’re all, like, gods or something?”
Suzanne burst out laughing. “Oh no, goodness, no,” she chuckled. “It’s just a word. We live in a very different world from this one, and a few generations ago we discovered the word and it made its way into our lexicon. But it does mean you can see all the animals. Indeed you did, on the tour you gave.”
“Wait, no, I had the glasses that…” I stopped. “Did those glasses do anything?”
She gave a sly smile and shook her head. “Not a thing. You made incredibly quick progress, and then when it came time for the tour, all you needed was to expect to see the animals, and you did.”
Genetics. That’s what Andrew had said during our interview, that part of how many animals you could see was determined by genetics. I guess having a mother who was originally from the other dimension gave me all the genes I needed to see everything here. “Could I…visit your world?” I asked tentatively. “You said that my mom took photos of the animals there. Could I…” My voice trailed off, not even sure if or how I wanted to finish that sentence.
“Those who are half human, especially those who are raised on Earth, don’t come visit,” she said gently. “I could show you some photos of other animals, and I could loan you as many books as you’d like, but it’s simply not a place where you’d be safe.”
“Oh,” I said, leaning into the couch cushion as I pictured the animals in the zoo. “Yeah, actually that…makes sense.” I paused. “So, what now?”
“It’s up to you,” she said. “I wanted to wait until I was sure you were comfortable with your position here, and then put the ball in your court. And so it is. What do you want to do now?”
What did I want to do? It wasn’t that difficult a question, just a deep, serious one.
I wanted to thrive, as the animals did. This is my enrichment now, working at an incredible, wonderful, terrifying zoo. The experience so far hasn’t been perfect, and I know there are risks, but life isn’t about staying safe. It’s about learning new things and making a difference in the world. And, if you’re lucky, having a job that’s something really special.
​
THE END
​
First / Previous
***
Patreon
My Website
/storiesbykaren