Raised border plaque erythematous pruritic

Bump on toe.

2024.06.01 13:57 Icy_Firefighter5762 Bump on toe.

Age 30
Sex Female
Duration of complaint Maybe couple of months. Recently gotten biggeraised
Location Middle East
Any existing relevant medical issues No
Current medications Propanolol
Include a photo if relevant Photo
Slightly raised bump on toe. Whitish center with red border. Not painful nor itchy. The angle of it matches the angle of the crocs flip flop I’ve started to wear everyday around the house. But it’s not painful and I don’t feel like the flip flop is too small.

submitted by Icy_Firefighter5762 to AskDocs [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 13:56 genericusername1904 H.G. WELLS’S, THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME (1933) VS. 1984 AND BRAVE NEW WORLD

ID, IX. MAIORES. V, CAL. IUNI. FORTUNA PRIMIGENIA.

I discovered this book by complete chance last year – a very old hardback copy was given to me as gift (in a situation which was certainly weighted with the most unlikely of synchronicities), “huh,” I thought, “it’s a first edition of H.G. Wells,” the book itself almost cannot be opened because it is so old and falling apart so I procured a text and audio file of the thing relatively easily and began to read. In hindsight not only for myself but I fancy for the generations of the last fifty years - in all totality, it is deeply strange that this book has not been more widely recognized or taught in schools, as like 1984 and Brave New World, as being the third contender (although technically the second, published one year after Huxley – seemingly written at the same time interestingly enough) in “visions of dystopia” – except that the book is not so much a vision of dystopia tomorrow but a vision of dystopia ‘today’ or rather ‘life as we know it’ of the 19th, 20th and 21st Centuries (endless war, endless pandemics, economic and logistic chaos), narrated from the comfortable and reassuring position of a society far far in the future who have long since revised their culture and solved all of the causes of the problems and become a society of genius polymaths “with (every Man and Woman) the intellectual equal of the polymaths of the ancient world.”
Now, I do not mean here to seem to ‘sweet-talk’ the reader into rushing out and buying this book or to hold it up in the manner of those other books as if it were some ideological blueprint but instead to assay the thing in the natural context which seems to me to be universally unrealized and which presents itself to us as a thing which is plainly self-evident, that is: that in the depressing and miserable dichotomy of 1984 and Brave New World; two extremely atomizing and miserable narratives, that there is also – far more empowering – The Shape Of Things To Come wherein the miserable protagony and antagony of both 1984 and Brave New World might read as merely a footnote somewhere in the middle of the book as an example of the witless measures mankinds old master undertook to preserve their power in an untenable circumstance. In other words, we know all about 1984 as children; we have this drummed into our heads and we glean our cultural comprehension that dictators cannot be cliques of business people but only lone individuals, usually in military uniform, and then we graduate from that to Brave New World to gain a more sophisticated comprehension of the feckless consumerism and ‘passive egoism’ by which our society actually operates, but then we do not – as I argue we ought – continue along in our education with this third book which actually addresses the matters at hand at a more adult level.
For instance, here, from ‘The Breakdown Of Finance And Social Morale After Versailles’ (Book One, Chapter Twelve) addresses in a single paragraph the cause of our continual economic chaos (of which all crime and poverty and war originates from) and highlights the problem from which this chaos cannot be resolved yet could easily be resolved, “adjustment was left to blind and ill-estimated forces,” “manifestly, a dramatic revision of the liberties of enterprise was necessary, but the enterprising people who controlled politics (would be) the very last people to undertake such a revision,”

…the expansion of productive energy was being accompanied by a positive contraction of the distributive arrangements which determined consumption. The more efficient the output, the fewer were the wages-earners. The more stuff there was, the fewer consumers there were. The fewer the consumers, the smaller the trading profits, and the less the gross spending power of the shareholders and individual entrepreneurs. So buying dwindled at both ends of the process and the common investor suffered with the wages- earner. This was the "Paradox of Overproduction" which so troubled the writers and journalists of the third decade of the twentieth century.

It is easy for the young student to-day to ask "Why did they not adjust?" But let him ask himself who there was to adjust. Our modern superstructure of applied economic science, the David Lubin Bureau and the General Directors' Board, with its vast recording organization, its hundreds of thousands of stations and observers, directing, adjusting, apportioning and distributing, had not even begun to exist. Adjustment was left to blind and ill-estimated forces. It was the general interest of mankind to be prosperous, but it was nobody's particular interest to keep affairs in a frame of prosperity. Manifestly a dramatic revision of the liberties of enterprise was necessary, but the enterprising people who controlled politics, so far as political life was controlled, were the very last people to undertake such a revision.

There is a clever metaphor I fancy that Wells worked in to this for the ‘actual’ defacto controlling class of things, that is: not really the politicians (sorry to disappoint the Orwell and conspiracy fans) but instead the ‘Dictatorship of the Air’ which might easily read as the ‘Dictatorship of the Airwaves’ – in colloquial language, that being radio and then television. Certainly we might imagine Rupert Murdoch or Ted Turner or Sumner Redstone (of yesterday) entering into honourable retirement as like the ‘dictators of the air’ of the very last days before the establishment of a one world state – in any case that is how things would work out, as the power of, say, Ted Turner to eradicate a political party in the United States – at any time he wishes – by simply green-lighting coverage of their bad actions relentlessly for months until revolution occurs is a real power of which no other institution possesses nor possesses any means of defence against, i.e. the ‘real power’ in our world to end a war or begin or war or end this or begin that is that power held by the organized press. This metaphor is somewhat of a more mature view, I think, than Wells earlier conception of the press in The Sleeper Awakes (1899) where the press of a dystopian future is visualized as a “babble machine” spreading circular nonsense to preoccupy the citizenry (although this is arguably a true representation of the mental processes of the Twitter and Facebook user, or of the general baby-speak and extremely infantile form of the news reports on the front page of the BBC News website) which is more or less what the press depicted as being in Brave New World also.
However the construction of sudden new realities (or sudden ‘actualities’) presented by the equation of interdependent technological innovations (i.e. the radio and the television in this instance) is mentioned early on in The Shape Of Things To Come in ‘How The Idea And Hope Of The Modern World State First Appeared’ (Book One, Chapter Two),

The fruitlessness of all these premature inventions is very easily explained. First in the case of the Transatlantic passage; either the earlier navigators who got to America never got back, or, if they did get back, they were unable to find the necessary support and means to go again before they died, or they had had enough of hardship, or they perished in a second attempt. Their stories were distorted into fantastic legends and substantially disbelieved. It was, indeed, a quite futile adventure to get to America until the keeled sailing ship, the science of navigation, and the mariner's compass had been added to human resources. (Then), in the matter of printing, it was only when the Chinese had developed the systematic manufacture of abundant cheap paper sheets in standard sizes that the printed book—and its consequent release of knowledge—became practically possible. Finally the delay in the attainment of flying was inevitable because before men could progress beyond precarious gliding it was necessary for metallurgy to reach a point at which the internal combustion engine could be made. Until then they could build nothing strong enough and light enough to battle with the eddies of the air.

In an exactly parallel manner, the conception of one single human community organized for collective service to the common weal had to wait until the rapid evolution of the means of communication could arrest and promise to defeat the disintegrative influence of geographical separation. That rapid evolution came at last in the nineteenth century, and it has been described already in a preceding chapter of this world history. Steam power, oil power, electric power, the railway, the steamship, the aeroplane, transmission by wire and aerial transmission followed each other very rapidly. They knit together the human species as it had never been knit before. Insensibly, in less than a century, the utterly impracticable became not merely a possible adjustment but an urgently necessary adjustment if civilization was to continue.

In other words, then, a global state (or, rather, such power in general held by the press as I see the analogy extending to them as being the ‘Dictatorship of the Airwaves’) was impossible to imagine and completely laughable before the technologies had stacked together to reveal as like in a simple piece of arithmetic which produced a single outcome of the equation; that no sooner had the technologies existed then the thing had become an actual reality – in that 1) unassailable political power had been unthinkingly dropped into the lap of the owners of the press, but that more importantly as consequence that therefore 2) mankind was subject to that power, that is: the situation existed the moment the technologies did – and this whether any living person had even realized it, as I think quite naturally all the time Men and Women invent things that they really have no notion of the fullest or most optimal uses of (“nothing is needed by fools, for: they do not understand how to use anything but are in want of everything,” Chrysippus), e.g. in no metaphor the television was quite literally invented as a ‘ghost box’ to commune with ghosts imagined to reveal themselves by manipulating the black and white of the static until someone else had the idea that there was at least one other use for that contraption.
It is quite strange, also, that in contemporary times we have for ages been heavily propagandized ‘against’ the idea of a “one world state” as if, say, all the crimes and fecklessness that have gone on in our lifetimes are somehow secretly building towards the creation of such a thing – not a thing you would naturally conclude from an observation of those events nor a thing advocated for by anybody (insofar as I have ever heard) but it is a thing which would be the first logical response to ‘preventing’ such crimes from ever occurring again – such as like the already widely practiced concept of a Senate-Style Federation of Sovereign States rather than a hundred or so mutually antagonistic polities capable of bombing themselves or screwing up their economies and creating waves of refugees or mass starvation or pandemics, and so on. For instance, All Egypt is dependent on the flow of the Nile which originates in what is today another country, that other country recently decimated the flow of the Nile by gumming up the Nile with a Hydroelectric Dam; such an outcome would not occur if the total mass of the land itself was governed as the single interconnected economic and environmental system that it is in physical reality of which, when divided along arbitrary borderlines, there is no means to govern the entirety of the region in an amicable and prosperous manner for all as a whole and no recourse to the otherwise intolerable situation but War which is unlikely to occur – as most Nations are comprised of civilized peoples who rightly loath the concept of War – but it is the single and unavoidable outcome to resolve such a situation until that situation has dragged on for decades, causing immense suffering, until it reaches that point of desperation – the matter of Palestine and Israel, fresh to my mind in these days, raises itself also.
Of the matter of War itself, in ‘The Direct Action Of The Armament Industries In Maintaining War Stresses’ (Book One, Chapter Eleven), Wells relays in 1933 what United States President Eisenhower would later remark in 1961 in his farewell address of the dangers of the Military Industrial Complex; albeit far more analytically on Wells part, that: it is not so much the ‘desire to harm’ on the part of the armament industries which sees them engage in unnecessary build-up of weapons stockpiles but that it is simply their business to produce, to stockpile, produce more deadly variants and stockpile the more deadly variants and sell off their old stockpiles to whomsoever rings their doorbell; for instance the on-going War in Ukraine is no different in this regard to the Viet Cong and NATO Warfare in Vietnam in that massive quantiles of cheap munitions were necessary for the war to be fought in the first place and massive quantities of munitions happened to exist as a by-product of the Armaments Industries to be dumped onto the warring parties in order to facilitate their macabre impulses at the expense of the citizenry; both at their cost in terms of the debt taken on to procure the weaponry on the part of their governments and in terms of their lives when the weaponry was unused to the outcome of massive loss of life of a single peoples within a bordered space – a thing of no value to themselves. Simply put, albeit in a very simplistic reduction to the bare basics: the War would not reached such catastrophic inhuman proportions without massive quantities of cheap Armaments that otherwise sat taking up warehouse space for more valuable Armaments on the part of the producer and seller.

In a perpetual progress in the size and range of great guns, in a vast expansion of battleships that were continually scrapped in favour of larger or more elaborate models, (Armament Firms) found a most important and inexhaustible field of profit. The governments of the world were taken unawares, and in a little while the industry, by sound and accepted methods of salesmanship, was able to impose its novelties upon these ancient institutions with their tradition of implacable mutual antagonism. It was realized very soon that any decay of patriotism and loyalty would be inimical to this great system of profits, and the selling branch of the industry either bought directly or contrived to control most of the great newspapers of the time, and exercised a watchful vigilance on the teaching of belligerence in schools. Following the established rules and usages for a marketing industrialism, and with little thought of any consequences but profits, the directors of these huge concerns built up the new warfare that found its first exposition in the Great War of 1914-18, and gave its last desperate and frightful convulsions in the Polish wars of 1940 and the subsequent decades.

Even at its outset in 1914-18 this new warfare was extraordinarily uncongenial to humanity. It did not even satisfy man's normal combative instincts. What an angry man wants to do is to beat and bash another living being, not to be shot at from ten miles distance or poisoned in a hole. Instead of drinking delight of battle with their peers, men tasted all the indiscriminating terror of an earthquake. The war literature stored at Atacama, to which we have already referred, is full of futile protest against the horror, the unsportsmanlike quality, the casual filthiness and indecency, the mechanical disregard of human dignity of the new tactics. But such protest itself was necessarily futile, because it did not go on to a clear indictment of the forces that were making, sustaining and distorting war. The child howled and wept and they did not even attempt to see what it was had tormented it.

To us nowadays it seems insane that profit-making individuals and companies should have been allowed to manufacture weapons and sell the apparatus of murder to all comers. But to the man of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries it seemed the most natural thing in the world. It had grown up in an entirely logical and necessary way, without any restraint upon the normal marketing methods of peace-time commerce, from the continually more extensive application of new industrial products to warfare. Even after the World War catastrophe, after that complete demonstration of the futility of war, men still allowed themselves to be herded like sheep into the barracks, to be trained to consume, and be consumed, by new lines of slaughter goods produced and marketed by the still active armament traders. And the accumulation of a still greater and still more dangerous mass of war material continued.

The book is, if the reader has likely already gathered from the excerpts, not written in the style of a protagonal narrative; i.e. not as a story, i.e. no hero and no villain, but as a sort of a Historia Augusta – that is really the most fitting comparison I think of when trying to describe this to a new reader (or perhaps J.J. Scarisbrick’s Henry VIII), that is to say it is written ‘as’ a History in the classical style we are familiar with from the better of the ancient writers, as like Appian or Cassius Dio, but unlike Suetonius or Tacitus it is absent of the sloppy hinging of all bad things on the highly personalized propaganda ad hominem (i.e. blame the fall of empire on one guy) that goes in those narrative works as we are typically familiar with them.
It is, of course, a work a fiction; although Wells did predict World War Two beginning in late 1939-1940 (although he had Poland putting up much better and longer of a fight against the Germans) and various other innovations, beginning from his own day with a true account of events prior to his own day – giving us a valuable account of affairs and actors prior to 1933 which would otherwise not come easily to any of us to discover. But the book, ultimately, is vehicle for the transmission and discussion of these societal (i.e. social, economic, industrial, logistic) matters presented to the audience of the day fresh, in their own minds, from the abject horror recently witnessed in World War One – and the economic catastrophes of which Roosevelts reforms had not yet come into tangible reality (i.e. relief for the poor, public works projects such as the motorways across America) as is discussed in that other seemingly little known H.G. Wells literary offering in his face-to-face interview with Josef Stalin the following year in 1934 (something which I think is of far more historical value than say, Nixon and Frost or Prince Andrew and Emily Maitlis), so as to ‘avert’ another crisis and pluck from the ether a seemingly alternate trajectory of where Mankind might at last get its act together. This ‘novel’ (thought it seems strange to call it that) ought be read, I would advise, in conjunction with ‘The Sleeper Awakes’ (1899) and also the (actually very depressing – I would not advise it) short-story prequel ‘A Story Of The Days To Come’ (1897) – set in that same universe – which, perhaps it is because I am English, seems to me to be a black horror show of the reality that we actually find ourselves living in this far into an actually dystopic future – or perhaps yet with the ‘strange windmills’ powering the mega cities that this a future yet to come (no pun intended); the broken speech, the babble machines, the miserable condition of the Working Class and their consumption of pre-packaged soft bread, the desire to flee the urban sprawl into the dilapidated countryside and make a little life in a run-down house with tacky wallpaper peeling away … ah, forgive me, my point is that ‘our condition’; i.e. those of us literate in English, is quite analogous to the condition of the central characters in those two stories; a culture dulled intellectually to the point that they can barely speak or think, being appraised and assayed by ourselves; those of us simply literate, as to render our commentary stuck as to seem as mutually alien as like Caesar in Gaul. However, it is in the context of the frame given to us in ‘The Shape Of Things To Come’ that we might gain a degree of sanity about this self-same situation; to study and lean into that dispassionate quality as to discern the nature of things as they are and recognize how important this quality is in relation to Well’s ultimate outcome for the best possible position of Humankind far far future, that is: that of Humankind’s vital intellectual capacity, and that the most striking message of STC, beyond all we have mentioned in this little overview, is that intellectual capacity in and of itself.
For example, when we consider the ‘actuality’ of the power of Turner or perhaps Zuckerberg in his heyday, for instance, we consider a power fallen into a Mans lap by an accidental stacking of disparate technologies created not by himself but of which possess a power utterly dependent in that same equation upon on a population being ‘witless’ in the first place and so led slavishly by the “babble machines”. However you cut it, reader, the great uplifting of Humankind to a standard of autonomy and intellectual prowess – not held by an elite but possessed by All People – is a thing both intrinsically self-sufficient within our grasp for our own selves and is certainly the prerequisite for political matters in that intellectual capacity of the voting public determines entirely whether a public is tricked or foolish and gets themselves into trouble by undertaking some obvious error or whether they are immune to such trickery and foolishness in the first place and that their energies and time are spent on more valuable pursuits. It seems to me that our contemporary society has done away with the notion of good character through intellect and that we live with the outcome of this; being shepherded by emotional manipulation and brute force because our society at large is treated as if we lacked the verbal and intellectual toolsets to understand anything else – moreover possessing no means to discern whether or not what is forced onto us is right or wrong; truth or lies, and so on. Such a society as this, again it seems plain to me, is ‘any’ dystopia because it is the baseline composition for ‘all’ dystopia; as like the foolish dogma of an out-dated ideology for example rests itself upon a large enough contingent of the public being either treated as if they were or in fact are “too foolish” to discuss or think a thing through, so a dogma is poured over them like concrete creating, in turn, intolerable circumstances as the dogma, tomorrow, becomes out-dated and suddenly instructs them to do foolish things, as like in the “Banality Of Evil” (read: Hannah Arendt) as the character in all serious perpetrators of inhumanity who insist, with a confused expression on their faces, that they were just doing their job – and this ‘quality’, of extreme ignorance, is the composition of the culture where such ‘evil actions’ occur.
I mean here that in STC we have on one hand a very in-depth account, very serious reading, to graduate the reader out of the depressive, atomizing, disempowering, conspiratorial milieu and mire of ‘life’ presented to us in 1984 and Brave New World, but that we have at the same time the very resonant harmonics that one does not need to “wait around for a distant future utopia” to “solve all the problems” but that the tools to do so are well within our grasp at any time we so choose and of which such an undertaking constitutes the foundation stones and tapestries of that future utopia which, I think, could be said to “meet us half-way” in many of these matters, as like we reach forward and they reach back and then those in the past reach forward and we in the resent reach back; that is anyway what it is to learn from the past and anyway the answer to “why the Grandfather sews the seeds for trees from whose fruits he will never eat.”
Valete.

ID, IX. MAIORES. V, CAL. IUNI. FORTUNA PRIMIGENIA.

FULL TEXT ON GUTENBERG OF H.G. WELLS ‘THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME’ (1933)
https://preview.redd.it/9l7yl9hx8y3d1.jpg?width=490&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=4d5a4109fb8e2193b94a6e244d92d4ec5b7b84a7
https://preview.redd.it/37vvsroy8y3d1.jpg?width=740&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=e62ef5e11c1c4222d6f99ffebe82b3dd706cbc2f

submitted by genericusername1904 to 2ndStoicSchool [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 13:47 Cheap_Classroom1108 Fostering Global Innovation: Intellectual Property Rights

In an era marked by unprecedented technological advancements and globalization, fostering innovation has become paramount for economic growth and societal progress. At the heart of this pursuit lies the protection and promotion of intellectual property rights (IPRs). Intellectual property (IP) serves as the cornerstone of innovation, providing creators and inventors with the necessary incentives and protections to invest in groundbreaking ideas and creations. In this article, we delve into the significance of intellectual property rights in fostering global innovation and explore the challenges and opportunities associated with their protection on a global scale.
At its core, intellectual property encompasses a wide range of intangible assets, including patents, trademarks, copyrights, and trade secrets. These rights serve to safeguard the fruits of human creativity and innovation, incentivizing individuals and organizations to invest time, resources, and expertise into developing new technologies, products, and services. Without adequate protection of intellectual property rights, innovators would be hesitant to disclose their ideas or bring their inventions to market, fearing exploitation or unauthorized use by competitors.
In the context of fostering global innovation, the role of intellectual property rights cannot be overstated. By providing creators and innovators with exclusive rights to their inventions and creations, IPRs incentivize investment in research and development, driving technological progress and economic growth. Moreover, robust intellectual property protections facilitate the transfer of technology and knowledge across borders, fostering collaboration and innovation on a global scale.
One of the primary mechanisms for protecting intellectual property rights internationally is through the use of patents. Patents grant inventors exclusive rights to their inventions for a limited period, enabling them to recoup their investment and profit from their innovations. However, the patent system is not without its challenges, particularly in the context of global innovation. Disparities in patent laws and enforcement mechanisms across different countries can create barriers to market entry and inhibit the free flow of ideas and technologies.
Another critical aspect of intellectual property rights is the protection of trademarks and copyrights. Trademarks enable businesses to distinguish their goods and services from those of competitors, fostering brand loyalty and consumer trust. Similarly, copyrights protect original works of authorship, such as books, music, and software, incentivizing creativity and cultural expression. However, the digital age has presented new challenges for copyright enforcement, as online piracy and infringement have become widespread, undermining the incentives for creators to produce new content.
In recent years, the emergence of emerging technologies such as artificial intelligence (AI), blockchain, and biotechnology has raised novel issues regarding the protection of intellectual property rights. These technologies have the potential to revolutionize industries and drive innovation, but they also pose unique challenges in terms of ownership, attribution, and enforcement. As such, policymakers and stakeholders must adapt intellectual property laws and regulations to address these evolving challenges and ensure that innovators can continue to benefit from their creations.
Moreover, fostering global innovation requires a collaborative approach among governments, businesses, and civil society organizations. International agreements and treaties, such as the Agreement on Trade-Related Aspects of intellectual property rights (TRIPS), play a crucial role in harmonizing intellectual property laws and standards across different jurisdictions. Additionally, initiatives such as open innovation and technology transfer can facilitate the exchange of knowledge and ideas, driving innovation and economic development in both developed and developing countries.
In conclusion, intellectual property rights are essential for fostering global innovation and driving economic growth in the 21st century. By providing creators and innovators with the necessary incentives and protections, IPRs stimulate investment in research and development, promote technological progress, and facilitate the exchange of ideas and knowledge across borders. However, addressing the challenges associated with the protection and enforcement of intellectual property rights requires a coordinated and multi-stakeholder approach. Only by working together can we ensure that innovation continues to thrive in the global economy.

submitted by Cheap_Classroom1108 to u/Cheap_Classroom1108 [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 13:24 SpiritedBrilliant703 Turning A College Side Hustle into $200 Million

It is a winter night in 2002, Seth Berkowitz's found himself craving something sweet and comforting amid the late-night video game sessions and pizza deliveries. As the snow fell outside, an idea took root – a business that could deliver warm cookies until the late hours of the morning.
So he starts with $150 worth of baking supplies, and spent his summer perfecting classic cookie recipes, enlisting feedback from friends and his wife, who coined the catchy name "Insomnia Cookies."
By junior year, he was ready to bake and deliver from his college house. Adorning dorm halls with flyers and offering flavor samples like Classic Chunk, Mint Chocolate, Peanut Butter, Oatmeal Raisin, and M&M cookies.
Though initial orders trickled in, a front-page article in the school newspaper sparked a surge, propelling Insomnia Cookies from a mere three orders a night to a staggering 80.
Seth, the sole baker and delivery person, found himself overwhelmed yet exhilarated by the unexpected success, netting $10,000 by the end of the semester.
Therefore he continued refining his operations, establishing a website for orders and eventually relocating production to a commissary kitchen off-campus. Joined by co-founder Jared Barnett, Insomnia Cookies expanded its delivery zones, reaching campuses beyond UPenn's borders.
A proven business model, Seth thought about expanding Insomnia Cookies by strategically opening storefronts outside of Philadelphia near college towns.
With a $10,000 profit from his first semester and funds from angel investors, Seth opens up Insomnia's inaugural storefront in Syracuse, New York, just a week before his college graduation.
From there, more strategic expansion followed, with new locations planted near college campuses.
However, the road to success was paved with challenges. The financial crisis of 2008 nearly derailed Insomnia's trajectory, forcing Seth to downsize and take on multiple roles himself.
Until the advent of the iPhone and the growing appetite for late-night convenience proved to be another strategic cause for Insomnia's meteoric rise. As delivery apps such as DoorDash and GrubHub started to take place in the market.
From 2012 to 2018, the company experienced its fastest growth, opening 125 new stores and establishing a robust corporate team.
In 2018, Krispy Kreme Doughnuts acquired a majority stake in Insomnia for $140 million, a testament to the brand's growing success. Insomnia continued to flourish, raising an additional $4.5 million to fuel its expansion.
From humble beginnings in a college dorm kitchen, Insomnia Cookies now generates over $200 million a year with over 260 locations across the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom.
All from a crave of a late night cookie.
Full article here or case studies

submitted by SpiritedBrilliant703 to EntrepreneurRideAlong [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 13:19 ioqued ARGUS

Well I have 0 clue what I'm doing. I do hope I'm doing this right- my apologies if not 😭

Rules:
► Naturally, do follow the community guidelines!
► Would appreciate some description, if not just a picture, of the character you're writing as in advance! (Since their appearance traits at the very least may somewhat affect how Argus reacts to them at first glance haha)
► Setting/Character limits?: None! The concept of this POV is essentially just me throwing my child Argus into a world different (or maybe even similar? 🤔) from his own because I wanted to practise writing him interacting with different types of characters 😭 So, feel completely free to write as any type of character! (If said character of yours doesn't have a particular world they live in (for example, they're a dimension hopper or something along those lines), then imagine the setting to be in a more modern-esque world I suppose!)
//DMs are defo open if you'd rather write there instead of the comments here (•̀ᴗ•́)و

submitted by ioqued to GachaClubPOV [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 13:00 WaveOfWire This is (not) a Dungeon - Chapter 2

Prev Next Patreon Ko-fi Discord
PRs: u/anakist & u/BroDogIsMyName
- - - - -
Ceele strolled through the damp grass along the outskirts of the village, a spring in her step and the dwindling scent of dew following behind. It rained yesterday, which had prevented her from going out to gather supplies, but the mild morning air had been accommodating enough for her to get an early start and make the trip. She was glad she did.
One hand clutched her new prize to her chest, while the other held a fraying wicker basket filled with herbs and some edible roots she gathered by exploring the forbidden forest. Despite her reservations regarding where she chose to go, her excitement now lingered like a steady thrum of shifting stones, giving her energy that defied how long she had been walking. She all but pranced beneath the burgeoning night's sky, gleefully toeing the line between the dirt pathways of the settlement’s outskirts and the trees of unclaimed land. Normally, her path back home would never be so close to the village, but she was far too gleeful to mind. She had come back with a sense of fulfillment and a rare object—or if not rare, then hopefully of great value.
It was hard to point to any one specific reason that she came across the orb. There had always been a ‘draw’ during her travels, urging her that there was something missing in her life, yet it was no more than a mild whim to walk in a particular direction more often than not. Once she reached this part of the continent, she was compelled to wander, never quite able to explain why she obliged the sensation besides having nowhere in particular to be. Even when she finally settled somewhere, it stayed in the back of her mind, suggesting that she was close to whatever would make the pit of vacancy go away. She ignored it, purposefully distracting herself with her work and responsibilities, yet that could only last so long. When she awoke this morning with plans to resupply, and all of her newfound spots had been picked clean by wildlife, she turned to the depths of the forest where she was warned not to tread. It was all too easy to follow the subtle tug in her chest through the loose justification.
The urge to be somewhere grew unbearable with every step closer to the forbidden area. That sense of having a direction she needed to go became stronger and stronger, until she was well into land long since forgotten. She came across an overgrown depression in the hillside, and was entranced by the foreboding image. Something about the cave just…beckoned her. She was far too weak to resist.
Horrible tales echoed into her ears as whispers of fearful voices, warning and unending, yet but a dull drone compared to her hammering heart. She navigated the trees and brushed aside unkempt vines, stepping into the cavern with a mix of expectation and trepidation, then laid eyes on the small obsidian stone perched atop a crumbling pillar. The feeling of needing to travel somewhere…stopped.
The pull was absent, which was why she held the orb close instead of placing it into her basket. She wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but she recalled overheard tales of hidden gemstones, deep cavernous expanses, and the untold terrors that lay within. Comparing the scenes of those fables to the cave seemed foolish now; it wasn’t some torturous chamber, but a dusty depression in a small hillside. Besides, anything this pretty was sure to be worth a fair sum, and she needed the coin. Yet the thought of selling the precious-looking stone was a conflicting one. She shook off the thought for the time being, turning her attention back towards where she was going.
Shadows stretched and faded as the moon stole the last of the illumination afforded by the sun, replacing it with a calming glow that caressed the log frames and thatched roofs of various homes. A star-filled sky came into prominence as clouds lazily drifted away, revealing the promise of tomorrow’s fair-weathered arrival. It was too late for anyone to notice her treading on the edge of their town while lost in thought, but she was still careful not to get too close to the houses or livestock pens where people might be finishing the evening’s duties. It was best that they didn’t see her returning from a place she was told not to go. Still, her feet carried her near the dwellings as she took in the noises.
Ceele enjoyed the comforting chatter from a distance. Indistinct words floated freely. Meaningless gossip and warm goodbyes were exchanged between friends and family. Places of various occupations were dark and quiet, only the faint contented mewls and clucks of livestock coming from their pastures as they ate what was recently put out for them. No metal rang throughout the streets as it was struck inside a centralized smithy, no heated bartering came from an overactive trade house, and the crunch of dirt beneath transport or merchant wagons was absent, replaced by the rapid steps and yelps of children rushing to their homes before it got too dark out. It was all just gentle conversation and life drifting through the wind, taking the rustle of leaves along for the ride, just so she could hear it. Tranquil, in a word.
She wondered what it would sound like if she were yet one more voice within that crowd of kindness. Would it be loud like the larger cities? Would she struggle to maintain a thought with so many stray topics floating about? Would she once more yearn for the peace and quiet of solitude that she had grown used to, or would she immerse herself, free of judgment and laughing like the carefree young that scampered about? Did thinking about it even matter?
Her smile fell from its genuine intensity—still worn, but not as fully. She glanced downward as her stride lost its jubilant bounce, her tail losing its sway as her grey eyes examined the dry black scales that adorned her body against her wishes. It was the ugly hue of tarnished oil, unlike the skin of any other kobold she had met. Some had reds or greens, yellows or whites, while most were between a sandy tan or earthen brown. The rainbow of peculiarities was displayed by the lucky few, and she was one of them…
…Yet she was different in the worst of ways.
Even if she would rather any other colour, she supposed it was that way to make sure no one came near without accepting the unspoken risks. That was what her mother always said, anyway, though the woman hardly feared much of anything in her old age, and dedicated herself to giving her offspring all the love she had left to give—a perk of living a full life. She would always help her daughter bathe, complimenting the colour of what most were unnerved by. That was more than a decade ago now, however. Ceele’s parents had passed on while she was still young, and she took to travelling not long after, working at what she could to afford what little she needed. Never for long, though—just enough to get to the next town between where she was and where the urge to go lay. There were certainly moments she looked back on fondly, but the journey had taken its toll.
The crude material of her ‘dress’ was coarse, old, and heavy, but it helped ease the worst of spring's chill—even if it was more of a modified sack than proper attire. Still, it was all she had after the last of her clothing fell apart, and giving the repurposed material a name that reminded her of something else made it less uncomfortable to wear, somehow. It would have to do until she could afford a pitying seamstress or the like. Until then, she would pretend she didn’t look so desperate, even if it only highlighted her status and made finding work difficult.
But it did. The dishevelled garment was a far cry from the wonderful silks or breathtaking designs she had seen some women wear, harshly marking the distinction between herself and those of affluence. The clothing of commoners was also a leap in style and quality, so she couldn't say her attire was up to even modest standards. No matter how hard she squinted, and no matter how much she fantasized otherwise, she seemed every bit like the vagrant she was, down to the soil embedded in the curvature of her claws and the stains throughout her fabrics. She looked like a serf from the more oppressed lands, yet they too wore crude cottons, which said a lot about how she appeared to those who had never lived a life of servitude. It was obvious that she was an outsider. That she didn't belong amongst the rest. It made changing something as simple as her appearance all the more difficult; prospective employment always saw a young woman who seemed more likely to steal or swindle than make an honest day’s living.
There was one good twist of fate in recent memory, however, and she came upon the result of it after leaving the slowing bustle of the village behind. Her steps carried her through a small copse of trees on the outskirts of town, the small shaded path leading to the back of a large, carefully pruned clearing, a scattering of fruit-bearing trees providing even darker shadow than the already dim moonlight. She skirted along the aging fence on the border that kept predatory animals away, carefully hoisting herself over the barrier where a large vegetable garden she was responsible for tending resided. If one were to tell her she would be living in such an area several months ago, she would have smiled politely and walked away, yet here she was.
A modest, warmly lit home occupied the middle of the clearing, sitting front and centre when one approached from the village path. It looked quite cozy, surrounded by berry bushes that were just beginning to bloom as the last dregs of winter slipped away. A front patio displayed a nice table and well-loved chairs, the rustic appearance only adding to its charm as a place where friends and family spent the warm summer afternoons. A smithy to the left of the house functioned as an additional heated building during the colder months, but usually served as a storefront and to muffle the sounds of hammered iron, though that had become less common. An old stable was nearby, close enough to be accessible, but not so close as to disturb the once occupying animals with sounds of iron craft. It hadn't seen a horse in quite some time, apparently, so it was mostly a workshop for whatever tasks didn’t require fire or metal.
There was a long history attached to each little detail—from the scuffs along the wooden siding to the depressions in the ground where daily routine wore into the earth. Every fault suffered throughout the years was matched by a thousand quirks that made it feel welcoming, like the house itself was merely waiting for the next friendly face with one of its own. She knew that the inside of each building would look just as cared for.
Her concern lay outside, however. It was a comparatively miniscule space just barely visible through the sheltering trees, true, yet it was where her efforts turned into tangible results, and where a stranger’s trust was painstakingly repaid. Once overgrown grass had been laboriously trimmed, the weeds plucked and disposed of, and now nothing distracted from what she could claim she had done.
The small plots of rock-bordered soil had little buds of growing vegetables, a sense of pride never failing to bloom in her breast with the knowledge that it would be barren without her touch. When her troubles and concerns grew heavy, and fears of the future or spectres of the past loomed over her head, she could look at where she had brought life where it wouldn't otherwise be. Some days, that was enough. She smiled in appreciation at what was admittedly amateur work, the night’s sky helping to hide any inevitably made mistakes.
She enjoyed the sight for a moment longer, then turned to walk towards a neglected old tool shed that was well out of sight within the trees, far away from whatever warmth and comfort the larger house offered to everyone and anyone. She put a hand on the degrading wood of the entryway, giving one last sad smile at the garden as she dismissed selfish thoughts of taking the eventual harvest for herself. A breath cleared the uncertainty from her voice, and she pushed open the door.
“I'm home!”
= = = = =
It took a while for Altier to adjust to his situation, and even once he accepted that his mana wasn't being siphoned, he was still reeling from confusion. He had spent centuries with every year passing by without his notice, yet now he was painfully aware of each creeping second languidly dragging on with the expediency of growing grass. It was as disorienting as it was painfully nostalgic.
Time was something he was never good with, and it only got worse as a dungeon. He'd get lost in creating rooms, corridors, creatures, and whatever else needed doing, only pausing to watch or listen to the few adventurers he became interested in. There was a stint where he spent what felt like hours agonizing over new abilities or options while he let the system manage things in the background, though he supposed it might have been much longer. So many wasted days, yet he still hadn't managed to try everything he had gained access to. Some abilities were simply too niche, came with concerning titles, or held descriptions that made him wary. Anything with ‘Decay’ in the name was instantly ignored—he didn't need more reasons to fear his affinity, and from the few he took the effort to read through, they were always vile.
But his existence for the moment was no longer like those endless stretches spent pondering the minutiae of what would help his adventurers grow stronger. Now, he could follow the rhythmic sounds of footsteps and steady breathing that set a calming pace. They were someone else's, yes, but they contextualized how easy it was to slip away without the subtle noises of life that he had long since surrendered to help his family. Of course, there were more differences that he noticed since being removed from his crumbling cavern, and his sight was the newest change.
He never gave much thought to how far he could see before. Why would he? As a man, his world extended as far as he could fathom, yet was also confined to the room where he spent his days, and as a dungeon… Well, who was he to consider distance when an event happening miles away could be seen with a flicker of thought? Nothing was too far when it was within his creation. Or his ‘body,’ he supposed. Sadly, his entire perception currently consisted of the small sphere of his obsidian core, and maybe a finger's length beyond it—which is to say, not much. He could make out the fine details in the dirty burlap he was held against, and how pale moonlight slowly took over the blurred reds of sunset, but hardly anything more. It was all just frosted colours after a certain point, and he found it infinitely frustrating. He just wanted to peer beyond the haze and scaly hand holding him to confirm that the sky he remembered was still there. Alas, the sunlight faded at too quick a pace, yet one oh so agonizingly slow.
The ensuing darkness gave him nothing to do but think about where he was, not that he had any ideas. He was too curious about why he wasn't dead to bother much with his blurry surroundings after the soft-spoken kobold abducted him, thus why he only belatedly noticed how limited his worldview had become. There might have been a forest beyond his cave, but the greens and browns were gone, and the sounds of steps through brush was replaced by the distant din of a village. An idle curiosity pondered if he would recognize any descents of his ‘family tradition’ adventurers there, but he was being carried by what most considered a monster, so likely not.
That short musing was short-lived, however, and he brought his focus back to the matter at hand. He supposed he was being taken somewhere specific, but that was an obvious deduction, considering he was taken at all. The why of the matter was less so; for what purpose would someone want a Decay-aligned core? He hadn’t heard of them before…well, before he was made into one, but he couldn’t imagine many uses. Maybe he was being sold? His…kidnapper? His sudden companion seemed rather pleased by their discovery of him, so that might be the case, and it was morbidly amusing to think that a frail, sickly young man might one day become a coveted, highly valuable item. His abduction could also be a part of some cult’s nefarious activities, but he didn't want to think about that too hard. He experienced enough odd ceremonies from the adventurers who took the time to tell him their tales.
Either way, he wasn't in the dungeon anymore, and he couldn’t see where he was going. He tried to query his menu to glean an answer, but was met with a scrambled mess he suspected read ‘Synchronizing…’ and little else. It gave him a headache trying to make sense of it—which he didn't know was possible anymore—so he dismissed the text and distracted himself with blurs from whatever diluted senses he still had. There wasn’t much to observe other than the constant footfalls and the flicker of shadows on his companion’s burlap garment. They might have travelled through brush again, but it was too dark to really say for certain.
Eventually, there was something new. He heard an old latch rattle and rusted door hinges groan, then a shuddered clack that confirmed he was now in a building. His kobold acquaintance gently cooed at something before moving about the nearly pitch-black space, finally setting him down on a… He wasn’t sure what it was, besides old and wooden.
[D$#@m$n E@$*ded]
The headache from before became a blinding migraine that suffocated him under a flash-flood of suffering. Seconds passed in abject torture until it blissfully abated, the mental blinks clearing his mind enough to notice a change in his existence. Specifically, he could actually see something besides the rotting wood grain he was placed on top of.
And it wasn’t anything promising…
He was more or less in the centre of a room no bigger than twelve paces by maybe ten. Not a terrible size for a space, but it was clearly never meant to house someone. His resting place looked about as neglected as he surmised; it was an upturned feeding trough, he supposed, since calling it a table seemed too generous. The surface was rife with holes and degraded iron, so it was something that once saw regular use before being replaced and tossed into storage, never to see the light of day again.
Actually, most things in the room seemed to fit that description. The window shutters were installed with metal hinges that had since rusted them closed, the misalignment letting in a draft—and whatever weather was outside as well, most likely. A poorly carved bowl sat on the floor, the stain beneath it hinting that it collected any rainwater that slowly dripped from the leaky roof. The wooden floorboards looked old, splintered, and in need of maintenance or replacement, though an effort had been put into abrading it somewhat smooth lately.
A tiny and decrepit fireplace was to the left of the door upon entry, its brickwork slowly crumbling due to weathering and age. It was sized more for keeping the room warm during mild days than to keep away the frigid chill of night. Its base only held cold ashes, but there was a collection of deadwood and scraps nearby, so that would probably be rectified soon. A small wheel-less cart had been turned into storage against the opposite wall, some herbs and other foraged items stowed away in it for future use. Various things he remembered seeing his father and brothers use in the fields were scattered about, too. It was nostalgic to see, honestly, even if his recollections had blurred over time.
Bundles of tattered blankets formed a pair of nests in the far corner, the smaller of the two had a pile of rough plants nearby. That answered his silent pondering of the room's purpose somewhat, though he was pretty sure the bedding material was salvaged, and there didn’t seem to be any hay or padding underneath whoever was sleeping on it. He didn’t know what to think about the weeds; they were purposefully placed there, and whoever did so had taken the time to wash them, but it was still strange.
He couldn’t see a doorway besides the entrance, yet most of the hallmarks of residency were put where space could be afforded, however crude. All in all, he surmised that it was a gardening shed of sorts, and his new acquaintance apparently lived here. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when a creature he had only read about came into his dungeon, but it wasn't being brought to a rundown and decrepit shack for unknown purposes.
Even if he had been raised by parents who made a humble living at the best of times, and they had emptied their coffers for unsuccessful attempts to ease his ailments, his acquaintance's living space made him uncomfortable. His family's house was never anything fancy, true—it shared some of the worn qualities that inevitably gathered over the years—but it was never this bad. His home benefited from a father's touch keeping it robust and a mother’s love keeping it warm, whereas this place had seen neither in quite some time. Oh, there was evidence that such was once the case; a wall was adorned with carefully made and well-spaced hangers for the various gardening tools, though the implements themselves had become a victim of neglect. That being said, he could make out the fresh soil and recent scratches exposing furrows of silver, so they were seeing use again.
A scrape and clack of flint drew his attention to his kobold companion. They were kneeling in front of the fireplace, methodically sparking life back into a dead flame with twigs and dried leaves. A slow, steady breath into the reddened base illuminated its face with a dull orange glow, revealing its weary visage and the permanently etched smile that rested beneath its cold grey eyes. The black-scaled kobold looked tired, if he were to guess—much the same as Altier did when he spent countless days watching everyone living a life he could never have through the mossy window of his bedroom. He was probably humanizing it too much. Still, he was surprised by the muted pang of sympathy, and how he would feel much more than blithe curiosity after spending so much time alone in the crumbling crypt of his own making.
A mental breath cycled through him as he looked at the odds and ends yet to be observed. Hardly anything else was of note—everything else was degraded and neglected, too. He did notice a nest of blankets move though, which was as good a distraction as any. The answer to his previous ‘pile of weeds’ inquiry poked a tiny nose from a crease in the fabric, then rapidly pawed at the blankets to dig itself out. Altier stared at the creature in both recognition and confusion.
It was a rabbit…or at least it looked like one, assuming you were to also describe a porcupine and a sea urchin as well. He was pretty sure he didn’t remember any hare that had jagged metal-tipped fur, nor that had said fur arranged into a row of spiked horns that flowed down its spine, terminating at a large fluffy tail, which was equally bizarre to see. The whole of its coat could double as a weapon, with semi-sharp barbs sticking off seemingly at random, yet he remembered an adventurer saying most animals used that sort of thing defensively. He increased his focus as he tried to make sense of the odd creature. Surely he would have heard about—
[Hoppittttttt#%%÷ — Ferro-o-orabbit-it (Ma%$le)
Abil—]
[Null]
[Er0Rrrrrrrr—]
[Und#$f—]
He bit back the pain caused by the sudden intrusion of his menu, blanking out the text and mentally retreating to hide from the source. Did he just inspect something? How? Shouldn’t his entire…‘framework,’ was it…? Yes, that was it. Shouldn’t that have been corrupted? Why could he see the creature’s information when his entire framework was damaged? That was the first ability he lost, so why is it the first to be functional? How was it functional? Was it? It did just spit garbled text at him, but it was something, and that was more than he had gotten from it in a very long time. If it was somehow working—no matter how poorly—then that left the question of why he hadn't heard of anything called a ‘ferrorabbit’ before, assuming he read that correctly.
A soft thud vibrated the tro— table, startling him out of thought. He turned his attention to the button nose wiggling erratically at him, the short, stubby muzzle leading to surprisingly expressive and curious red eyes. Dull brown fur jutted off in random tufts and patches, changing to a darker tint on its paws and the upper half of its ears, while the tips of its spikes were a muted hue of iron. It still seemed just as soft as the less pointed variety he remembered, if a touch dirty. Upright ears twitched this way and that way as its head vigorously shook, eventually settling on pointing in his direction when it calmed down enough.
It was apparent that he had its undivided attention…for all of a few seconds. His scaly companion called something out in their foreign tongue, and whatever conclusion the pointy-furred animal came to, it seemed more interested in the kobold, parting from him after nudging his core with its nose.
[Cre-e-e—]
[Errrrrrr0r: Undefiiiiiiii—]
[Acceeeeep-t-t-t??]
[Yeeee— s s / Nnnnnnn—]
He winced at the intrusion, but the contents detracted from the pain. He couldn’t remember the system ever asking him a question without his explicit intent being involved. It wanted him to…accept something? Was it the system prompting him, or the animal? What was he to accept?
[Creatuuuuu—]
[Acce-e-e-%#@ed!]
…What?
= = = = =
“Hoppit, that's not food!” Ceele admonished half-heartedly, placing a larger branch on the burgeoning flame before she got to her feet. She wasn’t actually that worried; the stone was as big as his head, and she was pretty sure he couldn't bite into it. Hopefully. “Come here, momma has a treat for you!”
The ferrorabbit playfully bumped the gemstone and jumped off the low table, landing with a soft thud that belied how heavy he was for his tiny size. He wiggled in excitement, his ears flailing and releasing a slight clack whenever the two connected. It got even louder when she grabbed her basket and put away the useful herbs, taking out a specific item that she had gathered just for him. The little bun wasted no time in scurrying over and standing tall on his hind legs to judge if the offered plant was to his liking—and it was, based on how he dug in with enthusiasm. She stifled a laugh as she contentedly watched him nibble away on the treat, ignoring the guilt that came with knowing she couldn't afford proper vegetables for him. He had a hard life too, and it tore at her to have so little to give.
She came across Hoppit a year ago, during a storm that worsened while she was travelling between towns. The day had darkened to night in spite of it still being about noon, but the weather didn't care for how bright it was supposed to be. Wind and rain became a typhoon, forcing her to seek shelter in a thankfully abandoned den of what was probably a larger animal. She was fine with waiting out the squall, since the stone roof over her head was more than she usually had back then, but the sounds of dull bangs and thuds near her hideaway was followed by cries of animals yelping in pain. Curiosity won over reason, and she left the safety of her shelter to see what was causing the disturbance. Truthfully, she was hopeful that she'd come across scraps or the like, her hunger driving her forward, and she could always turn back if it seemed dangerous. Yet when she arrived at the source of the commotion, she found herself thinking of anything but food.
Two predators had fought over a small burrow, both trying to dig out a meal and taking offence to the other doing the same. What they didn’t know was that they were assaulting the home of ferrorabbits. Specifically, the home of an angry, protective, and well-fed mother that was keeping her newborns safe from the storm when predators decided to try their luck. From the scene Ceele came across, it was certainly obvious why most people dislike trying to hunt the creatures.
Sadly, the rabbit didn't survive an attack from two predators, but she did make their victory pyrrhic; neither could do much about their hunger with their bodies full of cuts and holes, and it was only a matter of time before they succumbed to blood loss or infection. The mother's sacrifice meant that the babies had avoided the imminent threat, but they were left unattended as a consequence, and it took an opportunistic bird swooping down to shake Ceele out of her shock. Despite her subsequent hurry, she only acted in time to save one of the orphaned young. The warren was new and barely dug out, which meant that it didn’t take much effort for the kits to be found—by both her and hungry maws. All she could do was scoop the ball of fluff into her arms and run back to the cave before anything else tried to eat it.
In retrospect, it was a stupid decision for a number of factors. She barely had the resources to supply herself, and an attempt to raise offspring of any type would only make the inevitable heartbreak worse. But when she saw how quiet and scared he was… How his tiny, shaking body calmed in her arms, those terrified red eyes seeking comfort… She should have just walked away when she knew there wasn’t going to be anything to fill her stomach. She should have put the baby animal down and let nature take its course…yet the preciously furry face stole her heart far too quickly for it to grow so cold. The next day was spent backtracking to the nearest town to get him something suitable to eat, which used most of her meagre savings. Still, it was worth every coin.
Hoppit had been accompanying her ever since. He grew quickly, transitioning from something she saved that stormy night into a presence she had grown to love like a child. The little lagomorph would bounce along beside her during her travels, then ride in her arms as he rested—though the latter happened with worrying frequency as of late. She hadn’t learned much about the springy herbivores, but she knew enough to say that he wasn't as big as he should be, nor was his fur as sharp. No matter how startled he was, his spiky coat never managed to do more than stiffen slightly, which was apparently a side effect of poor diet, according to snippets of conversation she had overheard on the topic. She wanted him to be healthy, but she didn't know what he needed. Not many farmers raised ferrorabbits, and those that did were far away, so she didn’t have anyone to ask what she should be doing. Her best course of action was to give him what little she had.
Ceele was well aware of how he would be better off on his own, but he followed her whenever she tried to set him free. Hoppit just kept launching into her arms and wiggling his ears, ecstatic that he was with her again, uncaring that food was scarce and that they spent most of their days travelling. No amount of cold nights spent bundling up under the tattered blankets she managed to find ever dampened his spirits, and he was content to eat the grass or flowers whenever he felt like it, oblivious to the fact that he wasn’t getting enough nutrition. He would dig and excitedly drag back oddities that he found, and the one time he found a plant that looked particularly good for him, he insisted that it be shared with her.
A black pit still lingered in her chest when she recalled how pleased he was while he munched on the rare vegetable he discovered, then how distressed he became when she wouldn’t have any as well. He bumped and nipped at her, all but begging her to eat. His ears pinned back against his head, his fur bristled in a way she hadn’t seen since. It was only when she took a small bite and let him inspect the new teeth marks that he seemed to calm down, but perhaps she had been looking too deep into the actions of her tiny friend. All she could say for certain was that he was scared she was going hungry.
A morbid thought wondered if his first mother had refused food shortly before being attacked, and he—as small and simple as he was—had connected the two events in his mind, making him absolutely terrified that something would happen if Ceele didn’t have something too. All of that fear, and desperation overwhelmed him, just because she was happier watching him eat. She was determined to erase that issue. She would find something that needed a worker and earn enough to feed them both. One day, she would be able to smile at how big and healthy her little fluffy boy had become, but until then, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to think about how she was spending so much time growing vegetables and fruit that he couldn’t have…
Every morning was an exercise in tending to the gardens while actively shoving down images of a pleased ferrorabbit happily eating the results. That never went well; no matter how determined she was to complete her duties without a single selfish thought, most tasks were done while picturing his full belly and delighted bounces. There were a few weeks until the fastest of the crops would be ready for harvest, and Ceele would have to collect them while fighting the urge to bring back just a few for him.
She couldn’t, because she knew exactly how quickly that could escalate. It would start small—A vegetable here, a fruit there—but seeing Hoppit happy was one of the precious few good things she had in her life. Crossing the line would only become easier each time. They couldn’t risk losing their new home over greed, and she was already betraying the trust given to her by housing a wild animal, especially one known to be a pest for crops. She didn't want to know how angry it would make her benefactors if she was caught taking their vegetables for one.
No matter how tame and precious Hoppit was, and no matter how well he listened, they would only see him as the same creature that ruined harvests in droves. Thus was why she had to tell him to stay cooped up by himself while she was working or scavenging. And to her surprise, he did.
Honestly, she had made the initial request with the expectation of needing to carry him back into their home until he understood that she wasn’t leaving him forever. There wasn’t much she could do to stop the ferrorabbit from digging through the old wooden building if he wanted to get out. He wouldn’t need to damage anything either—a rotting board on the door only needed a little push to nudge it out of the way, and his natural curiosity made sure he was aware of it. But no, Hoppit was well-behaved as always, keeping hidden until she walked through the door, where he would leap from the shadows to personally show her how good he was and how he stayed put like she asked him to. It never stopped amazing her that he had such a surprising level of understanding despite being an animal, and that was to say nothing of how young he was.
All that intelligence, joy, and companionship he offered her…and yet the best she could give back to him was the weeds from the garden and the odd plant she found while scavenging…
Soft clacks of flicking ears dragged her from her pondering, her mind returning to the present. Hoppit finished his treat of the small plant, then bounced in place and scurried over to his bowl of water, perfectly happy to have eaten only that. He was so joyful with how little she provided, approaching every day of scarcity with the same enthusiasm she could never muster, as if certain that everything would be alright.
“It’s bedtime, Hoppit,” Ceele announced through a soft sigh, stoking the fire with enough branches to hopefully last the night. The ferrorabbit perked an ear in her direction, then sat on his haunches to extend the rest of himself up, his two little forepaws adorably held to his chest as he inspected the room like he always did. She smiled and made sure everything was stored away, then laid down on her bundle of blankets, covering herself with the warmest one. Hoppit bolted over to snuggle once he decided everything in the shed was up to his standards, throwing himself to the floor in a dramatic flop of comfort. Her quiet laughter subsided as they both settled in for the night, her tail completing the rabbit’s encompassing cuddle, but her eyes fell towards the obsidian orb on the table, her thoughts following suit.
It sat there, just as she left it, as benign as anything else ever placed atop the improvised furnishing. Yet there was a sense of ease and purpose as well. The old wooden trough seemed…important with its adornment firmly laid upon its surface, and she couldn’t puzzle out why. She was starting to doubt her earlier excitement.
Should she sell it? Would anyone know where it came from? Would anyone know what it was, or if it was worth anything? If she could get even a modest sum for it, she would be able to buy clothing, food, and new bedding. It would be easier to convince someone to give her work if she was dressed better and wasn’t so thin, and then she would have the income to slowly improve both of their lives. She could pay for a wandering merchant to ask a ferrorabbit rancher about the animal, even if it would take time to get back to her, or maybe she could hire a local if they needed to go near one for some reason. The cost didn’t matter to her as long as it happened.
But there was something else bothering her about the idea of selling the stone. She had travelled so far with a tug in her chest, only for the feeling of wanderlust to dissipate as soon as she held it. Was that a sign? She was never one for things like ‘fate,’ but a niggling doubt in her mind discouraged the idea of making a profit off her discovery. Even if what she could gain was so very tempting, and even if Hoppit would be happier if she did…
She tore her dampened eyes away and closed them, ignoring the burning trails running across her face. It would be another early morning, and she needed to sleep so she could take care of the garden. Decisions like this could wait. Once she had nothing else distracting her, and she had time to properly think about it, she would see how she felt about the stone.
Eventually, she dozed off with Hoppit pressed against her chest, and a longing in her heart.
Next
—
A/N: Patreon and Ko-fi will be 1 chap ahead this time around, and I've set it so everything from the lowest tier up can read the newest trashfire! Anything above that is sheer show of love. Hope you enjoyed!

submitted by WaveOfWire to HFY [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 11:13 Vrcica Begging children and what to give them

Hello, I hope this won't come out overly stupid or offensive, but I would appreciate an advice.
In last several years, I've visited most of the Balkan countries, and one thing that was common in all most of them, maybe except for Croatia and Slovenia, was getting swarmed by a group of begging children, raising their hands and begging for money. I feel for people in need, and I do try to contribute when I can and when I belive that the money will be well spent. However, I am not comfortable giving money to random kids, let alone handling the wallet and money in their presence.
This year, I am going to a roadtrip through Romania, Bulgaria, and Turkey, basically all the way to Syrian and Iranian border (not Balkans, I know) and I presume that I will have such encounters again. I would like to be prepared this time, and have some small, meaningfull stuff that I can give them, that is not money. Is there something that these kids in rural areas of these regions would actually appreciate, and wouldn't just throw away? I know it's still a civilised world, it's not some random remote village in Ethiopia, so I don't know if for example getting them some school supplies makes even sense.
TLDR: Is there anything that begging children would appreciate that is not money?

submitted by Vrcica to AskBalkans [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 10:50 Yurii_S_Kh The Maiden Apostle

Archimandrite Raphael (Karelin)
https://preview.redd.it/xjqlop1j7x3d1.png?width=200&format=png&auto=webp&s=78843050264297aaf92b3908abeb526ee20c03ed
The most significant event in the history of Georgia was the country’s conversion to Christianity in the early fourth century by St. Nino, Equal-to-the-Apostles. The light of the Gospels brought by the virgin Nino to Georgia like a lamp lit from the fire of the Jerusalem church took flesh in the wondrous works of Christian literature and ecclesiastical art, in magnificent cathedrals resembling sculptures hewn from whole blocks of granite, in churches—stone blossoms that adorned the entire country as the garden of the Most Holy Theotokos, in chapels crowning the mountain peaks, so that the mountains and cliffs themselves are like footstools for the chapels. This light shines from the ancient icons and frescoes of extraordinary spiritual depth. This light sparkles in sacred chants. It illuminates the pages of Georgian Saints’ Lives and chronicles; but most importantly—the light brought by St. Nino changed and transformed the soul of the people.
* * *
Christianity made man a new creation. It gave him the dignity of the image and likeness of God, and revealed an imperishable spiritual treasure. Christianity turned man’s thoughts and heart to eternity. It gave his soul the possibility to be reborn and resurrected through mystical experience. Christianity revealed to man the true freedom of love, instead of the pagan freedom of passions and tyranny. Christian theology gave an answer to the age-old questions raised but not answered by philosophy. The Gospel teaching showed that each human personality—inimitable and unique—is of supreme value. Christianity became a powerful impulse for rethinking and developing the relationships between people and nations, founded upon respect for man as an image of God and a manifestation of eternity on earth. The light brought by St. Nino illumined Georgia’s historical path for many centuries. The Baptism of Georgia was the beginning of a new era in the spiritual life of its people.
The Gospel was first preached in Georgia by the apostles themselves. It was like the first rays of the sun that brighten the mountain peaks, as if tearing them from the captivity of darkness and night. Ancient ice and snow burst into flames of blinding light, but in the gorges and passes the fog still curls like the black smoke of a campfire. The world is sunk in pre-dawn night and sleep. The peaks illuminated by the light were the first Christian communities founded by the apostles. But the people remained in pagan captivity. Apostles Andrew the First-Called, Simon the Canaanite, and Matthew had cast the seeds of Gospel teaching into Georgian soil, but three centuries passed before this land would be covered with wondrously beautiful flowers. Just as the Aragva River changes its flow from south to west at the borders of Mshkheta, so did the Baptism of Georgia in the Aragva turn Georgia’s entire course of history from Iran to Byzantium.
The fourth century was a time of conversion to Christianity in the Caucasus Mountain region. Georgia’s brothers, Armenia and Caspian Albania, also converted, and this Christian house became an impenetrable fortress against their enemies.
St. Nino was, according to ancient tradition, a cousin of Great-Martyr George the Trophy-Bearer. There is a great similarity between the image of the knight who slays the dragon and the young virgin, who raised the cross in her hands like a spiritual sun over Georgia.
Georgia is the portion of the Most Holy Theotokos. The Virgin Mary chose a virgin to be the apostle of Georgia—St. Nino, who was almost a child at the time. With the cross as her sword she was victorious in battle with paganism, and illumined the nation with the light of the Gospel. She captivated people’s hearts with the fire of love, which Christ had brought from heaven to earth. She converted the people to Christ not with artful words, but through the power of grace. Nino’s chosenness was marked by the gift of miracles and healing. But the conversion of a nation through a young virgin was the greatest miracle. It is impossible to prove the existence of light—it has to be seen. St. Nino herself was a bright lamp; those around her felt this light with their souls, and beheld the eternal beauty of the Gospels. They received Nino’s preaching as a new life, hitherto unknown to them.
St. Nino lived from her childhood in a Jerusalem church under the care of her uncle, Patriarch Juvenal. This church was located on the slopes of Mount Sion, where the Holy Spirit had descended upon the apostles (the Church of the Resurrection of Christ the Savior had not yet been built). St. Nino grew up under the eaves of the church, similar to how the Virgin Mary lived for ten years in the Old Testament temple in fulfillment of her parent’s vow. The Virgin Mary had access to the Holy of Holies. The virgin Nino prayed in the place where the Holy Spirit descended in the form of fiery tongues and founded the New Testament Church in the upper room on Sion.
Jerusalem is a book made of stone, written about Christ. There the air preserves the breath of His lips, and the earth, His footprints. There, it is as if time has stopped, and it seems that Christ is near, like the time of His earthly life.
St. Nino lived at the church, like a nun in reclusion. The church is a concentration of spiritual light. Outside the church the light becomes dispersed and dim. In the silence of the church she heard the voice of angels, and in visions she conversed with Christ the Savior, as St. Paul conversed face-to-face with Jesus in the Arabian Desert. The Mother of God appeared to her as she did to the apostles after her Dormition. She saw with her spiritual eyes the beginning and end of the world. Prayer transfigured her. The young virgin seemed to be the embodiment of the spirit of ancient prophetesses, or angels who had taken on human appearance.
At the Savior’s will and the Mother of God’s blessing, she came from Palestine to the capital of Georgia, Mshkheta, which became a second Jerusalem. The day of her arrival, August 6, was the New Year and festival of the Zoroastrian divinity Ahura Mazda—the main festival of fire-worshippers. St. Nino entered into combat with Ahura Mazda and conquered him, as St. George conquered the dragon. The dragon was slain by the power of prayer, and the idol of Ahura Mazda fell and shattered into dust. This day became the spiritual new year in the life of the Georgian people.
Mshkheta greeted St. Nino with festival noise, solemn processions, and a sea of fires lit to honor Ahura Mazda. For Mazdaists, every first day of the month was dedicated to Ahura Mazda, and this first day of the year was celebrated with particular solemnity. On the left bank of the Kura River, opposite Mshkheta, King Parnaoz built a fortress and a pagan temple called Armazi. On the left side opposite Mshkheta, on the mountain peak stood idols of the Zoroastrian divinity, wrought of metal and decorated with precious stones. One of them held a bared sword in an outstretched arm and stood over Mshkheta like a conqueror, looking over the city from the heights of a citadel.
St. Nino fell to her knees and began to pray that the Lord would cast down the idols with His might, just as the idols of Memphis shook and fell when the Virgin Mary and her Infant passed through the city gates.
A miracle occurred. A storm arose. The horizon was darkened by clouds as if the sky was furrowing its brow. Dark clouds like black glaciers flows over Mshkheta. The sun’s light turned to dusk, as if time was turning back and night was on again. Lightning tore the clouds. The whole earth seemed to shake from the thunder. A whirlwind like a tornado flung Ahura Mazda into the gorge, like a knight throws his combatant from his horse. Torrential rain poured down mixed with hail, like molten metal and stones cast from battlements. The water of the Aragvi became covered with foam, as if it was boiling—waves heaved upwards, as if they wanted to reach the mountain peaks. It seemed that the river would crash over Mshkheta and drown it in its belly. People ran to their homes in horror. The city emptied, like a graveyard. But the storm passed as quickly as it came. Again the sun shone in the sky cleansed by wind and washed by rain. On the mountain peak there were no longer any idols to be seen, as if St. Nino had torn the military emblem from the walls of the Acropolis. In the thunder and wind, in the blinding flashes of lightning a new page opened in the Christian chronicles of Georgia, magnificent as Caucasus nature.
St. Nino began to live in the house of the king’s orchard keeper, the Jew Anastasios. Here she built a hut out of branches covered with clay on the edge of the king’s orchard. Her bed was a piece of wool felt thrown over the earth in place of a carpet, on which she prayed most of the night, falling asleep just before daybreak. On this site is built the Samtavro Monastery of St. Nino. In her desert cell is the cross made of grapevines, given to her by the Virgin Mary. This cross, a great sacred treasure of Georgia, is kept in the Sion Cathedral in Tbilisi.
In the Greek Chronicles, St. Nino is called Nonna; that is, nun and recluse. For the heart of a monk, the desert is the place where he meets Christ. St. Nino often withdrew to the outskirts of Mshkheta, especially to the mountain that is now crowned with the Dzhvari church, where the noise of the city and waves of the river would not disturb her silence. In the mountains the quietude is like an impenetrable, transparent crystal wall. There she prayed for hours to God, and when the first stars appeared in the sky, like candles lit by an invisible hand before an iconostasis, she would descend to the capital city, where the houses’ windows glowed like stars fallen from the sky.
St. Nino’s preaching was accompanied by manifestations of God’s power, especially the healing of the sick. Through the Jews who had settled in the Caucasus by at least the seventh century before Christ, the peoples of Georgia had been acquainted with Biblical teaching. Christian communities founded by the apostles in as early as the first century formed separate islands that eventually turned into an archipelago, spreading across the sea of paganism. By the end of the third century, Christianity was the second religion in size after Mazdaism. Georgia now stood before a choice: what should it be from now on—pagan, or Christian; what should they choose—the Gospels or the Avesta, the light of the Cross or the fires of Zoroaster?
Queen Nana, who had been healed of a mortal disease by the virgin Nino, became a Christian. King Mirian, son of a Persian shah, had been taught from childhood that Iran was the land of light, and east and west of it was the kingdom of darkness—Turan and Rome. The priests of Zoroaster convinced the king that Christianity is the herald of catastrophes prophesied by Zoroaster, that it is the religion of women and slaves, not worthy of an Aryan, that the true faith would perish through a woman, as one Indian sage had written five centuries before the birth of Christ, that Iran was created by great heroes who had conquered the devs (giants) from Turan, and because of the Christians the Jews perished and Rome was in decline.
The king was sunk in heavy doubts.
Where is the truth? Where should he lead his people? Will his descendants bless, or curse his name? The scales of history wavered in his hands, and no one knew which cup would drop lower. But the king’s doubt was resolved by a miracle—he was saved from fatal danger when he called upon the unknown God of St. Nino. King Mirian became the first Christian king of Georgia. According to the Greek chronologists, Georgia’s conversion happened in 318 A.D., and the Baptism of Georgia according to the Kartlis Tskhovreba (Life of Georgia) happened in 326, while the time of the hierarchical establishment in the Georgian Church came in 337.
The priests and bishops sent from Byzantium baptized the people of Georgia and Aragva. The place where King Mirian and his princes were baptized is called to this day the “courtiers’ font”. Downstream on the river, like in an enormous font, the people were baptized.
The fires of Zoroastrianism were extinguished in the waters of the Aragva; in the waves of the Aragva the blood of human sacrifices spilled to idols before the reign of Reva the Righteous (two centuries B.C.) was cleansed away, as was the filth of pagan theurgy and magic. The shards of shattered idols were thrown like corpses in a common grave in the Aragva. The Holy Spirit descended into the waters of the Aragva, as it did into the waters of the Jordan.
St. Nino traversed all of Kartli and Kakhetia with her preaching. She ascended to mountain settlements that were like eagles’ nests clinging to cliffs over the abysses. She preached in the courts of princes and in the huts of paupers. Day and night she spent in care for the newly baptized people, like a godmother for her children.
Nino performed the ascetic labors of her life in the eastern region of Georgia called Ereti, in the settlement of Bodbe. Like a gravestone on her grave stands the Church of St. George the Trophy Bearer. Here St. Nino rests in body, but in spirit she abides in every church, city, and village of Georgia. She abides in the heart of Georgia, and Georgia, in her heart.

submitted by Yurii_S_Kh to SophiaWisdomOfGod [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 09:20 Historical_Coach_500 (PS5) DRAGONSTONE NOT DROPPING AND DRAGUR DEATH LORD?!

As title says the dragon stone is not dropping on the final boss, I’ve tested two new play throughs and it’s occurred in both. I noticed there are draugr weights and scourges in bleak falls with thhe final boss being a death lord. So it’s gotta be a mod right?
Well here’s my mod list
USSE USCC
THIEVES GUILD VAULT
GET IMMERSIVE CHEATS EXPANDED
BARDIC ARTS DRAGON BRIDGE SOUTH
WANDERING ONES TGC DAWNSTAR SOLDIEROFWAR
THE MIDDEN: EXPANDED MAGICAL COLLEGE TGC WINTERHOLD SOLDIEROFWAR
DAWNGUARD ARMOURY
JUNIPER DAWNGUARD
JULIHAH OLD TOWN RIFTEN
IVARSTEAD BY OZMANDY
STENDAR BEACON ENHANCED
SHORS STONE CUTTER
SOLSTHEIM REBORN
VILLAGE OF THE SKAAL
JK WINDHELM
KYNESGROVE
AMBER GUARD
GREEN WHITERUN
TGC RORIKSTEAD BY SOLDIER
KATO’S RIVERWOOD
KHAJIT WAREHOUSE
SEVERIO PELAGIAS HOUSE
JK MARKARTH
BETTER TREASURY
SOMETHING FOR FALKREATH
HOLD CAPITALS MORTHAL
VOLKIHAR WATCHTOWER
BRIDGES OF SKYRIM
FORTIFIED CITY EXTERIORS
MAN THOSE BORDERS
MASTER THE SUMMIT
DRAGON MOUNDS
STANDING STONES
NORDIC RUINS OF SKYRIM
WESTERN WATCHTOWER
JUSTICE CITY EXTERIORS
CORPSES OF SKYRIM
HALTED STREAM CAMP
BLEAK FALLS RECOVERED
VALTHEIM KEEP
POINT THE WAY
HOLD BARRIERS BANNERS
RELOCATE NPC
EASIERRIDERS DUNGEON
MORTAL HARVEST
THE KNIGHTS AND THE CLAW
VAMPIRE KNIGHTS
GRIM APOTHECARY
SYLIVIAN SPIRITS
PRIMEVAL REAL ESTATE
WHERE DARKNESS DWELLS
WHERE DARKNESS DWELLS: HOLLOW DARK
WHERE DARKNESS DWELLS: SHADOW KING
KNOWLEDGE IS POWER
MASTER OF ALCHEMY
RUNE TEST QUEST ENGLISH
JULIHAH DIRT
JULIHAH DUNGEON PACK
JULIHAH DUNGEON PACK 2
NEW GRASS
BLENDED SHORELINES
WATER
ELE INTERIOR LIGHTING
SURREAL LIGHTING
SUPREME STORMS
SPELL LIGHT DYNAMICS
CREATION CLUB INTERGRATION
HOUSECARL HOLD SPECIFIC GEAR
VIOLENS
SIMPLE DUEL WIELD AND UNARMED BLOCK
WEAPON PARRY AND STAGGER
COMBAT SOUND AND ATTACK BLOOD
MORE BLOOD AND GORE
ATHLETIK COMBAT
TECHNICAL JUMP
WATER WARS
DEAD BODY COLLISION FIX
ARCHERY FOR PS4
REALISTIC RANGE SPELL
LONGER DEATH CAM
KILL MOVES NO BLUR
IMMERSIVE FAST TRAVEL
IMMERSIVE REALISM ARCHERY
PERK FROM QUESTING
WEAR MULTIPLE RINGS
HELMETS WITH CIRCLETS
SCALING SHOUTS
WEATHER EFFECTS
DAWNGUARD DARK ALLY
SET FOR UNDERWORLD
LOCKPICKING FOR PROS
NECROMANCY SUMMON SPELLS
MASTER OF DESTRUCTION
MAGE GRIP SPELL
LIGHT AND DARK MAGIC
BALANCED SLOW TIME
EVERY SCHOOL DAMAGE MAGIC
INCREASE TELEKINESIS
NEUTRALIZE
BALANCED NEW SPELLS
CHANNELED PARALYSIS SPELL
STAY ARROW STAY
MAC BONE ARROW STICK
MAC ICE ARROW STICK
DEADLY BANDITS OF SKYRIM
LEGENDARY CREATURES
DEADLY BOSSES OF SKYRIM
KINGS OF HELL
TERROR AV HEMLEN
THE BEW DRAGON CULT
IMMERSIVE PATROLS
ZIEOS CRAZY DRAGONS
SET GREAT HUNT
WENDIGO
SKELETON ROADSIDE ENCOUNTERS
ROADSIDE SHADES
TRIBAL WEREWOLF ENEMIES
VARIOUS DRAGONS
VAMPIRE LORD ENEMIES
BONE COLOSSUS INTEGRATION
ALL HAIL LORD TUSK
REAPER UNLEASHED
MAGIC UTILITES
SPEAR WEAPONS
ADJUSTED UNIQUES
OBLIVION UNIQUES
BETTER UNIQUE BACKPACKS
TRUE LORDS OF OBLIVION
SOULWANE
DIADAM OF THE TRUE SAVANT
HOLY MOONLIGHT SWORD
AURIELS WEAPONRY
THE TOOLS OF KAGRENAC
TRUE ICE BLADE OF THE MONARCH
THE FORK AND KNIFE WEAPON
WHITE PHIL LEGENDARY
GREY COWL
FUNCTIONAL FEARSOME FISTS
WARD FOCUSING GLOVES
SMITHING UPDATED LIGHT
GIFT FROM KARSTAAG
RING OF TIBER SEPTIM
RING OF POWER
BALANCED KATANA CRAFTING
CROSS CHOPPER
COIN MINTING
ANIMATED WEAPON ENCHANTS
EXPERT DESTRUCTION SPELLS
RAIN AND SNOW FIX
REALISTIC MAGIC ARMOUR
SKELETON EYES DONT GLOW
DRAUGR EYES DONT GLOW
GET IMMERSIVE BOOK AND MAP
WAR IMMERSIVE WEAPONS
POTION RECIPES RAISE ALCHEMY
BETTER TREASURE MAP
LIGHTLY POPULATED
SKYRIM ROYAL GUARDS
CIVIL WAR REFUGEES
HOLD RIDERS
GUARDS OF SKYRIM WHITERUN
CIVIL WAR HEALERS
POPULATED CASTLE VOLKIHAR
POPULATED MOVARTH LAIR
GUARD DIALOGUE
REASONABLE GUARD DIALOGUE
WELL TAMED HORSE
RENAMED NPCS
RESPAWNABLE MERCS
HENRIK
SOLOMON COMPANION
MFS
HEALER CONTROL PATCH
HARDCORE FOLLOWER PATCH
SET TRAVELING FOLLOWERS
GRAND DAWNGUARD FACTION
SKYRIM EVERYTHING IN ORDER
ENHANCED VOLK NPC
ENHANCED ATRONARCHS
DESTROY THE THEIVES GUILD
KILLABLE ROLFF
KILLABLE GENERALS
DRAGON SOULS TO PERK
RENAMED SHOUTS
NO DIALOGUE PAUSE
CHARACTER EDITOR
YOT YOUR OWN THOUGHTS
IMMERSIVE SPEECH DIALOGUE
NO MAP CLOUDS
HASTE TWEAKED
DB BETTER REWARDS
ECONOMY AND CRIME
SKELETON LORD
NIGHTINGALE ALL POWERS
NO START SPELL
FIRE AND FORGET WARDS
LONGER FIRE AND ICE EFFECTS
MANNEQUINS STAY PUT
BEAST SOUND SETTINGS
REALISTIC CONVERSATION
THE CURSE
THE CURSE -BEAST PATCH
BEAST DAEDRIC BLESSING
VAMPIRE AND MAGIC
GODS BE PRAISED
SEARCH AND DESTROY
REALISTIC IMPACT
DRAGONS FROM THE START
NORTHERN STEEL
SILVER OVERHAUL
MONSTER HUNTER SILVER
RANK AND FILE
ULFRIC STORM-CLOAK
BUDDY RALOF
IMPERIAL HADVAR
BETTER COURIOR
BETTER SHIELDS
DANGEROUS SKOOMA
VULTHURYOL REBORN
STRONGER BOSSES
THE CREATOR OF FACES
CULT OF THE WORLD EATER
I honestly have no clue what could be causing it but my main suspect is The Curse overhaul

submitted by Historical_Coach_500 to skyrimmods [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 08:33 ItsGotThatBang Is Ron Paul responsible for the rise of Trumpism in general & Vivek Ramaswamy in particular?

Ron Paul Redux: The Texan Congressman Has an Unlikely Intellectual Heir: Vivek Ramaswamy is running on Paul’s regressive libertarian populism

Remember that moment in the Republican presidential debate when one brash guy voiced some unorthodox positions, and the other candidates hastened to express their vigorous disagreement? Probably not. I mean, the debate took place in 2011, and that controversial Republican, Ron Paul, has largely faded from memory.
When he ran for the GOP nomination in 2008 and 2012, Paul came across as a rumpled gadfly voicing unvarnished opinions that put him on the fringes of the party. But today, at 88, he can look with pride on an ideological heir who is young, handsome and slick– and happens to be in perfect harmony with the modern Republican Party: No, not Rand Paul, Ron’s son, the three-term Republican Senator from Kentucky. It is the practicing Hindu and son of Indian immigrants: Vivek Ramaswamy.
Ramaswamy doesn’t look or act like the avuncular Texas obstetrician. Educated at Harvard and Yale, with a glib confidence and a physique suited to playing tennis shirtless, Ramaswamy could hardly be more different. But that’s on the surface. Put him and Paul together in a room and they would find plenty to agree on. Not only do both self-identify as libertarians, they represent the same flavor of populist paleolibertarianism. The main difference is that Paul was starkly at odds with the prevailing ideology of the GOP back then. Ramaswamy, on the other hand, is fluent in the language of today’s very different GOP.
Comrades In Arms
Paul railed against the federal government and particularly the central bankers at the Federal Reserve. He abhorred multilateral institutions, affirmative action, foreign aid, welfare, and environmental protection. He denounced NAFTA as a step toward a North American Union. He vowed to cut federal spending by $1 trillion in his first year and abolish five cabinet departments. His newsletter described Martin Luther King Jr. as “the man who replaced the evil of forced segregation with the evil of forced integration.” Paul later claimed that he didn’t write or approve such statements in the publication that bore his name. But his followers ate them up.
You can hear distinct echoes of much of this in Ramaswamy.
The 38-year-old pharmaceutical tycoon says he would eliminate the Department of Education, the IRS, the Nuclear Regulatory Commission and the FBI, part of his unlikely plan to get rid of 75% of the federal workforce. He has said he would cut off aid to Ukraine and, in time, to Israel too – though he later reversed himself on the latter. Like Paul, he claims the “climate change agenda is a hoax.”
When a white gunman killed three Black people in Jacksonville, Florida, Ramaswamy, who likewise opposes affirmative action, put the blame not so much on the perpetrator but on racial preferences for creating “a new wave of anti-Black and anti-Hispanic racism in this country.” He suggested his running mate might be Robert F. Kennedy Jr., who is notorious for his anti-vaccine disinformation, popular in certain libertarian circles.
Ramaswamy has raised the possibility that government instigators were involved in the Jan. 6 insurrection. But you know who beat him to that? Ron Paul. (There is no evidence of that.)
Carrying Water for Trump
Ramaswamy says, “I don't think Donald Trump was the cause of Jan. 6,” ignoring a Himalayan pile of evidence confirming that he was thoroughly complicit in the Capitol insurrection. Without knowing the evidence that will emerge during Trump’s criminal trials—which Ramaswamy smears as “politicized prosecution”—he promises to grant the former president a full pardon. Oh, and he describes Trump as “the best president of the 21st century,” despite his unprecedented effort to overturn a free and fair democratic election.
Paul, meanwhile, has said little—if anything—about Trump’s role in inciting the Capitol mob. He has, however, slammed the Jan. 6 Congressional hearings as “insurrection theater” perpetrated by “desperate Democrats.”
On NBC’s “Meet the Press,” Ramaswamy outlined the following bizarre scenario if he were certifying the last election instead of Mike Pence: “Here’s what I would have said: ‘We need single-day voting on Election Day, we need paper ballots, and we need government-issued ID matching the voter file.’. . . In my capacity as president of the Senate, I would have led through that level of reform, then on that condition certified the election results, served it up to the president — President Trump — then to sign that into law. And on January 7th, declared the re-election campaign pursuant to a free and fair election.”
And then he would have ridden away on his purple unicorn. Ramaswamy’s alternative was not only idiotic but impossible, a tribute to either ignorance of the Constitution and the legislative process or breathtaking dishonesty. Paul had a reputation for being a kook given his many offbeat crusades. But Ramaswamy seems determined to outdo him.
On immigration too, Ramaswamy and Paul are remarkably aligned with each other and at odds with policy libertarians, who paleolibertarians deride as establishment elites. Paul was against a border wall—at least he said he was—whereas Ramaswamy, borrowing from Trump, has pledged to “close the southern border.” But Paul talked incessantly about eliminating the incentives for “illegal immigration,” to wit, easy welfare and easy birthright citizenship for the children of undocumented. In the same vein, Ramaswamy has pledged to push a constitutional amendment ending birthright citizenship if elected.
Ramaswamy: No Anti-War Warrior
But that’s not the only thing in the constitution Ramaswamy wants to amend. He’d also raise the voting age to 25, which would disenfranchise 31 million people—more than the population of Texas. That’s one way to address the Republican Party’s low esteem among 18-to-24 voters, 65% of whom voted for Joe Biden in 2020, though he may not have considered the electoral vengeance they would exact as soon as they turn 25.
Ramaswamy’s measure combines the anti-democratic with the coercive. Young adults could gain voting rights by passing a civics quiz or by spending six months in the military or “first responder service”—his goal being to “revive civic duty among Americans.” He has also advocated compulsory universal service for high school students on summer breaks in his book, Woke Inc.
Much of this, along with Ramaswamy’s embrace of the Monroe Doctrine as a warning to foreign powers such as China that “America comes First and that our hemisphere is not to be encroached by our adversaries,” would not thrill the Paulistas whose version of America Firstism consists of not spilling American blood for foreigners. Nor would they likely go along with Ramaswamy’s proposal to use military force to “annihilate the Mexican drug cartels” or his suggestion to make a firm commitment to defend Taiwan against a Chinese attack.
But paleolibertarian Paul fans would be four squares behind Ramaswamy on ceding Ukraine to Putin – the only Republican on the debate stage in favor of doing so.
Mainstreaming the Fringe
They would also be open to Ramaswamy’s conspiratorial turn of mind. Paul has tried to distance himself from the kooky theories peddled under his name in his newsletter—like when in the grimmest days of the AIDS epidemic, it accused gays of plotting to “poison the blood supply”—but Paul himself is on the record claiming that the U.S. government knew about 9/11 in advance but kept it a secret. In a similar vein, Ramaswamy also hinted at federal involvement in the attack but recanted later.
When Paul ran for the GOP nomination, his views were effectively disqualifying. In 2012, his best showing, he finished third in the Iowa caucuses and second in the New Hampshire primaries. He eventually ended up with 8% of the convention delegates, putting him fourth in the overall race. But like Pat Buchanan before him, he was never halfway plausible as the Republican presidential nominee. His role was provocateur, taking bold positions that let his rivals unite in denouncing him as dangerous and irresponsible.
Ramaswamy likewise found his opponents ganging up on him in the first Republican debate, with Nikki Haley, Chris Christie and Mike Pence doing their best to read him out of the race. But his views, despite their similarity to Paul’s, can no longer be derided as conservative heresy. In fact, his rivals seemed to be the ones defensive with GOP voters, which is no surprise given Trump retains the allegiance of 59% of them, according to a post-debate poll.
Ramaswamy isn’t likely to win the nomination. But if he loses, it won’t be because his views are too extreme for the party faithful who remain under the spell of Trump’s toxic populism. That’s why Ramaswamy has shrewdly declared, “I’m in this race to take the America First agenda far further than Donald Trump ever did.”
To that end, Ramaswamy has put out a 10-point statement of his convictions which include “God is real,” “there are two genders,” “reverse racism is racism,” and “an open border is no border,” all intended to signal his vehement opposition to the left.
Paul was against the cultural left too but he didn’t make that the center-point of his campaign because the GOP then wasn’t fighting the culture war 24/7. But post-Trump, the party is fully consumed by the leftist enemy and so what was implicit in Paul is now explicit in Ramaswamy.
In retrospect, Paul was less an outlier than a forerunner. In his candidacy were the seeds of a new version of a populist libertarian conservatism—rooted in a suspicion of ties with the rest of the world, racial paranoia, rejection of cultural liberalization, hostility toward almost every major national and international institution, a propensity for red-pill fantasies and a distrust of democracy.
What was fringe in Paul’s time is now the dominant strain in the GOP—and Ramaswamy is determined to be its champion.

What are your thoughts? This is obviously a bold claim & I’m not sure I fully agree with it.

submitted by ItsGotThatBang to AskLibertarians [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 07:47 cutiebird31 What plants would you absolutely never want in your garden?

When we bought our fixerupper, it had great garden bones. We spent the last three years overhauling my overgrown, neglected garden in my new house. After three years, the garden is taking off. After all that work and love, we have to relocate. I'm devestated to leave this garden. Our move is likely a temporary move. In the interim, we are renting the house and having our landscaper weed, maintain and plant. I expect the tenants may be attracted to the gardens. If they like to garden, I hope they fill my raised beds with lovely things that make them happy. I have vegetable gardens and an annual raised bed border which will be empty.
I'm worried about the tenants putting invasive species in my garden. I'm putting a provision in the lease that roses, bulbs and other perineials cannot be moved or removed. Someone who owned my home was obviously an amazing gardener years before we bought. Since then no one has done anything but put horrible invasive species in the garden to choke the bulbs and roses. With the help of some picks and a team of four men (and me!), we were able to clean out some of it. Me and my landscaper have been trying to murder another patch for the last three years, with little success.
I'm worried about someone planing something in the vein of bamboo. (We have the same or worse. Clearing my bulb garden involved a team of 3 guys, a whole day, and pick axes. This was after I spent an entire weekend with my husband clearing a 3×3 square.) I don't care if someone plants a nice flower, "in the wrong place" that can be removed. Any specific plants you would ban?
TLDR: what plants would be deadly to your gardens? What should I ban my tenants from planting in my much loved garden? I don't want anything that will kill my existing plants.

submitted by cutiebird31 to gardening [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 07:16 purhox_arhox What can go in a setback (US)?

What can go on a setback (US)
I know this is a loaded question and the simple answer involves me better understanding local zoning laws, my POA covenants, etc. but here goes:
I have a narrow backyard ~25 ft at the widest point. My home itself barely satisfies the 20ft structure setback laws already. The backyard is currently open in the rear on to a utility easement (full length) that I’ve treated as extra backyard. For various reasons, I now want to fence it in and turn the yard into a really beautiful space. However, I have to account for a 5ft rear and side setback. That leaves me 15-20ft of improvable land and that feels very limiting. I’d like to build a patio, put artificial turf in my side yard, and possibly add some permanent raised beds around the perimeter of my yard. To create some shade, I’m also considering some kind of pergola on or attached to the fence. If I can swing it, maybe even a small cocktail pool in the widest section.
I’m nervous about the setback rules if I go to sell later, or if the utility company decides they need to dig. I’m meeting with a landscape architect and have some designs in mind, but the setback thing really makes/breaks what I can/will do. Wanting to be respectful of his time (and wanting to be on the up & up with the city) I wanted some more knowledge on what can go on/in a rear setback.
Can I extend the patio to my lot line? I.e. would having concrete and flagstones into the setback be an issue if I went to sell?
Can I build a permanent (like poured concrete or retaining wall) raised bed in the setback?
Can I build an attached structure to my fence that extends over the setback? Let’s assume I’m OK on height requirements for city and POA.
Can I put turf over the setback?
I get that this isn’t normally an issue but with a mini backyard in the US that abuts a utility easement for the entirety of its length, I want to make sure I do everything the right way. If you have advice on the above or ideas I should consider on how to not have a stupidly bare 5ft border around my already limited yard, I’d love your thoughts. Thanks so much!!!

submitted by purhox_arhox to landscaping [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 07:13 purhox_arhox What can go on a setback (US)

I know this is a loaded question and the simple answer involves me better understanding local zoning laws, my POA covenants, etc. but here goes:
I have a narrow backyard ~25 ft at the widest point. My home itself barely satisfies the 20ft structure setback laws already. The backyard is currently open in the rear on to a utility easement (full length) that I’ve treated as extra backyard. For various reasons, I now want to fence it in and turn the yard into a really beautiful space. However, I have to account for a 5ft rear and side setback. That leaves me 15-20ft of improvable land and that feels very limiting. I’d like to build a patio, put artificial turf in my side yard, and possibly add some permanent raised beds around the perimeter of my yard. To create some shade, I’m also considering some kind of pergola on or attached to the fence. If I can swing it, maybe even a small cocktail pool in the widest section.
I’m nervous about the setback rules if I go to sell later, or if the utility company decides they need to dig. I’m meeting with a landscape architect and have some designs in mind, but the setback thing really makes/breaks what I can/will do. Wanting to be respectful of his time (and wanting to be on the up & up with the city) I wanted some more knowledge on what can go on/in a rear setback.
Can I extend the patio to my lot line? I.e. would having concrete and flagstones into the setback be an issue if I went to sell?
Can I build a permanent (like poured concrete or retaining wall) raised bed in the setback?
Can I build an attached structure to my fence that extends over the setback? Let’s assume I’m OK on height requirements for city and POA.
Can I put turf over the setback?
I get that this isn’t normally an issue but with a mini backyard in the US that abuts a utility easement for the entirety of its length, I want to make sure I do everything the right way. If you have advice on the above or ideas I should consider on how to not have a stupidly bare 5ft border around my already limited yard, I’d love your thoughts. Thanks so much!!!

submitted by purhox_arhox to LandscapeArchitecture [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 06:29 Sp00kyd00d4ever Infinity Blood: Hunt for the Divine Book One:

This is a horro adventure series I’ve been working on for over a year! Thought I’d post some of it on here! Would love some feedback!
Existence began with a flash of light that pierced the black vastness of space, bringing forth a billion stars. And the world as we know it came to be––suspended, breathing, becoming life. Magnificent oceans, brilliant blue skies patchy with sheets of white vapor, animals from the humble mouse to the prideful lion arose, as did all forms of flora that sprouted up from beneath the dirt and soul, spreading across the lands culminating in lush jungles and forests, providing refuge to the fauna from the ever-changing elements.
On the seventh day, Man came, and with man came the original sin. As Eve plucked the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge and Adam partook, they were cast out from paradise, condemned to fend for themselves in an imperfect world filled with struggle and hardships––a reality to which man grew all too accustomed.
No longer in paradise, existence no longer felt like a blessing but a vile curse. Scornful towards his Almighty Creator, Adam's hatred brought forth the embodiment of malice––creatures with an insatiable thirst for vengeance against the God who seemed to have forsaken them. This rage was passed on to his two sons, Cain and Abel, who themselves committed the second sin and unleashed the Maligus onto the world.
From then on, man's soul was thrust into a ceaseless war between good and evil; Proelium in Principio Esse had begun. Only the Angelix, warriors of the holiest order, wielded enough power to challenge the growing threat of the demon Maligus. Armed with the gifted, Divine Items––the Saber of Sovereignty, the Dagger of Divinity, and the Armament of Authority––the grand battle seemed all but won. But as civilization grew, so did the sins of man, and soon, the scales between good and evil became unbalanced.
The chosen Angelix relinquished paradise and descended to Earth to continue their duty of bringing balance to mankind, to finally rid the world of the foul demons. And so, they remained on earth, living as humans, learning to love the ever-fleeting imperfection that was humanity. Passing on the lessons of the Riteful Fite to their descendants, calling themselves Pharus Spei, as so they fought on, awaiting Proelio Finem Temporis––the final confrontation between the forces of light and dark.
The end will be ushered in by the union of three prophesied warriors, each of whom will once again wield the Divine Items hidden for millennia throughout the long stretches of time. They shall bring an end to this war and, at long last, bring forth an everlasting peace for mankind.
They will be the Infinitrinity.
Ephesians 5:16
And Christ shall give thee light. See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools but as wise, Redeeming the time, because the days are evil.
He was being hunted. No sooner had the sun retreated behind the city skyline did the creatures come pouring out from within the shadows and trailing after the young boy from the rooftops. The boy cut through alleyways and a vacant lot in a panic frenzy, lungs burning and bare feet aching, he felt their desperate hunger careening down at his back. Young as he was his primal instincts for survival and adrenaline kept him pushing forward, trying every effort he could to lose the creatures leaping overhead. He knew they wanted nothing more than for him to take a wrong turn leading to dead end or to trip or loose his balance. These mistakes would be all they needed to guarantee an easy meal.
They were quick. Catching a glimpse of them leaping from rooftop to rooftop. Their bodies were thin and long. Barely making any sound as they landed onto the rooftops. The dark hid their viler details. But he's seen them before. They image of their hideous features haunted his dream most every night. Their jagged teeth protruding from their enormous mouths. Their scale covered limbs. Bit it was their eyes which clung most vividly to the forefront of his mind. Those wide, scarlet eyes. They were so full of equal parts malice and insatiable hunger. They only existed to feed and cause misery. And he had unfortunately borne witness to both these things.
He took a hastened turn down the wrong alley. This was the mistake they had preyed upon. He found it led to a brick wall. Far too tall for him to climb over. It was a dead end. He turned on his heels, eyes swollen with tears he prepared to face his fate head on. A boy only twelve years of age; living impoverished and without a home. Scrounging for food in dumpsters and taking shelter wherever he was able was now being forced to face his mortality. His mouth had run dry. His small chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath.
I don't wanna die. God. I don't wanna
The heard of demons huddled around the child. Salivating. Their long, serrated teeth readied for the taste of the boy's tender flesh.
A figure appearing to materialize in the moonlight stood in between the feral beast and the frightened boy. Draped in a long coat and wearing a wide brimmed hat. The boy noticed the demon's demeanors suddenly altered as they began to place distance between them and the mysterious man. No sooner did he appear did he make charge the fiendish things, a long sword in hand. Within what seemed seconds the demons were torn a sunder, leaving nothing behind by cloud of ash.
The man turned to the boy. He was an older looking fellow. A long grayish whirl beard falling from his chin and a long silver mane pouring out from beneath his hat.
"What's your name boy?" The man asked. His voice was calming.
The boy spoke.
"Nathaniel, sir. Nathaniel Lumen."
There was a brief pause. The man spoke.
"Where are you parents? You're much too young to be out here alone at this time of night."
"They're dead sir. Those things killed them. A year ago."
The mysterious man took a moment before speaking, surveying the boy from head to toe. On the boys right fore arm there was a familiar looking birthmark. It was blotchy and abnormally pigmented in the shape of an '8'.
"It appears you have a choice to make. You are course free to stay here and live your life as you choose, fighting for survival in this city rampant with those foul creatures. Or you can come with me and never fear again."
The boy looked on at the stranger in the bellowing trench coat. Perplexed. This offer had a weight to it unlike any he'd been given before. Was such a decision truly his to make? A boy of twelve years old given such reign over his destiny expected to make this life altering decision.
The man said nothing further, simply slipping his sword back to its sheath and he began to walk away.
The boy watched as the stranger walk out of the dimly lit alleyway and into the lightened streets. His silhouette statuesque, the shadows seeming to bend around him. Whoever this man was he felt certain wherever he was headed would be a place filled of purpose. There would be light.
The boy followed after.
Chapter 01
The Distant Future, the Year 2307
The Cathedral of Kayn
"The perimeter is secure."
" No heat signatures are showing up on our end."
"Copy that, we're moving in."
The Faction 7 infiltration squad had managed to make it through the mountains bordering the outskirts of the once-great city of Edenlore. After an arduous battle that left their ranks severely diminished, they had finally breached the hard light barrier, an omnipresent protective shell surrounding the cathedral. Exhausted and running low on supplies, they were weak in body but strong in spirit. Their mission was to breach the heart of the cathedral and locate the throne room.
"Hurry down the left corridor; there should be a flight of stairs to the right!" Vector Lux, a young soldier of the Pharus Spei, recited aloud, providing the infiltration squad with the intelligence that had been gathered by the last platoon on their prior mission.
Sargent Lancer nodded. "You two, you're with me. The rest of you men cover our end."
Private Vector Lux obeyed Sargent Lancer's command and followed closely as they made their way up the stairwell. This was the opportunity they had long fought for; all the lives lost, all the bloodshed, all the years he'd spent training—it all led to this moment.
They sprinted up the flight of stairs. Vector glanced to his right, locking eyes with Private Sands. Both had been enlisted into the ranks of the Pharus Spei at the age of thirteen, and both had spent years on the battlefield, bearing witness to the horrors of the ceaseless war, the countless deaths of loved ones, and the all-consuming dread that governed their entire lives.
This mission's success would make all the difference and could very well bring an end to all the suffering. Peace could finally be achieved at long last. All of civilization's fate depended solely on this success.
Hordes of maligus––winged, bloodthirsty beasts––trailed behind them, existing solely to feed on the fear and flesh of men, of which their jagged teeth made short work. They were under his dominion. Hundreds of them stood watch over the cathedral through the night, ever vigilant. Throughout the long hours of the night, they were his enforcers.
Several soldiers had managed to fend off a portion of the maligus, allowing Sargent Lancer and his team to break from the group and toward the objective. However, they were severely outnumbered, and before long, they were overwhelmed by the malevolent beasts. Vector could hear their blood-curdling screams echoing through the stairwell as the Faction 7 soldiers were torn apart in the ensuing battle.
Sargent Lancer led the two soldiers up through the stairwell and into the grand hall, where they were met with a mighty staircase leading towards two large doors.
"Intel says that's the entrance to the throne room." Sargent Lancer activated a device on his wrist that displayed a holographic map of the cathedral's interior.
"What's our next move, Sarge?" Vector asked. Suddenly, Lancer's device emitted an alarming beeping sound.
A deep, unsettling, booming voice filled the hall.
"Impressive, humans, making it this far, and only at the cost of your entire fleet." Lum was its name; a behemoth of a bestial form emerged from behind the banister.
"Was it worth it? The annihilation of all your comrades?" Another demon, female in appearance, with long flowing hair and an alluring presence; its name was Langu.
"Food!" shouted another voice, raspy and excited. Esu appeared, its long and thin body dwarfed by Lum's broad and massive form.
"Let us gift them a quick and painful death as a prize for making it this far," Morto, the final demon, said as it walked forth, unveiling its massive bat-like wings, sneering down at the three intruders.
The Four Hellsmen, the deadliest of his enforcers. Sargent Lancer engaged his mechanical wrist gauntlets, setting them to incineration mode. He looked to his right. His fellow soldier stood there, trembling, trying to keep a brave face. His teeth clenched, his left hand on the hilt of his sword, still sheathed. Fear radiated from him.
He then looked to his right and saw Vector with his sword at the ready, his face stern, unshaken, and full of resolve. He had made his decision.
"Private Lux, when I give the order to move for those doors, we will cover you. Get through those doors and complete this mission. That's an order. Do you understand, soldier?" Sargent Lancer had given his final order, and Vector nodded.
"Now! Move!" Vector ran for the staircase, only to be blocked by the winged demon Morto, who dove downward with a sweeping strike of its claw.
Vector sprung backward narrowly, evading the demon's attack. Grasping his extendable, he then began blocking a barrage of strikes from above, his steel blade clanging against the demon's talons. Like a hungry vulture, the demon attacked relentlessly, swooping up and then backing down with violent vigor.
A storm of bullets pelted the demon's body, causing it to collapse to the ground. Sargent Lancer readjusted his gauntlets and readied himself with another round of ammunition. "Go, that's an order!"
He set off another round of shots; the bullets sprayed both banisters, heaving a cloud of debris into the air. Lum jumped from atop the banister and landed heavily on the marble floor below, fracturing it with its tremendous weight. It heaved its neck back, puffed out its wide-breasted chest, inhaling deeply, and then exhaled a large wall of flames. Vector, using his jet propulsion boots, propelled himself into the air. From above, he watched the flames dissipate, hoping his team had survived the inferno below.
Vector launched himself forward in the direction of the throne room doors. Suddenly, swarms of flies appeared, obscuring his sight. He felt something grab hold of his left ankle and begin to pull him down. He looked down to see a hairy, greasy, and dark leg tugging at him.
Langu cackled, using its tendril-like locks of hair to further ensnare the slayer. A nameless soldier lunged at the demon with an arching slash of his steel blade, severing the wretched, ghastly tendrils and allowing Vector to escape.
"Go Lux, go now while we hold them off! Go!" he shouted, desperately fending off the demon Esu, who had gotten the upper hand. He had managed to pin him to the floor and begun draining him of his life essence. He shrieked in terror until all that was left was a withered, lifeless husk sprawled out on the floor.
In a state of desperate rage, Vector engaged his gauntlets and shot Esu with a pinpoint hit to the head, causing it to explode on impact. Lum leaped into the air, wrapping its massive arms around the slayer, and they came crashing down. Now, Vector was at the mercy of the demon. Staring into its eyes, he could see nothingness, only hatred and malicious intent glowing in those red pits.
"Let hell have you, Pharus Spei," the demon said, raising its head and preparing to unleash a blast of its fiery breath. Suddenly, a gleam of shimmering light tore through its chest, moving upward and splitting it down the middle of its massive torso.
Lancer stood triumphant, his plasma saber in hand. He had sustained noticeable burn wounds to his right arm; even so, he wore a face of gratification as he watched the beast fall to pieces. The three remaining demons gathered around the shredded corpse.
Having faced the Hellsmen numerous times before, Lancer knew it wouldn't be long before the beasts would regenerate and return to fighting form.
He knew he had to do whatever he could to allow Private Lux a chance to reach the throne room. He ignited his plasma blade, flipping a switch on the blade's handle. It began to grow in length, losing its straight shape, resembling that of a loose line of wire, glowing and growing into a whip made of pure light energy.
Then it began. With the flick of his wrist, the plasma whip looped outward and then inward, and suddenly, in a flurry of movements, it had begun to move in every direction, cutting through marble pillars, the banister above, and everything in its path. The demons backed away, doing all they could to avoid its wrath.
"On your feet, Vector!" he commanded, his voice still strong and focused.
Vector rose, regained his focus, and turned toward the two large wooden doors. He ran up the steps, hesitating for an instant at the top. Sargent Lancer called out to him. Turning, Vector met his gaze––a look of reassurance, pride, acceptance, but most of all, hope.
With that, Lancer deactivated the plasma weapon and tossed it to Vector Lux. They exchanged nods.
Vector now knew with all certainty that the fate of the world was in his hands. Yet, for a moment, he found himself unable to move forward. He turned once more for a final lingering glance back at Sargent Lancer, fully aware of the fate that awaited him once he walked through those doors. It was a feeling of hopelessness.
Summoning all his resolve, he pushed through the heavy doors and into his throne room.
The throne room of Kayn.

submitted by Sp00kyd00d4ever to Write_Right [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 05:52 mszanka Opinions: What NJ region is best?

We always go around in circles about the borders of North, Central, and South Jersey. But that aside, in your opinion, what are the pros and cons of each? Is one of them your favorite? Or is there one to which you could never consider moving?
For myself, I’m a North Jersey guy. I was born and raised in Bergen County and now live in the northwest corner of our wonderful State. As much as I like visiting the Shore, I prefer the hilly terrain, lakes and farms in my area.

submitted by mszanka to newjersey [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 05:49 SpiritedBrilliant703 Turning A College Side Hustle into $200 Million

submitted by SpiritedBrilliant703 to Entrepreneur [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 03:04 VoctorDralidas {Fan Fic} Combat Artificer: Hemotheurge - 1

Michael crawled over the broken windshield glass and sandy dirt to his girlfriend, Sam. Every breath he took was labored as he inched over to her, he distantly felt the pain. He knew he had broken most of his ribs, his legs, and most of the bones in his left arm, but that was nothing compared to the injuries she had sustained being on the passenger side when it was struck.
Sweat mixed with the blood on his forehead, dripping into and making his eyes sting. Her breathing was becoming more and more shallow, as desperation welled in his mind. Their twisted wreck that was some distance away began to smoke, before flames began to lick from the inside of the hood.
“If any gods or demons can hear me, I beg of you, please. Please spare her life.” He hoarsely whispered. “I’ll give you anything, everything, just please. She has children who need her more than they need me.”
---OFFER ACCEPTED---
---YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED FOR TRANSLOCATION---
The voice rolled through his mind like the deep and powerful rumblings of a storm.
Michael began to pass out, his vision slowly fading.
As the last rays of light hit his eyes, he saw her wounds closing to heal. His eyes rolled back.
________________________________________
---INITIATING GODSMARKED TRAINING---
He was standing somewhere. Somewhere? It was a void, neither light, nor dark, but –NULL–. He could still see himself, his hand in front of his face, wearing the same long black shirt and black cargo pants, despite the apparent lacking of light. He didn’t hurt anymore.
“Greeting [Godsmarked]. I am here to give you your training.”
Directly to his right, a few feet away from him, was a figure clad entirely in deep purple robes. Their hands were clothed in stunningly white gloves, while their hood obscured any attempts to discern the face inside.
“So, a god or multiple gods heard my offer, and took me up on it. I suppose I am here to render my payment,” Michael mused. “I’ll cry later for what I sacrificed on that altar. Who are you, and what do I need to train for?”
“I am Estoc, [Servant] of the Divines. You are being given training on how to utilize the most common magical elements of the plane you are being transported to, for the gods own amusement or some grander purpose. Who can say which one it is?” Estoc said as they shrugged, while their robe shifted shades of purple.
“Please be aware, this process may sting. The last [Godsmarked] complained quite loudly.” Estoc waved their hand, and Michael hissed with a sharp intake of air as if the crown of his skull were branded with an iron.
“The knowledge you have gained will give you the intrinsic ability to will a Status Window into being. This Status Window will display your classes, titles, certain physical attributes, injuries, magical power, and any skills gained from classes or titles. As you use this Status Window, you will grow in familiarity with its function, but all sapient beings of this realm are able to utilize this function from early childhood.
Classes represent pathways that grant access to active and passive skills over the course of a person’s development, representing their personal specialties and the applications of those specialties. Each adult has at least one class, and the limit is five, though as classes level up and synergies develop, classes may merge to become new classes opening up additional slots, as well as prompting the selection of a replacement class.
You are being transported to the realm of Tillania.
Good luck on your journey, Michael Judge.” Estoc tilted their head to the side as though listening to something, and in a lower register said, “Sam Iron will make a full recovery in the hospital.”
Michael dropped his chin to his chest, sniffed, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He sighed, and looked back up, only to see that Estoc was gone. He wiped his face, and steeled himself for the possibilities.
---GODSMARKED TRAINING COMPLETED---
---CALCULATING CLASS CHOICES---
The white words appeared on the white bordered black Status Window that appeared in front of him.
---CALCULATION COMPLETE. CLASS OPTIONS ARE AS FOLLOWS. SELECT TWO---
-[Magus (Fungus)]
-[Magus (Necromancy)]
-[Medic]
-[Soldier]
-[Priest]
-[Clerk]
-[Trader]
Michael stared at the screen and let his thoughts wander over why these were his choices. The fungus mage felt a little on the nose, he had been devoted to a decentralized religion that revered psilocybin as its sacrament, and experimented with his own. The Soldier was from his time in the Army. Trader from working a certain general store chain with the word “Dollar” in it when he was young and poor. Priest was from his time studying religion and coaching others. Medic from his time working in the hospital as a laboratory technician, and in the army with a medical brigade support battalion.
He didn’t want to be a priest, or a fungus mage, at least not at first. Soldier, while useful, didn’t lend itself to the role he wanted to see himself in. But necromancy? He thought it over some more as to why that was the case.
The modern concept of necromancy involved raising the dead, zombies, skeletons, ghouls, disturbing the dead. The classical concept, however, was involved with any magic associated with dead flesh, including magic meant to investigate health conditions or divine futures from stool, skin, muscle tissue, urine, or blood. He had been steeped in tabletop roleplaying games, as well as classical myths of the various kinds of undead, and the various kinds of necromancers. It would seem, then, that this world would occasionally have to deal with the existence of undead. If that were the case, he thought that he might have a better time being able to sell himself as an expert on preventing and exorcising them. He had always been in love with the idea of the undead, though he thought that it would probably be more socially acceptable if he didn’t create any.
As to the other class? He felt most at home being able to treat others.
---CLASS CHOICES ACCEPTED---
---GENERATING CLASS SKILLS---
[MAGUS (NECROMANCER)] Level 1
PASSIVES
[SANCTUARY] Non-sapient undead will not target you until you take a hostile action against them.
[LIFESIGHT] Entities that are either alive or undead have their profiles outlined. Dead organic material is also outlined. Can be willed on or off, or to adjust the color of the profile outlines.
ACTIVES
[BLACK BOLT] Safely hold or throw a black gathering of magical energy that greatly accelerates and feeds the metabolism of microbial entities on a targeted area. Range: ≤50m. Mana cost [Medium-Low]
[GRAVESPEAK] You may speak with dead entities or non-sapient undead entities. Mana Cost: [Low]
[MEDIC] Level 1
PASSIVES
[FIRST AID] Additional proficiency with Medical tools and techniques. Scales with level.
ACTIVES
[TRIAGE] Reveals certain status information from a target. Range ≤8m. Mana Cost: [Very Low]
[BASIC MENDING] Manipulate a living entity to alter an injury and/or repair damage. Limited to physical trauma. Range: ≤1m. Mana Cost: [Low]
[HEMATOLOGY] Reveals very specific status information based on the inquiry of the user. Material Component: Requires 25 µL of blood. Range ≤1m. Mana Cost: [Medium-High]
---CLASS SKILLS GENERATED. YOU HAVE BEEN GRANTED TWO BOONS AS COMPENSATION FOR BEING REMOVED FROM YOUR LOCAL REALM---
---BOON 1 DISPENSED---
Title: [Godsmarked] – Imparts several passives on the title holder.
Boon: [Reformation] – Physical ailments and deformities have been healed.
Michael blinked. His vision had improved, and he put away his glasses. For some reason, his thoughts came clearer to him as well.
Passive Skill: [Heaven’s Bounty] – You may receive additional objects from defeated foes.
Passive Skill: [Speak in Tongues] – Proficiency in vernacular languages of new realm provided.
Passive Skill: [Quest] – Patrons may provide you with tasks and rewards.
Passive Skill: [Titled] – You have a greater chance of receiving titles than normal.
Passive Skill: [Regenerative] – You heal more quickly than usual, to the point where, given enough time, you may even regrow a limb.
Active Skill: [Cargo Space] – Integrated inventory function in status window. Mana Cost: [None]
---BOON 2 DISPENSED. CHOOSE FROM PERSONALLY OWNED ITEMS IN FORMER REALM AS EQUIPMENT. MUST FIT IN INVENTORY OR OWN PERSON---
Michael thought about it. He would bring his laptop, cellphone, solar chargers and batteries. He knew it would be a long while before they could be repaired if they were ever damaged, but some utility was better than no utility, and out of curiosity he had previously downloaded a number of technical medical manuals from the time that he wanted to pursue a doctorate in pathology, as well as the children’s book “The way it works” which described the other areas of machines he wasn’t familiar with in an easily digestible format.
With any luck, and enough time, he might run into an engineer that might enjoy having access to that information. If there was other magic in this world he might be able to trade access to it for various repairs. Or, perhaps he would get around to finally tinkering himself, he wasn’t closing himself off to any options.
An SAS survival book with many different handy tips and tricks for wilderness survival. Various tools, a hammer, a machete, a first aid kit and a repurposed fishing box he filled with various medicines for most common ailments. A pocket survival kit including a ferrite rod and various other small tools. A flashlight that had a solar charger as well as a crank charger with charging ports.
He was surprised to see that it also included items that he was no longer certain as to where they were. He had owned a 50-pound draw weight compound bow some time ago that was left with a family member, as well as twenty barbed hunting arrows. It was given to him as a gift from his father and grandfather, though he never really was a fan of hunting. He stimmed, shaking his hand and striking his thumb against his middle and forefinger while he thought, before moving to the other hand stimulation exercises he did whenever he got excited or deep in thought.
Finally the water backpack, rucksack, treatment tabs, and a few old army uniforms that still fit would round out the space. Previously, he had been concerned that his job really didn’t assist him with maintaining a healthy weight, but if this was going where he anticipated it might, his extra bulk would serve him well until he could become better established.
Michael Judge ([Medic] Level 1; [Magus (Necromancy)] Level 1)
Health: 100% Mana: 100% Stamina: 100%
Conditional Status: [Well-Rested]; [Well-Fed]
Titles: [Godsmarked]
Boons: [Reformation]
Passive Skills: [Heaven’s Bounty]; [Speak in Tongues]; [Quest]; [Titled]; [Regenerative]; [Sanctuary]; [Lifesight]; [First Aid]
Active Skills: [Black Bolt] ; [Gravespeak] ; [Triage]; [Basic Mending]; [Hematology]
Inventory (Open? [Y/N])
Message Log (Open? [Y/N])
[CONFIRM]
He exhaled, his finger hovering over the [CONFIRM] button. “Only worry about the things in your control. I guess now is a good a time as any to have my agoge.”
________________________________________
He pressed the button. His vision was filled, piece by piece with his new location, though he didn’t feel himself moving. As the last piece fell into place, he could hear, and feel, the wind over the grass of the hilly plains. It was evening, and he measured the daylight remaining using his hand. He had a little over an hour and a half before sunset.
The whole area looked similar to the semi-arid environment of the hilly grasslands of western Kansas. If that was the case, he wondered to himself if this place was also a hellscape where the local flora and fauna rely on a steady stream of wildfires to maintain the ecosystem. The grass came up to his knees and his waste, which he didn’t particularly enjoy. The sturdy stems were always difficult to sleep on, from his experience with the army. Not to mention what could be hiding in the grass.
… Hiding in the grass? He willed his [Lifesight] to become active and his vision became frantically populated with green profiles. He shut his eyes, willing [Lifesight] to have a few parameters. He could see a status window behind his eyelids. It felt like mentally right-clicking a skill and opening the properties menu.
________________________________________
[Adjust] [Lifesight]
Toggle light green profile if living entity is ≥30 cm at ranges 1m-500m. Increase color saturation with higher vitality. If living entity is 1-30 cm, highlight profile at ≤1m.
Toggle light red profile if entity is undead. Increase color saturation with higher durability.
Toggle yellow profile for dead organic material belonging to the Animal Kingdom if material is ≥30 cm within a range of 1-500m. ________________________________________
He opened his eyes. This time he wasn’t as bombarded with information. He’d have to keep this on a toggle, or with only one eye. Now he didn’t have to worry about bugs filling his vision with a sea of green. He did however, notice a few red outlines hovering slowly over the ground spaced out here and there. He could also see yellow outlines buried in the ground here and there.
He toggled [Lifesight] off. It was useful to scan the area but he was still getting used to the information overload and he still had other more pressing issues to investigate.
Could he equip things directly from his status window? It took a few tries, but yes. He could will it, or he could open up an Equipment screen and mentally drag and drop an item where it should go. He equipped his uniform, boots, and his floppy red wide brimmed hat with a mushroom theme that came to a rearward facing conical tip. He also took out his sunscreen and drank a sip of water from his wearable water pouch.
What information is revealed by [Triage]? He tried it on himself while keeping his status sheet open. [Triage]: (Target: Michael Judge; Health: 100% ; Conditions: [None]; Injuries: None.) His Status Window still displayed the conditions of [Well-Fed] and [Well-Rested]. He took out a knife, rolled back his sleeve, and made a small cut on the top of his arm. A little blood flowed as he did. The [Triage] and Status Sheet both updated. [Triage]: (Target: Michael Judge; Health: 98% ; Conditions: [None]; Injuries: Cut {Posterior Arm, 5 cm.) He held his hand over his arm as a light sweat began to form on his forehead from the sun. An ocean blue glow spread from his palm, as he willed the wound to close up like a zipper. He felt a small drain on his magic, and confirmed that indeed, his magic had dropped by 5%. There was no indication that there had ever been a wound on his skin. He summoned a notepad and pen, noting the information, before willing it back into his inventory.
Next, he used [Hematology] on the blood for a Complete Blood Count. He felt a much stronger pull on his magic than with [Triage]. He confirmed that indeed, his magic had dipped to 50%. He made a note of it as well as what the CBC provided: WBC Count, RBC count, RBC morphology, WBC differential, platelet count and morphology.
He took out a small umbrella and started walking, occasionally flipping [Lifesight] on and off. He manifested [Black Bolt] as he walked, holding it in his right hand. His magic had dipped by 10%, but would recover the used 10% when he stopped manifesting it. Only by actually throwing it did the mana stay consumed. More and more interesting, He thought. After about 40 minutes of walking, he discovered a well-trodden path, with tell-tale wagon ruts and horse dung that was neither fresh nor completely dry. He couldn’t see any smoke on the horizon, so it was likely more than 20 miles to the next settlement. He picked a direction and started walking that way.
As the sun dipped below the horizon he was left with a question. Would he camp, or keep walking through the dark? It’s not like things could sneak up on him at night if they were coming from somewhere he could see.
He kept walking, following the road by twilight, and then moonlight. He paused, however, when he saw a moderately red outline hunched over on the road in front of him. It had to be just within 500m of him. Michael materialized his bow and an arrow, nocking it, and approaching quietly.
250 meters. 200. 150. Lips smacked, cartilage crunched, wet and sticky, as it murmured and growled with hunger. 125. 100. His boot clattered a rock.
The munching stopped. Glowing yellow eyes piercing the dark. It walked on all fours. All sixes? 75. 60. 50. It stood on its back legs, growing taller and taller as it stretched its back, sniffing the air. Rotting scales. Exposed bones. Viscera exposed with fresh meat oozing from its ruptured stomach. Elongated face like a monitor lizard. And as the breeze blew through the grass, Michael realized he had made a critical mistake.
He was upwind.
With a nasty series of clicks, it charged forward. 40. He was shaking, pulling back the bowstring. 15. He couldn’t get a clear shot, its gait was serpentine! 5!
[SANCTUARY ACTIVATED]

submitted by VoctorDralidas to HFY [link] [comments]

2024.06.01 02:46 IceAs Transatlantic moving tips

Just looking for a bit of guidance from people more knowledgeable on this. As title suggest I’m making a move from US -> UK at the end of the year. Now I’m shipping most items via a professional moving company in a container, but have 6 reps and I’m unsure how best to cross the boarder without the ire of the authorities.
I know I can wear one, but the remaining ones could raise suspicion - so to avoid this could anyone recommend what’s the best way to get them to my new home? Do I put them in the container with the rest of my gear and risk it raising custom flags - or do I put them in my carry on/ check in luggage.
I travel there frequently and depending on the day I know UK customs and border control can be aggressively strict.
So the question I’m asking you all here is - am I over thinking this and will be fine, or do I need to plan for the worse and hope for the best?
Appreciate any insights here. Thanks!

submitted by IceAs to RepTime [link] [comments]

2024.05.31 23:43 DrunkenCoward Fanfiction - God Empress of Gensokyo ~ Satori Maiden

And Ever On - The Drums of War
“I am the most ardent people-watcher who ever walked the plains of Gensokyo. I know each and every person I meet the way only that person knows themselves. Inner voices whisper their secrets undaunted - whether they learn of my presence or not. They cannot ever fall silent. This amount of knowledge is frightening to others. To be faced by one such as I, whose knowledge reaches far beyond even the greatest empath - no armour thick enough to blunt my blade. Each secret laid bare for me to sift through and scrutinize, like a gladiator choosing his weapon in the arenas. But more than that, it is tiring.
I am tired.”

- from 'The Secret Monolouge of Satori Komeiji', chapter 11

Silence inhabited the lengths of the vast saloon like a much-cherished but ever-so-rarely met companion.
Once this vast area had served as the dining room of Komeiji Satori’s mansion. Many quiet and joyous dinners had been held within its walls, filled with the soft ringing of girlish giggles and the beaming of happy faces. Now it served as the room that housed the majestic throne atop which Satori manipulated the strings around her force's limbs.

Or try to steer them in the direction I most desire, in any case.

Her eyes lay closed, submerging her into an all-consuming darkness that so beautifully complemented the silence that surrounded her. It wasn’t often that she was permitted silence of any kind - not since her armies had poured forth from the caverns of Old Hell, to wreak havoc upon the tranquil fields of Gensokyo. Not before that either, truthfully. Her own thoughts were always a turbulent mess - even discounting the multitudes of minds she read like they were her own, flooding through her consciousness like waves.

It had only taken a fortnight after the sudden and inexplicable disappearance of the Hakurei miko and the Yakumo hag for Gensokyo to split off into factions - and those factions into subfactions - all eager to squabble over what remained of the Land of Fantasy as their domain, to do with as they pleased. The tengu had been first to claim their independence and push their forces into neighboring territories, followed closely by a show-of-force from the kappa with their clumsy - albeit devastating - machinery. Though they had repudiated any and all rumours of military expansion, their motorized wagons had told a different story when they invaded the foot of Youkai Mountain only hours later. Propagated by the vicious oni Yuugi, always fascinated by the prospects of a fight - especially one stacked against her - Satori’s own populace had voiced their unanimous desire to make this Land of Illusions the home not of a diverse populace, but of Old Hell alone.
With the absence of both the architect of Gensokyo and its guardian, the rules of Danmaku - designed to allow for a non-fatal and comparatively peaceful conflict resolution - had crumbled into dust and that dust had been swept away into the corridors of arid memory - allowing blood to seep back onto Gensokyo’s plains.
Satori’s hands tightened around the arm rests of her throne until the muscles stood out, quivering beneath the weight of her guilt. She had never wanted to sit upon a throne of skull and death. Had never wanted it to come to this. For Gensokyo to be dyed in that dreadful crimson. But she had known from the very first that this had been the only possible outcome.

Who else knows the thoughts of Man and Demon alike as well as I?

No matter how well trained, no matter how arrogantly certain of their abilities - even masked. Before her third eye all lay as bare as the day they were born.
She had seen the thoughts of her people - the oni and youkai of Old Hell. Long driven into exile and pushed to the sidelines by the miko, they craved restitution. Their thoughts had promised bloodshed. Thoughts so drenched in violence, they had terrified Satori, who only ever desired simplicity, peace and a cup of tea at the end of a hectic day. Those thoughts she had been forced to see had made her want to close her third eye for good - the way her sister had done long ago.

But just look what path that had sent her down...

Why, then, did she sit on this throne?
To rule over bloodshed she did not desire?

I must do this thing not because I desire it, but precisely because I do not!

Under her guidance, the death toll might be kept to a minimum. Not negated altogether, she knew. That possibility had vanished into the distant past. When the Hakurei maiden disappeared and no one leapt to fill the void her absence had left.

But how could any of us have known the paths time would take?

Satori had not left her domicile in many moons. Not out of choice, but practical necessity. As one of the warlords of Gensokyo, she was now in constant danger. For her to be walking along the surface was to invite attempts on her life - and with that, her hopes for a peaceful end to this tragedy. Ever since she had first crowned herself Queen of Old Hell and Suzerain of the Solar Sect, she had to keep her eyes open at all times.
The two resting in her skull, of course, but also her third - the one vigilantly resting before her heart, scrutinizing the minds of all that stood before her.
And the more people around, the more the assault on the wavering fortress that was her mind. It became tiring - merely to be awake. Countless voices, all bombarding her mind like an artillery strike, like the atomic fusions ravaging in the innards of her demesne.
In that very moment, another presence fluttered awake inside of Satori's conscious mind, like a candle set alight in the silence. Even before the doors at the far end of the hall were slammed open - though her eyes remained closed to give the appearance of languid meditation - she had known that it was Reiuji Utsuho.

Only speak of the devil and she appears.

Though Utsuho was now the Yatagarasu - the three-legged crow - gifted the powers of nuclear fusion by Kanako Yasaka, Goddess of Youkai Mountain, she had once been a voiceless, thoughtless pet - one of the reasons Satori still loved and cherished her so dearly, despite her idiocy. She fondly remembered the times when the crow's inner machinations were still a mystery to her. When the inoffensive caw from her beak was the only sound that broke the silence.

Now, however, the Youkai's thoughts were as loud and boisterous as her mouth.

>Have to kill her. Today. Now. Only chance. Only choice. <

Oh?

The satori's eyes shot open, staring straight at the broad-shouldered Youkai that had entered her presence - and as she approached, Satori felt her spirit inflate and deflate, both at once. Surprise was a commodity so rarely afforded to someone cursed to know each thought of each mind the moment it first forms.

But why?

Why Utsuho?

Why, Utsuho?

Sweet, bird-brained Utsuho, who had been by Satori's side for so many years. Chuckling and snorting over jokes she didn't understand, playing childish games with young Koishi, resting her head in Satori's lap and napping, as Satori stroked her hair. Utsuho's metamorphosis into a conscious being had changed nothing, truthfully, about the love Satori held for her.
Satori felt tears form within her eyes, though that instinct was quickly suppressed. A ruler could show no weaknesses. Least of all to those who mean her harm. She could not let Utsuho know that Satori knew of her plans. And someone with the strength - no, the destructive capabilities - of Utsuho, could not be let loose of a leash that knew better than to use her the way she was intended. Without Satori's iron grasp around her choker, Utsuho would drown Gensokyo in nuclear hellfire. There would remain no victors. Only corpses and those who wished to be among them. No, this kinship had to become one of the distant past and Satori would have to welcome the thought of slaying the one she once held dear, as though she were but a disgusting roach that had invaded her perfect garden.

But perhaps...

Perhaps Utsuho would relent, would decide against the path she was on, out of love, not for her ruler, but her mistress. Her friend.
Satori would bide her time, not hastily smash the threat the way rulers are so wont to do. Before her knowledge, her insight, even Utsuho's atomic might was helpless. How, after all, do you kill one who knows that the blade will be gripped before even the would-be-assassin's own muscles had received the command?

No.

Satori would know. And before Utsuho had so much as raised her arm, her heart would be pierced. Then - and only then - Satori's tears may flow.

>Don't want to. Can't. But have to. So sorry, Satori-sama. Have to.<

Why, Utsuho?

The crow approached unhindered, no betrayal painted on her stern face.
She hid it well.

Like someone who fears the outcome and the consequences of failure above all else.
What is this hand you were dealt? Reveal it, Utsuho.
Reveal it so I might spare you.
I beg of you.

Her white coat dragged behind, draped over the massive span of her black wings. Brightly the stars and universes contained within shone, as she took step after heavy step, the monstrous elephant's foot on her right leg sending a metallic tremor to echo through the halls each time it slammed onto the marble floor.

>Don't think. Kill her. Don' t think. Can't think. Just shoot . Shoot. ~Shoot!~ <

Always the same melody coursing through the bird's thick skull.
Utsuho came to a full stop ten paces in front of Satori's throne, the fabric of her skirt swaying gently in the stale air of the underground mansion. Her majestic wings, three times the width of her already massive frame, twitched and danced upon even the slightest movement. Silence descended upon her thoughts as their gazes met. Those familiar brown eyes filled Satori with a kind of dread she rarely felt.

Is this the moment of our parting, Utsuho?

But instead of lifting her nuclear cannon, Utsuho's thoughts wandered towards tiring bureaucracy and her free hand darted into the knapsack on her hip. Satori did not budge. She knew, after all, that it was not a weapon the Youkai would produce from there. And indeed, she drew out a stack of papers, before descending onto one knee, bowing her head deeply.
"Lady Satori..."
Satori felt a wince envelop her emotionless features as the crow's eyes fell closed. She was not a great supporter of this kind of reverence to her person at the best of times - least of all when it was performed by someone who she knew for an absolute certainty was going to betray her.
"What is this about, Utsuho?"

A question I need not ever ask. I know the answer every time.
…
Then why do I pose the question at all?

She already knew what it was about.

Truthfully: Her assassination.
But ostensibly: Reports.

"I have reports on the military situation, my Lady."

Gods below, how Satori hated reports. Hearing of all the lifes this war had ripped apart in the names of a few greedy individuals - her own most of all.
"You have", Satori agreed, shifting her weight and leaning cheek into her fist, resting lazily upon her throne, like a queen of old, "How is the situation, then? Have the kappa's advances been halted?"
"Nnh", Utsuho muttered with the ever so slightest affirmative nod, "Your forces have managed to break their assault on the fields before the Human Village and the Oni have scattered them into the Bamboo Forest of the Lost. Some of the soldiers report seeing..."
Satori did not need to read Utsuho's thoughts to know what happened. Though it certainly helped.
"...a fiery explosion from within the forest as they withdrew."
"Yes, my Lady."
The facts Satori could read from Utsuho's mind - but the girl's intellect lacked the necessary capabilities to analyze and understand the implications.
"The Crimson Watchguard has chosen a side."
"M'Lady?"
"Fujiwara No Mokou. Who else could create an explosion so noticeable from within that Forest? Who else would show such anger over a threat to the Human Village?"
"Perhaps the kappa detonated their machines themselves? To give you that impression."
Satori's eyes darted to Utsuho. Clever. She was learning. What a shame it was so soon before their final farewell.
"An interesting interjection. Plans within plans. But no. Kawashiro is too proud of her machines to sacrifice them for such a feint."
"People change...", Utsuho murmured before the thought had even nestled in her mind. Her expression had shifted into one of despondent sadness, eyes refusing to meet Satori's and she unconsciously mirrored the mournful despondence of Okuu's shifting lips.

They certainly do.
But never without cause.
So - why ?

But Utsuho's mind did not gift Satori the answers she seeked. Instead it kept gravitating around her reports.

The Tengu have agreed to a ceasefire with Hakugyokurou. The Myouren Temple has opened its gates to Youkai fleeing the war. The Scarlet Devil Mansion has militarized their corps of Hobgoblin servants. The Forbidden Forest has caught flames after a skirmish between bandits and the Human Defense Forces. Eientei remains completely and utterly isolated...
The usual.
But one group is missing here. Suspiciously so.
As though Utsuho dare not so much as think about them.

"What about the forces of the Moriya Shrine?"

"The... Moriya...?"

And with that one phrase, all of Utsuho's thoughts wandered towards betrayal.

>Have to kill her. Now. Have to do it now . Kanako ordered me.<

Ah. There we go. Your secret lays bare.

So it was the Moriya Shrine that had coerced Satori's loveable pet crow to foolishness?
That answered the matter of 'who'.

But why?

That was the question. Even someone as naive and stupid as Utsuho would have a motive. Crows were shrewd, but not unloyal. Was it riches the Moriya had offered the crow? Power? Promises?

"The Moriya have... remained on the defensive on Youkai Mountain..."

Utsuho's mind was a mess of interlocking phrases and thoughts that offered Satori none of the answers she seeked. Instead Satori scrutinized Utsuho's every movement, each flushing of the skin, involuntary twist of the eyes or errant twitch. There were none. No signs of guilt at being found out. No sign of apologetic back-peddling. Charging ever on. A consummate professional Utsuho remained.
Then...

No...!

Then this was no matter of simple, straight-forward betrayal spurned by lust for power. It was one of survival.
No, worse yet, Utsuho's sentience itself had to be on the line.

"The crow Tengu have been continuously chipping away at their border, Kanako herself had..."

" Lady Kanako", Satori sternly corrected Utsuho, "My foe she may be, but the woman is still a God and a leader."

How, after all, could Satori expect respect from her allies if she didn't extend that same courtesy to her enemies. Though that was only partly the reason she had spoken in the manner she did.

>Curse her! Curse Kanako! Lady?! Lady of my ass !<

That proved Satori's suspicions. One may curse the hand that fed them, but rarely the one that WOULD. Utsuho was acting against her own will, against her wishes, her own better judgement.

>Don't wanna harm Lady Satori. But I have to. Have to. Do it now, Utsuho. Just do it.<

Still fighting with herself, cannibalizing her own mind over what she wanted to do and what she felt she had to.

But what exactly is that thing her mind dare not name?

The first rule of warfare was to know your enemy. To not understand the foe spelt failure.

Satori retreated into her own mind, acknowledging all the pieces of the puzzle available to her, placing them in the order that seemed most logical and extrapolating on the empty space in-between.
All of this took a mere fraction of a second.

She, who is cursed to know all minds, learns early in life how to analyze their contents quickly. Not from a teacher. But through bare necessity. Not to master this skill meant being flattened by an avalanche of thoughts and spelled Doom for her kind. As it had done for poor Koishi...

Why is my mind wallowing in self-pity and lost family in a moment as critical as this one? I have no time to waste on memories - quick though they might be flashing past my inner eye.

Silently the Youkai Queen of Old Hell cursed herself for the unnecessary excursion. A second had passed by the time Satori's thoughts returned to the matter at hand. She stared down from her throne at Utsuho - her eyes had not once left the crow's face this entire time. The bird Youkai was rummaging around in her bags, revealing lists and papers, lips producing sounds Satori did not deign listen to anymore. The answers to Satori's questions were not found there. The truth lay within the girl herself.

>Don't want to go back . What I once was. Unthinking, unfeeling.<

With that, understanding snapped into place within Satori. Kanako Yasaka had gifted unto Utsuho her unnatural powers - and the consciousness that accompanied such powers - and Kanako Yasaka had threatened to take them away once more.

What cheap and despicable tactics we have stooped to. Forcing one's hand in such a manner, turning them into the executioner of their closest friend against their will?

So many strange and dangerous abilities littered the denizens of Gensokyo - Utsuho's own chief among them - yet it was simple words that should strike fear into the crow's heart.

How vile.

Satori felt disgust rise within her throat and clog her eyes with tears, and quickly diverted her attention inward to repair the damage. Displays of vagrant emotions turned every man into a mind-reader. Emotions are a tool a leader dare not share.
They were her weakness - and how she wished it wasn't so. But a leader could show no emotions. Not if her aim was victory - and peace.
There could be no words with Utsuho that could dissuade her. Satori would have to slay the silly animal.
But Satori could not fault Utsuho for the option she had chosen.

She did this in exchange not for her life, but for the fact of her existence - her very memories.

Satori had to kill her even so. The choice was between the life of thousands and... the continued existence of her friend.
One of the two had to come to an end.
One of the two!
One of them...

Either Utsuho or-

Satori was awoken by dancing lights that flashed through her mind's eye and tore her back to reality. The warning sirens of a thousand nuclear reactors blared through the many crevices of Old Hell.
Utsuho's nuclear cannon pointed straight at Satori's face, primed, glowing and ready to evaporate her.

Great Gods below. She caught me napping.

No peaceful retreat remained. The only matter of course that would get Satori out alive was to fight. To kill. She would win. An all out fight Utsuho could not but lose. If there remained any doubt on that point, why waste time on this pantomime?
But before Satori could rise from her throne and retaliate, her eyes beheld the weeping features of Utsuho's face. The girl's expression had shattered under the tears streaming down her cheek, mourning wail spilling from her lips, sound hidden deftly behind the roar of the bombs. Bemoaning this thing she had been forced to do. To break the last layer of Satori's defenses.
As Satori stared unto Utsuho's expression, a smile slowly crept across the funeral mask that was her face.

Emotions. My one weakness.

There was no time for words left.
But two last thoughts flashed through Satori's mind, nevertheless.

Thank you.

And I'm sorry.
__________________________________________
And thank you (and sorry both) to everyone who has read this entire story.
I had written this one about a year ago and created the thumbnail at about the same time - but then never really shared it anywhere. Shared it with a few friends and with my subscribers on Youtube, but other than that this story is basically unseen by human eyes.
As such, I would very much enjoy to hear opinions on the writing and how you enjoyed it. Personally, I had tears in my eyes when I first wrote that ending - which is rare (I lost my tear ducts in 'Nam).
Anyways, if you are still reading, I had been wanting to turn this story into an audiobook for quite a while.
However, my voice is horrible and also I am not an english native, so when I talk I have this hideous accent.
And I don't really think Satori needs a mad german scientist voice - or a male voice, at that.
So, if you liked this story and would be interested in trying to do an audiobook version of it, hit me up.
I don't care about the voice actors gender either (though I'll be honest, I would prefer a female, yet authoritative voice). Also, if you've listened to the Dune audiobooks, that is a bonus (since I want the style to be similiar).
It wouldn't be for free, of course, though I can't offer millions. Obviously. I am a writer, after all. Writers are always poor.
But I could probably scrounge up about $3.50. Perhaps even $3.72, if I look hard enough.
Sources for the picture:
Made in MMD:
Utsuho by かなみ
Satori by 3.3mm
Chireiden by 鯖缶359 (Sabakan359)

submitted by DrunkenCoward to touhou [link] [comments]

2024.05.31 22:54 Optimist_Prime66 My wife is constantly picking fights with me over trivial things

My wife (25f) and I (28M) have been married for two years. She is drop dead gorgeous, and most of the time, she is really fun to be around. She really loves me, and I love her. Sometimes her love borders on obsession, and pushes her into manic states. She is always telling me how much she cares about me, and telling me she is desperate for my approval.
She is an anxious and somewhat insecure person. She will be the first to admit this, and no matter how much I build her up, it doesn’t really help her feel better. It’s not that I’d expect my support to fix all her self confidence problems, but I just wish it would help her in some way.
In recent months, it seems like there will reliably be at least one fight over a trivial matter every weekend. Sometimes it happens several times in a day. If we are together in the morning, then there is probably going to be a fight. I know she doesn’t plan to meet an “argument quota” intentionally, but it’s getting to a point where I am becoming more apathetic, because the fights are just so frequent, so trivial, and so predictably pointless. I really hate fighting, and this is hell for me.
FOR EXAMPLE—Last weekend, we were leaving our apartment to go hiking, and at the very last second before our departure, I ran back into the apartment to grab my kratom pills. She shut down and didn’t talk to me for about an hour after that. I finally got her to tell me what was wrong—she was offended that I didn’t offer to grab her some of my kratom pills when I went back inside. I apologized, saying that she was right and I should’ve been more considerate, but she continued stonewalling me throughout the hike. On the drive home, she broke down and apologized and said she didn’t know why she treated me like this. This was sandwiched between two other fights that same day, mind you.
ANOTHER EXAMPLE—Today, she got upset with me because I reminded her that it’s the last day to submit the DMV registration for her car. I told her about this deadline three weeks ago, and she didn’t do anything about it. Today, she was mad that I didn’t remind her sooner. I told her I could take care of it for her today, because I know she’s busy. Then we found out that it only costs $6 to extend the deadline to tomorrow. I told her I thought we should do that instead, because I think she should take care of it, since it’s her responsibility. She said that I shouldn’t offer to do it, then take that offer away. I told I think she needs to handle it, because she is an adult and this is what adults do. This devolved into a yelling match. Again, she apologized for all this within a few hours. I apologized for my harsh words too.
I have so many stories like this—“Why didn’t you walk the dog yet?” (I do every night, maybe you could take care of it tonight?) “I heard you waking up in the bedroom this morning. Why didn’t you want to come talk to me when you woke up?” (I was maybe rustling around but wasn’t really awake yet?) etc.
Just about every argument nowadays devolves into her crying and telling me that my opinion is EVERYTHING to her, and saying that she is literally debilitated by how she feels so judged by me. If I have any critique of her behavior, she will say, ”This doesn’t sound like something you would say about someone you love. Why don’t you just divorce me?”
We have a decent sex life, but she constantly stresses about whether or not I am attracted to her. The irony is that her picking all these fights has definitely made me less attracted to her, and low key, kind of scared of her. Despite my best efforts, I can literally never anticipate when a fight is around the corner, so I am either on edge, or just exhausted/apathetic.
She feels like I am a better person than her, despite me telling her that’s not true. I have tried soooo hard to make her feel like I am not judging her. I tell her so often how I’m proud to be with her, and I’m proud of how hard she works, and how she is beautiful, and how she is highly likable, smart, funny, etc.
I am not a fighter AT ALL, I am a golden retriever type, I am very attentive to her moods, and I go out of my way to compliment and reassure her VERY frequently.
I should probably mention that she is a frequent vaper—she hits her weed pen a lot. I’ve noticed that this makes her more anxious and insecure. I’ve tried to gently confront her about this, and she admits that I’m right, but she still continues to hit the pen more and more every day. I know that thing is addictive, but it’s just hard to work with.
She also REALLY wants to be a mother. We agreed we would eventually have kids when we got married. We can’t afford to do that right now, and she acknowledges that, but we are working towards it… the problem is that I am now having serious doubts about us being able to have a healthy household to raise a kid in. I have slowly become more and more jaded about the idea of having kids. And if I’m being honest, it’s partly due to poor way she treats me at times.
Idk who’s read all this, but I just need help. I love this girl most of the time, but these outbursts are so frequent nowadays, and I am losing my mind.
I am now having recurring dreams, just about 3 times a week, where she is chewing me out. I mentioned one of these dreams to her about a week ago, and she immediately deflated. She said she knows she is too hard on me, she knows she picks fights over trivial matters, but she just doesn’t know how to be better. She was raised by two parents who are constantly at odds, and publicly fighting with each other, and that’s obviously the biggest example of a husband/wife relationship she’s had in her life.
I know I am not perfect in all this. I have been reactionary, I have lost my cool and said things that I regret. I am also incredibly passive. I literally never want to fight with her, even though I know occasional fighting is healthy in a relationship.
I cannot believe I am saying this, but I am beginning to think that we need to divorce, because I feel like I am being walked over. The relationship has become sour in such a short period of time. We have too much baggage with each other. We are both building resentment for each other, expecting the worst of each other, and my goals regarding children with her have started to change. I love her but I am so exhausted. 😓
Any advice is appreciated.

submitted by Optimist_Prime66 to Marriage [link] [comments]

2024.05.31 22:32 Mission-Corgi6602 Breeds Recommendation!

1) Will this be your first dog? If not, what experience do you have owning/training dogs?
It will not be, I have a border collie mix currently. I also have experience with volunteering at dog shelters.
2) Do you have a preference for rescuing a dog vs. going through a reputable breeder?
I would prefer to rescue.
3) Describe your ideal dog.
My ideal dog is a dog that I can take on long walks and hiking on the weekends, but will not destroy my apartment if they aren't walked 5 miles every day. I'd prefer quieter dogs and an intelligent breed. My ideal dog is trainable and can be friendly.
4) What breeds or types of dogs are you interested in and why?
Dalmatian, Irish setters, shepherds, sight hounds!! I love unique looking dogs and medium sized leaning larger breeds. I almost prefer mutts because they are one of a kind :)
5) What sorts of things would you like to train your dog to do?
My border collie knows a few fancy tricks but aside the cute party trick and regular training, I value being able to have a strong recall.
6) Do you want to compete with your dog in a sport (e.g. agility, obedience, rally) or use your dog for a form of work (e.g. hunting, herding, livestock guarding)? If so, how much experience do you have with this work/sport?
Nope!
Care Commitments
7) How long do you want to devote to training, playing with, or otherwise interacting with your dog each day?
When I work from home, I would likely want to chill with them all day. I would probably devote myself to daily training for the basic manners. I can't see myself ever being home and not wanting to be around the dog!
8) How long can you exercise your dog each day, on average? What sorts of exercise are you planning to give your dog regularly and does that include using a dog park?
When I work in office I would have someone come and walk the dog during the middle of the day for at least 30 minutes. I would also walk the dog briefly in the morning and a 30+ walk in the afternoon.
9) How much regular brushing are you willing to do? Are you open to trimming hair, cleaning ears, or doing other grooming at home? If not, would you be willing to pay a professional to do it regularly?
I would prefer a dog that can get away with just being brushed every other day. If the dog had hair, I would probably do some slight maintenance cuts myself but would largely take them to the groomer for any bigger tasks. I'm not opposed to dogs with hair but I'm not enthralled at the idea.
Personal Preferences
10) What size dog are you looking for?
I prefer medium to larger!
11) How much shedding, barking, and slobber can you handle?
Shedding is fine. I don't mind brushing and vacuuming daily. Barking I'm not fond of (who is) but slobber is probably an outright no from me LOL
12) How important is being able to let your dog off-leash in an unfenced area?
Very important. The area of my parents house is an acre property and I frequently go hiking; I value good recall for safety but also like to let them off leash so they can explore more.
Dog Personality and Behavior
13) Do you want a snuggly dog or one that prefers some personal space?
Snuggly!
14) Would you prefer a dog that wants to do its own thing or one that’s more eager-to-please?
Eager to please! I don't mind some independence, but prefer obedient breeds.
15) How would you prefer your dog to respond to someone knocking on the door or entering your yard? How would you prefer your dog to greet strangers or visitors?
I presume most dogs would probably bark or something LOL I don't have a strong preference. I am a younger woman who lives alone, so maybe some weariness to strangers would be good.
16) Are you willing to manage a dog that is aggressive to other dogs?
Probably not.
17) Are there any other behaviors you can’t deal with or want to avoid?
Seperation anxiety. I know you can't control it but would like to stay away from breeds that are prone to it.
Lifestyle
18) How often and how long will the dog be left alone?
If working in the office, I would have someone come and walk the dog midday. This means they would likely be left alone for maybe max 5 hours. This would be twice a week.
19) What are the dog-related preferences of other people in the house and what will be their involvement in caring for the dog?
No one but me!
20) Do you have other pets or are you planning on having other pets? What breed or type of animal are they?
I have a senior border collie who lives with my parents at home. I also have 2 cats at home that are friendly with my bc and would likely try and be friendly/approach another dog. I do not live at home but visit enough to where I would need all of them to get along!
21) Will the dog be interacting with children regularly?
Nope
22) Do you rent or plan to rent in the future? If applicable, what breed or weight restrictions are on your current lease?
I rent an apartment, I will likely continue renting. I currently do not have any breed restrictions.
23) What city or country do you live in and are you aware of any laws banning certain breeds?
I live in the greater Philadelphia area. We do not have any dog breed bans.
24) What is the average temperature of a typical summer and winter day where you live?
We experience the full seasons. Summer is typically high of mid to low 80s and winter is mid to high 30s
Additional Information and Questions
25) Please provide any additional information you feel may be relevant.
I trained/raised my border collie from a puppy, I know I will not have the time as I did back then. I still like intelligent dogs and have a bias towards sporting groups. Generally, aside from the days I am in office, I'd like my dog to become my "hobby" or take up a lot of my free time. I would like a breed that can go on long walks and hiking with me. But I unfortunately don't think I have the capacity to exercise a breed that requires over 2 hours of minimum exercise.
26) Feel free to ask any questions below.

submitted by Mission-Corgi6602 to dogs [link] [comments]

2024.05.31 22:28 MzScahlett DISASTER !! Pepper seedlings all dead after workers topped shade tree

While putting in a border fence (I was out of town) my neighbor's crew completely topped the shade tree in my backyard without warning. I'd just moved my seedlings outside and put them in the shade where my other neighbor could water them. Of course everything was dead when I got back. They hacked off an entire treetop on my side of the fence without asking first? Who does that? There are countless other plants now exposed to unhealthy sunlight that I may also lose if I don't get some shade out there STAT.
[Photo is of the Habanero varietals that were hidden in complete shade until they went nuts in my yard, but there were 9 other planters full of various plants that were much further along and that are all sunburnt and half of them dead as well.]
To be fair, I don't think the workers consulted the neighbor first; but now any money we saved on the fence must be spent on shade devices (everything on that side of my garden is dependent on shade) and replacement plants. They didn't even tell me they were doing it this weekend. I've been asking her about the fence for almost a year. I'd raised these plants from seed beginning last December. All were rare/hybrids that probably cannot be replaced, but even if I can find them, it will cost me a fortune. I like this lady. Her husband just died and she's raising two lovely boys on her own. BUT FFS why? So incredibly bummed that I lost an entire winter's worth of babying these plants. I was so looking forward to my fall crops.
Okay, vent over. Does anyone know of a reasonable source for replacement Habs? I have a few of the hotter ones still in the hothouse I set up in the bathroom, so I'll just salvage what's left at this point. If she'd told me when she'd planned this, I'd have said wait until I'm back from my trip. What a nightmare.
If anyone happens to know of an online source for reasonably priced rare pepper plantlings, particularly Habanero varieties, including Bahamian Goat and the like, fee free to chime in. I'll be day-drinking in the dark somewhere...

submitted by MzScahlett to HotPeppers [link] [comments]

http://activeproperty.pl/