Snot in ear

Hi everyone. First of all, I want to say that English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry about any mistakes.
My whooshing started in November of 2022. It started during a time where I wasn't sleeping well - I suck at sleeping in beds that aren't my own and I was just starting to go out with my current SO. I spent about a week straight at their place and after three days of shitty sleep, the whooshing was born. My left ear only. It only happened at night and only on the nights where I'd slept badly the nights prior. I didn't pay it much mind. I figured it was just a weird symptom of being tired. I've never had trouble resting, so it must've been that!
Then I finally got used to that bed and house, I could sleep well, so the heartbeat whooshing stopped. It didn't happen there or in my house. It was very, very rare for it to happen and whenever it did happen it was during times where I was exhausted.
Then it just totally stopped. It went away for like... more than a year. Even if I didn't sleep. But now, about two months ago, it came back. I'm sleeping well. I'm not tired. It happens not only at night now, but also during the day. I started getting worried because two times now I've woken up during the night because of how loud it can get. I've no idea what triggered it this time. I thought last time it was exhaustion, but maybe I wasn't right?
Of course I googled it weeks ago and found this community. I read some of your posts and, just like many of you, it goes away when I press on my neck (on the vein). But it only goes away temporarily. However, when I cough (only when there is phlegm), it totally goes away. It stops. When there's no phlegm, no matter how much I cough, it doesn't go away.
Sometimes changing positions in bed can trigger it to start. Or even sometimes swallowing spit can make it start.
Also, the PT only happens while I'm laying down. If I'm standing up, it takes a little while, but it stops.
I've already scheduled an appointment with an ENT but it's not going to happen for some time and it's almost 2am and I'm sleepy but my whooshing won't let me sleep so... Here I am.
Also, I'm not sure if it's relevant, but in March 2023 I had a very severe case of sinus infection which I haven't totally recovered from to this day. A lot of snot in the back of my nose, phlegm constantly, and pain in my face whenever I'm on a plane. I wonder if that's related?
I'm not overweight, I eat healthy, don't smoke, etc. I haven't been working out much lately, especially in the last year or so. But I was working out when everything first started in 2022. I'm 26 F
Has this happened to anyone else?

Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
Having said his piece, Rene had expected the woman to accept her role as a prisoner of the Fleet. But no sooner had he taken his knee of her back than she was at him again, rolling over and cursing as she tried to spit him on her claws. Training kicked in and Rene applied the wrestling component of his hand-to-hand combat course. He secured underhooks with his arms, locking them together with his hands and hugging her tight from behind. Zildiz bucked and twisted around in a futile attempt to make room for her blades, even managing to get one of her knees beneath her and push off the ground. Rene allowed her to gain her feet, cunningly using the opening to slip the loop of his encircling arms around her waist. Now in complete control of her center of gravity, Rene swung his leg out and arched his back, heaving her up and over like a sack of turnips in a textbook suplex. A fraction of a second before he smashed the top of her skull into the hard ground, he remembered that he was supposed to keep prisoners alive and preferably not in a vegetative state, and so he cushioned the fall with his own body, falling on his side to increase surface area and dissipate the force.
Zildiz was caught totally by surprise. Unlike Rene she had neglected to tuck in her chin before the moment of impact, a vital detail which was one of the first things a recruit was taught to do on the mats.
“Oof!” she said as all the breath slammed out of her by the throw. Rene felt her body go limp as her dazed senses tried to adjust to the violent change of orientation. He took advantage of this moment of weakness and looped his legs around her body, locking his ankles together to form a full body triangle. His left forearm punched up and took her neck in a rear naked choke, a suffocating vise formed by the insides of his elbow crushing her windpipe and carotid arteries.
“I warned you,” he told her. His choking hand grabbed the inside of his other elbow, right forearm sneaking behind her neck and under his armpit, tightening the garrote even further.
“Had enough?”
“Hrrnnkk…” Zildiz choked. She lifted an arm and slid back the blade until it was the length of a finger, deliberately giving Rene the universal gesture to go and fornicate with himself, before sheathing the claw entirely and aiming her fist at him over her shoulder.
Rene ducked as the blade shot out again, only just avoiding it going through his eye socket and into his brain. As it was, it only nicked his temple, sending warm lines of blood trickling down his visor. Rene hugged her even tighter, constricting the chokehold until he heard her breathing reduced to an agonized wheeze. He throttled her until she stopped moving, her struggles weakening until she went completely lax. Then he held the choke for exactly three seconds longer, counting carefully to avoid giving her lasting brain damage. He let go and was relieved to hear her snoring faintly. Gently rolling her onto her back so she didn’t suffocate in the dirt, Rene cast about for a means to secure his prisoner. He had only a few seconds before she regained consciousness. Quickly he cut some vines from the surrounding trees and knotted them into a crude rope. He flipped her back over again and tied her hands at the wrists and elbows. He had no illusions that it would hold her for long. He tied her wings together at their bases for good measure. She had two sets of them, but the larger pair was missing one of its partners that had been torn off at the socket to reveal a gaping wound. They were wondrously tough membranes considering how thin and flexible they were, as sturdy as ultrapod leather. Rene looked over his work and loosened it a bit so as not to cut off the circulation in her arms. It wasn’t bad for something done on the fly. Then again, he’d been playing this whole thing by ear ever since the ambush that had cut his unit to pieces. Ye gods, but that whole experience felt like a lifetime ago. He had not expected to ever use that component of his hand-to-hand training designed for fighting human opponents. Of course, he’d helped put down a fair share of civil unrest in his time, but even during the worst of the food riots in Mound Ulysses he’d never so much as given a person a light shove. The civilians knew better than to antagonize a battalion of the Fleet’s finest over something as routine and reoccurring as a government rationing in the face of crop failure.
He felt quite bad about having to roughhouse the woman, that is, until she sat up awake and glowered hatefully at him, coughing and retching.
“Don’t,” he pleaded with her in exasperation as she gave him the old stink eye, “I don’t want to fight you again.”
“Why?” she spat defiantly, “Afraid you’d lose?”
“Uh huh,” Rene grunted, amused and even a little impressed by her spunk. She couldn’t have weighed more than sixty kilos soaking wet and was at least half a foot shorter than him even with that exomorph of hers, but this woman was all fight and no quit. She would have to be, living on the surface world and facing these abominations day after day. Rene looked at the dismembered corpses of the black-furred devils and had a sudden jolt of inspiration. As Zildiz tested the strength of her restraints Rene went over to the monster he had chopped to bits and poked the misshapen hump on its back, which had excreted thick ribbons of silk at the moment of death. Feeling more than a little squeamish, Rene pulled on the threads of silk. He had only meant to collect two or three meters of the material, but more and more of the stuff kept unwinding out its glands like a handkerchief from a magician’s pocket. Eventually his hands became enmeshed in the horrid stuff and he had to struggle like the dickens to unstick himself and scrape it off onto a bush where it stuck like a lumpy hammock. Remembering how his enemy had plugged the stab wound in its gut, Rene snapped off a twig and curled it into the white mess like those vendors at the fairs did with candy cloud treats, ending up with a spool of silk. He applied it to the cut on his temple by winding it around his head like a bandage, and was gratified when it stopped the bleeding almost immediately. He heard the rustle of dead leaves and turned around to find Zildiz furtively attempting to sidle away from him.
“Don’t even try it,” he told her, “Or I’ll run you down and knock you senseless. I’m taking you back to civilization. The Fleet needs to know what it’s up against out here, and you’re a veritable trove of information.”
Zildiz squatted back down and stared at him, simmering with resentment. Rene shook his head and continued his work, moving on to the monster that had been the first to die at the woman’s hands. Cutting open its hump, Rene was rewarded with a dense lump of thread still packed inside its spinneret. He took another twig and spooled it in, then wrapped the bundle of silk in a large leaf.
A leg twitched of its own accord. Rene nearly dropped the bundle as he sprang back, sword upraised. The devil’s limbs began doing a tap dance and Rene relaxed a bit, recognizing it as the onset of rigor mortis. The side of its face was split open and hanging loosely by a strap of flesh. Struck by a nagging suspicion, Rene stooped down and peeled off the segments of its head, holding the edge of his sword against its neck to decapitate it in the event that it proved too lively for his liking.
The musculature and armor tore away just like it had with Zildiz’s helm, and for the second time that night he found himself staring into the face of another living human being. Only this time it was a man whose face was utterly disfigured, a perversion of the basic form. In the place of his lower jaw were fingerlike protrusions of gummy tissue and exposed nerve endings. His nose cartilage was likewise missing, leaving only a pair of holes dribbling with snot. The man blinked, and glassy eyes with almost no whites at their edges fixed Rene in their gaze.
“Kill…me…” the man whispered.
Rene began to shake uncontrollably, wiping a trembling hand across his mouth as he was forced to consider the carnage he’d just wrought in a new and horrifying light. These weren’t three dead monsters littering the jungle floor; these were three dead men, and some of them he had killed himself.
“Kill me!” the man begged him. He was young, barely Rene’s age, his smooth skin untroubled by the wrinkles of age and worry. He had clear brown pupils and dark, expressive brows. If it weren’t for all the rest of him, Rene might’ve mistaken him for a fresh-faced recruit at the academy, or a paperboy climbing up the terraced apartments of inner hive to deliver news of the Fleet’s latest victory.
On unsteady legs Rene staggered back to Zildiz’s side and away from the awful truth he had uncovered.
“Something the matter?” Zildiz asked in a gleeful tone, “Feeling a little worse for wear, are we?”
“Shut it,” Rene said distantly. He dragged Zildiz to her feet and began winding the silk around her wrists, layering them over thick and tying them off with a simple knot. He kept the vines on her for added insurance and told her to start walking.
“Where to?” she demanded.
“I’m not feeding you to my children, if that’s what you’re asking,” he muttered, “I don’t have any to begin with, and even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t raise them to be cannibals.”
Zildiz didn’t move, so Rene grabbed her and frog marched her away. He had no real destination in mind—he just had to get away from this place and the bodies he’d made. Zildiz rounded on Rene, saying:
“Aren’t you going to deal with him? I only severed his neural connection to paralyze his exomorph. He’s still very much alive.”
“No!” Rene yelled, “That’s not how I—how people do things. Almighty ancestors, is that so hard for you to grasp?”
“Yes,” Zildiz replied quite candidly.
“He’s a living, breathing human being. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but those are pretty rare on Arachnea and worth keeping around.”
“No. He is a Leaper. After extracting your gilt helix, he and his packmates would devoured you right then and there.”
“That’s why you saved me, isn’t it? So they couldn’t obtain this shiny helix thing?”
Zildiz ignored his question, continuing:
“If you leave him here, at best he will die of exposure. At worst, his tribe will come looking for him, and if they find him, they will run us down and kill us anyway.”
Rene bit his lip. She spoke the truth and they both knew it. But after all this world had already taken from him, there remained one thing which he refused to part with. And Rene knew that if he gave in now and took the expedient option—the sensible option—he would be surrendering it forever.
“Sorry,” he said finally, “That’s against the rules.”
He dragged Zildiz over to the Leaper and spoke to him, saying:
“I won’t kill you. I’m not about to eat you either, so you can stop begging for a quick death. As long as you tell me what I want to know, we’ll leave you here and go our separate ways. I might even patch your wounds if you’re cooperative. Does that strike you as a fair bargain?”
The Leaper met this pronouncement with a look of utter perplexity that mirrored the one on Zildiz’s face.
“I’ll take that silence as a yes,” Rene said impatiently, “You’ll begin by telling me your name.”
“Kryptusshh,” the Leaper said slowly, as if not daring to hope.
“Very good. Are there any more of your people out there, Kryptus?”
“Why sshhould I trusht you? I would only be dooming more of my kindred, and there issh no certainty you would not kill me afterwardssh.”
“It’s a chance you have to take,” Rene shrugged, “Either that, or I’ll let this woman do as she pleases with you. And just between you and me,” he said in a loud stage whisper, “She doesn’t seem all that fond of your sort.”
Zildiz and Kryptus locked eyes with each other. Rene could almost feel the waves of hatred coming off her as she bristled, every tendon in her body tensing expectantly. Kryptus must have seen something he didn’t like, for he looked away and said:
“I am a warrior of the Weeping Vipersh. We are roughly eleven hundred sshtrong. One tenth of that number are bravesshh like me.”
“He lies,” Zildiz said, baring her teeth in a snarl, “That is less than half their true strength. He does not count the adolescents and the old loom-mothers, who are the deadliest of their kind.”
“Three hundred, then, if they are consshidered,” Kryptman quickly admitted, “Your pardon, merciful one.”
“I’ll excuse your forgetfulness just this once,” Rene warned, “But your memory better not fail you again.”
He questioned the Leaper closely. Kryptus claimed that only he and his pack had seen the safety pod’s crash landing, and that they had told no one else as they wished to claim the great prize all for themselves. The Weeping Vipers were the largest tribe in the rainforest and were always looking for an advantage over their numerous and belligerent neighbors. Apparently Kryptus had hoped to gain a modicum of the Divine Engine’s power by extracting something called a ‘gilt helix’ from Rene’s blood.
“Jussht one sample would have shatishfied uss,” Kryptus swore, “Then we would have taken you back to the Loom alive.”
“I’m sure nothing would’ve pleased you better,” Rene said wryly, all too cognizant of Zildiz’s earlier assumption that he planned to feed her to the Fleet’s youth.
Rene learned from Kryptus that the Divine Engine had ignited a blazing wildfire that was swiftly spreading north and west. The tribes would likely have noticed it by now, and would all be sending braves in a joint effort to douse the flames. For some reason all the Leapers felt collectively responsible for the wellbeing of the region, and could not allow it to come to harm for fear of dire repercussions.
“Last question. Is anyone going to come looking for you?”
“Not till the morning.”
“Good!” said Zildiz, breaking out of Rene’s grip and aiming a vicious kick at the side of the Leaper’s head. Rene barely caught her and yanked her back, shouting:
“Blood and thunder, woman! Is there nothing you won’t do to piss me off?”
“Are you insane? You cannot possibly mean to leave him alive!” the Gallivant hissed.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Now come here!”
Rene took her by the elbow and pulled her forward, leaving Kryptus where he lay.
“You promished you would tend to my woundssh!” the Leaper cried after them.
“Don’t push your luck!” Rene said over his shoulder, “Anyone who follows us will meet the same end as your friends.”
He and his prisoner went tramping off into the night, Zildiz raging at him all the while.
“Fool! We will both come to regret that decision!”
“You’re probably right,” Rene had to agree.
“Then why did you do it?”
“For the same reason I’m letting you strut around and screech into my ear. What can I say? I’m a conversationalist.”
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

my little orange friend Greg has liquid nearly constantly dripping from his eyes, plus he's sneezing at least a few times a day, and I've found gunk in his ears as well.
I took him to the vet to have him checked out, and they gave me some droplets for his eyes for cat pink eye, but after a week of treatment (as long as the bottle said to do treatment) his eyes are still secreting liquid every day. as long as I've known Greg (rescued from the street, and fostered at my friends house for about a year) he's had this issue. I'm not sure it's allergies, since it doesn't seem to have stopped all year long.
The vet also gave me some ear wash to flush out the ear gunk, so that's next to try. the vet didn't seem to think Greg had ear mites or anything like that, he just seems to be stuffed up with liquids / gunk all the time.
is there anything else I can do for Greg? besides wiping his eyes every day? and maybe flushing his ears out every once in a while? I can't tell if it annoys him or has him in any pain. but I can't imagine it would be all that pleasant for him.
cheers

Well, Hi all! again! 4Th Wall here, I figured since I just got power back, I might as well play some catch up on both series. Hope you enjoy this episode!!
Yup, I fucked that up. This is a repost with the correct Episode number, LOL! It's been a while since I've done that.
First, Previous, Next
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Benjamin smiled, watching the girls skip ahead of him. Today was a testing day of sorts for him. Unwilling to release firearms into this world haphazardly, yet unwilling to go without them as a backup; he had pulled from one of his sister’s favorite video games. He had “melted down” his bowie knife, repurposing the metal to be used in his latest creation. The final product rode on his hip like a short sword, but Ben was satisfied in the design when the vast majority of the people he passed ignored it as just another adventurer’s blade. Benjamin hoped, that with the existence of Majik, that he would be able to pass off any… peculiarities... as the realm of the supernatural.

The three of them arrived at the tailor’s establishment, and the girls were met with a customary indifference that seemed to present itself when a slave’s “master” was present. The moment Benjamin entered, the seamstress ceased to pay attention to the girls, and instead addressed him directly, “Ah, The Forgemaster’s Protégé. What can I do for you this day.” She said cooly, bowing slightly in welcome. “I’m here commission some clothing for these two, a reward for good service.” Benjamin began. It was technically true; the success of the forge had afforded him much more coin than a mere apprentice could have made. Qort had taken him on as a true partner, and Benjamin earned enough to comfortably afford to cloth his “slaves” in whatever he chose.

Some stigma’s remained however, and the seamstress seemed to glare sideways at the girls as they perused the fabrics adorning the walls. “Is that wise? A slave could lose her place with such gifts.” she asked, her polite tone barely hiding her disapproval. Benjamin sighed internally, ‘oh for fucks sake’ he groaned in his own mind before putting on facad, “I find that proper reward, afforded on the right servant can result in” he paused, projecting a smug expression and blatantly looking the girls up and down. “a profound dedication to their duties” he finished with a satisfied smile as the seamstress covered her mouth with a hand to hide a smile of her own. The gambit worked, and the Seamstress was obviously satisfied that the “Aereesen slave whores” were being properly “used”. “Ah, I understand. What did you have in mind for them.” She practically moaned back at Benjamin. ‘This hag needs a good pounding….’ Benjamin’s inner monologue threatened to crack his facade, “That’s the fun part, my good lady. It’s their choice. The surprise is half the excitement.” He chuckled.

The seamstress openly smiled at him this time before nodding and stepping over to the two girls. Benjamin breathed a sigh of relief as she seemed to treat them at least marginally more warmly. The old racist bag didn’t need to know that Benjamin was secretly building a small nest egg for his girls, or that his sending them out to do errands for him was how he was teaching them about money, value, and the application of Mathematics. She also didn’t need to know that the full Cutlery set that she had purchased last week had been made by Vi’s own hand as her first full solo commission set. Benjamin had stamped his “mark” on them, because slaves were not allowed to own anything, including their own work; but Vi had begun with raw steel and finished with one of the finest cooking knife sets he had seen in this world or his.

Benjamin settled onto a bench outside, using the excuse of wanting to enjoy the morning air to afford his girls some privacy. Now that Viola and Valtrya were eating a healthy diet, and the right calorie amount; they had blossomed into absolute bombshells. Their hair had recovered, and both sported long flowing locks that boasted a silky satin black color and texture that betrayed hints of deep royal purple. The color reminded Benjamin of one of those expensive custom car paints that changed color depending on the lighting.

Their skin recovered almost as quickly as their hair. The sickly, scabbed look was quickly replaced with the same satin quality as their hair to the touch, but with a light grey coloring that almost seemed to tease the edge of hinting at a greyish purple. A dense pattern of Small freckles of the same dark, almost royal, purple as the highlights in their hair frolicked on both girl’s cheeks, and down the sides of their necks. Because of their early lack of understanding on modestly, Ben knew that those freckles traveled much further. The sad truth was that Benjamin understood fully why Aereesen’s were the prize of slavers and brothels, and he silently prayed that he could give them enough self-worth and skill to have a better life than that, once he got them out of the Principality.

A door’s soft creaking broke Benjamin from his thoughts as the two sisters stepped out smiling, “Get everything you need?” he asked standing as the three of them departed the establishment. Val nodded vigorously, and Vi smiled as she spoke, “I think so, but I had to practically beg the woman to stop showing us lingerie… what did you tell her?” Benjamin felt his cheeks heat as he responded, “What I had to. The old hag doesn’t get enough at home. It’s not my fault that your ‘enthusiasm’ is in the forge and your studies, not between the sheets. I didn’t lie to her, I just let her draw her own conclusions, sorry.”

Vi’s eyes twinkled for a second, “Oh,” She smirked, “Thaaat’s why she broke out the silk. Some of her options were..” She blatantly bit her lip at Benjamin. “You didn’t…” He asked in shock, and Vi lifted up on her tippy toes to brush her lips against his ear, “Not telling” she purred, setting Bens senses on fire. She backed up a step, openly smirking at his beet red face. “But your expression is adorable… My Lord” She stated the last two words with a deep sultry tone, knowing that Ben couldn’t scold her in public before taking his hand, “May we visit the bazar next? Val saw some jewelry she wanted to look at.” Benjamin gave her a pointed look, that turned into a smile as she beamed at him, “Ok, sounds good. I need to pick up some food for the week.”

It was later that afternoon when the three of them left the bazar. They found Jukha waiting on the bench in front of their home. “Jukha! How are you!” Benjamin called, clasping the Orc’s hand firmly as the girls rushed inside to put up their purchases. Jukha reciprocated, if somewhat stiffly, to the strange to him gesture. “Benjamin, it is good to see you well.” His tone stopped Ben in his tracks, “What is it. Is your wife, ok?”
Jukha shook his head, “Vilora is well, but I have been tasked with finding you.” He said carefully, “The slaver, the one you dueled for those two,” he nodded to Vi and Val as they stepped back out of the building, “The Heir of The Romoregin house is here. He has lodged an official demand for satisfaction, and he brought a champion.”

Benjamin stiffened, “Another duel? You said an ‘official demand’… what happens if I refuse.” Jukha winced at Ben’s tone, “It is an archaic practice of my people, rarely remembered, and even more rarely demanded. You cannot deny a satisfaction claim, but should you prevail, no further claims can be made upon your person. I am sorry Benjamin, but if you flee or refuse, your life is forfeit; and your property goes to the claimant.” Jukha looked pointedly at Viola and Valtrya. “The young puke has put me in danger as well, if I do not deliver you and them to the duel, I can be detained. If they torture me….” Benjamin’s eyes widened before hardening in understanding. “Jukha…” He turned to find Viola standing next to him, with his musket in one arm and his ammunition bag in the other, and sighed, “Fuck”. He loaded his musket with a single roundball cartridge this time, unwilling to fire buck and ball in the town streets. He pealed the ball out of the paper wading after pouring the poweder, reaching into his haversack to retrieve a small round patch made of pillow ticking. Jukha looked on in mild fascination as Benjamin spit on the cloth patch before wrapping the ball in it and ramming the whole thing down the barrel. It wasn’t much, but it reduce windage, ensuring at least reasonable enough accuracy from the smoothbore to keep from hitting innocent bystanders. It would also virtually eliminate blow-by, upping the chamber pressure and giving him a little more velocity. “I’m ready.”

The four of them entered the small city square to be met with Qort and three Org guards. These soldiers wore different insignia that Benjamin had been taught were the mark of the capital. “Beenjaymen Shayfe” one of them butchered his name, “I am.” Ben nodded firmly, the other guard nodded, “And your two slaves, good. Has Jukha informed you of the proceedings.” Benjamin scowled, “A legalized way to attempt a revenge killing? Yea, I’ve been told.” Ben didn’t bother to hide his vitriol, “So I have to kill a motherfucker for defending myself from his father?”

“Not quite. The Heir has brought a champion. The rules are simple, all forms of combat are allowed” The first guard began as the second one began chaining the wrists of Viola and Valtrya. Benjamin began to move before thinking, only to be held back by Jukha, “Peace albino. They must do this. Fighting them will cause a forfeit.” Benjamin looked at the terrified faces of the two girls. He forced himself to calm down outwardly, but Benjamin could feel the rage building. He had worked so hard to save those two, to get them out.. now some snot nosed brat was going to try to kill him because his father didn’t know when to fuck off. Benjamin stepped out from around the guards. The “heir” was a young Durr. Ben had no frame of reference for age, but the Heir was substantially shorter, and his facial tentacles were almost mere buds. Beside him stood a crimson colossus, the same species as the Hunter he had shot saving Jukha. He was taller than that female, and was wearing plate armor, gilded in silver. He hefted a great sword of some kind and smiled openly at Benjamin. It was not a pleasant expression. “Ah, so You’re the puke I’ll be cleaning from my blade. I am Krastorin. Come here, pale one, I’ll make it quick.”

Benjamin looked him over, subtly shifting into a shooting stance but keeping his musket looking like he was resting the butt of a spear on the ground. “You look accomplished, what makes you do the bidding of the boy.” He asked, blatant scorn on his tone. The Young Durr flinched, his small tentacle buds writhing violently. “H’Dare Yee!” he bellowed, voice cracking with the strain of fury, “Aye’ll ‘ave Yee Head on Me’Wall!!”
Benjamin ignored him, focusing on the Hellirine. The man looked back at the boy with a raised eyebrow, “The young puke promised me one of those.” He pointed at Vi and Val, who had reverted to their former trembling submissive postures that Ben had met them in. “It appears that they are as well kept as claimed. I look forward to sampling them.” He leered. Benjamin looked over at the Young Durr and found his face a mixture of relief and anger. ‘Ah, lied about daddy’s slaves.’ He turned to the soldier standing next to him, “Is the duel on?” he growled.

“Combatants! Begin!” was the Soldiers response, and the crimson mercenary lifted his sword from his shoulders advancing forward with a long confident stride, “at last, let’s get this over wi..” a clap of thunder echo’d through the Feral wood, and most of the crowd cried out in surprise as Benjamin disappeared, seemingly behind a bubble of fire, and brimstone. The single round ball ignored the mercenary’s plate armor. Punching straight through as the soft lead mushroomed out into a ragged disk that measured almost an inch and a half. The mangled projectile, still travelling at almost half the speed of sound, eviscerated the chest cavity of the Mercenary before blowing a one foot wide hole out of the crimson man’s back. The exit wound missed Krastorin’s spine by an inch, but it didn’t matter. The projectile embedded itself into a post, thankfully missing any bystanders by mere inches in some cases. The Young Durr, who was standing just behind and to the side of his champion, was screaming as he pawed at the bits of pale yellow blood, bones, and fragments of internal organs now covering him from head to toe.

Benjamin handed the smoking musket to Jukha, drawing his short sword and walking over to a sputtering, choking, and coughing Krastorin. The Hellirine lay face down on the ground, having fallen that way from the momentum of his initial advance. The back of Benjamins mind was sickly amused as he remembered the old Hollywood trope of bullets throwing people backward, and a pinch of regret sparked in his soul as his opponent death rattled. He stepped up to the Heir, resting the blade against his neck, “Are we done here. Be a better man than your father and learn when to save your own life.” The Young Durr froze, staring up at him in abject terror for several moments as a puddle formed at his feet. Benjamin opened his mouth to speak again when the boy simply passed out, falling into the puddle of his own mess as his mind refused to stay conscious.

Benjamin turned to walk back towards Jukha and the girls. “Unchain them.” Benjamin’s tone could have frozen a raging forge’s inferno. To his surprise, two of the soldiers drew their weapons on him, “You need to come with us. All Touched must be registered with...” Benjamin pointed his short sword at the one talking… and pulled the trigger. The percussion revolver built into the hilt of the short sword was zero’d using a notch Benjamin cut into the crossguard, and the tip of the curved blade as a crude set of open sights. The barrel of the revolver lay along one side of the blade, and was rifled. The speaking soldier orc’s took the smaller pistol round through the forehead, exploding the back of his skull in a cone of dark green and grey mist. The exit wound showered his companion in bits of bone and brains. Benjamin’s thumb found the hammer, and four satisfying clicks echo’d in the stunned silence, “HEAR ME!” He growled, “I, am touched by the Gods. I posses the power to end any life I choose using the power of Hell itself!” ‘if I have to show them a gun, might as well throw them off the trail’ “The violence of the raging volcano obeys my very fingertips.” His revolvesword bucked a second time as another soldier orc made a move to rush him. The smaller pistol round still punched through the orcs armor and out the back, but only left him screaming on the ground. Benjamin re-cocked, and leveled his weapon at the orc holding the chains to Val and Vi. “Now, release them.” This last remaining Orc did as asked, before gathering up his screaming companion as the girls rushed to Benjamin, he pulled them close, whispering, “I’m sorry we wont be able to pick up your dresses.”

The three of them packed up that night. Qort had understood, knowing all too well what the Principality would do to acquire a Touched of Benjamins ability. “Stay safe my friend. I pray our paths cross again.” Jukha snuck them out of the village that night, using his wagon to get them to his home. They stayed a week, laying low while they planned their next move. The girls spent their time learning recipes from Jukha’s wife, and ben took the time to unwind a bit. Jukha and He went on a hunt, and Benjamin was given a run down on the flora and fauna of the Feral wood. The two of them brought back a pair of Stags, and the three women cooked them a feast.

“Dinner’s ready!!” called Viola, setting the last of the sides on the table as the dutch oven roasted meat was brought off of the stove top. It was a simple yet elegant meal. Stag, potatoes, some kind of Kale style vegetable that Benjamin had never seen before. Soon enough, everyone at the table was leaning back, as full as they could make themselves. “So, pinkskin,” Jukha asked, “Where do you plan on going. I wouldn’t mind you staying with me. I could use another hunter, but I suspect that they would notice the extra product I brought to the village.”

Benjamin Hummed, “The Maridian Combine. Qort told me that they banned slavery over a century ago, the girls have learned so much already. It would be easy to find jobs for them.” Vi and Val drooped slightly but hid it well. Jukha noticed it but said nothing. “A good choice, their boarders are well guarded, you would need to free them before you cross, or end up in a dungeon yourself.”

“Good point, I can write up a simple writ of freedom. Something I can sign and give to them.” Benjamin nodded, “I can get started on that to…” he paused as a hand fell on his. He looked to see Viola staring at him, fighting back tears, “Hey, what’s wrong. You will be free…” Jukha nodded slowly and stood. “love,” he said to Vilora, “I need some help with the livestock” The Farie met his eyes in unspoken understanding, fluttering out the front door with Jukha.

“Vi, what’s wrong.” Benjamin asked gently.

“No… go… Val… stay…” Both of them turned to Valtrya in shock. She was trembling, “I wont..leave.”

“You speak?” Benjamin looked in shock, but Viola spoke next, “Benjamin, we don’t want to leave. We want to stay, with you. I…” She paused. Ben sighed, “I want you to stay too.” He said, finally admitting it to himself, “But I can’t own you. It’s killing me that you are my property.” He reached up and wiped a tear from Vi’s eyes, “You are so much more than property. I feel evil, every day that I wake up knowing that I could do anything I wanted to you, or worse, die and have someone else hurt you for the fun of it.” Benjamin bowed his head. Viola reached out, lifting his chin to look into his eyes, “Then come with us.” She whispered as Val stood up and stepped around the table, “yes.. You, come.” She wrapped herself around Ben from the side leaning in until she was resting her head against his shoulder, “I’m… staying.. with you.” she said softly. Viola nodded, “Benjamin, how old do you think we are.”

Ben looked at her in confusion, “I have no idea, I’ve always assumed you were teenagers. 13-14 years old for Val, maybe 16 for you, but that was when you were skin and bones.” He admitted.

Viola’s eyes widened in understanding. “You did not want to bed us because you thought us children.” Benjamin nodded slowly, answering. “And forcing sex on a child is the worst kind of crime on my world”. Viola and Valtrya looked at each other, before Vi spoke. “Ben, my sister will turn one hundred and three in a fortnight. I just had my one hundred and fifteenth birthday last week.” She leaned in, pressing her lips to Bens as she kissed him passionately for a moment. “We are no children,” Viola paused as Valtrya leaned in, kissing Ben lightly on the neck, “You are not forcing us to do anything, but leave.” Viola whispered as she began to close in to a surprised Benjamin for another kiss.

The door to the cabin flew open violently, and the girls pulled back to a more modest distance. Jukha walked in, carrying a panting Vilora. “What happened.” Ben asked hurriedly, hoping he wasn’t blushing as hard as the heat on his cheeks suggested. Vilora waved a hand as Jukha set her down in her chair, “The Vin… My sisters… they reached out… They wish to meet…” The Farie gathered herself, “They also sent a warning. We must leave, tonight… hunters.”
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If you made it this far, I very much appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed the episode! If you believe I have earned it, I have a Patreon that is two episodes ahead of the free releases for this series. I hope you feel taking a look is worth it. Either way, come hang out in the comments. Everyone's welcome! I've discovered Im a bit of a "warts and all" poster, so even critical comments are welcome. Hell, You might even teach me something (it happens more than I'd like to admit).
I have heard people off and on reference Royal road, So I am going to give it another shot. I'll be adding the Royal Road link from now on. If you like reading over there, It is on the same schedule as here. I would greatly appreciate a like/review/comment if you feel so inclined. Thank you again for stopping by.
First, Previous, NextRoyal Road

When TTPD leaked they were crying and snotting and telling everyone it wasn’t real because it sounded so bad.
They said the leak was AI generated, because no way their “poet” could write something this bad. Then the “leak” was confirmed real and half the Swifties clocked in to Stan it blindly while the other half scratched their heads in confusion. They were upset.
Then, the Anthology dropped and they were excited to cleanse their ears of the previous hour of listening. They breathed a sigh of relief. They wished she’d only dropped the anthology.
Then, Swifties started propagandizing the response to TTPD, telling each other they have to listen to it 10-20 times before they’ll like it, forcing themselves to sit through it.
They were convinced that meant the album was a “grower” when instead they were just training their brains to get used to it…now “it’s a masterpiece!” It’s definitely not science, it’s just a grower! Just listen to it over and over until you like it because your brain is gaslighting you if you don’t like it on first listen. “You have to listen to it a LOT to tell the songs apart. Just keep listening.”
Finally, the album they thought was so poorly written and boring, a fake leak written by AI, evolved into “you just don’t get it” once they realized it was real and they needed to close ranks.
I’m less a Taylor hater than concerned about where the music industry could be headed if this kind of behavior, and obnoxiously lazy music defines crazed-fandom driven commercial success prevails. You could drop any other tall blonde into Taylor’s seat and I’d feel the same.
I think it’s a good sign that she doesn’t seem to be respected by other musicians beyond a commercial sense. They seem confused too.
Still, Swifties are giving the industry the green light to make aggressively mediocre music and expect our hard-earned money. I think they’re just waiting this phase out because every big artist has a run before people move on due to a lack of musical evolution.

Anblitonoimz has four or five tongues, four mouths & five or em.
Th's firstsnd mouth urinaes fortso does "Coffee of a lifetime" Hes sputters, slurping up a cup of that good mud. "Splots dreams in thirty of our microwaves".
Ambipzonnzi doesn't cipher. "Let 's get born & roll down the hill, We get born & roll down the hill" His fourth one shoots ,in south-east yardings
"yearlong coffee beans, coffee plant. papa nu guineaa. Honduras. Lofty without a saddle". a third mouth wisses out sorta westishly through heavy phlegm
He twists to explore "Learn to drive, learn to walk. Crawl from town to town Babe. Crawl on all four wheel & kKaww like a Bird" anbipozond's mouth smacks on
"No point in crying over spillt milk"
"You keep saying that!". his northeast mote swirls in southwestard recounts
Eeps
from elswhere "Every auction is just the loudest, Heather". else now mutters a funnel with propose. "houses are birds with fourty wheels on a similar day". Insteebchlo raises his hand with a smile eager to answer the daily question. he starts to wave as he catches the attensions.
Noesteeblichavl has houses for heads, he sstarts jittering. "Your eyes are windows, someone needs to clean your windows. Your house is a head. Clean your windows off annd surprise the neighbors dog!" ... "hello"
"you're not driving to my off-grid parasite with that attitude". Ampliurpoznenzi shuffles his gums ,Crawling down the asphalt road on his hands & knees proudly. He might think he is an entrepreneur for a while or aprehend himselgf as an connoisseur forwhile.
"oh drink gasoline lika subaru" oensteeblih tweeks
"I've an appotite to put my teeth to the curb!" Ambeplerznz snaps & gnashes at houses
his foldy gob norths "One step at a time! Learn to crawl, Learn to walk, Buy some land babe, heyhow does much a hotel cost hahh".
"CAWWW" Apmliurpozoenzi's mouth makes a bird noise. having a bite yer own ear off & spit it at the coroner day.
"I think you will drink gasoline like my aunties subaru" houses heads repeats.
"Bvrruuuummmm" Ampliurpoznenzi's mouth does the car noise now. He's going somewhere, past the speed limit ,another four kilometers & he is gonna need his diaper change. Better get his wallet ready.
"You slurp gasoline, like ants in a subaru" Noesteeblo 'peats. Amblurdozinnzi pops into more civilized bucket. the house curls into a smile now. "look at youu!, you've become such a confident driver now!".
"C'mon, don't be so hard on yourself" Abemlurdozonz mremarks vaclantly. "So I could wear your face? Is it losing it's grisps on reality in here or me?"
Nostlible smeoes to him "Bro you okay?"
.....
"Ye get born into like machine & fall through like pachinko scottlander" . "Offered five things strange for new emergant traditions"
"Third tape recorder to the rotting egg translates the scripture, we're all just pachinko machines rolling down a hill arn't we?"
sorta just sautering around, peaking in through all the windows in the neighborhood, he's a freak tapping on the glass. Abmlorznonza is trying to climb into the garbage disposal, he wants to become ground beef or he wants to arrive to a wedding.
"Hey Do ies Yoeur Reaelity Okaey?". he mutters himself
Abamorbzonenz's large nose covers the porch in snot. He is smashed in through the windows. everything covered in snot. Dissassembles Th' Constructiom. "everything is covered in snot!!" He complains! "I SAID SEASAW. I SAID". Seasaw
...
"Highly Functional we are. Violences with the earthly gravitations ,Maneuvers to gnaw your tongue away at the glory hole ssir". Houses for heads whispers easy to his parole officer
.....
Ablimurzozna is inside the building, meeting all the wacky charicatures, really looking for something to snack on
"snooze on the cheesblock wiyhth a thousant feet of square areah". Zimberly's gonna need to fester up if she's gonna make it out of here alive.
-"come into my villa? withyer 6,000 foot long arms? I'll teach you the mannerisms" she stand combative with a toaster under her arm, holding the plug in her other hand.
The kitchen fatefuly occupied, Ablimzundz rushes square around & through down hallway, he drips the sweat "round nor square corners, I'm deduction points" his bin echoes offa chair in the passing.
... "I'm not just a petting zoo, I'm also a boarding school for chiropractory on the week-ends". Chochizialule snides from a toilet room "I pay money here"
Ambliuoznenzai screams, he begins to shrivel up & become hairy. "lettuce beef union, where did you go? lettuce beef onion. ".
"Let Us ..decode your one dimensoinal braine". presences Noestivbyuchevlo
another charicature interrups "I PLACED THE EYE INSIDE OF TJE HEAD & THE HEAD ON TOP OF THE BODY". Martin chimes over the loudspeaker. feeling like an eyeball inside of the tube today. just like all other days. an irreversible sense of time "I think I'll industrial my furnishments enjoy & pass out" He obviously has the plans.
"Do Not Touch Me". the subaru won't calm down.
"ellen my knuckle jelly is swearing. Juxtapose penguin my knuckle. Whatever fucking. My justice system swears at me."
Garvezetozald nouts at he,
"I can't relax. I'm on chameleon because my eyes move on their own. Indipendently from one anobther. " Amprulpozanzi won't shut up or he wouldn't
Nestavloblica tries to comprehend or understand "Autism is also a bell of god? Hey! Slow Down! Howhy are you aging so rapidly , in this metal bucket over here?"
Ampeliuropoznnz's wheels berate" DONN'T TOUCH MEE. I SAAID DONN'T TOUCHH MEE". He revs it!
"Hold it! Give your skin prison!" Windows for eyes shudders urgently. "Take me to your northern hemisphere! okay? okay?!"
Theres multiples of them
"No you No youKnow what You know you could Use?" they all say in unison
"AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" Ambluboznecviblo screams in whemchever direction heis headed ?
windows for nostrils speaks out loud "wel A well balanced curriculum would be dandy for starters".
Garvezetozald escorts ambinzopnonzor back to the pave "aluminum foil, very shiny in your bank deposit you know, But don't listen to me. Why would I fucking say anything ". He grumbles the offput as retreating it back inside.
ambilurbonznenance isnot having it. He's murking off in the anger pavement shoes. "Don't change the subject, I know you're hiding things from me".
Ambilerbeentsli "shiny aluminum foil heaps in my bank deposit". out of a different mouth or head after that whatever it said
.............................
intrusion layering dish. splattered withe batter. "Undetermined. loosely your own imagines, or yourself into they inretrospective periphany? who are you defying here? I did I hear (that right)?"
"I said build your little hhouse outthere, and& record yourf fairy shit, I stabbed you really hard with the fork" sends the not know says "yeah buddy, nascar teeth better be stoppin in to be stoppin tobe takina pittstop stop inn" Heaps he "STOP IT ,STOPP STIP. STOP IN THEs PIT FOR A STOP NOWW"
"are you been taking all oyour supplements skin-jaw pirate attorney?". eyuunNoesteblijhavwl Creoaks to the fiend
Pramblestabhon starts talk about lands all sorts and Louis Vuitton" We drop him off atthe nearest station
Scubs scenfen fenhinit. The cold touch of a stranger.
"Shd diedent mean to sdo that withe her subaru" "make the fuzzy worls ceawl owt but were notbhgoana takklk to you. Beat toyojar head with thea hmmm
The dufuzzys crawl out of the brain spot "COFFEEE AND TORTILLA CHIPS" Ambliubyonzunzi blares. He is crying the tears. "COFFEEE AND TORTILLA CHIPS" A second mouth of he shouts as well joins in.
"eyebrows, eyebrows jaws & toes, heavy finger-slips. uprightnowyou. Our gene pool is speaking~ (????) & having remained focused on the road this whole time"
...
"ofcourse We want gimberly to fall asleep at the wheel, make it look like it was an accident" Ampliunornzi agrees with himself "We want this we want that we want nothing more for ourselves" He's done & settled but restless & jiving. He keeps on driving, he worrys somedaybody will cut his brakes for him.
"No I think You betetetetter get onto bed on time " Noestelevblilpo bleyowabs abashed "sleep onfor more decades?, crawl on this earth, listen to the musics of the centuries?" nietstravlo attemptates their reconciel
Ampliupzinzunzi agleams unto the sedatiea. relloxed . enloungicated Dormitoitory. Parked something or other an a benchpt he rwests "If we don't chop uff all of the limbs then don'T throW uP on TimE." it complains. something seperate &.. he produces a small thermos from his (cupholder)
Ambliornuunzi Takes another sip of this coffee. He rolls the liquid around his tongue & swishes it in his mouth before hes swellow. "Brazil, Ecuador" He feels the longitude, He feeles the latitude, the coordinates of the bean. "South america, central america, yeah, You can taste it". The bitter wash is guzzled before it's swallowe. Amiburzobowenzanzha Licks it's teeth and gums. Functional piss distillery. With gusto he announce "Brazil, we need go to Brrazziill eyah". starts he runningh & He trips & smashes one of his mouths into the curb, If had he a tongue from there off bitten would it have been but lucky him, only smashing his teeth to scream & writhe.

I was at a trailer park earlier ans found this kitten that had dirt, snot, and something that just smelt like a rotting corpse all over her body. I couldn't stand to see an animal looking like that. I think our animal shelter takes strays but they might not because there was a cat with rabies found in my state a couple months back. The baby is struggling to breathe through her nose because it is so stuffy. I gave her a small bath and wiped all the crust off of her. She smells better, but ultimately like a wet dog. Im going to try to take her to the animal shelter tomorrow. What should I do to make her comfortable until then? and what should I do if the animal shelter wont take her? MORE INFO I dont have kitten food so I wet some cat food to make it easier to eat, she threw it up. I gave her water and a towel to lay on. She does have ear mites, likely has fleas, and possibly lice. I am keeping her away from my cat and dog. She is in a cage and a made a make shift litter box. I think the infection is a cold. UPDATE: I called and called and maaneged to find an on call vet. She is there now, he thinks she might have leukemia, if so, I do not have enough money to svae this cat. I can try to start a gofundme or something but this will be hard. Update 2: She didnt make it..

I was at a trailer park earlier ans found this kitten that had dirt, snot, and something that just smelt like a rotting corpse all over her body. I couldn't stand to see an animal looking like that. I think our animal shelter takes strays but they might not because there was a cat with rabies found in my state a couple months back. The baby is struggling to breathe through her nose because it is so stuffy. I gave her a small bath and wiped all the crust off of her. She smells better, but ultimately like a wet dog. Im going to try to take her to the animal shelter tomorrow. What should I do to make her comfortable until then? and what should I do if the animal shelter wont take her? MORE INFO I dont have kitten food so I wet some cat food to make it easier to eat, she threw it up. I gave her water and a towel to lay on. She does have ear mites, likely has fleas, and possibly lice. I am keeping her away from my cat and dog. She is in a cage and a made a make shift litter box. I think the infection is a cold.

Was at a pickle/beer festival the other day and one of the tents had reaper pickles. They were pretty damn good and not that spicy in all honesty. It had a chunk of reaper in it about the size of six sided die with seeds and all. I have a pretty high tolerance for spicy so after a few beers I get cocky and I toss back the cube. Without a doubt the hottest thing I’ve ever had. Tears rolling down my face, snot pouring out my nose, ears ringing, it was unreal. That went on for about 30 mins until it got to a tolerable point.
About 2 hours later I felt like I got punched in the stomach. That persisted for about 3 hours and got progressively worse. It reached a point where I could feel it moving through my digestive tract. It felt like someone had a knife in my stomach and was slowly dragging it back and forth. At its peak, I was sitting on the floor with all the lights turned off, throwing up from the pain, and close to passing out. It was so bad that I would burp, smell my own breath, and it would burn my nostrils. It was probably the most pain I’ve ever experienced. I was almost delusional throughout the ordeal and kept repeating “this is unbelievable” in my head. Considered going to the hospital at one point but my ego wouldn’t let me. Luckily, the pain dissipated pretty suddenly after three hours of agony and I was able to go about my day without issue. Didn’t have any messy bowl movements either which was a huge win.
Definitely won’t be doing that again but at least now I know my limits lol.

Why are naked bodies still so sexualised? Why have we made it so and why don’t more people care to dismantle this? I grew up in a household where nudity was normal and not made to be weird - at most, it was a source of humour. We’re just punishing ourselves through the shame we’ve constructed around our genitals, when there should be none.
I’ve heard people say that wee and poo is gross and they don’t want to think about other people doing that.. spit, snot and earwax is pretty gross too but we manage to survive seeing other people’s without covering mouths, noses and ears 24/7.
As an Australian, we’re pretty conservative about bodies here, but honestly, the US is on a whole other level (generally) with being weird about nudity and bodies. We should all be looking to European countries imo and the way they view nudity. I do think this is much more deep and serious than just liking the feel of no clothing on. I think the way nudity is demonised, weaponised, used to bully or shame is so bizarre of us as humans. I’m personally far more embarrassed and ashamed by the fact we as a species have made things this way, than I am about nude bodies. Damn we’re weird.

Hello,
One day I noticed that I am having a
-semi-clogged nose all the time even after I used xylometazoline for period.
-When I get a cold my nose just get clogged totally
-When I try to blow the ‘snot’ nothing gets out I would even go on sometimes untill my nose was bleeding trying to get it out.
Another annoying thing is that I feel -noticabe pressure on my ears 24/7. I went to the docter for the pressure on my ears. He said that I probably have tubular disfunction. And got me on budesonide spray, which didn’t help. So he sent me to a throat/nose/ear specialist (KNO arts in dutch).
The other docter took a look at my nose and said my nasal mucous membranes were too big. And he got me on dymista spray, which worked for reducing the mucous membranes. But my symptoms weren’t gone, so he took a look with a tube camera and said that my turbinates were enlarged, and recommended me turbinate reduction surgery (celon). He claimed that my nose complaints would stop, and maybe my ear pressure too.
Now I have read about ENS and I am hesitant to take the surgery. I know that ENS is very rare, but the idea is terrifying. But on the other hand, the complaints of my symtoms are also very uncomfortable to live with.
Can anyone relate to the ear complaints in combination with the enlarged turbinate symtoms?

I moved to Japan eight months ago and since then I've had about four sinus infections. This is striking me as quite strange considering I basically never got them before. What's especially strange is they follow a very regular pattern.
About every two months, I'll come down with a cold that starts with a sore throat, then I'll get a really high fever, then my eyes start to get itchy and then my nose starts to run and I'll be sneezing and coughing constantly and in pain all over. Once those symptoms mainly run their course and my throat no longer hurts, I'm left with a lingering congestion that gets worse and worse, robs me of my sense of smell/taste and messes with my ears, too. At its worst, my left eye starts to have trouble focusing on things close up. Dark green snot like I've never seen before.
The first time it lasted for about a month and a half and was only kicked to the curb by two rounds of antibiotics (granted, there's an apparent antibiotic shortage here so the doctor who prescribed them first said he wasn't confident they'd work) the second time it lasted for about a three week, had another three week bout and currently I've been sick for about two weeks. Exact same course of symptoms. I'm now on antibiotics.
The doctor who I saw the first few times ended up telling me it had to be allergies because sinus infections don't last this long, but idk if that makes sense considering it starts with a fever and such + seems to only respond to antibiotic? But on the other hand apparently bacterial sinusitis is suuuper rare....however this time around I went to a doctor that did a bunch of testing and some how knid of x-ray that confirmed sinusitis (it seems) so that must be what I'm getting. I just have no clue why.
Anyone else had this happen after moving someplace new?

made this for my narrative essay in american literature, but one of my friends said i should share the story
“But I Still Need You” Throughout my life, I had always fallen easy for girls. The elementary mindset of, “she’s cute, so I have a crush on her,” prevented me from developing a legitimate relationship with any girl I tried to talk to. The few times that my feelings were reciprocated, I had no idea because I was already on to the next girl, and this continued until I was left with a multitude of friend-zone situations and a list of “crushes.” My charisma already lacking, it seemed each year that passed, previous to 3rd grade, I grew in weight and therefore awkwardness. The struggle to interact with women lessened as I grew up, while the fat remained. So, by the 8th grade I was the ideal guy friend; easy to talk to, kinda funny, understanding, and unintimidating. My approachable “funny fat friend” nature had its ups and downs. While guys, for reasons I still don’t fully understand, suspected me to be gay, girls found it intriguing and it made them want to be friends with me more. Back then I didn’t know, but now I know that by being forced to be friends first, after finding out I was in fact not gay, the right woman for me would want to be with me for my personality. In the winter of 2021, I fell hard for a girl named Madeline. Maddie was no different than many of the other girls in that she had a bland personality and I thought she was cute. She had brunette hair with bangs, big glasses, way too much makeup on, and a unique fashion sense. Her sense of fashion was one of the few interesting things about her, yet it was disregarded by the public. Not too many guys found her appealing, but I did, for whatever reason. I was dead set on getting to know her better in hope of becoming more than friends. Unfortunately, she hardly paid attention to me, but I didn’t give up. I merely slowed down because of my interest in her friend, Isabella. Isabella is the Spanish and Italian variation of Elizabeth (derived from the Hebrew name Elisheba). The meaning of Elishiba can be translated to, “God is my oath.” In Arabic, the beginning of Isabella, “Isa,” is the classical Arabic name for Jesus, while in the French language, the shortened version of Isabella, “Belle,” translates to “beautiful.” I had met Isabella in the sixth grade, and grew a tiny crush on her, in the elementary sense, before we all went into hibernation (COVID). I barely knew her though, and she had no idea who I was, so when we interacted in my last two classes, if we did at all, it was like two strangers who kept running into each other. I sat by her in my sixth period, and one seat up and to the right from her in seventh. We only ever made small talk and the occasional joke, but when I spoke with her I felt content. Still barely knowing her, all I could admire was the little things in the way she laughed and spoke. I longed to know more about Isabella, she was mature, intelligent, and very opinionated, but still light-hearted and made time pass at the speed of light. It wasn’t until she was in my group in sixth period one day that she began to open up a little by sharing the details of her current long-distance relationship. The shards of my heart stabbed and crushed my stomach; hope, the oxygen to my mind, depleted faster than the air of a broken space shuttle; palpitation, nausea, asphyxia, and neurosis bombarded me like Persian arrows on the Greeks. Then, all at once, the excruciating tidal wave evaporated, but instead of calm waters, I was left with a drought. Every emotion muted or gone, my body went numb while everything I cared for vanished from my mind. I didn’t speak throughout the rest of that day, and went directly from the bus to decaying in my bed. I was devastated, so I retreated to my pointless crush on Maddie. Unrelated to the rather sad lovelife, my anxiety and depression worsened throughout 8th grade, and while I was going to therapy, most of my issues wouldn’t and still haven’t been worked through. Throughout the school year I had developed a toxic system of self pity, in which I would spend hours a day cycling through the feelings of hope, anger, and despair- never that of joy. I knew what I was doing, gathering enough hope to face the school day just before I reflected on the doubts and grievances going on throughout my life. I’d bring myself up just for a greater fall because honestly, overtime I became numb to the natural pain. If I were going to fall into the pit that is depression, the higher I peaked in terms of optimism the more excruciating the freefall of nausea and the heavy flow of salt water. At that point in my life, I saw no point in getting out of bed to do anything, school or even my own mother’s birthday. By the end of eighth grade I had spent almost a total of six weeks absent, two of which were from me being quarantined. Typically over the span of one or two days, others up to four, I would be in my bed “sick.” During these mini-vacations I would sleep all morning, if my mom let me, and stay up all night, oftentimes listening to Radiohead or Cigarettes After Sex while staring at my ceiling. I wanted to stay up, I wanted to feel the bags grabbing and pulling towards my cheekbone, I wanted to feel empty, emotionally and physically. During the day, my anxiety attacks became panic attacks and I would get sent home for vomiting. I'd throw up to give Mom a reason to let me stay home. I’d throw up to feel something, anything. I’d throw up to keep my stomach empty. I’d throw up because I had to, because the nerves and overthinking forced me to. Every morning, I’d drag my black air force ones across cement, carpet, tiles, and marble, each step leading towards Mrs. Clements’ homeroom. For every step, a different worry or insecurity flashed through my brain. But then, out of the blue, I’m “Lincoln” again. I walk into homeroom with an ear-to-ear grin and dap up “the boys”. I’d spend the morning building up hopes of making Isabella laugh today, or maybe calling her once I got home, but I knew that nine times out of ten my hopes were delusional. To “Lincoln,” this was no problem, he would make a gay joke, join the boys with teasing a cute girl in my class, and laugh until just for a moment, the despair was gone. Finally, the sixth period would come and I’d get to see Isabella. In here I got the least work done out of all my classes as I would find myself strategically planning my next interaction with her, just for said plans to go out the window when I was brought face to face with her. Typically seventh period followed the same pattern except Ms. Shirley Davis could never allow small talk in her classroom. When the last bell rang, I went straight to the buses. I’d sleep on the way home, dreaming of a call that would hardly happen. On the off chance my phone didn’t reach its feared 11th cry, we’d talk for hours at a time. On a weekday or not, it seemed that, when we did call, it was guaranteed to go into the early morning. It’s hard to put my finger on a specific topic, or even general. In our conversations, we discussed anything and everything. Everything, except her own love interest. I admired this, as my inability to keep who I’m thinking about at the time a secret is a major flaw of mine. The more that me and her spoke, the more I grew to love her. Our talks were so honest, so raw, that the secret I held began to eat away at me. My core collapsing like a dying star, each day it felt like the pain got worse. To cope with the feelings I had buried deep inside me, I’d turn to my friends. At first, they said to come forward with my feelings, but I knew that’s what any friend would’ve said. The relief I got from venting the conflicting hurricane within me was brief. Overtime, their words of encouragement turned to annoyance, and understandably so. When people grew sick of the same old sadistic untold love, I turned to Isabella. I wrote a text so full that, to read it, one needed to tap on an arrow at the bottom right corner of my message. The essay was compiled with the confliction I had, developing feelings for a friend, and the sorrow that filled me each day that passed without her. I described the perfect imperfections that I admired about her, how life was complete when I spoke to her, the beauty that paralyzed me every time I saw her in person, and the character that I felt God had curated specifically for me. Sitting there unsure if I should press send, a fear grew within my chest that Isabella would see right through me. I could hear the music that so often triggered tears; the vocals of Thom Yorke or the beats of Kanye West, they faded in and out. What if she didn’t even respond? What if she thought I was a creep? What if- then she responded. Suddenly, the ominous 808s & Heartbreak pounding vanished, my respiratory chaos became paralyzed, and time stood still. I couldn’t breathe until I finished reading, and once I did, my sigh was all but relieving. Isabella explained to me how unhealthy my habits were; even in comparison to the anguish that would follow, I’d suffer far more and far longer should I suppress my emotions. She told me how that level of affection, in the context of the warped concept of romance most men had, was something she had only dreamt of. Isabella said that holding these feelings would eat away at me, exponentially increasing in severity, until I broke. Not only would I be hurting myself, but I would be depriving the person I care about most from the appreciation they deserve. I became bloated with fear of the friendzone, those insecurities, all based upon inference, became a reality with Isabella’s last piece of advice. She said, “If she doesn’t reciprocate those emotions, then don’t worry. I’m sure there’s a girl out there who can appreciate your compassion.” The blame had no other place to go than my shoulders, after all, I got what I asked for, advice on another girl. Isabella, even if she saw the crush I had on her, is far too kind to address it. She cared for everyone, and to her, she was merely boosting up a friend who’s down. For the rest of the night her text echoed through my mind; pain, regret, and admiration caused my mind to sporadically leap from conclusion to conclusion. Two years later, those words still haunt me, reiterations of that phrase torturing me when I least expect them. The school year progressed, but my aspirations with Isabella didn’t. Over time, the frequency of my writings grew to be weekly, at times reaching two a week, and the weight of my confessions depleted. I opened my audience to a mutual friend of Isabella’s, Miley, with the intention of acquiring useful advice. Eventually, my choice to try concealing what I felt for Isabella became too heavy of a burden, weighing down on me in forces I had not endured before. Soon, the love I had for Isabella turned to hatred for myself. I was relentlessly criticizing every aspect of myself and my mind. I hated how fat I was, my smile, my voice, my laugh, and most of all my personality. What I had thought was my greatest strength, was revealed as my worst trait. The gullibility I exhibited when thinking for a second Isabella could possibly like me; the lack of confidence that caused me to chicken out of confessing my feelings to her; my insufferable need to make people laugh; the hyperfixation I would develop for those that I love. Everything about me was wrong. I stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped caring, and eventually I stopped living. The “Lincoln” my friends had grown to recognize, the only remnant of the joy I felt when I was younger, died, and I was left with only my love for Isabella and resentment for myself. I began testing the limits of what was left of me, praying for relief. At first in the middle of the night, an anaconda would find its way to my throat, wrapping around my neck. Its cold black scales gracefully gliding across my skin before silencing my cries with the swift tug of its metallic USB head. The snake would maintain pressure until I let go of it, the entire time whispering into my ear, begging me to hold on. Some nights it came with what must have been a full stomach for it was drastically wider, it was brown these nights, with leather skin, and a slight warmth, but it behaved the same. Most visits from the snake ended with my vision blurry, my breath short, or my head dizzy. The only consistency of our transactions was Asia’s Death Lake that streamed down my face from start to finish. Eventually, the snake seemed closer and closer to silencing me forever, but I also became used to its visits. I began writing letters to everyone I loved so that, should the snake come out victorious, they’d have a final goodbye. Once I had sorted out my notes, I called the snake to my room. This time it came striped with shades of blue, its skin a soft fabric. For once, I controlled the snake, because our intentions finally aligned. I locked the door, sent out my texts, placed the written notes on my dresser, and joined the snake at my closet door. Holding onto the doorknob, the snake wrapped itself around my neck just as it had done in nights of the past. It whispered to me, “let go,” for I had been on my knees in hesitation. I followed the snake’s order by making a sort of plank with my body, the bottom half resting on a stack of dirty laundry and pillows while the top was supported by my elbows. Pressure swiftly fell down on my neck and didn’t stop. “This is it,” I thought to myself. My eyes seemed to pop out of my skull, and my tears, falling down like summer rain, became blurry dots as my vision went dark. Next thing I know, I’m waking up, snot, saliva, and tears strung between my face and the carpet floor. My head pounding and my eyes burning, I looked up at the “snake” that was the tie my mom had gotten me for Sunday service. Although my mind was more clear, it was not out of revelation, but from a muted sense of the world around me. Other than Isabella, nothing mattered anymore, and the little emotion I felt was squashed by my immortal love. The following day I get called to the counselors office on charges of suicidal thoughts and self harm. I said what I had to in order to escape her grasp, but left infuriated. Not only had my own friends betrayed me, but the lady who was supposed to guide me essentially scolded me for being sad. Throughout the day my anger faded out and my focus became making an excuse as to why my parents got a weird call from my counselor, then I’d find the traitor who sold me out. That afternoon, I lost two friends, and for the first time ever got mad at Isabella. Apparently, Miley, Maddie, and Isabella all reported me to the counselor that morning. They said I had been traumatizing them with what was going on in my life, being normal and messing around at school, then detailing my thoughts and actions to them outside of school. I felt like I had been tricked. I thought they were my friends. I thought they understood me. They asked me if I was okay, they said they wanted, cared, needed to know, but now I had scared them? I addressed what had happened with Miley first. She immediately lashed out at me, saying I should be thanking them, not be mad. While I didn’t want to accept it, I understood the core of her choices. On the other hand, Maddie’s response to my confrontation was disgustingly cruel. She said I had been unfair and just seeking attention, that no thirteen to fourteen year old should hear about what I was going through because it was unnatural. Before she continued, I apologized, that’s all I could think to do, because deep down I believed her. She told me it wasn’t all my fault because my brain was messed up, and that opening up to the girls would only make them not want to be friends with me. The one word that rang through my head then, and still does today, was “creep,” she claimed that what I felt wasn’t love, but I was just mentally unstable and creepy. Any remnants of the sweet kid from elementary school who just wanted a friend and loved everyone were obliterated. Maddie was right, all I had done was hurt and scare them, it didn’t matter what I thought. I told her all I could, that I didn’t know what to say other than I was sorry for the damage I had done, and I would try and get better. Her response, like a branding iron on my mind, was, “It’s not damage, it’s baggage. Imagine if the roles were reversed.” It was only then that I stopped texting back. I wish I could say it was out of frustration or self respect, but the reality of my manipulative traits is what silenced me. Shockingly, the response that hurt the most was from Isabella, yet it somehow meant the most to me too. Isabella told me that she needed me in the world. She told me that if I ever got those thoughts again, to think about her as well; to think about the pain I’d be causing her; to think about the trauma she’d live with for the rest of her life. After repeating the phrase, “I need you in my life,” she acknowledged how selfish it was, but still didn’t care. Isabella continued elaborating, she didn’t care because no label of selfishness outweighed the value of my life. What she said that night has been vivid in my mind since, but my only wish is that she had needed me as I needed her. Tears began to hide my freckled cheeks as I texted her about how much her words meant to me, how much she meant to me, and I apologized to her. I said sorry for the baggage I caused, the “creepy” behavior, and any other ways I had wronged her. I said sorry for loving her, and told her I’d do better. She disregarded my apologies, telling me that I could always talk to her because no matter the baggage she could carry, it’d be worth taking the smallest bit off of me. Her words meant so much to me, yet hurt me just the same. I hated myself for it. I couldn’t see a life without an affection for her, it was pathetic. If I truly loved her, I’d let my feelings go, right? What kind of person did that make me? Summer came and went. Hoping that time would kill the crush I had on Isabella, I prohibited myself from contacting her. Instead I spent time with my family and a few friends, but Isabella never left my head. Even when accompanying my dad to Berry College for the Governor’s Honors Program, she’s what filled my head. At first I felt frustrated because before I had come forward to her, she had known about the feelings I had. I came to the conclusion that she had been dragging me along, but even then I knew how easily that thought would be abandoned. First day of High school, I got in touch with her. For maybe two weeks, I maintained a platonic relationship before free falling into the ominous pit once again. This time felt different though, it felt like what I had thought about everyday, for what seemed eternity, could be more than a daydream. We texted each other throughout the school day and facetimed after her cheer practice and my band practice. Eventually, Isabella was falling asleep on call. Before, we’d talk long into the night, and it began to drain the energy out of the both of us. Now, we were listening to music, playing Roblox, watching Netflix, or just sitting in silence. I had never felt comfortable with silence, but she made it seem better than having a conversation with anyone else. It’s a beautiful thing when words aren’t required to appreciate someone. The moment I had the courage to do so, I asked her out to Steak n’ Shake. It’s just my luck that the restaurant was hardly a shell of what I remembered as a kid. At first the conversation was awkward because we hardly spoke in person, but as time progressed so did we. I still remember the tightness of my cheeks as I failed to suppress my ear-to-ear grin. The euphoric nausea and beating heart that disappeared throughout our conversation. I remember the booth we sat in, the fact that she wanted me to swap seats with her because of her creaky seat, the way she giggled, how I fought tooth and nail to pay for such a small bill, the way she smiled when she said, “next time you’ve gotta let me pay,” and the shared excitement for our next hangout. Even though Isabella and I were still friends, even though the restaurant was a disaster, even though the fries were stale and the milkshakes chunky, that moment is one of the best in my life. With how well things were going, I thought that it was my best chance at making something more out of this friendship. So, I shot my shot. I told her that despite my efforts the summer before, she still held a special place in my heart. Isabella responded with her own struggles with recovering from a past relationship, detailing the trust issues and pain she still felt almost a year later. I was yet again, devastated. Then she added that despite her own feelings, she had to be careful and the risk of losing our friendship scared her. I understood her reasoning, but it made me sick to think of how close I was. In response, I expressed how I could relate to those feelings, and the conflict I had with them. It felt ridiculous having opened myself up once again, to just be friendzoned. Her response struck me with both hope and devastation, “I f*cking love you a ton Lincoln, but I’m struggling to differentiate my admiration as a friend and as something more. I’m terrified of losing you.” Previously I would have seen this as a sign to keep trying, but at that moment, I couldn’t see past the blatant friendzoning. After pursuing her for so long, it felt cruel of her to continue dragging me along like this, even though she was being honest. My reaction to the straw that broke the camel’s back is one of, if not, the biggest regrets in life. Homecoming was a little over a week away and she was going (as friends) with my buddy, Davis, so in a storm of hatred for myself and the situation I was in, I gave up on her. Our conversations grew to be minimal and far apart. Soon, I started to resent her. Each day since then, I have somehow felt more remorse than the last for not asking her to Homecoming. Homecoming night is when I began flirting with Claire, a sweet redhead from gym class. We connected on not going with the person we had hoped for. All it took was me joking that I should’ve spent more time around her, instead of leaving the dance early, for Claire to lose her mind. Over the next month or so, I was becoming closer and closer with Claire, despite her irritable “quirks”. I only spoke to Isabella if she reached out to me first with the only exception being when I would ask her for “advice” about Claire, which was a shameful habit I started as petty revenge on Isabella. Eventually, Isabella blocked me on Snapchat, but it didn’t matter. Things with me and Claire were going great, she made me feel like I didn’t need to starve myself to be good enough for her. She made me feel like I was enough. For the next two and a half months, life was great. After the first couple months of ignorant bliss, I was sick of her. Sure, there were a variety of reasons to find her annoying, most people I knew could list more than they have fingers and toes, but she didn’t do anything wrong. I shouldn’t have gotten into the relationship in the first place not only because of Isabella, but also the speed at which me and Claire started dating. She was still growing out of the elementary relationship phase, so while it was nice to connect with someone so quickly, it was rushed. Another issue being that I was her first real boyfriend, the baggage that followed me was detrimental to her and I couldn’t give her the attention she needed. As me and Claire began our month long drift apart, I was unblocked by Isabella. She and I caught up, and we quickly began to talk trash about Claire while on call. It was unbelievably toxic, and I’m embarrassed of how I handled things to this day. Eventually, with the support of Isabella, I decided it was time to break up. The only issue was the guilt I had in such a terrible choice, I could never do it. So I began to get more distant by the day, ignored texts and calls, and stopped walking her to classes because “I had to pee.” Eventually she caught wind of my plans and called me after school one day. Sobbing, she told me what she had heard and how she knew it wasn’t true, but it still worried her. I began to get ready to break the news, but she was already crying so what's the worst that could happen? I wish I had never asked myself that, because next she told me she’d been cutting herself. My heart sank in remorse for what I knew I would do. If I led her on longer, the aftermath of my cold actions would lead to even more catastrophe. I was scared, but knew the lesser of the two evils I had to pick from. I calmed her down, quickly notified her friends to be keeping an eye on her, and then dumped her. To this day, I am disgusted by my actions. Throughout the past three months, Claire expressed how she had loved and trusted me, yet I threw that all away. There are so many ways I could’ve handled the situation differently, but two stood out the most. Showing respect by speaking to Claire the moment I realized my feelings had fleeted was the bare minimum that I disregarded, but the second was far simpler. I had known from the start that I was still in love with Isabella and that love never faded, but was only suppressed. The entire relationship we developed, while we both enjoyed parts of it (her more than me), was a lie, and essentially a cruel joke played on Claire. There’s no excuse for my actions, and even worse, I could’ve cared less back then. It was only when time had passed that I began to understand the damage I had done. Without Claire holding me back, my newfound freedom led to a closer friendship with Isabella. I dove headfirst into the familiar pit all over again. A friendship was not enough, I appreciated every interaction I had with Isabella, but my life depended on a future with her. It’s likely she felt this as she slowly began to drift away from me. Before I had stayed up speaking to Isabella, but now I couldn’t sleep out of the tormenting absence of her voice. The only path to good health was time; distance was best for the both of us, and I knew it. For the rest of that school year, everything around me was going, but I stood still. It was like my life was just a sitcom, and I was no longer the main character. The summer that followed was just the same, I was living but dead, moving but still, speaking but silent. I was dissociating from my friends and family, but the absence of that violent snake made my depression insignificant. Living a life without her was more punishment than death itself, and I didn’t deserve relief. Even now, I think of that summer and remember almost nothing, for my life isn’t worth remembering without Isabella in it. Sophomore year began, and so did my conversations with Isabella. This go around, I was subtle with my feelings for her. The excitement I had for speaking with her was under control, but it was because the spark inside me had faded, even when it came to Isabella.The years of self pity and depression had left a toll on me that could never be reversed, and it didn’t help that Isabella began to build a relationship with another guy. When we spoke, if we did, Isabella’s concern for my mental state outweighed the friendship we were struggling to preserve. I had come to the conclusion that pursuing Isabella would only make things worse, and I needed to just be her friend. Since I couldn’t lose the feelings I had for her, I just sat in them. While I sat in the pit, Isabella and I had one particular Facetime call in which I brought up how much I regretted dating Claire. To that, Isabella added, “Yeah, she’s so annoying. I can’t remember if you told me why you got together in the first place, what led you to her?” I paused with the thousand-yard stare of an American private fresh out of West Point. “I guess I was just so disappointed with myself for not being able to go to homecoming with you and being stuck on you for so long that I impulsively got with another girl to forget about my shortcomings,” I said with reluctance and stuttering every few words. She told me that she would’ve said yes to homecoming without a second thought, but I knew she meant as friends. Then, to my dismay, Isabella revealed that whenever I got with Claire, she still had feelings for me. It was me talking to Isabella about how great things were with me and Claire that led her to block me and cut contact with me. The piano melody from “No Surprises” by Radiohead began looping through my mind as tears ran down my face. I forget how I ended the call, but once I did, I broke. I lost my breath, my head got light, my eyes became blurry, my stomach was nauseous, and my insides sank as far as they could. Everything I wanted, dreamed of, needed had been so close, and I blew it. Everything was my fault. Later I would ask her why she lost them, and her answer proved how much better she was than me. Isabella answered, “I had been hurt, so I moved on. Just got over it.” We hardly spoke anymore, but one text message has found a permanent home in my mind. After asking me how I was, Isabella wasn’t satisfied with, “it’s complicated.” She asked that I explain it to her so that she could try to understand. I told her about all the issues going on in my life, except the torch I still held for her. She wrote, “I know you’re not religious, so it may not mean anything, but I pray for you every night, Lincoln. Even though it sounds bad, I think that I've known you weren’t in the greatest mental place for a while. I want you to know I'm not judging you, I want you to feel comfortable enough to share that with someone. You have to be able to recognize how you’re feeling in order to even fix it.” These words broke me despite their simplistic appearance. Reading that she prayed for me hit me hard as she had always tried to get me to believe in God again. I’m agnostic, and nothing has come closer to bringing me back to faith as Isabella did. The idea that if God were real and I could see her in heaven was appealing, but should Christianity be the wrong choice, I wanted to be wrong with Isabella. In the following days, Isabella told me about Alex, a guy she had been talking to a lot, and how they were at most a month away from being together. I hated everything about Alex, which is a stupid name in the first place. I hated his choice of friends, I hated how white-washed he was, I hated how he dressed like a conservative cowboy, I hated the underbite that made him look like a pug, I hated his short curly hair, I hated the fact that he was a diehard Trump supporter while people of his race were being oppressed, I hated how he pretended to be someone else when he was around Isabella, I hated how he hid unhealthy habits from her, I hated that a guy like him garnered Isabella’s affection when I couldn’t. I barely knew the guy and I was wasting my energy with hatred for him, when in reality, he was just a mind-numbingly basic douche among the hundreds just like him at our school. Isabella regularly complained about Alex, but hardly did anything. Instead she stopped bringing it up, saying that talking about her issues with others only makes it worse and that she was just wining. The monotone delivery of her reasoning hurt my soul, it was like she was reciting a text from Alex. Each day that passed, I felt the urgency of expressing my feelings one more time rising. Soon Isabella and Alex would be official, and I would lose my chance to try and express how I felt one more time. I reached out to Isabella and asked if she was free to hangout that friday. On November 10, 2023, Isabella picked me up around 5:30 in the evening. She kept the inside of her SUV looking brand new in contrast to the familiarity of her smile. My nerves left me winded after every sentence and shivering in her passenger seat. Quickly our conversation became more natural as I cracked jokes to ease my anxiety, but my shaky breathing never stopped. We went to Publix to grab some snacks and drinks and headed right back to my neighborhood park. At the Grove Point Park, we found a swinging chair to sit in. Due to the time of the year, the sun had already set, but Isabella’s beauty was indifferent under the moonlight. I haven’t the slightest clue how long we sat there together. When I’m with Isabella, even Father Time gives me grace, for he knows that he is as powerless as I am to the frequency of these moments. After a while, I mentioned that it was getting late and she agreed. On the ride back to my place, I mustered the bare minimum of strength it took to confront my feelings. As she drove over the speed bump before entering the roundabout, I began to open up. I briefly told her that I still felt the same way I did two years ago, that I had tried to forget about the feelings I had with no success, and that I was sorry to once again ruin our unstable friendship. She told me it was fine and my feelings were natural, nothing to regret or be ashamed of. Her words meant nothing to me this time because I had already heard them. Defeated, I paused for a moment, then said, “Isabella, you reciprocated my feelings in the past, so after Alex, do you think that maybe we’d have a chance?” She looked at me with pain in her eyes, not for herself, but for me. She quietly said, “I- Lincoln, you know I can’t answer that. I’m with Alex now, it wouldn’t be fair.” All I could get out was, “Oh- I- I’m sorry. Uh yeah no, you’re uh- you’re right.” Everything in me pulled and begged at my lips to say what I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I still look back on that night and wish I had said the few words I never got to tell her. What if saying them could’ve changed something? Realistically, it wouldn’t have, but the regret remains. I doubt Isabella would have even remembered where my word choice stemmed from. Regardless, the words rang in my head then, and never stopped. All I wanted to say at that moment was, “but I still need you.” Today, 1,725 days since I first saw Isabella, 822 days since I first facetimed Isabella, and 178 days since that heartbreakingly beautiful night, I still love her the same. Looking back on my experience with her, I regret many things (oversharing, Claire, the snake, etc.), but the one thing I have never regretted was meeting and loving her. It was only recently that I realized that loving her has been one of the biggest mistakes in my life. For three years, day in and day out, I’ve thought about her. Three years where I could have met other people, worked on myself, enjoyed my friends and family, but instead I’ve loved her and nothing, nobody else. The one lesson that was essential for me to take away from my experience was impossible. In eighth grade I was 5’7 and 215 lbs, today I’m 5’10 and 165 lbs. In eighth grade I spent time with my parents, today I hide in my room. In eighth grade, I told people how I felt, now I’m too scared. In eighth grade, I talked about my depression, now I am left alone to deal with it. In eighth grade, I had many friends, now I rarely speak to them. In eighth grade, I needed Isabella, but the one lesson I should’ve learned never took effect. I still need her.

Hi!
I lost 8 pounds in my first 30 days with 0.25 and was told by the doctor to go up to 0.5 .
Only side effects I had were constipation and occasional nausea/feeling very full, but overall I was fine. Doctor insisted I go up to 0.5- injected on Tuesday and have had ZERO appetite, it’s been really hard to get myself to eat anything. That occasional baby nausea i had on 0.25 is completely gone but now I have the cold from HELL.
Woke up Wednesday morning feeling a little congested, sneezing throughout the entire day, nose super itchy. Come Thursday, I can’t stop sneezing, itchy nose, so much clear snot (sorry guys), clogged ears. I usually take Aleve D and it really helps with the congestion, but it hasn’t this time. Anyone else gone through this?
Can’t be sure that the cold is from this only, but timing sure is coincidental. Haven’t had any contact contact this week with anyone I know is sick. Could it be the decreased food intake?

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

Anything wrong? Worried about you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8 month old male sick for around 1 week with occasional cough, lots of snot and drool. He appears to be teething. He seemed to be getting better around 4 days ago but the next day has been having fevers for the past 3 days that have been getting progressively higher starting at 100.4 and now sustaining today around 102 with the highest rectal temp being 102.9. He has been eating and drinking and has been having wet diapers. No vomiting, diarrhea, or abnormally lethargic. We thought it was maybe a ear infection as he was pulling at his ears so we took him in this AM and his ears were clear and the doctor dx with a cold. We were just getting a little concerned this afternoon/evening as his fever is not breaking with Tylenol or ibuprofen. Last rectal temp was. 102.1. Not due for Tylenol until 2330 and ibuprofen at 0200. We have the Owlet monitor and his oxygen has been 97 or higher. HR has been 140s. He has his 9month checkup on Monday. Do we just let these fevers ride if they aren’t breaking with meds or is this something we need to take him back in for?

Long story heres some basic info
Im 15f my parents are 45m/42f.
Background-I was at costco with my parents(forced to be there-not an issue though) and they saw a couple of friends(VERY CLOSE ONES-I PRACTICALLY GREW UP THEM BUT IM NOT BIG FANS OF THEM). I waved enthusiathically and gave an eyebrow raise as an acknowledging gesture while my parent began to talk to them. I was tired and uncomfortable so i forgot to smile, they talked in the store for like twenty minutes while i was more distant and standoffish but not in a rude way. I mean they couldn't even see me as they were conversing to each other.
Climax coming soon I wrote this in the car while being overwhelmed on my phone to record this event. (edited)
[To journal]
My dad just got angry at me because he thinks I was being rude to our family friends. He briefly mentioned it in the store then went ballistic in the car(WHILE DRIVING. To paraphrase, he said I need to learn to socialize, and "mingle", otherwise I will end up alone for the rest of my life. (I have anxiety and was already overwhelmed by earlier events at school and was having a very bad day) he started to lecture me and I asked him to just drop it. In fact he's brought this topic up before, it isn't new at all, its very common. When i asked to stop he just responded "listen to my words but idc if you heed them or not". I told him i merely didn't want to listen and he yelled and said plug your ears, them rambled about me being disobedient and disrespectful. I simply closed my eyes, put on my hood, and put a finger in each ear, but started silently crying unfortunately (they didn't notice).
I don't cry all the time, and I do stand up for myself when its needed. I usually avoid talking to them though. Sorry that's not very relevant right now.
Let me continue, my dad stopped at another store and left me and mom in the car. She said- a direct quote of our convo here-
"You should be more respectful and kind and considerate to your parents, we just want the bes-"
"Stop talking please mom, I can't do this right now"
"No. That's not going to happen YOU NEED TO HEAR THIS AND UNDERSTAND..." ( this would've cued the narcissism and emotional invalidation but I cut her off. Again.)
"Mom, I know you had a headache yesterday but you don't have give me one either. I said stop."
"You think you're always right and we're all just stupid. But that's the wrong way to think."
I then plug my ears again and start proper crying (yes snot and tears). Sniffing loudly. My dad came back shortly and I just spent the rest of the ride trying contain my tears. The end.
I'm not sure how to respond in these situations. Not only do they emotionally invalidate me. They corner me and force me to comply. If i don't i'm told there is an issue with my attitude. They also partake in narcisstic rage and can get physically violent at times(spanking arms or pinching inner thighs ) WHICH IS ACTUALLY LEGAL IN CANADA?? This is a consistent problem and greatly affects my anxiety (which they don't believe in and they don't allow me a therapist- bC mEntAl hEalTh isn"T reAl oFc). Now what? I don't wanna live like this.

Long story heres some basic info
Im 15f my parents are 45m/42f.
Background-I was at costco with my parents(forced to be there-not an issue though) and they saw a couple of friends(VERY CLOSE ONES-I PRACTICALLY GREW UP THEM BUT IM NOT BIG FANS OF THEM). I waved enthusiathically and gave an eyebrow raise as an acknowledging gesture while my parent began to talk to them. I was tired and uncomfortable so i forgot to smile, they talked in the store for like twenty minutes while i was more distant and standoffish but not in a rude way. I mean they couldn't even see me as they were conversing to each other.
Climax coming soon I wrote this in the car while being overwhelmed on my phone to record this event. (edited)
[To journal]
My dad just got angry at me because he thinks I was being rude to our family friends. He briefly mentioned it in the store then went ballistic in the car(WHILE DRIVING. To paraphrase, he said I need to learn to socialize, and "mingle", otherwise I will end up alone for the rest of my life. (I have anxiety and was already overwhelmed by earlier events at school and was having a very bad day) he started to lecture me and I asked him to just drop it. In fact he's brought this topic up before, it isn't new at all, its very common. When i asked to stop he just responded "listen to my words but idc if you heed them or not". I told him i merely didn't want to listen and he yelled and said plug your ears, them rambled about me being disobedient and disrespectful. I simply closed my eyes, put on my hood, and put a finger in each ear, but started silently crying unfortunately (they didn't notice).
I don't cry all the time, and I do stand up for myself when its needed. I usually avoid talking to them though. Sorry that's not very relevant right now.
Let me continue, my dad stopped at another store and left me and mom in the car. She said- a direct quote of our convo here-
"You should be more respectful and kind and considerate to your parents, we just want the bes-"
"Stop talking please mom, I can't do this right now"
"No. That's not going to happen YOU NEED TO HEAR THIS AND UNDERSTAND..." ( this would've cued the narcissism and emotional invalidation but I cut her off. Again.)
"Mom, I know you had a headache yesterday but you don't have give me one either. I said stop."
"You think you're always right and we're all just stupid. But that's the wrong way to think."
I then plug my ears again and start proper crying (yes snot and tears). Sniffing loudly. My dad came back shortly and I just spent the rest of the ride trying contain my tears. The end.
I'm not sure how to respond in these situations. Not only do they emotionally invalidate me. They corner me and force me to comply. If i don't i'm told there is an issue with my attitude. They also partake in narcisstic rage and can get physically violent at times(spanking arms or pinching inner thighs ) WHICH IS ACTUALLY LEGAL IN CANADA?? This is a consistent problem and greatly affects my anxiety (which they don't believe in and they don't allow me a therapist- bC mEntAl hEalTh isn"T reAl oFc). Now what? I don't wanna live like this.

Long story heres some basic info
Im 15f my parents are 45m/42f.
Background-I was at costco with my parents(forced to be there-not an issue though) and they saw a couple of friends(VERY CLOSE ONES-I PRACTICALLY GREW UP THEM BUT IM NOT BIG FANS OF THEM). I waved enthusiathically and gave an eyebrow raise as an acknowledging gesture while my parent began to talk to them. I was tired and uncomfortable so i forgot to smile, they talked in the store for like twenty minutes while i was more distant and standoffish but not in a rude way. I mean they couldn't even see me as they were conversing to each other.
Climax coming soon I wrote this in the car while being overwhelmed on my phone to record this event. (edited)
[To journal]
My dad just got angry at me because he thinks I was being rude to our family friends. He briefly mentioned it in the store then went ballistic in the car(WHILE DRIVING. To paraphrase, he said I need to learn to socialize, and "mingle", otherwise I will end up alone for the rest of my life. (I have anxiety and was already overwhelmed by earlier events at school and was having a very bad day) he started to lecture me and I asked him to just drop it. In fact he's brought this topic up before, it isn't new at all, its very common. When i asked to stop he just responded "listen to my words but idc if you heed them or not". I told him i merely didn't want to listen and he yelled and said plug your ears, them rambled about me being disobedient and disrespectful. I simply closed my eyes, put on my hood, and put a finger in each ear, but started silently crying unfortunately (they didn't notice).
I don't cry all the time, and I do stand up for myself when its needed. I usually avoid talking to them though. Sorry that's not very relevant right now.
Let me continue, my dad stopped at another store and left me and mom in the car. She said- a direct quote of our convo here-
"You should be more respectful and kind and considerate to your parents, we just want the bes-"
"Stop talking please mom, I can't do this right now"
"No. That's not going to happen YOU NEED TO HEAR THIS AND UNDERSTAND..." ( this would've cued the narcissism and emotional invalidation but I cut her off. Again.)
"Mom, I know you had a headache yesterday but you don't have give me one either. I said stop."
"You think you're always right and we're all just stupid. But that's the wrong way to think."
I then plug my ears again and start proper crying (yes snot and tears). Sniffing loudly. My dad came back shortly and I just spent the rest of the ride trying contain my tears. The end.
I'm not sure how to respond in these situations. Not only do they emotionally invalidate me. They corner me and force me to comply. If i don't i'm told there is an issue with my attitude. They also partake in narcisstic rage and can get physically violent at times(spanking arms or pinching inner thighs ) WHICH IS ACTUALLY LEGAL IN CANADA?? This is a consistent problem and greatly affects my anxiety (which they don't believe in and they don't allow me a therapist- bC mEntAl hEalTh isn"T reAl oFc). Now what? I don't wanna live like this.

Chapter 117
Four green-scaled Skeeths pulled our carriage through the market. We weren’t cramped in the back of a shabby cart but comfortably accommodated in the padded seats of a luxurious carriage with bronze guardrails and an upholstered interior. In our blue uniforms, we looked like nobility.
The start of the tournament had taken the city by surprise, and hundreds of people slowly walked to the Great Hall. Prince Adrien went all in with the event. Hundreds of flags hung over the market streets, and town criers announced the dozens of teams that would participate. I wondered where the tournament would take place. Farcrest didn’t have an arena, and the grounds of the Great Hall weren’t big enough to house such an event, even with all the wooden stands magical woodworkers could raise.
The people on the street quickly moved to the side as the coach approached. Despite the muzzles and straps, Skeeths were naturally aggressive, and their long claws could rip open the sturdiest monsters. The royal army used them in areas where horses would be easy prey.
The Skeeths hissed at each other but continued moving in a straight line. Elincia laughed as she watched the beasts and squeezed my arm. The passersby looked at us, trying to guess what noble house we represented in the tournament. I wondered how many knew we were from the poor orphanage in the Northern district. They looked at us with reverence. Little did they know we were nothing but a wild gamble by the crown prince.
“Four Skeeths, no less,” Elincia giggled under her veil. “People will think we are part of the royal family.”
Firana waved at the crowd. I made [Awareness] take a ‘screenshot’ of her smile; there were no traces of the old, distrustful Firana I had met when I started working at the orphanage. Firana encouraged the crowd. Getting the Wind Fencer class had boosted her self-esteem to perilous heights, but I decided to save the humbling lectures for later.
In the opposite seat, the story was completely different. Zaon leaned forward, shielding his head between his legs, his skin almost as green as Wolf's. I left my spot and sat next to him.
“Remember what Captain Kiln said?” I asked, putting my arm around Zaon’s shoulders. He raised his head.
“Eh… that she will go to the orphanage for a celebratory drink?” Zaon asked.
Izabeka had said that, but that wasn’t what I wanted Zaon to remember.
“Captain Kiln said that a Lv.2 in Longsword Mastery is way above average for a classless person,” I said. “Most of the opponents you will face didn’t touch a sword until after they got their classes. Even if they have Classes and levels above you, the time they have been training is the same as ours. They train for power; we train for skill.”
Zaon nodded.
“I know,” he muttered.
“Nervous is good, Zaon. Accept the feeling; don’t fight it,” I said reassuringly.
Zaon took a deep breath. “Nervous is good. Nervous is good. Nervous is good,” he repeated like a mantra.
“You have fought real foes before, Zaon. Your opponents today are kids just like you.” I said. “Just remember the secret technique, and you’ll be good.”
Firana seemed to hear our hushed conversation because she promptly pounced over my shoulder.
“What secret technique?” She asked.
“It’s a boy thing. You wouldn’t get it,” Zaon replied with a mocking half-smile.
Firana climbed over me and dove on Zaon, trying to immobilize him. The elven boy fought back, his skin turning a healthier hue as he struggled against Firana. I returned to Elincia’s side, giving them space to brawl in peace.
“Shouldn’t you stop them?” Ilya asked, her feet hanging a couple centimeters over the carriage’s floor.
“They are warming up for the tournament,” I replied. “In the meantime, you can brawl with Wolf.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow.
“I’d rather not,” she replied with a sulking expression. “I don’t understand why Wolf hasn’t gotten his class yet. We are handicapping ourselves without a good reason.”
Wolf opened an eye, interrupting his meditation.
“I can win without a Class. In fact, I could probably squash a Lv.2 gnome with an arm tied behind my back,” he replied.
“Want to try, Big Snot?” Ilya replied, channeling mana to her hands.
I laughed. It was good to see everyone in such a good mood. After months of hard work, we had the opportunity to show everyone the real capabilities of a bunch of orphans. Mister Lowell might not have been happy with the circumstances; he was a pacifist, after all, but his dream of seeing the line between nobility and commoners erased was a step closer.
I stretched my back and looked at the crowd.
“Come on, kids! We are representing Farcrest in this tournament. Act accordingly,” I said as we crossed the main gate.
The inner gates were crowded, and the guardsmen had to open a path for the carriage to enter. It seemed the tournament was going to be in the Great Hall. A double line of soldiers guarded the Great Hall entrance, funneling the spectators around the main building and into the gardens. I expected the most influential citizens of Farcrest to be there, but I underestimated the number of people invited.
The carriage reached the stairs and stopped. The Skeeth hissed at the soldiers in full armor. The coachman fastened the reins and opened the small door for us. Then, with all the deference in the world, he helped us climb down. Firana enjoyed the regal treatment.
Once we descended from the carriage, I offered Elincia my arm, and we climbed the stairs. The spectators looked at us from the sidelines, probably assuming we were guests from far away. Ilya got some quizzical looks. Gnomes were already rare in this part of the kingdom, and she seemed out of place between Firana and Wolf. The soldiers let us through, and we entered the Great Hall. Just beyond the doorway, Captain Kiln was waiting for us.
“Any suspicious activity around the orphanage?” She whispered as soon as we met.
I shook my head. Since the attack, things had been calm.
Captain Kiln turned around, and we walked into the Great Hall. The vestibule seemed empty without the dozens of courtiers whispering in the corners. I guessed they might already be in the tournament.
“Any leads regarding our troubles at the feast?” I asked. The poisoning attempt against Captain Kiln had flown under the radar, and no further clues had been found.
“Vedras agreed to help us test the poison used on Raudhan, but the shards of the glass disappeared. They were locked inside a secure room,” Captain Kiln replied, leaning towards me and whispering. “Whoever is trying to mess with us is either a ghost or a high-level assassin with the skill of traversing closed doors.”
A ghost with ties to organized crime.
“What are you talking about?” Firana interrupted our conversation.
“We are talking about the tournament brackets,” Captain Kiln said, patting my back. It seems someone wants your head really bad, boy. Rumor has it that the Osgiarian dogs are on the hunt for a certain Scholar.”
“Aren’t the matches randomly chosen?” Elincia asked.
Captain Kiln gave us one of her usual disappointed glances.
“Do you really think the noble houses would leave the matches to luck?” She said, “Osgirians got the memo. They know you are part of the royal faction and think you are the weakest link.”
“Are we facing the Osgirian team in the first round?” I asked.
“No, one of his lackeys,” Captain Kiln replied, guiding us through a long corridor I had never been before.
I let out a massive sigh of relief. As much as I trusted my process and the kids' skills, fighting in front of an audience was completely different from sparring in the backyard of the manor with the younger orphans running around. A small foe was perfect to test the waters. It was also an excellent opportunity to show Prince Adrien we were a valuable asset to his cause.
“Are you even allowed to tell me this?” I asked.
Captain Kiln sighed. “No. Anyway, you are fighting against Lord Nara, a wealthy merchant who bought his way into nobility. A noble of the robe, not the sword, if you may. That’s all I know; I have been too busy to do a background check of his team.”
Elincia put her hand on Captain Kiln’s shoulder. “If you are tired, you can always crash at the orphanage for the weekend. Despite the rabble currently crashing at the orphanage, there are plenty of free rooms.”
“Thanks, Elincia, but I need to stay by Tauron’s side,” Captain Kiln replied as she opened a lateral door. “We are here.”
The door led us to the inner gardens. Hundreds of spectators waited on the sidelines, sitting in stone benches around fountains or walking among the flowerbeds and low vegetal mazes. Other than the small gravel path between the Great Hall and the gardens, there wasn’t a place to properly call the arena.
“A thousand more are heading to the Great Hall right now,” I mentioned.
Captain Kiln shrugged it off and guided us into a red and black pavilion attached to the Great Hall’s exterior wall. More than twenty teams were already inside, waiting for the start of the tournament. I examined the room. Near the entrance, Lord Gairon and a group of six tall young boys and girls dressed in blue and gold watched the crowd. By his side, House Herran’s team played a board game with dice and tokens. They wore green uniforms with a gray hammer printed on their chests. In the corner of the room, Lord Osgiria instructed his team with a severe expression. They wore black uniforms with a white tower embroidered on the shoulder.
I recognized the House Vedras team, dressed in green and violet, and the House Jorn team, dressed in silver with the crest of the red falcon catching a fish. For an instant, I thought the Jorn team was composed solely of elves, but a quick glance at their ears told me they were just tall, pale, and blonde, almost Nordic-looking. I recognized Duke Jorn standing silently in the corner, accompanied by Lyra Jorn.
A wave of murmurs rose as we entered the pavilion. I could feel their eyes following us, trying to place us among the sea of nobility. The feast guests already knew who we were, but the ones who arrived afterward could only guess. The great ducal houses ignored us. However, Lord Osgiria gave us a hostile glance before focusing on his team.
We walked to the corner of the tent, where a small pennant with a white rose over a blue field signaled our place. I looked around. There were still several empty spaces inside the pavilion.
“See? They are kids like you,” I said, patting Zaon’s back.
“The members of the House Herran team look strong, though,” Firana pointed out.
Captain Kiln joked, “They are thrown into a mine as soon as they can walk.”
“People who live between a mountain range and the Farlands are bound to be strong,” Lyra Jorn said out of nowhere. Good afternoon, Master Clarke. I received your message. I’m sorry for my late arrival, but I had matters to attend to.”
The girl caught me by surprise; she was just as stealthy as her father. I remember being unable to detect him approaching even with [Awareness] working at full steam. I wondered if that was a trait of the Jorn family.
“Good afternoon, Lyra. Don’t worry about it; we are always ready to receive you,” I replied.
Lyra let out a sigh of relief.
“What a relief! I am so excited to study under your guidance. I have even dreamt about you… I mean about the things you have to teach and the machines from your land,” Lyra quickly corrected herself as she felt Elincia’s green eyes.
“That’s good to hear, but…” I said. “What kept you so busy?”
Or rather, what prevented you from being at the orphanage during the assassin’s attack?
“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” Lady Jorn said. “Preceptor Holst asked my help to reorganize the Farcrest library.”
I froze for a moment. There were two possibilities: Holst delayed Lyra’s departure to create a free window of time for the assassins to attack, or he did it because he knew of the attack and wanted to keep Lyra safe. The second option wasn’t very compelling, but Holst had implied his attack on the orphanage was a one-time thing due to a favor he owed.
“You are welcome as soon as you are available,” I said, my jaw suddenly stiff.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, I will do my best. I promise. I have even convinced my father this is a good idea. The Jorn Duchy is far from commercial centers. We would benefit greatly from any development in transport technologies,” Lyra Jorn said, but I wasn’t listening anymore.
Holst might be the only link between us and the culprit behind the attacks.
“Is there any way of going around a Silence Hex?” I asked.
“Is this a test?” Lady Jorn said, embarrassed. “Oh! House Jorn is more than willing to pay for your inventions. We wouldn’t dream of enriching ourselves at the expense of other people’s work.”
“We are not going to put a Silence Hex on you, Lyra,” Elincia sighed. “Rob is probably thinking about something else. He does this all the time. It might feel like he’s talking to you, but he is actually thinking about two or three different things.”
Lyra let out an awkward laugh, “I understand. People say that about me sometimes.”
“What’s this about a Silence Hex, then? That’s not an amateur spell,” Captain Kiln asked.
“You should check Holst’s tongue,” I said.
Captain Kiln grinned. “I know Darius can be harsh. At times, I want to cast a Silence Hex on him…”
Then, the realization hit her, but before she could reply, the sound of a horn filled the pavilion.
Outside, a small army of men and women dressed in green and beige robes and headbands with antlers fixed to the sides entered the garden. They lined up in the gravel path and raised their hands over their heads. For a moment, I thought they would perform a musical number. Instead, a sudden mana discharge made the ground tremble. An area spell? Out of nowhere, the trees and bushes uprooted themselves and walked through the crowd to the outskirts, leaving a vast empty area in the middle of the Great Hall grounds.
The performance didn’t stop there. A second group dressed in terracotta-colored robes appeared from around the corner. With a movement of their arms, stands made of sandstone emerged from the ground and raised several meters over the ground. A myriad of different enchanted banners and flags flew from the Great Hall’s windows, perching in the newly created masts. I couldn’t help but laugh, amazed by the scene. Where there was a well-kept garden, now was a dueling arena with stands for thousands of spectators. There was even a roofed area for the VIPs.
The spectators started to flood the stands. Prince Adrien waved at the crowd from the royal booth, accompanied by an attractive woman in a luxurious purple dress. The whole city was there: members from the Alchemists Guild, the Sentinels, high-ranking officers of the Guard, nobles from all around the kingdom, and wealthy merchants. On the plain stands, several thousand commoners were gathering together.
A small man dressed in a ceremonial robe stood in the middle of the arena. For a moment, I thought his voice would get drowned by the crowd, but, to my surprise, it came out amplified with a spell. After a quick introduction to the event, he presented the teams.
The Marquis was the first to enter the arena, followed by Istvan Kiln and the rest of his team. Shortly after, Captain Kiln, with a team of young Guard cadets, joined him. The audience went wild, cheering for the city teams.
“Are you ready, team?” I asked, turning around.
Zaon smiled, Ilya gave me the thumbs up, Wolf nodded, and Firana raised her fist in defiance.
“And the third team and last team representing Farcrest,” the master of ceremonies stuttered as he examined the fixture. “Lowell’s Orphanage.”
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21, Male, 5'7", 145 lbs, Caucasian, 6 days, New York State
Hello! I'm an otherwise perfectly healthy 21 year old (no known allergies, conditions, or medications, other than prescription glasses), I started getting sick Saturday while out of town. It started with a sore throat and a headache in the evening, and I then woke up at 5 in the morning on Sunday with a bit worsened symptoms as well as weakness, and went to the hotel bathroom to go vomit. Vomiting made my stomach feel a little better, though it nay have been the heat of the room that made my stomach turn. Sunday was about the same as Saturday, with a bit of a runny nose, headache, sore throat, and weakness, and it persisted all day as I made my way home at night. Monday morning, I woke up with a runnier nose, just a constant stream of mucus ranging in viscosity, color, and opacity. Monday evening, it started coming out of my right eye as well as my nose, constant thick boogers oozing out from under and above my eyeball, and my right eye turned completely red. Tuesday morning, my right eye was completely stuck shut with discharge and needed to be washed clean. Tuesday evening, my left eye starting to produce discharge and turn red, also. The other symptoms have not let up. By Tuesday night, both eyes are red and producing lots of discharge, my throat is sore, I'm weak, and I have a headache. Wednesday morning, I wake up with a small cough, and both eyes completely stuck shut. I had to blindly walk to the bathroom to wash them. Through the day, there are less boogers coming from them, though they are still sore, swollen, red, and sticky. Throughout the day wednesday, my cough worsens. The other symptoms stay the same. I wake up today, Thursday, blinded again, and wash my eyes. Throughout the day, my cough has gotten much worse. I'm very frequently hacking up thick opaque globs, and my nose is just pouring snot. I went through four boxes of tissues in the past three days, and bought four more today. My right ear now feels popped and my right TMJ hurts a bit when I chew. My cough keeps getting worse and my eyes arent improving, though I no longer have a headache most of the day.
My insurance expired just about a week ago and my new application has been stalled as they needed some verification. It should be confirmed soon, but I can't go to urgent care as they need payment in the moment, they won't bill me for insurance to cover retroactively (NYS Medicaid is what I'm getting)
I don't wanna clog up the emergency room since I don't think I'm dying, but I'm not sure what else to do. Should I just tough it out? It seems to be only getting worse.

Not replacing anyone
Hey there everyone! I hope you’re having a great day! I’m looking for a new long term lit/adv. lit partner. Here’s a bit more on what I’m looking for:

• A literate writer who uses a decent amount of detail in their writing. The more the better! It gives the story a lot more depth and makes it more enjoyable to read. The two to five paragraph range is what I’m looking, and of course more is always welcome.
  
• Someoene who can reply at least once a day. I understand that life is important, and there are things that come before a roleplay. So long as I don’t get ghosted and I have a set timeframe in which you’re going to be unavailable, I’m fine with a bit of a wait!
  
• OOC is important. I find world building rather fun, so piecing together a longer story is ideal. I do have a few ideas floating around in my head, so we could pick from them, or we could start from scratch!
  
• The genres I’d like to to/ that are at the top of my priority list include sci-fi, post apocalyptic, cyberpunk, action, and possibly crime. The only fandoms I’d be willing to do are jujutsu kaisen and The Last of Us.
  

If you do end up messaging me, please make sure to include a small description of yourself, including your literacy level, and if you have one on hand, an example of your writing would be nice as well.
And one more very niche but random idea I have is a roleplay based in the universe of the book series Leviathan, by Scott Westerfeld. I’ll explain the premise behind it should you take interest to it.
Here’s an example of work, just so you can get a feel for my style;
Something about this situation felt all too familiar to him. As Parker spoke with whoever was on the other end of his little earpiece, he took a moment to look at him. It was as if he were looking through some sort of lens to the past. Then it hit him. Everything about Parker reminded Calihan of Kidd. The two of them would always piss off some drunken old guy at a red light and run him all around the city for the hell of it. Those were the days. Getting into trouble all for the thrill of it and pissing off to some side alley to hide out from the heat. That was how the knuckleheads got so close. They were practically brothers. And their current situation scratched that same itch. That same longing for excitement. For the rush. A warm smile creeps its way onto his face. Once they made it out of all this, Cal would have to offer him a spot on the team as well. Kidd wouldn’t mind it after all, because there’d be someone else to stay on his ass about keeping a stim handy. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely had time to register Parker’s warning. Before he knew it, his body was being thrown to the side by the momentum of their quick turnaround. The beautiful symphony of metal crashing into metal was muffled through the door of the car, but the picture of the wreck was as clear as day. Cal gripped at the handle above the door with a crazed grin on his face. The lunatic was already cooking up a plan in his head when Parker spoke up. “Yeah…leave 'em to me.” He mumbles while rolling down his window. His eyes were glued to the rearview mirror now, staring daggers into the darkened windshield of their pursuers. As soon as the thin pane of glass was no longer visible, Calihan hoists himself out of his seat and out the window, clambering up onto the roof.
The wind brought about by the rate of their acceleration blew strands of his white hair every which way. Calihan brings one of his hands up to his face to shield it from the flow of air fighting against him. His footsteps were heavy against the roof of the vehicle as he made his way toward the rear, crouching down to grip the spoiler of the car to hold him steady. Golden eyes scanned the blur of yellow lines that divided the road mixed in with the occasional pothole or missing piece of asphalt. Cal releases the breath in his chest that he’d been holding unknowingly, as if to calm himself down. “Alright…” he whispers to no one but himself to try and make light of the situation. “You got this. You got this…” His gaze now lifts and falls upon their pursuers. There were about four people total in the vehicle. The driver, who had the most deadpan expression on his face as if he’d done this a dozen times over. Then there was the front passenger. He was in the middle of loading a new magazine in the bloodthirsty assault rifle held in between his legs. He must have been new or something, because it took him a while to figure out where the safety on the weapon was. This only earned him a few disappointed groans and a whack to the back of the head for his ignorance. The rest of the merry crew poked their heads out into the space between the driver and passenger seat.
Calihan stared down at the worn fabric of his shoes, waiting for that familiar low hum from his hockey puck-esque tech. Sadly, Calihan had recovered quicker than they were able to keep up with, and his systems were still squashing any bugs left behind from that damn traitor’s tampering. His lips purse in anger at the thought of Doc, but that brief moment of disdain is quickly strewn aside by the impact of a bullet striking the car mere inches away from his foot. Calihan lifts his head again to see the new guy leaning out of the window with his rifle pointed at him. “Hey P!” Cal shouts over the roar of wind in his ears. A fragile, fearful smile crept onto his face as he let go of the steel sheet of metal. Adrenaline and fear danced around in his stomach, mimicking the feeling of butterflies on a first date. “I’ll be right back!” Was the last thing that left his mouth before taking a grand leap toward the vehicle. Cal lands on the hood of the black SUV chest first, forcing every bit of air out of his lungs. There was no time for him to sit and catch his breath, however, for the moment he lifts his head to see if he was still alive or not, he is only met with the barrel of a silver pistol with a camouflage grip. In between pitiful attempts to catch his breath, Cal fires off a series of curses and rolls himself to the side, just narrowly avoiding a shot that would have landed right between his eyes. The ends of his jacket whip around madly in the wind as he clings to the side of the truck with as much strength as his implants would allow. Had he rolled any further than he did, he would have become a red streak on the road.
One of the men from the back seat flings open one of the car doors, nearly sending Calihan’s head down into his stomach. “Where’d he go!?” Shouts the attacker, half hanging out of the cab of the truck with one foot planted loosely on the footrest down below. Cal smirks at this. The poor fool had no clue what was in store for him. The man sitting on the other side of the vehicle turns away for a moment to make sure they weren’t too far away from Parker’s newly acquired ride. The cockyness in his voice was sickening. “That piece of work is gonna pay for that. He won’t know what hit ‘em! Ain’t that right….Julio!?” The man’s arrogance quickly turned into panic. Julio was nowhere in sight. The open door swung about freely now, only to be torn off the hinges by a set of mechanical hands. “What the hell’s going on back there Danny?!” Shouts the driver, staring fiercely into the rearview mirror. The once arrogant man was now in a state of complete and utter terror. “Who the hell did the boss send us after!?” Danny shouts with a broken voice. The answer to his question comes in the form of Calihan’s fist shattering the window next to him and grabbing hold of his collar. The only thing visible was the orange glow of his eyes and a joyous grin. “Shoot this freak Oscar!! Danny shouts, trying his best to pry himself free of Cal’s iron grip. This man was filled with the fear of god now. Snot trickled from his nose and tears stained his cheeks. He opens his mouth to order the man to open fire once more, but Calihan yanks Danny out of his seatbelt and through the window before he could even get a peep out. The two men lock eyes as Cal holds him out over the open road with wind ticking at his face. “Hey man!” Cal shouts with a friendly smile. One hand held firm onto the side of the vehicle while the other one hoisted the fearful man high in the air. “If you survive this, tell your boss to piss off!” Danny’s eyes grow as wide as an owl’s. He begins to plead with the amber eyed monster, but Calihan slams his head against the side of the SUV and tosses him into oncoming traffic. Two down, two to go.
“Parker!!” Calihan shouts with one hand cupped beside his mouth in hopes that his voice wouldn’t be lost with the wind. “Be ready to floor it!!” He barely had time to get the words out of his mouth before a flurry of bullets pepper the door beside him. Luck for him, the new guy was a terrible shot. Clearly someone didn’t give enough of a damn to send him on his way and just overlooked that part. In a spider-like fashion, Calihan crawls onto the roof of the vehicle and pulls himself up into a crouch. His heart was pounding out of his chest from the rush of everything, and his legs were trembling from the slight fatigue. On top of that, he could feel the repercussions of not heeding Charlie’s warnings. His hands were becoming stiff. Unresponsive. Another hushed curse leaves his mouth as he hones in on the back windshield of Parker’s car. He needed to put an end to things. Fast. The center of his palms dawn their trademark orange glow. Much brighter this time around compared to what he did to Charlie. The gaps in between the panels of his hands begin to let out smoke because of the amount of concentrated energy. He was putting everything he had into his next act.
A quivering breath slips between his cracked lips as Calihan takes action. He slides down the windshield feet first. Once the tip of his tattered sneaker makes contact with the hood of the vehicle, he pushes off the glass with his elbow and brings the palm of his hand down with great force. The hood crumbles like a sheet of aluminum beneath his hand as an orange wave of electricity seizes the control of the SUV and locks the front wheels, sending the metal coffin into a front wheelie of sorts. This launches Cal into the air, setting up for step two of his grand finale. Calihan curls his other supercharged hand into a fist and drives it into the truck. The shockwave front the impact is barely enough to send him hurtling toward Parker. His body crashes through the back windshield, littering the back seat with shards of glass. “Haha!! Hell yeah!!” Cal exclaims through exhausted breaths. He sits up as quickly as he can to witness the crumpled hunk of metal tumbling along for a few more meters before skidding to a stop. The two remaining attackers were motionless in the front seats. The initial wave of electricity was enough to fry the bastards. The second one was a little overkill though…
Well wishes, and potentially, see you soon!