Red aesthetic pictures

Up for sale is a somewhat salty Holosun 403R on a Unity Micro 2.26” mount. Both are spray painted Aka rattle canned on the exterior. Glass is crystal clear no scratches. Red dot is crisp as well. Original box and accessories for the 403R but I do not have the box/accessories for the unity mount. The 403R will come mounted to the unity mount as pictured.
once again - these are spray painted/rattle canned. Please take a look at the pics and let me know if you have any questions.
$215 shipped. PayPal F&F preferred.
https://imgur.com/a/nDgC0G9

My friends weren’t exactly enthusiastic about meeting me at a place called the “Death Ridge Lodge,” even after I told them that “Dethritch” was just the name of the shepherd who used to own the land. Truth was, I was more than a little nervous myself. I’d been out of the country for five years; there had been calls and letters, but my friends and I hadn’t seen each other in all that time…would we still have the connection that we once did?
Some of the changes that time had wrought were surprising; others, less so. We’d all expected my stubborn, brilliant friend Jennifer to be an attorney like her father–but in a story straight out of a cheesy Hallmark movie, she’d married a guy from a tiny town in Kentucky and had two kids. Meanwhile, Ned–a loudmouthed, extroverted redhead–had somehow ended up working from a lonely home office as a computer programmer.
And then there was Zoe.
She’d been my crush since our sophomore year of college. It wasn’t just her auburn hair or piercing green eyes; it was the care and honesty she showed in everything she did. Before her, I’d never met someone who really listened, who really cared about other people without working their own angle. We’d all expected great things for her…but in the end, she’d wound up like me. Back in our hometown. Unsure about the future.
But now that so much time had passed, would we even have anything in common anymore?
As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. Not even the wailing winter storm and unexpected power outages could dampen our good time. Ned, Zoe, Jennifer, and I gathered around a roaring flagstone fireplace, sharing our favorite scary stories and urban legends. It didn’t matter that the howling wind made going outside deadly, or that snow had cut off the forest road to the outside world: we had warmth, food, booze–and our rediscovered friendship. We also had Lee.
When we arrived, Lee explained to us that he was the off-season caretaker of Dethritch Lodge and the surrounding cabins. During tourist season in summer, the place swarmed with hospitality workers, but from fall to spring Lee mostly had the place to himself. When the blizzard hit, he made a point of checking in on us.
“Temperature's goin’ down out there,” he warned us that fateful night. “Visibility Is almost zero. You kids wouldn’t wanna get lost out there tonight…or any other night.”
“Don’t worry,” Zoe smiled. “We have no intention of going outside in that.” She pointed to the wind-driven snow that was rattling against the window panes.
“It can’t be that easy to get lost though, can it?” Ned–always the contrarian–asked. “I mean, we’re on the side of a mountain. To go one way you just go down, and to go the other way you just go back up, right?”
“Not that simple.” Lee grunted, pulling up a stool. “We’re a hundred miles from civilization out here, and if you can’t recognize any landmarks, all them pine trees out there look the same. Even if you think you know where you’re goin,’ this mountain likes to play tricks. The gentle slope you walk down in fall might be dangerously steep in spring; boulders tumble, streams change course, and paths disappear from one season to the next. There’s dozens of trails criss-crossin’ this ol’ mountain: 1800’s logging roads, game trails, other paths so old it’s impossible to tell who made’em. Trust me, you lose your way out there, all you’re gonna get is more an’ more lost..and then you’ll start to panic. An’ at that point, if hypothermia an’ hunger an’ the bears don’t getcha, ol’ man Dethritch and his dogs will.”
“Dethritch?” “Dogs?” Zoe and Jennifer asked at once.
“Just how much do you four know about Dethritch Lodge?”
“Not much,” I admitted. “I was looking for a place where my old friends and I could meet up over the holidays, the place looked cozy, had hiking and skiing and good reviews…besides, back then, the weather forecast said we’d have a clear weekend...”
Lee nodded, as if that was about what he expected. “It’s an odd place…with an odd history. Just after the Revolutionary War, a man named Jebediah Dethritch showed up here and started construction on a cabin. He said that the mountain had called to him, that he’d seen it in a dream, an’ that Patrick Henry had gifted him the entire mountainside in exchange for services rendered during the war. There was plenty of land back then, and grants were being handed out like candy, so no one called him on it. Besides, folks wanted farmland, not the slope of a damn mountain. They all thought Jeb Dethritch was crazy, but he carved a life outta these hills, swearing that he and the land were one flesh. Jeb and his sons felled forests, dragged out the stumps, and planted orchards; they set up secret garden patches back in the woods; raised chickens, cows, and a flock of sheep. For a while, things were good.” The old man stared into the fire. “If you young people get bored with all this history, just say so…”
“Well, it’s not like we’ve got anything better to do, do we?” Ned scoffed.
“No, please go on. It’s interesting.” Zoe reassured Lee; Ned rolled his eyes.
“Well, the years rolled by. Jeb died and passed his land on to his son and grandson, who went on livin’ the same way he had. Meanwhile, towns were buildin’ up around the mountain. The more they expanded, the more folks demanded proof that the mountain really belonged to the Dethritches. By the end of the Civil War–that’s to say, Jeb’s great-grandson’s time–nobody cared about yellowed papers and ancient claims. Folks wanted the mountain developed, and kept suin’ ‘til they found a judge who agreed with’em. Amos Dethritch got a few acres and the rest went to minin’ and loggin’ companies. But takin’ advantage of the Dethritchs’ land was no easy task. See, the Dethritches refused to accept the court’s decision. They kept livin’ in their hidden shacks on the mountainside, and made life hell for the companies who, from their point of view, were trespassing’ on their property. Every day there were downed trees on the road, supplies burnt, animals missin’...it went on for decades, all the way into the 1900’s. And while nobody had been hurt in Amos Dethritch’s little guerrilla war, it was costin’ those companies more than the mountain was worth. They had to put a stop to it. The first sign of trouble was when Alice Dethritch–Amos’ wife from back east–stopped comin’ into town to sell her honey an’ fruit preserves.. A few days later, Amos was found in the middle of a dirt loggin’ road, surrounded by his three mastiffs. They’d all been shot to pieces. Ten years later, some trappers found Alice and the kids in a shallow grave. They said it looked like they’d died…badly.”
“So who did it?” Jennifer asked.
“Well, nobody can prove nothin’ about nothin,’ but a group of flashy out-of-towners rode in on the last train from Chicago that night, an’ left in the mornin.’ Folks in town said they saw lantern lights goin’ up the loggin’ road, and gunfire in the hollers…” Lee stared thoughtfully into the fireplace. “In a way, though, I guess you could say the Dethritches won out in the end. The mountain never yielded enough timber or coal to justify the expense. The companies that had fought so hard over the mountain–and even killed to keep it–all went bankrupt a few years later. This place was practically abandoned ‘til the national parks craze took off in the 1950’s. Some clever investors bought it off the bank for pennies…they built the cabins and lodge that we’re sittin’ in today.”
“But what does all that have to do with ‘old man Dethritch’ and his ‘dogs’?”
“Well, the mountain wasn’t completely left alone after all them companies closed down. The local men came up here to hunt, grandmothers collected fruit from the Dethritchs’ woodland orchards, and the teenagers…well, they came up here to do what teenagers do. But over the years, rumors began to trickle down about strange sightings in these woods. Some folks got to thinkin’ that maybe Amos Dethritch wasn’t really dead…or if he was, he was still around somehow.”
“You mean like a ghost?” I ventured.
“You call it what you want!” Lee prodded the dying embers. “I’m just tellin’ it how I heard it–and you wouldn’t believe some’a the tales the folks in town have about this mountain. Like ol’ Bruce Higgins, who came back from deer huntin’ all bitten an’ tore up, with his rifle missin.’ He said he’d been chased down the mountain by three snarlin’ shepherd dogs…just like those huge mastiffs found shot to death beside Amos. Miss Nellie Price said she saw the ol’ man himself, stalkin’ through the trees with a hundred-year-old hunting rifle an’ a sack of dead rabbits slung over his shoulder…” Lee rambled on; Jennifer tried to hide a smile.
“I’m sorry…” she chuckled. “It’s just…my dad was a hunter, and he used to see things in the woods too. Usually after his fifth beer. And my Great-Aunt Mildred was convinced she was hearing whispers in her walls…until my mother got rid of the bird’s nest in her chimney. The birdsong had been echoing in the pipes–it sounded like real human voices. My point is, there’s a snowball effect with stories like these. They live rent-free in the back of people’s minds, and when they see something they can’t explain, they just keep adding to them…”
“I’m not sayin’ you're wrong,” Lee grumbled. “I’ve never seen ol’ man Amos myself, an’ I’ve lived up here all my life. But I will say that there’s somethin’ off about this mountain. Maybe it goes all the way back to Jeb Dethritch, or even before that. Otherwise, how can you account for all the disappearances? Like the four high schoolers who went camping up here on a dare back in the 1970’s. Nothin’ was left of them but a trampled down tent an’ the soggy ashes of their fire…”
“Wasn’t there an investigation?” Zoe asked.
“Oh, sure there was. The police concluded that the girls had run away from home. Then when Terry Bannister an’ his nine-year-old son didn’t come back from their hikin’ trip, they blamed wolves. When a local artist’s car was found along a loggin’ road with spikes in the tires and the driver’s-side door hanging off of its hinges, they called it an ‘abandoned vehicle.’ They jus’ towed it back into town an’ didn’t even look for her. Don’tcha see where I’m goin’ with this? Ever since the loggin’ and minin’ dried up, tourism is the only thing keepin’ those little towns afloat. ‘The Ghost of Amos Dethritch and his Three Hell-Hounds’ makes for a fine local legend, but if the summer crowd ever found out about the real, horrible crimes that happen up on this mountain every year…it’d be the death of the whole industry.”
“I call bullshit!” Ned laughed. “This sounds an awful lot like a scary story that locals use to scare us wide-eyed out-of-towners with, am I right?”
“Call it what you want.” Lee shrugged again. “But I wouldn’t go outside ‘til the storm passes, if I were you.” He pulled on his boots and wrapped himself in his winter gear, so weathered and worn that it was all the same uniform tone of grayish-brown. “You kids got everything you need?” We nodded; he waved to us as he trudged out the door.
“Stay safe out there!” I called out too late. The only response was the rattling of the screen door and the howling of the wind–if it was the wind. I thought of the savage jaws of enormous mastiffs and shuddered.
We all slept beside the fireplace that night. Everyone had their own excuse: Ned claimed the rooms were too cold; Zoe said she wanted to have a slumber party; Jennifer had already fallen asleep in her chair. But I knew our real reason for keeping close to each other was that Lee’s tale had unnerved all of us more than we would have liked to admit. We craved the primal comforts of fire, warmth, and companionship. Before going to sleep, I dared to take a look out the frozen window, but all I could see was blackness. Too cold even for a ghost, I told myself with a chuckle, before stirring the fire and curling up in one of the lodge’s thick blankets. My dreams were haunted by worm-eaten faces in shallow graves and shadowy figures on desolate mountain paths; I woke before anyone else in the morning.
I’d always loved the peace of being awake while others slept; I took my time making my coffee and examining what the storm had done to the mountainside. The trees were bent, icy spikes stabbing into an ominous gray sky; at least a foot of snow covered the lodge patio. Frigid air blasted my face as I heaved open the sliding glass door and stepped out into the winter wonderland. Beautiful as it was, something more than the cold was bothering me; it took me a moment to fully realize what it was:
There were no footprints leading to the cabin where Lee was staying.
True, maybe the snow had filled them in–but no smoke rose from the chimney, either. Where had Lee gone? I was leaning out over the railing for a better view when I heard a low growl behind me.
I wasn’t alone on the patio.
Half-frozen drool hung from the mastiff’s gaping jaws; its hazel eyes burned with fury. Another, identical dog growled behind me–they were trying to cut off my escape! I bolted for the door and slid it shut just before a mouth as large as my face smashed into the glass, cracking it. The enormous dog lunged again, widening the spiderweb pattern on the glass. Barks and howls chilled my blood; my friends were waking, but not fast enough:
"Just a few more minutes…" Zoe mumbled while I shook her.
"Holy shit!" Ned screamed, pointing at the mastiff slamming itself into the glass.
"Get to the kitchen!" Jennifer grabbed the fire poker and waved us through before slamming the kitchen’s heavy wooden door. From outside, barks, snarls, shattering glass–
Heavy canine steps across the hardwood.
A long, mournful howl echoed through the cabin…and three sets of paws began scratching at the door. I wondered if the enormous dogs outside were calling to their master.
"Oh my god, oh my god…what the fuck is going on?!" Ned jabbed his finger at my chest like all this was all my fault.
"Is this some kind of sick joke?" Jennifer demanded.
“How should I know?!” I shouted back at Ned.
“I know what’s going on…” Zoe murmured. “Amos Dethritch. We’re on his mountain…and those are his dogs, just how Lee described them…”
“Ghost dogs?!” Ned rolled his eyes, “come on.”
“That mastiff out there just smashed its head against a sliding glass door until it broke! Would you call that ‘normal’ dog behavior?! Listen!” Jennifer put her ear to the wooden door as it shook beneath the dogs’ attack. “They’re not just scratching the door…they’re gnawing on it. Those aren’t ordinary dogs. And speaking of Lee–where is he?”
“I…I don’t think he made it back last night.” I thought of the smokeless chimney and the untrammeled snow. The kindly old caretaker was probably lying beneath it with his throat ripped out. Amos had come for him at last. The door rattled on its hinges.
“We gotta find a way out of here. That door’s not gonna last much longer…” Jennifer whispered, unlatching the small window above the sink.
“Oh, sure! Great plan!” Ned rolled his eyes. “Let’s run through the woods in subzero temperatures in our pajamas! What could possibly go wrong?”
“What do you suggest, then?” Jennifer challenged. As much as I hated to admit it, Ned was right. Last night’s fire was dead, and its warmth was fading fast. If Amos and his dogs didn’t kill us, the cold would. Zoe was already struggling to keep herself from trembling. While the rest of us argued, she had been scrounging for supplies. She’d found a few cobwebby soup cans, three dull kitchen knives, an almost-empty box of matches…and a trapdoor.
It took all our strength to heave it open, and even then the light didn’t reach whatever waited at the bottom. One thing, however, was clear: we were running out of time. The timbers of the kitchen door splintered, treating us to a view of slobbering fangs. The rusty window frame screeched as Jennifer flung it open. I looked down at her bare feet.
“Jen, going out there is suicide!”
“I WILL NOT wait to die in some dark…fucking…HOLE! We gotta make a run for it!” Of course, I suddenly remembered, Jennifer had claustrophobia. That cellar must’ve looked like her worst nightmare.
“I know you’re scared–we all are! But–”
“But NOTHING! I’m going!” Jennifer wiped away her tears with her pajama sleeve and leapt down into the snow. Behind us, the dogs had almost broken through. Ned, Zoe, and I sprinted for the trapdoor and slammed it shut behind us. The mastiffs sniffed around and dug at the floor over our heads–
But only for a moment. A horrifically human whistle split the silent winter air outside, followed by a cruel command–
“SIC HER, BOYS!”
First came barks, then snarls–and Jennifer began to scream.
Maybe it was a blessing that we couldn’t see what was happening out among the frozen trees, but just hearing it was bad enough. I pressed my fists against my ears and shut my eyes tight against the awful ripping and gnawing, barely audible over Jennifer’s screams. When it was finally over, the chattering of our teeth felt like the only noise left in the world. I had forgotten how much the cold could physically hurt. With trembling fingers, Zoe struck a match.
We were in a low-ceilinged dirt cellar. Decades of cobwebs hung like hideous curtains above us, and generations of junk had been scattered carelessly across the uneven ground. We rummaged through it by matchlight, looking for something, anything, that we could use.
“Paydirt!” Ned shouted. He’d found a canvas sack full of moth-eaten wool blankets, leather boots, and parkas beneath a heap of snowshoes. We bundled up immediately, grateful for the warmth, but there was little else of value in the heaped rubbish around us…and we were running out of matches.
“This is weird…” Zoe nudged me. She’d found an old wooden chest full of century-old dresses, leather bags and belts, and a tiny silver locket. The cellar ceiling groaned with heavy footsteps; Zoe instinctively pocketed the locket and grabbed my arm.
“Now where’d the rest of you run off to…?” The voice above us was the same one that had sicced the mastiffs on Jennifer. There was something antiquated, gravelly, and wild about it–something that made me think of the unsettling tale of the Dethritch clan.
“Amos…” Zoe mouthed, pointing to the far side of the cellar. The crumbling stone wall faded into blackness, but as I crawled silently closer I could see what lay above: a coal chute. An escape. The footsteps overhead left the kitchen–I imagined they were heading upstairs to check the bedrooms. We had shoes and a way of keeping warm–even if they were filthy and fit badly. If we were going to try to slip out through the coal chute, it was now or never. Ned’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist as I struggled to push open the rusted chute cover.
“Are you crazy?!” he hissed. “Did you not hear what happened to Jen out there?!”
“Jen had a point, too…” I whispered. “Whoever…or whatever…is up there is bound to check down here eventually. Do you wanna be down here when that happens?”
“I’ll take my fucking chances!” Ned had found an ice ax in the heaps of junk, and held it with a white-knuckle grip. I realized that my loud-mouthed childhood friend was even more frightened than Zoe and I. To my surprise, Zoe’s cold hand slid into mine.
“Are you ready?” she asked. I nodded. “Come on, Ned…come with us. There won’t be another chance!”
“No way. I’m staying right here!” Ned shook his head. The last I saw of him was his pale, stunned face watching us scramble out into the winter sun. Zoe and I trudged through the snow, afraid to look back…afraid of what might be following. We kept our eyes away from the red patches in the white where Jennifer had met her end, aiming instead for a suspicious trail of footprints that led from the woods up to Dethritch Lodge: one large human and three dogs.
“Ghosts don’t leave footprints, do they?” Zoe murmured. I shook my head, wondering where this insane day would lead us. Zoe and I had barely entered the silence of the pine forest when we heard the gunshot: the BOOM of a shotgun blast.
Ned had been found.
Zoe grabbed my arm; I could feel her warmth through our improvised blanket-coats. It was what I’d dreamed of when I’d planned this vacation: alone with Zoe, holding her close in the winter woods…but my dream had turned into a nightmare. The triumphant baying of the dogs and a man’s maniac laughter carried to us by the wind confirmed what we already feared: our friend was dead. For a long minute we just held each other, listening to our thundering heartbeats: a reminder that we were still alive.
But for how long? The footprints in the snow seemed to follow a sort of game trail…just like the ones Lee said the Dethritches had used. A small creek ran alongside it. My feet were exhausted from slogging through the high snow, but we had to put more distance between us and pursuit. Right around the time I lost sensation in my feet, we rounded a corner and saw a slumped-over hut up ahead.
The footprints we’d been following seemed to originate there. I swallowed hard and looked back at the boulder-strewn mountainside behind us.
“Hide up there.” I told Zoe. “I’ll see if it’s safe.”
“I’ll come with you, this is no time to be a he–” she began.
“Listen. If it’s not safe, we’re both dead. This way, at least one of us makes it.”
“Are…are you sure?”
“If we don’t find warmth, food, and shelter, we’re dead anyway. I’ve got to see what’s in there, and if you–” Zoe shut me up with a strong hug.
“Let me go instead. I want you to keep watch for me.”
I didn’t like the idea at all, but I could see in Zoe’s eyes that her mind was made up. She left me with an extra blanket and the other supplies she’d dug out of the cellar; I set up a vantage point behind a boulder where I could see without being seen…or so I hoped. Now that the sun was setting and my sweat began to cool, I found myself rethinking what I’d said to Zoe. I’d intentionally exaggerated when I’d told her we’d die without shelter–or at least I’d thought so at the time. But as the pine tree shadows reached out for us like long fingers and the temperature dropped, I wasn’t so sure. I wondered if covering ourselves with dirt would keep us warm enough, or if I’d even be able to light a fire with my shaking hands. I fiddled nervously with the first thing I grabbed out of Zoe’s blanket: that weird silver locket. I realized it had a clasp: it was probably one of those necklaces that held pictures inside…
Down below, Zoe was a tiny black shape on the sagging steps of the hut. She pushed open the creaking door–
I was so concerned about what might come out of it that I’d forgotten to pay attention to the path below. I suddenly sensed a presence just a few feet away.
“You alright, son?” A voice muttered behind me. I nearly jumped out of my skin before I recognized it: Lee! I could have laughed for joy. If anyone knew a safe way off of this mountain, it was him.
“We were attacked!” I gasped. “I know it sounds crazy, but I think Amos and his three dogs–”
“Shhh!” Lee rasped. “I seen’em on my way down here, but don’t you worry. Everythin’s gonna be alright now. Where’s the girl? Is she…?”
“You mean Zoe? She’s down there by the hut.”
“Good.” Lee whistled...and his voice changed. “SIC HER, BOYS!”
Three huge mastiffs bounded down the path toward the hut, barking loudly, and Lee stepped backward. He held an ancient shotgun in his hands. Only then did I look down at the open heart-shaped locket I held in my hands. The black-and-white photo on the right showed a kindly-looking woman named ALICE DETHRITCH, but the photo on the left was captioned AMOS DETHRITCH…and the face it showed was a familiar one indeed. It was staring back at me from behind the barrel of a gun.
“Amos…?” I gasped. The dogs circled the hut below, howling. Any minute now, they’d corner Zoe…
“Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts? I thought you city folk were supposed to be smart. Try this on for size: maybe Alice Dethritch survived the awful things those flashy out-of-towners did to her. Maybe she had a baby a few months later, a feral kid who raised himself after she died from her lingering injuries ten years later. Otherwise, who woulda buried her for those trappers to find? And maybe later, that kid grew up and decided he didn’t want the family name to die with him. Maybe he kidnapped one’a them high school girls who came up here in the 1970’s and used to her get himself an heir. Maybe that heir is standin’ here right now, pointin’ ol’ Amos’ rifle in the face of yet another trespasser…”
I lifted my hands slowly.
“Just…just don’t hurt Zoe…”
“Hurt her? No, I need her. I'm gonna breed myself an heir, the same way my father did, and raise him to carry on the fight 'til this mountain is ours again. After you four go missin,' even the tourism people won't be able to cover it up anymore–"
Lee Dethritch’s speech was cut short by the half rotten log that slammed into the side of his head. Zoe hit him two or three more times, but I doubt the blows were necessary. Lee Dethritch had met the fate of his ancestors, but I could hear his dogs baying below…from inside the hut.
“You alright?” Zoe asked.
“How did you–?” I wondered.
“That hut must be where he’s been living. It was dim…and filthy…but I saw a pile of rope right around the time I heard those dogs charging down the trail. I tied it to the front door knob and left it open just a crack, while I stood by the back door and waited for my moment. When those dogs charged in, I tugged the front door shut and slipped out the back. Dethritch’s dogs are trapped in there…for now.”
I remembered how quickly the three mastiffs had gnawed their way through the lodge’s kitchen door and shuddered. But would they even pursue us without Lee Dethritch urging them on?
We didn’t wait around to find out.
Night had fallen by the time we reached Dethritch Lodge; it felt like years had passed since we had fled the cellar that morning. Too emotionally and physically exhausted to talk much, Zoe and I distracted ourselves with simple tasks of survival: building a fire, heating water, gathering blankets, reinforcing the doors in case the dogs (or anything else) came back. It had been the longest day of my life, and I ended it curled up with Zoe in front of the Dethritch lodge fireplace.
By morning, the snow had melted; the unpaved, switchbacking road off of the Dethritchs’ mountain seemed just barely passable. Once we started driving, I realized just how much danger we were in: the back of my Corolla fishtailed around every turn, and twice the tires stuck in slushy mud and began to slide…toward the cliffs beside us.
When Zoe got out of the car to help me free it, I saw something that I still can’t explain. Maybe it was just a hallucination brought on by stress, but…
I’d swear I saw another Amos Dethritch look-alike watching us from the woods.
Was the mountain really haunted? Even worse, did Lee Dethritch have a brother?
When I looked again, they were gone.
I didn’t have any answer then, and I still don’t.
But I suggest you stay away from Dethritch Lodge.
X

This is my first post so I hope I did it alright. I’m ordering a prom dress, however the dress that I absolutely love is only available in a size 12. In this brand (sherri hill) i’m usually a size 4. Is there anyway that if I got it altered professionally it would be ok for me? I love this dress so much and ordered it months ago , but they canceled my order as they have too many orders and it is now out of stock. I included a picture of the dress below, thank you so much, any input or help would be so great. Or I know this is a long shot but if anyone has this dress in red in literally any size from a 0 to a 10 i would LOVE to buy it from you for whatever you would be willing to sell it for.
https://www.sherrihill.com/style-54890/54890.html

Hello all,
Current medications: 10 mg escitalopram/day Weekly b-complex
Note: I have meniere's.
...
On Friday I had what appeared to be a thunderclap headache on the right side of my brain. Along with it came an "empty" sensation in my arm.
I went to the ER and received a no contrast cat scan, ultrasound of the leg to check for blood clots, and blood work. Ultrasound and scan came out clear and I was discharged. I just now received my blood test results and the following are high: Red blood cell count (5.41), Platelets (422), and Immature Granulocytes Absolute (0.2). Pictures of full results at link below.
I am waiting for a call back from the ER's nurse practitioner, as well as from the clinical team at my primary doctor's office to see how soon I can get in. Meanwhile any feedback would be appreciated.
Thank you.
https://imgur.com/a/G7nXUoa

Dear Bungie, Once again, I have pulled my Sanguine Alchemy out of the vault for some playtime. Still love it for being able to stylishly shoot enemies in the face from the safety/empowerment of my “eternal” rift.
With this exotic, I love that my guardian slays while slaying. Whoever created the visual design of this exotic, I tip my ghost to you dear person. On that note and before getting into the rest, can you please fully restore the visual on the back part of this equipment? The “blood orb” (I just decided to call it) is almost black. Should it be red?
May we, you and I - Bungie/Community and myself/Community - explore some non-OP ideas to make this exotic more viable in higher level activities?
Clearly, the original utility that was removed isn’t that desirable (marking targets).
Would be more utility for higher level content in maxing out Resilience? Another thought is to buff either Recovery, Discipline or Strength (or maybe two of those at once), while Blood Magic is active? Given that warlocks now have ranged melees for each subclass, a significant buff to powered melee regeneration would be pretty sweet and something warlocks don’t intrinsically possess (unlike the titan hammer and the hunter dodge near enemies) and I realize this might be an issue with strand but with three powered melees you can’t help but have one in the pocket. Maybe refunding a significant amount of class energy based on number of kills (AND cures, so that it has utility when phoenix dive is equipped). Or, going subclass (fragment)-specific, include uptime as well as mobility to the Void Soul, or an additional Void Soul.
I don’t think any of these would be OP (only my opinion), but could be useful in endgame with some innovation on the part of my fellow guardians.
I want to suggest something else that might fit more with the aesthetic of the lore of this exotic, but my imagination fails me in that regard because, when I read it, I can only envision the original added utility (which I think was a bit too PvP-focused and was a main driver for the initial nerf, if not just because of the “orb explosions”).
Thanks for making to the end of my request and suggestions.

Hi there! I've had my shrimp tank for a week now and I have a skittles neocaridina tank. I have 19 shrimp and for some reason I've had three die. And for some reason it's only the red ones that passed? No other color shrimp has died. The only thing new I've noticed is these very very skinny white worms that are about 1-4mm long, and these tiny swimming creatures that are white that almost look like mini sea monkeys (1mm), both are so small that I can't take a picture but I believe the worms seem to be detritus worms after research which are deemed safe. And the tiny things after research say to be copepods. Which are both beneficial I believe? What could be my cause? I also have bladder snails and that is the only other creature in the tank.
The red shrimp that died started turning black in some spots. Not sure what could be happening other than it possibly being wrong perameteers for the reds? Or failed molts? A lot of my other shrimp have molted and seem to be doing perfectly fine. So far no other casualties
pH 7.5 Ammonia 0ppm Nitrite 0ppm Nitrate 5ppm KH 65ppm (~3dKH) GH 85ppm (~4dKH) TDS 300

"Cat-astrophe"– a prequel short story
This is a prequel story I wrote for one of the characters in my book. If ppl enjoy, I think I'd like to post the full novel.
Set in early 1900s Boston, "Cat-astrophe" is about wealth, celebrity culture, and chronic depression. When these factors combine, we get an interesting character study :-) When someone repeats the same patterns over and over, at which point do you give up on them?
​
TW: depression, domestic abuse
​
Catherine Ophelia Hughes was born on June 16th, 1893. She was quickly nicknamed Kitty, her mother believing that it was a darling name and therefore fitting for their daughter. She was a darling child. By the age of 6, she had big, dark eyes; long, carefully curled locks of brown hair; and a pale face, like a blank canvas, against which the other two stood out.
In the Hughes’ drawing room, Kitty banged on the piano while singing a ditty of her own creation. Her piano playing was imperfect, to say the least, and her song lacked a melody or coherent words, but her voice was high and sweet.
“You didn’t tell me your daughter was a musician,” some visiting man laughed to Mrs. Hughes.
“She might have a real talent,” mused Mr. Hughes through the pipe he was smoking, sitting in his armchair. He took the pipe out of his mouth and turned to his wife. “We could get her into lessons, couldn’t we?”
Mrs. Hughes looked at the girl doubtfully. “If she’s old enough. Kitty, come here.”
Kitty hopped off the piano bench and stood in front of her parents. Her hands fidgeted with the folds of her white, lacy dress. “Stop that,” said her mother, and she stopped.
“Kitty,” said her father. “Do you want to learn how to sing properly? Professionally?”
“Yes,” she said.
The visitor laughed again. “And do you know what the word ‘professionally’ means, Kitty?”
She turned to him. “Yes,” she said more emphatically.
“This is a smart one,” the man commented.
Mrs. Hughes took Kitty’s hand. “All right, then. We’ll see about it. Now, let’s leave Father and his friend, shall we?”
Kitty and her mother left the room, and a few weeks later, Kitty had her first lesson with her new singing teacher. Through practice, Kitty quickly learned to refine her musical ability, and by 9 years old, she was regularly performing for friends and neighbors, and several times in Christmas pageants and other children’s plays.
One night, her mother was out of town visiting family, and Kitty thought it would be the perfect chance to escape the confines of their home. She had only seen the rest of Boston on occasion, mostly just her parents’ friends’ houses, and of those, mostly the upstairs rooms, where she and the other children were placed during social events to keep them from causing trouble. Tonight, Kitty wanted to cause trouble. She escaped her nanny with an excuse and snuck into the carriage. She hid under one of the seats and covered herself up with a black blanket so she would be less visible.
Her father had said he was going to the theater, and she wanted to see a real play, not just a Christmas pageant. She was going to sneak out of the carriage when they arrived and form her plan from there about where to go and how to not get sent back. Kitty knew she could think quickly on her feet, so she would find a way.
Waiting in the carriage grew hot and boring, although it was winter. She could barely breathe under the blanket. She hoped that they would leave soon and that no one was in a panic about her disappearance. If they worried, her father might not go to the play, and all this would have been pointless.
But just minutes later, her father sat down in the seat opposite her, and the carriage took off. It felt as though they hit every bump on the road. At some point, Kitty was jolted so hard that she smacked her head on the underside of the seat. By the time they slowed to a stop, she was feeling nauseous.
The door opened, and Kitty got ready to follow her father out into the theater. But he didn’t exit the carriage. Instead, someone entered.
They sat down next to Father and closed the door. She could hear them kiss.
“I missed you,” said the newcomer with a giggle. It was a woman, and it wasn’t Mrs. Hughes.
“I’m sorry it took so long for me to get away,” Father said in a low whisper that sounded very unlike him. “Life has been… hectic, to say the least.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said the woman. “Where shall we go?”
“Wherever you want.”
Kitty didn’t know much, but she did know that her father and this woman were romantically involved, and that they shouldn’t be. She threw the blanket off her head and crawled out from under the seat. The woman screamed, and she and Father quickly separated.
Kitty stood up and stared at the two of them. Fresh, cool air hit her face, and her hair was all frizzy from her time under the blanket.
“Kitty,” her father spluttered. “What are you doing here?” His tone turned angry. “You snuck out? That was dangerous, and you know it.”
“What are you doing with her?” she interrupted.
Neither responded. They looked at each other.
Kitty studied the woman. She was obviously an actress, with long hair that she wore in styled ringlets. She was heavily rouged, and she wore massive earrings and strings of pearls and feathers on her bodice, which may have looked appealing on a stage from far away– but up close, she looked chaotic and disorderly and the opposite of Mother.
“I should go,” the woman got out.
“Wait–” Father said, and tried to hold onto the end of her shawl, but she tugged it out of his grasp and left the carriage.
Father closed the door and gestured for Kitty to take a seat.
“You shouldn’t have been here tonight.”
“Because you were going to be with another woman!” she burst out. “How could you? Does Mother know?”
“No,” said Father, “and we’re going to keep it that way. Don’t you see, Kitty? If she finds out, she’ll be heartbroken. You can’t tell her.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “But… but what you’re doing… It’s awful. And I’m not supposed to lie to people.”
“Think, my dear,” urged her father. “You don’t want to hurt Mother. Sometimes…” He paused. “... We must do bad things for good reasons.”
She briefly wondered what the ‘good reason’ was behind his relationship with the actress.
“Right?”
She nodded.
Father stepped out of the carriage to tell the driver to take them home.
When they arrived, before they left the carriage, he nodded to her. “You’re a good daughter, Kitty. You’re doing something very kind for Mother.”
Kitty said nothing, just combed her fingers through her messy hair and jumped out of the carriage. Father held her hand on the way into the house and dropped her off with the nanny, who gave her a good scolding.
And Kitty never did tell Mother about her father’s infidelity. Her knowing the truth would have made everything far more difficult. She didn’t know how much longer his affairs continued for, and she never asked.
Only a year after the carriage incident, she was sent to finishing school.
She was assigned a room, which she shared with another girl of the same age. Later on, she wouldn’t even be able to remember the roommate’s name. They spent their first few years together in a friendship filled with constant conflict: they’d fight, then make up and swear it wouldn’t happen again, but it always did. When Kitty was 13 or so, the other girl was moved back home with her family, and she never saw her again.
Kitty had already become popular from that drama, but after the other girl left, she became popular based on her own merits. She was growing beautiful: her hair had darkened to an ebony shade, and her face was starting to gain definition. She was at the top of every class. She could sing prettily, dance gracefully, and write with eloquence, and her manners improved every year.
With her newfound superiority to her peers, Kitty found that she quite enjoyed toying with them, playing little mind-games. Lies could preserve your mother’s innocence and keep your family together; they could also make you beloved, get you easy revenge, and reassure you that you were still, and had always been, the smartest one in the room.
Sometimes it was for tangible benefit, like scheming to become head of the school’s choir, and sometimes it was for no benefit at all, like making another girl cry just because she could. Kitty never found it difficult to outwit anyone, and she felt the need to keep testing the theory over and over again, trying to see how far she could go. It turned out that the answer was ‘as far as she wanted.’ She never received consequences, and she remained one of the most well-respected, envied girls of her grade, if not the whole school.
At some point, she developed her first crush on a girl, but she quickly ignored those feelings.
By the time of her graduation in 1910, Kitty was 16, about to turn 17. She was finally wearing full-length skirts and pinning up her hair. She had made it. In an environment full of wealth, delicate connections, and competition, some girls didn’t. They broke down, gave up on their schooling, and went home to their country estates; or they suffered an embarrassment and became forever shunned; or they drifted by, pathetic and unnoticed, their faces unremarkable and conversation bland, and went off to average marriages with average men.
Kitty was none of those girls. She had made it through by being more beautiful and talented and intelligent than all of the others. A bright future awaited her– one that she unquestionably deserved.
She accepted her diploma gratefully and drove back down to Boston with her parents and one sister, who had come to see the ceremony. Kitty didn’t know or care much about her siblings. She had two sisters and a brother, but she had never been close with any of them. As they traveled over the bumpy country roads in their automobile, Kitty opened the window and let the breeze run over her face to avoid a conversation.
When Kitty was presented in society, everyone was immediately impressed with her, as she had predicted they would be. It wasn’t a surprise when her parents started to talk about giving her a career beyond being a simple socialite; how would she feel about involving herself in the theatre? She wondered briefly if this idea was inspired by her father’s particular interest in the industry, but she ignored the thought and said that yes, she would like to try.
Her father got in contact with one of his oldest friends, Mr. Reed, whom Kitty had known for years. He was a director, and he found a way to get her a minor role in a production, and then another, and then another, until she was playing Ophelia in Hamlet– fitting enough, considering her middle name. This was the first role that she had had that had really shown off her talents. When they took their final bows at the end, the audience roared in approval for the young woman with the sweet face. She had been so endearing and convincing and true and tragic that she had won all of their hearts at only 17 years old.
After the performance, she cleaned up in the dressing room– the first time she had ever had one of her own. She stared at herself in the mirror, pleased with how everything had gone, thinking that she should reward herself somehow. Once she finished changing, she left to reunite with her family.
They were standing with a young man, who was the first to greet her. He shook her hand enthusiastically. “Miss Hughes, I just adore the theatre, and you… you show me exactly why.”
She gave him her nicest, most confident smile. “Thank you.”
“This is Mr. Sheehan,” her father said.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, and the man blushed. She turned to her mother. “Should we be going?”
The next day, Kitty went out in the city by herself, wearing a basic day dress so that she didn’t attract unwanted attention. She didn’t know exactly what she was looking for until she paused by the front window of a jewelry store. She liked jewelry. She should buy herself something nice.
Inside, she found a beautiful pair of earrings, silver and tiny and delicate. She bought them immediately, knowing that although they were expensive, she was soon to start earning far more money than what her father would give her as allowance. She left the shop with the earrings in a velvet box, feeling immensely satisfied.
In the next few weeks, she started seeing more and more of Mr. Sheehan from the play. He appeared at every dinner party and dance, and he visited her father to talk business in the hopes that Kitty would be around. Sometimes she was, sometimes she wasn’t. She found his devotion oddly adorable. Eventually, she decided to act on it. When he asked if they could begin courting, she said yes, not thinking much of it.
Their whole relationship was her not thinking much of it. Had she been seeing Sheehan or not, her life would have been mostly the same. She continued to perform in Hamlet. Her going out with Sheehan didn’t even make much of a difference in the amount of suitors she attracted, since everyone still refused to accept that they didn’t have a chance with her. She moved on from Sheehan to Danny, and then to Joe. None lasted long, and she hadn’t been in love with any of them. She wasn’t going to lie to herself: she knew it was because she had never trusted a man. She simply hadn’t met any good examples. Her father was a cheater; her manager, Mr. Reed, was a pathetic little man who complimented everything she did; Sheehan had been unremarkable; and so were the rest. At some point, she carried out a brief relationship with a girl, a fellow socialite named Amelia. It was nice, and Kitty didn’t carry much fear of being discovered because, as far as she had seen, she could do whatever she wanted and her parents would be none the wiser– but she didn’t love Amelia, either.
Next came Roger.
She didn’t love him any more than the others, but she couldn’t deny that he was a handsome, charismatic man. He was young, wealthy, and well-connected, and they were something of a golden couple together.
In public.
In private, he drank too much and threw her around like a rag doll. He had always been too physically aggressive, but one day, when she told him that she wouldn’t be seen with him in that state, with his face glowing red and strands of his hair falling over his forehead, he slapped her.
Kitty stumbled back, not so much from the blow as from the icy shock running through her veins. He stalked closer to her.
“What’s wrong with you?” she said in a high-pitched tone. “I won’t be near you when you’re like this.”
“Fine,” Roger said, and thankfully didn’t try to lay a hand on her again. He just stood there in the center of his parlor, swaying slightly. “You can go.”
Kitty took her things and practically ran out the front door. She stopped at the stone walkway to catch her breath. She’d never been hit before, not even when she was a child. A hatred for Roger started to bloom in her stomach.
But the next day, he rang her up to apologize. “I wasn’t myself,” he said. She could hear him sigh into the microphone. “Will you forgive me?”
She did forgive him. She didn’t leave him. He was still handsome. And it had only been one slap, after all. She could handle that.
But she still didn’t love him. She developed a relationship on the side with a man named Paul. She didn’t feel so bad about cheating on Roger because he deserved it. She gained some sort of sick pleasure from the idea of making him upset, although she didn’t want to see what the consequences would be if he ever found out. She wasn’t going to test her luck.
The motion picture industry was starting to become more popular. For a while, films had been growing in length and scope. A decade ago, you could see a single gymnastics routine captured in moving images; now, you could see a full story play out. Kitty and her family sometimes went to showings at movie palaces. Even the poor could go to little nickelodeon theaters and witness the magic of film.
Mr. Reed, Kitty’s manager, proposed getting her a role in a film. She agreed. Her parents fawned over Reed, as usual. You’re so good to her– The reason for our success– Our dear friend. She didn’t dislike Reed, but she didn’t care for him. If she was going to do a film, that was her choice and hers alone. She could have easily refused.
When Kitty started in the film industry, she didn’t have to work her way up. The first role Reed found for her was a main character. At the film premiere, she and her co-stars were called up to the stage for a bow. They forced her forward to do a curtsy all by herself. She gazed into the crowd but couldn’t see any faces she recognized, which somehow made her feel better. It was a shapeless mass of smiling people, and all of them liked her.
Beaming, she touched her own cheek, feeling a pretty blush starting to form. She was wearing her Ophelia earrings. She gestured for everyone to join her in another bow.
She starred in several more films, and her fame grew. Instead of being simply popular with the rich, she was a figure beloved by all classes, as movies were more accessible to the general public than the elite theaters she had been performing in.
Kitty grew an obsession with checking her reputation over and over again. She perused magazines to see what was written about her. (All positive things.) She listened to others’ quiet conversations, paying attention to how they described her. (Positively.)
Roger hit her on two more separate occasions.
One day, she was walking in the street, watching the poor people go about their day. There was an advertisement for a nickelodeon posted on the wall next to her. Lightly curious, she paid her nickel and went inside.
A man was playing piano in the corner of the dark room. Everyone was clustered together, whispering, eyes fixed on the screen.
“Who’s that actor? He’s gorgeous,” said a woman in front of her.
“Don’t you know anything, Millie?” said another. “That’s Abie Myers!”
“Well, I know now,” Millie shot back at the girl who must have been her sister.
Who the hell was Abie Myers?
Kitty moved closer to the screen. He must be the lead. Some guy with a stupid-looking mustache and dark eyes. Come to think of it, she might have heard the name before.
But not as many times as she had heard praise of herself. Logically, she knew that she had nothing to worry about. People liked her. She and Myers could exist in the same industry at the same time.
But she still wished to be seeing herself up on that screen. Why had the girl known Myers by sight, but not her? She’d been standing right behind them.
She’d have to work harder than before, keep working until she was easily recognizable. It occurred to her that she still lived with her parents. She should get her own place. She should get more control over the roles she took. Her parents and Reed would see that she could take care of herself. Myers would be jealous of her.
That idea made her very happy.
So she bought her own penthouse apartment, where she wouldn’t be bothered by anyone. She still visited with her family several times a week and came to realize that she much preferred her parents and siblings in small doses. She liked to bring entire plates of food to her room and eat them sitting on her bed. She could do whatever she wanted.
Although she grew fond of isolation– a little too fond–, she still attended gatherings and parties. On New Year’s Eve, Roger hosted a celebration at his house. He invited most of his friends, all of whom were rich people in their 20s. Kitty felt far more free without the oppressive presence of her parents’ crowd.
Paul was there. She spent much of the night staring at him from Roger’s side. Which one should she kiss at midnight? She liked being able to choose– it was her own delightful secret.
She drank some champagne and started to feel lightheaded. Not enough to make her actually drunk– that would have been unwise. She wanted just enough to feel she was floating. The dress she had chosen was silver, patterned with black embroidery. She held a transparent black shawl around her arms demurely.
A little before midnight, she pulled Paul into a side room. She didn’t know where Roger thought she was, and she didn’t care.
“I wanted to get away the moment we walked in here,” she whispered, her hands wrapped around Paul’s shoulders. She tilted her head up so that their lips were almost touching. “You-know-who just wouldn’t let me go.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “What do you want to do?”
“Whatever you want.”
The door opened, and a man peered inside. Kitty pushed Paul away, but it was too late; he had seen them.
“I was looking for the coatroom,” the man said timidly.
Kitty recalled that he was a friend of Roger’s, and her heart sank further. Mr. King. That was who he was.
“What are you… doing?” said Mr. King. “You’re still together with Roger, aren’t you?”
For the first time in a long time, she was lost for words. Her whole body was paralyzed with fear. She had been playing her little game against Roger, but whenever a thought came up of what would happen if he found out, she pushed it back and back. He wasn’t going to find out, so what did it matter?
But now King might tell him, and drunk, violent Roger might make a return. He was drunk right now on champagne and brandy. Oh, God. Her parents weren’t here. She didn’t know how she was going to get out of this.
“You didn’t see anything,” she said to Mr. King, her voice quavering. “You– You can’t tell Roger.”
Paul had his hands in his pockets, his face turned down uncomfortably.
Mr. King just looked deeply offended on behalf of Roger. “I can’t believe this.”
He turned back and walked through the door. Kitty ran to catch up with him.
In the dark hallway, she fought to remember his first name. King… William King. “William!” She spun him around. She was breathing heavily, panicked. “You can’t tell Roger. You don’t know what he’s like. He’s drunk right now, and he gets angry and physical. He’s going to beat me. He’s hit me before. He’s going to do it again if you tell him.”
William shook his head, confusion etched across his face. “Roger? Roger wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’ve known him a long time.”
“So have I!” she exclaimed.
“Why should I believe you’re telling the truth?” he said. “You’re lying to him every time you’re with… the other man. How could you do it? Roger’s a good friend. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.”
She shook her head, still too shocked to cry. “No, he’s not. I can’t stand him.”
Kitty realized that what she was saying wouldn’t make sense. She was going out with Roger, yet she hated him. She was usually a liar, but she wasn’t lying about his abuse.
William turned away and went down the staircase to the hall where everyone else was gathered. Kitty remained frozen in place in the dark.
Paul was probably still waiting in the room, too scared to leave. Asshole.
The clock struck midnight, and everyone cheered. It was now 1915.
Kitty pulled herself together enough to gingerly walk down the stairs. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
When she made eye contact with Roger, it was obvious that William had told him what had happened. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes. He came to her and kissed her soundly on the lips.
“Happy new year,” he said. “Can I walk you home?”
She nodded but then realized her mistake. She should stay here, in a crowd of people, where Roger couldn’t hurt her.
But it was too late. They headed out. The walk back to Kitty’s penthouse was the worst five minutes of her life. She didn’t know how her legs kept moving. She thought she was going to faint at any moment.
She unlocked the apartment door, and Roger followed her inside.
He traced the patterns on her tablecloth with his finger. “Where were you just before midnight?”
“What?”
“You disappeared.” He slammed a hand down on the table. “King told me that you were off with some other man.”
“I was with Paul.”
“Paul?” He looked up at her, his face a confusing mix of expressions. “And you’re not going to deny it?”
“Stay away from me,” she said weakly. “I don’t love you. I never have. I hate you.”
He took her by the hair and hit her in the face.
Hours later, Roger had long since gone, and Kitty was lying broken on the floor. The maid came in the early hours of the morning, found her, and immediately called for help.
If the maid hadn’t arrived, she might have died. Roger had given her a face covered in bruises, a broken arm, two broken ribs, and God knew what head injuries. She had passed out from the pain and dizziness.
The recovery took two months, most of which she spent in her room. It was a testament to her stellar reputation that no one thought she was hiding a pregnancy.
Or maybe some people thought that. She refused to leave the house to find out.
She allowed her family members to visit her, but not until her face healed up. After all evidence of a beating was gone, and only her broken arm remained, she said she had suffered a fall. The stairs at her building were notoriously steep. She didn’t want to go out in public until she could take her arm out of its sling.
She spent lots of time staring into her mirror, trying to make sure that her features were unchanged. Her nose hadn’t broken, so it went back to its nice, smooth slope. Her split lip healed up, and the small, pouty shape of her mouth returned.
The only visible sign of what Roger had done to her was a tiny scar on her upper cheek, which she guessed had been inflicted by a fingernail. Over two months, it never went away. She took to applying a tiny bit of foundation and powder over it each day to cover it up.
She finally started going out in public again. She signed her contract to do another film. She had had a brief illness, she told Mr. Reed, but she was ready to start working again. How glad he was to hear it!
The sickly sweetness he employed to speak to her made her uncomfortable, rather than proud and superior, as it always had.
She was changed, and she knew it. She looked upon everyone she met with suspicion. She didn’t carry on any more relationships with men, preferring to have affairs with women in dark rooms. Every man reminded her of Roger in some way or another.
Roger moved out of Boston in the two months she remained convalescing. She didn’t have to see him, and she was glad for it.
But she always wondered what would happen if she were to encounter William King again. He had been instrumental in the destruction of her spirit. She took to spreading rumors and falsehoods about everyone she interacted with, feeling that people as a whole were like King: naive but not harmless. She had to stay one step ahead of all of them. But, at the same time, she had to hide her overwhelming hatred for everyone around her; revealing it wouldn’t do for her fame and reputation.
So she perfected the persona that she adopted around everyone, including her family: chin slightly down to show off her eyes, hands folded, gentle smiles. At some point, she met Abie Myers, who turned out to be just as obnoxious as she had imagined. It took effort to keep her pretty, neutral face, but she did so, knowing that she was simply biding her time.
She was unstoppable.
Roger had tried to harm her, humiliate her, and take away her strength, but she was going to get the last laugh. She was going to increase by tenfold everything that had made her so successful: her talent, her beauty, her intelligence, her ability to lie and manipulate. She was going to become so powerful, adored, and controlled that she would never feel weak again.
Kitty’s next film premiered in the summer of 1915. She got ready at her mirror, making sure to cover up the tiny scar on her cheek. She put on those earrings she had bought four years ago. Looking at her reflection, she decided that they didn’t match the rest of her outfit, so she chose different ones.
​
THE END

My 6 month old ate eggs and developed a tiny red dot on each hand and a little bit of overall redness. I’m confused because since he’s so fair skinned he does get red sometimes out of no where. Otherwise he is fine besides minor redness on his hands. Should I try to give eggs again and see what happens? I left a voicemail with the doctor office in case they want to see a picture. It’s really not bad but I’m still worried of what it could be.

Firi
She had never been more exhausted in her entire life save for the one time she'd been exposed to null, and even that was a closer call than she'd have ever believed was possible. Everything was sore. Even with the warmth of axiom, the warmth of her husband's embrace, his gentle massaging and caresses.
Firi had been in labor for nearly ten hours. One of the last kits had been a stubborn little brat and taken their sweet time coming out. Even if her last daughter had been more compliant delivering eight kits was something her husband had described as a Herculean labor. Jerry having to explain what that phrase meant had been a nice distraction. That he'd made it in time at all was a small miracle. She'd even had a brief moment with Inara before she'd been taken back to the delivery room.
Then there'd been a fair bit of pain, a fair bit of effort, and a mix of hormones and emotions that had laid Firi out flat and left her damn near dead to the world after nursing the kits for the first time. Thankfully Jerry and a nurse had been on hand to assist moving the kits around as needed. Better still, the bed had been designed with recovery with a decent sized litter... or one or two very large babies and a similarly large mother, in mind. So Firi had been able to snuggle up with Jerry and her babies and get some badly needed rest before heading back to the Den.
Jerry had insisted on carrying her. While some of her half sisters had come to help move the kits home. It had been slightly embarrassing being carried through the passageways of the Tear... but if she was honest, it made her feel like the luckiest woman in the galaxy at the same time.
If anything, she felt even better now. Comfortably installed in the master bedroom with Jerry, her litter, Syl and her litter, and joining them as a special guest for a family cuddle, Mama Inara! Firi can't help but radiate with positive energy as she considers how nice it is to have her mother, her real mother, not the creature who'd spawned her, with them at long last. She hadn't realized just how much she'd missed Inara's presence. Even the kits seemed to know her instantly, bonding with Grandma when many of the kits were normally a touch suspicious of strangers, a fairly natural behavior for Volpir infants, but one that Inara's raw 'big mom energy', as Sharon described it, overcame with the same effort as taking out a soup cracker with a laser cannon.
Speaking of Inara, the venerable older Volpir's namesake squirms over towards her father, always able to find him even if she was blind folded, truly the biggest Daddy's girl in the Bridger children by a long shot. All of them were affectionate with their father, but Little Inara's bond with Jerry was something special, and she curls up against his hand, shortly followed by her brother, who was the person Little Inara loved most in all her tiny universe save her parents.
Her own children were mostly curled up against her, snuggling into their mother's warmth on pure instinct. Her own son, Chad, a name she'd been told was a human reference to a great or powerful man of legend, snuggled in most aggressively of all, clearly something of a Mommy's boy, something that made Firi's heart weep with joy. There couldn't be a luckier, more blessed or happier woman in all the known galaxy, Firi thought to herself, stroking her son's back as he fusses just a bit. Lucky as there were so many sons in the family already, and she too had been blessed to present Jerry another of his sons, something she knew pleased him greatly. Blessed because all of the many children of their family were healthy and strong, and they, and she, were surrounded by love in great abundance. Happy beyond measure, because Firi could only sleep from pure exhaustion now. How could she want to sleep, when her reality was better than any dream she'd ever had? Any fantasy she'd ever even dreamed up. Never. Not once. Could she have dreamed of something this blessed. Something this outlandish.
To be married was a dream. To have children was a dream. To be loved was a luxury beyond even many of the wealthiest women in the galaxy. To have all three, to have love in such abundance that it was hard to describe it all. How could she be anything but happy? She had to stop herself from singing with the sheer joy of it all sometimes. Even now. Even bone weary and exhausted, Firi Bridger knew only contentment and joy. Not even the presence of her birth mother, locked away in a cell far from the den could darken the shining beacon that was her life at the moment, as Jerry idly kissed her fluffy ears and combed her long red hair with his fingers.
Mama Inara too looked absolutely blissful. She was opposite Firi and Jerry, while the dozing Syl bridged the gap between them. Inara had been in more or less exile for a long time. Parted from her favorite daughters. Parted from what had always mattered most to her, her family. Blood shared meant a lot to Mama Inara, Firi knew that well. Blood of kinship, blood of oaths, it didn't make her any less a mother, Firi knew Mama Inara had given all of herself that she possibly could to the orphanage she'd been serving at as a nun. Still. It wasn't home, and at long last, Mama Inara was home again. Firi wondered for a moment if having Grandma in for a family cuddle was a bit awkward for Jerry, but considering her husband's taste in women, and that Mama Inara was as beautiful as ever from the healing coma that had sent her into hiding in the first place, Firi considered it probably wasn't too much of a hardship to have another Volpir beauty around, especially one that so strongly resembled his wives, being mother or aunt to all the Volpir wives in the Bridger clan had that effect.
Not that she could tell one way or another from Jerry, he was clearly half asleep, and utterly focused on Firi and the kits. A fantasy father for her children come true. Many men were uninvolved with their children, just as a matter of practicality, not a lack of desire to be actual fathers to their daughters, but with so many demands on their time, to include fathering more children for wives who wanted their own offspring... well. Someone had to lose out in the end. Another thing to appreciate about her husband. The concept of being uninvolved with his children had absolutely horrified him, and reinforced his strong desire to keep his family small, and more importantly, together. No living separately for the Bridger women. They all pulled and stayed together, guided by the sheer force of will of their husband, who would move heaven and earth alike for them, to ensure they all stayed together.
Firi lets herself relax back into Jerry more, practically melding with him as her consciousness expands, basking in the warmth, love and beauty of her little slice of paradise... and in a flash, she finds a small storm cloud in her sunshine. Something is upsetting her mother. Firi frowns, wondering at the brief caress of the thought. What could be troubling Mama Inara now? This should be a purely happy moment shouldn't it? For everyone? Firi wanted this pure happiness for Mama Inara too. Wanted the whole family to know her joy and peace. She reaches out, leaning forward gingerly to avoid disturbing the kits, and strokes Mama Inara's shoulder.
"Mother... is something the matter?"
Inara gives Firi a somewhat guilty smile. "You always were such a perceptive girl Firi. There's so much right at the moment that I can't help but feel a bit guilty for still being upset. I just... It's. You know what it is. Indra. Your mother-"
"You're my mother. Not her." Firi cuts Inara off before covering her mouth with her hand. She hadn't intended to be that sharp.
Still instead of scolding her, Inara simply smiles, easing Firi's worries. "It does my heart good to hear you say that, and in some ways I am, but Indra is your mother too, and my sister... and I wish she was here. Here the way I remember her. Instead she's locked up in a cell like an animal, and it hurts to know that that is the safest place for her to be. For me. For you. For the kits. She was... she spoke to me. While she was waiting for her chance to kill me. I really... I just don't understand. I desperately want to understand."
"Well we're going to have to deal with her eventually." Jerry props himself up on his elbow, joining the conversation. "Today however, we have more important things to focus on. Including you coming home to us Inara." A smile sparkles in Jerry's eyes. "Plus it means we can ask you to babysit a bit."
That got a smirk on Inara's face. "Ah, such is the lot of grandmothers everywhere. I take it you have something specific in mind, young man?"
Jerry nods solemnly. "Yep. If you could stay and support Syl with the kids for thirty minutes, maybe an hour so I can carry this woman down for a nice long, hot soak in the bath and a well earned massage."
"Hmmmmm." Inara weighs the request as if she was a government official considering a petition for a moment before breaking into a big smile with a laugh. "Of course, I'll do it gladly. It's no hardship to spend time with my now numerous granddaughters and precious grandsons, but honestly I'm happy to assist. It truly lightens my heart that my sweet girls married so well. It's beautiful to me. A loving, attentive husband, I couldn't ask for more for you all in terms of a marriage partner. So please, take Firi off for a well deserved soak. Syl and I will mind the wee ones. I've minded far more boisterous kits than these sleepy dearies... including Firi herself as it happens.”
"Oh goddess, husband, please, carry me away before she fetches her communicator and starts showing off baby pictures."
"I suppose show and tell will have to wait for later then. Perhaps after dinner."
Before Firi can say anything more, Inara is bringing the kits over with a touch of axiom and wrapping them in her tail, and Jerry is hoisting her into his arms into what he told her was called a bridal carry. Being in his arms made her feel so warm and safe. Her arms slide around her husband's neck as she gently leans up and kisses his cheek.
Her mother couldn't overstate Firi's luck. Her blessings. Her joy. Her pride. Because she was loved so readily, and after a life of hard work, and hard choices, finally had a chance to do something easy. Being a wife. Being a mother. Both weren't easy. All of life's choices had their hardships. A careless word that came off as cruel, or some other strife between spouses. Children could be a handful at any age, be it a crying kit who wouldn't calm, a toddler throwing a tantrum or an older child testing their parent's patience.
All of it took will and determination.
What was easy was loving her husband. Loving her sister wives. Loving her babies. It had always been what Firi was best at, and now at last she could let her greatest gift truly shine.
First Last

Colossal thanks to our boy u/SpacePaladin15 for writing *Nature of Predators* and letting us all write fanfic in his excellent setting.
My mental health hasn't been the best recently which is why there was no update last week. I'm going to keep trying to post weekly, but no guarantees.
**Memory transcription subject: Tuvak, Independent Journalist, Venlil Republic**
*Date [standardized human time]: November 6, 2136*
I woke up squinting and covering my eyes with a paw. Light filtered in through the fabric coverings over the window. The horizontal rays of weak light were reminiscent of my grandfather’s home on the darkward edge of the habitable strip, and the soft greys and blues of the bed and its blankets reminded me of the river that wound through Sittri.
I could hear the large predator moving around in another room, and the soft tones of what sounded like a predator’s attempt at venlil music. I picked my way down the steep stairs and entered the kitchen, wondering whether the predators had set mealtimes or just grazed throughout their waking period.
When I entered the kitchen, Athena was whistling along with a slow and gentle tune playing from their phone. They were heating something in a flat pan, which was sizzling eagerly. Soon after I entered, they slid the contents of the pan onto a plate and placed it in front of me.
“There you go,” said Athena. “I couldn’t make the whole meal for you because it’s got meat in it, but here’s a venlil safe full English. A partial English?”
“A partial English…” I muttered. The human had said they’d removed the meat from the meal, but there were two large red organs as large as the palm of my paw. They looked a bit like an anatomical view of a venlil kidney I’d seen once. There were some small, white grubs in a reddish-orange sauce the colour of blood, and some thick discs roughly the colour of a fawn venlil’s skin. I prodded the red organs with the tiny weapons humans used to eat.
“Is everything okay?”
“W-what are these things?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady to avoid upsetting the big predator.
“Those are tomatoes!” said Athena, snarling eagerly. “They’re a fruit, but because of their sharp flavour we treat them like vegetables.”
“And these?” I poked the grubs in blood sauce.
“Baked beans. They’re in a sauce made of tomatoes. I’ve only given you a small portion because lots of beans can make human digestive systems go a bit funny, and I want to be careful with yours.”
I relaxed slightly and sampled the baked beans. They were savoury and rich, a flavour quite rare on Venlil Prime. Next I sampled the tomatoes, and found that Athena was right about their sharp flavour. They were sharp, almost bitter, with a hint of smoky flavour. Trying the beans and tomatoes together, I understood why humans would put them together. The acidity of the tomato cut through the savoury flavour of the beans, making a surprising flavour profile I’d never encountered before. I’d read about tomatoes while researching for *Humans In Sittri: On Alien Crops & Traditional Farming* and I understood that tomatoes had the potential to grow well in soil on Venlil Prime, and I’d read with interest about the human practice known as “crop rotation”. If I brought tomato seeds back to Venlil Prime with me, I could-
I was shaken out of my thoughts when I took my first bite of the brown objects. It was somehow both rich and savoury, soft with a crunch crust, subtle, but with a hint of bitterness that shaped the flavour of it beautifully. Almost losing control, I shovelled the rest of the brown thing into my mouth and chewed happily.
“I see you’ve discovered the hash browns.”
I made an inquisitive noise, unable to talk with my mouth full.
“It’s one of humanity’s finest inventions; it’s just two root vegetables mashed up together and fried in oil. Humans sometimes use [milk fat(?)] or animal fat to fry them, but for you I used sunflower oil.”
I finished chewing and swallowed. “Do humans eat a lot of plants?”
“Absolutely!” Athena smiled widely. “Without modern dietary supplements, humans most comfortably eat a small amount of meat or dairy each day and mostly eat grains, vegetables, and fruits the rest of the time.”
“That’s a lot of different things to eat.” I’d finished eating at this point, and without pausing in the conversation Athena took my dirty plate and eating blades to put them in some kind of cleaning vessel.
“Well, that’s the thing about humans. The feds call us predators, but that’s not exactly true.”
“Not predators?” My tail arched in suspicion. “You talked about eating meat only a hundredth of a claw ago.”
“Predators are creatures that evolve specifically to hunt,” said Athena, still tidying the kitchen. “They have powerful natural weapons and finely-honed instincts, all bent towards the purpose of killing.”
Their words conjured up an Arxur in my mind and I shuddered.
“Humans,” said Athena, “are generalists. We aren’t the strongest or the toughest or the fastest. What we are is the most versatile animal on Earth. Our most powerful natural weapons are our intense cooperative instinct and our ability to work a problem from multiple angles until we overcome it.”
“I see.” I’d heard of the human pack-bonding instinct that humans often lauded, but it seemed like a small thing to boast about. Being able to work in a group? Everyone else in the galaxy could do that too. Even Arxur could work together when pressed. It was hardly exceptional.
“Actually, that reminds me. If you want, we can take a walk today, but I need to warn you about something.”
I tensed slightly. Warn me about what? Would wild humans find it hard to ignore their predator instincts when they saw me? Would-
“You’re going to see a lot of predators if you go outside,” Athena continued.
I relaxed. “I’ve been in a crowd before. I’m used to large groups of humans.”
Athena shook their head. “No, non-human predators.”
Instantly I was tense again. “W-what do you mean? Is this because of your human…” I searched for the word for their radical ideology. “...ecology?”
“Nope. They’re pets.”
“You keep wild predators as companions!?” I knew humans were obsessed with their pack-bonding, but the idea that they had deluded themselves into keeping wild predators in their houses was appalling.
“They aren’t really wild; they’re [meaning unclear: trained/disciplined].”
“Oh wow, you taught them to do tricks. That makes me feel safe!”
Athena stared at me with an expression I was starting to learn meant confusion. “No, I said they’re [meaning unclear: trained/disciplined].”
My ears flicked in bafflement. “You… just said the same thing, I think.”
Athena’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I think it’s getting caught in the translator. You don’t… oh, that’s interesting.”
“What is?”
“Humans can train animals, sure,” they said. “But that’s not the same thing. Taking a wild animal and teaching it to trust humans and do tricks is possible, but it’s not the same thing. I’m going to show you some pictures.”
Athena tapped at their phone for a moment, then showed me an image of a large, grey predator. It wasn’t quite as hideous as an arxur, but the quadruped was clearly large and powerful, and in another image of the creature I could see enormous fangs that dwarfed a human’s sharp canine teeth.
“That’s a wolf. They’re pack hunters that preyed on humans and their livestock in the past. They still do occasionally, but these days they mostly just avoid humans.”
“And humans just… own these animals?”
Athena let out a few soft barks. “Nope. Look at this.”
The second image was a golden animal with floppy ears. It was clearly a close relative of the wolf based on its snout and its legs, but instead of the thick grey fur of the first beast it had shaggy golden locks. Its fangs were smaller and its eyes were proportionally larger. They were darker, too, almost looking like prey eyes. I could still see the terrible predator inside it, but the creature in the photo was almost comical in comparison to the lean grey hunter.
“What is it?” I asked.
“This is a breed of dog.”
“Same genus as the wolf?”
Athena snarled slightly and shook their head. “Same species.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. Canis lupus and Canis lupus familiaris. They can produce fertile, healthy offspring together. More than ten thousand years ago, a wolf pack and a human tribe discovered they could hunt more food and stay safe if they worked together. The humans provided warmth and shelter, while the wolves provided their strength and their teeth. We bred them for positive temperament and sociability, and in turn they helped us to understand the inherent value of other animals in our world.”
“Do they still hunt for you?”
“A few do, but that’s not why we keep them these days.”
“Then… why?”
“They’re like family to us,” said Athena. “We keep them because we love them, and they love us. I’d like to think we keep them as a reminder to love others freely and to look for the best in people.”
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Species: Dog
Age: 5
Sex/Neuter status: M/Neutered
Breed: Golden Retriever
Body weight: 85
History: None
Clinical signs: Slight Red Eye, Just Left, Yellowy sticky discharge in eye, doesn't seem to bother him too much but builds up quick.
Duration: 3 day s
Your general location: Upper Michigan, thawing out season right now
Picture attached:
https://imgur.com/a/hggXrAp
First Photo of issue, Second Picture of him being awesome. Thanks!

Hi everyone, i am 22F, I do not take any medicine. I am worried about my health and i would just really appreciate it if someone could take the time of their day to read and look at these pictures and tell me if i should see a doctor, is this something serious I should look our for? First two pictures are of my leg and I noticed these red spots (only on one leg) earlier when I just wanted to put lotion on my legs, they don't itch but my inner thighs does, is this petchiae? For a few months how I have been struggling with itchiness and recently it has been very frequent around my collar bone and neck (in particular right side of my neck) it happened earlier so I took a photo of it.. my legs, inner thighs and back (especially just bellow my shoulders).. I also have anaemia but haven't checked my blood since maybe December but I don't feel well.. whou

I’m really terrified of my hair loss. It started last May, and everyone told me I was being too paranoid, and that I was a hypochondriac, that my hair looked fine, so I brushed it off — but it didn’t stop, or slow down, it kept falling and I KNEW it was, no matter how much everyone tried to tell me “it’s normal” — it wasn’t normal for me.
I saw my hairdresser eventually, and asked her to give it to me straight — was it the bleach? I’ve been bleaching my hair for almost a decade, so I doubted it. She looked and said it wasn’t, as there’s minimal breakage in my hair, ends were healthy — the hair was coming from the root. (Note my scalp, since last May, seemed to change from regularly oily after a few days, to developing dandruff — which I still have now (I used to only get dandruff when I hadn’t washed it for like a week and even then, it would go away after washing). It was itchy for a while but after switching shampoos, it hasn’t been itchy, or sore, or red. Still losing hair though).
She recommended I get a blood test, so I did, but the results came back normal aside from my liver function count being SLIGHTLY too high.
I don’t know what to do. It’s weird, I can’t seem to find any bald spots, my hairline hasn’t seemed to have receded as far as I’m aware, my part looks normal — but I just have way less hair. It’s not psychological either; I’ve compared some older pictures and there’s a definite difference. I put it into a plait last night and broke down because my one plait half the size it used to be. It doesn’t come out in clumps, but a lot comes out, when in brush mostly but also if I run my fingers through.
I’ve been drinking 2L water, I eat enough protein (recently started eating meat again after 5 years) I take care of my hair and always have done. I’m barely into my twenties, and my hair is all I have that I loved about myself. Sorry for the horrible negative post, I don’t know what else to do or who else to turn to. EVERYONE keeps telling me “you look fine, stop worrying” — but they haven’t experienced it 😞

I got a camera ticket saying i owe 50 bucks for crashing a red light. However it is clear from the pictures that I stopped and turned right on red. I don't have alot of time to try and fight this but there is no way in hell I'm paying this crap. It says the money will go to the local schools but that's why I pay taxes. Does anyone have any experience with this and if so, how did you handle it? It can't add points to your record so I wonder if I can just ignore this utter BS but any insight would be great!

#include  // Core graphics library #include  // Hardware-specific library for ST7735 #include  // Hardware-specific library for ST7789 #include  #if defined(ARDUINO_FEATHER_ESP32) // Feather Huzzah32 #define TFT_CS 14 #define TFT_RST 15 #define TFT_DC 32 #elif defined(ESP8266) #define TFT_CS 4 #define TFT_RST 16 #define TFT_DC 5 #else // For the breakout board, you can use any 2 or 3 pins. // These pins will also work for the 1.8" TFT shield. #define TFT_CS 10 #define TFT_RST 9 // Or set to -1 and connect to Arduino RESET pin #define TFT_DC 8 #endif // OPTION 1 (recommended) is to use the HARDWARE SPI pins, which are unique // to each board and not reassignable. For Arduino Uno: MOSI = pin 11 and // SCLK = pin 13. This is the fastest mode of operation and is required if // using the breakout board's microSD card. // For 1.44" and 1.8" TFT with ST7735 use: Adafruit_ST7735 tft = Adafruit_ST7735(TFT_CS, TFT_DC, TFT_RST); // For 1.14", 1.3", 1.54", 1.69", and 2.0" TFT with ST7789: //Adafruit_ST7789 tft = Adafruit_ST7789(TFT_CS, TFT_DC, TFT_RST); // OPTION 2 lets you interface the display using ANY TWO or THREE PINS, // tradeoff being that performance is not as fast as hardware SPI above. //#define TFT_MOSI 11 // Data out //#define TFT_SCLK 13 // Clock out // For ST7735-based displays, we will use this call //Adafruit_ST7735 tft = Adafruit_ST7735(TFT_CS, TFT_DC, TFT_MOSI, TFT_SCLK, TFT_RST); // OR for the ST7789-based displays, we will use this call //Adafruit_ST7789 tft = Adafruit_ST7789(TFT_CS, TFT_DC, TFT_MOSI, TFT_SCLK, TFT_RST); float p = 3.1415926; void setup(void) { Serial.begin(9600); Serial.print(F("Hello! ST77xx TFT Test")); // Use this initializer if using a 1.8" TFT screen: tft.initR(INITR_BLACKTAB); // Init ST7735S chip, black tab // OR use this initializer if using a 1.8" TFT screen with offset such as WaveShare: // tft.initR(INITR_GREENTAB); // Init ST7735S chip, green tab // OR use this initializer (uncomment) if using a 1.44" TFT: //tft.initR(INITR_144GREENTAB); // Init ST7735R chip, green tab // OR use this initializer (uncomment) if using a 0.96" 160x80 TFT: //tft.initR(INITR_MINI160x80); // Init ST7735S mini display // OR use this initializer (uncomment) if using a 0.96" 160x80 TFT with // plug-in FPC (if you see the display is inverted!) //tft.initR(INITR_MINI160x80_PLUGIN); // Init ST7735S mini display // OR use this initializer (uncomment) if using a 1.3" or 1.54" 240x240 TFT: //tft.init(240, 240); // Init ST7789 240x240 // OR use this initializer (uncomment) if using a 1.69" 280x240 TFT: //tft.init(240, 280); // Init ST7789 280x240 // OR use this initializer (uncomment) if using a 2.0" 320x240 TFT: //tft.init(240, 320); // Init ST7789 320x240 // OR use this initializer (uncomment) if using a 1.14" 240x135 TFT: //tft.init(135, 240); // Init ST7789 240x135 // OR use this initializer (uncomment) if using a 1.47" 172x320 TFT: //tft.init(172, 320); // Init ST7789 172x320 // SPI speed defaults to SPI_DEFAULT_FREQ defined in the library, you can override it here // Note that speed allowable depends on chip and quality of wiring, if you go too fast, you // may end up with a black screen some times, or all the time. //tft.setSPISpeed(40000000); Serial.println(F("Initialized")); uint16_t time = millis(); tft.fillScreen(ST77XX_BLACK); time = millis() - time; Serial.println(time, DEC); delay(500); // large block of text tft.fillScreen(ST77XX_BLACK); testdrawtext("Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Curabitur adipiscing ante sed nibh tincidunt feugiat. Maecenas enim massa, fringilla sed malesuada et, malesuada sit amet turpis. Sed porttitor neque ut ante pretium vitae malesuada nunc bibendum. Nullam aliquet ultrices massa eu hendrerit. Ut sed nisi lorem. In vestibulum purus a tortor imperdiet posuere. ", ST77XX_WHITE); delay(1000); // tft print function! tftPrintTest(); delay(4000); // a single pixel tft.drawPixel(tft.width()/2, tft.height()/2, ST77XX_GREEN); delay(500); // line draw test testlines(ST77XX_YELLOW); delay(500); // optimized lines testfastlines(ST77XX_RED, ST77XX_BLUE); delay(500); testdrawrects(ST77XX_GREEN); delay(500); testfillrects(ST77XX_YELLOW, ST77XX_MAGENTA); delay(500); tft.fillScreen(ST77XX_BLACK); testfillcircles(10, ST77XX_BLUE); testdrawcircles(10, ST77XX_WHITE); delay(500); testroundrects(); delay(500); testtriangles(); delay(500); mediabuttons(); delay(500); Serial.println("done"); delay(1000); } void loop() { tft.invertDisplay(true); delay(500); tft.invertDisplay(false); delay(500); } void testlines(uint16_t color) { tft.fillScreen(ST77XX_BLACK); for (int16_t x=0; x < tft.width(); x+=6) { tft.drawLine(0, 0, x, tft.height()-1, color); delay(0); } for (int16_t y=0; y < tft.height(); y+=6) { tft.drawLine(0, 0, tft.width()-1, y, color); delay(0); } tft.fillScreen(ST77XX_BLACK); for (int16_t x=0; x < tft.width(); x+=6) { tft.drawLine(tft.width()-1, 0, x, tft.height()-1, color); delay(0); } for (int16_t y=0; y < tft.height(); y+=6) { tft.drawLine(tft.width()-1, 0, 0, y, color); delay(0); } tft.fillScreen(ST77XX_BLACK); for (int16_t x=0; x < tft.width(); x+=6) { tft.drawLine(0, tft.height()-1, x, 0, color); delay(0); } for (int16_t y=0; y < tft.height(); y+=6) { tft.drawLine(0, tft.height()-1, tft.width()-1, y, color); delay(0); } tft.fillScreen(ST77XX_BLACK); for (int16_t x=0; x < tft.width(); x+=6) { tft.drawLine(tft.width()-1, tft.height()-1, x, 0, color); delay(0); } for (int16_t y=0; y < tft.height(); y+=6) { tft.drawLine(tft.width()-1, tft.height()-1, 0, y, color); delay(0); } } void testdrawtext(char *text, uint16_t color) { tft.setCursor(0, 0); tft.setTextColor(color); tft.setTextWrap(true); tft.print(text); } void testfastlines(uint16_t color1, uint16_t color2) { tft.fillScreen(ST77XX_BLACK); for (int16_t y=0; y < tft.height(); y+=5) { tft.drawFastHLine(0, y, tft.width(), color1); } for (int16_t x=0; x < tft.width(); x+=5) { tft.drawFastVLine(x, 0, tft.height(), color2); } } void testdrawrects(uint16_t color) { tft.fillScreen(ST77XX_BLACK); for (int16_t x=0; x < tft.width(); x+=6) { tft.drawRect(tft.width()/2 -x/2, tft.height()/2 -x/2 , x, x, color); } } void testfillrects(uint16_t color1, uint16_t color2) { tft.fillScreen(ST77XX_BLACK); for (int16_t x=tft.width()-1; x > 6; x-=6) { tft.fillRect(tft.width()/2 -x/2, tft.height()/2 -x/2 , x, x, color1); tft.drawRect(tft.width()/2 -x/2, tft.height()/2 -x/2 , x, x, color2); } } void testfillcircles(uint8_t radius, uint16_t color) { for (int16_t x=radius; x < tft.width(); x+=radius*2) { for (int16_t y=radius; y < tft.height(); y+=radius*2) { tft.fillCircle(x, y, radius, color); } } } void testdrawcircles(uint8_t radius, uint16_t color) { for (int16_t x=0; x < tft.width()+radius; x+=radius*2) { for (int16_t y=0; y < tft.height()+radius; y+=radius*2) { tft.drawCircle(x, y, radius, color); } } } void testtriangles() { tft.fillScreen(ST77XX_BLACK); uint16_t color = 0xF800; int t; int w = tft.width()/2; int x = tft.height()-1; int y = 0; int z = tft.width(); for(t = 0 ; t <= 15; t++) { tft.drawTriangle(w, y, y, x, z, x, color); x-=4; y+=4; z-=4; color+=100; } } void testroundrects() { tft.fillScreen(ST77XX_BLACK); uint16_t color = 100; int i; int t; for(t = 0 ; t <= 4; t+=1) { int x = 0; int y = 0; int w = tft.width()-2; int h = tft.height()-2; for(i = 0 ; i <= 16; i+=1) { tft.drawRoundRect(x, y, w, h, 5, color); x+=2; y+=3; w-=4; h-=6; color+=1100; } color+=100; } } void tftPrintTest() { tft.setTextWrap(false); tft.fillScreen(ST77XX_BLACK); tft.setCursor(0, 30); tft.setTextColor(ST77XX_RED); tft.setTextSize(1); tft.println("Hello World!"); tft.setTextColor(ST77XX_YELLOW); tft.setTextSize(2); tft.println("Hello World!"); tft.setTextColor(ST77XX_GREEN); tft.setTextSize(3); tft.println("Hello World!"); tft.setTextColor(ST77XX_BLUE); tft.setTextSize(4); tft.print(1234.567); delay(1500); tft.setCursor(0, 0); tft.fillScreen(ST77XX_BLACK); tft.setTextColor(ST77XX_WHITE); tft.setTextSize(0); tft.println("Hello World!"); tft.setTextSize(1); tft.setTextColor(ST77XX_GREEN); tft.print(p, 6); tft.println(" Want pi?"); tft.println(" "); tft.print(8675309, HEX); // print 8,675,309 out in HEX! tft.println(" Print HEX!"); tft.println(" "); tft.setTextColor(ST77XX_WHITE); tft.println("Sketch has been"); tft.println("running for: "); tft.setTextColor(ST77XX_MAGENTA); tft.print(millis() / 1000); tft.setTextColor(ST77XX_WHITE); tft.print(" seconds."); } void mediabuttons() { // play tft.fillScreen(ST77XX_BLACK); tft.fillRoundRect(25, 10, 78, 60, 8, ST77XX_WHITE); tft.fillTriangle(42, 20, 42, 60, 90, 40, ST77XX_RED); delay(500); // pause tft.fillRoundRect(25, 90, 78, 60, 8, ST77XX_WHITE); tft.fillRoundRect(39, 98, 20, 45, 5, ST77XX_GREEN); tft.fillRoundRect(69, 98, 20, 45, 5, ST77XX_GREEN); delay(500); // play color tft.fillTriangle(42, 20, 42, 60, 90, 40, ST77XX_BLUE); delay(50); // pause color tft.fillRoundRect(39, 98, 20, 45, 5, ST77XX_RED); tft.fillRoundRect(69, 98, 20, 45, 5, ST77XX_RED); // play color tft.fillTriangle(42, 20, 42, 60, 90, 40, ST77XX_GREEN); } 

All prices are OBI and include shipping. I accept PayPal and Venmo. If you want to pay via G&S then you pay the additional fee. Thanks for looking and let me know if you have any questions.
Pictures/Serial: https://imgur.com/a/iRTw1z7
Trijicon ACOG TA01 (No Mount) Jesus Scope with Red Tritium Serial: 026698 - low salt, tritium dim but still active, lenses in perfect shape: $650
Larue LT799 ACOG Mount and Armorers Tool - no salt: $90
Midwest Industries QD ACOG Mount - no salt: $90

45M, 6'0", 200 lbs, Caucasian. Don't smoke or drink. Primary issue is tingling, burning and numbness in hands and feet.
How much blood pooling in your hands is normal?
If I stand with my hands by my side for 1-2 minutes my hands get red/nearly purple. If I put one above my head for a few seconds it return to my normal pale skin tone.
The color difference is person is more than in the picture. https://ibb.co/5s56vh7

45M, 6'0", 200 lbs, Caucasian. Don't smoke or drink. Primary issue is tingling, burning and numbness in hands and feet.
How much blood pooling in your hands is normal?
If I stand with my hands by my side for 1-2 minutes my hands get red/nearly purple. If I put one above my head for a few seconds it return to my normal pale skin tone.
The color difference is person is more than in the picture. https://ibb.co/5s56vh7

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You: Hello, good morning. I have been trying to publish a Safeway song for Disney, Tiltify, MTV, VH1.Safeway: I'm sorry, I'm just a chatbot (not a person), and I'm having difficulty understanding your request. I may be able to help you if you restate your question in a few words.You: I am Admiral Dr. Diana Hallare.Safeway: I'm sorry, I'm just a chatbot (not a person) and I'm having difficulty understating your request. Would you please repeat your question in a different way?You: There may be parts that are cold to keep what could nourish, to keep what was prepared to rebuild strength/ THere may be parts that are cold to keep the heavy, to keep the clarity over the yolk... When you are at a Safeway, You can walk through paths with colors and angles beside, You can say thank you to those who let you peruse; You can slet them know what you've loved... (WIPO, USPTO, ASCAP)Safeway: I'm sorry, I'm having difficulty understanding your request. I may be able to help you if you restate your question in a few words.You: There may be parts that are at a slope to keep what could nourish, to keep what was prepared to rebuild strength; To keep the chasers of fre radicals, to keep the eyes focused on aesthetics...When you are at a Safeway, Would you want the local red or green? Would you want the local golden or dark? Would you want the cold red or the warm green? (c) Dr. Diana Hallare (R)Safeway: I'm sorry, I'm having difficulty understanding your request. I may be able to help you if you restate your question in a few words.You: Thanks for your hospitality through the years.Safeway: You're welcome.