What's everyone's favourite flowers that aren't like. The normal ones. Like everyone's a fan of roses and sunflowers what's a more niche one. One you don't get in gift sets. Mine's sweet peas
"being a human is so boring why can't I be one of the COOL animals" okay hey. I hear you. but I actually really super love being an omnivorous persistence hunting primate with a stomach capable of dissolving many literal poisons and the ability to smell geosmin (released in the soil after it rains) at five parts per trillion. I super enjoy being a bipedal terrifyingly agile mammal with some of the most efficient sweat glands in the animal kingdom. I find a lot of joy in being an endotherm with mimicry abilities that rival most other animals with vocal chords. it's sick as hell I'm having a lot of fun
“You know, if you need a girlfriend that bad, you could’ve just asked.”
Nolan was only half-listening; it wasn’t until his hand was on the door that he fully registered what Trent had actually said.
He looked back. “What?”
“I’m just saying.” Trent was lounging on the couch in nothing but boxers. The bathroom door was closed, with the running shower slightly muffling the high-pitched, melodious humming within. “If you’re that desperate, I know some single girls who’re into shut-in nerds.”
“I’m… good?” Nolan said.
Trent shrugged. “You do you. But some of the guys say they’re always fatter than you think they’ll be.” He paused. “Unless you’re into that.”
“I’m going hiking,” Nolan said slowly. “Where do you think I’m going?”
Trent raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, you’re going hiking at Point Lobos,” he said. “Everybody knows there’s been selkie sightings. Jace won’t shut up about it, because he is into chubby girls.”
“Wait, seriously?” Nolan gaped at him. “There are selkies at Point Lobos? Where?”
“I think he said they were near some island with birds on it? Hey, when you make your move, make sure you keep track of whose coat is whose. Jace said he grabbed the wrong one and ended up with this buck-toothed chick with a huge mole on her nose, and all the others ran off before he could grab another one.”
Nolan bristled. “I’m not stealing a selkie coat, that’s vile. Do your friends seriously do crap like that?”
Trent rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Nole, it’s just how you do it. They’re not people, it’s just how they work. You have that deal with the magic rat that cleans the kitchen, Jace hooks up with seal women, it’s not a big deal.”
“You are not comparing leaving food out for a brownie to trapping someone into—”
“Hey, I don’t do it,” Trent shot back. “I don’t need to play games with fairies to get girls.”
At some point the shower had stopped, though the humming had not. A pale, damp brunette stepped out wrapped in a towel. Droplets glistened on her skin, and the wetness enhanced the gentle curl of her hair. She’d used Trent’s three-in-one—Nolan would know that smell anywhere—but somehow, on her, the smell of Sports Boost Citrus & Musk transformed into something sweet and elegant. She exchanged a flirty smile with Trent, gave a tinkling laugh when he winked at her, and slipped into Trent’s bedroom with an inviting tilt of her head. Once the door was closed, the humming turned to muffled singing.
Nolan wasn’t sure how Trent’s personality didn’t put all these girls off. He wasn’t the best judge, but even he could tell they were objectively beautiful. They had options.
“That’s not Rosalie,” he remarked.
Trent rolled to his feet with a satisfied sigh. “Traded up. Frat rats are fun, but I could actually bring this one home.”
“That’s messed up,” Nolan told him.
“Want her number?” Trent offered. “Rosie’s, I mean. She’s gonna need a rebound, and you never get dates on your own, so it works out.”
Nolan slammed the door behind him, and spent several seconds standing outside, waving his middle finger at it, before leaving.
The drive from Monterey to Point Lobos calmed him back down, in that way that only twenty minutes of silence and solitude could. He tried not to talk to Trent if he didn’t have to. They had nothing in common—Trent was two years older, loved the smell of his own farts, and was convinced everyone else loved them, too. The only reason Nolan lived with him was that he couldn’t afford the dorms, and Trent had been the cheapest option on Craigslist. Nolan’s eighteenth birthday present from his parents had been to start charging him rent, so they weren’t about to help.
As he turned off the highway and into the park, Nolan tapped the wheel thoughtfully. He hadn’t planned on visiting Bird Island until later in spring when the eggs started hatching, but… selkies.
He’d never heard of selkie sightings at Point Lobos. With how reclusive they were, there was so little research on how their human sides affected their ecological niche, if they competed for resources with non-magical pinnipeds, migratory patterns—
Most selkie-related research came from interviews with the ones who joined human society full-time—willingly or otherwise. But wild selkies? That was dissertation material. He was only a freshman, sure, but it was never too early to start thinking about it.
It wouldn’t hurt to ask, if he saw them. The worst they could say was no.
Actually, the worst they could say was “I’m going to drown you now,” but selkies were way more docile than your average mermaid, and far less likely to want to eat you.
Mind made up, Nolan kept driving past Sea Lion Point, and within ten minutes was pulling into the lot near Bird Island. The air was brisk with early spring—this time of year, Bird Island would be covered in nests. Nolan planned on being back in a week or so to see baby cormorants and night herons. For now, there were three beaches nearby to check, and the trails were quiet enough that, hopefully, no one would see him running like a lunatic from one to the next.
He checked Hidden Beach, then China Cove. By the time he arrived panting to find Gibson Beach utterly serene and empty of selkies, it struck him how stupid this whole thing probably was.
This wasn’t some secluded coast where fey folk could frolic in peace. It was a popular nature reserve that saw loads of foot traffic every year. Hidden Beach wasn’t very hidden when the trail gave you a perfect view of it.
“Idiot,” he murmured once he’d caught his breath. “Trent was messing with you. Obviously. What else is new?” He paused, considering. That was probably a good thing. If Trent was lying about the selkies, then that hopefully meant Trent was also lying about selkies getting harassed by his jackass friends.
Shaking his head, he turned around and made his way back toward Bird Island. With a little luck, he’d spot some early hatchlings and this whole thing wouldn’t be a total loss.
Bird Island was a massive rock jutting up out of the sea, with enough surface on top and crevasses on the sides for countless cormorants to gather and make their nests. The hiking trail ran along the coastline, a stone’s throw away from a steep drop into the water below.
Nolan walked along the trail, scanning the nests for any sign of movement beneath the brooding parents. The gulls were already making themselves nuisances, circling the nests in search of inattentive parents, while the nesting birds screamed them away. Between the island and the coast lined, waves crashed and lapped against the sides of the narrow crevice.
No hatchlings, but the smell and sound of the water and the calls of the birds calmed him. Eventually an empty bench tempted him to sit, and he tilted his head back, shut his eyes, and let himself stop thinking about school assignments, upcoming finals, and Trent..
Looking back on it later, it would feel like a brief, unexpected nap. Somewhere in those minutes was when the singing started, and Nolan’s mind went foggy and strange as if submerged. The melody was odd, discordant but eerily beautiful, and the words sounded less like the lyrics to a song, and more like a gentle voice whispering in his ear.
Look out at the island, it told him. There are night-herons, and their eggs have hatched. Come closer and look.
Nolan awoke underwater, wrapped in something heavy and wet. Cold saltwater rushed into his mouth, nose, and eyes. Something gripped him and pulled him along, and he thrashed and struggled uselessly. In his sudden panic, he took a breath to scream, and began to drown.
In an instant he was hauled unceremoniously out of the water, coughing and spluttering. His face came free of the thing wrapped around him, and the first thing he felt was sand against his cheek. He flailed again and managed to sit up and heave miserably.
Something thudded into his back, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Another thud, and the rest of the seawater spilled out of him with one last cough. Nolan dragged in a few grateful breaths, still spitting out the taste of salt.
There was a tug at the heavy blanket draped around him. “Can I have this back now?”
“Gimme a second,” Nolan gasped out, still dizzy.
“You’re not drowning anymore and that’s my coat,” the voice said dryly. “So unless the next thing out of your mouth is a marriage proposal—”
Nolan shrieked and flung it off with enough force to fling himself into the wet sand. The weight vanished, and he gingerly turned over onto his back to find a hulking figure standing over him, blocking out the sun.
“Never understood how you people keep falling for those things,” his rescuer went on. Their voice was rough and husky, with an accent that Nolan couldn’t place.
“W-what?” Nolan rasped out. He rubbed his eyes, clearing sand and saltwater from his vision. A woman stood over him, big in every sense of the word: tall, broad, and fat, with legs like tree trunks and arms that could bench him easily. Salt crusted over her light brown skin and dark, damp hair.
If there was any uncertainty left about what she was, the spotted gray pelt wrapped loosely around her like a robe did away with it.
“You know, mermaids. Just saying, the second those floppy bastards start singing, you’re throwing yourselves off cliffs. Are you really that desperate for fish ass?” The selkie wrinkled her nose.
“I didn’t… they weren’t…” The fog was lifting from Nolan’s brain, leaving memories sharper and clearer than the original experience had been. He winced when he realized that yes, he had just walked straight off the edge. “It said there were night herons… chicks in the nest.”
“That makes even less sense.” The selkie cocked her head to the side. “Those things are barely a mouthful.”
“I-I didn’t want to eat thehhhholy crap is that blood?!” At first glance it looked like a trick of the light, or seaweed drifting beneath the waves. But no—a blood trail stained the sand, until a wave rolled in and scattered it into a faded pinkish cloud before carrying it out to sea.
“It’s not yours,” the selkie told him. Her lips curled back as she ran her tongue over her teeth, swiping a few red flecks from the corner of her mouth. “You’re welcome.”
“Th-thank you,” Nolan said shakily. “Um. Why did you wrap me in your skin?”
“Well it was supposed to let you hold your breath longer so you didn’t drown,” the selkie said. “And it would’ve worked if you’d actually tried to hold your breath instead of thrashing and panicking like a wounded pup.”
“Oh,” Nolan said sheepishly.
“Well, you’re not dead and that’s the important part. Seeya.” With that, she turned her back on him and began trudging back out into the water, pelt unfurling from her hands.
“W-wait!” Nolan tried to get to his feet, but his legs buckled beneath him. “Um! Thank you! But—before you go, could I ask you some questions?”
“No,” the selkie replied, and slid underwater without another word.
“Okay,” Nolan murmured, mostly to himself. He sat back down in the sand, harder than he meant—sand was never quite as soft as it looked. “I… just met a selkie.”
Laughter bubbled up from his chest, slightly on the side of hysterical. He’d just met a selkie. The second he stopped looking for them, some mermaid—siren, maybe?—had tried to lure him to a watery grave, only for a freaking selkie to haul him half-drowned out of the water.
As he caught his breath, the fog returned to his brain. The eerie melody from before rang out again—Go after her. There’s still time. Swim out and find her—
Without warning, the singing broke into a bubbling shriek that lanced through his skull. Somewhere beyond the shore, the waves began to churn and bubble as if boiling. Amid the red haze of pain that stole over his eyes, Nolan could swear he saw the glint of a fin flailing up from the thrashing water, followed by a flash of wet gray fur.
Just as suddenly, the ear-splitting wail stopped. The water returned to its gentle rippling.
Nolan was already scrambling to his feet and racing back up the beach toward the trail.
Decades-long campaign powered by patient perspectives results in switch from PCOS – a name that caused confusion and undue suffering – to PM
a health policy paper has been published saying the name is officially updated to polyendocrine metabolic ovarian syndrome (PMOS)
polyendocrine= multiple endocrine factors
metabolic = affecting/affected by metabolism
ovarian = from the ovaries
essentially, instead of using the symptomatic term (many people with PMOS do not develop cysts) the new term widens the diagnostic area and makes it easier to diagnose, treat, and do research on people with PMOS (even atypical types, such as no cysts).
it may seem like a waste of time to change a name instead of focusing on research, but for a lot of medical professionals a name can be associated with a hard set collection of symptoms, so the name needs to change to acknowledge that the disorder is not well understood and has a broader, subtler, and often missed set of symptoms. for example ADD is considered an antiquated/unused term, and now comes under the ADHD umbrella. in healthcare names and terminology changes all the time, and this is a positive change. your local healthcare professional may not know about this unless theyre really up on the news though!
in case you want to read about the name change process that was published in the Lancet (one of the most impactful and well respected medical journals):
Polyendocrine metabolic ovarian syndrome (PMOS), previously named polycystic ovary
syndrome (PCOS), affects one in eight women. However, the
identifying a maladaptive coping mechanism is so bitter sweet like that’s great now i know what i need to stop doing. but that’s literally my something
When my mother forgets a word, she is the queen of coming up with new words. Words that would take a third National Treasure movie to fully decipher. I was talking to her yesterday, and she said this: “You know the time for los jibbities is coming up. You must be so excited!” Oh, is it time for los jibbities already? I must have missed it on my calendar. Are we celebrating something? “Of course! We should all be celebrating, shouldn’t we?” OK, so los jibbities is a happy thing. It’s not like something is giving you the heebie-jeebies, which would have been my one and only guess. “Los heebie-jeebies? Now you’re making things up...and this is my show.” You’re right. The time for los jibbities is coming up. Is this a season? “Yes, the season for love. The season for pride.” OK, los jibbities. “Yeah, sound it out.” Los…jibbities. LGBTs! “Sí, mira cuz you’re gay!” “You couldn’t just say pride season? You couldn’t just… *laughs*
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