I'm the parent of an only child (3M) whom we'll call Sam. About 6 months ago Sam expressed an interest in taking a ballet class - I think the interest came from a book we read together. We signed him up and to no one's surprise he was the only boy in the class. Of course all the little girls were wearing ballet slippers, skirts, and tutus. Sam really enjoyed the class and afterwards said he wanted to wear a "ballet outfit" too. My partner and I told him if he finished all of the classes we had initially signed him up for and wanted to take another class that we would be happy to buy him ballet slippers and a skirt. He just finished his second set of 4 classes and loved wearing his "ballet outfit" to each class. He also ended up wearing it a lot playing around the house so we picked up a dress with some lacy frills at the bottom just to make sure we always had something clean for ballet class. He loves wearing his dress and pretending to be Super Princess (a super hero he made up). Yesterday morning he asked to wear the dress to church, which we allowed. We felt really supported by our church community in doing so with several people telling him how pretty his dress was and giving encouragement to us as his parents.
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My parent's father found out about it and called my partner this morning. He doesn't think it's age appropriate for my son to wear a dress because he's too young to understand all of the societal bull**** (my term, not his) and is likely to be made fun of. He doesn't think we should allow him to wear the dress anymore.
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I feel confident that we're handling this the right way so far (by following his lead and supporting him expressing himself) and have no interest in changing his behavior. But I'm looking for resources (books, podcasts, etc.) for my father-in-law, as well as myself. I know if this continues at some point someone is going to make a nasty comment to him or make fun of him. Do we wait for that time to come and then address it with him? He's fairly resilient for a 3 year old and has always worn purple and pink clothes and not cared what kids on the playground have said. Or do we take a more proactive approach and if so, how?

A day late but we're here, my little cheeto eaters! Remember as always to grab your bingo cards and let's get our little long weekend slumber party going. This whole fucking thing is FORTY MINUTES LONG, you're all lucky that my sibling who was supposed to spend the day chilling at my place has apparently forgotten that plan.
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• There's a new opening style than all her other vlogs. Not sure if that's because of Morgan but also I don't care enough to go hunt down exactly which influencer she cribbed this style from. It features a lot of horse butts. Also her using her phone in bed, which I thought she didn't do because she's mindful.
  • The music she uses is this song, which is DEFINITELY not copyright-free, so have fun learning how actual copyright law works, Paige! The lyrics playing over the are "there are times when/it feels right to/run away, run away/when you ask the same old questions/every day, every day/Why do I set the stage?/Why do I find my place on the pedestal?", because I guess Paige went to the Love is Blind school of "make sure the lyrics of whatever song you use are really, REALLY literal"
• Giveaway winners! Congrats to the three people who won a pile of Paige's old garbage! Don't worry though, if you didn't win her trash, she'll be doing a lot more of these because she "appreciates [us] guys so much" and "wants us to experience some of the things that I'm so grateful to get".
  • Nothing says grateful like giving away your extras to strangers and instead of doing anything to promote them like you were supposed to in return for getting them for free, using the existence of this stuff as a way to leverage yourself up on the algorithm.
    • There's also Dairy Boy in the giveaways, of course, because no one's buying it organically.
• She explains moving Louie, it's the same stuff she said on Instagram. Weirdly horses are like the only animal I've never gotten super obsessed with, so I have no idea how BS this is, but it's almost word-for-word her IG explanation, so it's the same level of BS that was. She does word this though as it being a "charity project" and "passion project" she "donated to", because there was a dearth I guess of places to keep your horse in the rich people part of Connecticut.
  • She has to first run to get a grazing muzzle so Louie doesn't overeat in the pasture. This sets off my internal bad animal treatment alarms in a huge way, but again, don't know enough about horses to know if this is warranted.
• Just kidding! Don't let Paige into a Tractor Supply unsupervised, she's too much of a ~country girl~ to not come out with "so much shit". She also got this beef jerky that looked "so good". It's Iowa Smokehouse beef jerky.
  • It apparently looked good because all she had for breakfast was coffee. Why she only had coffee I'm not sure, since it's not like she didn't have the time to get something better. Coffee and beef jerky for breakfast sure is a choice, and one I'm sure her intestines didn't make her pay for later. This summer is all about ~hot girl indigestion~.
  • Story time! This looks like "legit, real beef jerky", which Paige knows because when Paige was in boarding school she stayed with a family who had a lot of cows and they made their own beef jerky, which Paige was of course intimately involved in, I'm sure. Anyway this makes her have such high standards, which is why she loves when somewhere like Tractor Supply (an enormous fucking chain, Paige) or a "local country mart" sells jerky because it's always better.
    • Fun fact that took me less than thirty seconds to Google, this "real" beef jerky is also available on Amazon
• More of the same definitely not copyrighted song as she packs up Louie's stuff and moves him. There's a lot of woman laughing alone with salad shots as she packs up and pretends to talk to... someone and "carry stuff" (ie: stand around touching her own body awkwardly)
• Some weird things about this whole sequence - 1) the "farm" she moves Louie to appears to have very poor, dilapidated fencing, red flag for me. 2) Paige is wearing a white shirt and then a white cardigan the entire time while DEALING WITH A HORSE and it never gets stained or dirty, which tells me she did fuck all, 3) the only guy with her is this big bald much older man who I assume is the guy starting this venture, meaning he's almost certainly who films her cantering around on Louie without her wearing a helmet laughing, which is so unbearably awkward. Like imagine asking a random older dude to film you doing that in a pure white sweater, 4) when Paige brushes Louie he sheds SO MUCH. Is that bad? It feels bad. When a dog sheds that much, even in the spring, it usually means no one's been brushing it regularly, 5) Louie has such a dip in his back and it makes me wince every time, especially when Paige shows him next to another horse. I don't know what that's from, but I hate it and it doesn't look comfortable for him.
• Nance and Baloo are at home when Paige gets back so she's just going to "throw on a little outfit" and they're going to go out for Mother's Day in Brooklyn. Paige really, really didn't want to go into the city because I guess she's suuuuch a country girl (nice, Paige) but she's doing it for her mom and to see her sister
  • Oh my god she DOESN'T CHANGE HER SHIRT FROM THE BARN, she wears a white henley, what look like blue pajama pants, and a leather coat.
  • Nance steals some of Paige's clothes (how I don't know since they're totally different sizes) and according to Paige is"slaying the boots", a phrase I will pay actual cash money to never hear Paige say again
• Next morning, return of the out of focus camera, though it may have been by accident this time because it stays out of focus. Anyway serious business Paige with her serious business glasses is starting the day with some "desk work". Is that a thing? A phrase? What the fuck is "desk work"? Has anyone who actually does work at a desk ever called it that?
  • When she's in Europe it's definitely harder for her to sit and do computer work even though she has a laptop but starting the day on her desktop at the same time as her "whole team" (WHO) it really makes a difference for them being all on the same page.
    • Okay so my actual job in real life is doing shipping and order management for a small creative goods company. I know very intimately what goes into product development, order fulfillment, etc, and Paige is just straight up saying nonsense. Like I paused and gave serious thought to what possibly she could be talking about, and I don't know what all this "work" is. If she was making everything in-house that's one thing, but that's not work she could possibly be doing or overseeing from Europe. But if she's outsourcing stuff, having it sent to a warehouse, and, then paying someone to ship it out for her, I guess she's doing... development? But that makes no sense because again, she outsources everything. She isn't doing wholesale, there isn't a lot to arrange for pop-ups if everything is outsourced and pre-made and she's only supposedly having one this summer, she only has eight products so the website maintenance is pretty easy, as is accounting, and she only really sells stuff around a drop which she does maybe twice a year.......... like genuinely I'm baffled here. It's my job to do this exact same thing every day with products that aren't jeans or sweatshirts or whatever and I'm so, confused about what her "work" is.
    • Allegedly they're on the "final push" for so many big projects and you know what, if any of these projects involve Paige actually doing anything besides feeling three different samples of denim swatches or deciding which vendor she's going to outsource oven mitts to and saying "I like this" or "I don't like that", I will issue her an apology. I feel safe in the idea that I won't have to issue her an apology, but I will keep on on offer in the off-chance I'm wrong.
    • She just finished making a line sheet (genuine lol once I looked up what that was) and apparently we are going to freeeeak out when we see her new merch - sorry, elevated lifstyle products.
    • It's denim. She's been working on denim. She shows us the final washes but it's in direct sunlight so it's all blown out and out of focus so they look mostly white? But she got the "perfect color". IDK, it's a light wash. I prefer dark wash, actually. It's a lot more flattering and forgiving. But we've already determined my aesthetic and Paige's aesthetic are not the same aesthetic. She's nobly pushed back production six months because she refused to do a full run unless the wash was absolutely perfect. It was so expensive but she needed to love love love the denim, because it's really what she's passionate about and what she wants to do, she wants to be the best denim brand out there. You know, because she's hand-making this denim herself, not just sending instructions to low-wage Chinese workers while being afforded the privilege to fuss over the perceived quality for six months because she has parents who are willing to flush money down the toilet on this. Also, for the record, but denim is like... a choice? Like what is the vision, exactly, because every clothing retailer has some version of denim and people are already super married to their faves, so how exactly is this business model working for her, here. And it doesn't look like stretch denim either, which means it's going to fit a very, very narrow group of body types. Like speaking from ample experience crying in GAP dressing rooms over my "freakish" (read, not built like a popsicle stick) as a teenager in a time before jeggings, jeans are not forgiving and easily worn by everyone. The thing about what Paige is doing so far is that it's universal enough. You don't have to really tailor an oversized sweatshirt or trucker hat to fit you. Everyone can make room for another overpriced candle. But denim??? IDK girl, you do you.
• Paige makes Olivia a latte. Olivia comes in and say it's story time about coffee. Paige asks if she should turn off the camera for this and Olivia says no so Paige continues to film herself preening while Olivia tells her a story about how messy she is frothing milk. Paige spends the entire time interrupting her to go "no! No! No! No!"
  • They look at buttons and rivets and embossed leather patches for the back, and then sweatpants leg panel samples. Baloo hangs out with them and Paige tells him he's stinky. She eats toast.
    • WHAT IS THE POINT OF ANY OF THIS. She's not DESIGNING anything, she's just doing that thing like, you know when you're choosing your racer in Mario Kart and there are a couple hundred variations of wheels and chassis and you just choose the unique combos you want to put together? She's doing that but with generic clothing. I've been jokingly referring to her stuff as "elevated Zazzle" but this isn't even Zazzle because Zazzle you UPLOAD ACTUAL ARTWORK TO. Why is she re-inventing the wheel? What improvements does she think she's making TO A PROVERBIAL WHEEL.
• Not sponsored showing off gifting time! It's not in focus at all so we can't really see any of the products (professional!). One of the products she mentions is that she's friends with CYNTHIA ROWLEY'S DAUGHTER who has nepo baby'd her way into dropping oven mitts and aprons that look like Strawberry Shortcake's rejects. Like they're cute, but they're again little strawberries on white. Like tell me none of you silver spoon-ass bitches cook without telling me by making WHITE OVEN MITTS. Those will turn yellowish and burnt after, what a single batch of brownies? Taking a piece of toast out?
  • This haul includes her tennis Tommy bag. Not sure how she got it since she brags about it being "sold out everywhere even Poshmark and depop"
  • There is sooooooo much of this free bullshit. How does she even get this much free bullshit. Why do companies waste so much money sending this to people like Paige who don't fucking care and openly give it away. What is the point of an influencer. IDK at this point I'm spiraling, this vlog is like a third of the way through and nothing has happened.
• Paige unpacks with Nance. She has so many clothes and I don't think she's worn any of them. Full disclosure that this was the point I actually got annoyed and had to take a break and play some video games for fifteen minutes because while growing up comfortably or on the upper end of middle class in a generational wealth type of town has taught me a lot of patience for people with too much money, there is at some point a limit to how conspicuous over-consumption and waste I can handle, and that point for me came when I saw how many sweaters Paige has that look like they've never been worn. And the on top of this she has a giant suitcase of stuff she's going to depop! The environment? Never heard of her.
• Paige is going to get groceries. She's needed Nance's help to do all the hard stuff she's had to do today like going grocery shopping and having soooo many clothes. She goes to Trader Joe's, then goes to a horse shop and of course buys MORE SHIT SHE DOESN'T NEED. I'm not condoning what the French did when they invented the guillotine, like that was really violent and horrible, but the point is that the longer I watch this vlog the more I'm understanding their motivations.
• Paige goes on a sunset ride with her friend Lauren, this song plays in the background as a flagrant copyright violation, I realize at this point that there's no way this video is going to stay up without Youtube copyright striking it so I have to be extra detailed for posterity and we still have so much to go and this is going to take forever. Louie's back still looks horrible and as someone with inherited lordosis, I feel for him.
• Tommy facetime! He says exactly one sentence and catches a tiny fish, for those of you keeping track on your Bingo cards.
• Nance is still over Paige's house when Paige gets back because she never leaves. Paige is wearing old Dairy Boy sweats. At this point when I scrolled down to press the play button again I realized that Nance has posted a comment about how proud she is of Paige within seconds of the video being uploaded. I live with my mother and sometimes I still need her help on stuff like yelling at health insurance until they cover stuff for me and even I am confused by how codependent their relationship is. Like doesn't Nance have her own house? A husband? Other children? Paige has spent this entire vlog needing Nance's help to do everything from grocery shopping to folding laundry and acting like a teenager. It's a rich text for a therapist to one day unpack.
  • It's Taco Monday, this is just a dumb and boring version of Paige performing the white people taco night song. Also bewildering, Paige seemingly DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO MAKE TACO STUFF. It involves almost no cooking! She even bought the spices pre-packaged! She needs Nance's help on this too!
  • Undisclosed new cooking knife brand product placement. They are amazed that it............slices.
    • OH NO SHE SAYS SLAYING WITH BOOTS AGAIN ABOUT THE KNIFE END THIS MISERY
  • Ahahhahah the reason they're so impressed is because they've apparently been cooking with unsharpened knives. Like Paige didn't know you could sharpen knives. A master chef, ladies and gentlemen!
• Oh god we're only halfway through. Paige wakes up the next morning. She got so freckly yesterday (read: she's courting melanoma and is going to age like a raisin). She's going to go play tennis at a club in Greenwich her parents are members at (Note, she shows the logo which means you can spend five seconds googling to discover it's this club. Membership is invite only and it's gauche apparently to discuss how much membership costs, but the estimate is EIGHTY GRAND A YEAR. To be clear, that is nearly THREE TIMES the average American household income. Paige is the child of people who spend more in one year to play tennis a few times a week than most people do getting fucking doctorates, which clears up a few things for me: one, I've never gotten those texts where she casually demands Morgan Wallen pay her back tens of thousands of dollars like it's $50, but I guess to her it is like $50, and two, why everything about Paige and how she acts towards people and money in this video is a million times more effective at radicalizing people on economic policy than anything Bernie Sanders has ever lain awake at night dreaming of.
  • Camera going in and out of focus during this explanation.
  • Ah she's doing it with her mom. Again. Heaven forbid Paige breathe without Nance.
  • Oh also she has to shoot an ad in the tennis dress, but she definitely likes and would go to play tennis anyway.
• More unboxing undisclosed adver- I mean PR.
  • I'm so serious, tthe flagrant wealth being thrown around in this video and the amount of free stuff a trust fund baby with absolutely no merits or skills whatsoever is getting because she has 300K followers on Instagram that she probably bought half of is like the best argument for socialism I have ever seen.
• .Paige gets dressed in the third outfit of the day to go to the dentist. The pants are pointedly too big on her so they don't stay up in the waist and create this weird enormous kangaroo pouch around her crotch. She pairs that with a toddler sized medium t-shirt for a football team she's probably never heard of, a choker that looks like something a boy band member in the early 2000's would wear but out of fake pearls, and cowboy boots. It's... the look sure is looking, let's just say that.
• Paige opines on how much she prefers to do vlogs at home, but don't worry, she won't stop doing travel vlogs for us! (Oh thank goodness, where would we be without the insights we get from them.) She feels like they add variety to her channel (what, no, we LOVE coming with you to the barn to watch you ride without a helmet over unsourced music! five times a vlog!). Sometimes she feels like there's this pressure to show us as much as she can, which explains why all we see in her travel vlogs is hotel room bathrooms, tennis matches, and the tops of various tabletops in restaurants. Anyway she feels like there's pressure because in reality she's there for Tommy. Which we KNOW, that's the entire PROBLEM, Paige. If you were HONEST about the fact that being a WAG on tour sucks and you don't get to actually see the places you're pretending to really go and immerse yourself in, we WOULD HAVE FEWER COMPLAINTS AND YOU'D FEEL LESS ANXIETY, the problem is that you have to keep compulsively lying about how cultured you are and how you really ~got a feel~ for the location. Just stop lying!!! Stop!!! Lying!!! Challenge!!!!! The anxiety you feel and the reason you have to monitor this subreddit comes from your CONSTANT LYING.
  • Ugh she would NEVER have gone to ROME if it weren't for Tommy. I think this is a ploy for authenticity but boy is it coming across as privileged.
    • I do think in her own Paige way though this entire monologue she has is about something I've noticed her talking around a lot - I think she's afraid if she stops travelling and being a WAG no one will care about her. I think she's terrified of doing what makes her happy, which is being home, hanging out with her mom, riding her horses, and spending her parents' money. But if she just let herself do the things she actually liked and stopped trying to always pretend to be cooler and more interesting than she is, no one would keep paying attention to her, because it's not like she has a sparkling personality or wit or unique point of view. Like I'm an interesting person to talk to, but if I tried to make a vlog of my life it would be pretty boring. I work a 9-5 M-F job and the most interesting part of my life is when I go to a concert or craft fair on the weekend or one of my neighbors goes out of town and I watch their cat. It's not riveting, but I also don't need to be doing fascinating things in order to be or feel like an interesting person. But people like Paige who need to always be travelling and going to events and flaunting how busy they are are often really sad and empty people. They're not doing any of the little mundane things that make people happy and spending time connecting with the people around them, they're just always moving around because they're afraid if they stop for five seconds, people will see that the only thing they have going for them is all that movement and travelling. I think Paige is constantly torn between the anxiety that comes with constant travel and isolation and putting herself on display and removing herself from the things that bring her a sense of calm and security, and the anxiety that if she allows herself to feel calm and secure, she'll lose the attention she craves. IDK seems like a thing she shouldn't keep indirectly admitting to in vlogs, seems to kind of undercut half of her material, but what do I know.
  • Also she really is going to positively contribute to Tommy and his life and career, ie: she needs to go home and feels comforted by home because that's where her mom and Amanda wait on her hand and foot and everything is about her, which she misses when she's with Tommy because when she's on tour with Tommy she has to accept that he's the center of attention and she's not.
  • Her home vlogs have been performing the best, like, significantly. Since she probably buys views and comments, this just means she likes them better and therefore buys more engagement for them.
  • Apparently her analytics are telling her that 30% of her views are coming from the "explore" feature, which she says is YouTube rewarding her for being consistent, and, uh. No. Not how that works.
    • I mean yes if you buy engagement it will put you in the algorithm more, but this is the time in the video where she accidentally self-owns. If you're an actual channel getting actual views from people who actually enjoy watching you, then VERY LITTLE of your viewership should be coming from the "explore" feature, MOST of it should be coming from subscribers or regular viewers or people who watch similar content. That's how the majority of people watch YouTube or find new videos to watch. But if fully a third of your viewers are coming from what's essentially a randomizer button, that pretty much confirms Paige is buying views and/or that a lot of viewers leave after a minute or two. Because if her content was good on its own, people would see it and subscribe, and then she wouldn't need to rely on the "explore" feature. But if she, as she says, is consistently getting a third of her viewership from that feature, than that means that a third of people are just randomly watching whatever YouTube puts in front of them and not engaging with her at all, meaning the ONLY POSSIBLE explanation is that she's essentially buying enough engagement to keep appearing on the explore page, but buying the opportunity to be put in front of people isn't actually getting her a larger audience because what she's serving them is a warmed-over turd.
  • Anyway Paige is counting on you not knowing the extreme basics and trusting that she "knows someone who used to work at YouTube who told her that's how the algorithm works"
    • Um if you don't know about social media - no one who works at YouTube or any social media company knows how their algorithm works unless they're the ones writing it, and if they do know, they're not going to tell you because that's extremely valuable, proprietary information and also there's like a lot of papers and NDAs and non-competes they'd be breaking if they did. They're telling you to upload consistently because it's good FOR THE MEDIA COMPANY. The company is trading in being a content hub, so they need people to consistently be uploading content, ie: raising the value of their site in a way they don't have to pay for. That's the entire business model of every. Single. Digital media platform. Heck, that's how most dating apps work too. The product is data. They want you to be giving them free product.
  • "I don't know, like I don't like doing things just for social media anymore?" HAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAH
    • And a week later you spent a weekend attending influencer parties in the Hamptons for....... what exactly. The scintillating conversation?????
    • She's very quick to say that's not the case if she has to shoot an ad! Loves shooting ads! Please keep sending her free stuff!
    • God this is taking me multiple hours but at this point I've sunk too much time in and also am convinced this won't stay up for copyright issues, so I'm taking a break to like, stretch and clean the bathroom, anything to get me moving and listening to my own thoughts which are in complete sentences.
• I'm back after cleaning the bathroom. I've been at this so long that my sibling has shown up. But I only have ten minutes to go and I REFUSE TO GIVE UP. This whole completely unhinged and unintentionally revealing rant has approximately a trillion uses of the word "like" is from 21:00 to 26:00 and if you want to watch it you can. I probably should have transcribed it for a full AP Lit level analysis, but I'm tired. If we're lucky, when Paige tries to re-upload this with copyright-free music, she'll have kept that in there.
• Paige ordered a shed! She's so excited!
• The fence looks mildly less jacked up when they go back. Paige is brushing Louie constantly in this video. Fourth time I think we've seen her do this. I feel like there's a lot more to horse care than brushing them and she only shows us this part because it looks aesthetic and she doesn't do any of the actual hard or necessary parts like shoveling horse shit, but what do I know.
  • This sequence uses unsourced but definitely copyright song number three!
  • Fun fact: Paige is the same fake brown color as Louie's dappled neck. Aw, you know how pets eventually look like their owners? Cute.
  • Shout out to Paige's friend (perhaps Amanda? Olivia? Can't keep the preppy brunettes straight anymore) who actually wears a helmet riding.
• Next day, we open with a bit of this song (not sourced, copyright infringement number four, possibly more that at this point I no longer notice tbh). Paige puts on boots to go to the new shed and realizes the vlog is going to be so long because she's never done a whole week at a time before. Because I've made it this far, I'm the best. (Aw.)
  • Paige calls Tommy to wish him happy birthday and films it, which seems... odd. Especially since she doesn't film it in a way where he can see she's filming.
  • Paige gets tea for breakfast (nutritious) and a coffee for the guy at the barn we must have seen earlier. His name is Aaron. I could do some google sleuthing and find him probably, but I don't care. Paige met him going on trail rides at her old barn. Do middle aged men usually hang out at barns doing trail rides? Just scoping out young idiots with disposable income? The whole thing seems sus. Apparently he has like seven kids.
  • Paige never realized how expensive pre-made sheds were, but it's a local business that makes it by hand! I assume the local business is called Costco And Sons.
  • More uncredited The Shins plays as Paige only loads the shed with blankets and nothing heavy or unpicturesque.
  • Another Tractor Supply run, at this point they're who really should be sponsoring Paige
  • Paige goes to say goodbye to Louie and he HIDES FROM HER IN THE WOODS
    • Girl.
    • Oh my god no wonder he's mad at her, they've been staying somewhere WITHOUT A STRUCTURE. He's been sleeping OUTSIDE. It got into the 40's every night in New England last week!!!
• Out of focus Paige talking about how she had suuuuuch a long day "running errands". Olivia didn't get to join Paige on her little horse girl excursions because she had to be at the warehouse and onboarding a new DB employee. Anyway Paloma is in town now
  • Paige learns that apparently you're supposed to be washing veggies as she prepares things to grill. PAIGE HAS BEEN COOKING THIS WHOLE TIME NOT WASHING VEGGIES. I.......... I am going to need to be sedated after this.
• Paige exfoliates and puts on a definitely not sponsored face mask
  • She's wearing skiing pajamas. In case we forgot she was a skier. Did you know she was a skier????
    • PSYCH, these are from previous ads with PJ Place but actually she really likes these and this one ISN'T an ad she just loves the product so much
• Paige is doing her makeup! We're at the end stretch! I'm almost there!
  • She took a day off of vlogging to go see her grandparents, but immediately segues into her Ulta trip. Because of her stupid grandparents, she didn't get to go to the barn, frankly how can she survive in these conditions.
  • Dairy Boy phone case plug! She was soooo specific about what she likes in phone cases and definitely didn't just choose between Zazzle, Redbubble, or (insert other brand here)
    • It's a shitty thin cover that looks like it protects your phone from approximately nothing and should cost $10 but I estimate she'll sell it for at least $40
    • Of course because Paige was so super particular about the details and business-minded when it comes to quality it took a long time to make........phone cases.......
  • Tommy calls and says hi
  • Paige rambles about her day and makes coffee. Tommy sent her peonies because he's "so cute". We see the phone cases and they're weird and ugly. More "gifting" (undisclosed advertising) that came in the mail
• Paige makes pickled red onions, every time she does it she changes the recipe a little bit even though she totally has a recipe and isn't googling. She starts pickling carrots which she says are going to "go bad soon" (that takes like six months, how do carrots even go bad?) She also does it in a water glass which, good luck ever drinking from that again without it tasting like vinegar.
• And then with no warning, it cuts off. That took me three and a half hours. It's been a journey and I hate it. If there is ever a vlog this long, I'm doing it in segments across multiple days because I'm exhausted by this much wealth and inanity. Time to go touch grass, start dinner, wash my vegetables before I do so. You know. The little things.

Because it's kind of like a Sunday (for those in the U.S anyway).
Got a lot done around the house and the yard today. Pressure washed the patio, trimmed the blackberries, emptied old flowerpots and refilled with new posies. The motorcycle is cleaned, oiled, waxed and chain adjusted. The weather is fine and the dog is napping on the couch. I can hear a band playing in the park nearby. A good friend became a grandpa yesterday. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead is pretty funny (so far).

It was at midnight exactly when everyone who was awake promptly passed out.
It wasn't an instant 'fall to the ground like a corpse' mass unconsciousness. It was just this sudden and intense state of exhaustion that made it impossible to stay awake.
Ours was a mining town, averaging around 70,000 population, and recently being hit by recession that made finding work a pain in the ass. And with the mine running dry, it was all we could do to keep afloat.
I was out for a stroll when the exhaustion hit, I was crossing the street when this oppressively heavy state of exhaustion just hit me. I panicked, of course, thinking that I was having a stroke or something, desperately trying to get to the other side of the crosswalk.
Then darkness.
It was the sunlight that woke me up, I squinted in the hellishly bright light and fumbled around for my sunglasses. Why I kept sunglasses on my person in the dead of night was because I was that kind of asshole who wanted to look cool. My mileage definitely varied on that front, but it was at least an attempt.
Still, when I managed to find them, confused as to why I was on hot asphalt, I put them on, only for them to immediately fall off. I was forced to open my eyes, and that's when I saw my hands.
At first, I thought it was the mother of all sunburns, being so bright red, but when the sound came out of my mouth, I knew something had gone terribly wrong. First and foremost, I was covered in bright red scales, I had these short, sharp claws at the end of my hands, on top of which my feet were utterly fucked up, and I had a tail.
I scrambled for my phone, wondering if it would even register my touch, Thankfully, it did.
You know those memes where someone takes a picture of an animal, and it looks really fucking funny? Guess whose first picture was like that. I turned on the camera, flipped the camera so I could see myself on the screen, and accidentally took a picture as my new snout filled the screen.
I tried to get up, but I realized that my clothes were too big, and that I had gone from a solid 6 feet and dropped to a measly three. Bear in mind, the average height of a person with dwarfism is a solid four, and I know this because I did an entire project on it in ninth grade.
I had no idea what the hell I was, if I was the only person like this, and I was forced to use my XL shirt to cover my otherwise naked body, tearing the shit out of it with my new feet claws, and being faced with the reality that being a three-foot lizard meant I had to crawl through my dog door.
Thankfully, Brutus didn't even seem phased, he just walked up to me, tail wagging, and very much wanting to be pet, which I did, very carefully. I needed something pure and wholesome in the world to keep me from going insane.
That was around six AM.
Now, googling 'Help, I've turned into a three foot lizard' didn't help at all, and I sure as shit didn't want to walk all of the way to my parent's house and potentially freak them out, but I did have my brother.
James is a furry, I'll just say it flat out. Like, an absolute turbo furry. It had taken me time to get used to the idea that he liked furry characters, and I knew a lot of the art he liked dealt with this kind of situation.
I was desperate, and I needed someone on my side. When I called him, it rang and then went to voicemail, and I proceeded to continuously call him, because he will eventually wake up. I got ready to call him again when a notification came up saying he wanted to FaceTime.
I braced myself for his inevitable squeeing when he saw I'd been transformed into a tiny little lizard.
I didn't expect him to be one as well.
Of course, he was the one who was fucking ecstatic, and it took me a lot of attempts to get him to listen to me, which he eventually did.
"Bro." I said, the words slipping out of my mouth weird. I had to carefully enunciate, moving a tongue that was completely alien to me inside of a mouth that didn't work the way I was used to. "What the thuck ith going on?" I asked. "Do you haff any idea what ith going on."
It was painful, really. Of course my brother spoke fluently. It didn't occur to me until he was halfway through his diatribe about TF triggers that I said, "Hey, wait, you're speaking another language." I paused. "I'm speaking another language!"
Like, it all translated into English for me, but we were very much speaking a language that was full of sibilants and yips, yaps, and naks.
"Oh, yeah. That's Yipyak." He said.
"What the fuck is a Yipyak, and if this is some sort of deez nuts joke, I'm going over there and clawing you."
So he explained that we were both Kobolds, creatures from Dungeons and Dragons, and our native language was Draconic, more specifically a pidgin language known as Yipyak.
"Alright, scholar of the Kobolds, what do we do about this situation, because people are going to freak out."
"Brother." He said. "There's no way in hell it's just us."
Part of me knew he was right, but I absolutely did not want to believe it.
Naturally, people gathered around the Town Hall.
The screaming started around eight AM, as people woke up to find themselves turned into Kobolds. Some of them were screaming in joy, others were as horrified as I was, but that wasn't the worst part.
Only half of us were Kobolds.
Mom and Dad picked us up, because they could reach the pedals. They were, of course, very concerned, but they helped us out because they loved us.
Most of the people who arrived who had been turned into Kobolds had to make due with shirts hiked up to their waists and tied off with a belt, the rest just stood around. Naked. There was one weirdo who just made a loincloth and was looking very proud of himself.
Weirdly enough, I actually kind of wanted one.
So, there we were, engaging in what was effectively a cultural exchange between the nerds and furries and the rest of us normal folk. Really, the only explanation as to how and why this happened was. "Fucked if we know, but it has knock-on implications for the rest of the universe."
The Humans- wow, that was a thought I just had, and not one I could just not have- The Humans were of course upset that this had happened and that our entire town was facing a crisis that we didn't know how to deal with.
But the furries had hypotheses.
First, the facts as we knew them. Exactly half of our population had been transformed. The only people who transformed were the D&D nerds and the furries, with the rest being directly related. The transformation only seemed to only effect family members in the same generation, which is why a husband and wife were Kobolds, but their kids weren't. Finally, there was nothing like this happening anywhere else in the world.
Therefore, the hypotheses were thus:
A. Some sort of wild magic surge triggered the transformation. And yes, magic was real because some of us could use it. Me included.
B. The D&D universe actually existed and was bleeding into reality. This excited the D&D players, because it meant they could go on an adventure.
C. There was a Dragon somewhere, maybe in the mine, and it wanted minions. Nobody liked this idea. Well, nobody said they liked it. I felt weirdly okay with it.
D. This was just Some Weird Shit, so let's just move on.
Naturally, someone leaked what happened, the government came, and, well, that's when we discovered that anyone entering the town limits had a roughly 50/50 chance of getting instantly turned into a Kobold. We also determined we could leave, but the way was blockaded because nobody wanted this to spread.
To the government's credit, they didn't take away our civil liberties to dissect us, they just showed up, brought scientists, and started trying to figure out what was going on.
The rest of us just had to adjust.
We couldn't really live in our own houses anymore, I mean, they're not even built for people with Dwarfism, it was even worse for us because we couldn't even reach the counter. So we just did the best we could. Some carpenters got together and started building houses that were proportional to our size. Kitchen appliances weren't going to be of any real help, so we just had to make due with houses that didn't have any electricity, but at least worked well with space heaters.
One of the best things about these houses was that they were quick to make and were easy to navigate. Some of the people built medieval-style housing, which I found myself increasingly attracted to as a place to live. Some of the D&D players were part of something called the Society of Creative Anachronism, and they hand made a lot of clothes that, for whatever reason, my stupid little Kobold brain liked, so here I was in a thatch-roofed house proportional to my size in medieval clothing that I could not fathom why I liked it.
In fact, I'm beginning to hate who I used to be.
The first sign that I was experiencing a dislike of my Human body was when I saw a picture of me and just got angry. Like, I smashed the frame against the floor and tore the thing to shreds before I got a hold of myself.
I catch myself only talking in Yipyak, and being annoyed when I have to switch to English. Not to mention, I've begun practicing magic. I can't explain how it works, I just know it works, it's helped me keep the place clean.
I know how to cast six of these spells, though, two of them exhaust me. The D&D nerds identified them as 'Prestidigitation, Mage Hand, Mending, Firebolt, Detect Magic, and Magic Missile.' Basically, the power do to a lot or really minor effects, the ability to create a magic hand that does whatever I want it to, the ability to fix some things, and the ability to throw fire at something- all at will. As well as the ability to see magic and the ability to throw magic at something that will always hit.
A lot of utility.
So with Detect Magic, I was able to determine that the town was surrounded in a cylindrical magic field, I actually took the time to help mark the border so people wouldn't accidentally become a Kobold. Other things I was able to figure out was that it was a '9th level' spell with Transmutation.
"Oh, that's Mass Polymorph! But that spell only effects ten creatures."
"Well, whatever it is, it's made a hell of a mess of things." I said.
Well, something came out of the mine earlier today, it was a giant fucking rat, and I used Magic Missile to kill it. I was halfway through skinning it when I realized I was skinning it, and that I had never skinned an animal before. I kept at it, and brought it to the warren.
The warren?
Yeah, that word fits.
I have these weird moments of self-awareness where I suddenly remember what life used to be like, and how much I had changed. How much the others changed. Some of them had changed their names , and I realized with a start that I didn't want my name anymore.
But there's another one that's just on the tip of my tongue.
Ruuk.
A Kobold came up to me, wanting some help with something. He said my old name and all I could say in response was, "My name is Ruuk."
He didn't even question it, and immediately started using it. I helped out with what he needed- he'd broken his hoe and needed it fixed, which I obliged.
It struck me, as we hit our first year of this, that I didn't want to go back to being a Human.
​
[Navigation for 'Dragon Rising'- [1] [2]]

So I’m 18 and in college, my mother works long hours sometimes 12 hour shifts and she asks me daily to take care of my younger siblings (both under 10). She usually asks me to care for them before they go to school (7-8:45am) and after school (4:30-7pm) and Saturday and Sunday (7-12) most weekends until my grandma picks them up for the rest of the day, I know this might not seem like much but I’ve been doing it all my adolescence years so it’s just overwhelming. They’re not easy to take care of, they both have multiple types special needs so they’re hard to take care of especially since I have autism, severe ptsd, severe depression, and other mental health problems. Now don’t get me wrong they’re my world and I love to take care of them, but for years now I feel like I have no choice and if I say no she gets angry at me and makes me feel guilty. She tells me that I live here for free and I expect her to keep me (makes me feel like a pet), I don’t do anything, she can’t cope, family is supposed to help, that she has to do everything and I should never ask her for anything again, I could go on for days. It makes me feel incredibly guilty that I don’t help her enough and I end up in tears every time I try to say no. I feel manipulative when I try to tell her that I can’t cope with them or even myself and that she chose to have children so I shouldn’t have to care for them all the time. I do see where my mother is coming from, I live in her house for free and I should her more, but I feel like I’m battling an undefeatable war in my head daily and I’m struggling to even want to be alive right now. I haven’t attended a full week in college since OctobeNovember 2022 and I haven’t been out the house in 2 weeks, so caring for children is way to much right now. I’m not trying to victimise myself by saying that, I’m just trying to give information about the situation. My mother struggles time to time with mental health problems so I try to clean for her and cook but it’s too much to take care of her children daily. Babysitting doesn’t make my mental health any easier that’s why I don’t like doing it, it adds to my stress and depression. I really don’t know how to handle this situation and I don’t know if I should be helping care for my siblings whenever my mother wants or not. AITA

For context I am a 20 female who lives at home with my parents however I pay to live in this house a substantial amount of money. My grandmas husband recently past away and she's decided she wants to stay at my parents house more often the problem is we do not have a spare room meaning she would have to stay in my room with a bed in. Some weeks stay with my boyfriend and my parents offered up my room to her when I'm away, my problems with this are.
I have OCD the type where I cry over other people touching things belonging to me. I will excessively clean my phone and clean bathrooms almost every time I use them, even when I stay at my boyfriends house I sometimes become overwhelmed because of re-washing every plate or cup I come into contact with. I was constantly sick as a child and have a big fear of germs after almost passing away as a child, I barely let my own parents in my room and my boyfriend showers and even then I am sceptical about him in my room. The thought of someone sleeping in my room touching my things makes me physically ill and knowing I'd having to clean this all after she stays every time is so stressful to me, I have been known to breakdown over this. although I am trying to work on this I don't think I should have to give up my room for someone else despite it been a family member when I will have to clean up after them.
Some important factors include: My grandma has a home with a spare bedroom in where my parents could stay but they don't want to sleep elsewhere. I posted this earlier and people suggested I literally move out of a home I pay to live in for her to stay here. Some even suggested I move into my grandmas home which is literally insane as she lives further from my university then I already do (it's an hour and half commute already).
Another important factor: My grandma has others she stays with and she comes over to my house a lot at the moment anyways just doesn't stay over.
Another important factor: if she was to stay over and I wanted to come home I would then be left with no room to stay in. There has been times I have became depressed whilst been at my boyfriends and had to go home in the middle of the night as I struggle quite badly with my mental health. My room is my safe space. Anyways I told my mum and dad that I do not feel okay giving up my room to another person and not been able to come home if she stays, my parents seemed disappointed with me however agreed they wouldn't let her have my room as I pay for it.
However things have became slightly awkward between me and my parents now despite them knowing about my OCD and how anxious I feel about others in my room. My parents even asked for her to stay over in my room on my own birthday so I wouldn't be able to stay over in my own room on my birthday. I again said no.
My parents could happily buy a blow up bed for another room in the house by the way they just don't want to spend the money. We even have other bedrooms just with no beds in but they won't but a spare bed. I can not afford a bed for another room as I am a student.
To all the Redditor's that told me I should move into my grandmas house so I could let my grandma have my room you are crazy. I may be selfish but this is my one space that is mine that my parents was so quickly ready to give to another person. I spoke to my other siblings who do not live at home and they agree with me however my parents don't.
Any questions I will update here.

okay so I have a gas water heater and it stopped working about a year ago. Our house is around 20 years old and we hadn’t gotten in cleaned in awhile (by that i mean years) so we thought it was a build up of sediment. We got it cleaned and thought it did the trick. However it just stopped working again a few hours after the plumber left. We constantly have to run to the basement and turn the heater off and on to get it to run. Basically when it stops working the screen has the number 16 flashing on it (idk if that important) and when we turn it on it makes concerning noises and only runs for about two minutes. Any advice is appreciated

(Pt. 1) An additional thanks to u/An_Insufferable_NEWT for letting me borrow one of his characters.
...And now for the conclusion.
​
= = =
​
Evelra swore. They had come here to uplift humanity from barbarism, not let the powers that be enable humanity’s worst elements while the selfsame Noble cunts indulged in their own pubescent masturbatory power fantasies. Fuck this. She thought to herself with a growl and flicked her comms channel to all units.
​
“All forces, this is Captain Evelra. The goddess-damned governess’s private militia have opened fire on the civies. Arrest those brother-fucking [bastards] on sight before they can fuck this mess up any further!” She barked over the comms, a bit of local English slipping into her words. She couldn’t call them stiffs; the latter had more class than this.
​
“Capt, we’ve got three APCs in militia markings barreling down the road in front of the Governess’s mansion from the west. ETA 30 seconds. This is about to get messy.” Prex’s voice cut in with a false calm lent by years of experience.
​
Evelra could feel the material of her suit creak as her hands briefly tightened into hardened fists. “All west side Pods converge on Pod 7, support Lieutenant Eleynor. Eastern Pods, evac the civies. And Prex? Keep the late arrivals occupied. Don’t let these fuckers get another shot off.” She growled, her Second giving a brief click of acknowledgement over the comms before switching channels to give orders of her own.
​
Turning back to face Isaiah, Evelra reached a hand down to grab the elder by his medical exoskeleton and hoisted him to his feet. “Looks like the Governess ran out of patience. Get your people out of here, we’ll deal with this.” She explained brusquely, jabbing one finger towards the eastern side of the boulevard. She could apologize for womanhandling him later, right now every second counted.
​
The moment she was sure he had his feet under him, the marine captain let go and tried to move on Eleynor’s position with all due haste. “Out of the way! MOVE!” Evelra shouted as she strode forward, the sea of humans doing their best to get out of her path. Already, people were starting to scramble as panic spread like wildfire. She could hear the cries of terror and confusion all around her; shouted orders from the protest organizers and her own marines were almost inaudible against the din as they tried to control the chaos.
​
As she neared pod 7’s position, a horrifying scene unfolded before her. In the shadow of the buildings, at least a dozen of the protesters were currently on fire. Harsh yellow and orange flames rose from the flailing figures to form hazy gray clouds of smoke that hung heavy in the air. Even more humans were covered in burn marks and charred clothes. One woman just sat there, trembling and numb from shock as she stared her bloody arm; the melted remains of her synthetic shirt peeling away with boiled skin. Amidst the chaos, the other protesters were doing everything from trying to help the wounded and burning to running in panic and terror; the latter creating a solid wave of bodies in front of Evelra as they stumbled over one another to flee the danger.
​
From out of sight, she saw one of the Governess’ militia-kitted thugs go flying; only to watch them get back up and charge in to fight whom Evelra assumed to be Pod 7. Shil’vati might be stronger, but when equally equipped, outnumbered and against human reflexes she knew that fight wasn’t going to end well for her girls if the rest of the western Pods didn’t reach them soon. Then, one of the militiamen stepped forward towards the crowd.
​
As he strode boldly through the mayhem, Evelra could only watch while one of the protesters tried to confront him; the tide of humans preventing the marine captain from intervening. Inaudible words were exchanged, the protester shouting something as they gesticulated wildly. The Governess’ thug merely responded with two swift strikes of his rifle butt, first to the gut, then to the back of the head, the other man dropping like an anchor. In the distance, out of the corner of her eye, she numbly noted that the rest of the governess’ thugs had arrived and were using their APCs as cover between them and the Pods under Prexith’s command.
​
Evelra felt her gut sink as the militiamen shouldered his rifle once more, stepping out of the building’s shadow to take aim at the crowd. “EVERYBODY DOWN!” The marine captain roared as she planted her feet and pulled her sidearm in one smooth, practiced motion. Drawing a bead on the Governess’ thug, the panicked crowd tried to clear out of her way; but there were just too many people. She wasn’t going to make it in time. No, no more. Not-
​
The militiaman’s head disappeared.
​
A split second later, the now infamously familiar thunderous crack and echoing roar of a large bore human chemical ballistic rifle rolled over them as the corpse spasmed on its feet; a shockwave visibly rippling through the suit it was wearing. “SNIPER!” Somebody bellowed. It might have been her, but in that moment she honestly couldn’t tell. As the headless body crumpled to the ground in a fountain of red, the same gun roared out again… and again. In the distance she could see two sudden sprays of red splatter up the sides of the Militia APCs, one right after the other.
​
The echoes of gunfire galvanized the crowd into a further panic, a stampede of human protesters slamming into Evelra in their attempt to get away from the violence. For a moment, the marine captain thought she was going to get dragged under by the wave, but then they rolled past her, leaving her staggering into the clear. With the screaming of the crowd now behind her and her ears still ringing from gunshots it was oddly quiet once more, save for the groans of the wounded.
​
Not letting herself fall into the lull, Evelra kept moving forward only to nearly gag at the smell as she approached the corner of the building. Like a Blue Grail left in the summer sun for a week, the air was heavy with a putrid smoke, reminiscent of the scent of death itself. Quickly sealing her helmet, she took a shuddering breath of fresh air before looking up just in time to see a pair of the Governess’s thugs get bodily tackled into the pavement by Eleynor. The rest of treasonous Militia were either surrendering or trying to run like the Deep-Minder itself was behind them as more Marine Pods came charging around nearby street corners.
​
Watching the last treasonous bastards eat pavement, the marine captain strode up to the Militaman’s corpse and picked up his blood-stained rifle. Quickly turning the weapon over in her hands, Evelra took one look at its settings and nearly threw the gun away in disgust. Medium power, maximum dispersal. Against even the most basic of modern armor, such settings would be practically useless; but would make for a decent, if imprecise, fire starter. Which is exactly what they’d done. Of course, leave it to the humans to figure out how to turn the most basic of weapons into a tool of terror. She thought bitterly, adjusting the beam spread back to something more logical before strapping it’s sling to her harness.
​
Now properly armed for anything else the Deep-Minder might decide to throw at her, Evelra flicked open her wrist-mounted omnipad, the integrated AR display in her helmet seamlessly linking to it. A couple quick taps later and the captain had an outgoing call. As the phone line rang in her ear, she tried not to tap her foot, every second feeling like ten.
​
“911, what’s your emer-”
​
Before the woman on the other end could even finish her sentence, Evelra interrupted her. “This is Captain Evelra of the Imperial Marines, 4032nd company. We have at least a dozen, I repeat, at least a dozen critically injured burn victims at the corner of 3rd and Main. I need emergency Medivac for the critically wounded.” She barked into the mic.
​
There was a momentary pause on the other end accompanied by the sounds of a physical keyboard before shortly being followed by a muffled “Fuck.” Evelra shifted impatiently as one second dragged into the next. “Is something the matter?” The marine growled.
​
“Ahh… No ma’am.” The other woman’s voice was uncertain for a moment before steadying back out. “Just bypassing some red tape. Consider it done. ETA, ten minutes.” She said with a thermocast firmness. Evelra briefly considered hounding the woman for what exactly she meant by ‘red tape’ but decided against it. She sounded confident in her statement and ultimately there was nothing else Evelra could do about it at the moment.
​
“I’m going to hold you to that.” The marine captain growled before hanging up. One down. Looking up, she glanced over the growing crowd of Marines. Already, some of her girls were pulling out medkits and burn patches as they moved to help injured protesters; her AR display highlighting their ranks and names.
​
“Sergeant Quixana!” Evelra barked over the din.
“Ma’am!” The medic shouted back over one shoulder, barely looking up from the burn victim she was currently treating.
​
“We have civilian medivac for the burn victims inbound, ETA ten minutes. You have command over Triage. Anyone in critical condition they can’t airlift out is your responsibility. Clear?” She commanded, watching the Governess’s thugs like a shark as her girls disarmed and secured them. At this point, Evelra honestly didn’t expect them to try anything else; but as always with humans, one never quite knew what they’d do.
​
“Affirmative!” Quixana replied. Taking a moment to ensure the woman she was treating wasn’t in immediate danger, the medic ushered another marine over to help and began shouting orders of her own. Two down. Satisfied that the situation was under control, Evelra keyed into her comms again.
​
“Prex, Sitrep.”
​
A couple moments later, the other woman’s voice came to life in her earpiece. “After the gunshots went off, the little fuckers started stumbling over each other to try and surrender. What in the Deep just happened?” Despite the horror around her, Evelra gave a short, mirthless chuckle. “Seems a certain… somebody decided to more than just ‘play’ at being security. And seeing as I still have my head, they’re not a complete bloodthirsty idiot.”
​
“You certain it’s… them?” Prex asked, a hint of dubiousness in her voice.
​
“Given that there’s one of the Governess’s thugs sans their head while I still have mine? Yeah. About as certain as I can be. Fits what little we know about their M.O.” Evelra shot back.
​
There were several long moments of silence before her subordinate let out a low whistle. “Make that three. I’ve got two more over here. Definitely explains why the little Turoxes were so fucking panicky. What now Cap?”
​
“How many of your Pods do you need to secure your prisoners?” Evelra asked.
​
“Less than half. They’re more terrified of stepping back into the sights of that sniper than anything else, I think.” Prexith snorted, a dry hint of amusement in her voice.
​
“Take as many as you think you can spare from guard duty and go arrest the Governess. Alive. Though preventing her from causing any more damage takes priority. Clear?” Evelra’s voice was firm, the unspoken message clear. Try not to kill the bitch if at all possible, but ice her tits if she’s going to make this a problem.
​
“As a laser lens. Prex out.”
​
When the line clicked dead, the marine captain took a deep breath and tried to center herself. Now came the hard part.
​
Politics.
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= = =
​
Evelra stopped outside the governess’ office and took a deep breath to steady herself. Within two hours of getting the fiasco under control, one Agent Lohun had arrived… along with three Pods of Death’s Head Commandos. Upon giving him her report, the petite male had thanked her and politely requested that she remain in her quarters until further notice. The marine captain had known better than to try and test those particular boundaries. It was only now, three days later, that she’d been summoned once more.
​
In spite of the not quite lockdown state that was currently in effect, word still traveled. Her orders to arrest the governess had been upheld and the bitch had been transferred out to some Interior facility goddess knows where. A minimal local press release had happened; condemning the governess’ actions and requesting cooperation with the authorities as they investigated the incident. Things were still tense, but the daily gathering of thousands of protesters had dwindled to a hundred or so of the most stubborn.
​
With a little shake to clear her head, Evelra opened the office door and stepped through. Behind the governess’ massive polished wooden desk sat Lohun. The petite male was almost comically out of place; his simple take on the Interior uniform clashing with the room’s ostentatious opulence. Rumor had it that since he was investigating the room’s previous owner, he’d simply co-opted the office rather than bother to set up another workspace elsewhere. Looking up from his omnipad and what she assumed was a proverbial mountain of reports, the Agent gave her a tired nod of acknowledgement.
​
“Good. You’re here. Please, take a seat Captain D’saari.” He said, gesturing to a much simpler chair in front of the desk. Wincing internally at his usage of her long-abandoned family name, Evelra complied and settled into the offered seat in silence as she tried not to look at the silent woman in the corner with the three-eyed skull mask. Lohun gave his omnipad one last glance before setting it down and letting his carefully focused gaze settle onto her.
​
“Six deaths.” He stated simply, letting the fact hang there in the air for a moment. “Only half of which were not the aggressors in this situation. That could have gone much, much worse. A job well done Captain.”
​
Evelra gave an awkward shrug. “Without the… unsolicited fire support it would have been. My girls just did the mop up.”
​
Lohun hummed, double-checking something on his omni-pad. “About that. The audio logs between you and your second indicated a certain familiarity with this assumed insurgent sniper, yet I can’t find any combat reports that you two share featuring any opposition with this kind of firepower. Care to explain what I’m missing here?” He asked calmly, a polite smile on his face; the Commando in the corner shifting her weight slightly.
​
Right. That.
​
A bundle of nerves did somersaults in her gut as she felt her throat go dry. “Ah, yeah. About… one local year ago we had a human male turn up dead. Clear signs of abuse. Autopsy report indicated he had both Nightfel and Viagra in him at the time of death. I had my suspicions, but the ensuing investigation never turned up any evidence.” The marine captain grimaced, scratching at one tusk with her thumbnail. “A few months later, A pod on a routine patrol got ambushed. All three of their heads were blown clean off. Big gun. I think you can guess what we found when we cleared out their belongings.”
​
“Nightfel and Viagra.” Lohun said cooly, his face grim.
​
Evelra nodded. “Yeah. The Governess covered the whole thing up in the name of keeping the peace. Released a statement that the young man’s murderers had been found and executed while redacting my report.”
​
Briefly adding a few notes on his omnipad, the Interior agent gave her a careful look. “Why didn’t you report this breach of protocol to the Interior?”
​
“Because it worked.” Evelra sighed. “Approval ratings ticked up, minor incidents went down. Didn’t hurt that I also publicly doubled down on mandatory etiquette training for my girls. I’ve seen enough of the Empire’s bureaucracy over the years to know better than to stir up the seabed over something like this. Justice was served, even if it was in a less than ideal manner.”
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“And what about the young man’s family?” Lohun pressed, his gaze tightening.
​
Coughing slightly to clear her throat, Evelra looked away as she felt her cheeks heat up. “Officially, they were given the same story as everyone else. However, I… I may have taken one Shel to visit their home and correct that mistake. They deserved to know.” She finished quietly, leaning forward in her chair to look down at the ground. Anywhere but at the male in front of her.
​
After several agonizingly long moments of silence, the marine captain glanced up to catch sight of Lohun slowly starting to nod. “Good. That’s good. We can work with that.”
​
At his words, Evelra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. In response, a ghost of a smile pulled at the edges of Lohun’s face. “Yes, you can relax now. You’re here to help me fix this mess, not to have your tits burned off.”
​
Evelra bobbed her head, eager for the change of topic. “Gladly. What can I do?”
​
The ghost of a smile on Lohun’s face broadened slightly, hovering on the edge of a smirk. “Simple. You will be taking over as the Local Governess.” The marine captain felt her jaw go slack as the Interior Agent calmly continued along as if he was discussing something as simple as dinner reservations.
​
“Of course, there’s a plethora of steps to take along the way. In recognition of your service to the citizens of the empire, you will be promoted two ranks to Lieutenant Colonel and discharged with full honors. We’ll then need somebody to fill your current position. One Sergeant… Prexith Van’sar, your current second, should do nicely. With her service record she's certainly earned herself a commission, I think.” He scoffed in amusement, shaking his head at some distant thought. “Deep, her accolades are almost as impressive as her penchant for avoiding promotions. It’s my hope though that continuing to work with you should be enough to dissuade her of that particular tendency.”
​
Lohun finally took a proper pause, as if he was only now taking in her shock. “Is something the matter Captain D’saari?”
​
As Evelra heard him refer to her by her family name again something inside her broke. The sheer absurdity of it all was just too much, and a noise of amusement escaped her mouth. It started as a snort, before growing into a full-on barks of laughter as Evelra shook her head in disbelief. “I- I’m sorry, but you want me, the legally disowned, stiff-sprung cunt to be a local governess? Goddess, you all must be getting desperate if you’re willing to dredge up the cast-off chaff of the noble houses.”
​
Lohun merely quirked an eyebrow at her before briefly consulting his omnipad again. “So that explains the three separate attempts to change your last name… aannd probably why all three of them never went anywhere.” He let out a small humph as a flicker of distaste crossed his face. “An easy enough fix.”
​
“Goddess. You’re serious.” Evelra muttered as she slumped back in her chair, trying to process the implications. “Ok. Why me?” She asked, throwing a hand wide.
​
The Interior agent’s gaze focused in on her as he leaned forward onto the table, steepling his fingers. “Because Captain, over the past three days I have spent an exhaustive amount of time interviewing and interrogating people to get a better handle on what happened and why. Your name came up just as, if not, more frequently than the governess’s; and rarely in a negative light. From both Shil’vati and humans. Deep, even some of the ones that looked like they wanted to spit in my face refused to speak ill of you. Do you understand how goddess-damned rare that is?” Lohun finished, his voice raised and projected, not quite reaching an actual shout.
​
Evelra was sorely tempted to argue. She’d spent most of her adult life trying to get as far away from the nobility and politics as she could, as nothing good in her life had ever come from them. Then her conversation with Isaiah flashed through her mind. Fuck. The marine captain let out a disgusted groan of frustration as she rubbed her face with one hand. “Alright… but how?” She asked, her brain fervently grasping at straws. “I mean no offense, but… isn’t that a little outside your authority as an Interior Agent?..”
​
Once more, a slight grin pulled at the agent’s face. “Ah yes. Perhaps some reintroductions are in order. Independent Investigator Lohun Vey’elquiese of the Empress’s own and an Agent of her Interior. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Evelra?..” He said smoothly, letting the end of his sentence hang as he leaned across the massive table to offer a petite fist.
​
Oh.
​
For one long moment, Evelra’s brain short-circuited. The petite little male sitting across from her answered to only perhaps a dozen people in the entire Empire, and had the authority to make individuals such as system governesses simply disappear. Of course, abuse of said power carried the death penalty, not that one of the Empress’s own handpicked agents were likely to make that kind of mistake. Suddenly, the three pods of Death’s Head Commandos accompanying him made much, much more sense.
​
After a couple seconds of slight panic, her brain caught back up and she processed the question he’d carefully interwoven into his reintroduction. Taking a moment to think, she settled on her answer. With a slight smile of her own, she reached out her hand to tap her knuckles to his.
​
“Van’sar. Evelra Van’sar. And the pleasure is all mine Investigator.”

Hello! So I have a narrow strip of land on the back and side of my house that borders my neighbors fence. (Florida) It’s about 10 feet wide, sort of like a long corridor. I fenced it in, now I’m just trying to figure out the best way to make it a clean looking pet yard? It’s half shaded and grows a lot of weeds everywhere.
I don’t think adding grass back there is an option, as when it rains it gets pretty muddy. I was thinking maybe a stepping g stone path with mulch? Or maybe cover it with stones to help with drainage? I would love to hear your ideas!

--- Table of Contents ---
Summer 4984, 13 Doumoth
“Ugh! I hate this!” Daisy whined loudly, letting her head fall back to stare at the ceiling.
“Almost done…” Rerves said to reassure her, though he lacked his usual smile.
Ania picked up the last piece of armor, a steel vambrace, and began polishing with a groan to match Daisy’s, “When we aren’t cleaning, we're polishing, when we aren’t polishing, we're cleaning. How is this Paladin training?”
“If I wanted to be a servant, I would've joined their guild…” Thom’s small voice chimed in.
Shon said nothing. The five Squires, Shon, Daisy, Thom, Rerves, and Ania, sat under a shade in the Temple courtyard, polishing the knights' spare armor for the hundredth time. The sun beat down mere feet away, reflecting off the finished pieces as the shadow of their shade crept closer and closer, the sun climbing towards noon. The yard was mostly clear, the Paladins not on duty retreating into the cool stone fortress while those on duty only occasionally coming to check on the Squires' progress.
Ania had the right of it. Ever since they'd moved into the Temple proper and became official Squires, the five of them had done nothing but clean, polish, and memorize armor and weapon vocabulary. And complain… the others always complained. Shon just sighed as the four others continued to gripe. There was no point in it, the work needed to be done, and they were the ones assigned to do it. It didn’t matter how annoying or monotonous it might be.
Sometimes the younger Paladins would join them in polishing, caring for their own armor while the Squires worked on the spare pieces. The spares were used mainly by the enlisted, and only if they hadn’t finished buying their own sets yet. Occasionally a Paladin would check out a set to practice with. Although most of them had a preferred style, they needed to stay proficient with all types. At least that meant only half of the pieces the Squires had to clean were still polished from the day before. If the armor was never used, it really would be a useless task, instead of half useless as it seemed now.
The Paladins never complained…
The Squires hadn’t started out tired and annoyed. Daisy and Shon had been joined after their first week by Thom and Rerves, who both came from the capital city. They'd been friends growing up, Rerves was a noble, and Thom's family worked as their personal stewards, one step up from servants. A week after that, Ania arrived from a small village in the south. Only having known one Paladin and having never seen a proper Temple before, she'd been in awe of the fortress Temple of the city for at least a month. But then the excitement had given way to frustration, and -for Shon at least- boredom. And so the others had started complaining.
Their relationship with each other had started out warm enough. They stayed up late into the night, sharing their histories and dreams of their future as full Paladins. Shon joined them when prompted but mostly preferred to listen. He didn’t think he had any stories worth sharing, though they had bombarded him with questions after Veon-Zih’s first training visit. Just like everyone else, they didn’t seem to know how to deal with Shon’s quiet nature. But unlike everyone else, they hadn’t pulled away and stopped talking to him altogether. Except when they complained. Shon never complained. He didn’t see the point. When asked, he would say that they needed to follow orders. So they'd stopped asking him.
Shon held his last piece of steel plate carefully by the leather straps, wiping the last bit of polish off with a clean rag. He could see his reflection distorted by the curves and dings, and wondered if he could manage to draw the changes accurately when given a chance. The tinking of metal on metal sounded in the distance, and the Squires' heads shot up, followed by their bodies as they scrambled to their feet to salute the woman approaching.
General Rasnah was resplendent as always in her uniform, the chains of office clinking on her shoulders. She walked towards the Squires with her head held high and her hands clasped behind her back. With her was Master Veon-Zih and Shon felt his spirits rise just a little higher.
“At ease, Squires.” Sir Rasnah said as she drew to a stop just outside their shade. She waited until they'd taken the formal 'at ease' position, legs shoulder-width apart and hands clasped behind their back, “Report.”
Rerves took charge, as usual, “Sir, we're nearly done, Sir.”
“Just one piece left, Sir,” Ania added, then blushed furiously as she usually did whenever addressing a high-ranking officer.
Sir Rasnah nodded, then glanced to the sky. She then looked to Veon-Zih, who smiled and shrugged. Her lips turned up on half her face in what could almost be called a grin before she cleared it, serious again as she addressed the Squires, “You may have the afternoon off. Report to the kitchens and evening duties before sixth bell.”
“Sir, yes, Sir!” the Squires spoke in unison, Shon’s four fellows grinning broadly and sneaking happy glances at one another.
They held their positions until Sir Rasnah turned away, walking back to the Temple proper and leaving them to their freedom. Veon-Zih remained behind, smiling warmly at them and addressing Shon, “Lunch? I found a fine eatery a few blocks away.”
Shon nodded, finally smiling with the rest, “And practice?” he asked.
“After food,” Veon-Zih answered, stepping aside and gesturing towards the gates. Shon rushed to help the others put the clean and polished armor away, then jogged to Veon-Zih before falling into step with him as they left the Temple.
Veon-Zih waited until they were well clear of the gates before asking, “So what do you think of your fellow Squires?”
Shon sighed in answer, which made Veon-Zih chuckle for some reason. But the sigh hadn’t really answered the question, so Shon said, “They complain a lot.” he probably could have, and should have, come up with something nicer to say. But after hours of hearing them gripe while they worked, it was the only thing on Shon’s mind.
“There's nothing wrong with complaining, you know.” Veon-Zih mused. Shon merely shook his head. The knights never complained; he'd been watching them. If there was a job that needed to be done, they would do it. His fellow Squires seemed to complain before, during, and after every unpleasant assignment. Though never in front of the Paladin giving it.
“Do you honestly think the knights like polishing armor? Do you like polishing that much? Maybe you should've come to the Monastery after all. We don’t wear armor, but we have many fine statues that all need to be polished every day. Every little nook and cranny scrubbed clean and shining.”
He glanced at Shon with a grin, then leaned over to whisper, “They hate it too, but just like your fellows won’t complain in front of them, they won’t complain in front of you.”
“It needs to be done…” Shon tried to argue, though it sounded hollow considering his own, though silent, annoyance.
“A perfect excuse,” Veon-Zih stated, turning sharply down a side road, so Shon had to jog to keep up, “There are many reasons spare armor needs to be polished. The most obvious is that it's needed to stay in good repair. The task is assigned to Squires because it gets you intimately familiar with armor beyond just naming the parts. And because no one else wants to do it.
“That doesn’t mean we should be complaining about it…”
“Not in front of the officers, no. But amongst each other? Why not?”
Shon furrowed his brow but didn’t have an answer. Veon-Zih gave him one, “Joint misery creates companionship. Even if you have nothing else in common, everyone knows you all hate polishing already clean armor. Right now, I bet your fellow Squires are scratching their heads, wondering if you do actually enjoy the task. Some might even be wondering if they're worthy of being Squires. Since they complain, and you don’t.”
Shon’s steps faltered. Would they really think he was more worthy than them? For something so trivial as chores? He had to rush to catch up and argued, “But there's no point in complaining. We have to do it anyway.”
Veon-Zih sighed and stopped walking. He waited for Shon to turn to him then said, “But my statement still stands. Joint misery creates companionship. Your fellows take a risk in voicing their complaints to you, hoping that they're not alone in their opinions. What if they're the only ones who hate it? What if that really does mean they aren’t meant for the Temple? Just because they can channel divine magic doesn’t mean Hengist will choose them.”
Shon let himself ponder that for a while. The other Squires always seemed so sure of themselves, so excited to begin real training. Did they really have doubts and fears the same as he did? And what did that say about his assumptions? That they would complain and the knights didn’t? Was he actually judging his fellows as unworthy without realizing it?
“The Paladins really complained when they were Squires too?” he asked.
“I guarantee it.” Veon-Zih answered and started walking again, “I know I did, and all the other Monks in my class too.” he chuckled, “Sometimes routines like cleaning and polishing can be meditative. You can let your mind wander while your hands work through the familiar motions. But before you get to that point, or if you would rather be doing something of your choosing, then it's nothing but monotonous work. Necessary work, but still work.”
Following Veon-Zih around another corner, Shon pondered his Master’s words. They got all the way to the little eatery the Monk had been looking for, even took their seats, and gave their orders before Shon spoke again.
“I hate platemail the most…” he said. Veon-Zih arched an eyebrow at him, and he continued, “It’s bulky, and there's just so much of it. Then as soon as you're done, someone moves it aside and gets fingerprints on it again. Chainmail isn’t much better. You can’t see the fingerprints, but it’s hard to get the oil between the links. And yet water obviously has no problem with it because that’s where all the rust is.”
Veon-Zih laughed boisterously, throwing his head back and startling those at the closest table, “I hated the creases in the palms of the statues the most,” Veon-Zih held up his hand, his forefinger and thumb forming a circle, the other fingers extended, “how can so much dust cake itself in such a small space in only a day?” he complained, dropping his hand and shaking his head.
The waitress brought them their stew and drinks, and Shon started eating while Veon-Zih thanked her. Picking up his spoon, the Monk paused as he dipped it into his bowl, musing, “I wonder which parts your fellow Squires dislike the most?” Shon didn’t know, but he wanted to. Would they agree with him that the plate was the most frustrating? Daisy seemed to groan loudest at the leather, but their complaining always seemed to be general moans at the work as a whole…
“Maybe I’ll ask,” Shon mumbled, embarrassed for some reason.
“Or,” Veon-Zih took his first bite, then pointed at Shon with his spoon, “you could just tell them your least favorite, and they will open up and share their own.”
That’s what they expected of him, wasn’t it? They expected him to join in the conversation, not just answer questions… Shon could only nod.
***
Shon had grown so much. It was difficult for Veon-Zih to watch him without smiling. Only a head shorter than his Master, Veon-Zih could still see the ten-year-old oddity he'd spied upon almost four years ago in the church courtyard. And yet, he had grown so much. Veon-Zih wondered if anyone else could see it.
They practiced in one of the parks in the noble’s district. Veon-Zih thought it was important that Shon get out of Temple whenever possible, that he see the city and its people, to remember what he was training for, and why he wanted to fight. Shon was more like Veon-Zih, and his order of Monks than the boy would ever know. Or admit. He strove for perfection. Every punch, kick, and kata they worked through needed to go exactly right, or he would do it again. Like many Monks, Shon found true enjoyment in the process of working and growing better than his past self. But he was also different in a critical way. Shon wanted to use his strength. Wanted to protect people, fight evil. Many Monks never left the Monastery. A single Grandmaster could easily fell a small raiding force alone. Yet, so many chose not to fight outside their sparring rings and training.
Even Veon-Zih hadn’t left the Monastery because he wanted to help those locked outside its walls. He'd left because he believed he couldn't attain the perfection he strove for inside them. He'd wanted to be tested by the world, to rise to the challenges life presented and overcome them with his discipline and practice. Along the way, he'd learned to be more like Shon was naturally. He'd made friends from other orders, and saved countless non-combatants. Only after seeing the results of his fights, the grateful families reunited, had he realized the moral folly in his fellows and in himself.
They practiced and even sparred until well after fifth bell. The display at first earned them a few disapproving glares from the nobles and servants passing the park. Then they'd actually attracted a few spectators, who clapped as though watching a show. Shon blushed furiously at this, his pale cheeks growing pink as he tilted his head down, trying to let what was left of his now short hair slip down to hide his face. Yet, he never lost step or stopped the training. Veon-Zih had barely resisted laughing, though if more at the foolish watchers or his embarrassed student, he wasn’t sure.
Veon-Zih finally called their training to a halt, and Shon glowered at him. The boy had nearly gotten in his first solid hit in their sparring and was obviously reluctant to stop after making such progress. “It’s nearly time for you to get back, and Sir Rasnah will not accept me as an excuse for tardiness.” Shon’s eyes went wide, and fear replaced the look of frustration on his face. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking up at the sky to try and gauge the hour.
Veon-Zih chuckled, “I’ll race you back.” he said, a hint of mischief seeping through his voice. Shon arched an eyebrow and Veon-Zih could practically hear his thoughts. Run? Through town? You must be joking. “There's no law against running,” Veon-Zih argued with the boy’s expression, “Every moment offers us an opportunity to train. We're late, so this is the perfect opportunity to test our speed against time and run.”
Shon alternated his arched brow to the other side, looking down the road then back to Veon-Zih before confirming, “A race?”
In answer, Veon-Zih ran. He sprinted past Shon -though not at his full speed- before slowing down just enough to keep things fair. Shon bolted after him. Nobles, servants, and even a few guards gasped and called out in indignation as Veon-Zih and Shon swerved around them on the wide roads of the nobles' quarter. They were forced to slow when they reached the more densely packed streets in the city center. Shon was careful to run around the people doing their shopping but kept his eyes set ahead, planning his route and scaring those who noticed him out of the way with his intense blue stare. Veon-Zih was much more confident in his ability not to hit people and so brushed much closer, never quite knocking into them but often brushing their clothes as he passed.
Ahead a cart laden with crates and barrels ambled across the thoroughfare, and Shon slowed to a jog, trying to run around it. Veon-Zih lept, landing on his hands on the cart and propelling himself up and over before hitting the ground again and continuing the race. He heard the merchant curse and the bystanders gasp in surprise but was more amused at the growl of frustration that came from his student, who put on an extra burst of speed to try and catch up. Veon-Zih was half tempted to let him and half tempted to sprint all out and leave the boy in his dust. He chose to do neither and just laughed, continuing at the pace he'd set and soon coming into view of the Temple gates.
The Paladins on watch saw him coming and exchanged confused and nervous glances, drawing their swords but not barring his path. Veon-Zih didn’t slow his run until he reached the knights. Turning to the side and planting his feet, he slid past them on the cobblestones. Turning back as he slid to a stop, he found one of the Paladins facing him as though ready to fight and the other facing out as though looking for whatever force had sent Veon-Zih sprinting for the Temple.
Shon slowed to a jog and stopped before the knight facing him, breathing hard. “What’s going on? Squire report.” the Paladin demanded, still holding his sword at the ready.
Shon had to take a moment to catch his breath but eventually managed to gasp out, “Race…” before looking absolutely horrified at what he'd just done and said. “Sir…” he added quietly as if that might somehow make his unconventional arrival more acceptable.
“And you managed to keep up with him?” Sir Rasnah appeared from beyond the gate, arching a steely eyebrow and drawing sharp salutes from the Paladin guards who finally sheathed their swords.
“I went easy on him,” Veon-Zih assured her, earning a glare from Shon, who passed through the gates, still breathing deeply but no longer gasping for air. Veon-Zih hadn’t even broken a sweat.
Rasnah looked between the Master and student, finally settling on Shon, “Oh, don’t look at him like that, Squire. Master Veon-Zih could beat a riderless horse in a foot race.” which drew a befuddled look from Shon and a laugh from Veon-Zih.
“General Rasnah, Sir,” another man ran towards the gates wearing the uniform of an enlisted. A messenger from the city gates.
“It seems today is a good day for running,” Veon-Zih quipped as the guards allowed the man to pass and give his report.
“A wyvern has been spotted over the woods near Lakeland,”
Sir Rasnah didn’t respond right away. She narrowed her eyes at the messenger and spoke to Shon, “You have duties, Squire, hop to it.”
Shon saluted, though Rasnah still wasn’t looking at him. He glanced at Veon-Zih curiously, then turned to follow the orders.
Veon-Zih hesitated but decided to follow Shon. If he was needed, Rasnah would let him know.
“A wyvern?” Shon asked in a whisper.
“An abomination,” Veon-Zih explained, “Monstrous beasts with a body as large as a wagon, not including the tail. They fly like birds and will hunt anything that strays into their territory, including humans.”
Shon’s brow furrowed, and Veon-Zih patted him on the shoulder, “It'll be alright. They rarely attack settlements unless they're starving.” Which was good because a single wyvern could destroy a small town.
“What will the Temple do?” Shon asked as they reached the back door to the kitchens.
“That depends… most likely, they'll send a group to the village and watch the skies.”
“They won’t hunt it?”
“Maybe, and maybe not. Wyverns are dangerous enough that it’s a real risk to hunt one, but they also can’t be allowed to harm nearby towns. The Temple of Saint Giorgos will want it destroyed, but Sir Rasnah won’t needlessly risk her men if it isn’t necessary.” Veon-Zih explained.
Shon thought for a moment, then asked, “Have you ever fought a wyvern?”
Veon-Zih tried to make his smile reassuring, "Twice. Though I would rather not try a third time if it can be avoided.”
***
“Red, what're you doing?” Ran asked.
She rolled Her eyes, focusing again on what She was doing and not bothering to answer him. Her fingers ached, but She worked them into the cracks between the stones of the tower wall, shifting Her weight from one hand to the other and searching out the next handhold.
Brom laughed, and She heard the slap and woosh of breath as he pat Ran on the back hard enough to knock the air from the thinner man’s lungs, “Can’t you tell? She’s climbing!”
“Sort of…” Ran mumbled.
She wasn’t climbing up the wall, as much as She wanted to. Instead, She was up only about a foot off the ground and working Her way sideways around the tower. “Afraid of falling, Red?” Ran asked instead. That question was even more stupid than the last, and She arched Her neck back, holding tight to the wall and looking at him upside down.
“Really?” She asked in response to his denseness. He should know She wouldn’t be afraid of falling. She had fallen many times when She'd braved climbing the trees around the perimeter. Even broke Her arm once, and that hadn’t stopped Her from trying again with the splint still on. But that was when they used to let Her out more often, about once every other week. No, the thing that kept Her from climbing up the wall was the same thing that had stopped Her climbing trees. The same thing that stopped Her running around the tower at top speed while Brom or Ran kept time and She tried to beat Her record. And the same thing that kept Her from even crossing the tree line to play pretend in the woods.
Ran had the decency to look embarrassed, realizing his mistake eventually. There was only one thing that ever stopped Her from doing what She wanted, and even that often took multiple ‘lessons’ each time. Morndancer had grown increasingly erratic and more often violent of late. He would mutter to himself in draconic then give opposite orders to the journeymen and apprentices in common. Though everyone in the tower spoke both languages. He would lock himself in his room for days and hadn’t been back to visit his family or the Mages Guild in weeks. Shaloon would cover for him, but she wasn’t much better, cutting holes in reality and staring into the outer plains for hours on end, whispering. Half her words in draconic and the other half in common, mixing the languages in the same sentence.
Brom and Ran had refused to talk to Her about it, but She had listened at Her door when they thought She was sleeping. The Archmages were going mad. The eventual cost of power, they said. Though neither seemed upset that the same would happen to them eventually. Perhaps their lack of concern was the first sign they'd already started.
She continued Her climb, putting Her worries about Brom and Ran’s sanity out of Her mind for the time being. She would have plenty of time to stew about it when She was locked in Her room. For now, She wanted to enjoy being outside in the brief summer warmth.
A burst of sudden wind from above set Her hair whipping about Her face and nearly cost Her grip on the stones. Squeezing Her eyes shut, She tried to shake Her hair back, blowing at the strands against another huge gust before something heavy shook the ground behind her. She let Her head fall back again, so Her hair fell away from Her face, and She could see what had come upside down. The sight caused Her to fall off the wall.
Landing hard on Her backside, She scrambled to Her feet in a mix of awe and horror. A monster large enough to fill Her entire room and then some, stood in the clearing around the tower. It had a long sinuous neck and dull brown scales. It walked on great taloned legs in the back and the joints of its leathery wings in the front. It snapped at Archmage Shaloon as she jumped from its neck to the ground, its teeth as long as daggers and looking just as sharp. It didn’t bite the Archmage, who ignored it as she approached the journeymen.
“What are you three doing out here?” she demanded, mixing draconic with common and glaring at the two men who, for some reason, looked ashamed despite the permission they'd gotten to be out today.
The Firewyrm ignored the question, asking one of Her own, “What is that?” She pointed at the monster, not sure if She felt sad or disgusted at the sight of it. Both seemed odd emotions to have at the sight of a beast that could eat Her in two bites.
Fingers snapped, and She flinched, reaching for Her collar. The monster let out a strangled roar, thrashing its head wildly, its own copper collar shimmering with light and magic. “Another failure of our predecessors, thousands of years ago.” Morndancer exited the tower, his robes billowing around him.
Another snap, and the Firewyrm flinched again. But Shaloon just snorted, sneering at the other Archmage after stopping his torment of her mount, “The north-western Talon was gracious enough to lend us this sample after years of training. It should come in handy with the local draken who worship its kind as gods.” the beast snarled at the humans just out of reach but didn’t step any closer, digging its talons deeper into the ground and hissing, “It was a great success after the slaying. We’ve only had one greater.” she glanced at the Firewyrm who tilted Her head at the two of them, curious for more but sure they wouldn’t give it to Her.
Archmage Morndancer dismissed the defense of the monster’s existence with a snort, “And yet we are still facing the same problems as those before us. What information do you have?”
“A storm hit out at sea, and there are signs of another possibly brewing in Halakon.”
Ran swallowed nervously, and Brom stuttered, “Should we…?”
“No.” Morndancer answered the unfinished question, “There is only one thing that can stop these storms, and we are the only ones willing to make the sacrifices to do it.” he turned away from them, returning to the tower door before glancing over his shoulder, “Get back inside, we need more samples if we are to make up for our own successful failure.”
***
“Saint Giorgos says the wyverns are the last vestiges of the dragon’s evil in the skies…” Sir Rasnah sipped her tea thoughtfully.
Father Branston snorted, “Yes yes, and drakes are their evil on land, and leviathans their evil at sea. They are beasts, Rasnah, as old as memory.”
“Branston's right,” Veon-Zih shrugged, rolling his teacup between his hands, “They're terrible beasts with some magic to them, but they're no more intelligent than a drakwalf or horse.”
They sat together in Father Branston’s office to enjoy warm tea and a colorful sunset through his massive windows. But none of them could really relax with the news of a wyvern flying around the woods to the north. Just to the west of Hamerfoss.
“They've been known to hunt for sport,” Rasnah reminded them, her face pained at the memory.
“So do house cats.”
“House cats don’t pick off entire barbarian tribes over the course of a week.”
"I'm sure they would if they could,"
Branston sighed, reaching for his teapot and pouring himself another cup, “What will you do? If you need healers, I have a few skilled enough to go.”
Rasnah sighed, rubbing her forehead and resting her cup in her lap, “Perhaps one. I’ll send a group to watch. If it's sighted again, we'll have to do something.”
Veon-Zih cleared his throat to get her attention and arched a questioning eyebrow her way. The Paladin returned the look with a smile and said, “I will make sure they have a sending stone. If you're needed, I’m sure they'll wait for you to arrive before seeking it out.” her smile faded, and she stared into her cup, “If they really are vestiges of dragons then I suppose Saint Giorgos is right and all of them were evil.”
“Having a crisis of faith, Rasnah?” Branston asked softly, but with a smile, “Legends say Hengist was allied with goodly dragons.”
“Dragons of Gold and Silver and all the precious metals,” Veon-Zih finished for him, then added, “None of that matters anymore. All we can do is face the challenges life presents us with in the here and now.”
“Of course,” Rasnah agreed, looking up at her old friends and managing a lopsided grin, “And now we have a wyvern possibly claiming territory in our forests. Do you think Daunas will want to join the hunt? If necessary,” she added at the end.
“Mung's boy? He’s still stationed at Hamerfoss then?” Branston asked.
Veon-Zih chuckled, “I don’t believe he would forgive you if you didn’t let him.” his chuckle died, and the three gazed mournfully out the window. Remembering their last wyvern fight, and their friend lost in bringing it down. It had been their last adventure together.
-End of Part 1-
--- Table of Contents ---
All comments and are welcome and wanted.

Throwaway account.
I desperately need advice on this, at this point I am basically all out of ideas besides pursuing legal action (which I am open to doing). I live in California and I have already reported this to the BBB and Attorney General, but I am not seeing any progress. At this point, I do not even care about the money. I am more concerned about pursuing this further so they cannot do this to someone else who does not have the funds or resources I do. Would like advice on how to proceed, adding a timeline of events below:

• I decided I want to clean out my closet. I happen to enjoy designer things (purses, shoes, watches, etc.) and decide I want to sell them if possible. I contact the online consignment shop TheRealReal as I have bought a few items from the site previously and figure I could easily make some money from cleaning out my closet.
• February 11, 2023 - A representative from TheRealReal comes to my home to pick up the items. I used this service specifically because I didn't want to deal with shipping (and if things were lost in the mail, the liability was not mine. More on that later). The woman shows up, takes pictures of everything I have (20 items total), and sends me a copy of the pictures and a list of everything she took with her. I'm told the items will be up and sold on the site within 2 - 3 weeks. The total of all items I would estimate is over $4000, however I am fine with getting a fraction of that back after selling and commission fees, I just wanted to get the stuff out of my house.
• March 22, 2023 - I reach out to The RealReal via their texting customer service chat inquiring about where my items were at in the process as it had been over 5 weeks and I had no updates. The customer service agent says they will investigate the issue.
• April 2, 2023 - I receive an email indicating they have received my items and are reviewing them for quality and pricing for their website
• April 4, 2023 - I receive another email indicating that they have reviewed and already sold 6 of my items. At this point I assume the items were not lost, but simply not attached to my account. They had been reviewed and sold weeks prior. The 6 items sold were of lower value (maybe $100 - $200 each item). I'm told I will receive a check in the mail for the items sold. (I have since received the check.)
• April 7, 2023 - I inquire again to ask where my higher priced items are at in the process and indicate that I'm unhappy about the updates and progress and would need to pursue more action if I don't receive clear communication. After this email, I am ghosted until I start a new email thread.
• April 14, 2023 - I follow up again asking the same as above.
• April 19, 2023 - I send a letter to The RealReal outlining the above and indicate I will pursue additional action if I do not hear back from someone about the status of my items as it had been 2 months. I sent this via email and via mail.
• April 28, 2023 - I receive the following email:
  • Thank you for your patience. After further investigation, we were unable to rectify our inventory regarding your above items. I can understand how frustrating this may be. Rest assured I am here to help make this right and have begun the payout process for these items. This means that I will send all of the information on file for the items in the package to our Merchandising team (photos, designer, style, condition, etc) so that they may price the items. Once priced, I will let you know exactly when you can expect to receive your payment, and how much it will be for. The RealReal will then "purchase" the item from you, and issue your commission as if it had sold on the website. We’re sorry that your experience with us wasn’t more positive and look forward to rectifying it as much as we can.
• I responded with the following:
  • Though I appreciate the response, the above solution does not rectify the 3.5 months of waiting for your company to come to this conclusion. You accepted a $700 pair of shoes and a $500 scarf, among many of my other items, and lost them. I utilized your in-home pick up service to avoid any issues with shipping. Before payment, I would like a detailed list of what the merchandising team prices the item to be worth, especially for the more expensive items that were sent (hermes scarf, louboutin shoes, amongst others). Based on your policy, items not sold would be returned to me. Because this is not an option (as you have indicated above that The Realreal has lost my items), I am expecting the full amount of the "sale" to be returned to me, as my items can no longer be returned. The "expected commission" is not an acceptable solution when the items cannot be appropriately evaluated because they are no longer in your possession.
• May 7, 2023 - After sending the above email, I have not received communication regarding the missing items. I chose to file a complaint with the Better Business Bureau in hopes they can move the needle.
• May 9 - 2023 - I receive an email that TheRealReal has received my complaint and are investigating. I receive follow up emails (unprompted) on May 11, 13, and 15 letting me know they are still investigating.
• May 15 - 2023 - I receive a check for the 6 items they were able to account for.

After this, I have no further communication from them. It's almost June and I still have no resolution. They have no accountability for the additional items they lost, and no one has reached out to indicate how much they are planning to "price" my items for.
TLDR: The RealReal accepted $4000 of designer items and lost them. They tell me they will pay me for my items, then ghost me. They have provided no updates or clarification after almost 4 months of back and forth. Need advice on what to do from here. Thanks!

A strange event happened some time ago, I love having my house too clean, therefore I can't find an explanation for this event. I usually enter my room and it gives off a horrible smell of human feces, I have thoroughly cleaned and searched for an explanation, the strangest thing is that it appears from time to time. Could someone tell me if they are cursing me? And if so, how can I prptejerme and reverse it?

Just moved to town and bought a house with a family of birds living in the attic. Need to find a legitimate critter control company that will remove them, clean up the space, and patch however it is they're getting in.
Tried Googling companies but found a surprising amount of useless internet spam instead... TIA

Let's start from the beginning.
Forge World Graia is being invaded by Orks, who at this point have ships in-atmosphere, plus throughout the game are shown to have control of, or at the very least are contesting, anti-air emplacements. And, while in a thunderhawk, Titus makes the decision to put on jump packs, leap through a hurricane of fire, board an enemy ship, and spend the first section of the game just reconvening with his squad. Titus risks the entire "strategically absolute" mission on a gamble, and Leandros calls him out on it. Leandros at first is suggestive and follows along with Titus, but once Titus separates and nearly dies on a crashing ship, Leandros, who also nearly died, is understandably pissed. Even Sergeant Sidonus questions Titus at the beginning, and he's an experienced veteran. Instead of explaining his reasoning, Titus continues to belittle Leandros, openly taunting him while on the thunderhawk (Try to keep up) and then claiming that Leandros interprets the codex narrowly, again, as they land wildly off-course and have to footslog their way back to the objective. There's no "narrow" interpretation, it should be common sense not to run into a firefight and Leandros is absolutely right on the money.
Then, it's Leandros that gets the idea to blow up the macrocannon by planting a melta charge on the shell. This guy, who the community presents as not doing anything unless the Codex explicitly says, is the one who gets the creative idea to destroy the gun battery, by being resourceful and knowledgeable about how to take down a big gun. A lot of people might be tempted to dismiss this because it seems too easy, but that's the point. Leandros taking the simple, effective, and quick solution is not a fault on him, but instead a praise, and Sidonus does just that.Leandros doesn't really take issue again until Titus moves to get the power source. The entire facility collapses, and Titus suddenly rings out that he somehow survived, against the Inquisitor's expectations. Then Drogan reveals that the power source conducts warp energies, and Leandros takes the most aggressive jump by associating it with chaos. Titus and Sidonus, on the other hand, trust the Inquisitor at face value and ignore it, so Leandros once again bites his tongue. The Inquisitor then reveals another test project, which uses the Power Source, and Titus still continues to trust him despite repeated warnings that the weapon could destroy the planet on accident. Considering he was sent here to protect the planet, Titus is weirdly invested in protecting an inquisitor that has already repeatedly kept secrets that impaired their mission, and again, nearly killed a 2nd Company Captain.
Once the daemons emerge, Leandros' first words are "how is this possible?" Then, Titus is once again demonstrated to have warp resistance, in addition to Drogan's puppeteering also emerging. Nemeroth expresses both gratitude to the space marines for helping his plans unfold, and interest in Titus specifically. In addition, its discussed that Drogan was likely killed by chaos agents, and not by orks. So Leandros is led to believe that 1) his captain has overt warp resistance, 2) his captain has a thing for disappearing suddenly by making brash decisions 3) its revealed that Drogan was a highly convincing puppet and 4) chaos has been at work on this planet for some stretch of time, without their knowledge. What was he supposed to think? Chaos changes the game here, and Titus' odd behavior has never been reassuring all the while. If you were playing the game from Leandros' perspective, you would think the game was setting up Titus to be the villain, another puppet or perhaps an agent of chaos that reveals himself a master planner. That this ends up not being the case isn't incompetency on Leandros' part, but is instead simply a bit of dramatic irony. That you happen to play as Titus doesn't excuse the fact that Titus himself is simply not a very inspiring or trustworthy person at this point.
The strike force successfully destroys the orbital spire, and Leandros suggests giving the power source to the inquisition for safekeeping. Titus remarks that the Inquisition has already failed thus far, and suggests destroying it. This isn't Leandros making a bad call per se, but its a deliberate test, seeing as Leandros already suspects Titus of mega-ultra-heresy. If Titus moves to get rid of the power source, it would objectively be a bad call because of Titus' reasons. However, if he tries to keep it, Leandros might think that Titus is up to something. Titus, being reasonable for once, chooses the middle route and suggests safely destroying it once they get back to the chapter, while still carrying out the mission here. Titus passes on the power source to Sidonus, and Leandros falls back in line.
However, just as this occurs, a sizeable force of Chaos marines emerge, and Titus orders Sidonus to make a break for it. And as Leandros is preoccupied elsewhere, Nemeroth suddenly emerges, takes the power source, and kills Sidonus. And yet, despite not being there to confirm the story, Leandros takes Titus' advice and plans to carry out vengeance. He openly protests Titus once again making the genius tactical move to split up to take on a Chaos Lord alone, and calls out that Nemeroth might plan to take advantage of Titus' warp connection. During this conversation, it's noted that Leandros does not openly say that Titus has a connection to Chaos, even though its already been said. Once again, Titus decide to play aggressively with a hypothetical question, and ask if Leandros fears him falling to chaos. Leandros says no, but turns away and imagines another hypothetical wherein Nemeroth takes advantage of Titus, a sort of long-winded way of saying "yes" without actually saying it. Again, Leandros has some very valid concerns at this point, and while its a stretch to think that Titus will directly fall to chaos (which the player picks up on), Titus is not at all reassuring. He's not just ignoring the Codex, he's actively pushing against basic ideas of how not to handle a chaos incursion, written by Bobby G, who wrote the book with every ounce of knowledge he had for preventing Chaos. Titus rejecting the Codex and being so chaotic at such a pivotal moment is where Leandros really ramps up his suspicions.
Nemeroth and Titus then have a facedown, and Nemeroth himself openly believes that Titus is connected to Chaos. Not only does Titus have warp resistance, but Nemeroth calls out how the very specific events that have occurred are entirely in line with the intentions of Chaos. This is a point brought up many times in other books, that one doesn't have to worship Chaos to serve Chaos, and Nemeroth puts it on display. Regardless of what Titus was doing, he was going to end up "serving" Chaos regardless, and his unique connection to the warp was seeming evidence of that.
And finally, at the climax of it all, Titus once again emerges, killing a half-daemon prince after falling through the warp and somehow using the power source to just right himself back into realspace. Titus and Leandros have their last stare down, as Leandros comes to the same conclusion as Nemeroth that Titus is connected to Chaos, and informs the inquisition forces that showed up. Many people have said that Leandros should have gone to the Master of Sanctity, but I disagree. This is the Captain of the 2nd company, who is just now experiencing weird warp-related phenomena, who seemingly keeps popping in and out of reality after going on suicide missions, and whose every action is made in such a way that they either ignore Leandros despite his valid criticisms, or are downright hostile to his loyalty to the codex. Leandros was put on the spot, and had to make a decision, and like any decision, he turned to the Codex for guidance.
Leandros is adamant that the Codex contains the truth, and Titus says that its a set of rules with the test to see what a Space Marine can make with them. This is where Titus honestly loses me. People always like to go on about how the Codex is a set of guidelines and not rules, but honestly I've never seen it that way. It laid out the philosophical groundworks to describe the role of the Adeptus Astartes from galactic conquerors to humanity's defenders, it made explicit strategic organization and developed doctrine and tactics to explain where every unit type fit into the grand picture, it set the precedent for Imperial separation of powers from legions to chapters and Imperial to Navy and Militarum, and it overall served as a historical document that outlines different situations and how soldiers (astartes mainly) should deal with them.
We know that Guilliman himself didn't like how narrow the Imperium viewed the codex, but that often ignores a lot of the context about his opinions. Gman hates that 1) the High Lords abuse codex stipulations to their own end 2) soldiers follow the rules without accounting for the situation. In some cases, as Leandros points out, the Codex does account for the situation, because the Codex was meant to embody the wisdom of a tactical genius in a single document. If Titus was just willing to explain anything at all, Leandros would probably find it reasonable. He could have explained that he would rather protect the Thunderhawk for evac rather than risk it trying to land, he could have explained that he will submit himself to a chaplain once the battle was done, and he could have explained that him being warp resistant was not something wholly the result of Chaos (this is where I think Space Marine just has poor writing, there's nothing in the lore to suggest that the mutated and mad forces of Chaos are immune to the warp and there's plenty to suggest that loyal forces of the Emperor can resist warp powers. People will argue that its Leandros whose at fault for that, but those people are hypocritical to blame Leandros for quoting the codex if the Codex in this game explicitly says "Warp resistance = evil". IIRC Space Marine had no lore input from GW and was given free reign to make up whatever, so this checks out).
Moreover, this is an area I find to be hypocritical of the community. Leandros himself states that he uses the Codex for guidance, but he only references the hard and true facts that the game presents, which are "don't fly into enemy gunfire" and "Resisting the warp is something that heretics do". He has shown, through him going along with Titus' suicide jump and thinking to plant the melta charge, that he's fully capable of not acting directly according to the Codex. So I find it odd, in a community that continuously shits on the Codex Astartes and interpreting it too rigidly, that the community wants Leandros to wait until they get back to the chaplains(as the Codex intended) and not seek out a ranking Inquisitor. To me, I think the community got too wrapped up in playing as Titus that they go along with his "rules for thee but not for me" approach. Given the seriousness of the situation, Leandros had every reason to not want to wait and risk Titus corrupting other people.
One more thing I wanted to mention. People sometimes think that Leandros' original purpose was to show that Titus was right all along, and that throughout the planned sequels it would have shown Leandros coming to his senses. But I feel people are really taking that idea out of context, just because they hate Leandros. In an article by The Escapist, the director for Space Marine revealed his plans for the sequels.

“The second part of his story was to focus on a ‘Titus Unleashed’ plot … basically there were forces arrayed against him that would see his loyalty to the Adeptus Astartes pushed to its limit, and his reaction would be to kind of ‘go rogue,'” van Lierop said. “He would survive, and come back even stronger in the third game, where other Space Marines still loyal to him would rally around him and he’d return to ‘clean house,’ but as the head of a brand new Chapter that we would build around him.”

And this is why I ultimately think, even in the original vision, Leandros was right. Titus shows up, makes brash decisions, can be definitively tied to the Warp and is hinted at being connected to Chaos the entire game. So where does his original story go? He ends up becoming a renegade, and leads a breakaway faction with the forces that were loyal to him while he was captain, all the while doubting the position of the Adeptus Astartes in the Imperium. Goddamn, if that is not the most explicit depiction of a heretic they could have made, and it would have shown that Leandros had every reason to think Titus was a danger to the Imperium. Forget all that defense of Titus by being the main character and therefore we "know" he's innocent, they actively planned to have him give in to everything that he went through. If they had gone through this this original plan, I think I would know the exact reaction the community would have had to Leandros questioning Titus.
There are far more egregious examples of codex worship in the novels, but Leandros is not one of those people. He remains loyal, level headed, and focused while also trying to work out the situation. Titus never really defends his innocence that strongly because it relies on the player to trust Titus, but between Drogan, Nemeroth, and finally Leandros, Titus is up against the wall. Maybe its just poor characterization, but Titus is so bland throughout the game he never really backs up the idea that he's taking this seriously after everything that happens. Leandros might have turned in the player character, but honestly he had every reason to.

Hi! I'm a 15 year old girl. (Background and characters:) My mother, (37f) is a clean freak with severe OCD. She loves a clean house. She spends a lot of her day cleaning up to three times a day (probably more lol).
My sister N is 18, she has just graduated a few days ago! N is messy, she doesn't care about a little mess. She doesn't do her laundry, she doesn't make her bed, she doesn't clean up after herself. But in her defense, she needs back surgery, so that's her excuse. And she's going through a lot, she's a hard worker, she studies and struggles a lot with her dispraxia.
There's my mom's bf P, he's messy too.
Story: yesterday my sister N was in the bathroom taking a bath. She loves to do that for around 1-3 hours, she enjoys relaxing after studying/anything hard/a hard day overall. The bath was left for a while so obviously it got cold, N waited until the end of the day to get in when it was luke-warm. By that time P had turned the water off to my mothers command. After that N had texted me, asking me to check, so I did and told her it was off.
The next thing I hear is N getting out of the bath, unlocking the door, pounding on my mother's door (she keeps it locked) and P opens
They began arguing, I couldn't hear it all but from what i gather it went like this
P: -unlocks door - wha- N: why did you turn the water off? My bath is cold and I don't even have any water to wash my hair P: your mother told me to. N: well I needed to wash my hair!!
From what I heard from downstairs either P slammed the door on her or she pulled it shut. Then she went into the bathroom, slamming the door again, and draining the water. She began screaming about how she "can't even FUCKING wash my hair in this house" and screamed "FUCK YOU!!!!" and continued talking to herself before my mother yelled from her room to shut up.
The next day.
I had woken up to my mother yelling, "Op! Where's the yellow liquid?" (she's talking about yellow cleaning stuff. I had cleaned the house with it yesterday) I responsed "I don't know, I put it back" But of course she continued yelling, by that time I was up and preparing getting dressed for our appointment at CAMHS (It's a place that helps Minors with high anxiety and depression)
My mother turned her anger to N, yelling about what happened last night. It begun, the screaming match. This is all i can recall as I was also crying (I never cry. I usually just sit in silence, )
Mom was yelling at N, N was screaming back and started bawling about how she's suffering too, about how she's in pain too, and about how mom abuses us and screams all the time (she does) mom screamed back that she's only screaming because N doesn't clean up after herself, and about how she's always a slave to N (something she says often) It goes back in forth with N saying that mom screams all the time and mom screaming back about how she's a slave, and had just lost her sister in the last year, and she never had time to grieve.
I was just in my bed crying. After they were done screaming my mom called me to sort the clothes. Finding what's mine, she saw I was crying and was a bit shocked since I never cry. She talked in a gentle manner to me to just find my clothes.
My mom said she didn't want me to be upset. She said that N was making out to be her fault, I stayed silent, she sighed and said it was both their fault, I nodded and walked passed.
I got dressed and mom said we weren't going to the appointment anymore because it was just to discuss my antidepressants (which I have, its just to talk about how it's going) I said fine, now I'm on the couch typing this out. My mom wants me to calm down and not be upset before leaving. She said she's keeping a close eye on me because she's afraid I'll commit suicide.
I'm just so confused on how to feel. My chest hurts. My cheeks are wet. This can't be normal.
Id really appreciate any feedback at all, maybe about who's in the wrong? Maybe about how i should feel? I'm happy to answer questions...
TL;DF: my ocd mother is screaming at my sister about being messy and rude to her. It ended up becoming a screaming match between the two.

USAgent and the USAvengers

Volume 4: Healing
Passover Special
Written by: u/DarkLordJurasus
Edited by: u/PresidentWerewolf
​
I look out at the highway, the sound of the radio blending into the noise of cars on asphalt. Up ahead is a sign for a rest stop in half a mile. For a moment, I debate not saying anything, merely shifting my aching leg to try letting it straighten and allow the car to continue forward. Walter is stressed enough as is; being trapped in New Jersey traffic will only make it worse.
I grab ahold of the front seat passenger chair, and attempt to shift my body to a more leaning position. I get one leg up before letting out a moan. Pain blossoms through my oblique muscles as I stop.
Hearing me, Walter asks, “Are you okay?”
Shifting back into the sitting position, I wave him off, “Yea, yea. I’m fine. Healing just sucks. Can we possibly stop soon? I need to stand up and walk off my soreness.”
Doug gives a curt nod, quickly putting on his right blinker to change lanes. Walter doesn’t immediately respond. For a moment, he is quiet, and then he says, “Listen, if you aren’t feeling up to the trip, it's okay. There is a Passover Seder hosted by a synagogue near our base, I can go there for the holidays.”
I quickly reply, “No, I’m fine. We calculated the time for a lot of stops and the doctor said as long as I walk around every hour to hour and a half, I should be fine.”
Trying to lighten the mood, Doug added on, “Yea. I was promised a chance to try your mom’s homemade macaroons. You aren’t taking that away from me.”
All Walter replied with was a hesitant, “Okay.”
It’s strange, Walter’s response. Well, his hesitation in general is weird. Is he worried to see his parents again? It would be the first time he saw them since becoming Stingray, but that isn’t it. His hesitation mostly comes around Doug and me coming. It can’t be him trying to keep us away from his Jewish identity. He’s the one who invited us, and he had never been shy about discussing his beliefs before.
I try to brush the thought from my mind. I don’t want to push Walter. If he is feeling so uncomfortable now, any attempt to figure out what he is thinking will only lead to him getting defensive. Instead, I just let it go, pretending I haven’t noticed his weird behavior, and listen to the news.
In business news, earlier today Tinkerer Technologies announced their initiative to begin making technology that will help protect private citizens from superhuman threats. This corresponded with a press statement by company founder Phineas Mason.
In the statement, Phineas wrote, “Tinkerer Technologies is not trying to disparage the technology being created on behest of the US government in regards to the danger superhumans may pose. It must be remembered that Tinkerer Technologies were the main industry working with the government on the USAvengers project and had a direct hand in both the Detroit Steel armor and the Modern American Initiative. The problem is, Sentinels and the USAvengers can only be part of the solution. A situation with a superhuman can turn volatile in a moment. We’ve seen this with both dangerous, violent criminals and innocents who lost control of their powers. As such, it is imperative that the average citizen has the tools to neutralize deadly situations as they wait for the police, a Sentinel, or the USAvengers to arrive.”
Walter turns off the radio at this, his back straight as a pencil. At the same time, he begins to pull into the parking lot of the rest stop. He parks the car in silence, the fact he turned off the radio not mentioned by anyone in the car. We all know why. The wording was polite, but the message behind Phineas’ words are clear: mutants are dangerous and should be feared.
As the car stops, Doug clears his throat and says, “I’m going inside to the bathroom and to grab an Iced Tea for the road. Anyone want anything?”
Walter responds, “I’m good.”
Doug merely looks at Walter for a moment, I can’t see his eyes, but I can only guess he was looking him over, worried about Walter’s behavior. After a moment, Doug nods and turns back to me, “You want anything?”
“Sure,” I reply, “Grab me a coffee.”
Getting out of the car, Doug double checks, “Two milk, one Splenda?”
I hum in the affirmative. Doug closes the door to the car and begins to walk towards the rest stop.
I move to leave the car myself, my hand unclasping the seatbelt from its holder. Taking a deep breath, Walter says, “Wait…I…we need to talk before you get out.”
I’m silent, unsure what to say or do in this situation. I’m worried, what’s going on? Why is Walter so nervous?
Walter’s hands drift from the steering wheel to his side, limp. “Two days ago my mom called me. Originally we thought my grandpa wasn’t coming to Passover. For as long as I knew him, he always flew to Israel for Passover specifically and celebrated the holiday with his sister’s family. Earlier last week his sister’s daughter called him to cancel. It seems that one of my cousins just had a preemie and Passover took a backseat as they are dealing with the surprise of having the child early.”
“Why is this a bad thing?” I ask.
Walter sighs, “It’s not, I love my grandpa, he’s great, he’s just, well he is so far liberal that we used to joke Bernie Sanders went to him for policy ideas. When I told him I wanted to go to a military college, he spent over a year trying to convince me otherwise. He even offered to pay for all 4 years of my college out of his own pocket just to stop me.”
Understanding sinks in; his grandfather is not going to like me, not in the slightest. The only thing I can say in response is, “Oh.”
Walter looks down, “Yea. He is probably going to challenge you. Mom said he promised to not make a scene, but to him, anything short of not punching you like he is Captain America punching Hitler is not making a scene.”
“Do you not want me to go?” I ask, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice. I know Walter is still wary of me due to my usage of the M-slur, not that I could blame him. If I was him, I would have dropped me as a friend as soon as I got out of a coma. I don’t want to cause conflict, and I would understand if Walter doesn’t feel comfortable with me there, all things considered, but it would still hurt. I can currently only count three people as my friends, and with how badly I screwed up my friendship with Lemar, I hate the idea that my friendship with Walter is also irreparable.
“No.” Doug says quickly, almost too quickly, “It’s not like that. It’s just, I know you are planning to go to group therapy with Lemar to work out your issues, and I don’t want you to be placed into a situation where a stranger confronts you over your actions before you're ready for it. If you don’t feel up to being interrogated, then I can easily turn this car around and we can claim the flu or some other bullshit.”
I think about what Walter said. He’s not entirely wrong. While I know what I said is wrong, and I know that it was derogatory and discriminatory, I also know that I haven’t done enough to fix the issue. I’ve thought about that day often, my mind replaying the events over and over, but I haven’t verbalized much of it to others. I can play out the words I will say when questioned on it, but that means nothing when emotions run high. Wasn’t it during high emotions that I showed my true colors in the first place?
My hand is shaking, from my emotions or from the lack of movement, I’m not quite sure. I don’t think I can do this, I barely was coherent enough to discuss it with my friends, how can I try speaking about it in front of others? Would I try explaining it after I apologize, to further go into how I am trying to work harder in the future to change, or would that be considered justifying the behavior? For a moment, the thought of turning the car around sounds like the right choice. Walter is right, I’m not ready for a confrontation, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.
And yet, I also know turning the car around is impossible. Ignoring how selfish it would be to Walter, the fact of the matter is that I can’t keep running from the backlash. I can’t keep pretending that the real world consequences to my actions will avoid me. I have to face the music.
“I want to go.” I manage to gasp out in a whisper. Instantly, I feel better and I feel worse. It feels like a weight has been lifted, like I’m no longer testing fate or Odin or anyone else who might exist, but at the same time, a new tension builds anticipation. This is not going to be fun, but it’s something I need to do.
—---------------------
Two days later, the three of us arrive at Walter’s parents’ house dressed up. Even from the other side of the door, I can easily hear the noises of children yelling and oven alarms going off. On my head is a yarmulke, a small brown cap. Walter did tell Doug and me that it was okay for us not to wear it, but if I’m being invited to celebrate someone’s culture and religion, I want to be as respectful as possible while doing so.
Walter knocks on the door and a young woman comes to the door. She looks younger than Walter, maybe in her mid to late thirties. She wears a dark blue dress with a silver Star of David necklace. Seeing David, she hugs him. “It’s good to see you. Mom was terrified when you disappeared and then showed up as a superhero.”
Blushing a bit, Walter responds, “You know I would have told you guys if I could.”
The girl smiles softly. “I know that, but try telling that to mom.”
Walter stops for a moment, his body freezing. “Fuck,” he says before running inside, calling for his mother.
Seeing Doug’s and my confusion, the girl explains, “There’s no more powerful force than a Jewish mother’s guilt, and for the stunt you guys pulled, well Walter is going to be reminded of that fact.”
Awkwardly I nod, my hands almost trapped at my side. It’s hard enough for me to lie to Lemar about why I disappeared for months on end; I didn’t even think of how hard it was for Walter to lie to his family.
Doug, either recovering from the awkwardness first or not having felt it in the first place, holds out his hand, “Hi, I’m Doug.”
Shaking his hand, the woman replies, “Detroit Steel right?” Not waiting for a response, she continues, “I’m Alli.”
My mind instantly clicks. This is Walter’s younger sister, the one who is a Social Studies teacher in Pennsylvania. Holding out my own hand, I say, “I’m John.”
Alli’s smile gets slightly tighter, her lips paling from tension, “Welcome to our house.” She turns around and quickly gestures for us to get inside. The fact she didn’t shake my hand isn’t lost on me, but if passive-aggressiveness is the worst of my treatment tonight, well, it would be more than I deserve.
Walking inside, we are on a small wooden platform, a single step to the left required to get to the downstairs, a staircase in front of us exiting into the living room. A young kid runs by and runs over my foot. I let out a small gasp as pain reverberates up my leg. I lean harder on my cane.
“Baruch Lavie Melamed! Apologize this instant.”
The young boy stops and stares at me. I feel tears welling in my eyes from the pain, but I try my best to keep my face clean. “Sorry for running over your foot.”
Trying to keep the pain from bleeding into my voice, I respond, “It’s fine.”
My voice must not have been as nonchalant as I hoped as both Alli and Baruch stay still for a moment before Alli nods and says, “Go back to playing.”
The kid's mouth splits in half with a smile and he runs off. Alli turns to me, her expression changed to one much softer, “Are you okay?”
I close my eyes for a minute, my leg pulsating. Opening them again, I wave her off, “Yea, barely even felt it.”
It’s obvious she does not believe me, her eyes frozen on my hunched over form. I mentally hold my breath; I don’t want her to come and help. I don’t need the pity, I can’t handle the pity. I’m goddamn USAgent, if she has to pity someone, I can show her hundreds of people who need it more. I’d rather she treat me with the disdained indifference of before, it's what I deserve after all.
Doug comes to my rescue, grabbing ahold of my elbow and saying, “It’s fine, I’m used to carrying his dead weight.” He says it with a slight chuckle, one that is so forced, it almost sounded like a cough.
Alli nods and begins to walk up the stairs. I go to follow, but Doug doesn’t move. In my ear, he whispers, “Listen, if you can’t handle this, we can go. I’ll drive you back to the hotel and pick up Walter later.”
I whisper back, “I’m good.”
Doug nods and begins to help me up the stairs, “Please don’t push yourself. The last thing we need is for you to backtrack.”
I give my own nod, wondering if Doug meant physically or mentally backtracking.
—-----------------------
An hour later, we are all gathered around a large table, prayer books in hand, as Walter and his family chant Hebrew and English. My book is open, and I attempt to make the same sounds coming out of everyone else’s mouths, but my heart isn’t in it. I’m too busy looking at the table through the corner of my eyes.
Once again, I have to wonder: how selfish am I truly? I knew Walter had a big family, unlike Doug and myself, but I never truly thought of how much he had to give up for the USAvengers. Sure, being in the military requires sacrifices, but the USAvengers is more. How many secrets has he had to keep from his loved ones? How does he feel knowing they can be at risk due to his role as government hero?
Glancing around the table, my eyes freeze at an older man. He wears a full black suit with a dark blue yarmulke and a white scarf like object that Alli told me earlier was a tallit. His eyes meet mine, the dark brown pupils dilating, the same glare he has been giving me all night reappearing.
I learned that he is the grandpa, Benjamin Newell, and while silent towards me, his disgust is extremely evident. I don’t fault him though. Walter explained to me last night that his brother and parents died in the Holocaust, and that since then, his grandfather has fought against injustice and bigotry.
I attempt to stare down at the book, but it is too late as Benjamin clears his throat, his eyes never leaving mine.
The prayer, I believe it is called the Four Questions, is stopped as everyone turns to look at him. He closes his book and puts it down, his movement demanding a presence.
“Well,” he says slowly, spit pooling in the corners of the mouth, “I’m done ignoring the elephant in the room.”
Walter’s mom, Leia Newell, is quick to admonish her father, but he cuts her off, “No. If one breaks bread with a Nazi, they are a Nazi. I’m not breaking matzah with a bigot, especially not during a sacred holiday.”
I nod my head, “I understand that.” All the desire I had to explain or justify myself disappears immediately as I realize how wrong it would be to do so here. This isn’t a family dinner, this is a holiday, and I, an outsider, am harming it by making others uncomfortable. There are times and places to make a stand, but today is not one of them.
I turn to Leia and say, “Thank you for inviting me.”
I grab my cane and Doug gets up, supporting me by my elbow. Benjamin scoffs, “Look at him, another bigot who can’t deal with conflict. Go back to hurting the innocent.”
Walter gets up also, his chair scratching against the wooden floor, “I knew this was a bad idea. I knew that you wouldn’t give John a chance to show that he is working to be better. I just thought you would do it before or after we eat, not ruin dinner in the process.”
Benjamin laughs, “I’m sorry Walter, I know he is your friend, and I respect that, but cut the crap about him trying to be better. If he was trying, he would stop sullying the legacy of Captain America and quit. Captain America was a man who had the first segregated battalion. Captain America came and prayed at synagogues all throughout the country in protest when America forced Jewish refugees back to Germany. Your friend runs when someone points out his bigotry.”
I stop walking and turn around, the movement so fast that my cane hits my leg in the process. I’m tired of being compared to Steve fucking Rogers, the man with the goddamn plan. I’m tired of seeing him in my dreams, admonishing me, I’m tired of living in his shadows.
“You’re right.” I say, my eyes meeting his, “I’m not Captain America, there will never be another Captain America. I’m not the perfect representation of the dream of an united America, I’m a flawed human being.”
“So quit.” Benjamin replies.
This time I laugh, a bitter taste on my tongue, “You think that will fix anything? The USAvengers project is too expensive to fail, and I can assure you, the next guy will be much worse to supers than I can ever dream of being. Kelly’s support and power has only grown since the Power Broker appeared, and there is no chance in hell that he won’t be picking the next USAgent. At least I’m trying to get past my biases and prejudices, I can assure you the next guy won’t put in the same effort.”
“If you are trying to be better, why run with your tail behind your legs? Explain that, talk to us, running is for cowards who can’t take living in the real world.”
Looking down, I say, “I was trying to not ruin your dinner.”
Benjamin responds, “Well, according to this one,” he points his finger at Walter, “I already did so, so you might as well explain yourself.”
I nod and say, “I’m scared. Mutants, superhumans, they can do things no one else can, and I wouldn’t be able to stop them. I’d be defenseless, and that terrifies me. I know logically it is unfair, that very few superhumans are powerful enough to kill others with no effort, and out of that small population, even fewer are violent, but the heart often doesn’t listen to the mind. I was at ground zero for Ultron, and I saw the strength and brutality of both superhumans, and the foes they fight, and despite my military training, I was unable to do anything.”
Benjamin opens his mouth to respond, but I continue, “Me saying a slur, it was a long time coming, I just refused to see it. I hid my fear of supers, refusing to talk about the Avengers or vigilantes like Spider-Man before I became USAgent. I told myself this was due to my anger at not being helped during the Ultron Incident, and that was definitely part of it, but that fear was there all along. Then I became USAgent, I thought my fear would disappear, I would be able to defend myself and others, but then the dinosaurs attacked New York. I almost died on three occasions, and yet I saw the supers I fought with kill and slaughter the dinosaurs like they were tissue paper. I was already close to a panic attack upon realizing my friends were probably turned into dinosaurs, but the realization, that despite everything, I’m still too weak to protect myself and those I care about, well it broke me, and a disgusting and dark part of myself, a part of myself I hope I never see again, came out.”
Benjamin eyes me up and down before saying, “Fear does not justify bigotry.”
“I know.” I respond softly.
He continues, “What you did is despicable.”
“I agree.” I say.
He leans forward, “Most people don’t get second chances, and very few deserve a third chance. Do you understand that?”
I shake my head, “I do. I won’t let you, or my friends down.”
Sitting back in his seat, he smiles, “Well then, sit down, the soup is getting cold and I want to eat before midnight.”

I’ll have the house to myself for a couple of weeks this summer and am hoping to find some company for a night or two. I’m also open to travelling or getting a room if you’re more comfortable with that.
I’m 35, white, 6’4, meticulously clean, ddf, have had a vasectomy & have proof. I’m a dominant type yet very attentive and giving in bed. I especially enjoy going down on a woman…
I’m a business professional type, just finished my masters in International Relations, play music on the weekends, enjoy running and am an avid reader. I try to stay well rounded…
Ideally, you are 21+, very clean, ddf (420 is fine), and really into the idea of being with a married guy. Open to any race, status, or size so long as the connection is good.
Won’t be too long winded, but if you’re interested at all, just reach out…let’s make a summer success story!

But a battle looms in the coming days to get it through Congress
https://www.economist.com/united-states/2023/05/28/americas-debt-ceiling-deal-means-it-should-now-avoid-armageddon
Even in a sharply divided Washington, DC, politics-as-usual sometimes works. America has a history of debt-ceiling drama, staring into the abyss of a government default before reaching a deal at the last minute. This time, too, the familiar pattern has repeated itself. Intense negotiations went down to the wire. But President Joe Biden and Kevin McCarthy, the Republican speaker of the House of Representatives, resolved the final points of an agreement in a phone call on the evening of May 27th.
Some feared that this time would be different. Such is the depth of the partisan divide in Washington nowadays, and so ardent the radicalism of the extremists in both camps, the worry was that a compromise might prove elusive. Republicans were demanding budget cuts on a scale—equivalent to about 25% in real terms—that was unacceptable to Democrats.
Yet the looming deadline concentrated minds as usual. The “X-date”, when the country might be unable to pay its bills unless Congress raised or suspended the debt ceiling of $31.4trn, was fast approaching. Although Janet Yellen, the treasury secretary, had on May 26th moved back her estimate of the X-date from June 1st to June 5th, time was running short to reach a deal and get it through both chambers of Congress. The consequences of a debt default, the first in America’s modern history, would be dire: the shock from disruption in the biggest sovereign-debt market, accounting for about one-third of the global total and underpinning pricing in financial markets everywhere, threatened to reverberate through every economy around the world. The gravity of the situation led Mr Biden to cut short his trip to Asia after the G7 summit, and prompted desperate speculation about whether there might be hitherto untested ways around a crisis, for example by invoking the 14th Amendment, in effect declaring the debt ceiling unconstitutional.
So the breakthrough achieved on May 27th came as a relief. The deal, if it gets through Congress, will suspend the debt ceiling for two years. That conveniently puts off any future debt-limit drama to beyond the presidential elections of 2024. There will be limits on some government programs over those two years, meaning non-defense spending will be flat in the 2024 fiscal year instead of growing, though the cuts will be far less swingeing than Republicans originally wanted.
Details of the deal were due to be released on May 28th. It reportedly includes new work requirements and time limits for some people on food stamps and some other safety-net programs (though there will be exceptions for homeless people and veterans, and Mr Biden resisted any new work requirements for Medicaid, the health-insurance program for the poor). Among the more contentious spending cuts, the Internal Revenue Service will get $10bn less than previously planned to enforce tax-collection. The agreement includes some modest provisions aimed at helping speed up environmental reviews of energy projects, a sensitive issue for progressive Democrats, though Republicans are not alone in complaining that such projects too often get bogged down by problems of permits. But military spending, and spending on veterans’ care, will still grow. And the White House has resisted any unwinding of Mr Biden’s landmark laws, such as the clean-energy investments under the Inflation Reduction Act.
An effort to sell the deal has begun on both sides. Mr McCarthy said it would bring “historic reductions in spending” and “rein in government overreach”. For his part, Mr Biden said: “The agreement represents a compromise, which means not everyone gets what they want.”
A measure of that compromise is that it has already produced noisy disgruntlement among radicals on both sides. For the Republicans, the House Freedom Caucus is said to be exploring ways to make the bill more radical. On the Democratic side, progressives are complaining that it goes too far.
Such discontent means that the deal’s journey through Congress will be bumpy. The clock is still ticking. The House is in recess but will return to consider the deal on Wednesday.
Albeit grumpily, and despite opponents on both sides, the deal seems likely to win approval, with support from Democrats and Republicans who are unwilling to push America (and world markets) over the brink. Any celebration at such an outcome should be tempered by the fact that the two-year horizon of the debt-ceiling suspension almost guarantees that you can pencil in renewed fears of debt Armageddon in 2025. But for now, at least, the center in America has held.

Does anyone know a good house cleaner that would do a one-time cleaning? Or quarterly? I would be so appreciative.

Lately my current GF has begun using chores and tasks around the house against me in arguments. Here’s the kicker though. Whenever I try to do any chores: cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc, she will get angry with me. She outright tells me to stop when I’m doing them and she says she will get mad if I continue to do them. When I ask why, she says it’s because it makes her happy to do them for me. I literally have to fight with her to do the dishes. I did the dishes when she was at work once and she got angry with me for a couple hours afterwards.
So I’ve stopped doing them as anytime I do I get yelled at. Here’s where the problem comes in. I don’t mind that she likes doing them, I mean they’re chores at the end of the day so if it makes her happy it makes her happy. The problem is that if we have arguments she will bring these up in the argument. Some examples include “I just feel like I do so much around here and you just watch TV or hangout with friends”. Or “I feel you just don’t care as much as I do, look at all the stuff I do around here for you.” There has even been a couple of occasions with friends and family where she will say “Yeah I cook and clean and he just sits on the couch on his phone” and she will laugh.
I’ve told her that feels like a brutal oversimplification as she is completely leaving out the fact that she argues about it with me at every corner. This is doubly so with friends and family. I’ve never dealt with this before. Not sure how to tackle this…
TL:DR: Gf refuses to let me do chores and weaponizes chores against me in arguments.

I had a full time remote job and was only making 44k and was struggling to make ends meet, especially when I found out I owed taxes in April. My manipulative mom who is very mentally ill kept offering to give and loan me money but was then angrily demanding immediate favors and errands during my work hours. I was really stressed so I kind of frantically started applying for part time and full time jobs.
I heard back from part time jobs first and took a job for a cashier at the grocery store across the street. They hired me over the phone and I went in for orientation, she said she would call me in a day or two but I didn’t hear back from her for a week until I called her.
She thought this would be my new full time job and that I was not working at all but didn’t seem in a hurry to give me hours. In the meantime I interviewed and received a new full time job working in office. Then I got my schedule for the grocery store after a couple training shifts and I was scheduled to work Thursday through Sunday while I was still working my remote job and starting my new office job that Monday. I hadn’t gotten any of my clothes shopping for the new job yet, they are really strict business professional and I didn’t have anything.
I was really stressed and worked the grocery store Thursday after my remote job, Friday after my remote job, then Saturday and Sunday and went in to the new office job feeling a bit unprepared Monday. I had a horrible headache after my first day of the new job and went home to sleep since I barely slept the night before. Tuesday after my new job I ran around to several stores (3) getting clothes. Wednesday I was supposed to work at the the grocery store after work, but my house was turned upside down and I was so behind on chores and I forgot my phone at home all day. I get off at 4:30 and was supposed to be at the grocery store at 5 but I was so tired I just went home and didn’t go. I was also supposed to go there Friday and I didn’t go either. I had a birthday party after work for a niece Thursday and plans with my boyfriend I hadn’t seen in two weeks Saturday and Sunday and also I hadn’t been able to do my dishes or clean the litter box or do laundry and the house was a wreck, it stunk.
I am an idiot and really over scheduled myself. I feel awful for not showing up at the grocery store. I really don’t want the job… I feel ashamed because my family and boyfriend knew I started the grocery store job. And they’re going to ask about it.
I’m sure I’m fired since I didn’t show up for 2 shifts. I really think it was too much because I was supposed to work 5-10 after work and then go into the office the next morning and I knew I wouldn’t have slept enough and would have been emotionally and mentally exhausted because I already am exhausted with learning a whole new office job.
Also, this store I found out is more dangerous than I thought, a manager recently got her car stolen, during my 5 shifts there there’s been a couple of thefts, and also the store next door gets robbed a lot, once on a shift my coworkers were shouting about someone stealing a big armful of clothes and running out the door, and also one of the managers there is really u hinged, calling a worker the B word, and yelling a lot in an unhinged way and getting super angry. It just seemed like not a good place to work.
What should I do? I’m feeling really guilty. I’ve never not showed up to a job before. I’m really ashamed of myself.
TLDR: I got a new part time grocery store cashier job in the midst of starting a new full time office job, and got overwhelmed and didn’t show up the last two shifts for the grocery store job. I feel really guilty and ashamed. What should I do?