Best twin day ideas

Hey y’all! Time to make a shot in the dark, here. As someone who’s been both a DM and a player more times than I can honestly remember, finding a group that can mesh together and communicate well in order to write a compelling, long-term story has always been the most difficult step to make with surety. When the responsibility is all on the DM it rarely ever goes well, so I figure why not cut out a bit of that uncertainty – and here we are. I’m posting here for a group of 4-5 players who are searching for a DM/Storyteller to run a story in VTMv20 (possibly with some mixed-in VTM Dark Ages stuff) that takes place in the modern nights. We’re a group cobbled together from different games, so while we’re all good writers with similar styles, some of us are only just getting to know each other. Everyone knows someone, but you won’t be the new person introduced to a completely set-in friend group.
We’ve got very few wants as to setting – though somewhere in North America or Europe might be best, in terms of narrative fidelity. We’d be coming into this with new characters or rewritten old concepts, so the story could follow any beats you’re interested in, and we’re certainly willing to brainstorm with you when it comes what kind of plot and story we’d end up writing together. We tend to focus heavily on character development, story, and drama, but a fair share of combat as always fun, and often a great vehicle for the former. A few of us know the system well, and the rest are quick learners. What we offer: - A group of 4-5 skilled, mature, literate writers whose styles mesh and who tend to write realistic characters that play off other’s and NPCs well. - Each of us is an adult, and we range from mid 20s to early 30s – the end size of the group would come down to what you’re comfortable running for. - A laid back group that keeps all drama resolutely in-character. - A set of proactive players willing to pick up their own threads, who you’ll never have to poke or prod to push forward the story. - A group that’s solidly active, generally posting at least once a day and often multiple times when everyone’s online, with only rare multiple-day pauses when everyone needs a break. - A group with a few Long-term DMs, who understand the struggles that come with it and are fully willing to cooperatively wordbuild and flesh out characters with you, leaving you the final say but not leaving all the weight on your shoulders, if you’d like. What we’re looking for: - A DM who’s roughly around our ages or older, interested in running a long-term story in the World of Darkness, but who lacks a group to run for (though it could be fun if you’d like to invite a friend along as well!) - Someone comfortable with and interested in the often dangerous, violent, gritty, and occasionally risqué tones of VtM and WoD, both through action and intrigue, though who stops short of ERP. - Someone who’s cooperative and communicative, as we want you to have as much fun and be as invested as we are, and that’s not possible if we aren’t communicative enough to share expectations, or say something when something isn’t working out. - Someone as compelled by character development and drama as they are combat. - Someone who’s roughly as active as we are (1 or more posts a day on average) - Someone who’s comfortable with LGBTQ+ If any or all of that sounds like you, or if you have any questions, feel free to reach out to me with a message! I check them pretty often, though I’d most likely move any discussion to discord quickly. As long as this isn’t marked closed, we’re still looking! Thanks for your time, we’re excited to hear from you!

I met a guy one day, I thought he was cute. Suddenly he got my number, and we slowly started talking.
We would text, he would ask me questions like what my favorite songs were, what my hobbies were, etc
He would always say that there was a side I was hiding, and he was gonna break it, to get to know that side that I was hiding.
We would talk almost everyday, we work together, he would help me sometimes with finding things, or taking things back.
He was going to meet dad and mom, my siblings. We were going to hangout, but that did not go as planned
On the day of February 14th 2024, he sends me a text while at work saying this is not going to work out, he was talking to multiple girls, and hopefully we could still be friends.
I always knew, I never liked Valentine’s Day. But, when I received that message in my phone, it broke me, I was hurt, and I wanted to cry, but then I also just wanted to sigh in relief, like I didn’t have to try and make him happy if I he wasnt happy, and I wasn’t happy, and I wasn’t in the right mindset for it.
I hope he is happy, I hope he found what he wanted
I hope someone treats him like what he did to me.
I hope one day I could forgive and forget
But, that won’t be anytime soon.
I hope
I hope he does something good in life
I hope he moves soon
I hope he changes departments soon so I don’t have to see him soon
I hope he moves to the new store
But that won’t happen
At the end of it all, I just have to take it one day at a time, and hope for the best for him, and just face him at work, and move past it.

AFAB nonbinary person seeking long-term monogamous relationship. Childfree, left-leaning, non-religious, etcetera. Autistic + suspected ADHD. My brain is truly braining. I have three cats, am 5’4”, and look like this.
I’ve always been a daydreamer. Sometimes even a daynightmarer. It might be nice to have someone to share a dream with. To hold hands and walk through life with. Maybe build a blanket fort with?
I like to keep houseplants, mostly succulents. The best plants are the ones I need to water the least. I like watching all sorts of animated stuff. Currently enthralled with Dungeon Meshi (my favorite is Senshi because he’s handsome). I also like reading when I have the space in my brain for it. I’m pretty of-and-on with it and mostly read fantasy romance novels or keep up with comic/manga series I like. My favorite music genres are indie pop and alt.
Things I do not like but do anyway include exercising regularly, cooking reasonably healthy food, and struggling with my addiction to a single cup of coffee a day (I did not know this could happen until I stopped drinking the one cup). I’m trying to find cardio that I can manage AND isn’t painfully boring. Tough. Therapy is also big in my life right now, considering that my brain brains. I’m also stuck between applying for disability and finding a job I can do until I get everything sorted out brainily. I’m also COVID-conscious and am learning how to do better with that. Fun stuff.
What I’m looking for in a man is genuine kindness and patience. I tend to get along best with more laid-back people. A nice sense of humor is a big plus. I love a good laugh. My usual type is big, burly, and bearded. My ideal first date is doing something fun together or trying something new. Maybe a museum or aquarium visit? A night in with board games?
Some important requirements: - male - 25-31 - living in the USA, the closer to VA the better - single, monogamous, and looking for a long-term relationship - does not have or want to have children in any way, ever - prepared to take things s l o w l y - non-smoking, not a drug user - good direct communication skills - COVID-conscious or genuinely willing to become so
Please give a description of yourself if you message. Include your age, location, what you’re looking for relationship-wise, a photo, and some more personal stuff about yourself. I will not answer otherwise.

Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~

Hello!!
I have no idea how to start this post pero today, I was served a non-regularization and I need your help.
I am now on my 3rd month, during our 2nd month, we were advised na nag teterminate daw sila ng mga tao na hindi pumapasa.
Last 4/30/2024 I was served an NTE for a ticket avoidance which I then responded right away explaining na I was under immense pressure dahil grabe talaga mangpressure ng employee. I was not able to get any response from them up until today.
Last Tuesday, 05/14/2024, I sent my resignation dahil alam ko na talaga na hindi ako papasa. I had some absences din. Pero I made sure to notify din.
Yesterday, 5/15/2024, I even asked my boss if I can get reply for my resignation dahil need ko sya sa new work to which he replied "We can talk about it next week."
And then kanina, he asked me if I can report to work tomorrow since rest day ko at walang mag cocover to which I said no. Hindi ako pumayag. I even told them na may commitment na ako. So ayun, okay lang daw. Tapos he asked me again, the 2nd time, if ano daw yung lakad ko, so sinabi ko na may JO ako.
Tapos nun, before the end of my shift, they served me my non regularisation. They said na "I am not willing to save my job"
I was so surprised. I don't know what to do. Pwede ba ako mag file sa DOLE dito?? Anyone who can help me?

31 year-old male. Currently located in Newport,RI, USA.
I’m a strength & conditioning coach by trade. Have my Masters of Education in Kinesiology and my Bachelors of Science in Exercise Science. Entertaining the idea of a PhD in Kinesiology program.
Looking for a woman to have a meaningful, committed, monogamous relationship with, & to start a family with one day.
Have no kids, never been married.
PM if you want to chat and learn more!

Ah, the timeless question: Who am I? Well, buckle up because we're about to take a journey into the depths of self-discovery together.
I'm you, and I'm everyone else too. Confusing, right? Let me break it down. You see, I'm the culmination of your experiences, your thoughts, your quirks, and your dreams. But I'm also shaped by the people around you, the communities you're part of, and the world at large.
Let's start with the basics. You know those birthday countdown captions for your best friend's big day? Yep, that's me. I'm the friend who's always there to hype up the celebrations and make sure everyone knows just how special your bestie is.
But wait, there's more! Ever found yourself scrolling through Facebook groups, searching for like-minded souls who share your interests? Well, guess what? I'm lurking in those groups too, ready to connect with you over shared passions and inside jokes.
And what about that time you left a comment on your boyfriend's pic, showering him with love and heart emojis? Yep, guilty as charged. I'm the voice of affection and support, cheering you on in your relationships and spreading positivity wherever I go.
Oh, and let's not forget about the fake blue tick emoji copy and paste trick you pulled to jazz up your messages. Sneaky, right? But hey, I'm all for a little creativity and self-expression, even if it involves some digital trickery.
But beyond the surface-level stuff, I'm also here to lift you up when you need it most. Need a motivational speech to get you through those tough study sessions? Look no further, because I've got your back. I am a teacher-blogger. English is one of the subjects that I teach. Together, we'll conquer those academic mountains and emerge stronger than ever.
Together, we're unstoppable.

How do you get help? how do you get surgery? how do you get MRI, CT scan? How do you get pain meds? How do you get medical assistance in dying (asking for a friend) I'm from canada.
I've been on tramadol gabapentin and flexeril for awhile now. They were helping a bit before I built up a tolerance, and then they helped minimally. So I tried quitting the tramadol because I didn't like the idea of taking something that barely helps, when it has so many side effects and potentially lifelong consequences. I havent been able to stop the 2 pills a day. I just feel it helps a bit with my mood, which is plummeting. My doctor told me he will increase my gabapentin (by 4 pills a day) and thats all he could do. He said he wasnt going to refill my tramadol because "I don't think it's helping you," but it actually helps more than the gabapentin does. The gabapentin makes me so tired and stupid, I kinda hate it. But even with these meds the pain is debilitating. Today my landlady did an inspection and my house was ok except the walls had scribbles and stuff on them and she said "It's not normal to let your kids scribble on the walls" I didn't say anything to her. But it really, really hurts to wash the walls, to bend over, to wrestle with my two kids 24/7 to prevent them from stuff like that all the time. My walls are neglected because it fucking hurts so badly to lift my arms, anything that causes my neck to tense up. I do walk a lot, but that doesn't require bending, twisting, turning or getting up fast. I'm pretty skinny too, so it isn't a weight thing.I think people see me being skinny and having strong legs and being 25 and they think it can't be that bad. It fucking is. Most days I can barely get out of bed. And it doesn't matter who I beg. I've tried going to the ER, they are monsters. My doctor is so hard to get an appt with, my next appt is the 19th of june and that was the soonest and no one cares that I'm suffering, my life is being stolen, my life is too painful to live and there's no help. Every single night there's only a cold dead silence and the realization that I will probably be in pain the rest of my life and that it will only get worse. I'll watch all my passions slowly slip away as I'm crushed beneath the weight of piling responsibilities and failures because I didn't have the energy to live in this much pain. I'm not even a good mother most of the time because I'm doing it all alone. I get scared sometimes when the pain gets really bad because it feels like I'm not even there. It feels like I might pass out or dissociate and if something happens to me my kids have no one. I can't live like this for another month, I don't want to. Every day is like torture and yes I've gone to the ER, as I've said they are all monsters. They watch me moaning in pain and barely able to look ahead of me (during a flare-up) and they don't care. I've been waiting months for a CT scan, had emergency dental surgeries, had evaluations at pain clinic. They said they suspect TN or DDD in my neck or my nerves being pushed on because of my neck and jaw injuries. Recnelty it has all gotten much worse and I may have been exposed to HIV I don't know why it would suddenly get worse, but it has always steadily gotten worse. If you feel my neck it clicks constantly and has all these awful lumps that click and send shooting pain down my arms. But the key takeaway is, none of the doctors listen. They don't hear me. He acts as if what I said, I didn't say. "The gabapentin isn't working, the tramadol helps for about an hour then I'm just waiting to take the next dose as the pain returns full force after this 2-3 hours has elapsed. Ketoralac seems to work much better than anything."
"I can give you ketoralac, but I won't because it's too expensive." But... I don't fucking care doctor I'd pay my whole cheque just to get the fuck out of this pain don't you see I'm desperate? No, no, no, no. This world is full of psychopaths and the sooner I leave it the better.

Hi I need advice on what you guys think is best in this situation, or even if I’m the bad guy.
It all started a couple of months ago when me and my boyfriend tried to get Glastonbury tickets in November in which we were unsuccessful. Around March time he told me that some of his mates had got tickets and that the others are planning on “bunking” in so they are ordering a coach and if I wanted to “bunk” in which I turned around and said no as I didnt feel comfortable sneaking my way into a festival.
As it got to the April reselling tickets, my boyfriend woke me up at 9 am sharp and told me to try for tickets, to which I did and I got through! Instead of putting through me and my mates I put through me, my boyfriend and his mates so we could go together.
After I bought these tickets, we were so excited, he was telling me what tent we would be getting and what bags we will be taking to put our clothes in and whether our clothes will fit all in one bag. It all was so happy until the coach got mentioned….
I told him I didn’t feel comfortable getting a coach on my own from Liverpool to Glastonbury as it is a far distance on my own and wondered if he had any space on his coach in which he told me no there wasn’t (they had only payed the deposit not for the actual coach yet). After this, I said I have found a coach to go on and that I would prefer it if he came with me instead of his friends as I don’t want to be on my own and that we will meet his mates outside and do whatever he wanted, I just didn’t want to be on a coach with random people I’ve never met before on my coach. He then continued to say no and that I have started a big deal over nothing. Bare in mind, if we did get separate coaches and he had all my stuff, and I didn’t find him I would have nowhere to sleep for 5 days as he is claiming to be carrying all our stuff when we go.
My mum is even offering to take me so I do not miss out as he is telling me I am the selfish one and that he will be missing out if he gets a different coach when I have reassured him we will definitely r going with his friends as I get along with them all and I don’t see the problem. It shouldn’t be my mums job to take me when she hasn’t even got tickets just to make sure I get there safe, I am 20 years old and surely someone in there right mind would never leave their girlfriend?

Title pretty much says it all. I'm in the UK so despite the hot weather over the last week, the tôle adhesive hasn't set completely. It's Mapei ultimate super grab premixed. I have tiled directly onto a concrete floor. The house has been pretty warm, probably ranging from 16°c at night to 24°c in the day.
The only possible explanations I have is maybe I put too much adhesive on or the adhesive used previously to stick the lino onto the concrete, which looked like it was maybe tar based, is stopping the water evaporating?
Its getting to a point where I'm thinking of heating the tiles with a heat gun to speed up the process. Any ideas?

I went for the third time today (first time on opening night) - and WOW has the show improved so much since they started. This post in mainly for those who saw it during the early days and are curious how it's evolved! (Potential spoilers ahead and forgive me for the unorganized thoughts)
They improved Madeline's transformation scene. When she walked behind the "mirror", she used to just stand there and pretend she gets younger. Wasn't clear that any change was actually happening aside from some swirls on the mirror. But now, she quickly walks off as they play a video of her on the mirror with close ups of her de-aging. Then she comes back with an improved wig and more form fitting outfit, then delivers her "I feel like a girl again" line.
A few bloopers that happened from the last time I saw it (last week) were addressed - biggest one was when Viola had a hard time opening the contraption that contained the potion. So now it's just open from the get go when Ernest is brought to her. It's also already open and ready to grab for her during her opening number. She only has to open the box once when Madeline comes for the potion. (She also used to make a comment when Madeline asks her how much the potion is. Now she just writes down the price without saying a word.)
NEW SONG: There is a new number where they incorporated the "en garde, bitch" line! The new song is hilarious. It's placed after Madeline shot Helen, and she comes in with the hole in her belly. They played more with the hole too - a lot of smoke comes out of Helen now, and they even have a gimmick where they shoot an arrow through her. It's fantastic. They keep attacking each other in the song with the shovels, and it really shows them enjoying the dynamic of being able to finally get their anger out on each other physically.
There are also some joke changes I noticed: - During Madeline's wedding, she used to call out Taco Bell as the sponsor. But today she called out Slim Jim instead. Maybe they're trying to see which lands best with audiences? I personally laughed at the Taco Bell sponsorship more. - After the flash forward 10 years, and Madeline is moping about not looking young anymore, she used to say Quentin Tarantino wanted to meet with her for a possible role. They cut that out completely and just refer to it as a movie producer meeting. - When they knock out Ernest to get him to Viola's for the potion, Fat Elvis initially acted as the transition walking to the entrance of the mansion and trying to get in the party. That was cut. Now it's Madeline and Helen walking to the entrance and trying to get in to see Viola but are denied entrance. So they decide to sneak in through a basement entrance instead. Fat Elvis still appears though when they call him out for still making headlines even if he's supposed to be dead.
FINAL SCENE: After the whole cemetery scene when Madeline and Helen walk off, Michelle usually walked in from the other side and delivered her last "Don't say I didn't warn you" - but to my surprise, instead of walking in, she was INSIDE the angel statue and it opened up and revealed her in the most magical way. Epic change.
Overall the show is in very good shape for Broadway IMO. The songs have definitely grown on me. I appreciate a lot of the melodies more after hearing them a few times. The only scene that I felt dragged was the entire chase scene when Ernest Melville is running away with the potion and they're chasing him. All the dancing happening while the characters are running around them is way too long (and the choreo is basic). I feel they should re-stage that entire scene.

Hey folks,
Going to spend a month or two in northern Quebec from mid June to mid august. Staying in a very basic off grid cabin, mostly made from thin metal and trees from the area. Wondering if y’all have tips as to how best to protect from bears. Would you cut your fish and cook far away from the cabin? Would you leave food outside, maybe in a protected wooden structure or something? Bear spray or firearms? Would you reinforce the door with some kind of wood barricade or something? Any thoughts are appreciated!
I’ve gone many times but usually we’re 4+ people, running a generator for a few hours a day. We usually cook and keep our food inside, on shelves, and cut fish a few feet from the door. This time I will be solo without any noisy generator, and will be spending a much longer time, so i assume my smells will be more appealing.
Thanks a lot!

Mr. Winslow accused my mother of stealing his dead wife’s jewelry.
I explained it was impossible. He was welcome to search the tiny apartment I shared with my mother and aunt, he could look wherever he wanted.
“We share a tiny space,” I said. “We barely have enough room for our clothes. I don’t even know where she would hide jewelry.”
I was worried we would lose him as a client. Which would suck because cleaning his house was basically the majority of our rent cheque. But a week later he found the pearl necklace, it had somehow travelled down to his basement.
“I’m still missing the gold bangle though,” he said. “And some earrings.”
I told him I was sorry, but I had no idea. If my mom or aunt found it on their next clean, I promised they would let him know right away.
He hummed and hawed. There might’ve been a week where he hired a different maid service, but eventually he called back, asking if he could hire all three of us on-site again.
I thanked him profusely. I told him we’d keep an eye out for the missing valuables.
***
On our drive over, I had my mom and aunt practice the apology we would give him in English. Even though we didn’t steal anything, I explained we should still say sorry.
“Why?” My aunt asked. “That’s so stupid.”
“Everyone apologizes for everything in Canada. Just trust me. He will want it.”
“We need the work,” my mom said.
For a second my aunt revved up to say something else, but then let it go. We did need the work.
When we arrived, Mr. Winslow was on a phone call, watching his two large goldendoodles play in the front yard. He waved, then gestured to the front door. My mom and aunt gave small bows and carried their cleaning supplies inside.
Before I could enter, he put the phone behind his ear and approached me.
“Ida, hi. Good to see you again. Listen, don't worry about the jewelry. Water under the bridge. Hey. I’m leaving in an hour or so, and I won’t be back until late tonight. I’m wondering if you’d be interested in dog-sitting? You’ve been around Toto and Kipper. What do you think? I’d really appreciate the help.”
I never liked the way he looked at me. It was always too close, and it lingered for too long. My aunt may have been right in that he hired us back just to see me again, but I ignored the thought.
“And don’t worry, I can cover your cab back. My usual walker is just out on holiday. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. How does six hundred sound?”
I looked at his house and imagined if I would be comfortable there. Alone at night.
“I’ll make it seven-hundred. I know it's last minute. I just hate leaving them alone. Plus Toto has his medicine. You would do me a real solid.”
My apron needed adjusting so I put down my bucket. I focused on the polyester knot, keeping my gaze away from his. I really didn’t want to be doing this, but my aunt would call me stupid for refusing easy money. And frankly, so would I.
“I had plans, but I’m willing to give them up.” I said with a straight face. “Eight hundred and it’s a done deal.”
He paused for a second, observing me scrupulously. Then he found his usual, smarmy half-smile. “You’re a life saver, you know that? An Angel.”
His hand gripped my shoulder. Then patted it twice.
***
Both my mom and aunt were pleased about the extra cash, they said I deserved to make extra for all the bookkeeping I do. But they also both voiced their concerns for safety. They said they could stay with me if I wanted.
“Safety? Mamãe I’m just watching two dogs.”
My mom wiped a caked red stain off his counter. An old wine spill. “Yes, but so late in his house? You’re not worried he might … I don’t know …”
Might what? Exploit me?
I met his groundskeeper once, another immigrant contractor. Except the groundskeeper was being paid far less, because he never properly negotiated. Mr. Winslow was certainly capable of exploiting people when he wanted to, and I’m sure he would try the same on my family.
But I was different. I’d gone to school in Banniver, and I knew the little maneuvers played by the so-called “progressive people in North America.”
And Winslow knew it too.
He didn’t realize a Canadian-raised daughter organized her mom’s cleaning service. Or that she would show up on the first day as a statement. That statement being: You can’t get away with mistreating these old Brazilian women. And you certainly can’t swindle them out of the going rates in his neighborhood. I’m onto you.
I had asserted myself with this Mr. Winslow, and felt confident that I could stand my ground if he tried any bullshit.
“Mamãe I’m not worried about him. Really, I’m not. He’s a pushover.”
***
6:00PM rolled around, it was just me and the goldendoodles.
My mom and aunt were back at home, watching low-res soaps on a Macbook, but they said if I encountered anything strange—a sound, a smell, an unexpected car in the driveway—to give them a call right away.
“Mamãe, its two dogs. I’ll be fine.”
“Just keep your phone close Ida. Your auntie has sensed things in that house. Unpleasant things.”
I forgot to mention my aunt thinks of herself as an amateur medium. In the village she grew up in, she claimed she could sometimes see people who were recently deceased.
But I never really believed her. Mostly because it was also my auntie’s idea to charge families who wanted to forward messages to the very same people who were recently deceased.
“Okay mamãe, whatever you say. I’ll phone you if I get scared.”
“That house has a history Ida, you could feel it in the walls. The outside too.”
It sure does. A history of being owned by a wealthy prick.
***
The sun slinked below the overcast horizon like a dying lantern. It got dark much faster than I expected.
I kept all the lights on, and played with the dogs a bit, trying to encourage them to try piss on the shag rug. Neither did. They mostly wanted naps.
I tried napping for a bit too, but the leather couch felt like it was made of rock. I just couldn’t get comfortable.
Eventually I made myself dinner—some pasta that had been bought from Whole Foods—and ate it while scrolling on my phone.
I was just about done, ready to take my dirty plate in the sink when I first heard it.
The first explosion.
It came from the basement. A vibrating KAPOW that rattled the windows and chandelier on my floor. It sounded like someone had set off a cherry bomb.
What the hell?
I turned to the dogs who were just as scared as I was. They came whimpering with tails between their legs.
Could a pipe have burst or something?
I looked at the basement door, an area we were not instructed to clean, and then heard another explosion.
Vases shook. A painting went tilted. It sounded louder. Like full grade firework. I had lived in Rio de Janeiro, by Prianha beach, where they often launched celebratory fireworks. This was just as deafening.
I didn’t want to go down to the basement. In fact, I sat by the front door.
Both dogs huddled around me.
***
Twenty minutes passed. It had been quiet.
Out of pride I refused to call my mom—I didn’t want to admit I was scared. Instead, I spent the time going through all the rational answers in my head that could explain away the noise. Plumbing, terrorism, teen pranks … hot springs?
There were hot springs all over West Bann.
Obviously, some kind of pent-up geyser had lay dormant for a while, and it was now suddenly unleashing a ton of energy below Mr. Winslow’s house. To distract myself, I Wikipedia’d the history of West Banniver, and satisfied this theory.
During the 1850’s gold rush, West Banniver saw rapid settlement as a mining town. The proliferation of mine shafts soon led to a discovery of underground hot springs. Mayfield Briggs Ltd which was the first company to seize the opportunity as a tourist attraction…
That’s all it was. A hot spring releasing a buildup of pressure.
Then a third explosion came.
It was so loud and violent that the door to the basement flew open. I fell to the ground and covered my head as several books went flying off nearby shelves.
The dogs yipped and barked like crazy. They stood in front of me, guarding against an unseen force. A voice shrieked from the basement.
“HELP!!! HELLLLP!”
Rivets shot through my hands and knees. I was frozen to the floor.
“PLEEEEEEASE!”
It had the high-pitched desperation of someone whose life was about to end. I raised my head and listened closely to hear haggard, dusty coughing. It sounded like an old man’s cough. It echoed through the basement and into the living room. Between coughs the man continued to plead for his life.
HELLLLP!”
I had no idea who it could be or how he got down there.
Before I could think, one of the dogs shot past me, bolting down the basement steps, barking ferociously.
“Kipper!”
I tried to grab the loose leash, but I could only hold the collar of his sibling. “Kipper come back here!”
“HELLO?” The voice from below seemed to recognize my presence. “PLEASE, YOU’VE GOT TO HELP!”
I was now upright, breathing as fast as Toto was panting. I tied Toto to the thick rails on the stairs. I had to save the other dog.
Instinctually I grabbed my phone, slipped an AirPod in one ear, and dialed my mother without even looking at the screen.
“Mãe. There’s … something terrible is happening.”
My mother was suitably confused. Even more so when she heard the screaming of the man downstairs as his voice echoed in the living room. It was a cry of immense, awful pain.
After two slower, more detailed explanations of what I just heard, my mother told me to call the fire department. “Poke your head through the basement, see what’s happening. Then call the fire department.”
That made sense to me. I inched my way to the basement entrance and tried to see past the doorway. It was complete darkness. There was no light switch.
I turned the torch on my phone, and my aunt’s voice came blaring. “Get out of there Ida! I am telling you, there is darkness in that house!”
As I illuminated the dusty wooden stairs, I saw that they only lead only to more pitch black. Yup, plenty of darkness here.
There was some phone-wrestling. My mother came back on. “What is it? What did you see?”
“Don’t encourage her! Get her to leave!” my auntie yelled in the background.
I told them to pipe down because I could suddenly hear the gentle whimpering at the base of the stairs. The dog sounded close.
“Kipper come! This way! Follow my voice!”
I went down a few steps further, expecting the basement floor to appear any second, but there were only more wooden steps. How long was this staircase?
“Kipper?”
There was a flat, cold wall on my left, and no guard rail to speak of. I stepped down each step very carefully to maintain my balance, sliding my hand along the wall.
Then the wall disappeared. I flew forward.
***
I woke up lying face-first on rocky floor. My phone was cracked next to me. My mother was crying in my ear. “Ida! Ida! Oh my god! Ida!”
I looked up to see I was not at the bottom of someone’s basement. There were lights all above me. Lanterns. They were illuminating a cavernous, rocky chamber that led to many tunnels with train tracks and wooden carts. I was in the opening of a massive underground mine.
I coughed, and gave out a weak “… what?”
“Ida is that you? Are you… brrzzzzz” My mom’s voice faded.
Before I could reply, I saw the crooked form of a man in tan coveralls, shaking the immobile body of another person in coveralls next to him. In fact, there was a small row of half a dozen miners all slumped against a blasted rock wall. There were bits of granite, wood, rope, and what looked like entrails splattered all throughout.
“Oh the cruelty …” the one, standing miner said. He went from body to body and jostled each of his coworkers. “Must I find you all like this … every time?”
I crawled up to a half-standing pose and tried to see the face of the hunched over survivor.
My heart dropped.
He had no face.
The explosion which must have killed some of friends had also blasted away this man’s entire sternum, neck and skull. The miner wasn’t hunched over or leaning away with his head, he just simply … had no head.
And up there, floating right in the middle of where his face should be, were a set of eyeballs, glistening under the yellow lights.
The eyes turned to me. “Oh. Why hello. Hello there.”
Terrified, I rose to complete standing and opened both my palms in a show of total deference. “I don’t know. I don’t know who you are or what this is.”
The headless miner walked toward me. I noticed he carried a pickaxe in his right arm. He gestured with his left to where his ear would be.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Had an accident.”
Despite him having no head, his voice still came from where his mouth would be. There was an earnestness in his speech, it might have had something to do with his very old-timey accent, but I still felt like he was trying to be friendly.
“Another batch of faulty dynamite. Everyone’s dead. But what else is new.”
He brought his left palm to his face, perhaps to wipe away tears, but instead his hand travelled through his nonexistent head to scratch a small portion of his back.
“Been dead for many years I’m afraid. But I’ve kept busy. Been a good man. Worked very hard for the boss upstairs.”
He gestured upwards with the pickaxe. I looked up, and out in the distance, I saw a large, ancient, set of wooden stairs that I must have fallen from. They extended far up into the mine’s ceiling and kept going.
“He’s gotten good ore from me. Good, shining, golden ore. I have a knack for it you see. The same knack that killed me so many years ago. It's probably what’s still keeping me around though.”
He came closer. I could see he had brown irises, with one of the cataracts deteriorating into milky white haze. The eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“Because I’m not done, see. This mine isn’t empty. I know there’s more gold. Much more. And it’s not all for the boss. No, I’m keeping some to myself. Don’t tell him, but I’ve been stashing a large deposit for myself. It can’t all be his of course. It’s my mine after all. Half these tunnels were dug entirely by me. So of course I deserve some. It’s only natural.”
I lifted my hand and pointed at the staircase behind him. I mouthed very big, obvious words. “I have to go back. I’m going back up those stairs.”
He shifted his body. His two eyes turned in the air as if they were still inside an invisible skull. I saw nerve endings at the back undulate and twist.
“Yes, that is the only way up.”
My heart was in my throat. At least I found some form of communication. I gestured to knee height and nervously asked if he had seen a “large, shaggy dog.”
“Ah yes. I’ve seen the pooches. They come down here sometimes. When the booms don’t scare em that is. Hahah.”
I gave a thumbs up. It felt like a ridiculous interaction with a ghost, or zombie or whatever this was, but at least it was working.
“I think I saw his little tail run over that way. They like the smell of the mineral spring.”
I turned behind to see the long tunnel he was pointing at. It was dimly lit by a chain of smaller lanterns.
I thought I saw a flutter of movement, and I would have kept looking further if it wasn’t for my aunt’s voice that suddenly exploded in my ear. “Brrrzt … Ida! If you can hear us, we are calling the police to your location. Help is coming soon! … ”
I winced and stepped back—which saved my life. I just so happened to step right out of the way of a pickaxe. It sparked the ground.
I gasped and stared at the headless miner. His eyes were shimmering with a dark focus, staring directly at mine.
“Oh I’ll help you find the dog. I’ll help you find whatever you want. But I’ll need those clean new eyes of yours first.”
He swung at my head. I ducked. He went for the backswing. I ran.
Stupidly, I ran in the opposite direction of the stairs. I ran straight into the long tunnel lined with dim lanterns.
But I couldn’t turn around. I had no idea how quick he could move. And the speed of his pickaxe felt supernatural.
The tunnel was narrow, and lined with wooden tracks, I had to skip-run-jump over the panels with immense precision to make sure I didn’t trip. Behind me, his voice chased.
“Go ahead. Run. I know where these all lead.”
I ignored the words and kept going. The tunnel bent left, then right, then left again. I ignored several exits before the tunnel spat me out into an open, cavernous room filled with dozens and dozens of minecarts.
I investigated the room for anything useful. A far opposite wall appeared to be the site of the latest digging, loose rock lay everywhere.
There was a small mineshaft holding a chained up cart. And something in the cart shimmered…
It was gold.
And not just ore either. There were bars, coins, medallions, and jewelry. Mrs. Winslow’s bangles were right on top.
I ran to the cart furthest from the entrance and ducked behind it, breathing heavily, coughing from all the dust.
The headless man emerged from the tunnel, pickaxe raised and scanning where I could have hid. “I may not be able to hear you. But I can follow footprints pretty easily hah. I know you’re in here.”
He grabbed the closest minecart available and pushed it into the tunnel entrance. With an immense show of strength, he lifted and dislodged the cart off the track, cramming it sideways, creating a massive obstacle.
I was sealed inside.
Trying to stay absolutely still, I coughed through my teeth. Lungs burning. My mom’s voice came through.
“Brrzzztt… The police should be there! I told them you were in danger! They said they sent a unit over. Maybe they broke down the front door?”
I looked up at the mine shaft next to me. If it did connect to the surface upstairs, this was my only chance.
I gave a couple good yells. “HEEEEELP!!! DOWN HERE!! HELP!”
I don’t know if it did any good, but it was better than nothing. I turned to see if the miner had heard anything.
He hadn't.
The pickaxe tapped and clanged awkwardly around minecart after minecart.
I had a bigger advantage than I thought.
Although the miner had two floating eyeballs, only the left one was really capable of seeing anything.
So I kept my distance and watched where he was going, always staying behind.
As he limped and peered around minecarts, I was able to evade him, move from behind rock piles and other carts, careful not to leave a trail in the rock dust.
It was all going well until I heard a familiar panting.
“Oh look. If it isn’t precious.”
The dog had managed to jump over the miner’s blockade. It must have heard my yells. Surprisingly, Kipper was unafraid of the headless villain, and even approached him to receive pets.
“Now why don’t you go say hello to our other friend here huh? I know she's here somewhere.”
No. Kipper. Please. Don’t.
The dog started sniffing. Within seconds he found my scent. Kipper skipped towards me like Lassie and excitedly licked my face.
“Aww there we are. Now isn’t that a good boy?”
I stood up and stared at the filthy, ash-stained coveralls. Despite the lack of teeth, I could sense a menacing grin where the mouth should be.
He wasn't going to lose sight of me now. I had nowhere to go.
So I did the thing my auntie said worked on all spirits. I fell to my knees and prayed.
“Please. I only came here for work. I’m too young to die. Let me go and I won't tell anyone that you're here.”
He stood over me. Both of his pupils started to quiver. In just a few seconds, his eyes were swimming excitedly within the space of his head.
I took off the only valuable I had. A gold necklace with a miniature version of Christ the Redeemer. A gift I had received as a teen in Rio. I held it out in my shaking hands.
“Please. Take it. Take everything.”
Suddenly both the eyeballs stared forward again, entranced by the gold.
“Well look at that. How generous. How generous of her. We should reward generosity shouldn’t we?”
***
It was hard for me to describe to the police officer how exactly I got out, because I have no idea.
The fiery pain where my eyes used to be overwhelmed my entire reality for hours. All I wanted was for it to stop.
They found me half inside a dumbwaiter bleeding to death from the gouges in my face.
I was taken to the hospital, where I would spend the next four weeks recovering.
The police did not in fact storm the house like my mom said. They waited outside for the homeowner to return. But when they heard my screams coming from the top floor, they broke the back door and eventually came to my rescue.
I’m told they did a thorough investigation but could not find any of the things I described.
The basement door led into a regular basement. It was filled with old furniture, unused decor, and paint cans. No Mine.
The dumbwaiter was also just a dumbwaiter. It wasn’t some mine shaft, and it didn’t lead any deeper than the basement. Nothing special.
There were definitely hot springs close by, but nothing close enough to damage Mr. Winslow's property. And there was an old, depleted gold mine not far away either, but it was completely abandoned, closed off, and nowhere near as big as the one I had described.
***
The police, paramedics and doctors all thought my story was some hallucination. That I had been on drugs or had some mental breakdown (even though they couldn’t find anything in me other than small traces of weed.)
Thankfully, my mother and aunt believed me. They believed every word. My aunt is the one who encouraged me to make this post, so others could hear my story.
I know it was real.
I know it was.
And Mr. Winslow is fully aware of the mine’s existence.
Putting the dots together, I realized it was likely the source of his wealth. Winslow had some control over that one headless miner down there.
Did Winslow intentionally entrap me? Was he trying to get the miner a new set of eyes? Or was it all an unfortunate accident?
I might never know.
But what I do know is that Mr. Winslow has been paying for our rent ever since the accident.
He feels “terrible about the situation” and “can’t possibly imagine” what I’ve been through.
But he knows what happened.
He knows if I really pushed, If I really forced the police, or some private investigator to look into it—they would uncover something awful. Something really really bad.
“Anything you need. Anything at all. I will cover it, Ida.” He said. “You helped me out, protected my dogs, and I will never forget it.”
He’s offered to pay for the rest of my University schooling. And once my face heals up, he’s even offered to cover for some very expensive, experimental eye-transplant. We’ll see how that goes.
“You and your family will live comfortably from now on. You’ll want for nothing. Tell me exactly what you need, And you’ll get it.”
So I told him I'd like my necklace back. It was an heirloom. I said I lost it somewhere in his house.
A few days later, he returned with the usual smug, half-crooked smirk in his voice. He brought the necklace back in a box, pretending he had bought me a new one. Except it felt exactly like my old one.
It was all shined up, completely buffed of scratches, but it weighed the same. It was my old one for sure.
When my mom saw it she asked, “did it always have it? This dedication?”
As far as I remembered, the backside of the tiny Christ the Redeemer was always plain. I fingered its shape in my hands.
“What dedication?”
The new little divots caught my nails. There was writing that was definitely not there before.
My mom described it as a curly, serif font. Like a gift for a lover.
~ You’re an angel ~
~ W ~

My (27) Male boyfriend and I (25) female have been together for almost four years, our relationship has not been the most perfect one and kindly admit I have let pretty bad things slide, including **cheating** **lying** and **manipulation**. All of this time I have separated from him twice.... last time we went back to the relationship after being almost six months apart, because after all his slip ups I decided to come back, I went on a week trip to Costa Rica and he decided to dig in to a USB drive I had left in my apartment, finding pictures of me with two of my ex boyfriends who were highly abusive to me. To be fairly honest, I have not used the drive for a long time, sometimes I upload pictures in that same drive and never see the ones from my ex's, however he got so triggered about seeing me with other men, that we broke up. It seems that he has this sense of being the victim and in my eyes, he is being unfair. After everything I have forgiven him, when it's his turn to see something not exactly pleasant, he OVERLY victimizes himself and makes a HUGE drama. Like if I had to beg him to forgive me. I don't consider him a bad person, but he has pretty bad trauma from past relationships and the main source is in his home, his mother has NOT been a good mother at all..... he is the middle child and always seems to get ignored, mistreated and abused by her.
For the past six months, we've been pretty good, he has slowly but surely worked on his trauma, past self and toxic habits. However, he has a tendency to become angry and other times I have seen him talking very badly about people in general, two months ago he went through a very harsh depression. That led us to almost separate Again. He gets pretty toxic, self destructive and tends to be really pitiful with himself. Over time, I have decided to stop making myself the hero of the relationship and let things be, I was there for him but was not going to interfere in the process. Since, after all, in my mind I think he is looking for a mother figure and I am not that.
Yesterday, I needed to do a one long day trip to my main city, he decided to join me but I warned him that I would be staying with my family, (which he usually gets pretty uncomfortable in, doesn't like family environment) and he agreed. My car's temperature got up and needed to make a quick stop at a gas station to make sure everything was ok. Going back to the road, I started analyzing why I had forgotten to add cooler to my car's engine, which seem like a very simple task, I was wondering why sometimes I tend to forget very easy but key tasks and was feeling kind off down with myself.
Instead of helping me feel better, giving me some words of encouragement or at least listening to me, he started describing to me other scenarios in which I have failed myself precisely by forgetting simple but key tasks. Excusing himself saying that he was giving me ''useful data for me to know how to improve''. I got a little pissed off, since It seemed like he wanted to turn a moment of frustration with myself into a problem of HIS and make me feel worse. I sometimes battle with certain tendencies I have, like PTSD, ADHD and lying patterns, I used to lie to pretend things were not wrong, etc. And I, myself, was honest to him about it around three months ago, letting him know, that I felt really bad with myself because of it. In the car, while on the road, additionally from telling me other scenarios where I had forgotten things, he also took the chance to let me know that It was my last chance before I got '' another little lie'' out, telling me how insecure I make him feel and that I have a big problem. I understood his side, I heard him and let him know multiple times that I am trying my best and that it is in my intentions to continue my therapy to avoid any future conflict or harm to myself or others, but in those interactions all I got was him not listening at all, being conflictive, telling me to stop the conversation because we are going nowhere and cold reactions.
I decided to keep quiet and not make a big deal about it, but something in me is really turned down.... during the visit with my family I did what I had to do and PAID for everything, dinner, breakfast, gas, emergency supplies etc. but I didn't even want to touch him, I feel drowned and had the urge to get away from him. He acted like a cold stone during the entire visit, making it harder for me, instead of being a nice trip. All I can think about right now, is that I can no longer idealize him in my mind, he's bad with me, uses things like this as an excuse for his poor behavior in the past, rubs in my face the changes he's faced to become a better person when angry and acts like a whole pure narcissist. I am NOT a bad person, I know my mistakes and consider this IS NOT FAIR. And I am not going to play this game again. I feel like I'm really done. When we got home, I said absolutely nothing, left him in his apartment and haven't talked to him at all.
AITA for not validating his drama, going after him and talking more sense into him?

DISCLAIMER: I have not been served with a lawsuit, and I do not intend to fraudulently transfer assets.
Starting to look into asset protection, what with the litigious society we live in. Starting at Level 1 - I don't think I need entities yet, but biggest risk for me currently is somebody suing me in a car accident. I definitely want to make sure I have enough car insurance liability for my assets (I'm driving 100 miles round trip every day).
Currently living in MA, looking to move to NH when the housing market allows (Have no fear, I'm coming for the Live Free or Die).
Asset Breakdown:

• Roth IRA: $58k (Covered under State Law for the most part, in MA and NH)
• 401(k): $37k (Covered under ERISA)
• Brokerage Accounts: $10k
• HYSA: $93k (Most worried about this one bc it's slated for a house down-payment)

Total Assets: $200k
Total Covered Assets: $95k
Total Exposed Assets: $105k
Car Insurance Liability breakdown:
$500k per person/$1M per accident, $100k property damage (500/1M/100)
I don't own a home or rental properties yet, and I don't own a business, so I see my biggest risk as getting into a car accident and having somebody sue me (not that I'm an unsafe driver, but shit happens, especially at 100 miles a day).
So if you've made it this far, thanks, and now for my questions:

1. Given the risks, what assets are covered, and what aren't covered, is the amount of liability insurance too much for me at this point given my assets that could theoretically be seized? What might be a more appropriate amount of coverage?
2. Even though the HYSA and brokerage accounts should in theory be covered by the liability in case somebody sues me in a car accident, would it still be a good idea to set up an entity? Or would they be sufficiently protected by the liability insurance?
3. Would it be a good idea to talk to a lawyer to discuss options? (Probably yes)

TIA and drive safe out there!

First, you buy the training. Then you have to buy a full set of gear, and a motorcycle. Several grand down, but it's no big deal--it still costs less than an average car. And you're on cloud nine.
Then. It snowballs.
There's new parts you want, maintenance, TIRES, all the various sets of gear you'll want for different conditions. Then it gets worse. You obsess about it even more. You buy another bike for variety's sake. You get into various motorsports. You drag knee once and are hooked like heroin. You buy a race bike and race gear. And SO many tools. You spend thousands at track days without realizing it. You take trips to see races, and you rent motorcycles in different cities.
Then. It gets worse.
You try to maintain it all, to the detriment of everything around you. You have four motorcycles that you don't have the time to ride or even maintain. You need to rent a house with a garage just to house it all, which you can barely afford. You're spending almost $2k per year on registration and insurance alone. And you're still going too hard.
Then. It all falls apart.
You get hit. Not for the first time, but this time it's BAD. You can't walk, and you're out of work. Your wife leaves you. You can't make rent without eroding the remainder of your savings. You can't take care of yourself, and your leg heals wrong, crippling you and causing you to lose another 6 months of work and life. You need more surgeries now, and more years down the line. You can't even calculate how many tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands of dollars, you will be out of. You physically cannot ride motorcycles anymore.
You sell everything and move into a tiny place to live out the rest of your failed life in solitude and poverty.
--------------------
This may or may not happen to you, but this is the story of the past seven years of my life. I got orphaned, got some inheritance, and blew threw most of it, then got hit, and now my life is ruined.
But, I still don't regret riding. It was the best thing that I ever experienced, and these past seven years could never be matched. The only thing I wish were different is I wish I had died when I got hit a year ago. I'd have rather been ended at my prime doing what I loved than live out the rest of this botched life.
There is but one ray of hope. There is a chance in some years when I am 40 to have a joint replacement surgery that will allow me to be functional, and ride motorcycles, once more. But I'll have to salvage and rebuild my life to a point of sustainability by that time.

For some strange reason I couldn't upload this post on the ADHD sub, everything was kept as the original.
Can Dissociation resemble ADHD traits.
I have scheduled an appointment to get an ASD diagnosis which I'm at least 90% sure I'm on the spectrum, nevertheless statistically and given some traits I've found there are chances I might also need to consider getting an ADHD diagnosis.
Nevertheless I'm very critical towards that possibility as it can be caused by other factors byproduct of undiagnosed autism.
While transition stages of our lives can expose difficulties we didn't now we had/weren't as intense that can lead to being diagnosed of ADHD in adulthood.
Those traits associated with ADHD can be resembled by other factors, being dissociation one of those.
While dissociation is a medical term that must be taken seriously just like depression where there is a well defined but hard to explain borderline between intense and prolonged sadness vs depression, there is also a clear division between having dissociative alike symptoms without meeting the criteria to be formally diagnosed with it.
Nevertheless it doesn't means that we can be close the verge of developing it, therefore presenting dissociative alike symptoms but still not falling into it, in the same way intense and prolonged sadness can escalate into depression.
Which makes more sense but at the same time still doesn't refutes the possibilities of having ADHD comorbidity.
Unlike ASD where everything is crystal clear for me ADHD is very debatable and isn't as clear as the chances I have ASD.
Although I have not committed as much research about ADHD as I had with ASD, still some of the pieces do not seem to fit at least if they are taken from the assumption ADHD is the only existing/dominant condition, from a perspective of ADHD as an ASD comorbidity where ASD is the dominant condition everything makes more sense but still not as clear as +90% chances I'm autistic.
As I already mentioned Dissociation must be addressed seriously and must be clinically diagnosed + the analogy with the relationship between Sadness and depression...
Still it's important to consider that my mental health hasn't been the best since I started university despite appearing stable and neutral externally there is a lot going on, a lot I philosophically discuss and try to be as objective with my statements as possible trying to be detached from all personal bias but still not recognizing that they aren't simply intellectual ideas and I'm actually struggling more than I want to accept it...

as the days pass, i find strength in his death, to push me forward to achieve my own goals knowing i’m doing it for him too. the day he died i pinky promised to him that i would achieve all our dreams for us. (more specifically, i would achieve my own goals and not let depression take from me what it took from my best friend.)
the first year i lived without him, was blurred by grief and pain, maybe even the first two years honestly. one day i just woke up after 1 1/2 years of depression and it wasn’t a conscious choice, but i felt i could for once finally feel okay when i thought of him, i thought of his smile and his joy. for once i stopped imagining his pain and death which is all i could imagine for the first two years. i try to be strong. his death really put my life off course. i already had been struggling with severe depression for years and we were only 19 years old so when he died i just lost myself for awhile. i got fired from multiple jobs the first year because i wouldn’t be able to sleep or even manage to get myself out of bed. i lost all my friends, to this day, i can’t maintain a friendship, i think deep down i compare every friendship to what i had/lost. he was the most kind hearted and loving human. he was my light who kept me here safe so many times. even the day he died he sent a 13 minute voice message encouraging me to not take my own life and to keep going and that he knew i’d be okay.
i feel really alone with my grief because i can manage my day to day life now, i don’t talk to anyone about my best friend, yet he’s always on my mind. sometimes i crumble under the grief. today is one of those days. i thought i’d been making good progress lately but just the mere thought in the back of my mind that his death day is coming up soon, making it another year without my sweet best friend, it just kills me deep down. it’s like nothing else really matters i just want to sit and grieve and miss him. i wish i knew how to be strong and be okay enough to forgive myself for all the mistakes i made for the first two years after he died. yet i find myself being mean to myself saying other people can manage so why can’t i. i also lost two other people i loved dearly through those two years of grieving my best friend. i feel like the grief just overcomes everything else some days and i just am sad. i hate feeling sad, it scares me and makes me uncomfortable these days. i just wish i knew how to feel better and i hope that his death day approaching doesn’t cause my life to turn upside down. i lost my job and got admitted to the hospital last year this time. i’m just so scared because i have no one to talk to about it. my family is amazing and always lets me talk to them about it but i adore them and their happiness and i don’t want to bring up such horrible thoughts :,(