A little while ago, I wrote some lyrics to a rap. I have never written a rap song before, or any song for that matter, but I do write poetry. Because of my lack of knowledge, I have no idea if these lyrics work or not, and I want to know how I can improve. Thank you. Trigger warning:(The song describes murder and suicide.) Here are the lyrics:
(Killer on the moon)
Yes, that girl's name is Mary June.
Last week, she took the stairs up to the moon.
What did she say to the bright guardian star?
She said she needed all the drinks out from the bar.
So this is not at all where her story begins.
It’s like a wasp, deep down inside the fig’s ins.
You see, Mary June took a metal spade
And busted her friend’s head in, that’s the serenade.
Her hands were bloodied, her face all soaked,
It was then in which Mary June’s mental state choked.
So the red and blue lights came too quick into sight,
And that caused Mary June to have quite a fright.
She wiped her hands and she swiped her memory.
Her mouth all dry, she tasted something savory.
In the police room, she felt the air go stiffy
And the feeling in Mary’s gut was far too iffy.
So she said, she said she said,
That she couldn’t wrap the story around her head.
And they said they said they said,
They found the shovel underneath the rotting bed.
So Mary June licked her lips and cried.
She then promised them that she had never lied.
It’s not true, not true, not true,
She swore, looking at the blood stain soaking in her shoe.
Mary could feel her hands grow heavy with blood.
And they said her alibi was a total dud.
Mary June’s heart dropped with a stiff ladened dread,
And confessed she had a feeling scratching in her head.
Mary’s words came out with a frightening bend,
Her friendship was a lie, it all had to end.
And in the end, Mary June was rotting and dead.
They found her hanging above the cell’s metal bed .
And that’s when she met the guardian star.
So it seems to me that her ghost was not too far.

Hey all - just about to finish uni and finally have time to build my first ever PC. Have a budget of around £1,250 want to be able to play most games comfortably but don’t care if it’s at max etc. Here’s the part list me and a more knowledgeable friend came up with. I’m not precious about anything and happy to learn so any advice is much appreciated :)
PCPartPicker Part List

Type	Item	Price
CPU	AMD Ryzen 5 7600 3.8 GHz 6-Core Processor	£179.99 @ Ebuyer
CPU Cooler	Thermalright Assassin X Refined SE ARGB 66.17 CFM CPU Cooler	£18.00 @ Computer Orbit
Motherboard	ASRock B650M Pro RS WiFi Micro ATX AM5 Motherboard	£144.66 @ NeoComputers
Memory	Patriot Viper Venom RGB 32 GB (2 x 16 GB) DDR5-5600 CL36 Memory	£104.99 @ Amazon UK
Storage	Western Digital Black SN770 1 TB M.2-2280 PCIe 4.0 X4 NVME Solid State Drive	£71.99 @ AWD-IT
Video Card	XFX Speedster QICK 319 Core Radeon RX 6750 XT 12 GB Video Card	£296.06 @ Amazon UK
Case	Montech AIR 100 ARGB MicroATX Mid Tower Case	£49.98 @ Scan.co.uk
Power Supply	Corsair RM750e (2023) 750 W 80+ Gold Certified Fully Modular ATX Power Supply	£109.00 @ Computer Orbit
Monitor	Asus TUF GAMING VG24VQE 23.6" 1920 x 1080 165 Hz Curved Monitor	£128.99 @ Amazon UK
	Prices include shipping, taxes, rebates, and discounts
	Total	£1103.66
	Generated by PCPartPicker 2024-05-16 20:57 BST+0100

David Grusch has claimed in his resume and in the media that he was the "Senior Technical Advisor for UAP/Trans-Medium Issues" for the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency where he was the "NGA lead for Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena (UAP) and Trans-Medium Anomaly issues. Executed new program of record responsive to direct tasking by the Congressional Intelligence Committees."
This claim has largely been accepted as fact, though no explanation for what this alleged role entails has ever been provided.
Grusch has also strongly implied in the media that he was explicitly tasked by Congress with investigating UAPs in this role AND that he had Title 10 and Title 50 investigative authorities. He does not claim these authorities in the Congressional testimony he provided.
Oddly, despite allegedly being tasked by the Congressional Intelligence Committees (if he is to be believed) and having Title 10/50 clearances (again, assuming he is to be believed), he was allegedly denied access to relevant programs he was investigating.
From his NewsNation interview: "Grusch says he pressed to gain direct access to the program, and that’s when the trouble started. He claims his investigation was stymied, and his requests for access were rebuffed. “They shut the door in my face. They denied me access to these programs,” he said. Soon after, he says he endured reprisals and retaliations from above. He reported that information to the intelligence community inspector general and eventually filed a whistleblower complaint."
When pressed as to why he should be believed, he has stated, "Well, we provided the proof internally to the inspector general and went into all the details,” he said. “I mean, I have the credentials. I was an intelligence officer on the UAP Task Force.”
I am somewhat surprised seemingly no journalists have made any effort to validate any of these "credentials" claims given that Grusch relies 1000% on his credentials for his credibility by his own admission. This lack of investigation is even more worrisome given that nearly all former government / military personnel attached to the UFO Media have been caught greatly embellishing their credentials (looking squarely at you, Lue Elizondo, but others as well).
Grusch has posted his resume, so I think it is worth seeing what can be deciphered there because I think there are some potential clues there. That said, I am no expert on the US Air Force, so it would be helpful to hear from those who have this experience.
Some interesting tidbits from the resume:

1. Many of his jobs have overlapping dates. I am guessing this isn't terribly unusual, but it becomes quite confusing to understand when and who he was employed by, which is compounded by the fact that many of these positions seem to be him working as a USAF Reservist.
2. At the time he has claimed to be the "Senior Technical Advisor for UAP/Trans-Medium Issues", he also lists "Lead SME for USSPACECOM National Support Team (NST) for cross agency program integration" which clearly seems to have been his main job.
3. Would a "Senior Technical Advisor for UAP/Trans-Medium Issues" actually be given ANY investigative powers or authorities to look into UAP-related SAPs as Grusch has claimed because it certainly sounds like his actual role was likely answering technical questions that might arise from any intelligence the agency he worked with provided to the UAP Task Force. This is important, in my opinion, because pretty much every military and intelligence division had similar liaisons to this task force AND YET only Grusch has implied that he was actually tasked with investigating UAP-related SAPs and had the clearances required and "need-to-know" that warranted access to these programs. Why haven't any of these other liaisons come forward?
4. Much of Grusch's resume (March 2016 - November 2021) was time he apparently worked for a PRIVATE contractor called Blue Sky Innovators. In this time period, his other jobs seem to have been as a Reservist. While this isn't unusual, it seems like the bulk of Grusch's career was actually spent as a private sector contractor rather than directly for the government/military. It appears he was only active duty Air Force for less than 7 years before joining the Reserves and working for a private contractor. What does this tell us, if anything.
5. He doesn't come back into a full-time government role until November 2021, a full 5 years after his last active duty, but is apparently (if he is to be believed) immediately tasked by Congress with the powers to investigate UAP-related SAPs. This seems quite unlikely, but perhaps someone more knowledgeable than me can explain why this would make ANY sense.

My working hypothesis since Grusch first emerged on the scene is that he has greatly embellished his credentials and is relying on an impressive looking resume to make it seem like he was a more senior member of the intelligence community than he might have been in reality.
For example, much has been made of his GS-15 pay grade being equivalent to a Colonel to demonstrate that he was very senior. I do not have a lot of experience in this area, but I work in tech and remember many years ago that when friends went to work as software devs for the government they were often brought in under similar sounding levels because it was the only way to pay them the rates they required.
Again, I'm not knowledgeable enough in this area to understand this, so hoping others can chime in.

So I've heard Sagittarius are known as one of the smartest zodiac signs mostly due to their adaptability, love for learning and obtaining greater wisdom and knowledge on life. They are adventurous and Idealistic individuals who love to explore and seek constant self-improvement and personal growth. Much like their anti-sign Gemini Sagittarius are natural born intellectuals who have an insatiable curiosity for anything and will make learning a life time experience for them and it would be foolish for you to try and outsmart this sharp minded genius. However if there are any zodiacs who could actually give The Archer a run for their money it would most likely have to be the air signs such as Gemini, Libra and Aquarius. For example a Gemini, Libra and Aquarius with an air and fire dominant birth chart is going to be a major challenge even for The Archer given the fact that since Air Signs are also natural born intellectuals who have an insatiable hunger for knowledge, coupled with the fact air signs have a surprisingly good memory, are quick learners, have many creative, original and new ideas and are also very good at learning about other people's strengths and weaknesses as well as their own then you already know that The Archer and any of the air signs will inevitably meet their match.

I have never used a gas forge before and got a cheapo Vevor dual top burner propane forge to try it out. It's great so far, heats up fast, easy to manage and no coal smell to bother the neighbors.
However I have encountered a problem where the issue is my lack of knowledge about gas forges. If I run only one of the burners, the inactive burner gets extremely hot since it's not being cooled by the Venturi air flow. Even if I close it's air choke, it seems to act like a chimney and it got so hot the gas valve can't be touched without gloves. At this point I called it a day and I feel I need some input from you guys.
How do I safely run my forge on only one burner? Do I stuff the inactive one with insulation wool, remove it completely (which includes rebuilding the gas fittings for the dual setup) or some other way? I am mainly doing small size projects that only requires one burner right now but I'd like to keep both available if possible.
All advice is much appreciated.

Hi all,
I recently picked up a used 2006 Honda Civic with 121k miles on it. I used my BlueDriver and there are no codes or lights on the dash. When I turn on the air (with no AC) it gets a rough idle when braking or idling. I am going to grab some MAF cleaner and start there, but if cleaning the MAF sensor and IACV doesn’t work, what should I look at next? The motor mounts look good along with the serpentine belt.
To summarize: rough idle when air is on and the AC is turned off. The reason I’m mentioning when the AC is still off is that I’m hoping the compressor ain’t the problem.

Karoly Szakmary was conscripted to serve in the Hungarian infantry after making anti nazi writings at University and served on the Russian Front. He later worked for Radio free Europe as a youth radio host during the Hungarian Revolution but immigrated to the United States in 1958. This poem is translated to the best of my ability:
THE NOISE IS OUT
The noise outside is the noise of 6 years in this new life.
It doesn't stop for a minute. The monotonous dull noise which enters through this window.
New York is roaring outside, panting and rattling pipes, and a moment of silence, a breath of calm, nowhere to be found in the cold noise of the clapping of ears.
And it gets on your nerves.
Like a bloodsucking market, air cooling equipment and spine-tingling sadness answer to city trumpets.
Screeching songs of brakes and sirens, I wander into the Babel of monotony, dizzy with the big New York night.
And the garbage trucks at dawn weigh down my heart, just like the tracked tanks during the war.
Which I still hear in my soul.
With a lost screech here and there, a human voice - a laugh. The deep scream of a "call girl" filters through the window.
And the neighbor's phone rings in vain. Con Edison erupts at the East River, hissing like a monstrous volcano.
While the neighbor below fades away, a hackneyed Chopin tune breaks through the wall just before the climax.
And the other neighbor is under her husband. Her scream is muffled like the forest's humming voice or the soft barking of whining dogs.
And I need that too.
I dig my head into my pillow because of the noise, the noise — the technology.
Now, I have learned to put up with it like this: the noise that, for years, has not stopped for a minute, the monotonous dull noise that enters through the window and clings to my nerves like a parasitic leech.
There is simply something unspeakably monstrous and great I have to say about the noise.
The thing to say about this grave noise is that it blends in all around into an endless roar, and these artificial brains will never be able to comprehend it with reason.
What's going on inside?
Perhaps the abandoned Neutron fibers of another circuit are looming on the wires, in the circle of nerve cells, on its tiny switch, a self-destructing cell vibrating, circling IBM computers, and on the magnetic grand pointer of pendulum clocks a dull ache inside.
Like the thud of a silent corpse.
Which is a noise I know well but keep locked away in my closet of dreams.
And the heavenly formula of my grinning self is my mind that has been torn apart by toothy fingers and the noise, noise, noise.
1970 Karoly Szakmary

I have to share this. It’s not just a story; it’s a warning. If you value your sanity, stop reading now.
I spent my junior year of college studying art history in Rome. It was everything I’d hoped for: the architecture, the paintings, the endless history. But what happened during my last week there still haunts me. The Vatican City tour was supposed to be the highlight of my trip, but it became a nightmare I can’t escape.
Our guide, an older man named Marco, led us through the usual tourist spots, but he seemed distracted. His eyes kept darting to a small, unmarked door at the end of a corridor in the Vatican Museums. After the tour, I lingered, watching as Marco slipped away from the group and towards the door. Curiosity got the better of me. I followed.
I approached the door, and to my surprise, it was ajar. I peeked inside and saw a dimly lit staircase leading down. I hesitated, but then I heard voices – chanting, whispering. I descended, my heart pounding. The air grew colder with each step, the walls narrowing, until I emerged into a cavernous underground chamber.
At first, I thought it was some kind of ancient chapel, but the sight before me was far from holy. There were robed figures gathered around a long, stone table, chanting in Latin. On the table lay a human body. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I tried to convince myself it was some kind of bizarre reenactment or performance art, but the smell of decay and the horror etched on the lifeless face told me otherwise.
I hid behind a pillar, my heart racing, praying they wouldn’t see me. The chanting grew louder, more frenzied, and then they began…eating. The realization hit me like a freight train. These were no actors. This was a ritual, a feast – cannibalism. I could barely keep from vomiting as I watched them consume the flesh with a grotesque reverence.
They started with the organs, tearing into the liver and heart with their bare hands, the sound of ripping flesh and the sight of blood running down their chins making me dizzy with horror. They passed around pieces of flesh, some searing it over candles, others eating it raw. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the stench of death.
One of the robed figures held up a severed arm, chanting in a low, guttural voice before biting into it, tendons snapping under the pressure of his jaws. The others followed suit, tearing at the body with a hunger that was both primal and ritualistic. Their eyes rolled back in ecstasy, mouths stained red, as if they were partaking in some unholy communion.
Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I turned, expecting the worst, but it was Marco. His face was pale, eyes wide with fear. “You weren’t supposed to see this,” he whispered. “They’ll come for you now.”
He dragged me back up the stairs, but it was too late. The chanting had stopped. I could hear footsteps, quick and purposeful, coming up from behind. We ran through the labyrinthine corridors of the Vatican, the ancient stone walls seeming to close in on us. I could hear them – the robed figures, their whispers echoing in the halls.
We burst out into the daylight, but the Vatican guards were waiting. Marco was seized and I was dragged away, screaming, trying to explain what I’d seen. They locked me in a small, windowless room, and for hours I sat there in darkness, waiting for whatever fate awaited me.
Eventually, a cardinal entered. He was calm, composed, and utterly terrifying in his placidity. He sat across from me, his piercing eyes examining my soul. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he began to speak.
“What you witnessed,” he said, his voice smooth and unsettling, “is a sacred rite, a tradition older than Christianity itself. Long before the establishment of the Church, our ancestors discovered a way to commune with the divine, to gain knowledge and power beyond human comprehension.”
He leaned in closer, his breath cold against my face. “This rite, this consumption of the flesh, is a way to absorb the essence, the life force, of the departed. It grants us visions, strength, and longevity. It binds us to the ancient ones, those who walked the earth when it was young and untamed.”
I could feel the bile rising in my throat, but I couldn’t look away. “But why?” I stammered. “Why would you do something so… monstrous?”
His smile was chilling. “Have you ever wondered why the Eucharist, the Communion, is such a central sacrament in Christianity? When Jesus said, ‘This is my body… this is my blood,’ it was not merely symbolic. It was a continuation of an older, more powerful tradition. By consuming the flesh and blood, we become one with the divine.”
The cardinal stood, his robes rustling like whispers of the damned. “But the bread and wine are just a shadow of the true rite. Here, in the depths of the Vatican, we keep the original covenant. The flesh we consume is sanctified, chosen. It is our way of maintaining the connection to the divine, of ensuring the Church’s power endures.”
I was horrified, but he continued, his voice a soothing monotone that belied the horrors he described. “The world is filled with darkness, with forces that seek to corrupt and destroy. We are the guardians, the keepers of balance. To fight such evil, we must embrace the forbidden, the unthinkable. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “You have seen too much. But fear not, for your silence will be assured. You will return to your life, but you will never speak of this. Not to anyone. For if you do, the consequences will be dire.”
I was released the next day, warned never to speak of what I’d seen. Marco was gone. I returned to the States, trying to forget, but the nightmares won’t let me. Every night, I see their faces, hear their chanting. I feel their hunger.
I don’t expect you to believe me. I’m sharing this because someone needs to know. If you ever visit the Vatican, stay with the group. Don’t stray. And if you see a small, unmarked door, turn around and run. Some secrets are worth dying for.

The pain was the worst thing`Dominick Mason had ever known…and he knew what it felt like to die. It felt like his brain was in a blender, being chopped to liquid for a Jeffery Dahmer smoothie and though it seemed melodramatic, he imagined he could feel himself losing brain cells by the minute. The sun, Merrick told him, would not burn him, but it would decay him faster, so sleep or rest during the day. With the sick, throbbing agony in the center of his brain, however, that was impossible. He spent most of the day curled up on his side, hugging his knees, and moaning. He had flashbacks to dying in his apartment, and that made things even worse. The room became too small, too close, the air too stale. His heart, filled with the blood of last night’s meal, pounded in his chest, and he went from slightly chilly to hot and feverish as blood was forced through his circulatory system. It mixed with the embalming fluid and left him feeling full and constipated. He didn’t want to get up, but he also didn’t want to go on lying there. He was the definition of miserable.
Before long, the pain became too great and he got up to pace, pressing his hands to the sides of his head and gritting his teeth. Merrick, who slept very little if at all, sat in his chair and watched, trying his best to talk him through it. “It’ll be over soon,” Merrick said. “The pain receptors in your brain are the first to go. When they burn out, you won’t feel anything.”
“When?” Dom asked, his voice raising with the tide of pain.
“A couple days?”
“A couple days???”
“The pain will lessen gradually,” Merrick said, “this is the worst of it.”
Dom believed that this was, indeed, the worst of it, but he doubted it would lessen gradually. For the rest of the day, the pain got worse and worse until every light blinded him, every sound turned his stomach, and the smell of anything made his gorge rise. The cloying smell of the embalming fluid, the light but unmistakable odor of dead flesh, and the scent of stale blood sitting in decomposing stomachs made him want to vomit, but he was afraid to. He didn’t think he could handle the sight of blood rushing from his mouth and splattering the floor. He still possessed enough of his facilities, he believed, to go insane.
Pain has a way of darkening one’s mood, and by the time the sun began to set, Dom was in the most sour mood possible. Even Merrick’s calm, fatherly voice was beginning to get on his nerves. When he took the oath to him the day before (or was it the day before that?), he turned his faith and trust over to Merrick entirely. He was finally accepted, included, finally had the love and fellowship that, in the pit of his soul, he had always wanted. Merrick understood him, Merrick was kind to him.
But deep down, Dom realized that he didn’t fully trust him. He said that his brain didn’t rot because he was “lucky.” That sounded like some bullshit to Dom. Why wasn’t Joe a blithering idiot too? Was he lucky as well? Did lightning strike in the same place twice? In life, people had done nothing but hurt and lie to Dom. Why would death be any different? He thought back to the strange liquid that always seemed to leak from Merrick’s nose, and Joe’s. He thought it was embalming fluid, but it never leaked from his own nose, or from anyone else’s. He tried to tell himself that it was far too soon to judge, but once he began to doubt something, his mind raced away. He felt a twinge of guilt, as Merrick had done absolutely nothing to deserve his doubt, but goddamn it, his head was on fire and he wanted it to stop. Anything to make it stop.
Just after sundown, the music began as Club Vlad opened for the night. It throbbed in the center of Dom’s head and made him want to claw his eyes out. When it became too much for him, he slipped away and stumbled into the sultry summer night. He came out in the alley running behind the club, clutching his head and breathing through bared teeth. He staggered, bumped into a metal trash can, and roared at the top of his lungs, as if he could purge himself of the pain by screaming.. His voice echoed and came back to him, making the pain worse.
Merrick was lying. He knew it. People always lied to him. His brain was rotting and PEOPLE WERE LYING! Flashing with anger, he slammed his fist into the brick wall of a Chinese restaurant. He barely felt anything so he did it again and again until his hand was lumpy and shaking. He sat heavily on the ground and pressed his hands to his head. It felt like maggots were burrowing into his brain, and he was suddenly terrified that they really were. He needed to stop this awful pain, but how?
An idea came to him.
The funeral home.
Maybe there was something there.
He was on his feet and lumbering there before the thought had even finished reverberating through his mind. It was a long shot, but he was desperate. On the way there, he stuck to the shadows, staying out of the light cast by the streetlamps and avoiding people. When he passed them, he kept his head down. When he reached the funeral home, he went to the back door where he and Jessie had gone the other day. He tried it, and it opened.
Inside, he bounced off the walls like a pinball, knocking over an end table and tearing at the flesh of his head, pulling it away in long, gray strips. He panted like a wild animal, his body a raging tempest of emotions. It was reaching a crescendo, he thought, his brain was about to go supernova. The world dimmed, things got really echoy. The young man he’d picked the embalming fluid up from was there, looking scared.
Flashing, Dom grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the wall, knocking a painting of a flowery field to the carpet. Everything seemed to go in slow mo. “How does Merrick keep his brain from rotting?” Dom heard himself demanding from far away. “How does he keep the pain away?”
The man trembled. “I-I-”
Dom slammed him again. “Tell me or I’ll make you like me.”
“No!” the man wailed. He shook his head from side to side, his eyes wet with fear.
“How?”
“He-He uses a solution,” the man stammered. “Some kind of special thing. It preserves his brain. That’s all I know.”
An idea occurred to Dom.
Holding the man by the back of his neck, Dom dragged him into the embalming room and pushed him against the table. His head felt like it was swelling. Hot, screaming, getting ready to explode. He looked around, found the embalming machine, and grabbed the hose. There was a sharp tip on it so that you could jam it into a body. He held it in his hand, hesitating for just a moment before pressing it to his temple. The man watched in horror as Dom slowly shoved the tip into his head. It tore his flesh, broke through his skull, and sank into his brain. He felt no pain, only pressure, but cried out anyway. His eyes rolled up into his head and a shudder went through his body.
“Turn it on!” he yelled.
“That’s not what he -”
“TURN IT ON!”
Starting, the man turned the machine on. Cold embalming fluid squirted directly into Dom’s brain. Almost at once, the pain began to ebb away, replaced only by a fuzzy sense of numbness. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, looking for all the world like an addict taking a hit of his favorite substance after a long and trying day. Fluid leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes and dripped down the back of his throat.
The man waited for a long time, then turned the machine off.
The pain was gone.
At least for now.
“Tell me again,” Dom said.
The man did. Merrick used a special preserving agent to keep his brain intact. Joe, the man suspected, got it as well. So Merrick had lied to him.
Dom felt betrayed.
And angry.
Leaving the man (Dom realized that he didn’t even know his name), he walked back to Club Vlad, his hands fisted in his pockets. All his life, he had been hurt, lied to, and ignored. All his life, people had done wrong to him. And all those years, he just took it.
He resolved not to be so accepting in death.
At last, he was going to stop being a sniveling little bitch and stand up for himself.
When he reached Club Vlad, he slammed through the back door and took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he called out Merrick’s name. The old man was sitting in his chair, being attended to by Jessie and Matt. He looked startled when Dom came in. “You lied to me,” Dom said, stalking over to his benefactor.
“What are you talking about?” Merrick asked, doing his best to sound innocent.
“You lied to me!” Dom screamed. He bent over and got so close to Merrick’s face that he could have kissed him. “You told me there was no way to save my brain, but that’s not true. You’re pumping your head full of shit and letting the rest of us rot.”
A dark shadow flickered across Merrick’s face. “Watch your tone when you talk to me,” he said. His voice was low, menacing.
“Fuck you,” Dom said. “I should k -”
Suddenly, Dom was being grabbed from behind and yanked back, an arm around his neck. He cried out in alarm as Joe swung him around and slammed him face first into the wall. He heard his nose crunch, felt his teeth shatter. Next, Joe wrestled him to the glitter-sprinkled floor and wedged his knee between his shoulder blades.
Merrick watched with a sneer of disgust, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. He wheeled himself over, Jessie holding his IV stand steady and following behind. “Listen, you son of a bitch,” Merrick said, “you’re lucky to be a part of this family.”
Cold fear filled the pit of Dom’s stomach, yet he wouldn’t back down, couldn’t back down. He had lived his entire life like a mouse in a burrow, he wasn’t about to live his entire death the same way.
“Fuck your family,” he said defiantly. “And fuck you.”
Merrick’s face darkened and he sat back in his chair. He looked at Jessie and nodded. She went away and came back a moment later holding something in her hand. Dom’s eyes widened when he saw what it was.
A wooden stake, one end honed to a razor point.
Why they had one of those lying around, Dom didn’t know; it’d be like Superman keeping a piece of kryptonite on the mantle over the fireplace. Merrick directed Max and Matt to hold Dom’s arms down/ Joe pivoted, kneeling on his head now so that Dom’s back was exposed. Dom’s heart slammed with terror and tremors raced through his body.
“Is this what you want, Dominick?” Merrick asked. “To die? To truly die?”
Dom swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to live, to love, to have a family one day. He wanted a happy, normal life, the life TV and social media had been promising him since he was a little boy.
But all of that went out the window the night he died in his little apartment. There was no life anymore, just a grotesque parody of life. What was there for him other than death? Clinging desperately onto life for decades like Merrick? Stuffing himself full of embalming fluid and moth balls? Grinding for one more minute just so he could sit hooked up to a machine?
Dom spoke.
“What?” Merrick asked, not having heard.
Dom licked his lips. “Just fucking do it.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Expectation hung in the air. Finally, breaking the tension, Merrick nodded to Jessie. Kneeling down, she brought the stake up, and Dom closed his eyes.
This was it.
He braced himself for death.
Jessie brought the stake down just as a shot rang out, deafening in the small space. Her head whipped back, embalming fluid, skull fragments, and gray, sickly pieces of brain showering from the back of her head. She flopped back and landed on the floor with a sickening thud.
A woman cop, her black uniform in stark contrast to the burning white light, stood in the doorway to the hall, her gun drawn. Everyone did, indeed, freeze, more out of surprise than respect for authority. They all looked at her, their dead mouths agape, resembling children who’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Everyone on the ground!” she barked.
No one knew what to do. They hadn’t expected to be raided by the police so had not prepared. She jerked her gun and everyone instinctively flinched. “On the ground!” she repeated. To Max: “You too, bone boy.”
The first one to react was Joe. He sprang at her like a big, undead frog. She brought the gun around and fired, but he was already crashing into her. The shot went wild and struck the IV bag next to Merrick; he ducked and let out a sound of fear. The others rushed her, and Dom got quickly to his feet. Jessie lay on the floor, her mouth open in a silent scream and her bony fingers frantically examining the ragged hole in the center of her forehead. For a moment, he was frozen; everything was happening too fast. Then, when Merrick saw him and cried, “Stop him!, he came alive. Jessie tried to grab at his leg, but he kicked her hand away and stomped on it like it was a giant spider. On the other side of the room, Matt, Joe, and Max had forced the cop to the ground. Perhaps excited by all the action, perhaps just hungry, they began to tear her apart. She howled in pain, and the last thing Dom saw before he fled was her open, blood-filled mouth. Her eyes were filled with pain…with terror.
After that, Dom ran.
***
When the interloper was dead, Merrick directed Joe and Matt to dispose of the body. “Get rid of it,” he said wearily and rubbed his temples, “make sure it isn’t found.”
They rolled her into a carpet from the office, and the way her feet stuck out may have been comical under other circumstances.
Goddamn it, this was bad. Merrick’s entire philosophy rested on avoiding detection. He had done well in that regard. Whereas other vampires had attacked their villages and gotten themselves dug from the ground and staked, he had made it four decades. He never shat where he ate, and there is no bigger turd than killing a cop. They might dawdle on all the boys who’d gone missing - taken because their blood was stronger and more robust than the blood of girls - but they would not take a cop dying lightly at all.
Merrick owned various businesses around the country. He and the others would simply move on. Tomorrow night, they would disappear into the night. They had done it before and they would likely do it again. Once things were settled at their new base of operations, he would have Joe killed for all the trouble he’d caused.
And Dom?
Let him go.
The little rat wouldn’t last a month on his own.
“Jessie?”
Jessie sat against the wall, gazing into space.
“Jessi…start packing. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
She didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear. The shot had all but lobotomized her.
Damn it.
Joe backed the van up to the back door of Club Vlad, and then helped Matt carry the carpet-rolled body down the stairs. They loaded it in and closed the back doors. Together, they drove around looking for a place to dump it. Merrick wanted it to go unfound, but Joe doubted there was anywhere isolated enough in the city. On a whim, he drove to Washington Park, a vast expanse of green trees and shadows. There was a large pond there. It seemed the best option. They were leaving tomorrow anyway, so did it really matter?
Joe backed the van to a railing overlooking the dark water and put it in park. He and Matt got out, fetched the body, and carried it to the railing. They lifted and heaved it over. It splashed. Thus, they rid themselves of Vanessa Rodregiez.
***
Bruce sat anxiously up in his easy chair and waited for his cell to ring.
Parked in front of the TV by warm lamplight, a beer wedged between his legs, he’d been watching the 11’o’clock news when the phone rang. He picked it up and it was Vanessa. “Hey,” she said, “I think I found our body?”
“Which one?” Bruce asked and took a drink. “We have a lot of those these days.”
“Dominick Mason.”
Bruce sat forward in his chair. “Dead Dom? Where?”
“He just came out of a funeral home, ironically enough.”
“That sounds about right,” Bruce said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m following him east on Central.”
“Are you sure it’s him?” Bruce asked.
“I think so, but I’m not sure. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”
Bruce sat the phone aside and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At some point, he fell asleep sitting up, his head lulled to one side and his mouth open. He snorted himself awake, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He checked his phone and was perturbed to see that it was past 2am.
Vanessa hadn’t called.
He dialed her number and let the phone ring until it went to voicemail. Sighing, he ended the call, then waited a few minutes and called again.
Still no answer.
It was possible she had forgotten. Maybe the guy turned out to not be Dead Dom after all. She followed some random guy around, realized it, and that was that. Hell, she was probably too embarrassed to call and tell him about it.
Something told him that wasn’t right, however.
There was something else going on here.
Something…darker.
Just before 3am, his phone rang. He snatched it off the end table next to the chair and answered it. It was Burt, the night sargent. “Rodriguez is missing,” he said simply.
Bruce’s heart sank. “Missing?”
“Yeah, she hasn’t checked in for hours and she isn’t answering calls.”
“I’m on my way,”
Bruce tore through the house, pulling on his uniform, socks, and shoes in less time than it took a Daytona 500 pit crew to service a car. In ten minutes he was speeding down 787, the Albany skyline rising in the distance. As he hurried to the station, he thought back to his last conversation with Vanessa. She’d found Dom the Dead Man, the “corpse” who’d scared Ed Harris out of a 20 year career. Despite all their talk about vampires and the living dead, Bruce didn’t believe it, not really. Even so, he was sure that Dominick Mason had done something to Vanessa.
He checked in at the station before doing anything else. They had triangulated Vanessa’s last known location via cell towers. Cops were already out searching the streets for her. Bruce went out as well, intending to start from her last known position and work his way east on Central. The closest funeral home was Tebbutt and Frederick on Central. There was also Lasak & Gigliotti on North Allen Street. Bruce didn’t know which one Vanessa had seen Dom come out of, so he checked both.
Both were deserted at this hour.
Undeterred, Bruce drove up and down Central Ave. At one point, he noticed a shape in an alleyway that looked human. He hit the brakes, jumped out, and pointed his gun at it. “Freeze!”
An old wino stepped out of the darkness. “Alright, you got me,” he said, hands up. “I started COVID. It was an accident, I swear.”
Bruce sighed and put his gun away.
For two more hours, Bruce searched the streets of Albany for Vanessa. At 4am, he spotted a squad car abandoned in the rear parking lot of an abandoned gas station on lower Lark Street. He called it in and the desk sergeant confirmed that it was the one Vanessa had signed out that night.
Still there was no sign of Vanessa herself.
Just after dawn, as the city came alive and CDTA buses began lumbering up and down the streets, Bruce got a call on his cell. “A jogger found a body in Washington Park.”
Bruce was in his personal car. He had no bubble light, no siren. Even so, he sped through the streets like he did, blowing through red lights and stop signs with little care to himself or anyone else. When he got to Washington Park, he found an army cops by the pond, the scene cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. He slammed on the brakes, threw open the door, and jumped out without even turning off the engine.
The body was rolled up in a carpet and lying on the bank. Two beat cops unrolled it at Bruce’s direction. “We should wait for -” one of them started, but Bruce cut him off.
“Do it.”
They compiled, and at the carpet’s center, like a rotten cream filling, was the body of Vanessa Rodregiuez. Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes wide and staring. Her throat had been mangled and ripped away, her head nearly severed. Even in the black and red mess, Bruce could make out the teeth marks and puncture wounds. They may have looked like something else to anyone else who saw them, but he knew, in that moment, what they were dealing with.
A sharp pang of horror sliced through him, and his knees went weak.
“Jesus Christ,” one of the beat cops drew.
Bruce fell to, rather than knelt on, one knee. He bent over the body, a mixture of horror and grief welling his throat. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her in death, but he stayed his hand. Instead, he visually examined the body. She had bruises on her face, defensive wounds on her hands, and her gun was gone. Whoever had attacked her, she put up a fight.
Something glinted on her pants.
“What’s that?” one of the cops asked.
“I dunno,” the other replied, “but it’s all over the carpet.”
Indeed, there were glinty little specks all over it, winking like mocking eyes. Nice work, eh? We really fucked her up, didn’t we? Wink wink.
“It looks like…”
The other cop cut him off. “Glitter.”
Bruce flashed back to his visit to Club Vlad the other day.
There had been glitter everywhere.
Bruce stood up.
He had work to do.
***
Instead of going back to the station to start his shift, Bruce went to Lowes. There, he bought a mallet, a gas can, and a dozen sticks of wood. An employee in a blue vest used a machine to sharpen them to a wicked point and he took his purchases to the car. Next, he drove over to the Mobil station and filled the gas can. He was so hellbent on revenge that he sprang for premium, the good stuff. No expense shall be spared.
His final stop was at a Catholic church. He filled a canteen with holy water from the marble font by the door, then swiped a crucifix from the wall. He stopped by the station, went inside, and grabbed a black duffle bag with POLICE written across the front in yellow. He opened the gun cabinet in his office, took out a shotgun, and loaded it with shells. He grabbed a handful from the box and stuffed them into his pocket.
He was just finishing up when Bertha came in. “There you are,” she spat, “I’ve waited long enough for you to do something. I demand -”
Bruce shoved the duffle bag into her arms. “Make yourself useful.”
“What?” she demanded.
“We’re going to get your granddaughter,” Bruice lied. Kind of.
Bertha’s demeanor changed. “Good. It’s about time. I was starting to think you were a complete incompetent.”
Bruce didn’t answer. Outside, he plucked the bag out of Bertha’s hands and tossed it into the backseat. He slipped behind the wheel and Bertha sat in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Club Vlad,” Bruce said and started the engine.
“I want all of them arrested.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bruce said.
She barked orders the entire way there. Bruce was so deep in his thoughts that he barely heard her. The image of Vanessa’s ruined throat and terror-twisted face haunted him, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. Hot tears filled his eyes but he blinked them back and forced himself to calm down.
I’ll cry when I’m done killing, he thought.
A few minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of Club Vlad. It was a hot and sunny day and the place seemed even more ominous because of it. The windows were black, the front cast in perpetual shadows by the old marquee from when it used to be a theater. The place was surely closed, but Bruce could hear music still playing from inside, some techno dance bullshit. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go.”
Getting out, he slung the dufflebag over his shoulder and carried the shotgun, the canteen full of holy water clasped to his belt. Bertha carried the gas can, looking confused. “Why do we need this?” she asked.
“We’re burning the place down.”
Bertha blinked in surprise…then an evil grin carved across her face. “That’ll show the bastards.”
Unlike last time, the door was locked. Bruce used the butt of the shotgun to break the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the door, being careful not to cut himself. This was the point of no return. What he had in mind would probably get him kicked off the force or even thrown in jail - and we all know how tough jail can be for a former barnaclehead. The memory of Vanessa’s contorted face pushed him on, however.
He’d suffer any consequences he needed to just so long as he got the sons of bitches who did this to her.
Inside, the club was cool and cave-like. Strobe lights flashed, on and off, black and white, dazzling Bruce’s eyes. The bartender was at his station, cleaning up from the night before. When he saw Bruce and Bertha come in, he started. Bruce pointed the shotgun at him. “Don’t fucking move,” he commanded.
The bartender hesitated, then reached for something under the bar.
The shotgun kicked in Bruce’s hands, and the bartender flew back, turning as he crashed into the barback. Bottles, glasses, and mugs crashed to the floor along with the bartender. Bruce racked the gun, and the shell flew out. He moved low and fast now, expecting to be swarmed by vampires, living thugs who worked for vampires, or vampire thugs who worked for themselves.
Though the shot had been like thunder, no one came.
Bruce had no idea where to go, but he imagined that vampires were naturally gravitate to the lowest part of the building. Was there a basement? Shit, he should have looked up the building plans at city hall. Damn, this is what happens when you go off half-cocked. He searched around a bit, opening doors and sweeping the rooms beyond with the shotgun. He found no basement, only stairs leading up. “Stay close,” he said to Bertha.
In the lead, Bruce crept up the stairs, the flashlight on the shotgun providing a cone of clean, white light. At the top of the stairs, he went right, and came to an office and a store room. Backtracking, and bumping into a bungling Bertha, he went into the next room. It was large and open with a vaulted ceiling, almost like a ballroom. Here the same strobe lights throbbed on and off, making him dizzy. Was this to dazzle prospective vampire hunters?
Either way, this was the place. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, some curled up on their sides and others in the classic vampire pose: Flat on their backs with their hands laced over their chests. In the center, like the sun to the planets, Merrick Garvis lay slumped back in his wheelchair, his neck exposed for any potential assassin to come and cut. Not that it would kill him. At least Bruce didn’t think it would.
“They’re all dead,” Bertha whispered. She looked around and gasped. “There’s Jessie.”
Jessie lay on her back, her hands folded on her chest. She had a ragged bullet hole in the center of her forehead. “Oh, God,” Bertha wavered, “someone shot her.”
He hoped it was Vanessa. And he hoped it fucking hurt.
Looking around, Bruce couldn’t find Dominick Mason. Was he the one who killed Vanessa? Was it a group effort? He wanted the little son of a bitch bad, but it looked like he’d have to go on without him. They didn’t have much time.
Unshouldering the duffle bag, he knelt down and rummaged around. “Start splashing that gas on the bodies,” he said.
“But -”
“Just do it,” he snapped.
There must have been a harder edge in his voice than normal, because Bertha jumped and did as she was told. She upended the can and began to splash gasoline onto the sleeping forms, the smell of it acrid and strong.
Taking out a stake and the mallet, Bruce went over to Merrick and knelt down. He gripped the stake in one hand and placed it firmly against Merrick’s chest. He brought the mallet up and hesitated, the gravity of what he was doing finally reaching him. What if he was wrong? What if -
Merrick’s head whipped up and their eyes locked.
Too late.
Bruce brought the mallet down as hard as he could. The stake drove deep into Merrick’s heart, and the vampire let out a howling screech that rang through the chamber like the cry of a banshee. His bony fingers clawed at the stake and his head whipped from side to side, his back arching and his robe coming open. In the quick strobe pattern, Bruce was shocked to see that his body was little more than a wood frame, chicken wire, and cotton balls. His blacked heart was hidden behind a screen of mesh that the stake had easily torn through. It throbbed, seemingly in time with the strobe lights, and Merrick let out another wail.
Bertha screamed, and Bruce jumped to his feet.
The vampires, drawn by their master’s cries of distress, were rising to their feet. Two, four, six of them, pale and ethereal like ghosts in a gothic mansion. They came toward Merrick, and Bruice fell back a step. The old man had gone still and lay slumped to one side, his eyes open and his mouth slack, embalming fluid leaking from the corner of his lips. Jessie bent over him and touched his face. Though she moved like a zombie, with no human emotion, Bruce was crazily sure that it was a touch of tenderness and love. Merrick didn’t stir.
He was dead.
Jessie looked at him. Yellow liquid leaked from her eyes like tears. Instead of attacking him, she turned on her grandmother and slammed her against the wall. Bertha screamed and dropped the can. It landed on its side, its contents sloshing out onto the floor. A man that resembled the pictures Bruce had seen of Joe Rossi only deader rushed him, slamming into him and knocking the shotgun aside. It hit the floor and skidded away. Joe grabbed Bruce around the throat and squeezed. Still the lights flashed, off and on, off and on. The walls thrummed with the mechanized beat of dance music, pierced only by Bertha’s screams as Jessie ripped out her throat.
Joe leaned in, his fangs wicked and glowing in the light. Bruce clawed at the monster’s face, tearing away strips of dead flesh. Joe turned his head to the side, and Bruce kneed him in the groin. Even dead, getting kicked in the balls hurt like hell, apparently. Joe’s grip loosened and Bruce was able to shove him off. Bruce unclasped the canteen and frantically screwed the cap off as Joe recovered. Joe sprang at him again, and Bruce splashed him in the face.
A sound like sizzling meat filled the air, and Joe screamed at the top of his lungs. He pressed his hands to his face and danced around the room, his skin liquifying and oozing between his fingers. The others were coming now, led by a terrible skeletal thing. Bruce scooped the shotgun off the floor, brought it around, and fired. The blast hit the thing dead center, tearing it literally in half. The top half flew back, an all too human look of surprise on its face, and the bottom half fell over with a wet thud. Another vampire came at, and Bruce slammed it across the face with the butt of the gun. He heard its jaw crack, saw teeth flying.
Bertha lay dead on the floor, Jessie bent over her. The smell of Bertha’s blood attracted the others, who seemed to forget about Bruce, Merrick, and everything else. Joe was on his knees, wailing in pain, and the skeletal thing was pulling itself toward Bertha. A feeding frenzy broke out as vampires fought to get a piece of her the way piglets might fight over their mother’s teat. Bruce watched in a mixture of horror and fascination, but recovered himself. He grabbed the gas can from the floor and dumped the rest of its contents on Merrick’s body, the feeding vampires’ backs, and the floor, using the last of it to make a little trail to the door. He tossed the can aside, bent down, and stuck a match.
A huge, fiery whump filled the room, and fire streaked along the trail. The vampires all went up in a huge ball of flames, and fire shot up Merrick’s body, catching his robe, his hair, and the wooden frame that had kept him semi upright for God knows how long. Letting out inhuman screams, the vampires broke from Bertha’s corpse. One stumbled around, bounced off the wall, and fell; another toddled toward Bruce before falling to its knees. The half skeleton kept drinking from Bertha’s neck even as it burned.
The heat was enormous, baking. Bruce backed away, and the last thing he saw before smoke obscured his vision was Merrick Garvis.
He was literally melting.
***
Dominick Mason tried to go home, but he no longer had a home. All of his worldly possessions sat on the sidewalk in front of his building, discarded coldly as easily. His key didn’t work in his door and there was a FOR RENT sign on it. Why would it be any other way? He was dead. Sooner or later, everyone forgets you when you’re dead, and all the things you held so dear wind up in the trash. It was a hard pill to swallow, but most people aren’t around to see it after they die.
He was.
From his building, he walked east toward Washington Park. In the distance, thick, black smoke billowed into the air, and sirens rose. He barely noticed and wouldn’t have cared even if he did. No more rubbernecking for him. That was for the living.
The pain that had plagued him so the previous day came back, only less this time. Maybe he was imagining it, but it was getting harder to think. Not that he cared, really. What was there to think about anyway? How he had no one to mourn or miss him? How he died and not one single person, except for maybe his mother, cared, or even noticed? How he had done nothing with his life? Even to the women he’d slept with, what was he? Just another dating app hookup. They probably didn’t even remember his name.
Merrick had been right about one thing. Death was easy. It was life that was hard…life that hurt.
With that in mind, Dominick made his way to Washington Park. It was a vast and deep place with many small caves and thickets. Kids played on the playground, their cries of laughter scenting the still air. It had grown cloudy and began to rain. Still, smoke poured into the sky in the direction of Club Vlad. Dom didn’t wish ill on Merrick and the others, didn’t hope it was them burning. He didn’t care anymore. Not about them, not about anyone. For better or worse (and he would argue it was worse), his life was over. His time came days ago, he just missed the boat.
Picking out an isolated little area, Dom sat against a tree with his legs splayed out in front of him. He titled his head back and closed his eyes. Yes, thinking was hard now. His mind felt sluggish, cold. He was thirsty…so, so thirsty, but he ignored it.
Slowly, the bugs found him. Flies buzzed around him and laid their eggs in his skin. Beetles scuttled over him, followed by worms.
Next, it was the birds. They ate out his eyes and nibbled at his blue, bloated skin.
The animals came last.
Their appetites were bigger.
And they left little remaining of poor, outcast Dominick Mason.
***
That night, Bruce sat alone in his little trailer, a bottle of whiskey wedged between his legs and unshed tears in his eyes. He stared at his reflection in the darkened TV set and took long swallows from the bottle. He planned to drink until he forgot or passed out, whichever came first. He tried to not think about Vanessa, but in his addled state, he couldn’t control himself, and began to cry. When that storm passed, like the others before it, he chugged from the bottle.
As distant church bells clanged the hour - midnight - a feeble knock came at the door. Bruce took another drink and it came again. Getting up, he stumbled, nearly fell, and gripped the bottle tightly. He didn’t want to lose one precious drop.
Again, the knock.
“I’m coming,” Bruce slurred. He staggered to the door and fought with the lock. He was dizzy and seeing double.
When he got it, he opened the door.
The bottle dropped from his hand and clanked onto the floor.
Vanessa, clad in a puke green hospital gown, stood on the step, her hands pressed to her chest and a look of anguish on her milk white face. Her head tilted to one side, the wounds on her neck cleaned but open, gaping. Her dark eyes shone with tears. “I’m dead,” she said.
Breaking down in tears, she collapsed against him and they sank to the floor. She was cold and smelled. Bruce wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest anyway. “Shhh, it’s alright,” he said drunkenly. “Hey, it’s alright.
“I’m dead,” she repeated, and her voice broke. “I don’t want to die.”
Bruce held her close, trying to warm her icy skin. He didn’t know what to say, so he cried with her.
“You’re safe now,” he said, “it’s going to be okay.”
“I want blood,” she said and sobbed harder, “I want to hurt people.”
“Shhh,” Bruce said again. “It’s okay.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a utility knife. He flicked the blade across his wrist and searing pain shot up his arm. “Here,” he said and offered her his blood, “drink this.”
He did this without care and without thought. She needed him, and one barnaclehead always backs up another.
Vanessa hesitated, looking from his face to the oozing blood, unsure.
“Go ahead,” he told her.
Vanessa brought his wrist to her mouth.
And began to drink.

Would like to switch over current OEM suspension (rip my air suspension) over to bilstein shocks/struts. Anybody more knowledgeable that would know what I would need for the front and rear?

The people involved (names are changed):
Jake – me
Tom – my flatmate
Kath – Tom’s girlfriend
Emily – Kath’s flatmate
TLDR (but context is very important for how the situation develops):
· Me and Emily get with each other at a party.
· It turns out Kath had forbidden Emily from getting with me. Since Emily went and did it anyway, Kath falls out with her.
· Kath ends her friendship with Emily. Me and Emily continue seeing each other.
· When I plan to go to see Emily at their apartment, Tom tells me that Kath is in a really dark place mentally, and the thought of me and Emily being there together while Kath’s there is triggering her anxiety, so he asks me not to go over.
· Me and Emily follow these instructions for months, all whilst Tom and Kath continue coming and going to either of our apartments as they please.
· Emily eventually gets in touch with Kath to try and understand exactly why me coming over is an issue, since Kath has no problem coming to my place. Kath has a meltdown due to this and it makes her suicidal.
· Tom falls out with me because I knew about the messages that caused his girlfriend to feel suicidal.
(Skip to 'Late April' if you want to go straight to the crux of this post, but I do think it's quite an entertaining read).
Background Context
Me and Tom (both mid-twenties) have lived together in our apartment since I moved to the city last year. I’ve known him for several years and would put him in my inner circle of closest friends, so living with him was all just good chill vibes as expected - or at least it was for the first six months.
I met Tom’s girlfriend of several months, Kath, for the first time pretty soon after moving in. Although she was kind of shy, I thought she seemed nice enough. I noticed that Kath would seem to lean on Tom a fair amount when it came to support for her mental health (she had been diagnosed with anxiety), which of course is normal as her boyfriend. On one occasion, she had a particularly bad anxious episode during a group hangout, with Tom consoling her about it afterwards. Following this, Tom seemed exhausted, saying to me “I’m not a professional, I’m not equipped to deal with all this mental health stuff. She needs help from someone who can adequately help her deal with these thoughts. When she blows things out of proportion and she stresses out to me about her anxiety, it just ends up making my own anxiety worse”. He also said that he had even offered to pay for therapy for Kath, but she didn’t want to accept it.
I just felt bad for Tom, especially since I had some understanding of what he was going through. I had previously had a girlfriend who had anxiety/depression/BPD and put all her mental health issues on me. That girlfriend was also very manipulative and would mention suicidal thoughts any time she started feeling like she was losing control over me (just to be clear, there was no indication that Kath was acting in a manipulative way towards Tom at that point). In my experience, when you end up in a situation where you’re essentially acting as someone’s full-time personal mental health counsellor, it hardly ever ends well.
At some point in January, I met Kath’s “bestie” flatmate, Emily. I remember thinking she was cute, seemed nice and easy to talk to. We all hung out as a group a few times that month and I thought there may have been a little bit of a vibe between me and Emily.
So as you do, I slid into Emily’s DMs and basically let her know I was interested. I messaged her a week or two before our party that her and Kath were coming to, but her response was lukewarm so I just thought she probably wasn’t interested.
For context, I had recently broken up with my girlfriend in January, who had just got back from travelling for the last 6 months. Things in that relationship weren’t great before she even went travelling, and during the months she was away I had come to terms with the fact that it was best to end it. I waited until she was back to say it in person, as I didn’t want to drop that on her while she was travelling and ruin that once in a lifetime experience. However, deep down I knew I had wanted talk to other girls and explore new connections for the last few months, but obviously I didn’t want talk to anyone until it was cleanly over. Me messaging Emily was only a few days after breaking up with her, which I guess isn’t great, but in my head I had been ready to move on for a while, I saw no point in putting an arbitrary time limit on myself. I made sure to explain this context when I messaged Emily so that she was aware of my recent circumstances.
The Party (End of January)
So me and Emily end up getting with each other at the party. Initially, when I brought up me messaging her, she said “I think you’re cute, but I think it’s best we just be friends for the next couple months, since you just recently got out of a relationship, and we can see what happens afterwards”. But as the night went on, I guess Emily changed her mind, because as we kept talking it got increasingly flirty and we ended up getting together. Perfect end to the night, right? Not exactly.
At one point when Emily goes to the bathroom, she comes back into my bedroom saying “Kath is furious at me”. I ask why, and she says that Kath had basically forbidden her from getting with me.
Back when I first messaged Emily, she had of course shown Kath the messages straight away. It turns out Kath for some reason had a really intense reaction to this and was like “I can’t believe he has the audacity to hit on my best friend right after breaking up with his girlfriend! It’s so disrespectful using you as a rebound, it’s disrespectful to his ex and it’s disrespectful to me for hitting on my best friend like this! He was the only one of Tom’s friends that I actually liked but he’s ruined that too now!”.
Apparently, Kath had been used as a rebound before and this was triggering for her, so she didn’t want her best friend to be used as a rebound. She said “you can’t get with him, Emily, that’s my boundary.” Emily was a bit taken aback by the intensity of this reaction and was just a bit like “umm okay…?”. She tried a few times before the party to understand a bit more about why Kath had such a problem with it but didn’t get much further explanation than that.
Now, I agree that Emily was in the wrong for saying to Kath that she wouldn’t get with me and then went and did it anyway, and Emily also acknowledges this. Emily should have said from the start she wasn’t okay with this weird “boundary” Kath had set. It was a bit cowardly. Although given how intensely Kath overreacts to things, I can understand why Emily initially just agreed to whatever she was saying to calm her down. I can also understand how when you’re at a party having fun, drinking and realise that you do actually have a good vibe with the person, in the moment you might change your mind and be like “actually fuck that, who the fuck is she to tell me who I can and can’t get with?”.
Kath saw this as Emily having no respect for their friendship, by choosing some guy she’d just met over her. From Emily’s perspective she was choosing herself, choosing not to follow these nonsensical rules that had been imposed on her, and she was just tired of Kath overreacting to everything and trying to control her.
In my opinion, being this controlling for no good reason is pretty disrespectful in itself. Given that Kath’s reason for telling Emily not to get with me was because she didn’t want her to be used as a rebound…well that’s Emily’s risk to take, isn’t it? I can see how from Emily’s perspective, she knew Kath might not be happy about it, but it’s also not some deep betrayal, since based on the reason Kath gave, the consequence would only be on Emily herself. Emily had the exact same knowledge about my recent relationship status as Kath did, so why did Kath think she can tell her what to do?
As we get to further into this post and the real reason why Kath set this “boundary” is revealed, you will see why I actually think any argument Kath has against Emily for getting with me at the party is automatically void, but we will learn these details as they come.
Start of February
After the events of the party, Kath didn’t want to talk to Emily the next day when she tried to initiate communication via message (Kath tends to avoid in-person confrontation). Fair enough, Emily gave her space. Me and Emily spend the next day together just talking and getting to know each other more, and it’s clear that we vibe together and both feel very comfortable with each other, which is pretty rare for both of us.
I don’t see Tom for the first few days after the party, as he had been staying at Kath’s. When I do, I’m a bit surprised that he didn’t think much of Kath’s reaction at the party. He says “yeah I probably should have warned you about this beforehand”. We both agree that Emily was in the wrong for going back on what she said, but also that Kath shouldn’t have tried to control her like that. He did say “sorry I know this put you in an awkward position”.
A few days after the party, Emily again tries to get in touch with Kath via message.
Emily’s message essentially apologised for her actions, saying she was in the wrong for going back on what she said, and that she should have said from the start that she wasn’t happy with this “boundary”. She also said that Kath shouldn’t have tried to dictate her life and tell her what to do, especially when it’s something that’s none of her business, and that she is going to continue seeing me, taking the risk of being a “rebound”.
Kath’s response essentially said the whole incident at the party was only a small part of why she exploded so intensely, this was just the last in a long line of things Emily had done in the past which she had not forgiven her for. This was just the last straw for Kath because “it hit so close to home, so close to the love of my life”. She wanted things to be civil between them until the end of their tenancy, but this was essentially the end of their friendship.
Okay good, Kath flipping out so badly now finally made a bit more sense to me. Obviously, I wanted to know what Emily had done that was so bad to cause this, as any indicators of bad character would inform whether I choose to keep talking to her.
Emily went through these, explaining that these were incidents from their past that they had discussed at the time, dealt with and moved on from. I have cut these out for the word limit as they don’t add much to this post, but it was the most minor, nonsensical things (I can explain in the comments if anyone wants details).
In any case, I wasn’t particularly interested in what mistakes Emily might have made months or years ago, I was more interested in what her character was like now and going forward.
Early/Mid February
So here’s where the main situation we’re in now starts. For context, Kath and Emily’s apartment is in the city center, close to where both mine and Tom’s offices are, so it would make sense to go over in the evening and go into work from theirs the next morning, as Tom has been doing once or twice a week for the last few months.
It's worth noting that ever since the party right up to the present moment, Emily and Kath have not been interacting at all, avoiding each other in their apartment, only messaging for things like bill payments.
The first time I planned to go stay round Emily’s place was early/mid-February. When I mention this to Tom, he tells me that Kath has been having a really bad time mentally since the party, and the thought of me and Emily being there together triggers her anxiety. He asks me not to go over to their apartment for the next couple of weeks or so while she’s in this particularly bad phase. I don’t really understand what me going over and seeing Emily has to do with Kath’s anxiety (and Tom says he doesn't really understand it either himself), but I say okay fine it’s not that big of deal, I won’t go over for the time being.
Now, a valid question for myself is why I decided to keep seeing Emily, despite knowing that Kath had fallen out with her and therefore knowing it could potentially cause fiction between me and Tom. I don’t think I did anything wrong for several reasons:
· I suppose there’s the general visceral reaction against being told what to do. Like mind your own business, it’s not my fault Kath decided to get involved in my business. Why should she get what she wants when she’s the one being unreasonable? Why should we deny ourselves the opportunity of getting to know someone we seem to vibe with just because Tom’s girlfriend doesn’t like it?
· Before I even knew there was any issue at all, it was already too late; I had already gotten with Emily, they had already fallen out, and Kath already thought I was a dickhead. So what good would it do now to not see each other? Kath already didn’t like me (and she had also previously told me that once she doesn’t like someone, there’s no going back, they’re finished in her mind).
· In the initial first few days after the party, both me and Tom were kind of expecting that Kath’s reaction would blow over in a few days after she had cooled down. How could I have predicted that her reaction would instead continue getting increasingly intense as the situation went on?
· Frankly, I was annoyed at Tom at this point. He knew how Kath had reacted to me messaging Emily, so why did he just bend over and enable his girlfriends’ controlling, unreasonable behavior without question? If it was my girlfriend acting like this generally, I’d be like “why are you getting involved in their business, just let them do what they want?”, and especially so if it was directly affecting one of my close friends.
· Fundamentally, there’s no inherent reason why there had to be any issue at all? Okay Kath has ended her friendship with Emily and might not like that we’re seeing each other, but there’s no need for there to be any continued drama. Obviously we won’t all be hanging out as a four having fun like I had initially hoped, but that doesn’t mean we can’t just exist as adults and be civil? The only reason this continues to be an issue in the first place is because Kath is making it an issue for everyone else involved.
· Finally, I actually like Emily – from the first few days it was clear it wasn’t just going to be a FWB situation. If it felt like more of a superficial FWB situation, then yeah I probably would have just thought it’s not worth the drama, even though I thought Kath was the one in the wrong.
Late February
Over the month of February, me and Emily keep hanging out and getting closer. Whilst I was keeping a very close eye on her for any sign of character flaws (it was still possible that Kath could be in the right, even though her side of it didn’t make much sense to me), the more I got to know her, the more it seemed my initial judgment of her was accurate. I saw how she acted with her other friends, they all seemed to really value and appreciate her. I saw her helping out her friend in need of a fairly large amount of money without a second thought, I saw her going to accompany her friend for a medical scan they had, and generally she was really nice and thoughtful with me. Not exactly the behavior of an inconsiderate person.
Sometime in late February, Emily messages me completely baffled. She couldn’t believe that Kath had invited over a girl from their social circle, Dianne. The reason why this is a bit scandalous is because Kath is always talking shit about Dianne behind her back. And it’s not just “she can be a bit annoying sometimes”, it’s an explicit sentiment of how much she dislikes her, how much of a bad person she is and how much she wants her removed from her life. And she does this frequently, I barely speak to Kath and even I’ve heard her rant about how much she doesn’t like Dianne. So, she’s constantly saying this kind of stuff behind her back, and here she is now inviting her round for tea acting all friendly. I just found that so two-faced and this inevitably shaped my perception of Kath being deceptive.
Not long after I heard about this, Kath was round our place over the weekend. Me, Tom and Kath were heading off to our friend’s housewarming party later that day, with me driving us. At one point when the three of us are all in the kitchen, Kath speaks to me properly for the first time since the party, basically to clear the air. She says she doesn’t want there to be any bad blood between us and that her problem wasn’t with me, it was with Emily. I just say that I was cool with her, I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable with me or when coming over to our apartment, and that the situation between her and Emily was between them and not my business.
I wasn’t entirely convinced with her “clearing the air”, given that I had seen she apparently has no issue with being two-faced, but at the time I thought it was best to stay cool with her for the sake of me and Tom’s friendship and also I didn’t particularly fancy spending the rest of the day and a long car ride with awkward vibes.
End of February
At the end of February, Tom asks me how things are going with Emily and basically advises caution with her. He says that from what he’s seen she’s basically not a good person and she’s generally inconsiderate. I tell him I find that surprising from what I’ve seen of Emily, but I know it’s possible she could have just been putting on a front for the last month. I openly accept this, saying “I want to hear what you have to say, obviously you’re my friend and I respect your opinion”.
Essentially, he doesn’t bring up anything that I hadn’t already been told.
When I question Tom on why Kath thought she was a mind reader and assuming what my intentions were with Emily at the very start of this whole thing, Tom reveals he had since found out that the real reason Kath had forbidden Emily from getting with me in the first place actually wasn’t really to do with me recently breaking up with my girlfriend/using Emily as a rebound (Tom said this was a minor part of the reason, more of an excuse to base it on). It was more that Kath already knew beforehand that she wanted to end her friendship with Emily and was essentially trying to prevent her still being part of her life (i.e. by getting close to her boyfriend’s friend/flatmate).
Now it all made sense why Kath tried to “ban” her from getting with me in the first place. I’m not sure if Tom thought telling me this would make me more sympathetic to Kath’s side of it, but if anything, this deceptive behavior was even more of a red flag to me. As far as everyone (except for Kath) was concerned, her and Emily were best friends. Kath had even said to Emily a couple of weeks before the party that “she was like a sister to her”.
Tom didn’t seem to have much issue with this, saying something along the lines of “yeah I know she shouldn’t have kept all this stuff bottled up, but she doesn’t like confrontation, it makes her really anxious”.
After learning this, I think any argument for Emily being in the wrong for disobeying Kath’s instructions at the party is automatically void: Imagine having the audacity to be like “yeah I know I tried to control you by framing it as me being a protective friend looking out for you, but actually it was really because I wanted to end my friendship with you anyway teehee 😊”. In my view that is just so manipulative. No wonder the reason given to Emily for not getting with me made no sense to her.
When I revealed this to Emily, she said that she had been suspecting that was the case anyway, but it still really hurt to hear it confirmed.
Form her perspective it was like: “So was Kath holding all these grudges all the times I was consoling her for whatever mental health issue she was having at any given time?” (I wonder if Tom was thinking what a bad person Emily was when it was him and Emily staying up till stupid o’clock trying to console Kath who was crying about job applications a few weeks before all this kicked off). There are many other examples of things she had done for Kath in both the recent and more distant past.
Kath also knew that Emily’s best friend had killed herself a few years prior, and after going through the loss of her best friend, Emily had always said she was super hesitant to call anyone her “best friend”. Kath knew about this and still let Emily believe they were best friends, whilst she clearly didn’t really mean it, which I think is quite cruel of her.
Despite what I had seen of Emily so far, I still took what Tom said into account, and continued to watch her carefully.
Mid March
Another couple of weeks pass and given that my last interaction with Kath was her clearing the air with me, I thought everything was now cool between us. I mention to Tom at the start of the week that I’m planning to stay at their apartment later that week and he says “okay cool”. However, later that same evening, he once again asks me not to go over to their apartment. Apparently when he told Kath that I was going over, she started having a panic attack at the thought of me going there.
At this point I’m really started to get frustrated at this situation and again I try to understand exactly what the problem is, because this entire time Kath and Tom have been coming and going to either apartment as they please, so Kath clearly doesn’t have a problem coming to my apartment while I’m there. Tom again says that he doesn’t fully understand it himself, and that Kath doesn’t want to feel this way either, but she’s in a really bad place at the moment and me being there with Emily is really triggering her anxiety.
This makes no sense to me or Emily, because we obviously wouldn’t do anything to make Kath uncomfortable, and from our perspective this is just enabling her dysfunctional way of dealing with this situation.
Even though I still don’t understand what the fuck me seeing Emily has got to do with Kath’s mental health, I’m obviously not going to barge my way into someone’s home when I’m not welcome. So once again, I do as I’m told and say I won’t go over. But I do tell Tom that this situation isn’t going to continue going on like this indefinitely, and to me it feels to me like I’m being walked all over, in the sense of “oh yeah no worries, you two carry on going to either apartment as you please, I’ll just sit here like a dickhead and follow my instructions, don’t worry about it 😊”. He does say sorry and that he knows it’s inconvenient for us, but it's an even bigger inconvenience for Kath.
It’s worth bearing in mind that at this point, I could have responded to this situation by saying that if I’m not welcome at her apartment, Kath is not welcome here (or equally Emily could say to Kath “you can’t bring Tom round”). Whilst yes, it’s a bit petty, I think this would be a completely justified response to prevent a situation where we are being walked all over. Because what would be the alternative? They just carry on doing as they please indefinitely whilst Emily is told she isn’t allowed to have equal use of her own apartment? Now obviously telling your friend that his girlfriend isn’t allowed to come over is really a last resort and would definitely put a big dent in our friendship, and generally I have no desire to control what anyone else does, so of course I didn’t respond in this way.
Despite my frustration at this entire situation, I do feel bad for Tom because I can see how uncomfortable he seems during these conversations with me, he obviously doesn’t want to give me these unreasonable instructions. I can only assume he’s just trying to do whatever he can to keep his girlfriend afloat and prevent her next meltdown. I’ve been there myself dealing with a girlfriend with mental health issues, so I don’t want to actively make things worse for my friend either. However, I’m also worried that it’s likely to get worse for him the more he feeds into it and gets sucked into it.
At this point, the cynical side of me couldn’t help but wonder if Kath was being a bit manipulative and leaning into all the mental health stuff to maintain control of the situation.
· She seemingly is unable to give a reason for exactly why me and Emily being in her apartment makes her so uncomfortable. To me, this was completely indistinguishable from her just hating the fact that we’re together.
· All this reminds me of exactly the same kind of manipulative behavior I saw with that ex-girlfriend.
· She’s shown she has no problem with being intentionally deceptive – maybe if the entire basis of this situation hadn’t started off with Kath being manipulative she would have a bit more credibility in my eyes.
I know this kind of behavior is often not even intentional, and that it can be subconscious where the person doesn’t even realise they’re being manipulative.
(Still Mid March)
Now we get to the part that pisses me off the most in this whole situation. Only a few days after that conversation with Tom, for some reason Kath comes to stay in our apartment for the weekend while Tom was away at a house party. As in, it’s just me and Kath in my apartment.
Personally, I couldn’t imagine having the nerve to say to someone they aren’t welcome in my home because their presence triggers me, and then only a mere few days later actively choosing to go stay the weekend at their place while it’s just us two in the apartment. Like either my presence triggers you or it doesn’t?
Now to be fair, Tom had asked me a week or two beforehand if Kath could come to our apartment to hang out with someone from our friend group while he was away, and I said that was cool. Anyway, those plans fell through, but Kath still came over by herself.
But the main thing that pissed me off about this is that Tom, after knowing that I was already feeling like I was being taken for a mug in this situation, apparently didn’t even think it was worth bothering to check with me if it was still cool with me that Kath came round, given our conversation a few days prior.
If he’d at least checked in like, “I know it’s a bit weird that she’s coming to stay round by herself after having just said that your presence triggers her anxiety”, I still would’ve said okay, because I have no desire to control what anyone does. But it was just the fact he didn’t seem to care, saying “btw Kath is gonna stay here tonight” moments before leaving to his party.
To me it felt like he had spent the last month or so basically giving me instructions to make sure everyone caters to his girlfriend’s feelings, and yet didn’t give the slightest consideration to how this would make me feel. Part of me was thinking does he even see me as a friend or just as an inconvenience to his relationship at this point?
I spoke to Tom in the week following this, expressing how I had felt about Kath staying round. He did apologise and acknowledged he could’ve checked in with me, but he didn’t really seem to understand why her coming over like that was such a kick in the teeth for me. He said Kath doesn’t have a problem with me, it’s only a very specific situation that triggers her (i.e. me and Emily being in her apartment together).
Again I try to understand exactly why it’s a problem. Ever since the party, Emily’s presence in their apartment has consisted of her quietly staying in her room, quickly cooking her food and going straight back to her room. She doesn’t spend 2 hours in the kitchen making food like Kath and Tom sometimes do when he’s there.
Tom again says he doesn’t fully understand it himself. From what he understands, it’s triggering because her home is her safe space and if we’re both there it’s like there’s two hostile presences in that safe space. He reiterated that she is in a very dark place at the moment, and that she’s been having frequent panic attacks and suicidal thoughts.
Tom then says that Kath would be prepared to leave the apartment if me and Emily wanted to meet there, and Kath would basically get out of the way and come to me and Tom’s apartment instead. This did give me a bit more confidence that Kath wasn’t just purposefully making things difficult.
If Kath genuinely meant this, then of course that’s really appreciated, but I’m obviously not going to make her leave her own home and come all the way to ours to then have a 2 hour commute to her work. It’s so over the top and needless. I think that this clearly isn’t a functional solution going forward. What if one day when we want to meet up, Kath has had a long day at work and doesn’t feel like leaving her apartment (obviously, fair enough!), what if she’s got plans with friends in her apartment that evening? In any case, it’s still a situation where rules are being imposed on us, I can never just spontaneously decide to go see Emily one day after work or something. We still can’t come and go freely in the same way they have been doing for the past two months. It would be much better to understand why exactly it’s such a problem and see how we’re going to find a long-term solution, instead of Kath just running away from it.
The cynical side of me was wondering if Kath was just saying this knowing that neither me or Emily are realistically going to make her leave her own home, and if we do agree to it, then she can say “oh look how inconsiderate they are, making me leave my own home just so that they can be in the apartment”, ensuring that she keeps Tom firmly on her side.
Logically, I would’ve thought as time goes on, Kath would eventually get used to the situation and just accept it. Conversely, is it not quite understandable that the longer we have rules imposed on us, the more frustrated we become?
Once again say that I won’t go over and tell him that I won’t press this issue for the time being.
Late April
So now we get to the latest development in the situation, which is the crux of this post.
For the next month or so after that conversation with Tom, me and Emily have just been following our instructions and not pressed anything, whilst they continue coming and going as they please. One weekend we’re talking about the whole ‘Kath situation’ and we say “okay we’ve left it for a while now, it’s probably time to see how we’re going to move forward with this”.
In that next week, Emily sends Kath the following message:
“Hey, I appreciate this message might be uncomfortable but we need to discuss the fact that Jake can’t come here while you’re at home because I know that him and Tom have spoken about this but we’ve never addressed it with each other and I think it’s unfair that they’ve been largely absorbing this conflict this whole time. Can you please tell me what the exact problem would be and how we could make it work? At the end of the day we both pay equal rent here and I should be allowed to bring someone over, especially considering that Tom comes here whenever you want. We’re nothing more than just 2 housemates now and if you were living with a stranger from Spareroom such restrictions couldn’t have existed. I think I’ve let it slide and should have addressed it earlier, but it’s time we come up with a fair solution and I’d like to know if there’s anything reasonable we can do. I don’t want to go into other conversations about our fallout cause that’s done and dusted now, I want to strictly address this issue. Would you like some notice before he comes? I can’t always guarantee how far in advance I can let you know but I will do my best to give you enough time.”
Kath’s response:
“hey, I do not really appreciate this conversation being brought up 2 days before my birthday and I wish we can settle it today and not drag it on. And I do not appreciate you using Tom as a weapon to guilt trip me either. Please let me know if he is coming over tonight so that I can go somewhere else. As u probably already know I am in a really bad place at the moment and being in the apartment with both of you makes me feel very uncomfortable and unsafe. I’m already struggling to be there and I have been discussing with the agency about terminating the contract early, the terms have only been made clear to me today so I was going to message you about it. By paying a fee of £660 (£330 each) we can terminate the contract 12^th of June and I wish u will consider this. I will be gone from the apartment for 2 weeks. I would really appreciate it if you do not bring him over in the next few days as I said it will be my birthday and I will be gone for 2 weeks after if you decide to do so after this, please let me know at least 2 days in advance so that I can leave (pack clothes and everything), but do not take advantage of this as it is extremely difficult for me to commute to work – it takes me 2 hours on the bus”
Emily’s response to this:
“I don’t appreciate you using your birthday as a “weapon” to paint me as an inconsiderate person once again as you’re saying you were going to message me anyway about terminating the contract. You always have Tom round without any notice, without ever considering if it was ever uncomfortable for me given what’s happened - but now you expect me to organise our schedule around you? We can’t ever do something spontaneous or simply make plans the day before? Jake won’t be coming tonight or in the next few days until you’re away. I was hoping we could talk about why exactly this makes you uncomfortable and unsafe as it’s quite clear we wouldn’t interact with you or do anything to purposely upset/annoy you. You also had no problem being in his apartment with him without Tom there, so clearly his presence must not be that big of a problem. I am going to get back to you about terminating the contract as I have to figure out where I would go, but I’d love nothing more than to leave this apartment as early as possible too.”
There was no response after Emily’s second message.
Tom comes back to our apartment the next day and ignores me all day until the evening when he asks “Did you know that Emily was going to send those messages?”.
I say “Yes, obviously?”. He responds with “Right, okay” and starts walking back towards his room.
I ask him what was wrong with the messages, and he comes back and says “what the fuck is Emily doing sending messages like that to my suicidal girlfriend?”. He essentially thought the tone of the messages, the proximity to Kath’s birthday and the fact that we’re once again bringing up this issue of me coming round was out of order. He also said that Emily’s 2^nd message was implying that she was just going to bring me round without any notice anyway (looking at the message, no it wasn’t? It was just highlighting the unfairness of Kath expecting us to organise our schedule around her? None of the messages say that I’m going to come over, they are essentially just trying to understand exactly why it makes Kath uncomfortable).
We also did note that it was Kath’s birthday on the Friday (messages were sent on Tuesday). Maybe that wasn’t ideal, but we thought what real difference does it make? This is nothing new, it’s the same situation that’s been ongoing for the last 3 months anyway (and personally, I thought that up until the moment Kath says “okay sorry, I shouldn’t have imposed rules on you” then she shouldn’t expect that this won’t be brought up to her?).
I was a bit shocked at how angry he was and explained that we’re just trying to understand exactly what her issue is, because it still doesn’t make any sense to us. I bring up the general point about Kath imposing rules on people and expects everyone to cater to her feelings, whilst zero consideration has been given to how Emily has felt over the last 3 months, when not only does it make her uncomfortable as well that there are two “hostile presences” in her home, but especially given that those hostile presences have told her she’s not allowed to have equal use of her apartment she also pays rent for.
Tom responds with “but it’s not making Emily feel suicidal is it? Kath was having convulsions on the fucking bed last night after those messages. Why do you keep focusing on this tiny issue of coming to the apartment when my girlfriend is literally suicidal? She’s already said she’d make arrangements to leave the apartment for when you want to come over, and yet you keep pressing the issue and triggering her further”.
In that moment I was a bit taken aback and didn’t have much of a response. I kind of just sat and processed that for a few minutes, thinking “fuck, have I actually been in the wrong this whole time?”. Tom looked exhausted and stressed out, he must have been dealing with Kath’s meltdown the whole of the night before.
I say to Tom “tell Kath not to worry about me coming over while she’s there, I’m not going to, I’ll just leave it for good and won’t press this issue anymore”. Tom doesn’t give much of a response, but I think he says “I appreciate it”. He leaves for his two-week holiday shortly after.
I felt really bad that evening, thinking I had caused Tom to have to deal with whatever horrible meltdown because of me pressing this issue. Maybe I had been overly cynical of Kath, and she genuinely was just trying her best and not meaning to be manipulative.
When Tom got back from his holiday, he basically confirmed our friendship is over because I had known about those messages that caused his girlfriend to feel suicidal.
I’ve thought about the situation a lot since he left for his holiday:
· Looking back at the messages Emily sent, I think the tone is completely fine? Every single person I’ve shown the messages to has said they are actually quite kind and empathetic, and way nicer than they need to be given Kath’s behavior over the last 3 months.
· Tom’s reaction was essentially “how dare Emily have the audacity to ask for a reason why she hasn’t been allowed to have equal use of her own apartment for the last 3 months!”
· It’s true that Tom had mentioned that Kath had been having some suicidal thoughts a month prior, but I didn’t know that this would directly impact that, especially since I thought the message was quite nice and sensitive. Just the weekend before this Tom and Kath were out clubbing, having fun and they were going on holiday later that week. So obviously I didn’t realise she was still feeling so bad. How could anyone expect that simply asking the question of “why does this make you so uncomfortable” would result in this reaction.
· As soon as I did realise how intensely Kath had reacted, and what Tom had had to deal with as a result, I backed off straight away, saying that she doesn’t have to worry, I’m not going to press it anymore.
· Realistically, if this is how Kath reacts to being asked for basic fairness, then I think really she needs to be in a mental health crisis center or hospital, not just carrying on with everyday life as if everything is fine, and certainly not in a situation where she’s imposing rules on people.
· At the end of the day, Kath’s mental health is not my responsibility, nor is it Tom’s responsibility. I think it’s unfair of Kath to have made it his problem to such a large degree.
Logically, I don’t think I’m in the wrong, and yet Tom’s reaction to this makes me feel like I’m going crazy. That’s why I wrote out everything’s that’s happened from start to finish to “audit” myself and evaluate each of my actions throughout the entire situation.
I’ve looked back and don’t think I’m in the wrong for anything I’ve done. The only explanation I can think of is that Tom has been so deep in all of Kath’s mental health stuff 24/7 that he’s just not thinking clearly about this situation.

ok so i had another account that got banned for other reasons and i had posted this question on there but got lots of people saying the air flow would be ineffective as its designed for a tight space but im kinda confused.
in the ifixit teardown it was found that almost no air makes it out of the vent areas and that actually most heat dissipated just gets through the outter plastic which obviously is inconvenient since its heating the headset directly instead of really utilizing air flow. ive seen mods where people drilled their quest 2 to have air holes and had massive cooling gains and im curious if anyone has any knowledge on why that would be different for the quest 3
it gets uncomfortably warm to the touch and luckily that doesn't end up affecting gameplay but it would be satisfying to make that less of an issue with some airholes and dust filters to protect those holes, especially since i already plan to mod my quest with eye and mouth tracking anyway so this just feels like an extra little project, is there any reason this would actually be a bad idea last people being concerned about dust(i can clean the headset myself i work with tech a lot already and do not mind cleaning it occasionally for potential cooling benefits)

Buying some bulk ethernet to install an AP (and maybe a couple of drops) for church. The cable will go between floors and will go through a partially finished attic above the office, but it will be under the floor of the attic and the attic isn't involved in any part of air return or circulation (as far as I can determine) for the building.
That is to say, there's no HVAC ducting up there, no extractor fan, no vents, nothing. From there the cable will run down behind drywall and into the basement (possibly being zip-tied to jacketed steam pipes when traveling horizontally on one floor).
My instinct here is that I'd be fine with riser rated cable since I'm not (to the best of my knowledge) running it through any spaces that are involved in air exchange.
Am I correct?

One of my case fans broke and the day I replaced it my gpu fan is now making this noise. I have never worked on a GPU so I have no knowledge on how to fix it, but am willing to learn to fix it. Is this a bearing issue? Is it salvageable?
https://streamable.com/emjter
Some information:

• It is an RTX 2080 by EVGA I got it used and have had it for 4 years with no issues before this.
• Only one of the fans has this issues, the other makes no noise at all.
• In the posted video the fan is at 25% from :05-:24, 50% :24-34, 75% :34-47, 100% 47-55, winding down :55-end.
• I currently have the fan off and the temps sit at 40° celsius when just doing daily tasks. Haven’t tried to game on it with just the one fan.

Any tips or ideas would be much appreciated, thank you!!!
P.s. yes I know it’s dusty in there, I just learned about positive air pressure 😅

Hello fellow autists
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Niger was like a breath of fresh air. I still miss him. What do we have now? Christian-Muslim alliance from Nick the Spik? Lowest iq anti-zionist insanity on /pol/? BAP and his nude bodybuilder collection? "Racist liberal" Richard Spencer? "Racist Socialist" Keith Woods? Scott "own the libs" Greer? I mean this kinda forced me to leave twitter and focus on my real life and girls but where else can we find someone as intelligent as Nigel? Who else would slaughter nazbols and libtards with a few historic references.
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He actually retweeted me a couple of times. I feel like I shaked hands with a presiden. Does anyone know if Nigel has any plans to return and reign with his historical knowledge over the right wing sphere? Or is this a new dark age?
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These days maybe Spencer is the only interesting one I'd still listen to from time to time, and he consistently makes me cringe.

My husband and I just bought a house. Passed inspection. Did have a little bit of a funny smell, so we hired someone to come clean our ducts. What they found is not good.
He says that the ductwork in the attic space is insulated on the INSIDE… has anyone ever heard of this?? Raccoons got in there and tore is up, leaving a trail of fiberglass and feces to be breathed in anytime the air is turned on. The duct professional said that we especially have to replace our whole duct system… and will run close to 20k??
The sellers were flippers, and claimed they had no knowledge of the situation… so we’re stuck. Does anyone have any wisdom they can share on this? Thank you in advance!!