"I want to pick *points* this player and *points* that pl— oh wait, that's just a mannequin in similar clothes."

Mannequin (Outsider): Once per night, when a player chooses a player, they might register as choosing you instead, if legal. You then learn the real chosen player.

The Mannequin quietly takes the place of one player in up to one choice each night.

• Resolving the affected ability happens between the two sentences of the Mannequin ability. Any effects the ability would have on the Mannequin are applied before they learn who they replaced. If they are no longer a living Mannequin when they would learn this, they don't.
• The change is momentaneous, not maintained: Once the choice has been misregistered, it remains changed for the purposes of anything that later checks what was chosen before, even if the Mannequin is dead or droisoned. The choice itself was recorded incorrectly, and the record isn't fixed by the Mannequin not having the ability to do that again.
• Players who think they have an ability but don't can still choose players. It might not affect anything through the ability they don't have, but the Mannequin still learns their real choice.
• A droisoned Mannequin can't redirect any choices while droisoned, but they can wake to learn an arbitrary name anyway. If they're droisoned by the ability they redirect, they can learn an incorrect name, or not wake at all.

Jinx

• Butler: If a player with the Butler ability has their choice changed by the Mannequin, they learn who the Mannequin is.

I don't know why you'd do this as an ST, but the Butler ability doesn't work unless the Butler knows who they're choosing and why, so it needs a jinx.

Examples

The Monk chooses to protect the Fortune Teller. The Mannequin is protected instead, and learns the Fortune Teller's name.
The Fortune Teller chooses the Imp and the Soldier. The Fortune Teller receives a no. The Mannequin wakes to learn the Imp's name.

If the picker chooses multiple players, the Mannequin only replaces one of them, and only learn the one they replaced.

The Vigormortis chooses to kill the Sage. The Mannequin dies instead, and does not learn the Sage's name.

The second part of the ability never resolves because the Mannequin lost the ability partway through.

The Alchemist Poisoner chooses to poison the No Dashii. The Mannequin is poisoned instead, and may or may not learn a player's name.

This poison does not undo the "choice" of the Mannequin instead of the No Dashii. The poison does however come into effect before the Mannequin would be told who was really picked, so they may learn the wrong player or nothing at all.

The Alchemist Devil's Advocate chooses the Poppy Grower. The Mannequin is protected from execution. The next night, the Alchemist Devil's Advocate chooses themself. The Mannequin cannot replace this, because the ADA would have chosen them two nights in a row. (The ADA could also legally have chosen the Poppy Grower.)

"if legal" prevents the Mannequin from being "chosen" by a character that shouldn't be able to choose them tonight.

The Lunatic chooses to "attack" the Ravenkeeper. The Mannequin learns the Ravenkeeper's name. The Lleech learns that the Lunatic chose the Mannequin. The Lleech follows suit and kills the Mannequin.

Why does it learn?

Even working only once per night, this seems like it would be a rather destructive form of misregistry, likely enough that most players with this ability would self-nominate day 1.
But I also want getting rid of the Mannequin to be a valid option for the good team, for the same reason. Thus, no "even if dead".
So how do we keep it from being unfun to stay alive longer than necessary?
The information part of the ability is a carrot for the Mannequin. If the Mannequin can work out who was affected, it can be used to reverse engineer how and why the ability was used, and facilitate some amount of confirmation between the Mannequin and players whose abilities were redirected.
It also acts as a balancing measure against STs using the ability in certain overly punishing ways.
For example, imagine you're the Mannequin in the Fortune Teller example above, and you manage to connect with the Fortune Teller. Hmmm, kind of interesting that the Storyteller used the ability to redirect an FT's pick away from the Imp player, isn't it? That's arguably more suspicious than an FT yes on its own, considering the existence of the red herring mechanic and the ambiguity of which of the two players is giving off the yes. But only if the FT and the Mannequin are able to trust each other.
This also makes it potentially useful for ST's to occasionally use the Mannequin ability even when it wouldn't actually change the result, for evil players to bluff having picked the player the Mannequin is claiming to have learned, or for Minions to bluff being the Mannequin (wouldn't recommend it for Demons without a backup life).
In short, I think the Mannequin learning who they replaced is far more interesting for everyone involved, including the Mannequin themself. It gives the Mannequin something to do while alive and a chance to mitigate or even utilize the damage their ability does without necessarily sacrificing an execution and a good player's democratic powers.

Interactions

Townsfolk

• Alchemist: Some Alchemist abilities are often avoided because the Alchemist might pick the Demon. The Mannequin could mitigate this a bit... while alive.
• Amnesiac: If you use this on an Amnesiac that hasn't bingo'd, you might be a jerk.
• Chambermaid: One of the reasons the Chambermaid is so strong is that most Demons wake every night. The Mannequin can give the Chambermaid a +0 instead of the Demon's +1, since any Mannequin that can still mess with Chambermaid info tonight necessarily has not woken yet. (The Mathematician has a jinx to account for it waking after the Chambermaid, but I see no reason to do the same favor for a Mannequin that is actively being used to mess with the Chambermaid.) The trade-off is of course that the Mannequin learns who they subbed in for, which could be devastating if it gets back to the Chambermaid.
• Dreamer: There's a really mean thing an ST could do here: Each night, the Dreamer picks a different player... and gets "Mannequin / [evil character]".
• Exorcist: Like in the DA example above, the Exorcist can't be Mannequin'd two nights in a row.
• Huntsman: If you use the Mannequin on a Huntsman who actually picked the Damsel for once, I become the Huntsman and hunt you down. I bet you added the Damsel on top of the Outsider count too.
• Lycanthrope: Usually when the Lycanthrope's kill doesn't land, it implies the target is evil or the Lycan droisoned. But the Mannequin can attract the Lycan kill to itself, saving the target while still preventing other deaths that night. This doesn't actually say anything about the Lycan target's alignment, but it's worth questioning why the ST would deny both the Lycan and the Demon their intended kills using an Outsider ability. If the target is evil, it offers deniability. If they're good, why were they saved? Is evil stomping? Are they another Outsider?
• Mathematician: I've been going back and forth on how exactly this works (specifically whether the Math reacts to the redirection if it has a different outcome, checks whether the outcome was correct with the Mannequin chosen, or both), but it boils down to "math makes headaches".
• Nightwatchman: "Hey, Andy, I got some mail addressed to you. It said Benny is the Nightwatchman."
• Professor: The Mannequin isn't a legal target for the Professor while alive, and so can't redirect the Professor's pick. Which is good since a Professor somehow picking a living Outsider would doubly fizzle.
• Ravenkeeper: As seen with the Dreamer, I think there's something extra funny about interactions where being Mannequin'd causes the picker to be shown the Mannequin token.
• Snake Charmer: The Mannequin is not the Demon (usually), so it can be used to prevent a charming (good for the Snake Charmer, bad for the good team). But if the Snake Charmer later comes out with who's definitely not the Demon and which nights they picked them, the Mannequin can recognize that they replaced a pick.
• (There is a possible but convoluted interaction where the Mannequin gets handed Lil' Monsta, fails to get themself executed the next day, then gets indirectly Snake Charmed. The Snake Charmer picks the Sailor, then gets told they're the Mannequin holding the baby. The Mannequin becomes the poisoned Snake Charmer; they don't learn the Sailor's name. Then later that night the Minions wake to move the Lil' Monsta, having no idea anything happened.)
• Village Idiot: Like the Dreamer bullying and bird violence earlier, it's entirely possible to use the Mannequin to show a sober VI good every night. Or just that one time they pick the Demon.

Outsiders

• Barber: The Mannequin can intercept a Barber swap, swapping characters with one of the real choices. They don't learn who was really chosen. This should be done sparingly since it's an Outsider messing up an evil player's use of another Outsider ability.
• Drunk: The Drunk's choices can be affected by the Mannequin; this only matters in that the Mannequin still learns the real choice, which ensures that your choices lining up with a Mannequin doesn't indicate you're not the Drunk.
• Goon: If a player chooses the Goon, but the Mannequin redirects the choice to themself, the picker never chose the Goon. The Goon does not flip and the picker is not drunked (but gets info on / affects the Mannequin instead).
• Klutz, Moonchild: Neither of these can be affected, because the Mannequin ability only works on choices made at night.
• Lunatic: The Demon can see the Mannequin as the Lunatic's choice. As in the example above, this might be worthwhile if the Demon is following the Lunatic's choices and the Lunatic chose someone the Demon shouldn't kill for their own sake (such as themself, a Minion or a landmine Townsfolk). Since this can also be a reason to redirect a real Demon kill, the Lunatic learning that the player who died was the Mannequin, and maybe that their target was a landmine Townsfolk, might still believe they're the Demon afterwards.
• Ogre: This is yet another nice thing about the Mannequin learning who they replaced. If not for that, Ogre/Mannequin would need a jinx similar to Ogre/Recluse or Ogre/Spy, for the same reason: It's unfun for the Ogre if their alignment isn't solvable at all. But because the Mannequin knows they replaced the Donkey in someone's choice on night 1, they'll be looking for someone who picked the Donkey, and can inform the Ogre that they're good even if the Donkey is evil. (That said, stopping the Ogre from turning evil is again using an Outsider ability to interfere with an Outsider ability to evil's heavy detriment.)

Minions
Many Minion interactions are more likely to be relevant to an Alchemist than to the actual Minion, because this is an Outsider and should ideally be used to interfere with good more than evil. As such, I will treat the Minions below alignment-agnostically unless otherwise noted, with good ones probably being Alchemists.

• Assassin: The Assassin's "even if for some reason they could not" clause does not prevent the Mannequin from jumping in front of the knife and dying in the target's place. The Mannequin doesn't interfere with the Assassin's ability trying to kill, say, the Sailor; it interferes with the Assassin player's choice of which player the ability should try to kill in the first place. Now, if the Mannequin can't die for some reason, the Assassin ability can still kill them.
• Cerenovus: Poor Cerenovus, wondering why the claims they ordered are coming from the wrong part of town...
• Fearmonger: Oh, this one's rude.
• Harpy: The Harpy might be even more confused than the Cerenovus, since the Mannequin could replace either the player who's supposed to be mad or the player they're supposed to be mad about.
• Marionette: See Drunk. Also, a Marionette thinking they're the Mannequin might wreak havoc on town's info, getting names that imply their ability was used on players who actually got exactly the info they asked for.
• Pit Hag: This works just like you'd expect it to. It is worth noting that the Mannequin-turned-something-else doesn't learn who the Pit Hag really picked, because the character change resolves in the middle of the Mannequin's ability.
• Summoner: Yes, the Summoner choice can be redirected to turn the Mannequin into the Demon. No, you probably shouldn't do it to an evil Summoner unless you want a rerack. Either way, the Mannequin-turned-Demon doesn't learn the real choice.
• Widow: The Mannequin can soak up Widow poison and be unable to proc later. The main benefit to doing this would be that the Mannequin can be told their ability was used on choices that were never made, confusing the Mannequin and making them look evil, or on choices that gave correct information, misleading other players. But the Widow can also see that the Mannequin is in play and decide whether they want to do this themself, so it might be a little rude.

Demons
Demons in general (with a couple exceptions) can have their kills redirected to the Mannequin. This is mostly useful if they were about to kill a landmine character.

• Al-Hadikhia: I imagine even with the carrot, most Mannequins would be okay with dying to prevent an Al-Had sweep. Unusual case of the Demon learning immediately that one of their choices was redirected to the Mannequin. If the Mannequin chooses to live and there isn't a sweep, the Mannequin learns who the Al-Had really picked.
• Fang Gu: Out of all Demons, the ability for the Demon kill to be redirected to the Mannequin is probably the most useful to the Fang Gu, which jumps if it hasn't already. The Mannequin ability becomes a safety hatch for the ST to drop the Demon through if necessary.
• Kazali: "You'll have the Mannequin player as your Minion and you'll damn well like it!" Better than letting the Kazali pick the Soldier, but otherwise probably best avoided.
• Lleech: Yes but don't: The Mannequin can become the Lleech host instead of whoever the Lleech chose. If it weren't bad enough for the Demon to not know the host is the wrong player, there's also the fact that Mannequins are likely to be okay with dying early.
• Pukka: The Mannequin being poisoned after a choice is redirected to them doesn't mean they weren't chosen.
• Vortox: Since the Mannequin is an Outsider, the information on who they replaced is not affected by the Vortox.
• Legion, Lil' Monsta, Yaggababble: Can't have their kills redirected because they don't make picks, but can kill the Mannequin at the ST's whim anyway because it's how they work in the first place.
• Leviathan, Riot: Can't have their kills redirected because they don't kill at night at all.
• Ojo: Can't have their kill redirected because they choose a character, not a player. There is an argument to be made that they choose a player via a character, like how the Courtier and Ojo can become Goon-drunk, but that's not how the Mannequin functions. The Mannequin replaces choices before they're filtered through the ability they're made for.

Travelers
Most Travelers can't be affected by the Mannequin because they either don't make picks or pick in the daytime.

• Barista: If the Mannequin gets a Barista 2, it might be time to call for exile.
• Bone Collector: The Bone Collector runs into the same issue as the Professor: The Mannequin is an illegal target for the Bone Collector while they have their ability, unless they've already been Bone Collected. A Bone Collected Mannequin can in fact redirect a Professor's ability, though they're not resurrected because they're not a Townsfolk.
• Bureaucrat: I think the paperwork that says this Mannequin should have three votes might be forged.
• Harlot: "Choose a player." "James." "Alright, one moment... ... ...Kate has accepted your invitation; you learn that she is the Mannequin."
• Thief: "If you have to steal people's votes, take mine instead."

My car was deemed a total loss after being hit in the wheel/door during an accident (I was going 0 mph and other people were making selfish, short sited decisions but that's not the point). Was offered a payout but it's not a lot and I'd still be out quite a bit even buying a cheap car. I want to have it towed to my own mechanic to see if he can fix it and what it cost (if it's only a little more than what I get from insurance payout, it's worth it). I went to the collision center and asked them to break it down for me. They say there's no way to know what kind of damage until they really start working on it (tie rods, bearings, steering?). The guy I talked to really discouraged me from having towed or trying to fix it. He was talking about "think of the safety of your family" kind of stuff. So I guess I'm wondering ... does he have an angle? Like, does the collision place get any more money if I don't opt to retain it? Does the insurance get more if I let them have it? Who has an interest in what decision I make? I just don't trust anyone but maybe I need to just chill. I feel like I'm being very swayed in all kinds of directions now. Thanks.

I (21F) live with my boyfriend (21M). He works away from home and is only back for a short period, he usually spends his days off hanging out with friends, playing video games, or taking me on dinner dates/spending time with me.
In no way does he make me feel unappreciated or ignored, I understand when he is home he wants to hang out with his friends and I am not jealous of the time he spends with them. When they go to bars I am not worried about having to be there either, I trust him and that he is faithful to me. He is an amazing guy.
The problem is that he and his friends ride motorcycles. Now I don't have an issue with motorcycles, my family rode motorcycles and he actually just took me on my first motorcycle ride which I actually enjoyed. I just worry about him on the road because accidents do happen and in the case that he's riding back home alone and an accident happens I worry that I won't be able to find him. I don't like having each other live location all the time, when I was in a past relationship I found checking their location addicting and it wasn't very healthy for me so I tried to limit it by not seeing his. This was fine until he started riding his motorcycle, now I feel like I need his location, so I asked him to please turn the location of his phone on while he's riding just in case of an accident but in case he doesn't have his location on I am his emergency contact in his phone.
He hasn't been turning his location on when he goes riding, I think it's mainly because he forgets, I don't want to say that he doesn't turn it on purposefully. He does send me snapchats every time he stops though just to tell me that he is safe. This week he has been working in a city 40 minutes from home so he gets to come home after every work day. Today he rode his motorcycle to work which I was fine with, I thought he was just riding to work and back home. It takes him about 40ish minutes to get back to our house from his work and they usually end at 5 when they are in city jobs but sometimes go a half hour later.
I am a generally paranoid person, I have epilepsy and take medication which can cause a side effect of paranoia and a whole bunch of other things. So because I was paranoid for his safety I watched the clock, I put on a show and I did fall asleep, work was draining for me. When I woke up it was 6:40, I called my boyfriend to see where he was and it went straight to voicemail, I checked his Snapchat and it said he hadn't been active for 3 hours. My initial thought was something bad happened. My dad always stressed to me the dangers of riding a motorcycle and how easily a simple accident can be fatal if you're on a motorcycle, I was scared. I waited around ten more minutes and decided screw it, I'm gonna go try to find him, hopefully, I pass him on his way home.
Just as I get into my car his name pops up on my phone and I answer right away. He told me that he went with his friends to bike night and is staying there for dinner. I just said K and hung up. Immediately I broke down and started crying. He texted me asking if I was mad to which I responded yeah. I texted him how I thought something bad happened and I was worried for him. I haven't gotten a response yet, it's only been an hour and he doesn't look at his phone often. I feel like an asshole for being rude and mad at him for hanging out with his friends since the time he has with them is limited. AITA?

PLAYBOY Interview With Conan O'Brien Interview by Kevin Cook For Playboy Magazine February 1998
A candid conversation with the preppie prince of "Late Night" about his rocky start, his show's secret one-day cancellation and how David Letterman saved the day.
He was polite. He was funny. He gave us a communicable disease.
At 34 Conan O'Brien is hotter than the fever he was running when we met in his private domain above the "Late Night" sound stage. A gangly freckle-faced ex-high school geek he is "one of TV's hottest properties" according to "People" magazine. The host of "Late Night With Conan O'Brien" has become his generation's king of comedy.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Congested too, but O'Brien has far more to worry about than his head cold. A perfectionist who broods over one bad minute in an otherwise perfect hour of TV, he worries he might be anhedonic, "I have trouble with success," he says, "I was raised to believe that if something good happens something bad is coming." Sure things look good now "Rolling Stone" calls "Late Night" "the hottest comedy show on TV." Ratings are better than ever, particularly among 18- to 34-year-olds, the viewers advertisers crave.
But O'Brien only works harder. Despite his illness he taped two shows in 26 hours on three hours' sleep. He smoothly interviewed Elton John then burst into coughing fits during commercials. Later in his crammed corner office overlooking Manhattan traffic Conan the Cool gulped Dayquil gel caps. He coughed spewing microbes.
"Sorry, sorry," he said. Of course O'Brien can't complain. He came seriously close to falling to being banished behind the scenes as just another failed talk show host.
At his first "Late Night" press conference he corrected a reporter who called him a relative unknown, "Sir I am a complete unknown," he said. That line got a laugh, but soon O'Brien looked doomed. His September 13, 1993 debut began with O'Brien in his dressing room preparing to hang himself only to be interrupted by the start of his show. Before long his career was hanging by a thread. Ratings were terrible. Critics hated the show. Tom Shales of "The Washington Post" called it as "lifeless and messy as roadkill." Shales said O'Brien should quit.
Network officials held urgent meetings discussing the Conan O'Brien debacle. Should they fire him? How should they explain their mistake?
In the end of course he turned it around. The network hung with him long enough for the ratings to improve and the host of the cooler-than-ever "Late Night" now defines comedy's cutting edge just as Letterman did ten years ago.
Even Shales loves "Late Night" these days. He calls O'Brien's turnaround "one of the most amazing transformations in television history."
O'Brien was born on April 18, 1963 in Brookline, Massachusetts. His father, a doctor, is a professor at Harvard Medical School. His mother, a lawyer, is a partner at an elite Boston Law firm. Conan, the third of six children became a lector at church and a misfit at school. Tall and goofy, bedeviled with acne, he tried to impress girls with jokes. That plan usually bombed, but O'Brien eventually found his niche at Harvard where he won the presidency of the "Harvard Lampoon" in 1983 and again in 1984 - the first two-time "Lampoon" president since humorist Robert Benchley held the honor 85 years ago.
After graduating magna cum laude with a double major in literature and American history he turned pro. Writing for HBO's "Not Necessarily The News." O'Brien was earning $100,000 a year before his 24th birthday. But writing was never enough.
He honed his performance skills with the Groundlings, a Los Angeles improv group. There he worked with his onetime girlfriend Lisa Kudrow, now starring on "Friends." But Conan was not such a standout. In 1988 he landed a job at "Saturday Night Live" - but as a writer, not as on-air talent. In almost four years on the show O'Brien made only fleeting appearances, usually as a crowd member or security guard. His writing was more memorable. He wrote (or co-wrote) Tom hanks' "Mr Short-Term Memory" skits as well as the "pump you up" infosatire of Hanz and Franz and the nude beach sketch in which Matthew Broderick and "SNL" members played nudists admiring one another's penises. With dozens of mentions of the word that hit was the most penis-heavy moment in TV history. It helped O'Brien win an Emmy for comedy writing.
In 1991 he quit "SNL" and moved on to "The Simpsons" where he worked for two years. His urge to perform came out in wall-bouncing antics in writers' meetings. "Conan makes you fall out of your chair" said "Simpsons" creator Matt Groening. O'Brien's yen to act out was so strong that he spurned Fox's reported seven-figure offer to continue as a writer. He was driving for the spotlight.
By then David Letterman had announced he was turning shin - leaving NBC taking his ton-rated act to CBS. Suddenly NBC was up a creek without a host. The network turned to Lorne Michaels, O'Brien's "Saturday Night Live" boss. Michaels enlisted Conan's help in the host search planning to use him in a behind-the-scenes job. But when Garry Shandling, Dana Carvey and almost every other star turned down the chore of following Letterman, Michaels finally listened to Conan's crazy suggestion, "Let me do it!" Michaels persuaded the network to entrust it's 12:30 slot which Letterman had turned into a gold mine to an untested wiseass from Harvard.
O'Brien was working on one of his last "Simpsons" episodes when he got the news. He turned "paler than usual," Groening recalled. The Conan moseyed back to where the other writers were working, "I'll come back with the Homer Simspon joke later. I have to go replace Letterman," he said.
NBC executives now get credit for their foresight during those dark days of 1993 and 1994. They snared the axe and now reap the multimillion-dollar spoils of that decision. In fact, the story is not so simple. We sent Contributing Editor Kevin Cook to unravel the tale of O'Brien's survival, which he tells here for the first time. Cook reports:
"His office is chock-full of significa. There's a three-foot plastic pickle the Letterman staff left behind in 1993 - perhaps to suggest what a predicament he was in. There's a copy of Jack Paar's 'I Kid You Not' and a coffee-table book called 'Saturday Night Live: The First 20 Years.' His bulletin board features letters from fans such as John Watters and Bob Dole and an 8" x 10" glossy of Andy Richter with the inscription: "To Conan - Your bitter jealousy warms my black heart. Love and Kisses Andy."
"Of course it's all for show. From the photos of kitch icons Adam West and Robert Stack to the framed Stan Laurel autograph, from the deathbed painting of Abraham Lincoln, to the ironic star taped to Conan's door - they're all clever signals that tell a visitor how to view the star. Lincoln was his collegiate preoccupation: stardom is his occupation. Somewhere between the two I hoped to find the real O'Brien.
"As a Playboy reader he wanted to give me a better-than-average interview. I wanted something more - a definitive look at the guy who may end up being the Johnny Carson of his generation."
"Here's hoping we succeeded. If not I carried his germs 3000 miles and infected dozens of Californians for no good reason.
O'Brien: Yes, this is how to do a Playboy Interview -- completely tanked on cold medicine. I'll pick it up and read, "Yes, I'm gay."
Playboy: We could talk another time. O'Brien: (coughing) No, it's OK. I memorized Dennis Rodman's answers. Can I use them?
Playboy: You sound really sick. Do you ever take a day off? O'Brien: No. The age of talk show hosts taking days off is over. Johnny Carson could go to Africa when he was the only game in town -- "See you in two weeks!" But nobody does that now. I will give you a million dollars on the first day Jay takes off for illness.
Playboy: Do you ever slow down and enjoy your success? O'Brien: If anything, the pace is picking up. Restaurateurs insist on giving me a table even if I'm only passing by, so I'm eating nine meals a night. Women stop me on the street and hand me their phone numbers.
Playboy: So you have groupies? O'Brien: Oh yes. And other fans. Drifters. Prisoners. Insomniacs. Cab Drivers, who must watch a lot of late night TV, seem to love me lately. They keep saying, "You will not pay, you will not pay, you make me happy!"
Playboy: How happy did your new contract make you? O'Brien: Terrified. The network said, "We're all set for five years." I said, "Shut up, shut up! I can't think that far ahead." Tonight, for instance, I do my jokes, then interview Elton John and Tim Meadows. We finished taping about 6:30. By 6:45 my memory was erased and my only thought was, Tomorrow: John Tesh. And I started to obsess about John Tesh. Sad, don't you think?
Playboy: Not too sad. You got off to a rocky start but now you're so hot that People magazine recently said, "that was then, this is wow." O'Brien: I try not to pay much attention. Since I ignored the critics who said I should shoot myself in the head with a German Luger, it would be cheating to tear out nice reviews now and rub them all over my body, giggling. Though I have thought about it.
Playboy: Tell us about your trademark gag. You interview a photo of Bill Clinton or some other celeb, and a pair of superimposed lips provide outrageous answers. O'Brien: We call it the Clutch Cargo bit, after that terrible old cartoon series. They saved money on animation by superimposing real lips on the cartoons. I wanted to do topical jokes in a cartoony way -- not just Conan doing quips at a desk. TV is visual; I want things to look funny. But we're not Saturday Night Live; we couldn't spend $100,000 on it. Hence, the cheap, cheesy lips, You'd be surprised how many people we fool.
Playboy: Viewers believe that's really the president yelling, "Yee-haw! Who's got a joint?" O'Brien: It's strange. You may know intellectually that Clinton doesn't talk like Foghorn Leghorn. Ninety-eight percent of your brain knows the president wouldn't say, "Whoa Conan get a load of that girl!" But there are a few brain cells that aren't sure. When Bob Dole was running for president we had him doing a past-life regression: "My cave, get away." And then back further, "Must form flippers to crawl on to rocky soil," he says. There may be people out there who believe that Bob Dole was the first amphibian.
Playboy: Do you ever go too far? O'Brien: The fun is in going too far. It's a nice device because you get Bill Clinton to do the nastiest Bill Clinton jokes. We'll have Clinton making fart noises while I say "Sir! Please!"
Playboy: Are you enjoying your job now, with your new success? O'Brien: Well, there are surprises. I hate surprises. Like most comics, I'm a control freak. But I am learning that the show works best when things are out of control. Tonight I ask Elton John if he likes being neighbors with Joan Collins. He says he isn't neighbors with Joan Collins. He lives next door to Tina Turner. So I panic -- huge mistake! But Elton saves the day. "Joan Collins, Tina Turner, it doesn't matter. Either way I could borrow a wig," he says. Huge laugh, all because I fucked up. Later he surprised me by blurting out that he's hung like a horse. The camera cuts to me shaking my head: That crazy Elton. What can I do? Of course, I'm delighted that he went too far.
Playboy: That "What can I do?" look resembles a classic take of Jack Benny's. O'Brien: There's an old saying in literature: "Good poets borrow; great poets steal." I think T.S. Eliot stole it from Ezra Pound. Comics steal, too. Constantly. When I watched Johnny Carson, I noticed that he got a few takes from Benny and Bob Hope. When a comedy writer told me how much Woody Allen had borrowed from Hope, I thought, What? They're nothing alike. Then I went back and watched Son of Paleface, and there's Hope, the nervous city guy backing up on his heels, wringing his hands and saying, "Sorry, I'll just be moving along." Now look at early Woody Allen. You see big authority figures and Woody nervously saying, "Look, I'll just be on my way." Of course Woody made it his own, but he must have watched and loved Bob Hope.
Playboy: Who are your role models? O'Brien: Carson. Woody Allen. SCTV. Peter Sellers. When Peter Sellers died I felt such a loss, thinking, There won't be anymore of that. There's some Steve Martin in my false bravado with female guests: "Why, hel-lo there!" And I won't deny having some Letterman in my bones.
Playboy: You were surprise as Letterman's successor. At first you seemed like the wrong choice. O'Brien: I didn't get ratings. That doesn't mean I didn't get laughs. Yes, I had a giant pompadour and I looked like a rockabilly freak. I was too excited, pushed too hard, and people said, "That guy isn't a polished performer." Fine! But it isn't my goal to be Joe Handsomehead cool, smooth talk show host. Late Night with Conan O'Brien is supposed to be a work in progress, and now that we've had some success there's a danger of our getting too polished and morphing into something smoothly professional. Which would suck.
Do you know why I wanted this show? Because Late Night with David Letterman played with the rules and it looked like fun. Here was a place where people did risky comedy every night for millions of people. We had to keep this thing alive. There should be a place on a big network where people are still messing around.
Playboy: How bad were your early days on the show? O'Brien: Bad. Dave left here under a cloud: his fans and the media were angry with NBC. Then NBC picks a guy with crazy hair and a weird name. And the world says, "Harvard? Those guys are assholes." I sincerely hope that the winter of December 1993, our first winter, was the worst time I will ever have. I'd go out to do the warm up and the back two rows of seats would be empty. That's hard to look at. I would tell a joke and then hear someone whisper, "Who's he? Where's Dave?"
Playboy: You had trouble getting guests. O'Brien: Bob Denver canceled on us. We shot a test show with Al Lewis of The Munsters. We did the clutch cargo thing with a photo of Herman Munster. Unfortunately, Fred Gwynne, who played Herman, had recently died, and Al Lewis kept pointing at the screen, saying, "You're dead! I was at your funeral!"
Playboy: For months you got worried notes from network executives. What did they say? O'Brien: They were worried. The fact that Lorne Michaels was involved bought me some time. But Lorne had turned to me at the start and said, "OK, Conan. What do you want to do?" Now television critics were after me and the network was starting to realize what a risk I was. Suggestions came fast and furious. I kept the note that said, "Why don't you just die?"
Playboy: Did they suggest ways to be funnier? O'Brien: They were more specific and tactical. The network gets very specific data. Say there was a drop in ratings between 12:44 and 12:48 when I was talking to Jon Bon Jovi. I'll be told, "Don't ever talk to him again" Or they'll want me to tease viewers into staying with us: "You should tease that -- say, 'We'll have nudity coming up next!'"
Playboy: You did come close to being cancelled. O'Brien: We were cancelled.
Playboy: Really? You have never admitted that. O'Brien: This is the first time I've talked about it. When I had been on for about a year, there was a meeting at the network. They decided to cancel my show. They said, "It's cancelled." Next day they realized they had nothing to put in the 12:30 slot, so we got a reprieve.
Playboy: Were you worried sick? O'Brien: I went into denial. I tried hard not to think, Yes, I'm bad on the air and my show has none of the things a TV show needs to survive. We had no ratings. No critics in our corner. Advertisers didn't like us. Affiliates wanted to drop us. Sometimes I'd meet a programming director from a local station where we had no rating at all. The guy would show me a printout with no number for Late Night's rating, just a hash mark or pound sign. I didn't dare think about that when I went out to do the show.
Playboy: Are you defending denial? O'Brien: How else does anyone get through a terrible experience? The odds were against me. Rationally, I didn't have much chance. Denial was my only friend. When I look back on the first year, it's like a scene from an old war movie: Ordinary guy gets thrown into combat, somehow beats impossible odds, staggers to safety. His buddy say, "You could have been killed!" The guy stops and thinks. "Could have been killed?" he says. His eyes cross and he faints.
Playboy: How did you dodge the bullet? O'Brien: There were people at NBC who stood up for me. I will always be indebted to Don Ohlmeyer, who stuck to his guns. Don said, "We chose this guy. We should stick with him unless we get a better plan." He was brutally honest. He came to me and said, "Give me about a 15 percent bump in the ratings and you'll stay on the air. If not, we're going to move on."
Playboy: Ohlmeyer started his career in the sports division. O'Brien: Exactly, his take was, "You're on our team." Of course, it wasn't exactly rational of Don to hope I'd be 15 percent funnier. It was like telling a farmer, "It better rain this week or we'll take your farm away."
Playboy: What did you say to Ohlmeyer? O'Brien: There wasn't time. I had to go out and do a monologue. But I will always be indebted to Don because he told me the truth. Wait a minute -- you have tricked me into talking lovingly about an NBC executive. Let me say that there were others who were beneath contempt -- executives who wouldn't know a good show if it swam up their asses and lit a campfire.
Playboy: Finally the ratings went your way. Hard work rewarded? O'Brien: Well, I also paid off the Nielsen people. That was $140,000 well spent.
Playboy: Ohlmeyer plus bribery saved you? O'Brien: There was something else. Just when everyone was kicking the crap out of the show, Letterman defended me.
Playboy: Letterman had signed off on NBC saying, "I don't really know Conan O'Brien, but I heard he killed someone." O'Brien: Then I pick up the paper and he's saying he thinks I am going to make it. "They do some interesting, innovative stuff over there," he says. "I think Conan will prevail." And then he came on as a guest. Remember, this was when we were at our nadir. There was no Machiavellian reason for David Letterman, who at the time was the biggest thing in show business, to be on my show.
Playboy: Why did he do it? O'Brien: I'm still not sure. Maybe out of a sense of honor. Fair play. And it woke me up. It made me think. Hey, we have a real fucking television show here.
Of six or seven pivotal points in my short history here, that was the first and maybe the biggest. I wouldn't be sitting here -- I probably wouldn't even exist today -- if he hadn't done our show.
Playboy: The Late Night wars were hardly noted for friendly gestures. O'Brien: How little you understand. Jay, Dave and I pal around all the time. We often ride a bicycle built for three up to the country. "Nice job with Fran Drescher!" "Thanks, pal. You weren't so bad with John Tesh." We sleep in triple-decker bunk beds and snore in unison like the Three Stooges.
Playboy: You talk more about Letterman than your NBC teammate Leno. O'Brien: I hate the "Leno or Letterman, who's better?" question. I can tell you that Jay has been great to me. He calls me occasionally.
Playboy: To say what? O'Brien: (Doing Leno's voice) "Hey, liked that bit you did last night." Or he'll say he saw we got a good rating. I call him at work, too. It can be a strange conversation because we're so different. Jay, for instance, really loves cars. He's got antique cars with kerosene lanterns, cars that run on peat moss. He'll be telling me about some classic car he has, made entirely of brass and leather, and I'll say, "Yeah, man, I got the Taurus with the vinyl." One thing we have in common is bad guests. There are certain actors, celebrities with nothing to say, who move through the talk show world wreaking havoc. They lay waste to Dave's town and Jay's town, then head my way.
Playboy: You must be getting some good guests. Your ratings have shown a marked improvement. O'Brien: Remember, when you're on at 12:30 the Nielsens are based on 80 people. My ratings drop if one person has a head cold and goes to bed early.
Playboy: Actually, you're seen by about 3 million people a night. Your ratings would be even higher if college dorms weren't excluded from the Nielsens. How many points does that cost you? O'Brien: I told you I'm an idiot. Now I have to do math too?
Playboy: Do you still get suggestions from NBC executives? O'Brien: Not as many. The number of notes you get is inversely proportional to your ratings.
Playboy: What keeps you motivated? O'Brien: Superstition. We have a stagehand, Bobby Bowman, who holds up the curtain when I run out for the monologue. He is the last person I see before the show starts, and I have to make him laugh before I go out. It started with mild jabs: "Bobby, you're drunk again." Bobby laughs, "Heehee."" Then it was, "Still having trouble with the wife, Bobby?" But after hundreds of shows, you find yourself running out of lines. It's gotten to where I do crass things at the last second. I'll put his hand on my ass and yell, "You fucking pervert!" Or drop to my knees and say, "Come on, Bobby, I'll give you a blow job!"
"Ha-ha. Conan, you're crazy," he says. But even that stuff wears off. Soon, I'll be making the writers work late to give me new jokes for Bobby.
Playboy: Did you plan to be a talk show host or did you fall into the job? O'Brien: I was an Irish Catholic kid from St. Ignatius parish in Brookline, outside of Boston. And that meant: Don't call attention to yourself. Don't ask for too much when the pie comes around. Don't get a girl pregnant and fuck up your life.
Playboy: Were you an alter boy? O'Brien: I wanted to be an alter boy, but the priest at St. Ignatius said, "No, no. You're good on your feet, kid," and made me a lector. A scripture reader at Mass. He was the one who spotted my talent.
Playboy: What did you think of sex in those days? O'Brien: I was sexually repressed. At 16 I still thought human reproduction was by mitosis.
Playboy: How did you get over your sexual repression? O'Brien: Who says I got over it? My leg has been jiggling this whole time.
Playboy: What were you like in high school? O'Brien: Like a crane galumphing down the hall. A crane with weird hair, bad skin and Clearasil. Big enough for basketball but lousy at it. My older brothers were better. I would compensate by running around the court doing comedy, saying, "Look out, this player has a drug addiction. He's incredibly egotistical."
I was an asshole at home, too. My little brother Justin loved playing cops and robbers, but I kept tying him up with bureaucratic bullshit. When he'd catch me, I'd say, "I get to call my lawyer." Then it was, "OK, Justin, we're at trial and you've been charged with illegal arrest. Fill out these forms in triplicate." Justin was eight; he hated all the lawsuits and countersuits. He just cried.
Playboy: Were you a class clown? O'Brien: Never. I was never someone who walked into a room full of strangers and started telling jokes. You had to get to know me before I could make you laugh. The same thing happened with Late Night. I needed to get the right rhythm with Andy and Max and the audience.
Playboy: So how did you finally learn about sex? O'Brien: My parents gave me a book, but it was useless. At the crucial moment, all it showed was a man and a woman with the bed covers pulled up to their chins. I tried to find out more from friends, but it didn't help. One childhood friend told me it was like parking a car in a garage. I kept worrying about poisonous fumes. What if the fumes build up? Should you shut off the engine?
Playboy: For all your talk about being repressed, you can be rowdy on the air. O'Brien: The show is my escape valve. When I tear off my shirt and gyrate my pelvis like Robert Plant, feigning orgasm into the microphone, that shows how repressed I am -- a guy who wants to push his sex at the lens but can only do it as a joke.
Playboy: Aren't you tempted to live it up? O'Brien: I always imagined that if I were a TV star I would live the way I pictured Johnny Carson living. Carousing, stepping out of a limo wearing a velvet ascot with a model on my arm. Now that I have the TV show, I drive up to Connecticut on the weekends and tool around in my car. I could probably join a free-sex cult, smoke crack between orgies and drive sports cars into swimming pools, and my Catholic guilt would still be there, throbbing like a toothache. Be careful. If something good happens, something bad is on the way.
Playboy: Yet you don't mind licking the supermodels. O'Brien: At one point a few of them lived in my building, women who are so beautiful they almost look weird, like aliens. To me, a woman who has a certain approachable amount of beauty becomes almost funny. It's the same with male supermodels. They look like big puppets. So while I admire their beauty I probably won't be "romantically linked" with a model. I'd catch my reflection in a ballroom mirror and break up laughing.
Playboy: The horny Roy Orbison growl you use on gorgeous guests sounds real enough -- O'Brien: Oh, I've been doing that shit since high school. It just never worked before.
Playboy: Your father is a doctor, your mother an attorney. What do they think of their son the comedian? O'Brien: My dad was the one who told me denial was a virtue. "Denial is how people get through horrible things," he said. He also cut out a newspaper article in which I said I was making money off something for which I should probably be treated. So true, he thought. But when I got an Emmy for helping write Saturday Night Live, my parents put it on the mantel next to the crucifix. Here's Jesus looking over, saying, "Wow, I saved mankind from sin, but I wish I had an Emmy."
Playboy: Ever been in therapy? O'Brien: Yes. I don't trust it. I have told therapists that I don't particularly want to feel good. "Repression and fear, that's my fuel." But the therapists said that I had nothing to worry about. "Don't worry Conan you will always be plenty fucked up."
Playboy: When a female guest comes out, how do you know whether to shake her hand or kiss her? Is that rehearsed O'Brien: No, and it's awkward. If you go to shake her hand and her head starts coming right at you, you have to change strategy fast. I have thought about using the show to make women kiss me, but that would probably creep out the people at home. I decided not to kiss Elton John.
Playboy: Do you get all fired up if Cindy Crawford or Rebecca Romijn does the show? O'Brien: I like making women laugh. Always have, ever since I discovered you can get girls' attention by acting like an ass. That's one of the joys of the show -- I'm working my eyebrows and going grrr and she's laughing, the audience is laughing. It's all a big put-on and I'm thinking. This is great. Here is a beautiful woman who has no choice but to put up with this shit.
But it's not always put on. Sometimes they flirt back. Sometimes there's a bit of chemistry. That happened with Jennifer Connelly of The Rocketeer.
Playboy: One guest, Jill Hennessy, took off her pants for you. Then you removed yours. Even Penn and Teller took off their pants. O'Brien: Something comes over me. It happened with Rebecca Romijn -- I was practically climbing her. Those are the times when Andy and the audience seem to disappear and it's just me and this lovely woman sitting there flirting. I keep expecting a waiter to say, "More wine, Monsieur?"
Playboy: Would you lick the wine bottle? O'Brien: It's true, there's a lot of licking on the show. I have licked guests. I have licked Andy. Comedy professionals will read this and say, "Great work, Conan. Impressive." But I have learned that if you lick a guest, people laugh. If I pick this shoe off the floor, examine it, Hmmm, and then lick it, people laugh. I learned this lesson on The Simpsons, where I was the writer who was forever trying to entertain the other writers. I still try desperately to make our writers laugh, which is probably a sign of sickness since they work for me now. Licking is one of those things that look funny.
Playboy: Johnny Carson never licked Ed McMahon. O'Brien: We are much more physical and more stupid than the old Tonight Show. Even in our offices before the show there's always some writer acting out a scene crashing his head through my door. A behind-the-scenes look at our show might frighten people.
Playboy: One night you showed a doctored photo of Craig T. Nelson having sex with Jerry Van Dyke. Did they complain about it? O'Brien: I haven't heard from them. Of course I'm blessed not to be a part of the celebrity pond. I have a television show in New York, an NBC outpost. I don't run with or even run into many Hollywood people.
Playboy: You also announced that Tori Spelling has a penis. O'Brien: I did not. Polly the Peacock said that.
Playboy: Another character you use to say the outrageous stuff. O'Brien: Polly is not popular with the network.
Playboy: You mock Fabio, too. O'Brien: If he sues me, it'll be the best thing that ever happened. A publicity bonanza: Courtroom sketches of Fabio with his man-boobs quivering, shaking his fist, and me shouting at him across the courtroom. I'm not afraid of Fabio. He knows where to find me. I'm saying it right here for the record: Fabio, let's get it on.
Playboy: Ever have a run-in with an angry celeb? O'Brien: I did a Kelsey Grammar joke a few years ago, something about his interesting lifestyle, then heard through the network that he was upset. He had appeared on my show and expected some support. At this point my intellect says, "Kelsey Grammar is a public figure. I was in the right." Then I saw him in an airport. Kelsey didn't see me at first: I could have kept walking. But there he was, eating a cruller in the airport lounge. I thought I should go over. I said hello and then said, "Kelsey, I'm sorry if I upset you." And he was glad. He looked relieved. He said, "Oh, that's OK." We both felt better.
....See my other post with the last third of the interview

I recently helped someone i met in group therapy get removed from the registry after he had been holding a non-registerable offense for the past 3 months. Long story short he was able to plead down to a non-sexual and non-registrable offense once he completed probation. This month he contacted me regarding some questions and he revealed that he didnt check if he was still on the registry as he assumed the court/state removed him once he was pled down at his court hearing.
I go look and voila, he's still on the SOR for our state. 3 months after pleading down! I found it odd as all the stories of being removed from the registry here speak of the court/state doing it once they rule your time on the registry served or voided. I got him the contact number for the department of safety here (they handle the SOR stuff here) and tell him to tell the office his situation immediately. He said the person taking his call was nice and told him to just fax the court disposition over to them and theyll handle it. 2-3 business days later and he was removed!
So, when the time comes make sure you do your part and ensure that you are off of that registry. or anything regarding the state for that matter. have your own back and make sure things are going as they are supposed to. hopefully this helps someone in the future.

I have a friend who I’ve known for over a decade now. We used to be very close in school and spent most of our time together. I spent my 20s bouncing between dead-end jobs, but I shaped up and got on a stable career path just as I am now entering my 30s. (He is still figuring out his career path; currently working retail and restaurant gigs to make ends meet) When I began my job search, he joked that I should “buy us a meal to celebrate” when I finally landed it.
Some time after I signed my job offer, he said we should come to “an agreement” that at any time, for any reason, either of us could come crash with the other one for an indeterminate length of time. I spoke to family, friends, and anyone who would listen and they all unanimously agreed this was not a good idea. I am single now, but I would like to have a family one day, I can’t imagine telling my future wife that my friend would be living with us on short notice and that he’d be staying “as long as he needs”.
He was shocked when I told him this. Honestly, I would never ask that of any friend if I were in such a situation myself. And I might think differently if a friend needed a place for a couple weeks, but asking for it ahead of time and specifying any length of time made me feel very uncomfortable, like I was just a safety net.
After I turned down this agreement he persisted, “Well how about XXXX dollars” (between 1-2 thousand) at any time? Again I turned him down. Maybe this is normal in some friend groups (which is fine) but I would never think of asking a friend for this either.
By the end of the conversation he said (jokingly?) he should have asked for a shorter period of time like a few days and then just asked for more time in the moment, which really made it feel like he didn’t understand why I was uncomfortable.
It has been 9 months since this conversation, I had a talk with him a couple weeks after that to reinforce my stance on things (also because he had been persistently asking for my exact salary and I needed to ask him to stop). He gave me a genuine apology.
Since then, we have talked every other week and he hasn’t mentioned anything since. We even got a Panera lunch and he insisted on paying for it (I was a little uncomfortable with this as I prefer to pay my own way, but I feel like he was trying to make a nice gesture).
What kicked off this post, was a conversation where he said I could afford to treat myself more often, but after everything hearing him suggest what to do with my money really bothered me. I know the usual Reddit advice is to distance yourself, but there’s a lot of shared history, we got along without a real hitch for a decade, and he apologized. At the same time, this is a massive cause of stress for me to the point people at work ask me if I’m okay (I think about it daily). What would you do in this situation?

Hi folks,
I’m looking to get some healthy, real-talk relationship input from kind strangers who are successfully married or have kids etc. I’m at a bit of a fork in the road and need some advice.
I am a mid-30s male, who got out of a decade-long relationship almost 2 years ago to date.
I dated on and off for 18 months, some semi-serious relationships with good people, some more short-term. All in all I “dated” probably 20-25 people, accounting everything from just a coffee meet-up to people I saw for a few months within that number. In that time, I didn’t date anyone I could see a long-term future with.
However, six months ago, I met someone who I really care about, and who is a fantastic woman with a very gentle soul. She ticks a lot of the boxes of what I am looking for in a long-term partner.
There is a school of modern pragmatic dating advice that stresses not looking for perfection, or overly focusing on the superficial, but looking for shared values, great communication, life goals, and character traits etc. Their line of thinking really resonates with me and makes sense. Logan Buchy, Mark Manson, and others espouse this general philosophy, which is a bit of an antidote to the illusion of choice/ grass is always greener symptoms of modern dating.
I bring this up because I am questioning aspects of the relationship that might fall under their “this doesn’t matter too much” advice. However, I don’t want to forge ahead trying to build the relationship, only to realize 1-2 or even 10 years down the line it isn’t going to work for me, which would be exponentially more painful.
I’d like to hear from people as to how they felt about aspects of their now successful life partner relationship at a similar stage to help me contextualize.
THE GOOD

• The communication is unbelievable and has been from day one. She is an incredibly empathetic, deep, kind, and soft person. She is a very skilled communicator and connector also due in part to her job as a social worker. She allows me to communicate in a way that was alien to me in relationships before this point. Pretty much nothing is off the table (except for a couple of things at the end of this essay) and even when we talk through difficulties, it seems to bring us closer together. She feels the same way; that our communication is special. I think it unlikely I would find communication like it again.
• Life goals are well aligned. We both want kids, marriage, and have similar views on what that looks like. We are both keen to invest in a relationship to make it special, and realize at least in principle, that the trials and tribulations are something to be conquered together and make you stronger as a partnership.
• Our strengths and flaws seem to complement each other. She is anxious attached, and has had some bad relationships in the past, but she is super intelligent and is able to rationalize a lot of the time/ seek assurance from me when she needs to, or bids for connection when she needs it. I don’t mind this (deep down it can be a bit annoying/ frequent sometimes, but I recognize it’s what she needs and accommodate however possible). She says she gets the most important things to her from the relationship by me just being me - safety, reassurance, easygoing, deep communication, fun together etc. This feels like a huge complement, but also makes me feel guilty and try to do more, as she’s also very organized and conscientious, and puts a tonne of effort into planning things for us, coming up with ideas etc (I make a concerted effort to be proactive as well, but will just never match her 5 possible dates planned a week before we meet level, which she says she is absolutely fine with).
• She is smart, caring, supportive, has a team-first mentality, has a good career, and has a lovely family.
• We make our time together fun despite very different interests. I am into sports, fitness, outdoorsy stuff, enjoy a beer (she doesn’t drink), and while not an out and out extrovert, I am definitely more-so than her. She is enjoys family time, cooking, reading, arts and crafts. We have some overlap both love food, enjoy chill time, can both be nerdy, are open to doing new things together etc. This comes with some caveats – see below
• I am attracted to her and the sex is good – however this also comes with some reservations as per the below.

THE RESERVATIONS

• Attractiveness – This section may read like I am bit of a dick. Looks are important to me, I am a probably a fairly vain person who puts a decent amount of stock in my own physical appearance. I am also a guy and statistically, we over-select for looks in general, however I am conscious of this and am not making looks my NorthStar. She’s not the most attractive girl I’ve dated in the past few years, nor is she the least, which I think is fine and realistic in principle. What I am struggling a bit with is something I’ve not experienced before. It is strange but sometimes I find her really pretty and beautiful, and other times less so. She has the type of face that looks great at certain angles, and always great when she’s smiling, but other times not much, and she’s put a little weight on since we started dating. While she’s not fat or in bad shape, she’s not in “good shape” or athletic, although she has made comments about wanting me to help her get fitter of her own volition (I have never negged or dropped subtle hints here).
  • I think unfortunately for me, being physically attracted to someone is like a gateway or a damn. When I am attracted, everything else downstream lights up and feels great too. When I’m not I struggle more with feeling as invested.
  • She’s made lots of comments about how I’m the “hot one” in the relationship, and even asked me if I think I am “settling”, which I probably don’t need to hear. The worst parts of my ego are already thinking “is she hot enough” thoughts, probably as part of its own need for validation.
  • Right now, I am attracted to her enough that this probably isn’t a deal breaker, what I am worried that if I am thinking this way 6 months into a relationship, this could be a big issue down the line.
  • What makes things more complicated is this literally changes date to date. One weekend I might genuinely think “she looks really pretty” all is gravy. Another day maybe less so and the whole day I am less connected as a result. Additionally, her losing some weight or even getting into fitness as she has talked about would help in this regard, but it’s not fair for me to say that. I have never had such inconsistency in how attractive I find a romantic partner.
• Health/ Illness: She has a couple of non life-threatening health issues that I would have no problem supporting her through. My reservation here is around were we have kids, as one of them is very heritable, and 3 of her close family have the condition.
• Interests: She has no problem with my differing interests, nor me with hers. The time to be ourselves by ourselves will be welcome for both of us should this continue long term. My first point of reservation is that while there are lots of things we both enjoy, I wish there were just 1-2 things we were both really passionate about and could share deeply with each other. I think we both hope to build more into each others interests but I can’t see too much potential for interest beyond doing each others passions for the sake of the relationship and to spend time together. This has led to resentment in past relationships for me. Secondly, her much more low-key lifestyle coupled with her attachment style make her more reliant on my time and attention than I am hers, which has caused a couple of issues at times. Not the end of the world but a notable.

Finally, I find my feelings toward her have oscillated between (1 - yep, this is great, this could be it 2- I’m not sure about this) 8-10 times over the past six months. Has anyone else experienced these wavering levels of attachment? Is this normal, a portent of doom, or a me thing I need to figure out?
I guess I am struggling with weighting the great aspects with my reservations. There is so much great here that I don’t want to be that perfectionist seeking idiot, but at the same time, are these actually deal breakers for me that if I ignore I will cause an absolute mess.

I have a friend who I’ve known for over a decade now. We used to be very close in school and spent most of our time together. I spent my 20s bouncing between dead-end jobs, but I shaped up and got on a stable career path just as I am now entering my 30s. When I began my job search, he joked that I should “buy us a meal to celebrate” when I finally landed it.
Some time after I signed my job offer, he said we should come to “an agreement” that at any time, for any reason, either of us could come crash with the other one for an indeterminate length of time. I spoke to family, friends, and anyone who would listen and they all unanimously agreed this was not a good idea. I am single now, but I would like to have a family one day, I can’t imagine telling my future wife that my friend would be living with us on short notice and that he’d be staying “as long as he needs”.
He was shocked when I told him this. Honestly, I would never ask that of any friend if I were in such a situation myself. And I might think differently if a friend needed a place for a couple weeks, but asking for it ahead of time and specifying any length of time made me feel very uncomfortable, like I was just a safety net.
After I turned down this agreement he persisted, “Well how about XXXX dollars” (between 1-2 thousand) at any time? Again I turned him down. Maybe this is normal in some friend groups (which is fine) but I would never think of asking a friend for this either.
By the end of the conversation he said (jokingly?) he should have asked for a shorter period of time like a few days and then just asked for more time in the moment, which really made it feel like he didn’t understand why I was uncomfortable.
It has been 9 months since this conversation, I had a talk with him a couple weeks after that to reinforce my stance on things (also because he had been persistently asking for my exact salary and I needed to ask him to stop). He gave me a genuine apology.
Since then, we have talked every other week and he hasn’t mentioned anything since. We even got a Panera lunch and he insisted on paying for it (I was a little uncomfortable with this as I prefer to pay my own way, but I feel like he was trying to make a nice gesture).
What kicked off this post, was a conversation where he said I could afford to treat myself more often, but after everything hearing him suggest what to do with my money really bothered me. I know the usual Reddit advice is to distance yourself, but there’s a lot of shared history, we got along without a real hitch for a decade, and he apologized. At the same time, this is a massive cause of stress for me to the point people at work ask me if I’m okay (I think about it daily). What would you do in this situation?

I like Joey, I think the show is often unkind to Joey, however, Joey was 10000 percent the only one in the wrong in “Honey, I Broke the House”.
I understand that things were different regarding safety in the late 80’s/early 90’s in regards to things like leaving the keys in the car and not having to watch kids 24/7, but Joey SPECIFICALLY told Stephanie to “watch his car” with no indication of how long he will be gone/what watching his car entails. Stephanie was 7 or 8 years old at the time and the start of the episode made it clear that she was feeling very chatty/high energy and no one was making any time for her. That’s fine, but Joey’s solution is to give her an incredibly boring task/no set amount of time he’s gonna be gone/no instructions on how to do the task “correctly”. It is one thing if you don’t want to listen to her eye crusty story, but give the kid something to do that requires her energy/spunk.
Stephanie’s been shown she doesn’t need much to make her own fun like when she organized her own wedding/the pet show/Comet’s party, but instead Joey gave her the most boring task and only gave himself the bare minimum blame while Stephanie completely spiraled.
Added point, in the context of her having to go to dance class shortly after the incident, I do feel bad that she couldn’t get even a little attention from her family to tide her over before going to her class.

As somebody who loves horror and hates jumpscares id like to pool together some knowledge with people in the same boat as me.
For the sake of clarity I define a jumpscare as a sudden change in visuals accompanied by a loud noise.
It's been slow going but here are the games I've been able to enjoy without jumpscares:
Home safety hotline, Little Goody Two Shoes, Inscryption, Pony Island, Milk inside a bag of milk, Yume Nikki (I guess)
As you can see the list is short, so I'd love to see what other people have to recommend :)

Chapter 1

Alyssa awoke with saltwater in her mouth and nose. She hacked and sputtered, only to realize she was sinking deeper into a pitch dark pool. She closed her eyes against the water's sting, and as her panic rose she flailed with arms and legs. She was desperate to regain bouyancy, even as she choked out the brine from her burning lungs. Determined, she broke to the surface again, gulping in air between ragged coughs as she fought to stay afloat.
Treading water, she opened her eyes and nothing changed. The darkness in the echoing chamber was complete, and she had to fight down another surge of panic as she took in the precariousness of her situation. The cold water sapped her strength, and her heart raced as a sudden scream of terror welled up from within.
Alyssa winced as her own scream echoed in her ears. She choked out the last of the salty water, then took a deep breath, trying to force herself to calm. "Okay, okay," she soothed herself, voice trembling slightly despite her efforts, "we're okay."
After another steadying breath, Alyssa began building a mental catalog of her situation. Her clothes were soaked through, but she wasn't finding treading water to be too difficult, yet; a future problem. Other than her lungs, nothing hurt, and those were recovering. She could still feel her toes and fingers on both hands, meaning no paralysis, that she could find. Nothing seemed to be seriously wrong, except that she had no idea how she'd come to be in a pitch dark echoing chamber filled with water.
Calmer, now, Alyssa tried to recall what she had been doing. The last thing she remembered was walking along the shoreline, feeling immensely lonely. The sound of the waves coming in, closer and closer, was still vivid in her mind. She could still remember the coarse feeling of the sand between her toes. The saltwater air had filled her lungs as she wondered how she could be in such a beautiful place, and still feel so sorry for herself. With a bitter laugh, Alyssa lolled her head back in the water and stared into the endless void. Well she certainly had reason to feel sorry for herself, now. Still, the memory of how she came to be here was distressingly absent.
Drip … Drip … Drop.
As her adrenaline faded, Alyssa could hear the slow, steady fall of water into the pool. Was the water level rising? She couldn't tell without knowing more about the chamber she was in. Determined to push back against her growing despair, Alyssa decided to explore her environment more thoroughly. A shiver coursed through her spine as she felt out to either side as far as her arms would go and couldn't find a wall, nor did she find purchase beneath her feet. After a moment of hesitation, Alyssa expanded her search. She swam forward, keeping her hands ahead of herself.
She didn't have to go far before she bumped into an uneven stone surface. Alyssa wasn't sure in the dark, but judging by the smoothness of the rock she guessed it was some kind of river stone. She followed the stone wall around for a ways before deciding it was curved inward. Pushing off, Alyssa turned and reached for the other side, then followed along the wall and repeated the crossing a few more times. She decided that the cavern was roughly circular, perhaps half again as wide as her armspan at its widest stretch, though without light she couldn't be certain she had ever crossed it straight. She considered her options as she clung to the side of the chamber.
Drip … Drip … Drop.
The steady sound was maddening in its repetition, and Alyssa let out a huff of annoyance. Thinking on it, though, she was sure the water had been steadily falling into the chamber the entire time she was here, and she didn't think the water level had risen. Not that she had any way to really know for certain, but if she was right, it implied there was some way for the water to get back out. Could she get out the same way? Taking a deep breath, Alyssa ducked beneath the surface and swam down. Her kicks were hindered by her sodden skirt, but following along the cavern wall as she descended, Alyssa felt the cavern floor after a depth of maybe twice her height. Ten feet wasn't even as deep as most home swimming pools.
Alyssa gulped down air as she returned to the surface, thinking hard about what she'd found. Another shiver coursed through her veins just before she dove down to explore the bottom further. Like the walls, it was uneven but smooth. She could feel some small cracks, and feel the water rushing past her fingers near one or two of these. That, then, was where the water was escaping to. Frustrated, she resurfaced one more and banged her fist against the stone wall. "Damnit." She knew she wouldn't be swimming her way out of here.
For the third time, Alyssa shivered, and she realised that she was starting to lose feeling in her toes. The water temperature wasn't frigid, but she could feel it sapping her strength. Was it ninety-six degrees for hypothermia? Ninety-five? She couldn't recall, but it wasn't important, without a thermometer. She was going to die, here, if she didn't find a way out, and soon.
Drip … Drip … Drop.
Straining, she tried to focus on the sounds around her once more. The incessant dripping of the cave was her only remaining hope of finding a way out, and she had no idea how to reach the ceiling. Alyssa squeezed her toes in an attempt to restore some feeling, while she thought about the problem. After a moment, she began exploring the cavern walls again, this time searching for something to stand on rather than just learning about her environment. After a few turns about the chamber, she found a small shelf just a few feet beneath the surface, large enough for her to put a single foot on.
She pushed herself up, trying to go slowly as she felt along the wall for anything to grip onto. She couldn't find purchase before her momentum carried her too far from the wall, but she did feel roughly how high the ceiling was just before she splashed back into the pool. "Yes!" she celebrated the small victory as she surfaced, fueling her hopes of an escape with that realization that she could probably wedge herself between the ceiling and the shelf if she was purposeful about it.
Returning to the wall, she tamped down on the urge to shiver again, then surged straight up, putting her hands above her to try and catch the ceiling. Water cascaded around her in a torrent, her water-logged clothing threatening to drag her back to the depths, but she held on until she was steady. Alyssa allowed herself a small smile for her success, though some part of her thought it felt more like a grimace, before she began feeling along the cavern ceiling with her hands. Like the rest of the chamber, the stone was smooth and uneven, but it had sharper protrusions here and there that might serve as handholds. Alyssa was reminded of the wall climb at the local mall. She'd never been great at it, despite her friends dragging her to try it every other weekend during high school.
As she continued exploring the ceiling, another involuntary shiver wracked her body, and she set her teeth against the growing chill. "I'm going to get out," she promised herself, just as her hand found open air where she'd expected stone. She nearly fell, but she caught herself and explored the edges of the hole. She couldn't even reach the entire thing from her perch! The ledge was rugged and sharp, and just barely far enough from the wall that she had to strain to reach it. She explored as far around the hole as she could, certain it was large enough for her to fit through. Excited, Alyssa grabbed onto the ledge with both hands and tried to pull herself up, but her grip wasn't solid enough. She immediately slipped back into the water with another splash.
Alyssa surfaced with a growl, feeling a surge of determination and stubbornness. Reclaiming her perch on the shelf, she pushed up to the roof of the chamber once more. This time she knew her target, so rather than wasting time and grip with exploration, she just focused on steadying herself, there. After a few breaths, she reached up to grab the ledge again, trying to find solid hand-holds.
As she swung out from the wall, her sodden skirt trailed through the water, weighing her down. She held on for longer this time, uttering a harsh noise as she strained to pull herself up. She managed to get her chin to her fingers before her grip failed her again, and the feeling of freefall sent her heart thrilling before she splashed into the cool water once more.
When she surfaced, Alyssa let out a frustrated growl. "I had it!" she admonished herself, before finding the ledge once more. A third time, her efforts were fouled and she fell into the water. In frustration, she peeled her skirt off her legs and abandoned it to the murky brine. With the drag gone, she had an easier time holding onto the ledge, and on her fourth attempt she nearly managed to pull herself all the way up before her arms gave out and she slipped back into the water with yet another scream of frustration.
She knew she was close, but she obviously wasn't going to make progress while her muscles were burning with fatigue. Floating on her back, Alyssa glared up into the darkness as her emotions swirled around her, threatening to drag her into despair. Hope and frustration warred within her, each trying to gain the upper hand. She clung onto the determination that she had almost made it, but as she dwelled on the problem above her, doubts began to surface. What if she couldn’t pull herself out? What if there wasn’t a way out above?
Anger surged through her at that thought, hot and fierce. She refused to accept that fate. Closing her eyes, she focused on the anger and used it as fuel for her resolve. She just needed a moment to catch her breath, relax her muscles, and try again. She was going to get out.
When she swung out for the fifth time, Alyssa’s fingers gripped tightly to the rock above. She pulled herself up into the black with a roar of determination and frustration. She got her chest over the lip, then reached one arm forward hastily in search of a better hold. She found purchase, then pulled a leg up and got one foot on the ledge. With a scream of exultation, she pushed herself the rest of the way out of the chamber and into the tunnels above.
With a feral noise of triumph, Alyssa slid onto the cool, damp stone of the tunnel, then rolled onto her back and lay gasping for air. Her muscles were twitching, and she was still cold, but she was no longer in the water, and that was a massive improvement, even if the dark and damp of the unknown was around her.
Alyssa wasn’t sure how long she lay there on the stone, but as her panting and muscle spasms gave way to shivering and goosebumps, she admitted to herself, “I have to move.” But it was hard to keep going; her body felt heavy and drained from the exertion of just climbing out of the chamber below, and she wasn’t even sure where to go next. With a groan, she pushed herself up to a sitting position, fighting the exhaustion and mounting sense of dread that threatened to claim her.
Carefully, she crawled forward on hands and knees, every movement an effort. She could feel the edge of the hole she’d just emerged from, but that was obviously a deadend. Instead, she pressed on, hunting for an alternative. The rough stone scraped against her palms and knees as she inched along, her progress painfully slow.
The cavern descended, and Alyssa's heart sank when her hand plunged into another pool of water. She pulled back, relieved that the bank was shallow enough she could easily get back out of this pool. Nevertheless, she paused to consider her options, then turned to explore in the opposite direction. After several minutes of fruitless searching, she realized that the water-filled passage was her only way forward.
Alyssa let out a heavy sigh of frustration as she lowered herself into the tepid water. She gritted her teeth as the cold crept back into her bones, but willed herself to keep moving. The tunnel continued its descent, and soon the ceiling plunged into the pool, forcing her to submerge if she wanted to continue. Alyssa hesitated, barely holding back her desperate tears. Swimming blindly through the flooded passage seemed like madness, but what choice did she have?
Taking a deep, gasping breath, Alyssa plunged beneath the surface and swam forward with powerful kicks of her legs. She kept one hand on the stone above and the other stretched out in front of her, searching for obstacles. As her lungs began to burn with the need for oxygen, panic threatened to overwhelm her. What if the tunnel never resurfaced? If she went much further, she was certain she would not be able to make it back. Still, she had no alternatives; no other way to proceed. So she swam forward into the unknown, gambling her life on an exit while desperately ignoring the growing panic in the back of her mind.
A subtle glow in the murky water caught Alyssa’s attention, and the tunnel veered sharply upward. Desperate for air, she kicked towards the light, discarding caution as she propelled herself forward and up with both arms and legs. Hope surged through her as she swam towards the surface.
When she emerged from the water, gasping and sputtering for air, Alyssa let out a cry of relief. Mushrooms! Glowing mushrooms filled the room, their glow dim but omnipresent. She marveled, letting out a delighted laugh at the sight of the water’s reflection erupting into a cascade of colors on the cavern ceiling. Alyssa took a deep breath, and although the air was musty and stale, it had a sharpness and movement to it that the previous chamber hadn’t. Where there were mushrooms there was life, and where there was wind there was an exit. For the first time in hours, Alyssa smiled, as she pulled herself out of the pool onto the bank.

Chapter 2

For the second time in several hours, Alyssa lay on the ground catching her breath and allowing her muscles to relax. The swim through the watery airlock–she couldn’t think of any other way to describe that tunnel–had been far more mentally taxing than the physical exertion of pulling herself up out of the first chamber. Nevertheless, it required a great deal of effort and she was exhausted.
As she lay on her back, Alyssa tried again to remember how she got here. She remembered vividly her walk on the beach, and then … water. There was nothing in between. She wasn't even sure how much time had passed, but judging by the way her stomach was starting to groan in protest, and by the fullness of her bladder, she was fairly sure it had been several hours. On the other hand, she could account for at least two of those since she found herself in the chamber, unless her estimate of time was very off.
Her deliberations were cut short by a small squeaking noise, not far away. Alyssa eased herself up and turned towards the noise. There in the field of mushrooms was a small white and brown mouse, cast in an eerie glow by the mushroom's bioluminescence. Alyssa watched in awe as the mouse nibbled on the mushrooms, waiting to see what would happen. She didn't know enough about mushrooms to judge their safety for herself, but if the mouse could eat them, she figured they were probably safe for her to try, as well. After all, weren't mice used for drug testing all the time?
The mouse seemed oblivious to Alyssa’s presence, and she held her breath as best she could while she counted the seconds, trying to decide how long she should wait before trusting the results. Hours, probably, if she was honest with herself. Just when she was about to give up on the idea, a sudden movement caught her eye. Beyond the mouse, swift as could be, a slithering figure stole towards the unsuspecting rodent. “No!” she called, and her hand found a rock. Hastily, she threw it towards the onrushing creature. The rock went wide, but the serpent’s stealth was spoiled, and the mouse quickly darted away from its assailant, deeper into the mushrooms.
The snake let out a hiss of annoyance, and Alyssa was briefly overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of immense displeasure. She wasn’t surprised the snake was annoyed, but the sheer vehemence she felt was almost as if sensing her own emotions. Its lunch foiled, the serpent turned and slithered away, leaving Alyssa and the mouse alone in the chamber once again.
Alyssa waited, still and quiet, as the chamber settled back into silence. She wondered whether the little mouse had escaped the field of mushrooms entirely, or if it was still here. But something told her to wait; a sense of hesitance and uncertainty that felt sourceless and yet compelling.
Eventually, her patience paid off, and the little mouse poked its head back out of the mushrooms, staring after the snake. It emitted a soft, hesitant noise, then furtively darted out of the field into the open. There, it paused to stare up at Alyssa, studying her with a raw curiosity that nearly overwhelmed Alyssa as much as the snake’s displeasure had. She also sensed gratitude from the little mouse, though how she knew that’s what it was feeling she could not say.
“Are you hurt?” she hazarded, as she leaned in towards the mouse. The little creature took a quick step back, and the curiosity was immediately replaced by uncertainty.
Alyssa straightened up to give the mouse space. The feeling of uncertainty slowly faded, and she tilted her head in curiosity. “Why can I sense what you're feeling?” she asked the mouse, though of course she knew it would not reply.
The mouse watched her for several more moments before taking a single daring step forward. Alyssa sat very still, and after another moment it took a few more steps towards her. Soon, it was near to her knee, its little nose twitching incessantly as it sniffed at her dampened skin.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any food on me,” Alyssa said, still not moving but to talk. The mouse sat back and stood up on its hind legs to peer up at her. Alyssa could sense its curiosity turn to acceptance, and then, before she could protest, the little mouse leapt up onto her leg. She gasped in startlement, surprised at the feel of its soft fur and the tickle of its little claws brushing against her bare skin.
When it reached her hip, the mouse scurried under her tee shirt, and Alyssa made a choking noise of displeasure as it crawled, with quick movements, up her back and out of the tattered collar. When it came to rest on her shoulder, Alyssa held her breath, not daring to move. She watched the mouse out of the side of her eye, and a sense of appreciation flooded into her perception. Slowly, she turned her head to see the mouse staring at her. With a twitch of its whiskers, the little creature poked its nose against her cheek, cool and damp, before turning to look at the mushrooms.
“You think they will be safe for me?” she asked quietly, as she turned to follow the mouse’s gaze. “But raw mushrooms …” she complained, with some disdain. The mouse touched its nose to her cheek once more, and Alyssa sensed insistence. With a sigh, she mumbled, “Why am I trusting a mouse?” before ever so slowly–so as not to dislodge her guest–she leaned forward to collect a handful of the morsels.
Alyssa straightened and studied her collection of mushrooms thoughtfully. Arranging them by size, she selected the smallest and glanced at the mouse out of the corner of her eye once more. "You're sure about this?" she asked, her voice echoing in the damp cavern. The mouse couldn't speak, of course, but Alyssa felt a strong sense of certainty from her tiny companion. Or maybe that was just the discomfort of hypothermia, exhaustion and her painfully full bladder talking.
Hesitantly, Alyssa popped the smallest mushroom into her mouth. It had a surprisingly rich, earthy flavor, reminiscent of the forest after a rainstorm. As she chewed, the spongy texture yielded, releasing a burst of liquid that filled her mouth with a strange, electric tingle. The sensation was not unpleasant, but definitely unfamiliar. She swallowed, marveling at how easily it went down despite her reservations.
Emboldened by the lack of immediate ill effects, Alyssa quickly consumed the other mushrooms. With each one, the tingling sensation spread, until her whole body hummed with a kind of vibrant, restless energy.
Cupping her hands together, Alyssa scooped up some of the cool water and drank deeply. The liquid soothed her throat, but did nothing to quell the building sense of excitement and unease. She leaned back against the rock, trying to steady herself as the mushrooms’ effects took hold.
It wasn't hallucinations, but a profound shift in Alyssa's perception. The cave seemed to come alive around her; the rocks and water pulsed with a subtle, resonant energy. She felt a surge of confidence and clarity, as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes. With trembling hands, she tore a strip from the bottom of her t-shirt and fashioned it into a makeshift pouch. She wasn't sure what lay ahead, but having a source of food could prove useful. She filled the pouch to the brim with the glowing caps, marveling at their strangeness, before tying it securely to her hip.
"Okay," Alyssa whispered, her voice sounding strangely amplified to her own ears. "I guess we follow the snake." The thought of the serpent sent a ripple of fear through her companion, but she reassured him, "Don't worry, I won't let it get you." The little mouse was still afraid, but it seemed to understand her meaning, and nestled up against her neck, soft fur gentle on her skin.
With a deep breath, Alyssa rolled to her knees and stood, her legs trembling slightly. The mouse clung to her, its small heartbeat echoing her own. Alyssa could feel its mix of curiosity and trepidation, mirroring her own complex emotions. "Come on," she muttered, "let's go." She started forward into the gloom, following the serpent's path and the promise of fresh air. Using the glowing bundle on her hip as a makeshift light, Alyssa navigated the narrow tunnels with confidence. Her bare feet found easy purchase on the cool, damp stone. She progressed at a much more comfortable pace than the slow, exploratory crawl she'd been limited to in the submerged chamber. As she followed the winding tunnel, it sloped gradually upwards, and a light fog crept in, curling around her ankles. Alyssa's heart quickened. She dared to believe she was nearing open air, and a potential end to this nightmare.
Yet even as hope blossomed in her chest, each step brought a growing unease from the small, furry companion on Alyssa's shoulder. The mouse huddled closer to her neck, its nose twitching incessantly. As they rounded a corner, a new scent filled Alyssa's nostrils: earthy mud and a hint of ozone, in stark contrast to the mineral-rich dampness of the caverns. The tunnel widened sharply ahead, seeming to fall away into a murky expanse. Through the haze, the silhouette of a massive tree trunk promised an escape from what she had almost believed might be her tomb.
"We made it," Alyssa breathed, a swell of triumph surging through her. The mushrooms' influence still thrummed in her veins, confidence mingling with her own burgeoning anticipation. She quickened her pace, emerging from the cave mouth into the cool, damp air. Alyssa paused there, one hand on the stone wall, as she breathed in the scent of her freedom.
A twilit forest stretched out before her, dotted with towering trees that reached for an unfamiliar sky. Alyssa tilted her head back, marveling at the stars glimmering above. Their patterns were strange, yet mesmerizing; their strangeness only matched by the comfort they brought her. Alyssa knew the constellations were wrong; that they matched nothing she'd ever seen before, but right now all that mattered was the comfort in knowing that she would not die in that cave.
A squeak of pure terror from the mouse jolted Alyssa from her reverie. The force of her companion's fear nearly knocked the wind from her. Alyssa swiftly sought the source of the mouse's fear. There, beside the nearest tree, stood a tall, gaunt figure, a serpent slithering up its leg. The figure's cold blue eyes glared at Alyssa with a chilling intensity.
As the snake continued its ascent, the figure lifted a hand, guiding the snake to wrap about its too-long neck. Subtle, thorny protrusions emerged from the figure's chin, and the snake rubbed itself against them, hissing as it impressed its displeasure upon the figure, no doubt casting Alyssa as the villain in its tale.
"H-hello," Alyssa stammered, suddenly acutely aware of her vulnerability. She took a guarded step back and brought her hands up defensively. The figure's presence was oppressive, suffocating. Even in her desperation, Alyssa knew she wanted no part of any help they might offer. Still, she needed time to think. She had to find a way past them without provoking their ire, and an attempt at being polite was all she could come up with in the moment.
The figure spoke, its voice a grating rattle. "You have violated the ancient agreement, and trespassed beyond the barrier." Alyssa was sure she didn't know what any of that meant, but before she could say so, the figure continued, "There are consequences for your meddling, child, and I am come to deliver them."

This is a sci-fi short story I wrote the other day, hoping to get some constructive criticism as its the first thing I have properly written, it is quite short even for a short short story but I just wanted to get something finished. I have had one piece of advice already which was that the repeated sentence seemed a bit out of place the first time round which I get but I was wondering what other people thought about it.
At some point in the not so distant future, despite the warnings of the media and general populace, scientists create a device that allows people to see their alternate lives and temporarily view the results of alternate past choices. Initially the device and its use was reserved for the most successful and important people in society due to the extortionate cost of the technology. Those with access were those whose choices in life hadn’t been half bad, good financial decisions and a reputation of charisma and skill that brought them to the very top of their respective fields. For them, the technology was a chance to feel good about how far they’d come and get a good laugh out of those of their alternate selves who had neglected to read the fine print on a dodgy business proposal or to check for toilet paper before unzipping their fly. All while tactfully avoiding those of their possibilities who had achieved more.
But as the technology developed and became more affordable it filtered down through the social ranks. Down through those abundant middle classes who could not help but notice the difference between their own lot and those of their more successful alternate selves. A funnier you with a slightly bigger house, maybe a smarter you who landed that extra $10,000 signing bonus you dreamed of. But for every self who was better off there existed a pitiful alteration of themselves to mock, those who had succeeded in neither career nor hobbies, academics nor lovemaking. One who struggled to keep it up in the bedroom or suffered an addiction the users of the device found laughable.
This is when the technology took a turn for the worse, when it fell into the hands of those with nothing. Those who had been taken advantage of, abused, tricked and left in the very worst of situations gained access to it. Those who were homeless, trapped in prostitution, drowning in debt, loveless and alone.
And so the true downfall began.
For them, life had been a depressing series of twists and turns, each darker than the last. For them it was near impossible to find a worse future. For them every alternate version experienced was a pisstake, happiness and fortune greater than they could ever dream of in the hands of someone fundamentally the same. They saw the joy each unlucky streak and every unfortunate decision had wrenched them away from and they were broken. This was where the problems started to arise. Suicide, rampant depression and a sudden but not entirely unjustified rise in the publication of books promoting nihilism. Life seemed to lose that tiny amount of purpose it still had when compared to the successes of alternate selves and their happy lives.
Several years later, the next great advancement in the technology arose, scientists managed to reach further into those other worlds and take more than just the photons needed for a video feed. A new headset designed to take something more, the brainwaves of those other selves could be copied and transferred into the brains of the user. This allows for more than just watching alternate lives but for experiencing them too. The greatest advancement in technology since fire, the ability to reach across dimensions and take something tangible.
And so the true downfall began.
Why put effort into your own life when you could experience the excitement and fulfilment you’ve already gained? Why progress in your own career when you could experience the excitement of getting a promotion without any of the hard work and disappointment? Why find yourself a spouse and risk rejection when you’ve done it infinite times already?
Within only a few months, most of the working population were addicted; leaving their unhappy, dead end jobs to parasite on the lives of their infinite other selves. Piggybacking on alternate neurochemicals. Entire industries collapsed under the loss of workforce. Globally, the economy came crashing down, more people turned to the new technology to cope, the cold steel of the headsets offered an escape to a world, infinite worlds, where everything worked out better. This caused an exponential decay in every aspect of life, the more people fled to the bliss of the headsets, the more were doomed to follow.
Collapse on a global scale, food shortages led to mass starvation and death, with no one to maintain the very systems causing the collapse, bugs started to occur, glitches spread like wildfire, destroying the safety mechanisms in the headset designed to wake up the user for food, sleep and other necessities. The population wasted away, their consciousnesses stuck in their headsets, falling silently into endless existence as a parasite living someone else’s life. Those that escaped the prison of the headsets saw the state of the world that was left and quietly gave up, placing the cold steel back on their heads and surrendering.
Across the multiverse, other worlds started to stumble on rips in the fabric of spacetime, starting their first tentative explorations of the immaterium between dimensions. Scientists found the first alternate dimensions floating through the space between space, infinite bubbles floating in an infinite sea, endless possibilities. Eventually, they manage to copy photons from these other worlds and transport them back to their own dimension to take the first glimpse at alternate selves.
And so the true downfall began…

This is a sci-fi short story I wrote the other day, hoping to get some constructive criticism as its the first thing I have properly written, it is quite short even for a short short story but I just wanted to get something finished. I have had one piece of advice already which was that the repeated sentence seemed a bit out of place the first time round which I get but I was wondering what other people thought about it.
At some point in the not so distant future, despite the warnings of the media and general populace, scientists create a device that allows people to see their alternate lives and temporarily view the results of alternate past choices. Initially the device and its use was reserved for the most successful and important people in society due to the extortionate cost of the technology. Those with access were those whose choices in life hadn’t been half bad, good financial decisions and a reputation of charisma and skill that brought them to the very top of their respective fields. For them, the technology was a chance to feel good about how far they’d come and get a good laugh out of those of their alternate selves who had neglected to read the fine print on a dodgy business proposal or to check for toilet paper before unzipping their fly. All while tactfully avoiding those of their possibilities who had achieved more.
But as the technology developed and became more affordable it filtered down through the social ranks. Down through those abundant middle classes who could not help but notice the difference between their own lot and those of their more successful alternate selves. A funnier you with a slightly bigger house, maybe a smarter you who landed that extra $10,000 signing bonus you dreamed of. But for every self who was better off there existed a pitiful alteration of themselves to mock, those who had succeeded in neither career nor hobbies, academics nor lovemaking. One who struggled to keep it up in the bedroom or suffered an addiction the users of the device found laughable.
This is when the technology took a turn for the worse, when it fell into the hands of those with nothing. Those who had been taken advantage of, abused, tricked and left in the very worst of situations gained access to it. Those who were homeless, trapped in prostitution, drowning in debt, loveless and alone.
And so the true downfall began.
For them, life had been a depressing series of twists and turns, each darker than the last. For them it was near impossible to find a worse future. For them every alternate version experienced was a pisstake, happiness and fortune greater than they could ever dream of in the hands of someone fundamentally the same. They saw the joy each unlucky streak and every unfortunate decision had wrenched them away from and they were broken. This was where the problems started to arise. Suicide, rampant depression and a sudden but not entirely unjustified rise in the publication of books promoting nihilism. Life seemed to lose that tiny amount of purpose it still had when compared to the successes of alternate selves and their happy lives.
Several years later, the next great advancement in the technology arose, scientists managed to reach further into those other worlds and take more than just the photons needed for a video feed. A new headset designed to take something more, the brainwaves of those other selves could be copied and transferred into the brains of the user. This allows for more than just watching alternate lives but for experiencing them too. The greatest advancement in technology since fire, the ability to reach across dimensions and take something tangible.
And so the true downfall began.
Why put effort into your own life when you could experience the excitement and fulfilment you’ve already gained? Why progress in your own career when you could experience the excitement of getting a promotion without any of the hard work and disappointment? Why find yourself a spouse and risk rejection when you’ve done it infinite times already?
Within only a few months, most of the working population were addicted; leaving their unhappy, dead end jobs to parasite on the lives of their infinite other selves. Piggybacking on alternate neurochemicals. Entire industries collapsed under the loss of workforce. Globally, the economy came crashing down, more people turned to the new technology to cope, the cold steel of the headsets offered an escape to a world, infinite worlds, where everything worked out better. This caused an exponential decay in every aspect of life, the more people fled to the bliss of the headsets, the more were doomed to follow.
Collapse on a global scale, food shortages led to mass starvation and death, with no one to maintain the very systems causing the collapse, bugs started to occur, glitches spread like wildfire, destroying the safety mechanisms in the headset designed to wake up the user for food, sleep and other necessities. The population wasted away, their consciousnesses stuck in their headsets, falling silently into endless existence as a parasite living someone else’s life. Those that escaped the prison of the headsets saw the state of the world that was left and quietly gave up, placing the cold steel back on their heads and surrendering.
Across the multiverse, other worlds started to stumble on rips in the fabric of spacetime, starting their first tentative explorations of the immaterium between dimensions. Scientists found the first alternate dimensions floating through the space between space, infinite bubbles floating in an infinite sea, endless possibilities. Eventually, they manage to copy photons from these other worlds and transport them back to their own dimension to take the first glimpse at alternate selves.
And so the true downfall began…

TL;DR: I am 24f, and due to a work-caused injury, I cannot work in my chosen field for a few years, if not forever. How do I make money and stay alive?
The longer version: I'm an artist by trade, and I've always loved working with my hands. The great news is, I got a job at my dream company right out of college. The bad news is, I discovered quickly that the company underpays and asks a lot of its employees. I'm talking 50 hour weeks with near nonstop power tool usage at its worst. It's an economy of "emergencies" where they expect you, as a good employee, to jump in and fix instantly.
Last year, I started having terrible wrist pain. It was an 8 out of 10 if I put pressure on the hand. My regular doctor identified it as a ganglion cyst – imagine a lump the size of half a gum ball pressing against the tendons, muscles, and bones at the base of my hand. At the suggestion of my company's safety committee, I opened a worker's comp case about it. They assured me it was work related and that it would be easy to fix.
One genuine year later, my worker's comp doctor says he can't do anything about it. He said he doesn't see how it's work related, despite other doctors and safety specialists at my job saying it is. Two other people in similar roles have had the same problem, and they got it fixed immediately, but I was told "every case is different". I finally got some time off to rest it, but only after having a full-on breakdown in this doctor's office after explaining that there's been no change in three months.
(Skip this paragraph if you don't want complaints, I just need to get this off my chest:) I am still in pain daily. I cut my hair short because it hurts to reach up in the shower, I drive one-handed, I can't cook or clean or push a shopping cart without pain. I have gained weight because of the stress and the pain of exercising, I have trouble building things and drawing the way I used to, and I am having panic attacks the night before work or during lunch because the pain is too much and I am afraid I'll be forced into emergency work that will hurt me more. On top of all that, I am out of sick time halfway through the year because worker's comp doesn't cover appointment time, and I've gone to probably over 80 hours of appointments on my own time over the past year. According to my company's HR team, since it was ever taken as a worker's comp case, I can't fix it through private insurance.
It's clear to me I need to move on from this job, but I can't pursue art again. (One physical therapist summed it up: if I want to keep using my hands past this decade, I'll want to find a different field.) I've applied to 10 or so remote jobs to save me from driving, but none have gotten back to me. I'm just feeling lost, and so burnt out from having my dream slowly crushed. I don't even know how to start over.
I'm lucky to have a partner (24, nonbinary) who will support me for daily chores, but we're just starting out and don't have enough funds for me to not work. Plus, we're hoping to move closer to family within the next year, and to have a wedding in the next three years, and both come with a high price tag.
So.... what now?

My mental health has been very poor lately. I’m talking bedridden anxiety, I went in to full “flight” mode and trapped myself in my bedroom for several days a week. Basic tasks felt like a mile run. My anxiety has never been this high. I’m in therapy and reading a really helpful self help book along with my therapist and have been making very small improvements. I’ve gotten to the point of being able to get out of bed but just leaving the house can be incredibly difficult without panic attacks.
I recently reconnected with an old friend from high school. We’re both very spiritual people & it was really good for me to get out of the house and hang out with her. She actually works at a metaphysical shop doing spiritual readings & energy based work with people. I know this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea but I’m super into it and it’s proven to be very helpful for me. She started doing small things with me as we hung out like just a little group meditation together and just deep conversations about myself, my soul, my energy, etc. Every time I see her, my anxiety is significantly less present. I’ve made extreme progress with her with my mental health in a very short time frame.
So in just a few weeks time, I went from crying in my bed scared to leave my room to making plans to see this friend frequently throughout the week. We do so much more than focus on helping my mental health.. we do picnics with our kids, parks, arts & crafts, etc. Just creating this strong social bond with her has been amazing for me. I haven’t had a good friend like this in YEARS so having plans that aren’t strictly related to the kids is very unusual for me and I didn’t realize how much I needed the socialization as someone who works from home.
I started to notice every time I brought this friend up, my husband started to look annoyed. Initially he was really happy for me to be doing so well. But the more I tell him about our summer plans or what we did that day, he doesn’t really respond anymore just kind of nods his head. I do want to note really quick, that I almost always make plans with her while he’s at work. So it’s not like I’m spending crazy amounts of time away from him to hang out with her.
I asked him this morning what the deal was, because I couldn’t ignore it anymore. He basically said that I’m “rubbing it in his face that she’s helped me so much” and that it’s made him feel useless. He has been EXTREMELY supportive our whole relationship about my poor mental health. He does anything and everything I need him to do when I’m having panic attacks. I’ve always been very grateful for his support and being so understanding. However as I’m truly working on getting AWAY from anxiety rather than just shutting it out like usual, I’ve learned about safety behaviors and honestly everything my husband usually does for me is just enabling the anxiety. Like running all the errands, picking things up from the store for me, keeping the kids entertained for hours for me so I can cope with a panic attack, etc. All great things that I’ve shown gratitude for but it’s only keeping me in my “safe” zone and not allowing me to face daily fears. So during this last month of hellish anxiety, he’s asked countless times “what can I do for you?” And I say “nothing” because truly I don’t know what he could possibly do to help me. I’m just struggling and that’s all I know. Him holding me while I shake and cry is plenty for me, I don’t expect him to cure my anxiety.
When he told me I was “rubbing it in his face” I just started crying my eyes out and couldn’t find any words to say. This is a really off the wall comment for him, he’s typically just so supportive all the time especially with stuff like this. I told him I don’t mean to rub anything in his face at all, when I come home from hanging out with her anything I tell him is just out of pure joy and excitement about how great of a day I had, I have no negative intentions when I tell him anything.
I told him I can understand feeling helpless, I understand he tries everyday to help me. But I didn’t even know what my friend is doing for me would help, so how could I have possibly told him what would help me? I made it so clear to him that his support alone is enough for me. I’ve told him many times that yoga and meditation help me, he’s seen me doing both many times and has never once offered to join despite me telling him he’s welcome to, he doesn’t practice my deep breathing with me or join me in art or gardening that also help me. I’m not mad that he doesn’t join, but when he shows no interest I’m not going to ask him to join along out of pity because I’m an anxious person all the damn time.
I’ve just started making this beautiful and strong friendship with this girl and now I feel like I can’t even talk about her to my husband anymore. We didn’t get to resolve this argument as he had to go to work so now I’m just so unsure of how to approach this when he gets home. I feel like he’s being really selfish and his own insecurities are showing through how he’s reacting. I feel like he should be happy I’m getting out of the house without a breakdown as it’s put a lot of stress in all of our lives including the kids. And now with this friend I’m able to get the kids out of the house a lot more too.

I just got my first job in an IT related field. I'm so excited! But I have no idea what to wear. I want to look professional and somewhat feminine but it is a repair job so I will probably be spending a lot of the time in the floor reaching for things and also be fixing signs and things outside sometimes. I'll want something comfortable but that I don't mind getting dirty. Here is the dress code I was sent:
Casual business attire is defined as follows: Note: This is not a complete list and is subject to change without any prior notice.
Appropriate - Casual shirts: All shirts with collars. This includes casual shirts and blouses, golf and polo shirts. Inappropriate: T-shirts, shirts with vulgarity, profanity and/or nudity, unprofessional slogans or clothing that contains pictures or writing that may be offensive, tank tops, muscle shirts and crop tops, sweatshirts, or halter tops. Appropriate - Pants: Casual slacks and trousers. Inappropriate: Shorts, Denim (including blue jeans, jackets, shirts), sweatpants. Appropriate - Footwear: Closed-toe shoes or boots. Inappropriate: Sandals, flip-flops, athletic shoes, Crocs or open-toe shoes.

Huge shout out to u/ryguy637 & u/-Eterox for helping with Brainstorming and Co-Writing this.
As always, all credits for the original Nature of Predators and it's content goes to Space Paladin15, thank him for allowing artist and writers to use his original work of art for their own uses.
Gaian Ref Sheet-Here, Done by the artist u/Roddcherry
As well as a *Huge* thank you for Julian Sky's for filling in for being an editor again for this chapter! This chapter will be pulling away from the subject memory transcription, instead exploring one of the new regions within the Venian Commonwealth. The "Dark Corner"
[FIRST] [PREV] [NEXT]
"This program is a special update to the Thafki Advocacy’s situation on their new home world, Ayzife. Originally we here at WTWN had done a piece a couple of years back towards the last days of the War, and now we wanted to send one of our reporters to find out- has anything changed? With that, we'll let Rux Limpbut take it away for this one. And please do be aware, user discretion is advised.”
The date of my arrival to Ayzife, the new Thafki homeworld, had arrived. It was a part formally called by our government the “New Re-Seeding Sector”, but It had gained a painful nickname as quickly as it was given its government one. “The Dark Corner”.
A group of Thafki, listless and confused, is shown, as a small group of Gaians seem to herd them back into a recently finished project. A Gaian man is showing us around, telling us of the hardships, his face has been blurred for their safety.
“What am I to do?” The thick Mountaineer accent rang out from the man’s scarred face. He was one of the first officers that had come across the cattle ranches and the true extent of the horror that laid within them. “The adults can't speak, they can't learn. The children are really the only hope…” his accented voice trails off as he checked within some of the residences, some of the seemingly adult Thafki, stunted and confused, are being hand fed. They do not respond to any orders, at least not to ones in any other language except that of the prey killers, or that of our Horned and able bodied Sister species.
The children are crowded around their parents, speaking in a mix of Thafki and a Piggish- like squealing imitation of Arxur. One approaches me and the cameraman, asking us a question.
“Savageness?” They eek out. Compared to the parents, the children seem blissfully unaware to what they or what their loved ones went through, their eyes shining brightly, even if they're glazed over in a mountain of unrealized horror. Our guide calls over a shabbily dressed Thafki, in an overly large uniform. Hand-me-downs from our sister species. It has been hemmed to solgalik and back, but it was still painfully apparent that it barely fit comfortably.
The Thafki, as I was to learn later, “Guzifi” or police, takes the child away and back into the building we peered into. Our cameraman zooms into the back of their necks, a painfully visible barcode and scratched in number can be seen. I stand aghast, before our guide comes back to us, his eyes sullen and shrunken into his head, hammered with fatigue.
“As I was saying…*most* of them can't do anything. But the ones like Curzix there-” he gestures to the man, who is now knelt down, stroking the child's hair, a faint giggle echoing in the sparse abode “-He escaped early into his stint, it hardened him. He was one of the first to sign up once we finished the terraforming process at the beginning of this year.”
We are hurried on, “Curzix” soon rejoins us as we continue to inspect and report. Only months ago this entire section we were in was a barren wasteland, only recently finished terraforming. Now? It's crammed with tightly knit buildings, services, and other amenities. But it's not enough. “Reservists” from our Sister species, as they called them, are the majority of people dealing with the Thafki here, only a handful of Guzifi are to be seen amongst the crowds and herd of broken.
Soon we find ourselves in a “rehabilitation” facility, so to speak, the local baker is the first to greet us, head to toe in traditional thafkian garb, and a small basket of baked goods they had made earlier this morning. She gestures for us to take some, which me and the cameraman do.
“And this-” the Provincial-Governor who had been tailing with us begins, before the Thafki finishes for him
“I'm Zaifi.” She sticks her hand out, and I do the same in kind. I quickly noted that she seemed to be the only light in this icker of dark, bitter sadness that assuaged us. She turns around and begins to wander through the halls as we begin to trail behind her, questions outpouring.
“Are you one of the Free Thafkis that came here?” I ask, she nods in response while clearing her throat..
“Yes. I might be one of the few to even go so far as to say my life's been better since I came here.” She responds. I nod along, taking her words in as I take a bite of the customary “Cionn” bread.
It's one of the signs of the Thafki Advocacy's-now Thafki Republic-Efforts to Re-Seeding their culture and themselves. I'm later told it's an offshoot of a more savory dinner bread, softer and less sweet called Uniffin'Dath, although I'm also told that that type of bread is used in conjunction with Striou (not Strayu) soup.
While I do so, however, I take glances behind me and to the sides of me. Behind me, the Gaian Sector-Governor, Halim and the Thafki Republic’s first Councilor, Ralikenn are having a heated discussion. Something our camera notices as he increases the sensitivity on the recording equipment.
“...I can't believe you all….a junta that…” are the words picked up from Ralikenn, as Halim begins to frown heavily, and begins to speak back.
“... Can't you… supplies arrived…” The discussion continues as Zaifi grabs my attention, the cameraman I'm with peering into the doors we pass by.
The camera pans to Thafki children, in various states of appearance, are sat down in school desks. At the front of their rooms either a Gaian or Thafki teacher can be seen, teaching anything from their language, their dress code, etiquette and more. Soon the camera pans back to Rux and Zaifi.
“So while I serve the food here, I also try and show them the history of us and our resilient culture through it. The background of it, how it came to be and how it weaves with us.” Zaifi continues as we walk down the hallway, she veers off into one of the rooms, and hesitantly I follow.
The inside was quite well worn for how new the building was, already indentations, marks, and other scratches and scuffs could be seen. Signs of hard work and labor, something that is unsurprising considering Zaifi and her duties. As she begins to work, it's time for me to ask her about her thoughts on the situation.
“Compared to the last couple of decades, where do you think your species is at now? I mean, a lot has changed. From being a species with the large portion of your population being cattle to now having a government and world handed to you, it's got to be a bit jarring?”
Zaifi nods, the trademark pearls on a brooch around her neck click and clack gently together, the synthetic pearls a sign of what the Advocacy group had been able to hold on to throughout the centuries.
“Well-” she starts off, as she begins to knead a greenish-blue dough on the distinctly brown work surface, the faint smell of Saltwine being smelt from where I was standing. “I wish we got a welcome, as good as the Paltans and the Gaians gave us. I mean, they split half and half on things here and there around the village!”
The camera pans around the room, bits and baubles of Zaifi’s own life being dotted around it. A bottle or two of sea wine, a basket of synthetic pearls, hints of oceanic theming bedazzle the room.
Zaifi begins to portion out the Bread-a serving of Cionn. A serving of the more savory Uniffin'Dath. Both are seasoned with a spice that is only rarely mentioned in some cookbooks, “Izuzdath.” The process is lively, a stark contrast to last year's report at a holding world as they finished terraforming here.
If you were to have told me that a Thafki would be smiling while knee deep in this grime that is misery, I would've called you a liar. But apparently…
“So how long have you been around here? Or rather should I say, with the herd?” I ask. It causes Zaifi to stop and look at the basket of pearls. Each of them are inscribed with a loved or close one that died, and the date on which they did so. Many of them aren't her relatives, rather they are the few Thafki she has bonded with while staying here.
“Physically? Only…a year or two. But mentally-” The dull sound of the bread being put upon a pre-oiled stone, an smoothed coral stone no less, echoed softly while the grinding of such a stone sliding into one of the waiting ovens as it did so was a stark contrast. The clasp of the oven door closing caused her to turn back to us. She sighs as she pats down her apron.
“Centuries. I guess we grew accustomed to being the odd ones out. Now that my herd- my people, have a place to call their own…” She is sullen for a moment, before her eyes meet the window, overlooking a courtyard. The smile reappears just as quickly as it disappeared.
“Ya know. I'll take this for now, the funniest thing ya know-” she gestures to me to come over and look. The courtyard has a simple watery filled pit. A “pool” as our sister species had dubbed it, seemed to be the eye and star of this little facility, at least for the attendee's. A whole gaggle of Thafki children, in a wardrobe of mismatched, shabby clothing suited for the water could be seen as they ran about it. What I could only assume was their teacher watched over them.
“Your saplings are quite the good match. Even they seem to want to bring the water to themselves sometimes.” She says to herself now in a far more reassured tone. As I begin to smile myself, just a little, a tap is felt on my shoulder. It's Curzix, the Guzifi that has been assigned to us.
The camera now zooms out from the pool and the other recreational activities happening in the center of the U-shaped facility, and turns around quickly, now focusing on Rux and Curzix.
“We'll we're ready to go when you are, you all wanted to get the full experience yeah?” Curzix stuffs his paws into the oversized and hemmed coats pockets, the armband with the symbol of Guzifi. He meanders off as we begin to follow him, I say my goodbyes to Zaifi, and she returns them in kind as we are led back out of the hallway.
We start off now checking the facility in depth, taken into one classroom in particular. It is here that our cameraman points out something peculiar. The extreme range of coloring in the Thafki children here. Looking past numerous ranch markings, numbering, and a word inscribed on the arm of each in the Ruinous Lizards language, the Thafki children are striking.
The camera makes cuts to each of the Thafki children in the room. The variety of blues is numerous. Some are in a vibrant luscious blue, other ones have a dull, greyer one. And yet these are the least eye-catching ones. Some have sporadic spots. Some have a sickly greenish blue hue. And yet some are completely devoid of their regular blue, replaced with a dull brown. The camera now returns to overlooking the entirety of the room from the doorway.
As I entered the room the teacher, who had requested that their face be blurred, comes to me and shakes my hand. They gesture to the Thafki pupils, who are in varied state of affairs. Some of them are paying attention, while others are far more focused on their desks or some portion of the wall.
“You came in at a good time, we're trying to teach them Thafki. It's been a bit of a struggle, but we've been making some slow and small progress.” the teacher comes alongside one of the brightly colored pupils, resting their hand gently on their shoulder. The child flinches for a bit, expecting something as they tense up, before they relax.
“Are they a handful?” I ask to the teacher as they themselves point onto a piece of paper in front of the pup, pointing something out
“From time to time. But whenever the horned fellows come along they calm down quite a bit.” the Thafki’s eyes dart occasionally from the paper on the desk to the doorway behind us, looking back shows the Sector-Governor that has been with us this entire time.
The last time we had visited a rehabilitation center-albeit it was just after the war had wrapped up-the facility was in a far more ramshackle situation compared to now, but while the situation is improving, there's still more to do.
With our little visit to the center done our entourage made our way outside. As we did so a rumbler, an armored vehicle used by our other half, came rolling by. A gaggle of Thafki on it, a Gaian within the group giving us a glance as they went by.
It's here where the uncomfortable nature and scandalous portion of the Re-Seeding comes in. The Laborer gangs, seen as a solution to perceived laziness on Ayzife from some of the Ex-Cattle. The concept is basic and rudimentary both in premise and execution, anything simple is offered up to the gangs first, before giving up to the more general labor sections assigned to the planet.
We keep trudging along, the plethora of buildings being assembled or constructed is numerous along the trail we're taking. Along our way, Ralikenn begins to talk about how far they've come in such a short time span. He gestures to the buildings before he begins to speak.
“All of this-” Our cameraman moves and angles his camera to the row of unfinished buildings, in various states of construction. “In just about a year, it's nearly unbelievable to be honest. I had, tearfully, resigned myself to a forgone conclusion to our species. But now?-” They begin to tear up clearly overwhelmed at this point, they attempt to speak but all that happens is their mouth staying agape for mere moments, before closing and just shaking their head.
And yet there's still more to see. More to do and more to make right. I only hope we can do it in time, as a herd.

my laptop model is the HP Elitebook X360 1030 g2, https://support.hp.com/us-en/document/c05355646, which uses the following power specifications:
Power supply: HP 65 W Smart AC Adapter HP 65 W Smart AC Adapter EM HP 65 W Smart USB Type-C AC Adapter
Primary Battery: HP 3-cell Long Life Li-Ion polymer (57 WHr) (supports battery fast charge)
and this seems to be the official equivalent powerbank required to be able to charge it: https://support.hp.com/hr-en/document/c05742765 <- this is my laptop's compatible's powerbank configurations:

Product specifications

FeatureDescription Battery capacity20,100 mAh72.36 Wh ConnectorsUSB-C (3 A current)USB-A (2.4 A current) Cell typeCylindrical SDI 18650 35ELGC 18650 MJ1 Voltage10.8 V Rated input60 W (maximum) Rated outputUSB-C power in20.0 V/15.0 V/12.0 V/10.0 V/9.0 V/5.0 V (output voltage)3.0 A (maximum output current)USB-C power out5.0 V (output voltage)3.0 A (maximum output current)USB-A power in5.0 V2.4 A (maximum output current) Fuel gauge LEDYes LED Indicator(4) LEDs/power Indicators100% to 75%(4) LEDs75% to 50%(3) LEDs50% to 25%(2) LEDsLower than 25%(1) LED Charging methodHP 45W USB-C Power Adapter (not included)HP 65W USB-C Power Adapter (recommended and not included) TemperatureOperating 0°C to 45°C (32° to 113°F)Operating (discharging)-10°C to 60°C (14° to 140°F)Non-operating (storage temperature)0°C to 23°C (32° to 73.4°F) for 1 year0°C to 45°C (32° to 113°F) for 3 months0°C to 60°C (32° to 140°F) for 1 monthNOTE: All values follow Standard Performance Evaluation Corporation (SPEC). Battery recharge timeSystem in OFF or Standby Mode0% to 100% Less than 3 hours
Now, seeking for results on chatgpt, it yielded me this: "When looking for a power bank equivalent to the one specified for your HP Elitebook X360 1030 G2, you need to focus on several key specifications to ensure compatibility and adequate performance. Here are the crucial factors to consider:

1. Battery Capacity: Aim for a power bank with a capacity around 20,100 mAh or higher to ensure it can provide sufficient charge for your laptop.
2. Output Power: Ensure the power bank has a USB-C output with similar voltage options (5V, 9V, 10V, 12V, 15V, and 20V) and a maximum current output of 3A.
3. Input Power: Look for a power bank that supports at least 60W input to ensure fast recharging.
4. Power Delivery (PD): Make sure the power bank supports USB-C Power Delivery (PD) to provide the necessary power levels for your laptop.
5. Connector Types: Ensure the power bank has USB-C and USB-A ports with the appropriate current ratings.
6. Build Quality and Safety: Opt for a reputable brand with good reviews to ensure safety features like overcharge protection, short circuit protection, and temperature control.

Here are some alternatives to consider that generally match these specifications:

1. Anker PowerCore+ 26800 PD: This power bank has a 26,800 mAh capacity and supports Power Delivery with 45W output, which should be sufficient for your laptop. It includes a 60W charger for recharging the power bank.
2. RAVPower 20000mAh 60W PD 3.0 Power Bank: With a 20,000 mAh capacity and up to 60W output via USB-C PD, this power bank is a solid choice for charging laptops.
3. Aukey 20000mAh Power Bank with 65W PD: This power bank offers 20,000 mAh capacity and up to 65W output via USB-C, making it suitable for charging high-powered devices like laptops.
4. Zendure SuperTank 26800mAh: Known for its robust build and reliability, this power bank supports up to 100W output via USB-C PD, which is more than adequate for your laptop and future-proof for other high-power devices.
5. Omni 20+ Portable Power Bank: This versatile power bank offers multiple output options, including a 60W USB-C PD port, and has a 20,000 mAh capacity. It’s a bit pricier but offers more flexibility.

Before purchasing, double-check the power bank's specifications to ensure they match or exceed the power requirements of your HP Elitebook X360 1030 G2. Additionally, consider the recharge time, weight, and any additional features like pass-through charging, which allows you to charge the power bank and your laptop simultaneously."
so while looking for the second option, the RAVPower 20000mAh 60W PD 3.0 Power Bank, I found this https://www.ebay.com/itm/283957361370?itmmeta=01HZ0JE5X7XJPMY3PNRX6N5JW1&hash=item421d2d7ada:g:PKgAAOSw1U1fGhCM Technical Specification:
Battery Type: Li-Polymer Battery
Capacity: 20000mAh
Input: DC 5V/2A, total 3.0A
Solar Panel: 5V/300mA
Waterproof Rating: IPX4
could this work for charging a laptop on the go?? what should I be looking for precisely, to attend all my needs? now that I found this type of solution??? what type of powerbank/solar panel charger system do I need for this? also if it could escalate some more wattage, like say 100 watts, so that I could charge other devices aswell, because I'm gonna use this for bikepacking trips.