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I thought my Monday was rough. Until I experienced Tuesday. Those who believed that it was important for me to supplement my academic study of male masochism with first-hand experience — Luke, Paul, Brooke, possibly Neil as well — certainly were getting their wish. I less so, although there was no denying the authenticity of it.
I had to wait until Brooke and Luke were asleep to complete my punishment lines. When my alarm went off at 5 AM in Tuesday morning, after only four hours of sleep, I groaned.
As I was driving over to Kevin’s mom’s house, I received a text from him: Get me an Egg McMuffin from McDonald’s on your way here. Text me when you get here so you don’t wake up my mom.
I had dressed in a clean pair of yoga pants and plain black T-shirt (fortunately, at the time, my dresser wasn’t yet full of humiliating shirts, like it is today, and my cuckold horns shirt was filthy), so I was grateful for the drive-thru at McDonald’s. I resisted the temptation to order myself hash browns and instead limited myself to a banana and cup of coffee. I was determined to avoid more punishment on Saturday following my weigh-in.
Although it was to be another unseasonably hot day, the sun was just starting to rise when I pulled up to the house, so it was still fairly cool. Kevin was waiting for me on the porch. He didn’t thank me (let alone offer to reimburse me) for the sandwich, but rather ate it as he walked around his truck, inspecting the work I had already done. Finding fault with the cleanliness of his wheel rims, he instructed me to stop working on the interior of the car and to reapply myself to the wheels and hubcaps. I tried to explain that I had scrubbed these areas repeatedly yesterday, but that some of the blemishes simply could not be removed from the aging vehicle. He stood above me, supervising — as I worked on my knees — pointing to areas that he felt were not sufficiently clean.
“Sir, I can’t get this spot out. I’ve tried several times,” I said, as I strenuously, yet futilely scrubbed a black mark at the bottom of one of the rear wheels. It looked like it had been there for years. Kevin’s filthy plumber’s boots were right next to my face as I crouched down and scrubbed.
“Scrub harder.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m scrubbing as hard as I can. Some of these stains just won’t come off.”
“You’re not trying hard enough. Here, let me try.” He grabbed the sponge from me and bent over to scrub it. It took some effort, but sure enough, he was able to remove the spot.
“See, you’re not working hard enough. Luke will be disappointed.”
“Sir, I promise you that I’m trying as hard as I can. I’m just not as strong as you are, sir. You have really bulked up at the gym since the last time I saw you.” I thought a little flattery might help convince him not to complain about me to Luke.
He flexed his bicep and stared at it admiringly.
“That’s really impressive, sir. Look at mine, by comparison.” I flexed mine, and felt like Popeye without the spinach standing (or, in my case, kneeling) next to Brutus.
“I guess you’re right,” he said. “I’ll tell you what, if you clean my boots and tools, I might not say anything to Luke.”
Have you started to notice a pattern here? A slippery slope of submission. For example, if I hadn’t been forced to clean Luke’s truck that time I was caught by Kelly, I probably would never have met Paul and, therefore, wouldn’t later that day be going to his condo to work as his maid. It seemed that one act of submission and exposure begat another. Where would it end? Would it end? At the time I am making them, however, my concessions always seem like good ideas, given my lack of options.
And so it probably will not surprise you to learn that I replied, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I think I can use the same soapy water and leather conditioner I’m using on your truck. If you remove them, I can get started right away.”
“Remove them? Why bother? Just do them here,” he pulled down the tailgate of his truck and sat on it. I filled a fresh bucket of soap and water and got back on my knees to begin my task.
“My boots are dirtier than usual. My last job was a real shit show. Literally,” he chuckled.
I tried not to think about how exactly his boots got so filthy, as I used a towel to wipe off the foul smelling, caked-on debris. Kevin had a relaxed, arrogant expression on his face, as if having a guy twice his age kneeling before him to clean his boots was the most natural thing in the world. I heard the unmistakable noise of a photo being taken on a phone and looked up to see Kevin’s iPhone pointed at me.
“What are you doing, sir?”
“I just wanted to text Kaylee. She’ll get a kick out of this.”
What could I say in response? Challenge him and likely face Luke’s wrath? I bit my tongue.
After cleaning them, I applied some of the leather conditioner I had used on the truck’s seats and began buffing his boots energetically with a microfiber towel. It was just at that moment, of course, that Kevin’s mom, Darla, walked out of the house in sweatpants and a jacket, a cup of coffee in her hand. I will confess that my cock began to stiffen the moment I got on my knees and looked up at Kevin; the pure act of submitting stoked my arousal, as usual. But it was when Darla arrived that my cock really began to push painfully against its restraints.
“Oh, it’s you again,” she said looking down at me.
“Wally didn’t have time to finish my truck before it got dark yesterday,” said Kevin.
“Good morning, ma’am,” I said.
Ignoring me, she said, “It doesn’t look like he’s cleaning your truck right now to me. I guess Luke’s new lackey is now your lackey too. I raised some smart boys.” She smiled proudly. “At least this one isn’t wearing a bikini like Luke made his first boss wear when the old guy used to clean this truck back before he gave it to you.” She laughed heartily at the fond memory of one of my predecessors’ humiliations at the hands of her older son. So nice to be participating in the family tradition, I thought.
“Well, it is December. It’s a little cold for a bikini,” Kevin laughed. “Walter, stand up and show my mom the pantyhose, or whatever it is, that Luke makes you wear.”
I did as directed, causing Darla to laugh. “Those are women’s work-out pants, honey. But I can see the bulk beneath them. One of Luke’s signature methods of dominating the husbands he cuckolds. As I’ve heard your brother say more than once, ‘If you really want to own a man, control his cock.’”
“Wally is a college professor. Luke said he studied at one of them Ivy League schools, out East.”
“You can see where that’s gotten him,” she said. “Well, it’s a little chilly out here, I’m going back inside. I have I feeling I’ll be seeing more of you,“ she said to me with a smirk as she walked back into the house.
After I finished cleaning his boots, Kevin directed me to go into his garage, bring his tools out into the driveway and wipe them down with soapy water before loading them into the bed of his truck. He watched me work the entire time, not lifting a finger.
When I finished, he paid me a compliment. A most unwanted one, as it tuned out. “Nice job with my boots and my tools. Now that I’ve got my license, I could really use an assistant. I’m gonna talk to Luke about letting me borrow you sometimes.”
I didn’t respond, hoping this thought was just a whim of his that would soon be forgotten. I hoped in vain; it was indeed the slippery slope again, a continuation of my descent.
After I finished with his tools, I spent another hour finishing cleaning the interior of the truck before Kevin headed off to his first job of the day and I headed off to campus. This time, I did change into my jeans in a fast food restaurant on the way, too wary of facing Darla again to go back into the house.
I still wore the leather choker that day, and was highly self-conscious as I lectured to the 24 students in my Chivalry and Courtly Love In Medieval Literature class.
I had to be and Paul’s and Anna’s by 4 PM, so after my lecture, I walked to the drugstore to buy the Johnsons’ furniture wax and a toothbrush. I was starving. Having only had a banana that day, and having eaten very little besides salads, fruit and low-fat cottage cheese since my disappointing weigh-in on Saturday, I decided to treat myself to lunch at my favorite Thai restaurant in town. Given how hard I had worked and how little I had eaten over the last couple of days (and thinking about the humiliation that lay in store for me that afternoon), I figured that I deserved this one small self indulgence. I ordered seafood Tom Yum soup and beef Massaman curry. A caloric dish to be sure, but how much could it possibly hurt after my spartan diet of the last few days?
I was still savoring my soup when the waitress brought my curry and rice to the table. Just at that moment, I saw Neil enter the restaurant with a female colleague, Annabelle Nash (she taught Shakespeare, mainly). They greeted me as they went to their seats, but I could see Neil scrutinize the dishes on my table and shake his head disapprovingly (if subtly). Self conscious as I was, I nevertheless cleaned my plate (grateful Neil’s back was to me at the table where he and Annabelle sat). After I paid my check, I walked over to say goodbye to them.
Neil said, “Hey, pal, would you mind swinging by my office at around 2:30 for a few minutes?”
“Sure thing, Neil. Nice seeing you, Annabelle.”
When I met him in his office later, Neil closed the door and asked me to sit down.
“Walter, I have a bit of a dilemma that I hope you can help me out with. Luke made me promise to tell him if I caught you cheating on your diet on campus.”
“The restaurant is not on campus,” I smiled, attempting a joke.
“You know what I mean,” he answered, with a serious expression. “Was that beef Massaman curry? Do you know how many calories are in that dish?! And all the carbs in the rice? You should always ask for brown rice instead of white, you know. And you had soup too, I noticed.”
“But I barely ate anything the past three days. And I only had a banana for breakfast.”
“You’re always making excuses. That’s why you’ve basically been stuck at the same weight now for the last few weeks. You’re at a threshold, and to lose more, you need to be super disciplined about what you eat, and exercise more. No more excuses, Walter.”
“You’re right, sir. Please don’t tell Luke,” I pleaded.
“Look, I know what my telling him means for you as a consequence. But I promised him I would. And his methods with you have been successful. I feel I have to honor my promise.”
“Please, don’t. Maybe I can make it up to you somehow. How about a foot massage?”
“Giving me a foot massage isn’t going to burn many calories.” He thought for a minute. “I tell you what. The four days a week that we’re on campus together, how about if you bring me a coffee each day in between my classes? I don’t think that will conflict with your teaching schedule, and the exercise of walking to the Corner Cafe each day will do you good. It’s 3300 steps there and back; I’ve measured it on my iPhone. That way, I won’t feel as guilty for not telling Luke about catching you cheating on your diet today.”
“Yes, thanks Neil. Sir, I mean. That seems more than fair.”
Neil got up and shook my hand. “Deal. And you don’t have to call me ‘sir’ here on campus, pal.”
“Thanks, Neil.”
“But I will take you up on that offer for your amazing foot massages on Wednesdays after my back-to-back classes. You can give me one tomorrow when you bring my coffee.”
“Of course, thanks again, Neil,” I said, as I left his office. And so that is how I came to be Neil’s coffee boy for the balance of the semester (and future semesters, even during my sabbatical). And his foot boy, or reflexologist, or whatever you want to call it. Notice how it went from me offering to give him one foot massage in return for his silence, to me getting his coffee four days a week and massaging his feet once a week. In an instant! I guess negotiation was not one of my strong suits.
As I drove to Paul and Anna’s condo — the next stop on my gauntlet of service and humiliation that day —the Paul Simon song Slip Sliding Away ran through my head, the refrain in particular:
Slip sliding away You know the nearer your destination The more you’re slip sliding away
If old Paul was correct, the further I slid down the slope, the closer I’d come to my true nature. I wondered how much further I had to slip. Would I be the slave to everyone by the time I finally reached the bottom of the slope?
As I parked my car, I did another mental inventory of what I needed for my second visit to the condo. Johnsons’s furniture wax, check. Toothbrush, check. Punishment lines, check. I was wearing sheer, black nylon panties under my jeans. Then I remembered: I had completely forgotten Anna’s directive that I research and practice how to curtsy. All I could do is hope that she had forgotten. If not, maybe I could wing it? Better yet, maybe she wouldn’t be there this time. But did I really want to be alone with Paul?
Carrying a bag that contained my punishment lines as well as the furniture polish and toothbrush, I entered the lobby to find the same obnoxious doorman as last Tuesday, sitting behind his desk.
“I’m here to see Paul Betz.”
“And you are?” He knew perfectly well who I was, but wanted to force me to say it.
“The maid.” I looked down at the floor, ashamed.
He picked up the intercom. “Mr. Betz, your maid is here to clean your apartment. May I send HIM up?” The prick just had to emphasize my gender.
“Mr. Betz said you may go up. Apartment 11B. The elevator is around the corner,” he said, as if I had never been there before, a smug smile plastered to his face.
“Yes, thank you. I remember.”
When I got to their door, I got down on my knees, as Paul had instructed me. Should I have rung the bell first? Should I knock? Or would that annoy them? I had been announced, so they knew I would be coming up the elevator. I waited there for several minutes. The longer I waited, however, it seemed to make less and less sense to ring the bell. Maybe they were busy and not ready for me yet, even though I was very punctual? Maybe they were….having sex? I didn’t want to risk disturbing them. And, so, I continued to wait.
I then heard the elevator door open, with dread. A woman, probably in her mid thirties, walked by me to her apartment across the hall, staring down at me with an amused expression. When she opened her door, I heard her yell to someone in the apartment, “It looks like Paul and Anna have a new one,” before the door slammed shut.
Just then the the door in front of me finally opened. I saw Paul’s feet first.
“You may enter. Remember, on your knees.”
I put my hands down to crawl into the apartment, before he snapped at me: “No! I didn’t say on your hands and knees. I said on your knees.”
I shuffled forward into the apartment, cursing myself for having not purchased knee pads, as Paul had suggested. I told myself that I would have to start taking notes from now on , so I wouldn’t forget things I’d later regret.
“Lines,” he said, simply.
I pulled the several loose leaf pages out of my bag and handed them to Paul. “Here, sir.”
As much as it hurt my hand to write all of those lines, the mental anguish of having to repeatedly write that I would no longer mention academic integrity — a subject that I was passionate about (ridiculous as it might seem to you, coming from a professor about to clean the apartment of two of his students) — was worse. Paul knew that, of course. I was to learn that, despite their many differences in style, like Luke, he was a natural sadist, with an impressive ability to zero in on areas of his victim’s vulnerability or sensitivity to exploit for maximum humiliation. Lucky me.
“I’ll count them and check the neatness of your writing later. Did you bring the Johnsons wax and toothbrush?”
“Yes, sir. Here.” I showed him the contents of my bag.
Anna then came into the living room from the kitchen, munching on an apple. Both were dressed similarly to last time, Paul in sweatpants and Anna in tight yoga pants. Anna was barefoot this time, her pretty, pedicured toes painted a metallic silver color. She caught me staring at her toes, and smiled.
“Don’t worry, Professor Rollins, you will get to know my feet very well. They will be your best friends before long.”
“More like his unobtainable crush,” Paul snickered.
“Crushes,” Anna corrected him. “Professor maid will have a crush on both of my feet and on all ten of my toes. He will worship them and he will pine for them. And they won’t give him the time of day,” she said. Then she abruptly said to me, “Obeisance!”
“Excuse me, Princess Anna?”
“Obeisance means assume the position of respect and humility before your superiors,” Paul explained.
“Yes, sir. I know the meaning of the word, but I don’t know what position she means.”
“I don’t like your condescending tone. It reminds me of when you corrected me in class on Monday about the cucking stool. We’re going to teach you not to use that tone with us. Certainly not here, where you are nothing more than a slave. But not in class either. You will be very careful in how you interact with Anna, Kelly and me in class from now on. We are your special students.”
“We are the teacher’s pets, and the teacher is our pet,” giggled Anna.
I certainly didn’t intend to be condescending — I was on my knees, for fuck’s sake — but I guess that quality just naturally creeps into my tone at times, unconsciously. Perhaps an occupational hazard of being a professor? Or at least, a hazard in the situations in which I increasingly found myself.
“Strip,” ordered, Paul.
“Yes, sir. May I stand for a moment?”
Paul nodded his ascent. I quickly removed my shoes, socks, shirt and jeans, and stood before them in my panties and chastity cage.
“Obeisance here means you drop down onto your belly, you clasp your hands behind your back and you slither like the worm you are to your superior’s feet and kiss each one reverently. Obeisance!”
I was standing several feet away from them. I did exactly what Paul described, finding that the only way to propel myself forward from that position was to grind my crotch into the floor. Not only was it incredibly uncomfortable, but I feared that my chastity cage might scratch their hardwood floor. Fortunately, there was an area rug covering most of the space separating us, so I was able to slide myself — indeed, “slither” was the correct word — towards their feet. Figuring ladies first, I planted kisses on Anna’s lovely bare feet, followed by Paul’s socked feet.
Paul asked me, “Where is Luke today?”
Still prostrate on my belly, inches from their toes, I answered, “He is traveling today, sir.”
“Overnight?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What about your wife?”
“She is working tonight.”
“You didn’t say, ‘sir.’ That’s one demerit. At the restaurant?”
I had never said anything to them about Brooke’s job, even during Paul’s initial interrogation of me at O’Riordans. His detailed knowledge of my life was unsettling.
“Yes, sir.”
“What time does she get home? Don’t lie, I have my ways of checking.”
“Usually around 10:30 or so, sir.”
Anna interjected, “Good, you can work longer than two hours, then. The condo is a disaster, and we’re having a little get together on Thursday. That little bitch, Chrissy, said her mother is sick. Supposedly. So she wasn’t able to clean on Sunday. You have your work cut out for you, professor maid. Where is your page uniform?”
Oh, no! Another order, I forgot. I didn’t hesitate to lie. “My wife wore the jacket today, princess. She occasionally likes to wear it.” Did Paul have ways of checking on that, too, I wondered.
“Bring it with you on Thursday. Fortunately, I picked out some other things for you to wear today. You’ll find your clothes on and next to the spanking bench in the dungeon. You can change in there and then present yourself to us before you start cleaning.”
“Yes, princess. Thank you.”
As I walked upstairs to the dungeon, I was still trying to process Anna’s extremely troubling remark a moment earlier. Not the fact that I had to work longer than two hours, nor that the condo was especially messy. Rather, it was the fact that they were planning on inviting guests on Thursday, the day I was to spend four hours with them, including preparing and serving them dinner. They had promised me that I wouldn’t be subjected to further exposure. Still, I had to risk asking, at some point, who they planned to invite to their “little get together.”
Expecting to find a maid’s uniform in the dungeon, I was not completely mistaken. Draped over the spanking bench were sheer black, thigh high stockings and a garter belt as well as a white lace maid’s cap. On the floor next to the bench were a pair of what appeared to be brand new, black high heels. Presumably, these were purchased specifically for me and would not painfully pinch my feet like Chrissy’s did.
The garter had a velcro clasp, so was relatively easy to put on. I initially struggled attaching the metal clasps to the thigh highs, but got those on as well. I then put the on the ridiculous cap. Finally, the most challenging part: the heels. They were my size, thankfully, but I was very unsteady in them, even partially twisting my ankle when I first tried to walk in them. Regarding myself in a large mirror hung inside the door to the dungeon, I looked utterly absurd, especially with my bare torso and rock-hard nipples.
Anna laughed loudly when I wobbled my way into the living room, where she and Paul were now reclining on the couch. My cock strained against its cage as I stood before my young monarchs, watching them scrutinize my ridiculously attired form.
“Don’t worry, professor. You’ll get used to the heels before you know it. Now let’s see you curtsy.”
The moment I was dreading. Should I confess to her that I had forgotten her instructions and beg her forbearance? Or should I wing it? I chose the latter, and chose unwisely. Not having a skirt to lift, I sort of mimicked lifting a phantom one and lamely bent my knees before standing straight again. There was no extending my right foot behind my left, no holding my position for two seconds when I bent my knees, no lowering my chin, no maintaining eye contact with my mistress. In other words, my improvisation was a dismal failure.
“That’s pathetic. Did you bother to practice at all?”, asked Anna, with a scowl.
“Yes, princess. Maybe I picked a bad how-to video.”
“You only watched one? You didn’t read anything about the different steps involved? It’s not hard to find instructions on Google. I checked myself. You either are lying to me or you’re a complete bimbo. Is it really true that we can’t leave marks on his ass.?”, she asked Paul.
“For now, yes, unfortunately. But I think I’ve figured out some ways to punish him that won’t leave any long lasting marks.”
“Good. He deserves it. Maybe a little pain will help you remember to do what we tell you to do in the future, and to do it properly,” said Anna to me.
“Yes, Princess Anna. I promise to study how to curtsy very carefully before Thursday.”
“You better. Including a deep curtsy.”
“But that doesn’t get you off the hook for fucking up today,” said Paul. “Now get busy.”
I gathered up their dirty laundry first (scattered throughout the apartment), and started a load. The condo was indeed a mess. I later learned that Paul and Anna simply never picked up after themselves. Why should they when they had a seemingly ever increasing stable of menials to do so for them. However, when one of the servants fell ill or for some other reason failed to clean on their allotted days, the next one paid the price, as I did that day. It was quite challenging walking in the heels, but Anna was correct that I got used to them fairly quickly. By the end of the nearly four hours I was with them that Tuesday, I was managing to walk in them reasonably steadily.
As I worked, I caught snippets of their conversation.
Anna said, “It’s a bummer we don’t get to control his cock.”
Paul replied, “I know. But I’m working on that. It’s going to take a little time.”
“That’s good. Without control of his cock, it doesn’t feel like he’s truly our slave, you know what I mean?”
“I do. Just be patient.”
“How do you plan to do it?” Anna glanced at me. “Or don’t you want him to hear?”
“I don’t care if he hears or not. There’s nothing he can do about it. The key is to make friends with Luke. He was willing to lend Rollins to us at the Ren fair when we asked. My guess is he’ll be willing to share him again. And regularly. Besides, Professor Larson told me Luke built a huge pool at his house. I’d love to swim there when the weather gets nice. Indoor pools just aren’t the same.”
I knew that Paul had taken one of Neil’s classes last year, but hearing that they had been in touch since the Ren fair — bonding over their shared love of swimming, no doubt — was concerning. I hoped that there wasn’t anything else they were bonding over.
Anna instructed me to use the Johnsons wax I had purchased to polish the expensive looking coffee table and end tables in their large living room. They watched TV as I worked around them, ordering me as they did last time to serve them drinks. The toothbrush was for me to clean the crevices in the tiled bathroom floor of the master bathroom. Anna said that the crevices made it difficult to thoroughly clean with a mop. That may have been true, but I suspected this was more about humiliation than cleanliness. She supervised me as knelt down and scrubbed the first few tiles, urging me to pay particular attention to those closest to the toilet. She stood in the entrance way, as I bent over with my panty-clad ass sticking out. Although my cock fought against its confines almost the entire time I was there that day, there were certain moments such as this that the throbbing was particularly unpleasant.
As I was mopping the kitchen floor, I heard an alarm go off.
“Get your ass in here!”, I heard Paul yell from the living room. “It’s time for your punishment. Normally, I don’t administer correction until a servant has completed all assigned tasks for the day, but since we can’t leave any visible marks on you for the time being, I’m going to make an exception for you. Five demerits from last week plus one from today. Not to mention your compete failure to learn how to properly curtsy. Get over my knees.”
“But what about the punishment lines, sir?”
“You’re questioning me? They were to address a separate issue: your idiotic obsession with academic integrity.”
“But, sir, didn’t you say that you would address my demerits on Thursday when I would be here longer?”
“That was before I knew you could stay here longer today. I intend to take advantage of it. But I’m also happy to administer part of your punishment today and part of it on Thursday. I’m sure that our guests will enjoy it.”
“Uh, sir, I was meaning to ask you about that. You, you…you and Princess Anna promised you wouldn’t tell anyone or show anyone…” My tongue was tied.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, professor. Our guests are Kelly and Archer,” said Anna.
“Archer, princess?”
“Archer is Kelly’s boyfriend. You two go way back. He saw you cleaning Luke’s truck in a speedo and you cleaned his muddy boots at the Ren fair. That was so much fun!, Anna giggled.
“What are you waiting for?,” Paul snapped.
I walked over to him and lay across his knees. Across the knees of my student, dressed as some fetishized maid. It was a truly surreal moment.
“The advantage of a hand spanking is that it can hurt quite a bit, but it won’t leave marks. The redness will fade in a couple of hours, and I think I know how to go right up to the edge of leaving bruises without actually leaving them. The key is lots of repetition. I’m going to give you twenty spanks for each demerit. Normally, it would only be ten, but that’s when I’m using a paddle, strap or crop. Or cane. We will inspect your cleaning when you’re done, and any additional demerits you earn today will be addressed on Thursday.” Paul rubbed my bottom with his hand as he spoke, a sensual exertion of control that I did not expect.
“Did you ever think you’d get to spank one of your professors?”, Anna asked her boyfriend with almost childlike delight.
“Great to check this one off the bucket list. Someday, I’d like to have a Senator or Governor over my knees.”
“How about the President?”
“You never know. There are submissive cucks and closet masochists in all walks of life.”
And with that observation, Paul’s hand came down hard on my panty-clad bottom. It came down again and again. The first strike hurt, but it was the cumulative effect that really turned this hand spanking into a tear-inducing punishment. I managed to be fairly stoic until about the 30th strike. By around the 50th, I was kicking my legs. Eventually I kicked with sufficient force that both of my heels came off. Although my sheer panties offered next to no protection, about midway through my punishment, Paul pulled them down and struck me on my bare bottom. Around the same time the tears came, I started squirming around on Paul’s lap.
“Stay still!”
I tried, but as the spanks kept coming, I continued to squirm on his lap. Paul then reached between my legs and firmly grabbed my balls. That certainly got my attention.
As he squeezed them, Paul said, “Do you think you can be still now?”
‘Yes, sir. I do!”
Through great exertion of will, I was able to remain still as Paul delivered the final twenty or strokes. He pushed me roughly off his lap onto the floor after he finished.
“Normally, I would now make you stand in the corner with your ass on display for 30 minutes or so, but I want to make sure you have time to finish cleaning.”
I wiped the tears from my eyes and replied, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Anna sat down next to Paul on the couch and, inserting her hand into his sweatpants. said, “That was hot. Did it excite you as much as it did me? Oh, I can feel that it did! Let’s go fuck on our freshly made bed.”
“Sounds good, babe. If we’re quick, he can wash the sheets again before he leaves.”
Which is exactly what happened.
Before I left, Anna left me detailed instructions for the meal I was to prepare on Thursday.
It was 9:30 PM by the time I got home. Given that Luke was away, I was hoping Brooke would release me when she got home and give me footjob or maybe even allow me to make love to her like she did on Thanksgiving. As exhausted as I was, I had been in a near constant state of frustrated sexual arousal throughout the day and its myriad humiliations, and I was dying to be released.
Unfortunately, Brooke had a difficult night at the restaurant (two men who hit on her, and one who stiffed her after she politely rebuffed him) and was in a foul mood. So instead of being released, I spent still more time on my truly aching knees, giving her a long foot massage through her sweaty stockings as she silently watched TV.
That was still the highlight of my long, long day.

Sorry in advance for the long post, I meant for this to be short but everything I write inevitably turns into an essay.
My mom is, always has been, and always will be, an emotionally abusive narcissist with the mentality and maturity of a teenage girl. One of the main markers of her immaturity, is that she gets triggered and dysregulated for the rest of the day, yes, the ENTIRE day, after encountering minor annoyances most people would shrug off.
And not only does she fixate on them all day, but the residual outrage she feels since she can't/won't process them inevitably gets funneled and directed towards me, and only me, since I am the scapegoat child.
Earlier today, narc!mom bought some snacks from Sonic and brought it home for us. Seems like a nice thing to do, except they shorted her a large tater tot totaling just $3.99. Annoying, but whatever, that happens sometimes, we got everything else she ordered. We're a slightly upper middle class income household, from an income narc!mom gets from disability and other such programs, so keep in mind that my mom is not slaving 9-5 in an office job to buy this food, she mostly just sits on the couch and watches tv all day since she has that luxury. With all this in mind, $4 should be nothing to lose one's mind over.
So first mom is annoyed bordering on full out angry at being shorted a large tot, she calls customer service to get a refund or get Sonic credit for her next. For whatever reason, getting that $4 back was gonna be a process. This sends my mom from very annoyed to a simmering boil of rage. My mom's not a shrill narc, but she's a quiet seether type of rager, like a boiling pot of water with a glass lid so you can see the water bubbling up, but it's contained under the lid.
I see her face from where I'm at the kitchen, and I can't help but roll my eyes, where she can't see me naturally. Come on. Yes, having to wait to get a refund for something you never got is annoying, but it's four fucking dollars at the end of the day over fast food. In what world does that warrant going red in the face and glowering at the floor? That's something children do, and it looks so cartoonish on a 50-something year old woman.
And since narc!mom always finds a convenient reason to get angry with me right as she's angry at something or someone else, she starts picking a fight with me. She asks me "Is it alright if I do laundry?" She asks me this stupid question everytime she has laundry to do, and every time, I tell her "It's not my laundry day (Wednesdays), you don't need my permission." And when it IS Wednesdays, either she or my golden child brother do their laundry on my fucking day. I'm pretty sure she asks me just to piss me off now.
So like always, I tell her if it's not Wednesday, WHICH IT'S NOT, do whatever you want. I wasn't rude, even though I wanted to say it rudely, I made sure to say it casually. But still, mom's face scrunches up and she glares at me, and tells me to watch the attitude. Maybe my definition of casual sems rude to her, I dunno, but even if I WAS rude about it, I think I'm right to feel annoyed about having to tell her the same fucking thing almost every other day. I straight up tell her "It's not attitude to state a fact, it's not my laundry day." She insisted it was attitude, so I repeated my statement. She finally realized I wasn't going to apologize or give in and agree I'd been rude and she finally dropped it. I'm keeping my distance from her for the rest of the day.
As annoying as she is, I was kinda pleased to realize after coming back to my room, that I've outgrown my mom. Not a hard thing to achieve since she's emotionally and mentally stunted to an adolescent mindset, but still. I could have turned out as immature and bratty as her given she's been my only parent since I was 13, (I'm 24 now and my dad died when I was 15, but we were estranged since I was 13.) But her shitty behavior has inspired me to handle my problems as differently from her as possible, i.e. keeping a level head, not letting my emotions control me, not fixating on a minor issue until my mind makes it out to be bigger than it objectively is, etc.
My mom is a perpetually angry and miserable bitch because she can't self-soothe or regulate herself. And she's been steadily getting worse over the past 2-3 years, so I can only assume she'll become more angry and miserable with time. I plan to be moved out far away from her though, and going NC when I do, so she'll have to find someone else to be her emotional punching bag. I'm just proud of the person I am, how I turned out despite everything going against me. I'm not like my mom, and that makes me so happy.

Hello guys, I think I told y'all about my doctor diagnosing me with Keratoconus. I was skeptical about it because it came on so suddenly and I had a lot of ghosting. My ghosting started three years ago and I've battled with it for a long time.
Well, I was able to try my doctors recommendation and try scleral contact lenses. In glasses my ghosting remained, even when I used eye drops for dry eye. I tried everything under the sun to fix my ghosting because I had no idea what my ghosting was coming from. I am happy to report that my doctor was 100% correct. With the scleral lenses the ghosting is gone. Even when I turn the brightness on my phone to max to try and make myself see ghosting I cannot see it.
So if your still struggling to find an answer keep on pushing. Keratoconus is rare so a lot of doctors I went through never diagnosed it until I saw my recent doctor about a year ago. I will say the scleral lenses take some getting used to and with so much tweaking I'm not sure if I can wear them long term, I've been having a hard time with them due to dry eye, but I'm just happy to finally have definitive answer and proof that it is treatable. I just don't think I'll be able to afford these lenses very long because they are very expensive and they cost quite a bit of money to maintain.
Anyway I hope y'all find an answer to your ghosting one day.

“We need a bigger bed,” I said.
Elincia nestled to my side. Her platinum hair cascaded over her pretty face, and her emerald eyes gleamed in the dim light of the cramped room like those of a cat. Like every morning, my heart skipped a beat, but I did my best to hide my astonishment. I knew Elincia would cling to it and tease me for the rest of the day.
A thin sunbeam crept between the curtains. Hundreds of pages of runic research covered the desk. Alchemic ingredients floated inside glass flasks, piling in the room's corners. Dirty clothes piled in a corner. Elincia was a cleaning maniac, and the mess was a living sign of how tight our schedules were.
“We need a bigger bed,” I repeated.
Elincia chuckled. “I’m too clingy?”
I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her closer. “I mean it. I can barely move with you taking up all of the space.”
She nudged me with her elbow beneath the blankets. “Oh, admit it, you love to have me so close.”
I kissed her forehead. “I love the touch of your cold feet and how your hair gets in my mouth, don’t get me wrong, but I need space for my arm.”
Despite the healing skills and Elincia’s curative salves, the burns on my arm stabbed like a thousand glass shards. The Healers from the Guard said it would heal, but it would take a while. That’s what I got for overusing Energy Potions. A stack of Mana Toxicity was too dangerous, and the benefits of chugging Energy Potions were too few compared to a High-Grade Healing Potion at the right moment.
“We’ll have Ginz look into crafting a bigger bed,” Elincia giggled as she kissed my cheek. “I’m still going to cling.”
“I can live with that,” I replied, stretching my back.
I wouldn’t change my life for anything else. Despite the previous night's fight, I felt energized. I suspected the System blessed me with a hidden Status every time I woke up to Elincia by my side, but nothing in my Character Sheet suggested that.
“So, you are level forty now,” I said. I eventually had to get up, but for now, I wanted to remain in bed, hugging Elincia and pretending this was a lazy Saturday back on Earth.
“It’s not that big of a deal. Alchemist’s stat growths aren’t very impressive, but at least my mana reserves improved,” Elincia said, playing with my hair. “The problem is my titles. I have done very little research with all the work around the orphanage. By level forty, I should have at least one Unique Recipe under my name.”
“With all the extra hands, I think you’ll have enough time now,” I said.
“I’m afraid it will be the opposite,” Elincia whispered, searching for my lips.
Before we could kiss, someone frantically knocked on the door.
“Miss Elincia! There are weird people in the orphanage!” Shu yelled from the corridor.
The door slammed open, and Shu appeared in the doorway, wearing a cooking pot as a helmet. We had told the kids the night’s commotion was caused by a small group of grave robbers. They believed the story and continued sleeping as if nothing had happened. It was good to know that, at least, they felt safe in the orphanage.
Shu ran inside as fast as her talons allowed her. When she had crossed half the room, she used her wings to rise into the air and dove into the bed, softly landing between us. There, she clung to Elincia with her arms and legs.
Elincia stroked her hair.
“There is a big green one and a scary wolf one. She has fangs and claws, and I think she might want to eat someone,” Shu said with an alarmed expression.
Elincia laughed.
“Those are Risha and Astrid,” she explained, cradling Shu against her chest. Shu extended her wings, making herself comfortable. They were warm. “Risha and Astrid are my friends, like you with Nokti, Virdian, and Ash. They used to live in the orphanage way before you arrived.”
“They don’t have parents?” Shu asked, appalled.
Elincia nodded.
“Well then, I guess they can stay at the orphanage. I better go tell them they are welcome before they decide to leave,” Shu said, climbing down the bed and walking to the door.
“That’s a great idea,” Elincia said.
Shu closed the door behind her a moment later, and Elicia and I were alone again.
“You don’t seem very thrilled about Risha and Astrid staying here,” I said.
“Give me a break,” Elincia replied, hiding her face in the curve of my neck.
We lay there in comfortable silence, the only sound being the distant chatter of the kids in the kitchen. Danger upon the orphanage, but for a moment, the little joy of lazing together was all that mattered. If anything, we deserved it.
The scenes of last night passed quickly before my eyes, yet I didn’t feel a sliver of remorse—I wasn’t even angry. When the thieves cornered me in the alley a few months ago, and Sir Janus killed them, I felt regret and anger. Regret because two people had died. Anger because they had forced me to resort to violence. Now, I felt none. On a rational level, I wished things were different, but on an emotional level, I felt completely detached from the situation. A part of me even felt proud because I was able to protect the orphanage.
I used a lock of Elincia’s hair to tickle her nose. She grunted and shook her head.
“How are you feeling,” I asked.
“I’m not ready to fully forgive Risha and Astrid, but I guess they can stay. It’s what Mister Lowell would’ve wanted. I just need time,” Elincia replied.
“I meant about last night,” I pointed out.
“Oh, that,” Elincia shrugged. “Zealots are known to be strong and unpredictable foes, and Defenders are a strong advanced class. Your combat power is comparable to a level 40, and the shotgun allows me to one-shot any mid-level regardless of their class, as long as I have the element of surprise. I’d say no criminal group in Farcrest can safely attack us now.”
Elincia had a completely different set of worries, but she was right. Most of the city's inhabitants were between level one and twenty-five. Veteran Guardsmen and Sentinels reached around level thirty-five, but that was the peak for most people. To keep progressing, one had to face the dangers of the Farlands. Those who surpassed level forty were the ones who fought against Monster Surges and survived to tell the story.
With our current combat power, only a few foes could touch us.
“How about you? How are you feeling?” Elincia interrupted my train of thought.
“I’m feeling annoying,” I replied, nibbling on Elincia’s ear in the most bothersome way.
I still cared about Elincia and the kids’ well-being. I cared about Risha, Astrid, Ginz, Nasiah, and Captain Kiln, and I even cared for the regular citizens of Farcrest, although in a more diffused and distant way. I wasn’t turning into a cold-blooded murderer any time soon, not even in exchange for all the levels.
“Don’t you have to prepare your team for the tournament?” Elincia said.
Alarms went off in my brain. We had four days until the tournament. It wasn’t long enough to take the girls to the Farlands to level up, and it was barely enough time to teach them anything else. I went over my mental list, trying to come up with a new plan and cursing my bad luck and whoever wanted to sabotage the orphanage.
I kicked the blankets and jumped to my feet. Elincia hissed, trying to remain covered. Winter was coming to an end, but the days were still cold and windy. I wondered if there would be any snow before spring. I put on my training clothes and winter boots using my mana as a third hand. A moment later, I was ready to roll.
“Don’t overdo it!” Elincia said as I left the room.
“I won’t if you promise to get along with your friends!”
Elincia pouted. “They aren’t my friends!”
I blew her a kiss and jogged down the hallway, out of the sleeping quarters, into the corridor, and into the kitchen. I rubbed my hands together to drive away the morning's cold. Inside, Ginz and Risha were sitting near the stove while the little kids fluttered around. Shu and the snake twins were excited about Risha’s presence, and even the youngest ones seemed to accept him. It wasn’t a surprise. Risha was the kind of person who fell on his feet wherever he went.
As soon as I entered the room, Risha and Ginz raised their heads and greeted me.
“You should have woke me up,” I said.
“I prepare breakfast for a whole platoon. I’m used to this. How is your arm doing?” Risha replied with a worried expression, moving to the side to open up space on the bench.”
“Healing skills helped,” I replied, grabbing a bowl of gruel, and adding raisins, nuts, and honey. “What about you? How is it to be back home?”
Risha sighed. “Ash doesn’t like me; he has made it clear, but I don’t understand why. The other kids are okay with me. Nokti and Virdian already invited me to work on the farm.”
I cast an accusatory glance toward the snake twins. They totally wanted Risha’s muscle to boost their potato production. The kids seemed to notice because they scurried out of the kitchen, giggling.
“It’s okay. Ash isn’t very fond of me either,” I said, burying my spoon in the gruel.
“Teeth are for chewing. I thought a Scholar would know.” Risha said, prompting a laugh from the youngest orphans.
“I’m in a hurry. Places to be. People to talk to,” I replied, shoveling another spoonful of gruel into my mouth. It wasn’t bad, but Elincia’s gruel was better. “By the way, do you have any useful skills other than your class?”
Risha blinked repeatedly. My question was a bit out of place in a world where Class was everything. However, he quickly recovered.
“I guess I know my camping stuff. I have lived in the Farlands for the last seven or eight years. I know how to camp safely almost everywhere in any season: summer, winter, forest, mountain, dry, humid,” Risha replied. “Why?”
“Good. First thing in the morning, you’ll teach camping to Elincia’s class. Then, in the afternoons, you’ll help my class spar,” I said, scraping my bowl for one last spoonful of gruel and putting it on the pile of dirty dishes. “Welcome back to the orphanage.”
I swallowed and walked to the door.
“Wait!” Risha stopped me, putting his hand on my shoulder. “I can help the older kids spar, but I’m not a teacher. I don’t know anything about your scholarly things.”
I couldn’t help but notice that Elincia was at least twice as rough as Risha.
Ginz snorted. “You’ll do fine, Risha. I’ll teach you everything there is to know about teaching kids.”
Risha raised an eyebrow. It seemed that the present Ginz clashed with Risha’s mental image of the past Ginz. I couldn’t help but smile. Ginz had changed a lot since arriving at the orphanage; it wasn’t merely his level, fame, or his skills as a Craftsman. He used to be a meek and fearful man, but now he was a dependable friend.
I just had to make sure he didn’t experiment with explosives inside the orphanage.
“Teaching the specifics can be boring, but if you tell them everything is part of a bigger project, they will actually listen to you,” Ginz explained. “Tell them you’ll be camping with them in the groove when spring starts. They will love it.”
Risha opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t find the words. Ginz’s idea was actually very smart. He continued explaining the minutiae of Elincia’s class to Risha, so I seized the opportunity to leave the kitchen and exit the manor.
My class was already in the backyard.
Zaon and Wolf sat in the big stump while Firana and Ilya sparred against Astrid simultaneously. Ilya cast [Entangling Vines], and a root emerged from the ground, shooting at Astrid’s ankle. However, Astrid dodged without breaking a sweat. Her combination of innate agility and boosting skills put her in a completely different speed tier. Firana didn’t give up and used Ilya’s vine in conjunction with her [Windrider] skill to boost herself forward, rapier first. Astrid kicked the blade aside and jumped out of Ilya’s range.
“Good morning,” I greeted, interrupting the fight.
The girls disengaged and rushed to greet me. The older kids already knew the truth about last night’s events. Zaon had run to get Ilya, which alerted Firana that something was happening in the kitchen. She awakened Wolf so she wouldn’t be the only one scolded for being up late. Ultimately, the four ended up in the kitchen.
“How’s your arm doing, Rob?” Firana asked.
“It’s Mister Clarke,” I replied.
“Come on, I’m an adult now. I should be allowed to call you by your name,” Firana complained.
“You are still my student, Miss Aias,” I shot her down, to Ilya’s delight. “My arm is doing well, by the way. Just a bit sore.”
During the night, I discovered an extra functionality for [Awareness]. The skill doesn't only enhance my senses but could also redirect them to a certain extent. It was a blessing considering that the pain grew as the hours passed and the healing magic dissipated, and it was better than Astrid barging into the room every half hour to refresh the healing spell.
Astrid came forward with a worried expression.
“Should I check it?” She said, and before I could answer, she grabbed my arm and washed it with the green light of her healing skill. After a couple of seconds, when the wound became saturated with magic, she let me go.
I thanked her and looked at my students.
“The tournament starts in four days,” I said, examining their reactions. Every teacher knew that faces usually told more than words.
Ilya remained calm, Firana buzzed with excitement, and Wolf seemed happy, although it was hard to tell, considering his natural stoicism. Zaon, however, seemed a bit more concerned than usual.
“Are we discussing strategy?” Firana asked.
“No. I just wanted to let you know I’m very proud of you all,” I said, my words seeming to catch them by surprise. “Regardless of the tournament outcome, I’m very happy with your progress. From the beginning, I knew you had a lot to show, and you have far surpassed my expectations. As a teacher, it’s been a privilege and a pleasure to work with you.”
The four of them remained silent until Firana opened her mouth.
“That means we are your favorite students ever?” She asked.
“No. You are too sassy,” I replied.
“Oh, come on! You are lying!” Firana said.
“He’s lying,” Ilya said.
“Mister Clarke wouldn’t have favorites,” Zaon pointed out.
“Are you messing with me, Twig?” Firana said, putting her arm around Zaon’t neck.
“Enough!” I said, holding back my laughter. I clapped my hands to catch the kid’s attention. “We have little time to refine the last details. Today, we will split the class. The girls will spar with Astrid, and the boys will come with me. Understood?”
Astrid and the kids nodded.
“We don’t need classless scrubs here. Go away!” Firana said, showing Zaon and Wolf her tongue.
“Don’t cry later when your fart powers fail,” Wolf calmly replied.
A vein popped on Firana’s forehead. I sighed. Wolf knew perfectly well how to annoy her, but Firana wasn’t cool-headed enough to notice. I might have to retract my statement about the kid’s progress.
Before a fight could start, I brought the boys to the groove.
“Mister Clarke?” Zaon asked when we were outside eavesdropping range.
“Yes?” I replied, putting my sword on an old fallen tree and adjusting my padded jacket. There was no sign a battle had been fought the night before other than the burned foliage of a handful of trees.
“I’m going to be Classless during the first part of the tournament… and I’m not as strong as Wolf or skillful as Firana,” Zaon started. “I don’t want to make the team lose.”
I nodded.
“I’m aware you will be Classless for another week. But you have a tool none of your teammates have,” I calmly replied. “You are an Elf, Zaon. Look at your Character Sheet.”
Zaon focused his eyes on an invisible point before him.
“Night Vision? Are we fighting at night?” Zaon asked.
“Miss Elincia told me you inherited all three elven traits. Night Vision, Light-Footed, and Keen Senses, Zaon,” I replied with a mischievous smile. “I brought you two here to teach you a secret technique that will allow you to win every match.”
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Part of the natural environment.
Outdoors molds break down dead organic matter such as fallen leaves and dead trees.
Indoor mold growth should be avoided.
Molds reproduce by means of tiny spores.
The spores are invisible to the naked eye and float through the air.
Mold may begin growing indoors when spores land on moist surfaces.
All types of mold require moisture for growth.
Ubiquitous.
Mold spores are a common component of household and workplace dust.
In large amounts can be a health hazard, potentially causing allergic reactions and respiratory problems.
Some molds produce mycotoxins that can pose serious health risks, and are ref2242ed to as Toxic mold.
Exposure to high levels of mycotoxins can lead to neurological problems and death.
Symptoms of mold exposure may include:
Nasal and sinus congestion; runny nose
Eye irritation; itchy, red, watery eyes
Respiratory problems, such as wheezing and difficulty breathing, chest tightness
Cough
Throat irritation
Skin irritation
Headache
Persistent sneezing
Asthma
Infants may develop respiratory symptoms as a result of exposure to Penicillium, a fungal genus.
Increased exposure to mold increases the probability of developing respiratory symptoms during the first year of life, and there is a correlation between the probability of developing asthma and exposure to Penicillium.
Mold exposure has a variety of health effects.
Mold exposure associated with varying sensitivities by individuals.
May cause throat irritation, nasal stuffiness, eye irritation, cough and wheezing and skin irritation.
Patients with chronic lung diseases are at higher risk for allergies, and experience more severe reactions when exposed to mold.
Indoor dampness environments correlate with upper-respiratory-tract symptoms, such as coughing and wheezing in people with asthma.
Found virtually everywhere, and can grow on almost any substance in the presence of moisture.
Mold reproduce by spores, which are carried by air currents.
When spores land on a moist surface suitable for life, they begin to grow.
Mold is normally found indoors at levels which do not affect most healthy individuals.
Common building materials are able to sustain mold growth.
Mold spores are ubiquitous, and growth in an indoor environment is typically related to water or moisture.
Flooding, leaky roofs, building-maintenance or indoor-plumbing problems can lead to
Interior mold growth can occur with flooding, leaky roofs, building-maintenance or indoor-plumbing problems.
Water vapor commonly condenses on surfaces cooler than the moisture-laden air, enabling mold to flourish, and passes through walls and ceilings, typically condensing during the winter in climates with a long heating season.
Floors over crawl spaces and basements, without vapor barriers or with dirt floors, are mold-prone.
Mold growth requires moisture, food sources and a substrate capable of sustaining growth.
Common building materials, such as plywood, drywall, carpets, and carpet padding, cardboard and the paper facing on drywall and organic matter such as soap, fabrics and dust-containing skin cells provide food for mold.
Food sources for mold in buildings include cellulose-based materials such as wood, cardboard and the paper facing on drywall and organic matter such as soap, fabrics and dust-containing skin cells.
In carpet, invisible dust and cellulose are food sources.
After water damage to a building, it grows in walls and then becomes dormant until subsequent high humidity.
Suitable conditions reactivate mold.
Mycotoxin levels are higher in buildings which have had a water damage.
It is detectable by smell and signs of water damage on walls or ceiling..
Mold can grow in places invisible to the human eye, such as behind wallpaper or paneling, on the inside of ceiling tiles, the back of drywall, or the underside of carpets or carpet padding.
Leaking pipes in walls may also be a source of mold causing moisture and condensation.
If a house has mold, the moisture may originate in the basement or crawl space, a leaking roof or a leak in plumbing pipes.
Insufficient ventilation may accelerate moisture buildup.
Spores require three things to grow into mold:
Nutrients such as cellulose the cell wall of green plants, is a common food for indoor spores.
Moisture:
Time: Mold growth begins from 24 hours to 10 days after the provision of growing conditions.
Mold colonies growing inside buildings is associated with inhalation of mycotoxins.
Visible mold colonies may occur where ventilation is poorest and on perimeter walls.
Intermittent home mold may reflect the house is too airtight or too drafty.
Mold problems accelerate in airtight homes more frequently in the warmer months when humidity is high and moisture is trapped.
Mold problems accelerate in drafty homes more frequently in the colder months,when warm air escapes from the living area and condenses.
Artificially humidified homes can create conditions favorable to mold.
Moving air may prevent mold from growing.
Moving air has a desiccating effect like low humidity.
Growth of mold may occur between 32 and 95 °F (0 and 35 °C), but grow best in warm temperatures, 77 to 86 °F (25 to 30 °C).
Removing one of the three requirements for mold reduces (or eliminates) new mold growth:
Mold generally does not grow in cold environments.
HVAC systems produce all three requirements for mold growth, creating a difference in temperature, and encourages condensation.
HVAC dusty air movement may provide ample food for mold.
When air-conditioning system is not always running, warm conditions add the final component for mold growth.
Visible mold presence determines the level of repair that is necessary.
Vigorous inspection of the physical environment and areas of moisture are required to assess the mold level.
Air sampling to assess mold levels is the most common ambling.
Indoor and outdoor air may sampled, and their mold-spore levels compared.
Air sampling frequently identifies hidden mold.
Surface sampling measures the number of mold spores deposited on indoor surfaces, collected on tape or in dust.
Multiple types of sampling are recommended.
Mold will begin to grow on moist, porous surfaces within 24 to 48 hours
The effective way to clean mold is to use detergent solutions which physically remove mold.
Many commercially available detergents marketed for mold cleanup include an antifungal agent.
Mold growth may require removal of affected building materials and eradicate the source of excess moisture.
In extreme cases it may be more cost-effective to condemn the building than to reduce mold to safe levels.
The goals are to remove or clean contaminated materials, preventing fungi from entering an occupied area while protecting workers
Killing mold with a biocide is insufficient.
Chemicals and proteins causing reactions in humans remain in dead mold.
HVAC cleaning must be done.
Protective clothing , Including a half- or full-face respirator mask to prevent mold spores from reaching the mucous membranes of the eyes.
Disposable hazmat coveralls to keep out particles down to one micrometer, and protective suits keep mold spores from entering skin cuts.
Gloves made of rubber, nitrile, polyurethane, or neoprene.
The level of mold contamination dictates the protection level for remediation workers.
Contamination levels have been enumerated as I, II, III, and IV.
Level I: Small, isolated areas (10 square feet (0.93 m2) or less).
Level II: Mid-sized, isolated areas (10–30 square feet (0.93–2.79 m2)
Level III: Large, isolated areas (30–100 square feet (2.8–9.3 m2)
Level IV: Extensive contamination (more than 100 square feet (9.3 m2)
Residential mold may be prevented and controlled by:
Cleaning and repairing roof gutters, to prevent moisture seepage into the home
Keeping air-conditioning drip pans clean and drainage lines clear
Monitoring indoor humidity
Drying areas of moisture or condensation and removing their sources
Treating exposed structural wood or wood framing with an EPA-approved fungicidal encapsulation coating after pre-cleaning
https://standardofcare.com/mold/

MW How interest in electric vehicles has stalled over 3 years, in one chart
04/30/24 4:52 PM
Younger Americans are particularly aware of Chinese EV brands, survey finds
The promised American switch to electric vehicles from gas-engine cars is hitting speed bumps, and a new survey offers fresh indications of that slowdown.
As shown in the middle chart above, the percentage of Americans who say they're very or moderately likely to buy a battery electric vehicle, or BEV, has stagnated. It came in at 35% in the survey conducted by consulting firm AlixPartners - the same level as in 2021.
In the U.S. and European markets, BEVs are "mostly satisfying early adopters," while China "now operates like a mature BEV market, with consumers seeing BEVs as a natural choice," said Mark Wakefield, AlixPartners's global co-leader for its automotive and industrial practice, in a statement last week as the survey's results were released.
American and European buyers are turning to plug-in hybrid EVs, or PHEVs - seeing them as a "completely legitimate substitute for meeting near-term needs and addressing charging and range concerns," said Arun Kuman, global co-leader for advanced mobility at AlixPartners.
Related: Ford's stock rises as EV losses are held in check and hybrid sales surge
The significant concerns around charging and driving range are shown in the additional chart below.
Electric vehicles have become increasingly politicized, with the presumptive 2024 Republican presidential nominee, Donald Trump, often criticizing President Joe Biden's policies that seek to accelerate the shift away from internal combustion engines. On the other hand, Republicans and Democrats do see eye to eye on inexpensive Chinese EVs, as there are bipartisan calls to keep such cars out of the U.S.
See: One thing Biden and Trump agree on: Keeping this $10,000 Chinese EV out of the U.S.
The AlixPartners survey found Americans have some awareness of Chinese EV brands. Among those who are very likely or moderately likely to buy BEVs, 21% were aware of BYD (HK:1211) (CN:002594), 20% knew of Leapmotor (HK:9863) and 14% knew of Nio (NIO) and Hozon Auto. In addition, 73% of those consumers said they would consider buying or leasing a Chinese EV if it were priced 20% lower than a similar non-Chinese car.
Younger Americans were especially aware of Chinese EV brands, as shown in the chart below.
The AlixPartners survey was conducted from March 28 to April 10, reaching 9,000 respondents across eight countries.
Rental-car chain Hertz (HTZ) has been among the U.S. companies hammered by weaker-than-expected demand for electric vehicles. Hertz's stock plunged 26% last week as the company reported a wider-than-anticipated quarterly loss and expanded its plan to sell off its EV fleet.
Meanwhile, U.S. EV pioneer Tesla (TSLA) reported sharp drops in its quarterly profit and revenue last week, though investors cheered its promise of an affordable EV by early next year.
Electric vehicles are likely to make up 8% of new-car sales in the U.S. this year, up just a little from their share of 6.9% in 2023, according an Edmunds estimate.
Now read: Smart ways to shop for used EVs, which now cost half as much as they did in 2022
-Victor Reklaitis
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Heyo I’m currently on my 1st month of 40mg/day, started in Feb 2024 wt 10mg then 20mg. The other day both my eyes got irritated/infected which I attributed to dry eyes from accutane. Long story short I’m on antibiotic eye drops, & booked to see my GP Thursday
BUT I noticed today that the foreign body sensation might be due to this growth? Buildup? On my coloured eye ring. Did anyone have anything like this in accutane? Worried if I should go to emerg or not 🙃

Over the last few months of reading this sub and seeing many common questions to potty training, I thought I'd compiled some realistic tips to share (no potty training geniuses here). We did the ditch-diapers method (except for sleep) which is the most popular method and it worked well for us. We're 6mo post potty training and life is good. Here we go:
WHEN (to potty train): If kiddo hasn't shown explicit signs of wanting to go potty (ask to be changed, ask to use the potty/toilet etc), then whenever YOU are ready (able to get at least 3 days but ideally 1 wk off work, mentally prepared to have 1 week of cleaning pees / poops off your floor and laundry). Personally I think 2.5-3 yrs is the sweet spot for most. We trained at 24mo and it was medium-hard, he wasn't able to pull pants up/down himself yet. At 2.5 now he can do everything minus wiping poops.
If kiddo shows specific signs to want to potty, I would not miss that window of opportunity.
SUPPLIES: at the very minimum a small portable potty to drag around AND a travel potty on the go (I like the OXO). Ideally you would have a small potty and a big toilet seat insert, in case kid prefers one over the other -plus you'll have to transition to big toilet anyway. For big toilet, highly recommend a step ladder so they can climb on it themselves. Extras: floor cleaning supplies (wipes or paper towels, whatever), underwear (preferably loose). Novel toys come in handy when they resist.
READ: Oh Crap, 3 day potty training, busytoddler.com all have similar methods to ditch diapers all at once (minus sleep). We used Oh Crap and liked it. BUT don't take everything the author says as the gospel. Every child is different.
TIMELINE: most parents' biggest downfall is false expectation. Realistically, most kids at 2-2.5 (IME) need AT LEAST 1 wk of "concentrated" potty training (you have to drop everything at least on the first few days to just potty train) followed by a few wks of refinement. By the end of week 1, they may be able to pee/poop on the potty when you prompt them. By week 3-5, most kids will be able to initiate (tell you they need to go, or go themselves). Until then you have to prompt based on their pees pattern (you will figure this out). Note the timeline is in WEEKS not DAYS. Give it one good week (7 full days) and reassess at the end if you want to continue or stop and restart later. There is no shame in quitting but also - you WILL have to do it at some point, and it could be much easier, OR it could be worse (3 yr olds are a lot more independent and as a result may have a stronger opinions. They may also have a harder time releasing poops without diapers - this is from many friends' experiences who advised me to train earlier than 3). So I would not quit without carefully assessing your individual situation.
Expect weeks, and if your kid got it in a few days, well you hit the jackpot. I've heard closer to 3, they can get it in a few days but no personal experience w potty training at this age.
REWARDS: I know Oh Crap author discourages it, but let's be real. If every kid goes to the potty when you say "let's go potty", we wouldn't be here. Of course you should try low-key no rewards first, but if they fight, rewards are worth it. They WILL NOT ask for it a few wks into potty training once it becomes second nature. But it will help them get through those first few days when they're so overwhelmed and have no motivation to stop playing and participate in this boring chore you're making them do. So my take: do it and do not feel bad. It's just for the initial toughest period.
NIGHT TRAINING: It's physiological. They'll do it once they're ready. Unless you really want to save 1 diaper a day or your kiddo is 6-7 and still wets the bed (in which case you may want to seek a doctor's advise), just let them do it on their timeline. You can push liquids during the day and slow down as bedtime approaches, but I disagree with true "restriction" (eg they ask for water and you say no). If they're thirsty they're thirsty! Personal anecdotes: my son figured it out 1mo after day potty training and that was that, we did nothing. My mom woke up twice a night to potty my brother from 18mo to 3.5 yrs and he didn't stay dry til 3.5 yrs. IMO, not worth losing sleep over.
POOPS: poops are hard. It's totally normal for them to stand to strain, get fussy, lean onto you to strain (the potty business is scary and maybe it'll swallow the poops!?), not able to release full poops on the potty, go hide in a corner to poop but not tell you etc. Totally normal for them to poop pants/the floor for a while (12 days for us). Offer rewards, cheer them on, pop them on the potty mid-poop so they can see poop falling in and that it's ~okay~, throw play-dohs in the potty to show them how it works. Be chill and say "yay you pooped" even if they pooped floopants - you don't want to scare/pressure them. Poop holding is terrible. If poop seems hard, consider giving things to make it easy (prune juice/pears/kiwis/Culturelle probiotics + fibeMiralax etc) The last thing you need is them hating the potty because of poop straining pain.
TRAVEL: If you can, get out of the car and prompt normally. Do test short trips first (<30 mins drive ideally) before longer ones. Bring a travel potty in case there's no roadside toilets. To prevent car seat accidents, do undies then pull ups then pants (puppy pads are of questionable safety because it's technically "modifying" the car seat), but try to treat it like you're home and still prompt at regular intervals/whenever they ask. Same goes for plane. Get a pee out right before boarding (board last if you can), then at regular intervals whenever youcan (outside of turbulence/take off/landing time when you have to stay in the seat). Most kids do not like to pee/poop in the seat so they may have less accidents than you'd think.
Those are all the main points I can think of now. Ask away if there's something I didn't mention! Happy potty training and remember - they WILL get there, be it now, next week, or next year. They will not go to college in diapers. Give yourself and your kid grace, this is all new territory, but it's been done, and it will be done!

A YEAR OF TESTING THIS AND ITS HELPING SO MUCH! Just wanted to share & pass along the win.
First, If you have not been to a good eye doctor for a thorough evaluation of your eyes, and you have Sjogren’s or are on Hydroxychloroquine/Plaquenil, you need to have exams about every 6 months. You can confirm that with your doctor.
One reason is that hydroxychloroquine can in some rare cases cause permanent irreversible damage to the eye. So you want to catch it before it worsens.
I don’t see many people mention this though. It’s actually very medically necessary to get these regular eye checks. Especially a baseline imaging at the beginning, to compare it to 6 months later.
The other is due to the chronic Sjogren’s level of dryness. Most people before or newly diagnosed, likely have what’s called keratitis (micro abrasion pockets) on your eyes. With the in office eye dye test, depending on how advanced your case is, they can often easily see it.
(Some eye drs just aren’t good and miss it though)
For some and me included, trying the eye drop rx med Xiidra, did absolutely nothing and actually burned a lot. I tried it for months under the care of my Dr. Everyone is different, I’ve heard some people it helps a lot. So talk to your doctor about it. You might be the type it helps a lot.
**What DOES work?**
For me at least ☺️ I’ve been using rx steroid eye drops twice daily for 2 weeks & then every other day for 2 more weeks, AS GUIDED BY MY DR, which helped heal the micro abrasions on the eyes significantly, and helped a lot with the pain and eye pressure. Lotemax/Loteprednol. Ask your eye dr about it. Mine sent me home with full sized “samples” lol
Personally, I at this point in treatment use it only twice a day for a day or two maybe around 2-3 times a month. When I start feeling major eye discomfort again.
GEL EYE DROPS ARE A MIRACLE (for some, not all of course)
Other eye doctors never went so in depth to create a Sjogren’s eye care plan. I finally lucked out finding an eye doctor who was very familiar with “Sjogren’s eyes”
I’d do the steroid drops first. Then say about 10-20 minutes later, into my eyes I drop massive drops of OTC Rephresh Brand Celluvisc Lubricant Eye Gel.
They come in convenient tiny one-use sanitary tubes, as well as larger bottles.
If my eyes are starting to hurting or feel scratched, and so so dry, I do a big hydrating routine to stop the inflammation and help the micro abrasions on the eyes.
I prepare by sitting or laying down. Just washed hands.
One finger gently under the eye, pulling bottom lid down, the other hand squeezing & applying tons of the gel drops onto both eyes. Whole single use tube even.
I let it intentionally get all around my eyes. Inside & out. I use my clean finger tips to gently smooth it across the lashes and along the closed eyes.
I use gentle pressure with a finger on the closed eye, I can roll my eye to gently massage the spots that feels as if it’s painful/scratched/etc. so they get a good coating of gel.
Allowing that lubrication to work itself all around on the painful or irritated eyes. Fully coated and hopefully at this point providing some temporary relief of discomfort.
I then get a little clean cotton round eye makeup remover pad. I get it slightly wet in warm water. Or I use a small cloth or folded paper towels.
I pour the gel eye drops on to it, then I lean back and place them over the gel covered eyes.
And then I just lay there for a little bit. Allowing the pain, discomfort, irritation, burning and pressure, to calm.
Giving my eyes what is basically the equivalent of a hydrotherapy like eye treatment. I do this 2-3 times a day. If you fall asleep. Great. We can apply them liberally at night before bed too.
With everything being dry with Sjogren’s, feel free to also put on a moisturizing facial mask, for full face and eye hydration.
Lay back and enjoy the moment of relaxation. Get your pillows and propping set up, so you can feel comfortable.
I know it’s hard to focus away from the pain at times, so maybe put a podcast or show on streaming.
So you don’t have to “sit” in your body just thinking about it. Put a comedy on. Your laughing will produce endorphins and all the good chemicals that helps pain & mood.
The gel drop, I put them in again at night before I turn out the light.
This didn’t solve anything right away. It gave some relief immediately from any extra hydration of course.
But my doctor is tracking the micro abrasions and says he’s seen actual improvement and the keratitis almost completely. It took a year.
So you want to make sure you keep up with the treatment plan. He had me do daily am & pm steroid drops & taper 2 times in 6 months after a visit to examine them again.
Me being sometimes too sick to think to do it, and the active Sjogren’s, as expected, more micro abrasions happen again and we repeat as necessary.
It took multiple rounds of this two months of this routine to finally get my eyes not throbbing in intense pain & what felt like pressure.
This might not work for you or interest you and that’s totally fine. There is no combination of words I can say that will make everyone happy 🤣🤷🫶
This is more for the new folx here who are brand new looking for some OTC things to try. Or people who just haven’t seen these yet.
Thanks for attending my autistic adhd TEDTalk🫶
**(This is all my personal routine. Talk to your doctor before starting or stopping any treatments or medications)**

hey so i've known this girl for like 2 years, but REALLY talked to her for 4 months so far. i should probably give an overview of us both for context. she's extroverted and talks to a lot of people and has similar extroverted friends, and i am an introvert with a small circle. i'd also like to add that she used to be jokingly flirty w some ppl so for those signs i'll put an * so you can take it with a grain of salt. also like 2 months ago this random guy who i thought was her bf told me to piss off. she then messaged me a month later and said she had no bf and "doesn't do that sort of dating bc she rlly values her religion"- so does she not want to be in a relationship? or would she only be in one if both parties were commited?
the good signs: \* first time we met she did that one lipbite backwards cap emoji, i hope u know what i'm talking about
always tried to talk to me during 2022 and wanted to be my friend to such an obsessive degree i assumed she was joking and closed myself off, also im pretty sure she invited me to her friend group
asked to take a pic w me (i panicked and declined) in 2022
* tried to "rizz me up"
* immediately was like "[MY NAME] AHHHHHHH" when i first said hi on the class gc
when our maths teacher asked her to pick a guy from the class to do a problem, she picked me even tho the maths nerd was so excited to do it
similarly she asked me if i could help her w the maths hw even tho there are much more skilled ppl than me at it
thinks i'm smart, called me sweet twice
since april 2024- maybe became a bit more nervous around me, much more giggly for no reason??
assuming the convo isn't naturally dry, she does text very enthusiastically. she uses 🤭 and😜. but hasn't done that since she first clarified she had no bf. it's also exam season, so if she does like me, she may be covering it up rn so she can focus on her exams (which is what i'm trying to do).
*she's also used 😉😈😘 and 😍 rarely in the past
made eye contact w her from afar and she had to cover her smile with her hands and look away
has me saved w some random nickname on her phone, i only know bc she accidentally sent a screenshot w that name to the gc and then deleted it immediately after i acknowledged it. we are friends but bc we're so different we have few irl interactions. her like-minded, but not necessarily close friends, were saved w normal names
bc we've had so few interactions, the fact that she even cared to clarify the whole incident w that guy might mean smth
much nicer and reserved w me than with a lot of her male friends
complimented her once and she asked if she was blushing
now onto the bad signs: stopped using the emojis i mentioned a month ago, still talks the same rarely talks to me first, i have to start the convo but she likes it politely declined to hang out w me, but she took it nicely. maybe it would be hard to explain to her parents? and also she would more likely focus on her exams?? called me her bestie, and refers to us as friends, tho if she did like me idk what she would call us
this whole thing seems a bit too good to be true, so let me know what you guys think!!

~First~
HHH/Herbert’s Hundred Harem
The sound of his alarm got him moving. But more than moving or the alarm, it’s when he pulls in Axiom to wake up that it truly starts to disturb his wives.
“It’s okay, back to sleep.” He bids them as he slips to the far side of the room as he answers the communicator. “What’s going on? Civvies present.”
“Catch of the day has bite marks on it.”
“I see, do we recognize the pattern or are the dentists still debating?”
“It’s going to take a little longer.”
“Which catch was this? The piranha, snapper, barracuda or we getting a shark?” He asks trying to see if they got something random, something juicy, something dangerous or something really dangerous.
“Barracuda, but the teeth marks suggest a shark is nearby. Could just be an enthusiastic snapper though.”
“And there’s always the risk of piranha or another barracuda, or if we’re lucky a snapper. We eating off a platter or a stick?”
“Plastic platter.” He says signifying a ‘slum’ on one of the Plates.
“Hmm... Got it. Is the meal hot enough to eat through the plate? Does it need mastication?” He asks and glances over to see some of his brides shifting as the strange word is used and then settling as they remember it means ‘to chew’. Code is so damn useful.
He flashes them a grin and the girls sigh a little and there are some grins. He then steps out of the room entirely and into the hallway. Still not in the clear, but clearer.
“Alright, out of casual earshot. Still home.” He says and there’s a cough.
“Your tagged fish swam to some friends. She has a lot of them. Some are looking tasty, but we think there may be fin soup on the horizon and there’s a hint of something familiar, but it could be a case of mistaken identity. After all, lots of shark wind up missing a couple of teeth, and in an ocean as vast as Centris.”
“It can always be coincidence. Got it.” Herbert answers. “Fishing with beers? Fly Fishing, Casting a Net or Deep Sea?” IE: Standard Procedure, Delicate Operation, Overt Operation or Focused Operation?
“Just beers for now.”
“Understood.” He says. “You’re not calling to tell me all’s well and things are progressing as normal. Spill it.”
“I won the bet.” The man on the other side says and Herbert curses. Them winning a bet and a grin in their voice is always a bad sign. “Mister Hazard.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s being juggled around if your cute routine should be classified as a Cognito Hazard as you seem to have turned several normal women into pedophiles.”
“I’m calling hard bullshit on that. I was going over the top but not to that level.” Herbert retorts.
“I dunno, that riot you left behind when you were unsafe lasted nearly an hour before the police broke it up. A few of them were shown pictures of you and the rioters were let go with a warning. So you’re memetic cuteness can transfer through images you naughty widdle boy.”
“Then you better watch yourself, because this is a woman’s galaxy and if I can steal their hearts and minds then I can have them tear yours from it’s moorings.”
“The heart or the mind?”
“You know which I mean.”
“My mind? I suppose having a mind blowing train pulled on me is ONE way to go.”
“You know what I mean!”
“I do, but let’s pretend I don’t.”
“You ARE aware that I’m working on a way to strangle someone through a communicator right?” Herbert asks.
“I am now, but working on implies you can’t so far. So hah.”
“Agent Marlin...”
“But for fear of your little kiddie fingers finding their way around my throat, I will back off. Just be ready, we’re getting a lot and it can happen at any time.”
“I was ready when you called Marlin. If that’s all this is really about then I’m just going back to bed. An exhausted soldier is an ineffective one.”
“Just have your gun close.”
“I sleep on top of it. Small size means I can sleep on my stomach with my hands under my pillow. Around the grip of a pistol.”
“Dude, how paranoid are you?”
“Some days I fear not nearly enough.” Herbert replies.
“I hate how much sense that answer makes.”
“Love you too, goodnight asshole.” Herbert states before hanging up. He gives the communicator a little flip as he considers. Varthy is no innocent, but the fact that even with her body being tagged, her clothing and bags being tagged and her communicator’s frequency monitored they only had a maybe? And right after a mission gone wrong? She was clearly being kept at arm’s length, or has a professional policy of distancing herself from her customers. Either way it’s smart, but who’s being smart? Or perhaps both are.
“Smart enemies suck, no easy way to pull them apart.” He notes before he senses a tiny amount of movement as one of the Purriz comes up to him. He helps the little thing up and it starts making it’s distinctive purring sound as he gives it a few gentle rubs. The light blue and orange crustacean cuddles close as he thinks. He then nods and pockets the communicator again. Time for more sleep.
•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•
“Uh... sir you have... something in your hair.”
“It’s product. My wives adore it and it blends well enough with my natural hair colour to my eyes. But to them it looks amazing.” He says.
“And... what does it look like?’
“It looks like I have a glittering halo. Apparently this stuff refracts ultraviolet light to a high degree.” Herbert says as he rolls his neck. “Alright, it’s been five and a half hours since my last update. I know Marlin’s off shift and likely sawing logs. So where’s my... thank you.”
He opens the folder he was handed as he walks to his office and opens the door. “Think carefully on where a cross punch from me will go.”
His fellow agent steps out of the shadows without trying anything and he greets the bearded Merra. “Haddock.”
“Sir, things are progressing oddly.” Haddock tells him.
“I can see that. So our new friend has a connection to the Darnaxion Concurrence, or at least hangs out in those areas. Could have been a dead drop, could have been litter she picked up. Hard to tell.” Herbert notes as he sits at his desk. “Alright, I’m sitting and braced. What’s so bad you need to tell me in person?”
“We’ve fully identified the metal. It’s sending alarms through the system of every allied government organization we’ve shared it with.”
“So it IS some kind of blood metal?”
“It’s not just that sir. It’s that the metal is ridiculously hard to make, can not be mass produced and basically works like Khutha on Steroids.”
“And the reason we haven’t run into it before is because the refining process takes such a huge loss of life that Khutha is just better.”
“Basically. It’s also insanely illegal to even possess. If you can’t justify why you have it, then possession of a piece as small as a coin can get you executed, even in states where execution is NOT in the standard books.”
“That bad?”
“If you kill person to make some, you get maybe five milligrams of the metal.” Haddock says and Herbert sucks in a sharp breath past his teeth. “The fact that so much was found...”
“That corridor was a monument to genocide. But why?”
“I don’t know. Cloned blood doesn’t work. Chemically crafted or enhanced blood doesn’t work. Both of them get close-ish, and if you mix in maybe one part per thousand of the authentic Blood-Metal with it’s False Brother you get a closer alloy. But the samples we got are pure.”
“Meaning that they came out of a person. Something to do with being part of a living soul that does it.”
“Yes. Sir, this can easily become a causes-beli if mishandled.”
“Then we won’t mishandle it. We inform everyone we are required to and bring them in fully to our investigations. We get ambassadors to the Admiral and allied agents in here as well. This isn’t some schlocky war film that needs to justify high drama based on a time period of a real life cold war. We are not their enemies, we are not opposed to them and they are not to us. We have different ways of operating but we are on the same side.”
“Everything?”
“Everything within reason. Us working to declaw criminal organizations and calm down potential points of chaos will have sparse details in order to maintain proper operations, but otherwise we’re going to work with them openly.”
“And if they press for details?”
“Explain why that’s a bad idea and insist on Non-Disclosure Agreements. We have a legal division for a reason, and as much fun as they’re having with the trial of Juliette Comet they might appreciate the change of pace.” Herbert says.
“Bazalash is really earning her nickname as The Trytite Lady. She’s putting Comet’s life under an atomic microscope and citing the laws relevant at that point in time, and the laws of the spires she’s above as well to make sure that any argument from any angle is considered.”
“Yeah, I’m shocked most criminal organizations haven’t spontaneously combusted with her in the system.” Herbert says in an amused tone. “This is going to get weird. We’re going to have to be open, but discrete at the same time. Knowledge that something like this had been done will set off a panic, a nasty one, but if we’re found covering up any part of this then men or not, the sky is falling on us with perhaps the literal wrath of god, perhaps even multiple gods.”
“Falling on YOU, if that happens I’m throwing your ass under the buss and booking it like my ass caught fire.”
“Fair enough, not everyone can cute away the wrath of the righteous.”
“The cute kid routine is not the answer to all life’s problems.” Haddock says in an amused tone.
“Then perhaps it should stop being the proper answer to so many problems.” Herbert states before looking at Haddock sharply. “Soldier.”
The tight tone makes Haddock straighten up. Things may run fairly casual to keep the stress down, but when that tone is used... “Is this verbal report serious? My next step is to call the lab and confirm, and if I find you are joking about something this potentially dangerous.”
“I am not Sir. I wish I was, I wish I could hit you with a pie and run away until I’m pinned down for a court marshal. But I can’t. This is a kind of metal where you need to kill ten people to make a fucking knockoff trytite coin out of it. This sort of shit only shows up in horror novels, the ones that never make it to the holo-screen because they’re too fucking graphic. Best case scenario the Darnaxian Concurrence bumbled their way into finding a method to refine it en-mass by complete fucking accident, but even that is horrifying because while Blood Metal is poorly understood due to how thankfully rare it is, everything we know about it is an increasing nightmare. It does weird things embedded in a person’s body and can be used to trigger the really nasty Axiom Effects. The kind of things you only imagine after taking the hard stuff and going to sleep with a splatterfest horror movie on.”
“I see...” Herbert says to himself as he considers. “Excuse me, I need to talk to a lot of people and see if I can’t get our researchers to find some method to detect this stuff. Creating or refining something like that will be a kiss on the lips to the people that want to help us.”
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“So...” Herbert notes as he scans the immediate area. The response to all his calls and trying to straighten this potential cluster fuck out? He was now on a team. Each of them under orders to work together and find the source of the Blood Metal. Simple as that.
The personal assistant of The Trytite Lady was ostensibly in charge and giving him the stink eye. Something about him is bothering Jahlassi and the Nagasha is giving him a stern look and is clearly the eyes of the literal goddess of justice on this case.
“Good evening ladies. All of you are here because we have a situation that we need to keep a lid on to prevent a panic, but working in secret will merely get suspicion and rage thrown about. So in summation I have encountered the object of our attention for this combined investigation. It occurred during my investigations of the Darnaxian Concurrence who are active on Spire Anmeru as well as the Plates Glavori and Muliti. Long story short The Undaunted through me encountered an unusual metal that was used in their constructions that we have confirmed to be pure Blood Metal.” He says and there is a wave of discomfort, muttered swearing in multiple languages and very upset expressions.
“Yes, so this isn’t something we’ve encountered before, but from how difficult the damn stuff is to create I hope I can be forgiven for my ignorance.” Herbert notes. “Now then, if you’ll all direct your attention to the bundles of folders on the table, there is all the information related to the Darnaxian Concurrence we have as well as every case or mission that has even tangentially touched it.”
“Children are involved?” Jahlassi asks in horror.
“Children accidentally intercepted a weapon drop that a criminal tried to cover up and then a professional assassin who occasionally does work for the Darnaxian Concurrence was found in the station she was arrested at. I consider that enough of a connection.” Herbert says and there are looks of consideration. “Subtracting myself as a commonality because I lead to The Undaunted and that leads into everything we’re doing. But otherwise everything we know is in those documents.”
“These are fairly thick and expansive.”
“People are at the front as is appropriate.”
“Shrunken munition launchers?” One person asks.
“Shrink guns?” Another asks.
“There are several names for such, but we found one in the hand of the Darnaxian Concurrence. I took a bad shot from it as it was mentally linked and not a standard fire weapon. So I dodged at the wrong time. It’s why I look even more illegal than normal.”
“Could you not joke about such please?” Jahlassi asks.
“Sorry.”
~First~ Last

I am a person who spends way too much time thinking about video games. And after playing Tunic I fell in love with the world, the lore, and the mysteries. And in the time since, I have come up with two theories that, while they have little direct evidence, make so much sense that they have become my default understanding of the game. So I will share the first one now. It is mostly my interpretation of the ending.
Spoilers for: the endings, The Holy Cross, the lore from translating the manual, the Tuneic language...basically, only read this if you're fully done with the game.
So, the confirmed in-game knowledge of the Heir's imprisonment boils down to "Foxes broke reality. Something, something, time loops. Things are fixed, but only temporarily." But exactly why does imprisoning her fix things? (I will use female pronouns to refer to Heir, Hero, and Ruin Seeker; though it is intentionally never specified in-game) And how do the three keys accomplish this imprisonment? And why is there even a time loop in the first place?
This theory assumes two things which are implied but never directly stated in game. They are also accepted by at least some portion of the fans.

1. The Hero, the Heir, and the Ruin Seeker are all the same person at different points in a time loop. The Hero is from before the loop started. The Heir is from the previous loop. And the Ruin Seeker is from the current loop.
2. The world of Tunic and the previous Fox Civilization takes place inside of a video game that has been running endlessly. Basically a simulation universe. The Librarian even has a blackboard showing the world in a game cartridge. And now...

The HEIR-TO-THE-ERROR Theory
So the ancient foxes lived inside of a video game and sought to explore their world. The discovered The Far Shore, a location outside of the map that could only be reached by teleporting, as well as other planes between. They learned the "secrets of the Holy Cross," or how to perform magic by inputting cheat codes. And eventually they tunneled down below the plane of their world. And in the void below, they found the game's save data, though they didn't understand what it was yet. And they built the Ziggurat so they could harness its power for their technology.
By activating the sarcophagi and destroying its contents, they obtained blue crystals of soul and pink-white goop, which I believe correspond to MP and SP, respectively. The crystals grant their machines thought, and the goop powers them. This is why mechanical enemies drop MP (shards of the crystals) and why they can speak in the Tuneic music language. (crystal=soul, so they have consciousness)
The Hero was the first fox to open a box with its contents still intact and discovered the shadow foxes. She learned of their true nature as their own save data, (annealed visions of the future) and that by drinking their permanently fixed HP, she could obtain a form of immortality through respawning. (the power to defy death) She proved this by dying several times throughout the land, which is why she has 6 grave markers. She then sort of became her own save data because of how much she drank.
Also, overwriting your death resets some of the things you did, like restoring all the pots you broke, which is why it's described as "a lever in the canonical plane." It changes the canon course of events that person did before dying.
She started a religion and shared that power with her followers who drank the goop and started to cheat death too. ("the grace of holy oblivion" being a death that isn't permanent)
But they overused this power. (a lever overworked) They drained the shadow foxes' collective HP until it reached a negative value. The shadow foxes and all those who drank started emitting miasma–a negative HP aura that drains max HP, robs them of hope and/or sanity, and erodes reality around them. Then all of the events overwritten by respawning started leaking into reality.
Imagine it. Pots both broken and unbroken! Enemies both defeated and undefeated! Pure chaos! (Disquiet contradictions) Errors formed in reality and the world began collapsing around them.
So the foxes devised a plan to contain the errors. With the three RGB hexagons taken from a Disquiet Being from outside reality, (a pixel?) they isolated a piece of the Shadow Oubliette, a space between the planes of reality that the game world cannot load. It is an oubliette because it is a prison. And it is shadow because "the eyes of the far shore" cannot see it to load it in. The Hero was imprisoned within. The ERROR was contained.
Since the Hero who is now her own save data now cannot be loaded into the world, neither do the actions she inflicted on reality. The scars she cut into space with her sword and the ocean of goop which she presumably caused by destroying the Ziggurat are undone.
Then the foxes enter the sarcophagi and take the place of their old save data, preventing the further collapse of reality. (Flee to your arks, old ones, and become your predestined selves. "Arks" here, being like Noah's Ark, a box you enter to avoid the end of the world. Instead of like a story arc, which is how I first read it)
But the prison is not quite perfect. Eventually the Hero forgot all her memories and spawned in another version of herself–a child version from before all of the chaos. Her imprisoned self could respawn the Ruin Seeker until she could break the seal and ultimately defeat the Hero. Then, just like when you touch an Echo, the first Ruin Seeker absorbed the Hero, taking in all of the corrupted save data and the errors that come with it. She became an "Heir-to-the-ERR" and was contained in the Hero's place. All of the chaos was once again unloaded from reality along with anything the Heir did before being sealed, thus resetting the world for the next Ruin Seeker, who would become the next "Heir-to-the-Heir."
And this is the time loop; until a worthy successor can collect the manual, learn the story, share their wisdom, and teach the previous Heir their true identity. Then the Heir can reject the Hero's save data and all the chaos it brings and just be themselves, unconnected to the past.
Also, get it? Just like "air," "ERR," short for "error," is another homophone for "Heir." So the play on words is extended.
So, that is my interpretation of the ending. I have another theory about the world that is mostly unconnected to the ending. I typed up this one because the other would take even longer to explain. And this post is already an essay! Let me know if you have any thoughts. Or if this same idea was already elaborated in-depth elsewhere.

One element of this story is that of the relationship between naming, wind, or air and Aether. Kept a keen eye on it on my latest read through. What I didn't expect was an interesting link between all that and lungs. That Rothfuss sure is a clever one. Let's begin.
Our first discussion comes early between a young Kvothe and Abenthy. While not explicitly stated in this scene, we begin to lay some groundwork regarding naming and its relationship to air, wind and lungs. The chapter is aptly titled: The Name of the Wind.
I drew in a deep breath and spoke the words to bind the air in my lungs to the air outside. I fixed the Alar firmly in my mind, put my thumb and forefinger in front of my pursed lips, and blew between them. Then I felt something squeeze at my chest*, as I was deep underwater. Moving more quickly than I had ever seen before, Ben grabbed me by the tatters of my shirt and sprang from the seat of the wagon... He looked at me. His mouth moved. He called the wind. A leaf in lightning. And the thunderclap was black.\*
I'd now like to jump ahead a bit, to a scene in WMF. While wandering around the fae before making his shaed cloak, Kvothe and Felurian encounter a terrifying entity.
There was a stirring in the air directly above us...There was a soft sound of movement, as if someone was folding a huge piece of velvet around a piece of broken glass. I cannot tell you why it made me think of something terrible and sharp, but it did. My forehead prickled with sweat, and I was filled with a sudden pure and breathless terror...
Her (Felurian) mouth met mine, and she drew a long slow breath, pulling the air out of me. I felt my head grow light. Then, her lips still tight against mine, Felurian pushed her breath hard into me, filling my lungs*. It was softer than silent. The ground shivered beneath me, and everything was still. For an endless moment, my heart ceased beating in my chest.\*
It goes on a bit to describe the creature floating past them and Felurian being delighted. Whatever velvety sounding creature that is, you can bet it's a deadly one. Deadly as in, it can suck your true name right out of you. Felurian knows this, which is why she covers Kvothe's mouth with hers. And I believe it is strongly implied she inhales Kvothe's "true name" or spirit temporarily to keep him from harm. Or perhaps, fills him, his lungs, with her "name", her wind. Hence the heart stopping beating.
Your true name lies in your lungs, which is where your wind is, or air if you prefer. Your sound, wind and limb as the English saying goes. There is a long history and mythology regarding your spirit being related to air. Aether is perhaps the most important element in many occult and esoteric inquiries. "Inspire" literally used to mean to breathe in, although it rarely used that way in modern English. "Expire" is to exhale, yet funnily enough the meaning has become a synonym to dying. You breathe your last breath.
So, we need another example from someone who would know, that your name lies in your air, your lungs... Who can we turn to? Who else would know such a thing? Well, Elodin does, of course... He knows a bit of everything, I've come to suspect. Let's jump backward to NoTW, a scene near the end. Kvothe is in a nearly catatonic state after Ambrose smashes his lute. He can't even speak. In strolls Elodin, Master Namer.
His eyes caught mine. The numbness faded, but the storm still turned inside my head. Then Elodin's eyes changed. He stopped looking toward me and started looking into me. He looked deep into me, not at my eyes, through my eyes. His gaze went into me and settled solidly into my chest, as if he had both of his hands inside me, feeling the shape of my lungs....He leaned forward and his lips brushed my ear. I felt his breath. He spoke and the storm stilled. I found a place to land.
Notice how Kvothe described it feeling like hands grabbing his lungs. Hmm, where did I read this before? With nearly the same wording?
Well did you know Cinder tried to grab Kvothe's true name? He did indeed, the very first time they met...
He (Cinder) relaxed when he saw me. He dropped the tip of his sword and smiled with perfect ivory teeth. It was the expression a nightmare wore. I felt a stab of feeling penetrate the confusion I clutched around me like a thick, protective blanket. Something put both its hands deep into my chest and clutched. It may have been the first time in my life I was ever truly afraid.
This scene finally makes sense. On a first read-through it would be impossible to know what Cinder was doing there, because the Elodin scene comes later on. Cinder was grasping for Kvothe's true name.
So, Cinder is a namer, probably a damn good one, as I would suspect all the Chandrian are. Five thousand years is a while to get good at things, even if you don't have natural talent. You can bet in the final confrontation between our red-haired beefcake and the frost haired, living embodiment of quicksilver, a great deal of "lung grasping" will be going on.
By the way, as a quick aside, who else thinks it would be cooler if Kvothe loses this fight? Cinder is literally mercury or quicksilver, he's a better swordsman than any Adem, he's a namer, and probably a pretty tough dude.
Now, who else is important in our story. Denna seems awfully important. And her main physical malady happens to be with her breathing. Her lungs, her air, her wind. How convenient. Back to NoTW
"I have trouble breathing," she (Denna) said. My chest gets tight sometimes and it's like breathing through pudding."
"I had pneumonia when I was just a tiny baby," Denna said. "That's why my lungs aren't good. I stopped breathing for two minutes and died. I wonder if this isn't all some mistake, if I should be dead."
Later a scene in WMF.
Her eyes fixed on mine, then widened in recognition, in amazement. “I need you to breathe for me.” I laid one hand against her straining chest. Her skin was flushed and hot. Her heart was thrilling like a frightened bird. I laid my other hand along her face. I looked deeply into her eyes. They were like dark pools.
I leaned close enough to kiss her. She smelled of selas flower, of green grass, of road dust. I felt her strain to breathe. I listened. I closed my eyes. I heard the whisper of a name.
I spoke it soft, but close enough to brush against her lips. I spoke it quiet, but near enough so that the sound of it went twining through her hair. I spoke it hard and firm and dark and sweet.
There was a rush of indrawn air. I opened my eyes. The room was still enough that I could hear the velvet rush of her second desperate breath. I relaxed.
I think the line "I need you to breathe for me" will return in book 3. I'd bet my last bent penny on it.
Haliax is an interesting name. It literally means "breath of Iax." So, that's what happened to Lanre, he got Iax's true name stuck in him. How that happened, who knows. Maybe we get some of that in book 3.
Your " true name" is essentially your spirit, your quintessence. Your air and your wind. All that makes up "you" is in there, in one word. In an old pronunciation video, someone asked Patrick to pronounce "Aerlevsedi". Patrick replied this word was used to give a visual impression rather than an auditory one, and that he "will come back to that one" at the end of the video. Shockingly, Patrick forgot and ended the video without doing so. I would have liked to have heard it because it contains "Ae" the same as "Aether." I suspect they are related.

This story happened a few years ago.
Before we start, just a quick background: our party was looking for a mysterious island that you could only find if you got lost at sea. We had just bought a huge boat and sailed into the horizon trying to get lost. That’s when shit started.
The party was: Me (a one-armed monk), a sorcerer, a conjuration wizard, an enchantment wizard and an abjuration wizard.
On one session, only monk, Conjuration wizard and sorcerer went, so we would try to do simple things, like try to find something suspicious on the horizon etc. We ended up reaching a little islet with an entrance to a cave, naturally we entered. We rolled perception and stuff and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. That is until we started to find statues of different people in some kind of corridor, and in the end, it had a trident, Poseidon’s Trident.
And, like good adventurers, we rolled percep… no, we went straight for it. That’s when we heard something slither on the ground. It was a Gorgon, and she came right at us. The dm told us to roll initiative.
Monk: I drop my weapon and sit on the ground with my eyes closes.
Sorcerer: I’ll do the same.
Conjuration wizard: I’ll try to talk to her.
And oh boy, he did. He found out that she had been cursed to stay there for eternity guarding the trident. A few minutes of in game conversation between them passed and she asked him to kill her, and he did, becoming the new owner of the trident.
Now, a few sessions later, everyone was at the table. We had been adrift for a few days in-game. Some of us tried to fish something to eat, but caught nothing, that is until the boat started to tremble. Monk, sorcerer and A wizard were sleeping in the hammocks while the rest was trying to fish. Tentacles started to go up the sides of the boat. Everyone on the ship started to attack the tentacles, so we rolled for initiative.
The kraken went first, the monk, sorcerer and the wizards. the kraken opened up a few holes on the ship in its turn, then monk destroyed one of the tentacles, sorcerer casts a fireball, doesn’t do much, until…
Enchantment wizard: I’ll cast banishment on the Kraken.
She turns to the kraken, points at it and says:
Enchantment wizard: You are so ugly and mean, I don’t want to see you again.
Dm rolls the charisma check and you could taste de disappointment in the air. He rolled a nat 1 and failed the save. Kraken is banished.
Conjuration wizard: I’ll use the trident to summon powerful winds and move the boat.
DM: Ok, you try to summon the winds and it works. The winds are really strong, you easily reach 60 miles/h.
Conjuration wizard: I’ll keep doing it until we are safe.
DM: Sure, but the speed is increasing, you are now at 75 miles/h.
Monk: Can we see something in the horizon, behind us or in front of us?
DM: Make a perception check.
Monk: 20 something.
DM: Sure, you can see that the kraken appears again where it had been banished and gives up on attacking you (we cheered), but you are going full speed towards an island that appeared in the horizon, about 90 miles/h.
Sorcerer: dude, stop the winds, we don’t need it anymore.
Conjuration wizard: I’ll try to stop the winds.
DM: Roll an arcana check.
Conjuration wizard: 6.
DM: Yeah, it aint stopping bro. And you can see as you get closer to shore, there are several pointy rocks around the island.
Conjuration wizard: OH SHIT. What do I do guys?
Everyone: Throw the trident away.
Conjuration wizard: NO, ARE YOU GUYS INSANE?
DM: The rocks are getting closer.
Conjuration wizard: I’ll release the anchor.
Everyone (including the DM): WHAT?
Conjuration wizard: Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.
DM: Okay, you release the anchor, and I want everyone to roll a dexterity saving throw.
We roll, everyone except for the monk and enchantment wizard saves. The ones that failed go up flying as the ship breaks in half because the anchor had attached to a rock underwater.
Until this day, we never let Conjuration wizard pilot or drive anything.

So a while back my laptop died and I lost all my save files (including one where I had been slowly remaking all the townies and EA builds 😭) and screenshots and since I have been reluctant to play the game at all, particularly because I was fully invested in a particular family of mine and I'm devastated no record of them exists anymore. However the other day I was admiring the flowers that are starting to bloom where I live and I had a flash of inspiration to make a legacy based on the meaning of flowers. So I sat down and wrote it one in nearly one sitting (with a break for dinner).
Now I made this specifically for myself, including packs I own (only Horse Ranch, City Living, and Spa Day are actually needed for this), putting in options of packs I hope to buy in the future where I thought they could fit, and based on the way I play (so guidelines are more story based than challenge based) but I still wanted to share it in case anyone else was interested. If you are interested/inspired by it in anyway, feel free to play it fast and loose with the rules - I really made it to be fun for me personally so whatever changes, cheats, or tweaks help it work for you go at it!
I also have to shout out the Sims in Bloom challenge, because while mine is not based off of this challenge in anyway, it is one that I have had bookmarked for a while as looking fun to play and is based on the same/similar concept as mine. If the idea of a flower based legacy intrigues you check that one out- there is a base game version as well!
Now without further ado:
Sims 4 Floral Legacy Challenge:
Gen 1: Bluebell
-humble beginnings and everlasting love-
Choose one of more of these traits: generous, good, loyal
Career: something that means humility to you - ideas: education, gardener, barista/babysitteother part time careers, self employed by selling collectibles
Aspiration: Soulmate
Style: any, but live whole life in a small home (not necessarily by the game's standard but no more than 3 bedrooms), blue should be a main color, stay away from pricey furniture as well
You are a simple sort of sim. All you ever wanted is a place to call home and someone to love. Moving to a new place was scary, but you think you are starting to figure it out. However, things get a little more complicated when a choice you make on a lonely night results in a surprise pregnancy. Even though you aren't sure you're ready for single parenthood, you are going to give it your best shot, you already love the kid to bits after all. Luckily, your kind neighbor is there to help out. Wait, they're kind of cute...
-Start on an empty lot or in an unfurnished house with 0 simoleons
-Recommended: live in willow creek
-Make money to build/furnish your house through your career
-Have a child from a one night stand with someone you meet at a public lot before your house is fully finished (this is the next gen heir).
-Never date your child's other parent but optionally remain good friends.
-Err on the side of leniency as a parent (e.g. if you have parenthood, hug it out to discipline your kid, use the permissive family dynamic from growing together).
-Fall and love and get married to one of your neighbors, completing the soulmate aspiration. Stay together in a happy marriage until death.
-Optional: have 1-2 more kids with your spouse
-Until you switch to the next gen, go on at least one date every week with your spouse.
Gen 2: Crocus
-playful childishness-
Recommended Traits: lazy, goofball, outgoing, family oriented, childish, cheerful
Career: any except entertainer - do not reach level 10 in your career, continually neglect work tasks and goof off/socialize at work to lower work performance if need be - optional (or if laid off): switch careers several times
Aspiration: Big happy family - optional: if you have high school years you can complete the live fast aspiration as a teen
Style: any as long as its casual, shouldn't look too put together, t-shirts would be good
As a kid you were loved and admittedly somewhat spoiled by your doting parent. At times you neglected your responsibilities and your homework preferring to goof off with your many friends. Growing up... well, you never really did that did you? You did eventually get a job (even though you aren't the best employee) and you gave dating the old college try as well. Unfortunately, just like working, being in a relationship doesn't seem to come easily to you... Luckily though there is something you're good at: parenting. Being part kid yourself, you find it easily to connect to your many kids and you're always ready to cheer them up with a laugh when they are feeling down. That, at least, is something worth devoting your time too.
-Neglect homework as a child (optional: age up with the irresponsible trait if you have parenthood) but have several friends at school
-Perform poorly in a career of your choice (NOT entertainer) - do not reach level 10 in any career (if you get close, lower job performance or quit and start a new job)
-Live in childhood home until parents die or until you have too many kids for everyone to fit
-Get divorced from / break up with every partner you have (your choice how many people to date, but must die single)
-Have 3-6 kids - at least one should be adopted and one should be biologically yours but the exact ratio is up to you
-Be best friends level with all kids
-max out comedy skill
-Complete happy family aspiration (may require temporarily returning to this gen after some kids are adults)
-Optional: whenever someone leaves the household, get a pet so the household is continually at 8 members (the idea of this gen is chaos after all)
Gen 3: Dahlia
-creativity and true love-
Required traits: noncommital, Recommended: creative, maker, art lover, green fiend
Career: Something creative - recommended: making money through painting or fabrication or photography
Aspiration: Any in the creativity category (or the jewelry one, which is IMO creative but not in that category)
Style: Colorful and eclectic, feature warm colors and travel nick knacks, bohemian
You grew up in a chaotic but joyful home surrounded by your siblings and raised by a parent who loved and accepted you as you were. Your creativity was able to bloom and flourish in this environment and you learned the value and power of familial love. However, you never quite understood romance in the same way as you watched your parent struggle to maintain a loving relationship. In high school you found someone special, but your relationship was too important to put through the trials of romance. You maintained your friendship into adulthood as you followed your passions into a career and your heart into several (failed) relationships, all the while standing by each other. Then one day you realized, what if this elusive goal of romantic love had been right besides you all along?
-Complete the creatively gifted aspiration as a kid
-Briefly (briefly) date your best friend in high school, then decide to be just friends (option in social menu) Maintain friendship (remaining just friends) into your young adulthood and adulthood, spending lots of time together.
-Have a creative job and max out your career / chosen creative skill
-Get married and divorced at least once and date and break up with at least 3 people total
-Have at least one kid
-After a midlife crisis start a relationship with your best friend and get married - this time stay together until death do us part (optional: at this point swap out the non commital trait with the loyal trait via cheats or self discovery moment)
-Go on vacation at least twice with your family and your best friend/best friend's family
Gen 4: (white) Lily
-beauty, mourning, and rebirth-
Recommended traits: gloomy, romantic
Career: something you associate with beauty - ideas: actoactress, style influencer, social media
Aspiration: any - ideas: soulmate, world famous celebrity, master actoactress
Style: classic, somewhat minimalistic, elegant (think Kennedys)
Growing up in an artistic household, you quickly developed a keen eye and a strong asethetic and sense of style. Unlike your parent however, you were very interested in what was popular. You built your knowledge of trends and used it to cultivate your own look until it became your passion, and ultimately your career. You were becoming quite successful, loving your job more and more every day, when you met... them. The love of your life. You remembered watching your parent dance around their love all their life, and had seen how much time they wasted because of it. You weren't going to make the same mistake. You had a whirlwind romance, engagement, and marriage that grew into a stable, enduring love. You had everything, a great career, a wonderful relationship, and you and your spouse had just welcomed a child when tragedy struck. And now, without your love, you don't know what to do. How will you go on?
-Enter and max out a career that is associated with beauty
-Optional: if you have get famous, become a celebrity with a good reputation
-Meet your spouse through your career
-Date, get engaged to, and marry your spouse quickly (within 1-2 sim weeks)
-Have a relationship with your spouse at the soulmate level
-Have exactly one kid with your spouse
-Before your kid is a teen, your spouse dies
-Mourn your spouse for the rest of your life (at least 3 times weekly visit grave/urn) and never get into another romantic relationship
-Optional: after spouse's death, change outfits to be all black for mourning colors (or what ever mourning colors are in your culture)
-Neglect child emotionally because of your sadness (less than good friends level friendship)
-Repair relationship with child after they move out and your grandchildren are born (they return the spark to your life)
Gen 5: Dandelion
-resilience and recovery-
Required trait: horse lover Optional: active, loves the outdoors, adventurous
Career: Rancheself employed
Required aspiration: championship rider
Style: western, rustic farmhouse decor, country
You grew up in the midst of a tragedy. All you remember is the dark cloud that seemed to surround your parent everywhere they went and the loneliness that came from all but raising yourself. As soon as you could, you got away, following your heart to the countryside. In the picturesque small town of chestnut ridge you built your own life, learning to ride the horses you had grown up loving, and making a living by building a ranch. The solitude of nature was like a balm to your wounded soul. Eventually, you fell for one of the locals and got hitched. They moved in to help grow your ranch and before long you were building a family as well. As you discovered the joys of parenthood, it brought your mind back to your own parent, and you started to wonder if those bonds could be reformed...
-move out to Chestnut Ridge as soon as you become a young adult
-Complete the championship rider aspiration and max out the riding skill
-Fall in love with an marry a sim you meet in Chestnut ridge with the rancher trait
-Have 2-4 kids with your spouse
-Optional: name one of your kids after your deceased parent
-After your first kid is a toddler, start to reconcile with your parent (inviting them over to meet grandkids)
-build back your friendship with your parent before they pass (good friends level or higher)
-run a thriving ranch
Gen 6: (red) Carnation
-justice-
Recommended traits: good, hot headed, self assured
Career: Politics, charity organizer branch
Aspiration: any - ideas: neighborhood confident, city native
Style: any - alt fashion would work well, esp. punk, dark colors with red accents also good
Life as a child in the countryside was idyllic, but you always had bigger dreams. Bright eyed and with a zest for life you moved to the city as soon as you could. But once there, your idealistic nature quickly shattered. The world wasn't as nice outside of your small town bubble. Rather than fall into despair over it however, you decided to rise to the occasion. You would dedicate your life to fighting for change and making the world a better place. Even if it was just a drop in the bucket, you would do everything you could to make a difference. After all, what better way to spend your time than speaking truth to power?
-move to San Myshuno as a young adult
-Join and max out the charity organizer career
-meet your spouse at a protest
-fall in love and move in together, but don't get married
-adopt at least one kid (can have bio children as well)
-join or start a protest at least once a week
-have at least one wealthy enemy (bonus points if they are in the politician career or a landlord)
-Optionally: have a midlife crisis / burnout (via growing together mechanics or imaginative storytelling) during adulthood and change your life around (stay in same career, but protest less and pick up a hobby, spend more time with family)
Gen 7: Iris
-intelligence and prestige-
Required trait: genius Optional traits: perfectionist, ambitious, neat, overachiever, loner, hates children, bookworm
Career: something you associate with intelligence - ideas: doctor, scientist, law, engineer, astronaut
Recommended aspiration: any in the knowledge group or bestselling author Optional: complete the goal oriented aspiration as a teen and the academic aspiration as a young adult
Style: academia (dark or light), traditional, have at least one library / study in the home
Your parents were smart people, you'll give them that, but they didn't care enough to do anything with it! They could have been something great, but instead they decided to waste their time fighting for 'justice' without making any real change. You wouldn't be making that mistake. From an early age you dedicated yourself to your studies, determined to learn everything you possibly could and become someone important. Learning fascinated you, and you loved using your intelligence to figure out solutions to hard problems. This was what was important, not love, or family, or doing good, or whatever other nonsense your parents and grandparents believed. This was how you really changed the world, intelligently. Now just to get that one coworker of yours to stop pestering you at work and challenging your ideas. Wait, why do they want to meet you for coffee?
-Complete the mental aspiration as a child
-Enter and max out a career related to intelligence - optionally: then switch careers and max out a second
-max out at least four skills of your choice, writing and publishing skill books related to them as you do so (this may require you to max out the writing skill, if so this counts towards your four skills)
-Date and marry one of your coworkers who also has the genius trait (bonus points if this is a former workplace rival)
-Have exactly one child with your spouse via the science baby option
-Be a strict parent (maintain this family dynamic if you have growing together) and be emotionally distant from your kid (less than good friends friendship level ideally)
-If you have discover university, attend university and complete the academic aspiration before beginning a career
Gen 8: Lotus
-rebirth and self-love-
Required trait: high maintenance Recommended: perfectionist
Career: start in something you see as a high stress job - ideas: salary person, business, anything that uses the logic skill - then switch to making money via spa day activities
Aspiration: any or all in the wellness category
Style: minimalist, biophilic (plant parent), 'zen'
To say your parents had high expectations growing up would be putting it lightly. Nothing you ever did seemed good enough for them. Even so, you continued to try, pushing yourself towards excellent grades and into a career (and relationship) they would approve of. It was hard but you were managing it, and you kept pushing and pushing until... One day you just couldn't do it anymore! You quit your job, ended your relationship and changed trajectories. Now you are focused on healing and self-love, and on helping others on their self love journey as well. It might take some time, but you are learning to be happy with yourself. Next, to start building a new family, one you'll be happy to be a part of.
-maintain an "A" level grade throughout your education
-Enter a high stress career as a young adult
-Start a relationship with someone in a 'respectable' career as a young adult (you decide what counts as 'respectable') - if you have growing together you should have bad compatibility with this person
-sometime during young adulthood (bonus if after in game burnout) while your sim is feeling badly (tense, angry, uncomfortable, or sad), quit your job and end your relationship
-Optional: before this switch dress and decorate in your parents style, afterwards, change to your own style
-Switch to a wellness career - continue this until retirement
-max out wellness skill
-complete at least one of the wellness aspirations
-marry someone you meet at the spa
-have 1-3 children with them
Gen 9: Lavender
-family and home-
Required trait - at least one of three: loner, paranoid, socially awkward Recommended traits: family oriented, foodie, loves the outdoors, animal enthusiast
Career: make money through cooking and/or baking - this can involve running a bakery, the culinary career, or using the food stall from home chef hustle OR be a stay at home parent and partner makes money
Choose one or more of the following aspirations: Appliance whiz, master chef, country caretaker, super parent
Style: French country, cottage core, pastels
You grew up in a peaceful and tranquil home with caring and kind parents. Lucky for you because as it turns out - the rest of the world? Not so peaceful. Being outside your home and surrounded by strangers was always stressful for you, and as you grew up you learned to retreat towards the things you knew: your family, your pets, and the delicious things you loved to cook. Another support for you was always your best friend turned love; you've promised to stay by each other's side through thick and thin and you can wait to build a home together. Will these supports help you get through the stresses of adulthood? Will be able to find a build a home that's peaceful and safe for your new family? Only time will tell...
-From teenagehood to death have at least one pet at all times (including non household animals like cows)
-Marry your childhood best friend / high school sweetheart and stay together until death do us part
-max out the cooking skill (and baking if you have get to work)
-have 3-5 kids with your spouse
-maintain best friends level friendship with all kids, spouse, and any cats or dogs you have
-don't maintain friendships with anyone outside the household (this can change when you switch to playing sunflower gen if need be)
-make sacked lunches for all family members at least twice a week
-Make money through food (chef career, bakery, or food stall) OR be a stay at home parent
-Recommended: live in Henford-on-Bagley
-Max out one or more of the following aspirations: Appliance whiz, master chef, country caretaker, super parent
Gen 10: Sunflower
-friendship and loyalty-
Required trait: loyal and choose at least one of: cheerful, outgoing, generous
Career: any
Aspiration: one or more in the social category Optional: Additionally complete successful lineage or big happy family and continue gameplay
Style: any - home with lots of space for hosting gatherings, yellow as a focus color would be a good choice
You had a pretty perfect childhood - supportive parents, siblings to play with, space to roam, the whole nine yards. Only... it was still a little lonely. There's a whole world out there, and as much as you love your parents, they didn't really expose you to it, preferring to stay home. Well, you're grown up now, and you are going to bring the world to your family and your family out into the world. There's so many cool people out there and you are going to be friends with them all.
-Complete the social aspiration as a child
-Maintain a group of friends (use club system if you have get together) your whole life, adding members as you age and make more friends
-maintain good friends level friendship with all club members
-Fall in love with and marry someone with the family oriented trait
-have at least two kids
-take at least one family vacation
-maintain friendship levels with all family members (siblings, parents, spouse, kids) at at least the good friend level
-host family and friend gatherings frequently - if you have growing together: have a family reunion at least every 4 sim weeks - if you have seasons: host gatherings for every relevant holiday (e.g. no gathering needed for lottery day or love day, but harvestfest yes)
-Optional: have one parent die as an elder and move the other in to live with you and your family, take care of them until they die
-Optional: have a pet dog all your adulthood
-Recommended: complete an aspiration in the family category as well (successful lineage or big happy family) - this will require continuing to play a bit beyond the 10th generation

Inspiring negative feelings in others, a generalized goading and prodding, poking at a sequence of signifiers (like exposed nerve endings) in order to elicit a, one would imagine as of this point reliable/predictable, response from people might be a useful ritual meant to sustain engagement. Useful for the one devoted to their own little Cult of Personal Relevance. But I think this remains a destructive tactic with deleterious effects; that it all collapses into a Dopaminergic Singularity doesn't negate the fact. Becoming no different than the Gore or Morbid accounts on twitter. The same principles are at work. Assume the pragmatist stance; this wouldn’t be the case if they didn’t work. Is it the algorithm or is the algorithm a reflection? A snapshot of us in 0s and 1s? Framed in the social media. Revealing them disguised as narcissists and their victims. This agonized state has been monetarily incentivized. As attempts at reparations or restitution have at times accidentally given monetary incentives for people to develop behaviors that have proved deleterious to those the programs were supposed to help. Take this money, keeping using this thing, vote for me. From indentured servitude and slavery to wage and welfare.
In the case of A&D they don’t even have to do that much in order to elicit the negative response. Aloofness and ambivalence is at work. Words consistently distorted in the interpretation and transformed into something personally injurious. Returning again and again to be injured. Attempting to write a comment capable of repaying the injury in kind. Given the nature of the medium and its intimacies, being ignored inspires the commenter to comment more, getting upvoted by other teeth gnashing users until finally they’re rewarded for their devotion with either a coveted response in kind, or more often than not a good-humored comical response. That or more insidiously, they appear to verbally alluded too on the podcast itself, giving the impression of having made some sort of impact on the strangers who exert this degree of undo influence on their lives. Gambling logic at play here. Keeps you coming back for more.
Having been arrested for shoplifting the female court clerk translates Charlotte’s statement in court,
“Your Honor, I’m just a late capitalist subject navigating a vicious and frankly unfair system. Isn’t the culture industry truly to blame, for producing these desires in me and failing to provide me with the means to fulfill them legitimately? I know I’m meant to be an obedient consumer to market interests yet I’m as much if not more of a victim than the store I shoplifted from.”
Charlotte smiles at the female girl-boss judge. Cut to her weeping on her gay German friend’s lap, having been found guilty and fined 500 euros.
Feels like there is a lot of mourning over the Fantasy of the Fantasy of Indie Darling Dasha, a Bataillean Dasha, with strong Radical Nietzschean-Communist sympathies. Who loves carnival and protests and is working to do her part to bring about Full Luxury Gay Space Communism. This is mirrored by the fantasy of a Catholic Socialist (or Franciscan Communist) Dasha who supports a popular social movement. But this Fantasy of Dasha was never not connected with a Softness of Bodies-esque Survival/Necessity wrought (daddy issues) Narcissism. A 21st century “femme-fatale” as someone just kind of stumbling through life, stumbling out of catastrophes, regardless of who they leave behind. Leaving a trail of broken things in their wake.
The “Radical” 21st century Femme Fatale, is revealed to be nothing more than female Pee-Wee Hermann thrown-into the world. Stunted man-child, the under-the-weather dirtbag lingers, dreaming of being something people pay to simply exist. No abstract ideological justifications can obfuscate this. She knows what she is. A narcissist. She’s simply surviving, and striving to be something other than what she is through seduction and the aestheticization of her Self, a commodity chewed but never swallowed. Traipsing through the world that necessitated the development of this type. Like money, she burns. Difficult to tell how much is calculation and how much is compulsion. It’s not so much that this is actually Dasha but rather that this is a personae Dasha has creatively explored and interrogated, not simply as something she has been formally type-casted into by others but as a type she likes to mimic and model and take apart and reassemble. Capable of treating the personae with equal parts reverence and satirical derision. Alternatively Dasha has type-casted herself as a type type-casted by the World. It’s her comfort zone, obviously she has a sympathetic attachment with the Superfluous Woman. Addicted to benzos and social media and Love. Her brain is addled but she’s still capable of making intimations towards necessary social calculations, blessed with prodigious low cunning. Overtly-identified with drug addicts, ghouls, and depressed poverty stricken losers. Susceptible to the influence of memes and atrocity porn. Having clawed her way into the lower rungs of the entertainment industry she knows a lot of people, is 3 degrees of separation from a lot of people who made it. Scrolling through her feed. Totally oblivious and protean in her values. Her opinions, her identity a roiling mass malleable, the internal spark animating it totally
Synthetic-orphan. Oh star-bob waif stumbling through corridors uncoordinated barely surviving through rapid-fire wardrobe change, only the flip-flops remain.
Too much sun. Beach too long. Friends too far away. Water? Tap water here tastes horrible. Started drinking early anyways. Pretty blue bikini lady, collapsing on the beach. Panicking. Ankle twisted? Have to stop inhaling sand only making it worse. Gasping. Everywhere. God it's everywhere. Wires of saliva, tears, and mucus binding face to the earth. Try to croak out a cry for help. My "friends" are dancing and OD'ing. Inhaling and coughing up more sand, wrenching. Sand on tongue, between teeth, in throat. This is awful. This surely can't be the end of everything. Gone through too much. Loved too hard. On second thought... actually on third fuck all this sand and sun. Aren't my elements. I was lying, God. Is this your attention?
The Ocean. Soon the waves will break against delicate body and the tides will drag my body out to sea. Will I have strength left to turn myself over? Will I drown? Then what? Goosepimple cold water without a gentle touch to press them back down.
I'm going to die here...aren't I?
Is that a sea turtle?
It is.
It's face. Uncanny. Father-like face.
Eyes locked into mine.
He knows me.
Dragging itself forward slow but steady. Directly at me. Unbroken turtle focus. Magnificent marine creature.
What does it want?
"W...what do you want!?"
It continues shuffling towards me.
Fear.
"Hey are you okay?"
Strong arms.
Another day. Another attempt against my life thwarted.
I think I love you.
Seducing with a promise (made or perceived) of something just round the corner, tomorrow. Just wait and trust in the plan… terrified of being exposed and pilloried. That those who’d come around drawn by whatever promise they thought they saw in us would turn around crestfallen and seething with the inevitable disillusionment. People who’d defended me. Sure they had their own motives. Didn’t ask to be taken as a escape route from their lives. Never asked to be turned into this beautiful thing they’d turned me into. Like if I’d suddenly swooped down into their lives knowing exactly what to do, knowing all the right people, with boundless time and energy to help lift them up and out of whatever it is they need to be lifted up and out of. You really think you’re the only one with that fantasy? Really? What you’ve made in your head is something that can’t hope, can’t desire, can’t await someone capable of making this make sense. Why can’t you be that? Why can’t you be the hope, the desire fulfilled, the arriving. I was never an answer. I thought you were and that wasn’t fair. Each and every one of us is tasked with making ourselves appealing if not valuable. Maybe making yourself appealing is the only value left. All of it is seduction. Didn’t you pretend to know better? You don’t think I fantasize about a lover that can save me from myself. Understand me, beckon me to go on living in your promise. I’m disillusioned, I’m frustrated. That bundle of ambivalence is clogging up my brain too. I’ve made my choice.
Chin resting on heel of palm. Looking through the feed.
Aroma of coffee, baked goods, and the subtle spicy scent of a great many books seeped in coating the inside of her skull and clothes. The memory of it a least. Pressed the soft tissue paper against rosy-rimmed nostrils glistening, clearing her throat. Glanced around. Ambient bop in the background, fusion jazz intermingled with light conversations, the hissing and gurgling of the latte cult’s machines, and the upward inflection of green aprons taking orders and calling names. Cosmopolitan beepboop music to strive to. Recording of a life getting blown away into a flute. Whoever or whatever it is is dying for us. Jazz flute phantom, bent over at the waist bobbing and swaying to the emissions, cheeks distended, red veins erupting. Kind of music meant to let you know you’re cultured. At least she’d felt cultured the first few times she’d heard it in a public place. Feeling like she’d entered another first chapter altogether. Guaranteed to be better than what preceded it. Better in the possibility of not being what preceded it. The first few times at least. She’d made a note to investigate. To download the app that would allow her to hold up her phone to the tune and receive the names of artist and song. Create a new playlist. Speak of these things with casual authority. Have them on a first name basis. Consciousness elevating, lifted by the short-sleeve black button shirt jazzman up and out of the muck. Break the monotony. Had figured at the time that anything else would be much better than everything as is. Didn’t even like it that much. She already had her music. Adjacent but better. Was frustrated at first with her wills own rebellion. Wasn’t sure why she’d started avoiding it. The knowledge remained and was by her estimation, still rather formidable.
Always been complemented for her taste.
Engaging in social media sortilege. In the blue-light pale.
“If you loved me you'd tempt me.”
Her stillness broken by the audible gulp. Snot sparkling in the corners of bathroom paper towel chafed red nostrils. Occasionally grimacing jaw jutting out. Face contorting in a carnival indignation.
There was high praise in the comment section, thousands of hearts, roses tossed on stage. They don’t know or pretend not to know. Cutesy the publicly-dower and ever-derivative performing an “ironic” curtsy as the curtains closed. Thunderous applause. They love her. They love her. “And what about me?”
In the dark depths of the Congo, a child miner lost multiple limbs and for what?
“Vapid bitch.“
Thumbs had gone to work with minimal prompting.
Backspace. Too crude. Didn’t feel right for the moment.
If you loved me you’d tempt me…
Dreamed of being welcomed to the city-world, shoegaze city, she saw herself there one day. Dreamed about it. One amongst the well meaning citizenry comprised of strange semi-corporeal spirits, pensive intellects with great comedic timing, and beautiful people. A place of chessboards and lovers staring without care. Close her eyes and feel a breeze just cold enough for pleasant, cold enough to justify her style. A place located in the forever something better.
A Girl stumbles out of an IPA serving establishment in an artificially dingy part of Los Angeles patronized by would-be bohemians and proud DSA members. Brunette and wearing a sailor suit. A lit American Spirit brand cigarette smoldering between her middle and ring fingers. She presses her ring finger against a tear duct, before taking a mighty drag. Exhaling a pillar of smoke above her head into which she projects the flickering images of noire detectives. It descends, engulfing her. Dissipating it reveals the Girl now blonde and wearing a fashionable tan coat. Ready to hitchhike across America, to a Magical City with unburnt bridges. Ready to uncover the Truth.
Spitting out a wad of bubble gum and dreaming dreams of jeans and leather. We’re seduced by a music, the water nymph’s inspiration and inspired craft, capable of bringing together the disparate elements floating around our interior cavity. Shaping our fantasies. Dasha as an artist performs the Superfluous Woman well, willing to sacrifice to this Identity-Specter, embodied in her jangly walk (concealing surprising nimbleness), through the performance. She’s at once the performer, the performance, and the producer-director. Mutating, evolving to thrive in the collapse constitutive of social media and streaming platforms. Maybe because she’s seduced by it and sees that others are seduced by the persona as well.
Seductive, self-conscious, retarded.
Dasha Nekrasova we love you.
I love you.
Going to protests in order to skip class and party. Showing tits for hope and change. Consider that at the time maybe she cast this desire as the desire for Revolutionary Autonomy. Rather than as a desire to be desired (recognized) by a Prince and by the others. Perhaps wanting to skip class and party does speak to something vital and potent in itself. That the desire to break out of institutions and enjoy the company of other humans gathered together for a Cause… this youthful exuberance… does actually constitute an autonomous act. It’s not in and of itself Revolutionary. It’s an approved protests (even when they aren’t formally approved they become something of a ritual confined within a series of spaces) that more often than not transformation into little music festivals. Everyone gets to have a good time and ultimately go back to class, finish the semester, return to business as usual. The participants get to play the part of the “young student radical” and the event organizers get something else to include in their portfolios. Referenced Amber A’Lee Frost’s book Dirtbag, specifically Amber’s citation of Occupy Wall Street activists turned founders of boutique consulting firms dedicated to choreographing “events intended to appear as dynamic, broad based social movements” manufacturing “feel-good content for an activist’s social media feed.”
Few of Amber’s observations are worth reproducing below,
“What the entryists could do, however, was secure positions as brokers on behalf of the people. They worked their way into academia, got bylines in legacy media, established think tanks, got jobs at nonprofits, started their own consulting firms, embedded themselves in NGOs, etc. This isn’t to say those jobs always make the world worse, but as a political “tactic,” you can’t help but notice that the professionalization of activism does more to shore up power for a growing class of “movement managers,” and that, rather than relying on democracy (much less democratizing anything new), they were joining the very institutions used to circumvent democracy. Granted they would ostensibly be taking these posts to capture the king’s ear and thus wield a little “soft power” in the name of justice. It made sense, on some level. You had a glut of angry educated, progressive millennials who recently found themselves on the professional and economic downslide. They knew they were a bit screwed, but they also knew they were way less screwed than everyone else; and they needed jobs. So of course they wanted to pursue positions where they might exercise a little Professional Managerial noblesse oblige that might benefit “everyone else.”’
and,
”Nonetheless, Occupy Wall Street really was more than the Potemkin protests, for better or worse. Much to my chagrin, the major opposition to the opportunism of Professional Managerial Anarchists were the Amateur Anarchists, for whom “spontaneity” and “organic” activity was the goal in and of itself. A sort of shitty Emerald City was formed from the energy roiling in and around the park; it’s not that the outside world disappeared exactly, but it became less noticeable, and it was easier to forget the rest of Oz, much less Kansas. For a lot of people, this escape - a retreat, really - was the dream.”
As it relates to Red Scare. The point is that podcasters or streamers aren’t Revolutionary Agents. At most what they have is a platform they can rent to others. They keep calling attention to the position people like them occupy, shock-jock solidarity. How it's a kind of strata and pocket-dimension (Twitter). Anna had a number of bangers this episode related to this. When discussing figures like Carl Beijer and Noah Kulwin she says something along the lines of, I can't believe that the people who go to the same parties and funerals that I'm invited too are my 'ideological' enemies, it's not ideological conflict it's professional competition that it's narrativized as something ideological and Manichean is just what these people tell themselves in order to not confront the fact that they're strivers and careerists. She says something along the lines of "I knew BLM and MeToo was evil from the start, it wasn't coopted" easy to read Anna as being a smug and terrible person, ignoring that earlier she'd mentioned that all of these things discursively adopt worthy causes (Racial justice, sexual justice, Covid justice etc...) the point isn't that the people or the principles informing any of these things are "evil" but rather that the medium itself can be considered evil. Evil in that it specifically harnesses hope in order to betray them. Makes the principled unprincipled and mercenary. The “trained Marxist” with a real estate portfolio made filthy rich. Social media, the US, the NGO-complex etc... Within the machineries provided and present, these things inevitably canalize public discontent/heterogeneous forces back into the service of the Homogenous Anti-Fragile State. Numerous Ponzi schemes stacked on top of one another forming an incomplete Pyramid. The eruption of base powers canalized towards the preservation of the essential relations of production.
Consider the following point by Anna concerning the “Rightwing” E-Girls on twitter breaking the bit and the absurdity of it,
Anna: “…literally they’re being besieged by armies of 19 to 23 year old…14 year old brown guys with like a dial-up connection. That’s the straw that broke the camel’s back!? That’s what finally and definitively made you turn away from rightwing politics? Like you came there, you were OKAY with the racism, you were okay with the antisemitism, you were okay with the hatred for democracy, you were okay with the contempt for the poor and the weak…”
Dasha: “But HitlerRapeGroyper calls you a ‘Roastie’…”
Anna: “…you were okay with Holocaust denial, you were okay with Human Biodiversity…. but the minute they said something about ‘Eggless Roasties’ you were out and Ridin4Biden… that’s crazy bro. And also like no offense but racist rightwing anons on the internet aren’t politics. They are not representatives of the movement. They have virtually nothing in common with the GOP.”
Vulgar and revelatory.
Find the relationship with Rightwing Anons in some ways it’s a predatory/exploitative dynamic, “I pander to you up to a point sure but I’m hoovering up anything clever, encouraging Simpendence, taking your money, and using cleaned up versions of your jokes and your takes without giving much if any credit… because you’re a nobody online who decided to center your whole virtual identity around being a racist, an anti-Semite, a reactionary monarchist, a race realist, a holocaust denier, a Hitler enthusiast, and a hater… you can never be anything other than an anon. You’re fucked unless you totally start over and that’s hoping you didn’t dox yourself over the years you’ve been desperately searching for human connection on this thing. Which you probably have.” The Rightwing Anon is something to be studied (representing a pathological reification of the conservative normie unconscious) and drawn from.
The Rightwing Anon is not only not representative of the GOP voter base, they are also not representative of the actual audience that these people are attempting to tap into. Though they might serve as influencer’s influencers and gatekeepers and models for online activity (what discourse is and isn’t permissible) the extreme positions and antics they adopt conceal the conservative-leaning “anti-Woke” but largely noncommittal normie Zoomers (24 years old and younger) who do in fact constitute the audience or demographic Conservative-signaling and GOP-aligned MSM along with other corporate bodies, political operatives, and people within the entertainment industry… would like to tap into if not outright secure. Representing a potentially enthusiastic voter-base, a talent-pool, and a spare change (disposable income) dispenser given the fact that many of them likely don’t have to redirect all their funds towards paying rent and utilities just yet.
Plus, on a more concrete political note…There is a dimension of tactical support for those who want tighter immigration controls, a bit of protectionism and/or outright economic nationalism, anti-interventionism and by extension (or perhaps more importantly) those willing to bleed NGOs and minimize the influence of foreign national actors on US politics i.e., namely diasporic and exile interest groups, powerful enough to form political blocs that exert a disproportionate influence on US foreign policy, animated by nothing more than ancestral beef turned into a familial mythology and site of identity-formation, avenging their great-grandfather and bringing ‘democracy’ to the countries they’d fled from by punishing those who decided to stay and those who didn’t leave until things got really bad. I’m of the opinion that no one in the GOP will ever come close to achieving something like this but disillusionment can prove vital.
The very least these Rightwing E-Girls can do is maintain a general fidelity. Identifying with and pandering to the Abstract Right while denouncing the Left (adopting/adapting anti-Communist sloganeering and critiquing the “Actual Existing Left”) or at the very least, bare minimum, to not countersignal the GOP. Making fools of fans and donors alike. If you’re going to be asking people for money then you might as well not insult/humiliate them in the process.
…
Attempts at a Dream Interpretation from penultimate episode
Thoughts that came up. Into the arms of a Self-Made Father. Recognized as being of him. Of his glamor and grandeur. Dancing if anyone gets it its him right? To be moved by the Spirit of the Time. Like recognizes like and we are dancing together in the ballroom.
The usual and the cynical note the shabbiness of the whole operation. This doesn’t matter. We’re going to Rome, to Vatican City. To the Throne of St. Peter. The negging has worked. Shabby sure but the little foxes are rough and mischievous and part of God’s design.
…
People don't tend to deal well with disillusionment and dwelling with dissatisfaction. It’s all too dualistic. All or nothing and it's never enough. Lots of raging so far.
Women who age, who become more conservative (literally not liking protests because they're too loud) and who don't actually have a strong knowledge of the material but still opine simply to opine is unforgivable. That the opinion should carry a profound existential weight rather than be something subject to change is something struggled with. Or perhaps it's mutability itself and how this mutability is connected not with information and by extension sincere conviction and conversion but rather with necessity and social or monetary considerations... is what's particularly infuriating, especially for other women (and jaded Simps). The assumption being that the appearance is the essence. There can't be any interiority, there can't be anything to these women other than the fantasy we pour into their words. Projections turning the whole thing into a run on sentence. Once they had been good but now they are bad.

Story set in NoP 1 by u/SpacePaladin15
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Memory Transcription Subject: Lyra, Dossur, LakeShore district of Darkwater, Venlil Prime
Date [Standardized Human Time]: 7 January 2137
[[ Dream State Detected ]]
[[ Consult Project Chronicle: Archivist User Manual § 72.5 ¶ 17 for Warnings and Options Related to Dream State Transcriptions ]]
[[ Enabled Options: Skip Gaps, Smooth Interpolation ]]
I flick my tail in irritation while typing on my holopad.
Speh! This job might pay the bills, but it’s sooo boring. It requires no creativity to maintain this brahking warehouse machinery. It’s just an endless tail-chase of diagnostics, updating firmware, running more diagnostics, analyzing operating logs…
I submit my latest diagnostic summary, stand up, and stretch.
Time for a snack while that batch processes.
I step away from my desk and find that I’m completely buried in a large pile of strange looking strayu. It’s much denser and more crumbly than the Venlil strayu, round and somewhat flat, with an unfamiliar grain and dried berries scattered within. I break off a paw-sized chunk and nibble on it while pushing my way out.
This weird flattened grain tastes fantastic! These berries are familiar, I think Rolf called them [dried wine-fruit].
Emerging from the pile of sweet, Terran strayu, I find Rolf curled up on the ground. His voice trembling as he apologizes for dropping the pile of baked goods on me. I place a paw on his knee and try to calm the anxious human down.
“Hey, Rolf, it’s OK. There’s no need to act like a Sivkit. Take a few slow breaths.”
Rolf lifts his head and looks directly at me. I barely suppress a cry of shock at the sight. His head is unusually large, perfectly round, and covered in brown fur. He has long ears, similar to a Farsul and a ball-shaped nose sitting beneath two large forward facing eyes.
“Brahking speh! What’s with the jump-scare, Rolf?”
After a second look at Rolf’s bizarre appearance, I have to stifle a giggle.
“Or should I say Rowlf? You look like that weird Farsul Muppet that plays the odd looking Terran flytser.”
Rolf responds in a deep growling voice. “How in [deity]’s name do you know what a Muppet is? That show is 150 years old! There’s no way the Muppets were included in the public data dump; not with the forward facing eyes, Muppets eating each other, the explosions…”
I wrap my tail around my leg as my ears bloom green.
“I might have… um, borrowed your old Terran tablet. I wanted to see if I could modify it to connect to the Venlil Prime network. After the FTL comms came online between Earth and Venlil Prime, I discovered the tablet had full access to the uncensored Terran internet.”
I look at the ground, signing >embarrassed< with my tail. “Rolf, you know how much I love movies and art. I just couldn’t resist exploring all the fascinating media you humans have created.”
I look up, expecting to see disappointment, or at least exasperation, in Rolf’s face. Instead, I find a Kolshian dressed in federation military regalia glaring at me with one of his eyes.
“I grow tired of asking you to share the hidden Terran media. Perhaps you’ll respond to an alternative form of persuasion.”
My tail drops and my whiskers quiver with outrage. “The more you tighten your grip, Nikonus, the more star systems will slip through your fingers!”
The Kolshian simply signs >smug< with his tail. “Not after we demonstrate the power of this battle station. You have determined the choice of the planet that'll be destroyed first. Since you are reluctant to provide us with the location of the Rebel base Terran media, I have chosen to test this station's destructive power... on your home planet of Mileau.”
The shock from that statement hits me like a kick to the stomach. “No! Mileau is peaceful. We have no weapons. You can't possibly…”
“You would prefer another target? A military target? Then name the system!”
The Kolshian waves a menacing tentacle at me. “I grow tired of asking this. So it'll be the last time. Where is the Rebel base Terran media?”
I collapse to the floor, unable to hold back my tears.
My parents! My brothers! Why is the federation attacking Mileau? How could they develop something like the Death Star without using it to defeat the Arxur? Why did I leave my family?
I feel a familiar hand scratching my neck and back. The fog in my mind starts to clear and my tense muscles relax. I open my eyes and find myself sitting on one of Rolf’s arms as he tries to comfort me.
“It’s OK, Lyra, let it all out. I felt so much better after I allowed myself to cry. I still don’t know if my parents survived the attack on Earth. I spent weeks trying so hard not to cry. That was a mistake – all that emotional turmoil was eating me up inside.”
My trembling voice breaks through my sobs. “Eating…, eating you up inside? Even your gr- grief is pred… predatory!”
I try to laugh, but choke on a sob. Rolf simply gives me a hug.
“I know it’s overwhelming. Just know that I’m here for you.”
I take several deep breaths and try to calm down.
Wait, do I hear music?
I find myself walking to the other side of the dark warehouse, towards the faint music.
I’ve heard this before.
“Rolf! Do you hear this? It’s one of the songs from that movie we watched several herds of paws ago. Before that [religious feast] – um, Christmas? That movie with the elegant leaping and dancing.”
My breath hitches as I see a pair of glowing eyes in the darkness. I shake my head and look again, but there’s nothing there.
Not this again! I thought I was done with that silly nightmare!
I continue walking towards the music. I see two figures in the dim light. One of them is lying on the ground while the other kneels over them. The figure on the ground is covered in grey fur, resembling a large Earth rat the size of a Venlil, a broken crown lying next to his head. The other figure resembles a human, dressed in brilliant red pelts.
The rat king and the nutcracker. Well, that explains the music.
Looking closer, I notice the rat’s eyes are dull and lifeless. The nutcracker is bent down so far, his face appears to be pressed against the rat’s torso. I hear an unusual sound and suddenly, everything feels wrong. It’s that same dreadful feeling of being watched that plagued me a herd ago.
Not this again!
My ears lay flat against my head and I feel my hackles rise as the nutcracker lifts its head from the body of the rat. It turns and stares directly at me; blood and viscera drip from the nutcracker’s mouth as two glowing yellow eyes pierce the darkness.
I can’t move!
My desperate attempts to scurry backwards do nothing. I try to yell, but can’t produce a sound. The music that lured me here is drowned out by the growing intensity of my heartbeats. The nutcracker’s glowing eyes fill my vision, growing larger and brighter until their terrifying light envelopes me completely.
[[ Dream State Ended, Continuing Standard Memory Transcription ]]
I jolt awake with a breathless scream on my tongue.
I’m trapped! Consumed by a bright void. I’m, I’m…
Looking more carefully, I find that I’m surrounded by a smooth, cylindrical, white wall. I’m also buried in a strange kind of fluffy white material. I take a slow breath as recognition slowly ebbs into my confused brain.
Oh speh! Not again… Should I be less embarrassed now that this has happened a pawful of times?
I find my footing underneath the sea of exploded grain, reach up to grab the lip of the bowl, and pull myself out. I brush bits of popcorn and popcorn kernels off my fur as I look around for Rolf.
Apparently, a Star Wars marathon is a terrible idea when my home planet is under siege by those federation brahkasses. Ugh, I’m so tired of stressful dreams!
I shiver from whiskers to tail-tip as I remember the horrifying visage of that nutcracker.
What in Solgalik’s left paw was that? Maybe the pest control job is affecting my mind… I can’t believe the humans were so careless with their ships. Now we have a rat infestation in the food warehouses.
As I stretch, I hear a familiar set of footsteps.
“Sleeping beauty has finally awoken, I see.”
I glare at Rolf as he walks up to the couch. “You knew I fell asleep in the popcorn and you just left me there?”
“You looked so peaceful! What kind of friend would I be if I disturbed your beauty sleep?”
I huff indignantly while signing >outrage< with my tail. “Where did you run off to, anyway? Abandoning your defenseless friend in this den of slobbering predators?”
Rolf raises an eyebrow while brushing an errant popcorn kernel off my head. “Lyra, I’m pretty sure every slobbering predator in this refugee center is terrified of YOU*.*”
I can’t help but chitter at Rolf’s accusation. “You humans can’t handle the simplest of Dossur pranks! Not even a Mazic freaks out that much when a Dossur pops out of a cupboard or the cold box.”
Rolf shakes his head with a sigh. “Lyra, I’m pretty sure giving more anxiety to traumatized humans is not the best way to make friends.”
I flick Rolf with my tail, “It worked great with you!”
Rolf just sighs and sits down on the couch. I climb onto his shoulder and wrap my tail around his neck.
“Rolf, you look more anxious than usual. ^{I didn’t think that was possible.} You were pretty chipper before I slipped into a food coma.”
I flick my ears mischievously and sign >teasing< with my tail. “Is your girlfriend jealous that we spent two claws together watching movies?”
Instead of his usual defensiveness, Rolf just lowers his head and looks tired. “I went to take food to my roommate. But, she wasn’t there…”
I stifle a gasp and place a paw on Rolf’s neck. “Teeya never leaves your apartment. Where would she even go?”
Rolf shakes his head, his voice quivering a little. “I don’t know. She’s not here in the refugee center. I don’t even know when she left. I’m… I’m really worried about her safety.”
I hop down and put a paw on Rolf’s leg, trying to keep my voice level. “I know you’re worried about the exterminators. It’s…, well, it’s been several herds of paws since there was an incident between humans and exterminators here in Darkwater. I… I’m sure she’ll be OK. She’s been hiding in that apartment for [months]! Maybe she’s finally stretching her legs and getting some air?”
Rolf scratches my neck and sighs. “I hope so. Thank you, Lyra, I appreciate the positive thoughts.”
Rolf stands up with a muffled groan and we walk out of the room.
“Well, I don’t want to make you late for your work claw. Embrace your inner nutcracker and go battle the rat hordes while I search the neighborhood for Teeya.”
I suppress a shiver at the nutcracker reference. We leave the refugee center and I sign >comfort< to Rolf as we part ways. I continue nightward, towards the food storage warehouses.
Rolf is gonna be a nervous wreck when I get back. I should be helping him look for Teeya instead of hunting down rats. I don’t understand why Teeya is so skittish compared to the other humans here in LakeShore.
[[ Memory Fragment, 14 Dec 2136, LakeShore district of Darkwater, Terran Refugee Center, Art Room ]]
I splatter some purple paint on my canvas. My tail twitches in agitation as the purple splotches remind me of Kolshian blood. My whiskers shiver as I push that thought away. Rolf walks over and looks at my painting.
“Nice! I can see you’ve been studying Rothko and Pollock.”
I flick my ears and tail appreciatively. “I’ve spent so much time looking at their work in that public data dump. Their creative vision is fresh air through my fur, especially after a lifetime of stale federation art that hasn’t changed in centuries. Thank you again for the art supplies – painting always calms my nerves.”
I flick some green paint onto the canvas, wondering how much Dossur blood has been spilled by the federation attack on Mileau. I take a slow breath and look up at Rolf.
“I know this sounds trivial compared to everything else going on; but, I’m worried about rent. Inflation is already crazy and now that piclil landlord is raising my rent again. With my debt from art school… Ugh, I just feel like I’m drowning!”
Rolf scratches my neck and shakes his head as he sighs. “I still can’t believe student debt is a problem here in the federation, too. Wait, I thought you were a maintenance engineer for a warehouse. Aren’t engineers paid well?”
My tail flicks in frustration as my whiskers quiver with outrage. “Hah! Outside Mileau, it’s standard practice to pay Dossur a fraction of what they pay other species for the exact same work! It’s flagrant brahking specism! Do you know what employee resources said when I pointed out this speh? ‘Dossur eat less food and live in smaller apartments.’ Vyalpic! Do you know how many Dossur apartments even exist in this backwater venpic town? None! That’s how many!”
Rolf frowns as he shakes his head. “So much for taking care of the herd. It’s too bad the UN won’t let you live in the refugee center. We spend enough time here it really wouldn’t make a difference.”
The tip of my tail taps the floor as my ears twitch. “You know, that’s not a bad idea… We spend so much time watching Terran movies together, I should just move into your apartment! My stuff won’t take up much space. I even have a large wall-mount holoscreen. I can build an adapter for your old tablet and we can watch Terran movies from the comfort of your apartment.”
Rolf smiles wistfully. “That would be fun. I would really like that… It’s just, well, my roommate, Teeya. I don’t think it would be safe for you two to live together.”
My whiskers droop. “You’ve mentioned something about that before. Is she allergic to Dossur or something? I haven’t even met her, so it can’t be a grudge from one of my pranks.”
Rolf sighs and sits down. “No, it’s just… with everything, she… Teeya is struggling with this move to Venlil Prime. She never leaves our apartment. I can’t have any visitors over.”
I sigh. “I don’t want to sound insensitive; but, couldn’t Teeya just room with a different human?”
Rolf smiles sadly while shaking his head. “I wish it were that easy. I’ve known Teeya for almost ten years. I promised that I’d take care of her before we left Earth. I’m the only one she trusts here. She’s actually very sweet; I…, I just worry what would happen if she were alone with a Venlil or a Dossur.”
[[ Resuming Standard Memory Transcription ]]
I sigh and push that memory aside.
I know it’s not Teeya’s fault that she’s struggling. It’s just, everything would be simpler if I could room with her and Rolf: I wouldn’t have to work two jobs; I could spend more time with Rolf; I could…
My thoughts are interrupted by a pair of glowing eyes in a shadow off to my left. I stop abruptly, panic rising in my chest. I look again, carefully, but see nothing.
Stupid nightmare! Now I’m jumping at shadows again. I thought I’d moved past this.
I let out the breath I was holding and walk a little faster towards the warehouse complex. A feeling of dread festers in my stomach as my instincts scream that I’m being followed.
This is all in my head. Stupid dream! Stupid prey instincts! I can’t let fear control me. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me…
By the time I reach the warehouse, my heart rate is back to normal. With another sigh, I open my locker and start gathering my gear.
Let’s see: high-visibility vest, safety glasses, helmet, tranquilizer gun, and a jet injector.
I shake my head and sigh at the typical federation hypocrisy.
If an extermination officer saw a human killing a rat, they’d torch the ‘dangerous predator’ faster than I can blink. But, it’s just fine for a Dossur like me to kill rats every brahking paw as long as I’m registered with the local extermination office.
I double check the supply of tranquilizer darts and fill the injector syringe with warfarin.
As a ‘prey species’ I should feel awful about this job. I’d never admit this to my exterminator colleagues, but I find this job comforting: I get to be a psychopomp, taking rats on a peaceful journey to the other side before the exterminators have a chance to burn them to ash.
I shudder, imagining how awful it would feel to be burned alive with a flame-thrower.
Well, which of the many Terran psychopomps should I be today? Freya, perhaps? Yes, Freya with her cat-drawn chariot. Cats are good for a rat infestation.
I power on the motorized transport that acts as my hearse. I configure the autopilot so it follows me through the warehouse as I check the traps hidden in various crawl spaces that only a Dossur can reach. The first quarter claw is quiet; every trap I check is empty. My thoughts drift back to Rolf and Teeya.
Heh, despite my teasing, I’m sure Rolf and Teeya really are just roommates. Rolf is just so adorable when he’s flustered. He reminds me of my brothers. My brothers… I really hope they’re still alive.
[[ Memory Fragment, 16 Nov 2136, LakeShore district of Darkwater, Terran Refugee Center, Media Room ]]
What would my brothers think if they could see me right now? Sitting on a predator’s shoulder. Watching a movie created by predators. Inside a building filled with predators of all ages. Distressed predators whose homeworld was attacked. Would my brothers freak out or would they be jealous?
I smile as I think about how much Rolf reminds me of my brothers. I’m constantly amused at how often he acts like a young Dossur. So much fun to tease! I flick my ears mischievously as I search for a suitable topic.
“Rolf? Your head-fur is brown…”
“Excellent observation, Watson!”
I flick Rolf’s neck with my tail. “You didn’t let me finish! Your head-fur is brown, but your pelts are covered with long grey hairs.”
Rolf raises an eyebrow.
“Well, Sherlock, applying that deductive reasoning you always lecture me about, I conclude that you and your roommate spend a lot of time cuddling.”
Rolf blushes slightly and coughs, “No, it’s, it’s not like that!”
“Oh, really? I think the evidence speaks for itself.”
I can hear Rolf’s heartbeat increase as he starts stumbling over his words.
“Look, when I… well, when I brush Teeya’s hair it just, well it kind of, um, just gets everywhere…”
“Ah, so you brush her hair? My deduction that you two are more than roommates still stands.”
“We’re just close friends! We’ve been friends for 10 years. There’s nothing romantic…”
My ears perk up and I flick Rolf with my tail again. “10 years! And the two of you haven’t weaved a vyalkit, yet?”
Rolf looks completely exasperated. “I don’t even know what that means…”
I wrap my tail around his neck and pat the side of his head. “Rolf, just promise that you’ll invite me to the ceremony when you two make things official.”
Rolf shakes his head and sighs. “Lyra, how can I convince you that I have no plans to marry Teeya?”
[[ Resuming Standard Memory Transcription ]]
I chitter out loud at that memory.
Stars, that was funny! Oh, it always feels like home when I’m with Rolf. If Teeya could just work up the nerve to actually meet me, I’m sure we’d get along. Heh, if she’s known Rolf for 10 years, she must have all kinds of great anecdotes.
My thoughts are interrupted as I find a rat inside a trap. As usual, the rat’s almost as large as I am!
What shall I call this one? Remy? Yes, Remy was a rat with good taste.
“Remy, my friend, the reaper has come calling. It’s nothing personal. You just don’t belong here on this planet. When you get to the underworld, give your ancestors an earful on my behalf. They’re the ones who stowed away on the human’s refugee ships.”
Remy the rat simply looks at me curiously as I fire the tranquilizer gun. Once the rat’s unconscious, I inject it with warfarin and pull it from the trap. After resetting the trap, I pull Remy’s corpse out to the hall and load it into the hearse.
[[ Advancing Transcript by 3 Hours ]]
I’m exhausted after a work claw hauling dead rats into the hearse. I put my gear away and bring the hearse outside. I can start sealing up the cargo hold so the autopilot can deliver the corpses to the local extermination office for incineration. I’m interrupted by a loud panicked squeal of a rat.
Huh, did I catch a rat in one of the traps outside the warehouse?
As I walk in the direction of the noise, I briefly see two eyes glowing in the darkness. My heart beats faster as I struggle to get my instincts under control.
Speh! I don’t have the emotional energy for this! It’s just my mind playing tricks on me…
I continue walking until I reach the trap. It’s empty. The next trap is also empty. As I walk to the third trap, I feel my hackles rise. That familiar, dreadful feeling of being watched descends over me. Once again, I see a pair of eyes reflecting light from within the darkness. They’re gone when I look more carefully.
Maybe Rolf is right. I need to stop watching Terran movies that are so intense.
Arriving at the final trap, I’m surprised to find a rat lying on the ground outside of the cage. The rat isn’t moving, its eyes dull and lifeless. As I get closer, I can see that the rat is lying on its back with deep scratches and bite marks on its neck and belly. Blood is pooled around the corpse. I can feel bile rising into my throat as my mind is flooded with memories of that horrifying nutcracker from my dream. I’m brought back to my senses by the sounds of an animal scampering off nightward in the dim twilight.
Shit! Speh! Fuck! What could even do this? A shadestalker? But a shadestalker wouldn’t leave their catch. They certainly wouldn’t hesitate to attack a lone Dossur…
I try and push down the panic welling up inside me. After a couple slow breaths, I take a picture of the eviscerated rat with my holopad and send it to my contact in the exterminator office. I also send the image to Rolf with a note about my suspicions and a warning to be careful.
This is bad! This is so bad. Not even humans are safe from shadestalker attacks. Several [months] ago, a human was attacked and severely injured by a shadestalker that wandered into the Twilight. If shadestalkers are in LakeShore, Rolf needs to find Teeya and get her back to safety!
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