Girls shiting toilet

https://imgur.com/a/iKNktR9
A lot of manga are in like new condition
Please comment if interested in anything, some prices are negotiable, feel free to offer!
I would consider shipping internationally (packages under 4lb preferred)
Most volumes are in great condition, will specify if not
Some volumes shown in photos have been sold in previous listings
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COMPLETE SETS
Naruto Shadow Box Set: $400
Rurouni Kenshin 1-28 (missing 20): $175
Jojo's Parts 1+2 COMPLETE, 3 1-7 (14 vols): $175
Goodnight Punpun 1-7 COMPLETE: $120
Don't Toy With Me Nagatoro 1-14 COMPLETE: $110
Promised Neverland 1-20 COMPLETE: $90
Tokyo Ghoul 1-14 COMPLETE: $90
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LARGE SETS
10 book Junji Ito lot: $200
Bleach 1-48 + both booklets: $200
Dorohedoro 1-21: $185 SOLD
My Hero Academia 1-31: $165
Komi Can't Communicate 1-25: $165
Berserk Deluxe 1-5: $150
Vinland Saga 1-9: $140
Naruto Lot (volumes 1-23, 6 stories, Scarlet Spring, Chibi Sasuke 1-3, Hidden Leaf Headbands, Bookmarks, Poster): $140
Jujutsu Kaisen 0-19: $130
Beastars 1-16: $120
Angel Sanctuary 1-18: $120
My Dress Up Darling 1-8: $100
Seven Deadly Sins 1-18: $100
One Punch Man 1-14: $90
Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles 4-13 + 1-4 Japanese: $90
Attack On Titan 1-17: $90
Toilet Bound Hanako Kun 0-11: $90
Promised Neverland 1-20 (missing 4): $85
My Hero Academia 1-20: $85
Made in Abyss 1-9: $80
Rent a Girlfriend 1-10: $80
Hitorijime My Hero 1-10: $70
Blade of the Immortal Omnibus 1-5: $70
Is It Wrong To Try To Pick Up Girls In A Dungeon? 1-11 (light novels, some water damaged): $70
Way of the House Husband 1-9: $70
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SMALL/CHEAP SETS (these are priced cheaper and can only be purchased in an order totaling atleast $75)
One Punch Man 1-7, 15, 16, 18-21: $75 (faded and yellowed)
Chainsaw Man 1-11: $50
Mob Psycho 1-6 + Reigen 1: $50
Black Bird 1-9: $40
Hi-Score Girl 1-6: $40
Gangsta 1-6: $40
Quintessential Quintuplets 1-9: $40
Komi Can't Communicate 1-9: $40
Perfect World 1-9: $40
Rent a GF 1-7: $30
Thus Spoke Kishibe Rohan 1-2: $30
Bakemonogatari 2-3, Nisemonogatari 1-2, Kizumonogatari (Wound Tale, some water damage): $30
Welcome Back, Alice 1-4: $25
Cactus's Secret 1-4 COMPLETE: $25
One Punch Man 1-4: $20
Demon Slayer 1-5: $20
Vinland Saga 1-2: $20
Call of the Night 1-3: $15
My Hero Academia 1-4: $15
Oshi No Ko 1-2: $10
No Longer Heroine 1-2: $10
Shy 1-2: $10
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SINGLES (These are priced cheaper and can only be purchased in an order totaling atleast $75)
Apollo's Song (Osamu Tezuka): $25
Dog Ningen Uncensored 1: $10
Soul Eater PE 1: $10
Fullmetal Alchemist Fullmetal Edition 1: $10
Orange 1: $10
Blade of the Immortal 1: $10
Ibitsu: $10
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FREE (One can be added to purchases of atleast $200 total)
https://imgur.com/a/QfxkEZ4
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I have a ton of OP Gold Foils and misc Jojo's volumes if interested. I also have a Soul Eater Liz Funko, a Naruto Figure and a big Deku Figure, if anyone is interested
I also have some Studio Ghibli Steelbooks
I also have a complete set of One Piece Gold Foils that are in the best condition I've seen. Volumes 1-23 for $750 shipped. G5, Mint Condition, all sleeved. I know it is a lot but that is my price as I don't think it is easy to come across sets in this condition.
I also have a complete set of Inuyasha 1-56 in great condition I'd consider selling as well.
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If you are interested in anything, feel free to ask for more photos or details.
I will prioritize making larger sales.
I will only add the smaller sets/singles to a larger purchase.
Please comment and PM any interest
THANK YOU!

I know this post will seem really long because it's such a long list, but I'm running out of creative ideas to find movies.
I've been watching zombie movies every night for the last two months and I'm trying to get to 100. I'm open to movies in other languages, movies that are only tangentially zombie movies, and kids’ movies (though I generally don't prefer those). So, here’s what I have so far, alphabetized:
Watched:

1. 28 Days Later
2. Abraham Lincoln vs. Zombies (2012)
3. Army of the Dead
4. Army of Thieves
5. The Autopsy of Jane Doe
6. The Battery (2012)
7. Blood Quantum
8. Cargo (2017)
9. Cemetery Man
10. Contracted (2013)
11. Cooties (2014)
12. The Crazies (2010)
13. Dawn of the Dead (1978)
14. Dawn of the Dead (2004)
15. Day of the Dead
16. Day of the Dead 2: Contagium (2005)
17. Dead Alive
18. The Dead Don’t Die
19. Deathdream
20. Fido (2006)
21. Final Cut
22. The Girl With All the Gifts
23. House of the Dead (2003)
24. I am Legend (2007)
25. I Walked with a Zombie
26. Land of the Dead (2005)
27. Let Sleeping Corpses Lie
28. Little Monsters
29. Maggie (2015)
30. The Night Eats the World (2018)
31. Night of the Comet
32. Night of the Creeps
33. Night of the Living Dead (1968)
34. Night of the Living Dead (1990)
35. One Cut of the Dead
36. Osombie
37. ParaNorman (2013)
38. Peninsula
39. Planet Terror (2007)
40. Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead (2006)
41. Pontypool (2008)
42. Ravenous (2017)
43. Re-Animator
44. [REC] (2007)
45. Resident Evil
46. The Return of the Living Dead (1985)
47. Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island
48. Scout’s Guide to the Zombie Apocolypse
49. Shaun of the Dead
50. Stalled (2013)
51. Survival of the Dead (2009)
52. Train to Busan
53. Unhuman
54. Warm Bodies (2013)
55. White Zombie
56. World War Z (2013)
57. Wyrmwood: Road of the Dead (2014)
58. Zombie (1980)
59. Zombie Apocalypse (2011)
60. Zombieland
61. Zombieland: Double Tap
62. Zombie Massacre (2013)
63. Zombie Strippers (2008)

Not Watched (Yet):

1. 28 Weeks Later
2. Battlefield Baseball (2003)
3. Bio Zombie (1998)
4. The Cured
5. The Dead Lands
6. Dead Snow (2009)
7. Dead Snow 2: Red vs. Dead (2014)
8. I am a Hero (2016)
9. Juan of the Dead
10. Mystery Zone: Soul Eating Hill (2017)
11. Nazi Zombies (2009)
12. Oasis of the Zombies (1982)
13. [Rec 2]
14. The Return of the Living Dead part II
15. The Revenant (2009)
16. Versus
17. Wild Zero
18. Zombi Child
19. Zombie Ass: Toilet of the Dead (2011)
20. Zombie Honeymoon (2004)
21. Zombie Hunter (2013)
22. Zombie Nation (2004)
23. Zombie Night (2013)
24. Zombie Ressurection (2013)
25. Zombie for Sale
26. Zombiegeddon (2003)
27. Zombies! Zombies! Zombies! (2008)

Can anyone think of any that aren't on these lists? I only need 10 more!
Edit: Thank you all for the great suggestions and keep them coming! I'm getting too many comments now to respond to each of them individually (I can barely keep up; my head is spinning!). You guys have been SO helpful.

When I was ten, I formed a junior detective squad.
Mom bought me the entire box set of What's New Scooby Doo, and I was inspired to start my very own detective gang. I held auditions outside the gymnasium at recess (serious enquiries only) after a number of kids tried to apply for the role of Scooby Doo despite me reiterating I was not interested in playing make believe.
When I was laughed at in class, I made posters strictly asking for SERIOUS wannabe detectives, even going as far as using my Mom’s printer to make flyers, sticking them all over the school.
Auditions were simple. I asked them to solve a simple riddle.
Whoever impressed me got to sign their name down, and I’d get back to them.
I spent three days sifting through kids who definitely had charm, but they lacked the intelligence of a junior detective. Most kids were only auditioning to make fun of me, anyway.
Still, though, I didn't give up.
My flyers had five requirements:
1). You had to be smart.
2). You were not allowed to be a scaredy cat.
3). You had to accept your inevitable death at the hands of our town’s evil villains.
4). You had to have a fully registered driving licence (I quickly changed this to a bike).
5). You cannot have a criminal record.
(I later scribbled this one out, writing over it. *“You cannot have any tardies.”
Narrowing the applicants down to three kids, all of whom failed to share my enthusiasm for solving cases. The kids I picked didn't even know how to make plans, and when I invited them to my house, they stole my Mom’s necklace.
I didn't even need to solve the mystery of who stole Mom’s necklace. The girl was wearing it at school. I punched her in the face, and was immediately sent to the principal’s office. When I was being given the mother all lectures, the door quietly opened, a head peeking through.
It was Ben Callows, a freckly kid with overgrown brown hair hanging in his eyes. Ben really needed a haircut.
He was always wearing the exact same baseball cap, and I found myself wondering if it was permanently glued to his head, stuck on top of unruly brown curls practically matted to his forehead.
In class, Ben was also known as Bloody Ben. In the second grade, the boy had a nosebleed in the middle of a spelling test, bleeding all over his paper.
It's not like he didn't try and detach himself from the name.
Ben brought in Digimon cards, so kids would call him Digimon Ben instead.
Then he “accidentally” spilled yoghurt down his shirt in hopes we would call him Yoghurt Ben. But no. The kids in our class were relentless in reminding him of his name. No matter what he did, he was still Bloody Ben, and when anything related to blood came up in class, fifteen pairs of eyes would swivel to him, like he had invented the concept of bleeding.
I feared the nickname would follow him to junior high.
Ben didn't wait to be let in. He didn't even knock, striding in with his arms folded. Over the years, Bloody Ben, had definitely soured his personality.
He smiled rarely, and when he did smile, someone was falling over or hurting themselves.
Which definitely strengthened the claims of him being a sociopath.
The rumor mill was churning, with the latest claiming Bloody Ben killed his cat. That wasn't true. Ben’s cat was seventeen with cancer, and that was why he was sobbing all the way through reading time.
According to Ellie Daly, however, Ben had killed and dissected his kitty, and buried her in his Mom’s flowers.
Now, my principal did not like being interrupted, especially when she was in the middle of screaming at me.
Principal Marrow was old old (like, thirty, in my ten year old mind) stick thin like a pencil, and always wore the same stained sweater.
She used to be pretty, but I was convinced she had kissed a frog and been cursed. After our old principal suffered a stroke, she stepped in as a temporary replacement, and since becoming principal, had banned my favorite book series, colored shoe laces, and hamburger helper, even officiating a uniform.
(vomit green shorts and a tee, and plain white sneakers).
Kids were convinced she was a witch, and I kind of believed it.
Principal Marrow’s whole existence was built on sucking the fun out of school.
I was already reprimanded for my mystery gang flyers.
Her office smelled of peppermint and she was definitely sneaking sips of whisky in her coffee cup. I could see the bottle sticking out of the trash.
She straightened up, folding her arms across her chest, squinty eyes narrowing at the boy. I had spent the whole time she was lecturing me trying not to cry, my fists bunched in my lap.
I took the distraction as the perfect opportunity to swipe at my eyes, allowing myself to breathe.
Ben Callows was her victim now.
I was right. The woman's voice was like a thunderclap in my ears.
“You better have a good reason for not knocking, young man.”
Ben wasn't fazed by her tone. “You took my Switch two weeks ago,” he said, “I want it back, or I’m telling my Mom.”
At first, I thought I'd misheard him.
No, I was pretty sure he'd threatened our principal.
I swore I heard all of the breath sucked from the room.
“I'm sorry,” Principal Marrow cleared her throat. Her soft tone was dangerous.
She wasn't being nice. The lady was about to explode.
I could see visible veins straining in her temples, her right eye twitching.
It was straight out of a cartoon.
“Did you forget something, Ben?”
Ben sighed, like she was inconveniencing him.
He held out his hand. “Please can I have my Switch back? It counts as stolen property. Give it back, or I'm telling my Mom.”
The kid put so much emphasis on the word please, I couldn't resist a smile.
I think our principal was too shocked to get angry.
“Get out.” She said, firmly. “I don't have your gaming device.”
“It's in your drawer.” Ben nodded to her desk, “Under your divorce papers and the restraining order ordered by Jake Willow, the seventeen year old boy you've been having math ‘tutoring sessions’ with.” He quoted the air, his gaze lazily rolling to me. “Tutoring”
Principal Marrow went deathly pale, her eyes darkening.
“Benjamin Callows–”
“The school already knows about the restraining order, but your uncle is the head of the Board of Education, so all you get is a slap on the wrist and a warning to leave the boy alone."
Ben continued, and I found myself mesmerised by his words. He was a natural, his expression stoic, mouth curved with satisfaction that wasn't quite a smile. “However.” He held up his phone, pulling it away at the exact moment the teacher attempted to grab it. “You were outside Jake Willow’s house at 6:12am, drunk, and trying to climb through his window, which, I think violates the restraining order, does it not?”
Ben pretended to think real hard, his gaze flicking to the ceiling.
“I mean, I'm just a kid, right?” His mouth curled into the hint of a smirk
“What do I know, huh?”
Principal Marrow’s expression twisted, her lip wobbling.
“Mr Callows, remove yourself from my office, or I am calling your father.”
Leaning comfortably against the door, Ben’s lip twitched.
“Why? Are you planning on telling my Dad about your relations with a teenage boy, or will I have to tell him instead?”
I was enthralled, and fully disgusted, making a move to inch away from the woman.
“But it doesn't end there.” Ben continued. He straightened up, taking slow, intimidating steps towards the woman's desk. “You don't even want Jake, do you? Because, once upon a time, you were in love with his father. Jason Willow. You despised him for rejecting you, so you decided to defile his son.” Ben leaned over the principal’s desk, slipping his hand into the drawer, and pulling out his switch.
Painfully slowly.
She stood there, speechless, her shoulders trembling.
Ben smiled, and I found myself liking it.
“Thank you!” He said, waving the console in her face. Ben mimed locking his mouth and throwing away the key.
“My lips are sealed.”
Ben’s half lidded eyes found mine. “Are ya coming, Panda?”
I forgot my own nickname.
Panda.
I wore my Mom’s eyeliner because I thought it looked cool.
It did not.
Finding my breath, I snapped out of it.
Jumping up, I followed him out of the office, and when the two of us were safely on the hallway, I burst into hysterical giggles. “How did you know all of that?!” I whisper- shrieked.
Ben surprised me with a splutter. “Wait. You believed me?”
Something very cold trickled down my spine.
I stopped walking. “You lied?”
He shrugged. “I had a dig around her office before she caught me a few days ago,” Ben swung his arms, a smile curling on his mouth. “There's no restraining order, but there is prescription anti-psychosis medicine, and an extremely detailed story on her laptop about a teachestudent romance, which I presume is a self insert.”
Ben shot me a sickly grin. “The school refused to make her condition public.”
He prodded at his own cotton shirt embroidered with the school emblem.
“Why do you think she's made all these dumb rules? The woman is a certified Looney Tune.”
I nodded slowly. “Wait. What about Jake and his dad?”
“I made them up.”
I choked out a laugh. “And… the video?”
Ben walked faster, pulling out his phone and shoving it in my face. The video was real. Principal Marrow was walking around in circles, draped in her nightgown. “It's her own house,” he explained. “She locked herself out.”
Nodding slowly, I was in awe. Bloody Ben was kind of fucking amazing.
“But the restraining order isn't real.”
Ben raised a brow, coming to an abrupt halt. It was his smile that cemented his place in my gang. His lack of empathy for a woman he had gaslit into being a disgusting human being. Ben Callows wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but he fascinated me. Maybe for the wrong reasons. “Her filing cabinets are filled with tinned cat food, Panda,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “I’m not psychic, but I thiiiiink we’ll be okay.”
I turned to him, unable to stop myself jumping up and down with excitement.
“Will you be my first?!”
Ben inclined his head. “Will I be your what?”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I mean, will you join my mystery gang?”
The boy’s eyes lit up, and I shoved him playfully.
“To solve real cases,” I corrected myself. “Not make them up.”
Ben wore a real, proper smile. But there was something in his eyes, a darkness that was so hollow and polluted and wrong, I pretended not to see it for the sake of his smarts and intellect. “Well, if you insist, sure!” Ben held out his hand, and I shook it. I'll be your first.”
We found our second member, who was, ironically, looking for her glasses under the table in class. Lucy Prescott, the quiet girl, was born to be with us.
The class eraser went missing, and she found it in the blink of an eye.
When questioned, Lucy’s face turned as red as her hair. “I asked everyone in the class and followed the clues to the last person who had it,” she pointed to Chase Simpson. “Which was Chase, who was throwing it at Marcus Calvin.”
Twisting around in my chair, I aimed to get Ben’s attention. But he was already looking at me, chin resting on his fist, eyes ignited with excitement.
The two of us cornered Lucy after class, and when she motioned for us to get back, I dragged Ben (who was a little too excited) to my side.
Lucy looked mildly horrified when I said, dangerous cases, though her expression pricked with intrigue.
She agreed, her gaze lingering on Ben, cheeks smouldering.
Our last two members were a surprise.
Violet Evergreen was what you would call popular on the middle school hierarchy. Not just because her mother was the mayor, but because Violet could get away with murder. The girl refused to wear the school uniform, coloring a single purple streak in her hair to cement herself as the it girl.
She was also one of the girls who started the Bloody Ben rumor.
Ben, Lucy, and I were sitting on the grass during recess, trying to come up with a name for our detective service, when Violet came storming over, hands planted on her hips. She was copying how her mother held herself during town meetings.
“What are you doing?” Violet demanded.
Lucy opened her mouth to answer, Ben nudging her to shut up.
“Making a mystery gang.” I told her. “Why?”
Violet inclined her head. “Oh.” She folded her arms. “Well, can I join?”
Ben stood up, stepping in front of the girl. Violet didn't move, stubbornly standing her ground. “Sure.” Ben flashed a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. He stepped closer to her, his smile widening. “If you can pass the test.”
Violet’s lip curled. She took a single step back. “What kind of test?”
Ben nodded to me. “Meet us at the swimming pool at 8pm.”
To my surprise, Violet nodded. “Do I need to bring anything?”
“Nope!”
8pm. The four of us met outside the local swimming pool.
Violet was already on the other side of the fence, waving.
“Hey guys!”
I noticed Ben’s expression, his eyes darkening, lip curling.
Still though, he maintained positivity, vaulting over the fence.
“You made it!”
I followed him, helping Lucy, who was immediately freaking out. I didn't blame her. The pool looked cold and dark, a hollow oblivion carved into the ground.
Ben and Violet stood on the edge, the two of them shoulder to shoulder.
Violet Evergreen was braver than I thought.
Standing with her arms at her sides, Violet's hands clenched into fists.
“What's the test?” Violet said, her gaze glued to bleeding black depths.
“I don't know,” Ben said, his voice teetering on a giggle. He leaned forwards, arms spread out. “I didn't think you'd actually come and meet us.”
Violet hummed, stretching out her leg, teasing it across the surface. “Was that the test?”
The boy leaned back. I caught the glint of a grin under the floodlights. “Nah.”
Before I knew what was happening, he shoved Violet into the pool. The girl didn't scream or shriek, she just hit the surface, sinking into pitch dark nothing.
“Sink or swim,” Ben said in a low murmur, when Violet’s head bobbed under water. I could see her shadow under the surface, imagining the freezing cold depths pulling her down.
“Drown, and you can't join us.”
It was so quiet, suddenly. The three of us staring into rippling water.
A minute passed, and my tummy started to twist.
“Fuck.” Ben’s expression stayed stoic. I wasn't expecting him to say a bad word.
He cocked his head. “I thought she could swim.”
I hit him, holding in a cry. “You need to get our parents!”
But he didn't listen to me, taking a single step, and dropping into the pool.
I fell to my knees, scanning the water.
Lucy was crying. “Are they dead?!” she shrieked.
“Shhh!” I was watching two shadows lingering under the water.
Violet broke through. I expected her to be crying, but her expression was unwavering. She was silent. I thought the splashing underneath her was her legs trying and struggling to tread water, before Lucy shoved me. Hard.
“Panda! What do we do?!”
Looking closer, Violet was perfectly still, her gaze on the sky.
While she shoved Ben under the water, drowning him.
Violet’s eyes found mine, and somehow, I knew she belonged in my gang.
Her eyes found mine, glinting with that darkness, that poisonous streak I found myself drawn to. It was a starving, insatiable need to understand a fractured mind. Know your enemy.
“Do you want to see if Ben’s a witch?” Violet asked me, her tone something else entirely. This girl did not make sense, using barely her finger to drown Ben Callows. I knew she was wrong.
I knew there was something loose, something unlocked and unbridled and drowning inside her mind and heart.
But I wanted more of her. I wanted Violet Evergreen in my detective gang.
I think that is why I stood there, frozen.
When the thrashing stopped, Ben broke through.
He wasn't coughing or spluttering, his head inclined. “You didn't drown.”
Violet climbed out of the pool, offering her hand. “And you're not a witch.”
He declined her hand, taking the steps instead.
I asked Violet in a shaky voice. I was trembling with terror, but I was excited.
Exhilarated.
“Violet, will you join my gang?”
She didn't answer me until we were sharing hot cocoa in my house. I told Mom we fell in the pool, and she believed me. I should have told her that my friends were sociopaths, and I was kind of maybe in love. Violet sipped her cocoa, nodding with a smile I didn't recognise. Violet never smiled at school.
Well, she did. But it was always the prick of a cruel smirk.
I don't think her smile was genuine, but she was definitely enjoying herself.
Our last member came to us, instead of finding him.
Jules Howell, a straggly brunette pushed his way in front of me in the lunch line. I didn't really know the kid.
He sat at the back of the classroom and slept through most of class. I did like his accent though.
Jules had moved from Melbourne in the second grade. He didn't talk much.
When he did, I found myself enveloped in his voice, which sounded like water to me, a bleeding cadence to his tone.
Jules piled his plate with fries, smiling widely at the lunch ladies.
“I saw you last night.” He murmured through that perfectly moulded grin.
“Saw me where?”
“At the pool,” Jules said. “You, Bloody Ben, Violet Evergreen, and that Lucy girl. You were doing a suiciding pact.”
“That's not what we were doing.” I said, “What's a suiciding pact?”
“When you kill yourself together.” Jules said. “I saw it in a scary movie my Mom was watching.”
I grabbed a fork. “We weren't doing that.”
His eyes were strange when I took the time to notice them. The excited gleam had fizzled out. Jules’s hands tightened around the tray. “Then what were you doing?”
I didn't reply, making my way over to our usual table. Ben was already waving me over, Violet and Lucy holding up the flyers we were making.
**THE REDBLOOD DETECTIVES.”
Do YOU need our help? We can find/solve anything! Contact us on the number below. (We take donations!)
When I bothered turning around, the boy was lost in the crowd of kids.
We were on our first official case, searching for Mrs Lake’s missing mail, when Jules appeared seemingly out of nowhere. And with him, a golden retriever puppy he introduced as Arlo.
It took a dog jumping up at them for Violet and Ben to find their real smiles, their real selves slowly seeping through these facades they had built around themselves. Ben dropped to a crouch, ruffling the dog's ears, his smile faint.
“Who's a good boy?” He chuckled.
Arlo didn't move, tail wagging, eyes bright.
Ben motioned the dog towards him, but Arlo stayed put.
Jules joined us…quietly.
I don't remember asking him, or even him asking me.
He just became part of us, side by side with Arlo.
We soon came to quickly realize that our town was boring.
There were no monsters or thieves, or soul sucking demons. No criminals or serial killers. Not even one missing person. We did, however, get calls about missing cats. I turned eleven years old, patiently waiting for a murder or a kid going missing. But there was nothing.
All we did was chase cats, and the occasional dog. Maybe a budgie if we were lucky. Twelve years old, our detective club became a joke.
The five of us (and Arlo hiding under the table) were trying to pinpoint Mrs Tracy's lost hamster, when three girls came over, dumping their soda all over us.
We watched crime shows for inspiration on catching killers.
Ben’s favorite crime was one that happened in the 80’s in our town.
2 girls murdered.
Their intestines stuffed into envelopes and mailed to family members.
“That's what we should be solving,” he told me one night, “Not missing cats.”
Thirteen years old, we lay in Violet’s backyard under the cruel glare of the summer sun. We called it working and didn't like to admit it was hanging out, or that we were even friends. However.
That didn't stop us growing closer.
Even if it wasn't quite the way I’d expected.
I proposed a plan, standing up, wobbling a little off balance.
“I've got it.” I said, my voice kinda slurry from Violet’s special summer cocktail, which was just a random alcoholic beverages we found, thrown into a blender, and diluted with water.
The town wasn't taking us seriously.
So, we were going to make our own mysteries.
I ordered a full-scale assault on our small town. One that they could not ignore. Ben stamped on Mrs Mason’s flowers, and Lucy threw mud pies at people's cars. Jules trashed the high school gym, and Violet and I spray painted threats and warnings on every store window. Now, this did cause panic, but also an official curfew.
Thirty minutes before curfew, we met in our usual spot, deep in the forest near the lake. Ben yelled at me when I was three minutes late. He was real passionate about finding a real mystery.
“You're late.” Ben was sitting on a rock waving a stick in Arlo’s face.
The dog still wasn't going near him, whining softly.
I took my place, muttering an apology. “I had to lie to my Mom.”
Violet, sitting with her legs crossed, idly digging her manicure into the dirt, suggested we buy mannequins and masquerade them as dead bodies, hanging them from the school rafters.
Lucy, who had slowly grown out of her shell, becoming a lot more outspoken, nudged her. “That's a stupid idea.”
The girl groaned, leaning into her. “Urgh. You're right.”
Jules was the only energetic one, standing on the tireswing.
He jumped down, definitely twisting his ankle.
But his smile only widened, kind of like he enjoyed being in pain.
“Why don't we pretend to be kidnapped?” He said, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over blondish curls growing out. Jules did a dramatic spin, his eyes shining. “We can ‘go missing’ for like a week, and then when our parents are really scared, we can turn up, and tell them we escaped a kidnapping.” His lips split into a grin.
“And then we solve our own kidnapping!”
Ben awkwardly patted Arlos head, only for the dog to pull away with a snort.
“I like it,” he murmured. “I'm in.”
Jules’s idea was stupid.
But.
It was worth a shot.
The five of us agreed to meet the morning after with enough food and supplies for a week. Then we were going to hike to the next town, and hide out for a week. It was an almost perfect plan, using ourselves as victims of our own mystery.
Packing as much as I could, I kissed my mother goodbye (I told her my pack was for a picnic) and set off to the rendezvous we agreed on.
When I arrived, I was the first one there. I checked and re-checked my pack.
I waited ten minutes, unable to contain my excitement.
Then 20 minutes.
It was getting kind of cold.
One hour.
I sat on a rock for enough time to watch the sky change color.
When the clouds were orange, I stood up and stumbled back home. They had gone without me. Mom lectured me when I got home, and I stuck to the plan of pretending my friends had gone missing, even if I they had betrayed me.
Ben said he'd text me when he arrived at the redervous. I at least expected him to text an explanation, but there was nothing. I was in the dark, and after three days of nothing, our town finally began to take us seriously.
“Our children have been kidnapped!” The adults were screaming.
Mom was crying in the kitchen, praying to a god I knew she didn't believe in that I wasn't taken next. I was interviewed and stuck with the exact same story I came up with when I was with the others. Our plan was to return after a week, claiming to be locked up in a dark room with a masked man.
I told my Mother and the other parents that I didn't know where my friends were, repeating the same thing over and over again until I was tongue tied.
“I saw them the day before they went missing, and… yes, everything seemed okay.” I slowly sipped my class of milk provided, looking the sheriff directly in the eyes. “No, I didn't notice anything suspicious, sheriff. Yes, I'm sure, sir. No, they didn't tell me anything.”
It was Ben’s mother who shattered my mask.
“Did I know about… what?” I whispered.
Something warm filled the back of my mouth, foul tasting milk erupting up my throat. I leaned forward, trying to look Mrs Callows in the eye. “No, I… I didn't know about Ben’s…condition.”
Mrs Callows was screaming at me about her son’s troubled past when I barfed all over myself, my eyes burning.
In the privacy of my own room, I sobbed until I couldn't breathe.
I tried to tell Mom, but we had come so close.
One more day, and the others would be back.
But that day came. I sat cross legged at our usual spot, which was now covered in police tape. I waited for their thudding footsteps, their laughter congratulating each other for coming up with a great plan. I waited, my face buried in my knees, for my friends.
It was dark when my phone vibrated, and I'd fallen asleep.
I wasn't scared, forcing myself to my feet.
“Where are you?” Mom sobbed down the phone, when I tapped answer.
“Coming home now.” I muttered. “Sorry.” I paused, holding my breath against a cry. “Mom.” I broke down, forcing my fist into my mouth to hide my sobs. “Mom, did they come back?”
Mom didn't reply for a moment.
“I'm so sorry, baby.” She whispered, ending the call.
I took my time walking home that night.
There were no stars in the sky.
When a hand clamped over my mouth, I could smell him.
When he dragged me back, stabbing a kitchen knife into my throat, I stared at the sky and looked for stars. His arms were warm around me, violently pulling me into the back of a pickup truck. The pickup truck he'd said he was bringing.
It was his grandfather's, and he could just about drive it.
Hitting the backseat, my body was numb, my thoughts in a whirlwind.
The pickup flew forwards, and I remembered how to move.
I rolled off the seat, my hands pinned behind my back.
Twisting around, blinking in the dim, I could feel something warm, something seeping across upholstery seats. Blood. It was everywhere, sticky on my hands and wet on my face when I struggled to get up. I was lying in someone's blood.
A scream clawed its way out of my throat.
The pickup flew over a pothole, and something dropped off the seat.
Arlo’s leash.
I screamed again, this time his name gritted between my teeth.
I didn't stop screaming until the jerking movement stopped. The doors opened, pale light hitting me in the face.
Flashlight. Warm arms wrapped around me, pulling me from the car, and then, pulling me by my hair, into our old tree house. It was always our secret place, our saving grace on the edge of town.
The flickering candlelight caught me off guard, illuminating my surroundings.
Two bodies slumped over each other, lying in stemming red.
I felt suffocated, like I was going to die. I screamed, and that warm hand cradled my mouth again, gagging my cries.
Violet and Jules.
There was something wrong with them. And it was only when I forced myself to look closer, when I realized their insides had been carved out, heart, stomach, everything, pulled out.
There was paper on the floor.
No, not paper. Envelopes.
Envelopes stuffed with gore, bright red leaking through white.
Shuffling back, my brain was too slow to react, while my body was trying to vault to my feet, only to be violently pulled back by my ponytail.
I felt his fingers twining around my hair, revelling in my screams.
With another tug, my head was forced forwards.
Orange candlelight felt almost homely, this time lighting up a third body.
Lying on their back, curled up, pooling scarlet dried into the floorboards, their wrists restricted with duct-tape.
I could feel blood underneath me, sticky, a congealing paste.
“Do you know what happened on October 3rd, 1987, in our town?”
Lucy Prescott stood over me, her arms folded across her chest.
I managed to shake my head, when she grabbed Ben’s legs, dragging him under the candlelight. I dazedly watched her stroke the blade of a carving knife, the teeth already stained scarlet. “The intestine murders.” Lucy hummed, tracing the knife down the floorboards.
“A man murdered two high school girls, carving out their insides and sending their pieces to their loved ones.”
Lucy's eyes found mine, ignited in a familiar gleam. I saw it in Principal Marrow’s office. Then the swimming pool. The cafeteria. “It was the sheriff's only murder case, Panda. Ever since then, our town has been boring. There's no mysteries to solve. Nothing to find.”
The girl jumped to her feet, retrieving a blood stained envelope.
She held it up, a smile curved on her lips. The girl turned around, and I heard a horrific squelching sound. Lucy held up a bright red sausage, ripped into it, and slipped it into the white paper.
“But I can change that.” she said, in a giggle.
“I can create a real serial killer, who we can hunt down together.”
Lucy stabbed the blade into the floor, laughing.
“Or! I can bring a fan-favorite back! I can bring the intestine killer back from the dead!”
Her gaze flicked to the others. “There are casualties, of course. The story is, I was kidnapped with Ben, Violet, and Jules. The scary intestine killer killed them, and I managed to get away.”
Lucy shuffled over to me, her eyes wide. “Then! He came back and struck again!”
With those words, she shoved me onto my back.
“First he took Violet,” Lucy hummed, tracing the blade down my shirt. “Then… Jules.” I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling at the restraints around my wrists. “Then Ben.” her breath tickled my cheek. “And finally… Panda.”
Lucy lifted the knife, and I accepted my death.
Until a low rumble in my ears.
Shouting.
Thundering footsteps, followed by the pitter-patter of paws.
“Lucy!” The sheriff was screaming, and the girl stumbled to her feet, the knife slipping from her fingers. Lucy stumbled, tripping over Ben’s body.
“He got away!” she shrieked. “He…he killed them! Oh, god, please help me!”
I don't think Lucy even realised the traces she'd left behind.
The blood slick on her fingers, her manic, grinning smile full of mania.
I was looking for stars when an officer crouched over me.
I couldn't understand what she was saying.
Her voice was white noise.
“Rachel? Hey, try and sit up, honey. You Mom is on her way.”
Instead of listening to her, I curled into myself.
My gaze found Arlo sticking his nose in Ben’s hair, trying to nudge the boy awake.
I didn't fully register the next few days.
They went by in a confusing blur.
Part of me tried to eat, and spent hours with my head pressed against the toilet seat.
I could still see the slithering, scarlet remains of my friends every time I closed my eyes. There was so much red, soaked in that hunting orange light.
Blood that I could still see, a starless sky that stretched on forever.
Weeks went by.
Then months.
I think I turned 14. I wasn't sure. I didn't feel alive anymore.
I stood at my friend’s funerals with a single rose I dropped into their casket.
Violet’s mother was quick to cover the whole thing up.
Lucy's plan didn't work after all.
Our town’s murder cases stayed stagnant at one.
It's been four years since my friends were murdered by our ’Velma’.
Now, at seventeen, Mom asked if I wanted to visit Lucy in juvie.
I'm not even upset or angry anymore.
I want to know why.
Ben picked me up. Arlo was at his side, wagging his tail.
Ben was…different. He'd dumped his baseball cap and gotten a haircut, swapping his old wardrobe of drab colors for an attempt at changing style.
That day, he looked awkward in a short sleeved tee and shorts.
At school, Ben is no longer Bloody Ben.
Now, he is Survivor Ben.
I’m still Panda.
Every time I was with him, I felt like my soul was being sucked out.
Guilt so deep, so fucking painful, I lost my breath.
I live every day knowing that I immediately assumed it was him that day. Ben was barely alive when I found him. Lucy had started to carve into him before remembering she needed me.
After admitting it to him, his lips formed a small smile.
“Can I tell you a secret?” He said to me, at sixteen.
Yeah?
Whatever the boy was going to say, Ben never told me.
Presently, I nodded at the dog’s new collar.
“Peppa Pig themed?”
The boy shrugged, ruffling Arlo’s ears. “FYI, he chose it.”
“It's cute.” I said. “Very… chic.”
We didn't speak the whole ride, but Ben did entangle his hand in mine.
We spent half an hour outside the detention centre. I was panicking, and Ben was trying to hide that he was panicking. In the end, we joined hands, and strode through the doors together.
Lucy greeted us with a wide smile. Just as psychotic.
The orange jumpsuit suited her, though I had zero idea why.
“Hey Arlo!” she giggled at the dog, and Ben pulled the pup onto his lap.
“Ben.” She sighed. “I wish I got to finish you. I would have loved to solve the mystery of your gutted corpse.”
Ben’s smile was wry. “Nice to see you too.”
Behind a glass screen, I asked Lucy one simple question.
“Why?”
Lucy didn't reply. Or she did, but it was just nonsensical bullshit.
But there was one thing she said has stuck with me, chilling me to the core.
I am fucking terrified of Lucy. Of what's she's done, and what she's capable of doing.
It was a throwaway line, and I don't even think Ben noticed.
Or he did, and was in denial.
Lucy's smile was wide, her eyes empty pools of nothing.
The exact same glint in Ben’s eyes.
Jules’s eyes.
Violet’s eyes.
Like something was gnawing away at their psyche, twisting and contorting it, filling them with darkness, poison, that was so vast, so endless, I had craved it as a child. I still don't know what it is.
But I'm going to find it.
Lucy's laugh was shrill, and next to me, Ben didn't move a muscle.
“I don't even wear glasses!”

I work in a high school in a special ed program. There are a lot of aides in the group who work with the kids. Some programs are more academic but others require toileting and physical care for the severely disabled students. A coworker found out she might have to work in that room next year. She flipped out in front of several students and all the staff in the group. She said horrible things about not wiping a grown man's hairy ass and not changing some girls nasty tampons. These students have the highest level of need and they deserve respect.
She cursed about 30x and pretended to have a panic attack. I say pretend because she pointed out that her hands were shaking and she was groaning and sighing waiting for someone to respond. She talked about not wanting to be in classes that were "stupid". Brought up getting her ass kicked by a kid in the middle school. A child who had special needs and was frustrated and suffering, mind you.
Meanwhile, she's sitting in a classroom where special ed students are getting extra help. They heard all of these comments. She also spoke about her own personal issues. She said she didn't need this shit when she had a brain tumor and cancer (none of which we know to be true). I feel she should be reported and no other adult there wants to do it. Am wrong for reporting her? I can't express her tone and her clear disgust with special needs teens and adults, but it was deplorable. Not sure what to do. I've never reported someone in my life. But I've never witnessed a professional act that way and say those things. Throwaway account because I don't know if anyone from work lurks on reddit!

TW: Second trimester loss, description of loss. I don’t even know what to say. We just hit the second trimester and found out we were having a little girl, so I finally announced on facebook this weekend. Yesterday I went to the ER for what I assumed were (unbearable) gas pains because they were up high in my belly. They believed I had a UTI/possible bladder infection, so they sent me home with some antibiotics and told me to come back if the pain worsens or doesn’t improve. Fast forward to today, the pain had slightly improved so I thought the meds were helping. When I went to wipe, I felt what I thought was a piece of stuck toilet paper or possibly some tissue, as I’ve had some on and off small tissue loss/bleeding during this pregnancy. When I went to examine myself with a mirror to mention it to my OB however, I realized with horror it was actually my tiny, 14 week fetus baby girls’ leg coming out of me. Words can’t even describe this. I keep replaying this moment in my head. This is our 3rd loss and I don’t know how to go on. At what point do we stop breaking our own hearts and throw in the towel. This is farthest we made it in any pregnancy, and now I feel like we’ll never have a “safe zone.” I thought the second trimester, the positive NIPT results, and the 4-5 healthy scans and Doppler checks were our safe zone. How do I even update people now?! We’re normally so private and only post like once a year, and now I have to update everyone about the darkest parts of our lives so they don’t keep congratulating us. Life just feels like one big cruel joke right now.

I had a friend of two years who recently turned 16, we'll call them m. They go by all pronouns. I'm f17 and we were inseparable, we spent the summer bed rotting together and smoking. Opposites definitely attract, m is bipolar and has anger issues, little things that didn't matter would make him fly off the handle, like his mom making him wear leggings to a chorus concert but he didn't like the way he looked in them. I used to dread going over there, because I'm triggered by yelling but no matter what someone was always yelling. One time m and his mom got in a huge fight and when we got upstairs her step dad's kid and her niece came out of the room, I believe both are around 5. "What are you doing in my room? I told you to stay out of my fucking room!" Not yelling, screaming. Anyways, I'm more shy and quiet. I bottle things up and also get irritated easily but I hold it in. I'm also extremely sensitive, nearly anything makes me cry. I know it sounds like I'm just trying to make them sound like a bad person, but this is 100% facts. So now the real story starts, I planned going to a birthday party of an old friend's I haven't seen in a long time a week prior and planned to go to m's house after. I usually went over every weekend, sometimes week days as well. Awhile after I was there I realized it was time to go before we even started drinking, so I asked m if I could come a little later at 10 and he said yes. This is where he starts to complain, saying he doesn't even see the point of me coming if it's so late since it was a Saturday, and he was sober and I would be fucked up. I understood this and said sorry repeatedly and offered to sneak him one of the 7 joints for the party (I know, shitty thing to do but I've turned a new leaf and I don't steal from people anymore). She said no it's fine, just don't get too fucked up and I promised her I wouldn't. So we start drinking in a circle and it goes pretty fast. Before I knew it I took 5 shots and after that I said I was fine and didn't need any more. So then we start playing music and having a good time, meanwhile later I'm still texting m trying to make things right by making small talk. The whole thing kind of stressed me out and I went down to the bathroom and just sobbed about everything before throwing up in the toilet and passing out hunched over with my head leaning on the toilet seat. I'm pretty sure one of the girls kept knocking on the door and I didn't answer so she walked in, it's a good thing I didn't lock it. She felt super bad and said don't worry and went to get the rest of the girls. I wake up again to the girls talking over each other and pulling my pants up for me, also tying my hair back. One of the girls made me eat bread before carrying me out to my sister's car. I'm pretty sure what happened is my sister came to pick me up but I wasn't answering my phone and that's how they found me but I'm not sure. Anyways they carry me out to my sister's car and I apologize refusely to both the girls and my sister. My sis told me it'd be alright and she told mom and she's not mad. I slept in my mom's bed for awhile and she kept waking me up to drink water or make sure I wasn't dead. Eventually I went back to my room and fell asleep again. When I woke up I felt so ashamed, the first thing I did was go to text m to apologize. But when I opened the chats I was greeted with a few paragraphs of m cussing me out and telling me I ruined all her plans. She also went to my previous messages of me promising I wouldn't drink too much and responded with the laughing crying bitmoji. I didn't see this until after I unblocked her but I'll get to that soon. I send a voicenote saying I came to apologize but nevermind and I was using the night as an opportunity before going sober after the weekend. She said "nice excuse" and we argued a little after that, I can't remember about what but I defended myself and mentioned I almost had to go to the ER, and I couldn't believe her first instinct after my mom told her I passed out was to cuss me out. I blocked her on everything and about a month goes by. I get a message on Instagram from m saying "hey noya, I'm sorry. I'm a bad person for not caring about you in a situation like , an I hate that it took time for me to realize that. I'm sorry and it's okay if u don't forgive me." These were split into seperate messages and automatically I thought it was the shittiest apology ever, especially her saying she was a bad person. But I also missed m so I gave her the benefit of the doubt, I said it was okay and I'm not trying to beef or anything but I need distance because he hurt me. I can't remember the messages after that but we made a comeback and decided we would talk about our feelings more since every time we fought we would just pretend like nothing happened after, and our friendship felt really fake. So we're talking regularly for awhile and I fell into a really deep depression that I'm still somewhat in. I reached out to him twice and made plans but they both got cancelled so we just continued texting. After awhile I notice his name won't come up when I search it on snap. I kind of just brushed this off as a glitch even though it kept happening, ig I just didn't want to believe it and I was too scared to ask him. But on April 22nd I realized it was m's bday right before texting him and asking if he blocked me, and I wasn't mad I just wanted to know and anyways happy birthday. He replied "yeah i did, not putting effort into someone who don't even think about me, I blocked like a month ago lol u jus notice. ANYWAYS. THANKS." To which I said I have been thinking about her every day and missed her, and I told her I was going through shit and I was pushing everyone else away as well, and I didn't want to make plans without the right energy and I'm sorry I suck at making plans. About half an hour goes by and still no response so I reply "nvm then lol, All u do is play the victim, I shouldnt be the one putting effort in just bc I passed out. And you still think I did it just to piss u off bc u seem to think everything someone does is just to piss u off. Hopefully one day you'll realized what a two faced selfish piece of shit u are, happy sweet 16". Then and old friend of ours who just recently started hanging out with us again so m could use him for his dab pen messages me after I block m. We'll call her j. J and m dated for awhile and their relationship is VERY TOXIC. J lied about M r*ping her, threatened to sell m's nudes, cheated on his girlfriend, became racist and homophobic and detranistioned for his long distance bf and much more. And now they're friends, wtf. J also used to be one of the weird gay kids like us before doing her edges and acting tough and hanging out with the ghetto girls. She's white, btw. Anyways she pretended to want to hear my side of the story and I knew she was faking it but I just wanted to rant so I did. She basically just said I was in the wrong because I promised not to get too drunk and I cut her off. I said "are you sure you're not friends? Because it sounds like you love her". She said " keep it cute I know where you live" and all I can remember after that is me telling her everyone in my life agrees with me and they're actually good people before blocking her.
I think I should just mention this was my third time drinking, first time drinking pink whitney and first time passing out. She acted like I've done this 1,000 times and did it just to ruin her plans when she's been shittier than me in the past. She's also only been drunk once. I want to believe I'm not the asshole but recently I'm starting to blame myself more for it. An entire 2 year close friendship ended because of alcohol.

Today was kind of the last straw with my apartment complex, and we called to complain about it with no real resolution, so still steaming from it all.
Background before today: my apartment complex used to be pretty decent about sending out communications, warnings, and responding to maintenance requests thru their portal. For the last year or so, it’s gone really downhill. Like deleting requests in the portal bad. At the start of the year, they started renovations on the outside of the buildings. We all got emails saying they were going to start painting the whole complex. They would do a cluster of buildings each week before moving onto the next, every time they’d move on they’d send a new email saying which buildings were next. There was also an email saying to keep an eye out for future details about an upcoming roofing project.
I work from home, so I’m used to there being a fair bit of noise as I work with things like the weekly landscapers or the garbage truck passing by. So as the complex got covered in plastic and blasted with paint, I decided it wasn’t that loud or disruptive and I could work around it. Half ass painting job in the end, but that’s another story. So our building got painted and we waited for updates about the roofing, because that kind of work was something I didn’t want to work around. We saw as little by little parts of our complex got new roofing, but no update came. I went about my work, when one day, hours into my shift, there was tons of stomping and slamming and yelling coming from the roof above me. My building wasn’t one of the models that was getting the new roofing (again, another half ass job), so it came as a surprise and was random odd days that they’d turn up on the roof in the middle of the day and go until sunset.
Then you have what was going on inside my apartment. We got new downstairs neighbors two months ago and with them came a complaint: a mysterious leak in their bathroom. One night after they just moved in, I was taking a shower and heard knocking at my door. Next day, maintenance shows up, plays me a voicemail from new neighbors saying water was gushing downstairs in their bathroom. Okay, water is an emergency so I let them check it out. Fills the tub, flushes the toilet, can’t replicate the leak and leaves. Couple days go by and same maintenance dude shows up to replace the drain after more fiddling with the tub and toilet. Couple more days, maintenance supervisor comes by, replaced the drain again saying the last dude didn’t install it right. Fourth time, issue still isn’t fixed. Every time they’d come around it was during my working hours and I’d have to put my dogs up in my bedroom so they could come and go and come and go to check for the leak downstairs. The last two times, they’d come by, have all the lights on in the bathroom, leave to check something downstairs, and just never come back. So, seeing the lights were on, I’d wait for them to come back. I’d give them an hour before I’d let my dogs back out. Never got any heads up if the issue got fixed or not. There was even one day they wanted to do more lengthy work on the tub and I had less than an hour left of work, so I wanted them to come back after I was done. I’m a pharmacy tech, so I have to maintain patient privacy as these guys are coming and going. That day I try to explain this. Nope, they were going off the downstairs neighbor’s schedule. Gotta do it right that minute. “I won’t listen.” That’s not the point. Then one day the maintenance supervisor shows up, says they finally brought in the professional plumbers. You know who got a notice they were coming? The downstairs neighbors. We didn’t. So they just show up, make themselves comfortable coming and going as I’m trying to work, smashing into the drywall in my bathroom. I stop for a break as this happens and explain the work from home pharmacy tech situation, “oh we’ll try to be quick, just an hour” okay, but if I had known you were going to do this shit TODAY I would’ve gone into the office. I have two dudes I don’t know taking an hour or more destroying walls down the hall, setting my fire alarm off a few times, and constantly coming and going in view of my screens with patient info on them, I would have commuted to the office. It took five visits and the professionals for someone to even think to turn the shower on and find the actual problem. Three replaced drains before they figured the issue was with the shower pipes. I tried to put up with it all, messaging my manager that I’d be slower to finish my work, and when they leave, I’m left with a gaping hole in the wall of my shower. So I immediately call the office because I was over being left hanging on what the hell was going on. “Oh, we‘ll have someone out later today to patch it and we’ll give you a call as a heads up.” This was on a Friday. No one showed, there was a hole in my shower wall until Tuesday when some random third party vendor showed up, barely understanding what was going on and where he was going, and once again, ZERO WARNING during my work hours. Fine, they patch the wall and the paint doesn’t even match in a plain as hell apartment bathroom, but the hole’s gone.
Then comes today. I’m working when I heard a commotion outside. Ladders clanging around and making my dogs bark. Okay, whatever. More commotion and I turn around, some dude is throwing a leaf blower over the side of my THIRD STORY balcony and climbing over furniture and storage totes we had outside. I scream for my husband as the guy pushes more furniture aside and cleans the dryer vent with some crazy drill bit and leaf blowing the dust around on the balcony. So I go from scared to pissed cuz this is yet another stupid apartment maintenance thing that we got zero warning for. So we call the office. “Oh they were supposed to do that last month. And the roofing was supposed to be done two months ago. Let us talk to the vendors and call you back.” Didn’t warn us last month about dryer vent cleaning either. My husband tried to explain, for like the fourth time now, that I work from home, we never get any kind of email or paper notice and it’s getting ridiculous.
I dunno what to do at this point, but I’m fed up. I understand emergencies needing access to my apartment, but I can’t even say no to the unscheduled shit when the vendors are vaulting themselves over my balcony wall to do whatever they want. It doesn’t even seem like the complex themselves knows these people are actively working on their buildings, cuz the girl we spoke to couldn’t seem to wrap her head around the fact there was a strange announced dude cleaning our dryer vent right then. There’s so many other shitty things going on here, but we can’t move yet. A bug problem where we get no follow up from the office and told by management not to use ANYTHING to kill them, a peeling tub floor that needs the whole place empty for 24 hours, deep as hell potholes around the complex, shitty package management, I could go on and on, but I’ve said enough.
I’m tired and needed to vent.

First / Previous
I’m very, very good at telling when someone’s lying to me.
People have lied to me my whole life, so I’ve had some practice.
I’ve only forgiven one lie—the first one I remember. The sky glowed maroon, machine oil odor filled my nostrils, and I huddled below my blankets while Alice squeezed Miss Marvelous and screamed in the bottom bunk.
Mom told us it would be alright.
She lied.
My therapist spent two hours lying to me. He only told me three things that felt true—the Number of Power. When I clammed up, he shoved some chewable pills at me and left. Dad drove us to the hotel twenty minutes later, drinking from a silver bottle.
I’d hidden the pills in my slippers, between my toes. No one saw.
◄▼►
Outside Victoria, British Columbia - May 23, 2043, 12:22 PM
- - - - -
{Stability 6/10}
The dinging sound in my aural aug wakes me up. There’s another weird message, but also a call.
A call. That’s good. Maybe it’s over. I…killed…the thinling. But Alice and Sora wouldn’t call through my aug. They know it heats up during calls. And my phone’s still on mandatory airplane mode.
I pick up.
The man’s voice is almost monotone, perfectly calm, and disgustingly familiar. I’ve heard it before, but I can’t remember where. Was it the principal’s voice? The therapist’s? I know it’s not Dad’s; he’s never monotone and rarely calm. “We’re tracking and inbound on your position. Hold your pos—“
“I’m Claire,” I say suddenly. And the floodgates open. “Claire Pendleton. I’m at West End High, and there were thinnings, but they both merged, and the first one brought a world through and a thinling, but the second one gave me a gun and I hid in the bathroom and used the mirror to stop it and I shot it. I shot it and it’s dead! But I need help. Help, pleasepleaseplease!”
“Subject is verbal.” The voice isn’t speaking to me. He’s talking through my panic, my hysteria. Is he even listening to me? No. No, he’s not. “Subject is a female adolescent, fourteen to sixteen years old. Potentially violent. Description does not match the augs’ owner’s description. Transferring to James.”
“What do you mean? They’re my—“
The line goes dead.
“—augs…” And just like that, I’m alone again. Everything hurts, whether it’s my raw, tender palm, aching throat, or just the phantom pain from the fires that swept across me when I…bonded…with the revolver. But the thinling is dead. I killed it. And if I can kill it, I can get to the shelter. I can blend in with the other students and pretend this hasn’t happened.
I fiddle with my optical aug, trying to pull up the System’s messages again. After a minute of fruitless attempts, I start muttering to myself, and it almost immediately flickers open in my eye. I roll my eyes at how stupid that feels, then start fiddling with it, trying to get a sense of how it all works together. Without the Assistance Functions, though, it’s tough to tell. I know I’ve lost Stability from fighting thinlings and discovering the revolver, but I’m not sure how to get it back.
I’m halfway through trying an equation using Skills, Truths, and Inquiries as variables when my aural aug goes off again. If it’s the calm, monotone man, I’m going to scream. I answer the call. “Hello?”
“Hello, my name is James, and you’re Claire Pendleton, right?” This voice is younger; James can’t be more than my age—maybe a year older. And unlike the first voice’s calm monotone, James has life in his voice. Energy. Ups and downs. He’s a teenager, like Alice or Sora—I’m not sure why he’s on the phone and not an adult. But before he says another word, I know a truth about James. It’s in his tone.
He will lie to me. Maybe he already has.
I won’t forgive his lies, I decide I. But I don’t have any choice but to tolerate them. I take a few breaths, cough, and try to close the floodgates this time. “Yes, Claire Pendleton. Don’t lie to me, James. I’m in trouble, and I need help. Everything’s not going to be alright, and telling me that won’t help.” It comes out angrier than I wanted, but I can’t take that back now.
He’s taken aback, though. I can tell from the silence in my aug for a minute. Then he clears his throat. “I’m building your profile now. Once we have it, my superiors will tell me exactly what I can and can’t tell you. You’re not who we expected from your augments. For now, here’s what you need to know. Your survival is important to us. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you get to West End High’s safe room in one piece, and in return, you’re going to keep me on the line. Got it?”
“That’s not going to work,” I say. “My aug’s a piece of junk, and it’s already overheating. And I don’t even know who you are! I killed a thinling, and I’ve been through two merges today, and I don’t know anything about you or what you want.”
The panic’s hitting me again. I need to sit down. My feet don’t respond right away as I slowly struggle to stand and walk to the girls’ bathroom. I sit on the toilet in the limbo-dancer stall, the door held open with my foot, and clear my throat. “Who are you?”
“My name is James, and I’m cleared to tell you I’m an Operator for the Supernatural and Hidden Objects Control and Knowledge Service and that you’re currently a person of interest to us.”
I shiver despite my best efforts to keep it together. That’s not a lie—at least not all of it.
◄▼►
My aural aug beeps, letting me know it’s reaching critical heat levels. I already know that, obviously. It’s getting painful to listen to James at all. But I’ve been a person of interest to SHOCKS before.
Just after the burgundy skies, the machine oil and roses, and the metal tang I couldn’t spit out. And the missing wall that let in the warp and made Mom a liar. It wasn’t fun the first time, and it won’t be fun now.
[Patch Installation In Progress]
[Patch Installation Successful]
Before I can complain, James speaks in my ear. It sounds like he’s talking through a walkie-talkie now. “I’ve downloaded a speed limiter patch into your aural and optical augs. It’ll reduce my optics feed quality, and we’ll sound scratchy and staticky, but they should stop overheating. Twenty to thirty-percent drop in heat.”
Sure enough, the heat in my ear drops to a tolerable glow. “You’re in my optic aug, too?” I ask, concerned. SHOCKS hasn’t been my friend in the past; my therapist was SHOCKS, and the last thing I need is the boogeyman in my brain. The Halcyon System riding along is bad enough, but if James sees everything I do, too…
“Yes. I’m piggybacking through both of your augs right now. SHOCKS already has a profile for you, so expect some changes in our interactions over the next two or three minutes as I adjust. Please confirm the following questions: First, is your date of birth June 15, 2029?”
“Yes.” That’s pretty basic, and SHOCKS already knows the answer.
“You’re two months older than me. I won’t be fifteen until August 23,” James says. I’m still waiting for James’s next lie. “Now, I need to ask about something that happened on October 11, 2034. You were—“
“No.”
“I’m sorry, but I—“
“You already know exactly what happened. The truth, according to you guys. I don’t need to tell you anything.” He’s digging into places I won’t go with Sora. How dare he?
“I see.” James’s voice shifts slightly, his accent changing to Oxford English. “What do you know about SHOCKS?”
“You’re the boogeyman.”
“That’s not wrong,” James laughs. Even his laugh has picked up a British-sounding tone. I also feel myself relax as his tone shifts to a businesslike calm. Is the accent a lie? I can’t decide. “Claire, your augs show you in a relatively safe place, but that won’t last. The profile says you don’t trust people. I’m going to ask you to trust me.”
“No.” The word leaves my lips before I realize I’ve said it. “No, I can’t.”
“Claire, you’ve encountered a full-blown reality merge to R-389 and an instant-entry merge with an unknown reality. The rest of Victoria is experiencing merges, and no one else can help you. It’s unlikely you’ll survive the third merge without my help.”
I sit on the toilet seat, turning the revolver over and over in my hands. James still hasn’t lied. He doesn’t think I can handle it here by myself. And neither do I, to be honest. So why did I go from begging the adult to help me to being unsure about James? Because I know he’ll lie to me? Because I’m thinking now instead of panicking? Or is it just because I’m older than him? I narrow my eyes.
He’s right. Unfortunately. I can’t find a way to the shelter. Not without help, and he’s who I’ve got. “I can’t trust you. You’ll lie. You all do. But the shelter’s on the wrong side of the school, and I can’t get there. Give me a way through.”
“Not through, out. You need to break out a window, move past the soccer field, and find the cafeteria. If you go in through those doors, it’s a straight shot to—“
“The office. Got it.” I don’t stand up, but I do let the stall door squeak shut. The bathroom’s perfume-and-cleaning supply smell feels overpowering and oppressive, but it also smells like safety. The thinling couldn’t get me here. I’m half-tempted to stay. But only half. The revolver sits in my lap; I pick it up and hold it in front of my optic aug. “I need to know more about thinlings and this thing.”
“Thinlings? We don’t have anything by that name from R-389. Did you make that up?”
“No. Your emergency system told me their name,” I say, rolling my eyes. I finally hoist myself out of the stall and walk gingerly back into the hallway. I look carefully at the thinling’s remains. “That’s a thinling,” I say.
James goes quiet for a minute. A full minute. While he waits, I fidget with my glasses and rub my thumb against the Revolver’s bullet holder. I’ve decided the Revolver is a thing of power, like the Truth or the number Three. It’s from a merge, yes, but all three let me solve equations I couldn’t before. They’re the best kinds of variables; I can put them anywhere and have a good chance of not screwing up the math. They almost seem bigger than the equations, in fact.
James clears his throat in my ear. “There are some things I can’t tell you, but we have a record of these. 389-T-13/2I.”
I blink. “Sorry, what?”
“That’s its designation. It’s a 389-T-13/2I. That means it’s from Reality 389, it’s the thirteenth type of anomaly we’ve encountered from there, and it’s a Type Two Incomprehensible. Incomprehensibles are weird, but incomprehensibility works both ways with Type Twos like the 389-T-13/2I. It’s a high Anquan-Danger anomaly. Trivial for a trained soldier. Dangerous to you. They don’t tend to have a sense of self, so exposing them to themselves causes problems in their behavior. I see you used a mirror. Good thinking.”
I reevaluate my partnership with James. Even if I can’t trust him, he knows his stuff, and he’s just a voice in my head. I’ll know what he knows—most of it, anyway. There’s no way that’s all the information on 389-T-13/whatevers. And I’m not sure what’s more incomprehensible, the monster I shot or that name. It’d take a computer to keep track of a bunch of codes like that.
“We’re calling it a thinling,” I say. I hear him start to protest and cut him off. “I’m older. What I say goes.”
“That’s incredibly stupid,” James complains in my ear, but I know I’ve got him, so I don’t say anything. After a moment, he relents. “Thinlings, or 389-T-13/2I, are usually the first anomalies through merges to R-389, and they’re easy to deal with. They usually come through in groups, so be ready for more. Now, show me that pistol again.”
“The Revolver,” I say under my breath as I hold it up.
James goes almost silent; a keyboard sound clicks rapidly in my ear, but he doesn’t say anything for a while again. I shift the Revolver in my hands, careful not to hit my cut palm, and wait. It takes almost three minutes. I know because I count the seconds after the silence gets awkward.
“Claire, that object isn’t in our database. We don’t have a single sample on file.” James’s voice has changed. The British accent wavers, and seriousness washes over him, almost identical to the monotone man’s cadence but higher-pitched. “We’re labeling the reality it came from R-573-T. It’s likely the first object we’ve found from it, so it’s important that you don’t use it anymore. We don’t know the possible effects it could have.”
I close my eyes, count to three, and open them again. The Revolver’s off-white barrel almost glows in the twilight hall, and the faint light glints off the brass bullet holder. I wrap my hand around the grip, resting my finger on the trigger guard. “I’m keeping it. What’s the bullet holder called?”
“The cylinder. You need to keep it. Don’t lose it, whatever you do. SHOCKS needs that object.”
I step over the smoldering, stinking remains of the thinling and walk down the hall, the Revolver’s barrel facing the floor. My gut tightens almost painfully as I turn my back to the monster—what if it’s not dead? What if I have to run? But there’s no way it’s getting up. I’m okay.
I return to Mrs. Helquist’s math room. Splinters and sawdust cover the hall’s tiles; I step over them and into the classroom. Shockingly, the door and a few drops of blood on her carpet are the only signs I’d run through here or that the thinling chased me.
Those and the smell rolling in through the shattered window. A warm ground beef and electrical scent that sticks in my nose and makes my stomach heave. I choke back bile and look out the window.
And I see the Truth—that, Revolver or not, James or not, I can’t go out there.
◄▼►
I’m back in the girls’ bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat again. James hasn’t said a word since I turned around. Looking at the soccer field, at what was…out there…I couldn’t. So I’m back here, where it’s safe. Or at least where it’s safer than that. My stomach is lighter now, but I can’t get the taste of used breakfast out of my mouth—or the smell of warm meat out of my nose.
James breaks the silence. “The merge is backward, Claire. We can’t get a recovery and stabilization team into any merged zones near Victoria. You’re effectively inside of R-389 right now, and you’re in possession of an unknown anomalous object. That’s the bad news. The good news is that since you have the object, I was able to negotiate Class Zero clearance for you. Welcome to SHOCKS.”
I ignore him. He’s still not lying, but nothing he’s saying is helpful right now. “We’ll loop around. It’s a long push through the gym, but the second floor doesn’t have fire doors. They never installed them.” I’m not looking forward to traveling through Mr. Roberts’s gym or the lockers, though—not after what happened to everyone left outside. PE was my biggest nightmare all last year, and it’ll probably be worse now.
“Are you sure? The longer it takes to get to the shelter, the worse the merge will get.”
“I’m sure. I can’t.” I push myself to my feet and hold the Revolver. “It’ll be safer inside.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” James says. “R-389’s unreality levels are much higher than R-0’s. The longer this takes, the less stable the world will get.”
“So the whole world’s turning into a thinling?” I ask.
“Can we meet in the middle? How about T-Thirteens?” James asks. “Not the whole world, but it’ll get worse here soon.”
I ponder as I stick my head out into the hall. I’m doubling back toward Mrs. Helquist’s room, but instead of going inside, I’m heading through the Social Studies hall to the gym. If I can get through the basketball court and past the ticket booth on the far side, I can get upstairs. If I can get upstairs, I can find the main stairwell, and if I can find that, I can get to the shelter’s door.
Simple and linear.
Nothing moves in the dim hall. Here and there, white light pours in through the windows; the white, almost fluorescent sun seems to have won its war against the sickly yellow clouds. I hadn’t noticed them from Mrs. Helquist’s window. “Move from classroom door to classroom door. Always check behind you before you move. Keep looking around, and look inside every room you pass. Don’t leave any T-Thirteens behind you. Make sure you have an escape route.”
He’s trying to give me weeks of training in one long, never-ending lecture, but almost everything bounces off my brain like a tennis ball. I move to the first classroom door, look around quickly, then hobble to the next. The whole time, I’m rerunning my equation. If my math is correct, I’ve balanced it—for the most part. But James’s constant talking is a new variable, and I haven’t figured out how to solve it yet.
It also changes the rest of the problem. James is a wealth of information, but I can’t trust him, and whatever Class Zero clearance is, it’s not high-ranking enough to get the truth out of him. He seems genuine in wanting to help me. I just can’t digest everything he’s still saying about tactics, clearing rooms by myself, self-covering, situational awareness, and a million other soldier-sounding sound bites. I give up and set James aside as a variable. I need to solve the gym first.
“Go right,” James says a second after I turn right into the Social Studies hall. I roll my eyes and hold my tongue, darting from door to door. The posters are different here: maps of Canada, a student-made British Columbia flag made from magazine clippings, and timelines. I ignore them, checking rooms, hurrying through the dark sections of the hall, and lingering in the pale lights as long as I can. It takes almost five uneventful, heart-pounding minutes to arrive at the gym’s doors.
Mr. Roberts is inside.
Or maybe it’s something that used to be Mr. Roberts. Or something lying about being Mr. Roberts. Much like the thinling—I refuse to call it a T-Thirteen—his appearance shimmers and changes, but whether his arms bulge like a bodybuilder’s, his legs split into four bone-white insect legs, or his fingers rattle and clatter like chains on the floor, it’s still him—just…different hims. Looking at him makes me feel like I’m spinning or falling—or both.
Either way, he stands under the basketball hoop in his usual place, overseeing an invisible PE class. That’s a problem. The stairs are on the far side. I can see them from here, but I don’t think I can get across the gym without Mr. Roberts seeing me.
My hand’s on the door when James interrupts. “This is a Type Three Incomprehensible, Claire.”
“He’s Mr. Roberts.” Even though it’s not quite my PE teacher, it’s almost right most of the time.
“No, it’s a Type Three Incomprehensible. I’m not sure which classification, but all Incomprehensibles are mind-affecting anomalies. What do you see?”
I describe it, and I can almost hear James shaking his head. He types for a moment. “It’ll get worse the closer you get. I’m overlaying an image over it. Use your aug, close your other eye, and pay attention to the overlay, not what’s behind it. And hurry. I had to disable my patch and overclock your aug.”
“Got it,” I whisper, my hand still on the door. Everything James has told me is the truth, but it’s not the capital-T truth. I won’t find that in what some boy miles away keeps saying in my ear.
I push the door open and run inside.
Mr. Roberts turns and screams/roars. This close, he’s not much different than the thinling. I squeeze my right eye closed, and he fades into the background, replaced by a jet-black cut-out exactly his shape. As the black cut-out starts running toward me, Mr. Roberts’s long fingernails and split legs occasionally weave out from behind the blackness. Those bits give me vertigo.
I level the Revolver and fire. The shot hits the shadowy overlay, which keeps coming. I pull the trigger again, but nothing happens.
“Run, Claire!” James all but screams in my ear. I sprint for the stairs, shoes sticking slightly to the wooden floor. What did I step in that makes them stick? It feels like I’m running through syrup.
I look at Mr. Roberts. He’s closing the gap quickly, and the black overlay seems to be breaking down. His four insect legs propel him toward me across the tar-like basketball court, and his fingernails whip back and forth like chains—chains with spikes on the ends. My aug’s already overheating, a roaring inferno in my skull that doesn’t stop.
The floor gets stickier and stickier until I’m all but swimming through the gym. Mr. Roberts reaches me. The overlay disappears, fading to reveal something that’s both perfectly my PE teacher and something completely alien.
{Skill Learned: Endurance 1}
{Stability 4/10}
My head swims, and my mouth fills with bile again. I throw myself toward the stairwell, and the sticky feeling disappears when I crash into the first step. I scramble up the stairs, away from the thing that isn’t quite Mr. Roberts. Three steps. Four. I trip, roll on the stairs, and look back, both eyes open.
The Mr. Roberts thing screams/roars from below the bottom step. The Revolver’s bullet, the one lined up with the barrel, glows and illuminates his face. And in that moment, just before I scream and turn and crawl up the remaining stairs, I see the Truth.
It’s not him.
But it was.
◄▼►

I (15F) live with my parents and a younger brother (13M). For context, I have my first GCSE exam on Friday, it becomes relevant later on. I apologise for how unorganised this is, my head is all over the place at the moment.
My father is lazy, does objectively nothing to help around the house and essentially gets paid to sit on his arse all day. My mother works with disabled children and believes she's a saint for doing so. My brother is incredibly annoying, speaks fluent skibidi toilet brain rot and usually ignores my existence. Recently my mother has hit breaking point with my father's laziness and things have only gotten worse. From the age of 11, we've been expected to clean the kitchen daily - no big deal, every kid has chores.
Where I began to get annoyed was by the fact that every single day it's been me and me alone doing the job. My brother stands to the side and lets me clean everything. Before now I've tried simply doing the half he insists on me doing and then leaving (which is of course the bigger jobs that take longer to do) however, I've continuously watched him slap the crumbs off the counter with a towel and then just leave. This ends in me being yelled at because the job hasn't been done to the standard to which they expect it to be done, and when I complain that when it is done properly it's only me doing it, I get yelled at for that too - usually something like "grow up" or "when I was your age...".
To make things worse, my mother's justification that she did the same things at my age is entirely false. I have a very good relationship with my grandparents and they have time and time again told me she's lying - as has her sister who she also insists did the same jobs. According to them, her only job was to keep her room clean - she didn't even do that efficiently. This has been going on for years, but as I said, recently it's gotten much worse. In essence, my mom hates mess, but won't take any action against it. Instead, despite the fact she boasts about the fact her new job means less workload, she instead spends the time she could be using on tidying the house she hates so much on watching Harry Potter and leaving it to me.
To reduce her workload, she decided me and my brother need to do our washing, which I found fair enough until I realised I was still expected to fold the mountains of clothing she generates, which again, because my brother is so lazy and uses weaponised incompetence to an extent I never thought possible, is again entirely left to me. No matter how much I complain about just how much of the work is left to me, nothing ever changes. I was told she would take over my jobs so I could revise during exam season - this hasn't happened and I am still spending more time trying to appease my mother's stupid expectations than revising for the biology paper I sit on Friday - a subject I'm continuing at A Level.
Despite the personal choice to have not just one, but two children, she has decided I also have to fund my living on £10 a week. This includes but is not limited to shower gel, feminine hygiene, deodorant, clothes etc. This money, despite the ongoing cost of living crisis, is also supposed to fund trips with friends. This puts me in constant debt to my grandparents or friends, to the point where I've had to stop going out entirely to be able to fund my lifestyle - I don't buy expensive stuff, I simply take my hygiene very seriously, and my paranoia of being dirty or smelling bad is beginning to cost me a hell of a lot more than I believed it would.
My mom never used to be this insufferable and I fully believe it's down to her unhappy marriage. Time and time again I have begged my dad to do something to help out, but he simply believes that because he does the garden once a year he is excused from all housework - even wiping the sideboards after making breakfast, which probably takes around about 2 minutes. He's very big on meat and the keto diet which produces a lot of fat left on pans and spit around the kitchen. I'm autistic with pretty bad sensory problems and I HATE the texture of fat and having to clean it off of things, of course, this is left to me to fix again. I've asked him so often to just wipe out his plates and pans before putting them in the sink to be washed, and not once has he ever done as I have asked. This is the same man who'd yell at me in year 2 (6-7 years old) because I was too young to realise I had to scrape my food into the bin when I was done eating and I hadn't been doing so. In addition to not cleaning fat off of plates and pans, I have quite a few times cut myself on broken glass in the sink while attempting to unblock it, which no one has ever alerted me to it being there.
My mom seems unhappy in the marriage. She's googled divorce and how much it costs (£600) and complained about my dad's inherent laziness to my grandparents, her friends and my girlfriend's mother. I genuinely cannot fathom why she won't just leave him. The extent to which it impacts her mood is concerningly huge, and I'm so tired of having it taken out on me when I feel I've done nothing to deserve it.
While the responsibilities thrown upon me are a large part of my unhappiness, that's not all. Academically, I've always been ambitious, but it doesn't come naturally. Despite the work I put in, the all-nighters, easter school and tutoring have never been enough to give me a grade 9 (A++/A**). In my best subjects, I am capped at a 7 (A), and in my worst, I'm capped at 5s (Cs). While I understand that these arent bad grades and that many would be pleased by it, I have very high expectations for myself and I am never satisfied regardless of how much work I put in. Rather than helping despite the fact this has over time demotivated me to the point of depression and contemplation of ending my life as I never feel good enough, I've been met with "that's life"s and "get over it"s. Furthermore, they take great interest in my brother's life, asking how he's doing with a girl he mentioned he was into, but despite the fact they are aware of my girlfriend and that I have one, they have NEVER asked me how my life is or what my relationships are like. I get the idea that they don't care, and while I don't think it is, I think it could have something to do with my orientation (me and my girlfriend are of course in a lesbian relationship). I think this because when I have dated the opposite sex, they DO ask me about my relationships and are desperate to meet the boyfriend in question.
I don't feel I'm a bad daughter. I don't stay out late, I get academic awards (intermediate maths challenge, certificate of general academic excellence, personal postcards from teachers congratulating my work ethic etc.) and grades most parents would be delighted to hear their children are getting. I've never been a problem child, I've been caught doing something I shouldn't a total of once, I don't drink much, I've never done drugs, I'm still a virgin and am not at any risk of teen pregnancy, I do my absolute best, if not even more, and somehow despite this, I am still never enough. If anything they find small things to berate me over, such as slut shaming me for being on and off with the same two boys over a period couple of months - again, I am still a virgin, unlike MANY girls my age to the point where I am the only girl who hasn't done that at all in my whole friend group. Overall, the fact that no matter what I do is never enough for them has made me start to hate them, but they always apologise with money. My dad bought me a new bass guitar for yelling at me once, but never once has he ever said the word sorry to me, and honestly I would rather just them admit to having done something wrong or validate my feelings that I don't deserve what they give me. I know it's not huge, and I know so many people have it worse. They've never hit me and that's why I feel so ridiculous for hating them, but I'm so miserable at home and I've had so many friends tell me I can stay with them that I've seriously begun considering it. I'm desperate to move out, but with property prices in the UK that don't seem to be going down anytime soon, my only hope is surviving another 2 years and then moving into student accommodation, and I have no idea what I'll do after that.
Again, sorry for the jumbled-up mess, I just really needed to get it off my chest. I feel so unreasonable for hating them but then when I tell my friends about my home life they seem horrified as they either have absolutely nothing to do or less than a quarter of my responsibility. AITA?

A while ago, I had met this person that I had regularly rped with for a while. I mostly did Yuri or Girl/Girl related rps since thats mostly what I am interested in. Before I even begin rping with someone, I begin a sort of vetting process with questions. I always ask that if they have any triggers because the last thing I want to do is make someone uncomfortable with whatever I put into the roleplay. I also ask if they are fine with smut rps because if not, I am usually down to do something wholesome instead. She said it was perfectly okay if we did 18+ rps that I had nothing to worry about trigger wise except from the more disgusting depraved stuff like toilet stuff. Since I don't do that anyway, that's not really an issue for me.
Everything goes fine for quite a while. However, I randomly get messaged by someone I never met before. It was the girls boyfriend and he was very angry with me for whatever reason. He was not happy that I was roleplaying with his girl, but he also came off as possessive and there was just something about him that seemed flat out repulsive. It kind of seemed weird to me that he would have a problem with his girlfriend doing erps with another girl, but it didn't take long for me to figure out what kind of person he was; The kind of guy who views women not as people, but simply as objects for his pleasure. I dug a bit into his activity on other roleplaying communities and he proved my initial assumption correct; A total man whore who constantly made public posts with female players other than his girlfriend of a lewd nature and talked about women in a completely dehumanizing and disgusting manner.
I was pissed off at this guy for coming at me, but I was also upset at my partner. I asked her at the very beginning if she was fine with lewd rps because I don't ever want to force anyone into doing anything they aren't comfortable with doing and she told me she was perfectly okay with it. Her having a boyfriend wasn't really relevant to what I was looking for in a Rp since I wasn't looking to date her, just looking for a quality rp partner. If we became good friends, that was only a plus. I was upset at the fact that she lied to me, that there would not be any sort of problems with what we rped only for her boyfriend to start harassing me.
Since I wasn't going to take his abuse, I simply blocked his dumbass, and I blocked my now former partner. I blocked him simply because he is a abusive prick who sees women as playthings and I don't take kindly to someone I never even spoke to once suddenly ordering me around and giving me threats. I blocked my partner because of her dishonesty and withholding of vital information that would have saved me from all of this drama. If she simply just told me that she had a boyfriend that would not approve of our rps, I would have avoided her entirely but she didn't tell me. I feel like I was set up and now I feel like an idiot as a result.
I really hate this feeling.

I am the unluckiest, most stupid girl in the world. After multiple bad choices in love, I thought I finally found the right person. But as soon as we started living together, he started showing his true colors. He is super selfish. He doesn't care about me. He doesn't even do the bare minimum. He gaslights constantly. He turned me into a zombie.
So, where do I start? I am not a super organized person. I only clean when it absolutely needs to be cleaned. Even by my standards, he is super messy. He does not sweep, he's been wearing the same shorts for the last 20 days, and this is very normal for him. He keeps the dishes dirty for 5-7 days, and then I clean them; he doesn't. We took a three-bedroom flat, and as soon as I finish organizing one room a day, he makes it messy within an hour. So, I am stuck just organizing one room. Our home looks like a toilet. I clean all day while he lies in bed and keeps scrolling his phone. If I tell him to help me, he says he will do it later, and he never does. He cooks occasionally, but his cooking is bad because he is too impatient to follow instructions. And after he cooks, the kitchen gets super messy, and he never cleans it. He never appreciates me. He never says I am beautiful. He criticizes my looks. Even if I ask him how I look, he won't even look at me. He does not even listen to me. He is a porn addict loser who just keeps scrolling his phone. Even our sex life isn't good anymore. He is really boring in bed. I specifically tell him what I want during roleplay, but he keeps doing his usual boring stuff, so I don't find it interesting. He never gave me any gifts. Not on Eid, never. On the other hand, he took my help for buying his sister's birthday gift. And today is my birthday. He didn't even wish me. Last year, on my first birthday after our relationship, he did the same. When I told him it was my birthday, he gaslighted me. He told me I didn't inform him, which was a lie. That's all he does. He lies always. He told me terrible things on my birthday last year. So this year, I didn't even confront him or anything. He is the worst boyfriend ever.
But the problem is, I still love him. I am miserable now, but I will be more miserable if I break up. I know I am stupid. Maybe that's why I deserve a person like him. I just wish I had a loving boyfriend. I wish I wasn't in a toxic relationship like this. Thanks for listening.

Looking for some advice/positive stories about allowing a puppy to free roam, rather than crate train.
We have a 9 week old puppy, he's doing very good in all aspects of training but he just doesn't seem to be getting the hang of the crate. He'll happily go in there to eat, when cued to but just freaks out as soon as he door shuts. No matter what we try. He's absolutely fine being 'alone' and we can go do other things in the house whilst he's playing or sleeping.
I'm considering getting a few stair gates, puppy proofing our downstair rooms and just allowing free roam instead.
Our older dog never liked her crate but I WFH when she was little so just watched her like a hawk instead and it was lock down so we weren't going out much.
Whilst my other half will be WFH 2/3 days a week, there's 2/3 days that we'll both be going out of the house for work and I'm going back to work on Monday. I'd be popping in on my lunch breaks and/or having someone drop in throughout the day but this still means there will be occasions he'll be alone for 2/3 hours.
0 issue with my current dog, she takes herself to sleep whilst we're out and is generally just a very good girl.
I'm just wondering if I'm crazy for even thinking about it?
My concerns are, he's little at the moment and I'm worried he'll find a way to get hurt despite my puppy proofing, or my other dog might hurt him accidentally if they start to play.
We'd be tiring him out before we left, making sure he's been to the toilet and he'd still have access to the crate for comfort but I don't know. I just want to do the right thing and make sure he's happy and safe.

I’m in her city for work. We were long distance over 1000 miles. First day here, I saw someone who looked just like her out on a date, and the very thought of her being with someone else made me sick to my stomach. That girl may even have been her. I went back to my hotel room and I’m about to vomit into the toilet.
We left things respectfully. We even talked about trying again in the future. I don’t know what to do.
It’s been 6 months. She’s reached out twice.

It’s almost impossible for young people to succeed today.
Especially those with mental health conditions (bipolar II, ADHD, Anxiety, and Depression) I lost my friend to suicide by gun last year….
I don’t remember a time when we’ve felt more hopeless as a country. There is a massive wealth gap between generations. All the older generations are holding onto the money and creating laws that only benefit themselves. The period of economic opportunity was decades ago.
Our nation is straight up funding a genocide. Killings hundreds of thousands of innocent men, women and children. While the rest of our country sits and watches. What a time to be an American! Yippie!
Studying psychology has given another perspective into the adverse factors in today’s society: negative impacts of social media,impact of COVID-19 on socialization processes, rates of self half for teenage girls and guys, eating disorders, etc.
The once lauded United States has turned into a nation full of ego, of conspicuous consumerism, obesity, depression and most astonishingly, loneliness.
A toxic echo-chamber of all of the worst parts of humanity. (Gambling, fast food, social media, consumer spending leading to increased loneliness, etc.)
I’ve never felt less of a purpose in this country/society.
Fuck this shit. I haven’t given up all hope but our will to live is about as strong/weak as a wet piece of toilet paper.

I’m in her city for work. We were long distance over 1000 miles. First day here, I saw someone who looked just like her out on a date, and the very thought of her being with someone else made me sick to my stomach. That girl may even have been her. I went back to my hotel room and I’m about to vomit into the toilet.

I’m a girl living in my teenage years and I simply can’t take it anymore
I’m living with multiple chronic illnesses or conditions whatever you wanna call em. I’m in constant pain and nothing seems to help with that long term and frankly it’s exhausting I just can’t deal with this for much longer
When my mother died and father remarried and me and his wife don’t get along, she simply doesn’t like me in my opinion I’m always getting comments on my looks or my body or how I should kms and all that shite. It’s frustrating
I have two younger siblings and I’m almost constantly their primary caregiver as neither my dad or his wife is around to look after my siblings so the majority of the responsibility is on me. Don’t get ne wrong I adore my siblings but it’s becoming harder and harder to balance school and looking after them. I really want them to have a good childhood but it’s getting harder to do that as they get older
It feels impossible to keep going anymore It feels like I don’t have a reason to keep going and I’m seriously not sure what to do I’m at the point that no matter how much I try I can’t feel anything towards anything no matter how I hurt myself I still don’t feel anything and it’s so frustrating I simply can’t anymore
That’s for reading that if you did and I’d appreciate advice if anyone’s willing to give any

Backstory: I (21F) moved in with my boyfriend (now husband) (27M) pretty quickly. He was living in an apartment with his dad, sharing expenses based on income level. (His dad made significantly more money than him). At the time I was job searching and the area they lived in had way better opportunities. I ended up getting a job at the same hospital that my husband works at fairly quickly and got promoted extremely fast. Everything was going well for a while.
I’ll call my husband Bob in this scenario, and my FIL Frank.
Frank started to become extremely hostile. He started being more outspoken on politics but would blow up when anyone challenged his views. Bob and I were considering moving out for a while, we just wanted to have a good amount of cushion money.
Then comes the dreadful day. Frank starts spewing something political, but the problem is, he is just factually wrong. And the topic at hand is personal to me, so I correct him. Of course he asks for proof, and I pull up about 4 different articles that disprove what he was saying. This upsets him greatly and he states a personal experience to try to prove his point, however his personal experience has absolutely nothing to do with the topic at hand. He eventually storms off into his room, and he stays there for a good 20-30 mins. In this time I clean up from dinner, and I go sit on the couch.
After a bit of time has passed Bob goes and uses the restroom (this is important). His dad, Frank comes out and is immediately raising his voice at me. He starts saying “I’m older than you, my experience is more important than an article” I tell him very quietly “your experience does not define the actions of an entire group of people” and then he starts yelling profanities. He calls me “little girl” and says I’m stupid because I’m only 20 (at the time). I tell him how disrespectful that was and he pouts “no it’s not” and goes back into his room.
Bob is still in the restroom… (he’s a dude, watching reels on the toilet)
I give a good chunk of time thinking what I want to say to Frank to squash this, I mean we live together, I didn’t want things to feel this awkward forever. So after maybe another 15 mins, I knock, he says I can come in, and I start apologizing. I say “frank I’m sorry that our conversation got so heated, and that we disagree on this topic, I want us to have more respectful conversations going forward. But please do not talk down to me based on my age again, it’s extremely hurtful”
Anddddd he just keeps the argument going. Starts yelling at me that my opinion doesn’t matter, says some more profanities and then yells at me to get out. At this point, my husband speed wipes and comes to see what’s going on.
Frank has Bob come in his room and close the door, and starts whining about how I was mean to him and all this junk. Not accurately representing the conversation. I can hear Bob loudly saying “why were you yelling at her” like he is very upset at his dad.
Bob finally comes out to see me and I tell him we are moving out immediately. Two days later we get approved for an apartment in the same complex (it’s 300 units so we are a completely different address and actually quite far away). We put the deposit down on payday that week, and we moved out 2 weeks later.
I will always appreciate my husband for moving that fast to get me to feel safe. He is the best person I could ask for.
Since we’ve moved, we obviously got married, and we haven’t really spoken to Frank in great detail. We actually went out dinner with him on our wedding night (courthouse wedding) but he was just making out with his girlfriend all night and was avoiding conversation.
About 2 months ago I reached out to him via text, letting him know that we would be doing a bigger celebration for our marriage, in a few months. I let him know that I wanted him to be there, if he could apologize about the things he said to me the night of the fight. It’s hard for me to move past it. In my eyes he had a whole half hour to sit in his room and come up with these nasty things to say to me. That’s not behavior that I want to continue to be around.
Anyways, I still haven’t heard anything back from him, and per my husband he said he’ll think about apologizing. My husband feels so awkward around him. He doesn’t feel like they can have a healthy relationship if he can’t be mature and apologize. My husband is pissed that it’s taking so long, I’m just plain old hurt. It’s been about 8 months since the initial incident.
So AITAH for expecting an apology after all this time?
TLDR: My FIL called me rude names and cussed me out after a political argument, he hasn’t apologized after 8 months and still wants to be in our lives. Husband isn’t having it.

It's going to be a long one. Warning, full birth story.
I'm officially a loss mom x3.
When someone tells you they've had three losses, most assume 3 early miscarriages. 3 pregnancies where baby doesn't "stick". After all, that's the most common method of loss. I however am in another camp. I just had my third traumatic second trimester loss at 20+4.
My first was in Sept of 2021. Archer was born at 25+2 and lived an hour due to preterm labor. I had no idea I was even laboring until I showed up at L&D and I had no measurable cervix. My second was April of 2023. After our long wait due to a c section, we were thrilled to be expecting again, with Aubree's due date the same as her brother's birthday. My pregnancy with her was wrought with issues from the start. I had a lot of bleeding with her on and off, but she was thriving despite that. Our fifth emergency trip with her ended in a helicopter ride to try and have an emergency cerclage placed, but it was too late. I had to deliver, and she was born still at 19 weeks due to a placental abruption.
After Aubree's death, people started to notice that something wasn't quite right. The high risk Dr referred me for testing, and I found out last July that I had a rather large uterine septum (3.67cm). I had my first surgery for that 12 days later on July 24th. At my follow-up, things looked good, but I still had some residual septum, so we opted for another removal. That happened on Sept 21, the day before Archer's second birthday and Aubree's due date. On Halloween last year, I was deemed to have adequate resection of that septum, and it felt like we had won. We finally figured out what had caused my last two losses, and the next pregnancy was going to be different.
We ended up conceiving the first cycle we tried last Dec. I found out I was pregnant the same week my second niece was born ( first being the week I was supposed to have Aubree vis c/s). It really helped me to cope with the emotions surrounding the new baby.
Pregnancy #3 had a rocky start. Between weeks 6 and 11, I had almost weekly bleeds with rather large clots. Despite all that though, baby thrived. No one could really pinpoint the bleeding source as it never presented itself the same way. At 12 weeks I had a preventative cerclage placed where I found out my cervix was already soft and short. Turns out I have an incompetent cervix in addition to the septum. After that, things were good. I felt good, baby was growing, and we were on cruise control. We had her anatomy scan at 18+4 and everything looks great. They did note I have a dynamic cervix, but my lengths looked good otherwise.
Here's where number 3 went wrong.
May 4th, my husband and I were enjoying a quiet morning at home. We were having lunch when I felt that all too familiar feeling. I stood up, told my husband I thought I was bleeding, and rushed to the bathroom where I discovered instead that my water broke. We were only 20+2. I had no other signs of labor, but my immediate concern was my stitch.
We rushed off to the hospital an hour away in hopes of answers. They confirmed my fear, but they offered hope. I was not in active labor. My cervix was closed, and baby was doing well despite low fluid. This situation is very dangerous for mom due to infection risk, so they offered termination (even in TN- this is one of our few exceptions), but they said we could fight for her. So we did.
We had a game plan. They admitted me for IV antibiotics and monitoring. I was to stay for 48 hours, take more antibiotics at home, and then return home until 21+5 where I would then be admitted and given steroids for baby with hopes that would make it to at least 22 weeks. We obviously wanted way longer than that. We were looking at a long haul inpatient stay.
The first 24 hours were fine. I started passing clots and bleeding in triage, but they were undeterred. The bleeding lessened as the hours passed, and we were hopeful that things were working.
The evening of May 5th, the sky fell. Around 6:30p, I started feeling what I thought might be gas pains. By 7:30, they felt “rhythmic". Not feeling quite like contractions, but they were regular. I called the nurse and she suggested I drink some hot tea and take a walk, so we did. After my dose of antibiotics around 930, I went to the restroom and passed what I could quickly count was 10+ clots hitting the toilet. I knew right then and there that it was over. The next four hours were a whirlwind.
They came in to check the status of my cerclage and found that her umbilical cord had prolapsed through my cervix. I was in active labor and at risk for tearing through my cervix and causing more damage. They moved me to a delivery suite so they could remove the cerclage. I endured that without any pain relief while contracting. Do not recommend. I was immediately dilated to 3cm, and it was certain that things would move fast. I was already in quite a bit of pain, so I requested an epidural, but they had to run labs to make sure it was safe. In the meantime, they were able to give me a shot of morphine, but that did absolutely nothing to help. It made me feel terrible and did not take the edge off.
By the time anesthesia came around, my pain was 10 of 10. That experience was awful. As soon as they sat me up, I felt pressure in my bottom. They asked if I wanted to skip the epidural, but I was in no state to make a decision. The nurse encouraged me to continue so I would be more comfortable. I not only had to deal with the contracts and the morphine, but I was also dealing with blood pressure issues. I bottomed out with the numbing and felt incredibly nauseous. After placement, they gave me some time to hopefully get the epidural to help. It did nothing for my contraction pain.
I pushed for about 5 min, and baby Edie entered the world at 2am on May 6th. She never took a breath. She fought so hard to stay with us until the end. They did an ultrasound around 1145, and she was still alive. I was able to record her little heartbeat. She was perfect and beautiful in every way.
We spent yesterday trying to make a lifetime of memories with our girl in a few hours. It's time you never get back.
Now I am trying to cope with not only a third loss, but I am also struggling with the idea that I may never be a mom to living children. My body has failed three of them. I have a followup appt with MFM in two weeks, and we are hoping to get some insight into next steps. There's a good chance a TAC is in my future. My husband doesn't want to stop fighting, so I won't give up either.
I know that I did everything I could for them and this wasn't my fault. But no one should have to endure the death of their child, much less three. I have comfort in knowing that Edie is with Archer and Aubree wherever they are, but I so desperately wish they were all here with me instead.

We've moved into an oddly designed house. The kids bedrooms has a Brady bunch style bathroom between their rooms. Both kids bedrooms have doors to the bathroom and there's also a third door in the bathroom to access the hallway. The bathroom has a large shower (1300mm wide) tiny tiny bath. There's no toilet in the bathroom.
I'm looking at the most cost effective way to make the bathroom more usable. The kids need a decent bath, they are pre teens girls, I'd love to get them a spa! I'm thinking a spa with a shower over it and adding a toilet along the wall that currently has the bath and shower. I'm struggling to find inspiration for spas with showers over them but I'm positive I've seen it before. Has anyone done it and wouldn't mind sharing pics? Thanks :)

This is long... This is very long.
I'm married, two children, my Wife is awesome. We live in a small community in a wooded/rural area. It's not Donner Pass but we are out in the boonies. We have to be somewhat able and self sufficient. It's not off grid prepper stuff but we have to be able to do more ourselves than if we lived in town.
A few years back, my Wifes Friend and I guess you'd call him a friendly acquaintance of mine moved up on the mountain. Let's call him Frank. The guy has issues, as do we all, but he's functional, intelligent, and quite handy. A decent guy to know to help get things done.
When he moved in, the property he bought was a disaster. Previous owner used to get all manner of Amazon returns and stockpile the stuff. Also anything else he could drag home for free or dirt cheap. All kinds of crap everywhere with zero organization. A couple of giant burn piles where of course he's burning just whatever, a pickup truck bed camper in disrepair full of stuff, ratty tarps and tents covering more crap. Squalor and chaos.
The property does have a functional well and **some** kind of septic system and there's power run to it. There's a small building attached to a camper but with some work it can be made liveable. So we sort of have the bare essentials covered. We just have a ton of work to do.
So I'm excited, my Wife is excited, Frank is excited as well. We all figure let's get Frank set up. Running water, working toilet, sink, wood/coal stove, major cleanup on the property, a water heater, washing machine, a shower or even a bath tub would be real nice as well. Basic stuff so he can do for himself because at this point he's showering and doing laundry and eating supper all at our house. I figure if I'm in a spot, I could go up there and have a shower or do laundry you know?
We get to work. First we have to finish even moving the guy in so he can be rid of the trailer he's renting in a trailer park. Turns out the guy is a hoarder and it's heavy. The guy has more stuff packed into his trailer then we actually know what to do with. At least it's nothing disgusting and most of it I can see at least some value in it. I can see why he'd keep hold of things like this but Man there's a LOT!!! I don't know how he can even store all this stuff so I figured let's make this easy and I bought him a 40' shipping container and had it delivered to his place. We get it there and we assemble storage racks that were left on the property by the previous owner inside the shipping container. I'm not rich but at this point I don't terribly miss the money and I figure helping this dude out will benefit me and my Family. Within two weeks, Frank is out of his trailer and everything he owns is jammed into the shipping container. It's tight but it's somewhat organized at least.
Now! Let's get to work! And we do. We start clearing out some of the actual trash. Say 15 hours and we can notice that we made a dent. Another 15 hours, it still kind of looks for shit but we can at least make sense of the place now. We're really doing something here! It's heavy and dirty and disgusting but we're having a lot of fun with it and feeling pretty good. As we're going, we find some actual decent things in the piles that the previous owner left behind and we're trying to not waste anything because we're not rich and we might need the stuff.
It gets to a point where it's starting to become really dirty work and even a garden hose would be pretty dang amazing just to at least wash up a little bit because we really don't know what's in some of these piles but Man we're digging deep into them! My Wife goes through the nonsense of getting his power turned on. Frank has enough money saved to get it turned on and to keep it going a while.
Ok, we got power and we can make some water happen now. We scrounged up a shitter and a sink, bought some PVC and got that happening. Now we can wash up and we don't have to crap in the woods anymore. We also found a decent Harmann wood/coal burner and installed that. Nothing ideal but we're looking pretty damn good compared to when we started. The stove was free. The previous owner switched to pellets and had no use for it. We had to get it out and move it of course but nothing we can't handle.
So now it's getting to at least 40 hours at Franks place, maybe 60 hours. I wasn't really keeping track. The place still looks like hell but we're making steady progress and it's more or less "liveable". Meanwhile there are things piling up at my own house. The roof needs a little attention, some work on my backhoe, vehicle repairs and maintenance. Normal everyday stuff that got put to the back burner for a while as we set this guy up but it's starting to pile up and I have to get this shit done.
"Hey Frank, you mind coming down a little while and pitching in with this or that?"
At first, yea he makes his way down and helps out. Not at the crack of dawn, say 11 AM or so. Fine and dandy. This isn't pay work and I don't start early myself, nor do I go very long and hard on these tasks. Put in a couple hours until I feel like I accomplished something and call it a day. I don't think I'm asking much.
After a bit though, he's showing up later and later. If Frank says 12-ish, it means like 2PM or something. One day I have to remove the backhoe from my tractor in order to replace some hydraulic lines. This assembly weighs about 4 tons. It's on a 1967 Case 580 CK. Not the biggest thing but it's no joke. Frank is skilled with cranes and forklifts and other heavy stuff and I figure he could just come down and help me make damn sure this thing is going to be stable. I'm going to have the hydraulics opened up and if it's not properly supported it could move on me and that might well be it for me.
So the day comes. I have my tractor in the driveway and I have the backhoe dismounted from the tractor but still hooked to the hydraulics by around 10-11AM. Now I'm sitting and waiting on Frank. Finally about 1AM he rolls in. The first thing he does is to sit down and use my blowtorch to clean out his one hitter so he can do a little wake and bake. I've been ready and waiting for a couple hours and now the dude is going to sit and get high before we're going to work with some heavy shit and he's burning my propane to do so. Yea I'm kind of annoyed and I let him know. I tried to not be too much of an asshole but I wasn't pleasant about it. I didn't yell or anything but I'm sure I came off kind of asshole-ish.
He finishes up with the one hitter, takes a few wacks off it, says he's go tot go home and crap. Lovely... He's been lighting up my toilet for a while now, what's the big deal? Anyhow he heads back home. I'm sitting there for an hour or so scratching my ass, screw it I'll figure it out. I'm scared as hell but I manage to get my lines replaced. I bring the tractor into position and get the bottom mounting pins locked in. There are two more up top of the backhoe assembly and then it's solidly mounted. I screwed up by not hooking the hydraulic lines from the tractor to the backhoe and doesn't the damn thing just sort of drop right to the ground because the boom, bucket, and dipper arm are open. I took precautions against this but I guess I didn't do very well. I didn't lose the whole show but it scared the hell out of me and I shut the tractor down and walked away for a while. It was a split second and if I was under it I'd either have been dead or wishing for it. I calmed myself down after a while and finished the job. Frank never showed back up that day.
After I got done, I was sitting there a while. After that dopamine hit from getting the job done wore off I was starting to feel pretty let down and pissed off. My Wife and I put real time, and heart and soul in up at Franks place. We'd get up there about 9AM-10AM and get to it. Half the time, Frank would be hungover and it would literally be 2-3 hours until he was any kind of mobile. We're up there at his place trying to get shit done so he has a setup and he's dragging his ass because he was up until 3AM the previous night getting shitfaced.
The plan was, after he was set, we'd get into some nonsense. Cleanouts from tenants that left an apartment full of stuff, scrapping, maybe some lawn work, plowing snow on the mountain here, whatever. Not getting rich but at least paying the bills and having a laugh. At first, Frank is all about it. The cleanouts were his idea. I never knew you actually could get some decent pay for this type of thing. After a while though Frank starts throwing up roadblocks about we need to be an LLC and have a few fairly new looking trucks before we can start when I'm watching something like "Randys Hauling" on the side of a beat up old truck going up and down the mountain and he's getting that pay. On OUR mountain and we could be easily doing this right now! He kept throwing these obstacles up on all sorts of projects. It felt like Frank was deliberately throwing wrenches wherever he could in order to halt any progress.
Eventually I tried talking with him. I told him "I'm not really feeling the return on this investment.". and Frank says "I'm sorry you feel that way.". It kind of went to shit from there. I got to the point where I didn't want anything more to do with him. I was a door mat for a long time in my childhood and it felt like I was getting played for a stooge yet again. It felt like he was also taking advantage of my Wife. But hey, she's been Friends with him for quite a while. In fact she was Friends with him before we were even dating. I'm not going to tell her she can't hang out with the guy. You'll just have to take my word that she's not the type to play around when she's in a committed relationship. Not sure if I have much faith in Frank but I have faith in my Wife.
Frank is no longer coming to the house, there are arguments between my Wife and I about the guy. All I can see is that she's getting played by the guy. Eventually, Frank has a Friend who offers him to go to a blues concert because Franks Friend has noone to go with but has an extra ticket. This is a weekend thing where you camp and party and listen to performers. My Wife is already running ragged here there and everywhere. Frank asks my Wife to keep an eye on his dogs while he's away and of course she wants to help out. She's just like that. One day, turns out my Wife is too busy to take care of it and my Daughter has to go check on the dogs. My Daughter can't find the keys to get inside Franks camper. Now don't you know I have to go up there and take on this guys responsibilities while he's out at a concert partying his ass off. I put my foot down because at this point the guy is messing with the entire Family and holding all of us up. I told my Wife that WE are done with him and shit hit the fan for a while but eventually she started to see shit for herself and we all just cut off from the guy.
This is breaking my heart. I really do love the guy and I know it's killing my Wife to cut off from a Friend. But it's a one way Friendship. Frank will jump for someone he really cares about, but us, we're just useful or so it seems to me.
3 years go by. My Wife still talks with Frank via text and I'm not thrilled with it but I'm not going to push it either. Whatever it's not holding up our show. Time goes by... I simmer down, Frank calms down. I do indeed miss the guy but I'm afraid that if I start talking it'll end up being the same crap all over again. He was good to work with when he felt like it. I work on cars all the time and this guy can look at things and see things that I don't. He's no kind of mechanic but he's already schooled me under the hood as well as setting up a guys garage door that was horribly installed.
In time, yes we do start talking again. I try to make it very clear that if we're going to do anything, we BOTH have to feel properly compensated for our efforts. Be that money, labor swapping, horse trading, whatever. If I do something for Frank and it takes an hour, Frank gets me back satisfactorily and vice versa. This has to be worth it for both of us and all of us.
Well, it happens that Frank finally decides he wants to clean up his property. His truck is not registered, insured, or inspected. His drivers license is expired. There's a lot of scrap up there. I have a road legal truck and I make a proposition. I'll pile scrap on the truck until I feel it's a decent load, he and my Wife will run the load. My wife is a capable driver. She and frank will unload the truck at the scrapyard and meanwhile I'll break the scrap down at his place and have another load ready to go. At the end of the day, the truck gets paid $1 per mile and the tank gets filled for the next day. We split the remainder 3 ways equally. We clean the property up, we all get a few dollars and after a little while he can save the money to get his own truck back on the road.
Frank says there's not enough money in scrapping. There won't be anything left to split after gassing up the truck... Sounds familiar... Ok, how about this then. Let me make a load of absolute BS scrap like old bedsprings, tin cans, and just whatever crap I can, we see how that pays and maybe go from there.
Frank says Hem and Haw, well maybe if it's just Frank and my Wife loading up the truck and they also run and unload the truck he might be in to it. Splitting it 3 ways and with the truck just isn't going to cut it. Now I'm getting confused and a little irritated because I thought the idea was to clean up, not get paid. My Wife also has a screwy elbow and if she goes hard on a job she's in pain the next day. Nope this aint happening. Let's put a pin in this and come back to it. I'm not going to push anymore and my Wife is definitely not into chucking scrap on to the truck as well as off loading it. If he wants to do something and he comes to us, we'll figure it out. If he wants to sit on that scrap, hell with it. I guess this is the Hoarder in his brain talking.
My Wife has a 1896 VW Jetta diesel. It's old and it's been around but it can be made decent. The interior is shit but we have a parts car and a pile of interior parts like carpet and trim, dashboard, and just everything you want to make the inside actually pretty good looking. She's the one that heads up the interior work. I personally hate it. At this point, Frank has no power at his place and he has a little 80cc dirtbike he'd like to use to get up and down the mountain. Private dirt road so we can drive ATV's or golf carts or whatever and it'd be handy.
I have a 300 watt solar panel that I'm not going to use and all the gear to go with it. I have some parts I can use to get his dirtbike going and I know how to get most old carburetted stuff running when it's been sitting a while. We come to an agreement. Frank will be down here working on this Jetta with my Wife until the interior is as good as we can make it. I'll give him the solar panel, help him install it at his place, and get his dirtbike going for him. Also my Wife will handle getting his power back on and a couple of other administrative things. Everyone is feeling OK with it.
We begin. My Wife and I put the first foot forward. We take the solar gear up to his place and get it working. Now at least he can charge his phone and keep a light running. Nothing major but it's something and it's damn handy. I start on the dirtbike. It's a Suzuki 80cc four stroke. The fuel tank is cracked up and leaking like a sieve. I have a tank from an old Honda CR80 and it takes me a while but I get it mounted to the bike and I didn't even have to chop the bike or the tank. The carb on this thing was sitting with fuel in it for years and it's beyond hope. Normally I can open them up and blow the jets with compressed air, maybe carb cleaner and some wires but this thing is completely jammed solid with crap and I can't get it. I have a carb on my shelf and it's actually for that exact engine. So after 6-8 hours of scratching my head and wrenching, I have his bike running just as good as ever and it holds fuel.
Now it's Franks turn. The first day, he actually shows up at a decent hour and the guy is putting his time in. They have the interior all but gutted. Seats, carpet, interior trim(what's left of it) HVAC. Just the dash is left and it's been a good 5 hours so they call it a day. Next day he's right there say 9-10AM. Dang this is working! They're going after removing the cracked up dashboard and something isn't making sense. It seems loose but it's not coming out. I'm out there putzing with my truck and my Wife asks me to come take a look. I get under the dash and I'm looking but I'm damned if I can find what's holding it up. It can wiggle but it's not coming loose. I notice some steel brackets with rivets under the dash just at the bottom of the windshield. All I can think is to cut the rivets loose and the dash will come out but it doesn't make sense because you're not going to get new rivets in when you install the new dash. There's barely room to get a chisel in to cut them loose. Frank figures it out. Frank goes out under the cowl under the hood, pulls up the drip tray and right there are two nuts on studs poking through the firewall. We pull those nuts off and presto the dash is loose! God Damn Frank you're a rock star! I'm SO glad the guy was here! Different perspective? Savant? I don't know but the guy nailed it!
Next day. Again Frank shows up about 10AM and the Jetta is coming around. The carpet is in and looking nice, the trim is installed, The seats are cleaned up and installed. This thing is actually starting to look pretty good! That was a good day. 4-5 hours and they call it. Nice job guys! Looking good!
Next day. Time to install HVAC. We did an AC delete. The Jetta was originally an AC car but most of the gear was gone. The parts car was non-AC and the heater box is much smaller, lighter, and simpler. We clean that up, do a little bit of swapping on wiring harnesses and we install it. Frank isn't here yet and it's about noon. My Wife texts him to see what's up.
Well this girl showed up about midnight last night and the way I gather they were up until the wee hours drinking and boning so he's not into working today. He doesn't know this girl from a hill of beans and about the only thing he DOES know is that she's a real easy piece of ass, I guess pretty cute, and mentally a wreck. Well... Yea I've been hard up myself so I'm trying to be understanding here. If a cute and willing young lady showed up at my place and I was lonely I think I'd take that opportunity as well. He did put some good time in on this vehicle and really saved the day when pulling the dash out. I went to work with my Wife. We got the replacement dash in, Heater installed. Everything assembled, wires routed, job done. The thing looks damn near new on the inside. It was a good 8 hours and I still feel it to day as this was just yesterday and I'm no youngster. My Wife is in pain. I just feel tired.
I can see Franks side, but a deal is a deal. I was trying to talk to my Wife that "We're kind of even right? He put in his time, he really helped out a ton. Neither owes either and we're pretty squared up right?". I wasn't really feeling that but I was willing to be convinced and sort of let it slide. My Wife however doesn't feel that we're square at all. Not only the motorcycle and the solar crap, but she spent hours on the phone and computer and Frank agreed that he'd be there from start to finish on this interior. On the last day, he ditched us because he was busy screwing and drinking with some random chick. While we were finishing up the job, Frank texted my Wife asking if He and this girl could come down to meet and greet. Or would we like to come up and have a fire? My Wife and I are dead tired, it's about 5PM. We normally have supper on the table at this time but we're close and we want to get through it. We're not into entertaining tonight. We want to finish up, get supper, get the kids to bed and crash. We're sure as hell not going up to the junk heap and sitting there at a fire watching these two make out and get tanked up. She texted him something like that. Tired, still working, still have to make supper, not happening.
That's it. If you made it through all that I admire your perseverance and I hope it at least makes sense. This is just my side of course. I have my own issues. I can be an asshole, impatient, I'm kind of obnoxious. I'm trying to work on that stuff and my Wife tells me I'm really reigning it in when I get pissed if something is fighting me. Anymore I'll just walk away and have a smoke or something. I guess I can get sort of pushy when I see shit that needs doing. I want to help but I guess I'm aggressive or too Gung Ho about it.
Anyways, it feels like this relationship with Frank is going to end up the same place as it left off before. All I can think to do is just not really seek him out anymore. If he happens to need something... I don't know... My Wife and my Children and myself are a team. We've got enough going on and we don't need someone dragging us down. I don't want this to get to the point where it did before. I feel like I screwed up even letting this guy back into my life and I'm kind of stressing.

I am 29 yo bisexual male.
I feel guilty for what I like in sex.
Till I was 13 yo I had 2-3 encounters with few boys. At that age I didnt know what being bi was but it was
just the way of having fun for me with like minded friends. you know showing each other penises and all but I still found girls romantically and sexually attractive. Moreover I was 9 maybe some elder gay
made me touch his penis so it all began after that. I sucked a guy even once in my school toilet xD. After 13 there was no interest in the male sex from me. It was all about girls and porn.
At 19, I met my ex gf which lasted for 2 years post which I couldnt give time due to my engineering and eventually she cheated on me so theres that.
I had went till 3rd base with her.
​
Then the dry spell started from 21 to 25. I was consuming lots of porn since 16 and masturbated on a regular basis. Post 21 the masturbation and porn was reduced to once or twice a week.
Tried nofap multiple times but failed at max 21 days. Meanwhile my interest went towards BBCs or interracial porn. At 25, I got a BJ from a guy on grindr and I wanted to blow him well but he was a bottom. Anyways I had zero luck in hetero dating apps or irl.
Then after few encounters I was a versatile with guys on grindr. I loved blowing them, but only one condition their penis had to be thick and large else it wont arouse me sexually. With men
I never felt romantic attraction so their face didnt matter at all only what they possess underneath. I havent received anal till now.
The porn consumption and masturbation has reduced drastically like once in 10-14 days because of nofap.
At 28 my parents arranged a marriage for me. I disclosed everything to her except my bi side and decided not to pursue the random hookups anymore as it would destroy my marriage in future and it would be cheating even though its courtship.
That proposal brokeup for incompatibility issues. But back in my head I always had and currently have this thought. "Would this girl or any girl accept the way I am, the things I have done with men if she comes to know that?"
They would think so little of me that I have blowed guys and have such preference.
Since that breakup I have met some guys and continuing to do so because I need sexual intimacy and I have litelly zero female friend interaction. Oh and I also have premature ejaculation(1-2min) since my teenage years.
All these things makes me think why ruin some girl's life by marrying her. I know I wont cheat but I dont think I will be able to satisfy her. The reason I dont want to disclose this side of me to them is because if they dont like it they might pass this info to mutual friends and then I will be ruined fr.
Tldr: Bisexual male with BBC fetish feels guilty about giving BJs and worried if it would ruin future heterosexual marriage.