Tyler bass start sit

I know everyone is different and what works for you might not work for me.
However, the vast majority of people have the same problems due to a sedentary life. I work 8-10 hours a day sitting in a chair for the last 8 years. It fucked me over.
Anyway, here are a few things to check and fix, that are know to cause pelvis stability issues.

• anterior pelvic tilt
• posterior pelvic tilt
• hip mobility
  • excessive external rotation ( duck feet )
  • excessive internal rotation ( not so common )
• core stability
  • check out any Yt video for "The mcGill Big 3" and do those 3 exercises morning and night for the rest of your life
  • this is stability, not core strength, and should be done first before strength
• core strength
  • transversus abdominis should be your main focuse
  • external + internal obliques also very important
  • 1-2 times a way for the rectus abs, not so important
• glute strength
  • with the emphasis of also working out gluteus medius and minimus which are very important
  • should be worked out minimum of 5 days a week, always AFTER core/abs
• ankle mobility

A few non muscle related stuff that helps in the chronic periods when you are starting:

• higher potassium intake
  • half a teaspoon of potassium citrate power and after 30 minutes all your muscles will be relaxed. develop a habit of eating rich potassium foods and don't relly on powder and it's a bit risky. too much and your hear will work slower
• decaf or better nocaf at least until you get a grip on your condition
  • cortisol will make progress much much slower
• learn to do proper diaphragmatic breathing
  • no, inflating your belly won't help and it's actually making things worse as you are stretching the front of your perineum and it's creating a reflex to always contract PC muscle on inhale
  • you need to learn how to do full 360 breathing, where your ribs expand
  • 30 mins/day in the beginning will help to keep your PF relaxed until you fix your muscular imbalance
• stretch and strengthen the QL muscle. research what this muscle is, why it gets tight, and work it out

Last, but not least, and probably overlooked:

• have more sex. no matter how strong you are in your pelvic floor, if your penis has no clue how a vagina feels like, or if it feels it once every 3 months, you are not going to see any improvements
• at the very least, don't ever masturbate dry, always rub the glans inside a first, better with an overhand grip, and ALWAYS stimulate the corona of the glans. There is a spot on the right side of the corona which is called an ejaculatory reflex. you need to get your penis accustomed
• if you can, buy a fleshlight
• no matter what people say, porn is NOT helping, at all. In terms of cortisol, and anxiety, it makes things worse

My personal advice to you, at least for the 30+ guys here, go see a PT for 1-2 sessions and get an assesment of what's wrong with you. Check posture, muscle imbalance, ask to get on that tredmill where they put sensors on you and see what muscles arent firing and which are over working.
It's going to be the best $200 - $300 you've ever spent.
They will tell you exactly what the problem is, and then you can work it out on your own.
It's either spending some money or spending tome months figuring it out on your own
Small tip:

• when having sex standing, forcefully internally rotate your hips, engage your TVA and do a proper 360 breathing inhale, then on the exhale keep that tension pushing in your pelvic floor. It is going to help you last A LITTLE longer. Or much longer, depending on how severe you are.

The conclusion is that your main issue is pelvis stability.
The moment the pelvis isn't in the position it hopes to be, it will engage the pelvic muscles as a response to protect the organs.
Not even a million reverse kegels are going to fight that defense mechanism built inside you.
Keep the pelvis stable, and the pelvic floor won't contract.
Don't lose time on the small stuff, like the BC and IC muscle. leave them alone, they are doing what they think it's right. Orgasm is rushed by the PC muscle, which is part of the levator ani muscle group, and that group contracts on its own.
Most of you don't even know those muscles can relax, and probably have spend years in a contracted state.
I've seen a video where a guy said having sex back to back for 30 mins - 1 hour helps.
Yep, it does.
If it is possible in your curent situation, a 3 hour session with a hot prostitute might actually provide a lot of temporary fix until you fix your muscles
However I won't go into this as I know it's rarely possible due to marriage, girlfriend, etc.
If your partner is understanding, explain to them their issue and that having one 2 hour session a week will help things a lot.
Remember that spending time on reddit will NOT fix your issue.
Don't fixate on pudendal neuralgia. That is a sympton of a trapped nerved due to tight muscles, specifically the piriforms and levator ani. It will go away once you restore balance. No other way around it.
Ok, good luck guys.
Hope this helps at least somebody.

Hang on. It does get better, if you keep working on yourself and release your ex with love. The last part is hard because usually there are two sides to a break-up, even if you were the one dumped. There are more factors that contribute to that moment. In a way, being able to be upset with them for hurting you can make it seem that you were a victim, not someone who also made mistakes that are bigger than fixing in a conversation. The reality is, not everything can be forgiven, and sometimes we have to sit with that.
During the initial phases of the breakup, you feel like you cannot function. Your sleep disappears. You cannot eat. You want to hide and disappear. You try to be friends with your ex, but friendship that early will not be genuine because the lingering feelings falsify any true friendship. You obsessively read posts on Reddit looking for signs that they will come back. You rehash all of your mistakes. Tears are a way of life. You are terrified that your ex will not speak you again or worse, will find someone else.
Then, you start taking care of yourself. At first, it’s just to distract yourself or not to sit in a quiet, empty house. You may still talk to your ex, but it tapers off, right when you’re making personal progress. You go through the phases of grief and mourning all over again. The tears return and you feel like a dog that someone abandoned, waiting for them to return. But if you stay the course, it will get better. Eventually, you may even be friends with your ex again, true friends. And maybe as you’re healing, you’ll put aside your hurt and write your ex a letter than makes no excuses, that apologizes for the things you’ve done wrong. You don’t write the letter for forgiveness or to impose yourself on their life. You do it because it’s the right thing to do. When we set others free, we set ourselves free also.
So how do you pull yourself out of the pit? These are things that have helped me.

• Go outside and stretch for 10 minutes first thing. Face the sun if you can.
• Exercise daily, outside or in front of something beautiful if you can. At first, you’ll have to drag yourself out there, but it’ll get to be a part of the day that you love.
• Get a little yoga in, even if it’s 5 minutes. Your muscles will get really sleek and tight and your mind will feel clearer.
• Eat like you love yourself. When you eat like shit, you feel like shit.
• Get enough rest. When you’re tired, it’s harder to emotionally recover from things.
• Therapy. At some point, a professional is going to be necessary. Your friends can only do so much.
• Volunteer. When we are of service to others, we can create meaningful change but also see how pain is relative and we all go through it. Helping others to feel less pain will offer perspective.
• Get yourself around animals. They’re unconditional and don’t care if you’re a mess. They remind us that we are lovable, even if a specific person doesn’t love or want us.
• Meditate, just for a few minutes. It helps to get your head on straight.
• Write it out. Even if it’s just I the Notes ap on your phone, get it out.
• Go on Meetup and sign up for some cool classes and outings. You can’t stay home forever. Do something unexpected and new.
• Delete your social media. It’ll keep you from checking on them and will give you the time to take care of your sweet heart and self.
• Plan a fun trip or weekend in the near future. It’ll be good for you to have something to look forward to.
• Take candlelit showers and baths. Woo yourself.

Realize that life goes on and it cannot wait for someone who may not have known your value or who you weren’t compatible with. You are worthy of love and being your best self. Your person is out there, waiting for you.

I want to know if someone has experienced the same thing and what it could be… I’ll randomly be sitting or laying down then all of a sudden I get really sweaty out of NO WHERE and my heart will start pounding. It’ll sky rocket to about 170 then kinda settle at 150 for about five minutes till it finally goes down. I have 4 heart monitors and that all came back normal so I’m just wondering what is it I feel like I can’t live like this anymore. I am pregnant and I feel like it’s harming me and my baby with all the stress

Jesi had never been in a hotel before certainly not one as fine as the one Mr Ericson took her and Damion too. They had a suite all to themselves it had two bedrooms connected to a living room, and kitchen. The hotel room was larger then the apparent she used to share with her mama all those years ago. Damion shared a room with Mr. Ericson but for the first time in her life Jesi had a room all to herself. She thought it would feel secure, but she still slept with a knife under her pillow. Still the bed was so soft she felt like it was going to swallow her alive every night. Her nights were one thing but the days were another thing entirely, they were a whirlwind activity. First there was the image coach, a person that Mr. Ericson hired to find a way to make sure Damion and Jesi, both looked nicer then street kids but were still comfortable. Then there was the mountain of paper work and explanations of how her life would change once she signed the papers. Mr. Ecrison said that the press had heard there was an heir to the O’Connal empire but they didn’t have her name or face yet. He was hoping that meant they would have a quite arrival when their plane landed in upstate New York.
He realized he was wrong the moment they entered the airport. Mr. Ericson was shocked to see the number of reporters swarming the gate. He cursed under his breath he’d been so careful he’d even gone out of his way to ask O’Connal’s business partner Constance Karington if they could borrow her family’s private jet to fly the girl in under the radar. With a sigh he squared his shoulders and looked at the two young adults behind him. “You both need to stay quite they will snap photos, shout questions, and shove whatever kind of recording devices they have practically down your throats for a sound bite. Do not give them one.” Mr. Ericson commanded as he lead them toward the crowd. Airport security was already attempting to hold the crowd back. The instant the crowd caught sight of Jesi flashes began to blind them all while the questions started flying
“Miss Jahari is it true you never knew your father?”
“Miss Jahari are you going to sell the company?”
“Miss, Jahari how does it feel to be Cinderella?”
Jesi was proud of herself for not pulling her knife on any of the reporters at the airport. She didn’t like people in general and she certainly wasn’t used to crowds surrounding and recording her. Mr Ericson parted the crowd as best he could and then shoved both Jesi and Damion into a waiting black sedan, with a driver. A short ride later and the small black sedan pulled up to a set of iron gates in the center of a brick wall that surrounded a mansion as big as a castle. The street in front of the wall however was filled bumper to bumper with cars parked on the curb. As the black sedan they were in pulled up to the gates people mobbed the car banging on the windows shouting questions making it hard for the car to move. Mr. Ericson pushed a button on his phone and the gates swung inward admitting the car the driver moved forward slowly through the throng as the gates swung shut behind them. The car pulled up to the front of the house and an older matronly type woman, came rushing out, as Mr. Ericson opened Jesi’s door.
“Ah, let me look at you!” the woman cried out in a thick Irish accent as she looked at Jesi.
“Jesminda Jahari this is your father’s maid and cook Mrs. Mable Mcguil, she has served your father’s family since before I can remember.”
“Aye, your mother must have been a beauty. Why just look at ya! You did get yer Father’s hair though I see, and his eyes.” Mable said as she reached out to brush a strand of red hair from Jesi’s face
“You knew my father?’ Jesi asked
“Knew him? Why I helped his mother raise ‘im I did. Kindest boy you’d ever want to meet. Ack, but he did he ever have a stubborn streak.” Mable added with a laugh
“Mable, my dear, I know you want to get to know Miss Jahari but that’s better left inside I think as the wolves are snapping pictures at the gate.”
“Ack, of course where are my manners, get in here all of ye.” Mable said as she turned to lead the way into the house. Mr. Ericson handed Damion and Jesi the 2 small carry on bags worth of clothes they’d purchased a few days ago, and motioned the two of them to follow Mable inside while he took his own bag from the trunk.
Jesi stepped wide eyed into the large foyer, the floors were a black and gold marble. The walls were a pristine white, with a stair case on either side curving up to the open second floor but what drew Jesi’s eye was a large painting hanging on the wall between the stair cases. A small family of three with a rather severe looking man with blonde hair standing tall a woman beside him with red hair gave anyone who entered a warm welcoming smile. The boy in the front drew jesi in he was around 7 at the time of the painting. Red hair green eyes but the happy smile he gave didn’t quite make it to his eyes. Jesi walked toward the painting staring at the child.
“That’s your father.” Mabel said walking up beside Jesi. “I remember that day clear as a bell yer grandfather insisted on a family portrait sitting. Ah, but yer father little scamp that he was was having none of it. All he wanted was to go out and play in the yard. The artist finally got yer grandfather to agree to take a photo to make the painting off of. As soon as he was free Conner went out and rolled through the grass in that fancy suit you see ‘im wearing. Aye but yer Grandfather was in a snit for days over the grass stains.”
“This house is massive.” Jesi said looking around the foyer.”
“Ah, but we do agree on that. To the left You’ll find the kitchen, dinning room, ballroom, bathroom, den, and living room. Through the right door you’ll find the home theater, another bathroom, library, office, gym and indoor pool. Upstairs there are nine bedrooms each with their own on suite bathroom, And the master bedroom has exclusive access to it’s own balcony. The third floor contains the greenhouse conservatory and excellent views.”
“So many rooms for only three people.” Jesi marveled turning a slow circle around the foyer.
“Yes, that was yer Grandfather for ye. The man insisted on showing the world how successful he was by getting the best of everything privet jet, fancy yacht, all the cars, the house. Yer father was a much simpler type He would have been happy with a one room apparent in the city. That’s why he never replaced the privet jet after the crash. He didn’t see a need, said if he was gonna fly it could be commercially, with real people.”
Jesi stood staring at the painting tears burned the back of her throat, as waves of emotion beat at her. Her father sounded like such a good man she wished she could have known him, but right on the heels of that she was so angry, her father lived in such excess while she and her mother had scraped by on nothing. Yet according to Ericson her father had never known that she existed her grandfather had lied to her father to her mother. Jesi choked back the tears and clung to the only emotion that had kept her alive for so long. Anger. “I hate them.” she ground between clenched teeth.
Mabel’s face fell she seemed to be hoping for a more joyful reaction from Jesi, but to her credit she didn’t try to talk the girl out of her pain either. Damion walked over and placed an arm around Jesi’s shoulders. “Mrs. Mcguil, is there a room we can go to for rest and a little privacy?” Damion asked
As soon as the door to the large guest bedroom drifted shut behind them Jesminda let her real feelings be known. She broke into deep sobs and fell into Damion’s arms.
“I don’t- I can’t- How could he- How could they-” Jesi started so many sentences but the jumble of emotion stampeding through her.
“Easy Jes, take a breath.” Damion tried as he held her.
“Why am I morning a man I never met? A man who abandoned me?” Jesi started
“Because he didn’t abandon you not on purpose Jes.”
“I want to hate him. I need to hate him, Why can’t I hate him?” Jesi sobbed
“Your right Jes it’s not fair. None of this is fair. It’s a lot to take in, and neither of us have taken the time to really process this.”
“In the hotel he didn’t seem real, but now… He was my father, and I never knew his name.”
“I know, Jes, it’s not fair.”
“He was stolen from me!”
“Yes he was.”
“This whole life was stolen from me!” Jesi hiccuped
Damion just held her and let her cry. There was so much for them both to process. Jesi was now one of the richest women in the nation, and she had insisted that Damion share her home as the brother he’d been to her since the day they’d met.
Jesi spent the rest of the day in the guest room that was now her bedroom with Damion bouncing between sorrow and anger like a rubber ball. Eventually she cried herself to sleep. Damion had just eased her into the plush bed, when a soft knock sounded on the door.
“Hey, uumm.” Damion stammered he wished he could remember the maid’s name.
“Mabel deary. How is she?” Mabel asked as she tried to look past Daion towards Jesi.
“She’s sleeping.” Damion said protectivily blocking to door.
“I mean her no harm.” Mabel said gently
Damion winced and tried to force himself to relax “Sorry, I know you don’t it’s just…” He trailed off at a loss “I’ve protectd her since she was five. Its just really hard to let that go.”
“Ye love her then?” Mable asked
“Of course.” Damion stopped and then a thought occurred to him “Oh! Oh you mean! No, no we’re not like that. She’s basically the sister I -” he stopped.
“Yer sister?”
“The crash that took my parents. It also killed my five year old sister Amy. Three days later I met Jesi, she looks nothing like Amy, but she was the same age and well I guess I wanted to protect her the way I couldn’t protect my family.”
“Ack, ye poor dear.” Mabel said with tears pooling in her eyes. “She’s safe here though, not a sole can get past the walls without setting off the alarms.”
Damion stiffened “Jesi, doesn’t like loud noises. Not since her mother was shot.”
“She was there?” Mable asked
“I thought Mr. Ericson would have told you?” Damion asked in confusion
“No, he told me who she was and that her mother had been killed but nothing else.”
“Yeah, she was there, her mom had to take her to work that night and, she says all she remembers is her mom stuffing her in a cabinet then she heard someone yell for the manager then the shots.”
“My God! Did she see anything?”
“No the officer on the scene worked really hard to make sure she didn’t see anything, But she’s been really jumpy ever since.”
“Ack, the poor dear. Well it seems there’s nothing more You and I can do for her til she wakes come I’ll show ye to yer room you must be tired as well.”
“I-I can’t leave her I’ll just stay here with her.”
“She’s safe here. Your safe here. You need rest too.”
“And I’ll get it right here beside her.”
“Ye’ve taken care of her for thirteen years, Ye’ve earned a rest and so has she.”
“We rest better together.”
“I’m sure ye do, and you’ll be ale to hear her through the wall if there’s trouble.” Mable encouraged
“I-”
“Yer both safe. She’ll be fine.”
Damion reluctantly followed Mable from the room. Mable made a show of taking a key from her pocket and locking the door to the room she explained that she was the only one with a key to unlock the bedroom doors but that all door could be locked or unlocked from the inside.
The next morning Mable opened Jesminda’s door with a cart of food behind her. “Good moring Miss Jes-” Mable froze as Jesi lept from the bed a knife brandished in her hand it’s tip nearly rested on Mabel’s neck
“Sorry,” Jesi said as she lowered the knife. “Force of habit.”
“Well, I will say that’s a new way to get the blood runnin in the mornin.” Mabel said with a giggle “Is there a reason ye have a knife on ye?”
“I’ve slept with a knife since I was sixteen.”
“And ye haven’t cut yerself?” Mable tried to joke
“No, Sargent Mullens trained me and Damion how to defend ourselves.”
“Sargent Mullens?” Mable asked
“He was staying at the first homeless shelter we crashed at after leaving the home. I was young inexperienced in street life and so excited to have my first shower in weeks I wasn’t careful enough. After I walked into the ladies room a man grabbed me from behind. He clamped his hand over my mouth and put a knife to my throat. I tried to scream to struggle while he cut my clothes off. Sargent Mullens heard the struggle and rushed in. He pulled the man off before anything happened and called for help. The man tried to cut Mullens but he dodged the blade, disarmed him, and held him until the folks that ran the shelter arrived. He told them to bring the guy to the police for sexual assault. After he helped me and Damion disappear when the police showed up and then taught us how to survive on the streets we stayed with him for about 4 months, until he disappeared.”
“That must have been hard on ye both.” Mable said
“It’s life on the street.”
“Jesi!” Damion called out as he rushed into the room.
“Ah and that saves me the trouble of bringing breakfast to ye as well.” Mable said as she motioned to the cart behind her. “I didn’t know yer preferences, so I, well, I made yer Father’s favorites. Bacon, sausage, pancakes, as well as some fruit a selection of juices and, aspirin.”
“How did you know I have a headache?” Jesi asked
“I’ve spent more then a night or two crying meself te sleep. I know the headache ye wake with in the morin all to well. OOP!” Mable said as she pulled her phone from her pocket. “And it seems that Ericson has arrived for the day with company not far behind. Best ye eat up and prepare seems as though yer in for yoru first dose of Constance.”
“Heellloo, Constance Karington,” The tall blonde woman in her early twenties stepped up to Jesi and offered her hand “Your sister.”
“I have a sister?” Jesi asked
“No, you do not.” Ericson answered.
“Oh not a biological sister but Conner was like a second father to me.” Constance said
“That makes one of us.” Jesi griped under her breath
“Oh look at you aren’t you a vision well besides that scare on your neck but don’t you worry my step-mom knows a great plastic surgeon we’ll have that gone in days.”
Jesi rested a self conscious hand over the knife scare on her collar bone.
“I wish you had consulted with me Ms. Karington, Miss Jahri’s schedule is full today.”
“Oh, so I cleared my entire morning of running my very successful company to hang out with my new sister for nothing” Constance protested actually pouting at Ericson.
“I believe you’ll find the company belongs to both of you Ms. Karington, and as I Said if you’d checked with me I could have told you that Miss Jahari’s scheduled is full this morning.”
“Oh come on I’m sure you don’t need a stuffy old man telling you what to do Jesi. You don’t mind if I call you Jesi do you?” Constance’s words dripped with sugar.
“Actually I do mind.” Jesi wasn’t buying Constance’s act for a second. “And Ercison has a full day planned.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do with an open morning Ericson?” Constance tried again
“Since your so keen to have family time I suggest you go connect with your brother.” Ericson suggested
“I suppose I could find Skyler but I look forward to dinner tonight Jesminda.” Constance commanded
“I will contact your office and arrange for a dinner in a few weeks then.” Ericson offered.
“I look forward to it.” Constance said with a smile as she turned to go.
“Oh Ms. Karington I would like to know how our confidential flight itinerary was leaked to the press.” Ericson asked
“Oh right, I have talked to my pilot about that rest assured he’ll be disciplined for his loose lips. Ta.” Constance tossed over her shoulder as she left.
“Who was that?” Damion asked when the door closed behind Constance
“Constance Karington, she is the co CEO of O’Connal and Karington Enterprises.”
“Isn’t she kinda young to be a CEO?” Jesi asked
“She was a child prodigy she graduated high school early and earned her MBA by the time she was 20. Two years ago she convinced her father to entire and hand over his half of the company to her.”
Constance slammed the front door to her family’s home. And let out a frustrated scream.
“I take it your plan to get Cinderella to sign the papers was a bust?” her brother Skyler appeared at the top of the stairs.
“I thought you’d still be sleeping.” Constance griped
“I was until you slammed the door quite rude if I’m honest sister dear.” Skyler, said with a lazy drawl
“Well, tell whoever your current girlfriend is I’m sorry to have disturbed her.” Constance replied with a forced smile
“You can drop the loving sister routine Constance I’m alone today.”
“For once.” Constance laughed sarcastically. “What do Nora find you flirting with a waitress?”
“Her name was Ashley and no, she asked for commitment, and you know I don’t do commitment.”
“Hm. Yet another doe eyed debutante that thought she could marry New York’s most eligible bachelor?”
“Yes you’d think they’d know better by now don’t they all talk?”
“Brother this may surprise you but the world does not actually revolve around you.”
“And it doesn’t serve you sister dear. A fact it seems ‘Cinderella’ reminded you of today.” Skyer gloated
“That company is mine! Conner promised it to me! Then that worthless brainless rat shows up and takes everything from me!” Constance shouted.
“I’m not sure Cinderella showed up isn’t more like Connor hunted her down?”
“Cinderella?” Constance said as a calculating smile slid on to her face
“That look never bodes well.” Skyler observed
“Well, every Cinderella needs her Prince Charming doesn’t she.”
“As I understand it she came with hers did she not?”
“The street rat no he’s more a brother to her as I understand it, but you Brother dear are currently between lovers at the moment.”
“Ha! Don’t even try it. Your little Cinderella is no where near my type.”
“Oh please, she’s beautiful, rich, and a woman that’s exactly your type.”
“Hardly, once a street rat always a street rat!” Skyler objected
“I don’t care, you will romance her get her so infatuated with you that when you tell her it’s in her best interst to sign over the company she’ll comply.”
“And if it can’t.”
“Then you’ll keep it in your pants until you marry her! I will not let some brat swoop in and steal everything I worked my entire life to get!”
“You can’t make me do any of this.”
“Can’t I? Last I checked Brother dear I control your trust fund.”

My roommates (M and F couple- both 28) have this friend named "Viv" who literally never shuts up. She's here every single day, sometimes as early as 10am and doesn't leave until 5-8pm. I truly have no idea how this woman has the ability to talk as much as she does and it's one of those "I'm going to stand really close to you and stare at you awkwardly the whole time I'm talking" types of things.
So basically I could literally be on the phone in the middle of a conversation, reading a book or even sitting there with music audibly blaring through my headphones and she will still try talking to me and it's about nothing of importance, ever. Yesterday was definitely the tipping point for me. I'm sitting here trying to clean. I have my headphones in and my music was quite literally blaring through them. I couldn't hear anything. I happen to look up and see that she was talking to me because her mouth was moving. I take my headphones out and she's already half way through a conversation involving the dog hair I'm sweeping up, talking about how she could make a rug out of it. So I said "ok" and kept sweeping. She then starts in about how she used to make Persian rugs for a living and that turned in to how she used to interior design mansions and whatever. I wasn't even looking at her anymore. I literally kept cleaning and she was following me around talking. This continued literally for hours. The conversation changed 10s of times and she was the only one talking.
When she left I went to my roommates and told them that if they insist on having this girl over here than they need to have a conversation with her about leaving me alone. I'm really fed up with being disrupted when I'm trying to do my own thing and being bombarded with millions of conversations that I want no part in. Especially considering it doesn't matter how many times I say "I'm trying to be alone right now" or "I was listening to music and trying to disassociate" makes her stop. That just gives her conversation starters. I was legitimately called transphobic for asking my roommates to keep this girl away from me. "She has it hard enough without people being rude to her" or "It's literally so obvious she makes you uncomfortable for being mTf trans" or "you're grossed out by her simply because she likes you and is trans". Am I wrong here??

Hi, I'm Paul and I am a freelance graphic designer from Romania who specializes in Logo Design and branding but is no stranger to other branches of design. I am currently able to take on new projects. My portfolio can be found at: https://cpaul.design/
As far as cost goes, it varies depending on the project. Starting at around 50$ for small projects like edits of existing designs, polishing, 1-2 hrs of work. For example, logos sit around the $250 mark. Other work is of course to be discussed! I often do custom costs for different projects so feel free to reach out and we can talk and figure out what would be best for you. You can reach me through reddit messages or via my website or via E-mail. Looking forward to hearing from you!

I know this sounds crazy. Shut up. I get it. I’ve heard it all before: “what are you talking about?” “You’re insane.” “This is why you shouldn’t do molly before your brain finishes developing.” My friends don’t believe me. My parents don’t believe me. My therapist doesn’t believe me. And I don’t blame them. I didn’t believe me either, at first. Maybe I still don’t. There’s no moral here; this isn’t some cautionary tale about the importance of keeping clean. If it were, it’d be the sickest, most twisted way to teach someone to fold their stupid clothes.
I normally fold my laundry. I do. I’m not a slob! I hate walking into my bedroom and seeing clothes on the floor. I hate it, seriously! I don’t believe in it, don’t subscribe to it, and don’t condone it. The floor could be as clean as a freshly zamboni’d ice rink, but the second my clothes touch it they instantly get dirty – coated in lint, dust, and grime that latch onto my shirts and underwear like leeches.
But no one’s perfect. I’m not an idiot, ok? I’m a realist. I’m an adult. I slip up sometimes. A bit of depression here, a dash of anxiety there, and suddenly I don’t feel like folding that huge lump of clothes the exact second the dryer vomits them out. In those cases, I put the pile on my desk chair, and I wait a few days. I go to work, I run my errands, I wash my face, and, whatever – you get the gist. Eventually, I work up the courage to square up to that foul fabric beast and tear it apart, devoting twenty minutes to folding and putting away every single piece of clothing until my room is back to its normal, serene state. This cycle is a perfectly normal part of the monotonous yet inconsistent ebb and flow that is adulthood, and I’m not going to put myself on trial for occasionally succumbing to it. Well, the last load of laundry I did was a particularly big one. Massive, actually. So big I thought the washing machine drum would break off its axle, spin out into my kitchen, and crash through a wall. After the clothes dried, I let them sit in the machine for a few days because taking them out proved too daunting a task (and yes, I opened the dryer door a bit so the clothes could air out. I’m not an idiot).
Eventually, I worked up the courage to extract the atrocious textile pile and take it to my room for folding. The pile was too big and too heavy to fit on my chair, so I threw it on the ground. I know, I know – I’m wincing at the thought. But I had too. It was enormous. At the time, folding felt like too herculean a task to do in that moment. So I waited a day. And another day. And another. I went to work, I ran my errands, I washed my face. By then, a week had gone by, and the pile was still there, on the floor at the foot of my bed. I went to bed that night promising myself I would deal with it in the morning.
Well, girls and boys, I didn’t deal with it. That day I did nothing; I did nothing but go to work, run my errands, and wash my face. And that evening I opened a beer, plopped my ass on the couch, and watched “New Girl.” I hate that show. I despise that show. But I watch reruns when my body is tired but my mind is awake; when I need something to dull my brain until it meets my body halfway on that miserable road to exhaustion.
When I crawled into bed that night, the laundry pile was still there, obviously. A sock was sticking out and touching the foot of my bed. It was funny, though, because I didn’t remember the pile physically touching my bed the night before. But who really remembers things like that, anyway? I figured the pile must have come apart a bit due to vibrations in the floor when I walked -- gravity, or something. It was a bulbous, globular, uneven stack of clothes, for fuck’s sake. I know this sounds silly – it’s just that my first thought when I saw the pile had shifted slightly towards my bed wasn’t that it was actively moving towards me.
I have bad dreams often, but that night’s was especially bad. I dreamt I stepped into an enormous bowl of pancake batter and couldn’t get out. I sunk into the batter, slowly, tortuously, inch by inch, until the beige mass globbed onto my face. Just as it covered my eyes and stuck them shut, I suddenly woke up with a shooting pain in my foot. The pain was almost indescribable: a burning, almost acidic sensation. It subsided immediately the moment I woke up and drew my legs up to my chest, curling into the fetal position and rubbing my foot until my mind coaxed itself to sleep. When I woke up that morning, my thoughts returned to that brief pain in my foot. I almost couldn’t even remember if it had been a dream or not. Until I looked at my foot. The top half of my left sole was a patchy red color. I grabbed hold of the foot and held it up as close to my face as my inflexible body could manage. My brow furrowed in disgust. I had the same expression in my face as when I was sixteen and riddled with acne and would pop an innocuous-looking zit, only for it to erupt and bukkake my mirror with an egregious quantity of pus. My disgust, however, then morphed into an acute sense of unease. Because there, in the center of this rosy patch on my foot, were four small indentations. They were deep in my skin, as far as you can press down on flesh before drawing blood. Each mark was parallel to the other. Bite marks.
I looked at my foot, then at the foot of my bed (no pun intended), where the pile of laundry sat. Then back at my foot. Then back at the pile. Something about it was different now. I swear it, suddenly it looked a bit more ominous, more looming, more… big. Yes, it was bigger. It had taken on a new color, too. A pair of jeans, my rainbow socks, and a Grand Theft Auto 5 T-shirt that I hadn’t seen before on the top of the pile were now sticking out, looking right at me. It’s strange; you don’t expect a pile of clothes to activate your fight or flight response, but looking back on that moment now, even if my conscience didn’t register it at the time, I was afraid.
I got up, got dressed with whatever clothes remained in my closet away from the pile (not much), and shut my bedroom door. I went to work that day, I ran errands, I washed my face. I went home. I changed clothes. As I changed, I stared at the pile. Now there wasn’t just a single sock touching the foot of the bed – now many, many socks were pressed against it, reaching out like little white hands of cotton. In fact, the whole pile seemed to be pushing its weight against my bed. But, like I said earlier, this was not something I consciously decided to worry about in that moment. It’s a pile of laundry, for fuck’s sake. I walked into the living room and shut the door behind me. I decided then that that night I would finally dismantle the pile and fold each and every piece of clothing. But not right then. My buddy Sam was coming over any second to have a beer and watch “New Girl.”
He got to my place twenty minutes later than he was supposed to, and when I opened the door four little legs trotted in with him. “This is Clarence!” he said with that bizarrely prideful tone in his voice that new dog owners sometimes have. It’s the same tone new mothers have, but since, as far as I know, humans are not physically capable of giving birth to chihuahuas, the tone in this case is always completely unwarranted. But I digress -- I was a little pissed, to say the least. Sam hadn’t asked if it was ok to bring Clarence. We were about five minutes into a random episode I had rouletted from season three when Clarence started yapping. I peeled my eyes off the screen and suddenly realized he wasn’t on the couch with us anymore. Indeed, he was standing right in front of my closed bedroom door, howling into the air and clawing at the wood. “Yo, Clare! Shut up!” Sam yelled as he paused the TV and sauntered over to Clarence. My first thought was Is "Clare" really a nickname for Clarence? My second thought was Oh my god. Do not let Clarence into that room.
“NO!” I blurted out.
“Huh?” Sam grunted as he turned to look at me with that big stupid face of his. Clarence kept barking.
“You… you can’t go in there,” I stammered. “It’s messy.” I straightened myself up.
Sam scoffed. “You got dead bodies in there or something?” He looked at Clarence, who refused to let up. “Something’s bothering him.”
“I can see that, but –“
Sam laughed, put his hand on the knob and started to turn.
“NO!” I screamed again. Clarence stopped barking that time. Sam took his hand off the knob.
“I told you. Don’t go in my room,” I chided.
“Dude. You… you don’t actually have dead bodies in there, do you?” Sam asked as his smile gradually disappeared.
I sighed. “Jesus Christ. Of course not! It… it’s just messy. Super messy. Like, so messy. It’s embarrassed.”
“OK. But now I feel like, as your friend, I have a responsibility to check. Just to make sure…”
“OK, well, I told you, you can’t go into my room.”
“… just to make sure you don’t have any dead bodies in there.”
“I DON’T HAVE ANY DEAD FUCKING BODIES IN MY ROOM!” My face went purple with rage.
“Well now you’re reacting as if you have a dead body in your room.” I sighed and rubbed my forehead. He had a point. “Ok. You can look inside… just… can you pick Clarence up first?”
Sam looked at me weirdly, but then quickly accepted this one condition and picked the little hairy sausage up. He grabbed the knob and turned. I held my breath as he looked inside.
“Oh my god. Dude. What the shit?”
“What? What?” I raced to the door and peered inside. The room was more or less the same as it had been that morning. Well, except for the laundry pile had…
“You should really fold your laundry, dude.”
… doubled in size. It was massive, over half the height of the room now, spilling across my bed. I started to shake. How was this happening? What was happening? There were more clothes in the pile now than I had ever owned in my entire life. And, I suddenly realized, I was no longer able to recognize the clothes themselves. While before I could clearly identify individual pieces within the pile – my red plaid boxers, my cargo shorts, a lone Nike sock – the mass now took on an abstract and mind-boggling shape. It was as if the clothes had stretched, twisted, even fused themselves together. Clashing colors bled into each other like watercolors. Disparate textures met at messy seams like some sort of scratchy, monstrous quilt.
Sam, clearly not understanding the apparent danger of this… this thing in my room, took a step forward.
“NO!” I blurted out. I said that a lot that night. And I would say it again soon.
“What is going on with you, man?” A condescending smile curled over that idiot’s lips. I couldn’t even begin to tell him. It was all too ridiculous. And yet, I had never been so terrified.
“Do you wanna go on a walk? Let’s go on a walk.”
“Huh?” Sam said with that stupid, stupid face of his cocked at such a severe angle it looked like his neck would snap in half.
My eyes turned to Clarence, who was still in Sam’s clutches and staring at the pile with wide, terrified eyes. “He hasn’t peed in a while. Let’s take him outside! Let’s take him for a walk!” I pleaded.
Sam looked at Clarence, who didn’t even register his dear owner’s gaze. His eyes were locked on the pile. He was trembling.
“Eh. He’s fine! You really should fold your laundry, though. I’ll help.” He walked towards the pile.
“NO!”
“OK, can you calm the actual fuck down, dude?” He turned to me again. Clarence squirmed in his arms. He whimpered and gnawed at the air, his little black eyes as if pleading, "let me down. Let me go."
“What the fuck, Clare?” Clarence managed to wiggle his way out of Sam’s grasp and hit the floor like a billiard ball. Immediately he twisted himself onto his feet and scurried out of the room.
“Maybe he does have to pee,” Sam wondered aloud. I sighed with relief.
“Yes! Let’s go!”
“But first we gotta deal with this.” He turned back to the pile.
“Later, Sam. Please.”
“Nah, bro. This is insane. It’s one thing to put off chores for a couple days, but this… this is mental illness,” He crouched down, right next to the pile, and reached out. “I can’t let you live like this -- ”
Then there was movement. A flash of color. A sudden jerk. A lunge. Of polyester and cotton and wool and linen. A brief yelp -- “oh!”-- managed to escape Sam’s lips just before the pile swallowed him whole.
I stood there like an idiot, frozen in terror as the pile contorted and undulated with Sam inside, re-arranging his big body like a snake swallowing a deer. The most vile and disturbing sounds I’ve ever heard accompanied Sam’s muted screams from inside: tearing, crunching, dissolving, guzzling. Sam let out one final blood-curdling scream before a nauseating POP rang out and everything went quiet. The pile was still now. A putrid smell filled the air, like the smell of raw chicken left out to rot on a hot concrete patio. Death.
Then, right before my eyes, the pile began to grow, metastasizing with new lumps of fabric sprouting in all directions. The smell got thicker and heavier with each inch the pile grew. It wasn’t until it reached the ceiling that I was able to rouse myself from my shock and I turned and ran out of the room. I grabbed Clarence, who had been scratching pathetically at my front door in a desperate bid to escape, and fled my apartment. I ran down the street. I ran down the block. I just ran. I ran for hours, in no particular direction, with Clarence in my arms.
It’s been two weeks. I’m writing this now from a motel room. I don’t know what motel it is. I ran into the first one I came across and haven’t left since. Clarence is fast asleep on the bed. He’s ugly and annoying, but I’ve found myself yelling “Clare!” when I want to get his attention. I haven’t been back to my apartment since that day. I’m never going back. I don’t want to know what’s in there, how much bigger it’s become.
I’m still wearing the same clothes from that day. My shirt and pants are heavy with sweat. I smell like shit. But it’s fine because I’m not changing my clothes. I’m not cleaning my clothes, either. Maybe I will, one day. Not for a long time, though. And if I do ever get around to it, I swear to God -- I’m folding them immediately.

[←Chapter 53] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 55→]
The day had slid by Aya like so much water off of a duck’s back. It took a particularly hard prod by Frare to dislodge her from a slurry of inattentiveness. As she looked around she realised the barricades had been almost completely disassembled, with only scraps remaining on the church floor. The pieces of broken glass and masonry were being carted outside by the villagers that remained.
Currently there was a lukewarm debate around the command table, dragged to the centre of the hall. Aya’s consciousness glossed over Sorore reprimanding her brother for bothering her, as well as the various arguments over logistics and provisions. She half-heartedly listened to discussions of various threats on various roads, and then quickly forgot about it.
Without really realising it, she found herself peaking at the parchments spread over the table. The lined scrolls held no real meaning for her, but the centre map with its pins certainly did. It was a large and fairly extensive map of the continent, with various cities illustrated with flowing script too elaborate for her to read. Slowly her eyes flitted from north to south, and found the curl of a mountain range bleeding into a peninsula where she assumed Karkos was.
“What about here?” she said, pointing to the location through the greaves of the captains before her.
Most turned to look with amused confusion, and she quickly felt a flush creeping up her neck.
“It’s a city,” she said.
The officers continued to look at her, awaiting elaboration.
“Y-you could get food there,” she offered weekly.
She almost added ‘I’ve heard the food is quite good’, though fortunately for her dignity the phrase died on her lips before it could enter the world. Naia, almost directly across from her, looked down and stroked his beard.
“It’s far from the worst option,” he said, “in fact, it’s probably one of the better ones.”
“It charges an arm and a leg, just for the usage of one ship. The cost of transporting all of us will be steep,” one soldier protested.
“The mountains are blocked off with the Alonshaze destroyed. None of the other passes can be reliably quickly traversed, even in summer,” Naia countered, “going the land route right now would be asking for trouble. The flatlands at the base of the Alonshaze have always been unstable, but ever since Ein’elen broke up it-”
“Sharaloch would be another option,” spoke up Damafelce, without much enthusiasm.
“You want to bet on a city of pirates and mercenaries for transport?” exclaimed another captain.
“Unwise, especially with such valuable persons,” Naia said, “we’ve already had enough headaches. The last thing I need is a hostage situation while sailing the strait.”
“You get what you pay for in Karkos,” yet another captain offered, with general murmurs of assent, “though with what gold we have I-”
“The gold’s not the issue,” said Naia, “if necessary, we can issue bonds in the name of Angorrah, or the paladins can in the name of the church.”
Niche, glum and surly, still nodded at the implied question.
“The general would not be happy. You know how possessive they get over money on a mission,” said Damafelce.
“We’ve been attacked multiple times, crossed half the continent, and found a long lost bequeathed, all with about a hundred men,” snorted Naia, “with all due respect to my betters, they can take their complaints and shove them-”
“If we’re going by speed and stability, Karkos is the best way,” cut in Niche through the laughter of the soldiers, “the safety of the Bequeathed should be our top priority. A good ship will get us there in under a week.”
“A ship to Espala, then Inalthia. Draskar forest is a nightmare at any time of the year,” Naia said, leaning over the map. With a subtle motion, he moved Aya’s finger northwest, and she realised with horror that she’d been pointing to the wrong end of the peninsula where some lesser settlement stood.
“Captain Deckard, I assume those that don’t want to come for pilgrimage will be returning to the fort?” he continued without giving any sign that she’d done anything wrong.
A new man, eyes blazing underneath furry dark brows nodded fervently.
“Well, I suppose we’ll have to clear out. I want everyone ready by sunset - it’ll be just under a week before we reach Karkos. Get what sleep you can - we’ll be riding out the next morning.”
There were a few finer points of debate that were bandied back and forth, but the conversation largely seemed to be settled. Niche and Damafelce both seemed to be locked in a staring match as Naia approached her.
“A good suggestion, my lady,” he said, “it’s been a long time since I’ve been in the city, but it might be just the place after this string of close calls.”
Aya tried to take what credit she could with a burning face.
“Now, there’s one other piece of business I have to attend to, I think,” he said, “where is the mage?”
“He’s on the roof,” she blurted, “I can show you.”
“No,” he said, holding up a gauntlet, “I think we’ll be just fine by ourselves. You should go and rest. It’s been a long night.”
He and Damafelce walked away from the table and vanished through the side door. Aya returned back to the altar with Niche, who was muttering some unkind things under his breath. It wasn’t more than a half hour before Naia returned with his captain, looking troubled. Before she could ask any questions, however, he quickly exited through the front of the church.
The rest of the day was largely spent on routines of amusement, the Bequeathed and the children of the village playing little games and telling stories among each other. The paladins, though they kept an eagle eye upon their charges, were not in a talkative mood that day. Lillian’s face was particularly dark, and she often muttered things that no one cared to listen to.
When evening came, any residual fears of the monsters returning were put to rest. The icy fear was no more, the villagers placed back what intact pews there were, and the flow of people from the medical bay slowed to a trickle. A simple meal, and a dreamless sleep, and Aya awoke in the early hours of the morning. Pulling herself up to one of the broken windows, she could see the summer green of the trees, their vibrancy somewhat damped by a light blue-grey fog.
Before they left, a service was held to bury those who’d been slain. The dead were laid side by side, wrapped in simple drab cloth, in a large pit just outside the doors of the church. Niche stood over the graves, eyes shut, pronouncings the blessing and peace that these brave defenders would lie with. Aya took the time to say a silent thanks as she gazed at the cloth-bound bodies.
As the remains were covered with soil, Niche shifted into a louder, older language as he sang in a husky tenor. Some kind of funeral liturgy, she guessed, though it was unfamiliar to her. The villagers cast tears into the ground with clouds of earth as they passed along the pit, then they left for the wall and the village beyond.
Aya’s concerns as she reentered the church shifted to more material things - hunger, cold, the lack of bathing over the last few days. At least some of those needs were addressed by the paladins in the next hours, with furs and food. But soon enough, they were on horses, walking in a line down to the south over open fields before the forest.
The first morning passed with very little conversation between anyone as they passed underneath the trees. That was all the better for Aya, who found herself enjoying the crisp air and the rapidly warming sunlight. It did take a bit of a turn for sorrow when she remembered that she often swam with her mother on mornings like these in the mountain lakes. Still, she was determined to extract what happiness she could on such a wretched journey. It was a resiliency that Frare seemed to share, while his sister still glanced nervously at the trees around them. Aya wondered if the girl was still seeing the creatures from last night in every shadow.
When they reached a clearing around midday, the children were made to sit before Niche as he handed out various meagre components of meals. As they began to eat, Lillian joined him, and both cleared their throats in unison.
“Right,” Niche began, “I realise the last few days have been less than smooth. Hardly a time for lessons, unfortunately.”
His dry chuckle was not reciprocated by any of the listeners, so he quickly moved on.
“But, given the nature of what happened, I think it’s advisable to speak on magic and mages, and what the scripture says about them.”
Frare, at the word ‘scripture’ audible groaned, which was followed by a hiss as his sister seized his ear.
“We have been forced into a position where we needed the help of a mage,” Niche said, picking his words with care, “it was not something we did willingly. It wasn’t a choice, but rather the product of circumstances beyond our control.”
You mean, the commander overruled you, thought Aya, though she elected not to voice such thoughts.
“If we had another choice,” Lillian chimed in, “we would’ve taken it. Survival, however, takes precedence, especially for you three. The choices were made, we might not be proud of it, but we’re all still here and that’s what matters.”
“That being said,” Niche said, fumbling in the interior of his breastplate and withdrawing a small booklet, “it would be good for you to understand what exactly underlies our choices.”
Aya’s eyes flicked over to the twins - Sorore was sitting upright and attentive, while her brother was a glum and slumped mirror. Niche thumbed through a few pages, focused in on the one he’d selected and once more, cleared his throat.
“And thus it was found, a great conspiracy, conspired against the children of Angorrah, conspired with creatures both great and small, but terrible all, in darkness and stagnant pools, where the profundity of their sin would go unnoticed by the decent and pious. Hated and proclaimed sinner, traitor, rebel against the Lost themselves. Three Boons would be taken, and three Houses be condemned to dust.”
Sorore perked up, for she clearly already knew the story and was excited to hear it yet again. Aya waited with a tempered anticipation, hoping at least there would be a half-way interesting tale, despite its lacklustre delivery. The story progressed into a broad parable, describing how three houses arose in rebellion against the church, and how three holy items had been robbed from the sepulchre of the ‘roiling cathedral’.
Apparently, they were ferried into the hands of mages, who perverted their holy functions until they burned the most sacred tree on the continent, one laid by Nafthtazia herself. For all of Aya’s doubts about the moral, she couldn’t deny the enjoyment of a good piece of history.
“Magic exists beyond the purview of the church,” Niche began, then quickly corrected his error, “rather, it is a part of the mystery of the Lost, but others can access in inappropriate ways. Some speculate that it should be left entirely to the Lost, not handled by mortal hands. Regardless, the church has taken upon a sacred duty, to ensure that what magic is used is done so sparingly, and with the utmost care.”
He closed the book with a flourish, clearly pleased at the depth of his instruction. Frare’s eyes were fluttering, which prompted a painful poke from his sister.
“So, magic is evil?” said Aya, trying to square that conclusion with all she’d seen.
Niche puffed out his chest, no doubt about to exclaim that it was in the strongest possible terms. Lillian however, had her own thoughts to add before he could.
“Not… inherently,” she said, “But it is broadly forbidden and for good reason. It is less evil, rather a great risk for evil. That is, far too easy to put it towards evil ends. That’s why mages are, as a rule, cruel, selfish, and dangerous creatures. Perhaps it is better put that magic attracts evil, even if it can be used for good.”
Aya stewed in that statement for a while - clearly the church was deeply knowledgeable, expanding and attending to her own, meagre education on the matter from the local priest. Still there were holes, obvious holes, or so she told herself.
“It might be hard to understand,” Niche said, “it might seem a little strange that the church forbids something that could be so useful. There are very good reasons both in scripture and in history that proves the point - magic is not to be used with abandon, and thus must remain under the Church’s eye.”
He patted the sigil of the church, engraved on his breastplate.
“That is one reason why the Light Lords were created in the first place,” he said, with thinly veiled pride, “we are the watchers, investigating the use of magic and capturing the perpetrator that would harm or cheat with it.”
“It was a decision made long ago,” added Lillian, “it was a sort of… half-agreement between the church and the army. We kept the peace that was broken by the mages during the Night of the Burning Tree.”
“So there are mages in Angorrah?” said Aya, drawing a strange, near insulted look by Sorore at the question.
“Well…” said Lillian, sharing a look with Niche, “a handful at most, who operate under the strictest scrutiny.”
Sorore’s face twisted at this, but whatever comment she would’ve liked to make stayed in her head.
“The point is that mages are faithless and concerned for themselves above all else. They are to be engaged on only the most necessary basis. They may be directed towards good in service to the church, but never on their own.”
The rest of the lesson served as constant reinforcements and examples of the danger of mages. There were one or two arguments between Frare and their teachers that Sorore was too slow to suppress. Before long they were off again, the leaves shaking above them as a wind blew from the south. The evening camp mercifully spared them another lecture and after a simple dinner, both twins made their excuses and retired.
Aya huddled beside the fire as the temperature dropped. Around them were a circle of waggons, some covered by a framework of canvas, others bare, all loaded with supplies. The gifts of the grateful villagers, granted to the commander who had saved them.
The paladins were busy doing maintenance, carefully laying out arms and armour, scrubbing, polishing and sharpening. Aya got up, murmured a good night to the paladins, who nodded curtly. They were so absorbed that they didn’t seem to notice Aya slipping away.
She poked her head into one of the ‘empty’ waggons, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. Save for a handful of small crates, there lay the crumpled form of the mage just as they’d loaded him. Aya felt her breath still as she looked at Inniaylsia’s amber eyes. Even from this distance, she could see the subtle inner flames of reds and yellows softly illuminating them.
“Yes?” came the voice of the older woman, curt and snappish.
Aya started to speak, then stopped, realising that she had no real reason to be here, at least not one that she’d thought out.
“Come out with it child,” came the voice again.
Aya was put in mind of a line of children, heads bowed before a grandmother picking detritus from their scalps.
“I- I-” she said, “I was wondering if…”
“No. There’s been no change in this old bag of bones,” said Innie, her voice softening slightly, “though I’m sure he would appreciate your concern.”
Aya stood there for a moment, awkwardness rising, before setting her jaw, looking behind her, and upon seeing the paladin’s backs, clambered in as quietly as possible. The cat sat attentively and silently, regarding the young girl before her. Aya began in a hushed whisper, talking about the Night of the Burning Tree and the lessons of the paladins from the morning.
“If you want to ask a question about history,” interrupted the cat, “you best ask this sod when he wakes up. He proves irritatingly well-versed on that. Considering his age, he might've lived through it.”
“I thought you were old as well,” Aya said, trying to remember where she got the notion from.
“I am. Older than him. Old as half the company put together,” she said, “but I rarely venture outside of the forest. This is the furthest south I have been in decades, perhaps a century or two.”
Aya paused to try and get a grasp on the scale of time the creature had just casually gestured at.
“So my dear, if you’re going to ask me about the great deeds of men or the history of cities, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” said the cat, tail bobbing this way and that.
“But that’s not exactly what I…” said Aya, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I wanted to ask about magic.”
The cat cocked its head, the speed of the tail picking up.
“What about magic, child?” she said.
Swish-swish.
“Well, I was wondering, just for a start, what is it?” Aya said.
“You should sit down,” said the cat, “this might take a while.”
[←Chapter 53] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 55→]

Context: I'm 31 years old (well past the age of voice changes) and a musician, although not a trained singer. I've always sung, though, in the conservatory choir, and I've always been a typical baritone who aspires to be a bass. For years, my comfortable concert range extended down to F# with F being the lowest on a good day. I could occasionally reach an E, but it lacked resonance and was almost like vocal fry. If I had slept too much, I could manage an Eb.
However, since February 2023 (approximately five months now), I've started taking singing lessons, and fortunately, I've noticed improvements in my technique, sustain, pitch, and all the usual aspects. However, my lower range hasn't seen much progress, which was expected, as I mentioned in the title. I'm content with being a baritone and not a bass.
But in the past week, something incredible has happened. I can now comfortably sing a low C# without resorting to vocal fry. I can even reach the low Bb0 in Rachmaninov's Vesper 5 (though, yes, that's using vocal fry)! Songs like "Misty Mountains" and "Rains of Castamere" that were definitely out of my range are now easily within my reach, even without a microphone, and I don't sound like a struggling croaking frog. Initially, I thought it might be due to staying up late and consuming a few pints of beer over the weekend, but this improvement has persisted.
What caused this sudden change? I hardly do any vocal exercises at home! Can vocal technique really have such a significant impact? I understand that it can enhance my accuracy and resonance, but this shift occurred within a few days without any deliberate effort on my part. Does anyone have any insights into this?

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It was raining the day Finnegan stumbled inside the Lucky Star.
His blonde hair was matted and plastered to his face. Blood soaked his right sleeve, and one of the lenses in his glasses was shattered.
“H-help,” he murmured. His knees hit the polished wooden floor. His glasses close behind.
The inn and tavern were quiet—most girls preferred to stay inside on rainy days. Yomi and Ravyn weren’t most girls, though. Some of the rarest Encroachers came out of hiding during the brutal San Island storms. That meant new weapons, new armor, and Bells.
They were two drinks in, celebrating a successful hunt of a pack of galatrax, when the youth tumbled through the door.
“What the hell?” Ravyn jumped to her feet, Yomi close behind.
“He’s bleeding!” Yomi hissed, rushing to his side. “[Stabilize]!”
Is this really the next man? Emberlynn, Ravyn’s mother, had always built her father as a larger-than-life figure. A man that couldn’t be felled by a little rain or surprised by a measly roach.
This… man… was tall but thin. Gangly. Like he hadn’t had a good meal in a long time.
He blinked up at Yomi. “A-are you… are you a nekomimi?”
“I’m sorry, a what?” Yomi dabbed at the bite on his arm with the napkin she’d snatched from the table.
“Mou ii.” He had the gall to look frustrated. Ravyn scoffed. “A catgirl,” he tried again.
“Oh. Yes.” Yomi looked over her shoulder at Ravyn. “We’re, um, well, we’re all catgirls.”
“Oh my God. This is the isekai jackpot.” He rubbed his eyes with his clean hand, blinking up at Ravyn. “Even if the monsters outside are a pain in the ass.”
Yomi hurried to the table, snagged her glass of water, and moved back to his side. “Here, drink this.”
“Ah. Arigatou.” He accepted the water and took a deep drink.
Ravyn had never heard so many unintelligible words in so few sentences. Which was impressive, considering who her mother was. “You didn’t fight back?” she snapped.
“Fight? With what?” He sputtered a laugh, his energy seeming to return. “Besides, why would I fight something that could so obviously kill me?”
Ravyn marched to his side and snatched his broken glasses from the floor. “To survive. Level up. Get Bells. Moron.”
“Baka!” he hissed back.
“Ravyn,” Yomi warned, her ears twitching with annoyance. “This could be new for him, remember?”
“Uh-huh. Saoirse has blessed us all with a—” She paused, squatting so she was at eye level with the newcomer. “Hey, is there a term for a small man? Like calling a young catgirl a kitten.”
“Erm, a boy?”
“Yes. Good. That will do.” Ravyn snapped the glasses in half at the thin bridge and looked at Yomi. “Saoirse has blessed us with a boy.”
“Hey, I—!” He reached for his glasses, then flinched back. His deep green eyes flickered between Ravyn and Yomi’s faces. “Nani? I don’t need my glasses anymore?”
“Saoirse’s tits, can you please speak like a normal person?” Ravyn commanded.
“Ravyn!” Yomi snarled.
He stared at her in disbelief. “How did you know I didn’t need those anymore?”
I didn’t. “Call it a hunch.” Ravyn tossed the remnants of his glasses in a nearby trash bin and wiped her hands. “Good luck in Nyarlea, boy.”
“My name is Finnegan.” He pushed Yomi’s hands away and stumbled to his feet. “Are you a bitch all of the time, or am I a special case?”
Ravyn growled, her hands balling into fists. On his feet, he was almost a head taller than her. But Finnegan was still a malnourished, ill-equipped boy. She raised one hand level to her chest and flattened her palm, the burst of flame mirrored in her violet eyes. “Want to find out?”
“Holy shit,” he stepped backward, raising an arm to block his face.
Yomi caught Ravyn’s wrist and forced it down. “She won’t hurt you.”
“Hm? Please, try me.”
He froze, then looked at Yomi. “Wait, so… [Stabilize]. That was a Spell?”
I should burn you to a crisp right now. Save the Encroachers the trouble.
“That’s right,” Yomi said, positioning herself between him and Ravyn. “I’m Yomi, by the way.”
Finnegan nodded, and his gaze returned to Ravyn. “And you are?”
“Leaving.” Ravyn turned, retrieving the Bells for their drinks from her [Cat Pack] and plopping them on the table. She came to Shulan with Yomi for an adventure. Not to team up with a feeble man who used a strange language and had no idea that Magic existed.
That was a fast road to a quick death.
“Ravyn, wait!” Yomi turned to Finnegan and raised her hands. “Sorry, give me just a second.”
“Yeah. Sure. I’m, uh, just going to sit down a minute.” He wandered to an empty booth, then searched the pockets of his trousers. “Wait, what’s this?” His hand surfaced with the silver rectangle that Ravyn recognized immediately—an iPaw.
“We’ll explain in a moment,” Yomi replied, taking Ravyn’s wrist and yanking her farther back into the Lucky Star.
Their waitress—Kiri—and three other catgirls in attendance had witnessed his entrance and their exchange. Kiri was at his table in the blink of an eye, offering him whatever was on the menu free of charge. The other three leered longingly, joining into a single throng to share a whispered discussion.
“We will explain, Yomi?” Ravyn snarled once they were out of earshot.
“Yes. We.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you insane?” Yomi gestured wildly toward Finnegan, toward the other girls, and then back to Ravyn. “Isn’t this exactly why we left Zhuli?”
“To die trying to protect a mass of twigs? I don’t think so,” Ravyn retorted. “That is not a man. Let him go get himself killed, and then we can get a real man.”
Yomi fervently shook her head. “I don’t know what your mother told you about the men of Nyarlea, but everyone has to start somewhere, Ravyn.”
“That boy, sitting over there, is beyond novice levels of experience.” Ravyn pulled the hefty pouch of Bells from her [Cat Pack] and waved it in front of Yomi’s face. “Look, right here. We’re doing fine on our own. We hit Level 4 together, and we can hit Second Class together. We don’t need him.”
Yomi glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “No, but he needs us. Look at him.”
The tittering trio had made their way over to Finnegan’s booth, and Kiri had slid into the seat next to him. His face had turned a brilliant shade of red, and he stammered through his answers to the endless stream of questions.
Now that he’d dried off, Ravyn could see the dark circles beneath his eyes and the bruises on his neck and arms. There was a small cut on his temple and numerous abrasions on his knuckles as if he had come to blows with a roach. The tears in his clothing suggested he’d been on the losing side.
This wasn’t Finnegan’s first day on San Island—it had taken him some time to find Shulan. But by the grace of the goddess or otherwise, he’d survived and made it to the Lucky Star.
Memories of lonely nights spent in her own room assaulted Ravyn like a tidal wave. Talking to her only friend—a garnet, for Saoirse’s sake—and wishing someone, somewhere, would take the time to see things from her point of view.
“Fuck,” Ravyn whispered, the fight draining from her shoulders. “Yomi—”
“Look, we can make a deal,” Yomi interrupted, holding up a finger. “We give him two weeks. If we can both agree that he’s a lost cause, we’ll go back to adventuring ourselves. Just the two of us.”
It wasn’t a terrible deal. Two weeks wouldn’t set them back very far. Besides, the Bells her mother kept sending to Yomi—Ravyn had sent them back one too many times, apparently—would keep them afloat for a year if need be. As much as she despised using that money, Yomi was adamant about keeping a safety net should things go to hell.
Well, here we are, Mother. Hell himself has walked through the door.
“Two weeks? Swear on it?” Ravyn sighed.
“I swear, Ravyn. Please.”
Ravyn hooked her finger around Yomi’s, tightening it in a tiny truce. “I’ll have your tail if you push me again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Yomi grinned and hugged her.
“Oh. That’s overkill. No need for this.” Ravyn held up her hands at her side, unsure how to react to the hug. “I don’t see why you’re so stuck on him.”
Yomi released her, her smile widening. “What kitten doesn’t dream of being in a man’s Party?”
This one. “Yeah. Guess so.” Ravyn turned and marched to Finnegan’s table. Narrowing her eyes, she glared at each of his newfound companions in turn. “Alright, ladies, clear out.”
“Who the hell died and made you queen?” one of the whisperers retorted.
“Are you a healer, kitten?” Ravyn crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Are any of you healers, for that matter?”
The three girls shook their heads.
Ravyn jerked a thumb at Yomi. “He’s hurt. Let someone who can actually help him through.”
“Kiri, I think one of the girls in the back needs your help,” Yomi said.
Smooth when you can be, huh? Ravyn grinned. “We’ll take good care of him.”
“We’ll see about that,” Finnegan grumbled.
Ravyn cleared her throat and raised her hand in the same movement she’d done before to summon the flame. Finnegan jumped back as far as he could, holding the iPaw up like a shield.
“Don’t set him on fire, Ravyn,” Kiri murmured as she vacated the table. The other three slowly followed, glowering at Yomi and Ravyn as they returned to their seats.
“We’ll see about that,” Ravyn chirped.
Finnegan shot her an angry look over his iPaw.
Yomi took a seat next to him while Ravyn assumed the opposite side. She leaned forward, placed one finger on the top of the iPaw, and tipped it down until it rested against the table.
“Alright— what did you call me earlier? Baka?” Ravyn began, her smile sharp.
Finnegan’s face darkened. “Yeah.”
Ravyn snickered. “Well. Welcome to the Lucky Star, baka. Your training begins now.”
​
Yomi Pro Tip: My mother told me stories of how my father required multiple helping hands to have a fighting chance in Nyarlea.
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Hi, 17 yr old FTM here. I'm struggling with my mental health.
I've always struggled with it, febuary this year was worst for me but i got little better.
as of a few weeks ago my mental has plummeted, i nearly got kicked out of my abusive household, i constantly get yelled at, misgendered, dead-named, threatened etc. Ive started having bad thoughts again about sh and such things and im really struggling, i thought i got better and im sitting here crying. I've begged my parents to let me go to the psych ward, get me a therapist but they are little help. I also have really bad anxiety (and possible bpd, autism and adhd) which has been causing me panic attacks to point of paralysis. I guess im hear to just say im struggling, even if im all happy with friends sometimes, as soon as they all go to bed, or parents yell at me again it all goes, and im struggling so badly to not cave in and just stop yknow? i just needed somewhere to write this because im alone and afraid constantly.

So my chronically ill partner has been to the A&E at the BRI twice within a week with heart attack symptoms. Thankfully, his heart and lungs are fine but the experiences have left a bitter taste in our mouths.
The first time, a random nurse who hadn't even said hello to him shoved a COVID swab down his throat and nose. No explanation, no asking, just shoved it straight down his throat, making him gag. This clearly isn't standard procedure because it didn't happen during our second visit and it was so aggressive.
The second time, his symptoms were more severe so he was quickly placed into a bed. Some lunatic was roaming around the room and popping his head through peoples curtains and all the nurses did was say 'Come on Tom, sit down.' As if he was some petulant child. One old man started freaking out when 'Tom' did this to him and you could hear how scared he was. I was ready to throw hands at 'Tom' but my boyfriend told me to leave it even though I could see his already high heart rate spike every time we heard this man rustling around. He was causing both of us such anxiety and I can only imagine how other patients felt.
Then, another random nurse who we hadn't seen before opened the closed curtains entirely and said 'I like to see my patients'. We explained that the man was freaking us out and that's why we'd shut the curtains so tight and she apologised and closed them slightly, still leaving us completely exposed. We didn't see her again so I have literally no idea why she did that or what her problem was.
The other nurses spent most of their time talking in Spanish and letting 'Tom' continue to make everyone uncomfortable.
We were then moved to a private room to await blood test results. As we were moved, I realised nearly every private room was free so I have no idea why this 'Tom' was allowed to roam about freely in the ward and distress everyone when he could have easily been placed in a private room.
I've spent quite a lot of time in hospitals and I've never had these kind of experiences at Southmead. But the BRI consistently fails at making patients feel safe and cared for. I understand healthcare workers are under severe strain and some of my favourite people are nurses so I have endless empathy for them. But the BRI seems to have some really strange, borderline negligent staff. Am I crazy or has anyone else experienced this discrepancy between two major hospitals?

Today I (16F) went through another of many conflicts with my sister (14F). Every single day there's a problem involving the fact that she doesn't do any work around the house, just sleeps and plays games. She escalates even the littlest of things, such as me asking for my sock back, which turns into a screaming match with my parents about how no one loves her. She has had struggles with her mental health, but I have been in her same position too. As children we both had a hard life. She has also been abusive towards me in the past, physically and mentally, which has led me to be hesitant with her and not be as receptive of her behavior. The problem is that it has been years since then, and she has made no effort to improve herself and has only gotten worse.
As stated before, she does not do any chores. My parents work a lot, which leads me to have to tend to the house for most things. If I don't do it, it doesn't get done. I cannot even bring up any problems with my parents because she is also a chronic liar and she will start the largest fights and lie straight to their faces. She will make up any story to get her on the right side and me on the wrong. Now, my parents are used to this so they do not believe her, however they don't get involved because of the risk of fighting. I understand that a little bit, they both work hard jobs with long hours. However, it only perpetuates the problem. Having to take on everything wears down on you, and stress builds up easily.
Today my brother (7M) had to be picked up off of the bus, and it was my sister's responsibility to pick him up. She said that she wouldn't forget. We only have one vehicle, so it was especially important. Mistakenly I trusted her to do something, something as simple as sitting outside for 10 minutes, but I couldn't be more wrong. I went to go watch TV and relax because I have been working really hard on my school work, and wasn't watching the time. When I came out, it was 4 pm but my brother was not home. I asked my sister where he was and she said "Oh, I forgot". She was sitting on her computer watching a movie and on her tablet talking on Discord.
I knew I would get in trouble even though it was not my responsibility to pick him up. All the tension that I felt boiled out, and I ended up snapping at her and calling her a failure. I have been dealing with cleaning up her messes for years at this point, and I was just so tired of it. Because of this, I am going to get yelled at and she is going to start a huge fight and I don't know what to do. Calling her a failure might have been too far, but it is the truth. She cannot do anything. I feel really bad for my parents, who also have to make up for her mistakes. They feel bad for making me do so much because of her, and they really aren't in the wrong. I just don't know if me snapping at her was justified or if I am just an asshole who should have kept her emotions in check.

I was with him for six years, and I wasn't the one to leave. He ended it last summer. I still feel such a fog of confusion about the last few years, and in a sense, I'm also ashamed about the intensity of my heartbreak.
He was so good at keeping score against me, while all I did was minimize, forgive, and blame myself. I thought for so long that he was the first good relationship to come into my life. He did start out sweet, and I adored him. I thought I'd never let abuse happen to me again. So when he became meaner, I refused to see it. So many things I blocked out or dissociated from when I should have been remembering.
But when I write it out - even just the surface bullet points - it's so damning.
​

• I wasn’t allowed to remove myself from arguments to calm down when I felt overwhelmed and confused. He felt that I was abandoning him when he was the one upset. So, I learned to sit and listen for hours, quietly spiraling and unable to make sense of the situation.
• He had a list of vetoed activities that I wasn’t capable of doing 'normally': movies, concerts, vacations. To 'protect himself from me.' I eventually believed how annoying and difficult I must be. I started seeing friends less, because I just didn’t want to burden my environment.
• He kept score like it was his fucking job. We're talking one time I was hangry in 2016 or one time i was too tired to pay attention to another rant about his dissertation. It all went into the filing cabinet of weaponized resentments.
• When the resentments grew sufficiently in proportion, he decided to ‘show me what it felt like’ through derision and punishment. I was never given the benefit of the doubt, everything I said was interpreted as combative and irrational, and any ‘mistake’ I made only added to his contempt.
• He would pressure me to vocalize every emotion I was having, then berate me like a child. It wasn’t enough for me to admit that I was feeling some way irrationally and I was wrong for it, because I already ruined his evening. He would dredge up all his frustrations with me, and all the ways I had ruined happy moments in the past. I had to demonstrate that I wasn’t making him do all the emotional labor, so I had to give an analysis of what my negativity was doing to him, why I was making him feel that way, apologize, and suggest how we were going to fix it. I then had to summarize the conversation and give an emotional conclusion, and then hug it out. This could take hours.
• I took up too much space. Any concession he ever made for me was indefinitely held over my head as a way I was minimizing him and terrorizing the household.
• I felt a constant sense of claustrophobic dread and hopelessness. I was constantly confused. I developed stomach issues, joint aches, constant exhaustion. These symptoms passed when he left me.
• He eventually began to show more anger. He would move in close and tower over me with balled fists. He would tell me I hadn’t seen him ‘really mad’ yet. He started to escalate in small ways, like when he yanked a stress toy out of my hands and threw it across the room. The worst instance was when he barged into the room when I pissed him off and grabbed the back of my neck and my chin to make me look at him. He didn’t hurt me, but it felt like one more gradual shift in power and domination.
• Expert on what had really happened. Also master of explaining my own feelings to me and exactly why they were inconsistent / manipulative / incorrect.
• Interrupted me, finished my sentences for me, or refused to let me speak in other ways. Often explicitly said he didn't respect me enough to listen. I'm still insecure about the way I talk.
• He never did anything wrong, and if he did, it was only because I made him do it. No issue performing emotional soccer dives whenever he felt wronged by me, though.
• This isn't abuse related, but he looked really fucking stupid fapping in the living room all the time and reacting like a startled otter every time I walked in.

I always blamed myself, but in retrospect, it's so clear that this was never in my power. There is nothing I could have done to change this. He had such a solid story about the ways I pushed him into acting like he did, all the ways I burdened him with my emotions, but the truth is that he would have just found other things to resent me for if it wasn’t for that. He would have done this with any other woman he might have dated instead of me. He would have found some reason or another to feel controlled, misunderstood, and dismissed by her. He would have held any woman to standards beyond reason, that she would only be able to disappoint him in. He would have bottled it up until a point of no return, and he would have then subjected her to all the same tests to prove herself worthy of basic human decency. He would have broken her down just like he broke me down, and then blamed her for his loss of compassion. The difference is that I probably stuck around much longer than many others would have, because I loved him more than I respected myself.

I cant select "redo"ro change guardian floor.
Did the usual fixes. Restart headset. Clear guardian history. Block one of the cameras. None of it worked.
Nothing let's me set the guardian floor. And it starts extremely high up. If I select sitting guardian it gives me a slightly more reasonable floor. But still can't change the floor.

Hi, all.
It's been a pretty turbulent time over here. I was a nearly daily user of marijuana for about three years (mostly edibles, mostly around 10mg per day). I would partake in the evenings and weekends. I started doing it just for fun but slipped into daily use at some point during the pandemic for relief.
Well, recently, the weed became a SOURCE of anxiety for me -- I had a few panic attacks while under the influence. The first one happened when I was being intimate with my husband and I had issues with arousal. It's something that has never happened before in our 8 years together (almost 1 year married). It really shook me
Then, about a month later, again while under the influence, I had an unwanted/intrusive thought 'this happened because you are now unattracted to your husband'.
For some reason, I was unable to be rational about this (for example, recognizing that attraction isn't black/white, peaks and valleys during a relationship, and can be worked on).
The day after that thought I decided to quit weed cold turkey. That was exactly two months ago. And it's been SUCH a hard time. I also got COVID during that time and spent a lot of time ruminating. Unfortunately, I spiraled to thoughts like 'this is absolutely going to ruin my marriage', 'i'll never be able to be intimate with my husband', and similar thoughts. I have felt so incredibly depressed trying to get to the 'root' of the thought and making sense of it. I've totally obsessed over this issue instead of being able to let it go. Obviously, this hasn't helped. I'm sad all the time, and (I think, unfairly and irrationally) connecting my anxiety and depression to my husband. I even thought about leaving my husband, but I couldn't even articulate why I would want to do that. That thought also makes me sad!
I have started therapy, and I am also on week 4 of taking Zoloft. I have some benzos when things get bad. At the moment, my anxiety is really bad in the morning. Even if I am not actively thinking about the thoughts I've had, I'm anxious about how I'll be able to make it through the day. I sense a tiny bit of improvement, because there were days a few weeks ago where I was having light suicidal thoughts and was in bed literally all day. Now, things are definitely on my mind still. My psych believes that at some point during my three years of weed usage that I developed an anxiety disorder. Now, I'm really struggling without my sole source of relief.
I have done a lot of cognitive work -- reminding me that these thoughts aren't my own. That my husband is not the 'root' of these thoughts and that the thoughts are a symptom of my anxiety and depression. It helps a little bit but I am still so very sad.
As I sit here, I am on a bench watching the world go by. I'm trying to remain so hopeful that I can feel joy and relief again -- joy around by myself and around my husband. I want it so, so badly.
My question: is any of this normal? Does it make sense that you can feel detached from a partner when you are extremely depressed and anxious? I have noticed a little improvement, but can this get better? I'm so tired.
Happy to answer any followup questions. Hope this makes sense. Thanks in advance.

so... anyone with kids? :)
i love my toddler to pieces, i do, but OMG HE DOESNT LET ME PLAY. moment i start singing or playing he insists on hitting the strings or the keys. i swear i can't get past the intro of anytthing lol.
so maybe i don't play piano when i have him at nights but can i at least sing/play guitar maybe? i've been thinking of a soundproof audiobooth to place in the corner of my living room. been looking at those amazon personal booths that look almost like tents? square tents? i don't think those are soundproof to the outside?
how do i soundproof three little 2-3ft walls of an otherwise free room to make sure i can be loud without waking him up (and honestly , without waking up my neighbors-with-toddlers as well)? i'm thinking egg cartons against hte walls but how many layers would i need? how do you DYI a soundproof soundbooth as cheaply and accurately as possible? halp.
​
TLDR (i'm hoping for a 3x3ish space where i can stand or sit with a guitar max. maybe play a violin inside. that i can record in. that my toddler would not hear when he's asleep down the hall.)

Anyone know why street vendors are allowed to blast their music super loud to the point of nuisance at 7th and Fig? No wonder businesses are failing. I just came from picking up lunch and I will not go back. That is ridiculous. Very sad too because a lot of businesses have closed there and more to follow I’m sure. You can’t even sit outside at CPK anymore. It’s a shame because DTLA was just starting to become nice right before the pandemic and now we are back to the 1990s again. Sad to see the state of affairs.

To make the tank:
1.) compete for comp to turn into rmats 2.) wait hours or tomorrow for it to be refined 3) either lose rmats in a garage , or wait 1 day plus in a mpf que for a tank.
To make the ammo for ourselves: Scrap: 1.) emats take multiple hours or some instance 24 hours 2.) cost is still expensive in the mpf, also or in the factory 4.) sit and wait for items to produce, 24 hours again 5.) load times into the tank inventory 6.)suiting up a tanker gas mask, bandage, filters, wrench, bmats 7.) the risk of travel 8.) is night approaching? 30 minute wait time to play 9.) fight armor , help infantry push, fight bobs to move the front line, help capture relic or vp points. 10.) night do I rearm, repair to a garage, do I stand and help the front line as the enemy pushed at night?
Added:
I have to make sure to refresh my 40mm crates the few I have to get to play the game
These are hourly / days time investments when we finally get to play the game in a tank. This is why we start blasting everything in the short 30 minutes!!!!! We usually are our own logi, planners, strategies.
There is no such thing as picking a region, loading or queuing and instantly playing the game, We are not the same infantry. You load, have everything you nearly need in the bob, have map posts get what you want in some reasonable time, but you do not do the same work as us to start a fight or begin to play the game as a tanker, you probably do get the ugly end of the stick, but your there and I finnally get todo something!
So I start blasting!!!!!
Extra extra note: if I want a specific tank I use to have pre 1.0 I have to invest extra hours in a facility in upkeep, these hours are not remove even in a faculty larpers base, still hours. I know infantry are qrfing these threads, but this is almost like a 2nd job to be in a tank.

Hello! I'm kinda dealing with an annoying situation rn and needed help deciding what to do so I'll start to explain.
So I (15f) have one class with this girl I'll call Emily (16?f, I'm not sure of her age, just know she's older than me) has been talking about me and mocking me for no reason.
First time this started was because I quickly washed my hands so she could continue to wash a paint pallet without me bothering her, and then a few minutes later I see her "mocking" me very badly, like, walking backwards and waving her arms kinda weirdly bad and laughing to her friend, obviously picking on me for no reason.
Second time I caught her she was randomly talking about me and my bf holding hands and complaining about it for some reason (I make so my bfs not in the way of anyone).
Most recently (yesterday), I was sitting in my class and I jokingly wagged my finger at my friend and I look over a few minutes later and she was mocking me again and talking about me to her friends, about 10 minutes later we go into a hold in place (7th grader greened out in the bathroom and a student had a heart attack, normal public school things lol) and my boyfriend entered the room since he was out in the hallway and needed to enter a room, he comes in and sits next to me to start doing his math homework again and resting his head on my shoulder whilst doing so. I look over bc I hear laughing and my name and I see Emily pointing her phone at me and my bf and obviously taking pictures of him resting his head and laughing about it with her friends.
Honestly that was the final straw for me and I'm considering taking this to the office bc I'm too scared of confrontation lol.
Just a note, she talks bad about almost anyone who does anything that she finds slightly annoying, even if it had literally nothing anything to do with her.
So, WIBTA if I reported her?
TLDR; Girl mocks me and takes pictures of me and my bf when he rested his head on my shoulder so I want to report her to office.