Laundromats with free dry near me

I'm asking this question because although I'm a Terq believer, and I also like Council, I feel like the way people view Terq is lower than how I view him. I think he's deserving of the first round even with some of his ineffiencies but seems like that's not gonna happen. Council and Terq are mocked around the same area in the draft now.
It's a two part question. Who do you all think is the better player right now, and who do you think is the more projectable/higher upside player down the line?
Council to me is both better now and has more upside than he gets credit for. His shooting form needs to be corrected; he gets no elevation, all arms, too stiff. It's his biggest weakness as a prospect, but he is a very good free throw shooter and has a decent floater so he's not devoid of touch. He's a super dynamic slasher. His ability to adjust in the air, his ability to finish through contact, hangtime, above the rim ability, quickness and burst. For his issues from 3, he has a smooth pull up game. He has a lot of shake as a handler. He can make plays out of the PnR for himself and for teammates. He is a very talented offensive player.
Terquavion get panned for decision making but he's a better playmaker with more vision than he gets credit for and while he may not be a primary initiator in the NBA he will be a guy who can make plays for others off his own offense and he should be able to run the PnR successfully and initiate in a pinch. He remains one of the very best players in this draft at being able to generate his own offense and he remains a very talented shotmaker.
I like both of them a lot and think both are being a bit hard done by; I think Terq has a bit of the edge and is especially a bit low for where I'd take him, but do you all agree? Both seem ticketed to be 6th men scorers in the league. Who do you think will become the better one and who do you think is the most ready to contribute now?

Went to Sankhamul park to enjoy some peace with my girlfriend. She and I both are well over 18. We were on one corner of the park, away from others just so we wont make them feel uncomfortable and all. There are heaps of sand raised rn maybe for some constructions i guess so people barely come. We sat near the river under a tree but were slightly visible from the nearby road ( around 20 metres away) . She was sitting on my lap and we were enjoying some chips and then as I looked back a police was staring at us. He came to us and asked us where we came from, where we lived and if we were there after college but being very aggressive. As I showed my disinterest to answer his question he got super furious at me. He told us to get up and never come to the park cause its supposed to be a public place and her sitting on my lap was innapropriate as its "dd bahine hajurama haru aaune thau ho". I apologised for not knowing it wasnt allowed and we got up and walked away to go some place else and he was cursing at us saying "ajha barta mukh lagxan kai nabhako kukurharu, gala futne gari diyepaxi thaha pauxau" and it was so unnecessary. Like We obliged and were going someplace else and he was pissed at us cause i denied to give my personal information. I didnt talk back or say anything of any sort thats offensive. Is showing some affection on a public park while staying away from other peoples sight really a bad thing to do. We cant always be going to Resturants and cinemahalls and we too equally deserve to share the public place. We often get filmed when we sit together at parks and other place and get cat called by guys when we hold hands while walking togrther. Why are people so intolerant to a boy and a girl being together. And were we in the wrong here?? Just wanted to hear your opinion on this.

Previous Chapter - Read 10 weeks ahead on Patreon - Read the story so far on Royal Road
*
Chapter Eleven - The Room of Doors
‘Get moving!’
Sara watched the men readying their horses, squinting at the brightness of the stone. The courtyard was full of the sound of boot-steps and creaking leather. Overhead, a thin veil of rippled grey hung over the early winter sky, and the dawn sun tugged gleaming at its edges. Overhead, the dull black shape of an old stormtower bled the sky. Empty, just like the rest of them. There was something very jarring, Sara decided, about the worn jerkins and stubbled cheeks of her father’s men, ensconced in a pillared courtyard of vast stone. They were out of place, and they had been every moment since arriving in Uldoroth, she realised. They didn’t belong here. Her own anxiety was mirrored imperfectly with the relief on their weary faces, and the dark rings under their eyes seemed just a little less deep. There may be Black Hand to deal with, back in the Westmere, but it was home. At least there your enemies had the decency to show themselves. Sara realised she was chewing her lip. At her back, two of the Black Guard waited wordlessly in their gold-touched armour, much more in keeping with the finery of the courtyard, and everything else in the capital. They were waiting to escort her away to the Queen, unaware they found a girl not so eager for the honour as she had been, just a few days before.
‘Father!’ She called out, spying him across the writhing mass of men in their moss green cloaks, but he seemed not to hear her. He was standing near the arched cloister at the far side of the square, cloaked and ready for travel, in hurried conversation with a shaded figure standing beyond the marble facade. She squinted, trying to make out the other man, but there was nothing but a dark shadow to trace.
‘Well then, M’lady.’ A voice said beside her, and she turned to find Halin looking down at her, a kind smile on his broad face. ‘You’ll be a right proper Princess when I next see you, methinks.’
Sara smiled at him and shook her head sheepishly. ‘Uldoroth is not my home, yet, Halin. I won’t forget.’
‘Be careful you don’t, Lady Sara.’ Halin glanced distrustfully at the Black Guard behind her. ‘Lots of fancy folk here. Fancy folk with fancier lies.’
‘I’ll be careful, Halin.’ She told him seriously.
He smiled again, and the sternness dissolved away from his face.
‘Take care, M’Lady.’ He told her, dipping his head politely. She returned the gesture, dropping into a small curtsy.
‘Look after my father, will you?’
‘Always, M’Lady.’
Halin hurried off into the throng in the square, and Sara watched him go, feeling her the knot in her belly tighten. The conversations with her unexpected visitors had left their mark, a nagging uncertainty gnawing at the excitement that had carried her through her first few uneventful days in the capital. The little comfort she had taken in the presence of her father and his men was a loss she could ill afford. She watched her father’s back, frowning softly to herself. Her thoughts were not what she had imagined, when she had thought of him leaving. A hundred different times, and more. Had she expected tears, grief at the parting? Relief? Instead, there was only the fear, a dull, leaden weight in her belly, clammy-cold as marsh-water.
‘Come on, you whoresons! I want to be on the road before lunch!’ Halin roared, and the men quickened their work. Her father had not moved, still deep in conversation, just out of sight. She peered a little closer, and for a moment the pale sunlight crept over the top of the square, flashing against a colourful doublet marked with a silver brooch. The Fox’s lips barely moved as he spoke from the shadows of the cloister, and her father was scowling. Sara frowned.
‘Mount up!’
The ornate wagon that had been her home all those weeks trundled into the square, then, drawn by a pair of stout horses. Sara saw her father turn reluctantly towards it, striding out into the square. Sara peered past him into the cloister, and for a moment Lord Bywood’s sharp eyes caught hers. Then he smiled, dipping his dark, smooth head, and vanished himself away into the shadows.
‘Father!’
Sara hurried out into the crowded square, leaving her escort behind, darting between the shifting limbs of the horses. Her father turned towards her as she approached, and smiled small smile, in two parts, one weary, one sad.
‘Sara.’
She threw her arms around him and pressed her head against his chest for a moment, and he put an arm around her shoulders. She knew her role, and the knowing of it made her safe for a moment. Then she stepped back, looking up at him.
‘I thought you were going to leave without saying goodbye.’
‘I… There was much preparation to do.’
Sara did not reply. His eyes had that same distance that they had had since they arrived in the capital. Uldoroth had worn at him, as if all the brightness and finery had made his skin dull, eyes darkened like the contrast of shadows in bright sun.
‘Will you write?’
He blinked as she spoke, then smiled, and the tiredness fell away from him for a moment. He took her chin gently in one hand, tilting it up to meet his eyes.
‘Yes, I will write.’ He told her, and she saw again that fierce ambition in his eyes, the look she had known so well on their journey from the Westmere. Swollen around the soft, lazy ease of diminished strength. ‘And I shall expect news in return. The Rose of Westmere will show these fools how a real lady charms.’
Sara smiled and lowered her eyes self-consciously.
‘I… I will not disappoint you, father.’ She said quietly, and found, in spite of herself, that there were tears in her eyes.
‘See that you do not.’ He replied. Then he let go of her chin and climbed quickly into the carriage. He leaned out from the window for a moment, before they were gone, banging a hand against the wooden panels of the door impatiently.
‘Move out!’
‘You heard him!’ Halin bellowed in response, holding his horse in check beneath him. ‘Back to Westmere, before your wives go straying!’
With that, her father’s men spurred their horses away into the white corridors of the citadel, bound for the sky-cages and the city below. They had arrived on foot, leading their steeds, but they left by horseback, hurried by grave purpose towards the long road west. She watched the window of the carriage as it trundled away with the horses, but her father did not appear again. She stayed there, staring after them, until the party were out of sight and the great gate of the keep heaved closed behind them, slamming into the distant stone with a resounding thud.
‘M’Lady.’
She turned to find the Black Guard waiting, watching her with dark eyes through the narrow slits of their polished helms. For a moment, the suddenness of the departure threatened to overwhelm her. What was it he had told her, slurring over his unfinished dinner, in the pristine perfection of their lodgings, surrounded by invisible eyes? Power belongs to the strong. To those who take it. Just then, standing in the courtyard, watching alone as her father departed, she realised that he was right. And he wasn’t strong enough. She took a deep breath, smiling for the Black Guard, and followed them out of the ancient courtyard into the halls beyond.
*
The broad, open avenues and garden-ways of the Keep of Eranor closed in to interior corridors rather quickly, when you knew the way, and soon Sara was following her black-gilded escort through pale passageways lined with statuettes and tapestries, ceilings lost far overhead to the flickering light of amber flames. An occasional glimpse of pale sunlight leaped out across the stone floor, shimmering through shifting motes of dust. Sara was her Lady-self again, graceful and poised, gliding over the polished floor after her escort. The giant corridors were a maze of twists and turns, past fragment-views of gardens and libraries and sitting-halls and galleries, but she was dimly aware they were moving towards the Hall of the King. The thought made her a little giddy.
‘Will I be received in the King’s Hall?’ She asked as they walked, but the Black Guards didn’t reply, and their armour clinked in the quiet. Sara frowned, following them. The passage curved, rising, and she found that the wall on her right side suddenly gave way to the hall below. One of the galleries, set high in the rafters of the King’s Hall. She stopped, putting her hand on the balustrade and peering out over the ledge, into the vaulted, silent emptiness of the hall. Some fifty foot below, the patterned black and white marble of the floor gleamed in flashes of reflected amber, quiet and empty. At the far end, pale sunlight caught the Night Throne, setting fire in the mirrored stone. Overhead, the matching nightglass ceiling gleamed like a lake in starlight, and swirling figures swept back and forth across it in the shifting light of the chamber. Sara felt a little thrill run over her neck.
‘Sara.’
Sara blinked, starting, and found Dana standing beside her.
‘Sister!’ Sara took hold of her sister’s hands and rose onto her tiptoes, pressing a kiss against her cheek. ‘Here to welcome me into the fold?’
She was struck again by the strangeness of her sister, the difference in her. Dana wore black, a dress of simple lines and inlaid jet, at once relaxed and taut as a lute string. Her pale hands were folded over her belly, and her muddy dark hair was pulled back into a bun. The Black Guards halted behind her, waiting.
‘I am to escort you to the Queen’s chambers.’ Dana said simply. With that she turned and began to walk away along the balcony, towards a closed door at the throne-end of the hall. Sara frowned, hurrying after her.
‘Do the King and Queen not share chambers?’ She asked as they walked, and the hall below drew on beside them.
‘Their Majesties prefer… to keep their own space.’
The Black Guard fell into step at a respectful distance behind them, armoured heels clicking against the stone.
‘How many others are there?’
‘How many what?’
‘Handmaidens. How many does her Majesty keep?’
Dana did not break stride. ‘Two others, and the Matron.’
‘I suppose we shall not have servants of our own.’ Sara said quietly, eyeing the shadows shifting over the nightglass ceiling. ‘No need to spy on us when we are so close.’
‘Sara-’ Dana began, but Sara cut her off.
‘Father is gone, you know. This morning.’
‘I know.’ Dana replied, looking ahead.
‘You did not come to see him.’
Dana did not turn.
‘I’m sure he will miss you terribly, sister.’
Sara bristled suddenly, grabbing her sister’s arm.
‘I did not ask for it!’
Dana looked down at the hand on her arm, frowning. ‘What?’
‘Any of it!’ Sara told her, angry now, her whisper cracking. ‘I didn’t ask to stay. I didn’t ask him to send you away. I would have given anything to go with you. I thought he would never let me leave.’ She lowered her voice, flicking an eye back towards the waiting guards. ‘I did not ask for the way he… the way he…’
She took a breath, swallowing, and straightened, looking her sister in the eye.
‘There are worse things than being ignored, Dana.’
Dana’s hand folded over hers.
‘Let’s… let’s put it behind us.’ She said quietly. ‘You are here, now.’
Sara blinked at her, nodding. She wanted to say more, but her words would not come, locked away from her tongue by the choked gulping of her breath. She lowered her eyes, and Dana squeezed her hand.
‘Sara, listen to me.’ Dana murmured, leaning close. ‘You must be careful. The Queen-’
The door at the far end of the gallery swung open, creaking on its hinges. The pair fell silent, frozen, and whatever Dana might have said, she held instead.
*
‘Wait here.’
The Matron, the head of the Queen’s Keepers, was an elderly woman with rounding hips and hair the colour of ash tied into a tight bun behind the worn-leather creases of her forehead. She was wearing black, same as Dana, though her smock was somehow plainer, when she opened the door onto the gallery, ushering the sisters wordlessly into the corridor beyond. Dana had bowed her head deferentially, withering under the Matron’s hard eyes, and quickly disappeared into one of the many doors of the hallway. Sara almost asked for her to stay, but instead she steeled herself, remembering her lessons, and followed the stern old woman down the long, flickering hallway. The corridors of the keep were all severe, all lit by weak, flickering torchlight and gleaming the gleam of cold stone, but here they were particularly bare. There were no busts, no tapestries, no mosaics. Nothing but cold, dead rock, lent a little life by the dim thrustings of infrequent braziers. In her own apartments, she had understood the quiet, but here, in the keep proper, there was an eery silence to the corridors that jarred with Sara’s anticipation. Where were the nobles in their gay clothes, where was the music and laughter of a King’s Hall? Sara frowned to herself, and kept walking.
The room at the end of the hallway was broad and rounded, like a kind of circle made out of many flat edges, each holding the low light of a brazier. The marble floors were black and white and patterned like a gamesboard, empty but for a broad nightwood table at its centre, matching the room itself for its odd roundness. On the far side, a wall of shutters opened out onto a large, bare balcony, and over the intricately wrought stone balustrade, Sara could see the City of the Moon below, sweeping away towards the edge of the Heartspire, empty stormtowers stabbing black into the sky. Beyond, the great emerald plains of Valia stretched out into the west, past the fiery line of the river Arq, scored with jagged, dark rock and silver streams. Sara swallowed, realising she’d never been so high up.
‘Wait here.’
‘But-‘ She protested, frowning, but the Matron was already gone, turned on her heel and disappeared back the way she had come. Sara flinched as the door slammed shut behind her, and the silence of the room prickled at her skin. The breeze rustled over the balcony, swirling about the pillared windows, but the air inside was still as the grave. She stepped slowly over to the table, touching the polished wood. This much nightwood would have cost more than a wagonload of gold. She traced the knotted lines across the black surface, trying to ignore the cold weight churning in her gut.
Time stretched on around her, and the minutes dragged by like years. Despite the open air flooding through the windows, the chamber was not cool, warmed by the subtle glow of the braziers, and she felt a little wetness beginning to build under her arms. She looked about herself, trying to calm her heart. There were four other doors in the room, besides the one they had entered through, all dark and heavy looking, and each bore a pattern of silver on its face. There was a cradle, and opposite it, a pendant with teeth like a wolf. Beside the cradle door, a small drinks table, a glass jug of purple wine atop it, with a pair of matching glasses. The two doors closest to the balcony bore a sun and a crescent moon. She looked a little closer, and realised that the markings were not moonsilver, merely an imitation in gleaming silver paint, and the door she had entered through bore no markings at all. Sara watched them, imagining the rooms that lay behind each. Which one was the Queen behind, she wondered, and her heart quickened at the thought, stomach churning. She was stranded, here, now, in the capital. What if the Queen didn’t like her? What if she said something wrong? Would she be sent away again, back to her father?
‘Lady Westmere.’
The crescent moon had swung open, and the Queen glided through, a beautiful shadow in a studded black dress, arms glistening with little sharpened sequins the colour of midnight. Her hair had been contorted into an elaborate maze of raven curls over her pate, and her pale skin took on a translucent sheen in the pale light from the balcony doors. The throat of her dress was open, as it had been in the King’s Hall all those days ago, and she wore the same golden necklace, its myriad points sharp like daggers with their drops of ruby blood.
Sara blinked, then remembered herself, and dropped into a low curtsy, bowing her head.
‘Your Majesty.’ She said quietly, keeping her eyes on the floor.
The Queen did not reply. Sara was dimly aware of her shadow moving across the floor, crossing to the drinks table beside the cradle door. Sara risked a glance up, then, and found the Queen’s slender back to her. When she at last turned, she had a glass goblet of wine clutched in her narrow fingers. Sara lowered her eyes again.
‘You are a pretty one, aren’t you.’ The Queen said quietly, as if to herself. Her voice was cold, like ice leaking over lakewater, deep and still. She took a sip from her cup, and Sara could feel the cut of her eyes against her skin. ‘What did the Weasel of Westmere do to sire such a pretty daughter. Your sister, maybe, I understand, but you…’
Sara forced herself not to frown.
‘Well trained, I see.’ The Queen murmured, smiling coldly. She took another sip of her wine. ‘Your mother’s touch, I assume, not your father’s.’
Sara hesitated. She glanced up at the Queen, then lowered her eyes again, nodding.
‘I hear she is unwell.’
Sara looked up again, braver this time, and found the Queen’s dark eyes watching her over the rim of her glass.
‘She has an affliction, Your Majesty. She does not eat, and rarely sleeps. The Keepers say it is a disease of her mind.’
‘The one thing none of us can escape.’ The Queen sighed, toying idly with her glass and looking out of the window over the city below. ‘Still, there are worse places to be sickly than a Lord’s hall.’
‘I suppose… I suppose that is true, Your Majesty.’
The Queen raised an eyebrow. ‘Suppose, do you?’
Sara squirmed for a moment under the weight of her eyes, but then the Queen turned away, stepping slowly around the edge of the table till she was standing beside the open windows. She took another sip of her wine, back to Sara again.
‘Your sister met you, this morning.’
Sara hesitated, thrown for a moment by the abruptness of the statement.
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘And she came to you yesterday, in the apartments Bywood found for you.’
‘Yes.’ Sara felt the cold weight return in her belly. She thought of what the Fox had warned her. There is always someone watching. She cast her mind back to her conversations with Dana. Gods. What had they spoken of? Had she said something out of turn?
‘Curious, that she did not seek out your father.’
Sara let out her breath slowly. That was not a particularly well-hidden curiosity.
‘Dana must have been very busy, Your Majesty.’
‘She is as busy as I make her, and that is rarely too taxing.’
Sara sighed. ‘They have… sometimes not seen eye to eye.’
‘And you?’ The Queen turned as she spoke, fixing her eyes to Sara’s again. Behind her, the distant sounds of the city drifted lazily up through the air, swirling around far-off columns of wispy smoke. ‘What do you say of him?’
Sara hesitated again, stuttering. ‘He is my father, Your Majesty. I trust that he always knows what is best for his daughters.’
‘In my experience it is fathers who know the least about their own daughters.’ The Queen replied dryly, sipping again. ‘Come, let me look at you, then.’
She came back around the nightwood table, her long, narrow limbs gliding over the polished floor, and stopped in front of Sara, setting her glass down beside them. She took Sara’s chin in two spindly fingers and tilted it upwards so that she was looking her in the eye, only a few inches from her face. Sara realised again how tall she was, as tall as her father, at least, though her slender frame made her seem much smaller. She tried not to squirm, but she found that the Queen’s fingers dug uncomfortably into her chin, dark eyes flitting back and forth across her face like a hungry wolf.
‘Yes, very pretty.’ She said at last, not releasing her chin. Sara could feel her breath on her face, smelling softly of dark wine. ‘No wonder. You look like her, you know.’
‘Who-‘ but the Queen had already turned away, back to the table, picking up her wineglass in one bone-stretched hand.
‘The Matron will meet you outside. She will give you your tasks and show you to your chamber. You will begin tomorrow.’
Sara flinched, realising she had been holding her breath. She curtsied to the Queen’s back, suddenly a little giddy.
‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’
‘You may go, girl.’
Sara turned to go, not at all sure what to make of the encounter. She paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder, but found the Queen looking out over the city silently again, wineglass in hand, black dress glistening with jet. Sara hesitated a moment longer, then hurried out into the corridor beyond the unmarked door, closing it behind her.
*
The night before her father leaves, she wakes in darkness.
She does not open her eyes, but she knows it is not yet dawn. The sounds of the garden beyond her shutters are soft and murmuring, wind-stirred and drip-spotted.
She can feel him over her, the tense stillness of him, closer than shadows. He smells of wine. Sweat. She is cold, but she does not move. She dares not move. She can feel the weight of his eyes, dulled with drink, tracing the lines of her. His breathing sounds like anger.
She does not know how long she waits there, frozen. But she does not open her eyes. Not once. Time stretches out before her in that moment, an eternity of breathless terror.
Then he leaves. The smell of him lingers long after the door has closed behind him. She lays there a while longer, motionless, dead as stone. Then she curls into her own arms, and weeps silently until the dawn.

Hello, writers of Reddit! I'm a 26-year-old guy with an aching desire for storytelling and a collection of loose tropes, ideas, and half-thought-out characters that I'm looking for the right couple of partners to help weave together into a wonderfully-crafted, exquisitely detailed narrative tapestry. Of course, that means I'm a little lax on proper details for a prompt, but developing a plot is something we'll get to do together!
A little more about myself before I scribble out a set of themes and plot bunnies I think would be fun to explore via collaborative storytelling: I'm well-versed in Reddit private messages and Discord, and happy to tell a story on either platform! (Just be warned that my Discord posts, as well as my Reddit responses, skew long, and I'm looking for both an undaunted and up-for-the-challenge writing partner in that regard. Think a minimum of 200-300 words, and usually well outstripping that pace.) I've been writing for the better part of a decade, and there are few joys in life as well-realized settings, vibrant casts of side characters, and three-dimensional protagonists. I'm looking for writing partners who are also 20 or older, and are looking for a story that skews lighthearted!
Still with me? Awesome! Here are a handful of narrative concepts near and dear to my heart:
- Embarrassing moment meet-cutes, witty/charming banter, smoldering secret mutual crushes harbored for each other, rivals-to-lovers, magical realism (a big plus if you're willing to include this!), slow-burn romances, cheeky antics, and adorably sweet character moments that undercut the playful enmity.
And, hey! Do you want a starter right away, and to jump right into a story, plunging feet-first into an enjoyable setting and a meet-cute tailor-made for your ideal charming circumstances? I've noticed this fun artists' trend called the Blush Meter, where artsy types will draw a character based on what percent blushy they are. (For example, 10% being quite manageably sweet; 90% being a blushtastic set of scorched cheeks.) If you send me a message expressing interest and a percentage of blushiness, I'll write you a starter with a male lead who is at that mark in the very first scene!
If all or any of that sounds good, please send a message my way with the tropes you'd most want to pursue, and we can start developing a plot together from there!

Some context: I (male) married back in 2020 to a girl I met in college. We'd been dating for 4ish years and had known her for 2 years more. A little after a year into our marriage, I was medically diagnosed with depression.
Now, some of my depression symptoms started maybe a year or two before getting married - gradually increasing apathy & fatigue, and decreasing energy & motivation. I really started noticing it more within the 12 months prior to marriage. It mostly exhibited itself in low energy and lack of motivation despite having a job I loved. Maybe it was because I moved away from a great college life to a city where I didn't know a soul.
So all that's going on... then in 2020, I left said job I loved to move to a town to get married to the girl. Of course, 2020 is going on all the while. Couldn't find a job for a couple months. Eventually got an offer at a job I only kind of wanted, started the week after our wedding (August 2020), and proceeded to be discontent with that job for the next year and a half. Late 2021 came the official diagnosis. Since then, my feelings about my job have improved and I've been promoted and given lots of opportunity, so overall I feel better about my job.
So all that was the context, which gets me to my main point - While depression may have started before our marriage, I think our marriage is sustaining depression. That started shortly after our wedding, when my wife and I started to discover that we can't have s*x. We'd later find out she had a microperforated himen (extra thick and painful tissue with no real opening). About a year later, she had that surgically removed, but the issue didn't resolve as she was also dealing with [email protected] (extreme sensitivity). I was patient, gracious, and loving for a long time, but I've grown impatient and increasingly resentful over nearly 3 years. We've successfully pene+rated only 3 or 4 times, and only one of those was enjoyable for both of us. She also has a much lower s*x drive than me, so my s*xual needs aren't being met, not even close.
Now, I'll be intentionally vague here, but we are also both religious. Because of that, she's not really willing to "explore" alternatives. Also because of our religion, divorce isn't really an option I'll realistically consider, and I knew that going into marriage. Regardless, over the last year or so, divorce has been on my mind constantly. I find myself wishing I'd never married. I miss the life I was starting to build for myself in my last city, because even though I was maybe still dealing with depression, I was enjoying myself there. I had freedom to spend my money and have fun and do what I want, but my wife is very conservative with money and hates when I spend, so I don't feel like I can do anything I want. Somehow I also ignored how different our interests and personalities actually were while we were dating.
So here's what that has to do with depression - I think I was able to manage my depression, even without meds, before we wed. But, I think all these issues we've dealt with have caused my depression to persist, even with meds. I've always been a pretty gracious, understanding, and forgiving person, I think, but I've become so bitter and resentful and full of hate (I'm not sure I've ever actually hated anyone til now)... but I can't divorce. So I just feel super stuck.
Worse, my wife has no idea I feel this way, I don't think. I've told her that some of my depression may be sustained by some of the issues we've dealt with, but she has no idea how resentful I've become of her. And I don't want to say anything, because assuming we stay together, I don't want that fear to hang over her and over our relationship for the rest of our lives. So she thinks everything is fine, while I have no idea how I'm going to deal with this the rest of my life.
I have no f*cking idea how to keep living with this (metaphorically only; thankfully, self-harm hasn't been one of my symptoms).

Company Name	Title	City
BOEING	Mid-Level Cloud Engineer - Virtual	Charleston
Cargill	Maintenance Technician	Columbia
BOEING	Mid-Level Cloud Engineer - Virtual	Folly Beach
BOEING	Lead Software Architect	Folly Beach
BOEING	Lead Software Architect	Goose Creek
Walmart	Retail Team Member	Hardeeville
Walmart	Carryout	Hardeeville
Walmart	Shopper	Hardeeville
Walmart	Shopper	Hilton Head Island
Walmart	Janitor	Hilton Head Island
Walmart	In-Store Shopper	Hilton Head Island
Walmart	Shop Hand	Mount Pleasant
Walmart	Shopper	Mount Pleasant
Walmart	Retail Team Member	Mount Pleasant
BOEING	Lead Software Architect	North Charleston
BOEING	Mid-Level Cloud Engineer - Virtual	Sullivans Island
BOEING	Mid-Level Cloud Engineer - Virtual	Wadmalaw Island
Cargill	Maintenance Technician	West Columbia
Cargill	General Production	West Columbia
Cargill	Refrigeration Technician	West Columbia
KSBG Plumbing LLC	Immediate Openings Plumbers Greer	Greenville
KSBG Plumbing LLC	Plumbing Worker	Greer
KSBG Plumbing LLC	Plumber	Greer
KSBG Plumbing LLC	Immediate Openings Plumbers Greer	Greer
Legacy Healthcare Advantage	Licensed Practical Nurse (LPN)-Pediatric Private Duty Nursing	Aiken

Hey guys, here are some recent job openings , feel free to comment here if you have any questions, I'm at the community's disposal! If you encounter any problems with any of these job openings please let me know that I will modify the table accordingly. Thanks!

Company Name	Title	City
The Judge Group	Home Health Nurse	Indianapolis
Hotel Mission de Oro	Certified Nurse Assistant (CNA)	Indianapolis
The Judge Group	Home Health Nurse (RN)	Indianapolis
Rising Medical Solutions	RN Case Manager	Indianapolis
Home Care Network	Registered Nurse	Indianapolis
The Judge Group	Home Health Licensed Practical Nurse	Indianapolis

Hey guys, here are some recent job openings in indianapolis. Feel free to comment here or send me a private message if you have any questions, I'm at the community's disposal! If you encounter any problems with any of these job openings please let me know that I will modify the table accordingly. Thanks!

Hello! I am a bot, and I've looked through the last 900 posts on this sub to gather rush ticket data on Parade, Some Like It Hot, Kimberly Akimbo, and Chicago. Here is what I've found so far:
(data sorted by time, starting from the most recent ones)
​
PARADE:
parade_rush
parade_vs_grey_house/jlpm820/
rush_tickets_not_getting_to_the_theatre_district/
kimberly_akimbo_rush_seats/jlmf58q/
looking_for_rushlottery_advice_this_weekweekend/jlmcakd/
looking_for_rushlottery_advice_this_weekweekend/
whats_the_best_way_to_plan_shows_on_a_trip_to_new/jlfvrbo/
rush_tickets_sunday_matinee/jl1fy8h/
thursday_518_rush_report/jkrq373/
thursday_518_rush_report/
tkts_vs_rush_tickets/jjy44ef/
advice_for_last_minute_tickets_this_weekend/
tkts_vs_rush_tickets/
parade_rush_tickets/
broadway_on_a_budget_experience/
parade_rush_currently/
to_buy_tickets_ahead_or_try_for_rush/jjsquyl/
to_buy_tickets_ahead_or_try_for_rush/
upcoming_trip/jjif3m1/
need_recommendations_on_what_to/jjgxv9q/
how_high_is_the_availability_rate_of_rush_tickets/jjczocw/
how_high_is_the_availability_rate_of_rush_tickets/
​
SOME LIKE IT HOT:
rush_tickets_not_getting_to_the_theatre_district/jlpk6zt/
rush_tickets_not_getting_to_the_theatre_district/
total_newbie_here_any_hints_or_tricks_for_getting/jlkclbt/
rush_tickets_sunday_matinee/jl1fy8h/
affording_broadway/jker68h/
tkts_vs_rush_tickets/jjy44ef/
tkts_vs_rush_tickets/
good_night_oscar_or_kimberly_akimbo/
broadway_on_a_budget_experience/
to_buy_tickets_ahead_or_try_for_rush/jjtf01e/
better_dayof_seats_through_tkts_or_box_office_rush/jjm97hu/
some_like_it_hot_or_new_york_new_york_rush/jji3pf0/
some_like_it_hot_will_launch_a_north_american/jjgbvcb/
some_like_it_hot_or_new_york_new_york_rush/
​
CHICAGO:
(nope didn't find anything)
​
KIMBERLY AKIMBO:
rush_tickets_not_getting_to_the_theatre_district/jlph1zj/
rush_tickets_not_getting_to_the_theatre_district/
kimberly_akimbo_rush_seats/
5show_week_recap_sweeney_todd_parade_and_more/
looking_for_rushlottery_advice_this_weekweekend/
whats_the_best_way_to_plan_shows_on_a_trip_to_new/jlfvrbo/
thursday_518_rush_report/
affording_broadway/jker68h/
advice_for_last_minute_tickets_this_weekend/
good_night_oscar_or_kimberly_akimbo/
broadway_on_a_budget_experience/
to_buy_tickets_ahead_or_try_for_rush/jjsquyl/
better_dayof_seats_through_tkts_or_box_office_rush/jjm97hu/
suggestions_for_a_show_to_see_in_june/jjk7160/
upcoming_trip/jjif3m1/
​
(Feel free to leave a comment below if you have any ideas for the further development of this bot! I know that I am not 100% accurate but am always aiming for a higher accuracy. My developer will look through the comment section to see where she can make improvements. Have a nice day and good luck rushing! )
For anyone curious: The next thing that my developer is now working on is directly replying to relevant posts and comments with these rush ticket data, so people who visit this sub less often and don't know of the existence of my posts can still see the relevant data. My developer is currently mainly focused on helping me avoid replying to the same posts or comment section multiples times, so I can be more helpful and less annoying :)

My wife was recently in an accident in her GX460. The other driver was at fault (confirmed by police report, dash cam, and even a bystander who stopped and filled out a statement for police). There was nothing she could have done to avoid the accident - first ever wreck in 20 years of driving. Thankfully no one got seriously hurt. Airbags on my wifes vehicle did not deploy, but they did on the other vehicle. The front passenger side of the truck is destroyed, along with the aftermarket suspension on that corner.
The at fault drivers insurance is paying to repair the GX at a reputable body shop (one I picked based on a friend's recommendation as someone in the business). Repairs are estimated around $8k.
I buy and sell most of my cars private party, because I'm a nerd like that. Vehicles without a clean carfax nearly always take a fairly substantial hit in value, especially to vehicles with a cult following - as the GX does in the off-road community.
Is it unreasonable of me to expect the at-fault insurance to pay for the reduced value of the car due to the accident?
What type of reduction do you typically see?
How would I go about establishing a fair value for this? Or should I just suck it up and move on?
Edit: no coffee yet, fixed some mistakes

Wife and I went to some friends house earlier today for a bbq. Our kids came with us (10 & 14). My wife drinks too much, she has a drinking problem. She had a bit too much to drink and at some she started to bug our son who was just on the couch losing his own business playing on his switch, things escalated and my wife’s friend eventually tried to intervene and calm things down. Her and my wife went to talk into the bathroom, I checked on her, she was crying. I then go and talk to my son and figure what happened. Things calm down but at some point my wife made it into our van and decided that she wanted to go home. She was acting like a drunk child and kept telling us she wanted to go home, eventually I start loading up the van and she realizes what I’m doing and starts to get mad at me for packing up the van and that she now wants to stay. The dogs are in the car; the cooler and the kids and we leave; as we’re headed home she’s angry and belligerent and starts to try to find a way to open the rear back door. She yelling at our oldest and I just being mean and saying awful things. I know that if I drive us all home she’ll keep instigating until she falls asleep so I decide to detour to her grandmas to either drop them off or drop her off. I get the kids to go inside and her grandma comes out to talk to her as she goes off on her about how her dad had raped her and how her grandma didn’t believe her (a lot of trauma, never worked thru it) she gets out of the car and we try to get her inside to calm her down and she’s not having it. I can tell this is getting physical (she starts hitting her head on anything and everything) I decide to call non emergency and as I’m on the phone with them she’s trying to leave and her grandma can’t hold her so I try to use my free hand to restrain her and as I’m holding her she goes for my bicep and bites down hard (instant bruising) I let her go and police show up shortly after. The speak to all of us and she gets arrested cause she bit me even if I decided to not press charges they would so that was my Saturday. I feel bad for it coming to this but she’s done this before and separating might be the only option I have.

Yesterday afternoon I had a first date I really enjoyed. We spent hours in the parc just talking and time just flew by. He casually asked me if I'm free today which I said I was and he asked if we could see each other again. I knew he'd be at work until at least noon today... or even later because he had been mentionning it.
Yesterday after the parc we went to his place,.have a drink. We talked about the details of what we're expecting in a possible futur relationship and seemed to be on the same page.
We ended our date with a kiss. He told me to drive home safely. I texted him when I came home. I thanked him for todays date and told him I had a really good time. He promptly replied that he had a good time too and the afternoon went by so quickly. Then mentionned going to watch a soccer game with a friend. I wished him a good time and wasn't sure if I should have brought the second date up. I didn't want to seem too thirsty or clingy. So I let it be. I wasn't expecting a reply knowing he's with a friend... so I went on with my night and went to bed at a certain time..
Today I got up and worked out. He had asked for a workout picture during yesterdays date, so I sent a good morning text, adding the workout picture. I still didn't expect an immediate reply as I knew he was at work.. but as the hours go by and I got no news, no follow up for todays date I start to wonder.. i've been out of the dating scene for 20 years so I'm wondering if this is normal behaviour. I am trying not to think too much and think of a logic explanation.He was at work (he's not on his phone when he's at work). Maybe sth came up and he couldn't text. Maybe he went to the gym after work and would like to see me this evening.. (but now it's past 5pm so I guess that's not it). Maybe he needs more time to reflect? Or maybe he's just not that interested? Did I miss any other possibility?
I just know I won't text him again until I heard from him. By now I got it that todays date won't happen (I guess we should have set a time and place once I had agreed)...Is it too early to be bummed? The two messages I sent (yesterday night and this morning) went through so he didn't block me. Thanks for your input

I started taking levofloxacin about 3 weeks ago for a sinus infection (I had a lot of jaw pain/pressure and sinus issues). I made a mistake however, and was taking double the dose of levofloxacin (1500mg) for the first 8 or 9 days. I told my doctor and he told me to just take 1 tablet for the remaining 5 or 6 days. While I was taking the double dose, I had no issue with pain (there was some light headedness and slight dizziness. But if I ate, it went away). However, two days before i finished the 2week course, I had gone running/sprinting. I had no issues. But the day after, I went to my martial arts class. I had a lot of pain on my left foot. The middle of the left side of the foot (not the ankle). I wasnt able to get through the whole class, so I went home. The next day, I had very bad pain. I was limping everywhere I went. I told the Dr, and he said to stop taking the medicine and make an appt if it continues. Its been 5 more days, and the pain is still there. I will see the Dr tommorrow.
​
So far, ive used topical lidocaine, ice, and heating pads. Nothing has realyl helped. I also feel like my joints in my elbows, knees, and shoulders are aching (though not nearly as bad as the left foot). I saw some suggestions in this subreddit on vitamins, such as magnesium and coq10. I will get those today.
Any other suggestions? I live a very active lifestyle. So this has been a real drain on my mental health.

I just moved in with my girlfriend at her house. I have been mowing her yard the past couple of months. She never had a weed eater, so I picked up an ego weed eater and LOVE it. She has a 5 year old toro gas mower that she got from her parents for free, but I really want to get an Ego select cut. The battery operation, little to no regular maintenance, and much quieter system overall really sells me.
She doesn't see any reason to get rid of the mower since it works well, but on the flip side, since it IS still in good condition, I think we should try to get rid of it while we can.
​
Am I in the wrong here? And if I do sell the toro, how would I price it? Or do I just take it to my local pawn shop?

Good day everybody,
I am looking for people to make a game with.
I am 36, working for a video game studio / publisher as a narrative expert. I review and feedback the narrative parts of 8 different projects from iiis to AAs. I also review pitch-decks from external studios looking for a publisher. Thus, I have a good knowledge and skills about storytelling in games and creative direction. Before that, I have been written documentaries for 10 years for French television.
I am looking for people to make a game we could call ours. Not a big game but a game made with heart, obviously, with an important storytelling I could work on as a narrative designer, writer and maybe producer. I enjoy AAA games like Zelda or The last of us but I also love indy games like Obra Dinn, Dredge, Her Story or Edit Finch. I would like to shape a world with its own mood and tone with a meaningful story and a unique but also universal character. Feel free to check my portfolio. I have a thing for the sea, giant creatures, mysteries, legends and adventures, a good mix between Jules Verne and Lovecraft ! But I am not against exploring something else.
I would love to discuss ideas and enjoy doing them as a team sharing common values and points of view.
Let me know if you want to design with me ! I am passionate and full of motivation !
Best,
Benjamin (French but living in Montreal, Canada)
https://benjaminaudibert.myportfolio.com/

Hello, writers of Reddit! I'm a 26-year-old guy with an aching desire for storytelling and a collection of loose tropes, ideas, and half-thought-out characters that I'm looking for the right couple of partners to help weave together into a wonderfully-crafted, exquisitely detailed narrative tapestry. Of course, that means I'm a little lax on proper details for a prompt, but developing a plot is something we'll get to do together!
A little more about myself before I scribble out a set of themes and plot bunnies I think would be fun to explore via collaborative storytelling: I'm well-versed in Reddit private messages and Discord, and happy to tell a story on either platform! (Just be warned that my Discord posts, as well as my Reddit responses, skew long, and I'm looking for both an undaunted and up-for-the-challenge writing partner in that regard. Think a minimum of 200-300 words, and usually well outstripping that pace.) I've been writing for the better part of a decade, and there are few joys in life as well-realized settings, vibrant casts of side characters, and three-dimensional protagonists. I'm looking for writing partners who are also 20 or older, and are looking for a story that skews lighthearted!
Still with me? Awesome! Here are a handful of narrative concepts near and dear to my heart:
- Embarrassing moment meet-cutes, witty/charming banter, smoldering secret mutual crushes harbored for each other, rivals-to-lovers, magical realism (a big plus if you're willing to include this!), slow-burn romances, cheeky antics, and adorably sweet character moments that undercut the playful enmity.
And, hey! Do you want a starter right away, and to jump right into a story, plunging feet-first into an enjoyable setting and a meet-cute tailor-made for your ideal charming circumstances? I've noticed this fun artists' trend called the Blush Meter, where artsy types will draw a character based on what percent blushy they are. (For example, 10% being quite manageably sweet; 90% being a blushtastic set of scorched cheeks.) If you send me a message expressing interest and a percentage of blushiness, I'll write you a starter with a male lead who is at that mark in the very first scene!
If all or any of that sounds good, please send a message my way with the tropes you'd most want to pursue, and we can start developing a plot together from there!

I (20sF) am part of a five member friend group and two of the friends, let’s call them Joanne and Tim, used to be in a relationship. I was always close with Joanne and Tim came into the friend group once they started dating. I’ve known these friends for nearly 4 years.
Tim was very toxic towards Joanne - manipulative, controlling, didn’t respect boundaries etc - and after just over a year of dating Joanne built up the courage to breakup with him. There were many times I listened to Joanne vent and cry about his behaviour and once she admitted to me that it was a matter of “when, not if” they broke up I supported her through this. I was so relieved for Joanne when it finally happened.
Tim and Joanne made a big show of still being friends as they claimed they didn’t want to break up the friend group. Eventually Joanne admitted to me that they had started sleeping together again, and on a group holiday I had the misfortune of walking in on them. I was naturally furious at this as me and Joanne were sharing a room and Tim should not have been there in the first place. Joanne begged my forgiveness and I let it go as I didn’t want to sour the mood while on holiday. In this period Tim was still horrible towards Joanne and she frequently came to me for advice and I began to run out of words as my advice was repeatedly ignored.
Fast forward a year and Tim has recently gotten a new girlfriend. I thought this was a good development as Tim would be less focused on Joanne and I hoped this would give Joanne permission to move on. She claimed that it didn’t bother her that Tim was in a new relationship as they hadn’t been sleeping together for a few months at that stage and that he was free to date whoever he wanted, she was just upset that he had made her promise not to be on Tinder or date anyone else after they broke up as it wasn’t fair on him however he was doing it all along.
We once again went on our annual group holiday and I noticed something odd. Joanne was being very friendly towards Tim - constantly disappearing off with him, putting her head on his shoulder on the plane. He was putting his hand on her knee at dinner, play fighting with her, and they were both constantly whispering to each other and giggling. They would be sending messages to each other on Snapchat at the dinner table and not doing a very good job at hiding it from the group. Whereas Joanne would normally rant and complain about her behaviour, she was unusually quiet about him.
One evening they disappeared away from the spa and when I eventually went up to the hotel room I found Tim and Joanne in the bathroom with the door mostly closed over. I was speechless. Tim instantly came out and held up a roll of toilet roll, claiming he was just borrowing a roll of toilet roll off of us as the cleaners hadn’t put one into the boy’s room that day (one of our other friends had mentioned that earlier in the day to be fair and Joanne had offered them our spare one). Tim joked that I must have PTSD after walking in on them last year and then jovially asked “Threesome?” before walking out laughing. Joanne swore that nothing had happened but it wasn’t a good look.
More recently since returning from holiday we had to attend a funeral. I don’t have a car so I asked Joanne for a lift. She told me she’d be at her family home outside of our city that day as it was at the weekend. I offered to get the train near to where her family live but she responded telling me not to worry as Tim would drive instead, picking me up first before her.
Oddly on the day of the funeral, she was already in the car when Tim arrived at my house. She explained that she decided to stay at her flat in our city without any further context which is surprising as she goes to her family home nearly every weekend. Her family home is on the way to the funeral anyway so it’s not as though her staying in our city was more convenient. As the day went, little comments led me to suspect that he had spent the night at her flat.
I can’t help but feel that they’re still hooking up. It’s confusing as all the evidence of a potential affair is somewhat circumstantial and I haven’t seen them do anything more explicit such as kissing or having sex.
I have been cheated on before myself so I know how much it destroys a person’s self esteem and makes it hard to enter future relationships. I feel if I were to speak up a lot of it could be explained away as just being close friends. I’m also scared that I could have false stories spread about me. I have since left the company we all used to work for and I’m concerned they would spread stories that might damage my professional reputation. Despite this I feel strongly that the new girlfriend deserves to know if Tim is having an affair.
My stance is that I will wait until I see something more physical such as making out before I tell his new girlfriend but I feel very on edge just waiting to witness something
So I come to relationship_advice with the following questions. At what point do I tell the new girlfriend? And is there anyway to go about it without repercussions for myself?
Using a throwaway as I know most of the friend group browse Reddit

Hello All, My family and I are thinking of moving back to Japan. My husband (fluent in Japanese) grew up there and I was a previous exchange student (conversational level Japanese). This time however, we would be bringing our twin toddlers (we speak both languages to them). One child has been diagnosed with ASD and the other is awaiting an evaluation. We've found some information that was helpful, but I wanted to know more of people's experiences with their kids in Japanese schools and therapy treatment(s). I watched a video on YouTube recently, and it made me curious to know more about how families with younger children are going through now. A few questions I would love to hear feedback on are: · Was finding services (speech therapy, occupational therapy, etc) difficult? And were those services age restricted? · Was your child diagnosed in your home country or Japan? If in your home country, was the diagnosis honored in Japan? · Did you enroll your kids in a Japanese or international school? · Was the school supportive of your child's needs? · Are children with ASD placed in a special school, or are they given educational plans that teachers work with them on? If they're in a special school/class, can you tell me more about it? · If you're inaka, what hardships did you face supporting your child? · What have your negative/positive experiences been like? · Any additional information I didn't ask, please feel free to share. In case it matters, a bit more about us: We are a mixed family, dad is White and mom is Black. We're first most likely to live in Shichigahama, Miyagi before trying to buy a home in Chiba/Saitama prefectures. We have family that lives in both areas. Our path depends on the care we can get for our kids. My husband has already explained what going to Japanese school was like as a foreigner, and we're prepared on that front. I appreciate your time and feedback!

Hello, writers of Reddit! I'm a 26-year-old guy with an aching desire for storytelling and a collection of loose tropes, ideas, and half-thought-out characters that I'm looking for the right couple of partners to help weave together into a wonderfully-crafted, exquisitely detailed narrative tapestry. Of course, that means I'm a little lax on proper details for a prompt, but developing a plot is something we'll get to do together!
A little more about myself before I scribble out a set of themes and plot bunnies I think would be fun to explore via collaborative storytelling: I'm well-versed in Reddit private messages and Discord, and happy to tell a story on either platform! (Just be warned that my Discord posts, as well as my Reddit responses, skew long, and I'm looking for both an undaunted and up-for-the-challenge writing partner in that regard. Think a minimum of 200-300 words, and usually well outstripping that pace.) I've been writing for the better part of a decade, and there are few joys in life as well-realized settings, vibrant casts of side characters, and three-dimensional protagonists. I'm looking for writing partners who are also 20 or older, and are looking for a story that skews lighthearted!
Still with me? Awesome! Here are a handful of narrative concepts near and dear to my heart:
- Embarrassing moment meet-cutes, witty/charming banter, smoldering secret mutual crushes harbored for each other, rivals-to-lovers, magical realism (a big plus if you're willing to include this!), slow-burn romances, cheeky antics, and adorably sweet character moments that undercut the playful enmity.
And, hey! Do you want a starter right away, and to jump right into a story, plunging feet-first into an enjoyable setting and a meet-cute tailor-made for your ideal charming circumstances? I've noticed this fun artists' trend called the Blush Meter, where artsy types will draw a character based on what percent blushy they are. (For example, 10% being quite manageably sweet; 90% being a blushtastic set of scorched cheeks.) If you send me a message expressing interest and a percentage of blushiness, I'll write you a starter with a male lead who is at that mark in the very first scene!
If all or any of that sounds good, please send a message my way with the tropes you'd most want to pursue, and we can start developing a plot together from there!

let me try and redeem myself by saying i was at a family members place and my parents were on holiday. without realizing and thinking he was outside (i would rather him be an inside cat but we have a dog door my parents refuse to get rid of) my parents locked him in a bedroom. i didnt know until right before i got home. immediately i have gave him wet food and LOTS of treats. is he traumatized? will this affect his health? he's very affectionate right now but i feel like a horrible owner.
i cant give him those fancy meals with freeze dried chicken hearts or stuff but i try my best. i really don't deserve him.
what do i do? is this the right place to post this? i burst into tears when i found out, please give me advice.

Series Page - Read 10 weeks ahead on Patreon - Read the story so far on Royal Road
*
Chapter Eleven - The Room of Doors
​
‘Get moving!’
Sara watched the men readying their horses, squinting at the bright-ness of the stone. The courtyard was full of the sound of boot-steps and creaking leather. Overhead, a thin veil of rippled grey hung over the early winter sky, and the dawn sun tugged gleaming at its edges. Over-head, the dull black shape of an old stormtower bled the sky. Empty, just like the rest of them. There was something very jarring, Sara de-cided, about the worn jerkins and stubbled cheeks of her father’s men, ensconced in a pillared courtyard of vast stone. They were out of place, and they had been every moment since arriving in Uldoroth, she real-ised. They didn’t belong here. Her own anxiety was mirrored imper-fectly with the relief on their weary faces, and the dark rings under their eyes seemed just a little less deep. There may be Black Hand to deal with, back in the Westmere, but it was home. At least there your ene-mies had the decency to show themselves. Sara realised she was chew-ing her lip. At her back, two of the Black Guard waited wordlessly in their gold-touched armour, much more in keeping with the finery of the courtyard, and everything else in the capital. They were waiting to es-cort her away to the Queen, unaware they found a girl not so eager for the honour as she had been, just a few days before.
‘Father!’ She called out, spying him across the writhing mass of men in their moss green cloaks, but he seemed not to hear her. He was standing near the arched cloister at the far side of the square, cloaked and ready for travel, in hurried conversation with a shaded figure stand-ing beyond the marble facade. She squinted, trying to make out the oth-er man, but there was nothing but a dark shadow to trace.
‘Well then, M’lady.’ A voice said beside her, and she turned to find Halin looking down at her, a kind smile on his broad face. ‘You’ll be a right proper Princess when I next see you, methinks.’
Sara smiled at him and shook her head sheepishly. ‘Uldoroth is not my home, yet, Halin. I won’t forget.’
‘Be careful you don’t, Lady Sara.’ Halin glanced distrustfully at the Black Guard behind her. ‘Lots of fancy folk here. Fancy folk with fan-cier lies.’
‘I’ll be careful, Halin.’ She told him seriously.
He smiled again, and the sternness dissolved away from his face.
‘Take care, M’Lady.’ He told her, dipping his head politely. She re-turned the gesture, dropping into a small curtsy.
‘Look after my father, will you?’
‘Always, M’Lady.’
Halin hurried off into the throng in the square, and Sara watched him go, feeling her the knot in her belly tighten. The conversations with her unexpected visitors had left their mark, a nagging uncertainty gnawing at the excitement that had carried her through her first few uneventful days in the capital. The little comfort she had taken in the presence of her father and his men was a loss she could ill afford. She watched her father’s back, frowning softly to herself. Her thoughts were not what she had imagined, when she had thought of him leaving. A hundred dif-ferent times, and more. Had she expected tears, grief at the parting? Re-lief? Instead, there was only the fear, a dull, leaden weight in her belly, clammy-cold as marsh-water.
‘Come on, you whoresons! I want to be on the road before lunch!’ Halin roared, and the men quickened their work. Her father had not moved, still deep in conversation, just out of sight. She peered a little closer, and for a moment the pale sunlight crept over the top of the square, flashing against a colourful doublet marked with a silver brooch. The Fox’s lips barely moved as he spoke from the shadows of the cloister, and her father was scowling. Sara frowned.
‘Mount up!’
The ornate wagon that had been her home all those weeks trundled into the square, then, drawn by a pair of stout horses. Sara saw her fa-ther turn reluctantly towards it, striding out into the square. Sara peered past him into the cloister, and for a moment Lord Bywood’s sharp eyes caught hers. Then he smiled, dipping his dark, smooth head, and van-ished himself away into the shadows.
‘Father!’
Sara hurried out into the crowded square, leaving her escort behind, darting between the shifting limbs of the horses. Her father turned to-wards her as she approached, and smiled small smile, in two parts, one weary, one sad.
‘Sara.’
She threw her arms around him and pressed her head against his chest for a moment, and he put an arm around her shoulders. She knew her role, and the knowing of it made her safe for a moment. Then she stepped back, looking up at him.
‘I thought you were going to leave without saying goodbye.’
‘I… There was much preparation to do.’
Sara did not reply. His eyes had that same distance that they had had since they arrived in the capital. Uldoroth had worn at him, as if all the brightness and finery had made his skin dull, eyes darkened like the contrast of shadows in bright sun.
‘Will you write?’
He blinked as she spoke, then smiled, and the tiredness fell away from him for a moment. He took her chin gently in one hand, tilting it up to meet his eyes.
‘Yes, I will write.’ He told her, and she saw again that fierce ambi-tion in his eyes, the look she had known so well on their journey from the Westmere. Swollen around the soft, lazy ease of diminished strength. ‘And I shall expect news in return. The Rose of Westmere will show these fools how a real lady charms.’
Sara smiled and lowered her eyes self-consciously.
‘I… I will not disappoint you, father.’ She said quietly, and found, in spite of herself, that there were tears in her eyes.
‘See that you do not.’ He replied. Then he let go of her chin and climbed quickly into the carriage. He leaned out from the window for a moment, before they were gone, banging a hand against the wooden panels of the door impatiently.
‘Move out!’
‘You heard him!’ Halin bellowed in response, holding his horse in check beneath him. ‘Back to Westmere, before your wives go stray-ing!’
With that, her father’s men spurred their horses away into the white corridors of the citadel, bound for the sky-cages and the city below. They had arrived on foot, leading their steeds, but they left by horse-back, hurried by grave purpose towards the long road west. She watched the window of the carriage as it trundled away with the horses, but her father did not appear again. She stayed there, staring after them, until the party were out of sight and the great gate of the keep heaved closed behind them, slamming into the distant stone with a resounding thud.
‘M’Lady.’
She turned to find the Black Guard waiting, watching her with dark eyes through the narrow slits of their polished helms. For a moment, the suddenness of the departure threatened to overwhelm her. What was it he had told her, slurring over his unfinished dinner, in the pristine per-fection of their lodgings, surrounded by invisible eyes? Power belongs to the strong. To those who take it. Just then, standing in the courtyard, watching alone as her father departed, she realised that he was right. And he wasn’t strong enough. She took a deep breath, smiling for the Black Guard, and followed them out of the ancient courtyard into the halls beyond.
*
The broad, open avenues and garden-ways of the Keep of Eranor closed in to interior corridors rather quickly, when you knew the way, and soon Sara was following her black-gilded escort through pale pas-sageways lined with statuettes and tapestries, ceilings lost far overhead to the flickering light of amber flames. An occasional glimpse of pale sunlight leaped out across the stone floor, shimmering through shifting motes of dust. Sara was her Lady-self again, graceful and poised, glid-ing over the polished floor after her escort. The giant corridors were a maze of twists and turns, past fragment-views of gardens and libraries and sitting-halls and galleries, but she was dimly aware they were mov-ing towards the Hall of the King. The thought made her a little giddy.
‘Will I be received in the King’s Hall?’ She asked as they walked, but the Black Guards didn’t reply, and their armour clinked in the quiet. Sara frowned, following them. The passage curved, rising, and she found that the wall on her right side suddenly gave way to the hall be-low. One of the galleries, set high in the rafters of the King’s Hall. She stopped, putting her hand on the balustrade and peering out over the ledge, into the vaulted, silent emptiness of the hall. Some fifty foot be-low, the patterned black and white marble of the floor gleamed in flashes of reflected amber, quiet and empty. At the far end, pale sun-light caught the Night Throne, setting fire in the mirrored stone. Over-head, the matching nightglass ceiling gleamed like a lake in starlight, and swirling figures swept back and forth across it in the shifting light of the chamber. Sara felt a little thrill run over her neck.
‘Sara.’
Sara blinked, starting, and found Dana standing beside her.
‘Sister!’ Sara took hold of her sister’s hands and rose onto her tip-toes, pressing a kiss against her cheek. ‘Here to welcome me into the fold?’
She was struck again by the strangeness of her sister, the difference in her. Dana wore black, a dress of simple lines and inlaid jet, at once relaxed and taut as a lute string. Her pale hands were folded over her belly, and her muddy dark hair was pulled back into a bun. The Black Guards halted behind her, waiting.
‘I am to escort you to the Queen’s chambers.’ Dana said simply. With that she turned and began to walk away along the balcony, to-wards a closed door at the throne-end of the hall. Sara frowned, hurry-ing after her.
‘Do the King and Queen not share chambers?’ She asked as they walked, and the hall below drew on beside them.
‘Their Majesties prefer… to keep their own space.’
The Black Guard fell into step at a respectful distance behind them, armoured heels clicking against the stone.
‘How many others are there?’
‘How many what?’
‘Handmaidens. How many does her Majesty keep?’
Dana did not break stride. ‘Two others, and the Matron.’
‘I suppose we shall not have servants of our own.’ Sara said quietly, eyeing the shadows shifting over the nightglass ceiling. ‘No need to spy on us when we are so close.’
‘Sara-’ Dana began, but Sara cut her off.
‘Father is gone, you know. This morning.’
‘I know.’ Dana replied, looking ahead.
‘You did not come to see him.’
Dana did not turn.
‘I’m sure he will miss you terribly, sister.’
Sara bristled suddenly, grabbing her sister’s arm.
‘I did not ask for it!’
Dana looked down at the hand on her arm, frowning. ‘What?’
‘Any of it!’ Sara told her, angry now, her whisper cracking. ‘I didn’t ask to stay. I didn’t ask him to send you away. I would have given any-thing to go with you. I thought he would never let me leave.’ She low-ered her voice, flicking an eye back towards the waiting guards. ‘I did not ask for the way he… the way he…’
She took a breath, swallowing, and straightened, looking her sister in the eye.
‘There are worse things than being ignored, Dana.’
Dana’s hand folded over hers.
‘Let’s… let’s put it behind us.’ She said quietly. ‘You are here, now.’
Sara blinked at her, nodding. She wanted to say more, but her words would not come, locked away from her tongue by the choked gulping of her breath. She lowered her eyes, and Dana squeezed her hand.
‘Sara, listen to me.’ Dana murmured, leaning close. ‘You must be careful. The Queen-’
The door at the far end of the gallery swung open, creaking on its hinges. The pair fell silent, frozen, and whatever Dana might have said, she held instead.
*
‘Wait here.’
The Matron, the head of the Queen’s Keepers, was an elderly wom-an with rounding hips and hair the colour of ash tied into a tight bun behind the worn-leather creases of her forehead. She was wearing black, same as Dana, though her smock was somehow plainer, when she opened the door onto the gallery, ushering the sisters wordlessly in-to the corridor beyond. Dana had bowed her head deferentially, wither-ing under the Matron’s hard eyes, and quickly disappeared into one of the many doors of the hallway. Sara almost asked for her to stay, but instead she steeled herself, remembering her lessons, and followed the stern old woman down the long, flickering hallway. The corridors of the keep were all severe, all lit by weak, flickering torchlight and gleaming the gleam of cold stone, but here they were particularly bare. There were no busts, no tapestries, no mosaics. Nothing but cold, dead rock, lent a little life by the dim thrustings of infrequent braziers. In her own apartments, she had understood the quiet, but here, in the keep proper, there was an eery silence to the corridors that jarred with Sara’s anticipation. Where were the nobles in their gay clothes, where was the music and laughter of a King’s Hall? Sara frowned to herself, and kept walking.
The room at the end of the hallway was broad and rounded, like a kind of circle made out of many flat edges, each holding the low light of a brazier. The marble floors were black and white and patterned like a gamesboard, empty but for a broad nightwood table at its centre, matching the room itself for its odd roundness. On the far side, a wall of shutters opened out onto a large, bare balcony, and over the intricate-ly wrought stone balustrade, Sara could see the City of the Moon be-low, sweeping away towards the edge of the Heartspire, empty stormtowers stabbing black into the sky. Beyond, the great emerald plains of Valia stretched out into the west, past the fiery line of the river Arq, scored with jagged, dark rock and silver streams. Sara swallowed, realising she’d never been so high up.
‘Wait here.’
‘But-‘ She protested, frowning, but the Matron was already gone, turned on her heel and disappeared back the way she had come. Sara flinched as the door slammed shut behind her, and the silence of the room prickled at her skin. The breeze rustled over the balcony, swirling about the pillared windows, but the air inside was still as the grave. She stepped slowly over to the table, touching the polished wood. This much nightwood would have cost more than a wagonload of gold. She traced the knotted lines across the black surface, trying to ignore the cold weight churning in her gut.
Time stretched on around her, and the minutes dragged by like years. Despite the open air flooding through the windows, the chamber was not cool, warmed by the subtle glow of the braziers, and she felt a little wetness beginning to build under her arms. She looked about her-self, trying to calm her heart. There were four other doors in the room, besides the one they had entered through, all dark and heavy looking, and each bore a pattern of silver on its face. There was a cradle, and opposite it, a pendant with teeth like a wolf. Beside the cradle door, a small drinks table, a glass jug of purple wine atop it, with a pair of matching glasses. The two doors closest to the balcony bore a sun and a crescent moon. She looked a little closer, and realised that the markings were not moonsilver, merely an imitation in gleaming silver paint, and the door she had entered through bore no markings at all. Sara watched them, imagining the rooms that lay behind each. Which one was the Queen behind, she wondered, and her heart quickened at the thought, stomach churning. She was stranded, here, now, in the capital. What if the Queen didn’t like her? What if she said something wrong? Would she be sent away again, back to her father?
‘Lady Westmere.’
The crescent moon had swung open, and the Queen glided through, a beautiful shadow in a studded black dress, arms glistening with little sharpened sequins the colour of midnight. Her hair had been contorted into an elaborate maze of raven curls over her pate, and her pale skin took on a translucent sheen in the pale light from the balcony doors. The throat of her dress was open, as it had been in the King’s Hall all those days ago, and she wore the same golden necklace, its myriad points sharp like daggers with their drops of ruby blood.
Sara blinked, then remembered herself, and dropped into a low curt-sy, bowing her head.
‘Your Majesty.’ She said quietly, keeping her eyes on the floor.
The Queen did not reply. Sara was dimly aware of her shadow mov-ing across the floor, crossing to the drinks table beside the cradle door. Sara risked a glance up, then, and found the Queen’s slender back to her. When she at last turned, she had a glass goblet of wine clutched in her narrow fingers. Sara lowered her eyes again.
‘You are a pretty one, aren’t you.’ The Queen said quietly, as if to herself. Her voice was cold, like ice leaking over lakewater, deep and still. She took a sip from her cup, and Sara could feel the cut of her eyes against her skin. ‘What did the Weasel of Westmere do to sire such a pretty daughter. Your sister, maybe, I understand, but you…’
Sara forced herself not to frown.
‘Well trained, I see.’ The Queen murmured, smiling coldly. She took another sip of her wine. ‘Your mother’s touch, I assume, not your fa-ther’s.’
Sara hesitated. She glanced up at the Queen, then lowered her eyes again, nodding.
‘I hear she is unwell.’
Sara looked up again, braver this time, and found the Queen’s dark eyes watching her over the rim of her glass.
‘She has an affliction, Your Majesty. She does not eat, and rarely sleeps. The Keepers say it is a disease of her mind.’
‘The one thing none of us can escape.’ The Queen sighed, toying idly with her glass and looking out of the window over the city below. ‘Still, there are worse places to be sickly than a Lord’s hall.’
‘I suppose… I suppose that is true, Your Majesty.’
The Queen raised an eyebrow. ‘Suppose, do you?’
Sara squirmed for a moment under the weight of her eyes, but then the Queen turned away, stepping slowly around the edge of the table till she was standing beside the open windows. She took another sip of her wine, back to Sara again.
‘Your sister met you, this morning.’
Sara hesitated, thrown for a moment by the abruptness of the state-ment.
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘And she came to you yesterday, in the apartments Bywood found for you.’
‘Yes.’ Sara felt the cold weight return in her belly. She thought of what the Fox had warned her. There is always someone watching. She cast her mind back to her conversations with Dana. Gods. What had they spoken of? Had she said something out of turn?
‘Curious, that she did not seek out your father.’
Sara let out her breath slowly. That was not a particularly well-hidden curiosity.
‘Dana must have been very busy, Your Majesty.’
‘She is as busy as I make her, and that is rarely too taxing.’
Sara sighed. ‘They have… sometimes not seen eye to eye.’
‘And you?’ The Queen turned as she spoke, fixing her eyes to Sara’s again. Behind her, the distant sounds of the city drifted lazily up through the air, swirling around far-off columns of wispy smoke. ‘What do you say of him?’
Sara hesitated again, stuttering. ‘He is my father, Your Majesty. I trust that he always knows what is best for his daughters.’
‘In my experience it is fathers who know the least about their own daughters.’ The Queen replied dryly, sipping again. ‘Come, let me look at you, then.’
She came back around the nightwood table, her long, narrow limbs gliding over the polished floor, and stopped in front of Sara, setting her glass down beside them. She took Sara’s chin in two spindly fingers and tilted it upwards so that she was looking her in the eye, only a few inches from her face. Sara realised again how tall she was, as tall as her father, at least, though her slender frame made her seem much smaller. She tried not to squirm, but she found that the Queen’s fingers dug un-comfortably into her chin, dark eyes flitting back and forth across her face like a hungry wolf.
‘Yes, very pretty.’ She said at last, not releasing her chin. Sara could feel her breath on her face, smelling softly of dark wine. ‘No wonder. You look like her, you know.’
‘Who-‘ but the Queen had already turned away, back to the table, picking up her wineglass in one bone-stretched hand.
‘The Matron will meet you outside. She will give you your tasks and show you to your chamber. You will begin tomorrow.’
Sara flinched, realising she had been holding her breath. She curt-sied to the Queen’s back, suddenly a little giddy.
‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’
‘You may go, girl.’
Sara turned to go, not at all sure what to make of the encounter. She paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder, but found the Queen looking out over the city silently again, wineglass in hand, black dress glistening with jet. Sara hesitated a moment longer, then hurried out into the corridor beyond the unmarked door, closing it behind her.
*
The night before her father leaves, she wakes in darkness.
She does not open her eyes, but she knows it is not yet dawn. The sounds of the garden beyond her shutters are soft and murmuring, wind-stirred and drip-spotted.
She can feel him over her, the tense stillness of him, closer than shadows. He smells of wine. Sweat. She is cold, but she does not move. She dares not move. She can feel the weight of his eyes, dulled with drink, tracing the lines of her. His breathing sounds like anger.
She does not know how long she waits there, frozen. But she does not open her eyes. Not once. Time stretches out before her in that mo-ment, an eternity of breathless terror.
Then he leaves. The smell of him lingers long after the door has closed behind him. She lays there a while longer, motionless, dead as stone. Then she curls into her own arms, and weeps silently until the dawn.

9mo female labrador retirever - I met the parents and they are lovely/happy standard labs.
My goal was to get a CGC with her, do therapy work, and ultimately train her to work as a psychiatric service dog for my fiance (dentist phobia).
We got her at 8wks and she was socialized well. She was perfect and amazing and loved all dogs, adults, children. Once she was fully vaccinated, we started training in dog friendly stores 2x a week so she could work near people. We took daily walks, and we had playdates at least 1x a week with a new friendly dog. I took her to work with me 4hrs a week so she could hear the bustle of a business and she did great.
She hit 5mo of age and life has been awful. She acts like a completely different dog now. She is so fearful that if she even hears a dog bark or a person talk she gets full hackles and completely shuts down. I can no longer take her to work as she growls at everyone (she'll love them one moment, but if they leave and re-enter the room she gets hackles and barks/growls at them and will cower in the cormer).
We have been working with her for months (desensitization and counter conditioning). We have tried numerous medications under direction of a veterinary behaviorist (all seem to make her more vocal and reactive, like they lower her inhibition to bottle a single emotion, so she just full on explodes). She currently does weekly group training classes and is great in the building, but growls and gets hackles when she sees those same dogs outside of the ring.
I'm so frustrated. She is doing great and then a split second later the world is ending. Last week she was afraid of vehicles (I had to carry her home). I can no longer walk her passed people or dogs because she is getting hackles and shuts down by the sight of them.
I am starting to hate my dog. I was so excited to get her and she did so well, and now I am having daily panic attacks over her. I don't want to rehome her, but I can't continue to do this anymore. I sped 1-2hrs a day catering to her behavior and doing desensitization and counter conditioning. I'm just waiting for the day that she bites my nephews or bites someone as we pass them on the sidewalk.