Hardwood floor refinishing pleasant grove

My partner and I bought a fixer upper a year and a half ago. It had a new roof and siding but otherwise was not updated since the 80s. Not even the green carpet. Lol. Our families are luckily really experienced DIYers so we were able to DIY all renos. Many of the materials were from marketplace or auction websites to cut down cost significantly. Not a forever house so it wasn't worth it to do these renos otherwise. For around 10k we updated most of the interior on a 100k house. All new flooring (refinished wood in some rooms and lvp in others), new kitchen with granite countertops and a coffee bar, new bathroom with tiled surround, new lighting, lots of paint, lots of my tears.
We are now working on the outside and unsure how much to invest after already investing 10% of the house's worth last year albeit on an extreme budget. We live on the side of a hill and are thinking of putting in a retaining wall to extend our yard and have a better area for parties. Getting quotes this week but we aren't sure how much we should be willing to spend. We are also putting a wet babutlers pantry in what is currently a mudroom so we have other projects going. We plan to be here another 5 years or so and just want to make good financial decisions.
How much do you consider ROI when you do renos personally? What's the best way to estimate ROI?

Aerys Targaryen laid in a patchwork quilted bed within a dingy tavern of Gulltown. The entire business had been rented out for his stay within the city, as Aerys always opted to have a secondary residence outside of what was offered at the keeps he was welcomed to stay at. It offered a certain privacy and ease that someone else's castles walls could not offer.
And privacy is precisely what Aerys wanted.
His sister-wife had dashed his skull against the cold stone floor in their heated argument. Yet even worse than that, she had reminded her of the family that had condemned the both of them. The constant pain that was held within his skull felt pleasant in comparison to the pain of how his love now reminded him of them.
But... he still wanted her.
As he swam in his dulled thoughts, equal parts slowed by his injury and the milk of the poppy in his system, he needed to understand why he still wanted her. She had embodied his worst nightmare, both as a child and until now. The nightmare that one day she would no longer desire him. Not the physical desire that they each always seemed to enjoy from each other, but the deep longing desire of never wanting to be outside of her vision.
Why?
Why did he still want her? Was it because she was everything? Surely not, he knew his desires for the realm were now a part of his life even if they couldn't compare to the part she played. Was it because she understood him? No one else truly did, but others did come close, and even she did not understand him as well as she could've. Was it because he did not want to be alone? It was true that he didn't. As she still existed, he could find comfort someone so much his better half was still available.
But that wasn't it either. It was so depowering to base life off of a need to no longer be lonely. No, it was not the sole cause.
He wanted her because he loved her.
They had harmed each other time and time again, but when she had the opportunity to finish him for all the wrongs he did? She did not take it. Neither would he. Could the same be said for anyone else? Gaemon? Gaelyn? Eurona? Any of their most loyal advisors? None of them would.
That was her chance.
She didn't take it. Neither would he. That was the strength that he could pull from. That was his empowerment. That no matter what they faced, they would never do such a thing to one another.
As he laid completely still in bed, yet nonetheless swimming in his various thoughts, he saw the morning come through the translucent blinds. The Silent Sisters he had hired to take care of him, rather than a maester who could speak more than their own good, would enter. Inspecting his bandages, they each came to the conclusion he was not on death's door yet. Offering him more milk of the poppy, Aerys would rasp out.
"Bring... my love. We must speak.. on the realm."

I have a bedroom that I will be moving into very soon. The entry door is on the west wall, and there is a window on each of the north and east walls(in case that matters) I have a mattress and all the furniture(bed frame, tv stand, 2 nightstands, and a bookshelf), the furniture including the bedframe is all black although most of it has LEDs which I may not use but it may help with matching a color. I picked out paint colors but I think I was wrong. The ceiling is white, not my choice my roommate won't have it any other way. I decided on 3 walls one color and then an accent wall. I went with an off white with a yellow undertone for the majority, and a deep purple for the accent, pictures do no justice so instead I'll name the colors, both Benjamin Moore, onyx white and exotic purple. My roommate and I agree that the purple doesn't work but we both like the other color. I still need to buy bedding and curtains as well.i have 2 options I like and am open to more. My 2 are:
1- pick a new color for the accent wall and get complementary bedding and curtains or maybe just the same color as the accent wall idk.
2- do away with the accent wall and just paint it the same offwhite color. Then get matching bedding and curtains.
Additionally the floor isn't done now. It will be finished by the end of the year and will be a medium dark stain with a reddish tint, but still natural grain hardwood until then I may get a rug as well, probably to cover as much of the floor as possible, what color should it be?

I always find it interesting what the people are up to in these AP experiences. My imagination wants to think about them living these lives we are not conscious of. This AP experience I had a couple of years ago I went to a window and noticed a guy liked passed out on the sidewalk while people were getting on and off a bus. Where are the people on the bus going, what did that guy do the night before?
I wish I could spend more time in that "place" to really see what goes on. So one time after I got sleep paralysis after 7 hours of sleep I managed to astral project in mini sessions for another 7 hours! I only woke up because I saw paramedics around my bed and thought maybe I died so I woke myself up to an empty room.
I always find it interesting how little things like bushes are thoughtfully placed around paths. Everything is well designed. As someone who designs video games this would take my conscious mind some time to arrange but during astral projections the whole world is designed for you.
I had one AP experience in the middle of the winter and I thought man I really wish it was summer, so I went a city where it was summer and ate some dinner at a place. It was a really pleasant experience.
I once had an AP and I was in a square room made of bricks. There was a hologram of a planet I was staring at emerging from like a ring on the floor. I tried diving into it and got sucked back. A man who was standing there who was silent the whole time said I can't go there, I can only view it. I spent the remainder of the time walking around and I noticed women in white robes carrying candles down these stairs. It's interesting because people have described similar visual during their NDE's.
In my astral projections I would always try to fly into space but I would float slowly and not make it very far. One night was different. I was doing a Qi Gong meditation technique called Bone Breathing where you try to suck energy into your bones. That night I had an AP and I felt like I was bubbling with absolute power, I felt like someone from Dragonball or the like. I thought about going through the sun and in instant I blasted into space and went through the sun, seeing a few fractals before I came out the other side. I came back to earth and didn't have much to do really. I never do.
A few years back I was messing with a paranormal app on my phone that I left on upstairs at my parents' house while I slept. I had an astral projection that night and in the AP I went upstairs and my dad was trying to introduce me to these men. I knew it was an AP so I wasn't rude but I was quickly dismissive like nice to meet you and shook their hands. I went to my phone and I just smiled because in the AP it was like an old Nokia phone and not my phone, so no sense trying to trigger my paranormal app.
Another time I managed to lay down in the middle of the day and have an AP just instantly, I wasn't even tired. I went into my room mate's room and looked in a box. We had a game where I was going to guess what was inside using astral projection. The box was pink inside and full or perfume but in this reality it was a pink bow inside, so similar symbology.
There's so many cool experiences but I'll just share 1 more.
During the sleep paralysis phase I asked the universe to send me a guide, a mentor. Within moments I saw 2 spaceships in orbit around an earth-like planet. A caucasian woman's face with brown braided hair appeared and she then told me a bunch of things. She instilled in me this absolute belief that I could do anything. It was like 100% belief in creative power. She was also telling me some other metaphysical things. When I came out of it I retained 1% of it, and now years later it's like 0.1%, just enough to give the story but it was more profound as it happened.
My mind has been in some strange places in recent years which are stories for another sub-reddit. But my most recent astral projection was a few mornings ago. I was trying to see if I could visit my grandfather who had passed away. What was interesting is I saw him as I see him in my mind, existing in another place and only half visible. I was suppose I was expecting at the very least a more vivid image but no.
I have no idea what astral projection really is. I listen to people's NDE stories and they don't sound like astral projection, they explain seeing things they can prove, and going weird places. I have no idea what astral projection is. I have never seen the silver chord but I'm sure I'm doing it correct from what people describe.
I want to close this with a fun observation... You know how that "place" feels? It just feels so good doesn't it. It feels warm and loving, light-hearted and pleasant, at least for me. I was able to latch onto the memory of this and jack it up using meditation, as like a reminder.
I really wish we could all spend a lot more time in those worlds. How I wish I could get sleep paralysis on command. It's perhaps a life goal of mine.
Those are my best experiences.

The handcuffs locked with a satisfying click.
She looked up, biting her lip as she arched her back and adjusted to get more comfortable on her knees. I’d placed a pillow on the ground for her, but she must have known she wasn’t getting up any time soon.
I slowly walked in a circle around her. Admiring. Lusting. Making her wait. She had followed my instructions perfectly. Hair and makeup done. Red lace thong. Every inch of her body shaved, moisturized, and lightly perfumed.
I’d only be needing her mouth, but the effort was important to me, nonetheless.
I unbuckled my pants and laid my penis across her face. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she took a deep inhale. She was hardly able to move, but she shivered and squirmed as she anticipated my next move.
I slid my pants down and set the tip of my cock against her lips. Soft kisses followed, and I let my cock grow and harden straight into her mouth.
She knew how I liked my dick sucked, but I was actually planning to put her husband to the test.
“Cuck!” I yelled, startling her and briefly pausing my blowjob.
He scurried in, looking equally nervous and dismayed to see his wife handcuffed and submissive. She would never even consider allowing him to do this to her.
I nodded down to her. “We need your help. Get on your knees behind her.”
He promptly obeyed. He looked ridiculous, wearing a thong that matched hers, but I’d be damned if he thought he could wear anything other than panties in my presence.
“Put your hands on her head. You’re going to use your wife’s mouth to get me off.”
The blood drained from his face.
But he had no other choice than to obey.
His hands reached out and cupped her hair, and he pressed her head forward onto my raging erection.
I nodded in approval. He slowly pulled her head back so her lips dragged along the length of my manhood.
He thrust her head forward until she gagged. I felt her saliva build up and watched it drip down onto the floor. He quickly pulled her back.
“Slower.”
I watched the cuck exhale as he tried to find the perfect rhythm for me. I could see him die inside every time he heard his wife gag. Every time, his wife’s eyes would widen, an apologetic look on her face. I winked at her, I knew it wasn’t her fault.
“I don’t have all night, cuck.”
Panic overtook him as he began quickly trying to get me off with his wife’s mouth. Her hair flailed as he bobbed her head back and forth.
I knew it must have been frustrating for her. And humiliating. But I needed them both to experience what I meant when I told them that she would become my fucktoy.
Drool began dripping out of her mouth and onto my legs. She opened her jaw to ensure that no teeth would make contact, despite how wildly her husband was thrusting her mouth onto me.
I grinned as I felt my balls begin to tingle. The cuck had turned his wife’s mouth into my fleshlight, and he had finally gotten the hang of it.
“Just like that. I’m almost there.”
Sweat began forming on his brow.
Tears were streaming from his wife’s eyes.
I was ready.
I pulled my cock out and began shooting ropes of cum onto her face, into her hair, and into her eager mouth.
I roared, startling the cuckold. Her wife grinned, satisfied. She had heard this noise dozens of times before.
The last drops of cum fell onto their hardwood floor, and I was spent.
“Pull my pants up.”
The cuck complied. He looked equal parts in awe and terrified of my still-twitching penis.
I pulled the key to her handcuffs out of my pocket after I tucked my shirt in.
Handing the keys over to the cuck, I explained, “Expect this to become a part of our routine, cuck. You’ll do a better job next time, or else it’s you that’s going in the handcuffs and I’ll give your wife a turn using your mouth on me.”
He let out an audible gasp, and my work for the evening was done.

Looking for factors such as view, proximity to garbage chute, appliances, smooth vs popcorn ceiling, hardwood flooring, etc. What adds the most value and what are less desirable features that would make it harder to sell?

The boy next door is no longer an enigma.
No longer a mystery.
For the last few days, I have been laying low after Mrs Wilder kidnapped and threatened me in my own home. I’ve had barely any sleep and my lack of it has definitely disrupted my ability to write. I’m sorry if this update is messy or full of typos. I just don’t know what to do.
I’ve been a mess. I’ve been jumping at every movement. Every time there’s a knock on the door I feel part of myself splinter into pieces I can’t put back together. I did something crazy stupid two days ago. And that stupid mistake has fully exposed me to Mrs Wilder’s secret. What she is hiding behind her walls—and just how fucked I truly am if I disobey her again. Like I said, over the last several days I have been keeping my head down.
I went to school and did my homework and went to bed. That was it. When mom asked if I was talking to any Wilder kids, I shook my head. I had quickly grown afraid of Casper Wilder’s window. I knew something was wrong with him.
Something is wrong with his head.
He had told me. At least, the part of him which was bleeding between consciousness and a submissive state not being controlled by his psychotic mother. I saw him. I saw who he really was. I saw the boy next door crying out to me for help through bloodied fingers and cryptic messages splattered in scarlet. If he had intentionally hurt himself to get messages across to me, there was something he was fighting.
Mrs Wilder’s words were haunting me. The paper-doll rendition of me, blackened and smouldering orange between her nimble fingers-- I couldn’t get it out of my head.
So, I grabbed all the paper I could find and taped up my window, blocking him out. It sounds ridiculous. And it was. Because once I had spent over an hour feverishly taping pieces of paper over my window, I tore them down with a knot in my gut. When I clawed away the last piece of paper, I got a glimpse of Casper. His curtains were open, allowing me to see inside his room once more.
I saw a normal guy’s bedroom once again, guitars leaning against the walls, clothes strewn over the floor and sketchpads littering the bed. Warm light illuminated the window, and I wished what I was seeing was normal.
I wished I had seen nothing bad, and this was just the boy next door.
My completely normal neighbor.
But I couldn’t deny what I’d seen two nights ago. Casper Wilder wasn’t standing at his window with a twisted expression, a cocktail of pain and anger and confusion burning in mismatched eyes I was sure glinted with something metallic. Something man-made—which had been inserted, no, forced inside him.
I expected him to be awake. Even if it was just a single look in his eye which told me he was still there—still holding on. No. It was like nothing had ever happened. The window had been cleaned of blood, and there were no traces of the boy who had cried out for help. In his place was the Wilder son I had found friendship with. Before he cracked, and something inside him, something buried deep, deep, down, ignited. I missed that version of him. Who he used to be.
Because this guy was not Casper Wilder. I didn’t know who he was—and neither did he from the way he’d reacted days before. Underneath this name being forced onto him, there was nothing.
Just a broken kid with no name. No memory, except ones filled with her. I missed the personality Mrs Wilder was trying to hide. Who had told me she wasn’t his fucking mother, and sworn at me, his writing erratic and confusing, clawing into his head with this desperation to be let go.
Seeing him through the window at that moment, I realised, a sickly paste crawling up my throat, that all of that had been erased. He had returned to default. Casper was sitting on his bed playing guitar with a look of content, bed hair falling in sleepy eyes. He was wearing his glasses this time. His fingers moved up and down, feet bouncing to a beat I couldn’t hear.
Stumbling back, I tripped over my backpack with a shriek, which caught Casper’s attention.
When his head twisted around, empty eyes floating towards the window, I ducked. I couldn’t stop myself. After counting to ten, I slowly lifted my gaze.
He was still staring at me, and I noticed he’d stopped playing the guitar, fingers entangled in the strings. Casper’s smile had dimmed slightly. I wondered if seeing me brought something back. Maybe he remembered writing his own bloody messages on the window and trying and failing to speak through his mother’s control. The boy blinked at me before slowly getting to his feet. I didn’t see the chord thing this time. Casper strode over to the window, a giddy smile curling on the edges of his lips.
He pressed his palm against the glass, and I was already grabbing my notepad and a pen. But then his mother’s words sliced through my thoughts. I was back inside my lounge, foggy headed, the stink of pool cleaner still thick at the back of my nose and throat.
Mrs Wilder loomed over me, my paper-doll she had ravaged sticking from the doll-house on mom’s coffee table constructed from our letters. “I hope you understand that if you talk to, or even breathe the same air as my children again, I will rip you apart too.”
Her breath was heavy in my face. I couldn’t help looking at Mrs Becker for help, but her eyes were equally as cruel. I watched perfectly manicured nails pick up one of the four Wilder dolls, making it dance around in circles.
“Do you understand me, Phoebe?”
“Yes.” I said, my words twisted on my tongue.
“I… I understand.”
The memory was painful enough to feel physical knives digging into my gut. Mrs Wilder had made it clear that if I pursued her children, she was going to hurt me. Mom, too. I dropped my notepad and pen. Casper was still smiling at me. His eyes were vacant. He had no idea who I was after months of us talking. Mrs Wilder had taken all of it away. Including him breaking apart and waking up as a confused shell with no name. “Hello.” Casper’s lips mouthed the words, and I took several steps back, my heart in my throat.
He didn’t even blink. I watched his expression fail to flicker and wondered just how the fuck had I never noticed there was something wrong with him in the months I knew him. I watched him search his desk for a notepad and pen. Maybe seeing me was unravelling something inside him, I thought. Maybe I could try and wake him up again. At the back of my mind, however, I could still see my little paper doll’s head being torn off, its body ripped apart.
“What’s your name?” Casper had written in bubble writing. It’s like everything had been reset. His frenzied and wild eyes, that desperation to escape. Gone.
His handwriting was boiling my blood. Just looking at this perfect calligraphy which wasn’t even his. It had been forced onto him. Because Mrs Wilder expected this boy to be the perfect son, a creative prodigy like his siblings. I looked for a splinter in his eyes, just a glimpse that he was still in there. Still fighting whatever his ‘mother’ had done to him. But I saw nothing. I saw a blank fucking slate.
“Phoebe.” I mouthed.
Inclining his head, he scribbled a follow up message. “Can you write it down?”
Swallowing a lump in my throat, I shut my curtains, blocking him and his message out. Then I jumped into bed, turned off my light, and dreamed I was that paper-doll with no mouth to scream with, as Mrs Wilder slowly tore me limb from limb. The next day felt like a blur. I don’t think I snapped out of it until mom poked me with the prongs of her fork, tearing me from a scenario I was going over in my head.
If Casper was a prisoner, were his siblings too? I’d only caught a glimpse of Issac and Freddie Wilder. Mrs Wilder talked of being pregnant with four children. But she spoke like she had lost them. So, my guess was that she had kidnapped four teenager’s in their place—and was raising them as her dead children. “Are you okay, honey?”
Mom’s voice slid through my thoughts, and I realised I had been pushing my pasta around my plate. I wasn’t really hungry.
Mom had made this sort of red pepper spaghetti, but every time I tried to take a mouthful, I was seeing spatters of scarlet running from Casper’s temples, dripping down his face and smudged on the glass of his window. THUD. The image of him slamming his head into the pane, wild eyes and twisted lips, an agonising panic bringing him to the edge of hysteria caught me off guard, and my fork slipped through my fingers, tomato sauce slowly creeping its way back up my throat.
Fuck. I couldn’t forget about him. I couldn’t leave him and block him out after his mother had threatened me. Because if I didn’t help him, who would? It was my word against the town.
Mom cleared her throat
“Phoebe, are you listening to me?”
“Huh?”
“I said, have you been abiding by the rules?” Mom twirled pasta around her fork and took a dainty bite. Since joining Mrs Becker’s book club I had noticed a certain gleam in her eye. Like she was looking through me. “You haven’t been talking to the Wilder children, have you?”
“No.”
After three mouthfuls of spaghetti, I ended up with half of my dinner dripping down my face.
Mom grabbed a napkin, handing it to me. “Clean yourself up. You are seventeen, not seven.” Her expression softened. “Sweetie, are you okay?”
“Yes.” I said, struggling to appear it. I knew she could see my sleep circles.
“Have you been talking to the Wilder kids? I’ll know if you have.”
Technically, I had been communicating with him. But it was one-sided.
Still though, paranoia turned my thoughts against me. Shovelling down spaghetti, I spoke through a mouthful. “No.”
She handed me another napkin. “So, if I talk to Mrs Wilder…”
“Mom.” I grabbed her hand, squeezing it for dear life. Mrs Wilder knew, I thought dizzily. She must have known Casper’s attempt to talk to me, even if he was exactly who she wanted him to be. Still under her demented control. But it was confusing me just how she had that control. This wasn’t a movie or a TV show.
Mind control didn’t exist, right? And if it did, it was barely even a thing—induced by cocktails of drugs and torture. Casper didn’t look like he’d been tortured.
Except that thing inside his head… my thoughts grew foggy, and I was suddenly overcome with emotion. What I meant to tell her was all about what I had seen, and what Mrs Wilder had done to me. Though knowing what the woman was capable of, and thinking about that chord-like thing which surely had been forced into the back of Casper Wilder’s skull… “Can we just…move?” I choked out. “I want to move. I hate it here.” I gestured around.
“I hate this house. It’s too big, I feel like I’m lost every time I go upstairs. I hate school. The kids there freak me out.” Holding her gaze, I curled my lip. “And I hate our stupid neighbors.”
“Phoebe.” Mom’s tone darkened. “What did I tell you about being respectful?”
“It’s not like they can hear us!” I spat. “Did they fit cameras in here, mom? I wouldn’t be surprised! We’re under draconian rules!”
“Young lady, you are acting like a child.” She said stiffly. “Take several deep breaths and tell me what is wrong.”
“I’m fine.” I whispered.
“No, you are not.” Mom sipped red wine. “I know when there is something wrong with my daughter, and you cannot look me in the eye.”
I took a sharp breath and forced myself to stay calm. “Mom.” I sputtered through a sob. “It’s Mrs Wilder. She… she did something to me.”
Mom’s expression twisted. “What?”
“The other night,” I forced out. The images were flooding my head. Smouldering orange tearing its way through paper white. “She knocked me out, and she had this… dollhouse. And four paper dolls.”
I heaved out a breath. “She threatened me, mom. Mrs Wilder threatened me, and I need you to believe me.” I grabbed for her hand again, my own trembling. “Casper Wilder is not her son.” I said. The words felt foreign on my tongue. Wrong. They felt like a time bomb. “I think she kidnapped him. All of them. And she’s brainwashed them into thinking they’re her real kids.” There was a pause, and my mom’s expression didn’t change. So, I continued. “We need to call the police.” I reiterated. “Okay? You’re listening to me, aren’t you?” I swallowed sobs wracking my chest. “Because… you’re my mom. And you’re supposed to believe me.”
She surprised me with an eye-roll. “You are being ridiculous.”
THUD.
It felt like the walls were suddenly closing in. I could smell the stink of pool cleaner and Mrs Wilder’s perfume intoxicating my senses.
THUD.
I was seeing Casper slamming his head into his window once again, his eyes alive with a light I couldn’t understand. Like something was entwined inside his pupil.
THUD.
“Help me.”
God, it wouldn’t stop.
His voice. It was driving me crazy.
“I don’t know who I am.” Casper’s sobs echoed. “I don’t… I don’t fucking know who I am! I can’t remember… I can’t remember who I am!”
I could see his words clear in my mind, red scrawled against white until they were barely readable.
WHO.
AM.
I?
WHO AM I? WHO AM I? WHO AM I? I DON’T KNOW WHO I AM. THAT WOMAN IS NOT MY MOM.
I was going to be sick.
“Mom,” The words were choking from my mouth before I could stop them. I didn’t mean to sound so childlike, but that is exactly what I felt like. A child. I was alone. Drowning.
Looking at my mother’s curled lips, her eyes burning right through me, I felt myself start to come apart.
Like that stupid doll.
“Mom, please—”
She cut me off with a snort. “What? Is this because you're not allowed to talk to the boy next door? You’re creating your own narrative, and it’s… endearing. Childlike, but you are a child after all." Mom chuckled. “Sweetie, I know you love your mysteries, and sure, I can understand the cliché Romeo and Juliet thing going on, but really, there are plenty more fish in the sea. You don’t have to make up ridiculous scenarios.”
I let go of her hand, my toes curling. They didn’t sound like her words. They were someone else’s.
What was she talking about, ridiculous scenarios? Did my mother really think I was capable of imagining all of this shit?
I couldn’t reply. Not when part of me wondered if these were even her words. I had a strong suspicion my mom was just a puppet.
Like someone was talking through her.
“Do you like him?” Mom pressed. In her eyes, I could see Mrs Wilder was asking that question. “Is that why you’re being so… “ She trailed off with a sigh, and I glimpsed her fingers tighten around her wine glass, pressing enough pressure to leave marks on the rim. “Difficult?”
Mom’s lips splintered into a grin which wasn’t hers, and something inside me snapped. She was joking around.
When Casper was suffering, a prisoner of his own mind, my mother was treating me like I was fucking love-sick.
"No!" I shook my head. “No, I want to move.” I whispered. “I want to go back to our old house.”
“That’s not going to happen, sweetie. You know I can’t just leave my job. Phoebe, you’re a senior at school. You have SAT’S.”
“But—"
Her expression softened. “You’ll grow to like it. Don’t worry.” She said, before standing up and carrying our plates to the faucet. “I have a late shift tonight, so I expect your best behaviour.” I barely felt mom press a kiss to my forehead.
Her presence felt strange, like I wasn’t even seeing my mother. After what she said, I was sure her words were being pupiteered. When mom went to work, after yelling that there were leftovers on the counter, I was left with the soundtrack of a stupid dripping tap, and our humming refrigerator. I made several promises to myself in the time I was in the kitchen.
I would save Casper and his siblings, and then I’d force mom to drive all of us out of town. There were logistics I didn’t want to think about. These were feverish thoughts which controlled me. I had to get them out of that house. Time seemed to go by slowly. When I lifted my head from where I’d been staring at leftover meatballs I dropped onto the table, my phone vibrated in my jeans. Pulling it out, there was a DM regarding my post I wrote on here.
I read it. Then I read it again and again until I could process it.
“Film it. Literally get evidence of what is going on with Casper. You need people to believe you. And if people are going to believe you, you need to make a scene. If you want that house stormed, make as much noise as possible. I know it sounds stupid, but think about it like this. All you need is attention. Mrs Wilder can’t hide from the world if you show the world what’s going on. Good luck, Phoebe. Please be safe.”
-- A friend.
I was shaking when I knocked on the Wilder’s door fifteen minutes later. I knew exactly how to cause a scene.
Mrs Wilder answered, her expression cross between frustrated and bewildered. But I could barely focus on her, or the fact that she was holding a ladle like a weapon. The second the door opened revealing Casper’s mom drowning in a homely golden light, something slammed into me. Nothing physical, though it might as well have been. I forced myself to breathe through the stink which hit me like a brick to the face, suffocating my nose and mouth. Lavender. Not just lavender. The expensive flowers mom would get grocery shopping.
The ones which made me sneeze when I leaned too close. The house stunk of flowers—and that was just from standing on the threshold. But I knew better. I knew, once sweet smelling salts and flowers entwined in my senses, that the stink was to cover something up. And the more I edged closer over the threshold, the true smell of the Wilder house began to snake into my nose. Rot. I had once left a donut under my bed as a kid as an experiment to see if I could grow a whole new species. But this wasn’t mouldy food. It was far more potent. More like a decaying animal.
“Phoebe!” Mrs Wilder folded her arms across her apron. “I’m sorry, were my instructions not clear?” She cocked her head, an amused smile curving on her lips. She was triumphant, knowing exactly how to get under my skin. “Are you aware of what a restraining order is?”
Ignoring the smell choking the air, I held up my phone. “I’m live on Instagram.” I said. “Can I come in?”
I’m not sure why, but seeing her cheeks turn white made me feel like I was the one in control. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Live.” I repeated with a cheery wave. “On Instagram.”
I expected her to shove me back, or call out my bluff (yes, I was bluffing). Instead though, the women’s resolve seemed to crumble, her expression twisting, fear igniting in her eyes. She stammered for a moment, her gaze flashing to my phone before she wrapped her arms around herself and seemed to force a nod. “This is my house.” Her voice came out in a hiss.
Mrs Wilder was talking straight to the camera, and clearly faking terror. “Phoebe Daly, this is far past your usual games. This is… this is trespassing! Do you hear me? I’m calling the police!” Mrs Wilder didn’t call the police.
She held her phone to her ear but didn’t dare dial a number. I could see her options flitting across her eyes.
Was she going to attack me, or play it cool? Playing it cool, it was. With a face like thunder, she stumbled aside when I took a step forward and asked to be let inside. I wasn’t live on Instagram. I had barely 10 followers.
But she didn’t know that. Instead of being live, I was filming everything with my normal phone camera, angled at a height so she couldn’t slap it out of my hands. Watching her stumble back, panic twisting her expression into fury and frustration filled me with satisfaction. I had her. The crazy witch really thought I was streaming. I used that to my advantage, making sure to commentate to my imaginary audience as she led me down the main hallway, and I made sure to point the camera at everything I could see. Kids photographs covered neat paintwork.
But they were all different young children taken from a distance. Towards the end of the hall, what I saw did send my heart into my gut. And for a moment—just a brief second—I actually felt sympathy for Casper’s mom.
Four ultrasound’s.
I didn’t let the camera linger on them, instead going to the woman herself, who was following me, trying and failing to stall my effort to delve further inside the house. She stepped in front of me with a huff. “Phoebe. That is enough! You have terrorised me to no end!” her voice rose into a whine. “Whoever you are, Phoebe’s friends! This brat is targeting my children!”
“Casper!” I yelled, ignoring her. “Are you there?”
No answer.
My heart dropped into my gut, though I wasn’t giving up. I had the advantage, and I had to play to it.
“Casper!”
I ran up the first few steps leading upstairs, but Mrs Wilder seemed far too focused on shielding the door at the end of the hall.
“What’s in the kitchen?” I asked with a lump in my throat. Backing down the stairs, I made my way towards her.
“Nothing is in the kitchen!” she spat back, feigning innocence. “We’re having dinner if you must know. And you are ruining it!”
I shook my head. “This is Mrs Wilder,” I announced, pointing the phone at her. “She is holding four teenagers against their will and claiming them as her own children.” I said smoothly. When we reached a sliding glass door leading into the kitchen, I grabbed the handle with force.
Her rough hand slammed over mine, claw-like fingernails slicing my flesh. “Get out of my house,” she said stiffly. “Young lady, you are trespassing on my property.” Every word came out in globules of saliva hitting me in the face. “I have never met such a disruptive and outright disrespectful child without discipline. Your mother should be ashamed of herself.” She shot a nervous look at my phone camera.
“Where’s Mrs Becker?” I asked.
“What?”
Mrs Becker.” I repeated. “She helped you kidnap and scare me into staying quiet the other day. So, where is she?”
She spluttered, clearly caught off guard. “You are delusional!”
“Then show me them.” I said, pointing the camera at the door. “Your children, Mrs Wilder. I want you to show me Issac, Matilda, Freddie, and…” I swallowed hard. “And Casper.” Ignoring her steel grasp on the door handle, I pulled it open, trying to ignore the sudden squawking noise which had escaped her mouth, slamming into my ears. I can’t describe it. Mom has spoken about a mother instinct, and I wonder if it truly was that. This was animalistic. Feral.
Immediately, Mrs Wilder was behind me like a beast, her trembling arms trying to grasp hold of me and drag me back violently. But I was stronger, and desperate. I had to know the Wilder's secret. Stepping over the threshold, I was first aware of a far dimmer light. And when I fully focused on the room, I realised I was seeing candlelight. In front of me was a hardwood dining room table, and five chairs—four of which were occupied. The kitchen was a copy of our own. Except ours had always been lit up and bright.
It felt more like I was stepping inside a cave. An orangeade blur illuminated each face. Three out of four bodies sat stiff, almost… doll like. Mechanical. The way the three were facing me. Their expressions matched perfectly. Wide eyes and wider grins splitting lips apart. I drank each Wilder kid in slowly, as my brain struggled to take in the real horror of the room. What I was failing to fully take in. I couldn’t. I don’t think I could physically understand what I was seeing. I was aware my phone had slipped from my fingers, that I was paralysed to the spot.
The smell of stink and rot, I thought.
It was them.
I couldn’t move. There were three boys, and one girl. Matilda Wilder was a mousey redhead while her brothers were all brunettes. She wore a purple dress which fit her perfectly, her hair tied into pigtails with red ribbons. Issac and Freddie Wilder sat shoulder to shoulder.
They were the twins, I thought dizzily. They were identical twins in Mrs Wilder’s eyes, but these guys looked nothing like each other—one of them sporting a handsome face and razor jawline, while the other had an odd looking nose and jutting chin. Still though, I could tell Mrs Wilder had made an effort to make them look… beautiful. Perfect. I could see her attempt at stitching their lips together.
It wasn’t their appearance that was gluing me to the ground, however. Because looking closer, past the made-up faces on both the boys and the girls, the ribbons and fancy clothes and empty eyes staring right through me, soft candlelight was slowly bringing them to life in front of me. These kids had been hidden away for so long, and I was finally seeing them for who they were. My gaze flicked to each of them. I was seeing… stitches. I was seeing rugged stitches and gashes in their flesh, patchwork skin making up fingers and elbows and cheeks. They had been taken apart over and over again and put back together.
Matilda’s neck was a collage of flesh, rugged markings where a marker pen had clumsily sliced into her skin and pieced her like a jigsaw through mangled body parts and anything left over. Freddie and Isaac’s heads were cocked at an angle, and looking closer I glimpsed the bad stitch-job which had knitted them together.
I could see it in all of them. None of these kids were their original selves. They reminded me of dolls built through old doll pieces. I didn’t know I was screaming until the gravity of the situation hit me, and I realised I was suffocating on dead skin which made them up, their bodies stitched and knitted together, transforming them into her ideal children. Flickering candlelight revealed the last Wilder kid.
There were two significant things which were different about Casper.
The first, was that he must have been her most recent. He was her most… original—and the second? Unlike the others, he was awake.
Until that moment, Casper had been sitting amongst his siblings, head cocked to the side like the others, catatonic.
His dazed eyes slowly found mine—and I glimpsed recognition flickering in his expression, his rigid body starting to contort back to life. He was her paper-doll.
But Casper wasn’t finished.
“Phoebe?” When the boy spoke, his voice was barely a whimper. Frenzied eyes flicked from Matilda to Issac and Freddie, all of which were still wearing their perfect smiles. I noticed the rugged skin of his neck, and my heart sank.
Something was moving behind him, and I forced myself to step forwards. I glimpsed that same chord-like thing. This time it was fully attacked to him. No, it was buried directly inside his head. A sour paste crept up my throat when I saw the carnivorous hole burrowing deeper inside his head. I could glimpse the intense white of chipped skull and a strange looking fluid leaking out —but it looked… wrong. I’ve always imagined the internals of someone’s brain to be pinkish grey. Though what I was seeing was more like a black ooze sliding down the back of his neck. It reminded me of squid-ink. Definitely not blood.
It looked like he had been shot in the head, or had been pulled out of the operating theatre mid-surgery. And somehow, he was still alive. Just like the description, the chord-thing seemed to be attached in two places—to the back of the head, directly on the brain, and stapled to his spine. The device was humming, but I don’t think it was working.
Casper was looking directly at me, and the way his body was angled was different to his siblings. Instead of sitting straight, he was trying and failing to jump to his feet, his eyes wide, almost unseeing. I could see that frustration and anger, that pain from the other night alive in his face. I opened my mouth to speak, though Casper was already lifting a trembling hand, his fingers twining around the chord and giving a pathetic tug. A thin line of dark red, almost black, slid from his nostril.
I knew it was him. “Can you… can you get… it… out?” His hand found the chord again, and his grasp slipped. “Please.” He whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “There’s something… in my… my head, and I need you to… I need you to fucking get it out…. right now.”
“Casper.” I couldn’t resist a relieved hiss. “This woman.” I twisted and pointed at Mrs Wilder.
“Who is she to you?”
The kid blinked, his eyes narrowing. He jolted, twisting around to try and see the thing attached to him. “Why would I know her? Get this shit out of my head!”
He let out a hysterical yell. His cry was more of a demand, and that nameless boy underneath splintered doll pieces began to unravel.
“Get it out.” He kept repeating. “Fucking get it out! There’s something inside my head!”
I nodded, choking back a cry.
He slammed his hands down, but seemingly couldn’t move from the chair. “What the fuck.” He side eyed the others. “What the fuck is this?”
I struggled to answer without screaming myself. “Stuff.” I managed to get out through a sputter. “Can you stand up?”
“What?” He blinked rapidly at me, I was seeing it again. That odd light flickering in his pupils.
“No. I can’t move!”
The humming grew louder, and at the corner of my eye, that thing seemed to dig deeper inside his head.
More blood spurted from his nose, and I could tell that he was fighting it.
The boy’s eyes found mine, his words tangling into an almost slur. “Get it out! I can’t… I can’t fucking think straight. I…. I….”
His eyes rolled back for a moment before he shook his head, lunging against the chair. His head twitched. “I don’t know I am.”
I couldn’t move. Watching this thing take control in real time, it was both fascinating and horrifying, sending my knees buckling.
“Who… who am I?”
His whole head twitched, like he was glitching.
“I know her. I… I know her. I’m her… I’m her son… I’m her s—son.”
Casper hummed, his twitching lips pricking into a demented smile. “I’ll always know her. She’s the one who… who s---saved me.”
Choking on a shade too vivid and dark to be blood, he sputtered, his head drooping.
“Mom?” Casper spoke through mouthfuls of pooling black. He lifted his head, unseeing eyes blinking in dim candlelight. The chord-like thing sounded more like it was drilling into his brain, and I knew I was fucked when his lips spread out into a childlike smile, and he swayed to the left and then the right, the light in his eyes burning. “There’s… water.” He whispered. “So… so cold. I’m so cold.” His voice broke.
“I don’t… want to be cold.”
“You won’t be cold.” Mrs Wilder’s voice was a sharp cry behind me. “Ever again. Your mom is here.”
“Promise? You n… need to… prom…promise me.” His teeth chattered. “You need to… tell me… I won’t… be cold. That my mom… is coming.”
“I promise, darling.”
“Mommy?”
“No,” I swallowed back frustrated tears. “Casper, she’s not your mother!”
His next words split into a guttural screech which almost sent him toppling off of the chair. He grabbed at his head, clawing at face.
But the more he was tugging, the machine fought against him. I could see metallic clamp-like legs stubbornly holding on.
His next words were mangled between cries from his conscious self, and whatever the fuck his ‘mother’ was forcing into his head.
And yet it barely grazed my ears. I was trying to figure out how to get that monumental THING out of his brain. There was no way I could just pull it out. That could kill him, right?
I started forwards to grab him, to try and pry the clamp off his spine, before I was being smothered with the stink of rich lavender. I hadn’t noticed Mrs Wilder swipe up my phone. She was holding it up in the air. “Live? You were never filming anything, you stupid girl! Do you understand what you have done?” She laughed—and I mean cackled like a witch. “I warned you, didn’t I?”
I got one last glimpse of Casper. His whole body was jerking under the chord inside his head, but he wasn’t crying out anymore.
Before I knew what was happening, I was being dragged back, and in front of me a Wilder boy shoving his struggling brother back into the chair. I didn’t have time to cry out.
With strength I had no idea the crazy bitch had, I was being violently yanked by my hair. And while I was flailing, I saw the ultrasound’s once again. Looking closer though, each one had a different name. A different mother. My head spun. That couldn’t be right. Mrs Wilder told me she was pregnant with four children, so who’s ultrasound’s were these? And why had she framed them? I didn’t have time to check it out.
I was dumped on my ass and the door was slammed straight in my face. I tried to get back in, throwing my fists into the door, until my own mother’s arms were pulling me back. I was hysterical. I couldn’t breathe, and mom wasn’t getting through to me. I’d kicked and thrown myself into the door, attracting the attention of our neighbours. That’s what I wanted. I wanted one of them to call the police, and when I picked up a brick, struggling against mom’s attempt to restrain me, and throwing it through the Wilder’s front window, I finally got it.
Two cops arrived, and I was so relieved I almost sobbed into one officer's chest. While my mom was trying and failing to explain my “breakdown” I begged them to take a look inside. And I was loud. I was screaming.
Which they couldn’t ignore.
“Phoebe!” I was partially aware of mom’s voice trying to calm me down, but I all I could see was that thing in Casper’s head, and his siblings made from knitted flesh. When the officer’s exited the Wilder’s house after five painful minutes waiting, I stumbled over to the two.
“Well?” I demanded, shoving away my mom. “Did you see them?” I yelled. “She’s turned them into… into dolls!” I was already going on a tangent, hysteria plunging me further into my own insanity.
“They’re not her children.” I gritted out. “She kidnapped and.. and stitched them up like… like Frankenstein! Mrs Wilder likes dolls! She had this paper-doll of me when she kidnapped me and lit it on fire to threaten me because I was talking to Casper. And he… he’s one of them, and not even her son! She’s controlling his mind with this thing stuck inside—"
“That’s enough!” Mom snapped.
The officer in front of me chuckled. “Breathe, kid!” He said. “Jeez. You’re not even giving us time to talk.”
“What?”
Instead of speaking to me directly, the officer turned to mom. “There’s nothing out of the ordinary, ma’am.” He said. “The Wilder’s were enjoying a family dinner, and…” his gaze flashed to me. “Well. It appears someone ruined it. There are no current reports of child abduction.”
I couldn’t resist a laugh. “Are you serious? Did you not… did you not see—”
He cut me off. “There they are!” He chuckled. “The Wilder siblings!” The officer saluted the four of them who had wandered outside trailing their mother. Ignoring the other three, I made my way over to Casper. But he looked… I don’t know, he looked like he usually did through his window? There were no stitches or patchwork skin. He was wearing a beanie, and I reached to yank it off, when his hand caught mine.
He was freezing cold.
His skin felt almost slimy, like I was touching the skin of a dead fish. I wanted to hold on, to force the cops to believe me, but he was already speaking—his voice was different, a lot deeper than the hysterical cry of the boy underneath. “Mom?” Casper’s eyes were cold. He shoved my hand away before taking a shaky step back. Like I was crazy. He quickly joined his siblings.
“Who is this girl?”
“We’re going home.” Mom said, grasping my arm. “Can’t you see you’ve embarrassed me enough?”
“Phoebe, huh?”
I turned to find the other Wilder kids. The guy with the jawline still had that doll-like smile. “Please leave our brother alone.”
I couldn’t resist spitting at him. “He’s not your brother. You’re brainwashed.”
Something in his expression seemed to twitch suddenly. Mom tried to pull me back, but I stubbornly stayed where I was.
Issac or Freddie cocked his head. “Brain... washed?"
He started to speak, before Mrs Wilder ushered them all away. But I did notice him turn back to frown at me.
Needless to say, I was grounded—and threatened with a restraining order.
That didn’t stop me peeking through the gap in Casper’s curtains that night. I caught him stumbling around, struggling to get the chord-thing out of his head with manic hands. He came over to the window several times, his bloody hands slamming into the window before slipping away. I'm not sure, but I don't think he knew why his legs kept drawing him to the window.
Mrs Wilder joined him soon after, forcing him to bite into something plastic, as she led him to sit on the bed, her fingers wrapping around the chord, and yanking it out. I didn't hear his scream, but his reaction to it, body writhing, eyes squeezing shut, I knew he could feel it. And part of him was awake. Just part of him.
Not the parts who knew our window sessions and his horrifying reality.
Casper came to his window all bandaged up. He didn’t hold up a message, and his eyes were vacant.
Though his expression told me everything I needed to know.
Engines woke me up several hours later. It was midnight. Sliding out of bed, my gaze went straight to Casper’s window. But it was dark. I pressed my face against my own window and glimpsed Mrs Wilder standing on her lawn in her robe.
A car pulled up, and the cop from earlier jumped out. In his arms was what looked like a body bag. He dropped it on the ground. “Freshly dead.” He said, when I opened my window to hear what was being said. “Car crash. Victim is male. Eighteen years old.” He folded his arms with a light laugh. “I got him straight from the morgue. His parents think there’s no body.” Both of them knelt next to the bag, and Mrs Wilder zipped it open with a hiss.
When the bag jolted suddenly, I realised the body was still alive.
The officer stumbled back. “Jesus. I didn’t even use that much. You said a single shot, right?”
“Mmm.”
Mrs Wilder pulled out a carving knife from her robe, and I felt my entire body turn to ice.
The cop raised a brow. “You came prepared.”
She sighed, her hands on her hips. “He’s spare parts. The expiry is approaching which is why they’re… acting out.”
With startling precision, she aimed the knife above what I guessed was the body’s head, before bringing it down with a sickening crunch. The bag stopped squirming.
I can’t remember anything else from that night.
My mother was gone the next morning. A paper doll replica of her was sitting next to a note and a plate of freshly baked cookies.
...
“Dearest, Phoebe.
I baked these thinking of you! And my, you should be grateful I have even bothered to do this after playing your games last night. Honestly, I am not the monster you think I am. Your mom asked me to let you know she will be busy with me for a few hours.
I’ve been asked to take care of you, so here are some chocolate cookies! Please maintain the rule I set in place and do not go near or talk to my children. I’m sure you know what will happen if you happen to slip up. I took the liberty of asking your mother to fit specialised devices in your room so I know when you are talking to my son. Writing equipment has been taken away. I hope we can be friends and I can start calling you my daughter. If something were to happen to your mom, do not worry. I will take you in. I want you to remember that.
Love,
Mrs Wilder.
PS: I can’t wait for you to (not) meet my newest son!

i am a salon receptionist and i stand for 8+ hours a day. I told my friend that our GM took away the anti fatigue mats at work and won’t be giving them back. My friend let me know that this is against some type of regulation. The floor is hardwood and we already don’t get breaks so my feet have been so sore !!!! Is this actually against some type of regulation?? I cant find much on it. thanks in advance!

Just closed on a 3floor townhouse. Seller had a dog and allowed it to piss everywhere. Bought place as-is on a bank approved short sale for 30k under appraisal.
In short, wife is pregnant and due end of May / early June.
Smarter to pull carpet and get hardwood floors done in two bedrooms and a den…. Or should we repaint house first all dependant on al contractors availabilities.
Is there a rule or get what we can done first / asap and it doesn’t matter?
Ps - townhouse is 1750sq Ft Any ideas on what is average cost of a good paint job (light grey color)
Also typical cost on 3 rooms that are approx 14’ x 12’
Thanks in advance!

Will adhesive vinyl plank stick to something like this underlayment.

hello,
i live with 3 people, and myself and two of the other people are on the lease. the other person is just an approved occupant, although we did all pay $550 towards bond and that is on our lease agreement as being split that way.
a month or so ago, my housemate who is on the lease invited over their friend who caused damage to the property. basically scratched up the hardwood floors with their heels. the scratches are deep, long, and everywhere. we have attempted to fix them but to no avail.
the housemate is still claiming that they can fix the damage and i don’t think she’ll attempt to hire anyone. my questions are:
1) are we all liable for this damage and could lose our bonds over this? or will the agency just use her portion of the bond ($550) for the damage? 2) should i inform my agency about the damage and who caused it? or should i wait it out until our lease ends (November) to give her a chance to fix this? 3) will this affect our rental histories, or just hers?
any advice would be appreciated. my rental history got screwed after my old property because the agency claimed damages caused by the floods was us, so i really don’t need another strike on my record. i also don’t want to be financially responsible for damage i didn’t cause.

I'm living in the worse situation imaginable.
I live in Enfield Island Village in a three story flat on the ground floor. I have live there for the past 4.5 years. A year ago this single mum and her daughter moved in next door to me. She seemed pleasant enough. Whilst she was getting settled in her brother was helping her. The reason I know this was they had left the front door open and When I returned from shopping I noticed him trying to remove some wooden carpet grips from the floor. My brother had just popped over and him being a Carpenter and saw they were having some difficulty offered to help.
After returning from his van with some tools he set to work removing the wooden carpet grips with a special tool. Everything seemed really ok and the brother of the female tenant was very grateful and said thanks.
It all started about a few weeks later, it seemed like they had decided to through a party, but the music was really loud and the BASS was shaking my walls, because of this I asked my neighbour politely if they wouldn't mind turning the down their HiFi and she agreed.
But then a few minutes later the volume increased. So I again knocked on their door and asked them again politely if they wouldn't mind turning it down but this time I was greeted by a man who asked "What the F do you want?" "You know this is a kids Birthday party?" I replied "But it's gone 12 o'clock at night..." But before I could say anymore, the man in question wanted to fight me. So I retreated to my flat and locked my front door.
The loud music still continued. So at approx 1 am in the morning I couldn't sleep my daughter (Who suffers with Anxiety disorder had her ear defenders on but could still hear the loud booming BASS music. At that point I decided to call Enfield Noise Nuisance Team, who deal with Noise Nuisances from neighbours within the borough of Enfield. They came down and spoke with the neighbours and the volume was reduced. But after they left the volume went back up, so I called the Noise Nuisance Team again. As before they turned it down, but no sooner they left the volume increased again.
This happened FOUR times and on their last visit the Noise Team called me by phone to say they would not be returning as they feared for their safety, therefore they would not be returning.
Since that date I've had THREATS of VIOLENCE, Two Broken Windows, paint put on my front door, constant Kicking of my front door, stones thrown at my other windows, including my daughters bedroom window (Luckily it didn't break) and the constant Shouting, Banging and sometimes screaming coming from their property.
I have called the police but they said that there is nothing that they can do unless there's any evidence.
I even saved the brick that was used to break my bathroom window in a sterile plastic bag (DNA) but they said it can't be used as evidence.
Altogether the Police have been to my flat about 5 times. Contacted the Council over a dozen times. I even called Amber Management (Who are the caretakers of Enfield Island Village. They have contacted the landlord of the property but nothing much else.
As final act of desperation was when I contacted The Sun Newspaper, who sent round a One Reporter and One Photographer, who bungled it all by knocking on my neighbours flat and mine at the exact same time, thus I think trying to create a scene between myself and my neighbour.
So now I'm at home, my daughter in her bedroom and me in mine. We can't use our front room cos of the noise from next door. This is what we're reduced to, living in fear and apprehension, not knowing what's gonna happen next. Just now I had a bang on my front door from one of them next door, then running back inside and laughing.
I need help, and fast. This has gotten way out of hand and needs to END..... NOW.

Sounds of distant Earth…
By M_is_not_dead!
University Log entry: 4396.54 (Terran Standard: September 16th 2223)
Professor Hik-von.
Let me provide some background. I am a University Professor of Music currently working for the Federation College of Music on Rolden, not far from the borders of the Federation. As a T’len, my species has excellent hearing and sight, but most of all, we have a drive to learn.
I had planned a short five-cycle trip to enjoy some of the beauty of a planet the humans call Earth. I landed at the Münster Spaceport early in the day, just before their local star started to rise over the horizon (the Humans call the star “Sol”). Being a T’len, my eyes automatically adjusted to the increasing light.
I followed the other people from many different worlds, all moving to what I assumed was the “baggage claim”. My thoughts were confirmed when I saw the signs above showing Galactic Standard that it was indeed the case. From the carousel indicating the ship I was just on, I grabbed my single bag and followed the signs to a door marked “Ground Transportation”. “These humans are quite organized…” I thought to myself.
I headed to the curb, and within seconds, a bright yellow taxi pulled in front of me. I opened the door and carefully slid in, watching that my long tail wouldn’t get clipped in the automatic door. I noticed that the taxi was completely automated. A voice asked in a very pleasant tone in my native T’len language, “Please state your desired destination?”
“Hotel Münster, please…” I replied back in T’len. I have to say, for a new member of the Federation, these humans seemed very pleasant. The taxi moved carefully through the streets, and within minutes, I was in front of the hotel.
The Hotel Münster is charming. It has grand exterior, with classic architectural features such as ornate stonework, wrought iron balconies, and tall arched windows. The entrance is marked by a large wooden door with intricate carvings, flanked by antique lanterns. The lobby features high ceilings, chandeliers, and a grand staircase leading to the upper floors. The furniture and decor were what the humans called a classic or antique style, with plush velvet armchairs, gilded mirrors, and oil paintings on the walls. The hotel offered modern amenities such as Internet and air conditioning while preserving its historical character.
I was later told of the history of this city, but that is for another paper.
After I had checked in and was shown to my room, I had an urge to go “adventuring” through the hamlet.
The small German town of Münster was bustling with activity as I stepped out of my hotel and onto the cobblestone streets. As a T’len from a distant planet, I was used to experiencing new and strange things, but this quaint town held a particular charm that I couldn't resist. I decided to explore the local plaza, where I stumbled upon a small coffee shop.
I ordered a hot beverage and took a seat at a table outside, watching as people went about their daily routines. It wasn't long before I noticed a man dressed in black and white clothing (I was later told that it was called a “tuxedo” and was formal clothing), holding a large piece of wood with what looked like wires connected at both the top and bottom.
I pointed my translator to it, and it was identified as a “double bass,” a traditional stringed instrument played by pulling a bow across the strings with one hand and placing the fingers of the other hand on the strings to produce vibrations that would vibrate inside the hollow wood cavity and produce sound. He placed a black hat on the ground and stood in silence.
I sat and sipped the hot coffee and sat back just to watch the crowd for a moment when a small human child came up to me and in a quiet voice said, “kitty.” I looked at my translator and started to chuckle.
Let me explain. A "kitty" is a small domesticated animal native to this planet. It seems that my orange and brown fur, along with my eyes, ears, and tail, make me look like an over sized cat. However, unlike that little animal, I am much bigger and bipedal, and millennias ago, our claws faded into stubs that were closer to knobs protruding at the end of our fingers. They look very close to Human nail, but tended to be black in color.
"I'm sorry, little human, but I am not a kitty, I am a T'len," I politely explained, bending closer to her. "My name is Hik-von. What is your name?" I smiled, emulating what I had seen other humans do.
She smiled up at me with wide eyes and replied with great joy, "Helen, I'm six years old."
“Pleased to meet you”, I asked, "Is your family nearby?"
She pointed to the table in front of me, and I saw two humans sitting there watching us. Helen then asked, "Can I touch your tail?"
Most T'lens would never allow anyone to invade their space or touch them, but that was not me. I slowly brought my tail up and gently laid it on her shoulders. She giggled with delight as my fur touched her neck. Her happiness was intoxicating, and I smiled as she stroked the soft fur. "It's so soft," Helen giggled again and ran to tell her parents, who waved at me and nodded their thanks.
Helen asked her parents for a coin and ran over to the man with the double bass and dropped it in his hat. He smiled at her and began playing music that I had never heard before. The music was beautiful, with soaring melodies and intricate harmonies that spoke to my soul.
I looked at my translator, which displayed the title of the piece the human was playing: "Ode to Joy" by Ludwig van Beethoven. The music was unfamiliar to me, but I couldn't help but feel moved by it.
The man in the tux continued on. Other performers joined him. This started slowly at first, one or two adding their own instruments to the performance. Some with small instruments that looked like the double bass but were smaller and higher pitched. Some brought metal instruments that they blew into. Soon, it was a mixture of both beauty and harmony. More people seemed to appear from everywhere, and they all seemed to add their instruments to the mix. The music began to build, growing louder and more complex with each passing moment.
I watched in awe as the performers worked together, creating a beautiful and complex tapestry of sound. The music was so powerful that I could feel it reverberating through my body, filling me with a sense of joy and awe. The performers continued to play, their music echoing through the plaza and drawing in more and more people. Soon, a crowd had gathered, and I found myself swept up in the energy and excitement of the moment.
The music played on. The notes were carried on the breeze, mixing with the sounds of the town and creating a symphony of its own.
The lyrics of the song spoke of brotherhood and joy, of the triumph of the human spirit over adversity. They were beautiful, and I found myself quoting them to myself over and over again.
The voices sang, "Durch des Liedes Macht veredelt, wahrhaftig zu sein, was ist" ("Through the power of song, ennobled, to be truly what one is"), and I felt a deep sense of connection to the humans around me. The music continued to build, reaching a crescendo that filled the plaza with its beauty.
The voices then sang, "Freude, schöner Götterfunken, Tochter aus Elysium, Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!" ("Joy, beautiful spark of divinity, Daughter of Elysium, We enter, drunk with fire, Heavenly One, your sanctuary!"), and I was in awe at the power of their words.
As the music came to a close, the performers and the audience erupted into cheers and applause. It was a moment of pure joy and beauty, a testament to the power of music to unite people from all walks of life and worlds. The sun began to set, and the group of musicians began to disperse, each one nodding to the other in appreciation. Lost in thought, I sat there for a moment, reflecting on how this trip had been more than just a chance to experience a new world. It had been an opportunity to connect with others in a way that I had never thought possible.
I finished my coffee and headed back to the hotel, my mind racing with new ideas and thoughts. I knew I would never forget this day, this moment of pure joy and beauty that had been shared by so many different beings.
That night, as I lay in bed, listening to the soft hum of the city outside, I couldn't help but smile. Somewhere in the universe, there was a small planet called Earth, filled with wonder and beauty beyond anything I had ever known. And for that, I was grateful.

im playing pleasantview and im having difficulties with my toddlers and children freezing all the time. freezing as in like cold, not the game stuttering.
so far ive had messages pop up for the goth babies i had, whos room is up in the attic, and the pleasants had another set of twins who took liliths room after i moved her in with the oldies. i havent changed the house around that much, as in i didnt mess with the roof, but i still deleted it and made the autoroof go on to make sure there wasnt any missing roof but i still get the messages that a social worker will come visit me if they dont warm up. angela, who was living in her room still, didnt get cold at all and her thermometer was in the green the whole time.
are fireplaces a necessity in this game rather than decoration?? i keep on putting a cradle in front of a fireplace in the living room so they warm up a little, but can you just not have toddlers and children living on the second floor lol?