Nail salons in des plaines il

Hello, moi c'est Rihanna, je suis Belge et je vais avoir 16 ans la semaine prochaine.
Cette histoire date de quand j'avait 12 ans et ça à duré jusqu'au mois de décembre dernier.
(Je ne vais divulguer aucun nom dans ce thread, ce sera d'autre nom)
Je venais de passer en 1er secondaire (5eme pour les français) et depuis que j'ai 10ans je n'ai pas eu vraiment d'amis parce que les amis que je m'étais fait pendant ces 10 dernière année je ne les ai plus revue car j'ai changer d'école.
Donc en arrivant en secondaire j'étais très naive et quand quelqu'un me parlais je m'attachais très fort à cette personne et pour moi c'était un ami que j'allait garder toute ma vie.
Il se trouve que dans cette école il y'avait un groupe avec une vingtaine de personne dedans et c'était des gens qui n'avait pas vraiment d'ami et qui ne savaient pas avec qui traîner du coup ils ont former un groupe qui s'appelait la mythologie.
La où d'ailleurs j'ai rencontré ma meilleure amie qui est toujours ma meilleure amie actuelle.
Donc j'avais rejoint ce groupe grâce à une connaissance à qui je parle plus maintenant car elle a harcelé mon frère mais ça c'est une autre Histoire.
J'étais avec ce groupe de pote et y'a 2 garçons qui sont très importants dans l'histoire et 1 autre gars qui n'a rien à voir avec la mythologie mais qui a son importance également.
Les 2 garçon de la mythologie on va les appeler fred et Jérémie et l'autre gars ethan.
Il se trouve que les 2 garçon du groupe on plus de 18 ans et qu'ils y'en à un,
Jérémie est alcoolique, sale, il sent fort,... Bref un mec pas beau à voir.
Il ne se passe rien d'alarmant les 5 er mois.
Après fût un jour où Jérémie à la brillante idée de ce faire passer pour mort et il avait pour complice fred.
Fred annonce la nouvelle, tout les gens du groupe ont est très mal pcq le message était quand assez crédible même si avec du recule il y'avait quelques trucs qui clochait mais sur le coup on a pas fait gaffe.
Donc moi super naïve et hypersensible je rejoint un voc avec quelque personne du groupe qui pleure à cause de la nouvelle quand à un moment je voit Jérémie rejoindre le voc et qui nous racconte la supercherie.
Bien évidemment tout le monde le prend très mal mais personne ne sais que Fred était complice mise à par moi car on m'avait prévenue après qu'il est révélé la supercherie mais m'ont convaincue de rien dire au autres.
Grosse erreur de ma part, mais bon le mal est fait.
Ensuite vient le confinement, on est tous un peu deg car ça veut dire qu'on se verra plus pendant un moment mais en même temps on se dit qu'il y'a toujours les vocs du coup aucun soucis. Pour le 1er avril Fred qui avait 19 ans à cette époque la me semble t'il à dit au autre qu'il était en couple avec moi (rappelons le j'avait 12ans) donc j'ai commencer à recevoir des messages en disant "t'es complètement folle pk t'es en couple avec il va avoir 20 ans t'en à même pas 13" et des trucs du genre sauf que je n'était pas en couple avec et qu'il s'est permis de faire cette blague sans me consulter et qu'en plus de ça c'est pas des blagues à faire.
Bien évidemment j'ai dit que c'était faux et la Fred aussi c'est retrouver éloigné du groupe. C'est la que fait l'entrée d'Ethan le mec qui M'a le plus traumatisé de ma vie. Ethan est le meilleur ami de Fred et il vient de s'ajouter au groupe on l'accepte sans problème et s'en suis une longue discussion sur messenger entre lui et moi. Il me dit que je suis vraiment très jolie et que je faisait plus que mon âge, il m'avait donner 18ans.sur le coup ça ne fait pas tilte dans ma tête et je me dit que c'est normal.
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Moi il faut savoir que je parlais toujours avec Fred et Jérémie mais que Fred et le fameux Jérémie bha il se parlait plus donc en fait je parlais avec un des deux de mon côté et avec l'autre je faisait pareil. Et ma meilleure amie qu'on va appeler Marie elle a continué de parler avec Jérémy et que entre-temps elle s'était mise à parler avec Ethan. Sauf que Ethan il avait dit qu'il ressentait des vrais émotions pour moi alors que le gars il avait 20 ans et que j'étais déjà en kiffe sur une fille.
juste après que Ethan il m'a avoué ce qu'il avait sur le cœur et que Fred me faisait également des avances, mon ancienne crush s'était fait passer pour ma copine sauf qu'on est vraiment sorti ensemble et que pendant ce temps-là je ne recevais plus de messages bizarres ni venant de Fred ni venant d'Ethan.
malheureusement entre nous ça c'est terminé et les messages bizarres que Ethan m'envoyait ont recommencer.
entre-temps moi et Fred on a complètement arrêté de se parler parce que quand on faisait des vocaux bah il faisait des bruits bizarres en ma présence et il lâché des réelle [email protected]. Et donc du coup suite à ça je continue de parler à Jérémy et à Ethan donc Fred il a plus rien à voir dans l'histoire mais c'est quand même un truc qui m'a marqué parce que c'est l'un des trois pédophiles si on peut appeler ça comme ça qui m'a bien traumatisé. Donc moi et Marie on continue de parler à Jérémy pour l'encourager pour qu'il s'en sorte parce qu'à mon avis il faisait de la dépression et donc du coup il se lavait pas du tout et j'avais fait quelques appels avec le fameux Ethan ( je venais d'avoir 13ans)
Et il se trouve que ce fameux Ethan il connaissait mon péché mignon et il s'en servait pour me faire culpabiliser et en gros ce qu'il disait c'était "si jamais tu aurais été ma copine tu aurais eu plein de sushi " et plein de trucs comme ça mais je n'ai jamais cédé même si il m'a harcelé pendant 2 ans pour sortir avec moi alors qu'il en avait 7 de plus.
Jérémy et moi, on s'est engueulé entre-temps du coup on ne sait plus parler pendant un petit moment mais je parlais toujours à Ethan qui s'était mis en couple avec Marie voyant qui n'allait jamais y'arrivé avec moi
Mais l'histoire entre Marie et Ethan n'a pas duré longtemps parce qu'il s'est passé un truc entre deux que je ne raconterai pas et donc du coup Marie et Ethan ont complètement arrêté de se parler mais moi je parlais toujours avec les deux et Marie me disait que Ethan c'est fini il fallait vraiment arrêter de lui parler sauf que j'étais trop gentil et que Ethan faisait genre qu'il allait mal et donc du coup j'ai voulu le soutenir.
Marie a continué de me parler malgré ça et je regrette encore maintenant de pas l'avoir écouté. on aimait bien jouer avec la mythologie qui entre-temps la mythologie c'est séparé et on a tous fait notre vie de notre côté et c'était action ou vérité sauf que ce fameux Ethan les actions qui voulaient que je lui fasse faire était de plus en plus hardcore et que un jour il m'avait trop gonflé pour faire une certaine action que j'ai dit qu'il devait le faire mais en pensant qu'il n'allait pas le faire et qui disait ça pour rigoler et il a retirer son calcon devant moi, en appel visio. (j'avait 14ans)
Suite à ça j'ai toujours essayé d'arrêter de lui parler mais j'y suis jamais arrivé et en plus ça des fois il venait dans mon village pour me voir sauf qu'il a rien fait de concret on va dire mais j'ai eu le droit à des attouchements de sa part et en plus de ça les messages qui m'a envoyé était très bizarre j'ai jamais reçu de photos compromettantes mais les textes qui m'ont envoyé c'était hard quand même, en plus il y'a eu un jour ou il m'a embrassé de force, a plusieur reprise. Je l'ai repoussé mais il pércistait.
jérémy est revenu me parler on s'est expliqué et donc du coup on est redevenu amis sauf que Marie m'avait dit que c'était pas une bonne idée que je leur parle à tous les deux parce que c'était pas des bonnes fréquentations et qu'en plus de ça les deux personnes en question était amoureux de moi et que Jérémy me l'avait dit juste avant qu'on s'engueule qu'il était en kiffe sur moi donc je suis resté ami avec les deux sauf qu'ils se parlait pas il se détestait carrément du coup je leur parlais chacun de mon côté et Marie a vraiment essayé de me sortir de là sauf que j'étais beaucoup trop gentil et beaucoup trop naïve du coup je l'ai pas écouté.
Il y a eu un jour où en rentrant de l'école j'ai vu Jérémy qui était juste devant chez moi et en fait il savait quand est-ce que je sortait avec mon meilleur ami qui est toujours mon meilleur ami actuel et en plus de ça on habite pas loin l'un de l'autre moi et mon meilleur ami et Jérémy connaissait mes horaires de sortie et ce qui faisait c'est qu'il venait à mon village il faisait genre que c'était une coïncidence si jamais on se croisait parce que en plus de ça il connaissait les lieux où j'allais le plus souvent et donc du coup il restait le restant de la journée avec moi et mon meilleur pote.
il y a eu un jour où j'ai craqué où j'en ai vraiment eu marre c'était en mars 2022 je l'ai surpris devant chez moi en train d'attendre ma mère cette fois-ci et je me suis barré en courant avec mon meilleur pote et je l'ai appelé parce que en plus ça j'avais son numéro et je lui ai dit " ose revenir devant chez moi et ça va très mal se passer" parce que dans mon village mon père il est assez connu et donc du coup quasi tout le monde le connaît donc tout le monde me connaît par conséquent, en plus de ça j'ai un malinois qui me protège de fou et en plus de ça j'ai un commissariat juste en face de chez moi.
moi et Jérémy aujourd'hui on se croise toujours mais à chaque fois que je le vois en coin de rue ou une connerie ainsi je me barre en courant et encore aujourd'hui j'en ai des crises d'angoisse quand je le vois je me mets à pleurer à plus avoir respirer je sais plus quoi faire mais je gère. (petit détail qui a son importance pendant le confinement le mec se [email protected]@it pendant que j'était en voc seul avec lui sauf qu'il ne mettait pas sa cam et j'entendait rien du coup je pouvais pas deviner ce qu'il faisait, je ne l'ai su que plus tard)
Quant à Ethan, il continuait de venir me voir, continuait les atouchement mais il y a eu un soir où c'était trop c'était en octobre 2022 je passais une soirée Halloween chez ma meilleure amie et à cette soirée il y avait moi, ma meilleure amie du coup, son copain et un autre pote à nous qu'on va appeler Mathieu Et un soir j'ai reçu un message d'Ethan et il m'avait ecrit rien de spécial il m'a juste envoyé "salut comment ça va" mais je sais pas pourquoi mais je me suis mise direct à faire une crise d'angoisse et Marie qui était déjà au courant de l'histoire plus les deux autres garçons qui étaient avec nous à la soirée je leur ai dit j'en pouvais plus et que j'en ai marre de me forcer à lui parler parce que je suis trop gentil je le répéterai jamais assez et Mathieu ce qu'il a fait c'est qu'il a pris mon téléphone et envoyer un message en disant "arrete d'envoyer des messages à ma meuf sinon ça va mal se passer" ethan il a envoyé un message mais comme si il s'adresse à moi alors que la personne qu'il avait en face de lui c'était Mathieu donc le gars qui se fait passer pour mon copain et il à envoyer un message mais comme s'il me parlait à moi et petit détail qu'il faut savoir c'est que je l'ai jamais mis au courant que ce jour-là je faisais une soirée pyjama avec ma meilleure amie et deux autres potes et il m'a envoyé un message et il m'a dit "la prochaine fois que tu es chez Marie évite de donner ton téléphone à un con"
mon meilleur ami ne peut pas saquer Mathieu est-ce qu'il a fait Ethan c'est qui savais que mon meilleur ami est très inquet part rapport a mes fréquentation et ce qu'il a fait c'est envoyé un message à mon meilleur ami en disant "tu es au courant que ta meilleure pote elle est en couple avec un certain mathieu" ce à quoi mon meilleur pote m'a appelé en me demandant ce qui se passait je lui ai raconté toute la vérité et juste après avoir accroché j'ai eu un excès de rage mais un truc j'ai jamais été autant énervé de ma vie je pense j'ai appelé Ethan je l'ai engueulé sauf que suite à une crise d'angoisse je n'ai plus su lui parler et donc du coup Marie a repris mon téléphone a terminé l'appel avec Ethan et qui après est venu me réconforter.
Suite à ça j'ai encore reçu des messages d'Ethan et cette fois-ci j'ai passé le téléphone à mon père en disant envoie un message à Ethan parce que vraiment il m'harcèle depuis des années et il veut pas me lâcher et suite au message de mon père qui je pense lui a fait bien flipper bah j'ai plus jamais eu de nouvelles de lui mise à part une fois où j'ai été à la Made in Asia et que je l'ai croisé j'ai fait une énorme crise d'angoisse mais sinon à part ça je ne l'ai plus revu.
Mes parents ils connaissent pas toute l'histoire en détail comme par exemple l'histoire avec les attouchements mes parents ne savent pas et Marie m'a conseillé plusieurs fois d'aller porter plainte sauf que maintenant je n'ai plus de preuve mise à part les messages qui date d'octobre mais en soi c'est pas une preuve concrète et en plus ça j'ai vraiment pas la force d'aller porter plainte je sais que je devrais mais j'y arrive pas
faite attention a qui vous parlé, je suis sérieuse. sinon vous allez le regretter.

Bonjour les trou de fion !
Je viens ici pour vous exposer une situation assez délicate. Désolé c'est assez long.
Moi (20s, F), a débuté un service civique fin janvier. L'objectif était de me faire un peu d'argent, acquérir de l'expérience et confirmer le goût pour certaines études. Ainsi, je postule à une offre très intéressante. Possibilité de faire des vidéos sur des thématiques qui m'intéressent (par ex l'alimentation émotionnelle), participer à des ateliers supervisés etc. Sauf qu'une fois acceptée, je me rends compte que mon patron m'a menti. Je m'explique. En réalité ses projets vidéo c'est seulement faire du découpage, modifications sur plusieurs dizaines de vidéos d'un séjour en vacances des résidents, pas d'objectif pédagogique rien comme promis. Le truc où on s'ennuie à mourir. Le tout, 7h d'affilée le lundi et mardi (+2h de réunion ce jour-là). Un rythme déjà assez difficile à tenir, car je n'ai aucune pause vu que le patron m'oblige à distribuer les repas et à surveiller les résidents à midi comme les salariés. Je lui ai fait part plusieurs fois de mes difficultés pour me concentrer, de vouloir espacer les heures d'ordi, il m'a dit que " c'est justement pour ça que le mercredi jeudi vous n'avez pas de vidéos" et "vous travaillez vite...c'est qui qui vous a dit vous aviez du mal à vous concentrer ?" ce à quoi j'ai rétorqué c'était des vraies difficultés (j'ai une dépression, stress post trauma bon ça il n'est pas au courant). Ainsi le but n'était pas de ne pas faire le taff, mais être dans de meilleures dispositions au boulot (quitte par ex à faire une matinée ordi le lundi, mais rattraper l'après midi ordi un autre jour). Le mercredi, pas de problème je suis avec une collègue que j'adore (appelons la Caroline) et qui me respecte, je kiffe l'atelier cuisine. Rien à dire. Le jeudi...le matin en atelier pâtisserie et l'après midi le patron ne m'a assignée à rien officiellement. Je "fais ce que je veux" vu que je n'ai pas de consignes. Sauf les fois où il veut je fasse à nouveau des vidéos alors que le mercredi jeudi sont mes journées sans vidéos. Il m'a même déjà dit " ça va vous manquer le jour que l'on ne ferra plus de vidéos haha", "pour vous récompenser vidéo le jeudi après-midi" alors qu'il sait les vidéos ce n'est pas mon truc préféré. Un film de 2h à faire, avec une deadline, qu'on va vendre. Sans me payer bien sûr. Sympa. Mon patron je ne le supporte pas pour plusieurs raisons. Le fait qu'il mente (il a fait le même coup à ma collègue éducatrice Caroline en lui promettant un truc à l'entretien d'embauche et en niant les faits après), qu'il ne se soucie pas de moi (il tente de me dissuader d'abandonner mes rêves d'études pour que je rejoigne sa structure en tant que stagiaire d'éducation non payée, donc ben là il me voit comme un gain financier. C'est en discutant avec une stagiaire que je l'ai réalisé), il m'avait demandé ce que je souhaitais un jeudi après midi ben j'ai dit je voulais un temps de réflexion autour de mon orientation avec des professionnels de la structure et il m'a dit qu'il allait faire toutes les démarches (spoilers : il ne les a pas faites. Légalement il est tenu de me proposer au minima un bilan tous les 2 mois, il ne veut pas), qu'il explose de rire pour rien et me félicite comme un gamin de 2 ans en clappant des mains super fort (je suis timide donc ça me met vraiment mal à l'aise), qu'il me flique parfois pendant les 7h d'affilée en étant assis à côté de moi à me faire le moindre reproche toutes les 2 mins (par ex, je décale temporairement une piste musicale pour éditer la vidéo, découper, il croit que c'est le produit final et me dit "mais non c'est trop en avant", il change de volontés tous les 4 matins etc.). Je précise, j'ai toujours rendu mon taff à l'heure, souvent à l'avance et il a toujours été content. Je ne comprends pas. Un jour il a même menacé de m'enlever l'atelier du mercredi car j'ai osé utiliser mon téléphone une fois pour un truc exceptionnel. Même Caroline dit que j'ai tendance à trop taffer et ne pas savoir me reposer. Ça en est devenu même un gag à l'atelier cuisine où les résidents me disent de me reposer (trop mignon :) ). Bref, déjà toute cette histoire autour des vidéos ça m'énerve, mais ce n'est pas le pire. La plupart du temps la majorité des collègues se contentent de me critiquer sans me donner des pistes d'amélioration. Ni j'ai de la reconnaissance. Un jour, j'étais la seule à pouvoir calmer une crise émotionnelle d'une résidente en l'écoutant respectueusement (une éducatrice sa méthode c'était de lui dire " tu es une femme adulte et les adultes ça ne pleure pas. tu n'es pas un bébé si ?" ça m'avait choquée. Donc ben j'ai voulu lui normaliser les émotions et je lui ai dit "c'est normal de pleurer, c'est humain et les émotions ça sert à dire que l'on va mal. Tu as le droit de pleurer. Cependant, il y a des temps et lieux" donc ben je l'ai tout simplement invitée à sortir de la salle du carnaval. Ce qu'elle a fait sans problème. Se sentant bien à côté de moi, elle m'a suivie le reste de la journée, seulement pour qu'une collègue me dise "Tu es trop affectueuse, lui donner de l'attention c'est valider ses crises émotionnelles" et m'interdise de répondre à la résidente.). Ce n'est pas faute d'avoir voulu m'améliorer et demandé des conseils, on s'en fiche on ne me communique sur rien. Très ironiquement, au moins +10 résidents m'ont dit qu'ils me faisaient confiance et que j'étais la meilleure stagiaire (pour simplifier on leur dit que les volontaires de service civique sont des stagiaires) depuis la création de la structure voilà 20 ans. J'ai toujours tenu pour les résidents, ils sont adorables et n'y peuvent rien à ces collègues démoralisants. Collègues qui eux aussi comme mon patron me considèrent comme de la merde. Au début les jeudi après midi, ils me proposaient des taches ingrates (écrire des mots à la peinture pendant +3h seule, nettoyer un gros aquarium pendant +1h). Collègues négligents envers les résidents (j'ai du leur signaler à une réunion que des résidents non autorisés à sortir traversaient la route sans regarder, ils s'en sont préoccupés seulement au bout du 2e incident, une résidente se plaint à moi que l'éducateur a oublié 2 matins d'affilée de lui donner à manger et quand je leur dis, ils engueulent la résidente en disant qu'elle n'a qu'à l'ouvrir. Ça m'a choquée). Enfin, on arrive au plus grand foutage de gueule voilà 2 semaines. Je débarque comme à mon habitude jeudi matin, une collègue m'annonce que dans 1h personne n'est là pour gérer l'atelier pâtisserie et que j'allais devoir gérer seule les 10 résidents dont certains lourdement handicapés, avec problèmes de santé. Décider seule de ce qu'ils font. Pire, elle m'a même dit de chercher les cachets des résidents pour le midi quand je les accompagne jusqu'à la cantine. Je ne connais pas leurs soucis de santé à part à certains et ça m'a foutu dans un énorme état de stress. Personne ne m'a prévenu que j'allais être seule, on ne m'a pas vraiment demandé mon opinion. Bref, matinée stressante. Ensuite l'après midi c'est le best of. Un résident vient me voir dans le bureau (je tentais de terminer une vidéo en express pour pouvoir rejoindre Caroline à l'atelier médiathèque, je ne voulais pas rester la journée plantée devant cet ordi seule.). Il me discute de certains de ses problèmes, tout va bien. Ce n'est pas la première fois et il fait la démarche de demander de l'aide, ce qu'il ne faisait pas forcément avant. Et...d'un seul coup il se lève, furieux, dit "je vais massacrer résidente B" et court dans l'objectif de la blesser. Je m'étais fait arrêter tout le mois d'avril car je m'étais blessée au genou et on m'a diagnostiqué des malformations congénitales. Le patron, mes collègues le savaient. Ça ne leur a cependant pas posé problème que je sois la première à sprinter et maintenir un grand mec musclé de +90 kgs seule. Les appuis sur mes genoux c'est le pire truc ! Quand ils voyaient je n'y arrivais vraiment pas, c'est que là qu'ils se sont bougés et on a été au final 5 à le maintenir, d'autres collègues regardaient en spectateurs. J'avais vraiment peur, il s'agitait beaucoup. Son agitation a d'ailleurs rendu mal une autre résidente qui s'est mise à tabasser plusieurs fois la tête de Caroline, à 30 cms de moi. Je n'ai pas pu l'aider car je maintenais déjà le résident. J'avais la peur de ma vie. Le second chef de service a dit à ma collègue de rentrer chez elle compte tenu de ses blessures. Tout le monde s'est soucié de chacun, sauf moi. J'avais très mal aux genoux et j'étais choquée de ce que j'ai vu. Le second chef de service a dit que les éducateurs allaient être en sous-effectifs compte tenu de l'absence de Caroline, j'ai proposé d'assister l'un d'eux. J'ai été ignorée et regardée super mal. Pire encore, on m'a laissée seule dans le bureau avec le résident très agité. Je ne pouvais pas me concentrer sur mes vidéos, il a même eu des convulsions et un malaise à cause de l'émotion. J'étais paniquée. Ce n'est que quand il s'est suffisamment calmé j'ai pu l'amener en urgence à la psychologue de la structure, elle a totalement comprit et a accepté de calmer la crise. Elle a rédigé un compte rendu complet en ma présence pendant 1h avec le résident, au chef de service absent et lui a dit par téléphone tout ce que j'avais fait. Elle a été la seule à être reconnaissante de mon aide et me dire j'avais très bien agit. Le chef de service revenait à la fin de la journée. Je m'attendais à ce qu'il me demande si ça va bien, discute avec moi, ben non. Il m'a dit bonjour en souriant et m'a ignorée 2 secondes après. Un collègue m'a reproché de voir la psychologue en insinuant je partais du principe les gens étaient dispos et c'était culotté j'aille la voir en freestyle. Tout cet enchainement d'événements ajouté à une aggression dans le tramway la veille m'a vraiment rendue mal psychologiquement. D'autant plus j'ai déjà des troubles de santé mentale. Je me suis alors arrêtée 2 semaines (arrêt maladie médecin traitant). Mes douleurs aux genoux ont empiré, j'ai eu rdv chez l'orthopédiste aujourd'hui et il m'a dit c'était probablement une opération lourde qui m'attendait vu mes douleurs non calmées par d'autres moyens. Nouveau coup dur. Je devais reprendre aujourd'hui le service civique mais je n'ai pas envie car pas de reconnaissance, ma sécurité n'est pas assurée, on s'en fiche que j'ai des blessures aux genoux, je n'apprends rien, les collègues me critiquent...Je me sens vraiment mal. Si je me plains le patron va probablement m'enlever les ateliers avec Caroline et je vais être confinée devant l'ordi 30h/semaine. Ça me déprime. Je ne peux pas démissionner car préavis de 1 mois, on va me sucrer 3 semaines de congés payés, on va refuser de me donner l'attestation du service civique. Alors je me disais j'allais essayer de me faire arrêter jusqu'à la fin étant donné il me reste peu de temps (2 mois). J'ai été arrêtée déjà en avril par l'urgentiste, un médecin généraliste a renouvelé le reste du mois pour mon genou, ensuite j'ai été arrêtée 2 semaines en mai à cause du dit événement et récupération après une infiltration/injection arthroscanner. Mon patron est furieux aujourd'hui : appel téléphonique, mail pressant accusateur que je ne sois pas revenue. Mais je ne pouvais juste pas psychologiquement et rdv orthopédiste. Je sens que j'abuse mais à la fois non...? Alors je demande votre avis objectif : suis-je le trou de balle si demain je vais voir un médecin pour lui demander de me faire arrêter à nouveau ?

Sometimes when you look into the mirror, the mirror looks back.
William Bailey's forehead shattered the mirror like a sledgehammer. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the feeling that he was falling through the mirror. Sub-cranial hematoma, a concussion, maybe even a cracked skull--that had to be the reason for the strange feeling. The mirror was mounted on the wall just to the right of the bar, four feet tall by about three feet wide. As consciousness slipped away, common sense and his strong belief in the rational world told him that he couldn't fall through the mirror. He must have bounced his head off the wall and be falling toward the floor.
It seemed like just a second or two before William's eyes popped open. He lay on his back, on the hard wood floor of Fausto's, with Johnny Davis towering over him. Big Johnny probably wanted to finish him off, maybe kill him, and finally end their twenty-year-old feud. Either Big Johnny Davis and the ceiling lights above him were spinning, or William's head was spinning, but either way something wasn't right.
He raised his head and looked to his left, toward the bar. Except the bar wasn't there. Instead, he was staring at the bathrooms. That didn't make sense. It must be his brain that had gotten spun around. William turned his head and peered over his size-ten wingtips at the busted mirror. The wooden frame and most of the glass still clung to the wall, the rest sat broken on the ground. The bar had to be on his left. He looked again, and still saw the bathrooms. A brain bruise, maybe some fluid pressure building up might be the cause of it.
"Get up!" Big Johnny Davis said.
William looked up at him. Johnny stood behind him, just beyond his shoulders. Perfect place for him to stomp my head into the plank floor. Except Johnny Davis was holding out his hand.
"Come on, we've got to get out of here."
Davis looked scared. It was the first time William Bailey could ever remember Johnny Davis looking scared. William had always been scared of Big Johnny, but Big Johnny wasn't scared of anything or anyone.
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
Johnny glanced over his shoulder. William craned his neck to look where Johnny was looking, saw he was staring at the front door like a man terrified something bad was going to come through it. Big Johnny looked down at him again and pumped his hand. "Come on, get up. They'll be here any second."
"Who?" William asked. "Who'll be--" But before he finished, Big Johnny Davis reached down, grabbed him by both arms, and jerked him to his feet.
As he was dragged toward the door by the only man in town who truly hated him, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door. He had to have a concussion, probably severe; that had to be it, because the letters on the sign were backward. It said TUO.
As Johnny Davis pulled him out the door, William heard tires skid on the pavement.
"Where's your car?" Johnny asked.
William twisted away from the big man's grip, then turned to his left. "In the alley." He started to run, still not sure exactly what he was running from.
Behind him, Big John shouted, "The alley's over here."
William kept running but turned his head back toward Johnny. "I know where the alley--"
Something hit him across the midsection and toppled him to the ground. He got his hands up just in time to break his fall and managed to keep his head from slamming into the sidewalk. When he looked up he saw a shopping cart tumbled onto its side.
Once again, William found himself lying flat on his back, this time amid the spilled contents of the cart. It had been filled with junk: paper bags full of dirty clothes, canned food, bags of potato chips, a diamond shaped, orange road sign, and other trash that looked like it had been collected from back alley garbage bins.
The homeless man who'd been pushing the cart was scrawny, and wafer thin. His skin was the color of old shoe leather, and he wore a long gray beard, tangled and matted with food and bits of filth. He was sprawled on the ground next to his cart, half sitting up, staring at William with his bright blue eyes.
Car doors slammed, men shouted.
"You better get going," the homeless man said, as he cocked his head. "The police after you?"
Police!
Before William could assure the old man that the police weren't after him--he was a respected businessman and family man--someone behind him grabbed him under both arms and pulled him to his feet. William turned and found himself staring into the face of Johnny Davis. "The alley's that way," Johnny said, pointing to the other side of Fausto's. With one hand gripping William's jacket, Johnny dashed across the front of the bar toward the alley. The alley--right there, plain as day--on the other side of Fausto's, right where it shouldn't be, where it couldn't be. William had been here a thousand times. As you stepped out of the bar, the alley was on the left, Brockton's Ace Hardware on the right. Now everything was mixed up and in the wrong place.
Johnny Davis turned down the alley, dragging William behind him. After just a few steps, a spotlight flashed in front of them.
"Stop!" a voice commanded. "Get on the ground."
William couldn't see because Johnny was in his way. "Who's that yelling?" he asked.
Big Johnny stopped and William plowed into his back.
"Get on the ground," the voice boomed again.
William poked his head out from behind Johnny Davis's back. The blinding white light was in his face. He couldn't see a thing.
POP! POP! POP!
Gunshots.
Big Johnny sagged, then crashed to his knees. Instinctively, William bent forward and grabbed hold of Johnny. "What's the matter?"
More pops.
Johnny's big hand reached out and shoved William back toward the street. "Back door," he wheezed, then plunged forward onto his face.
William stood alone. Behind the white spotlight he saw blue police lights flashing. He was totally exposed.
POP! POP!
He saw flashes--little yellow spurts of flame--as something tugged at his jacket.
William had said "back door." What back door? Fausto's had a back door, but it didn't lead anywhere except to the open space behind the building used for trash and deliveries. Twenty feet of asphalt between the bar and the back of the building on the next block. William had parked his car at the end of the alley, but the police cars--or whatever they were--had the alley blocked off. The building behind Fausto's also had an alley that ran alongside it, but the owner had closed it off to keep the bums out. He'd put up a gate, padlocked it, and topped it with razor wire. It was a dead end.
Two more pops. Dead end or not it was better than standing here and getting shot. William turned and ran. He burst through the front door of Fausto's, dashed through the bar, past the shattered mirror, hit the back door at a dead run, and was outside behind the bar within seconds.
He could see the tail end of his car sticking out from the corner of the building, but with the cops blocking the alley, his car was useless to him. William glanced across the open space to the alley that ran next to the other building. The gate, the padlock, the razor wire--all still in place. To his right an overflowing garbage dumpster sat beside the back of Fausto's, jammed against the fire ladder.
The fire ladder.
An iron ladder bolted to the cinderblock wall.
William looked up. The top of the ladder was lost in shadow, but he knew it went up two stories to the roof. Last summer, when the toilet had stopped up, he'd come out back to take a leak and had stood behind the dumpster, peeing against the wall like a kid, one hand draped over the bottom rung of the ladder.
He slipped behind the dumpster. The smell made him gag. The bottom of the ladder was four feet from the ground. William reached up as high as he could, grabbed hold of the third rung, then hauled himself up.
Through the partially open back door came the sounds of heavy feet pounding on the hard wood floor of the bar.
Halfway up the ladder, he was exhausted--and scared. Shaking, he white-knuckled the ladder. Being more than ten feet off the ground terrified him. He needed a break, just a second or two to catch his breath. There was enough moonlight so he could see into one of the second story windows. Inside, junk was piled everywhere. Old barstools, a busted jukebox, furniture stacked almost to the ceiling. Years ago, old man Fausto lived on the second floor, but Jake, who'd bought the place from the old man and had decided to keep the name, used it for storage.
Below him, William heard the back door thrown open so hard it banged against the wall. He scrambled up until he reached the top of the ladder, then hoisted himself over the edge of the roof. Down on the ground a voice shouted, "There he is, up there."
Another gunshot. What the hell was going on?
The unmistakable sound of feet--fast feet, in shape feet, boot shod feet--scurrying up the ladder. Standing on the tar and pebble roof, William glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, shocked he was even thinking of such a thing. A five gallon plastic bucket was all there was. It stood upright, filled with rainwater. He picked it up and peered over the edge. A uniformed policeman was three quarters of the way up the ladder. Two more cops were right behind him.
William looked at the heavy bucket in his hands, thought about just dumping the water onto them but knew it wouldn't stop them. There was only one way to stop them, and that was to knock them off the ladder. He thought about warning them, maybe trying to scare them away. But they were cops. You couldn't scare them away.
So why had they shot Johnny Davis, and why were they shooting at him?
The first officer looked up and saw William staring down at him with the bucket in his hands. Their eyes locked for just a second and the cop stopped. In those eyes that stared back at him, William saw an almost maniacal determination that sent a shiver down his spine. The officer held his grip on the ladder with his right hand while his left dropped to the pistol resting in his gleaming leather holster. In one smooth motion he drew his gun and raised it toward William.
William Bailey tossed the bucket down the ladder. A shot rang out an instant before the heavy bucket thudded into the cop's head. Like a gruesome traffic accident happening before his eyes, William couldn't help but watch as the policeman fell, taking his two partners down with him. The last thing William saw before he turned away was a jumbled heap of black uniforms resting on the concrete below the ladder.
* * *
Hiding in the shadow of a telephone booth, thinking. Home. He had to get home. Had to get back to Marge and the kids. Maybe somehow he could explain what had happened. Vincent, his attorney, he would know what to do--maybe--but he was a civil lawyer not a criminal attorney. He wrote contracts and did personal injury on the side; he didn't get people out of jail who'd killed a cop by dropping a bucket of water on his head and knocking him and his buddies off the side of a building.
As the cab he'd been waiting for pulled up, William stepped out from the dark and climbed into the back seat.
The driver turned around. "Where to?"
William pulled the door shut. "Uptown. 1721 Audubon Court."
"Fare's gonna be about fifteen dollars. After dark, I gotta have the money up front."
"What?"
"Company policy." The cabbie shrugged. "A lot of drivers been getting stiffed."
William opened his wallet, pulled out a twenty and handed it across the seat. The driver took it and almost slipped it into his cash box, then took a second look at the bill. His face tightened. "What the hell is this?"
"Huh?"
With the bill stretched between his hands, the cabbie stared at it for a second then looked up at William. "You're either the dumbest counterfeiter who ever lived or you've been had."
"What you are talking about?"
The driver faced the bill toward William but didn't hand it back to him. "It's printed backwards."
William looked at the twenty-dollar bill in the man's hand. It looked like--it was--an almost brand new bill, nothing wrong with it as far as he could tell.
"Get out of my cab," the driver said.
William didn't know what the man was talking about but knew he didn't want to get out. This cab was his only way home. He reached for the twenty. "If you don't like that one I've got another--"
The driver pulled his hands away. "I ain't giving this back. I got to turn it in to the police." He dropped one hand behind his seat back, then came up clutching a pistol, an old German Luger by the looks of it, the muzzle aimed straight at William's face. "In fact, I bet they give me a reward if I bring you in with it."
William jerked the door handle and rolled out into the street. He sprang to his feet and ran, the driver's yells just background noise. Has everyone gone crazy or is it just me?
Home. He had to get home.
* * *
Rain. Driving, relentless rain. William was just two blocks from Fausto's. In two hours, that's as far as he'd gotten--one block an hour. Police cars prowled the neighborhood, shinning spotlights into every nook and cranny, lighting up every shadow. Everyone in Fausto's knew his name. He'd been going there three or four nights a week after work for years. The cabbie had his address. William had given it to him when he told the hack driver where to drop him.
Ten o'clock at night, with nowhere to go and no way to get there, William sat behind the closed Goodwill store, under an overhang that barely kept the rain off of him.
Huddled in the dark, head sunk between his knees, he hadn't heard anyone approach.
"You don't look so good."
Startled, William looked up, prepared to run again. It was the homeless man he'd knocked over outside the bar. The one with the shopping cart and the leathery skin. William relaxed a little. "Excuse me?"
The man pushed his cart closer. "You're not supposed to be here."
William looked around. "Why not?"
The old man grinned, half his teeth gone.
William found it nearly impossible to tell his age. The guy could be forty and maybe had lived a hard life, or perhaps he was a well-preserved seventy, pickled by a lifetime of booze. William waved him off, expecting a plea for money. "I can't help you."
The old man stopped just a few feet away. "Everything's out of place isn't it?" He had a strange lilting voice. Almost like an accent.
And he was right. Everything was out of place--from Johnny Davis to the cab driver--everything was wrong.
Strapped to the back of the old man's shopping cart was a plastic sign about the size of a loaf of bread. William recognized the sign, the words, the colors, the logo of a local supermarket chain, all were familiar to him, but the letters were backward, unreadable.
Rainwater ran down William's face. He pointed to the sign. "Why's it written like that?"
The old man looked at the sign then back at William. "Like what?" he said, then shuffled away behind his basket.
* * *
The rain came down even harder. William slouched in a darkened doorway across the street from Fausto's. Nothing made sense. Everything was messed up, backward, out of whack. Almost like this wasn't his home, like he was a stranger seeing it for the first time.
But that was crazy. He'd grown up here, gone to Brother Martin High School, dated Jenny Underhill who went to Cabrini, lost her to Johnny Davis, then got her back only to lose her again the first year of college to some kid who drove a Mustang. Two years later William married Marge at Saint Luke's. They had two kids.
This town was his home. He recognized it. He knew the people here, Big Johnny and Zeke, the bartender at Fausto's. But things were different, little things. John Davis for one. In trying to help him, the big man had gotten himself killed. That wasn't John Davis--at least not the one William Bailey had known since seventh grade. Everything looked the same but wasn't. Nothing was quite right.
But they knew him--or someone like him.
A strange sensation crept over him that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Maybe he didn't belong here. Maybe everything wasn't as it appeared. Maybe this wasn't his home. But if that were true, then whose home was it? Another thought, even scarier seeped through his brain. If he was here, who was there--at his home?
Crazy.
William dropped his head into his hands. Just considering such nonsense was a waste of time. Yet, here he was scanning the street, thinking of going back inside Fausto's, back to that mirror.
Not much time to think about it. The bar closed at three AM and it was already two-thirty. When he'd left--run for his life with Big Johnny--most of the mirror was still in the frame hanging on the wall.
Something about that damned mirror.
But Fausto's was dangerous, so a couple of hours ago William had found another mirror. In the men's room of a twenty-four hour gas station. The Chevron on North Rampart.
He had approached it cautiously, afraid he was going mad. As he peered over the sink into the mirror, he saw what he always saw, his own reflection. Holding up his left hand, he looked at the image in the mirror, at the watch strapped to his wrist. He noticed that the man in the mirror wore his watch on his right hand. Just the opposite.
William stood in the gas station bathroom for twenty minutes before he worked up his nerve. Finally, he took a deep breath, leaned back, then slammed his forehead into the dirt-streaked mirror. The glass shattered and cut his head. Blood dribbled off the tip of his nose into the sink. His reflection stared out at him from the other side of the mirror, blood running down his face, too.
I have gone crazy!
So the gas station hadn't worked out. Ducking police cruisers, William had wandered the streets, his head reeling. What was he doing?
On the sidewalk, he found a sopping wet magazine that the wind had blown up against the side of a newspaper machine. The cover caught his eye. He picked it up. It was printed backwards, the letters reversed, words running right to left. The spine was on the right. As he flipped through the pages, he couldn't read a thing. Then William had an idea.
In the bathroom of an all night restaurant he held the wet magazine up to the mirror. Perfect. The reflected image was normal, spine on the left, words running left to right, all the letters printed correctly. He could read it clearly. But what did it mean?
Then he drove his head into that mirror. The glass cracked. Someone walked in, a skinny waiter wearing an apron. He stood gawking as William leaned over the sink with tears of pain filling his eyes.
The waiter looked at the broken mirror, then jabbed a finger at William's bloody forehead. "What the hell are you doing?"
"An accident," he mumbled, pressing his fingers against the fresh cut.
The waiter turned. "I'm calling the cops."
William Bailey ran.
Now he was huddled in the rain staring at Fausto's across the street. Because he had nowhere else to go.
He stood and walked toward Fausto's. When he was halfway across the street, a police car glided around the corner, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. The cops in no hurry, just cruising. William forced himself to keep walking, not to run. One foot in front of the other. In the downpour, odds were that the cops wouldn't even recognize him.
But they did recognize him.
The police car slid to a stop as its high beams clicked on and its blue strobe lights started popping. Both front doors flew open.
Like a sinner seeking the sanctuary of a church, William ran straight for Fausto's door. As he burst inside, Zeke looked up from behind the bar. "William! What the hell are you doing here?"
He ignored the bartender, running right past him, eyes focused on the broken mirror and its busted frame hanging on the wall.
Zeke again, "The cops been looking all over for you. Say you killed two officers and--"
Behind him the front door banged against the wall. "Police!" a voice behind him commanded. "Stop."
But William didn't stop. He kept running--running straight for the mirror. Reflected in its fragmented pieces he saw two uniformed police officers behind him, heard their boots pounding on the wooden floor. Just ten feet separated him from the mirror. At full speed he took two strides then dove. He stretched his arms out overhead and tucked his chin into his chest as his feet left the floor.
He felt one hand hit wall and the other strike broken glass. Then his head hit. More glass cracked, more skin split.
Darkness.
* * *
William's eyes popped open. He was staring at the ceiling. Rough voices, even rougher hands. They rolled him over onto his stomach and jerked his arms behind his back. He felt cold steel on his wrists and heard the metallic ratcheting as the handcuffs tightened and bit into his skin.
He tilted his head up and rested his chin against the floor. Blood poured down the side of his face; he watched it pool on the floor then seep between the wooden planks. By rolling his eyes up he could just see the empty spot on the wall where the mirror had hung. Lying on the floor, three feet from his head, was the broken frame and the rest of the glass.
The two cops grabbed his arms and yanked him to his feet, sending waves of pain through his shoulders and wrists. As they spun him toward the door, one of the officers said, "You're under arrest."
"Why?" William asked.
The officer pressed his face into William's. "Murdering your family for starters."
"My...my family." William felt his stomach cinch and his bowels turn to ice. A thought he'd had earlier in the night echoed inside his head. If he was here, who was there--at his home.
As the cops dragged him across the floor, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door.
OUT.
He was home.

Hi All!
I will be moving to Fukuoka in June of 2024 on a Student Visa. 25F (will be 26 when I touch down). I will be bringing my two cats with me and have all the processes Japan requires in the works. I plan on doing the two years for the visa, but I do plan on staying longer with work - I have my master's in engineering technology and plan on trying to intern if possible. (i.e bringing my cats).
​
I had a few questions (bare with me):

1. Are there any recommendations for apartments that will accept someone with 2 cats? I will have have a monthly allowance of about 200k yen a month before trying to find work. I have reached out to a few places myself but wanted some recs too.
2. Recommendations for phone and banks? Recommendations for transferring money between US bank and JP bank?
3. Has anyone bought furniture from the IKEA down there?
4. Is it easy to amazon things down there or is there an alternative that locals use more?
5. Any recommendations for food or drinks? I'll be there about a month before school so I am down to explore.
6. Any events to meet people to make friends?
7. Any hair stores with products for African American hair? I can do my own, but salons are welcome too. Nail salons?
8. Any recommendations on internships or part-time jobs I could look into?
9. Any other advice?

Après 5 ans de couple, très amoureuse (vraiment, même si la suite peut en faire douter, je suis folle de mon mec) à ne pas avoir eu ne serait ce qu’un regard ailleurs ou envoyé le moindre texto ambigu, j’ai craqué d’une manière aussi brutale qu’inattendue pour un jeune homme très très beau, de 10 ans de moins que moi (j’en ai 34).
Il faisait du stand up, et j’étais au 1er rang avec une amie. A la fin du show il est venu me draguer, un sacré rentre dedans, mais très bien effectué, je lui ai trouvé un charme fou et c’est rare que des gens me plaisent, je calcule jamais personne. Très sage que je suis habituellement je sortais presque plus sans mon mec depuis longtemps, je n’étais plus habituée à me faire séduire et surtout c’était vraiment mon style physiquement, et son humour, et sa voix, et son sourire, et son corps, et sa jeunesse sûrement.
J’ai rarement vu quelqu’un d’aussi beau. On dit que les femmes ne trompent pas par pulsion sexuelle mais là c’est bien ça qui m’a envahi tout le corps comme une boule de feu. Ma copine est partie j‘ai fait semblant de partir aussi. Puis je lui ai écrit un message (oui nous avions discrètement échangé nos numéros, j’ai d’abord refusé en disant que j’étais en couple et totalement in love, avant de craquer misérablement). Il m’a rejoint illico nous avons bu quelques verres, beaucoup ri et dansé… jusqu’à s’embrasser avec passion et un peu plus que s’embrasser sous un porche. Rattrapée par la honte j’ai écourté quand c’est devenu trop hot et je me suis enfuie limite en courant choper un uber. Je suis rentrée chez moi à 5h du mat honteuse comme jamais, j’ai vomi et pas dormi de la nuit. Je me sens sale et triste. Mon mec ne mérite clairement pas ça.
Mais voilà, le jeune homme ne lâche pas l’affaire, il a envie de me revoir (je regarde les messages et les supprime sans répondre mais je n’ai pas le courage de le bloquer) et moi aussi depuis je fantasme sur lui je pense à lui j’ai envie de lui ça m’obsède. Donc help je fais quoi pour me le sortir de la tête, est ce que je trouverais la force de résister, le mal est déjà fait et je culpabilise à mort mais ce désir est là. J’avais besoin que ça sorte…

was wondering what the best nail salons were in the area for gel manicures? I went to happy nails since it's nearly right across from my neighborhood but they kinda made my tips and gel crooked :(

"Okay," Sookie called out. "That's a wrap!"
A ragged cheer went up from the cast and crew. Deacon walked around, clapping his hands and cheering loudly, making sure everyone else was cheering, too. Sookie walked over to her chair and sank into it, her feet throbbing in time to the cheering people around her. She smiled at anyone who caught her eye and just relaxed.
This was the end of a grueling, forty-five day shooting schedule that had been supposed to be ten hour days, but had ended up being more like thirteen to eighteen hour days for her. They weren't done filming the season. Far from it, in fact. But these were the worst shots, and the cast and crew involved had all agreed to push through hard until it was done. After this, they had about two more months of shooting on a more normal schedule, and then editing could begin.
Deacon, despite his enthusiasm for the end of the push, had not had to attend most of the shots they got, and had instead, been spending 'quality' time with a couple of local groupies and the White Lady. Sookie didn't begrudge him this, of course. She worried a little about the amount of booger sugar going up his nose at times, but his agent had repeatedly assured her that he was using far more often during shoots than during his off time.
Besides, it was only fitting that the star of the show should enjoy the fruits of his fame. Sookie herself had picked up a bisexual couple a week or two ago, when they had a shoot end 'early' (at nine PM) and the next's day's shoot wasn't scheduled to begin until eight AM. She had left set almost immediately and headed to a local gay bar, where someone had recognized her from her OnlyFans days and insisted upon introducing his boyfriend.
She sighed, remembering the sensation of two well-endowed men thrusting into her, and how she'd simply melted when the one behind her leaned forward and around to kiss the other. Bi men were soooo hawt...
She promised herself she'd try to find another bisexual 'gay' couple, now that she had the time.
Deacon had finally got everyone sufficiently enthusiastic -which was a credit to his charisma, really, as everybody was exhausted- and came over to sit next to her in his own chair.
"I am so ready for a couple weeks off," he said.
"It's one week," Sookie reminded him. "And then you need to be ready for the fight scenes. Have you been working with your choreographer?"
"I haven't really had the time..." Deacon whined, causing Sookie to sigh.
"Deek," she said, sitting up in her chair and turning to face him. "You haven't needed to be on set for the past two weeks. You've been coming to, in your own words, 'help keep morale up'. And while I do appreciate your efforts in that regards, it is far more important for you to be ready to shoot your fight scenes in a week. I'm serious here. You need to get with your choreographer and get your moves nailed down tight. We don't have time to push those shoots back any further."
Deacon held up his hands in surrender. "I'll be down at the dojo tomorrow, I swear."
"Tomorrow morning," Sookie insisted.
"Tomorrow morning," Deacon agreed. "In fact, I'm going to get the playbook and go over it tonight, to try to get a head start."
Sookie smiled and patted him on the knee as she rose. She didn't want to be here anymore. The PAs and crew could finish cleaning everything up so the teardown crews could get started tomorrow.
She found her personal assistant and instructed her to make sure everyone knew to do their own breakdowns, then left. Filming on set had certain advantages, including the fact that she was within walking distance of her hotel.
The security guard that Julie had insisted she maintain since that incident a few years ago with the psycho stan peeled herself off the wall she'd been holding up and fell into step behind her. Sookie wouldn't have minded so much, except Julie had carefully picked married, monogamous men and women to fill her security schedule with, to avoid any 'conflicts of interest'.
This gal, Linda Gottlieb, was probably the worst of all. She had a girlfriend and a boyfriend, and yet refused to sleep with anyone else. On top of that, she was as slender as Sookie, flat chested (which Sookie found to be a major turn on) and hard as a rock, with veiny arms and shoulders and even a few visible on her belly.
Sookie was a woman of many tastes, but skinny girls with visible veins and no tits were one of her more notable favorites, and so Linda's categorical refusal to so much as let Sookie slip a hand down her pants was grating.
Linda wasn't wearing a uniform. She wore a tight tank top and a loose flannel with the sleeves rolled up and the front unbuttoned over a pair of blue jeans and hiking boots. Sookie knew she had a gun on her somewhere, but couldn't speculate as to where.
Well, that's not true. Sookie imagined the handle sticking of her ass, riding up between the cheeks of that ass that all flat-chested women seemed to have that was categorically unfair to better-if-still-modestly endowed women like Sookie. She slowed down to get a peek at it.
"Looking at my ass again?" Linda asked.
"Yes," Sookie said. "I was wondering if you keep your gun there. The handle could fit between those cheeks and nobody would be the wiser."
Linda laughed and lifted her flannel to show a handgun tucked into her belt on her hip. "Sorry to disappoint," she said. "But I kinda need to keep it where I could easily get at it."
Sookie sighed, her pleasant illusion ruined.
They turned left out of the studio gates and walked up the road. Despite the presence of the studio, this was kind of a rough area, so Sookie appreciated having some security as she made the walk. Not that she couldn't handle herself, but she'd learned the hard way that being taken by surprise left her as vulnerable as anyone.
They hadn't gotten more than a half a block before a ragged looking man approached them, reeking of booze and shit. His clothes were filthy and torn and he had a scraggly beard that ranged from a centimeter to three inches long, seemingly at random.
"Spare a dollar?" he asked.
"No," Linda said, stepping forward to catch his attention so Sookie could slip past.
"S'just a dollar, lady. I'll lick your pussy for it!" The man leered at Linda, who didn't blink or flinch, but rather gave him a hard shove back.
"Don't you fucking crowd me, talking shit like that," she said menacingly, taking another step forward to keep him off balance.
"Be respectful," she added with force. The man looked like he wanted to argue, but something in the way she looked or held herself made it clear to him that Linda was not to be trifled with. He stepped back until his back was to the wall of the building behind him and watched as Linda turned and caught back up to Sookie, who was watching the whole thing over her shoulder.
"Fucking Dykes!" the man shouted. "Suck my dick!"
"You'd think that at least one of them would figure out that being aggressive like that doesn't work," Sookie mused.
"It doesn't work on you or me, but that's because we know we could take his head off if he tried to get violent," Linda said. "Most women aren't fighters. They'll give him cash just to get him to stop harassing them."
"Fair enough," Sookie said.
This was a common occurrence. Almost every time Sookie walked to her hotel, at least one homeless person would try to panhandle her. Sometimes, if she had any cash, she'd give them some. Once in a blue moon, one would engender enough sympathy for a good payout, a hundred bucks or so. But most of the time, they struck her as entitled ruffians, living on the street thanks to their own bad decisions and trying to get by on other people's labor.
She knew that was an old-fashioned mindset. She knew a lot of these people would, if they got clean of whatever they were using, sort out their lives and take care of business. She knew that the DCM Group even had a charitable arm who straight up gave condos and large sums of money to many homeless people, who immediately used that gift to get back on their feet. She knew the stats, too.
But this particular area seemed to attract the sort of homeless people whom right-wing motards used as an archetype for all homeless people. Twice, someone from the crew had been assaulted, causing Sookie to declare that she and the stunt coordinator were the only ones allowed to walk to and from the studio.
"I wonder if they're actually even homeless," Linda said, her thoughts echoing Sookie's.
"Me too," Sookie said. "I mean, it's a very poor neighborhood, adjacent to a place where very wealthy people work. There's no rule that says you have to be homeless to panhandle."
Linda nodded. Sookie wondered idly if she'd been following her own logic, or seeking out a belief that made her feel better about judging the people here. She wasn't sure which, really.
The area they moved through got progressively nicer as they continued. They turned the last corner, with three blocks still to go when Sookie saw the next one.
This one was older. he only had about a week's worth of beard on his face, though Sookie could see that it was mostly gray. He wore similar clothes to the other one, the once-vibrant colors having long since faded towards a muted gray tone. His clothes, however, looked cleaner and the holes had all been neatly stitched. As they drew close, Sookie could read his sign.
Please help Leave a dollar or take a resume Will work for food
Sure enough, he had a stack of resumes weighted down with a rock next to him. Sookie stopped, intrigued and bent down to retrieve one. She handed the man a folded ten dollar bill at the same time. A reward for creativity in his panhandling, she thought.
She looked at it. The man had a pair of enlistments in the Marine Corps at the top of his work experience. It was back in the early 2000s, and it mentioned Helmand Province, which Sookie recalled had been at the center of a lot of the fighting in Afghanistan.
The next few lines were security companies, starting with a high-end competitor to the Group, and then a long sequence of construction and day-labor work, ending on his current work, which was "Self Employed - Private Investigations". Below that, he had a string of qualifications, including armed security, close protection and bail enforcement.
"This is actually quite a good resume," Sookie told him. She glanced up at the top to get his name, Richard Nixon.
"Richard Nixon?" Sookie asked. "Like the president?"
Richard nodded. "I'll work," he said hopefully. "I can swing a hammer and do plumbing. I'll do a full day's work for lunch and dinner, or a hundred bucks, whichever you prefer."
Sookie handed the resume to Linda, who looked down at it.
"Ain't much different than mine," she said. "Oorah."
"Oorah," Richard muttered back, seemingly on pure instinct.
"So why are you out here, Richard?" Sookie asked. "Your resume says you're self-employed as a private eye."
Richard shrugged. Sookie noted the redness and swelling of his nose. "Work's been scarce," he said. "Been getting fewer jobs for the last few years. Fewer jobs means less money, less money means losing my office, not being able to afford nice clothes, which leads to fewer jobs."
Sookie looked a question at Linda, who shrugged. "We're always looking for investigators. It can be hard to recruit former cops, and those we do are often old enough not to stay on for more than a few years before retiring."
Sookie smiled and nodded, turning back to Richard. "You want an interview?"
"Hell yeah," he said with some enthusiasm. "As long as they don't mind me looking a little rough around the edges."
"Where do you live?" Sookie asked. Richard gestured around. "Lost my apartment last month," he said. Sookie pursed her lips and then nodded and held out a hand to him.
"Come on, Richard. I'm Sookie, and this is Linda. I'll make you a deal. I'll get you a nice outfit to wear and arrange an interview at the LA office tomorrow. I'll put you up on my couch for the night, too. That way, you can shower and shave and look presentable for it. What do you think?"
Richard took her hand and let her help him up. "Are you serious?" he asked. Sookie nodded.
"Holy crap, thank you, lady. Sookie, I mean. Thank you." His eyes began to get watery. "I don't... I don't even know what to say. That would be amazing."
Sookie smiled, her heart wrenching for the guy. She knew he had a drinking problem, but she also remembered all those people the Group's charities helped. Get someone on their feet, and there was a good chance they'd stay there.
"Do you have stuff to get?"
"I uh... I have a storage shed. It's paid up through the end of the year," he said. "My stuff is safe there, I just need to go get my toiletries."
"Don't worry about that," Sookie said, stepping to the edge of the sidewalk and waiting for the traffic to clear enough to cross the road. "We can stop by a drug store, too."
----
Sookie and Linda took Richard shopping and got him everything he needed. Which wasn't much, really. Sookie had a spare toothbrush, razors, shaving cream and cologne at her hotel room. It was all stuff she kept on hand to be the best slut she could be, and make her dishes du jour feel welcome. They bought him deodorant and an electric beard trimmer, and decided to take a pit stop at a hair and nails salon next to the pharmacy.
The girls there had cooed and gooed over Sookie and Linda helping this man out, and refused to accept any money for the trim he got. Unfortunately, they weren't set up to shave a man (all of the other clients inside were women), but Richard protested that he was perfectly capable of shaving himself, so it all worked out.
The next stop was, at Sookie's insistence, one of the ultra-high-end men's clothing stores near her hotel. Linda had protested that simply taking a car to Walmart would be good enough, but Sookie would have none of that.
"Linda, it's been over six years since I've seen a person in Walmart that I'd be willing to give a handy to. It's been even longer since I've seen any clothing there that looked like it didn't come from Walmart, especially the suits. We're not going to Walmart."
As a result, Richard got fitted for a custom-tailored suit and outfitted with a tie that was a pleasant, deep blue, bespeckled with tiny, gold-embroidered Marine Corps logos. He seemed pleased with it, and had to keep wiping his eyes as he repeatedly and profusely thanked her.
When all was done, they finally went to the hotel. Sookie had a full suite on the top floor. It wasn't the biggest suite, but it was close, with two spare bedrooms, a living room and a full kitchen, in addition to a balcony that afforded her a great view of the city (so long as the smog wasn't too bad) and a private elevator to the rooftop pool.
Linda took her usual spot at the door to await her relief for the evening while Sookie showed Richard the large bathroom and made sure he had everything he needed. While he showered and shaved, she decided to review the script.
She walked over to the safe in the living room and carefully punched in her combination on the keypad.
The scripts for The Legend of Jimmy were like solid gold. Every studio out there wanted to get their hands on one, to steal ideas from. Every fan wanted to get one, just for the thrill of knowing what was going to happen next. During the second season's filming, they'd had multiple scripts stolen and leaked, and Sookie had learned to crack down on that. As a result, she was the only one who ever had a full set of scripts for any given season. She kept them safely under lock and key at all times.
She pulled out her working copy, which was different from the 'archive' copy she also kept in the safe. The working copy had all of her handwritten notes on it. She closed the safe back up and locked it, then sat down at the table and flipped open to the scenes they would be filming after the break. Using a red pen, she made notes for herself, things to remember during shooting, like camera angles and notes on the VFX.
She heard the shower turn off, but she was engrossed in her work when the door opened.
"Thanks again," Richard said, causing her to look up. He had a towel around his waist, but Sookie noted that he had a lean torso, with some muscle still there, despite a rough life. Clean shaven now, he looked much better. He'd never get a gig as a model, but he was handsome enough in his own way. Sookie smiled at him.
"You don't have to keep thanking me," she said. "I'm happy to help."
She closed her script and stood, walking it over to the safe. Obscuring her hands with her body, she punched in the code again and placed the script inside. She hadn't yet closed the door when she heard Richard mutter "Oh shit."
She turned to look and froze. He'd turned back towards the bathroom, and then dropped his towel by accident. He was currently in the process of picking it up, affording Sookie a great view of his ass and what might well have been considered a third leg hanging from between the other two.
It came almost to his knees.
A flush of heat went through her, washing away all thoughts of largess and generosity, and kindling a very selfish desire. She heard the spattering on the hardwood floor where she crouched as her usual over-the-top wetness kicked into high gear and soaked through her pants in seconds. She could feel herself throbbing as she eyed Richard's enormous member.
Her disguise slipped and the horns erupted from her head, her tail curled up painfully inside her pants and her skin turned red, with large patches of scales. Operating purely on instinct, she magicked up a veil of mundanity. She didn't want Richard to freak out, and this would keep him from registering her appearance as anything out of the ordinary.
He retrieved his towel and made to wrap it back around his waist, but Sookie shot to her feet and spun, already ripping her shirt off.
"Wait," she said. Richard froze, then turned to look at her over one shoulder. She tossed her shirt on the couch and peeled off her pants. She wasn't wearing any underwear or bra, of course. She never did.
"I just thought of a way you could thank me," she purred, taking a languid step forward. Richard reacted immediately to the sight of her naked, turning, his hog's leg stiffening and rising from its vertical hang slightly.
"Are you, uh... I mean... I'm not..." Richard stammered. Sookie stepped closer to him and put her hands on his shoulder, then ran them down his chest.
"I am damn sure I want to do this, if that's what you're asking," she said, her hands reaching lower as she stepped close enough to press her breasts into his ribs. She took hold of him and felt him grow almost immediately rock hard as he gasped.
"Wow," he said. "This is... This is like something from a porno with a bad script..." he said.
"Uh huh," Sookie said. "And we're about to do the fun parts of it." She pressed her lips into his, and then squealed in delight as he grabbed her by the ass and hoisted her up.
"Where?" he asked into her mouth.
"Pussy, mouth and ass," she replied. She felt the heat rush through his cheeks.
"I meant where in this room," he said.
"I don't fucking care," Sookie responded, lining his huge cock up with her most convenient hole and squirming down onto it with a loud gasp.
"In the bedroom!" Linda shouted. "Please, for the love of god, in the bedroom!"
----
Sookie awoke the next morning and rolled over to see if Richard was up for a little wake-and-shake. Her hands slapped the empty bed and she pouted.
"Richard?" she called, a wonderful aroma meeting her nose as she did. "Are you making coffee already? I'll fall in love with you, or deepthroat you, your choice, if you are!"
He didn't answer.
She opened her eyes and saw that his new suit was missing. An empty hanger was hooked to the coathanger next to the closet. She climbed out of bed, frowning, and walked out into the living room.
It was empty. She could smell the coffee even stronger, and she walked into the kitchen to find the coffee pot full and a business card sitting next to it. She picked it up and peered at it with sleep-bleary eyes.
"Eric Stephens, Private Investigations, Corporate Espionage, Bail Bonds, Security Consultation," she read out loud. There was a QR code on it, so she picked up her phone from where it had been flung to the floor last night and scanned it. While the page loaded, she glanced in the bathroom to see Richard's old clothes still piled there.
She glanced at her phone to see a very clean-shaven and well-dressed Richard smiling at the camera at the top of a very tastefully designed web page. She scrolled through it for a moment, confused. This was clearly him, but why had he given her a fake name? She supposed he could have had this nice website built back when he was still working enough to afford it, but... It seemed off. It didn't fit. Sookie didn't get it.
That was, until she looked to her own pile of clothes by the safe and saw the door still hanging open. With a gasp, she rushed over only to find the safe empty. Both of her scripts were gone!
"Shit!" she shouted.
The door opened and a large, muscular man dressed like a lawyer rushed in, a gun in hand.
"Miss Ohma, is everything all right?" he asked after scanning the room and peering through the open doors.
"No," Sookie wailed. "I just got my scripts stolen!"
"The gentleman who left this morning?" her guard asked. She nodded. "I'm so sorry, Miss Ohma. I would have stopped him if I knew."
"No, you did fine," Sookie said as her eyes filled with frustrated tears. "You're used to men heading out in the morning. Usually they do it after I wake up and we can get another good fuck in, but still... You didn't do anything wrong."
"He left a note," the guard said. "I saw it taped to the inside of the door." Sookie looked over and saw a folded piece of paper taped there. She stalked over and ripped it down, sniffling angrily and wiping at her eyes to read it.

 Dear Sookie, Last night was probably the best night I've had in my life. It's certainly the best night I can remember. If you ever want to do it again, just let me know. I left you a card by the coffee machine, and there's a full pot for you, as well. If you don't ever want to see me again, well, I guess I understand. I'm sorry to have left the way I did, but I'm a man of my word, and my client was willing to pay a lot of money for that script. I hope this doesn't hurt you too much. For what it's worth, I'm sorry if I upset you. Wishing you all the best, Eric 

Sookie crumbled up the paper and angrily threw it across the room.
"Motherfucker!" she shouted. The guard winced, but said nothing.
"He scammed me," Sookie said. "Got a nice new suit out of me, seduced me with that redwood growing between his legs and then ran off with my fucking scripts!"
She let her claws form and dug them into her thighs, carving bloody furrows that healed almost as fast as she made them. The guard started and rushed over.
"Ma'am, please," he said. "I'm not supposed to let you hurt yourself."
Sookie let him pull her hands up to her chest. She leaned into him for a moment. "You're married, aren't you?" she said.
"Uh, no," he said. Sookie turned her head to regard him. She didn't recognize him. "What's your name?"
"Devin, Ma'am," he said. "Devin Iglesias. This is my first shift on your detail."
"Who put you on this shift?"
"Uhh, Missus Williams. She said I'd enjoy this detail, and I agreed. I'm a huge fan of your show, Miss Ohma."
"Are you gay?" Sookie asked. Devin blinked. "Uh, no, Ma'am."
Sookie smiled. "I need you to do two things," she said.
"The second, and most important thing, I need you to call the office and ask for any information they have on a private investigator named Eric Stephens who works out of LA."
Devin nodded. "Yes, ma'am. And the first thing?"
Sookie smiled wider. "I need you to find out the real reason why Inanna thought you'd enjoy this posting."

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I'm in this really weird space right now and was curious if anyone out there has been in a similar rut.
During the pandemic, I was seeing this guy and so I was making more of an effort to keep up appearances. We stopped dating and I just stopped trying to impress anyone. I also work with an office full of guys so I don't really go out of my way to dress cute. I just try to blend in.
As a result, I just really haven't taken care of myself. I do skincare. But like stopped following makeup, haven't really shopped for new clothes, haven't gotten my nails done, etc. I finally went and got my hair cut last month instead of just rolling into a cheap salon and getting it trimmed.
I feel like a feral woman at this point, haha. I know I need to start making some kind of effort but I'm just struggling on why. I'm not interested in dating. My dog doesn't care what I wear. I don't know.
Is this my mid-life crisis?
Anyone out there hit a weird similar rut in their life?

I get my nails done every month for a few years now and last three monts after the appoitment i get a crazy flare up on the skin around the nails.. i believe the lamp did it bc the salon got new lamps. After a first time i didnt think about it bc i was in the process of getting a new job so stress but now i do believe that is the reason. So bye bye cute nails! Did anybody else had problems with those lamps?

Laissez-moi vous compter une histoire:
Loki, de son nom complet Sir Loki de la Chouquette, est un européen blanc et tigré noibeige comme beaucoup de ses congénères. Son histoire commence en aout 2015, où il nait dans une famille quelconque dont le/la chef de famille décida d'abandonner les nouveaux nées d'une portée dans une forêt normande, alors âgés de 2 mois, non loin de plusieurs logements étudiants.
En ce matin d'automne, un jeune homme qui dormais dans le salon de son logement étudiant, la chambre étant en rénovation, se fit réveiller par des "miii! miii!" venant de l'autre côté de la porte-fenêtre. Il pris alors son courage à 2 mains pour faire face à l'horrible monstre qui à osé déranger son sommeil pour faire face à une microscopique boule de poils trempée par la pluie matinale, derrière la barrière qui séparait la forêt du terrain des logements. Sa fratrie s'étant faite recueillir par d'autres étudiants, il restait là, seul, à réclamer de l'aide.
Quelques jours plus tard, la microscopique boule de poil s'est révélée être en vérité un magnifique chat, racé "pur gouttière". Son caractère étant aussi affirmé que son appétit, il ne manqua pas de marquer ses hôtes de nombreuses cicatrices aux bras. La Dame avec qui le jeune homme partageais le logement eu l'idée de l'appeler ainsi : Loki, dieu de la malice!
La même année, Loki s'est pris de passion pour les chouquettes, en rugissant de magnifiques "Miiiiiiaaaaaaa!" lorsque l'on lui disait que non, il n'aura pas de chouquettes car c'est pour ses humain (c'est en effet à partir de ce moment la où les rôles maîtres/esclaves se sont inversés). Son patronyme complet fut alors trouvé : Sir Loki de la Chouquette.
Plusieurs années plus tard, Loki à grandi, il fait maintenant 7 kg. A survécu à plusieurs déménagements, et diverses péripéties (il faudrait surement 15 tomes afin de raconter à peu près toute sa vie et non un simple post), est aujourd'hui la mascotte du quartier: "Ah oui ce chat! Il est adorable! Il viens dormir dans notre salon.". Quel squatteur!
Aujourd'hui, Loki, 7 ans et demi, est en fin de règne. En effet, du jour au lendemain, le Royal Chat ne réussissait plus à se nourrir correctement, sauter par la fenêtre et passait son temps à vouloir faire des câlins. L'esclave humain à pris la décision : La nuit sera chez le doc ou ne sera pas! Un RDV est pris en urgence à 22h30. Après quelques jours et diverses analyses, le verdict tomba, lymphome, cancer de stade 4/5. Les médecins sont formels, quelques semaines tout au plus, une chimio ne changera rien.
Toute la cour fut dévastée, les larmes coulent chaque jour que Dieu fait. Bien que maintenant tout le monde comprend le sens des mots "Profiter des derniers instants".
La décision est prise, il finira sa vie comme il l'a toujours aimée, à soumettre ses 2 humains de compagnie à lui donner toutes les croquettes et papouilles amoureuses qu'il mérite, tout en allant pioncer 20h/24 en plein soleil dans les champs d'herbes mal taillés.
Et ainsi fut l'histoire du Divin Félin.
​
Besoin d'extérioriser un peu, je n'arrive plus à travailler depuis que je sais qu'il est malade, du coup je me suis dit que quitte à penser à lui autant partager à qui veut son histoire. Avec ma conjointe on est dévastés, c'est si soudain, il y a encore 10 jours il se montrait en pleine forme. Il est actuellement en palliatif à la maison, les médicaments permettant de calmer ses douleurs, on espère qu'il partira sans souffrir. Profitez un maximum de vos amis à poils, on pense parfois à tort qu'ils seront éternels, ou alors qu'ils partiront très âgés.

I'm on a budget and am trying to save money wherever I can which means cutting out the bi weekly nail salon appointments :( That being said I have a festival this weekend and would love for my nails to still look beautiful. I do have a UV nail lamp at home and shellac colours, but noticed that it comes off very easily. I am looking for manicure kits i can buy or any advice you guys have for cleaning the nails to make sure it stays. thank you in advance!

I don't want to offend anyone. How can I best approach the salon to cancel my appointment and book with someone I was expecting? In the moment I didn't say anything because I thought I misheard the name, and didn't have a personal photo of them for reference. Once I received the business card I realized it wasn't who I had asked for. The reason I want a Master Stylist is because I like their content and past junior stylists I've seen don't seem to nail the look.

Edit : add english
Je ne sait pas si l'idée a déja été proposer, mais serait-il possible que shakepay puisse ouvrir une '' boutique'' exclusive au membre du club 365 pour y acheter des article comme la casquette ou la tuque?
Shakepay pourrait, lors de notre adhésion au club 365 nous donner accès a la boutique avec un bon de X$ afin de prendre la merch qui nous interesse et la possibilitée d'avoir d'autres articles moyennant des frais bien entendu.
Je ne suis probablement pas le seul qui soit prêt a payer pour cette casquette?
///
The idea is to open a '' 365 club online store'' for 365 club member, shakepay should give access to 365 club member only and give a' 'credit' in place of the actual merch to let people choose merch they want. And offer the possibility to pay an extra for extra merch like the toque or the cap.
I'm probably not the only one who is willing to pay for those.

I recently purchased the Shinku Hadoken cabinet. During the build process I modified the buttons and did the softmod as well. Below are the steps I took with the resources I used. I found that all of the information was available but kind of scattered so I am putting together my thoughts and process for others to find in the future.
1) Modifying the Buttons
I started the build with the button mod. As a note I used IL (HAPP) buttons so this information is specifically related to that. I unpacked everything from the box and immediately took the control deck out and started working on it. I followed this tutorial video which I found to be easy to follow and understand. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NLzq-DZ1Q_E This part of the process was the easiest part of the entire build. The parts he used are listed in the description. For one of the buttons I had to use the original wires, snip them, and crimp new connectors on because the ones he listed were not quite long enough to reach, he does go over this in the video. Because of this I also chose not to mod my live button because I think that would require the same thing due to the length and modding it doesn't help much. However, I did find these cords afterwards in another video https://www.diyretroarcade.com/products/zero-delay-usb-encoder-jumper-wires-terminals-size-0-187-compatible-with-happs-style-arcade?variant=36779437424801 These are 12 or 18 inches compared to 8.66 so I think if you were to use these you wouldn't have to do any cutting. The biggest mistake I made was not connecting them to the correct terminals on the switches. I am not sure why but my brain completely heard the opposite of what he said in the video. I didn't connect to the middle switch. I connected to the top and bottom. This caused all menu items to need to be double clicked, in addition I couldn't map my buttons in Retroarch. To fix this I had to take all of the terminals off the end connector and move them to the middle. These connectors lock once connected so removing them was a little tricky but can be done using a method like this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NznqT5ASUcM For me I just used a full nail and pushed in the hole while my wife pulled the connector off. After connecting them all properly everything worked as expected. I know it is unlikely anyone will make the same mistake but in case you do this should get you back on track. Other than that if you follow the video step by step you should have no issues. As a note I left my joysticks stock so I can't speak on the directions he gives for that.
2) Building the Cabinet
During the pandemic I got in to woodworking. I have built a workbench, an Adirondack chair, and a desk from raw lumber and step by step instructions/blueprints. So I have no issue building things or following directions. I also recently built an iiRcade machine. So that is a level set of where I am with building things. These directions are some of the worst I have ever seen! Some of the steps like this one https://imgur.com/a/8BZz01S are just completely wrong! Where it is saying to put the dowels in Part H are actually the screw holes and the empty holes it shows are where the dowels go. Additionally the viewing angles at which it shows the steps are usually not in the position needed to build from so you constantly have to re-orient yourself to the pictures. Also the step order is frequently inefficient. One great example is it wants you to put it all together and then take the screen protector off. This left little bits of screen protector at the top of my screen that I have no way of getting off without taking the whole thing apart. Long story short, take the screen protector off before the cabinet is closed up and just be very careful not to scratch it. You will end up with more scratches trying to pick off the left over bits of screen protector. Because the tracks give play on the cabinet getting the second side on was annoying as well. For comparison I built the iiRcade by myself in about an hour with 0 issues and no help. This took multiple hours and I needed my wife's help some time for no good reason. This was the worst part of the entire process.
3) Softmodding
This was a pretty straightforward process following these instructions https://archive.org/details/easy-arcade-1up-softmod-pack-yoga-flame-edition This site contains all of the instructions to get your 4 cabinets set up. It also contains all the files needed to do so. If you want to add Retroarch you can find that here https://www.retroarch.com/?page=platforms navigate to the Android section and select the Download (32bit) option. Do not use 64bit, it won't work. You can install it by following the same steps you used to install any of the other cabinets. If you would like a transparent icon I used this one and placed it above my X-Men vs. Street Fighter icon. https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/3b/Retroarch.svg/1024px-Retroarch.svg.png Setting up Retroarch can be a little annoying. I found this video helpful https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pumOKx1vx_s but only for the Retroarch piece. The other pieces related to the other cabinets seem to be outdated or not needed for Yoga/Shinku. Follow the previous instructions for those cabinets. The first thing you want to do when you get in is let it do its extracting thing. Once that is done set the controls so you can control it with the onboard controls via the method shown in the video. I would highly recommend to set the select button to be the live button. You will use this as your coin in the arcade games. I then mapped the second player start button in hotkeys to exit content. So at any time you are playing a game you can press 2P start to go back to Retroarch. I also mapped the exit Retroarch hot key to hold 1P start for two seconds. You have to do it twice in succession but there is an option you can choose so you only have to do it once. Next I would recommend changing the user interface. Under settings go to user interface and select ozone. You can try the others but I personally found ozone to be the most user friendly. You will need to restart the machine after changing the interface to see the changes. Next you want to download your cores I am personally only using arcade, nes, snes, and sega due to the lack of buttons for others. You can find a list of the best cores to use here https://qnnit.com/best-retroarch-cores/ only one is needed per system. Sometimes games don't work on certain cores or work better with other cores but these should be good for a lot of them. I found NES had the only issues out of all of these for me personally. After that you want to load your games. You will have to find your own games out there but there are plenty of links. Any roms will do there are no special roms for Retroarch. When you load them go to Import Content>Manual Scan>Content Directory here you want to navigate to the folder they are stored in. Your SD card will be called /storage for me after that is was as series of letters and numbers to get to the main file directory. I had my roms sorted by folders so NES in one folder SNES in the other, etc. This made it clean when importing I would suggest you do the same. After this go back to the manual scan screen. If you are using zip files make sure you turn on scan inside archives. Then go down to the bottom and import. The games should now appear at the bottom of the main menu under the system name they are for if you did it by folder like I suggested. To run a game just navigate to the system from the main menu, click on the game, click on the core to run it (You only have to select the core the first time you are running it).
I hope this guide is helpful to others thinking about modding their systems. I am happy to answer any questions you may have to the best of my ability. I also want to give a big shout out to RWTD_Burn! He answered a lot of my questions before I started my button mod and helped me feel a lot more comfortable with the entire process.
Here are some pics of my finished mod: https://imgur.com/a/uRUBGQw

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‘L'orgasme « psychique » résout une tension, celle qui cherche une adéquation du corps à une jouissance dont le refoulement l'a privé, l'acte sexuel n'étant d'ailleurs que l'un des procédés au service de cet idéal d'harmonie (les rêves cherchent à l'obtenir aussi). D'un corps scindé de lui-même parce que son premier habitat fut en dehors de lui, dans le langage, il s'agit de faire Un. Attelée à cette tâche, la sexualité ne fait que poursuivre celle de la pulsion, et elle emprunte d'abord ses voies anciennes pour le réaliser, selon les divers procédés qui portent le nom commun de « plaisirs préliminaires ». Les pulsions à l'œuvre pendant les « préliminaires » cherchent à obtenir une équivalence du corps au phallus, de la même façon que, lorsque l'enfant répondait à la demande de sa mère en acceptant la nourriture, la propreté, etc., il se donnait comme phallus. Le chemin régrédient de la pulsion suit d'abord en ce sens celui de l'inceste. La régression du prélude amoureux ne signifie pas que toute femme vaut comme la mère, mais que le plaisir pulsionnel satisfait l'Autre qu'elle incarne. Au moment du plaisir, une mère pulsionnelle double la femme, dont la beauté et les traits diffèrent le plus souvent de ceux de la maman. Mieux : cette mère anonyme habite indistinctement le corps de l'homme et de la femme en cette heure préliminaire.’
Gérard Pommier, La mélancolie : Vie et œuvre d'Althusser, in Flammarion, 2009 (1998)