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Sissy Room
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By Ishigreensa · Posted
"Brenda, you might think you are the leader, but I'm giving you all a chance now. Use the toilet. Lena goes in an hour, and if she's wet, you'll be helping me with her since you all insisted on this instead of what my dad wanted." This was in Chapter Nine... The point is... Yes, she is controlling them. No, Cindy doesn't need her permission exactly, but if you read a bit more about how the Greiveres are... you hopefully start to get the idea that yeah, it's not usually a good idea to go against them if they want you to do something. It's not the pretzel that pushed her too far. It's the whole thing that has been happening all day, it just felt like one more triumph especially after she used the idea that her being poor is the reason she can't help things, and because it seemed that Jennifer was targeting her mom... by saying that she wouldn't be able to wait until lunch like the rest of the group. -
I have a plastic full cover and use kylie pads, they are absorbent but medical looking.. I have to share a dryer and washer too and I just leave my bed pads on the side in the wash room, even dry them on the line out side if it's a nice day. I don't care what people think anymore. -
Back inside the reception hall, the lights seemed to glow even warmer than before—rosy, honeyed, like someone had lowered the dimmer just enough to make every surface look softer and every moment feel a little suspended. The piano piece drifting through the room stretched into something slower and more nostalgic, a melody that made Beth Mercer think of lullabies she hadn’t sung in years. She stood near one of the tall windows, the night outside blurred by condensation, her half-full punch glass cupped loosely between her palms. She looked like someone politely waiting for her heart to catch up to her surroundings. Her eyes kept drifting across the room the way a mother’s do when she swears she isn’t checking on something—on someone—but absolutely is. Students twirled in gowns that shimmered like captured moonlight, the fabric of each skirt holding its own small galaxy. Parents huddled in gentle clusters near refreshment tables, murmuring through proud half-whispers. Faculty glided from group to group, their expressions serene, their movements impossibly composed. It reminded Beth of watching swans on a lake during a family trip years ago—how they drifted, unhurried, leaving delicate ripples behind them. She had watched Dylan slip away with Alyssa earlier—watched the way Alyssa had reached for his hand with that familiar ease, watched his shoulders loosen the moment she guided him out of the room. Beth had felt something bloom and tighten inside her at the same time. Relief, certainly. Joy, unmistakably. Fear, faint but present. And threaded through all of it: love. Always love. “Mrs. Mercer?” The voice wasn’t loud, but it carried—a smooth, steady tone with a calming weight to it. Beth turned and found herself face-to-face with Mrs. Langford. Beside her stood Mrs. Sharp, both dressed in sleek evening black, tall and poised, radiating the calm command of women who were used to shepherding an entire school. “Oh! Hello,” Beth said quickly. She nearly sloshed her punch onto the lacquered table beside her as she set it down. Her cheeks warmed. “We were hoping to say hello,” Mrs. Sharp said, her voice warm with that careful, practiced gentleness that came from years of guiding girls through triumphs and heartbreaks. “It’s been quite a remarkable evening.” Beth let out a soft, uneven laugh. “He was… something.” Her gaze drifted toward the dimmed stage as if she could still see Dylan illuminated by the spotlight. “That wasn’t the boy I dropped off here.” Mrs. Langford’s expression shifted—not politely, but genuinely. “No,” she said softly. “That was the young man he’s becoming.” A silence settled among the three women—not uncomfortable, but deep. The kind of pause that arrives when everyone realizes the conversation has wandered into something meaningful. Beth exhaled slowly. “I have to admit… when I got that first call about the uniform policy, I thought—well, I thought I’d made a huge mistake.” She rubbed the side of her thumb along her wrist, a nervous habit she thought she’d outgrown years ago. Mrs. Sharp’s eyes softened. “It wasn’t an easy adjustment for him. But he’s taken to it with more grace than most adults would. Truly.” Beth glanced toward the hallway where Dylan had disappeared minutes earlier. “He wrote me after week two and said the girls were nice.” Her voice trembled. “Just that. ‘The girls are nice.’” She shook her head. “And I knew something had shifted.” “It’s difficult to explain exactly what this place does,” Mrs. Langford said, folding her hands in front of her. “But the girls here learn to take care of one another. And Dylan… he’s learning how to let himself be cared for.” Beth blinked rapidly, trying to keep her mascara intact. “I think he needed that more than I realized.” Mrs. Sharp stepped closer, lowering her voice into something steady and intimate. “He’s not just surviving here, Mrs. Mercer. He’s thriving. He’s challenged, supported, occasionally teased within an inch of his life”—her mouth curved—“but he’s growing. Every week.” Beth let out a soft, watery laugh as she swiped beneath one eye. “He still calls me every Sunday. Sometimes I can hear the girls in the background—laughing, calling him ‘baby.’ I wasn’t sure how to feel at first.” Her voice dropped. “But he didn’t sound embarrassed. He sounded… looked after.” “That’s exactly what we hope for,” Mrs. Sharp said. “This place teaches care. Giving it and receiving it. Both skills have value.” Beth inhaled deeply, her chest tightening—not from fear, but from release. “I used to worry I’d done something wrong. When he failed history… it felt like a reflection on me as a mother.” She swallowed. “But tonight—seeing him up there—I realized he wasn’t someone who got fixed. He was someone who got supported.” Mrs. Langford’s posture softened, the faintest sign of pride slipping through. “That’s what we aim to be. A structure. A place to grow. Occasionally a bit ridiculous”—her smile turned knowing—“but always firm underneath.” Before Beth could answer, Miss Emma appeared beside them like a warm gust, slightly flushed from navigating the crowd. Her hand came to rest on her chest as she caught her breath. “I hope I’m not too late,” she said, smiling a smile that knew she wasn’t. “Perfect timing,” Mrs. Sharp replied. Miss Emma reached for Beth’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze—the kind of squeeze that isn’t meant to reassure so much as to say you’re not doing this alone. “You raised a good one,” she said. Beth’s throat tightened again, but this time she didn’t blink it away. “I did my best,” she whispered. “And now… I think he’s doing his.” The four women stood together for a quiet moment, watching the scene unfold. The room shimmered with small joys—girls leaning into their parents’ arms, teachers laughing softly among themselves, a mural of bright futures and tired feet. And then Beth spotted him—Dylan reentering the hall with Alyssa, cheeks flushed, posture loose, smile soft and honest. Something within her settled. Fully. Finally. For the first time tonight—for the first time in a long time—Beth didn’t feel out of place at all. She felt like she belonged in the picture too. -
By HappyNappin · Posted
Not going to lye, I don't really understand how ai writing software functions, I get that it reads and learns from that, but I read plenty, it doesn't make me any better at writing. As far as I know most 'real' news articles are written or at least processed by ai, which plays to your advantage as the software will be well accustomed to forming a 3 paragraph long story from little more than a line of information and mibby a quote from a witness. What I really want to know is if it can turn a news article into a short story, it's something I'm currently trying, and failing to do. Back to your story, do humans keep a robot nanny for life? Surely after 20 years of changing diapers, pushing there stroller, doing there homework etc, the machine would be completely worn out? Then it would need it's human to look after it, or do the robot nannies just soldier on, I'm imagining by 40 years service they would be barely functional and completely senile, ultimately failing completely, forcing there human to suddenly have to fend for itself. -
By MommyRussia · Posted
She parked in front of the house that matched the number she had been given, smiling softly. The house was MUCH nicer than her old one. "I guess this is us." She murmured, getting out of the car and approaching the front door while the boy trailed along behind her. She unlocked the door with her new keys, and threw it open, looking inside with wide eyes. If was gorgeous! The lottery system had favoured them quite nicely! Well, Anya, at least. This was all hers, and he was at her mercy.
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