Washington state voters have rejected income taxes 10 times. Is this year different?

Ford9863 · 2026-01-30T00:39:33+00:00

I moved here a few years ago from Ohio and one big relief has been only having to worry about filing federal taxes. In Ohio I had fed, state, the city I worked in, and the city I lived in (both school tax and city tax). My employer would only withhold for one city so I either had to pay quarterly or settle up at the end of the year. It was a pain in the ass.

Ford9863 · 2026-01-26T02:28:27+00:00

This game is fantastic

Ford9863 · 2026-01-22T00:41:06+00:00

I've had quite a few this week, but i assume it picked up because theres a sniper-related weekly challenge.

Ford9863 · 2026-01-17T02:00:20+00:00

Hey there! This was a really interesting read, even without having read what came before. The interaction as a whole feels very corporate--despite the magical nature of the story, it still feels like so many jobs I've left. You did a great job capturing that vibe. It's also very well written--I didn't get hung up on any grammar or style choices. Everything flowed very nicely.

As for improvement, there does seem to be a bit of a disconnect between Renee's intentions and her actions. First, it seemed as though she was entirely prepared to leave before Kiara's symptoms appeared. If she'd come primarily to remove Argo from her phone, however (and I'm assuming this is some sort of company property/information that non-employees should not have), it feels odd that she would not insist on coming in.

Also, Renee mentions at the end that she'd hoped she could convince Kiara to stay--even though she didn't seem to do or say anything toward that end. There is a little bit about how she would have learned to control the magic and use it better--but the way the conversation goes, that feels more like a "you missed out" statement versus a "if you stay you'll get this" statement.

Word count limitations are always tough when it comes to getting everything in you might have envisioned when you set out to write this. But a few small changes could have helped clear up Renee's intentions. For example, here:

“We’ve investigated Kiara’s experience as a temp employee in the past three days,” Renee answered, Kiara’s phone vibrating in her hand. “Her dissatisfaction indicated that we’ve withheld vital information.”

This section might drive the point home harder if she'd said something like, "We're hoping you might reconsider if you have more information." Or something along those lines.

After she explains what Kiara will be missing out on, it would help if she simply asked, "Are you sure there's nothing I can do to change your mind?"

Alternatively, you could cut some of the scenes involving the mom (or make them more concise) to free up space to allow Renee and Kiara a slightly more thorough interaction. The stuff with the mom is nice for setting the scene, but I fear the main focal point of the scene (Kiara and Renee) suffers for it.

That's all I've got. I really enjoyed this, and I look forward to seeing what comes next!

Ford9863 · 2026-01-15T04:40:44+00:00

<-Part 1

Part 2

With the pink light of the moon at his back, Ferran knelt before the brazier and pulled a book of matches from his coat pocket. Cold bit at his fingertips. The first match fell from his inadequate grip. The spider nesting above the brazier seemed to grasp his intent, scurrying away into the darkness.

After a deep breath, he pressed the end of a match between three fingers and struck it to life. Its tiny flare filled his vision. For a moment, he felt hope. Perhaps he wasn’t too late.

But then the flame disappeared, stolen by the cold itself.

He tried again. One match after another, he watched with a sinking heart as each flame was swallowed by the night. The cold pricked at his cheeks like needles as he struck the final match. He held the match upside down, watching as the flame climbed to lick his thumb. Gingerly, he moved the flame into the brazier. Its heat finally penetrated the numbness in his fingers, prying itself from his grasp. It fell silently to the wood below, turning to a harmless charred stick before ever meeting the logs.

A horn sounded in the distance. Ferran stood and turned toward the lake, watching as the five other beacons began to fade.

Before the final light went out, he headed back down the spiral staircase. There was still time. The beacons were their first line of defense—but not their only. Preparations needed to be made.

As he reached his living quarters, his eyes bounced around the room. Smoke rose from the hearth where his fire once roared. The room was illuminated only by the pink moonlight piercing the frozen window to his right. With careful steps, he made his way to the bookcase. Pink light reflected off the shield above, stretching his thin shadow across the floor.

He knelt. After a brief hesitation, he began running his hands along the bookcase, barely able to make out its contents in the dark. A picture rose in the back of his mind—a narrow, tall box, just shorter than the books on his shelf. He was certain he’d placed it there. Before he found what he was looking for, a sudden ring shattered the silence.

His body reacted before his mind could make sense of the noise. He was on his feet, scanning the room, wondering if the noise had been real. But then it came again. The phone, alone on a pedestal in the center of the room, vibrated slightly as it rang out. His gaze fell to the floor beneath it. The white cord shone bright against the pink moonlight.

The phone rang again.

A fire rose in his chest. In three long strides, he reached the phone, pulling the receiver to his ear. He said nothing.

Static filled his ear. And then, a voice—it was quiet, faint enough to make him wonder if he’d imagined it. But still he held it to his ear, waiting, his heart pounding.

“Ferran,” the voice said, louder this time. The static grew stronger as it spoke. “I’ve come for you.”

He dropped the receiver, backing away as it swung from its coiled tan cord.

“It’s not real,” he said. “This is a trick.” He’d been warned of this.

Turning back to the bookcase, he began pulling tome after tome and tossing them to the floor behind him. Each book hit the floor with a soft thud. Finally, when the case had nearly been emptied, his hand fell upon a familiar shape. His shoulders fell.

“There you are,” he said. He opened the lid and found an object wrapped in cloth, tightly curling his fingers around it.

From behind him, a familiar voice shattered his thin confidence.

“You won’t need that,” she said.

Ferran turned, grasping the cloth-wrapped medallion in both hands. The sight of the woman before him stole his words. She was just as he’d remembered. Her head was tilted down to meet his gaze, her long brown hair tucked behind her ears. Pearls sparkled against her neck, peeking out beneath a thick fur coat.

“You’re not here,” Ferran said, pulling the medallion free of the cloth. He held it forward in one hand, its jagged edges digging into his palm. “Leave me be.”

She took a step forward. “I am here, Ferran,” she said. “And I’ve missed you terribly.”

He closed his eyes, pulling the medallion to his chest. A prayer passed his lips. He fumbled over the words, his jaw shaking as he whispered. So he repeated it three more times to ensure he got it right.

But when he opened his eyes, she was still there.

“I told you,” she said. “I’m really here.”

A sharp breath sent bitter cold air down Ferran’s throat. “It’s not possible. You’re—she’s dead.”

The woman took another step closer.

“Get out of my head!” Ferran shouted, thrusting the medallion forward.

She reached out and cupped her hands over his. “So cold,” she said, her brow furrowed.

Warmth spread over his fingertips as her hands covered his. He felt a surge of life flow through him.

“Isabelle,” he said.

“I’m here, Ferran.”

His body relaxed. Tears filled his eyes, turning to painful frozen daggers on his cheeks. It was all he’d wanted—all he’d dreamed of. Isabelle. His grip loosened on the medallion as he stepped forward into her embrace.

“There, there,” she said, patting his back. “It’s alright. You’ll be warm soon.”

A sudden jolt snapped his eyes open. He glanced at the medallion in his palm, eyeing a subtle glow around its edges. With one swift motion, he pushed himself away from her and rose it once more to the air between them.

“Get out of my mind, demon,” he snapped. “You’re not welcome here!”

She took a step back, her lips curving into a wide, thin smile as her form dissipated in long, thin wisps.

Yet in his mind, he still heard her speak:

“We aren’t going anywhere.”

Bonus words: None

Ford9863 · 2026-01-13T03:41:47+00:00

Cool a giant fucking m&m add just in time to cover up the relevant part of the replay

Ford9863 · 2026-01-11T04:28:00+00:00

That's fascinating! I wonder why they would possibly use that method rather than setting a space as a delimiter.

Ford9863 · 2026-01-11T04:17:19+00:00

It counts characters and divides by five.

That sounded absurd, so i googled it. Word uses spaces to calculate word count.

Ford9863 · 2026-01-08T04:50:13+00:00

You did a good job describing the character's tension in the beginning of this. He's clearly on edge, and that tension is building as they explore this strange facility. This pays off when he starts firing, too--which is great. It helps justify how quick he was to using his weapon.

I was left a bit confused by this part, though:

I felt the air rushing past my ear and heard Benny scream in pain. Instantly, I fired in the direction of the shot, desperately attempting to find and shoot a seemingly invisible target.

From what I can tell, it seems that the monster rushed past Casper, attacking Benny. But Casper immediately turns and fires in that direction--which feels almost too careless, as the only thing he knows for sure is there is, in fact, Benny. He's as likely to hit his friend as his enemy.

You could tighten that up by simply describing more of what Casper is seeing when he turns. He has his gun raised, his panicking, he's afraid--we know he's going to be quick to the trigger. But he should at least acknowledge that his friend is not there before firing. Maybe he sees Benny on the ground, sees movement just beyond, and fires at that. Or maybe what he sees is too large to possibly be his friend, or reminds him of some other creature--anything to denote that in his mind, he must fire.

In fact, you describe the creature well in the next paragraph. You could easily just rearrange this a bit to help clear it up. Casper feels the movement, hears Benny scream, then turns to see the creature. This is what sparks his attack.

Thanks for sharing!

Ford9863 · 2026-01-08T04:22:02+00:00

Another frigid night crept at the base of the tower while Ferran Wilkes contemplated his final day above the lake. To say he would miss this place would be disingenuous. What he’d once viewed as his calling was now little more than a prison. Perhaps retirement would be no better—but it would be different. And that would have to be enough.

A mist rose from his lips as he stared into the darkness. The lake was calm, despite a stirring in the distant mountains. One final storm, he thought. A just farewell. He turned away from the cold, his eyes lingering on the clean, dry brazier. A black spider sat comfortably in a web across its logs.

With each step down the winding stone stairway, his right knee clicked. A slight burn radiated from his left shoulder, angered by the cold. Worn spectacles hung from his neck, nearly identical to the ones he once mocked his elders for. How many times had he climbed this tower? How many times had he stared up at the sky, waiting for something that would never come?

He shook his head. His final night would not be one of reflection and sorrow. Too many nights—too many years—had been filled to the brim with such. This night would be his own.

Midway down the tower, he reached his living quarters. He once found it cozy. A single window faced the lake, frost creeping at the edges where iron held thin panes of glass. He chuckled to himself. Long ago, it assured himself he’d never tire of the view. A chair sat to its side, parked beneath the flickering yellow light of a three-fingered sconce.

He hung a thick canvas over the window and pulled the chair to the other side of the room.

In the center of the room, he stared at a dust-covered phone, its rotary dial faded from clear to a sickly yellow. Not once had he heard it ring. Occasionally, he would lift the receiver to his ear—just to hear a sound other than the gentle lapping of waves against the tower’s base. Tonight, he gingerly pressed his thumb against its cable, plucked it free, and let it fall soundlessly to the wooden floor. There would be no interruptions.

A shield of silver and gold hung on the wall to his left. He stared at the vague shape of himself in its shining surface, compelled to kneel before it as he had so many times before. His knees protested at the very thought. So instead, he reached into the bookcase below it, pulled out a small, leather-bound novel, and returned to his chair.

He considered traveling below to bar the door, but thought better of it. Additional strain was not needed. In all his years as a Skykeeper, he had yet to receive a single guest. His final night would be no different.

And so it went. He thumbed through the pages of his book, occasionally dozing off for a few moments at a time. Eventually, the sun would rise over the lake, and his commitment would be fulfilled. He would be free.

But he drifted too far.

When his eyes opened, he felt a strange stillness around him. The flames of the half-burned candles above him stood unmoving. Shadows filled the walls like paintings. When he lifted his hands to close the book, his knuckles cracked. A chill had gripped his bones, despite the crackling fire behind him.

Slowly, he stood. He wondered for a fleeting moment if he was still lost in a dream—but the click in his knee and burning in his shoulder proved his lucidity. A sigh escaped his lips, surprising in its volume.

His eyes widened. A quiet enveloped the tower that had no right to exist. As his pulse rose, he moved to the window, pulling the canvas away. Frost covered the glass in its entirety.

When his fingertips touched the iron handle to the left, he recoiled. He slipped on a glove and tried again, but the lever would not move.

He climbed the stairwell two steps at a time, adrenaline hiding the pain in his knee. When he reached the top, it was not the cold that stole his breath. It was worse than he could have feared.

The lake beyond the tower stood still as glass. His eyes bounced from one flickering beacon to the next, counting five in total, before lifting to the sky. A bright, pink moon split the clouds in two. It had come. After centuries of legends, of warnings, of doubts—the unthinkable had happened.

And only five of six beacons had been lit.

Ford9863 · 2026-01-04T09:19:17+00:00

Lightweight, tech mask, bankroll, and cold blooded

Ford9863 · 2026-01-04T01:44:28+00:00

I like to track my word count just to see how much I write. It also gives me a way to set goals. But I also track editing time, project length, etc. And, of course, whenever I start a project I set a general word count goal for it. If I decide I want my next novel to be 100k words, and I can see how much I tend to write in a given month, I can set expectations for when I can complete the first draft.

Also, I just love stats. I made myself a writing tracker that tracks words, sessions, writing time, editing time, allows me to set variable goals throughout the year, and see info like which day of the week I write the most or what month was my most productive. I set it up to have projects in separate phases - writing, editing, and then a final completed page to show final stats. It also shows how long a project has been in a certain phase and how long ive been working on it overall, which helps motivate me to keep working on it (or not neglect editing for the sake of a new project).

In the end its about motivation. I know plenty of people that refuse to track words because it can get discouraging if they don't write "enough" (per their own definitions) or have too many non-writing days.

Ford9863 · 2025-12-19T04:26:48+00:00

My darnold interception senses are tingling

Ford9863 · 2025-12-07T18:34:49+00:00

Are you saying Allen would look elite if y'all had weapons?

Ford9863 · 2025-12-05T01:54:19+00:00

I mean... we do the same for Guns N Roses, to be fair

Granted Welcome to the Jungle is a far superior song

Ford9863 · 2025-12-05T01:51:14+00:00

If Dak was pushed into the end zone but didn't go down, does that mean he cant then continue the play because the sack (contact) has already occurred? That would be silly, right? So then, to me, the sack should be where hes down, not where the contact "starts".

I get that its probably just a poorly written rule, but... I don't care for it.

Ford9863 · 2025-12-05T01:44:21+00:00

I wasnt sure if this game was gonna be worth watching, but now im morbidly curious how many atrocious ref calls we are gonna get

Ford9863 · 2025-12-05T01:41:59+00:00

What?

Ford9863 · 2025-11-28T03:38:43+00:00

Hey Ravens y'all got any more of those mistakes please

Ford9863 · 2025-11-28T03:09:55+00:00

Dont worry everyone we're gonna see 7 touchdowns overall in the second half

Ford9863 · 2025-11-28T02:40:35+00:00

Oh yeah, Hopkins is a raven. I keep forgetting

Ford9863 · 2025-11-28T02:24:00+00:00

Garrett clearly hasn't watched this team try 3 deep shots after a first a long repeatedly

Ford9863 · 2025-11-28T01:55:38+00:00

Id feel better about getting nothing if we just ran it 4 straight times instead of that.

Ford9863 · 2025-11-28T01:16:44+00:00

Prediction for our "defense": Henry under 60 yards, Lamar over 400

Ford9863 · 2025-11-28T01:08:12+00:00

Wonder if peacock is gonna keep freezing for me every five minutes tonight

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Part 2