Mannino's italian kitchen and lounge

I hate that I tried to love someone who couldn't even tell !e why they loved me. I hate myself for allowing myself to do the same things he did to me. Just out of spite. Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't hear from you for 2 days when you when fishing, or really at all when hanging with Brian. Fuck you for basically making me beg for physical affection cause you wanted to stand in the fucking kitchen and drink, night after night. Even after I moved in with my mom. Getting anytime with you was awful because all you did "smile and wave" just to get thru it.
There was this one time after I moved in with you that we were laying on your bed. I was asleep. And you tried to wake me up so I could fuck you. I said no. And rolled over or something. That was the day you took my voice. I never told you no again. When I should've said no from the jump. Fuck you for pointing my flaws... But what was your part?
Ehh I'll take the blame. I'm an adult. Not a fucking toy. Fuck you that right there was why I went no contact I should've seen the signs you didn't really love me. Half the shit you bought me for gifts pass for childrens toys. That's okay. Act like one. And I'll treat you like one too.
Now I don't feel back for blocking.
?how's it feel being on blast Asshole?

I'm a single mother and I was working nights as a parking meter attendant while trying to provide for my teenage son, Ethan. It wasn't easy, but I had no choice. One thing that always bothered me was the toll my work took on our time together. I hardly saw him during the nights, but I trusted he would take care of himself while I was away.
One morning, as I returned home from work, I noticed Ethan sitting at the kitchen table, his eyes heavy with sleep. It seemed odd since it was still early in the morning. I brushed it off, thinking he must have had a restless night. But as the days passed, I began to notice more peculiarities. Ethan became increasingly irritable, forgetful, and exhibited strange behavior associated with severe sleep deprivation.
One night, when I accidentally walked in on him stepping out of the shower, I couldn't help but notice the numerous bruises covering his body. My heart skipped a beat, and fear gripped me. How did he get those bruises? What was happening to him?
The following morning, I found him with a bruised face, his eye blackened and his lip swollen. Panic surged through me as I realized something was seriously wrong. I rushed him to a doctor, hoping for answers, but all medical tests showed no signs of physical ailments. The doctor suggested it could be psychological and recommended a counselor.
Desperate for answers, I reached out to my brother, Detective Mark Collins, who was also Ethan's uncle. Mark promised to investigate and provide any help he could. As a detective, he had the means to delve into matters that others couldn't.
A few days later, while Ethan was at school, I received an unexpected visit from Mark. He looked weary and troubled. Without wasting a moment, he sat me down and informed me of the troubling developments. Other worried parents had been reporting similar cases of their sons disappearing at night, only to return home battered and bruised.
Mark had taken charge and started a dedicated investigation into the matter. He revealed that he had been working tirelessly for a whole week, following leads, interviewing witnesses, and searching for any clues. However, despite his efforts, he admitted that he had made absolutely no progress. The cases were shrouded in mystery, leaving him frustrated and filled with a sense of helplessness.
The weight of the situation settled heavily upon me. It wasn't just Ethan. There were other families going through the same ordeal, and no one had answers. The fear and anxiety grew stronger within me as the realization sank in that our struggle was far from over.
I thanked Mark for his dedication and his relentless pursuit of the truth. As he left, we exchanged a knowing glance, silently promising to continue the fight together.
Days turned into sleepless nights as I anxiously awaited any updates from Mark's investigation. Meanwhile, I juggled work, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy for Ethan. But the underlying fear and uncertainty gnawed at my every thought.
One thing became clear—we were running out of time. The nights stretched on, each one bringing new nightmares and unexplained bruises on Ethan's body. I couldn't bear to see him suffer, and I knew that I had to be his protector, his shield against the darkness that threatened to consume him.
With every passing day, the sense of urgency grew stronger. We had to uncover the truth, find the source of this malevolent force that tormented our children. When the police put the investigation on hold - however - I was left with the fears from the beginning.
Frustrated and worried, I took time off work and stayed home, determined to uncover the truth. I kept a watchful eye on Ethan, making sure he didn't wander off during his sleepwalking episodes. One night, I followed him discreetly as he made his way to an abandoned house in our neighborhood.
My heart pounded in my chest as I peered through a crack in the wall and witnessed a chilling sight. Ethan stood among a group of other teenage boys, their eyes closed, their bodies moving with unnatural precision. As if puppets under someone's control, they began to fight, mercilessly punching and assaulting each other.
Fear overwhelmed me, but I knew I had to act. I called Mark, my brother and the detective, pleading for immediate help. By the time he arrived at the abandoned house, dawn was breaking, and the boys had dispersed, returning to their homes, leaving behind a trail of unconsciousness and injuries.
Realizing that no one else could protect Ethan but me, I made the difficult decision to quit my job and find new employment during the day. I couldn't risk leaving him alone anymore. I feared the unknown force that controlled those boys in their sleep, and I knew it was only a matter of time before it would come for my son again.
As the days turned into weeks, my desperation grew. I sought guidance from every possible avenue, determined to find answers and protect my son from the relentless onslaught of the somnpugilist. It was during one of my counseling sessions that a breakthrough, albeit a terrifying one, occurred.
The counselor, Dr. Simmons, had been tirelessly studying Ethan's case, and after numerous discussions and examinations, they finally approached me with a chilling revelation. Dr. Simmons explained that they had been consulting with experts in the field of sleep disorders and unearthed a disturbing theory.
With a serious expression etched across their face, Dr. Simmons told me, "Based on all the evidence we've gathered, the peculiar symptoms, the sleepwalking episodes, and the pattern of physical injuries, we believe your son is a victim of a rare and malevolent phenomenon known as the somnpugilist."
I had never heard of such a term, and the counselor continued to enlighten me. They described the somnpugilist as a mysterious entity or force that thrived on the vulnerability of sleep-deprived individuals, manipulating their subconscious minds to engage in brutal and uncontrolled acts of violence.
My heart sank as the weight of this revelation settled upon me. The realization that Ethan was not only a victim of his own body's betrayal but also a target of something otherworldly sent shivers down my spine. It was as if we were caught in a nightmare from which there was no escape.
Dr. Simmons assured me that they would continue researching possible remedies and solutions. However, their tone revealed a hint of helplessness, as if they too were grappling with the enigma that was the somnpugilist.
The knowledge that my son was being tormented by a malevolent force beyond our comprehension both terrified and galvanized me. I resolved to do everything in my power to protect Ethan, to shield him from the clutches of this insidious entity that sought to destroy him.
Together with Detective Mark Collins, we delved deeper into the lore surrounding the somnpugilist, seeking ancient texts and obscure references that might hold the key to its defeat. Each day brought us closer to understanding this dark force and formulating a plan to combat it.
The battle against the somnpugilist was far from over. We faced sleepless nights, relentless assaults on our sanity, and the fear that time was slipping through our fingers. But armed with newfound knowledge and unwavering determination, we pressed forward, ready to confront the somnpugilist head-on.
Now, I work at a small diner, my shifts aligned with Ethan's school hours. I rarely let him out of my sight, and I remain vigilant, constantly on guard. But deep down, I know that this battle against the somnpugilist, the sleep-fighter, can only last for so long. Darkness lingers, and the fear of the unknown looms, threatening to consume us both. With Mark's determination as both detective and uncle, we cling to hope, determined to unravel the mysterious and sinister forces that haunt our lives.
For Ethan's sake, for the sake of all the boys caught in this nocturnal nightmare, we would not rest until we unraveled the secrets of the somnpugilist and put an end to its reign of terror. Our journey would be treacherous, but the love of a mother, the devotion of an uncle, and the strength of our united front would serve as our guiding light through the darkest of nights.

I'm a single mother and I was working nights as a parking meter attendant while trying to provide for my teenage son, Ethan. It wasn't easy, but I had no choice. One thing that always bothered me was the toll my work took on our time together. I hardly saw him during the nights, but I trusted he would take care of himself while I was away.
One morning, as I returned home from work, I noticed Ethan sitting at the kitchen table, his eyes heavy with sleep. It seemed odd since it was still early in the morning. I brushed it off, thinking he must have had a restless night. But as the days passed, I began to notice more peculiarities. Ethan became increasingly irritable, forgetful, and exhibited strange behavior associated with severe sleep deprivation.
One night, when I accidentally walked in on him stepping out of the shower, I couldn't help but notice the numerous bruises covering his body. My heart skipped a beat, and fear gripped me. How did he get those bruises? What was happening to him?
The following morning, I found him with a bruised face, his eye blackened and his lip swollen. Panic surged through me as I realized something was seriously wrong. I rushed him to a doctor, hoping for answers, but all medical tests showed no signs of physical ailments. The doctor suggested it could be psychological and recommended a counselor.
Desperate for answers, I reached out to my brother, Detective Mark Collins, who was also Ethan's uncle. Mark promised to investigate and provide any help he could. As a detective, he had the means to delve into matters that others couldn't.
A few days later, while Ethan was at school, I received an unexpected visit from Mark. He looked weary and troubled. Without wasting a moment, he sat me down and informed me of the troubling developments. Other worried parents had been reporting similar cases of their sons disappearing at night, only to return home battered and bruised.
Mark had taken charge and started a dedicated investigation into the matter. He revealed that he had been working tirelessly for a whole week, following leads, interviewing witnesses, and searching for any clues. However, despite his efforts, he admitted that he had made absolutely no progress. The cases were shrouded in mystery, leaving him frustrated and filled with a sense of helplessness.
The weight of the situation settled heavily upon me. It wasn't just Ethan. There were other families going through the same ordeal, and no one had answers. The fear and anxiety grew stronger within me as the realization sank in that our struggle was far from over.
I thanked Mark for his dedication and his relentless pursuit of the truth. As he left, we exchanged a knowing glance, silently promising to continue the fight together.
Days turned into sleepless nights as I anxiously awaited any updates from Mark's investigation. Meanwhile, I juggled work, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy for Ethan. But the underlying fear and uncertainty gnawed at my every thought.
One thing became clear—we were running out of time. The nights stretched on, each one bringing new nightmares and unexplained bruises on Ethan's body. I couldn't bear to see him suffer, and I knew that I had to be his protector, his shield against the darkness that threatened to consume him.
With every passing day, the sense of urgency grew stronger. We had to uncover the truth, find the source of this malevolent force that tormented our children. When the police put the investigation on hold - however - I was left with the fears from the beginning.
Frustrated and worried, I took time off work and stayed home, determined to uncover the truth. I kept a watchful eye on Ethan, making sure he didn't wander off during his sleepwalking episodes. One night, I followed him discreetly as he made his way to an abandoned house in our neighborhood.
My heart pounded in my chest as I peered through a crack in the wall and witnessed a chilling sight. Ethan stood among a group of other teenage boys, their eyes closed, their bodies moving with unnatural precision. As if puppets under someone's control, they began to fight, mercilessly punching and assaulting each other.
Fear overwhelmed me, but I knew I had to act. I called Mark, my brother and the detective, pleading for immediate help. By the time he arrived at the abandoned house, dawn was breaking, and the boys had dispersed, returning to their homes, leaving behind a trail of unconsciousness and injuries.
Realizing that no one else could protect Ethan but me, I made the difficult decision to quit my job and find new employment during the day. I couldn't risk leaving him alone anymore. I feared the unknown force that controlled those boys in their sleep, and I knew it was only a matter of time before it would come for my son again.
As the days turned into weeks, my desperation grew. I sought guidance from every possible avenue, determined to find answers and protect my son from the relentless onslaught of the somnpugilist. It was during one of my counseling sessions that a breakthrough, albeit a terrifying one, occurred.
The counselor, Dr. Simmons, had been tirelessly studying Ethan's case, and after numerous discussions and examinations, they finally approached me with a chilling revelation. Dr. Simmons explained that they had been consulting with experts in the field of sleep disorders and unearthed a disturbing theory.
With a serious expression etched across their face, Dr. Simmons told me, "Based on all the evidence we've gathered, the peculiar symptoms, the sleepwalking episodes, and the pattern of physical injuries, we believe your son is a victim of a rare and malevolent phenomenon known as the somnpugilist."
I had never heard of such a term, and the counselor continued to enlighten me. They described the somnpugilist as a mysterious entity or force that thrived on the vulnerability of sleep-deprived individuals, manipulating their subconscious minds to engage in brutal and uncontrolled acts of violence.
My heart sank as the weight of this revelation settled upon me. The realization that Ethan was not only a victim of his own body's betrayal but also a target of something otherworldly sent shivers down my spine. It was as if we were caught in a nightmare from which there was no escape.
Dr. Simmons assured me that they would continue researching possible remedies and solutions. However, their tone revealed a hint of helplessness, as if they too were grappling with the enigma that was the somnpugilist.
The knowledge that my son was being tormented by a malevolent force beyond our comprehension both terrified and galvanized me. I resolved to do everything in my power to protect Ethan, to shield him from the clutches of this insidious entity that sought to destroy him.
Together with Detective Mark Collins, we delved deeper into the lore surrounding the somnpugilist, seeking ancient texts and obscure references that might hold the key to its defeat. Each day brought us closer to understanding this dark force and formulating a plan to combat it.
The battle against the somnpugilist was far from over. We faced sleepless nights, relentless assaults on our sanity, and the fear that time was slipping through our fingers. But armed with newfound knowledge and unwavering determination, we pressed forward, ready to confront the somnpugilist head-on.
Now, I work at a small diner, my shifts aligned with Ethan's school hours. I rarely let him out of my sight, and I remain vigilant, constantly on guard. But deep down, I know that this battle against the somnpugilist, the sleep-fighter, can only last for so long. Darkness lingers, and the fear of the unknown looms, threatening to consume us both. With Mark's determination as both detective and uncle, we cling to hope, determined to unravel the mysterious and sinister forces that haunt our lives.
For Ethan's sake, for the sake of all the boys caught in this nocturnal nightmare, we would not rest until we unraveled the secrets of the somnpugilist and put an end to its reign of terror. Our journey would be treacherous, but the love of a mother, the devotion of an uncle, and the strength of our united front would serve as our guiding light through the darkest of nights.

Sorry, but when will the new season start shooting? First it was supposed to be March, then June and now they tell us to wait another 2 years? But do they fucking kidding us?!?!? Sorry for my english, i'm Italian 😅
PS: I hope Sam has at least finished writing the script.

1) Not every single black person in the US is “African American” and from African descent.
2) Not every single African American is black. Elon Musk, for example, is African American.
3) Why do we use the whole continent? For example, an Italian coming to the US and getting citizenship would be considered ”Italian American” not “European American”. So why isn’t an American originally from Ghana considered “Ghanaian American” instead of “African American”?
Guess what I’m trying to say is why don’t we just say “black people” instead of African American?

I work in an entertainment park/zoo/hotel in the maintenance division. Most people work here seasonal. The CEO of the company changed about 6 years ago and he replaced most of the management. Long term employees with leading roles were fired or degraded. New ones were put in place. Since that day most of the sales have been going down and public news has been negative. Guests complain about food prices being 3x to 5x times the usual rate and parking prices changing overnight while guests are sleeping. The CEO orders to turn down ventilation, heating and water flow to a minimum in order to keep costs at a bare minimum of what's needed.
The new employees can just drive to the stores around here and order whatever they need for the park. Nobody controls what's ordered or what's needed. This results in lots of surplus goods and multiple people ordering the same things. Leaving us with several of the same objects. This seems very uneconomical to me.
Management brags to each other about how they ordered a power washer for the park since they needed to clean their terraces at home. This is just a small example.
This weekend there was nearly no staff in the hotel and rooms were filled with guests. The kitchen wasn't performing as usual and had to serve cold food. Rooms weren't cleaned in between stays and maintenance wasn't performed. Management told all employees to stay home. Resulting in chaotic situations and lots of guest complaints over the weekend.
What's the purpose of all this? Is the corporation being raided?
PS: I hope this is the right sub to ask this. If it isn't I'll kindly remove my post and find a more suiting subreddit.

This is going to be one of my more serious, long posts, so strap in, as they say (though I cannot possibly detail out everything you might need to know. That would require at least three posts). To quote -- and set the stage through -- Dostoevsky (from Notes from Underground):
'Is it [history] many-coloured? May be it is many-coloured, too: if one takes the dress uniforms, military and civilian, of all peoples in all ages--that alone is worth something, and if you take the undress uniforms you will never get to the end of it; no historian would be equal to the job. Is it monotonous? May be it's monotonous too: it's fighting and fighting; they are fighting now, they fought first and they fought last--you will admit, that it is almost too monotonous.
In short, one may say anything about the history of the world--anything that might enter the most disordered imagination. The only thing one can't say is that it's rational. The very word sticks in one's throat. And, indeed, this is the odd thing that is continually happening: there are continually turning up in life moral and rational persons, sages and lovers of humanity who make it their object to live all their lives as morally and rationally as possible, to be, so to speak, a light to their neighbours simply in order to show them that it is possible to live morally and rationally in this world. And yet we all know that those very people sooner or later have been false to themselves, playing some queer trick, often a most unseemly one.
Now I ask you: what can be expected of man since he is a being endowed with strange qualities? Shower upon him every earthly blessing, drown him in a sea of happiness, so that nothing but bubbles of bliss can be seen on the surface; give him economic prosperity, such that he should have nothing else to do but sleep, eat cakes and busy himself with the continuation of his species, and even then out of sheer ingratitude, sheer spite, man would play you some nasty trick. He would even risk his cakes and would deliberately desire the most fatal rubbish, the most uneconomical absurdity, simply to introduce into all this positive good sense his fatal fantastic element. It is just his fantastic dreams, his vulgar folly that he will desire to retain, simply in order to prove to himself--as though that were so necessary--that men still are men and not the keys of a piano, which the laws of nature threaten to control so completely that soon one will be able to desire nothing but by the calendar.'
-
I would only add that he was rather harsh on the soldier and his general. Many-coloured, is he! The eternal shine of the ten million blades, the wooden hilt; the forgotten hammer, the ships of our forefathers. Ah! Such a pity to see nought in it but blood and sand -- now, that is monotonous. If man is to mean anything at all, it must be finding some honour in life... and death. War, it must be known, is the great stage-play of time. Surely, then, the warrior is the greatest (male) part to play? Otherwise, it's all for nought!
If you're going to, as the author, gift your setting a military and its honour, you have to actually put yourself inside the mind of the general, the trooper, the law-maker, the wife at home, the child in the street; otherwise, it's going to be a hollowed-out system, a mere mote. It does not matter to me if you believe in war or not, or if all war is just (certainly, it's not): what matters is that you do your setting and peoples justice, regardless of what they may find themselves. After all, this is your job as the writer, as the artist. It's your job to let your characters and their stories free, and follow them, as to see where they may lead.
I'm not even going to dig into the elements at play, such as brotherhood, inter-national conflict resolution, national defence, social structure, and physical fitness. These elements ought to be known to you all: they are some of the clear benefits to warfare and boot camp/training, in general. I have not yet found a defeatist army, for example -- or yet a nation without some kind of guarder force, vast or not. (Note: there are some claims that actual warfare did not exist until around 9,000 BC, but I find this very difficult to believe, and have seen some counter-evidence. For example, Jane Goodall and de Waal find that chimps go to war (raiding parties, sometimes wiping out entire tribes); and there are strong indications that pre-historic human tribes were war-driven, just on smaller scales, and often using wooden weapons (thus, no direct evidence is found). We know that modern hunting (and fire-making, and related matters) existed at least 1.5-2 million years ago, according to the books I own and more recent research. That's the entire history of humanity, ultimately. There is no way these spears and slings were not used against man.)
Well, a big part of space opera is, indeed, warfare (typically in relation to defence of the Good [nation] and psychomachy). Anyway, without further ado, I give to you...
Part One: A Brief History of Battles, Great and Small
Let's begin with Alexander the Great, because why not (though I could have started with Sargon of Akkad many years prior). Alexander's army was a powerful, fast-moving, and relatively small force of 40,000 men (equal to a Napoleonic corps or so). Often credited with inventing genius 'shock' tactics (the so-called hammer and anvil tactic) to overwhelm equally-sized forces. He even managed to break up, and then defeat, the vast Persian army under King Darius III (around 1500,000 strong). Alexander the Great's army is as close to the cinematic glory of 300 (2006) as you're likely to find. Soon after, Alexander was crowned King of Asia in a lavish ceremony.
Moving forward a few hundred years, at its peak, the Roman military possibly had over 500,000 soldiers across its regions (around 0.5% of citizens -- which is a fairly reliable standard across history) by 306 AD during the reign of Constantine I. Compare this to the Roman conquest of Britain under Plautius, with just a 40,000-man force (four legions and 20,000 auxiliary troops, including Thracians) in 43 AD. (It's also worth mentioning, if you're in a long-term space war, individual companies, legions, or otherwise could stay outfitted for as long as 500 years at a time without issue. The Roman Legion, Legio IX Hispana, for example, existed for at least 150 years, and led the conquest of Britain. And, within the Warhammer 40,000 universes, a single Space Marine sees battle for about 400 years before he's KIA (killed in action).)
During the Battle of Hastings in 1066 AD, each side only had upwards of 5,000-8,000 men (around 15,000 in total). This was actually a common trend, from what I found: equally common was the notion of 'law of war' and related, which meant that each side wanted to be roughly equal to the other side. This is one of the most profound discoveries of my life (more on this later). (The Japanese invasion of China, for example, taught me that having too much control over your enemy leads to madness -- there must be an innate drive to some sense of honour, fair challenge in war-making. When men are without equals, they become titans, as it were. And, if you know anything about some of the Greek titans: they were not very friendly or sane.)
Around this time (960-1279 AD), the Song Dynasty of China had a remarkable standing army of over two million men, and made use of tank-like carts and newly-invented 'grandes' (known as 'thunder crash bombs'). However, this was financially exhausting, but it was sometimes capable of fighting against invading Khitans, Jurchens, and Mongols, largely thanks to the great iron industry. Individual battles, however, were quite small.
By the time of the First Italian War (1494 AD), Europe was really starting to take its modern shape, and there were hundreds of what are ultimately power struggle wars and rebellions across Europe as we moved out of the Middle Ages. This was the opening phase of the Italian Wars, which existed between 1494 and 1559 AD. The Battle of Marignano was the last major engagement of the War of the League of Cambrai (aka the wars between 1508 and 1516 AD, within the Italian Wars. The main participants were the French, Papal States, and Republic of Venice) and took place in 1515 AD, southeast of Milan. The Battle of Marignano pitted the French army, led by Francis I and the best heavy cavalry and artillery in Europe, against the Old Swiss Confederacy (within the Holy Roman Empire -- this was the precursor of the modern state of Switzerland), whose mercenaries until that point were regarded as the best medieval infantry force in Europe. The French had German landsknechts (mercenaries famed for pike and shot formations) on their side. The French won and suffered just half the losses, and did so with a fairly stronger force -- possibly 35,000 men compared to 22,000 on the Swiss side. This led to the Treaty of Fribourg, which established the 'Perpetual Peace', and ensured good relations between the two nations for nearly 200 years. This event is largely what led to Switzerland's world-famous diplomatic autonomy and militaristic neutrality. Nonetheless, this battle -- and countless others at the time -- saw similar numbers to centuries past: roughly 20,000 on each side.
Part Two: An Introduction to Military Divisions & the Numbering System
Enter Maurice de Saxe circa 1710 AD, whom you can thank, at least in part, for the modern military system, largely due to the major increase in soldiers by the 18th century, and his advanced thinking in response. A major battle felt by a young de Saxe was the Battle of Malplaquet during the War of the Spanish Succession. Battles pressed on in this manner, and at some point, de Saxe began to write about it. He wrote Mes Reveries, a profound work on the art of war, which was published after his death in 1757 AD.
He had the grand idea of reshaping the regiment system into large 'legions' (modern divisions), so that the effective officers were not wasted on smaller, single regiments. These divisions would consist of four regiments and would have a more even mix of veteran soldiers and new recruits, as well. On top of this, he -- along with some other key theorists at the time -- had the idea of simply numbering the divisions and regiments, replacing the traditional system of naming them by their commanders or by locations/regions: because that's a very temporary, rigid system that only works for small, tight-knit groups. The divisional system also allowed soldiers to climb the ranks, and effectively learn from the veterans.
The regimental system shatters command structure and weakens mobility, despite the fact you have smaller, often lighter units. Too many small, separate, disorganised units is highly ineffective when you're dealing with large armies, and quite an advanced enemy (be it the British or Prussians, in this case). What de Saxe noticed was a failing system of rigid tradition. He also hated this sort of grenadier mentality of the 17th and 18th centuries, as it displaced all the strongest and most experienced soldiers. Of course, de Saxe was not against the existence of grenadiers: the strongest soldiers, leading the assaults, such as storming fortifications. He simply wanted to evenly spread them out across all the regiments, and legions, so that every single unit was an effective tool. (This grenadier concept actually survives to this day, as a grenade launcher specialist of a typical four-man fireteam (traditionally, sharing much in common with WWII-era shock troops), and you see it all the time in movies, where he is still typically the biggest, strongest of the team.)
Battles were increasingly crossing the 100,000 mark in terms of soldier count; whereas, not long ago (that is, around 1650 AD), the numbers were more likely in the range of 20,000 for most battles, other than a few outliers.
Then, de Saxe died before he had the opportunity to actually implement his system, though the Duke de Broglie led some successful experiments with it during the Seven Years War, but it took until the French Revolution for the 'division' concept to be enforced, systematically. This ultimately fell at the hands of the French Revolutionary Army.
Enter Lazare Carnot. Like de Saxe, Carnot saw that some regiments were full of veterans, whilst others -- namely, the new revolutionary brigades -- were filled with barely-trained recruits. And, like de Saxe, his solution was to separate out the veterans and embed them within these new brigades. More importantly, he embraced de Saxe's idea of the 'division'. The new demi-brigades (regiments, as the Revolutionary Government hated and removed the term regiment) would be combined into brigades, and brigades would be combined into divisions. Later, under Napoleon, divisions themselves were combined into corps (which is and has always been the highest level of operational units for actual combat, with all units larger than corps being purely administrative, with a clear exception being Napoleon's Armee (i.e. modern field army), and a few other, smaller army groups).
This wonderfully created an intermediate level of control between the general and the brigade commanders. The Revolutionary Army became at once an army of mass and mobility. This allowed the army to move faster and more decisively than their enemies, who were still commanding at regiment or brigade level.
Full implementation of the divisional system was not realised until the French Revolutionary Government, in their centralising and anti-aristocratic ways, when they decided to entirely remove the old system of naming regiments after their commanders. They saw all of this as part of the 'ancien regime' (i.e. 'the System' or 'old system', language also used by Hitler in relation to what he called the 'Weimar Republic'. Not uncommon language from any new system). The second factor at play was that the French Revolutionary Government also didn't like the idea of merely naming regiments after regions of France. The final factor was scale: the Army was larger than ever, which made it very difficult to give specific names.
As a result, the Government began numbering their units by the late-1700s. Although the Roman legions themselves had been numbered, and de Saxe argued for it many years prior, some scholars believe that this was purely an administrative decision. (Obviously, your naming convention can be more on the religious/traditional or seculamodern side, depending on just how the entire system is set up. Warhammer 40,000 is a good example of a more Roman-inspired system, despite its far-future nature, so it's not uncommon to find very traditional, religious naming conventions within Warhammer 40,000, coupled with simple, administrative systems. And, again: Nazi Germany and other 20th-century powers, such as America and England, also shifted towards numbered and/or lettered systems for pretty much everything. Not shockingly, this is heavily featured in sci-fi, as well.)
Part Three: Napoleon & the Birth of Modern War:
Although the concepts of the 'corps' and 'battalion carre' (that is, four corps) existed, they were also not implemented until the time of Napoleon in the early-1800s. He began grouping divisions into corps, making the largest units in history -- equal to entire armies of older periods (three divisions and some cavalry regiments, for upwards of 30,000 men). He commanded dozens of these corps (I think, around 20 of them for his Grande Armee when he invaded Russia in 1812 AD -- or, 500,000-600,000 men, equal to the entire core Roman military at the height of its power).
Napoleon's genius -- despite his supreme failure to invade Russia -- was ensuring that these corps were typically independent fighting units. This meant they were self-sufficient armies unto themselves. This allowed for a vast force, without the whole system becoming sluggish and disorganised. Of course, as with Alexander the Great before him, this ultimately led to major decentralization and failure once the leader is defeated; thus, without a singular ruler, and without endless success, the entire system breaks down (unless there is something else binding them).
Nonetheless, by now, all the European powers had adopted the divisional system. The first British divisions were established by Arthur Wellesley in 1809 AD, for example. The Napoleonic corps system then became standardised, as well.
On the other hand -- and other side of the world -- the U.S. had its own 'legion', wholly separate from the European divisional evolution. They were independent units for the western wilderness, not sub-elements of a larger army. The U.S. finally adopted a more European system by WWI, however. (Mostly because the U.S. was simply not a large enough force yet, though it did have some major battles and unit examples.)
Regardless, the primary building block for all was still the regiment or division. This remained true through WWII and beyond.
Part Four: The Four Spatial Forms of Sci-fi
I shall skip modern history, because it's -- shockingly -- not much different to older history. This further tells me that there are some universal themes and elements to warfare, unless something changes beyond measure. As of 2023 AD, the basic building block of most armies is still the regiment or division, and 'shock' tactics, of smaller units are back in style, and have been since the 1960s or so. (I do have a few things to say about WWI and beyond, but I cannot fit it in this post, and it's not required reading.)
Technically, there is a fifth: space warfare proper (an admixture). But, we shall simply focus on the four primary. I use the term 'spatial forms' because I don't know a better term. See below.

• Space as an ocean (navy propeoceanic)
• Spaceships as submarines (navy/subaquatic)
• Spaceships as tanks (army/ground)
• Space as air with less stuff (air force/air)

You find, and should focus on, one of these as the primary mode (at least). This is true in most combative and non-combative contexts. All are workable and interesting, and have some notable examples, mostly in film/TV and novels. There is much psychology connected to each, and some innate differences to consider; and you have to think about such in relation to your nation/culture, as well, and their pre-spacefaring history.
An interesting, real-world example is America's Space Force. This is fundamentally army-and-naval driven (i.e. Marines), despite its primary air force-like nature in simple terms of the vessels and how it would function in a war. This is evidenced by the fact its ranking system and such is built around the Marine Corps. I guess, that means, going with American Marines (a complex admixture of both soldier and sailor) is not such a bad idea in sci-fi. We all know this is a decent idea, anyway, and it's seen heavily in sci-fi since the 1940s (hence, the term 'space marine'). Other marine forces are fairly in line with this, as well. The typical route here is space as an ocean. The ships are merely carrying the marines to their location (planet or otherwise). You see this with Star Wars' Stormtroopers (though I did not mention such above, I shall now: this stems from late-WWI when Germany created new advanced tactics for storming British trenches. But, most of all, it speaks to Hitler's Stormtroopers, fused with some kind of space marine position; thus, we end up with Lucas' forgetting Stormtrooper force). (Of course, the Rebels of Star Wars and the Empire's TIE Fighters go with the space as air with less stuff trope. And, there is a general sense of both army and navy from the Empire. You rarely get the 'submarine feel', in this case.)
Star Trek (at least, the original) takes the spaceships as submarines trope much of the time (other than the fact, their ships are far too wasteful, volume-wise -- but that's mostly for filming purposes, so I can accept it). I actually love this mode (though I don't care for Star Trek's version so much).
Battlestar Galactica (new series), among others, seems to take a mixed view.
Which form or mode you run with, primarily, really depends upon the exact setting, culture, story, theme, and style you're going with. I suggest figuring out which you want/which fits best, and then trying to stick to that singular vision as much as possible. To get ideas, you can research as much as possible -- both real science/history and fiction.

Im remodeling a kitchen and Im pushing all the soffits back to be on the same plane as the upper cabinets. What is the best way to move the drain towards the wall to get behind soffit line. Im a journey man carpenter with some limited plumbing skills. But we are in a time crunch and it seems like something I may be able to do if given the right direction. Would appreciate any input or advise. I have also enclosed a floor plan showing the drain pipe old location and new location. Thanks.

https://i.imgur.com/fQmHbrI.jpg I recently renovated our kitchen and can’t think of what to do with the back of our new island. I would like to be able to have barstools, which means cabinet fronts are off the menu.
All ideas are welcome!

BABY’S ARM HOLDING AN APPLE
By YippieYiYi
CHAPTER 1
The Bird of Paradise had been on the front steps for a year and wasn’t getting enough sun, it hadn’t produced a single flower. I got the two-wheeler, but couldn’t get the pot on by myself. There’s a young guy on the sidewalk walking towards me. He’s got on one of those yellow visibility vests, no shirt underneath, a pair of black nylon basketball shorts and heavy work boots. He’s carrying a backpack over one shoulder. He must work for the city. He’s tall and thin with a wiry body. It’s hard to see his face, he’s got a baseball cap on with a Florida Gator’s logo, and a pair of dark sunglasses.
“Hola”
“Hola yourself, I was born here.”
“Sorry, can you give me a hand moving this plant?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I hold the dolly and he pushes the plant onto it so I can tip it back. I push it to the backyard, he follows and helps get if off.
“Where do you want it?”
“In the corner, it’ll get a lot more sun there.”
He wiggles it into place and says “How’s that?”
“Perfect! Thanks a lot! Can I offer you a beer?”
“Sure.”
He follows me into the house and I motion to the couch. The soccer game is still on the TV.
I grab a couple of Dos Equis and sit next to him.
“What’s your name?”
“Carlos.”
“Hi, Carlos. I’m Rick. Do you work for the city?”
“Yeah, Public Works.”
“Cool. What do you do?”
“Whatever they tell me. Usually just put out traffic cones, stand with a flag to warn people to slow down, sometimes dig ditches.”
“You live in the neighborhood?”
“Yeah, I just moved back with my mom for summer break, she’s on the next block. I don’t have a car so my boss pics me up and drops me off in front of the church.”
“How old are you?”
“19”
He takes off his hat and sunglasses and puts them on the coffee table. I can see his face now. Beautiful soft features, a wispy mustache, and long straight hair he had tucked under the hat. His skin is cafe-au-lait, probably tanned darker from being in the sun all day. He’s skinny, but his muscles are defined. I try not to stare, but I can’t help it. There’s a large bulge in the front of his shorts, but I’m pretty sure it’s his cell phone.
“I didn’t mean to insult you assuming you spoke Spanish, but you do look Latino, and a lot of the road crews just speak Spanish”
“Nah, I was just playing with you. Both my parents are from Columbia, but I was born here. I speak enough to get by, but I’d probably be lost if I ever went there. We don’t speak Spanish at home. It just took me by surprise, I go to FSU, everyone there assumes I must speak English.”
He’s lying back on the couch, the vest wide open, his arms crossed behind his head, looking completely relaxed. I see a beautiful happy trail leading down his shorts and tufts of dark hair under his arms, but try to distract myself with the soccer game.
“You want another beer?”
“Sure”
I head to the kitchen, grab the beers and a can of mixed nuts.
I put the nuts on the coffee table and he grabs a handful. I don’t think he’s really watching the soccer game, it’s a re-cap of the 2022 World Cup. I see him looking around the room.
“Where’s the head?”
“That door there”
The bathroom opens right onto the living room, one thing I didn’t like about the house when I was house-hunting, but it was in a great neighborhood close to the beach. I can hear him pissing, a really strong stream like young guys have. He didn’t close the door. I hear a piece of toilet paper torn, he must be wiping the tip of his dick. I like when guys do that, I always do. I’m the type that washes my hands before I piss so I don’t get my dick dirty. He flushes then washes his hands.
“I hope you don’t mind I used your towel in there.”
He settles back on the couch, doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere.
“You wanna smoke a joint?” he asks.
“Sure, I’ve got a little time. I don’t have to be at work for a couple hours.”
“Where do you work?”
“I work a couple nights a week at Massage Envy downtown. I’m a critical care nurse but I needed a break after the pandemic, and I had my massage license anyway. That’s how I put myself through nursing school.”
“How’d you end up in this little town?”
“My father passed recently. I ended up inheriting enough money to move out of the state and buy a house. I had vacationed here and loved it, so I decided to move here. I love being able to walk to the beach and downtown.”
“You own the house?”
“Yeah”
“Shit, how old are you?”
“27”
“No way! You’re 27, own your own house, and work just a couple nights a week? Must be nice.”
“Like I said, I inherited some money. I still don’t know where it all came from, my parents never had much. My mother passed away a while ago, then after my dad died, I started getting statements from all these investment accounts in his name. It’s enough to take a break, but I’m going to have to get a job eventually, not sure if I’ll go back to nursing, though, I’m thinking maybe something else, just not sure what.”
Carlos lights the joint and passes it to me. I take a hit and get up to get an ashtray. I take a couple more hits and sit down, passing the joint back to him. As I’m walking back to the couch I can’t help but notice how incredibly handsome he is, in that kinda sweet, kinda rough way that always gets me. We finish the joint and make small talk about the World Cup.
“You dropped a couple.”
Without thinking I reach over and brush the peanuts from his crotch. He grabs my hand, pushing it away, and glares at me. I was embarrassed and stunned (and stoned). Slowly the glare turned into a small smile, and he put my hand back.
I was struck dumb, but started feeling his crotch. It wasn’t his cell phone. I was rubbing up and down through the fabric and felt it swell.
“Here, let me make it easier”
Carlos raised his butt and lowered his shorts and boxers to his knees and sat back down. His boxers were black with yellow smiley faces.
“Jeez! That thing’s as big as a baby’s arm holding an apple!”
Carlos burst out laughing. “What did you say?”
“I said your dick’s as big as a baby’s arm holding an apple. You’ve never heard that expression?”
“No, never. I guess us Spanish speakers don’t use it” he kidded.
“Maybe it’s a regional euphemism, it sounds southern though. Not sure where I first heard it.”
I swear, this guy was packing. Not only thick, but long, and the head was massive. I couldn’t stop staring. He was holding it and asked me to jerk him off. I turned towards him and put both my hands on it and started pumping. He grabbed the back of my head and forced it down. I got the head in my mouth but there was no way I was going to take any more. I kept pumping with my hands and he quickly came. I couldn’t swallow fast enough, my mouth filled and his cum spilled out of my lips onto the couch.
“God, I needed that. I don’t usually fool around with guys, but you seem cool.”
He pulled an elastic from his pocket, tied his hair back and told me to stand up. I stood in front of him and he dropped my shorts and started kissing my thighs. He took his time, licking and sucking my balls till he finally started on my dick. There was a thread of pre-cum he pulled off and wiped on his shorts. I’d never been too concerned with my dick size, it seemed pretty good and I’d never had any complaints, but I felt like a little kid compared to his.
“Sorry I’m not as big as you.” I felt stupid as soon as I said it.
“Shut up, it’s a pain. No one can blow me, and my girlfriend only lets me put it halfway in. Worst part is when I take a dump, I’ve got to hold it up so it doesn’t hang in the toilet water. Yours is the perfect size for blowing and fucking, so don’t get all self-conscious on me.”
“You have a girlfriend?”
“Shut up and let me blow you.”
So I did. He licked it clean and pulled up my shorts and started zipping them.
“No!”
I don’t trust anyone pulling a zipper up anywhere near my dick. I got the foreskin caught in it once when I was a kid and can still feel the pain.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful with this beauty, I’m gonna want to use it again I think.”
“What about this girlfriend?”
“Just a girl I was seeing at school, we went out together a lot, but I think it was more of a FWB deal. She lives in California so I won’t see her till next fall. Why she wanted to go to college in Florida is beyond me.”
“I’ve gotta get ready to go to work, you wanna stop by tomorrow on your way home?”
He smiles. “Sure.”
“So I guess you’ll be massaging a bunch of hot guys tonight, huh?”
“Fat chance. I’ve got three bookings, two women and one man, all over 70. One has sciatica, the other scoliosis, and the guy has weakness in his legs so I stretch and massage them to stimulate the nerves.”
I shower to get the smell of beer and pot off me, and grab a bite to eat before heading over to the massage studio.

TL;DR - Several months ago, apartment mice began in my NYC apartment kitchen but were kept under control by excessive cleaning and food removal, with one or two traps set up. 10 days ago, my roommate and our dog left for a few days and I spotted mice in other rooms of the apartment for the first time. Long story short they got BOLD and kept coming near me. Landlord/Super is not in the building half the time and when he finally came to check it out for the third time in 2 months, he gave me more traps and denied that there are any holes in my apartment (due to the fact he caulked up some a few years ago) even though I 100% have mice (it's not rats I got a VERY good up-close look) and virtually every neighbor in my wall line reported them and my landlord admitted there is an infestation in the basement and 1st floor. Also, the mice have avoided every single type of trap set while still eating the bait from spring traps.
THINGS I'VE TRIED: *NOTE* All traps were cleaned first with no harsh chemicals only sweet-smelling dish soap and traps were exclusively handled with gloves.
Baits used- Rotated and/or combined foods for bait; peanut butter; whole wheat bread; white bread; dog food; dog treats; powdered liver dog food topper; bagels; grease from cooked ground beef.
Traps used- Voltage kill-traps; snap traps; simple no-kill bait traps; poison kill-traps; bucket flip-trap for field mice (dog-proof that's why)
Misc. Measures used - physical barriers and reinforced edges with many layers of duct tape to isolate them to the rooms they enter and exit from. Poison pellets behind appliances, or anywhere the dog cannot reach.
Measures that HELPED a tiny bit (not eradicated) - Poison pellets (reports of dead mice in the basement level, didn't really help my apartment though), the physical barriers I sealed up w duct tape, and my dog simply existing in the living room.
Long story version of the above.
So, I live in a 1 bedroom apartment in NYC with a roommate and a dog. We've been dealing with a mice infestation in the building for months, with a few sightings in the kitchen and some eaten food. Luckily, until about a week ago, we had zero sightings or signs of mice in any other rooms. When this began about 2 months ago, we alerted our landlord and told him where we thought they were coming from to which he responded "Well I closed that off two years ago so they can't be coming from there," *Fun Fact* They are coming from there. And other places in the apartment too. The method we've used to curb mice for the last few months was obsessively cleaning our kitchen with vinegar and peppermint oil each time we cook and wiping surfaces after EVERY possible food contact. They did not leave but they stayed just in the kitchen and since we cut off access to our food, got more explorative in the kitchen, but less spotting altogether. In retrospect, what kept them isolated to the kitchen after the food removal was the fact that my large dog stays out of there usually.
Fast forward to about 10 days ago, my roommate went out of town, and our dog stayed with their friend after the first day or two. Once I was the only person left in the apartment, the horrors started. I saw my first mouse run from the bathroom to my roommate's bedroom (I sleep in the living room) and I then started hearing mice in the living room (my room), behind a large armoire that acts as a fake fireplace. I immediately cleared out the entryway room to become the only truly mouse-proofed room in the entire apartment, double-bagged all food and put it in there, triple-bagged all dog food + treats, and sealed sealed sealed the room up. Not a single piece of accessible food was left in any part of the apartment. The less accessible the food got, the bolder the mice became. Eventually, after grabbing a single cookie and holding it IN MY HAND, the only food in the house outside the mouse-proof room, within 2 minutes of sitting on the couch a mouse climbs on and comes face-to-face with me. I had been sleeping on the couch at this point due to a mouse having run across my bed a few days prior. After this I deep cleaned virtually every single spot in the living room I could reach using a mixture of vinegar, peppermint oil, and anti-bacterial cleaning spray and sealed up any places I could conceive of even a roach being able to fit through. The kitchen is not possible to seal without the help of my landlord since the oven, sink, and refrigerator are immovable (kitchen walkway is about 2 feet wide at most from edge of counter to opposing wall trapping my appliances to their position).
On the 5th day of leaving message after message to my super (who is only in the building about half the time anyways) he finally came back to check it out, and stated the entire wall line of the building and the whole 1st floor + basement was having mice infestations, and promptly told me the same thing he did last time without pulling out any appliances to check behind them or even bothering to offer any alternative possibilities to where they might be coming from. My interpretation of my Super's stance on the problem is "You have mice. The entire building and especially the lower floors also have mice. I mice-proofed your apartment years ago so I needn't check to make sure it's still sealed. I believe you have no entrances or exits for mice although I won't check. Here are some traps and poison pellets just in case you have mice. But you definitely have mice though." He's visited three times in 2 months for this and says this every single time.
Before the landlord arrived, I had several no-kill mouse traps baited with peanut butter that the mice seemed to avoid like the plague. The landlord simply put up a bunch of snap-traps for mice and I went on Amazon to order a few chemical kill traps and a bucket-trap for field mice (it's dog-proof that's why). My super also sprinkled a bunch of mouse poison anywhere my dog can't get to.
It's been about 4 days since my landlord came and I set up every new trap. I made sure to wear gloves, thoroughly clean each trap, and rubbed a lil bread (that they'd already eaten a portion of previously) on the outside of the trap because why not make it smell nicer and more inviting? My dog is back in the house, my roommate is home, and while mice are now back in just the kitchen mainly (likely because of the dog) they are still super active and avoiding every single trap I've set and managing to eat the bait from every snap-trap without setting it off. They avoid altogether the voltage traps, simple bait traps, chemical traps, and bucket-trap. As bait, I've tried using peanut butter, dog food, dog treats, whole wheat + white bread, and even a bagel. I also did the thing where I tried to make them enter the trap by giving them no other alternative and then they suddenly begin finding new ways to climb walls or find another access point to come in and out of.
I'm so tired, my roommate is even more scared of mice than I am, and the dog is helpful, but won't drive them out completely. My super sucks, wtf do I do now? I don't want to have to report the building as having "Unsanitary conditions: Pests: Mice" to the NYC311 (NYC govt-run non-emergency city services) but after months of this and the last few weeks of intense mice-battling I am really struggling.

Im an 18yo female and im doing my A levels this month. I have started revising downstairs on the kitchen table and because i have 3 subjects i have many books and I’ve found it easier to leave the books on the table in a pile overnight rather than bringing them all up and down the stairs everyday. I also have been revising in the kitchen because i share my room with my sister so revising is hard when we have no table to sit and write on in our room and she is noisy. The other day, my mum shouted at me because my books were in the way of her bringing her friends over for coffee everyday, i was a little defensive as surely my a levels are more important than her daily coffee chats. I then asked my dad, who was in the other room playing with my little brother and making him scream, to be a little more quiet so i could revise. He then got really angry and told me if he wanted to he would pack “my shit” and kick me out. He said he doesnt give a shit im doing my a levels because im doing them for “myself” and not him? He then told me i need to fuck off and started kicking my pet rabbits things around and told me to get him out of “his house”. I took my things upstairs and after a few days of not talking to my dad, my mum has been telling me how disgusted she is by me for not apologising to my dad and how this is all my fault and how i will regret one day not apologising to him. I don’t understand why any of this has happened?

Somewhat venting, somewhat seeking advice. Husband (28M) and I (27F) bought a semi-fixer—nothing foundational, utilities are ok, but wall and floor coverings, faucets, fixtures all need updating. We have been doing it all ourselves, since my husband has been working in construction for a few years now. Tensions run high sometimes mid-project, and unequal workloads for certain projects have caused a few fights, but nothing that has carried over into the next day. Until now 😅
My husband was really pushing replacing our trim, I was firm on wanting to refinish the original trim. We couldn’t agree, so we tabled the conversation, to be revisited after some more progress had been made with other things. About a month ago, my husband and his cousin had an unexpected materials delay for a framing job, so they replaced ~400 sq ft of flooring in our living room and hallway to bedrooms/bathroom while I was at work. Awesome! But I came home to the finished product and there was no trim. It had all been thrown away. Husband said there were concerns about salvageability during removal, but mostly, going from high pile carpet to LVP made it not feasible to keep the old stuff, that it just wouldn’t work well. I accepted this, said we’d figure it out, being without trim for a while wouldn’t kill me. I thought I had communicated fairly clearly that I did NOT want to move forward with buying/installing new trim yet, while I figured out how to recalibrate my ~vision~. Came home the next day to 75% of the new trim installed and I HATE it. I hate the shape, I hate the size, I hate the amount of overhang the top piece above our doorways has. I have cried over it multiple times. Tried to drop it after expressing my feelings as calmly as I could, and move on and find ways to work it into my plans, since it’s paid for and installed.
Fast-forward to today. My husband’s cousin damaged a piece of our wood paneling that we are going to paint while removing the old trim. I was told it would be repaired or replaced. Today I was told that’s not an option, that it will have to be covered with trim. This is a floor-to-ceiling opening affected, not an actual doorway. So the trim will run floor-to-ceiling in this one spot in the entire room. This huge, chunky, flat, boring, pseudo-modern trim that I hate, now cutting off our nice, open entryway into our kitchen on one side (cabinets on the other). And it looks SO. FUCKING. STUPID.
So I had the blow-up I managed to hold back a month ago, told him with all the drama I could muster how much I hate the trim and how I feel about decisions being made about our home, funded by our finances, without my involvement… He twisted it into an attack on him, his tastes, his skills and abilities. I told him I need to be alone for a few hours and stop talking about it. I’m sitting in the bedroom crying over the trim again, while I listen to him install this last piece from floor to ceiling that we just fought over.
I feel like the trim itself is a lost cause at this point, which makes me feel really shitty because this is my home, too, and not only do I hate it visually, but it’s a physical reminder of the way I was steamrolled here. I just don’t really know where to go from here. I feel like he doesn’t understand how I’m feeling at ALL, or why this was so upsetting, and I’m out of ways to try to communicate it. Or maybe it’s a “forgiveness is better than permission” strategy to get what he wants? I am still just gobsmacked that everything played out like this despite my attempts to get him to hit the brakes and allow me to be involved.

I moved into a new place and there are LED strips installed in the kitchen that operate using a remote. I want to make them smart, so I was looking to replace the RF receiver controller with a new wifi controller.
I noticed that all CCT controllers available on amazon come with 3 different outputs, CW, WW and V+. My installed LED strips are CW+ and WW+. I found the exact controller used here on amazon: https://www.amazon.de/-/en/1-Channel-Continuous-Adjustment-Including-Convertedp/B07DL7VBP4?th=1
The offered solution by the manufacturer is to sell you a $200 wifi box that plugs into an outlet and emits an RF signal that is picked up by the controllers and is controlled with a shitty app.
So I want to replace the controller all together while ideally not having to replace the LED strips but I can't find any controllers for this specific type of LED strip. Is there a possible workaround or has anyone here worked with similar LED strips before?