She asks. He does.
She decides if it counted.

It's a chore board with a power dynamic and a points system. What he spends the points on is between the two of you — the reward categories go from “dessert on a weeknight” to whatever you want to write in the box, and we don't read them. There's a discreet mode for the ones you'd rather not have read over your shoulder.

She does. He adds what he wants to the wish list, sorted by category; she names the price, or turns it down with a note. Nothing is redeemable until it has a number on it.

Milestones for both of you — tasks done, tasks written, approvals, streaks, and a handful you'll only find by accident. They're bragging rights only: no achievement has ever paid out a point.

Two tables, both about him. One ranks the weeks of his run by trophies unlocked; the other by throughput — points banked divided by the days he actually showed up, so a steady fortnight beats one heroic Saturday. A week needs two active days before it's ranked at all. Above them sits a line of site-wide totals — how many of us there are, how many tasks got approved — but no other couple appears in the rankings, because no other couple can see yours.

The two of you. Every row in the database is tagged with your couple, Postgres row-level security enforces it on every read and write, and the server re-checks your role and membership before any change. Photos live in a private bucket behind short-lived links. There's no admin view, no feed, and no cross-couple leaderboard — the one ranking in the app puts him against his own past weeks and nobody else's. The counts in the hero above are the only thing we publish, and they are totals: how many people are here, how many tasks got approved, how many rewards got paid out. Not one of them says whose.

She can. Either off a price list he can read in advance — phone at dinner, said you’d do it and didn’t — or freehand, up to 200 at a time. Every one comes with a note, because docking someone in silence isn’t the deal. It never takes him below zero, it never touches a reward he’s already been given, and she can hand the points back whenever she likes. He gets one button: “Seen.”

Whenever is 5, Soon is 10, Now is 20. Beat the deadline and it’s five more. Every bounce takes three off what that job will pay, and nothing is ever worth less than one point. Streaks count days with at least one approved task, in your own timezone — a day she takes points away is still a day he did the work.

One of you creates it and sends the other a six-character invite code. The code decides who’s who, and roles are fixed once you’re both in — there’s no swap button, because half the rules in the app hang off which side of the board you’re standing on. You can rename the roles as often as you like.

Turn on discreet mode and the spicier reward titles are masked until you tap one. It’s per couple and off by default. The demo board is deliberately tame for the same reason.

No. Not with a button, not with a clever request, not with a plea. Approval is hers in the rules, in the server, and in the database. That's the product.

Rename them. Boss and Angel, Chief and Sunshine, Doer and Dreamer, or anything you like up to sixteen characters each. Every label in the app follows.

You can read the board and the shell loads without signal. Writing needs a connection — we tell you plainly rather than pretending it saved.

He can offer. She decides. He writes the card, she takes it up — rewriting what it’s worth if she likes — or turns it down with a note. Three offers on the table at a time, so it stays a conversation rather than a pile.

Nothing. The pricing table above is a bit. If you'd like to give us four dollars we'd honestly rather you fixed the chair.