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[Part 3]
The new knight approached the base of the wet ladder and began to climb. He reached halfway and stopped to listen above. The thunderstorm roared its fury, and the Blackfish was already speaking.
“What kind of knight threatens a pregnant woman?” Ser Tully voiced his rhetorical question.
“We did not know she was pregnant. She fooled us with her sister. But I am one that follows the orders of his liege lord.”
“You mean the Lannister one that killed his king once? Or the other Frey one that killed his other king too? Or the dead lord who killed Dornish babes? How do the princes of Dorne feel about you cheap-honor Lannisters?”
“You were the ones that rebel against the crown.”
“And it was the Kingslayer that threw Bran Stark out the window in a time of peace! At his own home! Do the Lannisters enjoy killing children and murdering unarmed people at dinner?”
“He is my liege lord.”
“Aye, and you seem like someone who knows his role and shuts his mouth. Do you want to be remembered for the rest of time as the knight that cleans up after his shit? ‘Here lies Ser Forley Prester, the legend that wipes the Goldenhand’s ass,’ will be written on your tomb in gold. Too bad your grave-mark will forget the part where everyday you take his golden-hand, shine it up real nice, turn that piece of metal sideways and shove it up your own candy arse for pleasure!”
The men above laughed as a shriek of thunder rumbled not too far from the Rock.
“You seem like a charming man Ser Brynden, but we are not here to discuss the rights or wrongs of men, knights, lords, kings and princes who are far far away from here.”
“Well here in my garrison I have Ser Olyvar Frey, son to Walder Frey, and a loyalist to his King, Robb Stark. Please ask Ser Olyvar Frey which is right and which is shit?”
Olyvar realized the Blackfish is chatting to buy time for Jeyne to escape.
“Is he a knight now?” A familiar voice that sounded like Edwyn Frey asked. “How did that come to pass?”
“Kill the right people I suppose. And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to now? What is your name my lord?”
“My name is Ed–“
“IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOUR NAME IS!”
Giggles tickled the rainy circular drain above Olyvar.
“And aye, I knighted him myself. And his Queen in the North even made him a new coat of arms to differentiate himself from his disgraceful family,” the Blackfish announced to Edwyn Frey.
“And how would I know what cloak he wears now?” Ser Forley’s voice continued.
“Fastened by Queen Stark herself, it’s the bridge of the twin towers with a river flowing underneath, colored Stark grey and Tully red & blue. But every one of my friends here are all championed by our Queen. Are any of you beloved by a queen?”
Ser Forley tried to counter, “A new sigil of water flowing underneath a bridge? Did he make the water flow himself? Is he a plumber?”
“Aye, he may be a plumber knight, but you got shit for honors.”
“My honor is in tact.”
“Was it in tact when you abandoned your army at the Battle of the Camps? Claiming that you have honor is like claiming turtles can grow wings and fly. My plumber knight has more honor than your shit!”
Ser Forley paused … and then exulted, “Will this plumber be cleaning up my shit later?” Quiet chuckles whispered from the higher balconies.
The Blackfish retaliates, “As long as you acknowledge your honor as shit, he will.”
Loud laughter filled the air, but with Olyvar hiding in the hole of the floor, he could not tell if it was from his brothers, from his foes or both. Alive or facing death, one should know better not to trade japes with the Blackfish.
“Enough!” yelled Ser Forley. “You are clearly out manned down there at this courtyard! At least three of my men to one of yours! AND I have the high ground! So I won’t say it again, drop your weapons and I will let your men live!”
“Do you take me for a motley fool? You just don’t want us to loose back when you shoot your crossbows at us. You Lannisters cannot win in a fair fight against us if we are armed, but you men sure do a good job of killing defenseless people and children. And I will not give you that pleasure!”
“I do not know what you heard, but that is not entirely true.”
“Not entirely true? Do you Lannisters fondle the children first before you kill them? Do you give the children a good sniff before you cook them like Mad Danelle Lothson? Mother have mercy!” Ser Brynden teased.
“Enough! I will let your men live if you drop your weapons! I swear it on my hon-“
“We shit on your honor! Are there no true knights among you lot? You men following this shit knight’s shitty order, do you not have any honor yourselves? To chase after and kill a woman who is in labor? To kill a babe? Our king—”
“OUR CHOSEN KING!” Lord Galbart Glover’s voice thundered in before the Blackfish continued.
“—chose to execute his own kin and bannerman for butchering children … Lannister children! Frey children! But your knight here serves men without honor. Ser Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer! Lord Walder Frey the Guestslayer! Lord Roose Bolton the Turncloak! COWARDS! Men who serves hospitality with bloodshed beneath their roofs and massacre innocents! Will you continue to serve these false knights and false men? Are you not fathers, nor aspire to be fathers some day? Well serve your CHOSEN lord’s bidding and be cursed! A predator of children is no lord of mine!” Ser Brynden Blackfish Tully spat and thunder boomed. “The gods will never forgive that, the slaughter at the Twins, the murder, the treason, the mutiny!”
Ser Forley began to scream louder, “You call it what you want! You’re down there, we’re up here! You came into the wrong damn castle Ser!”
“Stand fast brothers!” Ser Tully alerted.
“Gods damn this, I am telling you this one last time. Order your men to drop their weapons to the deck.”
“So you could parade us as prisoners before executing us? I cannot give that order,” defied the Blackfish.
“I am not going to repeat that order!”
“I WILL NOT GIVE THAT ORDER!” Thunder boomed again.
“WHAT IN SEVEN HELLS IS WRONG WITH YOU? THIS IS USELESS!”
“STAND FAST!”
“ONE LAST TIME! ORDER YOUR MEN TO –“
“Ser Forley!” an unfamiliar voice called. “Queen Stark and her group are spotted. They are escaping on a rowboat at sea below. They appear to be heading west,” the watchman said.
Edwyn Frey’s voice commanded, “Archers, to the western edge! Kill them! Kill them all!!”
“BROTHERS! Kill the watcher first and anyone on that western edge!” the Blackfish thundered in the order.
A quick shoosh was heard above and a cry of pain immediately sounded from the west, as a body thumped and squished onto the lower muddy ground.
And suddenly the air was filled with it, as the thunderstorm raged on.
Shoosh shoosh shooosh shooosh shoosh ahhhhhh ahhhhh shoooosh ahhhh shooooshhh shoosh boom doom boom doom boom doom shooosh shooosh ahhhhhhh boom doom boom!
The heavens exploded from above, illuminating Olyvar’s drain instant after instant. Men were heard screaming and dying in agony. Whether or not it was his brothers or his foes, Olyvar couldn’t tell. He caught a glimpse of three bolts speeding above his small hole in different directions, and knew there were a hundred more he could not see. The enemy has the high-ground, Olyvar remembered, all my brothers are probably dying. He was unsure whether to descend down or ascend up the ladder into the chaos. He started to tear up, the cold rain still soaking his face as lightning continued to flashed and thundered through the pit above him.
“GOOSE!!!” Leo’s voice screamed. No!
“LEO TAKE COVER!”
“KEEP LOOSING BRO—AHHHHH!”
“FATHER!!”
“BROTHER, NO!!”
“TO THE WEST! LOOSE! LOOSE! LOOSE! PROTECT YOUR QUEEN!!!”
“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU ALL YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!!!”
Men were still crying up there, along with the bass of the approaching storm, blending with the streak of arrows and bolts hitting stone, mud and flesh. Still clung to his ladder, Olyvar looked down cowardly as a teardrop fell off his face. It landed on Alesander.
“You fool, what are you doing here? You left the rowboat?”
“I came back to fight.”
“You are no fighter, you are a singer. Leave here. Escape into the tunnels and save yourself my brother.”
He hesitated to answer, his own tears trickling down. “Aye, I will. And when I leave here, I’ll sing about what has happened today, what is still happening above us.” The screams were not stopping. Bolts, arrows and curses could still be heard flying above. Alesander moved towards a fissure in the cavern wall, spying to the west. “The Queen should be far out of harm’s way. The winds are kind, and the bolts are missing its mark away from the LionsJape.” He walked back to him. “Come with me Olyvar if you want to live.”
“Soon. But not yet. I need to hold this ladder. Leave my brother. Sing about this and immortalize our sacrifice.”
“Don’t go.” He grabbed Olyvar’s leg.
“Just let go of me!” Olyvar winched free.
“If you can escape, escape. I’ll fly away now. Farewell my honorable brother.”
“Wait!” Olyvar almost forgot. “Do you know what it is?”
His brother smiled a smile that Olyvar will never forget. “We have a Stark princess.” His footsteps faded into echoes as Alesander descended into the darkness of the tunnels.
But Olyvar began the climb in his. The hole above was gaping wider with each slow step up, ready to swallow him whole. Olyvar trembled. Besides the flashes of lightning, he could not see what was going on, but he could feel it in the air. He can taste the rain from above. He can hear the music of defiance to House Lannister, the sounds of arrows and loud screams drowning into silence. He can even smell it too. The smell of the Rock cooked with the salt of the sea, the iron of his brothers’ blood, the piss & stool of honorable dead men, staining & stinking the courtyard of Tywin Lannister’s home, leaving Casterly Rock an empire of shit.
He stood on the one rung that exposed his head just above the ground. Bodies. Brothers’ bodies and bolts everywhere. Rain and blood soak the mud, and fading cries of pain filled his ears. He saw the Queen’s uncle and master schemer of this plan, Ser Rolph Spicer, had a bolt in his eye as he died by the kitchen doors. The Seashell Knight was lifeless with his face first in the middle of the mud near Olyvar’s pit. Donal with bolts to his shoulder, stomach, and legs was on one knee shouting & cursing as he continued to loose arrows from three quivers as his brothers Raff & Mikkal laid dead beside him. Lord Glover had two bolts in him and took another in the chest. He paced backwards and fell over the parapet into the sea. A bolt was stuck on Goose’s neck, as he and Leo rested motionless together at the foot of a column, sharing a single bolt that shot through their hearts. The shield that Leo had held up was decorated with a dozen bolts, but it was too late for the other ones that got through.
Olyvar’s soul ached in agony, the clutch of his hand shaking as he clung onto the ladder. A small pile of feathered Lannister men had fallen from the western balcony and onto the courtyard. But he could not feel the victory in it … not now, nor not yet, perhaps never. The rest of his brothers Olyvar could not see from his ladder, but he spotted a few arrows still loosing up to the second floor behind cover, still fighting back. It is so few. Many more bolts were still shooting down from the top. Crossbowmen hid as they reloaded, popping up to release before ducking again.
He spotted Ser Brynden Tully the Blackfish crawling towards him, needled like a red porcupine blowfish. “Olyvar!” He hooted bluntly. “Why are you still here?” Olyvar’s heart quenched at the sight of the blood of Riverrun; his pink life flowing in a thin river and draining out towards his ladder. The water-downed blood reached Olyvar’s fingers. He wanted to help but did not know how, nor know the words. He offered his hand and Ser Tully held it. “Did she make it out to sea?”
“Yes Ser, she should be safe,” Olyvar prayed.
“So, do we have a prince or a princess? Or one of each? Heh!”
“Do not get greedy Ser,” Olyvar jested. “We have a she-wolf.”
The Blackfish smiled a hard smile with blood filling his mouth. “Good, they should be safer this way. And I hope she takes after her fierce grandmother.”
“Which one? Lady Catelyn Tully?”
“Of course heh. That would be a great granddaughter name for our storm-born she-pup … Catelyn,” the Blackfish joked.
Olyvar smiled while Ser Tully reciprocated a red one. “I like the name Adara.”
“Adara? That sounds like a wonderful name. Where did that come from?” Ser Tully asked, tearing and bleeding.
“It was Captain Samullu’s mother’s name.”
“Aye, that is a terrific name. Princess Adara Stark. Tell that to our Queen Jeyne that I concur to the name choice, pass that final message of mine. Now fly along Ser Olyvar, escape here, reunite with your Queen and protect your family. There is nothing left to do here but die, so fly! Let the divine swift winds of winter push Adara to safety. You have King Robb’s spirit within you. The babe does not have a father nor Grey Wind, so you must keep her safe.”
“We are all her fathers,” Olyvar declared.
The Blackfish grinned, knowing Olyvar probably out teased him in his final moments. “No … a band of fathers brothers? That would make us a band of uncles.” He chuckled bloodily.
Olyvar laughed and teared a drop. “That was a very clever. Just don’t tell Lady Mormont.”
“Don’t worry fellow Uncle, I won’t.”
“It has been an honor fighting by your side, Ser Uncle Brynden Tully, the great Blackfish.”
“It has been an honor living by yours, Ser Uncle Plumber Knight,” the legend replied.
He watched the knight’s life wash away, his last breath tasting the rains of Casterly Rock. The legendary Ser Brynden’s last words were for me. Wells flooded in Olyvar’s eyes, beginning to blind. He lets go of his hand.
He takes a few steps down the ladder, and then suddenly stops. What honor is this? Leaving my brothers and my commander like this? Am I a little cowardly rat of a ratty family, hiding in a tunnel? Or am I a brave knight?
The thunder and rain continued, but the arrows have stopped. Nothing but silence, only stares if Olyvar had to guess. His brothers were all dead. I need to get up. One step up and he suddenly stopped again. No, I need to escape and protect my Queen, does that make me a coward?
He checked his pocket and made sure his letter to his father sat below his heart. It was still there. Olyvar’s grip on the rung was firm and quivering.
To flee or not to flee? That is the riddle.
“Soldiers! To the lower floor! Grab their bows and quivers. Get down that ladder, find a boat, chase Queen Stark and kill them! Kill them all!” Edwyn Frey’s voice ordered.
Well, that made answering the riddle a lot easier.
Ser Olyvar Frey ascended from the pit of his ladder, his arms pulling, legs pushing, up and up into the chaos. The thunderstorm loomed above as his soul was escaping into the hole that was gaping wider with every step. He was ready.
At the ground level, he stood up. Cold rain and warm tears danced down his face, his cloak whipping in the air to the winds, his heart and fists began to fill with fiery rage. From up here, he can see the full horror of the slaughter. Brothers with bolts. Was this the same scene of my King’s death? Before he could ponder any further, he unsheathed Honor from his back, the sword was singing off its scabbard just as a bolt of lightning ripped across the sky … its twin mirrored off the steel’s reflection, the blade alive with blinding light for an instant.
Ser Olyvar counted the ill-fitted armored and shield-less men as they came pouring out from the kitchen doors at his level. Two, three, four, five, six … seven. Thin white stripes splits the sky. His heart was thumping and rumbling to the same beat of the thunderstorm that was mumbling in every distance.
I’m going to fight them all, no soldier in any Seven Kingdom army can hold me back!
The distance between the first unarmed man closed. His shocked face eyed Ser Olyvar’s new twin tower sigil on his cloak. Confused, he began to slow down, but Olyvar sped up. He greeted him with a deep slash, ripping him off as the skies flashed again. He darted forward to the next man, allowing the first one to take his time dying behind his back.
The second reached for his sword but was too slow to the draw. Honor found the front of the pink man’s chest and the rear of his back. For a heartbeat, the bloody front half of the exposed steel glowed damped red, while the clean side sparkled in purple. Olyvar pulled back his sword after a twist, and the soldier dropped to his knees to the boom of thunder.
The third drew his sword halfway before Olyvar swung at his head as his steel electrified, emitting blinding light to his eyes. He smelled Honor up close with his nose, as a gash ran from ear to ear while teeth and tongue exploded in the air. Olyvar paid him no more mind.
The fourth with panicked eyes was just a boy. He successfully drew his weapon from his belt and lifted above his head a short wooden stick. A flute? He stared up at his own wind pipe as his sword rested in his scabbard untouched. Between his legs, his breeches began to darken more with moisture, as the rest of his body was frozen like ice. A fLuke? It doesn’t matter. The Plumber Knight began to raise Honor high. The boy cried out, “Mother have mer—“.
“No,” Olyvar cuts him off, his voice was cold as stones. “I am not your mother.” Honor fell in a bright silvery-blue arc as the force of the blade severs the soldier’s right stick-bearing wrist, and splits the skull & brains underneath. Ser Olyvar Frey kicked off the mayhaps-fourth-corpse as its limp body slid from his red wet steel.
The fifth one was ready with his sword, as the sixth and seventh began pincering around Ser Olyvar with theirs. The rain began pouring heavily, cleansing the blood and brains off Honor, ready to shine again.
Olyvar’s wits returned from his blind rage, and began backing up calmly before they could surround him. The rear of his heel tapped a fallen shield that once belong to one of his brothers. Olyvar grabbed it instinctively and raised it up. “Come on you apes! Do you want to live forever? Come at me then!” No one came forward to answer the riddle, so Ser Olyvar went to them.
He charged at the one on his right as Honor slashed and flashed, but the soldier jolted backwards avoiding the swing. The shifty swordsman slipped on the surface with his hop and fell face-first into the mud. The other two took their chances when Olyvar swung and missed. He caught the cut of the left soldier on his shield, as the middle fighter aimed high. To the ground, the knight ducked under, saving his head. The middle slugger lost his balance at his empty decapitating slice, and a crouching Olyvar stroke savagely at his knees in a splash of red and bright purple. He fell face-first too, as the other soldier on his left began hacking at the wooden shield that Olly held up. Doonk! Doonk! Doonk! Before his challenger could swing a fifth time, Olyvar Frey on one knee whirled the apex of his shield viciously at the man’s wrist and sent the sword flying from his hand. Without hesitation, the Plumber Knight stabbed upwards from crotch to brains as the steel surprised the man with shock. Olyvar stares into the white of his eyes as they reflected a flash of lightning. The eyeballs then slowly rolled up into the back of his head. He unsheathed Honor downward from the dead man, as blood and shit fell like loose stool to the ground.
The other fighter with no knees rolled around to face up before he could drown in the mud. He was crying and screaming on the ground. “Nooooo!” But the Plumber Knight jumped on him without mercy. He tried to dart and evade, but forgot he had no knees to push from. Olyvar’s feet stomped the man’s stomach as he thunder-slammed the edge of his shield to kiss his opponent’s mouth, silencing him forever.
The first armed man that dodged his death finally got up from his struggles with the slippery ground, only to meet at it again. Soaking in mud, he began to bull-rush Olyvar, trying to stab or slash an opening with his sword. Olyvar dashed towards him in squishing strides, and took his charging strike at his Brother’s shield as he stepped aside. The former squire of Robb Stark, Olly, instantly planted his foot and twirled. His Queen’s wet cloak spun and smacked his opponent’s head. Suddenly the Plumber Knight had the enemy’s rear and naked. He lifted his King’s sword up, pointing down with both his hands on the grip. Ser Olyvar and thunder roared together as Honor brightly stabbed from above into the mudman’s back with the flash and fury of the gods. “AHHHHHHHHH!!!”
He lifted his sword back up as the seventh corpse fell to the ground, face-first again. Suddenly a mosquito buzzed from behind his ear and a short wooden stick skidded off the flat stone-path in front of him. He then felt a bite in his back, lost a breath and saw another wooden rod. But this one was lodged in his right breast. Red blood slowly began to seep from his black scaled boiled-leather armor as he grunted in pain. He reached for the stick trying to push it backwards from where it came from. Quickly he felt the pain again as he saw another bolt stab the front of his stomach while his Brother’s shield slid off from this left forearm. The third one struck the side of his left thigh, sending Ser Olyvar to the ground on one knee. He braced on his King’s sword to keep him from falling flat.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Ser Forley Prester ordered.
Cold rain danced on his face with the warm tears he tried to hide, his cape was flapping in the wind, and his heart was thumping quicker in unison to the beat & the flash of the storm. Ser Olyvar Frey, you honorable fool, why did you rush in? You can’t help yourself falling in love with bloody vengeance for your fallen brothers and King? For an instant, lightning popped again above the Rock and thunder rolled. You should have taken your time killing them as they descended down your pit, instead of you going up the ladder to their chaos. Frey blood, -no … blood of Roses By another name welled from the bolts that had punched him. He had known nothing half gallant and half stupid at the same time for what he just did. Or at least you could have flown away, such a fool! You should of just beat it. No one wanted to be defeated like this. Why did you have to show off how funky strong your fighting skills were? At this point, it doesn’t matter who’s wrong or who’s right … you should of just beat it!
Ser Forley Prester spoke from his balcony above. “You must be the Plumber Knight that the Blackfish talked about, judging by the sigil on your cape. A traitor to your own family. But for the honor of your lord grandfather, let us pass and I will let the maester do his job to save you. Or would it please you Ser, if you wanted some more bolts?”
More? Olyvar twisted his mouth in defying silence, his gruesome wounds spitting out blood. He had a job that he promised to do. He must rescue his pregnant Queen. Little did he know, he had to rescue a princess from this castle too. We all died for Robb’s little girl, there was no more to ask of them. Did these uncles succeed for her safety? He turned around to the west to see as far as his eyes could see into the sun setting sea. Her boat was far enough from any archers, and soon it would be too dark for a chase. The thought brought him joy. Thank the gods for this swift divine wind. We did our duty.
Impatient for a reply, the shit knight said, “I will not ask again. Knight to knight. Let us pass. We need to take back the Queen and her unborn son. I will bring them no harm, you have my word. Drop your sword, bend the knee like you mean it, let us pass … and I will tell Lord Walder Frey what an honorable warrior and a great grandson you are.”
That offer was a lie, a conjurer’s cheap trick. They would just humiliate and shame him before executing him for treason. That was not the song he wanted, not for his despicable old father. Olyvar would rather die sword in hand to the tune of another. He wanted Alesander’s song about the Motherfunker, Ser Brynden “Blackfish” Tully, his real brothers and the band of uncles. And he had one last shot, one last opportunity, to seize everything he ever wanted here. In this one moment, can I still capture it? Or will I let it slip? His palms were bloody, knees weak, arms were heavy … but the Queen and Princess are safe. Mother’s mercy. He was nervous, but on the surface, he looks calm and ready to drop bombs. But he had forgotten what he wrote down in his father’s letter, as the crowds above goes so loud. He opens his mouth but the words won’t come out. He is choking. How? Everyone was joking now.
“Your luck has run out. The time’s up, it is over SER Olyvar. Bow.”
No. I refuse to BOW Ser. And I cannot die yet. There is something I still need to do. Both hands on hilt and pommel, he pushes himself up with Honor, surrounded by the doom above. He can feel his life leaving him. The skies blurred between light and dark, white and grey, with the black slowly creeping in.
“It’s a girl,” Uncle Olyvar said gently as he thought about his princess niece. The Plumber Knight then roared a roar that would put any craven into tears. “AND NO! YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” Honor rose and fell, the pointy end of his King’s sword squishing the blood soaked mud and crunching the rocks underneath.
KABOOOOOOOMMMM!!!
Instantly, lightning and thunder erupted above them at the loudest exploding caliber of the evenfall, blinding the sights of men and gods alike.
Uhoooooooooo! boom doom boom doom boom doom
Suddenly drums were beating, and trumpets were blasting from the east. Lord Gawen Westerling’s diversion! But they’ve come too late to rescue Olyvar and his brothers. The enemy did not divert to their last jape yet … their silent scared eyes still on the dying Plumber Knight. They began to reload their crossbows. This is my moment. The things I do for love, but I’m sorry Jeyne, I can’t do that. I can no longer keep my promise. Robb was waiting and I can finally rest again. We three will meet again together some day, but not today, he thought.
The band of drums, trumpets and thunderstorm blended into a sweet sad song that Olyvar wanted. This music is for me, and I will lose myself in it.
Charging up his final energy into his wounded lungs, he began to scream again.
“OUR QUEEN— ” A howl of blood cuts him off from finishing what he meant to say … our Family is safe.
“OUR KING—” A pool of iron filled and choked him before he could declare … we have done our Duty.
Still standing, he dips his chin low to empty his mouth, coughing out his mother’s Rosby blood. He needs to say his final words loud and clear. After the last spoon of blood poured down, he snapped his chin up towards the heavens and reality … ready for the gravity. With all the weight of his life, he pressed his King’s sword deeper into the Rock as the Plumber Knight thundered a roar, “OUR HONORRRRR!!!”
From below, Ser Olyvar of the disgraced House Frey faced off to the sad conflicted look of Ser Forley Prester with his garrison of archers beside him. The darkest gloom of the grey stormclouds had arrived and hovered above them, wet and heavy. The gods want their vengeance for the Red Wedding, he thought. The skies of Casterly Rock began to blacken with the rain of bolts and arrows. The only thing that could be seen is the single golden teardrop of the shit knight, reflected by the last light of the setting western sun.
BOOM!
Thank you everyone for reading! Thank you George for helping me with your clue!

[Part 2]
The twenty men, Lady Maege, and Ser Rolph continued up the paths in the lightless caves of Casterly Rock, huffing and puffing, but still silent as much as they could hold. One loud word at the wrong place at the wrong time may be their doom. In single file, the group followed Ser Spicer’s point with one lit torch. The stench was terrible and the dampness made it worse. Guarding the rear, Olyvar’s eyes were clouded in darkness at times where the torchlight was too far ahead to shine back. He relied on Ser Goose in front of him to lead the way, as Goose relied on Leo for the same.
Suddenly a whisper could be heard from the darkness at the front of the line. “Duck.” Then another slightly louder, “Duck” … and then another, and then another … each “Duck” a little louder than before. Is there a duck here in the sewers? Olyvar thought.
“Duck.”
“Duck.”
“Duck.”
“Duck.”
Finally Leo turned around and told Goose, “Hello … Duck.”
Goose replied with pride, “I am no Duck!” Instantly as the tall knight crept forward, he thumped his head on an unlit rusty beam that was lowered onto their path. He fell backwards into a puddle of wet cold stool, ass first, toes off the ground, and staining his breeches. “Awww shit!”
Ser Olyvar helped the soiled knight up as his squire, Leo, told everyone in front what happened. They all forgot their stealth, and began to laugh.
“Come on Goose, you are slowing us down!” someone said.
“Ducks can move faster than you, Goose! You have to catch up and chase after us now!” a voice that sounded like Scrooge, said.
“You have to be more nimble and more quick Goose!” another one japed.
“All over my life, I have travelled land and sea. From my experiences, I learned that I would rather be more lucky!” the unclean bandit knight replied with the truth. “Or get lucky! Heh!” the daffy Goose added cheerfully.
“But you are no duck, right Goose?” Ser Raynard’s voice called.
They continued to laugh and began moving forward again. Ser Barnabus the stinking Goose with his honor stained, stood up and pointed his chin high. “Aye my lords, this bird you cannot change!” He shook his tailfeather, took himself low, and was ready to go.
As the thunderstorm clouds outside shifted, a pale grey blade of light emerged from a crack in the walls and shone the brown spot where Goose had fallen. It illuminated a tiny golden speck. Looking back and curious, Goose placed both hands through the muck, underneath the lumpy object and pulled. He lifted up a slimy brown sphere, the size of an orange, and rubbed off the slush. Goose held the carved rock to the thin line of the dying light and widened his large eyes.
Gold, unmistakable. “Goose, did you just lay a golden egg?” Olyvar japing quietly.
“I guess I did!” Goose whispered in glee. Ser Barnabus began singing to it softly. “I know that you don’t know it, but you’re a find so fine! And I’m going to show you that now you’re a mined of mine! My treasure, that is what you are! My precious, you’re my golden star! Hehehe!” He hugged it. Goose looked back to Olyvar. “Don’t tell the Black Sparrow!” He continued to giggle, despite scarring his face at the forehead. “Leo, come over here! Say hello to my little friend!”
His young squire came back, ducked under and asked. “Say hello to who? The Black Sparrow? He isn’t very little in person.”
“No you stupid sweet boy, definitely avoid the Black Sparrow! That captain is not my friend, my friend. We have to fool that fool.” He showed an astonished Leo the little golden egg before he hid it again from sight. They continued up the path towards their objective with Ser Goose the tall hedge knight finally ducking under, his pants stained in brown.
Olyvar had lost count of how far they ascended as they reached one of Ser Rolph Spicer’s checkpoints. They rested there for a few moments where the paths forked into several other directions. He then instructed Ser Olyvar Frey, Lady Mormont and Leo to wait here until the rest returned. In the meanwhile, they were to familiarize themselves with the area in case they needed a detour.
Not long after the group left them, Olyvar heard another man speaking through the rocky walls. Maege followed the voice through one of the forks, and found a hole that appeared to spy into a cell of the castle’s dungeons. She peeked through and spoke in disgust “Gods! What the hell! No!” She left the area and began looking for an entrance into the dungeons from the hidden hallways. Olyvar peeped through the hole and saw what seems to be an old maester in robes, with many rings around his neck. Inside, he harbored a boy and a girl who appeared to be twins, no older than ten. The boy had his shirt off, while the maester sniffed the girl’s hair and had a hand cupped at her clothed chest.
What in Seven Hells? Olyvar thought.
The elderly maester spoke to them, as they trembled like leaves. “Thank you children for helping me. I am Maester Valarik, this is very very important research for, um, the Citadel. Now let’s begin.”
Suddenly out of nowhere, Lady Maege Mormont burst open the dungeon door. “Let’s not!”
The shocked maester jolted to his feet, confused. “Are you their mother?”
“A MOTHER!” the She-Bear claimed in her crony crackling voice as she walked up to Valarik. Here she stood as Lady Mormont kicked the maester in between the legs, his screams alive with pain. His eyes began to tear as he fell backwards to the ground. Lady Mormont dropped down to him and drew her dagger. “Shut your mouth or I’ll make an eunuch out of you!” The maester still in agony replied with a silent nod. She lied to the twins, saying she was a washerwoman employed to the castle. “What the maester did was wrong and I will have the castellan punish him.” She urged the siblings to go home, but not tell anyone what had happened until they were outside of Casterly Rock. After they left, Maege in her barbaric tone told the maester, “You dusty fuck! Get in there!” as she led him into the hidden hallways behind the dungeon.
Ser Olyvar greeted the hostage, “Not another word Maester Valarik. She may geld you but I will shove my dagger up your arse.”
They continued to wait at the checkpoint, anxious for the Blackfish’s return with Queen Jeyne and Lord Edmure. Leo brushed back a lock of his ash-blond hair that fell down across one eye. Lady Mormont continued to stare at Valarik’s crotch while holding her naked dagger, twirling it at the pointy end for boredom. The silent maester was well aware, and would not return his eyes to meet hers.
Suddenly they heard a woman’s moan echoing in the distance. Torchlight illuminated the foot of the pathway and brightening the walls with each passing moment. Escorted by Goose, a thin girl with a mop of chestnut hair emerged. She was pretty like the daisy sewn on her gown that was covering a flat chest. “Eleyna!” Olyvar was animated. They hugged as he asked, “So what happened to your breasts?”
“I ate them.” She said in her high cheery voice. She stuck her small chest out, chin in the air, fists at the end of her narrow hips and twerked it for two beats. “How you like them apples?”
Olyvar smiled at the inside joke.
The Useless Goose then grabbed Leo and tapped Eleyna’s shoulders from behind. “Hi, have you met Leo?” Barnabus vanished in an instant.
She turned around and introduced herself. “Hello Leo, I’m Eleyna, the Queen’s sister.”
Leo was star-struck. “Are you a princess?”
“I guess I am a princess,” she said sarcastically. “Are you here to rescue me?”
Leo nodded up and down, trying to contain his excitement.
“Leo O’ Leo … my hero!” She kissed him on the cheeks, and Leo’s face began to blush, red as apples.
His brothers Raff, Donal, and Mikkal had emerged from the rocky opening just in time to watch. They wrapped their arms around one another, and nodded proudly at their youngest brother.
The others soon followed, pouring out of the tunnel entrance. Olyvar greeted his brother-in-law Lord Edmure Tully. “My sister is waiting for you back at the ship, with my future nephew or niece. Be a good father to your child.”
“And you be a good uncle. It is a honor to have you at our side, Ser Olyvar,” Lord Edmure replied respectfully.
Lady Sybell Spicer came down with her brother Ser Rolph, clutching a moaning Queen Jeyne Stark on both sides. She was garbed in simple loose fitted robes, pretending to serve as Eleyna’s plumped handmaiden. Olyvar was ecstatic. Jeyne’s mother then announced, “She is in labor!”
“What?!” As Olyvar and Maege said in unison. “Now!?”
Olyvar ran to Jeyne, straight to his sister’s arms and she kissed him on the forehead. “I kept my promise,” Olyvar told her.
Jeyne was feverish, sweating and mumbling words. “You did, I knew you were somewhere beyond the sea. I was here waiting for all of you, to sneak onto golden sand and rock. I was watching all the ships sailing by, not knowing which one will be my daring escape.” She looked towards her other brother Raynald. “I just knew my Ray lied somewhere over the ocean, and my Olly lied somewhere over the sea … both my brothers fighting to come back to me. Up in this castle mountain where it meets the heavens above, out where lightning splits the sea, I could still feel you two watching me. Through the wind, the chilly sea, and the rain … and now the storm and the flood. I felt your approach like the fires in your blood! I need … I need …”
“We need to go!” Ser Olyvar finished for her.
As the others began going into the next tunnel, the Queen in the North shook all the right-hands of the strangers that came to rescue her, while each man placed a left-palm on her round belly for a soft instant. With Jory, Jess, Ser Spicer, Ser Brynden and her brother Ser Raynard, she gave a hug each. She then trailed all of them with Olyvar and Raynard holding her weight. They descended down the path they came from, back to the LionsJape, WinterStorm and BattleWolf. Queen Jeyne Stark continued to scream. Oh, bloody shit. This will be the death of us. The descent will be much faster, but it was still a long way to go. With the Queen moaning in labor, they decided to light two more torch lights. Being heard here is just as unfortunate as being seen. But the darkness in front of him still faded in and out, confusing Olyvar’s eyes in blur. For a moment, the knight fantasized about golden dragons down here in the empty gold mines and sewers of Casterly Rock, to illuminate the rest of the route with flames … expediting the rescue.
Where in the hell is Lord Gawen Westerling? His trumpets and drums? It would at least muffle out Jeyne’s cry. At any moment, they could be heard … and then they could be trapped.
Then the Blackfish noticed Maester Valarik was in their party. “Who in the Seven Hells are you?”
Lady Maege told Ser Brynden and allowed the quivering maester to speak. “I am the maester of Casterly Rock. I don’t know what is going on here. Pl- … please let me go, I won’t say a word. I … I am innocent, I was just treating the children for an illness.”
“You said it was for research,” Maege interrupted.
“Um … bb … both,” the maester lied.
“In a dungeon? No tools nor vials?” Maege questioned rhetorically.
The maester had no answer for that. He looked back to the Blackfish. “Ser, you must understand-“
The Blackfish cuts him off. “Must I? I heard enough of your sorcery, Maester. Shut your mouth or I’ll throw you out of a window.”
The group was nearing the sea’s level, until they encountered the original path that dipped up and down. It was filled with flooded water from the storm surges. Ser Brynden Tully cursed at the sea trap. Olyvar knows the Blackfish could swim under it like he did at the moat of Riverrun, but not the others. They began to retreat and regroup.
Ser Rolph approached Ser Brynden, not shaken nor stirred, and offered a detour. “Follow me, this way leads to the kitchen of that courtyard at the base of the cliffs. At that courtyard, there is a large sewer drain that would lead us back to the paths of the rowboats. It is risky, we may be spotted.”
“We may be sitting ducks,” Goose added to the complaint.
“We have no choice,” said the Blackfish.
They followed Ser Rolph, with his niece still moaning.
They reached the hidden entrance to the kitchen and began to secure the area with weapons & shields drawn. It was empty. No gatherings or weddings were to be held outdoor this evenfall, especially with the thunderstorm. Olyvar peeked outside. Overcast clouds threw down rain-water onto dirt and stone, as the setting sun was half bathe into the ocean’s clear golden horizon. The courtyard by the sea was no bigger than the feast hall at the Twins. Stone pathways met at the middle, leading into a circular floor-drain that was exposed at the center of the yard. Twenty feet high granite pillars the size of tree trunks supported the open rectangular balcony above the ground level, overlooking the ocean. The kitchen doors were connected to the bottom level, but Olyvar was unsure what would lurk above them on the second floor balconies, with its four feet high parapet and six feet of platform width. Lightning flashed the columns bright white as the wet grass turned into mud.
Ser Brynden paced around the kitchen for a moment, trying to hide his shaking hands. He assessed the situation and regrouped the band of brothers. “Bows and arrows,” he commanded … and they obeyed. “Each men take cover behind a pillar. Sprint to it and establish a defensive stance with an arrow nocked to the string of your bow. Keep your eyes open. Rico will run to the middle alone, pull out the drain cover and retreat back. Alesander! Ray! Run to the opened drain and descend down the ladder. Once it is clear, let us know. We’ll bring Jeyne down first, followed by her sister and mother, and then Edmure.”
“Brothers!” as they assemble behind the closed double doors in single line. “Nock!”
From a window, Maester Valarik spied over to the drain, and then tried to block the traffic at the kitchen exit. “This is absurd! I have friends in court and I can vouch for you! Give yourselves up! This is madness, this is ludicrous!”
The She-Bear grabbed him. “Move maester, get out of the way!” She threw him to the corner by the pantry. Lady Mormont drew her dagger, gleaming silvery-blue for an instant as a crack of thunder boomed through the window. She pressed the flat of her blade onto his crotch and the terrified maester began to piss himself. Lady Maege disgusted, leaned back and threatened, “We have not killed anyone yet. You stay here like a good quiet dog and oblige, or this bear lady will rock your head away with a club when she comes back!”
Ser Brynden opened the double doors as Ben and Benjen held it. The Blackfish ran out first, around the perimeter to the furthest side of the terrace, forty yards away with bow & arrow in hand. The other men followed and fell into their positions, squishing their footsteps on the mud and stone.
Rico, Phyl, and Sam the Shredder followed the Blackfish to the southern side and took cover behind a column each. Scrooge, Donal, Raff, Mikkal and Leo sprinted for the eastern pillars as June, Jory, Jess, Fess and Lord Galbart Glover took the west. Ben and Benjen left their kitchen doors to joined Ser Goose and Ser Rolph Spicer at the closest posts of the north.
Queen Jeyne, Lady Maege, Lady Eleyna, Lady Sybell, and Lord Edmure stayed inside the kitchen with Ser Olyvar … as Ser Raynard and Alesander were ready to their task.
Rico unarmed, darted from his column towards the center of the courtyard and tore open the drain cover with ease. He flung it over the mountainous wall and into the sea as he headed back to his pillar, re-arming himself with the bow.
Alesander Frey and Ser Raynald Westerling, dashed towards the open drain and attempted to descend. Their shields, quivers and bows were caught at the circular entrance, so they discarded them at the base before going below. After Ser Raynald gave the clearance, Olyvar and Maege discarded their weapons and escorted Jeyne slowly and gently towards their escape, their clothes soaking in the rain. Olyvar kept Honor slung center at his back. Raynald offered himself as Jeyne sat on her older brother’s shoulders as they descended down the twenty foot ladder. Olyvar was doing everything he could to keep Jeyne stable from above as rain-water trickled down the drain.
When they reached the bottom, Olyvar noticed a weirwood tree staring right at him. A godswood? Here? The cavern was surrounded by roots and several rocky openings as well. He paid it no more mind and walked Jeyne towards a sewer entrance where Alesander was waiting for them. “The rowboats are not far! I see them, just a few more paces from here. I’ll keep a lookout on that exit.” He scouted ahead again.
Jeyne could not advance any further and fell lightly to the ground. “I can’t move anymore.”
Lady Maege came down the ladder and positioned herself between Jeyne’s legs. “Push your Grace! Push! Push!”
The rumbling of the thunderstorm was getting much louder.
Leo surprisingly came down with Eleyna and told Olyvar, “I think I hear a few soldiers moving on the second floor balcony. The parapets won’t allow us to see what’s hidden behind it.”
No not now. “It could be just the thunderstorm,” Olyvar hoped.
Lady Sybell and Lord Edmure Tully soon followed down the ladder. “I believe there are Lannister soldiers getting into positions above us. They must be waiting for more of their reinforcement to arrive,” Edmure sounded sure.
Olyvar cursed.
The Blackfish came down next. “We need to leave now. The storm surges will steal our rowboats as well.”
Jeyne was still moaning. Maege was still instructing, “Push! Push! Push!”
Olyvar began panicking in this awful shit-storm of a mess. “We need to go now! The soldiers are coming! The thunderstorm is coming!”
“WINTER IS COMING BETWEEN HER GRACES LEGS!” Maege screamed back.
Olyvar could not help but to chuckled for a beat before being serious again. “Bloody shit. Winter needs to be going!”
“Look son, I’m not your mother. You go figure it out yourself,” Lady Maege protested.
Olyvar felt like a fool below the Rock, looking back at all the wrong paths that got him lost here. If I just lied to my father of my intentions, and informed his Grace not to come to the Twins, we would not be here now at some shit sewer in the Westerlands. Jeyne would be crying in childbirth at Winterfell after Robb had retaken it from the Ironborn. King, Queen and babe Stark would be safe and sound. And me … I would be their Kingsguard knight … Ser Olyvar Frey … the Kingsavior.
“Ray, go find Alesander and summon him to return here to help. He is not far.”
Olyvar looked toward his Queen as Maege Mormont continued working in between Jeyne’s thighs, awaiting for the wolf-pup that their world was here for. Let us pray it is only one babe. A pair of twins would surely mean the doom of them. There was nothing Olyvar realistically wanted more now than Lord Gawen’s trumpets, and his young son Rollam’s drum rolls. Where is our diversion to get the Lannister soldiers to march away from us?
Goose tried to come down the ladder next, but the big man was stuck on top even with his weapons and shield forfeited. His golden egg had bulged out from his pocket, stopping him from entering the small circular drain. He was trying to work it out of his clothes.
Olyvar kneeled down next to his Queen, trying to facilitate this shit storm anyway he could. He went to feel for the letter he wrote to his father, but instead found the colorful bright feather that Captain Samullu gave to him earlier. He offered it to Queen Stark for some comfort.
“A gift? It is so beautiful Olyvar,” she said in discomfort. “I have a gift for you as well.” She summoned her mother and removed a thin cloak from her purse. Queen Jeyne Stark took it and unveiled it to Olyvar. It was the castle of the Twins, colored in grey, seated on a field red hot as a chilled blue stream flowed under the bridge. Olyvar motioned to give her his back, and she attached the cloak onto him. “I knitted it myself.”
“It is gorgeous my Queen. What does it mean? The water under the bridge?”
“It means forgiveness here, so you can move on. Now promise me Olyvar, don’t leave us again. Protect us. Protect your King’s child. We must never separate again.”
Ser Olyvar Frey gave the Queen his word.
Goose had finally removed the golden rock from his hidden pocket, and held it with his hand. At the moment useless, the knight threw down the golden egg to Leo, as it flashed bright from the lightning above. The knight started down and down the ladder.
Suddenly a voice roared from above. “This is Ser Forley Prester! Drop your weapons! Drop them!”
Ser Barnabus started to curse as he stood on the ladder halfway. He took a deep breath in disappointment. “Come on Leo, we have work to do.” He ascended.
Leo gave the golden egg to a shocked Lady Mormont and took a step towards the ladder, but he then turned around to Eleyna. He kissed her on the lips. The princess fought back and held Leo’s blond head with both her hands, forcing more of herself onto him. Their tongues danced a secret hidden inside their mouths, taking each other’s breath away over and over again. Olyvar did not think they would ever let go, until Eleyna did, shedding a tear. Leo turned back to the ladder. Ice in his veins and without another word, he began to climb.
Ser Brynden shared a look with Ser Olyvar. “I’m not kissing you!” He began walking towards the ladder as well, with Lord Edmure Tully trailing. He shoved his nephew aside. “Your lady wife is waiting for you on that ship with your child! Protect them! Keep the Tully name alive! Fly away now! That is an order! Take Queen Jeyne Stark to the ship and protect her family too!” The Blackfish conjured a duty that Edmure could not decline. He gave his uncle a sad agreeing nod. While climbing up, the Blackfish then looked at Olyvar. “Ser Frey, guard this ladder!”
Though not giving any direct orders to the Seashell Knight, Ser Raynald Westerling kissed his sisters and mother. They begged him not to go, but Ray flew to the top as well.
Ser Olyvar got up and began to follow, but the crying Queen tugged his cloak. “Olyvar, you promised me.”
“Goodbye Jeyne. I have to do my duty.”
“Just hang on a minute. Listen and promise me Ser Frey. Don’t be a fool. If you are in trouble, don’t try to be brave, just fly, fly away. Find me.”
Olyvar Frey got to his knees again and kissed her forehead. “Okay. Jeyne, my Queen … I’ll be back. I promise.”
“We need to move her to the rowboats,” Alesander Frey suggested. Olyvar hugged his brother, and ordered him to carry Jeyne’s weight to the exit with Lord Edmure’s help. Sybell and Eleyna Westerling held up Jeyne’s thighs as Lady Mormont spearheaded the path with her torchlight in one hand and the golden egg curled on the other.
“You better be right behind us,” Maege commanded.
“I will,” Olyvar hoped.
The new knight approached the base of the wet ladder and began to climb. He reached halfway and stopped to listen above. The thunderstorm roared its fury, and the Blackfish was already speaking.
[Part 4]

Hello reddit, am not here to often as i like, but i have to have a opinion made from a nutrual part.
sorry for any spelling errors, i have dyelexia and english is not my first language.
we have 6 kids in total and 3 are with me.
So to begin this story of my 9 year relationship we have had our ups and down like everyone else, my wife has for instant been Captured taking pictures of her self naked to other men 6 times, and i forgave her everytime due to it just was a picture and she never touch the guy. so my jealousy was really bad as we never workt on that trust really, we just went on with our relationship and i was clingy and did not really like her going out to much as we had small kids and they have neurodevelopmental disorders like ahd autisum. as soon as she got a job again she would cheat after 3 months in that job. we had financial problems to loosing jobs getting them back and going in debt due over it.
but the last 3 months i found out that she was talking to someone from my gutfeeling and checkt it out, and i was right, the guy she was talking to she had sent pictures and more to before, they talkt about how much they mean to each other and that they love each other, and sent nudes to. that was her breaking point, i told her what do we do as i stod there and cryed to her why ? and she said i dont know, then all out of the blue she explained she had feeling for the guy, and she is never allowed to go out and drink with friends or hang out with her guy friends as i was jealous, she said give me space and let me see if the feeling disapers, i call the guys wife and let her know what happend and we talkt for about 2h about this and cry to each other, she still tryes to get with the guy and the guy says he wants to be with my ex wife, but then the other wife said that she is pregnant and he came running back to her, i was ready to leave by then, but my wife insist we should just give it time and space to se if the feelings get back to her.
enter friend girlfriend O to my ex wife and me. She told me she would spy on ex wife even tho i said no dont.
so enter our friend K is a 40+ year old friend of both of us, more to the wife tho. K and my ex wife start talking about the situation.
K and my ex still made me jealous as it was a fresh wound and we really did not talk about it.
now my ex wife has to go to her sisters to watch her kids as she is going to a party, and while she is there we talk alot over snapchat and she sends really hot pictures of her to me, and i tell her what i would like to do with her, after that day she comes home and we have sex and try to work on it, but after the sex she is cold as ice after and only hangs with K. she tells me my friends want me to go on a event in the city with live music and drinks, this is a test if ur jealousy is ok if not i will leave she said. i was in terapi about my jealousy by now.
so that day rolls around she goes out with her girlfriend O and have fun and during the night i still talk to her on snap. she says she lost her friend O and lookt for 20mins to find them, and was really sad as the girlfriend O just wanted her to hook up with others and she said no, they went to a pub and drank and girlfriend O wanted to take a taxi home but my ex wife said no and walkt home, i greet her at the door with a hug and say did you have fun and did you get home safe with someone ? as i dont really like her to walk where we live alone. this was my ex wifes story.
she said no we walkt to this pub and took a few drinks and my girlfriend wanted me to hook up with people so i just walkt home alone and called my mom. this is really late at night to.
so que next day after she sleept the rush of, i get a text from the girlfriend O that she was faithfull and she took a taxi home and i had my eyes on her all the time and we did not run in to K at all,
my ex wife then tells me we did run in to K, but i only said hi and we walkt away, and i confront the Girlfriend O how she could lie about taking a taxi and leaving my ex wife to walk alone, and she swears my ex wife took the taxi home with them, i really just wanted her to be safe around these events. later after i push Girlfriend O harder my ex wife tells me she walkt with K home as she did not want to go in a taxi after feeling abit sick,
i tell her why did you just not tell me that right away ? then you would be jealous she said and act angry, i told her no am glad K took you home safe just dont lie about it.
i then later that night text K thanks for taking my ex wife home safe. means alot ur a good guy, and K start going on about the night, how they meet in the crowd and went on rides and did not find Girlfriend O and they went to the pub and had a drink and then Girlfriend O called her and askt where ex wife was, so they meet up in the pub and then we walkt home to you, K lives like 300m away from us so nothing wierd if they walk right ?, i was like ok thanks for taking care of her and next time she might just go with you as she clearly had more fun with you K. and then he dropt a bomb on me, are you guys devorcing or are you still trying ? and i say still trying. and he finds it wierd as he said "because sometimes we talk and type" and "sometimes you and her talk and type" and i call him right away and ask him to be upfront about it, he said he will call in 2h ok fine i think, but my wife is typing like crazy on her phone then, and locks the screen as i get close, another red flag, i call him and ask him to clearfy that statment, and he said no we just talking like about you guys and then sometimes i see you type to her some cute message or stuff, witch i do.
this makes my wife devorce me, and i beg and plead to let us give it a chance again and this time be honest with each other. after alot of work we still devorce but as we have kids we still count as married for 6 months, and we both agreed we would use that time to se if we can find back, as she cant keep the apartment due to debt as we had to get my dad to co sign it. i was ready to move and take me my dad off the contract, making her homeless with 6 kids, witch i did not want to, but as i had debt to and my father wanted to support me and could not stay on 2 contracts he said he will help me.
i think fine but still the feeling of K and my ex wife never leaves, so i rig a webcam at my pc to spy on her as i go out to buy a mothersday gift, she finds the webcam and start to scream and become balistic on me that i never trust her and that i was dissgusting for invading her privacy she permanently deleted the file with Shift Delete. i feel so bad i called my therapist and admitted what i did and she help me formulate a good apology and i go and tell her am really sorry in a really good way and explain why i did it and that it still was not ok, she just gave me the cold shoulder and said she dont feel safe here anymore at all, all i wanted was proof if she was really sending Pictures to K to. ex wife now uses all her free time with K and dont care at all about the kids, i work like 11h weekends shifts as am in health care for disabled kids/adults, so i cant leave they need me, and her 15 year old calls me and tells me she is out with the dog and talking to K and has been out there for 30 mins and the kids are screaming, i call her angry and tell her to get back inside and take care of the kids, and she just tells me atleast am walking the dog. well its her dog so i really dont care to much about animals like that so.
friday that night she walks home to K to drink, K has problems with alchole, i just got off a 11h shift, my youngest kids is sick and keeps waking up so i have to go up and put him to sleep again and again, and i have another 11h tomorrow i have to do, so i call her and tell her to get home, i give my kids some medicin and go wait for my ex wife witch takes about 2h to get home, remember its about a 300m walk. she really just did not want to go home i guess. she talk about how they where drinking and talking to his parents and planing a trip 2h away to K's parents to see if she would miss me she said, i tell her no why ? why cant you just stay at ur moms or other girlfriends ? and she said i already told them i would be going so i kinda have to. week go by and i keep trying to make pysical contact with her in hugs or massaging her feet after work as her feet get really swollen, i cook for her and make time to watch some tv shows that week, and saturday comes around
she is now giving me the cold shoulder again and we get in a fight about her leaving with K, i tell her i will write my name off the contract and leav so u can be with K i dont care, and she starts crying and tells me to wait abit and walks the dog, i look inside her backpack she packed for the trip and find a sexy night gown i bought for her in there, i confront her about that to, and she just says she has nothing else to wear while going to sleep. i give her my t-shirt and toss that night gown away and tell her use this. and i got so angry i started kissing her and hugging her, she leaves, and i type to her that am sorry for kissing you and stuff as we both feelt we needed time to get there the week where we had fun. she tells me it was nice and we should do it more often. she stays the night there at his parents place she calls me and tells me they arrived and everything so i feel good about this as we just kissed, i have been bending my back so hard to clean, work on my self, have the meals ready and stuff, i work almost only weekends so i take care of it as she works on weeks.
but sunday she comes home and we talk about about what she did and if she had fun, she did tell me she really missed me during that time and that gave me hope again, but still the feeling of K did not leave.
she was cold almost 3 days and said she still dont know... mind you this is now 1.5 months in and i have done everything i can to make us work i still sleept in a diffrent room as she was not really that comfortable after the whole webcam insedent. when she got back home i told her to stay with her sister and work this out if she still want to. as she is there i can see her search history and she is looking for bracelets for boyfriends and a bottle of capten morgan witch u can make ur own lable on it that is K's favorit, i call her and ask wtf are you doing, and she said his birthday is comming up and i want to get him something nice, and i tell her but you search for BOYFRIEND, not like Braclets for guys, and she said otherwise just some girly stuff comes up, and i told her no ur looking for Braclet for Boyfriends with ingravings...so i took matters in to my own hands and snaped her and askt right out is there anything betwin you and K and she said yes i have feelings for him, and i think to my self what the **** and she said i have not told him anything at all and u cant do that, so i confront K and ask him if anything happend, he said no and i tell him she has feelings for u, how do u want to do this ? want me to move out so u can be with her ? and K said no, i dont want to get in betwin you guys, i see her as a friend and then i told him then can u back off for a while and dont text snap or call her ? and he said sure... and K wanted to know how we meet, so i told him it was rough, i told him about how when we started the realationship i got a std, a minor one u can just take a pill (Clamydia) and its gone, that her Ex gave her before the brake up. and that sent my wife bannanas, K twisted this story too and told ex that she still has it, and never treated it, so in order now to have contact with her about the kids and not go throu soical services or i had to apolgyse to K about it and say i lied, witch i did, but still the damages was done she is now really done with me i guess as she blocked me on facebook and snapchat and will not awnser any calls or text. she also added back the friends she cheated on me with (just pics no touching) and still staying with friends and have the kids there now. was i in the wrong here to confront him ?
also is there a way to find back even tho she said never even if i got 1m on my bank accoun ?

I don't know what's going on, but I used to be a big time consumer of hentai, until I ACTUALLY started watching anime.
Before I watched AoT, I had only seen some studio ghibli stuff, but nothing engaging or not as easily digestible. It was not a complete crash from a porn brain to a normal brain, but I saw the effects after a week. My porn usage had reduced by a lot. Now I've watched few others too like JJK, Chainsaw man, Spy X Family and Death note, I've also started reading manga, and unlike I had feared and against all expectations, my brain got unfucked. I stopped sexualizing every girl I saw, I stopped watching hentai completely and even if I sometimes slipped up and ended up watching some NSFW videos, it was always real people and a lot more respectful stuff than I had watched before.
I've started to fix some other issues in my life too, like doing some reflection on my preferences and behavioral patterns, and it has helped me a lot.
I don't know how this happened, but I just was about to go to sleep and I started to think what I would've thought, mostly just naked girls, and I realized I wasn't in the mood, and as a matter of fact, I couldn't point the last time I actually jerked off. Maybe it was a week ago, maybe 4 days, but I couldn't tell. Somehow finding a new hobby completely unfucked my fucked brain and I can't explain how. If you have some answers I'd like to hear them and would be very grateful for that🙏

AN: stop f,aing ok helisk is a necro 2 a lot of ppl in faeroon sitiez r lik dat I wunted 2 adres da ishu! how du u no baltazr iant paladeen plus helisk isn’t really in luv wif durge dat was petraz ok!
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I was about to slit my wrists with the silver dagger+2 that Enver had given me in case anything happened to him. He had told me to use it valiantly against an enemy but I knew that we must both go together.
“NO!” I THOUGHT IT WAS HELisk but it was Vampire. He started to scream. “OMFG! NOOOOO! MY SCAR HURTS!” and then….. his eyes rolled up! You could only see his red whites.
I stopped. “How did u know?”
“I saw it! And my scar turned back into the infernal binding!”
“NO!” I ran up closer. “I thought you didn’t have a scar anymore!” I shouted.
“I do but Diabolo changed it into a skull surrounded by blood drops for me and I always cover it up with foundation.” he said back. “Anyway my scar hurt and it turned back into the infernal ritual binding! Save me! then I had a vision of what was happening to Enver…………….Rafael has him bondage!”
Anyway I was in the House of Healing’s entrance now recovering from my slit wrists. Baltazr and Koreella and HEHLIC were there too. They were going to Worm Lock’s after they recovered cause they were necrofiles and you can’t have those fucking pervs killing in a town with lots of hot gurlz. Keteric Thorm had constipated the cideo camera they took of me naked. I put up my middle finger at them.
Anyway Helisk came into my hospital bed holding a bouquet of night orchids.
“Druge I need to tell u somethnig.” she said in a v. serious voice, giving me the orchids.
“Fuck off.” I told her. “You know I fucking hate dark colors anyway, and I don’t like fucked up fists like you.” I snapped. Helisk had been mean to me before for being baalist.
“No Druge.” Helisk says. “Those are not orchids.”
“What, are they bhaals too you poser flaming fist?” I asked cause I was angry that she had brought me night orchids.
“I saved your life!” She yelled angrily. “No you didn’t I replied.” “You saved me from getting a Drow Twins p- video made from your bath scene and being vued by Balthazr and Koreella.” Who MASTABATED (c is dat speld rong) to it she added silently.
“Whatever!” I yelled angirly.
She pointed her dagger at the night orchids. “These aren’t orchids.” She suddenly looked at them with an evil look in her eye and muttered Well If you wanted Honesty that’s all you haD TO SAY! .
“That’s not a spell that’s a MF lie.” I corrected her wisely.
“I know, I was just warming up my vocal cordes.” Then she screamed. “Petulus merengo min flailyn illitiddi (4 all u cool tadpoled mf fans out, there, that is a tribute! specially for u/paliconoclast I love you person!)imo noto okayo!”
And then the orchids turned into a huge black flame floating in the middle of the air. And it was black. Now I knew she wasn’t a flaming fist.
“OK I believe you now wtf is Enwer?”
Hellisk rolled her eyes. I looked into the balls of flame but I could c nothing.
“U c, Drugge,” Keterick Thorm said, watching the two of us watching the flame. “2 c wht iz n da flmes(HAHA U REVIEWRS FLAMES GEDDIT) u mst find urslf 1st, k?”
“I HAVE FOUND MYSELF OK YOU MEAN OLD MAN!” Helisk yelled. keteRICK Thorn lookd shockd. I guess he didn’t have a headache or else he would have said something back.
Hellisk stormed off back into her bed. “U r a liar, chos ketheric tornn!”
Anyway when I got better I went upstairs and put on a black silk sorcerer robes that was all ripped on the ends with bones on it. There was some embroidery stuff on the front. Then I put on black metal gauntlets and black leather boots with pictures of Gorion's Ward on them. I put my hood all out around me so I looked like Balduran in the flashbacks (if u don’t know who he iz ur a flaming fist so fuk off!) and I put on blood-red lipstick, black eyeliner and black lip gloss.
“You look kawai, girl.” S'hadow Heart said sadly. “Fangs (geddit) you do too.” I said sadly too, but I was still upset. I slit both deep gnomes feeling totally depressed and I licked all the blood. I cried again in my bathroom and put the shades on so Baltazr and Koreella couldn’t spy on me this time. I went to do some murders. Vampire was in the Hair of Magical Magic Creatures. He looked all depressed because Enver had disappeared and he had used to be in love with Enver. He was sucking some blood from a rat.
“Hi.” he said in a depressed way. “Hi back.” I said in an wqually said way.
We both looked at each other for some time. Astarion had beautiful red infernal eyes so much like Envers. Then……… we jumped on each other and started screwing each other.
“STOP IT NOW YOU HORNY SIMPLETONS!” shouted True Soul Chocomint who was watching us and so was everyone else.
“Vampire you fucker!” I said slapping him. “Stop trying to screw me. You know I loved Enver!” I shouted and then I ran away angrily.
Just then he started to scream. “OMFG! NOOOOO! MY SCAR HURTS!” and then….. his eyes rolled up! You could only see his red whites.
“NO!” I ran up closer.
“I thought you didn’t have a scar anymore!” I shouted.
“I do but Diabolo changed it into a skull surrounded by blood drops for me and I always cover it up with foundation.” he said back. “Anyway my scar hurt and then I had a vision of what was happening to Enver…………….Rafael has him bondage!”
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SPECIAL FANGZ 2 u/paliconoclast MY BAALIX BLOOD SIBLIN WTF UR SUPPOZD 2 RIT DIS!11111111
HEY u/paliconoclast DO U KNOW WHERE MY SWEATER I

I’ve been wanting to see them do a pride month episode where Luigi gets fed up with being used for gay jokes and stands up to SMG4. It seems the show is still stuck on teasing you-know-what so, I decided to make it myself. Well, make the plot, anyway.
——

• Luigi is tending to his flower shop when he catches SMG4 filming him through the window, but SMG4 slips away before Luigi can confront him.
  
• Suspicious, Luigi heads to the castle and spies on SMG4, who turns out to be making a meme about Luigi being the “straightest male florist” with a compilation of images of him making out with body pillows of men.
  
• Following flashbacks of similar incidents, Luigi becomes enraged and promptly summons the whole gang for a faux trial. Luigi rips into SMG4 for treating his sexuality as a joke (something so prevalent half the crew is surprised to learn he’s actually gay) and sentences him to one forced attendance of an LGBT pride rally.
  
• The next day, Luigi drags SMG4 and Mario to a pride rally. SMG4 asks what exactly they do at pride rallies, to which Luigi explains it’s like a big street party celebrating LGBT people, with various activities and vendors and LGBT artists and advocates showcasing their work (which apparently includes Wario wearing trans flag colors and shaking his rear on the stage)
  
• Luigi takes the duo to an exhibit explaining all the different sexualities, but Mario keeps interrupting Luigi’s spiel and calling it boring until SMG4 slaps him. Mario then notices there’s food trucks and wants to get lunch, but Luigi and SMG4 tell him they’ll eat later and need to check out more of the rally first. However, they notice some commotion and get distracted from Mario, allowing him to run off.
  
• Mario approaches the food trucks and spots Waluigi in a taco truck. Waluigi waves him over and tells him that he recently added a spaghetti taco to the menu. Mario excitedly orders one, but then realizes he doesn’t have money. Mario’s solution is to try to convince people Waluigi won’t give him a taco because he’s gay, which falls flat when someone points out that no one who refuses to serve gay people would set up shop at a pride rally.
  
• Luigi and SMG4 find the disturbance to be a conservative couple (evidently Whimpu’s parents as he is with them, plus the subtle detail of his mom and dad respectively having red and white hair to combine for his pink hair, although Whimpu looks rather uncomfortable being there) disrupting the rally by calling people degenerates and flaunting how “perfect” their nuclear family is. Luigi stands up to them, prompting Whimpu’s dad to call over a bunch of thugs. A fight breaks out, but Luigi and SMG4 beat up all the thugs, earning cheers from the rally-goers. Whimpu and his parents are noticeably missing after the fight.
  
• The duo are invited to come up to the stage and speak by the organizer of the rally (a guy in a rainbow suit named Mr. Gay). SMG4 realizes he has the attention of a whole festival, becomes overwhelmed by the urge to advertise his YouTube channel (visualized by him hallucinating monetization symbols over the crowd), shoves Luigi away from the mic, and tells the rally they can go to his YouTube channel to watch him fight more bad guys and go on crazy adventures with his friends, like Luigi and Mario. He calls attention to Mario, only to realize all too late that Mario destroyed Waluigi’s taco truck and is now eating a stolen spaghetti taco while naked. Mr. Gay accuses the trio of trying to make the rally look bad, sending them running as the crowd turns into an angry mob.
  
• Luigi, SMG4 and Mario get close to the castle, but the lynch mob is still in tow. They’re about to reach the doors when a car suddenly drives around the mob and parks between the trio and the castle, blocking the trio’s path. Whimpu’s family steps out, and the dad growls that it’s time to put the trio in his place. He pulls out a gun and aims it at Luigi, while the mob (who still thinks the trio are homophobes now getting their just deserts) look on in bloodlust, when Whimpu suddenly steps in between them and yells at his dad to stop. His dad in turn demands to know why he’d defend these weirdos, causing Whimpu to loudly reveal he’s gay.
  
• The shocked silence this creates ends with an awkward cough revealing that the rest of the Glitchy Gang had pulled up to help SMG4 and co. just in time to hear Whimpu. Saiko comes forward to express her confusion, as Whimpu had been aggressively simping for her for as long as they knew each other. Whimpu confesses it was an act he put on because his parents hated people for being different and it made him ashamed of who he really was. Saiko glares at his parents, puts a hand on his shoulder, and tells him she has his back and understands what he’s going through… because she’s bisexual. More of the Glitchy Gang comes forward to confirm they’re LGBT for Whimpu—Tari is pan; Belle is lesbian; Rob is ace; even Bob admits to being a trans guy (with some coercing from Saiko).
  
• Whimpu’s dad sighs and tells Whimpu he can stay with his friends… because he’s not allowed back in the house, to Whimpu’s horror. He disowns Whimpu in front of everyone and calls him a disappointment before he and his wife get back in the car and drive away. Luigi watches the couple leave, then looks at Whimpu tearfully embracing Saiko, then turns to SMG4 and Mario and asks if they understand why groups like the LGBT need celebrations. Mario and SMG4 share a glance and solemnly nod. SMG4 asks Mr. Gay if they’re chill now. Mr. Gay says yes, but he thinks they should still beat up Mario for being naked. SMG4 agrees, ending the episode with Mario screaming as everyone attacks him.
  

FIN

AN: i sed stup flaming up fistz! c if dis chaptr is srupid!1111 it delz wit rly sris issus! sp c 4 urself if itz ztupid brw fangz 2 ma frend u/paliconoclast 4 hleping me!
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“NO!” I screamed. I was horrorfied! S'hadow Heart tried to comfort me but I told her fuck off and I ran to the temple crying myself. Cheteric Thorn chased after me shouting but he had to stop when I went into my room cause he would look like a perv that way.
Anyway, I started crying tears of blood and then I slit the two lesbians I saw walking by. Their blood got all over my clothes so I took them off and jumped into the bath angrily while I having a victim screaming at full volume. I grabbed a steak and almost stuck it into my heart to commit suicide. I was so fucking depressed! I got out of the bathtub and put on black low-cut sleveless with lace all over it sandly. I put on black tight leather pants and six pairs of skull earrings. I couldn’t fucking believe it. Then I looked out the next room and screamed… Baltazr was spying on me and he was taking a video tape of me! And Koreella was masticating to it! They were sitting on the stairs.
“EW, YOU FUCKING PERVS, STOP LOOKING AT ME NAKED! ARE YOU SCALIES OR WHAT!” I screamed putting on a black towel with a picture of Sarevok Anchev on it. Suddenly Vampire ran in.
“Hick Niss!” he yelled at Balthazar and Koreella pointing his womb. I took my gun and shot Balthazar and Koreella a gazillion times and they both started screaming and the camera broke. Suddenly, Keteric Thorn ran in. “Durge, it has been revealed that someone has - NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” he shouted looking at Balthazar and Koreella and then he waved his warhammer and suddenly…
Helisk ran outside on the stairs and said everyone we need to talk.
“What do you know, Helisk? You’re just a little Baldur's Gate diabolist!”
“I MAY BE A BALDUR'S GATE DIABOLIST….” Helisk paused angrily. “BUT I AM ALSO A BHAALIST!”
“This cannot be.” Baltazr said in a crisp voice as blood dripped from his hand where Keteryck’s warhammer had hit him. “There must be other factors.”
“YOU DON’T HAVE ANY!” I yelled in madly.
Koreella held up the camera triumelephantly. “The lens may be ruined but the tape is still there!”
I felt faint, more than I normally do like how it feels when you do not kill enough people.
“Why are you doing this?” Koreella said angrily while she rubbed her dirty hands on her clook.
And then I heard the words that I had heard before but not from her. I did not know whether to feel shocked and happy or to bite her and chew her meat because I felt faint.
“BECAUSE…BECAUSE….” Helisk said and she paused in the air dramitaclly, waving her hands in the air. Then swooped she in slashing to the style of a bhaalist version of a member of the Guild.
“Because you’re baallist?” Baltazr asked in a little afraid voice cause he was afraind it meant he was connected with Bhaal.
“Because I LOVE HIM!”

My stepdad: •The one big thing that makes me feel valid is that, when I was 11, my stepdad fingered me in my bedroom. I won't go in to too much detail or anything, it's unimportant. But the entire time he just stared at me and everything was silent, like he was waiting for my reaction. Our relationship has always been odd, so I wanted it. But eventually I got scared and told him something, I don't remember what it was but it got him to stop immediately and he apologised too. I don't remember much after, as in I don't know if he left my room or I left first, but I immediately went to the bathroom. Which was when I discovered I was bleeding.
•Around this time, for some strange reason I would repeatedly say to him "fuck me daddy." This would either be in person, or over messages. I remember once, when I was in school, I messaged him that. He told me to stop in case one of my friends saw. I don't know why he didn't tell me to stop for other reasons.
•One day, after telling him that in person, we were in my parents bedroom. I was sat on his bed and he was in front of me in his weird chair. He then started going in to detail about how I wanted him to fuck me, I can't remember exactly what he said, it was like I zoned out. Everytime I try to recall it now it literally feels like bugs start to crawl up me, I don't understand why. I remember the last part, and his really disgusting hushed and gentle voice. He asked if I wanted him to "cum inside of me", or he was just explaining how that would finish. I'm not really sure.
•Still around this same time period of me being 11-12, I would ask him to 'squish me.' The reason why we would call it that is because I would be on my back, my legs would be up all the way to where my head is and he would be on top of me in a way that would 'squish me'. Basically like that one sex position. I would usually be wearing my school uniform when that would happen, so a skirt. During the 'squishing', he would push down on me, so our crotches would basically be against eachother. I don't know why, but I would continuously ask him to 'squish me' and during it I would even say the whole "fuck me daddy" thing. Only recently have I realised that he was probably just pretending to fuck me.
•Other things had happened around that age too, like how we would talk about how many times we masturbated a day and compare it to eachother. Sometimes if I was abruptly going to my room, he would ask if I was going to go masturbate, since we were 'close like that' I would tell him. He would often recommend me NSFW Instagram model accounts. I was once tricked in to sending feet pics to this guy, which really isn't that serious and whenever I brought it up with friends they find it fucking hilarious. But the detail I always leave out is that, I did bring that up with my stepdad and he proceeded to tell me that he already knew. Which means he was spying on me through the crack of the door. If that already didn't bother me, I don't understand why he just allowed me to send those pictures, if he was watching why the hell didn't he stop me?
•I'm pretty sure this also happened around the age of 11 as well, recently, a memory resurfaced but I barely remember it. Basically, I was sucking on his neck. I don't remember who said it, but either him or my mum spoke up and laughed, saying that I needed to stop otherwise I would "give him a hickey." The reason why I wouldn't be surprised if my mum was in the room at the time is because she doesn't care about what he does. She knows everything and just doesn't fucking care.
•I'm very sure that, around that age, my parents begun to expose me to their loud sex. I wouldn't be surprised if it started even younger, however. Obviously, I tried to bring it up with them at the ripe old age of 11 and my mum immediately shot me down with a "it's natural." This only stopped recently, around this year, because I had a big panic attack over hearing them and my mum finally felt guilty. I started getting panic attacks over it the minute it started, maybe the panic attacks were a sign of the trauma when I was younger, but I'm convinced it is now. I heard it so many times that I began to get paranoid every night, I would start to hear it even if they weren't upstairs (I sound crazy, I know.) I would get so anxious every night in case I would hear it, to the point I started to really resent them from it. I know fine well I could just go to sleep before them, but sometimes they even woke me up with it, on numerous occasions.
•I'm convinced my stepdad wanted me to hear it. Around the time of it finally stopping, I got mad because i was hearing it again (I'm unsure if it was due to me hearing shit or they actually were) but it caused me to take my bedding and go downstairs to sleep. In the morning, I was rudely awoken to my stepdad slamming the door open and storming past. He's not usually like that when people are sleeping, so it instantly gave me the impression that he was pissed off and the only reason I can think of is that he was angry I wasn't there to listen.
•He used to tease me for my paranoia to. As a way to discourage them from getting intimate, I would leave my door open at night. This happened around this year, but I was doing that again and I messaged my stepdad if they were actually going to sleep. It then somehow turned to him making a dig about how he knew I gets anxious at night and when I asked why he sent me "In case me and your mam have sex. 😜" Before, I tried to resolve this issue by begging them to just tell me if they were gonna have sex or not so I could sleep downstairs (because I was gonna find out the hard way anyways.) And they kept on refusing? Which just gave me the impression that they wanted me to listen more.
•Around 11 again, he would often tell me details about his and my mums sex life. Like how he was always good at pulling out and the only time he would wear a condom is right when he was about to finish. But the reason why my sister came to be was because he just failed to pull out that one time and my mum refused to get an abortion. Another time, he went on about how him and my mother had sex during her period and how they had to use towels and they didn't enjoy it because it was too messy.
•I don't know if he did things before the age of 11, my memories are very faded and it's like there are major gaps throughout everything. I'm worried that he did, however. When I was very young, I remember having no accidents at all during the night. But then, around the ages of 9, I would have an accident basically every night and would get a lot of water infections. I know that's a classic sign of child sexual abuse, but I don't want to jump to conclusions or anything.
•Another reason as to why I believe more things had happened to me than what I know of is because I always seemed to know what sex was when I was young, but I wouldn't know the name or anything specific about it like how to get pregnant or what cum was. Though, even though I didn't know what it was, it was like I always thought about it, I could never not think about sex, it was disgusting. This stayed until I was around 13. I remember where I even asked my 'boyfriend' at the time, we were both around 8, if he wanted to have sex, and I have no idea why.
•Over the years, he would flash me frequently. Everytime, I would always believe it was an accident because he'd never acknowledge it, besides from that one time which he always jokes about it and blames me. Everytime he would flash me, it would either be because of a convenient hole in the crotch of his pants or because he was wearing very lose fit shorts and it would just be hanging out. The more I think about it, I'm very sure he would have been able to feel such a thing, especially when it was poking out of the hole, but it was like he was just oblivious.
•For some strange reason, when I was younger, I would make comments about small dicks. I don't know if I was commenting on his dick specifically, but he would always say the same thing. "Width matters more than length."
•Recently, around 16-17, he made a joke about how he listens to me masturbating. Once he noticed how shocked I looked, he then went on saying about how my vibrator is too quiet to hear.
•Around 17 again, I went to use the shower. The shower I use is the one that's connected to my parents room. When I locked the door, he got madish and started making comments about it. I had to defend myself, saying how 'the door would open on it's own if I didn't lock it'. Eventually, he backed off.
•I don't understand the point in the fucking door and lock to my bedroom anymore. Whenever I decided to lock my door, my parents start shouting at me through the walls, asking why I locked my door. My stepdad barely knocks, it's like a tap and he doesn't even wait sometimes. I remember seeing a past message from an old friend saying how he tried to walk in when I was changing and that he knew I was changing. I didn't explain myself, I really wish I did because I don't remember this.
•(Around 17.) We were messaging eachother and it somehow turned in to him hinting if I saw this one animated video, it was a porn one. I said no, and to that he sent me a screenshot of it. It wasn't anything bad or anything, just the start of it and nothing was revealing, he then asked if I was sure. And how he was surprised that I hadn't.
•(Around 17.) I don't really get my period, we still don't know why. But as I was getting a lot of blood tests, my stepdad was trying to check things off the list of what it could be. One of those being that my opening is just extremely tight I guess, because he asked if I ever tried penetrating myself. I admitted that I did, but I couldn't get it to exactly go in. Which he then decided to make a comment saying how It's just my 'technique'. I wonder if the only reason he asked that was to see if I ever tried anything out of morbid curiosity.
•(Around 17 again.) He randomly bought me dildo's once, I didn't ask him for them, he just bought them for me and it was wildly uncomfortable. Once he gave me them, he asked if I wanted him to show me how to use them. I said no, which he then said something about how if I ever did then I could ask him. I worry what would have happened if I did say yes.
•When I was around 14, I went glamping. I ended up having to share a bed with him. One of the nights, I woke up to his hand just on top my crotch. I tried grabbing it and moving it away but it just fell back down on to it. I don't know if he put it back there on purpose. I still question if it was a dream, I'm very sure it wasn't because I remember going back to sleep, but it still just bugs me.
•Around 17, I was upset for some reason and he was comforting me. During this, he randomly grabbed the inside of my thigh. I usually just wear a shirt and boxers, so he basically just grabbed my naked thigh but I don't know if he was doing it in a comforting way.
•Usually when I draw, I have my knees up to my chest so it's easier to use my tablet. Considering what I wear for pyjamas, I can always see him looking at my crotch when he comes in to my room. If he really can see everything I don't understand why he doesn't just tell me to put my legs down.
•He's made a lot of uncomfortable jokes over the years too. One of the ones that upsets me sometimes is that, when he was measuring me for a binder, I was constantly moving around because it was uncomfortable since I was just in a sports bra. As he was leaving, I think I told him about how it was uncomfortable for me or something along those lines. He then turned around and shouted "oh come on, it's not like i was fingerings your pussy or anything."
•Very recently, I asked him if I looked okay before going to college. After a bit of back and fourth he said "I wouldn't kick you out of bed, maybe you could find someone in college who would do the same."
•Other times when I asked him if I looked okay, he'd go on tangents about how my ass is great or how he would date me or be too nervous to talk to me if he was my age.
•One of the more recent jokes was when I dropped a mayonnaise lid on my lap. Nothing got on me, but my stepdad turned to me then turned to my mum and shouted "if anyone starts accusing us, just tell them it was mayonnaise!" Or something like that.
•I remember after we watched the new mean girls film, he started going on saying about how he wanted to rewatch it for the Halloween seen (if you know you know) for the 'panty action'. Which rubs me the wrong way because I'm very sure the girls are supposed to be around my age.
•I'm very sure he also made this fake account, pretending to be one of my old groomers that I tried to cut off, just to message me about nsfw topics and ask for pics. It's a whole long yap about paranoia and just suspicions so I won't get into it though. If I tried to provide all the evidence I have, it'll take forever and there's no point.
There's definitely way more things that he's said, joked and done. But I'm only now beginning to realise that they're not okay. Even when I was younger, I was sort of uncomfortable around the jokes so I would just zone out, leading me to not remembering them now.
My mum: •I remember when I was very young, around 11, we were in a store and she was obsessed with the idea of getting extra money. She wanted to do this online thing where she would dominate men or something, it was fucking weird. She went into detail about how she was researching it and instead of telling these men to so sexual stuff, she would make them do good things like pick up litter etc. When we were in this store, she made me look at the dog collars together and choose one out, I remember she even asked me if she thought it would be a good fit for the guys.
•She constantly goes on about her only fans now, I don't know why she wants me to know about it so much. She keeps on going into detail about what her plans are for photos and stuff and I just think it's very odd that she's telling me about it all. She's doing everything in her power to stop my brother from finding out, he's in his 20s, I don't understand why she's so happy to let their minor child know about it but not him. I remember when she was first starting it up, she got offended because I didn't want to wear a cosplay she used for one of her photoshoots. Another time she was going on about her plans for another cosplay thing, but this character happened to be a child, which I pointed out to be weird that she would think to do that. Her response to that was "yeah, if he was a girl." Like wtf.
•She wanted me to help take photos for her aswell, the thing is these were going to be out in public around a store that was really close to our home. She kept on saying it was fine if I didn't want to and that the photos weren't going to be sexual, but once I said no she seemed a bit upset. Which I don't understand because even if the photos aren't explicitly sexual, it's still a fetish thing that she wanted me to take pictures off. She also tends to take photos of her chest when other people are around. Like once I was sitting next to her and she just started taking photos of herself for her onlyfans, (I know this because I asked and she said that was what they were for), I'm just worried because I think I was in the frame a bit. Another time we were at my grandparents and she started taking obvious photos of her chest in front of me and my grandma. The thing that makes me feel sick is that she was wearing one of my shirts when taking them.
•I remember once which was also recent, she just randomly told me about how she was writing porn or something. I don't know why she felt the need to tell me that.
•She got mad when I wouldn't share my underwear with her. She tried to hide her anger but I could just tell she was frustrated when I said no. I remember her arguing with me, saying something like how she let's me share her clothes all the time. (Which isn't exactly true, she just gives me shirts that she doesn't want anymore from time to time.) I don't know if that's normal though and if anyone else shares their underwear with their parents. But I just think it's more uncomfortable than sharing clothes.
•My parents always used to expose me to their sex lives, I remember once when I was 11, after they finally stopped I heard my stepdad say a comment about how he liked the choker my mum was wearing. The thing is, the choker she was wearing was my choker. It's stupid because yeah it's just a choker, it's pretty far away from everything. But I hate the fact that she wore it during that, call me pathetic but I'm really sensitive to sex now. I never wore it since and even thinking of wearing it again makes me sort of upset.
•This isn't really major but when I was 14, I bugged her into buying me a new hoodie. Due to dysphoria and personal preference, I love really baggy hoodies. (I also needed it to be big enough because I needed it to be able to go over my blazer, stupid school rules it's too long to explain.) We got into a semi-argument over it and she kept on pressuring me to buy a more smaller size. She then said I needed to start 'showing off my body more' which I find really odd considering I was 14 at the time and why would I need to show it off.
•She would always ignore when people would catcall/harass me. I'm sure everyone is familiar with that, but I remember once after a man called me an ugly bitch for not acknowledging him when I was 11, when I went home my mum just played it down. Another time, when I was around the same age, I was being threatened by a bunch of pedophiles online. They kept on threatening me, saying how they were going to post my accounts on pornhub so people would come down, kidnap and rape me. When I showed my mum this, she defended them saying that they're probably just 16 year olds. Every time I would have a weird interaction with a man, she would say how we just have 'powers' to attract weird people and it's just who we are. Though I never see anyone else describe it like that and it just makes me feel like she enjoys when that happens to me and her.

“Good old days… it was 2016. After I was stripped naked and beaten eighty times with a whip (apparently made of steel balls covered with cloth), I made goose noises out of pain, I sat my destroyed back in the backseat of a taxi, and we headed to the prosecutor's office to do the administrative paperwork! :)))) This meant that the executioner would write up the "proceedings" and confirm that this dude has taken his whipping in good health and thou shalt now leave his bald head alone.
This "administrative paperwork" part of whipping and other forms of corporal punishment is their most grotesque aspect. Just half an hour ago, they hit you so freaking hard that you pulled a sweet Jesus (imagine [your atheist ass] yelling out sweeeeeet Jesus with every strike), and now they make you sign and add your fingerprint on a piece of paper saying, "I hereby received my whipping. Please let me go now. Thank you, custodians of the divine sanctum."
The pre-whipping administrative procedures were fantastic. I had to sign a paper stating that the whipping is not harmful to my body! :))))
Suggestion by some friends: "You dumbass! You shouldn’t have signed that." Answer: "Bravo! That had never occurred to anyone before you!"
“Harm” means the whipping won’t put you in a coma or cause your death. If I had said whipping was bad for my health, I’d first be taken to detention, then to a forensic clinic, and then, when the investigations clarified that whipping is in fact good for my health according to research by an anonymous Japanese doctor, the dude who now realized I wasted his time would hit me so hard that blood would clot on my back and what would be left of me would be barely a mouthful.
And when I say “dude,” you probably think that the executioner, the whipper, the wicked tormentor, looked like a thug. Nope. He was an old man who was completely "outwardly good." About sixty years old, with almost fully white facial hair, the most normal and righteous face you might come across in society, on the street, at the grocery store, and especially in government offices and mosques. Because it suits him to be "trusted in the neighborhood," driving a scrapped Peugeot RD, for example. Even more strange and terrifying than that: except while whipping, and even while whipping, as he was ruthlessly hitting me, he looked "compassionate." He would treat you like his “son.” I really don't have Stockholm syndrome. I am just describing how he carried himself. His behavior, and of course, his honorable job: he earned his bread by being an executioner. Well done, Hajj Agha. That’s some halal bread right there.
We then went to a mullah's office for the final stamp on the verdict. With utmost boredom, he signed and said, "Go hit him." He didn't even look at me. It was important to me that they treat me like a human being at least! For someone who was supposed to get whipped and has been whipped before, why would it be important that a mullah pays some attention to him? I don’t know.
But the executioner, he treated me like a human being. A little too much, of course.
I didn't know he was the whipper. He didn’t look like one. I expected the whipper to be some bulky giant like the Iron Sheik. My executioner wore a khaki-colored Ahmadinejad sweatshirt and simple black pants. He didn’t have a heavy beard or turbah marks on his forehead. He had a trimmed beard and glasses... he looked so normal that he seemed like he didn't exist.
Before that, while waiting for Hajj Agha's signature to whip me, I witnessed a strange scene. A teenage boy who looked very very disheveled and poor was also in line to get his signature to get whipped. I asked, "Did you also drink alcohol?" He said, "No, they caught me with drugs. They ‘wrote me’ thirty." Is it a prescription?!
"Is it a Tazir verdict?" I asked. He didn’t understand. I asked, "Couldn’t you buy it off?" He said, "I could, but it’s just thirty whips, I’ll take it. I don’t have money for this."
So they were going to whip a teenager because he didn’t have money? Just like what they did to me? Even one lash was too many to tolerate. I was wondering how I was surviving and not dying from that level of pain…
A human body can endure so much pain! After one Hajj Agha signed my papers, together with the other Hajj Agha, we walked to the police station (on the coastal street of Qom, in a detention center) where the Islamic Sharia law was supposed to be executed on me. It was there that I came to the terrifying realization that the executioner was the same dude. Be it far from my late father who lived a clean life, he looked like he could be my dad. How “normal” he was! People like this looking normal is absolutely horrifying!
He was beyond normal; he was compassionate and fatherly. He asked with regret, “What is your education, young man?” I said that I am studying for a master's degree.
He sighed and shook his head. He said that he hadn’t whipped anyone above a high school diploma in his years of “service.”
Wow. So he would ask about their level of education, and if they were uneducated, then to hell with them.
Then he said, “Isn’t it a pity that you did this to yourself?” (What exactly?! Drinking a few shots of alcohol and throwing up in the street? That was my pity? Maybe. But more pity than what you are going to do to my body? More pity than my soul that you are going to crush forever? More pity than the terrible humiliation of the next half hour?)
We walked together, me and my executioner. And again, the golden sentence: "Where should I hit you, that you won’t die, young man? My whip is thicker than you." Whip away, old man, what’s with the body shaming? :)))
With a completely carefree and calm tone, he would say things like, “Oh, you poor thing.” Funny and sarcastic. That was the executioner in this little story.
So, after signing the certificate of no harm from whipping, we went to the detention center. An officer, an executioner, a soldier. They said: go on.
“With what?” I asked. They said, “Well, get naked.”
I am not one of those people who is comfortable with being naked in front of others. Who is? Few men are comfortable appearing in front of several strangers in v-neck shorts. I am even less comfortable. There was no choice. If I didn’t do it, they’d do it for me. They said, “Run!” I said, “Pardon?”
(Where would I run in a 6x9 ft detention room?)
The soldier said, "If your body is cold, it will hurt more. Run along this cell a little bit." So I ran, wearing only shorts. They laughed at me running in that tiny cell. It was an awkward minute of humiliation.
It's strange how calmly I deal with the memories of it now. What is this human being? The scars remain on my soul (no longer on my body), but they are aged. It doesn't burn that much anymore. It does not ignite. The whip itself is not important. It is about the humiliation of a human life, without a sin worthy of this punishment. Whipping in the 21st century, in the age of technology, the global village, and all this buuuullshit.
I was a hostage at the hands of this system and its "rules," that even speaking of updating which is considered blasphemy. Immediately, the soldier said, "Enough running, get over here." Unlikely as it is, and far be it from me to compare myself to their suffering, I felt like the Jews at Auschwitz, I was strangely obedient. What else would I do? If their obedience is surprising, it is because their fate was death. What about me? I was hoping they’d hit me a little less violently.
If I resisted, I would be dragged to the whipping spot and might smack my head twice too. Plus, I’m not even a very resistant kind of person by nature. But hey, y’all should resist the oppression.
There was no “whipping spot.” It was just the wall of the detention center. There was a metal bench that they propped up by the wall longitudinally, and they cuffed each one of my hands to one leg. I started to cry and beg, "Pleaaaase do it gently, for Imam Hussain, please. For Hazrat Zainab’s sake! Be gentle! For the sake of the broken ribs of Hazrat Fatimah, be gentle!"
I didn't know how else to beg. I can't even describe my fear.
The officer had a towel with him. He came and pulled the hair behind my head and punched me in the face to make me open my mouth.
It's strange that I didn't feel a bit humiliated by his punch. I didn't care at all. Why? I do not know. Maybe the fear was so great that there was no room left for any other feeling.
I just moaned from the bottom of my throat: "Enough, sir! Look, I'm naked, my hands are tied, haven't you humiliated me enough? Enough, sir!"
I saw "compassion(!)" in his face for a moment there. He was not expecting that a person sentenced to whipping would speak more eloquently than his own late great-grandfather. The soldier felt bad for me and pulled him back; the officer didn't put the towel in my mouth.
Tears were flowing from my eyes and my nose was running. He had not even begun whipping yet. The biggest wish of my life was for him to be gentle.
He was not gentle.
I will air the rest soon; that’s of course, if anyone has enough patience to read so much description of pain.
I’m sorry. I basically just wrote this for myself. To empty myself. Every once in a while, I journal about this to feel lighter. Sorry if it upset you, or if it was redundant. I thought the whip would be made of leather.
It was a horrifying moment of realization when my back recognized the heaviness of the metal with the first blow. My legs went limp from the pain. But I could not fall. My hands were tied. It was as if all the pain I've suffered in my life had landed like a lightning bolt on the spot of the whip. I could have sworn that I would pass out with the next blow. The next blow landed without a chance to breathe. Without a second of interruption.
You know how when you stub your little toe against the sofa, you start hopping so the pain stops throbbing? Because pain makes people move, even run. Why else do people who are on fire start to run?
The point was this: I could have run two or three hundred meters in one breath due to the intensity of the pain from each blow. But where? I was turning and twisting in the little space that the handcuffs would allow me to. And I was yelling. I mean, I was shouting! For three days after, my voice sounded like a rooster.
Another strange thing: the dude would count and comfort me! He would say, "One, two, three..." for example up to ten, and then he would say, "Did you see how soon it was finished? Have some patience!”
When he reached forty, he said, "Half of it is over, young man, bear it!"
What is this, a vaccine? If you hit more gently, would that officer and soldier who were watching kill you?
And no, he didn’t have any "Quran under the armpit." He was only carrying a bag. A simple handbag. If you saw it on the street, you would think that it was full of documents and paperwork. There was only one thing in his bag. I personally looked: the whip. Just the whip. It was one heavy whip.
He painted all over my body with eighty strokes. It didn't touch my hips and lower back, because apparently that is "harmful" to the body. And it was over. Heh! How easily I wrote it, it was over. But what else do I do? Describe every single stroke?
I went out. My friend was waiting for me with the bitterest smile. Believe it or not, the pain in my body didn’t matter anymore. My first words to him were: "They humiliated me, Mohsen. They humiliated me." And we both cried. He hugged me, and my back caught on fire. We went to the prosecutor's office for the "administrative work."
Together with the executioner, we sat in the back of the car. The guy looked sad and regretful and behaved "nobly." It was a very strange situation. Very. The cab driver have no clue that he was driving an executioner and his victim. I wanted to yell at him and say, "Haji, you come to the 'office' every day, you serve the nation like this, just to take home two or three tomans at the end of the month, and you live with that?! Does the bread, meat, and onions that you buy from the money you earned from this job go down your throat?"
Of course it does. It slides right down.
And the strangest thing: my friend wanted to pay his fare! :))))) He had seen the executioner's behavior as so full of regret and shame, and felt thankful that I was still alive. So he had come to the conclusion that he had respected me. His close acquaintance was whipped and was in the hospital for two weeks. He said it could have been much worse, and it was hard for me to believe.
The dude didn’t let him pay.
Could Stockholm syndrome be more severe than this?! I dragged my destroyed body home, took a series of photos of my waist, and put them on Facebook (it should still be there, I think; I had put them up on my previous account). My mom cried for a couple of hours, but I didn't show her my waist and lied to her that it didn't hurt. The next day, when I was sleeping, she came and lifted my shirt and saw it. I woke up. She cried a lot. And of course, I continued to make fun of the matter. When I returned to the dormitory, I was doing this bit by striking my own chest [like mourning of Muharram rituals] and singing: "I’m the whipped Husayn…" Ah well, the ridiculousness.
So this was the description of my whipping, which happened nine years ago, but its scar on my psyche has not healed. I'm sorry if I hurt you.”
Context: This is a real story, written by Hossein Shanbehzadeh, an Iranian social media storyteller and literary editor. He was arrested 2 days ago while visiting a friend in Ardabil, Iran, and I’m extremely worried about him because the propaganda machine of Islamic Republic of Iran is now trying to falsely accuse him of spying for Israel (!!), which is a really big accusation in Iran and easily could cost him his life! The real reason they went after him is that he is a storyteller, and he has hurt the bloodthirsty tyrant's feelings with his social media posts. I have a big deadline ahead of me, but I just had to translate one of his stories because I'm desperately hoping that strangers on Reddit can make him famous and save his life and I frankly don't know what else to do. His TwitteX handle was hosseyn1988 -- now deactivated.

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Requin HD/VU $4.5
Resident Evil Welcome to Raccoon City HD/MA $4
Robin Hood '73 HD/MA $4
Rosemary's Baby 4K/VU $6.5
Rhythm Section HD/VU $3.5
Ruby Gilman Teenage Kraken HD/MA $5.5
Rudy (Dir Cut) 4K/MA $6.5
Rudy 4K/MA $6
Run Lola Run 4K/MA $6.5
Saint Maud HD/VU $4
Samurai Jack Complete Series HD/VU $40
Saw 8-film Set (Unr except Jigsaw) HD/VU $20
Secret Life of Walter Mitty HD/MA $3.5
Shaun the Sheep HD/VU $3.5
Shrek 6-Film Set (1-4, Musical, Puss in Boots) HD/MA $19
Skiptrace HD/VU $3.5
Scorpion King 4-Film Set (1, 3, 4, Book of Souls) HD/MA $12
Scream 3 4K/VU $5.5
Scream 5 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Scream 6 4K/VU $7 or HD/VU $5.5
Sharktopus HD/VU $3.5
Shazam 2-film Set HD/MA $8
Shazam Fury of the Gods 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $4.5
She Said HD/MA $4.5
She's the Man HD/VU $3.5
Sin City HD/VU $4
Silent Night '23 HD/VU $5.5
Silver Linings Playbook HD/VU $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Sixteen Candles HD/MA $3.5 or HD/IT $3.5
Sleepless in Seattle 4K/MA $6
Smile HD/VU $4.5
Social Network 4K/MA $6
Sometimes They Come Back...Again HD/VU $4
Sometimes They Come Back...For More HD/VU $3.5
Sonic the Hedgehog 2 4K/VU $5.5
Spartacus 4K/IT $4
Spider-Man Across the Spider-Verse 4K/MA $7 or HD/MA $5.5
Split 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Spoiler Alert HD/MA $5
Spy (Unr) HD/MA $3
Star Wars A New Hope HD/MA $4
Starship Troopers 4K/MA $6
Step Brothers 4K/MA $6.5
Stillwater HD/MA $4
Studio 666 HD/MA $5
Sum of All Fears 4K/VU $5
Supercell HD/VU $4.5
Super Mario Bros Movie 4K/MA $6.5 or HD/MA $5
Superfly HD/MA $4
Suspiria (2018) HD/VU $4
T2 Trainspotting 4K/MA $6
Talk to Me 4K/VU $6
Talladega Nights 4K/MA $6.5
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Out of the Shadows HD/VU $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
Thanksgiving 4K/MA $7
The Bay HD/VU $4
The Color Purple '23 4K/MA $7.5 or HD/MA $6
The Creator HD/MA $6
The Descent (Unr) HD/VU $4.5
The Last Dragon 4K/MA $5.5
The Marvels HD/MA $6.5
The Natural 4K/MA $6
The Other Guys 4K/MA $6
The Professional (Ext) 4K/MA $6
The Space Between Us HD/MA $4
The Sting HD/MA $3.5
The Super '17 HD/VU $4
Ticket to Paradise HD/MA $4.5
Titanic 4K/VU or IT $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Top Gun Maverick HD/VU $4
Toy Story 3 HD/MA $4
Trading Places 4K/VU $6
Transformers Rise of the Beasts 4K/MA $7 or HD/VU $5.5
Trolls 3-Film Collection HD/MA $12
Trolls Band Together HD/MA $6.5
Umma HD/MA $4.5
Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent 4K/VU $5
Underwater HD/MA $4.5
Unfriended HD/MA $4
Universal Monsters 4-Film Set 4K/MA $17
V for Vendetta 4K/MA $6.5
Vanilla Sky HD/VU $5.5
Varsity Blues 4K/VU $6
Velvet Goldmine HD/VU $4.5
Venture Bros Radiant is the Blood of the Baboon Heart HD/MA $5.5
Violent Night HD/MA $5
Walking Dead Season 9 HD/VU $7
Watchmen Ultimate Cut 4K/MA $7.5
Waxwork 2 HD/VU $3.5
Welcome to Marwen HD/MA $4.5
Welcome to Monster High HD/MA or IT $3
Whiplash 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $4.5
White House Down HD/MA $3.5
Whitney Houston I Wanna Dance w/ Somebody HD/MA $4
Wicker Man 4K/VU $5.5
Wish HD/MA $6.5
Witch HD/VU $3.5
Woman King 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $4
Woman Walks Ahead HD/VU $4
Wonka HD/MA $7
You're Next HD/VU $3.5
X-Men 1-4 Set SD/MA $7.5
X-Men Trilogy (X-Men, X2, Last Stand) HD/MA $11.5
Zombieland Double Tap HD/MA $4
All other movies (A-Z)
10 Cloverfield Lane HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
101 Dalmatians '61 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
13 Hours HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
14 Blades HD/VU $3.5
1917 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
2 Guns 4K/MA $4 or HD/MA or IT $2.5
21 Jump Street HD/MA $3
22 Jump Street HD/MA $3.5
3 Extremes HD/VU $4
3 From Hell (Unr) 4K/VU $4 or HD/VU $2.5
3:10 to Yuma 4K/VU $5
31 HD/VU $2.5
47 Meters Down HD/VU or IT $3.5
47 Meters Down Uncaged 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
47 Ronin HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
600 Miles HD/VU $3.5
71 HD/VU $3.5
A Christmas Story 4K/MA $6
A Dog's Purpose HD/IT $3
A Good Day to Die Hard (Ext) HD/VU $2.5
A Journal For Jordan HD/MA $4
A Quiet Place HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
A Walk Among the Tombstones HD/IT $3.5
A Wrinkle in Time HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
A.C.O.D. HD/IT $3.5
Abominable 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
About Last Night HD/MA $3
Ad Astra 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Adaptation 4K/MA $6
Adverse 4K/VU $5
After Earth HD/MA $3
Aftermath HD/VU $3
Air Force One 4K/MA $6
Aladdin ‘19 HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Aladdin ‘92 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Alien HD/MA $4
Alien Covenant HD/MA $2.5
Alfred Hitchcock 4-Film Set Vol 1 4K/MA $18
Alfred Hitchcock 5-Film Set Vol 2 4K/MA $21
Alien 6-film Set HD/MA $16
Alita Battle Angel 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
All Eyez on Me HD/VU or IT $3
All is Lost HD/VU $3.5
All the Money in the World HD/MA $3.5
Allied HD/VU or IT $3.5
Amazing Spider-Man 2 HD/MA $3.5 or SD/MA $1.5
Amazing Spider-Man HD/MA $3.5 or SD/MA $1.5
American Assassin 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
American Hustle HD/MA $3.5
American Ultra HD/VU or IT $4
American Underdog 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Anatomy of a Murder 4K/MA $5
Anchorman 2 HD/VU or IT $2.5
Angel Has Fallen 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Angel Heart 4K/VU $5.5
Angel of Mine 4K/VU $5.5
Angry Birds Movie HD/MA $3.5
Anna Karenina HD/IT $3.5
Annie ‘14 HD/MA $3.5
Annihilation HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Antebellum 4K/VU $5
Antlers HD/GP $3
Ant-Man & the Wasp HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Ant-Man HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Apache Junction HD/VU $3.5
Apollo 13 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Arctic HD/MA $4
Arrival HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Art of Self-Defense HD/MA $4
Assassination Nation HD/MA $3.5
Assassin's Creed HD/MA $3
Assignment HD/VU $4
Atomic Blonde 4K/IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
August Osage County HD/VU $3
Avengers Age of Ultron HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Avengers Endgame HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Avengers Infinity War 4K/MA $4 or HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Baby Driver HD/MA $4
Backdraft 4K/MA or IT $5.5
Bad Grandpa HD/VU or IT $2.5
Bad Words HD/MA or IT $3
Barb & Star go to Vista Del Mar HD/VU $4
Barbie & Her Sisters in the Great Puppy Adventure HD/IT $3.5
Bart Got a Room HD/VU $4
Battle Royale HD/VU $4.5
Battleship 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Beauty & the Beast ‘17 HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Beauty & the Beast ‘91 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Bedknobs & Broomsticks HD/GP $3.5
Before I Fall HD/VU or IT $3.5
Begin Again HD/VU $3.5
Beiruit HD/MA $3.5
Belly 4K/VU $5.5
Ben-Hur ‘16 HD/VU $3.5
Between Worlds HD/VU $3.5
Big Hero 6 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Big Lebowski 4K/MA or IT $5.5
Big Short HD/VU $3.5
Big Wedding HD/VU or IT $3
Billy Elliot HD/MA or IT $4
Birdman HD/MA $4
Black & Blue HD/MA $4
Black Christmas '19 HD/MA $4.5
Black Panther 4K/MA $4.5 or HD/GP $2.5
Black Panther Wakanda Forever HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
BlackKklansman HD/MA $4.5
Blacklight HD/MA $4
Black Widow HD/GP $3
Blackhat HD/IT $3.5
Blair Witch Project ‘99 HD/VU $4
Bleeding Steel HD/VU $3.5
Blindspotting 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Blood Money ‘17 HD/VU $3.5
Blood Ties HD/VU $3.5
Blue Jasmine HD/MA $3.5
Blue Ruin HD/VU $4
Blues Brothers HD/MA $4 or 4K/IT $4.5
Bob's Burgers Movie HD/GP $3
Body Cam HD/VU $4
Bohemian Rhapsody 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Bombshell 4K/VU $5
Book of Life HD/MA $3.5
Boss Baby HD/MA $2.5
Bourne Identity 4K/IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Bourne Legacy HD/VU $2 or 4K/IT $2.5
Bourne Supremacy HD/MA $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
Bourne Ultimatum 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Boy ‘16 HD/IT $3.5
Boy & the World HD/IT $3.5
Braven HD/VU $4
Breakfast Club HD/MA or IT $4
Breakthrough HD/MA $3
Brian Banks HD/MA $3
Bridge of Spies HD/GP $3.5
Brothers Bloom HD/VU $4.5
Bumblebee 4K/VU or IT $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Butler HD/VU $3
Cabin in the Woods HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Cake HD/MA $4
Call of Wild 4K/MA $4.5 or HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Calvary HD/MA $4
Candyman '20 4K/MA $6 or HD/MA $4.5
Candyman 3 HD/VU $4
Captain America Civil War HD/GP $2.5
Captain America First Avenger HD/GP $3.5
Captain America Winter Soldier HD/GP $3.5
Captain Marvel 4K/MA $4 or HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Captain Phillips HD/MA $3.5
Captain Underpants First Epic Movie HD/MA $2.5
Carol HD/VU $4
Cars 3 HD/GP $2.5
Casablanca 4K/MA $5.5
Case for Christ HD/MA or IT $2.5
Casper HD/IT $4
Celebrating Mickey HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Chaos Walking 4K/VU $5
Chappaquiddick HD/VU $4
Chasing Mavericks HD/MA $3.5
Chicago HD/VU $4
Child 44 HD/VU $4
Children ‘08 HD/VU $4
Christopher Robin HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Clerks 3 4K/VU $4.5
Clifford the Big Red Dog HD/VU $4
Cloverfield 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Coco HD/GP $2.5
Cold Pursuit 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Collection HD/VU $3.5
Collide ‘17 HD/VU or IT $2.5
Colma The Musical HD/VU $4
Colombiana (Unr) HD/MA $4
Colony 4K/VU $5
Come & Find Me HD/VU $4
Commuter 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Company of Heroes HD/MA $4
Conspirator HD/VU $4
Contraband HD/IT $3
Contractor HD/VU $4.5
Cooler HD/VU $4
Cool Hand Luke 4K/MA $5.5
Cooties HD/VU $4
Cotton Club Encore 4K/VU $5.5
Countdown ‘16 HD/VU $3.5
Courier 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Craft Legacy HD/MA $4.5
Criminal HD/VU or IT $3
Croods HD/VU $3.5
Cruella HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Crypto 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Daddy's Home HD/VU or IT $2.5
Daddy's Home 2 HD/VU or IT $3
Damsel HD/VU $4.5
Dangerous 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Danny Collins HD/IT $3.5
Dark Crimes HD/VU $4
Darkest Minds HD/MA $4
Dark Places HD/VU $4
Dark Tower HD/MA $3.5
Darkest Hour ‘17 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes HD/MA $3.5
Deadpool 2 (w/Super Duper Cut) HD/MA $4
Deadpool HD/MA $2.5
Death of Me HD/VU $4
Death on the Nile HD/GP $3
Death Wish '18 HD/VU $3
Deepwater Horizon HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Deliver Us From Evil HD/MA $3.5
Dentist 2-Film Set HD/VU $7
Despicable Me 2 HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Despicable Me 3 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Despicable Me 4K/MA or IT $4.5
Detroit HD/MA $3.5
Devil Inside HD/VU $3.5
Devil's Due HD/MA $3.5
Die Hard HD/MA $3.5
Die Hard 5-film Set HD/MA $18
Die in a Gunfight 4K/VU $5
Dirty Dancing 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Disney Animated Short Films Set HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Disneynature Monkey Kingdom HD/MA $3
Django Unchained HD/VU $3
Doctor Strange HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Doctor Strange Multiverse of Madness HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Dolittle HD/MA $3.5
Dom Hemingway HD/MA $3.5
Don Verdean HD/VU $4.5
Doorman HD/VU $3.5
Doors 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Downsizing HD/VU $2 or 4K/IT $2.5
Downton Abbey A New Era HD/MA $4
Downton Abbey The Movie HD/MA $3.5
Draft Day HD/IT $3.5
Dragged Across Concrete HD/VU $3.5
Dragonslayer 4K/VU $5.5
Dream a Little Dream HD/VU $4
Dreamkatcher HD/VU $4
Dreamworks 10-Film HD/MA $25
Dredd 4K/VU $4 or HD/VU $2.5
Dying of the Light HD/VU $2.5
E.T. Extra Terrestrial 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Early Man 4K/VU $5.5
Earth Girls are Easy HD/VU $4
Eddie the Eagle HD/MA $4
Edge of Seventeen HD/IT $3
Edward Scissorhands HD/MA $3.5
El Chicano HD/MA $4
Elysium HD/MA $3.5
Emoji Movie HD/MA $3
Empire of Light HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Empire State HD/VU $3
Enough Said HD/MA $3.5
Enter the Dragon 4K/MA $6
Epic HD/MA $3
Equalizer HD/MA $3.5
Equalizer 2 HD/MA $3.5
Escape From Planet Earth HD/VU $3
Eternals HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Everest HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Everything Must Go HD/VU $4
Evil Dead 2 HD/VU $3.5
Ex Machina HD/VU $3
Exodus Gods & Kings HD/MA $3.5
Expired 4K/VU $4.5
Fair Game (Dir) HD/VU $4
Fantastic Four ‘15 HD/MA $4
Fast & Furious 4 4K/MA $5
Fast & the Furious 8-film Set HD/MA $17
Fast & the Furious 9-film Set HD/MA $19
Fast Color 4K/VU $5.5
Fatale ‘20 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Fatherhood HD/MA $4
Fault in Our Stars HD/MA $3.5
Fear of Rain 4K/VU $5.5
Fences HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Ferdinand HD/MA $3.5
Field of Dreams 4K/MA or IT $5.5
Fifty Shades Darker (Unr) HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Fifty Shades Freed HD/MA $4
Fifty Shades of Grey (Unr) 4K/MA or IT $4
Finding Dory HD/GP $2
Finding Nemo HD/GP $3.5
Finest Hours HD/GP $3
Firm 4K/VU $6
First Man 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Flashback ‘20 HD/VU $4
Flight HD/VU or IT $3
Florence Foster Jenkins HD/VU or IT $3
Footloose ‘11 HD/IT $3
Forbidden Kingdom HD/VU $4.5
Ford v Ferrari HD/MA $4
Forest HD/IT $3.5
Forever My Girl HD/IT $3
Fortress HD/VU $3.5
Fortress Sniper's Eye HD/VU $3.5
Fox & the Hound 2 HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Foxcatcher HD/MA $4
Frank & Lola HD/VU or IT $3
Free Guy HD/GP $3
French Dispatch HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Friday the 13th 4K/VU $5.5
From Here to Eternity 4K/MA $5.5
Frozen (Sing-Along) HD/MA $2 or HD/GP $1.5
Frozen HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Frozen 2 HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Frozen Ground ‘13 HD/VU $3.5
Fury HD/MA $3.5
Future World HD/VU $3.5
G.I. Joe Retaliation HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Gambit ‘12 HD/MA $4
Gambler HD/VU or IT $3
Gamer 4K/VU $5.5
Gemini Man 4K/VU or IT $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Get Out 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Ghost in the Shell ‘17 HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Ghost in the Shell ‘95 4K/VU $5
Ghost Team One HD/VU or IT $3.5
Ghostbusters ‘84 HD/MA $3.5
Ghostbusters (Thea & Ext) ‘16 HD/MA $3
Ghostbusters 2 HD/MA $3.5
Gifted HD/MA $3
Girl on Train HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Girl w/ All Gifts HD/VU $4
Giver HD/VU $3.5
Glass Castle 4K/VU $5.5
Glass HD/MA $4
God Bless The Broken Road HD/VU $3.5
God's Not Dead 2 HD/MA or IT $2.5
God's Not Dead 3 HD/MA $3
Gods of Egypt HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Gold ‘16 HD/VU $2.5
Good Dinosaur HD/GP $2.5
Good Kill HD/VU or IT $3.5
Grease 2 HD/VU $3.5
Great Wall 4K/MA or IT $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Greatest Showman HD/MA $3.5
Green Book HD/MA $4
Grey HD/VU or IT $3
Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 1 HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Guilt Trip HD/VU or IT $3
Gunman HD/MA or IT $3
Guns of Navarone 4K/MA $5.5
Hacksaw Ridge 4K/VU or IT $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Halloween ‘18 HD/MA $3
Hammer of the Gods HD/VU $2
Hannibal S.1 HD/VU $5
Hansel & Gretel Witch Hunters (Unr) HD/VU or IT $3
Hard Luck Love Song 4K/VU $5.5
Hard Target 2 HD/IT $1.5
Hardcore Henry HD/VU or IT $3.5
Hate U Give HD/MA $4
Hateful Eight HD/VU $3.5
Heat (Director's Cut) ‘95 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
Heaven is for Real HD/MA $3.5
Hercules ‘14 HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Here Comes the Boom HD/MA $3.5
Hereditary HD/VU $3.5
Hidden Figures HD/MA $3
High Note HD/MA $4
Highlander 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Hitchcock '12 HD/MA $4
Hitman Agent 47 HD/MA $3
Hitman's Bodyguard HD/VU $3.5
Hocus Pocus HD/MA $3.5 or HD/GP $3
Home HD/MA $3
Home Again HD/MA $3
Home Alone 4K/MA $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Homefront HD/MA or IT $3
Homesman HD/VU $3
Honey 2 HD/VU $3
Hostiles 4K/VU $4.5 or HD/VU $3
Hotel Transylvania 3 HD/MA $3.5
Hot Fuzz HD/VU $4
Hotel Mumbai HD/MA $4
Hours ‘13 HD/VU $4
House of 1000 Corpses HD/VU $4
House of Gucci 4K/IT $5.5
House w/ a Clock in Its Walls sHD/MA $4
How to Train Your Dragon 2 HD/MA $2.5
Hugo HD/VU $3
Hunt for Red October 4K/VU $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Huntsman Winter's War (Ext) HD/MA $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
I Can Only Imagine HD/VU $3.5
I Feel Pretty HD/IT $2
Ides of March HD/MA $4
I Know What You Did Last Summer 4K/MA $5.5
Imitation Game HD/VU $3
In Secret ‘14 HD/VU $4.5
In the Blood HD/VU $4
Incredibles 2 HD/GP $3
Independence Day ‘96 HD/MA $4
Independence Day Resurgence HD/MA $2.5
Indiana Jones & the Raiders of the Lost Ark 4K/VU or IT $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Indiana Jones & the Temple of Doom 4K/VU or IT $5.5 or HD/VU $4
Indignation HD/VU $4
Indivisible HD/MA $3.5
Inferno HD/MA $3
Initiation 4K/VU $5
Initiation HD/VU $3.5
Internship HD/MA $3
Interstellar 4K/VU or IT $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Interview HD/MA $3.5
Into the Woods HD/MA $3 or HD/GP $2.5
Invisible Man '20 HD/MA $3.5
Invisible Man ‘33 HD/MA $3.5
Iron Man 3 HD/MA $2.5 or HD/GP $2
Iron Man & Hulk Heroes United HD/GP $3.5
Iron Mask ‘19 HD/VU $4.5
It Follows HD/VU $3.5
It's a Wonderful Life HD/VU $3
Jack & Jill HD/MA $3.5
Jack Reacher 4K/IT $4.5
Jack Reacher Never Go Back HD/VU $3 or 4K/IT $3.5
Jack Ryan Shadow Recruit 4K/IT $4 or HD/VU $2.5
Jacob's Ladder HD/VU $4
Jane Got a Gun HD/VU $4
Jason Bourne HD/VU $2.5 or 4K/IT $3
Jesus Music HD/VU $3.5
Jexi HD/VU $3.5
Jobs HD/MA or IT $3.5
Joe HD/VU $3.5
Joe Kidd HD/IT $4
John Wick 1 & 2 Bundle HD/VU $4
John Wick 3 Parabellum 4K/VU $4.5
John Wick Chapter 2 HD/VU $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
John Wick HD/VU $2 or 4K/IT $2.5
John Wick Trilogy 4K/VU $13 or HD/VU (#3 4K) $9 or all HD/VU $8
Journey to the West Conquering the Demons HD/VU $3.5
Joy HD/MA $3
Judy 4K/VU $5 or HD/VU $3.5
Juliet, Naked 4K/VU $5.5
Jumanji Welcome To The Jungle HD/MA $2.5
Jungle Book ‘16 4K/MA $4.5 or HD/GP $2.5
Jungle Cruise HD/MA $4 or HD/GP $3.5
Jurassic Park 3 HD/VU $3.5 or 4K/IT $4
Jurassic Park 4K/MA or IT $5 or HD/MA $3.5
Jurassic World 5-film Set HD/MA $14
Jurassic World Fallen Kingdom 4K/MA $4.5 or HD/MA $3
Kama Sutra HD/VU $4
Kick-Ass 2 HD/MA $3.5
Kid ‘19 HD/VU $3.5
Kid Who Would Be King 4K/MA $5.5 or HD/MA $4
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TW -- description of violence
“Good old days… it was 2016. After I was stripped naked and beaten eighty times with a whip (apparently made of steel balls covered with cloth), I made goose noises out of pain, I sat my destroyed back in the backseat of a taxi, and we headed to the prosecutor's office to do the administrative paperwork! :)))) This meant that the executioner would write up the "proceedings" and confirm that this dude has taken his whipping in good health and thou shalt now leave his bald head alone.
This "administrative paperwork" part of whipping and other forms of corporal punishment is their most grotesque aspect. Just half an hour ago, they hit you so freaking hard that you pulled a sweet Jesus (imagine [your atheist ass] yelling out sweeeeeet Jesus with every strike), and now they make you sign and add your fingerprint on a piece of paper saying, "I hereby received my whipping. Please let me go now. Thank you, custodians of the divine sanctum."
The pre-whipping administrative procedures were fantastic. I had to sign a paper stating that the whipping is not harmful to my body! :))))
Suggestion by some friends: "You dumbass! You shouldn’t have signed that." Answer: "Bravo! That had never occurred to anyone before you!"
“Harm” means the whipping won’t put you in a coma or cause your death. If I had said whipping was bad for my health, I’d first be taken to detention, then to a forensic clinic, and then, when the investigations clarified that whipping is in fact good for my health according to research by an anonymous Japanese doctor, the dude who now realized I wasted his time would hit me so hard that blood would clot on my back and what would be left of me would be barely a mouthful.
And when I say “dude,” you probably think that the executioner, the whipper, the wicked tormentor, looked like a thug. Nope. He was an old man who was completely "outwardly good." About sixty years old, with almost fully white facial hair, the most normal and righteous face you might come across in society, on the street, at the grocery store, and especially in government offices and mosques. Because it suits him to be "trusted in the neighborhood," driving a scrapped Peugeot RD, for example. Even more strange and terrifying than that: except while whipping, and even while whipping, as he was ruthlessly hitting me, he looked "compassionate." He would treat you like his “son.” I really don't have Stockholm syndrome. I am just describing how he carried himself. His behavior, and of course, his honorable job: he earned his bread by being an executioner. Well done, Hajj Agha. That’s some halal bread right there.
We then went to a mullah's office for the final stamp on the verdict. With utmost boredom, he signed and said, "Go hit him." He didn't even look at me. It was important to me that they treat me like a human being at least! For someone who was supposed to get whipped and has been whipped before, why would it be important that a mullah pays some attention to him? I don’t know.
But the executioner, he treated me like a human being. A little too much, of course.
I didn't know he was the whipper. He didn’t look like one. I expected the whipper to be some bulky giant like the Iron Sheik. My executioner wore a khaki-colored Ahmadinejad sweatshirt and simple black pants. He didn’t have a heavy beard or turbah marks on his forehead. He had a trimmed beard and glasses... he looked so normal that he seemed like he didn't exist.
Before that, while waiting for Hajj Agha's signature to whip me, I witnessed a strange scene. A teenage boy who looked very very disheveled and poor was also in line to get his signature to get whipped. I asked, "Did you also drink alcohol?" He said, "No, they caught me with drugs. They ‘wrote me’ thirty." Is it a prescription?!
"Is it a Tazir verdict?" I asked. He didn’t understand. I asked, "Couldn’t you buy it off?" He said, "I could, but it’s just thirty whips, I’ll take it. I don’t have money for this."
So they were going to whip a teenager because he didn’t have money? Just like what they did to me? Even one lash was too many to tolerate. I was wondering how I was surviving and not dying from that level of pain…
A human body can endure so much pain! After one Hajj Agha signed my papers, together with the other Hajj Agha, we walked to the police station (on the coastal street of Qom, in a detention center) where the Islamic Sharia law was supposed to be executed on me. It was there that I came to the terrifying realization that the executioner was the same dude. Be it far from my late father who lived a clean life, he looked like he could be my dad. How “normal” he was! People like this looking normal is absolutely horrifying!
He was beyond normal; he was compassionate and fatherly. He asked with regret, “What is your education, young man?” I said that I am studying for a master's degree.
He sighed and shook his head. He said that he hadn’t whipped anyone above a high school diploma in his years of “service.”
Wow. So he would ask about their level of education, and if they were uneducated, then to hell with them.
Then he said, “Isn’t it a pity that you did this to yourself?” (What exactly?! Drinking a few shots of alcohol and throwing up in the street? That was my pity? Maybe. But more pity than what you are going to do to my body? More pity than my soul that you are going to crush forever? More pity than the terrible humiliation of the next half hour?)
We walked together, me and my executioner. And again, the golden sentence: "Where should I hit you, that you won’t die, young man? My whip is thicker than you." Whip away, old man, what’s with the body shaming? :)))
With a completely carefree and calm tone, he would say things like, “Oh, you poor thing.” Funny and sarcastic. That was the executioner in this little story.
So, after signing the certificate of no harm from whipping, we went to the detention center. An officer, an executioner, a soldier. They said: go on.
“With what?” I asked. They said, “Well, get naked.”
I am not one of those people who is comfortable with being naked in front of others. Who is? Few men are comfortable appearing in front of several strangers in v-neck shorts. I am even less comfortable. There was no choice. If I didn’t do it, they’d do it for me. They said, “Run!” I said, “Pardon?”
(Where would I run in a 6x9 ft detention room?)
The soldier said, "If your body is cold, it will hurt more. Run along this cell a little bit." So I ran, wearing only shorts. They laughed at me running in that tiny cell. It was an awkward minute of humiliation.
It's strange how calmly I deal with the memories of it now. What is this human being? The scars remain on my soul (no longer on my body), but they are aged. It doesn't burn that much anymore. It does not ignite. The whip itself is not important. It is about the humiliation of a human life, without a sin worthy of this punishment. Whipping in the 21st century, in the age of technology, the global village, and all this buuuullshit.
I was a hostage at the hands of this system and its "rules," that even speaking of updating which is considered blasphemy. Immediately, the soldier said, "Enough running, get over here." Unlikely as it is, and far be it from me to compare myself to their suffering, I felt like the Jews at Auschwitz, I was strangely obedient. What else would I do? If their obedience is surprising, it is because their fate was death. What about me? I was hoping they’d hit me a little less violently.
If I resisted, I would be dragged to the whipping spot and might smack my head twice too. Plus, I’m not even a very resistant kind of person by nature. But hey, y’all should resist the oppression.
There was no “whipping spot.” It was just the wall of the detention center. There was a metal bench that they propped up by the wall longitudinally, and they cuffed each one of my hands to one leg. I started to cry and beg, "Pleaaaase do it gently, for Imam Hussain, please. For Hazrat Zainab’s sake! Be gentle! For the sake of the broken ribs of Hazrat Fatimah, be gentle!"
I didn't know how else to beg. I can't even describe my fear.
The officer had a towel with him. He came and pulled the hair behind my head and punched me in the face to make me open my mouth.
It's strange that I didn't feel a bit humiliated by his punch. I didn't care at all. Why? I do not know. Maybe the fear was so great that there was no room left for any other feeling.
I just moaned from the bottom of my throat: "Enough, sir! Look, I'm naked, my hands are tied, haven't you humiliated me enough? Enough, sir!"
I saw "compassion(!)" in his face for a moment there. He was not expecting that a person sentenced to whipping would speak more eloquently than his own late great-grandfather. The soldier felt bad for me and pulled him back; the officer didn't put the towel in my mouth.
Tears were flowing from my eyes and my nose was running. He had not even begun whipping yet. The biggest wish of my life was for him to be gentle.
He was not gentle.
I will air the rest soon; that’s of course, if anyone has enough patience to read so much description of pain.
I’m sorry. I basically just wrote this for myself. To empty myself. Every once in a while, I journal about this to feel lighter. Sorry if it upset you, or if it was redundant. I thought the whip would be made of leather.
It was a horrifying moment of realization when my back recognized the heaviness of the metal with the first blow. My legs went limp from the pain. But I could not fall. My hands were tied. It was as if all the pain I've suffered in my life had landed like a lightning bolt on the spot of the whip. I could have sworn that I would pass out with the next blow. The next blow landed without a chance to breathe. Without a second of interruption.
You know how when you stub your little toe against the sofa, you start hopping so the pain stops throbbing? Because pain makes people move, even run. Why else do people who are on fire start to run?
The point was this: I could have run two or three hundred meters in one breath due to the intensity of the pain from each blow. But where? I was turning and twisting in the little space that the handcuffs would allow me to. And I was yelling. I mean, I was shouting! For three days after, my voice sounded like a rooster.
Another strange thing: the dude would count and comfort me! He would say, "One, two, three..." for example up to ten, and then he would say, "Did you see how soon it was finished? Have some patience!”
When he reached forty, he said, "Half of it is over, young man, bear it!"
What is this, a vaccine? If you hit more gently, would that officer and soldier who were watching kill you?
And no, he didn’t have any "Quran under the armpit." He was only carrying a bag. A simple handbag. If you saw it on the street, you would think that it was full of documents and paperwork. There was only one thing in his bag. I personally looked: the whip. Just the whip. It was one heavy whip.
He painted all over my body with eighty strokes. It didn't touch my hips and lower back, because apparently that is "harmful" to the body. And it was over. Heh! How easily I wrote it, it was over. But what else do I do? Describe every single stroke?
I went out. My friend was waiting for me with the bitterest smile. Believe it or not, the pain in my body didn’t matter anymore. My first words to him were: "They humiliated me, Mohsen. They humiliated me." And we both cried. He hugged me, and my back caught on fire. We went to the prosecutor's office for the "administrative work."
Together with the executioner, we sat in the back of the car. The guy looked sad and regretful and behaved "nobly." It was a very strange situation. Very. The cab driver have no clue that he was driving an executioner and his victim. I wanted to yell at him and say, "Haji, you come to the 'office' every day, you serve the nation like this, just to take home two or three tomans at the end of the month, and you live with that?! Does the bread, meat, and onions that you buy from the money you earned from this job go down your throat?"
Of course it does. It slides right down.
And the strangest thing: my friend wanted to pay his fare! :))))) He had seen the executioner's behavior as so full of regret and shame, and felt thankful that I was still alive. So he had come to the conclusion that he had respected me. His close acquaintance was whipped and was in the hospital for two weeks. He said it could have been much worse, and it was hard for me to believe.
The dude didn’t let him pay.
Could Stockholm syndrome be more severe than this?! I dragged my destroyed body home, took a series of photos of my waist, and put them on Facebook (it should still be there, I think; I had put them up on my previous account). My mom cried for a couple of hours, but I didn't show her my waist and lied to her that it didn't hurt. The next day, when I was sleeping, she came and lifted my shirt and saw it. I woke up. She cried a lot. And of course, I continued to make fun of the matter. When I returned to the dormitory, I was doing this bit by striking my own chest [like mourning of Muharram rituals] and singing: "I’m the whipped Husayn…" Ah well, the ridiculousness.
So this was the description of my whipping, which happened nine years ago, but its scar on my psyche has not healed. I'm sorry if I hurt you.”
Context: This is a real story, written by Hossein Shanbehzadeh, an Iranian social media storyteller and literary editor. He was arrested 2 days ago while visiting a friend in Ardabil, Iran, and I’m extremely worried about him because the propaganda machine of Islamic Republic of Iran is now trying to falsely accuse him of spying for Israel (!!), which is a really big accusation in Iran and easily could cost him his life! The real reason they went after him is that he is a storyteller, and he has hurt the bloodthirsty tyrant's feelings with his social media posts. I have a big deadline ahead of me, but I just had to translate one of his stories because I'm desperately hoping that strangers on Reddit can make him famous and save his life and I frankly don't know what else to do. His TwitteX handle was hosseyn1988 -- now deactivated.

This is the daily discussion, so anything stocks related is fine, but the theme for today is on stock options, but if options aren't your thing then just ignore the theme.
Some helpful day to day links, including news:

• Finviz for charts, fundamentals, and aggregated news on individual stocks
• Bloomberg market news
• StreetInsider news:
  • Market Check - Possibly why the market is doing what it's doing including sudden spikes/dips
  • Reuters aggregated - Global news

Required info to start understanding options:

• Call option Investopedia video basically a call option allows you to buy 100 shares of a stock at a certain price (strike price), but without the obligation to buy
• Put option Investopedia video a put option allows you to sell 100 shares of a stock at a certain price (strike price), but without the obligation to sell
• Writing options switches the obligation to you and you'll be forced to buy someone else's shares (writing puts) or sell your shares (writing calls)

See the following word cloud and click through for the wiki:
Call option - Put option - Exercising an option - Strike price - ITM - OTM - ATM - Long options - Short options - Combo - Debit - Credit or Premium - Covered call - Naked - Debit call spread - Credit call spread - Strangle - Iron condor - Vertical debit spreads - Iron Fly
If you have a basic question, for example "what is delta," then google "investopedia delta" and click the investopedia article on it; do this for everything until you have a more in depth question or just want to share what you learned.
See our past daily discussions here. Also links for: Technicals Tuesday, Options Trading Thursday, and Fundamentals Friday.

My (DA) ex (FA) broke up with me after a relationship that lasted 1.5 years. I was her first love, everything was very intense, she was super sweet and obsessed over me, and by far the healthiest relationship I had.
We were having some problems but nothing too bad, mostly we could not see eachother very often the last 1-2 months. After some frustration I made the mistake of threatening with ending the relationship. This triggered her to end it herself and it was super shocking to me. I tried to put sense into her and even went to see her a couple of times, but she was completely changed, almost emotionless.
I went into no contact. After 2 months she started contacting me indirectly, sending messages but deleting them immediately, unblocking me, following me again on social media, etc. I was spying her Instagram with a burner account and she was constantly posting stories about heartbreak and whatnot.
Convinced that I had to keep NC until she dared to contact me directly (including not watching her stories with my account after we followed eachother again), I only texted her at the 5 months mark. Right up until that point she was still posting nostalgic and longing stuff. On my first attempt at texting her, due to some misunderstanding, I didn't try to go any further. It was the day of our anniversary and I didn't acknowledge that. I only texted her a week later, after Christmas had gone by and we didn't say anything to eachother.
This is were things start going different than I expected. I was very casual and asked her to meetup. She asked for a reason and I just said 'just to meetup'. She rejected me. I asked her about her indirect ways of contacting me and she played fool and said in an exaggerated way that she was hacked lol.
From there we started texting frequently and even met up a few times for the span of 4 months. She was initially very angry, throwing resentment at me over stuff that happened during our relationship, some of it quite distorted or even false. But she also showed some nostalgia and interest.
After about a month or so she started being much more friendly and even doing attempts to meetup. She did some sexual stuff like video calling me naked, but she always put a stop if I tried to sexualize myself. On our frist meet up we had fun, tho at some point she mentioned 'I had not changed' and she rejected a kiss at the end of the day.
Turns out she had not dated anyone since we broke up. I didn't know but 2 months after the breakup her mom and her best and only friend went to live to another country. So out of her 4 main attachment figures (including me) only her aunt stayed (she lives with her). I'm sure this triggered big abandonment trauma on her.
We kept talking and meeting up once every 2 weeks or so. Lots of things happened, I was very confused and anxious. She never wanted to talk about what happeend between us or anything 'deep'. At some point I went on and just confessed everything I was feeling. She rejected me pretty harshly but 3 days later she was making excuses to meet up. That day everything went much better, we laughed like before and she made excuses to meet up again soon. Next day she was texting me a lot, it felt like when we were together. The next days it faded a bit but her interest was still up.
The weekend she calls me to ask for a camera of hers I had that she needed for a music event. I anxiously asked to go, she said no, I pressured her and ended up getting offended and hanging up. A few days later she told me she was not going to the event anymore but she needed the camera for the weekend. She came to my place Saturday (for the first time) to get her stuff and we even cuddled a bit. She was going to the beach.
One week later she confessed she went to the beach with another guy and now they were seeing eachother. They'd been only texting til this point and she decided to jump into his car and go spend the weekend at the beach with him for the 'adrenaline'. She told me later it was serious (they only knew eachother for a week) and that she was going to be faithful to him (tho she told my dad's girlfriend that she wanted to remain single and was already annoyed at the new guy because he was texting too much).
Now I'm in NC again thinking this is the end. I'm trying to make sense of everything that happened, why she was so angry and closed off if right before we started talking she was showing every sign of missing me. Also why she only went with another guy when things seemed to be finally progressing between us.
All this time I tried, unsuccessfully, to make sense of everything that was happening until I found out about attachment theory and FAs. I always thought she was AP since she was in fact very anxious and constantly pursuing me when we were together. Now I understand that I brought up that part of her due to my DA nature and can see she always showed FA traits like having a hard time being vulnerable or talking about her feelings, or a strong need to feel independent and strong while still relying heavily on me. Since I've been so anxious and honestly a mess the last months, I probably only triggered further her avoidant side.
My apologies for the long post, believe me I left out A LOOOT. Would love to know your guys' thoughts on everything, specially FAs or FAs partners/exes.
Thanks for reading! :)

Welcome friends to our first discussion of The Hidden Palace. We're continuing our adventures with Chava, Ahmad and Sophia, and have also got some new characters in the Altschul family. It feels like a lot has already happened, so let's get started! Chapter summaries are below and discussion questions are in the comments. You can see the full schedule here and the marginalia here.
Prologue – Stories told by both jinn and humans are known for their changeability and the same story can be told differently by each race, including the one we're about to read! Chapter 1 – Rabbi Lev Altschul, an Orthodox Jew, visits Mr. Fleischman, a Reform Jew, at the Benevolent Hebrew Aid Society to help disburse Rabbi Avram Meyer’s private library. Altschul is a widower with a daughter named Kreindel. He did not enjoy his marriage to his wife Malke, so has no plans to remarry and pays young mothers in his tenement to help raise Kreindel. He's extremely mistrusting of the Reform movement, particularly their charities like the settlement workers and the Asylum for Orphaned Hebrews. But his love for Talmudic literature lured him to accept the job.
While sorting through Meyer’s books, he finds five books that contain ‘secret knowledge that most scholars thought had vanished into legend.’ He puts them to the side and tells Fleischman that they must be sent to a rabbi in Lithuania. Fleischman refuses so instead Altschul takes the books himself and hides them in a suitcase under his bed.
In the Syrian desert, two young jinn are playing when they spy another jinni (in human form) carrying a valise with an iron cuff on his wrist. It’s Ahmad! He tells the jinni his story, buries his copper flask. This story is passed from jinn to jinn and becomes a sort of legend. Ahmad boards a ship back to New York.
Chava visits Michael’s grave and places a visitation stone. We get the whole backstory of what happened in the first book in case you forgot. On top of hearing everyone’s thoughts, Chava now has Schaalman’s scream permanently ringing in her ears. Ahmad arrives back in NY, resuming their long walks through Central Park and returning to Arbeely’s shop.
Chapter 2 – Sophia Winston is getting ready for a voyage to India. Her mother, Julia, is hiring a pair of ‘chaperones’ to serve as Sophia’s staff and, more importantly, to protect her from Ahmad and other dangerous men like him. We’re reminded of what happened to Sophia in the last book and that the whole thing has driven her father, Francis, away from the house in shame. He thinks he tried too hard to raise Sophia like a son which has made her defiant and unruly, so he welcomes her going abroad. Meanwhile, Sophia has no intention of going to India – she wants to go to the Middle East where the jinni is from to see if she can cure herself or whatever’s happened to her.
In Constantinople, Sophia reveals that she knows the Williameses, her travelling companions, aren’t really staff but are Pinkerton detectives). Sophia offers to hire them as bodyguards for her trip to the Middle East instead and to ask her father for permission, which Francis agrees to.
Chapter 3 – Most people in Little Syria are happy that Ahmad has returned, except Maryam who still distrusts the jinni. Ahmad and Chava carry on their late night walks through all the seasons – the winter is difficult for Chava and spring rains keep Ahmad inside. One night, Chava goes for a naked swim in the river and they officially become a couple!
In the summer of 1901, Anna is struggling to keep her son, Toby, cool. She receives an anonymous ice delivery, but knows it’s from Chava. We get more backstory from the first book and learn that young Toby has a recurring nightmare of Schaalman.
The story of Ahmad continues to spread amongst the jinn in the Syrian Desert, where humans are expanding due to the invention of the railroad. A young jinni convinces her friend to go spy on a human farmer, who's carrying an iron scythe. The young jinni doesn’t fear the iron and when she touches it, nothing happens. This is an unnatural and unheard of response, so she tells no one. When she hears the story of Ahmad, she realizes that he incorrectly believes the iron cuff means he can never be around the jinn again.
Chapter 4 – As the years pass, New York is filled with new technology like cars, the subway, and telephones. Chava and Ahmad continue their relationship, although they find the winters difficult and have to keep it a secret from those in Chava’s life. Although they like to make fun of the idioms they learn, Ahmad realizes that he’s becoming assimilated into human life and is losing all links to the jinn race. But he also recognises that he truly cares about Chava and it no longer feels like a sacrifice to be monogamous with her.
Moe Radzin wants to expand the bakery and tells Chava she’s in charge of hiring and training the new bakers. She’s initially overwhelmed by her thought reading, but finds three suitable women who have the skill and don’t think horrible things about her. Unfortunately, they're not as pretty as Moe would have ideally liked. Chava spends more time with Anna, who's still afraid of her but likes the public perception she gains from being seen out together. Anna is worried about Toby’s nightmares and Chava is concerned that Ahmad is unhappy with his half-human life. Anna tells Toby that if anything ever goes wrong, he should go to Chava for help.
In December 1905, the Jewish citizens of New York march together against the Russian pogrom in Odessa. Kreindel Altschul is now eight years old, but her father refuses to send her to school, so she spends most of her days wandering the tenement. The only time Lev spends with his daughter is on the Sabbath when they read the Tsene-rene together. Kreindel can sense that her father is impatient with this ‘women’s learning’ and that there must be better knowledge to be had. Meanwhile, Lev decides that the evil against Jews can no longer be stopped with words and takes out the old suitcase under his bed that has Meyer’s books.
Chapter 5 – The desert jinn see Sophia and the Williamses meeting a group of Bedu. The sheikh takes them to his village and we learn that Sophia and crew are on their way to Palmyra and Cappadocia. Even though they’ve been travelling together for 5 years, Sophia is still wary of the Williams and what they tell her parents, so she sneaks out in the middle of the night to visit the village’s healer who’s been making her medicine. He’s unfortunately died and didn’t pass on the recipe to his apprentice, but Sophia does get a weaker medicine to help her. Even though Sophia thinks she’s being sneaky, the Williamses know all about what she's up to. They think it’s time to quit and want to teach Sophia how to protect herself and find a respectable local man to take over as her guide. They send a letter to Sophia’s parents explaining that Sophia is more than capable of taking care of herself and they’ve never seen this mysterious Ahmad or any other dangerous men around her. Francis misses Sophia, but is also grateful she’s gone, and Julia is horrified at the thought of her daughter travelling alone, but realizes there’s nothing she can do. So they agree to let her stay under the condition that she travels under an alias.
It's 1906 and Kreindel sneaks into the synagogue to watch her father teach the boys Hebrew lessons. He’s become even more distant from her, spending most his free time locked in his bedroom, and his secret project is taking a serious toll on his health. One evening, she sneaks into his Talmudic literature and is caught by Lev. He decides to show her what he’s been working on and it’s, of course, a golem!
Moe Radzin is winning The Man of the Year award for his bakeries and is giving Chava none of the credit, even though it was her idea to put the bakers in the window which has driven up their sales. The jinni is appalled and wonders why Chava isn’t angry. She says it makes her no different than all the other women men have refused to give recognition and they get into an argument.
Ahmad is bored working with Arbeely decides it’s time they expand their vision. Maryam uses her connections to put him touch with someone who has a larger property.
It’s 1908 and the elders of the synagogue are concerned about Lev Altschul. He’s becoming unhinged and smells like a graveyard. They go to visit him and Kreindel and they use magic (Talmudic powers?) to reassure the elders and make them forget everything. Lev doesn’t want to run the risk of his golem running amok in New York, so he plans to bring to life, test it and then destroy it before taking his formula to Lithuania. They decided to name to the golem Yossele after Lev’s father.

I may be overthinking this, but outside of my IRA I have a margin account at IB that I trade futures and options in. I’ve also started building up some SPY and QQQ positions that are long term holds for me.
The problem is, the account makes it so that 1/3 of the positions are on margin. I’m not worried about margin calls - I have enough cash to cover a catastrophic move down, and my futures plays are typically daily and I never do naked shorts on options.
Is it worth moving the shares to a cash account or am I overthinking this?

She was round, heavy, soft, naked, and lay in a single size bed; the glow of the monitor was the only thing that lit the dark room—there were no windows and a single overhead vent circulated fresh air through the little bedroom. The young woman lifted her arms, so they stood out from her shoulders like two sticks directly towards the ceiling vent; she squinched her face as she extended her arms out and a singular loud pop resonated from her left elbow. Though she lingered in bed and yawned and tossed the yellowy sheets around, so they twisted around her legs ropelike, she’d not just awoken; Pixie remained conscious the entire night. Her stringy unwashed hair—shoulder length—clumped around her head in tangles. Pixie reached out for the metallic nightstand and in reaching blindly while she yawned again, her fingers traced the flat surface of the wall. She angled up and the sheets fell from around her bare midsection.
Hairs knottily protested, snagging as the brush passed over her head. Pixie returned to her back with a flop, continued to hold the brush handle in her left fist, stared absently at the ceiling vent; a light breeze passed through the room, a draft created by the vent and the miniscule space at the base of the door on the wall by the foot of the bed. Her eyes traced the outline of the closed door; the whole place was ghostly with only the light of the monitor as it flickered muted cartoons—the screen was mounted to the high corner adjacent the door and its colored lights occasionally illuminated far peripheries of the space.
Poor paper was tacked around open spaces of the walls with poorer imitations of manga stylings. Bulbously oblong-eyed characters stared down at her from all angles. Spaces not filled by those doodles were pictures, paintings, still images of Japanese iconography: bonsai, samurai, Shinto temples, yokai, so on, so on.
Pixie chewed her bottom lip, nibbled the skin she’d torn from there. The monitor’s screen displayed deep, colorful anime.
“Kohai, Noise on,” she said.
The monitor beeped once in response then its small speaker filled the room with jazz-funk-blues.
“Three, two, one,” Pixie whispered in unison with the words which spilled from the speaker.
Being twenty years old, she was limber enough to contort her upper half from the bed, hang from its edge so the edge held at her lower back; she wobbled up and down until she heard a series of cracks resonate. Pixie groaned in satisfaction and returned properly onto the bed.
The monitor, in its low left corner showed: 6:47. Pixie sighed.
As if by sudden possession, she launched from the mattress onto the little space afforded to the open floor and stood there and untangled herself from where the sheets had coiled around her legs. She then squatted by the bed, rear pressed against the nightstand, and withdrew a drawer from under her bed. Stowed there were a series of clothing items and she dressed herself in eccentric blue, flowy pants with an inner cord belt. For her top, she donned a worn and thinly translucent stained white t-shirt. By the door, beneath the monitor on the floor were a pair of slide-on leather shoes and she stepped into them.
Pixie whipped open the door and slammed her cheek to the threshold’s frame to speak to the monitor. “Kohai, off.”
The room went totally dark as she gently shut and locked the door.
She stood in a narrow, white-painted brick hallway with electric sconces lining the walls, each of those urine-yellow lights coated the white walls in their glow; Pixie’s own personal pallor took on the lights’ hue.
With her thumbs hooked onto the pockets of her pants, she moseyed without hurry down the hall towards a zippering staircase; there were floors above and floors below and she took the series leading down until she met the place where there were no more stairs to take.
The lobby of the structure was not so much that, but more of a thoroughfare with an entryway both to the left and the right; green leaves overhung terracotta dirt beds pressed along the walls. Pixie’s feet carried her faster while she angled her right shoulder out.
Natural warmth splintered into the lobby’s scene as she slammed into the rightward exit and began onto the lightly metropolitan street, bricked, worn, crumbling. Wet hot air sent the looser hairs spidering outward from her crown while lorries thrummed by on the parallel roadway; the sidewalk Pixie stomped along carried few other passersby and when she passed a well-postured man going the opposite way on her side of the street, he stopped, twisted, and called after, “Nice wagon.”
There was no response at all from Pixie, not a single eye blink that might have determined whether she heard what he’d said at all. The man let go of a quick, “Pfft,” before pivoting to go in the direction he’d initially set out for.
Tall Tucson congestion was all around her, Valencia Street’s food vendors resurrected for the day and butters or lards struck grill flats or pans and were shortly followed by batters and eggs and pig cuts—chorizo spice filled the air. Aromatics filled the southernmost line of the street where there were long open plots of earth—this was where a series of stalls gathered haphazardly. The box roofs of the stalls stood in the foreground of the entryway signs which directed towards the municipal superstructure. The noise swelled too—there were shouts, homeless dogs that cruised between the ramshackle stalls; a tabby languished in the sun atop a griddle hut and the dogs barked after it and the tabby paid no mind as it stretched its belly out for the sky. Morning commuters, walkers, gathered to their places and stood in queues or sat among the red earth or took to stools if they were offered by the vendors. Those that took food dispersed with haste, checking tablets or watches or they simply glanced at the sky for answers.
Sun shafts played between the heavy morning clouds that passed over, gray and drab, and there were moments of great heat then great relief then mugginess; it signaled likely rain.
At an intersection where old corroded chain-link fencing ran the length of the southern route with signs warning of trespass, she took Plumer Avenue north and kept her eyes averted to the hewn brick ground beneath her feet. Pixie lifted her nose, sniffed, stuffed her fists into her pockets then continued looking at her own moving feet.
Among the rows of crowded apartments which lined either side of Plumer, there were alleyway vendors—brisk rude people which called out to those that passed in hopes of trade; many of the goods offered were needless hand-made ornaments and the like. Strand bead bracelets dangled from fingers in display and were insistently shown off while artisans cried out prices while children’s tops spun in shoebox sized arenas while corn-husk cigarettes were sold by the pack. It was all noise everywhere.
A few vendors yelled after Pixie, but she ignored them and kept going; the salespeople then shifted their attention to whoever their eyes fell on next—someone with a better response. Plumer Avenue was packed tighter as more commuters gathered to the avenues and ran across the center road at seemingly random intervals—those that drove lorries and battery wagons protested those street crossers with wild abandon; the traffic that existed crept through the narrow route. People ran like water around the tall black light box posts or the narrow and government tended mesquite trunks.
It sprinkled rain; Pixie crossed her arms across her chest and continued walking. The rain caused a mild haze across the scene—Pixie scrunched her nose and quickened her pace.
She came to where she intended, and the crowd continued with its rush, but she froze there in front of a grimy windowed storefront—the welded sign overhead read: Odds N’ Ends. Standing beside the storefront’s door was a towering fellow. The pink and dew-eyed man danced and smiled and there was no music; his shoeless calloused heels ground and twisted into the bricks like he intended to create depressions in the ground there. Rainwater beaded and was cradled in his mess of hair. He offered a flash of jazz hands then continued his twisty groove. Though the man hushed words to himself, they were swallowed by the ruckus of the commuters around him.
Pixie pressed into the door, caught the man’s eyes, and he grinned broader, Hello! he called.
She responded with an apologetic nod and stretched a flat smile without teeth.
Standing on the interior mat, the door slammed behind her, and she traced the large, high-ceiling interior.
To the right, towering shelves of outdated preserves and books and smokes and incenses and dead crystals created thin pathways; to the left was a counter, a register, and an old, wrinkled woman with a fat gray bun coiled atop her head—she kept a thin yarn shawl over her shoulders. The old woman sat in a high-backed stool behind the register, examined a hardback paper book splayed adjacent the register; she traced her fingers along the sentences while she whispered to herself. Upon finally noticing Pixie standing by the door, the woman came hurriedly from around the backside of the counter, arms up in a fury, “You’re late, Joan,” said the old woman; her eyes darted to the analog dial which hung by the storefront, “Not by much, but still.” Standing alongside one another, the old woman seemed rather short. “You’re soaked—look at you, dripping all over the floor.”
Pixie nodded but refrained from looking the woman in the eye.
“Oh,” the old woman flapped her flattened hand across her own face while coughing, “When did you last wash?” She grabbed onto Pixie’s shoulders, angled the younger woman back so that she could stare into her face. “Look at your eyes—you haven’t been sleeping at all, Joan. What will we do with you? What am I going to do with you?” Then the old woman froze. “Pixie,” she nodded, clawed a single index finger, and tapped the crooked appendage to her temple, “I forget.”
“It’s alright,” whispered Pixie.
The old woman’s nature softened for a moment, her shoulders slanted away from her throat, and she shuffled to return to her post behind the counter. “Anyway, the deliveryman from the res came by and dropped off that shipment, just like I told you he would. They’re in the back. Could you bring them out and help me put them up? I tried a few of them, but the boxes are quite heavy, and it’s worn my back out already.” The old woman offered a meager grin, exposing her missing front teeth. She turned her attention to the book on the counter, lifted it up so it was more like a miniscule cubicle screen—the title read: Your Psychic Powers and How to Develop Them.
Pixie set to the task; the stockroom was overflowing even more so with trinkets—a barrel of mannequin arms overhung from a shelf by the ceiling, covered in dust—dull hanging solitary light bulbs dotted the stockroom’s ceiling and kept the place dark and moldy, save those spotlights. The fresh boxes sat along the rear of the building, where little light was. Twelve in total, the boxes sat and said nothing, and Pixie said nothing to the boxes. The woman took a pocketknife to the metal stitches which kept them closed. Though the proprietor of Odds N’ Ends said she’d tried her hand at the boxes already, there was no sign of her interference.
The first box contained dead multi-colored hair and the stuff stood plumelike from the mouth of the container; Pixie gave it a shake and watched the strands shift around. This unsettled but was not entirely unpleasant; the unpleasantness followed when she grabbed a fistful of hair only to realize she’d brought up a series of dried scalps which clicked together—hard leather on hard leather. Pixie gagged, dropped the scalps where they’d come from, shook her hands wildly, then placed that box to the ground and shifted it away with her foot.
The next contained a full layer of straw and she hesitantly brushed her hand across the top to uncover glass jars—dark browned liquids. Falsely claimed tinctures.
Curiously, she tilted her head at the next box, it was of a different color and shape than the rest. Green and Rectangular. And further aged too. Pixie sucked in a gulp of air, picked at the stitching of the box with her knife then peered inside. Like the previous box, it was full of straw and with more confidence, she pawed it away. She stumbled backwards from the box, hissing, and brought her finger up to her face. A thin trail of blood trickled by the index fingernail of her right hand; she jammed the finger in her mouth and moved to the box again. Carefully, she removed the object by one end. In the dim light, she held a long-handled, well curved tachi sword; the shine of the blade remained pristine. It was ancient and deceiving.
“Oh,” said Pixie around the index finger in her mouth, “It’s a katana.”
She moved underneath one of the spotlights of the stockroom, held it vertically over herself in the glare, traced her eyes along the beautifully corded black handle. As she twisted the blade in the air, it caught the light and she seemed stricken dumb. She withdrew her finger from her mouth, held the thing out in front of her chest with both hands, put her eyes along the water-wave edge. Her tongue tip squeezed from the corner of her mouth while she was frozen with the sword.
In a dash, she held the thing casually and returned to the box. She rummaged within and came up with the scabbard. The weapon easily clicked safely inside. “Pretty cool,” she said.
The other boxes held nothing quite so inspiring as a sword nor anything as morbid as dead scalps. There were decapitated shaved baby-doll heads lining the interior slots of plastic egg cartons, and more fake tonics, and tarot cards, and cigarettes, and a few unmarked media cartridges—both assortments of videos and music were represented in their designs. Pixie spent no time whatsoever ogling any of the other objects; her attention remained with the sword which she kept in her hand as she sallied through the boxes. Between opening every new box, she took a long break to unsheathe the sword and play-fight the air without poise—even so the tachi was alive spoke windily.
“Quit lollygagging,” said the old woman; she stood in the doorway to the stockroom, shook her head, “Is this what you’ve been doing all morning? How are we supposed to get the new merchandise on the shelves—including that sword—if you won’t stop playing around?”
Pixie’s voice cracked, “How much is it?”
The old woman balked, “The sword?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a display piece. We put it in the window to draw in potential customers, of course. It’s too expensive to keep them in stock. I don’t even know where a person could find a continuous stock of them, but if we can put it in the window, perhaps clientele will come in, ask about it, then shop a bit—it’s not something you can sell; it’s an investment.” The old woman, slow as she was, steadied across the stockroom and met Pixie there by the boxes, placed her hand on the open containers, briefly glanced into the nearest one, and smiled. “It’d take you a lifetime to pay back if you wanted a sword like that anyway. Now,” The old woman placed a hand on Pixie’s shoulder, “Put it away. There’s a strange man outside and I need your help shooing him away. He’s likely scared away potential customers already.”
The two of them, tachi returned to its place, went to the front of the store; it was ghostly quiet save their footfalls—the customers that did stop into the store hardly ever stopped in more than the once; it was a place of oddities, strangeness, novelty. The things they sold most of were the packaged cigarettes from the res. No one cared enough for magic or fortune telling. Still, the old woman carried on, like she did often, about the principals for running a business. Pixie carried no principals—none could be found—so the young woman nodded along with anything the old woman said while staring off.
On the approach to the storefront, the man from before could be seen and his dance had not slowed—if anything his movements had only become further enamored with dance. His elbows swung wildly, he spun like a ballerina, he kicked his feet against the brick sideway and did not flinch at the pain of it.
“There he is,” said the old woman, “He’s acting crazy as hell. Look at him go.” He went. “If I wasn’t certain he was as crazy as a deck with five suits, I’d ask if he wanted to bark for me—you know, draw in a crowd.” She shook her head. “Don’t know why people like him can’t just go to the airport. There are handouts there. Anyway, I need to get back to it myself. As do you,” she directed this at Pixie; although Pixie towered over the woman in terms of physicality, the older woman rose on her tiptoes, pinched the younger woman’s soft bicep hard, whispered, “Get that bastard off my stoop, understand?”
Again, the old woman’s face softened, and she left Pixie standing there on the front door’s interior mat. The crone returned to her place behind the counter, nestled onto the stool like a bird finding comfort, then craned her neck far down so her nose nearly touched the book page; her eyes followed her finger across the lines.
Pixie’s chest swelled and then went small as the sigh escaped her; her shoulders hung in front of her, and she briskly pushed outside.
The rain had gone, but the smell remained; across the street, where the morning’s foot congestion decreased, a series of blue-coated builders could be spied hoisting materials—metal framing and brick—via scaffolding with a series of pulleys. For a moment, Pixie stared across the street and watched the men work and shout at one another; a lorry passed by, broke her eyeline and she was suddenly confronted by the dancing man who pivoted several times in a semicircle around where she stood. Far, far off, birds called. Fuel fog stunk the air.
Move, said the dancing man. Initially it seemed a rude command, but upon catching his rain-wetted face, it was obvious that his will was not one of malice, but of love and peace and cosmic splendor. It does not matter how you move, but you must move! It was an offer. Not a command. Or so it seemed.
The man rolled his neck and flicked his head around and the jewels which beaded there glowed around him for a blink as they were cast off.
You’ve been sent to send me away, yeah? asked the man.
“That’s right,” said Pixie.
But it’s not because you wish it?
“I couldn’t care if you stood out here all day.” Pixie bit her lip, chewed enough that a trickle of blood touched her tongue; her eyes swept across the street again and focused on the builders. “The fewer customers we have, the less I need to speak.”
The man froze in his dance then suddenly his stature slumped. He nodded. I’ll go. As you must. You must too, yeah?
“Go? Go where?”
You know.
She did.
The man left and Pixie remained on the street by herself; the rabble which passed her by were few and she stared at her own two feet, at the space between them, at the cracks, and she sighed. She jerked her head back, saw the sky was still deep ocean blue—more rain but nothing so sinister as a storm.
“Go?” she asked the sky.
She reentered the store.
After stocking the newest shipment, the rest of the day was as mundane as the others which Pixie spent within Odds N’ Ends; few patrons stopped in—mostly to ogle—it was a place of spectacle more than a place of business. Whenever folks came, the old woman would call for Pixie without looking up from her book; normally the younger woman dusted or rearranged the things on the shelves as the old woman liked them and was often away from the counter. Pixie tried to answer questions about the shaved doll heads, the crystals arranged upon velvet mats, the tinctures, the stuffed bear head high on the wall. After some terrible conversation, they went to the counter and bought cigarettes or nothing at all and the old woman would complain at Pixie about her poor salesmanship after the patrons were gone.
The tachi was put there on a broad table, directly in front of the storefront window and Pixie froze often in her work, longingly examined the thing from afar, and snapped from her maladaptation; frequently she chastised herself in barely audible mutters. The old woman had Pixie scrub the pane of the window in front of where the sword sat, and the young woman traced her hand across the handle and delicately thumbed the length of the plain scabbard.
It was a job; this was a thing which people did so they may go on living. Come the middle of the shift—Pixie yawned, it was not due to overexertion, it was more due to her poor sleeping habits. This day was no different in this regard.
“I wish you’d keep it to yourself,” the old woman said, and then she cupped a hand over her own mouth and her eyes went teary, “God, now look at me and see what you’ve done!” The old woman shook the tiredness away. “Bah! There’s still some daylight left!”
“We haven’t had anyone in for the past hour,” said Pixie, staring up at the analog dial on the wall.
The old woman’s scowl was fierce. “Mhm, I’m sure you’re waiting for the death call.” She too looked at the clock on the wall and sighed loudly. “Alright. Pack it up! Better the death call of the store than my own.” She fanned her face with a flat palm and yawned again.
Pixie left the place; the old woman locked the storefront from within. It began to rain again; it seemed the weather understood it was quitting time.
The young woman cupped her elbows and walked home in the rain. Other commuters passed with umbrellas and others, like Pixie, ran through the puddles gathered on the ground. Rain was infrequent but this was not so in the summer and Pixie never protested it. It cooled the ground, thickened the air, and darkened the sky. A car passed on the street, but it was mostly lorries or battery wagons. Personal vehicles were as rare as the rain and Pixie watched after the car; it was a short, rounded thing—its metal cosmetics were warped, and it couldn’t have carried more than two people within.
No vendors were there on the way, no men to call after her—no other people either. The sky grew darker yet and though it was still relatively early, it seemed to grow as black as nighttime without stars.
Pixie’s apartment was there, dark, solitary, same. She shut her door, locked it with her inside, undressed completely and dropped her clothes to the little floor there was and huffed as she planked across the mattress; the bedframe protested. “It smells bad in here,” she spoke into the pillow. The words were nothing. In the blackness of the room, she was nothing. It was a void, a capsule, a tomb. She was still wet and smelled like a dog.
The monitor in the corner came alive at her salutation and she snored sporadically in the electric glow of the screen.
Upon waking in the black hours of the morning, Pixie rubbed her eyes, cupped her forearms to her stomach; her midsection growled, and she tentatively reached to the bedside table and removed a bag of dried cactus pears. She nibbled at the end of one and in arching was cut blue and archaically shaped in the stilled light of the monitor’s idle screen. Pixie popped the entire rest of the cactus pear into her mouth, chewed noisily and vaguely stared into the empty corner of the room beneath the monitor.
After silent deliberation, Pixie crept through the night clothed in dark layers and went the back way through Odds N’ Ends. She absconded with the tachi, taking only a moment with the sword by the white windowlight where she carefully examined the thing again. The young woman was beguiled and went from the place the same way she came.
The brick streets resounded with her footfalls as her excited gait carried her home.
She packed light, slung the sword to her hip with a cloth braid—once it was there in its place, she used the thumb of her left hand to nudge the meager guard, so the blade came free from its sheath before she casually clicked it back to where it went. Pixie chuckled, shook with a frightening spasm dance then froze before patting the tachi lightly.

***

Two men stood along a shallow desert ridge; each of them was Apache descended.
Peridot Mesa was covered in poppies, curled horrendous things; once they’d been as precious as the peridot gems themselves, but as the two men stood there, overlooking the ridge, the poppies were browned, sickly, and as twisted as hog phalluses. Among the dying field were chicory and dead fallen-over cacti. The super blossoms were long over and had been for generations.
One man spat in the dirt, tilted his straw hat across his eyes to avert the heavy setting sun; he hoisted his jeans, asked, “You sure?”
The other man, older, lightly bearded, nodded and kept his own head covered with a yellow bucket hat and cradled his bolt-action rifle with the comfortability of an ex-soldier. “Yeah, c’mon Tweep.” He staggered over the edge of the ridge and slid across the dry earth while tilting backwards so his boots went like skis. With some assistance from his partner, he was able to reach flat ground without going over and the two men searched the ground while they continued walking. “Need to find her fast.”
Tweep, the younger man, spat again.
“Nasty habit.”
“Leave it, Taz.”
Taz shrugged and absently tugged on the string which looped the bucket hat loosely around his collar.
“How long?” asked Tweep.
“Serena said she blew through town only three days ago. Said she was coming this way.”
“She came looking for Chupacabra demons?”
“Huh?” asked Taz.
“That’s what that silly girl came out here for, yeah?”
“I guess. Let’s find her before dark, alright?”
“Sure,” said Tweep, “I just don’t know why she’d go looking for them.”
“Who knows? I don’t care enough to know. Not really.” The older man shook his head. “City people come out here, poke the wildlife—they make jokes about the mystics. I know you’ve seen it. Serena said the girl had the doe-eyed look of someone fresh out of Pheonix maybe. Who knows what she’s come here for?” There was a pause and only their footfalls sounded across the loose dry soil. “Dammit!” said the older man, “You’ve got me rambling. Let’s find the body already. Preferably before it gets much darker.”
“You think she’s dead then?”
Taz grimaced and then he spat. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know, sir, why don’t you tell me what to think? I’m starting to think you only dragged me out here to help you carry anything you find valuable.”
Taz shook his head, shrugged. “Smart mouth.” They continued across the mesa, kicking poppies, shifting earth that hadn’t been touched by humans since the first deluge; it wouldn’t be touched by humans for another thousand after the second deluge—that was some time away yet.
“I see her.” Tweep rushed ahead.
Among a rockier set of alcoves, a white, stained blouse hung on a tumbleweed caught among groupings of stones.
“It’s her shirt,” said Tweep, going swiftly ahead.
The younger man leapt atop the stones and looked down a circular nest where the dirt was dug craterlike; destroyed tumbleweeds and splintered bone-corpses littered the nest.
Taz caught his comrade, readied the rifle at the nest.
Strewn across the ground were no less than three full grown Chupacabras, slain; one lay unmoving and decapitated while another’s intestines steamed in the heat. The third clung to life and kicked its rear legs helplessly. Pixie stood among the gore, shirtless; the tachi gleamed in her glowing fists.
“Holy shit!” said Taz; he lowered the rifle and followed Tweep into the nest. The two men kicked the rubbish from their way and approached the young woman with timidness. “You alright?”
Pixie ran the flat of the blade across her pantleg to remove the sparkling blood, inspected the thing and wiped it again before returning the sword to where it went. Leaking bite wounds covered the length of her forearms, and her eyes went far and tired.
Tweep watched the woman, chewed his lip. “You’re possessed! You can’t just kill them like that! Nobody could kill Chupacabra so easily. With your hands?” He tipped his straw hat back, so it fell to his shoulders and hung by the string on his throat.
Pixie shook her head. “It wasn’t with my hands.”
The woman wavered past the men, climbed the short perch where her blouse had gone; she held the shirt to the sky—the material floated out from her fingers as torn rags. She let go of the blouse and it carried on the wind.
Taz approached the only Chupacabra of the nest that remained alive. The creature groaned; the wound which immobilized it had partially severed its spine and the creature’s movements may have been from expelled death energy rather than any conscious effort—the upturned eye of it while it lay on its side seemed to show fear. Its body was mangy, and just as well as naked dark skin shone, so too did fur grow long and sporadic across its torso; short whiskers jutted out from its snout. Chitin shining scales covered the creature’s rear haunches while its tail remained rat naked. Taz shot the thing in the head, and it stopped moving.
The woman fell onto the rocks where the men had come over the den. She sat and examined the wounds on her arms then she turned her attention to the men which had gathered by her. “Do either of you have a spare shirt?”
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