Salty taste in my mouth

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It would have taken four hours to reach the East Gate flying through the void, but the jumpdrive got them there in just over a minute. It took another minute to speak with the Enterprise and get docking clearance, and a third minute to land inside the Federation flagship. Three minutes. Yvian spent the time watching Federation ships pour into the sector.
The humans were pulling out all the stops. Cruisers and Destroyers swarmed into the sector, forming the core of strike wings ten thousand strong. Frigates acted as escorts, and carriers launched wave after wave of lethal Gladiator class fighters. Klusters were still appearing here and there, but the human ships left them for the Peacekeeper Queens to deal with, too focused on organizing their invasion to bother with stragglers. Three minutes, and over a thousand strike wings were already making their way towards Aldara. A similar number of human ships were spreading out from the other three Gates, eager to scour the Klaath from their home system.
The Random Encounter set down in one of the Enterprise's smaller docking bays. Yvian noticed it was the only bay that was empty. A trio of gladiators floated nearby, no doubt evicted to make room for Mims' ship. The moment the Encounter set down, Mims repressurized the ship. Then he stood and walked briskly off the bridge.
Yvian and the rest of the crew followed. She thought they'd go straight to the cargo bay, but the Captain had them stop at the armory first. He handed out BR24 Plasma Rifles and Nanoblade Katanas without a word. Then they all marched down to the bay.
Mims activated the door control. The cargo bay door raised. The ramp lowered. The Enterprise's docking bay came into view. A large door leading into the flagship had just finished opening, and a frightening number of armored humans were flooding into the docking bay, weapons drawn. Yvian put a hand on her rifle, but stopped short of drawing it. Captain Mims walked casually up to the ramp, looking down at the other humans with his hands clasped behind his back.
The humans took up positions all around the Encounter. Yvian tried to count them all, but gave up and estimated there were about a hundred of them. After nearly a minute of running around with their guns out, the soldiers formed up in neat lines, rifles held diagonally across their chests. They formed a corridor between the Encounter and the docking bay door.
Three more figures entered the bay. A tall man, a short man, and a woman of medium height. Like the other soldiers, these three wore white armor, and the visors of their helmets were gold. Like the other soldiers, these three were armed with plasma rifles, blaster pistols, and swords that looked an awful lot like the one Mims had given to Yvian. Unlike the other soldiers, these three kept their weapons in their sheaths.
The three came to the bottom of the Encounter's ramp. They stopped. The tall man in the middle spoke with a booming voice. "Permission to board, Mims?" It was the High Commander.
"You know you don't need an escort," Mims boomed back. "If we were planning to kill you we wouldn't have docked at all."
"They're not here for me," General Young explained. "They're here to keep any wayward personnel from getting wild ideas. Aldara remembers, Mims."
"Yeah. I guess it does." Yvian could hear the Captain's grimace. "Permission granted."
High Commander Young turned to the man on his left. The man's body went rigid as he snapped a salute. General Young stood straight and stiff as he returned it. The man stepped away. General Young and the woman on his right both took out their rifles, handing them over to a pair of soldiers. They did the same with their swords. General Young looked up at Mims. "Mind if we keep our sidearms?"
Mims called back, "Doesn't matter."
The General gave a gracious nod and climbed the ramp. The woman followed, staying to his right and half a step behind. Mims went back to the control panel as they boarded. The Encounter's ramp retracted. The cargo bay door sealed shut.
The High Commander removed his helmet. He looked much as Yvian remembered. His skin was a deep, dark brown. His head was shaved and smooth and shiny. He had the complexion of a young man, but his eyes were grim and his expression could have been carved from stone. Yvian was sure he was old. As old as the Captain, if not older. Most likely he'd undergone rejuvenation in an Oluken med-pod just like Mims.
The woman took her helmet off as well. Blonde hair and sharp cheekbones. Eyes that reminded Yvian of green grass on a summer day. Expressive lips set in a serious expression. And curves Yvian was trying hard not to notice. Yvian remembered this woman. "Hamilton?"
The woman blinked, then smiled. "I'm surprised you remember."
A grin forced its way past Yvian's desire to appear professional. "How could I forget?"
Mims ignored the exchange, turning to the High Commander. "Before anything else, I need to hear you say it again."
"Say what again?" The High Commander asked.
"That you had nothing to do with it."
General Young frowned, but nodded. "Neither I nor any of my people set off the device that called the Klaath. I didn't know we had such a thing at the time."
Mims kept his gaze focused on the man. "Kilroy?"
"The meatbag is not lying," said the machine.
The High Commander glanced at the Peacekeeper unit. His eyes widened, then narrowed.
"Fair enough. Second question." Mims kept his eyes on the General. "When did we get our hands on that tech? Was it at Aldara?" His tone was businesslike, but there was an intensity he couldn't keep off his face. "The first time?"
General Young held the Captain's gaze for a pregnant moment. Then he shook his head. "I don't know."
The Captain went deathly quiet. "You don't know."
"I don't know." The High Commander spoke firmly. "And if I can't find out, no one can." He folded his arms. "There's no record of when that technology was invented. I know it's ours. We found another device. But someone went through a lot of trouble to make sure we'd never find out where it came from."
Mims composed himself. "I see."
"No you don't," said the General. "I tried to find some people to ask about it. People that might know what kind of science was being done in Aldara when it all went down. Do you know what I found? A trail of bodies." A hint of fury flashed across his face. "Three research stations, all at Aldara, with no record of what they were studying. And every single person that was on those stations died. All of them. All within five years of the incident." His jaw clenched. "That tells me something all by itself, but there's no records and no proof. We'll never know for sure."
Mims stared at the man a moment longer, then nodded slowly. He turned to Kilroy. "Where are we at with Klaath?"
"The Vrrl Starfang Empire is defending Tendril Sector," said the Peacekeeper. "This unit calculates they will be sufficient. This unit calculates the meatbags will be sufficient in this sector, as well. Peacekeeper Unit Admiral Ender Zhukov states it is unable to calculate the outcome in New Pixa Sector. Peacekeeper Unit Admiral Ender Zhukov also states there is nothing this ship can do to affect that outcome at this time."
"New Pixa's under attack?" asked the General.
"We think they're after the Queens," Mims explained. He tilted his head slightly, coming to a decision. "You want a beer?"
General Young blinked. "You have beer?"
Everyone moved to the kitchen. Mims dug some beers out of the fridge. He handed one to Lissa and one to General Young, keeping the third for himself. Yvian followed his fine example, grabbing a bottle for herself and one for the General's Assistant. Hamilton opened her mouth to protest, then closed it, frowning at the beer in her hand.
"It's alright Hamilton," the High Commander told her. "Soldiers don't drink on duty, but we're not soldiers right now. We're diplomats, and diplomats drink." He twisted the cap off of his bottle. "You can consider it an order if it makes you feel better."
"Yes sir." Hamilton popped her beer open and took a sip. She gave the bottle a considering look, and then took a much longer swig.
"That's good beer," said the High Commander.
"The most popular drink in the Technocracy," Yvian said proudly.
"Haven't had one in a while," the General confided. "I got the entire human race crammed ass to elbow in every station we could move, and we're missing about two planets worth of food production. We can't afford to spend resources on luxuries like booze."
Yvian eyed the two of them. Had the High Commander lost weight? She couldn't tell. He'd been a mass of muscle when she met the man, and he still was. She started to size up Hamilton, but quickly changed her mind. She was dangerously close to ogling the woman as it was.
Still, if they couldn't get beer, it was likely the humans had been forced to eat whatever could be grown in bulk on the quick. Crunch, they might have been living on protein paste. Yvian's taste buds cried out in sympathy. The thought of that poor, beautiful woman suffering like that...
"Mims?" Yvian asked. "Is there any way we could make breakfast?"
The Captain's eyes flicked from Yvian to Hamilton and back. He looked down at his wrist console. "Might as well. It's technically morning, I guess." He stood, heading for the fridge.
"You want some help?" General Young offered.
"Sure," said Mims. "You can dice the potatoes."
"I suppose I'll eat as well," Scarrend rumbled. He went to the corner of the kitchen, where his personal larder had been set up. He pulled out a leg.
"Uh, Scarrend?" Lissa spoke up. "Maybe you should have fish for breakfast."
"Hmm?" The Vrrl rumbled. Then he caught her look. He put the leg back and pulled out a salmon.
"Was that a human leg?" Hamilton asked. She looked concerned.
"Yes," said Scarrend.
"Don't worry," Yvian reassured her. "It's Mims' leg. We cloned it."
"...Why?"
"It turns out the Vrrl don't eat people just for fun," Lissa explained. "If they go too long without eating sapient flesh they'll lose their minds. Go feral." She grimaced. "It's not pretty, and it's not reversible."
"What?" Hamilton's frown deepened. "How does that work? Some kind of enzyme deficiency?"
"It's psychosomatic," Lissa told her, "but it's hardwired into their DNA. Just like their worship of the Varma."
"That," the High Commander stopped cutting potatoes as he spoke, "is deeply fucked up."
"We are as the gods have made us," Scarrend said simply.
Lissa engaged Hamilton in small talk while the men cooked. Yvian joined in where she could, but she'd never been good at talking to new people. Especially pretty ones. Mims and the General worked in companionable silence, aside from a single exchange.
"I didn't know you cooked," the General had remarked.
"Someone has to," Mims had replied. "The girls baked me a cake once. I thought they were trying to kill me."
"That was one time," Lissa had protested.
Breakfast was simple but plentiful. Bacon and eggs. Pancakes and fried potatoes. Yvian and Lissa got more beer. The humans drank orange juice or milk. By unspoken agreement, conversation was abandoned as everyone ate. Yvian had thought the Captain cooked more than they needed, but after General Young and Hamilton each helped themselves to a third plateful she wondered if he'd made enough.
"Oh my god," Hamilton leaned back after swallowing one last bit of pancake. "I forgot how good it can be to eat real food."
"That was a real kindness," the High Commander agreed. He smiled at the pixens. "Good to see you girls haven't changed."
"It's good to see you, Bart," said Lissa. She smiled back.
Mims offered more beer. Hamilton declined, but the General accepted. Lissa took one, too. The Captain sat down, frowned, then got up to get another bottle for himself. "Alright. I guess we should get down to business."
"I guess we should," General Young agreed. "It's been a hell of a year, hasn't it?"
"I've had worse," said the Captain. "But not many."
"Tell me about it." The High Commander grimaced. "I thought last year was bad, what with the Vore and the Xill, but last year's got nothing on this. Most of the government got assassinated, half our stations got shot up, and then humanity's greatest enemies all formed a coalition and came after us." He swigged his beer. "Now my whole fucking species is hiding out with a bunch of pacifist squid people."
"Yeah, how are the Taa'Oor?" Lissa took a drink of her own. "I don't know much about them."
"They're sweethearts," said the General. "Weird, but sweet. Kinda hard to talk to, though. They communicate by changing the color of splotches on their bodies, and each one uses different patterns. It's like you have to learn a new language for each individual, and it's played hell with our translators."
"The Taa'Oor have been very helpful," Hamilton added. "They seem really happy to be dealing with us instead of the Oluken."
"I don't blame them," said Lissa.
"I should probably feel bad for dragging them into this," General Young admitted, "but we didn't have much of a choice. Between the Vrrl and those goddamned Klaath Queenships we can't win a straight up fight." He gestured with his bottle. "How the hell did you find a way to control those things, anyway? The Klaath fuse their ships to their nervous systems. I didn't think anyone else could use them."
"Xill technology," Lissa told him. "An artificial nervous system linked to a Peacekeeper unit."
The General grunted. "Anyway, moving to Wet Sector took us from certain defeat to a stalemate. We don't got the forces to take New Pixa, but you can't get to us, either. You try and we'll just cut the Gate. The Taa'Oor won't even mind." He shrugged a shoulder. "They'd rather live simple on their homeworld, anyway."
"Stalemate might be a bit optimistic," Mims told him. "You've lost both your planets, and you've got more people then you've got space for, let alone food. You can't keep hiding much longer."
"We can," the High Commander disagreed, "but I don't want to. This war's cost us too many people already. I don't want starvation to add to the toll."
"Surrender then," Mims suggested. "Take the ceasefire. We didn't want a war in the first place."
"This unit did," Kilroy objected.
"And the Empire as well," said Scarrend. "But we're willing to consider your surrender. If we kill you all now, there will be no humans to hunt later."
The General gave Scarrend a considering look. "Are you able to speak for the Vrrl?" he asked. "Negotiate on their behalf?"
"No," said Scarrend. "A negotiation will require all three Warmasters, and the proposal will have to be approved by the Emperor."
"Damn." The High Commander took another drink. "I was hoping we could get this done today."
"We can still lay the groundwork," said Lissa. "You've got our initial proposal."
"A proposal we can't accept," said the General. "We already lost Dorado to the Vore. I can't give up another planet."
"You've already given up your planets," Scarrend pointed out. "The ceasefire would let you get one of them back."
"Can't do it," General Young repeated.
"We know you don't really expect us to give up Aldara," Hamilton cut in. "You're starting high so we'll have to bargain you back down."
"No," said Scarrend. "We're telling you the price of survival."
"Uh... Scarrend?" Yvian interrupted. "Hamilton's right. We weren't going to take Aldara."
"Yvian!" Lissa snapped at her.
"What?" Yvian met her sister's outraged eyes. "That's what you said, isn't it?"
"Yeah." Lissa let out an exasperated breath. "But you're not supposed to tell them that."
"It doesn't matter," Mims decided. "We can't do peace talks until the Warmasters are available, anyway." He leaned forward. "We've got something more important to talk about."
The High Commander eyed the Captain, then set his beer down. He gave a single, grave nod. "Reba."
"A ceasefire won't mean shit," said Mims, "as long as she's running the Federation."
"There isn't a Federation," the General told him. "Not anymore. It died two months ago, when some asshole overthrew the government in a Military coup."
"There was no choice, sir," Hamilton reassured him. "The selection process was compromised."
"All the candidates were in Reba's pocket," the General explained.
"And you're not," Mims guessed.
"If you heard the orders President Boyd tried to give..." He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. It's done." He picked his beer back up. "The worst part wasn't the war, you know. Wasn't even that we're losing. The worst part was finding out humanity's been manipulated by a goddamned computer program for six hundred years. A program," he added, "that doesn't care about keeping us alive anymore."
"Does that mean you kicked her out?" Yvian asked.
"We did a lot more than that," said the High Commander. "Pulling everyone to Wet Sector wasn't just a way to keep you from conquering us sector by sector. Reba was in control of the Nexus. I had to get everyone in one place, where we could communicate without Nodes. And I needed to get my hands on every ship, station, and computer capable of holding a Synthetic Intelligence."
"The Connor Protocol," Mims breathed. "You actually did it?"
"What's the Connor Protocol?" asked Lissa.
"A failsafe invented after the Singularity War," General Young explained. "A plan. You already know we don't allow remote controlled anything. Even our beam towers are manned. But there's all kinds of shit an SI can do without direct control, and they can download themselves into anything with enough processing power. If an SI like Reba infiltrates the Nexus, there's only one thing we can do."
"Shut down the Nexus completely," Hamilton elaborated, "and scour every single computer one by one."
"Then we had to search our planets for hidden servers along with every asteroid we could get to," the General continued. "That's what my people were doing on Terra Nova when you showed up." He grimaced. "I thought we got her until she set off those Klaath beacons."
"You couldn't have got her anyway," Yvian told him. "She's in Xill space, trying to take them over."
The General stared at Yvian, then swore. "If she takes over the Xill we're all fucked."
"We know," said Mims. "Exodus is trying to stop her."
"Never thought I'd see the day I rooted for Exodus the Genocide." The High Commander shook his head. "Does he think he can do it?"
"No," Mims admitted. "I think he's just buying time."
The General swore again.
"Do you have a plan?" Hamilton asked. "In case she comes after you with the Xill?"
"We're working on it," said Mims.
"So no, then," the General's rigid posture slumped. For just a moment, he looked very, very tired. "I need a vacation."
"It will be alright, sir," said Hamilton. "We'll find a way."
"Of course we will." The General pulled himself back together. "I'm just a little tired is all." He drained the last of his beer. "I'm a Military man. I never signed up to run a country or..." He gestured with the empty bottle. "all of this."
"Welcome to my world," said Mims.
The High Commander grunted.
"So..." Yvian frowned. A thought that had been niggling her for most of the conversation finally climbed to the surface. "I guess this means you're not getting Blingy."
"Blingy?" The General raised an eyebrow.
"The Lucendian ship we gave to the Xill," Lissa explained. "After Myrsa defected, we assumed you'd use her to get it."
"We figured Reba would hand you the ship," Mims added. "We didn't know you started the Connor Protocol."
"I don't think Reba's gonna be handing us much of anything," said the General. His brows furrowed. "Why'd you want us to get our hands on a Lucendian ship?"
"So we could take it from you," said Kilroy.
General Young grunted. "Figures."
"Wait." Hamilton frowned. "If you thought... Why take her back?"
Mims glanced sharply at the General's Assistant. "What?"
"Why take her back?" Hamilton repeated. "Why recapture Myrsa if you thought she's doing what you wanted?"
"We didn't," said Mims.
"Someone did," the High Commander told him. "Someone who doesn't show up on sensors. Someone who slaughtered their way to Station Control in under a minute." He fixed a grim eye on Kilroy. "It was Peacekeeper work. I'm sure of it."
"Negative," said Kilroy. "All Peacekeeper units are accounted for. No Peacekeeper units have entered Wet Sector."
"No one else could have done it," the General insisted. "We were sure it was you."
"Negative," the Peacekeeper denied again.
"It wasn't us." Mims agreed.
"Then who?" The General asked. "Because it wasn't anybody human."
The Captain's eyes narrowed. Then they went wide. "When did this happen?"
"About an hour after the Klaath showed up," said the General.
"Kilroy." Mims stood, pulling out his helmet. "How long would it take to get us to Hub 14? "
"Six hours," said the Peacekeeper unit, "forty seven minutes."
"Sorry, General." Mims donned his helmet. "But we're gonna have to cut this short."
"It's a set up." The High Commander stood. "Isn't it?"
"Don't know yet," said the Captain. "But better safe than sorry."

No I do not hate women. Its not that deep. Im only talking about women because im a straight dude. I have no experience dating men, im sure they are equally as annoying in there own ways. but I need to vent bro cuz im starting to go crazy. Ive began to catch myself becoming embittered with the dating process, as im sure hundreds of other posts here can attest too. My issue has never been attraction though, atleast superficially. I can not get ONE WOMAN ON THESE APPS to not flake. I have never been rude or sexual. I think my biggest shortfall is talking on the app. I have absolutely zero patience to text anybody. Its not worth anything in my opinion until I meet you in person. Im not talking about fucking either, I mean just one genuine coffee date. I want to know someones sense of humour, see what their cadence is like, hear their stories from there mouths instead of words on screen. People are so much more interesting when you get to know them in person, in my opinion, and allows both of us to see if chemistry even exists. These motherfuckers (sorry im salty) will just completely disregard my time for literally anything. Sometimes its just flat disrespect. "Sorry, fell asleep" "woah completely forgot about it". Today, for example, was a reschedule for a date that was supposed to take place a week ago. It got rescheduled to yesterday, Saturday, then rescheduled once again to today. To which she answers my good morning text, but suddenly leaves my confirmation text unopened until AFTER THE TIME I SUGGESTED 45 minutes after, to tell me that she "fell asleep" so she cant make it. its not even subtle bro. The barrier is clearly the fucking shitty app. Once I DO meet these women, its smooth sailing. I never have an issue on actual meetups, the problem is getting these motherfuckers to follow through on what they said. I understand im giving off bad vibes right now, and i would prefer not too, but who cares bro. Im not meeting anybody later anyways lmfaoo Oh well thanks for reading my stupid ass rant

My mother recently brought up my old nightmares I use to get as a young child. It reminded me of them and looking back, weird ass nightmare for a kid lol. Curious if anyone else has similar experiences. So from around 2nd-4 grade id say so 7-9 years old. They happened sporadically but often, but while sleeping id get a knot in my stomach like a roller coaster like it felt good and horrible at the same time, and a weird taste in my mouth. Its hard to recall the taste although I’ve never experienced that taste in any other time of my life. So when id get the knot and the taste i would be in like this half lucid state of dread cause i knew i was stuck in the bad dream. So in the dream its just like I’m in a first person view but floating upright in a black void of nothing then 1 white cube appears in front of me then 1 turns to 2 then 2 to 4 then 4 to 8 then 8 to 16 all stacked symmetrical and growing rapidly and an exponential speed, all while i continue to have the nauseating knot in my stomach and taste in my mouth now the cubes are at a number i couldn’t even fathom and they continue to multiply till they consume everything then I wake up screaming and crying, gasping for air like i was just underwater for an eternity. My mom would always end up running in and putting me back to sleep after I explained everything that happened in the dream to her. Anyone else had a similar dream? Or any insight on if it holds any meaning?

Optical express seem properly scummy and I left the consultation feeling like I’d been pressured by a sales person who desperately wanted to upsell me on every part of the surgery. It left a bad taste in my mouth and I really don’t want to give them my money… so who else is worth checking out please ???

I read something yesterday that left a bad taste in my mouth so I’d like some fluff please. Preferably Tommy-centric. Can be oneshots or multichap, I’m good with any AU. Thanks! :D

[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 1]
My king. The sad memories faded into blurred flashbacks.
Olyvar cherished the sweet time as his grace’s squire. Though two years older, it made no matter. A warrior king was training Olyvar the way of knighthood, almost any boy’s dream. He remembered on slow days, Robb Stark would spend time with him, teaching the art of the long sword and shield. He can still remember the cloudy day at the Crag’s courtyard and his Northern accent as he swung his blade at the squire. “Keep your shield up Olyvar. Keep it up.”
“It’s too heavy.” Olyvar replied as Robb swung on.
“If it wasn’t heavy, it wouldn’t stop a sword. So get it up.”
They sparred and sparred in the courtyard. Robb Stark was dancing with him, hilts in hands. After he knocked Olyvar to the dirt for the twentieth time, he lifted him back up.
“Come, drive at me.” Robb then grabbed Olyvar gently by the back of his neck. “Look Olly, keep your shield up or I’ll ring your head like a bell.”
Olyvar never forgot that moment, his Grace’s right-hand touch, the way Robb looked into his eyes and called him ‘Olly’. No one has ever called him that and he liked it very much. They continued to dance. Rain began to fall, turning dirt into mud. Olyvar darted at him. Robb stepped aside, deflecting the stab off his shield and twirled around forward in a natural motion, his cloak spinning in the air. Before Olyvar knew it, Robb had his rear, his sword ready to thrust or slash any part of him. He glanced back and knew he was lost. The dance paused there and Olyvar turned around to meet Robb’s beautiful blue eyes. He could melt in them.
“You had me your Grace.”
“Come Olly, it’s your turn.” A winter wind came blowing in from across the sea. A breeze lingered there, brushed Robb’s auburn hair. “Now, dance with me!”
It almost felt like a sin to be as excited as Olly was at that moment.
“I’ll drive to you now. Try to do what I just did. In mud like this, don’t forget to plant your foot before each movement. And remember, you have to keep your shield up.”
As Olyvar and Robb got into their positions, his older half-nephew Ser Ryman Frey suddenly appeared and intervened. He grabbed Olyvar like a little green boy and pulled him towards the exit. NO! Olyvar’s word caught in his mouth.
Robb spoke up for him. “What are you doing? Olyvar is my squire and a grown man. He can do what he wants and speaks for himself.”
“My grandfather has declared a suspension of your alliance with House Frey,” Ryman said. “You have broken a sacred vow. If you would not have his daughter or granddaughter as your queen, you certainly cannot have his son as your squire.”
Robb was expecting Olyvar to say something, but the squire froze. More Frey guardsmen came in and dragged him away from the courtyard, his heels lifeless on the ground, leaving twin mud tracks on his departure. Robb stared at him sweet, sad, and silent. A bolt of lightning flashed across the rainy skies, its reflection off the King’s sword blinding Olyvar. That was the last time he saw Robb alive.
When news of his King returning to the Twins for the wedding between Lord Edmure Tully and his sister Roslin, Olyvar could not contain his excitement, to hear the voice of his call.
Since that rainy courtyard day, Olyvar had been on his own for long enough. He hoped maybe Robb could show him again that dance that he loved. Maybe. Olyvar had been going through withdrawals. Not seeing his Grace was just too much. He could turn me on with the slightest touch. But since the Red Wedding, Olyvar’s courtyard has been cold and empty. Fuck anyone who judges me. He couldn’t see clearly now that Robb was forever gone. Olyvar was still blinded by Robb’s last light. He couldn’t sleep, still yearning for his touch. In his heart, rain constantly fell, drowning him in the nights. I was his squire, Olyvar cried as his soul twisted. And I failed him. I was the only one that night he could trust.
After the slaughter, Merrett Frey, a kin of his, greeted him as he released Olyvar from the dungeons. “I’m sorry Olyvar that we had to lock you up, Perwyn and Alesander too. But you must do your duty for your family. You are a Frey, a man of an honorable house. This stain left by Robb Stark and his bitch mother Catelyn Tully should not go unpunished. Lady Catelyn also killed Jinglebells. She even japed ‘a son for a son‘ to our Lord father as she slit his throat.”
A son for a son. Olyvar Frey looked at Merrett sullenly, his voice choking up, “I must go for a walk.” Olyvar walked and walked … passing the burnt tents, passing the dead soldiers with Northern and Riverland sigils sewn on their garments, and passing Grey Wind’s headless body. He was far enough from home, but he could still hear the cheap cheers of the Frey and Bolton soldiers.
He fell to his knees and began to cry. My king. My sweet king. Olyvar swore vengeance. Though he will never consider kinslaying as it was a curse among the gods, it would not stop him from facilitating others who seek revenge against his own family, the ones who were directly involved.
Suddenly at the side of the river, a dying man was crawling towards him. Soaked in water, mud and blood, he cried out in a ghastly voice “Olyvar!”
“Who, who are you?” Olyvar sprinted to aid and for recognition. “Raynald?” Without hesitation Olyvar replied, “My brother!” He placed himself under Raynald’s shoulder and lifted him up. “We need to find a maester.”
On the way back to camp, Olyvar and Raynald encountered two sentries of his Frey household guards, far from any other eyes can see.
“So what do you have here my Lord Olyvar?” one asked.
“A dying lone wolf? Let us put him out of his misery,” the other replied as they stared at Ser Raynald Westerling’s dampened seashell surcoat.
Olyvar lowered himself and laid Ser Raynald on the ground, and arose in a tone cold as stone. “No. Not a lone wolf.”
Olyvar unsheathed his sword and killed both Frey guards before they could reach their weapons. He then swapped Raynald’s wet Westerling clothing for one of the dead men, and found a maester.
Ser Raynald Westerling stayed with Olyvar at the Twins under disguise. He even trimmed off his brushy moustache. Weeks later after Ray had fully healed, he asked Olyvar to go with him to look for Maege Mormont and Galbart Glover at their secret hideout, as per the original plan before the wedding.
One night, Olyvar Frey simply walked out of the Twins again, this time with Ray. No one would care where Olyvar was going. Truth be told, his Frey family would be more content if more spawnlings of their lord father would leave the castle to find their own destiny, especially if they were unlikely heirs deep behind the line of succession.
Aboard one of the Northern galleys floating outside of Seagard, the Seashell Knight had to explain how this son of Walder Frey earned his trust, as Lady Mormont held Olyvar by the throat with a dagger. The skin around her eyes had been raked and blackened with tears and nails, her teeth bit with furious anger. She had been like this for weeks. Olyvar stared at her face and he felt like he could die here and now, if that was what it meant for Lady Mormont to forgive him, as he knows no gold would ever substitute for her grief. “I am sorry about your daughter Dacey. I lost my brother too. Benfred was a good man, I swear to you by all the gods old and new, that he did not have a part in the slaughter. Benfred would have done everything he could to grab an innocent woman like Dacey, and bring her safe from harm.” Olyvar meant it.
Mormont sheathed her dagger, her hands still shaking. “I’ll kill them all! Anyone who was a part of this!”
“No.” Olyvar replied. “We have to get the girls back. And then you can kill them all.”
At the siege of Riverrun, Olyvar Frey freely roamed Ryman’s uncoordinated camp. No one cared. One night alone, he swam across the moat and climbed up the castle with spikes. Only thirty feet up, the Tully guards had heard him clanking and aimed their crossbows from above. “Identify yourself!”
He whispered, “I am Olyvar Frey, son of Walder Frey, former squire to his King, Robb Stark. I come unarmed and offer myself as a hostage. I know the Blackfish, please let him know I am here.”
“Stay where you are.”
Olyvar clung to the castle’s wall half way down to death and half way up to forgiveness. Finally Ser Brynden Tully appeared and told Olyvar to come up quietly. As Olyvar threw himself over the parapet and onto the floor, the Blackfish kicked away his spikes and immediately kneed his body to the ground, holding a dagger at his throat. Shit, not again! Damn this mayhaps, why was I unblessed to be born a Frey?
“What are you doing here, Olyvar Frey?” Ser Tully demanded.
Olyvar told them the truth and handed him Lady Maege’s letter from a waterproof compartment in his garment. The letter was coded with secret words that he and she only knew. The Blackfish cracked the seal, unrolled the parchment and read. Afterwards he released the grip from the bottom and the message curled up on its own, eager to protect the secrets.
“The paper curls, at least you didn’t try to deceive me with the age of the parchment.” He then asked Olyvar, “So, you killed some of your own men did you?”
“To save Ser Westerling, yes.” The Blackfish looked at his eyes and nodded in approval. “May I see her now?” Olyvar inquired.
The Tully guards led Olyvar to her room. Some left the area, but others stayed and watched, still suspicious of the unarmed Frey. She was in her solar, knitting her needle works. He fell down to one knee towards his niece-in-law (by Olyvar’s brother-in-law, Lord Edmure Tully), “My Queen.”
“Olyvar!” Without a hint of hesitation or mistrust, she dropped her needle, ran towards him, and wrapped her loose skinny arms strongly under his’. She poured her heart, soul and grief-filled life into a Rose By the name of Olyvar Frey. He reciprocated, placing his arms around her shoulders as Jeyne Westerling-Stark continued to hold tight. Her orange sized breasts pushed against his chest, as the Queen’s chestnut mop of brown hair sat below Olyvar’s clean-shaven chin.
“Robb.” It was all she needed to say as they shared a sob. Nothing hurt more than that moment when he shared the same pain with Jeyne. Olyvar dipped his head to hers, their salty tears finally uniting and slowly dancing together as their faces pressed cheek to cheek.
“He is in the heavens now, I believe, singing from above.” Olyvar prayed. “He will be waiting for us. No doubt we will see him again some day, but we must make him wait.”
“I miss him so much,” Jeyne cried. She was always cheerful with Olyvar since they first met. Though he was curious whether she truly loved Robb or just wanted to be a queen, she has repeatedly been kind to him, so sweet. She never intervened when Robb trained Olyvar at swordplay and he was grateful for that. When they wed, Olyvar knew Robb could never be his brother, but Jeyne did not seem to mind letting him continue to squire beside her much younger brother, Rollam Westerling. Robb had allowed Olyvar to protect the queen sometimes, along with the other household guards, though he was still training at arms. Olyvar and Jeyne would talk constantly, mostly about their King. Even when Jeyne rambles about him, she would always shy away from talking about Robb’s bed manners. But Olyvar insisted he did not mind hearing it. Jeyne felt like a sister to him, just as much or more as Roslin.
“I miss him too,” Olyvar replied. “Did you really love him?”
She cried a little bit louder and squeezed Olyvar even harder. “With all my heart.”
Olyvar wanted to confess too, but he could not do it here, not with everyone watching. He only hoped Jeyne would ask him the same, and she did. “Did you really love him, Olyvar?”
He tightened his grip on Jeyne’s shoulders. “More than you ever know.”
She gently reached for his hands and lowered them. “Olyvar, you were his squire. He is gone now. But you still have a duty to us. You must protect us. We must never separate again. Promise me Olyvar. Promise me.”
“No. I cannot. Not yet. I must leave you, just this one last time, for your safety and your family’s.”
“You are part of my family,” the Queen proclaimed. Tears rolled down again, their hands still held together at their hips.
“I need to leave Riverrun tonight. And I promise you, we will reunite again and I will keep you safe.”
They talked for hours about the good times, the horror, and what the future lies. They talked about Robb, crying to the sadness of him, exulting at his bravery and his glories, laughing at the silly juvenile things the teenager king did to entertain them, and about falling in love with him all over again. And then they cried some more.
Later on that night, Ser Brynden visited Jeyne and Olyvar, with Lady Eleyna and Lady Sybell watching. “Olyvar, you were the King’s squire and though he is no longer with us, you are still owed a knighthood. Let the gods curse me if I ever knighted a Frey, but you are no Frey I have ever known. What you are about to do would be considered treason to your family.”
“But my lord father was treasonous to my King. I do not get to choose my father or which family I was born into. But here right now, is the family I want to be with.”
“Will you honor your new family? Will you honor your duty to your late King, his Queen and his House, the Starks of Winterfell?”
“I do,” Olyvar replied with pride.
The Blackfish unsheathed his sword, the blade alive with moonlight gleaming from the window balcony. “Shit I think I’m doing this wrong. I was supposed to say that later. Anyways, kneel Olyvar Frey.”
Olyvar got to one knee as Queen Stark and all the others watched. Ser Brynden Tully, the legendary warrior Blackfish, placed the flat of his sword on Olyvar’s shoulder.
“I charge you to be brave and … aww shit the knighting words escape me. I’m embarrassing myself. Anyways um. Family! Honor! Duty!” He placed the blade on the other shoulder. “Shit, I forgot the rest of the speech. Forgive me. But Olyvar of House Frey, I name you a knight! Now rise!”
And arose the new knight stood, and proud he was. King Robb Stark could have never fulfilled his promise of a knighthood, but it was his father that took it away from him. But being knighted by the Blackfish was more than anything Olyvar wanted right now, besides keeping Queen Jeyne and his family safe. To him, it was forgiveness.
The Queen approached him with a longsword in scabbard, flat on both hands. “Our late King had a gift for you Ser Olyvar Frey, at least he would have wanted you to have it.”
Before Ser Olyvar received it, he already knew what it was. Robb’s sword. “No, I cannot. I am unworthy of this gift, his Grace’s sword.”
“This is King Robb Stark’s sword, and I am his Queen wife. I charge you to protect your family with his own sword.”
Queen Jeyne Stark made an offer that Ser Olyvar cannot refuse. He took the sword from her forgiving hands.
“What will you call it?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“A name. Robb never named his sword. But a good sword should have a good name.”
“I was told by my half-brothers that only cun–, I mean only women name their swords. I will let you name it, my Grace. How should we honor our late King Robb Stark?”
“It is honor,” Jeyne replied.
Confused, Olyvar asked, “What is honor?”
“A sword. This sword.”
Before the sun had dawned, Ser Olyvar Frey with Honor slung on his back, climbed down the castle walls with rope, swam under the moat again, and departed the birthplace of his King, Robb Stark, as a knight.
He returned to the Twins, keeping his knighthood a secret. When Riverrun had fallen to Ser Jaime Lannister, Edmure Tully had agreed to be a prisoner at Casterly Rock. Roslin Tully volunteered to join her husband, giving them a chance to raise a family together, even as hostages. Olyvar, their brother Perwyn and half-nephew Alesander all agreed to escort Lady Tully to the Westerlands. Although they told their half-family they would take the land-route for their journey; Olyvar, Perwyn, Alesander and Roslin had a different Frey destiny in mind. After the Kingslayer’s threat to Roslin’s unborn child, there was no day they would ever stay at Casterly Rock nor return to the Twins. They departed for the coast and reunited with Ser Brynden Tully, Lady Maege Mormont and Lord Galbart Glover aboard the Motherfunker.
Before Ser Brynden escaped Riverrun alone, he and Lord Tully reviewed all their options during Edmure’s short visit. An escape on land had many risks to be recaptured or killed, but at sea it was far fewer … and having a faster ship helped. They would allow Edmure and Jeyne to be peacefully escorted by their captors to Casterly Rock as hostages, only to be rescued from the shoreline. Lady Sybell Spicer swore her brother Ser Rolph would lead the way inside the caves. “Honor, not honors,” were House Westerling’s words. And Robb Stark showed more honor to Lady Sybell’s family than any of the other Westermen could. King Robb made her daughter a Queen, while King Tommen gifted Ser Rolph with the cursed ruins of Castamere from the notorious Lannister song. This honor was more of an insult than a reward.
One night aboard the Motherfunker, Olyvar took out a fresh new flat parchment to write a letter that was meant for his father. He held his feathered quill upright, but did not know how to start. He was fidgeting as he stared up around his cabin. He began to tap the pointy end of the quill and pricked his other hand by chance. Frey blood began to trickle from the wound along with a stinging pain. Cashing in on the moment, he then knew what to say. He dipped the blood smeared quill into the black inkpot, and began to pour his soul & anger onto the kin he no longer wanted.
Father, I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel. I focus on the pain, the only thing that is real. The needle tears a hole. This old familiar family sting. I try to forget it all the way. But I remember everything. I find myself asking … “What have I become? My sweetest King? Will everyone I love go away in the end?” And Father, you can have it all. My empire of dirt. I will let you down. I will make it hurt. If I could start again, many miles back at home that night. To save my King, I would sacrifice myself. I would find a way. Your son Olyvar.
He rolled the parchment and laid a tablespoon of wax from his tallow candle at the edge. Olyvar pressed the button with his bleeding thumb, filling the stamp in a marble of white, red and pink; sealing it with his own blood. He placed the rolled parchment in his breast pocket, hoping to leave it somewhere in Casterly Rock and eventually reaching his father’s hands.
On the deck of the Motherfunker a few nights before … crewmen, Riverlands and Northern loyalists sang, drank, and cheered to the music of the masterplan. Though most wanted to spill blood to avenge the Red Wedding, humiliating their enemies would be the sweeter revenge: the story that sings in songs. But not all were there for vengeance. Some were just there for the adventure.
The Captain of the Motherfunker was there for the honor of joining their song. He wanted to look into the eyes of the lion, be a part of the thrill of the fight, rising up against our rivals. He also owed Ser Rolph Spicer a favor from their long smuggling history together at sea. If he helped rescue his niece Jeyne from the rocky castle, he would consider the debt paid, and the Black Sparrow was happy to oblige.
“So we are here to rescue this princess? No?” Samullu spoke in the broken Common Tongue
“No, not a princess, she is a queen,” Olyvar chatted.
“In the Summer Isles, a princess and a widowed queen is the same person. My father was king, but he died when I was a babe. My princess mother was the one who raised me after my uncle took the throne. I loved my mother. I named my swanship for her after she died a few years ago.”
“Motherfunker?” Olyvar asked. “What is a funker?”
“Where I am from, fighting and dancing is called the same thing. We call it funk. We funk to fight, we funk to dance, and we also funk to love. And the skill of our funk we always inherit from our mother’s side. I got it from my mama.” The black single-eyed captain pleaded. “Yo got yo from yo mama too. ‘Motherfunker’ is just a homage to one’s mother for giving us this art of our body’s motions.”
Olyvar never knew his mother, but he was very intrigued to hear more about Samullu’s and their culture. They chatted for quite a while.
Olyvar thanked him for helping them. But Samullu insisted it was the right thing to do after hearing about the horrors of the Red Wedding. “The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers! And yo will know I am the Captain when I lay my vengeance upon thee!”
Olyvar never knew the Black Sparrow was so pious to the gods of avengers.
Sharing rum together, Olyvar sung to him about his own story in depth. Captain Black Sparrow was impressed about his journey so far and he gave Olyvar a small jar of dirt. “This is soil from my empire back in the Summer Isle. I have a whole barrel of it to remind me of home. Here, take this other small gift as well.” He then took out a bird’s feather, long as a flute, bright and colorful. “We Summer Isle people have feathered cloaks, yo see it on all of us. But feathers like this one were meant for some of the bravest and baddest motherfunkers out there. I want yo to take it Ser Olyvar. Let it be yo warrior’s funk.”
Olyvar took it with his hand and gave it a warm stare. The feather was colored like a fading rainbow top to bottom, but the stem was yellow like a lemon. “Thank you.” The gifts were quite odd. By value it was not much, but it seemed like it meant a lot to the exiled prince, the type of gifts worth remembering.
“So what do yo need besides a miracle?” Samullu asked.
“Weapons. Bows and arrows. Lots of arrows.” Olyvar was serious.
“Aye, and I have a lot. Yo know, no one has ever done anything like what yo and the Blackfish’s men are about to do.”
“And that is why it will work.”
The plan was to allow Lord Edmure Tully and Queen Jeyne Stark to safely travel to Casterly Rock unmolested, under the command of Ser Forley Prester and his four hundred men. Lord Gawen Westerling and his son Rollam were to return to the Crag, but Lady Sybell was to stay with Jeyne, maintaining what deceptions she can conjure. Her bluff with Ser Jaime Lannister worked, earning the slightest trust from them before their escape at Casterly Rock. An attempt to rescue them on their path down the River Road would invite the Lannisters to execute the hostages on the spot, failing the objective’s purpose. To stealthily hunt down each soldier one by one would have proven even then, a mission of the impossible. Stirring fear in the hearts of the Lannister soldiers was the only solution, the effective psychological weapon. Ser Prester’s men have been haunted by the ghosts of the Brotherhood without Banners throughout the Riverlands, and the Blackfish would use that to his advantage. With the help of their fastest horse, Bubbles, mounted by Justin Smallister, a distant cousin to House Mallister of Seagard, he would tie empty nooses on trees ahead of Ser Forley’s route. The hope of the hoax would keep the Lannisters on edge, making it difficult to rest. Only when they reached the castle of Casterly Rock, they would drop their guards down, thinking the hard part was over. But on the exact evenfall on the day of their arrival, Lord Gawen Westerling and our small land forces, hidden in the eastern woods outside, would sound the trumpets and drums, drawing the weary soldiers to arms again. But the Blackfish was to infiltrate Casterly Rock from the western sea. Ser Rolph Spicer, our secret agent inside, will bond with Jeyne’s guards, drinking with them throughout their journey. Only on the hour of the escape, Ser Spicer would drug the guards’ ale, allowing them to fall asleep during the diversionary music. The Blackfish and his squad would provide armed escort, if needed. Ser Spicer would also help them navigate inside the caves, rescuing his niece Jeyne and their family back to the Motherfunker. By then, it would be too dark for the Lannisters to give chase into the ocean, if they even realized Queen Stark had flown off.
“I need twenty good men,” the Blackfish had demanded. A few hundreds of the remaining Stark loyalists and outlaws gathered at the docks, where the Motherfunker was anchored.
“And one more woman too!” the She-Bear crone proclaimed.
The men laughed in agreement as Ser Brynden continued. “I need volunteers only. Soldiers who want this fate to fuck them from behind in their arses! For the twenty one of us, we will be in harm’s way, make no mistake about it. I do not expect us to be discovered, but if we were, our escape will not be easy like our brothers working the diversion in the woods. I need men quick on their feet, proficient with the bow, and skilled at close-quarter hand-to-hand combat. Who are my brave men that will be knocking on the Lannister’s doors?”
Ser Olyvar Frey thundered in first and raised his hand. Jeyne’s words echoed in his thoughts, Promise me Olyvar, promise me.
Alesander Frey surprised him. “No you fool! You are not a skilled fighter. Put your hand down!” Olyvar told his nephew.
“I am a grown man, and I will not miss this adventure for nothing,” Alesander protested to his uncle.
“You are just a singer.”
“Then I want to be a witness to this great deed and be the first singer of our new song.”
Olyvar could not stop his brother & nephew from doing something so stupid.
Ser Raynald Westerling the Seashell Knight raised his hand too, eager to save his sisters Jeyne and Eleyna, and his mother Sybell.
Others began to join. Some had their reasons, some had their vengeance, some just wanted to try something new.
Fess stepped up. He was a long lost uncle to Ser Addam Marbrand after a lengthy voyage at sea. But Ser Addam refused to believe him, denying him a small chunk of land near Ashemark that Fess was entitled to own. He called his uncle an imposter and casted him out of the region. Fess swore he was a Marbrand, and swore he would unleash a storm on their household if they did not give his piece of land back. To the future of reclaiming his name by shaming theirs, Fess Marbrand was recruited into our efforts against the Lannisters and their bannermen.
The Summer Islander, Ben, and his Westerosi-born son, Benjen, were farmers from the Neck. Years ago, Lord Rickard Stark had welcomed the immigrant and his wife, granting them farm lands to flourish in. They grew rice in the marsh and exported it from White Harbor. They were so grateful to House Stark that they quite frankly named their son “Benjen” for Lord Stark’s youngest child of similar age. Since then, their hard earned work with their rough black hands in the cold had paid off in prosperity. After being widowed, Ben and his son ran the farm, just the two of them … until a few Ironborn men took Moat Cailin and all their harvest this past year. Their will and pride refused to let them take it again. So instead of growing new rice, they let it wither away and left the land … trapping the jaws of the Ironborn to hunger. Now Ben and Benjen were reborn into Ser Brynden’s band, for the honor of House Stark. “With great honor comes a great ass whooping!” Ben had declared.
Jess and Jory were two brothers that served House Westerling as guards at the Crag, personally protecting the Westerling sisters, Jeyne and Eleyna. They had watched them grow up since birth. Participating in their rescue was their duty, a duty they took without hesitation for the girls who were like nieces to them.
Phyl was a crewmate of royal blood on the Motherfunker. Back on another Summer Isle kingdom, his older king brother passed away as his young prince nephew took fresh rule. After Phyl forbade his nephew-king to order an attack on a rival neighboring island, he screamed at him, “You are not my father!” and flew out of the throne room, slamming its double doors. Soon after, the boy-king ordered for his uncle’s exile. Free like a bird, Phyl flew away himself to a ship with his friend, the Black Sparrow, looking for a new adventure.
Sam, June, and Rico were all hard loyal Tully soldiers that were ready to follow the Blackfish to the end of the world. Sam used to be a tall fat leviathan of a man, until one day June told Sam, “You never had the making of a first-class athlete like Rico here.” From then on, Sam, offended, lost several stones over the years as the three served patriotically together to House Tully. Now tall, lean and muscular, Sam was a force not to be reckoned with. They nicknamed him Sam the Shredder, but for shredding his fat as his body was now packed with muscular meat.
The hedge knight Ser Barnabus the Goose volunteered along with his new squire Leo, a boy of fourteen, whom he met that same day. Goose was a tall man, big shoulders, wide hips with greying blond hair. Though he grew up as an orphan, Ser Barnabus often boasted about being the grandson of some legendary tall hedge knight that he never chanced to meet. The other orphans used to laugh at him, calling him the Useless Goose. But ever since he suited up in his knightly armor decades ago, Ser Barnabus assured he was a useful Goose helping the small folks around the Riverlands. Olyvar wondered if Barnabus was his real name, or if he was even a knight.
Leo’s older brothers wanted to join the action as well … so Mikkal, Raff, and Donal stepped forward. Their uncle Scrooge, a man in his fifties, will chip in his services too. The four brothers and uncle were known as the Pissa family. They once owned a tavern serving their mother’s recipe of baked thin crispy bread, spun circular into a flat pie, served with tomato sauce and cheese above. Their uncle Scrooge improved his sister’s recipe by adding sliced duck sausages on top of the cheese, and charging customers extra for the option. Olyvar and the men on the Motherfunker had sampled and enjoyed the cuisine they baked aboard. Captain Samullu claimed that pissa was indeed a tasty dish, and suggested adding slices of pineapples on top of it too. The Pissa brothers gave Samullu Jaqenssen a cold stare as if the gesture was treason to the recipe. Back when they owned the tavern with their mother, the family often boasted about their food to the point where their competitors despised them. Their opponents would try to mimic cooking the same dish, but others would complain it tasted no different than bread. Afraid of losing their revenue, they insulted their mother’s crispy dish by calling it “pissa,” slandering it by saying it tasted like piss. But the brothers took the name their enemies gave them and wore it like armor, never allowing it to hurt them. Raff returned their insult by calling their adversary’s food being something that comes out of a cow’s bung hole. That humiliation stuck. For a while, men and women from all over the Riverlands continued to rallied in long lines to the Pissa tavern for a delicious slice of pissa. Sadly one day, the Mountain and his men came to destroy their tavern during the war, and took their mother. They never saw her again. Despite the sad drama, the Pissa family were a cheerful bunch, save for their pessimistic uncle. Olyvar could only hope they would find their mother safe and sound some day.
On the first day aboard the Motherfunker, Leo had never been on a ship his entire life. He bolted to the stern of the galley, stood on the middle rail with his arms spread out and screamed, “I’m the king of the world!”
Olyvar had to grab the blond teen down before he fell overboard. “Nice try Leo,” Olyvar said. “But you are too lowborn to be royalty. You are better off marrying a queen to be a king, or at least start with a princess.”
Ser Barnabus the Goose appeared and offered his help. He was in need of a squire for some reason, and Leo was quite eager. “Leo, I’m going to teach you how to live.” Goose swung his arm around the teenager’s neck and rested it there. “You want to be a king and win the ladies? Learn how to squire for a knight first. Unchain and fetch me my stallion from the docks, I’ll show you a trick. I’ll show you how to ride it on this rocking ship!” Leo did as he was ordered.
“And when will I ever need that skill?” Leo questioned as he brought the horse up to the deck from the ramp.
“What was it you were looking for again on this journey? Your destiny? Your death?” Goose mounted.
“Naked princesses,” Leo said.
“Well this move would make any maiden, royal or lowborn, shed their clothes off for you.” The knight pulled down the reins as the stallion stood tall on its two hind legs, looking like a work of art meant for eternal statues of the gods.
Samullu appeared and asked Leo, “Is that Goose on a horse? On my boat? Why is Goose on a horse on my boat?!” The stallion came down, hooves thundering the top of the deck.
“Aye Captain, Ser Goose was teaching me how to pick up women.”
“Shiitt Leo, that’s all you had to say.” Samullu wrapped his right arm around the neck of the youth and offered his counsel, his left hand danced in the air as he spoke to solidify his argument. “If yo want naked women, fuck land. Don’t be a knight. Be a captain of a galley. The best pick up line to catch any woman yo can, is ‘I own a ship’.” Samullu raised his bearded chin. “After this mission is over, come with me and we’ll sail the seas. Meet women from all over the world. And they love a captain. Do yo concur? Leo, each lady is just a flower, another rose by another name that smell just as sweet, waiting to be plucked.”
Goose winced at the word and protested. “The only maids you meet sailing seas are mermaids. Don’t be fooled by the Black Sparrow. Some of them may be pretty on the top half, but you won’t like what they got below. It probably stinks down there too. But the captain doesn’t mind, he seems to enjoy bedding mermaids!”
Whether sea, air or land … the Black Sparrow or Goose … Leo will probably have to fly with one of them after the mission, Olyvar thought.
The night before the rescue, the raiders and the crewmen drunkenly sang and cheered to music, rum, ale and pissa. Drowning in the glory of their task on the morrow, they reminisce about the harsh archery and lethal weapons training Lord Glover had given them over the past weeks back on land … while questioning how large Lady Mormont’s sacs truly were. Lady Roslin Tully, approached everyone and asked if they would write their names on the book she held. “It’s for the memories,” she said. They all did. A signature on each page for each man and Maege. Some drew their own personal coat of arms. When it was Olyvar’s turn, he hesitated about sketching the two towers. He wanted to separate himself from the murderous lore of House Frey. He decided to draw his towers, with a Stark wolf running on top of the bridge, and a Tully trout jumping below it. He signed his name, Ser Olyvar of House Frey, squire to the late King Robb Stark, knighted by Ser Brynden Tully.
He wondered if he will be written into history as a great knight some day. A knight that could not save his king, Olyvar thought sadly. He would not be the only one though. Word had travelled for Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, and his gallant assault at Dragonstone. He was gravely wounded, but no word on this brave knight’s final fate. Like Olyvar, Ser Loras had failed to protect his first King, Renly Baratheon, a man that the Knight of Flower was rumored to have truly loved. Though his King was gone, he continued to be bathe in the glory of battle. Despite being on the opposing side of the war, Ser Olyvar would be gay if he had the chance to meet Ser Loras, if he still lives, chatting with him about the kings they loved and lost.
Later on that night, Captain Samullu Jaqenssen shared a drunken game of cvyasse with Ser Barnabus for a golden dragon. When Goose doubled down after his first loss, he fell again, owing the Black Sparrow a pair of golden dragons by the end of it. When Samullu demanded Goose to pay up his reward immediately, Goose pretended not to understand his loose Summer Isle accent, giving him a wild chase.
“Wat?”
“Yo loose Goose, yo owe me the gold,” the Captain demanded in his queer Common Tongue.
“Wat?”
“The gold yo fool. The gold! Yo pay me.”
“Wat?”
“Wat country yo from?”
“Wat?”
“Do they not speak the Common Tongue in Wat?”
“Wat?”
“Common Tongue mother Goose!”
“Wat?”
“Say wat again! I dare yo, I double dare yo! I’ll throw yo overboard off the Motherfunker!”
Goose paused for a moment, until his pride could not resist. “Wat? Wat? Wat? Wat? Wat?” Goose said ‘what‘ so many times, it sounded like he was quacking, each one louder than before. “Wat? Wat? Wat? Wat? Wat?”
In a nick of fury, Samullu Jaqenssen flipped over the cyvasse table, stood up and drew his short blade. His remaining good eye raged like a storm, as steam seeped through the black leather patch of the other. “Yo cold ass honking Goose! Yo son o’ a whore! Yo bandit! I will gut yo from balls to brains to see what gooses is made of. I better find yo sacs golden before I take yo skull to gild gold! Either way, I will have my gold from yo!”
Goose suddenly comprehended everything, stood up with all his height and threatened. “Goodness gracious, do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Go ahead and try, but you will only find below me great balls of fire!” He grabbed his own crotch and pumped it once into the air. “And after your failed attempt, I will claw out your last remaining eye, leaving you blind for the rest of your sorry life!”
The others flocked towards the scene, holding the two back as they inched towards each other.
Jess tried to stop them. “Gods, have mercy!”
Sam the Shredder intervened as well. “That is enough! I want you two to stop!”
Jory said, “Cut it out!”
“Will yo shut up!” screamed Phyl, who had hustled a wager on the game.
Mikkal grabbed the drunken Goose, threw him to the floor, and told him to just beat it.
At the end, they all just laugh it off like all drunk men do. Smiling, spilling ale out of their cups, retching out into the sea the rum they drank, before drinking some more again. They were having one last good time before the mission. But today they had a job to do.
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.
[Part 3]

Tldr at end 2 years ago I fell into a pretty bad state of depression so I was put on anti-depressants. I was put on wellbutrin 300mg and it ended up causing me extreme dry mouth and hypertension. Also did nothing for the depression and my psychiatrist pushed me to just "get used to it till it works." I ended up with 15 cavities and that's where the hell began. Not only did my dentist tell the other staff members to come look at my x-rays but then she proceeded to shame me in front of them. So after that within 3 months I got all 15 filled but the entire time I was in agony. I kept telling her the filling was painful and she legit called me dramatic. Then for the next year I came in multiple times for shave downs and twice for filling failures.
Then later the 3rd filling failure came and atp I was done but because I don't like change I didn't want to leave the office, just wanted another dentist other than her. I got a well liked 60 year old dentist and with all the bragging this man does his filling failed the worse. He told me I have gingivitis from my current meds (vyvanse 50mg) and that's why my teeth hurt. I came in for some fixes and a new filling. Then came in for another shave down where I ended up getting shamed yet again for not letting it just "heal". Everytime I went in saying I was in pain I was told I was being dramatic or in the realm of that.
Now the new problem, the 2 fillings on opposite sides, the ones I got from him only a few months ago, are SOFT. My mouth legit smells awful no matter how hard I brush or rinse salt water. My mouth has tasted awful for 2 years but this taste takes the cake. I'm in so much pain, I've also have been having these AWFUL mood swings and hallucinations?? Like little black dots swipe past me and lately have been losing my footing.
I told my mom today and she said schedule for Tuesday but I don't see the use because these aren't even the first bad dentist. My teeth are PERMANENTLY messed up from the dentist I went to before. He gave me a root canal on a non-cavity tooth, pulled an unready baby tooth because he put poorly fitted fillings prior so an adult tooth started growing under my tooth,legit caused me crowding and then lied to my parents about my teeth AND gave me an infection in my mouth. The ones I went to directly after made fun of my teeth for being crooked....even though it was the last dentist who caused that.
So basically I have had so many bad experiences that I don't even know how to advocate for myself because I'm always made to feel like it's my fault. I'm only 19 and most of my teeth are screwed up and I feel super ashamed so I'm just like 😀.
Though I know now that this is much more serious than a regular failed filling because it's soft and I wonder if it's like...leaking?? Idk.
I have a spilting headache as I have most days now but these ones lately have been insane. I fainted at my job a few weeks ago because of it.
Tl:dr My teeth are screwed up because of multiple different dentist and now my current filling is soft and decaying after only being in my mouth for a few months. I don't want to go to the dentist because I'm scared I'm just gonna get blamed again and have to continue with the pain I've been experiencing for 2 years.

Original Prompt

Chapter 30
Blood had a unique taste. Metallic, warm, and almost soothing. Not tasty, not good. Empowering. It was the taste of victory. Cass opened her jaws wide enough to encompass the scream solder's neck and-
"Cass?" A voice echoed through the air. The ground shook. The starry sky cracked open and light flooded her eyes, blinding her.
Cass sat up with a start. Charis was sitting on the edge of her bed, their hand on her shoulder. Long black curls framed their pretty face, eyes wide and brow furrowed with concern.
"What?" Cass asked breathlessly. She felt winded, like she'd just run several miles.
"You were tossing about and yelling in your sleep," they answered. "Anatu was concerned you were...turning." Their eyes glanced down to Cass's bandage-wrapped arm.
"No, no, I was just having a...bad dream." She tried to recall it but it had already slipped away. "I think."
"Do you have nightmares often?"
"I don't think so. But usually, I have enough wine on hand that I don't really dream." She laid back down and groaned. "I miss the army. There were enough wagons and wine to keep me plenty drunk during downtime."
Silence filled the air for a moment. Cass looked back at Charis, who was eyeing her arm again. She could read the curiosity on their face and unwrapped the bandage. Their eyes widened in surprise at the stark difference from when they'd seen it the night before. No stars and no deep void. Just ashy black skin like burnt wood.
"Have you ever changed in your sleep before?"
Cass shook her head. "So far it's only ever happened because I wanted to. Never been an accident or a surprise. Well, except the first time, but Helen walked me through it."
"The High Priestess was there for your first time?" Charis's question got a smirk and a chuckle out of her.
"For a few first times," she joked slyly, "but yeah she was the one who told me how to do it." Cass looked at her hand, carefully flexing the thin, bony fingers. "Back then it was only part of my hand. These three fingers." She held up her pinky, ring, and middle. "Every time I change, the curse spreads further up my arm."
She could feel the curly-haired Sammosan's gaze climb up her arm to the shoulder where several thin tendrils of the black skin spread like the roots of a tree, standing out against her natural tanned olive tones.
"It looks awful, I can't imagine how it feels."
"Actually, it's pretty nice." Cass clenched her fist and winced. "Well, not like this. During the day it hurts. But at night, or when I immerse myself in it entirely, it feels amazing. I feel...very powerful. Like I can do anything."
Charis raised an eyebrow and crossed their arms over their broad chest. "You say that like you aren't the most powerful person in Sammos."
A smile creased Cass's face and she chuckled. "I guess. But it's so much more than being strong. When I give into it, the curse bestows me with-"
Her tent flap opened up and Glaukos stuck his head in. "Hey! Love birds! Time to eat." He looked at Cass's arm. "You're gonna want to cover that up, the sun's real hot today."
Charis left with Glaukos and Cass got dressed, covering up against the evening sun. She shielded her eyes and went over to the fire where everyone had gathered. Maar, Nuu, and Anatu were sitting across from Mica and Kher, who were serving Iuven and Glaukos small platters of whatever Kher thought was best to start the day with this time. Cass got in line behind Charis, watching Mica balance several small wafers of bread on a wooden board with a bowl of green sauce.
"Dhourra cakes and zhoug. Let the bread soak in the sauce for a few minutes to soften," she explained, smacking one of the cakes against the iron pot. It was very hard bread.
"Takes more than a few minutes," Nuu grumbled, stirring the hard lumps of bread around in their bowl with a dull clatter. Their sister was nowhere to be seen, which was fine by Cass.
She picked up one of the dhourra cakes, dipped it in the zhoug, and bit into it. It was definitely harder than normal bread, but it didn't inhibit her.
"Sheemsh fine tchoo me," she said around the food before swallowing. "Want me to chew it up and feed you like a baby bird?"
This got a bunch of chuckles from everyone. A loud, almost braying cackle rose higher than the rest. Cass was more than surprised to see Anatu covering their mouth, almost doubled over. They glanced up from the ground and noticed all eyes were on them.
"Now that's a laugh," Glaukos muttered. Cass nudged him as Anatu got up, red-faced, and retreated to their tent.
"Hey, shut up."
"What? I didn't say anything mean. It's just..." he glanced over at their tent. "It sounded weird. Maybe Anatu's actually a demon trying to bamboozle us?" He grinned playfully but Cass didn't return it.
"Don't be a shit, Glaukos," Mica joined Cass in the argument. "People can't help how they laugh."
"You stared too!"
"Well yeah, I was surprised. Never heard Anatu laugh before, didn't think they knew how."
"I'm not crazy here, right?" Glaukos asked, looking around, "It sounded weird, right?"
"I don't know about that," Cass said, taking Anatu's seat by Nuu and Maar. "It was kind of...uh cute? Not cute. What's atfos pou empneei?"
"Endearing is the word you want," Charis answered.
"Yeah, that sounds right." Cass nodded. "Endearing. I'm glad they found something to smile about for a change." Knowing Anatu had a sense of humor gave Cass hope that she could get to know them better now.
"I'm glad they stopped making that freaky sound." Glaukos said, followed by a loud thunk and an "ouch!". Mica had thrown one of the cakes at him.

My birthday is in october, but due to scheduling issues with family, my sweet 16 ended up happening mid-late november. I'm homeschooled and my parents dont like throwing parties, and I had to beg them for MONTHS to allow me to have a sweet 16 because for stupid reasons I cant remember at the moment, they didn't want to. So after weeks of pulling the "But [older sister's name] got one, so why can't i?" card, they finally gave in.
It was expected to be super big, and I even got my family from different states to come dow, which was a big deal because they never come down for anything. I invited all my friends, even ones I had a bit of a falling out with, but we're cool now, just not close like before. I'm homeschooled, so all of us are a bit awkward with each other irl despite meeting a few times.
The setup was amazing and me and my favorite cousins mapped out and strategized the best place to sit the night before, so we were all prepared. I gave them heads up on each of my friends and what to expect from them so that they dont worry. But even with all this, I was a nervous wreck.
I have selective mutism, which is a severe social anxiety disorder I was diagnosed with when i was in preschool, but have gotten a bit better over the years but it still affects me to this day. So I was feeling very overwhelmed but excited at the same time. I kept thinking "What if my family doesnt like my friends?" "What if my friends dont like my family?" "What if something goes wrong and drama starts?"
When the party started and my friends arrived, thats when it started going downhill. The things i worried about never came true though, I'll give it that. But things that didn't even occur to me, however, did happen. For example, I expected my friends to come sit with me at my table. None of them did. 8 of my friends sat at another table (I invited 9) and the only one who did sit with me was my best friend, who was the last one to arrive. And that was because I didnt even give her the chance to go over to the others' table, and plopped her right down at mine. Also, the friend who arrived before her, I offered her to sit at my table but she ended up going to the others'. (also forgot to mention, but some days after the party my bsf told me that they were inviting her to sit with them, but she declined. My friends never invited me though)
During the party, my table was the only one that wasnt full. That doesnt sound that big of a deal, but I have a past of people abandoning me and purposely leaving me out and developed FOMO because of it, so it was really triggering me.
I normally don't express my emotions, and I've gotten quite good at keeping a stoic look on my face, so much to the point where everyone thinks I'm "emo" (i have an RBF), but at the party, I allowed myself to show my sadness so my cousins could see it. I know that sounds pick-me, but I wanted them to see how it affected me without having to say it. They caught on too.
At some point in the party, speeches started. My aunt grabbed the mic and went to my family members to give a speech. It was okay, as I had asked this for my party a few months prior. However, it was going on for so long and what I thought would be like 3-4 family members turned into closer to 20. I became so embarrassed and I made sure to show my facial expressions to my cousins, while also trying my best to smile so I didn't look mean.
When the speeches were over, I felt a sense of relief. Until my aunt grabbed the mic and announced a "special dance" to take place. I immediately knew what was about to go down as she called up my dad and announced for a surprise father-daughter dance. I turned to my cousins and gave them a pleading look as my dad came over to my seat, but I knew they couldn't do anything. And they knew it too. I felt like I was gonna have a full breakdown in the moment. I was so embarrassed and helpless.
I know I sound bratty, but I don't like being the center of attention unless asked for it. That's why I told my mom that one thing I do NOT EVER want is a surprise party. I also hate dancing in front of other people, as I know I'm bad at it. So this was a nightmare. We made it to the dance floor and I turned my stoic phase back on to shield the tears I could feel coming if I didnt.
My memory of the dance is quite foggy, I wonder if my subconscious did that on purpose because it was too painful for me, but I do remember at one point my dad pulled me close and for a second, I felt comfortable and calm. That was until I remembered all eyes are on me, and I pushed away without thinking.
After the dance was over my dad made his way back to his seat and I stood there like stone. Idk why, but when I'm overwhelmed with emotion I freeze. It's almost like if I move, it makes the moment too real. And so I stay frozen. I knew I couldn't stay there for long though bc that would be awkward.
My aunt came over and asked if I was glad she kept it short, because my other aunt wanted it to be a long dance but she said no. I didn't respond. She also asked if I needed anything, and I told her I needed to go to the bathroom and asked if she could go get my mom. I really needed her in that moment. She sat me at a nearby chair and I didnt want my friends to see me sad, because then they'd come over and try to comfort me. And I didnt want that. So I went for a sort of bored look so they wouldnt be concerned.
My mom came over a few minutes later and walked me to the door, then two of my cousins ran over and asked what happened. I told them I'm fine, but it wasn't convincing because my eyes started welling up with tears despite the smile on my face. My mom impatiently assured them that I was fine and led me out the door. We went into the hallway and hid behind a wall. My mom checked if anyone could see us, then she turned to me and started scolding me. She asked me why I was crying, but not in a worried way, in an irritated way. I was trying to tell her that it was all so overwhelming, to which she replied "Well it's over now!" all mad. she scolded me for about 5-10 minutes I believe, which felt long in the moment. When I was finally done crying she took me to the bathroom to clean myself up. My mom then told me that when we go out, if she looks over at me during the party and I'm not smiling, I'm gonna get it.
As we were leaving the bathroom, one of my friends (we'll call her P) happened to be entering the bathroom and asked if I was okay. Remembering what my mom said, I smiled and told her I was alright. When I made it back to my table, one of the two cousins from earlier asked if I was okay, and I smiled and said yes. I could tell she didn't believe me but she didn't press any further.
The rest of the party my parents told me to go be with my friends, but I didn't want to because I felt that they didn't want me there anyway. Still, I did what I could to be near them. Pulling up a chair, standing by them and asked how they were doing, but I could tell they weren't all that interested. I looked clingy. And I have a thing where if someone doesn't want me around, I'll avoid them because I know what its like to have someone bothering you after you made it clear you want them to go away.
Towards the end of the party, my friends wanted to go to the nearby park, and my best friend came over to tell me, and said she wanted to wait for me and the others already left. I told her that I cant go, because I would be ditching my own party, and she understood. The others still left though. That wasnt that big of a deal, but it still left a bitter taste in my mouth.
And the last bad that that happened at my party was when I was playing hot-hands with my cousin and we were standing right next to my friends. All of a sudden, I noticed in my peripheral vision that my friends were gone. I looked around, assuming they all had to leave and forgot to say goodbye, when I spotted the. All 9 of them at the photobooth. and they were taking a group picture without me. My cousin noticed my sudden change in expression, and looked where I was looking. I watched as they all took their group photo smiling and happy without me. I changed back to stoic as I saw them finish up and my best friend walked back towards me. the rest of the night was a blur, but next thing I know, I'm standing outside as everyone starts leaving and I watch my friends head to their car. I yell out a goodbye, but none turn back to me. I make a joke to one of my cousins saying "wowww they dont even say bye to me? such fake friends!" (i was joking though, not serious).
I was riding home with my cousin, but her parents were helping take everything down, leaving only me and her in the car. I started crying and bawling my eyes out in the car. Then when I got home I was crying in the shower. I know that on paper, my (bitter)sweet 16 wasnt that bad. The party itself was amazing (except one of my friends later calling it "thrifty" and made a comment on how the DJ sucked... my aunt was the DJ), and I know everyone had so much fun, but for some reason its been 6 months and I still cant get over it. especially since the day after the party, I woke up with swollen eyes and a headache from crying all night. The cherry on top was my parents scolding me for hours about how I ruined my own party and humiliated them, and i made thousands of dollars go to waste.
I dont know what to do or why Im so hung up on this event. Im suffering from maladaptive daydreaming bc every single day I daydream about the party going differently. And secretly, I've lost so much trust in my friends over this stupid party, and hold a bit of a grudge over them for it. My friend who didnt attend the party told me how unhealthy it is that im still moping over it, and he says my party just sounded like an average family reunion. And said that if the party happened last week or a month ago, it would be understandable. But 6 months?? But yeah, anyway. Can anyone please tell me how I can heal from this? I'm so sick of being easily hurt and dramatic

Hi all
So I admittedly don't have the best social skills and would say I am an introvert who wants to be an extrovert.
I don't know how to start conversations or what topics to start with, and that has had a negative view towards me with the small people I know. I would like to get to know my partners parents more and also be part of the conversation with their friends, but I end up being really quite around them unless I am spoken to.
What can I do to be better with my social skills and not worry about being stuck in my head for so long? I have never really had friends or a friend group, so it's all new and a lot for me, and I don't want to screw it all up because of my bad social skills.
I have also sometimes not greeted people, not intentionally, but that's left a bad taste in their mouths because of it.
Any help or advice would be appreciated

I usually have post nasal drip, which gives me a bad taste in the back of my mouth, and i think this causes me bad breath.
A few times through the last year or so, my post nasal cleared up (last time was because of quitting dairy), and my mouth/breath feels completely fresh, and i have no trouble talking close to people etc.
But it never lasts, and i'm back to being socially awkward because of this shit.
I don't know if post nasal drip is the cause for my bad breath though. I just know i have it, because people have told me.

good to monetize and modify!
So I was out with a buddy at one of those small town China buffets and he got a fortune cookie without any paper fortune in it. And I went home and made this. While listening to the album Wasteland to Wonderland by Paddy and the Rats.
It takes place in a world where science and magic coexist. Poorly. (Think S.T.A.L.K.E.R. but with wizards) The city and the countryside are ruled by a being known as the fateweaver. She rules with an iron fist, her command over sorcery absolute. Deep within the city her scientists are working on something. Something insidious. One of these decides that they wont be a part of it anymore. They are exiled from the city with a terrible curse and nowhere to go. There are rumors however of another sorcerer, who lives in an old estate far on the other side of the wastelands.
Bereft of any other ideas, they go. Ready to challenge fate.
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Dialogue
SFX
Context
context that changes the audio
The listener has been cursed by a figure known as the fateweaver for refusing to work on a scientific project for them. They have fled from the fate weavers city and sought out a mysterious sorcerer to have the curse lifted
Unfortunately they didn't get very far past the edge of the estate. They're tangled up in a bush of enchanted roses. The sorcerer arrives, in sweatpants and an oversized tshirt. Tired.
Well well well what have my roses caught for me?
A trespasser all tangled up in the thorns. A dime a dozen drifter.
Trespasser trespasser why did come?
Seems you're a little tangled up there. Did you really think you’d just be able to waltz into my sanctuary? You have no idea how much danger you’re in right now.
You’re lucky that my roses judged you to be a good person at heart or their enchantments would have made you into a rat as soon as you pricked yourself on them. Then my cats would have probably eaten you.
So tell me why you came and I’ll cut you down and pretend I never saw you.
What's the matter trespasser? Devil got your throat?
What brought you here? Just what manner of mortal are you?
Oh it seems it can speak after all. Come on now.
You’re stammering. Talk slower.
A scientist you say? Well well well. It's not often I’m graced with the presence of a sage like yourself.
Tell me, child of science, why would you seek out a sorcerer? I don't suppose you came here just to check out my roses.
And what's this on your neck? Seems to my eyes to be a tendril from a curse mark.
Tongue clicking
Ooooh boy, somebody out there must really not like you huh? Why is that?
More stammering
Actually you know what? I’m not interested. Here let me unsheathe my knife and cut you down.
Cuts them down
Thud
Now I’m going to close my beautiful eyes for a moment. And when I open them you’re going to be gone. I'm going to go back to sleep and in the morning this will just seem like some silly dream.
Understand?
Alright sweet pea.
One
Two
Three
Deep breath
And you’re still here.
Ok let's try again shall we?
One…..
Two……
Frustrated sigh
Ok I’m starting to get a little bit angry now. You know you woke me up from a really wonderful dream?
I was driving down the coast roads in a long silver convertible. I think it was a thunderbird like from that Marc Cohn song.
I had the top down and the radio on. The sea breeze was tossing my hair just so and I had that lovely salty fresh taste in my mouth. You have no idea how much I long to return to the coast. To feel that breeze for real just one more time.
The sun was going down and the sky was a million radiant colors. Just exploding up from the ocean. I had my arm draped around the shoulder of some lounge singer. It was one of the nicest dreams I’ve had in a long long time.
And right in the middle of it, as my favorite song came on over the radio and that good looking singer started to sing along to it, so softly I could barely even hear. I leaned in for the kiss and what happened instead?
I woke up- alerted to a trespasser into my little sanctum. My hair is a mess and my mouth tastes like morning breath. And instead of some gorgeous singer, I get to spend this cloudy damp little night with you.
So you can see how I might be a little unamused right now. Clearly you’re not going to take the off ramp I so generously provided to you so explain why you’re here. It had better be a really good reason.
Listener stammers again
You know what shut up. Let me see that curse mark. The whole thing.
Shhhhh relax i just need to look. Take off your shirt.
Turn around.
Traces their finger over the curse mark
Oh ohh damn. You’re really up the creek aren't you? You’ve been cursed by the fateweaver herself.
I’ve seen this before. It's a very insidious little curse.
Your energy slowly sapped away. Day by day. Everything around you goes greyer and greyer. And then one day your tank finally goes empty and you sit down somewhere, close your eyes and turn into stone, never to stir again. It's a favorite of hers.
What did you do? You don't seem like the defiant type. I'm guessing it was something like speaking out of turn during a meeting. Something stupid and petty like that.
Ohhh you had some “concerns”? Didn't like the implications of what you were being told to research did you?
Laughs
I’ll paint the rest of the picture. You shared these “Concerns” with her, but to your incredible surprise (and nobody else's) instead of listening to your ethical concerns she cursed you.
Listener does not deny it
Hehe yeah I knew it.
I can tell you're the type to assume the best of people aren't you. That’s cute. That's why you came out here just assuming I'd lift your curse out of the kindness of my little old heart isn't it? The evil sorcerer in the heart of the wasteland is surely just a caring good Samaritan deep down.
Well why would I lift the curse even if I could? What's in it for me? Me and the fateweaver have an understanding. She gets the city and the mountains. And I get the wasteland. Sure we're enemies, but frankly she's beaten me. And I'm tired, so why Should I rock the boat for some no name labcoat like you? Why risk another confrontation?
So no, I don't think I’ll be helping you.
You can stay right here if you want though. I think a statue would look really nice right over…. There. Right over on that iron bench by the dry fountain. Make sure you strike a good pose when it starts, Sweet Pea.
Maybe sit right there with your head in your hands. Cry a little bit even. It'll give this place a real melancholy vibe. Maybe I'll let the roses grow over you. That doesn't sound so bad does it? Just try not to make too much noise. I need my beauty sleep. See ya in the morning!
Mocking laugh
Oh you look so cute when the light fades from your eyes like that. Whatcha gonna do? Beg? Cry?
Go right on ahead! Sadder stories than yours have failed to move me! But I love a good begging session as much as the next sorcerer! Come on then! Lets see it.
Listener gets angry. In a tranquil way.
Oooh a death glare. Shiver me timb-
Listener sucker punches them in the gut, tackles them and takes the knife. pinning them to the ground with the knife to their throat.
Wha-oof!!
Oh you're a tricky bastard aren't you? I have to admit that I never would have expected you to punch me in the gut like that. And you got your grubby little hands on my favorite knife.
You think you've got the upper hand don't you? Well go ahead try and slit my throat. Take that knife and do it.
Go on. Try it.
The knife won't cut me. I know it. And if you truly know something it can't hurt you. It's killed enough for me that it knows it won't be trusted by anyone else. That's old magic. Nice try though.
Of course you realize that this means war.
Punches listener in the face
Grunts
Shoves the listener off of them.
They square up with eachother
Come on you fool! Hit me again! Show me that you're made of blood and bone! Show me what you lose if your flesh becomes stone. Stand up for yourself! You deserve to live don't you?
Grunts as they throw a punch. Listener dodges
Well?! Show me that you want it! Show me how bad you want to live!
Dodges a punch
Is that all!? I was just starting to respect you!
Throws another punch and hits the listener. The listener is knocked back and lets out an angry primal yell.
Yeah that's it! Scream! Cry for blood! Get mad! Get angry! Live damn you! Live!
Punches the air
You've got too much to lose to let me stop you! Take your fate into your own hands! You know what you came here for! Take it!
Tries to punch out the listener. The listener dodges and counter punches. Hitting their cheek
Laughter
spits
You made me bite my cheek, you little piece of dirt. First blood goes to you.
My mouth tastes like blood, but tonight the blood tastes like wine. Images are flashing through my mind. Images of the past and the future. You're something else. Worth getting out of bed for at least.
Laughter
So you want to live? You're not the only one. I can help you with that, but it'll cost you.
This curse of yours isn't some run of the mill evil spell. It's not a matter of me just waving my hand and casting a good spell to counter the evil one. There's a reason she's called the fateweaver. You turning into stone has literally been written in the stars. It is your destiny, it's part of the great tapestry of the world's fate.
The sun will rise tomorrow, the river will flow to the sea, the moon shall wax and wane, and you will turn to stone. It is your fate.
Ha! There's always a way. I can change your fate, that's what it means to be a sorcerer after all, to change fate. Come with me. To the well of eternity.
Walking and talking
My estate is built around the well of eternity. It is the bedrock of everything I am. The little seed that became the core of my power, and the link that became the chains that bind me. I wasn't always what I am now. I used to be a dental hygienist, but I had a curse of my own I needed to break. I’ll spare you the gritty details but it led me here from my home dimension.
A great man once compared the world to an optometrist trapped on a rail car with one little hole in the wall. Forced to watch the world pass by but being unable to see where the train was going or where it had been, only where it was at that moment.
That is what it is to be bound by fate, but what if I told you there was a way out of the boxcar?
That great hole in the center of the brick plaza? That's the well of eternity.
We'll have to descend the staircase around it. Watch your step, the stairs are slippery and thin.
Conjures a magical fire for light.
A magical fire burning a brilliant shade of [whatever your favorite color is] it will guide our way.
This world of yours and mine is one of many. All that happens here is one way or another driven by a conflict between those who serve the princess of the tower, the goddess of order. And the Witch of the plains. The goddess of chaos.
The fateweaver serves the former, although she doesn't know it. And I served the latter, even though I despised it. All that happens in every universe on the most fundamental level, is driven by their eternal hatred. So if you ever felt like the gods were fools, well you weren't far off from the truth.
Or in any case that's how it has been explained to me. I'll freely admit I don't understand most things as much as I'd like to. I’m a lot less than I appear to be. Most sorcerers are. We’re all smoke and mirrors. Shadows on the wall. Ghost boxes and card tricks.
They are deep in the well. There's a quiet watery ambience.
The well of eternity may look like water, but in truth it is the stuff that makes up the void between universes. If you submerge yourself into the water you will cease to be a part of this world and the forces that command your destiny will have no power over you. Your life will be your own.
Whispers minus the debt you will be owing me
Wait, I want you to understand what exactly you are doing to yourself.
There was a kingdom once where the tribe of the valley and the tribe of the hill were all times at war. There was a trader who sold to both sides and became fabulously rich.
But one night as he was riding through a small city a great storm arrived suddenly.
He went to the valley tribe for shelter, but they had no love for someone who also knew the people of the hills.
He went to the people of the hills but they would not shelter a man who also knew the people of the valley.
Thus the storm descended upon him and he was without shelter. Even of the worst kind. He was never seen again.
Do you understand?
Look into the waters.
I can show you glimpses of the great cities of the multiverse.
Samandar, The Emerald City, Tanelorn, Coruscant, El Dorado, Tooner Flats, Numinor, Detroit.
None of them will ever be a home for you.
If there is a place anywhere in the multiverse for a soul that has been baptized in the well of eternity I don't know of it. And trust me, I've looked. You can't go home again.
If you let me lower you into these waters your fate will be your own, and that can be a terrible thing. For whatever happens this point forward will be your responsibility. And if things go poorly you will have no one you can blame save for yourself. Are you certain you want this? I won't blame you if you turn back. There are worse fates than being stone. Becoming like me for example.
Look me in the eye and tell me you want this. Only you can make this choice.
Pause
listener nods
Deep breath
Smooch!
For luck
Splash as they push the listener into the water.
Listener is submerged in the water
Swim up! Swim up!
Fade out
Listener wakes up in inside the speakers home on a couch
Hey. How you feeling?
Head hurts right? And it's not just because of that black eye I gave you last night.
You know you saw a lot of stuff in the waters but you can't remember any of it. That's how it went for me at least.
You'll remember what you saw in time. A little bit will come back to you bit by bit. And It will change you, in ways you might not like. Until then well, ignorance is bliss as they say.
Can you sit up?
Good job, drink this. It's spiced wine, it'll calm your senses a little.
They hand the listener a coffee mug full of warm spiced wine
Like it? I whipped it up while you were napping. It’s not magic. Just calming.
Listener suddenly notices that they have a tattoo of a broken chain on their arm.
Oh yeah I see you just noticed your sick tatt. I did mention something about a debt to me did I not?
Hey! I said my help would cost you didnt I? I mean sure yeah I’m basically a saint, but I still need something in return. That tattoo is just a little forget me not. Something to keep that fresh in your mind. Besides, it looks good on you. Gives you that little bit of edginess you’ve been missing.
The broken chain. It's a symbol of mine. There's thirteen links. One for every second you spent under the waters down there.
You see I’ve been thinking and I’ve decided I need to get more active outside of my garden again and I'm gonna need a….
Hmmm minion sounds a little too hierarchical. So does servant. I mean I’m just an ordinary guy/gal. I can't have a servant. Too rich for my blood.
Let's say I'll need a helper. Yeah helper sounds nice. Somebody to do my leg work while I focus on the more technical stuff. You’ll love it. Give you a chance to get out of the lab and punch something. If this bruise on my cheek means anything you’ve got some pent up energy you need to work out.
Simple proposition really. Every time you run an errand for me a link disappears from the chain. Help me out thirteen times and you’re free to go. Unless you ever knowingly lie to me, that's gonna add another link to the chain. In the meantime you can stay here.
Hey have you ever driven a Hi-Lo? Do you think you could steal one?
Visible confusion
Nevermind, we'll talk about errands later.
Finish the wine and take a nap for a while. You’ve had a rough night. And it won't be your last. For better or worse. You chose to live a life without a destiny.
When you wake up I’ll have an errand you can run with me.
Cheek kiss
Sleep tight Trespasser.
-30-

21F uk, take 5 mg folic acid for low folic acid lol and 100mg of sertraline for OCD. Both once daily. No alcohol or drugs but I do vape
Symptoms started yesterday, was aching all over and had a really dry / scratchy throat. Chalked it down to allergies and sleeping funny- my mattress is rock solid lol. Didn’t feel unwell and managed to go up the park with my nephews
Woke up this morning with a slight a cough, nose isn’t blocked but I have a lot of mucus down my throat, my body is aching all over pretty bad and I have the chills, but don’t think I’ve got a fever- I don’t have a thermometer but my mum checked my chest / head (she’s A health care assistant) and said it doesn’t feel warm. Also have a general feeling of being unwell. Have managed to eat pretty normally though, have had paracetamol and lots of sleep throughout the day
Thing is, my sister (35F) had Covid 3 weeks ago. I didn’t have it, she doesn’t live with me and I didn’t see her, but we all tested as we’d met up a few days prior. She was asymptomatic for Covid, but developed pneumonia. She was very unwell for 2 weeks, bad chest and lots of vomiting. After an antibiotic change I’m pleased to say she’s much better, and I saw her yesterday (she came over to see us, you wouldn’t even know she’s been so unwell.)
The thing is, my mum went over to her house when she was very unwell to help care for her 1 year old son. She had little to no contact with my sister as she spent the day in bed. The 1 year old was not ill. That visit was 10 days ago
Thing is, I have agoraphobia so hardly leave my house. I’ve seen my mum, little sister, another older sister and her son recently, none of who are ill. I haven’t been anywhere other than the supermarket briefly a few days ago.
I’m worrying that I caught my sisters pneumonia even though I know it’s unlikely, and my cough isn’t bad at all. The body aches are driving me crazy though.
Is this likely nothing more than a common cold? I’ve had the flu before but was probably worse than this. I’ve also had bronchitis recently-ish and that was different too. I’m just so confused I have no idea where it’s come from
Mum will nip out to get me a Covid test tomorrow just to double check it isn’t that.
Yes I am a hypochondriac and am terrified of it being pneumonia because my sister vomited a lot. I have emetophobia so am terrified of being sick. I don’t think I feel nauseous and again have managed to eat smaller meals, and have felt hungry
No change to my taste or smell but my mouth is really dry, as is my throat and cough. It’s the muscle aches that are bothering me
I haven’t been sleeping well at all recently so don’t know if that’s contributing.

Hello, I am 13 and assigned male at birth and I think I’m experiencing gender dysmorphia here are my symptoms

1. A literal bitter taste in my mouth
2. General discussed at my genitalia
3. A pit in my stomach.
4. Almost all of my dreams and all of my fictional characters in DND, etc are female
5. Occasionally fantasizing or wanting to be the opposite gender.

If I am experiencing it, what can I do to experiment with my gender without going medical?

[INDEX]
Blackheart Bill stared at us from the porch of the tiny cabin, his eyes filled with murder. A cruel smile crept across his face, causing me to break into a sweat — this was a man who enjoyed the suffering of others.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the two bounty hunters that killed half my gang,” Bill drawled, his voice dripping malice. “What do ya think we should do with them, boys?”
“Face me like a man,” I shouted at him. “I refuse to be hung like a criminal!”
Bill’s lips twisted into a grin. “Is that so?” He said. “You think I had you brought here so you can challenge me to a duel? You’re mistaken kid.”
“I don’t want to be hung,” I said, mentally instructing Horse edge closer to Silas’ mount.
“What you want and what I want are different things, boy,” Bill said, his face relaxing into an unreadable mask. “And what I want is for you to suffer for killing my men. Jim, get a rope.”
Gap-tooth laughed like a drunken donkey and swung down from his horse.
I brushed against Silas, pulling his gun from my Inventory. Silas was fast, insanely fast. The gun appeared in my hand for a split-second before Silas had it pointed at the outlaw and was firing sizzling black bolts of energy.
Blackheart Bill was faster.
The outlaw dodged to the side in a blur, firing off three wild Kinetic bolts, one passing on each side of Silas before the final one tagged the man in the chest with the sound of shattering glass.
I pulled my gun from inventory a moment later, regretting my decision to load it with Lightning rounds as I pulled the trigger. Thunder roared as I shot the bandit behind me, then I squeezed the trigger again, clipping the other with a finger-thick bolt of electricity. Stone bullets whizzed around me as Horse hightailed it around the corner of the shack. Triggering [Aimed Shot] I fired a third round and a clap of thunder fried the man guarding the wood door set into the canyon wall.
Silas rounded the building a second later, his gun firing wildly at the remaining bandits. Quick as a flash, he ejected the spent brass and reloaded from his gun belt, picking off two more as they rounded the corner.
A Metal bullet burst from the wood next to my face, grazing my temple. I shoved my Mongoose into a gap between the weathered boards and fired off the remainder of my Lightning rounds, setting the front of the shack on fire. My fingers flickered as I reloaded unprimed rounds into the gun, slamming the cylinder closed.
Silas took one edge of the cabin and I took the other, shooting at anyone who moved, trapped in a standoff with the remaining five bandits and Bill, who continued shooting through the walls at us while screaming obscenities.
“Told you I didn’t want to hang, you scar-faced freak,” I taunted the man, firing a shot at one of the bandits scurrying to find better cover behind a broken wagon missing its rear axle. The Kinetic Bolt spread as it covered the distance, growing from a finger-sized bolt of blue energy into a basketball sized cloud that dispersed with a crackle and pop. Somewhere in the back of my head I knew the range was only about twenty yards and chastised myself for wasting the bullet.
I had less than 550BP remaining, which was a lot for unprimed shots, but only 54 [Aimed Shots] or about 100 primed shots. If I needed to use any of my other Utilities, it would drop fast. The bandit I had missed popped off a shot from his new vantage point, punching a hole in the wall above my head. I sent a Stone bullet in reply, causing him to duck from sight.
\Ding**
A popup blocked the lower half of my vision.
-=-=-
📱 [New Power-Up Available!] 📱
🔫 Pinned down behind an old shack? Bullets not packing enough punch? Try [Overcharge]! 🔫
💥 Just 500 credits, Limited time only! 💥
🌟 Features Include: - [Overcharge] Utility**: Infuse your bullets with extra battery points and surprise everyone! - Costs 500 credits - Requires 82 Memory
⚠️ Important Notes: - Cannot be stacked with active Utilities - Overcharge can severely damage firearms
[Get Overcharge Now ✅] [Maybe Later ❌]
-=-=-
The 60 second timer counted down 2 seconds before I punched accept.
[Downloading…20%…32%…68%…87%…Done!] [Installing…8%…12%…49%…52%…91%…Done!]
“You get shot?” Silas asked, sparing me a glance while I was stuck waiting for my upgrade to finish.
I shook my head. “Psychic thing,” I said once the System was done shoving data in my head. The knowledge of how to use [Overcharge], was simple enough — just push extra BP through the runestone and increase the destructive power of the bullet.
I triggered [Overcharge] and pushed an extra 5 Battery Points into the runestone, bringing the total cost of the Stone bullet to 6BP, then squeezed the trigger. The projectile impacted the broken wagon like a grenade, sending fragments of wood flying everywhere.
The screaming started a second later, followed by the bandit whose face was covered in blood and splinters. Selecting [Aimed Shot] I put a Stone bullet into his head, shocked by the spray of gore that filled the air. Hot bile burned the back of my throat, forcing me to swallow hard and refocus on the immediate situation.
The sound of hooves reached my ears, followed by Silas swearing. “They’re escaping,” He said, turning to mount his horse and swearing again. The animal was trembling in shock, bloody froth covering its mouth as it struggled to breathe. I noticed the blood covering its side then, where it had been shot when we had retreated behind the shack.
The shack was now burning quite impressively. The flames had grown to the point that it was uncomfortable to remain close, so I moved to a cooler spot and took a seat on the sandy ground. Pulling the Marlin from inventory, I popped off the leather caps that protected the scope lenses and took aim at the fleeing bandits. The scope pulled them in close enough that I felt I could reach out and snatch them with my hand even though they were over a hundred yards away now.
Bracing the rifle on my knee, I sighted through the scope and pulled the trigger, worked the lever to eject the shell and fired again. On the fourth shot I watched as Blackheart Bill’s horse stumbled and dropped to the dirt. I was aiming at Bill, but taking out his horse was good enough.
I watched as Bill took cover behind his downed horse and yelled at his men to come back and get him. They didn’t even look back, hunkering down as he started shooting at them, hitting one and dropping him from the saddle. Taking aim through the scope, I shot a few more rounds at Bill, causing him to turn his attention back to me and return fire.
A gunshot from behind me caused me to jump. Turning to see the source of the gunfire I saw Silas standing over the body of his horse. I guess he decided to end its misery.
Holstering his weapon, Silas yelled at the outlaw. “It’s over, Bill! Throw down your guns!”
Bill fired off another few rounds, none of them even coming close. A gunslinger like Bill might be deadly at close range, but he was just as accurate with a pistol as everyone else at a hundred yards.
I fired off a Metal slug from the Marlin and Bill returned fire. Our standoff continued, none of us wanting to commit to a move.
“How far you think that is?” I asked Silas.
“About a hundred ten, hundred twenty yards. Why?”
“Long as I’m here I might as well try to zero in this scope,” I replied, sighting down the barrel while adjusting the stupidly expensive piece of equipment.
“It’s a nice scope,” Silas admitted, rolling a cigarette. “You’re only as good as your gun.”
I nodded, fired off another shot, adjusted the scope, then fired off another. Until I got this thing in a vise and did it properly, this was as good as I was going to get.
The top of Bill’s hat was just visible over the ribs of the dead animal, so I used [Aimed Shot] and fired, eliciting a string of curses from the outlaw as it was knocked from his head.
I grinned at Silas, who returned it with a smile of his own. “You think this is gonna take long?” I asked.
“Put a few of those explosive rounds into that horse. That should get ‘em moving,” Silas answered.
“That was an [Overcharged] stone bullet,” I said. “Not sure it’ll have the same effect with a Metal slug.”
Silas nodded his head. “Be careful you don’t Overcharge too much, you can damage the core of your gun or even cause it to explode,” he said.
I sighted down the scope and triggered [Overcharge] with 5BP, sending another five Metal slugs downrange just as quick as I could work the lever-action. The slugs tore through the carcass, kicking up little puffs of dust as they tore into the ground beyond it.
Bills hat began to wave over the remains of the horse, then it dropped from sight.
“Let’s give him a few minutes,” Silas suggested. “If he’s playing games, he’ll lose patience. No sense endangering ourselves if he decides to pop up and start firing.”
I shot a few more [Overcharged] Metal slugs into the carcass, the last one causing the hat to fall out of Bills hand. Through the scope I could see his limp arm draped over the side of the horse.
Pushing the Marlin back into Inventory, I rose from the ground and looked at Silas. “You take the left and I’ll take the right?” I offered.
Silas loosened his pistol in its holster and began walking.
“Is it always like this?” I asked the bounty hunter.
“Like what?”
“So…messy.”
Silas tossed the remains of his cigarette onto the ground. “This was pretty bad,” He admitted. “Most times it’s just some guy in a small town saloon or holed up in a shack somewhere in the woods. Someone who thinks moving a few towns away will cover their tracks. Some even try to start their lives over. Bill was a two gold bounty, someone a posse would chase down, not two men.”
“So why did we go after him?”
“Because I thought he was in the Hardash forest, not running roughshod over the patriarch of Silvertown,” Silas laughed suddenly, shaking his head. “The plan was to locate his hideout, collect a few more men to handle his gang, and ambush them.”
We eased around the bullet-ridden horse to discover Blackheart Bill bleeding out. One of my bullets had gone through the horse, through his back and exited his chest. He gave us a bloody grin as we approached with guns drawn.
“There’s a healing potion in the saddle bag under the horse,” the bandit said, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “I’m worth more alive than dead and you don’t want to throw away good money, do ya?”
Silas pulled the hammer back on his gun, pointing it at the outlaw’s head.
“Wait,” Bill said, coughing weakly. “I got a dragon core, a real dragon core. I’ll tell you where to get it.”
“Now where would you get a dragon core?” Silas asked.
“From the Silvertown mines,” Bill rasped. “One of my boys, his brother works the mines and told him that they found dragon bones. That’s when I took the girl and made her daddy my bitch. He’d do anything to get her back.”
Silas pulled the trigger, splattering the outlaws head all over the remains of the horse.
“I’ve heard enough,” He said, holstering his pistol. “He kidnapped the girl and the others, holding them hostage so the Patriarch and other townsfolk wouldn’t interfere with his scheme. Let’s find the girl and get back to town.”
“Damn, Silas. In cold blood,” I said, turning my head from the sight of the gore. This is twice today I’ve seen the inside of a man’s skull. I should be bothered by this, like really bothered, but I’m not. Not really. It’s like there’s a disconnect and the only thing my brain can process is how smooth and efficient Silas was when he pulled the trigger. I can still taste bile in the back of my throat though.
“You want to do that thing of yours? Or you want me to dig his core out?”
“I’ll handle it,” I said, kneeling to touch the man so I could trigger [Disassembly]. “You should go see about the girl, she’s trying to use my Horse to get away and is having a nervous breakdown because he won’t move.”
I asked Horse to mosey around the burning remains of the shack with his new rider and to meet Silas. He sent back an image of him riding in a wagon with me pulling it. I’m guessing that he’s not enthused about being a taxi service.
The girl, Loretta Jurgens, was not in good shape.
The door set into the wall of the canyon covered the dead-end shaft of an abandoned moon silver mine left behind by some prospector. Loretta had been kept in there for the better part of a month and was in hysterics trying to get Horse to move. I'll let Silas deal with her while I process everything.
I collected 2100 credits for the all bandits, another 130 silver that I split with Silas, and of course, all their cores which would need to be turned in for bounties. A dozen pistols and several score of bullets were added to my inventory as well, including several knives and other personal effects that Silas assured me would fetch a few coin at a local pawnshop or general store. And gold teeth.
All that remained now was to locate the loot and leave this hell hole.
[INDEX]

Hi I am AMAB for the past three months I’ve been experiencing some feelings that match up with body dissmophia these are my symptoms
1.a literal bitter taste in my mouth 2.a pit in my stomach 3.I’ve been feeling shame about my genitalia 4.almost all of my dreams and created characters are female 5.I fantasize and wish I was a woman occasionally
If with these symptoms I am experiencing gender dissmorphia what can I do to experiment with becoming more feminine (without medical stuff)

In rewatching from the beginning and this time around I'm feeling different about somethings. Now normally, I have a genuine distate for teresa.. but now... I feel like melissa was the problem for teresa and Joe. I think.. she set up the stripper plotline( she is a horrible actress..and it was all so fake on her end).. I think she set up the cheating scandal before her marriage book came out. And she is was setting up teresa and joe.. in the therapy session with Dr. V (?) Her body language to me, gives it away that she wants them to be devided. She wants them fighting. She doesn't want them close. I don't think jo knows.. she is playing both sides.. she set it up so much that she could get to the point to walk away and watch them emplode all on their own... which is why she is much different person in the later seasons vs the beginning seasons.. and it truly leaves a bad taste in my mouth to defend teresa...

I need a new phone, and Im more than willing to spend $350 on one right now. Thing is, thats pretty much my budget's hard limit. Anything more is asking too much at the moment.
I see the nothing 2a, Xperia 10V, the A55, and even POCO F6 phones, but they all have a red glaring detail that leave a bad taste in my mouth whenever I say I wanna buy one of them.
If I were to spend an extra $100, I could get a galaxy S23FE, a nicer Xiaomi (not a fan but I could), a pixel, or even a OnePlus 12R. I'm planning on keeping this phone for at least 5 years, and I wanna make a good purchase now so I dont change phones down the line.
How much is adding $100 to my budget going to impact the quality of the phone? Will it be a big difference?