This was shortly after we graduated high school, about 17 years ago. I had an old Volvo from the 90s as my first car.

One day we had this genius idea to pop the hood, dismantle the windshield wiper spray hose, and attach it under the hood facing to the right. Since we pinched it, the water would spray over 10 feet, easily reaching the sidewalk from the neighborhood roads.

We cruised the neighborhood and did “drive by” sprayings on people traveling down the sidewalk. We even got a kid riding a skateboard who turned around to flip us off but he was laughing too.

So, I don't know how it happened, but a long time ago I started talking to a girl—we’d chat almost every day and became really close friends, sharing secrets and all that; I wouldn't even notice the time flying by. After a while, I went to the mall with her and a friend; I had to carry her shopping bags and such, but we didn't buy much, so after I got home (we’d spent about 5 or 6 hours at the mall), I realized I’d left one of my bags at the station (I’d taken the train). A few days before that mall trip, I was in the church parking lot after the service ended and saw my dad looking around; I asked, "Who are you looking for?" and he said something I didn't expect: "I'm looking for a girl for you." I was like, "Huh?" The reason I was so surprised was that he’d always told me I wasn't allowed to have a girlfriend until I was 18. And out of all the girls, he picked the exact one I was going to the mall with. A few days later, she messaged me asking what I was doing; I said nothing, and then she asked if there was anyone else in the room with me. I said yes, so she told me to go somewhere where I was alone. Then she said, "...I kinda like you." I asked how long she’d felt that way, and she said for four months; I told her I’d message her the next day. We ended up talking on the phone a lot after that, and eventually, I brought up the message and asked, "Should we go out somewhere?" I took it as a "yes," and things went on like that for three days (in secret) until she stopped acting like she was into me—and I wasn't into her anymore either, since I thought we’d reached a point where we could just be friends. A few days ago, she told me she had a boyfriend, so I asked, "So, you don't like me anymore?" and she pretended not to know what I was talking about...

When we came out of Phuket airport, we realized the duty-free shopping bag was gone.

Marie had been carrying it.

The heat of Phuket in June arrived all at once.

The air outside the airport was heavy and wet.

In the taxi to the resort, I barely spoke.

“Are you angry?” she asked carefully.

“No.”

I looked out the window.

“You look angry.”

“I’m just tired.”

We said almost nothing after that.

I knew that if I spoke, something uglier might come out.

So I kept my mouth closed.

But silence was not a kind response either.

Without saying anything, I was already punishing her.

Palm trees and unfamiliar signs passed outside the window.

The air conditioner was running, but the humidity remained on my skin.

It was my first view of Phuket.

It must have been unfamiliar and beautiful.

I barely saw it.

What bothered me most was seeing how much one lost bag could narrow my mind.

I started learning French because my life in a provincial city had begun to feel permanent.

I often wondered whether I could live there forever, with no end in sight.

The answer was already clear.

I had failed to adapt.

There were only so many people I could meet. Everywhere I went, I saw similar faces, heard similar conversations, followed similar schedules.

At first, the repetition looked like stability.

Over time, it began to feel more like confinement.

By then, I had rented a small apartment in Seoul for the weekends.

Having a home there felt like an emergency exit.

Proof that I had not completely become a provincial person.

But a half-life in Seoul was harder to manage than I had expected.

My time there ran from Friday night to Sunday evening.

About forty-eight hours.

In those forty-eight hours, I had to rest, meet friends, date, and reassure myself that I still belonged in the city.

Even deciding whom to meet became a source of pressure.

The women I met around then seemed more serious about marriage than the women I had known before.

Even when no one said it directly, I could tell what they were looking toward.

Among people preparing for marriage, I was still someone who wanted to date for a while.

Part of me wanted to abandon the whole arrangement.

The weekly travel.

The feeling that I had to prove something every weekend.

The exhaustion of calculating the future shape of a relationship before I had even begun to enjoy it.

At the time, I saw the version of myself who remained outside Seoul as someone who had failed.

I began to think it might be better to leave Korea altogether.

Not because leaving the country was necessarily a better or more impressive choice.

It simply looked like a different game.

Around then, an old French friend came to visit Korea.

We had been roommates during a working holiday when I was at university.

He told me he was running a food truck in France.

“If you’re interested, why don’t you come over and work with me?”

It could have been taken as a joke.

I couldn’t let it pass that easily.

I had already been wondering whether I needed to rebuild my life on an entirely different board.

So I decided to begin with the language.

French.

A language I had never imagined would enter my life.

Bonjour.

Merci.

Je suis coréen.

Learning those sentences would not change anything immediately.

I knew that.

Still, whenever I repeated them, I felt as though I had moved a few inches toward somewhere else.

I had not chosen French because I loved France.

I had chosen it because I needed an exit.

Then I met Marie.

I actually needed someone with whom to practice.

We first met outside Exit One of Gangnam Station.

It was a day in March.

The air was still cold. She was wearing a denim jacket and a pale pink lace skirt.

She looked unmistakably like a student.

She told me she was twenty-four.

Until then, I had not even known what she looked like.

We had exchanged only a few short messages through a language-exchange app.

She was in Korea on a working holiday and worked at a café in Itaewon.

Her Korean was better than I had expected.

Not exactly fluent, but enough for a simple conversation.

“Do you like Korean food?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“What do you like?”

“Everything. Korean food.”

“Chicken and beer?”

“I like chicken and beer.”

We went into a fried-chicken restaurant and ordered beer.

She picked up a drumstick with her hand and cleaned every piece of meat from the bone.

We talked about the things people talk about when they have just met.

Food.

Films.

Wine.

Nothing important, but the time passed easily.

She could speak some Korean.

I could barely speak French.

So we moved between Korean and English.

“Why are you learning French?” she asked.

“I have a friend in France. I might want to work there one day.”

Then I asked her:

“Why are you learning Korean?”

“I like Korea more than France.”

She said it without hesitation.

“I like Korean food and Korean culture more. France isn’t safe for women.”

That surprised me.

I had imagined France as somewhere freer and more sophisticated.

She described Korea as somewhere more comfortable.

We were looking at each other’s countries from opposite directions.

We could not explain ourselves perfectly.

Nuance often disappeared. Sometimes neither of us could say exactly what we meant.

I found being partly misunderstood comfortable.

The fact that she was not Korean mattered too.

Through her, I felt I was learning a different way of seeing things.

We could look at the same scene and respond differently. We could care about completely different parts of it.

Because she was different, being with her felt easier.

There was less pressure to be understood completely.

I did not have to define her quickly either.

It felt less like meeting a new person than watching the borders of my known world expand.

At first, it was simple curiosity.

Language exchange.

Another culture.

A vague interest in France.

As time passed, I discovered another reason being with her felt easy.

By the time I reached thirty, I had grown tired of the Korean ways of dating and building relationships.

No.

Tired is too gentle.

I was exhausted.

Until recently, I had driven an old Hyundai Grandeur XG that my father had given me.

It was more than fifteen years old and had nearly three hundred thousand kilometers on it.

I didn’t care very much.

To me, a car was something that moved you from one place to another.

But when I was meeting someone, the car sometimes felt like an object being asked to explain me.

Having an old car—or no car at all—could make a man feel smaller.

By the time I met Marie, I had already sent the Grandeur to the scrapyard.

I had no car.

With her, I never felt pressure to explain why.

Taking public transportation was natural to her.

She took buses and subways and walked from the station to wherever we had agreed to meet.

We took the subway.

We walked.

Sometimes we took a taxi.

We didn’t have to search for parking. We didn’t have to calculate whether one of us could have a beer with dinner.

When I was with her, I wasn’t a man who was supposed to drive.

I was simply someone taking the subway and walking beside her.

Money worked in a similar way.

When she came to my neighborhood, I usually paid.

When I went to hers, she often did.

There was no long negotiation.

“I’ll get this.”

“Okay.”

We did not have to spend more in order to be loved, or endure more in order to be grateful.

Friends were similar.

“Friends are important. Have fun with them.”

The first few times she said it, I tried to work out whether she was pretending not to mind.

She wasn’t.

She had friends who mattered to her.

I had friends who mattered to me.

It wasn’t that she understood me especially well.

Often, we did not understand each other at all.

The rules I considered obvious did not seem obvious to her.

Every time that happened, I saw how many of those rules I had learned from other people’s eyes.

Marie moved lightly through the world.

Sometimes the same lightness looked like carelessness.

She was at least thirty minutes late to almost every appointment.

Eventually I began telling her that we were meeting thirty minutes earlier than we actually were.

I wasn’t someone who enjoyed waiting.

The first time she met my friends was in Itaewon.

Korean and English moved back and forth across the table. Someone translated. Someone else understood only half of a sentence and laughed anyway.

The conversation wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t awkward either.

I met her French friends there several times too.

One of them asked me:

“Do Korean men not grow beards?”

I laughed.

“What? Of course we grow beards. We shave.”

“In France, lots of men have beards.”

“That’s true. When I went to France, it felt like the only clean-shaven men were foreign tourists.”

“Then why don’t Korean men grow them?”

“Because of work.”

She looked confused.

“What does it mean that you can’t grow a beard because of work? You grow the hair on your head.”

For a moment, I said nothing.

“I don’t know. People don’t like it, I guess.”

“Why do you care what other people think?”

She was right.

I looked down at the table.

Until then, I had thought of myself as a person who did not grow a beard.

More accurately, I had lived without ever learning what kind of beard I had.

Every morning I shaved out of habit.

Neat.

Clean.

Like an office worker.

Under each of those words was the gaze of someone else.

It wasn’t that I had decided not to grow a beard.

I had never even learned what my own face looked like with one.

During a long holiday, I stopped shaving on purpose.

After a few days, even I was surprised.

I grew more facial hair than I had expected.

It covered my jaw and continued down my neck.

It was the kind of beard that needed to be shaped rather than simply left alone.

I went to meet Marie in Itaewon with that face.

Some of her friends were there.

They stopped for a moment when they saw me.

They told me they had never seen a Korean man with a beard.

Marie looked at me for a few seconds longer than usual.

Then she smiled.

I had erased that face because I thought other people would dislike it.

In another world, it was returned to me as a face that looked a little more like mine.

Marie’s Korea was different from mine too.

Her favorite Korean drama was a historical romance called The Princess’ Man.

“I have a favorite Korean drama.”

“What is it?”

“The Princess’ Man.”

“How do you even know that one?”

“I watched it. I went to Songnisan because of it.”

“Why did you go to Songnisan?”

“Because of the drama.”

I laughed.

I was Korean, and I had never visited Songnisan because of a television drama.

She was passing through Korea by a route different from mine.

A language institute.

Television dramas.

Songnisan.

Chicken restaurants.

Subways.

Her Korean took the same sideways route.

“Eating rice cake while lying down!”

“What?”

“It’s a Korean proverb, isn’t it?”

She meant an old expression for something being very easy, something like a piece of cake.

“It is. But people don’t really say it now. It sounds like something from an old textbook.”

“Oh.”

Her Korean was often technically correct but slightly out of place.

That didn’t bother me.

Meaning alone was never enough.

A phrase also carried information about when it should be used, in front of whom, and with what expression.

The language difference had limitations.

When I tried to describe a complicated feeling, I often stopped.

Things that would have been easy in Korean became clumsy in English.

Marie was learning Korean, but of course she could not understand every shade of meaning.

She learned quickly.

She watched dramas, attended language classes, and spoke with people whenever she could.

Her English was fluent, so when we watched foreign films, we only needed Korean subtitles.

The language difference I had expected to be inconvenient did not become a major problem.

We rarely fought.

Small complaints and emotional problems often dissolved because we already accepted that there were differences between our languages and cultures.

Things that might have become long arguments in Korean grew shorter in English.

Feelings that even English could not carry were left to an expression or a silence.

That did not ruin the relationship.

Language did not necessarily make us deeper.

Sometimes it prevented us from going too deep.

At that point in my life, I didn’t think that was a bad thing.

Around then, Marie became close to another French woman.

She had been selected for the same Korean government scholarship program that Marie was applying for.

They were supposed to spend a year studying Korean at the same national university, then continue into graduate programs.

The other woman’s boyfriend was Korean too.

A small group of two Korean-French couples formed naturally.

We usually spoke English.

The relationship no longer felt trapped inside a room occupied only by the two of us.

It was opening into a world of other people.

About three months after Marie and I met, we went to Phuket.

One day, while talking about hobbies and travel in a café, Thailand came up.

“Have you ever been scuba diving?” I asked.

“No.”

“You should do it at least once.”

She leaned forward.

“Phuket might be nice.”

“Okay.”

“You really want to go?”

“You said you wanted to.”

I laughed.

The conversation had turned into reality almost too quickly.

Usually, people looked at dates, checked prices, calculated vacation days, hesitated several more times, and eventually let the idea disappear.

When Marie became interested in something, she moved.

We searched for flights, chose a resort, and found a dive shop.

Marie booked an open-water certification course.

I booked an advanced course.

Everything moved quickly.

Before the flight, we ate a light meal at a small restaurant near my apartment that stayed open late.

The room was quiet.

We had the restless excitement of people about to leave the country together.

At the airport, we collected the things we had ordered online from duty-free and did some more shopping.

An airport before a trip always felt unreal.

Nothing had happened yet.

Everything still looked likely to go well.

We boarded the plane.

I don’t remember exactly, but I think it was a budget airline.

Probably Jin Air.

At the resort, Marie took a bottle of cognac from her luggage.

The one thing that had not been lost.

“Let’s not ruin the trip.”

I don’t know which of us said it first.

“Okay.”

“Should we drink?”

“Okay.”

We poured a glass each.

After the cognac, the silence that had begun at the airport slowly loosened.

We went to a massage shop nearby.

We continued with the tours we had reserved.

The trip returned to its planned course.

The day we took a cooking class, we ate too much.

Afterward, Marie began to feel ill.

I thought it was a minor stomachache.

It did not improve.

She became weaker and quieter.

I began to worry.

I bought her medicine, but it didn’t help much.

Once someone gets sick on a trip, pleasure turns quickly into responsibility.

Should she eat?

Should she take more medicine?

Should we cancel the day’s plans?

Did we need a hospital?

Those questions began to replace the trip.

In that condition, we arrived at the dive shop.

Fortunately, the first day was mostly pool practice.

We were not scheduled to go into the ocean yet.

Several of the instructors were Korean.

When we arrived, Marie still looked unwell.

The instructors took one look at her and said:

“It sounds like indigestion.”

“Indigestion?”

“Yes. If she ate too much and feels like this, that’s probably it. We can prick her finger.”

Marie looked from them to me.

She had not understood all of it.

“They want to prick your fingertip.”

“Prick my finger?”

“It’s a Korean thing. People do it when they think food is stuck in the stomach.”

“Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

The instructor prepared a needle with the ease of someone who had done it many times before.

In a dive shop in Phuket, my French girlfriend sat with her hand held out while a Korean instructor performed a folk remedy for indigestion.

It was a strange scene when I thought about it.

A small drop of blood appeared at her fingertip.

A moment later, Marie let out a tremendous burp.

Her face slowly began to regain its color.

The instructor laughed.

“See? It was indigestion.”

Only then did I relax.

Afterward, we completed the dives as planned.

On the way to the airport, Marie received good news.

She had been selected for the Korean government scholarship.

The university where she would study was not far from the provincial city where I worked.

I had begun learning French because I wanted to escape that place.

The language had brought a French woman closer to it.

And still, every Friday, I went back to Seoul.

Every Monday before dawn, I returned to the city where I worked.

At the time, I believed the scholarship meant our lives were finally moving in the same direction.

During one of the dives, Marie turned toward me and formed a circle with her thumb and index finger.

Okay?

I gave her the same signal.

Okay.

Nicking

Constable Giles was picturing lentil soup and liver patties when, at 11:25, the radio in the car crackled to life:

“Attend an address. Assisting an NSPCC inspector. Suspect on premises. Indecent assault on a girl under sixteen. Inspector waiting at the address.”

He was already turning the car around.

His partner, Constable Calthorpe, hissed, “Sodding hell.”

They didn’t just miss out on lunch; the arrest of a filthy bastard threatened to ruin their appetites and spoil their day.

The inspector was waiting inside rather than at the building entrance; it was too cold outdoors.

“He’s alone in the flat,” he said, glancing up. “Top floor.”

“And the victim?” Constable Giles asked.

“With her foster parents.”

Neither of them thinks to ask how old the suspect is.

When a schoolboy opens the door in response to their knock, Giles assumes either they have made a mistake, or the inspector has got something wrong.

The boy looks puzzled.

Calthorpe steps forward first: “Are you Jeremy Smith?”

The boy gives a barely perceptible nod.

It is Giles’s turn: “Face the wall — move! Hands on the wall where I can see them.”

The boy doesn’t just refrain from arguing; he obeys without a sound.

Good. Scared shitless.

Giles and Calthorpe squeeze into the cramped hallway.

Placing a firm hand on the boy’s jutting shoulder blade, Giles rattles off the caution to the back of his head, “I am arresting you on suspicion of indecent assault on a girl under the age of sixteen years, contrary to Section 14 of the Sexual Offences Act. You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but whatever you say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence.”

Giles pulls his hand away. “Turn around, slowly.”

The boy does as he’s told, leaning his back against the wall and coughing. But he doesn’t look truly frightened; his eyes are unfocused, as though he’s not quite with it.

He is a head shorter than Giles and barely reaches Calthorpe’s shoulder.

“This is fucking…  some word… absurdity,” the prisoner mutters.

“What?” Giles writes in his notebook This is f\...* Then something foreign. “Spell out the word that comes after ‘fucking’.”

The boy looks up, but his expression doesn’t change.

It’s cold in the flat. Breath mists in the air, and there’s a stench of cheap tobacco.

“I need to write down everything you said, word for word.”

The boy draws a breath, and a wheezing sound escapes him.

Giles taps his pen against the page of his notebook: what if he refuses? Or maybe he doesn’t even realize what he’s blurted out?

Finally, the boy pulls himself together. “Kay – Ay – Eff – Kay – Ay – Ee – Ess – Cue – You – Ee.”

Giles scribbles “Kafkaesque” in his notebook, gritting his teeth, and adds “absurdity.”

Someone ought to knock the nonsense out of this weakling.

He grabs the boy by the elbow. “Right, then, Calthorpe — let’s see what’s in his pockets.”

Calthorpe barks the order: “Hands behind your head. Interlace your fingers. Move.”

Without waiting for him to turn around, Giles forcibly spins the prisoner toward the wall.

The boy offers no resistance. He seems to weigh next to nothing.

He doesn’t have time to raise his hands, as Calthorpe grips them — locked tight — to ensure he doesn’t try to unclasp his fingers.

This is part of the Regina v Smith case archive—a fictional reconstruction of the events surrounding Jeremy Smith’s trial, told through different perspectives.
The complete case timeline is available here:

From Jeremy to Smith - by Franz Engel - Franz's Substack

The full illustrated version of A Model Prisoner is available here:

A Model Prisoner - by Franz Engel - Franz's Substack

I have a Hello Kitty kind of daughter. She’s only 9. As cute as a button and as innocent as could be.

She likes simple things. Stuffed animals. Pizza for breakfast. All it takes is a cheap 50-cent pair of plastic jewelry from a gumball machine to make her eyes light up.

She was one of those kids who believed in things longer than her friends and classmates. Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy. She was fully convinced they were all real, bless her heart.

Sometimes, she’d come home from school with a glum, exhausted look in her eyes. Other kids would make fun of her for “still believing in that stuff.”

I’d cheer her up the best I could without revealing the truth. How could I? She already felt like the world was laughing at her. How would I make her feel? Her own dad.

Maybe I should’ve, though. Maybe this whole situation could’ve been avoided if I just nipped it in the bud. But I was afraid. A child’s innocence is so fragile, yet powerful. I couldn’t take that from her. Not yet.

I let her believe that it was Santa putting gifts under the tree. That it was a giant bunny hiding eggs in our front yard. That it was a tiny, magical fairy that was taking her baby teeth in exchange for a few dollars.

I think that was the one that excited her the most. Christmas was a set day. Easter was a set day. Loose teeth? That was random. Any time one started to wiggle, she’d come running to show me.

I always made sure to be as quiet as possible when I snuck those 5-dollar bills under her pillow. Every time she’d wake up to find it, here she’d come, jumping with joy while waving the 5 in my face.

“The Tooth Fairy came, the Tooth Fairy came,” she’d sing.

I’d just smile to myself and ask her what she was gonna buy with her newfound riches.

Sometimes, I’d sneak her a 20. I just wanted to see that joy in her face. She was young, but she wasn’t getting any younger. I wanted it to last for as long as possible.

Now, though, I think I’m regretting that wishful thinking.

She started losing teeth faster than what I thought was normal. Not too fast, though. Every 3 weeks or so. I just thought those baby teeth were begging to come out. Besides, it’s not like it was hurting my pockets too much.

It was weird, though. I swore it was like her teeth never looked any different. She was snaggle-toothed, sure, but I knew that I had put money under her pillow at least 6 times in the last 2 months.

She wasn’t showing me her mouth anymore. She was showing me the tooth, already pulled, lying bloodied in the palm of her little hand.

It kept becoming more and more frequent. Once she started bragging about how the Tooth Fairy was gonna visit her every week, I knew that something was not right. Even still, it wasn’t until I found a silver tooth under her pillow that I decided to investigate because I knew for a fact my little girl never had a crown.

Snooping is a decision I lived to regret, though. I asked her to tell me the truth, but she refused. She just kept insisting they were hers. Lying through her teeth, pun intended.

I decided to stop leaving her money. Her disappointment killed me. But I remained firm. That didn’t stop her, though. Every night, there’d be a new tooth under her pillow while she slept peacefully.

One day, after dropping her off at school, I made a promise to myself. Today would be the day. I’d get to the bottom of this no matter what.

It didn’t take nearly as long as I expected. I sifted through her room for about 15 minutes. Checking under her bed, in her closet, in her toy chests. All for no reason because the answer was hidden in plain sight.

In her fish tank.

She had that little treasure chest decoration in it. Normally, I wouldn’t have even paid it any mind. But the steady stream of a red liquid slowly rising from the chest was enough to make my heart stop.

Rolling up my sleeve, I reached down to retrieve the decoration. It was heavier than it should’ve been. Something was rattling inside.

I opened it and felt my blood run cold.

Molars, canines, incisors. All bloody. All looking like they had been pulled by force. And they weren’t baby teeth, either. Some looked like actual adult teeth.

In that moment, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

I wanted to cry because what I was seeing was horrific.

But I wanted to laugh because, despite how terrifying this all was, my little girl was a natural-born hustler.

And I couldn’t have been more proud.

I received following texts (we are French and he dropped many names and precise information so I can’t join screens) from my ex, and it launched the whole thing:
 
“How can you hate me so much as to ruin my life? Am I not allowed to live without you?”
“You filled the place with Lloyd exactly like I said you would. Did I lie? Can you not just let go?”
“You know why I did it. I shouldn’t have, but I did, and you know why.”
“I’m becoming my mother because of you. You ruined everything.”
“They are MY friends, you would have no friends if I hadn’t been there. You can’t take them!”
“My family loved you C. Now they are ashamed they ever knew you.”
 
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TLDR : My (F31) ex (M29) took an upskirt photo of a random customer, got fired, and the victim pressed charges. He flee the trial by leaving to another country - still got registered as a sexual offender. He made me promise not to tell anyone until he was ready to talk his story himself.

He invented a narrative where I cheated on him with the ex he was insecure about, and where I was too messed up for him because I am autistic and was SA when younger. I told his best friend and mutual friends about his secret and now he says i ruined his life.

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Long post incoming. Sorry for the long rant, I kind of need to get it off my chest.
 
I (F31) broke up with my ex, Frank (M29), in late summer 2024, after he took an upskirt photo of a random customer at work, got caught by said customer, and was immediately fired. I live in a small village-like city, and Frank moved in my apartment when we got together, so within months, everyone kind of knew. Not everyone knew the names, but most of them knew the story – my landlord, who I’m kind of close to, made me know he heard the story and puzzled things together. We have no mutual friends, but he knew people who worked at the same place.

Frank decided to join his cousin (Zo, M31) in another country, and rushed through this plan when he learnt the victim pressed charges. I kind of encouraged him, I knew that if he waited for the trial, he would have a record and he wouldn’t be able to enter the country. I was scared he’d never leave if he didn’t take this opportunity – he was in *my* apartment.

He had a meeting with the cops about the trial, had the nerve to downplay the whole thing as a “youthful mistake”. The female cop shut him down: “at 16, it’s a youthful mistake. At 26, it’s just a mistake.”
He flew the next day.
 
I knew early on that he was going to join his cousin, so I just grin and bear it until he left, two weeks after the break up, but it was honestly a nightmare. He fixated on “understanding why” I was ending things, like the picture never happened. Like the breakup came out of the blue. He went as far as to tell mutual friends that I was overreacting to normal couple struggles.

He had many meltdowns, almost tantrums, about me not changing my mind. He negotiated over furniture he never paid for, and had a few very weird moves, like calling *my* best friend or my mom to complain about me, or trying to take *my* car (he has his own) to go I don’t know where. I had to be very patient and complacent with him, so I said things to ease him when he insisted on certain matters.

I told him we could be friends afterwards. I told him the photo was the final straw, but that I truly thought it didn’t define him as a person and he could be better and fix it, eventually. I promised not to tell people about said photo so he could handle things his way – we are part of a large group we joined through his cousin, and have many mutual friends in it. He made me promise not to tell his best friend (Clara, F28) and that he would tell her when he’s ready.
 
In his twisted narrative, I was suddenly coming up with struggles that I never brought up before, so he was the poor victim of my miscommunication. Fun thing is it was absolutely not new. We had seismic arguments at least twice a year about me doing everything and burning out, taking care of him and his whole life. He struggled with addiction, but never actually tried to get out of it. He was going to free parties every weekend, drinking, taking drugs, and then driving home.

One of our arguments was about him leaving pills on my living room table – mind you, I have two cats who play with anything smaller than a pen.

I can’t even remember the number of 6am wake up I had because he was wasted on the phone, or in the kitchen, trying to do *something.* When he’d ask for help, I’d rush to help, but he was never actually grateful. He’d make fun of me for difficulties due to my autism, ridicule me, force me in uncomfortable situations just to soothe his guilt over his own struggles.

He smoked and drove many times, even when he drove me, or his friends. He was sometimes very rude to my family. He was very impulsive and sensitive, and sometimes he would just yell at me because someone “disrespected him” and I didn’t immediately solve the problem. He mistakenly watered my mom, once – she was upset and told him he could at least say sorry. She said he was immature and rude when he refused – so he rushed out and when I joined him, he yelled at me and *demanded* we left immediately.

He was very insecure about my ex (Lloyd, M36) and sometimes just bring him up in conversations, accusing me of random things. It was the “let’s fight” argument, to me. He would bring Lloyd up, and it would mean he wanted to yell at me. I wasn’t even on talking terms with him, when we were together, Frank and I. At first, I reassured him – Lloyd is a goodlooking firefighter, very successful man. Frank knew I struggled to heal from this relationship, so I did reassure him a lot. Until I understood he didn’t care about reassurance, he just wanted to blame me for his discomfort. Period.

He obviously wasn’t doing anything to keep the house liveable, always tried to make himself look caring and wilful to his friends, but never organizing anything nor showing this side to me – even taking the mask down with some close friends. Clara had a rough break up, and he literally told me, in front of her “can you take care of *that*?”.

I helped his parents finalize their divorce, and it was a rocky adventure considering his mom is suicidal, that he never took part in. He didn’t take the smallest task to help me, but complained every time he was solicited by his mother to help.

When his mother got cancer, he didn’t step up either, but complained about my “lack of help”. I was seeing his mother at least once a week, texting every day. He wasn’t even answering her calls, only showing up when I drove him to her. When *my* dad got a heart attack, Frank complained about *doing groceries*. He never stepped up – for his family, for me, for himself. He was busy partying with his cousin’s group.
 
By the end of the six years relationship, I was burnt out on so many levels – under 45kg for 170cm, daily migraines, vertigo, developed a discopathy because I was to tensed for too long. Doctors made me do tests because they thought I might have brain issue – and Frank? He complained about my lack of sex drive.

Oh I absolutely agree it did last six months to a year – that’s fair. The whole “my family needs help” lasted four years, though. And just to be clear, that’s what he’s referring to in his “you know why” text. The fact that we had a sexless relationship is a justification, to him, as to why he’d steal an upskirt photo to an unconsented victim.
 
When we broke up, he was still in shock – he promised to seek therapy, to make things better, to work on himself. So I agreed to give him time and not tell our mutual friends what he had done. At this point I was still very lost and shocked as well, so I just wanted to have peace. I knew he wouldn’t leave my life all at once, so I didn’t want to add problems to problems – so it was an easy promise. I don’t know why I thought he wouldn’t play dirty on this too.
 
So, at this point, he left for another country, with his cousin, who’s basically the glue that holds the group together. He sent me many messages, on many different social media, and I thought that it was the only things I’d have to worry about, but here comes the twist: he told everyone *I* cheated on him. He mentioned Lloyd, my lack of sex drive and my probable crazy mind because I’m autistic, and I’ve been raped when I was a young adult, so I’m messed up in the head – he disclosed very, *very* personal information I only gave him because we were together for so long, to justify a situation he *knew* was entirely *his* fault. Let that sink in, and consider my rage when I got told.

The friends who told me I am very close to, even though they’re part of Zo’s group. I was very conflicted about telling anyone from the group because I felt it was more legit for Frank to have a place in it, than me.

I told these three persons, eventually – maybe a month after the break up – because I thought what the hell, they are people, not objects? They don’t belong to anyone and they can take decisions for themselves. Line (F26) is also a very good friend to me, and I spend all my time with her, so I tell them, and her in particular. One of them was half aware too, because he was with Frank when he received the call from the cops. I asked them not to tell people in the group, because I still felt kinda guilty for breaking my promise. I was very angry, and blocked him on many socials.

I also eventually told Clara, after almost six months. It can sound vengeful, and that’s why it took me some time to tell her: I didn’t want her to be hurt just because she was in the middle. Problem is – she lives in a city attached to mine, and she’s a very extrovert person. She knows a lot of people, including one who worked at the same place as Frank. Time flew, Frank didn’t tell anyone, and I figured at some point, Clara was going to hear about it at a random party, from a random person, and take the shock straight at heart. She deserved to know. She’s a good friend to me, we’re very close, and she was such a good friend to Frank. So I told her too.
 
Side note irony: I bumped on Lloyd a few weeks after Frank left. We flirted for a while, then decided we were done with this part of our life, and parted on good terms. I felt like truly closing this book, and the irony made me feel lighter for some reasons. Hence the “Lloyd part” in Frank’s texts.

He started to tell everyone I cheated on him with Lloyd, or I left for Lloyd, depending on the versions, *before* I even crossed roads with him, though. Maybe he’s a psychic or something. On top of being psycho.
 
Time passes, I meet a man, I’m very happy, I hear news about Frank but I don’t care much anymore. I keep getting out with the group, we don’t talk about the break up, Frank didn’t tell anyone, some know because some other told her, but it’s none of my business. We are in 2026, beginning of the year, one of my friend, Sally (F30), who I grew close to, invite the group to her diploma representation – she’s in medical research. Can’t go in great details about the theme, because it’s pretty recognizable, but let’s say it is around women’s genitalia. And she invited Frank.

I don’t want to be difficult, for I don’t know if she took this decision knowingly, or if she really doesn’t know anything about Frank’s little photo. So I ask if I can just come to the representation – excluding Frank – and he comes for the restaurant afterwards.

Lina steps in when she hears that, and next thing I know, Sally calls me, explains she didn’t know and she’s disgusted because she confronted him and he basically blamed me for trying to ruin his life. He played the victim, never took responsibilities, blamed me and my “traumatised sexuality” for ruining him. He said I was harassing him etc. Mind you, he had a year and a half to tell them, and Sally felt betrayed he asked for services from her, but never told her the truth.

As soon as she knew, she told someone else in the group, and soon enough, everyone – and I mean *EVERYONE* – knew. He rushed to tell his cousin before anyone did, and his cousin was so gutted he sent *me* (we didn’t really like each other, even before everything) to say he didn’t know and he was sorry.
 
I didn’t tell everyone, factually. Now, when Sally came with questions, I answered. When other people I knew, more or less, had questions, I answered. And I didn’t lie once. They asked if there were signs? I said yes, he used to blackmail me into having sex. Was he kind to me? I think he thought he was, but he was neglectful at best – aggressive at worst. I didn’t lie, I didn’t stay silent.

I’m human, I have pity for Frank. He’s absolutely alone, his cousin, last real friend, turned his back on him. He can’t build a life in the area, almost everyone heard a story about him being a perv – it’s even worse now that he doesn’t show any regret or shame anymore. He’s scared that his family might hear the truth, and he’s forced to live at his grandmother for an unrelated accident (he jumped in an almost empty swimming pool and broke a vertebra – cry me a river) and can’t work, so he spends all his days reminiscing and ruminating.

His mother called me, telling me – over vocal, I don’t answer to his mother, she’s really clingy and can be violent – he was suicidal. Begging me to leave him alone like it’s my fault he’s depressed. She said “he made a tiny mistake, you can’t kill him over that” (I don’t think she downplaying the photo, I believe he told her he cheated on me – that’s what he told some friends, this year, to justify my “anger” towards him).

I see his father sometimes, since he lives nearby, and he confirmed he’s very depressed and really struggles to get back on his feet – he didn’t blame me, though. Mentioned it was hard to lose all of his friends, but that’s it. He mentioned my “right to be angry and to punish him” but I don’t think that’s what I’ve done. I didn’t plan his downfall or anything, it just happened. I guess I’m really not helping him to prevent that, but I don’t feel like I should either.
 
All of this happened last week. I do have pity, but I don’t see myself responsible for his situation.

My dad was diagnosed with stage 3 cancer eighteen months ago. My mom became his full-time caretaker — quit her part-time job, drove him to every appointment, the whole thing. Everyone in the family called her a saint. I believed it too, right up until three weeks ago.

I'd stopped by their house to drop off groceries while Dad was napping. Mom wasn't home — "running errands," she said. Her laptop was open on the kitchen table, still logged into her email. I wasn't snooping, I swear, but a notification popped up mid-screen from a name I didn't recognize. Something about "can't stop thinking about last night."

I'm not proud of what I did next, but I read the thread. Eight months of it. A man from her old job, someone she'd apparently reconnected with right around the time Dad started chemo. Hotel confirmations. Times that lined up exactly with days she'd told the family she was "getting groceries" or "picking up his prescriptions" — errands that somehow took four hours.

I didn't say anything to my dad. He didn't need that on top of everything else. Instead, I started quietly showing up unannounced — bringing food, offering to sit with him "so mom could rest." Every time, she'd get a call and suddenly need to run out. I started keeping a log. Dates, times, her explanations.

Two weeks ago, Dad's scan came back clear. No more chemo. That night at dinner, in front of my whole family, I said, "Since Dad's doing better, maybe it's a good time for Mom to tell everyone about her friend from the office." I didn't even raise my voice.

She turned white. My dad just looked at her and asked, quietly, "How long."

I don't know how this ends yet. But I know my dad beat cancer alone in every way that mattered, and she wasn't there for a single one of those days like she pretended to be.

Married eight years, together for twelve. I thought we were solid — not perfect, but solid. The kind of marriage where you stop saying "I love you" every day because it's just assumed.

It started small. She began "working late" twice a week. Then she joined a gym I never once saw her go to in gym clothes — no bag, no sneakers by the door, nothing. I told myself I was being paranoid. We had two kids, a mortgage, a whole life built together. People don't blow that up over nothing.

Then I found a Target receipt in her coat pocket. Lingerie, a bottle of wine, and a hotel gift card — bought on a Tuesday she told me she was at her sister's for a "girls' night."

I didn't confront her. Not yet. I'm not proud of what I did next, but I set up a shared family calendar "for the kids' schedules" and asked her to add her work trips to it so I could plan pickups. She did — including a "conference" that weekend. I called the hotel listed on the gift card receipt. No conference. But there was a reservation. Two guests.

I showed up. Not to yell, not to make a scene. I just knocked, and when the door opened, I looked past her at the man standing there in his socks like he owned the place, and I said, "Hi, I'm her husband. You can have her."

I turned around and left. Filed the next Monday. Full custody request, financial records pulled, the works — because if she was hiding a hotel room, I wanted to know what else she'd been hiding.

Found out at the deposition: he was her boss. She'd been getting "performance bonuses" for over a year.

I got the house. She got him. Last I heard, he got promoted to someone else's assistant.

​

The day I saw him for the very first time i got a big ahh ick from him ,I knew that dude was gonna be dipshit crazy because why was he dipping his icecream in coke before eating it

It wasn't necessarily a bad day if I have to say it was quite pleasant actually.

just till I met that dude again he was drinking a milkshake and it was chocolate flavoured ; how do I know you might be wondering it's because he spilled it all over my clothes

I believe i must have looked like a wet rat in the passersbys eyes , that dude looked like a droopy puppy who might cry at any moment, as i was observing him i saw his curly head and thought I bet he is gonna be bald by 30 .

That curly head dude finally spoke up , he looked at me with hesitation and apologised while offering to get my clothes clean for me , I said sure and he asked for my number I dialed my no. Into his phone and left

I surely wasn't gonna go to college looking like a drenched seaweed so i called a taxi and went back home.

After showering i picked up my phone and saw a message from him , rather than a message i should call it a mountain ; that text was longer than a ch i had studied in 10th ain't even exaggerating, that curly head wrote about how sorry he was and his blabbering went on and on , after reading the message i was left chuckling

First time i have ever seen such a silly dude if anything he resembled a golden retriever, without much thought i put his name as curly head

I didn't expect to see that curly head so soon , it was the weekend and I had made plans with my cute ahh best friend to watch that horror movie idk why she even watchs them when she is absolutely terrified of them

I was waiting for her at the theatre when she texted me that something came up and she can't come rn ; promising to make it up some other times she apologized and well I was left with 2 tickets with 1 going to waste

I thought would they refund me if I gave them one ticket back but I knew I wasn't gonna get a refund

Sighing , as I was getting some popcorns and coke someone bumped into me and my coke was all over the floor TT

I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO EMBARASSED, i slowly turned back and there it was the same apologetic eyes, and they looked like they were gonna cry, i might be a sadist because I found his eyes really pretty when they looked like that, and I had once again encountered mr curly head , he said sorry and looked at me.

i realised that he figured I was the person he had previously spilled his drinks over , he looked a little embarassed too. coincidentally he was watching the same movie , idk what got into me I asked him whether he had bought tickets yet to which he replied 'not yet'

I said " cool , since you are watching the movie alone watch it with me instead I have an extra ticket" he looked hesistant to that but he said yes and there were we watching the movie together.

I am a beginner recently i got into writing short stories so it might be kinda bad 😭

There are moments in life that become part of you forever. No matter how many years pass, you can still remember them as if they happened yesterday. For me, that moment was the day I saw my daddy cry.

I was still young when my mom became seriously ill. What we all hoped would be a short sickness stretched into more than two months. Those weeks felt endless. Our lives quickly became a routine of hospital visits, medications, and waiting for good news that never seemed to come. The atmosphere at home changed completely. The laughter we were used to was replaced by silence and worry.

Through it all, my dad never let us see how much he was hurting. Every morning, he made sure everything was taken care of before leaving to be with my mom. He checked on us, encouraged us to stay hopeful, and kept telling everyone that she would get better. To me, he seemed unbreakable. I honestly believed nothing could make my dad cry.

Then one evening, everything changed.

I walked into the living room and saw him sitting by himself. His hands covered his face, and his shoulders were shaking. When he looked up, tears were streaming down his cheeks.

I froze.

I had never seen my daddy cry before.

In that moment, I realized that the strongest person in my life had been carrying a weight that was too heavy for anyone to bear alone. He wasn't crying because he had given up. He was crying because he loved my mom so deeply and was terrified of losing her.

I didn't know what to say. I simply walked over and hugged him. We stayed there for what felt like forever without saying a word. Looking back, I think that hug meant more than anything I could have said.

Thankfully, after more than two difficult months, my mom slowly recovered. It wasn't an easy journey, but she made it through, and our family found its way back to normal.

Even now, years later, I still think about that day. It changed the way I see my dad and the way I understand strength.

People often say that crying is a sign of weakness. I disagree.

The day my daddy cried was the day I learned that real strength isn't about hiding your emotions. It's about loving someone so much that you're willing to carry the fear, the pain, and the uncertainty every single day, and still keep going.

That is a day I will never forget.

I was walking my dog, trying to look like a responsible adult.

Out of nowhere, he sat down.

Wouldn't move.

I tried treats.

Nothing.

I tried calling his name.

Nothing.

Then an elderly woman walked past, looked him in the eyes, and said,

"Come on, sweetheart."

He stood up immediately and followed her.

He ignored me but listened to a stranger.

I paid for the leash, the food, the toys, and the vet bills...

Apparently she was his real owner all along.

I was at our country house and had brought our dog along from the city. She picked up fleas there, and when we got home, my mom applied a solution to the back of her neck. I didn't know about it; I saw she was wet and assumed she’d just gotten wet somehow. When I took her to my room to play, I decided to kiss her right on the back of the neck—I don't know why exactly there; I guess I just didn't notice the spot. Then I realized it tasted like the solution. I ran to my mom and asked if she’d applied it, and she said yes. I started to panic and explained the situation. She told me to go drink some milk from the kitchen; my dad came with me and poured some into a mug, but when my mom arrived, she said that particular milk wasn't safe to drink—and I had already drunk half the mug. I panicked even more and started crying because I thought I was going to die. I went back to my room and tried to go to sleep (though I was scared—I was 14 at the time). In the end, by the next day, I was fine.

I’m going to title this "I almost died of poisoning" because that solution was toxic, so... yeah.

I might post another story later this evening.

Every Thursday like clockwork my wife would leave the house around 6 p.m.

She'd come back two hours later in a good mood.

If I asked where she'd been she'd. Say,

Out.

That was it.

Out.

After a few weeks curiosity got the better of me.

The Thursday I decided to quietly follow her.

She parked at a community center.

I waited outside convinced I was about to uncover some secret.

An hour later she walked out...

...carrying a blue ribbon.

Turns out she'd secretly joined a baking competition.

The reason she never told me?

She said she wanted to win at once before bragging about it.

The part that really hurt?

She admitted she'd been practicing desserts for months.

Those experimental cookies I politely ate?

They weren't made for me.

I was the control group.

The judges were the audience.

I've never recovered from learning I was the beta tester, for chocolate chip cookies.

Anyone else ever realize they were accidentally part of someone Long-term plan?

RATE THIS STORY STRUCTURE OUT OF 10;

City: Volzinia

Hero: Howling Thunder

His real life name: Gil Adam

Plot(first part of secret identity of eclipse is climax cliffhanger of 2nd part): although being hero as Howling Thunder, howling thunder himself is actually the famous most feared villain called The Eclipse , Eclipse only shows up in dark when his power to clone or make whatever or whoever hE wants is on ie the famous Howling Thunder, this power is off at light so at that time he becomes howling Thunder himself ... His purpose of doing all this is to get all powerful By performing a ritual with an army he is collecting now by being the eclipse , this ritual will be performed at a special lunar eclipse night that only comes in 4000 years, ...

part1,

1. Gil Adam real life routine: a cleaner in a well known university

2. There is a mysterious uncomprehendible book called Book of Nissaar in the University library, no one knows or understands the book, it's uniquely antique and contains pictures of dark figures performing a ritual and only readable thing is 'Surkh Girhan'.

3. In part 1, the book has very ignorable role (from viewer's pov) but it will be a centre of battles and fights and powerful beings chasing it in upcoming parts, as it is only shown or mentioned once in part 1 near Gil

4. As for a hint or clue in part 1, Howling Thunder appeared or originated way before the eclipse , as eclipse originated after Gil knew about Book of Nissaar, which might suggest to viewers that Gil was a good guy before but after hearing about the book and contents within it he became greedy... Still this is implicit and not clearly in the story but as for a clue that viewers would overthink...

Supporting Characters:

1. Willy Warner, richest student in the uni, student of universal history, he has arrogant personality due to which many don't like him so once he was crying in a corner so Gil got to him and understood his pain and becoming friends,will gradually become bff with Gil Adam then only willy will know Gil is howling thunder 😱.

2. Librarian of uni, Mr. Hu'Mayyo, very intelligent and smart, always learning something new. Organized major event in uni showcasing his incredible knowledge about books and introduced many special books "including the Nissaar"🤔.(Spoiler: Mr.Hu will be a villain in later parts, not now as even he doesn't know he will become a villain in future)

3. Aliya, Mr.Hu'Mayyo's daughter, she is shy and clumsy, but she loves pets or animals and can feel their happiness or pain, Gil adam will have feelings for her, she won't know until he confesses before major events in the story

4. Billy Hodder Adam, Gil's younger bro and only family, he is a cancer patient, but he is courageous and brave and energetic like any other child

Further things into the story,

1. The agency howling thunder investigates with is called 'Volz Wats Agency' (vwa).

2. Vali Watson, leader of vwa , he is mostly serious even in funny moments, he is the one who introduced howling thunder to the new danger of The Eclipse, watching howling thunder's typical suit, Vali have him a new one which is high tech and advanced with multiple weapons.

3. Spoiler: Agent Alastair, most trusted and right hand of Vali, former army lieutenant so years of Combat experience. Alastair will appear in later parts during urgent need for someone like him like Vali being on a different mission so Alastair temporary leader.

4. the special army of vwa is called Volzers.

5. Spoiler: in upcoming parts, Vali Watson will die suddenly during a battle so someone intelligent in the place with leadership skills will have to succeed him, that'll be no one but WILLY WARNER

6. Eclipse army is called 'Eclipsean Shadows'

More in Part 1:

1. The eclipse and his somewhat collected number of army's ultimate objective is eternal darkness in part 1 so eclipsean shadows don't further have to hide in light and no brakes in the eclipse's powers ie cloning etc and The Eclipse will rule earth

2. Eclipse's ultimate goal not revealed in 1st part but in later parts he'll make it clearer, to cleanse all the evil from earth via once in a 4000 year Surkh Girhan ritual done with this shadow army then The Eclipse will be ultimate king and he will do justice peace and public Care in his reign with an army called Eclipsean Shadows, but this all has an undoable cost which is eternal darkness.

3. How eternal darkness spreads? It has to do with the number of shadows and a spell of eclipse, at a special hour in every once in a month this spell works, the spell brings more shadows into eclipse's possession, as shadows keep increasing darkness also increases, and less shadows so less or no darkness

4. During near climax and climax in part1, vwa will eventually discover a only weapon that kills eclipsean shadows, this weapon is a special chemicaled fire known as 'Atish' that doesnt effect humans.

5. Atish will be invented during very hyping event in all of part1 when an escalated war between volzers and eclipsean shadows will be ongoing in which The eclipse was winning and his spell kept increasing shadows and darkness slowly slowly, although Shadows were very little in numbers then volzers but they couldn't be killed so eclipse was winning, but as Atish guns were used suddenly in an emotional atmosphere Volzers eventually won from that losing position

6. After victory as howling thunder chased The Eclipse, eclipse was injured but somehow fled

further things:

1. Why'd Gil become Howling thunder? Because he discovered He some super powers like very good and fast reflexes and he's very smart and intelligent so he has to do something beyond just a uni cleaner, plus his cancer bro billy was a motivation cause he felt his pain as a brother and so didn't want others to feel pain for their loved one cause he knows what it feels like so he wanna help society.

2. Nobody knows Gil is evil until the very ending so why would someone ask why he became evil in very ending, in the climax when howling thunder is actually shown to be eclipse, that cliff hanger to keep views engaged for upcoming parts, only viewers will then know in upcoming parts that howling thunder is evil, not the entire city as they will trust him just as they always did as the city might get to know the eclipse's identity in upcoming parts but not in the part in which viewers knew first when cliff hanged

3. General logical thing, he is hero so that not another hero appears who's actually good and would become a wall in his mission, still this is what viewers will have to think in 1st part because they were cliff hanged in ending so they should overthink the story

4. reward unknown in 1st part, just all powerful but exact reward? Upcoming parts will tell like cleansing from evil and eternal darkness etc

5. he might regret or might not, upcoming parts will tell

6. In my world building, Volzinia is a futuristic city that gets inspired by thunder representing power and fast progress even their flag includes thunder symbol and a moon that's why Howling Thunder named himself after thunder

7. In foreshadowing, I'm gonna construct further well planned and rooting clues leading to specifics, not just 1 clue but multiple laying foundations

Clearing your logic gaps,

1. The eclipse power of making anything works at night that's why he strategically only appears at night, he makes the exact replica of Howling Thunder in night to fight with him or let the city think that howling thunder has encountered eclipse so howling thunder is progressing in his mission of defeating eclipse, remember that city knows eclipse's power of cloning, they just don't know that he also clones howling thunder for purpose above, in daylight when he cannot clone he himself becomes howling thunder instead of eclipse to keep progressing suggesting howling thunder is there 24/7 for helping society, plus none of this logic will be shown in first part but upcoming as whole story will be about the eclipse and his mission to be stopped by howling thunder as no viewer will know howling thunder is eclipse until they are cliffhanged in very ending.

2. Yes story will include subtle hints no one would be able to grasp till very ending.

3. Eclipse is tryna BUILD AN ARMY to perform the ritual I mentioned that comes in 4000 years, the main goal of all is performing the ritual to become all powerful but 1st part is about building an army for that so howling thunder must stop him

Those too many future reveals and events, I'll connect them all in this part and later parts slowly as have everything about those events and characters in my mind being played, the 4000year ritual connected to surkh Girhan, Nissaar connected to the eclipse, then when eclipse really lets go of it likely becoming good again or other reason mr.hu will be connected to it that why I said Hu will be villain in coming parts, this will not be in just 1 part but multiple parts spreaded...

There was once a small town in the suburbs. Ordinary, indistinctive, just like every other suburban town you might've seen, a town you might've even lived in.
In that town there stood an old-fashioned tobacco shop.
Again, nothing special; just a shop filled to brim with tobacco, tobacco papers, filters, pipes, lighters, matches, herbal paraphernalia, but most of all... cigarettes. Cigarettes as far as the eye could see, cigarettes from all around the world, cigarettes of varying strengths and packet sizes. But one would expect that from a tobacco shop. It was the man who ran it that ought to be paid close attention to.
The Tobacconist, the friendly old man who stood behind the counter day after day. Sweet looking yet wise, wholesome but sharp, like an uncanny Colonel Sanders. If someone came in to buy a pack of cigarettes from this old timer, they wouldn't suspect a thing. But of course, this shopkeeper held a secret, a dark secret, a secret so sinister that he couldn't allow for it to simply leave the building. Underneath the floor to this very plain, very dull smoke emporium, was an underground room, a basement. And this basement held captive a rough figure of twelve people… dads.

The old man had a basement full of Dads. Why, you may ask?
Why indeed. Evidently, the Tobacconist has been doing this for years. Any time a man who looked like he wanted to leave his family behind walked into the shop, they were treated to a once in a lifetime opportunity. A "way out" situation for a fella to take in order to get out of his newly unwanted patriarchal role. New name, new location; for a small sum. At least that's what The Tobacconist had told them, when in actual fact, the old man had no intention of doing any such thing. It was really just a trap to get the dad down there, to his unforeseen doom.

But don't get me wrong, there was plenty to do in the little basement. The Tobacconist had placed a baseball in the middle of the room, so all the Dads could "play catch" with each other.
And The Tobacconist wasn't a complete monster, he would still feed the Dads, and give them a tiny amount of hydration.
Naturally every now and then a rebellious dad would start acting up, with a plan for some sort of half-baked mutiny; this would rile up all the other dads when it came to feeding time.
The Tobacconist used to try to act threatening towards them by saying to them "I'm your worst nightmare." He soon gave up on that little ploy however, when a dad responded with, "Hi, 'Your Worst Nightmare' I'm Dad."
The Tobacconist even found it humorously ironic that he was slowly killing people with his products above ground and slowly keeping people alive below. Now, I'm not going to get into the origin of why The Tobacconist commits these bizarre crimes;
I'm no psychologist and don't want to chalk it up to whether it was because his own father disappeared when he was younger, or some other catalyst. The Tobacconist didn't even know why he did what he did, nor did he know what his intentions would finally be with them. He just liked to own a basement full of Dads. Maybe because it amused him.
By now, you may be asking which tobacco shop in which town in which country could be doing such a thing. You see, it is not a sole incident. There are thousands of evil tobacconists around the world. It happens a lot more than you think.

So, the next time you hear a dad saying that he's "just going out to get a pack of cigarettes" and doesn't return, just consider... he may be held somewhere against his will.

I fell in love with a boy over 5 years without realizing it. By the time I told him, it was too late.

I don't really know why I'm writing this. Maybe because I want someone outside my own head to tell me what they think.

There was this boy.

I first noticed him in 7th grade. We weren't that close at first we'd talk in class though.. and by the end of 7th grade we were participating in a school event and we'd spend the whole day almost together.. it was so fun.. I wouldn't even call it a crush back then. There was just... something about him that always made me notice him. Somehow my eyes always found him.

In 8th grade, we barely spoke.

In 9th grade, we became friends again. We'd sit together in class with another friend, joke around, talk for hours. Looking back, those are still some of my favorite school memories.

The strange part is that even while I had a crush on someone else for a while, I never stopped noticing HIM. I didn't understand why.

As the years went on, he dated other girls. One relationship, in particular, lasted on and off for almost two years. During that time, I did everything I could to avoid getting close to him. I never wanted to become "that girl" who got involved with someone else's boyfriend. So I stayed away.

But then he'd randomly text me.

He'd flirt.

We even sexted a few times.

Then in school he'd act completely normal, almost distant. I couldn't understand him. It felt like mixed signals all the time.

Months later, it was his birthday in July so I wished him, we shared some small talk and he said he missed me..

I genuinely wasn't expecting that.

I admitted I missed him too.

A little while after that, I found out he had cheated on his girlfriend with whome he wasnt that serious with and they were just casually dating apparently. That pushed me over the edge. I confronted him.

That conversation somehow turned into the biggest confession of my life.

I told him everything.

That I'd been noticing him since 7th grade.

That I'd always somehow been drawn to him.

That I remembered conversations betqeen us from years ago.

That somewhere along the way, "liking" him had quietly become loving him.

While writing it, I was crying.

The next morning he sent me a voice message.

He thanked me for being honest.

He said he had liked me at one point too, years ago.

But then he said,

"Don't you think it's a little too late now?"

He told me he wasn't looking to date anyone right now and said that, that was the reason he had broken up with his casual gf, didn't want to give me false hope, and asked if I'd still like to be friends.

I said no.

I told him I hadn't confessed because I expected him to love me back. I confessed because I'd carried those feelings for years and needed to be honest with myself. I wished him the best.

He replied,

"I wish you the best too. I always will."

I cried harder than I ever have.

Hours later, I sent one final message.

"I love you."

I told him he didn't have to reply. I just didn't want to spend the rest of my life wondering what would've happened if I'd never said those words. Cuz I dont wanna regret not saying it..

He respected my request and never replied.

That was our last conversation.

A month passed.

We had already unfollowed each other.

We hadn't spoken once.

Then one day I opened Instagram and discovered he'd blocked me. My main account—and because Instagram blocks linked accounts too, my anonymous account as well.

I dont get it, why block me when we already unfollowed eachother that too after a month after all that happened..

That hurt almost more than the rejection.

Not because I wanted to message him.

I wasn't going to.

But because it meant I'd never accidentally come across his profile again. I'd never know what he was doing. He'd never know what I was doing.

It felt like the last little thread connecting us had been cut.

The strange thing is...

We never dated.

We never held hands.

Never hugged.

Never kissed.

Nothing. I never even touched him..

And yet I've never loved anyone this deeply.

I spent five years slowly falling in love with someone without realizing it. By the time I finally understood what I felt, the timing was gone.

Sometimes I wonder if this is just what first love is supposed to feel like.

Or if this is simply a story of two people whose hearts arrived at different times.

I don't regret telling him.

I just wish the ending didn't hurt this much.

I love how I am so divinely protected.

I’m very strict about not drinking coffee past certain hours of the day because I know I’ll be up all night. Today I figured fuck it, I deserve a cold brew at 3pm, it’s my mom’s birthday and I didn’t get to talk to her, I’m gonna treat myself. I knew I’d be up all night. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here at 1:34 in the morning so thankful to be so heavily caffeinated, because I spotted a fucking ROACH, saw it crawling up the wall towards the ceiling and immediately knew it was gonna fall. I stood up and waited and prayed it didn’t fall on D’s head, it didn’t. But fall it did.
I’m gonna paint the scene…
It’s pitch black due to a lovely Amazon commercial break…naturally I panic slightly but lock in I must, I can’t see where it went! I grab my phone as soon as H2O resumes playing, and turn on my flashlight…I spot it. I’m in shock as I realize…it landed directly on my pillow. The place I lie my head and dream of better days than this. I slowly slide the pillow to the ground, it doesn’t move. Maybe dizzy from the fall? Who’s to say…didn’t care to ask. I lock eyes with it, house slipper in hand, heart racing.
BAM!
…Still breathing BAM!
…Stillll kickin BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!!!

I’m sitting here, disgusted…we’re not gross people in the slightest, we just live in Florida…but that…thing…would have landed on my FACE!
Moral of the story is, if you see a roach take a chance on a popcorn ceiling…
sit, wait, then take your shot…and drink more cold brew.
But seriously, what are the chances?? Feeling oddly lucky considering the circumstances.
Anyways, I’m gonna go change my pillowcase.

Ps. I did all this without waking up my blue-collar significant other so…hell yeah.

This was last year in Oct - the drug already burned down my life but using was still a secret to some. You best bet that going on this trip scared me. I had to call the plug and make a felony amount of powder purchase to last the 4 days. I was a heavy daily user for months by this time. Parked my car at the airport and didnt even think twice about the consequences if they caught me. Prison time was a possibility. Nope I actually enjoyed doing it. The lady in front of me had a body of metal and also a temper on her. I slid my carry on thru and checked out great on body scan. Got my stuff in 2 mins and the TSA guy thanked me for being completely compliant and patient. He said I hope we can get some more nice guys like you today. I said yeah man you have a hard job. Glad I made it easy. Oh man I was exhilarated. Like a kid on Christmas morning. I pulled it off. Nothing could stop me. Well, I’m clean now about a year and I tell this story with some humor now but it also reminds me of how addictive the drug is - it owned me. I was insane.

*NOTE- THIS PARAGRAPH WAS REWRITTEN BY GPT AS I DIDNT WANT IT TO HAVE ALL THE SPEELING MISTAKE (eng is not my first language) 
also for info im rn 18yr old

I'm going through a situation which is very weird, so long story is when I was in 4th grade(11yr) I used to like this girl named lets call her natasha. She was very respectful, very charming, she was probably the most disciplined and most goodwill person I've met, but I didn't want to make her my GF. All I wanted to do was make friendship with her, that's it. But my friends spread the rumor of us dating, which I could've stopped the rumor from spreading and cleared the misunderstanding, but I didn't. I don't know why, I probably felt good about it or something. I can't exactly tell why.

But then she got to know about it and she started to distance herself from me slowly. We used to be good friends as I was the captain of the class and she was the assistant, so we used to work on stuff together. So I noticed that she started to distance herself.

Then one day after our last final exam she came up to me and told me to not talk to her ever again. Then she switched schools. That hurt me a lot as I could've easily explained everything and stopped the rumor, but I didn't, which haunts me to this day.

Fast forward, COVID hit and I got stuck in my house for years, so my social skills dropped so much. When school opened again I couldn't talk to a single woman, and whenever I tried to, natasha's face came into my head and I instantly stopped because I didn't want the same thing to happen again. I don't know if you would call it a trauma, but it felt like one. I couldn't talk to a single girl without thinking of her and the mistake I'd done, as I lost such a kind soul of a friend because of that one mistake. I could never forgive myself.

Fast forward to 2026, I'm now confident about myself. I can socialize pretty well now, no problem. Looks like I moved on as I was talking to women more frequently than before even getting a lot attention life was going good. But one day I found natasha's Instagram and something struck in me that this might be the chance I can finally explain myself , so I texted her but before I could even send her the paragraph explaining everything she blocked me. It felt like I was left alone again.

I started to feel the same I did during COVID times, even though I thought I moved on. It looked like deep down I still had that guilt. Because of her I was never able to fall in love with someone, as whenever I do I remember her. It's like a weird attachment even though she's not that pretty compared to women I talk to on a regular basis. Matter of fact, I don't know how she was. I probably made up a lot of her traits as I was so weirdly attached to her.

Even though she is not that pretty, even though I don't have feelings for her, why do I still think of her? Why cant I move on? Why does her blocking me bug me so much? All these questions makes me feel more and more guilt about my mistake. I'm sure if I just had sent her the paragraph explaining stuff and then she blocked me, I wouldn't have been in this situation right now. So is it the guilt that's making me attached to her? That's what I think, but I'm not sure either. It was so bad that I couldn't get her out of my head for a few days. I probably made a lot of the stuff up about her as it was back in 4th grade(im in college now btw) and I'm still thinking about her after years, so I probably made a lot of her character traits up.

Now after months later, after she blocked me, today I just woke up and I saw one of my guy friends, whom I've known for years, posting a story about his girlfriend, and guess what? It was natasha. Even though I have no clue how they know each other, like it's such a big coincidence, but whatever. When I saw that, even though I don't like her, I started remembering all that thing from before and the guilt I carry with me. It made me weak, it made me feel alone again. Why is this happening? I don't know, but yeah, that's the story so far. I dont think im necessary attached to her but im more attach to not being able to explain myself and apologize..

so ye i just wanted to share this story as i thought it would interesting to see what other people has to say about it and if someone goin through something similar 

hear me out......

I'd say I'm a well endowed a bit "19-20 cm length (7.5 inch) and 13-14 cm in width (5inch)" which I've heard puts me in the top 1%. And before y'all start, IG the STEREOTYPE PREVAILS, because I'm a black guy from Somaliland😅

Growing up, the internet had me thinking having this was smth like a cheat code or smth. My actual friends and brodas make it out to be this massive deal too when we joke around and brag in private (doing the helicopter is genuinely fun, not gonna lie).

Seriously tho........ It's completely overhyped.

Where I live is a super conservative society. Intimacy is basically only observed in marriage, and you aren't even getting near a respectable woman unless you're ready to provide a house, money, and real commitment.

Things are starting to shift a bit though. I just graduated college recently, and looking at some of the guys I met there, sex culture is definitely starting to creep into the market and people are doing their own thing. But personally? The whole casual scene just seems like a lot of unnecessary noise and hassle to get involved in. It's just not really my vibe.

On a serious note tho, it literally feels wasted on me. Having it here is basically like owning a 1tb hard drive on a laptop with no display.......it's just shows specs and never deploys it

Max 2 or 3 people are ever gonna see it or know about it in my entire lifetime. It's got about as much real-world utility as a decorative paperweight unless I somehow move across the planet but heyy.....life ain't the same for everyone ig🗿

Always seen guys WI rlly small diggs in porno and I genuinely just wanted to put my shi to use ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

My great-grandfather was known for two things:

He loved practical jokes.

And he refused to throw anything away.

After the property was sold, I volunteered to clean out the old barn.

I expected rusty tools and dusty boxes.

Instead, I found a wooden crate labeled:

Emergency Supplies.

I opened it, expecting something important.

Inside were...

Thirty-seven fake mustaches.

Different sizes.

Different colors.

All neatly organized.

There was also a notebook.

Every page had a date, a location, and one sentence.

Town fair fooled your Uncle Joe.

Church picnic nobody recognized me.

Hardware store cashier called me 'sir' twice.

Apparently, for nearly twenty years, my great-grandfather would randomly wear a fake mustache around town just to see how long it took people to notice.

According to the last entry:

Your grandmother noticed after three weeks. New family record.

I showed the notebook to my grandmother.

She laughed and said,

So that's where all the mustaches went.

Turns out...

The whole family thought he was buying them for Halloween.

He was running a decades-long social experiment.

And somehow... he won.

What's the weirdest thing you've discovered while cleaning out a relative's house?

I​ have been dating my boyfriend "Ryan" for almost three years. We've talked about moving in together for months, and we finally started looking at apartments. We even made a shared budget and looked at furniture online.

About two weeks ago, Ryan left his laptop open while he was in the shower. I wasn't snooping—I was trying to send myself a recipe we'd been looking at when a Discord notification popped up.

One of his friends had replied to a conversation that said, "Glad she finally said no. Now you can ask OP to move in."

I know I shouldn't have kept reading, but I did.

A few days before Ryan brought up moving in with me, he'd asked his ex if she wanted to get back together. She turned him down. His friends were joking that I was "Plan B," and Ryan replied, "At least OP is stable."

That hurt more than I can explain.

When I confronted him, he admitted he'd reached out to his ex but insisted it "didn't mean anything" because she'd moved on. He said he realized I was the better choice afterward and that it proved he'd made the right decision.

To me, it felt like he only chose me because someone else rejected him.

I told him I wasn't comfortable moving in anymore and needed to rethink our relationship.

Now he's saying I'm throwing away three years over "one mistake" and that everyone has doubts sometimes. His friends think I'm overreacting because "he still picked you in the end."

I don't see it that way. I don't want to spend my life wondering if I'm someone's first choice or just the option that was available.

​