#this has been rotting in my gallery for a month and a half now

[justvea18]

ODYSSEUS' CREW RAGHHH

[ghost-bxrd]

Protective fae!Dick, please? This is my favorite AU, I can't get enough of your writing

That’s so sweet 🥺💚

Okay at this point I can admit I have thing for (over)protective characters so I’m all too happy to oblige lol.

Anyway, protective fae!Dick:

He doesn’t notice he’s being overprotective most of the time. When the people close to him mention a minor inconvenience his first instinct is to remove that inconvenience from the equation altogether. It’s a steep learning curve, because when Bruce first took him in he didn’t realize he’d have to stop Dick from killing half the Rogue gallery in the span of a few months. “But they hurt you,” he’d pout, “and it wouldn’t be really killing, anyway. I’m just… recycling them.” “…” “I could let them keep their consciousness—“ “N O”

Friends, while cherished, do not get to claim the same level of protectiveness. Dick would always come to their aid, of course, but for each request for help he keeps a tally mark in his head; accumulating favors. Only his family are exempt from this.

While there have been a couple close calls over the years, none will ever compare to the time he came back from a mission to find a member of his family gone. To this day Dick refuses to talk about the first couple weeks after he found out. And around the same time each year every plant and tree seems to wither and rot for a while before suddenly bursting back into full bloom. Jason has to return to the manor for this time each year, or Dick will absolutely track him down and drag him back himself. Neither he nor the manor lets him leave until Dick is back to his cheerfully self.

Any close calls with the family after that automatically result in several weeks of house arrest for the respective family member, courtesy of carnivorous deer and some over enthusiastic tree roots that enforce this rule with absolute prejudice.

If someone tries to kill a member of the family while Dick patrols with them/is close by, the only thing the batfam can do is damage control. Because while they can usually stop him from killing the perpetrator, it probably isn’t very ethical to allow a borderline eldritch being to cry their brains with his strange magic either.

Alrighty that’s all I’ve got for now <3

[andhumanslovedstories]

An Annotated Dorian/Iron Bull rec list

for my bestie @hubristicfool who will not let me forget that I said I'd make one, and also for myself so I remember what I like, and also you, random reader, if you want to take a peek, but again, mostly for my very annoying best friend hey at least they all aren't incredibly long.

More to be added, but the website keeps crashing while I make this post and jesus christ I don't want to redo this

No chaos in the world by Nele (75k)

“No Qunari would accept a Tevinter mage so easily... unless it was a ruse. When should I expect a knife in the back?” It was a ruse, at least in the beginning.

On this, my most recent Dorian/Iron Bull kick, this is THEE fic for the pairing. It's got everything--slow burn, enemies to friends with benefits to lovers, Bull POV, Qun shit, Feelings but also Lying but also Lying to Yourself About Your Feelings???, angst, a sideplot dealing with Dorian and Alexius that I consider canonical now. Just very good. Currently my favorite fic.

Returns by taispeantas_laethuil (32k)

The Inquisitor's father comes for an unexpected visit.

What if Dorian was the Inquisitor? It's also one of the only fics I've seen that truly grapples with Dorian's complicity with slavery. This fic has a lot of ideas in it and they come together very well.

and you thought the lions were bad by PersonalSpin (20k)

Bull's pretty sure getting held captive by blood mages wasn't supposed to involve getting to know the guy in the other cell. Promising to get Dorian out of there was easy; the hard part was keeping Dorian alive.

hey you little freak, do you like it when characters you like have a bad time??? me too! Bull POV of Bull getting captured by evil mages and meeting his next door cellmate who is somehow having an even worse time.

Thin Walls Make Good Neighbors by WritingEmi (13k)

Iron Bull, new to Ferelden, moves into the apartment next to Dorian's. And Dorian, who arrived in Ferelden just two years ago, doesn't sympathize at all with his new neighbor and his struggles, not in the slightest bit. Or, Dorian secretly goes out of his way to make Iron Bull's life a little easier.

A go-to comfort read fic for me. Fluffy fluffy fluff with enough angst sprinkled in to keep the fluff a-coming.

Muffin Tops by some mysterious stranger ooooh (16k)

Bull owns a bakery. Dorian owns an art gallery. 100% pure, tooth-rotting fluff.

My other go-to comfort read. The author isn't wrong, this shit is PURE fluff. I don't like pure fluff in canon era, but I eat it up in modern AUs.

Anonymous by PeriPeriwinkle (6.9k)

It starts like this: Dorian, 28 years old, single and lonely. And also terribly horny. So he goes to a BDSM club that his friend Mae frequents, because what's the harm in enjoying some quick, fun, anonymous sexy times?

Speaking of modern au fluff. Hot, sweet, and I love the writing.

The Inquisitor's father comes for an unexpected visit.

Nothing to Regret by WritingEmi (44k words)

Dorian, still reeling from rejection by the Inquisitor, tries to find out about the truth of what happened to his friends in Redcliffe. The Iron Bull, at least, is a good distraction through the long period of waiting and Dorian believes he now knows better than to let emotions get involved with it all.

I fuckin love stories where Dorian and Iron Bull get together after one of them (but let's be real, it's always Dorian) is pining for someone else. This one is from Dorian's POV and makes wonderful use of my favorite thing single POV fics do--letting the readers know how much the other half of the couple is into the narrator while the narrator is completely unaware. Delightful. A little chef's kiss. Plus enough plot to keep you busy.

By a Law Divine by musiquetta (30k)

The Iron Bull and Dorian have been a 'thing' for a few months when the Inquisitor and Cassandra end their tumultuous romance. Technically, this has nothing to do with Dorian and Bull, except that Bull had always suspected that Dorian had been a little broken-hearted over Trevelyan not doing anything about the little flirt he had with the Tevinter mage.

And thus one majorly upset Inquisitor, a definitely not jealous Tal-Vashoth and a Tevinter mage caught in between all set off on a trip to Crestwood.

That can't possibly go wrong.

Similar concept to the one above, except this one Dorian and Bull are in an established relationship and there's alternating POV, which I also very much love. The misunderstandings in this one are delightfully sloppy and high emotion, and I really like Dorian's relationship with the Inquisitor.

in the future, when we fell in love by homsantoft (tofsla) (12k)

Dorian and the Inquisitor spend a lot longer than a few hours displaced in time by Alexius' magic. Working through all of the consequences takes even longer.

Time travel and pining for a person who is the same person as the person you love but not the same person. A two person love triangle. Author does a good job of balancing two time periods at once as well.

The Years Between by homsantoft (tofsla) (8k)

Dorian returns to Tevinter, and makes no promises when he goes. If there's a Qunari mercenary he desperately didn't want to leave behind, well, what good would saying so have done?

Mutual pining, between the end of the main game and the beginning of Trespasser.

Writing up a little thing for each of these fics about why I like them has made me realize the sheer extent of my love for mutual pining for someone you're in an established relationship with. Anyway, this one is more of that and very good at it.

honey we're the big door prize by sabinelagrande (3.6k)

The blood magic didn't quite work, but it did enough damage to matter. And then, out of nowhere, things go right.

Hey look, a short one! Funny, a little sad, and pretty hot.

T is for Tal-Vashoth by sabinelagrande (4.8k)

A group of qunari seek refuge at Skyhold, and Dorian's life gets wildly out of hand.

Hey look, another short one! I'm gonna do a little slew of little shorties down here for you, my annoying best friend, and I'm also going to aim this annotation directly at you: unfortunately, this very cute fic does feature your greatest enemy, aka small children. And it's adorable.

grope blindly towards happiness by sabinelagrande huh I'm beginning to think I maybe like this author (2.7k)

Dorian's life is full of choices. He might prefer that it not be.

Another good classic "hey what the fuck are we to each other" fic.

[thecreaturecodex]

Theo Gravois

"Necro" © deviantArt user Asahisuperdry, accessed at his gallery here

[Another in my series of tributes to PCs past, this time moving on to Curse of the Crimson Throne. A game where I got a TPK in the final battle, which had never happened before and never happened again in my long history of running published adventures. Pro tip: do not teleport to the boss room without clearing the rest of the dungeon. Especially when said boss is a bard who can turn you against each other long enough for her minions from the rest of the dungeon to flood into the room. Theo technically survived, albeit dominated, which is part of why I picked him as the PC of choice. Also, as you'll see in the flavor text, Theo went through some shit (and was the first gay character that player made after coming out). So I wanted to finally give him a happy ending.

I ran Crimson Throne the first time around, in D&D 3.5. So mechanically, this version of Theo is quite different than that version. The original Theo was an archivist from Heroes of Horror (the divine class that tended to be most popular at my table), and for most of the game he had the necropolitian template and the Necrotic Cyst line of feats from Libris Mortis. I made him an oracle of Lore because a) he was very bookish and b) the same player played an oracle in both Jade Regent and Shattered Star. The lich oracle curse was used to reflect his time spent undead, and the inflict line of spells, plus various other necromancies, are standing in for the Necrotic Cyst spells.]

Theo Gravois CR 19 CN Humanoid This human has white hair, intense gray eyes and broad features. He wears chain mail and fine robes, and carries a staff, wands, books, and other magical paraphernalia.

Theo Gravois may simultaneously be the luckiest and unluckiest man alive. Theo was always interested in grisly crimes and tragic love stories, but didn’t expect to find himself in one. His fiancé, Ilya Kushnir, was murdered by the crime boss Gaedrin Lamm and fed to his pet alligator. All Theo had to remember his love by was Ilya’s severed hand, still wearing his engagement ring. Although Theo helped bring Lamm to justice, and then was embroiled in the chaos in Korvosa following the death of its king, he still dwelled on the injustice. Eventually, as his own body was wracked by tuberculosis and the city around him was gripped in the blood veil epidemic, Theo transformed himself into an undead creature in an attempt to cut off his grief and all emotions. The culmination of this ritual involved wrapping his love’s severed hand around his heart.

And then Ilya came back to life.

After months of adventures and just before fighting Queen Ileosa the Thrice-Damned herself, Theo and his colleagues were gifted with a Harrow Deck of Many Things. Theo drew the Unicorn, allowing him to undo any event in his past. Of course, he made it so Ilya never confronted Gaedren Lamm, which rippled through reality. Theo had a loving, living fiancé, so of course he never would have made himself undead. Just in time to fight Ileosa and lose. Because now that he was alive, he was vulnerable to her mind-altering magic.

Theo was the only survivor of the fight against Ileosa, and she kept him as a dominated pet until she could complete the ritual to grant herself divinity. The ritual failed by inches, as Theo had used stone shape spells to reshape half of the statues intended to focus the ritual into images of Blackjack, a Korvosan folk hero (the mantle of whom had been taken by no fewer than two of Theo’s close friends). Both Ileosa and Blackjack were transformed into powerful outsiders, Ileosa a devil, Blackjack an azata. And Ileosa, enraged, tortured Theo to death and left his body to rot in the dungeons beneath Castle Korvosa.

And then Ilya had him brought back to life.

Queen Croft of New Korvosa offered Theo his pick of any role in her city he wanted, but Theo refused—Theo distrusted authority before his many woeful experiences, and he is understandably somewhat paranoid about queens. Theo and Ilya now live on a small island in the Ironbound Archipelago, being perfectly happy to be alone together. Theo spends most of his days reading, sculpting, and playing games with his husband. It would take world-shaking events to bring Theo out of retirement. But if there’s one thing Golarion is known for, it’s world-shaking events.

Theo Gravois   CR 19 XP 204,800 CN Medium humanoid (human) Init +7; Senses Perception +3 Defense AC 32, touch 21, flat-footed 26 (+6 Cha, +3 deflection, +9 armor, +2 natural, +2 luck) hp 222 (19d8+133) Fort +17, Ref +15, Will +20 Immune death effects; Resist cold 10, positive energy 10 Defensive Abilities negative energy affinity Offense Speed 30 ft. Melee +2 quarterstaff +19/+14/+9 (1d6+6) Special Attacks arcane archivist (2/day),brain drain (DC 29, 19d4 damage, 10 rounds, 4/day) Spells CL 19th, concentration +29 (+33 casting defensively) 9th (5/day)—mass heal (DC 29), time stop, winds of vengeance (DC 29) 8th (7/day)—discern location, mass inflict critical wounds (DC 30), moment of prescience, orb of the void (DC 30), stormbolts (DC 28) 7th (7/day)—destruction (DC 29), ethereal jaunt, greater scrying (DC 27), mass cure serious wounds (DC 27), mass inflict serious wounds (DC 29), vision 6th (8/day)—harm (DC 28), heal (DC 26), mass inflict moderate wounds (DC 28), mass owl’s wisdom, wind walk 5th (8/day)—contact other plane, mass ghostbane dirge (DC 25), mass inflict light wounds (DC 27), planeslayer’s call, slay living (DC 27), true seeing, undead anatomy II 4th (8/day)—aura of doom (DC 26), dismissal (DC 24), divine power, freedom of movement, inflict critical wounds (DC 26), legend lore 3rd (8/day, 1 used)—cure serious wounds (DC 23), inflict serious wounds (DC 25), locate object, magic vestment, remove disease, stone shape, undead anatomy I 2nd (9/day)—align weapon, command undead (DC 24), inflict moderate wounds (DC 24), lesser restoration, remove paralysis, resist energy, spiritual weapon, tongues 1st (9/day)—bless, cure light wounds (DC 21), doom (DC 23), identify, inflict light wounds (DC 23), hide from undead, shield of faith 0th—bleed (DC 22), create water, detect magic, detect poison, guidance, light, read magic, resistance, stabilize Statistics Str 16, Dex 16, Con 20, Int 27, Wis 16, Cha 30 Base Atk +14; CMB +17; CMD 33 Feats Abundant Revelations (arcane archivist), Combat Casting, Greater Spell Focus (necromancy), Improved Initiative, Lunging Spell Touch, Oracular Intuition, Quick Draw, Scribe Scroll, Spell Focus (necromancy), Spell Penetration, Toughness Skills Acrobatics +22, Appraise +15, Craft (sculpture) +16, Diplomacy +20,  Escape Artist +22, Fly +22, Heal +14, Intimidate +20, Knowledge (arcana, dungeoneering, local, nature, planes, religion) +30, Knowledge (engineering, geography, history, nobility) +20, Linguistics +15, Sense Motive +20, Spellcraft +30, Use Magic Device +25 SQ legendary, oracle curse (lich), revelations (arcane archivist, brain drain, mental acuity, sidestep secret, spontaneous symbology, think on it) Languages Abyssal,Aklo, Boggard, Celestial,Common, Draconic, Dwarven, Elven, Gnome, Goblin, Infernal, Necril, Shoanti, Sylvan, Undercommon, Varisian Gear tome of leadership and influence +4 (expended), manual of bodily health +2 (expended), belt of physical perfection +4, headband of mental superiority +6 (Acrobatics, Escape Artist, Fly), +1 deathless cold resistance mithril chain shirt, staff of the hierophant, rod of quicken spell, ring of sustenance, ring of protection +3, mnemonic vestment, cloak of resistance +4, amulet of natural armor +2, handy haversack, wand of cure moderate wounds (20 charges), wand of spectral hand (30 charges), scroll of greater spell immunity, scroll of resurrection, scroll of greater restoration, scroll of heroes’ feast, guardian grimoire, (no preparation ritual), 13,000 gp worth of gem dust for material components, silver engagement ring worth 25 gp, 2 eye ointment material components for true seeing, 7 pp, 5 gp Special Abilities Legendary (Ex) Theo’s statistics are built on 25 point buy, and he has the gear of a PC of his class level. These advantages increase his CR by +1.

[daydreaming-nerd]

Moon River (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: Bucky has a nightmare and the reader hears him and comes to take care of him the only way she can think of.

Warnings: Nightmare, bucky has a panic attack, shy bucky, friends to lovers, tooth rotting fluff, like guys the end is so fluffy I can’t let me tell you this a feel good story. 

an: here’s an old draft I’ve been saving for a rainy day. It’s inspired by Moon River from Breakfast at Tiffany’s! Here’s the inspo for this whole fic. 

It was just another night at the tower. My bare feet padded across the cold hardwood floor towards the kitchen to fill up my water cup. As I was waiting for my glass to fill I looked out at the city lights. Most people prefer mountains and valleys but I’ve always preferred the twinkling lights on the black sky. 

As if on queue I heard a scream coming from one of the rooms. A scream that was so loud I could feel it go through my ears and down my spine causing my body to shudder.

I ran as fast as I could towards the rooms. It didn’t take me long to realize it was coming from Bucky’s room. When I threw open the door I expected at least a dozen intruders and one very injured Bucky, but instead I found him thrashing around in his bed screaming so loud his throat must feel like sand paper. 

I ran over to him and immediately tried to wake him up.

“Bucky! Bucky wake up!” I screamed shaking his shoulders. “BUCKY WAKE UP ITS JUST A DREAM!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

All of the sudden he woke up and before I could even ask him if he was okay he started to panic. Shaking and crying he latched onto me burying his head in my chest. His rapid breaths hitting the neckline of my tank top. 

I would be completely lying if it said I knew exactly what to do in this situation. I had never talked to Bucky before now. If it wasn’t for my close friendship with Steve I’m sure he wouldn’t even know my name. Never the less we were practically strangers, yet here he sat clinging to me like I was the first human he had seen in ten years. I thought hard and fast about what always relaxes me. I started by lying down on my back so he was lying on top of me. Immediately after my brain ran to a song from my favorite move and I figured there was no way I could make it any worse. As I begun to sing I ran my hand up and down his back in a soothing manner. 

Moon river, wider than a mile

I'm crossing you in style some day.

Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker

Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way

Two drifters, off to see the world

There's such a lot of world to see.

We're after the same rainbow's end, waitin' 'round the bend

My huckleberry friend, moon river, and me...

Almost as soon as it had all started it ended. Bucky sat fast asleep on top of me and I didn’t dare move. I would get up earlier in the morning to avoid the awkwardness. 

----------------------------

When I woke up the next morning I totally missed my mark. I sat in an empty bed where Bucky used to be. I sighed and walked out into the kitchen. There he was at the stove making scrambled eggs. My favorite mug was sitting on the counter filled with coffee. 

“Hi” Bucky said shyly turning around to put his eggs on a plate.

“Hi,” I said back. 

“I uh- I made you some coffee,” he said nodding towards my mug immediately casting his head down as if I were about to disapprove of the gesture.

“Thank you,” I said sitting down with it.

A silence ensued. Both of us knew what had happened last night but neither of us wanted to say anything. I wanted to tell him it was okay and that my heart went out to him. That he could always come to me. But the fact that we were still technically strangers silenced me. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be it happens to everyone,” I said.

“Not as frequently though,” he said sadly.

“Well don’t be ashamed, I know you don’t really know me but I’m always here for you if you need it,” 

“Thank you,” he said with a small smile.

I have to admit part of me hoped he would want to see me again.

--------------------------- 

The next time I heard from Bucky Barnes was when I got back from my run to find pink peonies sitting on my nightstand with a note scribbled in his handwriting.

I’m sorry again...thank you y/n.

-Bucky

I immediately changed and walked to the gym where I saw him training before I left. He has just finished up and was leaving.

“Thank you for the flowers,” I said.

“Oh-oh you’re welcome,” he said bashfully a red tint coming to his cheeks.

“I had to know,” I started “How did you know pink peonies were my favorite?” 

“I uh- I asked Steve,” He said scratching the back of his neck “Sorry thats probably really creepy” he added embarrassed. 

“No it’s not creepy, it’s sweet,” I said with a smile before walking towards the showers.

“Hey y/n can I ask you something?” Bucky said.

“Yes of course,”

“What was that song last night?” He said

“It’s called Moon River, it’s from my favorite movie Breakfast At Tiffany’s” I replied.

“Moon river,” he repeated to himself “I’ll remember that” he said walking towards his room.

---------------------------

I didn’t hear from Bucky for three days after that. I had assumed that all was well until one night I was woken up by F.R.I.D.A.Y around 4am 

“Miss l/n, it appears Mr. Barnes is in a high amount of distress. He is requesting your presence in his room.” 

I threw off my covers and ran straight to his room. When I got there I expected to see him in the middle of another bad dream but instead he just sat straight up on his bed still semi tucked into the covers wearing only an old pair of sweats. He let out a sniffle and when I sat down next to him I could tell that he had not slept since the last time I spoke to him. 

I reached my hand out to cup his face and he leaned into my touch and looked at me with the saddest eyes in the world. I got up and sat on his lap and pulled him into my chest thinking I could hug all the sad out of him. 

“What happened?” I asked running a hand through his hair.

“I thought I could just listen to the song and it would put me to sleep that way I wouldn’t bother you. But it’s not the same if you don’t sing it to me,” He said wrapping his arms around me to keep me put. 

“Come here,” I said lying down just like I did the first night and began singing to him.

When I was sure he was sound asleep I tried to wiggle out of his grasp so he could sleep more soundly. I almost succeeded when I felt Bucky stir.

“Please don’t go,” he said half asleep.

If there was one thing I couldn’t say no to it was Bucky Barnes.

So I climbed back into his bed and he instantly wrapped his arm around me only to rip it away.

“What’s wrong Buck?” I said.

“My metal arm. I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said sadly already turning around to face away from me.

“You won’t hurt me Buck I promise,” I said grabbing his metal arm and pulling him towards me again. 

He didn’t protest he just rolled back over and wrapped his metal arm around me. The vibranium was cold but I didn’t mind because it reminded me that Bucky was with me. 

--------------------------------

I woke up the next morning with the light of the sun on my face. I could hear Bucky’s steady breathing behind me. I peaked behind me to find he was still asleep.

I started getting out of bed only to have his hand clench around my waist. I giggled to myself and slowly pried his hand off getting out of bed. I stopped to look at him. He was so peaceful, this way despite the small look of disapproval that had subconsciously took over his face when I wiggled away from his grasp. I tip toed into the kitchen to start making breakfast. 

I was on my last Mickey Mouse shaped pancake when I heard a familiar voice.

“I feel like I should be the one making you breakfast,” Bucky said walking towards the plate of bacon next to me and the stove. 

“You had a rough night last night, and besides I felt like making Mickey pancakes,” I replied.

I put a plate together and handed it to him.

“Thanks doll,” he said blushing.

He sat down at the counter and all of the sudden the name he had just given me had sunk in leaving butterflies in my stomach.

“Doll?” I questioned.

“I’m uh... I’m sorry it slipped,” He said getting flustered. 

“Don’t be sorry I liked it,” I smiled setting down my plate across from his. 

I started eating a piece of bacon and then he got his courage to speak again.

“This is really good,” he started “Thank you again”

“Don’t mention it, I’d never pass up the opportunity to make Mickey pancakes. Disney is kinda my thing,” 

“I remember when Snow White came out, Bambi too. I always liked Bambi better.” he said before taking another bite.

“Bambi is one of my favorite’s as well. You know when you go to an art gallery and look at a painting and try to imagine the world inside of it and the story inside that world? That’s what I think watching Bambi is like.” I said.

“I never thought of it like that,” he said.

We both shoved another enormous bite on our mouths

“You know, I’ve never actually seen Breakfast At Tiffany’s,” he confessed.  

“It’s an older movie, not as old as you, but old” I joked.

“Ouch,” he smiled.

“Don’t worry Barnes, you look pretty good for an old man,” I said with a wink putting my plate in the sink and walking towards my room. “8 o’clock tonight” 

“8 o’clock tonight for what?” he asked.

“Watching Breakfast At Tiffany’s of course!”

-----------------------------------

From that night forward I had fallen head over heels for the soldier. Something about him just pulled me in and made me feel safe, made me feel like I had come home after being gone for years. We did everything together but Bucky was still shy with me at times. Never really opening up just always there beside me. The team made fun of him calling him my shadow. I never faulted him for it though. He might’ve been the one to always come find me and ask me what I was up to but in reality I was the one always hoping he would. Most nights he could make it through without needing me to save him from a nightmare but whenever he did I was always there to sing Moon River to him.

Two months passed and another one of my birthdays had arrived faster than I wanted it to. I was never a fan of birthdays. For me the whole experience was terribly awkward. Which would explain as to why I never let the team know. 

I had gone most of the day being able to avoid everyone just in case, but I knew at some point a certain soldier would be knocking at my door and honestly I didn’t mind.

When that quiet little knock finally did come though I told him to come in. He walked in holding a box wrapped in yesterdays newspaper.

“Happy Birthday doll,” he said  sitting down on the bed next to me handing me the box.

“Oh Bucky you shouldn’t have” I said giving him a hug. 

“Natasha said I should’ve used prettier wrapping paper but I didn’t even know how to wrap a present let alone how to make it pretty and I really hope that’s okay-” he rambled.

“shhhh Bucky I love it already,” I said starting to tear the newspaper off. 

Once I got all the paper off I opened the package and inside was a silver box shaped like a heart. 

“Oh Bucky it’s-”

“I wanted to give you something from Tiffany but I couldn’t afford it,”He said sadly. “So I did the next best thing,” he said insinuating for me to open the box.

I lifted the silver lid and music started to play. It was a music box, a music box that played Moon River. The inside of the lid was engraved, it said ‘For my best girl’ 

Tears started to fill my eyes. I couldn’t believe how beautiful it was.

“What is it doll? Do you not like it?” Bucky said anxiously.

“In all my years, no ones ever given me such a beautiful and thoughtful gift. Bucky I absolutely love it,” I said letting a few tears fall down my face. 

“y/n, I love you,” He blurted out.

“Bucky I-” 

“Wait that’s not on my script,” he started “y/n I love you. I love how you can never make regular pancakes because you think it’s a waste of batter to not make them look like Mickey Mouse. I love how you make me feel like I’m the only person in the world. I love how I miss you even when you’re just down the hall. I love how you help me understand technology without being condescending. I love how soft your skin is and how you always smell like vanilla and strawberries. I love how calm your voice is and how beautiful you look when the sunrises and you’re still asleep. I love how you always feel like home to me even when I haven’t felt that feeling since 1945. I love how two months ago when you heard me screaming you came in and took care of me even though you didn’t even know me. And I just- I love you! And I know I don’t deserve you and I know you must think I’m a fool, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer.” he said.

“Bucky, I love you too.” I smiled

“You do?” he asked stunned at my response. 

“Of course I do! How could I not?” I laughed 

“You’re not just saying this to make me happy right?”

“No Bucky I really do love you,” I beamed.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked.

“You better!”

Without another word he grabbed the back of my neck and connected our lips. It was everything I ever wanted it to be. He was soft and gentle, every word he said to me came to life in that kiss as his lips moved against mine. Before things got too heated we pulled apart.

“You’re mine?” He said pressing his forehead to mine smiling. 

“All yours Barnes,” I said sealing my promise with a kiss.

PLEASE LEAVE ME A COMMENT IF YOU LIKED IT! GETTING A FEEDBACK FROM YOU GUYS IS THE REASON I WRITE! I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED IT AS MUCH AS I LOVED WRITING IT! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH! THANK YOU! STAY SAFE AND STAY HEALTHY <3

[ziracona]

Signifying Nothing (ILM prequel: opening snippet)

.

.

There was an awful stench in the air, a kind of rot that wasn’t easy to recognize. A little like the smell of a dead mouse left for too long under a house, or a discarded deer carcass. It wasn’t either of those things though. It was something much worse. ‘Putrid’ wasn’t a word naturally occurring in anyone’s internal dialogue, but for once it would have been. The smell was overwhelming, and it was coming from everything.

A scuffed black shoe that used to shine with its polish set down on a few small shards of broken glass and the quiet crack made the wearer pause.

The shoes belonged to a man, fairly average in height but with a light build, dark skin, and darker hair that fell into his face. Even stained as it was from hard wear, his white lab coat stood out against the grimy grey and brown walls covered in blood spatter and soot stains and something orange and rotting.

The man stepped further into the room, carefully stepping over the larger chunks of glass and torn metal and rubble that littered the floor. He reached the center of the room and made a slow circle, taking everything in.

Anyone watching would have been able to tell two things at a glance. One, that the man was being cautious and two, that he wasn’t being as cautious as he should have been. He stood out against his surroundings as much as the lab coat did, scanning the walls and leftover carnage more like a tourist at an art gallery than a tattered man in a ransacked laboratory.

Floor to ceiling, the lab around him looked like the aftermath of a horror film. Most of the tables had been flipped, some broken, and writings and beakers and broken glass littered the floor. The room’s one window was busted halfway up and a ragged panel of glass still half-hung in the pane, like a waiting guillotine. Both doors had been torn from the walls. One had fallen into the doorway; the other was in shreds around the room, solid oak torn apart like tissue paper. One small chunk of it still hung from a hinge where it had been broken through, and long, deep scratches ran up it. A large, menacing chandelier hung from its chain in the center of the room weakly, likely to go at any moment. The other lamps were on the ground, and there were still scorch marks around a particularly large one showing where it had caught fire to the research materials around it. Even some of the walls were in pieces, laying rubble around the room amidst tables and test tubes. More noticeable than the state of the room itself was the blood. It was everywhere, reds and browns of various ages flung across the walls and the floor and the implements scattered among the debris, but no bodies. There was an overwhelming smell of corpses, and no corpse.

The man kept walking. He stopped by a pool of ink which had a book floating in it. He knelt, almost reverently, and touched the cover with a finger. There were many things a book could recover from. Soaking in a pile of ink was not one of them.

He stood then, using his forearm to push his hair out of his eyes, and took a small pair of glasses out of his pocked and put them on, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the magnification.

Everything around him was still. A crime scene the day after, a battlefield after even the medics and grave diggers had gone.

The man with glasses took a large messenger bag off of his shoulder and set it on a table. He opened it and rummaged around inside for a few seconds, then froze. Something behind him in the far corner of the room had moved.

Ever so slowly, the man turned to look, eyes unblinking, fixed on where he’d caught movement.

There was nothing.

Very quietly, the man took a syringe out of the bag and readied it like a knife. Slowly, he walked towards the corner of the room. If he’d been careful before, now he was being meticulous. A large broken piece of metal, sharp and jagged on the end that had snapped when it was torn from a lamp and laying a few feet away caught his eye, and he stooped to pick it up.

Still cautious in his approach, the man’s footsteps on the stone floor were the only sound as he got close to the pile of rubble he’d seen movement by, jagged hunk of metal at his side and syringe at the ready in his left hand, and then in one quick, practiced motion the man moved beside the wall to see behind the chunks of stone. He immediately gagged and stumbled back, trying to fight the intense urge to vomit. He failed. The man turned to the side, leaning on a still upright lab table for support and wretched until his body was just dry-heaving. It took him almost twenty seconds to stop. Finally, the man managed to weakly push himself back upright, using one forearm to push his curly hair out of his face, and with his other shaking hand he took a little cloth out of his pocked and used it to wipe his mouth.

It hadn’t just been the sight—he was used to seeing things most people couldn’t begin to imagine. It had been the smell, up close and all at once. It had caught him off guard. Face resigned and exhausted, the bags under his eyes appearing even deeper and his face more gaunt than when he first entered thee room, the man took a breath and went to look at the body again.

Gods have mercy on us all, he thought absently. He didn’t mean it. At this point, that thought was more like a sick joke than anything, but it had become automatic.

The man walked over and knelt down to get a better look at the corpses. He hadn’t even realized at first that there were two of them. The smell that came from the oozing, pussy, decaying mass of mutilated flesh and growths that covered the scarred victims was almost unbearable on a physical level, and he had to keep his forearm over his mouth and nose, trying to filter out some of the smell.

One of the bodies was smaller than him and shrunken. It had cuts all over its still form which oozed an orange substance he was all too familiar with—that disgusting puss secreted by the spirit whose world they were trapped in. He’d seen the nectar before many times. Once every year, when it purged. It was the only genuinely reliable marker that existed to keep track of the passage of time. God, did they use just the raw materials? And so much of it. What is this? It smells like the usual rot, but burned. The thought was a little more olfactorily descriptive than he meant, and his body tried to gag again, but there was nothing left in his stomach to come up. Steeling himself, the man put his syringe in a breast coat pocket, pulled a hard-worn pair of rubber gloves from a back pocket, and pulled them on. From his messenger bag, he took out an empty vial. Leaning over the smaller body, he scraped some of the puss from one of its arms and closed it in his little glass jar, inspecting the sample carefully before placing it in his sack. He shifted then, and used the blunt end of his broken piece of metal to poke at the figure a little, moving one of the arms which covered its chest to get a better look at its torso. Absently, his free hand reached into a pocket and took out a clunky old pocket recorder, marked simply by the initial “C” and hit record.

“Multiple injection marks,” he said to the recorder, eyes fixed on the corpse as he tried to get a better angle on it, “all up and down the ribcage, as if whoever did this was attempting to get it into the bone marrow itself. The subject is young—thirties at the oldest. I don’t recognize the body.”

Gentle as he was going, his metal rod accidentally took off a chunk of flesh the size of a napkin, peeling back and sloughing off the side to reveal mucus and bone and clotted blood, thick with orange lumps. The man gagged again and took a deep breath to steel himself.

“The smell is worse than normal,” he continued, clearing his throat to try and bite back the urge to gag, “Could be due to the natural composition of the body, combined with heavy injections. Decay level of the tissue is low, maybe a week at most, but the chemicals seem to have altered body chemistry heavily, greatly lowering the integrity of the skin. That, or it’s been here a long time and the serum did the opposite,” he added as an afterthought. “Unlikely, though.”

He moved a little, crouch-walking to save time, and leaned over the body again at a new angle. “There are skin lacerations around the subject’s wrists and neck. Not deep, but pre-mort…” Shackles, he realized, glancing instinctively to look for the objects. Had it broken free and been killed? There was no wound he had seen that would have caused death, but he’d only just started. As he looked down, he realized that one of the ankles was still cuffed to a heavy chain embedded in the wall. “It was shackles,” he continued, remembering the recorder, “one is still connecting the subject to the wall. The others seem to have been removed.” He clicked the recorder off, then after a second held the record button down again. “Something has completely trashed my lab, but left the bodies. No recent signs of a presence here either. Everything is at least half a week old, going by blood. Maybe five days. But before that, somebody got very, very busy with my research notes.” He released the button.

I wasn’t gone from the lab that long was I? A few months? What the hell happened here? The man looked at the small, shriveled corpse beneath his feet. Female. About my age, weren’t you? Who were you before this? How long did it take for them to kill you?

He had only given the larger figure a casual glance so far. It was slumped against the wall, half-sitting. He turned his attention to it now, clicking the recorder back on.

“The second body I’ve found is larger and more deformed. There are no puss sacs or growths like seem to have killed the first subject, but the chemical seems to have been altered on this one to include organic compounds from the area. There are sharp vines coming out of its shoulders and arms, covering its head, with large growths above its skull. It looks almost like a stag.” The man clicked the recorder off again and got closer, looking the body in front of him up and down. It was like a tree had overgrown a person, seeping into their body, symbiosis. There were little dark slits on the thing’s head where eyes would have been, and horns made of rotting wood rested above its expressionless face. A huge chunk was missing from its chest, leaving what was left of its ribcage bare and exposing the remaining organs inside. He raised the recorder again and continued his analysis. “Exposed chest wound, including major bone damage to the ribcage which leaves the heart partially exposed. Possibly—”

Again, the man had the impression that something had moved, and he froze. –There it was again!

He squinted, leaning in closer to the figure in front of them. It had come from inside the thing’s chest. Insects, rats? Why the hell—there aren’t naturally occurring animals here, so why would a…

His eyes were only a few inches from the corpse’s chest when he saw it for real, as clear as the vines digging into the thing’s lungs. The exposed heart beat.

In an explosion of movement, the monster’s arm swung out and caught him in the chest, throwing him backwards into the pile of rubble behind him with enough force to knock the breath out of him.

He didn’t even have time to connect the pain in the back of his shoulder and down his arm with the blood dripping onto his fingers before it was on him, lunging for his throat, and the man scrambled backwards, toppling over the pile of rubble blindly as the thing crawled after him, roaring like a beast.

“Oh fucking shit!” the man yelled, his brain’s first attempt to give him a rational response or solution to the situation. He crawled backwards, trying to move faster than the thing was crawling towards him, which was physically impossible. It lunged at him and he rolled out of the way, leaving a smear of blood as he crawled beneath a table and came up stumbling to his feet on the opposite side of it.

In the half-second of safety the metal table offered he got a good look at the monster in its entirety. Horns included, the thing towered over him by a good two feet, head tilted and gold-orange puss dripping from its cuts and wounds and mouth and eyes. If you could call them eyes—they were something anyway, a flickering white-blue light coming from where there had been nothing but darks slits on its face for eyes before, and the lights stayed trained on him as it moved impossibly fast and flung the metal table between them across the room in one swift motion. He could hear the table crashing into a wall as the beast leapt for him, its arm catching hold of his hair and taking a handful as the man tore himself free and threw himself to the ground underneath its arms and past its legs, twisting as he hit the ground, snatching at the syringe in his breast coat pocket and digging its needle into the popliteal artery at the back of the monster’s knee, driving his thumb against the plunger, and emptying the container of pentobarbital into the monster’s leg. It spun with him, just as fast, and swung at him again, its hand catching him in the cheek and sending him skidding along the floor backwards into the same pile of rubble he’d been bashed against before.

Without hesitation, the horned beast came at him with a fury, but it stumbled, and the man rolled out of the way and watched it crash into the rocks it had knocked him against moments before. It shook its head like it was trying to clear it and took another step towards him, and then a much slower, more shaky step, and began to sway. It tried to grab a nearby gurney for support and it fell, taking the stretcher with it as it collapsed onto its side

The man sat were he’d rolled, breathing hard, arms still poised to help him crawl backwards quickly if he had to, eyes fixed on the monster in front of him.

It twitched and made an agonized sound and tried to pull itself back up and failed, and tried again, and again its shoulders gave out. It turned its head towards him and he saw a shudder run down its whole body, and the lights beneath the slits on its face flickering. The golden-orange liquid drained from it more slowly now, as the beast excruciatingly dug its fingers into the stone floor and tried to crawl towards the fallen gurney.

The man got to his feet shakily and blinked in surprise at the blood dripping down his arm. Choosing to ignore the wound for now in favor of more present danger, though, he turned his attention back to the creature on the floor and realized for the first time that this second test subject had been shackled too—was still shackled. Its left leg was connected to the wall by a long tether which had almost reached its length. As he watched, the beast dragged itself over to the fallen stretcher and tried again and again to pull itself up from its prone position. With each attempt he could see it getting weaker as the drug took hold.

Noticing his piece of torn lamp pole from before laying by the rock heap where he’d lost it when he took the first hit, the man in the lab coat walked over and reclaimed his weapon, then crossed purposefully to the creature on the floor.

As he neared it, he could see from the slow, ragged rise and fall of its chest and the slow flickering on and off of the lights that seemed to be its eyes that it was fighting to stay awake. As he got close to it, it swung a hand weakly at him twice before its strength gave out and the arm dropped to the ground.

After waiting a few seconds to make sure the drug had worked its way deep enough into the thing’s system, the man knelt by the monster and leveled his piece of metal. He saw it move its shoulder, trying to will an arm up to defend itself from him, but the drug had set in in earnest now and it had seconds before it was dead to the world completely. He looked from its throat to its exposed heart, trying to decide how to deal with the thing. After a second, he decided on the heart and the man placed one hand on its chest to steady his aim, and then he raised his jagged piece of metal over its exposed heart and it made a sound almost like a whimper.

He hesitated then, looking down at the thing beneath him. The lights behind the slits of its wooden face were fading out, but its chest still rose and fell. He knew it was looking at him as it lost consciousness, and he felt it shudder under the hand he had on its chest. Its breath was coming in quick and shallow, even with the sedative seeping through its veins, and he realized suddenly that it was scared of him and scared to die.

The lights behind its eye slits went out and the creature’s head lulled to the side as it lost consciousness and the man raised his makeshift weapon again. Then he stopped.

Instead, he moved his hand to the thing’s face and felt the rough wooden surface. There was a crack over the left side, which spiderwebbed out from near its ear. Gingerly, the man followed the crack down the monster’s cheekbone to a place where a small chunk about the size of a fingernail had broken off the wood. He let his fingertip rest on the spot, and felt the sticky-warm of fresh blood, and the rough-soft of damaged human skin beneath the wood.

He let the chunk of metal fall from his hand then and collapsed back onto the floor and sat there, staring at the thing in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye the bright red button on his tape recorder caught his eye. It had landed by an overturned table about fifteen feet away, miraculously intact. For some reason the sight reassured him, and the adrenaline drained from his system as he calmed down and it left him exhausted. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and took a deep breath, thinking hard.

After a second, he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, crossed to the recorder and slumped to the ground beside it, leaning his back leaning against the pile of rubble like it was an easy chair. He picked the dented machine up and pressed record.

“Okay. Well. The big one wasn’t dead. It attacked me, but I was able to inject it with a high dose of pentobarbital. Nice to know some things still work on creatures under effects of the serum,” he said, then released the record button to take a shaky breath, eyes on the unconscious monster about ten feet away. He hit record again. “Unsure how to proceed now. I have to do something fast. It’s still breathing, and I don’t think the OD is going to kill it,” he paused, watching the thing’s heart beating weakly in its open chest cavity. “But uh,” he continued half-automatically after a second, “I think it might be salvageable. Yeah. Yeah, I might have to see what I can do. It, uh…” He ran his fingers through the curly hair that hung in his face. “When it couldn’t defend itself anymore, that thing looked…it acted an awful lot like a regular human being. It, uh…” He looked at the thing’s slumped form. It seemed so much less tall now, less imposing. The yellowed ichor that had been pumped into its veins was slowly dripping from where its ears should have been, leaking down its collarbone and seeping past vines into its chest. “Yeah, I might have to see what I can find out.”

The man released the button and set down the recorder, then he slowly slid the rest of the way down the rock until he was laying on his back on the ground. He put his hands over his face and groaned. “Fuuuuck.”

[victorluvsalice]

Forgotten Vows Friday: FVV Character Profiles From Alice, Part 1

So -- who here remembers the Character Profiles from Alice: Madness Returns? If you’re not sure what I’m talking about, A:MR had an “extra content” section that included things like a sum-up of Alice’s history (for people who hadn’t played the first game), concept art galleries for each chapter, and the aforesaid character profiles -- a list of all the major (and some not-so-major) NPCs and enemies you meet in the game, along with a few cut content characters. Enemies are filled in as you meet them -- to get the NPCs, you have to collect bottles in the game (specifically, the blue ones -- the golden ones unlock the various concept art galleries). The profiles are written as if Alice herself was describing and giving her opinion on each character. Most are delightfully snarky -- if you don’t have the game, they’re happily available at the Alice Wiki.

Why do I bring this up? Well, I was working on the “fighting through Victor’s mind/Silent Burtonsville” chapters of “Fixing You” the other day, and it suddenly struck me that it might be fun to do profiles of the enemies I’ve invented for this story in the same style. That evolved into wanting to do profiles of some of the other major players of the universe, and -- well, here we are!

For this entry, we’re concentrating on “real world” people -- specifically, ones that weren’t already covered in the A:MR list. So don’t expect to see Dr. Wilson or Bumby on here. (There is one exception, but he was a very minor character in the original game, so. . .) Let’s start off with the other half of our OTP and work from there:

Victor Van Dort: Crown prince and heir to the Van Dort Cannery fortune, I expected to find a spoiled, delusional brat lurking under his unassuming (if incredibly tall and thin) face. Instead I encountered a skilled pianist, a talented artist, a loyal and unwavering friend, and a soul that fit so well with my own that not falling in love with him was impossible. Shame it took me the better part of two months to figure out my feelings!

William & Nell Van Dort: Victor's parents, by contrast, live down to expectations. Terrible social climbers with hardly a full set of manners between them, William might manage to be halfway decent company if not for his "better half" dominating every conversation. Nell combines the tactlessness of the Duchess with the temper of the Queen of Hearts -- one wonders how her son turned out as well as he did.

Victoria White: I have always lacked for female friends, even in my own mind -- who would have guessed that I would find one among my beloved's former beaus? Beneath a delicate, proper demeanor hides a strong will and a rebellious streak not quite stamped out by society. She’s not my Lizzie, but I wouldn’t have minded having her for a sister growing up.

Christopher White: A kindly old soul, he reminds me rather of my own friend the White Knight from Looking-Glass Land. With fewer gunpowder puddings and less falling off his horse, of course.

June Thatcher: My intended replacement at the Home, she arrived just too late to fall victim to Bumby's depredations, thankfully. She tends toward being overly cheerful and a bit too cuddly for my liking, but she's no fool. And her cooking more than makes up for any personality faults she possesses.

Harry Hightopp & Fred Tarrant: My initial assessment of a typical “by the book” bobby has been proven incorrect, much to my great surprise. Instead, these two minor cogs in the great machine that is London’s police force have proven to be friends truer and bluer than their uniforms. I consider it a great shame that I could not give them the pleasure of arresting Dr. Bumby, but circumstances forbid. At least they can clap his reputation in chains.

Danny Parker: From the far-off shores of California, visiting our shores to make his fortune. A simple fellow, but he dug Radcliffe out of his hole, earning him an automatic spot in my good books.

Jonathan Tailor: A reporter with a “nose for news,” the man has a talent for extending any conversation far past its natural lifespan. He lives for the sensational and the scandalous. But -- rare in a journalist -- he also seems to value the truth. His tenure on the London Illustrated News has made the paper my devoted fan -- I’ll take whatever allies I can get!

Harold Dickenson: More typical of his breed, Dickenson damns facts in favor of the story already with his head. One wonders why someone with such a poor way with people would choose a career where he was required to talk to them. A infrequent but irritating thorn in my side during Victor’s recovery. The London Weekly is better off without him on the payroll.

Old Amos & Paltry Pete: Bumby was not the only oozing sore of depravity to walk the streets of Whitechapel. These two brutes saw fit to attempt to continue on the “great work” on their own terms. Victor and I fought them off on ours.

Lizzie Liddell: My dearest sister, cut down in the prime of her life, only to rise back up again like a Phoenix in the Land of the Dead. Blue skin and rot may not have improved her complexion, but her mind is as sharp as ever. I’m truly honored to have helped facilitate her revenge on that undergraduate with the clammy hands and terrible bedside manner. Now, hopefully, we can make up for lost time.

Arthur & Lorina Liddell: Mama and Papa don’t quite look like their portrait anymore, sad to say. But death has not conquered their spirits. Worms may rend their flesh, and ravens pick their bones, but they’re still my parents, and I still love them.

Bonejangles: June’s skeletal older brother, he gives her cheer a dramatic flair. His music is curious but uplifting, his speech rough but friendly. A far cry from most of the undergraduates that passed through Papa’s halls -- he would have to be, to catch Lizzie’s eye.

[mveloc]

Days of Why and How

Chapter 3

Author’s Note: Now this is where things actually start to pick up ;) Thank you all so much for reading and sharing your thoughts with me. As always, your feedback is much appreciated. Enjoy!

“Okay. Surveillance is offline and alarms are disabled. You’re good to go.”

She adjusts her headset, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms high above her head to straighten her back. When she feels that satisfying ‘crack,’ she relaxes again and expels a quiet sigh, trying to swallow her nerves and remember why she agreed to all of this bullshit in the first place.

“Please tell me you’re not gonna start bugging out,” a gruff voice mutters from behind. “I’m not really good at the whole “calming chicks down” thing.”

She turns in her chair, glaring at the ragged man sprawled out on the couch. He wriggles his eyebrows in return, offering her a crooked grin that is supposed to be charming but only irks her even further.

“Well, forgive me for being a little on edge, but I did just get out of prison after pulling shit like this,” she counters.

“Don’t freak out on me now, yeah?” she hears Sarah’s familiar voice clearly through her headset. “I need you to keep your head on straight.”

“I’m not freaking out!” she protests. “I’ve got this under control. It’s like riding a bike.”

“With your coordination, that doesn’t bode too well,” the man chuckles.

She reaches for her bottle of water, tossing it across the living room until it hits him square in the chest and he continues to laugh, kicking his feet in the ear.

“Ouch. The sass is back.”

“It never left,” she warns him.

She hadn’t really planned on shacking up with her cousin, but rooming with Sarah wasn’t really an option as the punk didn’t have a steady place of her own and Felix’s line of work made living on his couch quite awkward. Tony was the only other person she could think of that would take her in and while his tiny apartment was far from glamorous, she was grateful for his hospitality… when he wasn’t being an annoying dick. He was familiar with her situation, dabbling in the criminal underworld himself, so she didn’t have to worry about defending her mistakes or trying to explain herself to him.

“Do you mind?” Sarah buzzes in her ear, clearly annoyed by the distraction. “I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

“Yeah. Sorry. You’re good,” Cosima reiterates. “Everything’s all clear.”

She had reached out to a few of her old Runewars buddies to hook her up with the necessary hardware to do the job and like always, they had come through without asking any questions (she thinks they secretly like the thrill of being involved in illegal activities). It hadn’t taken her very long to set herself up in the corner of Tony’s living room and make contact with Sarah.

Now all there is to do is wait and keep watch.

“Want a beer?” Tony asks, disappearing into the kitchen.

She declines, her fingers tapping nervously against the plastic of the fold out table she’s been using as a desk. Tony reappears a minute later with a beer in hand, popping the tab and tipping his head back as he takes a generous swig from the can.

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on,” Cosima speaks into the microphone on her headset.

“S’all good,” Sarah chimes back. “Just like I said—easy pickings.”

“Don’t count your chickens just yet,” Cosima mumbles.

If there’s one thing she’s learned, it’s that this shit can turn on dime; the job itself seemed simple enough when Sarah briefed her, but even the easiest jobs can get botched if the unexpected arises. As far as the unexpected goes, Sarah agreeing to a job like this is about as far out of left field as it gets.

When they were teenagers, Sarah would would rob houses and electronics stores and pawn off her spoils to make a quick buck. When she was in college, the punk had turned her sights to museums and galleries. With Felix’s artistic capabilities, they were able to produce almost identical counterfeits that could easily fool the untrained eye, not to mention many connoisseurs. There was certainly a market for it; they could sell the original to the highest bidder, ransom it, or—Felix’s favourite—sell the counterfeits to desperate and pretentious yuppies who had no idea that they were really spending all of their money on knockoffs. However, once Cosima went to prison and they lost their trusted computer expert, Sarah and Felix had no choice but to ease up on their endeavours; Sarah had resorted to conning wealthy marks and street-level drug dealing with her loser boyfriend while Felix mostly dealt in prostitution. When Sarah had initially propositioned her, Cosima assumed that their target would be their typical museum or gallery—certainly not some large corporation.

“About a month ago, some woman contacted me saying she had a job. I thought she was a cop or she was trying to blackmail me—she knew who I was, knew about my family, all that shite,” Sarah had told her. “Turns out, she just needed someone to break into a facility and steal some files.”

“And why, exactly, did she seek you out?” Cosima had asked. “You’ve never done anything like this before. It’s, like, Mission Impossible-level shit.”

“I dunno. That’s what I told her. But she was pretty fucking insistent that I be the one to do it. She said she trusted my skills and needed someone completely out of the loop—couldn’t risk it being traced back to her. Since I’m so far removed from everything, I guess that makes me the best person for the job.”

“And that doesn’t seem fishy to you?” Cosima had countered. “Some lady you’ve never met before shows up out of the blue, somehow knows all about your sordid past and asks you to steal some computer files?”

“She offered me 200k.”

“Ah.”

She had looked into this “DYAD” company and their work was actually quite fascinating—right up her alley. It made sense that a company like DYAD could be working on a number of top-secret projects that competing corporations would want to get their hands on. If that is the case, these files could definitely be worth the 200k that Sarah was offered. While the security system is rather advanced—one of the most sophisticated she’s ever encountered—after doing the proper research and procuring the right equipment, she’d easily found her way around it.

“Are you on the tenth floor yet?” Cosima asks.

“Almost there.”

Tony watches his cousin with an arched brow, eagerly drinking his beer from the couch as he watches Cosima at work.

According to Sarah’s contact, the files are stored on the tenth floor which requires a pass card to enter. It hadn’t taken Cosima very long at all to determine what kind of system was in use and to then replicate a card that would grant Sarah access.

“I’m here,” Sarah speaks. “Your pass card works.”

“Of course it does,” Cosima retorts with the hint of a smirk. “Don’t doubt the master.”

Even though a job like this wasn’t something Sarah typically dealt with, Cosima had certainly encountered her fair share while she was still working with Delphine. She had dealt with a very similar system in the past which was why she was confident that she could pull off a job like this with relative ease on her part.

“There we go. That’s the geek monkey I know.”

Cosima chuckles.

She leans back in her chair again, breathing a sigh of relief. It should be smooth sailing from here on out; all Sarah has to do is download the files onto the external hard drive and then it’s back the way she came—no one will ever even know she was there.

“Not too shabby, cuz,” Tony chimes in.

“I told you I was pretty good,” Cosima shrugs.

“Yeah? Then how’d your ass get busted?”

She opens her mouth to throw back a witty retort but a rapid blinking on her laptop monitor drags her attention back to the task at hand.

“What—?”

She begins typing furiously, her heart sinking in her chest.

“Uh, Cos? What the hell is going on?” Sarah asks, her voice laced with panic.

She can hear the alarm through the headset and Tony sits up straight, the shit-eating grin vanishing completely from his face once he notices that something’s gone very wrong.

“I don’t know!” Cosima exclaims. “This shouldn’t—”

She stops once her worst fears are confirmed.

“There’s someone else in there!”

“What?”

“I just got booted from the system,” Cosima explains. “Give me a second—I’ll get us back.”

“It’s a bit too late for that!” Sarah snaps.

“Shit!”

She slams her fist against the plastic table, her heart slamming behind her ribcage.

“You have to get out of there! Half the cops in town are gonna be there in five minutes!”

+ + + + +

“You told me you had it!” Sarah barks, running down one of the impossibly long corridors she’d traversed on her way in.

This was a disaster.

She hadn’t been able to download the files. Not only that, but if she didn’t haul some serious ass, she was going to end up like Cosima—rotting in prison for the foreseeable future.

“I-I know! I didn’t think we’d have interference!” Cosima tries to defend herself, shouting fearfully through the headset. “You didn’t tell me we’d have competition!”

“How the hell was I supposed to know?”

Marion hadn’t said anything about this. She said that the security system would be difficult to bypass, but if she had the right person behind the computer, it wouldn’t be too big of an issue. How the hell was she supposed to know that someone else would be trying to break into DYAD at the exact same moment?

“You should have scoped out the job a little better. This was sloppy!” Cosima snaps. “You’re fucking lucky I’m back in the system. The elevator should be back online and cameras are still disabled.”

She’s tempted to lose it on her newly-freed friend, but she’s too occupied with trying to save her own ass to unleash her full fury and frustration upon Cosima.

“So this is my fault? You’re the geek monkey! You’re supposed to have an answer for everything!”

She turns another corner but comes to a screeching halt when she finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Whoa. Easy,” she expels, raising her hands slowly into the air to indicate that she’s a non-threat.

She looks up from the barrel to stare into the eyes of her guest; a pair of deep, hazel eyes glare back at her, though the person’s face is concealed behind a balaclava—not exactly the most original disguise. Her own mask is much more distinct—a monkey that Cosima had picked out in a Chinatown shop earlier that day. She had laughed about it, said that she should try to have a sense of humour about the whole thing.

“So you’re the friend that tripped the alarm when you kicked us out of the system?” she asks, looking them up and down.

Despite the disguise, she notices that her guest is quite slender and small in comparison to the average man—about 5’7”. She shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that another woman is the one responsible for the clusterfuck considering all the jobs that she’s run in the past, but she certainly hadn’t been expecting it.

“Look, every cop in the city is gonna be here any minute now! We don’t have time for this!” she tries to convince the intruder. “The only way either of us is going to make it out of here is if we both run now!”

When the woman doesn’t reply, her anger flares.

“Do you hear what I’m saying at all?”

“Or I can shoot you in the leg and ensure that you get captured to take the heat off me,” the heavily-accented voice suggests.

Wait.

That accent.

She knows she’s heard it before.

Sarah inspects her would-be assailant once again; the height is right, the build is right, and the flicker in her eyes is certainly familiar.

“Wait… Delphine?”

The masked assailant freezes, gripping her gun a little tighter.

“That is you, isn’t it?” Sarah asks.

Sarah slowly reaches for her mask, lifting it to reveal her face.

“S-Sarah?”

Delphine lowers her gun and reaches for her own mask with her free hand to peel it off.

If Sarah was angry before, now she’s overcome with rage.

“Oh, you’re lucky you have a fucking gun right now, otherwise I’d kick your willowy ass!” she spits, her face contorting with hatred.

She always told herself that if she ever saw Delphine Cormier again, she’d beat the woman half to death and make her wish she were in prison—retribution for everything that she’s done to Cosima. Delphine doesn’t appear to be angry by her presence like she’d expect; instead of being furious that Sarah’s interfered with her own job, her face displays a mixture of concern and confusion. As Sarah stares her down, heavy-breathing and contempt in her heart, she waits for Delphine to make the next move; as much as she hates to admit it, the blonde is the one holding all the cards right now.

“What? You’ve got nothing to say?”

Another beat of tense silence passes between them before Delphine holsters the gun, surprising Sarah. While Delphine has no real reason to shoot her, she knows the cruelty that the French woman is capable of and wouldn’t be shocked to find her making good on her offer to shoot her in the leg and save herself.

“Oi, geek monkey!” Sarah shouts into her headset. “You’re never gonna believe who our visitor is!”

She never breaks eye contact with Delphine as she speaks to her partner on the other side, her blood beginning to boil. The very mention of Cosima seems to garner a reaction from the blonde; her eyes widen and a visible tremors rips through her.

“Cosima?” she asks, completely bewildered.

Sarah’s eyes narrow even further as she tries to decipher this reaction. It’s a mix of so many conflicting emotions that she’s unable to accurately pin it out.

“She’s—she’s out?”

+ + + + +

“Are you sure it was her?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’d know that voice anywhere.”

Cosima paces back and forth anxiously as if suddenly forgetting the layout of Tony’s living room. She feels sick, like she could drop to her knees and empty her stomach all over the floor even with Sarah watching. She isn’t sure if she should sit or stand, if she should take deep breaths or hold her breath completely; her body has its own response, just as it always has with Delphine.

“You sure it wasn’t some other French chick?” she tries.

Anything.

She just needs anything to work with—anything to tell her that this is all some big mistake, that she isn’t being confronted with her worst fucking nightmare. She secretly hopes that Sarah will meet her halfway, but as soft-hearted as her friend can be at times, the punk has never shied away from the truth when it really mattered.

“She took off her mask, Cos,” she says quietly, trying to let Cosima down gently. “I saw her face.”

Cosima sighs.

She always knew that this day could come—that it most likely would come. Even still, she hadn’t planned for it to go down like this. She was hoping that she’d have more time, that she’d have some sort of concrete game plan when she finally confronted her ex-girlfriend again after five long, bitter years. She may not have been there in-person to exchange words with the duplicitous woman, but Delphine knows she’s out now and she knows it’s only a matter of time before they cross paths for real.

Panic and defeat morph into a mighty burst of anger.

“I told you this was a bad idea!” Cosima snaps, nearly kicking the fold out table over in the process. “Not only did we botch the job and walk away with nothing, but now she’s wrapped up in this, too?”

“Oi!” Sarah counters, matching fire with fire. “She’s got nothing to do with this!”

“Of course she does!”

Delphine has everything to do with it.

Sarah and Felix had been saying it before and she always dismissed them, but now she sees just how right they’ve been; even if she doesn’t want to admit it, Delphine has been at the center of everything from the second she set foot outside of that prison.

“You listen to me—nothing changes,” Sarah says with emphasis. “We lay low for a little while until this all blows over. We forget about that twat.”

Cosima shakes her head.

“But she knows I’m out, and—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sarah shuts her down quickly. “It doesn’t matter if she knows you’re alive or dead, if you’re out or if you’re still doing time. She cut you out, Cos—she decided five years ago that you weren’t worth her time, so why should she be worth yours now?”

Cosima folds her arms over her chest, her frown expanding.

“Maybe,” she mutters half-heartedly.

“Maybe?”

Sarah steps closer, imposing herself. She tries to smother all doubt in Cosima’s mind before those flames have a chance to grow into something much larger that will swallow her friend from the inside out all over again.

“Cosima, she dragged you into all this shit and then just left you to drown,” Sarah reminds her. “When things got bad, she just… disappeared.”

“Yeah, but I was a big girl. I made my own choices, Sarah,” Cosima argues.

She’s not sure if it’s Delphine she’s trying to defend or herself—her own terrible decisions that have come back to haunt her.

“It’s not like she ever forced me to—”

“Cos, she manipulated you!” Sarah bursts.

Cosima fidgets with the bracelet that dangles from her wrist, brow furrowed and lips drawn into a thin line which threatens to downturn into a frown with the slightest prodding. Did Delphine manipulate her? Maybe. Probably. But there’s no way Delphine could have planned for things to go down the way they did; there’s no way that her ending up in prison was part of her ex’s endgame.

Delphine didn’t con her into prison.

She did that all by herself.

In truth, it’s not her downfall that’s left her so bitter—it’s the fallout from it; even if there were times she felt untouchable when they were running wild together, a part of her always understood on some subconscious level that prison was a possibility—a natural consequence to their risky behaviour. No, she wasn’t bitter about getting caught, about serving a sentence that Sarah and many others thought she didn’t deserve.

It was the five years of radio silence that was the greatest sting of all.

In the beginning, she told herself that it wouldn't be so terrible; she could recover from messing her life up completely so long as she had the support of her loved ones, but when she needed Delphine the most, the blonde was nowhere to be seen.

Not one visit.

Not one phone call.

Not a single fucking letter.

Five years and after everything they’d been through together, after everything they meant to each other, Delphine had discarded her as easily as a used tissue. And the part that got her the most? That some sick, naive, masochistic part of her actually believed Delphine would come for her in the end. As days turn into months which slowly bled into years, she told herself that Delphine would come… eventually.

Delphine had to come.

Even just weeks before her release, she held onto some small sliver of hope that Delphine would be waiting for her at the finish line, just as she always had before.

How could she have been so stupid?

“Whatever. Doesn’t matter now. There’s nothing more to say,” Sarah mutters. “She can carry on with her shit and we’ll carry on with ours. It’s not like you’re going to go looking for her, huh?”

Cosima shakes her head.

“Hell no.”

Her voice harbours a hint of hesitation despite the boldness in her words.

“Good,” Sarah nods, trying to reinforce her point. “And if she has any sense at all, she’ll stay the hell away. At least we know she’s good at that.”

+ + + + +

“Has anyone come for me?” she asks, staring hopefully at the guard from behind the window.

The woman gives her a once over, taking note of her ID tag before lowering her head to read from the day’s log book. She scans it thoroughly for a minute or so before lifting her gaze again to offer Cosima a sympathetic glance.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, shaking her head.

“Are you sure? Could you check again?”

This is her first day of visitation and she’s been waiting eagerly for the chance to see another familiar face in person—one familiar face in particular.

The woman sighs, her expression softening as she removes her glasses.

“Look. You’re new here. Sometimes it takes a few weeks for these things to process,” she says, trying to offer Cosima a beacon of hope. “I’m sure whoever you’re expecting will make it down eventually.”

Cosima deflates completely.

“Yeah? Then why isn’t she answering any of my calls?” she mutters.

“Give it some time,” the guard tries, offering her a small smile.

“Well, I have lots of that.”

Time passes far too slowly in this place.

She hasn’t been able to grab more than an hour of sleep or so a night and even though she’s terrified to close her eyes in this place, a part of her wishes she could disappear into slumber and sleep the rest of her sentence away. She feels the exhaustion in her bones and even still, she’s unable to find any sort of reprieve; the bed (if you could really call it that) makes her tiny twin mattress back in her dorm room seem like a California king and every time she lies down, the walls seem to close in on her.

She hasn't been able to eat. She’s never considered herself a picky eater and has always been willing to try new foods but prison food hardly qualifies as something exciting and exotic. She stares down at the tray of indistinct mush, poking at it absently with a plastic spoon, trying to imagine that it’s tiramisu or some other delectable dessert just to help her with the psychological process of lifting the spoon and guiding the mush to her mouth.

“Uh, hey. Do you mind if I sit here?”

She stops, dropping her fork onto her tray and lifting her gaze to address her visitor. None of the other inmates have said so much as a word to her and she’s skeptical of any attention she’s suddenly receiving, but when she spies the benevolent-looking blonde staring back at her with a small smile, she wonders how big of a threat the girl can really be.

“Be my guest,” she mutters, gesturing to the empty seat across from her.

She diverts her eyes back to the tray of mush.

“You okay?” the blonde asks, taking a seat.

“Should I be?”

The blonde cocks her head.

“You’re a newbie, right?” she asks.

“Yep. Fresh meat for everyone to chew on,” Cosima deadpans.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry,” her guest apologizes.

There’s something so sincere in the way in which the tiny blonde speaks that Cosima suddenly finds herself feeling guilty for the abrasive attitude she’s assumed as some sort of armour.

“No, I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “I’m just… I… fuck.”

There’s a hundred things she wants to say but her mind is drawing a blank. It’s not as if she can spout any of it to a stranger anyway, so she keeps it to herself.

“I know. This place’ll do that to you,” the blonde says sympathetically.

Cosima sighs deeply, trying to will away the rush of emotions that seem to overtake her at the most random and inopportune times. Her eyes begin to well until they’re glossy and ripe with tears she somehow manages to hold back.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” she asks.

The girl reaches across the table, placing a gentle hand atop Cosima’s.

“You just gotta focus. Think about the finish line,” she offers. “Just remember that this isn’t permanent.”

Cosima tries to hold back her laughter.

“It’s easy to say that now,” she spits, staring down at the comforting hand still resting atop her own.

The blonde offers her another smile.

“It’ll get easier with time. You just gotta help it along,” she says, pulling her hand away.

Cosima watches her carefully, watches as she runs that hand through the length of her hair.

“And how do I do that?” she asks.

The blonde laughs.

“When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

She knows that her new friend means well, but she has a hard time finding the humour in her words. She could barely stand to be cooped up in her dorm room studying for a weekend—how the hell is she going to make prison work?

“But seriously—just go through the motions,” the blonde tries. “I know the food’s shit, but you gotta eat. You gotta sleep. As soon as you can get eating and sleeping sorted out, the rest will fall into place a little easier… or at least you won’t have the urge to hang yourself with your bedsheets quite as frequently.”

Cosima expels a tiny laugh.

“Thanks,” she mumbles.

“Don’t mention it.”

When she looks up again, large blue eyes are staring back at her. She’s struck by how open they seem—far more open than anything in this fucking place.

“The guards haven’t been as horrible as I thought, but no one else really talks to me,” she says, finally making a solid attempt to strike up a conversation.

“That’s because you have “fresh meat” written on your forehead,” the blonde shrugs. “No one wants to get into bed with a newbie.”

Cosima frowns again.

“Don’t take offence. Once you’re here a little longer and the other girls get a better feel for you, the conversation won’t stop flowing—trust me,” she tries to explain. “This many troubled women all crowded together, some with consecutive sentences to serve? We’ve got nothing better to do than bitch, and we have more reasons than most.”

Cosima’s frown slowly dissolves.

“Aren’t you anxious about associating with a newbie?” she asks, trying to fight back her growing smile.

“Me? Not really,” the blonde shrugs. “I’ve got a bit of a reputation—that’ll go a long way in this place.”

“Really?” Cosima asks, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Are you, like, a serial killer or something?”

She makes the joke because she knows there’s no way it can be true; there’s no way that a girl like this could ever be capable of such a terrible crime. While they may all be criminals in here, she isn’t blind to the fact that most of the inmates are victims of circumstance rather than the vicious deviants that society would like most people to see them as.

“Nothing quite as glamorous,” the blonde laughs. “My family’s Russian mob. Nobody in here messes with me.”

“That must be nice,” Cosima muses aloud.

“It has its perks.”

If there’s one thing she could use right now, it’s a support system. Sure, the Russian mob may not be ideal, but it’s more than she has at the moment and she finds herself envious of the girl’s ties; Sarah’s been too preoccupied with Kira lately to make the trip down to see her.

And Delphine?

Delphine may as well be a fucking ghost.

“How about you? You don’t strike me as the “career criminal” type,” the blonde asks.

“No,” Cosima shakes her head, gaze dropping in shame. “I’m just a complete fucking moron.”

The blonde pauses for a moment, considering her next words carefully.

“We’ve all done stupid shit,” she says.

“Yeah, but I knew better,” Cosima counters.

“Don’t we all?”

Cosima laughs.

“Apparently not.”

If she did, she wouldn’t be here.

If she didn’t, she still wouldn't be waiting for Delphine to magically appear and take her away from this place like she promised.

“I’m Shay, by the way.”

She looks up, forgetting about her misery and rejection and rejoining the conversation. She accepts the hand, stretching her own across the table to grasp in gently, allowing herself to forget about her stupid mistakes for just a few seconds.

“Cosima.”

[icarus-tirade]

4.26.2021

I desperately wanted to see a huge pink moon tonight, but sadly no dice so I’ll just post this draft

It’s been a while but I actually have like,,, a coherent long post to put on here. They’ve been short, half-assed posts in my opinion. N e ways...

So my current brain-rot has been on what I call “my magnum opus” // “Magnum opus” when referring to it in my head. It’s not really MY magnum opus but usually a magnum opus belongs to a person you know? I guess that’s why I call it MY magnum opus despite it not being mine. Hm...

I unfortunately do not have the pleasure of being its creator. It’s not a real piece of art,,, it is but not in the traditional sense. This art breathes and lives. Wow- lemme rant about that real quick.

This art breathes and lives. It walks around. It’s a living piece of art. I can’t describe it anymore than that to be honest. It’s like,,, alive. It doesn’t hang on the wall or sit on a pedestal in any art gallery. It walks among people and does normal domestic things but somehow, everything it interacts with is just different. Its grand, its breath taking, its poetic. Its just... different. I'm not good with words lol, but everything it does becomes romantized in a sense. The simplist things like reading, sitting, existing (I don’t fuckin know, leave me alone)

My gosh it’s so fucking beautiful and that’s what my brain rot has been about for like...months. It would just come and go but now it seems to be coming to a head for whatever reason ahhhhhhh!!!! IT WON’T LEAVE ME ALONEEEE!!

But also,,, I’m not gonna take any of the Magnus Opus stuff serious because it’s basically rabbit szn based off my past posts, rabbit szn happens around 21-25 and not only does it effect my hormones *gross* but also emotionally I’ve noticed. I don’t get sad or angry or anything but I feel more clingy/needy??? Idk, I guess I just start craving intimacy more, so much so that’s extremely noticeable.

[nerdarchy-blog]

In my last piece I wrote about one of the modules I wrote back in the Mesozoic era.  “After all our 12 year old minds, while imaginative, couldn’t spin a coherent narrative. I still have a dungeon I wrote back then called Torth. It’s… um… well, the Plan 9 of modules. Made no sense.” Within hours, the stalwart and suffering editor sent to me “I am curious about Torth! Although my opinion of Plan 9 is colored by Ed Wood, which I’ve seen several more times than the actual Plan 9 haha.” [NERDITOR’S NOTE: That’s me!] However, by that point the semester was concluding, work was piling up, and I couldn’t do it.  Now the semester is done (I earned 2 A’s and an A-) and here I am sitting on the couch writing about something I wrote some 40 plus years ago. Get off my lawn.

A mockup from the author for Torth: Castle of Evil. Pretty cool if you ask me! Check out the gallery at the end of the post for the creator’s original cover, maps and notes. [Art by Erol Otus]

Torth: Castle of Evil

I started this while I was still the Dungeon Master for my first module, B1: In Search of the Unknown. For those who don’t know this module it was the first Basic Box Set module even before B2: Keep on the Borderlands. While B2 had all the monsters filled in, B1 didn’t. What the writers did for this one was they’d describe the room and leave space for the DM to include Monster then Treasure. So this kid got to enter whatever monster they wished whether they made sense or not. In one room would be a couple of goblins while the next room over (a 20 ft. x 20 ft. no less) would have a red dragon. My player (the Dave I mentioned last column) didn’t care. Kick open the door, kill the monster, collect the treasure (never mind how much people could actually carry), do whatever was in the room (ooh, pools!) then repeat. Yes, that was Quasqueton, stronghold of Rogahn the Fearless and Zelligar the Unknown!

I added a third level to Q, which featured an underground lake with an island on which were the barracks for all the off-duty monsters. There was a bugbear barracks, a room for vampires…you get the idea. That was me trying to figure out a reason for the monster placement.

After that it was Dave’s turn to DM and I played my first character, Apollo. We played almost every night. During study halls or after going home after gaming I started writing what I thought would be my magnum opus! It needed a name. One afternoon when we weren’t playing the Monkees were on TV. One of them was Peter Tork. I changed the name a little and so the module had a name: TORTH!

I started by drawing one third a map, wrote about the rooms, then more map and so on. Oh, this was great stuff! Killer! No character could possibly survive! Plot? What’s that? Dave also wrote some of the dungeon and I asked people who had no idea about the game for trap ideas as well. Torth eventually had three levels, two of which had giant underground lakes (one on top of the other??) with 200 total rooms and was finished on June 10, 1980. I even bought a report folder for it to make it more official and traced the umber hulk picture for the cover. I made the umber hulk the proper colors even though some of the umber hulks appearing in the module are orange. Don’t ask — I’m already embarrassed enough.

Eventually Dave and I learned that a new kid in the school, I’ll call him Rodney, also played D&D! Well, he wanted to learn anyway. He was and still is a goof ball and was enthusiastic about playing. As Dave and I were now experts at the game…hey stop laughing!  Ahem, experts at the game, we would teach him. And where would he learn? TORTH!

You can see this train wreck coming, can’t you?

Not being one to make things easy on himself, and with the new AD&D Player’s Handbook in hand he decided to create a 1st level half-elf fighter/cleric named Pantalian. I, with the brand spanking new Monster Manual, was determined to try all of these new monsters.

The adventurers needed a reason, no matter how flimsy, to enter this dungeon. I reproduce it here, word for word, misspellings and all. On the word for word stuff I’ll insert my comments in italics. Because.

CONTENT WARNING — rape

****************************************************** Many years ago, when orcs ruled the countryside, a magic user came.  He enslaved the orc tribe the green foot and made them build him a castle. The orcs were also forced to build new homes for poor people of the towns they destroyed. The castle was dug deep into the cliff side of a mountain. (So… it was a cave? A castle?)

This good magic user, ruled the countryside fairly the townspeople loved him dearly.

Many a cleric and Magic user came to him to study and for advise.

Soon Torth was getting old, and said he needed an heir. He adopted a boy by the name of Rascen. A few years later, the old wizard died, and left everything to Rascen.

Rascen, like his stepfather, was a good man. He trained to be a druid. (As one who lives in a fancy cave castle does.)

One day while holding the passover feast, the holy grail appeared. This brought pride to Rascen and his people. (Ummm.  Yeah.)

While holding Court a beautiful girl came and stated a powerful knight was disturbing her. Her name was Rachel. Rascen himself slew the knight, and fell in love. (Fell in love with whom? The knight?) Soon Rascen asked Rachael to be his wife. She consented.

A few years, later a son was born. They named him Carnan. He grew up to be a magic-user after his parents died. But Carnan was evil. Carnan ruled harshly until one night, the castle mysteriously caught fire. He was said to be killed, along with other evil clerics and magic users. (Ok, the cave castle caught fire. HOW???)

The townspeople lived in harmony. A knight named Maskoth was appointed mayor. He ruled fairly.

One night, Maskoth disappeared, only to be found the next day, totally insane. He was babbling something about Liches or other evil. He died a few years later of mummy rot disese. This was the first evil. (ooh — scary!)

A sage said there would be six evils on the town. No one believed him. Soon a mysterious beggar came to town. A few days later he killed the captain of the watch. This was the second evil. (Damn mysterious beggars!)

After that, a good cleric came to town, and was told of the two evils and went to the castle, never to be seen again. A month later, bones were found in the woods near the castle. On them was a holy symbol. Scholars doubt this carnage was the cleric, but the people knew it was. This was the third evil. (Scholars studied this???)

The month after the finding of the bones, ghouls, mummies, zombies, wights, wraiths and ghosts plagued the town for one week, killing many. This was the fourth evil. (Okay — this is a town. By this point, there can’t be many people left, and those who survive, why did they stay?)

One night later, a girl named Josephine disappeared. She was found the next day, brutally murdered and raped. This was fifth evil. Now the windows of the castle are scarlet, as if a fire was burning inside. (I was a screwed up kid going for shock value. Also, what windows? There are no windows in the cave castle!)

A few days later all the infants and old men were killed. Evil swept the town. The chapel was burned! The monastery pillaged! This was the final evil. (Dogs and cats living together! Mass hysteria! Oh wait.)

Now the sage stated that evil will kill us all if it is not removed, and that the source of the evil was the castle. “A fighting man would be needed” stated the sage. That night he died of mysterious causes. (As one does in these tales.)

One night a merchant was passing on a road that is near the castle. He claims he saw a hooded figure in a rear window looking, staring out. The figure was all white, had glowing eyes, and burnt, shabby clothing. (WHAT WINDOWS?) That was last night. Go now to the castle and defeat the evil inside.

(Yeah. Go. Defeat…whatever.)

*****************************************************

Pantalian and his NPCs died very quickly. He was reincarnated five times. He lasted longest as a troll. Then one day his character sheet vanished. Turns out someone we both knew tore it up and flushed it down the toilet. Rodney to this very day blames me for this and in revenge he and the other person destroyed my character’s painstakingly kept journal. However, I was not the culprit. Doesn’t matter, he still blames me.

How did Pantalian die so quickly? Well, here’s a few rooms, typed in exactly as scrawled back then, mistakes and all. The first room the characters will encounter after entering the castle would be room 17, which was a 20 ft. x 40 ft.

“The room is dingy. In the southeast corner is a 10 ft. circular iron cylinder. It has elvish runes on it and cannot be read except by the evil. They tell the history of evil. (That must’ve been small type!) When the door is closed, the lid pops open, orange smoke issues forth and 2 lemures pop out. 7 hp, 13 hp. 1 potion of flying, ring of skeleton, 900 sp.” (The ring would reduce the wearer to a skeleton instantly, no save, just dead.)

It was Pantalian and an NPC fighter. Lemures were devils with 3 HD and regeneration. Only blessed objects could kill them. Of course a brand new player wouldn’t know this, nor would they possess such an item. Or be aware of regeneration. So the lemures just kept coming and Rodney, being the jock type, wasn’t about to run away!

Splat!

He created a second character specifically to go in and drag Pantalian’s body out. He was then resurrected and the second character became an NPC, a half elf fighter/magic-user. Neither lasted long. I decided the player needed help. I know! A magic weapon! I gave a gnoll a longsword +5 Defender. And again, Pantalian fell. His NPCs, as he now kept several, managed to kill the gnoll and get the sword for him. It helped against the night hag in the next room. Seriously.

The true shame of Torth was the way it was designed. This was supposed to be the castle of a good wizard but the map is a jumbled mess. Nowdays if I were to make that map I’d say chaos magic twisted it into its current form. Back then I just figured that dungeon maps were supposed to be mazelike. The Ruins of Undermountain proved me right. Again, I was a kid and hadn’t any experience writing.

Since that time D&D writing improved vastly. Jennell Jaquays introduced the concept of sandboxing an adventure with her Judge’s Guild pieces. Narrative plots began having some depth. Maps began to usually make sense. Also the players, me included, became more experienced along with the game as it developed.

Torth’s ending had the Heart of Evil which had absolutely no reason for existing except as a McGuffin for the character to reach and destroy. Of course in a linear sense it was in the last possible place.

“194 — The Heart of Evil. On the heavy door is a tarnished plaque that says “The Heart of Evil.” (As the major quest targets always do.) If the leader of the party is good, the door only opens on a one (if hit by an evil person.) (Huh?) When the door is open, the outcropping is seen. The two sides emit an orange yellow glow. This is the heart of evil in the castle, placed here by Balzebul. (Why???) This outcropping pulses, for it is alive. AC -2 Hit Dice 5. 21 hp. If the “heart” is threatened, it will summon 5 manes or other devils. When somebody is killed in this room, the heart grows brighter (that is only if a good person is slain, if an evil thing is slain in this room, it dims) Good slain — it gains 1 hp. Evil slain — loses 1 hp. (Fair enough but why only one?) If there is an evil person is in this room during melee, there is a 75% chance that he or she will turn against the good in the party. (Before you ask, there were many rooms that changed the character’s alignment. And every 13-14 year old kid plays chaotic neutral, no matter what their declared alignment.) When the heart is killed, all evil in the castle dies and disintegrates. A cherubim comes to warn the adventurers to leave, for in 12 hours the castle will crumble into dust. (When heart dies the yellow orange glow leaves) (It doesn’t help or anything. It just comes in, makes its grand proclamation and leaves.) Also if the heart is threatened, it will generate an evil energy field. If a good character goes in, they lose 1-4 hp per round. (Oh, by the way, it has protection from good sort of.) 1000 exp for killing the heart.”

Hearts of Evil can be pretty innocuous looking!

  Sigh. When I wasn’t available to DM Dave would DM for me. Eventually, near the end of the first level a magical slide appeared taking whatever character Rodney was playing by that time directly to the island where the Heart of Evil was. No devils popped up but he had a major time beating on the thing before it died. And so ended the only time Torth was ever played, with over two thirds of it avoided.

Why write a column about this aside from the editor asking? I write a lot now between this, my monthly column at Transgender Forum, my blog and other things. Whatever a person creates, be it art of some kind, writing, song or whatever they leave a piece of themselves in it. That’s why no two artist’s works are alike or no two authors (not counting intentional style stealing.) Torth took me quite some time to write during a tumultuous time in my life.

It was around this time that my inner demons, which I later understood to be my misplaced gender identity, really began to plague me. Also around this time I started studying martial arts as I was tired of the beatings I received at the hands of bullies. Add to that I was a late bloomer and while all the other kids were hitting puberty, I wasn’t. I dreaded puberty as I knew it would make me exactly what U didn’t want to be: a man. All of this and more all swirled in my head. My only real escape then was gaming, especially D&D.

As I wrote above, when someone writes they bring part of themselves and that includes D&D adventures. I have since that time written over 100 D&D adventures for my players or for others to run. I haven’t read Torth since, well, 1980 or 81. I’ve kept it in my pile of D&D papers or with my modules since then and it’s moved with me many times. I started reading it for this piece and I had to stop. Yes, some of what’s written is Ed Wood bad or worse. That’s not what stopped me, nor was it the poor penmanship, as it was all written in longhand (in pencil!).

I stopped because what I read was a howl of anguish (cliché, I know) from a child who knew they were different, couldn’t understand how or why and whose life was changing and out of control. I was lashing out at whatever caused me pain. I can tell when Rodney started playing. Rodney was a goofball and is still a great friend but he was also a jock. He would become a champion wrestler, attend VMI and serve as an officer in the Army like all men in his family before him. He was everything I wasn’t. Unconsciously, I lashed out at him through the module. There were many times in Torth where the characters were magically transformed, just as I wished I could be.

So yes, Torth was a train wreck but so was I. In many ways I’m still that child struggling against all I am. However I now understand who I am and have the power to change what I don’t like. Rodney and I still play D&D every other weekend on Roll20, as he lives in Michigan. And he still brings up Torth every session. Other players live in Philly, Maine and one here in State College. They’re going through Keep on the Borderlands — my selection. It reminds me of a far more innocent time when gaming was just gaming, yet also a lifeline to other worlds. Sometimes an orc is just an orc after all.

Be well.

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Original cover for Torth: Castle of Evil

Grid map of the Castle of Evil dungeon

Dungeon Master’s notes for Torth: Castle of Evil

Torth Updated!

Step back in time with our resident old school D&D creator to explore Torth: Castle of Evil! (warts and all) #staynerdy In my last piece I wrote about one of the modules I wrote back in the Mesozoic era.  

[suzyturnerbooks]

A the moment, hubby and I are obsessed with traditional Portuguese architecture. The plans for our new house are currently being drawn up and so every time we spot something interesting, we simply must take photos. Last week, we took a stroll through the old part of Portimao (our nearest city), taking in the beauty of tiled exterior walls, pretty front doors, Juliette balconies and everything else associated with traditional Portuguese architecture. You might remember me mentioning lovely old buildings in Silves a couple of week ago?

Traditional Portuguese architecture

We are truly blessed to call Portugal our home, therefore we’d like to make our new home something special. One that incorporates as much traditional Portuguese architecture as possible.

Portimao

Portimao is full of wonderful examples of some of the most stunning, and simple, designs from years gone by. Unfortunately it’s also full of hideous buildings erected within the past forty odd years. It’s such a shame that some of the most exquisite old traditional Portuguese buildings have been completely left to rot. I’d love to buy up as many of them as possible and breathe new life into them. Hubby has such wonderful vision, especially when it comes to old buildings, I just know we could create something utterly divine. One day, perhaps!

  A simple outfit

Speaking of being creative, my outfit was a simple one. I teamed my brown chinos (which you’ve seen several times over recent months) with another wardrobe staple – a striped vest top. Vest tops are something I love as I’m lucky to have good shoulders, helped by the yoga, no doubt 😉 I do have quite a few of them in my wardrobe and believe they go with just about everything. They’re one of those things that can be dressed up or down.

I bought these black leather sandals from Primark years ago and they’ve lasted extremely well considering how much I wear them each and every summer. They’re great for evening too, with their little bit of sparkle. I’ve been searching for another pair of black sandals over recent months but I just can’t seem to find what I’m looking for. Hopefully I’ll find something suitable soon.

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You might remember the handbag from previous posts too. It’s from Knomo and I won it in a Twitter competition a few years ago. It’s such a fab handbag as it’s meant for carrying a laptop, so it’s very spacious and padded enough to protect my Mac. I also use it to carry my camera sometimes too.

Prescription sunglasses

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about my new prescription glasses. Then last week I picked up my prescription sunglasses. They’re the first pair I’ve ever had and I must say, I do love them. It’s very weird having to keep swapping between the two pairs whenever I go in and out though. But I didn’t want reactive lenses so I must put up with it!

Algarve weather

It was such a lovely morning walking around Portimao old town. I think the old buildings protected us from the heat though. As soon as we walked out into the open, the hot air didn’t half hit us! We’ve had some funny weather over the past few weeks, some days have been boiling hot while others have actually been quite chilly. It’s been most unusual for the Algarve at this time of year. I’ve a feeling that the heat is here to stay for a while though now.

Have you been to Portugal before? Where did you stay? Were you impressed by the traditional Portuguese architecture?

Street art

I’ve been wanting to show you these beautiful examples of street art in Portimao for ages, but only just got round to taking photos last week. Isn’t it pretty?

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Planning our dream home with traditional Portuguese architecture A the moment, hubby and I are obsessed with traditional Portuguese architecture. The plans for our new house are currently being drawn up and so every time we spot something interesting, we simply must take photos.

[viralhottopics]

26 People Talk About The Paranormal Event That They Cant Find A Rational Explanation For

These stories from Ask Reddit are unexplainable. Unbelievable. But that doesn’t change the fact that they actually happened.

1. Anexact copy of my little girl walkedaround ourhouse

“I was annoyed with my daughter because she hadn’t cleaned her room in weeks so when I walked by her room and saw her standing there, I assumed she was doing what I said. A few minutes later, she walked out of the shower in the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her and asked why I was looking at her strangely. When I asked her who was in her room, she looked scared, too. I never figured out who that was but they didn’t clean up the room, either.” —musememo

2. My brother stumbledacrossanAboriginal spirit

“Not me but my twin brother, we were around 6 years old, and in central Australia with our dad and older brother.

We were doing some nature walk and he fell back a bit. He then screams and runs and catches up. He told my dad he had seen something.

Later that day we were in the town nearby and my twin pointed at a painting in an art gallery and said that the figure in it was what he had seen.

My dad went in to the gallery and asked the person at the counter what the figure in the painting was, and they said it is an Aboriginal spirit that takes children who wander too far from the camp or family.” —Baccarri

3. My dead sister threw her photographs off the walls

“I was watching my parents’ dog while they were out of town. My sister passed away in their house about a year prior. While I was there, I witnessed a picture of her fall off the wall. Then I discovered that EVERY picture of her in the house had fallen off the wall, seemingly at the same time. (They didn’t keep many pictures up in general, so it was only four different pictures.) I chalked it up to something shaking the house, even though we live in Ohio and I felt nothing.

I went home to my apartment. Face up on my desk was a picture of my sister and me that I knew I had packed away. I don’t believe in things like this but this occurred at a time where I was still very much actively grieving the loss of my sister and it hit me hard. Still can’t explain it.” —kingchuck419

4. My friend predicted his own death

“On the days before the Utya massacre one of my friends said that he had bad stomach cramps, as well as pain in his right hand. He kept rubbing the palm of his hand, as if to numb the pain a bit. We went to a doctor to see if we could find anything wrong, but they found nothing wrong at all.

About three days later he was killed by Anders Breivik. Shot three times in the stomach, once in his right hand.” —Meior

5. I had an encounter with a kindhearted spirit

“When I was young (probably around 8-10), I caught chickenpox. I woke up in the middle of the night one night, and called for my mom, because little kids can’t do SHIT for themselves when they’re sick.

A woman came into my bedroom and sat on my bed and stroked my hair until I fell asleep. For whatever reason, I thought it was my grandmother, but she was dressed funny.

When I woke up the next morning, I went downstairs for breakfast, and asked where my grandma was, and (naturally) my mom told me that she was at her house, like she always was.

I told my mom she’d been in my room the night before, and my mom laughed and said that I’d just been dreaming.

However, my aunt (who tended to believe that sort of thing more)was babysitting me that day (the upside to chicken pox meant there was no school for me) and I told her the story.

She asked me to describe the weird outfit, and it was a nurse’s outfit from the 50’s/early 60’s. My family knew the previous owners of the house. The wife was a nurse in the fifties, and had died a few months previously.

Can I say with 100% certainty that I had an encounter with a spirit? No. But it’s certainly a spooky coincidence.” —TheOneTrueChuck

6. A dead body appeared and reappeared in front of us

“When I was a child (10 years old), we lived on the North shore of the Shuswap Lake in BC. It was, then, very rural with a population of ~400 spread out over ten miles of beach front with farms up in the hills. No town, just a store, a post office and an old Indian trail that wound through the forest for perhaps a half mile near where I lived. We played on the trail all the time. One afternoon, my family, mother, father, brother myself and a friend went for a walk along the trail. My friend and I ran ahead at one point, out of sight of everyone. We stopped and were looking around and off, in the forest was a man, slumped over a fallen, rotting log with chickens pecking around him. I can still feel, and I’m talking 50 years in my past, the adrenalin blasting up my back as the figure lifted its head and looked at us with empty pecked out eyes. We screamed as both of us saw it and ran back to the adults. When my parents came to the spot with us, only the rotting log was there. To this day, I would not dare walk that path by myself.” —inlandviews

7. Spirits scratched up his arms and legs

“Not me, but my stepfather’s best friend (call him Jim) has supposedly been experiencing paranormal activity since he was a teenager. He’s a court reporter, stepdad was a speech writer, very skeptical and stoic guys.

There were countless stories. They got on an elevator full of people in downtown Atlanta, stopped at a floor that was all kinds of wrong — 1940s decor, abandoned, dusty — then the elevator went back down and opened on the opposite side of the building.

Jim’s dog died. A week later the stereo turned on by itself and started playing a song Jim loved to play for his pet. No cd inside. It had snowed the night before and there were paw prints in the backyard leading to the house, but none near the gate.

He frequently finds giant piles of coins under his pillow. He lived in London for a time, thinking he’d escaped the spirit (which had begun to scratch him hard on his arms and legs). After 6 months he found a little pile of pennies in his bed, even though he hadn’t been carrying American coinage.

I personally witnessed one strange event while Jim was around. Was walking down the stairs and felt something whip past my head and heard it hit the wall. Looked down and saw a quarter dated 1948. I thought my sister was messing with me, but she was down at the lake with everyone else.” —nickfinnftw

8. We spotted a UFO from our houseboat

“Back about 1975 when I was a teenager, our family and another family together took a 40 foot houseboat from one end of Norris Lake (Tennessee) to the other. Me and the boy from the other family slept on the foredeck, the girls slept on top of the cabin, and the adults slept inside the cabin.

One night me and the other boy were staring up at the night sky, and a UFO appeared. It was about the same size as a dime held at arm’s length, and pure white. It moved rapidly across the sky and disappeared. We told everyone else about it in the morning, and of course no one believed us.

Later that day we pulled into a marina to get gasoline and other supplies. There, on the front page of the local paper, was the headline, ‘UFO Sighted In Seven Counties’ and a picture of a large white dot of a UFO.

Now, I’m not saying it was little green men, but it was exactly what we saw – an Unidentified Flying Object.” —Atmospharoah

9. An ouija board threatened us

“Played Ouija with some friends and it started being threatening and Satany, so we threw it away in a church dumpster.

The next day that church was struck by lightning and burnt to the ground.” —NosDarkly

10. We heard sounds coming from the woods

“You should know that I consider myself to be a very rational person. I’m not superstitious, and I don’t believe in psychic powers or the supernatural. My best friend, Travis and I used to play guitars together almost every day. That’s not important now, but it will be later. One day we decided to go to the beach with our girlfriends, and take some mushrooms. After a little while, when the mushrooms were kicking in, Travis said that he wanted to wander off alone, so I stayed with our girlfriends. We all had a great time. As the sun began to set, Travis’ girlfriend asked me, ‘Where’s Travis?’ None of us knew where he was, but I could hear him playing the guitar, so I suggested that we just follow the sound of the music until we got to him. The girls told me that I must have really good hearing, because they couldn’t hear anything. I said, ‘Well, I can definitely hear it, so just follow me.’ Now here’s the strange part: I followed the sound for several minutes, into the forest, and went directly to him, but when we reached him, he did not have a guitar, and I realized that we had left our guitars at home! I still have no idea how that happened.” —Gatorburger

11. Phantoms were crying inside of our haunted home

“I lived in a haunted house with three roommates.

They lived there for a couple of weeks before I did and swore up and down that a young woman was haunting the house. One of them said they had some incense manually extinguished when they weren’t home. Another one said they were feeling around in the dark looking for a light switch and felt the hair on the top of someone’s head. Someone that wasn’t there when the light came on.

I, being a good and proper atheist and knowing my roommates were kinda potheads, thought it was all bollocks and that they were paranoid.

A month or so after I moved in, I was laying in bed when I heard a girl crying in the hallway. Two of my roommates were girls so I got up to do the requisite investigating and consoling. I opened my door to see who it was, only to discover that I was the only person home at that time.

I’m still not a major believer in the supernatural but I won’t rule anything out now.” —spuds_mckenzie

12.I saw The Phoenix Lights in person

“I saw The Phoenix Lights with my own eyes. Been a hardcore UFO/alien/Government Conspiracy nut ever since.

The Phoenix Lights were a series of lights that appeared one after another on March 13th, 1997., forming this huge arc. They floated in the air for an hour or so. Thousands and thousands of people reported seeing a silent craft the size of a ‘football stadium’ passing over their homes as well. Including the Governor at the time, Fife Symington. It was never fully explained.” —tisdue

13. Two tall figures stood in my doorway

“So much paranormal shit happened to me when I was a kid. One that has always stuck was when I was about 3 or 4 years old. Back then I used to randomly wake up in the middle of the night really often for no known reason. I was still sleeping in my parents bed at the time so I would just lay in bed and look around. I swear, every fucking time I’d look at the doorway to the living room, I would see two really tall figures standing there. They looked like the old farm couple in that one painting. Except they had hollow eyes and they were thinner. They never really didn’t do anything but stare back at me at first.

One night was especially weird. I woke up as usual and saw them standing there I front of the doorway again. Only this time something felt a bit more off than usual. The ceiling fan was on high and the blades were going so fast, that the entire fixture was moving back and forth. I look back at the figures and they have some really dark, creepy grins on their faces. I got scared and buried myself in the blankets, hoping they’d go away. Then all I heard was the ceiling fan spinning even faster, somehow… the beads at the end of the switches were tapping against the glass light cover furiously I peeked up out of my covers and the two figures were right next to the bed standing right over me with their ugly smiles.

I screamed bloody murder and the glass cover on the light came off and shattered on the ground. My dad jumped out of bed immediately and turned on the light to see what happened, but the two figures were gone already. I was crying hysterically and took my mom a long time to calm me down. So much other stuff went on while in lived there. That was the worst house I ever lived in…” —miss_mactastic

14. The computer chair spun on its own

“Once when i was about 13 i was home alone when I heard a rattling coming from my dads room upstairs. I went up there to see what it was and saw my dads computer chair spinning to a slow halt, as if it had been spinning rapidly up to the point I had ventured up there. We lived in a hundred year old house, and I often justify it as maybe a rat jumped on it and started the spinning or something, but the noise was loud enough for me to notice with the television on a fairly loud volume.” —imapieceofshitAMA

15. We spotted a UFO amongst the stars

“Somewhere out in the mountains near Mammoth, CA, as a kid, My dad, myself, and a few family friends were out gazing at the stars. Being as I was from LA, I think it was the first time I’d ever seen the stars without light pollution, so I was fascinated.

I pointed out to a cluster of 3 stars and said, ‘Hey look, It’s Orions belt!’

My father corrected me and showed me that Orion’s belt was elsewhere, so I asked, ‘Well what constellation is that then?’ and pointed back to the one from before.

He conceded that it did look very similar to Orion’s belt, but that he couldn’t tell what it actually was. A little while later, what appeared to be the middle star of the 3 started moving,

It zig-zagged through the sky for several seconds, before its brightness intensified and then just like that it disappeared.

To this day the only thing I can think of that it could possibly be was some kind of experimental drone, but this was in the early 90’s, and I’m not sure drones existed back then. And if it was a drone, it was must’ve been a damned advanced one because it stood still for long enough that myself and several adults nearby all thought it was a star.” —jdrc07

16. All of the cupboardsopened on their own

“Making toast late one night facing the kitchen bench eating for a good 5-10mins. Cleaned up and turned around and every single cupboard door and cutlery drawer were open. They were all closed when I went into the kitchen, and there was no way anyone could have snuck in and done it because I was home alone. I also didn’t hear them open in the time I was there. Scared the shit out of me so I froze, let it register for a few seconds, then calmly closed everything and went back to my room to hide until daylight. One of a few weird things to happen growing up.” —FalariRum

17. An inanimate object kept moving on its own

“My grandpa, who was a tough as nails WWII Marine vet, had a little stuffed bunny. He kept it out in the open and when he would walk past it and thought no one was looking, he would pet it. Big old tough guy petting a little stuffed bunny in adorable secrecy. It was an ongoing family joke.

Anyways, he committed suicide and we all went to the house to deal with the police and ME and everything. We stayed in the house that night and it had an overall creepy vibe because of what had happened. We were all naturally upset and struggling and doing dumb things to try to make ourselves laugh to try to deal with it. And we realize the bunny has been moving. Like it would be on the dining table and then we would see it in the den an hour later. I thought someone was doing it as a joke. But everyone swore they wouldn’t do that and we never caught anyone doing it. I kept an eye on that bunny the entire week. Never saw anyone touch it but it would still be moved! I think granddad was playing jokes on us. Not the most convincing or scary story but I like it.

His cell phone also called his landline. That was weird.” —[deleted]

18. I sawthe ghost of my mother all throughout my life

“My mom passed when I was 7. Flash forward to middle school. We were at this band clinic thing at my moms old high school. Each school prepared their own piece with their bands, and then we all got the same piece to do together (if that makes sense). Anyways, we were waiting around to get back on stage to play with everyone and were just chatting away as a group. I looked over and at the back of the room was a woman who looked identical to my mom: same red hair, glasses, height, everything. I caught her looking at me a few times and smiling at me. Turned to tell some friends about it and by the time I looked back, she was gone and I didn’t see her after that.

Also, I graduated with a French award from high school. I did my walk across the stage, obligatory photo with my department head (who I’m close with) looking out at the crowd. 3 rows behind my dad, stepmom and aunt I saw the same lady from before.

Super eerie but also kinda nice.” —AlexaGxo

19. I could seethe silhouette of a young girl

“My girlfriend and I were visiting my sister, who lived in a 200 year old home in western MA that used to be a brothel. We were staying in her guest room, which recently had new carpet installed that was rather tall and stiff. This made it quite difficult to open and shut the door. I recall using my body weight to force it shut and needing to yank it open. As I’m trying to fall asleep, I hear something bump the door from the hallway. I assume this is my sister, her boyfriend, or their dog. A few minutes later I hear something at the door again, but this time the knob turns. I freeze as I see the knob slowly turn and the door begin to open until I see a shape resembling the silhouette of a young girl. The only child in the house is an infant. I immediately roll over onto my side, close my eyes, and attempt to convince myself that what I saw was the silhouette of the dog. I don’t mention this to my girlfriend or my sister, because I don’t want to alarm anyone. Fast forward a few months: my girlfriend and I are returning to western MA to attend my sister’s wedding and we will be staying in the same room. On the plane my girlfriend says “I have something I feel I should tell you about your sister’s house.” I immediately know where she’s going with this. As it turns out, she was awake when the door opened, but she got a better look then I. She describes seeing a girl of about 5 or 6 wearing a victorian-styled night gown open the door and stare her in the eyes with a penetrating intensity before my girlfriend looked away. I tell her my story and we decide to make sure we drink enough to pass out every night so we won’t be awake if we are ‘visited.’” —noiselvr

20. I have a sixth sense that protects me from danger

“I have a very strong danger sense that’s been proven terrifyingly correct both times I’ve had it. The first was when I was in high school training for cross country. I would usually run by this lake near my house, but one day I was close and got a very strong “NO” feeling. It was like fighting against a very strong animal instinct to go any closer. I turned right around and went back to my house. When my mom commented on how short my run was, I explained to her what happened and she seemed alarmed, wondering if I’d had some sort of panic attack. A few days later, police found a body in the lake.

The more recent example was when I was riding the DC Metro with my partner some time last year. We were on the orange line, and needed to get off at a stop that was also on the silver line. We’re on the train when all of a sudden I get this very strong sense again. I told my partner about it and though at first he was skeptical, he trusted me and we switched lines. Later we found out there was a stabbing on the orange line that same night.” —moist_anal_leakage

21. A phantom appeared in my mother’s bedroom

“My mom’s first husband was a Navy pilot during the Gulf War. The carrier was about ten days into it’s cruise and operating with complete radio silence. She hadn’t heard anything from the ship since it left but that was to be expected, this was a war. On that night about ten days into the cruise my mom woke up suddenly in the middle of the night. She saw her husband standing in the room. It wasn’t an ethereal form either, he appeared solid and utterly the same. The only thing different about him was that his head was shaved. He only had one thing to say, “Goodbye.” This whole experience startled my mom and she couldn’t get back to sleep. She went to the kitchen to get some water when the doorbell rang. All military wives know what the late night doorbell means. Her husband had suffered a massive heart attack and died aboard the carrier. She was grief ridden but reasoned that the apparition had been a hallucination born of the stress of having a spouse deployed. Besides with his head shaved, he didn’t even look that familiar. Her mother and mother-in-law flew out immediately to plan for the funeral and receive the body. She stayed strong until the first viewing of the body. Her lifeless husband was bald. In a letter from his NFO the shaved head was explained as the result of a lost bet. There had been no way of knowing that his head had been shaved and my mom suffered a minor mental break.” —raider02

22. A rock unexplainably fell from the sky

“When I was about 10 I saw a large rocket fly almost vertically down into the sea. This was on a small Mediterranean island and there was no explosion or mention on the news. No sign of it after it entered the water. No one else was nearby to see it.” —Thaxs-Axel

23. My cat spoke to my telepathically

“When I was around six or seven we had a cat that had kittens. We knew it had kittens because it was pregnant and then it wasn’t anymore. The problem was that we had no idea where the kittens were. I was wondering about it and looked right at the cat and sort of thought in my mind ‘where are your kittens?’ but without using words if that makes any sense. Immediately the location came into my mind. It was through some broken boards just above our porch that our cat could jump into from pillars on the side of the porch. I KNEW that they were there. I walked straight over there, climbed onto the stone pillar and looked through the hole in the boards. The kittens were right there. I’ve never had a similar experience again in my life.” —metallic_orange

24. My grandfather warned me about his death in a dream

“Well, Monday I started to worry about my Grandpa. The moment of worry passed, and I went about my day. Later on I posted an article about automated lawn mowers, saying that my grandpa would love this, since taking care of his yard was his hobby. Literally right after I hit share, my dad calls me.

We all know this feeling. It’s that drop in your stomach when you know something terrible has happened, or it’s about to. The feeling that your world has changed and there’s nothing you can do.

Anyways, he tells me that my grandpa was rushed to the hospital with a bladder infection followed by several heart attacks, but he’s still alive. I didn’t think anything about worrying earlier, at least until I woke up the next morning.

My dream that night was what made it click in my head I guess. In the dream I was sitting in my grandpa’s shed watching something, and he sits down next to me. Without any pretense he starts talking.

‘The next few weeks are gonna be hard, and they will test you. Don’t worry about me, in a few hours I won’t have any use for it.’

We ended up spending what seemed like hours talking about a lot of personal things, things I honestly didn’t know or didn’t remember about my grandpa. Most of which my dad and his brother have confirmed to be true, although a little exaggerated apparently.

Grandpa didn’t die until around noon on Tuesday, pretty much just a few hours (Three hour time difference) after my dream.

I’m not religious, nor will I be, but for fucks sake, what the fuck? I know the subconscious mind can do things like this, but some of the details he told me about his life are things I wasn’t there for, or even alive for.” —CrimDS

25. Our young son mentioned his pastlife

“My wife and I were getting dinner on the table. Our 4-year-old son was in the adjoining room, and said, ‘Hey. That’s the job I had in my last life.”‘He’s looking at the TV, and there is a man shaping metal over a fire. We were shocked because we had never discussed reincarnation with him, or even with each other in his presence. We’re atheists. I tried to get him to elaborate, but he just went back to what he was doing like he never said it.” —Scrappy_Larue

26. We saw a woman that traveled from the past

“Was spending the night at a friend’s house as a kid (around 12-13). Parents weren’t home so we decided to go out, do some ding dong ditching, get into some young angsty debauchery. We get home, and it’s around 1 or 2 in the morning. Cue a ringing of the doorbell; naturally we think it’s the cops or a pissed off neighbor. My friend had a small window that looked out onto the front porch that you couldn’t really see into from outside, so we took a peek at who was calling at such a late hour. Standing at the door was an old woman in a dress and a young boy in a weird newsie outfit. Both were dressed out of period, as this was the 90’s, and my friend had never seen either in the neighborhood before. We duck because we’re a bit freaked, look again no less than 10 seconds later and they’re both gone. Nobody on the street walking away, no cars driving away, they were just gone without a trace. We did not sleep well.” —JusticarFudge

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