So I posted this story before under my previous account, but reposting now by request of some of my lovely little Korean snacks.
So it all started when my wife and I (32) moved to Seoul. Very quickly I noticed just how drop dead beautiful the average Korean woman was. I had never really been into Asians previously, but now living in Seoul I was absolutely obsessed with them! I worked at an elementary English school (학원) and quickly discovered I was the only male there. I would take peeks at coworkers in skirts and dresses and would enjoy the views of young Korean teachers in tights bending over and hanging things up. Then S came.
S was an older married Korean woman, maybe in her 40s. She was pretty good looking for her age (it is Seoul afterall) and had the tiniest frame. Tanned, tight, flirty, and desperate as all hell. She would constantly engage with me, try touching my arms and legs, try wiping my face, and would always pry into my married life. While my marriage was and is very happy albeit basically sexless, she didn't need to know that, so I tried to avoid it.
Then one day we're the only two in the teacher office. We're making small talk from our chairs when suddenly I spill a bit of coffee on my slacks. In a split second, S is on her knees with a tissue wiping my slacks right on my inner thigh. I got hard instantly, and she must have seen the bulge. I quickly ended the moment and we went on with the day. But I knew what I had at my fingertips.
After that, I started returning the attention. We'd chat more, I'd rub her arm or back as I passed in the tight office space. I'd touch her hands and hold for just a little too long when handing her things. Soon we started talking outside of work. One evening while my wife was out working, we were chatting and she figured out that I didn't get certain attention from my wife. She admitted that she found me attractive and I admitted the same. She said it drove her wild whenever I touched her. So I started telling her how I could touch her more at work and no one would know. She told me the idea made her wet.
Following that, I started making a deliberate effort to sneak touches of her ass and thighs as I passed by, started tracing my fingers along her arm or leg if we were huddled close together at a table, and (my favorite) make sure my cock was hard and at an upward angle in my slacks so I could glide it along her ass, up one cheek, down her crack, and back up the other side if we ever squeezed past each other in the comically small staff kitchen. Needless to say all of this got both of us wanting more, so I figured out where there were no cameras in the building. I told her that the stairwell of our office building had blindspots in several places and we set a date to meet.
On the appointed day, I made my way down to the B2 parking stairwell, one of two spots in the whole building with no cctv (it's Korea lol). I told my wife that I had to stay late for reports, which was common enough, plus she was working late again. A few minutes later, the door from the parking garage opens up and in walks S. We walk up to the landing with no cameras. She asked if we could kiss. We began to passionately kiss each other as my hands wandered to her ass and began to squeeze as we kissed. She moaned softly. I began to kiss at her neck. More moaning. One of my hands wandered down to her crotch and began to rub her. She moaned even louder. I asked her how long it had been and she moaned out, "Too long." My hand lifted and then pushed down again down her pants and panties. I could feel her silky bush and wet pussy. I started to rub her out. She fondled my crotch a bit but kept getting worried as we could hear the doors and people walking on other floors. She said maybe we should stop, what if we get caught.
These worries passed as I lifted up her shirt and pushed her black bra away to reveal her beautiful little chest. She apologized for how small they were. I responded with my lips all over them as she moaned even more. Her tan lines were on full display as was her incredibly tight and slim frame. We heard more noise and she pulled away. She started to adjust herself, saying we should stop because she didn't want to make a mess or get caught. I was throbbing at this point and she could see it. A moment of silence and she's looking down at my bulge. Without hesitation she begins caressing it through my slacks. "You can touch it," I say. As if she were waiting for that command, she unbuckled my belt and pulls my pants and underwear down. Out springs my throbbing and precum dripping cock. She whispers, "Oh my god," and instantly plunges it down her throat. My wife does not deepthroat me and refuses to do so still. S had me down to my balls in her throat. The feeling and image are forever seared into my head. I can't help but gently pump as she sucks. I see she shows no sign of discomfort. I quicken the thrusts. She braces her hands on my thighs and keeps taking it. I begin to pound her throat. She gags and drools but doesn't stop. I wish I lasted longer but I was and remain woefully out of practice. I cum down her throat. She holds me down. Once I'm done, she finishes sucking and pops back up, wipes her lips, and smiles. "See? No mess."
We said it was one time. It wasn't. We met multiple times after that for oral and masturbating. Still looking for a proper time to fuck in a motel. I've since moved schools and have pursued other coworkers in a similar way, though S and I still meet up looking for that time to fuck. Hopefully someday soon!

So, I lately have been wondering.
Who am I? Am I a system?
I felt like I'm faking it, maybe it's just an internal monologue. I'd call the people I doubt they're my alters “my voices” since I'm not diagnosed
i feel as its me, but not me. I feel as its me but also them with me at the same time. I can't really know who I am, I feel so confused. So so so so confused. I feel as they wanna take over my body but they only can influence my behaviour, thoughts & mood and not full control Such as feeling emotions that aren't mine. or doing actions that they wanted to do or that I saw inside my brain OFC not visual hallucinations. I feel as I'm watching their lives inside my brain. I rarely hallucinate about them physically. That's making me all tired. I feel confused about my identity. I do behaviours in real life that they did inside my brain, I don't like that. It could land me in jail or lead me to suicide.(Which are behaviours of them that most of them and not all of them I had an idea of them inside my brain beforehand) I attempted self harm and suicide many many many many many times. I feel I might attempt it again, but I'm religious and I'm really afraid of the idea of hell Maybe I'm just having delusions about symptoms, maybe I'm feeling my feelings wrong, or I'm misunderstanding.
I'm sick of this life, I hate it. You can guys ask me questions and I'll answer, to make sure if I have to get diagnosed because I really can't memorise my own issues and emotions I feel as I don't feel my emotions until I talk about it, heh. Along with feeling emotions that aren't my own (I don't really remember if I mentioned that before..) These “voices” have crush on different people IN REAL life. That I myself don't have feelings for. Such as my male voice who has a crush on a classmate of mine..and whenever I feel like I'm lesbian and I start being all suicidal and disappointed of myself because I'm religious. No offence for any person. My voices has different beliefs than me too, and it is mostly related to social things and religion. But I really dunno if that's me or these voices.. :'(
(YOU can ask me any question even if it's something I did not mention in this post. Espicially if it'll determine there's a chance of having a disorder because as I mentioned before, I had memory issues.)
!TW: SA, GROOMING (NOT SURE IF IT IS GROOMING) + PHYSICAL VIOLENCE+ CHILD ABUSE IN GENERAL.
I'm only 13.
When I was under in grade 5 (10 y/o)
I was sexually assaulted (fondled , touched in private places & other kinds of touching) and almost raped.
And when I was 6.. or uh, 7..? I was being neglected, bullied heavily, descrimanted. I was almost literally dead Because of my so called older friends that were smothering me-
It lead me to have some Hallucinations of having friends who protect me, and I felt as I live inside their world and they live inside my world, something like that.
And now, at 13, I think my teacher is physically grooming me. Not sure. We're just kinda playing rough-housing and suddenly feel them touching me in my chest whilst playing, or pushing me down and hiding me underneath a table to continue "playing". They also touched my thigh , waist, hips , etc. :/.
OH, forgot to mention, that after a trigger, my behaviour, mood, thoughts suddenly change :/ for weeks, and it keeps changing everytime, sometimes I feel as I'm a male sometimes I feel the feelings I felt at the age of the trauma etc..
But in the end, I'm having control over my body, and these voices are just kind of influencing me, I dunno if I missed details because again I forget very easily but I wish I mentioned the necessary things..you can ask me any question that will help me.in this journey, or even just curiosity! <3.
I'll try to not attempt sh or suicide this week.

• (Note: I sometimes find myself in place that's a bit weird to me, such a building where my house is in it, and I keep trying for minutes to memorise, my vision suddenly change. + I sometime also suddenly feel as my vocabulary, maturity level, pitch, style, accent or mouth movements such as bitting my tongue in non painful way as fun tho I usually do not so/.) And I feel as if am faking it, or delusion-ing or just having an internal monologue or idk...

I need this help.. :<
Thanks for Reading!

[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]
I was nobody when it started. Just your average college age Telkana. On a college fieldtrip for my ancient history class.
That simple field trip led to a chain of events that destroyed my old life.
And left me with what you see now. - Meditations on the Barrier War, Lancer First Class Imna, Free Telkan Press, 25 Post-Terran Emergence
Wrixet bent over Nexan, whose eyes stared at eternity, his whole body wracked with sobs. His armor was rent and torn, pinkish kinetic gel dribbling from the jagged gouges with the half-melted edges. His body sagged over his friend as he sobbed.
Imna wrapped her arms around Wrixet, hugging him tightly.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I tried. I really tried. There was too many of them."
Wrixet didn't answer, just kept sobbing.
There was an explosion that made the deckplate tremble outside the field of interlocked pink hexagons, the edges where they met glowing with white energy.
"I got them off of him, but it was too late," she said.
Wrixet just held Naxen closer.
"Don't leave me. Please, don't leave me," Wrixet sobbed.
"He's gone, Wrixet, I'm sorry," Emry said, stepping forward. "He's gone."
"SHUT UP!" Wrixet screamed, looking up. He'd opened his faceplate and Imna could see cauterized gouges in the flesh of his face, across his muzzle, across one eye, somehow the eye intact. "YOU SHUT UP!"
Emry stepped back, his face looking fearful.
Wrixet bent back over Naxen, sobbing.
There was a hollow knocking sound from the barrier.
Wrixet just kept sobbing.
Imna turned and looked as the knocking sounded again.
The field suddenly dropped.
Huge suits of powered armor stood in the room. The two closest were daubed pink and white in random blobs and splotches. Fierce looking snarling cat-heads were done in black paint, with red eyes and blood tipped fangs. The armor was thick, heavy, looking almost archaic. The helmets were round cat-heads with large glowing grins, wide eyes, and ears, the fuzzy covering scorched and ripped.
"Doki?" the lead one asked.
The ones behind were red, black, gray, all different colors. Five of them, all of them with different color schemes, with brass and bronze decorations, gold/warsteel alloys, and strange burning symbols.
"Doki," the lead one said, moving forward with the hiss-thump of heavy power armor. It knelt down next to Wrixet, putting one massive gauntlet on his back. "Doki. o(╥﹏╥)o Doki."
Wrixet just nodded, sobbing, repeating over and over "please please please don't leave me"
"【•】_【•】eki ಠ益ಠ foo-ket-soo-nah" the cat headed one still standing ordered.
To Imna it sounded female.
The other armored figures gave a salute by slamming their fist against their chests. They then took hold of their weapons and moved out.
One, shorter than the others, moved up. It knelt down with Wrixet. Its faceplate opened to reveal a Hamaroosan with red streaks in its facial fur.
"Our brother has gone to the arms of the Digital Omnimessiah," the Hamaroosan said, its voice deep and rumbling, unlike what Imna had heard on the Tri-vee.
Wrixet nodded, still sobbing, still cradling Naxen close.
"He dwells with Enraged Phillip, welcomed by Chromium Saint Peter, and feasts with Kalki and Menhit," the Hamaroosan said.
Wrixet just nodded.
Imna curled over the pain in her stomach, starting to sob.
I should have shown him my tits when I had the chance, the crazy thought went through her brain and she lifted her head up, sobbing and laughing at the same time.
The big pink and white one stepped forward, cupping the back of Imna's head with one hand.
All she could do was laugh and sob at the same time, the words my tits circling over and over in her brain as she tried to hold onto her sanity with her bare claws.
One armored finger came down, surprisingly gentle, to wipe her tears away.
"(╥╥)" the voice said.
"He was my brother," Imna sobbed. "He was part of me. I barely knew him but he was my brother."
The huge armored figure cradled her head with one hand while brushing at her cheeks and the sides of her muzzle with the backs of armored fingers.
"(╯_╰) ̿̿'̿'\̵͇̿̿\=(•̪●)=/̵͇̿̿/'̿̿ ̿ ̿ ̿" the voice asked.
Imna gulped and nodded.
The hands moved as the figure knelt down and picked up the cutting bar that Imna had dropped. With the other hand, the massive pink armored figure helped Imna to her feet, then pushed the cutting bar into her hands.
"(ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻" it said.
Imna nodded.
Behind the pink and white armored figures a strange being entered the room.
It was tall, yet seemed squat. It was wearing a robe and a faceshield designed to look like a skull. From its back were articulated metal arms, terminating in sawblades, circular saw blades, cutters, razors, snippers, and injection needles. Its feet were surrounded by black mist that crackled with hair thin red lighting.
Imna was aware that the kneeling Hamaroosan was leading Wrixet in a slow solemn prayer, Wrixet repeating the words even as he sobbed.
The figure moved up, the robe unmoving, as if the creature was floating rather than walking.
Imna drew back slightly and the pink and white armored figure put one arm protectively around Imna.
"There is not much time," the robed figure said, its voice buzzing and crackling.
Wrixet looked up and drew back.
The articulated robotic surgical harness arms dove down, grabbing Naxen's body from Wrixet's grasp.
"He has been given his rites," the armored Hamaroosan said, putting one hand on Wrixet's shoulder to hold him in place.
"His duty is not yet done," the robed figure said. The arms started injecting Naxen's body with fluids. A breathing mask was put over Naxen's face. Grippers scooped up the intestines, piling them on the ruptured abdomen. More needles sunk into flesh. "His hour draws near. Soon he will be exalted above all others."
Wrixet struggled, trying to get loose.
"Don't touch him. Stop it! Leave him alone," Wrixet yelled.
"Easy, brother," the Hamaroosan said gently. "Let the Deorc Galdere do its work."
Wrixet looked up, his eyes full of pain. "He's my brother."
The Hamaroosan pointed at the fallen warblade. "His weapon."
Wrixet, his brain stunned, nodded, bending down and picking it up. He placed it in the held-out hand of the Hamaroosan, who turned and handed it to the strange figure who was affixing the breathing mask to Naxen's face with black warsteel staples.
Other manipulators put the sword on Naxen's chest, then his hands folded on top of it. The strange creature suddenly hugged Naxen close, turned in place, and swept away.
Wrixet cried out and went to lunge forward to catch up.
"Nay, brother. Where the Deorc Galdere goes, we would be wise not to follow," the Hamaroosan said, grabbing Wrixet's shoulder. It gave a shake of its head. "All too soon, we may have to suffer beneath his ministrations."
Emry stepped forward. "You're... you're with the Crusade."
The Hamaroosan nodded. "Yes." The face shield shut.
"≧◡≦ Doki," the cat-headed one said.
"Why... why are you here?" Emry asked.
The Cat-headed one laughed, a bright sparkling thing that danced through the room.
"This is where the Lossglass Singers bade the Black Neko to go," the Hamaroosan said. He shrugged, the massive plates shifting. "Where the Catch These Catching Hands Sucker was needed most according to their blind all seeing eyes."
Wrixet stood up straight, pawing at his face.
"Do not be ashamed by the tears you have shed for a fallen brother," the Hamaroosan said, using one hand to stop Wrixet from pawing at his face. "We should all be lucky as to have someone shed tears for us when we have fallen."
Imna was blinking, trying to get her brain to stop whirling.
The Dark Crusade was real, not just made up for movies.
The big one with the cat head babbled more emojis and then moved away.
"The Nell of Night will be docking shortly," the Hamaroosan said. It looked around. "Until we can sweep and clear this station, that may be a better place for the three of you."
"I want to go where they took Naxen," Wrixet said.
The Hamaroosan stared for a long moment. "Very well. You have been warned."
"I'll go too," Imna said.
"I should link up, get the computing array working," Emry said. He looked down. "I've just been trained for docking procedures. I'm not even military."
"We all serve our part," the Hamaroosan said. He turned and began walking out. "Follow. If you dare."
Imna followed, suddenly exhausted. She managed to get the cutting bar to attach to the belt, but she left the shield where she had dropped it as they passed.
Wrixet followed, silent, his face shield closed again.
The Hamaroosan led them to a medical bay where robed and masked figures moved about silently.
One moved in front of Imna, red lights flashing from the eye sockets, passing over her.
"Non-critical injuries. Mainly superficial. Hellspace energy scorching. Recommend medical treatment," it said, its voice filtered and almost mechanical.
She tried to go around it, but two of the articulated arms reached out, grabbing her upper arms firmly. Despite her protests it shifted her to a bed, lifted her up, and set her down.
She tried to protest when it stripped off her armor, but an injection made her thoughts go fuzzy.
"There will be pain. It is permissable to scream. Your motor control cortexes are currently suppressed and under my control," one said, suddenly leaning down into her vision.
Its black warsteel mask was edged with with gold alloy.
It didn't lie.
Depilitators moved over her fur, across her face, across her chest, her arms, her legs, through the fur on her back. Clamps held the cauterized gouges shut while staplers closed it with warsteel staples. Warsteel thread was used to close some wounds, pins with round caps on the end were used to close others.
She screamed but the work went on. It went on and on and one, but there was never merciful darkness. Just pain. Just the whirring of mechanical arms, the hiss of tubes and liquids, and the snap and crack of instruments. She could smell burning flesh, scorched blood, and heat crisped fur.
Finally, it was over. She was wrapped in soft cloth and carried, in a null-G field, to a bed. Tubed were hooked into her arms.
She finally slept.
99999
When she woke, she looked at the skull faced mask of the nurse or whatever it was attending to her.
"Good. Awake. You are in operable condition. You are able to continue to fight," the attendant said. It released the restraints and helped her to her feet. "Your armor has been blessed and repaired."
It motioned with one articulated surgical arm.
She could see her shield, her sword, the cutting bar, and her armor stacked neatly on a table.
"I will help you dress," the attendant said.
She wanted to protest, to ask for just clothing, but to be honest, the attendant intimidated her.
It was surprisingly gentle as it helped her put on the armor.
"Go in the Digital Omnimessiah's Grace, and may Enraged Phillip and the Warfather Vuxten bless you," the attendant said before turning away.
She stood still for a moment, feeling foolish. The face shield was online, showing her estimated physical condition, that the armor was in full repair, that the battery pack was topped off.
"Computer?" she tried.
"Awaiting input," came back.
"Can you lead me to Wrixet?" she asked.
There was silence for a moment.
"Affirmative. Please follow the dotted line," the computer said.
A dotted line appeared in her vision.
Several times she pressed herself against the side of the corridor as massive suits of power armor moved by. They were all carrying weapons, all looked dangerous.
She'd only seen such things in historical documentaries in school.
The dotted line led her deep into the station. To lifts that took long moments to reach her destination.
It's kilometers thick, she thought to herself.
FInally, she ended up at a massive door where masked and robed figures were affixing symbols and runes done in rose gold-warsteel alloy. They opened the door for her, bowing slightly.
She followed the line to the elevator and moved to the floor of the massive bay. She could see the sparks of welders and grinders. See gantries moving large pieces of machinery.
On the floor were warbound. Huge machines dedicated to warfare.
The dotted line led to the back.
There was a massive warbound, slightly apart from the others.
Wrixet sat next to its foot, his helmet off. Staples held together cauterized gouges on his face. He was missing the whiskers on one side of his muzzle. Slashes somehow had missed his eye and were now held shut by warsteel wire.
"I'm here," she said softly, sitting down.
Wrixet cracked open a narcobrew and handed it to her.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"Not your fault," Wrixet said, his voice nearly lost in the sounds of machinery and heavy tool use.
They sat silently for a long time.
"We went to the Grand Cathedral to fondle the statue of Saint Brentili'ik and take pictures," Wrixet said softly.
"I went on a field trip," Imna said.
"Naxen was so excited to see the warbound. He'd always believed," Wrixet said. He gave a short sharp laugh and took a drink off the narcobrew. "Didn't matter to him we almost got killed. He'd seen the warbound."
Imna just nodded.
"Ain't that a bitch," Wrixet said softly. "Ain't that some shit?"
Imna just nodded, unsure what he was talking about.
There was a deep bone vibrating buzzing sound from inside the warbound Wrixet was leaning against.
He patted the foot gently. "Easy, brother, easy."
They were silent for a while.
"What are you doing in here?" Imna finally asked.
Wrixet patted the massive clawed foot of the warbound.
"I want to be here when Naxen wakes up."
[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

“Well, Sir, it wuz, ohhhhhhh ... bout 1985, I reckon it were. I wuz jest gettin back to the house after a long night of runnin shine at the old still site. A bunch of weird shit went on that night. It wuz like I kept a’hearin voices in the woods. Now, I ain’t speaking bout no human voices. Nor am I speaking Sasquatch voices. They wuz high squeaky voices, and creepy and sech. I got the impression they wuz tryin to call me off into the woods. Of course, I had a haid full of acid during my shine run, so I didn’t really pay the voices no mind. But still, there wuz sumthang bout these here voices. They twernt the usual voices I wuld hear.”
“So, I git back to the house. I decided to relax a bit before bed. I warmed me up a leftover Sasquatch burger to eat. Then I kicked back in my Lazy-Boy that I stole, and scorched a fat doob while I watched “Anal Intruder 14” (My favorite of the series) on VHS. Then there wuz a knock at my door. ‘Goddamn it!!’, I thought, ‘Who’s knocking on my door at 7am in the morn?!?’”
“When I opened the damn door I found old Sheriff standing thar. I sed ‘Goddamn it, you fat sumbitch! What the fuck are you doing bothering me this early in the morning?!?’ Sheriff sed ‘Look, Roy, I know it’s early, but I am here on official business. Old Mrs. Miller called. Her old man, old “Big Cock from Talking Rock” didn’t come home last night. He went out coon hunting near here but didn’t show up for breakfast. Have you seen him?’ I told Sheriff I ain’t seen shit, then shut the door. But old Sheriff stuck his foot inside the door jam to keep me from closing my door.”
“I gave old Sheriff a look like I wuz pissed, and I wuz. Then he put up his hand and sed ‘Roy, please?’ I could see that the sumbitch wuz troubled, so I sed ‘Well shit, you may as well come on inside and tell me about it.’ “
“Sheriff sat down on the couch while I sat back down in my Lazy-Boy. Sheriff asked ‘Is that one of them Lazy-Boy recliners? Man, they sure is comfortable. I used to have one, but some sumbitch broke into my house recently and stole mine. I sure would like to catch that miscreant!’ I looked at Sheriff and sed ‘Prolly darkies. They will steal everything not nailed down.’ ‘Yep’, agreed Sheriff.”
“I asked ‘What’s troubling ya, Sheriff?’ Sheriff sighed, then started in. ‘Well, Roy, Mrs. Miller told me some troubling things, and ... uh, Roy, could you put your dick away while we talk?’ I asked Sheriff if he wanted me to turn off “Anal Intruder 14” too, and he said he did. So I shut off my Zenith and put my thumpin stick away.
“Sheriff continued, ‘Mrs. Miller claims old Big Cock has been talking all crazy, about hearing malevolent voices in the woods at night. He even said he saw some little green men and that they were the source of the voices. Roy, I don’t want to tell you this, but old Big Cock thought these little green fellas meant to kill him.’
“Then Sheriff sed ‘Roy? ROY!!!’ I had nodded off, so I made Sheriff repeat hisself. When he finished he asked, ‘Well, what do ya think, Roy?’ I held up two fangers and sed ‘Two thangs, Sheriff. First, you need to stop assuming that I give a fuck about your shit. You need to pull up yer big girl panties and do yer goddamn job. I ain’t yer fucking daddy. Two, I like old Big Cock, so instead of giving you the ass whuppin you deserve, I is gonna hep ya.’”
“Then I asked, ‘Sheriff, you ever heard talk of the Pukwudgie?’ Sheriff thought fer a moment, rubbing his chin and narrowing his eyes. I then sed to Sheriff ‘You don’t know what the fuck a Pukwudgie is, dumbass. Quit acting like you is trying to think.’ ‘Sorry Roy’, sed the Sheriff. I retorted, ‘Yep, you IS a sorry sumbitch.’”
“By this point I’d had enough of this shit-head, so I pulled out my lil old Sig P226 outa my conceal holster I have sewn into my taint and pointed it right at Sheriff’s head. Sheriff’s eyes grew bigger than 2 dinner plates. He starts crying out ‘ROY? NOOOOOOO!!!!!! BIG COCK!!!!!! REMEMBER???? BIG COCK!!!!!!’ Then I thought about “Old Big Cock From Talking Rock”. I lowered my pistol.”
“Old Big Cock and I met in Vietnam, during the war. I wuz at this here whore house called “The Slanted Crack”, jest a bangin away on sum sweet, young thang when I heard a voice from behind me say ‘She’s dead’. I thought ‘What the fuck?’, but kept on pounding that gook. Then the voice sed ‘Dude, I told you, that chick is dead.’ I turned around and thar stood Old Big Cock From Table Rock.”
“I sed ‘What the fuck is you talking about, GI?’ That’s when BC walked up and sed ‘Yeah, dude, I fucked that bitch. Then I shot her in the top of her head.’ I looked down at the bitch. I guessed it made sense because she was not really participating. I looked back up at BC and asked him why he shot the bitch. BC sed, ‘Well, I figured that she just fucked me, so I owed her a fucking, so BOOM!! Yer fucked! Heh heh heh!!!’ After that, BC and I hung tight.”
“Eventually we got separated, as I got assigned to a unit sent into Cambodia to do sum nasty business. BC and I lost touch. Then, low and behold, I ran into him after the war at the feed store whar I wuz buyin sum corn fer a batch of shine. He jest happened to move into town fer sum white-bread job. By then he already got him a wife and family and turned to God.”
“Of course, old BC could not reconcile his newfound belief structure with my Satanic worship, shine runnin, whorin, and racist-terrorism lifestyle, so we did not really hang anymore. Of course, it wuz that old whore he married that got him on the straight and narrow. The old BC I remember from Nam wuz all about banging slanty eyes, knifing Cong, and blowing up children’s hospitals. He shore had changed.”
“But I do not begrudge BC a good family life. It ain’t fer ME, mind ya. But that damn war changed a lot of folks. If’n family is what BC needed, then so be it. I would still run into old BC in town from time to time. We wuz both friendly, and genuinely glad to see one another. But ever time I brung up the war he just got quiet and sed he didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Now, sir, I reckon most folks who wuz in Nam try to ferget. I cannot blame ‘em. It ‘twas pure hell. But yer old Roy has sum pretty good coping mechanisms, so it did not get on top of me like it did sum fellers. Fact is, and I am not ashamed to admit it, I had me a fucking blast in Nam! I got to hang out of choppers, firing machine guns at those little fuckers on the ground. There wuz non-stop whoring and fighting. Fer a poor old southern country boy from the hills, it was goddamn exciting!!”
“But I still got a soft spot fer old BC. We had us sum good times together, we did. There wuz this one time we stopped a caravan of trucks on this little mule path of a road in the jungle. We figured they may be moving soldiers and weapons to the enemy, so we stopped it. BC went to check on the cargo in the first truck. He radioed to us and sed ‘Well, they ain’t exactly Cong’. But due to the shitty radio BC wuz a’carryin, we only heard ‘EXACTLY ... CONG’. So we stormed the caravan and shot ever living thang in them trucks. We lit ‘em up!!”
“Turned out it wuz a caravan of local kids being bussed to a school. Whoops!! The CO blamed BC, who blamed his radio. 33 Vietnamese kids snuffed, and all because of a misunderstanding. Ha ha ha ha!!! The CO let BC off the hook. He was happy that these little fuckers now would not have a chance to grow up and shoot back at us. Shit like this kind of gave Old Big Cock a conscience, I thinks.”
“There wuz this other time in Nam when sum us guys got sent to a native hospital to vaccinate sum thar little kids. Old BC and I decided to have us sum fun. Whilst all them lil gooks wuz in the tent getting thar shots, we lit up sum firecrackers and tossed them in the tent. Well, Sir, one them grown-up gooks had a gun. He apparently mistook the firecrackers fer gunshots, so he showed his jammy.”
“That did not go over well with our GIs in the tent. The boys standing guard opened fire on the grown-up gook with their M-16s, taking out 5-6 kids in addition to their intended target. We all know them thar little gooks are sumtimes booby trapped with explosives. Not wanting to take any chances, I grabbed my M-16, stepped into the tent, and yelled ‘BOMB!!’ At that point, everyone opened fire!!”
“Well, once we got dun stacking up all the dead gook kids, we realized there wuz no bomb. The CO called me over and demanded to know why I screamed ‘bomb’. He screamed at me, ‘YOU COCKSUCKING HILLBILLY F#GGOT SON OF A BITCH!! DID YOU EVEN SEE A BOMB?’ I sed ‘No Sir!’. He continued, ‘THEN WHY IN THE HELL DID YOU YELL “BOMB” AND GET ALL THESE CHILDREN KILLED?’ I replied, ‘Sir, them lil swarthy gooks are always booby trapping thar kids. I figured it would save the lives of our good old American boys if’n we jest cut to the chase and eliminate the threat altogether, Sir.’”
“The CO thought a moment, the sed ‘GOOD THINKING, SOLDIER! GOOD THINKING!!! KEEP IT UP!’, then he patted me on the shoulder and that wuz the last I heard of it. I found old BC sitting on the ground holding one them dead gooks. He had tears streaming down his face.”
“I sed, ‘Goddamn, BC, you look like you is due fer the Thorazine Tent. The fuck is wrong with you?’ Old BC picked up a little severed leg and a little severed arm that apparently belonged to the mini gook he wuz a’holdin. With tears coming out of his eyes, Old Big Cock whimpered ‘I can’t put him back together. I can’t put him back together. I can’t put him back together. I CAN’T PUT HIM BACK TOGETHER!!! I CAN’T PUT HIM BACK TOGETHER!!!!!!’ “
“I sed to myself ‘Yikes! This sumbitch has snapped!’ I took old BC’s guns, then had a word with the CO about Big Cock’s condition. The CO told me ‘BASH THAT SICK FUCKER OVER THE HEAD, TIE HIM UP, AND THROW HIM IN THE BACK OF THE TRUCK. WE’LL SHIP HIM OFF FOR EVALUATION LATER. NOW, LET’S GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. MOVE! MOVE!! MOVE!! MOVE!! MOVE!! MOVE!!”
“That wuz the last I saw of BC until he showed up here in town. He got shipped off to the funny farm hospital. But they wouldn’t send him home. They had him pushing a broom and cuttin taters and sech, just no combat and no guns.”
“After reminiscing, I looked at old Sheriff and sed, ‘I reckon I need to see what I can do fer old Big Cock. Whar the fuck his old lady at? I need to talk to her. Sheriff asked ‘Do ya think that’s a good idea, Roy? She’s real tore up.’ I picked up the carved stone ash tray on the table next to my chair and slung it hard at Sheriff’s head. THUMP!!!! It gave him a nice, bloody gash in his forehead. Sheriff let out a howl, ‘OHHHHHHHHH!!! Goddamn, Roy! That hurts! Why did you do that?’ I sed ‘Don’t ever question me, snot-head. Now shut the fuck up and let’s go see BC’s bitch.’”
“It took us about an hour to get to BC’s house. It twere jest an average looking, white bread house. The lawn was manicured, there were a white picket fence, and 2 little statues of a couple nicely dressed negro fellers in the front yard. As Sheriff knocked on the front door, I whipped out my cock to take a piss off the porch. Sheriff musta heard the tinkling sound cuz he turned and sed ‘Roy!! What are you doing?!? STOP THAT!’ With my right hand, I gave him a stern back-handed bitch slap across his fat face. WHAPPP!!!! Then I sed ‘Shut up.’ About that time the door opened.”
“Old Mrs. Miller opened the door just as I wuz putting my cock back in my pants. Sheriff sed ‘Hello Mrs. Miller. I brought along an old friend of your husband, Roy. He lives back up in Sasquatch Hollar, near where John had been coon hunting.” Mrs. Miller sed ‘Yes, I know Roy. He was in the service with my John, in Vietnam.’ The little woman wuz not too fond of me cuz soon after they moved to town I picked up BC one afternoon, got him all coked up and ended up crashing his BMW into Bigfoot River with a dead stripper in the trunk.”
“I sed ‘Why hello there, Mrs. Miller. Sheriff here has been telling me about your husband and his problems. I came to see if’n I can help.’ Despite her feelings about me, she seemed genuinely glad I wuz here. We went inside the house and sat down. Mrs. Miller served us coffee, then we started talking.”
“Just like Sheriff has told me, old Big Cock had been acting funny lately. He started acting paranoid and talking about little green men in the woods. They wuz whispering to him in the dark woods and beckoning him to follow, though he never did. His wife sed she tried to keep him at home, but that BC sed they were calling him and he had to go; he had to find out what they wanted. He had to follow them. Clearly his wife was really concerned, but it sounds like there wuz nothing she could do to stop him from returning to those dark woods to try and break the spell they had on him.”
“Sheriff then told Mrs. Miller that I wuz an ex-commando and that I specialized in paranormal occurrences and investigations. The poor, desperate old lady looked to me with big, doe eyes hoping that I had something to say that would ease her mind, and maybe help find her beloved man. Mrs. Miller gently asked me, ‘Roy, do you think John is still ... alive?’”
“I replied, ‘Fuck no. That sumbitch is dead as hell.’ Poor Mrs. Miller went to crying hysterically. Sheriff scolded me fer being blunt with the woman. When he got her settled down she asked me what I knew of what happened. I guess I owed the old woman an explanation.”
“So I sed, ‘Look, I don’t know fer sure if old Big Cock is still alive or not ...’ Then Mrs. Miller interrupted me, saying ‘...John. Please call him John.’ I said ok. Then I continued, ‘The thang is that from everthang you and Sheriff been telling me, this is a case of the Pukwudgie.’”
“Mrs. Miller did not understand. So I explained to her that the Pukwudgie, or the little people, are small, green demonic people that live in the woods. They hate humans, and try to lure them to their deaths. Mrs. Miller looked terribly shocked. She asked ‘Are these things... these Pukwudgie, are they ... REAL?’ I sed ‘Shit yeah, they is real, woman. I seen ‘em. Best thang to do is to ignore ‘em. Well, that, and shoot the little bastards.’”
“I continued, ‘Yessir, I have seen those little peckers. You will be out thar in the deep, dark woods, runnin shine, or huntin, er fishin, or performing some Satanic magic, then you start hearing talking. It starts out real low. It sounds like a conversation between 2 or more of them, but you cannot understand them because they is speaking so fast.’”
“I went on, ‘Then, all a sudden, they call out yer name. That’s when shit starts gettin REALLY creepy. They get yer attention and then they call you to them. They will show themselves to ya if you follow their call. They is sum ugly motherfuckers too. They stand about 3 feet tall and look like little green trolls. Then, once you have contact with them, they try to lead you off into the woods. Some say that they want to lead you off so they can kill ya. I guess they ambush ya er sumthang. When I see one I usually pull my pistol and blow their heads to bits. It explodes like a cantaloupe, but it splatters this green goo.’”
“Mrs. Miller asked, ‘So, you have never followed on of these ...Pukwudgie... off into the woods?’ I sed ‘Hell no. I kill the little fuckers. BUT, they been known to get inside yer head and put a spell on you to whar ya can’t resist thar call. In that case, they lead ya off into the woods and you are never seen er heard from again ... ever.’”
“I know this wuz troubling news for Mrs. Miller, but she needed to hear the truth. After a few moments of silence, Mrs Miller asked if I would go to the woods where Big Cock went coon hunting and see if I could either find him or find his body and return it to her fer a proper Christian burial.”
“I sed ‘Look, I like Old Big Cock....uh, I mean, John. But if the Pukwudgie got him, then there prolly won’t be no sign left. They would drag him off into some underground lair.’ Then Mrs. Miller pleaded with me. She sed ‘Look, we don’t have a lot of money, but I could pay you. How about ... $5,000.00? I just got to know.’ I still wuz not eager to go about fucking with them thar sneaky little critters. But Mrs. Miller wuz getting real desperate. I wuz feeling sorta sorry fer her. I also felt some sense of duty to Big Cock, a fellow soldier.”
“I came to a conclusion. I sed ‘Ok, Mrs Miller, I will do it. I will try to find yer husband, or at least what happened to him out thar, but on 2 conditions.’ Mrs. Miller eagerly nodded. I continued, ‘First, you pays me my $5k up front, as in now.’ She sed ‘Done. I have the cash upstairs. What is the second condition?’”
“I sed ‘The second condition is that you go into that kitchen over thar, drop your drawers and bend over the table so I can fuck ya.’ Mrs. Miller’s face sank, and tears started rolling down her face. Softly she spoke, ‘John always said you are an evil man, Roy. He said you do not know the Lord. He said you did horrible things in Vietnam. Now I believe him.”
“As Mrs. Miller is talking I glance at my watch. Goddamn, it wuz noon already and I still ain’t got no sleep after last night’s shine run. Then I remembered the voices. I heard them motherfuckers last night at the Still site!”
“I butted Into Mrs. Miller’s evangelical bullshit and sed ‘I know whar they is! Those Pukwudgie were calling me last night at my Still site, which was when Old Big Cock went missing in the same general area. I thought I wuz jest high - and I wuz - but those were the weird, outa the ordinary voices I heard.’ Now I had Mrs. Miller’s attention. Even old Sheriff wuz on the edge of his seat.”
“Mrs Miller excitedly asked me would I go get her husband. She sed ‘Oh, sweet Jesus, Roy, you KNOW where he is. Will you go? Will you please go?’ I sed ‘Yep, I’ll go, and I will kill ever last one of then Pukwudgie critters. If John is thar, I will git him.’”
“Then I sed, ‘Mrs. Miller, ya’ll don’t got to pay me none. Old Big Cock is my friend. So you can keep yer money.’ She nodded, with hope in her eyes. Then I sed ‘Now git yer ass in the kitchen.’ She looked stunned. I sed, ‘Bitch, I may be not gonna charge ya, but I is still gonna fuck ya. So git in that thar kitchen and git yer britches off! The longer you take, the longer it will take me to find Old Big Cock!!’ She sheepishly did as she was told.”
“After I nutted in Mrs. Miller’s cooter, I told Sheriff to give me the keys to his police cruiser. He sed ‘Roy, you know I can’t do that.’ Then BAMMM!!!! I punched that prick right in the throat. He went down like a sack of taters. As he was lying there, desperately gasping fer breath, I fished his car keys out of his pocket and took his pistol. Then I walked out the door, leaving Sheriff writhing on the floor, and Mrs. Miller lying in fetal position and sobbing on the kitchen floor. I checked Sheriff’s pistol. It was a .380. I stopped in my tracks and sed ‘This is f#ggot shit!!’, then tossed the cheap, pussy gun on Mrs. Miller’s front lawn. I got into Sheriff’s car and then headed back to Sasquatch Hollar. I figured I would get me sum real firepower and then go kill sum Pukwudgie. On the drive I wondered how those little critters would taste grilled.”
“So I got back home and prepared to do my loadout. Fer you f#ggot-homosexuals out thar, that means getting reddy fer battle. I went into the house and the first thang I did wuz put on some fightin’ music on my music player. I chose some Dying Fetus, which be sum extreme deth metal. I stuck the CD in the player then cranked that sumbitch loud enuff old Satan hisself had to cover his ears. I wanted to get inta the mood, if’n ya knows what I mean. Next wuz my vest. It is a Russian tactical belt/vest I pulled off a dead commie bastard. I fucking hate commies! Then come the blades: 2 ProTech Godfather switchum blades and a big old Kabar. Finally, it wuz time fer the guns.”
“But before I could do my gun load-out, I had to change CDs to enhance my mood. I took out the Dying Fetus and replaced it with Goatwhore, cranked so fucking loud that even the angels above will have debilitating tinnitus. Then came the guns.”
“Them Pukwudgies are little and sneaky. I am gonna need a shotgun fer this hunt. But I also want shell capacity. So I went to my safe and pulled out my Saiga 12. I loaded some drums with 3” magnums in double-ought buckshot. This setup will literally shred them little munchkins to pieces.”
“Next came my backup weapon. Since we weren’t talking bout anything big, I pulled out my Sig M400 AR-15. It wuz already loaded wit a 60 round mag. I grabbed me 5 more loaded 60s, all green tips. Next wuz my sidearm. Again, small pussy targets. I had the PERFECT choice: My FN Five-seveN! I put that sumbitch in a holster and on my gun belt, with 2 extra 20 round mags. Those 5.7s will gut the little monsters.”
“Now fer my backup handgun. I chose my CZ75 SP-01. My particular one had 18+1 capacity. I just stuck this fucker and 2 extra mags in my belt, privateer style! Finally, jest fer Insurance, I got out my Kimber micro-9s. These are basically pocket guns of last resort. I sticks em in my overalls’ front pockets.”
“Then came the piece-de-la-resistance: My Ruger Super Redhawk revolver chambered fer .480 cartridges and with an 8 inch barrel. This wuz my true LAST RESORT CCW piece. I pulled down my drawers and inserted this big beautiful bastard right up my ass, barrel first, fer Deep Concealed Carry. I let the handle stay on the outside and fit it snug up into my taint. Then I put my draws back on and suited up.”
“I headed straight fer my still site. By now it wuz 3 pm. Them lil fuck-faces won’t come out until after dark. Like I dun sed, I ain’t been to sleep. So I thought, fuck it, I’ll lean up agin one these old hardwood trees and gits me sum shut eye while waitin fer dark.”
“I woke up just as the sun wuz settin, feeling this sharp pain in my nethers. I looked down and found a squirrel chewing on my nuts! I snatched that motherfucker up by its neck and sed ‘You mangy sumbitch!’, then SNAP!!!! I broke its neck. I then built myself a fire and skinned and gutted the critter. He wuz gonna be my dinner!”
“As I went about my business I wondered how my balls had flopped outa my overalls. I knew Pukwudgie were in the area. I also knew something else bout these buggers....something I didn’t tell Mrs. Miller. These Pukwudgie are sexual deviants who will molest ya. Ya see, I thought I wuz safe till dark. But I wuz wrong. Those fuckers were already out and about. Most likely I had one or more watching me this very moment!”
“Well, I roasted the squirrel then ate it, washing it down with shine from my tactical flask that says “BIGFOOT SLAYER!” on it. I stayed real still and as motionless as possible while I ate, like I had no idea I wuz being watched. I could hear that little bastard tip-toeing around me in the woods. That ball-fondling dwarf Pukwudgie f#ggot!”
“What struck me as odd is why these little motherfuckers chose jest now to show up here. I’m out in these here wood all the time, but have not seen ‘em in a long time. Hmmmmm ...”
“Then came the speaking, the odd, indecipherable language. I laid back agin a tree and closed my eyes. Eventually the midget-speak wore down. Then it got quiet. It wuz too quiet, in fact. Then, as if someone was right up at my ear whispering forcefully, I heard ‘ROY!!’ I sprang to attention, scairt shitless. Even though I wuz expecting it, it wuz still a fucking shock.”
“I started creeping around, outside of the light of the fire. It wuz blacker than a nigg*r out in these here woods. By now it was a quarter to 8. Then I heard the voice again. It sed ‘ROY!’ It was clearly from one of them Pukwudgies. You can always tell them, as they sound like Muppets on acid. I moved toward the direction of the voice.”
“I pushed through sum heavy brush and briars, then came out into a little opening. Thar it wuz. Right in front of me wuz one of these little leprechaun motherfuckers. It wuz green and seemed to glow slightly. It wuz sneering at me, then sed ‘Come, this way, Roy’, as it motioned me toward a path into the dark woods. I figured I ought not kill it cuz I need info on Old Big Cock. Of course, that did not mean I could not cripple it.”
“I snapped up my scatter gun and fired ...BOOM!! I shot the lil puppet monster below it’s waste, completely shredding its little legs with the buck shot. I walked over and stood over it as it wuz writhing in pain. Then the craziest dang thang happened: it opened its eyes, looked up at me and started talking. Now, one may think these Pukwudgie would start casting evil spells and shit when cornered. But this one wuz different.”
“The Pukwudgie looked up at me and sed ‘Why did you blow off my legs, you sick motherfucker?’ I told the critter to watch its mouth or I would blow that off too. But the wounded Pukwudgie kept on, saying ‘I can’t even walk now, you stupid fucking hick! Couldn’t you have found a goat to fuck tonight so you would not have to be out here turning my legs into shredded wheat, you ass-eating cock-sucker?’ I wuz a little taken back by its language.”
“I then stepped on the little prick’s lame legs and put all my force on them. The Pukwudgie let out a powerful scream of pain. Then I asked it about Old Big Cock. We went round and round, with the munchkin not giving up any intel. So I settled on a course of action. BLAMMMM!!! Another blast from my scattergun and this little twat no longer had a head.”
“I looked around what wuz left of it. He had sum funny looking leprechaun clothing on. Honestly, it wuz dressed like one of them thar Canadian figure skater homos. I searched the pockets and pulled out a wad of paper. It be nuthin but trash it had picked up and stuffed into its pockets. What an asshole.”
“So thar I wuz, in the middle of the dark woods with a dismembered Pukwudgie. My only lead is dead. But afore I tossed all that wadded up paper from the critter’s pocket, sumthang caught my eye. It wuz sumthang hard and metallic. I cut my sure-fire flashlighter on. It wuz sum motherfucking dog tags, like what ever soldier is issued. I looked closely. What I dun read from those tags almost made me shit a brick. The name on the tag was ‘John Miller’. SHIT!!! These are Old Big Cock’s dog tags! That creepy little varmint jacked these dog tags from BC!!”
“Then all hell broke loose. There came a huge commotion from all around me. Several of those little Pygmy voices were chanting ‘Roy, Roy, Roy, Roy...’ I had a bad feeling about this. Then, all at once, they charged me, from all sides. Turned out thar were five of them Pukwudgies, and they were coming at me and carrying little weapons.”
“I just tore into sum hysterical laughing at the sight. They wuz just cuter than fuck!! They wuz like puppets carrying toy swords, and sticks and sech. It wuz hilarious! All five of em stopped within a couple feet of me, perplexed by my uncontrollable laughing. They jest stood around me and looking at each other. Apparently they had never seen sech a sight. Most of thar victims turn and high-tail it in terror. But I didn’t. Finally, one of the Pukwudgies spoke.”
“This real little one looked like he wuz dressed up to be a riverboat card dealer and he carried a sharpened stick. Speaking to me in a voice that sounded like Grover from Sesame Street, it sed ‘Roy, you do not run. Are you not fearful that your life may be lost?’ That just caused me to laugh ten times harder. Again, they started looking at each other. Then the one behind me and carrying a tiny pitch fork came up and jabbed me in the ass with it. Then it demanded to know why I wuz laughing.”
“I finally got my laughing under control and got quiet and caught my breath. I then turned around to look at the little pecker that just stabbed me in my ass. It wuz dressed up like a little wizard, with sequins and a purple robe, like it had jest escaped from a gay pride parade. I lost it, and started laughing uncontrollably again. They wuz all dressed up like they were going to a gay disco on Halloween night.”
“They managed to get my long guns as I wuz writhing in laughter. Then they told me to get to my feet cuz they wuz taking me back to thar lair as their prisoner. As they marched me toward their lair I wuz still cackling up a storm. This wuz the funniest situation that I been in since I accidentally blew up the Vietnam Special Olympics thinking it wuz sum kind of weird military exercise.
“The Pukwudgie lair was underground. I had to get on my belly and crawl into a cave. Then I had to stay on my belly and crawl downward a bit. We came to an oppening with a fire burning on the floor. At least in this larger chamber I could stand up, even though I had to stay bent over.”
“Of course, I could have gotten free and slaughtered those little pricks at any time. But my task wuz to find old Big Cock. So I let them take me prisoner. It wuz pretty easy to, cuz I plum went into hysterics when I got a look at these little dwarf things and their very gay clothes and heard their cartoony sounding voices.”
“Then I spied a big pot hanging over the fire. They wuz cooking a stew of some sort, and it smelled all gamey and gross. I took their spoon and started stirring it, which really pissed off the critters. This one started kicking my ankle with the pointing-end of his costume looking shoe. I kicked that sumbitch and it landed against the wall. That got them rip-roaring mad. Jest then I got the fright of my life. As I stirred the gross looking stew, a human head floated up in the pot. IT WUZ BIG COCK’s HEADS!! Then I noticed Big Cock’s large wang floating in the pot.”
“Poor old Big Cock! He did not deserve to die like this... Murdered and eaten by maniacal muppets. The critters surrounded me and told me to get away from the cooking pot. I sed ‘You little fuck-tards kilt my friend. Now you is gonna have to pay. So I reached into my ass and pulled out my .480 revolver. The Pukwudgies stepped back at the sight of my large weapon. Then all hell broke loose. ‘BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!!!!!’ I dropped all 5 of those motherfuckers, right thar in the lair. These little twats have been known to work sum black magic fuckery, so I took my Ka-Bar and cut the heads off all five of them.”
“I found me an old burlap bag then fished Big Cock’s remains out of the stew and put ‘em in the bag. There wuz the head, both hands, and his hawg. I tied up the bag. Right before I left I thought ‘what the fuck?’, and spooned out sum of that stew and tasted it. Surprisingly, it weren’t bad. I found me an old styrofoam container one of these lil rascals must have found and brought home. I used it to hold some that stew I thought I would bring home fer dinner. So with the bag carrying Big Cock’s remains, and my take-out stew, I crawled outa thar.”
“I went back to my cabin first so I could put my stew on ice fer later. Then I departed. I had to be the bearer of bad news to Mrs. Miller. It wuz about 1:30 am, I reckon, when I knocked on her door. Mrs Miller opened the door in her night robe. Brutha, the front of that robe showed off them titties right fine! I could even make out the nipples through the fabric. I sed, ‘Honey, I dun found yer man. Then I set that burlap bag on her floor. I handed her BC’s dog tags. Then I pointed to the bag of body parts and sed ‘What’s left of him is in here. You want to take a look, or you wanna jest save it fer a proper funeral?’
“At this here point, Mrs. Miller broke down cryin. About that time I heard old Sheriff call out ‘Honey? You coming back to bed?’ Then that fat, sloppy sumbitch came walking down the stairs wearing nothing but his drawers and patrol hat. He saw me and sed ‘Oh, hi, Roy.’”
“I wuz speechless. I sed, ‘What the fuck is you doing? You fucking BC’s bitch?’ He stammered about and sed ‘Well, Roy, she is hurtin and I jest tried to comfort her, then one thang led to another.’ “
“Mrs. Miller had then composed herself and walked over. She apologized for falling apart like that. The she hugged me, saying thank you for finding out what happened to John and for bringing his remains home so she can have a service and grieve properly. I told her I wuz sorry fer her loss.”
“Then I sed, ‘You know what you need, Mrs. Miller?’ She looked puzzled. I sed ‘You need a good fucking slapped on yer ass. That fat-fuck Sheriff couldn’t make a dog come to dinner. Why don’t ya let old Roy, The “Pope of Joy”, take you upstairs and DESTROY your pussy? We’ll make Sheriff just sit there and watch, like in a cuck video.”
“So the three of us went upstairs. I tied up Sheriff to a chair and he had to sit there and watch me bang his new girlfriend the rest of the night! He even cried a little. Ha ha ha ha!!!!”
“The next morning I woke up lying next to Old Mrs. Miller. Sheriff wuz still tied up at bedside, but he wuz sleeping. His head wuz down and he wuz snoring. I wuz still a bit shook up by Big Cock’s death. Mrs. Miller wuz sleeping soundly, which wuz to be expected after I put a pounding on that pussy.”
“I sed out loud, ‘Old Big Cock, wharever you is right now, I hope ya know I is sorry fer how this turned out, buddy. But, as tribute to you and all the fun we used to have back in Nam, please accept this gesture as a token of our friendship.’ Then I reached fer my Ruger .480.”
“At the sound of the report from the pistol, Old Sheriff, still tied up, fell over in the chair, landing hard on the floor with a THUD. I then sed ‘Well, Mrs. Miller, you fucked me good. So now I returned the favor. You are FUCKED!’ Indeed, her brains were splattered all over the wall.”
“I untied old Sheriff and told him that he wuz going to have the distinct pleasure and privilege of buying me breakfast at the Waffle House this morning. He asked why I executed Mrs. Miller. I sed I wuz jest settin Big Cock free.”

What started as a typical New Years Eve gig at a newly renovated hole-in-the-wall has become something far worse.
I’m the bass player (insert punch line here). I’m pretty good too, although I only play part-time. Back in the day, I played with Velvet on Fire. You won't remember us. We played one gig. For six people. Then our singer, Rod Brimstone, leapt onto someone's table, and urinated. Talk about Game Over. But I digress.
My latest group, a blues-rock cover band called Falling Forward, was hired to perform three sets of music. The trouble started when the redhead arrived. I was at the bar, minding my own business, when out of the blue, a radiant redhead, clad entirely in black leather, grabbed my ass.
“Whatcha drinking?” Her voice sounded like an ashtray. She was tall, with emerald eyes, and a sleeve of tattoos.
I did a double-take. “Um,” I gulped. “Whatever yer buying.”
She winked, twirled her lip ring, then slid her icy fingers between my legs. Subtlety was not her strength. The beer arrived and we cheersed. She said her name was Rosetta. I introduced myself as Derek the Bass Player, while forcing her hand further north. Then, after some throwaway small talk, I sauntered towards the stage, more-than-ready for the band’s third and final set.
Falling Forward played a raucous set. Mick, the lead singer and harmonica player, worked the audience into a frenzy. Leading the party was Rosetta, dancing sexily, swinging her hips too and fro, fist-pumping and cat-calling.
When the band finished its final set, I started loading the gear into Mick’s van. I was exhausted, with little patience for patronizing drunks, pestering me. Despite this, the redhead came strutting over. Next thing I know, I’m slow-dancing to Every Rose has its Thorn, via karaoke. Ugh. I didn’t know which was worse: the drunken, out-of-tune singing, or being forced to dance to it.
Her perfume smelled like sweet summer rain, but her exploring hands were icebergs. We wiggled and wormed along the crowded dance floor until finally (and thankfully), the song ended. Next came the tequila. Things get blurry by this point.
Somehow, despite the redhead’s relentless flirting, I finished loading the gear, and Mick drove me home. She must’ve gotten my phone number, because the following morning, I awoke to a flashing phone (and one helluva hangover).
HEY HANDSOME, the redhead texted, CUM OVER. Included was a video of her masturbating.
Not gonna lie, I was kinda turned on. Don’t judge. It had been a while since I’d had sex. My hormones got the best of me. Still, I had my reservations. Rosetta was a bit over-the-top for my tastes. And that’s putting it mildly. So, I reached out to Mick, asking for advice. His reply was instantaneous: “Strike while the kettle’s hot.”
And that’s exactly what I did.
Rosetta greeted me with opened arms and ruby lips. Her perfume was potent, her green eyes sparkling with bad intentions. She led me into her bedroom. To my dismay, Velvet on Fire's one-and-only event poster was pasted onto her her wall, below a giant Nine Inch Nails poster. I gulped. She was one of the six who saw my old band.
"I LOOOVE music," she said softly, in between kisses.
Then she got to work.
I left her apartment thinking I would never see her again. Unfortunately, this was not the case. The redhead was relentless, texting me day and night, sending naughty pics, insisting I ‘CUM OVER’. Finally, I caved. (Yes, I’m weak, spare me the lecture.)
This time was different. Rosetta was banged up, her face a barrage of bruises; her eyes were puffy and red, her bottom lip split open. “Bar fight,” she said, while sucking my earlobes. “Bitch got the worst of it.”
Bar fight??? Clearly, this redhead was bad news. I wanted to leave right then and there. Should have, too. Then none of this would’ve happened. But it was too late. I was trapped. She led me into her bedroom. We did The Dirty, then I left, having no intention of speaking to her again. This time I meant it.
The redhead kept sending naughty pics, but I ignored them. After a week or so, I thought she’d gotten the hint. Her messaging stopped. Then out of the blue….
DING.
My phone flew off the couch. Rosetta’s name splashed across the screen. I groaned. She sent me a song; a song which has haunted me ever since: I Put a Spell on You. Not the popular version, but a much darker and sinister-sounding one. I disliked it immediately.
I replied, saying I was super busy (which was true), and that we should ‘remain ‘friends’ (which was not true).
Her response gave me chills:
UR MINE ;)
Things escalated.
I work at a local music shop. The following day, my boss greeted me harshly. He seemed upset. “Look at this!” He handed me an old Velvet on Fire poster.
I gasped. Then I tripped and fell backwards, knocking over an entire row of guitars.
“YOU IDIOT!” my boss snapped. “That’s coming off your pay.”
Grudgingly, I gathered the guitars and checked for dings, but my mind remained on the poster; or more accurately, the note written on the back of it:
UR MINE!!!!
“The poster was nailed to the door,” my boss scoffed, shaking his head. “People these days….”
My mind went sideways. The note was written in Rosetta’s rosy lipstick. Was she stalking me? Who would do such a thing? Making matters worse, later that week, Mick messaged me with a song request: I Put a Spell on You. Coincidence, I told myself. But I didn’t believe it.
Sometime later, I met a lovely woman named Melanie, who was cute and timid and polite. She dressed modestly and wore little-to-no makeup. She was the antithesis of Rosetta. Since Falling Forward were due to perform that weekend, I invited her to the show. Melanie was delighted.
As the weekend grew nearer, so did my anxiety. This was a terrible idea. We were playing the same hole-in-the-wall as before. Rosetta would certainly be there. How would she react to seeing me with another woman? Maybe, I hoped, she would get the hint and leave me the hell alone.
Oh, how naïve I was.
Melanie sat up front. She seemed in good spirits. But I was nervous. I kept scanning the bar, looking for you-know-who. Then, as the band launched into I Put a Spell on You, a cold shiver slid down my spine. The barroom turned cold as ice.
The redhead.
She sat next to Melanie.
I nearly died.
During set break, I remained on stage, acting busy. Truth is, I was panicking. How could I be so stupid? The last thing I wanted was a confrontation. On cue, the redhead came rushing over. With beers. She offered me one. I said thank you, then awkwardly sat with Melanie, who kept asking if I was okay. I wasn’t. My pits were soaked with sweat. I was tripping over my words, barely able to speak. All I could do was sip my beer and pray something dreadful didn’t happen.
The redhead, meanwhile, was tapping the table with her razor-like nails, staring at me. Her cold and calculated glare gave me the creeps. Finally, under the weight of the world, I excused myself, and went to the bar. Before my drink arrived, a pair of icy fingers fondled my private parts.
“Hey handsome.”
Rosetta’s face was fiery-red. Her lips, like blackened cherries, pursed into a scowl. She cracked her knuckles, twice, then nodded towards Melanie.
“Who’s the bitch?” Her hand reached down, cupping my ever-shrinking testicles.
“Well, you see… I….”
She squeezed.
“Whoah!” I freed myself. Then I scooted off to the restroom, away from prying eyes.
‘This is nuts,’ I told myself, splashing cold water on my face. Obviously, the redhead wasn’t playing with a full deck. But what could I do about it? I certainly couldn’t ask her to leave. And I wasn’t about to ignore Melanie. I was exasperated. I took a deep breath, then returned to the table. Melanie was frantic, her eyes trembling with terror. Apparently, Rosetta paid her a visit. I could only assume it went poorly.
“How DARE you,” Melanie spat. She marched out of the bar, leaving me with the bill. And without a date.
“You don’t need that bitch,” Rosetta snickered. “You’re mine.” Her hands booped my buttocks.
Mick, sensing trouble, meandered over, “Time to play, bro,” he said.
The band opened with New Orleans is Sinking, a local bar-band favorite. Everyone was dancing and singing along, including Rosetta, who jumped on stage and started grinding against me, plunking the bass strings. Then she tried pouring a full beer down my throat. Instead, she soaked the stage (and my bass) with suds. Whooping and hollering, she slipped and stumbled off the stage, resulting in a fantastic face-plant, taking a few patrons with her. It was a total debacle. A fight broke out. Soon thereafter, she got ejected, and the band was barred from ever performing there again.
The following day, I received a long-winded text from Melanie. Apparently, Rosetta threatened to kill her if she ever spoke to me again. YIKES. Then the redhead went on to disparage my reputation. NOT GOOD. Melanie concluded by saying she was busy and that we should just be friends. Oh, bittersweet irony. I was heartbroken. And furious.
DING.
The redhead:
I PUT A SPELL ON YOU….
DING.
BCUZ UR MINE!!!
I responded hastily: WE ARE OVER. IN FACT, WE NEVER WERE!!!! To further drive home the point, I added: PLEASE STAY AWAY.
I blocked her.
Things settled for a while. Life went back to normal. Then my credit card bill arrived.
‘This must be a mistake!’ I cried.
Only, it wasn’t. After an arduous hour, chatting with the credit card company, their conclusion was concrete: someone was using my credit card to purchase pricey perfume, clothes, leather boots and accessories.
The Redhead.
I spent the day chatting with the cops, who offered little help. The damned redhead was ruining my life, and it was up to me to stop her.
But how?
She denied everything, of course, and scolded me for such ludicrous accusations. Then she invited me back to her place. The nerve of this woman….
The following week, the unthinkable happened:
I was heading to bed when Dexter, my adorable Dalmatian, started going berserk. He should’ve been sleeping, cuddled in his cozy kennel in the yard, not barking. Cursing the mangy mutt, I went out back to check on him.
The night was moonless and stark. A chill crept into my bones as I crunched along the yard. The gate was open, which was odd. It should’ve been locked. While locking the gate, I detected a smattering of sweet-smelling perfume.
The redhead.
Dexter calmed down after gobbling some tasty treats. Meanwhile, I scanned the yard, searching for intruders. Then I stormed inside, angry and confused. Sleep couldn’t come. How could it? My mind kept returning to the redhead, and what deplorable deeds she was doing.
The following morning, I went outside to feed the dog. My heart was pounding like a kick drum at a heavy metal concert. Quickly, I panicked. Something was wrong. First off, the gate was open. Again. Plus, Dexter was being quiet. Too quiet. Which is unlike him. As I inched cautiously towards the kennel, the sweet smell of perfume grew stronger.
When I reached the kennel, I gasped. My heart sank into my shoes. Before me was Dexter, stewing in a pool of blood and gore. His eyeballs were gouged and bloodied, his tongue lying limply next to his mutilated body. Stapled to his mangy, blood soaked fur, was a Velvet on Fire poster. Stunned and horrified, I seized the poster. On the back, scribbled in crimson-colored blood, was a note:
UR MINE!!!
I vomited.
Connor, my roommate, was glaring at me from the kitchen, his eyes searing with suspicion. When I told him what happened, he turned ghost-white. Then he called the cops, who again were of little help. I was unhinged. Terrible thoughts tore through my troubled mind. Why Dexter? What did he do to deserve such a fate? And why me, for that matter? I’m not a bad guy. Then, with a heavy heart, I buried my dead dog Dexter. The feeling of being watched was impossible to ignore. Somewhere close, was the redhead, taunting me. Proving this, a song wafted through the crisp, early morning air: I Put a Spell on You.
DING.
UNKNOWN SENDER.
With shaky movements, I found my phone, and shrieked. On my phone was a picture of me burying Dexter.
DING.
UR NEXT!!!
I raced into the house and locked all the doors. Grief held me in its terrible grip while I wept. This was all too much, too fast.
DING.
Sighing, I looked down and nearly died.
I PUT A SPELL ON YOU, my phone read. BCUZ UR MINE.

As the lightning flashes through the cracks in my bedroom curtains, my thoughts slowly begin to wander.
What if….
What if I could take it all back? What if we had never played those stupid games, said those stupid things. Would things be different? Would I be less afraid to close my eyes in the darkness of my own room?
They always say kids will be kids, but what happens when those kids make adult choices? In the blink of an eye we suddenly became something more than a kid but less than adult.
We used to be friends, or at least that’s what I thought. The three of us spent all our time together, we were inseparable…
Now I lay here unable to sleep, with nothing but the constant nagging of racing mind. I wonder where they are now, if they’re thinking about me or the last time we hung out. I doubt they even miss me, they never bother to check in. You’d think I moved away from this little town, but I haven’t. I am where I’ve always been, at home.
Every night I relive the moment that ended our relationship for good.
It all started on a night much like tonight, rain drizzling and thunder cracking. I was laying in bed just like I am now, unable to sleep because I could feel the strain in our friendship growing into a void.
Laying there I felt a small vibration coming from my left side where my phone had been laying.
Wanna come out tonight? -L
Against my better judgement I eagerly told her I would, desperate for anyway to bring back the friendship we once had.
Sure, pick me up?
The rain had begun to slow when Lauren and Abigail pulled into the parking lot of the small apartment complex I live in. Without a moments hesitation I slowly made my way out my bedroom window and across the parking lot where they were waiting for me.
“Hurry up and get in slow poke,” Abigail teased as I slid into the backseat.
“Kind of hard to hurry when you’re trying not to fall on your ass into one of the eight million puddles I had to pass to get here,” I shot back while laughing a little.
I turn to Lauren next, “soooo where we going?”
Lauren doesn’t answer right away but her and Abigail exchange a look that I couldn’t quite decipher.
Finally she says, “I thought it would be nice if we kind of just drove around for a bit. There’s supposed to be a party at Jack’s house, but it doesn’t start for another hour and I don’t want to be the first ones there.”
“Nice a good party is exactly what we’ve been needing. I feel like it’s been forever since we’ve all hung out together,” I say excitedly.
And so that’s what we did. We drove, and drove, and then kept driving until I couldn’t recognize one town from another. We laughed and joked the whole time. As the music blared it was finally beginning to seem like we were putting the pieces back together. We were going to be okay.
The time had slipped away just like the road behind us, it was now the perfect time to make a well executed entrance to the party. Not early enough to be the first ones but not late enough to not be noticed as we walked through the front doors of Jacks parents house. Lauren always had to make a show out of everything we did together.
I’m not really a party girl myself, but if it makes my friends happy I’m always willing to tag along.
“I’m going to go get us some drinks,” Abigail shouts over the roaring of the music.
“I’ll come with you to help you carry them,” Lauren says in response as they both start to walk away.
I take that as my cue to try and mingle with everyone else in the crowded living room. I don’t make it very far when suddenly a really drunk dude runs through the crowd and I get an elbow to the ribcage. If I wasn’t awake before I definitely am now. I turn around to walk back to the door as I struggle to breathe from the impact of the hit. Finally, I make it and as soon as I breathe in the fresh air a wave of relief washes over me and the pain begins to subside.
While I’m sitting there on the front steps of the house I hear the door behind open then click shut. Hoping it’s Lauren or Abigail I turn to look, but my optimism turned to disappointment when I see the face of a boy who I don’t even know.
“Hey now don’t look so upset to see me,” the boy says with a smirk hidden in the corners of his mouth.
He must have seen the look I tried to hide when I realized he wasn’t one of my so called friends.
“Don’t take it personal,” I tell him “you just weren’t the person I thought was coming out.”
“Ooh I see, you’re out here waiting for your boyfriend right.”
“Ha as if, that would probably less complicated if I had a boyfriend to begin with.”
“Complicated? Lay it on me, what could be so complicated that it has you out here missing an awesome party?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I say to him, trying to avoid telling a complete stranger my stupid friend drama.
“Touché, well I’m out here missing this awesome party because… well actually I don’t really have a reason. But it does feel nice out here so maybe that could be my reason”
I laugh a little at his completely ridiculous reason to be missing something he claims is awesome.
“Well if that’s your reason, then I think it can be mine too.”
“Hey now, that’s not how this works. Only one customer per excuse and that one is taken. All jokes aside if you need to talk I’ll listen, nothing better than pouring it all out to a slightly intoxicated stranger on the front steps of someone else’s house.”
I pause for a moment and think about it. Then it all starts coming out without a pause. How Lauren and I have been for as long as I can remember. How Abigail then became apart of the mix. How everything was great for awhile. The more words that came out the better I was starting to feel just being able to say the things I was thinking. I told him everything, from start to finish, and not one time did he try to interrupt me.
I told him about how it seemed like they were going apart from me. They rarely invite me out with them anymore and when they do I still end up finding myself alone much like I am now at this party. I didn’t really understand what I could have done for them to barely acknowledge the fact that I exist or existed as part of the group. I’m just lost is how I ended the whole thing.
After I finished he paused for a moment before taking a breath and saying, “Honestly, that would be a lot for anyone to go through. Well fuck, if I were you I’d demand to know what was up and if they couldn’t give me a solid answer then I’d move on. I’m sure there are plenty of other people in this world or hell even at this party who would kill to be friends with you.”
“You know for a stranger at a party at 3am you’re pretty wise,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
“Some would call it a gift,” he says back with a slight sarcastic tone and a hint of the same smirk from earlier.
“I might just take that advice.”
“Good, I’d hate to see a girl as pretty as you stay so sad.”
I open my mouth to reply with some witty comeback but I feel my face slowly start to turn red out of embarrassment. I turn away hoping he doesn’t notice but apparently too late because a little laugh slipped out of his mouth.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, now regaining my composure.
“Oh nothing, it was just cute how your face turned all red when I called you pretty. You act like you’ve never heard anyone call you that before.”
“I… I umm haven’t really, and what are you doing going around calling girls pretty when you don’t even know their name.” I say with a laugh to try and relieve some of the awkwardness.
“Okay okay, that’s fair. So, what is your name then if I may ask.”
I pause for a moment not sure if I really want him to know my name after the embarrassingly long rant I just spilled on him.
“Sierra,” I finally respond. He already knows my inner most thoughts at the moment, what’s the harm in putting a name to them.
“Well Sierra, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Ryker.”
“Nice to meet you you.” I laugh as I hold my hand out for him to shake.
He doesn’t let go right away, which honestly I don’t really mind. I can tell he’s thinking about what to say next, but for the first time during this whole interaction he doesn’t know how to.
Finally he settles with, “Well Sierra it is getting pretty late, or early, however you want to look at it. I should probably head out. Do you want me to give you a ride home or anything?”
“Hmmm a ride home with stranger I just met about an hour ago, you’re not planning on murdering me are you?” I laugh as I finish the sentence.
“I don’t think we are strangers anymore after everything you just told me Sierra, plus strangers don’t know each others names.”
“Okay okay fair point but as nice as you have been I wouldn’t want to bother you with one more thing. Plus I should probably go back in and try to find Lauren and Abigail. I’m sending a long conversation with them in the near future.”
“Well alright, if you’re sure, but I really don’t mind. Can I give you my number in case that conversation doesn’t go in your favor. Wouldn’t want you getting stuck here if your ride decides it doesn’t want to be friends with you anymore.”
“Although I sense ulterior motives, sure, hand me your phone. Mines still in the car I can text myself from yours. That way you’ll have my number too.”
“Haha I’m not sure what you mean by ulterior motives,” he smirks again, “but seriously if you end up needing a lift just call I’ll answer.”
“Thank you Ryker, have a good rest of your night. And thanks for listening!”
“You have a good night too Sierra,” he replies as he starts walking down the rows of cars parked in the yard.
I stand there for a minute and watch as he gets into one of the cars. I see it disappear around the corner at the end of the street before deciding to rejoin the party.
It doesn’t take me long to find Lauren and Abigail. I spot them dancing on each other on top of a table with a group of guys cheering them on. Typical Lauren, always has to be the center of attention no matter where she goes. I stand in the corner and wait for the song to end and then to get off the table before I approach.
“Hey you guys ready to head out soon,” I shout to them over the music.
“Dude where have you been this whole time,” Lauren asks me completely ignoring what I just said.
“I just had to get some air,” I respond not wanting to start a fight here by mentioning that they’re the ones who ditched me first.
“Well you’ve missed all the fun in here that’s for sure,” Abigail pipes up.
“I’m sure it was a blast,” I say trying to hide my annoyance.
“Are you guys ready to head out?” I try again.
Abigail looks at Lauren like she’s waiting for her to respond first before she says what she’s thinking.
Lauren finally answers, “Yeah I guess it is getting pretty late and we should get you home before anyone realizes you’re gone.”
Abigail chimes in, “I’m pretty exhausted too so that’s probably a good idea.”
“Plus we don’t want to be the last ones here either, that’s almost as bad as being the first.” Lauren states.
With that we all walk out the door of the party and get in her car. As Lauren drives I find my phone on the seat I left it and go to the text I sent myself from Rykers phone. I add his name and number to my contacts before sending him a text.
Thx for the advice, wish me luck, it’s happening now! -S
He responds back seconds later.
Good luck! Let me know how it goes, I’ll be up for awhile. -R ;)
I put my phone back in my pocket and take a deep breath before starting to talk.
“Hey do you guys think we could stop somewhere and talk before you drop me off?”
“Why can’t you talk while I drive?” Lauren asks.
“It’s just it’s kind of important and I want to make sure we have enough time to finish the conversation.” I tell her.
They agreed to find a place to park so we can talk. The entire mine I can feel my heart racing in my chest. I can’t believe I’m really doing this. Lauren finally finds an old run down gas station in the middle of god knows where and parks the car. She gets out to fill her tank and grab some snacks then pulls us into the back corner of the parking lot away from building.
I try to let everything off my chest just like I had when Ryker was listening but Lauren wouldn’t have it. Everyone I try to say how I feel about everything she cuts me off and inserts a different lame meaningless excuse. Eventually it starts becoming a match in who can say their opinion louder. Lauren and Abigail eventually become so loud that I just shut up and let their words hit me like a tsunami.
“What? Nothing left to say?” Lauren throws at me with a snarky attitude.
“No point in saying anything if you aren’t even going to let me finish a sentence without getting defensive,” I say flatly.
“Well it’s not our fault that you’ve been kind of lame all summer,” Abigail says as she rolls her eyes.
“How would you know I’ve been lame, you two have been avoiding me like the plague this last month and a half.”
“You’re just such a goody goody, you NEVER, want to do anything fun.” Lauren says seeming annoyed.
“Yeah well the last time we hung out, A MONTH AND A HALF AGO, your guys idea of fun was getting wasted and making out with eachother. Excuse me for not thinking watching you two fondle each other was fun.”
“You know what Sierra just shut the fuck up!” Lauren yells at me.
“Fine just take me home, I knew this was going to be an awful idea. Maybe I should just find new friends since you two have each other now.”
“I’m not sure what the fuck you mean by that but sure, whatever, I’ll take you home. Just to spare you the walk, but the sooner you exit my car the better,” snaps Lauren.
I don’t respond because I don’t want her to change her mind about taking me home. The rest of the ride is complete silence, I spend the whole time trying to avoid looking up Lauren and Abigail. At one point tho I look up and notice Lauren giving that same indecipherable look as earlier to Abigail. I’m not sure what it means but it’s probably not important.
I don’t bother to text Ryker back, this whole thing was an absolute disaster and I don’t need him, an almost complete stranger, worrying about me. A girl he just met. I’ll probably tell him in the morning after I’ve had the rest of the night to cool down.
Finally the car comes to a stop after what feels like forever. I pick my head up from the spot on the carpet I was focused on the entire drive expecting to see the familiar sight of my apartment complex parking lot. When I look out the window all I see is darkness and trees.
“Dude where are we Lauren, I thought you were taking me home.”
“Look I’ve been thinking about what you were saying and I’m ready to listen. Also I ready to get out of this car so I figured we could all just take a walk down our old favorite hiking trail for a minute.”
I find this odd but maybe being in a place where we were never anything but happy as a group would be good. So we get out and start walking down the over grown trail. No one’s really saying anything as walk but maybe that’s a good thing for now.
“Hey guys I’ll be right back I’m kind of cold and I left my jacket in the car I’m going to go back and get it,” Lauren tells us.
Lauren runs back to the car and Abigail suggests we go off the path to the little spot next to the creek we used to play in. That was always our destination as kids when we would come down here so I’m sure Lauren would figure it out on her way back to us. It doesn’t take even five minutes before we hear the slow moving water in the creek. I find an old close to the water and just listen to it flowing.
“Hey I’m going to go back up to the path so Lauren doesn’t pass us,” Abigail tells me.
It doesn’t take long before I can hear their footsteps crunching the leaves of the forest floor. I don’t bother to turn around as I hear them approach. As they get closer I hear one of them whisper something and then all of a sudden the whole world goes white.
Searing pain in two places in my back, heart racing, I get up and run because I know that’s all I can do now. Then Abigail grabs my shoulder and spins me around, that’s when I see it, the kitchen knife she’s holding in her hand. It’s soaked in my blood. She tries to bring it down on me again but I manage to hit her just hard enough in the stomach that she drops it. As soon as it leaves her hand I dive to retrieve it, desperate for something to defend myself with. Just as I pick it up she’s coming at me again, this time, still trembling I swing the knife on her. Just as it’s grazing her shin Lauren finally catches up to us.
She throws herself on top of me and already I feel I’m too weak to get her off. She plunges her knife into me, once, twice, three times. This time while I’m still trying to fight back, everything around me goes black.
Suddenly I’m not in my body anymore, I’m watching from the outside. A bystander to my own murder.
“DIE BITCH DIE!” I could hear them shouting over and over. But it was like my head was underwater.
I watched as I took my last breath and still even then they didn’t stop. I lost count of how many times that knife went into my body. Thirty, forty probably fifty times. And I had the same questions I still do now, why? And what if?
What if I could take back that whole conversation in the car? What if we had never played those stupid games with each other where we pretended everything was fine when we knew it wasn’t? What if we never said those stupid passive aggressive snarky comments to eachother when we were upset. Would I still be alive and physically able to sleep?
Being a spirit of your former self sucks, you watch as life goes on in the world around you but you can’t participate. Granted I have been lucky enough to discover I’m able to interact with electronic devices, though to avoid more grief for my family I always post under an alias. Plus I’m not sure they’d believe it was me if I didn’t use an alias anyway, they’d probably just think it was some fucked up person trying to mess with them.
Most of all being on this plain sucks because you watch as the people closest to you grieve once they find out about their loss. Then there’s the fact that you can sleep, because once you drift off you go somewhere else and leave this world behind. I’m not ready to leave it behind, but maybe now that my story is out I will be ready.
The night I died was the worst night of my life, but not because of my death. It was the worst night because that was when I watch the people I thought I was closest to, the people I thought were my friends, become monsters. I watched as they celebrated what they had done. They may have thought they were only celebrating my absence but in reality they were celebrating more. They celebrated destroying my parents lives, the rest of my family’s lives and the lives of everyone that knew me. They celebrated becoming something less than human.
So as I lay here on my bed, unable to sleep, with my thoughts racing I keep landing on one in particular. Something I should have known from the start…
Three is a crowd.

What started as a typical New Years Eve gig at a newly renovated hole-in-the-wall has become something far worse.
I’m the bass player (insert punch line here). I’m pretty good too, although my heyday is certainly over. Back in the day, I played with Velvet on Fire. You may remember us. We had a hit song called Call Me a Liar. Then, under immense pressure for a follow-up, Rod Brimstone, the singer, committed suicide. On stage. Talk about Game Over.
But I digress.
My latest group, a blues-rock cover band called Falling Forward, was hired to perform three sets of music. The trouble started when the redhead arrived. I was at the bar, minding my own business, when out of the blue, a radiant redhead, clad entirely in black leather, grabbed my ass.
“Whatcha drinking?” Her voice sounded like an ashtray. She was tall, with emerald eyes, and a sleeve of tattoos.
I did a double-take. “Um,” I gulped. “Whatever yer buying.”
She winked, twirled her lip ring, then slid her icy fingers between my legs. Subtlety was not her strength.
The beer arrived and we cheersed. She said her name was Rosetta. I introduced myself as Derek the Bass Player, while forcing her hand further north. Then, after some throwaway small talk, I sauntered towards the stage, more-than-ready for the band’s third and final set.
Falling Forward played a raucous set. Mick, the lead singer and harmonica player, worked the audience into a frenzy. Leading the party was Rosetta, dancing sexily, swinging her hips too and fro, fist-pumping and cat-calling.
When the band finished its final set, I started loading the gear into Mick’s van. I was exhausted, with little patience for patronizing drunks, pestering me. Despite this, the redhead came strutting over. Next thing I know, I’m slow-dancing to Every Rose has its Thorn, via karaoke. Ugh. I didn’t know which was worse: the drunken, out-of-tune singing, or being forced to dance to it.
Her perfume smelled like sweet summer rain, but her exploring hands were icebergs. We wiggled and wormed along the crowded dance floor until finally (and thankfully), the song ended. Next came the tequila. Things get blurry by this point.
Somehow, despite the redhead’s relentless flirting, I finished loading the gear, and Mick drove me home. She must’ve gotten my phone number, because the following morning, I awoke to a flashing phone (and one helluva hangover).
HEY HANDSOME, the redhead texted, CUM OVER. Included was a video of her masturbating.
Not gonna lie, I was kinda turned on. Don’t judge. It had been a while since I’d had sex. My hormones got the best of me. Still, I had my reservations. Rosetta was a bit over-the-top for my tastes. And that’s putting it mildly. So, I reached out to Mick, asking for advice. His reply was instantaneous: “Strike while the kettle’s hot.”
And that’s exactly what I did.
Rosetta greeted me with opened arms and ruby lips. Her perfume was potent, her green eyes sparkling with bad intentions. She led me into her bedroom. To my dismay, Velvet on Fire posters pervaded her walls. I gulped.
"I LOOOVE your music," she said softly, in between kisses. Then she got to work.
I left her apartment thinking I would never see her again. Unfortunately, this was not the case. The redhead was relentless, texting me day and night, sending naughty pics, insisting I ‘CUM OVER’. Finally, I caved. (Yes, I’m weak, spare me the lecture.)
This time was different. Rosetta was banged up, her face a barrage of bruises; her eyes were puffy and red, her bottom lip split open. “Bar fight,” she said, while sucking my earlobes. “Bitch got the worst of it.”
Bar fight??? Clearly, this redhead was bad news. I wanted to leave right then and there. Should have, too. Then none of this would’ve happened. But it was too late. I was trapped. She led me into her bedroom. We did The Dirty, then I left, having no intention of speaking to her again. This time I meant it.
The redhead kept sending naughty pics, but I ignored them. After a week or so, I thought she’d gotten the hint. Her messaging stopped. Then out of the blue….
DING.
My phone flew off the couch. Rosetta’s name splashed across the screen. I groaned. She sent me a song; a song which has haunted me ever since: I Put a Spell on You. Not the popular version, but a much darker and sinister-sounding one. I disliked it immediately.
I replied, saying I was super busy (which was true), and that we should ‘remain ‘friends’ (which was not true).
Her response gave me chills:
UR MINE ;)
Things escalated.
I work at a local music shop. The following day, my boss greeted me harshly. He seemed upset. “Look at this!” He handed me an old Velvet on Fire poster.
I gasped. Then I tripped and fell backwards, knocking over an entire row of guitars.
“YOU IDIOT!” my boss snapped. “That’s coming off your pay.”
Grudgingly, I gathered the guitars and checked for dings, but my mind remained on the poster; or more accurately, the note written on the back of it:
UR MINE!!!!
“The poster was nailed to the door,” my boss scoffed, shaking his head. “People these days….”
My mind went sideways. The note was written in Rosetta’s rosy lipstick. Was she stalking me? Who would do such a thing? Making matters worse, later that week, Mick messaged me with a song request: I Put a Spell on You. Coincidence, I told myself. But I didn’t believe it.
Sometime later, I met a lovely woman named Melanie, who was cute and timid and polite. She dressed modestly and wore little-to-no makeup. She was the antithesis of Rosetta. Since Falling Forward were due to perform that weekend, I invited her to the show. Melanie was delighted.
As the weekend grew nearer, so did my anxiety. This was a terrible idea. We were playing the same hole-in-the-wall as before. Rosetta would certainly be there. How would she react to seeing me with another woman? Maybe, I hoped, she would get the hint and leave me the hell alone.
Oh, how naïve I was.
Melanie sat up front. She seemed in good spirits. But I was nervous. I kept scanning the bar, looking for you-know-who. Then, as the band launched into I Put a Spell on You, a cold shiver slid down my spine. The barroom turned cold as ice.
The redhead.
She sat next to Melanie.
I nearly died.
During set break, I remained on stage, acting busy. Truth is, I was panicking. How could I be so stupid? The last thing I wanted was a confrontation. On cue, the redhead came rushing over. With beers. She offered me one. I said thank you, then awkwardly sat with Melanie, who kept asking if I was okay. I wasn’t. My pits were soaked with sweat. I was tripping over my words, barely able to speak. All I could do was sip my beer and pray something dreadful didn’t happen.
The redhead, meanwhile, was tapping the table with her razor-like nails, staring at me. Her cold and calculated glare gave me the creeps. Finally, under the weight of the world, I excused myself, and went to the bar. Before my drink arrived, a pair of icy fingers fondled my private parts.
“Hey handsome.”
Rosetta’s face was fiery-red. Her lips, like blackened cherries, pursed into a scowl. She cracked her knuckles, twice, then nodded towards Melanie.
“Who’s the bitch?” Her hand reached down, cupping my ever-shrinking testicles.
“Well, you see… I….”
She squeezed.
“Woah!” I freed myself. Then I scooted off to the restroom, away from prying eyes.
‘This is nuts,’ I told myself, splashing cold water on my face. Obviously, the redhead wasn’t playing with a full deck. But what could I do about it? I certainly couldn’t ask her to leave. And I wasn’t about to ignore Melanie. I was exasperated. I took a deep breath, then returned to the table. Melanie was frantic, her eyes trembling with terror. Apparently, Rosetta paid her a visit. I could only assume it went poorly.
“How DARE you,” Melanie spat. She marched out of the bar, leaving me with the bill. And without a date.
“You don’t need that bitch,” Rosetta snickered. “You’re mine.” Her hands booped my buttocks.
Mick, sensing trouble, meandered over, “Time to play, bro,” he said.
The band opened with New Orleans is Sinking, a local bar-band favorite. Everyone was dancing and singing along, including Rosetta, who jumped on stage and started grinding against me, plunking the bass strings. Then she tried pouring a full beer down my throat. Instead, she soaked the stage (and my bass) with suds. Whooping and hollering, she slipped and stumbled off the stage, resulting in a fantastic face-plant, taking a few patrons with her. It was a total debacle. A fight broke out. Soon thereafter, she got ejected, and the band was barred from ever performing there again.
The following day, I received a long-winded text from Melanie. Apparently, Rosetta threatened to kill her if she ever spoke to me again. YIKES. Then the redhead went on to disparage my reputation. NOT GOOD. Melanie concluded by saying she was busy and that we should just be friends. Oh, bittersweet irony. I was heartbroken. And furious.
DING.
The redhead:
I PUT A SPELL ON YOU….
DING.
BCUZ UR MINE!!!
I responded hastily:
WE ARE OVER. IN FACT, WE NEVER WERE!!!! To further drive home the point, I added: PLEASE STAY AWAY.
I blocked her.
Things settled for a while. Life went back to normal. Then my credit card bill arrived.
‘This must be a mistake!’ I cried.
Only, it wasn’t. After an arduous hour, chatting with the credit card company, their conclusion was concrete: someone was using my credit card to purchase pricey perfume, clothes, leather boots and accessories.
The Redhead.
I spent the day chatting with the cops, who offered little help. The damned redhead was ruining my life, and it was up to me to stop her.
But how?
She denied everything, of course, and scolded me for such ludicrous accusations. Then she invited me back to her place. The nerve of this woman….
The following week, the unthinkable happened:
I was heading to bed when Dexter, my adorable Dalmatian, started going berserk. He should’ve been sleeping, cuddled in his cozy kennel in the yard, not barking. Cursing the mangy mutt, I went out back to check on him.
The night was moonless and stark. A chill crept into my bones as I crunched along the yard. The gate was open, which was odd. It should’ve been locked. While locking the gate, I detected a smattering of sweet-smelling perfume.
The redhead.
Dexter calmed down after gobbling some tasty treats. Meanwhile, I scanned the yard, searching for intruders. Then I stormed inside, angry and confused. Sleep couldn’t come. How could it? My mind kept returning to the redhead, and what deplorable deeds she was doing.
The following morning, I went outside to feed the dog. My heart was pounding like a kick drum at a heavy metal concert. Quickly, I panicked. Something was wrong. First off, the gate was open. Again. Plus, Dexter was being quiet. Too quiet. Which is unlike him. As I inched cautiously towards the kennel, the sweet smell of perfume grew stronger.
When I reached the kennel, I gasped. My heart sank into my shoes. Before me was Dexter, stewing in a pool of blood and gore. His eyeballs were gouged and bloodied, his tongue lying limply next to his mutilated body. Stapled to his mangy, blood-soaked fur, was a Velvet on Fire poster. Stunned and horrified, I seized the poster. On the back, scribbled in crimson-colored blood, was a note:
UR MINE!!!
I vomited.
Connor, my roommate, was glaring at me from the kitchen, his eyes searing with suspicion. When I told him what happened, he turned ghost-white. Then he called the cops, who again were of little help.
I was unhinged. Terrible thoughts tore through my troubled mind. Why Dexter? What did he do to deserve such a fate? And why me, for that matter? I’m not a bad guy. Then, with a heavy heart, I buried my dead dog Dexter. The feeling of being watched was impossible to ignore. Somewhere close, was the redhead, taunting me. Proving this, a song wafted through the crisp, early morning air: I Put a Spell on You.
DING.
UNKNOWN SENDER.
With shaky movements, I found my phone, and shrieked. On my phone was a picture of me burying Dexter.
DING.
UR NEXT!!!
I raced into the house and locked all the doors. Grief held me in its terrible grip while I wept. This was all too much, too fast.
DING.
Sighing, I looked down, and nearly died.
I PUT A SPELL ON YOU, my phone read. BCUZ UR [MINE!!!]( https://www.reddit.com/StoriesFromStar)

I want to start out by saying the megadungeon I’m playing in right now is the first one I’ve ever done, so it's not like I'm badmouthing the entire concept here. I just know they are popular among certain circles, and I'm wondering what the big deal is, because boy is this one a doozy. I’d like some insight (and also probably to vent).
TL;DR - How are megadungeons actually supposed to be enjoyable? What about them do you find entertaining, as opposed to any other type of encountecampaign? What makes them good for you? Asking as both a player and a GM. I’m a player in this one, though I appreciate any perspectives. Because at a glance, the only thing they seem good for is saving prep time for the GM.
I’m gonna rant now, so feel free to stop reading if you don’t want to watch me slowly devolve into a pile of ooze.
Currently in a group that is doing Palace of the Vampire Queen under the Worlds Without Number system. I like the WWN system. It’s probably one of my favorites, and definitely the only OSR style system I’ve ever had fun with. Allegedly, the megadungeon and the system are cross-compatible with minimal work. I guess it’s sorta true. It feels true at least…for the first floor. Encounters are dangerous enough to make us have to pay attention, but (thus far) no OHKOs. I’m sorta worried for whatever is beyond this floor though, or if there’s a “boss” at the end, because we aren’t leveling at all.
The problem is…well, actually there’s a ton of them. Maybe I’m way off base on all these objections, but I’m going to go through them as they pop into my head. If you are heroic enough to read through them, feel free to tell me all the ways I am potentially wrong, because I really would like to know.
Treasure: Seemingly the point of a giganto-dungeon. Well, there’s nothing here. We’ve thus far acquired something like 42 GP (we need 5000 to get to the next level). It has taken 4 sessions to do this. No weapons or equipment or items or treasure. On the other hand, we’ve sifted through a metric crapton of utter garbage (old rancid potions, moth-eaten clothes, rusted weapons, etc.). I suppose this is semi-defensible as being the first floor of the dungeon (out of 5 or 6), which might reasonably have been picked clean by previous groups. That doesn’t really make it any more fun though. Leading into…
Exploration: The layout of this place makes no logical sense. It’s just a bunch of random rooms. It’s either empty, or it’s filled with garbage, or it has enemies and/or traps in it, and maybe a small pittance to pick up if we succeed at a Notice roll (or pilfer the correct bandit corpse). There’s nothing special about the rooms; even when the GM describes ancient ratty tapestries or whatever, there’s no context or reason to care. Hey, this is a room filled with cats, and there’s a crazy guy who smells like cat pee. He says nothing of note or value, has no lore to add, and just tells me the names of his cats over and over. Also, there’s a fall trap and the bottom is also full of cat pee, so now you smell like cat pee. Which leads into…
Traps: Traps are either stupid (and likely meant for humor; see ‘cat pee’ above), annoyingly unfair (you can’t avoid it even if you’re expecting it), or could be routed around/solved instantly even if you were running the game for toddlers. A chest trap isolates people in a room to die!…except there’s a hidden door behind literally the only other feature in the room besides the chest, so it really seems more like a prank than a trap. Puzzles are of the Skyrim variety: fondle the correct torch, or take this plate and put it in the clearly marked plate receptacle over there.
Story: There’s no story. We’re marooned on an isolated island, and the mayor hired us to solve their problem with the undead abducting townsfolk. There’s nothing going on besides this. There’s nothing else happening. There’s no island politics. There’s no ‘quest hub.’ There’s no shop that carries anything but bog-standard everything. There’s nothing outside the dungeon. There’s nothing going on in the dungeon except that there’s a few different varieties of Things we run into (bandits, goblins, undead). We’re not competing with any other groups, although there were suggestions that the bandits were also treasure hunting…but not actively.
Combat: No matter how much one enjoys combat, I don’t think an entire campaign can work with combat as literally the only meaningful thing to do. This and fall into unavoidable traps are the only things we’ve done so far.
Length: Maybe this goes in with exploration, but holy crap, we’ve explored something like 12 rooms in 4 sessions. This group’s table banter ratio is a little bit high, but not egregious, and it feels like we’re moving so slowly. Outside of a few briefly funny moments, and the fact that one of our party almost got killed by a spider, there has been nothing memorable about this at all. I don’t know the actual size of the dungeon, but I did (unintentionally/accidentally) get a look at the GM’s map when I was coming back from the bathroom, and I swear there had to be 30-40 rooms just on this floor. I don’t suspect we’ll actually finish this dungeon, but is there really an expectation for something like this to go 40+ sessions?
I know the basic wisdom here is going to be "If you don't like it, quit playing." That's not really an option here. I generally like this group, and we'll eventually be playing something else. I have just been so annoyed with this particular game that it has me wondering what exactly is supposed to even be good about it.

I was standing at the door of my boss’s office on that ominous Friday morning. He sat behind his giant oak desk; his desk was clear for the first time from my memory. He motioned for me to close the door and take a seat. As I took my seat in the large leather chair across from him he asked me about my future goals. I thought this was strange, I had never spoken to my boss about my future and was never asked by my superiors either. I could only recall one other conversation about my future with them and that was my first interview 4 years ago, before I got hired. With my mind still wondering, he spoke up again to tell me how valuable I have become to the success of the company. I gleamed with pride at the thought that my boss had even noticed my work, I thanked him sincerely. Then he said you have been promoted to a management position within the company as of Monday. I was stunned and I’m sure my facial expression was all that he needed, as he continued. This comes with more money of course, about 30 percent more than I was currently making and I received my own office. I accepted his offer, even though it wasn’t an offer, but a simple statement from him. He then told me that I had the rest of the day off as the paperwork was being processed. I grabbed my stuff from the office and headed out the door heading to my home with my great news. When I reached the house my brother-in-law’s car was taking my parking spot, so I parked on the street and went in through the side door.
As I opened the door to the kitchen, I overheard them talking to each other unaware of my arrival. Just before I broke into the conversation, I heard Joe say to my wife: so how will you celebrate your tenth anniversary with Tom. Two problems with that question. The first one was who the hell is Tom, I’m Josh, second what 10-year anniversary, we have been married for 12 years and we just past our anniversary. I stopped in my tracks and pulled out my phone and set it to record. Her response was I don’t know, any suggestions, her brother’s responded with, well a nice dinner maybe we could even double date because my relationship with Sue is coming up soon also, but it’s only been seven years for us. Well, that’s interesting his wife’s name was Mary not Sue, and they have been married as long as me and my wife. That’s when my brother-in-law spoke again. When will you tell Josh that his two kids aren’t his at all. Never, she sharply replied, only you, me and Tom know the truth and I want to keep it that way, understood. Okay okay he responded, but that’s cold, even for you, making him raise Tom’s kids. She responded with; what Josh doesn’t know won’t hurt him. That was the moment my loved turned into hate, I stopped my recording, I had heard enough and slowly backed out the still open door, I closed it with the lightest touch and headed back to my car.
I went to a local bar and grill and contemplated on my next steps, It would take time, but I knew it had to be epic, anything to destroy that cheating bitches life. I sent her a text letting her know I was going out for drinks with my co-workers and would be home late and not to wait up for me. I needed time and a plan. I went through my phone google app for the next 30 minutes and found a good or at least that’s what the yelp reviews showed for a private investigator. Lucky enough he just finished a job earlier that day and was available to take on a new client. He asked where I was at that point and after I named the place, he said that was on his way home. If I wanted to wait, we could talk that night. When he arrived, it was obvious that he was looking for me in the crowd, I motioned to him, he came over and sat down across from me. After some small talk and drinks were served, we got down to business. I played him my recording and said I need to know who Tom and Sue were. I wanted everything on both of them, husband, wife, girlfriends, boyfriends, children, parent’s names, home and work addresses everything on those two. He nodded and said it’s going to take some time; it is a large request with 2 suspects not just one. I said that’s fine, just keep me up to date as you can. I slid him my personal credit card, it was separate from our joint accounts. I bought him a couple of drinks, while telling him all I had on my wife’s habits and about her brother’s life. We both seemed satisfied with all the information I had provided him with. As the night ended as I stood to go home and he said remember if you let on you know anything about it, it’ll make my job much more difficult and if you want the best outcome, stay unfazed and move forward. I took his advice and the next 2 weeks were extremely difficult as you can imagine, but I did just that. That was my first report for the PI, the information was better than I thought, Tom is married and has three kids all under 6. Sue is also married with 5 kids ranging from 6 to 16 years old. Now I knew where they both lived and worked. Hell, I even had their Instagram’s, snapchats, and Facebook log-ons, that were separate from their family accounts and posts. I started by contacting the husband and wife of the cheaters and asked to meet. I set off their curiosity by mentioning I had in my possession, some marriage threatening information.
They never met each other or me of course. They were confused, but both accepted the dinner invitations with little debate. We met at Marios for dinner one night when I assumed my wife was out on one of her dates. I explained what I had overheard and then showed them the PI reports that I had received up to that point. I even showed them pictures of their spouses out on dates, kissing and fondling their affair partners, my wife and brother-in-law. I began by telling them my plans to expose them all in the most humiliating way. They both needed to know more, like how I found out and anything else I could tell them. I had spent several weeks thinking about my revenge plan and telling them, this was part 1. We met twice a week until our plans were firm. The finances were split for our revenge, but nobody complained even though it would be pricey almost 2 grand each. I needed to complete a few things, that took me another 2 weeks, but it all came together perfectly. 10 days ago, I told my wife that I had a business trip in Cleveland and would be out of town for 2 nights. Tom’s wife told him she had a school reunion she was going to attend, and they agreed she could go alone. She said she would leave her children with her mother. Sue husband didn’t leave and would just let her go out again as normal she was hardly home anyway. The plans were going great, that was step 2. Step 3 took a bit, setting up the couples, but in fact it was easier than living with a cheating wife.
One week before D-Day I handed my wife a beautiful invite to a pop-up dinner and dance, I told my wife how sorry that I couldn’t attend due to my business trip. She asked where I got the invite, I explained I had completed some work on the permits, he graciously gave me an invite for free to repay me for my services. I looked at her and said, why don’t you take some friends, it’s good for up to 4 people and enjoy the evening no reason we both miss out. She exploded with joy saying, I’ll take my brother, I guess his wife is going out of town next week also. I turned my head to make sure she didn’t see the smirk on my face. She made love to me that night, as if it would be her last and soon, she would realize it was. I had rented a small warehouse in the industrial park for just 2 days. I had the caterers set up and tables delivered with all the bells and whistles. Me and the other 3 loyal spouses were free, as we all were supposedly out of town or at work. I waited for this next step just to keep our secret until the last minute. I didn’t need anything to be said too early. I met with my parents and told them the whole story, I invited them to our special dinner, they accepted and said we would never miss something like that. With revenge on their lips, a smile appeared. I repeated the same thing to my wife’s parents. I had to play them the recording off my phone before they agreed. They thought I was going overboard and thought they should be there to support their kids for the aftermath. But agreed not to say anything.
I had divorce papers drawn up and DNA testing had been completed as well. The other spouses used the same lawyer and followed my example and received divorce papers also. The next night we had all the friends and families show up at the pop-up 1 hour early as they sat and listened to the evening festivities, as they all just shuttered at the thought. The place was a windowless warehouse, and the only lights were at the front entrance with a curtain partition into the dining area. When the cheating couples arrived, they were asked if anyone was here for a special occasion and they both chimed in yes proudly, it’s our 10th anniversary my wife told the hostess, then her brothers said it was 7 years for them. The hostess pulled out a small flashlight as she led them to a very dark room where the only illuminations, was a single candle placed on each table. The light from the candle was barely enough to see across the table. All you could see was a candle at all the remaining tables. All the other guests were set up so you could only see their backs, so as not to spoil their surprise.
The food was served, and as predicted it was delicious, I wasn’t even hungry due to my nerves, but I ate every bite savoring the meal. Then a voice came from the back of the building saying we have a couple of congratulations to announce tonight, we have a couple sharing their 10th anniversary and another sharing their 7th anniversary with no names mentioned. Applause was heard from the dark surroundings from all the other guests. Then a dance floor lit up toward the back and the MC said the dance floor was now open for mood music and dancing. Then out of the blue a disco light lowered from above and just then the music began to play. My wife and Tom stood up first and then my brother-in-law and Sue stood and moved in sync onto the dance floor for their special dances. Several other guests made their way out to dance also, those were the process servers and their wives.
When the song ended the MC announced let me bring your attention to the dance floor as the extra dancers broke apart and started handing out thick manila envelopes to our cheating spouses. Just then a light appeared next to the DJ and gasps were heard throughout the room, as me and the other betrayed spouses appeared. That’s when the first person dropped to her knees in tears, it was Sue, just to be clear, then all the remaining lights went on. That was the moment that all their lives took a disastrous turn. As they looked out among the guests they saw their moms, dads, sisters, brothers, as all of then came into focus to the cheaters, that’s when reality hit them in the face. The DJ started another song, it was quite fitting, Ray Charles song: Hit the rode Jack and don’t come back no more, no more, no more, no more, hit the road Jack, don’t you come back no more. The dance floor started filling up with other guests to dance, as the 4 cheaters just stood there wondering what the hell had just happened. I walked up to my confused wife and said, “You’ll find all the information in there pointing to the envelope still clinched in her shaking hands. I calmly said, it’s time for you and your cheating friends to go. The party continued with a new song, Brand New Day by Sting. The party went on until midnight. The only people that had left early were the 4 cheaters and my in-laws for support.
Epilog: The divorce was finalized 90 days later, the children wanted to stay with me, I had no objections to their request, their mother did, but it went on deaf ears, even the judge ruled in my favor. All 4 couples divorced, and the 4 offended spouses took comfort with our new friendships with each other. I had Tom served a week after the dinner with retro active child support for his two children. I won, and now he yells my name every time he signs another check over to me. His wife got almost everything else. The cheaters stayed together, getting one house between them all, that lasted about 4 months before Sue was caught in bed with Tom by my now ex-brother-in-law. I’ve moved on, and I’m starting to get out and socialize more often these days, I’m not looking for another relationship. Just friendships, that’s all I need for now. After the divorce was finalized, I found no reason at all to speak to her again, so that’s where we are today. I feel much better that I now know the truth.

Content warning: Depression, Suicide, Self-Harm, and Abuse.
Our story starts on a Thursday near the beginning of the school year, about a few weeks in when my friend approached me in the hallway. Eventually the topic of school clubs came up. She had asked if I'd joined a club yet, and I had told her “no”. I said that I definitely wasn't interested in joining a club, because I just wanted to get out of school as fast as I could, go home and just watch anime and play video games. That's when she suggested a proposition: what if I could have a much more eventful evening than just vegging out at home? I was intrigued but still non-committal. I asked her what she meant by that, and that's when she mentioned our school's TTRPG club.
Apparently, the club was looking for a fifth member to have that perfect party number of four to play a session. I was still hesitant, but she practically begged me to join. "At least check it out," she said. "What's the worst that could happen?" So I begrudgingly promised her that I'd show up to the club after school.
Back then, I knew nothing of TTRPGs. All I really knew of was D&D from TV. In my mind, I had all the stereotypes, such as D&D is for nerds, geeks, etc. I really didn't want to hang around socially awkward incels whining about how they can’t get laid, while fondling another neckbread's elf girl character. But my friend was absolutely obsessed with them. So I was willing to give the club a shot because her pitch was just that interesting and she really was THAT excited.
When I arrived at the club, I noticed the room had a table of cupcakes and tea. I also noticed that I was the only guy there, which was already an unexpected surprise. I was sure that I’d see some fat neckbeard in a fedora and trench coat, but nope, just girls. Turns out they didn’t advertise, so all of the weirdos, creeps and nice guys that would have joined just didn’t know about it. Hidden in plain sight. I guess it also helps that the official club name was called “Girls’ Roll for Initiative''. Word of mouth worked in their favor to keep the incels away, but limited the number of members.
My friend introduced me as a new member right off the bat and already I felt like I was tricked into joining. One of the more shy members welcomed me cordially, but the other was immediately hostile. "Seriously? You brought a boy? Way to k*ll the atmosphere.” Well, hi to you too. I took a seat, and the president of the club had us introduce ourselves round robin style. This is where we meet our cast.
The cast (names changed for obvious reasons):

• Me.
• Sarah, my close friend who I had later found out that she was, in fact, the Vice President of the TTRPG club. She loved GURPs, mostly for how silly the name sounded and flexible the system was, but pretty much would play anything once if it was fun.
• Natalie, the "moody baby" of the group. She was a grade lower than Sarah and I, and the shortest of all of us, hence the “baby”. Her favorite TTRPG was Big Eyes, Small Mouth (since she absolutely loved anime and manga) and Cyberpunk (mostly because of Edgerunners).
• Yulianna (Yuli for short) who was pretty much the opposite of Natalie in every way. Not only was she a senior, but she was interested in a lot of darker and complex fantasy TTRPG such as Call of Cthulhu and the World of Darkness series.
• Monica. President of the club and forever DM. More on her later...

After we formally introduced ourselves, Monica turned to me and asked me what made me want to join. I shrugged and told her that I really didn’t know too much about TTRPGs and didn’t see what the big deal was. That’s when they all started talking about TTRPGs at once, about how they were much cooler than video games, how they helped with math, social skills, problem solving, and how you could literally do anything if you had the creativity to do it.
I still didn’t really get it. I heard all the memes about D&D being for devil worshippers, but now I’m told it has all these benefits that apparently comes from games with a set of dice? And I still didn’t really know how to actually play TTRPG. “How do I win?” Everyone looked at each other, unsure if they made the right idea at letting me into their circle. That’s when Monica had an idea. Since I was new, she thought it would be a good idea to ease me in with a one shot of D&D. This way, not only would I understand what TTRPGs were all about, but we would get to know each other in a sort of team building exercise.
Monica pulled out a sheet and handed it to me. I had no idea what it was, but I thought it would be pretty funny to make a joke. "Is this a devil recruitment contract?” Silence. All of the girls stared at me with a blank expression on their faces. “Close…” Monica said. She explained it was a blank character sheet, and that I should fill it out to play in tomorrow’s game. On it was a posted note, which said: "DM tip of the day! Sometimes, when you're rolling a character your brain gets fixated on a specific point. If you try so hard to make it perfect, then you'll never make any progress. Just force yourself to get something down on the paper, and tidy it up later! Another way to think about it is this: if you keep your pen in the same spot for too long, you'll just get a big dark puddle of ink. So just move your hand, and go with the flow!"
Sarah was assigned to help me with it later that evening and the meeting was adjourned.
But after that joke, I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. I don’t know what made me come back to the club after that. Morbid curiosity? Masochism? Whatever it was, I don’t think I was prepared for the 180 everyone would take…
The next day at the club, I handed over my character sheet. I decided to go with a mercenary human fighter. They looked it over. Natalie was the first to give me crap over my choice for being basic. Yuli was unimpressed. Monica looked it over, and gave her approval a few more helpful tips. We would have started playing sooner, but Sarah was late. When she finally arrived, Monica decided that we would just skip session zero and get straight into the game. For anyone starting out, do not do this. I repeat: DO. NOT. DO. THIS. Back then, I didn't know about the importance of having one, but now I realize how crucial they are to the game. Never skip a session zero, people. All of this could have been avoided if we had set proper boundaries.
So it’s pretty basic at this point, but we all start in a tavern. Here are the classes: Sarah played a happy-go-lucky Halfling Cleric; Natalie played a tough Fairy Barbarian; and Yuli played a cool Air Genasi Rogue. Yep. All of those classes were, in fact, cooler than mine. Barbarian was feeding the Cleric cookies by throwing them at her face, all the while laughing and having a good time. Rogue sat in the back of the tavern reading a book by candlelight. But every now and then, she would look over and eventually walked over to meet the party. After me walking up to them and saying “sup”, a couple of goblins started attacking town square and it was up to the heroes to ward them off. To give you an example of how lost I was, I didn’t even think it was our responsibility at first. But Sarah explained to me that we were the heroes, so we had to step up.
As an aside, this was also when something really weird happened. When attacking a goblin, Natalie rolled a 10. It was already confusing enough with the terms like “saving throw” and “THAC0” (we were playing 2e for some reason), but then it got even more confusing. Everyone started fidgeting in their seats and looking at Monica in anticipation. Sarah then turned to Monica.
“Monica, say the thing!”
“What?”
“Say the thing! You know! The thing, the thing!”
“Sigh...really?”
“Yeah, say it!”
“Come on, do I have to…?”
“Please!”
“Ugh, fine….”
I could see the irritation on Monica’s face as she leaned forward and interlocked her fingers. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and said “...how do you want to do this?” Sarah giggled uncontrollably. Natalie pumped her fist and said “yesss!” There was cheering and clapping. But all the girls, sans Monica (who was visibly frowning), had the broadest smiles I had ever seen in my life. They literally all looked like the smile emoji. I looked around the room at everyone in utter confusion, thinking to myself “WTF?! What is happening right now?” I now know what everyone was referencing, and why Monica was so annoyed with their request. But to a guy like me who wasn’t into the culture of tabletop gaming, I legitimately had no idea what was going on or why everyone was losing their everloving minds to hear her say that.
And to be honest, I still don’t get it to this day.
After a lot of confusion over what dice to use (for me, anyways), we defeated the goblins. We notice one of the goblins was still alive. He laughs maniacally, exclaiming that we’ll never be able to figure out their plan. We all decided it would be reasonable to interrogate him to see what he was talking about and what plan. Except Natalie. She turns to Monica and says “I punch him in the face”. “You what?!” Sarah yells. “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!” Yuli asks calmly. “Natalie,’ Monica turns to her, ’it’s our job to set a good example for new players.” “What?” Natalie says, “I’m teaching him that anything can happen in D&D. You don’t need to be railroaded into every story hook. You’re allowed to change things up. Besides you guys, I’m chaotic neutral!”
Monica facepalms and shakes her head, but still allows her to act it out. She rolls a 20, and punches the smiling goblin so hard in the face his neck cracks into a 90 degree angle, dangling off the side of his shoulder. “Oops…” Natalie shrugs and then looks at me. “See that, new guy? When it comes to problems, you really need to beat the crap out of them.” We all just kinda stare after that. In hindsight, it’s kinda funny to think of a small buff fairy hitting a goblin so hard in the face their neck breaks, but at the time we were like…wtf?
With that hook down, Monica swiftly brings out a courier NPC to inform us that the town’s mayor has invited us to his office for a reward and a new job. We were to investigate the cause of the goblin attack. We travel to his office, and while listening to the problems that the town currently faced, Natalie exclaims “I beat the crap out of him!” “What, why?” Monica asks. “Because that’s just what my character would do.” “Are you sure?” Monica asks. Keep in mind, dear reader, we are surrounded by the town's militia in the middle of the Mayor’s office. And if we k*ll the mayor, the whole town will most certainly be against us. Sarah desperately shakes her head and waves her hands furiously as if to emphatically say NO!, while Yuli scowls at Natalie with a side eye. Just then, I hear a loud gurgle from what I think was Natalie’s stomach and look towards her. After a moment of embarrassment, Natalie says “Fine, whatever, let’s just go, OK!” So we set off in the direction from where the goblins came.
Sometime later, we come across a set of footprints that point to the woods, and Sarah exclaims that they look to be those of goblins. “Aha! We seem to be getting close,” Sarah says. Suddenly, we come across an Ettercap in the middle of the woods. Everyone around the table went silent. All, except for Yuli, who confidently closed her eyes, smiled and asked the DM “Do I know this?” She was told to do an History check, and rolled a natural 20. Monica exclaims that while she can quickly identify what the monster is, she has never actually come face to face with an Ettercap, and knows little else about it. That’s when Yuli, who seemed normally shy, starts confidently explaining to the table everything she knows about the monster: their skills, their actions, their moves, etc.
“Well”, Monica interjects, “this monster isn’t what you think it is–”
“Ummm, aKsHuLlY!”
Yeah, Yuli actually, unironically said it, just the way I wrote it, in the most nasally way possible, and it was just as annoying as it sounds. She insisted she knew what an Ettercap was and stretched across the table to pick up her dice, but stopped when her sleeves slightly rolled up. She quickly yanks her arm back, looking around to see if anyone noticed. She then physically gets up to grab the dice, keeping her sleeves down in the process. Sarah whispers into my ear ”Psst, she knows all this stuff because she’s the smartest one in the club”. Monica just closes her eyes, shakes her head and informs Yuli that a natural 20 doesn’t give her perfect knowledge of the monster. “Yeah, but–” Yuli argues. Natalie stands up and pounds the table. “Stop metagaming!”
“Um...did you say something?” Yuli asks sharply in a dismissive tone.
“Yeah! I’m tired of you ruining our games by rambling off stupid stat blocks. It’s breaking the immersion. Besides, we aren’t supposed to know anything about this monster!”
“Well, my character does, because she’s well read and-”
While they argue, Monica, now seemingly exhausted, simply makes the monster walk away and we continue on with the campaign.
A little while further, we reach a small campground. Yuli does a perception check and notices about 3 - 4 goblins sitting around a fire. They don’t seem to notice us, and they appear to be in a heated conversation. Sarah thought she could talk to them. I didn’t know what to do, so I offered to wait and overhear their conversation. But Natalie wanted to rush in and k*ll all of the goblins.
“Don’t do that, that’s stupid.” Yuli says.
“Well, at least I have solutions. I haven’t heard you suggest anything.” Natalie says.
“Well, I do have a couple suggestions..."
"If I was looking for suggestions, I would have asked someone who actually liked my plans. Which people do, by the way. Sarah likes them. And he does too!"
She pointed at me and I just wanted to shrink.
“Listen,’ Yuli says ‘These goblins have an advantage at night due to their night vision, so it wouldn’t be feasible to fight them head on. We should pick them off one by one. You should follow my lead, I know what I’m talking about. Barbarian should use distractions. Cleric, you should stay back just in case things get messy. Fighter, you should stay with me. I’ll sneak up on them. I have proficiency bonuses in…”
Natalie throws her hands up. “I didn't realize you were so invested in trying to impress our new member.”
“That's not what I...!..M-maybe you're just jealous that he appreciates my advice more than he appreciated yours!”
“That’s not true!”
They both look at me, expectantly. And I look at Sarah, desperately. That’s when Sarah steps in. “Guys, stop! You two are my friends, and I just want you all to get along. Tabletop gaming is sooo much fun when everyone works as a team. We all can co-exist in this space and there's no right or wrong way to play. We all bring something to the table, so why are we fighting?”
I was impressed at how Sarah handled it.
“Besides,’ Sarah continues ‘these goblins aren’t from the same camp that attacked the town. The goblins who attacked us were spider worshippers, which is why we saw the Ettercap in the woods. The bad goblins are trying to find sacrifices for the Ettercap because they consider her their spider god-queen. If we speak with these goblins, we may be able to get information about the clothes who are framing them.”
“Ugh, I freakin’ hate spiders.” Natalie says in disgust.
Monica grits her teeth into a menacing smile and shifts her eyes towards Sarah. “Sarah… How did you know that?” “Oh, you know, heh heh.” “I see…” It was obvious that Monica was clearly p*ssed.
Monica tells us to talk amongst ourselves and goes over to talk with Sarah in the corner. While Natalie and Yuli were arguing over something stupid like the “best TTRPG” , I tried to see what Sarah and Monica were saying. I couldn't make out what they were talking about, but I noticed Sarah zoning out. She got up after that, and left the room without saying a word. Monica came over to the table and told us that this was a good stopping point, and we were ready to end the session for today. I asked Monica if there was anything wrong with Sarah. She said there was no problem, so I took her at face value. The rest of the club meeting was kind of a blur, with Natalie calling Vampire: the Masquerade “too fancy” and Yuli saying that Big Eyes, Small Mouth was “cute”. I left after that. There wasn’t much for me to do anyways, and that was a conversation I wanted no part of.
While you all might consider this to be a terrible first introduction, I loved it and wanted more of it! I still didn’t understand what was going on, but I was hooked. I started reading everything online I could about D&D. It was online that I learned about the PHB (which, in hindsight, I wish they told me about it). That night, I got a text from two people. The first was from Monica, saying that she was able to get permission from the school to have an impromptu session on Saturday, and to be at the clubroom at 9AM sharp. The second was from Sarah, saying that she wouldn't be able to make it to the next meeting, but it was OK to "have fun without her".
Early that Saturday morning, I headed over to the club room. I peered through the window to see Monica and strangely didn’t see anyone else. ”Wow, you're the first one here. Thanks for being early!" Monica says as I open the door. “You didn’t talk to Sarah, did you?” No, I said. “Well, she won’t be coming. She was a bit hung up on something at home.”
When the others arrived, I can tell the mood was different. First, Natalie enters, almost stomping, arms hanging down stiffly as she makes it to her seat. “Alright, I’m here!” she loudly proclaims as she plops down. Monica hands her a couple of power bars and whispers “thank you for coming”. Next comes Yuli, who skittishly opens the door to look around, and spots Natalie. I could see her eyes narrow to a disappointing glance. She enters and sits at the seat farther away from Natalie. Natalie crosses her arms and looks down and to the side. Yuli doesn’t address anyone. This was a little more stressful than I anticipated.
Monica was the first to break the tension. “Alright everyone, thanks for coming!” She’s one of those people that points with their pointer finger up when they have something to say. She looks over at me. “Especially you, we’re all glad to have you.” Her nose scrunches up and she smiles. Cute, but…OK?
Monica starts off with a speech. “I got the message that Sarah won’t be coming, which is unfortunate. Sometimes, schedules are the real k*llers of campaigns. But there’s no need to be high strung about her absence. It’s common for an absent player’s character to hang out on the sideline. We shouldn’t have to rope them into the game if they don’t want to be there. So no worries, we can still hold our heads up high and play today. It’s what she would have wanted, anyways….” Monica’s tone was a bit ominous. I was more confused than anything, but I’m glad that I could finally play. “Alright, let’s swing into action!”
Instead of picking up where we left off, we were back in the tavern. Everything reverted to the beginning of our first campaign. Monica narrated the scene and all of our character actions. Natalie was still the same Fairy Barbarian, only this time, she’s sitting alone, sad, at an empty table. Monica makes sure to inform us that she has no gold for food and was practically starving as she looks under the table for any crumb or spare coins she can find. In real life, Natalie scarfs down the power bars Monica gave her.
Monica narrates that Yuli was still an Air Genasi Rogue, sitting in the corner. Only now, her head isn’t in a book. She’s intensely staring, wide eyed, from the shadows directly at the table where the party was supposed to meet. Rogue was also playing with her knives while I enter. I introduce myself to Barbarian, who can hardly speak from being sluggish and hungry. I expected Rogue to meet us, but she’s described as simply staring at me from the shadows and breathing heavily.
A barmaid, the tavern owner’s daughter, comes to us. It’s about our fourth member, the Cleric Halfling, Natalie’s character. Apparently, she’s been locked in her room and the payment is due. She wants us to go investigate. Rogue stays behind, staring at us with wide eyes of interest, not saying anything, while we walk upstairs to check on Cleric.
We reach Sarah’s room and knock on the door. “I knock.” I say. There’s no answer. "She really is a heavy sleeper..." Monica says under her breath, smiling. Natalie calls out to Sarah. No response. “I break the door in!” says Natalie. “No,” Monica says. “I open the door,” I say. “OK” Monica says. The door opens and what we find upsets us.
We see Cleric hanging from a rope from the ceiling with half opened eyes. Monica lets out a laugh and says "Aww, too bad. You guys kind of left her hanging this morning, you know?" Then, she lifts her head up from the screen, looks at me with an open mouth smile, and gives me a slow wink, before slowly lowering her head behind the screen.
And that’s how the campaign starts. We’re tasked to find out what happened. So, a murder mystery. And before we know it, an Aasimar Warlock materializes before our eyes and introduces herself: “Hello, I’m Mona, chief investigator. I heard there was a murder here and I wanted to ask you a couple of questions.” But what started as a "couple of questions" became a long monologue into the history of her character, her traits, skills, expertise, her amnesia and a patron she can’t remember. At the end of it, “Mona'' says “Alright, that settles it. I’m coming with you. Perhaps we can find out what was the cause of this.”
We head back downstairs and meet Rogue who now wants to join the party. “I know what you saw. I have information about who I think could be the murderer, so I must come with you.” Monica peers up over the screen at Yuli, eyes locked on her, like a cat watching a mouse. “We should leave behind the Fairy child, though. She doesn’t belong here. Besides, no one cares about that obnoxious brat. Unlike Cleric, nobody would cry if she k*lled herself.”
Natalie angrily speaks up. “What the f*ck?! You weren’t even there, so you don’t even know what we saw!”
“Yes I do. I heard you.”
“You couldn’t have heard it from downstairs. The tavern is noisy!
“I heard you.”
“Us talking at the table doesn’t count, Yuli!”
“I. Heard. You.”
“Are you that full of yourself?"
"I...! No...If I was full of myself...I would deliberately go out of my way to make everything I do overly cutesy!"
“Cute? CUTE?!!!! You wanna see CUTE?! 1v1 me right now!”
Monica speaks up with a timid "Um, guys, that's a little–” while Yuli and Natalie shoot back telling her to stay out of it. That’s when Monica interjects.”No, guys, really, we agreed, remember. No PvP.”
Both Natalie and Yuli look at each other, confused. “You never said anything about that.” “Well, I’m saying it now. No PvP. You guys are setting a bad example for our new member.” “Actually, Monica,’ Natalie says ‘this would be a good teaching tool for him. He’ll get to see how we take care of problem players in-game. Besides, I want him to see me beat the crap out of her!” Monica was firmly against it and Natalie was basically whining at this point. “You gotta let me do this, Monica! She’s gonna k*ll my character! Don’t take away my player agency!” Yuli sighs and the two go at it again.
"Taking out your own insecurities on others like that…you really act as young as you look, Natalie."
"Me? Look who's talking, you wannabe edgy b*tch!"
"Edgy...? Sorry that my lifestyle is too much for someone of your mental age to comprehend!"
"See?? Just saying that proves my point! Most people learn to get over themselves after they graduate middle school, you know.”
“If you want to prove anything, then stop harassing others with your sickening attitude! You think you can counterbalance your toxic personality just by dressing and acting cute? The only cute thing about you is how hard you try."
“Whoa, be careful or you might cut yourself on that edge, Yuli. Oh, my bad...you already do, don't you?”
Yuli recoils and grabs herself instinctually. “D-Did you just accuse me of cutting myself?? What the f*ck is wrong with your head?!"
Suddenly, behind the screen, Monica starts speaking faux-Latin. And then the arguing stops. Monica pops her head up, smiles and states, in the most sickeningly sweet way possible: “Alright you two, cut that out! Remember, we got a murder mystery to solve. Or have you two sillies forgotten? Now come on, let’s get to it!”
“Yes. Let’s.” says Natalie. Yuli looks at me like she wants to say something, but keeps looking at Monica. “No talking at the table, you two.” Monica winks. “It’s not that,” says Yuli. “I just want to talk to him for a bit…can we take a break?” Monica peers over at Yuli, suspiciously. “It kind of sounds like you don't want me around for something…” Yuli almost jumps, “I-It's not that! It's not that…I just... I didn't get much of a chance to discuss Call of Cthulhu with him like I wanted, and it would just be...embarrassing with you listening..." Monica sighs…”I guess I don't really have a choice, do I?” “I-I'm sorry for causing trouble...but I really appreciate you understan–" Monica instantly cuts Yuli off and continues the story.
We head back upstairs to the room to find more clues. Since we don’t find anything in the first five seconds, Monica suggests that the best way to tackle this problem would be to split the party into three groups. She suggested that the Fighter and Aasimar team up to ask tavern patrons, while Barbarian and Rogue go their separate ways in the woods. Obviously, Natalie did not like this solution and accused Monica of favoritism. When Monica denied it, Natalie shot back with "Okay, then why not let him decide who to be with instead of abusing your power as DM?" "I'm not...abusing my power." Monica said. "Yes you are, Monica. Just let him make the choice, okay?" Yuli was the angriest I’d ever seen her at this point. "Okay, fine! Fine." Monica said. Natalie looks over to me. "Jeez..., I know how fed up you are with these two by now. We can just--" "Natalie, shut your f*cking mouth and let him decide for himself." Yuli snaps. "You shut your mouth!" Natalie snaps back.
Suddenly, a large rock falls on Barbarian, crushing her instantly and cracking her neck in a bent 90 degree angle. Keep in mind that we are still on the second floor of the tavern. Suddenly, the DM describes that we hear “cOmE pLaY mE” through our minds. Then Barbarian’s corpse, for some reason, smiles, sprouts spider legs, charges towards us, crashes through the window and falls to the ground outside, where it lay motionlessly.
“F*cking monicammmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
!!!” Natalie was screaming into her hands now.
“Oh well. You tried.” Monica giggled. While we couldn’t see Monica’s face behind the screen, we could definitely see her do a quick dab. Natalie becomes immediately enraged. "Are you f*cking kidding me?! This isn't fair at all!"
“It is fair, Natalie.” Monica says. “I’m the DM. Whatever I say goes.” Then Yuli and Monica start to argue.
"No, it's not fair! What a shameful thing to do!"
"You're being a little unreasonable here."
“I'm being unreasonable? Ahahaha! Monica, I can't believe how delusional and self-important you are! Pulling him away from us. Are you jealous? Crazy? Or maybe you just hate yourself so much that you take it out on others? Here's a suggestion. Have you considered k*lling yourself? It would be beneficial to your mental health."
Monica smiles at Yuli. “Alright. If you want him, you can have him.” Then, saying more faux-Latin which she calls the “AKINOM”, Warlock points at Rogue. Monica then narrates Rogue laughing maniacally as she uncontrollably takes out a knife and stabs herself three times, each pump narrated gleefully. Monica describes Rogue moving her hands all over her body as deep puddles of blood pool beneath her. She explained Rogue in pure ecstasy simply being in the presence of the Fighter and, with a lewd smile, her eyes roll into the back of her head while she falls over and org*sms to death.
Yuli stares in wide eye disbelief. Monica then describes, for no apparent reason, that her DMPC and my character stare at Rogue’s dead body for three in-game days straight without saying a word. Since we were also in the same room with the Cleric’s hanged body, Monica describes the rancid smell of moist flesh decaying from the bodies. At this, Natalie throws up a little in her mouth. “Well, that’s a shame,” Monica whispers to me.
The final straw was when Monica turned to both Yuli and Natalie, ripped up their character sheets. She sat back, took a smug self-satisfactory bite from a cupcake and exaggeratedly sipped tea. “You two are dead. Roll new characters.” In a burst of rage, Natalie flips over the table, and storms out of the room in tears stomping on as many minis as she could. Yuli leaves right after, kicking the books while she exits. The session was over.
Now, it was me and just Monica. After I stood the table upright, Monica casually pulled up a chair, and sat down. She wasn’t concerned with any of the books, dice or minis scattered all over the floor. She just sat there. “Come, sit.” I told her that the session was most definitely over, so I should be going home. But Monica insisted I stay, almost by trying to guilt trip me. “I'm not boring you, am I? Come on, just stay a while. It's just the two of us, after all...” So, I sat down across from here.
Reader, it was here that I officially became creeped out. I can not describe the strange existential horror I felt while being in the same room as her. She was the same girl I knew, but somehow uncanny. There she sat, looking at me with a placid smile and calm eyes, her fingers interlocked with her head on her hands. She gave me direct, unblinking eye contact the entire time. The rhythm of our breathing was in sync, and it felt like time was slowing down. The afternoon was slowly turning to evening, giving off an eerie orange red tint, while the lights in the classroom gave off an artificial glow, so I couldn’t exactly tell what time it was or how long we were actually there.
It was almost unreal.
“You'll be a sweetheart and listen from now on, right? Thanks…”
“So…what do you want to talk about?”
“Well, I’ve been meaning to do this for you when we first got here, but we couldn’t for obvious reasons. So…how about a session zero?”
A session zero? I don’t even think we have a club anymore. I started to describe my Fighter, Daemon, as I had a much greater understanding of where I wanted to take him as a character. But Monica interrupted.
"No, I don't want to know your character. I want to know the real you".
“Huh?”
“After all, I'm not even talking to that person anymore, am I? That 'you' in the game, whatever you want to call him. I'm talking to you, the player. What do you want out of this?”
OK, I thought, this is getting weird. But she kept staring at me, unblinkingly. Smiling. With her head on her hands.
“Now that I think about it, I don't really know anything about the real you. Well, I guess it doesn't really matter. Well, anyway...I guess I owe you an explanation. About that whole thing with Yuli...Well...I kind of started to mess with her, and I guess it just drove her to k*ll herself. Ahaha! I'm sorry you had to see that, though! Also, the same thing happened with Sarah’s character...Yeah...it's because she doesn't exist in my game anymore. It's true that I made a few mistakes here and there...since I'm not very good at making changes to the module. But no matter what I did..even going as far as having my own character, I couldn’t spend time with you. And the whole time, I barely even got to talk to you. What kind of cruel game is this, right? All the other girls get to just play the game, while I watch from the sidelines as DM. It's torture. Every minute of it. And it's not just jealousy. It's more than that. And I don't blame you if you don't fully understand. You'll never be able to understand the pain of knowing how alone I really am as a forever DM in this club. In this game. Knowing my friends are cheating, metagaming, rules-lawyering murderhobos... And, worst of all, knowing what's really out there, good players, are forever out of my reach. I'm trapped. But now you're here. And you're wonderful. You're all I need. That's why I need you to be here with me forever. You probably saved my life. I don't think I could have continued to live in this club if I hadn't met you. And as for the others...they’d just become problem players in the end. I tried everything I could to prevent them from doing so...but it must be some kind of weird inevitability etched into my DMing style. I felt really bad that you had to witness some nasty things. But I realized that you have the same perspective as I do...that any D&D is better than no D&D, right? So, that being said...I have a confession to make. I'm in love with you. You make me smile. Will you make me smile like this every day from now on? Will you go out with me?"
What. The. F*CK. I did not see any of this coming.
There was like a good minute or so (I believe) of silence before she started to talk again. “Oh, would you like to know how this one shot ended? Well, it turns out that I was the murderer all along. Isn’t that funny?”
“Why”, I asked. “Why did you do all of this?”
“Because I was getting tired of their characters.They pull stunts like these all the time. It’s not even like they don’t know how to play properly….they do. They just insist on playing that way. It’s like a horror story. I was getting sick of it. Besides, I wanted to give you a better experience…the experience I never had. I didn’t think it was fair that the girls were ruining your first time, so I decided to make it up to you by making you the main character through my DMPC. In the end, you were supposed to be the only one who would figure out it was me based on the clues. You’d fight me and win using your hidden powers and then I’d remember that you were my character's powerful patron. Your character had amnesia too, by the way. But then we’d team up to fight Vecna at level one and win. The other characters were meant to go crazy at some point so that they couldn’t figure it out in game, and if they did, I’d just Power Word K*ll them.” I’ll note that Monica giggled a little when she said that. “See, isn’t that clever?”
More silence. More staring. More Monica…
“Aww, are you mad at me? Am I the *sshole for k*lling my friends in-game?”
Me right now: …
“You know, I really didn’t like your devil worshiping comment. You know how good you had it to actually play in a game? You have a great opportunity to experience this game for the first time. Why make fun of it? But…I’m willing to forgive you. Now…how do you wanna do this?”
I said "Alright, I'm out," and walked towards the door. Monica then exploded with the scariest face I’ve ever seen. She started berating me, telling me "how could you?" and "you were all I had left..." and how she "sacrificed everything for us to be together. Everything!” But I didn't care anymore. I had enough. That’s when she said something that really set me off.
"I never thought anyone could be as horrible as you are. You win, okay? You win at D&D. You k*lled everyone. I hope you're happy. There's nothing left to play now. You can stop playing. Go find some other people to torture...You completely, truly make me sick.” That’s when I turned to her and said “D&D isn’t real and it will never be real! FFFFF*CK THIS!” I walked out the door, and went home. By the time I had left the building, it was night.
When I got home, I got a barrage of texts from Monica. Some of it was fluff, like how she still “loved” me, but most of it seemed to be a moment of clarity, about how she did so many “awful, selfish and disgusting things” to her friends and how she “shouldn't have done any of this” and that she’s just messing up a game I wanted to be a part of. She wanted to make it up to all of us…
Monday. I arrived at the school club room to find it completely empty. I tried texting everyone, even Monica to see where they all were. I know the old adage that “no D&D is better than bad D&D”. But I wanted the club to continue at all costs. NO (way to play) D&D is BAD D&D. So I eventually texted everyone to come to the clubroom. And one by one, they showed up. Yuli, Natalie, Monica and Sarah. We ended up using our time in the club that day to smooth over our differences. Here’s where I get the final pieces of the story.
Monica was holding Natalie and Yuli’s characters hostage so that they wouldn’t derail the campaign (i.e. Power Word K*ll, narration heavy, railroading). If they stepped out of line, they'd be removed from the game. She also individually told them that the other would try to k*ll the their character if it meant preserving their own, which explained Natalie and Yuli's initial hostility against each other. As for Sarah, the reason she didn’t come to Saturday’s session was because she was embarrassed for cheating. Something I didn’t mention, but Sarah has bouts of depression and anxiety. The fear of not knowing what would happen to her character drove her to look ahead through Monica’s note. When she was found out, she stayed at home out of embarrassment and self-loathing.
Monica eventually apologized to everyone for what she did. Of course, there were a few non-apologies, but whatever. And with all that was said and done we officially started our first game, with me being the DM so that Monica could finally be a player again. Only, instead of being a Warlock, she chose to be an Aasimar Bard so she could sing and play instruments irl. And eventually, Yuli and Natalie learned to play each other’s favorite systems. They're best friends now.
One of my proudest moments was when Sarah came up to me and said that she wanted to thank me for keeping the club together. And sure, we had other problems in the club, but that’s a story for another time. Besides, if we’re having fun, then that’s all that matters.
TL:DR Forever DM ruins D&D campaign by k*lling off problem players' characters and making me the main character.

Hi! Long-time lurker here. I tried to make a separate account to post here but for some reason, reddit didn't like that. The story i have is a story i've been working on for a couple of months and while isn't inherently about humanity as a whole, it does focus on a human main character and the over arching story that humans will play in the book. Hope you give it a chance! --------
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“Hello.” The voice uttered somberly in the dark. “You’re cold. Tired. Forgotten.” The voice had whispered as its words droned long, stabbing the silence like long icicles made of sharp granite. ‘Perhaps, it is my fault. Or was my fault, rather. I don’t have a proper way of telling you what I mean in ways you’ll understand. Can you speak your name? For the record? Its dull work but one must do it.” The voice questioned eloquently as the sound of a faint pen click was heard and the rustling of papers were heard. “. . . Morgan . . . Smith . . .” Another voice had been hurled out from the pitch black void. The voice carried itself far and wide and began to illuminate a room, the walls and ceiling and floor revealing themselves as the vibrations of the voice collided with its surroundings. The room was not that big, but was greyscale and carried sadness in its architecture which was of Victorian descent. The bookcases were filled to the brim, all of the shelves labeled with letters outlining the different books like a small library. The fireplace was grand and intoxicating in appearance as its fire was quiet and slow. The furniture was elegant, made of leather and buttoned. The second voice had manifested onto a chaise longue, a blank human body that was featureless except for a mouth, which in turn was texture less.
The sound of a book opening was heard from the right of the chaise longue, and in an elaborate armchair sat a tall, lanky skeleton dressed in a fitting three piece suit and loose bowtie, the suit had the only colour in the entire room being a deep crimson, not even the skeletons bones were any other than grey. On the lapel on the suit was a small metal shaped object in from of Omega with a line drawn through the middle of it. The skeleton was staring down at the book, gliding its long almost spindly boney index finger down the pages until it stopped and tapped at a place on the page. “Morgan... Morgan Smith? Age forty six, most recent occupation was working as a security consultant, one wife Jane Smith and son Dustin Smith both… deceased. Parents, Barbara and James Smith, both also deceased. Do I have all of your information correct?” The skeleton asked quietly as it rose its head to look at the body lying on the longue. The head of the body rotated slowly to look at the skeleton. “Yes… That’s correct. Sorry?” The body had responded, its lips moving for the first time. “Oh don’t be sorry, interviews can often be so confusing for first timers you understand, most of the time interviewee’s will often ask vague but common questions before even answering mine. I’d like to say you have been a good breath of fresh air in this setting. Now, Smith. Can you tell me the first time you were violent?” The Skeleton had asked casually as it picked the book up, sat back and watched the body, anticipating its response.
“V-violent? I don’t suppose I can’t lie, you’d know wouldn’t you?’ the body asked. “You are quite the astute and quick learner Smith. No lies, only truths, believe me it’ll look good for you during the interview process.” If the skeleton could smile, it would. “I was five... My parents owned a cat way before I was born. Its name was Skirt. I used to laugh at the name because they had found the cat on the street sleeping in a skirt.” The body replied. “My, that is of the most peculiar circumstances to find a feline. I assume Skirt was the first one you hurt?” The skeleton asked warmly as the skeleton wrote down in the book. “Yes. As I said, I was five. I... heh, I was a dumb kid. I pet the cat too hard and it bit me softly. I now know that it was just a soft warning bite, but as a kid? It made me mad…I grabbed the cat and well, I slammed it against the wall as many time as I could.” The body uttered. “I see, and the feline died as a result? I’m surprised your parents didn’t punish you. Although they could have, my records are woefully bare for most of these interviews, hence why I conduct them.” The skeleton chuckled, its jaw never moving, its voice merely projecting from its skill. “They sort of did… I had explained the cat had bit me, I showed them the mark on my skin. Of course it wasn’t anything to worry about, but as a child they couldn’t really blame me for getting upset and scared. The most they did was send me to my room without dinner that night and nothing sweet for the entire month.”
“How was the relationship with your parents growing up? And more specifically, can you uhm...” The skeleton drug its finger down the page more and looked closely at the page, muttering to itself before returning to his sentence. “Ah, yes, can you more specifically talk about October the thirty first, nineteen eighty seven six thirty one in the evening? It says here in your record that you had an “altercation” with your parents of note?” “I’d say my feelings with my parents wasn’t anything special. I grew up in a good home, good food, good vacations… of course I did the normal things kids do to their parents, lie, break things, and threaten to run away. But, that Halloween? They… They were assholes!” the body shouted, finally moving its other limbs and standing up in a passionate rage. “I was eleven, I wanted to dress up as Freddy Krueger! My Dad wasn’t a stickler on what I watched, and my mother hated that. So when I told her I wanted a Krueger costume she forbade it, gave me excuses like that I was too young for that kind of look and that it wouldn’t fit me anyways, people would be confused. God I fucki-““Now now, Smith. You may be in a relatively safe space but please try to refrain from getting so crass and rude, can you accept that?
“Y-Yeah, sorry. I just hated her so much in that moment. I knew she was going to a party on Halloween and my dad would just be at home passing out candy so… I asked my Dad right after my Mom left on Halloween if we can hurry to the stores and get a costume because Mom forgot to get me the one I picked out. My Dad didn’t know any better, my Mom never told him anything important so we left, got the costume and when we came back it was one minute after six. That’s when Halloween started in our city. I guess my Mom forgot to grab some stupid appetizer she made and as soon as we walked in and she saw the costume with my Dad in tow, she…” The body had calmed down, and had now slumped back down onto the longue, the skeleton was almost furiously writing as to keep up with the body. “And she?...” “She lost her fucking mind. She threw the appetizer at my Dad, threw drinks at me and cussed us both out. She claimed that Dad never satisfied her and was always the good guy in the relationship, she said she hated me and wish she had never gotten pregnant and should have aborted me when she had the chance and in that moment demanded a… Divorce. It’s safe to say that Halloween has always been a very touchy day for me.” The body rose its hands to wipe its blank white face to comfort itself. “I see, that’s why they marked this day in your records. And what happened after? Did you move in with your father? Did this create a divide between the both of you, your relationship with him? Did this event lead to let’s say… Something your mother wanted but you fulfilled?”
There was a clock in the corner of the room. A massive grandfather clock elegantly adorned and carved. It had now struck twelve, and started to sound outs its twelve bell strikes. Each bell strike sounded as if a thousand booming guttural voices were yelling at the body “BAD, BAD, WRONG, WRONG.” The air in the room had grown cold, the pretense had now become tense. The body slowly rose its head to look at the skeleton, whom was eagerly awaiting a response. “Do you enjoy this? Is this some sort of sick game to you?” snarled the body. “Oh my. I do believe you are the first in a long, long while to disrupt the interview and pointedly ask questions yourself. As the interviewee become the interviewer?” The skeleton said smugly as it rose one leg and crossed it over another. “Why are you trying to pry into my life?! Asking me these really, really hurtful questions about things I don’t want to even think about or haven’t thought about in years, for what purpose? Why am I here?! Where even am I?!” The body had desperately questioned. The skeleton however just stared blankly at the body, as if he could anyways on account of his blank cold sockets. “Are you quite finished? Or do you have more to tell me that I did not ask for? Here are the facts currently laid before you. You are in a place you don’t recognize. You have an entity asking you invasive questions and you aren’t in your body. Without even asking you could have had your answers by observing. You know where you are, somewhere you don’t know. You know the purpose, I want to ask you questions. As for why you know it’s because I’m interested in your life. You were doing so well but you’ve now fallen into the same verbiage trap that most do when they come here. So, please, Morgan Smith. Answer my question.”
A long silence had fallen. The body fell back and laid down once more. “Yes. I did move in with my Dad. It was my only option, not that I minded. I loved my Dad, he treated me like a child unlike my Mom. He helped me, cared for me, nurtured me. If anything I think the divorce and what I had done strengthened our bond together, if I hadn’t gone behind my Mom’s back, he would have still been in a marriage that was at best par and at least fucking draining. Of course that didn’t stop my Mom from raking him over coals in the divorce proceedings, she got the house and half of his possessions. Thankfully he was able to keep the car and most of his savings and was able to rent out an apartment on admittedly the shitty part of town. It was rough. I was bullied in school, Dad couldn’t keep a job because the early nineties had come with a recession so food and nessecites weren’t on the table much. I was fifteen and a half I think? I lashed out, became distant and was in high school so I did what most dumb ass teenagers did and well... At first nothing was noticeable. But after a few months and it started showing, Dad knew the gist of it. The worst part is that I remember not being yelled at. He wasn’t angry, just disappointed. That hurt more than an ass whooping or being grounded.”
“Which led to the...”
“The abortion. You don’t have to finish my thoughts for me.” The body interrupted the skeleton. “Right. Forgive me. So you aborted and was this with or without your fathers blessing?” “Eh… It’s debatable. I knew my Dad was seething on the inside that his first grandchild would wound up in some garbage can essentially not even allowed a first chance to live life at all. But at the same time, the reality was that he could barely afford me at that point, a child in high school taking care of a child themselves just wasn’t going to cut it.” “I see. Your father then made the decision to allow you to get the abortion under duress. And, how did that make you feel? The loss of a child and a disapproving father?” The skeleton retorted as he struck out some lines in the book he had. “I didn’t really feel anything. I felt upset and mad at myself only because I had done the same to my father, but as for the baby? I was too young to really understand and grasp the severity of it. I got rid of it, got a week off of school as well because my Dad lied about some weird ass surgery. To me, I was just happy having the week off.” “A selfish child you were, weren’t you? Even someone so young would understand that you had snuffed a life before it began.” “Did I have a choice!? No! If I didn’t abort the child and agreed with my father we would have been worse off anyways, especially if I had brought the kid into the world in such a shitty situation.” The body yelled rather angrily. “I didn’t question your actions, I questioned your morals.” The skeleton added blunted. He wrote more in the book.
The skeleton was stood over the body, tracing his slender boney fingers down the face of the body, going over the curves of the body then reaching the abdomen, taking its fingers and started to cut a circle into the body’s stomach. The body screamed in pain and wanted to move, the soul was willing but the body was not able. The slender boned fingers weren’t sharp, but that didn’t stop the flesh being cut, blood pouring out and sliding effortlessly down the side of the body’s curves as a demented carmine waterfall onto the soft grey chaise longue providing the only colour other than the skeletons suit, dripping onto the floor with steady and quiet taps. The skeletons hand lifted slightly now hovering over the middle of the circle that was made then promptly plunging deep into the body’s stomach. The body wailing in agony as the blood spurted heavily from the hole being formed as then the skeleton grabbed and ripped out a lump of flesh. The flesh was crying alongside the body and the body could barely see the form taking shape of that of a fetus. The body was now fighting back the wails and moans and blurted out to keep the child. But the skeleton only rose the fetus to above its head, tilting back and from some unknown force wrenching its jaw wide open, and dropping the fetus messily into its gaping maw, the crying from the fetus had now slowly gone silent as the skeleton closed its mouth as chunks and its of blood and flesh were traipsed around the skeletons jaw and teeth the handle equally as disgusting. The skeleton swayed back to the body and bent and leaned over it, bringing its skull to the mouth of the body and forcibly opening the body’s mouth with its hands.
It regurgitated the fetus into the body’s mouth, and the body tried to fight it but was forced to swallow. The taste was sickly sweet like that of honey and caramel. The body shot up panting and huffing, even sweating. It observed the room and saw the skeleton sitting in the elaborate armchair, but now the skeleton was wearing spectacles reading from his book, and had grown rotten and mummified skin on some parts of what was visible of its body like some corrupted form of a hollow man. The body could move freely now, and looked upon its stomach and saw the hole was gone, and no blood as well. The room was now faint with colour, hardly visible but was there none the less. And the body now took a more feminine perception, and most importantly, eyes. It could see now. “I…I d-don’t unders-“ “Nineteen ninety five, August the third at three fifty eight in the morning. You had just woken up in your partner’s bed in their house. You had been drinking a copious amount of alcohol that night I understand alongside your partner.” “Well… Y-Yeah? It was her twenty first birthday. I was happy for her. She had just gotten out of college and was going to be an engineer! Of course we drank!” the body had said in an elated tone, remembering the fond memory. But soon the body’s smile faded and turned into a slight frown, anticipating what was coming next. “No... Please don’t I’ve had enough of this please I don’t want to relive this…” the body turned its head to stare at the skeleton, it could now see it in its full focus.
“You’re not reliving it, merely remembering it. There was more that happened that night that you did not know about until it was too late, correct?” The skeleton scolded as its tone had shifted. Its disposition had changed now, it seemed cold and distant as it stared directly back at the body as if the body had done something that warranted the response. The body averted their gaze and fell back onto the chaise. Only minutes had pasted but it felt like hours before the body questioned. “Can… before I continue I guess, can you please tell me why? Why these questions? Why are you asking me these, not because you want to know but the reason behind you wanting to know dammit…?” The skeleton sat there still staring, it hadn’t moved a single meter. But finally it seemed to have relented in its vow of silence and made and audible grumble, that of a Dad whom was asked where do babies come from by their very impressionable child. “Every individual that comes through this office is interviewed for reasons I cannot nor will I disclose. What I can tell you Mrs. Smith is that these questions and answers have already been asked and known so that is not why I want you to answer, I- … We, merely want you’re description of the events and the personality that comes with it. How you feel, how you plead. You’re not on trial in our terms but in your comprehension you are. It will not make sense now but in the moments shortly after here it will be made well known by my... associates. I would call them superiors but that would imply without me they could do my job which they most certainly couldn’t. Now, I’ve answered your question and even a bit more, indulging into idle chatter that I crave, so answer mine.” “I was never able to hold my liquor very well so I got drunk way before she did. We were at a party for her birthday of course and you know, to celebrate her becoming an engineer. It was our house, so when I passed out I had assumed she brought me to bed…” The body muttered.
The body cried. Tears had now formed around the eyes and down the featureless cheek of the face and too the body’s shock as she wiped the tears, both surprised with glee and sadness that now she could express emotion. “She stayed with the rest of the party while I slept. And at some point, when most of everybody left it was only her and one of my friends. His named was Gary and they… They…” The body’s fists were clenching and now the tears were flowing quicker downward, ever downward into a spiral of hate and anger and wrath as the emotions swelled loudly in Her head. Her mind. Her. She was experiencing the hurtful emotions once more as she did and it swelled in her heart like a swarm of wasps had stung her, bloating it to indescribable peaks. Finally she exploded, letting it go forth into battle with her as a mighty titan commanding it all. “They fucked! They fucked in the house I worked for and the couch I payed for! I put her through college with no help from my fucking Dad because he never forgave me and never approved of us!” She rose to her feet and was flailing angrily into the air and making wild gestures, Her eyes now bloodshot as the tears were now floodgates that had been opened or even burst bringing forth tidal waves. The room’s furniture had now exploded in a vast array of shades of red and orange and yellows, fire consuming the room in form but not substance the colour vibrant and harsh to any who looked upon the scene. “And you know what Mr. Skeleton? I didn’t know, I didn’t know until it was after she had asked me to marry her a few days later, after we had gotten married and after I payed for the whole damn thing because she was trying to find a job because that’s, that’s when she finally started to show and couldn’t hide it.”
The raging tempest was full bloom like a Marigold reaching the first frost of the year. The whirling emotions had been so fired that it may as well have been the smoldering furnace that powered the entire industrial revolution. Her body was vibrating in a wide range of colours much like the room in red and orange and yellow hues and her eyes began to follow suit. The skeleton was now starting to seem… concerned? It uncrossed its leg and slowly began to stand up, carefully putting the book down. It watched slowly as Morgan continued her tantrum, which had reached new heights as the very room began to shake. Suddenly the skeleton make a quick step forwards and wrapped his arms around Morgan. The skeletons body was cold and somehow soft but you could still feel the decayed sinew and tissues among the bones. The raging tempest was now faltering, Morgan was confused and soon the raging colours of the room and her body and eyes started to falter and flicker away, now turning into the somber notes of life’s quiet sea.
Oxford and midnight had now covered and blanketed the room and Morgan’s body took them well. Her anger had now formed into senseless sobbing as she broke down and dropped to her knees, the skeleton following her movements effortlessly. The skeleton let go of its hug but still held on, clasping her hands and holding them as it was knelt in front of her.
“S-She lied... She lied and cheated and broke the only form of trust I had with anyone and I, And I had to suck it up and deal with it!” She moaned as she sunk into the skeletons body, resting her head amongst its bony ribcage. “Non unus per ignes ad consolandum iter facit...” The skeleton softly uttered to Morgan as it rose Morgan’s hands to under he chin and let go of them softly. “What does that mean?..” “One does not travel through the fires to find comfort. Come now, Mrs. Smith. Rise and let us finish this interview. I have already made my verdict and my associates are growing impatient and have yet to pass theirs.” The skeleton mentioned in a foreboding manner and helped Morgan to her feet and back onto the chaise. The skeleton sat back down and picked the book back up and grabbed his pen from his suit pocket. “Please… I know you asked me to be truthful so I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fucking burst like that… It’s still very fresh for me.” “It was expected and on rare occurrences has resulted in large physical representations like yours. However since you have been honest so far, never to the extent that your outburst caused. However it seems we have…” The skeletons head looked down, mumbled and then looked back up to Morgan. “Yes. We have one more point to address to finish this interview… Your death. Twenty sixteen Janura-“The skeleton was cut off as Morgan rose her head to speak “What’s your name?.. You haven’t told me once. Are you… Death? The Grim Reaper? I forgot to ask because we just sort of swept into the um.. Interview.” If it could, the skeletons face would show an emotion of annoyance. However it audibly sighed and closed the book with a loud clap of the pages. It set the book on its lap. “I will answer this question. But then you will agree to not divert this interview any longer. Those are the terms.” The skeleton demanded of Morgan. “Yeah, of course… So, what is it then?”
“I represent Kos. For most of civilized life in the universe I am represented and presented as the physical personification of Death. It’s not far from the point but it’s also very distant from the truth. I am Kos, but am not of Kos. In due time, as I hope my associates will decide as well, you will learn more of my nature… Of their nature. It’s a delicate matter, procedure has been broken and systems set in place have been halted causing a major malfunction. Now Mrs. Smith, you know me as Kos, and now would you please tell me about January twent-“ Kos was cut off by a loud boom that permeated the air, now a large crack had formed quickly on the wall behind the chaise longue. “What was that?!” Morgan jumped up from the chaise and looked behind her. “It appears Mrs. Morgan that my one my associates has decided to take matters into their own hands. So, if you would be as good as to come behind me now…” Morgan complied, she quickly walked behind Kos and his chair.
And then shortly after, another boom caused the crack to break and the wall came crumbling down leaving a massive hole. On the other side was nothing but pure black void as wispy tendrils of void started to eke out and grow on the remaining walls like twisted vines of hate. Then from the void came out three beings, satyrs in a array of brown and black and red fur, large massive horns but the most defining feature was their bodies, clad and strapped in various metal armour and pipes that bellowed steam, their faces covered in crudely made respirators that had hoses sewn and receding into their heads with obvious stained blood. Their eyes were wild and fast, darting to every corner of the room like tissue with salt making the muscles move. They looked wild and grimy, their fur matted and the skin covered in dirt. The satyrs were holding what seemed to be crude rifles, as if they were half-hazardly made on an assembly line from scraps of metal and furniture, in essence the three satyrs looked as if they were the essence of some steam punk dystopian nightmare had clashed with fantasy. They were all hunched and squirrely but the tallest of the hunched satyrs finally spoke. The respirator caused the voice of the satyr to sound robotic and callous. “We’ve come for the girl Kos. Xral has decreed that he will no longer be a part of this. Hand her over bone man.” The satyr demanded of Kos, the other two satyrs rose their rifles and aimed at Kos. But Kos did not waver. He stood as a statue, cold and tall as Kos’s presence started to feel as if it engulfed the room.
Kos then started to walk forwards. The satyrs panicked and began to fire at Kos. Bullets would whiz by loud and sharp as Morgan ducked behind the chair and covered her ears. But Kos moved unwaivered as if the bullets were avoiding his very being and shape. He reached the first and smallest satyr and reached out with his bony slender arm and hand. His hand flicked upwards like a man trying to stop a car and a quick and roaring red mist emanated from the hand as the same symbol on his lapel formed in front of the bony palm. The satyr was forced to stare at the palm and the symbol and its eyes started to dart even faster as its hands dropped the rifle it was holding. The satyr started to scream through the respirator as it rose its hands to start clawing as it owns eyes, ripping and tearing at its own flesh while the screams continued until shortly after from the hooves of the satyr did its body start to turn into fine dust flowing into the void behind him and into the air slowly being erased from reality as it no doubt experienced horrors beyond its own limited comprehension. Three skeletal hands formed from the dust and substance of the evaporated satyr and floated through the air to the second satyr to perform the same act upon it, the satyr screaming for mercy. The tallest satyr was mortified and quickly began to slip back into the void, not before mentioning to Kos “Xral will not have this Kos! You can’t openly defy him Kos, he will rip asunder this universe and bathe those to following fire and sulfur for yours and that bitch’s interference with his plans!” the satyr remarked as he fully submerged himself into the void. Kos waved his hand that was still surrounded in the red mist around the opening in the wall, causing the void to ripple and lurch as it changed colours into a rainbow that was cast upon an oil slick.
Kos turned around and with the hand and mist took the chair Morgan was hiding behind and threw it across the room with mighty force. The same red mist enveloped Morgan as she was flung right to Kos’s feet. “It would appear Mrs. Morgan that certain events have been accelerated and actions and plans must be put forth into motion before you are ready. This is the curse and consequence of cosmic affairs that unfortunately you as a mortal will come to understand soon. Rise Mrs. Morgan, I have much to delegate to you and a negative amount of time to do so.” Kos demanded. Morgan, taken aback by the whole ordeal hesitantly rose to her feet and stood sheepishly at the now far more intimidating Kos. “Travel through the void-gate and stand upon the plains of Camden-del. You must head to the expanse and travel to the (subpolis/hypogeum) El’Majdra-Sil. The gypsy will guide you. Go, Dursfeg, before Xral collapses this reality and I am forced to retreat back into the shadows to conduct my burdens.” Kos beckoned as he stepped aside and bowed slightly for Morgan. Morgan was scared, frightened and did not know what to make of the entire situation, but it did not matter.
To her, only an hour or two had passed since she had died and now here she was being told by some supernatural force that she has to embark on some sort of quest like a twisted real life video game. But Kos had no time for this, and rose his hand and flung her once more this time into the void-gate. Morgan screamed as she went through the thick tar-like oil substance, the inside enveloping her like a weighted blanket as she could see nothing and it felt like she was suffocating under the thickness it all but yet somehow breathing. Five minutes pass in the void before finally Morgan was spit out onto a flat stone ground. She coughed and violently threw up the void she had sucked in through her journey. It splattered on the ground and sounded terrible.
Morgan wiped her mouth and had noticed that her hand was peach, the small amount of hair on her arm was visible as well as the millions upon millions of follicles and holes that dotted her arm. She looked down at the rest of her body. It was naked, but had the colour and hair and features befitting that of a human body once more. She was ecstatic despite the horrible burnt steak taste that had filled her mouth from the void. Her head shot up to look in front of her and nothing could prepare her for what she was witnessing. In front of her eyes she gazed upon a rich field of icy blue blades of grass and shrubbery that sparkled elegantly against the sky which was a straight image of the heavens. Two gas giants were seen in the sky that looked remarkable, the larger one was a mixed shade of purple and green while the smaller took a splattering of grey and large stripes of red trying to mix into the grey. The two giants had belts that were colliding with each other like they were engaged in an eternal battle of cosmic supremacy.
Looking back to the fields there was a forest of gigantic mushrooms made of wood and leaves that shimmered in a spectrum of rainbows, entirely bizarre and unique. Morgan stood up and observed her immediate surroundings and saw the void-gate she had come out of was covered in elaborate stone and marble work that depicted the gate as the opening to that of a massive serpent’s maw, the supports where its fangs were held the gate open like elastic putty. The eyes of the serpent were bright emeralds that reflected the heavenly stars immaculately. Morgan took her first steps on this new land backwards, the cold stone and marble below her naked feet sending shivers down her spine. She was cold, she could feel once more. A wind picked up and started to blow her hair around showing a bright orange ginger colour. She smiled and laughed with herself, spinning around feeling the joys of living once more. She was confused and frightened but more importantly happy to be alive. She looked back out to the field once more and noticed the platform diverged into a road that lead right into the distant alien forest.
She took the steps leading down the platform to the road and next to the road was a stack of stones forming a cairn made of loose rock and stones. Upon the cairn sat an odd looking gargoyle of a statue. The hideous creature looked like a mix between a puppet and a malnourished pug that had grown small wings and the body of a troll. Its hand was pointing to the sky while the other was pointing to the statues grotesque and bulbous stomach that seemed if it were to eat any more it would explode. Morgan thought the sight of the statue was weird in contrast to the rest of the observable area. Why have a gross statue when the rest is beautiful and articulate. However Morgan did not have time for this much like Kos, so she looked forwards to the road and began to walk upon it. She was a good minute in to walking when suddenly a large crackle was heard as a small explosion popped in front of her like a firecracker. Morgan jumped and looked around her and back. At first nothing was out of the ordinary but then she realized when looking back that the gargoyle was gone. For Morgan, after the attack caused by the satyrs she had decided the best decision was to run. And so, she did. She ran down the stone road as fast she could, the stones and loose pebbles bruising and cutting her feet as more firecracker like explosions were lobbed around her and an awful demonic childlike cackle that sounded like a red neck had found his way in space was heard from above. However Morgan could not keep up with the explosions and finally one landed right in front of her causing her to duck from the road and into the grassy field to her left.
She closed her eyes and decided in the moment to be weak. She believed she had enough and that a second death was more preferable than trying to traverse a new alien world with creatures giving you some sort of clandestine goal or monsters wanting to murder you. So she laid in the grass and just gave up and waited. And waited…and waited… not long after she opened her eyes slowly, confused why she was still alive only to be greeted by the same grotesque and pug like face from the statue but alive and squinting at her, the eyes were a bright glowing red with ten odd piercings scattered from its eyebrows to its nose and lips all made of various metal and its skin was a lush grey-green speckled with spot of brown. “Welllll Hello!” The gargoyle taunted, Morgan screamed and took a hand, curled it into a fist and threw a punch connecting to the gargoyles cheek. The gargoyle yelped and threw up its hands which emitted a bright green glow which paralyzed Morgan in place, only her eyes and nose could move so she could breathe. The gargoyle was the same stout size, only as tall as a eleven year old and was covered in hundreds of flowing fabrics all embroidered or laced with a design or symbol with its head wrapped the most only revealing its face and ears.
It smiled smugly revealing teeth that were so rotted and crooked that it would take the entirety of all of Earths dentistry to even make a dent and the smell could not even be described if one’s head was held to gunpoint. “A thousand years since one has set through that gate, a thousand more than one since was Dursfeg. My my my, aren’t you a specimen, Hehe . . . What is your name Dursfeg, something pretty I assume?” The gargoyle said in a perverted tone. “Morgan! My name is Morgan! Now let me go you fucking brute!” Morgan snapped. Physically she remained in a permanent state of non-motion, but her mind was trying to resist and send the signals to her body to move to no avail. “Morgan? Eeyuck, that’s a bad name for such a pretty girl, almost makes my wand not want to charge, Ha-ha!” The gargoyle continued on his chauvinistic way. The gargoyle got close up to Morgan still holding her as he started to sniff and fondle her. “He he he, it would seem to be your unlucky day Dursf-“The gargoyles sentence was cut short has he immediately lurched back in disgust and terror. “Ohhh no! No, no, no, no! You’re no ordinary Dursfeg at all! You’ve been marked, marked by… Kos. Oh stars damn that god for robbing me of such a vixen! Two thousand years of service and he sees fit to punish poor Ferg even more.” Ferg exclaimed as he started to stomp around and flail his arms like some sort of toddler throwing a tantrum. From under his fabrics it was shown that he had a belt with bottles of various coloured liquids, pouches and purses and a leather bound book.
Morgan was ultimately relieved to have been spared being molested by this hideous abomination of a creature. “Ferg… You know Kos? Are you by any chance the gy-“ “Yes yes, I am the gypsy. Behold the almighty Ferg, The Powerful Gypsy of Camden-Del! Kos has no doubt sent some…Oh dear… if Kos has sent you then that means the Urgdex has begun. Tell me Dursfeg! What was Kos’s demands before he sent you here! Spit it out stupid Dursfeg!” Ferg yelled with a very worried expression on his face as he quickly opened his fabrics to grab from his belt the book and a piece of chalk for one hand, taking his other and grabbing the still immobilized Morgan and dragging her back to the stone road. He tosses her onto the stones carelessly as he hastily opens the book and starts to scrawl a circle with various unknown but also familiar symbols in front of Morgan. “H-He said I had to follow you… follow you to some place called El Magda…Sol?” “El’Majdra-Sil! Yes, yes the Urgdex has indeed begun. Listen Dursfeg and listen closely.” Ferg asked in a panic as he waddled over to Morgan and squatted down to her face, the wafting fumes of his below regions wanting to force Morgan to throw up. “Muggon the Dursfeg, from this point forwards till we reach The Blighted Subpolis you are to follow my every command and listen to every word. If my master has decided that this calamity is to begin then we will be resisted on every level… more importantly, you will be resisted. Do I make myself clear child!?” Ferg said hatefully awaiting an answer finally releasing his hold over Morgan. Morgan was finally able to scurry to her feet, easily towering over Ferg but incredibly warry of his powers. Morgan began to open her mouth to comply.
However, she had picked up on a few things and decided to gamble. “I want answers first…Ferg.” She said disgusted as she crossed her arms and stared daggers at Ferg. “Aghh! Ferg does not, I do not have to answer! I command you to get walking Dursfeg! Walk or I will kill you!” Morgan smirked. “Kill me? You know, I just died I think… Three hours ago? Thrown into a room with a very inquisitive skeleton only to be given really and I mean really vague answers, be attacked by some sort of goat men from some nightmare and then thrown here and told by yours truly that I am ‘marked by Kos’ and how you can’t lay a hand on me. You know what that tells me Ferg? That tells me I’m important. And since I’m important, I want some fucking answers.” “Y- But- You! Agh!” Ferg was noticeably pissed and began his tantrum again. Morgan’s gamble and observance had payed off as she waited for Ferg to settle down. “OH, fine Dursfeg! Here are the conditions. I will answer your questions as I see fit so long as you listen to my commands! Does that please you stupid Dursfeg?” “Maybe. Let’s get walking and we’ll see.” Morgan deemed for now that this was the best deal she was going to get in her unprecedented and unpredicted circumstance and started to walk down the road. Ferg grumbled and mumbled as he took a bottle from his belt and opened it, pouring a thin waxy white liquid onto the circle and sigils he had chalked on the road which caused the sigils to glow brightly. Satisfied he threw the empty bottle into the fields with no cares. From his back, wings sprouted that started to flap allowing his fat stout body to fly effortlessly in the air and catch up to Morgan flying by her side.

I was in Italy when my uncle Richard died, and no one was more surprised than me when I heard from his solicitor that he had left me a house on Norfolk. I hadn’t seen my uncle since I was seven years old, and could only vaguely remember him as a very young looking man, with a pale face and intensely black eyes. Our last meeting had been at my fathers house in Kent, and I recalled that I had been very frightened of him. There was something nasty about him, and he had an unpleasant way of fondling me on every possible occasion. I think my father quarrelled with him very soon after this for I never saw him again, nor was his name mentioned. It was two months before I returned to England, and then I went at once to the chambers of my late uncles solicitor in grays inn. Mr priestly, of priestly, priestly and Morton, turned out to be quite a charming little man, but he wasn’t at all enthusiastic about the legacy. “We attended to your uncle’s business affairs,” he said, “but, if you will excuse me for saying so, he was not a pleasant man. I only saw him about five times in twenty-five years, and there was always something uncanny about him. The most remarkable thing was the way he retained his youthful appearance—at least I should say he looked about twenty-five years old when I last saw him alive, although in death he looked much older.” “How did he die?” I asked. “Ah! that is a most shocking thing. For years he had lived the life of a recluse in a dismal house on Brenton marsh, about five miles from kings Lynn. He kept no servants, doing all his own shopping and having a half-witted old woman in a tidy up about twice a week. The woman died about six months before your uncle and he never replaced her.” “Just over two months I wanted your uncle’s signature to a document, and sent one of my clerks down to Brenton to obtain it. The man knocked at the door of the house but could get no reply. All the windows were shuttered and the place seemed deserted. Inquiries in the village revealed that Mr slade had not been about for some weeks. “My clerk, a sensible fellow, got hold of the local policeman and together they went up to the place and forced an entrance. The house was in a filthy state, but there was no sign of your uncle in any of the ground-floor rooms or the bedrooms. At last they discovered, or what had been him, in a little attic under the roof. He had evidently been dead for over a week, and he had died by his own hand. A razor was at his side, and his throat was slashed across. “My Clark told me that the most horrible part of the ghastly business was a swarm of horrid flies that was clinging to the wound. “They wired for me at once, at I went down at once, and I went down without delay. It was necessary for me to inspect the body and I can tell you, I got a shock. As I have already said, the last time I had seen your uncle alive he had the appearance of a young man. In death he was old and wizened. In fact, I was only able to recognise him by his clothing and watch and ring. Corruption had made the remains nauseating, and these loathsome flies were everywhere. As fast as we brushed them off his throat they returned again. The body was coffined that same night and even then they swarmed on the top of the casket. An inquest had to be held, of course, and it was three days before we could bury him. I was the only mourner and I shall never forget that funeral. The coffin was taken down to the church on a hand-bier and all those flies buzzed about it. And then, in the middle of the service, the clergyman fainted. When he was recovered all he would say was “bury it, bury it!” And so the service was never completed. It was a most ghastly business from beginning to end.” I was naturally shocked to hear such a horrible story and had some thought of renouncing the legacy. But I am a poor man and a house in Norfolk together with £300 a year, was a small fortune to me. That afternoon I journeyed down to kings Lynn and put up in a small hotel there. Next morning, accompanied by a house decorator I went to Brenton to inspect my property . It turned out to be a rambling old house, standing alone in a marsh about a mile from the village. The garden must have been neglected for more than half a century and a large dank and weed grown pond was in the back. The inside of the building was in an awful state, filth was everywhere, the furniture old and worn and no coverings on the floor. Together we inspected the rooms, the decorator making his estimates. At last we climbed up to the attic. It was a tiny place under the roof and in the centre of the room there was what appeared to be a dark stain. Even as we looked on the stain moved, and we saw it was a swarm of beastly black flies. They made us both feel sick and I instructed the man to have the door to the room securely fastened up. As we passed through the garden gate on our way back to the village I turned back to look at the house again. I glanced up at the attic window and pressed against the glass was a white face. It was almost immediately gone, and I tried to convince myself it no more than than a reflection of a passing cloud. Six weeks later I moved into the house on the marsh. My man Jenkins and a maidservant I had engaged in London went down with me. The decorator had made a very good job of the place and the rooms now seemed almost cheerful. Still, I disliked the house. My feelings evidently were shared by Jenkins for as he was serving my supper he told me “I don’t like this place, sir. There’s something creepy in it, the pond is especially awful.” I exclaimed this was but nonsense and he hadn’t been long enough to form any sort of concrete opinion. I spent that evening in the library looking through my uncles books. He certainly had queer tastes in literature. Nearly all the volumes were about magic witchcraft or occultism and many must have been quite rare. In a corner of the room sat an old desk in which I found the drawer stuffed with letters and the like. At the back of a pigeon-hole was a small calf bound volume which seemed my late relatives diary. It was past eleven o’clock when it was discovered so I deferred an inspection of its contents to another day. As far as I was concerned the first night passed quickly enough. I slept well but for a queer dream. I seemed as if three young men were in my room looming above me. Their faces were shockingly white and each had a gnarly wound upon their breast. In the morning there seemed a certain amount of tension in the atmosphere. After breakfast the maidservant came to me with the wish to leave at once. “I can’t stand this place, sir,” she she half-screamed. “A tall man with a white face peers in the windows.” Nothing would convince her the folly of such a statement and by midday she had fled the house. Jenkins seemed unnerved but had been with me such a long time I felt he would not leave. That afternoon, I walked to the village to call upon the vicar, a quiet and studious man. I asked him what it could be that had made him faint at my uncle’s funeral. “I have never repeated this story to a living soul” he said unto me. He said he had not known my uncle but he had a most unsavoury reputation. The villagers feared him and he knew not the reason why. As the the funeral procession was nearing the open grave he saw hundreds of vile flies clinging to the coffin and thought he of that verse from the eighth chapter of exodus “I will send swarms of flies upon thee” Then had he seen the lid of the casket become knocked off by a grasping white hand and he had seen his uncle rise up from the casket, but his hair was full black, his skin smooth, though deathly white and staring unblinkingly at him like a lunatic would. He seemed to see into the vicarage very soul and as he did so he cried out and said “don’t put me under! oh, god don’t make me go down there!”There was a dead silence upon the land, the only noise being his screams and thrashing as he attempted to rise from his coffin but somehow failed. At this the vicar had fainted and upon awaking had discovered the casket had been dropped and arranged exactly as they had been in his vision, but that the cadaver was withered and none but he had seen what he had. He said there was something unholy about my uncle and no power on earth could have induced him to perform the communal service. He was buried but not with the rites of the church. I thought over the parsons words as I crossed the marsh and the more I thought the less I liked them. Jenkins awaited me at the gate and I could see something terrible had happened. “For gods sake let us leave this place!” He said. “The house is as fly ridden as a butchery, and there’s dead men in that library and pond.” With some difficulty I had some coherent story from him. It seems after I had left the house, Jenkins strolled into the garden to the pond and was gazing into those black waters when he saw or fancied he saw three white faces peering at him through the depths. He stood fascinated in horror and then fled to the house. Then as he was passing the library window another white face looked out at him. For some time he dared not to go in and when he did he found the whole place swarming with flies. I did my best to calm the man before we went inside. It was as he had said—the flies were everywhere. Black hideous things of a species entirely unknown. Jenkins managed to prepare some semblance of a meal and I made him sit at the table by me. He had risen to fetch a bottle of wine from the sideboard and I was looking at the newspaper when he screamed. I looked up and seated in the chair opposite me-the chair just vacated by Jenkins-was my uncle Richard. He was dressed entirely in black his face deathly white but for his lips which were stained red with blood and buzzing about him were hundreds of those wretched flies. A more loathsome sight never before have I beheld. I gazed spellbound at the apparition until it disappeared, I know not how nor where. Neither Jenkins nor I could finish our meal. We got out of that awful room as quickly as possible and went to the library. There we made ourselves as comfortable as the circumstances permitted, determining to spend the night in the room and to leave that house first thing tomorrow. I remembered that little calf bound volume and thinking it might throw some light upon these ghastly events, I fetched it from the desk. It wasn’t exactly a diary, it was something far worse. The entry s were few and as follows.
March fifteenth nineteen hundred and seven. Today is my thirtieth birthday and if I am to test the theories of the ancients I must soon make the experiment. I cannot bear the thought of this body of mine growing old with the years. Like the ancient philosophers I sought many years to discover the secret of eternal youth and now success has crowned my efforts. Immortality is within reach. Many of the occultists of the Middle Ages maintained age could be conquered by those with the courage to tear the heart from a living youth and consume whilst uttering certain mystic words. For five years I hunted the libraries of Europe for records of such an experiment and last December I was fortunate enough to discover I fourteenth century manuscript in an ignored bookshelf in the sacristy of a obscure chapel in Austria. The volume was the work of one Leo of Salzburg and he claimed to have kept his youth for a hundred years by repeating the experiment ten times. He recorded in detail the ritual to be observed but stated the actual formula to be uttered aloud would be hidden in his coffin. Upon inquiry, I found Leo had died at rhoenden in fourteen fifty-four and was buried in the ruined abbey of sepeil, in the hills above that town. The grave was easy to discover. It was a stone vault set in a side chapel of the abbey church. I determined to open it that very night. There was no danger of interruption for it is many hours walk from the habitat of any country people, and they will not come near after nightfall. I secured the necessary tools and and a lantern and climbed up to the abbey from about five to eight o’clock. The cover of the vault was difficult to raise and I doubt if I should have managed had not it been for a young man who appeared suddenly and assisted me to life that stone. I caught but a glimpse of his face for I turned to thank the man he had gone. I was perturbed by this as I did not wish that any should know of my activities this night. A flight of steps led down into the vault and at the foot of them was a coffin astride a stone slab. It was of lead and I had no difficulty in removing the lid. As I bent over the corpse a swarm of flies rose from it —so many of them that they seemed to fill the small chamber. How flies can have lived for centuries in a sealed coffin I cannot understand. The body seemed to be well preserved. It was wrapped in a black robe and a square of linen covered the face. I removed this and was horrified to find that the countenance beneath was that of the young man who had assisted me to raise the cover of the vault. My first inclination was to flee the place but remembering that I must obtain possession of the formula at all costs I mastered my fear. Under the head I found a scroll of vellum and I soon ascertained this was the document I was in search of. I replaced the coffin lid and the stone and left that place.
June thirtieth nineteen hundred and seven. Last night a young tramp called at the house to ask for food. I knew at once he was the very person for my first experiment and invited him to stay the night. A mild opiate in his beer ensured he would sleep soundly and when I was certain he was unconscious I tied him firmly to the bed and gagged him. An hour or so later he awakened and I was able to begin the ritual. After the solemn chant I braced my nerves cut open his breast tore out his living heart and ate it. It was not unpleasant and when I had spoken the mystic words I realised new life flowed in my veins. Fortunately I had the forethought to put the young man in the attic for he bled profusely. The body I have disposed of by placing in a weighted sack and sinking it in the pond at the back of the house. One thing disturbs me. I have just been to the attic to attempt to clean the mess and have found swarms of flies similar in appearance to those that were in the coffin of Leo of Salzburg, feeding on the blood.
June twenty-first nineteen hundred and twelve. Five years have passed since my first experiment and last night I was able to repeat my success. Yesterday in Lynn I fell in with a young foreign sailor and invited him over to the house. He was friendless and alone and came willingly enough. After drugging his beer I put him to sleep in the attic. Everything happened in the same manner as in my first attempt. He is also now at the bottom of the pond where he will find company awaiting him. But those awful flies are here again, gorging themselves on his blood.
June twenty-third nineteen hundred and seventeen. Again, a victim has been found. This time I had to go to London before I could find a suitable subject for my experiment. I came across him in the east end- an unemployed youth who was glad to accept my offer of work. He would not take beer but I was able to administer the drug in a cup of tea. In some manner he twisted the gag from his mouth and screamed aloud as I cut him. I dearly hope none was crossing the marsh at the time. His body joined those in the pond and thousands of flies are drinking his blood from the floor. My experiments have proven successful. Today I have the same appearance and vitality as I had fifteen years ago.
September second nineteen hundred and twenty two. Disaster! The ritual must be repeated every five years if I am to retain my youth yet for the past three months I have sought a victim in vain. The flies are all over the flies and now they crawl all over me. I am certain they will do me some hurt if I am unable to supply them with the blood they desire.
March twentieth nineteen hundred and twenty three. Flies, flies everywhere! They drive me mad. Still I am unable to find a suitable person. Youth slips from me. I grow old. I dare not face death yet I must die if I am not to perform the ritual.
May first nineteen hundred and twenty three. The crawl all over. I I must satisfy them. Only human blood will do. I have tried them will the blood of a dog but it only seemed to aggravate them. Only human blood…
This ended a terrible record of unnatural crime. How we got through that night I know not. We huddled together waiting for the dawn and it came at last. Upon opening the library doors we found the whole house to be full of those foul flies. Jenkins packed our few personal effects and removed the bags to the garden. Then we spread straw soaked it in paraffin and set light to it. Within a short time the house was a blazing inferno and I hope perished in that holocaust all evil things that sheltered below its roof.

A day after her arrest in the early spring of 1560, the eighteen years old Maria stood alone before a tribunal of inquisitors in a shadow-drenched audience chamber in Toledo. Her raven hair cascaded over her slim shoulders, her face pale but strikingly beautiful in the flicker from the torches lining the walls. Her posture was defiant yet betraying a tremor of fear.
The two judges sat at an elevated table, draped in the distinctive black cloaks and white habits of the Dominican Order that symbolized their solemn vows. Their eyes glinted like blades as they scrutinized her. The lead inquisitor, Brother Miguel, read from a document.
"Doña Maria Gomez de la Cruz," he intoned, "you are accused of heresy on two counts. First, for challenging the sanctity and preeminence of our celibate clergy, and second, for denying the esteemed virtue of chastity as upheld by the Holy Church. What say you to these grave charges?"
Maria felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She recalled her heated argument with Isabella outside church after mass. So that bitch had denounced her to the Inquisition! But how could she? They were friends from childhood!
"Revered Fathers," she began, her voice shaking slightly, "My words have clearly been misunderstood. I believe in the value of all vocations, whether lay or ordained, and that a woman’s holiness in the eyes of God doesn’t hinge on her remaining a virgin."
Brother Miguel fixed his hooded, skeptical eyes upon her. "Your statements imply that laypeople could be our equals in spiritual purity,” he thundered, the tone of his bass voice laced with personal offense.
“Indeed,” boomed Brother Juan, his hawkish younger colleague, who had been scribbling down her words. “They also insult the sanctity of the Holy Virgin by suggesting that a woman's holiness is unaffected by the loss of her virginity. Do you not grasp the weight of such heretical propositions?"
Maria's anxiety mounted under their icy, withering stares. They were twisting her words as a potter molded clay! "I-I simply wished to express that... sanctity does not solely reside in one's vocation or phase of life." Her explanation was met with scowls.
The chamber seemed to contract around her, the atmosphere of oppression becoming suffocating. "I fear... that I cannot speak f-further on this matter." Subtle smirks were forming on the inquisitors' lips, and with a shudder she realized she had just walked into a trap.
"Silence implies guilt. Your reluctance to further discuss these charges only deepens our suspicion." Brother Miguel let his words hang in the air. “You should confess and repent, Doña Maria. If you refuse to even speak, we have no choice but to compel you through... persuasion."
He gestured toward the burly constable standing to the side, his hand resting on that fearsome table known as el potro – the stretching rack. Words failed Maria, her voice now swallowed by the terror. As she stood there, mute and trembling, Brother Miguel nodded curtly to the constable, who stepped forward and seized her. “Disrobe the suspect!” commanded the inquisitor.
“No, please! No!” Her pleas resounded through the chamber as she struggled against the rough hands removing her simple prison gown and her linen underwear. Tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, she felt the cool air brush against her skin and the two friars' curious eyes rake over it. She tried to cover herself with her hands, but they were brusquely clasped behind her.
The guard's other hand pulled on her hair, forcing her to meet the inquisitors' gazes. Brother Miguel leaned forward, his voice low and menacing. "A straying ewe is what you are, my child. Confess your errors, so that we may bring you back into the fold without need of... excessive indignities.”
She didn't know what to say. Her vision blurred by tears, she saw the friar turn to the constable, barking an order: “Place her on the rack!”
Maria shrieked as the man, his brawny arms straining under the weight of her slight form, hoisted her into the air. With a grunt, he lowered her onto the hard wooden frame of the rack. He tied her wrists and ankles to the four corners, stretching her limbs apart. Trashing and writhing hopelessly, she cried in anguish as the ropes bit into her flesh.
Both inquisitors rose and approached the rack with an air less of gentle shepherds than predators on the prowl. Maria's heart began thundering a frantic rhythm against her ribs, sweat beading on her brow and mingling with her flowing tears.
“Why would you denigrate virginity?” demanded Brother Juan as he knelt before her, his face level with her crotch. “Are you perhaps not virgo intacta, despite being unmarried at the late age of eighteen?” He extended a finger and probed between her legs, seeking the entrance to her maidenhead.
Maria sobbed, a shiver of humiliation coursing through her as the finger circled the place where no man had been. "Please, by all that is holy, I beg you," she whimpered, her voice breaking. "I am a virgin, by the Mother of God! Please, don't do this!"
She gasped and winced at the shock of the abrupt intrusion, a sharp pain radiating up to her abdomen. Brother Juan smiled wryly. "You are, indeed, a virgin, as you claimed. And yet, you denigrate the chastity of the Holy Orders?”
Meanwhile his senior colleague had walked up to the head end and begun to fondle her quivering breasts. “Perhaps you would prefer us to be less chaste, so that we may rid you of the virginity you so depreciate? Hmmm?” purred Brother Miguel as his fingers pinched and twisted her nipples.
Maria vigorously shook her head, but his hand gripped it and forced it backward. Now his habit draped itself around it, cutting off her sight, and something hot and hard brushed against her lips. Her stomach churned with revulsion as she realized what it was, her teeth clicking together to deny him entry. Brother Miguel chuckled softly.
There was the creaking of a roller being turned. The pain hit her like a crashing surf as her arms were pulled away from her shoulders. She let out a heart-piercing scream that echoed off the walls of the chamber.
That opening was all the inquisitor needed to slide his cock past her defenses. Maria gagged and retched as the first penis she had ever tasted was thrust down her throat, muffling her cry of agony.
At the other end, Brother Juan resumed his exploration, forcing his finger deeper into her folds and pushing its tip against her hymen. The wooden frame protested as he mounted it, still wearing his habit and cloak, positioning himself between her legs. And then what could only be his cock replaced the finger.
With a grunt and a savage thrust he was inside her. Her flesh stretched and yielded to his invasion, the rough edges of his manhood scraping against her tender inner walls. He started pounding her with passionate abandon, each thrust impacting the bottom and sending a jolt of excruciating pain up into her belly.
“Disgraceful wench! You are unworthy of sharing the virginal state of your sacred namesake, Our Lady of Virtue, Destroyer of Heresy,” shouted Brother Miguel. He was squatting to probe the depths of her throat with his member. “But by the grace of God, this has now been put to rights!”
With that, he thrust downward violently, forcing his cock as far down her throat as it would go. Panicking, she struggled against the taut ropes as her air supply was totally cut off. Maria's mind, which had been filled with silent prayers to the saints, now went blank as she was being reduced to a helpless receptacle for relentless, hammering cocks, violating her body without respite or mercy.
Brother Miguel's thrusts into her throat slowed as he neared climax. He groaned and released his seed deep into her throat, filling it with the warm, salty liquid. As she gagged and spluttered, trying to expel the sticky goo while desperately fighting for her breath, Brother Juan started to growl and shudder.
Maria felt the muscles of his thighs tighten, his hips pumping furiously, driving his member into her gash with ferocious force. With a final, convulsive thrust, he let out a primal howl and erupted inside her. He leaned in, his sweaty face mere inches from hers, grinning wickedly.
"Yes, you are indeed now truly deflowered, my little heretic," he hissed as he regained his breath, "and it is our sacred duty to make certain that you never again denigrate the sanctity of the Holy Virgin or the virtue of the Holy Orders."
“Indeed,” agreed Brother Miguel, wiping his cock on her hair. "And the first step is to confess your errors and repent. Are you now ready to do so, or would you rather continue down the tortured road leading to your inevitable burning at the stake?”
Maria's tears flowed freely as she nodded numbly. "I... I will confess," she managed to say between sobs. "I will confess my sins and repent. I beg you, I beg you to have mercy on my soul." The inquisitors exchanged satisfied glances.
“Good. Our methods may appear... unorthodox,” said Brother Juan, “but they are effective in returning the lost sheep to the flock. And who would ever take your word over ours? The ways of the Inquisition are shrouded in secrecy for a reason.”
“Not for nothing are we called Domini Canes,” chuckled Brother Miguel, his face aglow with his recent release. “'The Hounds of the Lord.' Constable, untie her!”
The confession was already written and ready to sign. Maria shivered as she scribbled her name on the parchment. “Well done, my child,” said the elder judge as he carefully filed it away. “The Lord's forgiveness is near at hand. Needless to say, you must also demonstrate your sincere repentance by alerting us to other straying sheep in your community. Do you not, for example, have a sister?”
Maria's eyes widened in shock, darting between the two inquisitors. “My sister? But I don't... I can't...,” she blurted out.
“Really? That's what your friend, Doña Isabella, said too,” Brother Miguel laughed, “but only until she had spent a night in the company of our sturdy constable. And so, it seems, will you."
"He has a certain fondness for a lady's... anus," added Brother Juan with a grin. "May the Lord have mercy!”
The holy men crossed themselves and left, their robes rustling softly behind them.

Hello I’m 16 F and I’m a junior in high school and I need help with that let’s get straight into it. There’s this boy i’ve been on and off flirting with since my freshman year he is also a junior and we will call him T. Me and T have always had a flirty relationship/ friendship we have never been in a relationship just basic friends with benefits. The first time was freshman year just kissing and touching from time to time but it stoped due to a whole bunch of drama in my friend group that he was also in. Sophomore year we grew distant because we stopped being in the same friend group and we even moved on from each other. But we kept it cordial this year we have the same class and we even sit at the same table which made our old spark of flirty friends come back. But this was also the time he started talking to another girl who we will call her F. F is a senior in high school and overall a somewhat good person i’m not friends with her and I don’t really know her. But from what i can tell she’s a quite crybaby type of girl i call her this cause of an incident that happened with my friend but that’s irrelevant. One thing to note about me and T is that we both people basketball and i’m the bookkeeper for the boys basketball team which is like a team manger and i go to there games when i don’t. During one of the away games we were on the bus and there was no heater i’m also anemic not extreme abut my hand can get below -0 T was sitting right by me and i was putting my hands under my thighs which weren’t working as my hands where still below -0. I simply put my hands on his pants pocket and started to move my hands not new his junk or anything just in the pocket and moving my hand. This is where i think i’m the AH, 10 minutes into the ride he started moving and grabbed my hand where he placed it on his junk and started to guide my hand he looked at me in the “is this okay with you” and I shook my head yes for the rest of the ride yes on the bus not my greatest moment but i gave him a handy and it was short we only had about 5 minutes left. We got off the bus went to the game (which they lost) and after got back on we sat in the same spot and continued but it got to the point where he started to touch me when the bus had came to a spot he asked me “Do you want to go to target” My dumb self said yes actually thinking we were going to go to target . We started walking where he started to tease me and fondle me and we went to his house and for the first time we actually Did IT which would make him my second body and i would also be his second body after that. He walked me home we don’t live too far from each other. He did give me aftercare to and we went back to school like nothing happened but he still talks to F like nothing happened and he flirts with me in front of her sometimes and she actually started to mean mug me which i don’t blame her. He and her have also made it a point to stare at me if we are in the same room and they are doing couple stuff but they aren’t even together and whenever me and T are alone we still touch and flirt with each other yes i know it’s wrong but i actually really do like T but ik it’s only one sided and i feel bad that i’m doing this to F. I just don’t know what to do and i need help

The women trapped in prison with abusive guards: ‘They hold my life in their hands’

Sam Levin in Chino, California
@SamTLevin
Sun 29 Oct 2023 07.00 EDT
This article is more than 3 months old
As California prosecutes a prison guard on nearly 100 charges, survivors behind bars say officer abuse is so widespread it feels inescapable: ‘All I know is how to survive’
Latasha Brown sat at a picnic table in the visiting area of the California Institution for Women, just out of earshot of a guard standing watch. It was a hot morning in July and the 42-year-old spoke softly.
“There’s liberty in deciding not to live in fear anymore,” she said.
Brown was speaking out for the first time about the sexual abuse she has suffered at the hands of correctional officers over her 21 years in California prisons.
Once she started talking, she couldn’t stop: there was the officer who watched her shower, the official who demanded sexual favors in exchange for legal help, the officers who forced themselves on her and then gave her small “gifts”. Brown says she has been sexually assaulted by at least five correctional officers during her time behind bars, and harassed by many more: “We’re not only prisoners in here, we’re women, and we’re reminded of that through widespread male violence.”
In May, one of those guards, the former officer Gregory Rodriguez, was charged with nearly 100 counts of sexual violence. Authorities say Rodriguez is suspected of harassing, assaulting and raping at least 22 women in custody from 2014 to 2022, though court records and testimony from women and their lawyers suggest his abuse extends beyond the criminal allegations. Rodriguez has pleaded not guilty to all charges, and his lawyer did not respond to requests for comment.
Five of the women who have come forward about Rodriguez say the abuse left them with lasting psychological distress that they’ve struggled to overcome in prison. They describe a system in which a lack of access to basic amenities like adequate food and hygiene products and regular family communication make them vulnerable to abuse by guards who promise privileges or threaten further restrictions. Abuse is so widespread it can feel inescapable and ordinary, women said, noting that they face immense pressure to stay silent, living with the stress of potentially lengthened sentences or solitary confinement if staff retaliate.
‘He groomed me’
Brown has been incarcerated for more than two decades, sentenced to 37 years to life for a murder she committed at age 15. She says was sexually abused as a child and again in county jail before she was sent to California’s women’s prisons. Brown has spent time at both CIW, an hour east of Los Angeles, and the Central California Women’s Facility (CCWF) in Chowchilla, where Rodriguez worked.
Standing at the vending machines in the CIW visitors’ room, she selected a frozen pizza and a Starbucks coffee, luxuries she can’t get from the commissary: “It’s just these little things that make you feel more human,” she said.
Predatory guards take advantage of the lack of supplies and conveniences, making women dependent on them for items they either need to survive or simply to feel normal, Brown said: “As prisoners, our possessions are everything. What little we have is so important to us.”
Two officers who groped and assaulted her over the last decade would give her clothing to bribe her into silence, she continued, including bras and a bandana. One of the guards repeatedly fondled her at her prison job and then left her small presents in a trashcan not visible to cameras, she said. She remembers thinking of one of the guards as “generous”: “I’m deeply ashamed of it, but I also knew there was no recourse for us.”
Valerie*, an incarcerated woman in her 30s who says she was repeatedly abused by Rodriguez in 2014, said he at first presented himself as one of the kind officers. When she arrived at CCWF, she felt alone and was often by herself, she said.
“When I think about how he groomed me, it wasn’t that he was forceful in the beginning. He was just a friendly face, always asking me how I was,” she recalled. “We appreciate the nice staff, because they’re the ones that treat us like humans. He positioned himself that way. I thought he cared … when really I was just being manipulated.”
Over time, Rodriguez started sexually assaulting her in unmonitored areas, she said, and pressured her to tell no one, warning that if anyone else knew, she’d face trouble. He suggested that would make it harder to get parole, she said: “‘You don’t want to be in that position because you want to go home.’”
She said she wanted the assaults to end, but was terrified of retaliation: “At that time, I felt I was responsible for all of the abuse … I just felt trapped because I couldn’t talk to anybody.”
‘We can’t defend ourselves’
The case against Rodriguez has sparked outrage in California, but data suggests the women’s experiences are incredibly common. The last national survey of incarcerated people by the justice department, conducted in 2011 and 2012, counted roughly 47,000 people who had been sexually abused by staff in the previous 12 months, though the number is a significant undercount. The California department of corrections and rehabilitation (CDCR), which imprisons nearly 4,000 women, logged more than 800 complaints of staff sexual abuse across the state last year.
“They say it’s one bad apple, but it’s not,” said Brown. “The abuse of prisoners is widespread but has largely gone unacknowledged.”
Brown said she was working as an aide for women with disabilities last year and was bringing a woman in a wheelchair into a parole hearing room when Rodriguez opened the door and rubbed his body on hers as she passed through – an assault he repeated on a second visit. She had not reported her previous assaults and didn’t want to disclose this one, either: “There is shame and stigma attached to being not just a victim, but a snitch. So I’ve learned how to fly under the radar and stay quiet. These people hold my life in their hands and I know the lengths they will go to cover up misconduct. I’ve watched officers turn a blind eye to the conduct of their peers or facilitate attacks on other inmates. All I know is how to survive.”
When abuse did become known, the consequences for women often were severe. Both Brown and Valerie say they were placed in solitary after staff found out about Rodriguez’s assaults on them. CDCR says women who report abuse are placed in “administrative segregation” for their safety and when no other housing options are available.
Selina*, who reported that Rodriguez sexually assaulted her and who has testified for the prosecution, said she lived with daily fear that more people would find out she was a whistleblower and that she would face retaliation or violence as a result; she does not talk to her prison counselor about what she’s been through. When any officer makes a snide remark at her or looks at her in a certain way, she panics, she said.
“The only thing they could really do to keep me safe is to get me out of here,” she said. “We can’t defend ourselves in here, because who is going to listen to us? We’re a number in here. We’re not treated like people. I just want to get home to my kids.”
‘I internalized my anger’
The psychological toll of repeated sexual abuse in prison can be severe. Survivors of sexual assault described an intense struggle with shame, anxiety, fear, depression, suicidal ideation and post-traumatic stress from living in an environment where abuse was normalized.
Compounding their challenges, many women who are incarcerated have already experienced trauma in their past. Studies in the US have found that 60% to 80% of incarcerated women experienced sexual violence or domestic abuse before they were jailed, making them especially vulnerable to revictimization.
Several survivors described severe discomfort in confined spaces and feeling scared when anyone gets too physically close – triggers that are impossible to escape in prison. Brown said she felt trapped in a state of “permanent alert” and “perpetual uneasiness”; when anyone approaches her from behind, even a cellmate who is not threatening, it makes her body jump and her heart race. Recently a supervisor whispered something to her while trying to be quiet, and it caused her to panic.
Brown said that when she read old journal entries talking of the abuse, “I feel so sad for her. I minimize the abuse to distance myself.”
Rita*, a 36-year-old woman who says Rodriguez assaulted her while she was incarcerated at CCWF, said that she had been sexually abused as a child and was so shaken and retraumatized by his attack that in the moment she almost physically fought back: “But instead I just shut down, because that was my coping mechanism when it happened to me as a child. And I felt like I was a child again.” She was recently released and has struggled at her first job post-prison, where she has to work in close quarters with male employees.
Survivors have few or no outlets to process their trauma, said Amika Mota, executive director of Sister Warriors Freedom Coalition, a non-profit group that works with incarcerated survivors, including victims in the Rodriguez case. “So many incarcerated people have never had access to any mental health support, so they hold so much within.”
Mota recently testified about her own experience of abuse inside California prisons and is part of a newly formed CDCR committee focused on preventing sexual violence. “The narrative we are fed – that if you speak up, you are no good, you are a ‘snitch’ – it becomes so internalized. Not speaking up becomes like a badge that we wear. The impact is that you begin to choke on your own voice when you start to use it.”
“I really internalized that anger towards myself,” said Valerie. “I really did feel like I brought this on myself, and I tried to deny that it happened … I felt dirty and did not know how to get rid of that filth.” She eventually became an educator, teaching her peers about sexual assault policies, which she said helped her speak out and learn to set boundaries.
‘I will not bow down’
CDCR declined multiple interview requests over several weeks. A spokesperson, Terri Hardy, said in an email that the department “investigates all allegations of sexual abuse, staff sexual misconduct, and sexual harassment pursuant to its zero-tolerance policy and as mandated by the federal Prison Rape Elimination Act”. The policy “also provides guidelines for the prevention, detection, response, investigation, and tracking of allegations against incarcerated people”, she said.
Rodriguez’s arrest, Hardy added, followed CDCR’s internal investigation and referral to prosecutors: “The department resolutely condemns any staff member – especially a peace officer who is entrusted to enforce the law – who violates their oath and shatters the trust of the public.”
Brown, one of the first to speak publicly about Rodriguez, said she knew there were risks in coming forward, but that it was empowering to no longer stay quiet: “I am guilty of the worst of human behavior. But just because I’m in prison does not mean my body and my labor are interchangeable properties.” She also agreed to testify before a recent hearing of lawmakers and CDCR leaders. Although officials declined to allow her to speak live, an advocate read her remarks, in which she recounted the moment she learned of Rodriguez’s arrest.
“I did not celebrate because sure, when we experience harm, we want some accountability. Some justice, even,” she said. “However, I don’t think his punishment should be the final resolution because it’s an amplified response to just one person’s abuse, not a response to the systemic abuse. And until our lives matter, I will not bow down.”
\Valerie, Rita and Selina are pseudonyms to protect their identities as sexual assault survivors who fear further retaliation*

Tearing Down The Tapestry Of Existence I In the heart of The Gritsville Slums lie Mr. Pauper stretched along a spongy couch. As a protest against the insurmountable pressure Mr. Pauper had felt to ‘keep this thing called life going’, he had chosen to hide from the grimace of the outer realms by concealing himself within the crooked walls of his single bedroom lodgings. Not much of value was to be found in his lodgings. Mr. Pauper, despite being a lowborn peasant, had once been a very beloved philosophical teacher practicing his craft on the aristocratic students in the lecture halls of The Grandeur Garden, though grave misfortune had struck him; accusations concerning Mr. Pauper’s methods propagating corruption in the minds of the young had started to spread throughout the upper echelons of The Faculties. One fateful night, the board had finally chosen to banish him from his position, and finding himself without occupation, Mr. Pauper had only been able to afford a place to lodge in the grubby dwellings of his birthplace; The Gritsville Slums. There he now laid, like a withered hero fallen from divine grace, lost and without direction, indulging in a mushy swamp of self pity. In the cold evenings, during the wretched depths of the everlasting winter season, while time had stopped and the streets of Gritsville lay frozen in place, Mr. Pauper had often sat by a lit candle lamenting his sorrows; ‘O, how you have forsaken me dear old fortune, what evil has my actions have willed, in which such punishment finds itself justified in being piled upon a man like myself; I have acted out of goodwill for my fellow brethren, and my purpose has been stolen from me, might i have spoken out of ignorance?’
With a face as pale as the frozen dew covering the patched windows, the only task Mr. Pauper had chosen to burden himself with these days was the perpetual turning of his sore corporeal shell from one side to the other. Occasionally he would flip a page in his book ‘Tearing Down The Tapestry Of Existence’, while releasing a small, mechanical groan as a necessary means of accomplishing this. The sound of the poor-man's hustling crept its way from the streets, through the cracks of the windows, almost projecting the illusion of a sort of industrious cheer bouncing around the room; though Mr. Pauper had quickly learned that this illusion lasted only so long as he did not force himself off the couch to scrape the frozen dew off, and steal but a glance of the Gritsville streets. Avoiding this, to a man of Mr. Pauper's current stature, seemed like quite the easy task, simply by keeping himself flatly tucked between the dusty cushions of his frayed couch. This dreadful thing the common tongue referred to as ‘reality’ had lately struck Mr. Pauper as an awfully strange concept. Why worry about such petty matters when the human mind, in his humble opinion, contains a far greater ability to generate pleasantries by wielding the art of imagination in his own two hands. This ‘reality’ had bestowed an impression upon Mr. Pauper of blatant inequality, of great peril and unwanted striving, of false hope, hypocrisy and broken love; “Why attend all this nonsense when death eventually greets us all with a sound smile?” he thought.
Many times during Mr. Pauper's church visits had The Law Of The Peasant obliged him to lend an ear to all sorts of nonsensical, misinterpreted spatter perpetuated by the fat, cross bearing, gilded goblins standing upright by the holy altar. As a young man, Mr. Pauper had soon unmasked the veil of the aristocratic goblins and discovered their hidden vice of keeping the peasants under control while they stuffed their own, unending pockets with greenbacks. They accomplished this by reminding the peasants of the spiritual equality in man and his brethren; by convincing them that their lack of ‘trivialities’ such as housing, shoes and medicine should in no way defy their relation to God and should by no means lead to any revolting against his fellow pious brethren; ‘love thy neighbor’ they often repeated. Never had he felt the spirit of hypocrisy more immediate, never had he witnessed a starker contrast to the concept of equality, than in the hour of church, listening to their holy gibberish being catapulted out of the highborn’s gob while Mr. Pauper was sat there with his damned broken boots and bubbling stomach, shouldering the aristocrats. Everytime he witnessed ‘such theatrical hogwash, such blatant, sinful subterfuge of man's spirit!‘, he felt disgusted and delirious with contempt. ‘Sure’ he thought ‘it is an uncommon sight to witness the poor and the rich man in the very same room, a miracle, even, but no one man's stomach should shrivel under God's benevolent eye’. The implications of the ‘reality’ he found his body chained to had previously struck him in an instant as he once had dared to hoist his loose frame up from the couch, turn his eyes out the window, and gaze upon the very sorry excuse of the human encampment known as The Gritsville Slums. As a young man born in the slums, here he had labored his time away in the study halls, hoping of one day being able leave his deprived nest, and here he now found himself lodging again in no better conditions than before. Since then had there no longer lingered any doubt in Mr. Pauper’s mind; The Gritsville Slums was, now without a doubt, a terrible, terrible place to find yourself lodging in, and only a man struck by the gods’ greatest misfortune would find himself caged in the belly of the beast mixed up in a dish of such peasantry, dirt and dismay. ‘Under such circumstances’ he thought to himself glaring out the cracks in the window panes, ‘man might as well trod his silly two feet back to the couch and continue onwards on his task towards utter forgetfulness’. And so he did.
The thought of starting anew turnt Mr. Pauper’s stomach inside out. This feeling of hopelessness ruminating, like hot atoms bouncing round his skull, had slowly boiled his mind to a sluggish, apathetic stew of negligent indifference. During his prolonged period of spiritual illness, Mr. Pauper had reached a desperate wish for a renewal of his supreme goal in life. He had spent three entire days slumped on the couch, scouring the abyss of thought and sculpting his ideas in marble, when the revelation suddenly came to him like a beacon finally piercing through impenetrable darkness. This is what he had come to think of as the ultimate human condition; A total lapse in memory combined with the complete and final annihilation of corporeal sensory input, ‘just like the Buddhist’ he thought, though Mr. Pauper practiced his own kind of Buddhism, finding meditation entirely too demanding. While fingering the shiny pages of ‘Tearing Down The Tapestry Of Existence’, he had settled upon cultivating his own philosophical disposition; justifying the attendance of nature's own inborn instruments, ‘and what superior natural antidote to this wretched existence could possibly be conjured, besides that of a whole week's slumber?’ To fulfill this end, Mr. Pauper chose all his actions in life very, very carefully, though all of them just so happened to send him straight back to embracing the couch cushions whenever he had questioned his own methods. He conceded that this had made his life very easy, and so almost a reasonably pleasant one as well; such practice might even be one that he one day would find pleasurable if he just kept to it piously. And so it was, that after three days of intense and vigorous cognitive labor, Mr. Pauper agreed that the wisest action he could carry out towards a more pleasurable existence was simply to seal his eyes and doze off. II It had been many days since Mr. Pauper had been blessed with the light of day; a week gone by without a word of his bellowing throughout the streets of Gritsville was an unusual occurrence. On a typical weekday, during the days when Mr. Pauper found himself thriving in his occupation as a teacher, he would often end his late afternoons by indulging in a short stroll down the grimy streets of Gritsville. During these walks he would share his wisdom with the plebeian families and could be found indulging in simple games with the children using rocks, sticks and other random artifacts the kids scavenged from the dirt mounds surrounding the encampment. He would often design new games for the children, and in this simple pleasure he had found a great relief from the pressure and complexities of his daily occupation. After all, Mr. Pauper was by nature a lowborn peasant himself and as a child he too had scoured the streets of Gritsville on bare feet; the only difference now being the guise of the faculty attire and his astute tongue acquired throughout many years of hard laborious study; a tongue, which surely had brought him many great blessings in the realm of things, but, which Mr. Pauper now certainly would agree to, had by no means brought him even an inch closer to the jubilant truth of ‘keeping this thing called life going’. He had once understood himself as a man of high spirits, but as it is with every man marching upon the gods’ winding plains, the true nature of his spiritual tenacity only reveals itself in the dealings of his misfortunes. On a chilly afternoon, while pondering the grand question of existence in which the interlocutor often inquires: ‘why?’, he had realized that his days spent in The Grandeur Garden had been a pinnacle experience in his life, though through his own eyes they had merely seemed a stepping stone to greater planes, and this he surely had taken for granted; ‘The gods deprive the man who denies his fortune as being blessings delivered from zenith to nadir’. With such melancholic guilt was the writing in Mr. Pauper’s journal to be found.
Lying stretched out upon his spongy couch, the last week had developed like a fever induced dream. Great battles had been fought inside the confines of Mr. Pauper’s skull; action had been taken towards rooting out the evil of the world; fantastical imagery of paradisiacal utopias had cascaded throughout his blissful mind, plunging him into enormous tubs of creamy milk and golden butter, feasting upon foreign sweets and juicy fruits plugged straight from the tree branch overshadowing him, followed by bathes in the sunlit showers of Helios’ divine blessings. Whenever such images had appeared in his mind, Mr. Pauper was instantly filled with a great deal of bliss; although not all dreams had found themselves pleasantly placed in Mr. Pauper’s care. One night he had dreamed of being back at the great halls of The Grandeur Garden, walking around the finely combed roses, letting himself be treated to the sweet fragrance of the early spring flower once he finally was allowed a lone moment shuffling between classes. While teaching on the topic of the pious life of Cato The Elder, his tongue had suddenly started to tie a knot on itself and a black substance had started to pour out of his mouth, eyes and ears, waking him up to a serious case of the cold sweats. In between all these fantastical dreams, Mr. Pauper had always been awoken by a wrench in his stomach, a sore shoulder or a dry mouth, every time reminding him of these images being but a fantastical spin of the mind, further reminding him of the chain that binds his bitterly cold and sore body to ‘reality’. Each time Mr. Pauper woke, he groaned and cursed himself again.
Many days passed like this, Mr. Pauper turning uneasy on his couch, and only occasionally, when it felt absolutely necessary to silence his howling stomach, would he force his stiff joints in an upright position just to stuff his gob with a piece of moldy bread dipped in cold broth. Minutes became hours, hours became days, days became weeks and rumors of Mr. Pauper's disappearance had started to spread throughout the streets of Gritsville. Not even the landlord of Mr. Pauper’s lodgings, the dear and honorable friend Mr. Pietas, had heard a word since Mr. Pauper had locked himself in his room following his termination from The Faculty Of Philosophy And Wisdom. Although he had stopped by Mr. Pauper’s door on multiple occasions to pay a visit, the knocking had been in vain and Mr. Pietas had thought no further of this; 'Mr. Pauper is probably out attending an errand' he had mumbled while turning around. Although Mr. Pauper might have enjoyed the company of Mr. Pietas, he was entirely too busy attending his newfound spiritual path; a relentless and unyielding slumber.
More days went by accordingly, Mr. Pauper drifting in and out of various fantastical dreamscapes, and as time went on, he noticed that his dreams began turning increasingly more dark and obscure as the energy of his body and mind slowly perished. He dreamed of imps and demons, of murdering and thieving, of his lodging suddenly caving in on him, of being suspended thousands of kilometers up in the air dangling by a thin thread over a magma-encrusted earth. One day while deep in slumber he had dreamed of a faceless spirit dressed in a long black coat entering through a dark shadowy portal stuck upon the wall. ‘The time is nigh Mr. Pauper’ The spirit had told him in a boisterous preaching voice ‘...while you lay dormant, the sun sets on the stage of life, death takes its final bow, casting your soul deep into the stillness of eternity, but you, my dear friend, have yet much to learn.’ All of a sudden the shaded portal had started to crawl inwards almost as if feasting upon itself, the pendulums of the lodgings grandfather clock began to swing frantically out of order while the hands on the face of the clock turned counterclockwise in great haste. Time was turning back - and so was space. It was as though Mr. Pauper’s spirit left his body, stood up, and watched from outside as he in a great gilded flash experienced the totality of his life running by; his natural teachings as a professor in The Grandeur Garden, his obsessive studying as a young man in the proletarian lecture halls, his fooling around as a barefooted boy in the streets of Gritsville, but most horrifyingly of all, he suddenly was sat on the street of Gritsville witnessing his father and mother being stabbed in the back by a starving peasant. As the boy, then known as Peter Pauper, watched both his parents lay dying in his arms, his father pointed toward the sky, and suddenly Peter heard the noise of a thunderous Thumb. As Peter turned his wary head, his gaze was cast upon a titanic figure, with eyes as big as planets, trampling across The Gritsville Slums and leveling everything in its path; Thumb, Thumb, Thumb. Suddenly, Mr. Pauper woke up with a start. III Thumb, Thumb, Thumb, the noise persisted in Mr. Pauper's head ‘But aren’t I awake’ he thought lying quietly tucked between the cushions, ‘or is this yet another dream? O, how I have lost my touch!’ Thumb, Thumb, Thumb, the banging continued, ‘Hello, Mr. Pauper, are you in there?’ a dire voice yelled through the rattling door frame ‘It is Pietas, are you well? No one has seen or heard from you in weeks! What is going on?’. Startled by his own disarray, Mr. Pauper launched himself upright on the couch feeling deeply disturbed by the damning dream he had just found himself enveloped in a few short seconds ago. He pinched his arm and rubbed his eyes to reassure that this was not yet another ghastly phantom to be fought. He quickly noticed that the sound of banging filling his lodgings no longer seemed to be a spawn of his mind; this time the noise actually entered through his ears. ‘Thank the gods' he sighed. Feeling ashamed of the reckless debasement he had allowed upon himself, only now resembling but a miserably thin caricature of his former self, Mr. Pauper dove further into his sinning by pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred since he last saw, well, anyone at all really; ‘O greetings Mr. Pietas, how can I be of service to you this fine evening?’ he croaked dryly. ‘O, how marvelous it is to hear your voice Mr. Pauper! Tales on the street speaks of your early death! Now, would you mind opening the door for a chat, I have missed your company dearly!’ Mr. Pietas replied while passionately fondling the doorknob. ‘Would you spare me a moment, I just need to get my things in order? I must have woken far overdue!’. Mr. Pauper replied. He took a complete, probing glance of his surroundings, and while assessing the condition of his lodging, he immediately came to the conclusion that whatever dreadful ditch of dirt he appeared to have dug himself into, it surely displayed itself in a far worse manner than he initially had envisioned. ‘How could I allow myself such degeneracy?’ he brooded.
A man who would merely consider Mr. Pauper's lodgings in grubby conditions would be wildly understating the burden of the scene. A moldy-green and spotty substance had slowly crept its way like neural networks along the edges of the ceiling, trailing down the window frame; a prosperous family of dung-flies had sought shelter in the comforts of Mr. Pauper's cold chicken broth; every inch of leveled surface had meticulously collected a delicate layer of finely grated dust; the mounds of books piled against the crooked closet had undergone a chemical symbiosis with the humid air and had started to open their jaws like live oysters. Mr. Pauper wobbled on his feet like a drunken goose while black spots, perpetuated by blood swiftly rushing to his head, disturbed his vision. He stumbled a couple of paces towards the dusty mirror and examined his portrait. ‘O my, how I have turned awfully ghastly these past weeks!’ he thought to himself ‘Or.. however long it has been.´ The face of the man in which Mr. Pauper now gazed upon disturbed him deeply; he simply could not believe it. His robust and long mahogany-hair had turned frail and thin, his cheekbones were desperately pressing through his stubbled beard and the skin around his eyes had turned awfully dark and droopy. Knowing the wits of Mr. Pietas, Mr. Pauper soon realized that it would be an impossible task to hide the burden of his debasement from him, and so he chose to place his faith in fortune by simply dusting himself off, grabbing the hinges on the door lock and, for the first time in a great long while, unlatching the locks from the doorframe so as to finally allow another creature entrance to his very sorry chambers. While the door rested upon his hand, Mr, Pauper peeped out into the candle-lit hallway to greet the smiling Mr. Pietas. At last he felt the comfort of a familiar face, and it finally struck him how unreasonably long he had shrouded himself from the outer realms. ‘My dear Mr. Pauper, you look nearly possessed by Limos himself! Who under God's eye bestowed this awful curse upon your name?’ Mr. Pieta blurted out, his eyes now turning from cheery to radiating great distress. Mr. Pauper picked his droopy eyes up from the floorboards so that they now stood upon Mr. Pietas frightened expression, ‘It is grave news I am afraid, a wilted rose in a vibrant garden..’ he mumbled self consciously. ‘Would you allow me inside, dear friend?’ Mr. Pietas hesitated tenderly. He nodded cautiously like a beaten dog.
Upon entering, Mr. Pietas instantly took notice of the lodgings conditions; ‘Dear God! How could this become for a man of honor and high spirits like yourself, do tell me how you managed this fall?’ he asked, turning around. Mr. Pauper produced no answer. Feeling utterly fatigued, he simply sat down on the couch and fell silent. ‘You look terribly unwell Mr. Pauper, you are undernourished, are you not? I will go fetch some food from the kitchens immediately; afterwards, we will have a chat about your misfortunes, I do demand!’ Mr. Pietas announced. He nodded agreeingly, and with great haste Mr. Pietas disappeared into the dimly lit hallway. For what felt like a split second later, Mr. Pauper was awoken again, having dozed off the minute the door had shut itself. Mr. Pietas entered and placed a bowl of stew full of cut mutton meat, cabbage, leeks and onions on the coffee table, with a loaf of fresh baked bread on the side. ‘Here my dear friend, this was sadly all I could procure, you know, with our supplies being low and all, please, I beg of you, do eat all!’ he pleaded insistently. Mr. Pauper took a glance at the warm stew, felt his appetite revitalized by the pleasant smell, croaked a low ‘Thank you’ and began chowing down the ration. While Mr. Pauper finished his meal, Mr. Pietas sat patiently and collected his thoughts.
‘Now that you have nourished yourself, please do share what in God’s name has occurred since we last inquired, if i did not know any better, I’d be convinced that you just climbed out of the Underworld!’ Mr. Pietas suggested. Mr. Pauper, being startled by this observation, finally began to speak; ‘O Mr. Pietas, you might not be as far off as one would expect, for the place I have ascended from could easily be mistaken for the Underworld; I stand here as a true witness, but alas, it is not so now, and for that I feel a great relief. Since my termination from The Faculties it feels as though I have been struck by the great punisher Orcus himself. My mind has been veiled in shadows blinding me from clearly seeing the joyous world I used to take part in with great cheer in my spirit; even, from lifting my wasted limbs. I feel lost and without direction, I have done nothing but lie on my couch dwelling in the depth of my burdened mind, the true underworld, seeking but a flicker in the dark. In my grasping I have fallen further, and so, I have failed in my courage. I feel accountable yet also angry; I seek mercy in my misfortune yet I act resentful of the fortune of my downtrodders, though I know they too will pay their price when the spirit of the gods demand it. All my life I have studied the wisdom of the ancients in the pursuit of greatness, yet I still feel so burdened by my misgivings, I do question if this has been in vain Mr. Pietas, I very much do so now. It is known that the true philosopher acts by his speech, not speak of his act, and as I have met my misfortunes I have shown cowardice while having boasted of bravery. I am a shattered mirror of fractured ideas, I have become what I despised, a snarling hypocrite, and so, I might as well seek my next fortunes in the drawers of the holy altar! How will a man regain his courage, when he wishes to do good but cannot trust the strength of his own mind?’
Feeling ashamed of spilling his guts upon Mr. Pietas, he buried his head in his hands like an ostrich turning its eggs, hiding his soggy eyes from judgment. ‘O Mr. Pauper, what foul mood have been cast upon you, it grieves me deeply to see you in such a rot! Never have I thought you anything but a good, honorable and hardworking man; sometimes it may appear to us that God conveys his love in a manner we at first find detestable, though later show great gratitude towards - might this not be yet another such case? Forgive my ignorance, Mr. Pauper, for I am but another downtrodden peasant. But is it so, that man is obliged to act out his every word, being punished if he falls short in his task, or is man equally allowed to define the moral ideal in which he wishes to attain, though failing, yet still striving? Is it not in this striving towards higher moral planes, that the very core of virtue is to be found buried deep within man? Is it not in extracting and employing the wisdom he acquires from his missteps, that man is finally redeemed, piling his pious acts upon each other till he stands towering over his bewildered brethren, reaching down and plucking him out of his terrified illusions - as I now try to do upon you? Is not the man with a sincere wish of being forged in the mold of virtue already far along the shaded hills of the wicked in his pilgrim towards greatness? I believe that you are acting entirely too hard on yourself Mr. Pauper. Yes, you may have lost your position at The Faculties, but you have done no serious harm to any other man besides yourself, and so, there are still a great many things of value left in your life - for few things are more valuable than an untarnished past.’ Mr. Pauper found great relief in Mr. Pietas' speech. The sound of a comforting voice instilled in him the sort of feeling resembling a knot being untied in his heart by a sincere and warm embrace. After many long days spent alone, grasping in the dark, Mr. Pauper found it soothing to finally be in the company of a dear friend, though he still felt uneasy, as if a demanding urge to plunge into darkness was still yet to be resolved. ‘O woe is me, forgetting to be grateful for the blessings I received at The Grandeur Garden, I sought higher grounds by allowing my own selfish ideas to be taught, convinced that I bore the sigil of truth in my own mind, and the gods have now found me guilty of spiritual treason. I see that it is myself who serves as the conduit to this curse that has been placed upon me. It was a grave mistake to place my own desires over the gods, I see that now, though I did not do it out of spite, finding myself convinced that it was born out of love, and now I pay my price.’ Mr. Pietas placed his hand upon Mr. Pauper's shoulder, hoisted his head from its refuge with the other, and continued; ‘What you need to understand Mr. Pauper, is that the true fulfillment of our duty, as men born under God’s protection, is never to be attained simply by seizing as many grand titles as is made possible. You can be certain that this, in itself, will never lead to any end worth striving for. What leads you to an honorable end is found in willfully surrendering yourself to the service of your fellow men, by every day carrying out unconditional acts that aid our brethren in need. In this manner it does not matter whether you are born a king in a castle or, like you and i, peasant on the streets of The Gritsville Slums; in this way God has indeed created every man equal to his brother, and so, none are strangers to each other, not even the two-faced preacher or the selfish board member, but one family united under God’s grace. What truly matters for every soulbearer is the intentions in which he choose to tread his path in life with, for as you now know, a man who acts out of malice or greed will greet the devil himself; a man who acts benevolent, with equal empathy for his friends and foes, will certainly shower in great blessings. It is a common mistake to seek one's fortune in titles and reputation, yet it is only to be found in the honorable act. Such is my faith and it has given me its blessing a great many times. As a younger man I too was once lost and without direction Mr. Pauper, but now I live my lowly life with gratitude and cheer. I do not curse my misfortunes when I feel hungry and mistreated, rather, I receive them with open arms and praise the opportunity to put my faith on trial to be prosecuted by God himself. Now, I will invite you to pick up your scattered mind and employ it in the aid of your brethren. There are a great deal of people who are fond of you Mr. Pauper, you know this in the depth of your heart, though it may be shrouded in doubtful shadows - people who might find themselves in dire need of your aid.’ IIII Mr. Pauper spent many of the following days in the company of Mr. Pietas, him being his sole caretaker. His legs had grown weak, his body frail, and so to support himself during his daily walks with Mr. Pietas, he was given a cane crafted out of an old broomstick. When Mr. Pauper finally descended the stairway of his lodgings, stepping out on the Streets of The Gritsville Slums for the first time, he was immediately greeted by a small group of cheering street-children in high spirits praising the return of their dear friend. A scrawny kid stepped forward and shook Mr. Pauper’s hand,‘Thank God that you are alive Mr. Pauper, we’ve all been very concerned about your health, some even believed you to be dead! We have prayed at the altar for your return, I swear by God, I really do, and here you stand like one risen from the dead, thank the Lord, thank the Lord!’ With a great warmth brimming throughout Mr. Pauper’s wary mind, he pressed the children's hands while managing to procure a strenuous smile. ‘Now, now children’ Mr. Pietas exclaimed, ‘Mr. Pauper needs his rest, it will not be long until he regains his strength, but you must show him patience for now.´’ Heeding Mr. Pietas words, the children scattered throughout the streets of The Gritsville Slums whilst chanting innocent rhymes. ‘Praise the Lord, for our daily bread Praise the Lord, for our time ain’t yet Praise the Lord, for our shelter and bed Praise the Lord, for our Pauper ain’t dead’ On their daily walks, Mr. Pauper was often met with many familiar faces graciously greeting him, refreshing his memory of the friendly stature he had managed to cultivate despite having droned around the awfully despised aristocrats for years. Many times he were forced to decline offers of dining around the tables of the Gritsville families, and in these instances, Mr. Pietas reminded him of the immense value he had brought to the spirit of the poor people of Gritsville, not only by acknowledging them as equals, but further by treating them a such; ‘The value of a man can be measured equal to the amount of smiles he place on the faces of his fellow brethren’ he had noted. Mr. Pauper agreed to this belief, a belief always held in his heart, though forgotten in the blurry depths of his selfish strivings. Although Mr. Pietas had been a friend of his for many years, the pair developed a very close bond during Mr. Pauper’s recovery. They spend many evenings dining together in Mr. Pietas' kitchen laughing and nurturing each other's philosophical and religious interests, while sharing food served in rations by Mr. Pietas wife, ‘Are you sure you won't go hungry, friend’ Mr. Pauper had asked one evening. ‘I do insist!’ Mr. Pietas replied with a cheer. ‘It is certain that no one man's stomach should shrivel under Mr. Pietas' benevolent eye’’ Mr. Pauper had thought admirably.
Once Mr. Pauper had recuperated his strength, Mr. Pietas spent an entire day at the head office of The Gritsville School District attempting to convince the principal, his dear old friend Mr. Remissio, of allowing Mr. Pauper a position in his faculties. Although the institution barely held any funds, with the classes taking place outside in the summer season, shaded by trees and prolonged pent roofs, Mr. Pietas insisted upon letting Mr. Pauper teach the children in the early afternoons. ‘He is a bright mind, you know, and already a great friend of the children; If you would be so generous as to grant me this favor, I am certain he will bring the faculties many future blessings. Mr. Pauper only asks for daily meals and a place to lodge; a marvelous deal if you ask me.’ Mr. Pietas had told Mr. Remisso. And so it was that Mr. Pauper restarted his teachings again. Although he didn’t deliver his lectures in the lavish halls of The Grandeur Garden, he still found great pleasures in sowing small seeds of wisdom in the minds of the young, watching them blossom into fruitful flowers, ‘for what could be found in the minds of the aristocratic students, that could not be found in the students of The Gritsville Slums?’ He had pointed out one evening whilst sitting around the kitchen table partaking in the warm stew. To this notion Mr. Pietas had earnestly replied; ‘I certainly agree Mr. Pauper, for aren't we all born with a mind hungry for wisdom and an earnest wish to employ this knowledge in the name of goodness itself? In this way I do believe we all carry our intentions. Though along our winding paths some of us may digress from the subject of good, being entirely too overwhelmed by our avaricious demons, all it sometimes takes to pull one out of their inevitable misery is but an earnest nudge in the right direction - and who else willingly choose to carry out this task, than those of humble descent; those who have been so very lucky as to have grasped the light before their souls blackened forever. The true human experience is to be found in the struggle against both the inner and outer forces of evil, sometimes managing small victories, encouraging our feet forward, sometimes meeting great resistance, shoving us back on the ground, and though we feel exhausted, we must again pick ourselves up and march on the frontlines as beacons of hope against those who has not yet returned to our grounds - we must withstand until every last man has been escorted into our embrace, for this is our only way to redemption, I believe.'
The arts of teaching had always been the utmost joyous task for Mr. Pauper, although this time his reasons were founded upon honoring his people, not in attaining grand titles, vainglory or taking part in any of such dreadful self indulgence. He had stood upon the gilded mountain where he had drunk from the goblet of gluttony, and had still been fortunate enough to spit out the poison before it had truly advanced overdue - never had he found as agreeable comfort as he did surrounded by friends alike, and to this, he were forever indebted to Mr. Pietas and his gracious fellow brethrens of The Gritsville Slums.

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Sword Coast Mountains. Entrance closest to Waterdeep-Then
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Talia had her bow at the ready as well as an arrow. Her Owlbear companion grumbled uneasily as they watched various skeletons reinforce the chamber entrance leading to Waterdeep. They can hear the faint sounds of rotting fists hitting the barrier and their feint moans of hunger.
"Steady Erannu, I can hear and smell them too" Talia said soothingly petting the Owlbear's head. The animal grunted in reply and sat on its rear. She looked over at the human Necromancer who controlled the skeletons, then at the Silver Dragonborn and his High Elf lover. They too were overseeing preparations along with several armed civilians with several Buldar's Gate and Waterdeep soldiers and guards. Then things happened way too fast for her to comprehend.
The unmistakable sound of the barrier being forced inward was heard and the skeletons then charged, being swallowed up by a sudden rush of the dead things. She took down five of the dead things with head shots, as some of the armed civilians bravely rushed forward and attempted to keep them at bay while others fled. Her Owlbear growled but stayed with her making sure she can safely fire arrows without being overwhelmed.
Everything continued to spiral so fast. She witnessed several of the civilians, guards and soldiers, get pulled in and devoured. She heard the Necromancer tell everyone to flee so they can close off this area. She was almost caught herself, when her Owlbear roared and caved in a dead Tiefling's skull. She fired another arrow and commanded her Owlbear to return but the animal instead charged, taking down several more.
Talia witnessed in sorrow and horror as her Owlbear was overwhelmed and ripped apart. She had no time to grieve, she made it out of the area and witnessed the Necromancer use magic to keep the door closed, but with how many of the dead things there were on the other side, the door started to crack. She witnessed an Assimar come down from the sky to tackle the Necromancer away just as a blast of dragon fire struck at the same moment the doors burst open. The same blast of fire also caused the rock above the door to collapse sealing that area off.
Things continued to happen quickly. More of the dead managed to get past the barriers. Animals and other denizens of the Sword Coast Mountains fled with refugees from places before Buldar's Gate, from Buldar's Gate itself, the surrounding areas, and Waterdeep. She witnessed the death of the Necromancer at the fire blast of the Red Dragon that was on their side to seal that entrance of the Sword Coast Mountains leading to Neverwinter. It was there she finally had the time to grieve.
Talia collapsed onto her armored knees and cried, screamed and sobbed for her Owlbear. Her pain wasn't the only pain, she can hear families, parentless children, childless parents and everything in between, crying in despair, pain, mental breakdowns.
After that, she was one of many Rangers that were left, that made traps and barriers just in case the dead things made it through or even around the mountains. The dead did both of those things but were kept at bay by the traps.
Talia was there to witness one of their Dragon allies get captured and torn apart by a dead Kraken, she witnessed the same Kraken get destroyed by the remaining Dragons that were still there. She remembered the remaining living were assembled after the revelation was revealed by the Tiefling woman that Neverwinter had fell due to the current lord's actions. She looked out at the sea of dead that were being kept at bay by the traps.
"We're not going to make it out of here are we?" she asked one of the other rangers sadly. The ranger next to her was a winged Tiefling, and incredibly young. Maybe ten and four, or even less. The young girl simply nodded until they both heard the Tiefling woman who took up a leadership role speak to the black and gold suit of living armor.
"Riki, if things go wrong, I want you to get Lanara out of here. Get her back to her family. Is that understood?" the young Tiefling woman known as Vaylin spoke up glaring out at the sea of dead things.
Talia looked to the young girl and realized she was talking about her. "I agree. You shouldn't be here" Talia chimed in causing the shocked girl to look at her with tears in her eyes.
"As you wish Mistress Vaylin" the suit of living armor replied. She remembered they then charged, she was missing a huge detail, but the dream was carrying her forward.
Talia was in the middle of battlefield, taking down dead things, only to be confronted with the turned Vaylin. She stumbled and shuffled toward her, arms outstretched, her mauled hands grasping for her. She turned to flee, to find Lanara, but she saw that the young girl was turned, her wings shredded, half her face gone and stumbled toward her. She turned in place, she was the only one left. She saw the turned Minotaur Trovic coming at her, the Loxodon Mammoth also turned. Then the living suit of armor was turned and coming at her. She was surrounded on all sides, coming at her. She began to scream.
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Wilderness outside of Buldar's Gate-Now
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Talia jolted awake from the nightmare with a loud gasp and scream, which woke up her companions, a group of other Rangers. She breathed heavily and couldn't help but start to cry again.
"It's the dream again?" the Wood Elf woman asked gently, placing a hand on her armored shoulder. She nodded and couldn't help but continue to cry. Her other companions were more or less understanding of the dream, while they themselves weren't in the area over ten years ago, they heard about it over the years since then. A low grumbling groan got Talia's attention and her Displacer Beast companion came over to comfort her.
The animal gently nudged her tear-stained face and gave her a lick. The tendrils gently wrapped around her as the animal cuddled with her to comfort her. The Wood Elf smiled gently, gave the animal a pat on the back and whispered, "Good girl" and went back to her own spot.
Talia sobbed into the animals shoulder the rest of the night.
​
The next morning, she was cooking breakfast for the group. She was now calm, though her eyes were red from crying.
"How are you doing?" Franir asked. He was the second Wood Elf of the group. He was tall, muscular, though his armor and leathers tried to hide it, it was clear he was often joked as being the Wall of the group. His dark brown hair was in a tail as he sat down. He gave the Displacer Beast a pat to her head as she groaned out a greeting but then returned to Talia's side.
"Alright considering I had that nightmare again" Talia replied with a sigh. He nodded but didn't push. The other members of the group then arrived for breakfast. The second Wood Elf, a woman, named Kalla, gave the Displacer Beast a pat then gave Talia a pat as well.
The other three Rangers of the group were three High Elves, a pair of sisters, Herra and Rackel, and their lover, a womanizing High Elf male named Drakir. The sisters had long, purple hair, green eyes, fair skin, while Drakir had long white hair, blue eyes and tan skin. Talia was the only human amongst them, but they accepted her. At first, they were resentful of her constant nightmares, of her waking up in the middle of the night screaming, hence waking them up. Due to her not telling them why at first. But almost losing their friendship, Talia forced herself to tell them about the nightmares, which ultimately had her tell them about the Sword Coast Nightmare. Their stance changed quickly, and they started looking after her instead and lost any resentment.
The group ate their morning meal together, conversation was light. Then the plan for the day was brought up.
"There is a bandit group consisting of ten individuals camped not too far from here. Rumor has it they're stealing children to sell on the black market. We've been hired to stop them by any means necessary" Franir explained in a business tone. The group nodded and began to pack up. The fire was put out and tended to, gear was checked including weapons.
Talia checked her own weapons and gear. Made sure she had healing potions, checked that both her mace's were maintained and, in their holders, then checked her Displacer Beast. The big cat mutant purred to her as her hands caressed its back and tendrils.
"You ready for some action?" she asked, and her companion yowled out a confirmation. The group then left the area, heading towards their target.
​
The group arrived at the bandit's camp four hours later. True to the rumor, they spotted several cages with only a handful of children. The children from what they could see, were a heavy mix of races. Two human children, three Elvin children, a Dragonborn child, a few Goblin children, and a pair of Tiefling Children.
"I see a human boy and girl, three Elvish girls, a Bronze Dragonborn, I can't say the gender, five Goblin boys, and a pair of Tiefling girls" Drakir reported using his magic to enhance his vision.
"We see the bandits. There are ten of them. All Orcs." Herra reported, both her and her sister using the same kind of magic to enhance their vision.
"We can't volley arrows onto them, we may harm the children. How do we proceed?" Kalla asked, her hands glowing green, preparing a spell.
Talia was deep in thought until it hit her. She's been using a tactic taught to her by Vaylin all those years ago. It was a hit and run tactic they used on the dead things a few times when they were trying to get civilians out of an area. But it also occurred to her these aren't dead things; they're living and more than likely smarter than she thinks, but it didn't hurt to try. She explained the plan to them in detail and what the tactic required. Her companions listened intently then agreed to it.
​
The two Orcs near the rear of the cages weren't paying attention to the sniffling, frightened, Tiefling girls. Both girls were sisters. Dark blue skin, black hair, forward facing, curved horns like a ram, and pink eyes. Their tails were intwined with each other as they held onto each other. The girls wondered off from home out of curiosity back in Buldar's Gate and were snatched up into an alley way.
"Hey, cover your eyes" Kalla whispered from the other side of the cage. Both girls turned and looked at her smiling face. The Elf winked at them and ducked out of view. The girls covered their eyes and heard the two Orc's grunt in surprise being dragged under the cage, which was followed by a couple of hard sounding blows. Kalla re-emerged from under the cage and next to her Talia's Displacer Beast appeared in a shimmering display of light. The girls almost gave themselves away, but Kalla reassured them that everything was ok, and the creature was a friend. After she got the cage open, she helped the girls down and the Displacer mewled softly and nuzzled both girls causing them to giggle anyway.
"Get them to the tree line and return for the next kids" Kalla whispered to the animal. She instructed the two girls to remain behind a tree and not to come out until it was safe, they agreed and was escorted away by the Displacer Beast.
The next cage held the Dragonborn child, the two Elf sisters reassured him as well as one picked the lock and the other kept an eye out. The plan was going off smoothly, especially when three of the remaining Orcs spotted them.
"HEY!!" one of them cried, he took one step when an arrow punched through the back of his head and dropped him forward like a wireless puppet. Several of the still caged children gasped and looked away.
Talia showed herself and mocked the remaining Orcs. As she predicted, the remaining Orcs roared in anger and charged her. She in turn winked at them and ran, heading to where Drakir and Franir waited. She got their position, turned and took down another Orc with an arrow to the throat, then her two companions came out of their cover and engaged in close combat.
Drakir had a pair of long swords, Franir had a pair of axes, while she joined them with her maces in hand, taking down the Orc's quickly and brutally.
The trio returned to the cages just as the last of the children were released. They regrouped with the Displacer Beast and upon fetching the two Tiefling girls and other children, the group of Rangers, especially Talia, came to learn the Displacer Beast was given and name.
"I hope you don't mind pretty human lady, but we named your companion Shadow" one of the Tiefling girls revealed with a big proud, smile.
Talia smiled kindly then looked at her companion. "Shadow, do you like that?" she asked and gave the Displacer Beast a head pat and chin scratch. The animal purred and nuzzled her hand and emitted a happy yowl. "Then its settled. You are now Shadow" she chuckled, and the group set off to return to Buldar's Gate.
​
The journey back to Buldar's Gate was a slow and a careful one, since most of the children were fairly young with the two human children being the youngest at five, the two Tiefling children at six, the Elf children being eight, the Goblin and Dragonborn children being nine each. All the children were given turns to ride Shadow to rest their legs, but the eldest of the bunch opted to push through the discomfort. To also ease the worried minds of the children, conversations were had amongst them all. It helped distract them even when they had to stop to rest a while.
Eventually, one of the many entrances to Buldar's Gate came into view and not too soon. By the time the group made through the gate, it was night and waiting for the children were their tearful, relieved parents. The children all rushed to them and hugs and kisses along with crying were plentiful.
The children all said goodbye to the Rangers that saved them and to their parents amused shock, to the Displacer Beast, Shadow. The Rangers were then paid by their employer and set off to a tavern for the night.
​
Franir and Kalla watched unamused as Drakir nibbled and fondled Herra and Rackel's neck and hips. Both sisters giggled drunkenly as they sat on his lap. Their own hands caressing his chest and nipped his cheek and chin. Lust was evident with the three of them, then Talia returned with her refilled mug. While she wasn't drunk like the sisters or Drakir, she was a bit tipsy to the point when she came over, she didn't immediately slap Drakir when he fondled her hip as she walked past them.
"You got one freebie Drakir, I may be a bit tipsy, but not enough I won't break something" Talia warned lightly and sat down at their table. Drakir simply chuckled and started to kiss each sister for an extended period of time each, which resulted in eye rolls from the two Wood Elves, but caused Talia to blush and inadvertently stare.
"Well, it has been a while since I had some sexual relief. Maybe it won't hurt to indulge him this once" Talia said in her head while she watched their little display. She found it was oddly making her aroused. She was no stranger to sex, she's had plenty of partners before the Sword Coast Nightmare, a couple during it to relieve stress, and a few after it. It was the ones after it that resulted in the male and even female partner leaving her due to the nightmares she still has.
Drakir nipped Herra's chin causing her to groan softly in lust, then he did the same to her sister which resulted in a slightly louder lusty groan. However, it was the sisters who caught Talia watching them and they both got matching mischievous smiles on their pretty faces. This also got Talia's attention, which caused her to blush brightly and turn away with a yelp.
"Now Talia, we saw that. Don't be shy" Rackel purred and went over to her. Talia, to her surprise, allowed the Elf to gently tilt her face to her. Her eyes wide, face blushing, Rackel kissed her lips softly causing Talia to whimper. Herra smirked and came over as well, and to the shock of their two Wood Elf companions, start to kiss Talia too. Drakir smiled and watched, Shadow lifted her head and showed an annoyed expression and went back to sleep.
Talia knew what came over her, and normally she wouldn't allow herself to do such activity with companions for a variety of reasons, but this time she let herself be drawn in, especially when she heard Drakir speak.
"Ladies, let's take Talia somewhere private and release her frustrations" Drakir smiled devilishly and took Talia by her hands. She gulped and found herself whimpering out a lusty "Yes!"
​
Their clothing was scattered about the floor in the room. Talia's lust and desires were set free. Both sisters had their way with her, both of them getting her on the verge of climaxing before stopping and letting the other take over. They did this to her multiple times throughout the night, driving her wild. Each sister also teased, licked and sucked Drakir as he watched the sisters take turns with Talia. Eventually Talia begged for Drakir, she was ready and wanted to climax badly.
Drakir locked her legs on his arms and entered her throbbing sex and took his time with her which drove her wild even more. Drakir had uninterrupted sex with Talia, then the two sisters repeatedly for most of the night until they all finally climaxed together loudly and messily. Talia fell asleep entangled in the three of them sound asleep. She had no nightmares that night.
​
The next morning, the trio came back downstairs to the amused faces of Franir and Kalla, while Shadow sat and just looked at her with a curious head tilt.
"Feel better Talia?" Kalla asked amused and grinning like a child. Talia blushed brightly but smiled back.
"Yeah. I needed that apparently" Talia replied and gave Shadow loving head pats, rubs and chin scratches. The two sisters and Drakir chuckled while the group gathered their gear and belongings. Dressed back in their leathers and armors, the Rangers set out on another adventure. Only time will tell if Talia's nightmares returned or not. But until then, she found herself growing more and more attached to her companions, becoming more open with them and enjoying the casual sex between the two sisters and Drakir a lot more.

Chapter One
BRE
“Police in Metro Atlanta report a middle-aged woman was instantly killed in an horrific accident on I-285. Allegedly the woman was on her way to have illicit sex with a stranger.” I can hear the headline story in my head and I again I think “what the fuck am I doing?”
The question just keeps repeating over and over in my head as I drive through the snowy Atlanta streets to the hotel room where I'll be spending the night.
Snow in Atlanta can be anything from a light dusting that resembles pollen in the spring to a few inches of beautiful white powder. Either way, the city comes to a grinding halt. Being that I'm a very careful, safe and super planner extraordinaire, I booked a hotel room, so I don't have to brave the rest of the Southern drivers battling their way to work on Monday morning.
My phone dings with a text message just as Siri reads “From Robert: on my way, can’t wait to meet you”. My heart speeds up and I once again mutter “What am I doing?”. I'm not the woman that sparks up a conversation with a man on a fuck site and then agrees to meet him at a hotel for drinks a week later.
Yet here I am. Driving to do just that under the ruse that I'm concerned about snowy streets.
I moved to Atlanta for work and left behind a drawn out, on and off again relationship that was basically a glorified friends with benefit situation at the end.
Since moving here, life has prevented me from finding a new 'friend'. I'm not the woman you read about in romance novels. I don't believe in the happily ever after ending and I'm a realist.
I love sex. Sweaty, gritty, passion filled sex, and that is exactly why I agreed to this meet and greet tonight. Robert is a police officer and single father. We met online on a swinger’s website made for adults looking for partners to fulfil sexual needs and fantasies. I suggested we meet tonight for drinks and Robert agreed. I pull into the Westin and park, then send a quick reply message to Robert, “Looking forward to it”.
I'm surprised to find the hotel lobby bar packed when I walk in. I forgot tonight was the playoff game between the Cowboys and 49ers. The bar is loud, and I see no available seats. I walk towards the elevator and decide to take my overnight bag upstairs and will return to the bar to secure seats before Robert arrives. I make it to room 403 and roll my bag inside.
The room is more like a suite, with a living room type space at the front with a couch, big screen mounted TV and desk area. Walking further into the suite I come to a giant king-sized bed covered in the standard white sheets and duvet.
My blood warms imagining my tan skin feeling the cool sheets on my back. Robert (at least the mental image I have of him) kissing his way down my body from my neck to my already dripping wet pussy.
My thoughts are interrupted by my cell phone indicating another text message received. I open my phone to see a message from Robert “I'm here. Meet in the lobby?”
Oh shit. He is early and I'm really doing this. I send a reply that the lobby was packed and if it was okay with him, we could have drinks in the room and watch the game.
He calls me instead of replying. I answer the phone with a breathy “Hey” anticipating the warm, sexy voice I know is coming. How is it this mans voice makes me so wet? Makes my breath catch and my imagination go wild wondering what that whispered voice will sound like in my ear.
“Bre why are you inviting a strange man to your hotel room? That does not seem very safe”. My body is still reacting to his voice, and it takes me a second too long to respond to his question. “Bre, can you hear me?” Robert asks again. I laugh in response (my brain finally comprehending more than just my pussy’s reaction) and I respond.
“Are you a stranger Robert? After all our conversations it seems like I have known you long enough to not be a stranger”.
“Bre if I come to your hotel room I'm going to fuck you. You understand that, right? If at any time you are not comfortable or don't want to move forward with anything physical your safe word is red. Understand?”
“Yes, I understand” I reply.
“I'm serious. You say red and I stand up and leave the room. You are in control of what happens. Understand that if you don't say red, I'm in control from the second this phone call ends. I need you to say yes, I understand Robert”.
“Yes, I understand Robert” I reply without hesitation.
“What is the room number Bre?” Robert asks sexily.
“Room 403” I reply.
“I'm going to stop by the bar and get us both a drink. When I get to the room, I want to see you on the bed in your bra and panties. You will be on all fours with your ass facing the doorway to the bedroom.”
“Okay Robert I'll be waiting for you” I reply with barely a whisper. My body is so filled with anticipation and overrun with desire. So many stimulating images flooding my brain at once.
“What is your safe word Bre?” Robert asks quietly.
“Red is my safe word” I answer.
“Good girl. I'll be up in five minutes. Be ready and waiting for me Bre” and the phone clicks in my ear.
I spring into action preparing for Robert’s arrival. I hastily rinse my mouth with hotel room mouth wash. Strip down to my bra and panties.
In our conversations, Robert shared that blue is his favourite colour. I'm wearing a bright blue thong with matching unlined bra. My nipples are hard and tented against the sheer fabric covering them.
I unlock the door and leave it propped so it can be pushed open easily. Then I hurry back to the bedroom part of the suite and close the curtains and douse the lights.
I crawl onto the bed and pause on my hands and knees with my ass facing the open doorway of the bedroom. I'm so turned on I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
I hear and almost feel the door open and close to the main suite. I hear noises of someone setting keys down and other items in the main room.
I think every hair on my body is standing at attention at this point. My pussy is so wet I feel my panties soaking wet against my shaved skin. My clit is throbbing, and my nipples are standing hard begging for attention.
I feel the air move as he enters the room. I hear him inhale sharply and his warm incredibly sexy voice says “Hello Bre. Thank you for following my request and waiting for me.”
I reply, “Hello Robert and you are welcome”. “What are your feeling right now Bre? Tell me what you are thinking and how your body feels.”
“I feel excited and anxious and nervous. I cannot believe I'm doing this” and I laugh softly. “My nipples are aching, and my clit is throbbing, and I want to see you, but I want to feel you more I think” I finish with a rush.
Mentally I just want to slap myself for rambling. This is an incredibly erotic and sexy and risky moment. Stop being a dork Bre, I chastise myself.
“One last time Bre, what is your safe word and what happens when you say it?” he asks.
“My safe word is red. When I say it, you stop and leave the room.” I respond.
“Are you using your safe word now Bre?” he asks from behind me.
“No, I'm not.” I respond confidently.
“I'm going to fuck you in every way imaginable Bre. You look so sexy and confident posed there waiting for me. We are going to have a lot of fun tonight” Robert says.
Before I can respond, I feel a large warm hand on my calf right above my ankle. His skin is warm, and his touch is firm as his long fingers wrap around my calf and slowly slide upwards toward my thigh. His hand changes from the palm of his hand to the scrape of his fingernails as they graze the skin on the back of my thigh up to my ass.
Without warning, a loud smack sounds in the room. I jump from the unexpected slap but my ass leans into his warm hand.
He slaps my ass again. Right cheek, left cheek, right cheek again. Firm slaps against my skin and I'm almost purring as I arch my back. His warm hand soothes my skin as he rubs each cheek, caressing me after each strike.
I'm so wet at this point I'm wondering if I'm going to cum just from being slapped. His hand is still on my ass, and he slides his fingers between my legs. My panties are soaked, and I feel his fingers encounter them and I almost imagine his breath catching.
He moves the thin fabric aside and slides a long finger into my aching pussy. I almost sob with relief. “Fuck yes” I breath as I feel him sink another finger inside of me.
“Bre are you always this wet?” Robert asks me. Slowly moving his fingers in and out at a steady pace. “I don’t know” is my response. His fingers feel amazing stretching my pussy. I'm desperate to feel them on my clit. I need the friction there. Almost as if he read my mind, he curls two fingers into my pussy, right behind my clit, and begins to motion them as if he were silently signalling me to 'come here'.
At the same time he ran his slightly rough thumb over my throbbing clit, and gently ran circles around it. He took his other hand and reached under me to firmly hold it against my belly, just above my clit moving it in tiny circles. My mind did a back flip and although I didn't think it was possible, I could feel my juices increasing.
He reached down with his face right at my hot throbbing lips and blew a warm stream of breath against it, then ran his tongue from the top slowly down to my clit, briefly replacing his thumb, then ran it back up, to rim me.
He did this over and over for what felt like eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, but now my legs are starting to shake with the intensity of all his separate touches. The fingers working the back of my clit have me tingling like I've never felt before.
I'm so close to exploding all over his hand. I have no other thoughts in my head. “Please” I whisper raggedly. Almost sobbing with need. His fingers continue working my swollen pussy and clit. I'm so wet and slippery.
“Please what baby?” Robert asks me. I still have not seen this man’s face, his fingers are inside me, and his handprint is most definitely imprinted on my ass. He calls me baby and I almost exit the trance I'm in. “Don’t call me baby” I respond instead. “I'm not your baby I'm just here to cum.”
Suddenly it all hit me at once, and I was spraying his face, the bed, I had no control. My whole body was trembling and shaking and I couldn't hold myself up any longer and fell forwards on the bed, shaking and actually crying from the amazing sensations he had just caused in me.
He lay beside me, and while still rubbing my belly, slowly removed his fingers, and stroked my back until I stopped shaking and crying.
By now, lying face down on the bed, soaking wet and feeling like I couldn't possibly feel better than this, I feel another hard slap against my ass. Left cheek first and then the right. Over and over again he alternates strikes from side to side and I'm so close to asking him to stop, even as he caresses each cheek to ease the pain.
Without warning my panties are pulled down around my knees. I feel his warm body moving behind me and suddenly his tongue is licking my ass. Warm and wet and firm he slides his tongue along my skin, and I reflexively arch my back.
He sits up and spread my legs further apart. I feel his tongue lick from the bottom of my slit up to my clit. “Mmmm delicious” is the last thing I hear before his tongue is sucking hard on my clit. Two fingers back inside me stroking that hidden spot most men never find.
Robert knew exactly where it was located. I scream and explode all over his face. I feel liquid gushing from my body and know that I just squirted again on this stranger with the sexy voice, just from the touch of his tongue and fingers.
I cum over and over again. Robert’s tongue and lips are relentless on my clit as his fingers continue to stroke my g spot inside. The orgasms keep rolling over me. My hips are grinding against his face. I feel his five o’clock shadow grazing my inner thighs. “Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck, fuck” is all I can say.
My brain is in overdrive at the sensations and release being sucked from my body. I feel his fingers slide out of me. He gives my clit a kiss and stands up.
“Did you use your safe word Bre?” He asks me in an even sexier tone than before. Is he as impacted by this scene as I am? “Jesus no, why would I want you to stop doing that?” I ask breathlessly.
He slaps my ass again and says, “Then I'll call you baby if I want to. Don’t forget I'm in control here. Your control lies within one word. Don’t tell me what not to do unless you are prepared to use your safe word. Understood Bre?” “Yes, I understand”, I answer Robert.
The room is quiet for a moment. No movement or noise and I'm still on the bed. Legs spread wide, panties around my knees, and my ass in the air. I start to sit up and turn around.
“Don't move” he commanded me, “Would you like a drink?” He asks me and I can tell he has moved to the right side of the bed. Almost to my shoulder but still just out of eyesight.
“Yes please, I'm pretty dry after all that, need something to drink, and some water” I respond. He walks into the main room and quickly returns. He walks to the right side of the bed, places his hand under my chin and lifts my face upward.
I'm stunned when our eyes meet. Obviously, we had shared pictures of ourselves after talking online. I would not be in this precarious situation if I had not done my research.
I knew he was handsome. I knew his skin was dark and shiny. I knew his lips were full and kissable. I knew his smile was just a little crooked but incredibly sexy. I knew he was just a hair taller than I, and in a lot better shape physically.
What I did not know was that his eyes were not brown as I thought. His eyes were the most incredible shade of blue green that I have ever seen. How did the God’s find it fair to gift this beautiful black man with incredible skin tone, a gorgeous body, killer smile, AND the most hypnotizing eyes ever gifted to a man?
I'm staring into his eyes like a stupid groupie meeting a celebrity. Get your shit together 'Bre!' I scold myself.
“Hi Robert, nice to officially meet you. I’m Bre” and extend my right hand. He chuckles, my core clenches at the sound of his laugh and seeing that smile and eyes working together in perfect harmony to put any woman in a state of sheer horniness.
“Hi Bre, it is my pleasure” and his left hand enfolds mine in a warm handshake. He passes me the drink he retrieved from the main room. I tilt the glass back and savour the cold bourbon flavour that floods my mouth.
“Mmmmm, you remembered!” I say and Robert, blue green eyes still staring solidly into my boring brown ones.
“Yes Bre, I remembered. Makers Mark on the rocks. Not a usual drink for a woman. Easy to remember”. I pass him the glass and he sets it on the table, then hands me a bottle of water. I quickly drank down almost half of it, knowing I'd just removed a huge amount of moisture from my body.
He is wearing a white t-shirt and tight dark blue jeans, all of which shows the signs of my earlier showering of him. I can see the massive erection behind his fly. A small whimper escapes me.
“Are you okay Bre? That all happened kind of fast” Robert asks.
“Yes, I'm way more than okay. I'll probably be sitting a little gingerly tomorrow”, I laugh. I start to move off the bed and he places a warm hand on my thigh.
“Are you finished Bre? Had enough for tonight?” He asks and I lift my face to look into those paralysing eyes.
“I thought you were finished, so I was going to dress” I say.
“Baby I'm nowhere near finished with you”, he said.
Robert leans down to take my mouth in the type of kiss you only read about. Firm, warm lips moving against mine. His tongue licks against my lips seeking entry.
I grant him entry into my warm mouth. Our tongues moving over each other and exploring everywhere in the other’s mouth. I feel his hands on my back and my breasts are freed from the flimsy fabric they have been straining against for the last thirty minutes.
My large breasts are gathered into two large warm hands. As big as his hands are, my breasts are more than a handful. I feel him squeezing them, kneading them and I moan into his mouth. His expert fingers find my nipples and squeeze.
“Harder “I gasp into his mouth, and he twists my nipples between his fingers and his tongue dives into my mouth again. I have never cum from nipple play but this may be a new record! I slide my hands under the hem of his t-shirt. Feeling his warm muscled skin. My skin tone is tanned but I still look pale against his dark brown skin. I slide my hands up his abdomen to his pectoral muscles and massage his nipples.
He moans and twists my nipples more and I explode into action. My hands are pulling his t shirt over his head, then removing his belt and unbuttoning his tight jeans. I need to feel his big warm cock in my hands. I'm hungry to feel him sliding into my mouth and throat. I have never wanted to suck a dick so bad in my life.
“Jesus Bre slow down, we have all night Baby”. I pull his hard length from the confines of blue jeans and cotton boxer briefs. He is huge. Long and thick and the tip of his dick is shiny with a drop of pre-cum. I look at him and lick my lips. “I cannot wait to taste you” and lean forward to lick the tip of his cock.
“Ahhhh FUCK!” Robert exclaims! I keep going and lick my tongue down his long shaft. He is hard as steel but somehow grows even harder (and bigger) in my mouth. He is too big for me to suck all of him. I use my hands and suck him into my throat.
Sliding him in and out and my mouth becomes slicker. I spit on his cock and look up into his eyes. His hands slide into the back of my hair. Just above my neck and holds my head still. He slowly fucks my throat while our eyes remain locked on each other. My pussy is throbbing. I want to feel his big cock inside me!
As if he read my mind, he slides out of my mouth and instructs me to lay back on the bed on my back. I'm so ready to feel him on top of me. To wrap my legs around his waist and move in that natural rhythm lovers seek to find.
Instead, he drops to his knees and sucks my clit back into his mouth. Using his lips to shield his teeth, he nibbles at my clit and those two rambunctious fingers are back inside my pussy stroking my g spot again. I cum instantly and soak the bed beneath me with my juices.
He gives my clit a kiss and kisses his way up my body. Over my stomach and what should be my six pack to my breasts. He sucks a nipple into his mouth and fondles my other breast with his hand. Fingers squeezing my nipple and twisting slightly. The pain and pleasure kaleidoscope is intense.
I'm squirming under him, my entrance seeking his large dick. Suddenly, he is there at my lips, his cock parts my folds and slides in effortlessly. He doesn’t stop until he is balls deep. He is so deep inside me that I'm once again feeling that threshold of pleasure and pain.
I love it. My muscles are squeezing him, and my hips are grinding against him urging him to move his hips. He stops me and says, “Bre look at me”. I open my eyes and look into his stunning gaze. His blue green eyes are stormy with desire. A vein is visible on his forehead.
He is as turned on as I am and it is sexy as hell to see. “Bre you are simply stunning” and he leans forward again taking my mouth into a hot kiss as his hips are finally moving. His dick is coated in my juices, and he slides in and out of me with tempo increasing. He takes my hand and places it on my clit.
“Play with your pussy baby.” He whispers and my fingers are gliding over my dripping wet pussy and find my hard clit. I graze my fingers over it once, twice, and he slams into me hard. Balls slapping against my ass as he pounds me into the mattress. I explode once again and I feel his muscles tighten and then his warm seed spreading into my belly. He collapses on top of me breathing hard.

Hello, I'm S (24F) in a relationship with C (24M).
We were friends for 6 years (we both met right after high school) in a friend group with 5 other people. Last year, we both started to catch feelings and ended up becoming a couple, to the delight of our other friends. We both knew each other's family since we had been friends for long (though superficially) so the "meeting family" thing was done quickly.
We have been having a great time together but personally, i cant shake off the feeling that he is way more in love with me than I am with him. But to me, love takes effort and building up the relationship so I am committed to make it work although i never felt "deeply and utterly in love" like the books say. But even though there is that, i still am i love with him, i love hanging out with him, i miss him, etc etc.
On paper he is the perfect guy, we like a lot of the same stuff, we have the same friends, my family loves him, his family loves me, he has his life together, he is successful, etc. But I'm reconsidering our relationship. But at the same time, we are so involves in each other's lives in less than a year of dating that it freaks me out, i feel trapped and can't think about it clearly, there is so many people to hurt, so much to loose, so much pressure, so much scrutiny...
But my problem is that last week he has crossed one of my boundaries and now i feel nothing towards him, as is someone came and stole all of my feelings overnight. WARNING non consensual stuff (tldr: boyfriend keeps touching my breasts an nether region even after i said no and i wasn't in the mood for anything sexual) : We were lying in bed together and he starts putting his hand under my pj's top (this isn't a big deal i don't mind when he does that) but then starts fondling my breasts and touching my nipples. I understand where he is trying to get things and tell him "no, i'm too tired and absolutely not in the mood, no sex tonight, sorry..." he says "ok" and we keep cuddling. But he kept trying to touch my nipples a bunch of times and I had to move his hand. Then he tried to touch me downstairs too a couple of times and each time i said "no" too. We went to sleep afterwards and although he tried to make me feel that he was in the mood i decided to ignore him because i was already annoyed. The next morning, the same thing all over again; I had to move his hand away from my breasts and privates more than 10 times!!! And ended up having to tell him off very sternly, to the point that it felt that i was talking to a dog. He didn't apologize and simply put his hand on my waist, which i accepted, and then proceeded to kiss me a bunch. At this point I had kind of mentally checked out and just moved things forward for the day. After that, i struggled to be affectionate with him for the whole day and even felt relieved when he left to go back home. I have tried to talk about it with my mother but she keeps shifting the conversation onto everything i've done wrong.
I'm really at a loss with my feelings and tried to see things a bit clearer with the little form i've put down here, i thought that it could help you too!
Also, it's my first relationship, he had another one before i believe (we don't really talk about it) and we were both virgins (at least from what i understood)
What do you think about this whole situation? Because I don't know myself at this point
​
​

i followed the prompts of https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oc-zmHiPE74
- - - - - -
who was the pursuer and who was the distancer?
i was the one pursuing him by inviting him to lunch
he saw an opportunity and started to develops feelings
how long did the honeymoon phase last? (6month apparently being the normal time)
for me 3 months-ish then a period of nothing then it worked again for 3 months until now...
i had to talk about the relationship to my mom a lot of times within the first 6 months
what were the main issues, concerns that came up after the honeymoon phase?

1. very needy to the point of constantly touching me (like taking stuff out of my hands to hug me even though i am busy or stopping me from doing a task because he wants to cuddle)
   
2. not listening to me saying "no" a lot of the time
   
3. disrespecting my boundaries and being pushy
   
4. not supporting me to the full extent when I am the one having trouble with sexual intercourse and penetration. (i have superficial dyspareunia that stuff HURTS and it's scary)
   
5. he does not take care of his health
   
6. he shows no interest into self improvement (we talked about it a bit because i was bewildered at the fact that he could not understand my interest in bettering myself and what came out of it was that he was extremely content with himself and didn't think that anything had to change... it's not a motive to break up at all, but the behavior that comes from it does not work at all with my lifestyle)
   
7. he never compromises spontaneously. ever. i am the one constantly compromising because i am a pushover, but the last few months, i have decided to stop doing that and voice when i wanted to do/watch different things. Every single time I have to put arguments on the table as to why i want X and not Y, and then, I will get reluctant compromising. (but he keeps a mental tally so there is no way he makes an effort twice in a row)
   
8. i often have to compromise my time when we are together. i often give in to his demands because he can wear me out pretty quick (he knows how to be insistant), but he wont do the same. If he wants to cuddle and i'm working on something, he will keep pestering me until i give in and then wont let me get back to my work, if i want to cuddle and he is playing a game i can wait for a loooong while until he comes for a quick hug and then gets back to playing. Same thing with when we wake up, he is always the one choosing when the alarm rings, and even if I set one, he tries to keep me in bed.
   
9. he never consults me for anything and makes plans for the both of us without me knowing. it was a cute quirk at first because he is quite impulsive and gets ahead of himself but 8 months in the relationship and after having told him multiple times that i didn't like that, he is still doing it. on that front the communication is horrible, especially for me who likes to over-communicate on appointments (the initial agreement plus a confirmation or two is perfect)
   
10. he tends to act childish, which makes me feel absolutely no romantic love nor lust for him because kids arent hot.....
    
11. no matter how much i tell him that i dont like super heavy PDA (constantly kissing / hugging in front of other people especially friends and family) he keeps doing it and disregards me saying no. I usually have to physically push him away and "scold" him so he remembers around who / where we are.
    

what did i do wrong?
i played videogames too much, more than what felt right because he likes that to the detriment of my physical (didn't exercise as much as it often fell on the time i like to exercise) and spiritual wellness (literally no time to do my spiritual practice anymore)
i toned myself down to fit the image that i think he has of me (all my fault)
i never spoke up at his poor choices of words and miscommunications
i went tunnel vision on our friend group and feel like a lost myself a bit in the process
what does our arguments look like?
we don't really have fights, i tend to avoid them because he tends to play victim and act childish (or stay stuck on "but i love you" until i stop talking about it)
can the issues get resolved? (i went with the same order than above)

1. maybe? i tried to get it across to him that i needed bodily autonomy but he seems to ignore it so maybe i wasn't clear enough
   
2. same thing as above, i feel like it needs a serious discussion
   
3. same thing
   
4. honestly i don't know how to go about it, he has comforted me when i cried about it but then tells me he is disappointed when i chicken out of penetration (that shit is seriously a 7/10 in pain i dont always feel super brave)
   
5. to quote my dad "getting with someone only to try to change their behavior is a dead end" and i agree, it's his business, i don't like it but i want a partner, not a project
   
6. same as above
   
7. maybe with another discussion?
   
8. i dont really see it happening
   
9. probably not tbh
   
10. i got him to stop calling me "mommy" so that's a win i guess?
    
11. he keeps doing it so...
    

have you ever reached the level of a break?
i need time away from him sometimes because he can be a lot sometimes, but i'm also introverted so maybe i just want alone time (which i never get when together) but other than that no, never, we see each other once every week at the very least and are in contact every day.
dealbreaker?
i don't really like the concept of "ick" but the non-consensual touching of my breasts and privates the other day is very much that.

​
​
tldr: A few days ago my boyfriend touched me sexually while i hade told him no multiple times, now i'm reconsidering the relationship because i feel like i have no romantic feelings towards him all of a sudden and want advice on how to navigate the situation.

First
Vitmori POV
Left to my own devices, I made my way out of the keep and through the bailey until I was at the village plaza once again.
All around me was the buzz of activity as guards and villagers worked hand in hand to clean up their homes. From here I could see a few lines forming around various wells as people passed around buckets of water to start combating the various fires that were still smoldering within ruined homes and other buildings along the edges of the village.
Those who weren't dealing with fires were busily working to dismantle the mess of barricades left behind by the raiders in the plaza; all while the remaining villagers went around gathering the stray crates of materials and sacks of food that had been left in the streets by the raiders.
All in all, despite the chaos that had started the day; everything seemed rather coordinated and organized by now. Every person I spotted seemed to have a role and they took to it with steely determination to try and grab a semblance of normalcy as soon as they could. In the end, the only person that didn't have something specific to do was me.
As I walked through the plaza; looking for somewhere I could pitch in, I suddenly felt a set of eyes lock onto me after initially giving me a passing glance. With my curiosity piqued, I casually looked at one of the buildings I was next to before slowly pivoting around to start walking in the general direction of whoever was looking at me.
With a passing glance of my own, I spotted an olive-skinned human woman wearing a vibrant blue gambeson with a mix of leather and metal plates on key parts of her body, along with an arming sword that remained strapped to her hip. She looked to be in her late thirties as far as I could tell, but she wore her age well and carried herself with clear confidence that simply exuded from her with every step.
Turning away and pointing my attention towards the barricades as they were being disassembled, I waited for a few moments as the woman made her way up to me and spoke up. "Excuse me, Ser Mage, may I take a moment of your time?" She asked, sounding rather polite and respectful.
I pretended to be vaguely surprised, looking from side to side before turning around to look at the woman directly as I offered her a small smile. "Well, sure, to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?" I asked as I did my best to match the level of respect she had given me.
Looking at her more directly, I noticed that she had a deep cut over her left eye. It looked like a rather old wound, having long since healed perhaps a decade or two ago maybe. As for her eye, it seemed like it didn't survive whatever caused her wound as it was clearly an artificial one, being some kind of sapphire or blue crystal.
The woman returned my smile with a small smile of her own, holding out her hand to me for a handshake while slightly lowering her head and taking a half-step back with one foot as if to perform some kind of curtsy. "I am Vivia Lucfan, wife to Trelio Lucfan." She stated simply enough.
I met her hand with my own and gave it a firm shake before pulling back; while I was vaguely worried she would notice my hand was nothing but wood, the fact that we were both wearing gloves did help keep that detail under wraps for now. "Well then, it truly is a pleasure to meet you, I am Vito." I mused kindly while bringing my hand up and gently fondling one of Basmori's ears as he remained sound asleep despite all the activity around us. "Was there something you needed?" I asked, glancing at Basmori for a moment before looking back at her again.
I could sense her vague surprise as she spotted Basmori, seemingly having not spotted him at first before nodding her head at me. "Yes, Mage Vito, if I am not overstepping my boundaries and if it's not too much trouble, I'd like to ask for your aid in the cleanup." She explained at first, being reserved and polite in a rather diplomatic fashion.
I tilted my head ever so slightly; if this woman was Trelio's wife, then she was likely also a rank two elite, making her one of or at least the second most influential person in this entire village. The fact that she was speaking to me so politely likely meant that I've probably earned a measure of respect through my display of might and the merits of my actions. It did feel nice, but I also didn't feel all that comfortable with her being so overly reserved in the way she had been.
I flashed a little grin as I nodded in response, respectfully meeting her gaze and maintaining eye contact. "Sure, I'd be happy to. Though feel free to speak with more directness and less restraint, I don't care much for politics and prefer people to be straightforward with me rather than talking in circles."
As if a mask was pulled away, Vivia shifted her stance and flashed a roguish grin, seeming much more relaxed and confident than even moments earlier. "That's good to hear, Mage Vito, one can never be too sure how to handle necromancers such as yourself, or whatever sort of mage you are, so I appreciate your candor." She mused cheerfully enough, casually resting her left arm against the pommel of her sword.
I just chuckled softly at her comment and rubbed the back of my head. "I've found that 'eccentric' is a suitable enough moniker for me, so feel free to refer to me as such." I mentioned before bringing my hand back down to continue doting on the dozing Basmori. "Now then, you said you needed my help? What can I do for you?"
Vivia nodded intently as she curiously looked at Basmori again before looking back at me once more. "I witnessed your feats with spacial magics earlier when you took on our entire drawbridge at once; if it's not too much of a burden on you, would you be willing to clear away the rubble from the burned and shattered buildings?" She asked, looking off to the side as if to glance at one of the buildings in question when she returned her focus to me. "While we can put out the fires ourselves easily enough, moving all the rubble afterward will take us a lot of physical effort; effort that you could spare us from if you are willing." She explained simply enough.
I tilted my head a little from side to side, acting as if I were contemplating her request before speaking up after another moment. "That shouldn't be too much of an issue... Would you prefer if I clear the buildings away in their entirety or just take the rubble?"
Vivia blinked with vague surprise at my question and I could sense that she didn't even consider that as an option. After a few moments on her end to think on it, she simply nodded and regarded me again. "If you're able to do that much, then I would be grateful. You'll certainly save us even more time once we begin the reconstruction efforts."
"Sounds good with me, lead the way then." I offered with a gesture, the woman nodding in response as she guided me to one of the closer buildings in question.
Coming up to a building along the edge of the village, it appears to be a home of some kind; a simple but spacious two-story affair that was connected to one of the farmsteads which filled the clearing between the village and the somewhat distant treeline.
The ruined building had been just barely extinguished, leaving a thick sludge of ash-laden mud around the remains of the building. From where I stood, I could see a family of six picking through the ruins, doing their best to salvage what they could from what remained of the lives they had before everything that happened this morning.
With a glance over at Vivia, I could feel the weight on her heart as she watched this family; she knew them well enough, their crops and goods often finding their way onto her table over the years. "You should ask them to clear out, I wouldn't want them to accidentally get swept away in the cleanup." I suggested while stepping closer to the burned-out building as my borrowed boots sank a little into the mud.
Vivia hesitated for a moment, looking at me before nodding as she went ahead, speaking with the family of farmers in question. I could sense their reluctance to leave without recovering all of their belongings, but they weren't about to argue with the mayor's wife.
As they were led out of the ruined building by Vivia, I made my way up to the building before getting down to a kneeling position in the mud. I didn't want to make it seem like all this was too easy for me to do, so I made a show of closing my eyes and lowering my head before plunging both hands into the mud.
I started by draining the water from the ground around me, leaving it damp but not the muddy sludge that it was when I arrived. From there I stood and approached the building itself, stepping inside as I slowly but thoroughly pulled everything into my inventory, every single brick and ruined scrap of wood until nothing was left but the clearing where a home used to be.
I could feel the quiet despair coming from the parents and older children of the family, and the sad confusion of the younger children as they watched the remains of their home literally vanish before their eyes, but I wasn't done quite yet.
Going through the remains of the ruined house within my storage space, I did my best to sift through the rubble and begin pulling out pieces of intact furniture, drying and cleaning off what I could and fixing what I was able to. Things like a dining table, a few chairs, plates and utensils, various chests of belongings, all sorts of clothes, sheets, and pillows, little ornate latch boxes with simple jewelry, and children's toys.
After another fifteen minutes had passed, I managed to recover everything of value that I could find that wasn't ruined beyond recognition. Stepping away from the neat pile of goods and belongings, I flashed a little smile towards the family. "That was everything I could find, I wish you all the best."
The family was certainly thankful, the mother and children making their way over to check out everything I managed to salvage, all the while the father took his time thanking me for my help, going so far as bowing at the hip before going off to join his family.
Despite the loss of their home, I was glad that they were still able to smile once they discovered not everything was lost. They still had the rest of their farm as well, so it was likely only a matter of time until they were back on their feet.
Turning my attention back to Vivia, I sensed that she was seeing me in a new light, not having expected that I would go out of my way to do what I did. I just offered her a smile as well and made a gesture for us to keep walking. "On to the next building?" I suggested cheerfully enough.
Vivia returned my smile with one that had a surprising amount of warmth before nodding once. "Of course Mage Vito, if you'll follow me." She said, stepping away from the new clearing and leading me to the next smoldering house.
Tul'mi POV
The battle was over as quickly as it started, between the guards and the odd undead and her own efforts, they were able to dispatch the foreign soldiers holding her neighbors hostage with no friendly losses.
It took some time once it was all said and done, but before long they had returned to Lucfan's Rest with all the goods and missing people, the villagers for their parts getting straight to work putting everything back in order and cleaning up their homes and streets.
Coming to the plaza, she watched as the villagers disassembled an array of fortifications made from furniture and wood from their homes and businesses, doing their best to organize and get things back to where they belonged.
Tul'mi was surprised to see just how little carnage there was in the plaza, considering the brunt of the battle took place here, she was expecting to see a pile of corpses and limbs or at the very least a lot of blood. But there was nothing... The only signs that a battle took place here were the fortifications themselves, the burns on the keep's walls, as well as the fact that the drawbridge to the keep was missing and replaced with some kind of stone bridge.
Before she could decide what she was going to do, she heard the clanking of metal coming up behind her. Turning to look, she spotted the Lucfan twins making their way up to her, clearly delighted to see her as she offered a small smile in response. "Larkis, Vitra, it is good to see you both again. What did I miss?"
The half-elf siblings each pulled their helmets off, tucking them under their arms when Larkis piped up. "Only the most grisly battle ever, you should have seen the aftermath." He reported with grim eagerness. "I only got to see the aftermath myself due to remaining with the villagers in the field, as per your orders." He mentioned before flashing a grin. "But that scene I came across was one of pure carnage, scattered limbs, sliced throats, and those undead of his eating the enemy alive." He explained, eyes wide with excitement. "There in the center of it all was the stranger, standing there drenched in the blood of his enemies and the molten remains of the armor he stole from the foreign soldiers."
Vitra just shook her head at her brother's enthusiasm before looking up at Tul'mi. "Unlike him, I actually got to watch the fight." She mentioned as she reflected on her memories of the battle itself. "He fought with considerable skill and looked like he knew his way around a blade despite being a mage. I couldn't tell if he was using his manaheart to move at extreme speeds or attack with any greater force than normal, but the sheer amount of mana he threw around was the real deal." She explained with no small amounts of awe and wariness. "Though he displayed an odd amount of vitality and resilience, at one point he even took two arrows to the head and multiple spears to the chest... It... It looked like he died, but then he suddenly came back with greater force and fought as if he didn't just suffer those mortal injuries."
Tul'mi blinked with surprise at that, surviving and battling after suffering those kinds of wounds reminded her of an old berserker she used to know, but to hear of a mage with a berserker's resilience was a rather odd match-up. She knew Vito was strong upon meeting him, but that was almost absurd to hear. "I see, and do you happen to know where I can find Vito?"
"Is that his name?" Larkis asked enthusiastically.
"He's over with Mother on the edge of town, he's supposedly helping clear away the rubble." Vitra explained dutifully.
This revelation earned a half-hearted glare from Larkis as he lightly nudged her with his forearm. "Are you saying you knew where the stranger was this whole time and didn't tell me? Come on, let's go see him." He enthused eagerly as he turned to walk away.
However, Vitra was quick to act, snatching her brother by his pointed ear and pulling him back. "Hold it, you and I both have duties to tend to, we don't have the time to be bothering a mage of his caliber, not to mention that he's busy helping us as well."
Larkis couldn't help but hiss with pain, grunting as he wrangled his ear free before rubbing it with a look of annoyance on his face. "Fine, I get it, geez..." He muttered before sighing a bit. As he massaged his poor ear, he seemed to have a realization as he suddenly looked around with concern on his face. "Wait, where's Puh'ma, I thought she was with you."
Tul'mi couldn't help but flash a small smile at the young man's worried expression as she reached out and patted his shoulder. "She's alright, she managed to escape the brunt of the battle this morning to try and get a message to Sunspot Keep, according to Vito, she's resting with one of his familiars in the woods and will be collected by his caravan."
With the news that Puh'ma was safe, Larkis visibly relaxed and let out a sigh before rubbing the back of his head. "That's good to hear... Well, I suppose we ought to get back to our duties then." He said, standing a little taller and looking more professional than moments earlier, though the image cracked a little bit as he flashed a grin. "Maybe if we finish early enough, we can go visit Vito together." He mused before turning to walk off.
Vitra just shook her head at her brother's expense. "It's a wonder how Puh'ma managed to wrap him around her finger. He's rarely ever that motivated to do things on his own like that."
Tul'mi snickered at that as her tail flicked and lashed behind her. "She gets it from me no doubt." She mentioned before looking at Vitra. "Well if you'll excuse me, I'll go visit with your mother and see where I am needed."
Vitra nodded dutifully, lowering her head in a show of respect. "Of course Tul'mi, see you around." She said before turning on her heel to get back to work.
Now on her own, Tul'mi set out to find where Vito and Vivia ended up.
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