ancient pipe

Magic items designed for specific characters in my past campaigns

Verdant Ivy Sling (attunement optional–requires proficiency with slings) 

A sling that flings acorns that automatically grow from the sling, essentially giving infinite ammunition. if attuned by a druid, always under the effect of magic stone. If attuned by a ranger or druid, can be regrown from the loam as a bonus action.

(designed for a druid without any ranged attack options that were viable in the setting)

Bramble Net (requires proficiency with nets.) 

When a target is trapped by the net, they take 1d4-1 damage immediately and again for every failed skill check to escape. the net does a minimum of 0 damage.

(designed for a ranged, squishy ranger who had trouble handling flanking enemies)

Swampborn Trident (requires proficiency with tridents

Remove thrown property. On a critical hit, deal 1d6 damage and perform a grapple check with the target. On a successful grapple, disarm your opponent. Deals 1d6 damage on crit regardless of versatility.

(designed for a bullywog paladin, rediscovering his heritage)

Mage’s Battery (requires attunement from wizard, sorcerer, or warlock) 

A glove with a magical battery attached. After casting a spell, the battery gains a level of charge equal to the spell slot used. The next touch-range damaging spell cast adds damage equal to the charge on the battery. Cannot stack charges, and any charge wears out 1 minute after casting a spell.

(designed for a squishy dragonborn sorcerer obsessed with the secret machinations of the arcane)

Hamstringer (requires weapon proficiency with sickles

A surprisingly light hand-scythe made out of the bones of a giant bird. When this weapon crits, the target does not take extra damage by default. Instead, the target makes a constitution save against a bleed effect. The save DC is based on your strength modifier. (8+prof+str mod) On a failure, target takes 1d4 damage. On a success, the bleeding ends. Bleeding can only last 3 rounds maximum.

(designed for a druid who preferred to use his wild shape out of combat, and needed a melee weapon for combat)

Bloodthirst (requires proficiency with spears) 

A spear from the depths of a mad surgeon’s operating room. The tip of the spear is made from a giant syringe. Has the stats of a normal spear, except on a crit, the syringe deals no damage and the blood collected in the syringe heals the wielder an amount equal to their wisdom modifier.

(designed for a weak bladelock before he got his pact weapon)

Reaper’s Blade (requires attunement) 

A greatsword fashioned from the blade of an enormous scythe. When used to make an attack of opportunity, the blade grows blisteringly cold and deals 1d6 slashing and 1d6 cold damage, while also reducing the target’s speed by 10 feet.

(designed for a grim reaper-esque paladin)

Empty Bow (requires attunement) 

A shortbow, longbow, or crossbow of any size. When a hunter dies while hunting, their bow can be tasked with their unfinished business. Normal arrows cannot be shot from this bow. When attempted they break or misfire every time. Only magical arrows can be loaded and fired. If the Empty Bow is fired while empty, a spectral arrow flies from the string, identical to a normal arrow. However, if shot from hiding, the target has disadvantage on discovering the attacker.

(designed for any rogue/ranger who prefers to stay hidden throughout combat, waiting for opportune moments.)

Amulet of Spite (magical focus for any caster) 

A magical focus created by a forgotten wizard skilled in the creation of magical items, but terrible at casting in combat. When a creature of (monster type) succeeds against a saving throw, they take extra damage equal to your spellcasting modifier.

(designed for a cleric with low stats, to make sacred flame more viable)

Bands of Fury (requires attunement from barbarian or monk) 

A number of metal bands that fit around the knuckles of a medium sized creature. (roll 1d6 to determine number of bands) When making an unarmed attack, deal a minimum of 1d4 damage and the attacks count as magical. Can permanently spend one of the bands to make an unarmed attack at a range of 15/25.

(designed for a barbarian who intended to get the tavern brawler feat at level 4, but needed a bit of a boost until then.)

The Pied Pipes (requires attunement by a bard–cursed) 

Ancient musical pipes that can be traced back to an ancient legend involving the theft of a town’s children. When the wielder casts a spell to enchant a target, add +1 to the save DC. Underage targets have disadvantage on saving throws to be enchanted. Curse: When attuned to these pipes, the wielder cannot bear to be separated from the cursed item. When the wielder notices or interacts with a child, they must attempt to make that child their ward/apprentice/sidekick. Curse can only be broken by a remove curse spell.

(designed for a bard with a little more powerlust than sense.)

The Benevolent Gravekeeper’s Ring (requires attunement by a cleric/paladin) 

A brass ring engraved with rolling hills, tombstones, and flowers. This item has charges equal to your spellcasting modifier, regaining 1d4-1 charge each morning. Can spend one charge while casting a spell targeting undead. Either select a single undead to automatically pass the save, or select one undead to suffer disadvantage on their save.

(designed for a cleric who has a revenant teammate who they dont want to banish to the ethereal plane on accident.)

Counterbalance Greathammer (requires proficiency with martial weapons) 

A huge hammer that is extremely heavy. Deals 1d10 damage, requires two hands and has reach. Cannot be wielded by a small character. When you make an attack against an enemy at the end of your reach, you move 5 feet towards that enemy after rolling for the attack and damage. This counts as forced movement and doesn’t provoke opportunity attacks.

(built for a fighter or kensai monk, allows them to use their extra attacks to flow through combat)

Staff of the Acrobat (requires proficiency in quarterstaves and acrobatics) 

When making an attack against a target, you can make an acrobatics check with a save DC of 15. On a success, you can move to another space adjacent to your enemy, on a failure you are knocked prone. This movement provokes opportunity attacks.

(made for a monk who likes to evade rather than attack, gives more incentive as a monk to hit without using flurry of blows.)

Big Burly Box of Baubles for your Boys

Verdant ivy sling (attunement optional)(requires proficiency with slings) a sling that flings acorns that automatically grow from the sling, essentially giving infinite ammunition. if attuned by a druid, always under the effect of magic stone. If attuned by a ranger or druid, can be regrown from the loam as a bonus action.

(designed for a druid without any ranged attack options that were viable in the setting)

Bramble Net (requires proficiency with nets.) when a target is trapped by the net, they take 1d4-1 damage immediately and again for every failed skill check to escape. the net does a minimum of 0 damage.

(designed for a ranged, squishy ranger who had trouble handling flanking enemies)

Swampborn Trident *(requires proficiency with tridents) remove thrown property. on a critical hit, deal 1d6 damage and perform a grapple check with the target. On a successful grapple, disarm your opponent. Deals 1d6 damage on crit regardless of versatility.

(designed for a bullywog paladin, rediscovering his heritage)

Mage’s battery (requires attunement from wizard, sorcerer, or warlock) a glove with a magical battery attached. After casting a spell, the battery gains a level of charge equal to the spell slot used. the next touch-range damaging spell cast adds damage equal to the charge on the battery. Cannot stack charges, and any charge wears out 1 minute after casting a spell.

(designed for a squishy dragonborn sorcerer obsessed with the secret machinations of the arcane)

Hamstringer *(requires weapon proficiency with sickles) a surprisingly light hand-scythe made out of the bones of a giant bird. when this weapon crits, the target does not take extra damage by default. instead, the target makes a constitution save against a bleed effect. The save DC is based on your strength modifier. (8+prof+str mod) On a failure, target takes 1d4 damage. On a success, the bleeding ends. Bleeding can only last 3 rounds maximum.

(designed for a druid who preferred to use his wild shape out of combat, and needed a melee weapon for combat)

Bloodthirst (requires proficiency with spears) A spear from the depths of a mad surgeon’s operating room. The tip of the spear is made from a giant syringe. Has the stats of a normal spear, except on a crit, the syringe deals no damage and the blood collected in the syringe heals the wielder an amount equal to their wisdom modifier.

(designed for a weak bladelock before he got his pact weapon)

Reaper’s Blade (requires attunement) A greatsword fashioned from the blade of an enormous scythe. When used to make an attack of opportunity, the blade grows blisteringly cold and deals 1d6 slashing and 1d6 cold damage, while also reducing the target’s speed by 10 feet.

(designed for a grim reaper-esque paladin)

Empty Bow (requires attunement) A shortbow, longbow, or crossbow of any size. When a hunter dies while hunting, their bow can be tasked with their unfinished business. Normal arrows cannot be shot from this bow. When attempted they break or misfire every time. Only magical arrows can be loaded and fired. If the Empty Bow is fired while empty, a spectral arrow flies from the string, identical to a normal arrow. However, if shot from hiding, the target has disadvantage on discovering the attacker.

(designed for any rogue/ranger who prefers to stay hidden throughout combat, waiting for opportune moments.)

Amulet of Spite (magical focus for any caster) A magical focus created by a forgotten wizard skilled in the creation of magical items, but terrible at casting in combat. When a creature of (monster type) succeeds against a saving throw, they take extra damage equal to your spellcasting modifier.

(designed for a cleric with low stats, to make sacred flame more viable)

Bands of Fury (requires attunement from barbarian or monk) A number of metal bands that fit around the knuckles of a medium sized creature. (roll 1d6 to determine number of bands) When making an unarmed attack, deal a minimum of 1d4 damage and the attacks count as magical. Can permanently spend one of the bands to make an unarmed attack at a range of 15/25.

(designed for a barbarian who intended to get the tavern brawler feat at level 4, but needed a bit of a boost until then.)

The Pied Pipes (requires attunement by a bard) (cursed) Ancient musical pipes that can be traced back to an ancient legend involving the theft of a town’s children. When the wielder casts a spell to enchant a target, add +1 to the save DC. Underage targets have disadvantage on saving throws to be enchanted. Curse: when attuned to these pipes, the wielder cannot bear to be separated from the cursed item. When the wielder notices or interacts with a child, they must attempt to make that child their ward/apprentice/sidekick. curse can only be broken by a remove curse spell.

(designed for a bard with a little more powerlust than sense.)

The Benevolent Gravekeeper’s Ring (requires attunement by a cleric, paladin) A brass ring engraved with rolling hills, tombstones, and flowers. This item has charges equal to your spellcasting modifier, regaining 1d4-1 charge each morning. Can spend one charge while casting a spell targeting undead. Either select a single undead to automatically pass the save, or select one undead to suffer disadvantage on their save.

(designed for a cleric who has a revenant teammate who they dont want to banish to the ethereal plane on accident.)

Counterbalance greathammer (requires proficiency with martial weapons) A huge hammer that is extremely heavy. deals 1d10 damage, requires two hands and has reach. Cannot be wielded by a small character. When you make an attack against an enemy at the end of your reach, you move 5 feet towards that enemy after rolling for the attack and damage. This counts as forced movement and doesnt provoke opportunity attacks.

(built for a fighter or kensai monk, allows them to use their extra attacks to flow through combat)

Staff of the Acrobat (requires proficiency in quarterstaves and acrobatics) When making an attack against a target, you can make an acrobatics check with a save DC of 15. on a success, you can move to another space adjacent to your enemy, on a failure you are knocked prone. This movement provokes opportunity attacks.

(made for a monk who likes to evade rather than attack, gives more incentive as a monk to hit without using flurry of blows.)

The knock is quiet, almost inaudible.  But it’s there.  Dean closes his eyes and takes a breath.  Then another.  The door opens after a moment – his lack of response serves as an invitation.  He can’t look up; he can’t see the look on Sam’s face.  The one that’s so caring and gentle.  The one Sam uses with victims and witnesses to show he cares.  

“Hey, Dean,” Sam says quietly.  Despite himself, Dean looks up.  Sam’s offering a warm half-smile, and Dean can see the sadness in his eyes.  Sam’s concern is always Dean, but in Cas’s death, Sam lost someone close, too.  He lost a friend.

“Hey, Sammy.”  Dean’s voice is rough from disuse.  He’s holed up in his room as often as possible, and said as little as possible since they arrived home.  He’s left Sam to deal with Jack.  Dean can’t handle the questions of What was my father like?  Castiel… what was he like?  It just hurts too goddamn much.

Sam sits on the edge of the bed, and the mattress groans under the weight.  He hands over a beer, and Dean takes it, grateful for the coolness of the bottle.  He drinks the neck in one swig and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, listening to the ancient pipes moan and churn and the air system kick on with a clunk.  “How are you?”  Sam asks finally, taking a sip of his beer.

Dean bends his knee and drapes an arm around it, the bottle neck hanging loosely from his fingers.  He stares at the wall, focusing on a crack in the cement.  It feels fitting – he feels like his soul has been cracked, if not shattered.  “Just peachy,” he says.  It’s a default response, his sarcasm.  And Sam knows better.  He knows Sam knows better.

Keep reading

Big Burly Box of Baubles for your Boys

Verdant ivy sling (attunement optional)(requires proficiency with slings) a sling that flings acorns that automatically grow from the sling, essentially giving infinite ammunition. if attuned by a druid, always under the effect of magic stone. If attuned by a ranger or druid, can be regrown from the loam as a bonus action.

(designed for a druid without any ranged attack options that were viable in the setting)

Bramble Net (requires proficiency with nets.) when a target is trapped by the net, they take 1d4-1 damage immediately and again for every failed skill check to escape. the net does a minimum of 0 damage.

(designed for a ranged, squishy ranger who had trouble handling flanking enemies)

Swampborn Trident *(requires proficiency with tridents) remove thrown property. on a critical hit, deal 1d6 damage and perform a grapple check with the target. On a successful grapple, disarm your opponent. Deals 1d6 damage on crit regardless of versatility.

(designed for a bullywog paladin, rediscovering his heritage)

Mage’s battery (requires attunement from wizard, sorcerer, or warlock) a glove with a magical battery attached. After casting a spell, the battery gains a level of charge equal to the spell slot used. the next touch-range damaging spell cast adds damage equal to the charge on the battery. Cannot stack charges, and any charge wears out 1 minute after casting a spell.

(designed for a squishy dragonborn sorcerer obsessed with the secret machinations of the arcane)

Hamstringer *(requires weapon proficiency with sickles) a surprisingly light hand-scythe made out of the bones of a giant bird. when this weapon crits, the target does not take extra damage by default. instead, the target makes a constitution save against a bleed effect. The save DC is based on your strength modifier. (8+prof+str mod) On a failure, target takes 1d4 damage. On a success, the bleeding ends. Bleeding can only last 3 rounds maximum.

(designed for a druid who preferred to use his wild shape out of combat, and needed a melee weapon for combat)

Bloodthirst (requires proficiency with spears) A spear from the depths of a mad surgeon’s operating room. The tip of the spear is made from a giant syringe. Has the stats of a normal spear, except on a crit, the syringe deals no damage and the blood collected in the syringe heals the wielder an amount equal to their wisdom modifier.

(designed for a weak bladelock before he got his pact weapon)

Reaper’s Blade (requires attunement) A greatsword fashioned from the blade of an enormous scythe. When used to make an attack of opportunity, the blade grows blisteringly cold and deals 1d6 slashing and 1d6 cold damage, while also reducing the target’s speed by 10 feet.

(designed for a grim reaper-esque paladin)

Empty Bow (requires attunement) A shortbow, longbow, or crossbow of any size. When a hunter dies while hunting, their bow can be tasked with their unfinished business. Normal arrows cannot be shot from this bow. When attempted they break or misfire every time. Only magical arrows can be loaded and fired. If the Empty Bow is fired while empty, a spectral arrow flies from the string, identical to a normal arrow. However, if shot from hiding, the target has disadvantage on discovering the attacker.

(designed for any rogue/ranger who prefers to stay hidden throughout combat, waiting for opportune moments.)

Amulet of Spite (magical focus for any caster) A magical focus created by a forgotten wizard skilled in the creation of magical items, but terrible at casting in combat. When a creature of (monster type) succeeds against a saving throw, they take extra damage equal to your spellcasting modifier.

(designed for a cleric with low stats, to make sacred flame more viable)

Bands of Fury (requires attunement from barbarian or monk) A number of metal bands that fit around the knuckles of a medium sized creature. (roll 1d6 to determine number of bands) When making an unarmed attack, deal a minimum of 1d4 damage and the attacks count as magical. Can permanently spend one of the bands to make an unarmed attack at a range of 15/25.

(designed for a barbarian who intended to get the tavern brawler feat at level 4, but needed a bit of a boost until then.)

The Pied Pipes (requires attunement by a bard) (cursed) Ancient musical pipes that can be traced back to an ancient legend involving the theft of a town’s children. When the wielder casts a spell to enchant a target, add +1 to the save DC. Underage targets have disadvantage on saving throws to be enchanted. Curse: when attuned to these pipes, the wielder cannot bear to be separated from the cursed item. When the wielder notices or interacts with a child, they must attempt to make that child their ward/apprentice/sidekick. curse can only be broken by a remove curse spell.

(designed for a bard with a little more powerlust than sense.)

The Benevolent Gravekeeper’s Ring (requires attunement by a cleric, paladin) A brass ring engraved with rolling hills, tombstones, and flowers. This item has charges equal to your spellcasting modifier, regaining 1d4-1 charge each morning. Can spend one charge while casting a spell targeting undead. Either select a single undead to automatically pass the save, or select one undead to suffer disadvantage on their save.

(designed for a cleric who has a revenant teammate who they dont want to banish to the ethereal plane on accident.)

Counterbalance greathammer (requires proficiency with martial weapons) A huge hammer that is extremely heavy. deals 1d10 damage, requires two hands and has reach. Cannot be wielded by a small character. When you make an attack against an enemy at the end of your reach, you move 5 feet towards that enemy after rolling for the attack and damage. This counts as forced movement and doesnt provoke opportunity attacks.

(built for a fighter or kensai monk, allows them to use their extra attacks to flow through combat)

Staff of the Acrobat (requires proficiency in quarterstaves and acrobatics) When making an attack against a target, you can make an acrobatics check with a save DC of 15. on a success, you can move to another space adjacent to your enemy, on a failure you are knocked prone. This movement provokes opportunity attacks.

(made for a monk who likes to evade rather than attack, gives more incentive as a monk to hit without using flurry of blows.)

Fic 455: Bon Anniversaire

Spy/Pyro sweetness!

And just a quick note! I’ll be travelling this weekend, so there won’t be any updates, but I’ll try and have something up for you all Sunday or Monday night. Until then, take care!


It was night. The closest 2Fort ever came to being silent. Absent the sounds of gunfire and explosives, death knells and Wilhelm screams, it was peaceful. Now the air hummed with a million little sounds. There was the soft tick-tick-tick of the alarm clock on the nightstand and the rattling of ancient pipes as steam surged through them to power the generator as someone, somewhere flipped a light switch. Outside was the soft patter of raindrops as a rare cold front came through, gently tapping at the windowpane before dripping down to the sash. It was the type of night that Pyro normally loved; quiet and dark, and making the entire world feel small and safe.

They rolled over under the covers, pulling Balloonicorn close. The thick rubber squeaked in their arms, just enough to let them know that it was just a little too tight.

Tick-tick-tick

The hands of the clock swung around again, and they watched as it once again neared the Hour. The Secret Hour. The time and date that no one else knew.

Their birthday.

Keep reading

Hello Detective (Sherlock) Chapter 40

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15   Part 16   Part 17   Part 18   Part 19   Part 20   Part 21   Part 22   Part 23   Part 24   Part 25   Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29 Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33   Part 34   Part 35   Part 36   Part 37   Part 38   Part 39   Part 40     Part 41   Part 42   Part 43   Part 44   Part 45   Part 46   Part 47   Part 48   Part 49   Part 50  Part 51  Part 52   Part 53  Part 54  Part 55   Part 56  Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60 Part 61

You, John, and Sherlock loaded back into the car and drove to the Hollow.

You got out of the car and John ran ahead of you two.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You know what happened last time.” Sherlock said, you rolled your eyes.

“I’m fine, let’s go!” You ran after John, Sherlock trailing behind you.

You made it to the Hollow and saw Henry kneeling, with a gun in his mouth. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“No, Henry, no, no!” Sherlock yelled.

“Get back! Get away from me!” Henry yelled, now standing and waving his gun frantically in the air. You were worried he might accidentally fire it.

“Easy, Henry, easy. Just relax.” You tried to calm him down.

“I know what I am, I know what I tried to do.” Henry rambled.

“Just put the gun down, it’s okay.” You tried again.

“No!” Henry yelled again. “I know what I am.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do Henry. It’s all been explained to you hasn’t it. Explained very carefully.” Sherlock said calmly.

“What?” Henry asked confused.

“Someone needed to keep you quiet, needed to keep you as a child, to reassert the dream you both clung on to because you had started to remember. Remember now, Henry, you’ve got to remember what happened here when you were a little boy.” Sherlock instructed.

“I thought it had got my dad. The hound. I thought… Oh, Jesus! I don’t… I don’t know anymore!” Henry yelled, waving the gun again, before placing it in his mouth.

“No Henry! For God sake!” John yelled.

“Henry, remember. “Liberty In.” Two words. Two words a scared little boy saw here 20 years ago. You’d started to piece things together. Remember what really happened here that night.” You said.

“It wasn’t an animal, was it, Henry?” Sherlock asked. “Not a monster, a man.”

Henry looked up as if he were beginning to remember again.

“You couldn’t cope. You were just a child. So you rationalized it into something very different. Then you started to remember so you had to be stopped.” Sherlock said.

“Driven out of your mind so that no-one would believe a word that you said.” Sherlock continued.

“Y/N!” You heard Lestrade yell, as he entered the Hollow.

John slowly grabbed the gun from Henry as he mumbled incoherently.

“We saw it… a hound… last night.” He muttered.

“No, but there was a dog, Henry. Leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but nothing more than an ordinary dog. We both saw it, saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus, that’s how it works. But there never was any monster.” Sherlock smiled as Henry began to calm down.

It had seemed like things had calmed down, but then the sound of growls filled the hollow. John pointed his flashlight up and it landed on a large dog.

“Sherlock?” You said, your hand grabbing his coat out of instinct.

He looked up in disbelief.

“No! No, no, no, no!” Henry began to mumble.

“Henry!” Sherlock reached an arm out to him, but there was no calming him now. It was here, and you began to feel weak again.

“Are you seeing this?” You turned around to Lestrade, whose mouth was hanging open.  

“Right, he is not drugged, Sherlock, so what’s that?” John asked.

“It’s just a dog Henry, it’s nothing more than an ordinary dog.” Sherlock yelled. But it seemed like so much more, it had the same glowing eyes.

The hound jumped down, slowly entering the hollow and baring its teeth. Sherlock turned to see a man walking into the other side of the hollow.

You began to cough and fall to your knees, as the man in the gas mask got closer. Sherlock pulled off the mask but it wasn’t who you had expect to see. It didn’t make sense, there was no way your uncle Ryan could have really been here.

“No! No, no!” Sherlock said, as surprised to see him as you were, unless he was seeing someone entirely different.

“It’s not you, not you!” Sherlock yelled. He pulled the man by his shirt  and you realized it wasn’t your uncle at all… it was Bob Franklin.

“The fog.” Sherlock said, in realization.

“What?” Lestrade asked.

“It’s in the fog! The drug is in the fog. Aerosol dispersant, that’s what is said in the records. Project HOUND, it’s the fog!” Sherlock said, solving it.

But the dog was real, and it kept getting closer. Your legs were too weak to stand, and the dog had its sights on you.

“For God’s sake, kill it!” You croaked through a cough.

Lestrade raised his gun and shot the dog multiple times, missing a few. It fell to the ground, dead.

“Look Henry.” Sherlock said, making Henry look at the dog to show that it was just that.

You bastard.” He turned around and said to Bob Franklin. He repeated himself before lunging at him.

“Twenty years! Twenty years of my life, making no sense!” He yelled, frantically, trying to hit Bob. Lestrade quickly pulled him off.

Sherlock helped you to your feet, and mentally asked you if you were okay. You nodded in response, not knowing if it was the truth.

“Why didn’t you just kill me!” Henry yelled.

You leaned into Sherlock’s side as he provided an answer. “Because dead men get listened to, he needed to do more than kill you. He had to discredit every word you ever said about your father. And he had the means right at his feet.”

“A chemical minefield. Pressure pads in the ground, dosing you up every time that you came back here.” You said.

“Murder weapon and scene of the crime all at once! Oh, this case, Henry. Thank you!” Sherlock laughed, and you elbowed him in the side.

“What?” He asked, genuinely unaware.

“Timing…” You said.

“Not good?” He asked.

“No, no. It’s okay. Because this means that my dad was right. He’d found something out, hadn’t he?” Henry asked, looking down to Bob Franklin.

“And that’s why you killed him because he was right, and he’d found you right in the middle of an experiment!” Henry yelled again.

Bob Franklin suddenly stood and began to run from the Hollow. Everyone began to run after him, but you weren’t sure what his plan was. Surely he knew he was outnumbered, and by people with guns, younger people who could outrun him.

He continued to run as you yelled after him. Then you saw the direction he was going… He jumped the barbed wire fence and you froze.

“No, stop! Everyone stop!” You yelled, and they obeyed.

“We can catch him, what are you on about Y/N!” Sherlock yelled.

“He just ran into the damn minefield!” You yelled back, everyone turn just as the explosion ripped through the air. The force pushed you all back, nearly forcing you to the ground.

John and Lestrade brought Henry home and made sure to take away his gun. Sherlock brought you back to the room so you could get a few hours of sleep before you all left in the morning.

“The aerosol… that must have been why you passed out. One of the chemicals in the fog must have reacted with the medication John gave you and caused you to lose consciousness.” Sherlock said, as he unlocked the door and lead you in.

“That makes sense.” You nodded.

“You are feeling better though, right?” Sherlock asked.

“I guess. I still feel kind of nauseous. Maybe I just need sleep though.” You said, changing and slipping into bed.

Sherlock kissed you on the head and you soon fell asleep.

The next morning you were sitting outside of the Inn with John eating breakfast.

Sherlock approached the two of you and handed you a cup of coffee.

“Thanks.” You smiled, Sherlock smiled back.

“So they didn’t have it put down then, the dog?” John asked.

“Obviously.” Sherlock said.

“Probably couldn’t bring themselves to do it.” You said.

“I see.” Sherlock lied.

“No you don’t.” John said.

“No, I don’t. Sentiment?” Sherlock asked.

“Bingo.” You smiled.

“Listen, what happened to me in the lab?” John asked. Sherlock was now sitting down next to you. You and Sherlock shared a look, not wanting to tell John about the little experiment.

“Do you want some sauce with that?” Sherlock asked, trying to change the subject and holding up the condiment tray.

“I hadn’t been to the Hollow. How came I heard those things there? Fear and stimulus, you said.” John kept talking.

“You must have been dosed with it elsewhere. When you went to the lab, maybe. You saw those pipes, pretty ancient, leaky as a sieve. And they were carrying the gas, so…” Sherlock lied.

“Hang on. You thought it was in the sugar. You were convinced it was in the sugar.” John pointed it.

“We’d better get going, there’s a train leaving in half an hour, so if you want…” Sherlock began, looking at his watch before being cut off by John.

“Oh, God! It was you. You locked me in the bloody lab.” John rolled his eyes.

“I had to, it was an experiment. But for the record, she helped.” Sherlock said.

“Thanks for throwing me under the bus.” You smiled sarcastically.

“An experiment!” John yelled, and Sherlock shushed him.

“I was terrified Sherlock, I was scared to death!” John said, his voice booming.

“I thought the drug was in the sugar, so I put the sugar in your coffee. Then arranged everything with Major Barrymore. Totally scientific, laboratory conditions, literally.” Sherlock began. “I knew what effect it had on two superior minds, so I needed to try it on an average one… You know what I mean.” Sherlock said, catching himself, you were actually quite proud.

“But it wasn’t in the sugar.” John pointed out again.

“No, well… I wasn’t to know you’d already been exposed to the gas.” Sherlock said, sipping his coffee.

“So you got it wrong.” John said.

“A bit.” Sherlock said, annoyed.

“It won’t happen again.” You smiled.

Sherlock now stood and looked off back towards the Inn.

“Where are you going?” You asked.

“Come with me, Sergeant. John we’ll just be a minute. Got to see a man about a dog.” Sherlock said, and you stood to follow him.

After the two of you informed Gary and Bill that the dog was dead, you took a train back into London.

John returned to Baker Street, but Sherlock accompanied you back to your flat. You were looking forward to a little rest, before returning to work. You would have never guessed that within the coming weeks you would be tested in ways you never have before.

Follow Orders

Title: Follow Orders

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Prompt:  can I request one where reader and Bucky don’t get along (but he secretly loves her cmon) and in one mission the avengers are forced to abort but she’s still doing something and gets caught up and tells them to leave without her but by some miracle she makes it to the jet in the nick of time and Bucky gets mad at her but kisses her? Thanks :P

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: Cred to @sexualtea for helping to develop the reader’s character in this

Originally posted by imkylotrash

           “You’re clear,” Steve’s voice crackled through Y/n’s earpiece. “Here we go,” she mumbled and started down the dimly lit corridor, trying to quiet her footsteps best she could. Only Bucky, Steve, and Sam had accompanied her on her mission because they doubted Hydra members would come back to the abandoned base. Their best bet was that most current Hydra agents didn’t even know that it existed. But there was always a possibility.

           They needed some information and the only way they’d be able to access the files that they needed was to infiltrate an old Hydra base and get to the main computer where Y/n would be able to work her magic and gather the files.

           “Ugh, do we have to take Y/n,” Barnes had groaned when Steve had told him about the mission. Steve rolled his eyes. “She’s the only one with the ability to hack into their system,” he clarified, “So yes, we have to take her.” Bucky pouted for the rest of the day.

           “Can someone please scan for the main computer?” she asked quietly, carefully examining her surroundings. “Why don’t you just look for it yourself Genius?” Bucky’s annoyed voice scoffed in her earpiece. “Why don’t you shut up and let me do my job Barnes?” Y/n rolled her eyes.  “Fuck you,” she heard Bucky’s low grumble say. “I’d rather you not,” she bit back. “Will you two stop flirting and focus?” Sam cut into the conversation. “Like I would flirt with Tin Man,” Y/n scoffed.

Keep reading

I Always Thought Something Was Off About My Basement, But I Had No Idea How Terrifying The Truth Was

I remember seeing the house for the first time. I was a child of seven. My young parents had just bought their first home. I remember I used to hate living in the cramped, dingy apartment we previously inhabited and opened the door to our new home with wide eyed wonder. It blew my young mind how spacious this house was. I went upstairs to scope out my bedroom. I was so excited that I was getting my own room and did not have to share it with my infant brother.

On my grand tour of my new digs, I finally made it down to our basement. The basement was nothing like the rest of the house. The upstairs was elegant and classy. The basement was cold, metallic, and sterile. The ceiling covered in ancient pipes winding in grotesque angles. The floor covered in rough cement. I recall taking a look at the stairs for the first time and being immediately struck with how odd they were.

The stairs were surrounded in drywall which clashed with the rest of the basement. One particular section of the wall was colored differently than the rest. It stood out like a sore thumb. I inched close to it and felt the texture of it. It felt very strange. I then knocked on it. A hollow sound pervaded the empty air of the basement. Something about that sound immediately put me ill at ease. I walked up the stairs as I could hear that same hollow sound echo in the emptiness of the basement.

As we settled into our new home, I began to get comfortable with my surroundings. The house began to feel familiar. Everywhere, that is, except for the basement. It just always put me off, and I avoided going down there as best as I could. Our family couldn’t be happier. My loving father and mother doted over me and my little brother. My life was perfect.

Then it began.

I would hear errant noises. When I pointed it out to my parents, they told me the old standby that the house was settling in. One night in particular indicated that something wasn’t right. I snuck downstairs to the kitchen for a late night snack. As I closed the refrigerator, I heard a tapping sound cut through the silence of the night. I craned my head to see if I could pinpoint where the sound was coming from. Dread began to wash over me as I realized that tapping was coming from the basement. I inched my way over to the basement door. I opened it to see the blackness of the depths below.

My ears perked up. There it was again. That hollow tapping sound. The same sound I had heard on my initial visit to the basement from hitting the drywall. I turned on the lights steeling myself to go down the stairs and investigate. The tapping continued as I took the first step. Fear overtook me. I ran back to my room and hid under my covers until the morning light gave way to a new day.

I remember walking down the stairs. Being the first one up and about, I ran to the living room to play Nintendo. On my way, I passed the door to the basement. It was shut. Though I was in a state of near panic when I ran from it the previous night, I distinctly remember leaving the door open and not turning off the lights. I rationalized that my mother or father must have gone down there for some reason and lost myself in Super Mario Bros. 3.

Later, I mentioned the incident to my parents, and they just assured me that what I heard was the sound of the hot water heater clicking in the night. I knew better, but welcomed a logical explanation.

About a month after the move, my mother asked me to run downstairs and grab a load of socks as our washer and dryer were in the basement. I reluctantly told her I would. It was the middle of the day and enough time had passed to dull the fear I had felt a week prior.

I turned on the lights. I ran down the stairs. Hearing the hollow sound echo with my footsteps, a cold sweat started to form on me. I made my way to the dryer and grabbed a basket. I pulled the socks out hastily and shoved them into the basket. After I shut the door to the dryer, I surveyed my surroundings. The stillness of the basement was so eerie. Then I heard it. A faintly audible whisper.

At first, I thought it was somebody calling from upstairs, and their voice scarcely making it down into the basement. However, this was not the case. That sound was coming from the basement, specifically, from under the stairs. As I stood frozen with fear, it began to increase in volume but still remained barely above the threshold of human perception, what was being said incomprehensible to my young ears.

Then it stopped as quickly as it began.

I moved toward the stairs keeping my eye on the oddly colored portion of the drywall. As I took my first step to escape this ever growing nightmare, the most profoundly terrifying moment of my life occurred. A loud, hollow bang shook the stairs. Almost knocking me to the ground. I ran up the stairs as fast as my legs would carry me.

Through tears and shaking uncontrollably, I told my parents what happened. They tried their best to calm me, but nothing they said could ease my mind. I told them in no uncertain terms that I would never go down to the basement again. They must have been convinced of how terrified I was, because they honored my request and never sent me down there again.

After another three months in the house, things returned to normalcy for me, and honestly, there was about a two week period where I was happy again. The last time happiness would exist in my life or my families for that matter. One moment in particular comes to mind. I remember lifting up little Jonathon above my head lovingly as his pacifier fell out of his mouth and brushed against my nose tickling me. I pulled him in for a big bear hug and remember how he smelled. That wonderful smell that babies emit and, for the last time, feeling content.

Any semblance of contentment came crashing down for me and my parents the night of July 2nd, 1991.

That is the day Jonathon went missing.

A ransom note was scrawled in barely legible English and left in his bed demanding $20,000 dollars cash. It informed my parents that if they contacted the police, they would kill Jonathon. My mother and father took to their room and argued loudly and emotionally over whether or not to call the police as I listened with tears streaming down my eyes. My mother eventually wore down my father, and the police were called. Seeing as the location of the drop and time were indicated on the note, the police set up a wiretap just in case the kidnapper decided to call. I asked my parents and the police if they had thoroughly searched through the house in case he was still here. They assured me they had and that Jonathon would be fine after the drop, but the seed of an idea was already growing in my mind that would blossom throughout the rest of my life.

My parents followed the instructions to a T. They dropped off the money and then waited in the location that they were supposed to pick up Jonathon.

He never came.

Needless to say, this tore my family apart. As the weeks passed and there was no news about Jonathon, my young, vibrant parents became husks of their former selves, my mother especially. She blamed herself for getting the police involved and believed that to be the reason Jonathon was not returned. One night as she was sobbing alone in shambles clutching a bottle of wine, I finally decided to divulge to her my theory that had been brewing inside my skull. I told her that I thought it was whoever (or whatever for that matter) was under the stairs that had gotten Jonathon and maybe he is still alive. She slapped me across my face so hard that I saw stars. She screamed at me. The guilt expressing itself as rage. She told me to stop the childish bullshit and just accept that Jonathon was taken out of the house by some sick fuck and is dead. My childhood died that day. I remember contemplating taking a hammer and exposing whatever was under the stairs myself, but the fear was just too overwhelming for me to actually do it let alone step one stair down into that basement.

My family moved shortly after this incident. I remember looking to the future with what might resemble optimism only to have it come crashing down. My parents divorced. The grief was too much to share and not a year after that my mother killed herself. The guilt must have just overwhelmed her. My father did his best to raise me, but Jonathon’s long shadow always hung over our lives.

Twenty years later, I began to think long and hard about my little brother’s disappearance and how angry it made me. My family had a chance at a normal and fulfilling life, and it was snuffed out in an instant by whoever took him. I wasn’t just robbed of a little brother. I was robbed of any chance of happiness. As I grew up, I accepted the official story of what happened. But lately, curiosity began to get the better of me. I began driving past the old house. Seeing that it was currently vacant. Ideas began to swirl in my head.

So, I broke into the house bolstered by alcohol. I decided to do it. Knowing I would likely find nothing under the basement stairs, but hoping that this would close a too long chapter in my life and allow me to finally move on. To my dismay, the stairs sounded exactly the same as I remember they did, a hollow sound pervading the emptiness of the basement. I stare at the spot in the drywall, still discolored, still just as ominous as it was when I was a child. However, fear was not going to stop me. In fact, I was feeling the opposite. I was feeling a courage I hadn’t felt in a long time. The moment of truth was upon me. With all the force within me emboldened by years of pent up rage, I ran toward the wall shoulder first. The drywall came crashing down around me. I opened my eyes as my bravery was immediately eroded and turned into absolute horror.Jesus.Bones.Bones everywhere.

My horror increased to unimaginable heights as I surveyed the tight space seeing the myriad skeletons strewn about. The light playing menacingly on their tiny frames. Tattered pieces of paper were strewn about with God only knows what written on them. There must have been the remains of 20-30 children. My fright reaching a crescendo when I realized that with no exceptions they were all missing their skulls.

One particularly tiny one begged for my attention. I became weak in the knees and fell backwards when I saw what were unmistakably bite marks up and down the tiny forearm.

As I hit the ground, I expected to hear a dull thud as I landed on the concrete. Instead I heard a hollow sound. I looked to see what I had landed on, a trap door. Finding new courage, summoning strength I didn’t know I had, I opened it.

Below me lay a dark tunnel, a crawl space that could barely fit a person lying on their stomach. The dank smell wafting upward made me reluctant, but I knew what I had to do. Before I was conscious of what my muscles were doing, I found myself crawling through the darkness toward whatever lay on the other side.

As I reached the end of the tunnel, I looked up to see a sliver of light cutting through the darkness. With trepidation, I pushed upwards.

Cautiously, I poked my head up. To my surprise, the tunnel had led to the other side of the stairs. I crawled out to find myself in the corner of the basement facing the stairs behind a dryer covered in years of dust. The implications of all of this sent my mind reeling, but before I could form a coherent thought the lights turned off in the basement.

My heart caught in my throat as I began to hear someone descending the stairs, slow but sure steps announcing I was no longer alone. With every thud, my heart skipped a beat. I began to hear that incomprehensible whispering absolutely indelible in my mind. The familiarity reigniting the fear and woe of my lost childhood. Worrying the darkness would not adequately hide me, I sought cover by ducking behind the dryer not willing to take the risk of catching a glimpse though every fiber of my being screamed to do so.

Panic began to set in. What am I going to do when he (it?) discovers his lair has been revealed? While I was mulling over my options, the screaming began.

I say scream as a frame of reference, but there is no way to truly describe the guttural noises I heard. The sounds smashing the silence of the basement were, so bone chilling, so surreal as to defy description. He clearly had discovered his perverse sanctuary had been disturbed. Before I knew it, I was up the stairs running for my life.

I made it to my car too scared to turn around. With all muscles working in concert, I opened the door and put the key in the ignition in one swift movement. As my car sprang to life under the street light, a shadow fell over my car. I gunned it never looking back, flooring the accelerator to the local police precinct. I breathlessly tried to explain to the attending officer what had occurred and collapsed to the floor mid sentence.

Now, it is a month later. The next day after my discovery the police launched an investigation and quickly made the same gruesome discovery. I was thanked profusely by the police and the community for what I had found telling me they were going to be able to close the books on multiple missing person cases. However, they were not able to find the perpetrator of these heinous crimes. They began to test the DNA of the bodies. A profound sense of relief overcame me when I received the call informing me that one of the tiny skeletons belonged to Jonathon.

I shared the news with my father. The look on his face, relief all encompassing as the burden he had carried for so many years was lifted. We hugged as tears filled both of our eyes.

However, the relief has been short lived.

The thing that keeps me up at night is that whoever or whatever did this is still out there. The question that plagues my mind is whether or not this monster is literal or figurative. Either way, I hope I never find out.

Autism: A Love|Hate Relationship

I see posts “I love being autistic” and “I hate being autistic”. Quite often (almost all) do not say why. Being autistic, I want to to know why. I want to know why about everything :). I will try to give you some whys about my feelings on the topic. Why do I love being autistic and why do I hate it.

I love the sensitivity - for me walking from a warm carpet to a cool hardwood floor is intensely erotic. Feeling the grit of concrete scraping my feet as I skip along the sidewalk while smelling the Ancient Guardian’s pipe smoke is exciting in ways I cannot make words for. The bark of a tree scratching my hands while I climb  makes me shiver.

And I hate the sensitivity. The fear that has no basis when I see sudden flashes of light. The rage when a fluorescent light flickers. The need to hide from fireworks displays that I know are miles away. The meltdowns from a flashing image on my computer screen.

I hate that I cannot make mouth noise without major effort because I do not think in words. That I cannot say what I think because there are no words for the smell of Baby’s breath in the morning when she forces a kiss on me before I’m even awake. That I cannot tell her how it feels to me.

I love that I think in experience. That every time I think of Baby’s greeting it includes the feeling of her weight pressing down, the smell of her breath, the image of her face, the feel of her skin on mine. That every mention of something becomes an experience (once I decipher the words). That reading of climbing a tree becomes the feel of bark, the smell of pine, the stickiness of sap.

I hate that when I get annoyed it becomes a flaming forest fire of rage.

I love that when I get pleased it becomes an erotic delight that makes me shiver.

I hate it when I do not understand words. There is no “I love” to go with this. I cannot think of a good side to not understanding mouth noise. I don’t even get a break from not hearing it - I have to hear it and deal with my brain trying to make sense of it and failing (like hearing a language similar to your own but not the same so you constantly try to translate and fail).

There are some logic things my brain does behind the scenes that I love - but they are behind the scenes and I haven’t been able to describe them. They are useful enough that people hire me to do computer work in spite of the cost of making places safe for me, so they must be good things.

Overall, I would not recommend being born autistic. It’s not a horrible fate, but it’s not the best option. An elf in a forest in a land with dragons, and knights in shiny armor, and wizards of great wisdom would be better. Choose that.

There are things about being autistic.

I Always Thought Something Was Off About My Basement, But I Had No Idea How Terrifying The Truth Was
External image

I remember seeing the house for the first time. I was a child of seven. My young parents had just bought their first home. I remember I used to hate living in the cramped, dingy apartment we previously inhabited and opened the door to our new home with wide eyed wonder. It blew my young mind how spacious this house was. I went upstairs to scope out my bedroom. I was so excited that I was getting my own room and did not have to share it with my infant brother.

On my grand tour of my new digs, I finally made it down to our basement. The basement was nothing like the rest of the house. The upstairs was elegant and classy. The basement was cold, metallic, and sterile. The ceiling covered in ancient pipes winding in grotesque angles. The floor covered in rough cement. I recall taking a look at the stairs for the first time and being immediately struck with how odd they were.

The stairs were surrounded in drywall which clashed with the rest of the basement. One particular section of the wall was colored differently than the rest. It stood out like a sore thumb. I inched close to it and felt the texture of it. It felt very strange. I then knocked on it. A hollow sound pervaded the empty air of the basement. Something about that sound immediately put me ill at ease. I walked up the stairs as I could hear that same hollow sound echo in the emptiness of the basement.

As we settled into our new home, I began to get comfortable with my surroundings. The house began to feel familiar. Everywhere, that is, except for the basement. It just always put me off, and I avoided going down there as best as I could. Our family couldn’t be happier. My loving father and mother doted over me and my little brother. My life was perfect.

Then it began.

I would hear errant noises. When I pointed it out to my parents, they told me the old standby that the house was settling in. One night in particular indicated that something wasn’t right. I snuck downstairs to the kitchen for a late night snack. As I closed the refrigerator, I heard a tapping sound cut through the silence of the night. I craned my head to see if I could pinpoint where the sound was coming from. Dread began to wash over me as I realized that tapping was coming from the basement. I inched my way over to the basement door. I opened it to see the blackness of the depths below.

My ears perked up. There it was again. That hollow tapping sound. The same sound I had heard on my initial visit to the basement from hitting the drywall. I turned on the lights steeling myself to go down the stairs and investigate. The tapping continued as I took the first step. Fear overtook me. I ran back to my room and hid under my covers until the morning light gave way to a new day.

Keep reading

sorry, no real halloween post, guys. Have some doodles of a villain I conceived for a fanfiction i’ll never write

His name is Hamelin. He comes from the same shadowy, foreign land as the demon lord, Tirek. He is a small, squirrelly creature known as a hobgoblin. Hobgoblins are found at the very bottom of his world’s social order, so it’s by sheer luck that young Hamelin happens one day upon an ancient, cursed pipe. It’s evil melody can’t touch the pure-hearted, but it can control even the most vicious beast, amplifying the rage and wickedness in their hearts to turn them into frothing, mindless brutes. Hamelin is quick to abuse this power and ultimately flees into a new world, full of soft-minded creatures ripe for exploiting-Equestria. And it is by greatest luck of all that his cruel misdeeds within the Everfree forest attract the most dangerous and rare beast of all-Discord.

Hamelin snares Discord with his pipe’s song and completely obliterates Discord’s free will, empathy, and every last scrap of emotion to turn him into a savage, unfeeling monster. Hamelin is a malicious, power-hungry fucker, and once he realizes the kind of power Discord packs, he schemes to conquer Equestria, starting, of course, with Ponyville. Unlike other victims of dark magic, Discord is entirely aware of everything going on, and forced to watch helplessly within his own mind as he destroys everything he has come to love.

It’s up to Twilight and Fluttershy to save Discord. A draconequus without his mind is an extremely dangerous beast, and if they cannot find a way to break Hamelin’s spell, they’ll have to take Discord down, by any means necessary.

so ya i like tormenting discord can you tell

trial by fire # 14

chapter 14: ash

  • “the powdery residue of matter that remains after burning”

summary: When a series of fires unsettles the city of Magnolia, Detective Lucy Heartfilia unwittingly reignites a war between old rivals. But when she finds herself drawn to one of her suspects, the lines between right and wrong begin to blur.

rated: M for Mature Content (no nsfw scenes this chapter)

Hope you enjoyed the brief Gruvia interlude!! Now, it’s back to our main duo…

read: part I | part II | part III | part IV | part V | part VI | part VII | part VIII | part IX | part X | part XI | part XII | part XIII | all parts | on ff.net

Nearly a week after the first fire was the day they’d determined to hit the strip mall. Setting fires within a week of each other, their memorable color an unmistakable flare in the criminal world, would undoubtedly draw the attention of not only Jackal, but everything else that lurked in the night. This would be the final display to “prove” that the Salamander was back.

After this, Natsu knew, Jackal would show his ugly mug one way or another.

All he had to do was hold out tonight, and he’d be in the clear; he wouldn’t have to set fires for the cops again, even if they begged him to. Even if Lucy begged him to–he wasn’t sure he could hold on to his sanity if he did this again.

The only reason he’d been able to do so this long was because Lucy was with him. Her voice, her scent, her touch had soothed him and lulled his demons to sleep.

If she wasn’t with him, Natsu was more than sure he would have succumbed by now.

That was why his dreams had haunted him the past week–flashes of smoldering flames, of ash and destruction, of the power. He’d startled awake many a time, skin slick with sweat and his blood cold and his stomach turning over. More than once, he’d thought about calling Lucy just to hear her voice; it would be enough to settle him, he knew.

But…calling her every other hour in the middle of the night was hardly considerate. He didn’t want to disturb the detective.

Keep reading

Benigno Rabbits or “Bennies”

Benigno Rabbits, or “Bennies” as they are colloquially known, are small Leporids native to Italy, first discovered in 1967 by Benigno Bonaccurso of Tuscany, who first captured a few specimens of what he believed to be simply hyper-intelligent pygmy rabbits. After a few days of keeping the five he captured in a large pen in his home they replied to him when he went to feed them, asking what they wanted for dinner. One, a small pale gold female, which he later named Bona after Bona Dea, the Ancient Roman “Good Goddess”, piped up asking for carrots. Startled he dropped the food he held before nodding and going to get carrots. 

Upon starting a conversation with the creatures he discovered they had been learning Italian from his conversations with his House Elf and his friends and practised among themselves before first addressing him, picking Bona to speak as the eldest female of the group. The small creatures learnt quickly and Benigno named them, Bona for the pale gold who first spoke to him, Eulalia for the next eldest, a golden-cream creature, and Ermelinda or “Irma” for her gold-buff younger sister. The remaining two, both males were named Claudio and Baldo, and told apart by Claudio being pale brown and Baldo, a more coppery-brown creature, and the first of the Bennies to bite Benigno, when Benigno first captured them.

Bennies have the potential to reach genius level IQs as well as learning to read but by and large their intelligence depends on who and how they are raised, varying between that of a 5 year old child, to that of a 15 year old teenager. Some Bennies, such as Benigno’s original, Eulalia, very much enjoy reading and listing their own observations, although they may need specially fitted spectacles as leporids tend toward farsightedness. Bennies are by nature highly trustworthy, as the first language they learn, before human tongues, is that of body language, and so find it near impossible to lie. They are also insatiably curious creatures, often greeting and questioning passers-by. On the rare occasion that Benny is mistreated they will quickly leave the human in question, often going to nearby wixes or even the proper authorities to report them. Due to their near-total inability to lie and their great disinclination to deception the most that is done to tell the truth of the facts is a minor truth-spell test to verify the matter from the humans side.

Bennies when born are barely even the size of a teabag, and fully grown are usually between the size of a baby domesticated rabbit or a small kitten. Bennies vary hugely in colouration, capable of all the same colour mutations as rabbits and hares, although their fur generally remains short and silky, with little variation. They have names among themselves consisting of certain scents and sounds, but love the, often flattering, names that humans give them. Bennies generally eat similar food to rabbits and hares but have a deep love for tomatoes, grapes and mozzarella, although personal tastes may vary from Benny to Benny. Bennies seem to prefer sweet and mildly salty food to strongly flavoured foods, but avoid strongly flavoured, spicy or overly sweet or salty foods, finding them too much. Bennies breed only rarely, coming into season once a year or two, and only have between 1-3 little ones. They are generally weaned by the mother between 6 and 8 weeks, and the mother is the one who dictates when her offspring are old enough to leave her and/or be rehomed.

The creatures also have magically reinforced immune systems, being totally immune to Myxomatosis, although they can get ill from overfeeding on certain foods. Pasta and Mozzarella for example will make them fat, but they adore these foods often asking politely and endearingly for more. It is said by many who care for Bennies, that the hardest part is being gentle yet firm about how much they can have.

In the wild Bennies are hard to find, and it is often easiest to already be in possession of a Benny who can find the creatures for you and communicate to them that you mean them no harm. Only native to Italy, Bennies can now be found in wixen homes around the world, but are only found wild in Italy. The creatures have a generally equal view of gender, although female rabbits are generally seen as somewhat stronger, as they not only seek out food and defend themselves, but also bear and care for young. Bennies can get a little loopy on basil, which affects them similarly to catnip on cats. They are also known to enjoy fish, though usually only once cooked, and some can be quite picky over which fish they will eat. Those that do like fish on the whole seem to prefer mildly flavoured fish, although a few like more strongly flavoured fish.

On the whole Benigno Rabbits make excellent pets and are increasingly being given to children to teach them to care for animals, as a Benny is perfectly capable of warning a child to look where its stepping, or to remind them it is food time. Small children ought not to be allowed to play with Bennies as the creatures are quite delicate, but children of around 7 years can be taught the careful handling techniques required to handle a Benny.


(Image Source)

(Image used with artists permission - I really recommend looking at this persons art they have some of the most adorable bubble-dragons and bunnies and adorableness. Idea and Info for the Bennies came from underwater-witchery, I simply wrote it up. I hate that I have to include this but PLEASE DO NOT DELETE THE IMAGE SOURCE OR MY CAPTION.)

8

A fascinating tale from The Kitchen Sisters.

Image credits:

Koch family photo: Special Collections and University Archives/ Wichita State University Libraries

Th. J. bottles: CJ Walker / Courtesy of William Koch

Letter from Thomas Jefferson to Benjamin Rush, August 17, 1811: The Thomas Jefferson Papers

Philippe Hubert: CJ Walker / Courtesy of William Koch

Operation Ivy nuclear test: National Nuclear Security Administration

Ancient roman lead pipes in Ostia Antica: Wikipedia user Chris 73

And for good measure, It’s Okay To Be Smart’s “The Universe in a Glass of Wine” (Richard Feynman Remixed).