#Green Dead Inside Coffin Backpack

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

Zelina is wearing the Rude Awakening Harness Bra Top - Glow In The Dark from Club Exx ($55), Green Dead Inside Coffin Backpack from Blackcraft Cult (sold out), Ultra Violet Jogger in Purple / Neon Green from Shay Kawaii ($139) and Mangosteen 05 Boot in Green from Anthony Wang ($120)

#Zelina Vega #Thea Trinidad #Rude Awakening Harness Bra Top #top #tops #glow in the dark #club exx #Green Dead Inside Coffin Backpack #backpack #backpacks #green #blackcraft cult #accesories #Ultra Violet Jogger #jogger #joggers #purple / neon green #Shay Kawaii #Mangosteen 05 #boot #boots #Anthony Wang #women of wrestling fashion #wwe

[hostess-of-horror]

An Unexpected Guest

[Part 1]

I needed more Phantom content, so I was inspired "A Girl and A Ghost", a little cute fanfic by @strawbunniiee. I'm not exactly sure if this will be connected to the last two fanfics I've written ("Encore at Midnight" and "Danse Macabre"). But either way, this story is about Phantom being greeted by an unknown and unexpected guest, who discovers his territory one gloomy night.

For @salamifuposey, @strawbunniiee,@kindpopstar, and everyone else who wants to read it!

[Content Includes: Some Profanity]

Another night falls over the land of Spooky Trails. The full moon illuminated up in the black, starlit sky, giving light for the inhabitants living among the desolate ruins. On this particular night, a heavy fog rolled over, making the pathways much more difficult to traverse. Of course, this is if a traveler were to pass by. Not so far off the pathways stands the dreary and disheveled stage of the Phantom of the Bwahpera. Phantom, an opera-singing hybrid of a ghostly Boo and a Rabbid, didn't mind the fog. In fact, he enjoyed it, for it gave a sense of theatrical mystery within his home. He felt more otherworldly, as if he wasn't otherworldly enough. Better yet, the fog was the perfect place to blend in - he is a spirit, after all - and sing his heart out throughout Spooky Trails. Although Spooky Trails was already spooky, Phantom's voice made the land much creepier for any traveler who wanders by. All, except for one...

---

[Phantom floats amongst the rolling fog like how one would float on their back in a pool. He leaves a trail of vocals and humming behind for every inhabitant who crosses his path. Phantom swirls around through the abandoned villages and dead trees, letting the fog take him anywhere it pleases. He stops suddenly when he notices something unusual. Inside the fog is a small figure walking through, leaving an open path behind. Curious, he decides to follow the figure's path. As Phantom follows silently behind, he hears a voice.]

????: "Damn... where can it be?"

[This voice is that of a young woman's. The only woman Phantom knows is Princess Peach, but that wasn't this figure. He ponders as continues, until he finds himself following her approaching the silver gates of his stage.]

????: *gasp* "There it is!"

[Still in the fog, Phantom watches as the figure run out towards the gate. He could finally see what she looks like. This young woman is dressed all in black, from head to toe, with combat boots and spiked jewelry. The right side of her head is completely shaved off, and the rest of her dirty blonde hair falls down around her shoulders. She is also wearing fishnet gloves, a pastel purple coffin backpack, and black nail polish.]

Phantom: *thinking to himself* "Who is this woman? And why is she trying to trespass into my home? Is she a thief?"

[The woman in black inspects the gates and tries to push it open. Then she tries to pull it open with all her might. Phantom can't help but chuckle at her fruitless attempts. She takes in a few deep breaths, looking around the gates to find another way in.]

????: "Hmmm..."

[She peers through the gates. The stage stands just across from it.]

????: *to herself* "I know this is it.... Huh, he's not here.

[This catches Phantom off guard. The woman pauses for a moment, taking a moment to think. She is still trying to get inside.]

Phantom: *thinking to himself* "She wants to see my humble abode, eh? Well... I suppose I'll give her a little debut."

[Phantom fades into the fog. After a few minutes of struggling, the woman then decides to leave. But she is stopped when the gate opens slightly by itself. The fog rolls in through the entrance; she follows with it. Soon she was within Phantom's theatre, surrounded by lingering fog, taking in the scenery of it all.]

????: "Woah..."

[Suddenly, she is swiftly lifted from the floor, her feet dangling in midair! It is then that she finds her in the clutches of Phantom himself, his mitten paw grabbing onto the front of her shirt.]

????: "Oh sh*t...!"

[She is met with a furious gaze, his sapphire eyes gleaming with anger. Then, a spotlight appears, shining down upon them! Music begins to play around them, and Phantom gives her a wicked smile.]

Phantom:

🎶 Who do you think you are, foolish girl?

Who dares trespass my theater?

Who do you think you are, little thief?

Walking into my world of music? 🎶

????: "Wait, I'm not-!"

[Before she could explain, Phantom swings her around and drops her onto the stage. She yelps as she lands.]

Phantom:

🎶 For your crime, you will pay

Here you will rule the day

As my unexpected guest

You will be laid to rest! 🎶

????: "STOP!"

[The woman in black holds up her arms in defense as she yells. From her hands, a burst of purple and green aura shoots out in an explosion of shimmering stars. A circular barrier surrounds her - a magical circle glows on the stage floor. Everything stops. Phantom is stunned by this sudden discovery. Slowly, the woman gets up, painfully, until she's back on her feet.]

????: "I'm... I'm not here to hurt you. Or steal from you.... Well, other than your attention."

[Phantom is silent. Confused. He cannot help but stare at the glowing aura that surrounds her. It's like a miniature galaxy formed with tentacle-like curls.]

????: "I can't believe it. You're still here, after all these years."

Phantom: "....what?"

????: "They told me about you. I didn't think I'd actually find you, let alone meet you in person."

Phantom: "Who told you?"

????: "The citizens of the Mushroom Kingdom, the Rabbids and their translators, Boos, almost everyone I've come across with. They said you disappeared after Mario and his friends defeated you. Some say you didn't, and a few believe you're nothing but a ghost story."

Phantom: "I see... but who are you, and why are you here?"

[The magical aura slowly fades as the woman lowers her defenses.]

????: "My name is M.B.; I came to Spooky Trails to find you, Phantom. Consider me as a fan, if you will."

#my writing #fanfic #DO NOT TAG AS SHIP PLEASE #Phantom of the Bwahpera #M.B. #self-insert OC #tom phan #Phantom #mario rabbids #mario rabbids kingdom battle #mario + rabbids kingdom battle

[dakarimainink]

Chapter 2

WARNING: None

I walk down the long hallway of the rebuilt estate of the Hellsing organisation. What was once a top-secret property, has now opened their doors to the public for people to get trained in combat, weapon handling and knowledge about dark creatures.

Sir Integra Hellsing know that when she passes away, there will be no one to truly lead the Hellsing organisation, except the government. This was her way of making sure the Hellsing legacy would continue – by opening a sort of school for people to become hunters. I had taken some time to learn how to become a hunter, and apparently, only a few were selected. The criteria – have a specific set of skills one could only be born with.

A set of double doors are open, and inside are people fencing. I note one of the people watching, dressed in a burgundy red uniform with a red writhing mass as her left arm – Seras Victoria. I have read about her, the second human to have been turned by Alucard. She was only 19 years old when she was turned. She had a tragic past and a hard upbringing. Now she was head vampire and the one to train the new hunters.

I watch as two people fence with grace. It’s almost a dance, but one of them is clumsier than the other. The footwork is almost to perfection and the movement like calm waves on the ocean. The fencing ends and they pull off their masks and one of them is revealed to be Integra herself. I look in awe as her long white hair flow down her slim body and her right eye shimmer in the bright ceiling light.

“Well done, Oliver, but you need to work more on your defence.” She points out as she shifts her weight to one side. “I believe you have quite the potential.” She adds before her eyes meet mine. I keep her gaze locked with mine, letting her know I am here for her. She gives me a slight nod. She turns to Seras. “Keep them training. I will be right back.” Integra makes her way over to me, assess my presence before gesturing me to follow her.

We walk in silence down the hallway until we finally enter a room to the left.

The room is open and high ceiling. The back wall has huge fixed windows, letting in the grey light from outside. In the left corner is dark red chesterfield couches, with a dark oak coffee table placed in front decorated with a bouquet of flowers. In the right corner is a small bar filled with all kinds of liquor and crystal glasses. The walls are decorated with huge framed paintings of different historical figures. In the middle of the room is a long dark wood executive desk with a lamp, a landline phone, papers neatly stacked, pens placed in order and a silver box with cigars. Behind the desk is a dark green executive chair.

Integra makes her way to the desk, places her mask on top and sit down in the chair. I walk over to the desk and wait patiently while she reaches for her cigar box. She pulls out a thin and brown cigar, places it between her thin lips, light it up with a golden lighter and inhales deeply. She breathes out the light grey smoke while taking in my form.

I feel her eyes etch into my skin, making me want to spit out words at her, but I know she is a respectable woman with high standards. It took me three years to get this interview and I am not planning on screwing this up.

The silence linger between us uncomfortably as she takes another drag from the cigar. The smoke makes me want to cough, but I supress it. She turns the chair a little, leans back and crosses her legs as she lets the cigar rest between her lips. Her eyelids are heavy, not from lack of sleep, but from the fact that she knows she can somewhat relax in this room.

“You’re from the London History Chronicle.” She says as she finally drags her eyes away from me. She looks absentmindedly at one of the paintings hanging on the wall. “You’ve been nagging me for the past three years for this interview. Why?” She adds and continues to look at the painting.

Nagging her? I mean, yes I have tried desperately to get this interview, but nagging you is a bit too far. And I have never been in direct contact with you, but rather your new housekeeper; Stella Cherrier.

I scan the side of her face. A brown patch covering her left eye from a gunshot wound that made her go blind on that eye. I can see a thin line of a scar peeking from below her patch. It must have been one hell of a shot, yet I have a feeling she didn’t even flinch. That’s the kind of woman Integra is, hard, unfaced, strong, relentless, cold and deadly. I know she could stare death in the eye and still not bat an eye.

“I have been studying and reading about what happened in London 31 years ago.” I begin to explain. “I even wrote I master thesis on the events. I want to ask y…”

“It was nothing more than just an exchange of bullets.” She cuts in, still not looking at me.

I bite my tongue. So she is one of them. “Just an exchange of bullets? I am sure the bill for rebuilding the whole of London would disagree with you, Sir Hellsing.” I lean my weight on one leg as I cross my arms. It makes her turn her head towards me. She looks at my posturing, she seems to dislike it. “I am also sure the three million people who died that night would also disagree with you.”

She narrows her eyes at me, before a smirk grows on her lips. She shifts in her seat, leans forward on her desk with her fingers intertwined. “I like you, what is your name?”

My eyes widen at her remark. She likes me? I felt rather cocky spitting those facts out, showing off my knowledge. I just spat at her and she likes me? I let my arms hang down to my sides and I straighten up. “I am Alessa.” I introduce myself.

She leans bank in her chair and take another deep drag from her cigar. “How much do you know of what happened 31 years ago?”

I scan her face. Is this a test or an actual question? Besides, I thought it was I who were going to ask the questions. “I know everything that is available in writing plus the rumours and fairy tales.” I begin to explain.

“And how do you know the distinction between what is true and not?”

“I go with my gut, my knowledge and what seems reasonable. I hardly believe there were actual angels during the battle, but rather the image of angels because of Iscariot the papal knights joined the battle on their helicopters. I also heard dragons interfered in all of this too, but I mean…” I glance at her grin as I speak. “Vampires and werewolves, that’s okay, but dragons? That’s a bit too far.”

“You would be surprised.”

I let out a gasp at her remark. My eyebrows shoot up as I stare at her questioning.

“But you are correct, no dragons exists. At least to our knowledge. Now you seem like a person who has a great deal of knowledge about what happened and more than enough information to write an article, so why are you here?” She places her cigar in the ashtray and leans forward on her elbows.

“I am here because I want to hear from someone who saw it all. Who was in the middle of it. Yes, there are some corrupted videos available, but you are the only human, as far as I am aware of, who saw and experienced everything.” I explain. She raises an eyebrow at me and I once again cross my arms in front of me. “And who is still alive.” I add.

She smirks at me. “Well then, Alessa. Please go ahead with your interview.”

I pull my backpack off, pull out my notes and my phone to record the interview. “I hope you don’t mind.” I show her my phone and she shakes her head. I start the recorder on my phone, places it on the desk and look at my notes.

I clear my throat. “When the vampire attacks leading up to the reveal of the Millennium, did you ever think it would be linked to something greater than just some random vampire attacks?”

“I had my suspicions, but vampire attacks are not that uncommon, we are just good at hiding it and cleaning up before anyone else sticks their noses in it. We know that humans are not strong enough or equipped with knowledge about vampires that they can fend for themselves, which is why we stepped up from the start. Wasting human lives and sacrificing them as ghouls is a fait I wouldn’t send upon anyone.” Her eyes fall to my phone and there is a twitch at the corner of her right eye. “The police has no knowledge or equipment to fight off vampires or ghouls for that matter. Which is why it is crucial Hellsing is the first to know about these kinds of attacks.”

“It this why you have opened up to the public to train new people?”

She looks up at me. “Yes. I have realised that family run businesses is a thing of the past. When I pass away, the government will take over. I know Seras will do a fine job leading everyone, but I don’t know what will happen to Alucard, as there are no heir to the Hellsing family.”

“What do you think will happen to him?” I am intrigued to know what she thinks. Her head must be filled with the most wonderful things imaginable, both dark and light.

“Who knows. Alucard is the most powerful being to ever exist and without a master, he might go rogue, find a new purpose, find a master within the government or clench his thirst for whatever is going on inside his mind.” She sighs out. “All I know is that the government will take over the Hellsing organisation and it is my duty to make sure the standard of our hunters are the best.”

I nod in agreement. I wonder how England would be without the Hellsing to protect us. Who knows how many creatures they’ve kept at bay by just existing.

“I read that you gave the command to Alucard to release all his powers, did you know what it entailed? From what I read about it; every soul he has ever consumed was released from his coffin and fought alongside him. It was described as a sea of dead souls.”

Integra lets out a chuckle and it somewhat takes me by surprise. “I knew what it entailed, but I had never seen it before. It was quite the sight. To see his raw power unleashed upon this world was almost frightening.”

I raise my eyebrows. Integra, scared? Sounds impossible based on everything I had read about her. She was calculated, strong and fearless. If she was somewhat frightened, who knows what everyone else felt.

“I remember as soon as my command slipped my lips, everyone, from all sides, attacked him. The Nazis and the Iscariot. They could feel the annihilation was about to wash over all of them. Their lives snuffed in a flash.”

“What did it make you feel to know you commanded such powers?”

She leans back in her chair and locks gaze with me. I notice she is chewing her inner cheek. “Responsible.” Is the only word slipping out of her.

My jaw lowers slightly as I am stunned not to hear the word powerful come out of her.

“I feel responsible for every innocent life lost during that night. This war begun because Alucard exists. I believe that if it happens once, it can happen again.” Her eye lower and I sense a hint of sadness. “And I don’t know which state Alucard is in now, considering what happened 31 years ago.”

“What?” I gasp and take a step closer to the desk. I can see she realise the last sentence was not meant for my ears. “What do you mean by state? What happened?” I ask desperately.

The stands up. “This interview is over.” She declares and press a button on her landline phone.

Within a second, a woman dressed in a black dress with a white apron – the housekeeper – enters the room. “Stella, please escort Miss Alessa out of the estate.” Integra commands with a calm voice.

I sigh, letting her know I dislike her decision to just throw me out. I reach for my phone, end the recording and put everything back in my bag. “Safe travels home, Alessa.” I reluctantly follow Stella out of the massive building.

#hellsing #hellsing ultimate #original character #original female character #writing #ao3 #anime / manga #integra hellsing #seras victoria #alucard

[gizzy14gazza]

“The Altered Adventure; Book 2 - Luck of the Guardians” First Chapter for free!

Chapter One

The Jungle Of Hope

 The sacred burial place for the king felt a lot farther away than both Gizzy and Benji could have ever imagined. After surviving a cyclone, transwolves, skeletons, and the seemingly evil guardians who ruled over Altered, Gizzy and Benji agreed to bring the king back from the dead. Only the Chosen One was capable of returning King Alpha to his former glory, and Gizzy was shocked when he found out that he was actually the coveted Chosen One.

Now, on a new quest to bring the king back from the dead, Gizzy was uncertain where this crazy, winding path would lead him. He kept asking himself why he’d agreed to revive King Alpha when everything in his heart told him that he really should be concentrating on getting to the Prophecy and unlocking his way back to Earth—back home.

Still uncertain about what the Prophecy actually was, Gizzy had been told that bringing the king back from the dead was his only chance at keeping the guardians at bay, but why had Voice, the Air Guardian, tried to help Gizzy to the Prophecy only to turn around and betray him? So much was happening behind the scenes that Gizzy could hardly keep up. Let alone properly deal with the deep sadness that he now carried with him after his best friend, Clayton (nicknamed Cib), was killed by the guardians. Gizzy was worried that there was no one he could truly trust anymore.

Except…well…maybe Benji.

The fourth day in Altered had felt so long, especially after Gizzy and Benji’s encounter with Witch, who’d promised to help them find the Prophecy and advised them on how to handle their escape from the guardians.

The green, misty moon was easing over the sky behind them, and the heroic duo needed to find shelter. They were heading in the opposite direction from Gizzy’s current “home” (or whatever one might call that dastardly shack). Luckily, along the way, they came across another similar shack to rest in for the night, although the cobwebs above them didn’t glow when touched, which took some of the fun out of it. Instead, Benji created a ball of light to help comfort Gizzy to sleep, and when Gizzy finally passed out, Benji turned off his light and snuggled alongside Gizzy. Eventually, a half-asleep Gizzy pushed Benji away because he was dropping too much fairy dust on him. Each of them settled back into the simple mattress with ample room between them, and they both fell into a deep sleep.

 The dark-red, shimmering sun brought about a new morning. Gizzy grabbed his red backpack, gave Benji a high-five, and checked the compass to make sure they were heading in the direction, toward the Jungle of Hope. They still needed to head east, but it shouldn’t be too far now.

As they traveled on, Gizzy wondered if he’d really be able to trust Witch, the ex-Earth Guardian, who’d been dethroned of his guardian role for violating the Code of the Guardians and had separated Voice from his body! Gizzy also worried about Witch because of his wonderful but dangerous powers, gifted to him because he was a Power-Born—one who carried the blood of those who held diverse and sacred supernatural abilities.

         “Hasn’t it all just been kind of a crazy few days?” Benji said.

         “It really has!” Gizzy said. “Totally crazy!”

         Gizzy looked down at the compass again, trying to sort out their direction. Benji flew up and bumped Gizzy’s shoulder.

         “Tell me again about everything you’ve been through. I want to remember it vividly, so I can retell your adventures around campfires lots of years from now. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even write a book about it!”

         Benji and Gizzy laughed.

         “Well,” Gizzy said, “there is this pack of transwolves that bit me and turned me into a werewolf. The leader was named Woof, and he had four other packmates who ran around with him. Two of the transwolves were gray, one was black and wore a red collar, and the final one was a golden blond wolf with bright green eyes and a magnifying glass tattoo on his leg.”

Benji giggled.

“I know, a magnifying glass of all things, right?” Gizzy said. “I still wonder what it symbolizes…”

Gizzy shrugged as they continued their trek. Scraggly brown vines crept down from the trees, weaving their way through the jungle. Gizzy had to push through the vines, touching their rough surfaces. Benji swerved as much as he could to avoid them too. The worst part of going through the jungle was having to breathe in the awful stench; it smelled like…death.

         Benji covered his mouth and nose as he flew near Gizzy’s shoulder. “What else, what else?!” Benji fluttered his little, strong wings at Gizzy to get his attention. “Tell me more of your stories.”

         “Well, we met Dr. Shamas!” Gizzy turned to Benji and glared. “And the terribly, horribly, ever-awful Stryder.”

Benji went bright red. “Hehe. Sorry about that one, friend. That was totally my fault. But at least you have the morphing ability now!”

         “It’s true! And now I can morph into anything I kill or have killed. Being able to transform into an ant or a wolf is pretty cool, I guess!” Then Gizzy thought about the big downside to his morphing ability and turned to Benji. “It also gave me this awful split personality, and you know what happens when that kicks in…”

         “Maybe you’ll find a way to suppress it? Or maybe it won’t be so bad that next time it comes around? Or if it ever comes back around!” Benji was always trying to be positive and helpful. It’s why Benji and Gizzy got along so well.

         “Maybe so,” Gizzy said. “Anyway, so, I fought skeletons!” Gizzy made a fighting stance and put up his fists. It reminded him of the hammer in his bag. He reached into his red backpack and pulled out the reasonably heavy hammer by its sturdy brown handle. “And we have the Barath Hammer now, the first of the four keys to unlock the Prophecy. So that’s pretty cool!”

         “I wonder how hard it will be to find the three other items,” Benji said. “Let’s see…so that’s Elizabeth’s locket, Witch’s shield, and Voice’s aura, right?”

         “Yup, that’s the list. But I keep wondering about Voice’s aura. Like, what is it? What could it be? What really is an aura? Is that, like, something inside him? And how do we go about getting that?”

         “We’ll worry about that when the time comes. Right now, let’s just focus on our current quest, and that’s to bring the king back from the dead! If Witch was being honest with us, then you, as the Chosen One, freeing the king should cause a big enough raucous to distract the guardians so we can easily make our way to the Prophecy!”

         “Right! And I hope it really is that easy…because we need to stop those guardians before they do any more harm to humans or Justments or any other beings living on Altered. That dreadful Inferno killed Cib, and he’s the one guardian I haven’t met and hope to stay away from now and in the future.”

         “The future!” Benji remembered. “That’s right, and we also met someone who can see into the future! What was his name again? The guy in the Lucky Ore Cavern. The same ore that your necklace is made of, right?”

Gizzy nodded. “That’s right. And Gypsy was his name! Don’t forget that we need to go see him again once we free the king.”

“Yes, we do. And thankfully, that ore keeps the guardians from being able to track you!”

         Gizzy clutched the necklace with the lucky ore as they continued on.

Just beyond several great, drooping vines that waved in the middle of the jungle, lied a forgotten ruin filled with forgotten statues, broken monuments, and deep-green sillimoss that covered everything and kept this holy place shrouded.

They’d finally made it to the Jungle of Hope.

Both Gizzy and Benji carefully crept into the airy lost temple to search for some form of a crypt, like how they got the Barath Hammer from Barath’s final resting place. Though, this time, they were hoping for zero skeletons coming back from the dead and chasing after them.

The duo looked around until Benji spotted a large statue, which was the bust of a king wearing his golden crown. The statue was made of slick stone, while it looked as if the crown was made of pure gold that cast a beautiful shimmer as the sunlight kissed its elegance.

They walked up to the statue, mesmerized, and stood gawking for several minutes. Finally, Benji pulled on Gizzy’s sleeve and pointed toward a staircase that spiraled down into what appeared to be a large crypt below. They were certain this was the king’s burial chamber.

Gizzy hesitated, seeing flashbacks of the crazy attacking skeletons that came to life in Barath’s chamber. Gizzy understood and feared how dangerous this all was. He was unsure whether or not he wanted to enter yet another spooky crypt, this time to possibly bring someone back from the dead. What if this fallen king tried to harm him, too, or what if Gizzy wasn’t really the Chosen One and only the prince could bring the king back from the dead? So many questions filled Gizzy’s quickly turning mind.

Eventually, Benji slapped him in the face.

         “Ow! Dude, why?!”

         “Come on! You can bring the king back from the dead! This is a super-huge, gigantic moment in history! The beings of Altered will sing songs about you for generations! They’ll call you the Hero of Altered. Or…something more clever than that, but you get the idea!”

Funny, Gizzy thought, he’d unwillingly killed an innocent troll by the claw of The Canine—a beast he’d become trapped inside when the split personality took over. He sure didn’t feel too much like a hero. Gizzy was a murderer, wasn’t he? He thought about Betsy, the poor troll who’d stolen goods from Cobblebury, a village that had perished through Clayton’s destruction. The guilt started to rise up again in Gizzy’s stomach, and he quickly shook his head and decided that he had to go down into the crypt. He needed to.

Once deep inside, they spotted the coffin on the far side of a long corridor. Stepping further into the corridor, they heard an activation switch below the floor—booby traps! Gizzy quickly stepped back just before the floor collapsed and fell, revealing terrifying bright-orange lava that would destroy anything it touched.

Gizzy and Benji ran back to the entrance of the crypt, wondering why there would be booby traps inside the king’s crypt. What were they trying to protect? Who were they trying to keep out?

         “This doesn’t make any sense,” said Gizzy. “Why would there be booby traps here? Unless it was a ploy, a trap, and this isn’t really the king’s crypt! It must be a fake!” Gizzy ran out of the crypt with the confused fairy flying behind him. Gizzy looked around the forgotten temple, searching for any possible clue about where the king was really buried.

          “This is called the Jungle of Hope, right?” Gizzy asked.

         “Yes,” Benji said, still unsure about what was happening.     “I think Jungle of Hope must just be the name of the temple.”

         Gizzy continued to look around the overgrown temple. He scraped aside sillimoss and looked under fallen-over stone columns. They were surrounded by all kinds of wavy trees, and Gizzy looked high and low to see if he could find anything at all with the word hope on it or anything about hope, but he had no luck.

Luck. Huh. This word had haunted Gizzy for so long. Ever since he saw the word written in blood at Ratchet’s kingdom in the snowy mountains and then again in the book about mystical creatures, he’d felt anything but luck. He’d felt the opposite of luck, whatever that was here in Altered. Ever since he’d arrived in this oddity of a world, the worst things had been happening to him. He was bitten and turned into a werewolf, attacked by a guardian, met a Justment who transformed into a beast right in front of him, was chased by bony skeletons coming back from the dead, and three of his old childhood friends had joined him in this world, one of whom was now…dead. So much for luck.

Then it suddenly hit him. “Luck…”

Gizzy ran back down the spiral staircase into the crypt. Benji, still having no clue about what was happening, just flew along with it. Soon the duo were back in the long corridor with the lava below, and Gizzy finally realized why it was called the Jungle of Hope.

         “Gizzy, what are you thinking?” Benji said.

“You have to believe in hope to get to the other side. That must be it. That has to be it!” Gizzy said to himself. “And, look, see? There’s a faint mystical light hovering over the chasm like…like some kind of enchanted bridge.”

Benji looked at Gizzy like he’d really gone off the deep end.

“Benji! Trust me, it’s not a booby trap. It’s here to keep monsters and evildoers away from the king while he rests!”

“Well, that sounds nice, but I don’t know…” Benji said. “How would you even get across?”

Gizzy stepped a foot out, slowly, moving only inch by inch toward the empty gap, where indefinite doom lingered below. The lava bubbled as he reached his foot over the gap, and Gizzy knew he had to believe in hope to get over. He had to believe in luck.

         Finally, Gizzy closed his eyes and leaned forward with the hope that the invisible bridge would lead him safely across…

But it failed!

Gizzy stepped forward, put his weight down, and fell through the gap and into the lava! Gizzy screamed, and everything flashed. All Gizzy could see was a bright light, and he could hear Benji screaming his name from above. Unsure of what was happening, Gizzy could only be certain that he had fallen into the lava and most likely died.

Yet…he wasn’t dead.

Gizzy opened his eyes to find that he was on the other side of the corridor, with Benji still at the entrance. Gizzy was wrong. The gap wasn’t enchanted, the lava was. The lava had teleported Gizzy to the other side! All Gizzy had to do was have a little bit of hope and a little bit of luck.

Benji flew over and hugged his friend, then slapped him for the second time. “Never do that again! You gave me such an awful fright!”

         “Slap me again, and I’ll throw you into the lava!”

Gizzy and Benji laughed.

Gizzy quickly touched his red backpack to ensure that it was still on his back, along with the Barath Hammer. Success!

The duo walked up to the coffin, and now that they were closer, they could see a strange decorative skull on top the shiny lid. The coffin was sealed shut, and Gizzy was entranced by the decorative skull. It had shiny green gems where its eyes were supposed to be, and Gizzy couldn’t stop staring at it. He could hear a voice emanating from the skull. A deep, mesmerizing voice that hypnotized Gizzy, making him unable to hear Benji.

         “Gizzy? Gizzy, can you hear me?” Benji said.

No response.

The mesmerizing voice lured Gizzy closer and closer to the skull, and the closer Gizzy came, the louder the voice got inside his head.

         “Let…me…out…,” the voice whispered. It appeared to be the king speaking from beyond the grave, trapped within the afterlife, feeling that whoever was hovering about the grave must be the Chosen One who could free the king.

Gizzy was so fixed on the hypnotic voice that he found himself slowly inching his open hand toward the skull. Behind him, Benji tried waving him off and warning him not to touch it, for fear of something awful happening. Inch by inch, Gizzy’s hand got closer to the green-eyed skull, with the voice getting louder and louder in his mind.

“Let…me…out…”

Until, eventually, Gizzy touched the skull.

         And nothing happened.

         “Didn’t you hear that?” Gizzy asked.

         “Hear what?” Benji replied. “I was trying to talk to you, but you didn’t answer me. You looked frozen, like you were in a trance.”

         “I…I think I was. Somebody kept telling me to let them out. Or was it just in my mind? You really didn’t hear anything?”

         Benji looked a little worried. “No. I didn’t hear anything, except the sound of my own voice, trying to get you to hear me.”

         Gizzy closed his eyes and tried to hear the voice again, but he knew the voice was gone.

Gizzy and Benji both looked toward the coffin, hoping something might come of it, anything at all, but nothing happened, and everything around them was completely silent and normal. Well, as normal as possible in an old, mystical crypt.

Maybe Gizzy wasn’t the Chosen One after all? Maybe they’d been misinformed? Maybe they were all wrong about who he was or what he was capable of doing?

Then Benji saw something sparkling on the ground beside the coffin. He flew over to it and hovered just above the object. It was an old, dark scabbard with golden crowns encrusted into it.

“Look at this,” Benji said.

Gizzy walked over. “What is it?”

“It’s a scabbard, meant to protect a warrior’s sword.”

Gizzy leaned down and reached out to pick up the scabbard. Benji quickly flew in front of him and slapped away his hand.

“No more touching things!” Benji said. “I think we’ve done enough here. Let’s leave things how they are for now.”

Gizzy stood and thought it over. Maybe Benji was right? The search hadn’t gone so well, really.

The duo looked at each other and accepted defeat. Gizzy nodded, agreed, and suggested that maybe it was best to return to their original quest of getting to the Prophecy, which then forced Gizzy to take another leap of hope and hop back into the lava to teleport himself back to the other side of the corridor. Benji easily flew over the lava, and they bid farewell to the unhelpful crypt.

Climbing up the staircase, back into the forgotten ruins of the Jungle of Hope, Gizzy couldn’t help but wonder what the voice inside his head was all about and why he was the only one who could hear it.

         It was almost nightfall again. Days were so random in Altered. Day four had felt so unbearably long, but day five, their current day, had felt so short. Gizzy wondered why it was like this here as the duo continued on.

Not long after, they found their path blocked by a shocking return that left both Benji and Gizzy uncertain about what to do next. A familiar face looked upon them, but one that wasn’t from this world…it was Brandon.

For some reason, seeing Brandon in this world made the Barath Hammer on Gizzy’s back feel much heavier, like it had doubled in weight. Gizzy could feel all his senses tingle with rage at seeing this pirate, and his former friend, in this world.

Lush, dark clouds soon covered the land, and the gleaming red sun disappeared, setting behind the wide horizon.

Coming face-to-face with Brandon, the evil one who had manipulated Clayton into becoming a pirate, ultimately leading to his all-too-soon death, was exactly the opposite of what Gizzy was looking to deal with right now. Clayton wouldn’t be dead if he’d ignored Brandon and Hugh’s illusions about “being cool” and becoming evil pirates. Gizzy had spent much of his recent time thinking about the full life Clayton could have lived elsewhere, best friends beside Gizzy, had he not been persuaded by those lowlifes. Now Gizzy was even more furious.

         “Hi, Gizzy. What were you doing down there in that crypt?” Brandon said. He snarled at Gizzy, stepping a little closer.

Gizzy tried to step back, but he had nowhere to go with the crypt’s spiraling staircase just behind him.

“Don’t be scared, Gizzy. I know we didn’t see eye to eye at first, but I went into that cyclone with you, and we share a…special bond because of it, don’t you think? We’re in Altered together, so, why not help each other?”

Gizzy didn’t trust Brandon at all, even when he knew him back on Earth, and Gizzy was wary of anything that came out of his mouth. However, Gizzy had a soft spot for anyone he thought needed saving, and maybe if he could save Brandon from the bad life he was leading and this confusing new world, it might make up for him failing to save Clayton and giving him the life he deserved.

         “Brandon, listen. We’ve had our differences, and maybe we can work something out. If you want to get out of this place, then you need to get to the Prophecy. It’s our only hope to get back home! And that’s where me and Benji are headed right now.”

Gizzy stepped toward Brandon, but Benji quickly grabbed Gizzy by the collar and pulled him back.

         “Gizzy, wait!” Benji said.

Gizzy turned back to face the fairy.

“Altered. He said Altered…how does he know the name of where we are?”

Gizzy, blinded by seeing someone from Earth, missed a very important factor in this situation. Brandon knew this place was called Altered, but how? Had he already met and befriended someone from this world? Brandon must had done so much in the past 5 days…what was he up too?

Both Gizzy and Benji turned back to look at Brandon, who was now standing far too close them—dangerously close. Gizzy couldn’t go back another step or he’d fall down the stairs, into the crypt.

Suddenly, Gizzy was very aware of the powerful green moon rising in the night sky.

Brandon started lightly twitching.

         “I met someone who told me all about Altered,” Brandon said. A twitch here and a twitch there.

Gizzy recognized the twitching from when he’d seen Woof transform in the forest days ago, but he wasn’t able to put together that Brandon was the blond wolf with the magnifying glass tattoo on his leg.

         “You mean like Voice or Ratchet?” Gizzy asked.

         “Uh…yes. Exactly! Them!” Brandon lied. He had never met Voice or Ratchet or any of the guardians. He had only met the wolves who had turned him into a transwolf, though Gizzy didn’t know this.

Gizzy thought long and hard about having Brandon join their adventure to the Prophecy. He didn’t know if he could stand letting another human from Earth down. He wanted to avenge Clayton’s death in any way he could, and doing something good for someone who had lost his way seemed like the right thing to do.

The moon finally reached its peak in the sky, and Brandon’s twitching became worse.

         “Are you okay?” Gizzy asked. He was really starting to worry now. Gizzy would not change into a wolf because of Benji, but Brandon’s transformation was starting to begin. Then something caught Gizzy’s eye; there was a tattoo on Brandon’s leg. He could spot it through the human’s tattered clothing, and Gizzy suddenly figured it all out. Brandon had a tattoo on his leg. Gizzy had seen it when they were on Earth together but didn’t put the pieces together until now. It was a magnifying glass, just like on the blond transwolf!

         “You’re…you’re the blond transwolf!” Gizzy said. He grabbed the Barath Hammer from the red backpack to defend himself.

Brandon laughed. Gizzy couldn’t believe he didn’t put together the pieces sooner. Of course Brandon was a transwolf! A fitting sentence for such a bad human being.

         “Bravo! You figured it out…just before you fell into my trap…”

Woof and his pack sprang from the dense jungle and surrounded Gizzy and Benji, keeping them fully trapped now in front of the old crypt, as Brandon laughed and transformed into the blond wolf with his fellow pack.

         “I’m tired of this, Gizzy,” Woof explained, as he came closer to Gizzy and Benji. Brandon had now fully transformed into a wolf, like the others. There were five wolves in all, surrounding the duo with their razor sharp fangs out.

Gizzy held the hammer close to his chest, hoping it might protect him and Benji from the ensuing attack. Benji flew as close as possible to Gizzy, scared about what might happen next.

         “What do you want, Woof?” Gizzy asked, anger in his voice, as he tried to keep a close eye on all the hungry wolves. It was dark, and though frightened, Benji was astute enough to create a ball of light to help Gizzy see and hopefully fend off the coming attack. Gizzy looked around at the jungle surrounding the temple; he could see many colored eyes watching, but he knew they wouldn’t dare come near, as the creatures had to have been very afraid themselves.

“I don’t want to fight, I just want you to join me and my pack.” Woof stared at Gizzy, confused as to why Gizzy hadn’t yet turned into a wolf.

“Master, why didn’t he transform? You told me you cut him!” Brandon howled, as the blond wolf with the magnifying glass tattoo.

         “It’s that fairy!” Woof explained. “It must be because of that little flying waste of space! That fairy being by his side must keep him from becoming a transwolf, even though the wolf blood runs through his veins.”

Gizzy and Benji shook behind the Barath Hammer. They were utterly surrounded and helpless.

“Boys, looks like fairy is on the menu tonight!” Woof said as the two heroes gulped in fear.

         “No!” Gizzy shouted, and he swung the Barath Hammer at one of the gray sibling wolves that crept too close, knocking the wolf to the ground and giving Gizzy and Benji a chance to escape from the pack. But being chased by wolves was an uneven match. Gizzy ran as fast as he could through the Jungle of Hope, between the broken ruins, and past the destroyed monuments with Benji flying beside him as fast as his little wings could flap. They both knew what needed to happen if they wanted to survive the onslaught—Gizzy would have to become The Canine.

         While running, Gizzy quickly put the Barath Hammer back inside his red backpack and settled it down beneath a broken arch surrounding the temple. Gold dust swarmed around Gizzy, confusing the frothing pack of transwolves, and within seconds Gizzy morphed into a black muscular wolf. He howled at the sparkly green moon, which brought a tear to Woof’s eye, because The Canine was perfect in his mind, and he wanted his strength and endurance to elevate the power of his pack. Alas, Woof knew he couldn’t accomplish this with the little fairy in the picture. The fairy needed to go…

         “You’re so beautiful…and perfect,” Woof complimented The Canine, expressing his love, but The Canine spat on the ground in disgust. The transwolves snarled at each other as Benji hovered beside his wolf companion.

         “Back off! Nobody touches the fairy! He’s mine!” The Canine wanted to protect Benji as well as he could, unaware that Benji was actually very moved and excited about what The Canine was saying. For the first time, Benji felt like they were truly a team and that The Canine, with Gizzy trapped inside, truly cared for him. Benji, knowing there was little he could do, hid next to the red backpack, thinking of a way to help.

         The wolves howled, and the epic wolf battle began. The Canine was greatly outnumbered. Brandon and The Canine ran at each other, butted heads, and battled fiercely, until the collared black wolf snatched at The Canine and bit his leg. The two gray sibling wolves jumped at The Canine as well, pinning him down, as they tore at his fur. Blood started pouring from The Canine as he howled in pain. Benji couldn’t just sit there and watch his friend die; he knew he needed to help, but how? He worked up all his courage and recklessly flew into the brawl, creating a giant ball of light, momentarily blinding Brandon and the gray siblings. Brandon wildly swung his head and knocked the fairy to the ground. Woof set a paw on top of the fairy and gave out a great howl, ordering his pack to cease attacking.

The Canine was badly hurt and needed help. His fur was torn, and blood dripped from his body all over and his leg; it was in bad shape after the bite. The Canine tried to get up but was only able to hobble a few steps, enduring the terrible pain.

Woof had Benji hostage. Brandon walked up with the red backpack in his jaws. The transwolves howled and circled around The Canine, trapping him again.

Benji, stuck under Woof’s paw, found himself being picked up by the leader and put in between his claws. Benji began to cry, unsure what was to come.

         “Gizzy…come on…. You know what we want!” Woof howled. Brandon still had the backpack in his mouth. “I’ll make this really simple for you. Join our pack, or say goodbye to both the hammer and your friend.”

         “Gizzy, don’t do it! Just run! Get away! Free yourself!” Benji, crying behind the sharp claws, was trying to sound noble and brave, but in all honestly, Benji was very afraid to die, but if he had to, he wanted it to be a meaningful sacrifice that would save lives.

         “Benji… I don’t know what to do!” The Canine cried. He didn’t want to become like Brandon and be just another mindless transwolf taking orders from Woof. He wanted to find a way back home to Earth, go to his mother, and be there for her. But he needed the Barath Hammer, one of the four keys to the Prophecy, which Brandon was holding in the backpack between his jaws. Suddenly, Benji let out a scream, as Woof closed his sharp claws on the innocent fairy.

The scream was so unbearable for The Canine. “Okay!” The Canine said.

“Okay, what?” Woof released his grip but still held Benji.

“You win. I’ll join your pack.” The Canine lowered his head. The wolves laughed and cheered around him, knowing they’d finally won.

“Good boy,” Woof said, and laughed. “Now…in order for you to join our pack, the fairy needs to go!”

“What?! No! Please, I beg you, don’t hurt him! Please!” The Canine tried to plea with Woof, but he wasn’t listening. Woof squeezed his claws tighter and tighter as Benji cried out in pain. The Canine tried to run up to Woof and stop him from killing the fairy, but the rest of the wolves tightened their circle and held him back until they’d dragged him to the ground. Pinned down by the wolves, The Canine could only look into Benji’s eyes with a look that showed how much he cared for the little guy. Benji looked back, incredibly weak and closer to death than he’d ever been.

“Gizzy…” Benji whimpered, as he closed his eyes.

It was done. The innocent fairy was gone.

Thump.

         The wolves looked around in confusion at the strange noise coming from below. The ground began to shake, and no one knew what was happening. Woof dropped the fairy to the floor and ran up to The Canine, still pinned down by the pack.

         “Come with me, boy. We need to leave now. Back to your new home.”

         Thump.

         The transwolves were frightened and backed away. At first, The Canine, exhausted and having lost a good amount of blood, thought it might be Ratchet, saving him with his earth powers, but then he realized that made no sense, because Ratchet wanted him dead.

         Thump.

         Now, even The Canine grew scared of what was happening. Gold dust scattered all around The Canine, and he slowly transformed back into Gizzy, the boy who was lost in a cruel and unusual world. Gizzy looked over to see Benji’s lifeless body on the ground, and he went over to pick him up. Gizzy looked over at the pack and saw his red backpack on the ground near Brandon, who was cowering behind Woof.

         Suddenly, the ground below them collapsed, causing three of the transwolves to fall through the cracks below. Brandon, the collared wolf, and one of the gray siblings fell through. The strap of the backpack, luckily, caught on a rock and remained above ground. Now it was just Gizzy, Woof, and the other gray sibling who remained.

         “Get your brothers out of the ground, now!” Woof commanded. “I need to take Gizzy to the caves so he doesn’t escape!” Woof jumped Gizzy and pinned him down, while the gray sibling who was on solid ground tried to help his packmates. Woof snarled at Gizzy. “You’re not going anywhere!” Gizzy felt helpless, pinned down next to Benji’s lifeless body. The red backpack was still clinging to the rock. He could see it up ahead. Gizzy knew this was his last good chance to escape, but how?!

         Thump.

The three wolves tried to climb out of the great hole in the ground and were shocked to the see the temple behind them explode! Giant pieces of heavy rocks hurled through the air, which would lead to ultimate death if only one fell on you. The gray sibling atop the ground screeched in horror as the rocks came down. Woof also panicked and decided that saving his own life was more important than kidnapping Gizzy, and quickly ran away and took cover in the jungle that surrounded the temple.

Gizzy got to his feet, picked up Benji’s lifeless body, and ran toward the jungle, only to stop, remembering the red backpack. He had to have the Barath Hammer if he wanted to unlock the Prophecy.

As the three transwolves found their way out of the broken earth, they all quickly ran toward their leader. The four wolves in total were stuck in the middle of the raining rocks. A giant rock fell in front of Brandon, knocking him unconscious into yet another dark hole.

Woof looked desperately for his pack from the jungle, as the black collared wolf made it across to safety. The two gray sibling wolves were left in the fray.

         “Brother! Move! We have to make it to safety,” the elder wolf said to his sibling. The youngest trusted his brother and ran with him to the jungle. Rocks continued to fly as pieces of the temple of the king fell from the sky. A giant rock fell between the two siblings as they ran, and the eldest brother made it to the jungle. “Brother, we made it!” Silence. The gray wolf turned around to see that the giant rock that had fallen between them…didn’t, in fact, fall between but instead on top of his younger brother. He was surely dead. Woof knew this would break his packmate’s heart, and he pulled at the remaining gray wolf’s fur—they needed to retreat. Brandon was nowhere to be found, and Woof knew he had no choice but to leave him behind. Woof, the black collared wolf, and the remaining gray wolf left the Jungle of Hope, blaming Gizzy for the death and destruction.

         Meanwhile, Gizzy needed the Barath Hammer if he wanted to go home. As the rocks dropped from above, Gizzy tried to avoid the holes in the earth by jumping across the chasms, then remembering he was still able to glide! Even with Benji gone, Gizzy still had his powers, and he was successful at scooping up the red backpack and putting it on.

         Suddenly, the blond wolf jumped at Gizzy, pinning him down! Brandon was still alive and at the destroyed temple!

         “You can’t leave, Gizzy! No one can leave Altered!” Brandon howled as he leaned in to rip Gizzy’s throat. Gizzy was sure this would finally be his end…

“Hey!” A familiar voice startled both Brandon and Gizzy, and as they turned around, a bright blue dust flashed in Brandon’s face, temporarily blinding him. As Brandon dropped Gizzy to cover his eyes, Gizzy looked up to see Benji, laughing away. “We’ll hug later, let’s go!” Benji spoke heroically.

Gizzy nodded, and they sprinted out of the temple as fast as they could.

         Brandon shook the blue dust from his eyes, realizing he needed to return to his pack and that he failed to bring Gizzy home. What would Woof do to him? Afraid of the wrath of the pack leader, Brandon decided to run in the opposite direction, away from the pack and Gizzy and everything he’d known in Altered. He decided he’d make a new life for himself somewhere else. He had failed his master, and for that, he worried he might be executed…unaware a fellow packmate had died from the falling rocks.

         Gizzy and Benji escaped the Jungle of Hope and found shelter below high jungle trees. Gizzy and Benji caught their breath and hugged each other, then laughed. Gizzy couldn’t believe that Benji had survived, but then he also remembered what that creature book had said about Colossal Fairies, that they can’t die unless the book was destroyed. Benji and Gizzy looked at each other after their horrific and challenging ordeal, knowing that after all the horrible things they had just gone through, their friendship was stronger than ever.

         Gizzy opened his backpack to find the Barath Hammer, the two books (the fairy one and the creature one), and the two compasses. One compass was the one Brayden had left for him and the other was his own. He remembered that he’d set his own compass with the coordinates for Higher Rank. He picked up the compass, and they began walking to the village, which was the home of the Rebellion, where they would reunite with Brayden once more. Both Gizzy and Benji were uncertain about why the earth had shaken so violently and the Jungle of Hope had collapsed. They weren’t even sure if going to the Jungle of Hope had any reasoning since they failed to bring the king back.

Suddenly Gizzy stopped, as he could hear something. He was unsure if it was the wind or some unknown creature in the jungle, but it sounded like someone was saying, “Thank you.” Gizzy, having been hypnotized at the crypt, didn’t realize that the same voice he heard just now in the wind was the same voice he had heard in the crypt. There was a reason why the temple was destroyed, because the myth was true…Gizzy was the Chosen One. The temple was destroyed because something was awakening…

         Deep inside the crypt of the dead, far past the magical lava and at the grave of the king, the voice whispered again…

         “I’m…alive…”

         The grave broke open, and the tomb grew suddenly colder. Little purple fireflies escaped from the tomb and scattered through the crypt and eventually out into the world. Then a hand forced itself out of the coffin, where the body of the king, who was once dead, was dead no more. The hand was covered in rot, and roots had grown over the corpse. A brown glove covered the dirty hand as it reached up…

The king of Altered…was back.

#thealteredadventure book fantasy freechapter gizzygazza gizzy14gazza

[relicta-amans]

living out of a backpack is better than a coffin ;; d&d backstory

My mother had the choice to run from her shame, why can’t I?

The Gravado Black Dragons were incredibly proud. They had a stronghold on entire villages that had spanned generations. But tragically, the newest leaders of the clan were rumored to be the last. Vincent and his wife Marciana were said to be barren, which had lead to extreme humiliation on her part, and infidelity on his. But a one night stand he wanted to forget came creeping up on him when a half-elf half-dragon child was left on his doorstep. Unable to abandon his blood, he took the child in with no hesitation.

His wife, utterly shamed and scorned by this, took her rage out on the child. There were nights that Vincent was gone, and the child ended up with bruises and cuts that could not otherwise be explained. Marciana said he was an active child who played roughly, though he had no friends to horseplay with. And when Vincent was home, the boy kept to himself, often reading alone in his room.

The only hint of what really happened was one night after the boy turned twenty-one.

Vincent sat around a card table, with the leaders of the Salemme Red Dragons, Alderman Green Dragons, and the Lombardo Silver Dragons. Each held weight in separate towns, and would have struck fear into the hearts of those they controlled.

The Salemme Dragons were similar to the Gravado clan. Their wealth was old money, their family had the greatest reach, and took the most pride in their work. The entirety of the mining industry fell under their control. Vincent wanted badly to salvage his reputation by working closely with them. Especially since the clan leader, Salvatore, was at an age beyond where most dragons would take their retirement. He had great-grandchildren who were old enough to take his place. And some of them were even still unwed.

The Alderman clan also had a far reach. They held most of the clergymen under their wing. But the family was newer, and sloppier in their thirst for power. But still there was much to respect for a clan who got their claws inside of the church. Their leader, Giuseppe, was feisty and manipulative and beyond reaches more intelligent than any of them.

The Lombardo dragons, on the other hand, were simply known as hoarders and pillagers. Their leader, Horace, took land from the existing clans, and was incredibly hated instead of respected. He refused to take a wife, instead littering his bloodline with bastards that he almost seemed to take more pride in than the idea of a pure clan.

“This is starting to get embarrassing, Giuseppe. You’ve lost more hands than even our newest comrade, here.” Salvatore joked, his voice dry and all enthusiasm lost within it, even if it was clear to the others that he was enjoying himself.

“I’m playing it safe.” Giuseppe countered. He may have lost the most hands, but he hadn’t lost too much in the process. The dragons rarely bet money on these games, instead bartering land and prizes that were worth so much more than what they held in their pockets.

“One more game, then I have to get home to Marciana. But I want to make it interesting.” Vincent sipped at his wine, his clawed finger rimming the glass as he set it down. This game, he knew, was the only way to ensure his bloodline continued in a way he deemed proper.

“I don’t know how it could get much more interesting. I’ve now won two large plots of land I intend on using.” The newest member smirked, his silver scales gleaming in the candlelight.

“I want to bet my son.”

The other dragons eyebrows raised save for the eldest, who let out a dry chuckle.

“Your bastard? You’re getting desperate now, aren’t you?”

“Now now,” The silver dragon slyly intercepted. “Bastards aren’t nearly the worst thing in the world. Not all of us are blessed with the fertility of your charming wife, Salvatore. How many children do you have? Sixteen?”

“Twenty-six children. Seventy-five grandchildren. And one hundred and forty two great-grandchildren.” He countered with pride. “Not a single one bastard-born.”

“I have nothing to bet.” Giuseppe laid down his cards. “All of my children are married save for my youngest daughter, whose true love is the church. I wouldn’t take that from her.” He smiled, knowing that would secure more power than he already was pursuing.

“I have a great-granddaughter.” Salvatore quietly put his tokens down, placing his bet. “Lovely girl. Strong willed and talented on the cello. She’s young, only sixteen. Wedding would have to wait.”

“That’s fine with—”

Vincent was cut off by Horace, who almost glowed. “I have a better offer. My oldest daughter could be married tomorrow. She’s pure-blood, but deformed. Poor thing was born hideous, which is why she’s gone forty-seven years without finding a mate. But she’s a dragon, through and through, which you can’t say about Angelo.”

Vincent took the hit to his pride and dealt the cards without another word.

The game lasted longer than he would’ve liked, but Salvatore folded and the game was ended with a clean straight from Horace.

“Better warn your son, Vincent. He won’t be happy with my girl Lucia. But he better know how to treat her.” The silver dragon winked as the game was called, and Vincent slammed his fists down and walked away, the other dragons laughing.

Salvatore even called after him, mocking his son by saying he could have easily won the hand, but would never subject his family to that kind of shame.

Vincent went home, already in a rage, to find his son with a knife to his wife’s throat. The boy was sneering at his adopted mother, who immediately turned to tears and ran to her husband, who screamed at the boy.

So he ran.

His father caught up to him quickly, and laid his fate upon him accompanied by his fists. The boy, bloodied and bruised, sulked home with his father dragging him by the arm.

In the days that followed, Angelo did not speak, did not acknowledge his father or his step-mother. And met his fiancée with a black eye and a busted lip. The girl sneered upon seeing him, seemingly embarrassed that she had to take a half-breed as her husband. But she still agreed, and the marriage was set for a week from that day.

Angelo was tortured over the idea. He didn’t find shame in the girl’s face, which was as mangled and twisted as he had been warned. But the hatred in her heart that he had hoped would be a grounds for understanding between them, was directed towards him instead. He knew that life with her would be as horrific as it was with Marciana.

The only solace he found was when he packed a bag and discovered his old things that his mother had left him with.

She had given him a name, and said that he was very much wanted, but that she would have killed if her family knew that she had done any kind of dealings with the Gravado family.

So on the night he left, he swore to her without ever knowing her that he would never be a part of his “family” ever again.

His name would be hers, Valentinus Awdry.

He wouldn’t even acknowledge that part of himself.

His first instinct was to run to the church and cry for sanctuary. But little did he know that the church on the mainland was controlled by those who knew his father and his bastard. He left church after church bloodied and bruised, his hatred toward dragons only growing in the process.

The only solace he found was in a small village on the edge of the continent. It was so far removed from everything he knew, that he knew he was safe.

His closest friends were priests and healers, who showed him the ways of healing through their deity’s power. He lived there in harmony for five years.

But his comfort was short lived.

One morning, he woke late. Morning prayer had already came and went, so he decided to wander the gardens for a while until supper. Usually one of his friends would come and bother him but today he seemed to enjoy the solitude.

When he finally returned to the temple it was nearing sunset, and he still hadn’t seen a single soul.

But upon entering the great hall, there was nothing but blood and ice. Every single person, every priest, every midwife, everyone was frozen or decapitated.

He screamed and cried until his throat burned, and the culprits finally came out of the woodwork.

Lucia had enmassed a small army. In the five years that had passed, both her father and his had “suddenly” passed away, and she and Marciana were in charge of the clans respectively. Lucia explained to Valentinus that she needed his ring on her finger in order to cement their power, and that if he so much as walked out of her sight again, she would continue to destroy everything he ever loved.

“When you left, you forgot something very important.” She knelt beside him, and in a moment that was almost tender, she placed his engagement ring on his finger. Smiling a twisted smirk, she confirmed. “You belong to me now, Angelo. Don’t ever forget that.”

He screamed again, reminded of the name he had abandoned so many years ago. But this time, instead of burning his own throat, something came out of his throat and burned the woman’s already destroyed face.

She shrieked and her guards came running, just to be hit with the same acid that had wrecked her features.

He ran once again, fully expecting to be stopped like he had been by his father so long ago.

But the attackers were incapacitated, if not dead, and he got away. The whole time completely aware that his fiancée was screaming and still alive.

No matter where he ran, he was entirely aware she would always follow. He needed to get away from her in any way that he could. Maybe he would be successful, but that idea would haunt him until the end of his life.

He belonged to her.

It followed him as he left the mainland. As he picked up a job in the middle of new warring factions. As he met and encountered new people. But at least this way he wasn’t in one place, he was always moving, always running. He dared not speak to another dragon, for fear of revealing himself.

He just wanted the opportunity to live and die in peace.

And this was his one chance.

My mother had a choice to run from her shame, but I can’t stop running now.

#d&d backstory

[whyareyoureyesblack]

All His Boyfriends are Dead pt2

The digging was the worst part, Tord decided.

Getting tons of clothes, first aid kits, and hammers and shovels without raising suspicion? Oh, he could’ve been buying a case of soda for all the attention he got.

Finding the grave in the middle of the night? A piece of cake.

Seeing Edd’s name on the grave stone, and knowing he’d be face to face with his remains? Oh sign Tord right up! That’s why he came here after all! If he could just skip right to that point, Tord would!

But this? The digging? Kicking the spade into the settled ground and heaving large clumps of heavy dirt and grass and roots over his shoulder, and struggling to see with just a lantern in the cloudy night? Fuck. That. His shoulders and hands were aching before he even got two feet down, dirt clinging to the knees of his jeans and his knuckles and sweat poured down his face. This, this was literal hell.

By the time he hit the coffin with a solid thud, Tord’s arms were burning and he decided that maybe he could just try and get the next few to burst out of the ground themselves like in those horror movies.

Tord struggled to get the last of the dirt off of the coffin lid, wiping sweat with dirty, blistered hands.

Prying it open was like a breath of fresh air, a relief. Even though the air coming from the coffin most certainly wasn’t.

Tord wrinkled his nose at the smell of rot, but his eyes were focused on the corpse.

Seven or eight years seemed to work wonders for decay. Tord could see more bone than flesh, and whatever flesh he could see was molted and pale green. The black suit was worn and dusty and crumpled, and the way it sagged let Tord know that Edd’s chest and stomach must’ve caved in during decomposition. Edd’s face was still his, but only faintly. His jaw gapping, the skin sagging off his cheek bones and chin and neck. Black rotted liquid stained his teeth, for he no longer had lips or a nose.

Tord felt tears prick his eyes, and he let them fall and streak his dirt stained face as he leaped up on the edge of the hole he had dug. It was difficult for him to reach and he had to make a few swipes at the large duffle bag there until he was able to drag it into the hole with him.

He unzipped the bag and dug through the clattering stuffed objects, searching.

Taking out a large glass jar full of herbs and roots, Tord uncapped the lid and grabbed a handful. He crumpled some of the larger bits between his fingers and threw them over Edd’s rotten body. Resealing the rest, Tord then scoured through his bag once again.

He pulled out a water bottle that was not full of water, and lightly poured some of the pink-brown liquid into Edd’s gaping mouth. It trickled out the holes in Edd’s cheeks, and bubbled in his throat.

Before stumbling back over to his bag, Tord used the ring he was wearing (an iron band with a spike on the back, made from a coffin nail) to slice open the skin of the pad of his finger. Hand shaking, Tord waited until four drops of his own blood dripped onto Edd’s rotting face before wrapping a torn cloth from his pocket around his bleeding digit. Then, Tord stuffed the water bottle into the bag and, groaning a bit, Tord shoved the whole thing out on the lip of the hole.

Climbing out was a chore, and Tord slipped a few times before he managed to haul himself out of the grave. Not bothering to stand, Tord crawled over to the book he left beside his backpack. Hissing in pain, Tord snatched the book from the ground and opened it to the page he bookmarked with a eulogy newspaper clipping, stating the death of three men in a house explosion.

He read through the steps and notes he had taken, counting them off and muttering how stupidly complicated is was to raise someone from the dead.

When he was sure he had done it right, Tord pulled out two heavy candles from the duffle bag and lit them before placing them on either side of him. He sat with crossed legs, pants and coat stained in dirt and grass, and placed the book in his lap.

Tord momentarily caught himself praying that this worked, then laughed at himself, because how satirical do you have to be to pray for something like this.

Tord shook off his laughter, took a deep breath to steady himself, and raised his hands out to either side of him, hovering above the flames of the candles.

The words he chanted from the book rolled off his tongue almost without looking, the incantation rumbling out of his chest and into the cool night air. Unlike in movies, the wind didn’t pick up, the outside didn’t get any darker or colder. But Tord could tell something was happening. The words that gasped into the air from his lips made his mouth feel ticklish, the roof of his mouth itching. A chill went down his spine, the back of his hands (still about a foot away from the flames of the candles) heating up as if they were on fire. His eyes stung like he had something stuck under the lids, and the irises of his eyes brightened until they glowed. Tears slipped down his face and they stung like nails scratching down his cheeks, but Tord didn’t stop chanting.

Everything felt lighter, fainter, like his clothes and the book in his lap weren’t touching him. He couldn’t feel the ground under him. But he didn’t stop.

The last word left him breathless in a way that felt like hitting a floor on your back, and his vision flickered, one eye showing white and the other showing black. Somehow, Tord managed to keep his body still, in the same position as always, even though he was struggling to breathe.

Then nothing happened.

Breathing hard and blinking spots from his still gleaming eyes, Tord dropped his hands into his lap, listening closely.

Tears dripped from his eyes and onto the book, onto his hands, and Tord didn’t hear anything.

Just when Tord was looking back at the book, wondering what he messed up on, he heard a heaving gasp, so sharp and hallow that it reminded him of a death rattle.

Tord’s head snapped up, startled, and saw a skeletal hand claw at the lip of the grave. A second hand came up, stabbing into the ground with bone finger tips. It was hard to tell if it was flesh or the suit that was hanging off the arms.

Hitching gasps filled the air, like someone being crushed under weight. With a definite scrape of shoes slipping on the messy sides of the grave, the corpse climbed from the grave with sharp, messy movements. It’s head bowed, Tord could only see wispy thin hair, long and crisp like leaves.

Tord forgot the book as he moved forward into a crawl. He couldn’t even feel the sting of his hand or the soreness of his legs or the dizziness, coming just short of the corpse that paused just as it’s legs found ground.

Tord reached a hand up, but the corpse suddenly let out heaving gasps, deep and heavy like someone who had been held under water. Then, he coughed, a very dry sound, and water splattered the ground in front of Tord’s knees. A harsh coughing fit followed, all air and a few clicks.

“Edd?” Tord asked, voice shaking with a sticky tongue.

The corpse jumped, and the head shot up, mangled face just inches from Tord’s.

The entire lower half of his face was mainly bone, with some old flesh clinging on in streaks like ribbons. His eye sockets were empty and were a pit green, a thin oily black leaking from them like tears. His hair was thin and stuck oddly over his face. There was a slight tightening around his eye sockets, on the skin that still covered his temples, like he was squinting.

“Tord?” The corpse rasped in a voice that Tord remembered, although it was scratchy and very raw. Before Tord could answer, Edd seemed to wince, a hand going to where a majority of his neck had decomposed, “Ugh, my throat.”

Tord instantly scrambled over to his duffle bag, where he took out the same water bottle from before. He held it out for Edd to take.

“Right. Here, this should help.”

Edd probably couldn’t see all that well considering that he didn’t even question what was in the bottle before he unscrewed it. He brought it to his teeth (he had no lips), and let the ‘water’ pour into his mangled jaw. It seeped out the partings in his flesh, and splattered down through his jaw onto his decayed throat, where it instantly absorbed into the rotten flesh. The front of his suit was wet, but Edd didn’t seem to notice.

“Thanks…” Edd announced in a slightly less pained sounding tone, though his voice was still a bit raw.

Tord watched the way Edd’s teeth parted as he spoke.

“How do you feel?”

“A bit sick. Really tired. My whole body feels sore. Uh, where are we?” Edd spoke lowly, looking around, water bottle forgotten as Edd sat up straighter.

“Graveyard,” Tord answered, looking straight in the sockets that once held evergreen eyes, “What do you remember?”

Surprise colored Edd’s tone when he repeated, “Graveyard??”

“What do you remember?” Tord asked again, expression sincere, and Edd stopped trying to look around. The way he tilted his head let Tord know that Edd was concerned.

“I remember… going to sleep?”

“… That’s all?”

“I mean, yeah? It was after we went to the movies together, and I just went home and went to bed. That’s it.”

Tord felt more tears slip down his cheek, unsure if he was relieved or upset.

“Tord, why are you crying,” Edd sounded worried, and Tord was startled by cold fingers touching the side of his face, “What happened? Why are we here?”

“You… kind of. Died,” Tord admitted, and flashed a nervous smile.

Edd’s remaining skin slackened, in surprise or disbelief.

“I- what?”

“You died. In your sleep. Eight years ago.”

“Eight years? What are you talking about?!” Edd drew his hand back, seeming to understand that Tord wasn’t joking. Then Edd noticed that his hand had much less flesh than he probably recalled. Tord looked away as Edd let out a hitched gasp, staring at the bone and only ribbons of dried flesh coiled over stained bone.

Edd brought up his other hand, staring at bare bone along his fingers and molted flesh spider webbing the center of his palms and up the inside of his arms. He kept repeating ‘what the-??’ as he discovered new changes.

“Like I told you, my curse will kill everyone I love. It got you eight years ago, and I’ve been trying to figure out how to fix it ever since! I tried cures or something to counter it. I got charms and did rituals and got protective tattoos,” Tord pulled up one of his sleeves and showed off black ink scrawling up and down the back of his arm. Edd stared at them, and Tord sagged, looking ashamed, “But it never worked. None of it did. The curse still effected everyone else I came across. It’s taken all of you from me. But I found a loophole, and I can get you guys back, all of you! I had to turn to basically cursed magic, and that’s probably going to ruin my soul, but I’m getting you all back. And the curse can’t take any of away from me again! Because you’re already dead!”

Tears were freely streaking Tord’s cheeks, his words frantic and desperate sounding. He ended up breathing shakily as Edd absorbed his words.

Edd looked from him to his own dead hands, his teeth making a clicking noise when he winced at the exposed tendons.

“Okay.”

Tord stopped. “W-what?”

Edd met his eyes, his own empty eye sockets still streaming oily black. “I said 'okay’. I understand. It’s fine.”

“R- really?! You’re not mad and you don’t think I’m crazy or-”

Edd’s hands came up and fell on Tord’s shoulders, stilling him.

He had a light laugh in his words when he spoke, and the way his cheeks moved let Tord know that Edd was smiling.

“Tord. You just brought me back from the dead, I’m not mad. A little freaked out, but I guess I should be flattered.”

“Flattered?”

“You’re curse only affects those you love, right? Guess that means you really did love me back, even if you didn’t say it to my face,” Edd grinned, and Tord was a bit startled that the exposed teeth and thin flesh didn’t hinder the slight throb in Tord’s heart. “Not to mention that I’ve been dead for, what? Eight years? And you still came back for me.”

Tord reached out and pulled Edd to him, burying his face in the dirty shoulder of Edd’s dusty suit. When he hugged, his arms sunk in around Edd’s middle that would be gross if it was anyone else. The smell bothered Tord little. Edd let out a noise in surprise, but then he closed his mangled arms around Tord’s back.

“I can’t believe how much I’ve missed you.”

Edd laughed, “You’ve gotten sappy since I was alive, huh?”

“I can afford to be sappy now. You’re safe.”

For a moment, they held each other, and just spoke in quiet tones.

“I can’t believe you let my parents bury me in this suit.”

“I didn’t have much of a say. Besides, suits are expected when you’re buried.”

“Yeah, I know, but this suit has a bow tie. A bow tie, Tord. I look like a freakin puppet boy.”

“You do not look like a puppet boy.”

“That’s only because I probably look like an apocalyptic nightmare.”

“Would you rather look like a puppet boy?”

“No, but you get my point.”

Tord leaned up and kissed Edd where his lips used to be. Now, his lips met teeth and thin dry flesh. Edd let out a startled noise.

“Okay, we have to get going. I have eight other graves to dig up.”

“Did you just kiss me? Even though I don’t have lips? I think I don’t have lips- I mean I can’t feel them.” Edd looked up as Tord stood, gathering things and shoving them into the bags. “Wait, eight other graves?”

Tord paused a moment, picking up his backpack and unzipping it. He made a point not to look at Edd.

“I’m going to revive all of those I killed with my curse.”

“You mean, other people you fell in love with? While I was dead?”

“Yes,” Tord drew out the word, looking shy as he withdrew a jacket, “I was planning on getting all of you back, and I just know that all of you would get along together. Perhaps you’ll even love each other, given time.”

Edd crossed his nearly bone arms.

“You revived me so that you could set me up with other zombie guys?”

Tord held out a bundle of messily folded clothes.

“No. I revived you so that I could get you back. The possibility of dating my other dead lovers is a plus,” Tord offered, trying to look confidant. Edd didn’t take the clothes.

“Are they hot?”

“They were the last time I saw them alive. Now they might be more on the horror side of attractive, but I personally don’t see a problem with it. If you like, I’ll gladly tell you all about them on the way to the next grave.”

Edd wiped oily tears from his eye sockets, and let out a surprisingly amused sounding chuckle.

“Well, it beats being dead.”

As Edd got changed out of his ruined suit, Tord picked up his supplies. They left the grave open, and Edd mused that he should take his headstone with them. Tord told him no, but he was laughing.

The pants Tord brought didn’t fit at all on Edd, considering that a large portion of his flesh and organs had been eaten away by decay, but the hoodie Tord brought was plenty large enough to reach down to Edd’s flesh spotted thighs. His legs were well decayed, large portions of bone reveled under wrapper thin green molted bloated flesh. Edd made a joke about him being on a diet, and Tord commented that he’d look into finding something to help with his lack of skin and muscle.

They left the graveyard, leaving only an empty grave and an empty suit. Edd helped Tord carry some of his things, surprisingly still pretty strong without much of his muscles. Before they left, Tord tied a bandanna over the missing flesh on Edd’s exposed jaw and teeth. With that most obvious detail hidden, Edd could probably pass as normal at first glance or far away. Though his green pit eyes, still leaking black, were a dead give away, which Edd pointed out and Tord laughed and kissed him over the bandanna.

—

OGFUAHDJB ONE DOWN IM SO HAPP Y

#submission #goresworld #polyworld #fanfic #necromancer tord #aubergine-jeans #major character death meow #zombies meow #edd got no pants #all his boyfriends are dead

[ashnbone-blog]

MUSE AESTHETICS: HORROR EDITION

repost, don’t reblog / bold whatever applies / tag however many people you want / feel free to add stuff in any category, too!

tagged by: @luxinexitium ( thanks bby !! )  tagging: @spellbks @mvxnn @hyejvng @airxn

GOTHIC HORROR. gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons.cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. spiders. libraries. rosaries. grandfather clocks.

CLASSIC HORROR. black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras. creaking floorboards.

SLASHERS. bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. outdated television sets.nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks. scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances. bodies in the lake.

PARANORMAL HORROR. malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves.white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND HORROR. aliens. blinding light. dark woods. claw-marks. bite-marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. abandoned houses. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking / backpacking.

THRILLERS. daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. asylums. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms with no one inside them. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. suspicion. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots. bodies in the basement. quiet conversation. chases on foot. hiding in the bathroom. the power cutting off. locked doors. muffled arguments. loaded glances. bodies in the walls. yellow-green lighting. blue-grey lighting.

#ash : about #ash : meme

[luxinexitium]

MUSE AESTHETICS: HORROR EDITION

repost, don’t reblog / bold whatever applies / tag however many people you want / feel free to add stuff in any category, too!

tagged by: @haebxtna (thank you!!) tagging: @themidnightsiren @ashnbone @rutilmenite @novocana @hdnkwn @cygnenoir @seyoou @noireses @florichor @dahliancgra @pullstrings @spected @antipsychx @abscondos @chaoticer

GOTHIC HORROR. gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. spiders. libraries. rosaries. grandfather clocks.

CLASSIC HORROR. black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras. creaking floorboards.

SLASHERS. bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. outdated television sets. nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks. scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances. bodies in the lake.

PARANORMAL HORROR. malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND HORROR. aliens. blinding light. dark woods. claw-marks. bite-marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. abandoned houses. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking / backpacking.

THRILLERS. daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. asylums. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms with no one inside them. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. suspicion. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots. bodies in the basement. quiet conversation. chases on foot. hiding in the bathroom. the power cutting off. locked doors. muffled arguments. loaded glances. bodies in the walls. yellow-green lighting. blue-grey lighting.

#headcanons #(( i wish i could triple bold 'fluorescent lighting' lol #also i laughed more than i should at 'the american south' #a true terror #and just 'california' i'm- ))

[intravita]

muse aesthetics: horror edition.

tagged by: @luxinexitium​

GOTHIC HORROR gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons.cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. spiders. libraries. rosaries. grandfather clocks.

CLASSIC HORROR black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras. creaking floorboards.

SLASHERS bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. outdated television sets. nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks. scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances. bodies in the lake.

PARANORMAL HORROR malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND HORROR aliens. blinding light. dark woods. claw-marks. bite-marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. abandoned houses. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking / backpacking.

THRILLERS daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. asylums. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms with no one inside them. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. suspicion. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots. bodies in the basement. quiet conversation. chases on foot. hiding in the bathroom. the power cutting off. locked doors. muffled arguments. loaded glances. bodies in the walls. yellow-green lighting. blue-grey lighting.

#finally some filler content for my slow ass #play

[evocatum-blog]

horror aesthetics: jung soohyuk. once upon a midnight dreary.

GOTHIC HORROR gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. spiders. libraries. rosaries. grandfather clocks.

CLASSIC HORROR black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras. creaking floorboards.

SLASHERS bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. outdated television sets. nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks. scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances. bodies in the lake.

PARANORMAL HORROR malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND HORROR aliens. blinding light. dark woods. claw-marks. bite-marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. abandoned houses. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking / backpacking.

THRILLERS daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. asylums. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms with no one inside them. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. suspicion. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots. bodies in the basement. quiet conversation. chases on foot. hiding in the bathroom. the power cutting off. locked doors. muffled arguments. loaded glances. bodies in the walls. yellow-green lighting. blue-grey lighting.

#extra. / soohyuk #fucken bold the whole of gothic horror i love a creep

[pyrrhicommand]

muse aesthetics: horror edition.

you know how it goes, fam! repost, don’t reblog / bold whatever applies / tag however many people you want / feel free to add stuff in any category, too!

tagged by: @dealkept​   &   @leonherz​ 

tagging:  i keep answering these things 50 years late, so i never know who has already done them. tagging anyone who thinks green tea is refreshing!

gothic horror. gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. spiders. books.

classic horror. black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. transatlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras.

slashers. bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. outdated television sets. nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks. scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion.california. the american midwest. ambulances.

paranormal horror. malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. mausoleums. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

cryptid & urban legend horror. aliens. blinding light. dark woods. driving at night. claw-marks. bite-marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. abandoned houses. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking / backpacking.

thrillers. daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. asylums. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms with nobody inside them. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. suspicion. paranoia. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots.

#013 headcanon #this was fun omg

[forgottenangelic]

MUSE AESTHETICS: HORROR EDITION repost, don’t reblog / bold whatever applies

GOTHIC HORROR. gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. spiders.libraries. rosaries. grandfather clocks.

CLASSIC HORROR. black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras. creaking floorboards.

SLASHERS. bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. outdated television sets. nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks. scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances. bodies in the lake.

PARANORMAL HORROR. malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND HORROR. aliens. blinding light. dark woods. claw-marks. bite-marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. abandoned houses. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking / backpacking.

THRILLERS. daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. asylums. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms with no one inside them. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. suspicion. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots. bodies in the basement. quiet conversation. chases on foot. hiding in the bathroom. the power cutting off. locked doors. muffled arguments. loaded glances. bodies in the walls. yellow-green lighting. blue-grey lighting.

#sorry that the only thing i've posted in days is this #i've been captured by a new anime #;meme #;about angel

[rllovestoskate]

Pictures

It was easily arguable that Steve was one of the best friends Sam had ever had. They lived together, they ate together, they worked out together, they watched ridiculous Netflix dramas together. Considering all of the things they did together, Sam knew many things he’d rather not know about Steve. He knew that he eats peanut butter by the spoonful and double dips into the jar, he knows that he has three pairs of wonder woman underwear, and he knows that he will send back an anchovy pizza with extra anchovies because it doesn't have enough anchovies on it. However knowing all of these things, he knows very little of any importance, and hardly any details that would lend themselves to anything before the day Sam had met him.

When you were to meet someone over six feet with shoulders as broad as you are tall, you tend to assume that when they say they’re willing to go running with you it means they're not going to collapse a half a mile in. Sam had seen Steve at the gym almost every time he’d been there, leg day, arm day, chest day. He was polite enough, one of those acquaintances that you greet when you see even if you don’t know there name. But three months of casual hellos turned into spotting and conversations and then they were gym buddies who waited for each other and texted if they were going to be late. And asking Steve to accompany him for a few miles in the morning before a workout seemed only polite.

“Hey man what up,” Sam called as he rounded the corner, moving into a jog as he approached Steve.

Steve looked up and smiled, shrugged one shoulder, “Hey Sam.” He fell into step and moved onto the sidewalk, letting Sam set a pace.

Looking back Sam knew that if he had known Steve the way he does now he would have noticed something off. But on that day Steve’s responses of “I’m fine” and “just an off day” explained away all huffing and puffing. But kneeling over into the grass, unable to speak, grabbing at his jacket pocket was not anything Sam would believe was a bad day.

“Steve! Steve! Look at me!” Steve was avoiding his eyes, taking wheezing breaths, hunched over himself in a painful looking way. At some point Sam simply reached into the pocket Steve was still fumbling for, stunned to pull out a inhaler. Steve snatched it out of his hand and with a few puffs was breathing normally enough to stand.

“Steve, I swear to god, you don’t tell someone you’ll go on a run with them if you have fucking asthma,” Sam said, head in his hands. This was just the kind of thing Steve would do, three months and occasional conversation hadn’t kept him from realizing that Steve didn’t know how to say no, especially when  it came to his friends.

“It’s fine Sam,” Steve was panting, “not a big deal, ya know. I just haven’t run in while, not in shape.

“Okay, no. The amount you bench press tells me that this had nothing to do with you not being in shape and everything to do with not telling me that going on a run is going to cause you’re freaking airways to close.”

Steve looked away sheepishly, still trying to uphold his poorly supported lie “Don’t worry about it Sam I’ll live, know how to handle it”

“Yeah, obviously,” Sam said, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulder. “But that certainly doesn’t mean that you're going to ignore me when I say I’m making you breakfast. Gotta make sure you don’t keel over on the way home.”

And so a pile of pancakes two stories tall turned into a weekly thing. Which then turned into lunches and crashing on the couch and “it’s cheaper for both of us Steve, I’m not saying you’re incapable” and then they were living together. And Sam was suddenly surrounded a man that didn’t know how to choose clothing that fit and a disgusting habit of making his bed. And asthma went at the very top of the list of things Sam knows about Steve.

Slowly the list grew to include that he grew up in Brooklyn, either had no family or refused to see or talk about them, and took the 3 hour train ride from D.C. to New york every other month, and came home to grumpy to be around. Sam knew that Steve had an art degree which he often complained about one day and blessed the next. And he knew that Steve used this degree for freelance work, which seems to Sam to consist entirely of being yelled at by people on the phone and then subsequently complain to him about it.

However this list included no childhood memories or facts about parents and someone this closed off was just yelling at the psychologist inside him. But Sam had a very strict rule of not using his therapy voice on his friends, which meant no pushing, even if Steve was a spitting image about everything he’d been taught about the consequences of suppressed emotion. So Sam tried to discreetly mention a therapist friend or group a colleague had told him about, but he knew had to respect someone's boundaries.

The day the list grew exponentially started about as normal as any other meaning not at all normal  because when Sam woke up Steve was hopping around the living room with a shoe in one hand and his phone in the other looking quite insane.

“Dude what freaking time is it, what the hell are you doing?” Sam wandered out of his bedroom, to tired to really care.

“Oh god Sam I’m late, I’m so late. I’m supposed to be downtown in an hour and the traffic’s going to be crap and I’m so, so late.” Steve finally had his shoe on and was shucking on a jacket, turning about looking for his keys.

Sam poured a cup a coffee and said “You’re fine, quit freaking.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m certainly not fine,” Steve said, “this meeting, this meeting is….” he ran into his room and came back with a wallet. “...a big company Sam, could be real money, so important.”

Sam simply nodded, he’d seen Steve like this before, harebrained and on thin ice. He’d freak out all the way there before blowing away some important customer and coming home with expensive cheese because that was the sort of thing Steve spent extra money on. So he pushed Steve out the door, gave him a thumbs up, which Steve frowned at, and went back to his coffee.

A few hours later Sam was studying, a masters was hard work let him tell you about it, when Steve called.

“Steve! How was the meeting?”

“It was good, they offered me the job and…”

“See I told you you could do it.”

“That’s not the point they want me at another office in a half hour and I told them I already had rudimentary plans drawn up and I have ones that will work but I don't have them with me and I don’t have that much time and,” he paused, “will you get them for me?”

“I don’t know why you’re worked up of course I’ll get them, calm down, you got the job. You should be happy.”

“I am happy, just stressed”

“Well don’t worry about it, tell me where to find these plans and you can swing by on the way, I’ll even come down and give to ya. You won’t even have to come upstairs.”

“That great Sam, you’re great. There’s an old portfolio in the top of my closet, it’s green.”

“Green portfolio top of the closet, I got it man. Text me when you get here.”

Once he’d hung up Sam stood and stretched, walking into the hall and towards Steve's room. In the closet the portfolio was easily spotted but not so easy to get down and Sam managed to knock down what seemed nearly every other box on the shelf in reaching for it. So the portfolio was put safely aside ready for Steve while Sam attempted to put everything back. A few boxes went back on the shelves but one had landed on it’s side, dumping its contents onto the floor.

Dozens of photos now littered the floor and Sam had to pick them all up.

Two boys on the front steps of a small house with little backpacks and big smiles. “Steve and Bucky first day of kindergarten” on the back.

A wedding, a young couple maybe 20 standing at an altar. “Sarah and Joe 1990”

A boy at least 15 who looks like Steve, except smaller than Sam ever knew him, sitting on the hood of a blue truck.

A toddler with a shock of blond hair and tears down his face in the arms of a man wearing fatigues, the man from the wedding photo.

The two boys again, both with shaved heads, and the one who’s clearly Steve has yellow skin and gaunt cheeks. “First round of chemo 2001”

A beautiful blond woman looking in wonder around time square. “We’re not in Ireland anymore”

A close up of the boy, Bucky, a teenager now, except he has purple bruises all down the side of his face, a black eye, and a deep cut on his cheek.

Steve again, no older than nine, a little black suit, next to the brown haired boy and the woman who Sam knows is his mother, a coffin, and a folded up flag.

A small family in the front of a church, a baby in the woman’s arms. “Steven’s christening 1991”

A pair of blue jeans and boots sticking out from under a beat up blue truck.

Steve looking small from behind a barred window, an unfamiliar background, and a woman behind him yelling at whoever’s taking the picture.

A hospital where Bucky leans over the bed and a woman who looks like him holds a baby and a man on the other side, the only one not smiling. “Becca’s born 2007”

Steve older again, bigger, almost an adult, maybe 18, except he’s in a wheelchair and there’s an IV and he has no hair and a scar on his scalp.

A million copies of either boy when they don’t know there’s a camera.

Two graves one says Sarah 2005 and the other Joe 1998 and in the middle is the back of a blond head of hair, framed by sunlight.

Two toddlers sticking their heads out of a blanket fort.

A room covered in beer bottles, and Bucky with a trash bag while a man in a wife-beater sleeps sleeps in the background a gun on the end table.

Another funeral and Bucky has tears this time, he’s holding a wailing baby.

A set of knees obscures the picture but you can a priest standing over a hospital bed, head down and beads in hand, a small body on the bed.

A large run down house with a dead lawn and a wooden sign that reads “Mrs. Marge’s Foster Home”

Steve and Bucky, in a tree house this time.

The little girl, Becca, waving from the back of a car and Bucky in the foreground not waving back.

The boys again but Steve is too skinny and too pale, and Bucky with too many bruises, but they’re both smiling.

The view from a passenger seat of truck, the brown hair of the driver obscuring his face but you can see Brooklyn in the background.

Police in the driveway of the little house and a man in handcuffs, and a stretcher with a body.

Steve in the hospital and Bucky with his head on the sheet’s, they're both asleep.

Bucky tickling a little girl who’s not yet one, supported on his hip.

Steve leaned over a notebook, tongue sticking out of his mouth. Just the way just the way Sam’s seen a million times.

They’re sitting on the front stoop of the same house a big poster that says “no more cancer” it’s dated 2003

A cross in the middle of an intersection, where Bucky’s setting roses, it says Sarah across the front.

Bucky and Steve with party hats and a cake. “Bucky’s 8th Birthday”

The boys younger again sitting on the lap of the woman who looks like Bucky who’s holding a children’s book.

A brown haired young man in a set of fatigues, and he’s walking out of the room with hunched shoulders, clearly taken from a hospital bed.

Two boys one with blond hair and one with brown, faces squished together both smiling sunshine smiles.

And Sam picked them all up. And he put them back in the box. And he put it the box back on the shelf. And he grabbed the portfolio and went downstairs because his phone had just pinged. And when Steve thanked him he only nodded. Cause he didn’t know what to think.

And Sam thought himself a good friend. But he didn’t think anyone was capable of taking this in without questions. Maybe he should tell someone. But Steve was clearly didn’t even want him to know. And he thought that they were best friends, and best friends tell each other when they’ve accidentally discovered each other's deep dark secrets. But they’re not supposed to have them anyway.

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #sam wilson #stucky #stevexbucky

[chaoticer]

MUSE AESTHETICS: HORROR EDITION

repost, don’t reblog / bold whatever applies / tag however many people you want / feel free to add stuff in any category, too!

tagged by: @luxinexitium tagging: @anyone

GOTHIC HORROR. gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons.cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. spiders. libraries. rosaries. grandfather clocks.

CLASSIC HORROR. black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras. creaking floorboards.

SLASHERS. bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. outdated television sets.nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks. scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances. bodies in the lake.

PARANORMAL HORROR. malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves.white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND HORROR. aliens. blinding light. dark woods. claw-marks. bite-marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. abandoned houses. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking / backpacking.

THRILLERS. daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. asylums. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms with no one inside them. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. suspicion. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots. bodies in the basement. quiet conversation. chases on foot. hiding in the bathroom. the power cutting off. locked doors. muffled arguments. loaded glances. bodies in the walls. yellow-green lighting. blue-grey lighting.

#details: he has ashes where once lived a beating heart.

[lillaxtrigger]

Faded land: Chapter 19

Perched high above the midnight sky, the moon’s pale white glow glistens down upon a steel Canadian highway; the road halfway filled with passing hovering cars that stretch along the country side as far as the eye could perceive. Beside the highway the floating automobiles drives orderly through, the contrasting site of the dense, lush forest brushes up against the glass barrier separating the cars from the unkempt nature. From the far end of the white steel highway, a hovering car held together with a faded body weaves itself through the mild traffic plaguing the midnight highway; the speeding hover car fleeing from the two mountie police cruisers pursuing from behind. Within the fleeting hover car’s cockpit, the driving scientist adjust its mirror to find the two cop cruisers feverishly chasing after slowly beginning to close the distance; their maple leave shaped sirens perched atop their roof’s glowing brighter the closer they get. Shifting her gaze back to the road ahead, the young woman comes to discover a blockade constructed of several floating mountie cars set on the road ahead; barricading any way from continuing through the steel highway. With very little time and choice on her hands, Clara pulls the square wheel of her hover car as high as she possibly can; the vehicle she pilots quickly floating up from the white steel roads beneath it. In her rapid ascension above the highway, the young woman rockets high over the white steel highway and veers off to the side; the entire car gliding right over the safety glass and delving straight down into the forest beyond.

Diving straight through the lush woodlands, Clara attempts to swerve around the dense clusters of trees as she races away from the steel highway; holes being torn into her car as she scrapes against the sides and branches of the pine trees. In her daring race through the forest, her sudden nature drive swiftly comes to violent stop; ramming the front side of her vehicle right into a hard rock sitting in the way. The harsh impact causes the scientist’s vehicle to spin out of control, careening through the forest until violently crashing its side straight into a thick pine tree; the airbags equip within deploying just in time to spar the young woman from taking the grizzly impact.

As the airbags of the vehicle start to deflate, Clara begins to pry herself out from the cockpit; squeezing her body through the shards of glass and bent chrome. Once she fall to the rough forest ground, the scientist rises from the dead pine littered ground to gaze back towards her ride to assess the damage; finding the poor car to be in worse shape than she thought. The body being so bent and broken to the point that repairs seem like a wasted effort, the buttons, screens, and switches broken and popped out all over, the seats so torn and full of metal shards; the entire site making a dreading sense of despair crawl through Clara’s spine. The hard work, sweat, tears, and soul put into this high tech vehicle of repaired dreams just...destroyed...just like that…Winny...

In her lament for the freshly wrecked vehicle, the scientist approaches the bent front as she picks a stick off the ground; shoving the wooden sticks broken tip between the hood cover and starts to pry the bent front open. When she finally pops the hood wide open, the young woman looks to the inside to find the condition much worse than the outside; over half of the parts bent and broken beyond repair. Though none of them seem to weigh on her mind as much as the personal one she had installed; searching within in hopes of finding her little green powerhouse. A relieved breath escapes her mouth when she find her nuclear battery spared from the horrible crash, its glowing green veil housing not a single crack along its glass; pulling out its led case from her backpack and unhooking the battery to whatever wires might still be attached. Putting away her powerhouse in the case and back into her bag, the scientist ears catch the distant sound of a voice swiftly coming her way; someone from the depth of the woods claiming that: “I saw it land right around here! Come on!” With the voice being a clear sigh to abscond from the crash site, Clara takes one last glance to the scene of the tragedy; soon breaking it the fuck out into the rest of the woods.

The young scientist continues to race through the darkened pine forest, the pale light of the moon being her only reliable light source as she pushes aside any branches that stretch out in her way; the voices of the mounties beginning to dissolve the further she runs. Her swift trek through the dense forest soon has her discover an opening ahead of her, with the lunar glow on the other side growing its brightest; Clara picking up the pace as soon as she views the light. The scientist’s rushing escapes takes her out of lush pine forest, her eyes adjusting to the moonlight glow to discover herself standing atop a massive cliff; the rest of the forest awaiting at the bottom of the tall rocky side. Failing to find a safe way down from where she stands, the young woman attempts to turn back towards the woods she came out from in hopes of finding another path, glancing back to find a lone Canadian mountie standing in her way. Wielding a strange looking rifle in her arms, the officer aim’s the pointed tip of its barrel straight as she demands for the scientist to: “Put your hands up now!” Complying with the armed cop, Clara raises her hands high in the air as she starts backing away towards the cliffs edge; the officer further ordering her to: “Get on the ground, now!” The scientist partially complies with the mounties demands, crouching upon the grassy grounds as she continues to shuffle towards the edge; the cop fiercely repeating: “I said get on the damn ground!” Clara refuses to obey the officers orders as she finally rolls off the tall cliff; the mountie rushing out to the side and glancing down to witness her suspect plummeting down to the woods below. While she still has site of the perp, the officer fires out a volley of small pieces of light down towards the descending young woman; the raining light piercing all over the scientists body. In a mess of ruby red blood, the scientist body falls upon dozens and dozens of pine branches in her violent descent; soon dropping right onto the hard pine needle covered ground awaiting below.

As the officer atop the cliff attempts to search for where her perp had fallen, the rest of the mounties squad comes out from the woods to join her side; one of them asking how: “We heard gunfire echo out from over here, what happened?” “The subject was attempting to escape by jumping off the cliff, but I shot at her while she dropping down...Doubt she could survive a fall like that with all those holes in her.” “Still, you know protocol, Amy. Can’t be certain til we find the body.” another officer reminds her. Their fellow mountie mentioning such, all of them race back into the woods in hopes of finding a safe way down. At the bottom of the cliff side, their suspect lies unconscious on the cold hard ground as the blood of her wounds stain the pine needles littering the ground around her. As she can do little but await to bleed to death in the darkened lush pine forest, a large shadow blankets under the few pieces of moonlight that shine on her body; a pair of arms lifting the young woman off the ground and taking her away.

The horribly cold feeling of death plaguing what’s left of Clara subconscious begins to retreat back from the depths of the abyss, soon feeling with the warm vigor of life once again coursing through her very being. Its with this revival that she feels her consciousness beginning to return to her, yet the scientist awakens to find herself remaining within darkness; soon feeling her surroundings to discover herself trapped. Discovering that’s she encapsulated in something akin to a coffin, the scientist confusion swiftly starts to transform into worrying panic; the worrying thought of being trapped underground making her pound what she faces. Her ceaseless beating eventually make the lid of the coffin pop right off,  glimmers of light pouring out from the loose edges of the face; the young woman pushing the lid aside and rising into the glow before her.

Once her eyes adjust to the luminescence, Clara comes to find herself held within what seemed to be small cozy room; fitted with furnishings and décor quite similar to the ones she used to have. The wall making up the room made from genuine wood rather than cold metallic chromium; hung one of the walls be a lone picture frame depicting a family of three, two men and a little girl. The entire aesthetic of the scene reminds the scientist of her own time, back before she was unwillingly swept into this nightmare of nuclear disaster and futuristic oddities...Nightmare? This...this is what the brain does as its dying to ease the shock of trauma, right? It releases the same chemical that make someone dream...So that must mean...Oh god… Before her mind could spiral on this gruesome theory, Clara hear the sound of approaching footsteps closing in; glancing to the wooden door as the steps echoing out from beyond the other side. With very little time on her hands, the young woman frantically looks around the room for wherever she could hide.

A few moments pass before the lone door quietly creaks open, a single burly man with a mildly kept beard entering with a drink of water in hand; the first thing his orange eyes behold is the site of the open coffin. “Oh, I thought I heard the chamber open up...But where did the woman that was inside go?” In the middle of questioning this does the woman in question leap out from behind the open door, swiftly taking the man in a choke hold from behind and demanding to know: “Who are you? Where the hell am I?” The burly man’s choking echoing beyond the doorway, the sound of rushing footsteps sound of as another voice calls out from within the hallway. “Gall!?” Dashing inside with a pumping shotgun, a skinnier, clean shaven man aims the barrel of his firearms to the woman’s back and harshly orders her to: “Let go of him, now!” “Benny, wait! The poor girl’s just scared! She needs to know that we don’t mean her any harm! Just put the gun down!” the burly man orders the skinnier one in between his breaths. It takes a couple moments before the lanky man complies with his other and slowly puts the shotgun down on the floor; Clara in turn slowly letting go of the bearded man’s neck and then asking: “So, any of you wanna tell me where I’m at?” Taking in a much needed breath of fresh air, the burly man turns over to the scientist and starts to explain how: “Well, that’s easy, young lady. Your-” “You should be thankful that you’re still alive right now!” Benny interrupts. “Benny!” “We manage to save you from bleeding to death out in the middle of the woods and you choose to repay us with your rash hostility!?” “Just calm down there, Benny. Screaming ain’t gonna help anyone here.” the bearded man states. “Gall, just how can you be so calm after being choked by her?”

“Wai-wai-wait! Hold up a sec...What’s this about me bleeding to death!?” the young woman question. “Yep. Heard laser fire during one of my late night nature hikes and found you bleeding out at the bottom of a cliff.” Gall claims. Its in hearing this statement does she brush her hand against the front of her long sleeved shirt, feeling the rough, burnt holes where she had felt the beams pierce through her body; this realization making her state that: “So I really was shot...Bu-but I felt the life drain out of me. How am I still alive?” “All those holes that were all over you were patched all up by the bed you just woke up in.” the burly gent answers, his finger pointing out to the coffin laying behind the scientist. “Something made a decade back called a restorative chamber. Used to help ail physical stuff like broken legs, twisted arms, gashes and cuts, even with something as severe as a gunshot wound.” Brushing the palm of her hand through the clean, sleek edges of the bed, Clara can’t help but wonder aloud: “How did you guys get your hands on something as extraordinary as this?” Letting out a small snort, Benny goes on to rudely explain how: “Extraordinary my ass. Stuff like that’s practically a common middle class appliance.” “And it just so happens to look like a coffin because?...” Clara follows up with. “It was the only model we could find. Somebody out there’s got a pretty damn dark sense of humor.” Gall answers.

With these discoveries fresh in her mind, Clara moves away from the coffin she had risen out from and turns back to the two men to then question: “So...where exactly did you drag me to? Some hospital or Canadian government facility?” Before Gall could begin to answer the young woman’s curious question, his skinny other lets out an offended huff and marches out out of the room. “Uh...nothing like that, no. Just a tiny little farm out in the country side near Smithville. Nothing to fancy.” The country side? How far did that old dream car wind up going in one drive? “Aaaand what do you guys grow out here?” she then questions. “Nothing too special. Just some fruits and vegetables.” “And livestock?” “Not a single one here.” Hearing this particular statement causes the young scientist to let out a relieved sigh, her relief soon offset when her stomach grumbles out a demanding roar. “He he, I figured you’d be hungry after your long night in the restorative chamber. Lucky for you, you woke up just in time for lunch. You wanna join us for a little bite?” the man offers. “Hmm, Maybe...Where’d you set my stuff?” “You mean your backpack? Don’t worry, set it right at the end of the coffin there. Just say when you wanna eat.” Gall points out as he waltz’s towards the door.

Once the bearded man takes his leave, Clara strolls over to the end of the coffin she risen out from to find her trusty backpack lying on the ground; a couple drops of crimson staining the worn stitching. Picking her worn pack off the floor, the scientist starts perusing through her bags contents in checking to see if everything is in order; shifting through the few canned foods she has within to find all of her tools right where they should be. Compass, matches, Led case holding the battery, a few bags of tea, even her glasses set snug between the couple cans of beans; the young woman reaching for her pair of glasses and putting them right on. Almost immediately does she notice her vision being blurred with her prescription glasses on, taking them back off to compare her naked eyes to them. From eye to eye, she could literally see the difference as plain as day; her trusty glasses now proving to hinder her vision more than it helps. With this recent discovery does the scientist clear eyes gaze back to the coffin she had climbed out from; pondering if it had healed more than her fatal wounds.

Hearing her stomach rumble out in protest once more, Clara turns her eyes back to the inside of her backpack; understanding how a measly two cans of beans ain’t gonna get her far in her travels through the eastern parts of the Maple leaved countryside. Maybe lunch ain’t that bad of an idea after all. Just hoping that it doesn’t have any radioactive preserves.

After the scientist finally gets herself pulled together, she strolls out of the room she had escaped the claws of death and finds herself within the comforting familiar scenery of a small, wooden, cubic hallway; devoid of even a single piece of metallic finish anywhere. Never though that a normal looking hallway would give such a relieving feeling.

Waltzing through the cozy hallway does she soon come right into the kitchen; the design seemed rather similar to the room that she had awakened in, boasting appliances and furnishings akin to her own natural time. Along the sides of the kitchen, both of her host stand to the counter and grill; Gall chopping some vegetables up while Benny flips pieces of chicken from a cooking pan. A rather whiplashingly jarring site after discovering kind of wonders that Canadian technology had brought into the world. The odd blast from the past nonetheless proves to be nostalgically relaxing to her, like something taken for granted before turning into a fond memory years later. Its in distracted by the entire aesthetic before her does she soon feel something push at her side; a lone little girl streaking past and knocking Clara off balance; sending her tumbling towards the polished kitchen tile. Moments before the scientist could feel herself smack against the hard marble floor, she feels somebody catch her just in the nick of time; glancing up from the floor to find herself caught in her bearded host arms. “You alright?” he asks. “Uh, yeah.” After pulling his young host back on her feet, Gall turns over to the little girl running around the dinning room table and starts to scolds her with: “Sammy, how many times did I tell you not run in the house? You nearly made our guest fall flat on her face.” From the man’s scolding, the little girl stops right in her tracks and tells him: “Sorry dad.” Gazing back to the young scientist, the bearded gentleman in turn apologizes with: “And I’m truly sorry for that.” “No, no, thanks for the quick catch there. I never really saw anyone with as fast reflexes as yours.” Clara compliments. “Whelp, that’s what years of coordination train will do for ya.” “Coordination? Aren’t you guys farmers?” When hearing his guest wonder this, a nervous chuckle escapes from Gall as little drops of sweat drip from the side of his head; Benny aiming a slight glance to the questioning young woman. In that swift awkwardly tense moment does the entire room hear Clara’s stomach growl out in hungry protest, the bearded man taking the noise to quickly change the subject with: “S-sounds like your stomach is thinking about that little offer to lunch, what about you?” “Eh, maybe I should.” “Great! Why don’t ya take a seat while we sprinkle the finishing touches on our little late lunch.” the scientist’s host offers, guiding the young woman right to one of the open chairs along the dinning table.

Plopping her ass down onto the wooden dinning seat, Clara soon feels a chilling shudder crawl along her back; taking a quick glance behind to find her host’s partner’s ire stare. Upon the site of the piercing gaze, the young woman averts her eyes away to the side; soon witnessing the young girl that had nearly knocked her down onto the floor. Despite being a bit startled by the little girls unexpected appearance, the scientist nonetheless greets her with: “Oh, um...Sammy, right? Nice to meet ya. I’m-” “You have such pretty blue eyes.” the little girl suddenly complements. Um, I...thank you. I got them from my-” “Where did you come from?” “I...Well...” Once Gall takes his seat on the opposite side of the dinning table, the man gets after his daughter with: “Sammy, quit badgering our guest. She’s probably had a rough time and doesn’t want to get into it right now. Now take your seat so we can eat.” “Okay...”

As the young girl backs away to the seat set on the side, Clara looks to the plate of food just served before her; staring to the steamed vegetables and cooked chicken with a twinkle in her eye, all of it topped off with a tall glass of milk set to the side. Average size, no discoloring, normal texture, regular scent...Yep, these are normal ass vegetables. Thank god. Finding the meal presented free from any sort of strange genetic mutagens, Clara wastes not one more moment to start digging in; swiping the silverware set beside the plates and starts to literally shovel the food in her mouth. Her hosts can’t help but stare to the site in a mesmerized bafflement, Benny breaking the silence and speaking over the loud scarfing with: “Perhaps your condition was worse than we thought if our little restorative chamber made you that hungry.” Taking the time to swallow what food she has stuffed in her mouth, Clara responds to her hosts little comment with: “Is-is that bad?” “Oh, no no no no. Were just glad that we made lunch just in time for ya.” Gall swiftly rebuttles. “Right….So you said something about that coffin I was in being a common appliance?” “Oh yeah, it was an indicative part of Canadian technology made to help doctors and researcher focus their efforts on more aggressive cancers that is out of modern medicines reach. Practically have at least a thousand of them in each country around the world by now.” “Really? I asked cause almost everything else doesn’t really look all that...uh...” “Modern.” Benny finishes. “Right.” “Well, I’m sure you’ve figured by now that were more a rural family just getting by on farming rather than anything fancy. We only buy what we need, nothing more.”

“Speaking of needing, how much time do you think you’ll need to get back on your feet and hit the road.” “Benny!” the bearded gent snaps. “I’m not really too sure, honestly. I only got a couple of cans to left in my bag. Not really much to only me over til the next town.” “Well, if that’s all you got, then why don’t ya take a couple of our crops to hold you over on your little trip.” “What?” the lanky gent utters. “Oh, no. I couldn’t just take part of your livelihood like that, especially with how low income you guys are.” the scientist denies. “Oh don’t think nothing of it. It’ll only be around a tiny fraction compared to our entire stock. They only got a few more days to ripen anyway. I insist.” “Gall.” he hears his partner snap. As soon as the burly man turns back to his partner, Benny starts fiercely speak to his husband in some sort of foreign language; Gall speaking back the same kind of language in a more gentle tone. The scientist can do little but watch as the two debate back and forth from one another, all the while understanding little of what either of them are saying. In hopes of even getting a single hint of what they say, Clara glances to their daughter at her side; but alas, their daughter shrugs from their bickering. Neither of them have no idea what the hell the two of them are talking about.

Right at the very end of the conversation, Benny suddenly picks his half full plate off the table and starts to leave the kitchen; Clara watching as he storms off into the hallway. “Uh, is he still mad about me choking you?” the scientist questions. “Uh kind of...He just has a hard time when it comes to trusting strangers.” “Yeah, so about the crops...” “Yes, uh. You’re free to stay with us til they’re ripe enough to pick. All you really gotta do during your stay is help us out with some chores we all do around the farm.” “Oh, just that doesn’t sound so bad.” “Happy to hear it, cause the first chore we got on the list is one of the hardest.” Her host claiming such, the young woman’s expression suddenly drains away; the prospect of grueling labor not exactly being ideal for her. Oh sure, with as much shit as she’s gone through, she more than capable, though not really as willing.

Once the heavy lunch was finally over, the scientist is lead outside the comforting farmhouse and into the bright outdoors; the young woman covering her eyes as they adjust to the warm sunlight. When Clara’s eyes soon get used to the bright outside, she finds spread before her small fields and gardens of fruits and vegetables as far as her freshly healed eyes could see; the woman’s jaw going agap upon the lush site of crops cultivated around this little farm house. As the scientist admires the massive collection of natural grown food, her bearded host comes to her side and claims how: “Yep. We spent a hell of a long time cultivating this whole spread; all while enduring every single spit, storm, and wind that mother natures bitchy temper tantrums throw at us. But it’ll be all worth it to nurture and harvest her bountiful spoils.” Explaining such does the burly gent put his hand on his guest shoulder and further mentions how: “And the first thing on the list we gotta do is spray them with pesticide.” Breaking away from her gaping shock, the scientist turn to her host and questions his statement with: “Wa-wait! So, we’re spraying all of this? All by ourselves?” “Yep.” “Don’t you guys have any kind of planes that can just fly over it all and spray from above?” Hearing the scientist question him of such, Gall can’t help but let out a small chuckle as he walks off towards the side of his abode; her hosts laughter drawing a little worry from the young woman.

Its soon that the scientist finds herself donning a face mask and a pair of gloves before strapping a sizable can of pesticide on her back; grasping the sprayer attached to the can as she wonders into the field of crops. The first fruit that the scientist comes to spray be the plump tomato’s hanging down from their stalks, their bright red skin reflecting the afternoon sun as she sprays them down. While she at it, the scientist decides to take a closer look at the kind of produce she’s spraying; hoping to ease the worrying concerns dwelling in the back of her head. A close inspection of the fruit reveals the texture of its surface to be as smooth as any other tomato; nothing really unusual to make it stand out from any other. No abnormalities, no discoloring, no mutations. Just regular ass tomato’s here, site which the young scientist could not be happier to discover.

After the scientist sprays the insect killing pesticide onto the blooming fruit, she next head over to the lines of fresh green lettuce planted in the soil; their green veiny leaves being an easing site to the young woman. Seems like these vegies don’t seems that bad either, looking as green and fresh as any other piece of lettuce. Checking the quality of the nearly ripe greens, Clara doses the vegetables in a coat of vermin repelling pesticide; the chemical scent of the liquid being the only real thing that bothers the young woman.

Its in her trip through the rest of the farmland does she take closer looks of the kinds of produce her hosts are farming from the fresh earthy soil; finding them free from any sort of misshapen bodies or mutagens. Carrots cleans, cabbages cleansed, watermelons washed, and beetroots brushed of any sort of spoilage; every single piece of produce she comes across proving as clean and healthy as the next. Given Galls brief statement of their being next to no farm animals on their property, there might not be as much to worry about after all. All that’s really left now is to check on the corn.

In her spraying trip through the dense corn fields does the scientist scan through the standing stalks housing the corn; gauging a close look to the kernels across the ears. And just like every other produce that Clara had inspected, she finds them free from any abnormal properties or mutations, cementing her ease once and for all of nothing strange happening on the farm. That is until she manages to stumble upon a small open space among the cluster of corn, the young woman stepping out from the stalks to come to some patches of towering grass planted right in the middle of the cornfield; the tall grass proving long enough to reach up to her forehead. A rather unusual site to come across on a farm full of consumable produce; especially given the fact that these patches of grass don’t look like they could be consumed by regular people. Unless their a new kind of fruit or vegetable that’s grown around her; but if that’s the case, then why hide deliberately plant them right in the middle of the cornfield. A rather bizarre fact to think about, making one ponder of why they would go through the trouble of hiding as something as simple as tall grass.

Before the young scientist could ponder any further on the matter, a familiar voice calls out to her from close behind; Clara jumping from sound and backing away from the corn behind her. “Hi!” Emerging from the shadows of the corn be only her host’s daughter, the site of the little girl making the young woman let loose a relieved breath before she suggest to her to: “Stop scaring me like that, kid. Ya practically just pop outta nowhere with how quiet you are.” “What are you doing?” “Ah, your dads told me to spray the crops with pesticide. That’s it.” “No, no. I mean what are you doing here. In this part of the field.” “Um...What are you on about?” “Both of my dads tell me to never come out to this part of the field, saying that they grow “special” plants out here. I don’t know what they mean by that, it’s just grass.” “Did they tell you why they’re so special?” “Not really. They always just tell me that its special. They never explain what they mean by that. But I guess I can’t really complain too much. Would’ve still been wondering around homeless if they didn’t take me in.”

“Sammy! I know you’re out here! Come on out!” both of them hear Gall call across the field. Upon her fathers call, the little girl swiftly turns back towards the scientist and states to: “Don’t worry. I’ll keep this little meeting of ours a secret.” Claiming such to the scientist, Sammy races away from the secret grass garden and back through the tall stalks of corn; all the while responding to her dad with: “Coming dad.”

When her host’s little girl takes her leave, the curious scientist glances back to the planted patches of grass behind her; the fact of them being hidden among the countless edible produce perking her interests. They don’t seems to be any kind of medicinal herbs…at least ones that are familiar anyway; those weird stalks in the middle of the patch’s don’t give that off. None of them can be poisonous, they wouldn’t carelessly just plant them right next to the corn if they were. It still begs the question however, that if nothing is particularly special about these patches, then why try and hide what they are from even they’re daughter.

Before Clara could ponder to herself any further on the curious matter, hears catch the voice of her host calling out for her with: “Clara, have you gotten that part of the fields sprayed yet!?” “Uh, sure. Just hang on!” she calls back, swiftly making her exits from the secret garden and dashing through the stalks of corn.

In her race through the cornfield, Clara attempts to approach her burly host from an another side to attempt and discourage suspicion; still using Gall’s voice to find where he stands as he further informs how: “I managed to get around to the pomegranates and onions! How much did you get!” Upon hearing her host mention this does she finally see him among the side of the small cornfield; coming out from the side and answering her bearded host with: “I got the tomato’s, lettuce, and cabbages.” “Glancing in his guests direction, the bearded gent compliment her efforts with: “Nice work there...Uh, what were you doing back there?” “Ah, just spraying the last of the corn over here. Nothing big.” “That’s mighty kind of you. But maybe you don’t worry about getting the corn anymore. Just leave that to me and Benny, alright?” “Uh, okay….So is this the last of the fields we have to spray or…?” Hearing his guest wonder such makes the burly gent let out a small chuckle like before; his reaction not doing much to reassure her hopes. “Afraid not, young lady. We just finished up the west part of the farm. There’s still the north, south, and east parts we gotta spray down and water, pick off any dead produce hanging on. Still got a lotta work on our hands. Good thing you woke up just in time to help us out with all this, isn’t it?” “Eh he, yeah...” the scientist weakly agrees, attempting to hide her discouraging disappointment.

And so, the rest of the afternoon starts to burn away as Clara and her host work on spraying the rest of the farm with insect pesticide; the scientist finding not a single piece of fruit or vegetable to hold any sort of bizarre qualities. From spraying the plants do they move on to water them, the scientist and her host spending hours raining their drink throughout the fields; the water they spray out creating little rainbows as they squirt. As they give the produce their much needed water, everyone searches around them for any kind of rotting stragglers left to die; uprooting the rotted plants from the rest of the healthy ones. The time it takes to finish all of this quickly eats the day away, the clear blue sky soon turning a more orange hue as the sun starts to crawl down into the horizon.

Once the half of the sun is covered by the mountainside, Clara and her hosts start strolling back to the farmhouse; Sammy skipping ahead towards the front as they venture back with Gall stating how he: “Can’t believe its already sundown. Today went by fast.” “Really? It felt long and grueling for me.” Clara responds. “Usually for the two of us, it feels like a couple hours more.” “Catching our little guest up on things after her little nap might burnt some of our time.” Benny then mentions. “I uh. I’m sorry.” “Oh no no no no. Think nothing of it; it’s our pleasure. You paying us back by helping us more than makes up for it.” the young woman’s bearded host claims.

While venturing back towards her host’s cozy abode, her mind still ponders on the tall patches of grass she managed to find hidden among the corn; still questioning what end they could have in not only growing, but hiding something so seemingly harmless on a farm meant for produce. They didn’t seem to be anything that people could even consume, much less use for medicinal purposes; seem more like something you’d feed livestock. Gall insisted that they didn’t have anything like that here. Didn’t seem a barn anywhere on this whole farm anywhere in site; no pigs, cows, sheep, chickens, nothing. So what could they be using that grass for… … You know what, maybe its not the best time to ask about that right now. From the way their daughter framed it, all that seems like a particular sensitive subject; so it might not be smart to rock the boat. At least not until the crops they can give are nice and ripe.

The sun soon is swallowed by the mountainside horizon, the orange twilight sky soon replace with a blanket of stars. During the hour of night fall, the burly farm man opens a door within his home; presenting to the young scientist with: “And this here is the room where you’ll be sleeping.” Clara strolls past her bearded host to soon enter into the darkened room; its shadows soon dissolved when Gall flips a small switch set along the side of the door. The lamp set above quickly illuminates the entire room in its artificial glow, pulling back the darkness to reveal to the scientist a plain simple bedroom; complete with furnishings such as a drawer, nightstand, and a single bed. “It’s pretty...Plain.” Clara comments. “Oh I know. We can’t really have that much in the guest room other than the basics. I’ve been wanting to get a couple of pictures and décor to spruce it up a bit; you know, make it more homey. But eh, Benny’s pretty strict when it comes to unwanted spending. Oh well.” Witnessing the soft, inviting bed stand before her, the young woman doesn’t hesitate a single moment to jump right onto its comforting plush top; Clara letting a relaxed breath escape from her muffled lips as she faceplants the sheets. “Ha ha, glad to see you getting yourself comfortable. Hope you’ll get as much rest as you can, cause the get up time is 7 sharp.” Hearing her host mention the time she has to start the day, Clara raises her head from the freshly washed sheets; turning back to the burly man and uttering: “Wait, huh.” “Okay, goodnight.” Gall wishes as he retreats from the guest room, shutting the door behind him with a soft pull.

Upon being left within the guest room, the scientist climbs off the silky sheets of her bed and wanders over to the window; drifting her eyes through the glistening sky above. The change in scenery compared to the drab, cruel, and lifeless wastelands still be a rather jarring change to the scientist; having been so used to the smoggy, irradiated sky that no star could pierce through. Its no wonder a lot of U.S. survivors want to risk crossing the border just to get a glimpse of this place; going from those hopeless wastes to this lush, life filled lands must be a utopia compared to where they are. Something that this scientist can surely testify. It really is a wonder to behold in person.

While mesmerized by the enchanted site of the night sky, the young woman soon hears her door creak back open; the light from the hallway flooding in and reflecting off the glass window. “Hey, you forget to mentio-” Clara questions as she turns towards the door. The scientist stops herself short when discovering for her visitor to not be one of her hosts, but rather their own daughter; little Sammy standing in the doorway. “Oh, hey kid. Isn’t like past 10? What’re you doing up?” “Can...Can you read me a bedtime story?” “I...what? Can’t one of your dads read to ya?” “They spend almost every night down in the basement and don’t come back up until morning.” “What? So they just leave you up here alone?” “Pretty much. It can get kinda scary at time. But I learned how to be brave and pull through.” Hearing this come out of such a little girl draws out sympathy from the young scientist, soon approaching the girl and kneeling down to answer with: “Why not. I guess one story won’t hurt.” Clara agrees to; an eager smile forms between the little girls cheeks upon the woman’s request.

From within the little girls comforting and decorated room, Clara sits right beside the young Sammy’s side as she lays in her comforting and fluffy bed; the scientist reading the last sentence of the book in her hands with: “And that’s how the two princess’s were reunited. The end.” Finishing the final sentence of the story, Clara gently shuts the book and glances to her hosts daughter; a warm smile drawn on the scientist face when finding her left sound asleep. It’s in seeing the little girl slumber does the young woman start to gently tip toe out of her room; gently shutting the door behind her as she exits.

Once finally out of Sammy’s nightlight lit bedroom, the scientist warm smile starts to form into an accusing scowl; her eyes aimed out towards the rest of the hallway ahead. Pretty shitty of those two to spend their nights down in the basement while their daughter is left alone like this. Somebody could easily just break in here and kidnap the poor little girl like this; and they’d probably wouldn’t even notice until morning. You know what, somebody outta beat them over the head with that. Good host’s or not, that’s fucking unacceptable.

With all this in mind, the scientist wanders deeper through the hallway in hopes of finding the door to the basement; checking through every door on her way through. From the bathroom to the hall closet, Clara soon faces a single door boasting a second lock; the one of which seemed the suggest it was installed rather than it being what came on the door. It doesn’t really look all that advanced though, just being a simple key lock; it probably could be picked open with improvising the right tools. Maybe something in the kitchen could work.

Formulating this plan in her head, the young woman swiftly returns to the oddly retro kitchen for anything she could use to pick the lock; the silverware drawer being the first place she checks. Pulling the drawer, she finds it filled with forks, spoons, straws, and knives; their silver surface shining from the light of the kitchen. Suppose using a knife to hold the lock might do the trick, though something thinner might have to be used to pick at it. Doubt anything in here would do the job, forks and spoons way too thick and bent to squeeze through the hole. In hopes of finding her second tool needed to break in, Clara checks through every drawer and cabinet making up her hosts kitchen; rummaging through dishes and cutlery in her search. Bowl, pans, plates, bots, cutters, spatulas, cups...dammit. Can’t find anything in here. Okay, Clara think. What else could be thin enough to slip into a lock? Pondering this does her mind start drifting all that she had seen during her time here; the spark of an idea going on in her head when thinking back to the chicken that she ate when first waking up. Its in thinking this does she waltz over to the trash can next to the backdoor, delving her hands through the pieces of garbage and thrown out food while keeping herself from gagging. Its soon in her dig through the depths of the garbage that she manages to pull out a couple of small chicken bones; a couple bits of chicken still left on it. This outta be just thin enough to squeeze through that lock. With both the kitchen knife and discarded chicken bone in hand, Clara waltz’s back through the hallway and towards the locked door; eager to see if her little makeshift tools could help break inside.

Returning to the door in question, the young lady kneels down to the simple key lock attacked to its wood; shoving her kitchen knife and thin piece of chicken bone straight into the hole. While gently twisting the lock with the knife, the scientist fidgets with the inside of the mechanism with the leftover bone; her constant picking eventually making the lock within make an audible snap. From this sudden snap does Clara swiftly pull both of her makeshift tools right out from the hole, grasping hold of the doorknob and gently twisting its steel. Just one turn is all it takes for the wooden door to cleanly open for the young scientist, revealing to her a descending stairwell that stretch deep down into an awaiting lightless void.

Hot damn! That looks like a long way down. Can’t even see a single bit of the bottom from up here. Anybody with a working cerebrum wouldn’t think about just rushing down those steps without something to light the way. It’d probably be the quickest way to break almost every bone in your body. Doubt even the restoration chamber in the other room could help piece them all back together; probably have to be dragged out to a hospital to get the one’s out that are piercing through vital organs like the stomach or lungs. Dear god, a fractured rib piercing your lungs must hurt like the absolute worst hell imaginable. It doesn’t look like there’s much of a light switch anywhere near the door, not that one would probably help in lighting the way down; those stairs look so deep, it practically seems endless. Perhaps a personal light would fair to be a more useful tool in such a void descent, it at the very least illuminate the steps to keep from tripping like some kind of clumsy dumbass. But what to use as a light source? …

With the perfect light source in mind, the young scientist wanders back into the cozy confines of the guest room; reaching out for her backpack on the side of the bed. Opening her little pack up, Clara quickly rummages through the cans and tools she had held within; soon pulling out from its depths the led case that contains her little nuclear powerhouse. Knew pulling this power puppy out from the hood of the car wouldn’t be a waste of time. Between crashing into the tree’s and rocks, its pretty damn lucky that it remained in tact as well as it did; god knows that a single crack in this thing would’ve practically turned those woods into a nuclear danger zone. Just a shame that the same can’t be said about the car it came in. All that hard work, reduce to nothing but an abandoned wreck in the middle of the forest.

After that sentimental moment, Clara quickly returns to the open door leading into the darkened stairwell with her little battery in hand; staring down into the pitch black abyss awaiting down the spiral steps. While beginning her descent down the darkened steps, the young woman slowly starts to open the led case containing her nuclear battery; simply cracking it open a smidgen lets its bright emerald glow pierces through the blanketing void and lighting the way down further into the black depths. Jesus, how far do these stairs go down to? Even with a light as strong as this, still can’t even see a single bit of the bottom. Seems like its 100 foot drop at least. What the hell could these guys even have down something this deep? Knowing only one way to answer such a curious question, the scientist continues her climb down the seemingly endless steps leading down to the abyss awaiting below; descending down through the stairwell one step at a time while lighting the way down with her little battery.

It takes the young scientist a fair few minutes before her light could glimmer down upon something awaiting below; descending further down to discover a sizable pile of junk and scrap littering the bottom of the well. Before she could even ponder what all this junk even doing down here, her nose catches an insanely fowl odor that drifts through the basement air; the eye watering stench forcing Clara to pinch her nose as she steps down onto the bottom of the stairs. Dear god, that’s fucking fowl. What the hell do these guys even have down here to make a smell that horridly awful. A question that she hopes to answer when discovering a short hallway near the bottom of the stretching stairwell; the hall leading straight to single steel door barring a lone window.

Approaching from the stairwell, the young lady starts to venture down towards the steel door set on the far end of the hall; slowly shutting the led case holding her radioactive glow stick as she approaches the door. With the last of the battery’s light retreating into the case, the only glow left to light through the darkness be the one shining from the window of the door; the scientist’s freshly fixed eyes squinting as they adjust to the glow. Once finally peaking through the window, Clara beholds on the other side of the door a set of iron cages and pens lining the sides of the room beyond; the kind of pens being big enough to hold livestock. But why would they have something like this if they said they didn’t have any kind of animals on their farm? Why keep them all the way down here? And why lie about it in the first place?

Before she could get the chance to even wonder on these questions, the young woman is forced to put them all on hold when hearing a couple of familiar voices speaking a foreign language from the other side of the door; the sounds of her two hosts growing closer each passing second. This proves to be enough of an encouragement for her to start sprinting back down the hall and race up the steps; the young woman's rushing climb causing her to accidentally trip on one of the steps and loose grip of her battery. Realizing her little powerhouse having slipped from her grasp, the scientist glances down the steps to witness the led case containing it drop down into the pile of metal and scrape surrounded by the stairwell. Thought she’s very tempted to race down and grab it, hearing the metal door at the end of the hall squeaking open swiftly discourages her from doing such; resuming her dash up the steps as she hears her pair of host voices growing louder. In her fleeting escape back up the stairs, the young scientist starts to feel her legs ache from the constant climbing; the voices tailing her from behind being urging her to hurry up nonetheless. Her rapid ascent up the spiraling steps soon has her approaching the open doorway she had come down from, swiftly slamming the door shut behind her as she leaps back up the hallway.

Even when back above ground, the scientist refuses to stop her rushing sprint for even a moment; racing through the hall and back inside the guest room. After shutting the door to the guest room, Clara leaps onto the empty mattress and quickly covers herself in its warm soft sheets. While the young woman conceals herself under the blankets of her bed, the guest room door is quietly cracked open; a pair of eyes peering into the darkened room and towards the bed. Once seeing his guest turn underneath the covers, the pair of peepers retreat back into the hall; Clara climbing out from under her beds sheets once the door shuts to let out an exhausted breath. A painful hiss escapes from between the scientist teeth as she sits up on the side of the bed, gently rubbing the sides of her pulsing legs.

Holy hell on earth, all that must’ve been close to a mile long marathon climb all at once; haven’t been forced to do that much exercise since climbing that tower back in Louisville. Even worse is the battery still being down there among all that junked scrape; it shouldn’t be that bad of a problem so long as it remains in its case and neither Gall and Benny stumble onto it. Still, its a priority to get the battery back up here and back into the pack before they find it; or worse, crack the veil holding the radioactive power and having it leak out into the open air. With how much power that little thing packs, it’d be nuclear disaster. Even with all of this dwelling in her head, all that the young woman could do now is attempt to sleep off the sore feeling in her legs; Clara slumping herself onto the plush mattress and letting her heavy eyes drift off into comforting slumber.

The starry night slowly begins to fade when the morning sun starts to rise from the eastern horizon; the darkened sky filling with the suns relaxing twilight glow. Its light starts breaching through the farmhouse’s guest bedroom window, spreading itself across Clara’s bed sheets; the young woman feeling the relaxing warmth through her blankets. Comforted by the morning light, the scientist can’t help but let out an eased sigh as she snuggles between the bed sheets; basking in the euphoric warmth that the sun bestows upon her.

Her relaxed morning slumber is instantly shattered on a dime when the door to the guest room swings wide open; the sudden slam making the young woman jump out of bed and fall to the hard polished wood floor. Laying face first onto the floor, the young woman lets out a painful groan as her burly host enters; Gall glancing down to his fallen guest with: “There you are. I’m glad to see you outta bed first thing in the morning. You woke up just in time for breakfast. You’re gonna love what we got to serve this morning, its my own little recipe. Better hurry up though. Sammy sure isn’t a picky eater.” Having announced all of this to his waking guest, Gall quickly shuts the door as she leaves the young woman to get up; Clara letting out another groan as she still feels the soreness in her legs from last night.

Wandering out from the guest room, the scientist slowly waltz’s through the wooden hallway towards the kitchen; attempting to hide the painful grunts she makes with every step she takes. Despite the pain coursing through her legs, the young lady forces herself to walk right into the kitchen; where upon she’s met with the shocking site of a fluffy, oozing breakfast meal that she had long forgotten about. “Pancakes!?” Her bearded host over the stove glances over to the startled scientist at the end of the kitchen; a bright smile forming between his beard as he confirms that: “Yep. My own little recipe that my mom shared with me back home. Why don’t you take yourself a little seat and you’ll see how-” Clara doesn’t even let her host finish stating his offer before rushing to the dinning table and plopping her ass down on one of the seats. The very moment that the young woman sits herself down, Clara swipes the silverware set to the side and stabs her fork straight through the breakfast meal set before her; pulling a part of the syrupy pancakes right off and shoving it straight into her watering maw.

As soon as the mixture of fluffy goodness enters her mouth, its sweet, syrupy concoction overwhelming her taste buds with their gooey and fluffy goodness; the young woman shuttering from the incredible flavor swirling in her maw. Oh god. This tastes just divine. These pancakes are just the best. Come to think of it, I haven’t had pancakes since I got to the future...How long have I been in this time?

“I’m guessing that you like them?” Gall questions. His guest nodding smile his all the burly gentleman need to confirm her satisfaction, going on to state how: “Yeah, mom’s old recipe’s been making people smile like that since I left home.” Its while claiming such does his skinnier husband takes his seat right beside the bearded gent; Benny flashing him a swift glare while his eyes shift back and forth between him and his guest. His husbands gaze prompts Gall to look over to the young woman enjoying her meal and ask: “Hey Clara, mind if I ask you something?” Finally swallowing the delicious mixture of batter and syrup, the scientist glances over to her burly host sitting on the other side of the table; answering him with: “Sure, fire away.” “Did you happen to be up last night?” Hearing her host question this to her causes Clara’s heart almost immediately sink; hiding her shaky breath as she admits how: “Uh...Yeah...Sammy asked me to read her a bedtime story.” “It’s true!” the little girl testifies for, jumping into her seat to stuff herself with pancake. Aiming a suspicious glare to the young lady, Benny further questions her with: “Really? Because while we were making breakfast this morning, we noticed one of our knives was missing. Did you happen to be anywhere in the kitchen last night?” “Nn, yeah. I went in to get myself a little midnight snack. Had to use one to chop the green parts off of a carrot. I I must’ve been so tired from yesterday that I took the knife back to my room by accident. Le-let me go and get for you guys.” While Clara attempts to use the excuse to retreat back into the guest room, her burly hosts voice makes her stop before she could even stand; hearing Gall go: “Nah, don’t worry about. Just enjoy what you’re eating for now. You’ll need it for what we’ll be doing today.”

“More chores?” Clara utters. “Kind of. Once we finish breakfast and get ourselves dressed, we’ll all pack in the truck and do some stuff around town. Pick up some groceries, drop off some tools that need fixing, pick up a package of seeds we’re expecting. Just stuff like that.” “Oh, and you want me to do something here while you’re gone?” “You are going to be coming with us to help?” Benny then inserts, cutting between his guest and husbands conversation. “Eh...excuse me? Don’t you think it be a little odd to take a stranger that’s staying with you that you just met yesterday to town?” the scientist questions. “Oh, we don’t mind. With how much you helped us out on the farm the other day, why your practically like a friend of the family already.” “Um, wouldn’t it be better if I just watch your daughter while you two go and do things?’ “You mean to say how you, a stranger that we had dragged out from the woods just the other day, want to take care of a little girl, out in a lone house in the middle of the country, while the adults who look after her are away? Is that what I’m really hearing out of you?” Benny harshly reviews. “Nnn...nevermind...Esh...” Once she finishes the last of her pancakes, Clara stands from the dinning table and shuffles back towards the guest room, hearing her lanky host state how: “You should be lucky that we’re letting you stay here at all!” “Benny!”

Its in after getting herself up and dressed does she soon find herself being driven through the gray cloudy countryside inside a paint faded wheel bound truck; placed in the back alongside her host’s daughter as both the men in the front discuss something in a foreign language. Left with no determinate way to understand what her hosts are discussing in front of her, all that Clara could do was drift her gaze out the window to behold the passing majestic pastures; the site of the tall meadow grass flowing in the wind being the perfect backdrop for her mind to wonder.

Almost immediately do her thoughts drift back to what she had discovered beyond the door in the basement; all of the empty animal pens deep below the farmhouse, the foul stench that practically spoils the underground air, the pile of miscellaneous scrap littering the bottom of the stairwell, just what could it all possibly mean? What manner of diabolical construction could those two possibly be attempting to build from deep underneath the earth that would require metal parts and to be kept in pens, robotic farm animals? Whatever kind of mysterious bullshit they might be doing with all of it, none don’t even come close to the pressing issue right now; that being the nuclear little powerhouse they got hidden among their scrap. Judging from their moods this morning, they likely don’t even know it’s still down there; the way they raced up the steps last night makes it seem that they hardly noticed. Can’t exactly straight up say that there’s a dangerous nuclear battery stashed in there, that’d be flat out admitting that their basement was broken into; they probably already suspect the lock’s been tampered with already. Only got a day left before their crops are ripe enough to pick; once they are, there won’t be much of an excuse left to stay. Even if they are getting worried, there still has to be a way back down there and get the battery; else who knows what might happen if they find it.

While in the midst of pondering on how to get back down into her hosts basement, her eyes drift off to the steel white road ahead; alarms going off in her head when spotting the glistening polish of an mountie cruiser floating on the opposite side of the road. Shit, they’re here!? Need to hide! Got to think of something fast without seeming suspicious… In her swift attempt to hide from the approaching cruiser, the scientist takes a quick breath and fakes a huge audible sneeze; ducking down underneath the window while making it look like she’s recoiling. Clara keeps her head down long enough for the police vehicle to zoom right on by without a single hitch; the young woman slowly rising back up and peeking back to the retreating cruiser, with a relieved sigh passing through her lips. “He he, allergies getting to you?” “Uh, yeah. A bit.” “Well, I hope they calm down when we cross into Smithville here.”

Gazing out to the white roads ahead, the scientist comes to witness the city limits of a small town coming up; already discovering half of the simple town being modernized with technology seemingly on the verge of scientist fiction. Holographic signs and advertisements boasting 3D images, colorful and curving buildings and businesses that fuse into eachother, all models hovering cars gliding through the roads like a river stream; each and every detail giving the scientist a small taste of how far Canadian civilization had advance since her time. The first taste she had been given of their technological boom once crossing the wall was practically humble crumbs compared to what lays before her; that was just a small suburb, this is a whole town. If something as tiny as these countryside towns have been given such a dramatic technological increase, its almost impossible to imagine how far the central city have changed.

Driving through the futuristic town, the old wheelbound truck takes a sharp turn through a crossing intersection;  soon to enter the hover car filled parking lot of  what looked to be a supermarket. While cruising through the parking lot in hopes of securing a spot, the old fashioned truck passes by a couple of hovering vehicles that honk their horn as they float by; a couple of their driver flipping them the bird as they streak past. Their stroll through the white parking lot has them eventually has them come across an open spot between a couple of grounded hover cars; Gall carefully squeezing his faded truck in between the two vehicles.

Once the trucks engine goes silent, everyone inside starts to climb out of the inside to step out onto the white steel of the parking lot; feeling the hard iron underneath their feet. “Right then. I suppose while you go out to take our tools to be fixed, I’ll take Sammy with me and head into the grocery store.” the skinnier of the two purposes. “Sound like a plan to me.” his burly husband mentions. “Hey uh, what do you want me to do?” their young guest wonders. Upon hearing his guest question him on such, Gall strolls over to the other side of his truck and starts digging through his pockets; suggesting to her that: “Why don’t you go over to the post office and pick up some seeds were expecting. Here’s something to show them so they know that I sent ya.” From the depths of his denim pants pockets, Clara’s burly host pulls out a piece of paper with a map written and small card to give to the young woman; handing over a Canadian citizen ID with Gall’s smiling mug on the front. “Oh, and one more thing. When you get to the front desk. Tell them that Mr. Marvis is a pretty busy officer.” “Um, okay...why?” “Oh, you ‘ll understand why.” From telling his guest this does his lanky husband start speaking to him in their foreign language, all while glaring to Gall with a concerned stare; the bearded gent strolling over to him and responding back in a more relaxed tone. “Hmm...Just be careful, alright.” Benny then suggests in English. “Don’t you worry, you know I will.” After exchanging a small smooch, the couple go their separate way; Benny taking their daughter with him inside the store as the little girl waves goodbye to their guest. With both of her host having split, a worrying sense of tension dwelling withing Clara’s head; darting her eyes through her surroundings as she proceeds towards the rest of the town.

Following the directions from the map that her host had bestowed her, the scientist weaves through the stretching steel streets of the small commute town; waltzing past several oddly shaped buildings that all looked to be joined together from several points of their sides. The structure are not the only thing that the young woman notices, several of the street goers she passes by all seems to garbed in rather sleek and sharp outfits; seemingly normal pedestrian clothing like hers seeming like a rare occurrence to the rest of the passing citizens. A fact of which draws several fleeting glares in the scientist’s direction, their passing stares urging Clara to hurry through the streets; hastily jogging along as she takes a quick glance to the map to the post office.

As droplet of rain begin to trickle down from the darkened skies; Clara takes a few more turns through Smithville’s streets, the map that Gall had given to her soon leads the scientist right to the front of a white circular building decorated with paintings of people with packages. A holographic sign above the doorframe reading out: “Maple leaf postal service: Dashing deliveries that denizens can depend upon.” Even taking in the postal buildings bizarre structural choice, what puzzles Clara the most of its design choice be the lack of a proper door; the doorframe housing only a white slab of wall with the drops of rain splashing onto the wall as expected. Where...where the hell is the door? It’s got windows that you can see through as clear as day, but not even one way in to speak of. It doesn’t look like any kind of hologram, the rain is clearly bouncing off. So, why did they design it with a doorframe, but not a single damn way inside. How in the ever confusing and absurd naming convention of the Pythagorean theorem do they expect anybody to waltz in to get their mail.

Right in the middle of questioning the design choices of the post office do a pair of woman waltz by the pondering scientist; Clara taken aback when both of their entire bodies phase around the frame and through the seemingly solid blank white wall. “What!?” Holy shit! What just happened!? They just went straight through the wall like a couple of god damn specters! Like, like “pssewt”. How do the physics to pass through solid matter like that even begin to make any scientific sense!? It’s like bullshit sci fi magic that some asshole would make up on the spot as some poor attempt at lore.

In the midst of attempting to make sense of the phenomenon she had just witness, the scientist starts noticing the people along the street beginning to stare right at her; their gazes urging the young woman to calm herself down from her scientific excitement. Right, just relax. If they found some way to do this, then there must be some scientific reason for it to be possible; it doesn’t seem to look like any kind of hologram. Maybe they have some sort of outside molecular vibrator to render the wall incorporeal the moment it senses biological matter on its surface; it could explain why the rain isn’t getting in. While pondering on how to make sense of the way the intangible wall could work, Clara takes another glance to find the people around still focused on her; their stares making an irritated groan escape from her throat. Right, priorities. Damn this suspicious crowd. To only have an hour or two to study this. Brushing her scientific curiosity aside, the young woman slowly begins to approach the front of the spherical post office, carefully reaching her arm out towards the seemingly solid doorless frame. From simply touching the solid wall within the frame, Clara’s fingers phase straight through as effortlessly as pushing through air; soon dunking her arm through along with the rest of her entire body.

Once breaching through the incorporeal wall, the scientist comes to find herself within the circular inside of the Canadian post office; her eyes adjusting to the office’s white inside. When her site is used to the bright inner confines of the postal building, the young woman finds curving sides of the office lined with tall white desks that protrude out from the floor; holographic screens with sign in screens projecting out from the surfaces of the tables. While strolling out towards the front desk, the scientist glances to the side desks manned with people standing before them; the patrons writing upon the holographic screens much like a touchpad. Once the one of them finish writing their information onto the screens, they place the parchments right onto the desks surface and soon watch as the cardboard box vanishes into thin air; a couple of packages appearing from other desks as she walks on through. Its honestly not much of a shock at this point. Seems like a given that they would have teleportation technology up and running by now.

Finally reaching the office’s front desk, the scientist is confronted by a woman in a postal service uniform; the tall lady dressed in white and red greeting her with: “Hey there. Welcome to the Maple leaf postal service. How can I help you today?” “Uh...A friend of mine was expecting a package here today and asked me to come and get it.” Clara responds with, handing over her burly Canadian ID card to the post woman. Taking a good glance to the card in question, the woman constantly shifts her gaze to it and the young lady standing before the front desk; a faux innocent smile painted across the scientist’s cheeks. “Mmmm,kay. Just gimme a second to process your request.”

Requesting such out from her customer, the post woman steps away from the front desk and goes through the door set right behind it; Clara witnessing her dig through several packages lined up along the back walls. “So...You heard the news about Mr.Marvis recently?” From the post woman asking of such does Clara suddenly put two and two together, realizing that the phrase that her host had wanted her to say wasn’t just some sort of random piece of news; rather, it was a code phrase. Understanding this, the scientist responds back with: “Yeah, I hear he’s a pretty busy officer nowadays.” Hearing the customer behind the front desk claim such, the post woman’s entire body suddenly goes utterly stiff from those words; Clara proving further concerned as she stays still for several seconds. Once the post woman finally starts moving again, she continues to dig through the back room for the package in mind; stating on the subject how: “I hear the man is due for a promotion any day now.” “Right, hope he gets it.” Clara responds with, attempting to hide the deeply threatened worry dwelling in the back of her head as she questions to herself what the hell she had just triggered

Its soon enough that the postal employee finally starts to come out of the back room; returning to the front desk with a small cardboard box in hand. With her hosts ID right on top of the package, the scientist watches the post woman place the parchment on the front desk; keeping one hand on its cardboard as the employee claims: “And here we are. One pack of seeds for Gall and Benny. Hope those two make it through the season.” The young woman grasps the parchment before her with both hands as she accepts with: “Thanks a bunch. I was kinda worried for a minute there that-” Just before the scientist could finish her statement, she feels the package she holds being pulled over the front desk; forcing Clara to lean in close to the post woman to the point where her feet leave the polished floor. Dragged over to the side of the employee’s head, the postal lady starts to speak to the scientist in a foreign language; realizing it be the same language that her hosts use when speaking to one another. After unloading all that she has to say, the post woman lets go of the young lady and lets her back down onto the white floor; wishing for Clara to: “Have a nice day.” Witnessing the postal employee act as if nothing happened, Clara begins to back out towards the door frame; left at an utterly frightened lose on what had just transpired.

Phasing right through the post office’s incorporeal doorway, Clara strolls through the lightly raining streets as she ponders what might really be in the package that woman might’ve given her; gazing upon its simply cardboard with a worrying curiousness. Gall claims that they ordered nothing but seeds, but the way that post woman talked makes it sound like its something else; something...more. Ditching it ain’t an option either, the way Gall instructed to say that specific phrase means he’s expecting it; so they’ll obviously start asking questions if it doesn’t get to him. If their fragile trust is broken now, then getting the battery back ain’t gonna happen Let’s just hope that whatever’s in here doesn’t decide to up and explode...Oh god, is that racist to assume?

As the scientist begins to question all of this, her attention is baited over to the steel white roads she walks by; gazing a ways back to discover a mountie cruiser floating her way. Clara’s eyes desperately dart through the streets surrounding her, hoping to find somewhere to hide from the nearing police; her site locked to a spiraling building with a holographic woman in a dress perched at the top. With a place to hide in mind, the young woman sprint out towards the small shop ahead; leaping towards the doorframe and phasing right through its seemingly solid wall.

Passing right through the intangible doorway, the scientist feels the soft rug at her back as she rolls right along the shops red velvet carpeted floor; quickly pulling herself back up to discover that she had jumped inside a small dress boutique. It might take a short while for Gall and Benny to finish running their errands, not to mention the fuzz outside still lurking around; might as well take a little look at what passes for Canadian fashion in the future.

Taking the brief chance to see what’s in store, Clara tours through the small, humble boutique to glimpse at what is displayed; gazing at the fine garbs the store has available. Shirts, pants, accessories, jackets and dresses, all of which sporting odd and unusual designs; a couple of standing mannequin’s wearing dress’s and outfits akin to pieces of fine art. Brushing her hands through the finely knitted clothing, she feels the soft and firm fabric across her fingertips; the scientist imagining what it would feel across her body. In her little tour across the boutique, the young woman takes a peek at a couple of the dresses that the mannequin’s display; the outfits boasting odd structure and designs with several pointed ends through its fabric. Glancing to the platform that the mannequin stand upon, the scientist notices a small plaque made of gold on the side; its inscription reading out how its a: “An original Ralimush. The fashion from northern Russia.” Staring at these rather unusual and fancy dresses causes her to ponder of what these people would see in designer fashion; particularly in the kind of wears they can come up with.

Its obviously more of an artistic venture than a practical one, the very passions that drive these designers is an obvious familiar one; to strive and be better than what you are now. But there must come a time in everyone’s life where they question their current endeavors; the thought echoing through their heads being: “Am I going to overboard with this shit?” Otherwise, you might end up with horrible accidents such as this.

While the scientist attempts to ponder the thought processes of these foreign dress makers, her ears catch the distinct sound somebody phasing through the doorway; Clara glancing back towards the entrance to witness a couple of police officers walking inside. Stricken in terror upon the site of the two mounties, the young woman silently dashes towards the back of the clothing boutique and ducks right underneath a whole rack full of clearance clothes; hearing one of them approach while saying to the other that: “I’m just wondering what kind of dress my little daughter could want.” When coming to the clearance clothing, the policeman take a single frilly dress from the rack; unknowingly uncovering the concealed scientist while questioning his partner if: “You think this might work?” “Eh, I don’t know.” Noticing the couple of cops failing to spot her, the young woman quietly sneaks away from the perusing police while they’re distracted; the scientist prowling over and squeezing herself underneath the tight shelf of discount pants. Just as she scrunches every part of herself under the shelf, Clara glances over to find the other officer waltzing in her direction; recoiling deeper to the wall as she hears the police woman mention how: “I’ve been running a little low on casual jeans. One’s they got here go for about 5 bucks.” “Nice. We can get them alongside the dress I’m getting Maddy.” Taking a couple of fresh denim jeans from the shelf, the other officer strolls away with the pairs of pants in her arms; failing to realize the young woman hiding right beneath her. A quiet sigh escapes from the scientist lungs as she sees the two officers waltzing away; her worry rising once more when reaching for her little parchment, only to discover that her host’s package is not with her anymore. Panic begins to spread through her mind as she searches for where the little cardboard box’s may have wound up, soon to find her little package left at the bottom of one of the mannequin displays; a frustrated hiss seeping between her teeth as the scientist starts to crawl out of the pants shelf and towards her misplaced package.

The young scientist soon crawls out from under the discount pants shelf and sneaks towards the mannequin display her little parchment lies, concealing herself behind the racks and walls of modern Canadian clothing to evade the site of the mounties; hearing the policeman consult on how: “I don’t know, Debra. It seems like Maddy is just losing interest in the things we used to do together.” “Like.” the police woman questions. “We’d spent all day watching kids shows, drink tea, play soccer, dress up, all that stuff dads and daughters do. Nowadays, she’d rather be with her online friends and be on social media than to spend time with her dear old daddy.” “Hey, hey, hey, hey. It ain’t like that Danny, believe me. Your little girls just spreading her wings and forging her own path in this world; ya know, growing up.” “But I feel like we’ve been growing so apart lately. I don’t know if its something I said to her, but she barely even talks to me these days. All these new things that she’s going through...I’m just so scared.” “Stop talking like that. Nothing about this is your fault. Even if you two are miles apart, your still her dad. As long you don’t suffocate and helicopter her, then she won’t move away from you. She’ll still love you like her dear old dad.” His partners advice makes the police officers gaze drift down to the frilly dress in his hands, the tears rolling from his eyes dripping down onto the fabric. With a heartwarming smile stretching across his face, the cop sets the frilly dress down upon a random shelf; venturing over to the shirts and skirts of the same size and confirming to his partner that: “You’re right. It’s about time my little girl gets a taste of the real world.”

Witnessing the mountie wandering over towards her direction, Clara acts fast and leaps within another one of the racks filled with teen girl shirts; ducking down into the clothing rack to hide herself from the nearing officer. Once the police man reaches the rack that the scientist hides behind, he begins to browse through the many shirts left hanging on the steel bar; quickly dwindling what space the scientist has left to hide behind it all. Desperate to make the browsing mountie leave, the young woman picks out a specific shirt from the selection behind her; hanging the garment with the other clothes that the officer searches through. When the humble mountie comes to uncover the shirt that the scientist had planted, the officer picks the dress off the rack to get a good look at it; inspecting the logo plastered onto the front of the dress. “This is...perfect!” Wandering away from the rack that Clara hides behind, the officer finds his partner approaching with a fresh pair of small jeans; the policewoman claiming how: “Nice choice. I bet these puppies would pair well with a shirt like that.” Watching both of the mounties retreating back to the front of the boutique, Clara wastes not another moment to stealthily proceed to the mannequin display; soon snatching her little package from the bottom of the platform.

“Wait, almost forgot something.” Her ears catching the voice of the officer, the scientist glances back to find one of the officers returning to the back of the store. Left desperate for somewhere to hide from the approaching mountie, the young woman swiftly climbs up on one of the displays and conceals herself from behind one of the standing mannequin; mimicking its pose to a tee in order to hide every inch of her body. Without even so much as a noticing glance, the cop passes right by the young woman and wanders over to the rack filled with hanging necklaces; the policeman perusing through each of the unique designs as the woman right behind him remains as motionless as a statue. As the mountie continues to browse through the selection of necklaces, Clara limbs start to grow stiff and tired from maintaining the same pose as the doll she hides behind; trying to keep the small grunts that escape from her teeth at a minimum. The young woman’s persistance soon pays off when the policeman finally picks out a necklace from the rack, who races right past the hiding scientist and back towards the checkout while exclaiming how he: “Found it! Maddy’s gonna love this.” Once the cops races past, Clara breaks from the mannequin’s pose and ducks right under the platform it stand on; peeking out from behind to watch as the two officers take their clothes and finally depart. When the pair of police finally phase through the front doorway, Clara stands back up from the base of the display and lets out a relaxing sigh; the boutique employee manning the checkout counter glancing in her direction and asking if: “So, you gonna buy anything or just stalk around like a damn creep?”

Soon coming out of the dress shop herself, the light drizzle that she had seen beforehand has grown a bit bigger from the young ladies time in the boutique; the rain pouring down faster than ever. In hopes of remaining as dry as she can, Clara races through the pouring streets towards the direction of the parking lot where her host’s truck resides; one of the police that had been shopping for clothes glancing back to witness the scientist dashing around the corner. From seeing the woman rush around the turn, a skeptical glare forms upon the policewoman; her partner wondering: “You see something Debra?”

Racing through the rainy Smithville streets, Clara finally makes it back to the steel white parking lot where they parked; soon finding her pair of host’s awaiting inside the truck. Approaching the truck, she readies to hope on inside and escape from the rain; something written on the side of the passenger door making her stop just inches from the hatch. Left on the aluminum door of the truck was a spiteful message scratched onto its surface; the pouring rain dropping through the cuts scarred on the door reading out: “Go back to India.” Gazing beside the door, the scientist discover more engravings spread along the side of the truck; all of them being hateful and borderline racist comments. In reading all of them does she finally hear one of her host bait her attention, glancing back to see Benny peeking out the window to ask: “You going to just stand there soaking up water like a sponge, or are you getting in!?” The lanky gent’s insistence to get in makes her finally open the passenger and jump right on inside, plopping her ass right next to her hosts little girl; her wet clothes soaking that side of the passenger seat.

“So, how did your little trip to the post office go?” her burly host kindly asks. “Smoothly.” the scientist responds with, thinking back to the post woman who had spoken to her. “Did you get our little delivery?” her skinnier host then questions. Upon being questioned of such, the young woman feels through her entire body for the package Benny asks for; soon pulling from her backside the small parchment that her host’s had requested. “There we go. See Benny. Told ya we could depend on her.” Gall claims to his husband. “Thanks. Hey, mind if we get to leaving...Like right now?” Its in suggesting this does Sammy start to let out a little whine, reminding them that: “But you said we would stop for ice cream while we were here.” “Sorry Sammy, but we still have some work to do back home.” Gall softly respond. “That’s not fair, you two promised!” “We got you ice cream at the store. It’s practically the same thing.” Benny rebukes.

Driving right out of the parking lot, all of them soon pass the Smithville’s town limit; leaving behind the modern technological town and down towards the country roads. While cruising out into the countryside, Clara takes a small peek back towards the town she departs from; gazing out to see if any of the fuzz were pursuing her. Thankfully, she finds not a single mountie vehicle in pursuit of them anywhere in site; the fact that she had evaded the eyes of the Canadian authority making her slump back into her seat.

Making it back to her hosts humble little farm, the scientist burns the rest of the day away by doing chores and tasks at the request of her hosts; the honest labor making the sun quickly drift out behind the mountainside until the twilight sky begins to darken. Once the day is all spent and done, Clara and her host gather in the kitchen to sit and enjoy their steaming, well earned dinner; the young woman presented with the spoils of corn, mashed potato’s and fish. A rather odd combination to be sure, but something that the scientist can’t complain about; so long as it isn’t from a can she could give much else of a shit. Her mouth watering from the fully cooked meal, the scientist wastes not another moment to dig right on in; cutting a piece of the fish and taking the first bite. Delecting in the salty and savory taste of the fish swirling in her mouth makes the young woman letting a satisfied moan; her bearded host giving her a small chuckle before asking if: “You like the fish?” While enjoying the meal in her mouth, Clara faces her burly host and shakes her head to confirm; Gall further adding how: “Yep, the fish they sell around here might just be the best in the country. Add that with Benny’s excellent cooking and you got a little slice of heaven on your plate.”

“The chicken and fish we got at the grocery should pair well with some of the vegetables that’ll be ripe tomorrow.” Benny then states, the mention of the fact causing Clara to stop chewing her meal. Finally swallowing the savory fish in her mouth, the young woman responds to her host’s claim with: “Really.” “Indeed they will. How much you think you’ll need for your trip?” Gall asks her. “Oh, I don’t really think I need all that much, just-” “We’ll give you just enough to make it to the next town over. No more. No less.” the lanky gent cements. “Benny, our guest here helped us out with so much. Least we can do is give her some extra carrots for the road.” his burly husband rebuttals with. “Gall, were running off a low budget as is. Giving out more than what she needs might cripple our finances for next year.” “I know. I know. Not to mention that we still got the stuff in the basement to worry about.” “Don’t mention that in front of them!”

As both of them start to argue among themselves, Clara glances over to their little girl to find her getting increasingly upset; Sammy finally piping up and cutting through her fathers argument with: “Its not fair!” The little girls sudden outburst grabs the entire kitchens attention, both of her dads stopping their arguing and gazing to their daughter as she continues with: “You two always spend almost every night down in that stupid basement and leave me up here in the dark all by myself! All during the thunderstorms, the darkest night, even with the all the wolves howling! Just what could you two even be doing down there that you can’t come back up until morning!?” A exhausted sigh leaving his lungs, Gall responds to his daughters outcry with: “Sammy, dear. We already talked about all of this. You’re not old enough to see what were working on down there yet.” “Well when will I be? I’ve been with you two for about 3 years now and you still haven’t shown me anything down there. I’m about to turn ten next month and neither of you will even mention what you have down under us.” Slamming the palms of his hands onto the dinning table, Benny snaps back at the little girl with: “That’s because what were doing down there is incredibly important, More important then any of us could ever be; and we can’t bear to have you messing around in there and ruining all that we’ve worked for!”

Being berated by her father’s harsh word draw forth tears from the little girls eyes, Benny withdrawing from his harsh demeanor upon the site of his daughter crying. “Sammy, I-” Before she could let her dad finish speaking, the little girl leaps out of her chair and races down the hallway; her tears dripping down onto the tile as she runs off. Glancing over to his husband, the lanky gentleman find him wearing a disappointed glare; the site making Benny let out a sorrowing breath as he laments on how: “I know...I was too harsh with her. I...I just-” Witnessing his husband on the cusp of tears, Gall scoots his seat to Benny’s side and gives his skinny lover a warm embrace; insuring that: “I know, Benny. But we can’t be like that with her. One day, she’ll be old enough to join in our little project; and help not only us, but the entire world.” “Its just that we’ve spent so many years to make our it all come true, and she’s so young. We can’t risk anybody finding out, Not abou-” Stopping himself short from speaking out, Benny’s eyes glare over to their guest sitting on the other side of the table; the scientist letting out a nervous giggle upon being met with his stare. Taking the scowl as her queue to leave the room, Clara gets up from the table with the rest of her dinner in hand; backing away into the awaiting hallway behind her.

The last of the orange sky above begins to fade into the darkness of the night; the country stars spreading out above as the hour of the wolf encroaches. When the clock above finally strikes midnight, Clara arises from the comforting relief that the guest bed offers and moves towards the door; walking out into the hallway and back towards the kitchen for the tools she had previously used before.

Pulling out the silverware drawer, the scientist searches through the unorganized cluster of metal for the crucial part of her lockpicking tools; a startling worry creeping through her back as she discovering not a single knife among the countless forks and spoons. Right, they must know that somebody broke into their basement last night and took precautions; snatching away anything that could be used as a lock pick. Still, they have to have a spare key stashed around here somewhere; they wouldn’t just have one and potentially get themselves stuck down there. Maybe in their bedroom.

Set beside the locked basement door, the young woman comes to the last door at the very end of the hallway; the only means of keeping people out be a single paper sign taped to the face reading out: “Stay out Sammy.” With not much else in terms of security to stop her, the scientist simply barges right on inside; the light of the hallway flooding into the room and unveiling to her an array of foreign décor. The sheets of the beds, the cushions of the chairs, the drapes hanging on the window, even the very walls boasted exotic circular patterns with dark, blending colors; legs of the table and the bedframe all made from carved, twisted, and shining wood. The plants and decorations set throughout the bedroom proved to be like nothing she ever seen before; the statue atop the drawer being a finely dressed elephant with several arms in a crossing sit, its jewels reflecting the hallway light. Throughout the entire exotic bedroom, Clara peeks through every single nook and cranny that she could; checking in the drawers, underneath the bed, between the mattresses, inside the statue, and behind the furniture. Alas, the young woman fails to find a single glimmer of a spare key anywhere within her hosts bedroom; the scientist wondering where the hell they could’ve stashed it.

“What are you looking for?” she hears a familiar voice from behind question. The young woman quickly turns back towards the bedroom door to discover her hosts daughter standing right in the doorway; Clara jumping back from the little girls unexpected appearance. “Jesus, kid! Ya keep scaring me. W-what are you even doing up this late?” “I could ask you the same thing.” “Me-I, uh. I was just in here seeing w-what sort of décor your dads-” “Your looking for this, aren’t you?” the little girl assumes, pulling out a shining key from her backside. Caught off guard from the little girl having the key, she attempts to ask her: “How did you-” “I sometimes find it and open the basement door to try and find my dads. But every time I do, all I see down the stairs is just the swirling, neverending darkness below. I can’t even see the bottom, its so deep. Last night, I saw you bravely go down there without even so much as stopping…Could you tell my dads something when you go back down there?” “What is it?” “...I’m...tired of spending every night all by myself...I’m tired of being left out of their important work...I want to be alongside them like…Like a real family.” Hearing the little girl plead of something so simple and touching draws out sympathy from the scientist; Clara kneeling down to her level and claiming how: “If, I see them. I’ll let them know. Kay?” With her guests confirmation does Sammy hand her the key to the basement; Clara stepping out of her hosts bedroom and leaving the little girl behind.

Inserting the key into the lock and unlocking the way to the basement, Clara opens the door to be greeted by the familiar site of the swirling stairwell leading down into the pitch black abyss; the scientist slowly descending down into the darkness. Without a single light source to illuminate her way down, the young woman realizes all too well that a single misstep could spell her end; and so takes every step down as carefully as she possibly could. Further distancing from the basement door and making her way down into the pitch black staircase, her freshly healed eyes begin to adjust to the lightless void that surrounds her; soon able to clearly see the very steps she walks down upon. Even with her site having adjusted to the surrounding darkness, the scientist keeps caution in mind when descending down the stairs; the lack of a guard rail keeping her hugging the left wall.

Her cautious climb down the stairwell eventually leads back to its very base, the young woman’s eyes first noticing the short hallway leading to a lone steel door; the window of such letting out a particular glow. With the glow the furthest from her mind, Clara gazes down to find the miscellaneous pile of metal and scrap awaiting at the bottom of the stairwell that her precious little powerhouse had fallen into. Once climbing down the very last step, the scientist delves straight into the heap of junk surrounded by the stairs; digging through the countless bits and pieces of metal, wires, gears, and apparatuses in searching for her battery. God, they better not have found it. Her dig through the junk soon has her uncover the little led box that her battery had been held in; Clara pulls the case right from under the countless set of scrap to find it lined with small scratches set along its surface. The young woman places her hand onto its lid and slowly starts to open the case; a bright green glow leaking out from the crack piercing through the darkness surrounding her. When seeing her battery still in its case, the scientist swiftly closes the lid to invite the black void to surround her; the only light left to dispel it being the glow from the door across the hall as she puts the battery back into her bag. Right, now that the battery is back; its time to bail. Don’t want them to know that someone was down here.

When she finally readies to climb back up the stairs, a loud animal moan halts her from taking the first step; turning to the source of the cry and gazing out towards the glowing door at the end of the hallway. Left curious from what could’ve made such a moaning, the scientist moves away from the spiraling stairwell and out towards the ominous glowing doorway; the light from the window beginning to clear the closer she approaches. Once she finally reaches the door, the young woman peeks through the window as her eyes fully adjust to the glow; finding the same steel pens set up along the sides like before. This time around however, Clara could witness something moving from within the metal holds; catching only a glimpse of its metallic head out from the top of the cage. Just what the hell could those two be keeping down here?

In questioning this does the door that the scientist leans on crack wide open, causing the young woman to stumble through the doorway and fall flat onto the cold concrete floor. While picking herself off of the hard pavement; her nose is invaded by the same putrid scent she had smelled the night before; a small moan invading her ears as she pinches her nose. Gazing over to the source of the cry, she starts to pass the console full of buttons and to one of the enclosed pens set along the side of the room; discovering the metallic head that she had seen through the window to be attached to a cows hide. The closer the young woman nears the pen in question, she comes to find the more of the bovine graphed with metal limbs and steel skin; the beast suddenly turning to reveal its cyborg infused head. The unexpected finding causes the scientist to jump from the pen and back away from the robotic bovine and into the side of another pen; swiftly turning back to the cage she had bumped into witness another cyborg cow let out a frightened digitized moo. The call makes the rest of the pens to furiously rumble, the scientist frantically looking around to find an entire heard of cyborg cows trapped within; their clanging metallic parts echoing alongside their cries. “What is this? What’s all this supposed to be!?”

“It was meant to be our little secret.” she hear someone answer with. Hearing this, the scientist swiftly turns back to face one of her host baring his firearms; the barrel of Benny’s shotgun aimed directly at Clara’s head. “I knew you’d stick your nosey little ass in here eventually, just waiting to find all that we worked for so that you could tear it all down.” the lanky gent claims. “No no no no, that ain’t the case here. I swear.” the scientist attempts to refute. “Then what are you doing here?” The familiar voice reaching her ears, Clara turns back once more to witness her other host appearing out from the shadows; the burly gent gazing upon the woman with a stern glare. “I...was just down here trying to find something that I dropped.” “You mean from your little trip down here from last night?” When her skinny host claims such, a guilty silents strikes the young woman; unable to speak a single word as Gall further says: “Clara, Clara, Clara. Here I was thinking that you knew better than to stick your nose where it don’t belong; but I guess we all can all be wrong something.” “I know bett-?...What the fuck kind of sick and twisted operations are you two even concocting down here; graphing metal and technology onto bovine and replacing their body parts with mechanical apparatuses!? Just what are you planning on doing with all of these cyborg cows, huh; start an army, destroy a city, take over an entire country!? Answer me!?” Clara furiously demands. “You can answer those questions from beyond the grave.” Benny claims, his finger itching at the trigger. Her attention focused on the firearms aimed right at her, the scientist starts to sweat bullets as she prepares to anticipate her hosts shot.

Just moments before the man could fire his weapon, a lone voice cuts through the tension; the sound of a little girl calling out: “Dads?” From the soft call, everyone glances over to the door to witness Sammy standing in the doorway; Benny hesitating to pull the trigger as he utters out: “Sammy? What are-” “Is this what you guys have been doing every night, turning cows into robots?” the little girl questions. In that moment does Gall step before the confused young girl, calmly suggesting to her to: “Sammy? Just go back upstairs and we’ll talk about this, right after we-” “After you what, murder our guest!? Even after she helped us around the farm!?” “She saw too much! If she walks out knowing all of this, it would put all of our work at incredible risk.” Benny argues. “So did I...Does that mean you’re gonna kill me too?” the little girl questions, tears of sorrow rolling down her face. Listening to his little girl ask of such causes the skinny gentleman to lower his firearms, Benny tense glare going soft as he assures to her that: “Oh, Sammy. We...we would never do that to you. We love you.” Kneeling down to his little girls level, Gall places his hand on his daughter’s shoulder and states how: “Sammy, we’re doing this for the greater good...For the world.” “I just don’t understand how turning cows into robots can help the world…Is what she said true? Are you going to hurt people with them all?” “We would never do that...” “Then why are you turning all of them into monsters!?” “So that they may have the strength live on.” she hears Benny answer.

“W-what do you mean?” the little girl curiously questions. “You see sweetie. There aren’t as many cows left in the world as there once was.” Gall states. “What happened to all of them?” “A massive nuclear war happened. All of the destructive violence and carnage wiped out a good chunk of their population. From the worlds rapid technological grow, the common cow was left to be slaughtered on the alter of human development; the Canadian government buying out and closing down countless farms from around the world. The only one’s who refused to give into their demands be the people of our home country. The noble people of India refused to let these maple leaved monster bring our sacred animal to the brink of extinction. But simply leaving it all at that wasn’t enough for them. No...Their insatiable greed urged them to terrorize our country in order to pilfering more of our cows forbidden beef.”

From where his husband left off, Gall continues to explain to his little girl on how: “You see honey; in hopes of saving the bovines that Canada has locked away and waiting to slaughter, both of your dear dads have liberated them from the farmlands and have gifted them with a fighting chance in the form of technological weaponry.” “But...Isn’t it against the law to make cyborg animals?” his little girl points out. “Indeed it is. It was set in place because of two reason. So that the meat and byproducts of animals are not tainted by the mechanisms and oil of the machinery, and so that they’re not a danger to mankind. But with how careless and greedy the Canadian government has been concerning the bovines overall population, we’ve been given very little choice. With our help, we can at least give them the fighting chance to live on.”

Fresh from explaining all of this to the little girl, all of them soon hear a sharp alarm blare through the basement; the noise causing Gall to quickly rise from his daughters level and race over to the console along the side. Pressing a couple of buttons laying bare on the computer turns on the screen perched at the top, showing a camera feed planted on the front of the farm; a mountie van pulling up in front of the home with several officers jumping out from the back. “Th-the police! Why are they here!?” Raising his firearms towards his guest once again, Benny aims his shotgun to Clara’s head and accuses her with: “It’s her fault! She was probably a spy that lead them right to us!” Right as the skinny gent aims his gun to the scientist, his young daughter jumps right in the way; demanding that he: “Don’t shoot!” “Wait wait! I don’t think they’re here for you guys!” Clara rebuttals. “Oh really? Like they all gathered here on a plain looking farm in the middle of nowhere just for little old you?” “Ehh...eh he...”

Hearing his guests nervous chuckle causes the lank gentlemen to lower his firearms as astonishment slowly forms upon his face; Gall turning towards the young woman and questioning her with: “What do you mean by that?” “I...may have conveniently forgotten to mention the fact that I’m kind of an illegal U.S. immigrant.” The scientist unveiling this piece of news to her hosts, both of them men proved stunned by this revealed truth; the little girl in front of her left in awe by her words as she glances back to her with curious eyes. Re-aiming his shotgun to the young woman’s head, Benny goes on to accuse his guest of: “I knew you were nothing but a runaway criminal. I told Gall it was bad idea, but he didn’t listen. I bet if we just hand her over to the cops, then they’ll leave all of us well enough alone.” “No! She’s not just some random thug! If she really were that bad, then she wouldn’t have helped us out at the farm and would’ve stolen all of our food the first chance she got.” his little girl objects. “Sammy’s right, Ben. She would’ve done far worse by now if that was the case.” Gall then adds. “Even so, she still led the cops right our door. If they bust their way down here, all of our work this past decade will be for nothing. They’ll take everything from us and leave us to rot in a detention center. Everything! Our home, our cows, our livelyhood, even little Sammy...I don’t want our family to be destroyed because of this bitch...” Benny rants, tears rolling down his cheeks as he speaks. Seeing his husband on the verge of bursting into tears, Gall moves away from the monitor displaying the outside and over to the whimpering man; wrapping his burly arms around his skinny lover and comforts him with: “Ben...That isn’t going to happen. I won’t let it happen. Because I have the perfect plan that’ll will cover all of our backs.”

Deeper in another part of the pair of farmers secret basement, all of them are lead to massively long hallway leading out to on open cliffside; Benny leading in with them a single cyborg bovine with them as Gall explains how: “While you no doubt know where we equip the cattle we take and give the state of the art machinery and robot parts, you might’ve been wondering what we do with them when we’re done suiting them all up. This little hanger we built here is where we send off into the wild once we’re done with them.” Once pulling the bovine he brought beside his host, Benny finishes his husbands explanation with: “And you’re gonna use one of them to fly out of our hair.” “I...I’m sorry, can you repeat that fact about flying?” the young woman can’t help but request. “You heard right, young lady. We outfitted these here bovine with the latest in hovercraft technology that car manufacturers use to produce today’s modern vehicles” “That sounds incredible, like a really chubby Pegasus, but with jet propulsion instead of wings.” their daughter remarks. “Well, I can’t take all the credit here. It was mostly Benny’s idea.” Listening to his lover complimenting his work on the cows flying capabilities, the skinny gent’s face blushes a deep red from the praise; quickly snapping out of it to turn over to their guest and instruct how: “And you’re going to ride our freshly made oxen here as far as it’ll take you, lead the cops far away from our humble home and never, ever return. Do you understand?” Oh believe me. I won’t.” Clara assures as she approaches the cyborg bovine.

After his guest perches herself onto the back of robotic cow, Gall walks over to the scientist side with her roughed up backpack and apologizes with: “Sorry we couldn’t give you as much as I promised. All we got on us were a couple of vegies.” Grabbing her pack from her burly host, Clara takes a little peek inside to find a some carrots, potato’s, and a head of lettuce; all of which nuzzled with her stuff in a clear bag. “This should be just enough to get me to the next city.” From messing with a little bit of wiring next to the bovines thruster equipped backside, Benny slams the lid shut and claims that: “Alright, you’re ready to take off.” Waltzing over to the other side of the robotic beast, Sammy grabs Clara’s attention with: “Thank you for helping us these past few days...I’ll miss you.” “He he...I’ll miss you too.”

Once the goodbyes are all said and done, the entire family stands back from the cyborg bovine as the thrusters start to blast out from its shiny metal ass; Clara waving farewell to the three who took her in before the beast she rides takes off towards the opening of the hanger. The scientist takes a tight grasp of the cows organic skin as it speed off towards the hole; hanging on against the force of the sudden take off.

Outside the seemingly humble farmhouse, the Canadian police finally surround every single side of the entire home; their futuristic weapons and firearms aimed on all side as one of them shout into a megaphone: “Were giving all of ya 10 seconds to get yer asses lined up and out here. We know you’re harboring a dangerous illegal immigrant in there, so just come out quietly right now.” “Sir! Sir!”: one of the officers beside the other repeatedly shouts. Lowering his megaphone, the captain glances over to the officer grabbing his attention and screams: “What is it!?” “Look there, up in the sky!” the officer urges as he points his finger to the starry space above. The captain along with the rest of the squad avert their eyes to the midnight stars hanging above to discover a bewildering site; all of them witness the perp they’re all after riding through the stars on the back of what looked to be a metal cow. “Is that her?” “Just what the hell is she riding on?” “I think it might be a cow?” “Why the fuck is it flying!?” Letting out a furious growl, the captain throws his megaphone on the cold dirt ground and orders his entire squad with: “Everyone back inside! We got an immigrant to catch!” “But sir, what about the home.” “Later! Our suspect is getting away!” Under their commanders orders, the entire team of Mounties starts to pile themselves into the back of the squad van; soon to speed off in the direction of the soaring bovine. Gazing out into the night valley from the edge of the hanger leading out from the cliffside, Benny, Gall, and Sammy watch as the police that once threatened to uncover their plans be lead away from their home by the escaping scientist; the family’s glimmer of hope for all of bovine kind left burning bright.

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

Hey, thanks so much for waiting for this next chapter. I know it was a little longer of a wait then what all of you are used too, and that is because I need more time to finish up the remaining chapters of this series. I know how upsetting that must sound to people waiting for the next Chapters, but its because I'm wanting each of these chapters to be as good as I can possibly make them. I don't want the overall quality to hindered by the schedule I have set for myself. I just hope that the few people that actually read my stuff aren't angry with the kind of schedule change being longer than just bi weekly. If they aren't, then I want to thank you all for being so patient with my bull and hope that any future stories that i come up with will entertain you all the same.

#faded land #lillaxtrigger