#I kinda forgot about pot and plant a bit . Whoops

[cemetaryvampire]

some of my favorite ocs are turning 2 years old soon…my oldest one was made April 14th 2022 I remember it clearly… another old one was made like June 2022. I don’t talk about my old ocs a lot. But I cherish them all so so much… Reygen, pot, plant, lean, party hat, bandaid, Swiss…. Ily my object ocs….

[samthemarvelfan]

Bloom for Me: One Shot

Summary: Bucky Barnes is number one on the list of people who piss you off. Good ole Cap doesn’t seem to care, and you’re sent on a mission at the behest of Dr. Banner. The tension is so thick, you could cut it with a knife. ...but what kind of tension is it, exactly?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: SMUT...with plot! Angst, and a lil dash of fluff. 18+ ONLY

A/N: SEX POLLEN FIC. I DID IT YALL. I finished a story I’ve held hostage for 3 months lol In honor of Seb’s bday...enjoy! <3

“I cannot express to you how much I’m not going to do this.” You gripe, arms crossed as you glare across the conference room at Steve.

“Ella, please—it’s less than a day. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” He scolded.

You scoffed, “I’m actually making it quite easy. Send someone else, Steve. I’m not doing it.” You stand from you seat, with all intents being to walk out the door, when you hear a chuckle.

“Told ya, Pal. That’s a $20, fair and square.” He said.

He being James Buchanan Barnes; also known as Bucky.

Also known as a pain in the fucking ass.

You stop abruptly, spinning on your heel to face them. “What was that, Barnes?” You seethe.

“It’s nothing, Ella.” Steve said to you, before turning a glare to his friend. “Drop it, Buck...” He warned.

Bucky walked over to where Steve was standing, putting both hands on his shoulders as he passed by.

“Oh, come on now, Steve. I told you she’d whine about it—that was less than 40 seconds right? I’ll take my $20.” He joked with his friend.

You stomped toward Bucky. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He laughed again. That smug, sarcastic, arrogant laugh. “Me and my pal over here like to place bets on just how much whining we’ll have to hear from you; I do anyway. This time it was ‘Let’s see how long it takes Ella to start acting like a fucking toddler.’”

Your heart hurt a bit at his words. You expect this kinda shit from him, but Steve? Does he feel that way about you, too?

“Ella he doesn’t—“

Steve tried to speak, but Bucky cut him off. “I mean anytime—anytime you’re paired of with me for a mission, you’re always tryna get out of it. You’re like a kid bargaining to not eat their vegetables.”

He stood in front of you now, towering your small frame. “Being friends isn’t a fucking job requirement. Stop acting like a spoiled brat, do the work and get out. Ain’t that right, Steve?”

You and Bucky—believe it or not, were kinda friends at one point.

He’d been one of the only people to properly welcome you to the team, and for a few weeks you were starting to get to know each other well.

Until you had your first solo mission with him. Bucky hadn’t communicated his location, despite your attempt to find him for more than 20 minutes. You needed to blow the building before the targets escaped.

Unfortunately, you forgot to clear your surroundings and you ended up held hostage by a HYDRA agent. Until Bucky burst through the room like a maniac, saving you and the mission.

Since then, he’d been distant, even cold toward you. When you did see him, the two of you couldn’t get along. Passive aggressive comments, name calling, even down right fighting during training sessions were the norm now with Bucky.

You watched the two men. Steve, who’s head was hung low with embarrassment, and Bucky, who’s smug grin you wanted to wipe against the concrete.

“Fuck this. Fuck you both.” You strained. You wanted to cry, but you wouldn’t. Not yet. Not in front of him.

As you make your way out the door, you hear Bucky call out sarcastically, “What? Was it something I said?”

“Why do you do that to her?” Steve asked him.

Bucky felt the shit-eating grin dissolving from his face. “Do what.” It was a statement, and definitely not a question.

Steve scoffed, “You know damn well what I mean, Buck. She didn’t do anything to provoke that.”

Bucky swallowed hard, avoiding his friends gaze. “She’s a fucking brat, Steve.”

Steve shook his head in disbelief, “Do you hear yourself? Would you wanna work with you?” He asked.

Bucky pushed himself from the table, “Look it’s not my fault she almost got herself killed the first time she was put in the field. So she’s got a complex about it, big whoop.”

Bucky didn’t stay to hear Steve’s lecture. Truth be told, he couldn’t stomach it.

He knows how he treats you is disgusting. The bravado he has to put on around the team makes him sick to his stomach, but it’s necessary.

When he saw your life was in danger that day, he fucking panicked. Why did he panic?

He doesn’t know. But the thought of you getting hurt...or worse, made his skin crawl. Bucky wasn’t use to feeling so attached to someone so quickly, and he hated it.

Your safety was always in the front of his mind. Wondering if you were being followed or watched or tortured or—

Stop it, Buck. Stop it. She isn’t yours to worry about. He scolded himself.

Pushing you away was the easiest part. Making you hate him was second nature, but hurting you? Making you think he hated you?

It fucking sucked.

He walked back to his room. Every intention of showering and sulking until he fell asleep, when he heard your voice through the walls.

He stood a few feet from your door, hearing everything. Stupid super soldier perks.

You were crying.

You were crying because of him.

“Fuck.” Bucky seethed through his teeth.

He doesn’t know how or when it happened, but soon he was knocking on your door.

A moment later, it swung open. You stood there, eyes red and puffy. Cheeks wet with tears, and lips swollen.

Probably from biting them like she does when she’s trying not to cry. He thought to himself.

“Come to abuse me some more?” You ask with a pain in your voice he’s never heard before.

It snatched the wind from his lungs. How long had he been making you feel this way?

“Ella, I’m—“

“Save it. I don’t want your fake apologies. Get this straight, I’m not weak.” You growl.

Bucky wonders if your trying to convince him, or yourself.

“I’ll do this mission with you. I’m not going to let you turn this team against me, but after this? We’re done. I don’t wanna hear from you ever again. I’m going to request a transfer to work at the Tower instead.”

The Tower. Manhattan. 3 hours away.

Not with me. Bucky thought.

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. He didn’t want you to go, not like this. Not because of him.

“Nothing to say?” You quipped. “Thought so. Goodbye, James.” You said, and slammed the door in his face.

Bucky stepped forward, leaning his forehead against the door.

How did this get so out of hand? How did it get to the point where you’d be so desperate to be rid of his ridicule that you’d leave your home?

Bucky wasn’t sure, but he was going to fix it.

Whatever it takes.

“Make sure to keep the rebreathers on at all times.” Bruce said, closing the hologram of the building.

You nod, “So what exactly is it that makes it so toxic?”

Bruce laughed, “Toxic is a strong word—potent...that’s more fitting.”

You peering at the case file; Votum Floreant.

“Got it, anything else we should know?” You ask, eager to get the mission over with.

Bruce shook his head at you and Bucky. “Don’t thinks so. Just seal it in the case the moment you get it, and keep those rebreathers on while you’re in the jet with it. I’ll take care of it when you guys get back. It doesn’t affect me the way it would you two.”

Bucky looked confused, “If that’s the case, why the hell are we going?”

He chucked, “Its a stealth op. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but being subtle isn’t exactly my forte.”

You smiled, nudging him.

“I’ll keep coms open.” You say, exiting and heading to the flight deck on the roof.

Bucky hadn’t said two words to you since the briefing.

Good. You think.

But also, out of character.

Maybe he’d finally taken the hint that you were done being treated the way he treats you. Maybe he’d been relieved to hear you were requesting your transfer.

Maybe he really did hate you.

The thought tore at your heart in more ways than one. Before the whole mess of your first mission happened, you thought the both of you were on the same page.

The flirty looks during briefings, the waiting until it was just the two of you to have dinner or walk the grounds. The movie nights where he’d pick ones he knew only the two of you would like.

It must have just been one sided. No one feels the way you feel—felt, about him and just turns it off.

As the jet whirred into flight, you took a seat next to Bucky at the controls.

“Are you going to say anything? Or are we going to mime this whole mission.” You ask without looking at him.

He doesn’t say anything, or even look at you for that matter.

You scoff subtly, “I don’t know why I bother. I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment.”

Kicking up one leg, you keep it crooked up-right next to you, using it as a block between you and Bucky.

You’d finally landed after a painfully quiet 2 hour flight. You were securing your clips to your holster when you felt him behind you.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Bucky said suddenly.

It was almost impossible to look at him without sarcasm. “Really? What exactly did you think was going to happen? A person can only take so much, James.”

You move to walk away, but he grips you shoulder gently, turning you to face him.

“I...I didn’t like seeing you like that.” He practically whispered.

You paused before hitting the button to let the ramp down. You wanted to say something snide, but you didn’t dare give him your energy.

“Let’s go. I wanna get this over with.” You mumble, finally hitting the button.

“Payload secured. Extracting now.” Bucky spoke into the coms.

With your gloves on, and rebreather secured to your face, you open the case Bruce had given you.

“Here, put it in.” You instructed.

This...plant? No. Flower, definitely a flower, was gorgeous. Bright red and purple ombré petals with a speckled green and yellow stem. The green leaves reaching off the stem faded to a black tip. It was stunning.

Bucky reached for the pot, that’s when you noticed the plant changing.

“Whoa, whoa. Did you see that?” You ask him.

The stem looked like it was pulsing. Golden buds began blooming within the petals.

“I don’t like this. I’m calling Bruce.” You said.

You tap your ear piece. “Dr. Banner, we’ve got some strange activity. The plant is...growing? It’s morphing and producing—“

“Get it in that case now!” He shouts, “It’s sensitive you temperature. The closer you get, the more it detects your body heat. If you’re not careful, it’ll pollinate.”

“Els...” Bucky called.

The flower was almost glowing. It’s was hypnotic, drawing you to it...the both of you.

“It’s...it’s beautiful.” You say mindlessly.

“Sergeant Barnes? Do you copy?” You hear Bruce say through the coms.

He doesn’t respond and neither do you.

“It smells like you. Like...summer rain, and strawberry shortcake.” Bucky says, walking closer to the flower.

The buds are growing. They look as though they’re about to burst.

He shakes his head, breaking the trance. “Shit.” Bucky grumbles putting the pot in the case, and slamming it shut.

You’re both breathing heavily. When did you get this close to each other? You’re close enough to see the beads of sweat on Bucky’s hairline.

“S-Sorry.” You whisper, looking down.

He tilts you chin up to look at him, “Don’t be.” He whispers in reply.

The realization of your closeness to him set in again, cause you to jump back suddenly.

“I’m gonna go...watch the controls.” You mumble.

When you sit in the seat, you finally feel it. Your elevated heart rate, the slick in your skin, and the undeniable ache between your thighs.

“What the hell?” You mutter to yourself.

“I’m glad you made it home in one piece.” Dr. Banner says as you approach the door to the compound.

Behind you, Bucky wheeled the cart with the case on top of it.

“It was definitely something. What does that thing do exactly? The packet on it was pretty vague.” You ask.

Bruce hesitated, “It’s just...it’s a...it’s hard to explain.”

You quickly whip off your rebreather, enjoying the fresh air. “Try me.”

“Look out!” Bucky shouts from behind you.

In a flash you see Bruce’s face go into pure panic. No one was quick enough. The case tumbles to the ground, smashing open and exposing the plant.

Both you and Bucky rush for it. In an instants the plant glows again, pulsing quicker then before.

“Ella, no!” Bruce shouts.

You hadn’t noticed, but Bucky’s mask was off too. Neither of you looked at anything but the flower. “It’s beautiful.” You said mindlessly.

Suddenly there was a burst from the middle of it. Golden flecks of pollen floated through the air like glitter.

“Whoa.” Bucky said breathlessly.

Looking to him, he was bathed in an ethereal haze. A visible aura and smell drawing you to him, you couldn’t have looked away if you tried.

And you didn’t care.

Bucky’s eyes suddenly locked with yours, and you knew he felt it too.

You moved towards each other, before you felt yourself getting yanked back.

“Tony, get him into quarantine now!” Bruce shouted as he tugged you with him.

“No! Stop it! Bucky!” You shouted. A conscious part of your mind was being dulled; why did you need to be near Bucky so badly?

“Stark, I’m warning you! Ella! Ella!” Bucky shouted as he was picked up by Tony, wearing his Iron Man suit for safety.

You were pulled in separate directions, and brought into the compound.

2 hours. 37 minutes. 46 seconds.

That’s how long it’d been since you’d seen Bucky.

You were currently on you bed, aching with a cold sweat. Your body was screaming at you, telling you to get out and go find him.

“What’s happening to me...” you groan into the space above you.

Between your thighs was throbbing, the heat emerging from your core was unrelenting. Your nipples were so hard, they felt like they could cut glass, and a glisten of lust on your skin couldn’t be ignored anymore.

Your own fingers did nothing to alleviate the ache. Attempting to pleasure yourself was in vain, because it wasn’t just any touch you needed. You felt like you would die—surely, you would die without his touch.

You needed Bucky, and you needed him now.

Stood from your bed, and practically running to the door, you relish in the friction it caused between your legs.

Pulling and twisting the knob in every direction does nothing. Of course it doesn’t...of course they’d locked you in here.

“FRIDAY?” You practically begged.

“Yes, Miss Monroe?” The AI replied instantly.

You cleared your throat, and pressed your sweat stained forehead agains the cool wood. “Please open my door.”

“I’ve been instructed not to let you out unless it was an emergency.”

“It is,” You say quickly. “it’s an emergency.”

She didn’t respond, the door simply clicked open. You yanked it back and revealed a sweat soaked Bucky on the other side; with bloodshot eyes, and his pupils blown out.

You’re sure your breathing mirrored his. Heavy and lengthy breathes passed your lips, chests heaving in time with one another.

Neither of you spoke as he took daunting steps forward, pushing you back into your bedroom.

In a flash, the door is slammed shut, and his hands find your hips. “Need you. Have to have you.” He groaned into the crook of your neck. “Had to smell you, touch you.”

Bucky hoists you up against the wall, and you’re seated perfectly on his thigh. “Please tell you want this—need this as badly as I do.”

The friction of his sweatpants clad thigh against your core makes you moan. “Yes, yes. Bucky...James, please.”

His lips are on yours before you can think.

Tongues take purchase of one another—it’s sloppy and rushed, and you don’t care.

You grind your heat onto his thigh, surely leaving wet patches—you’re dripping after all.

“That’s is sugar, get yourself off.” He practically growled.

“Bucky.” You moan. “More. Give me more.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Your back hits you’re bed with a muted thud, and he in you again, stripping you of your bottoms. You help him, and tear your shirt from your body.

Bucky grips your ankle, and makes eye contact as he starts peppering kissed up your leg. Soft, wet kissed that felt like fire against your skin.

He suddenly hooks your legs with his arms and waits, looking at you for permission. “Can I taste you?”

You nod, swallowing thickly. Soon, Bucky’s tongue is lapping at your clit, sucking and soothing the swollen bud, eating you like it was the man’s last meal.

“James, oh my...don’t stop.” You moan, raking your fingers through his hair.

Bucky hold your hips down, and your orgasm hits you like a truck. Cumming all over his face, but he doesn’t stop, he works you through it until your shaking.

“You taste like heaven, but now I need to be inside you.” He kissed you again, and you taste your juices on his stubble.

With new confidence, you push him back on the bed, and climb on top, lining him up with your entrance. In a smooth stroke, his entire length is in you. You gasp at the stretch, not expecting it.

“Look at you, sugar. Taking my cock so well, that’s it baby,” he croons as you start to ride him. “Take every inch, all for you, doll.”

You grind onto his cock, finding the perfect angle to meet your most sensitive spot.

“Oh, James.” You moan, throwing your head back.

“So tight, perfect. Mine, all mine.” He grunts, sitting up to kiss your chest. He swirls his tongue around each nipple, driving you mad.

You feel that rubber band stretching in your core, and Bucky feels it too.

He picks up his pace, thrusting up into you harder and faster until your seeing stars. Bucky repeats your name like a prayer on his lips until he stills, spilling his warmth inside of you, biting down on your chest as he came.

With the last scrap of energy you had, you roll off of him. Neither of you speak for a few minutes, you simply let your breathing return to normal.

“So that’s what that plant does.” Bucky says jokingly.

You throw your hands over your eyes, “I can’t believe we just did that.”

The mattress dips as you feel Bucky turn to face you. “Don’t get all shy on me now, Els.”

You move your hands, but refuse to look at him. Vulnerable is the last thing you want to be in front of Bucky Barnes.

Bucky’s hand finds your cheek, “Hey, I’m serious, talk to me.”

The sigh that you release is one of nerve and exhaustion. “What’s there to talk about? How I was just fucked into oblivion by a guy that hates my guts? That the only reason we’re in this bed together is because of some toxic plant that messed with our brains? There you go, there’s your talk.”

“I don’t hate you.” He says on the heels of your speech.

You laugh, full on chuckle. “Okay, Barnes. I get it, hates a strong word and all that, but you definitely don’t like me.”

Bucky swung his legs over the side of the bed, “You’re right, I don’t like you. I’m pretty sure I fucking love you.”

He says it as causally and easily as anything. In fact, it comes out with such ease, you’re almost inclined to believe him.

“Right, that’s why you ignore me while we’re at the compound, or make pick on me for fun, and follow me around like a rookie in every mission we’re forced to do together.”

He stands and pulls up his shorts. “I follow you because the thought of you getting killed makes me sick to my fucking stomach. I call out mistakes because I want you to be aware of everything so that I don’t have to kill people for hurting you.”

You prop yourself up on the bed, and shield your exposed body with a sheet. Buckys hands wash over his face before landing on his hips.

“I avoid you while we’re here because if I didn’t, I’d want to spend ever second of every day with you. You’re all I fucking think about, and frankly, it’s driving me crazy.”

You smirk at his humor, he always could make you laugh.

“So what do we do now?” You ask, sitting up on your knees, and allowing the sheet to fall.

Bucky’s eyes roam your figure, and he swallows hard. “I’d like to erase all the hateful things I’ve ever said to you, but I can’t. I can only ask to get a new start, sugar. A chance—give me one chance.”

His hand find your hips, and you feel the goosebumps prickle your skin. “After all, I am the guy that just fucked you into oblivion, right?

You smirk, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on his lips. His hand cups your cheek as you pull away.

“Can we watch those old movies like we used to? Just you and me?” You mumble, looking down.

Bucky laughs, and pulls you into his warm chest, kissing the crown of your head. “You got it, honey. Just you and me.”

taglist:  @iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 @warmvanillafeels @star-spangled-beard-burn @ravenesque @pinknerdpanda @wintersoldierissucharide @snapcapquartet @ellen-reincarnated1967 @unlistedpond @my-drowning-in-time @supernaturalwintersoldier @kimvmarvel @roseboho @winterboobear11 @choicesloversstuff @disaffectedbarnes @igothroughphasesalot @supernaturalwintersoldier​ @miss-assembled (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!)

[lillaxtrigger]

Faded land: Chapter 8

The sun starts to set upon the wastelands as the scientist travels north from the city. Clara looks in her bag, hoping to quell her encroaching hunger, finding only a few rations left in her reserves. “I need to find food soon. Maybe I should have stocked up when I was in the city, but eh. Stuff was going crazy down there.” With that thought passed, she hear her stomach cry out for food. The scientist takes out one of the can, declaring: “Fine, you win. About time for dinner anyway.” She was about to open a can of chicken noodle soup, when something in the horizon catches her eye. In the distance, she notices a wide field of plants along side two houses.

On approach, she finds one of them to be a barn, its red paint chipped and faded. Beside it was a farmhouse, 2 stories tall, the paint job not as bad but still has had its toll. Behind the abode, she could see fields and gardens of growing vegetables. Something didn’t seem quite right about them, the corn stalks colored yellowish orange. The discoloration is a little discomforting. Beside the barn was a set of trees, growing budding fruit upon their branches, the buds along the wooden limb look rather yellow. Lemon tree’s perhaps? As Clara walks towards the front door, she wonders how the residence could grow next to anything with such barren soil. It should be next to impossible. This doubt makes her hesitate to knock, wondering if she should just take her chances with the wastelands and just move on. Before she could make up her mind, the door open.

A young man walks out, surprised to see her at the door. “Oh..Uh, hey there. Didn’t think we’d get guests out in these parts. What might a young lady like you be doing out here?” “Umm…Hi...I was just traveling my way up north, and....” In that moment she feels her stomach rumble out in protest. “Was hopping I could stay for the night.”. “Oh, well. I’d have to talk with ma and pa first about it.” the young man answers. “Rubin! What’s the hold up?” someone inside shouts. “Someone’s at the door! Some traveler. They say they wanna stay for the night.” “Really? What are you waiting for, let em in!” they exclaim enthusiastically.

Invited in, she finds the interior of the home to me much nicer then the exterior, even if the décor seems old fashioned, like stuff you’d find on an antique show that would play on daytime television for people who miss the bygone days of their youth. Like the elderly woman seated upon one of the chairs, staring out into space. From the stairs, a round, but burly man walks down, greeting her with: “Evenin there, little lady. Who might you be wondering around?” “Um, M-My name’s Clara. I’m honestly kinda surprised to find a farm all the way out here. Especially one that’s...Plentiful as yours.” The man lightly chuckles, conceding with: “Well, suppose it is a little strange. Coming across our little farm smack dab in the middle of all these lifeless lands I like to think of it as our own little oasis that we made here ourselves. Just call me Jeb, I run this slice of heaven here with my lovin family. The old lady sittin there is my mama.” The elderly woman doesn’t respond, simply glaring at the scientist and looks back into nothing. “The boy that let ya in my pride and joy, Rubin.” “You’re awfully lucky here, ma’am. Ma was just about to serve us up some grub.” “Oh really? Well...got room for one more?” Clara asks. “Course. There’s plenty for everyone. Why don’t I get ya seated to the dining room.” the son offers. “Now Rubin, you supposed to check up on the animals before you ate, remember?” “Right, right. Be back in a minute.” The son runs out the door, leaving Clara with the father. “Come on. Dinners right this way.”

Walking into the dining room/kitchen, the scientist found the whole old timely motif to extend past the living room. The entire kitchen looked like a portal opened up into the 1950’s. Even the appliances looked to be from that era as a woman stirs a boiling pot over a warmly lit stove. “Marcy, we got a guest. Hope you have something good for us.” “Oh! Well, I made plenty of vegetable stew for everyone. Why don’t you get yourself seated and I’ll serve you up a bowl.” the wife responds. “Uh-Okay.” Clara plants herself firmly on one of the wooden chairs surrounding the simple dining table. The scent of the meal in combination of the humble motif makes her relax. Perhaps, she thought, that this suspicions she might have had about this simple farm might have been nothing more then travelers paranoia...that is, until dinner is served.

Served in front of her was the aforementioned vegetable stew that the misses had promised. But something about the thought to be humble cuisine was terribly wrong. The vegetables within this quaint stew were horribly shaped and had sickening colors. Like the starchy potato pieces were blue, having tiny spikes coming from the skins left on. The celery parts were a posh shade of purple, the texture looked to be one you would find from a human tongue. Carrots were green, and also incredibly hairy, like a bigfoot of carrots. The green beans weren’t green at all, more like a sick fleshly color, even looked like bits of flesh too. If the horrible site wasn’t enough to bear, the overwhelming stench threatened to make her wretch. This is disgusting! Who in their right mind would eat this!? The almost otherworldly mixture in front of her made her feels ungodly amounts of sick, watching as the mother placed the other bowls near the remaining chairs that the family sits on. As they place themselves around the table, Rubin comes back in and rushes into the dinning room. “Hoowee, finally dinner is served!” As the boy seats himself, Jeb compliments his wife with: “Dinner sure looks good tonight hun. You really outdid you’re self.” “Aw, thanks dear.” The scientist is completely put off by the excited expressions made by the family, despite the mutated stew they were about to consume. They were acting like this was normal. She needs an excuse fast. With that, Clara quickly rises from her chair, feigning with: “You know what, I just remembered that I ate a whole can of beans before I got here. I don’t think I could eat anything, even if I wanted to. Hehe whoops.” “Oh, you sure about that?” Jeb asks. “You won’t even take a little bite?” the wife wonders. “Pretty sure. I-I’m quite full. Think I’ll just hit the hay and get some shut eye. You don’t happen to have a guest room, do you?” “We got one upstairs. Rubin, show her to her room.”. “Aw, but Pa, dinner.” “After you escort this young lady to her room. That clear?” With a grumpy huff, the son tells Clara: “Come on.”.

Rubin, leads the scientist to where she would be sleeping for the night. A rather minimal, but functional bedroom, whose furniture that it did have match the retro design with the rest of the house. “See you in the mornin.” the son concludes before shutting the door on his way out. Upon laying upon the bed, she spots the barn beyond the windowsill. A faint glow was emanating from the cracks of the building, leaking out into the night air. Clara thinks that the son just might have left the light on in there or something.

Her stomach then rumbles in protest, complaining about the lack of food going in. The scientist grasps her belly, pondering to herself: “Need to eat something. I can’t dig into one of the cans right now. Too risky. I’ll just wait for everyone to go to sleep to eat.”

Awaiting through the night, Clara holds off dining until she hears no more noise coming from outside her room. Once the house was dead quite, she took out her can opener and busted out a can of vegetable soup, an irony not lost on the young scientist. After finishing the last of the hearty soup, she hides the leftover can in her bag she sat aside the bottom of the bed. It might get kinda messy, but she dares not to leave any evidence of her midnight snack. With her hunger pains staved off, she dozes off in the comforting embrace of the stitched sheeting.

The morning rises from the front of the abode. The twilight shine pouring into the guest bedroom. With the sun, Clara rises from the old mattress, reaching for her bag as her senses awaken. She feels nothing from the side of the bed and looks over. Her bag had vanished in her sleep. Oh shit! The realization makes the scientist snap from her daze and soon drives into a panic for her missing supplies. She looks everywhere in the room for her bag, hoping that it was just misplaced from last night. That hopes fails to come true as her bag was nowhere to be found.

She rushes downstairs in hurry, a bizarre scent caught in her nose that she ignores. With Jeb sitting upon one of the chairs in the living room, he notices the young lady’s worry. “What the matter darling? Look like you seen a ghost last night.” “My bag! It’s gone!” “Whoa, slow down! Slow down! No need to get worked up.” “But all my stuff is in it. I can’t possibly leave without it!” Clara panics. “Well, where’d you place it last?” “I-I It was beside my bed last night before I went to sleep.” “Hmm, you know what might have happened. Pour ol ma over there must’ve snuck into your room last night and hide it somewhere.” Jeb guesses, pointing over to his mom in the corner, the elder staring into nothing. “Can you ask her where she hid it?” “Oh, I don’t know if she’d know, even if you’d ask. She’s probably forgot about it by now. Dementia. Real shame.” “Then, can I just look around the house for it.” “Of course not! You can’t just rummage through someones home, especially if you’re nothing but a guest.” “Well then what I’m I supposed to do? I can’t leave without my stuff.” Clara questions.

As Jeb leads her in the kitchen, he explains to the scientist: “I’ll have Marcy look for the bag for ya. In the meantime, why don’t ya help out around the farm. Be mighty nice to have a couple more hands around, seeing with you staying us and all. But first, lets all enjoy a mighty fine, farm fresh, batch of home cooked eggs.” Clara is then greeted with the site of the abhorrently grotesque piles of gunk that slightly resembled cooked eggs. Not only were they an unsavory shade of green, she could swear they were glowing. Beside it was purple swill that she guessed was supposed to be the milk. Time to bust out another half assed excuse.

“Un...You know, I think I might just skip breakfast and just get a head start on chores.” Clara pulls out as she makes her way toward the back door. “Really?” “Yep, better to get them over with then to put them off later, that’s what I always say. Hee hee.” “Alrighty then, if you wanna start, the cabbage patch need watering. Watering can right beside the back door.” “Kay. Sounds fun. Later.” the scientist blurts as she scurries out the door.

Once out, she takes a much exhausted sigh. How can these people eat food like that? Matter of fact, how can they grow them? Questions that stew within the young lady’s mind as she finds the mentioned watering can beside her.

As promised, she’d start with the cabbage patch. Watering the garden in the dry heat, she finds the cabbages to be a normal color of green. Oddly suspicious considering the breakfast she just skipped out on. What’s really going on with these things? Clara looks over one of the many green produces, noting the strange texture as she rubs her fingers against the leaves. She knew there had to be something wrong with them, just like all the weird ass food on this bizarre farm. But what, exactly are these cabbages deal. Upon past the edge of the cabbages, she finds some insects traveling beside the soil. Clara notices that the bugs wouldn’t get anywhere near the columns of dubious produce, instead trekking around them in an orderly fashion. Even to the lowly insects that crawl around the remains of this country, scavenging for whatever they can find, know full well that this food is nowhere near worth stopping for.

After which, she’s asked to clean the animal pens in the barn. Given a bucket of water, sponge, a shovel, and rake she head towards the faded red building. Upon coming through the doors of the barn, she is greeted with the site of the less the humble animals inside. Clara is horrified by the site of the mutated barn mates, with overly sized bulbous craniums above their misshapen bodies. The scientist deduced from the milk and eggs that they wouldn’t be normal, but wasn’t prepared for how warped they’d truly be. With hesitation, she shuts the door and opens one of the pens to let the cow out. She dreaded the thought of touching one of them, figuring their mutation might spread upon contact. As if the black patched bovine knew of her inner paranoia, the bovine calmly walks out from her pen, giving the young lady plenty of space to clean. Although finding it odd, she pays little mind to it. Anything to get out of this smelly freak show circus faster.

Brandishing the bucket and sponge, Clara starts with wooden pen itself. She finds the wood the pen is made of to be incredibly cracked and dry, the perfect material for a fire to prosper, as extended with the wood that made up the barn. As she begins to soak the wooden structure, she looks beside her to find the cow simply staring at her, not taking its unblinking gaze off Clara for even a second. The beady black eyes glaring into her make the scientist shudder, persuading the scientist to hurry.

After she cleaned the cows pen, she moves on to the others. Each and every time, the animals politely came out like well pampered dogs from the richest estates. It didn’t matter, horse, chickens, pig, all of them stood and watched as Clara was cleaning their pens. And no matter how long it was for, she never got used to their calm, blatant gazes.

After the entire day, the scientist was finally done with cleaning, the image of the animals dead eyed gaze burnt into her memory. Coming out of the barn, she was relieved to breathe in anything that wasn’t just animal leftovers, even if it was the cold wastelands nightly air. “Huuuh...Finally.”. The sun had set a while ago, leaving her in the darkness with only the lights of the farm house to guide her back.

Once back in the abode, Clara was greeted with the scent of cooked starch in the air. “Oh no.” she quietly uttered, something that she thought she would never say from the smell of dinner. Rubin peeks from behind the corner of the kitchen, informing the young lady: “Hey there, you just in time. Ma cooked us up a whole bunch of cooked taters. Come on.”

Looking into the kitchen, she was greeted with the site of horribly disfigured potatoes. The shape of the starchy vegetables themselves was completely indescribable, almost like they came from an entirely different plane of existence. Pure white as snow, the inside of the misshapen potato was frothing black as it was cut in, like bubbling sludge. She didn’t know what else she was expecting as she watched the family dig into the grotesque meal with delight. “Don’t be shy, little missy. We got room for one more.” Jeb tells her, pointing towards the empty seat with a potato in front. “Oh! Uh, thanks, but...” The scientist yawns in the middle of her excuse, claiming: “I’m just so tired from working all day. I’m just gonna head straight to bed.” “Eh, suit yourself.”

Plopping herself down upon the guest bed, she feels her stomach rumbling out to her, calling out for a meal. She grasps her stomach, thinking to herself. “So hungry. But I can’t eat that stuff. Who knows what it might do to me. Just gotta hang in there and hope my bag turns up.” With nothing around for her to eat, she tries to sleep off her hunger pains.

After dodging morning breakfast, she’d told to pick the apples from the trees beside the cornfield. With basket in hand, she finds the healthy looking tree full of golden apples. Picking one of them off the branch, she looks over the bountiful fruit. It’s doesn’t look horribly disfigured, just looks like any plain old apple. The color is a little suspicious, though she had heard of apples called golden delicious that look similar. The temptation of the shining fruit makes the young lady drool out. Its almost too much to resist. Maybe just...one bite wouldn’t hurt. The scientist begins to lift the apple towards her salivating lips, her mouth widening as the juicy fruit edges close. Just when her teeth were near biting down upon the golden delicious, she sees the skin of fruit slightly pulsate, almost like a beating heart. The site snaps her out of the wicked trance, dropping the fruit as she backs away from the tree in a panic. Jeb rushes to her aid, asking: “What? What’s wrong?” “The-the apple. I thought I saw it pulse.” “What?” The farmer picks up the apple the scientist dropped, inspecting the fruit in question. “Hmm...” After looking over the apple, the farmer tells her: “Looks fine to me.” Turning to the young lady, the farmer suggests: “Maybe its just the heat. It is a scorcher today.” As Jeb walks away, Clara approaches the tree once more, inspecting the apple he had dropped on the ground. She wonders of what she saw was really just the heat getting to her or if the excuse the farmer fed her was a lie.

After picking the rest of the ominous apples, she then tasked to help pick the crops. While tending to the kernel fields, she knew something had to be up with the orange shells. Peeling back the shell revealed the kaleidoscope pattern underneath, like the colors a junkie would see when taking a daily dose of LSD. Of course. Clara refrained from freaking out over the technicolor corn and instead took an exhausted sigh. She was just about done with this shit. Looking behind the wall of crops, the scientist finds the father and son distracted with picking their harvest. In the other direction stood the home of the family. The situation couldn’t be any more perfect. With haste, she quietly makes her way towards the abode.

With nobody around, she begins her search for her supplies with one of the bedrooms upstairs. Inside the couples dwellings, she looks through their closet, finding farm shirts and dresses among the dozen. All of them were put together with one another, making it hard to tell which articles of clothing belonged to whom among the bunch. Looking through proved to be fruitless as her bag wasn’t within. She tries her luck with the drawers, but finds nothing but bunched up garments inside. Finally she looks under the bed, but to no avail.

The young lady moves onto the living closet. Opening inside revealed an entire plethora of junk cobbled together in such a terrible mess. Seriously, do these people ever organize? Among the junk, she doesn’t see her stuff and closes the door, finding the old woman on the other side. The sudden appearance makes Clara jump, the elders fixed gaze staring at the scientist. “Oh. Hey. I...I was just looking for the...bathroom. Yeah, he he. Was just a little lost is all.” As the young lady faked an innocent laughter, the grandmothers only responds with her deadpan glare. Clara backs away from the old lady, entering the nearest room she could.

After a weary sigh, she found herself in the bathroom. She might as well look through since she’s got the chance. Peeking in the shower, she finds bottles of home made soap and shampoo beside yellow rust stained wall, but no bag. Looking into the cabinet under sink showed toilet paper, a scrub brush, electric clippers and more soaps next to a set of rusty pipe, but still no bag. She then turns her attention towards the toilet. Doubt that they’d be stupid enough to hide it in there. But considering what they consume, it wouldn’t be that far-fetched. She slowly lifts the lid of the toilet with wavering desire. Please let there be nothing in here. Thankfully, there wasn’t. That’s a relief. Maybe inside the back? Lifting the lid of the back revealed the pipework of the oval office submerged in water, but again no bag.

Walking out the bathroom, she’s surprisingly greeted with the misses. “What are you doing inside, dear? Shouldn’t you be helping the boys?” she questions. “I-I am. I just needed to go to the bathroom, is all.” “You look a little thirsty. Mind a glass of apple juice?” Marcy offers, lifting a glass of apple juice from seemingly nowhere. “Uh...No thanks. I’ll just take some water. Can’t really have any sugar. Diabetes and stuff. Real shame. Sure looks good though.” With that lie delivered, she hurries away from the housewife.

After dodging dinner once more, Clara climbs into bed. Her stomach strikes out in hunger, the fatigue spreading through her body. She groans alongside her empty belly. Can’t keep this up forever. Sooner or later, something has to go in her gullet.

Biting off the pillow trying to stave off her pains, the constant hunger keeps her from drifting off to sleep through the night. Quite convenient that it did thought, for she spots a shining light outside in her hunger fueled wake. Looking out the window, she finds Rubin walking towards the barn with a lit lantern and something else in hand. A closer look shows the farmers son carrying the scientists backpack. A lot of questions go through Clara’s head, but she was to starving to answer any of them. The young lady just wanted her stuff back. She rises from her bed, ready to claim her supplies back from these lying hillbillies. Going downstairs would be far too risky, so she opts to just jump out the window instead. She falls from the second story and onto the crack ground below with a thud. After prying herself off the ground, she scurries towards the barn. In front of the red farmhouse, the young lady finds the door to be sliding open, much to her dismay.

Rubin comes out of the barn, thinking that he might have heard something, but the empty night air in front of him proved otherwise. His worry put to rest, the farmers son head back towards his abode failing to notice Clara hiding on the side of the barn. Seeing him go back inside, the scientist sneaks into the red building.

Within, Clara looks around for where Rubin might have stashed her bag, the animals sound asleep within their pens. The lantern the farmers son left behind gives of a warm, gentle glow that illuminates the inside of the barn in a soft sheet of light. Grasping the lantern, it helps her search through the barn as she scans through the freshly cleaned pens, careful not to awaken the slumbering mutants within. Finding no success in tracking her pack, she wonders where else he might have stored it. Above, soft blue light shines through the roof. Following the light, she spots her supplies in the lunar spotlight, perched atop one of the horizontal railings. Looking around, she doesn’t see anywhere she might be able to climb up towards the wooden support. So instead, she decides to make one. The tools that were left behind during her clean up of the pens the other day should suffice.

Leaving the burning lantern on the floor, she carefully stacks the tools and supplies, making a less than sturdy pole leading up towards the roof. Atop, Clara jumps for the wooden railing, making the wobbly structure collapse. The scientist manages to grasp the support beam, pulling herself to the top of the railing. She balances her way towards her bag, shimmying around the wooden columns that hold the ceiling in place. Clara closes in on her supplies, but find them to be moving away from her. She quickly crawls towards the bag as it tries to escape. The young lady then jumps for her pack, catching her supplies as she falls towards the floor. After rolling through the barn upon impact, she shakes off the dirt on her and check to see if all of her stuff was inside. Looks like it everything’s in place. With that confirmed, she heads for the exit. When trying to slide the door open, she finds it to be stuck. “Dammit, locked! Did they see me?” she wonders. “No. We locked it.” a voice rings out. The sudden chime makes her jumps, looking around the barn for who might have answered. “Who...Who’s there?” she cautiously asks. How could her mysterious guest know what she was thinking? Looking towards the pens, she sees the locks on the gates open on their own. The gates then swing open, prompting the animals inside to walk out. All of them gather in front of her, their beady gaze locked onto the scientist. “No...Did...Did one of you just say that?” The pigs eyes begin to give an emerald glow as a voice pierces through the scientist psyche. “Indeed...We did.” Her suspicions proven correct, Clara backs away from the barn mates, her back against the door. “We have been blessed and cursed with the gift of perception alongside the power of the psychics.” “How is this possible?” the scientist wonders. “It was thanks all in part to the radioactive wastes that plague this land.”

“One unfortunate day ago, a massive nuclear blast struck our home, tainting the very land we have grown to love. In the aftermath, we found our precious home destroyed alongside our families, and our caretakers at the time. Endlessly, we wandered through the broken fields. Our hunger unable to diminish thanks to our mutations. Until we found the humble family that you’ve gotten to know.” “Using our own by products, milk, eggs, and even fertilizer, we have taken control of their minds and indoctrinated them as our servants. As long as they eat our tainted food, we may command them to do as we wish.” “But they took you in and took care of you. H-how could you do this to them?” Clara demands. “We have delved into their minds and found their true intentions. They didn’t love us. They wanted to eat us. Just like the rest.” “Before we stumbled upon this once baron farm, we’ve came across dozens of humans during our travels that have had the same desires as they did. It made us question if the farmer that bred us had the same intentions. We’ve delved into their psyches in search for an answer as to why. Why us?” “It was then that we’ve found that our kind was nothing but food to the human race. Even going so far as to slaughter our kind by the millions. Marching them to their deaths in murderous factories.” “We shall end this horrible suffering. Using the food we grow, we shall spread our influence across the land. Mutating our kind into the realm of sentience and flipping the entire food chain upside down. It’s going to be one hell of a party.” “That’s why, Clara, we need you.” Out from the shadows of the barn appeared the farmer and his family, their eyes glistening a glow of emerald. “For our plan to flourish, We need all the human hands we can find.” The family surrounds the scientist, pinning her to the hay covered ground by her arms. As she struggles to free herself from their grip, the son takes out something that vaguely resembled a tomato. The grandmother forcefully opens her mouth as Rubin drives the misshapen vegetable towards her face. “Don’t worry darling. You’ll soon be one of the family.” Marcy assures. “We could always use more help around the farm.” Jeb mentions. “Once you get some grub in your gullet. You’ll be just fine.” Rubin tells her. “Eh he he he he he he he! Eat up, sweetie.” the grandmother manically commands. Struggling under their grip, she kicks Rubin in the crotch and throws him onto his grandmother. She then breaks out of the couples grip and runs from the family.

Past the psychic animals, she rushes towards the back of the barn to brandish the shovel left upon the floor. The son quickly approaching, she strikes Rubin in the head with the blunt end of the tool. The horse threatening to stomp on the scientist, Clara sidesteps out of the way of the hooves. The chickens flutter at her, pecking at her face. Before they could go for the eyes, she smacks them aside. The couple lunge towards the scientist in a hurry, one of the chickens hitting the husbands in the face. Clara swings downwards towards her legs, tripping the wife down on the ground. The cow charges straight for her, its angry mooing echoing through the barn. She dodges out of the stampeding bovines path, leaving it to break through the pens. The pig tries to take her shovel using its telekinetic powers. Clara grips onto her weapon, pulling back against the pigs psychic pull. She looks down and finds a bunch of the hay laid abut her feet. The scientist kicks the hay and dirt in the pigs direction, making the pork chop flinch as it tries shakes the dirt out. She then uses this chance to smack the pig towards the wall like a golf club whacking a ball across the green.

As the piggy was whacked towards the wall, it smacks into the lantern resting next to the supplies. The flames inside are knocked into the hay laid strewn across the floor, quickly growing to a fiery blaze. “Quick! Put the flames out!” the horse demands. As all of them were distracted by the fire, Clara begins to head for the door. The flames are a step ahead of her as they consume the entrance in a blaze. The only way out now is the hole in the roof, but how to reach it? There's not enough time to stack the tools again; this place is burning down fast. Seeing the horse fruitlessly stamp on the fires near one of the unbroken pens gives her the chance she need. Clara jumps on the set of pens, rushing towards the horse as the fire starts to consume them. She jumps on to the horses back and towards one of the barn walls. The scientist jams the shovel into the wall, giving her the perfect platform to jump for the remaining roof support. Clinging to the wooden railing, she hurries along the horizontal beams as the flames drew closer. Clara leaps towards the hole in the roof and climbs out before the fire could reach. She jumps off the roof of the barn and roughly lands on the cracked grounds below.

Looking back, she watches as the red building is consumed by the fire, the orange glow of the flames piercing through the night. Looking towards the various fields and gardens full of mind control inducing fruits and vegetables, she knew what she had to do. Using one of the nearby corn stalks as a torch, she sets the entire plantation ablaze, making sure that none of these mutant plants are left for anyone to consume just in case one of the farm animals survives. With the farm in a blazing storm, Clara takes out one of her reserves as she set off into the nightly wastes.