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thewanderer-000 · 11 months

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The Beasts Within(18+ and up)

Minors DNI

TW: language, violence, horror, gore and seggual scenes

It was a cold night running from a giant beast that had took the moose Deputy Penelope Thompson had been tracking, unfortunately the thing didn't go down easily. But that wolf like creature saved her as the moose was getting ready to charge, then the rifle she held tightly to went off getting the creatures attention. Penelope ran to her black truck, that thing was huge she thought but as she started to speed up something hit. Not enough to do much but enough to alert her.

"Holy fuck, it can't be. It was behind me" I drive at it as the beast jumped out of the way then after half a mile something rammed my truck. I hit a guard rail but not the part I wanted and I'm skidding off the mountain and hit the bottom. I cut my seat belt since I couldn't get it to unbuckle, a couple big howls echo in air. I feel too disoriented to do much and feel myself going unconscious. Only thing I see is three large creatures and I see the night sky then trees as I'm dragged. A ferocious roar bellows then loud screaming, screeching then a gurgling, the most horrifying sounds to wake up to in the wilderness. Then stinging burns my arm and leg.

"Oh, this is bullshit. Ow, and my radios in the truck with my first aid. What the hell was making that racket? I gotta go back, somehow" I don't know what to do first but getting away from the area is a must. But I'm tired, thrashed and scared, also hungry. I lay back to gather strength only to hear something large standing over me then I feel a hot breath huff over me. It pushes me with its head till I'm laying on my stomach, it's sniffing me all over then the creature licks at my minor cuts and scrapes. I fain unconsciousness till it roughly turns me over on my back, I whimper and it growls and the creature resumes licking my wounds.

'Oh fuck, please don't be a bear' I sneak a peep at the beast or what I could in the dark, it could been a bear but it's smell wasn't like a bear. At any moment it could have bite into me and shook me like a chew toy, I had to calm myself mentally and was succeeding. Then it bit into my clothing and started to drag me, I had to fain sleep then I heard a truck and pow pow. The beast dropped me and ran, I got up and ran to the truck where Grace stood.

"Deputy, we found you, what happened? We found your totalled truck, well, Jess alerted us to it as she tracked you down. She- she thinks a bear had done it, you don't look too bad get in and well take you to the lumber mill to mend and stuff.

"Thank you and that would be great, let's go" I say as I get on the truck and see Jess, it was nothing but a quick ride to the lumber mill. I got myself patched up and found sleep after I got a quick nosh. In the late hours I smelled it, I smelled the big wolf scent, I changed, that smell should be gone but then again this place has no windows. The beast knew me, it smelled and tasted my blood, bit into my flesh, didn't take any but it left a hell of a mark on my arm, leg and side.

"Is it here? Should I go see, nothing is a miss... Nah, gunfire isn't happening" I said to myself but felt eerie and nervous now. And now my radio crackled then cleared.

"Deputy? You feel sore? That smell still make you nervous, even now? Or does it excite you, make you shudder, arouse that space between your legs, don't answer. I already kno-" I interrupted before this guy could continue.

"Jacob!? Shut up" I say sleepily and he chuckles but I freeze as I hear that chuckle turn into a laugh right outside.

"Come on out Deputy. Or I'll blow your house down, and worse" I feel nervous but I'm not willing to see him do worse. I put a hoodie on, I think about putting on pants but this should be quick meet, not like they haven't seen me practically naked or naked. Like what's pajama bottoms gonna hurt. I see him through the window going to the trees, I just jump out the window so as not to draw attention. I follow him swiftly as I place my hidden melee weapon on, he more than likely knows but I'm still taking it.

"OK, what do you want big bad wolf?" I snark at Jacob Seed, he smirks and his eyes looked me over and I didn't like how he how he did it. But it was still kinda hot, focus.

"What makes you think I want anything" he says cool and collected, then I smelled it and it was stronger now, it was making me a little dizzy. I stumbled to go sit on the big rock poking out of the landscape, Jacob let me hold on him for a bit of support. I wondered if it was him or something else, I wanted him to stand back but I was overwhelmed and held on to him. I felt heat rising in me, and in my face.

"You that, its smell wild, like a big wild animal" I whimpered scrunching my face in disbelief, only for Jacob to chuckle and say something I couldn't focus on as I was going through some shit, I was cool but now it's hot. He got a hold of me with his big hands making me focus on him.

"That's not me darling, I was right though. You are strong even in this form and you smell amazing, I'm more than positive my brothers can smell you now. You'll be a great addition to our family, honey" I whimpered as Jacob began inhaling me, I felt slight wetness lapping at my neck and suckling on that sweet spot.

"Huh-, stop. It'shot-" I say feeling like I'm on fire and feeling uncomfortable with Jacob that immersed into me and it didn't help he was super warm as well. And this was what I thought about in my fantasies sometimes.

"Yeah, it's like that during your change, and your first change will be complete, if this is done right-. You'll be complete and mine, blood moon is near, we'll unleash what's been waiting" he said nuzzling himself into my neck and hair. I weakly try pushing him away and couldn't, he hauls me away and drives back near St. Francis as I am going in and out of consciousness. I wake up to women pulling and pushing me to a bonfire while each article of clothing was taken off. They replaced my clothing with a wolf pelt. It's so hot that I didn't care, I had very little sweat it was alarming but I lay there and hear some of them leave. I scan the area and see Jacob with specific blood symbols, a loin cloth on. Someone places a wolf like cloak thing on Jacob and he starts chanting when he faces me. I lay panting at the heat pulsing, I whimper feeling hot, I see the blood moon then Jacob kneels pulling me to him and starts putting symbols on me in the blood.

"Jacob, please?" I cry, he only hovers over me and practices breathing in and out over me and I follow suit, synchronize my breathing to Jacob's. He lays fully against me and I feel like we're connected by breath and more as we're flush together. And he gets up on his knees and takes a knife and opens his hand, he drips it into my mouth, I should close my mouth but I don't. Jacob says more then places his bleeding hand fully over my mouth and encourages me to drink it in, I do and feel it's warmth moving throughout my body and in my core. He pulled at his loincloth and like that Jacob's hard on finds its way poking at my entrance. It's so hot I feel myself shudder.

"Oh god" I sigh as his other hand slides his tip up and down my slit teasingly but he lines it up and thrusts in hard and fast then he slowly thrust in and out. We moaned at our new felt ecstasy, Jacob kept an even pace. Allowing me to get used to him and that didn't take long luckily, Jacob picked up pace then proceeded to pound away. He bite into me and I felt a trickle travel down my breast heading towards my neck down my side and to my belly. Jacobs once blue eyes were golden, my hands found themselves at his shoulders to push away but my legs stayed wrapped around him. I take notice of my hands, now clawed, I claw into Jacob because it feels so good.

"Oh Jacob! Yes, yes, yes, yes!!! Oh fuck" Jacob was rough at this point but whatever was happening I wasn't so soft and our moans turned into grunting. I pulled Jacob close so I could bite him as he did me, it feels so amazing and I wasn't sure who finished first after Jacob pulled out. But that wasn't it, and like that I feel amazing heat like the feeling from our passion but it got sweltering and began to hurt. I see those who stayed carrying on howling, growling and dressed similar to Jacob as I felt my bones crack, my skull fracture, my jaw, my bones creak and elongate wicked painful. Then my eyes shifting to a new view, I hear and feel everything, blood seeping from my mouth as I gurgle, choke, growling, whimpering and groaning. I black out from the pain, my only memories are running around on all fours, playing and chasing other wolves, helping in hunting moose.

So free, a familiar scent, a large wolf a bit scarred a few other wolves that smelled similar to the large scarred wolf. I burped and tasted raw meat and found that I wasn't alone I looked up at who I was sleeping on and seen it was Jacob. I pulled back only to bump into a sleeping man I sit up and assess where and what happened. I feel a slight pain, I had been doing more than running hunting, then flashed on a memory to being mounted by the large scarred wolf a few times. I look around and see a few others, I quickly get up and run to find the truck and dress up in my clothes. This was a lot, I was in such a state that I didn't even hear I was being followed.

"Hey, wait. Come on stay awhile, angel" Jacob said as he neared I quickly looked away from his nudity and pulled on my clothes. Thankful the Peggies didn't throw my stuff in a pile

"And what? Why would I do that, huh?" I retort defensively, as Jacob checked me out, his sly smirk on full display as he got close, his hands found my hips then circle to my back side. I sniff him and wanting him all over again like last night, I hold on.

"Cause this is where you belong, you are mine" I pushed away from him. That bothered me, I belong to no one but when he said it I liked it, it was a confusing thing at the moment.

"Ugh, I gotta get out of here" I try to get back to putting my clothes on but Jacob made me look at him, those hands making me look up into his eyes now, their blue again.

"Hey, you're mine, you are fighting it now but she knows where she belongs" Jacob stated while his hand rested on my chest.

"You mean what you cursed me with" I spat, he still held me, his touch soft, caressing my face.

"I didn't choose that, but it would have come for you eventually" I was hesitant to ask, but I knew exactly what he meant, if I asked it would only confirm that last night was real. I gag then Jacob had me stand to the front of the truck as he held back my hair as I vomit up flesh and more, he looked after me.

"Holy fuck it really happened? Fucking sick, I ate raw meat and-" I said and throw up everything from last night's midnight hunt, Jacob laughed and took care of me then we went back to St. Francis and let me rest.

___________________

The light shone through the balcony doors in Jacob's room, a nap was the best thing and Penelope was surprisingly hungry. But first she had to leave immediately, she was attracted to Jacob and after last night it was something else, something so much more. Penelope didn't know what to do with this predicament, in a strange place with cultist werewolves that had overthrown a whole county, it's law enforcement plus a US Marshall. She slipped out of there and drove around the Whitetail mountains aimlessly, then found herself parked at the dock and sat. The evening setting in.

"A werewolf, I'm a werewolf now, scary yet interesting" I said to myself feeling it, I can smell things better, see and hear a whole lot better than before. But the hunt and being mounted by Jacob on more than a few occasions that night, I'm sore and probably from that change. A truck drove in and parked by my stolen truck but I knew, I knew it was Jacob and this was Jacob's truck. He'd have to come looking for it.

"So you needed to go for a little drive, I was starting to think you'd drive away a lot further" Jacob said after getting out one of the cultist vehicles, he looked so good I wanted to mate with him again.

"The thought crossed my mind, would you have followed me" I tease, looking at Jacob, he had a glow about him but that could just be because of the heightened senses.

"Yes, I'd throw you over my shoulder and uh-. Forget carrying you back home, I would take you where I find you. Bet that Adelaide would like to watch that" I laugh and blush furiously, this man. He wouldn't wrong.

"Think she would like to join too" I add, I know she would, Jacob shakes his head as he opens the truck door and goes to kiss my neck.

"Mm, I think we should do it some more and some more, babe" I am willing with his hands all over me. His big hands roamed and grope, I'm just going to give in and I can't deny that he feels so good. I kiss him and relish in the moment of want and desire.

"Mm hm" Jacob pulled on my clothes exposing my chest and stomach, one hand grabbing a tit and the other down my panties rubbing my mound so good. Jacob let his kisses trail off on my jaw, neck and down to my nipple then the other nipple. His mouth and tongue working diligently, he pulled away and took my shirt off as I quickly pushed down my pants and panties. Jacob threw off his jacket and practically ripped off his shirt, he lifted me up and took me to the camper shelled truck bed. With one hand he opened up the truck bed to set me down on the tailgate and let his talented mouth make way between my legs. He gives nice long flat licks from around my slit and sensitive nub, his hands gliding on and rubbing my thighs. He teases nicely, kissing and sucking on the inside of my thighs, drawing out whimpers and moans. Then to torture me a bit more he bites.

"Oh honey I could stay between your legs forever and a day" Jacob pants as he makes eye contact with me as I watch him, now he runs his hands from my thighs up to tits. His hands alternate from massage to his fingers toying with my nipples. Jacob's mouth teasing me but not eating me out yet, I'm begging him with my eyes and sighs but he continues to tease.

"Jacob, please, this is unfair" I lustfully state, he only hovers and gives softer kisses but not anywhere near my wet aching sex.

"You look beautiful like this" I whine at his words and manipulations, I bite my lip then try and push against Jacobs mouth. He softly laughs and his breath on me is making me more horny, and now I notice that his one hand is now stroking himself. His mouth continues kissing around my vaginal area, I'm so pent up and he is as well, I want it, I want him.

"Fuck, playing with your cock? I know you want it too, I want you so bad-" before I could taunt more Jacob latches his mouth on my clit lapping at it long and flatly while sucking tight. I am laid back on a sleeping bag moaning, legs wrapped around Jacob, my hips bucking as he holds me down. My one hand gripping the sleeping bag and the other holding on to Jacob, a swoosh of wetness. His mouth slowing down as my body trembles.

"Ahhh fuck, Jacob come on-" he doesn't wait, he plunges in my soaking wet hole making me squirm against him, we thrust with each other then Jacob pulled my legs up over his shoulders and thrust with more power.

___________________

They spent a few hours entwined, and were asleep cuddled up in a sleeping bag big enough for two. A nice get away from cultist details for the werewolf couple of the Whitetail Mountains, Jacob began to stir before the sun rose as is his usual routine. But he wasn't going to rush out to do training, not yet, first he must rouse his sleepy love on his chest. He softly glided his hands all over her, Penelope only nuzzle more into Jacob to avoid consciousness. Jacob thought it funny, he's a bit of a morning person while she isn't.

"Darlin', wake up" I said in a sing songy voice as she lay slowly waking.

"No" she murmured, I'll get her up eventually.

#FC5 #FarCry5 #Far Cry Deputy #Penelope Thompson #Jacob Seed #werewolf #fanfic #writing #oneshot #one shot

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sunshinesukuna · 4 years

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crying in my prom dress (hc scenario)

🦉 pairing: bokuto koutaro x reader

🦉 genre: fluff, lil angst

🦉 tw: corona virus, light swearing

🦉 summary: you finally make good use of your unused prom dress with bokuto

🦉 inspiration: prom dress - mxmtoon

quarantining with bokuto wasn’t all that bad

if you learned to get past his salty pancakes and soggy cereal, maybe you would be treated with a mean scrambled egg

despite being inside all the time, bokuto found good ways to take advantage of his restlessness

one of them was surprisingly, dance

turns out he has skilled hips that can be used both in and outside of the bedroom

with a few tutorials from youtube, he was moving like had danced latin and ballroom his whole life

his favorite were the waltz and the chacha

this boy literally sAuNTeRs through the hallways repeating the step sequence

“a 1 and a 2 and a 3 4 5 6 boom, hiyaa! bang, bang pow!!!”

he rewatched ‘welcome to the ballroom’ three times already, you counted

you were just glad to watch whenever you could

but he did come to ask you to join him once in a while, which you declined.

you had duck feet and weren’t any good on a dance floor

now you were laying on his bed after a night shower, and scrolling through your phone

out of boredom, you decided to open Instagram

your phone brought you to look at your archived stories from the past

‘on this day last year’

you were dangling from bokuto’s neck in a long grey dress you remember you had bought for your junior prom last year

there was a big smile on both yours and bokuto’s faces as he held on to the ‘FUKURODANI’ balloons above

in the background, akaashi and the rest of the members of the volleyball team looked like they were having the time of their life partying

the bass of the music and the buzz of the night reverberated in your heart

you kinda missed it

wait... wasn’t the dress still lying around somewhere in your closet?

you hopped off the bed and started rummaging around in your wardrobe, before catching sight of the grey cloth you had worn on last year

let’s see if it still fit you

it was a little bit tight around your ribs, but other than that, it fit perfectly.

had the virus not struck at this time of the year, maybe you would be in the same place with bokuto, except this time it would be your last prom at fukurodani before you left to go off to college

you bit your lip

sure, it wasn’t your fault or anything, but more than anything, you just wanted to go back in time back to that moment

you were sure that you would forget it in the years to come, and you didn’t see any point in actually going

until bokuto asked you

that sealed the deal as one of the best nights you had in a long time

you really really missed it right now

still being in the dress you wore that night wasn’t helping

and the fact that you won’t be able to experience something like that again...

you looked down at the dress to notice something wet on it

took you a little while to realize you were sniffling a bit

you reached for the tissues on the nightstand at the same time the door to the bedroom opened

enter your lovable boyfriend, who walked out of the shower to see you crying on the floor in your old prom dress

emergency mode: ON!

he crouches down on the floor, not daring to look you in the eye in fear that he might start crying too.

so he settles on crouching behind you

“do you want to tell me what’s wrong, (y/n)?”

he gives you what he thinks are soothing massages

in reality, he’s just patting you on the back sloppily, but the gesture is enough to get the message across:

‘i’m here for you. i care for you’

it’s a primal instinct that makes you cry even harder.

you don’t really know what to say.

were you just going to blurt out: “i wanna go to prom and meet all of our friends again?”

that sounded too selfish

so you settle for burying your head in his open arms.

he’s just finished showering, and your tears and sweat are mixing together on his neck, but he would go through a thousand boiling hot showers if it meant you would just smile again.

he waits.

and waits.

and realizes what you have on.

kou has vivid flashbacks of last year like you too, but he takes to it a little better and realizes why you’ve been crying

“oh honey... you miss junior prom, don’t you?”

you nod

bokuto suddenly stands up and puts his hands on his hips

“that’s easy!” he declares. “why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

what was this boy planning to do?

he takes your hands in his, stars in his eyes as he cooks up an idea in his mind

“we’re going to have our own prom!”

and he leaves the room

now you are in your prom dress, eyes half swollen, confused af????

what is this boy playing at?

so you’re left for around fifteen minutes, and you don’t even have the energy to pick yourself up or do anything

wether from confusion or angst you don’t know

until he comes in weARING A FULL SUIT AND BOW

“LOOK! I EVEN FOUND A CORSET FROM THE BACK!”

“you mean corsage?”

“is that what they call it nowadays?” he shrugs

“turns out those flowers were fake anyways. at least they lasted this long. oh well.”

i mean

his hair is still a little wet, and the bow could have used some ironing but...

it was the same suit from junior year!!1111

the ruffles on the fabric were all still the same, and you could kind of make out the stains from the alcohol konoha sneaked out of his parent’s cellar

before you know it, this boy is pulling you up by your arms

he pins the corsage ever so gently onto your wrist

bokuto takes his phone out from the counter where he last left it

then proceeds to turn on some 50s or 60s shit, you don’t know

all you know is that there are trumpets playing all around the room, he’s smiling his ass off, and

maybe you start to smile too

he’s just so lively

the same ace that can so easily crush his opposing team’s hopes and dreams lifts yours up with the same ease

you don’t know when the tears dry up

maybe sometime during the dance off when bokuto found the soundtrack to pulp fiction

you know

the dance off

he does it so well too!

but the tears are now gone, wait, nope

they’re still there

you’re just not crying because you’re sad anymore

there’s a thumping in your chest, the same ones you had on the night of junior prom

and how the f this one guy can manage to recreate it with such short preparation is amazing

some tacky saxophone comes on

had you stumbled across this type of music in the car or in a rather calmer situation, you would have pressed play immediately

you don’t even care, because suddenly, bokuto’s arms are around your midriff, and you’re face to face with his wide chest

his bow was gone during all the partying you two had, but you couldn’t care less

the wooden floorboards stung your bare feet, a little, but you didn’t hae much time to dwell on that

bokuto started moving

he was dancing, you realized

the song was from one of the video clips he had learned from; the same on that the had repeated the most

the waltz

but unlike the professionals he had learned from, who walked with grace that spoke of hours and hours of practice

his walk almost whispered the raw amateurity of it all

is that even a word?

to do things just because you like it, no other strings attached

and you love it. you don’t even have the guts to pull back because he’s enjoying it, which automatically makes you want to enjoy it, and he’s enjoying it because you’re enjoying it, and

the cycle goes on

“did you have fun, (y/n)?”

bokuto’s panting a little, and so are you, but you manage a quick nod and nothing else

his heart rate is faster than usual as you lean on it and sway along with his guidance to the music

maybe quarantine prom wasn’t so bad after all

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loretranscripts · 5 years

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Lore Episode 17: Broken Fingernails (Transcript) - 12th October 2015

tw: death, corpses, misogyny (18th century-typical), infant death, hanging, being buried alive, ghosts

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

For many cultures, the funeral is the last goodbye, it’s the final chance to say what needs said, or do what needs done, in order to honour the ones we’ve lost. But while the methods and purpose behind these rituals can vary drastically from one culture to the next, one thing is common among the vast majority: the burial. We bury our dead – we’ve done it for an incredibly long time, and we’ve gotten very good at it. Every year, archaeologists open new tombs that date back millennia, each one teaching us something new about the cultures that time has caused us to forget, and central to each of these discoveries is the burial itself - the techniques, the beliefs, the ritual. But it’s not just about the dead. The practice of honouring and burying our loved ones is just as much about our own feelings of loss and grief as it as about our responsibility to care for those who’ve passed away. No place personifies the act of burial more than the local cemetery. With their green lawns and neat rows of pale stones, graveyards are unique among urban constructions; they are respectfully avoided by some and obsessed over by others. But whatever beliefs you might hold, or opinions you might have about them, graveyards are a special place. Stephen King explored the allure and power of the graveyard in his novel Pet Semetary. In the story, the cemetery is a portal between our world and another, it’s a place of transformation, of transition, and of mystery, and while we might not be digging shallow graves for our pets in hopes that they’ll return to us in the night, we’ve never lost our fascination with those places. Cemeteries have always been seen as the end of the journey. Whether you believe in a heaven or not, the graveyard is where most of us will go when our time is up. For some, however, the story doesn’t always end there. Some things, it seems, can’t be buried. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

For a very long time, burial in Europe was limited to church yards. It made sense - with a vast majority of Europeans holding to the Christian faith, all of them wanted to be buried close to their place of worship. But politics held sway even in these quiet, humble places of burial. Throughout Europe, it was common to find cemeteries that separated Protestant and Catholic graves. There’s a touching example of this near the Dutch town of Roermond, where a couple was buried in the late 1800s. The husband had been Protestant, while the wife had held to the Catholic faith. Despite strict rules regarding their burial, the couple managed to cheat the system by picking graves on opposite sides of the dividing wall. Their tall headstones reached above the wall and included carved hands that reached out to touch each other. Economic status played a part in burial as well – those wealthy enough could purchase space inside the church itself, while the less well-off had settle for graves outside the church walls, and even then, social status determined where in the yard a person might be buried. The higher the status, the closer to the chapel, but no one wanted to find themselves in the north corner. That was where people of uncertain birth, strangers from out of town and stillborn infants were buried. Regardless, churches filled up fast, as did the yards around them. As the population of Europe swelled, space began to disappear at an alarming rate. At first, graves were simply moved closer together, like the parking lot at your local mall – smaller spaces meant more occupants, and that was good for business, but it only worked for a while. Next, coffins were stacked one atop the next, opting for the vertical approach, but this meant that church yards were rising as earth was filled in between the growing graves, sometimes as high as 20ft. Greyfriars Cemetery in Edinburgh, Scotland is a horrific example of this problem. It used to be a depression in the ground, but overtime, it’s become more of a hill. With more than half a million recorded burials, the elevation has literally risen over 15ft, introducing problems that are unique to a graveyard so old and so full. According to reports, there’s such a high concentration of human remains that on especially rainy days, remains that aren’t sealed within a casket have a tendency to float to the surface, bursting through the mud like white teeth. All of this left cities in need of some seriously creative thinking.

In some places, the solution they chose was a drastic one. In France, for example, the government actually had to step in. Church yards had gotten so full that they would often collapse outward, spilling soil and human remains onto the streets. Walls were built around them; they rarely worked. The dead was getting out of hand, so to speak. In 1786, they removed all the bodies from Holy Innocence Cemetery in Paris and moved them to a series of unused stone quarries which became known as the Catacombs. It’s estimated that the Catacombs hold close to six million bodies. Sometimes it wasn’t a lack of space that ruined a cemetery, though, but a lack of popularity. That’s the fate that awaited the cemetery built on the former property of Sir William Ashurst in the north end of London. Named for the small, hilltop community that once existed there, Highgate Cemetery was established on the grounds of the old manor house, which had been demolished and replaced with a church in 1839. At first, the cemetery was popular: Karl Marx is buried there, as are many relatives of Charles Dickens and Dante Rosetti. But when the owners lost money and fell on hard times, the graveyard was left to the elements. Monuments and crypts became overgrown with vegetation, and sometimes trees would sprout up right through the graves themselves. Highgate is a wonderful example of what we all imagine a haunted cemetery might look like. Filmmakers and authors have been drawn to it for decades, tapping into its arresting visual atmosphere to create works of Gothic horror and fantasy. It was even the inspiration behind Neil Gaiman’s beautiful novel The Graveyard Book. But while there are plenty of stories about the history of graveyards throughout Europe and America, cemeteries have always been known for something darker, something less tangible than what we can see above ground. Perhaps it’s all those neat rows of bone-white headstones, or the notion that hundreds of bodies lay waiting beneath our feet. Whatever the reason, its in the local graveyard, more than any other place, that we find rumours of the otherworldly and unexplainable. Inside those walls, between the pale stones and dark trees, almost everyone has heard tales of those who refuse to stay in the grave. Buried or not, sometimes the past is too traumatic to leave us.

Just south of Chicago, between the curving arms of I-80 and I-294, is a graveyard known for a level of activity unusual in a place of the dead. Bachelor’s Grove Cemetery isn’t big – there are only 82 plots there and many of those have never been used, but that hasn’t stopped the stories. It’s said that the famous gangster Al Capone once used the pond nearby as a dumping place for the bodies of those he killed. Other rumours make reference to Satanic rituals and meetings that have taken place in the graveyard over the years. But there are those who swear they have seen unusual things there. The most famous sighting has been called “The White Lady”, the ghostly image of a woman that was said to appear only during the full moon. In 1991, the Sun-Times actually featured a photo of the White Lady on the front cover, taken by a researcher on one of her visits. The woman appears to be semi-transparent, sitting on a tombstone near the trees, and dressed in white. Other visitors have seen glowing orbs and apparitions, and even vehicles and a farmhouse that seem to fade in and out of existence. The site is off-limit to visitors now, but it’s remained a favourite haunt (no pun intended) of ghost hunters across the country. In 1863, an outbreak of smallpox moved through a Civil War POW camp in Columbus, Ohio. The camp held close to 10,000 confederate soldiers, and thousands of them died from the epidemic. As a result, the Camp Chase Confederate Cemetery was formed, an unusual sight so far north into Union territory. Miles away, in New Madrid, Missouri, a Confederate sympathiser sent his young daughter north to avoid the destruction of the war. Louisiana Briggs settled into Ohio and eventually married a Union veteran, but she apparently never lost touch with her southern roots. It was said that later in life, she would often visit the Camp Chase Cemetery, where she would place flowers on various graves there. She wore a white veil each time she went, in an effort to hide her face. Nevertheless, she acquired a reputation around town as the “Grey Lady” and was known for her passion for the old burial ground. She passed away in 1950, but flowers would still appear regularly on the graves there. Visitors to Camp Chase have heard the sounds of a woman weeping quietly, while others have seen the figure of a woman in a veil. Something drew Louisiana Briggs to that location, that much is clear. According to the stories, though, she never left.

Across the country in Connecticut, yet another graveyard plays host to a mysterious story. Mary Hart was born in New Haven in 1824, and lived a very modest life there. She was a corset maker and machine stitcher by trade, working hard to support her family. On October 15th, 1872, Mary fell into a death-like state from unknown causes. She was only 47, young even for the late 19th century, and this tragedy rocked her family to the core. By midnight, Mary had expired, and her grieving family set about to arrange for a quick and immediate burial. There was a lot of pain, I can imagine, and they simply wanted to move on. It’s said that Mary’s spirit still wonders Evergreen Cemetery, close to the site of her home on Winthrop Avenue. More than one story has been told about drivers pulling over to pick up a hitchhiking woman, only to have her disappear. Others say Mary was a witch, although you didn’t have to look far in the late 1800s to find a woman who had been accused of something like that. According to the stories, local college students have frequently visited Mary’s grave, which is said to be cursed. Anyone who visits her grave at midnight, according to legend, will meet a horrible fate. As a result, most people refer to her today as “Midnight Mary”. There are no records of New Haven college students who’ve died after visiting Mary’s gravesite, but whether or not the stories are rooted in fact, it hasn’t stopped them from spreading. Mary still has one foot in our world, it seems. It’s just not clear who’s keeping her here.

South Cemetery in Portsmouth, New Hampshire is really a collection of many smaller graveyards. It’s the site of the oldest burial ground in town, dating back to the 1600s, and it’s a wonderful mixture of styles and centuries. Together, the Auburn Cemetery, the Proprietors’ Burial Ground, Sagamore Cemetery and Harmony Hill all combine to showcase everything from an Egyptian-style sarcophagus, to winged skulls and Victorian funerary imagery. It’s a peaceful place, and much of the grounds have been planted with flowering trees, creating a park-like atmosphere, but that wasn’t always the case. In the 1700s, South Cemetery served double duty as both a graveyard, and the site of several public executions. All of them were hangings, and more than a few of them were women, and the reasons were often tragic. The early 18th century was a very different era from our own, and the lawbooks were filled with rules that might seem barbaric or cruel by today’s standards. Provincial laws at the time required capital punishment for a wide assortment of crimes – close to 600 of them, in fact, including murder, rape, abortion, bestiality, burglary, treason and counterfeiting. Another capital crime, though, was known as “concealment”. If a woman found herself pregnant outside of marriage in the mid-1700s, her life was effectively over. Social stigma, loss of employment, fines and even physical punishment were all expected to follow upon discovery of adultery, and the possible resulting bastard birth. And so, to avoid this fate, it had become common for women in that situation to hide their pregnancy, and then abandon the baby to die of neglect and exposure. This was concealment, and it was the situation that a woman from South Hampton, New Hampshire found herself in, in the spring of 1768.

Ruth Blay was just 25 and split her time between teaching in the nearby towns and working as a seamstress. She was single and poor, but she did her best to hide the pregnancy for as long as she could. No one knows when she gave birth to the child. We don’t know if she laboured alone, with no hand to hold or companion to help her through it. All history remembers is the baby, but even then, there are still questions. According to Ruth, the baby had been stillborn. That didn’t erase her crime of adultery, of course, or the stigma that was sure to follow, but it did mean that she didn’t kill the child. She had been afraid, and so she buried the tiny body beneath the floorboards of a local barn, most likely the site of one of her travelling classrooms. And that, she thought, was the end of it. But what Ruth didn’t know was that some of her local students had watched her – they didn’t see the birth itself, they didn’t feel her pain, loss, fear and hopelessness. All they saw was a young woman placing a body in the small space beneath a loose board. They saw a crime, and so the reported it. Ruth was soon arrested by Isaac Brown, the local constable, and was quickly brought to trial. A jury of 16 was formed, all men, of course, and they soon ruled that the child had died by violent birth. Ruth, they said, was a liar and a murderer. Ruth was held at the constable’s home until she could be transported to the jail in Portsmouth, but she was still recovering from the birth, and so she remained there for over a month while her body healed. By July 19th, she had formerly been accused, and two weeks later she was brought before the provincial court. She pleaded innocent, of course, but no one listened. Her final trial date was set for nearly two months later, for the end of September. I can’t imagine how lonely she must have felt, how hopeless. Ruth didn’t have a chance. I think it’s safe to assume she knew that – society wasn’t kind to women in her position, and when you added in the dead infant, well… Ruth was pretty sure how it was going to end. The trial began on the afternoon of September 21st, 1768, and a little over 12 hours later, a 12-man jury handed down the verdict: guilty. She was, according to their instructions, to hang by her neck until dead. But not just yet. No, the royal governor of New Hampshire, a man named John Wentworth, issued three consecutive reprieves, postponing her execution. He said it was to give her time to prepare herself for death, but I can’t help but wonder if it was really just one more punishment. Rather than walking to the gallows before the end of September, Ruth would have to wait three long months. Just before noon, on December 30th, over 1000 people gathered at Gallows Hill in South Cemetery. It had snowed earlier that day, and now a cold, freezing rain was covering everything in a layer of ice. Sheriff Packer, the man presiding over the execution, had Ruth placed atop the back of a wagon, a rope draped over her head. Parents stood with their arms around their children – children who craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the woman about to die. There are rumours that a pardon was on its way from the governor, that Sheriff Packer was in a hurry to eat his lunch, and so he rushed the execution rather than waiting for the governor’s letter to arrive. At noon, the horses pulling the wagon were driven away from the tree, and Ruth Blay fell off the back, where her body swung slowly at the end of a noose. She died moments later. Those same rumours say the governor’s stay of execution did arrive, just moments after Ruth’s body stopped moving, but there’s no record of a pardon. Instead of freedom, Ruth was given an unmarked grave, about 300ft north of the small pond in the middle of the cemetery. Today, visitors to the pond report anomalies in their photographs – ghostly images, orbs and indefinable shapes. Some say that their cameras stop working altogether when there. According to local legend, a pair of glowing lights has been seen there, and some think its Ruth and her infant child.

Between life and death, between the places most familiar to us and that vast expanse of the unknown, sits the graveyard. It has represented the beginning of a journey for countless cultures across the history of mankind. From the Egyptians to the Khans, from ancient Europe to modern America, the cemetery is a constant thread, tying us all together. All philosophy aside, these are places born out of loss and filled with deep emotion. And so, it’s no wonder that so many stories exist of the ones who refuse to stay buried. Maybe ghosts are real after all, or maybe we just wish they were, or perhaps it’s both. One final note: Midnight Mary, the New Haven corset maker who fell into a coma at the age of 47, was buried the following day, on October 16th, 1872. That night, after the funeral was over and her extended family had travelled back to their homes, Mary’s aunt had a horrible nightmare. In her dream, she saw Mary still alive in her coffin, scratching at the lining in an effort to get out. She was screaming and moaning with desperation, and the image of that stayed with Mary’s aunt long after she awoke - so much so that she managed to convince both her family and the authorities to exhume Mary’s grave. After the coffin was removed from the earth, the men opened it. What they found inside would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Mary’s corpse had moved. Her hands were covered in blood, and many of her fingernails were broken. The reason was clear after examining the coffin’s lid: the cloth lining had been shredded. Apparently, Mary had finally awoken from her coma, and in her panic, she had tried to claw her way out.

This episode of Lore was produced by me, Aaron Mahnke. You can learn more about me, this show, episode transcripts, Patreon member benefits and more over at lorepodcast.com, and be sure to follow along on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram, @lorepodcast. This episode of Lore was made possible by you, [Insert ad break]. And as always, thanks for listening.

#lore podcast #podcasts #aaron mahnke #midnight mary #louisiana briggs #bachelor's grove cemetery #camp chase cemetery #highfate cemetery #hauntings #new hampshire #illinois #ohio #transcripts #17

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senatushq · 2 years

Photo

NAME. Gabriel Sanson AGE & BIRTH DATE. 53 & August 19th, 1969 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Dhampir OCCUPATION. Baker at Canal Cakes FACE CLAIM. Ben Levin

BIOGRAPHY

( tw implied miscarriage ) A tormented soul hailed straight from the Inferno was never expected to be a stunning father figure and so, Gabriel Sanson was raised by a mother who lived in shame of what she had created. The witch had plenty of love and care for her halfblooded son, but she filtered fanatical rumors throughout her small town, reminiscing on her tragically lost pregnancy all while keeping the Dhampir locked away inside her home. Each day, Gabriel was given a mountain of chores, both to do with the mundane and of magic, his mother doing the best to fill in the gaps of his lineage all while sheltering him out of sight, and mind, from their neighbors.

He was given explicit instruction to never leave their home and so he found comfort in the wonders he could conjure on the windowpane, listless realities that would never compare for his wanton of experiencing it in real time. Though he heavily resembled his absent father, the magic which was soon revealed to reside in his fingertips he liked to heavily believe came from his mother; the ability to heal himself and those around him.

A terror and a witch were never meant to be a proverbial lovestory, but his mother liked to help Gabriel pass the incessantly long hours but regaling stories of the Mars vampire turned strigoi. The strigoi may have abandoned his parental role, which Gabriel’s mother was keen on blaming The Eye for, but she tried her best to fill in the gaps for her son. It was never enough to satiate the curiosity in Gabriel, vague stories of his father’s vampirism and dated pictures from over a century ago hardly taming the puerile wonders that ran rampant in his head. He was hardly sure if he wanted to meet the man so he could offer thanks for abandoning them or a punch in the face for creating him. Despite being sheltered away for the entirety of his adolescence, Gabriel was acutely aware of the disdain for his kind.

His mother warned him of the dangers that lurked outside their Belgium home, but Gabriel could not be cooped up and scry his days away any longer, slipping out into the night to preserve the secret she had upheld for the sixteen years of Gabriel’s life. He had been doted on with his mothers knowledge of the supernatural and her own brand of magic but it did little to prepare the Dhampir for the world outside his little home.

He was a creation produced from profane and dark arts, a terror being apart of your lineage more than just a blemish. Gabriel proved naive at first, waiving around information of father in hopes other Mars vampires would know of their excommunicated descent. Most took advantage of Gabriel’s naivety, looking for a quick snack only to discover a halfblood with potent blood and a lack of street smarts. Others mocked the phantasmic idea of a Mars vampire, of all the regaled bloodlines, seeking a cure for vampirism.

Gabriel smartened up quickly and practically regressed from society the more he experienced it. He learned of the strange complex all the other species proclaimed about halfbloods and acute paranoia could only follow suit. Despite his warranted fears, Gabriel still was not careful enough, being captured by The Eye to become an experiment for atrocities his mind cannot recall. It had been a young woman, likely fresh in the field, that had been assigned to experiment on Gabriel as if he was some labrat; a Dhampir an apparent rarity given the circumstances that surrounded their birth.

There’s no telling how long Gabriel was held captive by The Eye, but he is one of the lucky ones who can say they escaped, rather than having been released. The details of his escape, all these years later, are still muddled by the torment felt from their experiments but he has lived quietly, practically underground, since then. Only recently, with the scales of power clearly tipping, has Gabriel returned back to Rome to finish what he had started all those years ago and get answers on the man who had a hand in creating him; the Dhampir.

PERSONALITY

+ determined, protective, passionate – obsessive, morose, melancholic

PLAYED BY GIA. EST. She/Her.

#the dhampir

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miu-paras · 5 years

Text

Lvl. 5 ⋮ Red // Chapter 4

September 20th, 2019. 2:00 AM. ♪ - Bourgeoisie / Crimson Throne

TW: blood, violence, body horror

Rael always smiled the hardest around Iannis kar Ulmervis.

Iannis… The inventor’s child.

They weren’t nearly as socially inept as their ima was. They moved and spoke and acted with all the elegance of a noble despite not coming from such a background. Their touch was as comforting as gentle ocean winds caressing the skin, and their voice as intoxicating as the sweet nectar of Maladian pine fruits. They were as sharp as their own ima, capable and full of wit. Always kept the Minister’s young successor on their toes. Rael never grew tired of them, never parted from them for too long, swore endlessly their devotion to them. Always at their beck and call.

“How disappointing.” Kalar voiced their disapproval aloud, but only to an audience of one. The Grand Minister had since retired to their quarters with Umvis after a less than enjoyable meeting with their advisory. Eshta, in a surprise to no one, was absent, with Iannis acting as a representative in their stead. Perhaps this delighted Rael, but Kalar had grown more than tired of the young future partisan’s unnecessary acerbity, especially when Kalar rightfully questioned their judgement. It was as if they enjoyed the sour glares that the Minister gave them, the broiling looks of disapproval.

The resentment that practically rolled off their skin.

Umvis observed Kalar’s frustration, and rather than offering sympathy, they merely chuckled. Kalar’s head quickly veered in their direction, hoping their piercing glare with silence their laughter. It didn’t, of course, and Umvis merely stared up at them with a kind smile.

“My dear… I’m starting to think you are merely looking for reasons to dislike the child simply because you are jealous.”

“I do not get jealous.” Kalar sneered, rolling their eyes to such an accusation. They turned their gaze away from Umvis, arms crossed and resting in their lap. Kalar would deny it for as long as they could, but if Umvis could see it, then they were far from hiding it well. Kalar had grown envious of Iannis’ connection with their child. However, it was not formed from some internalized parental instinct to protect and shield their children from the pain that existed in the world, from disappointment or heartbreak. No… Kalar simply disliked the idea of being replaced as the most important figure in Rael’s life. A loss of control… that was something they couldn’t tolerate. Because as far as Kalar was concerned, no one was good enough to fill their shoes. Especially Eshta’s little harlot.

Umvis sensed their tension, and rather than running away from it like most would, they simply placed their hand over the folded one in Kalar’s lap. Kalar blinked, staring down at the gesture in surprise. The tension suddenly rolled off them in waves, warmth entering their expression. It was a rare sight, Kalar’s softer side. Very few were lucky enough to see it. But Umvis had always been good at breaking through Kalar’s resolutely built barriers. They have been the Minister’s longest friend, their greatest ally, the only one fully entrusted with their heart. Kalar may have thought themselves incapable of the emotion, but what they felt for Umvis truly was love. And even now, through all their pettiness, Umvis did not judge or berate them. Instead, they offered comfort and understanding.

Kalar wasted no more time on words. Instead, they repaid Umvis’ affection with their own. Kalar often wished they were born a Gris. They wanted to feel that powe, that fervent heat culminating in their chest, spreading across every inch of their skin in ripples of light and fire, at all times. But for now, this would suffice. To only feel such electricity in their quieter moments with Umvis… that was something they could live with.

It was later into the night now. Six moons hung in the sky, and Umvis had been worked into a deep slumber. Kalar was still awake, however. Kept up by something. Some voice, echoing in the back of their mind. It was not my voice, as I’d grown accustomed to falling silent at such an hour. It was another. One unfamiliar to me, and yet I recognized its essence somehow. And perhaps Kalar did too, because they sat and stared intently at something from across the room.

They stand and grab their robes, wrapping it around themselves as they traversed across the room, slowly and quietly as not to disturb their sleeping lover. As they moved closer to a tapestry closest to the door, the voice grew louder. It was more incumbering than before. As if willing Kalar forward. As if pushing them. Commanding them.

Kalar paused before the tapestry, hesitating to pull it aside until the voice was booming. Kalar winced, as if the noise only present to them was palpable to all, loud and unbearable. It’s then that they were quick to lift the tapestry, revealing a small cubby, hidden away from sight. It was kept there, among old books and trinkets. Among the few remnants of their late ima Salas Kalar had managed to save.

It was the small, steel box that carried the inventor’s discovery. It was the sh—[MEMORY REDACTED].

How did it get here… Eshta was meant to be studying the artifact—

[MEMORY REDACTED]

Kalar lifted the lid, pulling the [MEMORY REDACTED] from its containment. It was only then that the voices became quieter, more soothing. A small, yet melodic rumble against the eardrum. The Minister fell to their knees, holding the artifact close to their chest, eyes fixated on its pulsating glow.

Suddenly, the voices amplified itself again, and Kalar gasped, holding the [MEMORY REDACTED] out before them, staring deeply into its center. The words come more clearly to them this time. Words that could be understood. Directions that could be followed.

[MEMORY REDACTED]

It does not speak to me. Only to my tsanagar. A riddle in three parts. A destiny with three steps. A cycle, with a beginning, an end, a renewal.

Kalar whispers the first out loud.

“The Transgressor perishes…”

[MEMORY REDACTED]

Many hours have passed, but the night was still young. And something ominous hung in the air.

Kalar was no longer in their quarters. They stood in another’s bedroom. The chambers of ima Malvas, who was just abruptly awakened from their sleep by their child’s surprise visit.

“Y-you—” Malvas coughed violently, the fit continuing as they sat more upright, old bones trembling as they attempted to do so. “We are in the middle of civil war… of social unrest… And yet, you c-come in here… speaking your nonsense again… you’re as… senseless as your f-fucking ima…”

Kalar, who stared out into the night sky, simply turned to face the old ruler, a gentle smile painted on their face. “Oh, ima…” They approached the bed, arms crossed behind their back as their expression remained as is. Malvas seemed more nervous, more thrown off by this. Kalar’s face appeared gentle, but their stance was menacing as they glowered down at their parent, who looked small and frail by comparison. Something Kalar had never seen in their childhood. It was a sight they could get used to.

“I have never been senseless. You never raised me that way,” their smile grew wider now. “In fact, I feel more enlightened than ever.”

“Then you truly are a fool,” Malvas spat back. “If you’ve come to spout your usual insults, then—” Another loud wheeze, “—then be out with it and be on your way. I tire… and you should too.”

“Is it hard to believe that I came here because I miss you?” Kalar eyed them with a quirked brow.

“You have never held such affections for me in your heart before, Grand Minister,” they responded, uttering the title with such contempt in their voice, to which Kalar only sighs and glances back to the open window.

“I have grown tired of hate,” they state plainly, eyes turning back to their ima, “Now, I only feel what is necessary… something you will never understand. Because that’s all you are. Hate. There’s nothing else to you. Nothing else inside you. Not love… not joy… not even avarice or pride...” Kalar’s features darkened, taking two steps forward so they were practically hovering above Malvas.

“…You are nothing but the worst parts of me.”

Kalar reached forward to carefully place a hand on their ima’s chest, only to force them on to their back once more. Malvas gasped, attempting to fight against the iron grip. But they are weak. Centuries old while Kalar is in their prime. Stronger, cleverer, more powerful than they had ever been.

“You look tired, Ima…” Kalar’s grip tightened around the fabric of their nightclothes, nails digging into the skin as Malvas fought harder, gasping and frantically clawing at their arm. Too frail to pull it away. Too lost for breath to scream.

“Let me give you rest.”

It felt as though the room was shaking. As if the earth quaked and rumbled beneath us, ready to swallow us whole. There is terror in Malvas’ eyes, and a joy so unsettling residing in Kalar’s.

They held it in their hand. The [MEMORY REDACTED]

[MEMORY REDACTED]

Blood puckers from Kalar’s fingers and around the edges where she held it, violet liquid streaking across its crystalline form. The power hurts them. Scars them. They bleed heavily, no matter how much I heal the wounds.

[MEMORY REDACTED]

Malvas shakes, convulses. Limbs contort. The voices speak louder and louder, echoing off the chamber walls

THE TRANGRESSOR PERISHES… THE TRANSGRESSOR PERISHES…

[MEMORY REDACTED]

There is a balance to everything…

[MEMORY REDACTED]

Malvas’ body was found the next morning, encased in a massive cocoon of hardened crystal. Their body twisted and pulled apart in a way too grotesque for any to look upon.

But Kalar was not found by their ima’s bed.

Instead they were by Umvis, who was found with their limbs stretched, coiled, and wrapped around their body. Their face unrecognizable. Their mangled body entrapped in that same crystalline coffin.

And Kalar does nothing but cry. Cry and wail from a pain that not even I could heal.

The voice comes again, still speaking its next commands.

[MEMORY REDACTED]

There is a balance to everything. A push and pull. An ebb and flow.

One and two, becomes three. The third holds the power in the end.

The third… the third...

[ It’s time to wake up. ]

The drug is called mhiconnia. Colloquially, it’s referred to as Storm’s Tears.

It’s a hallucinogen originally manufactured in Llarnis, and eventually made its way over to Nuva, no doubt through underground trading. Its silver, glittering appearance hides its true nature as a mind-altering intoxicant, one that triggers a state of instant euphoria. The high eventually fades, however, and leaves you in a state of numbness, mindlessness, and low energy that can last for several hours, days, or even months depending on how much one is exposed to. It’s meant to leave the user with nothing but a numbed mind and happy memories, leaving them ignorant and vulnerable the world around them as they dance and sway in a state of utter bliss. That’s what makes it so incredibly dangerous: the perfect ingredient for an empty-headed minion, one that can’t fight back and never says no.

I’m sure this is what Pixul intended for me. To keep me as ignorant and agreeable as possible, for as long as possible, until she needed to “sedate” me again. To make me forget the ways in which she manipulated me, to have me produce whatever it was she and her connections needed while I simply nodded and worked away as if nothing was wrong.

However, a hole existed in her plan: I was of two minds. One of which was not affected by her special little drug at all.

She didn’t count on Red.

They were the reason I remembered what happened that night, and the only reason I knew anything about Storm’s Tears. All because Red went on long tirades about my carelessness nearly every day since our return.

Granted, I’d be pretty mad at me too.

{ How many times do I have to say it before you believe me? I’m sorry. } I sighed again, firing another arrow at the practice target, adjusting the shooting glove on my hand before pulling another arrow from the quiver at my side. Archery seemed to be the best release of my frustration these days. That, and violent video games. Though I found myself coming to the shooting range more often than usual. It appears shooting things in real life was just as good at relieving my tension.

[ I’ll believe your apology once you’ve handled the problem. ]

{ The problem is handled. I had a fuck ton of that Storm’s Tears shit in my system. She probably still thinks I’m high right now. And when she gets here? We’ll take her by surprise and beat her ass. }

[ Uh huh… the same way you beat Xhen’s ass? ]

{ No, the same way I was able to escape the fucking Process. What the hell, I thought you believed in me... }

[ I’m starting to question whether I was in my right mind when I said that. ]

Grumbling, I nocked another arrow and roughly fired at the target. The arrow hits closer to the center than before, but still a ways off, causing me to sigh heavily again.

[ You hate to hear it, but it is true. Pixul is the type of person that always thinks ahead, while you merely think on a whim, which you clearly showcased that night. You were naïve, inattentive, and too quick to trust. You followed Pixul onto that dancefloor without considering the potential repercussions. ]

{ The repercussions of dancing? }

[ Of dropping your guard with a stranger, of which we now know is heavily involved in black market trading and gang wars, and made it easy for them to take advantage of you. If you’d taken the time to read their behavior, to think through your actions, we would not be in this position. ]

I raised my bow and took aim, but the way Red’s words hit me caused hesitation. My hands trembled, biting my lip as I struggled to maintain a steady grasp. Every part of me was shaking with anger. Not at Red despite how they ripped through me, but at myself. Angry at how stupid I’d acted. Sure, I could blame it on the fact that it was nearly 2AM and half my brain seemed to cease all matter of function when sleep deprived, but that was an even weaker excuse. I was to blame. My own carelessness did this. My own shortsightedness. My lack of understanding—true understanding—of the type of person Pixul was.

And now I’m lucky enough to have a chance at correcting those mistakes. The chance to catch Pixul off her guard. The chance to beat her fucking face in…

And I can’t. Because now there is exist something—someone—that complicates everything.

Iannis. Yet another Camerian lucky enough to survive the Process’ massacre.

They were Eshta’s child, meaning they had close ties with Kalar, considering they were an important figure in their courts. More importantly, they had even closer ties with my mother. Romantic ties. The very image of them together, happy and at peace, swam through my head ever since the memory surfaced. Their life together was destroyed, dead along with the rest of Camer. And even though they were still alive… they were worlds apart from one another.

I couldn’t just leave them there.

The trembling spread throughout my whole body now, making aiming an even more trying task. Defeated, I dropped my arms, tossing the arrow back into the quiver as I let out a frustrated sigh. I went and sat on the benches along the border of the training room, head resting against the wall as I breathed out heavily, blowing a stray hair away from my face. I never liked feeling stupid, or being bested either. And it didn’t help my self-esteem to be reminded that both the things I dreaded so much happened to me a month ago. All of which I still had to deal with now.

The urge to just sigh and give up on all of this, to run away from it, to hide from it, was felt so strongly within me. But hiding wouldn’t end things. It wouldn’t stop Pixul from coming for me. It wouldn’t stop Iannis from existing. It certainly wouldn’t make Red think of me as anything other than a coward.

No… I had to own up to my mistakes. Face them head-on. Running wasn’t the Miu way. And it never will be.

I stood up and treaded across the room to grab another arrow from the quiver, twirling it in my hand as I stared down the bullseye across from me. { I have a plan… }

[ Do you? ]

{ Yes... one that will get us back to Iannis and revenge on Pixul. But it will require us to be more… covert. }

I nocked the arrow and raised my bow as I aimed it towards the target. Without hesitation this time, I sent the arrow flying. A spark of hope shot through me seeing the arrow land centimeters away from the center. It wasn’t exact, but it was close enough to revel in the wave of pride that washed over me.

[ Getting better. ]

I shrugged, smiling at the compliment.

[ Your plan… what does it involve exactly? And how do we know Pixul won’t be prepared for it? ]

{ Because it involves giving Pixul exactly what she wants… }

I nocked another arrow, eyeing the bullseye with intent, with a burgeoning desire for success. I let my arrow fly, grinning as the tip pierced the small, black center.

{ Someone ready and willing. }

I was quite the fan of glitter. It was easy to tell from the amount of makeup I owned that all glittered, shimmered, or dazzled in some way. Sparkling eyeshadow, lip gloss, and blush were all applied messily and heavily to my face. I kept my hair as disheveled as possible, clothes ragged and loose. I wanted the appearance that Pixul most expected. The one of a mindless zombie. One who’d been waiting around for weeks without the motivation to so much as leave their bed. The empty-headed minion she wanted.

Hours of waiting followed. I sat cross-legged on my couch in that time, aimlessly staring at the TV and idly petting my dogs as they came and went. I even practiced my mannerisms. I slouched heavily, dragged my feet as I walked, tilted my head back and forth and side-to-side as if I were struggling to keep it in place. Anything that made my feigned Tears-induced stupor seem more believable.

At some point I figured Pixul must be waiting until it was late like last time, an assumption that was confirmed once the darkness of night rolled in. It was maybe 11:30 PM now. Some melodramatic show was playing on the TV at a low volume, and my dogs had all but passed out now. It was then that I heard loud whizzing noise that the transporter produced, followed by a thud as their heavy feet hit the roof and another as they jumped down.

I prepared myself, slouching, staring at the screen with the deadest look in my eyes. Even Red, despite not needing to be, was silent.

They fiddled with the knob for some time. I could hear the tools twisting and prodding in the keyhole until the lock was undone. The door swung open slowly, and I stilled myself in response. The ghostly sounds of midnight air swirling from outside were accompanied by heavy footsteps, making their way slowly into my home. Closer and closer they came, walking around the living room to find nothing but pillows, blankets, and clothing thrown around. Mess from candy wrappers, snack crumbs, and a half-eaten slice of cake left on a saucer. Then there was me, sitting silently among the chaos, a dazed look in my eyes, eyes that slowly rolled to meet Pixul’s striking gaze and amused smirk.

“Told you she’d still be here.” Her eyes flickered towards the second figure standing adjacent to her, of whom I assumed had to be her companion from her last visit.

“Still. She should have been monitored.” Taz stated plainly, confirming their presence.

Pixul rolled her eyes as she leaned down towards me. Grabbing my face in her hands, she inspected me over. I hardly reacted, allowing her to turn my head and regard my expression until they were satisfied. With a hum, she released me, glancing over at Taz with a raised brow.

“See? Still under the spell. She’s not even moving…” Pixul began snapping her fingers close to my ear. The sound almost makes me jump, but luckily I maintained my unresponsive state. Pixul shrugged and gave up with an even wider smile. Even Taz is satisfied, letting out a small humph before leaning forward to lift me roughly by my hoodie.

I let out a sharp gasp as I’m yanked away from my spot on the couch, stumbling as I try to regain my footing. Pixul snorted at my efforts, while Taz simply held me in place, their face as unchanging as mine.

Pixul’s hands find my chin again, turning my face to look at her. In her free hand, she carried a small vial of glittering dust, shimmering and glowing as she shook it.

Storm’s Tears.

“If you’re good, I’ll give you some more, okay?” Her grin was stretched across her face now. “Unless you want some now… that’ll put you in a good mood, yeah?”

I tensed. I wanted to run. To kick, to fight, to do anything other than be sedated by that stuff again. But that would blow my cover, and possibly push me further away from Iannis. A fight isn’t what we needed right now. I’d have to stay put… no matter what happened.

Pixul could sense my tension. I could tell from the way her brow quirked at the sudden tightening of my jaw under her grasp. And perhaps she interpreted it as an eagerness to snatch the vial away from her rather than fear, because rather than blowing it in my face, she simply laughed at me and shoved it back in her pocket.

“I knew that’d excite you! Now let’s get out of this… dump,” she stated, giving the room one last look of disgust before draping an arm loosely over my shoulder and pulling out her transporter. I quickly glance over at the transporter’s screen to read the blinking icon in the corner. There were two charges left. One to get us there.

And another to get Iannis and I back.

Pixul’s thumb pressed down on the button, and suddenly we’re surged forward by that powerful force, pulling us rapidly through space in time until our feet hit the ground half a second later. I looked around to take in the familiar neon lights that flooded the busy streets of Gan’em, then turned around to face the towering structure that spelled out the name of Pixul’s club in bright Talurian lettering.

I gulped, and without warning I was being pushed from behind by Taz, the both of us following Pixul inside. She waved off the security as we made our entrance, greeted yet again by the sight of raving clubbers under a shower of Tears, booming music and flashing lights, a crowded bar, levels upon levels of people dancing, drinking, and lounging around with expensive potions and shots as they watched the chaos unfold around them.

I’m pulled away from all of it. Instead, I’m dragged onto an elevator, standing quietly between my two captors as we’re rapidly transported to the top floor. I’m led down another hallway walls after, then another, until we reached a room with two heavy doors at the end. The guards waiting on each side push them open once they saw Pixul approaching. It was like another VIP room, much larger than the one from last time. It was a stark contrast to the brightly lit, crimson red corridors from before. The room was dim, safe for the neon lights that trimming the ceiling, floors, and furniture. Couches were stretched across every wall, with other comfortable seating circled across several tables found in various spaces in the room.

“Fuck… Vex isn’t here yet.” Pixul sighed, placing her hand on her hips as she glanced down at me. “Put her over there,” she nodded in another direction, “There’s a few things we can still go over before the meeting.”

Taz nodded once, then dragged me over to one of the couches in the corner of the room, tossing me down without an ounce of care before making their way over to Pixul. They mumbled quietly to each other. I tried hard to listen in, but to no avail. They were too far away, and I was too distracted by the gaudiness of this room to focus on anything else.

Instead, I closed my eyes and focused on the things around me. The very energy in this room. The lights, the bar, the electricity that ran through the walls. I extended my focus past the room, my connection going as far as the entire level, then the many other levels below us. Every mechanical whirl and hiss and hum, every electrical volt, every piece of living, working technology I could feel heavily within me. Most were familiar things: the neon lights, the booming speakers from downstairs, the technicolored dancefloor. But there was something… peculiar coming from the outside. Something attached to the side of the building, giving off pulsating signals that were alien to me. I investigated further, reaching along the sides of the tower and tracing every inch for anything giving off a similar feel.

I counted twelve of them.

{ Red… do you know what that is? Something outside… transmitting some kind of signal. }

[ Mm… the sensation is familiar to me. If I had to guess, my first assumption would be deadzoners. ]

I tilted my head slightly { I think Pixul mentioned something about… ‘deadzone tech’? What is it used for… }

[ The Nuvassi government has an… interesting way of tracking criminal activity. Upon release from detention, felons are forcefully implanted with a chip at the base of their skulls. This allows for investigators to monitor all manner of brain activity. Whatever the recipient sees, thinks, feels, even tastes… officials take record of it. Any sign of suspicious activity will trigger the attention of the Vaanen, Nuva’s police force. ]

{ So… I’m guessing the deadzoners block transmissions from the chips? }

[ Not just block. The transmission is altered completely. Rather than create a blindspot for the government, deadzoners send back false information that do not arouse suspicion. In this case, it makes it seem as though only engaging in docile activities that are within the confines of the law. ]

{ Which would essentially make Pixul’s club a safe zone for Nuva’s underground? }

[ Precisely. ]

I was sitting up now, the information being more than intriguing. I looked over to see if I’d caught the attention of anyone, but no one seemed to be concerned with me. Pixul and Taz continued to talk, clearly about something serious. The bartender merely tended to the sleek counter of the bar. No one so much as glanced in this direction.

Realizing there wasn’t any amount of attention on me, I pulled my legs close to my chest and rested my head against my knees. My eyes fluttered close once more, and I began searching for that signal again. Searching through the millions and millions of electrical impulses spread throughout the building until I found that same device, in all 12 spots. I focused harder, straining and pulling at that energy as I attempted to control it. The circuits came to me one by one, impulse by impulse. The transmission slowly began to form clearly in my mind. And once it did… I shut it off. One by one, I took out each deadzoner, forcing my authority over it until it was no more. Until that transmission ceased in its function.

Pixul’s safe haven wasn’t so safe anymore.

I lifted my head to find Pixul and Taz, their serious conversation now seemingly more flirtatious.

“I need to use the restroom,” I said out loud, perhaps the first words I’d spoken all day.

Pixul paused, and at first she looked annoyed. But suddenly her face contorted into something else. Less annoyed, more… apprehensive.

She left Taz at the bar and made her way towards me. She stopped an inch short of me, looking down with a pensive stare. I was beginning to think that maybe she was seeing through my act now.

She crouched down, sighing as she reached into her pocket again to retrieve the vial of Storm’s Tears. I went tense again and she took note of it, probably knowing this time that it was indeed fear.

Her eyes flickered up to me as the corner of her lips curled into a small smirk, “You wanna go look for your friend?”

I went still, unable to utter a single rebuttal, the iciness of her words creeping over my skin in a slow-building sheet of frost. I desperately kept thinking of what to say, of what to do. I couldn’t keep my act up when was so clearly starting to see through it.

Pixul harshly grabbed my face again and snatched me forward, popping off the top of the vial with her thumb as she held it up to my face. “Maybe you need a little more, yeah?” Her smirk stretched into a grin. I strained against her grasp, but it was hardly of any use. Pixul was strong, carrying the same Talurian strength I’d seen in Xhen. No amount of struggle would help.

“Just… breath in,” she uttered softly.

This was it. I was going to have to fight my way out of here. To find Iannis as fast as I could and go. I could feel the spark in my chest, the building electricity crawling its way through my veins. I was ready. I was—

“Pixul!”

The sudden exclamation came from the worker bursting through the door, clearly out of breath with a look of urgency written all over their face. Pixul released me in response, head whirling around to meet the source of the sound. The annoyed look was back again, and I felt the power that quelled within me suddenly dissipate as a result of the distraction.

“What is it now?” She shouted back.

“Vex! He’s here…”

The annoyed expression was replaced with the same urgency as the other, as Pixul immediately lifted me from my seat and pulled me to the center of the room. Taz met us there, pulling a heavy metal chair closely behind them. Pixul shoved me in it, and Taz began restraining my wrists and hands completely in heavy metal cuffs attached to each side.

“To keep you from flying off, love.” Pixul simpered, looking pleased with herself as she turned her attention back to the open doors.

I couldn’t see who was coming down the hallway from where I was sitting, but I could hear the cacophony of footsteps, getting louder and louder and they approached the room, the chiming of dangling chains, the heavy grunts, the squeaking of leather garments and shoes. It wasn’t until they’d finally entered, Pixul greeting them warmly and with a wide smile, all while ordering one of the staff to light up the room more, that I got a better look at Vex and his cohorts.

Three of the men were tall and burly, metal lining their muscular arms and down their torso. They appeared Talurian, judging from the ornate, purple marking along their face. Most of their bodies were made up of cybernetics, which I could tell from the strong electrical fields they emitted.

Another was far more ostentatiously dressed than any of the others. His clothes were covered in spikes and stickers, so much that you couldn’t see the actual fabric of the clothing. His face was covered with bandages, ears pierced heavily and decorated with dangling gems and metals. A thick, heavy shackle was fitted around his neck, laced with a golden chain. His hair was electric blue, much like the ends of Pixul’s, shaven down at the sides and kept in two loose braids that rested on either side of him. From the hair to his clothes to his piercing white eyes, it’d be hard to miss him in the biggest crowd.

Then there was Vex, whose appearance was far more simplistic than any of the people accompanying him. He wore simple black pants with a matching robe, crisp and fitted, that reached his knees. His skin and hair were a pale, almost ash gray color, and his eyes were a piercing, vibrant blue. He had this striking, yet regal air to him. Carrying himself with as much confidence as I’d seen Kalar have in my dreams.

[ Hm, a Vanossi. Interesting. ]

{ A Vano..ssi…? }

[ They’re a race from the north. The Camerians thought them frail and cowardly. Which most of them are. But perhaps the Vanossi in Nuva are different. They’d have to be, considering the trial it is to escape their country. ]

{ …Escape?! }

[ It is a cursed land… the skies infested with Stormers. This Vex figure must be quite brave to make the trip. And survive, no less... ]

{ Uh huh… I guess we’ll see. }

Vex entered last, and following him was a figure completely unlike the rest. Nothing like anyone I’d encountered in my time on this planet. A tall, lumbering figure, almost as wide as the double-door entrance, and so tall they needed to duck to get inside. Their form was fully cloaked in a rugged, black clothes and thick, heavy gloves. Ghostly, incorporeal shadows weaved around their limbs, torso, and head. A threatening figure, surrounded by a cloud of darkness that moved with them as they followed Vex inside, standing ominously still while a single vermillion-colored eye peered back at me from the empty void of their hooded visage.

[ Oh… ] Red practically whispered the word, which made me even more nervous.

{ What kind of Ulterian is that…? }

[ That is not an Ulterian. And we should be quiet. ]

As if I wasn’t already scared…

Vex sat across from me in the center of one of the couches, the rest of his party gathered around him. All except for the gaudier henchman, of whom I’d silently decided to nickname Spike, who stood in a corner, leaning against the wall with crossed legs and arms.

Vex sat cross legged as well, perfectly still as they eyed me up and down. His gaze flickered back and forth between me and Pixul, but for the most part his attention was on me. I’d be lying if I said his examination, couple with the unsettling glances of his cohorts, were anything less than unnerving.

“So… is this the Camerian you spoke of?” Vex finally spoke up, eyes settled on Pixul. She looked almost as uncomfortable as I did. Perhaps due to the shadowy figure’s presence, or because of how less than impressed Vex seemed to be.

“Uh… yes. She’s the one that assembled the hildar. The one Xhen told me about?”

“Hm…” Vex groaned heavily, standing now as he approached me slowly but still keeping a healthy distance. His eyes roamed every inch of me from head to toe, which didn’t help at all in lowering the absolute creep-factor of this whole situation.

“It doesn’t look like a Camerian…”

…It?

“I think she’s half-Terran,” Pixul added, eyes blinking back and forth between me and the taller Vanossi. She looked visibly nervous now, and it wasn’t hard to read why.

“A mixed breed…” Vex’s face contorted into a look of disgust. He turned back to me now, waving me off with dismissal. As if rejecting some unwanted gift. A worthless… thing.

The more he talked, the angrier I felt myself getting.

“It is as useless to me in my endeavors as you Nuvassi folk. I thought you meant a purebred… perhaps if we can find the parent—”

“I built that bomb from scratch. I wasn’t so useless to you then. When I helped Xhen after they failed you.”

My sudden outburst caused the Vanossi leader to stop in the tracks, their head veering in my direction as their intense gaze pierced straight through me. He moved closer, his tall, lanky form leaning down so his eyes were at level with mine.

“If my intel is correct, Terran… Xhen failed in their mission because of you. Your… infernal curiosity led to the delay in my shipment. And now, what? You think yourself special? Important? No… you are here to correct a wrong. To pay the toll for your mistakes. And you will do so under my mandate.”

I met his eyes with just as much intensity, refusing to let myself seem weak and naïve again. Refusing to be taken advantage of.

“I’m going to tell you the same thing I told your friend…” I leaned forward, sitting up as much as my shackles would allow, “I don’t work for anybody. You want my shit? You earn it. And you’re an even bigger idiot if you think I, or my ima for that matter, would work for a feeble Vanossi runaway like you.”

[ Oh my… ]

I watched as the glint of anger sparked in his eyes, his gaze hardened and narrowing as he pulled away, looming down at me with absolute disdain. “What is your name, Camerian?”

Pixul, now racked with anxiety after seeing the situation escalate to such a point, finally spoke up, “She goes by Mi—”

“I am Cira nu Aedonnoe,” I interrupted. There was no need to elaborate further on my heritage, judging from the utter shock that immediately flooded his features. My family name was one that clearly spoke for itself. Even many years after Urrali, the Aedonnoe legacy was still one of reverence and infamy. A legacy I had no problem using to intimidate my enemies.

But the intimidation didn’t last as long as I’d hoped, as the shock soon vanished form Vex’s face, replaced with the anger that was there once before.

“Well, I’d say… Pixul, while I find your use of the intoxicant quite novel, it is clearly temporary in its effects.” Vex folded his arms behind him, walking back to join sit amongst his cohorts. “I have something far more effective. Something more… permanent.”

He gestured to the massive entity shrouded in a cloud of blackness behind him. The figure moves forward, heavy feet stomping loudly against the cold floor as it inched closer and closer. I felt Red rumble violently against my chest in response, as if to signal the gravity of the situation. The danger I was in.

I tried to move my tsanista, shape them into some form of protection, or some way of escaping this but no matter how much I strained and pushed my powers, nothing happened. There was something blocking my influence. Some immense power building in pressure as the figure approached. It rang out heavily in my mind, and the louder it got, the more and more I felt my powers dissipating. I was losing control. I was losing my mind.

In one motion, the figure grabbed me harshly by my hoodie and ripped me away from the chair, hard enough that the shackles came with me. I could feel the cold metal bruise and scar my wrists, purple blood dripping down my forearm as I clawed helplessly at the black, muscled arm that grappled me. Within seconds, I was slammed against the table between me and Vex’s men with enough force to knock the air out of my lungs, to make me cry out as my body became racked with pain. The shadowed figure held me down in place, glaring at me with that single, unhidden vermillion eye. I could see the many spirals that circled its pupil. They twisted and spun as the figure continued forcing their way into my mind. The pressure became more immense, and I winced and cried even more in response. My thoughts, feelings, free will… all were being controlled. Suppressed. Erased.

“I am not easily intimidated, Terran… especially with friends like mine.” He grinned, taking delight in watching me be consumed by the mind-bending shadows. “I’ll always consider an experienced Makalden hunter to be a far bigger threat than an Aedonnoe with an attitude.”

I grew weaker the harder I fought. I could feel my clawing cease, my arms going limp, my mind going numb. More numb than the Storm’s Tears left me. I felt… cold. Like nothing. Like no one.

The coolness lasted longer… until a warmth entered me. Not the warmth on my cheeks from the tears that fell. No… this was different. A warmth I remember feeling, not too long ago. It’s focused in one area, wrapped around my forearm, glowing and getting hotter, brighter, etching itself onto me like a bandaid. Like a tattoo.

Then Red’s voice entered my head.

[ Hello there. ]

Like a heavy door being shut, the Makalden is forced out, their dominion pushed away from my mind. I felt the pressure leave me, replaced with a different one. One less overbearing, less damaging, less scary. It was a barrier against that darkness, a shield against any form of intrusion.

It was Red saving my life all over again.

[ ⋖◈⋗] Now Processing… Second Band Received Firewall I Function Activated

#p: red

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