My hands are shaking as I write this, I have to document my story incase something happens to me in the next few days. I'm not sure where to begin but I suppose here is better than anywhere.
I've always had this weird feeling, this sensation inside of me that I was older than I actually was. By the time I was twelve, my soul felt as though it was forty. By the time I reached twenty, I felt like an old woman. I would watch people around my age acting foolish, and I always thought, "What a bunch of children." So it was no surprise to anyone that when I turned twenty-one, I left my hometown and college and decided to spend the summer alone by renting an old farmhouse in an insignificant town on the edge of an even more insignificant border.
When I told my mother, she had a veritable fit, unable to find the words. She spluttered and raged around me for days before I finally left early one morning to avoid her guilt and frustration with my choices. I was not sure why I craved solitude at such a young age, why I found solace in being alone and removed from society.
In high school, I had changed unexpectedly, cutting my long blonde hair short and dying it black, getting piercings that my mother loathed and claimed no young lady should have. You see, my mother was raised proper, as she called it. Good family, good husband, and finally a good life. She despised her perfect life being squashed by my alternative looks and feelings of the same world. She just didn't understand me or the world as it changed around her. I felt like I was just a trophy to her and my father, her perfect angel who had been tainted by my own demented thoughts.
I never told my parents where I was staying, one last rebellious mission before leaving for a few months, and it took me only a few hours to arrive at the farmhouse where I would be staying for the next few months. The land around the farm was dead or dying, old crops rose out of the dry dusty earth and had turned black and forgotten, as if this land was the example of dreams long forgotten and empty. A single dreary lane connected this desolate farmhouse to the rest of the world. On the outside, it was drab and looked as though it would fall apart. It had two stories but still seemed cramped and small, as if it were a single floor tied to the ground.
Across from the house, bordering the tall weeds that had reclaimed much of the farmland, stood a maudlin-looking faded red barn, one door propped open in a dejected manner revealing naught to me but shadows, dust, and a little mystery.
Next to the barn, staked into the ground on an old-looking cross, was a ragged scarecrow. It had drab brown clothing, but its face was oddly realistic, like it was watching me with a disapproving manner. Straw poked through its joints at odd angles like they were trying to break free from their confines. The scarecrow obviously didn't do its job as it was covered in no less than three crows.
I parked my car next to the barn and stepped out into the dusty yard before the farmhouse that I would make my home for the next few months. I checked under the front mat for the key and put it in the lock.
With a satisfying click, the door fell inward into the farmhouse. Surprisingly, the inside of the farmhouse was modern, clean, and looked quite inviting. I could smell the fresh paint on the walls, and everything was so white. The realtor had told me she would stop by tomorrow to collect the rent, and she had tried to chat my ear off on the phone about all the renovations she and her son were doing on the place.
I sighed with contentment and tossed my bags beside the door. I dug around in my bag and removed my camera, my father's old film shooter as he called it. I had taken up the hobby years ago for what I called capturing the oddity in the world.
I explored the small house a little more; the ground floor consisted of a single room and small bathroom with a shower. The bedroom was upstairs and was the only room, the stairs connected directly to the white and pink monstrosity that was the master bedroom. The pillows had laces on them and almost made me gag from the cuteness. There was even cute white lace curtains on the window with little flowers stitched onto them.
Out of the only window of the room, I could see the barn and the scarecrow. I aimed my camera at the pair and snapped a photo. From this angle, the scarecrow appeared to be staring straight at me. It stood next to the left side of the barn in a dejected manner like a chastised child.
A shudder involuntarily ran through me at the sight, but I moved on back downstairs. It was getting close to dinner time now, and I had brought some food with me.
After a few minutes, I had my dinner on the stove cooking and the crickets chirping outside the open window. As I sat down to eat next to the window, I felt at peace for one of the first times in years. The solitude of this old farm was exactly what I needed. The window supplied a nice breeze that wafted through the place, it smelled of grass and warm summer nights, made me feel at peace. The simple dish of spaghetti with tomato sauce and a glass of wine was all that I needed right here, right now in this moment.
That night I climbed into the frilly laced bed and sunk into the claustrophobic mattress. I felt like Goldilocks in the mama bear's bed as it was altogether too soft. From my perfumed bed, I had a good view out the window. I had left the porch light on, and it cast an eerie glow across the yard. The barn loomed ominously, stalwart against the light of the porch, like it was protecting the shadows from the battering ram of light. The somber scarecrow leaned against the left side of the barn.
With a small jump, I thought I saw its arm move slightly. I peered through my camera using the zoom to get a better view of the scarecrow. It was completely still in the night, and I laughed quietly to myself at my silliness. I had always enjoyed horror movies, but there was no chance I was living in one. I settled back into bed and put my camera down. Within a few minutes, I fell into sleep's warm embrace.
What felt like only a few minutes later, I sat up in bed. It was still dark out, I could hear crickets chirping through the open window, and I strained my ears for a moment.
I thought something had woken me up. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine as a cold breeze wafted in through the window. I pulled the frilly blanket up around myself when I heard it. A thud sounded below me, shaking the whole world into silence. The crickets stopped chirping, and my heart felt like it had stopped beating. Someone was in the house. I hadn't locked the door or closed the kitchen window, and now someone was downstairs. A second thud sounded like a boot on the staircase. Then another and another as something was slowly moving up the stairs towards the room.
I don't know why I did it, but something came over me. I wasn't big or especially brave, but my normal cowardice in social situations changed instantly. With a dash, I tore across the room, flicking on the lights, ready to face my attacker, to defend myself against male or female. I would fight, and I would win.
But as the lights turned on, ready to strike with my foot, nothing was there. The staircase was empty, and upon further inspection, the entire house was empty. The kitchen window was open, and I shut and locked it securely before checking the door. Nothing. I sat down on the couch, my heart pounding out of my chest, as I tried to make sense of what had just happened.
"I must have still been half-asleep," I said aloud to the room in a thinly veiled attempt to calm my nerves. It failed horribly, but I went with it. What else could you do in a situation like that?
After locking up the house, I went back up to that frilly four-poster bed in the bedroom and stared out the window. Nothing was in the yard except my car, the barn, and the same old sad-looking scarecrow staring across the yard.
Day 2
The next morning, I woke up to the soft light filtering through the lace curtains. Despite the strange events of the previous night, I felt strangely refreshed, as if the morning sun had chased away the shadows that lingered in my mind.
I descended the stairs, the wooden steps creaking softly under my weight, and headed to the kitchen. As I brewed a pot of coffee, my mind wandered back to the events of last night. Was it just a figment of my imagination, or was there really someone in the house?
Shaking off the unease, I decided to explore the farmhouse in the daylight. I wandered through the room, admiring the modern renovations that clashed with the rustic exterior. The farmhouse had a charm to it, despite its eerie surroundings.
As I made my way outside, the cool morning air greeted me, and I took a deep breath, letting the serenity of the countryside wash over me. The barn stood tall against the backdrop of the morning sky, and the scarecrow seemed to watch me as I crossed the yard.
I approached the barn, curiosity getting the better of me. Pushing open the creaky door, I stepped inside, the musty scent of hay filling my nostrils. The interior was dimly lit, the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls.
I explored every nook and cranny of the barn, but found nothing out of the ordinary. As I turned to leave, something caught my eye. In the corner of the barn, hidden beneath a pile of old blankets, was a small wooden chest.
My heart racing with anticipation, I lifted the lid of the trunk and peered inside. What I found took my breath away. It was a collection of old photographs, yellowed with age, depicting scenes from a bygone era. They were of a man with his family, two young kids, and a beautiful young wife. The man had yellow blonde hair, almost like straw in texture, but he smiled so happily with his family.
I sifted through the photographs, my fingers trembling with excitement. Who had left these behind, and why? Each photograph seemed to tell a story, a glimpse into the past of this forgotten farmhouse.
As I sat there, lost in thought, a sudden noise jolted me back to reality. It was the sound of footsteps coming from outside the barn.
"Hello?" The dreamy voice of a woman called to me from the entrance to the barn.
I slammed the lid of the trunk shut, closing the memories up in a flurry as I spun around to be greeted by a quite pretty woman with blonde hair and a pink suit skirt combo. She had bright pink lipstick, that seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face, and quite shiny and sparkly blue eye shadow on her lids. I myself only wore black eyeliner. This woman was like Barbie in her proportions, thin waist, long hair, and large tracts of land, as my father would have said.
"Oh, hello," I said simply, always awkward in normal social situations.
If she noticed anything odd about me, she breezed over it in an easy manner. Taking me by the shoulders, she led me out of the dusty barn and into the yard.
"You must be Polly. We have been waiting a while for you to come. I simply must know what you think of the renovations to the house. Aren’t they just to die for?" The lady said all in one breath, as if she didn’t need air to speak.
"Yes, they are quite nice..." I started before she cut me off, not in a rude manner but instead in one that she would have continued on even if I had just told her I was not Polly and instead I was a mass murderer looming for my next victim.
"You see, me and my son Eli—yes, Eli, you stop lurking in the shadows over there," she said, continuing on as I noticed a younger man leaning up against the barn. He wore simple clothes of jeans and a white t-shirt but had a handsome face. His hair was brown and hung slightly over his eyes.
"I hope you don’t mind if my son here continues working on some renovations while you stay here? Strictly on the outside of the house, mind you. A fresh coat of white paint would make this little beauty shine. We would have finished by now if not for the accidents," she continued, completely unabashed by my silence.
"Sorry. But you are the realtor?" I said, trying to regain my feet under me.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry, dear!" she said with an affable cackle.
"Yes, yes, I am Barbara, but all my friends call me Barb. That over there is Eli. Eli, come say hi," Barb said while her painted talons rested firmly on my shoulder.
Eli stomped over, keeping his eyes low, in a sort of moody way that actually intrigued me, sort of.
When he glanced up at me, I noticed he drank in me from head to toe, and for the first time, I realized what I was wearing. An old rock t-shirt of one of my favorite bands and, of all things, my black pajama bottoms with cartoon bats on them that said "happy halloween."
I felt my face blush crimson as he made eye contact with me. He had very mysterious eyes of blue that seemed to cut right through my soul.
"Nice shirt," he said while gesturing to me. His voice was quiet and uncertain, as if he didn’t get much practice with the art. Knowing his mother, it seemed highly accurate.
"Thanks. Do you like them?" I asked.
"Oh, he likes all sorts of things, don’t you, Eli? Honestly, you two can gab on forever. But miss, I believe we have a small matter of payment," Barb said, drawing the conversation back to herself.
"Of course. Let me go get it," I said as I went back into the house and retrieved the envelope with the rent money in it.
Barb grabbed the envelope in her bright pink talons and snapped a piece of bubblegum between her teeth. With quick fingers, she leafed through the cash, counting it. As she counted, her normal bubbly personality seemed to disappear, giving way to what I gleaned was her true thoughts and feelings before the facade slipped on once again.
"Mmkay, perfect honey, this is the right amount. Now you have my number, so you call if you need anything. Like I said earlier, Eli will stop by from time to time to work on painting the house. I promise you he won’t be an imposition, just pay him no mind," Barb said in a sweet voice as she popped her gum in between each word.
"Eli, come on, please, I have an appointment in town," Barb said to her son, and they both climbed into a garish pink convertible with jewels hanging from the mirror wrapped in a gold chain.
Barb waved one last time as she sped off out of the driveway, covering me in dust as she spun the wheel around.
With their departure, I went inside and retrieved my camera. I spent a few minutes shooting a few pictures I thought were worthy. I re-entered the barn and pulled the old trunk out into the sunshine. Inside was only a handful of photos, some old clothes, and what looked like some old heirlooms. A beautifully old candlestick and a few leather-bound books lay at the bottom, covered by an old tablecloth. The tablecloth was a nice white with intricate swirling patterns inlaid around the edges.
Why would these things be packed away in here? They were so beautiful. I decided to bring the stuff inside for further inspection. As I lifted the trunk, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move in the tall grass at the edge of the property. I stared for a minute, but nothing moved again. I must be getting jumpy being alone like this. After last night and then this, I was just imagining things.
I brought the items inside and spread them out. I put the tablecloth on the table, and it hung low to the ground. I placed the candlestick by the window and took out the photos again, spreading them out.
The photos told me a story of a loving family that obviously lived in the farmhouse before me. They had a photo next to the barn, with a brand new looking scarecrow in the back. The man even had his arm around it; it looked so much cleaner and proper in this photo. I stared outside at the sad-looking scarecrow.
I took my camera and the photo and went outside to stand next to the scarecrow. His post hung kind of crooked in the earth like it was weighed down by the scarecrow.
I snapped a photo of the scarecrow as it was, then examined the original photo. I began resettling the post in the ground, but it kept sagging. I decided to pull him out of the ground and move him while I added more dirt to his hole. With some effort, I reseated him into his original hole. He already looked better, but I straightened his clothes and pulled out the last bits of straw that stuck out of his clothes. When I was finished, I looked back at him and took a photo, smiling while I did so at my work.
I then spent some time sweeping the front porch and banging the dust out of the cushions before I curled up on a wicker chair with plump cushions for a few hours reading a book I had brought with me.
I felt quite content at this place. The sounds of the crickets began again, putting me at ease as the sun began to descend. I had spent the entire day just relaxing, and it was perfect. I sat sprawled out in the chair, too lazy to go and make dinner or even move. My bladder was full, but I waited until the last moment before dashing inside and relieving myself.
That's when I noticed it, out in the yard. It seemed as if the scarecrow had moved closer. Once shrouded by the barn slightly, it now had moved a few steps into the light from the porch. My heart dropped at the sight. Not again, I must be asleep on the porch in the chair. I pinched myself, trying to wake up, but all I received was a sore arm.
I closed my eyes, then rubbed them, hoping to dispel whatever plagued my mind, but when I opened my eyes, I noticed the scarecrow was even closer. Halfway across the yard now, it sat menacingly, hanging crooked in the dirt. The scarecrow seemed to be staring at me with an intense gaze. The slits in its face were open now, and in the porch light, I swear I could see human eyes underneath the mask.
I moved towards the front door, locking it in a swift motion. I was shaking now, and it took me a minute to relax. I never took my eyes off the scarecrow for fear of it moving again.
My cellphone was upstairs, so I couldn't flee without the scarecrow moving again. I breathed out slightly and unlocked the door, letting it swing in with a creak. The night outside was silent, as if everything was holding its breath. The usual crickets that plagued me with their song day and night had fallen quiet. I stepped out onto the porch; I needed to go confront this demonic entity. Something about this still made me think this was a prank.
"Eli, is that you?" I called out to the scarecrow.
No response, of course. I steeled myself and put one foot off the porch, never taking my eyes off the scarecrow before me. Something seemed to be dripping from its head as I approached, a dark slime that seemed to be melting from its joints as it stood there silently, except for the constant drip of the liquid on the dry dirt before me.
I walked around the scarecrow, determined to figure out what was going on. As I circled it, my vision darkened for a moment as I faced towards the light of the house. I jumped as the scarecrow's head turned to face me as I looked away. The black liquid drained faster from the being, forming a shallow pool at its feet.
I'm not proud of what I did next, but I fled, taking my eyes off the scarecrow. I made a mad dash for the farmhouse. Behind me, I could hear the pounding of feet. I screamed as loud as my lungs would let me. My voice rang through the silence as I grabbed the door handle and wrenched open the door as I felt a strong grip fall on my shoulder.
I turned to defend myself, but nothing was there. The scarecrow was gone, the wooden cross had vanished, as had the pool of dark liquid in the dirt. The world sprung back to life; the crickets began chirping loudly, and my heart restarted. I slammed the door, and the air from my force scattered the photographs on the table. I ran upstairs, leaving the lights on in the house, and dove onto the bed, wrapping myself in the frilly blanket like a set of frilly armor.
I snatched my camera from the bedside table and held it close, determined to document the rest of the night. I held it in shaking hands as the noise downstairs began—the sound of boots crossing the floor to the stairs and the careful but heavy steps of ascension as they climbed closer and closer to me.
This time, I didn't lunge forward as the light was already on. I glanced out the window, but the scarecrow was still gone. I focused my camera on the stairs and waited as the steps came closer and closer. A shape began to form as the head of whatever was coming up the stairs crested the floor. Then a plain brown mask with slits where the eyes would be. It froze for a moment, then slowly turned its head towards me. Inside the slits were human eyes that seemed to be leaking dark red blood.
In the light, I could see it now. I snapped a photo of the beast, the flash setting off a reaction in the beast. The scarecrow moved so fast up the stairs it was a blur. My scream echoed throughout the house as it lunged at me. Filthy hands pinned me down, and the deep crimson liquid began pouring out of every joint of the scarecrow. It began covering my face, my eyes, and getting into my open mouth. I spluttered and kicked at the beast, but my blows had no purchase, as if the scarecrow on top of me had no substance to itself.
I coughed and spluttered on the liquid as it began to fill my mouth faster and faster. I tried not to swallow any, but it tried to find purchase as I was held down.
"Polly?" A nervous voice called from below.
Suddenly, as if the angels had called, the pressure dissipated, and I crashed to the floor in a heap, trying to spit the blood out, but nothing came—it was gone. Footsteps pounded up the stairs again, and I flew back in fear, closing my eyes.
"Oh my god. Polly, are you okay?" A voice said, and gentle hands grabbed my arm.
My eyes shot open at the human touch, and I grabbed Eli into a tight hug, where I promptly began sobbing in fear, my whole body shaking as Eli awkwardly hugged me.
"Don't worry, it's going to be okay," Eli said patiently to me as he hugged me back gently and began stroking my back.
I shivered in a choking sob and fell into his arms, desperately wanting to believe him, and for some reason, I did.

I remember that day as though it were only yesterday. My species, the rulers of a vast and mighty interstellar empire, had discovered a primitive species tucked away in a remote corner of our galaxy. Naturally, we were excited to discover them, for a new species on the galactic stage could potentially bring with them many exciting new developments to keep us all entertained for a few millennia.
Our survey ships, vessels of unparalleled stealth and subtlety, flocked to the single star system with its four gas giants, a boon for any developing species, and set up shop in orbit of their homeworld. We were all so eager to see what works of wondrous art and civility they had created, and instead we watched as a planet spanning war erupted. Entire nations were consumed, millions died within the first few weeks and we were left horrified by what we saw.
Yet by our own rules we were powerless to intervene, if it was their destiny to eradicate themselves, then that is what would happen. We expected this war to end in nuclear annihilation, for we had detected vast nuclear arsenals the moment we entered orbit of that glittering blue jewel in the dark.
Yet no such cataclysm came, instead, one by one tensions cooled, warriors dropped their primitive slug throwers and went home, seeking the comfort and peace of familiar and safe surroundings. A new government was formed, a unifying body that kept the peace for the next five hundred years to the best of its ability. Yet even then conflict still raged in the far flung places of the world, and we were left to wonder…
What would happen when they leave their world?
The question terrified us to such a degree that when it became clear they were making concerted efforts to leave their world and venture out into the stars, we panicked. A species as violent towards itself as they are would surely take one look at the galaxy and its many peoples and attempt to see them struck down. Some amongst the ruling body were of the mind that such a primitive and savage species was little more than animals that deserved to be put down.
Unfortunately, they were the most influential faction of our esteemed government. So when the vote was passed for the extermination of the species, the most the rest of us could try was to make it as quick and painless a death as possible. To be kind. But yet again, the most powerful of us decided that wasn’t good enough. They said that such savagery be met in kind, and so a terrible weapon was developed.
Fear and an overinflated sense of superiority drove us towards our ultimate shame.
The Affliction was released upon their homeworld, and any intrasolar outposts that we found were subsequently wiped from existence with lightning fast attacks from weapons of mass destruction. The affliction targeted everything from birth rates to skin growth, causing patches of necrosis to form externally and internally, all while heightening nerve responses. Our leaders wanted them to suffer for their savagery. While the powerful patted themselves on the back for their valiant defense of the galaxy from a potential threat, the rest of us were left to worry, to ponder our failings and hope against hope that we could be forgiven for our ineffectual protests against this course of action.
Another five hundred years passed and the galaxy forgot all about the now extinct species, focusing instead on their own problems and several other primitive races we had discovered. But something had not forgotten us, something had lurked in the darkness and waited till the perfect moment to strike.
At first the only knowledge we had of this entity was the brief contacts our sensor nets had with some strange anomaly. We shrugged it off as little more than a mere glitch, yet over time some of us began to see a pattern as the contacts began to linger for longer periods of time before vanishing.
It was far too late to do anything, as we would soon discover, as our outer colonies came under sudden attack from an unknown enemy. An unstoppable force that seemed to sweep over our defenses with ease. Yet we received no reports of the world being razed, instead the enemy was content to occupy the world and move on, keeping the civilian populace calm and cooperative.
Of course that didn’t mean we wouldn’t fight them, just because they were being civil towards our civilians didn’t make them any less our enemy. And so we mobilized, preparing our defenses as best we could and attempting to deny the enemy strategic resources as well. But as we soon learned, our forces were outmatched even in space.
I remember when I first saw them, having been assigned to a defense post on the planet Dingalea. A tropical resort world, with vast oceans and many pristine beaches. It was a tactically unsound planet to invade, yet this foe was clearly interested in all our worlds, not just the strategically important ones. We figured it was meant to force us to commit the bulk of our forces to liberation efforts, spreading our armies and fleets thin in an attempt to reclaim every planet.
I had taken position in a bunker on a cliff overlooking one of the more popular beaches when we heard a booming sound from the sky. Our eyes turned heavensward, and I beheld what appeared to be spears of metal rain from above. They crashed down into the oceans many yektra (miles) away, yet so massive they were that we all could easily see the detailing upon their exteriors.
From where I was stationed I could only see four of them, but as I would learn later, four was all they would need for the coming battle upon our beach. Granted we had set up defensive positions further inland, but the enemy seemed content to land out at sea which led us to assume that they were mostly aquatic based. How wrong we were.
An aperture opened wide upon each of the spears and from them water based vehicles emerged, elongated and rectangular in form, bouncing over the waves as they fanned out and made for shore. We watched and waited, my gripping hands clutching all the more firmly at my plasma pulse rifle. Heavy emplacements warmed up with a whine of charging power packs, the large turrets turning to face our foe. New vehicles joined the first models, these ones clearly armored assault vehicles of a type that was unfamiliar to us, as so much about our enemy was at the time. They kept a staggered and wide formation with the other vehicles, even as air superiority fighter craft started to fill the sky. I felt something twist in my thorax, a pit of fear threatening to swallow me whole.
As I lowered my eye to the scope of my rifle, I watched as the ring around its edge shifted from red to purple, indicating my target was in firing range. The call to open fire rang out from the fortifications around me and all twelve of the hells was visited upon our foe. Plasma and beams of energy lanced out from our lines, boiling the waters and leaving burn marks upon the metal hulls that approached. Artillery began to pound, hoping to inflict more destructive results upon the invaders.
They succeeded in scoring direct hits on a few of the craft, sending burning wreckage to the bottom of the sea, but the rest simply continued on, unfazed by the death and destruction around them.
The craft reached the beach and ramps descended and what we saw made us shiver in instinctual fear. They were tall, bipedal and heavily armored. What flesh we could spot from this distance was unnaturally white, they had no hair and no features upon their heads either. Yet they sported different body shapes, perhaps indicative of sex? It didn’t mattered, they were the enemy and they needed to be destroyed. Our weapons seemed to do very little to their armor, but any hits to exposed flesh did massive amounts of damage, sending the beings falling or flying into the water and sand, pale blue blood pouring from their wounds.
Then they started to fire back, their rounds weren’t energy based, purely kinetic and yet with the speeds they were flying they were clearly being launched by some sort of rail system. The rounds would strike and bury deep before exploding, heat and shrapnel working their deadly trade. Yet the enemy seemed more intent on forcing us to take cover than actually killing us, as became clear as they took cover in craters and behind resort walls. Then the armored vehicles made it to shore and they became the focus of our efforts. Their booming cannons and spitting rotary guns threatened to destroy bunkers and crew weapons alike. Even the aircraft swooped down to strike at us, dropping bombs and firing their dogfighting weapons as well before climbing back into the sky.
For every ten of the infantry or vehicles we destroyed, another thirty was soon behind them. So focused on simply surviving were we that we almost didn’t notice the newest threat. This one walked out of the sea itself, hulking armored forms that were bipedal like the infantry but not showing a single kepti (centimeters) of flesh. These behemoths strode slowly, ponderously across the beach, waving hands at the entrenched beings who would stand and form up with their larger kin. Almost immediately the incoming fire became more intense and precise, causing us to take cover far too often.
The order to pull back to the next line was given and we did so, just as the first of the behemoths burst through a barricade, the angular helmet it wore turning back and forth quickly. It did moved unnervingly fast, but not fast enough to dodge a shot from an anti-vehicle weapon. It staggered backwards, the shot burning through metal and flesh along one side of the helmet. Yet it did not go down, instead a clawed hand rose and grasped what remained of the melting armor and tore it free, revealing a face that’ll haunt me till my dying day.
It was a face of pale flesh, black fur atop their head and around their mouth and jaw. That mouth was twisted into an angry snarl, the one remaining eye burning a cold blue. Yet it was what was on the other side of their face that haunts me. Flesh had burned down to bone, yet there was no bone to be seen, just gleaming chrome. It leered at me, silver teeth clicking as it worked that jaw and began to advance.
Hours later, the planet was theirs. I suppose they wanted to show us that even in a fair fight we were horribly outclassed. That was a few weeks ago now I believe, they’ve just taken the homeworld and are preparing some sort of galaxy wide broadcast. I wonder what they’ll have to say about all this, will they condemn us all to death for one reason or another?
The screen flickers, the normal view of our governmental building coming into focus as one of these horrible monsters steps up to a podium, our leaders cowering behind them.
“People of the Milky Way. We are humanity, a species that knew not what awaited them outside the bounds of their home system. We were hopeful that when we ventured out into the black that we could have found friendship, instead we were nearly murdered in our cradle. Your leaders sentenced us to death out of fear, sentenced millions of children, both born and unborn to agonizing deaths. Your fear led you down a path of atrocities you were all too eager to visit upon a people that couldn’t defend themselves.” The human spoke, their voice rich and booming, met with a deafening silence by audiences on every planet.
“You thought us eradicated, all traces of our existence mere dust on the wind. But you failed. For you see we are a stubborn species and we are also spiteful, spite encourages adaptation. And adapt we did, for five hundred years we suffered your manufactured plague, till it became little more than a reminder of who we were to hate. Yet while many amongst us do hate you and with good reason, we are not here today to visit the same horrors upon your peoples. Instead, you will suffer the authority of another. Our authority. For the next five hundred years you will work to make amends for all you have done and when that time is up, we shall leave you be. For we are not the monsters you thought we were, nor are we the monsters you inadvertently tried to make us. We are humanity, and we will show your people a new and better way.”
The feed shut off and I could only sit back and sigh, resting my head upon the pillow of my hospital bed, as more of these humans surrounded me and began to treat my wounds. I was left to wonder about the future. I wondered at what humanity could show us over the next five hundred years.
And so I closed my eyes, and dreamt of the future.

"I will gladly take care of your Wyrm problem," the Knight in shining armor said to the princess.
The princess narrowed her eyes at him. "It sounds like you're saying Wyrm, not worm."
The Knight Flipped up his helmet visor, "What? Wyrms is Wyrms right? And the ones you need killed are up in the mountains. Earth Wyrms, yea?"
"Worms," The princess over exaggerated the 'o' as she said 'worm', "Yes. Gargantuan Earth Worms, they threaten to destroy the entire mountain range. I need them slain."
"Earth Wyrms! Easily done princess, they can't even fly." The Knight slapped his visor shut, certain he'd be able to handle these Earth Wyrms with ease.
Air Wyrms and Fire Wyrms could both fly and were therefor quite a pain to kill, having to track them relentlessly until they tired was... well tiresome.
Water Wyrms had to be killed underwater most of the time, because mankind had yet to make a fishing boat buoyant enough to fish one from the sea.
With a grin from ear to ear, a simple go there and murder a monster mission in mind, the Knight bowed deeply before excusing himself from the princess' presence.
She turned to her Advisor, "He does know they're Worms and not Wyrms right?"
The old wizard shrugged. "How difficult could it be to kill giant worms?"
The Knight and his squire and their company of friends, set out to the mountains to the north where their quarry was said to be. Among their host was a young wizard who had only barely passed his apprenticeship exams, there was a lady dwarf, who was of course a blacksmith. Her beard was always set with flowers from their next member, her husband the elvish archer. The elf say he's no true archer, merely a hobby, of a thousand years. Their final member was an ex-communicated clergy member from the empire on the other side of the mountains.
A few short days of easy travel over rolling hills and they'd made their way to the foot of the mountains. The Knight and his party experienced the first earth quake then, it was gentle enough that the Knight hadn't even noticed it. The dwarf sure did though.
"Something's not right," She said when the tiny quake ended. "Earth Wyrms must be fighting something else right now for us to be feeling this rumble."
"Then they'll be softened up for us when we get there, or maybe already dead. All that mattered to the princess was that they die, we need only verify those deaths." The Young Wizard said, hopeful he wouldn't have to fight at all.
The clergyman said a prayer to his strange god, and bid them all, "Prepare for the worst tomorrow, this way when it likely goes better than that, you can be overjoyed at our fortune."
The squire took the first watch, and the Knight the second. Nothing happened but the soft snores of their compatriots. For the third watch they had the elf. He required far less sleep than humans or dwarves, except for once a lunar month when he had to sleep for a whole day.
During his watch the ground rumbled again. More than rumbled, it shook and cracked. A span the size of large horse opened up and split their camp in half. The elf didn't exactly have to sound the alarm, everyone woke up to the thunderous crack of the landscape opening.
In the pre-dawn light leaking over the horizon they could see the fractures leading up into the mountains. Their camp just happened to be on the end of one such crack. The whole mountain they were headed to seemed to have cracked.
"These must indeed be large Wyrms." the Knight said. "I shall need all my weapons sharpened to their finest edge to piece their hides."
The Dwarf set to work spinning her whetstone and putting the sharpest edge on the Knight's swords and axes and even the arrow heads of her husband's arrows were sharpened. The squire was loaded down with heavy, very sharp weapons, and followed his master up into the recently cracked mountain. As they traveled the ground steadily rumbled.
They found an opening which they hoped would lead them into the caves inside the mountain where they might find at face these dread Earth Wyrms.
As they entered the caverns they were surprised to find a thick slime coating the walls.
"How curious." The young Wizard said, collecting a sample into a glass vial and staring at intently.
The clergyman said another prayer, and placed a blessing of damage resistance on all his friends. They would all be nigh-on unpuncturable, unslashable, and unbludgeonable for a few hours. You could do those things, and it might throw them around, but they wouldn't be injured any more than their pride. This foreign god's power was how the Knight had become so good at killing Wyrms. The clergyman had other blessings, which were not needed at the moment, fire resistance, and water breathing being two big ones. Air walking was a wizard trick, and so they recruited the young wizard.
The wizard projected a light up into the middle of the height of the cave they now found themselves in, and it showed that the cave was nearly as tall as the castle walls, in one direction it went off into the darkness beyond what his meek light could show, but the other direction was blocked by a gigantic wall of pink slimy flesh.
"Oh..." The wizard said, understanding a moment too late. "Earth Worms."
The Knight had approached the pink wall and tried to hack into it, but the slime coating the ouside of the great flesh mass was to sticky and too thick. It quickly stole his weapon from him, and then the next and the next and the next.
The gargantuan lack-minded creature, reacted to something behind it, and backed up in the tunnel. The Knight was quickly caught in the ooze, the squire too. The Elf unleashed a volley of arrows, but they met the same fate as their archer, only a few seconds sooner. The thick layer of mucus on the outside of the worms was the greatest armor they had ever faced. Almost as thick as a the knight was wide, it more than caught and stopped any attacks from such small creatures as the knight as his allies.
Trying desperately to help his wife escape, the elf and the dwarf ended up caught in the thick slime together.
The wizard knew he was boned, so stood and faced the slime with dignity.
And the Clergy man. Well, he said one final prayer for the souls of himself and his party members before being backed over by a brainless worm. His quiet hope was that his god would protect them all until the worm deposited them elsewhere as it continued to devour the mountain range.

Hey! Im a 24 year old man from Nebraska looking for a relationship! Id love to find someone i can discord call and game or even just spend some time together! Im a bit awkward so it can be kind of hard to keep a conversation going but I do my best
If you're just going to ghost me please dont bother. It's bad for my heart
I am white and a bit overweight but i started going to the gym so im working on it :). I have purple hair past my shoulders and I am around 6 foot tall. Willing to trade photos upon request.
I'm a big gamer and i mostly play overwatch and valorant (Maybe we could duo 🥺👉👈), but i own a bunch of other single and multiplayer games. When im not doing school stuff or working im probably gaming, watching anime/reading manga, or listening to music. I love to sing watch musicals and hang with my cat as well. Im also happy to trade pet photos!
I'd love if you were into games and anime but it's not necessarily a dealbreaker. Im a pretty open guy and willing to talk with anybody and see if we vibe. I love being a bit clingy and messaging/flirting a bunch so i hope ur into that.
So go ahead and shoot me a message. Tell me your favorite animal if you made it this far.
Looking forward to hearing from you ❤️

I planted a bunch of saplings and I am concerned I planted too deep. Most are doing well but I am not sure. Think I should fix it sooner rather than later. I would really appreciate some advice.
All were planted from pots. Most were between 2-4 feet tall when planted. The oak was probably less than 2 feet tall.
Pics 1-3 Flowering dogwood - this one I am most concerned about. Has had great growth this year but I don't think the roots look great. Looks like roots may be girdling and some root suckers.
Pics 4-5 River birch - roots look ok to me but not great growth. It originally had three stems but one was either doa or died soon after. Cut it to the ground in the late fall.
Pics 6-7 Canadian serviceberry- sorry about the blur. The big root made me think it was deep enough but I'm not sure. Just planted it three weeks ago. This one was about five feet tall when I got it.
Pics 8-9 White Oak - amazing growth this year. I think I did good here.
Pics 10-11 - American hornbeam - this looks good to me. Seems to be doing fine.

I had the great pleasure yesterday of visiting Denver Botanic Gardens, where their lilac grove is in peak full bloom!
I smelled at least 8 different varieties of lilac. Some where white, some light purple, some dark pink purple. Some had big flower clusters, some were more delicate. Some were just starting to bloom, some were ending their bloom, some where in absolute peak.
I was ABSOLUTELY ASTONISHED that the different varietals SMELL DIFFERENT!
One lilac smelled more like tulips… One smelled more like jasmine… One smelled more indolic, almost a faint banana ylang… One was sweeter, fruitier.
The ones in the sun smelled more buttery and almost animalic as compared to those in the shade that smelled cooler, crisper, more watery.
Some blooms had water droplets on them, and those smelled fresher than the drier blooms. The drier ones were danker, more smelling like sweat and oil.
MIND UTTERLY BLOWN.
Of course I came home and was naughty: I ordered myself samples of Frederic Malle En Passant (a lilac fragrance recommended on this sub) and Carnal Flower (tuberose) as a Mothers Day gift to myself 😂😂😂 …. my new thing is deep dive into florals lol
HERE IS MY QUESTION…. for the gardeners and garden lovers out there…
What does the same species smell like to you in different contexts or conditions in the wild? What about different varietals of the same species???
A lilac is not just a lilac.
A lilac is a fcking prism, man.
It all depends on the type of lilac, and the weather, and the exact bloom moment… 🌌🤪🤩

PC
Reddit Account: u/armanhayek
Discord Tag: armanhayek
Name and House: Aeron Qoherys
Age: 24
Cultural Group: Valyrian
Appearance: Tall, broad, and heavily muscled, Aeron represents the future of his fledgling noble family with the weight of Harrenhal resting on his strong shoulders. He maintains short-cropped silver hair and keeps his face shaved clean while boasting the signature purple eyes associated with Valyria.
Trait: Hale
Skill(s): 2HW (e), Brute (e), Essosi Blademaster
Talent(s): Surveying ruins, moping, planning expeditions
Negative Trait(s): N/A
Starting Title(s): Heir to Harrenhal
Starting Location: Opening
Alternate Characters: N/A
AC
Name and House: Daeron Qoherys
Age: 24
Cultural Group: Valyrian
Appearance: Much like his cousin, Daeron is a tall and strapping young man with a heavily muscled physique borne of training and voluntary hard labor. He maintains silver hair, somewhat longer than Aeron, and has the same purple eyes common among Valyrians.
Trait: Strong
Skill(s): 2HW (e), Brute
Talent(s): Surveying ruins, moping, planning expeditions
Negative Trait(s): N/A
Starting Title(s): Knight of Harrenhal
Starting Location: Opening
Alternate Characters: N/A
Timeline
? BC: Quenton Qoherys is made Master-at-Arms on Dragonstone. He trains the trio of would-be Conquerors in the shape of Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys as well as their half-brother Orys Baratheon.
1 AC: Aeron is born to Aegon Qoherys, son and heir of Lord Quenton, and his wife, Lady Elaena Balaerys. A few months later, his cousin Daeron is born to Aemon Qoherys, second son of Quenton, and his wife Lady Daena Velaryon.
2 AC: Quenton is made Lord of Harrenhal upon the extinguishing of Black Harren's line.
2-4 AC: Lord Quenton and his sons Aegon and Aemon spend the next few years pacifying their newly acquired lands. Three men and a woman claiming to be descendants of Black Harren are slain in battle.
6 AC: Aeron and Daeron begin their trainings in earnest and are quick to impress in the yards.
7 AC: The Conqueror is killed, leading to sorrow at Harrenhal as Lord Quenton comes to terms with the death of the boy in whose hands he had once put a sword in.
10 AC: Aeron is dispatched to Dragonstone to serve as a squire for Maelor Targaryen. There, he makes quick friends with the other children and wards, including Rhaelle Targaryen. Daeron serves as a squire to his uncle, Aegon, at home.
15 AC: Aeron and Daeron finish first and second, respectively, at a tourney in the southern Crownlands and are knighted by their knight masters. Aegon and Aemon begin planning a voyage to the far east and eventually leave towards the end of the year. They are never seen again.
18 AC: Aeron is betrothed to Rhaelle Targaryen to forge closer ties with Dragonstone and, by extension, the Crown.
20 AC: Attempts to find a suitable bride for Daeron fail as he shows little interest in courtship.
24 AC: Aeron and Rhaelle are married in the vast godswood of Harrenhal.
25 AC: Present.
NPCs
Edmyn Wode - Scholar
Lazaros - Trader

What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.

What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.

What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.

Name :「Back To Life」
Namesake : "Back To Life" by Mystery Skulls / "Bring Me To Life" by Evanescence
Localised name :「Bring To Life」
Appearance :「Back To Life」is a tall and slender armless Stand, looking like what could be best described as a massive stalk with a head. Being 3,6 meters tall, its whole body seems wrapped in multiple layers of light green, light brown and golden yellow cloth, looking like leaves during spring and autumn. The outer layer goes up to where its ears would be and forms a tall collar behind its head. It also sports a yellow diamond shape at the center of its body, encased between four brown diagonal stripes joining together before reaching the top and the bottom of the layer then joining once more to circle on the collar and the feet. Speaking of, no feet at all, just a few small root-like tentacles spewing from underneath the cloth, allowing it to slowly crawl. Its mint green head is bulbous and veiny, covered with different alien-looking flowers but its face presents the biggest one, a massive flower made of crystals of various shapes, sizes and shades of yellow, with a red cristal globe right at the center. He often wobbles on itself as a stalk would in the wind.
Activation :「Back To Life」's ability activate once vegetation comes into contact with it's user's blood.
Ability :「Back To Life」grants its user's blood the ability to make plants and seeds grow at a tremendous rate once shed on it. Just a few drops are enough to transform a daisy into a large version of itself, able to destroy the ground with its new powerful roots. The bigger the original plant, the more the user has to shed blood for it to grow : a drop for a weed seed to completely mature, a half-liter for tree sappling, several liters to transform a full grown tree into the new Hyperion, etc. Since the user can't obviously dispense that much blood,「Back To Life」can also transfer that ability to any human blood that has been mixed with a bit of the user's, though the effect is divided by a factor of five, both in terms of power and quantity needed.
Weaknesses : the user of「Back To Life」doesn't have control over the plant itself, just its growth, meaning he can well get trapped by his own attacks. Moreover, those are still plants, so the needs for water, soil, sun, etc, are still mandatory, though increased since they're now bigger. Thus, the grown plants have practically zero chances of survival on a long period.
Stats :
Power : E for the Stand / ranging from D to B depending on what hits you (between a bunch of thorns and a massive root, there's a bit of variation in damage) Speed : D for the Stand / ranging from D to B depending on the type of plant and the volume/concentration of blood used Range : C (the plants don't really expand horizontally but can still reach a good 10 meters if given the occasion) Durability : D (boy, is「Back To Life」fragile ! Imagine punching a massive lanky veggie wrap standing upright) Precision : D (as mentioned, he doesn't control in which directions the plants grow) Potential : B (still a fair amount of possible use despite the other restrictions)
Inspiration: there are so many characters with power over plantlife : the Sadida race from the games DOFUS and WAKFU, Admiral Ryokugyu from One Piece, Poison Ivy and Swamp Thing from DC, Shindo from Area D, John Steinbeck from Bungou Stray Dogs, etc. Some give life and energy to those plants by literally giving their life or energy so I took it in that direction and thought about the idea of sprinkling them with blood instead of water. There's not much else for this one really.

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Unveiling Echinacea: Nature's Defender

Echinacea, also known as the purple coneflower, is a flowering plant native to North America. Historically, indigenous peoples, including the Plains Indians, used echinacea for various medicinal purposes, ranging from treating infections to relieving pain. Today, echinacea is widely recognized for its immune-stimulating properties and is commonly used to prevent and shorten the duration of the common cold and other respiratory infections.

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Final Thoughts: Embracing the Healing Power of Echinacea

As nature's immune booster, echinacea offers a natural and effective way to enhance your body's defenses and promote overall well-being. With its rich history, diverse benefits, and wide availability, echinacea remains a staple in the world of herbal medicine, providing a beacon of hope and healing for generations to come. Embrace the power of echinacea and embark on a journey towards vibrant health and vitality.
In conclusion, echinacea stands as a testament to the remarkable healing potential of nature, offering a beacon of hope and wellness in an increasingly complex world. By incorporating echinacea into your daily routine, you can harness the power of this extraordinary herb to support your immune system, promote overall health, and embrace a life of vitality and well-being.
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