#Spectered Isle

[poisindonottouch]

Queer reads: K.J. Charles

As we leave fantasy, I bring you the last category of my recommendations: smutty smutty smut. 

Okay, these are romance novels, but in my reading of romance novels, I’ve discovered that I thoroughly enjoy the spicier end of the spectrum. The smuttier the better. 

So, for day 22, I bring you my favorite romance author KJ Charles. 

I’m putting this under a cut, because it’s going to be long. 

KJ Charles has written loads of books, but I’ve narrowed it down to my favorite 9. 

I’ll take these by series. 

First off, I give you the Will Darling Adventures. These books take place in 1920s London (and surrounding environs.) They are post WWI. Will Darling served in the war, came home to no one, and ended up inheriting a book shop. He’s gruff, manly, and really a giant cinnamon roll. Kim did not serve in the war (it’s a whole thing), and he’s anything but a manly cinnamon roll. He’s sharp and devious and manipulative. And of course, they fall in loooove. This trilogy follows the same pairing over three books, and it’s nice to see how KJC handles the deepening of their relationship from HFN to HEA. (That’s happily for now & happily ever after.) 

The next two books, Proper English and Think of England, are actually in the same world as the Will Darling books, and you’ll see a cameo or two in the later trilogy. Proper English, set in 1902, tells the story of Pat and Fen meeting at a house party that involves a murder mystery and some sexy times. After all, if a murderer is on the loose, you can’t sleep alone, right? Think of England, set in 1904, tells the story of Archie and Daniel, at a different house party. Archie is there to investigate some shady business, but he’s a straightforward kind of man, and he is woefully out of his depth. Luckily, Daniel is there. 

Any Old Diamonds and An Unnatural Vice are set in the same world, about 20 years apart. They aren’t the only books in their series, but they are my favorite of each. Any Old Diamonds follows Alec and Jerry as Alec hires Jerry to steal some jewels. There’s a great twist to this one, and I love Alec and Jerry. I want more of them. An Unnatural Vice is book two of the Sins of the City trilogy, but Justin Lazarus is the very best character ever, and Nathaniel is good for him. I recommend the all the books in both series, but these two are my favorite in the bunches. 

Band Sinister is a stand alone novel, telling the story of Phillip and Guy, who have some bad history between their families, but unforeseen circumstances bring them together, and chemistry does the rest. I would love to read a book series about every side character in this book, but alas. I’ll keep reading fanfic instead. 

Which brings us to The Secret Lives of Country Gentlemen, the most recent book out by KJC. It’s the first of a duology, and I’m super excited for the next one to come out in September. It’s marked on my calendar in my kitchen. This is a dual pov book switching between Garath, who recently inherited his late fathers title, home, and secrets, and Joss, the boss of the local smuggler family. This is a lovers to enemies to lovers book, and I love it. Really, one of KJCs best. 

(Ack! I missed Spectered Isle, which is also fantastic. I really enjoy the relationship in this one, and I’d happily read a bunch of books set in this world, but alas, I think this series is over. Spectered Isle follows after The Casebooks of Simon Feximal (also good. Think smutty, magical Sherlock Holmes.) Like the Will Darling books, Spectered Isle takes place post the Great War, and everyone in the novel is scarred from it. It’s not a shared universe though, because this one has magic, and the Will Darling books are not fantasy, but similar time frame.)

[book--brackets]

Green Rider by Kristen Britain (1998-present)

On her long journey home from school after a fight which will surely lead to her expulsion, Karigan G'ladheon ponders her future as she trudges through the immense forest called Green Cloak. But her thoughts are interrupted by the clattering of hooves as a galloping horse bursts from the woods, the rider slumped over his mount's neck, impaled by two black-shafted arrows. As the young man lies dying on the road, he tells Karigan that he is a Green Rider, one of the legendary messengers of the king, and that he bears a "life and death" message for King Zachary. He begs Karigan to carry his message, warning her not to read it, and when she reluctantly agrees, he makes her swear on his sword to complete his mission "for love of country." As he bestows upon her the golden winged-horse brooch which is the symbol of his office, he whispers on his dying breath, "Beware the shadow man..."

Karigan's promise changes her life forever. Pursued by unknown assassins, following a path only her horse seems to know, and accompanied by the silent specter of the original messenger, she herself becomes a legendary Green Rider. Caught up in a world of deadly danger and complex magic, compelled by forces she cannot understand, Karigan is hounded by dark beings bent on seeing that the message, and its reluctant carrier, never reach their destination.

The Princess and the Goblin by George MacDonald (1872)

Princess Irene lives in a castle in a wild and lonely mountainous region. One day she discovers a steep and winding stairway leading to a bewildering labyrinth of unused passages with closed doors - and a further stairway. What lies at the top? Can the ring the princess is given protect her against the lurking menace of the goblins from under the mountain?

The Magic Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton (1936-1985)

Jo, Bessie and Fanny move to the country and find an Enchanted Wood right on their doorstep. In the magic Faraway Tree live the magical characters that soon become their new friends – Moon-Face, Silky the fairy, and Saucepan Man. Together they visit the strange lands (the Roundabout Land, the Land of Ice and Snow, Toyland and the Land of Take What You Want) atop the tree and have the most exciting adventures – and narrow escapes.

The Last Binding by Freya Marske (2021-2023)

Robin Blyth has more than enough bother in his life. He’s struggling to be a good older brother, a responsible employer, and the harried baronet of a seat gutted by his late parents’ excesses. When an administrative mistake sees him named the civil service liaison to a hidden magical society, he discovers what’s been operating beneath the unextraordinary reality he’s always known.

Now Robin must contend with the beauty and danger of magic, an excruciating deadly curse, and the alarming visions of the future that come with it—not to mention Edwin Courcey, his cold and prickly counterpart in the magical bureaucracy, who clearly wishes Robin were anyone and anywhere else.

Robin’s predecessor has disappeared, and the mystery of what happened to him reveals unsettling truths about the very oldest stories they’ve been told about the land they live on and what binds it. Thrown together and facing unexpected dangers, Robin and Edwin discover a plot that threatens every magician in the British Isles—and a secret that more than one person has already died to keep.

Ash by Malinda Lo (2009-2011)

In the wake of her father's death, Ash is left at the mercy of her cruel stepmother. Consumed with grief, her only joy comes by the light of the dying hearth fire, rereading the fairy tales her mother once told her. In her dreams, someday the fairies will steal her away, as they are said to do. When she meets the dark and dangerous fairy Sidhean, she believes that her wish may be granted.

The day that Ash meets Kaisa, the King's Huntress, her heart begins to change. Instead of chasing fairies, Ash learns to hunt with Kaisa. Though their friendship is as delicate as a new bloom, it reawakens Ash's capacity for love-and her desire to live. But Sidhean has already claimed Ash for his own, and she must make a choice between fairy tale dreams and true love.

The Hollow Places by T. Kingfisher (2020)

Kara finds the words in the mysterious bunker that she’s discovered behind a hole in the wall of her uncle’s house. Freshly divorced and living back at home, Kara now becomes obsessed with these cryptic words and starts exploring this peculiar area—only to discover that it holds portals to countless alternate realities. But these places are haunted by creatures that seem to hear thoughts…and the more one fears them, the stronger they become.

Ring Shout by P. Djeli Clark (2020)

In 1915, The Birth of a Nation cast a spell across America, swelling the Klan's ranks and drinking deep from the darkest thoughts of white folk. All across the nation they ride, spreading fear and violence among the vulnerable. They plan to bring Hell to Earth. But even Ku Kluxes can die. 

Standing in their way is Maryse Boudreaux and her fellow resistance fighters, a foul-mouthed sharpshooter and a Harlem Hellfighter. Armed with blade, bullet, and bomb, they hunt their hunters and send the Klan's demons straight to Hell. But something awful's brewing in Macon, and the war on Hell is about to heat up. 

Can Maryse stop the Klan before it ends the world?

The Chronicles of Chrestomanci by Diana Wynne Jones (1977-2006)

Cat doesn't mind living in the shadow of his sister, Gwendolen, the most promising young witch ever seen on Coven Street. But trouble starts brewing the moment the two orphans are summoned to live in Chrestomanci Castle. Frustrated that the witches of the castle refuse to acknowledge her talents, Gwendolen conjures up a scheme that could throw whole worlds out of whack.

The Thief of Always by Clive Barker (1992)

Mr. Hood’s Holiday House has stood for a thousand years, welcoming countless children into its embrace. It is a place of miracles, a blissful round of treats and seasons, where every childhood whim may be satisfied. There is a price to be paid, of course, but young Harvey Swick, bored with his life and beguiled by Mr. Hood’s wonders, does not stop to consider the consequences. 

The Deep by Rivers Solomon with Daveed Diggs, William Hutson, and Jonathan Snipes (2019)

Yetu holds the memories for her people—water-dwelling descendants of pregnant African slave women thrown overboard by slave owners—who live idyllic lives in the deep. Their past, too traumatic to be remembered regularly, is forgotten by everyone, save one—the historian. This demanding role has been bestowed on Yetu.

Yetu remembers for everyone, and the memories, painful and wonderful, traumatic and terrible and miraculous, are destroying her. And so, she flees to the surface, escaping the memories, the expectations, and the responsibilities—and discovers a world her people left behind long ago.

Yetu will learn more than she ever expected to about her own past—and about the future of her people. If they are all to survive, they’ll need to reclaim the memories, reclaim their identity—and own who they really are.

[robsheridan]

Spectagoria Magazine’s 1978 “Swimsuit Issue” mocked the popular institution with themes of pollution and global warming, depicting melting, skeletal, oil-drenched models on apocalyptic beaches. “Just a decade after the carefree innocence of the ‘Endless Summer,’ we are careening towards an uninhabitable future of poisonous air and a deadly summer that truly does not end.” Editor Sera Clairmont said she was inspired by her experience in the record-shattering British Isles heatwave of 1976, which “felt as though the whole of my skin was surrounded at all times by the bone-dry specters of imminent death, crowding ever-closer around me, nipping at my flesh.” The playful, sexy tone of “the swimsuit industry’s most lucrative marketing stunt” felt absurd to her after that experience, as she witnessed what she described as “psychic visions of a future where our relentless destruction of the planet boils it with rage, and dooms mankind to melt and crumble into the dust of our own ruin.”

It was far from the only time Spectagoria’s fashion photography drew influence from supposed visions or “visitations” from the future. But the British Isles heatwave was widely regarded as a standalone extreme weather event, and Clairmont’s prophecy of an imminently burning planet was mocked as the latest example of her supposed “mania” since going into hiding two years prior and shifting the magazine’s focus towards darker and more other-worldly themes. But while critics found its predictions easy to dismiss, still no one had any explanation for where the magazine was staging such elaborate photo shoots, who the models were, or how some of the seemingly impossible visuals were executed. Rumors intensified that Clairmont had powers to commune with realms beyond our own…

Two years later, the 1980 heatwave in the United States was among the most destructive and deadly natural disasters in US history, claiming at least 1700 lives. It was reported as an isolated extreme weather event. As was the next one. And the next one. And the next one…

---------

NOTE: Spectagoria is an ongoing work of fiction created by me. This alternate reality horror story is part of my NightmAIres narrative art series (visit that link for a lot more). NightmAIres are windows into other worlds and interconnected alternate histories, conceived/written by me and visualized with synthography and Photoshop.

If you enjoy my work, consider subscribing to my free newsletter to stay up to date on my projects, or supporting me on Patreon for frequent exclusive hi-res wallpaper packs, behind-the-scenes features, downloads, events, contests, and an awesome fan community. Direct fan support is what keeps me going as an independent creator, and it means the world to me.

[daydream-believin]

Like A Boiled Frog (You Don't Even Scream) [ch 1]

notes: might proofread this before i post this to ao3 but here have the raw milk version (pasteurization is for losers amaright)

series summary: every time you think things cant get any more batshit, hurricane throws another pile of guano at you. every time you think the hole cant get any deeper, you fall further. and you’re not sure what frightens you more: the town itself, or your increasing reluctance to leave.

or: au where mike has that pizza shop for wayyy more than a week and you find yourself a horror protagonist. or at least one’s love interest.

chapter summary: get haunted bitch. now go drive to utah in a manic episode. go meet a nice walking corpse, maybe it'll fix you. or make you worse. probably that second thing lmao

word count: 7985, oh dear (thats with me cutting out some stuff lol)

warnings: uh, swearing, manic behavior, self-harmful thoughts/behavior, mention of hallucinations/hearing voices, shit this is sounding bad, i mean its canon typical violence so idk man no lifeguard on duty

You know how in Source Decay, John Darnielle says / I wish the west Texas highway was a mobius strip / I could ride it out forever / when I feel my heart break? / Well, that guy’s a bitchass snake oil salesman for romanticizing this. Fuck that guy.

Although, this is the first time you’ve ever been able to set a cruise control and actually just leave it at that. What with there being no other cars on the road out here at this hour for you to run into. You even forgot about it at one point.

Little puffs of fire danced in your peripheral vision, like fairies flitting about. It was easy to spot them out in the night air, all those pumpjacks that littered the desert. There was nothing but these small fires, with the tiny, dotted additions of the glowing red eyes of windmills to light up the way for miles.

And you tried not to think about how if you broke down, no one would be around to find you. Every now and then you would startle at the shadowy specter of a tumbleweed crossing your path, but you were acutely aware of just how alone you were out here.

On that train of thought, your gaze fell to the passenger side, to the little bear toy you had buckled into a seatbelt like it was a person.

“Can you believe this, Fredbear?” you asked the inanimate object.

Fredbear did not answer, of course. Would be insane if he did, right?

Hmm …Why did part of you expect him to.

***

The august sun was beating down hot on your back as you walked home that day. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was only last week.

The neighborhood was as full of life as it always was. The kids running around in a game of tag, the teens playing basketball, and the adults walking their dogs. You could hear some faint music playing in the distance, most likely from the stage setup in the square downtown, not too far away.

There were many yard sales set up, it being the thing to do on a sunny Saturday afternoon like this. Despite your very strong instincts to rummage through all the boxes in these sales like a raccoon looking for dinner in a dumpster, you were broke, with no money to spare for impulse purchases on random junk. And thus, being a mature adult, you walked right past them.

That is, until a yard full of children’s toys caught your eye. One of your cousins’ kids was turning 6 in a few weeks. Might as well buy presents now before you forget again and have to rush to the store in a panic 8 minutes after the party had already started, sweat rolling down your back as you search the toy isle for something the birthday boy would like, while your phone keeps buzzing in your pocket nonstop because both your cousin is texting and your aunt is calling to ask where you’re at because you were the one who was supposed to be picking up the pizza.

 I mean, just a hypothetical scenario here.

You didn’t really find anything good as you dug through the bins of miscellaneous action figures and toy cars. As you could recall, the kid really liked Iron Man right now. And sharks. Alas, you found no Iron Mans or sharks in those bins.

The other table’s baskets were full of stuffed animals. You could maybe get lucky and find a stuffed shark in there. But stuffed animals are notorious for being hard to clean; and yard sale plushies sometimes come with more than just one new friend. You weren’t about to be the reason your cousin had to fumigate her house for bedbugs. Again. So, you decided to close this case for now and skedaddle on out of there.

You took another look back at the table as you walked away.

Well.. The toys you could see at the top of the bins did look like they were well taken care of… It couldn’t hurt to just look, right?

Yeah no. You found no sharks unfortunately. What you did find, however, was this funky little teddy bear wearing a top hat and bowtie.

A real character, that one. The bright gold fabric of its body made it stand out amongst the other toys. The smile stitched onto the bear gave it a weird, smug look. And you hadn’t seen a plushy with eyebrows before.

That being said, this thing’s aura was so... unsettling. You stared into its black eyes, that seemed to stare right back at you, with a strange feeling twisting in the pit of your stomach.

“You like that one, do ya?”

You almost jumped out of your skin when the old man running the sale spoke to you. You had Not heard him come up beside you like that. Creepy.

“Yeah, it’s…” you tried to think of a positive word, “very intriguing. Looks like it’s ready for a party.”

“My granddaughter called him Fredbear. Found him over in Utah, many years back. In a yard sale, just like this one,” he gently took the bear from you, and looked down at it wistfully, “My granddaughter..  liked how smartly dressed he was. A perfect guest for her tea parties. You were right about that…”

The old man stared at the doll for a little longer after the conversation faded. You felt extremely awkward now. Perhaps you really should have just left without unearthing this obvious sentimental piece.

“My grandchildren are no longer here with me,” you felt a little uncomfortable with how he phrased that, “so, I’ll tell you what. Promise me you’ll take care of him, and he’s yours. Free of charge.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. I’d be happy to pay for him, really,” you felt bad taking free stuff from the elderly.

“No,” he said with a tone of finality, placing the bear firmly into your hands, “the day’s almost over. I’d like to help this old friend move on. It’s time.”

Well that somehow was both sweet and foreboding at the same time.

So, you thanked the old man and started back on your walk home, Fredbear cradled in your arms. He waved goodbye to you. The grandfather, of course, not the teddy bear.

You probably aren’t going to wind up giving this one to your cousin’s son. There was something about it that told you not to. Maybe it was the way the old man talked about it. You felt compelled to take care of the plush yourself. Kind of like an honor thing. Or a pity thing.

It smelled a little funky. But that’s nothing a little TLC couldn’t handle. And some dish soap.

Maybe you were just. Feeling a bit childish lately. Too small and easily broken. Moved to tears by little things that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Disregarded and treated like your fears weren’t real.

Deeply afraid.

Yeah, you’d give Fredbear a nice soak in the sink with a fun dish soap bubble bath. And maybe after that, you’ll both feel a little better.

You were alone in your apartment that night, as your roommate was always gone these days. And when you made your tea, you brought Fredbear a mug as well. A little tea party, for old time’s sake.

Looking back, maybe that was your first mistake.

***

Static rolled from your radio. You gave up on fiddling with it hours ago, but you’ve got nothing better to occupy your mind now.

You turned the knob absentmindedly, never really expecting to get anywhere. Or any signal, that is. A muffled country song here, the broken-up voice of a DJ there, nothing strong enough to stay for more than a few seconds. However, a few seconds of a clear transmission was all you really needed when you rolled past a certain signal.

“zZz-Hurricane—“

Now that was a word that got your attention. Not that you were anywhere near the coast at the moment. You know, unless the person reading this is looking to buy some oceanside property in Arizona. In that case feel free to slide into my DMs.

“zZZ-Peach Days! -Zz celebratio— zzZ-year—peaches peach—-ZzzZ-Heritage-zZ,” you let your gaze flicker downward, towards the dimly lit red text of the frequency number display as if that would provide some more insight.

And then suddenly, the fuzz was completely gone, as if you were near the tower itself,

“So Hurry On To Hurricane City!” the spokesman encouraged cheerfully. You could practically here the giant pageant smile in his voice as he delivered his slogan. This man was your friend, obviously. Then, however, his tone shifted as he closed the ad copy, “Because you know the party can’t start without you…”

You held your breath as the silence dragged out a few agonizing seconds, until “ZZZZZZZZ!!!”, in a jolt, the transmission went completely out. Explosively. You even flinched.

You stayed on the station for a good twenty minutes after that, waiting to see if you could hear anything again. You could feel your heart pound against your ribs until the terrifying feeling faded. There was nothing else but static, of course, and for so long you almost thought you must have imagined it. If not for the way those dull words repeated in your head, over and over.

THE PARTY CAN’T START WITHOUT YOU.

THE PARTY CAN’T START WITHOUT YOU.

THE PARTY CAN’T START WITHOUT YOU.

You hadn’t really had a destination in mind when you took off. No goal other than to get out of there as fast as you could manage. The idea of the West had been bouncing around your brain a lot lately, hence your current trajectory, but you really hadn’t had a clue where you were supposed to be going when you left.

I mean, you still didn’t have a destination. You had no clue what that advertisement was even about. Where they were even fucking talking about. Hurricane City?

Yet, somehow, you knew those words were meant for you. Not anyone else. you. There was a party and the party was waiting for you.

Guess you’d have to look for a map or something in town. Perhaps use the library computer. Man, you would regret throwing your phone into the lake in a fit of passion as you left town, but honestly, this is the longest you’ve known peace in quite some time. Just gonna have to live a little retro for a while. Not the worst thing in the world.

You’ll get a new one later, once you’ve settled in to… wherever you’re going. Whatever new home lies over that horizon for you, you guess.

The sun was breaching the beige skyline of sandy shrub brush as you finally rolled over the state line. You needed to eat. Your stomach growled loudly at just the thought. Funny. You hadn’t even thought about eating in the last.. twenty hours. Which means you should be absolutely shaking right now. Yeah, that’s why you’re shaking. That’s it. You’ll pull into the first diner you see.

You were hoping to at least be in Roswell for breakfast, but there was no way your body was going to be able to keep running if you waited that long. Looks like it’s just going to be the first place you come across.

Hopefully they don’t put green chilis in their pancakes or something.

That sounds insane but it’s an actual thing you’ve seen before in this state, trust. There are no laws nor gods when it comes to Hatch green chilis.

***

Your sleepy brain was not ready for the bell that rang as you walked through the door. Embarrassingly enough, the tinny noise startled you. You almost tripped, to be honest. Thankfully your wobbly Bambi legs held up as you managed to catch yourself.

The hostess wasn’t in sight as you awkwardly stood in the entrance, but there was a whole heap of noise coming from the kitchen.

“Hold on just a second, Sweetpea!” a voice called out to you.

Well, guess you’re holding on a second.

Your eyes scanned the top of the walls, perusing the vast cookie jar collection that the owner had accrued over the years. They were never dusted, despite being on shelves that lined the top of every wall in the tiny shack of a diner, and thus you could easily tell that a few new additions had been made. You know, because those cookie jars were way less filthy.

That’s gotta be a heath-code violation.

After you heard a bit of garbled yelling, the hostess rushed out to take her place in front of you. Smoothing down her polka-dotted apron, she grinned at you.

“Table for two?”

You blinked. It was too early in the morning for fully intelligent speech.

“Uh. No. Just me today. Thank you.”

Her big, bedazzled cat-eyeglasses fell a little farther down her nose as she scrunched her face in confusion, “alright then. Just the one of you today...”

She grabbed a paper menu as she led your shambling body to a table near the window. Which was shut away with ancient looking vinyl blinds that you were too afraid to open, lest they crumble and the cost of replacing them be put on your on tab.

She had already disappeared back into the kitchen by the time you got yourself in a seat. You glanced around the room. You weren’t the only patron here, as a few tables held a few bodies, but you were the only one without your face buried in a newspaper. And to be expected honestly, you were the youngest person in the room at seven in the morning.

The hostess, who was also the only waitress in this tiny local business, placed two glasses in front of you. The dull sound they made hitting the table drew you out of your revelry. There before you were two cups, a steaming mug of fresh coffee and a short glass of milk. You looked up in confusion.

“Don’t worry, it’s whole milk. Builds strong bones.”

That... wasn’t your concern.

You looked back at the cup in confusion and by the time you turned back, she had already moved on to the next table, refilling mugs and having loud banter with the other customers. Her regulars, by the sound of it. You felt too apathetic to try and call her over again.

You shrugged, to no one in particular, as you did not have a breakfast partner with you, despite the waitress’s insistence otherwise. Wait, was she mocking you? Eh, maybe it’s just supposed to be for the coffee. Nevertheless, you would not be drinking the milk, so you just left it there.

Despite the prevalence of the local newspaper in the room, there wasn’t a dispenser or anything at the front of the restaurant, like there usually is. As you drummed your fingers on the tablecloth, bored out of your mind, you kinda regretted throwing your phone in the lake a bit more. Maybe not the best of moves.

But hey, at least you aren’t constantly quelling the incessant buzzing you’d be hearing if you’d kept it.

You busied yourself stirring your coffee while you looked over the menu again, just for something to read. Of course, you were ordering a waffle. Because this was a diner, and, yeah, you do like waffles. And pancakes. And French toast. Doodoodoodoo can’t wait to get a mouthful.

That voice kept echoing in your mind. The party can’t start without you.

“More coffee, Babycakes?” the waitress snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Oh! Yeah, thank you,” you moved the mug to the edge of the table, closer to her, “Say… I know this is an out-of-pocket question, but have you heard anything about Hurricane City? Maybe something about peaches?”

“Oh!” she snapped her fingers, “You mean the Peach Days. It’s a little heritage festival they put on every summer in Hurricane, you know. It’s a hoot, my family makes a trip out there every few years or so for it. Not this time of course, clearly, since I’m here talkin’ to you and not in Utah—”

“In Utah?”

Of course, it was Fucking Utah again.

“I know it’s soundin’ far, but it’s only ‘bout a day’s drive from here. Two days if y’ain’t crazy about following an itinerary like my husband,” she brushed a hand over her apron before you lost her attention to the other customers, “I swear that man would plan out a schedule for every second of the day if he could…”

After she wandered off to go top off more mugs, you lamented the fact that you still hadn’t ordered yet. That’s what you get for being nosy about peach festivals, you suppose.

Thankfully though, soon enough you had your hearty breakfast and were back in front of the wheel, on your way to the friendly neighborhood Walmart. Where hopefully no cops or employees would bother you as you crashed in the parking lot.

You took Fredbear to the backseat with you for good luck. Maybe it was the gold color, or the fancy getup he had. Maybe you just needed a cuddle buddy to not feel so alone in this parking lot swarming with people.

Much to your disdain, it was now a bit into the morning hours, and the sun was fully up.

You had tried to find as shady a spot as possible, but it’s not exactly like trees grow in this biome. At least not naturally. Windbreak tree lines were definitely a thing, but those protected buildings people cared about, and this was a Walmart. Nothing around here but concrete, rocks spray painted blue, and cigarette butts.

So after tossing and turning in the bright blinding sunshine for way longer than you should have, and making promises to higher deities was proven to be unfruitful in your attempt to find some semblance of peace, you finally just had to admit defeat. And here by rescinding any aforementioned promises to higher powers.

You laid Fredbear back down on the seat and tucked him in with the blanket when you got back up. At least one of you could be cozy and well rested. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be you, however.

Well, it’s far from the first all-nighter you’ve pulled without having time to take a nap during the following day. Sleep deprivation isn’t real, silly. Teachers just made that up to scare you. It’ll be fine.

***

You know you never really realize how much we structure our lives around other humans until you take a drive through the middle of nowhere. How essential it is to have enough gas to make it to the next town. From town to town, your life becomes segments. Only within the eyesight of other humans are you ever safe. Only within the bounds of the settlement can your soul be settled.

Gas stations become oases. Which is the plural of oasis, apparently. Anyway, you start seeing them like mirages. Dingey, weather-worn gas pumps become as good as a sparkling illusion of precious water in the Sahara. The empty shells of buildings you passed by, long since forgotten, became like mausoleums in these graveyard towns. Villages. Hamlets. Mostly hamlets.

“Are we there yet?” a small and very annoyed voice called out.

You had just written it off as your imagination until you heard the noise of shuffling fabric. Normally your audio hallucinations aren’t that detailed. Paralyzed, you held your breath, not daring to make any noise that would distract your ears from hearing whoever, whatever, was in the back seat. Your mind went to stories of skinwalkers and misshapen monsters and hitch-hiking serial killers.

“… Are we there yet?” the voice repeated, admittedly sounding even smaller to you now.

Yep, that’s a real person alright. Or a real thing. Your eyes were probably bloodshot from the way you haven’t blinked this entire time, just staring straight ahead on the desert highway. Taking a deep, shaky breath to steady yourself, you turned down the rear-view mirror…

Christ almighty. You had a stowaway.

Your stomach turned immediately. God, come on now, don’t puke up what little you had on your stomach. You need that.

“Hey Buddy,” you tried to sound as friendly as you could, “What’s your name?”

Clad in a little striped shirt and cargo shorts, he started kicking his feet in impatience, which would be cute if it weren’t for this situation y’all are in, and the adrenaline pumping through your veins, “We’ve been in here forever,” he whined.

If this was a skinwalker, he was a pretty darn adorable one. And definitely not a hitch-hiking serial killer. At least you hoped. But no, this was a greater form of terror: responsibility.

“Haha, yeah, we have been in here really long, haven’t we? How long do you think we’ve been driving, can you tell me?”

When did you pick up this child. When you got gas in Gallup? Albuquerque? Dear lord, if he’s been in here since Roswell, you’re about to have the world’s biggest headache on your hands, both metaphorically and physically. But there’s no way he’s been in here for fucking 10 hours, right? right??

Okay, okay. Maybe you’re just a little panicky right now and not thinking straight. Maybe teachers hadn’t been making up sleep deprivation just to scare you after all. You have been purposely not drinking anything for the lack of available restrooms. People get dehydration hallucinations, right?

The boy just stared at you, blankly. Probably fully realizing you were a stranger and not whoever he thought you were. In lieu of answering you, he started fidgeting more with the toy bear you had had in the back. You really hoped that hadn’t been what lured him into your station wagon in the first place.

Don’t be getting shy on me now, kid.

You put your blinker on, ready to merge off the road and onto an incoming rest-stop that you thanked your lucky stars for.

“Honey, can you tell me what your phone number is?”

He looked up at you, finally tearing his attention from the bear, and you could see gears turning in his head.

“…435-555-1987?”

You repeated it back to him, and he nodded. Alright, time to find that payphone.

Said rest-stop payphone was thankfully near a picnic table so you could sit him down and be able to watch him carefully the whole time you made this call. Because judging by the fact this situation was happening at all, he was a slippery one.

You got out of the car and opened the back door, but he was hesitant to get out. Which, fair, you are a stranger trying to get him to a second location.

“What’s up, Bud?” you tried your hardest to not sound like a predator but boy was that a real nebulous idea, wasn’t it?

“Fredbear wants to come too,” he mutters.

“Well, sure then, let’s bring him, we’ll have a little picnic.” With no food, but hey, whatever lie it takes to get him sitting on that bench.

It was really cute the way the kid set the bear down on the table and positioned it like they were going to have a picnic together. When you find this kid’s parents, you’ll let him keep Fredbear. Toys like it when they’re given to new children, right? Wasn’t there a movie about that or something. Wincing at the grubbiness of the payphone, you reluctantly dialed the number.

“Hello, Jeff’s Pizza on Main St, are you ready to order?”

You closed your eyes, counting the seconds as you breathed in for 4 seconds, held it for 7, and released for 8.

“Hello? Are you there?”

“Yes!” you practically shouted into the receiver. So much for calming down, “please don’t hang up,” you pleaded.

“Listen, we don’t take solicitation,”

“No, uh, sorry. I’ve found a lost child who told me this was his number. Is the owner of this restaurant by chance frantically looking for their son?”

You heard some muffled conversation happening behind the phone, “Well, no, I don’t even have any kids… and I uh, am currently understaffed. Im the only one here.”

you cursed under your breath.

“Uh, alright, well…” you could tell this was getting really awkward for him.

“Could you tell me where y’all are, I’m unfamiliar with the area code,”

“Uh, Hurricane, Utah?”

… If you weren’t on the phone, you fucking swear you’d be screeching at the top of your lungs like a chimpanzee right now.

“Thank you, you know, just in case he’s just remembering an advertisement he’s seen or something,”

“Oh, okay,” there was a pause, “well I hope you find the parents or, whoever,”

“Thank you,” you’ll put him out of his misery and hang up.

“Are you sure that’s your number, Hon?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Why don’t you tell me it again, maybe I dialed it wrong,”

“435-5--” his face scrunched up in concentration, “435-555—I don’t know…”

You tried not to look visibly stressed at this answer.

“Do you know where you live?”

He moved the bears paws along with whatever little game he was playing, before looking up at you, head tilted in confusion, “Hurricane?”

Okay. Police time. If not for him, for you. The skinwalker possibility just went back up. Because, honestly, he had to have gotten in your car as a coyote or something. No way you wouldn’t’ve noticed a whole ass child entering your car.

“How does ice cream sound, huh Buddy?”

“I want ice cream!” he said hastily as if you’d change your mind if he hesitated.

“Ice cream it is then, but only if you’re good for me and the officers, okay? And tell them everything you can remember. You’re smart, right?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Great,” you smiled over clenched teeth.

After herding him back into the car, you had to take a moment to gently rest your head into the steering wheel. And it took everything within you to not smash said head into it. Or scream in agony. No, no, we mustn’t scare the child.

Tuba City wasn’t too far away. The police station was downtown, as most are. Luckily, across the street there was a paleteria with a courtyard area. The little guy got very excited when you got pulled into the parking space, so eh, what the hell, ice cream first. Maybe after a treat and some playtime in the courtyard he won’t be as wiggly and will be able to tell the cops what he knows about just where the hell he came from.

The noise of the bell chiming made you flinch as you two walked into the paleteria. You hadn’t thought you were that tightly wound right now but apparently you were wrong. The lady behind the counter greeted you warmly, and you responded in turn, trying to play it cool.

God, imagine if she got an off-vibe from you and the kid and called over the police from across the street before you even have a chance—

Deep breath. Okay. The kid you had started referring to in your head as just “Little Boy” was leaned against the display case, his breath fogging up the glass in front of him and probably leaving little handprints for the shopkeeper to clean later.

“I’m sorry about that,”

“That’s… Okay. What can I get you?” she seemed a little confused. Strange, but you brushed past it just as quickly as she did.

“Ah, what do we want?” you asked Little Boy.

He excitedly tugged on your pantleg and pointed to the popsicle he wanted, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. He doesn’t need to convince you, but you quickly realized you were not going to be able to say no to any else after this if he deployed the same cute begging look.

“One of those cute little Tweety Bird faces,” you pointed.

“Anything else?” she handed you the popsicle and you gingerly took it.

“Nah, that’s it” you were too nauseous to eat right now.

You paid, throwing the change into the tip jar, and turned to give Little Boy the popsicle she handed you.  The words caught in your throat as you looked down to find your pantleg absent of any tugging by any Little Boy. You quickly scanned the tiny paleteria. He was nowhere to be found, anywhere in the room.

“Uh, did you see where the kid went?” you tried not to sound too panicked.

She was taken aback, also quickly looking around the room to find no one, before shaking her head, “Did you have a kid with you?”

You furiously nodded in confusion,

“I’m sorry, then I didn’t see them,” she pointed to the glass door that led to the courtyard only a few feet away from y’all, “Try outside, maybe?”

You burst outside, searching the area in a panic, but you couldn’t see him anywhere. Not hidden in the tangle of the garden, not splashing around in the fountain, not at, under, on top of, or around any of the tables.

You went to call his name, but your voice caught in your throat when you realized you didn’t have a name to call. And.

And.

Something hit your shirt. A water droplet. You looked up into the clear, blinding blue sky. Your nerves tickled as another droplet ran down your cheek. Oh, you were crying. Huh.

You took the closet seat you could find, counting the things processed by your 5 senses. It’s all you could do to not start bawling for no reason. Maybe you’ll calm down and be able to think straight soon.

Why can’t you think straight? Everything feels so fuzzy.

You should be terrified, and in a way, you were. In your heart of hearts, you knew the truth: Little Boy wasn’t real. Or at least turned back into a coyote and ran off.

As you stared vacantly into the open air, you realized you still had a dripping popsicle in your hands. Supposedly “Tweety Bird” shaped, it just looked like a yellow skull missing its mandible bone to you. How fitting.

You pulled it to your mouth. Yum. Tasted like AAAAAAAA. Or orange, according to the package.

Attempting to lick the melted yellow liquid off of your hand, you accidentally stuck the ice pop on your face. Great. Now you’re sticky all over.

God, you’ve really gone and lost your fucking marbles this time, haven’t you.

There was a bulletin kiosk a few feet down your field of vision. On that bulletin kiosk was an old poster, barely visible as it was buried under layers of other flyers. It caught your eye and seemed to burn your retinas. What little you could see was the word Freddy and part of what looked like a version of the bear you’d been toting around this whole little expedition, but that was enough.

Something clicked. You looked down at the bear hanging by your side in your other hand. The kid had shoved it into your arms so he could more easily lean on the display case, right before he disappeared the very moment you took your eyes off of him.

You know, you hadn’t really felt alone since bringing Fredbear home. And not in a good way.

Guess the name you should’ve been calling was Freddy.

You had to get rid of that bear.

***

You had been walking home like you always did, same route. But you noticed something peculiar about this time. The house that the old man had his yard sale in was now stripped of all decoration, with a For Sale sign proudly standing in the grass. No cars, and no blinds or curtains on the windows, so you could see into the den which was now devoid of any furniture.

You’ll admit it, you crept around to the other windows, searching for any signs of life at all in the empty rooms. None. No furniture, no people, no trash. The yard sale was yesterday. How did they clean this place out so thoroughly in the short amount of time between when you’d seen it last and now.

A little confuddled, you went home as usual. While strange as hell, this wasn’t a missing person’s case or anything. And it’s probably why the man was so adamant on giving you Fredbear because it was the end of the day. He had a deadline. He was skipping town.

God, you wished you could just skip town.

You frankly thought nothing of it when you unlocked the door to your apartment to see Fredbear was already seated on the couch, like he was all set to marathon whatever 30-year-old cartoon you wound up watching that night. And it’s not like your roommate hadn’t done something like this before, move a stuffed animal or action figure into a funny position for you to find later.

You hadn’t seen him much lately. Or like, at all. The only reason you knew he was still alive were the dirty dishes in the sink, dirty clothes on the floor of the bathroom, and the aforementioned moving the bear around.

Looking back now, was he moving the bear around?

If you locked the deadbolt that can’t be unlocked from the outside, you’d be guaranteed to catch him in person for once. But you weren’t willing to go through the trouble and emotional toil of doing that, however.

In the name of feeling less like a ghost haunting your own home, getting yelled at for intentionally locking your roommate out might be a wee bit counterproductive. Sure, you’d be seen and spoken to, but the harshness of his words and tone would send you into a worse episode than you were already in.

Well, at least Fredbear seemed ready to keep you company tonight...

The fact that they put unskippable advertisements on streaming services you’re paying for in the first place is criminal. Or at least regular cable tv in a trenchcoat.

You got a drink while they prattled on about luxury cars you couldn’t afford and real estate companies you weren’t going to have the privilege of patroning any time soon. Embarrassingly, as you poured the pitcher of water into a glass, you got a little distracted.

The cheap glass’s glass was only about a millimeter or two thick. You could easily just crush this cup in your hand, in one swift movement. The muscles of your arm began tensing up at the thought.

But thankfully, a loud, blaring advertisement coming from the TV snapped you out of it. And so, you promptly decided to Not Do That, because picking all of those tiny glass shards out of your flesh would be a bitch. And that was not how you wanted to spend a perfectly good Sunday night. And of course you didn’t need the questions at work tomorrow.

You returned to the couch, curiously, and you swear, that damn teddy bear followed you with its eyes. Even though they were a shiny, solid black, and the idea itself would be insane.

As you settled back down, you grabbed the remote to turn down the volume of the cheery music playing. Mysteriously, it wasn’t just a commercial with bad sound mixing, the TV itself had been turned up. Now that it had your attention, the thing that was being sold to you seemed to the state of Utah. You know, those Visit [X] ads that were commonly played between cooking shows and ghost hunting documentaries.

“Oh hey, you’re from there, right?” you poked at fredbear. And immediately felt pathetic. God, you’ve got to stop talking to inanimate objects and like get a boyfriend or something. Geez.

The imagery on the screen was just, you know, normal southwest stock footage:

A drone shot of Zion national park

Old men golfing

Owls living in holes they’ve dug into cactuses

Rock archways

A family laughing as they shared a pizza being served to them by a man in a bear suit that looked just fredbear,

“Oh, well there you are, I guess.” you once again absent-mindedly spoke to your toy friend.

Kids swimming in a fancy resort pool

A Navajo cultural event

More rock archways and red sandstone cliffs

Kids crowding around a claw machine filled with toys just like the one sitting next to you

Kids crowding around a stage as an animatronic band played

Kids crowding around a birthday cake, the light of candles bouncing off their faces as they sang along…

The fake sounding voice of the announcer rung out, “Visit Utah! You know the party can’t start without you!”

Your mouth felt dry. Good thing you now had that glass of water.

***

Of course, you did what any smart, sane person would do and feverishly ripped through the layers of old flyers to get to the advertisement for what you now knew was Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place. A themed diner and nickel arcade that made most of their money hosting birthday parties, by the looks of it. You knew the type; you had been an American child once too.

Good thing none of the cops were hanging around outside to fine you for littering, because the amount of paper you just released into the breeze was in fact criminal.

There was a short list of locations at the bottom of the poster. They had a few scattered over Utah, or at least they used to, judging by the harsh weathering of this poster. The closest one being in Bigwater, explaining why this poster was out here in Tuba. But the word Hurricane stood out to you like it was lit up in neon. It burned like sunlight.

It appears you are in fact on your way to Hurricane, Utah. As if you didn’t know that already at this point, you being out on the canyon rim instead of your much preferred and beloved Rockies. Well, congratulations bitch. You’ve only got another three hours to go. Better get going. Have fun!

***

Oh, this place was creepy as hell. Or it’s just late at night, and you’re sleep deprived and paranoid. In the spirit of being honest to yourself, ‘sleep deprived and paranoid’ has always been your natural state of being, but right now it’s definitely ramped up to an eleven.

But even though it’s been close to 48 hours since your last brain-reset, this place still had a certain energy about it. Like New Orleans, or the woods around lynching bridges did. That spooky oh I am Not Safe here type of energy.

The gas station-man gave you a real weird look when you stormed in and asked where the Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place was. Normally you would’ve chalked it up to you being a clear foreigner asking for directions as if it’s 1995, to a children’s arcade close to midnight nonetheless, but now you weren’t so sure.

You eyed the fridge full of wine in pint sized bottles and little juice cartons. But nah, you probably needed to have a quick reaction time to whatever was waiting for you in this Venus flytrap you’re willingly walking into. You grabbed a Monster instead and you know what, yeah, that probably wasn’t the best decision either. If you weren’t high strung before, you definitely were now. You felt like you could punch a bear. A Freddy Fazbear.

You bought a local map alongside the energy drink, feeling like you were gonna need it. Man, low-tech was actually kinda annoying after a while. You got the gas station-man to begrudgingly mark Fazbear’s down onto it for you. Apparently, it and all other locations within town had closed down some twenty years ago. Not many people are still around who remember why, he said, but it had something to do with the faulty animatronics. Teenagers told ghost stories and dared each other to spend the whole night in the dining room. But otherwise, beyond the rumors, the original Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place was just an empty, scorched building. And the other various locations like Jr’s or Circus Baby’s had been sold off, passing so many hands who knows what businesses were in there now. But you could still kinda tell, if you paid attention, in the same way you can tell if something used to be a Pizza Hut.

What you really wanted, according to gas station-man, whose nametag read Gary, was this new location that was opening soon, simply named Freddy’s Pizzeria. It’s set to open for business in September, so you’re lucky. He marked it one your map as well.

You don’t know why Gary was so nice to you. Maybe it was the harrowed look in your eyes. Maybe it was the twitchiness. Maybe Gary is just very bored of this tourist town and was looking to fall madly in love with a random troubled soul he met at midnight in a gas station and would wind up running away with to some far-off place. If that was the case, sorry Gary. You were too busy with the metaphorical torture labyrinth to care about romance at the moment.

You couldn’t decide if the haunted Fredbear would want to see an old location or the new one. You asked, but of course the fucker didn’t answer. Just sat there with his smug grin and glassy eyes that followed your hand movements. So, you quite literally tossed a coin. A new mint, the face side had Eleanor Roosevelt on it. And she marked the fact that you were going to try the new location first, and then try the original building next. Cool.

***

Your patience was kinda at its limit here, you’ll admit. You really should get some sleep soon. Or eat. Since you were hellbent on getting here and nothing else, the only thing on your stomach besides that wretched Tweety Bird popsicle is half a monster energy. Guess you’ll go by a fucking Denny’s after this. If you survive.

If you were going to die horrifically, you’d really rather the forces that be make it snappy. This was getting ridiculous.

You pulled into the parking lot. The building clearly wasn’t new but had been freshly painted. Nothing creepy so far. As you stared down the building, sizing it up, you noticed there was one car parked in the front, and a few of the windows were lit up.

Cool, so there was someone in there. Great. That makes, well whatever this is, much harder.

The door was locked.

You could hear music playing from inside. You banged on the door as loudly as you could manage, and it still took a couple of minutes before the music stopped. And then a very disgruntled man in coveralls was in the doorway, tiredly asking just what the fuck you wanted at this time of night.

He smiled to cover up his rudeness, but the smile stretched a little too wide, inhumanly wide, and a shiver ran down your spine.

You took him in, unashamedly raking your eyes over his form. He stood awkwardly, as if ready to bolt at any moment. What you could see of his build made him out to be weirdly skinny. That unnaturally wide smile gave way to some exposed teeth on the left side of his face. His eyes were shadowed by his bangs in the backlight of the door, but you swore they almost glowed themselves. His complexion was greyish and bordered on almost purple in this lighting.

Despite all this, he was still pretty handsome. Well, you did always think some of those creepypasta guys were boyfriend material. Maybe, you wouldn’t mind getting chopped up into little pieces if this guy was the one doing it. Okay, and maybe you’ve been sleeplessly chasing ghosts too long.

Startling you, he reached his hand to grab your shoulder, a little too fast.

“Hey mate, are you okay?” He asked nervously,

It snapped you out of your stupor, realizing you had yet to say a word to him, “Uh, yes, I just wanted to…”

How do you even fucking ask this. “Hey, can I bring a stuffed bear to your dining room so maybe it’s spirit will leave me alone? Maybe conduct a séance or something?” Seriously, did you even know what you were doing here? Shit. Okay.

“I wanted to ask if I could check out your facility?” came out like a question because even you had no clue what you were saying.

“Come back tomorrow in the daylight, then,” he began closing the door, shaking his head in annoyance, “or perhaps when we’re actually open.”

“NO!” you slammed your foot into the door as he closed it, “AAGH!”

“Jesus Christ! WHY.”

Dear lord, this man now 100% thinks you’re a crackhead.

“Just, don’t close that door, okay,” his brows scrunched together as you grit your teeth to swallow down the pain, “I need you to help me.”

“I really don’t have any money to spar--”

“I’M HERE BECAUSE OF A GHOST,” you interrupted. Finally, you managed to get that out somehow, if nonsensical.

A look of recognition flickered in his glowing eyes. He lowered into your space, kind of intimidatingly. Or intimately. Yeah, no, this was hostile, don’t fool yourself.

“What kind of ghost,” he asked suspiciously.

“Uh,” shit, okay, “the weird, haunted doll kind? Uh, like the ones the McElroy brothers are always bidding on on eBay. Or maybe this is kind of a Ben Drowned kinda situation, I’m not completely sure.”

He blinked, “okay, I only understood a few of those words, but—”

“It’s a Freddy teddy bear that really wanted me to take it to Hurricane, okay?” You really were at the end of your rope at the moment, “I have literally driven here for days straight on no sleep and barely any food and I need this Unauthorized Fucking Thing to find it’s eternal peace or kill me in some horrible way so I can hurry up and get on with my goddamn life,”

“Uh, see… the thing is,” he started to retreat back again, slowly moving his hands like he was trying to calm down a spooked animal.

 You realized what was about to happen, and it must have been visible in your eyes, since his huge unnatural placating smile returned,

“I actually don’t want anything to do with that, sooo…”

“PLEASE—” you reached out in blind panic, but he dodged it. (now if only you could’ve dodged the scooper like that Mikey)

The door slammed in your face.

Your breathing was ragged and fogged up the glass as he locked it again. You stared up at those glowing pinprick pupils of his as he gave you an apologetic little wave goodbye. And then he fucking made a big show of pointing at the closed sign before turning tail to disappear back into the darkness of the empty restaurant.

Okay.

Just a little setback. You’ll go to the older location first, now, and come back when this asshole is sleeping. Can’t be too hard to bust out one of those windows, and you doubt he has an alarm set up already. It’s his fault, really. If he didn’t want property damage, then he should’ve just let you in. Not like you haven’t warned him that you were desperate or anything.

Just gonna go to the other location. You’ve got your map, you’ve got a tank full of gas, and you’ve got chutzpah.

Now what you don’t have? Is a car that will start.

[ora-ori]

GUYS GUYS WAIT I HAVE AN IDEA ??

So we know Lenore went kinda coocoo from Theo’s death from the tree, she was in a wheelchair, panic attacks all that stuff. Then Ms Gaslight Gatekeeper Girlboss shows up, they fall in love, Annabel leaves.

HERES THE GOOD STUFF

We know Lenore cut her hair and everything to become a man so she could stay with Annabel and marry her. SHE SET HER HOUSE ON FIRE WITH THE ETHER THE NURSES AND MAIDS WERE USING TO “CALM HER DOWN” OR BASICALLY KNOCK HER OUT OR DRUG HER.

I did my research for the lovely guy Edgar Allen Poe and his poem for Lenore, and figured out that Lenore, in the poem, had died from tuberculosis. What’s tuberculosis? A disease that affects your lungs, and that can only be transmitted through the air. I did more research and found the possible causes of tuberculosis, one is FIRE. The smoke can infect your lungs and you can develop tuberculosis. what did Lenore do? Set her house on FIRE.

But that’s not it.

What if Lenore’s specter is not base on her actual death, which could have possibly been from illness or being shot through the head on their wedding day (go ahead and ask me about that theory), but it is supposed to relate or be based around her metaphorical death. THE DEATH OF LENORE BEFORE MEETING ANNABEL AND THE REBIRTH OF HER AS LEO AND/OR LENORE THAT HAD A CAUSE AND WILL TO LIVE BECAUSE OF ANNABEL.

I see the shadow from the top left on Lenore’s face as the shadow of her past, the Lenore from before. Whom was dark and lonely and sad, all that. And the bottom right light as the light a new brightness of her new life. Her freedom.

AND

I think her specter will be related to the fire half. With a little more research, I found a Celtic/Gaelic goddess of fire by the name of Brighid, Hephaestus who’s also a god of fire, a dragon related specter due to the fire relation. But if we take the shot through the head-mental illness route, the Fay/fae of the British Isles or otherwise changlelings, whom are associated with mental disorders/illnesses, and due to Lenore taking up a new identity.

NOW

None of these are confirmed or true, this is just my headcannons and theories, please do not take them the wrong way. I love Nevermore and….most of the characters in it (cough cough Montressor) However if you do like these theories or have your own ideas or want to share, please do, send and ask or question and I’ll do my best to respond to them.

[leasthaunted]

Episode 114: The Dark Watchers

From the coast of Big Sur, to the top of the second highest peak in The British Isles, Cody and Garth explore tales of giant shadow figures in the mist. What are The Dark Watchers? Who is The Big Gray Man? and What does a specter from Germany have to do with it? All of this and the opening of your third eye await in the latest episode of Least Haunted!

As always, please come join the episode discussion on the Least Haunted Discord!

[let-us-cultivate-our-garden]

So do you think Belos is a better character than Luz?

He's a 400 year old Puritan witch hunter turned gooey eldritch abomination who is only alive because he routinely devours the souls of magical animals and whatever ambient magic from the isles that keeps his wretched husk of a heart pumping. He's killed multiple children that are really the clones of his elder brother, who raised him and then promptly left him with no explanation, causing him to go on a mad crusade to kill ALL the witches after he did a Cain on his big bro. He's calm, cool, and collected but always a hair's breadth away from turning his arm into a giant fuck-you scythe and cleaving someone's head off. Don't ever insult his drip, he'll throw you into a table. He has long, flowing locks, a gentle smile, and wears a dress. His body has multiple holes in it and there is absolutely no life in his eyes. He's left-handed, probably gay, and once turned into a bunny rabbit. He bit a person. He thought the child of the god of this world was a dog. He likes non-boiling rain, quiet nights, and green trees. His name's Philip and he got hit by a car. He's from Connecticut but from before the United States was even thought of. He's responsible for the Tiny Cat Coven. He is haunted by the accrued sins of his past and had the specter of his murdered brother (and gazillion clones) silently confront him. He called the child of the stars a "round boy."

Of course he's the better character.

[rex-shadao]

For the Future: The Tragedy of Belos

This post contains spoilers of the episode For the Future. If you have not seen the episode, please do so.

Under the night sky of the Boiling Isles, a muddy figure lumbers through the forest, intent on reaching the Titan's skull. It is Belos aka Philip Wittebane, a witch hunter from the 17th century intent on completing his mission to kill the magical inhabitants of this realm. He had survived the Draining Spell, the Collector's Game of Tag, and Hunter's attempt to drown him. He has survived for hundreds of years, held together by his determination and the palismen he consumed. And yet...

He is slowing down. Tiring. His body is melting and falling apart with every step he takes. Soon, he's resorting to use his hands to simply trudge forward. After 400 years of prolonging his life, Belos is now dying. He is so close to finishing his goal after the major setback that Luz has put him through, and yet it's all slipping away from him. Everything he has done will amount to nothing if he suddenly dies right now.

For the first time in his long life, Belos begins to fear. Not of death, but of failure. Failure to complete his mission despite being so close. Failure to eliminate all witches and "protect humanity from evil." Failure to avenge his brother's death...

And then Belos stops and sees something. A phantom from his past has appeared before him. A pale, deathly-looking figure with sunken eyes and a lifeless frown on his face. It is Caleb Wittebane, Philip's older and now deceased brother.

The specter doesn't move or talk. It stands there before Belos lifelessly. Is it really Caleb's ghost? Or is it Belos' mind hallucinating thanks to him dying?

Whatever the case may be, Belos is terrified and angered by its presence. He yells at the ghostly image of his brother:

"DON'T MOCK ME!"

Caleb doesn't respond. No movement. No voice. No change in expression. Just a lifeless image starring into Belos' soul.

But Belos isn't just looking at Caleb. He is looking at the blood-stained knife that floats above Caleb. The same knife he used to kill his brother when he discovered Caleb's affair with the witch Evelyn.

Belos continues ranting to Caleb, his voice a mixture of defensive rationality and bitter resentment.

"I tried to save your soul!"

He tries to justify Caleb's murder at his hand, inadvertently revealing that killing Caleb was not his original intent. As Masha's tale puts it, Philip set off to save his brother from Evelyn. He failed and instead ended up killing him. He dreamt of being his brother's savior and the hero he always wanted to be as a young child. But he screwed up so badly that he's now making excuses for his sin. By the end, he blames his brother for his predicament, never taking any responsibility for his actions.

"It's your fault THIS ALL HAPPENED!"

And then he immediately attacks Caleb in primal rage, turning his hands scythes to slash his brother's image into pieces. But unlike the memory portraits, his brother remains untouched and still staring at Belos.

As Belos pants in the aftermath, his hand starts to rot and then falls off from his arm. Belos is shocked and suddenly convulses in pain. He falls to the ground as Caleb looks down on his brother with contempt and sadness.

Belos is now on his knees, almost as if he's begging Caleb for forgiveness. But Belos still presses on, ignoring the specter and simply thinking that a new body will fix his problems. The specter disappears, but the message is clear. Belos can't run anymore.

Belos manages to reach to his old hideout at the base of the skull, where the Grimwalkers are made... and later disposed of. But now he's reduced to crawling, with one of his leg detached from his body. As he stops to catch his breathe, he realizes he’s surrounded by the corpses of the past Grimwalkers. Where all the failures end up. Belos again sees Caleb... accompanied by all the dead Grimwalkers that Belos had killed for "betraying" him.

Belos knows what they represent. What they mean. And he has no energy to even rationalize or justify his crimes. He can only ignore it.

"Oh, shut up...," he wheezes before crawling to his Grimwalker Chamber. He desperately looks for a Grimwalker body, one who didn't manage to break out from his birth site.

"There has to be one left..." he frantically mutters to himself. It seems like the best solution. After all, Hunter's body proved most useful as a host. Youthful, powerful, stable, even has Caleb's likeness. So it stands to reason that a fresh corpse of a Grimwalker would work the same, with the added bonus that it won't rebel him. But alas, when he enters into the Grimwalker's corpse, the dead Grimwalker mutates and decays too quickly.

"No, it's not ready!" he cries. Even in death, the Grimwalker has betrayed him. They all betrayed him. And Belos is running out of time before the ghosts of his past come back.

Luckily for him, he found a new, stable host in the form of a puppet who used to be Raine. The puppet finally gives him stability he craves and even better, a disguise to get close to the Collector and either posses or trick them. With the Collector's powers, Belos could finally achieve his goal of wiping out the witches.

But his moment of triumph is only delaying the inevitable. For 400 years, he's been running from it, hiding himself in his shell crafted from his own insecurities. But death is patience, it can wait. It has been waiting for 400 years. And we the audience now know the truth.

We now see Belos without his shell. We now see him completely alone, with no one to talk to. We see him for what he is in the dark. He is driven by fear. Fear of the guilt that resides within him. Fear that nothing he would do could erase this feeling or make up for his sin. So he overcompensates by planning to kill all witches in one fell swoop, bringing his brother back from the dead and making him impervious to disloyalty, and returning home to hear everyone calling him the greatest Witch Hunter and hero of humanity...

All because he knows deep down, he has committed one of the most heinous sins and cannot undo it. But he can't accept that. He needs to fix it. He has to. Nothing else matters until he finish his ultimate mission to make up for his initial failure.

This is his tragedy. This is his downfall. This is his Hell. A cycle of horror and strife. At this point, no amount of physical punishment or imprisonment would deter Belos, and giving Belos death would be granting him mercy. The only thing that could hurt him now are his memories, specifically the memory of Caleb's murder and how he can never change that no matter how hard he tries.

[stellaex-art]

So yeah! I'm now getting into the Super Mario fandom! I started getting into it after watching the Super Mario Bros. Movie, and I absolutely adored it too! (Mainly cuz of Bowser X3) To celebrate, here's my Mario OC, Princess Ophelia, the princess of the Arcane Isles! In my headcanon, the Arcane Isles is a kingdom full of magic and powerful witches, and Ophelia is the ruler of this kingdom! I have a bunch of concepts for the kingdom and how it works, such as magic staffs and wands, and familiars, which are creatures given to witches to serve and protect them and assist them with their magic. I plan to get into the concepts of the kingdom later, and I even have ideas for a fan game/story. And yes, I ship her with Bowser X3 I hope you guys like how she turned out, cuz I poured my heart and soul into her design and her information! Enjoy! (Written bio under the cut)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Name: Princess Ophelia Nicknames/Aliases: Princess of the Arcane Isles, Princess of Magic, Lady Ophelia, Ophelia the Majestic, Princess Half-a-Witch, Your Highness, Your Majesty, Madame, The most powerful witch in the Arcane Isles (by Flora and Fauna), Witchlet (by King Alistair and Queen Calliope), Ophy (by Quinn), Mama (by Bowser Jr.), Mom (by Bowser Jr. and the Koopalings), My dear (By Atticus and Bowser), Darling (by Queen Calliope and Bowser), Flower (by Bowser), Starlight (by Bowser), Dearest (by Bowser), Jewel (by Bowser), Sweetheart (by Bowser) Age: 26 years old Gender: Female (She/Her) Species: Witch Sexual Orientation: Pansexual Personality: Gentle, Cool-headed, Affectionate, Intelligent, Clumsy, Self-critical, Emotional, Passionate, Hopeful, Creative, Patient Likes: Her friends, Sweets, The color purple, pampering Harmony, Spending time with Bowser and his kids, Reading, Romantic music, Learning new magic, Astronomy, Singing, Dancing, Musicals, Honoring her parents' memory Dislikes: Dark magic, The Wraith King and his minions, Her clumsiness, Messing up, Imperfection, Messing up her spells, Vices, Bitter foods, Being ridiculed, Hypocrisy, Violence/Resorting to violence, Her friends and family being in danger Family: King Alistair (deceased father), Queen Calliope (deceased mother) Friends/Allies: Atticus (childhood best friend/royal advisor), Quinn (royal guard captain), Flora (royal attendant/gardener), Fauna (royal attendant/familiar keeper), Millicent (nursemaid/caretaker), Harmony (familiar), Mario, Luigi, Princess Peach, Toad, Princess Daisy, Rosalina, Yoshi, Donkey Kong, Bowser Jr., Koopalings, Kamek, Kammy Koopa, Shiver, Sugar & Spice, Tulip, Pepper Enemies: The Wraith King, The Hollow Specter, Count Maelstrom, Shock Wave, The Siren Sisters Love Interest: Bowser (consort/boyfriend) Residence: Arcane Isles Occupation: Princess of the Arcane Isles Powers and Abilities: Witchcraft, Spell Casting, Telekinesis, Conjuration, Teleportation, Familiar Summoning, Magic Staff Mastery, Power-Up usage, Musical Talent, Dancing Voice Headcanon: Erica Luttrell (Sapphire from Steven Universe) Theme Song: W.I.T.C.H. (Devon Cole) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Here's the link to her written bio below on my DeviantArt:

[archivist-crow]

On this day:

SPECTER CITIES, SWORDS, AND SPIKES

On August 2, 1908, off the west coast of Ireland, a city hung suspended in the sky. Its houses displayed a diversity of styles, and it shone brilliantly for over three hours. In roughly the same vicinity, in 1840 and 1857, a sky island with crystal and pearl buildings, thought to be the mysterious city of the elusive fin folk, was seen from the Scottish Isle of Sanday. In 1881, a snow- and icicle-covered settlement, supposedly resembling an island village over a hundred miles away, was visible in Pomeranian skies. People could be seen moving about. In 1846, an apparition, suggested to be a projection of Edinburgh, hovered over the sky in Liverpool, England. In 1801, an aristocratic town, complete with shrub-ensconced mansions and backed by a forest, appeared over Cork, Ireland, where specters of a walled settlement had previously appeared in 1796 and 1797. The visions remained visible for thirty minutes. Specter cities have also been reported over the Bornholm Island in the Baltic, in Sweden, and in Ohio.

On August 2, 1888, a phantom army marched across the Croatian sky, their leader brandishing a flaming sword. Investigation ruled out the possibility of the apparition being a reflection of an actual event taking place in the area. In Ireland, 1797, armies of "fairies" trooped and battled over the bog near Maryborough at high noon.

On August 2, 1921, in West Germany, a nine-year-old boy and his uncle watched ball lightning the size of a watermelon come in through an open window, bounce across the floor, and then roll toward them, flashing green, red, yellow, and blue light. The surface of the ball became spiky, and the ball rolled across the stove, leaving a rut, before entering the air vent, where it exploded.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[pearlypairings]

update for there is a light that never goes out

chapter summary: chrissy needs to go home, but jonathan has trouble parting ways. confessions are made in their own way accompanied by a revelation over the necklace in his pocket.

(now.... kiss 💋)

new chapter on ao3

( start at the beginning here!)

sneak peek below.....

Chrissy didn’t give him a chance to call her name or grab her attention; she’d already spun around to face him, eyes round and sparkling. She knew him.

He recited the only poem that came to mind when the galaxy of their eyes crashed together.

“I am bound–I am bound, for a distant shore.” His eyes wouldn’t leave hers, he had fallen into the ocean and would happily drown in her irises.

“By a lonely isle, by a far Azore,” he said with a voice as soft as summer rain. His hand journeyed to close the distance between them, replacing a lock of hair behind her ear from the wild wind. His tone shifted, lightening the delivery with a sliver of hope tacked to the words. “There it is—there it is, the treasure I seek—”

He breathed, a pause to find his sights set on the shape of her lips. The way they gapped slightly at his abrupt performance, the thin frost covering the edge that he wanted to melt away. Only she could make him feel this way: unafraid and bare—alone and open, but not lonely.

The last line sealed his confession with a whisper. Jonathan said, hands trembling, “—on the barren sands of a desolate creek.”

Her gaze moved to his lips. Clouds of their breath stretched out and intermingled in the cold, like specters of desire reaching for each other in the abyss.....

[collidescopeeyes]

Time is a Roulette Wheel

Viego: Pt 1

League of Legends | Viego x F!Reader

Chapters: Prologue | Viego: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Crossposted on AO3 here

SFW

Decided to break this up into parts because Tumblr is a Super Functional Website, but you can read the full thing on AO3.

Summary: Turns out that Runeterra isn't the only place that has a Void. Plucked from your world into one of a video game with nothing but stolen time powers, an inability to die and a middling recollection of lore, you're prepared to do just about anything to get back home again. You just have to find the right Champion to help.

Viego is handsome even with his face frozen in a rictus of rage and despair, you'll give him that much. You can fault Vex for a lot of things, but her taste in faces wasn't one of them. That being said, you're pretty sure the only reason she told you where to find him was so you'd leave her alone, so whatever crush she had on him was clearly skin-deep. Still, you were lucky to run into the edgy little yortle–navigating the shadow isles wasn't exactly easy. The mist was still thick, the dead still restless, and the castle itself still a mess of floating broken ruins. You could've been here for weeks before you found him. Not like you don't have the time, though.

The mist is warm when you lower your hand to Viego’s face, and it hums on your skin in a way that vaguely unnerves you. You wind his past around your fingers and twist, rewinding his months of imprisonment until you reach the moment of his defeat. Then, ever so carefully, you creep his time back and watch the mist creeps down his face, to his shoulders and torso. You freeze it there, just free enough for him to speak, and he looks tiredly up at you.

“Are you here to kill me?” He croaks.

“No,” you answer honestly.

He closes his eyes. “How disappointing.”

Your purse your lips, suddenly uncertain. You suppose that answered that question–you weren't sure if he was actually awake in the mist this whole time. He must have been, if he's not still raging and wailing from watching his wife die before his eyes again. You'd been expecting him to try and kill you, to yell and scream and generally just lose his shit. You'd been planning to exploit that for your benefit. This, the utter defeat in his voice, you weren't prepared for. “I'm here because I need your help,” you say, trying to project confidence into your voice. “I’m not from this world. I need to find a way to get home, to get safe passage through the Void to worlds beyond Runeterra.”

He slowly opens his eyes to half-lidded, looking up at you dispassionately. “So you came to me?” He gives his still-frozen body a derisive look, skepticism dripping from his every word.

“You scoured the world for anything that would bring your wife back, I figured you might've found something,” you explain evenly. “That, and all my other leads either couldn't help or wanted to kill me, so I'm running out of options.”

He doesn't look impressed. You sigh. “Look, if you help me, I can help you.” And here you pause, because you know what you're about to offer isn't yours to give, but goddamnit, you just want to go home. “I know what you want, and I can give you it.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment he looks heart wrenchingly hopeful, and you think for one glorious moment that you've got him. Then his expression shutters, and his mouth pulls into a thin line of grief. “I suppose you're offering to give me Isolde, then?”

You pause, but after a moment hesitantly nod. This wasn't what you were expecting. He was supposed to be obsessed, wasn't he? You thought he'd leap at your offer, but he just looks…tired. Like you're ripping open an old wound and he's sick of hurting–not offering him everything he's ever wanted on a silver fucking platter like you are. “Whole. Alive. Exactly as she was before she died.” You say, trying to impress upon him that you're offering exactly what he wants.

He snorts bitterly. “She is gone, specter, dead in the truest of ways.” His tone is mournful as he casts his eyes up, through the broken ceiling to the mists swirling overhead. “I cannot feel her in this world no longer.”

He's not listening. You guess you just have to prove it. You reach out and touch your fingers to his forehead, and in your hands you twist the past until centuries fold beneath your fingertips. The sun and moon flit overhead as you rewind, the walls rebuilding themselves from the onslaught of time and decay. He gasps, then chokes, as all at once he is human again, and you stand in the living past of his dead kingdom. There is an echo of the Void in your voice when you say, “Time is mine to command, Ruined King. She may be gone, but I can bring her back, just as she was the day before the poison touched her.”

Viego looks up at you, utterly human and trembling, and you decide your point has been made. The present pushes harshly back against your manipulations, and you let it snap back to it's rightful place with a wave of your hand. Viego is once again a broken thing bound to the floor of his ruined homeland, and he…begins to laugh. It is most assuredly not a happy sound–rather, it's as if he's about to transition into sobbing any second. “Cruel fate,” he moans, and you realize as he looks up to the heavens that he is indeed crying; slick black tears as thick as oil which wisp into mist at the edges, sure, but tears nonetheless. “The one my heart most desires detests me, rejects me in favor of the oblivion I laboured to free her from, and you offer her to me once more?”

You shift uncomfortably, only to lurch as you realize you're swaying on your feet. That little demonstration took more out of you than you thought–time wasn't as malleable here as it was in the Void, and bringing so much back from so long ago was more difficult than anything else you've done since you got here. Viego is still wailing and moaning almost incoherently, and you really don't want to pass out in front of him. “Give it a think,” you say as casually as you can manage. “I'll be back.”

And with that, you walk away with measured steps that hopefully disguise how unsteady you feel, physically and otherwise.

---

You're not sure how long you're out for, but Viego seems to have composed himself by the time you come back. At least a day, maybe two, but it's hard to keep track of time when you can't see the sun. He regards you evenly as you approach, and before you can speak he announces “I decline.”

You blanch. “You what?”

“I. Decline.” He says purposefully.

Shit. You hadn't planned for this. He was your last concrete lead, everything after him was a shot in the dark. “Why? Don't you want your wife back?” You ask, baffled and more than a little panicked.

He closes his eyes as if your words pain him. “More than you can possibly imagine. But Isolde…it is time for her to rest. I see that now.” When he opens his eyes they stay low, gazing down into the weeping hole in his chest. “I thought that she would love me no matter what became of me, as I did her, but I was wrong. I thought that we could be happy together, if only I could find a way to bring her to my side once more.” His tone is mournful, but when he looks up at you his gaze is no less resolute for the pain in them. “My Queen has made her decision. I will not cause her more pain than I already have.”

You blink, desperately searching his expression for a crack, for some indication that he's just putting up a brave face. Then you sigh deeply, and practically collapse onto the cold stone floor. You may as well– no point pretending to have it together anymore. “God, the first time you exhibit a fucking iota of self-awareness just had to be when I was relying on you being a selfish prick, didn't it?” You gripe, though you sound like you're on the brink of crying. The bastard just had to have time to self reflect, didn't he?

He has the gall to look offended. “I'm not so thick as to ignore condemnations from the person I hold dearest.”

You roll your eyes. “The first time you brought her back she stabbed you with your own sword, and then you decided to try doing it again. I would think she was pretty clear about her feelings on the matter the first time.”

He jerks back slightly, which is as far as his bonds will allow. “She…what? I don't…” he casts his eyes down, brow furrowed in thought. “Isolde was the one who killed me…?”

You give him a scrutinizing look, but he seems genuinely baffled. “You don't remember,” you realize, remembering that single line of text in his bio.

He shakes his head faintly. “I had wondered what could have shattered her soul so thoroughly,” he says, voice so soft you're not actually sure he's speaking to you. “My blade and those waters…so that is what happened.” He tilts his head back to look up at the black mist choking the sky, and laughs bitterly. “I truly do destroy everything I touch, don't I?”

You don't have a response to that. You wonder if you should leave, but summoning the strength for that seems like a Herculean task right now. Where should you go next, anyway? Track down more voidspawn? None of the Void's other servants you've found seemed amicable to helping you so far, and the Voidspawn themselves seem mostly concerned with trying to eat you. You hadn't found Ryze yet, but that was just hoping his poorly defined magic crystals somehow could help.

“Your home,” Viego says some time later, interrupting your thoughts. You'd almost forgotten he was there. “Where is it?”

You shrug one shoulder, your body feeling like one big dead weight. “Far. Beyond the stars and the Void, in a world where all of this is nothing but a story.” You wave your hand around you vaguely. It was the best way to describe ‘you were a video game character’ that didn't end with you covered in blood.

He's quiet for a moment. “In my study,” he says finally. “There are notes on the Void. I thought it might hold the answers to returning Isolde to me, but the toll it would take on her fragile soul would have been too great.”

You don't bother to hide your surprise when you look at him. “You…why?”

He sighs. “You speak as if you know me, which means you must know that I am…” his brow furrows. “What did you say? Ah, yes. A selfish prick. But Isolde…Isolde was kind, and selfless, and everything I am not. If I am to make my transgressions up to her, wherever she is now, then I should start by trying to be the kind of man she would have wanted me to be.”

You pause, considering him. He seems genuine, if no small amount grief stricken. “Hard to do that stuck in there,” you point out, testing the waters.

He shrugs as much as he is able. “I cannot say I blame them, the doll and the sentinel. I did kill them. I suppose this is as close as they could get to doing the same to me.”

You tilt your head, examining him closely. “What would you do, if I let you out of there?”

He looks at you warily, but seems to seriously consider the question. “I am…unsure,” he says slowly. “I have lived with but a single purpose for so long, I don't…”

“Vengeance?” You suggest. “Isolde is off the table, sure, but wreaking havoc on the world that dared to take her from you? Covering the continents in black mist and turning it into an unliving graveyard of cursed souls?”

He grimaces immediately. “No, that's not…she would not have wanted that.”

You stand, dusting off your clothes. “That's good enough for me.” You reach your hand out to him, and the Hallowed mist recedes into its needles, the thread falling limply from his wrists without Gwen to guide them. He slumps as it goes, as if he weren't prepared to hold his own weight up. He flexes his hands, and when he looks up at you he seems confused. You can't blame him. You're not even fully sure why you're doing this–just that leaving him here, trapped in this nightmarish stasis surrounded by the memory of everything he's lost, seems wrong.

That doesn't mean you fully trust him, though. “If I hear about you causing problems, I will find you,” you say casually. “I don't know if you can die, but I can stop time from ever passing for you again, and that's basically the same thing.” You glance at the needles still stuck in the stone. “You won't be awake, at least.”

He stands gingerly, and then nods grimly. “If I fail her again, I will be counting on it.”

---

You're expecting that to be it. That you'll go your separate ways, possibly until such a time he turns out to be fully crazy and you have to kill him. Instead, he shows up a week later while you're pouring through his notes. You only notice him because of the reflection in the dusty glass in the study's single intact window.

“You have shit note-taking skills, y'know that?” You say somewhat accusingly. “Beautiful handwriting, but shit note-taking.”

In the reflection, you see him he shrug casually where he's leaning against the doorway. “Academics were never my strong suit, ‘tis true.”

You turn around, holding out a sheaf of yellowed parchment and pointing to it accusingly. “What the fuck is this supposed to say, anyway?”

He leans forward, blinking at the offending word. Then he gives you a skeptical look. “Rest. It says, rest.”

You whip the page back to face you, squinting. “What? How is that an R? How is that an S?” You glance up at his skeptical expression, then flush. “Look, I wasn't taught cursive, gimme a break.” You toss the paper back on the desk. You're pretty sure it's useless to you. All of it is. “What're you still doing here, anyway?”

He gives you a blank look, as if he doesn't understand the question. “Where else would I go?”

You raise a brow. “I dunno, somewhere less miserable? What, are you planning to mope around here forever?”

He looks around as if you're referring to this specific room. “The idea has its appeal,” he says, almost to himself.

Somehow, the thought of him wandering around his ruined castle for eternity like some sort of kicked dog is both depressing and irritating to you. Like he's giving up, when you've been fighting so long and so hard the very idea revolts you. It has to–you don't have any other option. “Didn't you say you were going to try and be the kind of man Isolde wanted you to be?” You ask, probably a bit too sharply. He glances at you, surprised and a little on guard at your tone. “I can't claim to have known the woman, but somehow I doubt she wanted you to spend eternity in what is possibly the most depressing way anyone could spend eternity.”

He looks away, mouth a thin line. “I would not be so sure, after all the pain I caused her.” You open your mouth to argue, and then remember that she did kill him.

“Look, was she a spiteful person?” You try instead.

He recoils as if the thought offends him. “No, of course not.”

“Then she wouldn't want you to punish yourself like this,” you say.

His brow furrows, though you're not sure if it's in confusion or irritation. “And what would you know?”

You shrug one shoulder. “I am a spiteful person, and if you tried that shit on me I would've tried to kill you the second time too.”

“Ha!” Surprisingly, Viego laughs. It's a dry, self-depreciating sound closer to a bark than anything, but it is a laugh. “What am I to do, then? How can I possibly begin to undo what I have done?” His tone as a challenge, and you're about to snap back, but when you look in his eyes he just looks horribly, terribly lost. This is a man who has lost everything that meant anything to him, you realize, and he's desperately struggling to find his way back to the line. You've been there, and despite yourself, empathy tugs at you.

You let out a heavy sigh. “Look. Did she love you, before all of this? When you were alive?”

He opens his mouth, then pauses, brow scrunching. “When we were alive, yes, we were in love.” he finally says, his voice slow as if he's not entirely sure of his own words.

“Then she would've wanted what anyone wants for their loved ones after they've gone. She wanted you to find a way to be okay without her, to be happy without her.” Your voice is measured, with an edge of imploring. You weren't good at the whole conversation thing even before the Void happened, let alone during emotionally charged conversations.

He gives you a look that is all at once bitter, mournful, and as if you're suggesting something both impossible and idiotic. “There is no happiness for me without her.”

“You're like a broken record, y'know that?” You say archly. “Yes, she's gone, and I know how much that hurts, believe me, but that grief isn't all you are. You were happy before her, you can be again.”

He blinks oddly, a strange haze entering his eyes. “Before…Isolde?”

You nod slowly, suddenly unsure. “Yes. You were a prince before you two met, right? Nobility?” You pick up a random note and gesture at the fancy, curling script there. “You obviously had a lot of calligraphy lessons. Did you enjoy those?”

He stares at the paper as if he's never seen it before, then at you in apprehensive confusion. “I don't remember.”

You sigh, tossing the paper away. “You said you weren't very academic, so I suppose that makes sense.”

“Did I?” He murmurs, touching his mouth. “I don't…it seemed like it was true when I said it, but when I think back, there is nothing.” His hand travels to his cheekbone, and he frowns. “I recall that I look like my father, but I can't even remember his face, or why I know that to be true. Nor my mother, or anything of my childhood, my past…anything. Anything but Isolde.”

You blink. You thought he had just been obsessed with her because of love, but maybe it wasn't just that–if Isolde was all he remembered, all he had left, of course he would become fixated. If she was the last thing on his mind when he died, when he was trapped in that sword…you guess it wasn't a stretch, that she's the thought he would hold onto while everything else fell away over the centuries. “Dying really did a number on you, huh?” You muse.

His hand falls to the ragged hole in his chest. “The mist takes everything from those who are too weak to withstand it. Everything they are, everything they have ever been. I did not think I…” he trails off, and you both watch as plumes of mist roll from his broken heart to the floor, and he laughs bitterly. “But of course. How does one remember that they have forgotten something, when all reminders have been destroyed by their own hand? Why would I be spared the curse I created?” That seems like a rhetorical question, so you don't respond.

A long moment of silence passes, Viego deep in thought. It seems wrong to interrupt him, and you don't exactly have anywhere better to be right now. Eventually, he looks up at you, face creased with concentration. “I think,” he says slowly, “I enjoyed horseback riding, through the forests. I remember I wanted to take Isolde, but she did not know how to ride and horses scared her terribly, and I recall being very disappointed, so…I must have wanted to go. I must have enjoyed it, if I wanted to share it with her.” His voice gains certainty as he speaks, as he reasons out something so basic about himself from what little memories he has.

You make a decision, then and there. “Come with me,” you offer, except it comes out like you're telling him.

He blinks at the non-sequitor. “With you? To where?”

“You can go anywhere your mist goes, right?” He nods, confused, and you hold out your hand. “Gimme your sword, then follow me.”

“My sword?” He repeats, uncomprehending.

You wiggle your fingers at him impatiently. “This place is super depressing, Viego, and I've got a long list of places I'd rather be. So you can either let me borrow your sword, or you can stay here and be miserable. What'll it be?”

For a long moment he just stares at you. Then he gives a disbelieving little laugh, and raises his hand above yours. The blade materializes in it as if he were already holding it, before he drops it into your waiting palm. The moment it touches your skin, a strange flash of sensation travels up your arm, like dousing yourself in cool water. Your arm sinks with the sudden weight of it, but you manage to avoid dropping it. You grin at him, pleased. “Okay, now follow me,” you say, and rewind.

You pick a few months ago, when you were passing through a lush woodland. You pull yourself back to that time, then let the past push your intrusive presence back to the present where it belongs. Teleportation in two easy steps, if only to places you've already been.

For a long moment, you think Viego isn't coming. His sword is cold in your hand, thin sheets of mist dripping from it onto the grass, and by God is it heavy, so you stab it into the dirt. When you look up, Viego is there.

He looks around, brow furrowed. “Where are we?”

You shrug. “Somewhere in Ionia. I wasn't keeping track. I don't have any horses, and I somehow doubt they would tolerate you, but we can walk. See how you feel.”

He gives you a puzzled look. “Why are you doing this?”

You pause, and your voice is soft when you reply. “Because I know what it's like, to lose so much of yourself that a monster is the only thing you can be if you want to survive. And because I'm trying to find my way back to being the kind of person the people I love would want me to be, too.”

There's something unreadable in his eyes when he looks at you. Then, he draws his sword from the ground, and as it disappears into mist he begins to walk. Without a word, you follow. Somehow, leaving him alone seems cruel. For all that he's probably insane, he also strikes you as terribly, unbearably lonely.

He doesn't speak, and the silence begins to wear on you, so you do. You tell him about your world, how different it is, how you relied on machinery instead of magic. It's a dangerous game, feeling out the edges of what you're allowed to say, but it's also somehow freeing. To say you converse would be a stretch, but for all that his expression says that he thinks you might just be delusional, he seems intrigued by the world you describe. His questions are tinged with skepticism, especially when you get into trying to explain the Internet. You even get a laugh out of him as you offhandedly mention that your mystical worldwide library that contained the accumulated knowledge of your entire species was obviously largely used for disseminating pornography.

As night falls, for the first time, Viego comes to a stop and looks at you. His eyes are oddly bright in the dark, and his crown casts a dramatic glow over his face. He's looking at you like he can't quite make sense of you. “I do not know your name,” he finally says.

You guess you hadn't actually introduced yourself. As always, your real name rises to the tip of your tongue before you swallow it back. “You can call me Iso,” you say instead.

His lip quirks, and he gives you a very princely half bow, though his movements are slow as if he's following half-remembered steps. “Viego Santiarul Molach vol Kalah Heigaari, at your service.”

You laugh as he straightens up. “You can remember all that, but not whether you like calligraphy?”

“I did not like calligraphy,” he says decisively. “And my penmanship is middling at best. I suspect your standards are simply low.”

And then he vanishes.

“Bitch?” you say, disbelievingly, to the empty clearing

[mdhwrites]

Why the Name Belos?

So this isn’t entirely criticism with some research and more of a showers thought sort of thing but it started with me realizing that Belos could have foreshadowed something... And didn’t. I’ll reveal it after getting into what his name actually means.

So Philip genuinely is just a basic bitch, English name. It means Friend of Horses which we never see anything of. Wittebane is actually obvious if you think about it as yes, it does in fact translate either to ‘White Tormentor” or to “Witch tormentor” if the Wiki is right at least. That’s pretty standard and the like so *shrug*.

But then there’s Belos. The name he gave himself. Now there are three ways to interpret it. One that theoretically takes into account his background, one that fits the same way Wittebane does and one that I think fits both and is a lot more sly. First: Belos is from the New Testament to mean “Javelin, Dart, Arrow, a missile”. This is why it’s more just “This does fit for his background as a religious extremist but not really for deeper meaning.” He isn’t very direct or targeted in his methods after all. This meaning would be a lot better if he were a specter, assassin, or just did a lot more of his dirty work himself to reflect the single purpose and single target drive of the items it correlates to. One could claim he has the singular purpose but even that isn’t just about murdering witches as he does reveal his goal is as much about titles and fame that it will gain him back home or else he wouldn’t care when Luz gets the title wrong. Also he’s just really bad at his goal so that also hurts the case.

The one the wiki states and that a name definer relates it to is an Ancient Greek term for Lord or Ruler. It’s like when Toriyama named the god of his world Kami. It does work, even if bluntly (though I’ve used the same sort of trick to inspire names I’ve used before) and it is imposing and it fits his egotism. Kind of my only real issue is that while he does become the emperor... His goal isn’t conquest. It’s murder. Worse yet, it’s not like the people of the Isles would know what it meant so it means nothing to them and doesn’t have a double meaning except for making title “Lord Lord” and Belos doesn’t seem like the one to want his name to be a literal joke. Why not make it a sly warning then? Have the people call him what would eventually doom them all?

So here’s the third way: Phonetically what it sounds like. Belos is pronounced effectively the same way as Bellows. You know, those things you use to strengthen and stoke a fire in a furnace. Or a pyre perhaps? And this was the shower thought: Why wasn’t Belos’ big final move fire? It is his backstory that he is a WITCH HUNTER. Witches weren’t just shot or the like on the spot. They were burned. Or stoned admittedly I believe but famously they were mostly burned.

Why not burn away the Isles, with his power, influence, etc. like that as the bellows that helped stoke the fire that saw it all burn away? If you want to go more metaphorically, why not fuel the flames of rebellion? He clearly didn’t have the most amount of control over his lands despite being a tyrant, or told to us to be one since his actions don’t actually correlate with one, so he could have been trying to make a rebellion happen. Killing Eda, the most famous wild witch, and petrifying her could do both. Solidify the terror in believer’s hearts while also enraging those who believed this was too far.

Of course that would have required everyone rallying to Eda to actually make... sense at the end of S1? Like this isn’t a desire that’s unfounded due to S1′s finale very much so feeling like it’s setting up for the entirety of the Isles to rebel against Belos when that never happens. Of course, the claims even in the show are pretty fucking weak. Like for this crime to be unjust, Eda would have to not be a know, actual criminal who did do more, at least supposedly, than just being a wild witch. She would have actually had to have had allies and friends and not been a complete bitch to literally everyone she met, including Luz and King for the first half of the season, for the entirety of S1.

Again, as far as the name goes, it’s fine. Belos works as just being a cheeky reference to him being the Lord of the Isles and it fits the general naming scheme of TOH. King is literally a King of sorts. Luz was at the beginning the light of the show and looked like she was meant to bring light to a dark place which... Yeah, that’s a different blog. Amity is amicable (as well as maybe Amityville?) very quickly and that closeness feeds into her being the love interest. Even Willow is named after a tree that is known to look sad and pathetic while being actually really strong.

It’s just interesting to me that a witch hunter’s name coincidentally also sounds like something that helps fuel fires. You’d think that’d be on purpose or someone might have noticed, though admittedly I didn’t until today so *shrug*. Again, not the biggest deal in the world, just kind of started making my brain buzz a bit.

=========

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[inkwelltaleaublog]

Welcome folks to the

Official InkwellTale Blog! 🏵🔥

Ran by @jazzy-flowerr [thas me :3]

[blog is 13+ due to swearing and some more mature themes such as trauma and mental health issues]

DNI; NSFW [I'm a minor + acespec], proshippers, bigotry [homophobia, transphobia, etc], etc, etc

InkwellTale is an AU that takes the story + characters of Cuphead and the story + characters of Undertale and meshing the two together to make a [somewhat] original story!

[The AU does not follow neither Cuphead's nor Undertale's story beat for beat. If anything is different from either source material, please don't be too upset]

All important info before you ask any questions [except the DNIs] is under the cut:

The story of the AU [as spoiler free as I can make it] goes as followed:

After an Armageddon was inflicted upon the four Inkwell Isles by The Devil himself, a large group of remaining residents had to evacuate into an underground safe space cleverly named by their leader "The Inkwell Underground"

It's been 8 years since the evacuation. Almost all residents of The Inkwell Underground have - at at least some point or another - lost hope in ever returning to the surface.

But one day, things in the everyday lives of The Inkwell Underground's residents take a turn after a certain flower falls into their hidden world.

-

The main characters of this AU [you can find all of their ref sheets by looking at the "InkwellTale ref" tag on this blog]:

Cagney 🏵, Carnation (or just Carnie for short) 🔥, Maggie Mugsy 🍺, Cuphead 🥤, Hilda Berg 💫, Cala Maria 🐟, Dr Kahl ⚙, Werner Werman 🐀, Katzenwagen 😼, Automaton 2.0 🤖, The Blind Specter 👻, and Others 👀,

-

The story of InkwellTale itself will be more elaborated on in a later date [either in the form of a webcomic, animation, or an actual game] so for now I'd like to keep things as spoiler free as I can.

If I feel a question you've asked would spoil too much, I'll just give a very vague response ["we'll just have to wait and see", "👀", etc]. Hopefully y'all can understand :)

But that's all from me for now! Have a great day and remember to eat your water! ^ w ^ 👋

[pure-garbage]

Worms And Maggots? Nascent Haki And The Master

Chapter Warnings: Violence

The vivre cards led the Avariyas on a journey that lasted nearly two weeks. They circumvented three islands on their trip, but as they prepared to sail past the fourth, Lana noticed a pronounced change in Zoro's vivre card. Where it had once pulled dead ahead of their small vessel, it now jerked to the port side.

"This is it!" Lana cried, diving for the rudder to pull them around toward the coast. Alan yelped, startled by her sudden volume and speed. "He's here! Zoro's on this island! Let's go, Alan, double time! Furl that pathetic excuse for a sail, we're making landfall!"

Alan hurried to comply, making short work of the tasks his sister assigned him. It wasn't long before Old Man Morry's boat bumped against the sand of the beach and Lana hopped out, shaking with anticipation.

"Lana, wait for me, I'll just grab my cloak!" Alan called.

"Don't bother!" she called back, already dashing toward the treeline. "Stay here! Watch the boat! Don't let anything happen to it! I'll be back!"

"You'll be- wait, Lana, it could be dangerous!" Alan protested.

"Exactly! So stay here, where you're safe!" Lana yelled. "I'll move faster if I don't have to worry about protecting you!"

His grumbling faded behind her until it was inaudible. Lana moved through the woods of the dark, damp island, silent as a specter while she scanned her surroundings.

'This place feels haunted. It's not just this fog... something awful happened here,' she shuddered as she pressed on.

Zoro was meditating when she found him, cross-legged on the ground between a still, glassy lake and a grand, derelict manor. The scenery on the isle was dreary at best and Zoro's hair seemed especially bright amidst the muted grays and hazy mists. Lana stepped silently as she approached, evening her breath and steadying her heartbeat. Mischief filled her as she crept closer, determined to sneak up on him and finally win their long-running game. She didn't use her devil fruit powers. That would have been cheating.

Her satisfaction grew as she came close enough that he would have been cast in her shadow, had the environ enough sunlight to provide her one. She stopped short of disturbing him and sank to the ground at his back, mirroring his pose. She wouldn't interrupt his concentration. Meditation was, by far, the hardest part of training for Zoro and the one thing he occasionally allowed himself to neglect.

As Lana waited for him to finish, she looked him over carefully. So soon after the disaster at Sabaody, she wasn't surprised to see him covered in bandages, but fresh wounds caught her eye as well. She pursed her lips. She knew little about this gloomy island, but it was clear to her that Zoro's time here had been far from tranquil.

Zoro's concentration was impressive. Nearly an hour passed before he moved. Lana smiled as he stretched, aware that he was oblivious to her presence. If he'd known she was with him, her intuition would have warned her of his reaction before it happened.

'It's almost like I have a tiny little window into the future,' she mused absently.

She waited until Zoro brought his arms down, then pounced.

"H-hey!"

She seized his wrists, pinning them behind his back and pushing him forward against the ground. A cloud of dust formed around them as they scuffled, but Lana's advantage won out.

"Told you I'd pin you someday, swordsman," Lana smirked.

Zoro gasped comically below her, struggling to turn his head against the firm hold of her arm around his neck.

"Lana?!"

She only tightened her grip.

"Say it!" she breathed at his ear.

"Hmph! Fine! You did it," he conceded, smiling despite the position she had him trapped in. "You didn't use the calm-calm fruit, did you?"

"Of course not."

She released him, helped him to his feet and started swiping dirt off his clothes fondly.

"What is this creepy place anyway?" she asked.

Zoro chuckled as he pulled her into an embrace.

"I haven't seen you in three weeks. Can't the questions wait?" he asked.

"Your call. Can they?"

"They can."

Lana met his lips with zeal, letting him sweep her off her feet with his enthusiasm. She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking them together as they shared their feelings the way that best suited them both, with frantic, fervent physical contact. Relief, gratitude, longing, and hope all flowed easily between them, hungry mouths and roaming hands conveying the emotions their hearts shared more effectively than words ever could.

Neither would have stopped if left to their own devices, but interruption found them in the form of an interloper with a laugh that struck Lana as familiar.

"Hol-o hol-o hol-o!"

"No way!"

Lana launched herself out of Zoro's arms, drawing two daggers as she faced Gecko Moria's once-lieutenant. Lana had only crossed paths with her from a distance on Thriller Bark, but if Usopp's stories were to be believed, her presence here spelled trouble.

Although admittedly, Usopp's stories were rarely to be believed.

"Ghost girl! What the hell are you doing here?" Lana demanded.

"I'm on vacation!" the pink-haired pirate giggled. "I'm the one who should be asking you that question! Who are you and why are you slobbering all over my new toy? Hol-o hol-o!"

"Your WHAT?!"

"Knock it off, Perona," Zoro sighed, itching his ear idly with one finger. "This is my Lana. I told you it was only a matter of time 'til she came for me."

Lana would have been tickled by his faith in her, if only her burgeoning rage wasn't a hair's breadth from driving her off the deep end.

"Perona, huh?" she snarled. "New toy... Zoro, is there anything I should know about the last three weeks?"

"Not really, no."

"'Kay then. So, there's no reason I shouldn't stab this pigeon-toed hussy?"

"Stab? Hol-o hol- hol-o! You're just as unreasonable and violent as Marimo!" Perona cackled.

"You don't get to call him that!" Lana raged, wrath rising in her along with baseless jealousy. "That's IT! You're going down, goth girl!"

"Hold on!" Zoro yelled with alarm. "Lana, her power-"

"I know, I heard all about it from Usopp!" Lana scoffed. "Don't tell me you think a trick like that-"

"Hol-o hol-o! Negative hollow!" Perona cried.

"Oh, great!" Zoro groaned. Ghosts swirled around them as they dodged. "You had to go and give her an excuse!" he scolded Lana.

"She's the one who's out of line!" Lana snapped back.

"She's annoying as hell, but if you ignore her, she gets bored and goes away!" Zoro lamented. "You shouldn't give her the satis- ugh!"

Zoro tripped into a ghost and collapsed to the ground, mumbling in a depressed haze while Perona cackled and her ghosts chanted.

"Neg-a-tive, neg-a-tive, neg-a-tive..."

"Grr! That does it! You're dead, gothy!" Lana snarled.

"I don't think so, grape girl!" Perona giggled. "Get her, hollows!"

'From the left... above... all around! She'll try to box me in!'

"Now shave!" Lana growled.

"H-huh?!"

From Perona's point of view, Lana vanished into thin air. She didn't realize her quarry was behind her until Lana's hand closed around her arm.

"And calm-calm time out!"

"Uhhh..."

Perona's eyes glazed over and her jaw went slack. The negative hollows circled lazily high above their heads, harmless now that they were undirected.

"Zoro! Get off the ground!" Lana scowled.

"... too worthless to move..."

"Ugh! Perona! I'll make you pay for this!" Lana vowed.

The Ghost Princess drooled and swayed mindlessly, oblivious to the danger as Lana raised her blade.

"My my, aren't you a fiery one."

A man's voice startled Lana, halting her dagger before it could taste Perona's blood. She looked up, though she didn't release her captive. The voice belonged to a rather dashing fellow in an outfit that fit well with the moody ambiance of the island.

"Though why any marine, no matter how fiery, would have the gall to set foot in my territory, alone no less, is quite beyond me," the man went on.

Lana realized she was still wearing the clothes she'd escaped in two weeks prior.

"What? This? No, I- I'm not a marine!" she protested.

"What are you then?"

The man bore himself with an intensity that intimidated the hell out of Lana. Bright yellow eyes burned into her, demanding an answer. As disinclined as she was to provide him one, she couldn't stop a reply from falling past lips that quivered against her will.

"My name is Avariya Lana. I'm a straw hat pirate," she answered, voice shaking slightly. 'Get a grip! Why the hell are you so scared all of a sudden anyway? It's just one guy!'

"I suppose that would explain your apparent concern for Roronoa," the man observed.

"... worms are better than me," Zoro moaned gloomily, still slumped on the ground. Lana flushed a little, overcome by the urge to defend her lover.

"He... he's not usually like that," she sighed.

"I'm aware."

"I'm sorry, did you say 'your territory'?" Lana asked, circling back, Perona all but forgotten. "Who the hell are you anyway?"

"My name is Dracule Mihawk."

The name struck Lana as terribly familiar. She struggled to place it, but only for a few seconds.

"Mihawk... Hawk-eye Mihawk!?"

'The man who cut Zoro! This is him! The worlds greatest swordsman...'

Lana's surprise at the revelation was so great that she lost her grip on Perona's arm. The other pirate came to and stumbled away dazed, but quickly regained her bearings. Her ghosts resumed their attacks, swarming Lana before she had a chance to escape.

"Ah! Oh... ohhh, I'm such a useless maggot," Lana lamented, joining Zoro in the dirt.

"That's right, you are!" Perona scowled, smashing her heel against Lana's head and striking her unconscious.

____________________________________________________

<== Previous Chapter

Next Chapter ==>

== First Chapter ==

[delightfulagony]

About Thresh...

Thresh is a Specter that was formaly bound by the Black Mist to the Cursed Isles. During the centuries that he spent there, he grew in power and cruelty, having his existence directly attached to the lantern it carries. The souls it contains gave it an almost sentient state to the point it can function without Thresh and in the unlikely event of him being defeated will wait for another worthy holder to present themselves to it.

He has free manipulation of the souls trapped inside of the lantern, being able to bring out or keep hidden deep within it. All souls in there are bound to him and under his influence (exception being Senna since she is the only one who actively escaped and wasn't brough out by Thresh), thing that can be seen in the short Night at the Inn that Legends of Runeterra released.

His skeletan form is his true form now, his unbound self is how he vainly chooses to present himself, unless he chooses to appear that way, the lantern's glow can reveal his true form by his shadow.

If the lantern is damaged, Thresh will feel physical pain.

His strengh comes from the amount of souls he has trapped along with the suffering he causes them, one of the reasons he is so hard to take down.