#tales of eerie publications

[weirdlookindog]

Tales of Eerie Publications - Blood Bath

A horrifying tale of an LSD trip where reality and dreams melt into a nightmare of gruesome terror!

WARNING: This is a real shocker that will curdle the core of your bloody nerve centers and leave you limp! Is this trip necessary? Hey, don’t push me!

Direction/Editing/Animation/Sound Design: Jason Willis

Original Art: Chic Stone

[frankensteinical]

Forty Days of Frankenstein, Day Eight: So, back in the olden days (1966-1981) there was Eerie Publications, a downscale, cheapjack imitator of Warren Publishing (the company that actually put out Eerie Magazine; it’s very confusing).  Eerie Publications invariably featured these lurid, swirling, come-on covers that usually had very little to do with the actual black-and-white comic stories inside.  In 1970, along came issue no. 5 of volume 2 of a magazine called “Horror Tales,” cover dated for September.  The typically feverish cover featured this overwrought Frankenstein figure, carrying off one of your standard, scantily clad damsels in distress.  Sadly, there’s not a Frankenstein to be found anywhere inside the magazine, but the thing is, back then, they knew a Frankenstein on the cover would sell a book, even if there wasn’t one inside.  Details worth mentioning are his red eyes and red talons, as well as his red hair (you don’t often get a ginger Frankenstein), the little zaps of electricity at his electrodes, and his pointy ears for some reason.  The truth is, I’m not sure there’s actually a story that could live up to this image, but I would read the heck out of it if there were:

[caeunot]

johnnie guilbert x reader

you find out your bf is a vampire🧛‍♂️ 18+

you were utterly infatuated with your boyfriend, everything about him gave a burning feeling inside of you in a way you can't explain. the way his cold skin felt against yours, the way his pale blue eyes sunk deep into your soul when you two make eye contact, the way he gently bites you every time you two are intimate.

you know for a fact that the feelings are mutual, even by the way the two of you act in public. he always has his hands on you somehow, whether it's putting them in your butt pocket of your dark black jeans or when he squeezes your thigh secretly under a table. but the biggest reason you know he's yours takes place when it's just the two of you, it's after a long day of spending time without him, maybe you spent time with friends all day or just worked, the reason didn't matter because all that matters is that he wasn't there. he stalks you as if your prey, watching you from afar, once he finds a perfect moment getting you alone he immediately goes all in, pushing you against the nearest wall while desperately trying to remove your clothes even if it meant ripping it in two. he was starved and you were the meal, he was dehydrated and you were water.

the nights lately were warm, you could feel summer coming around and it made you tense. you craved the sun but you knew you would miss the crisp air of december. you spent nights laying awake on your shared bed with johnnie, just in your bra and underwear. one thing about summer that you enjoyed was the fact you could wear such little clothes and almost always get away with it.

you knew it turned johnnie on and you claim that's not the reason why you do it, when it definitely is. the feeling of his fingers playing with the hem of your panties when you both were supposed to be asleep, once again you pretend to not notice and fake your breaths when you feel his fingers slip inside of you early hours of the morning. you couldn't let it show you were aware of what he does, you can't give him the satisfaction.

you often wondered how he could stay up so late into the night, not that you minded or that it bothered you but more that you were worried for his sake, sleep is extremely important for a person's health and you knew that very well.

"hey johnnie, can I ask you something?" you say after feeling him nuzzle into your shoulder once again in early hours of the morning. "why are you always awake this time of night" you turned around to face him. "you wana know why?" he says with an eerie tone. "more than anything" you say sitting up slightly, you tried to make eye contact with him but it was even too dark to tell where was his eyes and where was his mouth. "it's because.... I'm a vampire!!!" he says pouncing on top of you and tickling you till you have tears down your cheeks. "fuck you johnnie" you say with a smile as you wipe your face.

"okay be honest with me, lately I just can't help but wonder if you even get any sleep". you sat up and crossed your legs. "of course I sleep baby, don't worry" he says tucking a loose piece of your hair behind your ear. you give him a soft kiss and muttered 'okay' before going back to sleep.

you were in your room but everything was dark, you looked around into the ever growing black before spotting two dark red eyes glowing in the distance. you knew from story tales the one thing not to do is to follow the scary glowing eyes, but you felt a strong comfort when you looked straight into them. you stood up and slowly started staggering towards the red eyes, you felt a small sense of dread but not enough to stop you. the closer you went the more intense the eyes became, and the more you felt you couldn't look away, as if it were the only thing you ever needed.

you reached the eyes, underneath it a pair of sharp white teeth arose. it wasn't connected by any meaning to the floating eyes, but with both it could semi resemble a face. all of a sudden felt trapped and as if you couldn't move as if you were in sleep paralysis, no matter how much you told your body to move you stayed still until the teeth became bigger and bigger and swallowed you whole with nothing you could do about it.

you woke up soaked in sweat and hyperventilating, you have never had such a vivid nightmare. you winced as the bright light from outside shone directly into your eyes. the whole day felt like a blurr, almost on the verge of dissociation. johnnie was out the whole day filming something so you spent the day rotting away in the house. well maybe not rotting but you had nothing to do and you were definitely feeling his absence.

he came home around 6pm and he looked exhausted, you noticed the eyebags he usually drew on actually turned real and that his pale skin looked even paler, almost sickly. you joked around and said it's because he has been too busy with 'other things' than sleeping (meaning you). but instead of spitting something back, he just gave a weak smile and gave a flat "yea". being confused, you trailed behind him as he went into your bedroom.

"baby if there's anything I can do please let me know okay? you don't look well" you said putting your hand in his but he immediately shook it off. "I just need to be alone" he spat back in an irritated tone. you didn't want to leave him since he's never been this way before.

you slowly walked closer to him and gently put your arms around his waist and kiss the back of his neck and you felt him melt underneath you. he takes your hand in his and turns around. "please y/n, please go out for a bit" he says desperately. "I will once you tell me what's wrong". you cup his face in your and plant a small kiss on his dry lips. you then gave him another hug, this time resting your forehead on his shoulder.

'fuck' was the last thing you heard from johnnie before you felt something sharp sink into your neck. you scream and look to your right, you see your boyfriends mouth sunk deep into your skin. he looks different, as if his soul had gone back into him. you immediately try and pull him off of you but it was no use, all you could do was sit in horror as he used your neck like a straw. what felt like eternity later, johnnie pulled his teeth out and the moment he looked at your horrified face his expression changed, as if only realizing now what he has done.

in this exact moment you noticed the colour of his eyes was the same deep red of the blood dripping down his lips, and his teeth as razor sharp as knives. you were speechless.

instead of responding he fell to his knees and grabbed his head with his hands, sobbing on the ground. for some reason you pity the monster that left a gaping hole in you flesh. you slowly bend down and lift his chin up, getting some of your own blood on your hands. "look at me" you say as he hits your hand off once again.

"how can i fucking look at you after what i just did, i'm disgusting and i'm a monster and i should have never let you be with me in the first place" you sigh, "tell me everything, once you have we can decide what happens to us" he nods, still not looking into your eyes.

he explains himself that he is in fact a vampire, and how he was turned back when he was around 24, he was going through a rough mental stage and he resulted into using using harmful coping mechanisms as in drinking and smoking and ended up meeting a guy at a party who claimed he knew a way to help deal with the issues and help take his mind off of everything, the substances included.

now he is left with the consequences, not all was negative as he said he had some cool abilities as being able to control some minds and the ability to move at faster speeds but, none of this makes up for the fact that the only thing keeping you alive is the blood of others.

"if I haven't fed in awhile I get sickly and irritable, and I tend to feed on whatever is closest and those actions are always beyond my control.. like tonight" he finally looks back up at you, you feel yourself being sympathetic once again.

"I don't mind you using me for blood, not always of course but if your desperate I will always be here for you" he finally stands up and gives you a tight hug, "I don't deserve you" he whispers, still holding on.

he gets out the first-aid kit and starts disinfecting your wounds before putting plaster all over it. "how do you feel?" he says, admiring his handy work. "would it be bad if I asked you to do what you did on the other side too?" r you said pointing to your open neck, he rolls his eyes and pulls you in softly, "next time will be a lot more different baby, I promise"

❣

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hard Feelings

Hancock x Fem! Sole Survivor / Reader Insert

(AO3)

Summary: You are the General of the Minutemen. Hancock is your companion when out on missions. It's all fun and games until there are hard feelings at play, the ghoul thinking that one day you just might leave him.

Warnings: NSFW / 18+ for PiV sex, public sex (sort of), MAKEUP sex, switching, praise kink, heavy petting and kissing, fingering, biting, angst, a small domestic dispute, and negative thoughts and feelings associated with oneself (Hancock). In this fic, Hancock displays golden retriever boyfriend energy, and he is more submissive. He also experiences low self-worth, and feelings of inadequacy, which leads to doubt. At some point, he has a panic attack.

Notes: Another fanfic that is completely self-indulgent. I was inspired when I took Hancock to the Starlight Drive-In for the Minutemen mission. We were briefly separated when I (sole) climbed onto the roof of the movie screen. Hancock ran around down below in a panic, thus this idea blossomed; I mention it in this post. I stole Teeth's nickname for Hancock: Hanni. ;D )

Word count: 4.7k+

A gentle peal of thunder rocked the night, just hours from daybreak, the eerie green glow of your pre-war Pip-boy casting its luminescence across the present object of your interest: a sullied movie poster. It was curling at its edges, the faded face of a starlet frozen in time with her mouth agape having snatched your attention, for better or worse, as this potential settlement had yet to be explored—there was no telling what lurked out there among the shadows.

Rita Jean Scarlett was staring into the eyes of not man, but insect, The Barfly calling out to you from a bygone era. It was an Old World tale of weird science gone wrong, filled with hubris and lessons learned all too late. Not too far off from the reality of things, you mused, though meant as fiction, actor Chip Weathers having adorned the costume of the “ghastly” monster for his starring role. 

The creature had bulbous eyes and sticky clawed feet, yet wore a suit and hat. Once considered the stuff of nightmares, now things like this seemed to you like child’s play. You regularly joined in the company of ghouls; robots; synthetic humans, and even super mutants. You faced adversaries on the daily that would make prey animals of yesteryear look like teddy bears—an unnerving thought, but it caused you to smile regardless. 

“What are you grinnin’ about?” a curious voice asked, the creak of worn red leather signaling his closeness; two thin arms encircled you, pitted hands smoothing over skintight, extruded rubber, shiny as the ghoul’s black eyes.

“Just about how things that used to be science fiction are now science fact,” you offered vaguely, casting a glance downward to the sight of yourself being molested, Hancock groping your tit—like any typical man—before it maneuvered lower, gliding over your belly to dip between your thighs.

“Hancock!” you breathed, your pulse quickening, loins already beginning to throb as blemished fingers stroked the line of your vault suit, teasing you at its seam. 

“Hmm?” he hummed, ignoring the tone in which he had been addressed. He asked another question, even as he continued to fondle you sans mercy.  

“Things like me?” 

Hancock was unhurried, enjoying the sleek texture of the glossy fabric against the underside of his thumb. He was positive he was making you wet, wondering how long you might last before you were begging him to fuck you, just like a few hours previous.

However, his query caught you off guard, your mind preoccupied as your palm came to rest over John’s explorative hand, holding it firm, the ghoul taking liberty with your breasts again, cupping one’s shape to give it a squeeze.

“Things that shouldn’t exist? Like that monster up there who thinks he’s human,” he growled silkily, finely wrinkled digits pinching your pebbled nipple through that damnable suit that left nothing to the imagination, John’s prick hardening against the back of your leg.

“You might say that,” you replied without thinking, thoughts clouded with pleasure that would all too suddenly end, so careless was your answer that the ghoul recoiled.

“Really,” John flatly returned, as if for some reason not at all surprised, his warm, gentle touch leaving you longing, confused as to why he was beginning to walk away.

You turned from the ticket booth, staring after your lover as he kicked a loose rock across asphalt; it bounced, ricocheting off an overturned cigarette machine. Hancock pretended to be engrossed in the diner just up ahead, a part of the Starlight Drive-In theater, you both having been warned about raiders before traveling here.

“Hancock.” You followed closely behind; he did not pay you any mind, as if he had not heard you, acting about as mature as a spoiled child who was giving you the dreaded silent treatment.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you claimed, though it was the truth. To be asked that question to begin with seemed like he was fishing for flattery, but who were you to deny the charismatic Mayor of Goodneighbor a harmless stroke to his ego, especially when he meant so much to you.

“Is that where the “might” part comes in?” he snapped, his tone irritated; it was becoming obvious that he had not expected you to agree with him on such matters, the conversation quickly devolving. 

“Is this our first fight? Are we fighting?” you asked, Hancock’s beady eyes narrowing beneath his hairless brow at the flippant way you were brushing off his feelings, or so he thought. 

“Look, if you don’t want to travel with a ghoul, why didn’t you just say so— got better things I could be doing,” he groused, namely chems with his name on them. 

“Is that so? Well, far be it from me to stop you from doing those better things,” you returned, not understanding why he couldn’t just forgive you for something said in passing.

“Always a smart ass,” he complained, as if Hancock himself wasn’t guilty of using his fair share of sarcasm.

Had you not been so heated, you may have remembered just how self-conscious the sociable, charming mayor actually was. His confidence was partially a façade, though he wasn’t one to normally bring down a mood with his own insecurities. Being the introspective sort meant that Hancock wasn’t afraid to get to the heart of things, even at the cost of his own self-esteem. 

John had even allowed you in, being vulnerable by sharing details of his sorrowful past; it was no secret the ending had been bittersweet, if not unhappy. His own appearance had sickened him; he found it hard to believe a gal like you wanted anything to do with him, much less desire to share a bed together, especially since he wasn’t exactly a looker by human standards.

Perhaps you had failed to give him reassurance when it was needed, though temporarily blinded by your temper. Instead of trying to clear things up, you made it worse. 

“You’d be one to know,” you baited.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Hancock shot back, droplets of rain beginning to descend toward the ground.

“You know what? Go over there, check that place out.” You gruffly dismissed him, pointing toward the diner. “I think we both need some time to cool off,” you added, voice sounding less than amicable toward the man whose forehead lurched, as if he had been punched in the gut. 

“Yeah? Fine.” John’s feelings were hurt more by this simple demand than anything you had said thus far, Hancock behaving like a scolded puppy whose owner had treated it unfairly.

You shook your head as you watched him march away, Hancock’s red frock coat glistening thanks to a now steady sprinkle. You sighed, turning toward a slew of rusting, run-down autos, spying a shed somewhere in the distance—you hoped it had a crafting station, as your orders from Preston Garvey were clear.

---

No raiders were present, only mole rats and radroaches. Hancock had kept his distance at your request, though you weren’t so oblivious that you failed to notice the way he routinely hovered only a stone’s throw away. The ghoul was caught basking in your shadow more than once, stealing glimpses, a frown pulling down the edges of his thin-lipped mouth. Yet he would move along the moment you laid your eyes on him, as if embarrassed, not wishing to be the victim of your ire.  

Overall, he seemed to be taking things about as well as you had hoped, though he had technically been the one to start it. You weren’t a mind reader, either, refusing to try and decipher his body language despite the moping, waiting for a time you felt more at ease.

Although, it undeniably tugged at your heartstrings—knowing he was suffering in some capacity—but you kept a clear head, focusing on the task at hand—building a radio relay tower from spare parts in order to reach out to others, reclaiming the theater in the name of the Minutemen with the sole purpose of making the Commonwealth a better place, one settlement at a time.

It was when another accursed mole rat burst forth from its earthy den that you yelped in surprise, drawing your double-action revolver almost a moment too late. With teeth nipping at your toes, you shot the beast, Hancock having dashed to your aid.

You glanced back at him, rattled; he seemed satisfied knowing you weren’t hurt, though his gaze lingered, as if there was something on the tip of his tongue. 

After a moment, he asked, “Can we talk?”

“Not right now.” You shook yourself off, taking a deep breath to assist in the slowing of your pulse. You returned to your workstation, deciding it wasn’t appropriate to address any more personal issues at this juncture—you both had a job to do.

“Sure, got it,” Hancock said grouchily, the ghoul wandering off to continue sifting through various piles of refuse for any usable materials to add to your haul, though inside it felt as if gnarled fingers were cinching tightly around his heart. Anxiety was welling within him, as not being on good terms with you did not sit right; beneath the surface, he was a troubled bundle of nerves, though he did not want to rush you by any means.

If only you knew about the disturbing thoughts that were crawling up John’s brainpan, slithering through the cracks to possess his mental faculties, feeding them fear; unsurety, outwardly expressed by way of a sour attitude. So involved was he with the many voices collecting in his head, that he failed to notice when you had finished installing the relay tower, your instincts guiding you to the Starlight Drive-in’s once magnificent three-story screen.

You took the stairs, moving past a shoddy door to climb to the top. The sun was newly risen, a fine mist hanging over the expansive parking lot, rays of light from your planet’s star casting a beautiful glow along remnants of grass, present in patches, though the area was plagued by the contamination of rads—another item on your to-do list. 

You were enjoying the view when you observed Hancock poking around the last place he’d seen you, determining you were in a better mood and willing to talk. You had planned to call out to him when you saw him run the other way, circling the diner, and then the first place you had gathered—the ticket booth where you had exchanged unpleasantries. 

Confused, you continued your study of his erratic behavior, wondering if there was some unknown enemy skulking about, yet Hancock had no weapon drawn, his gait all at once frantic and without rhyme or reason, the ghoul seeming to have no particular destination in mind. 

“Hancock?” you asked yourself quietly, baffled at how John was going insofar as to peek inside doorless cars, or even under them, kicking into a full-fledge run as he made his way toward your perch. He wasn’t paying heed to anything that wasn’t at ground-level, failing to notice you up high above.

“Han—” you were enthralled, the ghoul almost as fast as a feral, which was a less than comforting thought, watching as John ran a lap around the base of the screen. 

You followed, pushing off the railing to walk the few short steps to the opposite side, catching him turn the corner as he looped back around. It wasn’t until you heard his panicked breathing and the terrified whisper of your name that you completely understood, gut clenching as Hancock came to a disconcerting stop. 

The poor thing looked to be having a meltdown, head darting to the left and right, though the only thing visible to you was the top of his tricorn hat. He began to pace, first one direction, and then another, not keeping to east or west, but zigzagging as if he couldn’t decide where to go, or what to do. 

He called your name again, this time louder, sounding more distressed. You could not tear your eyes away as Hancock fell to his knees, fingers digging into soft dirt as the ghoul appeared to be in the throes of a panic attack.

Was he—

Spurred to action, you turned toward the way you came in, quick to rush down the stairs as swiftly as your legs could carry you. You sprinted around the bend of the building, nearly bumping into an abandoned cooking station off to your right, skirting it in the nick of time; you passed behind the structure, witness to a heartbreaking sight.

“Hey,” you whispered, Hancock having pushed himself back against the wall, knees to chest. The ghoul was tightly hugging his own legs, his marred face buried in the folds of his coat.

You weren’t sure what was happening, or why, only that he seemed deeply upset he could not find you, not expecting your brief absence would have such a negative effect. The ghoul was mumbling words you could not discern as you tiptoed forward, bending down to his level to address his huddled form.

“Hanni?” you asked gently, calling him by a pet name you had given him so long ago, John’s head shooting up, onyx eyes glistening, though you dare not think he had shed tears on your behalf. 

Hancock gazed at you, his expression a mix of sadness, incredulity, and stark relief. You placed a hand on his shoulder, concern marking your features, John not budging from his half-fetal position. 

“I thought—" he began, voice cracking, words quavering with an emotion you could not quite define, “—I thought you’d skipped out on me,” he offered pathetically, the amount of hurt present in his eyes enough to make you feel as if you deserved to die. So devastating was the look plastered across his handsome, ghoulish face that you wanted to cry, moving to cup his ruined cheek in the crux of your palm.

“Why would I do that?” you asked, tone soft but firm, staring at your reflection within gorgeous, dark depths, as if the answer lay hidden somewhere deep inside them.

“Because I don’t deserve you; because you can do better than me,” he answered without hesitation, “because who would want to be stuck with this ugly mug; wouldn’t wish it on my own worst enemy,” he finished flatly, Hancock’s dispirited disposition arising from being rejected—that’s not to say he blamed you.

“Didn’t wanna talk, ignoring me, couldn’t find you—just figured you were through,” he continued, tone solemn, making you feel awful. 

You had deeply sinned to make this man react in such a manner—that was your first thought, Hancock’s gloomy mood permeating your defenses. All the walls you had in place came tumbling down, feeling nearly sick to your stomach as you scooched forward, prompting Hancock to drop his knees, legs finding even ground.

“No,” you berated, “none of that is true.” You shifted, straddling the ghoul, your other hand joining its partner to cradle his jaw opposite. “I won’t leave you,” you pledged, placing a kiss atop his furrowed mouth. “The thought never even crossed my mind.”

Hancock searched your face; he expelled a dejected sigh, breathing out through the hollow cavity that once housed his human nose. “You—you’re the best thing I’ve got. I don’t want to lose you, sunshine. I’d be dead in a ditch somewhere if it weren’t for you, hopped up on chems,” he admitted, hanging his head. “But don’t think I would blame you for hittin’ the road. I’d manage, somehow. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to make do, so just say the word. Don’t feel obligated to stick around.” 

“Is that what you think? That I would abandon you? That I would get sick of you? That I don’t want you here by my side? Hancock—” you emphasized, running your thumb over the curve of his ear, forcing him to look squarely at you with a gentle redirection, “—I mean it when I say I love you,” you lamented, kissing his raised flesh. “Please, don’t doubt me.” 

John lifted his head with your help, the concave divot residing front and center brushing lightly across your cheek. He presented you with a kiss this time, his cock enlivening beneath you, unable to help his arousal at the admission of your heartfelt words. 

“I won’t, not anymore,” he promised, another kiss administered, and then another, returning each touch of his lips with one of your own until they picked up in fervor, Hancock’s sly tongue subtly snaking its way between your teeth. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” you cooed, warm, wet muscles intertwining in an orchestrated dance that rekindled the deep-seated ache of your loins. 

“You listen so well,” you needled playfully; you had the ghoul’s number, knowing just what made him tick.

Hancock moaned a sound of gratitude, your impromptu praise causing his prick to flex, lean, wilted fingers creeping forward to place themselves deliberately along your thighs; they ran up the dips in your hips, and smoothed over the shape of your waist.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Hancock grated between avid swirls. His cock was riding up against your slinky blue vault suit—like liquid latex poured to conform to your body, it fit tight as a glove.

John held no complaints, only that you were still wearing it. Fortunately, you had ideas. 

“Being such a good boy for me,” you teased, your own hands roving, exploring the contours of his slender chest and waist, sweeping back and forth; you hooked his partially corroded throat, carefully capturing Hancock between the crook of your palm, thumb trailing his Adam’s apple in a light caress. 

“Not sure you know what that does to me,” he purred, the ghoul at your mercy as you gyrated your hips, your own sex succinctly aligned as you massaged his erection through faded black slacks.  

“Are you so sure?” you asked, grinning into your kiss, one of Hancock’s hands sneaking along synthetic fibers for three fingers to stroke the underside of your jumper. He pushed up only slightly, cupping your mound; you felt it in your core, a subdued moan breathed straight into the ghoul’s mouth—Hancock was so turned on, it was a wonder he didn’t just nut right then and there.

“You teasin’ me, sunshine?” John panted, groping your breast, digits fingering stitchwork; you bit down on your bottom lip as you reached for the clasp at the front of your collar.

“Get this off me,” you instructed, fumbling with the pull of your zipper.

“Is that a request?” Hancock asked cheekily, though he did not expect an answer.

“An order,” you responded, feigning authority, Hancock doing as he was told, though there was a hint of a smile crawling up the side of his face. 

“Yes, ma’am,” the ghoul chortled wryly, watching as you shed your suit like a second skin. You ushered it past the arc of your shoulders, the slopes of your breasts, to the base of your hips, leaving yourself half naked and assailable; John was unable to help his amorous stare.

“You’re so beautiful,” he declared, moving to knead doughy flesh, mouth finding your throat; Hancock sucked the sweat off your flawless skin, his other hand working its way underneath what was left of your vault suit, two fingers dipping into your already soaked cunt. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, slipping in and out, thumb pushing itself between the folds of your labia to rub your throbbing bud. 

“Yes, let’s,” you returned, swirling your hips, riding Hancock’s thick fingers as you clumsily moved to untie the flag wrapped about his narrow waist. 

“Right here?” he asked, perplexed. Though not one to argue, being out in the open without cover was dangerous; he knew better than anyone the risks of the Wastes. 

“I want you,” you answered, as if that in and of itself was all he needed to hear. You knew there might be consequences, but at that moment, your hormones were the ones in charge, a sharp gasp escaping as John’s fingers curled against the anterior wall of your sex.

“I’m all yours, love, forever,” Hancock vowed, following your example. He hastily unbuckled his pants after releasing your tit with reluctance, pushing apart the flaps to withdraw his glaring hard on; precum was already seeping out the slit at its head. 

“Promise me,” you insisted, lifting up off your thighs—and Hancock’s fingers—to shimmy the rest of your suit down toward your knees. It might be a little awkward, but you were too desperate to care, taking up the ghoul’s girth in the breadth of your palm.

“Cross my heart and hope to—” 

“Don’t you dare,” you protested, shoving your tongue back into John’s mouth, guiding his cock inside you. You sank down onto your haunches, inch by delicious inch, his variegated shaft filling you full up.

Then, the ghoul went rigid. “But sunshine, what about—” 

“Shhh, that’s it,” you whispered, though Hancock hadn’t done anything to warrant a reprimand. It was your own descent that had you crooning, dipping forward to feel that delightful pressure snug against your walls. 

“Not sure you wanna end up like—”

“—I took one a few hours ago, remember?” The darling man was more concerned with your well-being than even you; you could physically feel the tension leaving his body, John relieved to know you had things under control.

“You do love me,” you stated breezily, flicking the tip of your tongue inside the helix of the ghoul’s ear; Hancock shuddered, both his hands returning to your hips, touch featherlight, prompting you to press your palms against the partition behind him to prop yourself up on either side of his head.

“Wouldn’t mind you turnin’ Ghoul,” he replied throatily, thinkin’ spending an eternity with you sounded like the best damn thing a guy could ask for. 

Hancock watched with bated breath as you rose up to enshroud him in your shadow, breasts level with his eyes. He groaned his appreciation, seizing your right nipple between puckered lips, John’s bony hips pushing up against the round of your ass. The ghoul sucked diligently, dull nails clawing gingerly into supple, human flesh, incapable of keeping a straight face.

“What was all that about not doubting each other?” John huskily reminded you, the point of his tongue flitting against your sensitive skin. He returned to suckling, as if a babe latched to nurse, the hand left idle finally slipping down your thigh. Hancock spread your lower lips apart with the underside of two fingers, a third taking its place atop your thrumming clit, engorged with blood. 

“Shut up,” you urged, wanting him to belay speaking for fear the moment might spoil, Hancock grunting in indignation before he bit down lightly on your nip. 

You gasped a broken breath, cunt rising to the head of his cock. You dropped back down; Hancock bottomed out, sequestered in the deepest part of you, snug as anything, the ghoul hypnotized by your pretty writhing. 

“Why don’t you make me.” Hancock intensified the patient revolutions of blotched fingers, dragging you down by compressing your cheeks with his thumb and index; you slumped your shoulders just enough, angling to meet his current height, tossing your arms about John’s neck to humor him with another passionate kiss.

“Done.” You rocked forward, feeling Hancock’s sizeable member immured to its base. Indecent sounds kept each other company, the squish of your conjoined loins combining with the wet, obscene spirals of your whorling tongues. It wouldn’t take much longer to climax, your slick cunt tightening its grip on John’s rock-hard cock. 

The ghoul’s chest heaved between ragged breaths, Hancock practicing his self-control. He didn’t want to cum until you did, sliding his palm up to carefully cradle the small protrusion distending your lower abdomen. 

Feeling the outline of himself inside you was nearly too much to handle, a visible tremor preceding what was to be an early warning.

“I-I can’t hold back, angel.”

“Wait,” you countered, guiding the ghoul’s head toward your breasts, driving his noseless face into your cleavage; Hancock’s tricorn shifted backward as he followed your lead. He vested himself in the cocoon of your limbs,  moaning his approval, grabbing onto a fistful of ass as your back arched in pleasure. 

You opened your eyes to gaze at the sky—it was pale blue and cloudless, for once.

You came hard, the flat of John’s palm supporting your spine as you released your ecstasy to the heavens, the ghoul’s tepid seed discharging in spurts to paint your inner walls white; his ejaculate had been offered as payment for your lovely little song.

The ghoul felt overwhelmed and full of deep affection for you; Hancock’s teeth bore down on beautiful, unblemished skin; he broke capillaries, drawing your blood to the surface, leaving his mark in the form of a dark red welt. 

You gasped at the bite, Hancock ensconcing you tightly in his arms, both of you allowing your orgasms to run their course. His grip was a comfortable vise, brittle nails burrowing into lithe flesh with almost paradoxical tenderness; John was always so careful with you.

From an outsider’s perspective, the embrace of a ghoul meant certain death, with the expectancy you would be rent into unrecognizable pieces. Such a pose as you presented now was questionable, one that evoked alarm from bystanders, settlers who had followed the beacon to their new home, expecting to find the general of the Minutemen, but not like this.

“Ghoul!” someone shouted; you heard the shuffling of leather, the clink of metal.

“No!” you yelled, protecting your lover with the entirety of your body, encapsulating his slight frame. You shielded his vitals with your bare back, hunkering down to speak to these newcomers over the peak of your shoulder. 

“He’s not feral!” you growled, hating that you had to defend him, knowing how John must feel at this moment as he gazed up at you with surprised, wide eyes. You cared not that a horde of people had seen you naked; you only cared for Hancock, determined to preserve him and all his parts.

In reality, the ghoul was seconds from tears, knowing—without a doubt—that you had meant what you said. You were guarding his wretched life with your own without question, willing to die to keep him from harm, just as he gladly would have sacrificed himself to see you live another day. 

A day, he thought, that might have been better off without him, but now he was glad to be alive (in some form or another), swallowing hard against the knot in his throat, eyes never once leaving your impassioned face.

“We’re together; we came here together, and we will leave here together, do I make myself clear?”

A person stepped forward, separating themselves from the crowd. “Yes, General,” they said, having fortunately, or rather unfortunately, recognized you.

With a sigh of relief, those gathered departed. John practically smothered you, so forceful was his hug that it nearly choked the air from your lungs. 

Hancock didn’t know what he’d done to get someone like you, and he was afraid to ask. If there were any powers at be—something, or someone—watching over him, he supposed he’d owe them one, but for now he was more than happy to count his blessings. And the sad thing was, everything, all of it, could be a dream—or one long, hallucinatory chem-trip. If this turned out to be nothing but a fucked up Jet flashback, he’d just as soon never wake up. 

“I’ll follow you to the end of the Wastes,” Hancock blurted, voice strained and rasping, fingers; arms; chest tightening as he spoke against soft tufts of hair. “You and me together, the world ain’t got a prayer.”

Despite what had just transpired, you cradled him against the bow of your neck, oblivious to the inner workings of his mind, only wishing to absorb him, for him to live in the space between your ribs that stored your heart. All you wanted was to keep him safe for all time, knowing that he deserved the world, though the ghoul would most certainly outlive you. 

It was a melancholy thought, if ever one existed, but you did not allow your mind to dwell. “Sweet man,” you murmured, “it doesn’t stand a chance in hell.”

—-

Fallout Masterlist

[kai-anderson-whore]

Ghost boy (Tate langdon x fem reader smut) kinktober fic 6

Summary: you and your friends go to the abandoned murder house, where you met Tate

Warnings: smut, sex against a wall, sex with a ghost, teasing, clit stimulation somewhat public sex (since it’s a abandoned house 🤷‍♀️)

Word count: 1,5k

A/n: this was shit and the ending was so rushed, I’m so behind on this so I might not post the full ten fics but if I do they may be some after Halloween

•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•..•°˚˚°•.•¤❅¤•.•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•.

You heard all the rumours about the infamous murder house, how it's haunted, people who step foot there get killed, how the ghosts that live there aren't really ghosts they're just like humans only cold 'bullshit' you thought. You were always a sceptic about all that paranormal stuff, never believed in it one bit.

So when your friends came up with the idea of visiting the murder house you were more than willing to go and see. You wanted to prove your friends wrong, there was no such thing as ghosts. Now outside the old run down building, wooden barriers barricaded the windows except for one on the side of the house.

"So we going in or what" you spoke up unfazed by the eerie sight of the abandoned house. Your friends on the other hand looked if so they already regretted coming here. "Maybe this isn't a good idea, I mean have you heard the stories y/n, once you go in there's a high chance you never get out to tell the tale" your friend Chelsea's scared tone making you chuckle.

"Yeah and that's what it is a tale, it's just to scare kids from going in here and get drunk, all bullshit" you laughed climbing into the house. "What are you doing, are you crazy!?" Your other friend Oliver hissed. "Oh come on you two wanted to come here in the first place now your chickening out" you scoffed your leather jacket nearly getting caught on an overgrown branch connecting to the brick wall.

"Yeah it's fucking creepy" Oliver admitted you just laughed once again one of your legs on the ledge of the old window, the other inside the house barely touching the ground. "Fine I'm going in, I bet I'll make it out alive" you mocked dismissing them and jumping fully into the old house.

You heard their pleas for you to come back, never did you listen once you got something on your mind you do it. Going further into what you expect to be the dinning room, nothing was really out of place like someone had been living here. Dust was collecting on some parts of the house, no graffiti on the walls or smashed glass like other places you been to 'weird?'.

Nothing really sparked your interests downstairs, deciding to take your attention upstairs. Searching room to room all you found were some old photos of the Harmon family that lived here. Entering another room all dark 'this is probably a boys room' you thought to yourself looking around the room.

Spotting a record collection mostly grunge and rock music nirvana, Alice and the chains, hole and some artists who inspired the grunge scene. "Good taste" you hummed to yourself out loud. "Thanks" a voice chimed making out yelp in fright, clutching your chest.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" You snapped turning your head to find a boy with blonde hair with a amused smile and arms folded over his chest. "Didn't mean to scare you" he defended holding his hands up. "Who are you?" You asked not feeling scared anymore. You couldn't help but find this mysterious guy attractive he wore a knitted sweater with baggy jeans and converse.

"I'm Tate, I live here" he shrugged.

"What you live in a abandoned house yeah right" you scoffed not believing it. "I'm a ghost so yeah I live here" he says in a serious tone. "Sure and I'm the pope, did Chelsea and Oliver set you up for this, if they did nice try" you laughed which only made Tate a little bit frustrated.

"No" Tate unfolds his arms taking a step towards you. "Okay Tate prove your a ghost" you challenged standing from your kneeled position. "Why would I need to prove I'm dead" he scoffed rolling his eyes. "Because your not dead, but you are kinda cute" you smirked, Tate couldn't help but blush at your compliment. "Well thanks I guess, not so bad yourself if I may add" he returned his voice somewhat dulcet but a smirk always playing on his lips.

"Thanks Casper" you smiled biting your bottom lip. Standing up from your kneeled position. Leaving the room exploring more parts of the house. "You know shouldn't really be here alone" Tate speaks up you turn your head, raising an eyebrow. "And why's that Casper?".

"Because you never know what's in here" he shrugs. You chuckled dismissively, "oh yeah the boogeyman is going to get me is is". Tate smirked at you he couldn't lie he thought you were beautiful, with your leather jacket, the way your hair would flow as the breeze of the house swished past you. He oddly felt nervous around you but wanted to be close to you.

You notice his nervousness, smirking to yourself. "Do I make you nervous Casper?".

"What no" he blushed.

"I do" you laughed stepping closer to him, you could practically feel how nervous he was, swallowing a lump in his throat. You smiled seductively at Tate standing in front of him, "maybe just a little" Tate chuckled blushing. A new wave of confidence washed over you, you couldn't deny he was extremely attractive even if it was weird that he was randomly in this abandoned house.

"And why do I make you nervous Casper?" You teasingly asked using your newfound nickname. Tate swallowed a lump in his throat "w-well your really pretty that's why" he mumbles. Now face to face with him. "Oh really I'm pretty?" You teased now playing with the hem of his flannel.

"Yeah" he chuckled, you couldn't deny your attraction to the boy. Now with the sudden wave of confidence you kissed him, feverishly. Tate's eyes blown wide at your sudden action, but responded to your lips nonetheless. Your hand cupped his cheek deepening the kiss.

A moan left your lips feeling Tate's hands on your body, he was cold but you assumed that it was because of the cold air in the abandoned house. Tate grew the confidence to pin you to the nearest wall you gasped feeling the cold wall come in contact with you.

A smirk crept on his lips, his hand on your waist now slowly creeping under your skirt, his thumb coming in contact with your clit, you let out another gasp and he rubbed you through your nearly soaked panties. You grew wetter by the second, your hand gripped his shoulder to steady yourself. "Your so wet" Tate chuckled retracing his hand from your underwear.

His lips attacked your neck leaving purple marks along your delicate skin. You sighed your hand cupped his bulged rubbing him through his jeans. Before unbuttoning the button. "Eager are we?" Tate chuckles. "Just fuck me" you sighed. Tate pulled down his jeans and underwear just enough for his cock to string free.

His hands on the backs on your thighs signalling your to jump, which you did. Your underwear moved to one side he lined himself up with your entrance teasingly. "Don't tease me" you whined. Tate chuckled slowly pushing himself into you. Your eyes rolling back in pleasure your grip on his shoulder tightened.

Tate bottomed out inside you before retracting his hips from you, thrusting in you. Moans slowly crept their way out your lips, he stretched you out perfectly. Your head resting on Tate's shoulder, "harder" you panted your body jolting with each thrust, "I don't think you deserve it yet" Tate grinned, you immediately felt frustrated with his disapproval of your request. "Please, please Casper, I need it please" you begged, Tate's thrusts got even more slower.

"You know that's not my name, say my name and I'll maybe consider it" Tate's voice was more deep and dominant, "I'm sorry Tate, please fuck me harder please tate" you pleaded. “Well since you asked so nicely” he smirked.

His hips thrusted into you in a much faster pace, you almost screamed out in pleasure and pain, it felt so good. Tates hips were erratic the pace they went you were sure he would split you in two. Your head resting on the wall behind you. Your legs pulling him closer.

You felt dangerously close to the edge, Tate could tell “you close?” He asked, you nodded your head humming in response. “Use your words” Tate coaxed, smirking wickedly. “I’m so close” you panted out. Feeling that knot form in your stomach.

“Let go baby” he whispered, you let go over his cock with a loud moan. Your nails digging into his flannel, your orgasm triggering his own release. He pulling out of you spilling his seed on your thigh. You panted trying to catch your breath.

Tate set your feet down on the floor, you fixed your underwear and skirt. “That was fun” Tate smirked tucking himself back into his pants . You smiled nodding “yeah I gotta go my friends are outside waiting on me” I giggled. “Oh okay maybe I’ll see you around?” He asked. “Sure I’ll see you around” you smiled Leaving Tate.

You made it outside seeing your friends by the gates of the abandoned house. “What took you so long we were about to send a search party out for you” Oliver says. “Keep your head on, I’m here now I just found some cool stuff that’s all” you smirked blushing a little. “Come on let’s go” Oliver sighed, the three of you walked away from the house you looked at a window seeing Tate. You smiled and waved as you walked away.

[acupofinkedblood]

Illumina x reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• To be blessed with the presence of a SFOTH deity is such an honorable gift to receive, and out of any deity that can grace you with their blessing, you have managed to catch Illumina’s gaze. The gaze of his upmost divine attention, only for you. To what has a mortal done for him to awaken this foreign feeling inside him? Fate is such a joke, but it has led him to you

• Illumina is such a puzzle. Deities are different from mortals, you know that fact well. But Illumina has proven you that your simple mind can’t really comprehend of what a god can feel. His emotions are still noticeable — even showing them in a strong way — yet you can’t really understand his thoughts

• He understands your curiosity and will gladly enlighten your questions. After all, he’s a god. His intelligence is vast enough to answer all of your troubles, especially one regarding his own. He will tell you his tales, entertain you with his odd point of views and so on. But for certain questions, he would rather scoff than answer it. Like those involving his siblings — especially Darkheart or Venomshank — you don’t need to bother to get them

• At first, you dared not to be too intimate with him although he was your lover. He’s a powerful deity, and you’re just a mortal after all. It bothers him when you act like that more than you think he does. He doesn’t want you to treat him this different just because he’s a god. Sure, maybe he doesn’t really understand the concept of affection and all, but that doesn’t mean he will oppose you doing it

• It takes him quite a good while before throwing his pride through the window and have a heart to heart conversation with you. He wants you to love him in your way. And hell, maybe he might be unfamiliar with the idea at first, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get used to it. He will never hurt you after all, so just do whatever you wish

• Of course, he has granted you immortality to be his life’s partner forever. You will soon realize the subtle illuminating marks on your skin, a reminder of his blessings to you. Your eyes won’t go on full white, but instead there is a hint of white on the tip of your horn. It’s because you aren’t his follower, you are his lover

• Oh Illumina and his vivid choices of words, you are more than aware that he is rather harsh in his speech. He even sass you every now and then, but don’t take it too personal. He doesn’t take it too far, sometimes it’s meant to be lighthearted. You are his beloved, of course. Yet that doesn’t change the ‘Oh great, here we go again’ expression when you do something stupid

• He is a god, a 7'0"ft god, if you might ask. He absolutely towers over you. Although he doesn’t appear with you in public, but occasionally you still get this feeling of someone looming and watching over you. It’s just Illumina, he means it when he says he will keep an eye on you. It can be eerie at first, but then you just grow to get used to it

• Other times if he can’t really watch over you like usual, he will put a spell on you. Maybe a protection charm created by him, only for you. With that around, you don’t have to worry of danger anywhere. Plus, it’s beautiful for the eyes, charm he gifted you, I mean

• Sometimes he finds entertainment in starling you. Your reaction is just too priceless. He will appear behind you without a warning, his hand press on your shoulder or brush through your hair lightly. Seeing you jump almost immediately due to being surprised never fails to amuse him

• But if you no longer have any intense reactions like before anymore, he will be pretty intrigued by your attitude. Yet he still does it, either for dramatic entrance or just because he likes doing so, you don’t really know

• When you stay close to him, skin to skin contact, you can’t really put a finger on the way he makes you feel. He has no heartbeat, there’s just silence when you rest your heard against his chest. It feels a bit uncanny, but then again, you understand why

• His body is cold, yet in the way similar to when the cold light of a new day bathe on your skin. It’s not as cold as the death or as ice, but similar to a sunlight in winter. Describing his warmth requires your mind a good load of work, you just know that you have grown to be comforted by his presence. ‘He feels like light,’ that’s all you have to say

• Let’s get one thing straight, he is a whole new level of possessiveness. If you have been in contact with anyone, even just friends, that he deemed to be ‘too close for his taste’, then you will definitely receive quite a handful of sarcastic remarks about that unfortunate person by his sharp tongue. You call it jealousy, he dismisses it as keeping those — and I quote — ‘unworthy mortals away from your sight’

• You do know how to keep him at bay, but he might or might not still have his way with them behind your back. It’s nothing too serious, just giving them a slight warning. Your friends might complain about their questionable inconveniences to you, and you have a guess or two on why

• Don’t worry, he will not go overboard with it. If you really dislike it that much, he will begrudgingly stop giving your friends those simple misfortunes. He doesn’t want you to be in distress because of his doings

• But with your enemies, it’s another completely different story. May heaven above wish your foes well because we all know how Illumina takes your safety seriously. And that person dares to make you irritated, or worse - hurt? Agony will be what they are expected to come across if they put a finger on you — not even death — but the spiraling nightmare which he will gladly make them suffer

• His chamber is pretty abstracted. It’s not like anything you have imagined before. And trust me, he won’t explain further on why his home looks like that. Illumina might bring you there whenever those random days hit him when he feels like your presence will be a elixir to him. Despite the complexity of the place, you feel like home whenever you enter there. Maybe it’s because he’s with you

• You will be surprised when figuring out his fascination for lotus. He has a huge pond of white lotuses that has this slight purple glow. The scene is oddly serene, and that’s also where he is at his calmest. Sit there with him and enjoy the view, you won’t regret it

• And his wing, how can we forget about his wing? It’s big enough for you to be completely covered by it when he wrapped his singular wing around your body. And to your surprise, it’s pretty smooth. Not exactly fluffy, but smooth as silk. It also illuminates slightly in the dark, so if you have trouble falling asleep in the pure darkness, that’s the best way to save your electricity bills

• If you can prove your skill in preening bird wing, maybe he will let you help preening his own wing. But be careful, that’s his only wing now. He has already lost one, he definitely doesn’t need to lose another one. Although he might seem nonchalant about the whole thing — you preen his wing and all — deep inside he’s actually flustered

• There are times when he returns to you all scarred. You immediately rush away to get the medical supplies before returning to him. And yeah, although he can heal them by himself, there are certain vicious wounds that he needs your help with. Sometimes he gets back home like a literal mess, it almost fears you to death. But rest assured, he can’t die because of those punny wounds

• On the one hand, the other deities are wary of your presence. But they know better than doing any harm to you. The last thing they want is Illumina causing havoc everywhere in their territory just because they have crossed the line of his — which is you — and it’s definitely not a good thing. Maybe Darkheart who knows nothing and doubts nothing will try to mess around with you. But remember that charm Illumina gives you? Yeah that will shoo him away

• On the other hand, Ghostwalker doesn’t mind your presence. Actually, does he even mind anything at all? But hey, at least he is pretty chill with you and Illumina together

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: It’s so hard to think for Illumina

[morbidology]

Aokigahara, also known as the "Sea of Trees," is a dense forest located at the northwest base of Mount Fuji in Japan. It spans approximately 35 square kilometers and is renowned for its lush greenery, serene atmosphere, and the eerie silence that permeates the area. Despite its natural beauty, Aokigahara is infamously known as the "Suicide Forest" due to the high number of suicides that occur within its depths.

Aokigahara's origins date back to ancient times, when lava flows from Mount Fuji's eruptions formed the forest's unique landscape. The forest's dense foliage and twisted tree roots create a labyrinth-like environment, making it easy for visitors to lose their way. The forest floor is covered with volcanic rock, which absorbs sound and contributes to the profound silence that characterizes Aokigahara.

Aokigahara has long been associated with Japanese folklore and legends. It is believed to be haunted by yūrei, or spirits of the dead, who are said to be trapped in the forest due to their tragic and untimely deaths. These spirits are thought to manifest as ghostly apparitions, leading some to describe Aokigahara as one of the most haunted places in Japan and even the world.

The forest's dark reputation is further fueled by tales of ubasute, an ancient practice where elderly or infirm individuals were abandoned in remote locations to die. Although historical evidence for ubasute in Aokigahara is limited, the legend persists and adds to the forest's eerie mystique.

Aokigahara's association with suicide dates back to the 1960s, when the forest gained notoriety as a site for people to end their lives. Each year, numerous individuals travel to Aokigahara with the intention of taking their own lives, making it one of the most infamous suicide hotspots in the world. The exact number of suicides is difficult to determine, as authorities have stopped publicizing the figures to prevent copycat incidents.

The forest's dense vegetation and remote location provide a secluded environment, attracting those who seek solitude in their final moments. Personal belongings, makeshift tents, and signs urging individuals to reconsider their actions are often found scattered throughout the forest, serving as haunting reminders of the lives lost.

[skykind]

A Clone Wars Episode Deep Dive

I didn't discover The Clone Wars fandom until 2021 and only started watching the show in mid-2023 (finished a few months ago), and I want to discuss and analyze all sorts of odds and ends—years after most people watched. This includes cool stuff in episodes I think some fans understandably skip when doing re-watches and therefore no longer remember well, but I’m digging into one of them anyway. So, have a long post about S2:E11, "Lightsaber Lost," and then come talk to me about it if you’d like!

This episode is saying three things at once, and the closer you get to the symbolic message meant for mostly adult audiences, the wilder things get.

The literal plot: Ahsoka’s lightsaber is stolen, and she recovers it with the help of a Jedi elder who teaches her life lessons along the way.

The morality tale for young viewers: gun control (a bold choice).

An eerie interlude for older viewers: A pair of brief scenes—only 45 seconds or so in length combined—communicate the future purge of the Jedi order via symbolic visual storytelling and a speech that’s being broadcast in the background. No dialogue required.

I'm going to focus on this third bullet point, but I also recommend a re-watch for the gun control angle. (Hint: if you think the writers are only arguing for handling guns responsibly, you haven’t taken the Jedi’s current context into account; also, the writers aren't referring to literal in-universe guns—Ahsoka’s lightsaber is the gun.)

Back to the episode’s message for older viewers: Split over two scenes, the audience watches Ahsoka chase a bounty hunter in possession of her lightsaber, then the bounty hunter partially damage and destabilize an enormous levitating billboard so she can get away from Ahsoka, and finally Ahsoka tumble down and precariously cling to the billboard’s screen. The billboard shows Palpatine delivering a—likely prerecorded—speech that is meant to sound supportive of the Jedi, but is instead priming Coruscant residents to believe anti-Jedi rhetoric; just before this two-scene sequence ends, Palpatine also begins to explain why he needs more executive power in order to support the Jedi.

It's great to pinpoint an example of Palatine's propaganda, but what does the visual storytelling communicate, with this speech for a backdrop?

Note: the text of Palpatine’s speech, shown in captions in the following screenshots, is not in alt text as that would chop the speech up between image descriptions, and is instead in a single paragraph after the final screenshot.

Palpatine's Speech

"I have no doubt that the Jedi are doing their very best to ensure the safety of every citizen in the Republic. The accusations that the Jedi created the Clone War to give themselves more power over the government is absurd and I will not stand for it."

Ahsoka as Symbolically at Palpatine's Mercy

After a scene break, Palatine's speech picks up mid-sentence and we see just how small and vulnerable Ahsoka is compared to Palpatine's soaring and vast projection. She appears entirely at his mercy, and somewhat at the mercy of Coruscant as well.

Palpatine's Speech, Resumed

"…Count Dooku and his droid army. To support the Jedi's efforts in the war, I ask the Senate to pass these new laws, giving more jurisdiction…"

The Genocide to Come

As this speech is broadcast to Coruscant, the seemingly trustworthy and dependable Chancellor of the Republic symbolically collapses beneath Ahsoka and leaves her stranded over a chasm. All while Palpatine spreads propaganda that will eventually convince the public to support her people's genocide.

Perhaps the best way to describe this is:

An unarmed Ahsoka struggles to hang onto the edge of a high precipice, that precipice is a symbol for Palpatine—and in a few years, Palpatine will shove the entire Jedi order off the edge of a much higher cliff.

Given how the sheer visual scale of Palpatine in this second scene represents the power he can wield over the Jedi—as the staging emphasizes Ahsoka's relative smallness and her physical vulnerability—it's clear the Jedi will not be able to rescue themselves when this future betrayal comes; Palpatine has amassed too much power and put too many plans in place. And no one who's bought into Palpatine's propaganda will try to catch the Jedi when they go over the edge.

Ahsoka’s Survival

Ahsoka’s individual survival of Order 66 is signaled here by her ability to get off the levitating billboard, but nothing about the staging suggests this comes down to unique skill—any number of well-trained Jedi could have gotten out of her predicament when the right opportunity (a single speeder that veers out of its lane and passes unusually close to the screen) presented itself.

In both “Lightsaber Lost” and "Victory and Death" (S7:E12, see below), her survival involves flinging herself through open air (and into an out-of-place flying vehicle), a nice nod to Ahsoka’s association with flight and Morai, though I feel like that’s a coincidence (?) as of season 2. Or maybe not. I have no idea if Ahsoka’s symbolic associations—flight in the case of “Lightsaber Lost,” rather than Morai specifically—were planned out in advance.

What About the Propaganda?

Returning to season 2, we come to the final big-picture takeaway of the "Lightsaber Lost" scenes: I’ve referred to Palpatine’s speech as something that plays in the background because Ahsoka doesn’t pay attention to his propaganda, even though it’s literally in her face. What does this mean if we treat Ahsoka as a stand-in for the Jedi, and Palpatine’s speech as a stand-in for his growing threat to the Jedi?   In these scenes, Ahsoka first doesn’t pay attention because she’s trying to stay alive in precarious circumstances, just as Jedi across the galaxy are kept distracted from the big picture by trying to keep themselves, their Padawans, their troops, and civilians alive as war swallows up the galaxy. Then, Ahsoka is distracted by tracking the bounty hunter who has her lightsaber; in the context of this episode (which asks, ‘who should be allowed to use a lightsaber, and when?’), Ahsoka’s lightsaber also comes to represent Jedi’s efforts to fight the Clone Wars as ethically as possible. It presumably takes more time and effort to fight a war when you’re concerned with morals, at least when the opposition is perfectly happy to commit war crimes.   By tossing the Jedi into a war, Palpatine keeps them too busy to systemically search for the Master Sith (in addition to Sith stuff diminishing the Jedi’s ability to use the force), as their time is eaten up by upholding the equivalent of the Geneva and Hague Conventions (etc.) when almost no one else is, by protecting as many other lives as possible, and by staying alive.

And The Clone Wars communicates all of this in a minute! Though I’ll admit my final point about Ahsoka’s lightsaber representing ethical combat is a stretch. I love it when TV shows and movies make full use of visual storytelling, and The Clone Wars is fabulous at it.

Whew—and that’s that! I’m grateful if even a single person has read this far and would love to know what you think, but regardless, I had fun analyzing this episode and organizing my thoughts about it. Cheers to the Clone Wars fandom.

[bupia]

18 with Terzo bc HONESTLY that's the plot of jigolo har megiddo

FORMAL WEAR

"I can't wait to take your innocence."

There's a smut under the cut, +18 only, please.

(Female!Reader: unprotected sex; fingering; teasing; dirty talk; Italian swearing; swearing; semi-public sex)

Available on AO3

Day 26 | Day 28

The night of the Halloween ball had finally arrived, and you had eagerly awaited it the entire week. Excitement coursed through your veins as you counted down the hours until the event. Papa Emeritus III, affectionately known as Terzo, was renowned for hosting the most extravagant parties, and tonight, he had something special in store: a Masquerade party with a Halloween twist. The concept was peculiar, as it required guests to dress up as monsters, witches, or creatures, but with the added mystique of masks.

However, you felt an inexplicable urge to defy convention. Instead of donning the typical ghoulish attire, you sought to bring an air of contrast to the evening. Your heart was set on something more elegant and formal. You had decided to opt for a graceful, floor-length dress and a delicate, unadorned mask. In your mind, you envisioned yourself as a character straight out of one of those enchanting princess tales, where a chance encounter behind a mask led to a whirlwind romance, or so the stories go.

Having just finished dressing up and making sure everything was in place, you gracefully made your way to the garden where the much-anticipated ball was set to unfold. You couldn't help but wonder if Papa Emeritus I, Primo, had any reservations about all the eccentric siblings wandering around the garden simultaneously. However, you figured that Terzo must have worked his charismatic magic to put Primo's nerves at ease.

As you entered the garden, you were greeted by an enchanting spectacle. The ambient lighting was a mix of eerie and alluring, with various hues casting an otherworldly glow. The decorations were hauntingly beautiful, and the carefully curated music added to the spine-tingling atmosphere, perfectly in sync with the Halloween theme.

The atmosphere at the event was beyond amazing, and you found yourself completely engrossed in the festivities. With the enchanting ambiance all around you, you decided to take a brief respite and headed toward the food table. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride; after all, you had lent a hand in the kitchen earlier, and the dishes turned out to be nothing short of delectable.

As you scanned the crowd, trying to spot your friends among the masked guests, your eyes locked onto a figure standing in the distance. It was a man, and he seemed to be gazing directly at you. The mask obscured his features, leaving you curious and somewhat intrigued. You couldn't be certain if he was one of the siblings from the ministry or just another guest. Maybe even someone from the Clergy.

Your curiosity piqued, you furrowed your brows and discreetly averted your gaze from the mysterious man. You hoped to lose him in the crowd as you began to move through the garden in search of your friends. To your surprise, the enigmatic figure matched your pace, maintaining a certain distance, and never breaking his gaze from you.

An uneasy sensation settled in the pit of your stomach as you did your best to avoid his penetrating stare. It was as though his eyes were fixed solely on you, and you could feel them on you even as you continued to walk.

As you finally came to a stop, feeling an overwhelming need to confront the mysterious man, you turned to face the spot where he had been. To your surprise, he had vanished, swallowed by the pulsating mass of dancing siblings.

Convinced it had all been a figment of your imagination, you turned to retrace your steps, intending to head back to where you had been. However, the moment you pivoted, your breath caught in your throat. There he stood, right behind you.

"You are looking very beautiful tonight, principessa," the man said, his voice strikingly familiar.

You couldn't believe your ears. "Papa?" you inquired, a sense of recognition dawning upon you.

"Oh, I'm not Papa today," he replied, a sly smile playing on his lips, "I'm just a masked man at a masquerade ball, sorella." He extended his hand toward you. "Would you like to have a dance with me?"

Your heart pounded, and you looked down at his hand before nodding in confirmation. You reached for his hand, and he led you gracefully to the dance floor.

As he placed his hand on your waist and drew you nearer to him, the rhythm of the music seemed to adapt to the pace of your heart. It wasn't a slow dance, yet he moved with such fluidity and grace that it felt as if a classical ballad played softly in the background. You glanced around, trying to comprehend, but all faded into insignificance when he pulled you even closer, leaving only a mere inch between your faces.

Your breath hitched, and you found yourself lost in the intensity of his gaze. His eyes bore into yours, a silent conversation unfolding between you. You followed his lead, allowing him to guide you gracefully as the music played on. Terzo took a deep breath, drawing back from you slowly, though his hand remained on your waist.

"Would you like to go to another area?" he asked.

"Of course," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.

He gently slid his hand from your waist and interlocked his fingers with yours, leading you out of the garden and back inside the ministry. The two of you walked in silence, following him down a corridor, and the anticipation in the air grew palpable.

After a brief moment, he turned to face you and slowly removed his mask, revealing his face for the first time without the signature Papa paint. His eyes bore into yours, and he took a step closer. With a delicate touch, he reached for your mask, removing it and allowing it to fall to the floor.

"Can I?" he whispered, his voice laden with meaning.

You nodded, your heart pounding, understanding the unspoken question. You closed your eyes, ready for what was to come. His hands slid to the sides of your body, drawing you closer, and you rested your arms on his shoulders. Terzo leaned in, and your lips met in a tender, passionate kiss.

As your lips danced together in a fervent embrace, you took a deep breath, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck, drawing him closer, and his response was a deep, guttural groan that escaped into your mouth. Your hand found its way to his hair, fingers caressing the strands gently, eliciting a shiver from him.

He moved his hand to the small of your back, pressing you even closer, as if such closeness were even possible. The intensity of the moment surged, and your mouths parted, allowing your tongues to meet in a passionate, almost erotic dance.

He led you backward until your back was pressed against one of the cool marble walls of the hallway. His body was firmly pressed against yours, and the passionate kiss was momentarily broken as he moved to your neck. His lips and tongue trailed along your skin, leaving a trail of hungry, feverish kisses.

You unwrapped your arms from around his neck, one hand remaining on his head, fingers tangled in his hair, while the other hand found its place on his waist. The intoxicating scent of his cologne enveloped you, and you couldn't help but close your eyes, your mouth parting in a silent moan.

"Papa..." you called out, your voice quivering with desire. "I don't think... we should do it here..."

"We are not doing anything wrong, sorella," he whispered, his warm breath against your skin as he continued to suck on your neck. "And no one will see us here; they are all at the party anyway."

"But what if..." you attempted to voice your concern, but your words dissolved into a passionate moan as he bit your neck ever so slightly.

He withdrew from your neck and met your gaze. "Should we put a pause on this? If you'd rather not continue, we can stop."

In a soft voice, you replied, "I don't want to stop, Papa."

A low, satisfied growl rumbled from him, and he brushed his lips across yours. "Molto bene," he purred. "I can't wait to take your innocence."

You chuckled softly, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, fingers caressing the tension there. "Who said I'm innocent, Papa?" you said with a playful tone.

"I thought principesse like you were innocent," he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

You leaned in close, your voice a sultry whisper, "Not this one right here." As you spoke, you gently ran your tongue along his lips, watching with satisfaction as his eyes rolled back in pleasure.

A big, devilish smile spread across his lips as he turned his attention back to your neck, trailing a path of soft kisses from your neck to your shoulder and collarbone. His hands gently caressed their way down to your shoulders. His fingers traced a path down your shoulders, gently pulling the straps of your dress down, baring your breasts for him.

His hands skillfully moved from your arms to your breasts, tenderly taking them into his warm palms and giving them a gentle squeeze. His kisses grew more fervent on your neck, and the exquisite sensations caused you to gasp in response.

"Ah... Papa..." you breathed, your voice filled with desire.

"You can call me by my name if you want, sorella," he whispered, his warm breath tickling your ear.

"Terzo..." you moaned.

"Perfetto," he cooed, his voice laden with desire. "Again," he commanded, gently increasing the pressure on your breasts.

"Terzo..." you moaned once more, your voice thick with longing.

"Molto bene," he praised. "Again," he repeated as his mouth found your breasts, taking a nipple into his warm mouth, and sucking on it with an intoxicating fervor.

"Terzo!" you cried out, your senses fully immersed in the pleasure of the moment, your eyes closing in ecstasy.

"Hold your dress for me," he whispered, biting your nipple gently.

Your hands moved quickly to comply, lifting your dress up for him. He then knelt before you, the tension between you both growing even more palpable.

"I can see someone is already wet for Papa," he remarked, his eyes fixated on your panties. "Molto bene, you're making your Papa very proud."

Terzo wasted no time, swiftly moving his hands to the waistband of your panties and sensually pulling them down to your ankles. He tucked them into his pants pocket with a sly smile. His gloved hands then, gently caressing your calves and making their way upward to your thighs. With each caress, he left a trail of kisses along your legs, heightening the sensation as desire coursed through his veins.

"Sei così bella," he whispered, his voice filled with admiration. "I recognized you the moment you arrived in the garden. As soon as I saw you, I knew who was behind the mask. I was waiting for you."

"W-Waiting for me?" you stammered, surprised by his words.

"Sì," he confirmed, his lips brushing against your thigh. "La sorella più bella nel mio ministero. How could I not notice la più bella among all of them?"

He continued to lavish kisses all over your thighs, making his way to your inner thighs and leaving a trail of soft bites that caused your legs to tremble with anticipation. His chuckle at your reaction only added to the excitement, and he proceeded to trace a path with his warm, lingering kisses from your inner thighs toward your core.

He lowered his face, and his lips and nose brushed sensually against your folds. The sensation of his nose lightly grazing your clit and the softness of his lips proved overwhelmingly erotic, causing you to whimper at the intense pleasure. Terzo then rose from his knees, his hand moving to rest gently on your pubic mound, his touch leaving you trembling with desire.

"Do you want me to touch you?" he asked.

"Yes, Papa," you replied, your voice filled with longing.

"And here?" He lowered his hand, his fingers gently finding your clit and pressing it.

"Yes, yes, yes," you moaned, your pleasure evident. "Yes, Papa, just there."

"I said you can call me by my name, sorella," he gently reminded you, his fingers continuing to rub your clit in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through you. "Say it to me now, say my name."

"Ah! Terzo!" you moaned, your back arching in response to the intense pleasure.

"Bene, you are so good for me," he praised, his hand moving lower, leaving your clit, and exploring your entrance. "What about here?" he inquired.

"Mmmm... very much..." you purred, completely lost in the fiery desires.

Terzo slowly slid his middle finger into you, and an intense wave of desire engulfed your entire body. He held it there without moving, watching you as you began to move your hips, seeking a response from him. His sly grin only added to the tantalizing anticipation, creating tension. Slowly, he added another finger, and the sensation caused you to moan softly.

"Do you think you can handle another one, sorella?" he asked, his index finger teasing the contours of your entrance.

"Yes, Terzo," you purred with confidence. "I can handle it all." Your hands gripped your dress even tighter, holding it up for him.

He nodded and then slowly inserted his third finger inside you. The intense sensation caused your body to jump with pleasure, and you felt as though you were melting under his touch. But he held his fingers still, prolonging the tantalizing agony. Your urgent need for movement was evident as you tried to convey it by clenching your walls around his fingers, silently urging him to move.

He grinned at you, fully aware of how much you desired this. Terzo withdrew his hand from between your legs, and you looked down at his fingers, now glistening with your arousal, moaning in frustration.

"You like that, sì?" he teased.

"Yes," you admitted breathlessly.

With your response, Terzo slid his fingers back inside you, initially moving them in and out gently, but gradually picking up the pace. As he quickened his rhythm, you couldn't help but arch your back and release a soft moan of intense pleasure. His movements became faster and more purposeful, skillfully targeting your most sensitive areas.

The sensation was incredible, but your desire for more was insatiable. You gazed up at him with a pleading look in your eyes, silently urging him to take you even further in the depths of lust.

"What is this look, sorella?" he inquired, his eyes locked onto yours.

"I want you, Terzo... inside me," you whispered, your voice heavy with desire.

"Inside? You want my cock?" he inquired, his voice a sultry murmure

"Yes, please... give me your cock," you begged.

He sensually removed his fingers from inside you, bringing them up to his mouth and sucking them clean, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I will give you what you want," he whispered, his voice a sultry promise, a devilish grin on his lips.

Terzo stood and removed his pants, and you watched with anticipation as his erection sprang free, hard and ready. He moved his hands to your legs, lifting them from the floor and placing them on his hips. As he did, you felt his hardness pressing against your moist folds. Your hands left your dress and found their way to his shoulders, gently caressing them.

“Please, Terzo… Please, fuck me… right now…” you begged, your desire laid bare in your voice and your pleading eyes.

Terzo placed his hands on your waist and lifted you slightly, guiding his length into you. You gasped as he entered you, feeling the fullness of his hardness. As his entire length penetrated you, a moan escaped your lips. Your head fell back as you savored the sensation of being filled so completely, and your eyes closed as you relished the feeling of his warm body pressed against yours.

"Merda... so wet... so tight... feels so good inside," he moaned, his voice laden with pleasure.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him, and your senses were overwhelmed by the pulsing rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest. Your eyes locked with his, and the burning desire in his gaze ignited a fierce passion between you as he began to thrust. Leaning forward, he placed his hands on your thighs, keeping you firmly in place.

"Oh, Terzo... so good..." You moaned, arching your back as his thrusts sent waves of pleasure through your body. "Your cock feels so good inside..."

"Does it, sorella?" he asked, his eyes burning with desire as he continued to move inside you. "You like my cock inside you?"

You nodded eagerly, your nails lightly scraping along his back. "Yes... yes... but please don't stop..." Your hips instinctively rocked, urging him to quicken the pace.

Terzo's lips found yours, and he kissed you hungrily, your tongues intertwining in a passionate dance. His thrusts quickened, and the intensity of your connection deepened with each movement. The corridor was filled with the sound of your moans, the erotic echoes of your desire. His hands gripped your hips firmly as he maintained a relentless rhythm, his length sliding in and out of you.

"Yes! Just like that! Oh, Terzo! Yes... fuck me just like that..." Your voice was filled with ecstasy and longing as you couldn't help but moan and cry out in pleasure.

His passionate rhythm showed no sign of slowing down, his length driving into you with unrelenting desire. The corridor echoed with the sounds of your moans. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you held him close, lost in the intoxicating whirlwind of sensations. Terzo's desire for you intensified, and he picked up the pace, thrusting into you with a frenzied urgency. Your moans grew louder and more desperate as his movements became faster and more passionate.

"Merda, your pussy feels amazing," he growled, looking at you with desire in his eyes. "You are so hot, taking my cock so well. Your pussy is taking me so well, and it's driving me wild, sorella."

You met his passionate thrusts with your own, rocking your hips in sync with his, creating a harmonious rhythm. Your mouths met again, and your kisses were filled with hunger and longing, your tongues dancing in a passionate exploration.

You broke the kiss, locking your gaze with his, and the intensity of your need mirrored in his eyes left you feeling weak and consumed by the lust. Your head rested against his shoulder, and the sound of your heartbeats echoed in your ears.

"Terzo... Terzo..." you moaned his name, your voice filled with longing, and you heard him grunting with pleasure. "Terzo, please... more... more..."

Your body undulated with each rhythmic thrust of his length, the sensation of being completely filled transcending any experience you'd had before. Terzo maintained the deep, relentless rhythm, and you couldn't help but release a long, low moan of profound satisfaction. His hands tightened their grip on your thighs, and you were certain he could feel the tension building within you. The intensity grew as Terzo's thrusts became harder, his movements faster and powerful.

"More? You want more, sorella?" he groaned, his voice heavy with desire.

"Yes... give it all to me... please, please, don't stop, fuck me," you pleaded, your need for more was undeniable.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to penetrate you even deeper. The sound of your breathing grew ragged, and your moans became increasingly urgent. Your body arched against the wall, the impending climax growing more powerful with each passing moment.

"Terzo, I'm going to cum... I'm going to cum!" you cried out.

"Sì, sì, molto bene, cum all over my cock, sorella, make your Papa happy," he encouraged.

You could no longer hold back, and your cries of ecstasy filled the hallway as you climaxed fiercely, your muscles contracting around Terzo's member as you rode the exhilarating wave of orgasmic bliss.

"Yes-yes-yes-yes-yes!" You cried out as your orgasm exploded, a surge of intense pleasure rippling through your body like an electric current.

With a fervent cry of desire, he exclaimed, "Merda... so tight...! I can't-" as he delivered a final powerful thrust, releasing his seed deep within you.

He remained connected to you, still holding himself inside as you both took a moment to recover. Your legs remained tightly wrapped around his waist. You looked into his eyes, and he met your gaze, his face flushed with the intensity of the action.

"You are so beautiful when you come, sorella," he said, his voice filled with emotion.

"Thank you," you replied, your smile tinged with shyness. "I'm glad I could please you."

"You please me by letting me please you," he chuckled as he gently withdrew from you, carefully placing your legs back on the floor. "Would you give me the pleasure of continuing to please you this night, sorella?" he whispered, his voice heavy with desire.

"Very much, Terzo," you replied, your desire mirrored in your eyes as you bit your lower lip. "But what about the Halloween party?"

"They won't even notice I'm not there, as they can't see who is who under the masks," he reassured you with a whisper, before capturing your lips in one more fervent, passionate kiss.

[connectparanormal]

Haunted Borley Rectory

People have been fascinated and perplexed by the claim that Borley Rectory is "the most haunted house in England" for decades. Reverend Henry Dawson Ellis Bull constructed this rectory in the Gothic style in 1862 and located it in the remote community of Borley, Essex, which became notorious for its purported paranormal activity. There is a complicated mixture of historical events, eyewitness testimonies, and sensationalized legends that have led to the legendary status of Borley Rectory as a place of hauntings. The location known as Borley Rectory has been the subject of these stories. Beginning in the latter half of the 19th century, the Bull family, who had resided there up until the year 1892, provided the first detailed accounts of the eerie story. They described a number of unexplained incidents, including ghostly apparitions, disembodied voices, and footsteps that seemed to echo through the corridors under mysterious circumstances. The story of the nun's apparition has endured and continues to enthrall people. According to local folklore, she became involved in a sorrowful romantic relationship with a monk from a nearby monastery. The monk's execution and the nun's rumored burial alive within the monastery walls marked the tragic end to their illicit love affair. Her ghost is believed to roam the grounds of Borley Rectory, searching for the person she lost her love to forever.

In the 1920s and 1930s, the paranormal activity that occurred at Borley Rectory garnered a great deal of attention. Harry Price, a renowned paranormal investigator, played a significant role in this investigation. Price's study at the rectory involved numerous visits and extensive documentation of his discoveries. He then published these findings in publications that caught the imagination of the general audience. He described a variety of unsettling occurrences in his investigations, including the appearance of ghostly figures, objects moving on their own, and mysterious messages allegedly painted on the walls by spirit hands. The dramatic reports firmly established Borley Rectory's reputation as a haunted spot. On the other hand, critics have consistently cast doubt on the veracity of these assertions over the course of time. There are many who believe that a significant number of the tales were either grossly inflated or completely made up. Some people attribute the phenomenon to natural causes like the ancient structure's creaking and settling, or the activity of animals like mice or rats. On the other hand, not everyone agrees with this theory. Several inhabitants and guests of the rectory have publicly asserted that the events in question are hoaxes or deliberate fabrications, further complicating the tale. As an illustration, it has been proposed that some of the purportedly supernatural occurrences were manufactured for the purpose of gaining attention or financial advantage. Borley Rectory continues to be a legendary location, despite the widespread doubt. This ensures that Borley Rectory will maintain its place in the canon of paranormal legend due to the enduring fascination with the unexplained, coupled with the mysterious and tragic aspects of the stories. Fire destroyed the rectory itself in 1939, a dramatic event that some felt marked the culmination of the building's haunted history. Even in ruins, the stories of hauntings continue to pique people's interest and provoke speculation.

[dragoneye01]

Under My Skin (Jonathan Crane x Reader)

Word Count: 1,222

Summary: Everyone gets under Jonathan Crane's skin, even the one he likes the most. But you're different.

It was easy to get under Jonathan Crane’s skin. Most people were annoying, picky, and irked him. They got under his skin, but you.  .  . you were different. Oh yes, you did get under his skin. You asked a lot of questions, too many questions. You talked too much about too many things. If he didn’t know you to be an English Literature teacher, he would’ve taken you for a scientist or a philosopher. Your knowledge of the natural world was astounding, along with your takes on the human psyche. It was like a special interest to you, especially the effects of certain fungi on the brain. You were fascinated by the mushroom that controlled creatures, the fungus that moved creatures to its own will. 

Jonathan Crane, for the longest time, thought that you knew about his secret identity, especially after he was let go from Gotham University over shooting a gun off in class. 

“That was you? I thought it had been an overactive student.” You commented when the two of you had met for coffee after the incident. He had just taken up his mantle as The Scarecrow and was on edge, wondering if you KNEW. 

“I’m afraid the students did not appreciate my demonstration and thus I was fired. No one appreciates a good lecture anymore.” Jonathan huffed. 

“No, students are changing. Entitled little brats.” You scoffed. “Did I tell you about the class discussion where I couldn’t dock a student points for being a bigot because of the school’s policy? I wanted to expel this student from my class, but the dean insisted it’d be discriminatory against their beliefs, even though said beliefs were bigoted! Can you believe it? I should just quit school and create a life of crime.” You laughed. 

Jonathan laughed nervously. 

“Yes, a life of crime. And what would you do?” He asked, carefully. 

“Hmm.  .  . maybe I’d perfect an experiment on fungi that can take control of their host, controlling others into doing my bidding. I could release a toxin or cultivate it in a public space so that I could use others to steal money for me. Collecting books is an expensive hobby.” A smile broke out on your face. At that Jonathan could agree. 

And that’s where he found himself now. Using his fear toxin he broke into the Gotham University Library, into the old and interesting section. There were many books there of interest, but he only had eyes for one. It was a story collection from the mid-nineteenth century that centered on gothic fairy tales. Haunting and eerie tales that were beloved to many. You had a soft spot for this collection, so much so that he made sure to wear gloves when handling it. Stealing it was easy. Why keep this book hidden away in a library full of ungrateful people? That was his reasoning. You would love and cherish this book. Display it, keep it out of direct sunlight, find pride in it. 

Jonathan had invited you over to his apartment to share a cup of tea or coffee when he showed you the book. He handed you a pair of soft, cloth gloves and then bestowed the book to you. This was the moment of truth. Would you know who he was? The theft wasn’t in the news. Who would report on one stolen library book? But would you understand how he got it? Would you see his well-kept secret? Would you accept him for who he had become? 

You held the book reverently, easily identifying it as the one from the Gotham University Library. Softly, you whispered, “Jonathan, how did you get this?” 

Jonathan had left the room for a moment to get your cups after the tea had finished steeping. “Oh, don’t you know? I’ve begun a life of crime now and stealing books is my goal.” He said as sarcastically as possible. 

“You’re not lying.” You spoke. Jonathan stared at you, heart skipping a bit. “You have a tell when you’re lying. It’s like you slip, from the years of academia, and you get a twang to your voice. You’re not lying this time. You really did it, didn’t you? I heard rumors at the University about you, ya know? That you had.  .  .”

“That I had what?” He asked quietly, holding the cups of tea. You sat on his sofa with the book held to your chest, eyes open so wide. 

“They call you the Scarecrow now, don’t they?” It was barely above a whisper. 

“That they do, my dear.” Jonathan stared at you intently. 

“And you stole a book for me?” 

“It would appear so.” 

“A favorite of mine. What did you do to get it?” You asked curiously. Jonathan still held the cups, standing in the doorway. 

“I have created a fear toxin and I used it to scare the security guards senseless, letting me sneak in to take the book. It was such a small theft that it wasn’t reported. Can you imagine? That University admitting that someone so easily came in and took what they wanted? They’d never admit to it.” He noticed a look on your face, a look of curiosity. A look of interest. 

“Is it bad that I’m not scared?” 

“Did you know beforehand?” He asked. 

“I guessed.  .  . you know, with how you managed to still live decently after being let go. You seemed to be enraptured in something, but I never could guess what it was. But now.  .  . this is everything. You’re the Scarecrow! The King of Fear!” You laughed loudly, setting the book on the coffee table. Standing up, you walked over to the doorway and took your cup of tea. Jonathan watched your every move. 

“Are you scared?” 

“Should I be?” You asked, breathlessly. 

“Only if you want to be.” You both stood so closely together, taking up space in the doorway. He took a chance. Jonathan reached out a hand and cupped your face, running his thumb over your cheekbone. He leaned in for a chaste kiss, honestly surprised when you didn’t pull away. You pressed your lips to his and then pulled away before he could ask for more. 

“The tea will get cold.” You smiled. 

“That’s true.” He nodded. 

“Would you read to me?” 

“Read to you?” 

“Yes, out of the book. I’d like it if you read one of the stories to me.” You walked over to the sofa again. Jonathan sat with you, knees touching. With gloves on, he picked the book up, flipping it open to a random story. You leaned into his shoulder, listening to the drawl of his words. As he read, his southern accent came out, making the words drip like honey. Jonathan’s eyes scanned the pages, occasionally glancing at you. He never wanted this moment to end. But every story had to have an ending. 

“I almost wish the tale didn’t have to end.” He commented when you finished the gothic retelling of Red Riding Hood. 

“You could always steal me another book and we could keep doing this.” He liked that little smirk that came on your face. “We could have our own personal library. You read me a story. I read you a story. It doesn’t have to end with this.” 

“Oh, my dear, it’s just beginning.” Jonathan smiled, carefully shutting the book.

[weirdlookindog]

Johnny Bruck - Tales From the Tomb, February 1971, cover art.

[fictional-library-tournament]

Prelims round 1, poll 19

Propaganda

Scarlet Devil Mansion Library, Touhou:

It's said to have books of all kind, in thousands of different languages, and about countless different things. Some of the books were written by the librarian herself, Patchouli Knowledge. The was also probably one of the first recognizable set pieces in the windows touhou games, being the fourth stage in it's introductory game.

The Lines Between, Dimension 20: Neverafter:

Contains all versions of every story ever written, told, or imagined - free existential horror with every checkout!

"You're nothing more than scratches of ink on someone else's piece of paper."

The Lines Between is a massive place between stories, and staffed by diverse and deific librarians who are just doing their best, such as Glossary, Key, Legend and Index. The library is physically made of books, scrolls, and parchment. Its areas include the Hall of Stories, the Canonade, the Tower of Tales, and perhaps most remarkably: a brilliant view of the Auroratory. It is a beautiful aurora borealis of voices, preserving auratory stories that aren't necessarily written down. It is possible to swim up and into the Auroratory.

Fort Maria Library, Star Sable Online:

(All images come from ssoblr users)

So this is not necessarily a public library and it was abandoned for a long time (as far as we know) but the druids have it up again recently in game. It was built as part of Fort Maria centuries ago by the time of the game, and holds books from all those eras.

It is a gorgeous and expansive place with secret passageways, rare tomes, fluffy seats, old abandoned research, a lot of study areas, old relics, a moving bookcase to a portal cavern and even its very own library ghost!

It is, in my opinion, one of the most atmospheric places in the game. Even without sound on it is gorgeous and bring across its intention incredibly well, and with the sound on it is incredibly eerie. The music here is very limited and quiet, and the player’s footsteps echo through the library.

I feel like whatever you’re researching, you will find something on it in here. It feels like a place you could spend your whole life reading in, and still only have read a tiny fraction of the books there.

the citizens of jorvik (fictional star stable online island) keep all the witchcraft books in there and all their super secret and cool magic books, it was closed for years and it's very mysterious. one of the coolest characters (mrs. holdsworth) in the whole game hangs out there a lot, and it's home to a cute little capran named beatrix and she took her name from her favorite book. the only way you get in the library is by feeding her snacks and reading her books and she's also one of the coolest characters in the game (imo). also beatrix is friends with one of the horses in the game and she often is seen playing with the horse so :) OH and also there's a full heckin portal room in the lower floor!!! with a little pond and a portal that at some point the main characters (the "soul riders") get kicked in by the evil guys (the "dark riders") into this place called devil's gap (despite the name there's just one witch basically vibing in the gap potentially helping out the evil guys but we haven't figured that out yet). and it's gorgeous, if you're worrying about looks. the inside is all wooden and home-y and the portal room is also very pretty eye candy, it's very glow-y.

Bookholm, The City of Dreaming Books by Walter Moers

None

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 1 @ailesswhumptober - public torture/stress position

Asset 48 is accused of insubordination and used as a "lesson".

CW: torture, public torture, living weapon, dehuminisation.

AiLessWhumptober List Complex 27

The midday sun beat relentlessly down on the northern training yard of Complex 27, casting harsh, angular shadows across the rows of assembled assets. Standing in rigid formation, faces blank, eyes locked forward, their posture disciplined and mechanical. At the centre of the yard, a raised platform loomed, a stark reminder of what awaited any who were seen to defy the Facility.

A metallic sound slicing through the eerie silence, pulling every asset's attention to the impending spectacle. The clang echoed off the concrete walls as several handlers approached the platform, chains rattling in their hands.

"Asset 48. Step forward." Sergeant Kerr's voice cracked through the yard like a whip, cold and indifferent.

Ben caught a fleeting glance from Paul standing next to him, a flash of concern in his friend's eyes, an unspoken bond that made Ben feel less alone for a brief moment. He  broke from the formation without hesitation, each step heavy with purpose. He could feel the eyes of his fellow assets on him, they all knew what was coming.

Focus. Don’t show weakness, he told himself, even as his heart raced.

“Insubordination,” they had called it.His refusal to follow a direct order during yesterday’s drill - enough to warrant this public correction.

A message had to be sent. One that would linger, not just in his mind, but in the eyes of every asset forced to watch.

“On your knees,” Kerr ordered, his voice indifferent, as though this were merely another routine part of a normal day.

Ben complied, dropping to his knees, the impact sending a jolt of pain up his legs. He focused on the physical sensation of the concrete, grounding himself as the cold steel of the chains quickly wrapped around his wrists and ankles, binding him in place. Kerr’s voice continued in the background, but Ben had tuned it out. Listening wouldn’t change anything; it wouldn’t ease the inevitable.

Two guards stepped forward with a long metal pole, forcing his arms behind him. They wrenched his limbs into an unnatural position, pulling them high above his back until his shoulders strained under the pressure. Ben could feel his muscles tighten, the ligaments protesting as his body was folded forward, bent at the waist, his chest nearly touching his knees. The pole was locked into place, and with it, the slow, methodical torture began.

A fire ignited within his muscles almost instantly. Stay still. Don’t let them see you struggle. The ache spread, relentless and consuming. Breathe through it. Breathe.

Ben gritted his teeth. Breath shallow. Every inhale burned. The sun beat down, relentless. Too hot. His shoulders - God, his shoulders. Like fire, searing, spreading. He tried to shift, just a fraction, but the chains bit deeper. More pain. Worse pain. Muscles trembling now, quivering. His breath hitched - too fast, too shallow.

Hold on.

His body screamed for release, a primal instinct clawing at his mind, but he would not give them that satisfaction, not now, not yet.

Not ever.

Sergeant Kerr paced slowly around the platform, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes never leaving Ben’s contorted form. His voice, low and deliberate, carried across the yard. “Insubordination will never be tolerated. None of you are exempt.”

His words were aimed at the assembled assets, though none dared meet his gaze. Ben caught a glance at them, all stood like statues, eyes forward, , faces impassive.  They were absorbing the lesson in silence. Each one knew that it could just as easily be them on the platform tomorrow.

Ben was just a warning, a cautionary tale.

Sergeant Kerr finally came to a stop in front of Ben, crouching down just enough so his voice could reach him without the others hearing. “You’re holding out well, Asset 48,” he muttered. “But I wonder how long it will be before you give in.”

Ben didn’t respond. His jaw clenched, breath ragged but controlled. He wouldn’t speak. He wouldn’t cry out. Whatever Kerr was waiting for, he wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

With a small, almost imperceptible smirk, Kerr straightened and turned away, addressing the assets once more. “Remember this moment. This is what happens when you disobey. There is no leniency here. No mercy.”

Great. Just what I needed, another lesson in ‘how much more can I take.’ Kerr should be proud. His prize frontliner, reduced to nothing but a lesson. Muscles trembling uncontrollably, arms numb, his weakness on display for all to see.

I can't give in. I can’t let them win.

The weight of everyone’s eyes. He couldn’t see them - he didn’t need to. He could feel them. A hundred silent judgments. His fellow assets, watching, learning. Kerr’s eyes, calculating, predatory. And Paul... Paul standing so close yet unreachable, fists clenched at his sides, powerless to intervene.

I won’t break. I won’t become another lesson.

Stay strong.

He wouldn’t break.

Breathe. Just breathe.

The command, once so clear, now felt distant. His breath came faster, shallow and ragged, slipping out of his control. He gritted his teeth, trying to block out the burning sensation in his lungs, but even that was failing. The pain radiated through every fiber of his being, a relentless tide eroding his willpower.

I can’t. I—

His thoughts stumbled over themselves, faltering. For the first time, an unshakable truth pressed at the edges of his consciousness. He was going to break. He could feel it, an inevitability creeping in like a tide rising against a shore. He tried to suppress it, clinging to the last shreds of his resolve. But his body was no longer listening. His muscles twitched involuntarily, his vision narrowing to pinpricks of light, and the sounds of the yard faded into a distant hum.

No. Hold on. Just a little longer.

Ben squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the brightness of the sun, the stifling heat that pressed in on him from every side. He tried to remember something else—anything else. Each breath came shallower than the last, his chest tightening against the pressure building inside him.

No. Just a little longer. Don’t let them win. Don’t let Kerr win.

He searched desperately for an anchor, something solid to hold onto. His vision was tunnelling now, narrowing to a blur of shadows and light. He blinked, trying to clear the haze, but the world remained stubbornly distant. His heartbeat hammered in his ears, a frantic rhythm that made his head spin. His lungs screamed for more air, but every attempt to inhale sent a new wave of pain crashing through his chest.

Don’t break

But his body was no longer listening.

The panic set in then, fast and brutal. His mind raced, instincts screaming at him to move, to fight, to breathe. But he couldn’t. His body was locked in place, the chains biting into his wrists and ankles, the pole forcing his arms up at a horrific angle. He squeezed his eyes shut, the brightness of the sun turning into a blinding white haze. His limbs were trembling, betraying him, shaking violently as the pain overwhelmed every nerve. His breath hitched again.

*No. Don’t. Not here. Not in front of them.*

And then it happened.

The gasp slipped out—barely audible, but it shattered the silence like glass.

It wasn’t a scream. But it was enough.

And then it came.

A gasp.

Quiet.

Barely audible.

 But it shattered the silence like a scream.

He had failed. Right there, in front of them all.

The second gasp tore free from his throat, more a whimper this time, echoing through the yard like a death knell. The shame crashed over him, hot and suffocating, as if the sun’s rays had turned to ice. He could feel the weight of his peers' silent judgments, each stare a reminder of his failure.

His body had betrayed him, proof in his shaking arms and ragged breath. A second gasp escaped him, louder, sharper, as the pain surged again. He didn’t need to look to know Paul had seen - they all had.

Now, they knew the truth: he wasn’t strong enough.

[xonaisu]

DEBUTING ON SEPTEMBER 29TH, 2022, NAISU’s introduction to the public was one of equal parts allure and eeriness. promotion for her debut single ANYWHERE consisted of wrinkled posters plastered on walls and a seemingly abandoned youtube channel dating from 2018 depicting a love story from the perspective of the viewer—and respectively, the yearner behind the camera.

ANYWHERE would then be promoted for six weeks, showcasing stunning stages with mesmerizing visuals and interesting stage outfits. the debut single would achieve a total of six music show wins, including an inkigayo triple crown. keeping her aura of mystique, not much about her was known aside from her stage name and her entrancing stage presence, causing her popularity to skyrocket after each performance.

riding the success of her debut, it wasn’t long until an ep was released titled HUSH HUSH, following her melancholic theme. released early december, it was quickly circulated for it’s strange pop-centered sound, with elements of alternative pop in its title track FIRE OF SECRETS to BITTERSWEET, a b-side that gained massive popularity to its boa-esque sound. promoted for a startlingly short time of just two and a half weeks, HUSH HUSH would received just three wins. MOONSUS and new fans alike were shocked at the decline in her wins, believing NAISU had been cheated by both rigged showcases and her company.

she would disappear from the spotlight for a few months after that, fans only getting snippets from her sparse social media presence and scouring the discarded youtube channel for new updates. then, unexpectedly, a single was dropped in march of 2023 title IN ANOTHER LIFE featuring fellow label mate PARADOX INVASION’s ADRIEN. spinning a horrid tale of love, death, and bare skinned truth in front of a lover who blurs between impassive and not there, NAISU marked her entrance into the new year with her familiar yet uncanny sound, this time with a more hyperpop-esque sound that quickly made its rounds on social media, namely tik tok. her collaboration with ADRIEN only pushed her name out even more, especially when it was made public that she had writing credits to varying degrees for every song released under her name up to date. it soon lead to fans wondering if the lyrics were written from personal experiences, leading for even more curious eyes peering at her.

soon after, her first mini album MASQUERADE was released in july with a title track of the same name, with IN ANOTHER LIFE listed as one of the songs, four of which full writing credits are given to her. promoted for six and a half weeks, MASQUERADE received a startling thirteen music show wins, leaving fans satisfied while others claimed the shows were rigged her favor to appease her almost cult-like following. a b-side titled UNDERWATER ( AWAKENED ) received special attention for its .. interesting lyrics, many claiming that the lyrics were too sensual ( despite just releasing a single with allusions to sex as an unhealthy coping mechanism … ), leading others to pick apart her discography to date to mule over the lyrics of the songs she’d claimed to have written. it’s then where speculations of her sexuality begin to rise in tune to her growing popularity.

as her discography grew, so did the uploads on that once sparse youtube channel. fans were ecstatic to see that her music and music videos had outside connections and lore, from MASQUERADE getting a upload titled FIND ME depicting a masked girl trapped in a funhouse mirror room, running into warped versions of herself until she meets a reflection of what looks like the artist herself, to UNDERWATER ( AWAKENED ) getting a short and soundless video titled BE AWAKE scenes switching between the same masked girl sitting in a tub fully clothed and NAISU herself floating underwater. a dedicated fan would take it upon themselves to string the music videos and channel uploads together, further revealing that they were all connected and telling a cohesive story of finding oneself—whether it be through real life or illusions of grandeur.

the second mini album would be released december of that year, following a theme she seemed to be setting for herself. ironically called DOLL, the title track PERFECT10N caused such an uproar, she was momentarily banned from performing the song for two weeks of the album’s five week promotion schedule. as a result of this, NAISU would then stubbornly perform b-sides DAHLIA and UNTOUCHABLE, causing fans to rally around her in support. streams for the album went through the roof, with the artist receiving her first three million streamed songs with the aforementioned songs, along with PERFECT10N and DAHLIA both reaching millions of views within hours of their respective music video drops.

as of now, NAISU still remains mostly shrouded in secrecy, an entity that seems to solely appear to release music and vanish before the public can get too close. her songs are still topic of heated discussion, especially her more sensual sounding ones, from most claiming they had to have been made from personal experiences to others thinking she must have been planted by overhead hands in the industry.

[rainbowchewynuggets]

TMA Encore - Epilogue

Georgie: The Wilkinson House–also known as the Floating House or Trespasser House–was built in 1896 in Rodell, Kentucky, USA. Two brothers, Joseph and Mathias Wilkinson, inherited their late father’s coveted plot of land. Unwilling to reach an agreement over the use of the land, the brothers descended into an increasingly ugly feud. Joseph built a house “overnight” to stake his claim, using materials bought at short-sale auctions in a nearby town. Said town was suffering from air and water pollution from newly built factories surrounding the steps of the Appalachian Mountains where it lay. The town as it was slowly dismantled and moved out, and the area has since been named Smog, Kentucky. Fun fact: three of these factories belonged to Wilkinson Sr. It is unclear whether they were included in the will.

Georgie: Joseph contracted tetanus while finishing the house and died soon after. Mathias tried to have the house torn down, but apparently had a change of heart and moved it to the same lot as his own home. His body was found with a broken neck in the attic by a neighbor a few days later.

Georgie: The house was made into a tourist attraction the following year, on account of the shocking tale behind it as well as its eerie creeks and slamming doors–most likely due to the rushed craftsmanship. The story went that Joseph’s ghost had possessed his brother and made him move the house, then killed him in revenge. The attraction was moderately popular up until the Great Depression. It never officially closed, despite additional unexplained deaths on the property and a growing negative reputation. The body count only drew in a steady stream of onlookers, according to tour records.

Georgie: It wasn’t until the spring of 2017 that things began to change. On April 18th, the house was observed to have disappeared from the lot without a trace.

Georgie: Five months later, a house of identical description allegedly appeared on a small island in the Pacific Northwest. A retired entrepreneur reported to local police that it had been placed illegally, as she had bought the island privately several weeks before. Police were ready to dismiss the complaint when they arrived and found nothing. She was adamant that the intrusion had occurred and went on record with a vivid argument she had had with one of the two occupants, who she says had been reading a book written in Spanish on the porch. The other was repairing part of the railing and shot her dirty looks. The complaint was sustained after fresh scratches and paint chips were found in the soil, but the case was otherwise shelved.

Georgie: Surprisingly, the pair of men don’t appear to be the Wilkinsons. The brothers were both Kentucky-born and -bred, white, average height, muscular, and almost hairless. The house’s new occupants were “British-sounding”. One was very thin and short and appeared to be of Indian or Middle-Eastern descent, with silver hair. The other was tall, heavy-set, and white with brown hair.

Georgie: Similar reports would crop up in North, Central, and South America over the next few years and get passed around on Tumblr, Twitter, and Reddit. The house would almost always appear in secluded areas that were off-limits to the public and disappear itself shortly after being found. It was always inhabited by the same two men, with the added consensus that they were married.

Georgie: They were rarely spotted in nearby towns and never spoke with anyone enough for their names to become known. When they were interacted with, they were generally polite--if a little tired or distracted. Otherwise, they were found to be wandering the area around their house together, mending the exterior, reading, or reciting aloud. Even the most invasive person couldn’t attempt to film or approach the house without suffering a migraine or severe paranoia before losing consciousness. The house would be gone when they woke up, and their recording device rendered unusable. But written descriptions match a file photo of the original Wilkinson house. Debate sprung up over whether the two were ghosts, aliens, witches, a made up meme that keeps coming into fashion, or two eccentric recluses who happened to be living in a haunted house and deserved to be left alone.

Georgie: Sightings became more sparse toward 2023. When the couple were encountered, they never responded when spoken to. A reddit user in Mongolia supposedly used their home telescope to take photos through the house’s windows where it sat in a glen behind their apartment. The two men sat still or paced in separate rooms for a few hours. They stopped and came together to talk once. The redditor recorded the conversation through lip reading and concluded that they were arguing in English about “where it was going” or “what we are being”. Their accuracy is disputed. The occupants then began pulling books and papers off of the shelves in every room. The user stepped away for a few minutes and came back to find that all the windows were greyed out. They were unsure if they were covered in smoke or paper. The house stayed for a week in that state before disappearing. This account used to be widely discredited, as it didn’t fit the behavior profile at the time and the photos taken are unreadable. More radical accounts are believed to exist going backward, but have suffered from link decay and regional internet suppression.

Georgie: On May 8th of 2024, an elderly woman living next to a military base in New Mexico told her connected family that there had been a security threat that morning, complete with sirens and troops rushing out with rifles and buggies. Her husband–who works as a janitor there–only alluded to “some kind of prank with an old empty house”. Their grandchildren relayed the story to their mutuals on tumblr, stirring attention in the States again.

Georgie: Following reports of the Floating House usually included some description of a visit by a pair of American “secret service” agents or men in military garb with weapons. The usual couple either answer the door or refuse to come out, and the house is gone within minutes. Similar accounts were made by users in China, Chile, Australia, and Turkiye, but were discounted as the agents were always said to be American. The circumstances of each encounter continued to escalate until it was claimed by a cyclist in Mayak, Russia that there was some kind of standoff between the two sides, followed by a “nuclear” explosion that left nothing behind but the house. The area appeared untouched the next day, but had apparently become irradiated due to previously unaccounted-for material in the soil that had been agitated by construction efforts. A few people were found dead in the area. The cyclist himself had to be treated for burns.

Georgie: From here, it gets a little muddy. Despite a renewed surge in popularity for the Floating House, agreed-upon sightings are very rare for the next two years. It only appears in very sparsely populated areas along the north and south poles and is even faster to disappear. A researcher in Antarctica thought she saw the outline of a roof on the horizon as the sun rose after six months of night, but it was gone a few seconds later. She managed to get a quick drawing of the shape, which will be included in the image links in the description. There are often claims of similar encounters to the American secret agent incident. Sometimes it’s cultists. Sometimes it’s businessmen. Or “werewolves”. Sometimes it’s members of a particular subgroup that also follows the sightings. It all ends the same, with the house as the only thing standing when the dust has cleared. The house’s legend has become so routine, that many accounts are ignored out of hand and highly disputed. Though, it is notable that the inhabitants haven’t been a visible part of the story in several months.

Georgie: Phew. Now, to wrap up our deep-dive on the Floating House, we’re going to hear a first-hand account from just last year.

Napâttuk: Okay. Um, hello. My name is Napâttuk Waska. I saw the house in the woods near my hometown–south of Salluit, Quebec, basically. Almost at the tip. I’m not sure exactly how long it had been there by the time I found it. I practically lived in those woods from birth, but I’d been away at university in Montreal with my partner, Tootega.

Napâttuk: I kind of have to tell you about all that for this to make sense. She had some friends there who were willing to let us stay with them. And it was… it was really bad. Not the friends. I’d just never lived in a big city before, and I wasn’t expecting all the trash and noise and giant ugly buildings. And then, there was a really big forest fire nearby a little while after we got there. We didn’t end up having to evacuate, but smoke came in on the wind for two weeks. I was covered in ash and my eyes hurt by the time I got to class every day. The way the sun came through the smoke made everything look orange and menacing. I tried my best to stick it out because Tega was handling it alright. But I just found myself sitting inside all the time, watching people talk on the news about the new giant ugly buildings they were going to put in the place where the trees were burning down. I had to make myself not freak out every time there was a little change in how the air smelled for the rest of the semester.

Napâttuk: Anyway. By the time we finally went back home after finals, I was desperate to feel normal again. This was December, and it hadn’t really snowed yet–which is very odd. But the weather said snow was coming, so I tried not to let it bother me. I decided to go hiking in a spot I knew about ten miles from town. It’s a bowl surrounded by hills, so it’s hard to get lost. I didn’t make Tega go with me. She hates hiking. But it was fine. It was just like I remembered. I felt great.

Napâttuk: And that’s when I saw it. Just–this house sitting in the middle of the forest. First of all, this is the Low Arctic. We don’t even have a ton of forests. It could have been put anywhere else. Second, this is my forest. I mean, it’s not. But. It was like someone had just dumped the house there and knocked over a bunch of trees, and then left. There were skid marks on the ground, like it had been dragged. It even looked like trash. It’s exactly the same as the picture you showed me, but the windows and roof had been covered up with metal. Most of the wood I could see had bullet holes in it. The paint was almost gone, and the slats were discolored and caked in brown and yellow stuff. Like some kind of glue. The weirdest thing was that it looked… bloated. Have you ever seen wood that’s been left in the water too long, and it gets swollen and bent? It was like that, but something had been pushing at it from the inside at the same time. I could hear it creaking and groaning under its own weight. The whole thing was slanted away from the ruts in the ground, which was also strange. I was too mad to really think about that at the time.

Napâttuk: It reminded me of some of the scary neighborhoods around the university, so I was nervous about getting the attention of anyone inside. But I made myself get over it and marched up to the door. I heard rustling when I knocked, so I knew someone was in there. I–I don’t know what was wrong with me. I tried opening the door. It barely moved, like there was something heavy barricading the other side. I kept pushing on it, and it suddenly swung inward.

Napâttuk: …

Napâttuk: The… the inside was so dark, I didn’t see anything. But I knew that I was staring down into a chasm. I swear. The vertigo almost made me collapse. I jerked backward to avoid losing my balance and took a tumble down the steps of the porch. I was okay, but I still felt myself slipping. I had to cling to the ground to keep from falling into the house. There was nothing to grab onto, and I kept sliding back on the pine needles and loose soil. I slowly crawled my way back into the trees until I could stand. Then, I ran until I was back at my car.

Napâttuk: I told Tega about it, and she said it sounded like the Floating House stuff she’d read about. I had no idea. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, though. She’s much more online than I am. She really likes SCP and things like that. I’m not sure she fully believed me about the falling part, but she and some friends agreed to go back with me. I didn’t want to go too near it again. I just wanted it… reported, I guess.

Napâttuk: The thing is, we couldn’t even find the place where it was. It’s not a huge area. It made Tega more excited, but our friends were pretty annoyed to be dragged into the freezing woods for nothing. I was mortified. I knew where it was, we must have just been circling around it. I cut through another way, and when I turned around, Tega and the others were gone. I kept looking, until I saw that the sun was going down. They weren’t picking up their phones, they didn’t hear me calling them. I decided to just leave and see if they were waiting for me by the car. But then, I couldn’t find the treeline. The trees just went on and on and on. It got hot. I was hot even after I took off my parka. And then, I smelled smoke. It hung in the air all around me and got thicker until I couldn’t see. Ash came off of me in sheets as I waded through it like gritty snow. I couldn’t tell which way the bowl went anymore. I eventually felt something through the ash, but it was hard and flat like concrete. It hurt to walk on. I don’t know, it sounds crazy. I was tired and deprived of oxygen. I don’t remember getting to the road, but I woke up in the medical center in town. One of my neighbors had found me on their way home.

Napâttuk: Tega and the others had gone home without me, apparently? I asked them about what happened, but they wouldn’t talk about it. They keep saying they didn’t find the house, but I think they’re lying. They did say they saw the fire–there really was one. Nobody knows why. Heavy snowfall put it out before it did any real damage. It wasn’t where the house was, and there hasn’t been any word about people finding it. Nothing’s really happened since then, but I had to move to Alberta to get away from the smell of smoke.

Georgie: I see. Do Tega and your friends still live there?

Napâttuk: I’m not sure. They’re mostly her friends, and she and I don’t really talk anymore. The last couple times that we did, she was really agitated about something. I got the sense that we were losing touch because she was busy trying to deal with it. A few months ago, my mom told me she had gotten in trouble for stalking this guy who lived out by the water and had his lights off all the time. Only came out at night. Never had a flashlight. Walked with a cane. I just assumed he was a little blind and sunburned easily. He was always super friendly and chill. But I asked Tega about it, and she said he’d been accused of kidnapping when he lived in Sweden?? Like, kidnapped a whole lot of people??? What????? It’s messed up if it’s true, but then Tega got arrested trying to break into his house with an axe. I just–I can’t believe any of this is happening.

Napâttuk: A while ago, I dove into the Floating House forums to try to make sense of it. I made a bunch of posts about what happened, and people asked all kinds of questions. I was so relieved. I felt like I could actually talk to someone about it. I even put up the coordinates of where I’d seen the house. But lately, my mom says there’s been a lot more tourism at home, and I can’t help wondering if that has something to do with me. I don’t think you can even get to the bowl anymore. The road was closed after some kind of accident. She says people still park up there, though. I… I haven’t thought about going back there before, but… do you think I should?

Georgie: Wh–I–why do you ask?

Napâttuk: You’re the professional. I’m the one who opened it, so maybe I should close it.

Georgie: … I don’t know.

Napâttuk: That’s okay. Sorry… For all I know, it’s not even there anymore. Did you have any other questions?

Georgie: I did see that you took down the locations you’d posted.

Napâttuk: Yeah, it just. It made me nervous. But somebody else probably has them saved and put up somewhere.

Georgie: Hmm. You know, This kind of thing happens all the time. It blows over when something else interesting comes along. And honestly, a lot of these “sightings” are on pretty shaky ground. I wouldn’t worry.

Napâttuk: Right. You’re right.

Georgie: Okay, well, I think that’s about it. Thank you very much for coming on.

Napâttuk: Uh, yeah. No problem. Bye.

————

Prev

First

Whoa. Wow. I can’t believe it. That’s it. That’s the end.

I’ve had this fic slowly taking up more and more space in my head since 2020. And now, it’s fully out there! Spiraling off into the internet like the big crazy snake that it is.

I know the process was rocky, but I’m really glad I stuck it out all the way. I learned a whole lot, and I actually feel more sure that making comics is what I want to do than ever (while working out a more sustainable way to do it, of course).

And I’m really grateful to you, if you’ve read the entire thing or just a page. All the comments and reblogs and kind words have been really nice to hear and helped me keep going. Seriously, thank you.

Maybe have a look at my other stuff, if you’re so inclined.

Hoo... anyway.

I need a nap.

Bye. <3

Index