#revibration

[blockedbykei]

𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐰𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 !!

synopsis: every moon has their own star. and tsukishima loves his little star the best

— warnings: SO MUCH FLUFF, dad!tsukishima, made up name for his babygirl (literally just used google translate huhu forgive me 🙏)

tsukishima used to tolerate his mornings rather than enjoy them. when he met you, it started to become something he enjoyed, most especially when you both moved together and he got to wake up seeing you deep in comfortable slumber beside him, bodies entwined.

there was always something peaceful in the mornings— the soft muffled chirps of voyaging birds, the gentle glow of the sun basking your body through the window, his tired body pinning him down beside you, his muscles relaxed and melting against your shared bed.

his eyes blink the sleep off, a small yawn leaving his thin lips. you're sound asleep, a hand under your cheek, the other resting limply on his bare waist. tsukishima smiles softly, a hand reaching up to push a strand off your ear.

you don't move. he smiles brighter than the moon in the evening.

then he hears that familliar pitter patter of tiny feet across the wooden floor outside your bedroom. tsukishima perks up, nestling himself deeper into the bed pretending to be asleep. and on queue, his daughter opens the door, the silent creaks of the door a telltale sign she was plotting something mischievous.

and when he feels her tiny presence beside him, hovering over his back, he jumps and turns around, grabbing his daughter around her chubby waist.

"gotcha!"

hoshi's little squeals are akin to melodies, something he loves to hear every second of everyday. tsukishima carries her and sits her on his chest, his fingers squiggling on her mushy sides. he feels you stir beside him, eyes opening.

their smiles match and your heart swoons; hoshi was a little version of tsukishima, both eyes and smile— like halos over clouds. the hair was a mixture of yours and his though, and it seems like she was starting to get your complexion.

"papa, stooop," she giggles, little feet kicking at the mattress and pushing his hands away. "you're attacking me!"

"my no! i'm only giving you kisses," he rubs his nose on her belly. "you don't want my kisses?"

"i want them," you place your elbow on your elbow, cheek placed on your palm. tsukishima rolls his eyes, albeit playfully, and leans up to peck you. hoshi gags.

"ewie,"

"not ewie," you gasp. "is this...ewie?"

you and tsukishima lean to place matching kisses on either side of her cheeks, slightly wet to tease her. she yells, falling on her back and running away from your room.

breakfast was as energetic as ever. since hoshi has learned how to feed herself, she ate a lot as she did when she was a baby. it has always admired you; maybe it was something she picked up from you rather than her father, who, despite placing many food on his plate, ate less than you.

you stand in front of the stove, waiting for the beaten eggs to be cooked. tsukishima has hoshi wrapped around his waist as they emerge from the bathroom, the bottom of her face slightly wet. he was already dressed for work, white button down and neatly iron brown slacks, his matching blazer hung by the door; hoshi was already dressed in her uniform, collars askew.

he sets her down in front of the coffee table, facing the tv, and tsukishima sits behind her with hair ties on his wrist.

"can we listen to music?" she asks him, peering up at her father. "while eating breakfast?"

her love for music- it was something tsukishima has been plotting since she had been in your womb. those microphone thingies connected to your stomach was something he always used when he got home from work, blasting a new playlist, a way of introducing music to hoshi so that she'd be used to it by the time she came out.

miki matsubara revibrates smoothly in the living room. they both hum as tsukishima begins to comb her hair, splitting it in two. you remember his eagerness to be taught how to braid when hoshi was sound asleep when she was a baby, admiring her soft growing hair. so watching him flawlessly split each part into three and intertwine them made your heart turn into silk.

you place the finished eggs and spam on the breakfast table, sitting beside hoshi and resting your body on tsukishima's leg, reaching over to fix your daughter's collar. she thanks you, clumsily placing the chopsticks on her small fingers.

"you want ribbons on your hair, hoshi?" tsukishima ties the first braid, placing it over her right shoulder.

"yes please!"

"blue ones?"

"she doesn't have blue ones, honey," you look at kei, picking up a spam and feeding it to him. "she has pink ones though. you want that, hoshi?"

"yes!" she reaches over to the small box and picks out three pink ribbons. tsukishima carefully plucks it from her hands. "can i visit the museum today?"

you hum. "sure baby. i'll pick you up after school and go there if it's okay with papa."

"absolutely," tsukishima beams. "i'm gonna show you a little secret later, so you can't tell anyone, 'kay?"

her small "okay" felt similar to tsukishima's- slightly flat, though you could sense her excitement. when he finishes on both braids, he clips a pink ribbon on each pair.

when breakfast is finished, the dishes clink in the sink as tsukishima sets them to dry to the side. you grab the car keys, and hoshi stands beside you waiting patiently for his dad. when he emerges from the kitchen, hoshi brings something out of her pocket.

"what's that?" he crouches, eye level with her. she reaches out and clips the pink ribbon over his necktie.

"so we can match," she says. "if you take it off, i'll tell everyone the secret you're going to tell me later." her eyes narrow, playfully but he thinks is actually a real threat. tsukishima laughs.

"you get to hit me if i go home and i'm not wearing it," he kisses her on the forehead.

hoshi runs towards the car when you exit the house; her height, despite her young age, was enough for her to reach the latch and open the door.

tsukishima places a hand on your waist and spins you around, kissing you, lips soft and chaste. the way he looks at you has never changed, the same golden glint, same ardor, same mellowness; it was love incomparable.

it seemed to have amplified when hoshi came around.

"thank you for breakfast," he murmurs against your lips. "and thank you for hoshi."

thank you for hoshi was something he always said every day since she was born. it felt like an oath, a prayer he says to express his gratitude to all saints.

and before you could answer, the car beeps.

hoshi has leaned over the dashboard and reached her hands to press on the horn. her eyebrows are furrowed, and you can see her mouth gag playfully.

she also seems to inherit his easy agitation.

reblogs are appreciated! <3

[roguishcat]

Conversations with a vampire - part 7/10

Story summary: A story told through a series of conversations between Astarion and child Tav, tracing the slow and steady progress of trust and friendship.

Chapter summary: Having brought Tav home, Astarion has a conversation with a member of her family.

Tav surprises Astarion by coming up with an unusual way to keep her promise.

Word count: 3.3k

A/N: I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated this story, I've been trying to work on my writing. Hope you like this chapter! ❤️

“My, my... What mischief did she get up to tonight?” Mamzell Amira looked at him carrying Tav with thinly veiled interest. The woman was dripping in jewels, fine fabric whispering tantalisingly against skin as she lifted her hand to grasp Tav’s chin. Turning the girl’s head sideways, she appraised her appearance before letting go with an inaudible sigh.

“Thank you for bringing her back. You may enter,” she said pointedly, giving him a long look.

Their eyes locked and Astarion scowled.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be so sensitive that you feel offended at being given orders.” She raised an eyebrow and cocked a hip, shifting her stance gracefully.  “Come. We have some things to discuss.”

Astarion did not want to follow the woman, especially when her words sounded more like a command than a request. He has had enough of that in the past two hundred years, being compelled to do Cazador’s bidding. Instead, Astarion told himself that he chose to follow the woman through a concealed entrance that was clearly not meant for the clientele.

They walked down a narrow, winding corridor. Wood creaked underneath their boots, and unlike the areas where clients were entertained, there was no plush carpet to swallow up the sound of their steps. They turned once, then once more. There were no guests, just servants and staff in various states of undress that hurried past quickly. Perfume and incense mixed with the scent of sweat. Giggles, sighs, and groans revibrated in near unison, creating an atmosphere where inhibition was replaced with uninhibited expression of debauchery. Anything for coin. Every fantasy was possible within these rooms, if one could afford it.

Amira stopped in front of a door, unlocking it swiftly and beckoning for Astarion to follow before closing the door behind him. He felt power and saw the door glow. Arcane lock. No way out unless she permitted it.

The elf gave the room a cursory glance. It was pleasantly decorated and seemed like a personal space, where one would relax rather than receive company. One could even call it cosy.

Astarion was just about to set Tav down gently on the plush sofa when a servant appeared and plucked Tav out of his arms as if she weighed nothing, whisking her away. Magic hummed and the servant was gone.

“Sit. Let me have a look at you.” Amira lowered herself to a half recline on a chaise longue, motioning for him to sit in the chair across from her.

She appraised him unabashedly in a way a butcher would look at a prized turkey and clicked her tongue.

“You are a looker. It’s no wonder that she follows you around like a little lovesick pup. She never spoke of you, of course. She never tells anyone anything. But I have my sources,” she said casually, pouring herself some wine into a beautifully crafted gold goblet. She did not offer him any.

“We have been watching you, vampire. Oh, yes. I know what you are.” Mamzell Amira did not seem to be fazed by his scowl and the hard, hostile look shot in her direction. “And if you were any less careful than you have been, you would have been dead in a ditch somewhere,” she took a sip and hummed, apparently pleased with the taste.

“Is it a threat?” Astarion bristled, his hackles raised.

“A threat? Oh, no, my dear, dear frightened boy,” she said with mock concern, her fingers casually dancing over the rim of the goblet. “We all have to watch ourselves, really. This one comes from a very prominent family. An illegitimate child, of course. But potentially an important chess piece. And with no official heir still and Tav turning sixteen soon, her worth just keeps going up!”

Mamzell Amira took another sip of her wine, letting the silence stretch. It was surprisingly quiet in her quarters, considering all the activity that was going on at Sharess’. There was most definitely an enchantment of some sort. He supposed a woman as rich as her could afford the services of a good mage.

“Why hide her in a brothel, of all places?” Astarion was the first to break the silence. “Why not send her somewhere in the countryside? Somewhere far away from the vultures?”

Amira scoffed, as if she had never heard something so ridiculous.

“Oh? And have her turn out a sweet, unassuming country bumpkin? How short-sighted would that be! If she is to run with the wolves, she must know how to show her teeth. Her killing that merchant came as a surprise; I would never have guessed that she had it in her,” she said, sounding proud rather than concerned.

“Besides,” she went on, looking away from him with an unreadable expression, “her father was one of the favourites at Sharess’. Shame about what happened to him, really. Such potential simply wasted. But these things happen when one is careless and gets mixed up with powerful people.”

So, a child of a prostitute and a noble. It wasn’t unheard of, although they had plenty of potions and spells to make sure there were no accidents. This meant that Tav’s mother wanted to have a child enough for her to choose to conceive. The fact that her father was now dead, he presumed, possibly meant that the decision was not well met. Either her mother was foolish and naïve, or wanted to get something out of it. Either way, lovers were disposable. Children could serve a greater purpose down the line. Therefore, there was a very strong possibility that Tav’s family had her father killed. Possibly an accident, a carefully orchestrated charade of an investigation, and then nothing.

“There is not much that the child is fit for, unfortunately. Absolutely talentless. Quite useless. The head of the family was most disappointed by her daughter. Yet, this one may have her uses still. Or just turn out to be the goose that lays the golden eggs,” she said nonchalantly, as if she were discussing inconsequential nothings rather than a child broken by the power games that the patriar families of Baldur’s Gate were playing.

Mamzell lifted herself up higher on the chaise longue, crossing her long, lean legs as she poured herself more wine and popped a grape into her mouth.

“She is still a child,” Astarion spat, incensed at her words about Tav. Was there really no limit to how vile the world could be? “What kind of family allows one of their own to get hurt in such a way? Are they prepared for the scars that this would leave?”

“Life lessons always leave scars. Life is pain. Life is loss. I have no reason to stop her from making mistakes, not when they burn so profoundly, so horribly.” Her smile turned wicked, making a chill run down his spine.

“You are not Mamzell Amira, are you?” He flinched as she barked a laugh.

“Oh, so the spawn can think! Bravo! Yes, the real Mamzell is asleep. She is useful but quite simple. Though that is true of most, of course,” she gave a longsuffering sigh. “Don’t expect me to snap my fingers and show my true form. To reveal myself to the likes of you, to what end?”

She seemed to be finished with the conversation, rising gracefully and walking towards the door.

“Consider this conversation as me sizing you up and finding you lacking. Then again, my disappointment of a granddaughter could not have found herself a more fitting friend. You may leave, spawn.”

“I’m assuming you are going to tell me to stop conversing with Tav, aren’t you?”

“Whatever for? As I said, life lessons always leave scars. The ones that she will get from choosing you for a friend are going to be beautiful, I’m certain.”

Astarion rose stiffly, ruby eyes trained on the woman in front of him. He was not an expert when it came to family relations, yet he was sure that perhaps Tav was better off having no family at all rather than being under the tutelage of this monster who masqueraded as a woman. Tav had a heart. This villain certainly did not.

“Tav. Such a strange name. I wonder why she picked it?” She said more to herself than to Astarion. In any case, the woman seemed to be quite finished with him.

“Grab that man on your way out, won’t you? You have to deliver someone to that Cazador. And seeing as you are still useful, I have no reason for wanting you to be locked up. Off you go,” she dismissed Astarion with a wave, facing away from him as she looked out of the window. Leaving one’s back unprotected in this way whilst in close quarters with a vampire would be considered foolish or borderline suicidal, if it wasn’t for the fact that they both knew that he wouldn’t be able to take a step in her direction without being crushed. There was so much magic in the room that it made his fangs itch and his insides twist. He was no threat to this creature, who was apparently related to Tav.

And so Astarion hoisted whatever soul was unfortunate enough to be captured on this night up on his shoulder and left without another word. After all, what else was there to be said?

Astarion did not see Tav for several months after that. Not that he ever sought her out specifically in the past, but he did find himself glancing in the direction of the brothel as he passed by, looking up at the roofs of the houses that hugged the streets of Rivington in case he would see her perched somewhere on an upper floor.

Astarion rarely noticed change; timeless creatures stuck trudging through the years rarely did. Yet even he soon noticed that the days were growing shorter, the first whispers of autumn filling the air. As the city was shrouded in red, gold, and orange, Astarion and his siblings haunted its streets, plucking victims like overripe fruit. Still, there was no sign of the child that used to follow him around. Astarion was not sure how to feel about it.

The earthy smells of autumn soon gave way to the first chills of winter, its cold breath making streets clear of anyone idling the hours away. Clutching their collars closed, Baldurians hurried down slippery streets to seek shelter in taverns, where Astarion and the other spawn waited for them with warm wine and heated promises.

And just like many times before, it was Tav that found him, surprisingly by Elfsong, so far from where she was previously able to go. Astarion quirked an eyebrow as he walked out of the tavern to see her leaning against the wall. For whatever reason, the enchanted band round Tav's ankle no longer shackled her to the streets of Rivington.

“Hi,” Tav said timidly, running her fingers through her blonde hair. “I- I am sorry about what happened when I saw you last. It’s quite embarrassing, really.” She gave a high-pitched, nervous laugh, shifting from foot to foot, eyes darting to look at anything but his face.

It was strange that most of all she was worried what he would think.

Tav was dressed in layers of black with shimmering red and gold hexagon patterns. The fur-trimmed collar was high, buttoned up to the very top, and the clothes would be almost shapeless if not for the cleverly hidden buttons and ties that held the structure in place. Cloth rustled softly against cloth as she moved. Unlike the clothes that she wore before, this outfit made her look older. Or perhaps that was not it. Perhaps there were some other imperceptible changes that one could not immediately put a finger on.

“And how are you feeling?” Astarion asked, walking away but not so fast that she couldn’t follow.

Tav shrugged and scrunched her nose, as if it hadn’t occurred to her to analyse how she felt until he asked.

“I think I’m okay. I don’t know. They brought a healer, and I guess I feel better. I can still remember what happened vividly, but it feels like it happened to someone else. Weird, right?”

“At least I can pick my own clothes out now. Apparently, you have to literally kill someone round here to get someone to respect you,” she joked weakly.

“Anyway," she cleared her throat, "I wanted to thank you. Thank you for looking after me then, I mean.”

“Well,” he huffed, “your debts just keep stacking up. I suppose you would have no choice but to follow me around long enough to repay them.”

“It would seem so.” Tav smiled a little. It was a weak attempt, but it was better than blank looks or tears. Astarion was pleased that she was holding it together much better than he thought she would.

“Also, I found this in my bag.”

Tav stuck her hand into her brocade bag, once again making Astarion wonder what sort of enchantment would make for such a useful accessory and where one would learn it. Rummaging about, she produced a handkerchief. It was a little crumpled, squashed, and full of untidy creases and folds. Tav straightened it with utmost care, revealing the all-too-familiar embroidery.

“I’ve never seen it before in my life,” Astarion stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

She didn’t bother to pretend to believe him.

“I never get Midwinter presents. Or any presents for that matter. Not even once.”

“I mean,” she sighed and pushed her hair out of her eyes, “I get things for me to use delivered, and the tailor now comes to Sharess’ for me to choose my own clothes. And I get plenty of money to spend, but I- I never actually-” she cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “I just wanted you to know that this means a lot. It’s beautiful.” She gulped when she found that her fingers were shaking and squeezed the handkerchief to her chest.

Astarion found that he was quite unprepared for such genuine gratitude. It wasn’t that special, not compared to the extravagant ensembles and jewellery she wore. He simply had a bit of time on his hands and needed a distraction. So, he embroidered her name and a pretty, delicate butterfly perched on a flower using some red thread.

The handkerchief was dreadfully plain, but Tav looked at it with such open adoration that he felt his shoulders relax a touch.

“I love red. It’s my favourite colour.”

“Well, that is simply a coincidence.” Astarion turned away with a huff. “I had no intention of choosing red, just something I had rattling about in my drawer.” Children were ridiculous creatures. Showing their emotions so freely. Someone really ought to teach Tav not to wear her heart on her sleeve like that.

“Still, I love it. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Well, when one’s standards are so low, it is not difficult to surpass expectations,” he shot over his shoulder.

“By the way, don’t think I’ve forgotten our deal. In fact, as you stopped accepting the potions, I’ve got something else that’s even better.”

She took a scroll out of her bag.

Circling him, Tav grasped his hand tightly. She curled her pinky finger around his, stated that it was perfectly safe, and then proceeded to mutter something he couldn’t make out. The scroll glowed warmly and disappeared, specks of power settling over their hands and then seeping under skin.

“What in the hells was that?” Astarion slapped her hand away with a hiss and took a step back. It didn’t hurt in the least, but he did not know what Tav’s definition of ‘perfectly safe’ was.

“A promise spell,” Tav said breezily, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Beg pardon?” he questioned incredulously. Because surely she did not just make him a ‘pinky promise’ out of all things! How very juvenile and how very Tav.

“I promised to set you free and get rid of Cazador, but words just ring a little hollow. And the spell creates a magic bond between the caster and another willing creature-"

“Well now, I don’t recall being asked!” Astarion all but hissed. “Surely you could have thought this through for five minutes! Or at least have given me a warning!”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she scrunched her nose and frowned, as if the thought hadn’t really occurred to her.

“Well, what’s done is done, I suppose,” Astarion gave a longsuffering sigh at her visibly chastened look and commended himself on having the patience of a saint. “Besides, if I am to bear your company, I might as well know that it is all for a worthy cause.”

Tav’s mouth quirked into a smile. Seeing as Astarion didn’t look angry anymore, it wouldn’t hurt to show off a little.

“By the way, look what I can do now.”

She waved her hand, and all lights in the streets wavered, the colour cooling and turning purple, bathing the street in a pretty, if eerie, glow.

“How’s that for a fun party trick?” Tav boasted, clearly very pleased with herself.

“Cute,” he scoffed. “But hardly useful.”

He had to admit, for a child that seemed to take pride in the fact that she slept through most of her spellcasting lessons, she seemed to have performed the trick easily enough.

“I can do all sorts of things now. Not sure why, but doing magic has become much easier since- since that merchant died,” she finished weakly and swallowed.

Astarion supposed this was the part when he was meant to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and impart some words of wisdom. Except he was not the type to do either, so his silence would have to do. Luckily, Tav seemed to snap back to reality quickly enough.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! I got Ebony back!”

One had to admire how easily Tav bounced between emotions. Although keeping up with her changing moods would be enough to give one a headache.

“Dare I ask who is Ebony?” He drawled with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched some drunks stumble past them. He ought to follow the two humans; they seemed the type that could be coaxed to come with him with nothing but promises of free wine and a straw mattress to sleep on. Yet, he stayed to listen to childish prattle.

“Ebony is my dog. Used to ride her around when I was about five.”

“And why would I be interested in some mangy, flea-bitten animal?” Astarion let out with a smirk still on his lips.

“Hey! Ebony is a beauty! For your sake, I will tell her that you were joking when you called her that.”

Ah, there she was. No trace of sadness in her blue eyes. A useless victory that warmed his undead heart.

“And where is that dog of yours?”

“Oh, somewhere about. She comes and goes as she pleases, unless I actually call her. She likes her independence.”

Just wonderful. A potentially mad child followed about by an apparently invisible dog. He sure knew how to pick his acquaintances.  

“Whatever is happening to me, I think it is a good change. I can feel myself growing stronger. So just wait a little longer, Astarion. We will be free.”

She blended into the shadows, making him blink in confusion as it became hard to focus on her. It was as if she became one with darkness, making him once again wonder. Wonder if by some unimaginable stroke of luck he actually managed to find himself a half-useful ally.

The pale elf looked down at his hand, noting that if he focused on his fingers, he could see the faint glow around the smallest digit.

“A promise spell,” he mumbled to himself softly.

He hadn’t heard of anything like it. Which made him wonder, what exactly was this mystical pact that he found himself a part of? And what set of circumstances could possibly lead to this promise being fulfilled?

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[slashingdisneypasta]

Horror Villains x Fem!Reader || Excerpts

Plot: Receiving a message from him specially for you.

Includes: Erik Destler, Inkubus, Jim Bickerman, Mayor Buckman and Stuart Lloyd. Obligatory pattern?? What pattern?

Warnings: Inkubus' is kindof sinister but what for you expect (side note- any guesses to whats inside the box? XD ) and Stuart's, reader is in university (I'm thinking around the 25 mark though). Also I wrote these in the notes app on my phone so I'm sorry if their are typos 😅

Tagging: @marinerainbow , @masqueradeball , @thecourtofgraywaves , and @your-mxnd-is-mxne .

Erik Destler

You felt the note be tucked into the palm of your hand when everyone was panicking because the lights switched off suddenly (of course, you had an inkling who was behind that fiasco immediately. Everyone did) and everyone was plunged into darkness. You breath had hitched, but then the lights turned on and there was no one next you- just your friends asking if you were okay and saying that it was the phantom.

You kept the piece of parchment in your fist hidden until you were able to slip away, say you needed some fresh air, and step out of the theatre to stand under a street light and open Erik's note for you; doing your best to flatten out the paper from its squished state with your hands.

His scrawl is a little smudged, and two of the corners are burnt, but you manage to make out his words. He's got lovely handwriting you think, a giddy smile twinging at your mouth.

_____

My dear,

After the show is over, I wish for you to meet me in my quarters.

There will be candles lit to lead you there, you only need to slip away from your frivolous companions and sneak down into the depths of the Opera house, if you're brave enough. I'm tired of the cat and mouse game you've been playing with me. Every flirtatious wink and pretty smile you send to my loge, every flash of your skin when you know I'm hidden there in your dressing room, every kind word you speak of me when others curse me... If your efforts are coming from a genuine desire to meet, I'll be waiting tonight. If not, I'll desist my watching. My listening. My attention.

That's my promise, and my offer- please consider it.

I hope to see you later, tonight. Enjoy the show.

- The Phantom

_____

A broader grin spreads across your lips as you finish the note and flick through it again, the important bits (the fact that he noticed your attempts to garner his attention at all, his offer, his hope). You've always been intrigued by the Palais de Garnier, and especially by its phantom~ There was truly something irresistibly fascinating about it- almost sexy. You can feel the excitement literally fluttering inside you like the wings of butterflies as you go back into the theatre and eagerly away the end of the show.

Inkubus

When you got home and pressed messages on your answering machine and heard that voice, you remember it clearly because it was so distinctive, and ardent, and sure, and so thick with something equally threatening, and... licentious, you immediately felt your blood run cold. The man at the busy coffee shop. Who sat with you at your table when their were no seats left and smelled like blood and looked at you like prey.

You didn't give him your phone number. You didn't even give him your name.

"Y/N... if you thought you would just brush me off and forget me like a random passerby, a footnote in your little life, you were mistaken. I told you, I have a few tricks up my sleeve~ "

You click to the next message numbly.

"In case you haven't deduced already, I also know where you live. And in case you think that I'm bluffing," the sound of a dark, soft chuckle revibrates from the speaker. "I left a small gift for you in your lovely bedroom. I'll give you a moment to go have a look."

Without a thought, you drop your bag and rush to your room after the click, stopping when you get there and cautiously pushing open the door. There you find a small box left in the mess of pillows and unmade blankets that is your bed that definitely wasn't there when you left in the morning, placed perfectly in the middle atop the covers, which you pick up carefully in one hand and take with you back to your answering machine; assessing it warily while you walk. It's wood but painted a terrible charcoal black, the paint coming off like soot on your fingers, and theirs a lock. You try to lift the lid, but without a key you won't be able to open it.

You press next on your answering machine, once again; eyes on the box.

"You'll get the key to what's inside next time we meet- and I promise, we will.

Y/N you have my full attention, and when I want something I generally get it. This is but a warning- by the months end, you'll want me just as deeply as I want you."

Jim Bickerman

He doesn't own a phone (he used to, but the telemarketers drove him up a wall and the old flip phone ended up in a lake somewhere) so when you get to his place, using the spare key tucked away under a little daffy duck figure on the porch, you see a tape recorder with a note taped to the front on the kitchen bench. "Hm," You hum, leaning your forearms on the bench and carefully unrolling the tape off the little beat-up machine and the note that says 'Read me' in thick permanent marker scrawl. Throwing away the tape, you press play and leave the tape recorder on the bench as you open up the freezer and pull out a pack of frozen potato gems. As you practically live here, even when Jim's not there too, you feel perfectly comfortable making yourself up and after work snack.

"Hey there, pumpkin. I'm off on a spontaneous job, got approached by a fella at the bar wantin' a couple protected deer off his property in Massachusetts. So I'll be off for about a week. Wish me luck I dont get in some trouble with fish and wildlife, eh?... " Sighing, you kneel by the oven and preheat according to the instructions on the bag. A week?? Crazy old man doesn't even have an email to contact him at! "but hey, pay-out promises to be good, the kid's got that new money look in his eye, so if all goes well when I get back I'll take ya out somewhere without a funky smell hm? You can wear something real pretty, and I'll pay. Course, you know the dress I like best." A grin quirks at the corners of your mouth, shaking your head. You do, you got it while shopping with him one day. "House-sit for me while I'm gone, won't ya?" Is that even a question?? He knows you love this place, it's off the beaten track and the lake's a quick walk from here. Not the lake he grew up next to, thank goodness; a really pretty one you love to read by while he fishes. Or just sit next to alone. "I tried to tidy up a bit but as we speak I'm in a rush, here. There's chocolate in the fridge and it's all yours. I'll miss ya, pumpkin, love ya. See you in a week."

After putting the potato gems away in the freezer to wait for the oven to preheat you pick up the tape recorder and take it with you to the livingroom, opening up a window to let in the fresh woodsy air before getting comfy on the couch and rewinding the tape.

Mayor Buckman

The note with your name on it folded neatly and left on your make up table beside a perfect sunflower when you got to your dressingroom after a show wasn't a surprise. There was always a note. Buckman never missed an opportunity to remind you that you're on his mind.

Pulling one side of your shawl over one of your bare shoulders, you take a seat in your dressing room chair with all other beautiful shawls and dresses and skirts of myriad materials and styles and colours strewn and hanging over the back, fold on leg over the other and lift up the flower, first; smiling and holding it delicately to your nose, feeling the soft petals on your cheeks.

You're approached plenty gentlemen in your line of work, being an actress on the stage. They find you beautiful, they love your voice, they think you're sweet. They want to add you to their collection of lovely things they've touched, or had.

But none of them were like Buckman, which is why you chose him.

He didn't look at you like you were a thing to have had. Not something to charm once and then never put anymore effort into; he always looks at you the same way with the same cheer and interest. He genuinely likes you, he likes talking to you, and he continues to prove it.

Next you pick up the note and flick it open for to read it slowly, feeling your heart flutter in your chest like no man's ever did before him- or ever have since.

_____

Steller performance as always sweetheart! Lord, I had the worst, most obnoxious boy next to me talking all the way through the show but I swear- I barely heard a word he said when you were on stage. How on earth could a fella notice anything else?

You were just magical, darling.

Anyway, I got a couple of boring mayor things to do get done quickly now while everyone's still milling about the theatre, I just wanted to tell you privately how amazing you were, in case none of the other idiots around here convinced you. I'll see ya at home later tonight. I'll make you something tasty for dinner. I love you.

- George

_____

Taking a deep breath, pause for a moment. You try to retain your graceful, sober togetherness because you're acclaimed actor and you don't get worked up over a silly man's sweet words... and fail; using the note and cover your goofy grin and closing your eyes shut, shaking your head.

Stuart Lloyd:

Finally at the bus stop, you open your phone for the first time and check notifications after a long, long day of work. God, that cinema is driving you up a wall. You can't wait to get that Masters, get a good job and get the hell out. 2 months to go.

Noticing an audio message amongst all the school emails, personal emails, and tumblr notifications, you think how odd that is- who leaves phone messages? Why wouldn't they just text you? A gentle humorous grin spreads across your mouth when you realise that it's from Stuart.

Of course, you think. Stuart's not terrible with technology, not at all, but it still just seems very him to leave a voice message rather then type out a text to you. He would never use emojis, either, you think. He's more likely to spend an hour composing you a short poem then quickly tap a small 'dimwitted' image to express his feelings.

After pressing play, you hold your phone to your ear and look out for the bus; blowing air out of your cheeks in exhaustion.

"Hello, uh, Y/N. I hope you're well, and um... you don't mind, that I uh- that I found your phone number in the employee files. I was unsure how to reach you, and I wasn't sure that our shifts were going to match up at all before um... before you left." You should mind, you think, but you don't. Stuart is always overstepping boundaries in that odd half nervous half holier then thou way and yet you... never mind. It's hysterical and you like him. "Um- for a better job I mean. I remember you saying you were going to leave, because well- because your course is ending, right? Congratulations, by the way. I don't think I said that. You must be... you must be very proud. Um- anyway- the reason for my calling, yes. I- " abruptly the tone beeps and Stuart's voice clips away, having taken way too long and been cut off. Pouting, you take your phone away from your ear and look for another message- and there is.

"Thank goodness, Stuart." Pressing the phone once again to your ear with an exasperated, fond grin, you shake your head. "Good grief."

"Right, um, I was too slow. My bad. What I was saying is I... I was wondering, if b-before you leave and I... miss my chance, if you wanted... " He clears his throat, and you start to feel anxious, heartbeat getting faster in your chest. You chew on the inside of your cheek. Where is he going with this? Why does he sound so nervous? "If you wished to a- accompany me on a... a date? I- look, I'm sorry if you feel that this is coming out of left field but I have not met a more pleasant person to be around for a long time, and I- " Stuart's voice clicks away from you again and you curse, quickly pressing the next audio message. There is 1 more message after this.

"It happened again. I apologise. What I'm saying is I appreciate you. And I'm not looking forward to working without you again in 2 months. And you're a- a very pretty young woman. If this comes off as... creepy... due- due to my age, or something, I apologise. I only thought that I would- that I should, give it a try. Thank you."

You start the final message.

"Oh!! I'll be working the next couple of days eight am to four pm- In case you wish to call me back whilst I'm available. Or not. Um, yes that's all. Have a lovely evening."

... for a few moments you remain holding the phone to your ear, head just rolling.

You never thought about Stuart romantically until this moment, he made your insides flutter but you never dared to go there. You pushed it down, you put the butterflies away in a box as best you could. But now they're out again and the fluttering is hard to ignore.

Before you can think anymore, you're calling him back.

"Yes? Hello?"

"Where do you wanna take me on our date?"

[lunadarkwoodx]

Where: Nornwatch Tower, Troupe 1

A fortnight was nothing in the chasm of time, a frenzy revibrated through her bones and yet she tried to keep the monstrous creature that carried grief in its maw from turning into beast and losing control. Luna had never seen anything but the Ironwood trees, had kept mostly the company of her father and now both were out of reach. Decay is what Luna tastes in her mouth and she knows its from the land, the Earth has always been alive and speaks to those who listen.

Dead trees consume the land and a lump is present in Luna's throat, it wasn't that long ago that she was in her protected and sheltered cabin in the grove of wild and full trees. A Darkspawn lets out a howl and it's not the same as the Wolves that visit her dreams. "What was that?"

[xoxmaii]

Ripple Effect | Chapter 1

Word Count: 3.3K (I'm so sorry). Summary: When Cho Chang unexpectedly starts dating Harry Potter, a cascade of turmoil ignites, threatening to throw Y/N Selwyn’s life out of control. As Cho’s once-supportive nature fades, Y/N is forced to confront the dark secrets from her past that start resurfacing with alarming clarity. With darkness and ominous plans lurking in the shadows, Y/N unexpectedly rekindles old bonds of friendship and finds allies within Slytherin, including an enigmatic, aloof sixth-year, Theodore Nott.

A/N: If you enjoy my writing, I will leave my tellonym link so you can leave a comment on my wall! Hope you enjoy my work. All constructive criticism is encouraged! ♡

Y/N Selwyn knew Cho Chang like she knew the back of her hand. Her laughter was a melody that danced through the corridors of Hogwarts, brightening even the gloomiest of days. Once, that laughter was a soundtrack to their shared secrets and late-night conversations, echoing in the quiet corners of the library. But now, it seemed to echo in a different tune—one that revolved around Harry Potter, the annoyingly perfect Quidditch seeker whose mere presence made the air crackle with energy.

As the Hogwarts Expressed chugged along, Y/N Selwyn settled into the familiar compartment, her heart light with the hope of reconnecting with her friends. She had imagined this moment—a chance to catch up with Cho and Luna, to share stories and laughter that would wash away the worries of the past few weeks. But as she glanced at Cho, who sat entranced by Harry’s enthusiastic recounting of Quidditch matches from over the holidays, Y/N felt her hopes shatter like a crystal orb dropped from a great height, splintering into a million pieces.

Harry was in full form, his green eyes alight with excitement as he animatedly described a particularly thrilling game he’d attended. “And then there was this incredible save by the Keeper!” he exclaimed, his hands gesturing wildly. “You should have seen it! It was brilliant! I can’t believe you missed it, Cho!”

Y/N could practically see the stars in Cho’s eyes as she leaned forward, hanging on every word. It was as if the rest of the world faded away, leaving just the two of them in their own little bubble. Y/N’s stomach churned with annoyance, not just at Harry but at herself for feeling so left out. Why did Quidditch have to be the center of Cho’s universe now? Moreover, why couldn’t she be like her friend, having Quidditch be the center of her universe?

Luna, seated beside Y/N, was blissfully unfazed, her dreamy expression indicating she was somewhere far removed from the conversation. She occasionally interjected with a curious thought or observation about a peculiar plant she had encountered, but it only added to Y/N’s sense of isolation. It felt like a cruel joke; what she had envisioned as a friendly reunion had turned into a Quidditch Fan club meeting, and she hadn’t even gotten the memo.

Just as Y/N was about to voice her frustration, the compartment door swung open, and Cormac McLaggen strolled in, his boisterous laugh revibrating off the walls. Y/N’s heart sank. Great. Harry’s best friend was there to join the party. “Hey, mate!” he called out, flinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders with an ease that made Y/N’s blood boil. “I heard you were chatting about Quidditch! What’s the latest gossip?” Y/N rolled her eyes, feeling the walls of the compartment close in around her. Cormac’s presence felt like an unwelcome intrusion, his loud personality clashing with her growing irritation. It was as if the universe conspired against her, forcing her to endure this Quidditch-centric conversation that she had no interest in. Did anyone even notice her discomfort? Had she read her tea leaves so wrong that morning, thinking she was going to have a great train ride back to Hogwarts? Or even worse, a great fifth-year?

“Harry,” Cho suddenly whispered, glancing at Y/N with concern. Y/N caught the worried look on her face, but it quickly faded as Cho leaned closer to Harry, her voice a mere murmur. Y/N strained to hear but only caught fragments of Cho’s words. Harry’s smirk deepened, and Y/N felt a spike of irritation as he shot a mischievous glance her way.

“Cormac!” Harry called, turning his attention to his friend, “What do you think about setting Y/N up with you? I mean, you could use a nice girl in your life.”

Cormac burst into laughter, clearly thinking Harry was pulling his leg, “What? Who’s Y/N?” He looked around as if expecting Y/N to pop out behind a curtain.

Y/N’s jaw tightened. If her grandfather, Bertram Selwyn, had not disowned her from her last name just before entering Hogwarts, she wouldn’t have to endure this mockery. Instead, she was just another face in the crowd, an outsider among her so-called friends. The weight of that realization settled heavily on her chest.

Just as she was about to defend herself and put Cormac in his place, the sweet old lady with the trolley appeared in the doorway, her cart laden with treats. Y/N’s mind fluttered for a moment, her mouth watered with the idea of a pumpkin pie, and her annoyance and irritation melted away as she stood up and approached the doorway. “I could really use a pumpkin pie right now,” she almost said in a sob, rummaging her pockets for the sac of coins. “Excuse me, dear,” the lady said, smiling warmly. “I’m afraid the last pumpkin pie just went to that redhead down the hall.” Y/N’s heart sank once more, a familiar weight settling in her chest as she leaned against the doorway of the compartment, her fingers curling around the frame. Through the glass, the rhythmic chugging of the train filled the air, punctuated by laughter and chatter echoing the corridors. “Is that…?” Y/N squinted, her pulse quickening as a flash of red hair caught her eye. Harry leaned closer; his curiosity piqued. He followed her gaze, his expression shifting from playful to intrigued, “The redhead?” he murmured, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Ron Weasley,” Y/N confirmed, her voice barely above a whisper as if saying his name too loudly might shatter the moment. She watched, her heart racing, as Ron ambled down the aisle, oblivious to the attention he was attracting.

A smirk danced across Harry’s lips, and he leaned back against the wall, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Looks like he got lucky today,” he said casually, a hint of amusement threading through his tone.

“Lucky?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, her stomach turning at the look of Harry’s face. Harry chuckled softly, glancing back at her before turning his attention to Ron again. “I should pay him a visit,” he added, his voice dropping with playful sarcasm. Stretching his arms, he started sauntering down the corridor towards the redhead, “Hey, Weasley!” he called out, plucking the pumpkin pie right out of Ron’s hand without a second thought.

“Harry!” Ron protested, his voice rising in exasperation as he attempted to snatch the pumpkin pie back. “What are you doing? That’s mine!”

Harry simply smirked, holding the pie aloft like a trophy, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Relax, Weasley. It’s just a pie,” he said, feigning innocence. He turned to Y/N, pie still in hand, his grin widening like a cat that caught a mouse. “You’re welcome,” he said with mock sincerity, holding the pie out towards her. Y/N stared at him in disbelief, her heart racing with frustration. The way Harry toyed with Ron was infuriating; it was as if he took delight in making him squirm. “You can’t just take things from people!” she finally blurted, her voice sharper than intended, but Harry only laughed, dismissing her anger like a mere annoyance. “Come on, Y/N,” he coaxed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “It’s just a little pie. You’d make a much better use of it than Ron, anyway.” With a flick of his wrist, he shoved the pie closer to her, challenging her to take it. “Right, Ron? You wouldn’t want to deny Y/N a taste treat, would you?”

Ron’s face flushed crimson as he sputtered, “I—no! It’s not fair, Harry! I got it first!”

“Too bad, Weasley. You snooze, you lose,” Harry taunted, clearly reveling in the redhead’s embarrassment. With a swift motion, he turned back to Y/N, his expression a mix of arrogance and amusement. “Here, just take it. I’d hate to see you go hungry.” He thrust the pie directly into her hand as if it were a price.

Y/N felt the weight of the pie settle in her palms, but it felt heavy with humiliation rather than delight. She couldn’t believe Harry would stoop so low, bullying Ron just for a laugh. She wanted to throw it back at him, to call him out for his behavior, but her voice caught in her throat, stifled by a mix of anger and confusion.

As she wrestled with her frustration, her eyes caught Pansy’s eyes, which were briefly looking into hers, scanning for any sign of discomfort, distress, or… something more. For a fleeting moment, it felt like their old connection was surfacing, a whisper of the bond they had once shared. But just as quickly as it had come, the moment slipped away, and Pansy’s eyes hardened, becoming unreadable once more. The familiar warmth she had hoped for from Pansy felt like a distant memory. Y/N’s heart sank even further at that moment; the flicker of hope she had… extinguished, leaving only the oppressive weight of isolation. Pansy turned away, her indifference a sharp reminder of the chasm that had formed between them. It stung more than Y/N had anticipated, as they had stopped being friends such a long time ago. Without a second glance, Pansy walked past her, not even bothering to acknowledge Y/N’s existence.

Y/N stood frozen, the heaviness in her heart spreading as if to suffocate her.

Behind Pansy, Theodore Nott trailed, his face void of emotion. He stopped for a moment, his dead eyes landing on Y/N as though she were no more than a passing shadow. There was no warmth, no recognition, only a hollow stare. Y/N’s breath hitched, a knot forming in her throat. But Theodore’s gaze shifted, disinterest quickly washing over his features before he turned and continued the corridor behind Pansy, walking with quiet steps. As they moved farther away, Y/N could feel the weight of the stares around her. Heads poked out from the train compartments, students watching with a mix of curiosity and amusement. They weren’t concerned with what had just happened; they simply wanted to witness the spectacle. Her embarrassment deepened, and heat crept up her neck, fueling her anger.

“Damn it,” Y/N muttered under her breath, biting back the flood of emotions rising within her. Before she had a chance to gather herself, a hand clamped down on her arm, yanking her harshly to the side. The grip was too firm, too forceful—it could only belong to one person. Clive Selwyn.

“H-Hey!” Y/N stammered quietly as she tried pulling away from Clive, her cousin.

Clive’s fingers dug painfully into her skin, and Y/N winced, a quiet whimper escaping her lips. She turned to face him, only to be met with the same disdain that seemed permanently etched on his face. His eyes, sharp and cold, flicked momentarily toward Pansy, who had stopped further down the hall but hadn’t bothered to look back. His sneer deepened with disgust as he glared in her direction.

Without a word, Clive dragged Y/N away, his grip tightening as if to remind her who was in control. Y/N’s mind raced, trying to keep up with everything happening at once—the embarrassment, the whispers, and the overwhelming sense of isolation. She tried to focus on anything but the stares, the whispers, the eyes that followed her every step. As they turned a corner, Y/N glanced back, hoping for… something. Pansy had stopped, her back still turned. But then, for a split second, she looked over her shoulder, her eyes connecting with Y/N’s. There, hidden beneath the practiced indifference, Y/N saw it—worry. It was brief, almost too quick to catch, but it was there. Concern flickered in Pansy’s gaze, just for a second, before she turned away, walking off with Theodore Nott at her side.

“Do you always have to handle me like a bloody Neanderthal?” Y/N snapped when Clive shoved her into an empty compartment, slamming the door shut behind him. The confined space only made Y/N’s anger and tears flood out. “What, too barbaric to ask me to walk on my own?” Clive ignored her jab, his piercing gaze locked on her, eyes blazing with impatience. “What happened back there? Why is everyone staring at you like you’re some kind of spectacle?” His voice was low, dangerously low.

Y/N crossed her arms defensively, trying to blink away her tears and push back the growing frustration. “Why does it matter? Since when you care about anything that isn’t about you?”

“It matters because although you go by the last name York at school, you’re still linked to the Selwyns,” Clive hissed, stepping closer, his presence towering over her, “and if you so much as bring shame to the family name—my family name—I’ll see it personally that you regret it. Am I clear?”

Y/N’s jaw clenched as she glared up at him, unwilling to back down. “I’m not doing anything to your precious family, Clive. Maybe if you didn’t drag me around like a puppet, people wouldn’t stare.” He scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. “You need to stay out of trouble, Y/N. You are usually so quiet and unproblematic. But now? Now I need to monitor you because of whatever this is? It’s an annoyance I don’t need.” He stepped even closer, his face inches from hers. “This is the last time I’m warning you.”

Y/N could feel her pulse quicken, but she refused to look away, her chin lifting defiantly. “I don’t need your warnings, Clive. Maybe you should worry about your own reputation for once,” she spat, her voice dripping with barely contained venom. Every interaction with him left her feeling raw, her words sharper than she intended, but she wasn’t going to let him bulldoze over her—not this time.

Clive’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took another step closer. “My reputation?” he sneered, his voice low and biting. “I don’t have to worry about mine because, unlike you, I know how to behave. I don’t have to play the victim every time things get tough just so you can have my weak father and mother defend you.”

Y/N’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, the words hitting like a slap. Victim? She wanted to scream at him, wanted to tear down every cruel wall he’d built between them. Clive, her cousin, her family, should have been the one to protect her. Instead, he treated her like she was some burden—a constant reminder of everything wrong in her family. His words sliced through her, reopening wounds she’d been trying to ignore for years.

“Behave?” she repeated, her voice rising, trembling with frustration. “You think all of this is just about behaving?” Her breath came out in a shudder. “You don’t know the first thing about what I’ve been through, Clive. You don’t care! All you ever do is tell me I’m a constant disappointment, just like Grandfather—” Her voice caught, her throat tightening around the word. Clive’s eyes darken, a cold fury taking over his expression. “Don’t you dare mention him,” he hissed, stepping so close she could feel the heat of his anger. “You don’t get to talk about my family like that. You’re weak, Y/N. You’ve always been weak. Pathetic, even. You can’t do as you please and wait for my father to defend you, hoping he will be understanding and help you no matter what you do just because your mother died,” he laughed coldly, his eyes glinting with cruelty. “She died when you were eight years old. Get over it!”

The room seemed to tilt for a moment as his words hung in the air, slicing through her like ice. Y/N’s heart pounded in her ears, her body going rigid. Get over it? How could he say that—how could he say that about her mother? Her mother who had been her warmth in a life without her family’s support. Her mother, who gave her the happiest years of her early life before Bertram, her grandfather, had taken her away from the only life she had ever known after her mother’s passing?

“Don’t talk about her,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible. Her chest tightened as grief and anger twister inside her like a vice. The pain was raw, fresh, as if she were still the little girl left in the shadow of her mother’s death, trying to understand why her world had fallen apart. She swallowed, her throat burning, but her anger surged, giving her the strength to raise her voice. “You have no idea what I have gone through… You had everything handed to you—your parents, Grandfather’s love and approval—everything.”

Clive let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Is that what you think? That I had it easy?” He shook his head, his face twisting with resentment. “I’ve had to live up to expectations you couldn’t even begin to understand. While you were running around playing the poor orphan, I was being molded into Grandfather’s little soldier.” His words stung, but it wasn’t enough to shut her down. Y/N’s fists clenched at her sides, trembling as she tried to hold onto her defiance. “You make it sound like I chose any of this—like I wanted to be alone, like I—” But she couldn’t finish, her breath catching as she tried to push through the rising storm of emotions.

“If your mother hadn’t died,” Clive continued, voice dropping to a cruel whisper, “I wouldn’t have had to. If only Valonia Selwyn hadn’t brought shame to this family by lying in bed with a married man—”

Y/N’s ears buzzed, the blood rushing to her head, drowning out the rest of Clive’s words. She could hardly think; the weight of his accusation hung heavy in the air, suffocating her. A married man? The implication felt like a noose tightening around her throat, and for a moment, all she could was stare at him, disbelief and anger swirling in her gut.

Before he could continue, the door to the compartment swung open, and Luna Lovegood appeared in the doorway, her dreamy expression completely unfazed by the tension in the air. “Oh, Y/N!” Luna exclaimed, her eyes widening as she noticed the tear-streaked remnants on Y/N’s cheeks. “What happened? You look like you’ve seen a Boggart!” Y/N quickly wiped her face with the back of her hand, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just a little—um—plant incident. Some kid down the hall had this awful scent, and I started sobbing,” she said, her voice wavering slightly.

Clive, sensing the shift, stepped in, adopting a charming demeanour as he flashed a reassuring smile at Luna. “I found her looking a bit lost,” he said smoothly, his tone dripping with faux concern. “I thought I’d help her out. Just being a good prefect, you know?” Luna’s expression brightened. “That’s so nice of you!” she chirped, seemingly oblivious to the tension that had just filled the room. “What kind of plant was it, Y/N? I wonder if it was a Spiteful Snare. They’re known to cause emotional reactions in sensitive people! Or perhaps a Flusterbloom? I’ve heard they can—” Y/N seized the opportunity, eager to change the subject and escape the compartment with Clive still hovering nearby. “Yeah, I think it might have been!” she said, starting to inch towards the door while holding Luna by the shoulders. “Come on, Luna, let’s go find Cho and change into our robes.” As they stepped out of the compartment, Y/N cast one last glance back at Clive, who was now watching them with an amused expression, the façade of charm still firmly in place. She could feel the tension lingering in her chest but pushed it aside, focusing instead on the comfort of Luna’s company as they made their way down the train.

I really hope you guys enjoy it ~♡ See you next time! -xoxo Mai.

[tactical-errors]

A Word With Friends

Thank you for tagging me @trash-nerd!

Softly tagging: @woundedsoul12, @skullypettibone, @tarasmom, @lustaniasaxon, @baar-ur and anyone else who wants to join in!

This week's word is Perspicacious:

Definition: Quick in noticing, understanding, or judging things accurately or of acute mental vision or discernment.

Also Perspicaciously, Perspicaciousness , or Perspicacity.

I took my own spin on Monster!Spite in this one, though it is minor. I will list trigger warnings as it talks about violence and slavery as it related to my Rook's backstory.

It was a familiar dance for him. The air would be charged with the fervent energy of blood lust from both spectators and fighters a like. While the spectators reveled in the violence, the fighters could not look at it the same. Those that felt that shred of humanity fade would reflect what the audience felt. Those were their favorites. For him, he refused to give them what they wanted. His kills were quick and clean, as best as he can give. Today would be no different. The rattle of chains pulled his attention away from the deafening roar of the stadium. The masked figure pulled his cell door open while another quickly wretched his chains to force his feet to stumble forward. "People pay more for that kind of action." He snarked. He was met with another sharp yank and silence as he was led through the blood stained corridor. Those who were willingly fighting were free to wander and train. The slaves on the other hand were shepherd around with their watchers. He hoped he would be pitted against those who sought glory in the pits. Those fights were fair. The animal desperation of survival led to unpredictability and those were often dangerous, not because of the violence but from the pleas that only he could hear as he ended their misery. The approach to the gate was different this time. The heavy weight of eyes bore into him, like a predator watching its meal. If he looked around, his watchers would demand his obedience. It wasn't abnormal for a fighter to walk out already bloodied. That feeling grew as the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Whatever it was went unnoticed by those around him. Everyone went on like there wasn't something incredibly dangerous lurking in these fetid halls. His perspicaciousness is what had him ducking as a massive figure rushed by. The heady tang of iron, no, not iron, something different, swept the dank stench of rotted hay and old blood away. The expected screams were silent and the weight of chains fell away unexpectedly. Side stepping away as quick as he could, his fists were brought up to shield his face. His trained response kept him loose in case whatever this was came from him next. What greeted him was something he knew he recognized, but he couldn't place it. His chest pulled with relief and... "Little pantera..." Rumbled from the creatures chest. The large near oil slick pitch of feathers glinted from an unknown light source, like the refracted lights dancing off a water's edge. Too many eyes of bright purple gazed at him with something like devotion but that couldn't be right. Closer it crept, its arms shaped like the wings of a wyvern, only feathered instead of the thick leather of its kin. It's claws clacked against the stone as it crouched low, eye level to him. "Fear has. No place. Near my Pantera. My Rook." It purred again, deep and bassy. He could feel each word revibrate in his chest, becoming a lullaby that eased his racing heart. The longer he stood there, the closer it got. It's massive head so close, he could see the individual feathers that stole the strange light. "Keep Rook. Safe. Happy." Slowly, he brought his hand up to run through those feathers, indescribably soft and thick. The creature, Spite, purred as he pushed further into his hand. His large form all but obscured Rook from the shifting landscape. Stone walls flickered away to a landscape of rich blues and dancing greens. "Sleep, my Rook. Spite will keep. Safe." The demon rumbled once more as he was fully engulfed in the twinning aromas of rich coffee and the ozone that lurked underneath. Inhaling the comforting smell, he relaxed into Spite's body as his slumbering form curled tighter into Lucanis' chest. Spectral wings wrapped around the both of them as they slept under the refracting light of a world underwater, safe for the night under the watch of their demon.

[ranfren-confessions]

I want that stinky big booty femboy rat Michael to get me pregnant. I know I'm not the only one who wants Michael to put his asscheeks up against the walls in the shower and farts that way it revibrates and is extra loud and smelly 😋💨👄

Posting this out of shame for you.

[goresyard]

Tadashi's dead asleep-- arms sprawled across the desk he'd taken up for his work. His face is flopped upon a book about kaiju-- what little was known remained mostly rooted in folklore. But every legend was built around a kernel of truth.

Emi was asleep in her 'bed' and Baymax was charging on his port. Things were quiet, save for the gentle snoring of the baby Kaiju.

@nerditudes，tadashi hamada．　↪︎　　¨　🦇̱/　༉　　inbox    —    unprompted，always  accepting．

　𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆  𝒔𝒖𝒏  𝒑𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒅  𝒊𝒏  𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉  𝒕𝒉𝒆  𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒇—𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒏  𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔,   catching  dust  motes  midair  like  falling  stars.  the  apartment  smelled  faintly  of  ramen  and  old  paperbacks.   a  rare  quietude  that  befell  them,  with  the  resonating  snores  that  occasionally  revibrated  the  walls.   everything  stood  still,  it  was  the  kind  of  quiet  that  wrapped  around  you  —  not  oppressive,  not  cold.   just  still.

familiar  footsteps  padded  into  the  room  with  no  real  intent,  only  the  vague,  bone—deep  restlessness  that  came  with  certain  hours  of  the  night  —  too  late  to  be  productive,  too  early  to  surrender  to  sleep.  the  apartment  held  its  breath  around  him,  dimly  lit  ﹠   half—dream,  like  it  had  slipped  into  a  softer  world  while  he  wasn’t  looking.

he  hadn't  planned  to  check  on  anything.  not  really.  his  feet  just  carried  him  forward, drawn  by  some  quiet  magnetism   —  habit,  maybe.   or  instinct.  a  low,  amber  glow  spilled  out  beneath  the  doorframe,  pooling  on  the  hallway  floor  like  honey.  unfamiliar,   that  light.  always  too  warm  for  the  starkness  of  the  room,  always  a  little  too  inviting  for  a  space  meant  for  work.  kenji  had  meant  to  change  the  bulb  months  ago.  he  hadn’t.  it  meant  tadashi  was  still  here.  or  had  been,  not  long  ago.  the  thought  stirred  something  within  his  chest  —  something  subtle  and  wordless,  like  a  ripple  across  still  water.

the  house  used  to  feel  empty, walls breathe ﹠ become starkly aware of his presence, or lack there of. even  with  all  the  furniture  and  the  shelves  ﹠   the  hum  of  appliances,   it  had  always  felt  a  little  cold.  a  little  temporary.

but  now  ?

now  there  were  unfamiliar books resting along their shelves.  a  spare coffee  mug  unwashed — despite constant reminders.  a  hoodie  hanging  on  the  back  of  the  door  that  hadn’t  belonged  to  kenji  in  months.  and  this  —  this  boy  sleeping  at  his  desk  like  it  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  he  finally  reaches  out,   tentative,  yet  intimately  hesitant,  and  with  the  gentlest  of  motions,  slid  tadashi’s  glasses  from  his  face.  set  them  carefully  beside  the  desk  lamp.  then  paused  —  just  for  a  moment  —   for digits to brush  a  few  stray, fatigued strands  of  hair  from  his  forehead.

❛  you’re  gonna  give  yourself  10 years of chronic neck  pain  just like  that,  ❜   he  murmured,  not unkind, with a voice  barely  louder  than  the  lamp’s  quiet  buzz.  his  eyes  grazes  across  his  self—made  notes,  various  pointers  on  kaiju  anatomy  and  behavioral  archetypes.   kenji  almost  smiled.  then  caught  himself.

he  tugged  the  spare  blanket  off  the  back  of  the  chair  and  draped  it  over  tadashi’s  shoulders,   tucking  it  in  with  a  care  he  would  deny  later  if  asked. he watches in a wordless tension as the fabric sags around the edges of his frame, awaiting in abated breath for him to stir. when the time had passed, a relieved exhale.

he then sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  nearby,  elbows  on  knees,  eyes  never  quite  leaving  him.  didn’t  say  the  thing  that  pressed  against  the  inside  of  his  ribs  like  a  bruise  /  pushed  down  the  ache  down  the  side  of  their  throat.   instead,  he  whispered  something  easier.  something  safer.

❛  g'night,  dork.  ❜   and  let  the  hush  of  the  room  carry  the  rest.

[darxpatel]

Benefits of Reciting the Hanuman Chalisa

Hanumanji is a revered God in Hinduism yet the prime example and promoter of Bhakti Marg as he is depicted as a staunch devotee of Prabh Shri Ram. He is known by many names primarily as Shivansh as he is said to be the Avatar of Lord Shiva. Bajrangbali was the Vanar King who devoted his life to Shri Ram, he was the prime character in Ramayana having unsurmountable power who helped his Aradhya in fighting Demon King Ravana and reuniting with his abducted wife Sita.

There are many devotional hymns and songs generated in praise of Lord Hanuman by his devotees and one such is Shri Hanuman Chalisa. It was composed by the renowned Devotional Poet Tulasidas in the 16th century, as a part of the Epic Poem ‘Ramcharitramanas’ and the Lyrics of Hanuman Chalisa are in Avadhi language. Hanuman Chalisa consists of 40 verses in the praise of dedicated God hence the name Chalisa.

Benefits of Hanuman Chalisa Path

The recital of Shree Hanuman Chalisa is said to be beneficial as the writer of it is said to have composed it to gain the praise of the lord to overcome difficulties in his life and succeed in the same. So let's look at the predominent benefits as said to be obtained by reciting Chalisa in praise of Bajrangbali.

Hanuman Chalisa Path is the story of the praisable lord Hanumanji, beliefs are that if recited to growing kids it can imprint the same spirit as the lord. Hence it develops a strong character among the listeners, willing them to fight for destiny, achieve success, and develop a positive upbringing being courageous, and humble at the same time.

As Shree Hanuman Chalisa's Path says ‘Sankat Te Hanuman Chudave, Man, Karma Bachan Dhyan Jo Laave’, meaning that praying to the lord in your mind, actions, and words the lord will help you with problems.

Astrological beliefs state reciting Hanuman Chalisa would rid one of ‘Sate Sati’ the term for the heavy effect of Saturn planet that is said to be the punisher for your bad karma, it is believed that the path of Chalisa would help cancel the negative effect on your life

Recounting Shree Hanuman Chalisa is considered to have a resounding effect on the human body and mind, helping them achieve peace, relieve stress and physical ailments, etc. as sound and words are said to revibrate in the universe

Devotees believe that the Hanuman Chalisa Path helps ward off evil energies, gain the lord's protection, experience calm and strength, have a positive effect on the mind, learn the art of living, and develop courage for the Mahabali Hanuman himself is your protector.

Practice and Rituals to Praise Shri Hanumanji

Legends mention Bajarangbali to be Brahmachari following the path of asceticism so most of his followers follow Brahmacharya walking the path of their revered God. There are no other strict rules and practices followed while reciting the Shree Hanuman Chalisa Path. Yet it is advised to recite the chant on Tuesday and Saturday, noting the dedicated days to the devotion of Lord Hanumanji.

It is widely believed that visiting Hanuman Mandir on Tuesday and Saturday offering sindoor and oil to Lord Hanuman and chanting the Hanuman Chalisa Mantra would be beneficial to ward off all evil and gain success in life. Many temples have an offering, aarti, and devotional path organized for the devotees, if one wishes to enjoy the glory they can join.

[aristonsilvester]

who: @senatusstarters​ where: Parco Savello

Ariston had stumbled out of a Roman afterclub, glitter dusting his shoulders and he was still riding out the drugs in his system -- the sunlight burned and he wasn’t ready to return to the Pyramid just yet so he found a park bench to ride his comedown out. Flower petals drifted on the wind and tangled with the leaves that ghosted through the air, he felt the sun on his face and an ache within his heart began because the World was telling him that things were not as they were meant to be -- he still felt the call of Old Magic but giving in to his druidic ways always reminded him of how much he disappointed those he loved. He lit a cigarette and coughed because it felt like his lungs were being strangled, the roots of old trees revibrated through his chest. His gaze met the treeline of New Rome and he was saved by the skin of his wolf pelt but the rest of Rome had been shut off, it was a miracle that the city driven people still had this park to be in touch with the Earth that held them. “Gorgeous day, isn’t it? Do you hear that music too?”

[roguishcat]

WIP Sunday

Thank you so much for tagging me earlier this week @xxnashiraxx, @busy-baker, @inkymoonbunny!💕

A little snippet from 'Conversations with a vampire' part 7/10. Set pre-game, mostly child Tav pestering befriending Astarion.

“My, my... What mischief did she get up to tonight?” Mamzell Amira looked at him carrying Tav with thinly veiled interest.

The woman was dripping in jewels, fine fabric whispering tantalizingly against skin as she lifted her hand to grasp Tav’s chin. Turning the girl’s head sideways, she appraised her appearance before letting go.

“Thank you for bringing her back. You may enter,” she said pointedly, giving him a pointed look.

Their eyes locked and Astarion scowled.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be so sensitive that you feel offended at being given orders,” she raised an eyebrow and cocked a hip, shifting her stance gracefully.  “Come. We have some things to discuss.”

Astarion did not want to follow the woman, especially when her words sounded more like a command than a request. He has had enough of that in the past 200 years, being compelled to do Cazador’s bidding. Instead, Astarion told himself that he chose to follow her through a concealed entrance that was clearly not meant for the clientele.

They walked down a narrow, winding corridor. Wood creaked underneath their boots and unlike the areas where clients were entertained, there was no plush carpet to swallow up the sound of their steps. They turned once, then once more. There were no guests, just servants and staff in various states of undress that hurried past quickly. Perfume mixed with the scent of sweat. Giggles, sighs and groans revibrated all around them, creating an atmosphere where inhibition is replaced with uninhibited expression of debauchery. Anything for coin. Every fantasy was possible within these rooms as long as one could afford it.

Amira stopped in front of a door, unlocking it swiftly and beckoning for Astarion to follow before closing the door behind him. He felt power and saw the door glow. Arcane lock. No way out unless she permitted it.

The elf gave the room a cursory glance. It was pleasantly decorated and seemed like a personal space, where she would relax rather than receive company. One could even call it cosy.

Astarion was just about to set Tav down gently on the plush sofa when a servant appeared and plucked Tav out of his arms as if she weighed nothing, whisking her away. Magic hummed and the servant was gone.

“Sit, let me have a look at you,” Amira lowered herself to a half recline on a chaise longue, motioning for him to sit in the chair across from her.

She appraised him unabashedly in a way a butcher would look at a prized turkey and clicked her tongue.

“You are a looker. It’s no wonder that she follows you around like a little lovesick pup. She never spoke of you, of course. She never tells anyone anything. But I have my sources,” she said casually, pouring herself some wine into a beautifully crafted gold goblet.

No pressure tags 💖: @clazberryk, @preciouslittlebhaalbae, @lanafofana,

@khywren, @verbenaa, @obsessedwhyyes,

@cinnamontails-ff, @marlowethebard,

@honeybee-bard,

@orangekittyenergy,

@silent-words, @funniestbitchinfaerun,

[saekkas]

. I'm embarassed now so take some Mikka fluff as an apology for the earlier TT ( haven't written anything concrete in so long... Sorry for it being rushed, cringy and unpolished as fuck)

Michael is lurking around your apartment with an intent, you decide.

A loud thump of an object falling to the floor from the other room confirms your suspicions.

Yes, he is definitely up to something.

The confirmation does nothing to calm your mind. You actually are torn between curiosity and anxiety because Kaiser having an /idea/ is as bad as waking up and realising your day will be awful because your hair is not behaving the way it is supposed to do, something about your face is off and your usual breakfast doesn't taste as good as always.

It is actually worse, you decide as you hear your best friend cursing loudly after another loud noise revibrates in the apartment.

You are becoming suspicious of Michael. It is not that you do not trust him to behave like a normal, decent human being while being alone in your room but... You snort lightly as you determine that it is precisly what you described.

Kaiser is anything but ordinary and you cannot expect anything but conspicuous behaviour from him.

You silently tip-toe to your bedroom and try to spy on Michael through the small crack he left by not closing the doors properly.

He is rummaging through your small cabinet next to the full body mirror, which he actually gave you as a present for your promotion at work (he said you should join him in his weird morning routine but you rejected him promptly). You focus your eyesight on his sweet, goofy little sound he lets out as a small satisfied smile creeps up on his face. He found what he was looking for, apparently.

You steal a glance at the object in his hands – a wooden jewelry case.

"You can come in, you know? It is not polite to scramble around like a bug."

You startle at his voice and your line of sight travels from his hands to those piercing eyes of his.

You scoff offended.

"Bold words for someone who scurries around like a rat in my room, you bastard."

Your tone lacks any bite as you venture further into the bedroom and sit in the hanging chair in the corner.

"What are you doing with that old thing anyways?" you ask with a tilt of your head.

You are about to say something more but you stop dead in your tracks as Michael's ears tint a lovely shade of vibrant red.

You cannot believe it.

Michael Kaiser is /flustered/.

You are scared (and bashful) - when did a peaceful afternoon turn into a freaking horror movie? This feels like the first sign of an apocalypse coming or a dangerous virus spreading and Michael, of all people, being the patient 0.

"W-what the hell is up with you today?" you stutter with a horrified expression. "Do you have a fever? God, was I right and you have rabies? I knew I was right telling everyone you are feral!"

"Shut up!"

He stares you down and perhaps you would take him more seriously if not for the red hue spreading to his neck like a wildfire.

Kaiser tilts his head up as he pinches his nose with furrowed brows and closed eyes. He sighs deeply beford he is in front of you in an instant. Sometimes you forget how agile he can be.

Michael opens the jewelry case in his hands you forgot about in this whole ordeal. You lean forward to look at what he is doing and soon Kaiser proudly holds up a pair of earrings, which you know very well.

You look at him like he grew a second head.

"You are acting more stupid than usual and, if I am being honest, I did not think that was possible," you say and watch as his grin falls into a scowl. "You are once again outdoing yourself. I guess you are a prodigy at more things than football."

You were prepared for Michael throwing you a snarky comeback or straight up going for getting you into a headlock as a revenge for acting like a brat but nothing of that sorts came.

You are actually getting a little concerned he really has rabies.

Michael gently puts the dangly earrings on both of your ears while murmuring something about how stupid you look and sound.

"I bought you the pair as a gift when we graduated," he said as if you did not remember the story behind the favourite piece of jewellery you own. "Why have you stopped wearing them daily since last week, idiot?" he continues and you blink owlishly at him.

He pats your cheek gently when he is done after a few seconds.

"That's better," he murmurs as he stares at you and studies you features, or rather admires because he knows them too well, with something you are scared to name.

You wonder if his eyes were always as blue as the skies you watched on your trips to the mountains, if his eyelashes always fluttered the same way grass in the mornings do and if you only now notice how ripe cherries probably taste more bitter than his lips must do.

Michael Kaiser is up to something, you decide, and it is /dangerous/.

- 🗿

i wasn't going to post this bcz ive been waiting to use it for inspo but ive decided that the people need to see this masterpiece.

[oflightandfiction]

Every part of his day, divided by what he regarded now as the duties of his station in life, circled about its own centre of spiritual energy. His life seemed to have drawn near to eternity; every thought, word and deed, every instance of consciousness could be made to revibrate radiantly in heaven: and at times his sense of such immediate repercussion was so lively that he seemed to feel his soul in devotion pressing like fingers the keyboard of a great cash register and to see the amount of his purchase start forth immediately in heaven, not as a number but as a frail column of incense or as a slender flower.

— James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (Chapter 4)

[madefromclay]

Dworkin's discussion on the parallels between prostitution and (heterosexual) marriage in Right Wing Women will never not revibrate around my mind. btw.

[asgardianhammer]

Thor’s fed-up mood where he sat pride-of-place between the current arrangement of front claws, using Haetta’s mane as a grip-anger toy, scorched the Jotunn’s sensitised nose. Though Haetta, too, was sending a glacial, towering glare at their trouble-stirring allies, he relinquished it to set the partial weight of his chin atop Thor’s shoulder, soothing, pressing down so that basic Jotunar could be spoken, for Thor’s ear only, ‘I would eat them. For you.’

[ ϟ ]— Scent of sulphureous aroma had not left his nose since morning, teeth itching from it and jaw taut, tongue sitting heavy in the god's mouth. Mind was riddled with cursing of every dwarf currently screaming over trade rights into the crack between Svartalfheim's sunless sky and the fetid riverbed beneath, temper suppressed still yet stirring with each noise that reached them.

Spending the better part of an hour staring into the fire-ringed pit at the center of the stone court, imagining how quickly he could toss a handful of them in, Thor managed to keep expression somewhat stern during it, visage stone-like still.

Seating squarely between immense claws of companion thunderer used the clutch of Haetta's mane as a child's worry-stone, threads curled under his fingers and pulled tight at unsteady intervals.

Then, the sudden weight of beast's chin across the crown of his shoulder, rankling briefly, a hot snap of indignation flaring in his chest, before the pressure soothed, grounded, anchoring him like a mountain caught mid-collaps. Exhaling a soft, languid and almost shuddering breath the god's head tilts a sliver, enough to make more room.

Words slid beneath the crackle of politics and dwarven outrage, the deep and rough burred language curling with promise and terrible gravity. Private, spoken at such proximity the sound revibrated through the heir's spine, and Thor allows one more heartbeat to pass.

' You always say that, and yet a lot remain woefully un-eaten...'

Thor should not be smiling, yet it emerges, curve of lips crooked and dangerous, all teeth, head turned slightly towards the massive head nearby. Reaching up, without looking, finding the slope of Haetta's jaw with his knuckles calloused hand offers a slow graze. Entirely unthinking, intimate, neither command nor affection, simply seeking more contact.

Ceruleans never left the two factions still barking like half-starved dogs at one another, entirely unaware of the colossal restraint currently being exercised behind them.

' Should they make you move, I will not stop you, just so you know. Leave me the short one with the opinion on beard tax, I am dying to have a personal conversation with the twat.'

[camoryan]

A short story I am working on :)

Curtains just cover a glass sliding door that leads out to the balcony. Sunlight produces a warm glow into the living space, lighting up the wooden table that sits in the centre of the room. Brown leaves scatter across the stone flooring as a slight breeze begins to push them in through an opening in the door.

Soft puffs of smoke find themselves drifting inside, getting their shape entangled with sunbeams. We see Kevin laying on the ground on the balcony, he lies with his head straight up gazing at the cobwebs and dust that is found in the corners of the roof. He Takes slow patient drags of a cigarette. Stopping mid release, he watches has the paper on the outside quickly burns. His eyes fixating on the orange line that burns down into ash, its heat rips through the tobacco leaving behind a thin grey line.  Snapping out of his daze he takes a deep breath then blows out his cigarette. Its ash softly floating off into the afternoon sky. He lies there for a few more seconds, letting the moment soak in.

Finally, he sits up. He looks around 20 but has a very boyish face, his hair loud and wavy.  Kevin gets up ducking through the door and goes for the house phone on the carpet that is ringing.

‘Yello?’ he answers

There is a moment of silence. No answer

‘Um is anybody there’ he said as he reaches down closer to the carpet.

As he reaches closer to the phone hook he gets a response.

‘Yo, yo, yo’ the phone screams

Kevin’s eyes light up as he shoots up into a straight stance. A smile slowly glides across his face.

‘I’ll be down in two seconds’ said Kevin without letting another second go by.

A blue 2004 Mazda 3 SP23 is parked on the opposite side of the street to where Kevin’s apartment is In the car the pair sit, they both look at each other and give one another a smile. Phoebe’s smile then drips away into a blank face, her eyes glazed over as she stares at him. Kevin’s eyes dart towards her and then back towards the window trying to focus on anything else, but his eyes keep drifting back towards her. He couldn’t help himself, there was pure infatuation in his gaze.  A look that comes from someone completely in love. Understanding the game, she is playing he tries his best to lock in. Phoebe’s eyes light up, a sense of shock runs down her spine lets a slight smirk slip. Finally, she breaks away from the staring contest by way of laughing. She gives Kevin a punch.

‘You’re so fucking strange’ he laughs while taking a swig out of a Jameson can

Phoebe takes the can away from him mid gulp.

‘And yet here you are with me’ she said while sculling the beverage.

After taking one final sip she throws it into the black abyss that is the back seat, the metallic exterior of the drink rings loudly as it bangs into the pile of other misalliances cans scattered across the car floor. This coupled with the mysterious stains all over the seats explains the strange musty odour that radiates. Phoebe winds down her windows to open the car door.

The pair of walk down a concrete sidewalk. Its cracks and crevices covered by a mix of dying tree leaves and miscellaneous pieces of rubbish. They laugh and shove each other while holding onto shopping bags. Phoebe a colourful bag with long green straps which he holds with her two middle fingers. Kevin a smaller green bag which he holds like a newborn.  They continue to walk down the strip; with the houses they pass by change from single unit 60's style apartments to more classic like houses that are surrounded by wooden fences. Dying grapevines covering their chipped brown paint. Children come running out of these houses, covered in costumes ranging from a classic bedsheet ghost to spiderman. Laughter and lolly wrapper scrunching echo throughout the neighbourhood 

Moonlight rears its head from the horizon. The couple reach a dead end which leads to the tip top of a hill.

‘This is the house.’

Those words revibrate loudly through the cold Autumn night. The house laid alone a top of the hill, it’s silhouette over looms the entire neighbourhood, the entire town. A pumpkin patch surrounded its border, thrones and vines cover the rusted fencing that runs around the front to the back. Amongst the dying grass lies a clear dirt pathway that rides to the entrance. Kevin takes a deep breath in smelling the nutty aroma that permeates the air. His left eyebrow raises as he takes a moment to scan the area that they are in.

‘What the fuck is this?’ Kevin said while tying up his leather boot.

Phoebe drops her bag onto the ground and grips the cold metallic bars of the front gate, her knuckles turn white as she tries to shove it open with rust and grime screaming as her weight pushes it agape.

‘I might have lied about that party we were going to.’

She finally gets it to swing fully open

‘But I heard this house is actually haunted, and I wanted to explore it with you’

To be continued