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star-clip · 3 months ago

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But She Only Exists in The Dark Of My Room

A/N: Yandere!priest's introduction!! This character is inspired by a short manga I read called "My shrine was destroyed by a psychopath". Also, this story takes place in the 1920's, so, I hope you'll enjoy!!

Summary: The peace and tranquility that comes with being a spirit is not one you expected. You'd thought you'd feel lonely and empty, but you don't. That doesn't stop a certain priest from "saving you" from your supposed torment.

CW: Yandere, religious themes, mentions of ritual sacrifice

Word count: 2.3k (proofread)

There's a few things you don't understand, besides the obvious such as complex math or the meaning of life. You don't understand the importance of gender roles, the significance of over exaggerated luxury, and most of all, why some people can't heed the warnings they've been given.

You could swear up and down that this was the 20th person to come to your abandoned little academy in search of the rumored spirit haunting the halls, only to run out at the first sign of something supernatural.

Just a flicker of the lights or a sudden drop in temperature and they don't stay around long enough to come up with a reasonable explanation for what happened.

It's even worse when it's young men trying to impress a date with their bravery. It never ends well. Your face always cringes in second-hand embarrassment.

These people don't even come for the ghost anymore. They just want to brag to their friends about how they spent a whole night at the infamous St. Joseph's Academy! However moronic it may be.

You would never purposely try to harm anyone who comes in, but that still doesn't make it alright for people to come waltzing in, especially when they do think there's a vengeful spirit looming over and waiting to tear them apart as soon as they step foot inside amidst. Have they no survival instinct?

If someone didn't know any better, they'd assume you disliked the constant visits, and honestly speaking, they would be right.

Spirits and ghosts have two stereotypes: they're either malevolent and aggressive, or lonely and dejected. Although that may be a popular theme, it's not always true. Some fit into neither category. Like you.

You're not exactly evil, but you're also not rushing to be within someone's company. You prefer to spend your afterlife in solitude, quiet. Ever since you died, you realized just how much time you wasted with people you don't like out of fear of being alone. But when you look back on it now, you can't help but roll your eyes.

This innate fear of being alone is what led to your downfall. Hanging out with people who were just using you for a quick laugh or taking advantage of your anxieties. Forcing you onto that table, tied up and gagged, unable to even scream as they recite incantations.

A joke, they said. It was never meant to go that far, they pleaded. But it was too late. Next thing you know, you're staring down at your lifeless body as it lays in a bloody pool of it's own creation.

It's nearly impossible to cover up an incident like that, so it was no surprise that your academy was closed down shortly after. Not that it mattered to you anyway. Not any more.

You looked at this as an opportunity. A chance to experience true relaxation without interruption.

But alas, all good things must come to an end.

It was only a matter of time before panic filled the town. Of course those kids wouldn't keep their mouth's shut. What started off as a harmless local legend quickly became the root of everyone's nightmares. The reason they all look over their shoulder's when they're out.

What happens if this restless spirit grows stronger? What if they choose to take vengeance on the town and it's people? How would we stop them if they choose to wreak havoc?

Their concerns, no matter how incorrect, did not go unnoticed by the church. As the caretakers of this town, it's their job to dispel any fear the folk here may have.

They sent someone, a priest. One of the most trusted men in not only the church, but the community as a whole. They told the people to rest easy tonight, for the church was going to end this ghost tale once and for all.

You heard the door open. Sighing in exasperation. Don't those kids ever give up? You thought to yourself as you made your way to the main entrance. Although you didn't really care much about who exactly it was, you always checked to make sure they weren't here to cause any real trouble.

The sight that greets you is... unexpected.

A man, a priest, with long black hair. He wasn't young, maybe mid to late thirties. His jawline was sharp, low cheekbones that decorated his tan skin. Handsome. You thought. But then you looked into his eyes.

A shiver ran down your spine. You didn't even know that was possible for a ghost anymore. They were dark. Black eyes don't exist. They're biologically impossible. But there's no other way to define them. No other colors that are quite right. It's like a void.

You feel hypnotized, stuck in a trance. You're quick to look away from his eyes. You take a few steps closer to him, curious as to why he's decided to pay a visit to the town's supposed cursed building.

You scan over him. From his feet all the way to his shoulders. He was taller than you by a few inches. Enough to make you tilt your head to look at him, but not enough to make your neck sore from looking at him.

His eyes shot down, and yours followed suit. His gaze was now fixed on his hand where a brown rosary sat tightly in his grip. His other hand kept a book, a bible tucked in closely to him.

You circled him in suspicion. From who he was to how he was acting, you knew what he was here for. He was going to perform an exorcism, wasn't he?

Your eyes narrowed in caution. Normally, you wouldn't go out of your way to harm or even interact with any of the people who came. But you'd read one too many books in your day about spirits screaming in agony as their souls are forcibly removed from this earth.

The man brought his hands up, as if to speak a prayer, clasped tightly together, rosary in the middle and the bible tucked under his armpit.

You have to think of something. Quick. It's not the 'moving on' part that scares you, but the process. You don't want to experience pain like that ever again.

You try to push the man away but lo and behold, you're not strong enough to interact with anything tangible. Maybe you should have put in the practice long before.

He starts speaking in a different language. You recognize some words. It's Latin. His eyes were kept shut as he spoke without so much as a stutter or a stumble in his voice. You don't give up, you keep trying. Picking and pushing the man to no avail.

Your mind repeats the words "Don't let him finish. Whatever you do, do not let him finish." like a mantra. The anxiety of not knowing whether he's close to being finished, just in the middle, or no where near makes your metaphorical heart race.

You almost scream in surprise (you opt for a gasp instead) when you feel something, someone, stop you. Two large, rough hands grasp your wrists, effectively stopping you. Your eyes trails along the long black sleeves that cover them until they land on the priest.

With your eyes wide, you stare back into his own.

There's something sinister in the way he looks at you. Something dark. It contrasts the warm smile painted across his face. But that's not your main focus or concern.

How is he holding you? Touching you? How does he even see you? Better yet, why are you still here?

He's a priest in a haunted building, and he recited some sort of Latin verses. An exorcism, right? So, how come you still stood before him, unchanged?

You're lulled out of your confused daze by a gentle tug on your wrists, bringing them closer to him. "There you are~" His tone was sweet. Too sweet. It was sickening. A feeling of unease stirred up in the pit of your stomach.

You arms pulled back, attempting to escape his grip. But it only tightened. You tried again and again, each time with more force than the last. All pointless in the end as his hold stood strong. The sadistically sweet look he has never falters throughout your struggle. Every time you'd look back at him, it's like he didn't even blink. Maybe a few times, but not as much as a normal human would.

"What are you doing?" After a few minutes, you finally decide to speak up in a shaky tone. At this point, your gaze was fixed onto him, as if that would ground him in place.

His already unsettling smile morphed into a grin at the sound of your voice. "I'm keeping you." He paused for a second. "With me." He brings your hands closer to his heart. He spoke as if what he said made total sense, but it only made your confusion grow.

He must have seen the furrow of your brows, and the crease on your forehead because he opened his mouth once again to clarify.

"You're bound to me now, my beloved~" He brought one of your hands up to his lips, kissing your palm and nuzzling into your hand.

Fear, confusion, and irritation. Those were the emotions you were feeling at that moment. Fear from what this supposedly holy man had in mind, confusion over what he meant by his words, and irritation at the way he touched you as if you belonged to him.

You had so many questions you had to ask. You didn't know which one to ask first. You stuttered, opening and closing your mouth as you scrambled your thoughts into one.

"How can you see me? A-And touch me?" You ask hesitantly. He lets out a small, light chuckle. Is he laughing at you?

"Did you not hear the incantation I spoke earlier? What did you think it was?" You ran through your memory of just a few minutes ago. "That was a..." You trail off, hoping he would complete your sentence and give you the answer. "-A binding spell, beloved."

That haunting smile is still there. He speaks as if this is normal. Something logical that everyone knows of.

Without waiting for your input, he continues, "This one specifically is used to bind the soul of a spirit to the user. Of course, this means the spirit can't stray too far from their person, or disobey a direct order from them."

Your hand comes up to your mouth, muffling the huffs and pants that threaten to spill. This can't be right. Incantations, spells... There's no such thing. But then again, before you died, you didn't believe in ghosts.

Ghosts can't cry. It's biologically impossible. But that doesn't mean they can't still express their sadness and fears through similar means.

Both hands now came together, overlapping on your mouth as you breathed heavily. You felt like your knees were just seconds away from giving out completely, causing you to stumble a little as you tried to step away from him.

"No... No, no, no, no..." This can't be happening, you thought. The man's gaze seemed to soften when he noticed your fright. He placed a comforting hand on your cheek. "Oh, beloved. Don't be afraid. I would never harm you."

You wanted to scream. To push him away, bite his damn hand off to get it away from you. But you couldn't. He had cursed you. This man you had never met before, had never even known existed, cursed you.

The hand that was on your cheek went towards your wrist, moving it away from your face down to your side, holding it with his own so gently you almost forgot who's hand it was. He does the same with your other hand.

"We're going to be so happy together. You won't have to be alone anymore," His face came closer to yours, his lips hovering dangerously close over yours "And neither will I."

This man is insane. How did he even come to that conclusion?

He entwines his harm with yours, now standing at your side "Let's get you out of this wretched old building now.' You try to keep your feet firmly planted on the ground, but as if they had a mind of their own, they moved along with him outside of the building.

"Oh, how rude of me" The psychopath next to you said through a chuckle "I haven't even properly introduced myself yet, have I?"

If you were being honest, you weren't interested in his name. It won't make a difference in your predicament anyway.

"Father Deimos." You could hear his voice, you know these are words, but it just came out as noise to you. Like the information was being forcefully shoved into your ear and interpreted into your mind.

Did he even know your name?

"Oh, my beloved Y/N. I can't believe I finally have you~" He pulled you closer to his side, resting his cheek on the side of your head as you walked.

Question answered.

You walked with him through some woods. Your school was a bit distant from the town. You wish you could say you were being dragged to god knows where, but your feet followed him without so much of a fuss.

You're bound.

You didn't even understand the implications of that.

He mentioned before that you'll basically be by his side forever, that you'll obey his every command, but to what extent? Will you able to have your own thoughts? Your own feelings? Will you be allowed to hate him in the safe space that is your mind?

You feel dizzy, disoriented. You didn't even think that was possible anymore. But this man has showed you many things you thought impossible.

And now, you're bound to him. Forever his. To command, to play with, to let rot away or torture.

A tight grip settles on your arm, a reminder.

The choice was his. Not yours.

#ocs #writing #yandere #yandere!priest #ghosts #ghost!reader #spirit!reader #yandere!priest x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc

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morbidapples · 11 months ago

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✩*⢄⢁✧ 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑏𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ✧⡈⡠*✩

𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗢𝗥𝗦 𝗗𝗡𝗜!!! (𝗈𝗋 𝗂'𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇)

This is my masterlist of all completed and ongoing works, and will be updated accordingly.

𝗙𝗟𝗨𝗙𝗙 - ✿

𝗦𝗠𝗨𝗧 - ✩

CURRENT WORKS:

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY:

good girl - diego hargreeves ✩

sweetheart - klaus hargreeves ✩

you're an asshole - sparrow!ben hargreeves ✩

SAW:

i'm here, i'm there, i'm everywhere - platonic!scottadam ✿

a handshake of carbon monoxide - platonic!lawrenceadam ✿

PANIC:

pretty thing - dodge mason ✿✩

pretty thing (continued) - dodge mason ✿✩

CHALLENGERS:

i never forgot you - art donaldson ✿✩

good luck charm - art donaldson ✩

always been you - art donaldson ✿✩

WEST SIDE STORY (2021):

attention - riff lorton (newest fic)

THE BEAR

mistakes - carmen berzatto (in editing)

FANDOMS I WRITE FOR:

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY

- diego hargreeves

- klaus hargreeves

- ben hargreeves

CHALLENGERS

- art donaldson

- tashi duncan

- patrick zweig

PANIC

- dodge mason

- ray hall

X-MEN

- logan howlett

- scott summers

STAR WARS

- cal kestis

- anakin skywalker

- luke skywalker

- han solo

SCREAM

- billy loomis

- stu macher

TOMB RAIDER

- lara croft

LIFE IS STRANGE 2

- sean diaz (post game)

THE LAST OF US

- joel miller

- ellie williams (tlou 2)

SUPERNATURAL

- dean winchester

- sam winchester

SAW

- adam stanheight

- amanda young

CRIMINAL MINDS

- spencer reid

- aaron hotchner

- derek morgan

- emily prentiss

RULES:

▪ I don't write for underage characters unless it's strictly fluff.

▪ If I do attempt to write transgender characters, there may be some errors, as I'm not a transgender person, if I write for one and there's incorrect information, please tell me so I can attempt to fix it.

▪ I don't write dubcon/noncon at all.

▪ I don't write anything to do with scat kink, piss kink, or any of those types of things, including vomit kink.

▪ If you request something and I don't respond, I either haven't seen it, or I have seen it and don't want to write it.

▪ I don't write about real life people.

𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 <𝟥

#smut story #mike faist #challengers #the umbrella academy #art donaldson #art donaldson fic #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #challengers 2024 #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #masterlist #writers on tumblr

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vaneshifts · 1 year ago

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INTRODUCTION POST

Hello! My name is Vane.

I'm 19 years old, Canadian, a Virgo and an ambivert with anger issues.

I've been attempting to shift since 2020, during the pandemic and my own personal crisis that made that year likely the most miserable point in my life. I have not yet shifted, but I have come very close, especially recently.

Below I've listed some of the fandoms I'm "part of" (often I find that fandom behaviour can be rather toxic and try to avoid it), places that I'm shifting, as well as some information about "fictional" places that you can use however you see fit to determine your image of me. I've also listed the rules and expectations of this blog, and if you don't agree with them, please DNI. If rules are broken, you will be blocked.

No anti-shifters

Keep your shifttok logic FAR away from me

No discouraging comments to myself or others

If you think my information is incorrect, please inform me POLITELY, and we can discuss it if you'd like (I generally won't post something if I haven't made sure my information is right, but everyone makes mistakes, so if I am in fact wrong, I'd be happy to correct it)

I don't approve of of any DRs specifically made for killing or hurting people and I do not support them, so do not encourage or speak about them on my page (that being said, I think the concept that you should NEVER hurt/kill anyone in any DR is bullshit, so if it's something like Marvel or ASOIAF, Maze Runner, etc. where it may become necessary, I think that is perfectly acceptable)

Race changing is a fake concept. You are already another race in another reality so stop fucking telling people it's bad

Age-changing is fine for the same reasons

Permashifitng is not unhealthy or bad, it is very possible, and if you choose to do it, I wish you all the best

All shifters are valid, including those who haven't shifted yet or who are still trying to reset from all of the misinformation they were likely fed from early shifttok so BE FUCKING KIND

If I missed anything, I may come back to update this list later

Now onto the more fun part!

Favourite Shifting Takes (of mine):

Permashifting; I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers

Shifting Realities VS Shifting Goals (mindset)

You Are Wrong (Don't Get Mad; I Promise I'll Explain)

Vane's List Of Names (Not A Take, Just Names For Your Script <3)

Vane's Shifting Routine (Plus Bonus: My Favourite Methods)

For People Who Struggle With Doubts

It's Okay If Anti-Shifters Shake You

Fandoms:

Avatar (not TLA)

Criminal Minds

DC Cinematic

Harry Potter Golden Trio Era

Marauders Era

Good Omens

Game of Thrones

House of the Dragon

Hazbin Hotel / Helluvaboss

The Hobbit & Lord of the Rings

How to Train Your Dragon (Including DOB & RTTE)

Hunger Games

Jurassic World

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Once Upon a Time

Percy Jackson & The Olympians (Riordanverse)

Rings Of Power

Shadow and Bone

Shadowhunters

Six of Crows

Star Wars

Stranger Things

Supernatural

She-Ra

The Vampire Diaries

Teen Wolf

The Umbrella Academy

The Witcher (TV series)

This list will probably be added to at some point TBH

Places I Am Shifting To:

Criminal Minds [Freya Romanov]

Harry Potter Golden Trio Era [Finn Rosier]

Marauders Era [Freya Bane]

Good Omens [Katerina Tamarov / Kat Tyler]

Game of Thrones [Nymeria Mormont]

House of the Dragon [Elaena Targaryen]

Helluvaboss [Freya Morningstar]

The Hobbit [Kaida Bane]

How to Train Your Dragon [Sky Bloodrave]

Jurassic World [Tessa Grady]

Marvel Cinematic Universe [Madisyn Grace]

Once Upon A Time [Aja Hope]

Rings Of Power [Chaereah]

Shadow and Bone [Katerina Lantsov]

Shadowhunters [Tessabelle "Tessa" Morgenstern]

Six of Crows [Tessa Bane]

Star Wars [Freya Morgan]

Supernatural [Finn Hale]

The Vampire Diaries [Tessabelle Hallow / Tessa Hale]

The Vampire Diaries x PJO [Madisyn "Mads" Foster]

The Umbrella Academy [Number 8 / Freya Hargreeves]

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Patronus: fox

Marauders Kinnie: 75% Sirius Black, 25% Regulus Black

PJO Cabin: 12 (Dionysus)

TVD Species: Vampire

If you have any questions about me, my shifting journey, or shifting in general, please reach out and I will do my best to answer them! Happy Shifting! <3

#reality shifting #shifting #desired reality #manifestation #shiftblr #shifting community #anti-shifters dni #permashifting #vane talks

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w1nterschild · 1 year ago

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Looking for Fandom RP :D

HI!!! IM BUCKY !!! WAVES !!! BUT BUT Winter/Soldat/Buck are all okay too! Some general stuff about me is that I use they/them and he/him pronouns, I'm 16 and I'm in the EST zone! I'm primarily a horror-romance writer but I'm pretty experienced in most genres! The two genres I probably will turn down is furry and fantasy, I just don't know enough about either of the two to roleplay it confidently. I'm a novella writer, averaging about 5 paragraphs per reply but the lowest I will go is 1-2 paragraphs. No one liners (: I'm totally okay with writing with semi-lit to literate writers! <3 Here are some of the things you should know about me!

I'll write with anybody in the 14-20 range! If you're 18+, we will need to talk about limits and boundaries.

I have NO triggers! I'm open to most subjects but refuse to roleplay anything morally incorrect S/A and other non-consensual material but if it's in a character's backstory and is briefly mentioned then that's okay.

I will do mostly M x M and M x F relations but I will occasionally accept a F x F if I really like the bond!

I tend to reply quickly, if I don't reply in a few hours, feel free to ping me! If I don't reply to a ping, take it as in I'm busy!

Here are the fandoms Im looking to do! Mostly looking for canon x canon but oc x canon can be acceptable if you're really wanting to do it!

The Boys

911

Supernatural

Resident Evil

Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Saw

Scream

Chucky

Dead By Daylight

Stranger Things

Marvel

The Walking Dead

Umbrella Academy

Hunger Games

MY DISCORD: ofkissesandstars

MY INSTAGRAM: lovedmercenary

#rp finder #roleplay finder #1x1 roleplay #discord 1x1 #1x1 rp #horror rp #romance rp

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elfboyeros · 1 year ago

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A Scholar’s Rotunda

Wanna Read More or start from the beginning: Hallows Academy Masterlist @karaboutmyart @jj-pines @lerenee

“So, if you wish to help me, what is the plan?”

Amora thought for a moment as she sat over her homework, ironically homework for Trigonometry, “I don’t know…” she sighed.

Cobalt huffed, from his phantom place in her room, “Look I’m sorry!” Amora exclaimed.

“Chickadee, you are a smart girl, I believe you will be able to figure out this mess we are in.”

“I’ve searched as much as I can search on the internet about ghosts and ascension. Cobalt, I know as much as you do, we need to figure out your unfinished business! Since no one alive or dead knows how you died we have to find out how you died, yet you don’t remember what happened and I wasn’t even 3 yet and, oh yeah, I was in America!” She vented.

“Sorry that I died at a very inconvenient time for you,” Cobalt remarked with a high level of sass, “Your math is also incorrect!”

Amora groaned, loudly, before the door to her room opened and Loki entered.

“What are we groaning at?” she asked, approaching Amora’s desk, and looking over her shoulder, “Ewe math.”

“Just having a bit of trouble,” Amora muttered with a sigh.

“I can’t help you out, lovely, I’m sorry,” Loki replied, settling herself into the plush palace that is her bed, “I asked Odis and Lance about books on Supernatural stuff, and they don’t have anything that isn’t fiction.”

“That’s fine,” the blond girl huffed.

“You’re really into the supernatural, huh?”

Amora thought for a moment. She may enjoy the supernatural and studying a subject, she isn’t obsessed with, yet her current predicament makes her seem fixated, “It’s just currently a fascination recently.”

Loki hummed, settling into her bed, “Ya’ know if you are this obsessed, you should check the rotunda,” the British girl remarked.

“The rotunda?” Amora asked.

“It’s the school’s library” Loki answered, adjusting her headphones, “It’s in the rotunda, off the study hall.”

Amora nodded, tomorrow’s Friday she’ll have time to spend all the time she wanted in the library… if she could find it first.

The following morning, Amora ventured into the maze of the academy. Now actually enjoy Cobalt's ethereal company as he guided her through the old halls to the library. After

The following morning, Amora ventured into the maze of the academy. Now, he actually enjoyed Cobalt's ethereal company as he guided her through the old halls to the library. After waving to a few new friends who had taken positions in the study hall, Amora made her way to the library,

A quiet spire full of bookshelves upon bookshelves in between columns and spiraling staircases with some nooks where one could sit, study, and read. It's a book lover’s wet dream, really. In the middle of the rotunda is a large Mahogany checkout station, with stacks of books covering the surface. A melancholic-looking woman with voluminous auburn hair with milky white streaks in her hair that curled around her round peachy cheeks.

“Welcome to the rotunda,” the woman remarked, quietly.

God, why does everyone here sound so depressed and monotone?

“Good morning,” Amora chirped.

“A little too chirper there, chickadee,” Cobalt chuckled.

“Do you have anything on Ghost and the Dead?” Amora asked approaching the checkout station.

“There are multiple pieces of fiction on ghosts in our sci-fi and supernatural sections on the 2nd floor,” the woman replied.

It smells heavily of Lilac the closer Amora gets to the checkout station making her cringe and the overpowering smell, “I was actually looking for something like a research journal,” Amora retorted.

“Those would be the third floor,” the librarian replied, “if we had any.”

Amora nodded taking one of the many spiral staircases up to the third floor of the library, while Cobalt followed his eyes still focused on the librarian in pink that sat at the checkout station. Her name was on the tip of his tongue, while Amora searched and heard through the few nonfiction pieces on ghosts, Cobalt continued to watch the older woman from his ethereal place, wondering why he felt so off being in the rotunda and why he wanted to get as far away from this woman as possible.

“Greyson?” Cobalt muttered to himself as the dean dressed in the color navy made his way to the checkout station.

“What about Mr. Densmore?” Amora asked quietly, her head still in a book rereading much of what she’d already seen on the internet.

“He looks horrible,” the ghost replied.

Amora let out a questioning hum before getting up from her little table to look over the banister. She started at Greyson; he looked fine like he did the day they went but given the grimace on Cobalt’s face at one point in time the dean of Hallows Academy at one point looked different.

“Olympia, do you have the reports I asked for?” Greyson asked the librarian in a stern and tired tone.

“Olympia!” Cobalt gasped, “My god, no wonder she looks familiar!”

“They’re on your desk, dear,” Olympia answered Greyson.

Greyson sighed, shaking his head, “I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t see it.”

“Are you all right, dear?” Olympia asked, softly.

“Why is she calling him dear?” Cobalt asked out loud.

“Maybe it’s just a term of endearment,” Amora replied in a whisper.

“I’m just tired,” Greyson replied to the librarian, “Working too hard and sleeping very little.”

“Then, why don’t you come home tonight? I can order some food, you can relax, we could—”

“I’ll sleep when the work is done.” Greyson interrupted very firmly, “I’m staying in my office for now.”

Olympia looked at the aging man extremely dejected, “I’m horrible old man, I know, and I’m sorry,” Greyson cooed, before placing his hand under her chin and tilting her gaze upwards to meet his, “I’ll make it up to you I promise.”

Cobalt raised an eyebrow, “but he’s married to Klaus…”

Amora looked at Cobalt confused, it was obvious that he knew something she didn’t out the two adults below them, “Klaus?”

“He is or was a teacher here when I was… I would have thought those two would have been together for the rest of their lives,” Cobalt answered, “Let alone end up with her, from what little I remember.”

“And what do you remember?”

“She started here young, had just given birth to a child, and needed a job. In the time I knew her, she was shy, but mysterious as if she was scheming,” Cobalt explained, “But I didn’t know her that well.”

Before Amora could reply, the doors to the library opened again, and Iphigenie walked through, “Genie!” Olympia chirped.

“Hi, momma,” the ginger girl sighed.

“Iphigenie,” Greyson remarked with a smile and nod at the young woman, she only waved.

When standing near one another it is obvious that Olympia and Iphigenie are mother and daughter, “Here,” Iphigenie said pulling books out of her messenger bag.

“Are you going to get others?” Olympia asked.

“Yeah,” her daughter replied before ascending one of the many staircases.

Amora went back to the books she was looking over, coming to the same conclusion that she had when looking across the internet, “So, we have to stay on the whole unfinished business crap,” Amora sighed in a whisper.

Cobalt nodded, “You have a plan now?”

Amora nodded, “You can’t remember how you died, and you can’t leave the school grounds, according to these books and articles on the internet that could possibly mean you are tied to the college somehow which means it’s tied to your death, I think if we find out how you died like if you were shot, stabbed, or whatever we could get at least a step closer to getting you to ascend,” Amora explained, “But I’m going to need you to start doing something.”

“What?”

“Tell me when anything seems off, even if it’s the smallest thing.”

“Ah, you are turning into the little investigator,” Cobalt chuckled.

“Thank you,” Amora replied with a little goofy smile.

Cobalt’s smile faded, “If you are starting a suspect list, put Olympia at the top of it,” he muttered, “There is something about her and being in here that makes me ill.”

“Noted,” Amora sighed.

“Do you always talk to yourself?” Iphigenie asked from behind one of the bookshelves.

The American girl let out an embarrassed squeak, “Not normally,” she mumbled, as she could hear Cobalt laughing in his ethereal place around her.

“Just now?” the ginger girl asked, poking her head out from behind the bookshelves.

“Seems like it,” Amora groaned, “Sorry, it’s weird.”

Iphigenie shrugged, sitting across from the blonde girl, “It is weird, but if it’s what you do it’s fine if it helps you retain the information you’re reading.”

Right, because she is in front of a ton of books, her conversations with Cobalt how ever quiet, could just be her reading to herself out loud, “What are you reading?” Amora asked.

“It’s an art catalog,” Iphigenie replied, “I need some inspiration for my next piece for my painting class.”

“Oh, do you have any pictures of your art?”

“Uh…” The young woman was shocked at Amora’s question, before pulling out her phone, “Here.”

The pictures of her art in the false-realistic style with rococo coloring, “Wow, this is all really good!” Amora exclaimed.

Iphigenie let out a little laugh before smiling, “Thanks.”

“These look so amazing, they look like book covers,” the blonde girl remarked.

“I want to do book illustration, so I need to finish my portfolio so I can submit it places,” the ginger retorted before sighing, “It’s hard-working at the café though.”

“No one really seems to have a job here, but you. Back at home, everyone seems to have one,” Amora observed.

The young woman sighed again, “I want to move back to Switzerland, and knowing my mother, she isn’t going to let me go back willingly even if I am an adult. So, I have to get the money together myself.”

“What a lovely mother,” Cobalt huffed.

The girls soon went back and further chattering away for what felt like hours, before descending one of those many spiral staircases together their books in hand.

“I’ll send you the notes for Trigonometry when I get back to my dorm,” Iphigenie mentioned as she and Amora reached the checkout desk, “There is tutoring on Thursday nights too.”

“I’m usually really good a math,” Amora sighed, “just recent I’m not too sure of myself… I don’t know why,” she said Cobalt was snickered in the background, “I just want to make sure I didn’t miss any notes.”

Iphigenie nodded before taking her book she checked out and leaving with a softy, “See you later.”

“You two are good friends?” Olympia inquired, as Amora sat her books on the counter.

Amora shrugged, “We are acquaintances, Today is the most that we have talked, we only have two classes together.”

Olympia hummed, “Do you intend to keep it that way?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Excuse me,” Amora questioned.

“I only mean that you don’t seem like a good fit for my genie,” Olympia remarked, “that’s all.”

“A good fit… Iphigenie should be allowed to have her friends,” Amora awkwardly laughed.

“Careful, Amora,” Cobalt remarked softly, he could see the scowl forming on Olympia’s face just as much as she could, but he was also aware from being a parent, Amora just said some fighting words.

“You know better than I, mhm?” Olympia scoffed, passing back Amora’s books.

“No, but I know what it is like to be isolated,” the blonde girl replied, “Even if Iphigenie and I don’t become friends, it should be her own choice to pick her friends despite what you think.”

Olympia clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth before staring narrowly-eyed at the young girl, “You know not of raising a child.”

“I know,” Amora squeaked out.

Whilst Amora and Olympia were conversing, Cobalt had toddled his way over to a large stack of books, using his ghostly abilities to knock the books over. Allowing Amora to scamper her way out of the library.

“Thank you,” Amora sighed.

“What the hell were you thinking!”

His voice is loud in her ears, as she walks back to the dorms, “Does Olympia seem like a horrible mother yes, but you just met this woman, the woman that is our only suspect.”

Amora huffed before rolling her eyes before he continued, “I commend you for standing up for Iphigenie, but you and I are linked, if you get in trouble that could be bad for our investigation which means I can’t leave this plain to leave you alone!”

“I can’t just stand around while bad stuff just happens,” she puffed out, “It’s just like Bellamy…”

“And who is Bellamy?” Cobalt asked, his tone is much claimer.

“My friend in America, protecting her is what got me sent here in the first place.”

Cobalt hummed seeing the dejected look on Amora’s face as she recalled the memories of Bellamy, “I should text her later,” she muttered.

“You should.” Cobalt agreed.

Amora nodded, “After I figure some stuff out,” she sighed, before hurrying back to the dorms.

Hiding her head in books, examining web articles, searching odd questions in her search bar. If someone was mentoring her search history surely sharing things like ‘What are the most common causes of death’ would be cause for concern.

“Who was the guy you mentioned when we were in the library?” Amora asked Cobalt.

“Klaus, why?”

“Loki mentioned that someone went missing when I first got here,” Amora answered.

Cobalt hummed, “I don’t remember him ever going missing.”

“Klaus Densmore, right?”

Cobalt nodded, as Amora typed the name into the search bar and many articles popped up all with headlines that mentioned Klaus and a disappearance from 15 years ago. The American teen clicked on an article from Solostica News Channel One the same place she had read the article about Cobalt's death.

Beloved Music Teacher Gone Missing Ahead Equinox Festival

Solostica News Channel One Editor: Suzette Levi Writer: Lucian Nicolette Esperine

On March 15th Klaus Densmore, a music history teacher at Hallows Academy, was reported missing by his husband. Last seen on the school grounds his disappearance has shocked our tiny community.

Although he had a vivacious personality and was described as quite direct by many, Klaus was respected and loved by many, including his husband and dean of Hallows Academy Greyson Densmore.

Klaus Densmore is 5’11, of a pale complexion with jet black semi-leaf cut hair and gray eyes. He was seen in a navy cardigan, black slacks, and black shoes.

If you see Klaus Densmore or have any information on his whereabouts, please contact Solostica Detective Matias Prescott at 020 9734 2648 or ask for him at the Solostica Supervise Office.

Addendum: This case is currently cold according to Solostica Detective Matias Prescott.

“Ah! Ah-ha!” Amora yelped, “Clue!”

“Clue?” Cobalt asked, with his interest peaked he floated over her.

“Klaus went missing right before you died! Maybe you and Klaus are connected!” Amora exclaimed, “Maybe if I try and find stuff about Klaus, we’ll find stuff about you and how you died.”

“It is a definite start.”

“Amora, who are you talking to?”

Amora froze, the smooth silky voice of Loki from behind her, slowly turning around the blonde girl held an awkward smile, as her British roommate looked at her with a concerned gaze, “Lovely, you okay?”

“Yeah, Yeah,” she replied waving her hands in front of her, “Just talking to myself.”

“That’s not a good excuse.”

“Lance talks to himself, he has since we were kids. You were having a full-on conversation before I walked in.”

Amora awkwardly laughed once again, “If you are in the middle of a phone call I’ll leave.”

“At this point, if we are going to be investigating, just tell her,” Cobalt sighed.

“I’m not on the phone…” Amora huffed, “I... I am being haunted by a ghost…”

Loki then began to laugh, making Amora’s whole face bright red, “Loki! I’m serious! Ever since that stupid séance, this guy named Cobalt has been haunting me!” Amora exclaimed.

“And you are talking to him because?” Loki chuckled.

Amora sighed, “I’m trying to help him get to the afterlife.”

Loki continued to laugh loudly, holding her stomach as she did so, which made Amora’s face turn even more red, “LOKI, STOP!”

Cobalt sighed as Loki continued to laugh, the ghostly man moved himself over to Loki’s side of the room, before straining to use his ghostly abilities to knock many of Loki’s items and trinkets off her bedside table to the ground.

“What the hell,” Loki panted after laughing so hard before Cobalt used all of his ghostly strength to throw one of Loki’s mossy green pillows square in her face, “Holy shit you are being haunted by a ghost.”

“WHY WOULD I LIE ABOUT THIS!” Amora shouted.

While Amora explained what had happened since the séance, the sky darkened into night, the librarian bookkeeper, Olympia, made her way to Greyson’s office. Finding the older man in his sitting area outside of his office, many papers atop the dark color coffee table in front of him as he laid back on his dark blue couch.

“Dear?” Olympia asked, seeing the dean resting across the couch with an arm covering his face.

“Yes Olympia?” he questioned.

“What do you know about the new American girl?”

“Amora?”

“Yes,” Olympia answered her hands clasped in front of her now standing at Greyson's side as he did not attempt to change his posture to give her his full attention.

“She’s a young scholar, here because she has an awful mother,” Greyson explained, “She has great potential.”

“Anything else?” Olympia asked.

“Not that I can recall, or that is relevant at the moment… she likes to read I guess,” Greyson answered with a tired sigh.

“Is she violent?”

“No?”

“Abrasive?”

“Why the questions, Olympia?” Greyson complained.

“She seems friendly with Iphigenie and—”

“Iphigenie is an adult she is allowed to befriend whoever she likes.” Greyson exhaled rolling over on his side.

He hugged the large navy coat under him as if it were an old teddy bear, “but Iphigenie is my little girl,” Olympia whined, “I have to protect her.”

“Protect her, or not have her leave you?” Greyson grumbled.

Olympia sighed, “I’m sorry for bothering you, I’ll leave you be.”

“Travel safety, Olympia.”

“I love you, Greyson,” she replied, as she reached the door.

He only hummed before she exited his office. Left to go home, yet she doesn’t go to the shared townhouse, no she travels to the beachside where a small pale shack sits abandoned and deshelled, where a man sits changed up below ground.

#Hallows Academy #Hallows #writing #amora #loki #Iphigenie #Olympia #greyson #klaus #cobalt #ocs #original characters #ficiton #supernatural #romance #mystery #ghost #writng #writers on tumblr

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poor-st-clarisse · 7 months ago

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Linguistic Fevers

Madonna mia, questa febbre… I’m alone this morning and so the language I’ve encountered comes only from books and from media and from lyrics, sources where the words have arguably “died” in the completion of their ultimate purpose to convey meaning. It’s only alive, I think, when it’s still warm in the wombs of our mouths and the pinpricks of electricity in our brains. I’m no linguist but I feel this psychic, profound force swelling each time I stop to think about what human language really represents.

Maybe it’s the experience of being multilingual and belonging to multiple cultures that makes this inarticulate feeling so poignant. I’m a semi-outsider when I cradle Italian on my tongue and so its charms are not lost on me—the profane gesticulations, the innate superstition, the grandiose embellishments of reality. Then there’s the weighty lilt of my Appalachian grammy; a language that flits so efficiently between the veiled judgement of bless-your-heart niceties and orders so direct that I found them rude as a soft-hearted child. I’m no linguist, no anthropologist, no nothing and so these conclusions I’m drawing feel sinful, like eventually science will strike me down for spouting such subjectivity on a matter so thoroughly studied.

This stuttering hesitation I feel to express my honest love for language is the very American heart in me, the perfectionist who paralyzes herself to avoid the sting of incorrectness. Italians are loud even when they’re wrong and you have to admit there’s a certain respectability in that disposition, so alien to the feigned kindness of us Americans. I dislike the coyness of our language and it’s something I’m trying to grow away from.

But can culture and language be parted? Probably not. That’s the gift of being a polyglot: you will mash together concepts and structures and words that the nationalistic entities will tell you must not be mashed, for their language is sacred and requires preservation. This to me is not only an absurd pursuit but a desecration of life, for language is living and living is fluid and fluid laughs in the face of the academy.

My feverish adoration of language is highly emotional, hardly intellectual, and educated solely by a feeling that comes from so deep in my gut that, ironically, it is nearly impossible to articulate. Despite my love, language—it must be said—is limiting and that’s what makes describing it so interesting and challenging. It requires the aforementioned mashing so forbidden by academia. It demands that proud “wrongness” you hear spilling from the mouths of countless Italians mid-argument, their unabashed public display, as you stroll, relishing your vacation, minding your American business.

I’m writing lots about wrongness lately so for convenience I’d like to bring to light my most recent experience in Italy: August in Sardegna, where nearly everything about me felt wrong in the fantasylands of the good old traditional Italy. It was my first time there alone and Italian consumed me but spit out the bitter American buccia, the peel that I have grown as a result of being raised primarily in the New Country. Italians hold both reverence and revulsion for American culture. My being both evoked reactions that made me an object of cruel suspicion and a saint possessed with supernatural power. It was so, so funny to be treated like an idiot two thirds of the time and then a linguistic miracle the last third. Sensitivity being my strong suit, silly reactions to all the newness ensued.

Ad Alghero I danced with headphones in and just underwear on before the mirror. With the windows of my room thrown open and the curtains stirring with sea air, I threw my ballet-disciplined body spasmodically in a display that was semi-sexy and semi-intended to humor myself. It was a celebration of having successfully dined alone for the first time in a traditional Sardinian restaurant. It was a celebration of remaining bold and unaffected by the rude comments of elderly women who thought I couldn’t understand them. A celebration of my refusal to respond in English to the young servers who code-switched at the first sign of any faltering in my communication.

The experience was empowering and I can’t say enough how much I loooooove people who speak languages poorly and engage with foreign cultures despite not fully understanding how to do so “correctly.” I felt so strange but I also felt brave and lovely as I downed glass after glass of the Cannonau I hardly even liked. Over the course of my three hour dinner—che fucking palle the slowness of Italian service—I filled pages of my journal, like a real writer, and my mad scrawl attracted the curiosity of three Spanish girls seated at the adjacent table. Again, my linguistic ignorance was assumed as they complimented my handwriting and my perceived intelligence as if I wasn’t seated mere feet away.

This only heightened the experience of feeling alien but I found such contentment as I pictured myself from the eyes of an outsider. Dressed in the subtly elegant style I’ve adapted through a lifetime of trial-and-error: unseasonable in the heat but classic Frye boots, wide-leg khaki Commes de Garçons trousers cinching my waist but so billowy that you might mistake them for a skirt, a flattering black corset-style blouse, and my signature grotesquely shaped pearl on a black ribbon tied taut to my neck. I was cosmopolitan in a way most Americans aren’t, a polyglot ordering in a reticent Italian and writing English in my archaic penmanship, barely looking up to take bites of my spicy polpo salad because my work is allconsuming and my intellect never fails to keep the pen twitching. (plz don’t miss my sarcasm!)

However I’m fair and tall and tight as only an American could be and that’s why they never fail to sniff me out. Maybe my incessant writing tips them off too because as far as they know I could be working and what a sinful thing it is to bring work to an Italian dinner table.

Perhaps it’s my dining alone that makes it obvious. The only other solo-diner I remember seeing on this trip was also a blatant American. We are individualists in a way that the countries who mothered our ancestry would scoff at, regardless of how recently or not our families assimilated. Lone greedy wolves we are, envious of the meaningful lives we witness as passersby in foreign countries. What most of us fail to hide is a soft-belly, a soul dismembered to rationalize the horrors of our American culture and the disconnect we feel from our communities, insides like broken glass jangling around, our lives made meaningful solely in the exchange of currency for commodity. To an Italian, the lone diner—whose meal was no doubt selected first and foremost for its convenience—is likely the saddest facet of our culture.

I’ve always had a curiosity for language but it was there on that first night on the island that I really felt its force, felt the tension between its historic senescence and the dialects and youth culture that are actively destroying the old way, for the better. To be alone in Italy, drunk on the constant sense of embarrassment at my less than fluent usage of that sensual, orotund tongue, it allowed me to understand my mother in a way I never had before so here’s some abstract thoughts about that…

La Gran Storia… the lips wish and worry into existence something that wasn’t and weren’t and wouldn’t. Italians are not liars per se but storytellers in a way that does not always translate well to English, which is so concerned with the notion of Truth. They like to wash their tales thoroughly in saliva, willing gods to skew reality with their tongue’s tips, working the ache of life’s mundanity into fantasy. Life suddenly takes on an appealing flavor when it bursts forth from their mouths in the telling of some new quotidian favola. Vociferate until death do you, that’s the Italian way. Their language is old but alive because it’s so crucial to their culture, a ceremonial rite. Words ancient like the mountains and the sea water and the land; so beautiful that it melted this American girl to constant tears each time history reared up to remind her of its prevalence. Italian is the closest language to Latin and think about what a fact like that does to the heart of someone like me.

“The weariness of long-forgotten peoples

Hangs heavy on my eyelids,”

—Hugo von Hofmannsthal

I now love my moms hyperbolic speech and her theatrical stories and all the culture and history and truth that she holds just by speaking. As a teen, I would mutter liar as I endured her incessant language but Sardegna really forced me out of that. Language is flawed and mystical and holds so many treats for me to discover. Gonna eat more of it and write more about it soon :)

#writing

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