( 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝑔𝑒𝑔𝑒 ~ @sparkydx )

there was something so comforting about the night.

the world seemed so different. the darkness could bring a sense of clarity, running away from the distractions that the mundane world has to offer.

the moon, so full, shined so high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the mountainous terrain. the air carried a cool breeze, transporting the faint scent of pine and damp earth. luna moved quietly as a mouse, her footsteps were gentle and barely audible as she walked a rocky path. she always found peace in the shadows of the night, when the world seemed to slow down; her mind was in a much more tranquil state.

as she walked further and further, the path began to incline higher, pursuing a deeper path into the mountains. the trees were like a protective cloak, intensifying the presence of shadows; surrounded by an open field of rock and shrubs. for a moment, luna slowed her pace as she needed to allow herself to enjoy the moment. the breeze was thinner up in the mountains, crisp but colder air filling in her lungs.

she glanced at the sky, her eyes gazing upon the constellations that she had memorized as a child - due to her love for stargazing. she pointed with her index finger, specifying the first three stars she witnessed: "the big dipper." "second, cassiopeia." "my favorite is up there! it's ursa major! a bear!" she's smiling from ear to ear, keeping her tone as low as possible, just in case.

He noticed the look on her face, the one that said that maybe his words had hit somewhere for her. Or maybe he was imagining it or attempting to find some common ground between the two of them. He was missing home and maybe she might be too? He wasn't entirely sure. "Did you ever have to sleep in the stalls?" He asked with a light knit of his brows glancing off in the direction of the stalls and then bringing his gaze once more back to her. He remembered leaving home and how he and his friend had slept in stables and haylofts and everything in between just to keep themselves hidden. "There's no worries about any of that here though. I'm sure that they'll have rooms available. At least for one of us."

Zacharias Morgan stood before his Professor, and the Faculty sponsor of the Occult Club with his fingers wrapped tightly around a binder with a laptop resting atop it, enthusiasm shining in his Perpetually nervous looking Slate Grey orbs.

(Hai, Fren. OwO)

;;--

Looking up from the mug of Earl Grey he was sipping at and the long list of assignments needed to be graded, violet eyes quickly peered up from the documents. Followed up with a small tilt of the head, curiosity gleamed in those highly pigmented eyes like a cat gazing back at something of interest.

"I do...provided this means it will stave off this godforsaken paperwork, even if for a moment...yes, Zacharias? What is it?"

The lecture halls' acoustics only served to intensify the man's smoothly accented voice. It was a soft, yet pleasant type of voice; it was one that belied an air of confidence, one that very, very used to speaking.

Which...wasn't far off of the truth in who and what Salem was. A well-kept secret that only those close to the eldritch male hidden within the veil glamour. But to anyone outside of his temple's stony walls?

@finnuf

it's strange, being back here after so long. really it's only been about a year since leila left, but everything feels so different now. when she left last, she thought she was alone in the world, the last defender of her homeland on the run from tyranny and war. she was completely unsure of what to do, where to go, or how to move forward, and she had a vague idea of getting revenge on gleerium and freeing etlia, but no means of even coming up with a feasible plan to follow through on that.

now, she's reunited with finn, ganggyn has declared war on gleerium, and with the new war started, leila may finally have her opportunity to reclaim her homeland.

when finn walks in the door, leila waves at him from her table in the corner, and as he approaches she makes eye contact with cirenne behind the bar. the matron nods once -- she'll make sure their conversation isn't overheard. it's a relief, leila thinks, to be back around someone like cirenne, who leila knows has no other motivations than to keep her inn running and, in her words, to do the most right thing.

allowing a couple of mercenaries the privacy to plan an uprising may not seem like a good thing to do, but leila knows that cirenne hates gleerium as much as she does, and she's eager to see andreas's empire topple.

"we won't be overheard here," leila tells finn when he reaches her, though currently the taproom is abandoned aside from the two of them and cirenne. "there's nothing to worry about. do you want anything?"

"Allow me," he said, slapping the paper on the redhead's forehead. "There, this will cover the red mark that developed as you were sleeping on the clock."

           “Auntie Mayven!” Scarlett squeals, darting into the living room. Instead of a causal greeting however, as she’s dropped off she just plummets her inquisition upon her, “What is a blow job? I overheard Papa yelling at Daddy and he said ‘if you don’t shut up I won’t give you a blow job!’ -- so. What is it??” 

Another day, another Garfield comic graffitied on by a bored necromancer.   Ya think our wayward witch would have something better to do than doodling on America’s favorite lasagna-loving cat, but today was fucking slow.  It was just another way for Jack to fill her time as she sat behind the counter of ‘Scry Me A River’, fulfilling all of your metaphysical, spiritual and cursed object needs!  Patents pending and pun intended.

As much as anyone she wished she could make a living off of just skulking around in the shadows raising the dead, but living in the big apple ain’t cheap.  So, between the hours of twelve to five p.m. her ass was planted firmly behind the counter. Not everyone could find it, and those who could generally had more than the need and a pretty penny to part with.              

Her brows furrowed together in concentration, pen cap poised at the side of her mouth.  Inked fingers worked to smudge the red ink, stopping only when satisfied.  With a quick pop, the pen was recapped, an amber gaze studying her new ‘masterpiece.’  The abomination that she had created out of the orange tabby will not be described here.  Nothing should have that many fucking tongues. 

Well, that was a waste of time.  The comic was crumbled and flicked into a nearby garbage can.  It missed. Fuck  The willowy woman stood, and stooped to grab the refuse, giving pause at the jingle jingle of the bells on the front door tinkling as it opened.   Eyes narrow, the taste of something old flooded the shop. Well, she no longer wanted the grilled cheese sandwich she brought for lunch. She straightened, smirk gracing her lips, “Well, you aren’t my normal sort are ya?”, she tossed the piece of trash in with its friends, “What can I do for ya sweetie?" Service with a fucking smile.