“why is it that whenever we let percy pick the day out, we wind up going to either a library, a haunted house, or a haunted library?” a girl, with blonde hair and green eyes and too much orange eyeshadow on if you listened to other people, asks her companions. this time, his pick had been a haunted house.
percy, floating several inches off the dusty path thanks to the fact he's dead and usually a source of hauntings himself, sniffs. “i happen to like haunted buildings and libraries, nat. history, entertainment and education, what more could you ask for?”
“some variety,” nat, or natasa, retorts.
“is the haunted house we live in not enough for you?” carina, who had previously been looking around the outside of the house on lemon tree lane, joins in. “do you really need to visit other haunted houses to, what, compare notes?”
“can’t you ever decide on something else, like a gallery or a mall? something less typical?”
percy glares at the final speaker. “when it’s your turn to pick the day out, aisling, we can go to a gallery or a mall or a bloody opera if it takes your fancy, but it is my turn and i want to explore a haunted house.”
a loud, piercing whistle cuts through the air. the four of them turn to look at the final member of their group, branwen, who stands on the steps leading up to the house, her hands on her hips and a severely unimpressed look on her face.
“are you going to stand around arguing about what we’re doing until the day ends or are we actually going to go inside?”
the thing about o’sullivans, both by blood and by adoption, is that they are notoriously difficult to frighten, scare, terrify or otherwise through conventional means. a haunted house, to them, is much the same as visiting an amusement park, regardless of the stories told, the reputation of the house, and whether or not it’s actually haunted by anything remotely spooky.
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so i'm taking part in @writeblrsummerfest again! and for the first time in... a while... i'll be using a different wip to tsenpha! i'll still probably use tsenpha, and some other random ocs, but for the most part i'll be using the daily life of a witch PI (which is a. no longer applicable title but i do not want to change it because i am lazy like that. anyway)
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Wandering the sea front by the De La Warr Pavilion. Nice breeze and a clear view for the first time in days #Bexhill #Autumn #Grey #DeLaWarr #DLWP #BexhillSeafront (at The De La Warr Pavilion) https://www.instagram.com/p/B4NahDBB4mk/?igshid=1599l6mfza6o9
Hi! I'm visiting to celebrate Writeblr Summerfest. I have one question that I'm really hoping isn't a spoiler. What's the relationship dynamic between Natasa and Carina? Do the werewolf and werejaguar live in the same house?
hi, thanks for visiting!
the answer to that is that most of the time they do!
they're adopted sisters who've spent at least 8 years together, considering they're 16, and they did live in the same house.
however, due to the fact they were getting older and their werewolf/werejaguar natures respectively started to clash for reasons that are somewhat spoilery, they were split up in order to attend school in different places. they do still live together during certain holidays/breaks, however.
their dynamic is that they clash and argue a lot, but are still always there for each other when it counts.
Summerfest question! Which character in your wip do you wish had a bigger part?
thank for the ask!
the answer is tiras, because he's so much fun as a concept. like an incubus who just wants to chill in the form of a cat because he has no interest in sex? it's fun!
also he plots world domination as a hobby and likes to dress up and is just generally very snarky. he has salem from sabrina the teenage witch vibes and i love that.
(as an aside i think all of the familiar type characters should get a bigger part because they are a lot of fun. specifically spike because i like the duo of moira and spike.)
the thing about o’sullivans is that they are almost incapable of leaving something alone once they start it. in this case, that would be exploring a house known for mysterious disappearances and strange things in the windows.
which is really more akin to a typical tuesday for them than an exciting or stupid decision typically made by teenagers with nothing else to do… or by people with something to find.
branwen spins around to face the door once her relatives – siblings, aunts, uncles, whatever – start walking up to the house. going to haunted places might not have been her idea of a fun pastime, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be… tolerant of being dragged into percy’s interests – sometimes she even found them interesting herself… but only sometimes.
something’s hanging in the branches of an old oak tree, glinting and glittering in evening’s sun, only it isn’t just one thing glinting and glittering.
she steps away from the door and closer to the tree, squinting up into the branches at the various shapes that hang from them. if she was taller, she might have been able to reach those shiny objects, but alas she is not.
as it stands, she thinks that a necklace or two hanging from the tree could be explained away as being the result of a magpie. as it stands, she thinks that the magpie theory is a little far fetched when you consider how many necklaces there are. as it stands, she thinks the fact it’s more than just necklaces rules out the magpie theory.
keys, bracelets and the gods only know what else hang from the tree like weird holiday decorations; if she stretches, she can see what looks like a bag hanging near the top.
things that you wouldn’t think to hang up on a tree, things that you couldn’t place without a ladder, things that you wouldn’t leave behind… unless you had no choice, at least.
she turns again, back to the house, but casts one glance back at the tree decorated with shining personal effects.
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here's what she knows: her converse are bloodstained, her t-shirts are secondhand except for when they ain't, and immortality does not, despite what some people may think, mean she has a lot of money stashed somewhere. it means that she does have something stashed away somewhere; artefacts and smoking pipes and teapots. only one of those things poses a danger to her these days and even then, it'd have had to have been one really bad day.
here's what she knows: her hair is brighter than it was at fourteen, her eyes are darker than they were at nineteen, and there will always be power simmering just below her skin. she's old old old and she hasn't fit right in this dimension since she first let the eldritch in, she realises now, but this is her place and she won't leave it, can't leave it, for the realm where the rest of her kind dwell. 'cept they aren't the rest of her kind are they? she's born from a human witch with the slightest hint of devil's blood flowing through her veins and she predates all things, even them.
here's what she knows: ever since those countless ages spent as formless thoughts in a place where light doesn't exist yet and sound will not exist, she's known herself. eldritch and other, disrupting the universe and slotting into place in equal measure.
how many times can you change your name before you catch up to the present (or is it the future? her past?) is a question she asks herself repeatedly, constantly, as eras end and people die and things fall.
how many epithets can you be given even as the world chooses to forget your existence? how many will summon you seeking, seeking, seeking, yet never thinking? how many must you end to halt mindless worship?
('she who betrays' is the funniest by far. did they really think she was on their side? did they not think before they demanded? did she not grant them the immortality they sought? yes, yes, they're not alive in the sense she is, but they never specified and so they shall be trapped in the cage she made of herself. she gave them what they wanted.)
smoke curls lazily through the air, forming shapes she can't hope to distinguish. that doesn't stop her from trying. the vanity has an ashtray for a reason; she's got a whole pack to through and it's not even halfway finished.
aoife doesn't smoke. it's maybe one of the few vices she didn't inherit from her mother.
aoife doesn't smoke.
but olga müller (dyed blonde hair, light blue eyes, a ballerina getting her big break, wears coral pink lipstick and dusty floral perfume, hates mexican, doesn't actually exist beyond legal documents and social media accounts) does.
olga müller sighs, smoke pouring from her mouth like a dragon huffing in disdain, and grinds the lit end of her cigarette into the ashtray.
olga dresses like she's attending some party in the roaring twenties, keeps her hair neatly pinned back in a bun at all times and has a fondness for diamonds. something the guy she's after looks to exploit.
doesn't even realise he's being played for a fool.
after this is over, she's never gonna be able to look at diamonds the same way again, girl's best friend her ass.
