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conversationsofyou · 2 years

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🎞🎞🎞🎞🎞🎞

any day snippet🎞🎞🎞🎞🎞🎞

Fastlove

"Art is life seeking itself. It is our intractable expressions of love for the beauties, ideas and epiphanies we regularly find."

~Vincent Van Gogh

Harry sits down in the middle of his art studio. He smiles at all of the supplies he's bought. This is his favorite part. The organizing and sorting through everything. It's getting ideas onto the canvas afterward that become lost in translation.

His index finger rests against his lips in contemplation. "What do I want to say…"

He stands up and walks to the kitchen to get some water. It's not a procrastination tactic. Hydration equals a clear mind. He opens the freezer for no reason other than to open it. His eyes land on a resealable plastic bag with tin foil wrapped blocks of who knows what, shoved into the corner. He takes the bag out and opens it.

"Oh shit." He shakes his head and laughs. "Is this a sign, Matty?"

Inside are pot brownies from the last batch Matt made for him. Ages ago, Harry saved them for a rainy or in his case, uninspired day. He'd completely forgotten about them until now…

Those closest to Harry expressed their sympathies. They said his break would come soon. More of the same rubbish. Harry advanced to a new level of pessimism after that. As friendship goes, that's what you expected to hear. It didn't ease the knots in his stomach nor his bruised ego. Life of a starving artist and everyone else was full of shit. Maybe he wasn't hungry enough. Maybe his father was right all along. He'd be pleased to know Harry hadn't signed the final contract for his first exhibition. It was to be held at the gallery that could've given him the exposure he fantasized about since attending Pratt.

Unfortunately, the deal fell through due to some "scheduling conflicts." Which translated in the art universe, that a much more seasoned and well known artist bumped Harry's chances. He was in self-pity mode and felt utterly defeated. He told everyone. Probably his first mistake before he signed the dotted line.

Matt came by to cheer him up with Chunky Munky and pot brownies. Harry had consumed an entire edible before he took his coat off.

"Don't eat more than one, please. I don't want you calling me at four a.m., dreaming up some paranoia about your canvases coming alive to eat you."

Harry laughed while nibbling brownie remnants off his finger. "That was one time."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Know your limit, Lil Spud."

"I'll try my best, Spud."

Matt's smirk faded. "You're a lot like me, you know?"

"Am I?" Matt always saw through Harry's attempt at false innocence.

"Mm, you remind me of the young little shit I used to be."

"Me?" Harry's mock surprise forced a laugh through Matt's nose.

As always, Matt surprised him, "We got away from the ties that bind, butterfly." He waved a hand toward the window. "Found our hearts in this ridiculous city that never sleeps."

Harry's smile dimmed. "Yeah, well, some ghosts never leave."

Matt sighed. "True. I know that better than anyone." He lit a cigarette. "We share similar stories, hm. I claim heavy shoulders when I see them. So, sit up straight. You're making moves, caterpillar. You. All on your own. Yeah, this round went all to pot." He shrugged. "But you landed on your feet. You always do. They're not here to cushion the fall. This is just a blip. If it didn't happen, it wasn't meant to be. You've survived worse." Matt nodded once and stood up to put on his black and white floor length YSL chevron coat.

Harry cleared his throat. "Where are you off to?"

Matt waved his hand around. "I have a thing."

Harry shook his head and smiled. "You always have a thing."

"Well yes tadpole, that's the life, innit?"

"I suppose."

Matt stopped in the doorway. "I've got your back. You know that, don't you?"

Harry's smile returned. "Don't make me blush, Matthew."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Fuck those tossers. You're too good for that toilet they call a gallery."

Harry threw his head back and laughed.

"It's annoying how brilliant you are."

Harry sighed. "I know."

Matt took a drag from his cigarette and spoke around the white smoke. "You were born to be an artist. The universe has plans for you yet, my little muse."

"I'm waiting." Harry slumped back into the couch.

Matt laughed softly. "The world keeps spinning, H. You choose if you want to jump in for the ride or stand still in the waiting line." He blew a kiss and said a final 'Ciao' as the door closed.

Harry remained seated for a moment while he drummed his fingers against the arm of the couch. Only a few minutes passed and he stilled his movements.

"Well. Fuck."

He jumped up and ripped his running shorts off to throw on his jeans covered in paint with holes at the knees, as he skidded across the wooden floor to his studio. From Harry's past experience, inspiration breeds on a whim. It could be a lyric he heard that day or the color of someone's eyes. Whenever the lightbulb appeared, he had to snag it before it faded. Also, he was pretty sure the brownie had kicked in.

Six hours and four canvases later, Harry's evolution as an artist had reached a pinnacle.

Harry snaps back to reality and quickly takes out a frozen block of Matt's baked chocolate laced with New York's finest green. He sets it down on the counter to thaw. He's feeling quite nostalgic and in need of some inspiration.

He looks up to the ceiling, a familiar reflex that began shortly after his best friend and mentor passed away. "Cheers, Matty."

Tag you're it: @alarrylarrie @andyouknowitis @becomeawendybird @beelou @capricouis @crinkle-eyed-boo @femstyles @fallinglikethis @hiccoops @kingsofeverything @loumyboobear @louandhazaf @lookslikefairytale @roseandbee @twopoppies @toomanydreamers @vocabularryonthemind @youareimportantevan awa anyone else that has art/writing/photography etc. to share

#any day snippet #fastlove #my fic snip #fl inspo #💡💡💡💡#high art #burnt geniuses #weed tw #death tw #smoking tw #food tw #my fic #fastlove inspo #28 #snippet #conversationsofyou #legends of the wall

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the-starchyld · 2 years

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Hey guys, if anyone just so happens to stumble upon this post and you like what you hear, please like share follow me on Instagram and TikTok @Starchyld.0_0 I would super appreciate it!!!

#me #puerto rican #reading pennsylvania #weed #marijuana #holy-hellish-ben #reading #energy #potent #edgar allen flow #fl studio #beats #imakebeats #artist #writer

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yungaglobal1790 · 2 years

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Arizona mids weed riverview fl?

#arizona mid weed riverview #fl

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budmaster420 · 9 months

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#IFTTT #Giphy #giphyupload #space #moon #weed #cannabis #fl #flowery #the flowery #flowerly

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triggeringtommy · 2 years

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haven’t gone a day w/o smokin weed all year long, idk if it’s a problem but i do have a dependency to substances. i’ve been addicted to something or another trading off addictions from one thing to the next since i was 14? For years now i’ve been coping in the worst ways possible, and now i’m tryna give up nicotine finally and get my medical marijuana card bc i gotta limit myself instead of smoking a lot of weed all day long and not feeling my feelings and journaling and painting. i need to start doing things i like again and get back into a schedule. moving is really gonna help with my ptsd bc i’ll be in a whole new environment and i won’t be surrounded by my past everywhere i go. change is good. i’m grateful for my problems i have now, it’s so different i’ve changed.

#personal #im glad I can finally get away from this county #FL is killing me #daytona gives me a headache #maryland bound in 2 weeks hopefully #all I do is vape and smoke weed im too hard on myself but I still need to make personal changes #i miss snortin coke and xans #i wish i could go to the hospital for some morphine :(#but I’ve promised myself i wouldn’t b that guy anymore i have things i love and have to do better for

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fortunatefool · 2 years

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So at work there's some corporate letter that got sent out that outlines updated rules on emp discounts and it works on the cheap stuff now which means I can buy a quarter Oz for $13....

#my stuff #i work at the weed store #however corp is good for errors and backtracking so i dont think itll stay #but i managed to snag an 8th of my fave for like $11 the other day bc if it #i have no money and my mom is asking for like $800 bc she got got for having no insurance and outdated reg on car and sus lisence ughhh #and i have nothing left on my flower rec so i cant even buy any but take as many dabs as you want ig #i hate fl

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poichanchan · 1 year

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Hiii, someone relatively new to the phandom having just played through p5r, but can I ask how the swap au premise works? I'm curious what your own takes might be on how the situations for both joker and akechi happened to lead for them to be on opposite sides in comparison to the game! I tried to look it up a bit, but there's a lot of different headcanons, but I love your concepts so much I wanted to see if you had any particular thoughts on the setting :3

Hiiiii welcome to p5 brainrot jail haha! (genuinely though, welcome and im happy you enjoyed p5r!) Everyone has their take on swapAU, I specifically wanted to play with the idea of Goro and Akira swapping their ROLES ONLY.

In my AU Goro Akechi is still the son of Shido who is largely out of his life. Goro's life is a mess, his moms in rehab, and he is sent to Tokyo on probation (to his mother's friend Muhen the owner of JazzJin). I've adjusted Goro's life just enough to have him keep his childish love for justice. He finds his found family in the PT. Goro is a Snarky, whole, intelligent, a little mean, energetic, gets flustered, but also is passive and observant when he needs to be. HIS ROUGH LIFE MADE HIM GRUFF AND HONEST BUT HE ISNT JADED. Akira hates how shallow and transactional his life is. He has his awakening, ends up on Shido's radar via the research group he has in place to explore and exploit the metaverse. Akira's parents probably work around the research team somewhere and didn't think too hard about what they were getting their son into... a mix of negligence and wanting to get more opportunities as a family/bootlick. From there he has his forced 2nd awakening and gets ensnared in Shido's conspiracy. There is a lot of resentment in his life because of this, and when he is faced with Goro's existence, the literal SON OF SHIDO WHO HAS THE SAME POWERS yet life turned out so different for him because their roles are swapped its terrible. Akira is also very good at adapting to who he talks to like in canon. He is good at socializing and charming, thus the detective prince facade becomes a thing to help him gain access to deeper levels of mementos blah blah blah

Akira is also rationalizing a lot, he is seeing himself weeding corrupt people out, a hero getting hands dirty and sacrificing self for greater good. The metaverse is his stage. And he is THE showman. Detective prince Akira is more sweeping/showy/charismatic/flirty, his joker vibe comes through more normally. APART from the resentment Akira has for seeing Goro live his life the way he does, the resounding ITS NOT FAIR he feels in his heart, he also reeeeeally want the stupid phantom thieves to 'cherish your normalcy. stop messing with my plan. how fucking naive do you have to be to think THIS is justice?' COLD SEETHING FOCUSED FURY FROM AKIRA Its such a mess lol But i think hit Akira in the places that would make him play out the detective prince and Black mask bits without losing too much of his own flavor. His rationalizing is important, otherwise i felt he would feel the moral conflict harder and withdraw instead of being showy and sweeping. Also for their social links i have thoughts, i think detective Akira's special place would not be... jazzjin. I think he would drop by like canon Akechi drops by Leblanc, but nothing more. I have in mind a place up high at a height, something like the Shibuya Sky observation deck as a place he personally visits often to reflect and stare at the massive view of the city from. It felt right to have him up there looking down alone but comforted by it. Plus eventually share the view with Goro who he sees as this actual fated rival for all the reasons above. Their outfits are the way they are because i did not want to change them too severely in colorpallette or essence but wanted to play up some parts of their personality and represent it in the outfits. AND BECAUSE THIS IS A SHUAKESHU BLOG I NEED TO STRESS THAT because they are less jaded, because Akira is bolder and flirtier and Goro is more stubbornly optimistic about this dark world akira sees, they get closer alot faster, which makes the whole black mask and interrogation room bit very messy/

added pix to make post spicier THIS IS A MASSIVE POST BUT IM GLAD YOU ASKED BECAUSE I DUMPED MY THOUGHTS IN ONE PLACE FINALLY. there are some other things ive thought out a tiny bit, like hobbies etc but i put them down later when ive developed it more etc @ anyone reading, thank u for reading and these are my personal thoughts i am thingying to entertain myself!!!!! dont be mean to me thanks ;v;

#swap au #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #IS THIS A MASTERPOST #masterpost #ref #sorry if i have typos in there its 2am and the question has me brainrotting again

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evanpfics · 10 months

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Boy Next Door (I)

Tate Langdon x Reader (Angst/Story)

Warnings: cussing, arguing, stalkish vibes, mentions of an affair (wc: 2.8k)

The story is somewhat based on AHS murder house, a lot was changed though but I used it for inspiration. If you have any feedback or notice mistakes let me know kindly!

You decided to move out of Orlando, FL and into Los angeles, CA after your father had an affair with your bestfriend.

You resented your father for it, you blamed him for ruining your family’s bond. you also found it disturbing how he went for someone near your age when he was double it.

Both of your parents stayed silent the whole ride only talking to ask you if you needed anything or when they had to make quick stops for gas. You enjoyed the silence since it’s only been yelling and mayhem since your mom caught your dad in the act.

You found yourself drifting to sleep being drawn into the sounds of cars passing by, driving always had a certain sound you enjoyed.

After what seemed like seconds you woke up to the car passing a speed bump, hard. It woke you up abruptly.

“We’re here!” Your dad said excitedly.

You peered out the car window seeing a red-bricked unkept house. The garden practically suffocating the house in weeds and all sorts of plants, looked like it had no one living there for decades.

“It could use some work, but I’m sure If we worked together we can make it look brand new. Woo! Right guys?” Your dad continued sounding very proud.

Silence.

You felt the awkwardness take over and you sighed heavily before leaving the car.

Your dad was always the more excited happy one. Sad he had to make stuff sort of weird.

Your dad looked over at your mom with a awkward confused look planted on his face. Your mom rolled her eyes in response as she left the car as-well.

Leaves and plants crunched under your shoes as you walked up the few steps and reached the front door.

Your fingers guided between the crevasses of the reddish brown bricks. You can see dirt and dust leave a residue on your finger tips and you rubbed it on skirt in disgust.

You soon regretted that as the dirt left a off putting color on your skirt as you tried to wipe that away as-well. You can hear your mom trail behind you as she begins to unlock the front door.

“Oh dear, don’t get your clothes too dirty y/n. We don’t know if the washers here work yet and the closest laundromat is god knows how far.” She groaned.

You nodded your head in response as she stepped inside allowing you to soon follow.

“Go ahead and pick out your room honey, me and your dad are gonna.. figure out what to do with this place.” She said exhaustingly, sounding already tired of this place.

Can’t blame her, seemed like a lot of work just for this place. Pricing for this place was unbelievably low, you never questioned why but you assumed it was because of how unkept this place was.

You found the stairs and slowly made your way up them observing the wooden steps and hanging chandelier.

Floor boards creaked each step you took.

After seeing every room you finally chose yours. Each room was already furnished and you were surprised with the one you chose. It matched what you envisioned your room which you found odd since sellers normally go for more.. modern looks. Especially for a house like this.

You walked around your room admiring each little thing about it. Most of it seemed used as if someone was still living here. You found it odd but just assumed that if there was someone here you would’ve known by now.

After awhile of admiring antiques around your room you start to make your way down stairs to tell your parents about your chosen room.

As you step off the final step you see your parents talking to an unfamiliar woman dressed in a, maid uniform?

“Ah honey! Meet our.. new maid.” She said hesitantly unsure what to really call her.

The woman turned around revealing her elderly face. Even elderly she was quite pretty, you can see almost a story behind her eyes.

She was a red-head, half blind, fragile looking woman.

She stared at you shortly before shooting you a gentle smile.

“Hello dear, and you guys can call me Moira.”

You crept your way towards your family as the woman stuck out her hand. You shook it.

“Its nice to meet you” You said after the handshake. “Since when did we get a maid?” You asked as you stared at your parents giving them a confused look.

“Uhm well, we aren’t too sure about the idea yet. She insisted and-“ your dad said before getting cut off.

“Im willing to work for free” The woman budged in. “I can cook, clean, and do anything you’d like. Im great at it i assure you. Can do as much as cooking you cuisine to getting the most riggest stains out of whatever you’d like” she said shooting your parents a soft smile.

Her smile and attitude made you feel save. Plus her elderly figure kind of added on into your comfort. Oddly.

“Then.. I guess it will be fine, but really. Are you sure your find with working for free? I mean, we hardly know you and that just seems to generous of you.” Your mom replied, sounding very confused from her offer.

“Of course, all I ask for is for a break every Halloween to visit my mother and every other Holiday to just relax.” Moira gently stated.

“Oh my god of course, take as much time as you need. Doing this for us is already a big thing.” Your mom said sounding happy.

The room got quiet as Moira nodded and started prepping and cleaning dishes to cook, randomly.

You made your way back up the stairs and into your room. You plopped yourself on the bed before remembering you forgot to tell your mom you chose your room.

You groaned disappointingly.

“New neighbors, huh?” You heard from in-front of your bed.

You jolted up almost panicked as you stared up at what caused the noise.

You see a blonde haired boy not too far from your age staring down at you. His eyes seemed dark and empty.

“Who the hell are you?” You snapped sounding scared but trying to hide that so you would sound more intimidating.

The boy smiled, his eyes still empty which freaked you out by the lack of visible emotion behind them.

“I’m Tate. Tate Langdon. I’m your neighbor.” The boy said as he sat beside you along your bed.

You moved your legs away from him now having your knees to your chest.

“Scared?”

“No.” You stuttered a bit. Your face made slight visible frustration as you heard your own voice stutter.

Tate hesitated before laying his back on the bed.

“Now he’s just overdoing it. Getting way to comfortable and I hardly even know him.” You thought.

“Do you.. need something?” You asked after awhile of debating if you should just leave or figure out what the hell this dude is doing.

He looked over at you taking awhile to reply as he just stared. It made you uncomfortable.

“Sorry.” He said before trailing out your door.

Visible confusion took over as you wondered what just happened. You were glad dude wasn’t a total weirdo.

It still was really odd. Like who does that?

After a bit of processing on your bed you stood up unpacking your clothes.

You thought everything in your room is beautiful and felt unbelievably lucky.

You stuffed your drawers with clothes.

You took out your very few records.

“Shit.” You thought to yourself.

You packed your records but totally forgot the god damn record player.

You lightly needed your eye brows in frustration before hearing a sound behind you.

You jolted towards the sound to see what caused it.

Nothing.

You slowly walked towards your nightstand expecting some sort of rat or spider judging based on the house.

Sudden rattling was heard from under your bed which really crept you out.

After awhile of going back and fourth on weither or not you even want to look under the dark shadow under your bed possibly being greeted by some human sized pest.

Which was just you exaggerating; but the idea still made you shiver.

You finally gain the courage to look under your bed.

You laughed at yourself a bit seeing as nothing was there, but a box shaped object?

You pulled it out.

Your eyes widened in surprise.

“This house must be able to fucking read minds!” You thought to yourself.

You opened the box in half revealing a record players interior.

You blew away the visible dust smiling in delight that your misfortunate forgetfulness didn’t totally turn out horribly.

You took the record out of its sheet and gently placed it onto the record player lightly pressing the needle onto the record allowing it to play.

You lightly hummed to the songs rhythm as you set the record player on your dresser. You finished taking everything out of your bags as you plop them on the floor kicking them under your bed.

You left your pajamas on the bed. You picked them up swiftly before deciding to take a quick shower before you slept. You entered the bathroom being able to see the white marbled tub and beautiful white tiles.

The house definitely looked better from the inside than the outside. You set your clothes neatly on-top of the counter as you prepped your shower. The drops of water echoing through out the bathroom.

You got undressed and placed yourself in the shower allowing yourself to relax under the showers soothing rain. You quickly washed your hair and body before stepping out, turning the shower off as you exited.

You dried yourself off before hearing glass shatter and screaming coming from downstairs.

You frantically dried the rest of your body and changing into your clothes before running down the stairs, steps creaking as you make your way down.

You found your father yelling at someone whom you have never even seen in your life. You exhaled in relief since you thought something more outrageous happened. You watched them argue hidden behind the corner.

It was just the glass vase that dropped, you were a bit upset since the base wasn’t totally horrible looking. After hearing their argument you assumed it was one of your dads patients.

He often treated patients. He was a therapist. He held his sessions at home so the patient must’ve came by to be treated just to be unhappy with whatever service he provided.

“You said you would help me! Not just constantly treat me as if I’m fucking crazy. IM NOT FUCKING CRAZY, YOU UNDERSTAND?” The patient screamed.

“Please just calm down, I never said you were crazy, okay? i just-“

“FORGET YOU AND YOUR SHITTY SESSIONS! I CAN FIND SOMEONE WAY BETTER WHO CAN ACTUALLY HELP.” The patient yelled, cutting your dad off, giving him no time to speak.

The door slammed shut. Your dad exhaled sternly massaging his forehead. He placed his clipboard on the nightstand near the door before grabbing the broom and sweeping up the remains of the broken glass.

You shuffled towards him as his eyes met yours.

“Oh hello sweetheart, do you like the house so far?” He smiled as if nothing happened.

You nodded.

“Mhm.” You hummed. “I picked out my room and everything, do you know where mom is?” You questioned.

He swept up the rest of the glass before responding. “Yeah.. yeah. She’s helping the maid clean. You know how she is. Would feel too bad letting her do it alone even if she insisted.”

You smiled. “That’s totally her.” You replied as you looked around unsure what to really do.

“Oh yeah!” You said as you recalled the strange boy in your room earlier. “Did you by chance have a certain patient here? One named tate langdon.”

Your dad looked at you then away trying to recall anyone named Tate.

“Blonde hair.. green and black striped-“

“Oh! Tate, yes.” Your dad shouted lightly as he remembered who you were asking about.

“He had set an appointment with me earlier after we found out we were neighbors. How do you know him?” Your dad asked before making his way into the kitchen dumping the broken glass out into the trash can.

“Ah nothing, just overheard the name and got curious.” You said hesitantly.

“Hm.. okay. You should head to bed honey the trip was unbelievably longer than expected just to get here.” He said reluctantly.

You made your way back upstairs and into your room. The music still flooding the room making you instantly feel safe. You laid down onto your bed wrapping yourself in your blankets before dozing off to sleep.

…

You felt a dent form in your mattress. You can hear your record playing then stopping then playing again over and over due to the needle finally reaching the end of the whole record creating light buzzing sounds.

You lifted your upper body up rubbing your eyes. You open them.

You jolted back opening your mouth getting ready to let out a scream.

A hand quickly covered your mouth before even being able to let out the slightest noise. Their reflexes kind of caught you off guard.

Your body squirmed as you grabbed their arm trying to remove it. They fought back making you have to take time to catch your breath knowing they would overpower you easily, no matter how hard you tried.

“Stop. STOP!” They yelled still in a quiet tone making sure no one else can hear it. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have scared you like that. Please.”

Your eyes locked with theirs. You stared at your clock seeing as it was 2:30AM. You store back at him making eye contact with him again.

You nodded your head hesitantly still a bit shaken up. They removed their hand and you continued to catch your breath.

“What are you doing here, Tate?”

He stared at you making himself put up an almost fake looking smile.

“This use to be my room you know? Still have all of my stuff in it. Not that you seem to mind.” He said as he looked around the room then staring at his moved record player.

“Oh shit, my bad. I didnt know any of this was yours.” You said slightly panicked.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t need any of this stuff anymore so don’t think about it too much.” He gently stated.

“This stuff is kind of old anyways, hardly come in here anymore anyways.”

You planted a confused look on your face.

“So how old are you?” You questioned him.

“Y/A. I’m y/a.” He said sounding somewhat more stern. Caught you off guard.

He surprisingly was the same age as you.

“Do you still come into here or something?.. since you said you hardly come in here anymore.” You asked sounding puzzled.

He stared at you as if he was trying to find out what to say.

“No, no. I just- no. When this use to be mine I mainly hung around outside of the house. Hardly ever really home.” He hesitated.

“Why’s that?” You questioned.

He seemed a bit surprised from your sudden interest in what he has to say.

“Well, my moms a real bitch. My dad left at a young age probably because of her too. Wouldn’t be surprised.” He chucked to himself.

You were a bit surprised and stunned from his openness. Like yeah you did ask, but you weren’t expecting him to just dive into it.

“How did you even get in here?”

“Extra key. Kept it and the owners never asked for it sooo..” he said as he held up a key.

You sighed.

“Well, can you at least not just sneak up on me whenever? It gets kind of uncomfortable. I hardly know you.”

He laughed a bit.

“Well, as far as I’m concerned, you know more about me then I do you. Don’t even know your name.” He said clicking his tongue.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m y/n.”

“Y/n? That’s a nice name. Very nice to just hear.”

You smiled a bit.

“See? Now we are more acquainted. So, can I come in here whenever now?”

Your face became stern.

“Fine Fine.” He sighed sarcastically.

“Can I at least still visit you?” He smirked. His smile seemed actually real this time.

“I guess, but don’t expect much. I’m not gonna warm up to you just because I know your name. Your still just some creep who broke into my room, twice now.” You stated.

He stood up, he walked to the door before staring back taking in the view of his room. He smiled at you before leaving.

Something about his eyes drew you in, but also made you scared of what could be in them. He seemed sweet, but it felt as if there was something.. beyond that.

It made you oddly interested in the guy.

Hoping to meet him again soon.

Inspired by American Horror Story; Murder House. (2011)

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mapsontheweb · 8 months

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McDonald's Restaurants by Magnitude of Mountain Backdrop / Rut

by u/Gigitoe

Eating a Big Mac® while gazing at Big Mountains is an experience that millions of Americans can relate to. But little do we ask ourselves, which McDonald's restaurants have the biggest, baddest mountain backdrop?

So I set out to answer this question, using rut, a topographic metric that does particularly well at identifying cities with badass mountain backdrops. (For more info, check out this Mercury News article by John Metcalfe, or my research paper)

Roughly speaking, this is how rut works:

The higher the mountains rise above a restaurant, the more impressive they appear, and the greater the rut.

The more steeply the mountains rise above a restaurant, the more impressive they appear, and the greater the rut.

Here's a tier list that shows the rut of the ruttiest McDonald's restaurant in various cities. The cutoffs are rather arbitrary, so please don't poison me with a Grimace Shake if your city doesn't get the tier you like :)

S tier - rut > 400 m (i'm lovin' it. would visit just for mountain views)

A tier - rut between 200 to 400 m (impressive, but probably wouldn't visit just for mountain views)

B tier - rut between 100 and 200 m (mountains nearby, or distant big mountains, or very distant huge mountains)

C tier - rut between 50 and 100 m (big hills nearby, or distant mountains, or very distant big mountains)

D tier - rut between 25 and 50 m (hills nearby, or distant big hills, or very distant mountains)

E tier - rut between 10 and 25 m (small hills nearby, or hills in the distance, or very distant big hills)

F tier - rut between 0 and 10 m (flatter than a patty)

For more locations, here's a spreadsheet with the rut of every McDonald's on this map.

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Note: a rut of X doesn't mean the surrounding mountains rise a height of X above the restaurant. Instead, a rut of X means that a restaurant's mountain backdrop is as impressive as a restaurant at the base of a vertical cliff of height X. The less steeply the surrounding mountains rise above the restaurant, the lower the rut.

Also note: rut only considers rise above surroundings (relative height differences and angle of elevation). it does not consider absolute elevation, nor the "aesthetics" of a mountain, nor visibility (or lack thereof) due to weather or smog.

Attributions: Gavin Rehkemper (locations), FABDEM (elevation model), Google Earth Engine (calculations), ESRI (basemap), Kai Xu (rut metric and map)

If you like rut, you'll probably like its older brother jut even more. Jut measures how impressive, spectacular, or badass a mountain is—considering both its height above surroundings and steepness. If you want to find the most impressive mountains near you or worldwide, you may find the link above to be useful.

Let us know if you have any questions or comments—I'm happy to address them!

#maps #Gigitoe #mcdonalds #mountains #us

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that-foul-legacy-lover · 3 months

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hiya Wifi, i saw your post and really hope you feel better soon!

reader with FL who always always always brings you little things and gifts. though childe will always present you with grand things like expensive dresses and silks, jewelry and crystals and snacks from abroad, FL is the one who'll go on a walk and come back with his arms full of things that remind him of you.

he brings you the most darling flowers - even if they're only weeds - and wraps them in delicate little ribbons: a small bouquet. (you press them and keep them right with all the other small bookmarks you've made with his help.) he picks seashells from along the shore and pretty pebbles from the riverside, tucking them in his palms and letting them roll onto the table in front of you once he gets back.

this one's the color of your eyes, he tries to tell you, tugging you towards a mirror and holding it up to your face. this one's your favorite color. these would be so pretty on the path leading up to your house. somehow, you always understand what he's trying to say. you have the first pebble, the color of your eyes, made as the pendant of a necklace and you wear it as often as you can. the second pebble (which isn't really your favorite color, but it's a close enough shade and honestly, you might as well just change your favorite color to it anyway) is kept in your nightstand. and when FL steps out the door on his next little stroll along the countryside, he finds that the path to your house has been lengthened and is now a few pebbles and bits of gravel longer than it was before.

wait hang on hold on give me a minute this made me cry-

the Adepti have long grown used to catching glimpses of a horned Abyss creature wandering the shoreline, his crimson-plated face glinting in the light of the setting sun. he's not hurting anyone at all- just the opposite, in fact, his arms full of trinkets and bits and bobs that he thinks you might like- it's endearing, in his own Abyssal way (Cloud Retainer refuses to confess to helping him find the shiniest rock or most vibrant seashell). everything that glints, everything that blooms, everything that catches his eye reminds Legacy of you and your kind, gentle heart, working too long and too hard every day to keep the both of you safe. so he brings you everything that makes him happy, in hopes that it will make you happy as well, that it will ease the exhaustion in your eyes just slightly. he comes home with a little bit of the world in his claws and waits for you to finish work, watching your pen move intently from a corner of the room, and once he hears that customary sigh and your chair being pushed back, he hops up and sweeps you into his arms, tugging you away to cuddle

it's here that he shows you all the items he gathered, curling around your body and nudging them into your hands. see? see? this rock is smooth and round, like the ones you skip into the sea. this flower is from one of your favorite tea blends, and this leaf is all alight with fiery colors and warmth, like the comforting embers of your voice. Legacy trills and coos to you, trying to explain each and every reason, and he purrs deeply when he sees how gently you handle each object, not wanting to tear or rip anything. there's a small smile on your face and a twinkle in your eyes as you thank him, coming up with some way to use every item he brought home. the gravel dotting the path to your house becomes infinitely more colorful, the occasional chunk of rough crystal or cor lapis poking through. the leaves and flowers are pressed and slipped into a large, leather-bound book filled with dried blossoms and greenery, or even made into bookmarks and decorations. you make jewelry out of the smaller bits of glittering stone Legacy somehow finds, playfully putting a bracelet onto one of his horns and watching him tilt and shake his head to get it off- you have a matching pair of bracelets, actually, one for him and one for you

Legacy knows he's done well when he sees you smile, relaxed and easy, and with a rumble he pulls you close and gives you a tight hug, holding the one he adores most

#genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #foul legacy #foul legacy childe #genshin tartagalia #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #chit chat #anon #picking up interesting things aka the crow instinct!!#you also do it too by the way #you pick up pretty things to show him when you get home #his species of Abyss monster give each other courting gifts so he's always super pleased #short scenario #other's stuff #good evening #FAVE

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hotmcrodz · 9 months

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I wish we could get an audio where its FL and huxley working out or just smoking weed, i crave huxley bonding so bad he's like my imaginary Bestfriend... my homebro... my just dance partner... sigh

#hotrodz #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted huxley #shark thoughts

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yungaglobal1790 · 2 years

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Where the mids at in riverview???

#arizona mid weed riverview #fl #SoundCloud

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wub-fur-radio · 5 months

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Scott Pilgrim vs. The Daleks

Soundtrack for an imaginary pop culture mashup of epic proportions (where everyone’s favorite 23-year old Canadian indie rock slacker saves Toronto from almost certain doom by taking on the baddest aliens in the Whoniverse with his unstoppable 8-bit video game-style fighting technique). Featuring 23 of 2023’s top indie/power pop/garage/punk/noise pop acts including Dot Dash, Versing, Alien Nosejob, the Exbats, Be Your Own Pet, Uni Boys, Guided By Voices, Bass Drum of Death Jacuzzi Boys, Woolen Men, and 13 more bands who know how to put the screw into a sonic screwdriver.

Apologies to Bryan Lee O’Malley, Kim Pine, Plumtree, The Doctor, the Daleks, and the Beeb.

▶︎🎶 Listen on Mixcloud

Running Time: 1 hour, 11 seconds

Tracklist

Tense & Nervous (2:02) — Dot Dash | Washington, DC

Distractions (1:56) — Versing | Seattle, WA

Flakin’ Out (3:27) — The Ific | San Francisco, CA

I'm Lost (3:13) — Alien Nosejob | VIC, Australia

I Don't Believe in Love (3:10) — Uni Boys | Los Angeles, CA

Brain Shock (1:39) — Pheromones | Italy

Rock 'N' Roll Boy (2:58) — The Mudd Club | Bristol, UK

Imaginary Girlfriend (2:14) — TV Party | Ventura, CA

Where Have All the Good Times Gone (2:29) — The Grip Weeds | Highland Park, NJ

Workin’ Too Hard (1:58) — Woolen Men | Portland, OR

Better At Love (2:49) — The Exbats | Arizona

Big Trouble (3:02) — Be Your Own Pet | Nashville, TN

I Used to Be Fun (2:36) — Teen Jesus and the Jean Teasers | Canberra, Australia

Everybody's Gonna Be There (2:13) — Bass Drum of Death | Mississippi

Local Master Airplane (2:16) — Guided By Voices | Dayton, OH

Hot! Heat! Wow! Hot! (3:33) — Psychedelic Porn Crumpets | Perth, Australia

What Does Moon Think (2:57) — SIZ | Bordeaux, France

No Plan (2:42) — The Arrogants | Lille, France

Orange Juice (2:59) — Pop Crimes | Paris, France

Is It Really Any Wonder (1:44) — Strange Magic | New Mexico

On the Ropes (1:48) — Jacuzzi Boys | Miami. FL

Dead Cities (3:04) — Scream | Washington, DC

1999 (2:46) — Avions | Lyon, France Outro: Scott Pilgrim [Radio Edit] (0:38) — Plumtree | Halifax, Canada

All tracks released in 2023 except the last, which is from 2022, and the Outro, which was originally released in 1997.

#indie rock #power pop #garage rock #noise pop #punk rock #music mixes #scott pilgrim #doctor who

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yandere-toons · 2 years

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Homme du Grenier | Scenario With Billy Lenz

WARNING: yandere, home invasion, stalking, implied death, alcohol use, smoking, toxic mindset.

A.N. - This takes place before the events of the film.

“HEY, THEY NEED YOU down at 6 Belmont Street. A sorority said they're having some kind of trouble with the phone lines.” The hurried voice of a distracted boss rang in your ear, and the call went dead seconds later.

Listening to the droning dial tone was unnecessary, for the dark and windy street of which he spoke laid before you. While returning the telephone to its cradle was a simple task, taking the first step into the snowy outdoors required a hard day's worth of courage.

Most of the flora had become laden with ice and withered into a sickly brown for the winter. What survived was a measly combination of elderberries clinging to sagging branches and Black Gums struggling not to shed their final leaves.

The few conifers that bordered the snowy hills were narrow and appeared as though they would blow over in a strong wind.

Every visitor to the salted streets was bundled in a thick, fur-lined coat and hat.

The large tree in the centre of the park had branches like fingers, with curly sprouts of wood winding into the sky and then spreading apart from each other.

A Tudor-style house stood at the end of Belmont Street, surrounded by dead trees and tall bushes strewn with colourful lights. On one of the side windows on the bottom level was a blue wreath in the shape of a star, and the yellow curtains behind it were thin enough to allow you a glimpse of a fireplace.

Dangling in the middle of the front door was a round wreath aglow with red lights. It was tied to a red ribbon and sat on a hook just below the small, five-piece window on the top of the door.

A wooden fence surrounded the entire property, its pointed top reaching the stomachs of the average passers-by. The gate was hanging open and obscured beneath the scraggly branches of trees stripped of leaves by the cold of winter.

Weeds and brambles had overgrown the edges of the fence and had begun to climb it.

The sidewalk was buried so deep in snow that it was hardly distinguishable from the yard of the sorority house, with the fence acting as the sole divider. The snow ate up your winter boots like quicksand, and you raised them to shake off the white pellets after every other step.

The walkway to the house was a straight shot from the road and was paved with cobblestone. It took roughly ten seconds to walk at a leisurely pace and was bordered by two half walls of stone, both bearing a globular lamp.

Multiple pairs of footprints had disturbed the snow before yours did. Most of them were either approaching the doorway or leaving it, but there was one pair that meandered towards the east-facing wall of the house.

The wall was swamped with vines that winded like snakes, so much so that the plaster and wood underneath it would have been invisible if not for the bright lights of red and green. The impressive length of these scrawny vines led your eye to the dark window of an attic.

Perhaps the most surprising thing about it was that a part of you expected to see someone looking back; however, the shadows were too dense to give this thought any satisfaction.

A sorority girl met you at the entrance within a minute of your rat-a-tat at the front door. She introduced herself as Jess and grappled with the doorknob before jimmying it open, a grunt of frustration slipping past her lips.

“Thank goodness you're here. Barb was getting anxious about her mother calling.” The words tumbled out of her with a certain urgency that had you walking into the house as soon as she stepped back.

You gazed at the living room, noting the pattern of red and black roses in the curtains that overlooked the front of the house.

Potted plants decorated the space around each window, and their lush leaves grew tall enough to block some of the glass.

A second woman peeked over the back of a couch with a trail of smoke floating around her mouth. Barb was her name, and she had propped her boots on a coffee table littered with beer bottles of varying fullness. Upon lowering her cigarette, she snagged one of the bottles and rose from the cushion.

There was a rogue amusement in her smile as she looked you up and down. “You do a good job, and I'll let you have some of this.” Barb pointed a finger at you and nodded, extending the bottle in your direction before pulling it back.

Turning away, she inclined her head and took a swig of the beer. Her footsteps sauntered to the kitchen, and the staircase she passed on the way drew your eye to what little of the upper floor you could see.

The stairs disregarded the wood and tile of the first floor in favour of a carpet, which continued to the second floor. It had a rough texture to it and was reddish-orange like pumpkins and candy corn.

All the visible curtains on the second floor had been drawn, and their floral print contrasted with the dark brown panels jutting out of the walls and the milky white wallpaper.

“We were thinking of having the phone around here,” interjected Jess. She motioned to a pair of armchairs and the end table between them. “Would that work?” Waiting for your answer, she tilted her head and adjusted her black sweater.

You scanned the room and began knocking on the nearby walls, listening for a hollow spot behind the drywall. A subsequent knock resounded through the house every time your knuckles hit the wall.

Just as you were starting to have doubts, a deep echo sounded from the wall that was adjacent to the staircase. “That'll work. Where's your box?”

Jess tugged the sides of her coat to fold them across her torso. “The phone box is out back,” she said, ambling to you.

A curt nod was your response, so she led you to the back door and pushed it open. The old hinges squealed in a noise similar to the yowl of a cat as they were forced to bend. A gust of cold air rushed inside the house, blowing past your face with a howl like a human voice.

The land was frigid that night. There could have been anything crouched and waiting at the edge of the woods, watching you when you could not watch it back.

The blue and orange lights that were strewn about the house cast your shadow upon the snow. It reached the tree line, and a more paranoid side of you thought it would be snatched and bring you with it.

Entertaining such musings had made the wind far chillier than before, which prompted you to turn back. You unfastened the latch on the phone box and were faced with two wires tucked into a larger wire.

The smaller wires pivoted in different directions and each bore a unique colour, ranging from blue to green. The larger wire was black and encircled them like a hose.

Resting your hand on the metal cover of the phone box, you counted the wires again before turning your eye to Jess.

Jess let the door close behind her and remained in the doorway, observing you with an expression of curiosity.

“Where's your attic?”

She glanced sideways and opened her mouth a bit. At first, no reply came from her except a slow nod. Then, after a moment of contemplation, Jess grabbed the doorknob and pulled the back door open. “This way.”

You followed her to the base of the stairs, where a chocolate brown desk and a corded telephone sat together against the wall. Decorative flowers and posters were lining the walls around the desk, and it was all illuminated by a red and yellow light.

The attic was tucked into a tight corner in the middle of the staircase. It was accessible by way of a short ladder, one that was sturdy and thick.

After giving the sight a quick nod, you turned back to Jess. “I'll start downstairs.”

Jess nodded in agreement and returned to the living room while one of the several doors in the upstairs corridor opened. Barb staggered out of it, her face sour and her brown hair ruffled. She held an unlit cigarette in her right hand and was flicking it between her fingers.

The door to Barb's room was adorned with a wreath, its electric lights having been replaced by empty wine bottles.

A muffled creak groaned above your head. “I'm no exterminator, but are you sure you don't have mice?” you asked, lowering your eye from where it had been attempting to see through the ceiling.

Barb responded to the idea with a brief mix between a scoff and a cough. “We might,” she muttered, shrugging and looking towards the stairs. “You're free to check. None of us goes up there anymore.”

You crept onto the lowest rung of the ladder and gazed up at the attic door. It opened inward, you discovered, when a slight push from your hand caused it to reveal nothing but blackness for a brief moment.

Before Barb could descend the stairs, you turned to her and called out, “Why's that?”

Barb stopped with her palm resting on the handrail. She glanced back at you and then took the first step down as if debating whether to ignore the question, but her eyes flickered over the attic door. “Honestly? It smells like someone died up there.”

There was a twinge of uncertainty in her voice, one that led you to peek at the darkness looming overhead again.

The sick and musty odour was as strong as a punch in the gut. You reached through the air and, with your knuckles, rapped three times on the ceiling.

A brief silence ensued, during which time you glanced at various spots on the door and started to lower your hand.

Then, there came the sound of skittering, like tiny feet scrambling for traction on a wood floor. It was followed by a series of thumps from a creature much larger than a mouse. The noises approached the door, and after a pause, three knocks were heard.

You retreated from the ladder and pulled your arm close to your chest. It took many seconds for you to yank your eye away from the door, but once you managed it, your first steps were down the stairs.

Jess was standing beside the desk with the telephone raised to her ear. The faint sounds of inane screams and nonsensical mumbles were radiating from it until you tapped her shoulder.

“Could I borrow that phone for a minute?”

Jess spun towards you with a slight jump, widening her eyes and jerking the telephone closer to her body. Upon recognising you, she glanced at the floor and shuffled her feet. “Oh, I'm sorry.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, and she had yet to release the telephone.

A shakiness was present in her words, as was a tendency to peer at her surroundings while speaking. It took a few seconds of gathering her bearings for Jess to look you in the eye. The tension in her shoulders remained when her left hand, which clutched the telephone, neared the cradle.

She tilted her head and pursed her lips, peeking around with a lost and disquieted reluctance. “But yes, you can use this one.”

The telephone was pushed to your chest as if touching it had burned her hand, and Jess stepped away from the small table. “I'm done with it,” she murmured, eyeing the telephone with a deep frown.

It gave you a moment's hesitation, and you watched her march out of the room before lifting the telephone to your ear. After spinning the correct sequence into the rotary dial, a click preceded the tired hello of your boss.

You twirled the cord around your wrist and scanned the entryway for any listeners. “It's colder than a moose's hooves out here.” Finding nothing but a closed door looking back at you, you allowed your voice to rise a bit. “The job's coming along, but I'll be needing a break when this is over.”

A sigh carried on the other end of the call, the sound of a man torn between too many problems. “They'll want you at the college when you're done there.”

It was a nice way of saying that you were in for a long night, so you diverted your attention to the peals of creaks from above. “You still have the number for that exterminator?”

A quick and simple “yeah” sounded from the telephone. “You got rats chewing on the lines?” he asked, his voice garbled by static.

Untangling the cord from around your wrist, you leaned back to peer through the handrails to the top of the stairs. “Maybe. They're nesting in the attic, I think.”

* * *

THE STENCH OF ROT singed your nostrils like fire, and in it was the musky scent of mould and dust.

The attic was carried by a wood floor that creaked with each step, the joints in the boards flexing and then settling as the weight shifted from one spot to the next.

There were cobwebs draped over every piece of furniture.

Standing with a vertical pole through its belly was a white pony wearing a red saddle, the kind that children and adults with childish hearts rode for a nickel outside of convenience stores.

A rusty birdcage hung from a thin string attached to the curvature of the ceiling.

In the corner nearest to the front window sat an old rocking chair, one that had not seen use in years. A candle had been lit and placed atop the windowsill to overlook the walkway to the house.

Once you were done feeding the wire through a gap in the plywood, you stood and moved to exit the attic. It was when you were a couple of steps from reaching the door that you realised it was partially open.

The door slammed as soon as you noticed it, and a cool shade of darkness fell over the attic. Your eagerness to leave waned like a flower shrivelled. Any intention of seeing who it was became locked behind layers of sweat and clammy palms.

As bravery lost and regained its hold on you every few seconds, you closed the distance between yourself and the door as if a monstrous beast was ready to lunge through it at any moment.

You peeled back the door, crawled down the ladder and were relieved to find an empty corridor. The stillness of it was toying with your mind as though it were begging to be broken.

Nearing the stairs was a simple task until a hint of movement caught your eye and halted your next step.

The bedroom door at the opposite end of the corridor was swaying. There were no lights on in the room, which forced you to goggle into darkness once again.

Nothing came to you, and no sounds were heard. Something was there, living in the shadows and meeting your gaze with an invisible eye. Just as soon as the thought occurred, you shook your head free of it and listened to the hum of the air conditioner clicking to life.

This house was not yours to snoop, so you turned and walked down the stairs when all you wished to do was rush down them and out the front door. The chances of some creature hurtling from the darkness and jumping you were haunting for every second that your back faced the doorway.

You arrived on the first floor without suffering an attack, gaining just enough courage from this to not run when a clink echoed from beside you.

Barb was downing another bottle of beer and had discarded an empty bottle next to a full one. She hauled a radio onto the coffee table with one arm, and her hand missed the dial twice before landing on it and cranking the volume.

The clarion guitar riff and harsh-voiced singer of a rock-and-roll song swelled in the living room.

Thunder cracked like the thrash of a whip, booming and pounding in the dark skies until it collapsed into a rainstorm. The fat raindrops burst against the sidewalks, roads and homes in a volley of water. They were swept crosswise in gales of wind that howled like wolves in the night, and the rain pelted the windows as if made of stones.

The occasional bolt of lightning flashed in your eyes as you stared through the glass. To your palpitating heart, it seemed like the storm was seconds away from pouring into the living room. While any car was risking a few dents by venturing into it, any person was flirting with drowning or getting thrown by a roaring gust.

The smell of beer and rain was in the air. You peeked over your shoulder at the armchairs, where Barb lifted the bottle in her hand and tipped it at you. She then shook it as if baiting you, so you chose to take a seat on the couch and put your back to the storm.

Jess descended the stairs, her feet thumping along each step. Her hair was frazzled, and her face was strained with a familiar urgency. “Thank you for hiring that exterminator,” she shouted over the din of the music before stopping at the side of the couch. “He never sent us a bill.”

This distracted you from digging your fingernails into the cushions. “That's strange,” you murmured, relaxing your fingers a bit in thought. “He didn't get back to me yesterday.”

Jess glanced between you and the window, and her gaze focused on nothing in particular until a wave of concern washed over her countenance. She turned to Barb and leaned forward, her eyes wide. “Barb! Did he leave?”

Without looking, Barb nodded drunkenly. “He stunk up the place,” she grumbled, her voice reverberating due to the beer bottle pressed to her lips.

The ring of a telephone broke the silence of confusion. It came from the newly installed unit on the end table, which buzzed unattended until Jess approached it.

Barb cocked her head, widened her eyes and curled her lip into a bitter mockery of a smile. “Would you look at that? Our first incoming call.” It was as though she could divine that the caller was not her mother, and the fact loaded her words with a sardonic edge.

Despite this, she reached for the telephone and snatched it before Jess could do the same.

Shallow, rapid breaths rolled into her ear. The faint static warped the sound into an undulating hum.

Barb opened her mouth and produced the first syllable of a word, which was cut off when the breathing exploded into screams. It was a wild and senseless kind of screaming that had no end and, in any other situation, would have come from the lips of a dying man.

“Where's the baby?” he howled, repeating the question over and over again with all the fervour of someone whose life depended on the answer. The panting was animalistic, like a beast heaving its lungs after a hunt.

Barb yanked the telephone away from her ear and looked askance at it. Her head leaned back, her nose scrunched, and her eyes narrowed in disgust and bewilderment. “What the hell?” she muttered, debating whether to hang up or not.

Jess fixed the telephone with a wide-eyed stare. She appeared as though she were reliving a horrific memory, and you recalled the conversation that had been unfolding when you asked to use the telephone in the other room.

“No!” shrieked the caller as if racked with agonising pain. “Let me taste it! Let me taste it!” This chant continued as his pitch and speed increased with each utterance until his voice became croaky.

Barb jerked her head up and shifted in her seat, crossing her legs and folding one arm across her chest. “Listen here,” she started with a snap, only to pause once Jess motioned for the telephone.

No sooner than a second after she mumbled hello into the receiver did the voice erupt in furious shouts of “Not you! Not you!”

Both Barb and Jess turned to the last person in the room, you, with Jess glancing back and forth between the telephone and your eyes while Barb furrowed her brows.

It took the two of them exchanging looks of puzzlement before Barb shrugged and Jess handed the telephone to you.

You had half a mind to slam it on the cradle and walk out the door, but the caller talked before you could make a definitive decision.

As if he could identify you by the sound of your breathing alone, his breaths calmed in an eerie instant. “Agnes,” he whispered, “don't tell them.” He spoke like one child sharing a secret with another, unwilling to speak louder for fear of his parents hearing it.

Your breathing quickened a bit. The thuds of your heart pounded a smidge faster, and as the room seemed to stretch in front of your eyes, it was as though you could hear every noise in the house at once.

A grandfather clock ticked, the logs in a fireplace crackled, and the floorboards above your head creaked for the umpteenth time that day.

You inhaled a tad louder than you had intended, and the caller shushed you with a sound like the hiss of a snake. “It's okay, Agnes.” There was an excruciating slowness to his voice, a deliberate inflection in each syllable. “Billy's here.”

Dismay shot up your spine like a bullet. The chill that came with it was akin to a splash of icy water crashing over your head, running down your arms and dragging a shiver out of you.

Barb stepped forward, bottle twirling in her hand, and leaned her head towards you. “What's he saying?” she asked without care for her volume.

A splurge of obscenities burst out of the telephone at the interruption, and aside from calling Barb a pig in so many colourful ways, Billy focused on his descent into screeching like a banshee.

This sent Barb reeling away from you, where she gritted her teeth and threw the bottle onto the coffee table. “I've had enough of this!” She wrenched the telephone out of your hand and thrust it onto the cradle with a resounding bang.

Barb then collapsed on the couch and drew a hand to her forehead, which was slick with sweat. “Our first call, and it's some wacko,” she grumbled.

Jess stared at the telephone as though it were about to lunge at her. After a tense moment of eye contact with the cord, she crossed her arms and looked at you. “I do hope that doesn't become a habit.”

Quiet unease was rooted in her voice like a fungus, and when you offered no affirmation, she shifted and glanced at Barb.

Barb was lying supine with her legs draped over the armrest and her left hand dangling from the cushion. A half-empty bottle was pressed against her side, and a cigarette was pinched between two fingers in her right hand.

She was snoring lightly, her head rising and falling every few seconds.

The voice of Jess came from the base of the stairs, and you turned to find her with one leg on the first step. “I'm heading up to take a shower. You can let yourself out the front door.” She nodded at the door while saying this, which led your gaze to it.

As Jess arrived at the middle of the staircase, a putrid odour backhanded her across the face. The bulk of it rolled from somewhere above her head. She turned back and forth and scanned the ceiling for stains until a fresh line of stink drew her sniffs to the attic door.

Jess hovered by the handrail for many a second, observing the door with the vigilance of an animal sensing a trap. She crept toward it, and her head lifted to judge the length of the climb.

Just as you were reaching for the doorknob, the door swung open after a moment of battle with the hinges.

A pair of sorority girls strolled into the house in a merry fit of laughter, their arms draped in shopping bags and their eyes locked on each other. Clare was the name of the girl with untidy brown hair, and Phyl was the name of the girl with frizzy hair and octagonal eyeglasses.

You lurched back to avoid bumping into them as they walked forward for a couple of seconds without noticing you. During that time, you were maneuvering to their side and taking brisk steps with your arms slightly extended in an attempt to not put your foot down on top of theirs.

“Pardon me,” was all you said before you slipped past them and stumbled into the entryway.

A crash was heard from upstairs as soon as your shoes hit the outside world, and your head spun around to cast a final glance at the house. Fuelled by a surge of adrenaline, you pumped your legs and carried yourself to the edge of the property.

Clare looked between the stairs and your silhouette, which was disappearing into the heart of the storm.

Phyl looked at a passed-out Barb and then leaned forward to peer around the closing door. “Who was that?” she asked, momentarily dismissing the question when Jess came down from the staircase to greet them.

The storm battered you with fat pellets of rain and strong winds, but there was not a single moment where you considered returning to the sorority house. You held out your hand to be a thin shield for your face and stomped your way through the murky air.

Melting snow clung to everything below your waist. It was like swimming in ice water, but you persevered until the contours of a house approached your left.

Behind the window stood your next-door neighbour.

She was a little old lady who, at this particular moment, was clutching a coffee mug as if letting go of it meant unspeakable doom. The neat and dry fabric of her mustard yellow dress was in stark contrast to your rain-soaked attire, but your eye soon concentrated on her horror-stricken face.

Her eyes were stretched to their limits, her mouth was hanging open, and her forehead was creased so sharply that a vein was visible. She turned to watch you sprint past her home like someone observing their worst nightmare come to life.

What caused your gaze to linger on her was when she looked at something just behind you. In the split second that your eye caught the reflection on the glass, you saw a dark shape at your heels.

It flashed in the lightning and vanished before you could discern any details. You told yourself that it was the cruel hand of paranoia sinking its claws into your brain, but this did little to placate the way your heart jumped and banged against your ribcage.

Once you reached your house, you crammed the key into the keyhole and twisted it as if about to break it. The click of the lock disengaging brought a wave of relief that swept you into the entrance.

You doubled over, panting and throwing your hands onto your bent knees.

Many seconds passed before you spun towards the door and slammed it.

A torrent of raindrops gushed from your clothes, and the puddle accumulating at your feet was soaking into the floor. The earthy scent of wet dirt was entrenched in your nostrils like a toy stuck up a kid's nose.

When you turned to collapse on a chair, your eye was dragged across the floor to where an additional pair of footprints walked in a different direction. The shoes were outlined in rain just like yours, and they had taken shelter in the darkness of your bedroom.

You raised your head with a cautious slowness, straightening your back and clenching the fabric of your pants.

The blackness that returned your stare seemed deeper than the depths of the ocean, and you strained your ears to hear the presence that had followed you. Every shift in the house, every crack of the walls flexing became the precursor to something leaping out at you.

A thought was spared for the knives in the kitchen as well as the telephone beside the oven. An oppressive sense of nausea advised against pursuing either of those items, suggesting instead that you flee through the door from which you had entered.

Three knocks came from the bedroom.

Without the attic to muffle them, these knocks were much clearer and closer.

It was as if a fist had squeezed your heart and stolen your breath.

In that frightful instant, enduring the storm was a welcome distraction from confronting whoever had invaded your house. You wrenched the front door open and hurled yourself down the street.

Rain splashed on your face as you smashed your feet into various puddles and whipped through the wind. The howls of the storm dampened any sounds from within your home, and you did not wait to see if anyone followed.

The house of your next-door neighbour came into view, its brown shingles glistening in the downpour. You crashed into the front door in a refusal to stop and began pounding on the wood. “Let me in! Let me in!” you shrieked over the claps of thunder and strikes of lightning.

A little old lady emerged from the living room and stood behind the window, her hands wrapping around a steaming mug of coffee. She eyed you with a look of shock and disbelief, and the mug slipped from her grasp.

It landed on the avocado green carpet, bounced once, and poured coffee into the fibres.

The little old lady did not give the spill the briefest of glances. A finger rose from her side and pointed at you, trembling and struggling not to fall. Her mouth opened wide in a voiceless cry, which earned another plea from you.

It was barely audible among the roars of wind, plops of rain, and booms of thunder.

A shake of the head was her response. It was rapid, so much so that it seemed instinctive. She shoved her finger at you multiple times, and her lack of care for the coffee streaming around her shoes was enough to stay your panic for an instant.

After a moment spent panting in confusion, you gestured to yourself and nodded with a frantic urgency.

She shook her head again and jabbed her finger at you with more intensity.

You dragged your breaths out of your lungs as uneven puffs, and your eyes were jerking from the window to the door. The tightness in your chest and the throb of your heartbeat swirled in you like a typhoon and cast a hazy veil over your mind.

Overcome by a light-headed spell, your vision began to blur and distort the sight in front of you. Every thought was screaming at you to beat the door open, yet you fought this impulse with as much strength as you could scrounge.

It was then that the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. A warm gust of breath had rolled against them in a steady rhythm.

Do anything you want with my work, but never make me boring!

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