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ray-marisha

Dani Clayton + Hair

#( visage. )

mae-martin

kctrinaxparkinson

@andrmdablck

#( andromeda. )

andromeda.

Truthfully, Andromeda prided herself on providing a place of safety and comfort; somewhere that the people in her life knew they could come to, no matter the circumstances. The Black manor was always cold and cruel, devoid of laughter and love, having only been expressed amongst the three sisters. She vowed to never be like that. She bought a little cottage and adorned it with as many homely features that she could find. Comfortable couches, the softest of blankets, a fireplace that always had wood in it, and it always smelt wonderful. Like cookies or coffee, as those were the two things most featured in her kitchen. Her home hugged her, and nothing made her happier than having loved ones there. Than knowing that they, too, found some joy here with her. In Katrina’s circumstances, she only wished that it was due to merely wanting a visit for the sake of it and not needing one due to family events. For her friend’s sake – she never cared why Katrina came over – she merely wished that her friend didn’t have to endure such hardships. She knew it all too well.

“A feeling that is so very mutual, of course.” A statement that needed no hesitation or to be given a second thought. Katrina was someone who knew Andromeda before and after, someone who stuck by her side through it all; something she couldn’t say of even her own family. For that, she would love her forever. As she went on about this morning’s events, Andromeda felt her face fall more and more as the sentence went on. Their families were never one for subtlety. “A howler? How dramatic.” And entirely unsurprising. “I will never… understand that. Forcing someone to be around when they don’t want to be. I can’t imagine putting that much energy into someone when it’s unwanted.” There was the stark contrast between the Parkinsons and the Blacks – Katrina was being held onto by an iron fist; Andromeda had been burned off the tapestry and cast out, much as Sirius had. You weren’t allowed to make mistakes when you were a Black. Blind loyalty and perfection or nothing at all. “If you wish to, you are more than welcome to come here after your dinner. Even if I’m not back from work.”

There were so few people in Katrina’s life that she ever felt a genuine connection with. How could she, when so much of her life had been an illusion, created at the hands of her mother? Hard to find kinship and honesty when you were built into a golden, unbreakable cage. But she had found that in Andromeda. If she was ever asked, then she would never hesitate to insist that Andromeda Black was her best friend. Her oldest friend. Her only friend. That was a more tragic admittance than the former, but it was true all the same. Nobody felt quite as familiar, or safe. Katrina had known her as a trapped teenager, as a runaway in hiding, and Andromeda still remained by her side now, practically a hostage. It was a loyalty that sometimes, Katrina questioned how much she deserved, but she was grateful for it all the same. Any displaced jealousy she might feel (Andromeda had gotten out), always dulled in retrospect of that - no matter the time of day or the amount of inconvenience it had to cause, Katrina was always welcome in the cottage. No questions asked. Andy had to be a saint.

A soft smile flashed across Katrina’s face at the reciprocation. It couldn’t be helped - any sort of affection still baffled her at times. How strange it was, to be a fully grown woman and have no idea how to process kindness and companionship. It wasn’t as if there was any love lost in the Parkinson home, in the family she had the great misfortune of inheriting the lot of. “Oh, haven’t I told you? It’s how she delivers all her incessant news to me now. I don’t suppose you have anything that can make me selectively deaf so I don’t have to listen to her.” It was a poor joke, but it would be a lie to say that she didn’t wish sometimes. Not a day went by where her father’s disinterest felt worse than her mother’s obsessive hovering, trying to force her into a life she despised. It was hard not to worry that she might never get out again. A thought like that could drown her alive, if she let it. Rolling her eyes, Katrina let herself slouch further; any other circumstance and she would have more composure, but Andromeda’s was one place she didn’t have to put on any shows. “Merlin forbid anyone think her heir want nothing to do with them.” She scoffed, taking another bite of the cookie in hand. Her expression smoothed out some at the offer, the wrinkling that had appeared in her forehead disappearing as a small, relieved grin emerged. “I might take you up on that, actually. So long as it isn’t going to impose on you. I can only imagine how much the hospital’s got you under right now.”

#( dash | andromeda. )

villanellas

dani clayton smiling and being the ultimate cutie pie (っ◔◡◔)っ

#( visage. )#one day i will sit and write #one day

tvandfilm

kctrinaxparkinson

@andrmdablck

#( andromeda. )

zenndaya

Dani Clayton + her inability to make hot drinks ↳ BONUS:

#( visage. )

taliasburns

#dani clayton being a mood

#( visage. )#a whole mood lmao

lauraharricrs

Including me.

The Haunting of Bly Manor episode 1: The Great Good Place

#( visage. )#( standing in the ashes of who i used to be | musings. )

andromeda.

“Oh, finally.” As the timer on her oven finally dinged, Andromeda opened up the door as the familiar scent of cookies immediately filled up her kitchen. Just a tad underdone – perfect. Leaving them on a wire rack to finish cooling (and cooking), her oven mitts were placed back in the drawer to signify another task of the day done. She never particularly struggled to fill up the time on her days off; they were often spent baking, reading, cleaning, or spending time with people she didn’t get to see nearly enough. Still, there were times where it just felt… off not being at work. Like it was an extension of herself, and that the pieces of herself that existed outside of St. Mungo’s were slowly fading away. Today was okay, though – well, so far at least. The cottage was clean, she was on her third cup of coffee, and it now smelt amazing. Plus, she had been told to expect the arrival of Katrina.

As the familiar voice rang out from the living room, Andromeda placed a few of her cookies on a plate, balancing it in the crook of her arm as she carried a glass of milk and her mug of coffee in with her. “No, please, you know you can come by anytime!” Manoeuvring one hand towards her friend ever so slightly as a gesture to take the glass, she placed the plate down on her coffee table before settling onto her couch. “They just came out, so they’ll be a bit warm.” She was now grateful for her inspiration to make them earlier – having things ready for people made her happy. “I’m glad you’re here but – why? What happened?” From the greeting to the going mad comment, Andromeda knew there was a reason, and she knew that one of the things she was good at it – it was listening.

Leave it to Andromeda Black to have a home that always smelled intoxicating. Her talents seemed endless, a Healer, a baker, capable of doing the one thing Katrina had tried so desperately to do in leaving. It would be a lie to say that she didn’t envy her for that - the Blacks were just as horrid as the Parkinsons, but Andromeda had gotten out. That was what mattered. Yet still, there were fleeting moments of polarizing jealousy in the fact Katrina had been sucked back in. She had a promising career, had finally been allowed out of the manor, more freedom to do what she pleased if only in secret. But it was all hidden. Not much to be admired in that. Still, it was always a comfort to see Andromeda, to be met with such warmth and nearly always food. She had built a life for herself that was worth living. And, somehow, against every odd and all of the madness, she had chosen to keep Katrina part of it. Her isolation and the perpetual state of feeling as if she was a prisoner in her own life felt a little less terrible with that. Someone that had always known her, always accepted and believed in her. Thank Merlin.

As Andromeda appeared, she let out a small groan of relief, sitting up a bit straighter and leaning against the couch, pulling her legs beneath her. “Oh, I do adore you,” Katrina spoke, taking the glass carefully. “I wouldn’t worry, the warmer the better.” Her free hand stretched forward to grab a cookie, taking a bite and then a moment to savor the flavor, nodding in approval as she finished it off. Perhaps it would have been better, to prolong it, to give herself an extra minute before the reason for her spur of the moment visit came out. It hadn’t been the first time (and wouldn’t be the last), but it felt absurd all the same. By now, after so many years, one would thing Katrina would be used to the aching panic that came with her family. Letting out a heavy sigh, she allowed her shoulders to fall, rolling her eyes. “I’m fine, really. It’s all more of the same, my mother has resorted to sending howlers reminding me of Saturday evening dinners. As if I could ever possibly forget I’m their lifelong prisoner.” She shook her head, taking a drink, once again trying to simply prolong the inevitable. It was good, Katrina reminded herself, the ability to speak so freely to Andromeda. To have somebody that knew each ugly piece of it. “I’ve a feeling that if I spent the day at home following that, it would have ended very poorly for me.”

#( dash | andromeda. )

rubycruz

#( visage. )#an absolute angel

@andrmdablck

The howler (because leave it to Eden Parkinson to never send a silent letter) had arrived early, with the rest of the morning mail. Crimson and vibrating when Katrina had awoken to find it, dread settling deep into the pit of her stomach before she even undid the ribbon. News from her family was never welcomed, though it had become a frequent occurrence since moving back out. Always under their thumb. Wonderful. It was nothing new, nothing unexpected - nothing Katrina didn’t already know. Dinner on Saturday. Six o’clock - don’t be late. An unspoken condition of allowing her out of the manor, weekly dinner. As if being forced back into the family hadn’t been brutal enough.

Her mother’s voice rang through the flat for the rest of the morning, and come early afternoon, Katrina could feel her sanity quickly fading away. The howler had shredded itself to bits once the message was received, but it echoed long after. Digging her wand off her bedside table, Katrina sent a patronus to Andromeda - I’m coming - before enchanting a spare quill to a portkey. It was, without a doubt, her least favorite way of traveling but it was safer than attempting to apparate through wards or having to find a bloody fireplace. Katrina had one, of course, but refused to connect it to the floo system purely to attempt keeping her mother away. Spiteful - but necessary. Moments later, the familiar sensation of a hook behind her belly button appeared, jolting her until her feet landed securely in Andromeda’s living room. “I’m in hell.” Katrina called in greeting, knees going weak as she slouched down to the ground. It wasn’t a proper greeting, but Andromeda continued to be her oldest (closest) friend. Glancing away from her fixed gaze at the ceiling, she managed a weak smile, releasing a heavy sigh. “- Hey. I’m sorry for just showing up. It’s possible I finally went a bit mad.”