#something something stairs representing freedom

[spoondrifts]

the truman show (1998) / the descent (2005)

[triwizsworld]

ORANTES

Chapter 1

Absence

TW - Violence , Gore, Blood

Claire’s alarm buzzed at 7:00 AM, but she was already awake, lying stiff as a corpse under the blankets. The house felt cold, the kind of cold that sank into your bones and stayed there. It wasn't the kind of chill that could be cured by a sweater or a blanket, but something deeper—like the house had absorbed years of sorrow and was letting it seep into her. The walls were dense with silence, a heavy kind of quiet that only seemed to deepen as the seconds ticked by.

Outside, the suburban streets of Daystar Falls stretched endlessly. Claire's house was in New Daystar, a neighborhood of sleek, modern homes with manicured lawns and symmetrical facades. Everything about the area was pristine, almost unnervingly so, as though the houses themselves were trying to mask some underlying truth. Across the narrow creek lay Old Daystar, where crumbling Victorian homes stood in defiance of time, their overgrown yards and sagging rooftops whispering of a forgotten past. Her room was a small, forgotten space in the otherwise polished house of New Daystar—an outlier, much like herself. The paint peeled in the corners, curling like dried petals, while the mismatched furniture gave the room a fragmented, unloved look. Faded posters clung to the walls, their once-vibrant colors now muted, as if the years had stolen their voices.

The windows let in just enough light to cast long, shifting shadows across the room—shadows that seemed to crawl across the floor with a will of their own, reaching for her with blackened fingers. She turned her head toward the ceiling and stared at the hairline cracks that spiderwebbed from each corner. They had been there for as long as she could remember, spreading wider and deeper over time, like scars etched into the skin of the house. Sometimes, in the stillness, she found herself tracing the edges of the cracks with her eyes, wondering if they, too, held secrets. Secrets the house wasn’t ready to share.

Birthdays weren’t supposed to feel this way. There should have been cake and candles, maybe a stack of poorly wrapped gifts from her mom. But eighteen felt different. Heavy. Like someone had dropped a weight on her chest and left it there, cold and unyielding. It wasn’t just the weight of adulthood—it was the weight of loss. Of time squandered. Of never knowing what it felt like to be wrapped in her father’s arms.

The air in her room felt thick, pressing against her skin like a second layer, suffocating and inescapable. The blinds rattled softly against the windowpane, though the night outside was still as death. The house always felt like this: too quiet, too still. Even when the world outside buzzed with life, the house seemed frozen in a moment of uneasy waiting—waiting for something or someone that would never come.

Her father had been gone for as long as she could remember. Dead and buried before her first steps, his presence reduced to an empty space in family photos and the occasional whispered mention. And yet, he lingered. In the creak of the attic stairs late at night, long after her mom had gone to bed. In the faint, inexplicable smell of smoke that would drift into her room without warning. Not cigarette smoke—something older. Ancient. Like the dying embers of a fire that had burned and burned but refused to die. Eighteen was supposed to mean freedom—an escape from everything this house represented. But instead, it felt like the house was tightening its grip, drawing her closer. The walls seemed to pulse, almost as if they were alive, whispering stories she didn’t want to hear. From the kitchen, her mom’s voice filtered through the thin walls, muffled and distant. “Happy birthday, Claire. I made your favorite—pancakes with syrup,” she called. The words floated in the air, brittle and insubstantial. They didn’t carry the warmth they once did. Her mother’s voice, usually a beacon of comfort, sounded tired today—a hollow echo of rituals performed out of obligation. Claire stayed silent, letting the words fade into the house’s oppressive quiet. 

Another year without him. That thought was louder than her mother’s attempt at cheerfulness. Another year of absence, of unresolved grief pressing against her ribs. Claire heard the faint sigh from the hallway, the shuffle of her mom’s footsteps retreating. She had tried, but the motions were empty, like acting out a scene in a play whose meaning was long forgotten. Claire sat up, peeling herself out of the icy sheets. The morning air clung to her skin, heavy and unrelenting, as she stretched, her joints stiff, her shoulders weighed down by something unseen. The house seemed to press in on her as she stood, and the air felt dense today with an unshakable anticipation, as though something was about to happen. Something she couldn’t quite define, but it hovered close, tightening its grip around her chest.

Jeans. Hoodie. The usual. The hoodie had once belonged to her father. Her mom had tucked it away in the attic with the rest of his things, but Claire had pulled it down a year ago. The fabric still held traces of him—faint, elusive. Not the scent of cologne or detergent, but something deeper, something that made her heart ache when she buried her face in it, like she could still feel his presence there, just beyond her reach.

As she slipped the hoodie over her head, Claire felt a brief flicker of warmth, but it was quickly swallowed by the heavy presence of the house around her. She moved toward the door, her footsteps causing the old wood to creak in protest. The house seemed to groan with her every step, like it was shifting its weight, reluctant to let her leave. The hallway felt different this morning—its silence more oppressive, the walls pressing in tighter, as though they had become aware of her presence. The floors sagged beneath her, as though they had long grown weary of supporting her, or anyone, for that matter. The hallway stretched out ahead, an unbroken line of shadow and wood, and Claire felt an uncomfortable sensation that it might go on forever, an endless passage with no way out.

She passed the stairs that led up to the attic, the place where her father’s things lay buried under tarps and forgotten memories. There was something unnerving about the attic, an unsettling stillness that clung to it, like time had paused in that space, waiting to be remembered. Claire had never been brave enough to go up there alone, and today, that feeling of dread was stronger than ever.

The kitchen light flickered as she passed the doorway, casting a wavering shadow that seemed to stretch too long for a morning. Claire’s eyes lingered on the half-empty mugs and the untouched pancakes cooling on the table. Her mom stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot, but her face was turned away, the deepening lines of age and sorrow carved into her features. She wasn’t the same woman Claire remembered—the one who had once been bright-eyed and full of hope. This woman, now, seemed worn out, drained of any joy.

Claire hesitated in the doorway, her gaze lingering on the pancakes. "I’m not hungry," she said, her voice flat, as though it had been emptied of emotion.

Her mom turned slowly, her lips pulling into a thin, weary smile. "You should eat something. You need to keep up your strength."

Claire wanted to say something, to explain that nothing in the world could fill the emptiness that had festered inside her for years, but she swallowed the words and turned away, walking toward the door. The door, which had always felt like an escape, but never enough to truly free her from the weight of this house. From the unshakable presence of the past that haunted its walls. At school, the day moved forward like an endless, dragging parade. The buzz of chatter and the clatter of lockers closing felt distant, as though she were hearing them from under water. The world around her seemed to blur, a disjointed hum of movement that had no meaning. She walked through the hallways like a shadow, unnoticed, untethered.

Emily was waiting by Claire's locker, all energy and brightness, holding a cupcake like it was a gift from the heavens. "Eighteen! We should celebrate. After school," she chirped, offering it with a smile that pushed against the weight in Claire’s chest.

Claire tried to smile back. It felt wrong, like forcing her mouth into a shape it wasn’t meant to take. "Maybe," she said, her voice thinner than she expected. She knew Emily wouldn’t see. She never did. Emily was one of those people whose laughter could fill a room, never questioning the emptiness it might be masking. She lived on the surface, never diving deeper than what was right in front of her.

By lunchtime, Claire found herself wandering aimlessly, her feet moving without direction, until they carried her to the memorial plaques by the library. The space was quiet, almost reverential, smelling faintly of aged paper and dust—starkly different from the chaos inside the cafeteria. The plaques were a somber, mute presence, reminders of lives lost, and yet Claire’s gaze locked onto one name among the rest.

Her father's name. David Monroe. It gleamed coldly in the dim light, the letters carved into the metal like scars in the world’s surface. Claire reached out, fingers tracing the smooth, polished surface of the plaque. The metal was unnervingly cold, as though it could absorb the warmth from her skin. The more she touched it, the more it felt like she was imprinting herself onto it, marking the passing of time that had already passed her by.

A twist of discomfort curled in her stomach. The letters seemed to burn her fingers, leaving behind a ghost of something that made her chest ache. Just then, Mark walked by, his dark figure cutting through the sunlight that filtered in through the library windows. For a moment, his eyes met hers, and Claire felt an uncomfortable flutter—a sinking feeling, not excitement, but something darker, deeper.

Not butterflies. No. It was more like the weight of the world shifting for just a second.

The final bell rang, signaling the end of the day, but for Claire, it was just another moment in a never-ending loop. The sounds of students spilling out into the halls, their voices growing quieter as they left, only made the silence around her more suffocating.

She was almost at the gate when Mark’s voice interrupted the stillness, low and rough, carrying a hesitation that she could almost feel in the air. He stood by his car, hands jammed into his jacket pockets, the casual stance hiding something guarded. The space between them seemed to hold its breath.

"Hey… you wanna go out tomorrow? Just us."

Claire blinked, caught off guard by his words. Her mouth went dry. She hadn’t expected this. She should have said no, should have turned him down and walked away. Her mind raced for an excuse, for something to say that could break the tension between them. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she stood frozen, caught in the weight of his gaze, as if some invisible force had anchored her in place.

There was something about the way Mark looked at her—his dark eyes holding hers with an intensity that felt like it could pull her under. She couldn’t look away. The world around her seemed to blur and fade, the hum of voices and the distant chatter growing quiet, until it was just the two of them, suspended in time.

And then, somewhere deep within her mind, Claire felt a whisper. The house. It was there, in the background, its presence creeping in like an uninvited guest. It was always there, lurking, a silent observer to everything she couldn’t control. The weight of that presence pressed on her chest, urging her to decide, to make a choice.

"Yeah," she heard herself say, the word barely escaping her lips. "Yeah, sure."

Mark’s lips quirked into a small, unreadable smile before he turned, stepping away. His figure receded into the distance, swallowed by the shadows of the parking lot, as the sun sank lower. The day was ending, but Claire knew that the quiet moments, the ones that mattered, were just beginning.

Emily appeared beside her like a burst of light in the fading evening, her hand grasping Claire’s arm and pulling her toward the exit. "Come on," she said, the cheerfulness in her voice almost too sharp, too bright. "It’s your birthday. Let’s get out of here."

They went to Claire’s house. 

Together, they walked past the hastily hung streamers on the front yard, their bright colors fluttering weakly in the wind. They seemed out of place against the backdrop of the darkening sky, like they didn’t belong.

When they reached home, the scene was set—a table in the yard, decorated with cake and soda. But it all felt wrong. The decorations felt like a backdrop to a story Claire wasn’t part of, a scene played out by ghosts who didn’t understand the roles they were supposed to play. It was empty, hollow.

Her mom stood near the door, her fragile smile stretched across her face, never quite reaching her eyes. The evening light framed her figure, casting long shadows across the yard that seemed to stretch endlessly. Claire’s eyes flicked to the framed photo of her father, sitting just inside the house, the glass catching the last of the sun’s light. His face was frozen in time, a memory caught between moments. Claire felt his absence like a raw ache beside her at the table. It was as though he were still there—watching, waiting—just out of reach.

"Claire, come on, you’re the birthday girl!" Emily’s voice was bright, almost too much so, but there was an undercurrent of concern. Her eyes searched Claire’s face, looking for any sign of life, any flicker of joy. Emily had always tried to fill the gray spaces of life with color, to make things brighter when the world around them seemed to be slowly dimming. But Claire couldn’t meet her energy. Not today.

"Come on, Claire," Emily coaxed, stepping closer, her voice softer now. "Let’s not stand out here all day. It’s your birthday."

But Claire couldn’t hear the words. They bounced around in her mind like empty echoes. How could it be her birthday when the one person who mattered wasn’t there to share it with her? How could she pretend the house was the same, when it felt like everything inside it had shifted? The shadows in the yard stretched longer now, reaching toward her as the sun began its descent.

Claire’s legs moved, but every step felt weighted, like she was wading through something thick. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was closing in, something that had been waiting for her to make a choice, like the house itself was waiting.

Reluctantly, she nodded, not wanting to disappoint Emily. The hope in her friend's eyes pulled at her, and for a moment, Claire almost wished she could play along—pretend that today was a normal birthday, that it still meant something.

"Okay," she murmured.

Emily’s face brightened, and she took Claire’s arm, leading her inside. But Claire’s thoughts lingered on Mark’s invitation. The weight of it pressed against her chest, full of meaning she wasn’t ready to unpack. She tried to push it away, to focus on the party Emily had worked so hard to make feel real, but it never quite felt like one. The laughter, the chatter—it was all there, but Claire remained distanced from it, a shadow in the middle of it all. The day ended.

The night stretched out ahead of her, cold and endless, like a dark river. Claire lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to push the weight of the day away. But the house felt like it was closing in on her. She had wrapped herself in blankets, tried to cocoon herself from the shadows, but it didn’t help. The absence of her father was a presence in the room, thick and suffocating.

Her thoughts circled, dragging her back to the party, to her mother’s hollow smile, to Mark’s cryptic words—just us tomorrow. They buzzed in her mind, relentless, like gnats she couldn’t shake.

The wind had picked up, and the house seemed colder, the walls creaking, almost as if something in the attic were stirring. Claire tugged the hoodie tighter around her, burying her face in the fabric, but it did nothing to ease the gnawing anxiety in her chest.

The night passed in fractured sleep, filled with blurry, unfamiliar figures speaking her name in whispers—faces that felt both strange and intimately familiar. She woke with a start, her heart racing, drenched in sweat, only to find herself in the same room, the shadows just as heavy, just as cold.

When morning light finally slipped through the blinds, it felt like an intrusion—too pale to warm the chill in her bones. She dragged herself out of bed, the remnants of the dream still clinging to her like cobwebs, unwilling to let go.

The day felt unreal—like it hadn’t started properly, like she was walking through it in a fog. She barely had time to think before she found herself getting ready for the date. The sound of her mom’s voice calling from the kitchen—something about breakfast—barely registered. The thought of seeing Mark, of actually leaving the house, made her stomach twist into tight, uncomfortable knots.

Her reflection in the mirror seemed unfamiliar, almost like a stranger’s face. She didn’t feel eighteen. She didn’t feel ready. But the invitation had come, and something in her had said yes. Something inside her that she couldn’t explain, something dark and heavy that seemed to pull her toward him.

She put on her jacket, grabbed her phone, and headed out the door, hoping that somehow, things would make sense once she was outside of these walls. But the house—its creaks and its whispers—stayed with her, like a dark presence she couldn’t shake.

Mark was waiting by his car when she stepped onto the porch. He smiled at her, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that made Claire’s heart race. Was it anticipation? Was it something else?

"Hey," he said, stepping forward. "You ready?"

She nodded, though her thoughts were far away. As they got in the car and drove off, Claire couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than just a date. That something had shifted, and she was about to step into something she couldn’t control.

The house, the party, her father—it all seemed so distant now, and yet, the feeling that it was still watching, still waiting for something to happen, never left her.

The date was normal. Too normal. A local pizza place downtown, one with old red booths and jukeboxes that only played half of the songs correctly. The place had a charming, worn-in feel, like it was part of the town’s fabric. Mark drove, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, humming along to the radio. He was completely at ease, the kind of guy who could make even the most mundane things seem effortless and fun. He grinned over at her, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that made Claire feel a little less suffocated by the weight in her chest. “Hey, Claire, you good?” he asked, his voice soft and easy, not pushing, just concerned in the way that made her feel like she mattered. His smile was effortless, a dimpled curve that could melt anyone’s walls in an instant. It was one of those smiles that made you feel like you were the only person in the room, like everything around you faded out of focus, and all that mattered was the person standing in front of you.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Claire replied, forcing a smile. But the truth was, she wasn’t. Not really. Something had been gnawing at her since the moment she woke up. But Mark—Mark had a way of making things feel less heavy. He made it all seem... lighter.

When they walked into the pizza place, the warm, welcoming scent of melting cheese and fresh bread filled the air. The jukebox in the corner crackled to life, playing some old classic rock song that Claire couldn’t quite name, but she felt the familiarity of it in her bones. Mark slid into the booth with a casual grace, his presence taking up more space than anyone else’s without even trying. He leaned back, his arm casually draped over the back of the booth, looking as though he belonged in every room he entered. “So, what’s your favorite pizza?” Mark asked, his voice light, teasing, but with an undercurrent of genuine curiosity. “I don’t know,” Claire replied, a hint of a laugh in her voice. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it.” 

“Well, you should,” Mark said, his eyes lighting up with a mix of seriousness and ridiculousness. “Pizza isn’t just food. It’s basically a personality test. Like, if you order pineapple on pizza, I’m sorry, we’re going to have to reconsider our entire friendship.”

Claire blinked, taken aback. “Wait, are you telling me you’re one of those people?”

Mark leaned back in the booth, his fingers dramatically clutching an invisible microphone. “I’m just saying. Pineapple? It’s... it’s like mixing your favorite childhood cartoon with a Shakespearean tragedy. It’s confusing, no one asked for it, and it never quite works out.”

Claire stared at him, then laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

Claire, still chuckling, shook her head. “Okay, okay. No pineapple. I’ll give you that.”

Mark raised a triumphant eyebrow. “Good choice. See, we can still be friends.”

His smile, his laugh, the way he listened when she spoke—it all made her feel seen, important in a way that was rare. Throughout dinner, they talked easily. Mark made jokes, his laughter infectious, but it wasn’t just the jokes that made him so likable—it was the way he cared. He listened when Claire spoke, really listened, not just waiting for his turn to talk, but engaging with what she said. 

He asked her about her day, her plans, her life, with a sincerity that disarmed her. His curiosity wasn’t born of politeness, but of something deeper—an instinct to see her, truly see her. Claire found herself speaking more than she intended, peeling back layers of herself she’d carefully hidden. She spoke of her father, of the ache that remained—a quiet, hollow presence she carried with her, year after year, especially on her birthday. She described the emptiness as though it were a room within her, one she couldn’t bear to leave, and yet could never quite fill.

Mark listened, not with the hollow sympathy of those who wish to comfort themselves by comforting others, but with a stillness that gave her words weight. When she paused, hesitant, he simply nodded, his voice low but steady. “That’s hard. It’s heavy, I can see that. But he’s still with you, Claire. You’re not alone. Missing someone isn’t weakness—it’s love that hasn’t found where to go yet. And that’s okay.”

Her breath caught, her voice trembling. “It’s like he’s here, but not really. Like the world keeps moving forward, but he’s... stuck. I wish I could hear him, just once. It’s like everything’s changed, except him.”

Mark’s gaze softened further, though there was a shadow in his eyes, as if her words stirred his own ghosts. “I understand. It’s as if they stay behind, fixed in time, while we carry on, unwillingly. But the fact that you feel this loss, that you remember him—it means something. It means he’s still alive, in a way. In you. His memory isn’t just a shadow; it’s part of who you are now.”

A faint smile touched his lips, offering not answers but solace. “Maybe that’s a gift, even if it doesn’t feel like one. He’s not gone if you still feel him, if he’s part of how you see the world.”

Claire blinked, startled by the depth of his understanding. Her voice softened, barely a whisper. “You... you really get it.”

Mark’s expression grew distant for a moment, then tender. “I do. I’ve had my own losses. It’s never neat, never easy. But it’s okay not to be okay. It’s okay to miss them, to let yourself feel the weight of it. You don’t have to carry it perfectly, Claire. You just have to carry it.” His words hung between them, heavy and light all at once, and Claire felt, for the first time in years, a flicker of something close to peace. His words stuck with her, resonated with her more than she cared to admit. It felt like he understood, like he could see parts of her that no one else had ever noticed. He wasn’t perfect, but he had a way of making her feel like she was.

Later, as they finished their pizza and shared a quiet moment, the date ended too soon.

Afterward, he drove her to his house. The street was quiet, lined with small, tidy homes, all of them alike in their suburban neatness. Mark’s house sat at the end of the block, porch light flickering like a broken star.

“No one’s home,” he said, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of something more. “I thought we could grab some coffee, hang out for a bit.”

Claire hesitated but she knew him since primary school and trusted him, her fingers clutching the strap of her bag, but somehow, her legs moved her forward, following him up the porch steps and through the door.

The air was cooler inside, thick with the scent of cinnamon and old wood. A single lamp cast a warm light across the living room, illuminating framed photographs on the mantle—his family, smiling and happy, frozen in time. Claire could almost imagine them alive, full of laughter, but it was impossible to focus on them for long. The room felt too still, too quiet.

Mark kissed her first. His lips were soft, warm, a gentle pressure that pressed through her skin and into something deeper, darker—something Claire couldn’t name. She let him pull her closer, felt his arms wrap around her, but the sensation was foreign. Alien. His hands were too insistent, too eager, as if they had a will of their own. Claire's heart raced, but not from desire. No, this was something else. Something jagged and wrong.

The heat was unmistakable. It began low in her chest, like a spark in dry tinder. It spread, slowly at first, then faster, curling through her veins, scorching her, each pulse a violent, suffocating fire. It was as if something in her had awakened—something buried beneath years of grief and quiet desperation. It rose up now, writhing, aching to be fed. It was hunger. It was need.

She gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh, trying to push him away, but the heat surged again, this time thick and unbearable, like a tide that consumed her. She felt his heartbeat—a frantic, panicked rhythm beneath her fingertips. He was alive. Alive and trembling in her arms.

Then, in an instant, everything went still.

Mark gasped, a sharp intake of breath that shattered the fragile moment they shared. The world swirled, twisted, bent beneath her. Claire didn’t remember the bite—didn’t remember sinking her teeth into his skin. She only knew the taste—the sharp, metallic tang that flooded her mouth. It burned in her throat, and her senses, once dulled by years of quiet numbness, exploded. It was fire. It was power. It was everything she had ever wanted, and everything she had ever feared.

The blood poured, warm and thick, spilling onto her tongue, filling her up in ways she could never have imagined. She drank deeply, greedily, her body taking from him as though it had always been meant to, as if his life were hers for the taking. She felt him go slack beneath her, his body stiffening, jerking with each passing second, but it didn’t matter. The hunger, the need—it was insatiable. It burned, it consumed.

Her teeth sank into his flesh, tearing through it with ease. The tender muscle gave way with sickening softness, and she chewed, feeling the texture of his skin, the saltiness of his blood mingling with the sickly sweetness of the meat. The flesh was warm, still soft in places, as though it had been waiting for her to claim it. She gnawed at it, tearing it apart with animalistic hunger, each bite feeling more satisfying, more real, than anything she had ever known. The taste of him lingered on her lips as she tore into the tender meat, her senses flooded with the sensation of devouring him. She consumed it all—the blood, the flesh—until there was nothing left of him but a husk, his identity stripped away, leaving only the remains of her feast.

His body collapsed beneath her, a lifeless weight that suddenly felt too heavy to bear. The taste of blood was still there, clinging to her, thick and cloying, as if it were now a part of her.

Then, the haze lifted.

For the first time, Claire became aware of the silence—the oppressive, suffocating silence that had fallen over the room. Her hands were trembling, slick with his blood, her breath ragged and harsh, burning in her lungs. Her eyes locked onto his face, still and lifeless, his wide, empty gaze staring up at the ceiling as though he had already been gone for years, not just moments.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. The room was too small. Too tight. The walls seemed to close in on her, the photographs on the mantle mocking her, his smiling family staring down as if they already knew, already understood the depth of what she had done.

And in that moment, Claire could not escape the truth. The hunger—the need that had once felt like fire—now left her hollow, a gnawing emptiness that had nothing to do with the blood she had consumed. It had never been about the blood. No, it had been something far more insidious, something that had clawed at her from the inside out, and now it had taken root. She had crossed a line. A line that could never be undone.

She stumbled backward, knocking over a lamp. The crash echoed, a sickening sound in the silence, but no one came. No one heard. She was alone in her horror. Alone in her guilt.

Her mind screamed at her to stop, to run, but her legs moved before she could think, carrying her away from him, away from the house that suddenly felt like a prison. She bolted from the room, out into the cool night air, but it didn’t matter. The hunger was still there, gnawing away at her insides. It had not been sated.

She had run. She didn’t know where she was going, but she ran—through the dark streets, her footsteps echoing in the silence of the night. Her thoughts were fragmented, and every step felt heavier than the last. All she could focus on was the image of Mark, his eyes wide with shock, the horror in his face frozen in time. He had been the one. He had listened to her, understood her loneliness, her isolation, and now... she had taken him away.

She didn’t look back as she ran down, her breath coming in ragged sobs. 

As she reached the house, Claire's chest tightened. It was still, too still. She pushed open the door, her eyes scanning the dimly lit hallway, but there was no sign of her mother. The house felt foreign to her, alien in a way she had never experienced before. The silence was deafening. She felt as though the walls were closing in on her, suffocating her with their coldness.

“Mom?” Claire’s voice trembled as she called out to check as something felt unusual here too, but the sound was swallowed by the silence, her words lost in the emptiness of the house. There was no answer. The weight in her chest grew heavier, and she took a few shaky steps into the living room, her mind racing, her thoughts scattered.

And yet, even as the door clicked shut behind her, Claire could still feel it—the heat. The hunger.

It wasn’t over. Not yet.

The house was empty, but it was not silent. It was full of something else now. Something dark. Something that would never leave her.

She couldn’t escape it. Not now. Not ever.

Claire stood frozen, her breath shallow and ragged, her hands trembling as they hovered over her mouth, stained with Mark’s blood. His body lay crumpled on the floor, lifeless and still, as the heat in her chest surged in waves, only to be followed by an overwhelming emptiness. The hunger had consumed her—had forced her to do it. Mark had been the one person who understood her, the one who saw the cracks in her soul, and now he was gone, erased by her own hands. A single tear fell from Claire’s eye, but she couldn't even feel it.

An icy dread pooled in her stomach. What had she done? What kind of monster had she become? The taste of his blood still lingered on her tongue, and the sharp, metallic scent seemed to cling to her like a curse. She stumbled back, her mind a blur of panic and confusion. The world felt like it was spinning out of control, each breath harder to draw than the last. The heat that had driven her to kill him was now replaced by a cold, suffocating emptiness, and she couldn't stop shaking.

Her mother was never far—always present, always ready with a comforting word or a hug when the world felt too overwhelming. But now, there was nothing. Just an eerie, oppressive stillness.

Claire’s heart pounded as panic clawed at her chest. She moved quickly, her steps unsteady, toward the stairs. She needed to find her mom—she needed to feel her presence, to know that there was still someone who could make sense of this madness. But even as she ascended the staircase, she knew deep down that things had changed. She had changed.

Her mind spiraled further into chaos as she reached her mother’s room. The door creaked open, and Claire’s eyes darted around the darkened space. The bed was empty. Her mother’s absence was like a chasm, a gaping hole in the fabric of the world that had once been whole. Claire sank to her knees, her body shaking with sobs that she couldn’t control. The horror of what she had done—the unthinkable violence—clung to her like a dark shadow, smothering her.

Claire locked herself in her room, her breath coming in short, erratic bursts as she hugged her knees to her chest. Her mind replayed the events in her head, over and over again, until they became a tangled, nightmarish blur. She had killed Mark. She had killed the person who truly saw her, who didn’t judge her, who... understood her. And now, she was alone. Alone with her guilt. Alone with the terrible knowledge that she had crossed a line, one that could never be undone.

Time passed in a blur, but all Claire could do was cry. Her tears felt endless, as though she could cry the entire world away and still never be free of the weight she carried. The loneliness that had once consumed her now felt like a suffocating shroud, and she was trapped inside it, with no escape in sight.

After what felt like an eternity, Claire wiped her eyes and stood up, shaky and uncertain. She had to find her mother. She had to know what was happening, why everything felt wrong. With every step she took, the dread grew stronger, as though the walls were pressing in on her, closing off all hope. And yet, she couldn't stop herself from moving forward. She had to know. She had to find answers.

Her heart raced as she moved through the empty house, and for the first time in her life, Claire realized that no matter how far she ran, no matter what she tried to do, there was no escaping the darkness that she had awakened and her mother was missing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Where is Claire’s mother, and what secrets lie behind her disappearance? Why did Claire became a Predator? Will a mysterious visitor hold the key? Follow to find out what happens next! Next chapter will be out soon.

[r8cs]

Plagg's painting

Adrien Lets Plagg have a Lot of freedom, even to decor some parts of the house. Because! Its also Plagg's home! And now that the represing authority Is gone forever, they have all the mansion for themselves! Adrien Made some ground rules in the amount of autonomy Plagg has tho, but one thing he had asked to be Made was something that really stands out.

In the entrance of the house above the main stairs where once was a Lugubrious family painting in constant mourning, now lays a classy, refined and refreshing table of the best cheeses in the world! With strict orders for the painter to have the Camembert as The main piece and Brie second. And for the others, the rotten the better, baby!

As The Time passes by, having the art at display, friends begin to realize and wonder about the painting, asking Adrien what Made him order to create this specific work. He tried to be as elusive as he could, and vaguely said it was a metaphore and would like to see them try to figure out its meaning by themselves.

Months had passed, and Marinette and Felix are fighting over who will figure out Adrien's metaphore first. Adrien Is amused and Slightly terrified Zoe (known to him for being Kitty Noire) links this to Plagg somehow.

Is this Ao3 worthy?

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

A Swallow's Symphony In Spring (19/19)

Epilogue - There is no Power like the Freedom of Their Flight

<- Previous | Masterpost |

----

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1281

----

“Oh skies,” Roman says as he paced back and forth as Janus tried - and the keyword is tried - to fix the lace on his dress. “What if he doesn’t like the dress? What if it’s too much - what if he sees me and decides he doesn’t want to-”

Janus put his hand on top of Roman’s head, effectively startling him out of pacing and talking all at once.

“He’s not going to hate you,” Janus said. “He’s put up with you for almost four years. How? I have no idea, but he has. He’s not going to leave now, not even if you trip over your skirt and fall face first as you walk up the aisle, got it?”

Now that Roman was still, Janus was able to fret properly, fixing the lacing at the back of his corset so that the gold bow sat neatly on the ruffles of his red dress. 

The dress fell to the floor and reminded Roman a little of the dresses he would wear to balls at other kingdoms - it was the only way he’d wear a colour like this back then. Vibrant reds with shimmering gold accents, white at the front and on the bodice with a semi translucent mauve veil over his hair that cascaded down his back - decorated with glittering silver and a hemline of gold and blue flowers on green vines. Something that represented his family - his whole family - the ones he had chosen. 

Janus adjusted his veil ever so slightly, pinning it back into its place before patting his cheeks. “Virgil’s going to think you look absolutely beautiful.”

Roman let out a soft sigh of relief just as the door to the little backroom of the tavern they were waiting in opened and Logan poked his head in. 

“Is everyone ready?” he asked, glancing at the two of them. Janus turned to look at Roman for the answer, who smiled and nodded.

“Yes, I’m ready,” he says. Logan nodded.

“Then we will begin in ten minutes, shall we?” he gestures to the door - offering to lead them to their places. Roman smiled, nodded and followed him out.

“How’s Virgil doing?” Roman asked as they made their way downstairs. The  train of Roman’s dress dragged on the staircase and his shoes clicked on the wood. This was the most expensive thing he’d worn since he had lived at the palace and yet it was probably worth less than most of the dresses he had owned then, but he had saved up for this. He had bought this dress with his own wages, that mattered so much more than what it cost and besides, he thought it was incredibly beautiful regardless. 

“He is almost ready as well. As is tradition, your family - well; Remus - is helping him prepare. Although, I don’t know how much ‘help’ Remus is actually giving.” 

The trio chuckled as they continued down the stairs.

—-

The tavern had been redecorated for the wedding, It was closed to customers for today, though most of their regulars had received an invite regardless. It wasn’t an extravagant event, they had simply pushed the tables back and rearranged the chairs. Red and purple banners had been strung up around the room, draping the pillars and the bar, yellow and pink flowers were arranged on each table around the back of the room. The stage had been framed with flowers and ribbons to look like an archway, beneath which Virgil stood. 

The way he was fidgeting with his hands did not distract from the silver suit he was wearing, accented with purple wherever possible and pink where it wasn’t. He wore a veil just like Roman’s, just like the ones from the spring festival - though this one was red, with the same yellow, blue and green border as Romans. Someone had attempted (and failed) to tame his hair. Roman thought he looked just as beautiful as he always did. Janus and Logan followed Roman up the aisle and Roman had to resist the urge to run to his beloved. It looked like Virgil was having the same problem. 

Remus stood in the front row, he wasn’t dressed in a fancy suit or dress - instead sporting what was practically jester wear. Roman simply smiled fondly at him. His brother gave a double thumbs up from the audience as Roman stepped up onto the stage beside Virgil, immediately taking his hands. 

Virgil returned the smile on Roman’s face. “You look beautiful,” he whispered. Roman couldn’t help but grin.

“You look incredibly handsome, my love,” Roman said softly, bringing one of Virgil’s hands up to kiss his knuckles. Janus coughed to get their attention.

“Save it for after the vows,” Janus teased, rolling his eyes. “You can kiss all you want then.”

Virgil blushed crimson despite the giddy look on his face. “Well why don’t you hurry up and marry us then?” he taunted back. Making the audience laugh. Janus huffed. 

“Yes yes, alright,” Janus said, clearing his throat again and tapping his cane against the ground for silence, “Get on with it then.”

Virgil shook his head and took a deep breath before beginning,“I, Virgil Iris Wynter, take you, Roman Anserinae, to be my husband, to love and protect you through every trial and trouble, to cherish and care for you through each winter and each summer, through rain, cloud and shine, forever and always.”

Before Roman could start his own vows, he had to take a deep breath and choke back the happy tears that were already building in his eyes. Butwith a soft smile from Virgil and a nod of encouragement from Janus, Roman spoke. “I, Roman Anserinae, take you, Virgil Iris Wynter, to be my husband. To  love and support you through every trial and trouble, to cherish and care for you through each winter and each summer, through rain, cloud and shine, forever and always.”

Logan approached the two of them with the rings Virgil had made, each a simple band of gold set with an inner ring of purple and red. They were simple rings, far less ornate than their engagement rings, but Roman loved them just as much.

“Take this ring we crafted together as a symbol of my love and devotion to you,” Virgil said as he slipped the purple ring onto Roman’s finger.  “And with this bond even death shall not part us.”

Roman could barely get through the same words through his tears - which Janus seemed to find vaguely amusing. He couldn’t help it - he had never imagined this day would come, it was so beautiful, putting the ring onto Virgil’s finger as they stood in the place that had become their home, surrounded by people who had become Roman’s family as much as they were already Virgil’s. This was every bit the life he had imagined for himself when he had allowed his mind to wander back at the palace. 

“Unless anyone has any objections - and if you do you shall have to deal with Remus, so I wouldn’t bother - I now pronounce you married,” Janus says, smiling as he - in true Janus fashion - paused for far too long, “You may now kiss.”

Roman lunged forward to wrap his arms around Virgil and pressed a kiss to his lips fast enough that Janus let out a startled laugh. Virgil wrapped him up tightly as the tavern erupted into cheering and at that moment, Roman realised just how many people loved him.

Together, they danced until the sun peeked over the horizon, surrounded by family and friends and strangers who loved and cared for him. 

Roman was not alone anymore.

[denim-mixtapes]

Aren't We All Sinners? - Vol. I: The Good Girl's Guide to Secular Music

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Reader Word Count: 3.4k Summary: Summer 1991, you're home from college and questioning everything you were raised to believe by your preacher father. When another fight leads to you storming out of the house and driving aimlessly, you stumble upon a record shop and a man who would change life as you know it for good. -- OR -- Eddie Munson teaches you that there's more to music than praising Jesus. Warnings: WHOLE SERIES 18+ ONLY! For this chapter, only adult language and a bit of Eddie being a perv. More warnings to come as they become relevant.

[Series Masterlist] [Mixtape Playlist]

It’s a tough pill to swallow, the first summer home after going away to college. The bittersweet sting of dry, over-conditioned air and watchful eye of strict parents after your first real taste of freedom. 

Coming out of your shell at university took some time. Nineteen, fresh off of two years at the local catholic junior college and a lifetime of lectures from your preacher father, you swore you wouldn’t make any waves, you were just there to get an education and that was it. What you didn’t expect was that out there, out from under your parents shadow and influence, you would be exposed to all sorts of walks of life. You found friends in people you never would have expected – or even had the chance to meet had your parents had any say – and your randomly assigned roommate challenged your beliefs and pushed your buttons in a way for which you could never thank her enough. But as soon as your guard started to drop the school year was over and you were shuttled back home to curfews and modesty and God-centered TV programming.

Now, it’s the summer of 1991 and you’re questioning more than ever. Your parents' expectations stick on you just as much as your clothing in the humid Indiana air and every ounce of freedom you tasted at school has been ripped away, landing you back in church four days a week and cooped up at home the remainder of your free time. It’s enough to drive anyone to madness. So when a childhood youth group friend invites you to lunch the next day after Sunday Service you’re thrilled for an excuse to leave the house, hopeful for some sense of normalcy in this newly foreign town. 

That hope dies the second you bound down the stairs on Monday afternoon. 

A tired grumble comes from your father behind the wall of the newspaper he’s reading. “Ain’t no way you’re leaving the house like that.” You aren’t even really sure how he saw you from behind it, but stop in your tracks nonetheless. “Go upstairs and put on something more respectable.” 

“I-I’m just going to meet up with Janie,” you stutter, pulling the frayed hem of your denim shorts down as far as they’ll go. The garment had been a gift from your roommate, one of her many hand-me-downs that she passed on to you when you tried to go to a party with her wearing a turtleneck and midi skirt. “I don’t need to be in church clothes.” 

The corner of the paper folds down, one bushy eyebrow raising at your defiance. “Did I say church clothes?” You want to protest, you want to brush past and just run out the door, but the pout on your lips and slump in your posture earns you another stern warning. “I won’t tell you again, young lady. When you go anywhere outside of this home, you represent the church and our parish, so I don’t care if you’re going to the mall or the Met, you will be covering more skin than that.” 

You respond with a stomp on the bottom step, much more childish than you’re known to be, but if he’s going to treat you like a child you may as well get to act like one. From the kitchen, your mother calls out to listen to your father without so much as a glance at either of you. 

Back up the stairs, bedroom door slamming behind you, you shimmy out of the shorts and into a knee length, fluttery skirt and pantyhose. It’s soft contrasted against your hardened, angry features and billows behind you as you descend the stairs again, not even bothering to hear what either of them have to say before you slam yet another door behind you. 

In your car you take out your anger on the radio, punching at the buttons and silently willing any station to come in, but the antenna has been broken on the God forsaken thing since you bought it, so you give up and opt for shoving the only tape you own into the cassette player. From crackling speakers Rich Mullins croons about how awesome God is, the words settling uncomfortably in your ears, and you slap the eject button just as quickly as you put the tape in. The rest of the drive is shrouded in silence except the engine rumbling under the hood and wind whipping in from open windows. 

The drive is aimless. You know where you should be headed, but with your mood already soured the last thing you want to do is sit through shallow small talk and hang on the nostalgia of Church Camp memories. Janie is a sweet girl, though, and she doesn’t deserve to get stood up, so at the sight of a payphone you pull over and pray that she hasn’t left home yet. 

“Hello, Peterson residence, this is Janie,” she answers, bubbly and polite as ever, on the third ring. 

“Hey, Jane,” you say, voice tight and tired, and identify yourself. 

“Well hi, stranger!” She says, south Georgia twang and sweetness still saturate her voice even after 12 years in Indiana. “I was just headin’ out to meet you!”

“That’s why I was ringing, actually. I think I might have to take a rain check.” 

“Oh no! You feelin’ okay?”

You sigh into the phone, guilt already setting in at the worry in her voice. “Yeah, Janie, I’m fine. I just- the heat’s getting to me and I’m in a foul mood–” neither untrue. The telephone booth is steaming up from your humid breath, sweat beading along your hairline. “– and I don’t think I’d be very good company.”

Her hesitance is clear, but she relents. “Well, I doubt that, but… if you’re sure.”

Making quick work to end the phone call, you’re blessed by a light breeze when you step out of the booth. Feeling the heat trapped under your skirt, you roll the waistband twice to feel more of the breeze on the tacky skin behind your knees and weigh your options. 

It’s hot, and you’re heated. The best option objectively is to head home and enjoy the air conditioning, or maybe take a dip in the pool, but the thought of facing your parents again without any time to calm the storm in your head is more unbearable than the sun beating down on your shoulders, so you get back into your car with a huff and decide to just drive. 

Approaching the edge of town, right when you’re thinking about turning back, you come across a strip mall you can’t recall ever seeing. Surely it’s been here some time with its crumbling brickwork and missing shingles, but growing up you didn’t venture too far outside your neighborhood or that of your father’s church, so this side of town is unfamiliar to you. 

Gravel crunches under your tires as you pull to a stop under a darkened streetlamp and look around. Nothing stands out too much as you wander the sidewalk storefronts. Nothing until Camelot Music. 

Bright white glittering letters hang above the doorway boasting the store’s name, and the bulbs behind the ‘t’ flicker with age. The front door is propped open with a sizable rock, a heavy, thrumming bassline inviting you in to curiously peer at the shelves lined with colorful record sleeves and bright signage. At the very least you can get some new tapes for your car, then this excursion could be considered a success. 

The song changes as you step into the store, an impressive, tinny guitar solo opening up the song. It’s good, not something you’ve heard before but you can’t help but nod your head along as you browse the shelves. You see artists your friends have tried to introduce you to and thumb across the covers, but none of them stand out. Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, Culture CLub, they were all definitely better than the worship music you’re made to listen to at home, but none of them sat with you as well as the song that’s playing over the store’s sound system. 

From the moment you enter his store, Eddie is captivated. Spine straightened and brow lifted with interest. The scent of your perfume came wafting in with the wind, something sweet and fruity and oh, so enticing. 

He doesn’t jump into customer service mode just yet, instead choosing to observe, see what artists you approach. See if you’re sure of your direction before he comes on too strong. 

Watching you wander through what he likes to call the ‘cookie cutter aisle,’ his eyes are drawn to the movement of your skirt, the hem brushing at the soft skin just above your knees, the tension in your calves when you tiptoe to read the titles on the top shelf, the anxious fiddling with the gold pendant on your neck, though he can’t see what it is with his distance. 

He has to get closer. 

“Looking for anything in particular?” A voice from behind startles you. 

Instinctively, your hand goes to the crucifix on your neck, clutching it comfortingly as you jump and turn to face the sole employee of the store. 

All signs point to danger with this man. Long, dark, unruly hair hangs in his face as he leans toward you, a hand on the wall beside your head and a smirk on his lips. Snug, ripped jeans and tee shirt with a devil on it cling to his frame, no sign of a uniform except for the name tag that reads ‘Eddie the Banished’ and he’s weighed down with silver. Countless heavy rings and chains adorn him, a stud through his eyebrow and a hoop in the opposite nostril. Ink stains most of the skin you can see. He looks like mischief personified, but he’s looking at you with the biggest, softest brown eyes and his expression softens when he notices your tension. You swear you can see his eyes fall to your chest, but when you smooth the cross back into your skin and drop your hand, those round eyes flick back up to yours. 

“Oh, uh,” you stammer, then point toward the ceiling. “Yeah, actually. Who is this? I really like it.” 

Shock paints his features, his brows shooting up with amusement and he laughs. “What kind of a rock do you live under?” Your shoulders rise and fall in a soft shrug, your arms wrapping around your middle defensively. “It’s Guns N’ Roses, here,” he beckons you down the aisle, past a few genres, and stops in front of a sign marked Hard Rock. You follow his gaze as he scans the shelf before finding the tape in question, plucking it off of the rack and pressing it into your hands. “Appetite for Destruction, their debut album. Sweet Child O’ Mine is the song on now, but the whole record is pretty fuckin’ good.” 

Eddie takes note of the way that you flinch at his swear, but still offer him a smile in thanks, and banks it in his memory alongside all of the other things about you that drew him in. The gold crucifix that rests against your collar. The bruise on your thigh that he shouldn’t be seeing, but he is, because your waistband is rolled and bunched up, shortening the skirt. The way your chest heaves rapidly, the way he can practically see your anxious pulse in the vein running up your neck. The tiny dart of your tongue as you wet your lips nervously. 

You’re a total stranger, a ship passing through, and he wants to ruin you.

“Cool,” you mumble, looking away from his stare and at the shelf of tapes. “Do you have any other suggestions that are similar?” 

A ring clad hand comes to rest on his chin as he thinks, a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “I could come up with a ton for you if you give me some time to think, but off the top of my head...oh!” He snatches another title off of the wall and hands it over, “Mötley Crüe. I’d recommend anything of theirs but this is their best album to date.” 

You look down at the cassette in hand, bold, red letters titling the album Shout at the Devil. You have half a mind to put that one back, already hearing your father’s claims of devil worship and sin swimming around in your head, but ultimately decide to just go for it. You nod to the man, Eddie, in appreciation and brush past him toward the counter. 

He prays you don’t feel his eyes on your backside, or the skin exposed by a run in your stockings and the way the material cuts into your skin, making a little roll that he can’t stop thinking about sinking his teeth into. He stands back, distracted, until you reach the counter and turn his way again and he hurries to join you behind the register. 

Register beeping as he types in your items, he asks, “So why the sudden interest in rock, hmm?” He prompts, bagging your items and pushing them toward you. You hand the cash over and he continues, “Wham! just not doing it for ya anymore?” 

“I don’t…know who that is,” you admit sheepishly, savoring the laugh it draws from him, even if it was at your expense. “No, um, actually, hold on.” Digging in the bag, you open both tapes and peel the paper from inside the cover, shoving the crumpled cardboard across the counter. Eddie stares on, appalled that you would deface these albums so quickly.  “Can you throw that away for me? My parents will lose their minds if they see that I’m listening to anything other than worship music. That’s…why I don’t know anything about music. I’m not technically allowed to listen to secular music.” The man before you pales as you speak, straightening his posture from the flirtatious lean he had on the counter to a cautious, respectable distance. He may be a horndog…some may even go so far as to call him a pervert, but he’s not about to put the moves on a fuckin’ teenager. As you continue ranting, however, his internal monologue heaves a sigh of relief. “It’s like – I’m 20 years old for Pete’s sake. I could be living across the God forsaken country if I wanted to, but because they’re paying for my college and I’m under their roof, it’s like they think they can control my every move like a child.”

As you complain, he studies your face. The rosy, heated hue to your cheeks, the heaving of your chest as you get more and more worked up, the way your hands flutter around your face as you rant. The smirk from before takes over his face again as he leans his elbows on the counter, and you feel yourself shrink under his scrutiny. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, taking the bag from the counter. “You didn’t need to know all of that. It’s just…frustrating.” 

Christ, he wants to bite the pout that rests on your lips. Shaking the thought from his head, he says, “no worries. Listen, if you want more recommendations I’m happy to help. Music is kind of my thing.” 

You study those big, brown eyes cautiously, and you’re met with an intriguing cocktail of promise, sincerity, and a little bit of a warning. It’s a surprise to both of you when you nod. “Yeah, okay, thanks.” 

“Great,” he grins, waving as you back up toward the door. “Give those a listen and tell me what you think, I’ll have more for you next time you’re in.” 

You spend the rest of the evening driving around Hawkins. Wind from the open windows whips your hair around your face, lip gloss staining the straw to your coke. Accompanied by the hum of cicadas, Axl Rose serenades you through fuzzy speakers, bringing goosebumps to your skin. 

When you pull into your driveway, the sunset has painted sherbert tones across the sky, and you sit and wait for the track to end before stashing the tapes in your glove box and heading inside. 

Not even the scolding from your mother for returning home after sundown can bring you down from the floaty mood you’re in.

On your next visit you’re eager to tell him your thoughts on both albums, and he presents you with Led Zeppelin IV. “An oldie but a goodie,” he claims, pressing the plastic into your hands and then guiding your fingers closed around it with his own.

You’re back every few days, always discarding the packaging as soon as you make your purchase, always strutting around the store in those damn skirts and knee socks, soft pink and off white tops and shiny lip gloss, innocence and purity and daring him to steal a glance at parts of you he shouldn’t. Eventually, Eddie starts inviting you to stay and listen in store, instead of spending all your money. It’s not a great business tactic, but he loves the idea of you coming around more often and staying longer, and he loves getting to see the blissed out look on your face when you’re enjoying his selection of the day even more. Besides, you always end up buying at least one new album for yourself every visit anyway. So now you spend your afternoons on the little wooden stool behind the Camelot Music counter, feet kicking back and forth beneath you, making small talk and getting a heavy metal education from Eddie Munson. In between albums he inquires about your upbringing, usually through shock that you don’t know 90% of the musicians he references. He teases you for your aversion to swearing, and promises that one of these days he’ll get you to say ‘fuck.’ You inquire on the meaning behind his tattoos. Sometimes there is one, sometimes the meaning is that he had extra money and thought it looked cool. For the most part, though, you just listen to music together and talk about the parts you liked and the parts you didn’t care so much for, passing smiles across the counter and between stacks of tapes.

On your sixth visit, he sends you on your way with his own personal collection of Black Sabbath tapes, his top 3 favorites, claiming that they mean more because they were borrowed. You’re about to walk out of the store when he stops you with a hand on your forearm. 

“So, these guys are a little heavier than what I’ve been giving you, but I know you can handle it,” his eyes flick down to where you worry your lip between your teeth. “But they’re one of my favorites. They’re a huge inspiration for my band.” 

“You’re in a band?” You ask, though you’re not at all surprised. 

“Sure am,” he boasts, thumb thrust over his shoulder at a flier on the wall that reads Corroded Coffin. Washed in grayscale, an elevated version of the Eddie you’ve come to know stands at the front of the group in a fishnet top and leather pants, electric guitar slung low on his hips and dark makeup lining his eyes. Normally you’d laugh at the sight of someone you know dressed like that, but on him it works. “We’ve got a gig out at the Phoenix in Muncie this Saturday. If you end up liking Sabbath you should check us out.” 

“Oh, I’m-” you shake your head, laughing at your own hesitation, “is it 21 plus?” 

“Oh shit,” Eddie says, and you blink at the word. He shrugs, “don’t worry about it. They don’t usually card, and if they do I’ll tell them you’re with me.” The statement is accompanied by  a wink and a squeeze to your shoulder that has you nodding dumbly. 

“O-okay. I’ll be there.” 

With a stare fixed firmly on your behind, shameless in his attraction now that he’s gotten to know you, Eddie calls out to your retreating figure, “countin’ on it, sweetheart!” It’s only when you get to your car that you realize he’s given you four tapes. The three Sabbath ones you knew about, but tucked into the front pocket of your purse is a fourth tape, a mixtape, the title of which has you blushing and shaking your head as you pop it in and watch the permanent marker scrawled “The Good Girl’s Guide to Secular Music” disappear into the tape deck.

[applecidersstuff]

It had been six thousand years, but she’d only had around a hundred bodies and identities. It wasn’t hard in the beginning, humans didn’t bother to write things down or record people they’d been living with, so whenever they started suspecting something she just moved. Then humans started to bother with those things. They did change a couple times, sometimes to blend in, sometimes to have more freedom, sometimes to see what her “old lot” had been up to.

But it wasn’t really hard until the witch hunts.

Village women started to notice that she didn’t age. They told their husbands that she was a witch; it wasn’t hard to believe, she had red hair and collected herbs, not for potions, simply because she liked the smell. Although she did help a boy who had flu, when they lived in Rome their friend taught them how to make herbal tea which helped. They burned her at the stake, they burned their God alive in the name of said god. Then there was a thought in their head: “Maybe I’m not the god they worship, anymore? Maybe he’s the one they call god..” She didn’t have any thoughts anymore, not until she appeared seven years later on the doorstep of a nunnery.

During their time on earth they left many of their signs, but every life she lived, she made sure to place more. She didn’t know how many those “representatives” found. They didn’t want to know.

Nunnery was nice, they hid there for almost a century. It was easy, she just made everyone believe that she was a new person, every couple of decades, and her “old self” would be quickly forgotten. But one nun didn’t forget. She wasn’t a sister, her status was Mother. Mother Antonia, that’s what they called her. They noticed that Mother was watching them, her eyes were almost saying: “ I know what you are, I know that all of you are one.” They left “Chattering Order of St. Berrill” at the beginning of the eighteenth century. Mother Antonia was the one to see them off, her eyes passed the view and focused on them, at least that was what they felt, they never really saw her face, they always assumed that she didn’t have any eyes and that was why she wore a veil. Too tall for a woman from that time, too weird to still be alive and not burning on the stake as a witch. She didn’t seem to be in place then.

When she said her goodbyes to sisters and was almost at the bottom of the stairs, Mother called her. Sisters were back inside, but she was standing at the top of the stairs, her veil thrown back, red hair sticking out a little from under the headwear, her eyes - bright yellow, with vertical pupils - staring right at them. Those eyes they remembered for a long time, those eyes that said “I knew you wouldn’t do that, I knew he wasn’t you. I know who you are, Almighty.”

They didn’t see that angel for so long, they were at fault for what happened.

It was just one identity for a hundred years. They decided to change it not long until the French Revolution. The angel was again there, but he didn’t recognize them this time. They stole bread from some man that went to look at the Queen's death. Then the angel vanished.

It was 1827 if they remember it correctly. It was one of the times when they really became their identity. Elspeth was poor young lady who lived in Edinburg. They met wee Morag in 1824, she was a window, with no children, so she had no right for her late husband’s money. They didn’t make many friends through their life, but wee Morag was different, she was more than a friend. Last they had friends in the nunnery, almost two hundred years ago, so they’ve decided to give that a chance. They figured that if they would find a corpse she could get some money. That’s when they run into both of them. The last time she’d seen them together was in Rome, never since. But now both “representatives” were here.

One of them volunteered to help her with the body, other one started telling him how wrong it was. They wanted to punch him, but you can’t hit an angel, can you?

Later they couldn't remember much about what happened after. Or at least do it clearly.

It was rage that filled her up. It was a perfectly fine body until that "representative" got in the way. Now it was ruined, useless.

And after that those two had the audacity to show up and tell her that they would help her?! They didn’t want to agree, they did it for Morag, but maybe it was best if they didn’t.

Then they shut down, they had no thoughts, no ideas, no emotions, just memories and pain where their heart would have been. She wanted to destroy this place, destroy them. Erase those two from existence and never look back. But they couldn’t, those desires were buried deep inside their mind. They were like a puppet whose strings were cut. Elspeth didn’t feel that way. She knew what to do, so they let her do it.

They made themselves take control back only when they realized that one of the “representatives” was trying to drink the poison.

“Why it was even there?”

They couldn’t remember. It was probably something Elspeth was planning.

She tried to stop him. They didn’t know why, but maybe it was guilt? Guilt for the things they’ve messed up, for lives they’ve ruined.

They shut down again when something in their brain said that poison isn’t lethal for eternal beings. Elspeth was in charge again, she didn’t need to worry any more.

The next thing they remember? She was gasping for air between a couple of gravestones, pain felling up her chest.

People turn to god when their loved ones die, they beg god for help. But who should God turn to? Who should they beg?

Wee Morag died, they had money now but that wasn’t something they wanted, they wanted to have peace for at least a lifetime, with Morag. They wanted to run from that life. But it was hard, hard to leave it all behind.

On the money she got from angel “representative,” she bought land, a lot of it, and a couple decades later opened an orphanage. They got rid of the body they had before and pretended to be an orphan. There was an epidemic of tuberculosis during the 1870s, she got affected.

The doctor headmistress called appeared to be one of the representatives. That body, that identity died then. and that was the last time they'd seen either of them for quite some time.

They’ve spent the entire 20th century in America and France, they appeared as an actress, an activist, an artist, college student, and a backer once. That century was one when they had the most identities, yes some of them were combined, but it was still much more than they had before. Maybe that was why “representatives” couldn’t find her. Eventually they started to restore the body they had in Rome, she was a priestess back then, and had some knowledge about how to avoid the spirits. The thing that proved to be useful was “evil eye” a little peace of jewelry that they carried around. They got panicked when “representatives” appeared there, so they covered their arms and upper back with those symbols. There were other ones that could’ve helped her, like the one they learned even before the flood, people they’ve lived with back them showed her symbols that were supposed to hide them from the Metatron, and let them speak to God directly. She’d made a couple of those too.

By the beginning of the 21st century, they were again guarded by their tattoos and jewelry. They changed their body a bit to appear younger and returned to London.

They had money but got bored of doing nothing eventually, so she got a job in a local café.

Nina was a nice boss, they became friends in no time, then they befriended Maggie. But she still couldn’t bring herself to talk with that “representative” who lived across the street.

One day, a naked man appeared right in front of the bookshop, then a couple other people. They weren’t people, of course, they were angels and a few demons.

It seemed normal until He appeared, then it all went nuts.

[petitfarron]

Tagged by @foxlin-fantasia to do this, thanks for that! Sorry it took forever. (And I think I did it wrong but whatever it's too late to go back now!)

Have more rabbit in his old stage before I, more or less, settled on his look.

🌱 Animal: The obvious and only choice is a rabbit...

🌱 Colour: Earthy greens and browns are his favorite colours to wear but, honestly, who can go wrong with black too? As for a favorite colour in general? Probably a bright yellow like the sun. It makes him feel happy to look at!

🌱 Song: Something happy and folk-y because I said so.

🌱 Number: Honestly, he isn't much of a numbers man. And it's not like he deals with his own finances well or... at all, let's be real. The number 8 is pretty fun to look at, though. It's two little circles! Yeah... he really doesn't care at all, sorry.

🌱 Day or Night: Both are beautiful in their own ways but if he had to pick? The day time. Only because being born on the First with perpetual, blinding light had his eyes adjust to it. Now if he ever finds himself in the dark, he can barely see at all. There are times Dusk has to guide him up and down the stairs if it's too dark at home, even. But nighttime has the moon and stars and he's still very infatuated with those...

🌱 Plant: I don't know if this is supposed to be his favorite or a type I think represents him so why not both! A flower to represent Farron would 100% be a sunflower. They live for a long time and they're vibrant and full of life! Just like this dumb viis man. As for his favorite flower... a gloxinia. It's the first flower he gave to Dusk! He thought he wouldn't know what it meant but jokes on him.

🌱 Smell: Hm, I've not really thought about this before but, as a big cook, I have to assume Farron probably always smells a little like whatever he's made throughout the day. Also probably a touch flowery since that's his main hobby and he's always handling some kind of plant. If he hasn't done either of those things in a day he would smell like the bath scents he has a home, either minty, like pine or a citrus scent. He has a bath everyday. Always. They're his favorite thing!

🌱 Gemstone: Citrine because it is the happy stone, so of course.

🌱 Season: The summer is always going to be his favorite. Or whenever is warmest, really. Although he does think snow is beautiful and... he lives in Ishgard now... blame Dusk for that. In that case his favorite season is "wherever the nearest fireplace is, please."

🌱 Place: There are so many places that Farron loves but if he had to pick one he would have to pick Il Mheg as a whole. He loved playing games with the pixies, absolutely adored the amaro (especially the babies) and the nu mou! Not to mention all of the breathtaking scenery. It's so vibrant and lively, he really had the best time whenever he got to go there.

🌱 Food: Giant popoto pancakes! They're fluffy and sweet and you can pile fruit on top of them and how can someone not love them? Farron and Dusk even started having a weekly pancake day once they started living together.

🌱 Eorzean Deity: Having come from the First, Farron didn't really pay attention to Eorzea's gods. But if he had to pick one to identify with the best it would be Nophica. The botany lady? It's an obvious pick.

🌱 Eorzean Element: Wind, I suppose? It gives off a sense of freedom as it can't ever really be restricted and Farron feels the same now that he's away from the shackles of his life on the First.

🌱 Drink: Always coffee. It doesn't matter what kind, he's guaranteed to love it. But he's also big on alcohol, just not in a "one type is my favorite" kind of way. Whatever makes his brain stop thinking, no matter the taste, is always a favorite. Although that was the old him and he's better now... probably.

[moonchild-things]

Chapter Sixteen: Escape Using an Invincible Suit of Camouflage!

Summary: Being a psychic is not an ideal life, at least for Saiki Kusuo. Didn’t you read/watch The Disastrous Life of Saiki K to know that? Still, this isn’t about him, not really. Instead, let’s focus on his one and only friend, Akari Watanabe, who is also quite abnormal. You might not believe that Saiki would actually have a friend, but that’s what fanfictions are about, right?  

Word Count: 3155

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WITH YET ANOTHER UNINTERESTING SCHOOL DAY OVER and done with, Kusuo and Akari were hurrying their way down the corridor. Obviously, they had somewhere to be. After all, it is actually a very important day. The two of them have to get home as soon as possible! It wasn’t just so they could escape their classmates or the school building. Well, that was part of it, but they also had an important appointment.

“It’s 4:00 p.m.” Kusuo started to explain as he and Akari left their classroom, “If we leave now, we can make it in time. There is a show that I must watch at 5:00 p.m. It is…” Que anime title screen for ‘Healthy Warrior Specialiser!’ For a moment, Kusuo’s expression wasn’t as bored as usual. Instead, he appeared to be a bit excited. Only a bit though. Like a tiny, tiny amount. This anime sure must be entertaining for Kusuo to show any sort of emotion for it. The two continued to walk down the hall, well in Akari’s case it was more of a glide, and were nearing their freedom. “It may seem childish, but anime is Japan’s primary source of entertainment. I enjoy it myself.” Hey, me too Kusuo. However, Akari isn’t as excited about the anime as Kusuo is. Sure, she thought it was a pretty decent show and enjoyed watching it with Kusuo, but she isn't really into anime. Perhaps that’s because she hears enough about anime and manga from her obsessed brother. Still she’ll watch it with Kusuo because he enjoys it. Anything he likes, she’ll do it with him much like how he’d do the same for her. Though just as the pair were going to head down the stairs, Kusuo sensed something and stopped walking. Akari stopped as well, already feeling how Kusuo’s mood changed just slightly. Right around the corner, Kaido stood keeping a watch out for Kusuo. “That was close. We should go the other way.”

Kusuo huffed as he maneuvered himself and Akari from running into the either-grade-minded boy to head down the other set of stairs. Akari blinked her large yellow-eyes at the sudden change of direction, “Huh? Why?”

“Where did Saiki go?” Kaido muttered to himself. “I found the perfect abandoned building. I finally completed building my secret base yesterday. I need to show Saiki this base too. Actually, it’s our headquarters.” Kaido thought triumphantly, though he suddenly sounded flustered as a different thought struck him. “And Watanabe too, of course, can’t forget about her as well!”

 “That’s why.” Kusuo commented as he used shared telepathy to have Akari hear the other boy’s thoughts, “We’ll pass.” Yet, Akari was a little warmed at the thought that Kaido didn’t want to leave her out of whatever silly games that he wanted to play. Though did she want to go check out some abandoned building that was likely to collapse at some point? No, not at all. Still, it’s a nice thought.

They moved to the other side of the school with the other staircase. However, those stairs also had an obstacle in the way as well. This time it is their fiery class representative, “Where is Saiki?” The motivational boy smiled happily, “Saiki helped me out before. I’d like to return the favor… by inviting him to my gym.”

Akari cringed, “Ew, physical education.”

“Ah, and Watanabe as well. I’m sure she’d like to come too, since they’re always together.”

“We’ll pass,” Kusuo frowned, “If you want to return the favor, leave me alone today.”

“Let’s try this way,” Akari stated as she led Kusuo over to a door and started to open it. Only to gave Kusuo grab her hand before she could even touch the door handle. He could hear the thoughts of the perfect pretty girl on the other side of the door.

“Where is Saiki?” The beautiful girl thought to herself, “I don’t really care about him, but the teacher told me to give him this worksheet. Well, maybe I’ll invite him for tea and watch him squirm. That could be fun. I will make him realize that I am not an illusion!”

The shadow manipulator couldn’t help herself but giggle airily at hearing Teruhashi’s thoughts. She finds it so amusing that Kusuo somehow got himself a bit of an admirer out of the popular girl, whether he intended to or not. She did warn him about it though. Still, did it leave a little bit of a heavy feeling in her chest to know that there was someone who was interested in her best friend? Maybe, though she certainly isn’t upset that there could possibly be someone trying to spend time with Kusuo and take him away from her. Nah, no way! Haha!

“I’ll pass.” Kusuo thought, pulling Akari from her own thoughts and away from the door in order to find another route out of school. “Unbelievable. Today, the finale of that show...” Kusuo nearly whined. If he didn’t see the show live today, then that meant spoilers would be streamed into his head as other people finished the episode before him. So to avoid that he has to watch the show with Akari as soon as it comes out.

Akari raised an eyebrow as they headed down yet another nearly identical hallway of their school. “Why is it that everyone is looking for you today?” She tapped at her chin in thought, “It’s kind of strange how they’re all searching for you today of all days.” Come on, Akari, these types of things always have to happen at the most inconvenient times for Kusuo, didn’t you know that?

Kusuo stared at her through annoyed, half-lidded eyes, “They’re also looking for you.” She sighed heavily at that. Yeah, Kaido and Hairo seemed to also want to see her today too. Did it feel nice to know that she wasn’t just completely forgotten about by people she knows? Yes it did. However, she still wants some of her alone time(not totally alone, cause she’s with Kusuo) and escape from her classmates.

The door in front of them suddenly slammed open as Nendo came barging through it, “Pal! Let’s go eat ramen!”

“I’ll pass!” He then grabbed Akari’s hand and teleported them into a nearby closet in a panic. The sudden contact and teleportation startled her just a little bit, but she was more than content with finding herself in a dark place. Though that feeling dimmed slightly as Kusuo turned the light on so he could see properly. They were in a small space, there had to be only about six or seven inches between them. The close proximity wasn’t that startling though, the teens have taken naps together and(as much as Kusuo wouldn’t like to say) they have cuddled a few times, mainly when they were kids. Though it still happened. “We’re trapped.” Kusuo huffed, “Under these conditions, We cannot exit the school. Maybe I should teleport us from here.” Though he then glanced down at their feet to see them still wearing their school shoes. “But our shoes… This is fine. I still have thirty minutes to spare. I can wait a little...”

The two then tried to get somewhere a bit more comfortable. Akari found herself a box to sit on in the corner while Kusuo leaned against the wall. They were both more than ready to sit for a little while and wait them out. For now, they just started to talk a bit about the show Kusuo wanted to see. Akari was more than content with listening to him talk about it. It was in moments like this that Akari could see a little bit of emotion bleed through onto Kusuo’s face as his voice became light and giddy. It’s not that she doesn’t like the way that Kusuo is mostly emotionless, it’s who he is and she wouldn’t change that. It’s just nice to see him extremely happy and excited, at least enough to break through his shell. So Akari listened attentively as Kusuo went on about the show, more than content to do so while they waited.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER

Time has passed, twenty minutes to be exact as you can tell from the title card, and much to the pair’s dismay the other teens hadn’t left the school. Seriously, why hadn’t they left already!? Don’t teens usually want to leave school as quickly as possible when they don’t have to be there? This anime is so unrealistic.

“This is bad,” Kusuo said as his eyes crossed in order to use his clairvoyance. “Hairo is at the gates. Kaido is at the shoe cubbies. And… Teruhashi and her team have every corner of the school covered.” The teenage beauty had used her resources and recruited Takahashi as her little worker bee to help her search. Kusuo huffed lightly, “We are cornered.” 

To say that Akari is disturbed is a small understatement. She blinked, “Don’t they have other places to be?” Just how determined are these people to find them? It’s honestly a bit creepy… 

Kusuo’s eyes returned back to normal as he looked down at Akari, “It has become even more difficult than before. Watching it later is not an option. As soon as the show ends, spoilers will fill the streets. It can’t be helped.” He sighed in resignation, “I will use that. Invisibility. This power makes me invisible to the human eye. And I can also touch objects. There is one flaw. The time limit is ten minutes. Another issue is that I will be back to normal when touched by another human.” Kusuo grabbed Akari’s hand and used his invisibility to make them… well, invisible, duh. “Unless I wish for them to be invisible like me. Since I’m holding Akari’s hand, she will be invisible as well.” 

‘I’m usually invisible though, so this doesn’t change that much.’ Akari shrugged her shoulders but still let him do what he wanted. After all, it’s not often Kusuo initiates physical contact like holding hands, so she’ll gladly go along with it. Though it’s not like she wants to hold his hand all the time, no, no! That’s silly!

Disregarding her denial in wanting to be close to her friend, they headed out of the closet together, both of them being cautious as they looked around the hallway. “We must move carefully.”

Nendou then appeared out of nowhere, trotting down the hallway with his large, stupid smile. “Now where'd they go?”

Akari clung to Kusuo’s hand at the sudden fright as they watched the buffoon walk off in search of them. Kusuo also let out a breath after the surprise appearance of Nendou. “We almost failed before we even started.” The two started their trek through the halls, “However, we may be lucky to have located Nendo. He is the biggest threat to me when I’m using the power. We just need to stay vigilant.”

Heading down the hallway, Kusuo and Akari started to find their way downstairs. They then came upon Takahashi who was trying to find Sakiki like he was instructed to by his goddess. What a good little worker bee. “Where is that jerk Saiki?”

“I’m here.” Kusuo said, almost mockingly, “For those of you watching this on TV, I will show you where I am. Though since this is a fanfiction, you won’t be able to see me regardless.” Soon enough they made it down towards the main entrance of the school. Kusuo eyed the locker that was next to the shoe cubbies. “I see. Kaido is in this locker.” Kusuo picked up the locker and banged it against the ground, effectively scaring poor Kaido inside of it. The blue-haired boy screeched in fear and fell out of the locker to Kusuo and Akari’s amusement.

At his girlish scream, Teruhashi turned to see what was going on, “What’s wrong?”

“A poltergeist activity!” Kaido shakily shouted out in fear, “No, it might be an attack of the Dark Reunion!”

“What are you talking about?”

Kaido then cursed the air, “Damn the Dark Reunion!”

“Okay.” Kusuo said, “Now is our chance.”

Their fiery class representative then came running in from the gates, “What’s going on?” Kusuo had to duck out of the way before Hairo bumped into him and exposed him. Akari just sidestepped the red-haired boy. She was no longer completely invisible due to Kusuo’s powers, but she still wasn’t that visible to people thanks to her own powers. “What happened? I heard someone screaming.”

“It’s the Dark Reunion!” The delusional teen exclaimed, “I know it!”

Hairo deflated, seeing that there wasn’t a real threat, “Really? I see.”

“Right,” Teruhashi sweatdropped.

“Thank you for gathering everyone together.” Kusuo thanked Kaido silently, now that the boy was providing a distraction. He then started to change his shoes happily since his plan worked. “No one will get in my way now. Sorry.”

Akari also quickly changed her own shoes and was more than ready to head home. Since the last twenty minutes have been more than annoying, with the waiting and evading classmates, she was ready to lay around at Kusuo’s house. Even if it’s to watch anime, something she’s not overly fond of as stated before. Though before Kusuo could finish putting his shoes away, there was a different voice that approached him. “Are you going home now, Saiki?”

Kusuo and Akari were more than surprised to hear that it was Toritska who was looking right at Kusuo! “What?”

“I’ll join you!”

The medium then placed a hand on Kusuo’s shoulder, nullifying his power and making him visible again. “You idiot!”

At Toriska’s greeting, the three other students who had been searching for him turned like a pack of starved wolves. “There he is!”

Kusuo was in shock now that he was surrounded by his classmates were were more than excited to ask him to hang out. Akari watched them from a few feet away as they closed in on Kusuo. She was both amused and concerned by the turn of events. One, it’s funny to her to see Kusuo’s plan end up in smoke and completely ruined. Though it was also concerning because now Kusuo was most certainly uncomfortable and annoyed, which Akari didn’t like to see him in.

“Saiki!” Hairo exclaimed, “I’d like to return the favor!”

Teruhashi flashed her sparkling blue eyes, “The teacher asked me to give you this!”

“I found this great abandoned building!” Kaido looked like he couldn’t contain his excitement with the declaration.

“Are you free now?” The three chorused together.

Kusuo was completely surprised at the turn of events, “What?”

Besides him, Toritska blushed brightly, “Teruhashi!”

Kusuo deadpanned, “You can really see everything, can’t you?”

Now, as much as Akari can find amusement in situations like this from time to time, she would like to leave now and take Kusuo out of this uncomfortable place. Seriously, so any of these guys know anything about personal space?

“Um, actually…” Akari started to say, scaring mostly everyone else with her hauntingly soft voice. No one had even noticed her as they glanced at her form on the other side of Kusuo. She shifted uncomfortably at the five pairs of eyes now pointed in her direction. “Saiki is helping me out today. So he can’t go with you… sorry.”

Teruhashi looked to be the most disheartened by that, “Oh.” Though she also seemed to be a bit confused. After all, who is this girl that has plans with Kusuo that are seemingly more important than going out with her; the perfect pretty girl?

“All right!” Hairo nodded his head firmly, not going to force Kusuo if he already had plans with her.

Kaido sighed, a bit sad but he’ll just have to take her and Kusuo to his super secret hideout another day. “Sorry, Watanabe.”

So the trio of other students left them alone. Kusuo seemed to breathe easier now that the others were gone. Akari smiled lightly at him, which he could see from the corner of his eye. ‘I don’t understand why you didn’t just ask me to help you out more.’ She commented.

He shrugged his shoulders, “I never want to bother you with anything. Especially my problems. Then I’d just feel indebted to you.”

‘It bothers me even more that you think it will bother me.’ Akari hummed. She could understand that view point, considering she also wouldn’t want to bother him either. Though most of the time he also presented her with his assistant when needed, so why shouldn’t she do the same for him? ‘I’m your friend, I’ll help you out when you need it. So long as you’d do the same for me. If you don’t want to help me every once in a while, then I won’t help you.’

Kusuo stared at her for a long moment, “Oh.”

There are plenty of times where Akari has done this. Looking out for his interest whenever he gets put into some uncomfortable or unfavorable situations. Sure, there are plenty of times that Akari has found amusement from either seeing him in these situations or even putting him in them. Still, she was there to help him out with whatever he needed. Most of the time, he knew that he didn’t need her help, however, it felt… nice to have someone to think that they needed to help him out.

He’s done the same for her in his own little ways. Well, he certainly has been in far more uncomfortable situations than she has. Since he’s the one who draws more attention than she ever can. After all, he's the main character of the anime/manga! And sure, Akari is the oc for this fanfiction, but that ain’t gonna change the way that Kusuo gets attention.

Still when she needed it, he was there to help her out with certain things. Then again she rarely gets any attention so there aren’t that many opportunities for him to help her out. However, when the situation came up, he was there to keep an eye on her and make sure she was okay. They’re friends. That’s what friends do for each other.

Friends also spend almost 24/7 with each other, know nearly every little secret about each other, constantly feel like keeping each other at arm's length and want nothing more than to just be alone with them. If you can’t tell, I’m trying to insinuate something. Yeah, some friends are close like that… but this is Kusuo and Akari we’re talking about. And this is a fanfiction so… yeah. MJ isn’t trying to be that blatant with the relationship progression, but we all know where this is going, right?

The purple-haired boy who was watching his master and cute shadow-manipulator have a telepathic conversation, stepped over to them. “So can I still walk with you guys?”

“No.” The other two answered together.

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[therapycards]

Break Free and Step Into the Light 🌟

One of my recent sessions with a client perfectly illustrates how metaphorical cards can light up our inner world.

She was struggling in a relationship where she felt suppressed and unable to fully express herself. Her partner neither supported her ambitions nor fulfilled her emotional needs. She described feeling trapped, consumed by fear and hesitation, yet yearning for something more, yearning for light and freedom.

When asked to choose a card that reflected her current state, she selected one depicting a dark grotto. Small staircase lead towards an archway, through which a mysterious light could be seen. Notably , the card had no characters on it: no people or animals, nothing. It was as if her very presence had been erased, symbolizing how deeply she felt lost in the shadows of her relationship.

She stared at the card for a long time before saying, “This is me. Or rather, this is where I am. It’s dark, quiet, and empty. I’m scared to climb those stairs, but I know I need to. I want that light, but I feel like I’m not even present in my own life.”

We spent time exploring what the card symbolized for her. She shared how her partner’s disapproval and indifference had silenced her voice. “I’ve been living in the dark, afraid to be myself,” she said.

Next, I asked her to draw a card that symbolized her ideal state, where she wanted to be. This time, she picked a card with a figure standing at the top of a mountain, arms open wide, bathed in sunlight.

Her eyes softened. “This is where I want to be: free, strong, and connected to something bigger than myself.”

She drew a third card to represent the first step she needed to take. It showed a single candle in a dark room. “It’s small,” she said, “but it’s enough to start finding my way.”

Her shoulders had relaxed, and there was a spark of hope in her eyes. She left with a renewed sense of purpose and a plan to take those small but meaningful steps toward her own light.

And she realized that she didn’t need her partner’s permission to shine...

#TheUniverseAllusion #MetaphoricalCards #InnerWork #SelfDiscovery #EmotionalHealing #BreakFree #PersonalGrowth #TherapistTools

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[danipetersen]

From the feedback I received for my formative posters, I needed to ensure they complimented each other. Primarily, I chose a different title for my second poster as "Freedom is Peace" didn't match well with "New Beginnings". Therefore, I thought, "what is a new beginning?". "New Beginnings" to me means "Change", experiencing something different to what you would typically. Change creates "New Beginnings" and "Change" is a result of "New Beginnings". I continued using condensed fonts, bold for the main typography and extra light for the quotes. I included a quote to express what "New Beginnings" and "Change" meant to me. This is where my composition was at its strongest as opposed to my previous designs.

For the "New Beginnings" poster I continued incorporating stairs, however this time it was thriving. The most satisfying thing is that the text "New Beginnings" has been arranged to reveal a staircase going up. I achieved this by stretching out the text to appear as if it lays flat while placing regular text on top. I repeated this process until it revealed a staircase. Grabbing inspiration from my previous developments, I wanted to include the mirror effect. In order to do this, I copied the staircase and flipped it horizontally, positioning it at the top of the page, opposite the bottom staircase. This creates an illusion of the staircase "coming in". In between the set of stairs remained space, however, I didn't want to repeat "New Beginnings". Instead of repeating, I used "Start" as I wished to convey a message similar to, "New Beginnings" means "Starting anew". Although, I thought that would be a bit plain and boring, so I decided to add another text behind "Start", yet it blended into the background to the point it was almost incomprehensible. That text was "Change". I also included a checkered line, with the purpose of representing a starting line.

In regards to the "Change" poster, I knew I had some sort of idea on how to approach its design, however I had to stray away from "Freedom is Peace". I took elements from my "New Beginnings" developments, such as the idea of an arrow. Arrows can represent various things, whether it's growth or directions. For this particular poster I wanted to demonstrate that change means going in different directions, emphasis on different. I arranged the text to be facing different directions, in addition to changing the angle of the 'A' to be enticing. This is the second time I used the colour orange in my designs. I feel like orange complements well with green, therefore I decided on this colour scheme. In order to maintain that typography element, I used the letters of "Change" to resemble the shape of an arrow. Rather than having the arrow pointing left to right (west and east), I made it so the arrow was pointing up and down (north and south). I intentionally did it this way to mirror the composition of the "New Beginnings" poster. The 'c' at the top of the page has been repeated a few times, yet as the "arrow" goes up the 'c's get smaller. This creates a triangle dynamic as arrows are often perceived as such. I have completed the same with the "e" at the bottom of the page. To enhance the presence of the arrow even more, I included shadows to each individual letter.

Overall, these are definitely strong contenders for my final summative. These do appear more realistic and professional compared to my previous designs as that is what I was hoping for. The image-to-text ratio has also been improved significantly as there are nearly zero images in either designs. Therefore, I can say I have improved tremendously while working on my posters.

[inapat17]

Conan the barbarian or how John Millius uses Arnold Schwarzenegger as an anarchist hero.

-Be careful if you hate spoilers -

Arnold Schwarzenegger in the ‘80s is well known to have been a bodybuilder. He started his acting career in 1970 with Hercules in New York but success struck with John Millius’ Conan the barbarian in 1982. Before that he was more a muscle man than an actor who conveyed emotion. The film tells the story of Conan a man that has been enslaved after seeing his mother being beheaded by Thulsa Doom - James Earl Jones - when he was a child. After he was set free, Conan tries everything he can to get revenge. At the first sight, this fantasy tale written by John Millius and Oliver Stone seems classic. It is a revenge story of one man that is going to take down an empire. The music got this epic quality of the 1950s peplum and the fade in between a lot of shots and scenes makes the narration as classic as it can be to represent the time fleeting. Conan’s first action is to take his father’s sword then he will start his revenge. He meets several characters with whom he befriended and he even falls in love with a girl: a blonde. But this tale changed when Thulsa kills Valeria during an attack. The movie’s climax is a battle where Conan uses more his brain than his muscle: there is a long sequence during which Conan and his two friends prepare traps before the battle with a girl, a brunette, they captured. By the end of the movie Millius and Stone transformed the classic revenge story into the story of a men who breaks his alienation and sets other people free.

At the beginning Conan’s work as a slave is to push something heavy in a circle. It is a clear symbol of alienation that started during his childhood until he is free when he is an adult. It is only when he breaks free that he starts his revenge. Therefore, working for Doom made him who he is: this big muscle man that he is. Society creates with inequality what destroys it. Doom represents – as his name make it seems – chaos. He rules over people as a tyrant making women killing themselves for him, using violence to conquer and to lead his kingdom.  He is heavily dressed in black and always filmed with a low-angled shot. He is always shown as the ruler over everything and everyone. On the other hand, Conan is almost always shirtless or at least his arms are uncovered. If he kills, he only kills men. If Conan uses violence, it is because he has been attacked. When Thulsa kills Valeria, the blonde with whom Conan is in love, who is free and smart is the moment when Conan has captured the brunette called the princess. The classical story is reverse. The female characters are not just objects for the hero. Moreover, Millius and Stone transformed the hair cliche to show that Conan does not love Valeria because she is pretty. He falls in love with her because she is a better strategist than him. Valeria seems smarter than Conan and his friend. The princess is alienated by Thulsa but at the end of the movie she is no longer a princess. After Conan killed Thulsa with three sword strokes as the three powers – justice, religion and government – the princess goes to his feet and Conan waits for her to stand up and he goes down the stairs to be at the same hight. Conan sees the woman as his equal and not an inferior like Thulsa. Conan the barbarian is the story of two kinds of masculinity fighting against one another. The first one, represented by Doom, is destructive and fueled inequality between men and women and between men and men. Conan represents another kind of masculinity. He stands for equality between sexes, races. Conan is an anarchist hero because he sets people free by destroying the power to makes people rise up by themselves. According to the movie the real chaos is government control and real freedom is to be able to fight for yourself with knowledge and not only with muscle. This is why casting Schwarzenegger is a brilliant idea. His overly ripped body and way to big arms critiques the violence that Thulsa does. Conan does not need those muscles Conan is a new Prometheus as it is quoted during a sequence where Conan is attached to a tree and a bird tries to eat his liver. But Conan’s fire is knowledge and equality. That is why he is an anarchist. He sets on fire power to live in a more equal world because people know and if they do not know, they will learn.

To conclude it is quite funny to watch Conan in 2024 considering Schwarzenegger has become during the 2000s Californian state governor which shows that he was an actor getting into the mind of the filmmaker he worked with. Millius was an anarchist then Shwarzenegger played the anarchist.

Pierre Borowczak

[squickmons]

Get Inspired by 10 Crazy and Whimsical CNC Plasma Cut Projects Online

Are you interested in giving on some daring projects using CNC plasma cutting? Set up yourself for a journey packed with fun, creativity, and a little weirdness! These projects put the strength of a CNC plasma cutter to the test, including old motorcycles to dragons which let fire. Put on your safety gear now, and let's discover ten of the most ridiculous projects on the web!

CNC Plasma Cut Dragon Fire Pit

Just picture it: you and your friends gathered around a fire pit shaped like a dragon, flames shooting out of its mouth. It feels like having a mythical creature right in your own backyard!

CNC Plasma Cut Coffee Shop Counter

Who says counters have to be boring? With CNC plasma cutting, you can jazz up a coffee shop counter with cool designs or logos.

CNC Plasma Cut Dinosaurs

Take a trip back in time with huge dinosaur sculptures in your backyard or museum. From T-Rexes to Brachiosaur uses, you can make these creatures come alive!

Um, What the Heck is This?

Some CNC plasma cut projects are so unique, they leave us scratching our heads. They're like abstract art pieces that make you wonder what they're all about.

CNC Plasma Cut Railings

Make your stairs or balcony stand out with fancy railings. You can choose from all sorts of patterns and designs to add a touch of elegance.

CNC Plasma Cut More Fire Pits

If you can have a fire pit shaped like your favorite superhero or movie character, why settle for something plain and simple? Go crazy with your imagination!

CNC Plasma Cut Obnoxious Signs

Add some humor or attitude to your space with cheeky signs. They're sure to get people talking!

CNC Plasma Cut L-O-V-E Sign

A sweet "LOVE" sign will help you spread love. It's ideal to add a charming touch to your decor or for weddings and anniversaries.

CNC Plasma Cut Vintage Motorcycle Glory

Bring back the memories of old motorcycles with cool plasma cut designs. They pay tribute to the classic bikes of the past.

CNC Plasma Cut Gigantic Eagle

Finish with a stunning eagle sculpture that represents strength and freedom. Whether it's on a flagpole or a rooftop, it's sure to impress!

In short, CNC plasma cutting offers endless fun and creative options. Whatever you’re level of skill, you can create anything you can imagine. So, grab your cutter and let your imagination fly!

Check out: 10 Fun, Crazy, And Downright Weird CNC Plasma Cut Projects On The Internet

[dojae-huh]

Deities of Seoul

I feel like the pace of pre-comeback promotion is rather slow. Maybe SM stuff doesn't realise that photobook pictures is just advertisement for the hard albums, that they don't help to keep the exitement and the buzz in the fandom. Something concept or lore related should be dropped every two days at least to keep the momentum going. It should be a continous ride with the whole fandom uniting over theories, guessing roles, meanings, how everything is connected. The fandom needs something fun to do, something to play with.

Hopefully, it's another time management problem, and in the future it will be corrected.

Now. I LOVE THE CONCEPT VIDEO! I'm so happy. Really. It's what I stan NCT for.

Lores are popular nowadays, every other group has them and films promo videos/movies. What makes NCT stand out to me is the fact that the group is connected with the fandom through the lore. It's not a story about some boys doing something, neos are here to unite everyone with music and wake up from sleep, inspire to pursue one's own dreams. I like this message. It's positive and giving. It lets to really share the journey with the group. They follow their dream of being musicians/performers, their fans also grow and follow their own paths, connected. Not to mention, I love sci-fi and multiple realities, imagination, fantasy, worlds - it's adventure and the feeling of freedom.

I expect from NCT "culture" and class. The content inbetween comebacks can be however silly or cheaply made, but the main body of the lore (the comeback related promos) should be like chapters in a book, a story to stay as legacy. That's why I'm satisfied SM delivered quality. SM is supposed to be the one to innovate and lead the way, afterall.

Jaehyun's voiceover is really good. He slurs words a bit, but overall he read well, like a professional.

The background music switching to classical music during Doyoung's part is highly appreciated. I like this new detail to his character (I think we can count it starting from Golden Age). It was Do who went into Seoul, dressed in a hoodie, taking on his imugi role.

Jungwoo switching realities/places, Yuta levitating things, Doyoung seeing through things was repeated again. Johnny's power is confusing, haha. It certainly not being a giant. Maybe it was about overseeing things, looking after a city (in Superhuman he was somehow tied to a city of skyscrapers as well).

I need a chess player to decifer what's happening with Jaehyun's part. He doesn't play for a player, he is on the side of the board, he intervenes in a game. Does he move a Queen? Is it a CheckMate?

Neos' world doesn't have "Seoul", and it shouldn't be another Dreamscape (like Neocity) either. Yet Taeyong "hacks into" the city. So perhaps it's a virtual Seoul, like aespa's world has.

All neos have gauntlets. Which, probably, hints at them staying fighters/fighting someone.

The only thing I didn't like was the animated Jaehyun. It wasn't difficult to film him on the stairs, so, hopefully, it should have some meaning to warrant the ugliness, aespa uses animation a lot, NCT haven't yet incorporated it fully except for the NCT2022 promos with neos running in cartoon rooms and on streets. I think Ten was animated. If it is so, then it was about crossing dream dimension with other rules/physics.

This promo video also fully introduces a new component - the golden light. Whatever it means.

NCTLab is represented with the yellow colour. The Lab was established to study dreams and learn how to change the reality. So mayhaps the golden light represent changes? Jaehyun materialised a whole building in Seoul.

[umichenginabroad]

More Prague and Its Younger Treasures

Enough of history lectures? This post suggests a day of fun walking trip in Prague, from the old town area across Charles Bridge to the castle, and down south to the Petrin tower and Lennon wall.

Charles Bridge

Charles Bridge is a historic landmark and one of Prague's most iconic symbols. The bridge connects the Old Town to the Lesser Town and is one of the oldest bridges in Europe, dating back to the 14th century. Walking across the bridge is an experience not to be missed. The bridge is lined with 30 baroque-style statues of saints, and the views of the Vltava River and Prague Castle are breathtaking.

Lennon Wall

The Lennon Wall is a colorful graffiti wall that pays tribute to John Lennon and his message of peace and love. The wall began as a small memorial following Lennon's death in 1980, and over the years, it has become a living work of art with messages of love, peace, and hope from people around the world. Today, the wall is a popular tourist attraction and a symbol of freedom and democracy.

Park of Petrin Tower

Petrin Tower is a 63-meter-high tower that offers stunning views of Prague. The tower is located on Petrin Hill, which is a popular spot for picnics and walks. Visitors can climb the tower's 299 steps to the top, where they can enjoy panoramic views of the city. On a clear day, visitors can see as far as 100 kilometers away.

Next to the entrance to the trolley heading up to Petrin tower, sits the Memorial to the Victims of Communism.

It is a moving tribute to those who suffered and died under the communist regime in Czechoslovakia. The memorial consists of seven bronze figures descending a flight of stairs, each one gradually disintegrating to represent the gradual erosion of human rights. The memorial is a reminder of the sacrifices made by those who fought for freedom and democracy.

Chimney Cake

No trip to Prague is complete without trying chimney cake, also known as Trdelník. Chimney cake is a traditional Czech pastry made from rolled dough that is wrapped around a wooden or metal rod and baked over charcoal. The result is a crispy, crunchy pastry that is delicious on its own or filled with ice cream, Nutella, or fruit. Chimney cake can be found in street vendors throughout the city, and it is the perfect treat to enjoy while exploring Prague.

Prague is a beautiful and vibrant city that has something to offer for everyone. Whether you are interested in history, art, food, or nightlife, Prague has it all. It is definitely a place worth staying longer and not rush through, which I regret doing :(

[atarahderek]

Some Encanto head canons

Bruno has aphantasia. This is why his visions manifest the way they do. It's also a big part of why he needs sets and actors to play out his telenovelas. He can't actively imagine them.

Félix survived a major hurricane as a child. Rather than being traumatized, he became fascinated by severe weather. He is a storm chaser at heart, and if he had a dream vacation destination, it would be either the Gulf/Caribbean region during hurricane season or Oklahoma during storm season.

Isabela's preferred type is the clumsy nerd who never gives up and always puts family first, because that's the type of provider she always saw modeled in her own father (this is based on an early concept for a character). She has also become keenly interested in botany and is her mother's go-to for herbs. She knows exactly which plants in Colombia will kill you and which ones you can use.

Casita modified most of the family's rooms after being rebuilt to be more suited to what they needed. Dolores' room is soundproof, Isabela's room looks similar in many ways to Antonio's jungle, Luisa's room is an in-home spa with adjacent gym, Mirabel's room is bigger on the inside and full of storage for her arts and crafts, and Bruno's room is stairs-free and looks much more relaxing.

Alma is a slapstick and vaudeville fan, but would never openly admit it. Camilo is the one who has the easiest time making her laugh.

Luisa is the biggest Greek mythology nerd in Encanto. By a lot. She also studies classical architecture in her free time and wishes she could tour Europe's cathedrals.

Julieta hasn't recieved a present not related to the kitchen from anyone since she was five, with the only exceptions being her engagement ring from Augustín and embroidered clothing or bags from Mirabel. Even then, Mirabel is where Julieta usually gets a new apron or kitchen towel. She wishes that she could just get a set of candles or a new book as a present for once.

Pepa's favorite weather phenomenon is the rainbow, because it means the storm has passed. She can most easily create rainbows following an emotional release, so they also represent freedom to her.

Antonio has a picture book of African animals his paternal grandmother sent him, and he's hooked. His family worries that someday he might try to bring every critter in Africa to Colombia. It doesn't help when Bruno casually mentions something about hippos clogging the rivers in the northern part of the country in future decades.

Dolores had to learn selective hearing in order to cope with all the overwhelming sounds in her world. She can actually fail to hear a family member talking to her in the same room because she is focused on a selection of sounds or conversations.

Augustín is allergic to bees, strawberries, shellfish, and whatever else I deem appropriate to the plot of a fic.

Camilo is, of course, the theater kid in the family. But his idea of relaxing and enjoying himself is listening to classical music. He swaps a lot of records with Alma and Luisa.

Mirabel is a natural strategist. She's good at chess, math and logic puzzles. She's highly capable of seeing angles most people never consider, and can combine logic and emotion to read a situation and cut to the heart of it. She is arguably the most intelligent Madrigal.

[applecidersstuff]

It had been six thousand years, but she’d only had around a hundred bodies and identities. It wasn’t hard in the beginning, humans didn’t bother to write things down or record people they’d been living with, so whenever they started suspecting something she just moved. Then humans started to bother with those things. They did change a couple times, sometimes to blend in, sometimes to have more freedom, sometimes to see what her “old lot” had been up to.

But it wasn’t really hard until the witch hunts.

Village women started to notice that she didn’t age. They told their husbands that she was a witch; it wasn’t hard to believe, she had red hair and collected herbs, not for potions, simply because she liked the smell. Although she did help a boy who had flu, when they lived in Rome their friend taught them how to make herbal tea which helped. They burned her at the stake, they burned their God alive in the name of said god. Then there was a thought in their head: “Maybe I’m not the god they worship, anymore? Maybe he’s the one they call god..” She didn’t have any thoughts anymore, not until she appeared seven years later on the doorstep of a nunnery.

During their time on earth they left many of their signs, but every life she lived, she made sure to place more. She didn’t know how many those “representatives” found. They didn’t want to know.

Nunnery was nice, they hid there for almost a century. It was easy, she just made everyone believe that she was a new person, every couple of decades, and her “old self” would be quickly forgotten. But one nun didn’t forget. She wasn’t a sister, her status was Mother. Mother Antonia, that’s what they called her. They noticed that Mother was watching them, her eyes were almost saying: “ I know what you are, I know that all of you are one.” They left “Chattering Order of St. Berrill” at the beginning of the eighteenth century. Mother Antonia was the one to see them off, her eyes passed the view and focused on them, at least that was what they felt, they never really saw her face, they always assumed that she didn’t have any eyes and that was why she wore a veil. Too tall for a woman from that time, too weird to still be alive and not burning on the stake as a witch. She didn’t seem to be in place then.

When she said her goodbyes to sisters and was almost at the bottom of the stairs, Mother called her. Sisters were back inside, but she was standing at the top of the stairs, her veil thrown back, red hair sticking out a little from under the headwear, her eyes - bright yellow, with vertical pupils - staring right at them. Those eyes they remembered for a long time, those eyes that said “I knew you wouldn’t do that, I knew he wasn’t you. I know who you are, Almighty.”

They didn’t see that angel for so long, they were at fault for what happened.

It was just one identity for a hundred years. They decided to change it not long until the French Revolution. The angel was again there, but he didn’t recognize them this time. They stole bread from some man that went to look at the Queen's death. Then the angel vanished.

It was 1827 if they remember it correctly. It was one of the times when they really became their identity. Elspeth was poor young lady who lived in Edinburg. They met wee Morag in 1824, she was a window, with no children, so she had no right for her late husband’s money. They didn’t make many friends through their life, but wee Morag was different, she was more than a friend. Last they had friends in the nunnery, almost two hundred years ago, so they’ve decided to give that a chance. They figured that if they would find a corpse she could get some money. That’s when they run into both of them. The last time she’d seen them together was in Rome, never since. But now both “representatives” were here.

One of them volunteered to help her with the body, other one started telling him how wrong it was. They wanted to punch him, but you can’t hit an angel, can you?

Later they couldn't remember much about what happened after. Or at least do it clearly.

It was rage that filled her up. It was a perfectly fine body until that "representative" got in the way. Now it was ruined, useless.

And after that those two had the audacity to show up and tell her that they would help her?! They didn’t want to agree, they did it for Morag, but maybe it was best if they didn’t.

Then they shut down, they had no thoughts, no ideas, no emotions, just memories and pain where their heart would have been. She wanted to destroy this place, destroy them. Erase those two from existence and never look back. But they couldn’t, those desires were buried deep inside their mind. They were like a puppet whose strings were cut. Elspeth didn’t feel that way. She knew what to do, so they let her do it.

They made themselves take control back only when they realized that one of the “representatives” was trying to drink the poison.

“Why it was even there?”

They couldn’t remember. It was probably something Elspeth was planning.

She tried to stop him. They didn’t know why, but maybe it was guilt? Guilt for the things they’ve messed up, for lives they’ve ruined.

They shut down again when something in their brain said that poison isn’t lethal for eternal beings. Elspeth was in charge again, she didn’t need to worry any more.

The next thing they remember? She was gasping for air between a couple of gravestones, pain felling up her chest.

People turn to god when their loved ones die, they beg god for help. But who should God turn to? Who should they beg?

Wee Morag died, they had money now but that wasn’t something they wanted, they wanted to have peace for at least a lifetime, with Morag. They wanted to run from that life. But it was hard, hard to leave it all behind.

On the money she got from angel “representative,” she bought land, a lot of it, and a couple decades later opened an orphanage. They got rid of the body they had before and pretended to be an orphan. There was an epidemic of tuberculosis during the 1870s, she got affected.

The doctor headmistress called appeared to be one of the representatives. That body, that identity died then. and that was the last time they'd seen either of them for quite some time.

They’ve spent the entire 20th century in America and France, they appeared as an actress, an activist, an artist, college student, and a backer once. That century was one when they had the most identities, yes some of them were combined, but it was still much more than they had before. Maybe that was why “representatives” couldn’t find her. Eventually they started to restore the body they had in Rome, she was a priestess back then, and had some knowledge about how to avoid the spirits. The thing that proved to be useful was “evil eye” a little peace of jewelry that they carried around. They got panicked when “representatives” appeared there, so they covered their arms and upper back with those symbols. There were other ones that could’ve helped her, like the one they learned even before the flood, people they’ve lived with back them showed her symbols that were supposed to hide them from the Metatron, and let them speak to God directly. She’d made a couple of those too.

By the beginning of the 21st century they were again guarded by their tattoos and jewelry. They changed their body a bit to appear younger, and returned to London.

They had money, but got bored of doing nothing eventually, so she got a job in a local café.

Nina was a nice boss, they’ve became friends in no time, then they befriended Maggie. But she still couldn’t bring herself to talk with that “representative” that lived across the street.

One day a naked man appeared right in front of the bookshop, then a couple other people. They weren’t people of course, they were angels, and a few demons.

It seemed normal, until He appeared, then it all went nuts.