Fandom they look like monsters to you? [ic]

[ghostlynarcissus]

M a g g i e
In the shadow of the drab and somewhat eerie South Ashfield Heights, Maggie Harris stood out like a relic of a brighter, more vivid past. There, amidst the only burst of color in this gray, forgotten place, were her rose bushes - vibrant reds and pure whites, like drops of blood and bone against the monochrome backdrop of the apartment building. They were an anomaly here, a rare splash of life in a world that seemed perpetually shrouded in a mist of the mundane and melancholic.

Maggie, the enigmatic caretaker of this forlorn dwelling, was dressed in an attire that whispered of decades long gone. Her dress, a vintage piece speckled with polka dots, clung to her in a style that harked back to the 1950s. Its colors, though faded like an old photograph, still held the echoes of a time more vivid, more alive. The wide-brimmed hat she wore was less for fashion and more a shield against the sun, casting shadows over her features that made her seem both present and distant.

Dangling from her lips, stubbornly clinging on, was a cigarette. It seemed as much a part of her as her weathered hands, which moved with a practiced, almost mechanical precision as she trimmed the roses. The smoke curled up, an ethereal dance partner to the petals and thorns, a silent testimony to her thoughts.

And then there was the music -a song playing from an old radio that looked as though it had survived more than its fair share of stories.

Love is a burning thing
And it makes a fiery ring
Bound by wild desire
I fell into a ring of fire

The sound, a bit crackly and distant, seemed to transport Maggie to another time and place. The song, with its iconic, rhythmic beat, filled the air, adding a soulful soundtrack to her methodical work. Her movements, as she trimmed the bushes, were practiced and precise, yet there was a certain distraction in her expression. It was as if the music stirred memories, a flood of nostalgia that was both comforting and haunting.

Snip. Snip

She took a moment to glance up towards the many windows of her apartment building as several dead leaves fluttered by her heels.
A small, knowing smile began to play at the corners of her mouth, a smile that held a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. Today was the first of the month, a day of particular significance for her – the day to collect rent from her tenants.

Her mind wandered to the new residents who had recently filled the once-vacant rooms of her building. Each tenant, a story, a life brought under her roof, unknowingly playing a part in a narrative much larger than they could fathom.

As these thoughts swirled in her mind, Maggie's hand reached out towards one of the roses, her fingers brushing against the soft petals before encountering the sharp reality of a thorn. A slight wince crossed her features as the thorn pricked her skin, but her smile remained, now tinged with an odd, unsettling coldness. A small droplet of blood welled up at the tip of her finger, a vivid red against her pale skin, as striking as the roses themselves.

The sight of her own blood seemed to deepen her smile, before she brought the droplet up to her weathered lips to lick.

"Not too long now. Not too long at all."​

 

[punwithinfinty]

I shall not be afraid of the horror within nightmares, nor the evil that hides in darkness, as the lord is my refuge and my fortress.

Sean Ackehurst

The streets of South Ashfield were always painted with such a droning grey palette, as if it was a brutalist painting, made by some artist inspired by the apathetic cityfolk, ghosts to each around until they finally exist in their unlives, becoming just barely more alive than the background surrounding their own story. Still, perhaps it's an unavoidable fate, a town as big as this, one can't possibly know everyone around, other people are bound to be just a faraway life, and so, expecting that, they just... live on their own, if their story is being written by forces beyond their comprehension, then someone's bound to be found, right?

For Sean, that's a little hard to understand, maybe it's just because of his upbringing, it's not like his hometown wasn't necessarily a small one, sure... but it was much lively than this. People were curious, they wanted to know others and see what they're like, to peep into one's world and try to understand it from their perspective, and here, it's all just... awkwardly stagnant. He may never get used to waiting for his stop on the metro, casting his eyes down on the rumbling metallic floor, averting his eyes from those around him, trying to fit in as best as he can, it wasn't unusual for Sean to get stares thanks to his clerical uniform, it's not like a jacket hides it completely, but they never lingered too much, eventually adhering to the norm at the end, even if he was taking the ride back.

Sean thought he was supposed to be at his current church, attending to his duties as a priest, unbeknownst to him though, he was given some free time for today, given that his morning time table is quite constricted and he usually arrives fairly earlier than he was properly scheduled to, he missed the phone call warning him, his old church was... stricter, so this came as a nice surprise despite the lost hours of travel. Truth be told, it's not a walk in the park to adjust to this bigger town, there are parts of him that miss Connecticut... but Sean is determined to move on with his life here, he seems to have no choice but to hope that he's doing the right thing.

...To pray that this is the correct path.

As inertia lightly swayed him from left to right on his seat, the metro stopping, Sean had a reserved confidence as he walked out to his stop and towards his destination right outside, it's a silly victory for him, but getting to properly learn what his stops were was an achievement he'd take, it's about small steps, he's sure he'll get used to the rampant city life on his own way. The priest liked to take the small things and make them nice, even in this endless hue of a modern silent movie, there is color to be found, it makes him remember that things aren't THAT different from his town, so he tries to keep himself hopeful.

And yet, it's strange how no matter what, he can't find anything to mold to his liking about the apartment he lives in, inside and outside, it's peculiar, it's not like Sean hates it to his core, in fact, he actually finds it somewhat charming in a way, so when he stands in front of it at the sidewalk, staring at it from afar... he can't help but always feel a foreboding sense of unease, a strange eerieness right around the corner that he can't explain well, at first he blamed just on his antsiness about the future, but now... he can't admit it, but it's something else. Sean hates that he can't admit it, it's maddening, to know there's something wrong but you can't say for sure... It makes him think that he just made a round-a-bout, that he never truly-...

Sean had soon realized he was clenching his fists, trying to shake those unfit thoughts away, scolding himself of on the inside, he had noticed the visage of a matured lady tending to the hedges adorned with an array of roses. It must be Mrs. Harris... Despite all that he said about the apartment, and, well, his landlady's own particular flaws, she does take good care of it, at least to Sean's eyes, and besides, it is a nice little garden of sorts, it makes the looming presence of the building a bit more bearable.

》...Good morning, Mrs. Harris... I see the rosebushes have been making you busy?

With an unassuming announcement of his presence as he approached the entrance where Maggie remained at, Sean couldn't help but tighten his grip on his backpack a bit, a habit he never quite can break as a conversation starts. He showed off a small smile, attempting to make a quick talk of his own accord for once, now that Sean knows he has some hours to kill, he's taking it a little easier... Or maybe he's getting tired of being such a ghost himself.

FINE | FRIENDLY | ghostlynarcissus

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[OrpheusTalks]

COME CLOSER
COME CLOSER
COME CLOSER

COME CLOSER

COME CLOSER
COME CLOSER
COME CLOSER

MOOD: Irritable
LOCATION: Near the entrance to South Ashfield Apartment
MENTIONS: punwithinfinty , ghostlynarcissus
TAGS: @low fidelity

As morning broke over South Ashfield Heights, Rose stumbled her way back from a night that had blurred into a chaotic mix of revelry and recklessness. Her appearance was something of a mess. Her eyeliner, once meticulously applied, was now smudged around her green eyes, giving her a wild, untamed look. Her lips were puffy and bruised, telltale signs of the aggressive kisses from a night spent in the arms of a man whose name she couldn't quite recall.

Barefoot, she walked tiredly, her black heels dangling from one hand. Her dress, a short and thin black number that clung to her form, spoke of the night's intentions. It was more revealing than protective, leaving little to the imagination just as she usually liked.

As Rose approached her building, her gaze fell upon two familiar figures – her landlord, Ms. Harris, and another resident, a priest known as Sean...something. She couldn't recall most of the other tenants first names, nevermind their last. Despite her disheveled state, a spark of playfulness flickered in her eyes. She approached them with a sway in her step.

"Good morning, Ms. Harris," she called out with a hint of her usual cheerful tone, though it was tinged with the weariness of the night. Her voice held a mixture of respect and mischief, a nod to the enigmatic nature of her landlord. Turning her attention to Father Sean, her voice dropped to a more sultry timbre, a deliberate choice to stir discomfort or curiosity. "And good morning to you too, Father," she said, her words laced with an intentional ambiguity, a provocative edge that she enjoyed wielding, especially against someone of his vocation.

She'd never been with a Priest. Of course there had hadn't been much opportunity for it, considering she wasn't much for the idea of religion. Still, the idea of begging for guidance while in a confession booth, whispering words to make a man grow wild....she'd definitely thought about it on more than one occasion.

Without waiting for their responses, Rose turned towards the entrance, her keys jangling unsteadily in her hand as she fumbled to unlock the door. There was a certain laziness in her movements. She wasn't in a hurry to run inside. Ms. Harris especially had seen her after an eventful morning or night. So far, all the woman cared about was making sure she got her rent paid.

She cast a final, lingering glance over her shoulder at him, a silent challenge in her gaze, before disappearing into the building with a smirk on her lips.
.

code by low fidelity.

 

[stareintotheabyss]

Victor Sterling sat in his barely furnished apartment, a stark contrast to the luxury he was accustomed to. The morning found him nursing a cup of coffee, his attention fixed on his laptop screen as he scrolled through various gossip websites. He was on a mission – a search for any mention of his name. Victor was no stranger to the limelight, but recent events had turned this attention sour.

As he sifted through the headlines, a mix of scandal and trivial celebrity affairs, he took a slurp of his coffee, not expecting the scalding heat that assaulted his tongue. “Damn it!” he cursed, setting the cup down with a clatter. The burn was a minor annoyance, but it was enough to break his focus and draw his attention to his surroundings.

He glanced around the room, a space that spoke more of necessity than choice. The walls were bare, the furniture minimal – a far cry from the opulence he was used to. Victor had never lived in a place so devoid of comforts and style. It was a constant reminder of why he was here, hidden away from the world he once dominated.

His thoughts drifted to the incident with Taylor. In his mind, it was a simple matter of business, a world where only the strong survived. If Taylor couldn't handle the cutthroat nature of their industry, it was hardly Victor's fault. Yet here he was, in hiding, because the world couldn't understand the necessities of their ruthless business landscape.

Feeling a greasy texture as he ran his fingers through his hair, Victor grimaced. He might be in hiding, but he refused to let himself go. He wasn't about to let his standards slip, no matter his current circumstances.

Standing up, he decided it was time for a shower, a small but necessary luxury. As he walked towards the bathroom, he couldn't help but feel a sense of disdain. The bathroom was the least favorite room in his apartment. Aesthetically, it was passable, but every time he turned on the fan, a disturbing odor emanated from it. It was a faint, yet unmistakably unpleasant smell, like something decaying within the walls.

As the smell hit him again, he made a mental note to speak to Ms. Harris about it. It was the first of the month, she'd want the rent sooner rather than later and he'd want her to at least check if some animal had scrambled inside and died somewhere.

 

[ufotofu]

Clover spotted a particularly radiant rose nestled amongst others blooming just outside her apartment building. The vibrant hues of the flower beckoned her, and without a second thought, she plucked it forcefully, envisioning the photo she would share online. As she carefully staged the scene, adjusting the lighting and angles with precision, it became apparent that for Clover, the pursuit of the ideal social media post was as much an art form as the image itself.

Clover licked her lips, her mouth was salivating at the thought of the online banquet she would soon devour thanks to the flower in her grasp. Her appetite for likes was insatiable, the more she amassed, the hungrier she became for the fleeting, yet addictive, flavours of virtual approval. She raised the flower’s stem to her mouth, pricking her lip. The pain paled in comparison to the euphoric feast she was about to consume. Her phone in hand, Clover extended her arm and snapped a single selfie. A picture of a girl with what could be described as a perfect specimen of a rose and a single drop of crimson blood bouncing on her lip.

Clover sat down on the steps outside her apartment building, tossing the rose to the pavement as she did. She then delved into the meticulous process of editing her photo as the world around her hushed to a still. The ambient noise of the bustling city diminished to a mere murmur, as if the world itself understood the sacredness of this creative cocoon. The glow of her phone became a portal to a realm where perfection was attainable and in this meditative space, she could not be disturbed.

With a sense of anticipation, Clover carefully crafted a caption,‘Blossoming in the heart of the urban jungle…” The first like arrived like a small, validating spark. A single notification that held the power to elevate her mood like the first bite of slice of cake. As more flooded in, her emotions swirled into a frenzy, shovelling fistfuls of decadent chocolate. She pressed her tongue onto her phone, closed her eyes and felt the notifications in her mouth.

 

[Aegis]

.

Who am I?​

.

What's happening?

HELP ME!​

​

.

Cooper Lewis

| location: ??? | Cheery | ??? | ??? |

The apartments were-- more or less, as advertised. One could never be too sure about these things, so Cooper was glad he came to take a look himself. After all, he had put no small amount of funding into this project, and it was important to him that everyone would find an environment where they would be comfortable and confident growing within. The list of tenants was about as diverse as one could hope! The Doctor eagerly tore open his notebook and began to pencil down everyone's habits right away as to not miss a moment of what was to come. Maggie had gotten to trimming the rose bushes early that morning, and in her usual sense she had gotten caught up in her own mind. Her goals, after all, were usually entirely self-centered and today was the first of the month no less, so it made sense for her to be delighted in her own, twisted way. However, to her credit, as the tenants arrived it was clear she had upheld her end of the deal; Ms. Maggie was a woman of her word-- as long as she stood to profit from it.

Greed.

The next man to arrive was the Father of the group-- back early from the Church it seemed. After all, he had been on such a strict schedule before arriving here, and sometimes its hard to adjust after an experience like that. Good ol' Sean seemed so placid and calm-- the benevolent face of the Church, as he made small talk to Maggie. Perhaps, he did so as a way to shake off the unease he felt about the building; the hooks of The Heights having already sunk deep into the meat of his flesh. Who was this man beneath it all? Sean was clenched fists, tight sighs, sharp glares cut back by a rigid discipline.

Sean was Wrath struggling to be wrestled.

Tasting something brewing, Rose made her appearance from a late night on the town-- makeup as smudged evidence of a night of carnal indulgence. Dopamine crashed through her weary brain like a drug as she staggered her way back onto the property, and she was clearly the image of a party animal; an animal hungry for her next meal as she laid eyes on the poor Father Sean. How would he cope? Cooper straightened himself in what could be considered the impression of a seat-- the world dark and unoccupied as of yet, and stared out the window of an office at people he couldn't really see, yet. However, he was coming to know everything he needed to know as he sat alone and in the dark studying their every move. Rose made a pass, a silent challenge, at the priest daring him to follow her and test his mettle. However could this end?

Rose... Rose was Lust given form.

Never to be ignored, Clover barged onto the scene seemingly out of nowhere and tore free a bulb from the carefully cultivated garden Ms. Maggie was working so gently to breath life into; a blissful lack of care or notice that this likely wouldn't go unanswered. Narcissism fueled by a need for validation our dearest social media addict took to her phone and posted some overly-edited sensation to her profile, and god did it work. Her phone was abuzz with a hundred notifications as her flock followers came to shoot the syringe of awareness directly into her veins.

No amount was enough to fulfill her Gluttony.

Finally, Cooper stood and walked over to the wall of his darkened office only to scrape aside a painting and peer into Victor's room; not that there was actually a peephole for the man to see, but sometimes even abstract concepts of the world needed to be grounded somewhat in reality. There he was! The mighty man brought impossibly low by forces outside his control-- face marked with the grief of someone who can't accept his own wrongdoings. Perhaps, he couldn't even comprehend them to begin with. The man's nose twitching with judgement as he eyed the lavish but unfit room around him. Every moment he spent here was an afront to everything he was.

Yes, Victor very much was the image of Pride.

Everything seemed to be in order so far as the tenants began their day, and Cooper truly did have to tip his hat to the dear Ms. Maggie for being able to wrangle up such a worthy crowd for what was to come. The Doctor couldn't wait to meet the newcomers!

Wait, who was Cooper? A deep introspection collapsed upon him as he lowered the notebook and pencil and stared into a corner of his office. Cooper was...

No... seriously...

Cooper was the mold that grew under the refrigerator, the glint in the window sparked by the early-morning sun, the smell of the death in the vents, the dark silhouette in the corner when you wake up in the night. Cooper is... not important, right now. They are.


​

mentions: ghostlynarcissus stareintotheabyss ufotofu punwithinfinty OrpheusTalks @CaptainSully @bayleen

code by @spookie spook

 

[ghostlynarcissus]

M a g g i e

As Ms. Harris stood amidst her cherished rose bushes, her attention still partially fixated on the small droplet of blood forming on her pricked finger, she was approached by one of her more reclusive tenants – Sean Ackehurst. He was a somber man, a priest whose presence in the building was as quiet as a whisper in a vast, empty chapel. His appearances were seldom, and each time it only made Maggie more curious about such a pious fellow.

As Mr. Ackehurst spoke, Maggie's attention shifted from the small wound on her finger, still sucking at the metallic taste of her own blood. She masked her momentary distraction with the practiced ease of a seasoned actress, her expression molding into one of polite, if not slightly probing, cordiality.

"Good morning, Mr. Ackehurst," she said, her voice carrying all the niceties of a grateful landlord. There was an undertone of respect, tinged with an inquisitive lilt that suggested her interest went beyond mere pleasantries. "It's not often we see you out at this hour. Everything alright?"

Before Mr. Ackehurst could respond to Maggie's inquiry, their attention was abruptly diverted by the sudden appearance of Rose. The difference between the priest's somber demeanor and Rose's disheveled yet vibrant presence was immediately
apparent.

Despite Rose's habitual partying and her blunt, often provocative manner, Maggie had developed a certain fondness for the young woman. Perhaps it was Rose's unapologetic embrace of life and her carefree exterior that resonated with Maggie. She liked wild things.

As Rose greeted them, particularly addressing Mr. Ackehurst with a sultry tone that was unmistakably suggestive, Maggie couldn't help but chuckle.

Maggie's laughter faded into a wry smile, as she waved towards the girl as she disappeared behind the entrance doors. She turned her attention back to Mr. Ackehurst.

"Father," Maggie began, her voice laced with playfulness, "it seems you might have an admirer."

Maggie may have been content to continue her light-hearted observation with Mr. Ackehurst, but her attention was suddenly caught by another tenant. Clover, with her short brown hair, was a striking figure, but what really drew Maggie's eye was her current activities. She was holding one of Maggie's tenderly cared for roses, plucked without permission or regard.

Maggie watched as Clover posed with the rose, her focus entirely on capturing the perfect shot, oblivious to the value or significance of what she held. Once satisfied with her picture, Clover nonchalantly tossed the rose to the ground, as if it were nothing more than a disposable prop. The sight of the discarded flower, one of the blooms Maggie had nurtured with such care and attention, brought a flash of irritation across her usually composed face.

Her sculpted brow arched in a silent display of displeasure. The little bitch.

I hope he takes that monster first.​