Maeve sees in Katherine the kind of mother she wishes she’d been allowed to be: strong, protective, defiant. She often drifts nearby when Katherine’s alone, offering strange advice in half-poetic mutterings. Katherine finds Maeve unnerving but oddly comforting- like having a ghostly friend who’s also prone to breaking lights. Their relationship evolves from uneasy coexistence to mutual care.
Nathan....its kinda complicated. She doesn't mind the new ghosts presence- but she also kinda foretold his death... Nathan of course brushes it off but she can't tell his somewhat haunted by the experience. They bond over mutual care over the living feelings and hotel.
Esther treats Maeve like a mix of cool aunt and paranormal roommate. Maeve, in turn, feels protective of her curiosity, warning her not to chase what lurks beyond the veil. Sometimes Maeve lets Esther hear her old lullabies, hauntingly beautiful and sad... and Esther hums them absentmindedly later, unnerving everyone. There’s a light mentorship thread: Maeve teaching Esther bits of old folklore and herbal lore.
Ben starts leaving her small offerings (a chocolate bar, a note reading “for the ghost lady”), which she treasures like relics. While she cannot enjoy food anymore, she highly appreciates the effort. Maeve hovering over him while he does homework, mumbling advice that’s 300 years out of date.
i'm so sorry it took me so long to continue this story.
I'll do my best to update more frequently.
Enjoy part 8! :3
Part 8: Fault Lines
The next morning came too early.
No one said it out loud, but the bus felt smaller. The air heavier. Conversations stayed shallow—logistics, schedules, weather—anything but what was actually happening.
Y/N sat by the window, headphones in, not listening to anything. Paul watched her reflection in the glass and didn’t move.
Y/N: Choosing Silence
She told herself she wasn’t angry.
Anger would’ve been easier. Anger had edges. This was something softer and more dangerous—disappointment, settling into her chest like a slow ache.
She understood art. She understood ghosts. She even understood that some people never fully leave you.
What hurt was realizing she wasn’t the first place he went when things got heavy.
When the bus stopped for fuel, Paul stood.
“Y/N—”
She didn’t look at him. “Not now.”
The words weren’t sharp. That somehow made them worse.
Richard & Milla: The Call
Milla’s phone rang just after noon.
She froze when she saw the number.
Richard didn’t ask. He just reached for her hand this time—and she let him.
The call was short. Too short.
When she hung up, she didn’t cry. She laughed once, hollow and brittle.
“They found him,” she said. “Alive. Hospital. He won’t talk to anyone.”
Relief crashed into fear so hard it left her shaking.
“I should go,” she whispered. “I should be there.”
Richard nodded immediately. “Then we’ll make it work.”
She searched his face. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” he said. “But I want to.”
For the first time in days, she leaned into him fully. And for the first time, he didn’t play through the pain. He held it.
Flake & Liz: Parallel Lines
They didn’t fight.
That was the problem.
Texts stayed polite. Updates factual. Distance dressed up as understanding.
Flake sat up late in his bunk, laptop open, side project files glowing in the dark. Liz lay awake in her hotel room, phone face-down beside her, wondering when “later” had quietly turned into “never.”
Neither of them crossed the space between.
Christoph: Cracks in the Armor
Christoph skipped rehearsal.
That alone sent management into a quiet panic.
Lily found him on the balcony, hoodie pulled tight, cigarette burning down forgotten between his fingers.
“You can’t keep doing this,” she said gently.
“I can,” he replied. “I always do.”
She stepped closer anyway. “You don’t have to be unbreakable.”
He laughed once, sharp. “That’s literally my job.”
“No,” Lily said. “Your job is to be human. The rest is noise.”
For a moment, it looked like he might let her in.
Then his phone buzzed. Management. Deadlines. Pressure.
The mask slid back into place.
Paul & Y/N: The Distance Becomes Real
They stood side by side during soundcheck, close enough to touch, far enough to feel like strangers.
Paul played clean. Controlled. Every note deliberate.
Y/N listened like she was bracing for impact.
When the last chord faded, she spoke quietly.
“Are you ever going to let it go?”
He didn’t pretend not to understand.
“I’m trying,” he said.
She nodded. “Trying isn’t the same as choosing.”
That night, they didn’t argue.
They didn’t touch.
And that scared Paul more than any fight ever had.
The Show Goes On
Again.
Fire. Light. Screams.
The music hit harder than ever—angrier, sharper, alive in a way the crowd mistook for passion.
Backstage, hands shook. Eyes avoided mirrors. Phones stayed too close.
They were still standing.
Still playing.
Still together.
But the cracks had widened into fault lines now.
And somewhere ahead—none of them knew exactly where—the ground was going to move.
(tagging my moots @j0eyj0rdis0n @millasthoughts @99flakeandsprinkles )
Michael sighed as he rode down the elevator. He honestly thought he'd never have to return to this place again, but, he couldn't exactly hide anywhere else. Plus, he had to find out if any of the animatronics that used him as a skin suit had returned.
He touched his cheek, and his prototype illusion disk was still on, but, it only made his face mostly normal, with patches of rotten skin and empty black eyes with white dots in them indicating that his soul was still residing in his body. He wore a black wig, as his illusion disk couldn't replicate hair just yet.
Upon hearing the chime of the elevator doors opening, he looked at the vent before him, many memories flooding into him as he crawled through, the robotic voice calling out the motion being triggered.
Wait wait wait. If Cinder's eyes are fake, is she seeing colours as they really are?
We view colours through light, based on the colour cones in our eyes. A camera just perceives what is there, unless we skew the camera to favour a certain colour palette. And although cameras today are still limited in what they can capture, in the future technological age of tlc they would undoubtedly be far more advanced.
But Cinder has no colour cones. Unless the scientists manipulated the way her bionic eyes feed information to her brain, those colours would be (relatively) unimpaired.
And if so, Cinder superiority (even though we already knew that).
