#{{ no need to match length btw }}

[bitchfiits]

she’d spent the past few nights building up the courage to say something, finger absentmindedly tracing the name inked in the guestbook over and over until it practically smudged. jamie. he looked like a jamie … he had kind eyes from what she could tell (could only catch a glimpse, too busy organizing files while her mother checked him in). sasha wondered what brought him into town, what made him choose the tiny little eight room motel that hadn’t seen a guest in months. maybe it was her curiosity, maybe it was just her need for human interaction — to talk to someone, anyone other than her parents. being cooped up got lonely sometimes. one moment she was behind the desk and the next? looming in the doorway, his doorway. before she could turn back, her eyes locked with his and she froze. a moment before, “no, no. sorry. i uh,” there was girlish display of sheepish giggling that parted her lips, heat creeping up her neck and pooling at her cheeks. “i just wanted to make sure i wasn’t going to stumble upon a dead body, you know, the door being open and all.” clearly she should’ve practiced some sort of script beforehand, but she assumed a few knocks would've bought her some time. “not that there’s dead bodies or anything, this isn’t like bates motel ... promise.” another laugh before she cleared her throat. god she really should’ve stayed put. “no i, um, actually just wanted to see if you needed anything, maybe? i know we’re not exactly the four seasons, but i mean, if you wanted a towel or a snack or something …”

open to f/nb! plot in source.

"shit, sorry. did i wake you?" there's genuine concern in jamie's voice as he looks up and sees them standing in the doorway. he had propped open his room door when he couldn't fall asleep, hopeful the cool air would put him at ease, but he hadn't considered anyone would be around to hear the soft lull of his television. "i can turn it off," he offers quickly, already standing up to find the remote.

[eclvpses]

for: anyone! @bluestarters location: aurora

For a Tuesday night, Aurora was jam packed - which was saying something. Leo was used to a crowd at the club, but he felt especially sardined as they made their way to the front of the line, as desperate for a drink as everyone surrounding them. A thin layer of sweat coated their forehead and smudged the coal that’d been smudged under his eyes by a girl in the washrooms an hour ago, the two of them bonding over a mutual hookup and a line of whatever she’d offered to him. Already impatient as they were, Leo just felt himself grow more annoyed - if anything, their next move was meant to be helpful. One less person for the bartenders to worry about as he helped himself, stretching forward and splaying himself across the bartop until he could clutch onto the first bottle in his range. “Oh, word.” Leo nodded appreciatively, Casamigos label flashing at him - bucket of ice water dumped over his head and ruining the moment when he heard one of the bartenders shout; Hey, what the fuck! A beat passed as Leo made eye contact with them before they were darting off, letting out an adrenaline-fueled shriek of delight as they pushed their way through the crowd, only skidding to a pause when they noticed someone they recognised. “Yo!” He hollered, grabbing his new-found companion and, to their detriment, accomplice, Leo huddling in close to them and concealing the tequila bottle between them just as a security guard huffed past. The man looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. “Ha! Asshole! Helen Keller can see better than you!” Pausing so that he could properly celebrate their victory, Leo uncorked the bottle with his teeth, spitting it onto the ground and holding the tequila towards the other, saccharine grin all but taking over his face, cheeks already aching. “You first. I’m feeling generous.”

[kmadrigalsoto]

❛ ☾ ◟━ LOCATION: carriage falls country club / mayoral ball

❛ ☾ ◟━ TIME: during the blackout period

❛ ☾ ◟━ STATUS: open to those in the vicinity

One moment, it was nothing but chatter, laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses all around as the vast majority enjoyed the celebration. The next it was darkness all around with worrisome partygoers and brewing chaos. It didn't help that alcohol was served and surely enough would mean future injuries to come for those who had a little too much and weren't careful. Did she even hear some glasses break? At this rate, Kimberly's heart sank completely as soon as the blackout took place. To see her and her team's work go to ruins as she wasn't sure what to do next brought her anxieties to the forefront as she immediately reached for her phone to see if she was able to get signal for any news or incoming messages. Instead, she was met with nothing.

"Shit." she said outloud to whoever's next to her. "Okay don't panic...Surely there's a generator that needs to be up and running right? Why did it have to happen now!? I spent all day getting ready and I did not look this cute just for all this to not be seen." She used that as a front since it pained her to even comment on her and her team's hard work at this point and she was doing her best to not be on the verge of complete tears. "Like I'm sure you look cute too, but I can't even see shit to even determine that. And no, the phone's flashlight doesn't even count especially since it has crappy lighting and we should be conserving battery. Anyways, are you okay though? You didn't like trip over your own feet or anything like that?"

[rebelscaped]

food truck alley, midday, current time (no specific date) / @anchoragestarters

The remainding few pieces of xiaolongbao he'd ordered had been sat neglected on the bench table long enough that it had started to go cold, the soup having seeped out of one and into the polystyrene tray that held them. Although Kael had never been known for his appetite, it was not because he was not hungry that his lunch had gone ignored but rather that he was much too focused on other things; in particular, inspiration had hit and the most inconvenient moment and he was now stuck scrawling away on a pieces of scrap paper he'd found in his bag. The one he was on right now had been a flyer for something at some point, he hadn't bothered to flip over to check. Songwriting wasn't something with which Kael troubled himself quite as often these days; since he'd joined the band, those duties had fallen into hands besides his own. He harbored no ambitions of going solo but it felt nice to cling to old passions. Besides, the lyrics he penned were often personal and more occasionally, they were too vulnerable to be seen by anybody but Kael. He was fine with this. He might have even considered it a cheaper alternative to therapy. (Or was it more like keeping a diary?)

Of course it came as a shock, then, that a strong gust of wind came in just at that moment and whisked the papers right from under his pen. All Kael could muster as a response was a quiet grunt of surprise. The wind had calmed as quickly as it had picked up, as was the way of Anchorage's unpredictable weather. (He supposed he ought to have been used to that, given how much time he'd spent in London.) Most of the paper had gathered at the legs of another bench. Another occipied bench. Mostly under the bench. "Oh, fuck me sideways," he hissed under his breath, as he pulled himself to his feet and marched over, the gravel crunching noisily under the weight of his heavy New Rocks.

"Ey, if you don't mind moving for a bit, I need under here," said Kael, brusquely. Usually, he'd more polite than this. He wasn't a naturally rude person, but in times as frantic as these, he had a way of forgetting to filter himself. His gaze dropped to the bench table and his eyes widened as he finally noticed that a few sheets had landed squarely in this person's food. (He was so not reimbursing them for this.) Slowly but surely, eye contact was made. "Don't touch that."

[withinthesebones]

"i'm—" she exhales a shuddery breath and is suddenly aware that she's shaking. everything feels disembodied and surreal, like she's walking through a dream. even xeno feels unreal. she digs her nails into her palms, trying to wake herself up. she can still feel the warmth of the blood spatter across her cheek, and it makes her feel sick.

she hates hearing the confusion in xeno's voice because it mirrors her own. she has no answers for him, only questions, blanks in her memory where there should be explanations. she's frustrated — shouldn't she know more about what she's done, where she's been? "i don't know," she says, her voice rising with panic and frustration. "i must have, right? sure as shit it looks like it." her accent intensifies, betraying how distraught she is.

his reassurances slip over like water, completely going unheard in her panic. but she does hear his urging to leave, and she knows he's right. "they're going to come back looking for me," she says, her eyes widening. "whoever it is." she pictures herself running for the rest of her life, and her stomach turns again. her mind tries to solve the problem, but it gives her half-answers, scattered pictures that don't make any sense. "where can we go?"

panic slips in. he worries he's frightened her, but there's something worse in her expression, a disconnection that touch cannot bridge. where are you? he wants to ask, where did you go? there are no clues hidden in their surroundings. the horror of this memory lives within her. "you... you did this?" he speaks slowly, trying to piece it together. there is no judgement in his voice, only confusion.

again, he sees the blood. he hears the truth of it in her words. "shit. okay, okay, that's— it's okay. everything's gonna be okay. if you did it, there was a reason, right? did anyone see you? we should... we need to go. in case anyone comes looking."

[damianesco]

x. status -> closed for @graysonheller x. location -> oyster & pearl

Damian thinks that, were he a smarter, less impulsive person, he’d’ve Googled the restaurant his Grindr hookup recommended before agreeing to meet him here. As it happens, it appears Damian is neither smarter nor less impulsive than he is, so he’s found himself in a rather intimate setting for what’s meant to be a quick ‘making sure you’re not a psycho’ session before heading off to — well, hook up. He hears Phoebe’s voice in his head a little too late, lamenting his situation: should’ve offered breakfast. Breakfast always reads casual. 

He’s here now, though, and the man leading him to their table behind the hostess is tall, broad, and has some blue eyes Damian probably shouldn’t look too long at. He’d introduced himself as Lowell, which is miles better than his Grindr profile name, Magnum Gropus. To be fair, the amusement derived from the name is what encouraged Damian to agree to meeting up, so he guesses he can’t be too judgmental about it. He’s chattering on to Damian about his job — a field researcher, travels the country days at a time, apparently — when they finally reach their table. Lowell, ever the gentleman, pulls the chair out for Damian, and he’s in the middle of thanking him when his gaze meets a familiar one right across from him, seated comfortably to their right.

Grayson is accompanied by a rather beautiful, tanned woman, dark brown eyes and similarly-shaded locks. She looks — incredibly cold, Damian thinks a little bitterly, considering the state of her dress and the air conditioning blasting in here. He thinks it’s a little unfair, that being his first thought about her, but he can’t control it. It sneaks up on him like an unwelcome visitor, settling like acid in the pit of his stomach. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, and can only come up with, “Gray?” as Lowell takes his own seat across from him.

The tables are way too close together, he thinks. He should say something to management. There’s no need to have these tables so close to each other — it’s not a communal restaurant, is it? Lowell is looking at him with some puzzlement, glancing between him and Grayson. “You know each other?” he asks politely. 

Damian meets Lowell’s gaze again, a little embarrassed he’d almost forgotten about him. “Yep,” he replies cheerfully, because what good would it do to anyone to lie? “He’s a friend,” he stumbles a little over the word friend, despite the fact that Grayson is Damian’s friend. Whatever else they’ve been getting up to for the last six months notwithstanding, obviously. Looking back at Grayson, he glances at his date, the beautiful tall brunette, noting she hasn’t once looked away from Gray. It makes Damian’s throat taste a little like bile. 

Before he can elaborate or say something stupid, Lowell pipes back up, “Oh, hey, cool! Great minds think alike, huh?” He throws a winning grin over at Grayson, and Damian almost feels like he needs to have blinders on.

[anhxdonia]

@godsunderfoot — antioch university, august 5th, afternoon. trigger warnings: religious references!

PERHAPS  THE  MOST  ELEGANT  FORM  OF  BEAUTY  IS  THE  STORY.  Smithed  words,  struck  when  molten,  and  shaped  until  piercing  at  first  strike;  others  daintily  crafted  and  cut  gems  of  prose.  A  professional  fabulist  drips  jeweled  sentences,  their  carats  reflected  in  the  bright,  yearning  nebula  of  the  human  iris,  a  rapt  audience  caught  in  the  splendor.  As  simple  as  it  may  be,  this  truth  bears  repeating:  we  are  a  species  wrapped  up  in  aesthetics,  fabrics  of  our  imagination...  seeking  beauty  in  the  forms  that  cover  the  ugliness  we  harbor.

Many  believe,  quote  rapaciously,  that  beauty  —  some  unspoiled,  earthly,  carnal,  tactile  essence  —  is  terror.  But  one  is  gripped  by  fear,  horrors  that  subsume  underneath  one's  skin  when  encountering  the  unfamiliar,  unknown.  When  one  believes  they've  never  witnessed  it  before.  Beauty  is  a  terror  when  it  is  FOREIGN.

Maharth's  fingers,  ashen  at  the  tips  with  the  finest  dust  of  Hagoromo  chalk,  underline  the  word  terror  on  the  blackboard.  He  is  still  a  lover  of  the  Classics  and  basks  in  Inquisitive  stares  following  the  arc  of  his  arm  as  he  encircles  the  truth.  He  faces  their  eagerness,  matches  with  a  spark  of  his  own,  and  lovingly  tosses  in  his  kindling,  a  speech:

"  How  we  view  one's  beauty  becomes  one's  truth,  one's  belief  in  the  world  we  live  in...  All  religious  art  has  a  motif  of  untouchable  beauty,  the  peerless  perfect  faces,  serenity  in  the  expression  both  present  and  empty,  seeing  a  world  that  a  mortal  onlooker  could  never  comprehend...  "

The  projector,  more  like  a  banner  that  floats  down  from  the  rafters,  depicts  Michelangelo's  Last  Judgment,  capturing  a  sliver  of  its  phenomenal  flair.  The  professor  summarizes,  "  Michelangelo's  Last  Judgment,  his  final  painting,  stirred  controversy  at  its  time.  The  Catholic  Church  was  in  its  Counter-Reformation  movement,  and  the  Council  of  Trent  deemed  the  Last  Judgment's  Neoplatonic  influences  heretical.  Nudity,  in  fact,  was  the  issue...  I  hear  the  snickering,  students.  Stay  with  me  for  a  second.  "

"  Now,  we'd  think  it  baseless,  quite  prudish,  no?  Given  the  fame  of  the  Statue  of  David,  the  Ecstasy  of  St.  Teresa  of  Avila…  The  bodily  beauty  of  mimicked  flesh  and  blood,  as  a  means  of  extending  the  greatness  of  its  Saints  to  the  people,  was  now  rejected  for  being  baseless,  vulgar,  and  Godless.  "

Maharth  wonders  briefly  how  the  indictment  fell  on  Michelangelo  when  the  commissioners  who  pulled  art  after  art  from  him  betrayed  him.  Did  the  artist  burn  up  in  shame  when  the  poet  Pietro  Aretino  accused  him  of  defiling  the  Sistine  Chapel,  of  denigrating  it  to  a  whorehouse?

"  That's  what  I  want  you  to  think  about,  students.  Expressions  of  piety.  What  is  religious  beauty?  What  is  artifice  and  truth?  Upon  completing  his  last  painting,  Michelangelo  wrote,  'Neither  painting  nor  sculpture  will  be  able  any  longer  to  calm  my  soul,  now  turned  to  divine  love.'  What  divine  beauty  drives  a  pious  servant  to  agitation?  "

His  lecture  ends  with  synchronized  silence  before  students  and  some  faculty  onlookers  remember  the  time  and  place.  Then,  as  if  coming  out  of  a  daze,  they  shamble  out  of  their  desks,  the  nooks  at  the  edges  of  the  room  to  leave.  As  the  newest  member  of  Antioch  University's  roster,  Professor  Chandrasekhar  fields  ravenous  last-minute  questions,  chatting  with  the  engagement  of  a  beloved  old  friend  who  has  a  train  to  catch.  It's  only  after  the  regulars  dip  and  the  field  of  people  thins  out  that  the  professor  notices  someone  in  the  midst,  stately  and  tall  even  when  far  back  in  the  room.

There  are  continuing  education  courses  for  adults  at  the  university,  so  the  age  of  the  man,  sculpted  in  rugged,  well-defined  features,  does  not  illicit  any  curiosities  from  the  professor;  however,  the  lack  of  academic  equipment  (no  papers,  pens)  hints  at  Maharth  that  the  visitor  may  not  be  a  simple  course  auditor.  Well,  there  is  no  hurt  in  asking.

Or,  there  shouldn't  be.

"  Good  afternoon!  The  lecture  wasn't  too  long-winded,  was  it? "  Maharth  calls  out,  hand  cupped  around  his  mouth.  He  follows  his  greeting  with  easy,  long  strides  to  the  man.  Hand  out,  fingers  loosely  together,  knuckles  forming  soft  ridges  like  a  clam's  shell,  he  signals  his  invitation.  "  Professor  Maharth  Prasad  Chandrasekhar.  Charmed  to  make  your  acquaintance.  "

[eievuimultimuse]

@eyeknowmayhem | CLOSED STARTER ( from SUPERFLY; for MONDO ! )

     IT WAS SUNRISE when the fly mutant arrived back at the truly abandoned shipyard for the third morning in a row. It was kinda CRAZY to think it’d only been THREE DAYS since he’d finally escaped. Three days out of a whopping SIX MONTHS. Six months since they turned him back, since he was no more than a fly in a jar, since his FAMILY turned against him . . .six months since he lost everything.

     He’d made it part of his new habit to wander New York’s streets at night and to return here during the day so as to not get caught by any humans. He only used it to have a safe place to crash at this point, feeling exhausted after staying awake and alert all night. Not like he had much reason to use it for anything other than sleep; not when it was so…EMPTY now, save for some few things. He knew it wasn’t the smartest thing, frequenting a spot like this. He knew it made him more likely to get caught in the long run. But truthfully…he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

     When he enters the cavernous abode, he’s got a duffle bag strapped over his shoulder — just some items he nabbed while he was out, things that he needed to, y’know…LIVE. He plans on just taking it and himself to his room  ( which, surprisingly, seemed to be only part of the place that remained mostly intact. guess they didn’t care enough to clean it out like they did the rest of the place )  before settling down to sleep the day hours away. Sleep away the day, just to wake up by nightfall and do the whole thing over agai—

     Shortly upon entering, he suddenly pauses full stop, antennae twitching suspiciously. He swears that he hears something.  ( Maybe it’s just the lack of sleep getting to him ? )  No, he really does. Or, at least, he senses that something’s amiss. There aren’t any immediately noticeable changes to the place, yet he can’t help but feel that something’s changed regardless. Someone’s been in here in his absence.  ( Shit. Did they find him again already ? ) 

     Paranoid thoughts running through his mind, he ditches the bag — simply lets it drop to the floor, to which it lands quietly — to go investigating.  ( He’s honestly not sure if he has the stamina to go for a round two with these guys if push comes to shove — they certainly put up one hell of a fight when he made his escape — but he sure wasn’t going to run away. IF NOT EVEN HERE IS SAFE, THEN HE’S S.O.L. )

     He’s naturally taken to flying up towards the rafters to get a better view, compound eyes scanning every possible area. It becomes evident — much to his benefit — that even if there are any of those ASSHOLES around, there can’t possibly be that many. The ship is BIG and has plenty of places to hide, but not so many that he wouldn’t have spotted a whole pack of ‘em already if there was one. At the very least, if there is an intruder  ( he may be beginning to doubt; may be beginning to think it really is just poor sleep catching up to him ), it’s only—

     Wait. He’s spotted movement below, somewhere. It’s in his peripheral, but he caught it. So someone IS here. The place is so dark at this current hour that he can’t really make heads or tails of who or what he’s looking at — but if he’d wager a guess, this isn’t TCRI coming to bust down his door. Again, it’s hard to tell, but the individual looks far too skinny compared to TCRI goons’ habit of wearing some of the bulkiest armour seemingly known to man. That doesn’t exactly ease his concern any, though, because if it’s NOT them, then— WHO THE HELL IS THAT ?  And what the HELL are they doing in HIS home ?

     He observes for some time longer, keeping himself hidden while he does, just to try and piece together what’s going on. Eventually, it becomes apparent that this— TRESPASSER is poking around at some of the few remaining things left around. HIS things.

     ( Oh, HELL no. He KNOWS that this guy isn’t trying to freakin’ ROB him right now. )

     When he shoots down, he’s as swift as a bullet, landing a few feet away with a pretty hefty and angry THUD. He just so happens to land in one of the few sunny spots there is, leaving no part of his person a secret. He’s speaking before he’s even given himself a chance to LOOK, already running his mouth as he moves closer, moving to close the gap. “ Man, I dunno WHAT you’re thinkin’ you’re gonna find in a damn shipyard, but I suggest you— “

     He stops in his tracks suddenly, as if he’d just been struck. Demeanour completely changes; the defensive, hostile expression is immediately replaced with a wide-eyed look of SHOCK. Now that he’s closer to this mysterious guest, he can actually see that this isn’t just some weird, rando human that’s somehow snuck their way in here. He’s not sure which part he registered first: the tail with the skate attached, the faux hair, the eccentric outfit that Superfly could NEVER talk Mondo out of in favour of something a little tougher  ( not that he tried particularly hard; he quickly accepted that with some things, he was better off just letting his youngest sibling do as he pleased rather than try to fight it ).

     What DID occur to him at that moment, though, was that he quickly realized that, seeing as they ALL BUT CLEARED THE PLACE OUT, he’d neglected to consider the possibility that…any of them would actually…COME BACK. And FIND HIM here. So, as he’s standing there, STUNNED, it’s…probably pretty EVIDENT that he was not at ALL prepared for this.

     “ . . . Oh. “ His voice is flat, but the surprise is still evident. " It's just...you. " He's aware that he's saying it as if he HASN'T been separated from him for months. In his shocked state, he's just...BLANKING on what else TO say.

[quietlyblooms]

open to mutuals | in which chiyo doesn't want them to leave <3

" thank you, " softly chiyo mutters as laces are untied and shoes discarded, careful hands helping her beneath a comforter that feels heavenly against her skin. typically she'd never go to bed in street clothes, but the night calls for an exception; she's had just a tad too much to drink, feels much too tired to worry about dirty clothes. no, chiyo's more concerned with squeezing her pillow as tightly as she can ( the pressure against her chest soothes something that she can't name, doesn't want to name ).

she feels the bed shift as her companion stands, and eyes like melted chocolate stare up at them. belatedly chiyo realizes she's grabbed hold of their wrist but doesn't let go. belatedly she realizes she's allowed her pillow to fall to the ground, half-risen upon an elbow, though she doesn't care. she just doesn't want them to leave.

" could you stay a while longer? " her voice sounds so small, fragile. " please? "

[dcminiquesweasley]

Dominique was rearranging the display of LGBTQIA+ literature, admittedly fussing over the way it looked even when it didn’t matter too much. She’d made sure to curate a good variety from the bookstore, hoping there’d be something there for everyone to enjoy or want to read. If anything, she wanted to bring more attention to the types of books in that genre. Most of the time, people who came and went would pick up a book or two, let their eyes graze over the blurb before they inevitably politely smiled and walked away. The odd passerby would actually stop and ask her some questions, but otherwise the blonde spent most of her time sat on the little stool she’d set up for herself with her most recent read in her hands. “Hi– is there anything I can help you with in particular or were you just browsing?” she asked when over the top of the pages she noticed somebody new had come up to the stall.

[feranmut]

SHE'D THOUGHT LONG ABOUT THIS 一 where they could possibly go that both might at least take some semblance of pleasure in. the great library of xalphina had been considered, albeit briefly, before deciding it may be best elsewhere. from the small things she knows of alhaitham, she knows he isn't one who enjoys excess sound, much like a draken librarian reading several books aloud.

so, here they stand amidst a sea of planets and twinkling stars, a cosmos beckoning them with promise of the slightest glimpse of home. it was a quieter place, one he can read in were his attention to wane, not to mention some treats were any desired. though a brief thought passes her mind as they wind through some of the paths, one meant for their little display, as a hand shifts over slightly as if it were meant to take his own... until it freezes just beyond touch, immediately tucking itself away from view. no. maybe that wasn't a good idea.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀what made her think it was in the first place?

❝ Mm. I do not see Terra. At least I don't think. What of your world? ❞ it was idle chatter, one to push away that minuscule skip of her heart in hoping he hadn't noticed her pitiful attempt.

@hetuvidya

[thxta]

𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 — 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑡𝑎 / 𝑇𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑒

⦗ @timelxrd-victorious ⦘

The newly turned vampire-Time Lord hunched over the lab table, blood-sweat dripping down his forehead. His hunger was becoming almost unbearable after several days without any blood, and focus was proving to be a challenge. The vials of liquid before him shimmered under the harsh lighting of the TARDIS laboratory, their contents bubbling and changing hues.

He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the cravings gnawing away at him. This serum could potentially change everything for him - allow him to walk in the daytime, maintain his vampiric powers, and avoid the agonizing pain of exposure to direct sunlight. It was an essential part of his plan to create his own vampire coven.

With a frustrated hiss and growl, Theta pushed himself up from the table, sending test tubes clattering to the floor. The veins around his eyes were now dark and prominent, betraying his hunger. He knew he couldn't concentrate any further, and decided it was time to feed.

In a blur, he flitted across the laboratory and through the corridors, his vampiric speed taking him to the TARDIS' control room. Flicking switches and pressing buttons, he set course for modern-day Earth. Once there, he could find a suitable target, satiate his thirst, and return to his work with renewed vigor.

~

The city bustled with life, a perfect hunting ground for Theta. He prowled the darkened alleys, his vampiric senses heightening to pick up on the scent of blood, the beating of hearts, and the warmth of living beings. It was in that moment, as the familiar sound of a TARDIS materializing reached his ears, that the scent of another Time Lord wafted through the air.

Theta's nostrils flared, and his eyes widened. The scent was unmistakable, and his hearts raced, not just from hunger, but from the excitement of seeing an old friend. But as Theta's mind struggled with thoughts of wanting to feed, a flurry of mixed emotions raced through him.

Theta fought the urge to follow the scent, knowing that if he did, he might not be able to stop himself. Instead, he focused on finding a suitable human target, his eyes scanning the shadows for a victim. He spotted a figure walking alone, their pulse quickening as they hurried through the alley.

Theta launched himself at the unsuspecting human, his fangs elongating as he bit into their neck. They screamed, but they were silenced by Theta's hand over their mouth. The taste of the blood was intoxicating, and an immediate sensation of euphoria washed over him.

[balteren]

open starter with: winifred and anyone! location: café do paço time: early evening

Winifred sat, pale-faced aside from some well-placed rouge, her nails bitten down as far as they could go. A cup of cocoa sat in front of her, only a few sips taken, and any heat that it once held had long since disappeared. The idea that a soldier from Cardiff had not only been implicated in the Reckoning, but was assassinated? It was horrible. And that wasn’t even considering those damn letters. Millions of questions raced in her mind as she stared blankly into the courtyard. Was there something she could have done to prevent it? Is it possible her brother was at all attached to Kaiden- or could Kaiden have had something to do with her brother’s death? And at top of her mind: could she, as the ruler of Cardiff, be implicated in any of this? Was there a chance she’d lose her head? Was someone coming for her, and could she suffer the same fate as Carwyn?

Her train of thought was promptly derailed by another sitting next to her. She jumped at the sound and forced out a self-deprecating laugh. “You’ve caught me rather wrapped up in my own thoughts,” she said, clearing her throat and throwing on a more welcoming expression. She lifted the cup of cocoa to her lips, fighting the urge to recoil at its unexpected tepidness. “Feels a bit morbid to be enjoying something so sweet, after such a horrible event. But perhaps we deserve a little sweetness, now more than ever, no?" She hummed to herself and nodded in agreement to her own statement. "I think we deserve it.” Her tone was flirtatious, for some reason. Perhaps it was her shield of choice, tonight. After all, it was hard to talk about “feelings” when the lips were otherwise occupied.

[captainseamech]

Closed starter for @saviorclaimed

             Despite the war finally coming to an end and the beginning of Cybertron’s restoration, High Tide stayed on Earth most of the time to help the team and assist any other Cybertronian found around by relocating them safely to Ratchet. Even though he loved to help the best he could, there was a bitter taste in his mouth since he heard about what happened to Optimus.

             He wasn’t there. He wasn’t there to help in any possible way. He wasn’t there to stop that act of self-sacrifice from happening and he dreaded it every single time, even when he went to recharge and always woke up after the same horrible dream of his. He’s grown tired after that. Tired and with an aching spark.

             One day, however, he got a ping on his datapad, asking for permission to board on his ship. That was odd, there was no identification with the message and the sender didn’t tell anything else. Maybe it was someone who needed help, the captain concluded as he granted permission to come aboard and, not so long after, his radars caught a signal flying towards his ship.

             That’s even more strange. But according to the signature reading, although not identifying once again who that was, it was 100% an Autobot signal. Huh, he didn’t recall the last time they had a seeker on the team, so maybe they’re coming over to get proper advice from the captain, who knows.

             High Tide decided it would be best if he met whoever that was upfront, stepping out of his cabin and now standing by the deck in the open, squinting at the sky as he witnessed a dot flying closer to his ship. He just hoped it wasn’t a trap.

[zackastor]

open starter

location: Lake on the Beckett Farm

Every morning like clockwork, Zack went for a swim. Military had drilled discipline into him, and that discipline wasn't going to go away just because you returned to civilized society. It was still pretty quiet in this part of Redwood, not a lot of people out and about and not a lot of people living around these parts of the settlement.

The water was pretty cold, the night having cooled down everything, but it was just what Zack needed to get his body going proper. The feeling of not being able to breathe, cold pressing in on him the first time he let himself sink below the darkened surface of the water. His body slowly warming up as he began swimming, every fiber of his being filled with energy.

Just that this morning, he wasn't quite alone. It was Rex who noticed them. Zack let his German Shepherd roam freely in the mornings, which the dog normally used to race around the shore, sniffing and doing whatever dogs did. Just that when this morning Zack climbed out of the water, he saw Rex standing near the shore, teeth bared, growling and barking at a figure among the reeds.

"Rex, down." Zack called out, and the dog oblidged, lowering itself into the grass, eyes still fixed on whoever was there. Zack narrowed his eyes as he made his way over to whoever it was. "Sorry 'bout that. Rex gets a little territorial. He won't hurt ya, though." Zack put on a somewhat friendly smile, though it didn't quite yet reach his eyes. "Didn't your parents teach ya it's rude to stare?"

[macawbre]

Drills and practical work were comfortable to Phila. You could explain a concept until you were puffing and panting with the exertion, but those words could be all but useless once you were in the sky.

She missed being able to take recruits on their first flights. Introducing them to the intoxicating rush of wind whipping hair around your ears, the swooping delight, sweetened with anxiety, of relying on the creature beneath you to continue defying the laws of nature.

But, she now realised that delight was a candied poison. An untouchability that need only be disproven once.

If she was to regrow the Knights from the blood-soaked ground up, then she would do it differently. She would ensure her past mistakes never cost anyone their lives again.

Unfortunately, her well-intentioned attempts were belied by a fizzing boredom that left her staring unblinking at a lesson plan. So far all she'd written was: Lesson One: Safety Precautions.

Well, she was never a solo flier. There were many instructors dotted around this academy. She would seek one out and ask their help.

Pacing the halls of Garreg Mach, she eventually lighted on a classroom which was buzzing with activity. Perfect. She lingered in the hallway, the echo of a shamefaced youth ejected from class for bad behaviour.

The class was dismissed, and she slipped into the room. Like a magicians trick, the disappearing students revealed their professor. A professor with a very recognisable collar bristling with eyes. A... Plegian? Her muscles tensed on instinct. Fear and Plegia were practically the same word in Phila's vocabulary. They had killed her. They had... Her Exalt...

But she knew that Plegia was not its King. Just as the previous Exalt had not been hers. She could be civil. Emmeryn would want her to be civil.

'Pardon, I had some questions about... lesson planning.'

After the revelation, her words felt leaden, completely unable to articulate the shock that had slammed into her like a blow to the shoulder.

Teaching is a fickle, inching trick of light. He can't say for sure that he knows how to capture it, but in his own strange way, he knew how to wield it. For light, you bring up a receptacle of light—a mirror canted at an angle to bend its intangible existence. But for teaching, you must conjure some kind of receptacle of learning—a candle, a rose, a fire-proof mannequin. Something a little silly, something a little meaningful. The kids here are different now, but in a sense that they felt like different faces with the same souls. He couldn't really put his finger on it, but at least they were willing to give his classes a shot. (And let's forget the broken windows lining his classroom for a moment, shall we?)

It's interesting actually. No teacher here wanted anything to do with him. He had an easier time with the clerics, priests, and the psychologists over another colleague in his ranks. (But he couldn't blame them; not when Henry was barely a professor at all, let alone a capable one.) Maybe he could give Rhea a ring. Hang that noose over her head, and have a cup o' tea or something. But hey! Would you look at that! A sorry soul inching through the door! He straightened up, shard of broken glass glittering in his hands.

"Ahaha~ Oh, I'm sure you don't mean that." But, he was already teeming with curiosity; could it be that she wasn't afraid of him? She looked a whole lotta fun—like maybe the Cherche-type of fun. Stern, polite, and scary as hell. "...Or maybe you do?" Thoughtfulness tinged the tail-end of his question, as he lingered on the possibility that someone might actually want something more out of him.

"Asssssssss you can see, my last glass— I mean, class— kinda had the misfortune of shattering all the windows to my place. I think Seteth's going to have a conniption!" His laughter rung like church bells, echoing through the now-empty hall. A couple of his crows sat idly by the windowsills, picking at spare shards. To be honest, he didn't really make it easy on any responsible human being to be around him. (Because it was sooooo much more fun keeping them on their toes.)

"But if you're so sure, let's smash our heads together, nya ha ha! I'm positive we can come up with a lesson plan that'll have 'em by the neck."

With a little PLINK, he flicked the glass into a pile he had collected against the wall of the room. "What do you teach?" Circling around the room, he had his arms wide with all the possibilities racing through his head. "If it's swordsmanship, I recommend summoning a hoard of Risen to let your kids at 'em. And if it's Lance, you can ask me to enchant a couple of piñatas to pop out from the ceiling. Oh! Oh, or—"

"Actually, do you want a paper to write these all down? I think I can go on all day."

He scooted up on his desk, legs hanging off loosely as he leafed through the drawers for some spare parchment. To be honest, if she didn't want 'em, he'd use these plans himself. "What's your name by the way? Mine's Henry."

"Aha! Here we are." He pilfered a spare writing board, an ink pen he had enchanted to fountain ink, and some old scrolls for her use. "At the end of the day, if it's not fun, what's the point?"