#PLEASE do not match length

[mari-zuko]

who: @freddiekolbeck when: november 14th where: anywhere on campus

How long did it take for the idea that your...friend, lover, ex, however Greer may have been described...might be dead? It's not like it was the first time over the past year and a half that the idea had slipped through Mari's mind. It was something that she had thought, wondered, feared plenty of times, something she had heard other people whispering about, something she had overheard her father preemptively trying to do damage control on. But when it was written out like that, when it was news...that's when it became real. It hadn't been very long - not even quite twenty-four hours, but every time she felt like she was able to inhale without it hurting, it walloped Mari in the gut again, the reminder that she was out here breathing and Greer may not be.

Mari wasn't sure how she was supposed to finish this week, let alone spend the upcoming holidays with family, take her finals, literally go on with things like normal. But what other choice did she have? First, she'd have to figure out how to accept this, to not let it literally stop her in her tracks when it pounded back to the front of her mind again. And she hadn't succeeded yet, her eyes shutting for a second as she stopped in the middle of her route across campus, on her way to class, taking a slow, painful inhale.

At least the pain reminded her that it was real.

She had thought she'd be good to go to class, but as she stood there, trying to hold herself together, Mari realized she absolutely was not. Without thinking about it, she turned on her heel to head back the way she had came, nearly crashing into someone right behind her, considering she had stopped dead in the middle of the path. "Fuck, sorry, sorry," she said, stepping to the side before she looked up, meeting Freddie's eyes. Staring at him for a moment, Mari couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking - he had come back in the midst of all this. He had the opportunity to have not been involved at all, and yet...here he was. "At the risk of bringing my fathers biggest fear to life - want to skip class with me?" she asked suddenly, not bothering with any other greeting - the Freddie of before Greer's disappearance absolutely would've. And maybe Mari just wanted to cling to that time for a bit longer, before she was forced into accepting this news.

[alightindarkplaces]

The Best Yuletide this century (open)

Of all the great things the people of Hobbiton had done in the last three months, the cleaning up and refurnishing of Bag End was Frodo's favorite. It meant he could lay in his own bed finally, and get out of farmer Cotton's hair, and best of all, his home was once again the place to be for parties and gatherings of all kinds. Bilbo would have loved it, and for that reason, Frodo loved it too, but there was also a deep empty feeling in all the places where Bilbo should have been. Frodo felt it like a heaviness in his chest and a weight about his neck.

In a dark corner he sat, near the hearth and festivities, but just removed by virtue of being out of the way and hidden in the shadows cast by the bright firelight. He was sat in his own lounge chair, which he'd brought into that corner very purposely, with his legs up and facing sideways, so he was sort of wedged in. In his hands, he held a large mug of ale which he sipped liberally, all the while listening absently to the talk and songs of the others.

He'd had his fair share of ale and mulled wine and was feeling rather foggy, but he supposed he could use another drink. He tipped his mug back and finished off the last of his beer and then looked curiously at the cup, as though he had not expected it to be emptied so soon. He tucked his mug away in his lap and settled in with his hands resting over his breast. It was easy to see that the middle finger on his right hand was fully missing, with barely a nub to be seen. It was not an old injury, but neither was it new enough to trouble him, and it looked to be healed, though still frail with new flesh.

Although the party was technically his own affair, he'd left the bustling and hosting largely to his friends, who were eager enough to lend him a hand whenever it was asked for (and plenty often when it wasn't.) He might have felt guilty, but he didn't. It was more of a favor to the rest of them to host at Bag End, given the spacious layout and generous larder, and he hadn't the energy for hosting or much socializing of any sort. Luckily, he was largely left alone, as everyone had their own trouble to attend without getting mixed up in his. He looked down into his empty cup with a sad sigh, and with some effort, extracted himself from his cozy chair to navigate the throngs of guests in search of a refill.

[alwaysxinxtrouble]

Sitting on the bed, Robin stared at the food sitting on the nightstand but couldn’t bring herself to eat or drink. There was no meat on the plate and yet it still felt unsettling to eat knowing it was prepared in the same kitchen where her captors prepared their meat. Human meat. Other than the fact they could have laced the food or water with poison, possibly antifreeze. Her imagination ran wild with all of the possibilities of what they could have done to it. Instead she laid down on the bed with her eyes glued to the light coming from beneath the door, watching the passing shadows of whomever was on the other side. She had already stepped lightly to check the window that wouldn’t budge open before tiptoeing around the room in search of a weapon. Again, she wasn’t fruitful. Though she had doubted she would be.

Somehow, she had managed to drift off to sleep after everything that happened throughout the day. It wasn't deep nor for long, cold fingers wrapping around her ankle just above the shoe. The touch was enough for her eyes to slowly open in confusion, blinking several times for her vision to come into focus...on a set of eyes at the edge of the bed staring back at her and a large knife being pointed at her. A scream ripped from her as she was pulled suddenly from the bed b her ankle, scrambling to grab at anything within reach but only found blankets. She hit the floor on her back with a hard thump, her attacker standing over her with the knife held above his head and menacing smile on his face. The grip on her ankle was released before a second man moved to stand over her with a cleaver in hand.

The bedroom door slamming into the wall as it was thrown open stole the attention of the men standing over her but her own was on the large butcher knife and cleaver until the sound of Jesse's voice had the weapons being pulled away. Everything happened in a blur between Robin's terrified sobs and Jesse getting in between her and the men with the knives. If the argument wasn't happening in the pathway to the door, she would have made a run for it. Or at least, she hoped she would have. By the time Jed's voice roared from the hallway, she was shaking and on the verge of hyperventilating.

The next thing she knew Jesse was herding her down the stairs, trying to calm her with promises that the twins weren’t going to hurt her and she was safe through her panicked sobs. They were about halfway down the stairs when she realized Jed and the other brothers were still upstairs. A quick glance over her shoulder to confirm it was only Jesse immediately behind her, no one else following. Head snapping forward, she stopped mid-step and placed a hand on the wall to help keep her balance. It was most likely going to be her only chance to get away. A deep breath and Robin looked down at her feet, summoning the courage to follow through. Jesse leaned in close to gently encourage her to keep going, reminding her yet again she was going to be okay.

The sound of her heart pounding filled her ears as the world narrowed down to that exact moment, what she needed to do becoming crystal clear. Robin threw her head back hard right into Jesse’s face, feeling the hands on her shoulders release upon the impact. The hold on her gone with Jesse falling backwards she took off down the stairs to jumping down the last few steps to take off down the hallway. She remembered the way Jesse had led her through the house and she backtracked through it, barely slowing when she reached the door to throw it open.

Out into the cool night air Robin ran, heading towards the barn where she had first been brought and running past it into the woods. She hoped if the psychopaths hadn't already seen her they would think she would have run in the opposite direction of the barn and away from the danger. She didn't look back, charging past the building and into the woods, stepping more carefully in hopes to avoid any more traps. It felt impossible in the dark but she hugged trees and didn't dare step in the obvious spots the moonlight allowed her to see through the canopy.

@alwaysxinxtrouble

Jesse had no idea how long the woman had been in the camouflaged pit. He didn’t have time to check the twins' traps every day and knew they weren't exactly diligent about it either, despite repeated reminders that rotten meat that had been dead for days was no good to anyone. He guessed it was anywhere from a day or two to only a few hours. He’d had to bind her wrists and ankles and gag her to haul her out, but he’d removed the gag once they reached the slaughterhouse.

Nobody was going to hear her from in there, and he liked having someone to talk to while he worked, even if the conversations could be sort of one-sided. She didn't seem reassured by his promises that he would kill her so quickly she wouldn't even feel it, or that it was lucky he'd found her before the twins did. They liked to play with their food, no matter how many times Abram raged at them that fear and pain affected the flavor. Conversations could be sort of one-sided with them too. Their listening skills were highly selective.

Blood dripped from the edge of a sharp knife while he carved up meat at the counter. He wasn't trying to scare her more, but it was possible he didn't realize what a frightening scene that was. He was waiting for one of his brothers to get home to help with her. Contrary to popular horror movie myth, it was difficult to single-handedly butcher and preserve the meat from anything larger than a pig. Not impossible, but they didn't like to waste anything. The whole process would be smoother with another set of hands. Though Jesse had a tendency to run his mouth, that was not a detail he'd shared with his captive.

He didn’t look up from what he was doing at the sound of the sliding door, assuming it was one of the twins come to check on their haul, until Jed's voice snapped through the space. He had that oldest brother talent of commanding instant attention and making him feel vaguely guilty, even when he hadn't done anything wrong. Or maybe it was just that he was already shouting.

"What the hell are you doing? Jesse, what the fuck."

Jed was staring at Robin, bound on the floor, filthy and crying and looking like she'd just been pulled out of a pit, which, he realized with a sinking feeling, was probably exactly what had happened. He knew the twins had traps set up all over the property, and none of the locals ever made noise about the occasional missing hiker. But this was bad. This was bad. Robin wasn't just some random hiker. Locals were off limits. They never killed people they knew, and he’d already been seen in town with her on multiple dates. They couldn't just kill her, as Jesse had clearly been planning to do.

But they couldn't just let her go either. It was plain at a glance that she'd already seen and heard too much. Jesse never did know how to shut his goddamn mouth.

"Fuck!" He was still yelling, his younger brother's voice competing with his.

"What are you talking about? She was in the trap!"

"That's Robin! That's the girl I'm going out with! Goddamnit, Jesse!" He shoved him hard, heedless of the knife in his hand. It was no threat to him. The Ashworth brothers might infight from time to time, but they always stopped short of actually hurting each other.

"Well what the fuck, Jed! How was I supposed to know?"

Jed ignored him, moving almost on autopilot to Robin. He knelt by her, reaching to loosen the restraints on her wrists. He didn’t like seeing her like that, helpless and terrified. It was still relatively new between them, but he’d liked her. More than he’d liked anyone in a long time. And they would probably have to kill her now. Robin would die for nothing, and her disappearance would bring unwanted attention to the family. Shit.

[firestne]

outside nya's home ( open starter )

if her mother could see her now she would shake her head in disapproval with a fond smile on her face. her daughter, sleeping outside in the could rather than inside where she could make a fire and be warm but no, nya decided to watch the stars and the moon like a fool and before she could notice her eyes became heavy and she fell asleep in her chair.

in her defense she had a long day and could not recall the last time she got proper sleep. sawbone always had a new patient, someone who needed help or people that couldn't effort the coin for treatment and yet nya helped all the same because she cared about the people in this island.

and yet in an island that inhabited pirates she managed to fall asleep, what if she were to get hurt or robbed? her tiredness did not think of that when she felt asleep but she did jolt awake when she felt someone touch her shoulder, her heart beating faster. "what? who—"

[larimared]

     perhaps   benedict   had   asked   his   servant   to   find   out   where   lady   millicent   was.   it   was   not   as   if   he   was   wrong   in   doing   so,   not   at   all.   he   was   merely   a   husband   looking   out   for   his   wife   since   she   had   made   it   back   into   town.   however   he   knew   it   was   not   that   and   so   did   his   servant.   they   had   a   look   on   their   face   when   he   asked,   wishing   to   ask   him   if   it   was   about   the   letter   from   the   queen   he   had   received   earlier   in   the   day.      benedict   had   heard   whispers   of   the   matchmaking,   had   received   the   letter   by   his   servant.   most   of   the   time   he   did   not   care   what   they   read,   for  ��the   queen's   writings   has   been   plenty   of   whistledown   recently   and   he   surely   did   not   care   a   lick   for   it.   however,   the   letter   this   time   felt   strange   in   his   hand   when   he   had   taken   it   from   them,   the   look   on   their   face   said   enough   and   benedict   was   the   first   to   trust   the   staff   in   his   home.   he   opens   it,   dark   eyes   scanning   the   words   on   the   page   and   they   widen   as   he   reads.      matchmaking   for   the   ton.      his   wife,   who   was   widely   known   to   have   left   him   or   rather,   not   be   around   any   longer   as   some   chose   to   believe   he   had   killed   her   himself,   was   now   an   eligible   lady.   did   it   make   logical   sense   that   she   would   have   been   apart   of   the   matchmaking   as   she   remained   a   married   woman   by   law?   of   course   not,   but   benedict   was   not   thinking   logically   so   the   thought   did   not   cross   his   mind.      instead,   he   is   bumping   into   millicent   on   total   accident   at   gunter's.   "lady   millicent,"   he   says.   seeing   her   again,   after   what   had   happened   at   the   reunion   stings,   his   heart   aches   inside   of   his   chest   seeing   how   beautiful   she   was   with   the   sunshine   peering   through   the   glass   panes   of   the   window.   he   does   not   show   it   though.   in   place   of   that,   his   features   remain   steeled.   "i   apologize   for   my   clumsiness,   but   perhaps   is   it   good   that   we   have   bumped   into   each   other   for   i   have   some   matters   to   discuss   with   you,"   he   pauses,   brain   trying   his   best   to   come   up   with   an   excuse,   "of   the   divorce."   is   what   he   settles   on.

closed:   with   millicent   grant   (@promisedhexvens). location:   gunter's.

[farspaceapple]

Open starter; How many times this week? Twice? Thrice?

Probably more than Caleb would have liked. At this point, he was tired of seeing suspicious shadows and passive glances—clumsy attempts on his life. Whether for revenge or vengeance, it didn’t matter. They all ended the same way.

This time, too.

The man knelt before Caleb, crushed under the weight of his gravity evol. His bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets, desperately gasping for air as he reached for any shred of hope—the hope to survive the monster before him.

Just five minutes ago, he had been lurking behind a nearby building, watching Caleb and what might have been his girlfriend. They were laughing, pointing at something that had caught their attention. He had only looked away for a moment, and when he turned back, Caleb had vanished.

’Sigh.’

Suddenly, the weight of tons fell upon his shoulder, pinning him to the spot.

The voice from behind made his blood run cold.

“You must have a death wish.”

Damn, He'd been caught.

"I don't care who sent you. But I’ve been in a bad mood, thanks to people like you," Caleb spat at his would-be assassin.

The assassin trembled, feeling his body buckle under the unseen force Caleb commanded. The weight was unbearable, pressing down on his limbs like an anchor dragging him into the depths. He had seen monsters before, but none like this.

Caleb circled him slowly, each step deliberate, the crushing pressure increasing with every second.

The man desperately grunted as his neck tightened, and Caleb’s jaw clenched. The only thought running through Caleb’s head was, What if she saw?

The man before him continued to spew his final words, which fell on tired ears. All the same. It's the same tune.

"Those old foxes are still wasting my time. Still out to feed this pointless grudge?" Caleb spoke aloud, his voice flat, dangerous.

A bitter chuckle escaped the man’s throat, though it was cut short by the suffocating pressure. 'You… and the fleet… m-monsters…'

Caleb leaned down, his expression darkening, eyes narrowing. The words struck a bit deeper than he cared to admit. He let the silence stretch for a moment before finally responding.

"Maybe. If I am, I’d be the worst kind."

With a flick of his hand, the weight intensified. The assassin’s body crumpled under the strain, bones snapping like twigs as the life drained from his eyes. There was no sound, no final cry for mercy—only the quiet collapse of another would-be killer crushed beneath the force of Caleb’s evol.

Caleb stood there for a moment, staring down at the lifeless body, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t proud of it. He wasn’t even angry anymore. Just… tired.

Without a word, he cleaned up quickly, opening a black hole over the man’s body and letting it vanish. He turned away, the weight of his own conscience heavier than the gravity he wielded. His violet eyes glanced back to where he was needed. The excuse he had used to leave was catching up to him as his partner showed visible concern for how long he had been gone.

Caleb took a deep breath, steadying himself before returning to her—ready to fill in his missing time expertly.

The shadows of the past were creeping closer every day.

[classiqals]

Night had always carried a sense of solace for Ariyan, even as a child. There was a peace that could be found, and for one as comfortable as they were with their own company, a chance for the mind to be free. While some took the darkness with their sorrows && fears, it was when Ari felt their most alive.

Taking to the top deck, with their let down to wave in the gentle breeze of the wee hour, Ariyan was keenly aware of the figure of another - how fortune, thus far, they had been; sitting atop the Persian throne with little in sight to oppose them. A gift from their husband; a man of two courts now, stormed and conquered. It felt easy to feel powerful wearing the ring of a murdered Shah, pretending it was their own.

They grasped the rail with that same hand of signified power, and a long stretch of silence fell between them. " I was hoping we would have the chance to meet on this journey. " - the silence, finally broken, without Ariyan's eyes yet finding theirs, safely still focused into the nighttime's reflection on the ever-changing sea.

Open starter 2/3 - Top deck of the Kōtetsu, at night.

Damned be the instant when their tongue refused to complain about the ship they would be boarding. Farhad had remained most of the time in their room at the Egyptian quarters, unseen, coming out only at times when the gardens and the hallways were almost empty. The amount of people was nearly enough to make their courage falter, and make them reconsider if the trip was a good idea in the first place. They felt weak, and small. And now, they are without Nabil, too.

After dozing off during the day, familiar restlessness comes during the night, and the sultan finds themself pacing around the top deck. The silence and the sound of the waves soothes their anxieties, and replaces them with a sense of almost thrill. At the very least, the idea of visiting foreign land feels more exciting than terrifying.

[oscar-velholobo]

Ojalá

FOR: @amaroadriana EVENT: Fight Club 2025 WHERE: The Underground | During Fights

Óscar leaned against a wall at the far side of the ring, muffling out the noise bleeding from the crowd as best as he could as he observed each fighter's strengths and weaknesses. Fights came and went like the tide—quick, dirty, some more bark than bite—but his focus wasn’t on the bodies flying or the blood soaking into the mats.

Not really. It was on the flash of blue moving through the crowd like they owned it—or maybe like she could, if she ever cared to try. Adriana Amaro.

He hadn’t seen her in, who knew how long, since entering London. Too long, in his opinion. Óscar exhaled through his nose, rolling his jaw as he watched her weave toward the edge of the ring, eyes cast somewhere else—until they weren’t.

Until they found his.

The bodyguard lifted one brow, slow and deliberate, before speaking like he hadn’t been watching her for the last ten seconds. Óscar moved through the crowd with the same calm presence he carried everywhere, shoulder brushing the occasional stranger, but no one dared try to stop him. He stopped beside her without a word at first, just let the roar of the crowd and the rhythmic pulse of the fight in the cage fill the silence between them. Then, low—almost casual:

"Tell me, Adri, who’s on your list tonight? Or are you just waiting to see which one of us breaks something first?"

[edward-st-george]

closed starter @fcrgivenesss (natasha) // on the streets of London

Edward’s boots struck the wet cobblestones with a swaggering rhythm, each step echoing the smug weight of a freshly earned debt repaid in full. The coin purse at his hip sang a soft, satisfying jingle, a lullaby for scoundrels. He whistled as he walked, careless and off-key, his coat collar turned up against the drizzle, the scent of rain and chimney smoke curling through the air like the ghosts of his past. He was the picture of unbothered elegance, rakish to the bone—hair slightly mussed, cravat tied like an afterthought, and a grin that always looked like it knew something you didn’t. The world, at least for now, was exactly where he liked it: beneath his heel and paying interest.

But when he saw her—her—all of London seemed to freeze around him. Natasha. Just the name scraped against the inside of his skull like broken glass wrapped in velvet. She was unchanged and yet devastatingly altered, as though time had conspired with memory to make her sharper, softer, crueler in her beauty. For a heartbeat too long, he wasn't Edward the rogue with silver in his pockets and sin on his breath—he was a boy again. Twenty-three, rain-soaked, reeling, clutching her last letter in shaking hands by candlelight. He’d begged her to run away with him. He’d spun her a world made of hope and horseflesh, dreams and desperation. She had given him a kiss that tasted like forever, and then turned and left him for a man with land, lineage, and a name that could open doors Edward would never be invited to knock on.

That night, he’d looked into a cracked mirror, eyes bloodshot and jaw clenched, and made himself a promise: You will become the man she was too much of a coward to believe in. He would rise—not with grace, not with the slow, steady dignity of honest men—but like fire, wild and consuming. He clawed his way into drawing rooms, card games, and backroom dealings, charming dukes out of coin and duchesses out of virtue. Every debt collected, every lie told with a smile, every bottle emptied at dawn—it all led back to that oath. To her. And now here she stood, gilded in the past and framed by the present. And he, at last, had become everything she thought he could never be. Powerful. Feared. Desired. Above it all. His lips curled into a smirk, but it wasn’t joy that bloomed in his chest—it was triumph, laced with just enough bitterness to sting.

He smirked, slow and sharp, as if the very sight of her was some well-played card he’d been waiting to drop. His voice had the lazy lilt of a man who'd had too much wine and not enough sleep—or perhaps the other way around. “Well. I’ll be damned,” he drawled, as if in pleasant surprise, though it was anything but. “If it isn’t Miss ‘You Deserve Better.’ How’s better treating you these days?” The words were dripping with mockery, but beneath the easy cadence, there was something more—a razor-thin edge of bitterness that never quite disappeared. He took a step forward, slow and deliberate, just enough to close the distance, letting the familiar scent of rose water and something darker—something ruined—fill the air between them. The scent of her. His chest tightened, a momentary flicker of something he couldn’t quite name, but he quashed it with another flick of that too-confident smile. “You know,” he added with a half-laugh that barely reached his eyes, “there was a time I thought you were the end of my story. Turns out, you were just the prologue.” His fingers brushed the brim of his hat, tipping it with exaggerated carelessness. The gesture was laced with cruelty, a final act of arrogance to seal his triumph. “Do send my regards to your husband. Or… whatever he is now.”

[denverneumann]

It was with not just a little bit of trepidation that Denver took her first steps into the Tower since she'd been escorted out. It hadn't even been that long ago. Snow, what had it been, a week? Two? Time seemed to be in a state of flux, or else a kind of liminal stasis. In a world without Games there were no bookends to the seasons, no touchstones upon which to ground one's sense of reality. And what a painful reality it had been. But Denver had been promised it would be okay this time. She was going to be okay. She had walked in through the front door, and no one had arrested her yet. Besides, even if someone didn't believe she was here on business, she was still just a low-level loyalist. A rich girl without a rich name to back her up. She'd be safe.

Her kiosk was gone. Denver wondered idly as she passed where it had once stood if there had been any satisfaction in tearing it down. Her manager was dead, she was certain. As best as she'd been able to gather, all of the upper management for the Hunger Games Museum were dead.

She walked in nearly a straight line until she reached the back of the Tower, a window in one of the old lounges. No arrest. She was okay. She sighed at that, a mix of relief and sheer uncertainty, and took a seat. She pulled out her notebook and a pen, lucky finds from the BEEF gift shop, and started taking notes of the world around her. So wrapped up in her observations was she, so bent on mastering the art of recording history as it was actually happening, that she'd missed someone coming up to her until she felt the presence right by her side. She jolted up, startled.

"Hi," she said, resisting the urge to insist she was allowed to be there. "Sorry, I didn't realize anyone was there. You must have quiet feet or something." She gave a laugh and a smile, but gripped her pen tighter.

[endlessreruns]

"why not go crazy with it. I'll doubt I'll win, so we should go all out, yeah?" he asked rhetorically with a grin.

It felt like it had all happened so fast. First the ground shook and then it started to crack open. A hand had reached out to grab one of the suspenders on his over-all shorts, pulling him away from the growing crack as the earth split open more and more. They sort of recognized their savior. He worked at the paper, but what his name was Parker couldn't remember. Did he have a picture of him in his phone yet? That was also something he couldn't remember, he'd have to look later…if they remembered to.

Just as quickly as the chaos had started it was over. Some of it at least. The ground was no longer shaking and most things seemed to be still, except a fire still raged and people were still shouting trying to find people or get them to safety or looked after. Parker wasn't sure where to go as he held Mrs. Nesbitt, now out of her Casper costume close to their chest. He walked with his face practically buried in fur. Physically unharmed, but with a heart that was still beating wildly in their chest and what felt like the inability to stop moving.

Their feet eventually lead them to where an area had been set up to tend to those that had been injured. They weren't even sure anyone had noticed them, and it was here they finally stopped moving and moved to sit down next to where one of the faces he had come to remember even without having to check his phone for a reminder. "Are you dead, Mr. Edgar?" he asked, looking over and down at him. "Please don't be dead." The request is small and quiet and the young man holds their dog even closer as fingers continue stroking the fur.

Edgar nodded in understanding, expression turning thoughtful as he considered their options. "Well, a traditional face is a lot easier and might be better for your first time. But it's also tempting to say we just go all out and do something crazy because it's your first time. Which do you think?"

[archiemorgan]

Who: @hasadxaslan and Archie

Where: Various locations around Kismet

When: January 2025

There was a time in Archie's life where every week he'd be at a party, downing shots with a bunch of friends, even strangers. But since he had started dating Hazal, which was coming up on a year, he had slowed down, still partying but in a lesser scale and not as often. He had decided once he started to fall in love with her, that he'd try to be the best man that he could be. And save for his petty arrest in July, he had done pretty well for himself..... Until now.

He had found himself at Wingsman Pub with an old group of friends, ones from high school that had come back to town for the wedding of one of them. Putting back drink after drink, the group having an open tab, Archie found himself taking a cab back to his place alone at three in the morning. After paying, he thanked the driver with a very generous tip, probably more than he should have given the guy but hey he was in a giving mood.

Stumbling up the steps, he took out his keys, picking the silver and trying to get it into the lock. Though what should have only been two locks looked like four in his state, and none of them fit the key. Hazal hadn't moved in yet, so he couldn't just ring the bell and expect her to answer. And though Gatsby was smart, he was just a dog and couldn't open the door either. So the next best thing, or so he thought, was to smash in the window and pay for it later.

After smashing the glass, he hoisted himself up and through, making a thump onto the floor. Weird, Gatsby isn't here, he thought to himself, as he tried to get up, falling over and making more ruckus, knocking over something. As he stood up, he dusted himself up, and steadied himself before blinking and adjusting to the darkness. Thinking his brain was playing tricks on him, he walked over to the doorway and looked around, just as he came face to face with another, illuminated by the hallway light. "Who the hell are you?" He asked, before looking around for something he couldn't use to fend off the other, as he still thought he was in his home and the other was an intruder. "What the fuck are you doing in my house?"

[chaoticallycosmic]

Adelaide couldn't help the giddiness that was radiating through her entire body. She didn't think this day would ever come if she was being honest. They lived on different coasts of the country, and they were both busy bodies, he more than her. Yet, here they were discussing and making solid plans. She had already started packing up her things. "I can keep my books elsewhere, though, if it's too much trouble," she offered; there were some options she could look into, she was sure.

"Wait, is that an option for me to travel with you?" She never thought of that, maybe simply because she didn't want to cause him any more trouble than she thought she already did. "Because I would love that," she added with a grin. The model listened as he offered help with renting out her place. "It'll be my first time renting a place out, so I'd really appreciate all the help you can give me, Nate," she smiled widely up at him and then nodded. "Yes, yes, we're actually moving in together," she replied with a giddy chuckle as the words rattled around in her head. "I really just want to make a home with you, Nate," it had been something they hadn't honestly talked about in-depth, and it had scared her to bring it up, but there seemed to have been no need for that. "I'm actually a little embarrassed to say that I was nervous about bringing this up," after all, she had been alone since she was fifteen. With both her parents gone and no other close family, she was essentially alone, but she pushed those thoughts away. No need to sour the night with those thoughts. "I think we might have to reheat our dinner now," she looked behind him with a soft chuckle. Food had become the last thing on her mind.

"Oh, before I forget. I already hired movers, so there is no need to worry about that," she blushed a little at the confession that she had also taken that step. "I just need a good date."

@writermuses

Nathaniel genuinely hadn't expected Adelaide to have this reaction. He'd been avoiding this anxiety inducing conversation because he thought that she would tell him he was being selfish— and rightfully so. Instead, they were smiling and planning and, dare he hope to use the words: normal and content? He cringed at the prospect of trying to jam more books into the small second bedroom that he'd turned into his own cozy in-cottage library. His wealth had given him the luxury of owning signed first editions of most of his favorites. "I'll make it work. I can have some of mine sent to New York and D.C. The libraries there aren't as to my taste as the one here." It meant that he popped into the public libraries often, despite his parents protest.

"As for trips to the sea, well there's a lot of them and if you ever want to travel with me on my business trips then there's definitely time for you to enjoy how varied they all are." He was sure the Mediterranean region would be at the top of the list and he could either end trips in London with stops to southern Europe or stop on the way back for a few days after a trip to Asia. "You can do whatever you'd like with your place in California. Renting out at a distance can be difficult without some contractors you trust on hand to handle needed repairs. I can have my assistant compile lists for you. Then I can help you plan sound investing of the rental money, if you'd like, so that you're making a profit and have a solid cushion for any big repairs and upgrades to the place." He was a glorified accountant after all. Wrapping his arms around her, he bent down and kissed her forehead. "We're really, finally, doing this?"

[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.  "

[bruiscdviolets]

Location: The Claremont Home, Drawing Room

Closed: Mr. Lysander Digby @bxtterwaters

As soon as the letters from the queen came, Cassandra's heart dropped. The last few weeks had been terribly confusing for the young woman and worried about what her future held for her. Somehow, Will's proposal had been exposed to the ton and Cassandra wondered if this matchmaking business was a way for the queen to gain control of court once more. Had her actions indirectly angered the queen and now she was making sure that no one stepped out of line? Even if there was Will's proposal that still needed and answer, would she be allowed to accept it if she had gotten out of the queen's good graces? Then there was Callum, who had been going through hell silently and her guilt only worsened. She had not seen either in a weeks and worried about them constantly.

However, she would not be allowed to dwell on either man when the footman stepped inside, holding the largest bouquet of flowers Cassandra had ever seen. She had been alone in the drawing room, except for Violetta who was her other chaperone. Sir Claremont had been running back and forth to the palace for business matters and she was left alone. Normally, if she had been stuck inside, she would have begged Callum to entertain her, but she was taken from the Sinclair home after she admitted to him what had happened between the pair. Now she missed her best friend.

"For Miss Cassandra Lockridge," he spoke loudly as she sat her book down, "A Mr. Lysander Digby is here to call upon you Miss." Her heart raced at the introduction before Mr. Digby stood in the opening of the door.

[unitleada]

❝ Every technology money can possibly afford and you're telling me that no one is able to get a better fix on that-that thing out there! We're right in the heart of London for gods sake! ❞ Hands placed on her hips, casting a nod towards the half a dozen screens mounted to the wall before her. All six displayed a similar image, albeit from different vantage points, the same grainy, CCTV footage of a Cherry Blossom tree peering out at her, smack bang! in the middle of a suburban street.

One could be forgiven for assuming it was some sort of street art, or political demonstration. Under any other circumstances she might've assumed as much....had UNIT not received intel of government lines being tied up left right and centre, tens of eyewitnesses phoning in, swearing that they had seen that tree falling to earth! Barely an hour later and they had mobilised, she and a small elite team in an unmarked van, parked as close to the site as possible, the entire road cautioned off and under armed watch. She wasn't about to go taking chances.Certainly not in such a densely populated area.

Biting down on the inside of her cheek, Kate mulled over her options, knowing very well that there was really only one way to get the best view of this thing.. ——And then, as if it was some preordained sign from above, a distinct whirring sound echoed over the comms. There was no mistaking it. She knew the TARDIS when she heard it.

In the next moment, her UNIT issued firearm was in one hand, the safety switch disengaged. Her other hand reached for the door handle. Osgood's protests rung in deaf ears, "Ma'am I really think we should wait for more intel. How can it even be him, I mean, it isn't usually .... " ❝ a police box, I know. ❞ And yet, how could it be anyone else? ❝ You are all to stay put, awaiting further orders until I have a clear visual, is that understood? ❞

She could sense the concern, but, faithful as ever, a chorus of "yes ma'am!" followed her out of the doors. A brief nod to the soldiers standing guard and they allowed her past, finding herself standing mere inches from the tree now. She could hear it clearly out here, without the static of the comms. If this was the Doctor's TARDIS, then the sound was slightly different to what she remembered. Although she supposed, that could be another factor of the chameleon circuit. Still not a very good disguise, she noted. If it was him. Well. There was only one way to know for sure. Kate took a deep breath, reached out with her free hand, and rapped her knuckles sharply upon the tree's trunk, mindful of how foolish she must look in this moment.

@chloevlinder / accepting