#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.

[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.

[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.

[gothamsaved]

Iiiiiii get a little scared me going off on long tangents in replies will scare some rp partners away. On the other hand, I love digging into a muses thoughts and emotions and especially for someone like Bruce, he has a lot going on in there while he also doesn’t typically say much unless he’s out actively socializing. It’s a strange thing where I’m still trying to find a comfortable balance or way to write both the Bat and Bruce, while making them sound like the same guy and also different, without smacking my head into a wall and overthinking things too much.

[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?"

[gallowsheart]

@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.

[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.  "

[exandriaborn]

@featherstcnes asked: ❛[ admire ] sender stares at receiver across a room, silently admiring and appreciating them from afar❜ // ordinary things that feel intimate;; open

Vax'ildan's eyes traced the lines of Keyleth's face, drinking in every detail as if committing them to memory all over again. The curve of her cheek, the fiery red hair cascading down her back—each feature was at once achingly familiar and strikingly new. Time had left its mark on her, etching sorrow and strength in equal measure. She was noticeably different, broken in a way Vax was not sure he’d ever seen her before. Though she still stood tall and proud, her posture that of a leader bearing the weight of countless responsibilities. Yet beneath the mantle of leaves and duty, Vax could still see glimmers of the vibrant, compassionate soul he had fallen in love with so long ago.

His heart clenched with a bittersweet ache. He yearned to go to her, of course, to take her in his arms and express the depths of his love and regret and sorrow. But he hesitated, uncertain if his presence would bring more pain than comfort these days. Not just for Kiki, but for all of them. Just one night. But after all they had been through, after the sacrifices Keyleth had made in his absence, did he have the right to disrupt the life she had built again?

As if sensing his gaze, Keyleth turned, her eyes meeting his across the crowded room. For a breathless moment, the years fell away and they were young again, two souls entwined by fate and affection. Vax saw a flicker of longing in her expression, a mirror of his own desire for connection. But the moment passed, and reality settled heavily upon them once more. Keyleth offered him a small, tentative expression before turning back to her conversation, leaving Vax alone with his thoughts. He sighed, resigned to the distance between them, a chasm carved by time and circumstance and grief.

Maybe it was better this way, he mused. Better to let Keyleth continue on the path she had forged, unencumbered by the ghosts of their past. She had endured so much, grown so strong in his absence. The Voice of the Tempest, a leader to her people. Who was he to disrupt that hard-won peace of his friend’s lives? Even if he had no say in the matter. And yet, as Vax watched her move through the room, he couldn't help but leave Vex’s side for a moment to stop her, "Kiki… I’d like to talk, at least for a moment, before tomorrow."

[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?"

[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

[beauwolfsong]

who: @jayparkv where: jay's house in the early morning of july 14

It had been a long night, and Beau knew it would probably be a while before he attended the summer festival again—maybe not until next summer, if ever. He finally managed to catch up with Nathan, who looked a little worse for wear but would be okay. Though beyond exhausted, there was one more place Beau needed to go before he could rest. He had to make sure Jay was alright. His phone hadn't worked during the festival, but now it did. Still, that wasn’t enough. He needed to see Jay with his own eyes, touch him with his own bloody hands.

Sneaking out of the house without waking his brothers, Beau avoided drawing attention to himself. They’d all had a long night, and the last thing he wanted was to answer a million questions. He drove to Jay's place in record time, swerving around debris scattered in the road.

What he found at Jay’s wasn’t what he expected: dead animals and their stench. Glancing in the rearview mirror, Beau saw himself caked in dirt and dried blood. The blood on his hands was Nathan’s, from when they pulled that metal rod out of his foot. Maybe he should just go home, text Jay like a normal person. But Beau had never been normal when it came to Jay. He turned off the car and got out.

It didn’t take long to find Jay on the edge of his property, digging holes. Beau’s heart constricted in his chest as he watched him for a moment. Jay seemed perfectly fine. Relief flooded through Beau, and he quickened his steps to reach Jay faster. "Jay, I—" He stopped short, noticing the dead pigs beside Jay. His empty stomach twisted. He was hungry, but not that hungry. He stepped closer, stopping a couple of feet away. "Do you need any help?"

As Beau stood there, a realization hit him like a freight train. It wasn’t just relief he felt; it was something deeper, something that had been simmering under the surface for far too long. His heart wasn’t just constricting out of concern—it was out of something much more powerful. Beau had always been protective of Jay, always felt a strong connection, but he’d never allowed himself to dig deeper into those feelings. Standing there, he couldn’t deny it any longer. He cared about Jay in a way that went beyond a hook up.

"Jay, I—" Beau started again, his voice softer, more vulnerable. "I’m really glad you’re okay." The words felt inadequate, but they were all he could manage at the moment.

[fernsbys]

who: @charliexclayton & @grxvebcnes where: near the radio station when: emery's arrival into town

Out of all days, today the GPS was acting up again. 'This fucking piece of shit,' Harris made his opinion known of the failing equipment in the truck. The screen was stuck on a still image as they were clearly moving forward. He nudged the thing on the side with the palm of his hand. For a second it seemed to work again, then buffer - then show a variety of colors that showed all the signs of failure, before it went to black and refused to restart. 'So much for fucking technology,' he blew a heavy sigh that had Emery chuckle under her breath. ''Like you need it, Harris, you're better than that.'' She didn't look at him but she could sense the smug grin that would be there every single time she granted him the slightest of praise. It's all he would get, she couldn't let it get to his head after all.

'Sarge, I think we made the wrong turn,' Bailey said from the backseat, her frail voice wavered, even though she tried to hide the confusion in her voice, Emery could recognize it from anywhere. This was her team she'd built on for years. Emery had noticed it too, the darker sky wasn't anything to write home about, but the change of trees, the unfamiliar surroundings, how even the asphalt of the road underneath their feet felt a lot smoother from its much rougher terrain they drove on before. Peterson's much younger yet quick fingers had been working their way around a map next to Bailey, confirming what they all thought; 'this road isn't on the map, there shouldn't be a road here at all.'

It didn't stop there. They turned into a dull looking town, where people behind windows shut the curtains close, where people stared like they shouldn't be here. They certainly weren't welcome. When Harris stopped the car on her demand and Peterson knocked on someone's door for directions, they got told to fuck off. To get out of here. Little did she know they meant to find shelter, to get inside. Not until it was too late. ''Keep driving,'' Emery nodded to Harris once Peterson got back in the truck.

They were losing daylight as they just kept on driving, confused and getting frustrated over how there seemed to be no end to how they drove around, seeing the same buildings over and over again. They were losing daylight but Emery was stubborn, and strongly believing what they were seeing wasn't real. As if she was part of some sickening act that would soon reveal to just have been a joke.

At some point Harris put the car to a halt and spat out his frustrations about how there seemed to be no way out. He was losing his mind as much as Bailey and Peterson were. Emery tried appeasing the situation, but an argument took over because they were all losing their goddamn minds. This had to be some sort of setup by rivals they hadn't seen coming. But why would an innocent town be part of this - something she had witnessed many more times before than she liked to admit.

Through a loud argument happening in the middle of the street, it was the sight of a person standing in front of their truck, in the headlights, that had Emery swallowing. Her voice broke the argument like she'd done countless times before. ''⸻Harris.'' They all followed suit towards what Emery was looking at. The person was smiling. Grinning, even. From ear to ear. So freakishly so, a cold chill ran down her spine. For a moment, she was left speechless as she just watched the figure approach the car. They'd been arguing so long and loud enough for it to have gone completely dark around them. One by one, more of them appeared, shown by the lights of the truck. All of them smiling. They just stood there. Not moving an inch once they got close enough. One of them opened their mouths, leaving them all stunned by words that were only ever shared between the four of them.

'⸻How long has it been since your girlfriend exploded in Iran, Peterson?'

The few seconds that passed suddenly felt like minutes, not even minutes, they felt timeless. Until the slam of the backdoor made Emery jump, along with Bailey and Harris. 'Don't do it, Peterson!' She heard Harris shout from the other side of the truck. He saw something she didn't. Quickly she followed suit with Bailey to see what Peterson was up to. He held his gun up, pointing towards the one that had triggered him into getting the safety off his gun. 'How do you know that?! Huh?! How do you know about her?!' Peterson yelled, demanding an answer from the grinning figure. ''Peterson, put the gun down,'' Emery's voice was ragged, holding her hands up as she tried to get closer to him. ''Stand down Peterson. That's an order!'' He didn't calm down, despite Emery's efforts. The second Harris was about to try and take the gun away from him, it was when Peterson shot at the grinning man.

To all of their surprise, the bullet did pierce but there was no umph of a body hitting the ground. It still stood there. Grinning. Untainted. And at that exact moment Harris and Bailey both pulled their guns too, in a moment of fear, of anxiety, of absolute terror of this being a real living nightmare they all shared. Emery was too stunned to speak as panicked gunshots took over from her team. She couldn't stop them, nothing could stop them from the absolute fight or flight reaction they had. And Emery just froze.

These fucked up grinning human-looking things were done taunting, she could see it in its faces. One of their faces changed to something that could only happen in movies. In nightmares. In Hell, if such a place existed. Fuck. Harris yanked at her arm hard enough to pull her backwards, there was a muffled 'get to cover!' shouted in her ear as her eyes were drawn to the creature's terrifying change in face. It made her freeze up for the first time since.....years. Since she'd been a rookie in the military. Suddenly all air had escaped her lungs, her body refused to move and made it all the more harder for Harris to pull her back.

Time suddenly moved in slow motion. A claw-like hand reached out for Peterson's face that sliced so smoothly through his skin, like a knife through butter, like an axe through wood, it made Emery want to scream. Gutturally scream. But the one claw, in its momentum from the slashing move it made, pulling the pin from a grenade that hung from Peterson's belt was quicker than Emery could react. Harris was fast, much faster than Emery had been for a couple of years now. He was fast to throw his body in front of hers to form a human shield when the grenade went off.

⸻A ringing beeped in her ears, everything around her sounded muffled. There was a heavy weight holding her down, making her grunt in attempt to move it off of her. Her senses, her idea of surroundings and where she was were totally disrupted, she barely registered that the heavy object she'd felt and managed to shove off - was Harris's body.

As she stared at his blood covered face, it was the realization it was Harris, her second most trusted mate, who'd fallen victim to an unplanned attack and she pushed herself away out of fear.

Smoke and dust made it hard for Emery to see if anyone was still alive, the ringing in her ears made the screams sound muffled. She had no idea whose screams was whose, be it enemy or foe. She couldn't think in distress, she couldn't move out of fear, she couldn't do anything but lay there, watching figures move through the aftermath of the explosion. All she could do was lay there and accept her fate. Her fate to die.

[hells-musing-along]

// closed starter for @statiicstag //

A haunting melody drifted through the skyline, emanating from one of the rooftops. Those within the vicinity felt a deep ache clutching at their hearts: sorrow, anxiousness, and heartache hung heavy within. The siren’s song only lasted a few minutes, but those feelings still lingered with those around and within her.

“...What a fucking happy day in Hell,” Sarcastically muttering to herself, Lilith poured another glass of whiskey. Her lilac eyes slowly take in Hell’s skyline before they fall upon a particular hotel. A faint twist of anguish crossed her features as she realized it was still her first day back in hell.

It was supposed to be a happy day, a joyous reunion with her family. The moment she was released from Heaven's golden cage, she eagerly searched for her loved ones. Yet, upon finding them, she hesitated, realizing she couldn't simply re-enter their lives as if nothing had changed. 

Lucifer and Charlie looked so happy when she saw them heading into the hotel. She didn’t want to intrude on their happiness. It’s been seven years… did she even have that right? You’re just going to ruin them. She did not, at least right now, and retreated into the city.

… where she is currently now, draining yet another glass of whiskey on the rooftop of her recording studio. Reaching for the bottle again, she found it empty. Letting out a heavy sigh, she headed back inside, the warm buzz of the alcohol tingling her senses and dulling her pain.

This was what she wanted, needed even, to be fully vulnerable for just one night. To let go of all the restraints she had built up over the past seven years to protect herself and just feel again. Liquor might not have been the best choice, but it was what was available.

Lilith stumbled into the studio, briefly appreciating the soft sound of jazz emitted from the wooden radio, before heading straight to the liquor cabinet, oblivious to her surroundings. Her fingers traced the tops of the bottles before settling on a bottle of rye. With a satisfied hum, she turned around and finally noticed that she was not alone.

An elegant eyebrow arched ever so slightly as hazy lilac-colored eyes fixed on the intruder. "...I wonder when these hallucinations will finally cease," she murmured to herself, knowing her dear friend wouldn’t be here. No one knew she was here.

[mad-hunts]

jokethur asked: ❝ that's not the worst thing i've ever heard but it's certainly up there. ❞

one might argue that the way barton huffed through his nostrils in a wry sense of disbelief at what he heard come out of the other's mouth, rather than at the terrible thing that was just said through his own lips without an ounce of shame, told you everything you needed to know about him; that he was a brutal and very unfeeling person. but honestly, even if those things were the least bit true, barton thought... he was only saying what everyone would be thinking in their heads if they knew what was really going on behind the scenes. they just wouldn't want to say it aloud for one reason or another, whether that was due to the fear of being ostracized by their peers, or frowned down upon by society as a whole. kind of like how he was currently by the man standing beside him.

barton took a long drag out of his cigarette and averted his gaze from one of the big, bright displays that decorated the skyline to meet the others eyes. the displays were showcasing what looked like the latest news: and that was what barton seemingly was making a comment on, as the death of a cop that was rather infamous for being a ' pinnacle of kindness and care to their community ' was the main headline for that day. except that man was everything but in reality. it was just so rich to be seeing him regarded as some fantastic guy, when barton knew for a fact that he was a sleazeball who he had seen hanging around his old boss, as he was secretly in their pocket and doing their dirty work. and if there was one person that barton held contempt for more than anything... it was the man who used to treat him like he was something less than human. or, less than dirt, actually.

but of course, barton would never tell the gcpd of his corruption because he knew that rainer (you have to put a face to the name for these people) would realize that it was him who'd sold him out. and besides... since when did he have faith in the gcpd, or even like the police? they were all a bunch of pigs to him. so, barton let him continue on with his little game of playing the role of the well-beloved police officer while he was helping people get killed on the side. he rolled his eyes then, ❝ well, if i had known that you were such a big fan of the police, then i likely wouldn't have said anything. but i rest my case: a lot of people do deserve to die, stranger, and he was one of them. so i don't feel sorry for him or his family at all. ❞

barton stated this all in a very matter-of-fact manner, blowing smoke out through his nose from his cigarette before he continued, ❝ i mean, where was this guy if he was so good whenever the city got flooded? i didn't see him among the people who were helping other's whenever everything went to shit. in fact, i bet he was probably sitting in some place really safe and warm whenever it happened, because i knew the real kind of person that he was. a total prick who certainly wasn't the golden boy that the news is trying to make him out to be, ❞ he flicked his cigarette down on the ground and smushed it underneath his boot, successfully putting out the fire on its other end. barton turned to face arthur completely with an unamused look in his eyes.

❝ now, are you done preaching to me about how wrong it is that i said that? you don't really know the first thing about the pig after all. but i do. though you didn't hear that from me, alright? ❞

[denverneumann]

After a day and a half in the Tower, Denver had failed to achieve her goal. She couldn't find Cain. For all she knew, he was dead. When was she supposed to give up on him? When exactly did she write off the unknown as a sure thing? She wasn't ready to do that yet. Cain had survived a Hunger Games, and she and Cain and Monty had survived a month of squatting in a nightclub together. He was strong and crafty and well-trained. If anyone could survive, it was Cain.

But was pushing her luck, being here. Denver had already run into a handful of people, and needed to get out of there before she ran into the wrong person. She needed to get back to Monty, back to safety. Everyone here was aligned with the Vox, and as much as she still didn't know which side she agreed with in all of this, the Vox didn't know her mind. They didn't know her. They'd see a Capitolite who worshipped the Games and worked for their preservation. Because she had, hadn't she? That's what Denver had done without even realizing it. She had been just as bad as the fangirls she made fun of. And it would get her killed if she wasn't careful.

Denver had barely slept last night, out of fear. And now, even groggy as she was, as she moved through the corridors, she was terrified. One wrong step and this would all be over. She just needed to get back to the hospital wing, out the window she came in. But was that a right or a left after this hallway? Or had it been the previous hallway? It wasn't like she was able to stop for directions.

Denver was, however, able to stop in shock when Calliope Snow of all people rounded the corner, headed directly toward her.

@calliopesnow

[abusedog]

❝ great ! just― fucking great ... ❞ he feels so fucking tired of fighting , of crying , of fucking living . he wants to sleep forever , comfortably wrapped in the softness of his expensive sheets watching new york from the sky , but the idea of moving , of going anywhere seems like an impossibility ❝ thank you . ❞ he adds for good measure , an afterthought more than a true feeling .

❝ i'll be leaving tomorrow , i won't bother you anymore ❞ he says , curling in on himself as he wraps a blanket around his body , but before he can stop himself he continues ❝ but before that , is there any chance you could give me some sleeping pills , doc ? ❞

there's shame in that , he's a crazy as connor's momma now , fucking terminal . he tries to explain himself even if no one is asking ❝ i just― i don't wanna think anymore for tonight . ❞

“You’re more than welcome to stay the night here if you need to just - get away from things for a bit.”

@abusedog