Cont. / @ceaseless-archivist-jon

cont. / @ceaseless-archivist-jon

Jon sat in the chair and tried to appear as professional as possible, not wanting to risk losing his position over some...minor anxieties. Over turning into a monster. No big deal.

"Well, um, we've come to a conclusion on one of the cases, and we've made quite the advancement on researching the Lukas family." Jon said, trying to ignore how his mind immediately tried to pull information out of Elias as soon as he opened his mouth, and tried his best to calm it as he spoke. "Is there anything else you need, Elias?"

The slightest twitch of irritation in Elias was likely more obvious than he thought. While Jon was doing well enough on his own, he knew this search into the Lukas family would not end well. They weren't the type to respond well to this sort of invasion.

"What I need is for you to drop your investigation," Elias's tone was stern, he had little patience for this issue, "The Lukas family are our biggest patron and invading their privacy as such will result in backlash I can not allow. Do not push at this, Jon."

SHAKESPEARE AESTHETICS

bold all that apply

Muse: Elias

Tagged by @isitmeurlookin4 uwu

ROMEO & JULIET:

suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

HAMLET:

speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn, mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

TWELFTH NIGHT:

wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas. flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

MACBETH:

the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12 : 00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING:

the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall, hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

KING LEAR:

cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM:

the smell of wet soil and dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

prev. / @lavishbylaw

Josh just let out a little chuckle, brushing his hand down along his jaw, "Hey, if they're taking my course, they should already know. I don't just teach basic history." Not just any history, no. His lectures were on history of war and battles of the past. The machines they invented and used, the conflicts, no matter how big or small. It was a special interest class that demanded dedication from the students that signed up for it.

"It easy to fold, to give up and step back. But, it takes strength and bravery to stand tough for what you believe in. That is what I tell my students when they're failing," with a smile, he nudged her arm lightly, "And if you wanted to talk, all you had to do was ask, you know."

Genevieve might have tried to make herself seem like she would just give up if she could, but he had a feeling even she wouldn't back down from a fight. She had the right attitude for it anyway.

But, when she mentioned the attack, the little remnants of his smile faded as he looked down to his hands. A night in the hospital, a week to recover, and thankfully no broken bones were enough of a blessing. But, the students were still out there, probably walking on campus as they spoke. "I didn't get a good look at them," Josh raised his eyes back to Genevieve's, "It was dark and they were dressed like they weren't trying to be identified. I think - I could recognize their voices if I heard them again, but... All I know is they definitely aren't any of my current students."

He exhaled a sigh, looking away again, "Needless to say I've taken to grading assignments at home now. So I can be out of there before it gets dark."

Josh “violence is never the answer” PJ500

prev. / @creation-is-chaos​

“It suits you, somehow. I’ve heard some speculate you are a reincarnation or something.” The little raven was certainly perfect for Corvus. His style and preferences were widely known around the campus. If not from what he taught then from the way he presented himself. It certainly left little to the imagination.

Josh moved closer to him at his desk, looking over the stuffed toy briefly, “Your idea? Or was it a gift from your students? You do seem pretty popular, especially among the young women.” Even in his own lectures he would catch them talking or see them work on assignments for Corvus. Definitely good to see them all take such a liking in poetry. 

“All I want to do is buy a 1970s Corvette Stingray.”

Midlife crisis moments with Five!