I   have   started   forming   my   muses   page   at   last    .   .   .   i 

for a long moment, penny doesn’t move. she just stares. at the sheer audacity of drew standing there , draped in borrowed clothes that don’t fit , wearing that same infuriating grin — like she hasn’t been missing for two weeks. like she hasn’t left penny to spiral , to wonder, to reach for a silence that never broke. her heart is still hammering against her ribs , the remnants of panic still thick in her bloodstream , fourteen days of unanswered questions pressing down on her like a weight she can’t shake. and then drew starts talking — rambling , deflecting , making jokes about flounder and burner phones , like this is just another one of her reckless disappearances. like penny hasn’t been tearing herself apart over where she was , if she was even alive, and suddenly something inside her snaps. a sharp , humorless laugh punches out of her , brittle at the edges. "are you — are you fucking kidding me ?" her voice is quiet , but there’s something dangerous beneath it , something raw and frayed. two weeks. two weeks of radio silence, of checking her phone every five minutes , of knocking on doors and getting nothing but shrugs , and now she just waltzes in — grinning , joking , like it’s all some game ? penny moves before she even thinks , grabbing the nearest throw pillow and launching it at her. not hard. not enough to hurt. but something — because if she doesn’t , she might actually scream. "you — " she stops , jaw locking , fists curled at her sides. "you absolute fucking — " another sharp inhale , her breath unsteady , her entire body tight with the effort of keeping herself from completely unraveling. "do you have any idea — any fucking idea — what the past two weeks have been like ? you couldn’t have just — texted ? called ? hell , sent a fucking carrier pigeon ?" she’s breathing too fast. she knows it. feels the way her hands are shaking , the way her chest is rising and falling too sharply. she knows she’s letting the panic and frustration bleed through , but she can’t shove it down. not when drew is just sitting there , completely unbothered , sniffing her vanilla candle like she didn’t just disappear without a trace. penny presses the heels of her hands against her eyes , turning on her heel and striding into the kitchen before she does something she won’t recover from. because she knows drew. knows this is her coping mechanism — acting like nothing is wrong , like she hasn’t just put everyone who gives a shit about her through hell. and maybe , once upon a time, penny would’ve let herself be distracted by the theatrics. would’ve let the relief of drew simply being here outweigh the hurt. but she’s seen this routine one too many times to fall for it now. she grips the counter , sucking in slow , steadying breaths. if she says something now , she will regret it. because part of her , beneath all the frustration , wants to burst into tears — because drew is alive , because she’s standing in front of her , because penny doesn’t have to wonder if she’s lost her forever. after a few seconds , she forces herself to move. forces herself to walk back into the room , stopping in the doorway , leaning against the frame like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. her voice is quieter now , but there’s no mistaking the weight behind it. "are you going to tell me what happened," she says , gaze steady , expression unreadable , "or do you just want to pretend everything is fine ? because i may be a good actress, drew, but i don’t think i can do that."

was it odd to say that abandoning her sense of self entirely gave her a new lease on life? plato didn't know shit about throwing his phone into the river. not to mention socrates had never experienced the thrill of pulling off a smooth drug deal on the busy city street. as far as drew was concerned, karl marx could suck the silicone dick that was slickened and stowed in her night stand. everywhere she went, flippant burner phone in hand, the blonde swore she could hear fly like an eagle beating in time with her steps. not a single care in the universe stopping her -- letting her spirit carry her from port to port. was this a mental breakdown of the most epic proportions? perhaps. for now - her metaphorical and quite literal high was impenetrable. and she had the steve miller band and parker to thank for that. when she'd told her roommates she'd abandoned her business with minimal explanation, drew had yet to answer the most critical questions. not even to herself. why? are you doing okay? the queries needed to be avoided. there was no space for concern in her hands-off approach to living. so it was natural to bolt. from her roommates, from penny. the fourth floor apartment hadn't seen her in days. she mostly opted for crashing on parker's couch. it made her hoodlum schedule a continuous affair. it made it easier to abandon any sort of guilt or critical thought about her decisions. but drew had caught wind of penny's concerns since her show stopping disappearance after opening night. the flowers adorned by the blonde at the stage door were the last tulips that drew had touched. and now, as the creative desire bubbled to the surface once more, so did her urge to see penny. she never dropped her key. a silent protest, a grandiose act of love, whatever you wanted to call it -- it was an excuse for drew to silently break in to surprise her. of course. the anxiety riddled star is edging tears, lump in her throat touching drew from where she stands by the front door. and she hears every word. but the eagle doesn't falter. "surprise, shaaaawty." the blonde calls out theatrically as she enters the space. her nomadic wardrobe is likely a testament to her mental state. parker's flannel that wouldn't button over her breasts even with one of those maternal stretch bands, a white bandeau top that has seen better days, a pair of inez's leggings that showcase some tasteful ankle on her too long legs, but still the same electric drew smile. "didn't i tell you? phone in the river? hope you didn't send me a nude because if you did, flounder definitely saw it." she plops down at the counter and sniffs at the lit candle, likely placed there to calm penny's nerves. her nose wrinkles at the soft vanilla scent. "is flounder a girl? like i know sebastian is a jamaican dude. like the cinnamon apple jax guy. but -- flounder? i never really knew. because if he's a bro-fish, he might like totally be into that."

standing  in  the  private  elevator  that  led  up  to  alec’s  penthouse,  céleste  couldn’t  shake  the  feeling  that  she  had  just  stepped  into  an  episode  of  succession  —  or  something  equally  absurdly  wealthy.  it  was  rare  that  a  client  had  their  own  gym  —  even  rarer  that  she  would  be  the  one  making  the  house  call.  but  then  again  .  .  this  felt  different.  she  wasn’t  nervous.  céleste  didn’t  get  nervous.  especially  not  when  it  came  to  work.  and  this  was  just  work.  that’s  what  she  kept  telling  herself.  but  as  the  elevator  climbed,  the  thought  she  had  been  trying  to  suppress  surfaced  once  again  —  why  did  she  keep  thinking  about  him?  she  was  hardly  the  type  to  let  a  man  occupy  space  in  her  mind.  detached,  selective,  uninterested  —  that  was  how  she  had  always  played  the  game.  and  yet,  somehow,  alec  had  managed  to  slip  past  those  defenses,  taking  up  more  real  estate  in  her  thoughts  than  she  was  willing  to  admit.  shaking  her  head  slightly,  she  exhaled,  forcing  the  thought  away.  this  was  a  session,  like  any  other.  it  might  be  his  home,  but  in  her  mind,  she  still  held  the  upper  hand.  she  always  did.  by  the  time  the  elevator  dinged,  announcing  her  arrival,  she  had  already  slipped  back  into  her  usual,  unshakable  confidence.  stepping  forward  with  her  head  high,  her  voice  rang  out,  smooth  and  effortless.  "hello?  alec?"

♡ closed starter delivery for @velvetysage

casually resting his back against the wall, alec kept his eyes on the private elevator as the numbers ticked up. he wasn’t nervous per se, but there was a certain anticipation stirring in his nerves, a rare feeling he wasn’t about to analyze too deeply. celeste was fiery, quick-witted and undeniably attractive to the point where it was impossible for one not to look twice, and while he wasn’t the sort of guy that let himself get caught up over a girl, alec had to admit that she was able to get under his skin. their first meeting at the elysian party had given him a taste of what it was like to be around her, and now she was about to step into his territory (all business, no games... at least, theoretically). rolling his shoulders back, he waited with bated breath as the lift stopped on the penthouse floor. whatever happened next, he was ready for it.

yes im always a little sick to my stomach with anger and rage. why do u ask?

" oh,  i’m  here  because  i  had  the  unfortunate  luck  of  crossing  paths  with  you.  and  trust  me ,  the  only  thing  i’m  wasting  is  the  30  seconds  i  spent  listening  to  you  talk.  but  sure,  if  you  want  to  keep  pretending  like  you’re  some  irresistible  force,  be  my  guest.  as  for  enjoying  this ?  sweetie,  i  don’t  enjoy  much,  but  you ?  you’re  definitely  a  spectacle. "

"  i  hear  a  lot  of  that  mouth  running  ,  but  still  not  answering  my  question  .  .  .  why  are  you  here  to  begin  with  ?  though  ,  aren't  you  wasting  your  energy  by  speaking  to  me  in  general  ?  dunno  ,  riles  ,  if  i  didn't  know  better  i'd  say  you  enjoy  it  .  "

𝙒𝙀𝙇𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝙏𝙊 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘼𝙍𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙄𝘼 !

the arconia is a grand and luxurious apartment building in new york city, home to the wealthy and powerful. behind its elegant walls, residents hide secrets—affairs, betrayals, and even crimes. when a shocking death shakes the building, suspicion spreads. in the arconia, luxury has a dark side, and no one is truly safe. -- ❜

damien lee, a junior associate at blackwood & carmichael law offices, was last seen at a valentine’s day party at the arconia. witnesses recall him involved in a heated argument with an unidentified individual shortly before he vanished. anyone with information about his whereabouts is urged to contact the new york city police department at 1(800) 839-2814 or email __missingpersons@nypd-info.com.

JOIN THE SERVER TODAY! LAUNCHING 2/14/2025.

MOLLY GORDON in Venice, Italy for Miu Miu Women's Tales at the 81st Venice Film Festival photographed by Emilio Madrid (September 1, 2024)

the sound of racked weights met her before she even stepped fully into the room. and then — there he was. shirtless, glistening, halfway through his set and entirely too aware of how he looked doing it. her gaze skimmed over him just once — the glint of sweat on his back, the way his muscles flexed as he racked the weights — and then promptly returned to his face, unbothered. she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of lingering. still, the corner of her mouth twitched. a barely-there smile that came and went before it could settle. "how thoughtful," she said, stepping further into the room, clipboard in hand, completely unfazed — or at least appearing so. "you really shouldn’t have.” she was dressed in sleek black leggings and a slate grey sports bra layered beneath a cropped long-sleeve — neutral, fitted, entirely functional. she caught his eye, letting the air hang just a second before answering his question. "as for what’s on the repertoire?" her voice was smooth. "a lot of legs. core work. mobility. i figured if you’re going to insist on lifting like your life's a nike ad, we might as well make sure you don’t move like a fridge."

♡ — closed starter for @velvetysage

alec's halfway through a set when celeste walks in unannounced. his shirt is off, earbuds in, and there's sweat slicking down his back. this isn't about impressing her, but he's not above showing the blonde that he doesn't need her to keep up. racking the weights with a touch more force than necessary, he pulls one airpod out to speak. "don’t worry, cel, i saved all the boring stuff for you," alec says, barely sparing her a glance. this is how their dynamic always goes, competitive with a hint of underlying tension. "what's on the workout repertoire today?"