#designedonchaos

[bcysdontcry]

CLOSED STARTER for @designedonchaos. LOCATION / SETTING: Silas' apartment, late Halloween night (in fact, sun may rise any minute now, who knows).

For all intents and purposes, Silas is drunk and tired, and he can only surmise Mars is no better than he is based on their back and forth text messaging.  Still, he's excited to see him, albeit slightly nervous.  Not because he isn't well acquainted with inviting people to his apartment, but because he doesn't know exactly how 'messed up' Mars is.  A cracked rib sounds fairly serious to him, yet when he hears the buzzer for his door, he can't help but admire the man's tenacity.

He prepares his apology for living on one of the upper floors of a walk-up apartment, how miserably small his space is but that it's all he can afford, however he's effectively silenced once he unlocks and pulls open the door.  He doesn't mean to make it so obvious as he eyes Mars up and down, taking in the bruises, split lip, and similar wounds.  It happens anyway.

"Shit, mate, you weren't fucking kidding." Maybe not the best thing to say.  Let's try that again.  "I mean, I was right, though.  You pull off the whole rugged protagonist in an action film look well." An improvement.  "Come in, make yourself comfortable.  You've clearly earned it." With that, he's stepping aside to let him in.

[bcysdontcry]

The close proximity between the two of them is noted, appreciated, and Silas has certainly perked up plenty when the other man's phone is handed to him after being unlocked.  "Cute pup, mate," is uttered at some point but his mind is too preoccupied with other thoughts.  He'll make a mental note to suggest a dog walking date or something similar in the future.  "Oh, you will be," he says, sparing a quick glance towards Mars before his eyes return to the screen, slim fingers tapping his number and name into the phone.

It's not like he's trying to be nosy, either, but he sees the same text notification that Mars does.  It doesn't raise any suspicions in him, fortunately for the both of them.  He can't even begin to count how many times he's been messaged that exact same question while at parties or events, so he thinks nothing of it.  "I understand," and he does.  "You know where to find me now, so go off and do your own thing, yeah?"

Once his phone number is saved, complete with a cutesy bear emoji next to his name, he hands the device back to Mars.  In mere seconds, he downs the rest of his drink, making only a slight face before he places his glass onto the bar.  "I'm here for when you're free again." But, he doesn't disappear without leaning ever closer, pressing a quick kiss to the other man's cheek.

"Over and out, handsome, and thanks for the drink!" With that, Silas is stepping away and back into the lessening crowd, but he doesn't mind it.  He'll find a body to grind or bathroom to snort a line in soon enough to keep himself busy.

He's absolutely beautiful. His piercing eyes have Mars staring back - when he's not eyeing up the way the other gets closer, or the way his lips take a sip from his glass. "Mm." Mars is grinning. "Anything you say then, love."

He's handing over his phone easily after unlocking it to the 'contact' screen. His background is his new cocker spaniel - pretty standard for a new dog owner. Meanwhile Mars stands close, so his broad chest is almost against Silas's shoulder as he looks over him to watch. Murmurs close to his ear, "As long as I can get a bit hands-on myself."

Mars sees a text notification pop up as Silas is working on adding his contact info. Thankfully it's nothing incriminating- but it IS a Brotherhood member asking where he is. He curses under his breath. "Good thing you're giving me your number... looks like I might need to head out for a bit." A sigh, and a hand sits at the other's back. There's a shifting in the air, partygoers slowly making their way off to various places. Mars has to head down... and god, he really doesn't want to. Almost as protest, he's standing almost chest to chest with Silas.

"Should be free a bit later, though... if y'don't mind waiting, aye?"

[anaismurad]

@designedonchaos

She's playing a dangerous game, refilling red after red, whilst wearing all white. Little care about it, too — weaving pathways through the crowd and barely minding her feet. Finding Mars, she simply has to ask—

"If The Montagne was heaven," their joint creation — and the last place they had been seen together, "then is this hell?"

The contrast is staggering.

[barlowek]

@designedonchaos -- A restaurant, late

While Kian isn't necessarily the person to deliberately eat out alone, sometimes he finds himself hovering over a displayed menu a moment too long to not check it out. Sometimes a place he visits sticks around and becomes a habit -- just like the small, family-owned restaurant he's dining in now.

The week has been overpowered by a particularly rough homicide case, and Kian is so lost in thought, that he's tuned out all his surroundings as he types a few messages into his phone. The response is a promise of more work later, and suddenly the the penne he's stirring around on his plate taste a little stale.

Cool. Cool.

The door of the restaurant opens, and the chime of the little bell is what brings him back into reality, leaving him to sigh and put his phone back in his pocket.

Sometimes it's a good thing his job leaves him no time to think -- sometimes it's not.

Kian looks up and -- "Mars?"

[korraxnazari]

where: either of their offices, brotherhood locations

who: @designedonchaos

Korra was exhausted. Harper had nightmares all night and while she didn't mind being up with her and consoling her, it meant for a long next day. She'd only had about two hours of sleep and the coffee she had made before leaving the house was not helping.

"Please tell me there's more coffee here." Korra said as she entered the office. "Have you had breakfast? I think I'm going to order something from the bagel place down the road."

[caininvestigations]

"Definitely feels busy, even if I haven't actually talked to that many people." Clark responded, offering the lighter to Mars with a smile after lighting his own up and taking that sweet first drag. "But hey, the auction sounds like it's just about to start so that should be at least somewhat entertaining. Planning on making any bids do you reckon, or just there to enjoy the atmosphere?"

Clark wasn't sure he'd bid on much, if anything at all. He didn't tend to have too much spare money, but he had a little bit in savings that he could use if he saw something that really took his fancy - within reason of course.

There’s been no shortage of people to talk to and Mars certainly has felt his wits returning to him as the night draws on. Maybe it’s the scotch he’s drinking, or being able to make others laugh and smile in that way he can get them to. Feeling like he’s stepped back into an element of charming and outgoing that he hasn’t been as of late.

He takes the cigarette - not usually a smoker in that respect, but he’s feeling agreeable, and eager to take it if it means some company. “Been a busy night and it hasn’t even really started yet, has it?” He asks, British accent on his tongue and a glint in chocolate brown eyes as he sees the lighter and holds out his hand to request it. “Mind if I borrow that too?”

[berkeleys]

@designedonchaos "Why so glum, sugarplum?"

Julian looks up from his pile of notes, only to find Mars’s eyes already on him. He’s suddenly aware of how heavily his brows were likely resting as he read over four different sets of handwriting atop heavy print Arial. Some fifty pages, single-spaced. 

“That bad?” He cracks a smile, and shakes his head. “Thank you for the reminder. If David,” — his press secretary — “sees me frowning, he’ll hit me with a ruler.” Julian’s at that sweet spot of his image, or so the long-time friend claims. Enough signs of aging where a President seems experienced, but not so many that he looks outdated. No grey hair in sight, and besides, the melanin helps. 

He folds the document back into itself, with certain finality. “Do you have something better than financial plans to make me less, what was that, ‘glum’?

[izaakwclker]

location: release and departure @ rikers jail complex for: @designedonchaos

There are things that nobody told Izaak about getting released from prison. For example: before he can officially be let go, before he can be ingratiated into a society he hopes hasn’t forgotten him, before he can put this nightmare behind him, Izaak has to sit in a golf cart. The last time he sat in a golf cart he was sixteen, maybe seventeen, and he was next to the elder Walker, father and son pretending to be as white as the men surrounding them. Now, he sits in this golf cart because it’s the only vehicle that transports prisoners from Rikers to the Release & Departure area, and needless to say, Izaak feels entirely different than he did as a teenager.

Questions are asked. Paperwork is filed. Izaak complies. Things pass by in a blur, the kind of moments that feel like memories even as you live through them. And then there’s – well, there’s Mars, reliable as ever, waiting to pick him up and carry him out of Hell, Izaak’s own makeshift Orpheus. “Hey, it’s good to see you,” Izaak says, embracing Mars quickly. Mars visited him while he was behind bars, of course – every Brotherhood member that meant something to him did – though it’s so different to see him like this. “Got any room for a fugitive in that car of yours? If we leave now we can probably hit the border by midday tomorrow.”

[lizdunham]

ft. mars gaffney ( @designedonchaos )

liz recognized that lara had been a good friend of hers, particularly in a time where liz had not particularly deserved a friend like her. so, even though she had heard quite a few things about mars ( and how he and lara had fizzled in and out ) a strange part of her felt like she owed it to lara to check up on him. make sure he was eating, sleeping, not working too hard, etc. he wasn't her responsibility, by any means -- she had enough people relying on her.

it didn't matter. she had made the decision after work that she would check on him today. so ( deli sandwich in hand ) liz is at his door, knocking with the non-deli-sandwiched & drink holding hand. waiting for the owner to open up. ugh, this was so unlike her.

[bcysdontcry]

CLOSED STARTER for @designedonchaos. LOCATION / SETTING: Mars' house, nighttime.

"So, y'have a choice here," and that's not even slightly true, but Silas says it anyway, as he comfortably takes residence on Mars' couch. He's already let himself in with the passcode and shed the layers of clothing that were getting on his nerves—jacket, trainers, shirt even.

"We can throw on a Christmas movie and I'll finish the Garbage Pail Kids Movie in my own time, preferably while high." He had promised to be festive and join Mars in watching an array of holiday films. There were also the cookies he wanted to draw sneaky dicks onto. "Or, you spend the next... 50 minutes, maybe? Watchin' that dumpster fire with me." Pause.

"Pick your poison."

[bcysdontcry]

��� for Mars!

Communication: Please Don’t Talk To Me | Talking To You Is Okay | You Talk Too Much | I Wish We’d Talk More | Our Convos Are Balanced | I Love Talking To You | Never Stop Talking To Me Friendship: Strangers | Awkward | Just Met | Working On It | Good Friends | Best Friends | A Little More Than Friends Datability: No | Not Sure | Never Gave It Any Thought | Probably Wouldn’t Work | Maybe | Let’s Give It A Shot | Absolutely | Marry Me Attractiveness: Ugly | Just Not My Type | Undecided | Cute | Very Attractive | Drop Dead Gorgeous | Nosebleed (voted most likely to be #1 Mars Simp)

Send 🔎 to see what my muse thinks of yours in these 4 categories

[bcysdontcry]

ø for Mars!

[SMS 4:01 AM]: I know you're probably asleep but [SMS 4:01 AM]: Can I come over? [SMS 4:02 AM]: Please? [SMS 4:05 AM]: It's been a shit night and I can't sleep [SMS 4:06 AM]: We can watch more Defunctland or some shit

text message meme

[bcysdontcry]

"You up for explorin' it another five times, maybe?" It's his way of asking for more dates like this, more moments in dimly lit rooms filled with carefully preserved artifacts and the intriguing stories of history to match. Silas would've experienced it on his own or even with someone else soon enough, however it's made better when he gets to experience it with Mars. Knowing that they'll get to go to Mars' place after, share more drinks, and talk about it all once they're done. He almost hates how that warms his heart and the excitement it brings.

There's a laugh, and even with that he's careful to be quiet, given where they stand in the museum. Beyond that, he only wants Mars to hear the noise, his amusement soft around the edges and intended for the other man's ears only. "I fuckin' love paintings like that, mate. I've always wondered, though, how many of them were deliberate. Like, they obviously had cats and horses and all that back then, so why the fuck were they painted like that?" More gentle laughter, before he pauses altogether.

"Thank you for this," and he's especially quiet now, leaning ever closer to Mars. "For coming up with this idea, making this night so great, being my date. Y'know, all of that cheesy shit." He's still figuring out how to be sentimental comfortably but, by God, he is trying. To further show his gratitude, he closes the gap between them, lips finding Mars' with ease. It feels too natural, too easy—the way their lips fit together, how he just fucking melts for this fucking man. He's been doomed since the fucking beginning.

Mars chuckles. Why would that be a stupid question? He still has Silas's hand in his own, and it's very quiet in the little dark room as they walk and look at the long lines of hieroglyphics and ancient symbols. Old crumbling stone and clay. Paints made of old pigment and crushed fruits and fibers. He lifts Silas's hand to his lips, kisses the knuckles almost casually as he continues staring at the old shapes and inked markings. "I dunno how many times. It's one of their more permanent exhibits, so probably at least 5?"

He doesn't spend enough time in art galleries and museums, honestly. This is reminding him of that. The quiet is calming - watching Silas take it all in with such awe and excitement. It's a reminder of what art, structural building, architecture, can do for people.

In the dark room with soft lights only there as an under-glow to the old tomb glyphs, Mars leans his face into Silas's cheek and presses a soft kiss there. "There's an American traditional room nearby. The paintings look hilarious - no one knew how to draw kids or animals back then." He murmurs teasingly, knowing Silas will get a kick out of it. "If I remember correctly, one of the women has this big collar and looks like a chicken."

[bcysdontcry]

Silas Lowe attends New Year's Eve at The Top of the Standard with @designedonchaos, wearing an outfit that vaguely matches Mars' eye color and vice versa, because somebody (Silas) got too fucking high and inspired. His New Year's resolution is same as ever: stay the fuck alive. Tonight, though, just gonna say fuck it and get plastered.

[anaismurad]

@designedonchaos​ setting: some big new Murad building etc etc

“What do you think!” Anaïs nearly crashes into him — in that swift, old Hollywood way of hers. Hand against a tie, a single heel lifting off the floor. What she means, of course, is the imposing structure in front of them — larger than life and idealized by both. Designed by Marshall, dreamt of and funded by Anaïs. Years in the making. 

She steps back, walking further inside — shoes echoing loudly in a place still empty of all furniture. “They’re placing the bow right here,” she motions. “Still much debate about who gets to yield the scissors.” 

[anaismurad]

@designedonchaos setting: evening, wine bar

Impossible strings were pulled for a table at Bisou, on Valentine's Day of all days, the waitlist pages long. A call ahead with both their names combined did the trick, because how would it not? The only thing better than one affluent New Yorker, is two.

They're already a few glasses deep. Vintage Château Mouton Rothschild — her favorite — passed around between the two like a card game. (Though they play it classy for once, using glasses, not the bottle.)

"One day—" she starts, between sips. It's incredibly loud, given how busy it is. It means it takes some leaning, as well as speech pitched a little louder than usual. "—I'll pull you from work and down to Italy so you can try mine." The Murad vineyard is her pet project — a distraction from much more serious things. A profit-free hobby. "It's also the perfect excuse for a vacation."