#int. thread

[mohanmax]

CLOSED STARTER FOR @annelouiseoosterhuis, o'shea's irish pub, 9pm.

‎ "O-O-S-T-E-R..." he keeps his eyes on annie-lou as he spells out her name out loud to his phone, confirming that he's not fucking it up. "jesus, that's a mouthful." he checks the search page on his instagram app and clicks on the first profile that comes up. "this you?" he says, showing her his phone.

[avicohens]

closed starter for @rorycohens, sugarplum treats, early morning (before the bakery opens).

though his work at the mayor's office isn't technically supposed to require him to report to work daily and render the same hours as every clerical employee in the building, ben cohen had insisted that his son adapt to the same standards as everybody else to remind him, and all the other employees, that he isn't getting any special treatment just because they share the same last name.

which sucks, but if it's what will make his father happy, then avi will oblige. anyway, at least he gets to hang out with his sister every morning before he actually has to clock in.

like this morning, for instance, when he's perched on the stool behind the counter while his sister busies herself with her pre-opening preparations. and sure, he could make himself useful, grab a broom or a cloth or something, but instead he's scrolling through tiktok, idly sipping his latte he'd bought from the crazy nook before coming here.

he'd bought one for his sister, too, of course, though with all the work she's been doing, he's not sure she can enjoy her drink the same way he is.

"you ever think about doing like, content for this place? maybe hop on a couple of trends? i saw these viral gourmet marshmallows that come in all sorts of different crazy flavors like sour patch kids and pumpkin." he pulls a face as he tries to imagine what they must taste like. "but they get a lot of views and they keep getting sold out, so." he's probably the last person rory might want to go to for advice for her business, not that she really needs any. "just puttin' it out there."

[mohanmax]

‎ he realizes he'd hit a sore spot when he mentioned the bakery but because sincere apologies aren't something he'd fully mastered yet despite his attempts at being a more empathetic person, he instead responds to her quiet admonishment with a blithe, "sorry, but it kind of is? the internet is a circus, madi. you shouldn't take anyone trying to give you flack on it too seriously." he casually plucks a piece of emmental cheese from the board and takes a tiny, rat-sized bite from it, just barely scraping his teeth against the buttery surface. "so you started a business and it didn't work out. that happens all the time." he's trying to be comforting, or he thinks he is, in his own twisted way. it's what he does with his sisters and what his sisters do with him. he just sometimes forgets that it might not work on everyone. "but, you know, i'm glad you like what you're doing now. isn't that the important thing?" popping the rest of the cheese into his mouth, gives her a small, tight-lipped smile. "so, what exactly is it that you do on the farm?"

Orders taken, wine appearing on the table, it was easy to pretend for a few moments that they were anywhere else. California perhaps, cosying up in Spago or Nobu, the warmth of the Los Angeles air ready to wrap them up in greeting, instead of the chilly fall evenings that Illinois had to offer. But it was only as Madi reached the tail-end of her story about her relocation did her smile morph into something more somber, reality crashing into her. But time marched forward, or something. She wondered if Max felt the same way, seemingly disinterested when it was obvious that for once in her life there had been no drama associated with her purchasing Meadowview Farm.

A giggle escaped her at the teasing — being compared to Paris Hilton was of course the highest of compliments to an influencer — and how Max was in disbelief about her sudden pivot of career. “I mean, expect the unexpected, right?” The tone shifted when he brought up her failed business venture, and whilst she was sure Max didn’t mean it, it came off as unnecessarily cruel all the same. “Don’t. That’s not funny.” Her stomach turned at the idea of her run-in with Grace, if her former partner was still in town. If there had been any crossover between her and the Mohan enterprise. “I like the farm.” She further added, addressing her wine glass with an air of petulance.

[lemon-allergies]

[ BLOODY ]:   things  get  steamy  while  one  or  both  muses  are  covered  in  (real or fake?)  blood.

@lemon-scented-memories (lmao, uh... remnant!Amai and who??)

Should it be expected to scold a partner or wonder if their okay when seeing a partner covered in blood? Yes. Probably. For him though, he couldn’t even be shocked.

Raijin goes to kiss the other deeply with a giggle. “I’m assuming that’s not yours..?”

@lemon-scented-memories

[marlborcs]

a closed starter for my heart, @canncnball for mia & tristan.

she had finished her last day of work for what would be quite a few months. she wasn't sure how she was going to do this, but she would. tristan wanted her to be safe and healthy and the job was bringing her too much stress, so she understood. they didn't want anything happening to her or the baby. she showered and had something to eat, so when tristan got home from work, mia was curled up in bed and smiled up at him, "hi," she said softly. "i'm done. for months. you get me every single day...for months. how does that sound?" she laughed and reached up to make grabby hands for him.

[gcdwilling]

at some point in the night, the bed shifted beneath her and feeling it only pulled her awake just enough. it was when delicate fingers reach out to find an empty space beside her that deep brown eyes blink open and search around, seeing a figure standing by the window. "hey—" voice low and still laced with sleep, she's out of bed and walking up behind him in a matter of seconds. he's had another nightmare and she can see it in the tension along his back. "why didn't you wake me up?" / @khaleesiie ♡︎

[mohanmax]

‎ max nods agrees, somewhat, to the sentiment she imparts on his DJing. "yeah, well... it's- it's true that... a lot of the k-k... kids these days just press play on a laptop and call it- it a night. never had to learn the craft when it was all s-s-s... still analog. i think half of 'em are j-j-just... in- in it to have bras thrown their way, y'know? but there's also lots of talented acts out there. that's what s-s-static is- is for." with his cigarette, he loosely gestures towards the imposing white building, a muffled D&B track his foot tapping rhythmically to the bass creeping on to the ground they are standing on. "to host raw talent. unfiltered music. this- this... is what a real party looks like." he's proud of static, of the culture he's cultivated here despite the trauma that continues to live in its walls. but that's something he continues to work on, even to this day.

he glances over at tom, the rottweiler's ears perking up at the sudden uproar of laughter coming from the small group of of partygoers behind them, sporting hair in all different kinds of hues, ripped tights, mid-riffs and shoulders speckled with glitter and shimmering under the street lights. "oh, he's- he's used to it. he also wears earmuffs when i'm on." fingers reach out to scratch the top of tom's head. "tom's a real party animal." he snorts, particularly proud of the joke. it's not often he tries to be this funny on purpose.

he's not surprised she turned down his offer at a ride, but it won't hurt to keep it on the table. "you sure?" he takes another puff from his cigarette. "it-it really isn't a problem. i have a driver, he lit- lit... litr- he gets paid to do that stuff for me, hourly. i don't mind adding a stop, seriously." he glances at her feet. "your feet must be killing you."

he could feel her studying his face and wonders, with some obscure anxiety, if she finds his stuttering off-putting in the way some people have, in the past. he's never felt the need to explain himself, but he can't shake that vulnerable, exposed-wound feeling whenever someone's eyes linger a little too long. he used to love the attention, now it just makes him self-conscious. still, a veteran in the art of sustaining composure, he gives her an easy smile. "max." he's learned to no longer wield his last name as a weapon in the last decade and it's been one of the most freeing decisions he's made. "and you're... no, wait, don't tell me." crease forming between his brows, he feigns intense concentration, like a psychic receiving an intense energy. "hannah. no, amanda. no, wait..."

Grace wasn’t oblivious to the stares of passersby, a sensation that she was more than used to. She knew that the little black she’d chosen for the evening was simple, yet effective – tailored perfectly to her frame. However, the weight of stairs was something that the blonde had long since learned to ignore. Instead, her attention was focused on the man standing before her, cigarette angling between his fingers and voice tinged with something that felt…genuine was probably the best word to describe it. 

There was something about the man that piqued her curiosity. She observed his manner carefully, noting the subtle care he took in how he spoke. The fact that he was also mindful of the smoke, making sure to direct it away from her, wasn’t lost on her either. She appreciated the small courtesies. “I do appreciate your understanding,” Grace responded, her voice smooth and reassuring. “I’m sure that DJing is a more complicated skill than first meets the eye.” She cast a quick glance at his Rottweiler, an amused smile gracing her lips. “Although, I must say, I think I was more impressed by how well your friend behaved with all the noise inside,” she said, motioning to the dog at his side.

There was something about the way the man carried himself that made her curious. Something that felt she should remember him from something other than his DJ set earlier in the evening. The little voice in her head making her wonder what exactly his story was. When he offered her a ride, Grace raised a single eyebrow. The blonde could see on his face that he knew what that offer sounded like. While the man had a disarming quality about him, she still didn’t know him after all. Grace didn’t feel as if he had any disingenuous intentions, but she also wasn’t naive either. “I appreciate the offer,” she began, her tone measured but warm. “But I wouldn’t want to trouble you and make you go out of your way.” She still couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity she when she looked at him, though she couldn’t place why. For reasons unknown, she felt it was probably worth trying to investigate further. Perhaps it was just the night, the music or the fact that she wasn’t in the mood to rush back to the hotel just to be alone. “You know,” she added, her eyes flicking back to meet his. “You’ll have to forgive me, I don’t think I caught your name earlier. Frankly, I couldn’t understand what the young man who announced you at the start of your set was saying half of the time.”

[mohanmax]

closed starter for @ziamo-xo, cantwell country club, weissberg law firm charity luncheon.

he could swear he'd seen her from the crowd. it may have been a couple of years, but he'd recognize those same dark eyes anywhere, that sweet smile. ziana was no longer a little girl, but a woman, watching him from the audience as he sits on that platform, hands trembling as he tries to gather his wits about him, openly speaking about a traumatic experience that had occurred so close to where they all sat now. how that incident, fueled with so much hatred that had stemmed from his own family, had led him to meet his husband. how his father and brother's prejudice had caused them to be apart. teary-eyed, he searches for zia's face again. he hates how he can see his brother more now that she's older. he's there, in the angled way she quirks her eyebrows, in the bridge of her nose, that slight upturn of her lips, the swell of her chin. that's dev mohan all over. god, he hopes her heart hadn't changed all these years.

the guests are later invited to have some pre-lunch cocktails out in the garden and with tom hagen tailing behind him, max weaves through the sparse crowd until he sees his niece.

"ziana!" there's an urgency in the way he calls for her, like she would vanish or somehow turn into a mirage of a different person if he didn't say her name. "z, is that you?" he almost loses balance, how his feet couldn't keep up with the rate of how soon he wishes he could hold her. and when he's close enough, he reaches for her hands, doesn't hesitate in pulling her in and wrapping his arms tightly around her. never mind that he might ruin her dress or her hair. "my sweet girl..." he has to choke back a sob. not here, not with everybody watching. pulling back, he sniffles, chuckles at himself, at the way he'd quickly lost his composure he's well-known for maintaining. he doesn't let go of her hands as he takes the sight of her in. "what the hell are you doing here? does your father know?

[canncnball]

a starter for my heart, @blushdrunks, for andre & celeste.

things were a little more complicated and that felt like an understatement at this point. how many times could they keep fucking before they went back to their days as if things were normal? fucking – was that even all it was anymore? the feeling twisting in his gut right now as he leaned back against a far wall and watched her enjoy her evening out told him there was more to it than that. still, andre only stayed there with arms crossed over his chest and eyes on celeste the entire time.

[pixelblue2016]

"Ah... That's seriously my bad, sorry. I mean, you did say you wanted to have some people to talk to so...?"

[[ // @your-friend-silver asked this, but Flutters lost the original link/question so hopefully this is ok! ]]

[mohanmax]

max attempts to muffle a chuckle behind pursed lips at how rafael had to explain himself vis-a-vis his wardrobe choices. not that max thought it was necessary, but it amuses him how a distinction absolutely must be made between rafael and leon. max thinks they both have their own winning physical qualities... in the right context, of course. because his friends are attractive, one could just use a good shave every once in a while and the other could do without the bar stains on his shirt. but max loves them both all the same, in their fuzzy sweaters and rock shirts. "i'm just saying, it's nice when we get to go to these things. fuck, i miss it. the phony smiles, the humble brags. keeps me on my toes, you know?" oh, to be held to the obligation. swishing the contents of his glass, he perches his elbow on the table, shifting slightly towards rafael. "raf, getting a massage isn't a social engagement just because someone's touching you." and he pokes lightly at his friend's arm, almost to try and prove a point. the fact that he even gets him to step inside a spa is a considerable win, one that he'll try not to exhaust. "wait, is he, really?" leaning closer, he props his chin on his hand, intrigued by the gossip. sometimes, they're just no different than the old ladies they play mahjong with. "what's goin' on there? 'cause unless saul weissberg suddenly grew a set of great tits and a kardashian-brand middle part..." he makes a gesture towards his hairline, painting a picture. contrary to what some may believe, leon isn't below landing a woman like that. or a sexually promiscuous divorce lawyer. and honestly, good for him. he just wishes his friend wouldn't end up putting himself in a position where he might get hurt. or hurt other people, for that matter. "oh, thanks, but i'm good. really. it'll be like story time at kindergarten." if the story was about getting the shit beat out of him ten years ago, leading to meeting his husband and living in domestic bliss for the next five years only to have all of that taken away from him by his bigoted father and brother. "it's not exactly the it gets better fairytale anyone's hoping for but, well... i never said i was the spokesperson." he shrugs, finishing off his drink. god, he wishes it had more alcohol content. "'sides, it's how i met you. and leon, too, in a way. you win some, you lose some, you win some more."

He didn't even wear suits to his practice. That was supposedly one of the best perks for being an adult: never wearing anything that wasn't comfortable. At least this wasn't a tie event. Rafael needed time to prepare for those. Glancing at Max, Rafael frowned. "That's such a tone of surprise! I'm offended." He shook his head. "I'm not Leon. I have more than 90s band t-shirts you know?" So what if he preferred a comfortable sweater? It didn't mean that he was incapable of dressing nicer. "No, you know the rules. One social engagement a weekend. This should fill my quota for a while, thanks." His own non alcoholic option was already empty. Rafael still didn't understand what a spritz was but he was now a big fan of how they managed to encapsulate the feeling of summer. "You mean Leon's boyfriend." Rafael mused, still staring at his drink as if it would magically refill. "I volunteer at Bright Sparks, you don't need to remind me of how important it is." Money was an unfortunately vital part of the non-profit, otherwise Rafael may have even attempted to speak about some of the horrors he heard about. "You know what you're going to say? Do you want to go practice?"

[silkfms]

closed starter: julian hendricks!! (@astralfms) || location: serin's place!! (mango bay lofts, evening)

“i don’t know why i let you in wearing that shirt,” serin said flatly, though the corner of her mouth twitched — dangerously close to a smile. she set two porcelain bowls of face mask mixture on the marble coffee table with the same care someone else might reserve for fine china. “you look like a walking cease and desist from good taste." she didn’t wait for his response before settling into the plush corner of the velvet couch, silk robe cinched tight, hair clipped back in those sleek gold pins she always pretended were practical. her apartment was, as always, curated perfection: all neutral tones and expensive touches, from the hand-poured candles to the stacked art books that neither of them would ever read. “green tea and clay,” she said, handing him one of the bowls and a brush. “your pores can thank me later. assuming you still have any dignity left under that hawaiian monstrosity.” serin’s tone was crisp, teasing, but her eyes softened as they finally landed on him. “so,” she said, legs crossed, brush poised. “are we starting with your disaster of a love life or mine?”

[vanessagable]

starter for: @xaviermattthews location: texas, december 24th (christmas eve)

When Vera joined them in Texas for Christmas the woman had been thrilled to make one of Van's favorite foods from childhood -- fried green tomatoes.

The smell of them had made Van feel like she had to leave the room, her stomach flipping nauseously all through dinner as she had moved food across her plate to make it look like she was eating.

As the table was being cleared from Christmas eve dinner, Van weaved to her husband quickly -- taking a hold of his elbow and giving him no choice before she gently dragged him out into the garage.

"I have to tell you something but you can't react, okay?"

[clubrevenant]

closed starter: lila mendoza!! (@lilamendoza) || location: windsor bay grocers!!

She didn’t expect to find her here. Didn’t expect this — a familiar shape in an unfamiliar place, the silhouette of a past she hadn’t finished trying to outrun, let alone reckon with. Bex stood frozen halfway between the shelf of dented canned beans and a half-empty display of discount energy drinks, her fingers tightening around the cardboard handle of a six-pack of cheap beer. It was supposed to be a quick stop. A nothing moment. She wasn’t even planning on getting groceries — just needed something cold, something fizzy, something to feel like she had some kind of control over her body for five goddamn minutes. But then she turned the corner and saw her. Lila. She looked... good. The kind of good that made Bex’s chest twist. Like time had moved differently for her. Like distance had done its job. Same profile — sharp and steady, like someone you could build your world around if you hadn’t already burned it down. Same damn hoodie, too. Soft blue, frayed at the cuffs. The one Bex had always borrowed and never admitted she liked more because it smelled like her. Her mouth opened before she could think better of it. “Guess Portland wasn’t far enough.” The words came out low, a dry rasp of something meant to sound casual, maybe even teasing — but it didn’t land that way. It was brittle. Thinly veiled hurt wrapped in too-cool sarcasm. And when Lila turned, when their eyes met over a box of generic macaroni and cheese, something sharp and stupid and real lodged itself in Bex’s throat. She shifted awkwardly, biting the inside of her cheek like she could keep herself from saying anything else. But silence felt worse. Too loud. Too final. So she kept going, quieter now. “I didn’t know you were here,” she said, eyes scanning Lila’s face like she’d find answers in the curve of her mouth, in the way her hands gripped her basket. “Didn’t know I was either, really. One minute I was crashing with a friend, the next I’m... here. Still broke, still running. Surprise, right?” Her laugh was soft. Bitter. Like she hated the sound of it as soon as it left her mouth. “I wasn’t—” Bex started, then stopped. I wasn’t looking for you. But she couldn’t say that, not when it would’ve been a lie. Not when the truth was messier. Not when some nights she scrolled through Lila’s socials with an ache in her chest and a thousand untyped apologies clinging to her fingertips. She looked down at the box in Lila’s hand, then back at her face. Her eyes, guarded. Her mouth, unreadable. “I didn’t plan this,” Bex said finally, voice dropping even lower. “But now that it’s happening... I don’t know. Thought maybe I’d say something. Or nothing. Or ask how you’ve been, but I’m not sure I have the right anymore.” She shifted her weight, knuckles pale against the cardboard she still hadn’t set down. “Do I?”

[mohanmax]

‎ "back, tom." max commands the dog, who obediently steps backwards, his threatening growl diminished into quiet panting as he returns to his previous position laying on the ground. max then reroutes his attention to his unexpected visitor standing by his door. "and fuck you." he pushes himself off his seat, though with the amount of effort it takes him, it feels more like trying to cancel out his weight against the force of gravity. his chair creaks at the movement, a sound that could very well be mistaken for his joints. he takes a few steps towards the mini fridge standing on a small table under the tv. "you're under my roof now, foster. show some fucking respect." he means this with some dubious affection, as he would towards a hard-headed nephew, of which he has none. his nieces have been nothing but angels. he misses them dearly. "here. you look like shit." grabbing a plastic water bottle from the fridge, he holds it out for foster to take. "now, will you tell me what you need the fire escape for or am i gonna have to sic tom on you?" he only means it half-heartedly, of course.

The office was definitely high-end, and considering the kind of establishment it existed in, Foster felt vaguely like he'd just stepped onto the set of some gangster movie. He even glanced around for a table somewhere laden with bricks of unnamed elicit substances, like there might be a guy sorting them while another counted out a briefcase full of cash. He definitely needed to stop watching The Sopranos... Regardless, sticking around seemed like a very bad idea; Foster might've come out looking for a fight tonight, but he definitely wasn't looking for a bullet to the kneecap...

He turned as if to go, but the man's gruff voice stopped him in his tracks. It reminded him of his father, authoritative yet mocking, and Foster was just drunk enough that the shithead delinquent in him couldn't help but rise to the challenge. "Would that we were so lucky, huh?" he chuckled. "Might liven the place up a bit..."

[despairs-memorial]

Starter for @dead-or-lie | Kiyotaka Ishimaru

Mondo hadn't forgotten about Kiyotaka's birthday, not at all, but this particular gift had taken a lot longer to get here than he anticipated it would, apparently there were issues with the commission, something he thought would mean was a few days fix and not more than a week. But it was here now, and he could hardly complain about it now.

After getting breakfast made for the two of them, he smiles when he watches Kiyotaka sit at the table. Even now, he could hardly believe that the two of them were married, and while he was a little worried Kiyotaka was upset with him for not getting him something on the day of his birthday, he was hoping that this would make up for it.

"Mornin' babe... know t's a bit late, but happy birthday. I-I uh, wanted to wait until I knew your gift would be 'ere.... sorry about that."