JVL
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Peter Solarz
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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taylor price
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@bcysdontcry
👻 …someone my muse considers a best friend.
Silas will call anyone who is nice to him his best friend so he's maybe not a good judge of character in that sense. But, Val is THE best friend. The magnum opus of besties. The keeper of keys, perhaps. The one he accidentally bared too much of his heart to that one time but it's okay, we don't talk about it. // @yarn-spinning
Get to know the people in my muse’s life.
💋 …someone my muse used to date.
Kirin!!! It was weird. It was dramatic. It was short-lived. It was pure fucking chaos. It was... dare I say... cute? Silas has this strange penchant for nabbing people who have just arrived at New York City and dating them. Anyway. That was a little bit of a crash and burn but neither were all that invested anyway (how can you be with only a couple months of dating under one's collective belt?). Now, he just sorta chills with Kirin, picks their brain on legal shit (while simultaneously trashing the legal system), et cetera et cetera. // @criminalaw
Get to know the people in my muse’s life.
Send “✆” for a MORNING text. Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. Send “☎” for a RUSHED text. Send “⁇” for a DRUNK text. Send “✿” for a SUGGESTIVE text. Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text. Send “✘” for a HATEFUL text. Send “#” for a RANDOM text. Send “@” for a SCARED text. Send “&” for a LOVING text. Send “%” for a CURIOUS text. Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text. Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text. Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text.
Kamilah | Cemre | Diana |Mira | Emma | Darwyn
ASA // VAL // MARS // OZ // GUS // MAL // ASH
SILAS | GABRIEL | MIKALA.
Get to know the people in my muse’s life.
Send me a symbol and I’ll tell you about…
🌟 …someone my muse trusts. 💔 …someone who broke my muse’s heart. 💕 …someone my muse loves. 😒 …someone my muse hates. 🔥…someone my muse would die for. 💀 …someone my muse would kill for. 👻 …someone my muse considers a best friend. 💘 …someone my muse has a crush on. 🔪 …someone my muse hurt in the past. 👀 …someone my muse likes, but doesn’t trust. 💩 …someone my muse dislikes, but admires. 👿 …someone my muse used to like, but doesn’t anymore. 😉 …someone my muse has had sex with. 💋 …someone my muse used to date. 😜 …someone who makes my muse laugh. 👪 …someone in my muse’s family. 👑 …someone my muse is jealous of. 👊 …someone who hates my muse. 👫 …someone who has a crush on my muse. 👌 …someone my muse has only met once, but will never forget. 🍓…someone my muse has never met, but wants to meet. 👰 …someone my muse would consider marrying.
—
RAHI | HANS | LOLA | JULIAN | LEE | JJ | ANAÏS
ASA // VAL // MARS // OZ // GUS // MAL // ASH
SILAS | GABRIEL | MIKALA.
Mars is being held by stable hands around his waist - kept there under that beautiful crystal gaze that his suit purposefully matches. He has his drink in his hands but doesn't take a sip as Silas mentions wanting to talk about something.
Part of him has an inkling. But it could be many things, couldn't it? And in his 50 years, he's had plenty of dates want to 'talk'. Sometimes it's good, sometimes... but Silas isn't just a date. Silas isn't just someone he's seeing, is he? He swallows, nods. "Of course, babes. Anything." His hand slips to Silas's arm. Squeezes it.
“Don't panic, honey, it's not a bad thing I wanna talk about,” he's quick to reassure with a playful smile, noting that slight shift in energy once he brings up needing to talk. It's always a nerve-racking thing to hear, Silas knows this, however he does his best to maintain his smile; his near hopeful look, even as nerves start to get to the best of him. He's never been good at this.
“So, like, we've already talked about how we feel for each other, yeah?” Including him admitting that he likes the idea of being Mars’, which would've been a great time to ask this question, but he fucking choked. This time, he won't, now that he's started this entire conversation. An object in motion stays in motion.
“And, god, I really like you. A lot more than I should. You've fuckin’ got this spell on me or whatever,” he chuckles, the noise fraught with nervousness. He knows he needs to get to the fucking point, though, and quickly at that.
“I'm just wondering if… y’know, you wanna make it official. Or something. Us—make us official. Call a spade a spade. I'm yours, you're mine, all that.” This could've easily been condensed to ‘do you want to be my boyfriend?’ but that sounds cheesy, and weird, and he's already been overthinking this enough as is. It's evident, too, with how his grip on Mars’ waist only seems to tighten and he's peering at him with this look that makes him look like a frightened fucking puppy.
Closed Starter: for @bcysdontcry Location: 12/31/23, A spot by the window at The Top of the Standard
It's the most gorgeous view at the top, but his eyes are glued to Silas. He's fixing the lapel of his date's coat affectionately and grinning. "Better than a Chuck E Cheese, I'd say." He murmurs and leans to kiss his cheek. "You look so lovely in brown, baby. Have I told you that already?" He had. Absolutely - probably ten times since they'd started out the evening. But he can't help it. Brown and blue - matching their eye colors to their clothes. It had sounded so sappy and silly, but Mars loves when Silas gets like that. A bit sentimental and sweet. "Any friends here I can meet? People you know? We should shit-talk while we have a table to ourselves." He winks.
“I dunno, mate, this place doesn't have the same nightmarish appeal as Chuck E. Cheese does…” he teases, a mile wide grin on his lips, seemingly unable to detach his gaze from Mars. The view can wait—this entire party can wait. Silas’ own hands have taken residence on the man’s waist, not entirely aware of it as thumbs nervously stroke the blue fabric beneath his grasp. “You've been telling me this since we were getting ready.” And he's returned each and every compliment with ones of his own. “I think you should wear blue more often.” He's biased as ever, but who can blame him? Mars can pull off these bright and vibrant colors better than most.
“People I know? Lots of them, I'm sure.” Only then do his eyes travel, looking around the party and, indeed, spotting familiar faces. Both friends and… not friends. “Think I spotted Aria at some point. I know I saw Val, you can't miss curls and a harness like that. Definitely saw Diana.” He could go on, however he cuts himself off and shakes his head.
“Wanna talk to you about something, actually. No shit talking, we can do that in a second.”
Joaquim just shook his head taking the unsipped drink from Silas and pressing a small bag into his suddenly empty hand. "You're harder to find than you used to be, I thought you might be having a sober holiday." He sipped from the drink giving Silas a smug smirk, knowing he'd probably be the furthest thing from that given the choice. "Don't do that all at once, you know the drill, but I'm sure you're headed for a happy reunion after having a dealer die on you." He took another sip of the drink trying to finish it before Silas could decide to take it back.
The pout that Silas wears is instantaneous once drink number two is, effectively, stolen from his grasp. "My drink..." comes out as a sad little whisper, though he's mostly putting on a show. Mostly. He'll live, he decides, as he sips on his remaining liquor some more—and the small bag is slipped into his hand. All is forgiven on the spot.
"Mate, you're a fuckin' lifesaver." Because he is absolutely not having a sober holiday, not with his fucking nerves as of late, which will be his excuse for why he's already swallowing one of the pills down. He doesn't bother to spare a glance around him.
"I'm not gonna do it all at once. Imagine ringing in the new year like that." He rolls his eyes, shoving the little baggy into his pocket for now. "How much do I owe you? I think I should get a discount since you fuckin' stole my drink."
CLOSED STARTER for @joaquimxmarques. LOCATION / SETTING: Night of December 31st (New Year’s Eve), leaving the bar at The Top of the Standard.
As per usual, Silas has gone a bit too far with the partying, edging ever closer to sloppy fucking drunk. He's perfectly content to be this way, though, a near permanent grin etched onto his face as he steps away from the overcrowded bar with two drinks in hand. Both of them for him, yes.
He almost spills said drinks everywhere when he bumps into Joaquim, quickly stilling the glasses as best he could and licking off the excess alcohol that spilled onto him off his hand. "Sorry, mate!" At least he's earnest when he says it, even if he laughs.
He looks up, and then promptly perks up once he sees who it is. "Oh, shit! It's you!" A pause to sip from one of two glasses. "You never fuckin' got back to me on that Xanax thing. Real dick move, gotta say."
CLOSED STARTER for @lararivkin. LOCATION / SETTING: Night of December 31st (New Year's Eve), the bar at The Top of the Standard.
Relatively early in the night, Silas has not had enough to drink and he is rapidly trying to change that. So, he's waltzed his ass up to the bar and has ordered a mojito. It's not his go-to drink, however it's almost 2024—new year, new him, right?
It's a short wait, because these bartenders are damn efficient, before he's reaching for his glass. Except, his hand makes contact with someone else's and he quickly halts himself. "Fuck, sorry," he's quick to say, though he's not entirely sure why. That's his drink, isn't it?
"Didn't mean to, like, popcorn trick ya there." Pause for a chuckle. "Did you, uh, also order a mojito or are you just a drink thief?"
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.
She almost wishes she'd thought of ordering a Long Island herself. A one way ticket to not being able to think clearly, and god, doesn't she need that right now. Her own drink sits on the counter, her fingers swiping at the condensation - another fidget. Another way of self-soothing.
Lifting the drink to her mouth, she nearly splutters - his words hitting a little more than they usually might. Aria, honestly, hadn't even thought of trying to hook up with anyone lately. Or meeting anyone new, rather, she should say. It's not because of some sense of loyalty or -- The chore of finding someone new to scratch the itch she needs scratched sounds exhausting. It's like no one these days knows how to leave her littered with bruises without being overly ginger or apologetic. Boring.
And she's obsessed with someone else, anyways. The drink goes to the counter, eyes flickering up to Silas. "Eh. The scene's pretty lackluster lately. A ton of married couples, and you know me - I'd rather chew glass than touch a man." She faux shudders with a laugh, but raises her eyebrows as he touches on his own dating life.
"You met someone?" It's honest surprise, but she can't help but laugh as he starts to pretty much berate himself over it. "Well, wait - I want to know everything. It's not a bore. It's way more interesting than my shit, I promise you that." A full on fucking lie. The weight of the phone in her pocket and the reminder of her own Halloween night makes her down the rest of her drink and order something stronger before continuing.
"No, seriously - Who's the guy? Animatronics can wait, doesn't surprise me. I wanna know who's got you feeling all.." She wiggles in her seat with a teasing laugh. ".. pathetic."
More sips of his Long Island iced tea, and eventually the taste doesn't mean a fucking thing to him, as his body begins to warm up and that familiar heady feeling starts to come on. Silas laughs into his drink, the sound slightly muffled, and shakes his head. "Trust me, I get it. There's nothing like some weird couple trying to fuckin' recruit you for their strange, sad sex life." He's sure he's shared a few stories about those special cases, likely while drunk or high and slurring his words, so he'll spare her from anymore.
"Yeah, I know. I fuckin' met someone and it's goddamn serendipitous." He's not even sure that he's using the correct word, which only makes him laugh some more. "But, yeah. His name is Mars," and it feels almost taboo, terrifying, to say that out loud. As if uttering the man's fucking name will jinx it somehow.
"It's fuckin'... I dunno, mate. It's just really fuckin' great. Too great at times, I guess." A drop of self doubt, of his ever fucking growing anxiety as of late. Again, he shakes his head. Takes another sip, as if to wash the fucking worry from his mouth. "He's really charming, and nice, and it's so easy to talk to him. Including about animatronics." He wants to blame Mars for setting that obsession alight, however he can't. Sure did enable it, though.
"And the sex... fuck, the sex with that man. Never known anybody as obsessed with my thighs as he is." He's grinning as wide as a mile now, shifting in his seat and crossing one leg over the other. For as much as Silas has gotten around, he's decidedly selective with who he shares details of his sex life with. Aria is one of his limited safe spaces for this.
"Hey, enough 'bout me, yeah? Surely you got something going in your life that has you wanting to fuckin' ramble like I just did." His nearly flirty grin morphs into a friendly, gentle smile. "How's work been? All that?"
CLOSED STARTER for @thecrenshawchronicles. LOCATION / SETTING: Night of December 31st (New Year's Eve), smoke break outside of The Top of the Standard.
It took all of thirty whole fucking minutes for anxiety to creep up Silas' spine, a nauseating sensation that has him temporarily parting from his date and disappearing to go smoke a cigarette in an attempt to be as secluded as possible. It fails.
What he doesn't expect is who is stepping outside.
He looks Sebastian up and down, internally debates against making a comment, but he just can't help it when—
"Thought you'd be in prison by now, mate," he mutters around the cigarette between his lips. A low blow? Sure. One that he doesn't actually know the weight of? Most definitely.
CLOSED STARTER for @cemrexduymaz. LOCATION / SETTING: The Smith at Lincoln Square, early afternoon, 3 days after Christmas.
Awkward. It's fucking awkward, Silas has decided, to essentially agree to a lunch date with one's ex. But, he's here and he's even made reservations, because imagine how fucked up it would be to suggest a restaurant and wait an hour and a half just to be seated. As if he needs help making shit worse than he already does.
He's opted for The Smith, sent her the address and time and everything else, even though it's all overpriced and he's going to favor liquor more than food. He already has, actually, while waiting at their table for her and sipping on his lychee gimlet.
He only perks up and snaps back to reality once he sees her, offering a smile and quite possibly the most awkward wave ever. "Oh, shit, hey!"
From Val, a gift bag with carefully wrapped glass inside.
“Darling baby angel sweetheart,
Now we have to drink with these!!! They feel like scales, and I was told it looks like a blue fish. That’s pretty fucking cool, just like you!
Love you, dumb shit! Val"
A beautiful and expensive baby blue coat sits in a stately box that’s been wrapped with a bow.
A card inside:
“Baby, you’ve made the past few months so amazing. Every day I find myself looking forward to when I get to see your face again. Thank you for filling my life with your beautiful face and your shitty jokes. I promise I’ll take you to that abandoned Chuck E. Cheese soon. x Mars"
CLOSED STARTER for @dianaxmovska. LOCATION / SETTING: Christmas Eve, his mother's house, evening.
It was always dicey agreeing to Christmas dinner with his parents, especially after the divorce and his sister out of the picture, yet Silas seems to fall for the same festive trap each year. This year, it's going well, and he credits Diana for that. He's not entirely sure why she agreed to joining him tonight but that doesn't change how grateful he is.
Inevitably, he has to step outside to smoke a cigarette, because the habit is hard to shake and he's so fucking nervous. Worse, he's sober, as he fucking promised he'd be to his father this morning.
Head turns when he realizes he has company, peering over at Diana, "How're you fairing in there? Fake niceties driving you batshit crazy yet?" A pause to offer his cigarette to her. "Thanks for tagging along. I appreciate it, y'know."
"Mauve ?" He was hoping to find yet another grey, black or beige coat to add to his collection. It went with everywhere and everything, which was more than ideal considering his job required he fit in. It was a bit of a shame though, because he preferred wearing colors, as reflected by the few clothes he wore outside of work. He especially liked jewel tones because he found they could never go out of style. The suit he wore now shared hues with emeralds, and warmed up the grey sweater he wore underneath.
"I'll wear it to work, not the Met gala," and he already had someone watching his every move at work. He didn't need Lola to see him arrive looking like the 4th of July parade (yes he was exaggerating greatly). But he didn't want to upset Silas, and he was willing to give it a try. "If it doesn't look professional, it's gonna be a no," he warns. "How have you been? How's life, love, and everything else?" The question didn't need being asked back. Harry was defined first and foremost by his ability to remain unchanged.
"Mauve!" And Silas is just a bit too loud when he repeats the word, attracting a couple of irritated glances towards his direction, but that's fine. He's gotten used to those by now, along with the negative attention his general presence garners.
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, all for show, because he's not truly annoyed with Harry. He's not sure he could be. "It's fuckin' mauve, mate. It's professional enough." He's already looking through the racks and making the attempt to find a jacket, cardigan, anything of the aforementioned color.
"I'm fuckin' good and golden, my guy." He says that now, caught in one of his good moods, where he has Mars on his mind and he thinks he's fucking unstoppable. "Love is grand—did you know I have a mug that says that? With two kitties in love playing the piano. A grand piano, y'know?" Why would Harry know that? He isn't thinking about it.
"But, I wouldn't call it love." That's too serious, and he already knows he's falling fucking fast for the man weighing on his thoughts, and that he needs to pump the fucking brakes. "Adoration and a nice cock, maybe." That comment is just to make the other squirm, admittedly.
