Maccaulay Blake

30, fashion photog, ny native, manhattan currently

[maccaulayblake]

[ harris dickinson, male, he/him ] — whoa! MACCAULAY BLAKE just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for LIFE, working as a/an FASHION PHOTOGRAPHER. that can’t be easy, especially at only 30 YEARS OLD. some people say they can be a little bit FICKLE and IMPRUDENT, but i know them to be CANDID and VEHEMENT. whatever. i guess i’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to MANHATTAN! 

 ~ Quick stuff ~ Name: Maccaulay Blake Birthday: January 26th, 1994 Zodiac: Aquarius ☼ , Libra ☾, Leo ↑ From: New York City, New York Residence: Manhattan, Lower East Side Pronouns: He/Him

bio stuff:

Born and raised in New York to a single mother Aurelia "Rea" Blake (60), a famous fashion model from the late 80's/90's. Artist and activist. Her parents, Maccaulay's grandparents, Conrad Blake (deceased) with a lineage tying back to early finance, and socialite Effy Early-Blake, real estate (82). They were and are very hands on with their only grandson and with a desire to see their fortunes stay in the family.

Maccaulay grew up in Manhattan's Upper East Side and attended all the all the prestigious schools since kindergarten and on - a stipulation made by his grandparents, to Rea's chagrin. Having had Maccaulay during the height of her career, it was his home base.

Maccaulay's birth father is out of the picture and has been since day one. The pregnancy was quite the scandal at the time, a whole Mamma Mia situation in the gossip rags of who the father could be. In time to be revealed David Scanlen, Freelance photographer, mostly notably for his Photo Journalism from political and world events from all over the world. Based out of LA with another very famous wife and family all his own - there has never been a relationship between David and Maccaulay, child support and that was it.

His teenage years he skipped the awkward phase and could say grew up too fast. Finding school boring, he found his friends and the rest of New York way more exciting. Indulging in the easily afforded drug scene so many of his classmates were dabbling if not full blown into - he began to party and party hard.

Rea knew (that was her experience as well), instead of pulling him out, uprooted him to Brooklyn with her where she found a brownstone and a studio and began her own pursuit of her art. She didn't pull him out of school yet, giving him the ultimatum that she would pull him out, leave his friends and go to public. Or find a hobby. He did.

Mac found dance - something he still does to blow off steam today. But he'd hurt himself out of carelessness and that led to having to find something else. Enter Photography.

What started as a street project while he was all cast up turned into something much more meaningful. Mac had a raw talent and despite the glaring spotlight it may have put on his birth father. It was something he ended up pursuing.

Of course he had the connections. Not ashamed to use them. He just nearly graduated - with a name and large donation, Conrad made sure he'd get into a college. NYU it was. Where he lasted a year. Once again bored by the structure.

Opting for internships. Afforded of course by who his mother was he worked for some of the most exciting photographers forming a good relationship and connections within Conde Nast and their array of publications within.

With a natural talent - a load of arrogance and a huge leg up he's been on the up and up career wise. Mac's currently shooting for just about any and all major outlets.

random stuff:

loves the night life, hasn't shaken that side of him. is very social, and not one for settling down. has a tattoo between his shoulder blade he does not remember getting of a mermaid. (embarazzzing) is learning the drums - think's he's way better than he is

connections:

Fashion/Work World: I suppose pretty self-explanatory. 'Co-workers' of sorts. Those working in and around a shoot.

Roommate: He lives in a spacious apartment on the Lower East Side, doesn't need a roommate but for as much as he likes his solitude he also likes having a body around.

Friends: He's born and raised, Upper East Side then Brooklyn - he's been around, so really any old childhood friends to someone he met on the Ferry. I'm interested in all kinds.

Dance: He's been doing it since he was seventeen. So studios, rec hall classes, he's tried all kinds. Favors Modern and Contemporary.

Exes: He's not been the best guy to be in a relationship with so I don't imagine he's ever had a relationship lasting really over a year and then some. Maybe they tried, there was cheating, there was loss of interest idk. you know? ;D

Flings: another pretty much self-explanatory.

Negatives: In any capacity! Rivals, old grudges, parents have history, he stole your cab! Anything.

~Legit down for anything, if there’s ideas toss them out. On dash chem is my favorite and just love winging it too! I’ll fill this all out more as time goes on for sure!

[itshoneys]

—when she texted him to hang out with her at Havana’s things hadn’t escalated; sure he had bothered her, but he had wandered off and she thought nothing more of it. but then things took a turn and she hadn’t anticipated him showing up would quite literally be a life line for her. the guy not only had been down right creepy, he was persistent and pushy. Homey had never felt more alone and scared in a crowded place. The least she could do for Blake now was buying him a drink, or ten. “did you take a look at the guy?” she half-glared at him, shamelessly squeezing next to him at the bar, muttering a mock apology to the girl she had pushed a little to the side. all she wanted was for him to not be able to see her, aside from also wanting him to see her with Blake, but without putting him at risk.

she placed her empty glass on the bar and turned to him, head tilting to the side. “he bought me a drink, I thanked him, made small talk…” she shrugged, pressing her fingers against the wooden surface, some form of support. “didn’t think texting you would turn into you needing to play hero tonight.” she laughed, a little wary.

[maccaulayblake]

"If by him you mean ninety percent of the guys in this place with their eyes all over you, then yeah. Sure, I saw him." He said through a smirk. The new drink he placed in front of her, his placed right after. She looked fire, always did. And in this type of place he thought to himself, it was to be expected to be hit on left and right. "Nothing's happened yet. Your guy could be gone. I was coming anyways and really not gonna let some random tool ruin my night. And uh, you shouldn't let it ruin yours. If anything I wanna just show him what he's gone and fucked up with."

[asa--holland]

"Browsing too. I normally find some kind of interesting furniture or... something I can paint or repurpose." A lot of the eclectic items in his flat have been edited or fixed up by the illustrator with too much time on his hands, after all.

He shifts from leg to leg, eager to get away from the disinterested vendor and the fake pendants now that he's been shit-talking them. Asa starts to move just a bit, hoping the stranger will follow to the next kiosk. "Something for your wall... art? A mirror? Shelves?" Asa asks, maybe too invested as he takes a quick sip of the iced latte in his hands. "Mm, or. You could hang basket lids... that's been very popular recently. Or there's wagon wheels, even. How big is the wall space? Can you paint it?" He can feel himself getting too carried away. "Ay, sorry."

[maccaulayblake]

"Ah, you a flipper?" He asked, not typically his avenue but the craftsmanship behind it usually surprising. Sure it'd become a big trend as of late - and a handy one in a clutch. Though he did have a giant orange sofa in his own apartment, snatched from a shoot where it was a scramble to find a piece on the fly. (also one of the most stressful internship experiences of his life - a reminder of sorts) He took ease with carrying on with the guy, bypassing the next kiosk when it was more jewelry. Contemplating a response, he becomes a little more animated in his expression, the 'no's' clear with every scrunch of his face. "Basket lids? Wagon wheels? Are we- do we gotta go to Pottery Barn next or?" He joked, hands stuffed in his pockets until a kiosk with crates of frames tilted out towards the walkway. Snatching one out quick— he had to laugh at the selection. Tilting it to show, "Okay well damn, I take it back. Western's in. Might have to paint, yeah. Hire someone- I'll never do it on my own."

[maccaulayblake]

Who: Open. (@bhqextras) Where: Glow, Brooklyn

The power was going out on and off but the place was still riding on, for a Tuesday with expected bad weather the Drag Queens still showed and Glow drew a decent-sized crowd. The show must go on - as was the theme of the night, and lucky enough (for now) the generator was proving a worthy investment. Was it smart? No, probably not. Was he out there shoveling the main entrance every half hour? Also no. That much was clear when he stepped outside. Left with minimal staff, choosing to stay or go much earlier. The snow still beating down as hard as it was a couple hours ago when one of the only few people within eyesight came near, catcalling out "Ow ow, lookin' fucking fly. Fly and frozen. Should come in...strong drinks. Got a generator..."

[tctteredwings]

for: @bhqextraslocation: outside bake my day, staten island

It was getting late and the snow was getting ridiculous. Anabelle had, of course, seen it all before, but the snow today didn't seem to want to stop. By 4pm she was sure she wouldn't be opening the shop tomorrow, the snow was already drifting against the door by almost a foot and a half, so that meant attempting to get rid of the stock by any means necessary. She was huddled in the doorway, coat zipped up so high you could barely see her face, brandishing several Tupperware boxes.

There weren't too many people around ( not at all surprising ), which meant she woud practically jump on any brave passerby. "Hi, hi!" The enthusiasm was unrivaled. "Would you like a couple of cupcakes? They're free. Please, take a couple!"

[maccaulayblake]

He'd be damned if he ended up stuck in Staten Island. That was the sentiment all day it seemed. Trying to get an early beat on the commute to be back in Manhattan by afternoon to hop skip and jump over to Brooklyn for a Snowed In Smasher over at Glow by nightfall. A time crunch for sure and crunching further indeed, the snow started to fall even heavier blurring the vision in front of him. Bulldozing through towards the subway, a tiny woman cleared by depth perception and with...cupcakes? "Ooh, hell yeah." He used his teeth to take off his glove, taking one to dig right in. "Mm, that's fucking legendary—" he said through a mouth full. Guess he was way more hungry than he'd realized. "You sure?" Asking before reaching for another, zeroing in on the snow build-up around the shops front door, "Mm, what're you doing out here? Should get your ass inside. It's looking like a damn blizzard."

[withbitterness]

who: open (@bhqextras)

where: early afternoon in time square, near the Rockefeller ice skating rink

Hanging out around the tourist trap of the ice skating rink wasn't something Sherri ever did. Her only reasoning now was because she was early for her concert rehearsal at a venue nearby, and the weather called for a hot drink. Which is how she found herself adjacent (not at!) the skating rink, purchasing a cup of hot chocolate from a booming vendor. Cupping her drink for warmth, her eyes couldn't help but travel to the merry skaters enjoying the unexpected flurry. As her sight caught on a couple locked in an embrace, her mouth moved on it's own, speaking in what might be a skeptical tone to the person nearest her. "Well, isn't that cinematic."

[maccaulayblake]

Finding himself in or around Times Square quite often as it was, his most common headquarters in Midtown and Rockefeller not an unusual, city approved locale for shoots. The tourist traps never bothered him, in fact if anything being surrounded by wide-eyed Midwesterners and the like fueled a sort of confidence, pride maybe? In his hometown. He heard a voice nearby, directly below him as it was. The coffee piping hot - he should've known - burning his tongue, swiveling so's to not run right into her before seeing what she saw, "Real Romcom right there. What you not into lizard macking? Wait for it...wait for it—" he started, eagle eyeing the couple until they went in for a full blown tongue swap. "There it is!"

[itshoneys]

—even though she was slightly taken aback when she was pulled closer, relief washed over her that he immediately played along. “hopefully not,” she responded in a low voice, laughing a little to make herself appear less nervous. her heartbeat accelerated at the mere thought of getting someone innocent involved in a mess they originally had no business to be in. she had only wanted to have a good time and she ended up feeling unsafe and having to resort to seeking help to get out of that situation. she looked up to meet his gaze, offering a grateful smile. “thank you,” she then added not a moment later, her hand resting on his forearm, trying to keep herself from looking at the idiot who had been bothering her. “I am just hoping he will see me with someone else and decide to eventually back off.” not a very solid plan, but it had been the only reasonable one she had been able to come up with.

[maccaulayblake]

"No problem." He said, returning a smile as if they were old friends, as if he was expected and she'd just said the most thoughtful thing. "It's usually how it goes isn't it?" He asked, more rhetorical than anything. Not his first rodeo with an overly persistent guy at a club. Hell he'd been that guy too. "Come on, grab me a drink?" He said, loosening his embrace and grabbing her hand. Guiding around the dancefloor towards the bar, he did catch a glance towards where he assumed the guy was. A cheeky kind of grin smacked on his face at being a hand in warding off a potential issue, hoping it'd be seen. Squeezing in at the bar, clear it wouldn't be a bit before being served. Mac turned to her, an elbow leaned against the bartop, curious, "So is that it really? Some random you met tonight or am I gonna get jumped the second I step outside for a cigarette later on by a crazy ex boyfriend?"

[asa--holland]

Asa watches in fascination as the other plays with the pendant and seems to know how to check it properly for authenticity. He shakes his head, unable to help a shy laugh as he sets it back down.

"Just curious." He fixes the oversized old denim jacket on his small frame with a little shrug. The illustrator's not really adept at navigating conversation either. He's trying, though. "For that price tag, I'd assume it's being marketed as real." He plays with the straw of his iced coffee. "Are you... looking for something in particular? Or d'you just come here to browse?"

[maccaulayblake]

He glanced up at the booth's attendant — not particularly interested it seemed in selling. Zoned out on his phone paying no mind to either of them. "Yeeah. You know how it is, if someone's willing to pay it. What you don't know won't kill you, and all that." He said, smiling at the hustle. He owned more faux pieces than he could count simply by wandering a little too long, having been persuaded. "Mm. No, not really. Just browsing. Now that I think of it though, I am on the hunt for something to hang on my wall. Just got a big stark white hole, painful to look at." He told him, and as quick as the idea came to mind he wasn't going to leave the market without something in hand. "What about you? Those are still overpriced fakes but, not horrible..." what'd he become a salesman all of a sudden? Feeling some kind of obligation should he opt for something he might actually like. One mans trash another's treasure and so it goes.

[asa--holland]

Location: Brooklyn Flea Market Status: Open!

Getting out of his apartment had been no small feat. Between a splitting headache from the past few days, a client deadline, and the ever-present warmth and companionship of 5 needy cats who would be content to sit in his lap forever, Asa had found himself enjoying his reclusive, almost hermit-like life as of late. But even someone like him needs fresh air.

The table he stands in front of has a wide variety of old jewelry that's impressively priced. "Do you... think any of this is actually real?" The Irishman can't help but ask as one tattooed hand holds his iced coffee and the other reaches out to pick up a pendant with what looks to be some type of sapphire on gold filigree. "Costume jewelry was so popular... and it almost looks like glass." He tilts it to try to see sun through it, then holds it out to the person beside him.

[maccaulayblake]

He cleared his throat, a little thrown off kilter with the conversation. An early bird when his insomnia kicked in full - an extroverted introvert, a shrink once said in so many words, and he ran with it. The flea market was one place to check those binary boxes. Most times able to gather the energy of the crowds while the crowds stuck to their own. Maccaulay took the piece, no need for the seethrough test because he was right. It was basically glass. Tossing through cold fingers, he cupped the object to blow his breath onto before picking it between two fingers. Watching as the fog stuck too long. "Not a chance." he said, tossing the piece back to the guy. "You're in the wrong place if you're looking for authenticity."

[metamorphesque]

― Ivan Turgenev, Fathers and Sons (translated by George Reavy)

[itshoneys]

location: Havana nightclub when: on weekday, after midnight status: open starter @bhqextras // [ 0 / 4 ]

—its a weekday, goddamnit, and she thought that she could treat herself to some nice, fancy cocktails, idle chatting with strangers, maybe a dance or two. nothing too fancy, really, just looking to pass the time, get her out of the house and away from her work and responsibilities for a short while. the past week had been absolutely crazy and carried well into the new week; event planning, content layout, partnership meetings, team calls. Honey liked what she did, but she also liked being able to do what she wanted, go out with friends, party. and when her friends couldn’t follow her plans, she would go through with them on her own, no problem. that is exactly how and why she had ended up, all by herself, at Havana midweek.

it had started off just fine, a little chat the bartender, a few other costumers. until he showed up. at first it was alright, he offered to buy her a drink —Honey never say no to a free drink— chatted a bit, but then it started getting weird. the guy would not leave her alone. she never had to deal with a similar situation before and she was uncertain whether she should panic or alert the barman. ignoring him didn’t seem to work, neither did when she told him to leave her alone for the umpteenth time, so when she saw someone walking in, she grabbed her drink and quickly made her way up to them.

“just please pretend to be my partner for a second, yes?” she smiled sweetly, sure the creep was watching if he was not already behind her. “he won’t leave me alone…” she elaborated, gesturing discreetly with her head at his general direction.

[maccaulayblake]

Showed for the dancing, got assigned actor. He wasn't pressed though, amused mostly. It couldn't have been a minute before stepping through Havana's door, instantly flushed from the change of temperature from outside. Removing his jacket he grinned at the woman, that same grin stuck as he scanned the room for the presumed stalker. Pulling her in close for realism's sake, "What kind of stalker we talking here, am I in for a tussle?"

[ephemcrality]

open starter, 3 responses available, @bhqextras

setting -> joe's tavern, a lazy week day evening

there had been a time when nyc would find tony propped up there at the greasy bar most nights, instead of only once or twice a year. he'd been a familiar at the old haunt, scraping pennies together && getting drunk to local music. now he spearheaded security at a strip club, one of the most affluent in the city; but no served a cold beer quite as crisp as joe's. " another one, fill me up 'n keep 'em comin'. " he instructed the bar staff, pulling a little bowl of peanuts towards him and started shelling. eyes hidden behind dark shades still despite the dimly lit bar, tony gave a slight sigh one someone else came to sit beside him at the countertop. " listen, don't start telling me whatever sob story you got goin' on that's brought you in, i'm not interested. we're either celebrating something tonight or you're shutting up. no sad shit. "

[maccaulayblake]

The man in the sungalsses inside, at night... at Joe's wasn't shady at all, no. It didn't rattle him in any way the second he'd sat down. Sharing a look with the bartender, yeah, no ease there. Maybe he'd walked into something—and yeah sure already a couple or five Martinis in and bloodshot eyes, radiating some kind of skunky odor mixed with expensive cologne. But he wasn't putting off that kind of energy was he? "What, me? Damn. Do I look sad? —can you even see through those," exercised two fingers at the glasses, tapping the bartop to acknowledge the bartenders suggestion, "—alright. Celebration," holding up the beer bottle put in front of him, "To Kenneth Stackturn. A real piece of work, and ugly from the inside out. RIP asshole."

[spokenforvesssel]

[maccaulayblake]