#↳ interaction

[beauclary]

WHO: Open to Anyone WHERE: Rosie's Diner WHEN: March 6th / a little after 6pm

To look at him now, it's almost difficult to imagine that there was a time when Beau Clary had the infectious sort of charisma that could engage an entire room. Hell, an entire stadium, at least once a week for a good chunk of the year for nearly all of his life. He's almost a shell of that man now ― at least in mind and spirit, if not in body. It's almost comical, actually, for someone so physically imposing to hold himself so small ; a hardened pebble in the sole of the Wexley, jammed into the grooves. Out of sight, out of mind. To his credit, he's done a commendable job at convincing himself he prefers it this way anymore.

But he's been lured out of the quiet lonely isolation of his apartment under a moral obligation to appease the kind hand that feeds and now ― now ― Beau stands in the middle of Rosie's Diner looking a bit like a deer in headlights. He feels a bit foolish, really ― it's not as if he doesn't know these people, even if he doesn't really know them, but he feels awkward and bumbling, like a perfect stranger stumbling into a family reunion. In spite of the fact that he doesn't really know where to go, he feels inclined to get out of the way, so he locks his gaze on the nearest empty chair and quickly makes his way over.

Looking up a bit sheepishly once he's seated, Beau clears his throat. ❝ Hi. Oh, hell, Ihis, um ― I'm sorry, this seat weren't taken, were it? ❞

[lindsohalloran]

who ashton @ashton-ryder when mr. wexley's birthday bash where the w

❝ ―look, it wasnae my fault, ryder, ❞ lindsay defends himself, leaning against the bar of the w as he fixes his long-time friend ― and the event's makeshift bartender ― with a pointed and unwavering stare. ❝ she came up tae me with a feckin' fistful of 'em, talkin' all ❛ can ye hold 'em for me please, uncle lindsay? ❜ as she's dumpin' jelly beans in me palm. and i was jus' gonnae hold 'em fer her 'til she was done playin', but i've a heavy feckin' sweet tooth― ❞ ashton knows this about him, certainly ; street food sweets were one of very few vices for the ex-scotsguard back in belize, and he could frequently be found with pockets full of of fresh wangla from one of the vendor carts near the base. ❝ ―and i couldnae resist, figured just a few couldn't hurt. and jaysus were they stale, like ― probably from last feckin' easter, so they are ― wee, hard lumps o' sugar. how was i s'posed tae know there was a feckin' barbie shoe mixed in with the lot? t'weren't no more or less toothsome than the candy. i couldnae tell a feckin' difference. ❞

there's a shake of his head and a chuckle in spite of himself as lindsay lifts his glass to his lips. ❝ christ alive, i cannae believe i ate it. ❞

[judahfisher]

who hannah @hannahxinterrupted when the old fuck's birthday party where underneath one of the tables in the atrium ( at least judah is )

knees are pressed into the tile so intently he's sure there will still be marks on his skin from the grout lines and he can still taste her on his lips when he pulls away from warm, sweet flesh, careful not to knock his head on the solid underside of the table. ( there's an assortment of glassware just above him, separated by only about an inch or so of wood, his own drink among them ; he doesn't mind causing a scene if anyone sees the glasses rattling, but he'll be damned if he's going to waste a perfectly good glass of whiskey. ) he swipes his lower lip with his right thumb, wiping away the lingering glisten as the palm of his left hand spreads flush against her leg and gives her trembling thigh a solid squeeze. and then he's shifting beneath the table ― there's a rustling of fabric as he bats the corner of a slightly too-long tablecloth out of the way before his head appears just inches from her chair.

there's a devilish grin tugging at his lips as he emerges, splitting his features in two as a curious gaze searches his immediate surroundings to see if anyone's around to spot him before landing on hers. ❝ well? is the coast clear, doll, or should i bide my time and go back for seconds? i do love a good dessert buffet. ❞

[that-sweet-jester]

poor Sevika's been embarrassed ever since, yet still stuck around😔✊

[skarsgards-bill]

Andrew Garfield talks to Elmo about grief and the passing of his mother

[housederiva]

My housemate's cat came into my room while my dictation was on...

(here's the fic btw)

[rioblitzle]

working retail

[thats-slightly-raven]

[gongyussy]

good thing from jp twitter this week is queen of old man yaoi michiru sonoo discovering the term old man yaoi

update: somehow it got impossibly more wholesome

quick translation: おかえり: welcome home あ 終わった 終わった: ahhh, it's over! it's done! コーヒー? お茶?: coffee? tea? コ~ヒ~ ありがと: coffee, thank you~ ネクタイレア★★ ネクタイ取るレア★★★★: seeing him with a tie on, rarity level ★★, seeing him take a tie off, rarity level ★★★★ にあうな~: it suits him~

also please do follow: AraigumaSha: sensei's twitter account marureviere: maru, who does such valuable work highlighting bl manga for an international audience

[kidovna]

heartbreak

[mearchy]

my favorite genre of fictional character is like "i am terrifying to almost everyone, i'm very good at killing, i can endure anything, i've become exceptionally good at playing into my reputation, and if you try to give me positive social interaction i will react with confusion and cower in a corner like an abused animal. and i may try to shoot you. but there is also a chance i may imprint on you like a feral dog receiving its first loving touch! good luck."

[beauclary]

WHO: ziggy ( @ziggyturner ) WHERE: beau's apartment / 312 WHEN: march 11th

oh, but it hadn't felt real until now, had it? no, it didn't matter the way his heart stuttered in his chest when he first heard mention of that familiar name or the way his eyes stung with tears when he asked ash again through the door to his apartment if he was certain it was him. even once beau had been able to hear voice, even then, his his logical head had kept his hopeful heart from getting too excited ; convinced that somehow, in some way, there'd be a mistake. something would go wrong before beau could lay his eyes on ziggy. he couldn't bare the thought. he doesn't have to bare the the thought. jesus christ almighty, it is him. it's ziggy. a small, strangled sound escapes his throat and it's difficult to tell whether the choked noise is a precursor to a laugh or a sob. maybe both. he doesn't know ; he doesn't even have time to think right now, he's too busy trying to let sensitive eyes adjust to the first real, bona fide ray of hope he's seen since the world was shrouded in such a thick, visceral cloud of misery. ( he doesn't know that he'd ever call them that aloud ― nor that they'd want him to ― but the sentiment is clear in his gaze. )

beau longs to close the distance between them in a few short strides as ziggy stands in his doorway, but he's frozen in place, if only for a moment. in shock. awe. but most of all? relief. it feels as if the breath has been snatched right from his lungs and fresh tears prickle at the corners of bright irises, welling behind his lashes and obscuring his gaze. beside him, there's a soft chirrup as nacho jumps down from his bed, clearly roused by the change in atmosphere and immediately fixated on the sight of his owner. the cat takes the initiative that beau, in his emotional stupor, is greatly lacking and quickly trots across the room. at least someone's got manners.

[lindsohalloran]

who hannah @hannahxinterrupted when mr. wexley's birthday bash where the atrium

❝ can we please? please, uncle lindy? ❞ and oh, but he can never refuse such a polite request like that, can he? it would be a lie to claim that lindsay has been anything other than distant and on edge with nearly everyone but his niece for the past few weeks ― after such a foolishly self-sustained injury, he found it difficult to do anything other than retreat and ( figuratively ) lick his wounds ― but the promise of some excitement and enrichment for maisie has coaxed him out of his shell and into the festivities of the atrium. he follows along behind his niece as she bounds through the decorated space, a rare smile twitching at his own lips at the sight of her unbridled delight, before he slows to a stop in front of what appears to be a make-shift craft station. caricatures?

❝ somebody heard tell tha' ye do portraits over here? ❞ it's posed as a question on his niece's behalf, but even lindsay himself can't deny the sentimentality of such an offering. he possesses but a single photo of the pair of them, a wrinkled old thing preserving a snapshot of the moment he first met her. maisie bounces eagerly ahead of him, already rushing up to the woman sat behind an easel. ❝ were wonderin' if ye had an openin' in yer books, as it were. somebody is an eager model. ❞

[judahfisher]

who sada @sadavang when the rich old fuck's birthday party where wherever sada wants to be honestly

❝ so what you drinkin', huh? ❞ the question is simple, unprompted. hell, he wouldn't blame her for not even noticing he'd approached yet. her eyes are dark and sharp like a hawk's as they explore the restof the room ― dangerous, he thinks with a vague thrill of excitement ― but it would appear he's escaped her radar in favor of other residents this evening. or thus far ― the most he's gotten from or about the woman was an almost foreboding introduction to the concept of her from emily over breakfast one morning. ❛ she's intense, ❜ the tattooist had told him, matter-of-fact, like she didn't expect it to instantly ignite his curiosity like gas to a flame. he's been curious what she means by that since. but judah himself is watchful, careful. his survival instincts are higher than they appear. he knows better than to approach swiftly or blindly, so he waits. until now.

( if it weren't for the heavy buzz he's been nursing, he might've waited longer. but christ if his loose tongue doesn't get even looser once he starts to feelin' good. )

❝ 'cause i know you're sure as shit not drinking whatever blondie's pouring behind that bar. ❞ or maybe it's just his drinks from the man that are coming out weak. it wouldn't surprise him. ( and he'd also be hard-pressed to admit he didn't kind of deserve it, at least to himself, but that doesn't mean he won't gripe about it. ) he lifts a brow as he steps toward her and nods toward her glass. ❝ you look like a top shelf kinda gal. like you got expensive tastes. am i wrong? ❞

[icarus-showmethemoon]

inspired by boop day, reblog this post if its ok for people to send you random asks and interact on your posts with no judgement. i want to talk to people.