#micahweissberg

[saulweissberg]

* 📱 → Mikey

friday, october 25th, 2024 at 7:30 am / @micahweissberg

SAUL: Happy Birthday Micah! SAUL: Do you have any plans with your friends tonight? SAUL: I can take you out for dinner tonight if you'd like. Or maybe breakfast tomorrow if you're busy? My treat.

[saulweissberg-archive]

availability / @micahweissberg setting / frederick's farm, april 13th, late evening before closing.

he thought he saw a ghost. well, not a ghost, since his son wasn’t fucking dead (as far as he knew, at least). perhaps a mirage was a better word. a hallucination. all those words made more sense than micah gideon weissberg actually being there, in providence peak. almost two thousand miles away from new york city where, saul believed, his son was living. it had to be an image his mind conjured up. there was absolutely no way micah was there. though they didn’t communicate as often as they should have, saul doubted there was any universe where his son would come to providence peak and not announce his presence. in the very least, shoot off a quick ‘dad, i’m in town, let’s get dinner’ text. was he really such a piece of shit father that micah would travel all this way and not say anything? why would he ever come to providence peak, anyway?

saul caught a glimpse of a man that looked very much like micah, and at first, tried to ignore the urge to follow after him. he just wanted confirmation that he was going crazy. departing from his friends, saul pushed past the crowd exiting the farm and jogged lightly to catch up to the man that looked suspiciously like his son from the back. it couldn’t be… “micah!” saul called out, cupping his hands around his mouth so the sound would travel over the noisy crowd. he kept pushing through until he was just a few feet away. “micah?” he called again, stretching his hand out to grab the man on the shoulder. “mikey! is that you?”

[delicatedevils]

Hudson's buoyant sneer seems to get stuck in place on his face and delighted humour glimmers behind the blues of his eyes as he waits for Micah to dive into some - presumably, gritty family trauma. Perhaps they can share daddy issues anecdotes with each blunt hit, getting higher and simultaneously lighter. With friends like these, who the fuck needs therapy? Hudson of course knows how pathetic his 'trauma' would sound: boy who was given every chance (and then some) to succeed continuously spits in face of tired parents until they can't take it anymore. Cue violins. But - he can always lie. His favourite pastime.

He doesn't get the opportunity.

"Fuck, you serious?" Hudson questions, visibly disappointed as he grin shrinks. "I really believed you, you dick." A consolation laugh leaves his lips, abashed that he's been tricked so easily. That's meant to be his thing. "Trust me bro, if that was my pops I wouldn't be working this piece of shit event, I'd be drinking cases of champagne on my fuckin' yacht. Plus, I got a way better looking face." He takes a long hit of the joint, reluctant to give it back. His tolerance doesn't allow for him to feel much of anything yet, and he'll be able to stomach the rest of this event better if he's stoned. Eventually though, his arms swoops over to the not-prodigal son, surrendering possession. "Not really, here and there," Hudson replies vaguely with a shrug. "It's an easy job, and people will sometimes buy you shots if they're fuckin' drunk enough. So it's got perks. What do you do?"

@micahweissberg

‎ his eyes dart towards the man currently being described as a comic book villain pre-falling into a vat of toxic waste or getting half of his face burnt off. wouldn't have called it. there isn't a single trace of his father on him as far as anyone's concerned, and maybe it's for the best that evidence of his being made of only half of weissberg stuff can only be produced via lab tests. so what is it any use to him if he can't have fun with it every once in a while? "i'm kidding, jeez. can you imagine being that guy's son?" he feels giddy partway through the act of playing pretend, easily slipping into the role of saul weissberg's biggest critic. "look at him. he's so proud of himself. i heard he's a divorce lawyer, too. what the fuck do you think he knows about kids?" he laughs, taking the roll back as it's passed towards him. "i bet his kid's like, a really stuck up lawyer, too. wouldn't be caught dead with this in his hand." he wiggles the cigarette hybrid between his fingers to demonstrate—the son of a lawyer with this, in fact, in his hand—before taking one more hit. "it's not you, is it?" he narrows his eyes with feigned suspicion at the bartender but he dismisses the notion with a soft chuckle. "so, you been doin' this bartending thing long, or...?"

[thephoebeyates]

💬 micah 🍒

PHOEBE: hey so i know this is like maybe a blunt question or i may seem like a weird little stalker PHOEBE: but i havent seen you in the building in a while PHOEBE: like idk how long your back for etc. but idk i just figured you were back to living with ruairi PHOEBE: so i'm just wondering where you're staying? PHOEBE: ofc you dont have to answer it tho!

@micahweissberg

[rachelxhan]

character: Micah Weissberg @micahweissberg

location: The Weissberg Law Firm's Charity Luncheon

Having grabbed her food, she sat at the table and settling down she was highly surprised when she noticed the person who was at the table with her. "Micah! Hey! I hadn't realized you were back in town!" She exclaimed, unsure of when exactly he came back, but also was unsure if Saul knew that he was back. Rachel figured that he must if Micah was here showing face. "What did you get to eat there? That looks so good, I don't even saw everything that they had to offer because my plate was full before I got through with everything." She gestured to her own plate before she moved to scan his food. She definitely was catching the smell of weed coming from his direction which briefly reminded her of her own weed walk with his father. She felt like food was a safe enough topic, or at least according to her mind it had been a safe enough topic now for her conversation with Thalia.

[rorysanderson]

STATUS: closed event starter for @micahweissberg (& task 004) LOCATION: outside the luncheon at the country club, near some shrubbery

Rory tends to avoid working on Sundays if at all possible, but the club had been insistent this be the day he came in to polish off some of the renovations. The hands he’d hired for help didn’t deserve to work on a Sunday when Rory had already assured them most of the weekends would be theirs, so he’d come in by himself at around five in the morning, working on his own to finish some of the detailing on the new benches. He’s lucky it’s not so hot out anymore — he’s sweating, sure, some down his arms and enough to curl his hair something silly, but it could be worse were the sun out in full force. At least his shirt isn’t drenched — always a plus, in his book. 

He thinks he’s earned himself a break; it’s noon now, and he figures the lunch he’s brought for himself won’t stay good for much longer than the five hours he’s been here. It’s nothing fancy — a turkey club and some crisps — but it’ll do the trick. He takes a seat on one of the benches he’s already wrapped on, opening his paper bag, when he hears some rustling from behind him. Alarmed, he turns to face the sound, finding nothing but the bushes that divide the lobby’s patio and the banquet hall’s patio. Rory’s ready to chalk it up to the wind, when he notices something like smoke wafting out near the shrubbery. 

Thinking he owes it to himself to at least make sure nothing’s on fire, he’s about to stand and make his way over to get a better look when out from the other side emerges a familiar face. One he hasn’t seen in a while, but a surprisingly welcome one, nonetheless. Rory’s brows furrow slightly as Micah, his brain recalls helpfully, crosses the threshold between banquet hall and lobby, and when their gazes meet, he can’t help the small, amused smirk that tugs at his lips. “Hi,” he greets him. “Hiding from someone?”

[hairpintvrns]

hiatus, 09/15 – 09/22.

After being spotted at the Fortinet Championship, held at Napa Valley, CA, on September 15th, DEACON EDWARDS is seen attending the Kroger Queen City Championship at Maineville, OH. Deacon's presence in both L/PGA tours prompts rumors of a comeback in the professional golf scene, but of course, it could just be that he's bored out of his mind. Either can be true for The Maverick. Who can know?

After TERRY LOWENSTEIN's lectures on September 20th, they take a red-eye to NYC and stay there for five days to sort out professional and personal matters. In a rare olive branch, Terry invites Saul to dinner with Ravi, Micah's best friend, to glean any information regarding Micah's absence. On Sep 24th, they observe yahrzeit at their home in White Plains in commemoration of their father's second death anniversary, before making the trip to his grave. / ft. @ micahweissberg, @ saulweissberg

VALENTINE FINCH's lease has run out, prompting them to look for new living arrangements. (Yes, this is a wanted connection!) In the meantime, they've been hanging out at acquaintances' couches and smoking cigarettes #unemploymentchic. On September 19–20, they take the train to Chicago and sneak into the CSO's first performance for the fall season—a concert on forbidden love, from Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet to Bernstein's West Side Story.

previous pinned post ( link to intros ) can be accessed here.

[eclvpses]

for: @micahweissberg location: cardinal hill

After finally locking up the store for the night, Leo checked their watch for the fifth time in the last minute. They were almost regularly running late, but it was particularly bad tonight, on an extra long call just before he needed to close, and they were meant to meet friends. Drinks had been the only thing keeping him going all day - the speed in which they hopped onto their bike and began to take off towards O'Shea's would lead someone to believe he was training for the Tour de France.

Despite going as fast as they were, Leo still couldn't help but notice Micah walking leisurely on the opposite side of the street. It took a few seconds to compute, before they were yanking their bike to a screeching halt. Suddenly, drinks were the last thing on their mind (though it still did occupy some space). "Hey, asshole!" He shouted at Micah, taking off again - just in his direction this time, barely coming to a stop in time a few mere inches in front of the other. A deep set frown took over Leo's features, though the furrow of their brow held confusion as well. "What the hell, what's your fucking problem? Where've you been?" Hesitating, Leo didn't feel like admitting to the embarrassment they'd felt, even for just a moment, when they'd last meant to be meeting up with Micah, leaning in even closer to huff under his breath, "I waited for you like a fucking dumbass at The Pour House for an hour. Where the fuck were you?"

[thephoebeyates]

@micahweissberg

Same Phoebe, same.

FRIENDS 6.01: “The One After Vegas"

[blueharborhq]

Due to a revamp, the following characters will be hosted on separate blogs:

Micah Weissberg — @micahweissberg.

Max Mohan — @mohanmax.

[thephoebeyates]

≈ weissberg law charity luncheon, cantwell country club. with @micahweissberg

Phoebe was aware she was staring at the bulletin board for probably longer than what was considered healthy. However, her eyes were stuck on the formal cursive lettering declaring La Galleria as one of the restaurants providing catering for the event, and the involvement of the restaurant had made her spiral, just a little bit.

This was supposed to be her birthday party, before she forced Saul to change it all around. Was La Galleria involved in the original plans? Had Foster been planning some type of Phoebe-centric menu for her big day? Or was the restaurant’s contribution a last minute thing, doing Saul a favor for her fucking up his plans?

Her stomach churned at the idea of Foster being in the very same building as her — stressed and overworked — and so she had busied herself by staring at the sign rather than the door to the kitchen, lest something possess her and make her go in to bother him. If he was even here. She hoped he would be, and he’d need a reason to come out of the kitchen, and he’d see her and…

…And what? Wasn’t like there were any creeps around for him to sucker punch this week. Phoebe broke from her quasi fantasy to regard the room full of people gathered here for the pretenses of charity, doing a double-take at one particular face. 

“Micah?” She questioned, in disbelief. It’d made sense that he’d come support his dad, but at the same time, for such a last minute event… “Hey, I thought you went back to New York…when did you get back?” Phoebe closed the distance between them, still feeling awkward at the particularities of their relationship to be certain if she should have offered him a hug or not, instead  nodding at him, holding up her glass of champagne someone had placed into her hand not too long ago.

[rorysanderson]

STATUS: closed for @micahweissberg LOCATION: assembly depot (dated: october 25th, 2024)

It’s almost funny, just how many times Rory’s been to this place. Annie finds it less funny — usually sighs exasperatedly when they pull into the parking lot — but today she’s brimming with excitement, small wrapped box held tightly in her hands as she skips her way toward Assembly Depot’s entrance. In their text exchange, Micah had informed Rory this would be the time he’d take his lunch break; he’s pulling out his phone to double-check, maybe shoot him a new text informing him of their arrival, but the opportunity to do either of these things is interrupted by Annie’s excited squeal as they step onto the store’s curb.

It’s clear she spots Micah before Rory does when she shrieks, “Micah!” She runs over to him and wraps one arm around him, carefully holding Micah’s gift under the other one. “Happy birthday!” She’s beaming affectionately at him — he’s a sandwich in tow, which Rory hopes Annie hasn’t somehow squished in her excitement — and Rory can do little else but offer Micah a small, sheepish smile. He ignores the small flush of embarrassment he feels on his face like warmth; if he pays it any more mind, he’s sure it’s only going to get worse.

“Sorry,” he gestures aimlessly around them. “I was going to text you first,” he rubs the back of his neck with an exasperated huff. “This one’s faster than the speed of thought, though.”

Annie is unbothered by the comment — most likely because she doesn’t understand it — and instead holds out the colorfully-wrapped gift in her grasp. “Open it, open it,” she insists excitedly. “I wrapped it myself.”

[hairpintvrns]

(post-event) STARTER FOR: @micahweissberg LOCATION: terry's residence / forest lake

The luncheon was over, and Terry had begun walking back home. The slightly westward light of the afternoon sun cleaved a long shadow across the cabin, impressing a haunting quality on the rough-hewn logs, the chinking between the wood almost producing a sort of shimmer, silver veins threading through the weathered facade. 

And on the porch, their son sat, waiting.

Terry walked toward the cabin. He didn’t look up, even as the pebbles scattered across the entryway crackled under her feet.

In the last weeks of his life, their father had told them how much he had pushed the world away—how he’d pressed against whatever half-memories lingered in their 80-year-old mind—for underneath, dark things stirred. Instead, he’d elected to remember the small things, bereft of the details that complicated the memory. The walnut butcher block in the kitchen. An eagle in Southeast Alaska they had seen together, flying overhead, flapping its great wings to keep airborne. The glitter of olive leaves against the summer sky. The thin stray dog who had wandered onto their porch, sighing contentedly at his feet as though he had always belonged there. And, of course, there was the birdsong. 

They’d spent those last months trying to understand their father, that attempt to find meaning in fragments. But as they spotted Micah, and immediately felt crushed by the vision of him, they understood why it was easier to look at the disparate pieces of memory, rather than to confront the solid whole of what he had forgotten. 

But they couldn’t think of anything as their father had. In their head, there was only the world’s vastness—all they saw now was light and shadow and space. The sky has become a ceiling, and the trees have closed in like walls, and the sun, its round disc hanging just above the forest canopy, no longer feels uplifting but oppressive. To walk is to feel the crushing weight of gravity pulling them down, the stones gnawing at the pit of their stomach. 

It had been easier to ignore him amid the noise of the luncheon, to let the image of him fade into the backdrop, burned against the brick and walls and stone. But there is a high tariff to masking. It encourages one to stop seeing. They see him now with a fresh pair of eyes and they can’t stop. The cabin stands ahead like a piece of wood, and everything—their son, their life, and their misery—feels so unbearably small. 

“You’re here,” Terry began, words barely a whisper, but they can’t look at him. They glanced downward at their feet, eyes tracing the pebbles on the earth, the gaps between the earthen surface folding into a pattern of convex and concave lines. “Why are you here?”

[delicatedevils]

"Pussy," Hudson responds dryly, an amused smile betraying the bored cadence in his voice. It's somehow the most fun he's had all day - daring some random guy in the smoker's area to throw food at the most expensive looking suit in the venue. He supposed this was what his life was condemned to be now, finding humour in the smallest of mundanities. How the mighty fell.

Opening his mouth to parry something else, Hudson's thought train is immediately interrupted by this new revelation. "Wait wait wait. That guy over there shaking hands and kissing babies is your Dad? That's fuckin' rough my guy. Wouldn't have called it." He snickers, watching the man of the hour in the distance, another piece of Blue Harbor's beige puzzle fitting together. At the other's offer, the blonde's eyes light up just a fraction and he nods, holding his hand out to accept the joint. This was more like it. He takes a puff before passing it back. "So what's the damage there if your pops is talk of the town and you're out here getting high with the help?" @micahweissberg

closed starter for hudson frost @delicatedevils. smoking area @ the cantwell country club, the weissberg law firm charity luncheon.

"dude, i'm not actually gonna do it, what the fuck." smoke comes out of micah's nostrils as they flare through the laughter at the proposition the bartender—henry, was it? holden?—makes, daring him to start a food fight upon the joke he'd made. but that's all it really is, much like everything else in his life: a joke. even the stories he tells on his gigs are half-fabricated in some way. "maybe if it weren't, like, a charity event. maybe. i don't wanna come off as homophobic, shit." he shakes his head, taking another drag from his spliff. "and maybe if my dad wasn't the one who organized it." he huffs. "d'you wanna hit?"