#saul: thread

[siinsationals]

@dreamgrlevl

A helpless little whine escaped her when he didn’t show her the mercy of letting her stop just yet. Maxine’s thighs did burn, and she could feel them tensing with every bounce of her hips as she kept fucking herself on the toy. The mere fact that she could feel herself getting so close to cumming under these circumstances was embarrassing enough for the blonde, but when she realized what he was doing as he adjusted his posture in his chair the girl couldn’t tear her eyes away even as her face burned with shame. Before she knew it the smallest of whimpers slipped past her lips, her teary eyes watching as he stroked himself. His words made her drop her gaze, shaking her head in denial because she swore she was a good girl this wasn’t what she normally did. “I—” Maxine’s words caught in her throat, a shameful moan making it’s way out of her instead despite her efforts to keep it quiet. “I’m not a…that.” She insisted, regaining her ability to speak once more, though she couldn’t even bring herself to speak such a vulgar word.

"Are you sure about that?" Saul asked with a laugh, not deaf to the way that she kept whimpering and moaning from having her hole stretched around the toy, working her hips in a way that reminded him of an eager little bunny rabbit. When she finally left his office, whenever that might be, would her friends notice her walking strangle and know she'd been behaving like a whore, no matter what she said about being a good girl? Saul hoped so, but first he needed to make sure Maxine understood just how dirty she was. "Just listen to you, moaning like a cheap whore from wrecking your own hole. You're going to look so used by the time we're done… maybe I should cum on your face just to help complete the look." Thumbing across the head of his cock and spreading the precum that gathered there, Saul had an image of leaning forward and slipping his thumb inside Maxine's mouth instead and seeing if her eyes rolled while she started to suck at him or not.

[edwardsthalia]

A very distant part of her wondered how far this would go before he snapped too. Unsurprisingly, it was Micah's mention. There were some lines she didn't want to cross, even while a few tears broke the barrier and slid down her cheeks. "My mother is dying Saul! Every single day I visit it is like another inch of her has been stripped away. She recognizes Deacon but I am slowly returning to the stranger that I knew I always was in my own family." Age old insecurities popping up would throw anyone off their game, but couple that with the lack of sleep and already existing mental instability and Thalia was fucked. "I am back in this small fucking town that I have always desperately wanted to leave. Listless because if I leave, then I abandon my brother and our family." Thalia wiped the tears that had spilled, knowing it was futile, just like this argument.

"I have been trying to make myself feel better. I cannot tell you how often I have wished to not wake up. Do you know how horrible that is? To go through life feeling like a ghost? I thought asking you for help would demonstrate that I still cared, that I still wanted this connection. That was a mistake." There was too much history, too much unsaid. She still harbored too much hurt and admittedly hadn't processed it. None of it. As soon as her scars were barely healed, she pushed out of Blue Harbor and into a coding world that didn't leave any space for her to think. Saul was right, it wasn't his problem. He was someone she needed to leave behind or they would both be hurt further. No more lingering feelings, no more regret.

"When." She corrected coldly. "You should ask him about his other ghosts and see how much damage you have done already." She may have pushed first but she could also leave first. "Enjoy the event. I left a check with your assistant." After a deep breath, Thalia returned inside. She picked up her jacket and bag then left without a word to anyone.

saul had forgotten. the only time thalia showed any emotion was when she was angry. suddenly she was animated, reminiscent of the woman she had been at the end of their marriage. he was always wrong, she was always lonely, their relationship was a carcass that had no meat left on it and they probably held onto each other too long. he shrugged, rolling his lips together painfully when she admonished him for acting so high school. excuse the fuck out of him for trying to be delicate with her feelings. it had been a bit of a surprise that leon said he couldn’t guarantee exclusivity to thalia, though. they hadn’t discussed it either, and with saul regularly hooking up with dilara, he couldn’t promise the same to either of them. not yet, anyway. the relationship he had with leon was tentative—being with another man was uncharted territory for the bar owner—and that was the whole reason he could back off if she requested. it was still so fresh, so new. thalia’s love for leon, apparently, ran all the way back to high school. comparatively, saul and leon were strangers.

but then she kept going on. his body heat rose with every word she spat, heart beginning to beat in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a child. saul could control himself, that was the whole point. he was a lawyer that argued with someone nearly every single day, so he knew when not to get upset, to not let the opposition get to him. he could let it go, had half a mind to just walk away, but then thalia said micah’s name. nothing else mattered but that name—she could speak about his mistreatment of her, of terry, but micah? saul gritted his teeth, a finger rising to point at her chest. “don’t you ever speak to me about my son again.” he was a failure of a father, he knew that, the whole last month had proved that once again, but it was his burden to carry. thalia had given up the right to use his child against him when she signed the divorce papers.

“you know why i walk on eggshells around you? because you look at me as if you’re just one bad day away from running into traffic. why don’t you start acting as if our divorce wasn’t your most damaging event? you’re the one that talks about how listless you are, so don’t put that shit on me, thalia.” saul finally inhaled, chest rising until it hurt. “so, you know what, you’re right! this isn’t high school, and who i fuck is my business. if i hurt leon, it’ll be my problem and have fuck all to do with you.”

[pagan-stitches]

Sun Goddess tapestry to date

[hairpintvrns]

STARTER FOR: @saulweissberg LOCATION: weissberg law firm / cardinal hill

It had been a hardship to find Micah’s desk, precisely because there were no markers that had indicated it was his at all. It was the kind of clean that was—for a lack of a better term—unpretentious. They had expected to see stacks upon stacks of documents casually strewn about his desk as he would’ve left his room as a child. Finding order amongst Micah’s disorder was a skill of its own, and one that they had learned to parse through and translate over the decades. 

But this? This brand of cleanliness felt strange. Another to add in the repository of things about Micah that they would not completely understand.

Behind Micah’s desk laid a printer. Terry picked up the lone sheet of paper sitting on the output tray, hoping that it would carry some context clues about where he had gone. Predictably, it held none of the information she was looking for. In the middle of stubborn green printer streaks, Terry instead recognized the paper as nothing more than a smudged affidavit of divorce, the signatories of the plaintiff and defendant unfortunately smudged and rendered void by way of shitty ink cartridges, courtesy of Big Printer. 

A shadow cast against the room disrupted their line of thought. Turning on their heel, Terry was ready to greet Micah when they’d come face-to-face, instead, with another Weissberg. “Ah, you,” they began by way of greeting, putting down the file on Micah’s desk. “You need to get this printer sorted out, by the way. I think it’s run out of cartridge.” 

Some decades ago, this display would have been inverted. Always, he’d be immersed in his own little world, and she would break him out of his stasis. Old habits die hard; a marriage dies even longer. Here was the soft, bittersweet exhale, the vestiges of their life once shared: a divorce document, a son’s empty desk, a broken promise. “You haven't been making him do coffee runs for the office, now?” Be careful that you're not pushing him too hard, they wanted to say, but balked against the weight of the thought, the fact that Micah was, for the first time, spending more time with him than with her.  “Or has he already left?”

[rachelhargrovearchived]

character: Saul Weissberg @saulweissberg

location: Charity Baseball Game; Spring Extravaganza

"You know, I'm pretty sure this is the first time I'm seeing your legs." Rachel commented as se looked over at Saul on the bleachers. Was it a bizarre comment to be making towards her friend? Perhaps. But considering his regular attire, it was now seemingly alarming to her that she was seeing his legs now just for the first time and perhaps even her first time seeing him in this casual of clothes. "Thanks for coming with me by the way! I know that I know some people who are playing, do you know any of them though? I figured you might."

[micahweissberg]

closed starter for @saulweissberg, parking lot @ cantwell country club, weissberg law firm charity luncheon.

it's a strange feeling, waiting for his father to come out from the banquet hall's entrance as if he were an absent parent waiting for his child at the end of a school day to take them out for ice cream. he tries to recall if his father had ever done that for him. surely, he had, he must have. but he's probably still a little stoned and he doesn't trust his memory most of the time as it is, having to make up a lot of it in his head that he no longer remembers which ones are real and which ones are fake.

he's smoking a cigarette—a real one this time, not the kind he'd passed between himself and the bartender earlier with little discretion—sitting on a parking block next to his father's lexus, parked among a sparse section of glossy coupes and imposing luxury vehicles. and then, just behind him, loud goodbyes are exchanged, embellished with phony laughter at a joke that probably wasn't even that funny. micah looks over his shoulder at the two men shaking hands. the one in the light brown suit makes towards his direction and micah straightens himself, pushes himself off of the block of cement still with the lit cigarette in his hand as he prepares to face his father. from this distance, saul weissberg looks much older than he is, shoulders thinner, hair grayer. micah couldn't remember much of his father as a younger man. suddenly, he is filled with a deep melancholy at the thought any one of these could be the last time he sees his parents.

[ftgrace]

CLOSED STARTER for @saulweissberg !! WHERE: cardinal hill, the sidewalk outside of the weissberg law firm

Grace had just finished a brief shopping trip at one of Blue Harbor’s nicest boutique, picking a few luxury items she couldn’t resist. As she stepped out onto the street, balancing her shopping bangs in one hand, her phone on the other as she reviewed the next item on her schedule. That was all it took – a split second of distraction. Her designer heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk, and before she could react, there was a snap. Grace stumbled forward, the broken heel sending her lurching into the path of an unsuspecting passerby. 

“Oh!” she gasped, colliding softly with the man walking by. Her hand instinctively grabbed onto his arm to steady herself, her cheeks flushing as she tried to regain her  composure. “I’m so sorry!” Grace blurted out, thoroughly embarrassed but still clutching his sleeve for balance. She looked down at the offending heel, now dangling uselessly from her shoe. “I didn’t see where I was stepping and now…” she trailed off with a huff.

[lydiarquayle]

[bluedprints]

@legioun 𖦹

she thinks it's too dark to see his face. his tea is still too hot to drink.

"it's quiet out here."

[seefasters]

revisiting my og bcs tweets is always great. this is a man descending into madness

[myplasticadversary]

Alright, forget Hell Family Mashup and TwinBreakSuccSeverBot, this is my final offer: SuperSharpSaulCessionTerview!

Logan + John + Lestat + Adora

Kendall + Chuck + Louis + Camille

Roman + Dean + Jimmy + Amma

Shiv + Sam + Kim + Claudia

[siinsationals]

For being a bright girl, Maxine had done a very stupid thing. Maybe it was a credit to her (or to her parents) that she was so bad at breaking the rules that Saul had managed to catch her, but he was glad that he'd managed to catch her. Not because of any moral reason like integrity or ensuring the honest education of students, but because it led to situations like this, Maxine topless and bouncing her ass on a dildo just for his entertainment. "I don't think those eyes of yours look glazed over enough. Bounce faster." @dreamgrlevl

[edwardsthalia]

True to form, Saul proved correct. Alcohol did make the event more enjoyable. Once or twice, Thalia even made jokes around other people. She only tripped once but quickly caught herself using his arm. It was very impressive. The downside was that the more drinks she finished, the harder it was to not slip back into habits of the past. They were absolutely divorced with no feelings other than platonic friendship (right?) but this was like no time had passed. They were dressed up, passing through groups of people while absorbed in their own world. Thalia was once again reminded of how sure she was that he would be a good politician. She once heard that a Weissberg uncle went to school with a Kennedy. From the historical recounts of JFK, Thalia believed that Saul could fit that bill easily.

Dinner was unremarkable only by account of how uninteresting their non shellfish meal was. It was as though as soon as someone requested something vaguely out of the norm, chef's lost their minds. The drinks continued to be poured and Thalia felt lighter than she had in ages. The worries about her adopted mom were mercifully distant and she felt properly alive again. Perhaps that was why she made the bold move to stand when other couples began to dance on the now-illuminated stage. Thalia looked at Saul and extended her hand. Her anxieties were buried, all that mattered was enjoying their night. She didn't speak. The words felt unnecessary. He could read the quirk in her brow or anything else she needed to express as proved by the past few hours.

saul was certainly a professional. it had been the world he was born into, after all. he was well attuned to the politesse of high society; he knew exactly which fork he was to use during which course and to take only one pat of butter for his bread (lest he looked greedy). edna and gideon trained their children well, even when the weissbergs of the world weren’t readily accepted into certain high society functions. they were contemporaries of the crowninshields, lowells, and sedgwicks; his uncle morris bragged about attending harvard at the same time as jack kennedy, feeling somehow special that he was admitted during a time when there was a jewish student quota. his parents taught him to not hide their family’s wealth: no one liked a rich kid playing at poor, and the weissbergs had to be proud of their name when they collectively worked diligently to make it so prominent. part of that prominence meant tedious country club luncheons and overly long charity galas. in a way, to saul, it was an honor. every invitation to a high society event was evidence that his family had made it.

“how are you supposed to know they’re worth it if you don’t give them a chance?” saul countered, brows raising pointedly. perhaps it was a miracle in itself saul had been able to get past her cool exterior many years ago. the poise and elegance she held was really just a smoke screen, he quickly found out. for a yogini that was often described as a gazelle, she bumped into nearly everything and her small, coy smiles were born out of social anxiety, not a conscious effort of mystique. she always looked bored of everything and everyone, and she often was, but for different reasons than assumed. later, saul learned why there was a smoke screen, why she protected herself so fiercely. her childhood had been split up into two by a horrific event that he couldn’t fathom fully, but understood partly with his own grief for his father. death—though, granted, her experience was more abundant and horrible—cleaved lives in halves. he understood the need for her smoke screen, and in a way, he had one as well. he had a part to play, but saul had enjoyed playing that part. he enjoyed being a high society elite, like the people around them that thalia apparently didn’t find worthy. maybe that should’ve been an honor, too, that thalia had, at least at one time, considered him worthy.

he pulled out her chair—again, the politesse!—before he sat on his own. “well, birdie, no one’s going to just come up to you and ask your thoughts on the hierarchy of the sciences or floriography. not a venue like this, at least.” deep philosophical conversations happened in dive bars, the country club types cared too much about their image until they got really drunk, then it was hard to get them to shut up. “you’ve got to meet them at their level, get a few drinks in them, then you can talk about more than just fashion and mommy groups and sorority reunions.” he pressed his lips together and canted his head. the concept of a game or challenge was interesting, but saul was a career lawyer: he knew never to agree to anything without first hearing the terms. “i suppose that depends on what you have in mind.”

[pagan-stitches]

WIP — sun goddess tapestry utilizing patterns adapted from 19th century Russian embroideries

[hairpintvrns]

EVENT STARTER FOR: @saulweissberg LOCATION: outside the hall / weissberg charity luncheon

They’d forgotten how difficult it was to take the spotlight off Saul the moment he’d bathed himself in it. As with liquid matter, light will always take up the space of its container—and in this event hall, in this cavernous space that was today divorced from its original purpose and repurposed for a luncheon, there was an abundance of it. Plenty of space, then, for Saul’s brand of charm to take hold. 

When they spotted him, he’d been chatting up another donor. Always with a fucking donor. They glanced downward at their watch, the movement of 28,800 beats per hour dissolving into a smooth secondhand. Three minutes, now. Five. Ten. The man Saul had been chatting with looked every bit like the caricature they had come to expect in these gatherings, and who could be construed as attractive: blonde hair styled, just so; a bespoke suit that ought to be the color of wine but just appeared ruddy against the light; and the clincher, an utterly ridiculous solid-gold Rolex Deepsea gleaming obnoxiously on his wrist. The most expensive, useless desk diver Terry had ever seen. 

They couldn’t wait anymore. Not when Micah had likely also stepped out again, and then where would they be? Back to square one? 

Striding forward, they resolved to join the pair. It was the donor who’d caught their eye first, his grin growing further, all muscles and obnoxiously perfect teeth. “Ah, you must be the missus—” 

“—I’m sorry, but are you joining Sylvia Earle in the Atlantic Ocean?” They gestured toward his watch, delivering the barb coldly and with precision. The sharp edge of a knife. Grabbing ahold of Saul by his sleeve, they urged him toward a quieter corner of the hall without waiting for a response—but just before they turned, they threw another parting shot at the ugly watch. “Take that off. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

Terry only managed to catch his stunned blink before turning their attention fully on finding someplace quieter. Ultimately, they’d settled under an exposed brick archway that was trying too hard to evoke some rustic charm, with the overly brown floors, and even more exposed brickwork along its walls. Too noisy. Too ridiculous. 

“I could’ve been nicer,” they conceded, though the luncheon had been successful, hadn’t it? “He did appear to have more money than sense. A minute more and you might’ve squeezed another thousand out of him.” It had been a parade of happy, suggestible donors cruising along like Lego people in tiny toy cars rolling along invisible tracks—the affairs, the alcoholism, and the ennui that festered behind pretty country club facades could come later.

And now was later.

They leaned back against the exposed brick, fighting the itch to wedge a cigarette between their fingers. They don’t meet his eyes, instead diverting their attention on the brickwork behind him, on the clean lines of the joints between the variegated brick, resembling the chinking that had surrounded the exterior of their log cabin. Whatever troubles had happened between them over the past few weeks, this, at least, had been an unexpected merit: their mask peeled away, no longer fighting the impulse to draw their attention elsewhere, or forcing themselves to muster the additional energy needed to hold his gaze. “So, have you spoken to him?” 

[youllalwaysbemyporcelain]

@scarletrvd​

Bloo was sitting outside when they noticed the man. They had been scrolling through their phone but it had stopped being entertaining a while ago. He looks over at him. “Hey you! This is boring. Do something fun!”