angel of small death

i'm not a good person. ask anyone who loves me. i never write, i never call. i never think about anyone at all.

[ccsinclairs]

lovewrought.

* STARTER FOR @ccsinclairs !

there’s one thing anyone who plans on having a wedding should know : it’s never going to be perfect. shit is absolutely going to happen without exception. this is what he tells each and every couple he works with. still … beau certainly tries. and tonight ? well , tonight has been perfect so far. the ceremony , the cocktail hour , and the start of the reception had followed one another without a hitch. dinner’s been served , there are a few folks on the dance floor , and beau has his folder held to his chest with one hand and a bourbon sweet tea in the other feeling as though he’s done a job well done. 

then beau spots him. it’s that guy ( in any other circumstance beau would feel bad for not knowing the name of someone he’s bumped into so many times ). the wedding crasher. heaving a sigh before taking a long sip of his drink , beau sets his folder down onto his seat , before making his way over. 

❛ please tell me you’re here by invitation. ❜ at this point he’s past trying to mask the exasperation in his voice. ❛ if you can at least tell me the names of the bride and groom , and promise me you’re not going to make … a scene – - i’ll leave you alone. ❜

his feet are kicked up on a table like he owns the place. for how familiar cc is with the hotel ballroom commonly rented out as a reception hall, he might as well have some stake in its deed, by this point. aside from his luxurious recline, he actually does a decent job of blending in ( or, at least, he presumes so since he’s yet to get kicked out of a wedding ). he’s all dressed up, his expression looks amiable enough, and he’s just as grateful as the actual attendees for the open bar. by all appearances, cc was an ideal wedding guest.

only... he hasn’t the foggiest idea who he’s supposed to be supporting on their road into wedded bliss. and he’s really only there to down some free alcohol, get with the nearest envious bridesmaid or groomsman and maybe even make a pass at the happy couple themselves. it’s all a bit of a game to the ageless cynic and the wedding guests are nothing more than his playthings. that thought draws his mouth up into a catlike grin, eyes glinting with something slightly more sinister as he scans the room. he very nearly made a full sweeping gaze before his eyes fall upon the poor sap of a wedding planner he’s had the misfortune of brushing shoulders with a few times. 

“ is it not you who is making a scene? ” cc challenges with a careful arch of his manicured brow. “ i was perfectly happy and enjoying myself up until you arrived -- wasn’t hurting anyone, honest! ” he holds his hand up in mock defense. in reality, he’s deliberately stalling answering the question. did he see the name dubrow on an placecard? dubois? dudley? why did wedding decorations always choose the most flowery illegible script? “ dupont. ” cc chances, knowing he’s likely wrong. “ or, at least, that’s how it’d be pronounced back in england. ” it’s an excuse and a lie all in one. he’s really on his game tonight.

[ccsinclairs]

guess who is finally free and taking herself off hiatus -- this girl!! i’m going to do a few replies i owe but if you’d like a closed starter / a thread, LIKE THIS POST! 

[ccsinclairs]

loucharles.

they’ve gotten out a little later than the rest of their company, which means they didn’t make it out in time to grab anyone and force them to eat with him ——— currently, they’re failing at not looking pouty about it. they’d been too impatient to go home, just going to the nearest place to his rehearsal space and ordered. a good decision, yes, but he was still determined that he wasn’t going to eat alone. it’s with food in hand that he spots someone with an open seat and gives them a small wave coupled with a warm smile their way. “ can i sit with you? ” a lame joke came to mind and their fatigued mind didn’t think to filter it. “ i chew with my mouth closed, so it won’t be too horrible. ”

he’s mid-bite, pausing with the burger halfway between his tray and his opened mouth. one eyebrow arches at them in surprise but then quickly knits together with the other in a confused frown. “ i don’t care how you chew, ” he states bluntly, but carefully, placing the burger back upon the wrapping with a scrutinizing gaze. cc presumes a stranger who would willingly dine with someone at this hour needs to be handled with a degree of caution. “ is there a reason you’ve chosen me as your target? a meal full of feigned small talk sounds like the definition of horrible. ”

[ccsinclairs]

why am i so nervous? maybe because i’ve read all your apps and i’ve SEEN how cute you lot are. like cutest members award goes to??? all of you???? anyways, the important bit is that my name is NAT aka admin nat aka the lisa manoban mascot on the good ol’ ageless main. i’m playing this actual!monster charles (but he goes by cc p much exclusively, okay? okay. please don’t call him charles and if you call him chuck you may be in danger) but unlike him, i actually want to be friends with you all so please do not be offput by how terrible he is. i’m working on a connections page for him because they help me... plot (i’m the #worst otherwise) but if we have an established connection, definitely definitely hmu. i’m so excited that this rp is finally up and re-running so if you’d like to plot with me and or cc, LIKE THIS POST! i’ll probably message all y’all anyways.

for reference, he’s got a bio HERE and a stats page HERE if you haven’t read up on him.

TRIGGER WARNINGS for death, murder, suicide, mental illness and war mentioned in those linked pages so tread carefully!

and that’s it! enjoy this gif of actual baby cupcake harry because it’s the last you’ll get to see of a cute harry. 

[fvshiontactics]

[yesterdaysprint]

Feather River Bulletin, Quincy, California, March 20, 1924

[death-by-elocution]

[girlcrushau]

[spaacemusings]

                                             I never healed                                                       I just learnt to carry the burden

[catarinehancock]

from ‘the boys i’ve loved and the end of the world’ by catarine hancock, available on amazon now.

[loriisms-deactivated20200617]

“sometimes it feels better not to talk. at all. about anything. to anyone.”

— (via 3amsouls)

[thestylesgifs]

[lovecitysarchive-deactivated202]

(x)

[l-vitsa]

[ccsinclairs]

cynthia.

The shadow of a long night laid as far across the town as it did Cynthia’s face. Her fingers clicked against her handlebars, cruising as slowly as she dared near the edge of the road. A sweater stuck to her back as she seemed to produce static electricity all by herself at an alarming rate. Cars whizzed past, threatening to flatten the woman that appreciated the coma the fog delved the town into. In a few moments, her feet had slapped against the ground as violently as her bike had flew through the streets. “ I hope there’s another storm coming. ” She’d mumbled much louder than she intended, fumbling with the bike lock she’d produced from her bag. “ It’d give me an excuse to not go out tonight . . or I guess I could just say my guinea pig’s sick. ”

"y’talking to me?” cc calls from where he’s haunting the shadows of a nearby building. he vaguely recognizes the approaching figure from the bonfire and that brings an expression similar to a smile to his lips (similar in that it doesn’t quite contain all of the necessary emotions to call it one for certain). “we should try meeting when it’s actually light out, you know,” he hums casually, lifting a shoulder in a shrug without removing his hands from the pocket of his tailored jacket. “why is it you don’t want to go out? meeting up with someone you're friends with for show? scared you’ll run into an ex? trying to avoid an awkward tinder date?” his barrage of questions could be mistaken for interest, by some. curiosity, maybe. cc prefers to think of it as performative. he can feign small talk like a champ by this point. “what’s your story, stargirl?” the nickname comes naturally, calling back to the silver-clad bonfire they had both attended. he spares a thought for the sand he’s still finding in his saint laurents.

[ccsinclairs]

dorian.

“Wouldn’t count on it,” Dorian deadpans, though tequila tends to fuck him up in all the worst (or best, depending on perspective) ways, and that is precisely what he had ordered for himself and his companion. He’s done stranger things than sitting on a person’s lap when thoroughly plastered. Shooting the bartender a quick polite smile, he realizes pretty quickly that he either has to give up his cigarette or his arm around the back of the other man’s chair if he wants to drink - he opts to snuff out the cigarette in a nearby ashtray, resisting the urge to pout about it. “Wasn’t particularly interested in a name, no. Still not. Just thought I ought to have some way to refer to you. And a more concise contact name than ‘Annoying Prick With The Cute Accent’ for when I get your number later.” He takes a sip of his drink, sidling in just an inch closer. “Initials, though? How mysterious,” he comments in amusement, though he really doesn’t care whether he knows his full name or not. Something to call him is more than enough. “I don’t think you have to worry too much about me moaning anything for you, but sure.” And that much is true; he likes to make himself a challenge because he finds that makes people work harder in bed. “No, not particularly, but I guess I can accommodate if you’re into that sort of thing.” CC isn’t leaving anything to the imagination about his intentions, so why should Dorian? It’s rather refreshing, actually. “And you can call me Dorian, or whatever else you want, within reason.” 

cc’s shrug is dismissive but the smug expression on his features tells a different story. he’s confident that he can redirect the intentions of others -- after all, there’s got to be some reason why this stranger is even entertaining this conversation after their last had gone so questionably. clearly, some factor of attraction is at play and cc intends to fully explore it before the night’s through (among other things he’d like to explore). he doesn’t miss the micro-decision made in his favor and, as casually as can be, he leans in his barstool so that the center of his back brushes against the hand that has been distinctively placed there. he gives a low hum, tongue pressing to the inside corner of his lips as he tamps down a roguish smirk. annoying prick is among the nicer things he’s been called of late but he still focuses on the latter, eyes glittering impishly under the dim bar lights. “so y’think my accent’s cute, hm?” he trills, deliberately allowing the words to flow with more of his native dialect. reaching for his own drink, his gaze never once leaves the other’s visage. cc knows how to play this game and a new contender is always thrilling in it’s own right. he likes to see how much of a challenge he’s up against, though years of practice have never done him wrong. the charming, crooked smile remains splashed upon his lips and one of his own arms drapes over the back of the stool, fingertips finding skin before dancing up the other’s bicep with a practiced effortlessness. “oh, i’m not worried about what you’ll be moaning, believe me.” he says it with a tone that implies its inevitability. “anything will do.” and then as soon as he’d initiated, his hand isn’t touching the other, giving a flippant sort of shrug-like gesture before returning to curl around his glass. “you guess you can accommodate. try not to sound too excited there!” there’s half a chuckle before he’s downing another swig. even tequila tastes better when it’s free, evidently. “dorian,” he tries the other’s name on his tongue with a momentarily contemplative expression. he likes it. “how very oscar wilde of you. or rather, of your parents, i suppose.” it’s not very sexy to be discussing one’s home life so that topic doesn’t catch. “do you hit on annoying pricks at the bar often then, dorian? or am i just special?”

[blueflesh-blog]

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[ccsinclairs]

BLOOD -- My Chemical Romance