FRAGRANT SKIN

"Everyone deserves to be naked and flying..." DORIAN OSCAR WINSLOW. 22. I AM A CAR. if you like piña colada's and getting caught in the rain, find me pouring them every weekend at the club!

[dcrianwins-blog]

amanda;

Amanda is deep into the blueprints in front of her when Dorian says hi, and for a second there she doesn’t even realize someone’s behind them. It’s only when he says the word nerd, with his characteristic tone, that she turns to him and rolls her eyes playfully. What he’s doing there, she has no idea, but knowing Dorian she just expects nothing is going to be set on fire inside the library, or that he’s not giving shots to the volunteers. 

“You know me, always worried about having a future. Don’t get me wrong, I was going to quit and try for strip dancing, but turns out I’m not that talented at the dancing part.” Amanda utters a laugh. “What about you? Please don’t tell me you’re planning to join the library pervert creeps. Your moustache is not nearly as gross for that.”

Dorian blows a passive-aggressive raspberry, dramatically rolling his eyes at her insistence of working towards a career. “What’s the point about wasting time on the future, the government is just going to allow the lizard people to take over in a number of years. You should be investing your time in living in the moment... Or learning to speak gecko.” Patting her shoulder gently, chuckling along with her, before snorting to her comment. “What do you mean ‘not gross enough’? How could I possibly make it grosser?! Should I start waxing the ends or something? And no, I was just downloading episodes of cooking shows to get stoned to later. On my way out to pick up some food. Wanna come with? I have my car with me if you wanna be dropped off or anything, love.”

[dcrianwins-blog]

tristan;

A free afternoon was always something to enjoy and make the most of, considering how rarely it happened. No work, no class, no plans for the whole evening so Tristan had decided to pick Iron Bull from his apartment and head to the park with his guitar and some snacks. Whatever got him out of those four walls was good enough. The sun outside was warm against his skin, almost too warm, but the six months old pitbull puppy didn’t seem to mind too much. As soon as Tristan had sat down on the bench, Bull was off like a bullet to play with the other dogs. At least he had learned not to cross the street on his own, which gave Tristan some level of comfort. 

Noticing a shadow by his right, Tristan turned only to find Dorian looking like he had just woken up from a crazy night of partying and like he belonged to one of those magazines showing the lives of the rich and the famous at the same time. It was an extravagant look, but Tristan couldn’t deny he liked it. “Dorian,” he greeted him with a dimpled smile and eyes narrowed in curiosity. “I didn’t expect to find you here. You don’t exactly seem like the type that would hang around a park. What brings you here?”

Dorian settles against the bench, sprawling out and pushing his sunglasses up into his elegantly disheveled hair, forcing the many loose locks back. Fuck, he loves dimples. There’s something about the inherent innocence they imply that triggers the devil inside him. This overwhelming need to corrupt that sets a in his chest, because despite how many ‘season vets’ feel, Dorian on he other hand loves breaking in someone ‘vanilla’ or ‘inexperienced’. He’s done it a hundred times over, he knows the play and he’s pretty sure he’s got a good read of Tristan’s whole ‘boy next door’ archetype. Now all that’s left is the main event.  And Dorian loves hunting for sport. It’s harmless, after all.

“Oh? Why don’t I? I don’t seem like the type to aimlessly wander through spaces? Especially those with beautiful plants and tress?” He purses his lips in mocked thoughtfulness. “I’ll have to fire my PR agent. My image is slipping.” He jokes dryly, rolling his shoulders back and gesturing towards Tristan. “Then it must have been your magnetic energy subconsciously attracted me. Of all the places I could’ve went to read and I ended up here. How strange.” It’s not strange at fucking all, he’s here at least four times a week. But go off. “How about you? Shouldn’t you be - I’unno, charming the masses or practicing your bartending techniques?

[dcrianwins-blog]

@thezacharybailey

ZAC: fck

ZAC: who u gonna p on

DORIAN: however i wanna

DORIAN: *whoever

[dcrianwins-blog]

@thezacharybailey

ZAC: wtf

ZAC: wtf who did u p on??

DORIAN: lol chill nobody

DORIAN:

DORIAN:

DORIAN: yet.

[dcrianwins-blog]

@thezacharybailey

ZAC: wtf

ZAC: sounds like ur into it man

DORIAN: bruv if the chicks hot enough

DORIAN: i could probably p on her iajs

[dcrianwins-blog]

LOCATION: mount well recreational park DATE: june 12th STATUS: closed for @rhiannonhebert​ PROMPT: “↺ dorian and rhiannon both forgot where they parked the car; both blame the other. “

After a wonderful performance of Rosencrantz and Gildenstern Are Dead in the park, that ended about 45 minutes ago, Dorian’s post-show high has vanished  due to Rhiannon’s insufferable bitching.

“Holy fuck, Rhiannon. I get it, your feet hurt. Maybe if you spent less time fucking whining and more time looking for the fucking car. We’d be driving home by now.

[bob-belcher]

im lucille

[findingwordsforthoughts]

i pour alcohol into the gaping hole inside my chest. it does not heal not today. maybe tomorrow.

marina v., is hope still hope if it burns your throat? (via findingwordsforthoughts)

[gilmoresgifs]

[nicolevernier]

@dcrianwins

[dcrianwins-blog]

TATTOOS;

1. 3 years old, left shoulder blade. 2. 1 year old, left side of ribcage 3. 4 years old, right forearm 4. 3 years old, upper right thigh 5. 5 months old, collar bone 6. 1 year old, right shin 7. 2 months old, right bicep 8. 8 months old, bottom of right shoulder blade 9. 5 years old, left forearm

[dcrianwins-blog]

LOCATION: mount wells recreational park DATE: june 13th TIME: 4:30 pm STATUS: closed for @tristaneisolde

It’s 4 in the afternoon, so naturally Dorian woke up about two hours ago, and seeing as he doesn’t have to start prepping Ceberus until about 7 tonight and he’s not in school, his days a mostly spent busying himself and adventuring. A lot of the time, it leads him to the park. Mostly to pet passing dogs and to read. Every time a dog passes he tucks his book away to engage. These are called ‘Good Boy Breaks’. Dressed in the Winslow uniform of a half open floral shirt and jeans, matched with enough jewelry to fill a pawn shop’s shelves and a loosely tied bun, he’s moving from one end of the park to another. 

Squinting through his sunglasses at a familiar sight, a smirk spread across his face. Dorian closes his book, tucks his book underneath his arm, and makes his way over to slid up next to a boy he fondly remembers as his mediocre bartender and Rhiannon’s mediocre party. Settling on the bench next to Tristan close enough that if he was a stranger, it’d be unsettling, and lifts his douchey round, pink tinted sunglasses. “Well look who it is - could spot those dimples across the park.” He chuckles, his smirk transitioning into a warm smile.

[dcrianwins-blog]

@thezacharybailey

ZAC: bro

ZAC: wtf does that mean??

ZAC: wht bout shower sex?

DORIAN: listne.

DORIAN: it means wut it means.

DORIAN: are u into golden showers z? no jugement

[dcrianwins-blog]

LOCATION: mount wells public library DATE: june 14th STATUS: closed for @xprincessamanda​ PROMPT: “ Muse A and muse B get accidentally locked in the library on a hot day with no air conditioning. “

It’s not that Dorian doesn’t have his own wi-fi, that’s not it at all. He actually has pretty decent wi-fi. But considering he doesn’t work at all during the day, it just makes more sense to do all his heavy duty, bandwidth using downloading and such at the library, where the wi-fi is free. So he can preserve his internet for important things, like internet porn and Youtube vine compilation to watch while he’s stoned.

Also free air conditioning.

He’s packing up his newly downloaded 6 seasons of Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares (to watch while he’s stoned and eating leftover Chinese) and tucking his laptop into his bad when he spots his good friends (and old flame but who’s counting anymore) and smirks,making his way over to slide up behind her and ruffle her hair. “What’s good, nerd? Wasting away again for the sake of academics?”

[dcrianwins-blog]

@thezacharybailey

DORIAN: shower???

DORIAN: you mean get pissed on??

DORIAN: by my own house??

DORIAN: no ty

[dcrianwins-blog]

LOCATION: near the asphodel cafe DATE: june 12th STATUS: closed for @ryantos​ PROMPT: “Muse A and muse B get caught in the rain and have to share a hiding place. “

Dorian isn’t much of a cook. And having eaten his fill of ramen packets and buttered pasta, decided maybe he should indulge in a vegetable or something of sort before he becomes the first person in the year 2018 to contract scurvy. The cons of independence at fifteen, he supposes. So he decided to go out and get some food, and his journey to find the healthy, adult version of a pizza pocket had lead him across town. Though what he hadn’t expected was that he’d be caught in a violent downpour, take-out in hand and all.

Slightly agitated and drenched, he ducks under the overhang of a nearby building to asses the damage. His hair? Drenches, as he pushes the heavy locks from clinging to his face. Floral women’s blouse and denim shorts he’d haphazardly tossed on? Soaking and reeking of the cigarette smoke that had apparently hidden itself in the fabric until it’s current informal washing. His food? Surprisingly fine. Good on the server who double bagged it. Sighing, he fumbles his phone out of his pocket. Dead. Terrific. Huffing, he wipes the water from his eyes, brainstorming means to get across town as he reaches into his damp pocket to retrieve the pack of cigarettes and pray they aren’t soaked through as well.

[pleasuresovermatter]

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The Morning - The Weeknd

Too damn raw aint no nigga worth her holding. Ain’t no nigga that she holding. Man, her love is too damn foreign.

[dcrianwins-blog]

pietro;

If Pietro was the saint, Dorian was definitely the opposite. Though he was sure if there was indeed a heaven and hell, they both were going right downstairs for the things they had done together. Not that he minded, obviously. Everything about the way the other looks at him is sinful, but luckily he has really not much shame left. There’s absolutely no subtlety in the way he looks at Dorian as he snaps his suspenders. But he has never been one to hide his intentions, and he’s not going to start now. 

“One would think a well undressed crowd is more your thing, though.” He chuckles, walking towards him and greeting him with a short hug. His next words make him smirk. “I can definitely throw you under my leg in more ways than one. Now when you say the whole night, do you mean after the party as well?”

0-100, that’s Dorian’s favourite pace. It takes him milliseconds to indentify ietro’s intentions, and it’s directly down his lane. He may be a good-for-nothing nobody with very little to offer, but if sex is the game? Dorian’s the game master. Not to mention that Pietro’s quite literally an Adonis on Earth, and the poster boy for the hot/cute jock archetype that he simply can’t say no to (who the hell would?)

He chuckles, happily reciprocating the hug to his friend. “Oh, don’t you worry. I have a nudist event immediately after this.” He jokes, snorts as he sips at his drink again, content to feel that familiarity of a decent buzz building. Waiting a beat, his lips press to a trademark coy smirk. “Pietro, you can book me for any day for as long as you want, only if you promise to come up with new, innovative ways to throw me around.” These aren’t even euhamisms anymore, Dorian’s all in shamelessly.