@deviledfortune - Tumblr Blog

a dependent and private multi - muse , affiliated with 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐡𝐪 ― please do not interact if not a member of the aforementioned group . triggering themes will be tagged as ' 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰 ’ .

𝐜𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫 . ( thirty seven , music producer / composer , theo james . ) 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 . 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃 . 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎 . 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 . 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 . 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 . 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 .

sinkinglxve

"A humble one at that." A ginger smirk, she can't help but shake her head. Cedric's irreverent nature always baffled her. His ability to stand strong, seemingly undeterred, with a sense of humor that acts as an obvious defense mechanism. And yet, it beats the hell out of the isolation or cruelty Jacqueline often defers to. "Well, pardon me for not bending down on one knee in deference to the Lord of Heartford." It's her turn to linger on the edge of dangerous innuendo, passing a lamp post just in time to let him see the flicker in her eyes. Banter, flirtation... It's easier than the prolonged silence.

"No, I suppose we can't." Even self-pity has its limits, Jacqueline knows. Inevitably, the world moves on, and so too should those that lit it on fire. Turning a corner towards the South Point neighborhood, the so-called artist's district of the small town, she shrugs. "You're bored out of your skull then?" It's an obvious question, but unlike before, her tone is void of taunting. Instead, she commiserates, keeping in step with Cedric as they make their way down to her street. "You're sober." She's the first to rip the bandaid. "And clean." No smell of cigarette smoke, no treats to be found in his pockets. Like her, he's found clear-headedness. "It's an achievement. Monotonous as it might be." Jacqueline sighs. It's the trade off. Everything else in-between is just them, buying time until the next impasse.

She stops in front of her mid-century bungalow, chic yet modest despite being a woman of substantial means. As Jacqueline approaches the front door, she chuckles as she sees Cedric in better light. "You've gotten old." Jacqueline says, her wittiness second to the longing twinge on her tongue. "It's a good thing." She amends quietly. "It means you made it to the other side." The straight path, the clear way forward. The side she no longer belongs to. "Sinclair..." His moniker lingers, and Jacqueline swallows the lump in her throat that grows heavy with feeling. "I want you to stay on that side." There's a tightness in her throat, revealing more of her broken heart than she'd dare admit. "And I'll stay on mine." Breathing sharply, there's a pinch of saltwater tears deigning to appear. "And we'll be okay."

deviledfortune

"Hmm, you're lucky I don't make you beg for my pardon." Cedric gives it right back, catching her eye for just a brief moment, long enough for a certain electricity to pass between them. A spark igniting the desire to touch her as he did years ago, fizzles out just as quickly as the conversation shifts. It was a talent of hers, really, the ability to ground him when soaring a little too high. It was one way they balanced each other out so well, a factor among many which had him believing that no other could possibly amount to the woman that is Jacqueline Devereux. "Funny, everyone tells me the same things. That I should be happy, proud even, but it just feels so..." A pause, one hand retracting from his pocket to pensively tousle short locks of hair as he follows alongside her toward South Point. "Lackluster. It's as if we lost something with it, right?" He looks to her again, this time in search of some semblance of shared understanding. "Some defining part of who we are." Surely, he couldn't be alone in that feeling.

Too busy admiring the fact that Jacqueline would find herself in the artistic district of Heartford, he's not expecting his slightly wizened appearance to be called out so blatantly, and it reflects in the chuckle let slip from parted lips. The somber tone, however, deters the banter so easily shared only moments prior. When he's sure Jacqueline's struggling to piece together her thoughts, Cedric takes initiative to break through the once again loaded silence that lingers between them, keen on somehow deciphering the jumbled mess in his own head, as he's been learning to do. "Jackie, I―" But she continues, and he concedes without further interruption. With every string of words spoken, the emotion in her voice she's so clearly trying to stifle, the natural boyish charm subsides. His heart aches for her.

"Oh," is all he's able to muster, blindsided by what he honestly should have seen coming, given their history and the danger it still threatens to hold over them during this vulnerable period. Dark hues, once brimming with a nostalgic warmth, suddenly dim and cast down, right, left ― fixed anywhere but on the brunette ― fighting to collect himself.

Cedric Sinclair being rendered speechless is an incredibly rare feat, a yapper in his own right, but she manages to do so swiftly, to no fault of her own. With an idealistic mindset, and some may argue a hidden romantic streak, it's always been a common theme for him to ignore bad omens, perfectly content with focusing on the silver lining of all things. Reuniting with his former storm of a lover is no exception, and the grounded reality leaves him feeling utterly devasted. "Well... it turns out fate truly is a cruel mistress." Voice comes out softer than anticipated, but he's quick to recover by clearing his throat, lips twitching to plaster a practiced smile across roughened features. "But we'll always have Paris." Homage to one of his favorites, tastefully appropriate in the moment. "And on that note, I should probably go. Let you get back to your rigorous schedule."

#thread : cedric #cedric & jacqueline

sinkinglxve

"Something like that." She concedes quickly, so casual in its vexing nature one would think it's not methodical. But it is. Jacqueline's approached everything, even this tumultuous relationship, with measured care. Isn't that one of their many fights? For every moment of Cedric's warm irreverence, Jacqueline counters with cold cynicism. Tempering both in the other worked, until it didn't. "Of all the men in all the cow towns. The romantics might call it fate." And she can see already, how such romanticism colors Cedric's view of her. It turns their broken edges into pieces that ought to fit together, instead of dangerous shards that can bleed them dry.

"I won't stop you." She can't say yes, and Jacqueline doesn't want to say no. Her more cynical world view doesn't stop her from dangerous behavior. It just makes her a bigger fool than Cedric. Keeping in stride with the Englishman, she glances around the sleepy city - no lights except for the lamp posts and the odd restaurant. Nothing like the streets they roamed, drunk out of their minds, chasing adrenaline. "Speak for yourself. Tight schedules and routines have made up my life for the last few years. Eat, paint, sleep. Like clockwork." Jacqueline snorts, and for a moment, they are different. Neither strangers nor estranged lovers. She glances at Cedric's profile as she walks, a look of acknowledgement in her face. "You understand." He's the only one that knows - the suffering of sobriety, the guilt of being in such a state in the first place. He is as much a mirror as he is an adversary.

"When was the last time we saw each other?" She wishes she could remember. Her art begs her to. But Jacqueline knows it was a terrible high; a dangerous bender so extreme, her friends and agents intervened. And still, she begs herself to remember.

deviledfortune

With every dimly lit post they pass, reflects a twinkle in his eye. "Not just any man, ma chérie. A marvelous Lord," he's quick to remind, shoulders squaring and chest puffing out just a tad. Replicating the poised gait of a man on top of the world, it distracted from the ugly truth Cedric didn't dare speak of. Unbearable agitation brought on by withdrawal, sweating through his sheets during the coldest nights, the cocoon of despair that cruelly enveloped his mind. The worst of it is behind him, that he's sure of, and while he believes Jacqueline would only humor his silver lining outlook, it's encouraging his quixotic fantasies all the same.

"I do," a solemn nod follows suit, hands slipping into the confinements of his pockets, "but trust that you don't have to be so strict with it. You can't punish yourself forever." He chances a peek in Jacqueline's direction, conventionally rugged features soft with a comprehensive affinity. "Any opportunity to break out of that mundane routine is exhilarating." It reminds him there's more to life than to just merely exist, blending in with what is societally acceptable in today's world. It can also be a vicious cycle at times, yearning so badly for that high just once more, fearing it's the only blockade standing between Cedric and his next composition.

"It's been... a very long time." Although it's a question that passes through his thoughts from time to time, he's still taken back by it, mainly due to the uncertainty of whether or not he's ever crossed the painter's mind since the two picked up and left the other behind. "Five years? Maybe ten." An exaggeration at best perhaps, but it feels like a lifetime ago. "Admittedly, I've lost track of time. It's all a blur, seems like every year passes faster than the one before."

#thread : cedric #cedric & jacqueline

sinkinglxve

His wheels turn in front of her, and Jacqueline wonders when she and Cedric became frightened husks of their former selves. When did they scare so easily, that even the slight tilt into their passionate selves warrants a deep breath and reconsideration? They would never hesitate like this before. "Well, we both know I was only sleeping with you for your looks." Jacqueline tests again, though her words are tame in comparison to the cruel filth she'd throw at Cedric. Always expecting him to give it back to her, and then some. "Hearing is one thing. Listening is another." Her words are said softly, but it's the first glimmer of the underbelly of her resentment. Would she have fallen so hard, if she and Cedric were marginally sane together?

Alas, sanity is not nearly as exciting as this. She sees him, finally, for the first time in their conversation. The man she loved, the man she hated. Her undoing and her inspiration, built up with a ginger grin and a throaty laugh. Jacqueline's fists tighten beside her, lips pressed together at his daring words. "I marvel at your ability to be so nostalgic about the past." She assesses with a lift of her brow. "I just remember it for how it was." And though she yearns for how he would touch her, Jacqueline is reminded of what always came before and after. The epic highs and lows that was their relationship. "All in the past, hm?" And just as quickly as she puts their feet to the ground, she picks it back up. Taunting him, looking at him through her thick eyelashes. Nothing's in the past. It is right here, right now.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she tightens the jacket over her body. Performative, really, because her skin burns in warmth just from his periphery. He always emanated heat. "We've weathered each other." She reminds with a chuckle, as if any of it is funny. Glancing back out the river, she allows a weighted silence to linger between them. Their silences were always loaded, even then. Finally, she clears her throat; "I should go. It's late." She mutters, unmoving from her spot. But someone had to be the first to leave. This, too, is part of their cycle. "I-" She clamps her lips shut, a sad smile stretched across her face. I miss you. I hate you. I loved you and it ruined my life. Words left unsaid.

deviledfortune

Again, she's poking the bear and again, he denies himself the bait. The wonders of therapy and the best rehabilitation money can buy are at work, he supposes. Or perhaps it's his age finally subduing the raging hormones from years past, amplified by narcotics and the inebriating affect she held over him. "I suppose neither my hearing nor listening matter much, then, if it was my looks that kept you in bed," he jests, though also takes note of her tone. Listening was a large portion of his job, and the importance of that grew alongside his reputation in the music industry. The capacity of his patience was admittedly spent on his work, rather than on Jacqueline. A flash of guilt sweeps over him, but it's gone just as quickly. The past is just that and there's nothing Cedric can do now to change what's already been set in stone.

His fun is squandered by the realism of their situation. A roll of dark eyes in retaliation of the abandoned toxicity bubbling beneath the surface. The irreverent demeanor Cedric used as a means to deflect so well is still a tactic in use, though now more well seasoned with time. Thoughts of hardship, gruesome details are cast from his mind, instead replaced by only the highest points in their relationship, whether healthy or not. And when she feeds into it just a little, teasing him, those dark eyes fix on hers again. "I used to think so, yes. Yet, here you are." Voice is gravelly as he speaks, lower, as if the world has no right to listen in on their loaded exchange. And the silence that follows is filled with a thick tension, which reminds him to breathe. It almost gives him enough clarity to squash the ridiculous notion that, maybe, this was their second chance. Colliding like this, out of nowhere, each well into their own paths of sobriety ― maybe this was a chance to navigate the sea of flames between the two artists properly.

"Let me walk with you." Bad idea. The words that have been all but hammered into his mind where Jacqueline Devereux is involved. But the offer slips from his lips before there's any time to filter mind to mouth, and he loathes the desperation which flares in his chest, heightened by the dread of her departure. So he plays it off rather than acknowledging any alarms, as he always does. "It's not as if I'm on a tight schedule, and I've yet to decide if this unofficial curfew means there's danger lurking about in the shadows. Every town has it's secrets, after all." Truth being Cedric's not ready to let her go just yet. Grasping at the sliver of a chance to prolong their reunion, as agonizingly inappropriate as it is. He struggled through a long, hard battle of pushing Jacqueline from his mind. All that effort seems wasted now. All he wants to do is pull her impossibly close, if only for one night.

#thread : cedric #cedric & jacqueline

sinkinglxve

"It's more romantic than anything you've ever done for me." The cutting words, barbed with equal parts resentment and flirtation, slip from her lips easily. Too easily. As if she hasn't spent the last five years trying to unlearn this behavior that Cedric so easily pulled out. Finally, she looks at him. Really looks, the way an artist like her is taught to assess beautiful men. Older now than they were before. She always knew it would happen; time would catch up with their fast and furious lifestyle. Even so, there's no denying, even sober and weathered, Cedric Sinclair is the grecian statue of her artistic dreams. Damn him to hell.

"They're probably just starstruck. That will wear off when they find out what an outrageous snob you are." It's the benefit of Cedric's line of work. More obvious fame than a painter could fathom. Maybe it makes it easier, for Cedric and all his worldliness to appeal to them. But she knows this man well enough to know. He's starved of like-minded company, of cutting banter. A slick smirk occupies her face "Almost as bad as me." At least Jacqueline's shameless about it. The proverbial Ice Queen to Cedric's more palatable humor. They could go on like this all night. Word for word, tic-for-tac... It could be all it is. But her smirk subdues, ignoring his latest diatribe on cow-tipping.

"I think the time for caring about public opinion has come and gone." That's why they're here, right? Because the world came tumbling down, and so too did the world's view of their antics. With a nod, she hums solemnly. She's resigned to a similar faith. "Then you will." Jacqueline says, like it's easy, like she's not twitching for a drink or a kiss. Maybe both. "And so will I." More lies, more pleasantries. Skirting through the heart of it. What else is there? "We can just be boring suburbanites who chit chat at the market." She doesn't mean it, of course. Jacqueline misses this, subdued and withholding as it may be. Even the crumbs of their passionate love affair feed her. "Can't we?"

deviledfortune

Russet hues burrow deep into her kaleidoscopic eyes, so beautifully complex with color, as if she'd painted them on herself. He almost slips, almost gives in to her taunting, but Cedric knows better now than he did several years ago. A time spent strung out in front of whatever night club they'd hit up, when she would bite and he would bark back at every word, oblivious to the surrounding world. It was ugly, raw emotion, something and someone he's been missing terribly since uprooting the life he knew. "You always had my ear, just figured you'd prefer I remain intact," he reaches up along the side of his head to gently tug at an earlobe, going so far as to give it a gentle shake. "Better to hear you with, my dear."

After all this time spent apart, the saucy little minx in her, he concludes, is alive and well. And for that, he finds himself feeling grateful. For the first time in days, weeks, and possibly months, pearly whites are set on display as the corners of his mouth pull up to reveal a crooked grin. Assembled genuinely at the jab Jacqueline manages to sneak in, a chuckle vibrates against the back of his throat to signify just how taken back he is, as if they're slipping right back into old habits. Dangerous line to toe, indeed. "Darling, if I'm such a snob, it's only because you rubbed off on me one too many times." A wink of his eye follows the innuendo. "Almost, but not quite as bad as you."

Her words are hollow, he knows it simply based on their prior struggles and history, but again the encouragement is still there. It has him mirroring her nod with one of his own. "We can," Cedric confirms, almost believing it to be true. The futile hope that there could be a world where they both thrive, without the toxicity sending them on a downward spiral, was cruel to hold onto. But Cedric can't imagine leading a numb existence, wasting this one life on the mundane, while Jacqueline magically is presented to him almost out of thin air. There was a point in time, after all, when he'd loved her in his own way, more than he knew how to love anything else. "We've weathered worse, haven't we?"

#thread : cedric #cedric & jacqueline

sinkinglxve

It makes sense that Cedric keeps his back towards her. Coined "Medusa" by art aficionados and those in their fame-driven circle, her icy gaze has a way of turning men to stone. Or in Cedric's case; a belligerent, reckless, imitation of one. But she's thankful for the distance of it. Jacqueline might just cry, scream, or run if he turned around right away. "All artists have a period of hibernation. Monet, Vermeer, Van Gogh..." Except, it has been years, and nothing she's produced feels like true art. Sure, they still buy her paintings, attend her openings. But nothing has been an art form since the pretty pills and Cedric's intoxicating presence.

"It's not as if you fit in, either." Quintessentially English and famous in his own right. Cedric and his talent should be producing songs, coaxing brilliance out of his other artists, or luxuriating in some Grecian island. "I bet the locals think you're posh. Some sort of Lord." They certainly think of her and her French accent as chic and mysterious. But it's all small talk; making this meeting small when it is the opposite. It's like a cold bucket of ice thrown over in one go.

"Cedric." She says his name again. Uncertain as she keeps her distance. But she keeps her eyes still, directly on his. No, she wouldn't be the first to look away. Even in this humbling state; Jacqueline lives for the fight. "What do you think?" She scoffs quietly. "It's a cow town with only two restaurants and an unofficial curfew. Can't get into trouble around here." But her cutting words dampen, blinking down at his chin. It isn't true anymore - Cedric is here now and trouble is never far behind.

deviledfortune

"Van Gogh also removed an ear, then delivered it to the rabies ridden love of his life." Poetic, yet most unrealistic. He's thankful the standards set a few centuries back don't reflect on today's means of wooing, otherwise he'd be shit out of luck. All tomfoolery aside, though, Cedric knew she was right. Despite whatever discourse they shared at times, Jacqueline's logistics generally outweigh his own, in the end. All artists suffer some sort of affliction, which he chalks up as the price to pay for possessing a beautiful mind. The mandatory hiatus he'd been put on has obviously taken a toll on his creative process. Artists under his label are, for the most part, doing well for themselves, but the last piece he'd released to the world was almost another lifetime ago. When life was severely more chaotic, but the creative juices seemed to flow so naturally; when Jacqueline galvanized the very soul of his works.

Dark eyebrow raises in defiance, faux offense creasing his brow at her analysis. "I'll have you know I fit in quite snuggly here. The locals love me, and I them." A filthy lie to cover up the fact he's never felt more out of place in his entire life. But will he make the most of it? Always. If it means he'll have to pick up a hobby like night fishing or ripping through nature on a quad, he will do so with style. Some things, fortunately, never change. "Lord of cow town, actually. Nothing wrong with spreading my fairs to greener pastures." Sure he can't even fathom the fanbase Jacqueline has garnered, Cedric imagines she's extracted only the most outlandish eye-popping, tongue-wagging reactions possible. The very thought has his lips tugging up, daring a hint at a smirk, until the dread of the inevitable settles heavy on his chest.

Tongue peeks out, tip smoothing over his bottom lip as he interprets for himself what she gives as an answer, details similar to his own. "Well, not that I know from personal experience, but I hear cow tipping is punishable by brute force. Farmers from all over gather to form an angry mob ― pitchforks and the like." The use of humor can only be spread so thin, and it seems the desired effect has sizzled out momentarily, the need for a deeper dive in how things between them were left outweighing his wish to escape the conversation in its entirety. "That makes two of us. I... am trying to focus solely on work, away from the noise." At least, that's the reason his manager bestowed. "I have to," comes out a little quieter. While he has every intention of staying true to his promises of a brighter future, nurturing those marvelous artists he'd taken under his wing over the last decade, he's no fool. Jacqueline Devereux reentering his life complicates things. Drastically.

#thread : cedric #cedric & jacqueline

sinkinglxve

@deviledfortune | Cedric and Jacqueline, Evening at Old Mill Park

Since coming clean and earning her chips, Jacqueline's been obsessed with time. Counting the days in between her last drink, her last slip up, like a methodical beat she can't get out of her head. But there are other things she keeps track of, too. How long since her last, great burst of artistry. How many weeks since she's last skimmed old friend's social media, haunting herself with the past. And, though she may never say it out loud, she keeps count of how long its been since she's been in Cedric Sinclair's company.

Because to say it out loud would be to invite him and that life back in. Wasn't the point of the last few years to do the opposite?

Is it karma, poetry, or dumb luck that brings her to the small town's park at the exact time as him? She's fresh from her studio - another fruitless attempt to draw anything of note. Though his back is turned to the river, Jack knows; she'd know those shoulders, that neck, anywhere. "Sinclair." Her voice is equal parts accusatory and fearful. A million feelings; anger, regret, longing. "What are you doing here?" This isn't where he belongs. He belongs in big cities, posh parties, and the dark corridors where they would kiss and chase a high. Not here - where it is quiet and safe. "You're not supposed to be here."

deviledfortune

With the last skip of the smooth stone, plunging into the murky depths of the river, tall frame freezes. At first, Cedric believes his imagination is back to playing cruel tricks. Her voice is so clear, cutting through the languid tranquility that evening brings. It startles him out of his brooding, long fingers gingerly rub against the last stone in his hand as he collects himself just as quickly, internally scolding himself. But then, again, her voice cuts through the stillness and the air leaves his lungs this time, a whirlwind of emotions twisting in the pit of his stomach.

"I could very well say the same of you," he finally musters, though he doesn't dare turn to face her, to face the past he'd trained to be so hellbent on burying. Instead, the last stone in hand is launched, watching it skip across the water's surface as he tries to sort through the scrambled mess in his mind. The composer decidedly focuses on any lick of humor he can find in their situation, a defense mechanism perfected through years of evading vulnerability. "You know, never in my wildest fantasies did I ever envision you in a cow town. Sorry ― cow city." Had he spoken in the boisterous manner the middle Sinclair was known for, it may have wavered. He keeps his tone low, though, to avoid detection as tall frame finally turns to face the music, so to speak.

"Jackie... ," his voice notably softens as he addresses her, the sight of Jacqueline alone, after all this time, tightening his chest. "What are you doing in a place like this?"

#thread : cedric #cedric & jacqueline

meaningofmaple

@heartfordstarters

Open to all Around the City Centre

Theo had a quiet sort of confidence, he was talkative, warm but still slightly reserved. He had to be for his job. His work revolved around talking to people, listening to opinions and ideas and he loved it. He enjoyed engaging with others. He smiled, leaning on the wall gently as he approached the other. “Okay, quick question. What is the best show or musical you have ever seen on a theatre? Or TV? Or have you never seen one at all? I swear I will not judge you if you say you haven’t,” he said with an encouraging smile.

deviledfortune

Told many a times that it will do wonders for his mental health, Cedric's daily stroll lands him in the heart of Heartford, a quaint city he's still trying to mold his life around. In comparison to the flashy nightlife, sleepless nights, and the benders that would go on a day too long, it leaves him feeling restive more often than not. So, the spontaneous interaction is welcomed with a sparkle to his eye, dark eyebrows lifting to convey the playful Sinclair charm.

"Is that so? Well, maybe I'm judging you for suggesting I haven't." The hint of a smirk dancing across his lips says otherwise, before he takes a moment to ruminate over whatever answer he could possibly muster. "Show or musical, on the stage or on the telly ― that's quite the broad spectrum." A pensive hum follows, slowly rocking against the heel of his shoes as he penetrates the memories long since locked away, before the motion abruptly comes to a stop. "I suppose there's only one that stands out from the rest. I was in New York for a spell and caught a show in the city. I believe it was Hamilton? The orchestra was astounding." Of course, the music primarily holds his interest, easily lost in the ambience of a good symphony.