h e a r t o f a l i o n

grace donaghan. 27. citizen. cupcake froster. 105 briar floor of the versace hotel. "To be happy, we must not be too concerned with others."

[agraysonadams-deactivated201407]

Green’s a good color on you, though! You’ll find somethin’ you like…take a breath. 

[grace-donaghan-blog]

Green is a good color on me, however that dress was not. I want to try something red.

[grace-donaghan-blog]

Finest Hour || Maddox & Grace

[envysebastian-deactivated201501]

Now that the hook was baited and dangling before his eyes, he could see her withdraw from him. No easy catch, she was going to make him work for it. And Maddox wouldn’t have had it any other way. He might have been out tonight looking for a good time, but no matter how he managed to work himself up, testing his limits to the point his control nearly collapsed, Maddox would never go for the easy kill. It was sloppy on his part and a complete bore where the experience was concerned. Nobody ever got anywhere worth the while by taking every handout that was offered to him freely. In a way, he had learned that lesson early from his father. The man, for all his faults, knew how to work hard. If he taught his only son anything, it was how to work hard for anything he wanted. This kind of lesson came off with rough edges that his mother later had to smooth out with her own teachings of how to be a good man. He wasn’t sure if that lesson sank in as well especially now that he found himself on an island where good got you nowhere unless it was to be bad. Very bad. 

Some of the ladies would often tease him over being the big bad wolf of the city. A wolf in gentleman’s clothing. As he told her with his drinks, he would wait and bide his time until the precise moment his warm and welcoming smile could transform into snarling lips and barred fangs of a lethal lover. To properly play in this field of sin, one must have a goal. Maddox’s drive and determination came from the need to conquer his partner’s pleasure. Whatever he had to do, whoever he had to be to get there, he would do it. The best way to die was in the throes of passion. His goal was to be the master of that death, to witness their most vulnerable, most beautiful moment of euphoria with the knowledge that he brought them there. It was the prime form of power plays as far as Jacob Maddox believed. Indeed, he relished the title, for it fit almost perfectly. The patient wolf, as it were, would lay in wait, weaving his illusions of whatever the woman of the hour wanted or needed for the time until he could reach the point of climax and become the singular cause of absolute release. 

So the game commenced. She, coyly hooding her bright eyes as she fiddled with the body of her drinking glass as all professional flirts did almost unconsciously in the hopes of reminding the prey how they could in turn work their bodies in the bedroom. Innocent yet sensual. The nun and the sexy librarian. He, reclining back to drink her in instead of his own beverage catering to her need for attention and admiration as he slowly devoured her with his gaze. The seaman properly throwing himself into the abyss for a chance at one moment with the captivating sea maiden of the deep. However, Maddox would turn he tables to keep little miss ethereal goddess on her toes. He offered a lazy smile when she introduced herself. There was a pause where she didn’t give him her hand in a full introduction. He glanced at her slender hand coiled around the glass as well as the nimble fingers stroking at the olive fork in an exotic dance of subtle movements. Maddox prided himself on being an excellent dancer. Taking the lead, he extended his hand over the bar, palm up while the back hovered closely over the bars reflective surface. “By the way, I’m Maddox,” he replied with a devilish glint to his murky blue eyes. 

He figured they could carry on this game the entire night. The inevitable would ensue, and they would probably never see each other again. If they did, then they would exchange barbed banter only to part ways once again. There was the off chance they would use each other for the occasional hot sex after midnight, but that was only if he played his cards right. For all the risk Maddox was willing to take on a daily basis, he wasn’t a gambler. Life was not a game of luck or an opportunity of chance, in his opinion. He preferred to be sure. Therefore, he decided to try something new. Sliding over to bar stool next to hers, Maddox let his mask slip, only a bit, as he leveled her with a more direct look. He waited for her to order herself a better drink, keeping his attention focused on her, then gradually broke the concentration to let his stare wander throughout the surrounding space of the energetic night scene. “You’ll be needing that,” he commented lightly before he would continue to say what he was leading up to. 

[grace-donaghan-blog]

It wasn’t surprising at all how he was so forward sticking his hand out while she waited on her drink. She put her hand in his where it hovered over the bar and let him shake it. His hands were everything that hers were not. Worn, and calloused like he did work every day despite how his wardrobe choice of the evening said otherwise. Where hers was soft, caressing and warm, his were hard, uninviting, and icy. Though his hands weren’t literally cold, they sure did give off that impression while his easy smile and the way he leaned towards Grace bespoke a different man. “Maddox?” Curiosity seemed to get the better of her as she rested her chin in the palm of her hand while her elbow propped up on the edge of the bar. “That’s a strange name,” she said. And indeed it was. A strange name for a strange man because everything about Maddox sitting in front of her was strange from the way his hair was still wet down to the soles of what looked like leather shoes. He was strange in the way that he was playing with her, and she was deciding if she was still interested or not. The glint in his eyes was strange and the way she could almost hear the gears grinding away inside his head was strange.

There were a number of mannerisms that Grace had acquired over the years that she could neither explain nor did she care to. Sometimes she found herself with her fingers tapping at the edges of her lips while she thought and it could send out the message that she wanted whoever she was speaking with to pay attention to her lips, the way the curved when she smiled and how they seemed devilish when she smirked, pulling one corner of her mouth up with the other side stayed almost immobile. The way she crossed her legs when she was wearing a tight dress that sent it high up on her thighs, revealing the smooth skin that it was previously hiding just moments before. The way that she did her own sizing up of Maddox as he slid over next to her, paying particular attention to the way the muscles underneath his coat rippled with the effort, though when she met his eyes again that night, her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected to see such a side of the man this early in the evening and as quickly as she saw it he wasn’t looking at her anymore. Instead he was scanning the room and whispering things in her ear. “Needing what?” She asked, taking her drink from the bartender, who tried to open his mouth to say that someone else had paid for her drink, but Grace slapped her card down on the bar. She didn’t need anyone else to buy her drinks at this point in the evening. Her hunt was over and she was shooting glances at the bartender ringing up her drink that she sipped on lightly between stealing looks at the man sitting next to her.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Grace picked her card up off the bar and signed the receipt that the bartender gave her before shoving that card back into her clutch bag she had sitting in her lap. A girl couldn’t go anywhere without the essentials and Grace was no exception in this department. Everywhere else, of course, she was exceptional and a force to be reckoned with, but when it came to womanly functions Grace still needed her phone, her bank card, and mace. Sometimes she carried a tube of lipstick that doubled as a Taser instead of the mace but it wasn’t often. She usually didn’t think she needed that much manpower, but sometimes men that she turned down got a little too touchy. It wasn’t a thing that happened with women, since they didn’t normally have to be rejected but there were some men that Grace just didn’t want to sleep with and she didn’t understand how they could be so much of a pig not to understand that. Grace peered over at his bottle of beer and with a raised brow looked back to meet his eyes, that were so swimmingly murky blue that Grace could have gotten lost in them. He might possess the talent to rival Grace in her own games and that alone was proving exciting, and so leaning up to the edge of her chair, she nodded in the direction of his bottle. “You’ve barely touched your beer and I’m halfway into for all you know is my second cocktail.” She was implying a question of character, and in the situation it was fair, but in the city it was just a question. Because who really had a morally upstanding character in a place like this?

[gabrielbeaumont]

If you have confidence, you can go far in life; if you allow your arrogance to overwhelm you, you’ll fall straight to hell. Or, that’s what I’d like to think. Ah, new, then; I’ve been here since I was twenty-four, actually, though I still have yet to properly meet most of the residents.

[grace-donaghan-blog]

That's actually an interesting way to look at things, but some would argue this is hell. Since it's soaked in sin and debauchery. But if this is hell, then what's so bad about it? How old are you now? And I've see that people come and go a lot here. 

[gabrielbeaumont]

Confidence can be a blessing or a curse, depending on how the person involved…carries the weight of it, so to speak. Have you been in the city for long?

[grace-donaghan-blog]

I can see what you mean about that. Though if it's used correctly it's definitely a good thing. More likely to be a blessing, that is. A month or so? It hasn't been terribly long or anything. What about yourself?

[grace-donaghan-blog]

I can't believe I just tried that dress on.

[gabrielbeaumont]

Hence why I appreciate it all the more. You’ve seem to got an arrogant streak in you, Grace—I like it. I’m Gabriel, by the way—Gabriel Beaumont.

[grace-donaghan-blog]

It's more than a streak, I assure you. I've always been this confident. Pleasure to meet you, Gabriel.

[grace-donaghan-blog]

Finest Hour || Maddox & Grace

[envysebastian-deactivated201501]

Maddox prided himself on his lack of insecurity. If he forgot to dry his hair all the way, so what? Maybe he took a dip in the ocean before he hit up the clubs. Maybe a sweet little thing just getting over a horrible break-up would jump at the opportunity of tempting into another lap at the secluded corner of the island. Of course, she would be wearing no underwear under her mini-dress, so they would have to swim à la nude. From a very early age, he learned to roll with any situation no matter how much he could possibly fuck it up at the start. The bartender slide him his usual order of a nice tall, cold glass of beer before he knew. Lifting his chin in thanks and greeting, he gave the guy a knowing smirk as the barman eyed up the blonde not too far to his right. He’d noticed her alright. Although he didn’t hear her speak, he had mentally begun to size her up as soon as he was in sight of the bar. While Maddox never verbally claimed to be the Rainman of the female species, there was a certain method to his perverted madness. He was aware of her type at the moment she took a sip of her obviously contributed drink. She carried herself well, but the slight twitch of the corner of her adorably rounded nose as well as the bored lift of her perfectly shaped eyebrow was a dead giveaway to anyone who cared to pay attention that it wasn’t her poison of choice. Yet why did she drink it? If she was the simple form of the type he was thinking, she would have poured the liquor over the head of whatever second-rate stud whom she didn’t have a second’s time for. 

No, she wasn’t the typical Daddy’s Princess. It wasn’t until she offered her own recommendation that he noticed she spoke to him. Another unlikely move for Standard Diva. Even though it didn’t take him long to rule out standard for her case, he somehow reasoned he should have realized it sooner that there could never be anything standard about her. With a rueful look of surprise, Maddox turned on his stool to face her, lowering his beer from his lips and swallowing thickly. “I-I’m sorry? Oh! Yeah,” he indicated to his beer. Whipping the foam from his upper lip with a comical expression, he shrugged one shoulder and met her stare again with a lopsided grin. “I like to take my time, you know,” he explained. His suddenly became very still, raising his chin to reflect a double meaning in his words. As soon as he did so, as corny as it seemed, he dropped his steadfast gaze to her drink, considering her again. He openly appraised her outfit, her makeup, even the way she styled her hair. There was an organized chaos in it all as if she had just rolled out of bed. Only she hadn’t been sleeping. There was an added glow to her complexion, a rowdiness to her loose curls that suggested she had just been given the best orgasm of her life. The arrogance discreetly covered up by a delicate confidence in the smoky quality of her eyes told that she gave as good as she got, too. 

For a moment, Maddox allowed himself to wonder what she liked. Would she have minded at all if he took her up against the bar for all to see, his arm coiled around her waist to protect her back from grinding into the unforgiving wood. His skin would bruise eventually from the force of his thrusts against her and her body being supported thusly, but he wouldn’t mind all that much. He would be too caught up in the grip of her around him as she enveloped herself so snugly around his aching self. Or perhaps she wouldn’t want the prying eyes of an audience. They could sneak back into the bathrooms for him to take her against the dirty wall as he whispered precious nothings over her skin and into the wild mass of her golden hair. Then it hit him like a thunderous bolt of electric shock shooting down to the soles of his leather shoes, melting them into the perch of his seat. The confidence, the boredom, the universal knowledge that she was a princess and she would be treated as such and better even. He recalled the way she had suggested the bourbon. The tone and the wording so perfectly blended in a way that didn’t come off sweet or friendly at all but assertive. Not overly so, yet it was there. The aura of control oozed from her in a state of familiarity that left Maddox beaming almost stupidly across from her. Leaning against the bar, he relaxed himself more in the company of a fellow control freak. Or, at least, one in the making. 

It all made sense now. She drank the proffered drink of loser number whatever not because she needed to, but because she had given him his chance and he blew it. The flimsy offering perhaps served as a warning to any other who would dare approach with anything less than what she expected or needed for the evenings possibilities. So, a princess in a sense, but there was more. Of this he was sure. And he wasn’t likely to figure it out just staring at her either. The “Come here often?” he could have responded with burned on the back of his tongue like an acid threatening to make him gag. He would have to do a little better than that to hold this one’s attention. Even so, he hadn’t opened with that line since he was sixteen. He eyed her drink that was clearly not bourbon and arched his brow curiously. Pointing to her glass, he cocked his head a little and leaned closer to speak over the music of the club. “You like variety yourself?” 

[grace-donaghan-blog]

Grace was aware of the way the bartender eyed her as the gentlemen next to her received his beer, and she was aware of how the second rate loser who paid for her drink was fuming on the other side of the bar while she didn’t give him the time of day. If she wanted, Grace could have him begging to take her home. Begging her to take her clothes off, and begging to touch her skin. It was almost narcissistic, the way she thought about and idolized herself, but she almost couldn’t help it. And for as long as she could remember, no one had told her it was bad. Quite the opposite, since it seemed everyone these days were telling women they had to learn how to love themselves and embrace what they were for better or for worse. And Grace had always done that. She’d always known that she was beautiful and that men and women alike fawned after her. Grace could have anything she wanted simply because she was beautiful and she knew how to use it to her advantage. And even as the man next to her sized her up with a gracious sweep of his deep eyes, Grace could almost hear the wheels turning in his head as he decided what to think of her. She was a handful, she knew, even to the most experienced, she knew how to take the wheel and show them who was boss. But the man sitting next to her, everything was so understated about him that she almost didn’t know where to place him in the schemas of people in her head.

There was definitely and air of power that settled around him, in the way that he moved, and how he spoke. Easy. Like life was just so incredibly easy that it was almost a bore and he always had to find new and interesting things to tinker with, and pull apart just to see how they worked. She caught the innuendo in his words but didn’t acknowledge them, instead choosing to stay completely still as he drank in her appearance. Grace wondered if he was trying to deduce what sort of woman she was and how lucky he would be in his guess. If he would ask she would tell. She’d tell him she was a maneater. A siren of sorts. If she had been in ancient Greece they might have hailed her as a goddess. Perhaps Aphrodite, but Grace didn’t love. She might have been the female equivalent of Narcissus then, but she was much more clever than the man the drowned in his own reflection. She loved herself, sure, but past that there wasn’t much more love to give. At least not genuinely.

Offering a curt nod, Grace agreed with his statement about taking time. Whether it’s with drinking or with sex, there were days when Grace was just the same. And then sometimes she wasn’t. She glanced at her own drink at the thought of working up to liquor and let it roll off her shoulders. If not for the second string men in the bar Grace wouldn’t get drunk without spending her own money. And they bought her drinks because they knew she had to be drunk in order for her to give them the time of day, but until Grace was completely hammered, she still didn’t give them the time of day. Just sent them a little wave as she sipped on the cocktails that were sent her way.

Did Grace like variety?

The simple answer to that question would be yes. And it could have been interpreted in many different ways. Did she like a variety of alcoholic drinks? Yes. Did she like a variety of people that she would eventually take to her bed one, two, or three at a time? Yes. But instead of just saying yes, Grace tilted her glass back and forth while staring into the contents for a moment before she brought her gaze back up to meet his. “This? It’s alright. The bartender just handed it to me and said it was paid for.” The truth of the matter was sometimes Grace wished men knew how to ask a woman what she wanted to drink instead of just assuming she wanted some fruity cocktail that could hide the remnants of some drugs that could knock them out. “I don’t even know who it came from,” she lied easily with a small laugh. She did. Because the sleaze ball that sent the bartender to give it to her was sitting where she was sure he had a clear view of her being interested in a man that wasn’t him.

She tilted her head to the side and furrowed her brow as she looked curiously at him. This new man who was so strange to her. Who either completely ignored her or didn’t hear her yet after spending about five seconds sizing her up was smiling like an idiot had crawled into his brain and was just ogling Grace through this man’s eyes. She said, “I’m Grace, by the way.” And though one of her hands was wrapped around the stem of her glass while the other toyed with the toothpick that used to hold an olive, swirling it around in the brightly colored drink as she talked to the man, she could still feel the basic hunger that was gnawing at her body and why she’d come to the bar in the first place. She downed what was left in her glass and waved the bartender over who took her glass while she ordered a drink that she intended on paying for herself. “Something with whiskey,” she insisted. Grace wasn’t the type that joked around when it came to liquor, mostly because it was expensive and she enjoyed tasting all sorts of different kinds, her favorite being among the top shelf whiskeys and she was sure the bartender here knew that by now. 

[gabrielbeaumont]

You know…it’s refreshing to meet someone who shares the same views on this matter as I do; you aren’t half-bad, you know.

[grace-donaghan-blog]

It's not often you meet someone with the same ideology, no. Half-bad? I'm better than that. But you're quite intriguing yourself. I'm Grace.

[gabrielbeaumont]

We, as humans, spend so much time and money trying to impress people who aren’t worth our time. It’s kind of hilarious, when you think about it.

[grace-donaghan-blog]

It is, when you think about it. All this time spent on other people that could have been better spent on better endeavors. Who knows what we might accomplish if that were the case.

[grace-donaghan-blog]

Welcome Home // Radical Face

All my nightmares escape my head Bar the door, please don't let them in

[grace-donaghan-blog]

Finest Hour || Maddox & Grace

[envysebastian-deactivated201501]

Rarely was Maddox plagued with his typical carnal needs while he labored under his semi-annual truck maintenance in the garage when he wasn’t working his regular, white-collar job as part owner of a resort. No matter his elevation in life, the blue-jean raised son got a little itchy under the crisp collar when he didn’t get his hands dirty every once in a while. However, recently whenever he retreated under the hard metal of his several ton, four-wheel drive classic piece of hunk, Maddox was overcome by fantasies of faceless, sensual beings begging for and sometimes simply taking their pleasure out of his sweat stained body from underneath the secluded shade of his truck. Invisible hands would tug at the button and zipper of his pants, claw over the loose trail of buttons at his shirt, scratch at the roots of his scalp… After a while, he would give up with a huff and sling his tools back into the box roughly in pent up frustration and exasperation at his half-finished task. He needed a night out, it seemed. The chain of events that lead up to his fashionable arrival at the Snap were not note-worthy but significant.

Donned in a fresh pair of new jeans, fitted black button-up under a smart, designer jacket, and smooth leather shoes of deep earth brown that appeared nearly as dark as his shirt, Maddox came into the club without bravo but a certain amount of confidence that didn’t go wholly unnoticed. His scent lingered but not overwhelmingly so. His light brown hair appeared combed but not styled in a particular fashion. In simple terms, he took care of his appearance without the obsession of vanity. As he slipped into an empty space at the bar, he didn’t let his agenda for the evening show too much. He felt a slight moisture at his temple causing him to tense his brow in brief confusion. Bringing his fingertips up to one of his modestly shaped sideburns to check, he found a clumsy mistake in his preparation for the evening. It turned out his eagerness for a bit of fresh air got the better of him as he spent too little time drying the water from his thick hair completely. Combing his fingers through the damp tresses, he brushed it away on his pants carelessly then ordered a drink with a wave of his hand. 

[grace-donaghan-blog]

Grace eyed his outfit and the way the jeans fit against his legs and the way the dark fabric of his jacket stretched across his broad shoulders. It wasn’t the subtle confidence he exuded in the way that he sat there and ordered a drink, or the fact that his features were sharp and angular as they sat in stoic silence, no. It was the fact that he didn’t turn even though he had to feel Grace’s eyes openly probing his appearance. He didn’t look at her and that was interesting to her. It wasn’t a feeling she experienced often because people noticed her. And for this man—who undoubtedly was attractive—to have such open apathy for Grace frustrated her but more so, it made her wonder what made this man tick. She took a sip of her cocktail while she let her thoughts stir over in her head, and then she finally spoke. She said, “Never seen you before.” And Grace liked to pride herself on many things, including the fact that in the few shorts weeks she’d been here, she had gotten to at least know almost everyone’s names, if not their face.

But there was an air of familiarity sitting over him, like he knew Snap backwards and forwards which meant that in reality, Grace was the new one. That he had never seen her before.  These things did not bother her, but the fact that he continued to still say nothing did. She couldn’t tell if it was some high horse, better than thou complex or if he couldn’t hear her, and since she didn’t just inherently think that people were as cruel as she was, she assumed the latter. “The bourbon’s better,” she said. Grace spoke from experience as she peered at his drink that was just handed to him. She knew of course that her own drink was filled with some mix and probably vodka, but it wasn’t like Grace ordered it herself. If she had, the drink would just have been Jack and coke, since it was her usual when she just wanted to be alone. Though it was no often, those days still happened, and Grace would wrap her fingers around the neck of a bottle of whiskey at the liquor store and go to the grocery store for a bottle of soda. She would sit at home and drink herself stupid, but sometimes, she just wanted attention and the bar was always the perfect place to get it.

[gabrielbeaumont]

Why waste money on frivolous matters with people you don’t have the slightest bit of interest in? It’s perplexing to me…I don’t particularly understand the human race.

[grace-donaghan-blog]

I feel that on a spiritual level. It's crazy how much time and energy you waste on people who only serve minimal purposes at best. What a world it would be if that wasn't the case.

[gabrielbeaumont]

I think I understand where you’re coming from. Relationships of any nature are just ridiculously messy, in my opinion. I tend to steer clear of htem.

[grace-donaghan-blog]

You and I both. It's a lot of work if you ask me. Saving face and spending money on dinner and a movie and a nice bottle of wine when really, you're just ready to get down to business. Exhausting.

[gabrielbeaumont]

I’d say that’s putting things lightly. Both literally and figuratively, I suppose; get involved with the wrong crowd, and it’s a filthy, sticky mess.

[grace-donaghan-blog]

As opposed to if you fall in with everyone else who isn't the wrong crowd and it's still a sticky mess, though not quite as filthy.

[amandesbleus]

[javaland1]

[luxuriouslively]