He's a good time cowboy Casanova Leaning up against the record machine. He looks like a cool drink of water But he's candy-coated misery. He's the devil in disguise A snake with blue eyes And he only comes out at night. Gives you feelings that you don't wanna fight You better run for your life.
- && He didn’t drink much, he had never been much of a drinker. He had a daughter back home, a job that he wanted to keep. Getting drunk wasn’t something he personally had the time or desire to engage in. But people watch, now that was something Titus have always loved. It was a good way to know if people were acting sketchy or if they were truly innocent. Being a lawyer, you kinda had to be good at reading people. That way you know which points to push, what to say and do to make someone break. He was in his own little world when he felt someone bump into him, something he was quite used to due to the fact that living in a big town like this one people bumped into you everyday. “Oh it’s fine. I’m fine” he assured.
“okay, okay...” francis repeated more to himself than to the random man. if there was one thing he waited more than being in crowds of any kind, it was bumping into people. the result that followed was always such an awkward amalgamation of socially expected sayings, apologizes, and movements. every time it happened, francis felt his insides cringe and his tongue dry up in his mouth. more often than not, he would just walk away without saying anything. it was easier that way, honestly.
god, how he hated this. the crowd had become more inflated and thereby prevented any and all potential escape routes. this information combined with the fact that he could no longer see hugo left for a very overwhelmed francis.
“uhm--” almost as quickly as he started, the man slammed his mouth shut. his face did some sort of soft-core stroke before he decided that he might as well continue on with the cycle of awkward social encounters. “well, uh... yeah.” again, he stopped short. sighing, reaching behind him and into his backpack, he pulled out one of the many water bottles and pried open the seal.
he was already in the middle of taking a sip before he realized that he should probably -- and awkwardly -- offer the man whose day he had rendered off its given path a bottle. he didn’t really have that many, and the ones that he did have were mostly for those gross kids and their dirty teeth, but, whatever.
“do--” he stuttered before the unthinkable and awful happened. a man -- this one the drunkest francis had seen thus far -- toppled into him from behind. all francis could do was watch in horror as most of the contents of his bottle went splattered all over the front of the guy he bumped into.
“oh, my god! oh, fuc-- i mean, god! this is. that was. oh, god--” he reached forward with his hands, yet his body instinctively shirked itself backwards and into the crowd. god, this was awful. “i’m, uh, i’m so sorry. i’m so sorry. uh...”
As much as Blue wasn’t excited to get back into a large crowd of people, he was excited to get drunk. You can, after all, take the alcohol from the alcoholic but you can’t take the alcoholic from the alcohol. Besides, he couldn’t stand indoors for the rest of his life and… Well… Richie was busy. Which meant that Blue needed a good distraction from the world around him. So, he’d put on his favourite black skinny jeans, a cute ‘kiss me, M’Irish’ crop-top and a green hat and gone out. Of course, he was damn near drunk when he left the house and by now he was totally gone.
How he was managing to stay on his feet was sort of a miracle all on its own. The fact that no one had punched him out for saying or doing something stupid was equally as surprising but great none the less. In fact, a few men that he’d danced for at the stripe club were here and happy to buy Blue drinks. It was turning out to be a pretty fun afternoon, Blue had to admit.
Knocking into the rather handsome man near the edge of the crowd wasn’t bad either. He’d stepped aside for a second just to drink some water with a friend of his but had lost her in the crowd. When he turned back to see were she went off to, Blue had run right into the poor guy. “Oh no, oh my god!” Blue shook his head. “My bad, my bad. Seriously, M’off my ass over here.” He admitted and offered the other a quick smile. “Barely got my legs workin’. Totally on me.” Blue went on in a ramble. “Me? Oh yeah! I am fuckin’ hunky-dory my dude. How are you?”
scratching at the beard that he desperately needed to shave, francis felt his eyes automatically scan over the boy -- for that was what he was -- that wobbled before him. immediately, he noticed the crop top and the perfectly sculpted hair and began to feel more at east. this boy was clearly as gay as the night was long. with that realization, francis’ hand lowered from his beard and resumed a shaky place at his side.
“hunky-dory, my dude,” francis repeated through a small smile that his beard threatened to devour. yeah, he decided as his eyes automatically began to scan the crowd for the sight that was his husband, this boy was absolutely gay. having not found hugo in the crowd of green, green, green, the man gulped and looked forward at the boy again -- well, that wasn’t really true. nearly overcome with overstimulation and the sights, smells, and haughty displays of debauchery, francis’ gaze was like a small child: wily, spry, and refusing to stay still.
sighing through his nose, the man stuffed his hands into his pockets and did his best to focus on the boy before him. as he took in his appearance once again, francis began to feel his backpack becomes as red-hot as a hot-poker at a summer camp. with a pop, his mouth opened and his eyebrows shot into his hairline. “oh! u-uh, do you want -- or, well, i guess need -- some water? i have some. like, a water bottle, y’know?”
then, in the same drawn-out breath, he rambled out what else was on his mind about the twink before him. “also, uh, are you alone? oh, god, uh, no. sorry. that’s not what i meant. i don’t mean it in a creepy way. god, sorry. any--uh, anyway...” god, if he could, he would have jumped straight into the green-tinted chicago river and allowed his body to float into davy-jones locker.
“did you come with a friend? it’s pretty wild out here right now.”
“francis, i promise you, that just isn’t enough green,” hugo said through the corner of his mouth as the pair stepped onto the pier and took in the fields of green people, places, and things. francis, anxiously looking down at his attire, felt his brows furrow through the slight embarrassment he felt. “besides, you look more like you’re heading to a funer--”
“if you say funeral,” francis began through gritted teeth and clenched fists, “i promise you that i will leave right now. uh, and please... this is fashion, hugo.” with a slight and stunted wave of his wrists, the ‘fashionable’ man made an attempt at humor that, of course, always made his husband laugh. a blush settled on francis’ cheeks as he continued to watch the crowds of people with wide eyes. leave it to hugo to make him feel special.
... and late, at that. the pair would have been on time had it not been for his husband’s incessant changing. ‘oh, i think i would look better in this crop top,’ he had said after changing for the fifth time. meanwhile, francis had been ready to go for an hour adorned in his button down, dress pants, and loafers (plus the backpack filled with water bottles, toothpaste, and toothbrushes, of course). he would have much preferred to stay behind for many reasons, but two key counterarguments materialized through the haze.
“francis, please, it would mean a lot,” and “orders are orders, francis.” one was spoken by the love of his life, and one was spoken by the bane of his existence.
pushing those thoughts aside, francis took a step forward, reached into his backpack, and pulled out a water bottle. he had spotted a certain somebody that most likely desperately needed one, and decided that now -- whilst hugo had distracted himself with a nearby food vendor -- was the best time to deliver it.
“i--, uhm, here you go, safiye. it’s not cold, but uh, i hope that’s okay.”
a pair of arms happily pierced the man’s personal bubble and wrapped themselves around his mid-section. at first momentarily startled, he quickly warmed and wrapped his own hairy arms over the first pair when he realized who they belonged to. hugo, towering above francis as per usual, looked down and smiled while the latter looked up and offered as much of a smile as he could. looking forward as his husband left to go grab the lovers a set of drinks (beer for hugo and a fresca for his husband), francis watched the sea of green expand and spread with worry and trepidation etched onto every wrinkle in his face.
the more people drank, ran, sang, yelled, and devoured plates and sticks of green-tinted food, the more francis felt sick to his stomach. it was like watching a disease encroaching upon the whole of chicago.
he was so lost in his own anxious reverie that he didn’t even notice the person he had just cut off as he stepped to the side to avoid a gaggle of rowdy teenage girls. “oh! uhm, i-- uh, i’m so sorry. are you okay?” he apologized with his head slightly bowed and a slightly shaking palm pressed into his beard.
@crimsonstarters
location: navy pier
status: open ( event )
nights off were rare. it was more usual than not that for events such as these, gloria still found herself bar back. severing the best of them until the sun came up, but not tonight. tonight would be her night, be that what it was. a tinge of guilt, she shoved thoughts of the tips she’d be missing aside. she’d shove those thoughts aside with a little aid… proclaming as she squeezed her way through the pack towards the bar, a grin at her lips, “so! who’s buying this girl her first for the night!? huh?”
his vision had begun to blur in that familiar sort of way wherein the lights expanded, colors began to blend together, and his depth perception was rendered abysmal. the roar of the crowd filled his ears and he found himself raising his glass of beer (?) into the night air and screaming with the rest of the bar. then, as he raised his beer to his lips and eyed one of the bartender with hungry eyes, he heard her voice.
“gloria, gloria, gloria~” the boy scream-singed as he twisted his neck as best he could and waved her wildly over. gloria was here! god, it had been so long since he had seen someone he knew. the day had turned into night almost as fast as he had been abandoned by those “friends” from work. where were they, anyway? for a brief moment, lars forgot gloria was the there and casually began to scour the crowded bar for his friends. then, during the process, he spotted that honking nose again it all came back to him.
“gloria, you big bitch! come here! i’ll buy you a drink, sis. whattya wan’?”
as soon as the boa dropped to the floor, safiye threw it behind her. based on the gasps, another dancer had picked it up and continued their routine as though it had been their prop all along. too bad she had come here on business initially. the young man in front of her was truly pushing his luck, but at this rate she had already wasted precious hours of her evening so she figured she might as well enjoy the rest of the time she had.
“two? what happened to modern hospitality?” safiye took the shot from lars and knocked it back with ease. the alcohol burned more than her usual, but it brought the club lights more into focus. she had a day off for once in her fucking life and she bet tia could make it out with short notice if her current company proved to age poorly.
after gesturing to the bartender to bring two more over ( she’d assume it was on lars’ tab before she risked asking ). “is there something i don’t know about that i’ll need luck for?” when the bartender walked back over she took another shot off the tray and raised it to the man in front of her. “you’re lucky i’m in a good mood - i don’t normally let people call me austere and a bitch in the same breath without consequences.” she emphasized the formality of the word - who did this man think he was?
ignoring her comment about modern hospitality, lars tossed his back with ease -- it was, after all, just water. he smiled to himself as he placed the glass gingerly on a table that was already home to dozens of other similarly discarded vessels. anybody and everybody who worked at eden came to know of lars’ favorite little party trick: if lars calls for shots for him and for another person, assume that his is just to be filled with water. how else was he going to be able to continue to soberly get a rise out of his competition?
as the bartender -- was her name mariella? monti? monti-belle? whatever -- handed lars his own shot, he gave the girl a wink before tossing the second glass of water back with an unsurprising amount of ease. “oh?” he asked inquisitively and with speckles of bemusement plastered all over his face, “and what’re you gonna do? shoot me? drag me into the chicago river and let the fishes nibble at these bones?”
with a flourish, lars kicked a leg up and catched his own ankle for emphasis. his flexibility was another party trick -- one he normally reserved for only the most special of clientele -- that probably garnered him too much attention. but, honestly, was there ever such a thing as too much attention? with his leg still raised high, the boy looked like a flamingo more than ever before.
“oh, miss thing, please! it was just a joke! and i don’t recall calling you a bitch! if anything, i said: ‘wow, miss thing with the serious look in her eye, please let me treat you to some free shots and some free hospitality. y’know, i think that is exactly what i said!” the mischievous twinkle in his eye only brightened as he watched the current performers fight and bicker over who would get to use his yellow boa. oh, the night was still so young.
“but, like, whatever! none of that matters. if you’re gonna shoot me,” he said jokingly as he lowered his leg and raised his arms to the sky, “do it now, please, while i’m still young and beautiful.”
Seriously? Is this what tumblr is now? I don’t understand what a sentence says and therefore I’m offending you? Please grow up I have no hateful intentions.
Whenever I listen to Marina and the Diamonds I feel raw primal homosexuality take over every cell in my body and thrust me into a universe where straight people don’t exist and never have
♡♡ ( OSCAR ISAAC, FORTY-ONE, CIS-MALE, HE/HIM ) Was that FRANCIS BELLE ? I heard a rumor they work for the FAUST family, but who knows for sure ? They can be a bit PESSIMISTIC & COWARDLY, but I also heard they can be PATERNAL & ACCOMMODATING. You’ll usually find them at FATES in their spare time, when they’re not being a MECHANIC. You may want to keep an eye on that one ! ( oswald, he/him, 22, EST/CST, syringes & injections ) ♡♡
hobbies: spending time with his sisters/nieces/nephews, smoking, binge-watching television shows
relationship status: married
P H Y S I C A L
hair color: black
tattoos: one
piercings: n/a
F A M I L Y
parents: married
siblings: four
children: n/a
pets: n/a
H A B I T S
drinks: sometimes
smokes: constantly
drugs: n/a
!!! ~
♡♡ born during a rainy evening, it appeared that francis’ life was destined for gloom and doom from the moment he was pushed from his mother’s loins. additionally, being the youngest of five -- four older sisters and one older brother -- he was destined to be coddled under the intensely calming weight of his family. the belle’s cared for francis the way they cared for nobody else. sure, his eldest sister, maria, bore the most responsibilities. and, sure, his brother josue carried the weight of all his father’s expectations. but francis, the jewel of his mother’s eye, carried the weight of the entire world on his anxiety-riddled shoulders. ♡♡
♡♡ in school, francis focused more on his studies than being active and social with the other children. he was always a shy boy, something that his parents always longed to “fix.” in their eyes, if he were to take up the family trade (the belle’s were mechanics), he would need to be social with others in order to conduct proper business. they lectured him on that, and he would always listen and try to apply himself, but he just never could. his anxiety was too strong and, whenever he was confronted with social situations, he would just shrink into a pathetic little ball. he was nothing. he was, in a word, useless. he was unworthy of anything. these were all thoughts that swam through his mind at varying points, all of which he genuinely thought about himself. as years passed and he got older, his anxiety became lessened, but those thoughts… they stayed. ♡♡
♡♡ one of the causes of francis’ anxiety was his sexuality. he was gay, and he always knew that he was, but he struggled with this. he often found himself wondering why he had been made this way, or, sometimes, why he had even been made at all. there were times when francis would sit in the mirror, stare at his own reflection, and just curse at what he saw. sure, he didn’t look any different than everybody else, but on the inside, he could tell that he was different than many of them, a thing that he didn’t want to be. eventually, however, francis began to accept the way he was and became happy with himself. at around age sixteen, in fact, he became romantically involved with a boy from school who was one of his only friends. both of them decided that their feelings for each other must be preserved for private environments only. they were both afraid of what others would think of them as well as what their families would think about them and their relationship. so, they just never told a soul and their relationship stayed healthy, fun, and overall, a positive influence on francis’ life. ♡♡
♡♡ one day, when he was eighteen, his world turned upside down. his mother -- the light of his life and the fire of his soul -- became stricken with breast cancer. unable to afford the crippling burden of medical bills, she decided she would just wait it out and pray. the belle’s couldn’t accept that, but it wasn’t like there was anything they could do. one by one, his father and his siblings did everything in their power to help the matron of their family. however, with each new foreshadowed bill and payment installment, the family slowly gave up. francis -- who at this point was the only one who hadn’t done anything to help -- made a rash decision. it was one he made with only goodness in his heart. he wanted to help his mother, and on the same token, he wanted to finally prove to himself that he was more than just an eyesore. so, through a series of connections and fateful encounters, francis made the everlasting decision to essentially sell his soul to the fausts. through working with them, he managed to acquire enough funds to help pay his mother’s bills. the belle’s were gobsmacked, but none of them questioned how francis’ had come to collect the money. perhaps if they had, his future would have been saved. ♡♡
♡♡ now, at age forty-one, francis spends his life at the beck and call of the faust family whenever they need his mechanical intuition. he’s tried several times to free himself from the blood-binding contract, but to no avail. he was trapped forever. he had thought himself brave in the moment, but he quickly learned that his bravery was ill-equipped foolishness. if it wasn’t for hugo (his husband) and the rest of his family, francis would have offed himself long ago. it’s a miracle that he can stand being alive at this point, but he knows living and being a slave to the fausts is better than the alternative. thinking of what they would do to his family and loved ones if he ever deserted them in such a fashion is one of the many things that keeps him up at night. but, hey...
he didn’t know if he was ready. visually, mateo was dressed to the nines. a metallic dark green three-piece suit with a white button-down, complete with suede black loafers and his usual black backpack. he was carrying of course. ninety-eight percent of the people at this event were probably armed. they would be stupid not to be. the mass of people gathering was almost poetic. familiar faces from the o’sheas were amongst some he had never met before. he briefly caught sight of safiye and made a note to avoid the woman at all costs. things were rocky with them, to say the least.
mateo wandered through the crowds just admiring how everyone has decided to let go. it was st. patty’s day so it was expected. in his mind, it was the o’sheas day. the energy from them alone was enough to fuel mateo for a week. he was walking to a nearby drink booth when he heard a familiar voice. it was lars. the two of them shared a night together. lars had wandered into the er one night. the rest was a blur of stomach pumping. mateo had stayed late that night to make sure he was okay.
“lars!” mateo was glad he was wearing sunglasses because lars’ outfit was blinding. “please don’t drink too much. you are going to roll your ankle in those heels. granted, i can probably make you a quick stint but that’s as good as i got.” he sighed. the rambling happened every now and then. “i’m into things. wouldn’t go as far as throwing up. i wonder what you’re into but i’m also afraid to ask.”
cocking his head to the side and punching the inside of his jaw with his tongue, lars eyed the man up and down. for a brief moment, he stopped and stared at the man’s torso. blinking, he saw a few scenes briefly unfold -- a white shirt covered in blood, bile, and regurgitated vodka, the blinding lights of a hospital, and the sight of mateo looking over him from lars’ hospital bed.
when he opened his eyes again, he realized he had blinked so hard that he had begun to see red spots intermingling with the sea of green. he made a mental note to try and take a slight break from the beer in order to get himself together, but then immediately raised his cup to his lips and took an absent-minded sip.
his eyebrows nearly skyrocketed into his hairline at the sight of the man rambling like a little schoolgirl. a sinister smile graced his lips for a moment before he closed the distance with two long strides. then, lacing his free arm betwixt the cool feel of his shamrock-green suit, he leaned in as close as he dared.
“y’know, uh, i can be into a lot of things, dr. mateo -- just ask.” then, with eyes closed in a reverie of glee that matched his smile, he backed off slightly and allowed himself to take in the scene before him (all while maintaining an ironclad grip on mateo’s arm, of course). “also, please, don’t doubt me. i can do a lot of things in these heels, sir, and that includes sprint a marathon if i wanted to. i don’t, don’t get me wrong, but i could if i wanted to.” through scoffs, he took another sip of his beer and finished it after three brave gulps. “besides, i can’t let those bitches at eden get too comfortable. if a big ol’ stiletto-wearing-homo like me can’t keep them on their toes, then who can?”
“buy me a drink,” he began after a moment’s silence that he longed to fill, “i’ll take a guiness. thank you!”
the march winds were either chilly and carried the weights of a thousand hopefuls that winter would soon come to a close, or they were warm and carried the sun’s most blessed kisses. as lars stood out in the crowded streets with nothing on but a pair of pistachio green tights, pistachio green pasties (shaped like shamrocks, obviously), and a pair of emerald earrings that matched his stilettos, he felt the latter embrace him.
basking in the glow of the sun as it shone through the occasional cloud or two, lars allowed his eyes -- covered in pistachio green eyeliner and eyeshadow, of course -- to bask in the sights before him. matrons and whores, businessmen and young ingenues, and churchgoers and sinners were all gathered under the same sky. breathing in deeply, the boy smacked his lips and raised the first of many drinks to come to his lips. then, because he saw a vaguely familiar figure, he stopped short and felt his lips curl with the memory of a night he would have preferred to forget.
“dr. mateo!” he called out from behind his glass of green-tinted beer. when the man turned, he raised his glass and offered him a wink. “ready for round two? i promise not to throw up on you... i mean, unless that’s something you’re interested in.”
THERE ARE TWO THINGS hard to swallow in this room right now—one, this whiskey that’s strong enough to have him growing him extra chest hairs and searing the utter shit out of his throat, and two, this fucker’s personality. he sits like a king on a dingy bar stool in the middle of chicago’s most mediocre strip club, throwing assumptions around like there’s any weight to them, and the desperation of it all is almost palpable, sitting bitter somewhere under his tongue. he supposes he’ll take the irony as a win; teddy’s been loaded since twenty, courtesy of a few deeds dirtier than what goes on behind the curtain here, but as long as he’s rolling home in the mclaren taking up at least one and a half spaces in the parking lot, he can live with the satisfaction of this little asshole scurrying on home on his goodwill bike.
“ YOUR CUSTOMER SERVICE voice could use some work. guess it makes more sense to clock in here than your second job at walmart, though. at least these old fucks can stuff your mouth with something to shut you up. best they can do there is force you on the self-register to make you feel like you’re important. ” suddenly, this drink is demanding his attention, and there’s no way he’ll make it out of here without bruises on his knuckles if he doesn’t choke it back, so he chugs it in one painful, burning go, shakes off the grimace that twists his lips. “ honestly, dude, i don’t really give a shit which way you swing—you’re not any more special than any of the other guys showing their asses in here. being annoying doesn’t give you an edge, either. i asked a simple question, and you answered it like a reptile in a human skin suit, trying to jam in every pop culture reference you could. ”
IT’S LIKE THE BARTENDER READS HIS MIND, another drink materializing in front of him without so much as a passing glance. he’s either very perceptive or very well acquainted with teddy’s new friend. “ by the way, britney spears hasn’t written a new song in, like, five years. figured i’d save you the trouble of embarrassing yourself the next time you open your mouth with nothing to say. what else ya got ? ”
throughout the entirety of the brunette’s long-winded rebuttal, lars felt his jaw physically drop and the corners of his lips etch upwards into a smile. throughout the entirety of every burning jab, twitch, poke, and slap at lars’ characters, lars felt his posture straighten. throughout the entirety of the lecture that would have dressed down any pompous little gay boy -- present little gay boy included -- and sent them running home to daddy, lars felt himself become truly entertained for the first time all week.
and that, he reiterated to his own internal monologue as the bartender slid him another martini glass, was exactly the reason why he did what he did.
after all was said and done and the man spat back his own line at him, lars closed his mouth, snapped his fingers in a circle around him, and took a fresh sip. after a moment’s pause, he couldn’t contain his excitement anymore. “thank you,” he said simply before taking another sip, “i lost it at walmart -- i mean, really? walmart? that’s so poor. it practically burned.”
heaven forbid the guy running the amateurish pawn shop come walking in, because this man was about as jaded as the most lavish and expensive eggs. the smell of whiskey in the air was dangerously close to tainting the sanctity of his appletini, but he decided against pulling away. no, he was going to savor every moment of this unexpected little visit from the most bitter elf in hell. if he was lucky, the mystery queer -- because he had to be, because no straight man was capable of reading him like any capable adult could read a roald dahl book -- would unleash hell itself.
“um, also! if we’re being factually correct and honest, you and i both know that britney spears has never written a song a day in her life. unless you count everytime, that is, but wow,” and here he flicked a fake tear from his eye and into his drink, which he decided he already wanted another of as he took a greedy sip, “what a tear-jerker.”
finally, to answer his own mirrored question, the grinning boy serendipitously held up a hand and began to lift each finger into the air as he piously answered. “oh, uh... daddy issues -- yknow, cause, gay. uhm, long and supple legs. money. really good skin. oh! and a buttplug in my sweet little hole that vibrates every time you read me for filth. so, please, by all means, keep going. it’s great.” he shimmied a little in his sheet for extra measure. god, he was really glad he came to work today.
