Luxury Sadness

[melancholiatm]

siilentdreams‌:

    GRATEFUL. Vera was grateful to work at such a relaxing establishment. A bar it may be, but it was one that had an atmosphere that she could easily control. Green hues take a look at the wall clock across the room to see it was close to two in the morning, her eyes then wandered to the people taking their place at tables and conversing, even some took their place at the bar and talked to one another. A hint of a smile tugged at her lips as she looked down at the counter in front of her, taking the dry rag to dust off the marble surface until a male voice reached her ears. She instantly looks up to see his face, friendly smile presenting itself immediately as she place the dry rag off to the side,

         “Vodka-grapefruit. Comin’ right up.” She anounces before she began to prepare the requested beverage. As she prepared the drink she started to feel something, actually a feeling she was all too familiar with - she takes a quick glance at the male and she wondered what was wrong, but she also didn’t want to pry. Not a lot of people liked that. Instead she placed a napkin in front of him and his drink beside it, “There you go, honey bee. Also, welcome! I see you’re a new face and new faces are always nice.” She says with a warm smile.

Honey bee? Thirty-something and racing forty to the grave, Chuck didn’t think there were many things left he hadn’t heard---- but that was a new one. Kind customer service pried a half-assed smile from him, the sloppy expression aimed at the young woman slinging drinks. God bless her and the whole industry--- he couldn’t have done it; donned smiles all night long in the face of abuse, entitlement, and everything else that came with people exchanging money for services. Rather than answer her comment, Chuck just raised his glass to her and took to drinking before something stupid could fall out of his mouth.

An old hand with the vice, Chuck drained that tumbler she’d brought him in about four swallows; his expression flirting with sheepishness when he slid it back across the marble slab between them. Not about to be the next clown in line to drop that lame line about leaving the bottle, he kept his silence and put a couple more bills on the bar.

[musesgonnamuse]

Send ✦ for your muse to catch mine in the middle of doing something they shouldn’t be.

[gsbabygirl]

[melancholiatm]

Bars are NOT his favorite places in the world---- give him a club any day of the week, a place where it’s pitch black in between strobes of flashing lights; music so loud you can’t hear yourself think let alone hear anybody talk. That’s what he prefers until he doesn’t, until the mood no longer suits and he needs his alcohol in a venue less crowded. Chuck’s swung yet again from his partying high right into a depressive low and so his feet have brought him HERE, right to a stool that he’ll make his home until the world goes black and leaves him in peace------ but before that? A folded stack on the bartop, a fat tip for the worker that would eventually have to kick his sorry ass out at the end of the night. It was only right to take care of her upfront, while he still could.

“Let me get a vodka-grapefruit, sweetheart.” A drink as bitter as his heart felt.

@siilentdreams // starter 001 //

[boningzone]

  He’s on stage in a straight jacket!  THIS IS NOT A GAME!

[ RATED NC-17 RESTRICTED – PERSONS UNDER 18 NOT ADMITTED! Written for mature audiences. Self-Discretion is advised.Warnings for: strong adult content and situations | nudity | sexual content | violence | blood | gore | drug use | alcohol | paraphernalia | language. Content Warning tags by special request only. Loved and written by Punky. ]

[hermarkedsoul-archived-blog]

                     𝖨'𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋:                                   𝖨 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

[daggermxchanic-deactivated20190]

I would tell you about the things They put me through The pain I’ve been subjected to But the Lord himself would blush The countless feasts laid at my feet Forbidden fruits for me to eat But I think your pulse would start to rush

[melancholiatm]

                                           LOGO OF SADNESS

[indie oc feat. dark content. warnings for: highly triggering material. blood. violence. nudity. drug use. alcohol abuse. untreated mental illness. strong/graphic sexual content. written and visual depictions of all of the above.]

[melancholiatm]

shesboundtolose:

She was off for the night, but she needed a score and there was no better way to get what she wanted than through Frankie, unfortunately. But, at least she’d drink for free, maybe conversate with KT for the night, and avoid having to deal with her boyfriend-non-boyfriend much. Hell, maybe she’d even dance or find someone else to hook up with. Lord knew Sullivan probably would.

Pulling up to The Blue Lounge, she parked in her usual spot. She didn’t drive around Brooklyn much, but she liked showing up at the club in her own car, so she could easily get out of dodge when she needed to.

Locking up, Lou jammed her hands in her pockets, a bit sour in mood as she started off toward the door, stopping only when she heard the voice call out. She pivoted, made sure the guy was talking to her, before smiling slightly and retracing her steps.

“No— That’s my baby,” she responded proudly, lifting her chin like a mother ready to brag about her kid. “Roosevelt. Had ‘im since I was fifteen. Probably in better shape than I am.” She chuckled softly, taking that tall drink of water in. He had such a familiar edge to him, seemed like trouble, which was exactly what she tended to look for. “An enthusiast or do you comment about all the shiny things you see?”

Ooooh. Well that answer derailed his plan to ask how much she wanted for it---- no chance in hell now, what with it being her ‘baby’ and all. Chuck had to laugh, no shame or even awareness of the fact that he might come off a little odd reacting outwardly to the thoughts in his own head. It helped that he was pleasantly buzzed, one too many drinks courtesy of KT blurring reality into something warm and too easily amusing. “Roosevelt, huh? I know a guy with a hard-on for Lincoln... th’hell is it with Brooklyn and presidents?” A question his brain decided was so pressing that he forgot all about the lady’s question

It took a weird look from her for him to realize he was probably reacting in slow motion to the rest of the sped-up world around him. That was what he got like without his vice of choice, life turned into a thick soup he struggled to muddle through. Again a chuckle, charm smeared into a crooked smile, as sloppy as his slept-in clothes. In any city but New York he’d probably be unappealing, but here it could all but pass for style. “I got a ‘69 300 in LA. I don’t know shit about cars except which ones look good-- your baby there is a catch though. I had to say somethin’.”

[lyrics-and-music]

What She Said // The Smiths

[melancholiatm]

fullofvoices:

Hanging out at Sam’s was never a bright idea, at least not one of his finest. He came to check up on Suzy, her kid, the family, and for the much calmer atmosphere than he could find at his club, with Frankie buzzing about and all that damn noise. Sam’s wasn’t a whole lot better when Suzy was in a mood and Sam came storming out of the back, but so far, so good in both respects. The redhead had largely ignored him and her father was nowhere to be seen. Only darling Anna was really slinging drinks and taking orders and for as much as he’d hurt her sister, the woman was just too kind to put up a stink about it. He abused that, ordered whiskey and fries, and had all but settled in when the shout came from his right.

Of course he looked; the noise had broken the hum hanging above them, and boy, was he glad he had. A bad boy, by appearance anyway, in the same vein as his best friend. Just his type. That sloppy grin clued him into the fact that a little flirtation wouldn’t result in a fight. With him anyway.

“It isn’t always so borin’,” he announced as he took the seat beside the man. “Believe it or not, there are several fights here. Might be one tonight if I’m unlucky.” Brad looked up and nodded toward Suzy who had been glaring at him as she spoke with Anna. “That one of there? The one with the curves and mean-ass look? An ex. She hates when I come in, but… They’ve got the best fries.” He chuckled and offered his hand. “Brad. Can’t say I’ve seen you around here before— And I’d remember a face like yours.”

“ ---Chuck,” came after a split second’s indecision between Charles and every other iteration of his name misheard in a loud ass club. The hand that was offered was met with his own but pulled into a slide-and-coil maneuver that turned it from proper handshake into a greeting more common on the lower income streets he was raised on. Half the impulse behind the decision was to test GQ and see how he handled it.

Then, of course, there was that unspoken question that got conveyed with a cocky lift of his brow------- Really? Curvy-And-Mean got a quick once-over before the fries in question got the same treatment. Only the latter between the two ended up in his hands and past his lips, though. No sooner did he swallow than Chuck was laughing good-naturedly, even clapping GQ on the shoulder. “A’ight, but you know McDonald’s guarantees service with a smile... don’t you?” 

Manchild with a trash ass palate, he’d found the other man’s appetizer decent enough to accompany a few beers but he hadn’t been convinced that the salty potato sticks were worth a potential fight with a mean ex. Shit. Maybe he’d finally found somebody that lived more dangerously than him--- and wouldn’t that be some shit? The thought alone caused a pleased grin to linger on thin lips. “I’m sayin’, if my girl looked at me like that-- I’d need a Happy Meal.”

[melancholiatm]

Chucky’s in the building. Replies are incoming.

[melancholiatm]

Chuck Scott’s one of those people who’s famous for being famous. You know the type … 

Spawn of the era of K.im K.ardashian– when names turned household before there was even a product to go along with them; whole empires built on Instagram, Snapchat, and filtered photos of fashionable parties. Half a million people follow his page for the goods—– a window into a life everybody wants to have. You’ve read and heard his name here and there, seen a few tweets, spotted a few pics– you bring him up and people are quick to nod along, yeah yeah, that guy. 

What he actually does besides live the good life and party, nobody can say for sure. Model, maybe. Not like a real one; at least you don’t think you’ve ever heard of him on a legit runway, but it’s 2k18 and Instagram might as well be Vogue. Love or hate the guy, you’re at least glad he doesn’t clog up your feed with flat tummy tea or personal training ads.

But maybe this is all too harsh. I mean, the guy’s accessible as fuck. The clubs he drops pins at are as likely to have ten dollar covers as they are to have a guest-list. He doesn’t do meet and greets or charge for a photo– c’mon, like is it really his fault he somehow knows an A-lister or two? Think about him long enough and you’ll get the feeling this is just one of those lucky dudes; the kinda guy that happened to be in somebody’s math class before they were famous, now still a friend in spite of the fame and the fortune. Would you really be any different if you were in his red bottom shoes?

[melancholiatm]

When he’s on the west coast you’ll catch Chuck either driving or riding around in his ‘69 Chrysler 300. It’s his first and only car. A true New Yorker through and through, the ID in his wallet is out of state and strictly Non-Driver but that stops him about as much as never having had a driving lesson in his life does. He doesn’t know how to do shit else but step on the gas and keep a hand on the steering wheel.

Don’t bother asking him for his registration and insurance either. He’s got neither. He paid 10k to a down on his luck classics collector and smacked fake vanity plates on to both fenders that read LOL CYA. Predictably, he’s spent more than the car’s initial buying price getting it back from law enforcement.

When his pockets get light or he’s just too high to drive anywhere good, the Chrysler’s backseat doubles as Chuck’s bedroom. It’s half the reason he keeps it as clean as he does, so he at least always has a nice place to lay his head ‘til the California sun goes down.

When the east coast calls he tosses the keys to whoever offers to watch it for him and rests easy on the knowledge that he’ll be back again and they’ll find each other– he and his car.

[gsbabygirl]

☀️

[melancholiatm]

"i'd say a little bit of both. good enough to be happy you brought me here, but hmm, i find your presence far more entertaining...if that makes any lick of sense~" soft hands continue to explore the taller male, sliding from his features and roaming down along broad shoulders as if to scope out every inch of chuck's form. all the while he finds himself hovering closer and closer, ruby red lips grazing against cold skin, aching to leave a crimson print.

“As long as I don’t wind up on the same list as your other friends.” Chuck hadn’t forgotten the mention of them, those boring strangers with their less than satisfactory parties---- the same who put such strange-seeming questions in Venny’s mouth. His answer mouthed against the young man’s ear, Chuck leaned back and gave him room for his tantalizing exploration. There wasn’t much to find underneath that signature motorcycle jacket of his; just a couple of layers of fabric and a too-lean torso that spoke clearly on how little he prioritized food and other self-care.

A truly single man, he has no worries about leaving with marks on his unclaimed flesh---- though nudity later in the night was likely to reveal there were already a few here and there, remnants of other one night stands with similar ambitions.

[melancholiatm]

"perhaps~" the young witch purrs, inviting himself in making a seat out of chuck's open lap; ever the impulsive little shit that he is. hopefully he won't mind and given the subtle incline to his admiring hands, it seems like that that's certainly the case. "hope i'm not distracting you of anything~"

“Nah, you’re good.” One didn’t really post up in a club for the view, after all. The corners of his mouth hitching up just a bit, Chuck slung an arm low around Venny’s waist to help hold him in the place he took for himself---- obviously he was welcome. “This mean the party is good enough for a reward, or, so bad you’re making due?”