the mad hare

Selective Sander Cohen

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Julian:

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Julian smiles impishly, his pale blue eyes batting ever so innocently. He’d suggested this prank in jest, but Martin had been so tickled by the idea. There’d been no way to refuse the disciple’s insistence, nor the impossible smile that came with it, before they’d left for the gala together. Julian has to admit his own amusement, albeit privately, as he continues to feign a foreign tongue.

“Martin a dit peu de choses sur vous. Je suppose qu'il est inquiet , il va ruiner votre mystique,” he gives a light laugh, “Est- ce pas ridicule?”

It’s a bit of an exaggeration to say that Sander can’t speak any French. It’s functional, barely-conversational, and purely for emergencies when he can’t tote around a cute French boy through Paris to play translator. Which was exceedingly rare when he used to be able to go to Paris...

“Je ne suis pas très mystérieux une fois que vous arrivez à me connaître.” Sander answers calmly, though he can feel that pressure along his left temple that warms him of another migraine coming on.

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He’s a fucking boiler rat who spends all of his time down in Hephaestus, and yet-- and yet-- the little worm has Silas wrapped around his finger.                                   How in the world?!

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Il est un tel plaisir de vous rencontrer enfin , Monsieur Cohen. Je suis un admirateur de votre travail.

Sander would have an opinion on what the little gumdrop is saying if he could speak any fucking French. He doesn’t understand why Martin’s entertaining the boy-- perhaps he learned the habit from the artist, in which case Sander would be outright hypocritical-- but he’s getting a little irked by him.

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Favorite:

Modeling is an exhausting practice. Poor Silas would’ve never guessed just how fatiguing it is to stay still, posed in the same position for hours on end, scolded for blinking or breathing too much. Even laying down, all the southerner can focus on his own discomfort. His fingers ache to twitch. His legs routinely cramp. The absolute worst part is the persistent itch nagging just between his shoulder blades. After thirty minutes of quiet cringing, the disciple finally gives in to scratching, albeit with useless, close-trimmed nails.

“Yeah…maybe two at this rate.” 

The disciple huffs, half in frustration and half in relief for the reprieve . As always, Sander’s hands steal the tension from his shoulders. Hardly a minute passes before Cobb is reduced to putty, bowed forward against the artist with his eyes closed and jaw slackened.

“…You almost done?” he whines softly, “Can I peek yet?”

Under usual circumstances, with different models, Sander Cohen is a nightmare. He’s unforgiving and tolerates not a single complaint. At SIlas’ griping, however, he chuckles, and allows his hands to move over tense muscles tentatively. Clay under his hands, as he always has been... and probably always will be. It’s a dangerous word however and Sander knows that all too well.

“Almost done. If you can behave yourself for just a little longer...” The way Silas whines has always had a way of sending sparks down Sander’s spine, and he leans forward to ghost his lips teasingly over the younger’s. “...I’ll be sure the wait has been worth it. Is that fair?”

Truly, always is a dangerous word. It sets the tone for eternity, as though such a thing is a luxury either man has. It makes promises so easily broken, like that long, tempting neck... Sander’s fingers trail over sensitive skin there knowingly, as though making more promises to break rather than nerve endings and vertebrae. He leans in to kiss there instead, just shy of Silas’ adam’s apple.

[starshipwarbird]

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Few are the patrons who truly understand the struggle of the artist.

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Why do you /insist/ on wearin' so much goddamn makeup?

The question begs pause from the artist, who turns away from his vanity to look at the younger man. His ring finger has rouge smudged along the pad-- he learned from his mother to use his ring finger as it is the weakest of the digits and would damage his skin the least-- and in the other hand he holds a brush. Ambidextrous. 

“I enjoy it. A few choice lines of shadow or highlighting hues can transform the face from one look to another. The face is simply another canvas.” Sander resumes putting the crimson on his lips. “Perhaps now you’re going to drone on with your ridiculous notions of what a ‘man’ ought to and ought not to do.”

He doesn’t bother himself with Silas’ approval; he knows well enough the younger man will either take or leave what Sander has to offer, and usually, he takes what’s bestowed greedily.

[goodishmusic]

Visit Original Link

the hills | the weeknd

[blaccula-lives]

It is the work of man to ask. It is the work of the artist.. to answer

[marazhai]

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rapturerecordssilas

“What am I going to do with you?” It’s conversational, not contemptuous. Sander curls craft-worn fingers under Silas’ chin, positioning his head just so in order to make his face point in the direction of Sander’s lighting. The curtains are drawn in the apartment to shut out the New York City lights and noise; for all intents and purposes, Sander has rendered his apartment an island in the middle of a dark ocean, save for the lighting and the bed he’s convinced Silas to lay out on.

“You’re tense.” His hands trail down from positioning his model to pressing away the tension from the younger’s shoulders. “Do you need a moment?”

[agnvs]

                                                     L A M B                                                           IS                                              W A T C H I N G

[saiasus]

[thegxtherer]

   Ok so this blog right here is my most successful blog I have ever had, I never thought I’d even get 200 let alone 300 followers! You guys are seriously amazing and in all honesty the Bioshock fandom is the best fandom I have ever placed myself in. Everyone who follows me I give great thanks and I probably will never be able to thank you enough for taking the time to get to know my little babe. ♥

Fellow Sisters;;

bestestsisterever ║ derelictxe ║ fearofthewaves ║ ofgatheriings ║ the-saddest-sister ║ wuunderkinds

Mommies & Daddies;;

0xa00001 ║ akarmacollector ║ alphadaddeltadad ║ bogisms ║ cewyll ║ combinxtion ║ deathboundinautumn ║ docfixedme ║ doctorgreyminez ║ encxged ║ godsfoolishgirl ║ heterxdox ║ iniinnocence ║ jayden-earle ║ kiddyourself ║ kokkinos ║ lxllio ║ manxrslave ║ martyria ║ marulhada ║ meow-n-save ║ ofworldsend ║ oozingsoreofdepravity ║ painxbeauty ║ redemitxmonstri ║ scientificxe ║ spookedjournalist ║ tendrcsse ║ the-ouija-board-sent-me ║ theblessednavigator ║ thefirstalpha ║ theoceanonhishoulders ║ tindxddy ║ unwantedexperiment ║ voluntes-cor ║ vortexnomad ║ warmhandtohold

Angels;;

acroriis ║ chosefamily ║ criminalroyalty ║ deessebleue ║ detcastellanos ║ doesnthink ║ edgarpoe-nevermore ║ flutteringmothwings ║ fortismiles ║ goblynprince ║ goldbadge ║ hxcuspocus ║ iincxrruptus ║ influencedbyfear ║ intellectandwill ║ kyle-fitzpatrick ║ lapetitegxry ║ literalwordvomit ║ lutecetwin║ maskdad ║ memoirefolie ║ ncthanprescott ║ noapostle ║ panaceaism ║ papatenenbaum ║ parxsitic ║ poorlittlejoseph ║ precioussunflowerchild ║ priimaryheiir ║ profiteer ║ quadtxch ║ rondeursx ║ rottedhope ║ sanctamater ║ sanctimxnious ║ sufferixg ║ thcriddler ║ the-gardens-finest ║ thelawbelow ║ thereaintnoatlas ║ thesongbirdofrapture ║ veilled ║ veilcd ║ vindictivevirus ║ voiidism ║ vxrare ║ walridcr ║ wxddle ║ xendure ║ xgoblin ║ yung-asuka

[wasmlchelangelo-deactivated2016]

You wish I was yours, And I hope that you’re m i n e.

Lurk // The Neighbourhood 

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hector-goddamn-rodriguez

He can’t say he’s particularly surprised. He understands Hector can rack up quite the pricey bill at any of Rapture’s establishments. To have started seeing one of the richest men in Rapture is simply playing smart, to Sander’s way of thinking. He’s seen the flowers and gifts being delivered after every show Hector plays a role in.

“I see that your greatest admirer has keeping you well-fed in mind, along with everything else he showers you with.” Sander nods to the delivery boy coming down the steps to the stage where rehearsal is happening. He sets down his copy of the script-- vandalized with notes on blocking and lighting both-- and folds his arms, looking to the delivery boy expectantly. “Don’t be shy, boy, the man’s not getting anywhere with his script at the moment anyway.”

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This is a Permenant Starter Call. Length of starter is bound to vary.