the black parade.

[scntinos]

💬 sms to open.

HADLEY: you're an angel sent from heaven my little sunray. i would feel bad if i had you covering when i should be there, thouhgggghhh...

HADLEY: AHHHH too tempting when you're in. i am weak

SUNNY: you are entirely not wrong my tiny dewdrop. but you need not feel bad? i am OFFERING - you are not having me do anything. besides, sick days should be guilt free!!

SUNNY: just buy me a round of drinks and we shall be even

[prettypentatonix]

[scntinos]

💬 sms to open.

HADLEY: HELP i need to decide whether to go out tonight or not. i don't have work until tomorrow afternoon but i also am a little under the weather but DOUBLE also i kinda want to celebrate getting this part i was really wanting

HADLEY: looking for company and opinions SOS

SUNNY: YES go out! if you end up unwell, i will cover you no worries, babe. you should celebrate for sure, you work so hard while some of us are hardly working ;)

SUNNY: speaking of, i am absolutely IN

[scntinos]

XIOMARA:

Working as a receptionist at the hotel was slightly exhausting. She was the person that everyone saw when their first walked into the hotel - that besides the person who often opened the door for them. She was the person who was supposed to give the hotel a good first impressional. A lot of times when people would first walk up to her to check in, they’d be tired. It was a hotel after all. Some guests were great while some were a piece of work. Xiomara would never tell anyone the real reason she worked there; it would be a secret for now. After a long shift, she clocked out, changed out of her work clothes and made her way through Brighton. She pulled her camera out of her purse and started taking a few pictures, purposely taking shots of other people so she could try to keep tabs on them. It’s been a year since she’s been at Brighton, but she’s still wanting to know everything about everyone. It’ll get her in trouble one day, but she’s not too concerned right now.

Sunny’s killing time before he drops back by the diner to catch Hadley’s set. He feels a little bad that his younger coworker often gets saddled with the later shift but he’s not about to speak to their manager about it -- he might mistake his sympathy for volunteering. Iced coffee in hand and one headphone in his ear, he’s paying relatively little attention to his surroundings (certainly far lower than he ought to, considering something may very well be going on in this city). The shutter of a camera, however, is music to Sunny’s ears and in an instant, his eyes lock onto the photographer who is seemingly aiming their lens right at him. Vain through and through, Sunny brightens and his brow arches. “I’d say to take a picture because it’ll last longer,” he begins, already proud of his own wit, “but it would seem you’ve already got the memo. I wasn’t aware I was going to be modeling today or I’d have surely done more with my contour.”

[scntinos]

JEREMIAH:

so, this is what the brits call summer. seventy damn degrees with wind, and there’s homies in cargo shorts and honeys in itty-bitty shorts. if he’s honest, he can’t truly complain about the latter. 

he tugs a camel from his pack and tucks it between his lips. long digits slip into his back pocket to find it empty and wet. he lets out a quiet curse. no lighter, no life. he flags down the next passerby with a slick grin.             ‘   hey– gotta light ? ’ 

It’s not all that much warmer than a Parisian summer day but Sunny’s still sweating. And why? Because his aesthetic refuses to allow him not to wear all black on a day he’s off of work. The leather jacket might have been a step too far and he’s regretting it somewhat as he beelines his way toward the beach. It was completely and totally punk rock to kick off your boots and dip your toes into the water in the case of a heat emergency, he decides.

Of course, as luck would have it, his attention is being called and, unfortunately, he just can’t bring himself to ignore someone who needed him. The question makes his brow furrow. “Do I look like someone who has a light?” he quips before he realizes he looks less like a golden throated singer who balks at the sight of a cigarette, and more like the very type of person who would carry a lighter. Oops? “Ah, I am sorry. I do not smoke.”

[scntinos]

BOWIE:

—— he’s not sure what he’s expecting as wanders into the dimly lit bar, patrons everywhere, munching on their greasy food with the utmost delight. a flyer remains in his hand, clutched tightly as if he’s afraid to let it go. since arrive in brighton, sunny had made haste to seem to avoid the blonde, but there was no way he could run this time. after all, he was one of the main performers, and it’d be rather unprofessional for him to leave. a diabolical plan is not something bowie had been considering for the day, but once he had found the flyer whilst walking around the pier, he knew he had to see him. his eyes wandered over to the black stage as he found himself a booth fairly close to the front, itching to see the boy perform. for ages, he had been relying on his memory of the other singing beautiful melodies, too terrified to come to the diner to see him until now. he didn’t know why, but a feeling of confidence hung over him like sunlight after clouds parted, illuminating every fiber in his body. he was visibly nervous as he awaited for the other to take the stage, his thoughts clouded with visions of just how he’d look once his pretty eyes landed upon bowie’s. would he be happy? angry? there was no telling with him, really. the realization made him fidget harder in his seat, fingers clutching at his jeans desperately.

@scntinos

It shouldn’t be any different from the hundreds of other times he’s done his diva power ballad performance at the diner. There’s a decent number of customers sitting at the scattered booths and tables, chattering pleasantly in between acts. Live entertainment was often what the people came to see -- the American style food was an added bonus. As his jazzy cue plays on the piano -- the opening chords to Aretha Franklin’s Ain’t No Way -- Sunny slinks his way onto the stage, his sequin lined white suit coat catching the stage lights in just the right ways to draw the last few audience members attention. There’s a smattering of applause which makes him smile. He’s got a whole set; if they clapped every time he did something as minimally impressive as walk on stage, they’d hardly have their hands free for the diner grub. Dainty fingers caress the old fashioned style microphone, intimately bring it to his lips to begin his singing. It’s all routine. It shouldn’t be any different. “Ain’t no way... for me to love you,” he croons smoothly, eyes half lidded as he settles into the song with ease. Some part of him wishes he’d have closed them completely -- then he wouldn’t have seen Bowie sitting in one of the prime booths for viewing of the singer’s stage. Bowie. It isn’t that Sunny’s been avoiding him (okay, yes, he’s been avoiding him but not actively), they’re just in a different time now. A different place. Against his will, Sunny can’t seem to take his eyes off his ex, even as he sings about his duty to ‘help and love a man.’ Shit.

[scntinos]

as promised, it is i, NAT, coming at you with my second muse and i’m actually in love with him. get ready to meet sunny, my tiny demiboy with dreams of being the pop punk rock revival™. honestly he’ll use any pronouns to describe himself (his faceclaim also uses she/him pronouns interchangeably for himself so that’s being kept canon) but i’ll use he/him here just know you can do whatever you feel comfortable doing tbh but yes this is shorter than pip’s because focusing is hard rn but i’m ready to love you!

- basically a lil, queer, punk tinkerbell who will die if you don’t love him - santino is his real name but he goes by sunny p much exclusively. only call him santino if you’re mad @ him ? he will get really pouty and it’s kind of cute but don’t call him that either. - he’s a tiny italian but he grew up in france so he speaks both italian and french fluently w/ a heavy french accent. like he’s gonna have a french accent to his english too but i will likely not be writing it so you’ll please have to use your imaginations ~ - his family moved to brighton when sunny was 18. his wanderlust bitten parents wanted a change of scenery to inspire them (they’re both very artsy in their own ways) and they ended up in cute lil brighton england with all its pastel houses and pretty beach sunsises - which is lowkey the opposite of sunny? he’s dark clothing and the nightlife scene - despite his resident edgelord status, he works @ blue moon diner and basically covers diva jams through the eras bc he can kill those high notes. honestly, if you’ve ever heard mitch’s voice, i couldn’t take that away from dear sunny but imagine a french tint to him vocally - his true inspiration, though, is the pop punk rock scene. he wants to be the frontman of a pop punk band and his entire style aesthetic matches that desire: dyed hair, piercings, ink, etc - watch THIS VIDEO for pure sunny aesthetic - sunny is passionate, loud, crass, and coy. his interests include music, sarcasm, pretending he’s taller than he really is and flirting. he’ll flirt with everyone but he’s only romantically / sexually interested in men / nb folk. casual sex is a gift in his book though he has dated before. - back in paris, he had a best friend turned boyfriend named bowie (all the b’s apparently). bowie was special because bowie gave sunny every last drop of his affection which is really sunny’s turn on. as someone confident in his self expression and out here to turn heads, he captured bowie’s eye and hasn’t ever shaken it, honestly. he felt worshiped and it made for a decent romantic relationship. - however, sunny’s REALLY not the kind to commit. it’s a grass is greener on the other side kind of curse and once he found himself in deep, he got spookened. logically he PROBABLY should have ended things with bowie and let the poor sap have some closure but no. flighty impulsive sunny had to ghost and leave things up in the air. really he was asking for bowie to follow him smh. - with friendships as well as relationships he’s kind of… demanding. like he CRAVES all attention on him and wants to be the object of everyone’s desire. it’s different from pip in that he’s more whiny and stroppy about it. probably to the point of annoyance but that’s his problem. he’ll basically just do whatever to make sure people like him. - sunny is a perfectionist and actually suffers from mild ocd personality disorder. his symptoms primarily manifest in detail / list preoccupation, an inability to find satisfaction with certain things, a stubbornness in his opinion that goes beyond rational, and an inability to ask others for help since he refuses to allow anything to be done less than perfectly. it impacts his relationship as well and is cause for him to occasionally act out against authority. but if he trusts you, that trust is all encompassing. - he’s gluten intolerant! he occasionally does graffiti around brighton! he’s only 5′5! idk there are lots of tiny details about him you can go read HERE if you’re interested

if you would like to PLOT with my 2nd baby, feel free to IM me or message me or like this? now i’m finally gonna respond to MY IMs so we can get this show on the road!

[staygold-motherfucker]

[faeneko-blog]

[jumex]

[champgn]

[ptxdaily]

SUPERFRUIT | “IMAGINARY PARTIES”

[of-pugs-and-men]

[artificial-jesus]

On a scale of cuddles to rough sex i need everything on the fucking scale.

[st-pitch-blease]

[anxiousalexmp3]

[scntinos]

paintpoppys:

      with a small smile oliver unwraps the band-aid and leans over enough to wrap the sticky plastic around the pinky on sunny’s opposite hand, so that when the two of them have their fingers linked the band-aids will touch. oliver is completely unaware as to why that’s that reason, especially because he shouldn’t be thinking about linking their fingers together but here he is, thinking about linking their fingers together. oliver is very gentle when he pulls his hands away from sunny’s and into his own lap. if olliver weren’t afraid to show his artwork to the entire universe, then maybe he would bring in some of his paints, and paint flowers growing around a microphone, or some growing out of eye sockets that belong to a face that looks a lot like sunny’s. he’ll have to settle for a signature,and a little message. 

       “are you sure? with all the pain medicine you’re on i bet you wouldn’t even feel it, and it’ll be done healing by the time you don’t need any medicine by mouth. right now might be the best time.” oliver chuckles, looking around the room for a marker to sign the cast with. “i would love to sign your cast, darling.” oliver reaches out to rest his hand on top of sunny’s forearm, careful to avoid any IV’s or wires that might be scattered on the bed, connected t object he has no idea what they do. his thumb brushes gently against the other’s arm, as he tells himself this wasn’t your fault, but maybe if you had been there they would have been safe.

     for whatever reason, the delicate way in which ollie is handling them nearly makes sunny’s eyes well up with tears. they don’t really consider themselves a ‘crier’ -- it takes a really sad movie or cancer by mcr to bring on the waterworks and, even then, it’s more of a delicate sniffle than a full blown ugly cry. and yet, here they are, with a tightness swelling in their chest as they watch ollie’s nimble fingers wrap a hello kitty plaster ‘round their pinky. “a work of art,” they trill, examining the end result, only slightly disappointed to find that oliver pulls his hand entirely away from sunny’s touch. they want to readjust their position but sunny’s quickly learned that at least in the early days of the break, relief from the tingles of sitting in one place too long was not worth the agonizing aches the movement causes. 

     “excuse me, oliver. are you trying to convince me to get something in your handwriting tattooed onto my body? because this is coercion and i simply will not stand for it.” sunny doesn’t even remember what coercion means but it sounds pretty and the familiar banter is making them smile more than they have in days. “i have some lovely silver pens in the top drawer of my endtable,” they offer, noting ollie’s search. sunny has been here so long, it’s like they’ve moved into the place. when that damned gentle touch returns, sunny feels emotion closing their throat as softness radiates through their entire being. no one should look at sunny like this, they think roguely, no one should care this much. sunny wishes they could pretend it means more than it does but, still, their eyes go misty with unshed tears. “’m really glad you’re here, ollie. i’m sorry if i worried you any. i was just...” needy? lonely. “scared.” they aren’t sure if the word they settle on is better or worse than the other options.