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CHACE CRAWFORD 2024 | Rachell Smith ph. for L'Beauté Homme Issue #19

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For: @esmedragotta

A pair of haunting blue eyes watches her every movement with keen interest, like it wanted to drill a hole into her scalp; if one didn't know any better, they might actually mistake this sudden for genuine interest in the operation. "—My tremendous intuitive sense of female creatures tells me you're troubled..." he hums instead, sooty lashes batting, as if trying to unravel what was hiding behind her distress, tilting his head in a way that makes those unruly atumn locks fall lazily the arch of his ear, catching the late sun like fallen leaves.

He slides a small cup of chocolate chip ice cream towards her like some kind of silent offering. One of his personal favorites, but anything overly sweet seemed to appease even the worst of his moods. "Also... Neo texted me, because... Well," he pauses, eyes scanning the air as if searching for a reason. "I'm not really sure," his lips pucker in thought, and his pretty bluebell eyes narrow, staring off nowhere in particular. "I've been trying really hard to convince him we're not friends... It's harder than you'd think..." It's the way he says that—with a sigh on his lips, like a veteran who's undergone many, many battles, and is currently having war flashbacks in his mind. "...Anyways," it ends just as abruptly, with a shake of his head, decidedly, no longer wishing to dwell on that unpleasant topic. "Point is—you've been staring at that thing for an hour now... I think you should take a break." Cue the ice cream. He even nudges the little spoon her way as if to encourage her.

"Do you want me to kill him?" It comes abruptly, and he even manages to keep a serious face through it, though it takes somewhat of a conscious effort not to smile. "I mean, I could... I have a guy... Well—He's actually 'the guy', usually, but—I have another guy, also, who's a nice dude..." It's mostly jest. Stephen mostly only does clean-up jobs for his dad, and he tries not to ask too many questions about what that entails. "I mean, my dad wouldn't like it... It'd be bad for business and all... it'd probably give him an early heart attack..." Now, there's that cheeky little grin. "Which, you know—it's all the more reason we should do it."

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There's a choir of disappointed, incredulous 'aaah's' that follow her victory as a gentle reminder that grown men can and will weep too under the heel of a womanthe aces hit the table, proud and unapologetic, and Sebastian's own jovial laughter is lost somewhere amidst the cacophony; a heady mix between incredulity and drunken amusement.

Crisp, grey tendrils of smoke curl at the high apples of his cheek, veiling the sharp edges of his adonian features still a bit too young to quite blend smoothly on this table with older—far more experienced men, and still he laughs, laughter like a spill of champagne on cold tiles; bubbly and inebriating, those bright, patting the gentleman on his left on the shoulder, flirtatious, his ocean blue eyes twinkling with boyish mirth as he leans in: "I told you we should've went for strip poker," his smile is captivating, playful—charming in the way con men and cult leaders always seem to be while they lead you down to hell. "You know I'm married," his nearly-friend, not-quite-acquaintance, counters with a huff that's not nearly as annoyed as he pretends to be. Sebastian just nudges him with a dismissive: "I'm not jealous."

Cards laid to rest, looking less than saddened by the loss, he watches with undeniable amusement as she scoops up his lost chips like a hungry lion, and props himself up on his seat so he can lean over the table, cutting into the veil of her cigarette smoke—a gloved hand pressed to his sternum.

"Heartbroken,"

He declares in a mouthful, lips unfurling into a pout as his jovial features soften; poor little rich boy and all.

"Do I get a consolation prize?"

Closed Starter! @sebastianvb

Location: Royal Flush Casino and Resort in the evening

(CW: Gambling)

She was kicking ass at poker... for a while at least.

"Stand." The dealer did their job after hearing her say that and she gazed straight ahead at another table, keeping her poker face as unreadable as possible.

When it was her turn again she felt the pressure of trying to read her opponents. She didn't want to give her strategy away, so she cocked her head to the side briefly.

"Anybody got a cigarette and a light?" She asked.

One of the guys who had lost a lot of money earlier that night obliged and put a fresh cigarette from his pack between her lips and lit it for her. She blew out a puff of smoke before gazing at her opponents, then at the dealer without showing a stitch of what she was thinking.

"Hit me." She requested, and the dealer gave her another card.

Her hand was immaculate, and she put her cards down before taking another drag of her cigarette, blowing out smoke before a smirk came across her face.

"Read em' and weep. All aces. Pay up boys, I win again." She said as she leaned back in her chair, turning her cards over so they could see them and it was indeed all aces.

"How's it feel to lose pretty boy?" She asked smugly as she scooped up her poker chips as she gazed at Sebastian Van Buren before taking another drag of her cigarette.

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For: Lorena ( @cfichor ) Where: Cup of Joy

Unfortunately for the betterment of society, Sebastian is making a full recovery, it seems—up and about already, hair swept back into unruly submission, dark sunglasses on to hide whatever hints of exhaustion might still plague his delicate features, and a tall glass of... he'll insist on calling it coffee, but there's way too much whipped cream and caramel in that for it to be considered a beverage and not a full on dessert at this point. "...Ah, killer bee!" the voice greets with such effortless casualness that anyone within earshot would think them friends, a cheery lilt to his step; the intimacy of the nickname rolling easily off his tongue. "I was wondering when I'd run into you again..." A brief pause, the flicker of a grin flashes. "Alright, I was dreading when I'd run into you again... but I'd forgotten how attractive you were."

Before she has a chance to dismiss him, there he is—making space for himself on the seat opposite to her, fingers curled under his chin as he props his elbow on the table. "My offer to exploit me is still up, you know?" he spares a brief, fleeting glance at the security parked outside, by the car. It's not the smartest strategy to wonder about without security hovering over him after what happened last week—even though he'll insist it was just a freak accident—but if he wanted to be hoarded by burly men, he'd hit the gym and have a compass tattoo on his arm. "I can tell you'd look way better than Jeoffrey carrying me around... but don't tell him I say that—he's surprisingly sensitive for a big guy."

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GIFSET REQUEST ⇢ Nate Archibald from @alexlightwod​

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Sebastian: Jerking yourself off with both hands doesn't count as a threesome Neo Sebastian: Neither do decapitated hands Sebastian: ... Sebastian: Aw you're so sentimental Sebastian: Anyways I can't promise that Sebastian: Women are allowed to develop standards you know

iMessage: Sebby

Sebastian: ... Sebastian: Then why are you whining? Sebastian: Most importantly Sebastian: Why are you whining to me? Sebastian: ... Sebastian: Do you want me to fuck her or something? Sebastian: Cause for the record Sebastian: If a ménage à trois you're after Sebastian: You're not really my type Neo: Because you say shit like this that make us realize I'm being dramatic Neo: I mean you could. Maybe Neo: I don't speak French, but I only do threesomes on Thursdays Neo: not my type either dude. Neo: nvm don't fuck my ex. I changed my mind

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Sebastian: ... Sebastian: Then why are you whining? Sebastian: Most importantly Sebastian: Why are you whining to me? Sebastian: ... Sebastian: Do you want me to fuck her or something? Sebastian: Cause for the record Sebastian: If a ménage à trois you're after Sebastian: You're not really my type

iMessage: Sebby

Sebastian: ... Sebastian: how bad is bad? Sebastian: was the sex bad? Sebastian: it's an excusable offense if it was good Neo: sex was good Neo: The ex was bad. Neo: Pailey's mom bad.

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For: @seethingblooms Where: Turkish Delight

A wisp of sunlight catches on the dark lenses of his sunglasses as the boy successfully dodges being touched, angling himself away from what he presumes is security and their grabby hands with an incredulous expression on his face. "—Are you trying to die?" sheer, unfiltered disbelief catches on his throat as he pushes the sunglasses down the bridge of his nose slightly, skimming them from head to toe as a small crease forms the center of his forehead. "You want to touch me, you buy me drinks first... except I'm not interested, so—shoo." he waves them off with his hand, dismissively, as if shooing a stray dog, and promptly redirects his attention to where it matters.

A smile—and his features soften again, his eyes glint with playfulness as the hostility drains from him. "I've decided to forgive you," he declares, even though no apologies had been uttered; a dark gift box wrapped in a red bow is placed on her table unceremoniously. "Even though you didn't come see me while I was on my deathbed—" meaning an inchy face, at most, but Sebastian always had a flair for the dramatics. "I'm going to forgive you because I'm a very Zen person… and I'm also on a lot of pain medication right now," he gestures towards the box with a slight movement of his head, eagerness barely concealed in the way he waits there, eager, hands entwined behind his back, impatiently fidgeting. "Go on... it doesn't bite, you can open it... You throw me out if you don't like it. But—you do it, okay? I don't like Mr.Handsy over there; he's way too eager to get his hands on my tight little body."

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Sebastian: ... Sebastian: how bad is bad? Sebastian: was the sex bad? Sebastian: it's an excusable offense if it was good

iMessage: Sebby

Neo: yoo Neo: I fucked up bad Neo: I fucked my ex

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"Wake... Mayor speech," he says, his gloved hands weaving through the air with spindly fingers, as if theatrically stitching his point together. "Have you ever heard that fossil give a speech? Same difference, trust me." He drawls, a pained—nearly whiny—intonation clinging to his words, befitting a suffering soul who’s endured one too many of them.

She’s so grouchy. As if his very presence vexes her. Fascinating. He finds it all so endearing.

"I’ve sucked a lot of questionable things in my life, it’s true—but I don’t think luck’s one of them. Things just always end well for me. It's like I'm... God’s favorite or something." Or he’s just a white, rich man, who happens to be conventionally attractive, so things inexplicably fall into place—but the chirpy pride in his voice makes it clear: reflecting on social status isn’t something he does often, if ever.

"You look pretty… did you do something to your hair? It looks nice." Despite her sharp tongue, that dumb, adoring look on his face remains completely unaffected. "You know, if the ceiling falls again, you're welcome to use me as your shield."

Giving him a disbelieving look, Beren lifted her chin slightly in an undeniably haughty and judgemental way. "If the mayor died, it would be all over the news and this would have been turned into a wake." Which would have been fine because she looked fabulous in black, but she didn't feel like humoring him, his blase attitude getting under her skin even if she knew it could be argued that she owed him.

Hero her ass.

"Or perhaps you suck all the luck out of a room." She responded, her voice deceptively light as she shrugged a shoulder. "No offense."

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The coveted bachelor outstretches his gloved hands in a boastful gesture of unmitigated pride. The tragedies still hung heavy in the air, and the cut of his own brush with death engraved in flesh still—concealed beneath a bandaged palm—had done little to dampen his supercilious demeanor, it seemed.

"In the flesh and Armani." he declares, stepping closer, those pearly blue eyes already shining like the devil himself had lit that mischievous spark.

"Naturally. One of us had to keep our dignity long enough to call for help... don’t worry, I photograph better anyway." His mother didn’t seem to find the story quite as amusing as he did. Alas. At least the paramedic was impressed. "Why are you here? Did the family run out of fun brothers?"

"jesus fucking christ, not you." gael sighed, running a hand through his hair before looking around for any back up singers for sebastian's brand of insanity and stupidity. he didn't immediately see anyone tagging along to cause chaos, but he was sure it wouldn't take long. "of course it's you." couldn't have a fancy politician's event without inviting all the silver spoon kids. or was he rich enough to call it a golden spoon? "don't tell me you're here to receive a medal for your heroism." that seemed to be how things worked in sebastian's world, at least from gael's perspective. @sebastianvb

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closed starter for @seethingblooms

"Are you starting to miss the falling ceiling too?" Call him dramatic—but he'd take a rain of glass over standing around prettily out of obligation.

"Maybe the Mayor died," he says with an air of nonchalance that borders on excitement, tugging at his tie like it's choking him. He throws her a sideways glance, amused, and offers her a glass with his gloved hand—beneath it, a tactfully hidden bruise wrapped in bandages that will need tending after the party.

"You are kind of turning into a bad omen," he adds, a dash of playfulness to his tone, "no offense."

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starter: closed (@cfichor) location: bacha-lacha

Looking for his phone (and his date, but mostly his phone—which unfortunately happened to be with his date) in midst the bubbling chaos and poorly dressed bodies had proven quite the challenge; when he first heard the gunshots his brain thought 'oh! fireworks' rather than bullets. It took a long second for it to register what was actually happening, and for the sharp, smoky odor of ricocheting bullets to invade his nostrils.

There was blood splattered on the walls, and he was feeling a bit dazed, and a bit too inebriated to have the good sense to walk away (had he ever?). He got there just in time to watch two bodies be slammed against the ground, and another one turned into a meat shield. Interesting day. Very eventful. By the time she's looking up at him, he had completely forgotten why he'd wandered off to do to begin with.

"Um... oh, yeah... Right, I was gonna ask about my phone but that feels kind of a non-issue right now, not gonna lie to you." You know. Considering the two corpses. He even touches his chest, hands digging into his half unbuttoned shirt, searching for bullet holes and finding none. Lucky day. He really must be God's favorite. Alright—if heaven and hell are real the other side's probably the one rooting for him, but still.

He pointed a finger to the bodies on the floor, pushing his lips into a half-pout, bobbing his head slightly. "...That was hot." and disturbing. And frightening. He's a 'glass half full' kind of guy, though. "So would you ever consider working as private security or...?" a pause. "Because I would throw insane amounts of money your way just to watch you walk in front of me, just so you know."