#claudiamcrshall

[julianxsantiago]

@claudiamcrshall

Completed scripts have weighed less than the single sheet of paper that was handed to the both of them. Their signatures stared back at them, side-by-side, underneath an official heading in gothic font, the seal of city hall a badge of needed realism in a moment that felt anything but reality. It passed from his hand to hers, a casual transfer with serious eyes, the responsibility now hers to place it while the key to the mustang filled the void. Now, he feels her diamond underneath his touch. It's transitioned from engagement ring to wedding ring in a few hours, the courthouse long faded from the rearview mirror. A squeeze to her hand comes from a shifting gear, sometimes from nothing at all. If she chooses to question him for it, he'll be answering to his wife, no one else.

"You know where we're going yet?" he beats her to it, eyes on the road, another shifting gear instead.

[sebastianxsteele]

@claudiamcrshall @julianxsantiago circa Identity

[wesleyfairchild]

@claudiamcrshall​

“For something that’s damn near impossible to slip on off your finger, it certainly has got a habit of slipping your mind when it comes to me, darling,” he tells her, eyes gesturing down to the ring that’s on her, wanting a more thorough look of it since the moment he noticed it. This time, where the objective is to make one to match it for the one who gave it to her, it is his only set price. There is a strict ‘no haggling’ policy in his house, hand out, palm up, awaiting to be paid upfront. “Never would I think of running off with it, not without paying a small ransom for it first.”

[ninaxmorgan]

@claudiamcrshall​

There used to be tiny fingerprints embedded in blue eyeshadow. It co-existed with that all too familiar and all too fleeting period of girlhood that emulates mothers. It's sickening to remember those one-off moments. Her stomach cinches before the palette clicks closed, a prop returned to its original place on set. This is not her bedroom. This is not Carolina's bedroom either. It's no one's. An empty, open box that will be exposed by lights and cameras until Nina's head lifts, catching the reflection in the vanity set.

"Oh, you scared me," she lets out with a found breath, always on-hand, turning to face Claudia. She knows all about big fish in small ponds, always swimming, swimming, swimming. "Lina told me to grab something she left behind." There's an extension of a small smile, a shadow of apology, while her hair is brushed back from her forehead. "You won't like this, but she won't be able to make it in today. She's sick."

[ezrafairchild]

It’s too late in the season for the air to be sweet with magnolias. Those trees have all but turned into kindle with how their leaves have browned up, but there are still rosebuds in the warm dew of Alabama, sprinkled here and there on the property. The south never does know the meaning of winter most of the time, free of snowstorms and ice, only a frosty chill can ever come from visitors that haven’t a clue what it means to be hospitable nor to accept it in a kindly manner.

“Has anyone happened to tell you he’s not all that much for conversation, that man of yours?” Ezra laughs as they stroll up the walkway, brick-lined with boxwoods to the sides and spanish moss above. “The most peculiar accent he has,” he goes on, the tip of a cane punctuating the statement. “Must be why.” Almost sounds understanding, pitying, really. A smile to the girl, all in good nature. “We do love having you come down all this way to see us.--How long is it that you’ll all be staying with us for again, sugar?“

[damionxkillgrave]

@claudiamcrshall​

The moment they were told they would be having a girl, Damion couldn't imagine having a son. It was going to be purple walls and unicorn stickers for the first few years until Kit could get away with holding a hammer. A decade later, it would be the closest thing he could get to what life would have been like had the very opposite had happened. Instead of a dead daughter, he had the faintest glimpse of a live son.... in-law. Never could quite be pushed over into flesh and blood territory, not with directions given instead of suggestions asked for. But between the strict voice and persistent attitude, he could get away with it, read between the lines for what was, knowing the glue that kept them together in the same room without yelling at each other.

They were finally done. Just in time. Damion hung back in the kitchen, hearing the door of the house open up with Julian there to greet who was walking in. He wasn't told to leave like he thought he was going to, but the urge to bolt was in the air. Special day for the kiddo. He'd tell her happy birthday and get out of the way, let her enjoy what had come out of it, let her guy get full credit. Only hitch was Julian's nod over to him, his share there to take, included like it was some bait to an unknown trap.

"...Yeah," he spoke with hesitation, gauging the dark eyes suspiciously before sliding over to Claudia, a more comfortable face to land on, softening. "Nothing to it. Just FYI, if the two of you ever move out of this place, good luck on hauling that desk out of here. I have two hernias and a slipped disc."

[seraphxdavis]

@claudiamcrshall​

The thumb flicks against the gear, that metallic grating sharp in a quiet room, the only light to its name birthed from the same cigarette lighter held in Seraph's hand. Orange hue splashes against his face, a smile with teeth baring as he looks at Claudia. The color of the flame goes well with her redenned eyes, always the prettiest when she cries, and the loss of a mother has her glowing. What good can a whore make for a mother, though? The loss should feel like a gift, a gift he's given to her, but he can't blame her when she doesn't know who's responsible.

"You scared?" he asks with eyes glued to her. A burning wick has a certain scent to it, and it swirls around them as the candle is lit and placed between them on the floor he's made them both sit on. His bedroom floor. His dominion. His girl. "I know you’re not getting cold feet on me."

[micahbates]

💕

💕 …someone my muse loves.

Oh boy! There’s no one that Micah loves more than lil Lindy aka @eloisebardot! What a swell gal! Best baby sis alive! She might be five years younger than him, but he knows that if he ever becomes the victim of a heinous murder, she’ll be the one holding the knife. For some odd reason, there’s some morbid comfort to that, which explains why he risks his life continuously in his profession. Can’t die if you’ve already got a date with destiny at the hand of your sister!

As far as romantic love goes, how could anything compare to his hopeless one-sided crush on @claudiamcrshall. She’s a real firecracker, let me tell ya! She’s strong, independent, and pretty. The trifecta! Admitting that he’s in love with her, though, hasn’t tumbled out of his big, fat mouth yet. It’s the one thing that hasn’t, and it’s got something to do with knowing she’s so far out of his league that watching her is like visiting the Mona Lisa. Utterly priceless, cannot be touched, and certainly cannot be taken home unless you’re prepared to pay the price with prison time. It’s fine!

[fatherjuliansantiago]

Send me a pin and I’ll write something based off of it...

[x]

@claudiamcrshall

“Sit.” 

The pews fill. The sounds of keys, of wallets, of silent phones in pockets hitting the wooden seats echoes. This is the familiar din that can only come from Sunday mass, where the population swells from two to one hundred. There’s no other voice that orchestrates the noise but the one that belongs to the priest at the front of the church, conducting his parish by instruction. 

“La paz sea con vosotros.”

“And also with you,” says most.

“Y tambien contigo,” he corrects back for those who were silent, as if not answering is not an option. In fact, in this church, there is none. “If you did not answer? I am new to you. Or? You were not listening. Again,” he remarks as he looks out from the pulpit, sweeping through the faces that watch, even from great perches. “Peace be with you,” he repeats, translated in the native language for the majority.

“And also with you.” All are in participation.

“Better.” A hushed amusement ripples from one side to the other while Julian dismissively shifts his gaze, flipping a page to what has already been memorized, to what is done in his own penmanship.

“You slept well last night?” He is already without need for the paper beneath him, brown eyes out to the sea of those who look back. “No? Yes?” His hand waves through the air, while the polling commences in shakes or nods, in smiles or yawns. “It’s not easy. You’re worried? No sleep. You’re stressed? No sleep. And when you do? What wakes you up? It’s the same as what kept you awake for so long?” 

There is a presence felt, one distinctive pair of hazel irises can be traced back to the source with memory to go with it. Light mumbling, twisting body, the unconscious yell from a nightmare unfolding before being shaken awake. He wondered what was chasing her. He wonders even now.

“You think there is no help? No support? That you don’t need it?”  The jaw shifts slightly, the expressions inventoried, taking into account what is given back to him, some weighing more than others. “No. You’re not alone. Ever. Tonight? Go sleep.” A glance is all it takes, meeting what is already there, a sermon for one. “He will not let your foot slip,” he recites from Psalms. “He who watches over you will not slumber.--Go sleep. Your nightmares will not reach you.”

[antfunke]

@claudiamcrshall

Ant leaned again the wall and frowned down at Claudia-- He tried to, anyway. He was never as good at the parental disappointed frown that the rest of the league had mastered when it came to Claudia's shenanigans. In fact, he was more often on the other side of it, with her. But this time she'd started a fight without him, without any backup, and was paying for it in bruises and blood.

"What's this I hear about you starting bar fights, kitten?"

[cancelledsecretsanta]

To: Claudia 💕🎄

Is it ooc or if?: it's from the Shan not toemoss

What the HO HO HO is it?: a small wrapped up present with a golden bow on top and as she tear open the striking red pops and those fabulous pants are more than ready to protect her ass if she ever wants to wear big Julian shirts again, it's discreet! Won't see it if the shirt covers over! And in the cheeky hint that it was, the pants beautifully lays it out at whoever sees it

are you nasty

@claudiamcrshall​

[julianxsantiago]

@claudiamcrshall​

There is no longer a safe and a combination code that splits the present from the future. They're teetering on colliding with one another, the thread of separation wrapping around to create the pocket in his jacket, where inside is the box that once opened can never be closed again. His hand is coiled around it, absentmindedly shifting it from one side of the fingers to the other while he walks with the one person who holds its ultimate fate.

She's turned to while the sands of the beach imprint the soles of their steps, a little memento that they had made it here, the land that he had wanted to show her all this time. It might as well mark itself as equal importance to the first man on the moon, the first steps of something solid, something absolute, something impossible still.

"You're learning more here?" he asks after a moment, eyes and half-smile remaining on her. "To talk back to me?"

[sebastianxsteele]

incorrect quotes the hot mess herself miss marshall

Sebastian: I want to take over Prometheus and you’re going to be my stepping stone to make it happen

Claudia: Last time I checked you weren’t in charge of this place

Sebastian: Bitch, what did I just say

Alternately

Sebastian: I would say I would destroy everything you have left, but that was already done.

Claudia: Well, can’t argue with the facts!

[wesleyfairchild]

@claudiamcrshall​

Boredom was a dangerous tool to the world. Allow the mind to wander, and you don't know what place it'll wind up in. Jane Austen certainly had no proclivity to trot down an unpaved path, now, did she? For the past hour, Wesley had watched from the sidelines, eyes growing more out of focus by the minute. Time felt like a warm blanket, tucking him in, pulling him away from its gravity, floating in its nebulous ways. He was sitting in the chair that had been pulled out for him. He understood that because he hadn't left since he sat down, camera like an anchor. He knew that because he saw a hand on the arm rest wearing his favorite ring, fingers holding his favorite cigarette. He only guessed that all of that mattered to that fickle thing called truth.

Shadowplay to the right, a disconnected type of movement perceived from outside his bubble, pressing against its edges, hoping to pop it. The walls only curved around the girl's shape. "What do you figure is the most intimate part of your body, darling?" he began. Formal greeting be damned. They had moved past that, if they had ever started it to begin with. "Heaven knows there’s bias towards the hands showing for about the amount of takes there’s been."

[cancelledhq]

FOLLOW

@claudiamcrshall

[damionxkillgrave]

@claudiamcrshall​

He had been close to two decades as an art director before signing his contract, becoming just another one on the chopping block to wait his turn for the cleaver to come down. All that knowledge and schooling for what in the end? Not a damn thing. Only when it came to things like this, when he was sitting in his chair, waiting to be called on set, gazing out across the landscape from under the shade, just unable to help himself but /watch/. Don't get him wrong, he was no workaholic, but it helped a lot of the days, days of adjusting to wearing a ring with no one else out there with the matching one.

Okay, he's up.

"Hey, kiddo." His hands were in his pockets, eyes squinting out the sun, boots from wardrobe being worn into as he walked across the sand. "Need a hand? Got yourself a real peach of a director to work with. Let me you help out before he blows a fuse."