# 𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐄. an independent and selective multimuse for various original characters. affiliated heavily with 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥, 𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘯. rules under the cut. also found on pinfalles, all follows come from waeyward.
𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐊. 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄. 𝐇𝐄/𝐇𝐈𝐌. 𝐆𝐌𝐓.
muses include - ivy mcman, callum worth, rohan khan, jamie flannagan, scottie marcus-knowles, blair alterton, archie 'rosey' rosenburg, sydney scott, johnny, beau syder, sophie hargate, jebediah barker, river hunt, anacleto silva, nicky croft.
secret menu items - mel a, bella g, becki c, del s, taylor r, katherine d, antonio m, amanda s, jayce j, bite, clash, scorn, tessa b, jack t, jamie g, alice d, rhea t, rhys b-w.
BEHIND THE BLOG: i’m dirk, 25, he/him! i’ve been writing on tumblr on/off since early 2013. i took a while out, but now i’m back. don’t forget youre here forever
THE BASICS: no force shipping, no godmodding, etc. i reserve the right to unfollow, drop threads, not follow back, etc. i’m mutually exclusive and memes/starter calls are for mutuals only.
USUAL DNI CRITERIA APPLIES. no bigots or other such weird freaks. i'm a grown man and i'm sick of having to make 'don't be racist, homophobic or transphobic' clear
I’M OF AGE but don’t write smut. all other nsfw content is canon typical and will be written, but i will tag everything appropriately.
PASSWORDS: rule passwords tend to spike my anxiety, but i read rules before i follow.
ICONS: i have a full time job so frankly i will not be using them. i’ve always been terrible at graphics though so i’m doing us all a favour
SHIPPING is fine by me! please note i am exclusive with headlinemakers' iterations of characters, which goes for shipping & general interaction. if you share muses with lev on your multi, that's fine! i just won't write with those specific characters. all i ask is do not be a weirdo you’ll be blocked. i’ll always prefer to develop a ship before jumping right in, so please don’t hesitate to shoot me a message.
𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹 . i'm mainly feeling nicky (ket-aided chav prophet), riv (parasocial parasociopath, part-time ghostface) and beau (britpop 27 club draft pick). you don't have to specify but it would be helpful!
❝ and thank god for that, you couldn't handle me if you tried. ❞ is not the kind to lay with non-paying customers. not the type to mix hard liquor with flashy and fast boys that burn the same sliding down. pries the now empty glass from his hands to twirl it 'round with her index. thinks about refilling it, an act so casual and generous that the mere thought makes her sick. stands motionless instead. adelé isn't often rendered speechless, keeps quick wit and a mean tongue behind her teeth. scoffs now instead. ❝ tell yourself you'll commit the flashy crime, boy. might manifest it for yourself. i'm not the type to get caught, especially not for a big fuck-off coat with empty pockets. ❞
nicky grins stickysweet, leans both arms on the mottled counter and his chin along with them. smears of spirits do nothing to mar him more than he's already stained. "di'n't say they was empty." nothing good never really means nothing, after all. nicky's been seeing somethings in nothing goods for as long as he's been shooting skyhigh. "big things for small mercies, innit. accidental arson for me." unglamorous sleep with a cig between his lips, a soft lull of something he's been denied since he was small. he makes a reach with both hands for his pilfered glass, makes his eyes good and big ti match. "g'wan, babe. g'is another one. ease my head."
@erasurae asked : "you want me to film this?" / joss and riv
he spins with a speed he reserves mostly for the chase, eyes wide, hair messy from tugging his hood down and his mask off in one go. "are you stupid?" he hisses, pointing the end of his knife at riv's (blissfully off) camera. "you want to film me murdering somebody? do you have any idea how dangerous that is? fuck, i just got my factor sponsorship! they'd yank that so fast!" it's a good thing riv has joss around to keep them on track.
the red light gleams in riv's eyes even when the real thing's gone dead. he flicks the lens to himself momentarily as joss rants, looks straight down the barrel and raises both eyebrows, revelry coated in a dripping red. "guess that's a no," he bubbles to joss and his audience both, giggling up through his strip-whitened teeth. "okay, guys, lesson one; don't tease joss when he's in a mood if you want to keep your head. i mean- whoops!" riv covers his sticky mouth with one hanging sleeve. "too soon?"
slumps through the dregs of stolen painkillers he technically no longer needs. tastes something sticky in his mouth that lacks the iron aftertaste of the boy's own blood. meets nicky halfway with the sway of a stitched-together body. his arm does not belong to him when he wraps it around the other's shoulders. bumps golden omens away with scar covered head. ❝ 's me, motherfucker. got the omens telling me all about you, and your soul. ❞ gold and silver and caught in a needle tossed away somewhere down the street, waiting for the cleanup crew. ❝ not going to lie, they say you're kinda fucked up, bud. ❞
"allow that," nicky hums. he'll always make time for a fair and solid assessment. "i am, like." does everyone feel this always - five and giggling into his dad's beer while the grown-ups all roar, ten and slipping a cigarette from his auntie's purse, sixteen with his back on damp grass and a girl mouthing at his ear all at once, forever with no end? twenty-six and trying earnestly to see through the eyes of the half-dead bundle of boy at his side, squinting fearfully at the sky as though the truths of him will fall from the clouds this time and not his tongue. "does it tell you i'm a proper shagger? my massive dick, and that? or is it about, er, 'ow good i am at darts or summat?"
"you sure you can't just sleep here longer, instead?" it sounds worse out loud than it sounded in his head. uncomfortably close to being whiny. the feeling makes him detach first, passing his movement away off by sitting up. he stays close, though, and brushes his hand across callum's hair like he's just trying to feel the stubble. "i'm good. i'll sit with you, though." those old smoking advertisements would've worked on him if callum were there, he thinks, hidden in the smell and smoke.
"fairs." he doesn't think much about the doubled-over cold plastered to the skin of his ribs, the way he has to edge through the duvet to sweep low for yesterday's jeans. theo's touch lingers all over him, soft and slow, almost curious, though less so than him. callum's already got the filter between his teeth when he freezes, shutters through manners just a beat too late. "shit, yeah, you won't want me lighting up in here." he doesn't wait for an answer, just slouches his trainers onto bare feet. "dunno how wide your window opens."
@eternityafraid 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. "please don't talk that way."
death-rattle certainty. nicky croft chokes on white foam and spits out the nastiest bile for those around him to slip on. "weekday eve. dry well." air forces its way through him, eyes lolling sick, every inch of skin shaking. "nothing to show for it. paper and ink, like, but your eyes are closed. turn the fucking camera off."
@eternityafraid 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘷𝘺. "i'm not saying that you're lying, but you're leaving out the truth."
"fuckssake!" nicky croft has his head so far between his knees he can taste is fucking breakfast and this lot still want him pressed. he presses all of his fingers into both of his eyes, hard enough that the way he's shaking is only half pain. more than anything he hopes he sounds gruff and not cornered. "i don't know, man, right? 's always like that. you want the ins and outs, you get a fuckin' pen next time." asking him what he meant or what he said are such pointless go-rounds. like he remembers when the baying of the bloodhounds stops, when the cloud-strung heights top out again into the cold-sweat lows. "or get us a key and i'll give you another go."
@eternityafraid 𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘰𝘴𝘴. "you can't argue with popularity."
scottie's hunter's eyes track the group of them quietly, every thick-necked boy-king anointed in sticky energy drinks and the thrill of friday night football. he'll never be invited to stand there, and thank the lord, so he says, folded hands and all. "what can you argue with?" anything, if his time leading the debate team with an iron fist has taught him anything. there's an intoxication in watching the flash of fear when somebody knows they're cornered with a good sentence or two. something about the power in it, the understanding that they're caught and you're the one that put them there. "i'm really not going to judge, but i do wonder what it says about us that they're considered the best of the best, do you know what i mean?"
@eternityafraid 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦. "if you want me, here i am."
things don't really get given to him wholesale. it's not that beau's a transactional thing by nature - he's given up giving parts of himself away without his say-so, and almost never without profit - but that he's so used to sinking his pretty teeth in when no one's looking it feels like a trap when the sweet is offered out plain. "i should think so," he says, biting hard on the inside of his lip and doing a bad job of keeping his eyebrows from sinking. "where else would you be, love."
@erasurae riv said ; ❛ you've never let me down before ❜
❝ do not worry, ❞ keeps her voice sweet. meek like a lamb still unaware that it's being led to slaughter. is the one holding the knife, but he doesn't know this. he hasn't seen her twirl it between her fingers. ❝ i do not intend to start now. ❞ offered smile meets her eyes ⎯⎯⎯ and it's hard to remember the last time it did prior. other players are sleeping. curled up and ignorant in their fitful dreams ! she is keeping up pretences ; the wolf chasing prey into the set out trap, waiting for the sharp jaws to shut around flesh and bone ( she would know, she gave the order to change it from tug of war to a much more interesting hide and seek )
❝ it would make sense for it to be a game based on strength. look at the room, this is how they could take the most of us out. ❞ drags a hand through her own hair, ignores the patches of dried blood fingers get caught up in. speaks loud enough for the couple she knows to be awake two bunks down to hear, but not loud enough to alert more waiting sheep. riv can capture the surprise tomorrow in sparkless eyes after rumour has spread like wildfire. ❝ whatever we do, we should make sure we stick together, we have a better shot at surviving that way. ❞
she's so photogenic. riv's been getting her at all kinds of angles the more they sneak off to talk, and every single one is a money shot. her pious eyelashes fluttering, the picture of docile bliss, his wide-eyed faux terror bloodsplattered across his lens; gone wrong, gone sour, gone extreme! "i'm with you," he vows, thinking already of the way the masses would wail if he brought that back to haunt them - spat through a sneer as he lets her go, bubbled through spit and bile after a sacrifice, a story and a story and a story blooming between his teeth and playing out behind his videodrome smile. "like, totally. i'm not, you know, all that strong."
quick and wily, sure. in love with the idea of survival, without question. ask him to put his money where his muscles are and riv wilts without asking, pulling gentle unmarred hands into his chest and flicking soft backcombed hair right back out of his eyes. "i'll make it up to you, though. like, if we need to do something together later? that's on me. you don't need to do all the work." they root just as much for desperation as they do heroism. if he's willing to prove himself to her, he'll win more than just one heart, even if he ends up tearing another from its cavity and eating it whole. audiences are so willing to forgive that way. "thank you. i mean it, thanks."
the touch makes him shiver, and he leans in as beau settles back like he's being pulled by the collar. beau always makes him feel this way. "parma violets taste like chalk anyways." he watches beau drink, smiles when he sees beau's eyes scrunch up under his hair. his own drink forgotten, he brushes beau's bangs back, letting the strands curl around his fingers. "black coffee is good. keeps you awake. good for your cholesterol or something, i'm pretty sure. and it tastes good if your taste buds aren't all rotten from drinking gras."
"does it fuck." beau will believe a lot of things - his agent when she calls him darling, his mum when she says she's too busy to call and hopes he's well, that this beautiful yank traveled land and sea and found him and loved him, but he draws like line here. "you best say thank you to this grass, knobhead, cos without it i'm not putting my mouth anywhere near you. need all the syrups to disguise your rank coffee breath. at least i taste pretty."
@hatigave 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴. "they can't see your soul."
all of his limbs loom closer, one deep sway after another. "'s you, innit?" there's a lot of blood, and there's colours, too. nicky croft has never seen an aura and hopes to god he never does, that the shithouse streetlights on his trek home are all he'll ever see of angels, but it's the best he can imagine for dennis. "is it? souls and that. the fuckin'..." he creates shapes with both hands, incy-wincy spiders his fingers up and over each other until he loses them both in the dredge, "the bits. pictures. floatin' shit."
"bollocked," he repeats, tongue clicking loud on the end, and then again, closer to callum's accent. every day, he finds something else to be delighted about here. "and you're getting up for work early. i'd lose my mind." his own bed is fine, usable, comfortable enough to keep him asleep. not the queen size he's used to, but big enough when callum stays this close.
"'s the graft, innit." callum hasn't known much else - clawing up to drag himself to the high school they slotted between the pub and the post office is much the same as rolling out of bed and into some uncle's van, being ferried to rubble he's expected to polish up by teatime. "catch a kip in the van, prob'ly. ste d'un't mind it on the way there, s'long as i keep him entertained on't way back." he noses closer, deeper into theo's hair, wonders sleepily if it would be weird to inhale him the way he wants. "...fancy a cig?"
@erasurae nicky & adelé : ❝ we weren’t supposed to meet yet. ❞
stops halfway through the motion of half-heartedly wiping the sturdy wood of the bar. beer drenched rag does nothing more than provide an opportunity to ignore him anyway ⎯⎯⎯ leaves sticky residue in the shape of absolute fucking nonsense but doubts that he can read the scribbled writing on the wall. ❝ pretty sure we were never supposed to meet, ❞ rolls her eyes, but pours a shot of cheap whiskey to slide across the bar into his direction regardless. ❝ but tell me, psychic wonder boy. how and where were we supposed to meet ? just know that if you make up some bullshit romantic comedy shit i will drag you out of here by the scruff of your sorry neck. ❞
"don't wanna shag you, love." it always shocks them, that - the tongue-lolling scruff in the knockoff north face turns his nose up at the peakpretty women, waves them off with smoke in his mouth and disinterest in both eyes. both eyes... there's a gaping slot in her history, some plucked and sightless thing. nicky croft narrows at her, downs his golden brown without so much as a breath. "saw you in the nick, di'nn i? i got done for arson, you for robbin'. no sense in goin' for that big fuck-off coat you was eyein'. nothing good in them pockets." she seems the type to go anyway, dip into the prize pot without checking first for traps. "this is early. 's all i'm saying."
