[sordidery]

SORDIDERY [ . . . ] MULTI-MUSE. PRIVATE, MUTUALS EXCLUSIVE. LOW ACTIVITY. BY RIPLEY. PLEASE ONLY FOLLOW IF YOU PLAN TO WRITE! associated with drunivers, pagent, & whimsyckal!

links: carrd. memes.

5 star reviews from friends:

BLOG ROLL:

deliverthem. james flint. anti-capitalist pirate. devoted liar. it's awful being him.

demobrat. eddie munson. nerdy metalhead. fantastical burnout. drug peddling guitarist.

molotovmary. vampire oc. emotional terrorist. drummer in rock band.

outoft0uch. time traveler oc. absolute sweetheart. time sleepwalker.

santocidal. trinity santos. know-it-all emergency department doctor. mean older sister. hater first, lesbian second.

[daedboy]

❛ speaking of dead brothers, do you wanna go to a party? ❜ /+ jonathan

distance doesn't do much to fix everything that's wrong with will byers. but ever since they got further, and further away from hawkins things changed. a little.

now the problem seems to be that will has to keep up appearances, in california no one really knows him. no one notices him, blends in with the rest of the crowd that is like him. that's a different type of pressure, that's a different type of guilt. missing his friends, missing mike but not. not missing hawkins.

not missing the way he was treated, not missing the nasty nicknames, or the way people looked at him. like he was wrong, like he was wrong for turning up alive. will tends to get in way over his head, he's left thinking and feeling and it's a nasty little cycle he does not need anyone to be privy to. except maybe if jonathan's in the house. jonathan feels it, senses it, like he just cast detect thoughts on will. so the conversation has been going in a circle and will's mood hadn't changed. until it fizzled out and.

will makes a little smile, like the word is so foreign it confuses him. "a party?" the idea seems exciting, it makes him nervous. surely it can't be, what will is thinking jonathan is not saying. something to that effect. "-you mean hanging out in argyle's couch eating pizza." he doesn't mind that, in fact will feels like that would raise his spirits somehow still.

[sordidery]

"no, smart-ass." jonathan rolls his eyes, unable to fight off the start of a smile. there's that spark of the will from before. the will he misses like a limb. a free kid: blunt and smart and funny. jonathan is realizing more and more, lately, that joyce has it wrong. sure, will is vulnerable, and the thought of something else popping up scares jonathan. gives him nightmares. but they didn't get the kid through the last couple years just so will could waste away the rest of his life in his bedroom. if anyone in the world deserves to go out and have fun, it's his baby brother. "a party. people. music. drinks."

that's an overstatement. it'll be no party like the ones jonathan didn't get invitations to in hawkins. nothing like halloween a few years back. it will be a bunch of guys argyle knows on a couch, probably red eyed and smoking while the rest of the class gets wasted, but there will be other kids will's age. people that don't know will as the dnd kid or the zombie boy or anything other than jonathan's little brother. "come on. it'll do us both some good."

[drunivers]

the desert sun is unforgiving, sweat gathering on clarke's forehead and the back of her neck. she's not far enough from the group that she can't hear bellamy's little pack discussing what they've found, what they wish it'd been instead. they seem fine, and she knows -- she knows it had just been another shoot-out to them. just another skirmish with death that they'd got out on the other side on. they're not heartless. they just didn't have a reason to care about the town the way she did.

still, it's hard not to resent them for their carefree attitudes, their shoulders unbowed with grief. they'd lost nothing. meanwhile, everything she'd built, every connection she'd made, gone in the space of an afternoon.

it had been easier before, when she had wound cleaning and bandaging to distract herself with; not everyone in their little group had gotten out of the shootout unscathed. would have been worse if they'd been in town when the enemy raiders arrived, rather than approaching when the takeover had almost been finished. they'd almost assuredly have had casualties then.

but if clarke had just been there at the start -- she could've helped. maybe she could've stopped finn from bleeding out, if she'd made it in time. at least so he wouldn't have to be alone when he died. that would have been the least she could've done for him, after everything --

it's bellamy's fault just as much as it is clarke's. she wouldn't have been so far away if he hadn't offered to escort her to a series of caves she'd been wanting to scout for any kind of helpful fungi. not that he seems any more upset about the massacre they'd left behind than any of his moronic cronies.

clarke looks up -- bellamy's crouching like she's a wounded animal he's about to put down, and she still has to look up at him. "i'm sorry, are you actually trying to give me advice?" she's angry and grieving and boiling alive in this heat -- her voice comes out too loud, and acidic enough to eat through body armor. "haven't you done enough, bellamy?"

[sordidery]

"the fuck have i done?" anger lights up in his chest, quick, brewing fast like the thunderstorms that appear in the middle of the desert. clarke is such a fucking princess. haughty bitch. how is it that anyone in this mess of a world could be so used to getting their way? bellamy squints. his thighs burn. "what, you're mad at me for all that? you think anybody coulda done any more to stop that shit show?"

bellamy knows she lost somebody. that finn guy, pain in the ass that he was, mattered to her. the people she surrounded herself with mattered. but that's just the way the world works. people die. good people, bad people. you keep moving. you scratch and you claw and you do everything in your power to appreciate the fact you lived to see the next sunrise. she shouldn't be projecting anything but confidence and strength. bellamy huffs out a breath; he works to keep his voice from booming. his people don't need to hear this. they aren't alone. there's no room for this. "we were outgunned, clarke. with your experience, you're lucky to have made it out at all. you're welcome for that, by the way."

[sharedtrauma]

Jonathan Byers aka God’s sleepiest soldier

[waynecross]

independent private & selective single blog for original vampire rockstar character WAYNE CROSS from hit (ficticious) rock-band OVERBITE. played by billy / joe / seth.

[puhddin]

   independent, selective & private portrayal of harley quinn from dc comics.

[sordidery]

obsessed with how in the first two pages of tvl lestat is like "sometimes i talk like noir detective sam spade, sorry." does anyone have any line of dialogue where he ever does that. when does he ever do that. what was anne on about

[sordidery]

hi, all. a brief warning i will be writing gabistat on this blog. exploring things in writing does not equal condoning nor enjoying incest but! yknow. do with this information what you will. posts with that happening will be tagged as ‘tw: incest.’ you can also block ‘ic: lestat.’

[sordidery]

hi i just want everyone to know that come sunday if you post tvl spoilers untagged you are going to get blocked. i mean this so fr do Not fuck with me. i will be tagging all s3 posting as 'tvl spoilers.' until a few days after the last episode

[sordidery]

[ standing over a body ] " oops. " (claudia for lestat)

"the art of subtlety dies a bloated death." his finely tailored suit clings as he crosses his arms over his chest, nails digging into his shirt sleeves, ever the picture of a disappointed father. or, uncle? yes, that’s right, lestat de lioncourt, maker, found too contemptible to fit within the tawdry human concept of father. they are young, the both of his american companions, and they do not understand the gift for what it is.

he sneers down at his detestable creation, his tempest of a protege, his adolescent terror. her handiwork is sloppy, uninspired. a woman, slaughtered in the middle of the street. it is a picture of animalistic hunger, the work of an eternal child. no finesse. death for death’s sake. the blood pools an inky black against the cobblestone, veers ever closer and closer to his shoes. the street is empty, but it is new orleans, and a fresh hell will break loose soon. claudia likely thinks she will have his help in a frantic coverup. alas, he is not louis, and lestat has no interest in spoiling his cherubic spawn. "how many times must you be told " lestat grabs at her shoulder, none too kindly, and pushes her towards her little scene. "if you are to make the mess, you are to clean it up."

[kittyhelpsstuff]

Send 🏳️‍🌈 + A muse to get a headcanon about a facet of their queer identity

Could be their orientation, gander identity, how involved they are in their community, if they're poly, or a lot of other things

[sordidery]

HAPPY PRIDE!!!! lets all write freak gay shit this month

[outoft0uch]

outoft0uch ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ     ROXANNE ‘ANNIE’ SUMMERS: A TIME TRAVELING ORIGINAL CHARACTER. mutuals only. low activity. 21+. written by ripley.

[sordidery]

rewatched interview season one yesterday and i am........ feeling... so many emotions

[sordidery]

stupid trend of knowing im going to write a guy a lot so i move them to a solo blog so i can make edits and stuff. but then it looks like i never write on my multi. bc i never write on my multi. bc im on the solo blogs

[ichtgod]

tacky bedroom, tacky closet. the girl who knows his name follows after him, saying something about helping. he mostly ignores her. it's not like he can ask for help anyway. jd finds the bathroom, and without even stopping to strip off his clothes, turns on the shower and steps into the hot spray.

it feels amazing. he'd be moaning if his vocal cords fucking worked. dirty water spills through his scalp, dripping off the shoulders of his ruined trenchcoat. scabbed over blood from some wound at his temple that starts bleeding faintly again.

he shrugs off the trenchcoat -- it might even be beyond repair -- and stands there in his t shirt and jeans and socks, his hair dripping into his face.

[sordidery]

he's leaving great big bootprints of mud and water and muck across janet's spotless floors. lisa follows them through taffy's room to their shared bathroom. he's walking like he knows what he's doing-- taffy says it's good for men to be confident, but not too confident-- and lisa can't help but to follow. "this really isn't supposed to be happening. you're dead, y'know? did you know that?" lisa hardly blinks as he steps into the shower, turns it on. sludge pours off of him. his trench-coat hits the bottom of the bath with a wet slap. it looks like a relief for him to get under the spray. lisa can relate. even the dead like a nice hot shower, who knew?

jason's hair drips into his face. he's kinda cute, in a smudgy way, even if he smells a little foul. "they had a big funeral for you and everything. the newspaper said it was a murder..." she trails off. lisa doesn't really talk this much. hasn't in a few years. especially not with people in her class. she creeps closer, unabashedly watches the dead boy in her shower. a clump of twigs and dirt tumbles down his soaked shirt. "were you?"

[sordidery]

everybody baller until willing and able stuck in their head