#sordidery

[curseplay]

@sordidery 🖤’d for a starter. [ for lisa. ]

❝ you look . . . ❞ paris pauses to let their eyes travel up and down lisa's frame again. ❝ uh, different, ❞

not necessarily a bad different, though the bewilderment on their face may be indicative of such a train of thought. it's just that they've never seen lisa so . . . dressed up before. she's standing taller than usual, eyes a little wider, more alert. paris must look sleepy in comparison. they fiddle with their locker combo for another second, which would be easier to do if they could take their eyes off her.

people are definitely looking at them. paris can feel the eyes of their classmates boring into the back of her head, which makes her want to book it down the hall. normally, no one pays them any mind unless they're looking for some freak girls to pick on. paris gets it a little worse, they think, 'cause taffy improves lisa's social capital a smidge. that, and the fact that she's actually really pretty, which paris would not describe themselves as.

she seems to be taking advantage of those looks now, if her new dress is any indication. paris finally manages to open her locker, swallowing as she reaches inside to grab a few books.

❝ did you lose a bet to your sister or something ? some kind of makeover pact ? ❞

[altarcup]

📌

📌 ― a staple on the dash / accepting.

my day is not balanced unless i log on to tunglr dot com to find @wilczmin geraltposting on main

[driedflwers]

( @sordidery. ) ' i suppose we’re all entitled to walk our own paths. regardless of where they end. ' weird one…. elektra natchios @ the wolf

THE WOLF FEELS MORE THAN HE SPEAKS ––– has always carried in him the sort of beating, bloody heart that eats away at his words. the hole left behind has no bottom; he tries to fill it with thoughts and feelings and feelings and feelings. it’s like kicking sand into a canyon. ‘ hm, ‘ a gruff acknowledgement, dismissive in sound yet contemplative in practice. he holds the bottle in his hand on an angle, tracing an invisible pattern into the table. the ringing of glass dragging on wood is an entrancingly hollow thing. THE TRUTH? his own ending doesn’t concern him. it’ll be a dramatic affair ––– a matter of seconds followed by an eternity of [ whatever comes next. ] or it won’t be. sometimes, endings don’t rush; they slip inside the door and one day, three years later, his jaw will crack while he worries a toothbrush. whatever the case, it has already been decided … for both of them. ( WHAT ENDING DO YOU SEE FOR YOURSELF, NATCHIOS? WHAT ENDING DO YOU WISH FOR? )

‘ you judge my path, mujer sin miedo? ‘ quiet question quite rhetorical. the wolf exhales sharply, half a scoff. he glowers at her from beneath the furrow of his brows, not a blink out of place or poorly timed. elektra is a different sort of beast, olive-branched and wildfire-willed ––– unknown and unpredictable. for all the relative ease of their interaction, he watches her carefully. ‘ we are in the same place. ‘ not for the first time, nor for the last. he sets the bottle down with a decided thunk. under the table, one boot heel taps mutedly against the bar’s worn floorboards. ‘ yours is not so different. ‘

[forgaeven1]

luke is shivering, he can't help it.

he doesn't- he doesn't miss this part of being sober. fuck, wasn't he just warm only days ago ? now it'd felt like- it'd felt like he's back there somehow, back there and terrified out of his goddamn mind, and he wants- he wants so badly to run away, to hide, maybe to be with joey while they shit talk about what the centre's gonna have for dinner that night, but- but he isn't. maybe luke isn't shivering from the cold at all, maybe it's just nellie.

and he doesn't want to blame it all on just nellie, because he knows what nell feels like, or- or what their twin thing feels like, and it isn't- it isn't this intrusive, this bad, so this must be something else. so this must be— luke doesn't want to think about it. ( big boys know the difference between what's real and what's not, that's what dad says, and dad is the adult, dad knows better, so he must be right. and steve— oh steve. fuck steve. but... steve would agree. steve would tell him that it's just - hallucinations. stress. drugs. anything - even though luke's been clean for 90 days, he swears. )

so he counts to seven: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. again, dad, mom, steve, shirl, theo, nell, luke.

luke re-focuses, blinks, then tries again. ❛ i don't - i don't get it, ❜ he looks to nell, and he can tell she's terrified. he can feel it. underneath all that cold, or maybe mixed into it. it's so cold; it feels like the storm that night. like empty halls, and unoccupied corridors. like a ghost with a hat just waiting by the corner, crying come home, my love, and luke is frozen still - he'll focus on nell. because nell is real; because she isn't a hallucination, or byproduct of stress, or drugs. she's right here, and she needs him. and luke'll always help. always.

❛ you - you went b-back ? ❜

@sordidery :)

[neveraftersbye]

          ☾   —   if i’m dead to you, why are you at the wake?

the laugh that escaped andrew was immediate , short , and humorless , and the slight lift to his brow was the only sign of emotion on his otherwise bored features. ❝ cursing your name. ❞ he stepped toward @sordidery , eating up any space left between them. physically , andrew was five foot nothin'. mentally , he was at least seven foot. the upward tilt of his chin was as inconvenient as the boy standing in front of him. ❝ i think you're confused , maybe this pretty little head of yours got hit by one too many exy balls . ❞ while he was talking , he lifted a hand , grabbed a handful of auburn hair and tugged to emphasize the ' pretty little head. ' ( it wasn't gentle , but neither was he. ) ❝ i told you i'd keep you alive , remember? if you were dead to me , ❞ he loosened his grip , fingernails grazing lightly over neil's scalp instead. ❝ we wouldn't be having this conversation right now , would we? ❞

[altarcup]

⭐️

⭐️ ― convincing portrayal of a canon character / accepting.

morgan @gri3ve has a strict daily routine of drinking louis juice and we thank her for her service

[neveraftersbye]

        ☾   —   do you always have to be so pessimistic  ?

❝ i'm not pessimistic , i'm realistic. there's a difference, ❞ he defended himself. alex was very aware of the reputation he had at seattle grace mercy death hospital. @sordidery was . . . something else , so optimistic , it was like she had an ethereal glow around her. it was almost enough to turn his frown upside down . . . almost. ❝ not all of us can have sunshine shining out of our asses all day , crain. ❞ but that was the type of company he kept , wasn't it ? meredith and cristina weren't like that , they were dark and twisty. but izzie and jo , and now nell. no one was that happy all the time.

[driedflwers]

030.  the base of a large waterfall . peeta and fox face !!!

the sky is blue. she remembers the words. the objective truth of them. but “blue” and “sky” are abstracts now. whatever hangs over their heads is a void so blank she can feel it grasping from above. it reaches down to swallow them whole and replaces every youth-stained body with a portrait among the stars. artful in its own right, to be sure. but the sky is not blue.

finch sits on a misshapen river-rock, arms hugging the sharp bend of her legs against her chest. around her, water roars toward the edge of the falls and swan-dives off. she watches it crash into itself some ten feet below, squinting lightly against the rising mist. the angry river doesn’t scare her. she grew up behind the silhouette of district five’s hydrodam ––– and that water is much angrier, she knows. ( it’s been caged for so long that it has forgotten how to be anything else. ) still, there is something unnatural about the current below the waterfall. a hatefulness to it, well-disguised beneath the glistening of its turquoise waves. an inviting sight, so far into the games. but finch is a creature of caution ––– followed its bows and curves for many meters to see if the current ever designed to eat itself out of existence. no matter how far she walked, any leaf or branch or spare scrap of fabric tossed into the water was pulled down and devoured by a toothless, drooling mouth. in a matter of seconds, anything that touched the river was replaced by an expulsion of bubbles that shimmered like little pearls. ( the sky is blue / the water is too, and nothing is as it seems. )

the waterfall is a loud, loud beast. her ears have gone numb from the noise of it. finch does not hear the rustling from the forest below, though she sees him as soon as he can be seen. the boy from 12. hadn’t he been with the careers? she looks around with a start, half expecting the tributes from 1 and 2 to descend on her like a pack of rabid dogs. they don’t, of course. and from the looks of district 12, he’s seen better days. she watches him idly, picking at an apple-shaped scab on her knee as he approaches the water.

' i wouldn’t, '    she calls down, quiet enough to mistake for just another fabricated breeze.    ‘ the current’s too strong. it’ll suck you in. ‘    there is nothing urgent in her voice. the fox-girl balances her morals precariously on the tips of blunt teeth, her warning a proof and a contradiction: i am (still?) a (good) person. she has done her part. she has said something ––– mumbled a half-hearted confession into the void with no real intent of being heard. but she has said something. ( whatever happens next will have no bearing on her conscience. )