undure

[undure]

hi, guys <3 i’ve been putting some thought into this for the past few days and i’ve decided that i think it’s time i move on from tumblr rp. as much as i love writing, i think other elements of it are certainly quite toxic and bad for my mental health. i think the better choice is for me to step away. my queue still has replies in it, which will be posted, for the sake of posterity – i’d like to keep my blogs around as little time capsules of my writing. but, otherwise, i really think i��m done here, and i want to thank you all for an absolutely exceptional experience. 

if anyone wants my discord, feel free to im me, and we can write on discord / simply talk and vibe with each other. if not, much love to you, and i hope you all continue to live your best lives. one final kiss. 

[undure]

AN  IVORY  -  SOFTENED  FIST  COLLIDES  WITH  A  SKULL!       reyna’s  ire  was  a  broken  bone  where  her  chest  should  be       (       you  see,   with  kindness  and  time,    that  bone  might  set  into  place,    the  slow  drawl  of  healing  stretching  out  against  her  body       ---       but  she  cannot  stop  herself  from  digging  her  eager  fingers  into  that  wound,    breaking  herself  apart  again  and  again       ).       AND  NOW  SHE  BREAKS  SOMEONE  ELSE   :       retribution  is  a  wine  -  soaked  tongue,    blood  splattering  against  her  cheek,     spat  from  a  black  -  lipped  mouth.       ‘       i’m  going  to  fucking  kill  you!      d    -    do  you  hear  me?    I’M  GOING  TO  FUCKING  MURDER  YOU.      ‘       shrill  screech  is  broken  free  from  her  mouth,    a  hoarse  scream  following  as  an  arm  wraps  around  her  waist,    dragging  her  off  cassie’s  prone  form.      ‘      WHAT  THE  FUCK,    DUDE?      ‘      :// @soulfulmuses

[undure]

OF COURSE I ATE THOSE SEEDS.        who wouldn’t exchange one hell for another?       —————     (   …   )       what did i expect?    to leave    𝚊  𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚐𝚎  𝚘𝚏  𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚜    wherever i walked?      no.     a lost son is called   𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝗶𝗴𝗮𝗹.      a  𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝  𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛  is  just  called  lost.       [   . .   shameless!     stupid     lamb     in     a     slaughterhouse . .  ]

INDEPENDENT & SELECTIVE STARLIGHT OF THE BOYS.     AS BELOVED BY NAZ.

[undure]

❝  —  have you ever heard of THE SIN CAKE EATER? he would come to the funeral and he would eat all the little cakes they’d lay out on the corpse. he ate up all the sins. AND YOU KNOW WHAT?  the sin cake eater was very well paid. and so long as there was another one who came along after he died, it all worked out. so this might not be the best situation, but there are harder jobs, and you get a FUCKLOAD OF CAKE !! ❞

[undure]

‘       i  can  cover  this  area  in  three  hours.     fuck,    maybe  just  two  if  i  skip  around  the  obvious  areas,    cut  a  few  corners.       ‘       the  building  is  high  enough  to  give  them  a  vantage  point  of  the  whole  block,   a  sprawling  fingerprint  that  read  of  scorched  skin  and  haggard  brutality       (       none  of  his  fucking  business  whatever  freaky  shit  went  down  here,    of  course       ---       THEY  WERE  AFTER  ONE  GUY,    NO  ONE  ELSE       ).     hands  pressing  dents  into  his  hips,   a  -  train  swings  around  to  face  a  faceless  jumpsuit.       ‘       hey,    shitbird,    are  you  listening  to  me  or  what?       ‘       :// @translcnt

[undure]

    A  KIND  HEARTED  MAN  was  something  cassie  had  never  heard  anyone  breathe  of  tony   -     not  even  michelle,   who  seemingly  loved  tony  with  her  whole   heart.    but  where  an  illusion  is  presented,   cassie  will indulge    (   …   )   FOR  NOW.        ‘   your  rumours  must  be  different  from  mine,   then  !   ‘     a  light  laugh  tilts  her  head  back,   feet  nearly  tripping  over  themselves  as  she  steps  upon  cobblestone  streets.      a  teasing  smile  settles  on  her  lips,     leaning  into  his  touch  even  more   –    [    IT  FELT  NICE  TO  BE  WANTED  ]  .          ‘    bargain  bin  flowers  sound  lovely  !     no  chocolates,   right?   ‘      smile  doesn’t  even  falter  at  the  thought  of  food,    not  now  -     not  when   she  feels  so  light  and  beautiful  in  the  arms  of  someone  new.  

WHERE  IS  HE  TAKING  HER?       she’d  probably  like  bowling      [     here’s  a  truth   :      tony’s  flirting  was  best  served  in  dark  rooms  and  alcohol  -  bled  corners,   where  he  only  had  to  do  a  little  bit  of  sweet  talking       ---       WHEN  WAS  THE  LAST  TIME  HE’D  BOTHERED  TAKING  MICHELLE  ON  A  DATE,   ANYWAY?       ].          ‘       you’re  just  hanging  around  with  the  wrong  people,    cassie,    that’s  the  issue       (       ...       )       you  should  stop  listening  to  our  friends.     and  sid  especially.       ‘       all  careful  mocking  kept  tight  with  a  smile       (       wheedling,   almost,   though  he  wouldn’t  admit  that  aloud      ---       what  had  sid  said  about  him?       ).       ‘      just  the  flowers.    and  anything  else  we  can  nick  from  the  general  store.     YOU  LOOK  FAST,   CASS.       ‘

[undure]

OC DROP, BIOGRAPHY AVAILABLE BELOW THE CUT. to summarise : reign was part of a popstar duo, but was clearly less talented, so she was demoted to being a songwriter. her life turns from bad to worse and she destroys the popstar that dethroned her. THIS ALSO DOUBLES AS A STARTER CALL : like this and i’ll write you up something from her.

BASIC DETAILS:

FULL NAME: reyna maria mordred.

NICKNAMES: reign.

FACECLAIM: darya dogusheva.

BIRTHDAY: 12th january. 

AGE: 22 - 29.

NATIONALITY: american. 

RELIGION: ha!

GENDER: cisgender female.

ORIENTATION: bisexual.

PRONOUNS: she / her.

EDUCATION: public school, dropped out of high school.

OCCUPATION: popstar.

HEIGHT: 5′8. 

PERSONALITY: usually quite a pushover. disenchanted. easily bored. highly emotional. imbued with a constant belief that she deserves better. a little on the shyer side. 

BIOGRAPHY:

reyna and cassie became best friends at fifteen years old --- if you asked them both where they life really began, they’d say in junebug park, on the sixteen of may, when they had the fortune of meeting each other (this is, of course, erases reyna’s father dying when she was six, her mother slowly falling into alcohol addiction, her mother’s slow recovery at the hands of her two daughters, her mother buying reyna singing lessons, the little try-outs her mother would attend with her). no, when asked about her life, reyna always began with cassie; that’s what cassie wanted, after all --- and reyna had learned that disappointing her was a capital offense. 

by thirteen, reyna’s talent was clear. she wrote songs (her favourite was songbird, written for her mother, performed only for her mother --- too precious to share with anyone else), attended dance festivals, and sang like a little angel. that star potential shone through reyna in every waking moment.

by seventeen, with the use of cassie’s connections, the two were a quickly rising duo, kid-friendly and utter sweethearts (their name: pinkgum, named after their two favourite things --- the colour pink and gum...sue them, alright, they didn’t need to be that creative). it’s all guest appearances on tv shows, coke snorted from each other’s bellies, drinking after dark, reyna’s mother refusing to answer her calls anymore. you know, the good life --- reyna takes to smoking like other people take to swimming and cassie finds her addiction to be to matthew donallie, their manager. 

by twenty two, reyna’s voice is brutalised. she has a smoker’s rasp to her words, can barely hit a high note anymore, and their career begins to plummet. that’s when the conversation happens: oh, the fucking conversation. you see, reyna’s not really made for the camera, for the limelight. it might just be better if cassie becomes a solo artist, right? and what is reyna’s fate? ding, ding, ding! she becomes a fucking songwriter. see, it’s not all bad; reyna does like writing music (but she much prefers singing it). she becomes the overpaid lackey to cassie, following orders, a personal assistant meant to write songs and jump when she’s told to. 

she’s twenty-six when it happens. cassie’s been partying it up all week, ignoring the upcoming drop date of her album; an album that’s missing two songs. she breezes into the studio four hours before the drop time and dismisses every song that reyna has written for her. TACKY. OVERDONE. BORING. STUPID. THE LYRICS DON’T MAKE SENSE. cassie wants something and reyna’s not going to fucking give it to her, not this time (she’d sung songbird to cassie once, the both of them drunk and giddy, reyna whispering the lyrics right into cassie’s ear). an argument bursts out that matthew’s too tired to stop. cassie raises a hand to punch reyna and the two girls run from each oother. 

when the album drops, songbird soars to number one. it outperforms everything else cassie has ever done alone. fuck, reyna doesn’t even know what’s happened until the next morning, blurry-eyed and brushing her teeth and switching on the tv. there it is. her song. her mother’s song. the one thing that she hadn’t let cassie have; the one thing she fucking stole. 

three hours later, reyna has sold everything she knows about cassie to every news outlet she can get her hands on. her father’s affair with an assistant. cassie’s drug addiction. photos of cassie with a different man --- with her manager. cassie’s career is sunk in a week and guess who steps up to the plate? let the woman reign. 

[undure]

greg hirsch rp blog when? greg hirsch rp blog when?

[undure]

[    𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝:  @undure  /  fabian  !     ]

          sometimes the taste of friendship is still foreign on the tongue of riz gukgak.  between the blood that he can’t quite wash from his mouth and the aching of his chest  ( tight and restricting, the non - comfort of untimely death ), it’s so easy to find himself trapped between the before and the now:  black - cat paranoia seeming to poison every good thing he tries to preserve.  work was meant to remedy this, distract the buzzing anxiety while the scalding - hot of every coffee mug drowned and burned it.  he knows that it was self - sabotage, burying himself in manila folders full of dead ends and thread - thin clues as opposed to indulging in any form of relaxation.

          over the past couple of weeks, he has grown accustomed to focusing on red lines and blurred photos under dim lamp - light, eyes adjusted to his small, dark office, shades closed no matter the hour.  it’s not how anyone should spend the beginning of their summer vacation, perhaps, but if the last two years have been any sort of indicator, there is very little normal about riz and what he chooses to do compared to his peers.  until today, the sun has been an otherwise stranger to him, and as he sits directly underneath it  ( legs restless, and he thinks he’s over - heating, yet he manages to keep still )  he kind of wishes that he was back in that room.

          maybe it was the guilt of holing himself away and neglecting rationality  ( you have friends, riz, people you can trust and rely on, you don’t need to try and be so lonely all the time )  that dragged him out here, or maybe it was because he was momentarily convinced that someone was literally dying, but digressing, the uncertainty that bites and gnaws at him refuses to ease.  while he sits stiffly by fabian in fact, watching with regrettably only vague interest, he wonders what the hell it is that’s happening.  why he’s here, how he got here, why fabian of all people bothers.

          ( riz trusts him.  riz trusts him a lot, and he’s not entirely sure what it would take to break that faith.  even with everything, all the deceit and the scheming of their peers, and the whisker - twitching whispering to trust no one and nothing, he looks at him and sees nothing but honesty.  it only makes the shame worse, the doubt and questioning of their friendship.   )

          “   i wanna point out that you said there was an emergency,   ”     riz says to fabian flatly when he can finally find the strength to speak, ears flattening slightly.  he does not address the seacaster with any sense of irritation  —  it’s hard, he’s long since realized, to be cross with him for longer than a few minutes.  cocking his head, he adds, motioning towards fabian’s rapier,     “   can i be honest, fabian?  it kinda looks like you just needed someone to show - off to.   ”

sometimes the taste of friendship is still foreign on the tongue of fabian aramaris seacaster ( the happy son of the famed bill seacaster, a legacy kept whole inside of a boy ). fabian had collected friendships like other boys collected precious stones and [ ... ] well, whatever else that normal children supposedly did --- what, he was supposed to pay attention to every sticky - handed, bleeding - mouthed child? certainly not! they had been jewels to him, certainly; pieces to look at, to hold within your hands and cherish in an indifferent, cold sort of way [ oh, sure, he’d have friends --- thousands of them, names jotted into notebooks to keep track, pretending they meant anything to him ]. friends, his father’s crew, they had been friends. the people who worked at the house, yes, they were friends. none his own age, of course, but what did that matter? FABIAN SEACASTER HAD FRIENDS BEFORE THE BAD KIDS.

( ... ) those friendships had just looked different to the ones he had now. the one he had with riz --- yes, yes, he’ll admit it [ privately, in his own mind ]. he had somehow, rather embarrassingly, befriended riz gurgak. ONE MIGHT EVEN CALL THEM BEST FRIENDS. fabian wouldn’t, of course; not until riz finally found the courage to gift him the other half of that friendship necklace he wore. but someone else might --- someone far less intelligent and insightful than fabian ( in answer to the question of why he was here, since you’re all so interested, it was boredom --- nothing more than that ). he’d missed the ball doting in that little way he did, all wide-eyes and impressed glee spilling forth --- worry? pssh! fabian had better things to do than worry over some glass - eating goblin [ fabian trusts him. fabian trusts him a lot. and he shows that by being here, by showing up, worry stretched thin across his elegant features ].

‘   the ball.   ‘   a drawn - out noise, stretched words falling free from his lips.   ‘   of course it’s an emergency. why --- why, why would i make that up, the ball? what --- how would that make sense?   ‘   his hand grazes his rapier, eyeing the weapon ( a true beauty, that’s what it was! something for the ball to admire...not that he cared if the ball admired him at all ).   ‘   you think i came all --- all the way over here --- to this place, the ball, this place? to what? to be admired by you? that’s insane, that’s --- that’s an insane thing to think i’d do.   ‘   caught red - handed, almost. HE HAD MISSED THE FAWNING. 

[undure]

everyone add ginny and georgia characters

[undure]

wow, Cringe

i cant even remember why you sent me this harmo

[undure]

Q:  SO  YOU  LOVE  AMAZING  AMY?     A:  NO  MATTER  WHAT  I  SAY,      I’LL  BE  A  LIAR.      that  question,      one  way  or  another,      is  the  one  that  turned  nick  dunne  from  a  run  of  the  mill  standard  issue  asshole  into  the  sorry  lying  son  of  a  bitch  who’s  wife  made  him  first,      into  a  puppet,      THEN  A  MURDERER     headed  down,      down  the  river  and  then  into     america’s  favorite  pathetic  ass  hunk  of  a  husband.     DOES  HE,      NICK  DUNNE,      LOVE  AMY?      he  doesn’t  even  know  who  she  is !      so  when  he  said  he  loved  her,      back  in  new  york  when  the  sex  was  good  and  he  didn’t  know  yet  that  she  was  crazy,      he  was  lying.      even  if  he  didn’t  know  it  yet,      nick  was  a  fucking  liar.

“  scrambled  okay ?  ”      the  eggs  are  sitting  out  on  the  kitchen  island  and  she’s  wearing  the  nightgown  he  bought  her  for  christmas,      three  years  ago.      manipulative  fucking  bitch !      (  he  knows  now,  that  she’s  crazy.      but  he’s  always  known  she  looked  good  in  silk.      she’s  trying  to  make  him  forget  the  former  by  reminding  him  of  the  latter,      he’s  sure.      GOOD  FUCKING  LUCK,      AMY !  )  

@undure​  ! 

HE  DIDN’T  MEAN  A  FUCKING  THING  HE  SAID   :       all  of  america’s  eyes  had  been  on  him,    tearing  apart  the  man  of  a  thousand  lies       (       for  once,    you  will  tell  the  truth,   nick  dunne       ---       THIS  IS  YOUR  REPENTANCE       )       and  he’d  still  managed  to  trick  his  way  back  into  their  hearts.       back  into  my  heart.       what,    that  wasn’t  the  real  nick?       screw  him!      (        ...        )       i  have  never  been  the  real  amy  around  him,    malice  -  tongued  and  a  size  two  and  so  down  for  eating  hot  dogs  for  every  fucking  meal       ;       he  doesn’t  deserve  to  be  the  real  nick       [        he  will  be  the  man  i  want  him  to  be  or  he’ll  be  thrown  to  the  wolves  again       ].       he  will  be  the  man  i  deserve  to  be  married  to   :       A  MAN  WHO  REMEMBERS  MY  BIRTHDAY,    WHO  BUYS  ME  FLOWERS  WHEN  I’M  SAD,   WHO  DOESN’T  FUCK  SOME  GODDAMN  COLLEGE  BITCH.

he  looks  like  a  child       ---      an  angry,    petulant  child       (       and  i  refuse  to  play  his  caregiver  now       ).       i  have  put  on  one  of  the  flimsy,    pretty  gifts  he  had  lavished  upon  me   :       DO  I  LOOK  PRETTY,  NICK?       (       he  wanted  me  in  this  so  badly  that  i  could  never  wear  it  for  him       ;       to  deny  him  in  the  smallest  ways  had  been  my  greatest  pleasure       ).       and  now  i  will  wear  it  and  act  like  he  deserves  it.       ‘       scrambled’s  perfect.       ‘        she  floats  in  domestic  bliss,     her  hand  filling  with  his  cheek  as  she  closes  in  on  him.       ‘        you’re  supposed  to  compliment  me.       ‘

[undure]

“  IS HE ALWAYS THIS HYSTERIC ?     also,  who elected him to be the leader of your happy - bunch ?     can the townsfolk still vote him out  ?  ”

STARTER:   @undure​   /   mother’s milk.

HAPPY  BUNCH   :       they  were  a  family  in  that  broken,   fumbled  way  that  only  men  like  them  could  be       (       trauma  as  a  thin  line  weaving  through  them  all,    red  string  tangled  upon  their  wrists  and  tongues       ---       AND  BILLY  KEPT  TUGGING  THEM       ).       ‘       shit,    he’s  usually  much  worse.       he’s  being  charmin’  cause  we  got  company       ---       that’s  you,    by  the  way.      ‘       his  laughter  is  gruff,    a  smile  that  spreads  smooth  and  wide.       ‘       you  wanna  discuss  overthrowin’  him  while  he’s  still  in  earshot?     cold  -  blooded.       ‘

[undure]

                  “   me ?   ”   he   repeats   in   shock.   “   i   don’t   —   i   -   ”   his   voice   is   lost   as   she   continues   to   speak.   he’s   trying   to   concentrate   ,   follow   the   words   leaving   her   lips   ,   but   there’s   a   competitionfor   his   attention   :   voices   overlapping   one   another   until   it   creates   an   amalgamation   of   whispers.   a   wince   ,   fingers   going   to   his   lips.                   [   we   can’t   TRUSTher   ,   can’t   lower   our   guard.   she’s   waiting   ,   waiting   …   ]   (   calm   down   ,   we   don’t   know   anything   yet.   just   let   her   talk   ,   see   what   she   has   to   say.   )   [   are   you   SERIOUS ?   she’s   evil   ,   she’s   —   ]                “   quiet !   i’m   talking.   ”   he   whispers   ,   although   his   voice   is   firm.   quickly   ,   he   brings   his   attention   back   to   the   woman   ,   giving   an   uneasy   smile.   “   no   ,   uh   ,   i   -   i’m   okay.   ”   another   glance   around   the   office.   “   i’m   sorry   —   do   you   think   that   …   that   i   h   -   have   powers ?   ”   he   leans   forward   again.   “   because   if   that’s   the   case   this   is   a   -   a   really   big   misunderstanding.   ”   [   why   are   you   LYING ?   you   KNOWthe   truth.  you   know   ,   deep   down   ,   that   it’s   not   all   in   your   head.   ]   (   the   truth   is   ,   david   is   a   very   sick   young   man.   )   [   LIAR.   LIAR.  ]

MADELYN’S  SMILE  IS  A  FOUNTAIN  OF  ENDLESS  PATIENCE   :       a  come  here  gesture  branded  upon  her  lips,    a  soft  welcoming  where  a  face  should  lay       [       i  control  the  fucking  homelander       ---       no  one  is  beyond  me!       ].       QUIET!       his  attention  is  turned  towards  someone  else,    something  else,    a  voice  that  seemed  less  kind  that  madelyn’s  fond  twang       (       FONDNESS  WAS  THE  EASIEST  THING  IN  THE  WORLD  TO  FAKE       ).       interesting       ---       a  new  piece  of  information  to  file  away,     neatly  coded  as  david’s  quirks       [       what  makes  this  young  man  tick?       how  do  i  break  him  open?       ].

‘       do  you  want  to  know  what  i  really  think,   david?       ‘       the  glass  is  lifted  to  her  lips,       a  languid  sip  that  bathes  in  the  silence       (      she  commands  an  audience,    she  devours  the  moment  whole       ).       ‘      i  think  you’re  a  very  special  boy.    i  think  you’re  a  very  talented  boy,    in  fact.      and  i  think  a  lot  of  people  have  tried  to  tell  you  otherwise       [       ...       ]       a  lot  of  stupid  people,    the  type  of  assholes  that  try  to  pull  down  someone  who  was  born  to  be       ---       SPECTACULAR.       ‘        milking  it  a  little  bit?      OH,   DEFINITELY.

[undure]

i literally refuse to tell you people how i make my tea 

[undure]

i don’t want tea i just want what i imagine tea tastes like. then i have a cup of tea and i’m like man fuck this shit tbh

[undure]

               eyes   follow   slender   hands   ,   fingers   absently   tapping   on   the   arm   of   his   seat.   silence   is   his   response   ,   watching   as   the   glass   is   set   on   the   table.   [   what   does   she   know   about   ANYTHING ?   she   doesn’t   KNOWus.   she   doesn’t   know   ANYTHING.   ]   he   leans   forward   reluctantly   to   take   the   glass   although   his   gaze   is   not   deterred.   perplexed   shifts   to   disdain   at   that   one   word   —   study.                “   study ?   ”   he   repeats   ,   bringing   the   glass   to   his   lips.   his   face   contorts   in   displeasure   as   he   lowers   the   glass.   “   you’ve   been   …   studying   me ?   ”   (   what   is   there   to   study ?   a   sick   ,   brokenman ?   )   “   wh   …   i   -   i’m   not   —   ”   a   nervous   chuckle   ,   “   i   -   i’m   —   look   ,   i   -   i   have   schizophrenia.   i   -   i   see   things   ,   hear   things   —   delusions.   i   -   i’m   not   a   …   ”   he   doesn’t   complete   this   thought   aloud   ,   seemingly   scaredof   the   word.   [   you’re   not   sick   ,   or   a   supe   ,   you’re   a   GOD !   ]

HE  WATCHES  YOU   :       that  same  unnerving  gaze  of  every  superhero  she’d  ever  met       (       tracking  you  like  a  lamb  to  the  slaughter,   clipped  with  a  pretty  shock  collar  and  ready  for  the  end  to  devour  you  whole       ---       Q.       WHAT  DOES  IT  FEEL  LIKE  TO  BE  EATEN  ALIVE?       a.       the  mouth  is  kinder  than  the  eyes       ).       she  stares  back,    a  gaze  that  is  demanding  and  undeterred,    a  woman  who  will  not  wilt       ---       one  wrong  move  and  these  fuckers  will  pounce  on  you.     SHOW  THEM  THAT  MADELYN  STILLWELL  IS  EVERY  BIT  AS  BALLSY  AS  THE  SUPERHEROES  SHE  MANAGES.       studying       (       ...       )       how  are  you  going  to  spin  this  one?

‘       YOU  MAKE  IT  SOUND  SO  DISTASTEFUL.       we’re  interested  in  you,    in  your      ---       special  set  of  skills.       ‘       her  smile  is  fond       (       motherly  or  business  -  like?    flirty  or  simply  warm?    she  skirts  herself  around  all  of  it,   everything  that  she  can  collect  in  her  hands       ).        ‘       there’s  no  need  to  be  nervous  here.     can  i  get  you  something  to  make  you  feel  more  comfortable?     a  cigarette,    something  stronger  to  drink?        ‘