#(Sorry bby :( )

[hum-suffer]

I'm Yours 4

Warning: it's not too explicit but I'd rate it nsfw just to be safe. They're just kissing lol (baki you can read, it's legit no plot)

____________________________________________________

Mayank is... something great. He's self assured, cocky and easy to get along with.

The way he slid next to Ishan and danced with him on Dil Di Nazar made Ishan want to scream with joy. The man knew the steps to the movie music video and Ishan instantly gave him brownie points.

Now, they go back and forth, dancing on Señorita as they go and Ishan laughs at the way Mayank butchers the Spanish, instead saying some very unflattering things in Hindi.

Mayank grabs his hand and spins him around, abruptly dipping him. The smile on his face shrinks and Ishan almost wants to hit the man. He controls his urge and takes a step back. He doesn't like being touched so intimately, not at all in a crowd like this. His partner doesn't seem to care much and continues to dance and another song starts to play.

Ishan only recognises the song when it's halfway done and Mayank is holding his hips loosely and dancing completely off beat. Dhan Te Nan is a fast song and this man is dancing almost way too slow for Ishan to even think decently of him. The brownie points are deducted instantly.

Mayank languishly closes his eyes and moves his body in a way that it grazes Ishan's. Ishan closes his eyes too, deciding to enjoy his time out even if it's with someone who doesn't know when to grind and when to dance.

A hand dances at his back, finger tips drawing mindless patterns.

Ishan moves in tandem with the beat as it slows down at the end of the song and slightly raises one of his foot to graze the inside of Mayank's leg.

He opens his eyes to see his reaction but before he can actually discern anything, the lights turn off and another song starts. Uff Teri Adaa starts to play, Ishan knows it because he has it by heart by now.

The club is way too dark without the lights, no windows available in the room. Ishan finds he likes the feeling. The hand from his back and hip disappears abruptly.

Ishan feels arms wrap around his waist from behind. It takes his added brain a moment to understand it but the arms don't feel the same as they did a while ago when he was dipped.

These arms are stronger and hold him in a more comfortable manner. He can break away if he so wishes.

Ishan continues to dance, marvelling at his luck to be suddenly of interest to more than one person.

He feels a forehead at his shoulder, and the arms at his waist shift, fingers splayed over his stomach. The hands are cold, he can feel them perfectly through his thin shirt. Perhaps the stranger had been holding a glass.

From the minute space between two buttons, the stranger slips a finger inside Ishan's shirt as they dance pathetically slow to the song. Ishan can't find it in himself to care about either Mayank or the song or the dance. The cold finger on his warm skin makes his muscles contract and breath hitch.

Ishan throws his head back and the stranger shifts again, nuzzling up Ishan's throat with his nose. Ishan feels teeth graze the corner of his jaw in the imitation of a bite before lips are pressed behind his ears.

"You told me I'm yours," the stranger speaks in a deep voice. Ishan is a bit disoriented from the loud music, but he thinks he's heard the voice before. It's a throaty, raspy voice. "But you're mine too, love."

The pet name brings him back to Earth.

There's only one person who calls him that.

He doesn't know what it says about him but instead of running, Ishan tilts his head further. It's the alcohol, he tells himself.

(He lies. He barely drank a sip of beer before he passed it off to Aditi because it tasted like bullshit.)

The lips shift and he feels a smile at his nape. "I don't let anyone else touch what's mine, love. Won't you be a good boy and cooperate for me?"

Warmth pools in his stomach. He stiffles a groan and sneers in the dark. "And yet, I've yet to see the one who belongs to me. Do you want to upset me, sweet boy?"

Fuck the fucking beer.

(Fuck his need to be so fucking possessive. Fuck his need to know. Fuck the warmth he's feeling in his blood right now.

Fuck him.)

He hears a groan and feels the vibrations on his skin and the way the a huff blows the hair at his nape. Ishan shivers as the finger over his torso slips out and the hand snakes up to cup his throat.

He gulps and he's sure the admirer can feel it. Ishan can feel his shiver at his back.

"Be a good boy, Ishan," he says, and Ishan almost combusts at the way his name sounds, so desired and so wanted and so so passionate. "Walk with me."

Ishan nods, his curiosity makes him a slave as the admirer slides the hand away from his throat and again wraps both his arms around Ishan's waist as he's led to a place he doesn't know.

The grip is still loose enough that Ishan can shrug him off.

He doesn't.

____________________________________________________

The admirer stops them when they're in another room. It's dark here too, no lights.

Ishan feels himself being pushed against a wall and then his body is covered with warmth again, hidden under another's.

"Tell me to stop and I will," the admirer says, and Ishan wants to hug him. He doesn't, but just nods.

The next thing he knows, there's hands all over his body. A hand goes behind his head to shield him from the wall and other one goes back to his hip. There's lips on his brow and they trail down slowly, almost painstakingly.

Ishan whimpers, shivering with the effect the hot breath and cold hands have on him. Before he knows what he's doing, his hands are raising and he grabs the shirt that the admirer is wearing and—

Motherfucker.

It's his shirt. His blue silk shirt.

The texture is the same, the small fake diamonds forming a curve at the second last button is the same. Ishan bunches up the fabric in his hands and groans when feverish lips press at his cheeks.

"Stealing is a crime," he says, panting. The admirer chuckles.

He retorts,"If you belong to me, so does your shirt, love."

"I don't belong to you."

"Yet."

The hot kisses shift downward, to his jaw and then his throat. Ishan tenses up for a fraction of a moment when he feels his a hand on the centre of his chest where he's left the top two buttons open.

A finger trails down saliciously.

"You wore this for me, love?" The admirer says, his breath coming faster as if he's affected by their exchange as much as Ishan is. He moves his face and buries it in Ishan's throat, licking almost sweetly at the base of his throat.

Hysterically, Ishan is glad that he's forgone to use any perfume on his skin and instead opted for a light ittar on his clothes. He doesn't think tasting perfume would have been pleasant for the admirer.

He's pulled out of his thoughts when teeth graze at his throat again before he's actually bitten. Ishan can't supress the groan he feels and automatically, one of his hands flies from the shirt to his admirer's hair. His hair is soft, Ishan notes distantly as he grabs a handful— to shove back or forth, he doesn't know.

The admirer seems to take the decision for Ishan as he moves, barely an inch, and bites his skin again. Ishan feels him lick the area with the tip of his tongue.

"No one puts their hands on you, do you understand, love?" The admirer asks.

Ishan doesn't know how to answer that and the hand previously on his chest goes down to grab his shirt and pull Ishan closer. Ishan feels another bite at the corner of his jaw and keens, pulling the admirer closer by his hair.

"Do you understand, Ishan?" He asks again, voice directly in Ishan's ear before he bites his earlobe.

"Yeah," Ishan pants. "Yeah, yeah, I do. I understand."

He is rewarded handsomely for his agreement.

The free hand, the one that isn't tugging him by the shirt and making him feel things he definitely should not be feeling, slithers around his body. The admirer slips his hand in Ishan's back pocket and squeezes lightly.

Ishan gasps, digging his nails in the skin of the admirer's neck.

"Can I kiss you, love? I'll leave you alone if you say no, I promise." The admirer sounds so sincere and so sober. Ishan is drunk on the feeling of his hands on his body. He wants more. He shouldn't, he knows, this admirer could turn out to be a psychopath for all he knows, but.

But his touch is absolute sin. And Ishan has never been a saint.

"Please." Is all he whispers.

The last time Ishan kissed someone was four months ago, when they were playing truth and dare and someone dared him to kiss Aditi. It was awkward and hellish to kiss his best friend of years. Plus, she'd been eating garlic bread, so it was worse.

His admirer? He tasks like ice and something fruity. His lips move against Ishan's, slowly at first, as if he can't believe it and then he absolutely devours Ishan. The admirer groans against Ishan's mouth and Ishan slips his hand under his, Ishan's ,untucked shirt and splays a hand over the man's torso like he did with Ishan not too long ago.

The admirer slows down and Ishan breathes deeply as they pull apart. He wants more. He wants it back.

With all the strength he can manage with his limps so loose and thoughts out of sorts, Ishan flips them so the admirer is pushed against the wall where Ishan was standing. He keeps him there with a hand on his chest and he hears a pop, only to realise that the admirer actually ended up breaking a button on Ishan's shirt with his sudden shift.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, his voice sounding rough and croaky to his ears. "Please, baby, let me. Let me please you."

The admirer whimpers and Ishan feels the nod from where his hand still lies against the man's neck.

Ishan kisses the admirer like a man starved and moves his other hand to cup his cheek. He can feel the shapely jaw and high and full cheek bones. Ishan moves his hand to cushion the admirer's head as his kiss turns more ardent and Ishan has the wildest idea to stake his claim as well.

He can feel the throbbing on his neck, jaw and throat, and knows that he will have hickeys. It's only fair that he gives repayment.

The admirer groans as Ishan bites at his jaw and his Addam's apple, panting in Ishan's ear in the way that only encourages him.

He swipes his tongue over his admirer's neck and plants a final hickey at his jawline, just an inch away from his chin.

Impossible to hide.

His.

Ishan's.

The way that the admirer whimpers makes Ishan want to do unspeakable things to him. But before it can go any further, the admirer plants a hand over Ishan's mouth. Ishan blinks owlishly even if it's of no use in the bloody dark room.

"I have to go now," his admirer says roughly and shifts. Ishan feels the impact he has had on his admirer. He feels proud for some inexplicable reason. "But we will meet again, love. And until then, no one else touches you, okay?"

Ishan wants to say something scathing and sassy but he purses his lips and nods. "Okay. Can I see your face, at least?"

"Not today, love. Someday else." And there's a hand over his eyes now.

And again, Ishan let's himself be led by a man he doesn't know.

It's only when the cold of the hands disappear from his body that he opens his eyes to see himself at the dance floor again.

Ishan doesn't see Mayank for the rest of the night.

____________________________________________________

Tagging: @kyayaarkiraa @fortunatelycrazyyouth @khwxbeeda @ek-ladki-bheegi-bhagi-si @ishkrisq @k-h-watari @ispeakmorelanguagesthanyou @ms-potato @onthecloudseven @mayakimayahai @athena-swords

[blamemma]

Daniel Ricciardo | Post-Qualifying, Spa-Francorchamps | 📸 Dan Istitene

[velnna]

If you could only romance one who would you pick, Astarion or Kar’niss.

Kar'niss

[breadandblankets]

a great, dark, soft thing

BreadAndBlankets

Summary:

Just this morning, his mom moved from the coffee machine to the fridge to grab the milk to put it in her coffee in agonizing slow motion as each frame of her raced to catch up with the next. Duke, absently, wonders if he should see a doctor. - Or, some idiot explodes, Duke's powers come with some downsides, and Elaine is a great mom

[maegalkarven]

An interlude. What now?

Happens between Empty Prayers and Dreams of Red.

Nemo tries to be serious and Think of the Future. It backfires.

Characters: Dark Urge (Nemo), Enver Gortash, Astarion, Karlach, Wyll, Shadowheart, Gale, Lae'zel.

TW: mentions of cannibalism, questionable way to raise children (Nemo wtf), canon-typical Durge behavior.

Info about Nemo's assassins:

https://www.tumblr.com/maegalkarven/732101148639707136/so-i-actually-created-most-of-the-notable?source=share

"You do realize we all are doomed, right?" The question comes out of nowhere amidst of one of the calmest nights they have. It breaks the feeble illusion of peace right away.

"Now, you don't have to put it like that," Gale tries. "We still have some choices-"

"Blowing yourself up is not a choice," Wyll cuts out, uncharacteristically sour.

"But-"

"No, Gale," Shadowheart agrees. "No more stupid self-sacrifices for the gods who do not deserve that. Besides, you remember what Gortash said? What if you have done as Mystra wanted you to and detonated the orb in the illithid colony, it would turn every parasite-infested person into mindflayer?"

"I'm not sure how much we can trust a word of the former Chosen of Bane."

"Fair," the former Chosen of Shar agrees. "I wouldn't trust him either. But something tells me this time he was telling the truth."

"He also sits just across you, if your memory is that fragile," Gortash comments. "And thank you, not like I was thinking of impending doom and our deaths for every hour of every day now."

"Not like you kickstarted this whole event," Karlach comments.

"And what would you have me to do, let Orin kill Nemo?"

"Well, you could have not tried to conquer the world using the extremely dangerous magical artifact and, you know, the Elder Brain."

"You keep saying that, but I have yet to hear a single idea how to fix it and for us, you know, not die drastically and like fools."

"Everyone always dies like a fool," Astarion comments. "Death is dumb like that."

"If you'd only let me finish," Nemo raises his voice. "And stopped this 'woe are us, we are doomed' crying-"

"We are listening," Wyll tries. "Oh, well, at least I am trying to."

Nemo sends him a grateful look.

"Alright, let's start it anew, you literal bickering children-"

"Hey-"

"Gortash started it-"

"Oh, fuck off-"

"Quiet," and surprisingly, they all quiet down. This is who Nemo is forced to work with these days. Unbelievable.

"We are screwed. This is not me being overly dramatic, this is not me being pessimistic, this is the actual truth we're dealing with. The Elder brain has one stone and if it wasn't breaking out of the hold before - which he was, very much - it's clearly out of it now. Now, the questions why it hasn't turned everyone into mindflayers and why it's playing laying low for now is a mystery, but-“

"It's luring us back to it," Astarion comments. "What? Can't we offer our thoughts too? I didn't know it's One Man show you're having here."

"You have no idea how many people have been stabbed over interrupting him mid speech," Gortash comments. "Me included."

"Oh yeah, well, maybe try to not talk over me, asho-"

"I wasn't talking over you-"

"Just like you aren't doing it now?" Nemo glares at him. "You're lucky I need you alive."

"Thank you oh so kindly, the gracious one-"

"Tsk'va," Lae'zel interrupts the quarrel. "You two desire to tear into each other’s flesh so much it makes you stupid. Go get the urges out of the system and come back when you're capable of being rational."

This comment, made with intention of calming things down, has rather the opposite effect.

"You're the one to talk," Nemo hisses as his face reddens.

"I do not ‘desire to tear into his flesh’," Gortash argues.

Astarion laughs.

"Yes, and I am not a vampire spawn."

"Can we not fight?" Wyll, an unfortunate voice of reason amidst this chaos.

"Oh, I don't know," Gale smirks. "I rather find it amusing to watch."

"You know what?" Nemo snaps. "Go on, detonate this orb. I'm done with it."

"Now I'm not going to, purposely because you asked me so nicely."

"I fucking hate this family."

"Karlach, you already said that."

"It doesn't mean I hate it any less."

"I miss my children," Nemo suddenly chimes in. "They listened to me."

"Your who?"

"Oh, please," Gortash snorts. "I once saw one of your children stab her brother over something minor."

"It was their brother and it was nothing minor. He took their target, that's just rude."

"I'm sorry," Gale tries. "Can we backtrack now? What children are you talking about now?"

Nemo blinks at them.

"Oh," he exclaims. "My assassins, of course, the ones I personally brought into the fold."

"And the reason you address them as children is because..?"

"They were orphans Nemo picked up from the streets," Gortash mentions. "At least that's what I was told."

"Excuse me, what?" Karlach, indignation flaring with her fire. "You stole children?"

"First of all, it's kidnapped and not stole. Second of all, they came willingly," Nemo scoffs. "And really, do you think they had any other choice? Do you think any good life was waiting for them? I saved their lives."

"You've abducted children into the cult and made them killers," Wyll speaks. "Nemo, this is-"

"Wrong?" He interrupts. "How wrong can it truly be? They would die without me, or better yet, get killed. Do you think there's mercy for a girl who took a life of her stepfather? Whose mother blamed her for the murder even if said stepfather was in dire need of killing?" He pierces Wyll with a sharp stare.

"Do you think Flaming Fists would save a little tiefling boy with too much magic in his blood? Do you think they'd get to the mad crowd in time and protect the boy from it? Do you think they'd even care?  A tiefling child, an evil child, a hellspawn. No one would miss him, no one would cry for him. And," he smiles and this smile looks poisonous.

"Do you think your honorable father would spare a child whose survival was linked to the deal with the fiend? Do you think he, who exiled his own son, would look at destruction of the House Et'rris, at the only surviving its member, linked to a devil, and help them? Save them?" His voice drops to a low tone.

"How dare you judge me? You were not there to save these children, I was. What did I do but gave them a second chance? What did I do but gave them home? Where else would they go? Who else would feed starving orphans on the streets, Duke Ravengard?" He laughs an ugly, bitter laugh.

"The Council of Four? Don't be ridiculous, they never even looked down to see the low folk struggling. Those children, all those children would die if not for me. From the so-called justice, from an angry mob, from prison, from starvation. I found them, fed them, cared for them. I made them best of the best, the perfect murderers, the perfect shadows of the night. And who can hurt them now, when they're the worst things haunting Baldur's Gate? Who would dare to strike at them but their own? I made them strong."

The stunned, eerie silence falls over the camp.

Then Karlach raises her voice.

"What did you feed them with?"

"This is irrelevant."

"No, it's not."

"It was a good meat: not rotten, not touched by any diseases, I even cooked it-"

"I fed children the human flesh?!" Gale asks in horror.

"Of course you'd assume it was human," Nemo scoffs. "It was elven too, you know. Some dwarf meat, even halfling or tiefling there and there-"

"You did what?!"

"It was that or starving on the streets! And anyway, I was fed humanoid flesh my entire life and I turned out alright-"

Astarion scoots a little closer to Gortash.

"He did not turn out alright," the pale elf whispers, watching the argument rising to new, dangerous heights. "And you knew that, didn't you?"

"What Nemo eats flesh?" Gortash hums. "It wasn't a big secret."

"And what he feeds his...children the same?"

"It's a Cult of Murder," the man shrugs. "One expects some level of atrocities from it."

"That's not the answer."

"That's the one you'll get," Astarion watches Gortash watching Nemo, a small satisfies smile dancing on his lips. "I don't particularly care what he feeds his assassins, only what all of them seem to care very little for table manners."

"So I'm guessing you've met them?"

"Yes."

"...What are they like?"

"Why don't you ask their benefactor that and not the man who saw them once or twice?"

"Because their benefactor is currently in a screaming match with our companions," Astarion's shrugs. "Though he seems to be holding his ground just alright."

Gortash snorts.

"He used to lead fifty or so bloodthirsty murderers and made it look easy," another long, heavy look at Nemo. "He is good at handling people. Bhaal convinced Nemo the best thing a bhaalshapwn can be is a perfect blade, which is a shame, really. Nemo would do wonders in high court; he has enough charisma and intelligence to wrap the nobles around his fingers without them so much as noticing it.”

"It sounds like you admire him," Astarion comments, trying very hard not to feel slighted at that. Of course tyrant admires his nearest in dearest, it was to be expected. And anyway, doesn’t Nemo deserve to be admired?

But why does it sit so ill against his skin?

"Of course I admire him," the tyrant replies, not even looking away from the assassin. "He is brilliant. His part in our plans is not to be overlooked; everything came falling apart the moment Orin replaced him. Bhaal might have been content with a mad woman who could not control her urges, but our plan could not. She made a mess of things, ruined several of carefully constructed plans and hadn't even noticed. The amount of people I had to tadpole simply because Orin was acting unwise is-" he sighs. "Where Nemo would just waltz into the room, smile and bullshit his way through everything, Orin made things worse."

Astarion hums.

"I once saw Nemo convince an orthon to kill his minions, then his pet, then himself," he mentions. "So I can easily see him doing that."

"An orthon?" Gortash looks surprised. "Where in the Nine Hells did you find an orthon?"

"In a Gauntlet of Shar," Astarion shrugs. "He made an ill-fitted deal with Raphael and tried to get out of it. Nemo tricked him into false getaway."

Three's a long silence after that.

"Raphael," Gortash speaks slowly, as if tasting the words. "It's been a while since I've heard that name. How did you stumble into him?"

"More like he stumbled into us. He appeared from the thin air, laid heavy on those sweet talks of his and tried to talk Nemo into a deal. Probably still trying, all things considered. I am not sure what exactly he wants from Nemo, but he is insistent."

Gortash grows silent once more.

"I would advise against strikingly any deals with that particular devil," he comments after a pause. "Deals with him are even fouler than the deal with the devil would be expected to be. Raphael is clever; he is patient and knows how to play the game. Worst of all, he is at advantage of knowing Nemo while Nemo does not know him, and in the position where he is holding a grudge against the dear assassin of mine."

Astarion bites down the bitter taste of the way Gortash claims Nemo as his.

This can wait. His questions would not.

"Why would he hold a grudge against Nemo?"

Gortash actually laughs, a short lived and curt sound, but laugh none less.

"Because Nemo has done something Raphael failed to do. Raphael has been lusting after the Crown of Karsus for millennia, but was never able to relieve it from Mephistopheles' vault. Together Nemo and I successfully orchestrated and executed the plan what brought the crown into our hands."

So this is what Raphael wants.

"He is after the crown," Astarion comment. "And he thinks Nemo will be able to get it for him."

Gortash nods.

"And I can't express enough how this is absolutely a thing what cannot happen. Raphael is bad enough without a otherworldly power what is the Crown of Karsus in his claws."

"So," Astarion studies the man closely. "Better the crown in your hands then?"

Gortash smiles.

"Providing what we can get it off Elder Brain first and live," he comments. "But yes."

[i-am-church-the-cat]

Half an hour until Logie Sarge’s birthday and I don’t have anything to post 😔

[eyesoffthemaud]

Me: I don't like it when Izuku suffers.

Also me: then he gets a concussion and he broke his arm-

[counsellormurdock]

DAREDEVIL VOL. 1 #236 // VOL. 1 #260

[pe0ple3ater]

Oh an ask game? I'd like to add some things. Bloodhounds ofc, pactoiles (idk their duo name), and pissa (gotta love pissa) (I'd say either hideduo and spiderbit, but no I will say those, add those if you want, idk if theirs a limit lol, gotta love those two)

- ⚔️ anon

I'm a pissa fan but they're not like..in my head you know? I enjoy them. Now bloodhounds....I'm incredibly fucking normal about bloodhounds (liar). I feel normal about them. 100%. Pactoiles I enjoy but in reality it doesn't make 100% sense to me, I only see them as fuckbuddies or something? You get me? Hideduo obviously I love, and with spiderbit like DUH I enjoy them. Some really good ones here!

[louiswilliamtomlinsons]

“my disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined” — liz @dilfmas

[toad-games]

WIP Wednesday

This is a bit of a longer one! Just a fragment of a scene of a much longer fic that’s been bouncing around in my head for ages. Also, TW for a description of an anxiety attack. Nothing too graphic, but I’ll put it under the read more just in case.  

Olive visits the cemetery on Memorial Day, and it isn’t as empty as she’d hoped.

The cemetery is quiet again, and there’s a weight in her chest that wasn’t there when she arrived. A tightness she hasn’t felt since she was a kid. To add insult to injury, it’s almost offensively beautiful out today. Finally starting to really feel like spring, maybe even summer. She curls her frigid fingers into a shaky fist. 

The agency SUV Rebecca disappeared into is practically silent In its retreat. Olive wonders dimly if it’s an electric car, or a hybrid, or maybe some kind of top secret tech that isn’t available to mere mortals. She takes a deep breath, or tries to. She feels like her lungs are locking up. Her ribs suddenly static and unmoving, holding her breath hostage. She can taste something like pennies. Something a little like blood.

She should call someone. Her thoughts come to her slowly, like fingers of fog creeping up the beach. She should be worried. She should get in the car and leave. She should call someone. She should call Mason. No, not Mason. She couldn’t stand to look at him right now. More accurately, couldn’t stand to have him look at her. Not with this vacuum expanding in her chest. Maybe she should call Tina, or Verda. Verda lives nearby, and it is Saturday. He would be home.

She realizes she’s crying the same time she realizes the stems of the flowers she’s still clutching have snapped. There’s a shower of yellow and white petals at her feet. A cheap, shitty bouquet she’d picked up at the grocery store on her way over. They’d been picked clean, the checker had said. Always happens around Memorial Day.

Her throat is so tight not even sobs can escape. She curls forward, forehead resting against the roof of her car, glasses digging into her cheek. The metal is warm beneath her and she clings to it.

She knows that this is just an anxiety attack. The same way she knows that her nightmares are just a trauma response. The same way she knows that Murphy is gone, caged in a facility miles away. Which is to say not in any way that makes it less awful.

She wants to go home. Not the warehouse, to the room that looks like hers but isn’t. She wants to curl up in between her grandparents headstones, the same way she would curl up between them in their bed. Wants to feel her grandpa’s sandpaper hand in hers. She wants to call Mason. Wants to fall asleep next to him, and have him still be there when she wakes up.

By the time her lungs are free again, the shadows have almost reached her and the car. She’s not quite sure how long she stood there, hunched and crying into her folded arms resting on the roof of her car. Long enough that it’s cool again, and her neck aches from the awkward angle. She keeps her cheek pressed against the roof but looks up, watching the pine boughs sway above her. Watches an enormous cloud roll over the sun, plunging her and the cemetery into shadow. She reaches for her phone.

He answers on the second ring, “Hey Liv!”

She smiles, Felix’s bright voice washing over her just as the clouds roll back, bathing her once again in sunlight.

“Hi Felix,” she mumbles,

“Hey,” she hears a rustle on his end, as if he’s suddenly sat up, his voice instantly growing softer, “hey are you alright?”

“Allergies,” she says, keeping her face pressed against the car, “just another one of those fun human things you don’t have to deal with.”

“Actually, vampires can have allergies.”

“What?” She’s so thrown she actually lifts her head. She’d been trying to gather the energy to do that for an hour, and this was all it took apparently.

“Yeah, Adam’s allergic to pine. He can’t touch the needles, he gets all itchy.”

“Huh,” she looks up at the pines surrounding the cemetery, lining the neat walkways, “that sucks that he lives in Wayhaven, then.”

“Oh he’ll live,” says Felix cheerfully, “I like it here, I don’t want to move again. Where are you?”

“Um, Morley Park, just um, taking a walk.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be, if your allergies are that bad,”

She laughs. it sounds a bit wheezy, a little strained, but it helps open up her chest a bit more, uncurl the knot at the base of her throat, “Yeah, maybe, what are you doing?”

“Nothing much,” he says, “just got back from a patrol.”

Olive looks back up at the sky, turning a soft purple as the sun starts to sink, then down at the quiet graves around her. At her bundle of wildflowers on her grandparent’s grave, and then down at the petals at her feet. Her pathetic attempt would have been lost among all the gifts that litter Rook’s grave anyway. 

She opens her car door, “Have you ever been bowling?”

[softshuji]

GUYS

I PULLED ITTO I PULLED ITTO I PULLED ITTO I PULLED ITTO I PULLED ITTO !!!!!!

[mor-and-more]

So I've been thinking on the idea of what the Terrible Cat would do in the very beginning of Shadowbringers, and

It's going to be an ass to the Exarch, and the Exarch only

(probably enabled by Y'shtola once the cat explains to her why it has to pull on the hood and not respond to its name in his presence. Scholarly Cats Against Whatever The Exarch Is Plotting coalition, if you will)

[druckkugelschreiber]

This is Cliffstar, she died falling of a cliff, the end

[bakvrue]

Rue I'm coming into your inbox to GATEKEEP the 20th April, I was born before Katsuki and therefore should be your no.1 priority 😭