#suffcring

[shieldarchitect]

[TEXT: Darcy] benis

[TEXT: Darcy] PENIS* omg

[ TEXT: Charlie ] i’m not sure if I should be more concerned that your phone didn’t try to autocorrect that or that you’re texting me the word penis at 9 am

[ TEXT: Charlie ] you good over there?

[multimatium]

"HEY!" Darcy's half drunk, wobbling down the city sidewalk, watching, as so many others, the exchange between Venom and some weekly creature bastard. "HOW TIGHT THAT BUG BUSSY HUH." She means it as a compliment. Probably. (I cannot stop her I am so sorry)

He finishes off this creature bastard with lots and lots of tendrils. Probably more fuel for Darcy's imagination. Tossing the body away, he finally looks over to address the catcall.

"More than you can handle!"

[hackxr]

I am holding up Sen like a potato and telling everyone I just think she’s neat

ooc; agagshfjsjagd ahhhh, thank you??? i can’t even express how much i appreciate you taking a minute to get to know her AND THEN ALSO taking a minute to send a note. you are excellent most excellent in my book for spreading the positivity. <3 <3 <3

[tangledfate]

Continued for @suffcring from this

His answer irritated her. His smile irritated her. Hands balled into fists inside leather gloves and green eyes narrowed shrewdly–his jab at her being Fiore’s stand-in on the mission not going unnoticed.

“If I was mad…” She stepped into him, body to body as she slipped past him; less sensual and more threat.

“I’d probably be using you as target practice.” And without waiting for an answer, she finished shoving past him and stomped away towards the Herald’s Rest. Grumbling under her breath and adjusting her bow as she went.

From behind the dwarf left in the dust, Bull snorted, watching the little redhead go before his single eye slid to Varric.

“You’re not actually that dense, right?”

[antisocialphotographer]

[ clean ] sender cleans blood off of receiver's body

Neither Ethan nor Henry knows who the blood belongs to tho

@suffcring

Things like this happen sometimes. Dead people whisper secrets in his ear. He dreams of rust and dead skin stretched over walls, shifting and twisting and a long haired woman slithering across the ground toward him. It's been a while since he's woken up to anything strange in his own living space, though. It makes him want to run again, pack up his things and live out of his car.

The knock on the door startles him. In the time it takes to check the peep hole, he struggles to remember if he had plans. Ethan waits patiently on the opposite side of the door and Henry vaguely recalls plans for coffee. Or something.

He's surprised when the other hesitates after the door is open. Henry doesn't think his discomfort is easy to read, but maybe Ethan knows him a little better than he thinks.

"Hey, um, you can sit down. I'm taking care of... I'll be ready in a minute." He stumbled over his words. He doesn't know how to explain that something doesn't feel right. That he woke up to it, the something, and if he doesn't shake it, it might stay.

He can't let it stay.

Not that he has a lot to go on. He probably has no choice.

He heads to the bathroom and splashes water on his face, because there's nothing he can do right now. Not until whatever has come inside decides to do something. When he looks up into the medicine cabinet mirror, everything is wrong. Rotten skin. Numbers carved into the base of his throat.

He recoils. Trips over his own two feet as he stumbles back. He lands on his ass, an elbow colliding with the edge of the tub and

Ethan's calling his name. He blinks like he's coming to, but he knows he didn't hit his head. He didn't pass out. Things like this happen sometimes. Henry still doesn't say anything as Ethan takes a wet wipe across his jaw.

"Did this come from the faucet??"

Henry's throat tightens. His breath quickens. He thinks of blood pouring out of a kitchen sink. He thinks of opening a can of soup to find chunks of fingers floating around like a chicken substitute.

"I don't know. I...we need to go." He sounds far away. Somewhere else.

He doesn't move.

[invocari]

@suffcring mused: "Do you have anyone who supports you? Do you have anyone who cares for you?" The ghoul tilts her head. From Melancholia, it could be a genuine question... or a threat.

when it gets hard || sentence starters. (accepting)

Serafino has heard about the odd ghouls that inhabit the Ministry. The ones who don't fall in line with what is expected of Ghouls, and who are too intense for most to handle.

He is still adjusting to the title he's been given by a dead woman. It fits like a cheap suit.

He has not had the pleasure of meeting any of the rumored oddities until now, passing through before the next leg of the tour. Claw-gloved fingers curl slightly, just inches from her face, peering at those eyes. Their hand a facsimile of a cradle if he reached out to touch her.

"In this Abbey? None genuine but my summons, Ghoulette. Outside though, outside I have many who would come to my aid, and they do not take kindly to any dangers to me."

[asoulofstars]

I still need to watch Daredevil: Born Again, but everything I see involving Matt & Frank makes me cackle thinking about the Riona & @suffcring’s Darcy of it all.

[muutosarch]

"UGH..." MAKER HELP HER. duties of the divine must be dulling her mind if she thought kirkwall was going to be a respite. ESPECIALLY when it meant seeking refuge in varric, of all people. ALTHOUGH, PERHAPS THERE'S LESS TRUTH TO THAT THAN SHE WANTED TO ADMIT. she's not clad in her stupid hat, or her vestments. MORE COMFORTABLE WITH CROPPED HAIR FREE, AND BATTLE-READY, even if there was little need for it.

cassandra slumps in the dwarf's dimly lit office with a gnarly scowl. "varric." she greets pointedly. GUARDED.

"as pleased as i was with my inclusion in your little story, i do not see --" her nose wrinkles sourly. "oh, never mind."

SHE EXHALES HEAVILY THROUGH HER NOSTRILS. hazel eyes hard as a glass of whiskey, (or perhaps that -- whatever that was the iron bull tricked her into drinking one night). JAW SET, STRONG AS HER WILL. the worst part about being divine (you would think she hates the job) . . . is worrying those may look at you as -- a vessel, only reserving herself to serve the maker. eyes upon her without passion, as though she were a celibate, ancient revered mother. AS IF VARRIC IS WHO SHE'S COMING TO FOR A BIT OF PASSION, EVEN IF IT WERE JUST IN HIS WRITINGS. "please, spare me the physical anguish of asking in any more detail than i have to." . . . "where is it?" THE LATEST CHAPTER OF HIS BOOK, SHE REFERS TO. not the one about the inquisition, though. THE ROMANCE. swords and shields. he really didn't intend to stop now, did he?

@suffcring. you said throw her, and throw her i did.