#v?

Ya boy's here for the cult? The Johnny Silverhand cult?

This game is so fun y'all I can't stop playing it. Someone get me an engram to sass me in everything I do and look like Keanu Reeves

🥀 - dying

This is not how he had expected for it to end. Well, not fully true. Huaisang had expected to get killed, just not like this. Not in such a pointless way.

Once again, not fully true. His death isn't fully pointless. Many people will be happy to see the Headshaker gone and he had interfered with those rogue cultivators that had been up to no good.

Huaisang is barely a cultivator, at least according to most, and he takes little pride in it. However, even he can't just let cultivators scam commoners. Especially not within Qinghe. So, he had interfered, despite being alone, having once again escaped his responsibilities to look for birds.

There had been three rogue cultivators and one Huaisang. Now there was one dead rogue cultivator and a badly injured Huaisang left.

Trying to use what qi he had left to heal himself didn't go to well and he soon spat blood. If that came from his injuries or his depleted meridians, he didn't know.

Having done what he could to patch himself up, especially where the sword had skewered him, Huaisang manages to get up and starts stumbling away from the area. His body is screaming at him to stop, his vision is blurry, but he forces himself to keep going. It's not his time yet.

At least until he stumbles and falls.

Huaisang can't get up. He can't move more. It hurts and he is cold.

Sorry, da-ge...

Hopefully, he'll at least meet Mingjue again now, even if he and all his other ancestors must be angry and disappointed at him for all he has done or not done.

He's about to just let himself slip away when he hears his name and he forces his eyes to open.

A blurry white shape is looking down on him.

Huaisang blinks and tries to focus. It doesn't go too well, but well enough for him to realise who the white shape is.

but Uzi and N still havent kissed....

@huntingbounties

On a night, Connor and Jonathan, Daniel’s best friends and roommates, manage to drag him from the couch and into some clothes, something suitable for the outside world. They cajole him into joining them down at O’Malley’s, a hole-in-the-wall Irish pub they’ve been frequenting since their return from England. Kieran, the bartender, is equal parts father figure, priest, and enabler, giving Daniel a sympathetic smile as he pours out three glasses of top-shelf whiskey to start. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Daniel frowns apologetically. “Hard to show your face in public, you know, when...” He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. They know.

“No one knows who you are, Daniel,” Connor reminds him, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “It’s not like you were a well-known accidental fascist.”

“Um...thanks?”

“K,” Jonathan says, “did you know this guy’s been spending most of his time volunteering at a free clinic in Roxbury? He still won’t give himself a break.”

Kieran slides an opened Sam Adams to a guy in a Bruins jersey farther down the bar. “Good for you, Cooper. Your dad must be proud.”

Connor’s eyes widen in warning, but it’s too late. Daniel knocks back his drink in one gulp. He slams the empty glass back down. “Yeah. We’re not speaking.” 

“Right.”

With a sigh, Connor says, “Let’s just keep the alcohol coming, yeah? Maybe you can help me pick up a curious dudebro who will let me grope him in the bathroom later.” 

Izam: Hmm...O-oh! Y-you don’t mean...

[Izam once again is reminded of his former acquaintance and the blush returns to his face instantly. Izam forces himself to try and block out the memory no matter how difficult it may be]