#overev

[violentcurse]

"we really gotta stop meetin' like this." the ethereal murmur comes from your left; yet it is on the other side of @overeve's body that the girl becomes tangible. her voice is like motor oil on the warm pavement of a road in august ; sizzling. "ain't even my dream." or rather, her past / future / whatever time she has been thrust into, witness to the never-ending slaughter.

[lereveur-arch]

@overeve said, you want a sprite? you look kinda green.

“ when did you turn into someone who uses dad jokes? ” the girl wrinked her eyebrows and turned her gaze to lionel. even though margot thought it was kind of funny, she didn't wanna give him the satisfaction of a laugh. she wished though that she had control over her powers like he did. . if she did she'd turn the creek next to them into sprite if she could just for the giggles. he would definetly appreciate that joke. “ so why did you need me to come here though? any news on what's happening to the dreamworld? ”

[dreamvisit]

malia lands, mercifully, seated. she's not entirely sure what the formula towards dreamland-ing totally is, but some entrances were better than others. the harsh meet of face to concrete or the gentle opening of eyes in someone's perfect day. today was gentler, the soft creak of swings, the white noise of background chatter and the distant laugh of children. A PARK, then. how sweet. malia realizes she's turned into the park bench she'd landed on, a companion seated across from her clearly giving the illusion of being in conversation. their mouth is open, eyes intent on malia and she has the distinct feeling that they're only on the cusp of the scene. that just beyond, out and across the street would be nothing. like stepping off the peak of a waterfall, the way out was clear. AND YET . . . it wasn't always, but malia tended to enjoy the dream's she was sent to. maybe not initially, and certainly not in nightmares, but if there was a pattern, then she'd found it. everybody talked more freely in their dreams. said things their lips couldn't form awake, and malia liked to think she provided something, even small or forgettable, to help for just a moment. it's the familiarity with the dreamworld (and the knowledge they aren't real) that allows her to stand with confidence. heading in, rather than out, she follows the path. hard, cracked pavement twisting and bending around the wide expansive grass, the small playground, the couples using the fair weather for a picnic. malia can shift things in dreams, even those not her own, minimally, depending on the person, and she uses it often to walk without interruption. the gentle push, like a gust of wind to carry those walking the opposite direction slightly out of the way so that they don't bump, and she does so almost absentmindedly. easily, without thought. honed in more on the way the sun, even fake, felt warming her skin and the peaceful, happiness of the moment when she's suddenly, abruptly bumped into. a moment that hasn't happened since she was 11 and still trying to figure out how to use her powers advantageously. she's shocked, to say the least, mouth dropping open into a little 'o' and brows furrowed. " sorry! " she says, almost instinctively at the man across from her now. @overeve , HIS DREAM, then, if his decidedly unforgettable presence was any indicator, but even being his dream, malia should have still had some, if not a significant sway in the tempo of it. interesting. " got a bit lost in thought, it seems. " is all her scrambled mind could come up with.

[violenthunted]

"you fucking moron." anger tastes like stale beer & a cigarette half-smoked, "you utter waste of space. you don't get to say that!" @overeve

[kaurwreck]

maybe it's navigable for you. i'm already homeless and disabled. i'm fuckin cooked and not even other queer ppl give a shit

It's not my place to tell you otherwise, so I won't. I give a shit, but you can't eat, shelter within, or make use of the shits I'm capable of offering as a response to an anonymous Tumblr ask.

If you have the means to accept cash remotely, I can try and at least spot you for a meal or truck stop shower or whatever other comfort, however slight, you can eke out of your callous circumstances. This is not something I can always offer, and it's not within my means to offer it to everyone who needs it. This does not mean I do not give a shit, it means that I am a person among lots of people.

Otherwise, I'm not sure what you'd have me do. I do not want for you to be cooked. I am very conscious of my own proximity to being queer, homeless, and disabled. But, I'm not sure what any of that has to do with the post that prompted this ask, which says only that I'm not sure if it'll be okay, but that I am certain we will continue to have choices and circumstances to navigate when the election is called.

I'm sorry you're suffering. I understand that you're not asking me to fix it, and that this ask wasn't about me, specifically, but rather patterns of violence that you've seen and experienced enough to inflame your unmet needs into hair triggers. You're expressing frustration and helplessness and my post wasn't anything other than a grain of salt in the ocean being poured on your wounds right now.

But, for the avoidance of doubt: I understand the enormity of this moment, and the immense harm it can and will cause. That's why I rejected that it may be okay. I know it won't be okay for many, many people, and the clarity with which I know this comes from both subject matter expertise and an overeventful life. I understand the consequences more granularly and concretely than can be communicated in a one-sentence Tumblr post.

But, yeah. It is navigable for me. I've had to navigate harmful and difficult situations outside of my control my entire life. It hasn't always been okay, but I've always navigated them. That is the only distinction I was trying to make.

[givemegifs]

[sithisms]

He bore his teeth like a rabid animal. One such action to approach him was foolish. But he didn't have many options but to let her approach to get the transfusion. How many transfusions has he went through now? Ten? Each one happening every seven to eight hours or so? He couldn't tell anymore. To let the sickness have control was foolish. Was against his own nature. What has Freedon Nadd taught him. 'Trust no one but yourself'. Yet he trusted the Furball who had skill in medicine. He had to. Needed to.

"Make it quick before I start screeching like the fools out there.." he gagged through clenched teeth. Almost like he was pourpously force choking himself to keep his out of control vocal spasms from erupting into a cry so simular to them.

'Do you want power..Exar Kun?' It was a voice. Strangely calm. In the back of his mind. He wasn't going to answer it. It reminded him of Freedon Nadd. A mix of voices he knew in the past. Vodo Baas. Ulic Droma, and Freedon Nadd mixed into one. A echo. And his eyes widened.

"Vodo?" He asked. His muscles relaxing ever so slightly. It wasn't him. No it wasn't him. None of the voices had the bodies of their own. A trick. The virus was intelligent. It was like it read his past and chose voices he was familiar with. His master. His sith Creator, and his former apprentice. His eyes slowly clouding overever so slightly. Coughing blackish blood slipped from his lips. Sticking to him with each drop as it mixed with his saliva. Speaking in the ancient long forgotten tongue of the sith he leaned his head back. And screamed. Yet...the urge was gone...once he opened his eyes once more his gaze met Ziv. His mouth rendered open. Yet he didn't move to attack her. No. He remained still.

"Ziv..I'm trying." He chuckled lightly. Clenching his throat. He screamed once..another would no doubt result in summoning the horde to them.

'You didn't answer the question. Do. You. Want. Power?'

He bore his teeth in irritation towards the voice in his head." Yes. But if I am to obtain such power it will not be from the likes of a virus that removes ones free will from the equation. I want power I will obtain the feat myself!" He yelled. Though the voice didn't have a body he was staring off into the distance. "Do I make myself clear!?"

"Move, Ziv!" He hissed. Pulling her back by the scruff of her neck. Flinging her onto his back with his only good arm." I don't have time waiting for you to catch up!"

The bite had crushed the Zeltrons Arteria femoralis and had made the broiling hot blood splurt out of the mark so dark, it almost looked like tar spreading over the floor. In the air filled with the screams of the wave of undead flesh rolling towards them through the grey corridor, the Zeltrons quiet, painful noises were drowned, eaten up, silenced by ripped appart throats, by the sounds of claws that were bare fingerbones with ripped off flesh running along the durastelwalls, by the rustling of grey dead muscles stretching over shattered bones as the infected came towards them. Ziv could not even imagine how the other woman had managed to come this far down the corridor with the bitewound, but she had, and automatically the Tynnan stopped and got on her knees, the dark, hot blood drenching the silverwhite fur of her knees and hindpaws.It had only needed one scratch on one of the pilots to turn the starship into a coffin floating through the black, dead sea that was the vacuum of space although past the transperisteel scuttles was no blackness but the uncomfortable, stark bright lights of hyperspace that made the blood on the walls look black and the slowly towards them skuffling walking corpses look grey, almost as if they were made of the same durasteel as the starship.

Ziv had only reached out for the Zeltrons leg, when she suddenly felt Kuuns big hand grab for the thick, fluffy fur in the back of her neck and she cheeped like a suprised child: “No-”Suprise and shock was only a second later replaced by anger and the young woman promptly digged her claws in the mans back, trying to climb up his back and over him to get back to the woman whos head had turned from a deep magenta red into a soft, rosy pink from bloodloss and whos face had sunken to the side as if it was now too heavy to hold up.

“-NO! Kriffing wait, no! , I can help her, I can kriffing help! Kriff off right kriffing now, I can still help-”, Zivs voice was nothing but an angry growl like from an animal ready to attack: “- the bite is fresh, I can still cut out the kriffing infection-cell! Kriff of Exar, I swear I will rip off your only arm left and beat you down with it if you do not kriff off right kriffing now, I can still kriffing help!”

[ @sithisms ]

[honeybanks]

When you wake up in your savory morsels that have been slaved overever so eloquently have disappeared into the mist of the wee hours of the night #TheONLYthingiLearnedFromTI

[projectwrxzero-blog]

Radiator Upgrade. Supplied by Performance Best. Fitment by @overevracing (at OveRev Racing Development)

[lereveur-arch]

𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐔𝐑  ,  INDEPENDENT.  PRIVATE  &  HIGHLY  SELECTIVE  FANDOMLESS  ORIGINAL  CHARACTER  MARGOT  RUSSELL.  DREAM  WALKER  /  NIGHTMARE-CAUGHT.  THIS  BLOG  IS  ICONLESS  &  USES  THE  BETA  EDITOR.  BY  NICI.  26.  SHE/HER.  HEAVILY  AFFILIATED  IN  LORE  WITH  DREAMVISIT  /  OVEREVE  &  TARA.

LINKS:  INFORMATION.  PROMPTS.  TRACKER.  MULTI.  ALEX.

[violentcurse]

"did i?" she wonders, eyes & mouth unmoving like a painting, staring in a faraway distance that slowly but surely gets closer until they are standing in the scene itself. camera rolling, smile for whoever's looking! "careful, cowboy, answerin' the phone without lookin' who's callin'." she murmurs, but she's already moving, one of her hands clasping itself around his bony wrist, shackles of flesh & muscles as she moves, moves, moves, like an arrow on a clock, from three p.m. to three a.m., the sun falling head first into the asphalt. "this one's gonna hurt." a warning, a promise, a bright clear smile.

meeting ishtar is time-turned-honey, gold filling his ears, filling his lungs, stuck-in-place. like any dream, lionel recognizes her by her presence rather than her voice or tangible form — sometimes there is neither, and he'll still know her somehow. but she's right, this time it's not a simple dream, though now she's here it may as well be hers. he feels its edges weaning and wilting, either the dream or lionel himself being consumed with whatever she is, witness / prophet / antichrist, and whatever he can do for her. it's always like this. “ you're the one calling me. i'm just answering. ” the dream captures his words in bubbles moving lazily toward the surface. like honey. how often have they done this? enough times, time he get used to it.

[dreamvisit]

howdy! i'm kayla, 21+, she/her and this is my blog for malia, an independent, fandomless rp oc. here are some quick and handy links:

rules / about / ask / memes / timeline affiliates/beloveds: @appleyed , @lereveur , @overeve & tara

[violenthunted]

"this isn't your fucking playground," clear eyes narrow, and the forest around them holds its breath ; will the archer draw another arrow or let the sparrow live to tell another tale?, "how did you get here?" @overeve

[projectwrxzero-blog]

Beaffyyyyyy. (at OveRev Racing Development)

[projectwrxzero-blog]

New Intercooler. (at OveRev Racing Development)

[projectwrxzero-blog]

Blast Plates. Id prevention really netter than the cure? When the cure is a straight cut dog box of course. (at OveRev Racing Development)