Aug 18, 2019
‘ when will you learn? when will you learn that your actionS HAVE CONSEQUENCES! ’
rip vine
proceeds to yell for five more minutes
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‘ when will you learn? when will you learn that your actionS HAVE CONSEQUENCES! ’
rip vine
proceeds to yell for five more minutes
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peaceguarding
Tamales, wey
orale. what kind of tamales tho. i like pink ones
His head’s still pounding by the time the dust subsides. He lay there a moment longer. One breath in--out, two, three. He makes himself count off that way for a while--two, two, three; three, two three--until he’s hit about thirty-five. A body lying among rubble, no visible movement might buy him time while they assume the blast killed him.
As he tries to rise the throbbing in his head turns the world at an angle, sets it to spin on an axis, and when he lifts himself first on to one leg, the other crumples underneath him, pain shooting from a locus at his ankle and setting the right side of his body alight, like it’s been struck with lightning.
John pulls a strip of fabric, torn from the blaster hit to his side, rips it off and fills his mouth with it, bites down as he drags the wouinded leg, forces it forward, and holds it steady so his other can take a step. Twice. going nowhere, he falls, until the amorphous shape of rock, once a distant thought, reaches focus. It must have been twenty minutes, and he doubts he’ll be safe in the open for long.
At the narrow entry, he drops, spits the bitten-rag from his jaws, aching with the strain of silence, and army crawls through the narrow entry. Once the shadows have covered him--as they should; he never was a thing suited to light--he pulls himself up along a wall, rests his head.
That’s when he hears the movement, and his hand flies to the blaster b his left thigh. He doesn’t say a word, lets the click as he sets it be his warning, points it towards the sound.
@peaceguarding + starter + SW au
❝ did you think you would just simply walk away without a fight? ❞
@peaceguarding liked.
❛ ——— it’s not mine. ❜ the wood elf breathes, and it’s obvious what she talks about as she comes into view. caked in viscera and gore, the archer finds herself weary and unable to stand on her own two feet. her bow clatters to the ground and she finds herself resting on a crate filled with what the nine only knows. her eyes glance to the male who’d asked what had happened in the first place, ❛ do you got a salve or a poultice? i’ll trade with the story, ‘cause it’s a fun one. ❜ // @peaceguarding: sc.
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starter ! @peaceguarding
“ -- that’s impressive, ” acknowledged skill for a mystery untold. skill is just a part of it, there’s something else there - not instinct either, he knows that well. almost as if the world itself bends with will, weaves tugged, pulled and played that simply make things so. “ -- you’ve got to show me that one day, ” he adds. challenge, acceptance, a natural competition imbued in ambition for someone who strikes the chord of that bit better.
peaceguarding replied to your post: “i’d recognize that ass anywhere” but it’s kate...
what about them archer arms
that’s a GIVEN
peaceguarding replied to your post: peaceguarding replied to your post: ...
its called tough love ;)))
you know how soft i am!