We’re hiding from the authorities and it’s very close quarters in here, I can feel your body against mine.
“Do you have to stand so close!?” she gritted out on an angry whisper, knees knocking against the damp wood of the door in front of her as she tried to put a little space between them. Impossible.
He let out a mirthless - but quiet - laugh that let loose dark strands of hair that floated about her face and only irritated her further. “You think I want to be in here with you?” In all honesty - a trait that he didn’t quite honour as much as others - he was rather pleased with the situation.
He’d long since emptied her pockets of the treasure they’d both come here to steal and taken her slingshot for good measure for her knew, the moment they escaped this damn dark fortress and she realised how much lighter she felt, he’d have a jagged rock to the back of his head and that just wouldn’t do.
“I’d forgotten about the changing of the guard.”
“Idiot,” she breathed under her breath.
“And you didn’t?” he accused, “because I seem to remember you being a little startled by their march, also.”
“I would’ve been out of here long before I was discovered if it wasn’t for you bumbling along behind me.”
He was about to retort, about to tell her rather incredulously that he did not bumble, when he heard their heavy footfalls, metal crashing against cold tile. It seemed she hadn’t quite however when she pulled in a breath.
“And another thing-”
He cupped a hand over her mouth and pulled her tighter against him with a palm flat against her abdomen, listening, ensuring that they hadn’t been heard. The march hadn’t faltered, grew louder as they passed by the store room that they’d squeezed themselves into and began to fade as they moved forward. Still he held her close.
She fit against him perfectly, with her tight curves and fragrant braid and he found his eyes closing as he breathed her in. Her breaths beneath his palm, her warmth against his front. It lulled him in a way nothing had before.
That was…until he felt her breath against his hand and realised she was speaking. He pulled his hands away from her, swallowing thickly, unable to school his features when she turned in the minute space between them, body brushing against his and eyes alight with a curious amusement.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, “what were you saying?”
Her lips curled every so slightly at the corners as she lifted a hand to rest her palm on his chest, eyes dropping to her curled fingers as she shrugged and replied, “Just…thank you,” it was a breathy thing that had him exhaling a shuddered breath from his lungs, absolutely mesmerised by dark eyes that lifted to hold his own once more, “for saving my ass back there.”
He swallowed thickly, “Well…it’s a very nice one…” What the hell was he saying!?
She chuckled lowly, dangerously as she let her hands wander over him, short-circuiting his brain completely with the tilt of her head as she bit at that full bottom lip that he found himself wanting to take between his teeth. “Well,” she breathed, pulling herself closer, her face mere inches from his own as her eyes dropped to his lips, “now you get to watch me walk away.”
He barely heard her, breaths ragged and body pulsing with everything that was her and he’d be ashamed to admit how long it took for him to come back to himself once she’d kicked open the door and made her way out of the room and the castle but, swinging himself through the door and to the castle window - aware that she’d used her womanly wiles to distract him enough to steal back what she’d already stolen - he found himself uncaring as he watched her move stealthily through the castle grounds with an idiotic smile on his face, already excited for their next meeting.
You ask, and I deliver. Damn it, now I want to right more of this XD
They make camp under a circle of trees, the leaves blocking out sections of the sky so that only small beams of starlight falls through. Akutagawa starts a fire, all raging red flames that lick the air, while Atsushi huddles close to the pale man, rubbing his palms together.
Chuuya sets his soup to one side and opens his palm, watches a ball of blue flame erupt and dance on his fingertips, and perky little jig that could kill a man should the tune play wrong.
He sees Dazai’s shadow before he registers the crunching of leaves behind him, feels Dazai’s body hear as the brunette swings his legs over the side of the log that Chuuya has chosen, clasping his hands on his knees.
“Chuuya,” Dazai says in greeting his eyes lingering on the half-eaten bowl of soup.
“Dazai.” Chuuya replies, closing his fist. The small circle of light it had made vanishes as fast as it came, leaving them in the moonlight once more.
“How’s life on the road treating you?” The waterbender asks, watching a circle of leaves fumble in the wind.
“Alright,” Chuuya shrugged. “I mean, if you don’t mind, i do have a few questions.”
Dazai shrugged. “I am yours to command, my prince.” He finished the sentence with a lazy dip of his head, a shit-eating grin exposing the white gleam of his teeth.
Chuuya gives him a lighthearted shove, sending Dazai rocking violently to the side. Despite his height, the man was as light as a feather. Or maybe his balance was just poort. That was likely as well.
He gestured at Atsushi and Akutagawa, who were leaning against one another. “What is… that? I thought they hated each other.”
Dazai laughed lightly, and Chuuya tried to ignore the pang of longing it sent through his chest. “I don’t really know. I found them in an Earth Kingdom village, huddled under a bridge, both dirt poor and starving to death. They’re inseparable.”
Chuuya watched Atsushi shove a bowl in Akutagawa’s hands, while the man shook his head stubbornly. It was almost endearing.
“Do you know anything about them?” Chuuya asked.
“Akutagawa has a sister, I think.” Dazai said, “But he doesn’t like to talk about her.”
Chuuya nodded. He could understand family being an issue. “What about you? Any significant people from you past?” He grinned slyly at the man to his left.
Dazai’s peaceful expression melted, transformed into a barrier of stone. “You should go rest.” He said.
“W-what?” Chuuya stuttered.
“You heard me.”
Dazai rose, and walked away, his boots crunchin against the dirt.
Chuuya shivered against the cold.
When he woke, it was to rough hands and a panicked voice.
“N-Nakahara-san, please wake up!”
Chuuya blinked open, his hand flying up to deflect against the sun that shined over silver hair. Atsushi was shaking him, face a look of terror. In the distance, there was a faint rumbling.
“What is it?” Chuuya asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, yawning as he sat up. His spine ached from the dirt he had slept on, but less so than the night before. Maybe he was getting used to this.
“Bandits.” Akutagawa grumbled, his eyes flashing with irritation as he stuffed a sleeping bag into his bag. “Dazai will probably take care of him.”
Atsushi nodded, “Yeah, he will. But you should pack up.”
Chuuya stumbled to his feet, and somehow managed to roll his sleeping bag into a rough lump small enough to fit in his knapsack. “What’re are we going to do-”
There was a shriek from the right, and Chuuya’s head snapped to the source of the noise.
“Dazai?” He called, dropping his bag and scrambling towards the grouping of bushes dotting the hill. Behind him, Akutagawa shouted at him to come back, but all Chuuya knew was that Dazai, the man who had saved his life, might die.
I’m a firebender, He thought, I’ll be fine.
He reached the rising swell of the hill, where Dazai was facing a group of bandits, all clothed in rough leathers and ugly smirks.
“Dazai!” Chuuya called, causing the brunette to look behind him, distracted from his enemies.
“Chuuya?” He shouted, sound infuriated.
Chuuya was about to reply, when one of the men charged. He curled his fist, ready to shoot fire at the man, but Dazai beat him to it.
He threw an arm out, curling his fingers carefully as his eyebrows knit together. The man froze on the spot, his limbs taking a disjointed appearance.
“Dazai, what are you…” He trailed off as Dazai threw the man against a rocky wall, his eyes cold and emotionless. The same look Kouyou got when the noises outside grew enough to warrant a search of the palace.
Chuuya’s blood felt cold. He could feel the energy boiling underneath the surface of the air, the chi that thrummed through every limb, every pulse of his body. Dazai sent another bandit stumbling to the side. Another was attacking his partners, his knees and arms moving, swinging a sword in a sickly disjointed dance that sent chills up his spine.
“Dazai, stop!” Chuuya shouted, suddenly. He thrust a hand out, a wall of blue flames rushing forward, pushing the men back. He winced as groans of pain emitted into the air, as the men retreated with smoke still rising from their clothes.
Dazai paused, watched them disappear. Then, he sighed.
“Why did you do that?” He growled. Chuuya felt his eyes widen, his heartbeat quickening.
“B-because…” He drew his shoulders back. “That’s not natural.”
“What isn’t natural?” Dazai bent down, grabbing one of the bandit’s fallen knives.
“Whatever you were doing,” Chuuya answered. He crossed his arms. “You could have killed them!”
“That’s the point, Chuuya.” Dazai said, rising to his full height. He rose almost a full foot above Chuuya, casting his shadow over Chuuya’s frame. “They can’t live. Now they’ll tell someone that the lost prince of the Fire Nation is stumbling around with a group of amateur benders. I had to kill them.”
“That’s…” He swallowed as Dazai’s knife caught the sunlight. “That’s monstrous.”
“No,” Dazai stated, “It’s survival.” He placed a hand on Chuuya’s shoulder. “It’s kill or be killed, Chuuya.”
He glanced back at the remnants of the scuffle. Chuuya shivered as his eyes scanned the surroundings with the air of a man who wished he had the latter.
As Dazai walked away, Chuuya glanced down at the dried grass, gray and deathly pale in the rising sunlight.
Right where Dazai was standing was a drop of deep crimson blood.
We are sad to tell you that Bandit, the first Forever Foster Old Friend
in the OFSDS program, was helped to the Rainbow Bridge last week after a
decline in health and subsequent x-rays that showed that he had cancer
throughout his body. Bandit joined OFSDS in August 2012 and was the
first Old Friend that moved to a Forever Foster Home. When he came to
us from the shelter, he wasn’t able to move without screaming because of
a severe back injury. The next year was up and down for
Bandit as his activity had to be severely limited and Bandit, being a
beagle, didn’t like that. By the time he went to his second Forever
Foster Home in February 2014, he was doing better, but still required
lots of tender loving care to keep him happy and healthy. Bandit wasn’t
the easiest family member to live with, but Patricia and her family
worked with him for the remainder of his life and he had the best
retirement he could have hoped for with another beagle buddy in a
wonderful home. Thank you to Patricia and family for Loving Bandit
I can't even remember which one of you wrote what, but in whatever verse it is where Nyx is travelling along with Noct & friends to Altissia, and he has a kind of contentious relationship with Ignis, I was thinking it'd be nice if Nyx was first on the scene to help Ignis when he's injured and to hold him so he doesn't touch the injury (because there's shrapnel all stuck in his face and he keeps trying to touch his eyes).
…”it’d be nice”
nyx on the opposite end, funneling MTs so ignis can defend the evacuating citizenry.
nyx and ignis keeping up a running commentary over the comm-link nyx got set up for them from one of his buds in Altissian security. they’re like fucking gimli and legolas, trying to one-up each other in body counts
nyx cackling as he takes down the last of a huge battalion all by himself, preening over the exasperated sigh ignis gives him on the other end of the link
…right before he hears a loud boom, a cut off cry, and static.
nyx not stopping for a second as he bolts across to where he knows ignis was stationed. finding the plaza broken apart and buried in debris. tearing through the shattered tiles and trying to call over leviathan’s spiteful screams.
he gets a weak crackle on the comm-link, half-coherent directions, a tremulous “no need to shout. my ears are the only things that aren’t broken.”
nyx finally finds him. dragged himself into a corner, right at the edge of black, scorched marble. and it’s bad. ignis’s face is bleeding, his hands half-raised to pieces of stone and glass embedded in his skin.
he’s breathing fast; short, controlled bursts. determined to stay calm, even through this. but this is something he’s never prepared for. ignis is not a soldier. he’s not battle-hardened and nursed on the taste of blood. his mind’s like a sputtering bulb: spark of calm, then dark, then calm, then dark. the synapses of his conditioning to stay logical in the face of every eventuality.
but nyx is the true calm. talks soft and even. he’s close enough so they can hear each other without shouting over the distant missiles flying and leviathan roaring. “i’m gonna need you to be very still, okay. breathe deeply. count to three. out loud. and breathe in.”
if he’s talking, he’s breathing. that’s a trick nyx picked up from one of the medical officers in the field when he complained that they talked too much. “gets you to talk back though, doesn’t it? you have to breathe to talk.”
ignis laughing because that just sounds like the flighty, self-help gurus in the back pages of throw-away magazines. and nyx’ll take it, because it’s still breath. he’s very slow, translates his movements, touches his arm so he has it in case the panic comes out of nowhere and ignis tries to do more damage than is already done.
nyx knows at first glance that there’s no saving his eyes. he’s seen wounds like these before. he knows not to try. so, he talks ignis through focusing on anything else. his leg is broken. his shoulder is bleeding. they’re both a mess and the city’s still falling apart all around them. nyx has one potion left on him, ignis is out. there’s dissipated green glass on the ground from where they’d fallen and been crushed, gone to waste.
“you know, you’re wasting a golden opportunity here,” ignis says, forcing a tease into his words despite his voice straining and croaking and hurting like everything else hurts. “this is your chance to finally loot my recipe book off my corpse and run with it.”
nyx snorts from where he cracks open the potion over ignis’s leg, always keeping a hand steady on his arm, feeling for the tension he was afraid would snap at any moment.
“i’m insulted, specs. you think i’d loot your body like a common bandit on the road? come on, i’ve got more class than that. i’d make sure i killed you myself before i stole all your stuff.”
ignis laughs, right on the edge of hysterics. nyx squeezes his arm and they both count to three.
Context: A seemingly normal bandit encounter took a turn for the worst when a hooded mage shot one of her allies and began using both that body and the body of other bandits our party killed to summon a demon. The party disposed of the demon and interrogated the mage.
Warlock, after we got the information we needed: “I’m going to walk up to her and stab her.”
Almost all of the other party members voiced their agreement, besides the LG paladin intent on arresting her (to later throw in a dungeon) and me, the hopelessly naive CG life cleric, who wasn’t having either option.
Cleric: “I’m going to shove the warlock away to stop him from stabbing her.”
DM: “Sure. Both of you make a strength check.”
Note: The cleric is a 5’5” half elf weighing a bit over 100 pounds, and the warlock is a 515 pound robot.
The cleric won the strength contest and successfully knocked the warlock prone. By this time I convinced everyone OOC to keep the summoner alive, and they actually began healing her while the DM was left stuttering in utter disbelief. Long story short, the DM ended up having to roll her out as a legitimate NPC companion, as we took her back to the organization we’re working for, where she became an unofficial member and was given a room of her own. Now she summons demons within the headquarters of our organization to help us. The DM has yet to forgive me for this.
okay okay i have so soo many ideas for this? so like 6 for vested morons? except you know, the place is truly hunted by dead jedi's ghosts and very real rancors? :"D orrr 21 with the bitter end duo in all their nasty glory of probably setting -someone- on fire and then roasting marshmallows ooorrr if that's even an option how would you feel about doing 13 but lets twiste it cause i wanna see your take on dumb beans? :"D
“Uh…Jack,” Rhys took a step back from the glowing figure, “Jack?”
He could hear his own voice getting more high pitched, and normally that might have wounded his pride. But as the glowing figure turned, neck lolling to the side, vertebrae exposed, Rhys didn’t much care.
“Jack?” He squeaked as his he backed into something warm. It took him a second to realize it was the bounty hunter. Thank the stupid karking Force.
“Whatever you’re freaking out about it’s gonna have to wait cupcake,” Jack’s voice sounded strained, were there more ghosts? Could Jack even see ghosts?
A roar interrupted Rhys’ thought process and he pulled his gaze from the ghost. The force user felt his jaw drop as he realized Jack was facing down a rancor; an unfortunately totally alive and definitely not a ghost rancor.
He supposed that explained the bite marks the ghost had in his side.
The sound of sawing interrupted Rhys’ concentration on a report Yvette had just sent him and he glanced at the door. To leave the small office or not, that was the question.
It took until the sawing suddenly stopped and a string of curses filled the air for him to decide he better check it out.
Entering into the kitchen he found Jack had stacked several pumpkins onto the counter. Pumpkin guts were spread across the counter with little regard for tidiness, and a half carved jack-o-lantern glared maliciously at Rhys from where it lay on the floor. In the midst of the chaos stood Jack, scowling down at his thumb like it had rebelled against him. The thumb in question was bleeding quite profusely.
Mismatched blue and green snapped up to focus on Rhys, and the scowl dropped into a grin, “surprise!” The flare of his hand as he waved over his flock of pumpkins sent a light spatter of blood across the room.
Rhys raised one eyebrow, “you know we’ve still got the whole month until Halloween right?”
“The whole month is basically Halloween babycakes,” Jack said with a scoff, “besides, some of these are for pie.”
Rhys could practically feel his own eyes light up at the concept, “I do like pie.”
“And mine is the best,” Jack assured him proudly.
Rhys just smiled as he fished the first-aid kit free of the drawer, his kitchen was about to get even messier, but for pie it was a more than acceptable sacrifice.
(i can’t recall your Rhys eating pie, but he seems to like cake soooo i figured wth, probably likes pie; i was really tempted to throw some sort of joke about it being cannibalism if Rhys eats pumpkin pie in here - but i couldn’t quite figure out how to make it work. hopefully i did your version justice!)
“The spirit of the dead. When it clings onto Link, he won’t be able to unsheath his sword for a while.”
-The Legend of Zelda Manual
Known for being very resourceful, Ganon and his sorcerers are not ones to let anything go to waste. Under the sorcerers’ dark magic, full bodied corpses of bandits and intruders became the Stalfos, while solitary body parts and remains found in the tombs became something else entirely. Wrapped in blankets of ethereal flame, lone skulls and bones were transformed into Bubbles. Eerily floating down hallways and chasms, these brainless spirits aren’t particularly combative. However, the Bubble’s flame has its own special properties. Instead of possessing a high amount of heat as flame usually does, the flame of the Bubble is unusually freezing. The coldness heavily targets metals, the touch of which can make a sword too cold to wield for differing periods of time. As the flame is so unnaturally frigid, contact with the skin directly or even touching an affected weapon can cause profuse skin and nerve damage, which could eventually lead to necrosis of a limb if one isn’t careful. The effect it has on weapons doesn’t last particularly long, but as the Bubbles are often seen flying around other creatures and warriors, the inability to use one’s own weapon in defense in a crowded chamber could lead to a quick and nasty death.
Bertholt looked down in some shock at the blood on the floor, the blood that spattered his boots with scarlet and pooled on the cold stone floor. Then he looked up at the figure before him, at the petite blonde he had thought he'd known well. But standing their with his swords in his hands over the bodies of bandits foolish enough to sneak into the store room, he looked like a complete stranger. "You didn't have to kill them!" Bertholt cried regretfully.
Armin looked down. He avoided looking at Berthold. Teared dripped down, pooling on to his boots before dripping further to the floor.
“I… I don’t know what happened! I don’t don’t know what came over me.” He cried.
“My two characters are complete opposites. One is a huge High Elf vampire who specializes in sneak, while the other is a honest little Khajiit who charges into unarmed combat and body-slams bandits two feet taller than herself. It seems a bit messed up, but I like to think that they are both trying to break stereotypes.”
I love how Cole always reminds you that the scores of enemies you fight are people, too. Other companions have strategies for dealing with the amount of killing they must do on a regular basis. This party banter, for example:
Cole: When we fight, you make them not people. So their death doesn’t stick to you. Iron Bull: Yes. Picked that up in Seheron. Got to keep it separate. Out here, anything could be a threat. You kill for the team, no questions asked. Cole: I see it. A wall of wounds. Nothing on this side has a family. Iron Bull: When we’re at the tavern, or back home, it goes back to normal. People get to be people again.
But Cole can’t depersonalize enemies like that. He can feel their fear and understand their motivations–he empathizes with everyone. The undead attacking Crestwood? “They want to go home. That’s why they take the bodies.” Bandits holed up in Caer Bronach? “They’re frightened inside. Trapped by the walls that protect them.”
I got this dialogue while clearing out the red templars on the Storm Coast:
Cole: They didn’t get to say goodbye. Inquisitor: What do you mean? Cole: The templar in Theirinfal Redoubt. He wanted to make the world safer for his daughter, but he turned red inside. She doesn’t know.
Nothing on this side has a family indeed. Bless that spirit of compassion. Cole is just too perfect.
Context: My character, A merg swashbuckler, was on a small quest of clearing out a mine with a fighter and a wizard (Both PC’s). Earlier on the quest the party managed to tick off a pixie that wanted to play a ‘game’ with the fighter, but we managed to get away to the mine we were supposed get to. Outside of the large mine were tracks from a large animal and a trail of blood, we went in to see if the animal was in there…
Dm: you see a pile of bodies consisting of the bandits you were supposed to kill, they are mangled in a manner that suggests this were meant to intimidate.
Wizard: oh bodies!
*After a little bit of looting on the wizards part*
Dm: Roll a spot check.
Wizard(Ooc): I’m looting, i don’t care.
*Fighter and I roll for spot, i’m the only one to pass*
Dm: Alright, you see what made the bloody mess outside…there’s a tiger in the cave.
Fighter+Me(Ooc): What the fuck?
Me:*pulls out trident* C'mere kitty kitty kitty…*Keeps eyes on tiger as it circles, and i ask it in sylvan if it can speak, Surprisingly it can.*
Tiger:*In sylvan* You made my master mad…this was meant as a warning to keep you away from this place…but now that you’re here i can eat.
Me(Ooc): I’ll roll diplomacy.*Proceeds to roll a total of 27*
Me: Please don’t eat me. Trust me i’m gamey!
*Party bursts out laughing*
Dm: Welp! You talked your way out of being eaten by a tiger!
The small elf stood there, his back hunched over, leaning upon the pommel of his blood soaked blade with his right arm. The bodies of several bandits were scattered around the young Bosmer as he panted, trying to catch his breath.
He clutched his right bicep as he felt the adrenaline of battle wear off and the pain of his wound slowly materialize in it’s place. It wasn’t a deep wound, it would scar, but it was less than fatal. He cursed under his breath, I’m too slow. Then he screamed, anger and hate filled his roar as he jabbed his sword into the nearest bandit again, then silence.
The sound of a rock falling was all that it took to break the peace, he spun on the spot, his sword ready facing the silhouette on the ledge above him, “who goes there?”, he commanded.