#& — ᵀʰᵉ ˢᵏʸ ᶤˢ ᶜˡᵉᵃʳ ᵗᵒᶰᶤᵍʰᵗ˒ ᴵ ᶜᵃᶰ ˢᵉᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗᵃʳˢˑ( Queued )

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       ❝   Not gonna get far, short stack.  ❞   He mused, far too engrossed on watching the other’s struggle. It had taken some time for them to decorate the entire tree, but our straggler knew, oh he knew just how frustrating it is not to finish something off. 

       The young man held a golden star in his hands, and his only task ? To put it up high, which was unfortunately too tall. Guts could always pick him up but . . .  where would the fun be in that ? He shared a rather playful smile, he is enjoying this.

@snw-cnvs​  |  any of your bois !  |  Christmas Starter !

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       ❝   Hmm ?  ❞   It is obvious when someone is blatantly attempting to ignore another, especially when given an utterly ridiculous request. This man stood before him while holding a rather dubious, questionable and color horrid sweater   —  expecting Guts to wear it   —  as if it were a joke.

       Guts knew it, perhaps knew it far too well, that this man was attempting to pull his leg for his own amusement.  ❝   You first, I’ll think about it.  ❞   As they say, if you want someone to do something then you must have courage to do it yourself too.

@distopea​  |  Vex  |  Christmas Starter !

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Inbox Call ! ! ! 

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INBOX CALL ! ! !

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@diplomatic-steel​ continued from x

In peace one may discover a means to sate the soul, the flesh and mind. This moment, this reticence they shared, it held a mutual benefit that only weary warriors kept on their belt.  “ . . . . “ Fire washed over his tongue, throat, setting his entire body alight. Only those who could tolerate a flavour so rancid could drink this sordid concoction, but it was exactly what kept life interesting.  Guts did not cough, he seemed fairly used to ingesting this drink, instead he focused on the different profiles entering and leaving: big, small, scrawny and strong men.

His new found acquaintance was free to leave, or perhaps he could stay a moment or two to exchange the quiet company. Our warrior was known for. . . sometimes breaking the silence, whenever convenient.  

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@s-talking​ / / cont. 

Bad idea,  a really poor decision.  Guts could barely keep awake,  this gnawing sensation which crept on him wasn’t easily defeated by a blade’s swing.  Now,  sat across him,  a stranger who could easily end life as it is by slicing his throat open.   As dying embers wavered,  our swordsman’s tired sight began to swim:  ripples, distorted images.   He couldn’t last any longer,  he hasn’t slept for more than three days and the flesh cried out in pain for some manner of relief;  he had to watch him though.  The stranger’s silhouette danced,  spun,  he smiled constantly like a vulture waiting for a pristine opportunity.

In time,  Guts left his adventure in fate’s hands,  even if he didn’t believe in such nonsense.  Darkness consumed him whole,  he abandoned his mortal body to traverse into a place brimming with endless black.  His arm fell aside,  his head hung low;  a beast who was now defenceless as a babe,  at the hands of someone who was either mad or plain sinister.  

[b-erserk]

I’ve came to a rather strange conclusion,  that is that Guts seems to heal extremely quick. So, hear me out;  when someone receives a wound, let it be a cut, a bruise or anything related,  these wounds apparently heal more during active hours.  In other words, you heal quickly during the time you’re awake.  

Guts is constantly plagued by incubuses, demons,  things which want him dead.  He goes days without sleep,  meaning that his body is constantly trying to mend itself.  Despite the whole ordeal of being fatigue,  the body will always attend to what is more important,  so ? Survival.  If the body needs to fix something so it can remain safe, it will prioritise that specific task.  Just an idea really.

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@dinamodama​ asked :  "Hmm I dare you to..." she extends her smaller hand for him to take. "Dance with me "

Came as no surprise to him.  Her question,  it was fuelled by the single pint she’d gulped down;  he was to blame for letting her get even close to that sort of thing.   She deserved it though,  for all that they’ve been through.  This was possibly the first day in a month since they’ve rested in a tavern, but regardless,  ❝   I’m not good at it,  I’ll pass.  ❞   Watching a pinch of fuchsia lit up ‘pon her beautiful features,  it brought a subconscious smile to birth ‘pon Guts’s lips. Sure,  she smiled often,  although this one seemed particularly more genuine than most.

She stood patiently,  waiting for him,  uncaring of anyone who possibly gazed over in curiosity.  A free soul they call these people,  but before she managed to persuade him by a shred of guilt, another man passed by.  She was swooped away,  to dance alongside the others who too danced in pairs.  It didn’t matter to him,  she was better off not fully associating with someone who is plagued by Hell itself ---  Guts’s was better off alone at best.  

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@xxsacrificiumxx​ asked :  🐈 catch little cat lady leaning up against the giant man. " Anyone ever tell you that this prickly armor makes for a terrible place to rest against?"  

/ /    meme :  nonverbal rp starters

Like so,  her words rang with a certain truth to them.  He doubted dwarves had forged an armour for one’s own comfort,  let alone comfort for others;  armour in general was solely crafted to keep its wearer alive, nothing more.  Her closure did not particularly incite anger,  Guts was far too tired to care anymore;  regardless,  he did not appreciate having someone taking his personal space so easily.  She’d earned her token of respect from him,  all the countless battles where his skin had been saved by her cunning actions.

❝  Move over then.  ❞  No one told her to rest against him,  there were far better places such as the trees around their vicinity. Regardless,  the company was appreciated,  maybe he can catch a glimpse of sleep by constantly staring at the lively fire.  Rest his weary, dense bones which age with every war waged on.

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