The Lack Of Hesitation; The Lack Of Doubt In His Reassurances Somehow Agitates The Wound Worse, One In

The lack of hesitation; the lack of doubt in his reassurances somehow agitates the wound worse, one in which he doesn't like to acknowledge is bleeding at all, infected & corrosive and a limb doomed to fail — it isn't. it's not there anymore, but it ripples throughout the rest of him ; pond water, the cruelty of breaking through the scum like a second skin, skipping rocks ; and leaves its effects regardless.

it might've been easier to believe you if you hesitated, if you had to think about it for a moment ( an agonizing moment of the judgement of what he's worth, pendulum swinging, swinging, swinging ), to concede that yes, he's strong. a reminder that he's human, maybe, in that. a reminder that 'strong' isn't all he is. a reminder that while these fears permeate and seep through his skin like water in paper, they are not as consuming as they must be now ━━━ turning his plight into an understandable one, an understood one, but still one they couldn't support.

━ he hates asking things of Yusuke, of the rest, of those he loves, so he doesn't ask. sitting with him like granite in his collarbone, lace & lined, just for him.

that stone gets heavier as the guilt sets in, sat on the floor next to Yusuke's chair, listening to the rustle of packaging & porcelain ━ he's right, Ryuji just takes it the wrong ways, too afraid of if he sweetens the deal too much that he poisons the pot he's eating from ; what would happen if he went too far, if he pushed and they were left without him? abandoning them in his selfish desperation? ryuji knew well that they were strong, unimaginably ( more than him ), but he also knew that it could be the deciding factor in a fight: who was there, who did what, and when.

the granite cracks loose from his collarbone, weighing him down with a slouch worsening as if being pushed down by the shoulders, and falls instead into the pit of his stomach. ( already full up on fears & the consequences of them, sorry, he's not hungry )

” you… “ Ryuji's heart takes a moment to shift its footing in his throat, out of the way: let him speak, please, let him speak ━ he scratches at the back of his neck, clammy with sweat ” .. yeah, you're right. I just wanted to get better, you know? help out a little more when we need it. I'm… not the most versatile guy. “

he accepts the towel & water with a note of surprise & a 'thank you', which bleeds into fondness. the granite lessens, these little acts of kindness, these little efforts to make it easier, eroding some of it in him. an appetite for that kind of love, he just keeps filling up on guilt instead.

Ryuji scrubs at his face with the towel as if to scrape off the feeling that drove him here in the first place ( too stubborn to leave, but a touch better now. a sweeter marble of care in the deposits of something other that drove him insane ), face emerging pinker than it was before, splashes some of the water on his face before taking a drink from the bottle.

his curious eyes give way on their internal battle for just a moment to glance at the noodles cooking in the bowl ( okay, maybe he was hungry )

” ... also, uh.. why'd you just have that on you? ” he wasn't complaining—!

Yusuke, too, knows he is correct, and he needn't verbally reiterate it; Ryuji, evidently, was doing it FOR him in the way his body was fully RETALIATING against his stubbornness. The athlete's resolve was admirable, COMMENDABLE--- truly, the extent to which they ALL pushed themselves to meet their goals, to achieve their dreams, was deserving of the highest praise imaginable, but what GOOD would it do ANY of them if it landed them a spot in the hospital ?

It's precisely why Yusuke has endeavored to improve his OWN habits, and why he's being a tad PUSHY when it comes to looking after his FRIENDS ( friends ? Not something he thought he'd ever have. It makes it all the more critical that he does this . . . that he takes CARE of them. ) Instead of sitting in the background, observing, too afraid to speak up with how USED to being drowned out and overshadowed, he was, now . . . now ? He's taking the mic HIMSELF.

" You are strong, Ryuji, " Yusuke reassures near immediately, fixing his attention on tearing the lid off the bowl of noodles instead of making Ryuji UNCOMFORTABLE with his gaze ( but Yusuke can tell, even without examining Ryuji like he's some painting with open interpretation hanging in a museum, that he is not in the best condition. Thank goodness Ryuji hadn't been ALONE. )

" In fact, from my recollections of our battles, you are one of the strongest on our team. So, what would you expect us to do WITHOUT you, should you find yourself incapacitated by your own overexertion ? We would be tragically at a disadvantage. " His voice is so gentle, that it seems to wage war for dominance over the rustling of the ramen seasonings, as Yusuke begins to pour, first, the dehydrated vegetables, and then the powdered broth. Sure, it was no AUTHENTIC ramen, but when one was on a budget ( or, a budget spent too heavily on art supplies and statement pieces ), this may as well be the equivalent of a gourmet meal.

He pulls himself up from his seat, long legs carrying him over to the kettle to pour the steaming hot water into the cup. With the noodles now set to gradually soften and cook, it gave Yusuke a chance to somewhat cautiously tend to Ryuji's condition, but . . . with a slow, considerate approach. A damp towel, to start, with cold water that he hoped may aid the rising temperature of his body, and of course, a bottle of water for hydration. It would do him no good to receive a bowl of hot, somewhat SPICY noodles without moderating his temperature first.

" Here. Drink, and rest. Breathe. Your noodles will be ready soon enough. "

Wind up on your own floor / Choking on blood

Death of Silence, or Jean-Louis Trintignant (2013), Angela Dufresne / Sept. 15, 1983, The Mountain Goats

I made an observation about how Dustfinger loves the inkworld so so much, and how it loves him right back in a post I reblogged yesterday and now I literally can’t stop thinking about it

Because I just, UGH. He really does, he loves the fire and the fairies and his best friend. His wife, his daughter, his now step-son. The trees, the traveling, the singing, the dancing, even the danger. He loves every part of this world with his whole heart

And it loves him right back! The fairies who healed his face after Basta slashed it, the nymphs who remembered his face even after so long gone, the White Women who love him and his fire, The Great Shapechanger who let him go from her realm of death. For every ounce of love Dustfinger pours into this world, he gets it right back

Which is like, that’s the crux of his character isn’t it? Love. Dustfinger is many things, and he sees himself as many more, but at his core? He is full of love. He loves deeply and wholly. And I love that about him <3

there's something so compelling to me about the fact that sometimes leaving a blade or bullet inside the wound it made is the only way to prevent you from bleeding to death. something about the ironic symbolism of it. when the thing designed and intended to kill you is the only thing keeping you alive.

( drops a ❤️❔ and disappears )

Send '❤️❔' if you'd be interested in discussing a potential ship between our muses! // ALWAYS accepting!

Yes ABSOLUTELY!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm so bad at figuring out what specific muses of yours to focus on and plot with because there's so so so many I wanna interact with ( so i think i'm just gonna start shooting asks at muses whenever I see some that jiives and Go For It instead of trying to plot with 100 different little guys all at once ) but I'm ABSOLUTELY 100% DOWN SIGN ME UP CHIEF <3333 if you have Any ideas PLEASE do not hesitate to share them I'm SO game <333