[Some days you just kind of feel cursed, like the world is just out to get you, and there's nothing you can really do about it. Those sort of days, spending it alone and away from the hyper sensitive pings of the world around them seem kinda, well, right.
Akira was here, and so was Ann. There's a lot to process, and a lot he's not intentionally trying to keep from either of them, yet here he is, the morning after a really bad night, laying in bed and watching Dave sleep. Like a creeper. Ever since Lyrabar, he hasn't really had much in the way of a full night of sleep in a peaceful sort of way- not that it's incredibly easy to tell since Ryuji always complains about being tired, or bored, or needing something to do and being overbearing in his usual way. When he's in bed, down to a simple tank top and a wily pair of obnoxious boxers, and he's nestled warmly in Dave's arms, he still feels invincible; that much is true. It's where his head goes when he's sleeping that he doesn't trust.
Spend as long as you do among the dead and certain things end up, well, for lack of better words, haunting you. Like a joke you might've made when you were a kid coming back for the blood price of making it in the first place. The worst is seeing the astral plane become overrun with a black ichor, a substance that he can only sort of make out when he concentrates on it. And he figures he knows what this warding signal flare is. It's the Hunger. It has to be, right?
Ryuji Sakamoto never wanted to save the world. Too dramatic, after all, when he's had that moment of self-actualization in his life to realize fame and glory aren't things he really, truly, deeply cares about. At some point in his life, he would've shaken his fist at the astral plane and flipped it right off into the next demiplane of existence, but it's different. He's realizing, at 19, or 20, or whatever age he's supposed to be but lost track of, that there are some things out there that are actually fucking terrifying. And that's probably due to the fact that his now-light eyes are slowly wandering down the curves and soft skin that make up one Dave Strider.
Definitely, things to be afraid of out there that are worse than death. Like leaving someone behind to live with that realization. Or losing complete agency over everything. He doesn't know when Dave's going to wake up; hard to tell really when he has his own Death Price laid out in front of him like this. Sleep for as long as he wants, he's usually pretty dead to the world until his body tells him to wake up. At least, as much as Ryuji knows about this body. Constellations on his skin, the sweetest smile when he earns it, the way he knows how pleasure it, the whole nine yards.
And man, it's terrifying to be in love, ain't it?
He lays his head up against the back of his shoulder; he'll be there until he wakes up, still as always a giant mess of limbs and not a single apology left in either of them because of it.]
gross
Akira was here, and so was Ann. There's a lot to process, and a lot he's not intentionally trying to keep from either of them, yet here he is, the morning after a really bad night, laying in bed and watching Dave sleep. Like a creeper. Ever since Lyrabar, he hasn't really had much in the way of a full night of sleep in a peaceful sort of way- not that it's incredibly easy to tell since Ryuji always complains about being tired, or bored, or needing something to do and being overbearing in his usual way. When he's in bed, down to a simple tank top and a wily pair of obnoxious boxers, and he's nestled warmly in Dave's arms, he still feels invincible; that much is true. It's where his head goes when he's sleeping that he doesn't trust.
Spend as long as you do among the dead and certain things end up, well, for lack of better words, haunting you. Like a joke you might've made when you were a kid coming back for the blood price of making it in the first place. The worst is seeing the astral plane become overrun with a black ichor, a substance that he can only sort of make out when he concentrates on it. And he figures he knows what this warding signal flare is. It's the Hunger. It has to be, right?
Ryuji Sakamoto never wanted to save the world. Too dramatic, after all, when he's had that moment of self-actualization in his life to realize fame and glory aren't things he really, truly, deeply cares about. At some point in his life, he would've shaken his fist at the astral plane and flipped it right off into the next demiplane of existence, but it's different. He's realizing, at 19, or 20, or whatever age he's supposed to be but lost track of, that there are some things out there that are actually fucking terrifying. And that's probably due to the fact that his now-light eyes are slowly wandering down the curves and soft skin that make up one Dave Strider.
Definitely, things to be afraid of out there that are worse than death. Like leaving someone behind to live with that realization. Or losing complete agency over everything. He doesn't know when Dave's going to wake up; hard to tell really when he has his own Death Price laid out in front of him like this. Sleep for as long as he wants, he's usually pretty dead to the world until his body tells him to wake up. At least, as much as Ryuji knows about this body. Constellations on his skin, the sweetest smile when he earns it, the way he knows how pleasure it, the whole nine yards.
And man, it's terrifying to be in love, ain't it?
He lays his head up against the back of his shoulder; he'll be there until he wakes up, still as always a giant mess of limbs and not a single apology left in either of them because of it.]