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____-_In a sense, I’m the one who ruined me: I did it myself.
Haruki Murakami (via)

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      ––He is simply observing the world as it passes him by.
      (From his perch, he has quite the vantage point, really: 
      and, as he is unlikely to be disturbed, he can allow himself
      some freedom of emotion.)

you’re trying to [ save ] me — ?
                            stop holding your breath.

&

Send me “&” for my muses reaction to yours tracing one of their scars. 

      He felt Lan Fan’s fingers brushing against a rather jagged scar that decorated his left shoulder. A quiet sigh left him, and he shook his head: he had many scars that stood out against tanned skin, and he didn’t care to tell the story behind most of them. This one, however, wasn’t too bad; it had simply been a time where he’d been too slow to move out of the way. Still, it was something of a failure, but it was one that he could live with, he supposed. It wasn’t too bad, honestly, and so he guessed that he could tell her at least a portion of the tale. 

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      "…It was an arrow," he explained, tone neutral. "And quite the pain to treat on my own, too, might I add.” Wry amusement touched soft tones, and a ghost of a smile graced tanned features as he shook his head. 

&

Send me “&” for my muses reaction to yours tracing one of their scars.

      It was uncommon to see the Sheikah so exposed: generally speaking, the majority of his skin was covered. However, even he needed to change his bandages occasionally in order to ensure that the wounds were properly healing. That was why he was in the position he currently was: he wasn’t keen on people seeing his scars, lest they ask about them. To him, they were signs of failure, signs of times where he hadn’t been good enough and had paid the price. 

      Feeling Jay’s fingers tracing one of the more noticeable ones on his back (an oval-esaque shape from where he had been ‘branded’, in between his shoulder-blades), the Sheikah tensed slightly, scarlet eyes closing as he fought the urge to flinch away. He trusted Jay, that was true, but he still wasn’t entirely comfortable with such a gesture (and really, he doubted he ever would be). His scars (especially that one) were something private, almost –– they were stories that he wouldn’t tell, as they brought back memories that he would rather not recall (and yet, he did recall them, every time he saw them when he undressed; they were paler marks marring darker skin, telling terrible stories). 

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      "…It is a–– brand,” Sheik stated simply, tone as soft as always. "It… happened two or three years ago." Falling silent, he attempted to force himself to relax, fingers uncurling from fists as he did so. A quiet breath left him, his head tilting to the side slightly so he was looking at Jay, his gaze almost a searching one. Sheik wasn’t entirely certain how to feel about this, honestly –– scars were private things, and he himself had many of them criss-crossing his abdomen and back, a spiderweb of stories that he hated to tell.

lonewolfmerc:

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She noticed the cloaked figure, seemingly in his own world. He doesn’t look great. Barely holding it together is how I would describe it. Making up her mind, Demi decided that she would at least see if she could help. “Excuse me, is there anyway I could help you?”

     He drew a slow breath, forcing himself to stand straighter: it would not do
     to appear weak before anyone, least of all a stranger. 
     ”…I require no assistance,” he stated quietly, voice as soft as always. 
     ”I am… fine.” (That, of course, was not true, but he need not worry someone
      that he had just met, nor should he burden them with his petty woes.)

aseaofquotes:

Alan Bradley, The Weed That Strings the Hangman’s Bag

aseaofquotes:

Alan Bradley, The Weed That Strings the Hangman’s Bag

      A slow breath was drawn, fingers clutching at his upper arms.
      He was quite shaky, much to his displeasure, and he was
      (though he wouldn’t admit to it) emotionally fragile at the moment.
      “Idu hīdi irīskō...” The words were muttered under his breath, fingers
      digging into his arms.