･ ﾟ Ϟ 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑

hi, i think that's more a me problem then a 'your blind' kind of problem, haha! i honestly don't think i ever got around to moving my rules page onto zen's blog. that's something i still have to do ;; so, sorry about that. i do have a rules page listed on my midna blog, and you're welcome to use them as a reference! @atdusk, / rules.

@masterswxrdsman​ said:  "Must you cry on me?"

                          calm.  that's  the  only  way  zentisu  can  describe  the  sound  that  permeates  from  this  man.  it’s  a  somber  thing  ;  though  somehow  sanguine  in  nature  which  belies  how  surprisingly  grounding  it  is.  even  still,  the  only  logical  response  zentisu  has  to  the  other’s  question  is  to,  of  course,  sob  louder  while  franticly  clutching  to  the  man’s  garb.  using  it  to  pull  himself  further  onto  his  little  —  raft?  coffin?  boat?  he’s  not  exactly  sure  what  to  classify  the  vessel  as,  all  he  knows  is  that  if  he  lets  go,  then  that’s  it.    

@thunderwept ♥'ed for a starter!

Annoyance tugged at Inosuke’s traits. If only his body had behaved just a little longer, he could have avoided all this.

He sat cross-legged, shoulders slumped, hands resting in his lap. If he hadn’t staggered right into the ground, Zenitsu would never have noticed his injury. Or so the boar believed, unaware that blood had seeped through his boar mask, leaving a large scarlet patch behind the ears.

The boar mask rested by his side, while his companion kneeled beside him, whining panickedly as per his habit. For once, Inosuke was the calmest of the two.

“I’m telling you, it’s just a bump! Just leave it and it’ll stop bleeding, if you’re that scared of touching it!”

                          he  blinks  ;  shocked  into  an  abrupt  dumbfounded  silence.  momentarily  left  to  stare  pointedly  at  the  crimson  froth  oozing  out  of  his  friend’s  cranium.  squinting  at  it  through  the  small  gap  between  his  outstretched  hands.  processing.      

                        1,  2,    “why  would  —  that’s  not  —-  it’s  —-  just  shut  up  and  sit  still!”    &  there  it  is.  

                        what  was  the  point  in  trying  to  explain  the  reason  behind  his  fretting.  that  he’d  picked  up  that  something  was  wrong  simply  by  the  shift  in  inosuke’s  cadence.  just  how  loud  &  grating  the  sound  of  impacted  hide  was  against  his  ears,  or  the  fact  that  he  knew,  from  experience,  exactly  how  you  shouldn’t  let  head  wounds,  of  any  kind,  to  sit  &  fester.    

                        with  a  resigned  huff,  zenitsu  lets  his  weight  settle  further  against  his  calves  as  he  carefully  begins  to  card  his  fingers  into  the  wild-man’s  hair  ;  cleaning  away  gore  &  debris  alike.  deceptively  gentle  &  sure-handed  despite  his  earlier  outbursts.  he’s  done  within  a  matter  of  minutes,  going  so  far  as  to  tear  off  a  piece  of  his  inner  haori  to  use  to  pack  the  wound  before  finally  pulling  away.  only  to  give  a  fretful,  &  frankly  disgusted  once  over  at  the  blood  matted  mask  still  resting  peacefully  at  the  boar’s  side.

 zentisu’s  quick  to  scoop  the  item  up  into  his  hands    because  just  no  —  not  on  his  life  was  that  thing  going  another  foot  with  them  in  that  condition.  lest  they  wanted  to  wake  up  to  a  horde  of  maggots  or  worse  in  the  morning,  &  he  would  not  —  absolutely  would  not  be  subjected  to  the  torment  of  skittering  legs  twice  in  his  abysmally  short  life.  

@slayersaided​ said: "you should do your best, but remember everyone's best is different. you may not always be the best, but you can always do your best."

@higoyoku​  said: shield: my muse shields yours with their body.

meme  :  * drabble checklist

                                            the  demon  shrieks  ;  &  zentisu  actually  has  the  ill-pleasure  of  hearing  his  own  eardrums  burst  under  the  sheer  weight  of  its  frequency.  instinctively,  he  slaps  both  hands  over  his  ears,  with  a  whimper  that  can’t  hear,  in  an  effort  to  alleviate  his  disorientating  discomfort  as  he  stumbles  back.  squinting  into  the  middle  distance  as  he  tries  to  overcome  the  pain  piercing  into  his  skull  while  simultaneously  ignore  the  patch  of  sticky  warmth  seeping  into  the  crook  of  his  fingers.  

                                            &  then,  in  the  crux  of  his  staggering  confusion  is  a  brush  of  hands  at  his  collar,  fingers  yanking  &  pulling  at  his  person.  manhandling  him  until  he’s  forced  to  his  knees  &  a  weight’s  pressed  snug  over  the  curve  of  his  spine.  &  it  takes  a  second  too  long  for  his  addled  mind  to  fill  in  the  blanks.  that  this  position  could  only  mean  one  thing  given  the  circumstances  &  now  he’s  mentally  scrambling.  

                                            that  is,  until  he  manages  to  see  that  glint  of  fire-kissed  red  over  his  shoulder  —  and  the  retreating  back  of  the  demon  as  it  cackles  &  dances  with  the  third  member  of  their  group.  he  blinks,  &  the  weight  at  his  back  increases.  to  the  point  that  he’s  forced  to  release  his  poor  injured  ears  in  order  to  plant  the  palms  of  his  hands  into  the  ground  to  support  them  both  with  a  grunt.  

                                            “h-hey.”  he  tries,  probably  a  little  louder  than  necessary  considering  he  can’t  exactly  judge  his  own  volume  at  the  moment.  his  alarm  doubles  when  he  notices  a  secondary  trail  of  warmth  seeping  into  the  small  of  his  back  &  then,  like  a  switch,  zenitsu  pushes  back.  rears  up  on  his  knees  until  he’s  managed  to  hook  an  arm  under  tanjiro’s  &  all  but  pull  the  other  boy  into  the  cradle  of  his  lap.  blinking  almost  owlishly  as  he  searches  for  the  injury  he  knows  must  be  there  given  exactly  how  wet  &  tacky  his  back  feels.  “the  hell  is  wrong  with  you?  what  did  you  go  and  do  a  thing  like  that  for!?”  

@storystrange​ said:  thunder.     kaigaku & zenitsu.     go. 

meme  :  * drabble checklist

                                     it  takes  one  piece  of  paper  to  narrow  his  world-view.  slotting  it  back  into  the  shades  of  grey  that  once  accompanied  his  youth.  clinging  fast  to  the  far  edges  of  his  haori.  clutching  to  the  cleft  of  his  throat  with  it’s  icy  fingers.  it  takes  one  piece  of  paper  &  the  harrowing  message  it  holds  to  cleave  his  already  fractured  heart  into  two.  &  god,  how  excruciating  it  is.  to  learn  that  gramps  —  his  mentor  had  succumbed  to  such  a  terrible  fate.  driven  to  his  breaking  point  by  one  of  his  own.  

                                    the  tears  come  ;  ushered  in  silence  &  strangling  with  each  &  every  pass.  he  weeps,  pleading  to  any  god  despite  knowing  none  would  listen  while  pressing  that  horrid  letter  to  his  face.  the  edges  crumpling  under  his  shaking  grip  when  the  realization  that  gramps  had  died  thinking  one  of  his  kids  was  a  nothing  but  a  crybaby  who  could  only  master  the  first  form  of  his  technique,  &  the  other,  who  was  able  to  learn  every  form  but  the  former,  had  bespoke  himself  as  the  very  thing  they  had  been  trained  to  vanquish.  both,  in  hindsight,  amounting  to  be  the  vain  of  his  existence.  a  stain  of  despondent  shame  marking  his  legacy.  

                                    the  letter  succeeding  in  efficiently  &  cruelly  tearing  not  one,  but  both  of  his  precious  family  members  from  him  in  one  fell  swoop.  whittling  away  the  only  home  he’s  ever  truly  known.  there’s  nothing  now:  no  where  to  return  to,  no  one  to  write  to  —  to  share  his  growth  with.  all  he  had  now,  was  this  paper  &  the  anguish  that  followed.  

                                    he  sobs  into  that  piece  of  parchment.  letting  it  take  the  brunt  of  his  sorrow  when  the  forefront  of  his  mind  zeroes  in  on  a  striking  toll.  one  that,  before  today,  he  would  have  associated  with  that  of  their  little  house  accented  in  a  grove  of  peach  trees.  one  that  had  once  held  a  chime  of  security.  it’s  corrupted  now.  a  harrowing  mockery  of  a  once  fond  sound  &  zentisu  feels  his  jaw  creek  with  the  wave  of  surmounting  angry  that  washes  through  him  beneath  it’s  wake.  

@storystrange​ said:  " happy birthday,  zenitsu.  come dance with me. "  tanjiro offers him a smile before taking the blond's hands in his own & gently starting to tug him along in a few slow,  careful steps of the hinokami kagura. dancing always makes him feel special,  & one day perhaps he'll show his dearest friend the full extent of the kagura ... but for now he's happy to share the moment with him,  painstakingly showing him where to place his feet & how to move his body.  " that's right.  you're doing really well,  zenitsu! "

                                   “thank  you,  wait  dance—-huh  —-  HUH!?”    for  all  he’s  worth,  he  goes  willingly.  letting  his  hands  slide  into  the  steady  embrace  of  tanjiro’s.  a  motion  that  would  have  once  heralded  hesitance  ;  but  now  only  holds  a  touch  of  warmth.  &  it’s  that  warmth  that  sings  through  his  veins  discoloring  the  apples  of  his  cheeks  in  a  merry  flush  of  crimson.  

                                  it  takes  a  second  —  he’d  never  SEEN  tanjiro  use  the  hinokami  kagura,  but  he’s  HEARD  it  &  with  every  step  they  take,  the  silent  song  only  he  can  perceive  maps  out  a  familiar  tune.  one  that  matches  his  friend’s  sun-breathing  technique  word  for  word,  though  a  touch  more  subdued  without  the  kagura’s  trailing  heat.  astonished,  zenitu’s  gaze  snaps  to  their  feet,  as  if  he  could  see  a  sight  he’s  painstakingly  missed  at  every  turn  —-  as  if  he  could  engrave  the  movements  into  his  mind’s  eye  without  a  simple  look.  

                                  tanjiro’s  got  a  gentle  guiding  hand,  &  zentisu  relishes  in  it.  a  spark  of  mirth  welling  well  within  him  as  he  dutifully  follows  suit.  stepping  were  instructed  while  unconsciously  drawing  himself  closer  to  the  fire-kissed  boy.  freeing  a  hand  from  tanjiro’s  grip  in  favor  of  sliding  it  up  &  over  the  other’s  shoulder  ;  where  he  lets  it  rest,  with  the  pads  of  his  fingertips  absently  brushing  through  the  small  hairs  at  his  hairline.