#♥ : ic ask

[13urningstars]

❤

[He doesn't have a mouth so he just bonks his head against hers]

Send ♥ to give my muse a kiss! No reason, just do it!

She's surprised at first of course, for good reason because its not everyday mechs go around bonking their faces into hers out of nowhere. But its gentler in a way she wouldn't really expect from whirl, in a way that lets her believe for a moment that he's not trying to bash her face in using his as a blunt force weapon. There's a sort of glimmer of mischief that sparks in her eyes as an idea comes to mind. If she's right, she'll consider herself very flattered at the attempt and if not, well she's always been a fast runner she supposed. A poorly hidden grin pulls at painted metal lips as she pushes herself onto the tips of her pedes to quickly place a kiss of her own to the side of his helm before the helicopter has a chance to pull away, leaving a dark smudge of evidence. he doesn't need to know about that though.

" That better? "

Her grin is evident.

[fourfuckinghorsemen]

You okay? 🥺

Mhm. I just question the choices of my alternate timeline selves sometimes.

[daydreamingtetch]

Joker and Bolton I can understand having issues with, but why do you dislike Matt Hagen aka Clayface? Also if Riddler's gonna interupt I say Scarecrow should come on camera too.

"Do you have ANY idea of how annoying it is when you have him as a cell neighbor? Especially, when he has his stupid little radio because he has the privileges for it-- not me of course." He said this while rolling his eyes as the thought of hit, giving a sigh. "They're too scared of me dismantling whatever I can to make a shoddy attempt at a controlling device which...Well, they're not wrong. I would but taking away everything technology based was uncalled for." He paused "Where was I? AH, right...he's so loud. If one of the songs he likes comes on? can't help but sing along while banging on the walls to the beat. Besides him enjoying that, it gets worse when lights out happens! I don't even know how his physical form works but he SNORES." Jervis slaps the table multiple times to emphasis "SNORES THAT CAN WAKE THE WHOLE CELL BLOCK. GOD forbid I try to get some sleep when I already have trouble enough without having to take a cocktail of sleeping aids."

[reginrokkr]

✧ @apocryphis asked: the campfire crackles quietly in the desert night, the only sound permeating the immeasurable silence of the vast red sands. not even a breeze to shift the sands of the dunes, not even the crawling and creeping of scorpions or nocturnal desert foxes. draped in a wide cloak, its hood half covering his face, al-haitham gazes at the chisel mirror conjured up just above the palm of his hand; lost in the subtle reflections of the fire against the pale, green shimmer of dendro. it is a quiet night in the desert -- but al-haitham knows all too well how quickly the sands can turn in those parts. he remains alert, focused; and his free hand deftly moves to the sword next to him upon hearing the subtle sound of footsteps approaching, piercing gaze darting into the night.

only for eyes to widen in surprise as a familiar silhouette finally comes into view under the flickering light of the fire.

"dainsleif?" he calls out, incredulous. he has no seen the man since their very first adventure into the rainforest, amidst dreams and memories. truth be told, he had not expected to see him again. realising the surprise that must be painted all over his face, the scribe forces composure to return to stoic features; shoulders relaxing, but hand barely just straying away from his sword (the slightest movement in the desert might very well draw unwanted company, whether dainsleif had intended it or not - best remain careful). "fancy seeing you here." he comments, dryly, which, in al-haitham's world, equates to as much cordiality as he can muster. consider his curiosity piqued (in al-haitham's world: the highest form of compliment). "i would say it's a small world, but that would not be true in the red sands. question is, were you looking for me, or for the ancient ruins that just so happen to be another three hours away from here...?"

The harshness of the desert forgives none, just as equitable as its counterpart the rains of Fontaine that sheds its justice over everyone equally, no matter if gods or humans, poor or rich. Its golden sands a stark contrast from the emerald foliage from the rainforests and what little area had survived surrounding the remnants of the former Hydro Archon and a creature formed from the might of three goddesses for one same purpose. Its dryness and merciless fauna a reminder of bygone times when all the verdure that existed in this location turned to dust in mere nights, when the wave of the Abyss hit everything on its way at its hardest and precipitated everything to death. Even the true sovereign that once ruled these lands had to shed her rich, jade skin and coat herself with the amber dust of the sands in the name of adaptation and even less kinder and romantic yet— survival.

These days, there are two kinds of people who dare to tread the expanse of these sands: those who have been shunned from their original homes and now need to do something— anything to bury lost riches to make a living out of their price and those knowledgeable enough to be aware of what they're doing and where they're heading, even under the immensity of night's veil and obscurity, with only the frigid light of the moon above serving as a fragile guide to wander these parts.

For someone of the likes of Dáinsleif, it makes little difference if he treads perilous places under the broad daylight or the more subtle moonlight. So when he spots amidst nowhere a small bonfire in his way to the place of choice, of course it would pique his own curiosity to get closer and inspect for any signs of assistance or just come in passing and leave just as he first came. What he wouldn't imagine is that it's the descendant of the skeptic scholars, al-Háitham the one he would find here.

◜Fancy meeting you here, too.◞ There is no falsehood in his voice nor anything to denote otherwise in what he says. The man himself was a pleasant discovery in the rainforests, back when the necessity to help reached his senses in invisible pulses that those who are well-versed in the profundity of foliage's importance would feel. In his case, he cannot claim to have any deep relationship with it weren't for deep-rooted bonds with Irminsul. Dáinsleif nods his head as a salute before he joins the scribe by the bonfire, sitting down at a prudent distance from him and facing the opposite way his gaze does in order to guard any possible threats that may come their way. Albescent lashes flutter close for a fraction as he exhales a silent chuckle at the question posed to him, so like an ever curious mind like his.

◜You give me too much credit.◞ At least in this case, where his is none and far less impressive than he would expect, perhaps as a result of their co-joined feats in the land of dreams and adventure with the Aranara. Sapphire irises open thereafter, boring into the other's emerald ones. ◜Perhaps this might make your bubble burst, but the reality is that none of the options you've stated are what led me here. As a matter of fact, I was just passing by.◞ That is the truth, no more and no less than that. Sometimes there needn't be a deep reason to appear somewhere at an unexpectedly right time to meet an old soul.

But perhaps, there is something that can feed his curious soul and which he can satisfy for allowing him to stay without inviting the wrath of the sword he keeps close.

Thus he looks towards the far north from where he came from after helping out the kind of an old companion of his, back when he emerged from the vowels of Teyvat to roam these lands as the only alternative left, granted that he had no desire to linger anymore where the presence of what ruined his homeland is at its highest— a solemn look in starry gaze. ◜Have you ever heard about the tales of war in which people from two different nations united their strength to fight for a common goal, al-Háitham?◞

[viitlumi]

❝ flowers are so overrated. they're bright, gaudy, and almost never make good poisons. ❞ // to whomever wants to come forth c: //

The meadow bloomed as if each petal was a bright memory. The bees flocked to the wildflowers that nature had planted for them. They buzzed around the chorus of blossoms, the accord of the wild in these sun-filled moments. Summer was most definitely a nourishing season on Paradis.

 In the golden hush of dawn, where the sky blushed with the first whispers of daylight, Solveig and Hilda found themselves amidst a sea of blossoms. The field stretched endlessly, a vibrant tapestry woven with fragrant flowers and herbs, each petal and leaf glistening with morning dew. The sisters, bound by blood and tradition, moved with a quiet ease, their bond evident in the synchronized rhythm of their work, their sickles—crafted for the impending autumn harvest—gleaming like silver crescents against the soft light. Beside them, Lyanna—a newfound companion whose acquaintance was as fresh as the morning. Though they scarcely knew her, Solveig had felt an intrinsic pull, a whisper from the heart urging her to embrace this stranger and the shared experience of womanhood. Together, the three females gathered nature's treasures, each cut and snip a testament to their unity and strength. It was in this shared labor, beneath the ever-brightening sky, that they wove bonds as delicate yet enduring as the flowers they collected, finding kinship and beauty in the simple act of harvesting life from the earth. Lyanna, the young woman they had recently met, paused and looked around. With a wry smile, she remarked, “Flowers are so overrated. They’re bright, gaudy, and almost never make good poisons.” She didn't appear too enthused to be in this environment, leaving Solveig with a bewildered frown on her pale features. Solveig, her hands gently placing a vibrant flower into her basket, turned to Lyanna with a thoughtful scowl. “Even the prettiest flower shouldn’t be mistaken only for its beauty,” she began, her voice soft but firm. “A flower can be so beautiful, but it can also harbor many dangers.”

She picked a foxglove from her basket, its purple bells hanging delicately from the stem like tiny, enchanted lanterns. “Take foxglove, for instance. In small doses, it can be used to treat heart conditions, mending broken rhythms with its potent touch. But too much, and it becomes a deadly poison, almost instant death. Yet, even this poisonous flower is essential for medicine when respected and understood.”

Moving through the field, advicing Lyanna to follow her, she knelt by another plant, its dark berries gleaming ominously in the morning light. “This is belladonna,” she continued, “used in tiny amounts to relieve muscle spasms, to soothe and heal. My people even use it to widen their pupils by injecting the juiced directly into their eyes, as it helps them to see better while hunting in the night. But its berries can be fatal to those who consume them.” Solveig met her blue gaze towards Lyanna again, her eyes meeting hers, imparting the gravity of her words. “Some plants can be easily confused, like wild parsnip and hemlock, each a doppelgänger to the other, one life-giving, the other life-taking. And the typical bitter taste of a plant can be easily masked, cloaked in honeyed deceit, making them even more dangerous. Remember, the dose makes the poison.”

As the three women continued their gathering, the field became more than a simple meadow. It was a place of learning and connection, a classroom of the earth where each flower told a story, whispered secrets, and taught lessons of balance and respect. “What you have to get out of the habit of thinking is not to discount the lethality of beauty. It's the way with plants, just like with people. What would be the fun in desiring it instantaneously and without delay?” Solveig chuckled somewhat wryly towards Lyanna before she resumed her work. Each bloom was a dual symbol of life and death, of beauty and peril, a reminder of nature’s intricate dance and the essential role of even the most dangerous flowers in healing and medicine.

[grandma-susan]

It wasn't every day that Beelzebub found herself walking through the Pride Ring's Cannibal Town, especially not with a large cake box floating behind her. Still, today was a special day, and she was practically bouncing as she made her way down the streets, the hem of her skirt swirling around her ankles. The Sin traipsed past businesses and buildings, heading towards the more residential areas of the bustling borough, stopping only when she saw a familiar garden, and an even more familiar woman tending to it. The glow around the Queen of Gluttony brightened and she called out in joy, "Susie!"

One of her lower hands waved towards the Cannibal while Bee's upper hands reached up to grab the box, the glow of magic around it fading when her fingers came into contact. She made her way closer toward Susan, smiling brightly as she lifted the box lid to reveal the surprise inside- "Happy birthday, darling! Hope you don't mind purple."

Susan was bent over in her garden inspecting her beds and flower. they seem strangely different than usual, at the very least something felt amiss, but not entirely in a bad way. Just unusual. They seemed...tidier? But before she could go in any further, she heard the cheerful voice of none other than the Queen of Gluttony herself. Susan lit up. "Honeycomb!" She exclaimed, "Oooh~! Look at you!" She cooed, her fingers by her chest, the apian fox was dressed in a frilly skirt that seemed to pillow an sway in time with the energy that the Queen gave off. "What's the occasion? Are you visiting Rosie?" She asked, the only explanation for the time period skirt and the rather large box she had. But the old cannibal was caught off guard at what Beelzebub said. "Happy Birthday? Wha-" She looked in confusion at the large box which she had guessed was a cake, but the Queen was holding it out to herself and the cake was breathtaking! She had never seen such a beautiful cake. The old woman let out a little snicker. "Honeycomb! I don't even remember by birthday anymore! I don't even remember my deathday! Who told you it was my birthday?" She said with a small shake of her head. She reached out and touched Bee's hands. "But it warms this old heart and soul that you came to visit. And with something this amazing, it looks delicious! It's nice to hear those words again. And I love purple! Anything to break up this red sky! Why don't you come in and I'll grab some plates and tea! Do you drink tea?" She said as she tapped her fence with her cane and the gate swung open. "I have a table over here, enjoy the flowers with me! They seem extra colorful today." Perhaps it was because of Bee's natural warm, lively and optimistic glow and that made the garden feel like it was being bathed in sunlight for once.

[sleetkissed]

*Sad charity commercial song plays* What would you do... if there was a child, right in front of you? (sorry i accidentally unfollowed trying to press the ask button sksksks)

❝  B̶͓̾͌L̴̰̳̅͂O̴̻̞̿Ǒ̸̱̑Ď̴̡̖͒  ̵͓̟̊S̵̟̄Å̷̲͑C̴̼̄̽R̷̖͊I̵̞͎͋̍F̸̨̓Í̷̞̫C̴͚̾̽E̷͈͍͛  ❞  

[magickedhat]

                              @theaterism​​   /    continued.

wren couldn’t say what their dream had been about.   it had dispersed like smoke parts for a swinging hand, yet they knew bits of reality had slipped into it as well, a fleeting dream that had started wren into wakefulness, bleary and disoriented.   something moved beside them, twisted and groaned.

wren was on their feet in moments.   light spilled across the room as they flicked a lamp, allowing themself to take in foxtrot’s shape: tangled in blankets like an acrobat with no grace, he jerked and gasped in ways that sent wren’s heart pounding.   they reached for him, an unrestrained instinct, calling his name---only realizing their mistake when tearful eyes stared right through them and trembling hands smacked them away.   wren’s heart skipped a beat, but they remained, and his apologies fell on deaf ears.

“it’s okay!   it didn’t hurt, it’s okay.   god, i---  are you okay?”

their entire body ran on electricity.   a million thoughts raced through their mind at once, of things they ought to do or say on top of things they should not do or say, but at last they climbed onto the tumbled sheets to brush his cheek.   it was sleek with sweat; he was drenched, drowning.  “d’you want me to get you anything?   water, or tea, or---?” 

[lilchxrmer]

lily :   how does your muse view their mother ?

-- THE PERCEPTION HORTENSIA HAS of her mother is colored, at least somewhat, by the commentary of those around her. A woman of charm and perseverance, with a smile that could melt even those coldest hearts. A wit that was better equipped for a general than a concubine.

In all honesty, if not for Ivy, perhaps Hortensia would not have known even that much. She certainly hadn't wanted to, running away with half-baked excuses when the topic came up. Thinking about her father still brings her that much agony- does she have to be reminded of what else she doesn't have? If she prolongs the thought too long she simply cannot bear it.

Some small, microscopic, awful part of Hortensia that she hates and hates with all her heart resents her mother. All of this drama, just to leave me? To leave me? Couldn't Hortensia have a break? Have a normal family? Have her mother back?

But she did so much for Hortensia. Because she loved Hortensia. So she'll do her best.

Hortensia's own memories of her mother are not many. Seven years old is not a very good age for preserving memories, and losing her mother at such an age did not help in making said memories distinct enough to keep around. But, tangled in cobwebs and sticky fog, she remembers this much:

Sickness and nausea and heat. Too-thick blankets. A throat that hurt to swallow with. Being tired. So, so tired. A hand.

A cool hand. Words that broke through the drumming in her head.

"Mom."

[naturesbeat]

Things said in an adventuring party // ACCEPTING » @crystalmarred ( Tataru ) said: ‘ not to brag, but at least six men have described me as ‘terrifying’. ’ (Tataru to Eydis, two of them are Estinien and Alphinaud asdkfjhsalk—)

HER ANSWERING GRIN MATCHED Tataru's mischief, a flash of fangs and a bark of laughter. "You should brag," Eydis countered, crossing her arms leisurely across her chest. "I am not sure they would say the same of me."

"In fact, it makes me wonder why I am even here, when you can keep them all in line."

[brazenlystrong]

❝  i want everyone here to see that you’re mine.  ❞ + [ CLAIM ]  for one muse to possessively place their hands on their shoulders or hips. // 👌

JEALOUS, FIERCLY PROTECTIVE & TERRITORIAL PROMPTS // @vzmky

As palms find their place on him, Satoru freezes for a split second, caught off-guard by Suguru’s unexpected daring nature. A sudden warmth floods his chest, immediately overtaken by a flush of embarrassment as he can already pick up on the weight of curious gazes from people nearby. His heart skips a beat when the whisper comes, soft and intimate against his ear.

His breath hitches, and this same wave of heat spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, once he’s aware of how exposed he feels in this moment. His body shifts lightly, the thought of being claimed so boldly, so publicly, makes his pulse race. Almost without thinking, Gojo’s hand drifts up, hovering between them before landing on Geto’s chest. The touch is hesitant, as if he’s trying to create some distance but he can’t bring himself to push. His blue gaze squints slightly, pupils wide, reflecting a flustered mix of vulnerability and surprise. The onlookers are undoubtedly focused on them, not helping Gojo’s case.

Every nerve on Satoru's body is on edge as he tries to make sense of the situation. Just minutes ago, he was casually chatting with two girls nearby—an innocent conversation, or so he thinks. It seems ridiculous, and he should be telling Suguru off. Caught between the urge to protest and the all-consuming awareness of how close they are right now. There’s a flicker of something dangerous, something he’s almost afraid to admit that he’s into. Overwhelmed by a tide of mixed emotions, Satoru finds himself irresistibly drawn to Suguru.

He swallows hard, his throat tight. “ Sugu—... Suguru, ” he murmurs under his breath but can’t muster the will to go against Suguru. Because deep down he doesn’t want this to stop. That same part of him craves the intensity of it and that’s the part that terrifies him the most to exploit. That spark that has been simmering in his chest flares into something far more fervent and thrilling...

[fourfuckinghorsemen]

Do I have to worry about someone stealing my job?

We could always replant them.

[daydreamingtetch]

Hello there, dear Jervis (and company! If you aren't alone at this moment)

I just wonder, what is your favourite kind of tea to drink?

"My favorite type of tea? Too many possibiliteas!" Jervis joked a little before there was a silent as he sipped his tea cup "that being said I-" he paused trying to process the taste in his mouth "At this point it's purely a ritual to make...but I usually favor Pu'erh type teas." "I forget if the tea I made is using green or black tea leaves, give me a second--" he said but with inspecting it with a fast flick of the wrist, he accidentally spilled it all on the table. Not initially processing the mistake he held that static smile as he stared at the mess. Then the mistake clicked in his mind.

"Black. Black tea leaves. I think."

[angelicxlly]

Are poros! Have come to see sett's mama again! Are here to give all the snuggles! Have missed!

{ ♥ } ——— “Sweetness Gracious! Aren’t you the most lovely sight to behold?” Sayuri’s voice would coo at them, kneeling in the grass of her yard to look at them with care, snuggle as many as she could between her arms, & if possible, rise a hand seeking to scratch between their horns like one would a pet behind their ears. Her own ears would perk in delight at the action as well. Their fur was so soft & nice to touch, like cotton!

“Little Cotton Beans.” She wondered as her thoughts drifted between the possibilities of knitting sweaters with their fur, dying the material in a plethora of colors & place them on the Poros. A giggle would escape her at her daydreaming, before a gasp would leave pass her lips, suddenly remembering the soup she had been preparing!

“You all just arrived on time for lunch!” Gracefully, Sayuri stood up & dusted herself off a bit, before opening the back door of her humble home, right into her kitchen & allowing a delicious smell to escape. “Would you like to accompany me with a veggie broth, Little Cotton-beans? I assure you is rather delicious, one of my Son’s favorite dishes~ ♥”

@snugglyporos ♥

[medicus-felini]

@ravarui (Shanks) asked: He had thought that the mink who just entered looked familiar, but he needed a second glance to recognize just who it was. "Miss Linn!" Shanks calls out for her, waving for her to come closer. What a coincidence to meet her here of all places. But her arrival meant that the Kid pirates were close by too and he just hoped they wouldn't stir up trouble. He would hate to have to fight during New Years celebrations. Once in his reach he grabs one of her hands into his, pulling her even closer to give her a kiss against her cheek. "Happy New Years Miss Linn. Care for you to join us some?"

  ❀⊱ 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕜𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕀 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕚𝕥 ⊰❀

      𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝗿𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐧𝘁 𝘀𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝗿𝘂𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝗿 𝐢𝐧 𝘁𝐡𝐢𝘀 𝐞𝘀𝘁𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝘀𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝘁 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝘁 𝐡𝐚𝗿𝐝 𝘁𝐨 𝐛𝗿𝐞𝐚𝘁𝐡𝐞.      Clearly, her crew was not shy when it came to parties. New Year's was the perfect excuse to stir up some trouble, which was disguised as a harmless celebration. Thank the gods, most of them were too drunk to really cause a hassle. They were seated far away from the bar in a cozy and lonely corner with a big enough table for the Kid Pirates to sit down. Being the least tipsy member, Linn was blessed with getting more booze at minute intervals.

On her fifth run, an awfully familiar voice calls out the mink's name. Where her ears already picked up the sound, pale blue eyes would soon follow, confirming her suspicion. Shanks. That was both good and bad. As long as the two redheads don't face each other, the bar should still be fine after the night.     

❝ Ah, Mister Shanks   !   How pleasant to see you here   —   ❞     Before these last words could leave her lips, the emperor's lips pecked her cheek in a lighthearted way. A nuance that certainly leaves the poor woman's cheeks in a warm hue of pink. 

Quite forward, but that much she knew already. That invitation got more convincing by the second. If her captain got a glimpse of that kiss, it would be better she let the alcohol take a toll on him so he forgets soon.     ❝ I can spare a minute or two. Happy New Year to you too  !   Is everyone alright still   ? ❞     With a subtle smile, she motions vaguely to Shank's crew, which were visibly enjoying the evening so far. As a member of a rival crew, her concern should not be at the center of her mind. The happy atmosphere, however, persuaded her to think otherwise.

[pizzamassacred]

Sorriso, why. Why are you smiling like that. For what purpose.

"Why not? Today, I'm still alive, so isn't that good enough reason? I smile because I know that."

He looks back to the okra on his cutting board, the knife resting next to his scarred knuckles. He turns back, still smiling wide.

"I hope it doesn't bother you. There's nothing that should!..."