#♥ : 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.

[brazenlystrong]

an infinite void implies infinite space, infinite universes. i have two people who love their own infinity, so we're gonna have to cross the streams just a little on this stream-of-consciousness birthday missive. regardless of how we get there in the end, the point remains this: happy birthday, satoru.

sukuna wakes before the sun rises. he's intent to beat the sunlight that normally streaks through the window and kisses gojo's face, intent to watch the rise and fall of his chest and count snowy eyelashes and trace the lines of his jaw with hungry and devoted eyes. shoko is left to sleep in these days, her already exhausted body is being pushed a little past her usual limits with the incoming arrival of what is sure to be a boundless well of cursed energy. she dreams about blue eyes, a teasing smile, rests comfortably in strong arms with the knowledge that her (admittedly over-prepared) plan to surprise him has already been taken care of. sukuna cooks. he's adapted well to some technological advancements with expediency. still texts like he's old as dust (because he is), but he knows gojo's tastes extremely well and it makes something stir in him to see the one who taught him how to love eat well as his table. shoko went shopping the day before, pastries from the shop where they had their first date half a lifetime ago. little notes, answer cards, with his favorite movie and his favorite pastry and one more that says, again: koibito.

sukuna would happily feed him, give him the world on a string, conqueror conquered by the strongest in every lifetime. a choice he will make again and again, keep making until the heat death that follows the end of everything. he does not allow his angel to go into work on time, keeps him in bed with one kiss after another until he is belly-full inside of warm magnificence and telling him he loves him over and over and over. shoko wakes up just in time for them to get ready and go to work together, she does not do autopsies anymore this close to her due date but she still works in the clinic. they part ways by the door to her office knowing that his is decorated from floor to ceiling in fragrant flowers in every shade of blue and white and purple she could find. another card, another box full of sweets she had delivered special, a receipt from a very expensive lingerie store where she's written one more present for later in scrawling letters.

each home is built on a love that defies all logic, all reason, save this: satoru gojo's birth not only affected the delicate balance of jujutsu society, but the lives of a king and a doctor who would do anything for one more day by his side. no gift will ever be enough to show him how appreciated he is, how seen he is, how loved. good thing they have so many other tries to get it perfectly right.

♡

@koseigu

The feeling of being loved on a day like a birthday is an overwhelming warmth, like stepping into the sunlight after a long, cold night. Even if he expected it—knew the day is coming—it still catches him off guard, like a pleasant surprise that goes beyond just gifts or words.

He feels the warmth in his love's gaze, the smiles are genuine and eyes are shining with affection. There’s a tenderness to it, a kind of silent acknowledgment that he matters, not as the Strongest, but as Gojo Satoru. The gestures—big or small—aren’t just actions; they’re expressions of how deeply one is cherished. The little things mean a lot to him. Moments he could only wish to experience but isn't able to due to his busy schedule.

The love feels tangible, wrapping him like a soft, familiar blanket. It’s in his laughter, the way his taste buds are spoiled with sweet flavors, the way his name is mentioned with extra fondness, the way his the way the little details are remembered like his favorite food, the way his skin is marked with the trails of plush lips. It’s in the small surprises that show that he was thought about long before this moment.

There’s a flutter in Gojo's chest, joy and profound love. A part of him marvels at it all—that is all for him—while another part, the quieter part, whispers how much he wants to spend eternity experiencing this feeling.

--

He doesn’t want to leave yet. Should he take a day off? Satoru is amused at the thought, knowing he can’t do that. But if it means he’ll get to stay in bed with Sukuna and feel the way his lips flutter against his cheeks then it’s worth being late. Every second is precious time for him, moments of his life that are way more significant than whatever those higher ups have in store for him for the day. Each I love you makes his heart beat so loud he could hear the blood rushing to his face. He says these three meaningful words back with such enthusiasm, his expression brighter than the sunlight casting ethereal pathways above them both. Cheeks cupped in warm fair hands before Satoru presses his lips to Sukuna’s for a passionate and tender kiss, letting it last longer than the cute little pecks. This time, he allows his love for him to pour out in the way he nips along his lips, the way his hands caress his face in mellow touches. He wants to spend eternity with him. One of his best birthdays yet.

--

He’s in love with the way she carries herself with quiet strength, like she knows the weight of the world and chooses to shoulder it anyway. It’s not just her intelligence but also her sharp mind that keeps him on his toes. It’s the way she is so effortlessly authentic in a world that often demands masks. And they’re at a point where they’ve taken off their own.

Every shade of blue that swirls inside his striking eyes could be seen spreading from every wall to the ceiling. She’s outdone herself, he thinks. She is incredible like that. He chuckles to himself, thinking of when they were still in bed and she was curled in his arms—how coy she was. It made the surprised times better. The pastries are delicious but not as delicious as her luscious lips when they meet his own after Gojo pulls her in by the waist, closing the distance between them. Work can wait.  Though, the receipt is the one thing that has his mind trailing off. He can only imagine how she looks in it before he gets to see it from up close. And he promises to explore every detail, every lace pattern, every bow. She is the one. The most beautiful woman he’s laid eyes on. The one who owns his heart.

[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."

[twilightichor]

✧ @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?◞

[flordivina]

Clearly we need to know the real question: has neeko turned into a poro to try and fit in among the sheep puffs?

“Oh, yes, certainly! Neeko has turned into PoroNeeko several times, but it’s not yet so sure on how good her disguise is. Neeko still loves the Sho’ma of Poros though” With a gleeful jump in the air & a swirl, she would land again turned into a very colorful Poro with bright eyes & flower petals on her fur.

“Poro Sho’ma is the best of the best. It always smells like recently-baked cookies, feels like a warm blanket over the body, & one can get the flavor of your very favorite food. Not like actually eating then, of course! But it is that feeling of joy that envelopes when Neeko bites a bit of cheese bread & arepas with cheese after a very long time. They feel the safest, Neeko could happily stay with their Sho’ma for days even, it makes you feel everything you dream about is totally possible.” The Colorful Poro would nod several times, walking towards group of Sheep Puffs, maybe they would notice this Poro was not a Poro? Neeko really didn't worry at all on that...

“Hmmmhmmm! ♥ … Poros are full of Pawsitivity, feels cozy, mega snuggly & full of energy, true magic & tons of sparkly imagination… Neeko is very happy to be PoroNeeko, so Neeko will borrow their sho’ma more frequently!”

@snugglyporos ♥ { Image Credit }

[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."

[fourfuckinghorsemen]

Do I have to worry about someone stealing my job?

We could always replant them.

[brazenlystrong]

❤️ Lean in to give my muse a tender kiss

Nonverbal RP Starters // @eleutheriya

It's his birthday. Satoru smugly leans back in the seat, exuding quiet confidence. His coy smile plays at the corners of his lips, his chin tilted just so, as if daring anyone to lavish more attention on him. His eyes glint with amusement, reflecting his satisfaction at being the center of the moment.

Then, it happens. A tender kiss presses delicately against his lips—so unexpected, so gentle, that it steals the breath from his lungs. For a heartbeat, his mind blanks, his composure slipping through his fingers. His smug smile falters and melts into something soft and unguarded. A deep blush tints porcelain cheeks, spreading to his neck like wildfire.

He tries to keep his cool but his eyes betray him, wide and glimmering with wonder as they search the face of the person who kissed him—the person who means the world to him. His hand moves instinctively, resting atop Suguru's shoulder, fingers curling slightly as if to say, silently, stay a little longer. And then, like magic, he returns to his cheeky self.

“ … One more? ” Satoru asks, his grin making its way back on his face, his cerulean gaze half-lidded.

[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."

[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."

[flordivina]

the   two   spirits   stand   at   the   edge   of   the   crag   ,   invisible   to   the   mortal   world   below   .   from   their   vantage   ,   the   port   city   sprawls   before   them   ,   bathed   in   the   glow   of   festivities   .   lanterns   ,   delicate   and   ethereal   ,   drift   upward   on   winds   thick   with   the   scent   of   incense   and   flowers   .   surrounded   by   its   waters   ,   the   city   appears   as   if   hung   in   the   night   sky   itself   —   a   solitary   island   suspended   among   the   starry   heavens   .   one   lantern   ,   its   flight   higher   than   the   rest   ,   draws   so   near   as   for   him   to   be   able   to   make   out   its   edges   amidst   its   burn   ,   and   as   he   gazes   upon   its   path   ,   he's   wrought   with   sudden   emotion   ,   and   turns   away   from   the   sight   .

a   murmur   then   :   ❛   all   else   i   may   contemplate   ,   but   the   sea   ...   its   briny   scent   stirs   memories   i   cannot   bear   .   ❜   his   voice   is   the   wind   the   carries   over   the   waters   ,   weaves   between   the   city's   streets   ,   cool   and   sharp   ;   somewhere   in   the   city   below   ,   people   rub   tears   from   their   eyes   .   it   has   been   years   since   the   veil   between   the   realms   has   thinned   so   ,   and   though   the   spirit   of   salvation   has   claimed   to   have   brought   him   here   to   merely   guard   from   anything   despicable   from   crossing   the   borders   ,   he   understands   now   that   there   is   more   to   it   .   ❛   there   was   no   need   to   bring   me   here   .   if   it   is   guilt   that   possesses   you   ,   i   implore   you   to   cast   it   aside   .   ❜   his   gaze   falls   to   the   ground   .   ❛   the   sea   ,   relentless   in   its   tides   ,   yet   brings   him   back   to   me   in   ways   inescapable   ...   it   was   not   your   fault   i   strayed   .   ❜ / for sb ahri !

In a Realm so ephemeral & devoid of time, a thousand years could be barely but a wink to yesterday. A flower that had wilted just recently upon her hands, may seem as an echo of distant past —Sometimes below the playful facade of mischief on her smile; Ahri wished to enjoy from the wine of oblivion every-so-often, be more understanding of the ‘time will heal all your wounds; all feelings may soothe as days go by’ ; yet that was the sole luxury the Spirit of Salvation could not have.

Freedom of Choice was for all Souls that crossed the veil, welcomed to follow her peacefully or chase her through glowing meadows. The shape of the Fox guide that all creatures were bound to encounter, the one all Shrines would have a space to burn incense & leave offerings in front beautiful carved statues. Even the bubbling festival below also hosted such endeavor, her vulpine twitching delicate when catching a prayer for a safe passing, for their will to not be obstructed, for eternal peace to be found at the Afterlife…

Yet, Ahri was no idyllic ignorant of the downs of her duty as the hand offering Salvation. Human hearts were fragile beautiful things; driven by wishes that could be stronger than anyone may realize, all had something that could haunt them to the point of Obsession… even her & her guilt below the curl of her rosy simpers, could almost turn into a sin to pay, shall she be another Soul, of course.

A soft chuckle, humming as looking at the flying lanterns with a nostalgic glow on her bright turquoise gaze,

“It’s a difficult endeavor not to, Yone… My pride was a little hurt, usually I’m followed without a question.” A tone of sheer playfulness allowed itself to slide into her words, as she crossed her arms. Her vision returning to the town, still listening to the many voices below praying to her image. The weight of her duty ever on her back, an interminable endeavor, for all things die & all things seek their fate in the afterlife.

“I know it may not be but… I may never stop to feel as such for you or anyone who strays away from the Path to Salvation. I concern myself on the well-being of those faced with regret, lost & fear… It makes Spirit forget they had died & relieve more into suffering” She would slightly turn her visage to look towards him with a known smile, yet melancholy in her eyes, her tails all tucked together almost as one fluffy limb, gently curling from one side to the other. All just before she would take a deep breath, her clawed hands resting on her hips in a more open instance, closing her eyes as proclaiming:

“However, by you stepping out of the way, & provoking such guilt on my heart, I shall be compensated about it.. ...It has come to my knowledge that you were musically inclined— ” The playfulness in her tone was obvious; meaning no true harm, before opening one eye to peek upon the Spirit of Reflection. Ahri wouldn’t deny she was mostly hoping to both pay tribute to her own blooming curiosity as also drown the constant praying gracing her ears.

Oh, it would be far more easier for her, shall all choose to chase her instead of her actively guide them against their own desires & hopes…

“I will accept a song as a start, I think we have a wonderful scenery for one~”

@windchaser ♥