#fatedepiction

For better or for worse, Takumi ran off to get them both something to drink. She’s alone, for now, stewing in apprehension mixed with a catastrophically strong urge to throw caution to the wind and embrace her flesh and blood. She knows sooner or later, their eyes will meet, or worse, the moment will pass her by.

She can’t afford to wait. Even with the horrid point their last meeting had settled on, even with the decision the other ended up making, Mikoto will never regret her actions.

She makes sure to put on a familiar, warm smile as she approaches, strides more assured than she feels. One hand is curled into a loose fist over her chest, thumb rubbing on her index from an old habit. When she speaks, she’s still a distance away.

                 ❛   Tell me more about where you came from --- what your home was like,   ❜   LYN  urges, lightly nudging the noble with an encouraging nod of the head. Nothing eased one’s own homesickness quite like listening to the tales of another’s home --- and the fascination with which Corrin observed the wildlife around them led her to believe it would make for an interesting tale indeed...

i would definitely kiss ichi he’s too beautiful god bless you for bringing him into my life omfG

{ 👑 } GANGREL DOESN’T LIKE CHILDREN.

IT ISN’T THAT HE HATES THEM, as much as he lacks the patience necessary to take care of one for even a single second. A lost child in the supermarket, that is something he can’t bear to ignore for long. A conscience is a TERRIBLE thing to develop suddenly, but he’s desperate to change, desperate to prove that he’s something more than what others make of him.

SO IT WAS A MOMENT THAT he near immediately regretted, sweaty palm of the child immediately clamping upon his hand. A sad, pathetic babe indeed; if any child manges to tug upon his heartstrings, he supposes that this one would have to be it. Grima's ass —- he does wish this kid would stop being so clammy! Maybe he should find a dermatologist to hand the kid over to.

THAT, HE CERTAINLY DOES NOT FIND; walking around with the child for what feels like forever and coming up with avoidant shuffles. Am I truly this repulsive? Unsurprising — he's still learning how to speak in a quieter tone of voice. Learning how not to be so demanding . . . As it is, this ETERNAL wandering does nothing to service his mood, and he turns to yet another individual with the equally tired doughy child clinging to his cloak.

分隊 光竜 |TEAM DAWN DRAGON

"Found you!" Like a sneak attack, Elise was suddenly upon Corrin and hugging her without warning. She'd heard from Kana that his mama was here, but trying to locate her proved difficult. "I looked everywhere for you, my legs are so sore!" Part of it had nothing to do with the search, it had just been Elise running around curious about everything she stumbled on.

He’d go along with this farce, if only because he had no other options. He’d had some encounters with family members already in this wasteland--this seemed like the most intuitive place to look.

Given he was, well, actually able to find them again. 

He elbowed through the crowd, just barely catching sight of a familiar head of hair and further making his way through the crowd in Hinoka’s direction. 

“HINOKA!” There was a considerable amount of clamor, but it did little to wane Ryoma’s voice. It’d take more than a rowdy crowd to drown him out. He’d eventually close the distance considerably more. “Hinoka--can I lend my assistance to you for this task?”

He hadn’t meant to invest himself so dutifully in the matter but their hair had caught his eye. It flowed so elegantly as his air brushed them by, tendrils of silver dance and frolicked incandescently under the light of the glowing sun. An immense surge of glee filled his heart full of bursting that he felt compelled to halt in his aimless travels in order to take delight in this rich dancing. Even if the gesture is socially unacceptable and reveals himself to be a sort of outlandish ghoul, for the moment he’s selfishly uncaring. Unheard of! Combing attentive fingers ardently through waves upon waves of radiant tresses until he finds that his hands are no longer his own as they gingerly weave together an elegant braid. He’s just about to tie off the end when the binding is ripped from his hand and the colour (what little there is) drains from his countenance.