#koseigu

   send “🌿🍒” (or "mistletoe") for my muse's reaction to standing under a mistletoe with your muse ♡

        𝑩𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒌  𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆  𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅,  the  warming  of  the  hearth  spirals  into  tendrils  of  orange,  flames  dancing.  Laughter,  the  smell  of  spices,  wine  brewed  to  perfection,  though  he  denies  any  cup  that  is  poured  the  mere  thought  causing  his  head  to  spin.  The  festivities  are  small,  modest,  exchanges  of  candied  fruit  &  herbal  tinctures  for  longevity,  gold  adorned  to  his  wrist  like  a  sacrificial  offering.  Each  step  into  the  snow  is  a  descent  into  the  past,  an  era  bygone  where  the  previous  heritor  warmed  their  bones  with  the  knowledge  of  plenty.  To  be  kissed  by  the  Heavens  themselves  was  to  never  desire  or  want  within  this  life,  through  the  riches,  they  still  basked  in  the  wealth  that  was  provided  over  the  years.  Plenty  are  invited  to  bask  in  the  glory  of  a  refuge  once  ostracized  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  it  is  tradition,  to  give  succor  to  those  who  seek  them  upon  the  summit.  In  his  hand,  the  frost  bitten  permission  is  tossed  to  &  fro.  Elongated  digits  that  clench  into  the  shiny  waxen  flesh  as  he  glances,  familiar  to  new  faces,  partaking  in  the  illusion  all  that  surrounds  them  is  gilded  splendor. 

       The  fire  dances,  roaring  as  it  crackles  &  is  continuously  fed  logs  of  wood,  there  is  furs,  monotone  colors  with  careful  stitching,  ancient  hymns  sung  together  in  an  unison  of  good  will.  The  saunter  in  his  gait  moves  with  a  rhythm  only  likened  to  that  of  one  who  knew  his  station  within  the  cosmos.  High  above,  the  last  man  standing,  he  can  smell  it  -  hellfire,  ravenous  &  hungry.  “No  strays  are  permitted  to  gather”  the  annoying  cadence  of  his  voice,  a  lilt  that  dances  in  his  mockery  as  he  snickers,  he  never  lets  go  of  his  prize,  watching  with  curiosity.  “Are  you  truly  here  for  a  portion  of  rice  to  start  the  New  Year  off?  Don’t  make  me  laugh”  the  billow  of  a  wisteria  colored  scarf,  white  haori,  his  amusement  echoes  anyway,  the  towering  God  of  the  Infinite  Skies  who  turns  &  then  tosses  the  fruit  towards  the  King  of  Curses.  His  gaze,  it’s  undone,  untethered  from  the  binds  where  kin  always  argues;  those  of  lesser  beings  cannot  be  bothered  to  see  the  knowledge  of  eternity. 

         A  hand  that  rests  on  the  pillars  carved  eons  ago,  the  effigies  have  yet  to  fade,  some  foretelling  stories  of  other  heritors,  while  others  speak  of  bygone  relics.  His  nose  then  scrunches,  half  amused,  half  disgusted.  Tinsel,  hanging  between  them  eliciting  a  groan  from  spoiled  lips.  “You  did  this”  an  accusation  that  is  baseless,  Satoru  doesn’t  care,  he  needs  to  place  the  blame  lest  he  scream.  Two  predatory  creatures,  milky gaze  of  blue,  similar  to  a  serpent’s  that  closes  the  gap  space  between  them.  Infinity  should  be  in  a  whirl,  the  static  that  produces  when  anyone  becomes  too  close,  a  shield  where  nothing  can  enter,  not  even  the  light.  It’s  gone  with  the  flick  of  his  wrist,  the  sharp  aroma  of  cool  winter  mint,  vaguely  sweet  sticky  things,  sugar  he  adores.  “You  get  one  wish  that  is  granted  for  the  evening,  let  it  be  known,  I’m  choosing  it  to  be  this  kiss”   and  then  he  leans  forward,  chaste,  slow,  achingly  tender  for  a  skittish  creature.  As  it  appears  romantic,  he  suddenly  bites,  brutal  in  a  sharp  pain  before  pulling  back.  Hands  pressed  on  his  lower  stomach,  roaring  with  laughter.

@koseigu continued from [∞] even tho u didn't ask.

無量__Somewhere along the journey of rearranging his spinal column into shapes unknown to mortal man, the shades he had been wearing in lieu of a business-oriented blindfold had fallen nigh dramatically to the floor below, focusing a now overstimulated, wide starfield gaze her way. Eesh, what an expression. It was eerie as hell, she could at least have the decency to seem irritated, and not like some grave-ass dissection spirit. So cold, so cool! As always, it made him feel better about the rest of everything else he had come in here to sulk about in the first place. "You talk to your patients like that, or am I that special?" As most of his bicep was being utilized to keep the rest of a substantial weight in check, what should have been a dismissive wave of the hand was instead delivered as a long, drawn out, and cavernous sigh. Like he was the one being picked on. "If I did that, who would patch up my precious students? You want me to cry or something? Too bad, unfortunately for you, I've got perfect balance. ...and your chair is weirdly sturdy."

clearly she's fine

her mother said she was too delicate for this job. utahime was a child of feeble heart. she never shed a tear when she fell down and skinned her knees yet she would cry when an animal was wounded or left to rot on the side of a street. she has experienced loss too. she grew up with the same people ieiri mourns and as much as she wasn't IMPERATIVE to their bond, they all still made significant stays in hers. iori does not yet know how to voice this. to plead a case to shoko that does not sound SELFISH and dismissive of the other's own tragedies. ❛ i meant what i said. ❜

❛ you . . . i don't think i can do this without you. ❜ stomach twists of something juvenile. soured insides. bitter tongue. utahime has better luck hiring mei than having a night in with her. gakuganji is old now. brittle from battles that were never to be won in his lifetime. kusakabe, the prime and true definition of coworker, could not measure up to the way she had felt for the others. for shoko. it felt unfair. disingenuous to say she would be okay without ieiri. that somehow three people on kyoto campus outweighed the people she had also grown alongside with.

smash or pass