#ofspringreborn

                                  A smile finds its way across stoic mouth, an expression                                   reserved solely for his family. One arm of his own is safely                                   tucked around a squirming child; her hair ( warm as mahogany                                   and smelling of spring ) is in a disarray — her lips are set                                   into a severe pout. And yet her head tucks itself into his shoulder                                   with dark and stormy eyes fixated upon her mother.

                                  His fingers lock gently around the clasp of her necklace, a deft                                   movement putting the gold chain into place below the cascade of                                   her hair ( a far more pure shade of that same colour ). For a moment,                                   a wry smile glances, unruly and unabashed upon this face, and he                                   allows himself a moment to let those fingertips rasp against the                                   smoothness of her shoulder. Empathy is the languages of all the                                   universe wrapped in human skin -- and here she stands before him,                                   blue eyes seeking his black counterparts in the mirror. Had she not                                   been created for her own purpose, he rather thinks she would have                                   been suited well for beauty.

                                                            One hand makes as though to graze                                                             across her hip, but reaches instead for                                                             the wine bottle. Velvet redness splashes                                                             into each of their glasses; his eyes                                                              sparkle in the dim light as they lock once                                                             again with hers. Two cosmic beings of                                                             unfathomable power ... Pregaming, as                                                             the humans call it. Warmth blooms within                                                             the depthless catacombs of his chest                                                             ( what worlds has that chest breathed into                                                             life? into death? ) as he takes a long drink.

and he shot empathy. can’t forget that.

yes. you are mine 8l

You + _______= Cute Couple

{ ♡ } :                   ’ ...Who may you be?

                                    I don't recognise you.'

                                   Wide eyes blink, a cool hand pressed against petals slowly opening in inquisitive shock. The words released from flower lips are soft, as are the steps taken to the entity who had, without warning, entered her cottage. People usually did not trespass into this dwelling. In fact, there hadn't been a person or creature that had skittered feet-first into her humble abode in years. To say the child was surprised would be an understatement.  

                     ' As this forest is a small and quaint one,

                    I'm friendly with every being that traverses by.

                                      ...Are you lost? '

     It wouldn't do to leave this living thing in the state it is in! Perhaps they needed help? It was growing dark, and the woods never did do well in welcoming strangers after duskfall. 

                                     ' ...Here, let me boil some tea for you.

                                             S i t .   R e s t .   B r e a t h e .

                                  True humour — as rare an expression on this face as sadness or                                  shock — jerks its way unfamiliarly across lips far more used to                                   casting cosmic judgement. Eyes the colour of c o n d e m n e d                                   planets trace the line of that graceful arm, pale and near-translucent.

                                                            Upon the parting of their skin, he                                                            can feel his heart pound within the                                                            cavern of his chest — already longing                                                            within an instant to feel her warmth                                                            again. And so he reaches out, deft                                                            fingers curling around that wrist.

                 ” Was it? How fortuitous that you were here, then —                    otherwise I might have gone about looking disheveled.                    Which would not, of course, be a good way to uphold                    my image. ”

                                                         With swift motion, she is pulled closer,                                                         until their chests touch and he can hear                                                         the universe in her heartbeat. His free                                                         hand rises, tracing a line from temple to                                                         jaw, listening to the celestial static in her                                                         head.