rosespun

[rosespun]

𝓦  ithperfecttempo  , ​

Gushikuma Umiko  ( @rosespun​​​​ )

[ Cont. from here ]

A swelling blooms within her; flutters and sparks that had Sona has long maintains tucked away. But the tremors of Umiko’s voice carve into her. She presents to Sona a deep, sated fear that she manifests into words and reveals it to her. At that moment, Sona’s lips slack, quivering at a slew of implications. Her deep intake of breath lifts her chest as her gaze returns to her hands hovering over Umiko’s elbows. 

She pulls them away only to lean towards her, faces within a breath’s reach of one another. Her palms slip under inky tresses and find refuge against her cheeks. With one hand holding her visage, the other lifts once again for fingertips to trace the scales and a partial way of her horn. Eyes lock momentarily before Sona closes the gap between them, lashes dusting against the other’s cheeks and taking her lips in her own. Soft flesh collide, breaths mingle, and warmth finds home in one another as Sona bathes in just that. 

Sona pulls away, peering at Umiko’s radiant gaze through half-lidded eyes to relay something in sign. 

Her hands trace below her eyes as their lips linger closely, aching to meld longer, stronger. Instead, Sona delves in again to steal a quick but gentle peck as their foreheads touch. Though no words may suffice than their gestures, to reply in truth in her own words makes it all the more certain. 

‘Always.’

sona’s kisses are not made from fire,  they never were, she would never want them to be. and yet still there is this bursting, this brimming, shimmering thing that glides and encapsulates nothing save raw belonging … joy. if she is to be the carrying waters, those deep depths where colours are speckled but never consumed, where the haze drifts by and the scent of salt and sea-brine are coddled together by an all too tempting summer aroma. she would gladly reflect the heated rays, the sun itself. light; so raw and open, filling her and becoming her. warmth tinges the air around them both, as if pouring out from her hands. it feels liberating, strange, yet so very familiar. she would be selfish and never let it go. never. 

threads are unwoven, their thin forms melting into formless wisps, cradling one another until they can no longer hold each other. memories that were once not her own fade into blankness. their hues becoming blurry and dislodged. the same cannot be said for umiko, she holds on. the tips of claws neatly brushing atop gentle flesh. lashes flutter just above her cheeks, no more than a butterfly’s touch. she takes a calm but shaky exhale. their lips are so close, so, so close. 

eventually, the words do return to her, they are all satin and woven and so achingly simple but they are all she can give:  ❝ thank you. ❞  

thank you for remembering me. thank you for seeing me. thank you for holding me. 

#withperfecttempo #v ; let me love the world like a mother. #bursts into flames

[rosespun]

𝓔 navance​   , 

               𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬,   𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐨'𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.   this gentle chaos of hers comes of sweet whispers and shimmering elegance,   waves of grace so unlike her own,   that she couldn’t ever hope to mimic,   and she wonders how umiko does it.   she has ever danced in the wells of fire,   bleeding hearts drenched in oil and fuel lit ablaze until flames and smoke scrape the skies so that you cannot help but to stare in awe.   in mystification,   horror,   this chaos is her symphony.   her lips curl into a crooked grin.     “     i like that.   a butterfly’s wings,   and wasp’s sting.   you’re far more elegant than i am.   i need my chaos to be loud.   destructive.   maybe that’s why i get in trouble.     ”

they might indulge one another this way,  not through filling an emptiness but existing together; one quiet and one loud. curiosity flutters outward, it is a stone set upon a once stagnant lake, pattering and rippling. she always wondered what it would be like to be destroyed rather than touched  she often wondered if that was a common want many others had. gratitude paints its way across her face, through the subtle upturn of her lips and the slow blinking of her eyes. ❝ there is still beauty to be seen in the eye of the storm. ❞  the ruthlessness, the absence of mercy … they were necessary, perhaps even welcome at times. ❝  though i can imagine those who are truly swept up in it do not linger for long. ❞  

#enavance #v ; pools of oils / spilling colours. #complimenting each other on how they kill- i mean dance

[rosespun]

Fruits of Passion (Shuji Terayama, 1981)

#through the tips of my teeth and twists of my flesh.

[rosespun]

𝓗 eavensfists​ , 

she sees them too, the hooded figures. tifa feels no more comfort now than she did during the daylight hours with their presence about. here, out at night, they look nothing more than ambling silhouettes stumbling in the dark - ambling towards something she doesn’t know and can’t make the shape of appear in her mind. to her, they’re just stumbling, their hoarse voices mouthing something that can be barely heard over the cacophony of crickets and frogs and toads and other night creatures that have made this place their home.

but this isn’t her home. it may look the same, it may appear like she once remembered it, but it’s not. there’s subtle differences here and there, she’s begun to see that now when she could not during the day, back when her mind was reeling with this impossible reality. nibelheim had burned to the ground and there’d been no one else left alive. hadn’t there been?

when they near the inn, she thinks of cloud, who’s probably in his own room, as the others are in theirs, and she thinks of that night where she found him, near comatose from overexposure to mako, and the memories she had of her home, of nibelheim, came rushing back like a wave.

❛ i���i think so. at least a few of us are. we’re on some kind of pursuit of someone who may have passed here a few days ago. we’re trying to follow their trail. ❜ she opens the door and holds it open for umiko. the light from the interior spills through to the outside, the dull orange glow a comfort compared to the darkness outside. 

there’s a soft rustling noise and she looks up. one of the hooded figures looks to be making their way towards the inn and tifa gestures for umiko to hurry so she can close and lock the door. inns don’t usually lock their front doors, being an inn and all, but she’s fearful of the robed figure and has a sinking suspicion that if they were to get too close, something bad would’ve happened.

the innkeeper isn’t present behind his desk, so tifa goes behind the counter and takes of the remaining keys attached to the board and hands it to umiko. ❛ there’s enough rooms, but they’re only big enough for a person each, ❜ she says, starting to feel that sense of comfort slowly make its way through her now that they’re indoors. in here, she notices that umiko wears a veil - not like the hooded figures are garbed with, and tifa can’t help but think at how lovely she looks.

maybe if she tilted her head upright  she would catch the light, and burn away all those shapes glittering and gloomy in the corers of her eyes. one cluster of daylight is never enough. the night is far more hospitable, even if their presence remained more luminescent than ever before. she saw too many things, terrible things, tranquil things. no more than just that though, no more than seeing and feeling, only rarely catching then mending. it was the way of things, a web of threads too tangled and knotted for memory, too frayed for hope. 

❝  always be careful of who you might follow. ❞  you may not return from their own path. as the words fall from her lips, as they are shaped and made true, a wave of caution floods the warming air. another stone cast upon the mind’s lake, causing wide yet slow ripples to form from fear and thought. when she says this, the veiled woman’s half-cast gaze catches tifa, the gleam of her eye looking at her, nowhere else. it is but for a moment before she looks forward, noting the lonely desk, the stairs and perfectly pointed rugs. again, she is unnerved, but it barely shows. 

in truth, umiko did not plan on staying the night under a roof, let alone staying at all. the cradle of an empty inn is a cold one, yet a cradle nonetheless. ❝ that … will be no issue. ❞  even when inside she does not take off her gloves, in fact her fingers curl upward and in, shaping into faint fists. hesitating, always hesitating. ❝ if there is anyway i can pay you in return for inviting me to stay, i have some spare coin. ❞ turning back to her once more, the point of her nose outlined by the dimming lamplight. amongst the dead it is easy to forget such solid things like payment and money, amongst the living ,.. well, that was another matter. 

#heavensfists #v ; let me love the world like a mother.

[rosespun]

𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

#i realised i haven't posted any screenies in a while so #here are some old ones asdjfadsa #the monocle never fails #never #as any she belied with false compare. #ffxiv screenshots

[rosespun]

𝓕 atesealed  , ​

𝑰𝑻  𝑰𝑺  𝑨  𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑼𝑶𝑼𝑺  𝑪𝒀𝑪𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮  𝑶𝑭  𝑨𝑮𝑶𝑵𝒀 ,  𝑪𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑰𝑵𝑮  𝑻𝑶  𝑭𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑫  𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑺𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑺  &  𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑻𝑶𝑴  𝑱𝑶𝒀𝑺 .        Everything    in    him    begs    for    him    to    turn    to    her    ,        to    gaze    upon    her    like    he    once    had    (    it    feels    so    long    ago    ,        the    soft    touches    &    warming    breath    against    each    other’s    skin    )    .        Paths    once    wound    together    ,        abruptly    rendered    from    their    shared    trails    ,        colliding    once    more    into    an    infinite    line    ,        but    now    run    alongside    one   another    ,        PARALLEL    .        He    doesn’t    dare    reach   out    for    her    ,        knowing    all    too    well    how    it    would    result    in   their    RUINATION    .    𝑩𝑼𝑻  𝑯𝑬𝑹  𝑽𝑶𝑰𝑪𝑬  𝑴𝑨𝑲𝑬𝑺  𝑯𝑰𝑴  𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑫 - 𝑮𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑺  𝑻𝑯𝑬  𝑫𝑬𝑪𝑰𝑺𝑰𝑶𝑵  .  𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑰𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵  𝑮𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮  𝑾𝑨𝒀  𝑻𝑶  𝑫𝑶𝑼𝑩𝑻  .            This    isn’t    the    first    time    he’s    felt    it    well    up    within    him    .        Countless    days    he    drifted    within    the    muddled    memories    &    the    present    .        He    hasn’t    forgotten    the    warmth    that    would    swell    within    his    chest    ,        lodging    itself    in    his    heart    (    it    used    to    beat    fiercely    for    her    ,        the    echo    of    it    still    pulsating    even    now    )    .        Something    in    him    c r a c k s    ,        lips    parting    in    mute    shock    as    horned    crown    TURNS    TOWARDS    HER    ,        as    if    some    spectral    hand    forced    him    to    regard    her    .

𝑺𝑯𝑬’𝑺  𝑨𝑺  𝑩𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑻𝑨𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮  𝑨𝑺  𝑯𝑬  𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑬𝑴𝑩𝑬𝑹𝑺  .  𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯  𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑵  𝑴𝑬𝑴𝑶𝑹𝒀  𝑭𝑨𝑰𝑳𝑺  𝑻𝑶  𝑫𝑶  𝑨𝑵𝒀  𝑱𝑼𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑪𝑬  𝑻𝑶  𝑻𝑯𝑬  𝑩𝑬𝑨𝑼𝑻𝒀  𝑵𝑶𝑾  𝑩𝑬𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑬  𝑯𝑰𝑴  .        It    is    the    shattered    expression    that    contorts    her    features    that    causes    an    aching    GUILT    to   lance    through    him    ,        rendering    him    silent    in    the    face    of    her    words    .

                                         i    wish    to    be    forgotten    ,                                              but    not    by    you    .

𝑯𝑬  𝑪𝑨𝑵’𝑻  𝑻𝑬𝑳𝑳  𝑰𝑭  𝑰𝑻’𝑺  𝑯𝑰𝑺  𝑶𝑾𝑵  𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯𝑻𝑺  𝑶𝑹  𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑺  𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻  𝑯𝑬  𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑺  ,   𝑶𝑹  𝑩𝑶𝑻𝑯  .           She    remembered    him    ,        holding    to    a    phantom    self    that    would    never    be   again    .        He  cannot    bring    himself    to    bring   her   to    harm    ,        be    it    physically    or    emotionally    (    but    a    voice    cries    out    against    his    hypocrisy    )    .        Fingers    extend    &    curl    ,        sucking    in    a    short    breath    &    holding    it    prisoner   for    a    short    time    .                          ❝      It    is    not    you    that    has    become    the   stranger    ,        but    rather    the    thing    that    stands    before    you    .        You    loved    a    man    with    DREAMS    &    AMBITIONS   ,        for    himself    ,      for    his    family    ,         for    his    Love    .        Desires    of    which    are    now    dead    &    gone    ,        wrenched    away    along     with    his    final    breath    .        Allow    him    to    become    the    stranger    in    your    stead    ,        for    it    is    the    dead    that     should    be    forgotten    ,        not    the    living    .      ❞

                                 allow    this    to    be    my    final    wish    for    you    .

he had always been so careful.  him; the shape of a dimly silhouette beneath an open doorway, behind him there was no frayed rope, no in-between, no inflection of another person just … simply him. no disconnection could be seen or felt, it was quiet but not too quiet, not a smothering silence but a calm, gentle and wide. it washed over her like mist poured from silver, turning the edges and lengths of her muscles into foggy moors and her hands to water. umiko did not need to break down pieces of herself in order to be, she simply was. another home build from inside, all around, marking her then making her, then splashing outward: sincerity. affirmation. safety. love. what makes your soul sing a thousand songs. 

the threads did not wither, she never doubted them, the strength of their bond, even now it overwhelms her. no, these threads did not rot, they were cut away, quickly and brutally. not another word. that shape of a person flickers until he is gone. another fire-cast shadow never meant to last but she wished this time, truly, maybe this time! ❝ the dead are our shadows.❞ she says together with her heart of hearts, even if she falters beneath those words. her lips tremble, if only slightly. she covers herself in no veil to blur her face, no hesitation marking the twitch of her fingers. once again she is laid bare before him. 

❝ we walk with them, we sometimes know their names and remember, until we forget. ❞  umiko shakes her head as she speaks, her gloved hand that lingered just beside her now waits for another. perhaps it is instinct, perhaps it is muscle memory and something far more cruel and expecting. what she knows will never be, but she still knows much. ❝ you have become those shadows and yet … ❞ your name will always be known to me. 

she knows she should not desire such a thing, to keep his name forever, never to depart. another painful truth layered upon a painful truth. strange, she had already soothed so many other aches but when it came to the here and now, her own grief, she does not know what to do other than yearn. another time, another place. so she chooses to walk, not far nor near, simply there, a few steps further to him. with her other hand she presses the tips of her own fingers, until its glove is cleanly off. the chilled night air is brittle yet real, it is affirming. 

❝  you are more than another shadow. i know why they say your name in fear, i know you have been called back for another purpose.❞ gilded eyes slide back to him, her gaze gently perched upon him, her naked hand still lingering.  ❝  if it is so then i — ❞  her own words turn blanched, faltering once again, as if her own tongue betrayed her. ❝ — i wish to have but a moment with your name in my heart, away from all those other voices. even if for a moment. ❞

#fatesealed #v ; this vehemence of desire for life. #i'm coming for ur life i'm not kidding

[rosespun]

𝓔 navance  , ​

               𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐤,   𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧,   𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠,   𝐡𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬.   whether beneath mesmerizing veils of moonlit grays or ashen summers and their glaring suns,   there are always eyes dying to gaze upon a dance so enchanting in its deadly song.   she smiles,   wry and half   -   coy,   though feigned in the latter.     “     is dancing also your choice of bringing chaos   ?   pretty,   huh   ?     ” 

❝ a gentle chaos. ❞  a necessary one as well. through every warp and weft she is able to gleam through and see, truly see, all those translucent points and smeared boundaries. an in-between where ruthlessness and blood intermingle with long sweeps of silk and satin. she smiles, not easily but softly. around her, black hair collects and falls beside each cheek. ❝ when they look they see only the flutter of butterfly wings, and not the sting that comes after. ❞

#enavance #v ; pools of oils / spilling colours. #this is goth dancer to goth dancer communication

[rosespun]

𝓜 oogleborne  , ​

“ARE you sure these roads are dust? they look like dirt to me,” she trains her eyes on the ground, “unless there’s a layer of dust over the dirt… hm…”

the wind is pitched higher,  now whistling through the trees, filling what would have been absolute silence. ❝ they are forgotten all the same,❞  she merely arches a brow in response. ❝ though i suppose they no longer are … how did you come about this place? ❞  her attention fixates upon her, if only for a moment before fluttering away. 

#moogleborne #v ; pools of oils / spilling colours. #I LOVE HER KJFA

[rosespun]

❝  your movements are familiar,  fluid and familiar. ❞  

@enavance​    /    𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗

#enavance #v ; pools of oils / spilling colours. #if cherry and umi were in the same room i think i would cry #from the sheer beauty and power #and !! they talk about dancing

[rosespun]

i want to be wooed....seduced.....romanced.......absolutely railed.......

#a dead eye of vision and consciousness. #yeah #nsfw

[rosespun]

𝓦 ithperfecttempo​  , 

Gushikuma Umiko  ( @rosespun​​​ )

Whether it is to elevate or belittle, when given a title there is no story behind it with only shades of black, whites, and greys of duties and transient colors that wash off with each passing person who utters it. Sona has wondered how Umiko finds solace when she is not occupied with travels or aiding another; how she is able to carry the mantle and hold herself high and in balance amidst her numerous dances. And how she could poise her eyes and lips to display her passions and feed the flames that spark and kindle from her steps. Sona blinks slowly, her lips parting slightly before pressing into a thin line. 

She feels her heart sink as she carefully follows the inflection of Umiko’s voice; a foreign pitch that she may have seldom heard, ever. It was not anything she had experienced when she was in the presence of dignitaries, bodies of wary and torn spirits of lost people, and even her comrades. Sona loses herself in thought, her lips pinching as she considers their own standing as bard and warrior. Her hand reaches out to her and rests upon her shoulder, being mindful where their skin may clash. Her eyes fall to Umiko’s arm, trailing upon the scales that line the length. A separate consideration lurks upon contact as her hand molds seamlessly atop her shoulder. Loose ponderings meander in mind of if her fingers find their way to her cheek instead; if she could cradle her face, peer into her eyes, and pull her into her arms–

Instead, Sona gives Umiko’s shoulder a light squeeze. Her hand descends down her arm and pulls away once it reaches her elbow. There was much she wishes she could relay and grapple to the best of her ability. Never had she set foot abroad other than when she was spirited away from Doma before she could even remember. She lives through tales of heroes and denizens alike. She weaves stories into song and sentiments bang against her chest to be written to completion. Sona leans towards Umiko, her seeking gaze directs at her as she signs with the most sincerity she could muster.

‘A name is also powerful. You mustn’t forget.’

separation would be kinder. absolute disconnect, division, long and strained but still absent, still cut clean. she thought of it often, for the world had divided her long ago, splicing the thick of her soul into intangible chords where no music can be made, no ribbons can be tied. know that these threads must be made whole, someone once said, their face is hazy in her mind’s eye, and there are already plenty lapses in her memory. ghosts scurry around in the corner of the room like stray cats, they too are strained but they are not cut off. they stay. they linger. they cling onto what once made them, named them. the world cast a long shadow upon them long ago, and they cling onto those oily strands even now.

umiko almost envied them. almost. 

she must carry herself and all her memories, they are heavy like lead and can be so easily tossed from her hands, slipping soundlessly between gnawed fingers. barely there but forever here. sona’s touch means everything to her, it can render her undone and complete. she should not fight back against the urge to collapse, she really shouldn’t, it is far too tempting. ❝ a name is all some might have.❞  all they might ever truly realise, actualise. becoming is painful, yet it is far sweeter than unbecoming. umiko lets loose a small breath, as if doing away with the residue of her own words, finally letting them become a true reality. 

❝ i have carried such an old fear that if i cling too tightly onto my own, that it will no longer be mine.❞  she trembles as she speaks, the threads are all sprawled and disoriented, whipping about like wildflowers in a storm. gilded eyes ascend up to meet sona’s own again, they are almost glassy. the auri woman might chide herself later for being so careless, letting her own tongue run rings around herself. she is tempted to pull away and forget she ever spoke, but she cannot. she does not wish to. she feels she must … but here she stands. how desperately she wants to chase after sona’s hands.

her lips part, the words teetering on her tongue before she settles them into another whisper. moonlight slips through the curtains. ❝ will you … remember me as i am now? ❞

#withperfecttempo #v ; let me love the world like a mother. #this is super late but UMMMM i'm crying still?

[rosespun]

❝ these roads have long been dust yet … there are some who still walk them. ❞ 

@moogleborne​​    /   𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗

#moogleborne #v ; pools of oils / spilling colours. #is she talking about the local fauna #is she talking about ghosts #who knows! but kept this open and vague #so any verse could fit !!!

[rosespun]

details, mugler fall 2021

#is it silk ? is it flesh ?

[rosespun]

 𝓡 itterblood​  , 

haurchefant follows, eager to hear more of her past, to learn more of what makes up the warrior – and his friend.  despite his admiration, the bond formed from experiencing hardships together, helping each other in need, he cannot help but still see her as someone remote, almost other-worldly in comparison even to the rest of the scions. though he never let it intimidate him into shying away from interaction, there has ever been a sense of curiosity within him to know more of her as umiko, rather than the ethereal warrior of light she is painted to be.

and thus, this dinner. immediately the first morsel of information has him perk up in interest, his eyes going wider.  “ beneath the water? truly? “  even with all he’s seen, it seems nigh inconceivable. it has not been too long since the calamity that he has forgotten the sight of gentle lakes and fast streams, teeming with life ere the eternal winter turned even those into ice, its former life frozen within. he used to like fishing, he recalls. the might of the sea, however, – one not made up of clouds – is something he has never witnessed himself.  it makes him yearn for such sights even more. “ how did your people manage such a feat? “  gallantly, he pulls out her chair, ere sitting down himself.  “ it must have been beautiful. “ 

memories are ill-defined things. they can be locked away —  tucked away, right between your finger and your thumb. they can be blurred in some spaces but so painfully detailed in others, neither abstract nor real, nor truly there, always somewhere else. deep sea blue washes over her in an instant, the colours speckling and shimmering right before her eyes until it pours away. she remembered white-crested waves crashing all around her. consuming her. becoming her. her ankles were quick to go numb yet … she did not fear. umiko could only settle the sea which still swirls inside her, that part of herself she could never replace with another name or another cluster of syllables. 

❝ they were not alone. ❞  ‘they’ does not stick right on her tongue, but neither did ‘we’. could she still count herself among them, she wondered?  the sea inside her grows quiet, having no answer to give, but she can still taste the salt and the smell the brine, and remembers.  ❝ despite being isolationist the village has a friendship with the kojin, the native peoples of the ruby sea. it was the kojin who taught them the ways of the ocean and how to settle there.❞  she sits on the offered chair, the trail of her nightgown tucking just below her knees. ❝  eventually we too become one with the ocean. ❞  

#ritterblood #v ; let me love the world like a mother.

[rosespun]

umiko Things™ part 3 

her favourite thing to sleep on is silk, she has a couple of silk sheets and pillowcases for when she manages to settle in her own space, and even when on the road. 

speaking of travelling, i like to imagine that umiko has one of those big old-fashioned luggage cases for all of her clothes and costumes. the thing is that you never see her actually carry it around, she just appears with it. but don’t worry she will convince you into carrying it around for her. 

absolutely despises the cold, she is much more used to milder, hotter climates. although colder temperatures give her an excuse to wear layers on layers of velvet and wear big furry coats.

absolutely AMAZING at makeup. 

she much prefers to sleep alone if possible. the nature of her dreams are usually never pleasant and she knows how badly she might stir in the night, thus she’d rather not have anyone see her or hear her (or really know that she’s there at all). if she needs to sleep around a campfire with a travelling party she will simply choose to settle somewhere far, far away from her companions.

#idk i just really like this format of writing hcs #but yes pls let umi do your makeup she's really good at it #let her give your muse the goth makeover they deserve #malogranatum.

[rosespun]

𝓗 eavensfists  , ​

the quiet of this place unsettles her. there are people in this village, yes, but they are not the people she remembers. before deciding to settle at the inn for the night, she and cloud had wandered around town, questioning the strangers who made themselves appear comfortable in these homes as if they had been here all their lives. 

when specific questions were asked, none of them could give answers she and cloud had been searching for, and yet…

❛ there’s no one else staying at the inn, other than myself and some friends. there should be another room available. ❜ when she thinks about it, the innkeeper at the front desk hadn’t asked them for money, nor inquired about how many rooms were needed. he just disappeared into a small room behind the counter while leaving the rest of them waiting in the lobby - though it’s so small, it can’t even be considered that.

one last glance back at the towering mountains, which have become nothing more than a dark silhouette against the star-filled sky; the path her eyes fall upon is the one she remembers taking with a rage in her heart. the weight of the masamune in her hand, as she walked along those trails and up those steps towards the mako reactor, is something she’ll never forget. and when the blade arched down, the wind whistling as it was parted, and her intention had been to kill, she could hear the blood roaring in her ears just as loud as the cry she let escape her lips.

❛ i guess you could say the same for me as well…, ❜ the last of the lights in the houses is extinguished, yet the weight within her heart, upon her chest, has not lifted. aside from these paths leading towards a memory that gives her nothing but grief and pain, there’s another that leads towards a nightmare she’s had ever since she was a child. and when there’s a gust of wind that passes along, she can hear it through the stones that have been hollowed out from time; the sound makes her think of that time when she thought she saw the crone that lived deep in the mountains, in some cave - the shrill whisper of her voice as she spoke something that was carried along by the wind, something only tifa could hear.

❛ c’mon, let’s go, ❜ there’s an urgency to her voice now, one that makes it waver as she hopes she hadn’t seen that crone wandering about. it’s too dark to be sure, but she could’ve sworn she saw the trail of dirty grey rags, that looked more like patches of ill-fitting skin, adorned on even paler flesh with mottled dark hair. she walks, briskly down the path and towards the inn, trying very hard not to let the shivers she feels coursing down her spine make her stumble as her eyes focus on the soft glow of the lights outside, her sole guide back to a semblance of safety in this place that was once her home, but isn’t anymore.

she says nothing else,  there is already a wanting in the air and she has already tasted it. palpable. tempting. cold. the breakaway from this bite is easy, almost forgettable. this town that might appear like a town with all those fraying white flames is no town at all. perhaps the pleasant mirage of one, but not really. not in ways that matter. the people here are reflections, they wear different faces than the ones they ought to know and have. shadows slink by, they bubble and brew like a cluster of crushed spider legs all blotted and bruised. the threads here … they are already defined, yet umiko does not have to heard to speak or acknowledge as to why.

 ( or who )

the inn is a half-cobbled together thing. made up of brick and wood; a familiar and plain sight. no one else roams out at night she noted, save for perhaps a few more unfamiliar faces, but their features are blurred and veiled, but not veiled like her. distant whispers curdles another smell; the smell of old pine and trees shattered at their boughs -- death. a simple death. alongside that self-same death there is mostly decay, rot, an absence. her brows furrow in response, her nose scrunching up slightly from behind strands of indifference.  

❝ your friends … ❞  no more than another hushed whisper amongst many others. she can only hope that hers is more clear, full of some clarity and trust. ❝ … are they here for the same reasons as you are? ❞

an unsure question may lead to an unsure answer. she knows, she knew. some fraying ropes should not be tampered with, and curiosity can be frightened away if your spine and neck are strong enough. still, if she is to take shelter beside someone whose soul still tinges at a certain point, whose palette is still muddied by the sway of lesser ghosts, then she must ask. 

#heavensfists #v ; pools of oils / spilling colours.

[rosespun]

𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 ── bold always applies 　⇢　 italics sometimes applies.

inclinations / habits.

is submissive | is dominant | prefers to top | prefers to bottom | likes to switch | identifies as heterosexual | identifies as homosexual | identifies as bisexual | identifies as pansexual | identifies as demi-sexual | identifies as asexual | enjoys sex with men | enjoys sex with women | enjoys sex with non-binary people | enjoys sex with multiple people at one time | initiates | waits for partner to initiate | spits | swallows | prefers sex in the morning | prefers sex at night | prefers sex any time | no sex drive | low sex drive | average sex drive | high sex drive | hypersexual

body / appearance.

small build | medium build | athletic build | muscular build | soft build | curvy build | voluptuous build | wears boxers | wears lingerie | goes ‘commando’ | shaves/waxes | doesn’t shave/wax | cup size a-c | cup size d-f | 1-5" in length | 6-9" in length | 10" or over in length

sounds.

is silent / makes little to no sounds | is very quiet | is very loud | grows in volume over time | bites hand / partner / pillow to muffle themselves | calls out partner’s name | curses | fakes/exaggerates | prefers a quiet partner | prefers a loud partner | is turned on by dirty talk | is turned off by dirty talk

turn-ons / kinks.

having their hands pinned | pinning their partner’s hands | having their hair pulled | pulling their partner’s hair | being watched (by their partner) | being watched (by a third party) | watching their partner | receiving oral | giving oral | calling their partner ‘daddy’ | being called ‘daddy’ | giving praise | receiving praise | biting / marking | being bitten / marked | spanking | being spanked | teasing | being teased | having toys used on them | using toys on their partner | giving anal | receiving anal | choking | being choked | dirty talk | being tied up | tying their partner up | being worshipped | worshipping their partner | humiliating | being humiliated | degrading | being degraded | knife play | blood play | being pegged | pegging | fingering their partner | being fingered | intercrural sex

places.

in a bedroom | in a shower / bath | in a pool/ocean | in a kitchen | in a bathroom (home) | in a bathroom (public) | in a car | in a tent | in an alleyway | in a field / forest | at school | in an empty / abandoned building | in a library | on a rooftop / terrace | in a dressing room | in an elevator | in a parking lot | at a museum | at a cemetery | at a beach | in a closet | at a hospital | in a garden

tagged by: @heavensfists 🖤​​

tagging:  @soulpart, @ritterblood,  @wolfdivined, @withperfecttempo, @aevyternal / @fatesealed  and anyone else who’s comfortable w it of course!

#i have nothing to say other than: yes. #malogranatum. #nsfw #nsfw tw