#crimebrand

[ketsumyo]

i don't have an art tumblr so you gotta endure me posting my friends' birthday presents here while also shamelessly plugging them as amazing writers you should go and roleplay with: @rhoeade / @crimebrand

vivi and i have been friends for 20 years this april our friendship is so old it should be in college gurl i love you sm whaddahell u are the chocolaté to my chocolate biscotti

[whitesmoke143]

Starter for @crimebrand / Wuhuanzi

☯ | Eastian Envoy -- her official title in Dis. Lauded with praise and respect on the surface, and mired with a slog of distrust under the seemingly placid waters. Though she'd provided council to the city's favorite hound time and time again; for the Sun Crow, for the little Yao, for the crisis caused by Yugu's stories and the Wisteria tree... she still wasn't trusted.

The tug of the shackles on her mind and soul did seem to soothe the wounded egos and pride of the Outlands Affairs Bureau, that frequently went out the window every time she showed up on the city's doorstep without alerting any of their typical precautions against Outlanders. With a compass tucked in her pocket, she'd managed to make it quite far into the city before being picked up. 

Of course she smiled gently, kept her enlightened demeanor all the way to the MBCC's doorstep. Some nonsense about 'new Sinner registration protocols' spat at her on the way. 'You understand'.

"𝑂𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒. 𝐼 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦." She did... just, not in the way she was implying. She understood they were cowards who feared Seers-- no, Sinners, and more to the point... Outlanders. "𝐼𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒, 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑒." Her words were slow and rhythmic, meant to lull others into a false sense of security. Even such distrustful, xenophobic men, could be soothed in such a way. It wouldn't erase their hatred, but... they were oh so quick to believe such a delicate Eastian woman would be easily dominated.

Still, she wasn't here for them. Not even here for the Eastian alliance, not entirely anyways. She'd come to see a particular Seer that was being detained without the Eastian delegation's approval-- heavens knew such an action from Eastia to a Sinner from Dis would have had a certain set of people breathing down her neck... But she was here to offer some grace and peace.

She entered the Bureau, trading Disian public officials for MBCC staff-- a welcome releif. Ruo gave a gentle bow in greeting, "𝐼'𝑚 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑊𝑢ℎ𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑧𝑖." her narrow gaze hiding her eyes from sight, but still keeping a wary lookout as she ignored the fact she'd been told she was being taken to the Bureau for "Advanced Sinner Registration Protocols."

[wisteriare]

oh, it was little wuhuanzi.ᐟ.ᐟ  her  (  because was it wrong to view the girl as hers after all she's done for yingying.ᐣ.ᐣ   )   little healer, her saviour, her sweetheart's guide  ﹠.  reason why they were able to help the wisteria fairy in the first place.  it was safe to say that, wuhuanzi held a very special place in yingying's heart, almost on the same level as the chief.

     ❛     little  wuhuanzi~     ❜

gleeful voice would drift through the air, yingying curling around the young girl, cheek pressing against soft dark locks  —  much like an overgrown cat if she had to say.  she was careful though, she didn't want to smother wuhuanzi too much, just enough for the fairy to feel content with the affection she was able to give the girl.

     ❛     why  have  you  come  to  visit  me.ᐣ.ᐣ   was  there  something  you  wanted  from  this  fairy.ᐣ.ᐣ     ❜ @crimebrand for wuhuanzi

[savagry]

@crimebrand, three . 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 .     /     𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 !

   " bored of your toys already ? how unlike you. "

   her grasp on her blade is white-knuckled, body held taut like she's primed at any moment's notice to set sail across the forest floor; an unholy arrow taking flight, crosshairs set on this machine of porcelain and silk, where the supple, pretty flesh is farce and her heart beats slow and black-blooded. the sword is not her only weapon, just as three's scissors aren't her only tool for creation or carnage. moss crushed underfoot, zero's eye bore its bullseye almost bored but the maw of the maiden curls wolfish.   more beast at heart than beauty.

[ketsumyo]

血妙 | “ I’LL BE REVIEWING your case today, ” she said, her formality a matter of practiced etiquette. the polite cadence did little to soften the displeasure beneath, nor was it meant to. surveying a detained child felt barbaric work—though someone, it seemed, had to do it.

better she be the instrument of bureaucracy than leave the task to hands without conscience. 

the crease between her brows wasn’t for the girl. it lingered nonetheless, directed at the beige folder in her hold——the kind still kept because no one had bothered to digitise the archives. tsubaki preferred it that way. the feel of something real. there was honesty in paper.

she opened it—the hinge gave way and the words within submit to her scrutiny.

“I see,” she said after a pause, voice low. “you were caught practising medicine without a licence.”

“I’ve been asked to understand more about the type of medicine you practice, wuhuanzi.” / @crimebrand

[ketsumyo]

[ketsumyo]

[ . . . ] // @crimebrand

[ketsumyo]

continued // @crimebrand

血妙 | a destructive, corrosive rain . . .

it was a rare thing to see her moved toward sadness. she—who had long since learned to find beauty even in the dark—carried sorrow the way others might cradle blossoms.

dread, fear, melancholy—she faced them all, not as things to be vanquished, but understood. transformed. made meaningful. 

kuragane tsubaki had found love in impermanence. grace in the fragile, the fleeting, the flawed. she knew how to grieve with elegance, how to hope with restraint. she was the one others leaned on—friends, comrades, lovers—because her soul refused to turn away from darkness. instead, she found value in melancholy, and made it beautiful.

but what jelena described . . .

rain, sacred and life-giving, turned corrosive. a sky that did not cleanse, but devoured. water that did not nurture, but burned. liquid vitriol. to know nothing but that. to live between a sky that never weeps with joy. it hollowed something inside her. 

“ the rain I know carries no destruction, ” her voice, when it came, was soft, steady. not in pity, but with a tenderness that went beyond language. “ it gives life. it cleanses. soothes, and offers solace. ”

she paused to consider her words. “ what you speak of . . . is not rain. not as I’ve come to know it. ” 

and she had known many storms over so many centuries . . .

“ to know only the absence of life where there should be abundance. to feel no beauty where there should be so much— ” 

her voice nearly faltered, but she caught it. steadied it. a sorrow not from condescension, but in reverence for what had been lost or never known.

“ I’m sorry. ”

“ one day, I’d like to show you a storm you can dance in. laugh. cry. scream. it doesn’t matter which. only that you feel alive in it. ”