ー・From Ashes

with the help of some very talented and amazing friends, i present to you an unexpected, very spontaneous meme list based on the beautiful art of cupping someone's face! there's a mix of romantic and platonic here, and even a few that defy the boundaries of normal relationship dynamics! i hope you enjoy! as always; DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST NOR CLAIM IT AS YOUR OWN!

[KISS]: sender cups the receivers face in their hands before drawing them closer for a kiss.

[CHECK]: after an unexpectedly violent situation, sender frantically rushes to check if the receiver is okay, cupping their face to look closer.

[CLEAN]: sender affectionately wipes a smudge of sauce from the corner of the receiver's mouth, cupping their face in the process.

[LIFT]: sender gently cups the receiver's face and lifts their chin so the receiver is looking up at them.

[COMFORT]: sender cups a distressed receiver's face in their hands and steadies them by resting their foreheads together.

[ATTENTION]: during an important conversation, the sender takes the receiver's face in their hands and firmly directs their focus on them.

[MAKE-UP]: while applying make-up on the receiver's face, the sender cups their face in order to keep them still.

[PRIDE]: after the receiver succeeds in a remarkable achievement, the sender cups their face and tilts their foreheads together to express how proud they are of them.

[WHISPER]: in order to have a private, hushed conversation with the receiver, the sender cups their face and draws them close to make sure they can be heard.

[HAIR]: in the process of pushing the receiver's hair back from their face, the sender lets their hand rest against the receiver's cheek a moment longer.

[GROUND]: during a moment of intense emotional stress, the sender gently takes the receiver's face in their hands to ground them until they're calmer again.

[WONDER]: unable to comprehend how incredible the receiver is, the sender decides to simply cup their face in their hands and marvel at them instead.

[LAST LOOK]: before going into a situation that may result in their death, the sender takes a moment to cup the unaware receiver's face in their hand, just to take a final look of admiration at them before they go.

[SACRIFICE]: the sender cups the receiver's face tenderly to distract them, right before shoving them out of the way (to safety) and facing an attack alone in order to buy the receiver enough time to escape.

[BELIEF]: in a moment where the receiver is lacking in self-confidence, the sender cups their face tenderly and professes their faith in the receiver's abilities.

[DISBELIEF]: after the receiver has done something completely unexpected (and reckless) the stunned sender cups their face in their hands while trying to get them to explain why the hell they did it.

[BETRAYAL]: trying to keep the receiver calm before the big reveal, the sender cups their face gently to keep them steady, and then reveals that they're the villain.

[WOUND]: after the receiver has been wounded, the sender tries to keep them calm and conscious by cupping their face in their hands and talking to them to keep them focused.

[INJURY]: after having been badly wounded themselves, the sender tries to reassure the frantic receiver by cupping their face and comforting them.

not every harbinger knew the details of her curse. but enough of the ones she somewhat trusted did --- pierro, the captain, and the woman before her who should be dead --- and of course, so did the one that needed to know while experimenting on her blood.

head tilts as marked eyes scan up along the colors of the dress worn --- until the same veiled-place on her face is spotted, and expression stays calm, practiced. the fact that she's here at all... is almost absurd timing. there was too much else to do, not enough moments to spare to understand how she got here. she needed, first and foremost, to prioritize the means of getting into this party that her children had afforded her.

From where she stood, she watches as Arlecchino strides into the suite with purpose, always so sharp and swift. Rosalyne, meanwhile, trails behind with unhurried steps, hazy grey eye scanning the expansive room with a detached curiosity. Nothing catches her attention for too long, gaze flitting over the opulent furnishings and the faint traces of Mr. Auguste’s presence. Instead, she finds her attention drawn to the Knave again, her lips curling into another faint smile.

While she leaves her companion to sort through each and every drawer, Rosalyne found it more fitting that she, on the other hand, occupies the desk chair, crimson dress pooling around her like liquid fire as she settles into her new, temporary throne with an elbow on the arm of the chair, cheek cradled in her palm.

“Need you take time from your own schedule to search for it yourself? Surely the children could have done this much without trouble.” The question leaves her before she could stop herself, and already, Rosalyne could almost hear the Knave’s inevitable reply. Unlike Crucabena, this Knave always did seem to insist on handling the more menial tasks herself, didn’t she? A curious habit. One that Rosalyne finds both admirable and mildly exasperating. Good that she doesn’t use the kids like how that vile woman does. A shame that it oft means she’s busy, so much so that even with the help of the flame moths, it had been rather difficult to find her, only to catch mere glimpses before she’s off to do yet another thing.

Including the man who had made those cold, dark depths his home for the past couple of decades. At least the Fortress of Meropide, for all its warts, was dry. Holding his coat fast beneath his chin against the wind, the Duke of that infamous Fortress made his way, step-by-careful-step, up the rocky incline toward the ruins of an old building nestled between the crest of the hill and the cliffs that ascended sharply into the mountain range that encircled the region to the north.

Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don't cry, he thought wryly as he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the blinding sheets of rain. Suddenly a bright, erratic white scar fissured across the sky, backlighting a shelf of bruise-like clouds, followed by the furious crack that echoed between the mountains like a giant had just fired a massive rifle into the sky.

"Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don't be mad," Wriothesley amended with a laugh to settle the heartbeat that had leapt to his ears, and ducked through a crumbling wall into the rain-soaked remnants of one of the Research Institute's many scattered facilities. The roof had been blown to pieces long ago - likely by the initial blast, if the dark, mossy corners and the weatherworn stone were anything to go by - and a quick glance across the featureless rubble that littered the ground was enough for Wriothesley to tell that he would not find what he was looking for here. Most of the remaining shelves had been picked clean already, low hanging fruit for common thieves, so he ventured deeper inside. At this point, all he wanted was a little shelter from the torrential rain.

Near the wall at the very back of the building, he found a stairwell leading down to a second floor. This one, while better enclosed, had been built into the hill and faced outward toward the heart of the Research Institute, and so the exterior wall had been nearly completely destroyed. The roof offered some protection from the rain, but the wind drove it inward from the open side despite it, and so the floor was riddled with puddles. Here, too, there was little of value left. Some empty, broken shelves, empty frames, three-legged chairs, the huge boulders that had once been the wall that faced the bay, and even a decommissioned subdetection unit lying on its back, its metal legs sticking stiffly up just like a real, dead insect. Wriothesley swiped it from the block it had "died" on as he passed and shoved it into a small bag.

And deeper the building went. The next floor was nearly pitch dark, but at least it was dry. Wriothesley stopped at the last step at the bottom of the stairwell to remove his soaked coat by the light of the upper level and shake out the water as he decided how to proceed. Just then, something flickered in the corner of his eye. He stopped shaking his coat and glanced out across the impenetrable darkness. High above, the skies rumbled with thunder and the entire structure groaned with the wind.

A soft light drifted lazily out from behind a column or block of some sort near the center of the room. Some sort of butterfly, as far as Wriothesley could tell, that illuminated a small ring around itself. Dropping his coat by the stairwell and hiking up his damp sleeves, he picked carefully across the room to get close to it. It darted away from him the moment it sensed him, however. Another caught his eye farther ahead, so he followed it until it, too, flew away from him and the next led him on. And so on, until he reached yet another stairwell - this one filled with the glowing fire moths. By their light, he could make out the brassy glint of a gate at the very bottom.

Naturally, his curiosity had been piqued by now, and an ousia-powered console hummed nearby. Recently used, it seemed, if it were operational in an otherwise abandoned building. With the tap of a few buttons, the gate clattered open and Wriothesley descended this time far more cautiously, fists raised and at the ready.

The fire moths led him to a room aglow with candlelight at the end of a long corridor. From it came the scent of perfume, or perhaps simply that of life, and it was then that he had a decision to make: continue to sneak through the darkness as though he were a thief (which, technically, he was), or to show himself immediately. So he pressed himself up against the wall alongside the door and waited for the sound of footsteps.

For a moment, she considered leaving.

It would be easy enough. With a mere snap of her fingers, she could dissolve into flame, turn herself into a moth, and vanish into the storm outside. A tempting idea. After all, solitude had been her sole refuge ever since her return. She had yet to fully wrap her mind around how or why she had been pulled from ashes, and the uncertainty of it all still hung heavy in her mind. But ah, to flee now would be to deprive herself of the chance to at last speak with another living soul... And what a waste would it be, if she did not take advantage of this neatly wrapped gift prepared just for her.

No, she will not be leaving, she decided.

Let him come. Let him see what he has stumbled upon.

With a flick of her wrist, the room soon came alive. Candlelight flared, and those that once sat unlit along the long corridor kindled softly, one by one, like a red carpet rolling down for an esteemed guest. Golden heels clicked softly against the stone floor as she languidly made her way to the gramophone in the corner of the room. It was an old, weary thing, its brass body tarnished with age, riddled with scratches no double left behind by what small animals would find their way here. A miracle that it still worked, fingertips running along its edge before lifting the needle and setting it gently onto the record that had been with it since long before she had taken refuge here.

The musical tone’s first notes had been scratchy, distorted by time and neglect, but soon enough the room was filled with the melancholic strains of waltz; a tune that often filled Fontaine’s streets, granting the droll, decrepit ruins a modicum of life.

For some time, the fire moths and this aged melody were Rosalyne’s only companions in this place. And while she was not one to long for company—oh, how her pride would never allow it—the isolation was slowly wearing her thin. Hopefully, this man could offer her a moment’s entertainment, then. A much needed break from the monotony of her seclusion. And if fortune favoured her, he might even possess information worth her while—answers to the questions she had yet to fully form.

Content with the song and the now amply lit room, the Crimson Witch settled herself onto the chair right by it, one leg crossing over the other, chin resting on her knuckles. Half-lidded eyes drifted towards the walls where she knew he lingered, her tone light and teasing as flame moths continued to dance around her as though a crown.

“Shouldn’t it be about time you stop with this game of hide and seek, young man?”

Outside, rain only continued to fall—thunder rolling in the distance, growling lazily as it chased after the lightning’s fleeting brightness. The tone’s needle skipped a beat, the song it hummed stuttering for a moment before, after a moment’s pause, resuming its song, as if the machine itself were catching its breath from fright.

the din of the party is far louder in the main hall of the hotel --- clinking glasses of champagne, the low roar of conversation intermingling with the occasional refined, controlled chuckle or snicker in reply to a humorous quip. she does not find herself there at this moment, having avoided the host's attention on purpose, as her face had grown increasingly well-known in court of fontaine.

instead, as she'd glided carefully across the main hall to one of the corridors, heels now slowly progress down past doors to countless rooms --- until arlecchino finds an auxiliary staircase, and ascends to the fourth floor, recalling the room number her child had recorded as the suite the esteemed mr. auguste had rented. with the house of the hearth's hands tied in taking matters into their own hands fontaine... perhaps, inside his suite, she'd find the evidence needed to expose the corruption her children suspected.

as arlecchino reaches the proper floor, a sight ahead of her gives her pause --- standing at the doorway in question is a familiar and blatantly recognizable figure, dressed differently. a ghost?... but what would her ghost have to do with this place, this man?... she calls out plainly --- informally, not believing what she's seeing. "... rosalyne?"

At the sound of her name—the very name she thought would’ve been long forgotten now—Rosalyne’s smile only grows, head tilting ever so slightly as if amused by her dearest little Knave’s call.

“Rosalyne?” Both of their voices easily echo along the empty hallways despite the distant noise of the banquet, her voice light, almost mocking as she lets slip a chuckle. “My, my, what a cute name. Did you come up with that yourself?”

She knows her identity is near unmistakable by now. Especially when she hadn’t put much effort into her disguise to begin with. The lace mask she wears no longer resembles the jagged crown of her past, but it still covers that same marred cheek, the one that tells a tale she’s never fully shared to any but Pierro and Arlecchino. And though her dress is now predominantly red than white, really, who else could carry such a piece with such effortless magnificence but her?

“I suppose I must bear some resemblance to this… Rosalyne, hm? Whoever she is. A ghost, perhaps? A figment of your imagination? Wake up, now. This is no time to be idling about, hm?” When she next speaks, she steps back, purposely slow, as if inviting the Knave to follow her. She feels the suite’s cold doorknob with her fingertips, and with a quick move of her hand, it opens for her—for them. “Surely you have more pressing matters to attend to than a name, my darling Knave… like the secrets waiting behind this door?”

inspired by the infamous "i want the k" meme by deactivated tumblr user tastcful. send 🎲 to generate a kiss! potential suggestive/nsf.w themes may appear

A kiss on the cheek

A kiss on the nose

A kiss on the forehead

A kiss to the top of the head

A firm kiss

A gentle peck

A romantic kiss

A platonic kiss

A kiss to the eyelid

A kiss along the jawline

A kiss to the neck

A kiss along the collar bone

A kiss on the chest

A kiss to the stomach

A kiss along the hips

A kiss in the rain

An upside-down "Spider-Man" kiss

A kiss while laughing

A kiss underwater

A rough kiss

WILDCARD! Dealer's choice :)

A french kiss/kiss with tongue

A kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances

A sleepy kiss

A kiss that's an accident

A kiss while one or both parties are crying

A kiss in greeting

A kiss in parting

A kiss to the back of the hand

A kiss to the palm of the hand

A kiss to the inner thigh

A kiss while someone watches

A kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking

A kiss after a bite

A kiss against a wall

A kiss to the shoulder

A kiss to the back of the neck

A kiss while one party is carried

A tentative kiss

An impulsive kiss

A kiss out of spite

A clumsy kiss