#Turquoise Wisp

[sonic-elements]

The Water-Holding Frog Family

The Water Holding Frog Family are a proud and strong family line. Mostly found surviving the arid deserts. due to they're bodies containing an unusual amount of water they can survive and they spend days helping struggling and prove water for them. The Only ones still around are a Mother and a Daughter duo.

Amphora The Water Holding Frog: a strong and dutiful women. spent her life out in the desert, so being tough is nails is just like being able to breath to her. thanks to her way of life no person goes into her desert dieing of thirst. do to that during the war she tried fighting for the resistance, however thanks to Eggman's super weapon she was captured easily. only to be shocked that her little girl along with her new team help to rescue her and her fellow prisoners.

Jug The Water Holding Frog: daughter of Amphora, Member of Team Wisp, Embodiment of The Turquoise Wisps, Creative thinker and a real wild child. Thanks to her upbringing shes been raised to handle the most roughest conditions and harshest environments. thanks to her Water abilities shes helped her new found team on various occasions making this little frog a valued member among the younger members of the team.

[gradienty]

Wisp Pink Bright Turquoise (#fef5fb to #18dfe6)

[leyiorr]

i wonder what i look like in your eyes.

gojo ⋮ geto ⋮ sukuna ⋮ toji ⭑ how they see you and what you are to them.

¡! wc: 1.1k

¡! genre: tooth-rotting fluff, awful + contagious cases of lovesick men, you're literally their reason for existence

¡! an: i dropped this on another account but then abandoned it so its being posted here lolz!

☆ - satoru gojo ⋮ a nebula

when it comes to satoru, he's always been alone in his orbit. a level of his own. he's a god among the mortal race; both blessed and cursed to walk the earth. he's his own galaxy - the brightest and the boldest.

yet his galaxy is unbearably lonely. it's expansive, a cosmic canvas of infinite possibilites. it's an inky black celestial wonder, one that leaves a hollow feeling in his chest.

until he meets you, and you become the only being in existence allowed to orbit with him. you're his nebula, chaotic and disorted yet so effortlessly the most beautiful element of his galaxy.

you blaze in brilliant, radiant light; core searing it's permeant place in the midnight backdrop. you illuminate the space with shades of the deepest indigo and violets, mingled with wisps of turquoise and teal. crimson and oranges are vibrant in your centre.

the colour stretches into the void forming intricate patters, ones he finds himself untangling to better understand you.

in the silence of space, your nebula spoke volumes; comforting him at his worst, lulling his mind into dreamless sleep. your edges are softer, the colours more muted as you bleed into him. no one can tell where you begin and he ends.

you are so so small in comparison to the void, but so unbearably bright that you light it all with practiced ease. he tends to watch in awe as you decorate his solar system; nursing new stars to weave into his soul.

with you there, his universe becomes easier to live in, easier to navigate. you're a cloud of interstellar stardust - held together by the gravitational attraction of satoru's galaxy.

☆ - suguru geto ⋮ the artist

to suguru, you're the best thing that's happened to him. ever.

anyone who sees him with you knows. they know he's infatuated, enamoured. he's so far gone that people often think that he's been blinded by love, but he has simply never felt an emotion so intense.

with you he thinks he truly sees the world in all it's glory, innocent and pure. with you he traverses unpolluted by the atrocities of the world, you who colours his world.

he looks at you like you personally hang the stars in the sky when night rolls around, like you paint the sorbet sunsets by hand. he stares at you adoringly, as if you chose the colour of the sea and dusted white on the peaks of mountains to keep them warm.

he peers at you like you solely gift the flowers with their petals, dipping them in shades you deem beautiful enough. like you create the sand from scratch and lay it in pretty semi-lunar shapes next to the ocean.

he gazes at you like diamonds were invented in tribute to your tears, like you drew the prettiest landscapes alone in the quiet, before the age of humanity.

he studies you like you've sculpted the very shape of his heart - every ventricle and atrium handcrafted with your pretty fingers. as if his very existence was molded by you, hence why you fit so perfectly together; two pieces of a puzzle.

he could stare at you for hours and days on end, eyes full of love for the person who introduces him to a plethora of hues and tones that he imprints on the back of his eyelids when he sleeps.

☆ - ryomen sukuna ⋮ the breath of life

sukuna is not a good person. everybody knows that. he's taken innocent lives, sapping their energy like it's nothing. he's all-powerful; he stands amongst the deities - gods who have the capacity to bend fate to their will.

but after millennia of having everything under his rule, he's gotten bored. he has servants to order as he pleases but nothing they do entertains him. the god of death is bored, embarrassingly so.

until he acquires something known as a significant other, the other half of his soul as the humans say. you're his breath of life, a release of old, stagnant energy. it's as if you breathe vitality into everything you touch, all life forms flocking to you naturally.

you're so much softer than he, touch delicate yet profound, an ethereal caress that lights sparks in his eyes. he tends to linger quietly by your side when you walk in the garden he constructed just for you - though he would never tell you that.

wildflowers are coaxed into bloom with you around, their colours a testament to your nurturing touch. the dew-laden grass basks in your presence, gleaming a shade brighter than before. even the trees seem to gravitate toward you, branches reaching for you as you pass by, their leaves sighing in contentment.

sukuna's convinced the waves follow your pace, each push and pull matches your breathing.

you were the essence of renewal. his world had found it's pulse, it's rhythm, as you dance the unending dance of life in the centre. you sustain his beating heart, so sukuna's oddly content with merely watching.

☆ - toji fushiguro ⋮ a lover

toji sees you as not only a lover, but the lover. the only one he will have in this life and the next. there's no after you. it's a forever kinda thing.

something so simple as the title of 'lover' is so complex for toji, a man who's a veteran assassin, a man who previously had no regard for anyone else.

you're the only person toji promises to protect, to never lie to, to make happy for as long as his heart pumps and his chest rises with each breath. you're a miracle gifted to him by the gods - though he doesn't know what he's done to deserve it.

he's rough around the edges but with your standing as 'lover', you smooth him out.

he subconsciously thinks of you, always worrying for your satefy. you must be a deep ocean of the emotion known as 'passion' because he's willingly drowning, not even looking for shore.

toji looks at you like you're an extension of himself, the other half of him that the deities intended for him to find. he can't remember times before you or imagine a future without you.

he makes a deal of reminding you that you are his, just as he is completely and utterly yours. as his lover you hold his bloody, beating heart in your hands; he knows you'll keep it safe.

he stares at you like you'll disappear; like he's not even sure you actually exist. you love a man like him after all - that's a miracle in itself.

[daosies]

in the silence

akademiya days | this piece is part of the spring & swag event!!

You fall asleep in the library; Alhaitham doesn't wake you up; love ensues.

alhaitham ♡ gn!reader

warnings: alhaitham is SMITTEN, use of "[name]", physical description of reader (ex: moles, scars, etc.), pre-established relationship

notes: banter my beloved

“I won’t wake you up if you fall asleep,” Alhaitham states blankly, his eyes never once tearing from the pages of his book.

“Really?” You yawn. “Even if the Grand Sage came in right now and told everyone that if they were conscious, he’d give them a graduation certificate?” 

“Even if the Grand Sage came in right now and told everyone that if they were conscious, he’d give them a graduation certificate,” Alhaitham repeats without a second thought. “And I’d be leaving with mine.” 

“Oh, you traitorous scum.” 

“Sleep.” 

“Even when you’re not gonna wake me up?”

Alhaitham doesn’t even spare you a glance. You take the silence as affirmation, and even though you think you’re supposed to be offended, you don’t have any energy left in you to fight a losing battle against a man who got a full eight hours of sleep. 

So, you fold your arms over each other and you tuck in for the night, the side of your head buried into the fabric of your uniform sleeves, breathing in the scent of the wooden library table. 

“Night,” you mumble.

“It’s morning,” Alhaitham replies.

You don’t respond. He closes his book. Turquoise eyes drink in the sight of your face greedily, compensating for all the time lost sinking in pages when, since the beginning, all they have ever wanted was to drown in you. They’re out, Alhaitham thinks—not like a light, because still, you glow—already? 

He doesn’t pay any mind to the clock, its rhythmic ticking falling behind the pace of his heart, the organ which beats, alive and wild in comparison to the hand of time which, although pervading, has never once perceived you. If it did, Alhaitham thinks that time would speed up, that it would leave everything behind, that you would wake up and find yourself in the future. Beyond him.

He stares at you (but he has always been staring at you?), insatiable. Alhaitham is greedy. Alhaitham’s gaze traces over your existence once, twice, before starting again. 

As if he were rediscovering a relic, as if he had buried it eons earlier and dug it up once more, his hand fluttering across all its patterns, its weathered material, discovering new intricacies and features—a mole, a scar—and loving them again, all the same, each and every time. 

From the flutter of your lashes to the pout of your lips, your image sinks into his retinas, never to be reflected in his irises as you have driven long past the color, diving straight towards his soul. Absorbed. Whole. You glow. You glow!

“Huh? Alhaitham?” someone calls, and Alhaitham’s brief—but, really, it was not so brief; he had been staring for the past five minutes—solace is interrupted, his drowning eyes narrowing with distaste before he wills his mental fortitude to deal with this sudden obstacle. Kaveh. 

Alhaitham doesn’t respond. 

“Alhaitham, I know you can hear me.” 

“Now, what gave you that idea?” 

Kaveh sneaks a glance at you (which doesn’t go unnoticed by Alhaitham), before turning his head away, trying his very best to contain the essence of a smile wisping across his face (which doesn’t go unnoticed by Alhaitham). 

“Just a hunch,” Kaveh says with a shrug. 

Alhaitham doesn’t respond. 

“Can you let me know when they wake up? I need some of their input on this new design I came up with,” Kaveh asks, gesturing towards a scroll of paper which folds from his hand. 

Alhaitham doesn’t respond; not only that, though, because he also makes an effort to look away from the architect. 

“I’m not waking them up.” Even if the Grand Sage himself were to enter the library and tell everyone that he’d give them their graduation certificates if they were conscious. Even though Alhaitham himself told you to sleep. 

Kaveh scoffs. “You’re terrible.” 

Alhaitham doesn’t respond. Kaveh takes his silence with an offended scoff (again), before grumbling away with his scroll clutched tightly to his chest. Alhaitham stares at you (but he has always been staring at you?), his gaze finding their face on your features, and the relic is found. 

A mole. A scar. A glow.

Someone else enters the library, frantic, their voice diminished to a whisper-yell: “[Name]? [Name]! Is [Name] here? I need their notes!”

His fingers come to unclasp his ear pieces (which were, as they always are in your presence, turned off), deftly hooking them over yours. You stir a little, but Alhaitham doesn’t mind; you never notice when he does this, anyway. Whenever you sleep, you’re truly knocked out.

(He has done this, time and time again. Like how the relic is buried only to be rediscovered again. Like how the light is flickered off only to be turned on again. Like how his gaze finds you, time and time again, only to trace over familiar features and new ones alike, and, ultimately, learn and love, again and again.)

“They’re not here?!” the person continues to whisper-yell. “I need their notes! I’m going to fail! Oh, the agony!”

Alhaitham is terrible. 

He looks at you. 

A mole. A scar. A glow. 

Alhaitham is terrible; he’s okay with that.

[reveryfics]

Late Night

Pairings: Eddie Brock & Venom x Male reader

Summary: Having just gotten out of the shower, you're met with Eddie and Venom both of which have more exciting plans then your moping around.

A/n: redoing this aesthetic on this post and some others. As always thanks for the likes and enjoy!

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

A young male steps out of his clothes, his bare feet sending chills across the cold floor. He grabs a towel from the rack hanging crookedly on the back of the door, its threadbare surface rough against his skin. He turns on the water, wincing as a rusty groan echoes through the pipes before a sputtering spray erupts from the showerhead.

He waits, counting silently under his breath as the water heats up. The minutes tick by, each one stretching into an eternity of anticipation. Finally, the scalding water begins to mingle with the cold, sending wisps of steam curling around the chipped porcelain walls.

He steps into the shower, letting out a sigh of relief as the hot water cascades over his tense muscles. He lathers up with cheap soap, the acrid scent filling the small space. He scrubs away the grime of the day, the memory of his dead-end job, and the gnawing hunger in his stomach momentarily forgotten under the soothing torrent.

As the hot water washes over him, the male allows himself to close his eyes. He pictures himself somewhere else, someplace far removed from this dingy apartment and life filled with supernatural beings. He imagines a pristine beach, the turquoise water lapping at his toes, the warm sun drying his skin. He breathes in the scent of salt and seaweed, the sound of crashing waves washing away the city's din.

But the dream is fleeting. The scalding water begins to cool, and the harsh reality of his situation seeps back in. He opens his eyes to the peeling paint and cracked tiles, the chipped shower head spewing its meager spray.

He finishes his shower quickly, the cold air sending goosebumps prickling across his skin. He steps out, wrapping himself in the scratchy towel. He looks at his reflection in the fogged-up mirror, seeing not the sun-kissed tan of his daydream, but a skinny kid with tired eyes and haunted shadows under his cheekbones. He sighs, a gust of steam swirling around him like a fleeting wisp of hope. He knows he needs more than a hot shower to escape his reality. But for now, it's enough. It's a small victory, a stolen moment of warmth in the cold grip of his circumstances.

There was a tense silence throughout the bathroom, broken only by the dripping water from the showerhead and throaty cough coming from behind the young male. The male's tired eyes peered at the man from the mirror, a low groan escaped past his slightly parted lips as he hung his head low. A pair of hands gripped his hips, the towel slowly slipping off his waist and onto the bathroom floor. The once scratchy feeling now replaced by the feeling of soft fabric against his bare skin.

Their eyes locked in the reflection of the mirror, both worn and tired from the day. The older male's hands slid up the others back, slowly massaging up and down his spine, shoulder blades, and neck. “You seem tense.” He whispered softly.

A soft chuckle sounded from the younger male, his body slightly relaxing against the other's soft touch. His muscles slowly unwound against every small and deliberate touch against his achy body. “Tell me about it.” He huffed, pressing his body against his partners.

There was a silence between the two for a moment, only for it to be broken by a quiet gasp as black tendrils wrapped around the young male's body.

The two guided him towards the bedroom, their hands cupping his face as Eddie gently pressed his lips against his partner's. Eddie's lips were soft, something he'd grown to love about the man. His own hand found its way around the back of Eddie's neck, pulling him in closer.

Eddie led him back and towards the bed, breaking the kiss when the two needed to breath before pressing back up against them quickly. The gentle kiss turned heated as Eddie sat against the bed, his partner straddling him. Eddie's hands now rested against his shoulders, while Venom still held into his waist.

The male pulled away, a small gasp falling from his lips as Venom's long tongue slowly trailed over his neck. The symbiote left out a low grumble, his tongue passing over each and every sweet spot he could find. His eyes fluttered closed, enjoying the feeling of Eddie and Venom kissing his exposed skin.

Eddie's hands gripped the soft skin of his partner's ass, earning a low groan from the male. He could feel Eddie's cock twitching in his pants, rubbing against his own exposed and growing erection.

The male pushed Eddie back against the bed, making quick work in removing his hoodie and shirt. Eddi hissed at the feeling of his partner's cold hands against his exposed chest and abdomen.

“Enjoying this aren't you?” He hummed, slowly grinding against Eddie's lap.

“You have no idea.” Eddie's voice mixed with Venom's, as the two groaned in response to the pressure.

His hands continued down Eddie's chest, stopping just above his sweatpants as he slowly came to stand in front of him. The brunette groaned as his undergarments were tossed aside, and the cold air of the apartment nipped at his erect cock.

He got on his knees, hands holding Eddie's hips down against the bed. His tongue ran underneath his cock, lapping up the beads of precum that leaked down his shaft. He continued, only stopping when Eddie's cock began to twitch and spasm against his lips and tongue.

Eddie pulled him up, his hands cupping his face as he leaned in to kiss him gently. He sighed against Eddie's lips, moving onto his lap like he had been before.

“Relax.” He hummed, pushing Eddie back against the bed.

The male slowly sunk down onto Eddie's cock, his head shooting back in pure pleasure. He let out a strangled moan as the brunette bottomed out, his cock twitching and pulsating inside his partner.

Eddie's hands found their way to his partner's hips, gripping them harshly. Venom's long tendrils wrapped around the male's cock, slowly jerking him in time with the steady pace of him bouncing against Eddie.

The two became a panting mess, strings of moans falling from their lips as their pace only quickened. Eddie pulling out only to slam back into his partner as Venom continued to jerk him off.

“Fu-fuck..” He moaned, his own cock twitching and leaking precum as Eddie slammed into his prostate.

A particularly hard thrust left him gasping for air as he choked on his own whines and moans, and caused him to clench around Eddie. As he continued for a second time, then a third, and finally a fourth, his partner came across his chest spasming in Venom's grasp. Eddie came not long after, burying himself deep inside as he rode out his orgasm.

Neither moved for a while, basking in the initial moments of their orgasm before Eddie slowly pulled out. He whined, collapsing in the bed beside Eddie and the symbiote, his chest heaving up and down as he caught his breath.

“You owe me a good bath.”

“Whatever you say.”

[treviso-nights]

imagine being in love with neve gallus and neve gallus loving you back. imagine bringing her shitty instant coffee every morning just because you know she likes it that way. imagine rubbing her shoulders when she works at her desk for too long. imagine kneading the smooth, taut skin until it relents. imagine leaving her spiced slices of apples and oranges on her desk with the hope that she'll eat something other than grilled fish. imagine watching the aurora borealis of fade magic with her as it dances in the sky when it's dark. imagine slow-dancing with her afterwards, knowing that the fade itself will reflect your own love back to you. imagine a plethora of sparkling, sapphire wisps weaving in and out of neve gallus's hair. imagine her soft laughter, because she's finally given up her suspicion of them and they are so so happy about it. imagine the turquoise glow of your aquarium sinking into her tawny brown skin. imagine tugging on neve gallus's arm, because it is time to sleep and you have to physically yank her into bed. imagine curling up against neve gallus, knowing you would do anything to protect her. imagine knowing that neve gallus has already done so, because her affection feels like the warmest, most unending protection spell you have ever encountered.

[doumadono]

Synopsis: Dabi hates his birthday dearly, but you surprise him with a small gift and heartfelt words that chip away at his guard significantly

A/N: the prompt was "Thank you for being born" This one-shot serves as the kickoff to my little Dabi's birthday event. I won't deny shedding a tear or two while writing it (there's something about making wishes that gets me emotional) Here's the link to the song I listened to while crafting this piece💜

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST DABI'S BIRTHDAY EVENT

The scent of cigarettes hung in the air as Dabi reclined on a worn-out couch, brooding in silence. The glow of the television screen flickered in the dimly lit common room as Dabi absentmindedly watched the news.

Another day, another hero thwarting villains, this time at one of Musutafu's bustling shopping malls. As the headlines praised the courageous actions of the hero, a bitter taste lingered in Dabi's mouth.

"Fucking pathetic," he growled lowly, taking a drag of his cigarette. A bitter smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he contemplated the irony. The world hailed heroes on the day he considered his own personal tragedy. The day he was born, the 18th of January.

The news anchor spoke with enthusiasm about the hero's bravery, the citizens cheering in gratitude for another villain thwarted.

Yet Dabi's thoughts, like wisps of smoke, curled around the unwelcome memories of his past. He traced the scars on his face absentmindedly, a reminder of a past he wished he could erase. The reflection in the TV showed a man haunted by his own existence, a shadow dancing on the edges of society.

Dabi couldn't shake the bitter truth that clung to him like a shadow. He hadn't chosen this life; it was thrust upon him by his father's sick ambitions. His birthday wasn't a cause for celebration; it was a stark reminder of his origin, of a life marred by pain and betrayal.

It didn't become any easier when he revealed himself as the son of the number one hero, Endeavor. The revelation didn't alter a single thing, but at least his obnoxious father was aware. Aware that his failed creation was still alive and somehow thriving on a path fueled by vengeance.

As the news continued, highlighting the hero's accomplishments, a bitterness swelled within Dabi. The contrast between his life and the celebrated hero's achievements became painfully apparent. The hero on the screen stood tall, celebrated by a society that Dabi saw as inherently flawed. He couldn't help but feel a surge of resentment, not towards the hero, but towards the world that applauded those who fit neatly into its definition of heroism.

The door to the common room creaked open, and you stepped inside, holding a neatly wrapped package adorned with shiny paper and a ribbon.

Dabi slowly raised his gaze, his turquoise eyes meeting yours. A skeptical eyebrow arched as he observed the item you held in your hands. "Don't tell me it's what I think it is," he remarked, his tone laced with a hint of sourness.

You approached, taking a seat beside him, the small package cradled in your hands. "Well, you'll never know unless you open it," you teased.

Dabi scoffed, "You and your surprises."

Undeterred, you extended the gift toward him. "Happy birthday, Touya. I hope you like it."

Dabi sighed, his skepticism evident as he began to peel away the shiny paper and loosen the ribbon. The room was filled with the soft rustle of wrapping paper, and he shot you a sidelong glance, an unspoken question in his gaze.

Inside the wrapping was a tiny box. Dabi hesitated for a moment, eyeing the box as if it held secrets he wasn't sure he wanted to uncover. Eventually, he cracked it open, revealing a silver necklace with a delicate flame charm.

"It's a flame," you explained, your voice soft. "I thought it suited you, taking your quirk."

Dabi lifted the necklace, examining the intricate details of the charm. His expression remained guarded, but there was a hint of something beneath the surface – a mixture of surprise and skepticism. "A flame, huh?" he muttered, more to himself than to you.

"Yeah," you affirmed. "A symbol of your strength and intensity."

He gave you a skeptical glance, his turquoise eyes narrowing slightly. "You put way too much thought into this. My quirk's a real fucking gem – kills me a bit every damn time I unleash it."

You bowed your head, realizing you had never viewed his quirk in that manner. To you, it wasn't just about his ability - it embodied an immense determination and unmatched dedication, even if the cause wasn't particularly flattering.

Dabi continued to study the necklace, his fingers tracing the delicate flame. There was a brief pause before he finally spoke, his voice low and gruff. "It's not bad, I guess."

You smiled, a small victory in breaking through his usual stoicism. "Glad you think so. Happy birthday, once again. And... There's actually one more thing I'd like to tell you... May I?"

Dabi regarded you with a notably impassive expression on his face, nodding.

You reached out and gently took Dabi's hand in yours.

His forehead creased into a frown, a silent question etched on his face.

"I know you've been dealing with a lot of crap," you began slowly, your voice sincere and heartfelt. "I don't fully understand, and most likely I never will. But ever since I joined the League, you were the only one who's been patient with me. Through all my failures, you saw some potential within me. You've always offered advice or just a listening ear whenever I felt like shit and wanted to cry it all out." You let out an exasperated sigh, wiping a single tear from your eyelashes. "Oh God, why am I even getting emotional? This isn't about me."

Dabi's frown deepened, his gaze steady on your flushed face as you continued, "Okay, so I basically just want to tell you that, to me, you were never a bad person, nor evil. I love you for who you are, with all of your flaws. I'm just... I just... Thank you for being born."

The words hung in the air, a mix of vulnerability and gratitude woven into your confession.

Dabi's stoic facade wavered as he absorbed your heartfelt words. His turquoise eyes, typically guarded, widened in genuine surprise, a subtle vulnerability creeping into their depths. The frown etched on his forehead softened, replaced by a mixture of astonishment and something resembling gratitude. He remained silent for a moment, processing the weight of your confession.

Finally, a raspy exhale escaped him, a rare display of vulnerability. "I... didn't expect that," he admitted, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. His gaze lingered on your teary eyes, and for a moment, the facade of indifference cracked. A subtle shift occurred within him, a fracture in the armor he usually wore so tightly.

With a rare tenderness, he reached up, his thumb brushing against the moisture on your cheeks. "Hush," he murmured gently, a subtle warmth in his usually gruff voice. His touch was surprisingly tender as he wiped away the traces of tears, his thumb grazing over your skin.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, the touch lingering for a moment longer than expected. "Thanks, Y/N," Touya said, the word carrying a weight of sincerity. "For the words and the gift. Means more than you think."

A subtle warmth lingered in his gaze as he fastened the necklace around his neck. The flame pendant rested against his chest. "You always manage to surprise me, doll face," the white-haired man chuckled softly.

"Well, it is your birthday," you quipped, leaning in to give him a quick kiss. "There's no way I could have failed to surprise you on that particular day," you whispered, leaning your chin on his shoulder, gazing up at him with the most innocent, doe-eyed expression.

He cast a glance down at you, scoffing with a slight eye roll. "Sometimes I wonder how someone as cute and soft as you manages to be a villain, Y/N."

You flashed a mischievous grin at him. "Well, let's just say that I'm flexible."

Dabi leaned casually against the back of the couch, his arm extending to wrap around your shoulder and pull you closer. "No doubt in me, you are. You prove that every night."

Blushing, you gasped and playfully poked his chest. "Todoroki Touya! Quit it!"

His fingers absentmindedly played with your hair. "What? That's the fact. And you know what? I love you."

You smiled at him, studying his expression for a moment before nestling against his chest, allowing his warmth to envelop you. "I love you too."

Together, you both tuned into the news service and later some TV show, but your attention was elsewhere. All that mattered was that the person you loved the most was right there by your side.

[heylittleriotact]

Ｍａｓｓａｇｅ(ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2/2)

Manipulation of tissue in the course of preparation of the body

Chapter 1 here

Though perhaps he was of the sort that got a thrill from the act of undressing her. Yes… that seemed like something a man who freely boasted about his familiarity with the finer points of anatomy would be keen on: savouring the textures of different fabrics as his fingers grazed over them, pulling gently here, tugging gently there to methodically flay her clothing from her body as if it were her skin and she was his newest, most recently deceased patient: she required preparation so that her bones, still and silent, could be put to use housing an eager spirit, and he was not at all unfamiliar with the process of unmaking someone.

He would gladly aid her in this capacity.

The honour would be all his.

The second and final part of my piece detailing Emmrich and Amina's first time sleeping together. It's time for the main event. Batten down your panties 🩲

Rating: Explicit

Under the cut or on ao3

As it turned out there was actually a nightcap involved.

Emmrich’s mysterious bed dwelled in a hidden bedchamber in the laboratory behind one of the many bookcases lining the walls and down a curving set of stairs that split into two chambers: one emerged into a warmly lit cavern of sorts, spacious yet cozy, and the other Amina could only assume was space set aside for Manfred - his own room. She thought it very sweet that Emmrich saw fit to give Manfred a space to call his own. She knew perfectly well that wisps didn’t sleep, so she had no idea what the sentient skeleton did with any time he spent alone - she made a point of asking Emmrich another time. 

The entire space was composed of the stone foundations of the island the Lighthouse stood on, and despite the rustic implication of a bedroom in a cave, Emmrich’s room was actually quite homey: the bed itself was on a raised section of stone, and ancient but pristine rugs covered the floor, overlapping in places, each of them rich, bright colours of magenta, turquoise, or marigold. The bar was set against the far wall and boasted a humble assortment of spirits and liqueurs which included the extremely expensive absinthe Emmrich had prepared for her, demonstrating a ritual involving cold water and sugar that proved his alchemical hobbies extended even into his drinking preferences. She took a sip of it and continued to politely snoop around the room while Emmrich excused himself to make sure Manfred was settled in for the night. 

The room was illuminated by the soft glow of candles perched on various outcroppings and recesses within the stone walls. The cavern was humid and warm, but the air felt fresh and clean, free of the heavy stagnant quality air tended to take on in a cave. 

More bookshelves framed either side of the bed, with side tables built into the base of them. On the side of the bed that Emmrich obviously favoured, Amina could make out the shape of a pair of spectacles and a book on the side table. 

She stepped up onto the raised platform of stone and wandered over to the table, the sound of her shoes muted by the soft carpet beneath her feet. 

She gently moved the rectangular gold framed spectacles aside and picked up the book, flipped it and read the cover, her eyebrows raising. “Oh my…” 

It was a collection of erotic poetry with a gold embossed depiction of a couple - their genders unclear, entwining passionately - splashed across the cloth bound cover.

She tutted and set down her absinthe, leafing through a few pages and feeling her pulse quicken at the thought of Emmrich reposed in the bed on any given night, naked except for the gold spectacles perched halfway down the bridge of his nose, holding the book in one hand, stroking his cock feverishly with the other, his chest heaving, each breath rapid and desperate and sharp, teetering on a soft whimper or moan as he indulged in the exceptionally vulgar verses until he spilled himself over his own belly, his seed catching the wavering candlelight and shimmering prettily against his skin and the wispy hair that grew on him.

She let out a low expletive and shut the book, replacing it on the side table and picking up her absinthe to drink some of the intensely herbal spirit in an attempt to jar herself back to reality. Her hand ghosted over the front of her skirt, and she palmed her crotch as if to temporarily placate the burning need between her thighs. Where was he? How long could it possibly take to say goodnight to Manfred and make sure he understood he was not to wander into Emmrich’s room under any circumstances tonight? 

She wondered if she should spend this time making herself ready for him: she supposed she could undress and arrange herself on the bed so that when he entered the room again the first thing he’d see was her nude form, spread out for him like a feast more sumptuous than the dinner they’d just had, wearing only the network of scars that spanned her flesh like a topographical encyclopedia of injuries… and those adorable spectacles, of course. She’d sip from the glass of absinthe in her fingertips and haughtily ask if he came around this place often, and he would think her so cavalier and witty and irresistibly attractive that he’d shed his clothes and take her with desperate need marking every one of his movements. 

Though perhaps he was of the sort that got a thrill from the act of undressing her. Yes… that seemed like something a man who freely boasted about his familiarity with the finer points of anatomy would be keen on: savouring the textures of different fabrics as his fingers grazed over them, pulling gently here, tugging gently there to methodically flay her clothing from her body as if it were her skin and she was his newest, most recently deceased patient: she required preparation so that her bones, still and silent, could be put to use housing an eager spirit, and he was not at all unfamiliar with the process of unmaking someone.

He would gladly aid her in this capacity.

The honour would be all his.

She made a sound low in her throat at the thought, wandered over to the small table in the corner with a shaving mirror on a stand, a small hickory box she supposed contained a razor, brush, soap, and strop; a basin and a towel, and a variety of small bottles - six or seven in total. Further inspection revealed they were all different perfumes and colognes. 

She removed the cap from one and sniffed the atomizer, instantly recognizing the scent that filled her nostrils as one that he wore earlier that week: earthy and grounded with notes of vetiver and petrichor. Replacing the lid and setting down the bottle of amber liquid she picked up another and smelled it too: wet clay, the sweet tang of decaying leaves, dark oily patchouli… 

Her mouth watered - this was what he was wearing tonight, the evocative scent mixing with his own natural aroma in a complimentary way that had made it hard to focus all evening…

She let out a startled yelp when a long fingered hand slipped over her front, splaying across her abdomen as she felt the presence of someone much taller than her press close to her back. Hot breath played over her ear as he stooped down, causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end as Emmrich chuckled and said, “There you are. I was worried I’d lost you.”

“Lost me?” She set down the bottle and turned in his arms, facing him now and standing up on her tiptoes to rub the side of her nose against his, her own hands wandering around his narrow waist. “I think you’re stuck with me, Volkarin. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

One hand came up to card through the hair at the nape of her neck, his fingers winding between strands, combing through them as he regarded her affectionately, though desire still smoldered in his moss-coloured eyes. The other dallied over the concave curve of her lower back and came to rest cupping a handful of her muscular rear and drawing her hips flush against him where she could feel evidence of his arousal stirring again.

“Not in the slightest, Ms. Ingellvar.” He purred, squeezing her ass.

She shivered at his words and felt her fingers curl tighter into the fabric of his waistcoat as she felt his broad palm against her behind, fingers kneading the ample flesh there while his lips trailed over her cheek, then her jaw, then he imparted just enough tension to the handful of hair in his hand to urge her chin towards the ceiling, allowing him access to the thin, hot skin of her throat. 

She couldn’t help but gasp as he licked her neck, sucking and kissing up the length of it. A pained little sound slipped past her lips and her hand flew to the back of his head, twining into his own hair when his teeth grazed her and he sucked hard against the skin above her carotid artery. The feeling was warm and wet, a sensation that was both pleasure and pain as capillaries buckled and gave way to the suction, flooding her dermis with the minute quantities of blood that would present like a tattooed clump of alpine betony against a backdrop of spring snow - richly mauve, prickling when the air caressed it…

She groaned, her knees going weak, his name slipping past her lips and suffusing through the cavern, a pleading whisper urging him to peel back layers of her flesh and muscle and bury himself inside the gleaming ruby treasure within.

Responding to the need in her voice, he parted from her neck and guided her away from the corner table, walking them back towards the raised section of stone where the bed was, kissing her, caressing her, stroking her cheek with his thumb as though she was the only thing in the world that mattered then. 

“Darling…” he studied her with his round, perceptive eyes, hand stilling over the centre of her chest where her heart hammered against her ribcage like a frantic wisp trapped in a bottle. “We don’t have to… if you would rather wait—“

He would want to make sure she didn’t feel pressured, wouldn’t he?

Her hero.

She reached up between them and unclipped his collar pin with a deft twist of her fingers, her eyes never leaving his. 

“I don’t want to wait. I’ve waited for what feels like a lifetime already: I want to make love to you right this minute.” She walked him backwards until the edge of the bed met the backs of his knees and he was forced to sit, hands hovering over Amina’s hips as she stood between his long longs. She guided those hands to the bottle green satin of her blouse, closing his fingers around it and guiding his wrists upwards with her index fingers hooked under them so that the hem of the garment slipped free from her waistband. 

Bangles slipped one by one down his willowy arms, chiming softly as one hand wandered underneath the blouse, exploring the expanse of scarred but soft skin over hard muscle, tracing the shape of the costal cartilage that defined the boundaries of her rib cage, protecting the precious organs that lay beneath it. 

She watched his hands rove over her; took in the expression of reverent longing on his face as his mouth parted and he stared up at her. His tongue darted over his lips to wet them before he spoke, his voice rough with lust. “If that is your desire, dearest, I am happy to oblige.” 

“Oblige?” She repeated, running her fingernails through his hair, following the patterns of the gray dispersing and mingling into black like the thick, impermeable mists that hung around the obelisks and headstones in the gardens. One hand started slipping the small buttons at the side of her skirt loose, the other found her ass again and resumed squeezing and massaging. “What about you? Forget about everyone else’s needs for a fucking minute and tell me: what do you want, Emmrich Volkarin?” She tipped his face up, her fingers on his chin. 

He freed the last button and pulled the skirt down over the swell of her ass, letting it slide to the ground where it pooled at her feet. He filled his hands with her bare cheeks, lifting them, feeling the weight and heat of them. He dipped his head and she could feel his hot breath through the thin material of the silky black thong she was wearing, her breath hitching as his nose buried into the cleft just above her throbbing clit and he inhaled deeply, filling himself with the scent of her need. He lingered there for a moment, then looked back up at her, eyes dark with lust. 

“I want you, darling. Every inch of you…” His hands travelled to the waistband of the lacy little thong and he hooked his fingers under it, working it from under the garter belt that held up her stockings, sliding the sodden bit of fabric down, peeling it away from her dripping sex and down her thighs until he relinquished his hold on it and it joined the skirt. He parted her slightly, thumbs nestling softly into her dark hair, and smiled besottedly at the glint of gold that greeted him at the peak of her thighs. “I want to steal the air from your lungs and make your lovely legs shake...” He lowered his mouth again and feathered his searing tongue over the shape of the open hoop adorning her anatomy, urging a low whine from her as her hips jolted in his hands. “I must admit that I’ve often found myself wondering if your grave dowry was of the intimate sort…” he nuzzled against the soft thatch of hair and inhaled again, emitting a satisfied sigh as Amina’s mind swam, adrift in a sea of touch and awe that she was finally here - finally this close to him… and about to get closer still.

“Indulge your curiosity…” She managed to prompt with a coy smile. “Find the rest of it.” 

His head snapped up and a lascivious smile that made her stomach flip-flop spread over his face. His hands found the backs of her thighs and he pulled her down onto his lap, her legs on either side of his hips, her slick core pressed against the bulging front of his pants. She rolled her hips against him and let her shoes clatter to the ground, his fingernails digging into soft flesh as he let out a low growl and then claimed her mouth with his, tongue sweeping brazenly past her lips to collide with hers enthusiastically as she opened wide and returned his fervor.

He held her in his lap, his free hand diving under her blouse to squeeze a handful of breast, the warmth of his touch muted by the expensive lacy brassiere she wore underneath.

Unsatisfied by this impediment, Amina wrenched her hands from Emmrich and hooked her thumbs into the bottom of her blouse and yanked it up unceremoniously over her head, no longer caring whether she appeared poised or elegant. Emmrich’s fingers found the clasp at the back of the brassiere and it slackened as he crushed his face into her breasts, laving his tongue over her skin, practically tearing the cups free of her chest and down her arms so she could shed it completely. 

He laughed - a high pitched, giddy titter that went straight to her cunt  - and thumbed the ends of the gold barbells flanking her erect nipples before clamping his mouth over one and sucking hard, tongue flitting over her stiffened peak while he continued playing with the other one. 

Her back arched and she rutted against him again, keening at his hands and mouth all over her; his cock between her legs. She reached between them and gripped him through his pants, feeling his readiness as she stroked him through too many layers of clothing. 

She rolled onto the bed, dragging him with her, wrapping her legs around his waist and scrambling at the buttons of his waistcoat while she explored his mouth with a ferocity that suggested she hadn’t just sat through an entire six course meal. She managed to get all the buttons undone without ripping a single one off, and immediately set into the absurd quantity of buttons on his shirt next - why did he need so many damn buttons anyway? 

Laughing breathlessly, he pulled away from her to take a breath, rocking back on his knees and holding out a warding finger when she launched forward to follow him.

“Wait,” he panted, looming above her, tracing soothing circles on her thigh with one hand, his normally perfectly coiffed hair an absolute tumble of wayward strands and dishevelled angles: he looked so wonderfully undone with his hair a mess, his prim waistcoat thrown open, and his collar pin askew, clinging to his shirt with little more than wishes and prayers at this point. His mouth was curved in a crooked, slightly daft grin, and his fingers abandoned her thigh to settle between her legs, running up the length of her slit and massaging her slick into her engorged clit as he began deftly undoing buttons with his other hand, observing her with an expression of maddeningly inhibited curiosity when she threw back her head and uttered a deep moan, her hips bucking into his hand, her knees clamping against his sides. 

“Fuuuu– Emmrich!” She cried, fingers and toes curling tightly into the blanket beneath her hips rose off the bed and he toyed with her clit, teasing her piercing with the edge of his thumb; rubbing, stroking, softly pinching her blushing bud, and brushing his fingertips along her innermost lips like they were the fragile petals of a delicate flower - all while methodically undoing the buttons of his shirt and finally reprieving his macabre collar pin of its duties. He slipped her leg over her shoulder as he stretched over the bed to deposit the accoutrement on the side table - on top of the book of poetry. 

Drawing back, he kissed the inside of her knee, echoing her laughter when the coarse hairs of his moustache tickled her sensitive skin through her stockings and she writhed in his hands. He manipulated her leg, bending her knee and kissing down her shin, rubbing his cheek against the meat of her calf, his strong, nimble fingers finding the arch of her foot. He slipped a single finger into her desperate core and held the bottom of her painstakingly pedicured foot to the side of his face, leaning into it as another finger joined the first and he languidly worked them in and out of her, still sitting back on his knees, his shirt open, his eyes glazed. 

“You’ve no idea how often I’ve thought about this, darling,” he huffed, the bridge of his nose flushed pink, and Amina couldn’t take her eyes off his tented trousers.

“I think I do,” she breathed, reaching for him, her fingertips caressing the damp spot on the front of his pants. 

He treated her to another ribald grin - where were these coming from? They were so… dirty. So decidedly un-Emmrich, and they drove excited shivers up her spine. He shrugged his shirt off, relinquishing his contact with her for long enough to slip the sleeves down over his many bracelets and bangles and drape it carefully over the footboard of the bed - an act that had Amina clenching her eyes shut and stifling a giggle - Maker forbid his expensive Orlesian-cut shirt ended up in a wrinkled pile on the floor for a night…

He turned back to her, naked from the waist up now, looking nonplussed at the specter of laughter on her face, “What?” He asked, the corners of his mouth drooping as his smile disappeared as quickly as Assan on bath day: she thought he was laughing at him.

“Oh,” she pushed herself up on her elbows a little. “Nothing, love.” 

He cocked his head to the side inquisitively and Amina snagged his left hand, now desperate to move on, pressing his fingertips to her lips, tasting herself on them. “I see I’m not the only one who keeps my grave dowry close to my person.” 

She was referring to his nipples that were equally as gilded as hers, and didn’t leave room for him to reply as she started gently but systematically pulling rings off his fingers with the same mindful care she would use when removing jewelry from the deceased before she bathed and embalmed them. 

“I want to be with you as you are,” she explained coquettishly  when he arched a brow at her audaciously helping herself to his jewelry. “Without all of… this.” She lifted a stack of bangles on his wrist and let them fall back down, their metallic settling punctuating her point. “I didn’t fall for Emmrich Volkarin’s gold.” 

Silence fell for the first time in a while as she collected his rings in her hand, plucking them from his branch-like fingers and palming them with the same delicate touch she used to handle the cherries that she harvested from the tree that grew behind Reda’s house when she was a child. 

“You are…” he breathed, looking at her with an expression on his handsome face that was difficult to read.

“Bizarrely hung up on ritual and meaning? Yes. You’ll find that to be quite a maddeningly common trait among Watchers, in case you weren’t aware,” she quipped, and her fingers paused over his left pinky and the grand looking ruby ring that occupied it - his Father’s, a gift to young Emmrich before he died - she knew that much. Then she relieved him of that too, marking the dark stain revealed in the ring’s absence for only a moment before he whisked his hand away and hid it behind her thigh, extending his other hand to her now, wordlessly bidding her to continue. 

She finished stripping him of his gold and jewels, depositing handfuls of rings and bracelets and bangles on the side table, the book of erotic poetry now buried under a small fortune, and then she set to work on his trousers which had lingered for far too long.

First went the cummerbund, slipping through her fingers as she untied it, the soft ‘fwip, fwip’ of the sleek material filling the silence that had fallen again. It joined his shirt on the footboard, and as she stretched under his arm to put it there she notched her waist against his and let him fondle her ass and thighs and cunt some more before she planted her ass back on the bed and finally freed his delightfully hard cock, taking him in her hand and stroking him experimentally, nibbling on her lower lip as he knelt before her on the bed, shuddering at her ministrations.

“Darling…” he whispered, eyes lidded, jaw slack as he watched her slowly, sensually jerk him off. Now that his arousal was now out in the open, his own scent filled the air: clean, masculine musk and the aphrodisiac tang of arousal collided with her nose and she swallowed the buildup of saliva that flooded her mouth. 

His cock was lovely: as elegant and distinguished as the rest of him, surrounded by a mantle of clearly tended hair that matched the hither and thither shades of black and gray on his head, his pulse thrummed strongly against her fingers, the skin of his shaft velvet smooth over his hardness. She gently worked his foreskin down to reveal his shapely, leaking head, as rosy and ripe as any cherry at the peak of its season. 

“No grave gold here?” she pouted, working her thumb over his slit, spreading the slick moisture that had beaded there over his blushing crown - an act which caused him to draw a sharp breath through his clenching teeth.

“I did… at one time…” he exhaled, voice wavering as his eyes flicked back down to resume watching her movements. “But I did away with it years ago...”

“Shame,” she tutted, jerking her head to the side. “Bet your pierced cock was a majestic sight indeed…” her cheeks heated and panic struck her. “Not… not that it’s not now.” 

Shut up, Amina, shut up and just fuck him.

But Emmrich only chuckled deep in his throat and pulled himself from her hand, stretching out over her and dwarfing her with his lanky stature as he pressed a soothing kiss to the blossoming love bite on her neck and finished shedding disrobing from his place between her thighs.

“Years spent in ruthlessly discriminating academic circles have granted me the virtue of a thick skin, dearest,” he purred into her ear, catching her lobe with his teeth and uttering a pleased sound at the gasp he wrought from her. His chest met hers and she was at the mercy of his skin against hers, enshrouding her; capturing her - binding her the same way he bound spirits to vacant bone. 

She might have babbled something in response as her hips arced into his, searching for the heat of his cock to relieve the burning need between her thighs, but then his lips found hers again and he kissed her with a sweetness and depth that drove words from her brain and air from her lungs.

And then he was gone, sitting back on his haunches again, so far away as his fingers danced along the oversensitive flesh of her inner thigh and he drew her towards him over the bedspread with an easy yank, lining her hips up with his, their thighs connected.

Cock in hand, he dragged himself slowly through her folds, collecting her pooling slick and massaging her engorged clit with his tip, humming sumptuously as Amina squirmed, her clit slip-sliding against the most sensitive part of him.

He dipped just inside of her entrance and back out again, and her fingernails dug into his abdomen. 

“Please…” she pleaded. “Please Emmrich…”

He acquiesced with a gentle kiss, pressing his hips to hers, pushing inside of her slowly, almost hesitantly, drawing back before thrusting forward again, stretching her, his elated groan joining hers as his he breached her fully and her walls flexed and clenched around him, their heat finally joining, their connection at last made complete.

She exhaled a ragged breath as her thighs tightened against his ribcage and he delved further, his thumb sweeping a strand of hair from her face as he cradled her head in his arm, his nose brushing hers as he lowered his mouth and whispered against her lips, “Is this all right?”

“Yes…” she panted, “… ohhh Emmrich… please don’t stop…” She felt the smoothness of his back under her fingers as they travelled downwards, and squeezed his pert ass in her hands, encouraging his thrusts as he moved inside of her, burying her face in the crook of his neck as he fucked into her and uttered soft gasps and the sweetest nothings she’d ever heard into her ear for a time before his movements ceased abruptly, and she could feel his heart racing against hers.

“Ah— oh.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, long and smooth - grounding: Nevarran breathing techniques. “Darling, I’m… I’m ashamed to say it, but I’m not going to last much longer… you feel entirely divine, and it’s been some time since I’ve—”

Her heart flooded with affection for him as her Reaper’s gift kicked in and she felt his emotional state change abruptly as his aura shifted: he felt embarrassed. Inadequate. Pathetic.

“Hey,” she cupped his cheek with her hand and dragged his eyes back to hers, then treated him to an understanding smile. “That’s one hell of a compliment.” She undulated against him, urging him on.

“Amina…”

“Will you cum for me, Emmrich?”

He let out a soft whine and his eyelids fluttered slightly at her words. 

“Yes,” he whispered, his thrusts resuming, his steady rhythm returning as the sound of skin on skin filled the cavern again. “I daresay I would do nearly anything for you…” he kissed her again, their tongues entwining as they tasted, licked and sucked. 

She locked herself against him, riding him from the mattress, meeting his thrusts and feeling his hips buck sloppily and shudder as his climax drew near - hers was not far behind: each movement dragged his cock over that place inside of her that made her thighs quake and tremble against his sides.

“Unnngh!” His eyes went wide, then shut tightly. He gasped her name like he’d been immersed in a tub of freezing water and cupped her jaw in his hand, his eyes opening again to hold her gaze as his hips arched against hers once, twice, and she felt the telltale heat expanding through her from the inside out as he spilled his hot seed deep within her. 

It was more than enough to send her hurtling over the edge as well, so over the edge she went, groaning in soul-scraping ecstasy as she tightened around his twitching length, crushing him to her chest as she cried out his name followed by a babbled stream of blissed out expletives. Her vision went white and she clenched so hard around him he was almost forced out of her, but he drove his hips forward and remained in place, covering her throat in soft, encouraging kisses as he murmured quiet praises into her ear as she tensed and writhed under him. 

“Ohhh, good girl…” he cooed as they rode out the dwindling waves of their release, and Amina whimpered, feeling her heart leap into her throat at those words, so sinfully spoken from his flushed, kiss-swollen lips…

She smoothed the hair at the nape of his neck as they collapsed together, quaking and trembling, sweat-slicked and reeking of sex. 

Emmrich’s fingers found themselves winding through her stormy black hair where it spilled over the pillow, and he did not let go as he rolled off of her to stretch out beside her, pulling her tight against him, his wet, softening cock squashed against her slightly shaking thigh. He kissed the crown of her head and held both of her hands in his as he hugged her to him. 

“I’ve had a wonderful evening with you, dearest Amina,” he said, his voice dripping with all the familiarity and intimate cadence one would anticipate from a lover.

“I’ve had a wonderful evening with you as well, Emmrich.” She kissed the back of his naked hand, her mind hazy, her heart achingly full of affection for the man tangled up with her. “Here’s to many, many more.”

They rested for a time, peacefully dozing in each other’s arms, but neither seemed capable of staying asleep for long - the exhilaration of their joining was too fresh; too real. 

A couple of hours later, Amina awoke to see Emmrich sleepily regarding her from his pillow, a strand of her long hair still twirled around his fingers, her name on his lips. Moments later, those very lips wandered down her belly and between her legs, and he lazily licked his leaking seed from her, bringing her to the softest, coziest orgasm she’d ever had with his fingers splayed over her lower belly and his tongue deep inside her. 

They fucked again after that, and then one more time before sleep properly found them and they drifted off in the early hours of dawn, entwined and undeniably in love. 

[herstoryheaven]

Descendants Harry Hook x Reader: The Pirate's Enchanted Locket

Prompt: Y/n has an ancient locket that transports her to The Isle of the Lost. Captured by Harry Hook, he initially suspects her of being a spy. As he grows fascinated by her, he defends her against a rival gang’s attack. In a moment of intense emotion, Harry confesses his feelings.

Reader: Female

Word count: 3584

Average reading time: 13 min

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: This story contains themes involving emotional distress, fear, and harassment. If you are sensitive to these topics, please read with care.

The full moon hung high in the sky, casting a silver glow over the restless sea. Y/N stood at the edge of a rocky cliff, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Clutched in her hand was an ancient locket, a mysterious inheritance from her mother that promised to bring you what your heart desires the most. The locket felt warm in her palm, as if it had a life of its own, pulsating with a gentle rhythm. As she carefully opened the locket, wisps of magic light surrounded her, pulling her through time and space.

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Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

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When the light faded, Y/N found herself on the deck of a pirate ship, the grimy structure silhouetted against the dark waters of the Isle of the Lost. The smell of saltwater and smog filled the air, and the sound of creaking wood and flapping sails was almost deafening. Disoriented, she stumbled across the deck, trying to make sense of her surroundings. The ship was bustling with activity, rough looking pirates shouted orders and heaved ropes, their faces shadowed by the dim lantern light.

Harry Hook, Uma’s fierce first mate, appeared, his sharp eyes immediately spotting her. He was a tall figure, his dark hair hiding underneath a black pirate hat, a silver hook gleaming dangerously in place of his left hand.

“What do we have here?” Harry’s voice was a low, dangerous growl. His accent was thick, his tone dripping with suspicion. “Someone trying hide, or perhaps a thief?”

Y/N’s heart raced. She had heard the stories of these pirates, the children of villains of old tales, but never imagined she would meet them. “I’m not here to steal anything. I was just—”

“Save your breath, Lass,” Harry interrupted, his voice cold and commanding. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “We don’t take kindly to intruders. Especially ones who appear out of thin air.”

Before Y/N could protest further, Harry took her arm with surprising strength and dragged her below deck. The narrow, dark passageways twisted and turned, lit only by the occasional flickering torch. Other pirates stared as they passed, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hostility.

They reached a small, dark cell at the far end of the ship. Harry shoved her inside, and the heavy clang of the iron door as it shut behind her resonated with finality. The cell was cold and damp, the air thick with the smell of rust. Y/N sank to the floor, her mind racing with confusion and fear.

“What have I gotten myself into?” she whispered, clutching the locket tightly. She could still feel its warmth, a faint reassurance in the darkness. 

Time passed slowly in the cell. The sounds of the ship and the ocean were muffled, creating a deafening silence. Y/N's thoughts were a whirlwind of worry and regret. She thought of her grandmother’s stories, the tales of magic and adventure that now seemed all too real.

Just when she thought things couldn’t get worse, the door creaked open. A confident pirate girl, with turquoise braids and a mischievous glint in her eyes, entered. It was Uma, the sea witch’s daughter and the ship’s captain.

“Well, well,” Uma said, her voice smooth and taunting. “What do we have here? A little runaway, or maybe something more?”

Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting Uma’s. Gathering her courage, she replied, “I’m not a runaway. I was brought here by magic. This locket” she held it up, its faint glow illuminating the small cell, “it brought me here.”

Uma’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the locket. She leaned closer, inspecting it with interest. “That’s no ordinary locket.” she murmured. “Where did you get this?”

“My mother.” Y/N answered truthfully. “She said it would bring me what my heart desires the most.”

Uma’s expression shifted, a calculating look in her eyes. “And what does your heart desire, little one?”

Y/N hesitated. “Adventure,” she said finally. “And maybe something more.”

Uma laughed, a sound both sweet yet disturbing. “You might just get what you wish for,” she said. “But remember, magic always comes with a price.”

With that, Uma left, leaving Y/N alone in the dim cell but with nothing but her thoughts and a glimmer of hope. She clutched the locket tighter, its warmth still present.

-----

Days passed in the cell, at first Harry occasionally came to check on their prisoner by Uma’s order. But soon Harry’s visits became more frequent, yet the fear of her situation never quite faded. The walls, slick with dampness and grime, seemed to press in on Y/N, their oppressive presence a constant reminder of her imprisonment. Yet, each day, as Harry’s visits became more regular, a subtle shift began to take place.

Harry’s demeanor, once arrogant and indifferent, softened. His initial curiosity about Y/N’s resilience grew into genuine interest. He began to linger longer during their conversations, and the tone of his voice, previously sharp and commanding, carried an undertone of care. There was a tension in the air, an unspoken connection that neither of them acknowledged directly but both felt deeply.

One evening, as the cell was bathed in the dim, flickering light of a single bulb, Y/N’s curiosity overcame her usual caution. She looked up from her seated position against the wall, her face illuminated by the pale light, and asked, “Why do you keep coming here?”

Harry leaned against the bars, his usual arrogance tempered by a weariness that spoke of long, restless days. His expression was a blend of annoyance and hesitant interest, a reflection of the internal struggle he faced. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone quite like you, Lass. You’ve got spirit.”

Y/N’s eyes met his with a mixture of resistance and fatigue. “I don’t cower.” she said, her voice carrying a steely edge. “I just don’t see the point in making things worse.”

Harry’s gaze softened slightly, revealing a glimpse of the conflict within him. He crossed his arms, his posture less rigid than usual. “You’ve got a point. It’s not every day someone ends up on Uma’s ship with nothing but a locket.”

The mention of the locket brought a flicker of emotion to Y/N’s eyes. It was a small, delicate piece of jewelry, a token from a life that seemed impossibly distant now. “The locket belonged to my mother.” she said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s all I have left of her.”

Harry’s expression changed as he looked at her. The hardened exterior he maintained was marred by a rare hint of empathy. He looked at the locket as if seeing it for the first time, acknowledging the significance it held for Y/N. “She must’ve meant a lot to you.”

Y/N nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. “She did. And it’s more than just a memory. It’s a reminder that there was a time before all this, a time when things were different.”

For a moment, the cell fell into a thoughtful silence. Harry seemed to wrestle with his own thoughts, the weight of Y/N’s words evident in the furrow of his brow. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “You know, Lass, you’re not what I expected. There’s something about you, something that makes me think maybe, just maybe, there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

Y/N’s gaze lifted to meet his, her eyes searching his for any sign of him lying. “And what does that mean for me?”

Harry’s expression was unreadable, a mask of guarded contemplation. “It means,” he said slowly, “that you’re not entirely alone in this. And maybe, just maybe, there’s more to be learned from each other than either of us thought.”

As the silence stretched between them, the tension in the cell seemed to ease, if only slightly. Harry moved closer to the bars, his fingers gripping the cold metal as he leaned in, his face inches from Y/N’s. “Why do you trust me enough to talk about her?” he asked, his voice a hushed murmur.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She could feel the warmth of his breath, the intensity of his gaze. “I don’t know if I trust you,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “But I think you’re different from most. There’s something in you that’s... kind.”

Harry’s eyes darkened, a mixture of frustration and longing flickering in their depths. “Kindness is a dangerous thing around here.” he warned, his voice barely audible. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re bringing out a part of me I thought I’d lost.”

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the cell seemed to disappear. The tension between them crackled with unspoken words and suppressed emotions. Harry’s hand reached through the bars, his fingers brushing against Y/N’s cheek, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Harry...” Y/N’s voice was a breathless whisper, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Y/N,” he replied, his voice heavy with an emotion he couldn’t name. “Be careful. This... whatever this is between us... it’s dangerous.”

Y/N’s hand covered his, their fingers entwining through the cold metal bars. “I know.” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “But I’m willing to take the risk if you are.”

Harry’s eyes softened, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re something else, Lass. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I promise you this, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

-----

The nights grew colder, and Harry’s visits became a small comfort. However, one fateful night, the tranquility shattered as the ship was attacked by a rival gang of villains. The sounds of battle swords clashing, men shouting filled the air, growing louder as the intruders neared.

Y/N's heart pounded as the chaos drew closer, each step of the invaders echoing her rising dread. The cold metal of her cell door creaked open violently, the sound slicing through the din like a knife. A rough hand yanked her from her confinement, dragging her into the harsh light of the battle-torn deck.

"Look what we have here," one of the attackers sneered, his breath hot and foul against her ear. He gripped her waist with brutal force, his fingers digging into her skin. "A pretty little thing, aren’t you?"

Terror surged through her veins as she struggled against his iron grip. Another attacker, his eyes gleaming with malice, leaned in close, his lips brushing her cheek as he spoke.

"Why don’t you give us a kiss, darling?" he taunted, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. Y/N turned her head away, revulsion twisting her stomach.

“Get away from me!” she cried, her voice trembling with fear. She twisted in their grasp, desperate to escape their leering faces and grasping hands.

"Help! Someone, please!" Y/N’s voice trembled, barely audible over the surrounding tumult. Her pleas seemed swallowed by the night, lost in the brutal frenzy.

Her captors laughed at her desperation, their taunts ringing in her ears. “Scream all you want, girl. No one’s coming for you.”

But they were wrong.

Harry’s blood boiled when he saw the attackers’ rough treatment of Y/N. With a roar that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, he burst onto the deck, his sword gleaming with deadly intent. His eyes blazed with fury, locked onto Y/N even as he swung his weapon with lethal precision.

"Back off, you scurvy dogs!" Harry's voice was a thunderclap of rage. "Touch her again, and I’ll have you all walk the plank!"

The attackers hesitated, the ferocity of Harry’s assault breaking their resolve. They had underestimated him, and now they were paying the price. One by one, they began to retreat, their faces pale with fear as Harry cut a swath through their ranks, his determination an unmistakable force.

The attacker holding Y/N released her, shoving her roughly to the ground. She scrambled back, her heart racing, watching as Harry fought like a man possessed. Each swing of his sword was a vow to protect her, his movements a blur of deadly grace.

One of the attackers, emboldened by desperation, lunged at Harry with a dagger. Harry parried the blow effortlessly, his sword flashing in the dim light as he disarmed and incapacitated the man with brutal efficiency.

When the last of the attackers had fled into the night, Harry's attention turned to Y/N. She stood trembling, her face pale, tears carving silent paths down her cheeks. Her eyes met his, wide and haunted, a mix of fear and relief swirling in their depths.

Harry approached her slowly, his expression softening, the pirate's fury melting into concern. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders, his touch a grounding anchor against the storm of her emotions.

“It’s over now,” Harry said softly, his voice a soothing balm against her raw nerves. “You’re safe.”

Y/N collapsed against him, her body wracked with sobs. Harry held her tightly, his embrace a shield against the horrors of tonight. For a moment, the world was reduced to the two of them, the warmth of his presence pushing back the cold grip of fear.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. “I was so scared…”

“I know,” Harry murmured, his hand stroking her hair gently. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not ever again.”

-----

His arms wrapped around her, carefully lifting her in his arms. Y/N’s heart fluttered as she felt his warmth and strength surrounding her. She buried her face in his neck, her tears flowing freely. The world outside seemed to fade as Harry carried her through the remaining chaos, his movements both strong and tender.

“Harry…” Y/N’s voice was muffled against his skin. “They—they were touching me… I was so scared.”

Harry’s breath hitched at her words. He tightened his embrace, his heart aching at the thought of her suffering. He carried her to his quarters, the soft glow of lanterns casting a warm light around the room. Gently, he set her down on the bed and knelt beside her, his eyes full of concern.

“No one will ever touch you like that again,” Harry vowed, his voice firm yet gentle. “I swear it on my life.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and increasing affection. “Thank you for protecting me, Harry. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Harry’s gaze softened. He brushed a stray tear from her cheek, his touch light and comforting. “You don’t need to worry about that. You’re mine to protect, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

The room was filled with an intense, charged silence. Harry’s hand gently cupped Y/N’s cheek as he leaned in closer. His gaze was locked on hers, his eyes burning with a mixture of fierce protectiveness and deep affection. 

Slowly, he pulled her closer, his hook wrapping around her waist in a tender embrace. With a gentle yet firm grip, he tilted her chin up with his other hand. The proximity between them was electric, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as Harry’s lips hovered near hers.

Without breaking eye contact, Harry leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle at first, a soft, reassuring touch that spoke of his promises and his unspoken feelings. As the kiss deepened, it became more passionate, filled with the urgency of their emotions and the relief of their survival.

Y/N’s hands found their way to Harry’s chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. She clung to him, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring herself in the moment.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling in the warm, intimate space, Harry’s eyes were filled with a mixture of relief and something deeper, something that Y/N recognized as love.

“I’m yours.” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. “I want to stay here with you. I want to be where I belong.”

Harry’s eyes shone with a mixture of pride and tenderness. “And I’m yours, Lass. I’d let the world flood if it means knowing you are safe.”

Y/N felt a profound sense of safety wash over her. She reached out, her fingers tracing the lines of Harry’s face, committing every detail to memory. The flickering lantern light played off his features, casting shadows that danced and flickered with a life of their own. 

“I never knew I could feel this way,” she admitted, her voice soft and filled with wonder. “Like I’m whole when I’m with you.”

Harry’s expression softened even further, and he took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to her palm. “You complete me, Y/N. You’re my strength and my reason. I’d do anything to see you smile again.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes, but this time they were tears of joy and overwhelming emotion. “You already have,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “You saved me, Harry. In more ways than one.”

Harry’s eyes glittered with unshed tears of his own as he pulled her into another embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively. They sat there for a long moment, holding each other, finding comfort and strength in their shared connection.

Finally, Harry pulled back slightly, looking down at her with a serious expression. “We’ll face whatever comes next together. You and me. No one can stand against us.”

Y/N nodded, a sense of determination filling her. “Together.” she agreed, her voice steady and confident. “Always.”

They stayed close, the warmth of their bodies mingling as they found comfort in each other's presence. Outside, the world continued its relentless march, but inside Harry’s quarters, time seemed to stand still, allowing them a precious moment of peace and love.

Harry brushed his lips against her forehead, a gentle promise of his unwavering commitment. “Rest now, Lass. You’re safe with me.”

With a sigh of contentment, Y/N closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax fully for the first time in what felt like forever.

-----

With the dawn of a new day, Y/N knew she had to make a choice. The locket’s magic had brought her here, but if she wanted to truly stay with Harry, she had to break the bond that tethered her to her world. Without hesitation, she took her mothers locket no matter how much it meant to her and broke it, the magic dissolving into the morning light.

Harry watched her with a mixture of pride and deep affection. As the last piece of the locket crumbled, he pulled her into a close embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively.

“You’ve chosen to stay,” he said softly, his voice filled with gratitude. “And I’ll be here, always.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a profound sense of belonging.

He took a deep breath, the weight of his words heavy with promise. “I want more for you than just this Isle of the Lost. You deserve a life full of beauty and opportunity, not one mired in darkness and danger. I’ll get us out of here. We’ll find our way to Auradon, and I’ll give you the life you’ve always dreamed of.”

Y/N looked at him, her heart swelling with emotion. “Harry, I don’t care where we go or what we do, as long as I’m with you. You’re my home.”

Harry’s gaze softened. “Then we’ll make a new home together. I promise you, Lass, I’ll fight every step of the way to give you the life you deserve.”

As they were completely lost in each other's embrace, the door to Harry’s quarters creaked open. Uma, the formidable pirate queen and Harry’s captain, stepped inside. Her eyes flared with curiosity and a hint of amusement as she took in the scene before her.

“Well, well, well,” Uma drawled, her voice filled with her usual commanding presence. “Seems like you two have been busy. Thought I’d check in on my first mate and supposed to be prisoner.”

Harry’s posture stiffened, but he quickly masked his surprise with a smirk. “Just taking care of things, Uma.”

Uma’s gaze softened slightly as she looked at Y/N. “You’ve caused quite a stir, girl. This place is no vacation. But if Harry’s vouching for you, you must be something special.”

Y/N, feeling a bit awkward under Uma’s scrutiny, managed a small smile. “I’m just trying to find my way.”

Uma nodded, her expression becoming more serious. “Well, if you’re sticking around, you’d better be prepared. Life here isn’t exactly gentle.”

“I’ve learned that the hard way,” Y/N admitted.

Uma’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Good. Because you’ll need all the strength you can get. But if you’re with Harry, that’s a good start. He’s not one to take chances with those he cares about.”

Y/N glanced at Harry, who looked back at her with a mixture of pride and affection. Uma’s approval meant something—especially if it meant a smoother journey ahead.

“Well, since you’re both set on staying,” Uma continued, her tone softer, “let’s make sure you’re prepared. Harry, we need to talk about our next move. And you, Y/N, might as well come along. If you’re with Harry, you’ll be part of the crew. It’s best to know what you’re getting into.”

With Uma’s words hanging in the air, Y/N felt a newfound sense of determination. As Harry’s hand slipped into hers, she knew they were on the brink of a new chapter, one that promised adventure, challenges, and a future built together.

----------------------------------------------------------

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[sweetheartsaku]

(BHNA) REAL MAN.

𝜗𝜚 TOUYA TODOROKI: 𝓑LOOD SAGE.

a/n: [fem!reader] touya meet not-so-cute 🤍 for @seneon the only touyalvr ever and @katsukistofu's fav fire hazard 😔✊!!

a cold wisp floods the concrete path, tickling your ankles through your thick boots. deafening music mixes with distant police sirens and train blares, loud synthesisers muffle between agape windows and violent yet causal chatter. bustling, late-night city life pulsates through your ears.

you aloofly roam past unique, ominous quirks with boomboxes and strobe lights, knives and blades as if it’s purely a walk in the park. instead of cute dogs they were rabid, probably radioactive creatures. instead of lush trees, there were blinding neon lights. there was probably cursed chemicals concocted in the air too, but if it didn’t kill you, who cares? did everyone just come to forget how easy villain life can be, if you just— made it look easy?

the concrete beneath you is damp, puddles of water in every dent and crease of the ground, water trickling off stall roofs and rain runs down your cheek. the cold winter breeze makes it difficult for a nearby crook to light his cigarette, causing him to throw it on the ground, mercilessly crushing the warm cigarette butt with his heel.

you watch as the rando does his work, slowly proceeding to walk along. you find yourself a couple buildings away from the man, looking up at the flickering, slanted sign that read: “SIX TO MIDNIGHT.” the light on all the vowels faded out.

“watch it, doll.”

you turn around and your eyes meet a pair of vibrant turquoise ones. —what’d he just call me?

the mysterious ravenette chuckles before he sees your fists slightly clench, but facial expression remain the same.

“woah. touched a nerve there.” to then gently shoving you out of the doorway, palms heating up; leaving ash on your shoulder before slipping through. you lose him in the crowd within the classy bar, the scent of alcohol with strong cologne filling your senses and gag reflex at the tip of your tongue.

get the money, get out.

your client is one of the most successful and most popular in the area, but at what cost? payment pickup at the worst, most crowed bar, only available at the peak number of drinkers and villains, at the smack-bang very centre of the bar. being one of the best assassins had its perks, and this definitely wasn't one of them.

can’t believe i beat ass just for a little gain in a pig's den.

you never felt the need to grab a beverage while your inside though. you just feel the need to get in and out as fast as possible every time, so how could this time be any different?

his turquoise eyes haven’t left you. that's what.

his piercing yet agile gaze remains on your figure. he didn’t stand out in height, nor costume. but what slightly piqued your interest was his burnt flesh stuck together with staples and oh don’t forget his undeniably enchanting, teal eyes.

you decide to ignore it, but why can't you bring yourself to take the last step out the door? the money is in your hand, the bar’s atmosphere is still lingering with alcohol, and your first impression didn't seem close to a fairytale.

was this that stupid gut feeling of danger heroes have when their sixth sense ignites? oh please, forgive me for thinking it's a fleeting romance.

a dim purple light shades an area in a nearby corner, instantly attracting your on-edge figure. naturally pivoting to the nearest empty seat, the unsettling feeling seeps in as you manspread, taking as much space as you could crossing your legs. your gloved arms reclined on the backrest behind you, sighing as this funny feeling echoes through your head. the leg beneath the one you crossed it over begins to bounce by habit. you brush loose droplets of rain off your shoulder. your mind runs to places. your hands tightly grip th-

"our first encounter was pretty abrupt, huh, doll? slow dance it out on the floor?"

you quickly react to the same mysterious man who once had his eyes glued on you, now in front of you. you cockily smirk before retorting,

"no one ever taught you to be a real man, huh, handsome?"

he chuckles as he extends his hand, brushing the end of his coat as it drifts behind him. your gloved hand that once tightly gripped the backboard of the seat instinctually clasps his. he promptly pulls you up, finding yourself with one hand on his shoulder and the other lightly laced with his. his other hand finds its respectable spot on your waist, fingers sprawled against your plush side.

"what should i call you, hm?" she stares at his lips before her glare moves up to his eyes.

their bodies were so close and nearing to pressing each other. this was not a good rep for a prestigious assassin like you. the proximity clicks your senses back on finer than before, his sage cologne fusing with the scent of blood and smoke.

"touya. you?"

"pretty name, touya. couldn't keep your eyes off me before?"

"you're a peculiar one, aren't you?" he snickers.

"interesting. not peculiar." you correct.

you continue. "gonna answer my question?"

his grin cocks up as he watches your smirk form with stitched eyebrows. your hand slowly moves from his shoulder to behind his neck, fingers brushing the hairs on his nape. your grip on his intertwined hands become tighter.

"getting eager, are we?"

locked eyes, tight proximity and brash yet romantic words have got to be one of the worst combinations known to man right now. a rosy blush warmly spreads across your face, (hopefully) hardly visible under the dim cold lights.

would you hold it down and take it if I gave you a chance?

he feels every inch of you, from the hand slightly grazing the back of his neck to the soft skin underneath thick material of your gear. heat arises from every place, the warm, tender tension stirring within both of you.

need the reassurance, baby,

not a silly romance.

[sonic-elements]

Jug The Water-Holding Frog

Introducing The "Water girl " of team Wisp, a springy and energetic gal with a nack for survival and a limitless supply of Water, embodying the Turquoise wisp heres Jug The Water-Holding Frog 

(Sonic Characters belong to ©Sega) (Character belongs to me don't steal or trace)

[sidneysussex]

OC Tag Game

This is the first time I’ve ever been tagged in one of these! Thanks for bringing me in, @gayspacepiratesss – this is super fun.

(Gorgeous art also by @gayspacepiratesss! I know my main was tagged, but this seems like the right place to talk more about my Rook, so, uh… under the cut.)

Name: Owain Ingellvar

Alias: Most people just call him Rook to the point where newer acquaintances have never heard his real name. People who know it have become a rarity; people who use it are even rarer. He can’t remember whether Varric ever knew it or just went straight for a nickname. (He told Emmrich after a long discussion on a variety of difficult topics. Emmrich uses it only for the most serious things – or the most special.)

Gender: Male

Sexual orientation: Gay, but open-minded. He believes in loving the person, not the form in which they come. (Also, he’ll never say a word about it, but it wasn’t easy for him to reach a point where he was comfortable with things like gender and orientation and he may not ever get all the way there, so he’s very invested in being careful and respectful when it comes to other people’s.)

Age: He’s not sure, but somewhere around his mid-30s. Probably. To be honest, Vorgoth is not the clearest when asked for specific details.

Spoken language: Owain loves languages. He grew up speaking Common/Trade and the Nevarran lingua franca, but he’s also fluent in Orlesian and good with Qunlat and Tevene. He’s trying to learn more Elvhen, but there are only so many hours in a day.

Occupation: He doesn’t really have one. If asked, he just says “Mourn Watcher,” because he’s spent most of his life in the service of the Necropolis and has learnt to do just about everything a non-mage can for them. He is very good with wisps (both inside and outside of skeletons) and likes them as much as they like him. Although he can’t do any magic, many of the Mortalitasi find him useful to have around because spirits are calmer when he’s there. He doesn’t often wish he had magical abilities, but when he does, it’s usually because he wants to understand and communicate better with wisps and spirits. (The rest of the time, it’s because he has just done something terribly embarrassing and needs to disappear immediately. The key to understanding Owain is to realize just how well-meaning and yet incredibly awkward he is.)

FAVOURITE:

Colour: He likes blues (and prefers real blues to sort-of-blues like turquoise or indigo) and greys (and yes, he knows that grey is not a colour, but he will argue with you that it absolutely counts for this question). When Emmrich asked his favourite colour, he said dark purple because it’s kind of halfway between Emmrich’s favourite, which is lilac, and the truth, which is blue. (And he is incredibly awkward…) He has since gone back and revised his answer to Emmrich, who found it rather sweet and more than a little amusing.

Entertainment: He likes spending time with others and he’s usually happy to do whatever they want. He also holds conversations with wisps when they come by, although he admits he’s making a lot of assumptions about their side of the conversation. When he’s alone, he likes to read (fiction and non-fiction), write (non-fiction that non-experts can enjoy), and do things that occupy his hands. He likes to tell bad jokes and make bad puns; the worse, the better.

Pastime: He loves learning, whether that’s from other people, by reading, or by finding things out for himself. He enjoys experimenting to find things out, although he’s a little risk-averse, so he does things on a very small scale and never uses anything he doesn’t trust. He’s not good at things that need fine coordination, like drawing or carving, but he enjoys solving puzzles and playing games, whether with others or just by himself. He also likes to cook, but doesn’t do it often because he’s not very confident and thinks others are much better at it than he is. (He’s actually pretty average.)

Food: He’s not very picky (other than being vegetarian, like many Nevarrans and especially Mourn Watchers). He has specific preferences with respect to tomatoes, but because he hates to make things complicated, he usually just tells people he doesn’t like them because it’s easier than explaining what he does and doesn’t like.

Drink: He prefers tea, but is learning to like coffee. He’ll drink wine or weak ale, but doesn’t really like the taste of either. He likes his hot drinks to be very hot and his cold drinks to be very cold. Few places outside the Lighthouse ever manage this.

HAVE THEY…

Passed university: He never attended a formal university, but the Mortalitasi he trained under were as demanding as any scholarly program. He doesn’t have much time to spare for people who think it matters whether or not you studied in a building with a fancy name.

Had sex: Yes, but… it’s complicated. He’s hesitant and careful about that sort of thing and, honestly, other things matter more to him.

Had sex in public: No. He doesn’t want to say he wouldn’t, but… it’s not really something he’d ever be comfortable doing.

Gotten tattoos: No. He thought he might one day, but kept putting it off because, well, it’s permanent and he wanted to make sure he chose something he’d want on his skin forever. Then he got his scars and lost his enthusiasm for any more permanent markings.

Gotten piercings: No. He has nothing against piercings; he just doesn’t particularly want any.

Gotten scarred: Yes. Visibly and otherwise. He doesn’t talk about his visible scars or how he got them. If anyone asks, he invents a story; the stories get wilder and wilder the more he’s asked and he never tells the same one twice. Emmrich has heard several of these stories by now. If Emmrich ever asked, Owain might give him the truth, but he never has and likely never will.

Had a broken heart: Yes. Outwardly, he’s very careful about whom he gives his heart, although he’s always ready to be anyone’s friend. Secretly, his heart belongs to anyone and everyone who’s willing to be his friend, so it’s easier to break than it looks. (Owain considers friendship a kindness other people do for him; he struggles to see or believe in his own value to other people, so in his mind, anyone who befriends him must be doing it because they are a good person, not because he is.)

ARE THEY…

A cuddler: If other people want it. He doesn’t feel like he’s very good at reading signals, though, so he always errs on the side of caution, which can make him look more distant than he really is. But if you make it clear to him that touch is welcome, he’s happy to oblige.

Scared easily: Not of traditionally frightening things (although he’s really not fond of the darkspawn’s faces). He’s mostly afraid of things like losing people or driving them away. He’s not afraid to die, but he is afraid to die alone. It’s not something he talks about.

Jealous easily: He doesn’t get jealous, but he does tend to assume things are his fault. He won’t exactly change to suit someone else, but he will try to shape the person he already is into something that more closely resembles the person they want.

Trustworthy: Extremely. He will hold any secret you need him to, and if it’s something you need no one to know, then, well, he doesn’t know it either. Even if he does.

FAMILY:

Parents/Siblings: He doesn’t have any he knows of, but he’s generous with his definition of family. If you’re a friend for long enough, you’re family. If you’re a friend of a good friend, you’re family. If you need a family, you’re family. He knows the sentiment doesn’t often go both ways, but he’s okay with that.

Children: He has none and has never really imagined himself having any. He’ll happily be uncle to any of his friends’ children, though, if they have them. It’s not impossible that his tendency to gravitate toward outcasts could bring children into the found family one day.

Pets: He’d like a pet. He doesn’t have one, but he’d like one to find him someday. (He has no comment on what this says about him and the fact that he lacks the confidence to ask even a pet for friendship, preferring instead to wait for a pet to ask him.) He’s fascinated by the friendship between Avvar and animals and wants the same kind of natural bond. One day, he’d like to visit an Avvar settlement and learn from them about the ways they make themselves part of nature instead of just coexisting with it.

Tagging, uh, @stenshale, @lottiesnotebook, @m-m-m-myysurana, @fadesense, @frek, @hunkologistcowboy, @kmackatie, and anyone else who wants to take a crack at it?

[dracarialove]

Red Smoke

A casual hangout develops into an intimate one between Shadow and Rouge, after their friend Silver shows them a novelty toy from the future. Leaving one behind for them to play around with, Silver unknowingly causes the pair to have a moment that quickly fills with romantic tension. But, something holds them back from acting on their feelings at first - something Rouge will have to deal with before she can have what she wants.

Ship: Shadow/Rouge

A/N: This story is based on a dream I had, so it's kinda weird.

Night loomed over the yard outside Shadow the Hedgehog's humble home. Hundreds of stars twinkling in the twilight was the only source of light for three friends sitting at a picnic table in the center of a small garden. Their chatter carried across the crisp air, bright conversation dancing mostly between Silver the Hedgehog and Rouge the Bat.

"In my time, there's a place we call the Luminescent Lake," he told the lady with a sweet smile on his face. "It's really deep with a huge diamond deposit at the bottom, so the water glitters like you wouldn't believe!"

"Wow!" exclaimed Rouge, her eyes sparkling. "A huge diamond deposit – what a beautiful thing to hear! How is it still intact? I would've mined that crystal in a snap."

"Ha! Yeah, that's why I'm glad you don't live in the future. It's a protected landmark; no mining allowed!"

Rouge hummed in disappointment and planted her elbow on the table, propping her chin in her palm. "Boo. And I was gonna ask to see it." She looked at Shadow and added, "It would be a pretty nice sight, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah. We could've had a picnic there with fancy cheese and wine."

His dry wit didn't sound like sarcasm, but Rouge heard the humor in his words and giggled in her mature tone. Then she asked Silver, "Couldn't you bring us once? Just for a peek at this supposedly gorgeous lake?"

"Sorry – can't. I don't want to take unnecessary risks."

"Right. That's why you only come around when your world's in danger." She nudged Shadow playfully. "Or to hang out with us."

Silver smiled again. "Exactly. How else am I going to brag about my awesome future? Oh! Speaking of…"

His eyes lit up and he retrieved a glass tube, holding it between his fingers so they could see a cloud of blue swirling inside. "Check out this little novelty thing we have in my time! It's smoke; or more like a heavy vapor. You suck it in and blow it out into cool shapes, if you're skilled enough."

Rouge showed some interest, listening intently as he continued, "There's no real effect – not like cigarettes or anything else that exists here. It's just for fun, so the smoke is formulated to be dense and swirly."

He demonstrated by putting the pointed end of the tube in his mouth and pulling in a breath, stirring up the vapor. Then he looked upwards and formed a circular shape with his lips, puffing out a thick ring of cobalt smoke that drifted slowly above their heads. Shadow quirked an eyebrow as he watched it, intrigued at how long the shape held before it started to fade.

"That is cool," Rouge cooed, whipping her attention back to Silver. "I don't suppose you brought any for us?"

Wisps of blue mist spilled from his mouth when he said, "I do have extra," and he brought out two more tubes.

"Ooh, red," she chimed, claiming the tube and adjusting her sitting position on the bench. She sucked in a short breath, making the smoke spin inside the glass, then leaned towards the table at an angle.

Puckering her lips as she opened her mouth, she blew a steady stream of bold red vapor in a thin rope-like stream between the two hedgehogs. It swirled around itself in a spiral, eventually separating to dissipate at the end of the table.

"Wow, that's fun!" she blurted, suddenly giddy at the novelty. Pretty turquoise eyes stuck to Shadow's face and she turned to him, rubbing the end of the tube with her gloves to wipe away any moisture. "You should try; it really is just colored mist. Doesn't even have a taste."

His expression was a bit skeptical atop the typical stoic stare he held, considering for a second before accepting the device from her grasp. When he did, he held eye contact with Rouge as the mouthpiece raised to his lips, watching her expression brighten in delightful mischief at the sight of him indulging in something a little silly.

Her grin was pearly even in the dimness of night, widening when he took in a solid breath. Looking at her, Shadow almost forgot to decide how he wanted to let it out.

He didn't have a shape in mind, so with his mouth closed and his gaze faithfully sticking to Rouge, he exhaled a forceful breath through his nose. Red clouds billowed from his nostrils in two thick streaks, puffing out and spilling over themselves in layers below his face.

The bat howled with laughter, leaning back from the smoke creeping towards her, and Silver's entertained chortles slipped through the gaps of his fingers as they hovered over his mouth.

Rouge's laughs turned to excited giggles and she clapped her hands at Shadow's performance; he tried to subdue the corner of his lip pulling into a smile.

"That was so good!" she said, chuckling while her grin grew more radiant. "You look like a dragon!"

Shadow exhaled breathily, amused by her glee. His confidence was bolstered – easily, when his best friend was around to hype him up – and he looked down at the tube, turning it in his grip to judge the remaining swirls of mist behind the glass. While he was making up his mind to let Rouge have another turn, Silver tapped his palms on the wooden table and started to stand up.

"It's getting real late," he told them, yellow eyes switching between his two friends. "I should head back to my own time." He pointed at the tube. "But you can keep that!"

"Great!" said Rouge, eyeing it for a second before watching Silver step away from the picnic table. "Will we see you again next week?"

"Maybe – I'll have to see. You know I'll drop in when I can."

She hummed and crossed her arms on the table. "Would be nice to get a heads-up when you decide to come around."

Silver shrugged and gave her a friendly smile. "Sorry, Rouge. It'll have to be a surprise."

She shook her head at him with a smirk, then they said goodbye and Silver ported himself away, disappearing in a bright green bubble. It illuminated everything around it and then vanished, dimming the garden again.

Shadow and Rouge were left alone in the deepening midnight darkness. And after a moment of letting silence fill the space between them, the bat turned to him, her eyes glimmering.

"Okay, do me a favor and don't move," she insisted, grabbing the device from his hand. "Just sit there; I wanna try something."

She neglected to clean the mouthpiece before placing it between her lips, which Shadow was surprised at and slightly taken aback by. They were very close, but he was still a little shocked that she didn't care about sharing his germs. She'd been thoughtful enough to clean it for him, knowing he leaned heavily towards sanitary practices, but she didn't seem concerned with it herself.

Nevertheless, he didn't say anything, sitting still like she requested. If he'd asked, her response would've been a simple one – it wasn't a big deal, and the thing was already dry anyway. Rouge wasn't worried about catching anything from the Ultimate Lifeform.

She took a big sip from the novelty toy and held in the vapor for a moment while she thought through what she was about to do. She wanted to make a ring, like Silver had; a big one, and she wanted it to float perfectly around Shadow's face.

Although she wasn't sure she could do it, she was determined to try, and opened her mouth to form a circular shape. A breath pushed past her lips, taking the smoke with it, but it didn't form into a ring like she wanted.

The mist puffed out in a dense cloud, a bit thicker around the edges, and drifted quickly into his personal space. He scrunched his eyes, blinking and pulling his head back when it got too close, and then his vision was obscured by wisps of maroon hanging in front of him.

"Oops," Rouge said, her tone lined with a giggle. Shadow shot a playfully disgruntled look at her behind the half-opaque wall of lingering vapor, and she blurted, "Okay, wait, let me try again. I can do this – it'll look so cool."

He silently allowed her another attempt, though his expression teased that he wouldn't put up with it for long if she kept blowing clouds in his face.

He watched her suck in another breath and then squinted, waiting to close his eyes until she blew out the smoke; and doing so when he saw that she'd failed again to form a ring.

"Damnit," she cursed. "Just wait, I know I can get it."

Shadow let her try one more time, and again watched a rounded puff of red float towards him. To her credit, it was getting thicker on the edges with each try, as well as thinner in the center, but her technique wasn't refined enough to keep it from coming out a closed circle.

She let out a frustrated grunt, and when she tried to put the tube to her mouth again, the hedgehog's hand calmly shot out to grab her wrist.

"Stop," he said, purposely adding a lighter tone to his words so he wouldn't seem annoyed. "You're just blowing smoke in my face."

"Ugh, come on, I can do it!" she claimed stubbornly while a mischievous smile grew on her muzzle. "I just want to make a ring around your big head."

A chuckle jumped from his lips and his posture leaned closer to hers in the midst of his laughter, but he didn't let go of her wrist. Rouge's smile pinched at the sight of his mouth opening in a happy expression, his dark eyelids briefly closing with the spark of joy she'd struck in him.

Once he stopped laughing, she offered, "Okay, how about this… Let me try making a little one." Her eyes flicked down to his muzzle. "Around your nose. A tiny little ring, just to see if I can."

He sighed with his mouth closed, but the smile still lingered on his lips. "Fine," he breathed, then let go of her wrist. He didn't lean back, instead holding his position with only a hand-sized gap between them. "But you only get one chance. And I get to blow smoke in your face if you fail."

She chuckled, wordlessly agreeing to his terms, then put the end of the tube in her mouth again. She only needed a small breath for her new endeavor, pursing her lips as she studied the face in front of her and mulling over the shape she needed to make with her mouth.

No longer trying to replicate the big circle Silver had made, she parted her lips into a smaller shape, orienting its form based on what felt natural. She aimed as best she could at his long nose, then blew forth a short puff of air.

To her pleasant surprise, she saw a clearly-empty circle of dark red float ahead. Her eyes widened in excitement, and Shadow sat completely still as he grew impressed at her success. But, the angle she'd blown was off from what she intended; instead of flying straight towards his nose, it drifted downwards.

Rouge's teal eyes watched the swirly circle hover onto his mouth, dissipating once it hit his skin. A little red cloud faded in front of his lips, and she sat staring at it until it was mostly gone.

The hedgehog recognized her line of sight – that she was looking at his mouth. In the quiet dark, looking at her too, his eyes trailed to her lips, a plump curve of dark fuchsia resting in a satisfied smile.

As close as they were to each other in that moment, he could hardly fight the desire to lean in even more.

She was beautiful, and the amount of fun he had hanging out with her was unrivaled. Suppressed feelings started to rise from their depths, defying the personal boundary he'd set long ago.

The circumstances of their dynamic were complicated, and although he knew he had a certain romantic affection for her, his feelings weren't always reflected.

He wanted to see the same attraction from Rouge that he had for her, but it wasn't that easy. There were so many things that stood in the way of what he knew they could have.

It angered him, to an extent, that they'd been kept apart; it was a sad anger, because Rouge seemed to flip-flop on what she wanted from him, while Shadow had already decided how he felt about her.

He liked her, and in the cool solitary silence, he wanted to kiss her. It just felt right. And she felt it, too. Yet she'd told herself she didn't, in the past. They were coworkers, partners, and friends. Anything more would be too messy. Anything else could ruin everything.

It was hard to deny, though… She wanted a kiss too. The feel of his lips was a mystery she wanted the answer to, and it would be effortless to give in.

She almost let the temptation lure her. But when he leaned in, she gained control of her thoughts and pulled away – not to offend him, but enough to reject his advance. "Shadow…"

He paused and shut his eyes, feeling a hurtful pang in his heart and cursing the sweet smell of her perfume. Rouge's voice quieted, softened, and she said, "I can't. I can't cheat."

Opening his eyes again, Shadow backed off to widen the gap between them. His brows pinched in a disappointed furl and a frown deepened. His voice was morose when he confessed, "I don't understand you. At one point, I thought you wanted this."

Rouge sighed, unable to look at him directly. She was afraid if she did, she would throw her self-control out the window.

Discomfort settled into Shadow's cadence as he continued, "You once said we have a connection deeper than friendship; and I agree. So… why aren't we doing anything about it? It's been years." He hesitated, then asked, "Why did you start dating him?"

A prominent fang bit into the bat's lower lip and she scanned her eyesight along the cobblestone underneath them. She'd been ignoring her real desires for a while, even before entering a nice but tepid relationship.

The man she had now was good enough boyfriend material, and her dynamic with him was fine. But he wasn't Shadow. He wasn't the Ultimate Lifeform – her best friend.

She'd always wanted the dark, mysterious hedgehog, intrigued by his striking gaze the moment they'd met. His aloofness was interesting, and he was strong. And now, he'd become an even more appealing person, no longer burdened by his past.

Still a loner, but more agreeable. A little more vulnerable. There was a lot more she liked about him than the guy she was with… but that was also part of the problem.

She managed to drag her eyes up to his without losing her cool, thinking over how they differed when it came to the idea of being together.

Shadow may have let go of the things that held him back, but Rouge still carried her habits around like trinkets she could never part with. She stalled to deepen their relationship because she was afraid to ruin what they already had.

The care she held for Shadow was the deepest she'd ever experienced, and she didn't want to potentially jeopardize their friendship and lose him. That's why she'd admitted to the spark they both felt was real. It was true, but she convinced herself – and him, for a while – that it wasn't worth it.

She rationalized that they didn't need to be more. Their friendship was too comfortable for her to act on her romantic feelings; to just go for it.

This was the part of her life where she was cautious, in a way she wasn't with anything else. All for him. All for the sake of preserving their connection. But now, gazing into his eyes and seeing the emotional pain behind them, she realized ignoring it all was what would jeopardize their relationship in the end.

He liked her enough for it to hurt. And with years of tension and subtle flirting under their belts, it was now starting to grow agonizing to continue the teasing dance she'd been putting them both through.

Why did she start dating someone else? The same spark just wasn't there. It was okay, but nothing intense. Nothing as deep or passionate as she wanted her relationship to be.

"I thought it would be easier," she acknowledged out loud. Easier to resist the effect Shadow had on her.

After a moment of musing silence, he asked gently, "Is it?"

Clearly, it wasn't. Having a boyfriend didn't make things any safer. It didn't stop her from loving Shadow – it just delayed her willingness to accept his love. But she didn't think she'd be able to hold out forever.

Almost giving in here, in the gloomy yet romantic darkness of his little garden, was enough of a sign to her that she was playing a pointless game.

She would end up cheating with him, and her conscience would be worse off for it. The woman took in a thoughtful breath, then let it out slowly as she made a decision. It was a mistake to start a relationship with someone who wasn't him.

Rouge pulled back and turned towards the table, taking her cell phone out of her pocket and letting the screen light up her face. Shadow switched his gaze between her somber expression and the glowing screen, watching her search a number and press the call button.

He watched in puzzlement and intrigue, silently, as she raised the ringing phone to her ear. When the sound stopped, he barely heard a male voice on the other side, then sobering words came from his friend's mature voice. Somehow, her more serious tone made the air feel crisper.

"Hey," she said. "Sorry to wake you. Listen… I know it's late, but I don't want to delay this."

A muffled sentence leaked from the phone; Shadow couldn't make out an emotion, but he assumed it would've been confusion. His heart rate picked up and he felt a pinch in his chest; another pang, but of wary optimism this time.

"I don't think our relationship is gonna work out." There was a pause, then another sentence. Her eyebrows furrowed and she blinked in resignation. "I know. Sorry."

Shadow's eyes widened as he realized what he was thinking – hoping for, secretly – was true. Rouge closed the door on her relationship with the end of the call, hanging up and shutting off the screen.

It was dark again, but he felt like her face was more visible now. A trick of his eyesight, maybe, from the lingering light. So, he saw the change in her demeanor clearly when she turned to him again.

Her body language was that of a woman giving in to her wants when she leaned forward to close the gap, shamelessly bringing her mouth to his.

His lips instinctively pursed against hers when they touched, even though his mind took a second to comprehend the move she was making. She'd broken up with her boyfriend just to kiss him; so they could finally have this moment without breaking a promise.

She wasn't giving up on years with the other man, or even months, but her decision to leave him was meaningful all the same. It told Shadow that a future with him was more alluring than the perceived safety of suppressing their feelings and restricting themselves to friendship.

He happily kissed her back, grateful that Rouge was finally giving them a chance. And now that he was kissing her – holding her waist and tasting her cherry lip gloss, which he hadn't realized had a flavor – he wondered how he was able to go without it.

How did he stand years not knowing what her lips felt like, now that he knew it was infinitely better than he expected? Their shared denial had been delusional, and now it was over. He would do what he could to preserve their connection and prove their initial doubts wrong.

Scooting his body a little closer to hers, Shadow kissed her more deeply, now praising her perfume's scent in his head. It was a lovely smell, rich with sweetness and giving off an occasional flowery note.

One gloved hand continued holding her waist lovingly, while the other found her own hand sitting atop the table. He laced his fingers through hers and firmly held her hand, wordlessly committing himself to Rouge through a mutual, devoted, compassionate grip.

The End

[seaglassmelody]

OC Tag Game

I'm stealing this from @erin-unknown No one tagged me but I wanna do it anyway!!! Edit: @thedissonantverses tagged me!! So here it is!! Edit edit: tagging @themildmahariel since you asked <3

I finally finished some semblance of an intro image for Sabi, so here she is (and some screenshots too!)

General

Name: Sabriel Ingellvar

Alias: Rook

Gender: Nonbinary, she/they

Age: 30

Place of Birth: She actually doesn't know- her first memories are of the Necropolis

Spoken Languages: Trade, the little Elven she knows, a little bit of Tevene due to curiosity and free time

Sexual Orientation: demiromantic asexual

Occupation: Mourn Watcher (healing magic focused)

Favorites

Color: Turquoise

Entertainment: Books. She absolutely loves to read. She also very much enjoys music, both performing and watching others perform.

Pastime: Reading, doodling, starting and never finishing different academic theses

Food: Chocolate and any food involving chocolate, though she also likes a good crusty bread

Drink: In the game I was forced to choose hot chocolate, but it's actually pear cider

Books: Political dramas, anything about theology, murder mysteries

Have They…

Passed University: Yes, with full marks

Had Sex: No

Had Sex in Public: Definitely no lmao

Gotten Tattoos: No

Gotten Piercings: No

Gotten Scars: Yes, the most visible one being the one across her nose. She has a few on her hands from magic burns and nicking her fingers while working on magical devices. Also one of some tooth marks where she got bitten by a particularly vicious skeleton once.

Had a Broken Heart: Nope!

Been in Love: As of the start of the game, not really. She's tried to figure out how it works and run into a wall every time.

Are They…

A cuddler: Only if given permission. She likes physical proximity but she doesn't want to make anyone uncomfortable.

Scared easily: Nope! Growing up in a mausoleum makes it hard to frighten her.

Jealous easily: Nope!

Trustworthy: Yes! She's an earnest and upfront person, and almost honest to a fault. It's not that she can't or won't lie, but she's just weird enough for most people to know she's genuine.

Family

Siblings: None that she knows of

Parents: She doesn't remember them at all, but wonders about them a lot. She'd love to know where they came from.

Children: None! She's not looking to be a mother.

Pets: Do wisps count?

I don't have anyone to tag, I just wanted to do this because it's easier than starting a Rook intro post from scratch, though I'll probably do a proper intro post in the future soon too!

[lottiesnotebook]

OC Tag Game

Thank you, @dialmformud for the tag, and for introducing us to the gorgeous Sparrow! Now, you know her, some of you even love her, it's my Horrible Nepo Rook, Cara Hawke Laidir!

General

Name: Cara Bettina Hawke-Laidir

Alias: Rook, Princess, Carissima

Gender: Cis woman (she/her)

Age: 23

Languages: Trade Tongue, a smattering of Rivaini and Tevine

Sexual orientation: Chaotically bisexual

Occupation: Lord of Fortune

Favorite

Color: Turquoise and gold

Entertainment: Dancing, breaking wards, and finding new streetfood to try

Pastimes: Sailing, riding, and anything else that doesn't involve sitting still for too long.

Food: Hot chocolate, banana bread, tiramisu

Drink: She has her own personal cocktail concocted by @the-font-bandit which I will be trying on Friday that involves rum, honey, lime, cherries, and glitter, all of which I think she would LOVE.

Has She

Passed university: She stopped attending school at the age of nine when her father blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall and she and her mother went on the run, so no, she's never been to university. XD As a Lord of Fortune she has studied with some Rivaini seers, though, and she is a particularly talented spirit mage (due to being half-spirit, which is cheating)

Had sex: YEP. I feel like by the time she has to leave the Lords of Fortune to help Varric out, she's cut a bit of a swathe through everyone vaguely attracted to her, leaving a trail of hearts broken to various degrees in her wake. Isabela unfortunately thinks this is funny and will Not rein her in.

Had sex in public: Yeah she has no sense of shame and loves an adventure.

Got piercings: She looooves jewellery, so she has her ears, nose, lower lip, and belly button pierced, and usually has ridiculous hoop or medallion earrings in.

Got tattoos: A little compass on her shoulder, a ship on her right thigh

Ever been heartbroken: The (as yet unnamed) member of the Lords of Fortune who broke up with her right before she was (temporarily) kicked out was her first ex to get angry enough to actually list her flaws. She was blindsided both by the breakup and by someone systemically laying out everything terrible about her so neatly and irrefutably, and this idea of her own toxicity definitely contributed to how badly she misjudged the situation that got her sent to stay with Uncle Varric for a little bit…

Is She

A cuddler: She loves to be snuggled up and initiates 90% of the cuddlepiles that occur when she and the Veilguard are camping.

Scared easily: Not much scares Cara, but fire scares her to the point where she won't use it in spells, and she'll freeze up for a second if it shows up in a fight unexpectedly.

Jealous easily: Romantically or sexually, no. In general, she can be a little:

Trustworthy: Cara is neither particularly trustworthy nor particularly dependable, partially due to being a spoilt princess and partially due to being a born Slitherer Outer (a la Book!Howl MovingCastle). She will help in the end, but only if she has no other choice or has tricked herself into believing it's the only option.

Family

Parents/Close relatives: The daughter of my Rhiannon Hawke, Anders, and Justice, she's born after an ill-advised Deep Roads hook-up and her parents get married when she's about two. She screams through the whole wedding. <3

Siblings: Considers Orana her adopted older sister.

Children: I have not considered Cara with kids, predominantly because I don't think any children deserve to have her inflicted upon them. It might happen eventually, but it will either be Definitely An Accident or because Neve or Lucanis bring home a kid and That's That.

Pets: Collects wisps, stray cats, and one (1) wyvern with gleeful abandon until they run out of space.

Tagging @adainesjacket, @the-font-bandit, @teine-mallaichte (if you haven't done this for Storm yet), @kierarhawke, @the-bear-and-his-sunbird, and @griffongrey if you want to play too.

[keeping-writing-frosty]

Cara and the Will-o'-the-Wisp

Chapter One – A New, Weird Home

In a home from a bygone era that sat perched atop what the locals called a Little Mountain which bordered an ancient forest that had been there longer than any memory of the collective consciousness of the locals and the natives before them, and despite its well-maintained appearance and landscaping, it looked old and craggy to most. Within this home sat a creaky staircase, nestled in the shadows of the early morning as the golden honey-light streamed through the old, dirty windows which did not affect its brilliance. Beneath the stairs sat an ancient, knotty-wood door, whose weathered surface felt rough to the touch. Its natural dark brown color seemed deeper and darker than any other she had seen before, however, to the young Cara, the door seemed to call and beckon to her, much like an enchanting siren-song, she could hardly resist the temptation.

All the while as the movers brought in the family’s boxes and furniture, Cara approached the small door with wide, mismatch-colored eyes: the one eye on the right was colored a light blue-green turquoise that her mother used to tell her that it looked like the ocean, while the other looked a deep brown-orange amber, which seemed to lighten or darken depending on the light.

As her parents ignored Cara with their attention focused on where things should go, she used all of her strength in her slender frame to pull the door open. Yet it only opened just past halfway before the rusty hinges stopped their creaking and refused to budge any further. When she peeked through into the darkness where wispy spider webs and dust clouded her vision, disappointment washed over her as all she found was an empty wooden box adorned with a faded Black Cat Cigarettes Logo. After she pushed the box aside, which stirred up another cloud of dust, caused her nose to scrunch up in response.

Cara was such a precocious, garrulous girl that all loved upon first impressions; whose mother, through some headaches, had grown to love her inquisitive nature. Almost like a deranged kitten in a way. Cara had discovered this perfectly hidden gem just after she pushed open the front door of her family’s new home for the first time. Though this unfamiliar place failed to provide even a single ounce of comfort that Oregon had in every tree, cloud, and blade of grass. Main simply didn’t have this comfort, this home-like feeling to her, not even a speck, a gram of it. Yet, still, it had a unique charm of its own, and Cara thought to herself, at least everything is new to explore.

“Give it time. It’ll feel like home soon,” mother told Cara on the plane ride.

“Maine will never replace Oregon but try to take in the best things about Mount Desert Island: the lush forest that would be fun to explore, so much snow during winter, and the newness of it all,” father tried to comfort her.

Cara didn’t think it would ever feel truly like home. As she temporarily lost interest in the compartment under the stairs, she exited out into the cool morning air. Where a chilly breeze blew off the ocean ruffled the leaves and brought with it a briny aroma so much like the breeze from home. When she finally took in the house, seemingly for the first time, Cara took it all in.

The building was capped with a tall, steepled roof which towered high above anything she saw in the small, nearby town called Haven Bay. It provided a spacious attic that Cara wished she could explore, as for decades it was used as storage. Having been refurbished into an apartment where a curious old man lived that introduced himself over that long move-in weekend. He called himself Jakub Kaczmarek, he explained he was Polish and explained that he used to be a marine biologist that worked at Miskatonic University and now trained his various cats to do tricks on command. Cara thought him an odd man. Finding out that if you spent more than five minutes around him, he was never short of a tall tale to tell. Much like a magical aura, he carried with him unconventional wisdom when he spoke. Jakub always reeked of cheap tobacco, and cheaper, bitter alcohol.

Over this long weekend, Cara found beneath the creaky floorboards was a wine cellar as ancient and dusty as the house above, which intrigued the twelve-year-old girl. With its flickering light bulb above her head, that cast shadows that danced and twirled about the crumbling crates and disused wooden barrels. Mid-room sat aged wine shelves which laid mostly barren, minus a few glass bottles with French-sounding names and a layer of dust thicker than Cara was wide. When asked, Mrs. Robyn Clarke, the landlady, reassured the family that anything which remained was no longer fit for consumption. That they could keep the bottles but would recommend tossing its contents.

Cara couldn’t understand why anyone would want to drink something so awful to begin with, wine was just awful in general. Her mother would indulge in wine she kept in that little wooden cabinet father made for just for. That would, more-than-likely, be moved down here as it was the perfect condition for aging wine, supposedly. To her, she always felt like something was watching her down here, that there was a constant pair of unseeing eyes that couldn’t keep to itself. Despite her curiosity, Cara never spent much time down here.

Nestled midway down the hill behind the manor, where the land slightly protruded before it sloped at a gentle angle down to the ground. Laid an ageless, well-maintained garden that seemed to hold a certain magic about it. With only one entrance through the shrubs and flowering bushes that surrounded the perimeter. A wooden sign proclaimed with pride that the garden was first designed and planted in the mid-1800s by a Louis Bennefield, which was almost as old as the house itself by a couple of decades. As she discovered later, Mr. Kaczmarek ended up being the tender to the garden now.

Yet the garden was beyond anything Cara had ever seen before. It had a certain natural majesty, weather-beaten trees which provided a protective canopy around the perimeter, not just for the delicate flowers and shrubbery, but for anyone who wished for just a moment, a break from all things, to sit down on a marble bench adorned with little baby-faced cherubs on each side.

It seemed to cast a spell on Cara, as when she sat down on the bench and watched the dappled shadows that the late morning sun created over all the delicate, vibrantly-colored flowers. While the trees overhead weren’t nearly as fragile as those whose leaves protected. These were robust, ancient giants: a dawn redwood that towered above everything, even the house itself, a gnarled Norway Pine, and several balsam firs. She only knew the names because of the small signs set in front of each. Eventually, she had to get up as her mother would be cross with her if she didn’t unpack her room.

Her bedroom was quite a bit larger than the one she had back in Arcadia, Oregon, and as she unpacked her boxes, Cara realized that it was the same size as her parents’ bedroom in their old house. This brought a bit of happiness, and her window overlooked both the garden, the forest that bordered the property, as well as a squat, single-level home, its faded white paint peeled over the years. With her window open, the sweet aroma of the flowers mixed with the fresh cut grass smell. That when she took a deep breath, her lungs were filled with such beauty.

As her stuff was put away, for the most part it would satisfy mother, Cara rushed down the stairs where her father called out for her to slow down. It didn’t matter, she was already on the bottom landing and through the front door in the warm, sweet-smelling day. Down the pathway that led past the garden, she ran her fingers through the top of the black-purple leaves of a barberry shrub, which stood toward the back of the garden just before the trail winded its way towards the edge of the property.

On her way to the forest, Cara wrapped her arms around her petite torso as a suddenly cool breeze came through as the wind shifted. At least they carried the sweetness of the honeysuckle bushes near that small house along the edge of the woods.

Off in the distance, perched on a long, gnarled branch, sat a small blue and black bird. Who whistled a song that enraptured Cara for just a moment. Before she pulled out her phone and took a picture of such a beautiful bird. She hummed to herself and continued along the path. Perhaps she could find a bit of happiness here.

As Cara came close to the porch of the small home, she shrugged to herself and stepped up onto it, which creaked and groaned under her weight. This was the home of the round-shaped landlord and her broadly shouldered husband Adam. Both were as unassuming as their home. In fact, she questioned herself as to why she came here, but Cara had seen a girl over here earlier. So, with a deep breath, she knocked on the heavy wooden door. No one liked knocking on someone else’s door.

“Oh no, don’t get up at all. I got it!” The voice of a girl came from behind the door. Followed by a solid click, then the door opened with a squeak. “Oh, hi,” she spoke rather bluntly, her broad green eyes cast a curious gaze, her hair were tight orange curls which bounced every time she moved. “Ah, ya the new girl that just moved into the main house, right?”

Cara’s reddish-blonde hair covered her face after she nodded and brushed it out of her eyes before she quipped, “yep!” After a moment she continued, “my name is Cara Quin. Nice to meet’cha.”

“I’m Rowan, it is good to meet ya as well, Cara,” the new neighbor expressed with seemingly utter sincerity.

A grinning smile lit up Rowan’s well-defined, angular face, she invited Cara to come inside with a wave of her hand and stepped to the side. As soon as Cara stepped in, the cold, almost icebox like air, caused goosebumps to raise upon her arms as the AC overworked itself with a hum that seemed to come from within the walls.

Within the modest living sat an old worn-out couch, its brown fabric threadbare and whose springs squeaked and boinged with each movement. Across from it sat an older HDTV which played some cartoons that no one paid attention to. Splayed across the couch, and parts of the coffee table, sat lanky obviously twin brothers: Steven, the one with shoulder-length orange hair much like his sister except without the curls, while Sam had a short, almost military-style haircut cut down nearly to his scalp, and seemed quite new. Both were seventeen and far-too-cool for Cara and her inquisitive, twelve-year-old nature. They roosted like lazy birds, faces buried in their Nintendo Switches without a single word uttered between them even as a new person entered their home.

Cara followed her new-found friend past the boys and their loud games, which blended with the distant hum of the television. Where they entered a narrow hallway off to the right, bathed in the soft, artificial glow of a dimly-lit overhead light. Off to the right, a bathroom where the unappealing aroma of too much cheap room spray wafted from within. To the right, a door with a neon-yellow caution sign on it that proclaimed for no one to enter, especially any boys.

Once inside, Cara was greeted by a kaleidoscope of visual delights. Dozens of posters adorned the walls, showcasing female soccer players in mid-action, fierce and elegant at the same time, their faces caught in moments of determination all frozen in times. Interspersed and mixed in were the familiar faces and art of beloved musicians and bands, smiles captured in all their glossy details. Which the one Cara knew the best, and was her favorite band, was Tegan and Sara. In all of their glorious eighties-like style, or from what she assumed. In the corner covered in what Rowan would later call, “organized chaos,” sat a desk with a laptop sitting open that cast a gentle blue hue on everything around it. While a cellphone, plugged into its charger, played a soft song that Cara didn’t recognize. Stacked on a small table under a lamp beside the bed was a collection of well-loved, frequently-read, creased young adult fantasy novels, their colorful spines whispered tales of adventures and escape.

“Let’s chill. You can get comfortable and all.” Rowan smiled and plopped down on her bed

Cara thanked her and moved to sit beside the quite tall girl. “So, how old are you?” She inquired.

“Twelve.”

“Oh, that’s frickin’ awesome. I turned twelve this past April. So, wow, you are just really tall! I dig it.”

“Oh yeah. I am almost as tall as my brothers. I’m going to be huge! I can’t wait, but yeah. My birthday is February twenty-night. I’m a leap year, baby!” She touted arms raised high, which caused mirth to rise up in both of them into a short bout of laughter.

Eyebrow cocked, Cara asked, “Wait, so you only celebrate your birthday every four years?”

There came another laugh, a good-natured warming sound. “No, usually the twenty-eighth. Though it was nice to celebrate it on the correct day, for once.”

“So,” Cara dragged on the word for a moment. “I am going to assume ya like soccer.”

“Love it. I’ve played my whole life. Do you play?”

“A little here and there, but nothing truly competitive. I’m not the most athletic.” Cara stretched her noodle-like legs out in front of her. “A friend of mine back in Oregon played a lot. Would be rad to learn how to play better, though.”

“Hell yeah. I’d love to play and teach you more,” Rowan enthused.

Cara added. “But, until then, is there anything interesting ‘round these parts?”

A pensive look took Rowan for a moment as a silence hung between them. Until she bit her bottom lip as if she wanted to speak but was afraid of how Cara would react. “Okay, I don’t want you to think I am weird, but this place is very old and, well, weird place, you know? I’ve lived here in this house my entire life. Wanna see some cool shit, though?”

Shooting up with a start, Cara exclaimed, “hell yeah! Oregon had some cool places to explore, but we didn’t have a forest like this. At least, not close enough to explore all the time.”

Rowan stood up, and it was the first time Cara noticed how tall her new friend truly was. Easily she was a head-and-a-half taller, if not more. Mostly legs, one could almost think she was a basketball player. She was shaped normally, just lanky and tall. “A few dope places, you know? They have a vibe I just”—she shrugged her broad shoulders—“can just center myself in. If that makes any sense.”

Yet before the pair left Rowan’s bedroom, she stopped and turned to look at Cara. “I don’t want to be rude or anything. Just wanted to say that your eyes are unique and very pretty.”

A rosy crimson lit up Cara’s pale complexion who found her words flustered and hard to vocalize. “T-thank you very much.”

“They are awesome, cool, and I know we just met, so I hope this didn’t come off as weird or cringe or anything.”

Cara was used to people staring at her because of her differently-colored eyes. Usually by creepy-looking adults, or kids who were just going to make fun of her. “Thank you,” Cara mused, the smile on her face grew ever wider.

After Rowan locked her bedroom door and checked its security. She led Cara outside just as a strong wind kicked up leaves, flower petals, and grass clippings into a swirling current that flew off out of the yard towards the forest. Cara was led by her new friend to past the tree line.

A few steps into the woods, where it darkened, Rowan held a sly smile across her angular face, leading Cara into a grove surrounded by a copse of red cedars and sugar maples. Long ago, as Rowan explained, some force arranged the large stones and boulders in an almost geometric pattern that dotted the roundish grassy knoll that sat middle of the grove.

“They say a coven of witches used to practice their rituals here,” Rowan explained as she hopped onto an old tree stump covered in moss as she sat and watched Cara.

Beyond intrigued, Cara examined every rock and stone, ran her fingertips across the rough surfaces—some were moist from the dew, still others sat bone dry. There, just outside the semi-circle, stood one in particular. After a long several minutes of examining the rock, that’s when Cara saw a face on the rock. Painted upon it many years ago, now almost completely faded.

“Oh-ho-ho,” Cara hummed and rubbed her hands together. “You were right.”

When Cara looked over at her new friend, who seemed so much like a goddess of the forest on her stump throne. She said, “This is wonderful. Truly a magical place. I can almost feel it.”

“Some years ago,” Rowan began, knee pulled up to her chest. “Sam was acting like a complete ass. Though, I don’t remember ‘bout what. So, I ran into the forest, and I remember crying. I just so happened upon the grove. It was autumn and everything was so colorful. I remember that more than anything else.”

“Then I crumbled to my knees and buried my face in my arms on this stump, just weeping and crying and snotting about something. Then when my tears eventually dried up, and I was without words, ya know? The stones, man, just caught my attention. I know I studied each one for seemingly hours. Before the twins came to find me and hung out with me. Sam apologized, as he always does.” Rowan let out a long-held breath as she propped her chin on her knee.

She stood up and pointed back towards the trail. “Wanna go check something else out, yes? It isn’t too far away and it’s a even better spot than this place,” Rowan suggested as she got up from the stump.

The trail was well-maintained and had to look of being well-trodden. Hanging over the trails was large, gnarled limbs that held bright green, healthy leaves not yet affected by the forthcoming autumn. Around the biggest tree Cara had ever seen, and behind a rough, natural boulder sat a large fairy ring where the canopy had thinned out just enough to let the sun filter through. The ring was so large, Cara and Rowan could lay on the soft grass in the middle of the ring and still have plenty of space to not touch any of the squishy little, brown-speckled mushrooms, which stunk when accidentally crushed underfoot.

Despite the rather unique and pretty godawful smell, Cara had to resist every fiber within her that wanted to take one home and put it in an old aquarium to see if it would grow. Images of her mother exploding in quite the physical and literal and verbal sense if she even tried to do so, or even if Cara just wanted to dry them out on the windowsill and keep them between the pages of an old book. She still might do so anyways. Just the image in her mind’s eye caused a giggling laughter to emit from Cara.

Parsing her lips, Rowan cocked a thin eyebrow. “What’s up?” She inquired.

Cara found it hard to talk as she snort-laughed, she choked out, “s-sorry, sorry. Hehe. Just thought of something funny and stupid. Something my mom would say.”

But their adventure wasn’t done yet. When Rowan finally got up from the wet grass, Cara followed in step beside her. Further down the trail into the woods, they came across an ancient stone well built by many hands lost to time long ago with craggy and misshapen stones. Green-blue moss, and algae that matched rainbows just after a fresh, summer rainfall, decorated the structure. While an old wooden roof-like structure bleached from years of exposure, looked as if it held a coil of rope and a bucket at one-point years past. There off to the side, slightly hidden among the weeds, sat a broken lever, forgotten and discarded.

On top sat firm and unmoving a heavy stone lid which kept everything out, and despite Cara’s growing strength, the lid would not budge. Much like the green-brown toad that sat upon it, toward the back end. Which croaked its displeasure with a simple ribbit.

“Yeah, if I can’t push it off. You can’t.” Rowan hopped up onto the rough stone lid and dangled her legs off. Her boots almost touched the ground, and when Cara sat beside her, their knees touched for only the briefest of moments.

“It’s kind of gross to think people drank out of that,” Cara did her best to not think about how Rowan’s touch felt. The toad gave one last croak and jumped off, burdened with an expression of such disgust. “Can you imagine what lives in the water?”

“Toad water.” Rowan scrunched up her button nose. “This is such a cool place. There’s one last thing I want to show you today. Before my mom starts yelling for me.”

“My mom would just send a text demanding I come home.”

Rowan scoffed, “I hate that they think they can control us because we’re—“she held up her hands and air-quoted—“kids. We’re almost teenagers.”

“I fear my mother would be even more of a pain once I turn thirteen.

A short, “hah,” came from Rowan. “Phones don’t work that well out here anyways. So, what is she going to do? Must be all the trees, I reckon.”

“What else would it be?”

Rowan shrugged. “No idea.”

The rough stone of the lid scratched at her denim jeans when Cara pushed herself off. “What other cool shit do ya got to show me?”

The smile that adorned Rowan’s heart-shaped face grew ever brighter. “The coolest thing of ‘em all.”

Further down the trail sat an old wooden sign planted into the soft ground with its words etched into the roughly-hewn surface that gave directions to Haven Bay just a couple of miles through the woods. Thick, ancient tree limbs seemed to form an arch that crossed over the trail. Roots jutted out of the ground, with spider-like almost-legs covered in moss, and if you could crawl through them, seemed much like a portal to somewhere else.

Despite the sun that hung high above head, the thick canopy kept out almost all of its warming rays. Which fostered an atmosphere thick with moisture and allowed a lingering chill to float on the almost stagnant air, which made sense to Cara with all the bogs that could be found just to the east, or so Rowan explained. While the earthy, almost lovely, aroma of toadstools and those musky fiddlehead ferns, underlaid with the constant sweet scent of decaying undergrowth, seemed almost magic. There was no absence of life here, birds sung their summer melodies and small animals rustled just out of view but not out of range of the girls’ ears. If someone told Cara this was heaven, she’d have no complaints or arguments.

When Rowan took Cara’s hand, the softness of her touch surprised Cara as it contrasted so much with the obvious strength within said hand, and Rowan led the way toward a rather massive tree stump that seemed far, far older than the forest itself. As if the tree was the first of its kind. Seemed so much different from the one in the grove—this stump seemed so much grander and beyond greater. At one point many eras ago, a gigantic tree towered above all others, and it knew. It almost reminded Cara of an actual throne, where the real Queen of the Forests sat, she sat here and surveyed her domain.

With an impressive leap, Rowan jumped on top of the stump with steady dexterity. Her pants pulled up a bit to show off her mismatched socks, both deliberate and somehow accidental. As she spoke, her voice lifted in a lilting tone as she almost whispered, “this place is magical, isn’t it? Something’s here, isn’t there? I can feel. Don’t you feel it? I’ve always felt a connection to this place on a level that’s hard to explain.”

Rowan looked down at Cara, a look of surprise and almost disbelief held the smaller girl’s features.

“I know what it sounds like. Like I am crazy.”

Cara shook her head. “Not crazy.”

“The twins both talk about going to college, moving away, seeing the country and the world, but me? At one point my dream was to play for the US women’s soccer team. Maybe to play for some prestigious club, but nowadays? I don’t know.”

The tall girl reached up to take a long, three-pronged leaf off of a tree, tossing it into the air where and unseen and unfelt breeze took it away on a short trek to the ground below. There existed not a single doubt in Cara’s mind that this place was special. Yet something about it spoke to Cara, but it was in a language she didn’t speak. Not yet.

“Thank you.” Cara intoned in almost agreement.

Rowan turned to look down at the girl that seemed so far below her. “For what?” she questioned as curious as she was .

“Thanks for trusting me and sharing your favorite spots.” Cara smiled and buried her hands in her pockets.

Cara climbed onto the stump to sit on the edge, with Rowan sitting beside her. They sat there in silence as the surrounding forest went about its day. The day seem so alive, even if it just looked as if they were nothing but trees. A comfortable air came between the girls so fast and quickly. Comfortable was the best way to describe the two. And Cara felt just a bit more accepting of her new, weird home.

*****

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