#ivory wisp

[coco-bean-tea]

I’m still working on Chai’s design but I wanted to draw Chai with his little wisp babies & Silver with his Chao children. Also I needed a new background

Combined picture

[sonic-elements]

Volt The Torpedo Ray

meet the electrician and combatant of Team Wisp, originally a wanderer out in the vast ocean. wanting to fight back against eggman. armed with powerful Electricity powers making him a good choice for the Ivory wisps. Meet Volt The Torpedo ray

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

[totaleclipse573]

@nolongeronlyhereforthewhispangle

WANNA SEE A THING

Your boys <3 (or...your them. And him. I don't know how to phrase it 😅)

Happy Holidays! (Ecru is adorable btw)

[sonicwind62391]

[ivory-port]

it's not easy catching spirits

[nolongeronlyhereforthewhispangle]

Doodle of my two little doods

Close-ups under cut

Ecru is staring into your soul. He knows what you did.

Barry w/ shades (really proud of this one).

[idwbutbarryasks]

Have Tide and Ecru met? If yes, what do they think of one another? If not (shoves them into the same room) interact. Give thoughts. Can Tide even understand Ecru?

No, they have not met.

Tide has no idea what Ecru is saying at all, as he does not have a translation device.

If he could, I imagine the convo would go a little bit like this:

Ecru: *casual tramua dump* Tide: Oh, uh, I’m… sorry… Ecru: (Barry helped me!) Tide: How? They don’t look like they could do anything. (all offense meant)

[nolongeronlyhereforthewhispangle]

Sure why not

Want me to gush about my OCs?

Send me a “🖊+an OC“ and I will talk about that OC! It can be a headcanon, a fun fact, a small paragraph of backstory- anything!

Alternatively, send in just a “🖊“ and I will talk about any one of my OCs at random!

[fushiguho]

warnings pussy whipped satoru, breeding :p

satoru gojo who gets sooo fucking drunk off the way you ride his cock that he’s drooling all over himself. splayed beneath your body and blabbering, a rivulet of saliva dribbling from the corner of his gaped mouth, trickling down his neck.

scattered wisps of ivory adorn the pillow beneath his head, stray pieces framing his perfect face and wreathing around his chin. he’s not there, not really, yet all he can feel is you. clinging to your pretty body with searing hands, pulling you closer, fucking you deeper. he wants to consume you—embody every last bit of your overwhelming pleasure to absorb you wholly, completely.

“fuck, you’re so pretty,” he babbles in a single, gasping breath. his hands reach for the sides of your face, pulling you close. “you’re so fuckin’ pretty… god, you feel s— so good, gimme a kiss, baby.”

the kiss is so sloppy and haphazard and wet. and his lips are feverish as he whines into your mouth, hungrily sucking on your tongue. something of a whimper leaves him as he briefly parts from your mouth, a thin gossamer of glittery saliva wedding your lips.

a roaming hand finds yours, grabbing it before greedily directing it toward his parting lips. three of your fingers are prying his jaw open, pressing against the jagged point of his canines. satoru let’s off the prettiest groan, his warm wet tongue dragging over the soft pads of your digits before closing his lips around them and sucking.

“phf— fuck meee,” he muffles, slobbering down your knuckles.

the boy is whipped.

his eyes have gone dark, pupils blown into pretty, lustful hearts. you could do anything to him and he would let you, or even beg you. he will never be ashamed of his need for you, for your body. not even as his desperate hips begin to rut beneath you; sloppy and stuttered as he greedily follows the pounce of your body.

he needs more. needs to feel the tightening of your messy little pussy around his cock, and the way you’re going to drip all the way down to the fat of his swollen balls when you finally cum on it like he needs you to.

“fuh— fuck me, baby.” a pretty, unabashed groan follows his request, head woozy as it sinks deeper into the plush pillow. “ohhh, fuck me… please, fuck me h-harder. oh my… oh my god, i need it.”

satoru watches as you reach behind yourself, blindly grabbing ahold of his tensing thighs. he hiccups when you lean back, drunkenly following the undulation of your hips as your head lolls to the side, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. his hands are reaching out for you, desperate to feel the buck of your body as you take his cock like it’s the last thing you’ll ever fucking do.

his lips part, brows screwing together. “like that… fuck me like that.”

“like this?” you hum, a teasing lilt in your voice.

he nods dumbly, mouth gaping while a fleeting breath escapes him. big, greedy hands wander your body—smoothing over the fat of your ass, trailing up the sides of your waist, dragging over those pretty, sensitive nipples. his palms are even creeping beneath the depraved arch of your back and forcing you deeper.

“m’gonna cummm,” it’s a whiny little breath, lips twisting while his face contorts in overwhelming pleasure. “c-can’t hold it, fuck you’re gonna make me cum.”

“inside.”

“huh?”

“please?” you breathe, rolling your hips once. “cum with me.”

a beat passes and his hips stutter, cock twitching inside of you. he doesn’t even question you, instead he’s reaching a hand between your searing bodies to circle your aching clit with the warm pads of his fingers, encouraging your looming orgasm. satoru exhales a nasty moan when your hips buck harder, your pretty pussy tightening around him in desperation.

“cum with me.” you whisper again, pulling his lips between yours in a messy kiss.

and he does, immediately. he’s filling you up with sloppy thrusts, whining into your mouth like the prettiest, most disciplined boy. your wet, aching pussy throbs around all of his warm cum as he messily empties himself inside of you. sinful strings of arousal stretch between your sexes as satoru nurses you through your own orgasm, inadvertently fucking his seed deeper.

as you cum around him, your bountiful arousal spills all over his swollen balls, eventually dribbling down far enough to ruin the silken sheets beneath him. his chest heaves, hips bucking shallowly in efforts to chase his cum as it dribbles from the seams of your pretty, overstuffed pussy.

“baby, i wanna cum again… think i can get it deeper this time.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

what are some ways to describe people other than eye and hair color

I am assuming you are looking for physical descriptors. Here are some examples. I may just make a different post on psychological descriptors.

Arms: Long, Muscular, Pudgy, Short, Skinny, Thin

Back: Bent, Hunched, Ramrod Straight, Rounded

Build: Anorexic, Athletic, Beefy, Brawny, Burly, Chubby, Coltish, Compact, Fat, Gangly, Gaunt, Gawky, Haggard, Heavy-set, Herculean, Husky, Lanky, Lithe, Muscular, Obese, Overweight, Petite, Rangy, Reed-like, Scrawny, Skinny, Slender, Slight, Solid, Spindly, Statuesque, Stocky, Strapping, Sylphlike, Taut, Thickset, Thin, Trim, Underweight, Voluptuous, Well-built, Willowy, Withered

Cheeks: Blushing, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Disturbed, Glorious, Glowing, Hairless, High (cheekbones), Hollow, Honey, Livid, Pale, Pallid, Pink, Plump, Puffy, Radiant, Reddened, Rosy, Rounded, Ruddy, Shining, Smooth, Soft, Sun-burnt, Sun-bronzed, Sunken, Sun-tanned, Tanned, Tearful, White

Chin: Angular, Bony, Bumpy, Chiseled, Defined, Doughy, Firm, Protruding, Round, Smooth, Soft, Square, Strong

Ears: Jug-like, Large, Protruding, Tiny

Eyebrows: Arching, Bushy, Emphasized, Near, Spaced, Thick, Thin

Eyelashes: Artificial, Beaded, Beautiful, Blinking, Dark, Dark-fringed, Dense, Dusky, Heavily-fringed, Long, Mascaraed, Sandy, Sooty, Sopping, Tear-drenched, Thick, Uplifted

Eyes: Almond-shaped, Bright, Bulging, Expressive, Frightened, Gentle, Languishing, Little, Luminous, Made-up, Round, Shining, Shortsighted, Smart, Stunned, Thin, Wide, Woeful

Face: Baby, Blood-stained, Bold, Chiseled, Contorted, Dead, Expressionless, Fair, Familiar, Fierce, Flat, Frightened, Furrowed, Honest, Indifferent, Little, Pale, Poker, Pretty, Radiant, Rough, Ruddy, Sallow, Square, Stained, Swollen, Trim, Weather-beaten, Wry

Feet: Athlete's, Big, Flat, Pigeon-toed, Small, Sore, Stinky, Stubby, Swollen

Fingers: Gnarled, Long, Short, Stubby

Finger Nails: Bitten, Broken, Claw-like, Dirty, Hooked, Long, Painted, Sharp, Talon-like

Hair: Afro, Bald, Beehive, Braided, Bristles, Bun, Chignon, Coiffure, Combed, Corkscrew, Corn rows, Cowlicked, Crew cut, Curly, Disarrayed, Disheveled, Dreadlocks, Dry, Flattop, Flecked, French braid, French twist, Fringe, Greasy, Grizzled, Knotted, Layered, Locks, Matted, Messed up, Mohawk, Mussy, Muttonchops, Neat, Oily, Page boy, Perm, Pigtails, Plait, Pompadour, Ponytail, Ragged, Receding, Ringlets, Ruffled, Shaggy, Shorn, Shoulder-length, Skinhead, Spiky, Split-ended, Straight, Tangled, Thick, Thinning, Tidy, Topknot, Tousled, Twisted, Uncombed, Unshorn, Untidy, Wavy, Wiry, Wisps

Hand: Big, Elegant, Small

Height: Big, Knee-high, Medium, Short, Shoulder-high, Sky-high, Small, Tall, Towering, Waist-high

Legs: Amputated, Bandy, Bony, Bowed, Brawny, Bulging, Fluted, Gartered, Gouty, Graceful, Hacked, Hairy, Jagged, Knotted, Leaden, Long, Lower, Muscular, Pitiful, Rickety, Shapely, Shivering, Short, Sinewy, Slender, Slim, Spindle, Stockinged, Sturdy, Thin, Thread-like, Tinder, Tiny, Toothsome, Tree trunks

Lips: Blue, Cracked, Cupid's Bow, Downturned, Dry, Fat, Full, Grim, Large, Luscious, Parched, Parted, Red, Ruby, Small, Smiling, Thin, Wet

Mouth: Arch, Ascetic, Baby, Cavernous, Churning, Compressed, Cooing, Coral, Cracked, Cruel, Delicate, Dumpled, Distended, Dry, Fine, Firm, Frothy, Full, Funnel-shaped, Gaping, Grim, Handsome, Hungry, Insistent, Irritable, Large, Luscious, Munching, Musty, Perilous, Puckered, Querulous, Relaxed, Resolute, Sardonic, Sensuous, Serious, Slobbering, Small, Sulky, Sweet, Tender, Thin, Wide, Winsome, Wrinkled, Yawning

Neck: Bullnecked, Elegant, Long, Short, Swan-like, Thick

Palm: Broad, Oval, Rectangular, Square

Skin: Acned, Alabaster, Albino, Apricot, Black, Blemished, Blistered, Blooming, Blotchy, Blushing, Bronzed, Cadaverous, Calloused, Caramel, Clear, Craggy, Cream, Ebony, Fair, Flush, Freckled, Glowing, Greasy, Ivory, Jaundiced, Leathery, Lily-white, Lined, Milky, Mottled, Nut-brown, Olive, Pale, Pallid, Pasty, Peeling, Pimpled, Pink, Pitted, Pockmarked, Red, Rosy, Rough, Ruddy, Russet, Sallow, Scabby, Scarred, Smooth, Splotchy, Spotty, Sun-burnt, Tan, Wan, Waxen, White, Wrinkled, Yellow

Stomach: Bulging, Distended, Empty, Firm, Flabby, Flat, Heroic, Hollow, Lean, Paunchy, Protruding, Unbounded

Teeth: Artificial, Black, Blunted, Buck, Canine, Chattering, Clenched, Clinched, Compressed, Crooked, Dagger-like, Dazzling, Decayed, Deciduous, Extracted, False teeth, Feeble, Ferocious, Filed, Flashing, Fluoridated, Foam-laced, Fractured, Gap-toothed, Gleaming, Glistening, Glittering, Gnashing, Goofy, Grinding, Hooked, Horrid, Ivory, Jagged, Lacquered, Large, Milky, Mottled, Neglected, Pearly, Perfect, Pretty, Protruding, Razor-like, Sharp, Shining, Short, Small, Snowy, Sore, Spaced, Straight, Sweet tooth, Tender, Tiny, Toothless, Toothy, Ugly, Unrelenting, White, Wisdom, Wolfish, Yellow

Hope this helps! If it does, do tag me or send me a link to your writing. I'd love to read your work.

More: On Character Development

[marvelstoriesepic]

Five days, Five bouquets

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Prompt: "Do I need to remind you that we're not actually married?"

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: talk of a fake marriage for the sake of a mission; fluffff

Author’s Note: This is written for the writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I wasn’t planning on writing something so soon because I’ve still got a project going on right now, but your prompts and everything were just so alluring, I couldn’t help myself. I hope you enjoy this, my dearest. And I am almost entirely certain that this won’t be my only entry to your writing challenge, because I've got some more ideas lol. Here is a small continuation to this story: A Home for Now

Divider by @saradika-graphics ♡

Masterlist

“Again, Bucky?”

You don’t even try to mask your breathless laughter, the warmth of it slipping through as you rise from your seat.

The front door clicks shut behind Bucky and he scuffs off his boots half-heartedly on the door mat. There is a bouquet of flowers in his hand. And an even larger grin on his face.

The table before you is still cluttered with the remnants of your cover - documents, notes, a meticulously crafted facade of a life together.

A life that isn’t real, except for moments like these, when the borders become smudged just enough to make you wonder.

“‘Course, sweetheart,” he says, still smiling so wide, but his tone does not hold a trace of irony. “What kinda guy d’you think I am? Four days in a row and I just stop?” He scoffs as if the mere thought offends him. His voice is honeyed.

He stalks over to you standing at the table and holds the bouquet out for you. It is an understatedly beautiful arrangement of dusky pink roses, fluffy ruffled carnations, ivory lilies with petals curling slightly at the edges. Wisps of silvery foliage peek through, adding a breath of frost to the warmth. And then there are the deep inky leaves interwoven among the blooms, like something divine pulled from the shadows.

You take them with fingers that begin to tremble just slightly. His hand brushes over yours. A blush makes its way up your face just like every time.

You have been undercover for five days, posing as a married couple by orders from Nick Fury. And every day, even though it’s not at all necessary for you both to keep your cover, Bucky brings you a bouquet when he gets ‘home’ from his fake job.

He is embedded in a high-profile consulting firm, shadowing a suspect deeply tangled in covert operations, while you take a closer look at his wife. She’s not at all innocent. She manages high-stakes charity galas, the kind that funnel money into places they shouldn’t be. You play the devoted wife, hosting brunches, attending yoga classes she goes to, letting cautious friendships lead you to the information you need.

Five days. Five bouquets.

Each one different, but all of them hold some unspoken thing. Something that makes you shiver.

The choking in your throat is disguised with a roll of your eyes. “You do know we’re supposed to be laying low, right? Kinda hard when you’re single-handedly funding the local florist,” you tease rather lightly.

Bucky chuckles, low but bright, and you swear you feel the sound more than you hear it. “Oh c’mon, doll. Long as we’re playin’ house, I gotta keep my wife happy.”

This is a joke. It is all a joke. But your pulse is not laughing, only speeding up, tripping at the way he puts emphasis on wife. As if the word fits too well in his mouth, as if he could get used to it.

Bucky has always been a gentleman to you. Even outside of missions. But since you started this one, moving into the same house on the outskirts of town for the sake of your cover, the grumpiness and stoicism that usually surround his aura at the compound are completely lost here with you. You’ve never seen him smile as much as you have in the last five days.

You clutch the bouquet a little tighter, take a closer look, and take in the many appealing colors and scents. “Thank you, Bucky. I love those,” you say warmly.

His expression falters just a fraction like it does every time, not quite knowing what to do with genuine gratitude when it’s meant for him. Although you show it to him all the time. A flicker of something unguarded passes over his features before he covers it with a scoff that only makes it out halfway. He looks off to the side, shifting his weight. “Well, can’t have my wife thinkin’ I'm slipping already now, can I?” he laughs a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, the tips of his ears just the slightest bit of pink.

You turn with a huffed laugh and perform the task of putting away the flowers. Shaking your head, you start to get highly aware of the wedding band around your finger, a piece of fiction Tony gave you to wear. It looks so real, yet it is a lie. And you hate it.

“Do I need to remind you that we’re not actually married?” The words fall with amusement but they sit heavier in the air than they should.

The ring fits perfectly, Tony made sure of that. But it still somehow presses against your skin. As if to remind you that Bucky is not truly yours.

Bucky doesn’t miss a beat. You see him tilting his head from your peripherals as you reach for a vase. His smile is softened. “Don’t matter, sweetheart. Might as well treat you like my wife.” His voice is quieter now, less teasing. But sure.

The kitchen and living room are already brimming with the past four days of his affections.

One arrangement graces the coffee table, another stands by the window, and two more are carefully nestled between books on the shelf at the wall to your left. A home suffused with color, with life, with something neither of you dares to call by name.

You feel the warmth of his gaze on you. He doesn’t say anything, standing there relaxed, still with that proud and fond smile on his face, watching you as if he is engraving in his memory the way you fuss over where to place this latest offering.

And maybe you take just a little longer than necessary because if you turn too soon, you’ll have to meet his eyes.

And you don’t know if you can right now.

You’re not sure if you’d be able to look away.

But you know you should. Because this is not real.

But maybe - and this is the hope speaking - it could be someday.

“Imagine someone thinking of you and buying you flowers.”

- sleepyurl

[nolongeronlyhereforthewhispangle]

Ecru - Anything they know a decent amount about

Tide - Guns (I wonder why)

What could your character talk about for 20 minutes with no preparation?

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ let me love you like a woman ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ obi-wan kenobi x tatooine!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! this story takes place following the events of revenge of the sith, where obi-wan kenobi is in exile on tatooine. i hope you enjoy reading! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ the twins suns burned high, an oppressive white orb and molten star hanging in a sky bleached of all color, and the scorching sand outside your family’s shop shimmered akin to heated glass. mos espa breathed slow in the midday lull, its usual clamor hushed beneath the burden of the heat. only the fools or the desperate braved the streets now, those with credits to chase, or errands to run, or no home worth hiding in.

˚ ༘♡ you were behind the counter alone, the air inside dry but not quite suffocating, cooled just enough by the old condenser hissing gently in the corner. your mother had gone to barter for oils at the distillery two stalls down, and the shop, lined with bolts of cloth, spools of thread, sun-bleached leather satchels and imported moisture filters, rested in your care for the day.

˚ ༘♡ you wore ivory-white, the fabric was gauzy, sheer in the sleeves and hem, trimmed with pale gold thread and small mother-of-pearl beads that clicked when you moved. the heat was no match for the thin layers, and you relished the lightness, how it made you feel almost unreal, like some desert mirage wafting through your family’s simple walls. and you knew how you looked. it wasn’t vanity, it was fact. your skin gleamed in the sun, your hair loose, a sheen of sweat catching along your collarbone where it dipped into your dress. you knew what the boys in the square whispered when they saw you. you simply didn’t care.

˚ ༘♡ but him. he was different.

˚ ༘♡ you knew the shape of him before you saw it. of middling height, cloaked in rough robes that hadn’t been tailored in years, boots worn to the sole. he moved like a man who did not want to be perceived, who took no pride in posture, who walked with a quietness that only came from someone who had spent too long alone.

˚ ༘♡ the old wooden chime rattled as the door creaked open, and when you looked up from the counter, there he was. kenobi.

˚ ༘♡ you had only ever heard him addressed like that, “mr. kenobi,” when your father was being formal, or just “kenobi,” in the clipped, disinterested tones of market vendors who didn’t care much for names unless they owed you money. no one knew much about him. he lived past the edge of the dune sea, near the cliffs, in one of the carved-out stone huts that had belonged to the miners before the sands took them. he kept to himself. came down once or twice a month, sometimes less. bought little, said even less. no family, no friends, no history anyone could confirm. only a man with tired eyes and sun-leathered skin, who worked part-time at the meat station carving carcasses with a precision that never quite fit the rest of his appearance.

˚ ༘♡ “kenobi,” you said with a soft smile, brushing the wisps of your hair back and standing straighter. not too formal. not too familiar. merely enough to catch his eye.

˚ ༘♡ his gaze lifted slowly. beneath the shadow of his hood, his face was the same as always, quiet, drawn, unreadable. but something in the eyes flickered. pale blue. duller than they used to be, you imagined, but still sharp beneath the troubles within. not unkind. just… unreachable.

˚ ༘♡ “miss,” he said, voice low. dry, like gravel turned over in a hand. he nodded once in greeting, then looked to the shelves.

˚ ༘♡ you didn’t speak immediately. didn’t rush him. you’d learned, over the past year or so, when he’d happen to appear, that he hated questions. hated chatter. but he never left without a word if you were the one behind the counter. there was something in your presence, something in your voice, or your serenity, or perhaps just your curiosity, that he never quite refused.

˚ ༘♡ “looking for anything in particular?” you asked, letting the hem of your sleeve drift along the counter’s edge. the fabric glimmered softly in the light.

˚ ༘♡ he hesitated, and then, with a slight shift of his hand, pulled a list from his pocket. creased. small. you stepped forward to take it, brushing your fingers over his as you did, feigning casualness. his hand jerked slightly at the contact, not violent, but startled. like he hadn’t expected warmth.

˚ ༘♡ you pretended not to notice.

˚ ༘♡ the list was simple. thread. canisters for water storage. a replacement coil for a condenser unit. nothing lavish. nothing even remotely indulgent. all of it mundane, all of it necessary. the kind of list made by someone who spent most of his days thinking only about survival.

˚ ༘♡ you glanced at it, then back at him. “we’ve got most of this. thread’s in the back, though. i’ll have to grab it for you.”

˚ ༘♡ he nodded again. “thank you.”

˚ ༘♡ no smile. no change in his expression. but he was still watching you, and that was enough to provoke something in your heart.

˚ ༘♡ you moved through the curtains behind the counter and into the backroom, biting your lip, the heat following you like a second skin. he was handsome, even if the desert had worn him down. handsome in a way that wasn’t youthful or polished, but weary. carved from stone. a man who had suffered something he would never speak of aloud. and yet… you couldn’t help it. every time he came in, something in you stirred like a story waiting to be told.

˚ ༘♡ you returned with the thread, letting the beads on your sleeves chime faintly as you walked. “this’ll hold for repairs,” you said, setting the spool down gently before him. “strong, too. doesn’t fray.”

˚ ༘♡ he picked it up, turned it once in his hand. “that’ll do.”

˚ ༘♡ he did not compliment you. he did not flirt, or even linger. but when your eyes met his again, there was something behind them. recognition. a kind of restrained gentleness. and beneath that, you sensed it again, the weight of something vast and terrible. the sorrow of a man who had lost everything but was alive enough to feel the ache.

˚ ༘♡ “how’s the station?” you asked, more softly this time.

˚ ༘♡ “untroubled.”

˚ ༘♡ you veered your head. “you don’t like questions, do you?”

˚ ༘♡ his jaw tightened. then, after a pause, “no.”

˚ ༘♡ you smiled at that. “i’ll remember that.”

˚ ༘♡ and for the briefest moment, his gaze did not look away. it stayed on yours, searching, tired, cautious. but not cold.

˚ ༘♡ you gave him the total. he paid in imperial credits, all properly counted. he did not make excuses or offer barter, simply accepted the number as it was. and when he turned to leave, you let your voice follow him, softer than before.

˚ ༘♡ “come back sooner next time, sir. i get bored with the scorching sand and uncivilized creatures as company.”

˚ ༘♡ he paused at the door. the light framed him in gold. he did not look back.

˚ ༘♡ yet you saw it, the barest incline of his head. like acknowledgment. like thanks.

˚ ༘♡ and then he was gone.

˚ ༘♡ you waited five full minutes.

˚ ༘♡ five minutes of pretending to rearrange the baskets. five minutes of glancing at the empty street beyond the shutters. five minutes of pretending you were not already gathering your courage like folds of your sheer skirt, not already bracing yourself for something unwise. no one had come by. the heat still reigned. your mother was still at the distillery, your father still at the hangar. and kenobi, he was already disappearing into the blinding light beyond the plaza, heading out toward the low hills of sand that marked the beginning of nowhere.

˚ ༘♡ so you did something reckless.

˚ ༘♡ you flipped the “closed” sign, ducked beneath the counter, and slipped out the side door. you didn’t lock it. you didn’t leave a note. you simply went.

˚ ༘♡ sand tugged at your slippers, the wind catching at the hem of your gauzy dress, turning it into streamers of white and gold behind you. your shawl fluttered loosely over your shoulders as you picked your way through the narrow alley behind the shop and emerged into the outskirts of mos espa. no one saw. or if they did, no one cared. maybe they thought you were off to visit a friend. or chasing someone. which, in a way, was true.

˚ ༘♡ kenobi was far ahead by then, a lone figure drifting over the dunes, headed away from the town like a ghost returning to its tomb. he moved steadily, not fast, not slow, just with the practiced gait of someone who had made this journey too many times to count. he didn’t notice you.

˚ ༘♡ you followed at a distance, heart loud in your chest, half expecting him to turn around at any moment and catch you in the act. but he never did. he just kept walking. farther and farther from civilization, from stalls and shouting and spice-sellers and moisture farmers, from everything that tied you to the world you knew.

˚ ༘♡ you had always wondered what he did out here. the hermit beyond the dune sea, they called him. stay away, your parents had said. men like that don’t come to town unless they need something. and you don’t want to know what they’ve done to end up that way.

˚ ༘♡ but you had wanted to know. desperately.

˚ ༘♡ the ground rose gently beneath your feet as you climbed the low ridge where he had gone. by now, the market was a distant haze. here, the world was empty and gold, a vast stretch of sand and sky. the atmosphere was thick. only the wind moved.

˚ ༘♡ and then you saw him.

˚ ༘♡ he was just the crest, sitting beside a cluster of jagged rock formations, his cloak drawn around him, not to guard from cold, but perhaps to guard from memory. his shoulders were hunched forward slightly, his hands clasped. his face was turned away from the sun, but you could see the line of his jaw, the vague downward curve of his mouth. and for the first time, you saw not just mystery, not merely enigmatic allure or rugged charm.

˚ ༘♡ you saw sorrow.

˚ ༘♡ not simple grief. devastation. the kind of sadness that hollowed out the soul. that silenced men. that turned warriors into wraiths.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t cry. he didn’t move. but the look on his face…

˚ ༘♡ something ached in you.

˚ ༘♡ he looked like he was listening to something no one else could hear. like he was waiting for a voice that would never come. the wind stirred the edges of his cloak and rustled his uncut, auburn hair, but he remained still. so still, you almost believed he was made of stone.

˚ ༘♡ you didn’t step closer. you stayed hidden behind the rocks, breath caught in your throat, unsure what you had expected but knowing it hadn’t been this.

˚ ༘♡ you thought you’d find answers.

˚ ༘♡ you found a man grieving something far too large to speak aloud.

˚ ༘♡ and it made your heart twist, not out of pity, but something else. the same thing you’d felt when he touched your hand in the shop. the same thing you felt whenever his eyes flicked over your face, too quickly to be anything but deliberate.

˚ ༘♡ you whispered, barely loud enough for the wind to carry.

˚ ༘♡ “…what happened to you?”

˚ ༘♡ but he didn’t hear. or maybe he did, and he just had nothing left to say.

˚ ༘♡ you stayed there, beneath the twin suns, watching the man the galaxy had long since forgotten.

˚ ༘♡ and for the first time, you understood why he lived alone. why he spoke so little. why your parents had warned you away.

˚ ༘♡ not because he was dangerous.

˚ ༘♡ but because he was broken. and maybe he was beyond repair, too far gone in desolation to be saved.

˚ ༘♡ and yet, even now, especially now, something in you ached to try.

˚ ༘♡ you weren’t even trying to get closer. not really. you only meant to shift your footing, to find a better place to crouch, to watch without being seen, to satisfy the reckless ache in your chest without pushing your luck.

˚ ༘♡ but the sand beneath the ridge was loose. your slipper grated against the coarse sand. your ankle contorted. and before you could catch yourself, the ground rushed up fast and sharp beneath you.

˚ ༘♡ you landed hard on the side of your knee, right against an outcrop of jagged rock hidden beneath the dune’s surface. pain seared red-hot through your leg, a tearing, ugly kind of pain that wasn’t just a scrape, it dug in, sharp enough to punch the breath from your lungs and make your vision bloom black around the edges.

˚ ༘♡ you gasped, and then you cried out. it wasn’t a scream, a sound ripped straight from your throat, raw and involuntary and sharp with pain.

˚ ༘♡ you clutched your leg, hand stained crimson against blood already seeping through the fabric. the gash was deep, slashing through the muscle in a way that made your stomach churn. the kind of wound that wasn’t going to clot on its own.

˚ ༘♡ and before you could even attempt to rise, before you could hide the stupid, childish mistake you’d just made, you heard it.

˚ ༘♡ footsteps. brisk. precise. heavy against the sand.

˚ ༘♡ you looked up, expecting fury. expecting a storm.

˚ ༘♡ you found him.

˚ ༘♡ kenobi stood over you, robes whipping in the wind, cerulean eyes fixed on yours with something unreadable in their pale depths. not anger. not exactly. something taut. something pulled tight between alarm and discretion.

˚ ༘♡ you opened your mouth to explain, to apologize, to say anything.

˚ ༘♡ but then he knelt.

˚ ༘♡ “let me see it,” he said, already pulling a fold of his outer robe free, already reaching for your injured leg.

˚ ༘♡ you blinked, stunned.

˚ ༘♡ “what…?”

˚ ༘♡ “you’re bleeding,” he said flatly. not unkindly. focused. “deeply.”

˚ ༘♡ “i didn’t mean to… i was only trying to…” you winced, teeth clenched as his fingers found the edge of the torn fabric. “i’m sorry. i know i shouldn’t have followed you, i wanted…”

˚ ༘♡ “stop talking.” it wasn’t cruel. it was the voice of a man who had seen worse than this. much worse. his hands were steady, rough-palmed but gentle, and his brow furrowed with concentration as he pressed the fabric to the wound. “you’re going into shock. breathe slowly.”

˚ ༘♡ you did. because something about the way he said it left no room for refusal.

˚ ༘♡ the blood was soaking fast, and you saw the frown that flickered across his face. you weren’t imagining the tension in his shoulders, the way he exhaled through his nose, as if trying to smother the heat beneath his skin.

˚ ༘♡ “does it hurt here?” he asked, fingers trailing just above the torn edge. your leg jerked involuntarily.

˚ ༘♡ “yes,” you hissed. “sorry… yes.”

˚ ༘♡ “don’t apologize.” his voice was soothing now. almost soft. “try and relax.”

˚ ༘♡ he tore another strip of cloth from his robe. his fingers worked fast, binding it tight with an efficiency that betrayed a history you didn’t know, of medpacs and battlefield wounds and makeshift triage in places far from here. he tied it off. it wasn’t pretty. but it was secure.

˚ ༘♡ you watched him as he leaned back, hands braced beside your leg, his head angled only narrowly.

˚ ༘♡ his hair was tangled with sweat. his jaw unshaven. and yet there was something beautiful about the way he looked at you in that instance, not as a burden. not as a foolish girl who trespassed where she didn’t belong. but as a person. as someone in pain. as someone he wanted to help.

˚ ༘♡ “…you’re not angry?” you asked, your voice barely above the wind.

˚ ༘♡ he blinked. the corners of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. more like surprise.

˚ ༘♡ “no,” he said, finally. “but you shouldn’t have followed me.”

˚ ༘♡ “i know.”

˚ ༘♡ “this isn’t a place for…”

“for what?” your eyes held his. “for stupid girls who ask too many questions?”

˚ ༘♡ his jaw flexed.

˚ ༘♡ “for people who haven’t seen war,” he said, after a long pause. “for people who still think the world is kind.”

˚ ༘♡ the words landed more forceful than you expected. but you didn’t look away.

˚ ༘♡ “i don’t think the world is kind,” you said.

˚ ༘♡ his gaze dipped. to your wound. to the vermillion blood leaking between the translucent fabric. to your dress, white and gilded, stained now with desert dust and red.

˚ ༘♡ “…you should go home,” he said. “once you can walk.”

˚ ༘♡ but he didn’t move. neither did you.

˚ ༘♡ you were too close now. his hands hovered near your leg. his knee brushed yours through the fabric. and the wind had grown quieter, the sun slanting low, washing him in the rays of the sun akin to the ruins of a statue no one had dared to bury.

˚ ༘♡ you swallowed, heart suddenly loud.

˚ ༘♡ “you live out here all alone,” you said, barely a whisper. “why?”

˚ ༘♡ his eyes didn’t meet yours. not yet. but the silence between you bent beneath the weight of the question.

˚ ༘♡ and for the first time, you saw it again, the sorrow. raw and endless. buried beneath a mask of duty. something sacred that had been shattered and never remade.

˚ ༘♡ “because i have to,” he said.

˚ ༘♡ and you understood, even if you didn’t know why.

˚ ༘♡ nonetheless, you said delicately, “you don’t have to be alone forever.”

˚ ༘♡ and this time, when his eyes locked onto yours, they stayed.

˚ ༘♡ you sat beneath the long shadow of the ridge, your leg bound in rough cloth and streaked with red, the sting of it slowly dulling into something hot and deep. the pain was real, but it had altered, muted by the ache that now pierced somewhere else entirely. somewhere beneath your ribs.

˚ ༘♡ kenobi hadn’t spoken again. not after he’d wrapped your leg. not after he’d said you should go. he had simply sat beside you, silent and distant, the wind tousling his hair as if to remind you how far from home you’d come. his body was still, posture controlled, but his thoughts, his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. you could feel it, heavy in the air between you. he was somewhere else entirely. somewhere you couldn’t reach.

˚ ༘♡ and yet, you tried.

˚ ༘♡ “you don’t have to be so distant,” you murmured finally, the words fragile in the vast quiet of the desert. “i know you didn’t ask me to follow you. i know it was stupid. but i’m not sorry.”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t turn to face you. but his hands, those steady, calloused hands, curled somewhat in his lap.

˚ ༘♡ you looked down at your leg, at the blood soaking through his robe’s fabric. “i just wanted to know why you always look so… so sad. why you never talk to anyone. why you disappear.”

˚ ༘♡ kenobi gave no answer.

˚ ༘♡ “but now i see it’s more than that,” you said, your voice straining with emotion you didn’t fully understand. “you look like someone who’s been through something no one else could survive.”

˚ ༘♡ his shoulders grew rigid.

˚ ༘♡ and finally, he turned. not quickly. not sharply. but slowly, as though it pained him to meet your gaze.

˚ ༘♡ when he did, you almost wished he hadn’t. because the misery in his expression was unbearable. not cruel. not angry. but filled with something older than grief. remorse. resolve. restraint. something carved into the marrow of a man who had once been something else, someone else, and had buried that self in the sand years ago.

˚ ༘♡ “you shouldn’t be here,” he whispered. “you don’t understand what you’re walking into.”

˚ ༘♡ “then help me understand,” you said. “i’m not afraid of you.”

˚ ༘♡ “you should be.”

˚ ༘♡ “why?” your voice cracked. “you’re not like the others. not like the ones who leer at me in the market, or spit at the sand because i won’t smile for them. they scare me. but you…”

˚ ༘♡ he cut you off, gently. “i am not what you think i am.”

˚ ༘♡ “you’re kind. and you didn’t have to be. not to me.”

˚ ༘♡ “that doesn’t make me good.”

˚ ༘♡ “then tell me what does.” your voice caught as your fingers clutched your gown, crumpling the sheer fabric where it pooled around your knee. “tell me why you live out here like a ghost. why everyone calls you the hermit. why you look at the horizon like you’re waiting to die.”

˚ ༘♡ he flinched. it was slight. but it was there.

˚ ༘♡ you softened then. not out of pity. out of wanting. wanting to be let in. wanting him to let himself speak. just once.

˚ ༘♡ but instead, he exhaled, long and slow, and stood. his shadow fell over you. he looked taller when he did. broader. older.

˚ ༘♡ more like a myth than a man.

˚ ༘♡ “you’re young,” he said, not unkindly. “you see what you want to see. you believe that there’s good in everyone. you think… because i helped you, that it means something.”

˚ ༘♡ you looked up at him, chin lifted, defiant even through the pain.

˚ ༘♡ “it does mean something.”

˚ ༘♡ his expression ebbed scarcely. not from anger. from something closer to sorrow.

˚ ༘♡ “i can’t give you the answers you’re looking for,” he said. “there are things i’ve done, things i’ve seen, that no one should have to carry. i’ve buried people i loved. failed people who depended on me. i’ve lived through the fall of something that once stood for peace, and watched it crumble into war and ruin. and every day since then, i’ve woken up alone. because that is what i deserve.”

˚ ༘♡ the solemnity that followed was deafening.

˚ ༘♡ you blinked hard, your throat tightening.

˚ ༘♡ “that’s not true.”

˚ ༘♡ “you don’t know me.”

˚ ༘♡ “i see you.”

˚ ༘♡ “no,” he said, quieter now. “you see a man who held your hand when you were bleeding. you see someone who speaks warmly because he’s forgotten how to shout. but that doesn’t make me righteous. it makes me tired.”

˚ ༘♡ you swallowed, heart stinging in a way your knee didn’t.

˚ ༘♡ “i still trust you, kenobi.”

˚ ༘♡ he closed his eyes.

˚ ༘♡ the wind moved between you again. the sand danced in lazy spirals around his boots. and when he opened them, he looked at you, not as a stranger, not as a young girl , but as someone he wished had never stepped into his life. not because he didn’t want you there.

˚ ༘♡ but because he couldn’t bear it.

˚ ༘♡ “i’ll take you back,” he said. “when your leg stops bleeding.”

˚ ༘♡ you started to nod, but he kept speaking.

˚ ༘♡ and then,” he said, voice stripped of everything but control, “you’ll forget me.”

˚ ༘♡ your breath caught.

˚ ༘♡ “kenobi…”

˚ ༘♡ “you’ll go home. you’ll tell your mother you slipped on a rock. you’ll forget my face. you’ll forget this place. and the next time someone says my name in town, you won’t look up.”

˚ ༘♡ you shook your head slowly, eyes glassy.

˚ ༘♡ “i can’t…”

˚ ༘♡ “you must.” his voice didn’t rise, but it grew sharper. not callous, never callous, but firm, like he was building a wall between you and him brick by brick, and hating himself for every one. “you deserve to be happy. to care for someone who isn’t carrying the end of the galaxy in his guilt and shame.”

˚ ༘♡ you didn’t respond. couldn’t. not with words.

˚ ༘♡ so you just looked at him, body trembling, pain blooming somewhere far deeper than the wound in your knee.

˚ ༘♡ and he looked at you, too.

˚ ༘♡ as though he wanted to remember you.

˚ ༘♡ just once.

˚ ༘♡ before he had to let you go.

a/n: this is my official trial to be the kenobi fanfiction writer for tumblr!! please let me know if you have anymore requests for obi-wan kenobi, he is definitely my favorite star wars character!!! 🤍

[munefille]

Omg, I love your angel oc! Could you perhaps write a drabble about him and an s/o who bakes and makes sweets, that also has an equally sweet personality? Thanks a bunch!

thank!!

He wouldn't really understand your hobby. He gets the basic concept of cooking, but the more complex process of gathering different ingredients, prepping them, and then coagulating them until they've forfeited most of their original properties is lost on him. He would rather just eat your neighbor, but if you really insisted he'd try something you make.

𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

yandere!angel(?)oc x gn.reader

cw: animal death

Heat was drifting throughout your home. A modest fire crackled pleasantly, the ceaseless sound carrying with it the scent of warm sugar and vanilla. One look at the pastries told you they were goldening nicely in the flames, crisp dough rising until it was bloated from the hot air inside of it. Only a few minutes; then they would be ready.

Clicking on glass stole your attention from the dishes in your hands. The window, left uncovered to the vast woodland bordering it, was the source of the interruption. Without turning your head to look, a smile drew across your face. You knew who your visitor was.

Shuffling out of your humble kitchen and towards the window, you spied flashes of white feathers and an inhumanly tall form bending down to peer inside. Your heart beat increased, not out of fear, but excitement to present your gift for the creature- the angel.

The window creaks open as you unlock it, letting the cool evening breeze whistle through your hair and drag the sugary scent out with it.

"Hello!" you chirped, a giddy tone resonating in your greeting. The being looked down at you with a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You turned towards the kitchen again, "One moment!" you called, hurrying to fetch the baked sweets before the fire chars them. They came out steaming, sweet light whiffs that had been permeating your home hit you at full force once they came out.

It was a simple treat, sugary cookies that you had perfected. No one had ever said they disliked them.

There you were at the window again, hot tray in hand. The angel waited patiently beyond your walls for your return. Long ivory hair draped over his eyes and cascaded down his shoulders like a waterfall, so pale it seemed to reflect light even in the presence of the falling sun. He seemed to only ever visit you at night, when the light fades into nothing but the soft glow of the moon.

You presented the cookies to him, placing the tray on your window sill.

"An offering?" He quietly asked, smooth voice tinged with the hint of an accent you couldn't quite place. Though you nodded at his inquiry, he made no effort to take one.

You picked one up off the tray, taking a nibble of it in what you hoped to be a reassuring way. "They're sweet, see? I made them myself."

You practically shoved one towards him, wide doe eyes encompassing the look of a kicked puppy. "I wanted to find a small way to thank you," you mumbled genuinely. It was true- ever since you met him, life had started looking up for you. It was little things, you were rarely ever harassed anymore and people you disliked never came upon you again. You had no doubt it was the work of your guardian angel.

He stared at you through the wisps of white hair covering his eyes for a few moments longer. Then, slowly, he reached to pick one up, two long fingers pinching the treat between them.

You caught a glance of spired, bladelike teeth before he swallowed. You never questioned why an angel would have such a trait.

"How was it?" you inquired, beaming for a reaction.

His face, as far as you could tell, was blank. However, the magnificent pair of bone white wings behind him shuddered ever so slightly.

"Different."

You would take that.

The next morning, you awoke to the thick, metallic scent of rot. You searched for the origin of the putrid fumes, worried that you had left something out, when you had found it. A present was left for you on your doorstep; the corpse of a freshly deceased fawn, its head snapped to look in your direction. The wide eyed stare frozen onto its face held an unspoken warning.

An offering, for an offering.

[nolongeronlyhereforthewhispangle]

It’s time for Ecru to debut in drawing!

(Ecru is the wisp I paired Barry with in Into the Barryverse, one of my fanfics.)

Really shitty ref. sheet below cut (may be spoilers for Into the Barryverse) (sorry for bad camera quality)

General image

Eyes are generally “softer” (closer to a circle) than those of a regular ivory wisp

How the scar works/looks

Other notes:

Ecru’s coloring is closer to electric yellow than ivory due to all of the side effects of the transdimensional bullshit.

Slightly lankier than average ivory wisp (imagine him being stretched out ever so slightly on one of those medieval torture devices). Otherwise, he has all of the same traits as every other ivory wisp (eye color, general look, etc.)

Scar is defining feature from when his original friend was killed in a freak accident. It’s the best way to differentiate him from other ivory wisps.

[nolongeronlyhereforthewhispangle]

Ecru’s greatest fear is death. If you know, you know.

Tide’s greatest fear is failure. Assassinating people is his whole life. If he’s not good at that, then what is he good at? That’s right! Nothing!

#7: What is your OC's greatest fear?