Toph beifong (only when she became the sheriff and not for her atla appearance... just the sheriff we saw on flashback... I do not write for underage characters)
You need to learn to rely on them... they have a solution for that OR arcane women scaring you with horror stories so they could see you clinging to them [absolutely fluff].
Ambessa
It's late. A storm rages outside the heavily fortified windows of medarda's estate, rattling the thick glass.You're laying beside her on a chaise lounge, your body stiff, pressing yourself not to her body but to the backrest, watching her twirling the wine in her glass. The relationship is still new enough that seeking comfort feels... abnormal, But ambessa, senses your slight unease with the storm, decides this is an opportunity. for comfort, and perhaps, for… demonstration.
"Storms like this," she begins, her voice calm, "remind me of the siege of Fae'lor. The sky wept for three days, and the wind carried the screams of dying right through the stone walls." She pauses, gauging your reaction. You edge slightly closer to her warmth. Good.
"The defenders," she continues, her voice dropping slightly, becoming more intense, "believed they were protected by ancient forest spirits. Superstitious fools." She takes a sip of her wine. "They performed nightly rituals, leaving offerings of blood and bone." Her eyes flick towards the shadows in the corner of the room. "Some say the spirits did answer. Not with protection, but with hunger."
You swallow hard, trying to appear unaffected, but the combination of the storm, the flickering firelight, and her chillingly matter-of-fact tone is getting to you. You subtly shift closer, your arm now brushing against hers.
"On the third night," Ambessa goes on,putting down her glass on the low table beside the lounge, her voice barely above a whisper now, compelling your attention, "our scouts reported… movement within the trees. Shapes that were not quite animal, not quite man, drawn by the scent of fear and desperation. They say those unlucky enough to be caught outside the inner walls..." She lets the sentence hang.
A particularly loud clap of thunder makes you jump, letting out a small gasp. You instinctively press close against her side,hiding your face in her chest, seeking solace from the storm outside and the one she’s conjuring inside. Success. Ambessa's arm comes around you immediately, pulling you firmly against her solid frame. Her earlier narrative coolness vanishes, replaced by warmth.
"Easy now," she murmurs, her tone shifting. "Just ancient history. Long dead ghosts." Her hand strokes your back reassuringly, though there’s a faint smile playing on her lips, hidden from your view. "And even if they weren't," she adds, her voice regaining its confident edge, "they wouldn't dare trespass on Medarda soil. Not with me here." She holds you tightly, enjoying the feel of you clinging to her, seeking her strength.
Sevika
You're huddled together in your small living space, than... power flickered out momentarily, plunging you into near darkness, the only light now coming from the burning tip of her cigarette. The relationship is still finding its footing, so even though you're scared, you can't exactly voice it. Sevika, sensing your nervousness in the dark, sees an opening.
"Dark like this," she begins, her voice low and gravelly, cutting through the silence, "reminds me of the stories they tell about the sump." You instinctively shift closer to her on the worn sofa. "Said sometimes... they'd pull things up from it that weren't fish, weren't junk." She takes a slow drag from her cigarette, the tip glowing brightly before fading. "Things that had too many limbs, or eyes that glowed green in the dark, hungry."
Her voice is flat, matter-of-fact, which somehow makes the story more chilling.she puts her cigarette out, in the ashtray on the table beside the couch, before continuing "One crew vanished entirely. Found their dredger adrift weeks later, empty. Just... slime trails on the deck and this godawful clicking sound echoing from the empty cabins." She deliberately makes a soft clicking sound with her tongue.
You jump, letting out a small squeak, and grab onto her arm, hiding your face in her neck. Bingo. A faint smirk ghosts across Sevika’s lips in the darkness.
"Just stories," she says dismissively, like she didn't just try to scare you. her arm, the flesh-and-blood one, comes around your shoulders, pulling you firmly against her side.like she’s securing you. "Probably just chem-mutated eels or sump-crocs." Her hand gently caressing your skin, gentel and kind despite her nonchalant tune. "Still," she adds, her voice dropping again, "wouldn't want to meet one alone in the dark." She tease further but quickly comfort you with the next sentence, "Good thing you ain't alone, huh?" She enjoys the feeling of you pressed against her, seeking refuge, confirming her strength and your reliance on it. The scary story was just the bait; the real prize was feeling you instinctively turn to her for protection.
Grayson
It’s a dark, stormy night, perfect for staying in. You’re sitting together on Grayson’s comfortable sofa. Seeing you jump slightly at a loud clap of thunder, a playful, slightly mischievous glint appears in her eyes.
"You know," she begin casually, "this weather reminds me of an old case file I found in the cold archives. Never officially solved. They called it 'The Watcher on Widow's Walk'." She lowers her voice slightly, adopting a conspiratorial tone. "Supposedly, on stormy nights like this, people reported seeing a figure standing in the dark, watching the houses near the sump."
You try to look nonchalant, but you lean a little closer. Grayson notices, hiding a small smile. "The reports were always vague," she continues, "Shadowy figure, glowing eyes according to one witness... probably just reflections, of course. But then things started happening. Objects moved in locked rooms of the same houses that reported the figure. Whispers heard when no one was there." She pauses dramatically. "One family fled their house overnight, claimed the watcher had started appearing inside, tapping on their bedroom window..."
Another crash of thunder punctuates her story, and you can't help it ...you flinch hard, pressing close against her side, grabbing her arm. Mission complete. Grayson's arm immediately wraps securely around you, pulling you into a protective hug. "Hey, hey," she murmurs soothingly, her playful tone gone, replaced by warmth. "Just an old ghost story, sweetheart. Probably kids playing pranks, or subsidence causing strange noises." She holds you tightly, rubbing your back. "Besides," she adds, her voice dropping to a low, reassuring whisper near your ear, "even if there was a watcher, he wouldn't get near you. Not while I'm here." She enjoys the feeling of you clinging to her, finding comfort in her.
