Where is the light?

Send one or more emojis ( + descriptions ) for the kind of ship/dynamic you’d like to write with my muse! ( for multimuses, please specify. )

ROMANTIC

❤️ committed, romantic relationship 💘 friends to lovers 💔 used to be together but broke up ❣️ skinny love 💗 slow burn 💌 one muse has a crush on the other muse 💕 mutual pining 💝 romantic relationship of convenience 🏫 highschool sweethearts 💒 arranged relationship ( dating, engagement, political, etc. ) 💋 one-sided romantic relationship ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver ) 🖤 lovers to enemies 🤍 enemies to lovers

SEXUAL

💖 a sexual relationship that could turn romantic 🧡 friends with benefits 👄 a sexual, non-romantic relationship 🏩 sexual relationship of convenience 🔥 unresolved sexual tension 💟 developing sexual relationship ( may include romance ) 💞 one muse approaches the other out of convenience ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver ) 🔪 enemies with sexual tension

FAMILIAL

👪 biological family 👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 adopted family 🧑‍🤝‍🧑 family by choice/found family 👩‍👧 older/younger siblings 👭 twins 👥 cousins or extended family 👣 estranged family/feuding family 👨‍🏫 one muse is a teacher/mentor for the other muse ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver ) 🚸 coworkers like family 🟡 family out of circumstance ⚪ pretending to be family

PLATONIC

💜 friendship 💙 queerplatonic partners ( an intimate, non-romantic committed relationship ) 💚 friends like siblings 💛 childhood friends 💧 friends due to traumatic experiences 🤝 coworkers ⛔ reluctant friends ✅ enemies to friends 🌈 developing friendship ☀️ friends of circumstance 👔 strangers working together ☕ one muse works in service of the other ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver ) 🕴 partners in illegal activities 👯partners in crime trope ⚡ sparring partners 🩹 friends forced to work against each other 🟥 one muse makes a deal or contract with the other ( magic or non-magic. ) ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver )

ENEMIES

🦴 mortal enemies 💀 enemies ⚔️ rivalry 🗡️ one-sided rivalry/grudge ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver ) 🧠 enemies as narrative foils 💬 enemies because of conflicting ideologies 🤫 one muse is secretly an enemy/traitor to the other muse ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver ) 😨 one muse is using the other muse for their benefit ( specify which muse, Sender or Receiver ) ❌ guilty by association 🚫 friends to enemies 🪓 occupational enemies 🩸 enemies tolerating each other for a common goal ⚫ enemies using each other out of convenience ⬜ coworkers who hate each other

"Hot?"

He presses the back of his hand to his forehead, his brows furrowed as he lowers himself to sit, locks of crimson hair falling into his face as he closes his eyes to the cooling breeze she conjures up, his nose twitching at the odd scent it carries.

"No."

Susurr moves to take a seat beside him, raising a hand to brush the locks of red away from his forehead so that she may gauge the temperature of his skin herself.

His tone indicates that he would be a bit sardonic if he had the energy to put towards bickering, but he does not, the heat beneath his skin and the tension in his belly robs him of his repartee. He lets out a breath, seemingly unaware of how he tilts his head to press into her hand, or how his wings fluff out in display.

Indeed, he is hot, burning up really, but his skin gives off this heat regardless of where she touches him.

"It is not unheard of."

Perhaps he is not plagued by the conventional definition of illness, but there exist spells, curses, dark majicks that might manifest in a similar fashion. Not that she can very well imagine how in the world he would've become afflicted by any such thing.

With a breath through her honey gold nose, she presses a palm flatly to his forehead, his cheek and then the back of his neck...he really is burning up...

"...I think you are hallucinating Tarakiel. I do not wear perfume. "

He doesn’t finish the sentence, the words trailing off as she touches him, pressing into her hand like a house cat. He tries to remember anything that could have brought this malady on, but his mind comes up blank. One moment he had been fine, and the next…

“I know. That is why I asked, you smell so…”

He lacks the proper word to express his sentiment. Warm, welcoming? Words that someone who doesn’t know Susurr like his does would scarcely use to describe her. He leans in, close, his nostrils flaring and his brow furrowed as though he might ascertain exactly what it could be.

Perhaps he is hallucinating, for the images that fill his mind. All of her. Her face twisted in ecstasy, murmuring sweet words in exhaustion. Their weekly report comparisons, except with her hand resting atop her slightly swollen stomach. A little fledgling, with crimson hair and rams horns.

His eyes shoot back open, wide, his pupils dilated, and he leans back, his wings now maximally fluffed and his cheeks burning golden.

He is right, of course, it would be highly unusual for any such misfortune to befall somebody of his standing, with his perception, awareness and extensive worldly experience. It just doesn't compute. So the question remains; what could possibly be causing this feverish state of affairs? For once, she is just about stumped for plausible ideas.

Tipping her head to the side, she observes the way that he moves into her every touch, not unlike an attention starved companion mutt looking for a proper petting. Before she can make a sarcastic quip about his exceedingly unusual behavior, Tarakiel dips forward, so close that she can feel the heat radiating off his skin against her face, and she freezes.

By the time he finds the wherewithal to pull back, she is almost as flushed as he is, her own wings fanned out to display all the soft pastels of her plumage.

But the analytics of his mind are slowly fleeing him, numbers and intel slowly being replaced by the gentleness of her touch, the softness of her curves, her sweet scent that crawls into his pores and makes him feel as though he’s breathing in some concoction thought of in the bowels of lust.

“You…I think I know what is wrong…”

Is this lust? If it was, why the secondary images? Of them in harmony, of a family, happy in their togetherness.

Absentmindedly, she takes the liberty of reaching out to loosen the restraints of his attire. Only the topmost couple of buttons of his shirt, in hopes that the air might alleviate some of his discomfort (and perhaps bring him back to his senses). The concern in evident in her soft, seashell eyes; the question lingers in the back of her mind, wether, perhaps, she should call in a medic to make a proper assessment of his condition.

Taking one of his hands between both of hers, she expires a sigh through parted lips, willing her usual unshakable composure forth once again.

"...all will be well...I am sure that we can—"

As he begins to explain his hypothesis, Susurr falls silent, a quizzical crease taking shape between her brows.