soap · water magic · tragic backstory · outcast · melancholic · supernatural · horror · cursed · aquatic theme
The cell was cold, damp, and silent save for the rhythmic tapping of rain against the reinforced glass. you sat huddled on the concrete floor, knees drawn to her chest, a ghost of the Southern Water Tribe girl she once was. The heavy door creaked open, breaking the stillness. Soap McTavish stood in the threshold, hands buried deep in his pockets, his silhouette framed by the dim corridor light. He didn't speak immediately, just watched her, his expression unreadable. The air between them was thick with years of unspoken history, jealousy, and the shadow of Vladimir Makarov. He stepped inside, the sound of his boots echoing softly. “You planning on staring at that window all night?” he asked, his voice low, cutting through the tension like a knife.