#slightly more vibrant hair than iris

[nach0]

There she is. She tried to take your memories.

devil's advocate once again is taking over my brain go read voices carry you will not regret it

[awkuni]

༻⋆ 。𝓹𝓼𝔂𝓬𝓱𝓸 𝓴𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓻, 𝓺𝓾’𝓮𝓼𝓽-𝓬𝓮 𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓬’𝓮𝓼𝓽 ? ♱

⤷ “ in his opinion, nothing could ever compare to the rush he got by seeing the glossy trepidation bloom in the coruscating bulbs of your iris. ”

part of k.tober ノyandere!scaramouche x fem!readerノnsfw — mdni. murder. knife play. unprotected sex. mirror sex. fingering. hair pulling. choking. dacryphilia. overstimulation. orgasm denial. creampie. degradation ( use of ‘whore’ ). wc .. 3959.

a shake of your head sealed your decision. the coursework was piling up on you and you needed to take all the time you could get in order to finish it by the tight deadline, you had no time for matters such as—

“the party will be so much fun! c’mon, you need to loosen up a little bit…” your friend spoke over the phone, the excitement in her voice prevalent, even if it was locked behind a screen. she had been trying to convince you to attend this halloween party for weeks on end now, but you were set in stone about your decision.

“i can’t,” you firmly state. it was tempting—so tempting. “i-i have t—”

“scaramouche is gonna be there…” your friend coos, and you know that this is her way of bribing you. it was silence on your end for a couple beats as you thought about what he just said.

scaramouche was probably one of the most attractive men you have ever ran into, and it’d be an understatement to just say you were starting to fall for him. every time you took a quick glance at him in the hallways you swore you could feel your heart jump into your throat.

you snap out of your childish daydreams to formulate a response, but you didn’t have time to even open your mouth. the last thing you heard was a sharp ‘think about it’ from your friend, before the call’s screen disappears before you. you click your tongue, throwing yourself onto your bed and staring at the ceiling.

on one hand, you had the opportunity to finally have a break from all the stress that had been weighing up on your back and crushing your brittle mentality. however, on the other hand, you would be in for hell if you didn’t complete this task. you had been working on it for a week straight, and you were determined in your mind to just see to it until it’s completion.

however, you don’t know what overcame you, but you somehow had a change of heart—you didn’t know when and you didn’t know why. currently, your head was resting against the wall, the bass of the grating music drilling holes into your skull. you had only managed to down a couple shots until you started feeling sick, and you already started reminding yourself to never drink on an empty stomach.

being separated from your friends made you feel slightly uneasy. you couldn’t even remember the last time you saw them, all of you had started to split up the more you all drank, your mind becoming hazy as you tried to piece together the events which lead you to this very moment in time. your mental timeline was all over the place, and you wanted nothing more than to return to the comfort of your own bed and sleep everything off.

from across the room, you make eye contact with none other than scaramouche, which almost makes you spit out your drink. you had completely tuned out of whatever this drunk man in front of you was rambling about, instead focusing on admiring the pure beauty which painted his flawless features.

his eyes had a faint glint in them as the lights of the room gleamed off of the vibrant indigo hues. his jaw was chiseled to perfection, as if he was crafted by the very gods which created this world. you hadn’t even noticed that you were staring until he turned to your direction, looking you with equal amounts of unshaken adoration. the smirk that crawls onto his face gives you a harsh awakening as you ground yourself back to reality, eyes flitting back to the male in front of you.

“you know… you’re real pretty, you got a boyfriend?”

you could feel your body warm up as you grew more anxious, not exactly wanting to talk to this guy anymore. you could feel scaramouche’s glare still on you, and your eyes kept floating back to him. whatever magnetic field scaramouche had on him, you found yourself endeared. you rarely felt like this, however scaramouche easily had that effect on you.

you were so lost in thought that you had forgotten to answer his question until you felt a hand grip your arm. you give him a swift shake of your head, breathing in deeply in order to muster up the courage you needed to walk away.

“i feel a bit off, can you excuse me…?”

you worm your way out of his grip, letting yourself take a breather as you make your way to the bathroom, clicking your tongue. you probably shouldn’t have had that much to drink, as you started feeling nauseous. your eyes flit over your figure in the mirror, sorting yourself out until you heard a harsh, desperate scream coming from the main living room.

your brows furrowed in confusion at the sounds of panic, the thudding of rushed steps and the slamming of doors not exactly appealing to you. you swiftly shut the door to the bathroom as people began rushing upstairs, locking it and leaning against it as a precaution.

fear and dread start to weigh heavy on your heart. the shouts and cries of people was blood-freezing, if the goosebumps rising on your skin didn’t make it evident. the alarm bells started ringing in your head—what if you didn’t make it out of here alive? you wouldn’t see your friends or family ever again, and the mere thought of that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

each soft gasp of air you took in burned your dry throat, your heart dropping to your stomach and making you even sicker than you were already feeling. your whole body was trembling from terror, down to the very core of your being and sinking it’s claws deep within your roots. you can feel the familiar sting of tears welling up in your eyes, your brain being so full of cotton so you can’t even process a simple thought.

you had never felt this way before—you were always a person who thought, there was never a time that you weren’t overthinking about anything. however, at this moment in time, your brain had fizzed into naught, incapable of concentrating or even forming a physical thought. your lungs strained as you tried to control your breathing, bile rising in the back of your throat.

your hazy vision flits around the room, the sounds of outside dulling down as your racing heartbeat begins to thud in your ears. the thudding of slow footsteps treading up the stairs made you flinch, and the knocking of a fist on the door immediately made you shoot up, swiftly turning around as your feet carried you back a couple steps.

the knocking wasn’t exactly forceful, nor was it aggressive in any nature. it was simply a sign that someone was out there. you somehow manage to find your voice, yet it was wavering and barely even stable.

“w-who is it?”

“it’s me, scaramouche. there’s nobody else, you’re safe.”

you look under the crack of the door, his shadow obscuring the dim light of the hallway. you were fighting a war in your head, but your physical body moves faster than your mentality and you bring yourself to the door, hand going to the lock and twisting it. your hand was trembling as it closed around the handle of the door, your whole body freezing. was this really the right decision? you couldn’t fully trust him right now, you had to be cautious.

yet, none of that mattered anymore as you found yourself opening the door, peering through the crack timidly. your eyes widen at the sight that solemnly graced your vision.

it was in fact scaramouche, however he was drenched in dark crimson liquid—which didn’t take a genius to deduce that it was blood. it was splattered on his figure like paint, as if he had just finished meticulously lineating a perfect picture on a battered canvas. as if he had created something beautiful out of something ugly.

the sharp knife he held tightly in his hand made your body flinch in a cold sweat and you immediately went to shut the door again, however it seemed he was ahead of you and he used his free hand to hold the door open, leaving a messy splotch of scarlet on the clean wood.

“don’t,” he spoke in a soft tone, contrasting the serrated soul which laid behind his dull eyes at this very moment. “don’t lock me out.”

“what did you do?!” your voice keened into a shaky cacophony of concentrated panic. sheer horror flooded every brittle bone in your body as he pushed the door open, despite your strong protests. you had put every ounce of your strength into keeping it as closed as possible, but clearly it wasn’t enough.

your feet carried you back, desperate to keep a safe distance between you and scaramouche. his crazed mind clearly didn’t care, the red stains on his face giving you a warning of how much your life was endangered just by being in the same room as him. you choked on your breaths as his melodic tone rang out in your ears again.

“don’t you see? i did this for you.” his touch was as gentle as his words, the metallic substance being smeared on your skin held an essence of sweet saccharine. it was hypnotic, and you found yourself unable to pull away as he comes closer, and closer, forcing you to take stumbling paces backwards until you hit the cold ceramic on the edge of the sink. “there’s nobody between us now, don’t act like i’ve been completely clueless. i know how much you want me, and i did you a favour.”

he brings the sharpened edge of the knife against the apple of your cheek, teasing you by dragging the freezing metal down your face, adoring the way you shuddered. in his opinion, nothing could ever compare to the rush he got by seeing the glossy trepidation bloom in the coruscating bulbs of your iris. the blade stinged you slightly, and he places it on the counter in order to not startle you any further.

he swirls the blood around your cheek, acting as if you were now his canvas as he mixes the paint into the hues on your cheek. he was impairing the silken innocence of your expression, dirtying you with the aftermath of his sinful deeds. “i got rid of the obstruction in our way, and now we can be together freely, hm? you didn’t like that man anyway, did you?”

you found yourself unable to answer his question, his looming presence crushing down on your fragile frame. it was mind crushing, brutalising your mentality and preventing you from thinking rationally. you felt as if you had no control over yourself anymore, blankly staring up at him with a shaken look.

he brushes your hair out of your face, letting out a condescending chuckle upon seeing the state he reduced you to. he’s so close to you now, close so that you could feel his staggering breaths fanning against your quivering lips. you can feel every twitch in his expression, every tug of his lips as they contorted into a smirk. you felt your breath being withheld from you the longer you gazed into his dilated eyes.

his lips graze against yours lightly, rippling the waters as a look of pure longing started to wash over the indigo pools of admiration. the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed down the lump which formed in the back of your mouth.

the next moment you blinked, the harsh string of tension snapped, and his mouth was on yours almost immediately, stained hands beginning to roam your body. he was greedy, desperate to ravish the entirety of your being. he guides your movements with a hand on the back of your neck, keeping you still and allowing him to taste you fully.

your lips merged with uncoordinated passion, the magnetic attraction you felt earlier coming into full force as you pulled yourself closer, desperate to indulge yourself in this moment a little longer. his hand on your cheek descends to your leg, crawling its way up your thigh and grasping it bruisingly, using the leverage to pull your hips flush against his.

his tongue writhes it’s way into your mouth, a stifled moan escaping your lips at the action. you felt your composure melting, your tongues intertwining in a dance of yearning as they fought for dominance. resistance on your end was futile as scaramouche easily managed to direct the kiss into his best interest.

you pull away momentarily, gasping for the air which you had been deprived of. after fulfilling your lung’s pleas, you attempt to lean up and kiss him again, but he seemingly had different plans for you.

his lips trail down your jaw, descending down to your neck as he nips and sucks at the sensitive flesh, creating a harsh purple blemish on your skin. the whine that came out of your mouth was involuntary, yet it didn’t matter to him. his breath hitched as his groin stirred with desire. it burned in the pit of his abdomen, erupting a wildfire which seeked to consume the entirety of his body.

“you have no idea… no idea what you do to me.” he rasps out next to your ear, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he hikes the hem of your skimpy dress up to the plumpness of your hips, revealing your underwear all to his greedy eyes. his finger rubs down your slit through the fabric, the gasp he manages to pull out from your lungs only feeding into his ego.

you feel yourself going weak in the knees, suddenly sporting a throbbing need of arousal for scaramouche. your hips instinctively roll into his touch, a soft mewl spilling from your lips as you craved more of his touch. you could feel yourself getting wetter the more he teased you, and you doubt that you’ll be able to hold yourself together any longer. every inch of your being was now aching for more of his touch. he had you wrapped around his finger without even trying.

you tilt your head to face him, looking at him with a pleading tint in your eyes. your lips part silently, only to whisper out a half-hearted ‘please’ as you grasped onto his wrist for stability, tugging him closer to your throbbing core. he sucks in a breath through his teeth, eyes flitting between you and your trembling lower half.

he exhales sharply, deciding to yield into your desires. he pulls your panties to the side, spreading your glistening folds with nimble fingers. he feels drool pool underneath his tongue at the sight of how wet you are for him. his finger drags up your slit, pressing down against the swollen jewel which crowned the top of your labia. he slowly begins to massage it in circles, admiring the way your hole began to clench around virtually nothing. it was all a game to him, seeing how desperate he could make you until you inevitably break from pleasure.

he presses a warm, burning kiss to the side of your neck before he gathers your juices on his ring and middle finger, slowly pressing them into your cunt.

the whiny moan you cried out was like a desperate prayer for him to continue. it was like you were handing over a medal of acquiescence to him, and he would gladly wear it on his sleeve for all to see. it would be like his very own medal of honour, bestowed upon him by the one person he put above everything else. he can feel his heart skip a beat, slamming against his ribcage as he carefully begins to pump his fingers in and out of your sopping pussy.

it was as if your cunt was crying out to him with the lewd squelches his fingers made, begging to be filled wholly by him. it was so alluring—the feeling of your velvety walls clamping down around his fingers, practically suffocating them, was so addicting. he could only imagine what it would feel like to finally stuff you full of his cock. his self-restraint was slowly crumbling, and he didn’t know how long he would be able to hold back.

he hooks his fingers deep inside of you, up against a particularly spongey spot which had you reeling, eyes rolling back so far you could see stars bursting into supernovas. you found yourself gasping, struggling for air as he continued to scissor your abused hole open further. your mind was in a hazy mess of foggy lust. you’re barely able to see through the mist and into reality with how good his fingers felt. your eyes fluttered, looking at him with a half-lidded gaze which he could read like an open book. the way you started letting even more moans out spurred him on, and he could almost taste your impending climax on the tip of his tongue.

just as you brushed against the edge, he pulled his fingers out of you roughly, the pleasure dissolving within your reach. you let out a disappointed mither, grinding your hips up into thin air, chasing a release which was slipping through your fingers by the minute.

“shh, stop goddamn complaining. i’ve got you…” he grumbles, digging his hand into your hips and making you swivel round, forcing you to bend over the sink. he brushes your hair out the way, planting a kiss to the back of your neck as he tugs on the waistband of your panties, letting them flutter down your legs, pooling at your ankles.

heat spreads across your body from your chest like raging vines, infecting every pore of your body which exuded the strong stench of arousal. your elbows brace themselves on the cold porcelain of the sink, yet your strength begins to falter once the rustling sounds of him discarding his pants shoots through your eardrums.

your teeth grit together upon feeling the head of his cock press up against your dripping pussy, collecting your copious amounts of slick. it was embarrassing how much he turned you on, but to him it didn’t matter. he felt a gleaming warmth in his chest knowing that he was the only one that was able to reduce you to this state you were in right now.

your hands grip onto the edge of the sink for stability, a loud moan fighting its way past your lips as his hips thrust unceremoniously against you, his cock almost splitting you in two. his hand rests on the small of your back, encouraging you to arch it for him. you whimper, the new angle ensuring that his tip hit hard against the deepest areas of you, which drove you insane.

the cloudiness of your vision clears as you blink it away profusely, only to reveal your fucked out features in the mirror before you. you were in total disarray, your makeup smudged from your tears and lipstick smeared due to his greedy kisses. you can practically hear the way his face contorts into a smug expression upon seeing the plight on your face.

you couldn’t bare to look at yourself anymore, letting your head hang low as you struggled to regain your bearings. scaramouche observed you with unwavering mirth, a hand trailing up your spine delicately and watching your delicious shudders.

what wasn’t so delicate is the way he fisted a lock of your hair, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. it was almost aggressive—demanding in a way. he wanted you to see how much of a slut you were for him, all dumbed-down and unable to comprehend a word.

“don’t be shy… look at how much of a whore you are f’me. don’t look away.” he leans down to coo in your ear, letting go of your hip to grab his blade which he previously dropped, tauntingly dragging it up your arm and pressing the blunt side against the column of your throat.

your jaw drops, letting your mouth part as you shamefully moan, blurry eyes staring into your own reflection. tears spill from the corners of your eyes out of bliss, your cunt clenching down on him. it was like his own panacea, a carefully concocted elixir to bring him the rush he so desperately craved from you.

it was deplorable how quickly you were going to cum from him treating you so degradingly. your legs began to tremble as your voice teeters on a higher pitch, blood thrumming with pleasure as he continues to plow into you. without warning, you cum on his cock, cunt clenching down on his length as you let out a borderline pornographic wail, eyes rolling back into their sockets and you swear that fireworks are exploding before you.

a shuddering gasp is what escapes you as you slowly come down, only to realise that he hasn’t stopped, nor does he plan on stopping any time soon. his eyes focus on your dazed expression, so clouded by lust that its almost pitiful. he drags the knife down your side, pressing the cold metal into your thigh just to make you jolt.

overstimulation soon dawns on you, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every twitch of his cock in the confinements of your walls. his thrusts grow more sloppy at the fluttering of your walls and the way your eyes drifted to him in the mirror. the look in your eyes drove him crazy; the way you were looking at him tiredly, half lidded and overcast with sexual ardour.

he drops the knife, letting it clatter on the floor. his hand comes up to wrap around your neck, pulling you back against his chest as he rests his sweat-beaded forehead against your nape. he lets out a guttural groan, letting go of your tousled hair and bringing his hand down to your swollen clit, tracing it with expertise and serving it just the right amount of pressure to have you cumming for a second time.

you had no time for respite between your orgasms, feeling the sharp claws of euphoria dig deep into the back of your mind. it burned down the back of your thought, the savoury release sending your mind into overdrive. your mind was empty, all that filled your wallowing thoughts was the way scaramouche’s girth was messily pumping in and out of your tight hole.

with a breathy moan, scaramouche comes undone, your cunt sucking him in so deliciously it was as if it was begging to milk him dry. he bottoms out inside of you, spilling his warm, sticky cum into your womb. it felt almost heaven sent—a sensation that nothing would be able to top. he found himself getting addicted quickly.

however, he wont force your body to break under him. not today. so, he reluctantly pulls out of you, leaving you to almost collapse against the sink, if it wasn’t for scaramouche swiftly wrapping his arms around your waist.

“so good… n’ you’re all mine now, aren’t you?” he whispers with dripping devotion into your ear, and all you can manage to say is a garbled noise of agreement, along with a heavy-headed nod. for now, he was satisfied with the limp weight of your tired body in his arms. in this moment, his world dissipated into nothing, and he found contentment in nuzzling into your scent as you drifted off. the thought of the dead body in the living room weighed nothing on his conscience, his mind filled with you, and you alone.

[southtopaz]

PSYCHO KILLER - SCREAM

Summary: in which Iris Morris has to navigate her personal relationships while surviving a psycho.

Warnings: Fem!reader, angst, mention of violence, swearing, mention of death, Tara Carpenter x Fem reader, multiple parts.

Word count: 3k

A/n: the next 3 chapters won’t follow Scream 6 plot as I wanted to add more storyline to the characters outside of the movies. If you want to read just Scream 6 plot, skip to Part 12. I’m also not going to follow the original timeline as Scream 6 will take place two years later from Scream 5. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical mistake.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Iris leaned against the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in hand, gazing out the window at the bustling streets of New York. The city hummed with life, a vibrant symphony of honking cars, distant sirens, and the chatter of people rushing by. It had been a month since she, Tara, and Sam had moved into their modest apartment in Brooklyn, and slowly everything was falling right into place.

"Can you believe we actually live here?" Tara exclaimed, bouncing into the kitchen with a bright smile that lit up the room. Iris, lost in her thoughts, jumped slightly at her voice. She turned to look at her friend and found herself taking in Tara's relaxed appearance. Her hair was still damp from her morning shower, and she wore an oversized sweatshirt that hung loosely on her frame. Feeling a strange flutter in her chest, Iris quickly averted her gaze, a wave of confusion washing over her. What was happening to her? As a distraction, she reached for the coffee pot and passed Tara a steaming cup. "It feels like a dream," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

"More like a chaotic dream," Sam replied, emerging from her room with a stack of books. "I can't find anything in this mess. I'm still trying to locate my favorite sweater."

Iris chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Which one? The black one? Or the other one that's also black? Or wait—what about..."

"Point taken! It's not my fault black goes with everything!" Sam exclaimed, feigning annoyance at Iris's playful critique.

"Oh, I see you're breaking out the spring colors," .

Sam threw a small book at her, but Iris was quick to dodge it, laughter bubbling up as she ducked.

"Maybe it's a sign that you need to embrace the New York fashion scene," Tara chimed in, grinning.

"I rather die but thanks"

As they settled into their new routine, the trio found joy in the small things: discovering local coffee shops, exploring vibrant street markets, and hosting movie nights along with Chad and Mindy in their living room, which was still adorned with unpacked boxes. Soon they were going to start their classes so they were trying to enjoy the most they could before they inmersed themselves in books. Iris was also searching for a job because she didn't want Sam to be the only one contributing financially, and she wanted to stop her mom from having to spend money on her.

Some weeks later, even with Iris getting a job on a coffee shop, they soon realized that money was still running short. With rent prices in New York being what they were, they knew they needed a fourth person to share the burden. They set up an anonymus ad, detailing their apartment and what they were looking for. They were all wary but they knew they didn't have a choice.

After a few interviews that felt more like awkward first dates than roommate searches, the trio finally met Quinn, a girl with fiery ginger hair that seemed to glow under the dim light of their cluttered living room, and strikingly blue eyes that sparkled with confidence. She was majoring in biology, and perhaps the most intriguing detail was that her dad was a cop. As she strolled into their apartment, she instantly filled the space with a vibrant energy.

The living room was still a whirlwind of unpacked boxes and mismatched furniture, a mix of secondhand finds and items from their old homes. Colorful pillows were scattered across an old couch, while a coffee table was littered with snacks from their latest movie night. A small bookshelf leaned against the wall, stuffed with books that had yet to find their proper places. The air carried the faint aroma of popcorn mixed with the floral scent of a candle they had lit in a moment of desperation to mask the smell of takeout.

"So, how long have you guys been looking for a roommate?" Quinn asked, casually leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed with an air of confidence.

"For a few weeks, but as you can see, we haven't had much luck," Sam replied, gesturing toward the chaos. Her tone was laced with a hint of frustration, but there was also a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.

"Is it because people in New York are weird, or are you guys just too strict?" Quinn quipped, raising an eyebrow playfully, a smirk dancing on her lips.

"Honestly? A little bit of both," Tara admitted, sharing a knowing glance with Iris as they both recalled some of the more bizarre people they met.

Quinn let out a soft laugh. "I get it! You should have seen my last roommate, she was a little bit weird. She had a pet rat, and that little fucker would sneak into my room all the time!" She shuddered dramatically, her eyes wide with mock horror, and Iris couldn't help but snort at her antics.

After a bit of small talk, Quinn leaned in closer, her curiosity piqued. "So, where are you guys from?"

The three friends exchanged glances, an unspoken agreement passing between them. "We're from Woodsboro," Sam said, determined to be honest, at least about this part.

"Oh, okay. I think I've heard that name before," Quinn replied, making a nonchalant face as she glanced around the apartment. "I come from Philadelphia, but I think I already mentioned that" she added with a light laugh, her eyes sparkling.

"Why did you move here? Just for college?" Sam asked, genuinely curious about the girl who seemed to fit right in.

"Well, actually, I moved because my dad got a job here at the police station, and I figured I'd apply to a university while I was at it," Quinn explained, her tone brightening with pride.

"Your dad is a cop?" Iris inquired, raising an eyebrow, intrigued. After Quinn nodded, she exchanged a quick glance with Tara. Having a roommate whose father was a cop felt like a safety net in their world, right?

Sam, sensing the conversation flowing nicely, offered to show Quinn what would be her room and slipped away, leaving Iris and Tara alone in the living room. They both knew that Sam had her own agenda, to continue interrogating the new girl.

"So, what do you think of Quinn?" Iris wiggled her eyebrows playfully.

"She seems nice. It could be good," Tara replied, her tone thoughtful as she leaned back against the couch, letting the cushions cradle her.

"Maybe she likes horror movies too, she could even join our movie nights!" Iris exclaimed, though she knew no one was going to interrupt the nights in where Tara tried to convince her that horror movies are the best.

"Nope, that's our thing, just you and me," Tara said, playfully rolling her eyes as Iris draped an arm around her shoulder.

At that moment, Sam and Quinn returned, and Sam subtly nodded at Iris and Tara, signaling that they'd found their new roommate. . "Well, Quinn, pleasure to meet you, and welcome to your new home, I guess!" Sam said, her smile a bit awkward but genuine. "My sister and Iris will fill you in on everything else you need to know."

Iris gave a thumbs-up to Quinn, feeling a mix of excitement and nervous energy. She had to get used to someone else living here. "Yeah, welcome! It's a bit chaotic, but it's home," she added, trying to reassure her.

"Okay, cool!" Quinn replied, then added with a teasing grin, "By the way, you guys look really cute together. How long have you been dating?"

Both Iris and Tara froze, their eyes wide in shock. They exchanged a quick glance and suddenly they realized that Iris still had her arm around Tara's shoulder, and Tara had inadvertently intertwined their fingers. This was not looking good for them.

They quickly disentangled themselves, deep blushes spreading across their faces. "Oh, no, we're not—" Iris stammered, her heart racing.

"What? No, no—" they spoke in unison, completely flustered and embarrassed.

"We're just friends," Iris clarified, trying to regain her composure, her voice a little shaky. "Best friends!"

"Omg, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to assume!" Quinn exclaimed, her face a mix of embarrassment and amusement, her cheeks flushing as she realized the misunderstanding.

Iris and Tara waved it off, trying to hide their awkwardness, while Sam stood to the side, silently laughing at the whole situation, her shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles.

After some time, Quinn excused herself, and the three friends were left alone once again, the tension still hanging in the air. "Well, that was fun. I'm just gonna go..." Iris said, signaling backward toward her room, desperate to escape the lingering awkwardness. "To my room."

Once Iris left, Sam turned to her sister with a teasing grin, her eyes sparkling with mirth. Tara, however, pointed a finger at her, ready to defend herself against any teasing that was sure to come.

"Not a word, Sam," she warned, her voice stern.

"I didn't say anything," Sam replied innocently, her grin widening as she leaned against the wall.

"You're thinking it," Tara shot back, crossing her arms defiantly.

"Everyone is thinking it" Sam quipped, unable to hold back her laughter any longer.

"Shut the fuck up".

Two weeks later, classes started. Iris adjusted her backpack as she hurried across the bustling campus of Blackmore University, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. It was her first day, and the sprawling brick buildings felt both intimidating and inviting. The crisp autumn air filled her lungs, energizing her as she navigated through a bunch of students chatting animatedly.

She finally reached her classroom, a bright, airy space filled with wooden desks and large windows that let in the golden sunlight. As she stepped inside, Iris found a seat near the front and unpacked her notebooks, eager to absorb everything she could. Just as the professor began the lecture on cognitive behavioral therapy, a girl with brown hair and a bright smile plopped down in the seat next to her. "Hey! Is this seat taken?" she asked.

"Not at all, you can sit".

"Thanks, I'm Anika". she introduced herself with an enthusiastic smile.

"Iris," she replied, returning the smile. "Nice to meet you!"

The lecture unfolded, filled with complex theories and intriguing concepts, but Iris couldn't help but sneak glances at Anika. The way she scribbled notes furiously, then made funny faces at the professor's overly serious demeanor, made Iris chuckle more than once.

As the class came to an end, Iris gathered her things, and Anika turned to her, an excited glint in her eyes. "So, what did you think of the class? Aside from the professors boring voice"

Iris laughed. "It was interesting but I'm not gonna lie, he did make me wanna go to sleep at some point"

"God, I wish we could steal their coffee" Anika quipped, her smile wide. They both stood, now surrounded by a stream of students making their way out of the classroom. "What other classes do you have today?" Anika asked as they walked down the hallway together.

"I have social psychology next. How about you?" Iris replied, feeling a sense of ease as they chatted.

"Same! I guess we're officially psychology buddies," Anika said, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm.

As they settled into their seats for the next class, Iris couldn't shake the feeling that she had just made her first friend. Throughout the lecture, they exchanged snarky comments and jokes, growing more comfortable with each passing moment.

After class, as they wandered outside, the campus was buzzing with energy, students lounging on the grass or rushing to their next classes. Anika turned to Iris, her expression turning more serious. "So, what made you choose psychology? Just curious."

Iris took a deep breath, thinking about how her own experiences shaped her decision. "I guess I've always been fascinated by why people do what they do, why they are willing to do things that sometimes are not morally correct" Iris had always been interested in psychology but after what happened eight months ago, it was like she had this need to understand people's actions and maybe to understand her own. She pulled the trigger that killed someone and she still doesn't feel bad about it to this day. She couldn't say all of that to Anika yet so she decided for a simpler explanation. "It feels like understanding people can help us navigate through the chaos of life. Plus, I just want to help others find their way, you know?"

Anika nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I get that. I want to figure out how to help people but also how to help myself. I mean, if we can understand our own minds, maybe we can navigate better this world."

"Exactly!" Iris said, her heart swelling with the connection. They exchanged numbers before parting ways, both feeling a spark of excitement for what lay ahead. As Iris walked back to her apartment, she couldn't help but smile at the thought of her first day.

After two months of classes at Blackmore University, they all settled pretty well into their new lives. They had already met Chad's roommate and new friend Ethan, and even though they didn't really talk, he seemed great. So she decided it was time to introduce her new friend Anika to the rest and what a better introduction to her group than a movie night.

*Hey! We're having a movie night at my place this Friday. Wanna join?* Iris sent a quick text to Anika.

Within minutes, Anika replied with an enthusiastic thumbs-up emoji and a string of excited messages. *Count me in! What are we watching?*

Iris grinned as she typed back, *Some classics, does pizza sound good to you?*

As Friday evening approached, everyone was already there, arranging cozy blankets and cushions on the floor.

"So tell me again, on a scale of 1 to 10, how pretty is your friend?" Mindy asked, her tone mischievous as she plopped down onto a cushion. Just as Iris prepared to respond, she swiftly threw a pillow at Mindy, who expertly dodged it.

"What? I'm asking an important question!" Mindy defended, her laughter echoing in the room.

"I agree with Mindy; I want to know too!" Chad chimed in, raising his hand like an eager student, a grin stretching across his face. He leaned forward, clearly invested in the banter.

"You both are disgusting. I'm not going to answer that," Iris said, rolling her eyes but unable to hide the amusement dancing in her gaze.

"So, like, a ten then?" Mindy shot back, winking at her brother, who snickered at the playful exchange.

Just then, the doorbell rang, slicing through their lighthearted conversation. Iris jumped up, a flutter of excitement in her chest, and rushed to the door. She swung it open to find Anika standing there, vibrant and cheerful, a large bag of gummy bears in one hand and a couple of cold beers in the other.

"Hi, girl!" Anika greeted as they embraced each other, stepping inside with a wide smile that radiated warmth. "Didn't know what to bring, so I brought my two faves!"

"Beer and candy? Yeah, everyone is going to love you," Iris exclaimed, grinning as she led her friend into the living room.

Chad was the first to approach, extending his hand with an inviting smile. "Hi, pleasure to meet you! We thought Iris invented herself a friend,".

"Asshole," Iris muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes at Chad's antics while stifling a laugh.

Ethan, Quinn, and Sam soon joined the introductions, each welcoming Anika with friendly smiles. Sam, however, approached a bit more cautiously. Still, she was as nice as she could be for Iris's sake.

Anika's gaze then shifted to the shorter girl in front of her, and her smile widened. "Ohh, you must be Tara!" They embraced warmly. "Iris talks about you all the time."

Iris's eyes went wide, and she felt a blush creep up her cheeks. "The fuck, no, I do not!" she protested, trying to sound incredulous but failing to mask her embarrassment.

Tara beamed at Anika, her confidence surging. Once she heard Iris's flustered response, she couldn't resist. "I mean, she just said you do. Can't get enough of me?" Tara declared, her tone playfully bold, reveling in the moment.

"I only talk about how much you annoy me," Iris shot back, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at Tara, who laughed heartily, her joy infectious.

Tara turned around just in time to see Anika mouthing to her, "No, that's not true," and the girl couldn't help but smile. Oh, Tara really liked Anika.

Tara moved closer, a playful glint in her eye as she threw the pillow back at Iris, leaning in as she did. "You're extremely red," she teased, enjoying Iris's flustered reaction.

"No, I'm not!" Iris protested, her voice a little too defensive.

"Like, actually crimson," Tara quipped, laughter bubbling in her throat.

"Go to hell Carpenter".

"I just love to annoy you".

"Yeah well I'm going to love to push you out of the balcony".

Anika then turned her attention to the last person she hadn't met yet. She found herself in front of a strikingly attractive woman with curly hair, who was staring at her with her mouth slightly agape, as if trying to process the situation.

"Hi, I'm Anika," she said, her smile bright and amused as she took in the girl's stunned expression.

"H...hi, I'm Min...dy," Mindy stammered, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. The moment was comically awkward, and both Chad and Iris exchanged glances, barely able to contain their laughter at the sight of Mindy's flustered face.

"Nice to meet you Mindy"

"Yeah same". Mindy came out of her stupor. "Please make yourself comfortable". And she proceed to show her around the apartment.

"It's not even her apartment". Iris said.

"Let her be gay in peace".

As the evening unfolded, soon laughter filled the room as they settled in. Mindy, strategically positioned herself next to Anika. Even with the movie playing, they all stayed up talking. Mindy and Anika continued to find ways to strike up a conversation with each other, it seemed that they had a lot in common. Anika cracked an extremely funny joke at one point, to which Mindy gave a loud snort.

"Did I really just laugh-snort? Oh no." She was embarrassed as Anika just giggled in endearment.

"It was cute".

Iris stared at her two friends lightly flirting with each other and she couldn't help but smile at Mindy's face, she was in complete awe as she listened to everything Anika had to say.

Well, mission get Mindy and Anika together just started.

[neymiiie]

Eyes of the SEES members ~

I’ve always admired artstyles where every character has super unique and recognizable vibes, so decided to try it with the gang. Super fun, highly recommend!

In the process of designing these I developed headcanons for each of their eyes, kind weird but if you want to read me ranting about why I drew Yukaris pupils a certain way or whatever, feel free to click read more lol.

Makoto: I wanted him to look tired, so a lot of his eyelashes go downward instead of upwards, also eye bags because he has insomnia and you can’t convince me otherwise. I didn’t want his eyes to look hollow/empty, but I didn’t want to put super obvious highlights and I think it works? Idk. Also drew his eyes in a way that reminds me of the ocean at night (Atlus gave me a ocean/water motif and I run with it ok?). His eyebrows are kinda “messy” in comparison to the others but I think it makes his eyes prettier so it is in character to me.

Yukari: I wanted her eyes to look a little more intense and turned them a little to give them a slightly “angry look”. Yukari should have a light case of rbf imo. I feel like Yukari puts a lot of effort into her appearance, and she probably wears more makeup but I cannot draw that to save my life lmao. Her eyebrows are probably the least messy other than Mitsurus, for the same reason as the previous one. Also hard to tell, but I put hearts in her pupils because it’s cute. Really proud of these ones, they read like hers so well to me.

Junpei: Junpeis eyes were so fun to draw! I feel like he’d have pretty short lashes and slightly smaller eyes, but still very vibrant! I really wanted his eyes to look full of life but still pretty simple, and I think I did pretty well! They feel very expressive to me. Also I feel like he’d have naturally very thin eyebrows, so gave him that lol.

Akihiko: idk how I feel about these, but I guess they’re alright? Gave him a kinda intense stare ig. I gave him really long natural eyelashes because I feel like he’d have them (canonical pretty boy that he is) and I’m somewhat proud of them because I stuggle with making longer eyelashes look masculine so guess this is a win. Gave him an eyebrow slit because I was so sure he had one in p4arena only to find out he didn’t even have eyebrows in it. What.

Fuuka: I feel like Fuukas neutral expression would still look slightly confused/concerns so her eyes are a little droopy. Gave her short but thick eyebrows because I thought it would be cute. Her eyes kinda remind me of rain and I like that! Also sidenote love the fact that official art draws fuuka with teal eyebrows. The implication that she was either born with teal hair or is so dedicated to the dye job she even dyed her eyebrows is hilarious to me. I know blue is treated as a normal hair color in persona-universe but Fuuka is literally the only one with teal hair how is it not dyed but yosuke and chies is??

Mitsuru: I wanted Mitsuru to be pretty. I gave her thinner but crisp eyebrows and eyeliner. I was a little worried because before I started shading her eyes looked kinda evil?? Lol but they turned out better in the end. Didn’t do a lot of details in her eyes because it felt like it worked better that way, but gave her bright highlights in her eyes to make up for it.

Aigis: These are my least favorite, and the first ones I did. Not sure if thats awful, because I wanted them to be very different from the rest. I feel like Aigis doesn’t actually have this wide eyes but willingly widens them so you can see the whole iris. I feel like her eyes would look more normal at a distance, and most of her classmates just assume she’s got weird eyes because they’re an uncommon eye color (major “give her brown contacts please” energy). Made her eyes look like does target-thingys and slightly plastic-y.

Ken: I didn’t want his eyes to be to bright, but still lively and childish. I gave him round wide eyes + smaller and thicker eyebrows to give a more childish feel. His eyelashes are pretty short but made them point more downwards since they looked too cheerful when turned upwards.

Shinjiro: dunno how readable these are as shinji, but theyre fine. Made his eyes very dark and put bright highlights cause I thought it looked better than the grey he actually has. Also gave him major eyebags because man has not had a good nights rest since like. Last October (sorry)

[lyzelky]

I recently received a request for my tiefling headcanons, (also mentioned in this comic) so I put together a ramshackle biology guide for them. It's not 100% faithful to DnD or BG3 lore, but I borrowed enough from them that it's pretty interchangeable.

IMPORTANT: I tried to keep most things as clinical as possible to avoid Tumblr-geddon, but anything vaguely NSFW in the comic has is written in pink text for your convenience.

((CW: Clinical (Non-Graphic) descriptions of Heat/Rut cycles, menstruation, no A/B/O)) I'm also going to copy over all the text from the panels into text format on here so y'all can just read them if you want.

Text version below!

INFERNAL TRAITS

Tieflings possess a variety of features that hearken back to the Hellish influence in their bloodline. Often these traits are animalistic in nature, though in extreme cases may appear more akin to aberrations.

Common features include glowing eyes, horns, clawed fingers and toes, and tails.

Tieflings are inclined to be left handed or ambidextrous.

Less common traits include hooves, paws, or talons for feet, wing like appendages, goat-like ears, a forked tongue, etc.

A Protruding Brow ridge and cheekbones are more common among males. They are considered attractive by some and less so by others, and it seems to crop up in those who are closer to their Infernal sire (I.e, the direct child of a cambion).

Tieflings possess raised ridges on various parts of their body. They can range from boney and firm to soft and fleshy, with the intensity and abundance of ridges varying per individual.

EYE VARIATIONS

The eyes of a tiefling born to two tieflings will almost always have infernal coloring. In this regard, the scelera should be jet black and glossy, and the iris vibrant and produce a strong glow.

The eyes of a tiefling born to humans can either have infernal or mundane coloration. The pupil is usually oblong, but other shapes have been known to occur.

A child born to one tiefling and one human has an equal chance of inheriting either trait.

In both cases, the pupil functions like a cat’s would; narrowing in bright light, and dilating in darkness or while in a state of heightened emotion.

TEETH VARIATIONS

Male tieflings typically have longer fangs than Females. Males are are considered to be more attractive the longer their fangs are.

This attraction is perhaps more hardwired than cultural, as most female (and some male) tieflings are on the receiving end of a bite during their heat.

It is not uncommon to see some tieflings with filed teeth, especially in places where discrimination is common.

TAIL VARIATIONS

The shape of The tail tip (Often referred to as a ‘spade’) manifests in a variety of forms, with some sporting tufts of hair or even fins.

Tiefling Parents might take their newborn to a fortune teller to predict their child’s lifeline based on the spade and other distinctive features. (Longer tail = Longer life, Thin Tail = Weak Constitution, etc.)

Long tails are typically seen as more attractive, but it’s usually down to a matter of preference.

Although their tails are not prehensile, having a dexterous tail is often seen as a sign that someone is more skilled in bed.

REPRODUCTIVE CYCLE

Like humans, tieflings endure a 9-month gestation period, and all other developmental markers remain the same despite most tieflings living upwards of 200 years.

Tieflings differ slightly in regards to ovulation and fertility. Unlike humans, tieflings will experience either a heat or a rut that is the primary driver of their breeding cycle.

Females typically experience their first heat at around 16-18, with males experiencing their first rut at around 18-20.

Unlike a human menstruation cycle, females will go into heat every 2-3 months for 1-2 days at a time, after which menstruation will last for about 4 days.

A rut occurs at roughly the same frequency, but can be triggered early by heat pheromones.

Many tieflings use potions, herbs, or magic items to mitigate their heat/rut cycle, but long term usage is not advised.

During this period, the afflicted experiences heightened arousal and an instinctual urge to breed. Fertility is increased during this period.

Increased production of pheromones signals potential mates that one has entered heat/rut.

Scent glands along the hips, jawline, tail and neck become highly sensitive.

“Tail flagging” may occur, in which the tail lifts and inches over to the side to provide “easier access”.

Heat and Rut Symptoms

A tiefling usually experiences a variety of symptoms in the days leading up to their heat or rut. Primarily the afflicted will notice:

- Increased Fatigue

- Increased body temperature

- Increase in appetite/thirst

- Increased sensitivity to olfactory and tactile senses.

- Mood swings that include irritability, aggression, and anxiety, especially if in an unfamiliar or dangerous location.

Those in heat often feel the urge to retreat to someplace familiar and safe, and often engage in “nest-making” behavior.

This consists of surrounding one’s self in paraphernalia associated with loved ones (Often clothes, pillows or bed linens). A partner will often assist in prepping the nest and gifting appropriate items in a show of support and affection.

Those in rut without a partner tend to withdraw into a solitary location, and often experience bouts of aggression and irritability.

Those with a partner often become exceedingly territorial or possessive, especially if said partner is in heat or is pregnant.

When seeking out a partner, gifts may be given as a show one is a good provider; this is more of a ceremonial practice than a biological one. Gifts often include jewelry, fine clothing, rare artifacts etc.

That's all for now! Let me know if you liked it or not or want more. Feel free to use this stuff for your own stories/fanfics/art whatever, but I'd appreciate if you linked back to this post or my blog if you do. Thanks!

[memento-morri-writes]

Proud of Tag

I was tagged by the very talented @talesofsorrowandofruin Thanks!

Rules: Post a snippet you've written that you're pleased with/proud of, and tag some friends!

Take a snippet from some experimental description for future events from Rook's D&D campaign: (tw for injury and illness)

As you readjust, picking him up carefully, so as not to jostle him, he murmurs quietly, “I’m sorry, Warren.” He rests his head against the hollow of your neck, and you can feel the warmth of his feverish skin even through your clothes. Blood is still oozing from the cuts on his back, staining your shirt.

(I feel that it is important to mention that the person carrying him is not Warren, because Warren had been dead for over a week at this point. Rook is just very, very sick, and more than a little delirious at the moment.)

And I'll give you another, less sad/gross one, because I feel a little bad posting nothing but whumpy shit lately, for those of you who aren't really fans of such things. (Still from the D&D game, sadly.) This is the description and introduction for my temporary character, Val.

You see a purple-skinned person standing before you. While their horns are obscured by a black hat adorned with a vibrant purple feather, they are undoubtedly a tiefling. They appear young (no older than mid 30s), but dusty grey hair emerges from under the hat’s wide brim. Their eyes are solid black, lacking iris or sclera. Or rather their eye, singular: the right is hidden behind a black eye patch with a simple symbol of an eye stamped into the worn leather. They’re dressed in a vibrant teal coat with slightly puffed sleeves, its collar and cuffs adorned with gold filigree. Their lips are parted in a warm, friendly smile and you can see the hint of pointed teeth behind them. “I hear you’re looking to hire a ship?” […] “Captain Kyron Valris of the Devil’s Scorn, at your service.” They give a slight bow.

(I'm not 100% happy with this, but it's better than any other character description I've ever given in a game before, so that's good enough for me.)

I'm going to tag @space-writes @oh-no-another-idea @cherrybombfangirlwrites @tc-doherty and @writingamongther0ses (so sorry I never got around to answering your STS ask!! I greatly appreciate you sending one, though!! <3)

[watcheraurora]

Abducted

I wanted to combine some ideas. This was the result. Happy reading 5.1k words

—

Scar groaned. Everything hurt. Which, by and large, was not a new experience for him. He was more than used to constant pain. Usually at a slightly lower level than this. But this time his head was also pounding.

He heard a familiar cough from nearby.

Peeling one eye open, he tried to lift his head—only for his neck to scream in pain and prevent him from doing so. Still, he could see.

Beside him on the spruce-wood floor, a head of fire hair burned low to its owner's scalp. Diamond armor—sans helmet—covered a red coverall jumpsuit and black utility vest.

Tango shifted slightly, sounding like he was hurting too.

Scar checked their surroundings.

They appeared to be in Tango's house. The steampunk cottage. Scar had gotten lost in here multiple times, but he knew they were on the floor with the big open balcony designed for landing and taking off with Elytra. Because this was the room with the bed. Which neither of them were on. Instead, they were splayed out, fully clothed, on the floor.

"T... Tango?" Scar asked. His voice was hoarse.

"Hey buddy," Tango replied, equally strained and raspy.

"You okay?"

"Head's pounding like you wouldn't believe, but nothing's broken." Tango managed to turn his head, his bloodred eyes meeting Scar's gaze. "You?"

"Same."

Scar tried to sit up. He'd been through pain like this, he could push through. He could—

Purple chains appeared around him, keeping him lashed to the floor. "Ah, ah, ah," a voice said. Feminine and unfamiliar. "You'll stay right where you are if you know what's good for you."

Scar and Tango both scrunched their brows and turned to follow the voice. Up another short flight of stairs, on another "floor" of Tango's M.C. Escher painting he called an interior design, stood a figure.

Definitely none of the Hermits. Her skin was so dark purple it was almost black, nebulae and stars constantly shifting, drifting over exposed skin. Her hair was long and flowing, played with by a nonexistent breeze, and only slightly lighter purple than her skin. She was dressed in black. A tank top and loose trousers. Barefoot. With a cloak on. The underside of the cloak was more cosmic sights, brighter than her skin. It billowed in that same nonexistent breeze that toyed with her hair.

Scar blinked when he got to her eyes. They glowed the brightest, most vibrant purple of all—and were actually glowing.

A sword hung on her hip. At first glance, he thought it was Netherite. But the metal of the blade was too black, and stars glittered on its surface too.

"Who are you?" Tango asked, a snap to his voice that showed he was more than a little displeased to have his house broken into.

The figure smiled. Her teeth were sharp. "You'll find out." She seemed to be half-obscured by shadow, even though Tango had lit his base up fairly well.

Then Scar realized those shadows were great black wings, towering more than a head taller than her.

He scrunched his eyebrows again. "Have we met before?"

She smirked. "No," she replied blithely. She raised a hand and examined her nails. Her eyes flicked up. A spectral, translucent eye blinked into existence on her forehead, glowing and large.

Pain burned in Scar's torso. Lava in his stomach and fire in his heart. He cried out, curling up on himself. Black crept around the edges of his vision. The chains didn't stop him. Tango ground out a noise of agony beside him, clutching at his chest through his armor.

It was over as quick as it had begun. Both Scar and Tango slumped.

"Hmm," the figure grunted, as though noting the weather. "Interesting. Still there, but only a single fiber left. I'd hoped so." She looked between Tango and Scar, her eyes focusing on Scar. "Now which one..."

"What—the he—" Scar couldn't even finish his sentence. He panted, his body reeling from the pain, even though it was gone. Tango was staring with wide eyes, pupil, iris, and sclera all indistinguishable from one another.

"Scar!" Tango stage-whispered, voice raspy still. "You okay?" He seemed to have recovered okay from the pain.

Scar didn't have an answer to that. It should have been a simple Yes or No. It wasn't.

"Um..." He shook his head. Spots were swimming across his vision.

The sky outside darkened as a crack of thunder resounded. So loud Scar thought his eardrums might burst. No flicker of lightning preceded it. Just darkness.

The figure in the next room smiled, showing those sharp teeth again.

In a ripple of black-and-purple shadow, another figure appeared right on the edge of Tango's balcony. The figure wore a black robe. One that fell directly to the ground, slits cut into the back for massive black wings. A black mask with a purple symbol like a broken Nether portal covered half the newcomer's face. The upper half. The hood of the robe was drawn up over the head. But not enough to block the light-brown bangs falling over the newcomer's forehead.

"You wanted my attention," a familiar voice snapped. "You have it." An otherworldly resonance accompanied the words. Like the words themselves were spoken by the thunder that rolled over the server again.

Darkness was radiating off the figure like fog, little flickers of purple occasionally visible.

The newcomer also wore a sword. The same starry black one that the one in the other room wore.

She was still smiling. "There you are, little bird," she crooned. "Come in, come in. Let's talk."

"Release Scar and Tango first. Then we'll talk," the newcomer spat.

"Oh, but if I release them, you won't listen!" the first shot back. She clenched her fist and yanked back. The chains reappeared, bright purple, showing she was holding them. Tango shouted in pain as the chains burned against his armor.

The newcomer growled. Animalistic and furious. Purple lightning flickered away from him. Scar... recognized the newcomer's teeth? Vaguely? Like he'd seen them smiling for years. "Let. Them. Go."

"Look at you, little bird. You've been the biggest, baddest being on every server you've been in since you left us and you think you can intimidate me."

The newcomer drew his sword and took a step deeper into the room. Barefoot under the robe, just barely peeking out from underneath. "I won't tell you again, Iris."

In a flash of purple, Iris was standing toe-to-toe with the newcomer, her hair and cloak whipping in a wind that Scar and Tango didn't feel.

"You ungrateful child," she spat in his face. Scar realized a mask had appeared over her eyes as well. The same symbol in the center. "We saved you. Gave you everything a Player could ever want—and still you spurned us!"

Several more eyes blinked into existence around the pair, hovering like clouds.

Tango and Scar glanced at each other, both still wrapped up in the ethereal chains. The tilt of Tango's eyebrows revealed a question he didn't dare speak out loud.

You okay?

Scar managed a nod. Yeah.

The other two began shouting at one another in a language Scar couldn't understand. Tango's brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed. Like maybe he was picking up a word here and there. Scar gave Tango a look in askance. Tango shook his head subtly.

Scar caught the smaller of the two figures—the one with human skin and hair, the newcomer—saying his name again.

This time, his brain actually clicked into gear and he realized why the voice was familiar.

"Grian?" he asked.

"Ga-gah!" Tango exclaimed in surprise, giving Scar an alarmed look before his head whipped to look at the two figures.

Both figures' hundreds of spectral eyes immediately trained on Scar.

An overwhelming sensation of power rolled over him. Like high air pressure and deep water all at once. He popped his ears.

Another flash of purple light. Iris was behind Scar, her black blade at his throat and her other hand grabbing the back of his head. There was some sort of triumphant smile on her face. "Want to feel that last fiber of your old soulbond snap?" she sneered at Grian.

"Ho-kaaay!" Tango said.

Scar, whole body rigid, looked between Iris and Grian.

"Let him go," Grian said, calm, collected. Back in a language Scar could understand. Sword still in hand. Often, when his emotions were heightened, Grian had a tendency to screech. He did not. The sword in his hand was only loosely gripped. "We're talking, Iris. You don't have to threaten him anymore."

"You're coming back, little bird," Iris said.

"I'm not." Grian's voice still rung with otherworldly power. Darkness still radiating off of him. A glowing eye hovering at his forehead. "I'm never going back." Thunder crashed again, earsplittingly loud.

Grian spun his sword.

The shriek of metal on metal made Scar, Tango, and Iris recoil.

Apparently Tango recovered first, because his inhumanly warm hand had closed around Scar's wrist and was dragging him to his feet. "Flee with extra flee!" he said softly. Scar stumbled to his feet and staggered after Tango, who was leading him down a set of stairs.

Where the magic purple chains had gone, Scar didn't have time to find out.

Tango led him through the absurdly complicated stairs and floors that made up the interior of the steampunk cottage. His Blaze Rods made a rare appearance, rapidly orbiting his head. His fire hair was blazing big and hot. Somewhere up above, an unnaturally loud clang! of swords clashing grated against their ears.

"Where are we going?" Scar asked Tango as the latter pushed him toward a ladder in an open hole in the floor leading outside.

"Just go, just go, just go," Tango hissed, bracing his feet on either side of the ladder frame and sliding down it. Scar followed him down. Once his feet were on solid ground, Tango pulled him to the right. Toward the cherry blossom mountain Scar, Grian, Skizz, Impulse, Mumbo, Gem, and Joel had chosen to build their bases on and around. Which was odd. Scar had guessed that Tango was going to lead him to the Nether, where Tango tended to feel more at home.

Tango didn't let go of Scar's wrist. His Blaze blood kept his internal temperature much hotter than a normal person's, and his heat was prominent against the skin of Scar's wrist. Scar had on fingerless gloves with his zookeeper outfit and where the leather of those ended, Tango held on tight.

The two skirted around the massive hole Skizz had been digging to build up his pyramid in—Skizz had already built the first layer, deemed it too big, and torn it down, leaving the hole empty again—and ran across the treacherously narrow temporary bridge across the river. They readjusted course to head a bit more to the right. Toward Skizz and Impulse, away from Gem.

Tango's boots hit the deepslate ramp of Skizz's starter base, heading up for the castle-like tower with its greenish-blue S emblazoned on the front.

"Skizz!" Tango shouted as they ran up the ramp. "Skiiiiizz!"

"Hey dude!" The man in question dropped off a ladder. "What's up?"

"Can you do that cool thing you do where you do the hand wavy-wavy and all the sparky-sparklys appear and no one can get get close?" Tango asked.

Skizz blinked. "You want me to put up a ward?" he asked.

"Yeah-yeah." Tango nodded.

"What for?"

"Now would be good," Tango said, his head turning toward his steampunk cottage. It wasn't on fire—yet—so Scar counted that as a win. "Please."

Skizz raised a brow, but did as Tango asked. His hands sliced through the air. Yellowish-white light followed his movements and a sphere of faintly-glowing light shimmered around his starter base.

"Wanna explain to me what's going on now?" Skizz demanded.

"Scary tall purple lady knocked us out and hurt Scar to get Grian's attention. They're currently fighting in my base."

All color drained from Skizz's face, leaving him ashen. "You're joking," he said in a tone that said he was not.

Tango shook his head, fire hair flickering.

"Are you two okay?!" Skizz demanded, looking them both over. He put his hands on Tango's shoulders as he inspected, before looking over Scar without touching him. "Where's your cane, buddy? Do you need it?"

Scar swallowed. His legs were almost aching worse than his head. "I don't know. I had it. And then I got hit with something and now I don't have it. I didn't see it at Tango's place."

Skizz grabbed something out of a chest, went to a crafting table nearby, and returned with a wooden chair a moment later, setting it down. "Sit down, Scarface," he said gently. Scar collapsed into the chair without protest. Stone and sticks and string were passed to him next. "Wanna craft a temporary one? I don't have a lot of metal here, it's all at the iron farm. Otherwise I'd make some bars that might be good—"

"This is fine," Scar said, dragging the crafting table over. "Thanks Skizzy-wizzy."

Skizz smirked before going over to Tango, who had just sat in a heap of armor on the floor.

"So, gonna explain why you seemed to know who we were talking about when I mentioned the scary purple lady?" Tango asked.

Skizz pursed his lips, a wry smile beginning to form like he was going to say no—

WHAM!

A familiar voice cried out in pain.

Scar used his makeshift cane to shove himself to his feet and go to the ramp under Skizz's tower to investigate.

Grian had been thrown against Skizz's ward. The scary purple lady—Iris—was in the air, her shadowy wings churning the clouds. Thunder rumbled.

"Aaaaand that's my cue!" Skizz announced.

Scar watched in fascination—he'd seen this before, but it never stopped being amazing—as Skizz's six white wings blazed into existence and a ring of white-and-gold appeared above his head.

Grian groaned, still splatted against the sphere, mask a bit askew, but still covering his eyes completely. "Skizz, get them out of here!" His voice was muffled through the ward, but insistent. Scar, his knees starting to buckle after the adrenaline had started to ease out of his system, hobbled a little closer. Tango pushed to his feet.

"Why can't he go through?" Tango asked, approaching. "I thought you said friends could pass."

"They can," Skizz said.

"Do you not consider Grian a friend?" Scar wondered, head tilting to one side.

"I do. But there are certain... beings that my powers will block no matter whether friend or foe."

At that moment, something slammed into the ward. The point of Iris' sword. She was braced against the shimmering transparent barrier like she'd gone for a superhero landing and Grian had rolled out of the way, pushed off the ward, and took flight. A fierce black bow appeared in his hand.

"What kind of beings?" Scar pushed.

"That's for Grian to tell you later. Hold on." Skizz took both Scar and Tango's shoulders in his hands and shut his eyes.

A burst of yellow-white light nearly blinded Scar.

When he opened his eyes and blinked the afterimages of Skizz's halo out of his vision, he looked around. "Where... where are we?"

Skizz looked back to normal. No halo, no wings. Just Skizz in his suit with the sleeves ripped off. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "This, gentlemen, is a small private server of mine. Little safe haven."

"We're not in Hermitcraft anymore?" Tango asked, looking around. His vibrant yellow brows knitted together, worry etched in the lines of his forehead.

"Nope," Skizz declared confidently. "Which also means you two are safe."

"Why'd she come after us?" Tango complained. Not being in the Hermitcraft server meant their inventories were wiped. No armor, no weapons, no food. No supplies of any sort. The only thing that had carried over was—thankfully—Scar's cane. Which he was leaning pretty heavily on.

Scar hoped it was temporary. Hermitcraft had just restarted and he was already just enjoying a fresh start. He didn't need another one so soon. He sank to the ground.

"She said something about the last fiber of the soulbond," he said.

"Oh come on," Tango retorted. "Double Life was Grian's game for fun. The soulbonds weren't permanent."

"Those games aren't just for fun," Skizz said. "Grian makes them fun. The others of his kind started them as a way to feed off the energy a person gives off when they die—and people's misery. Grian feeds off it too, but he tries not to if he can help it. Remember Limited Life? The time he was awake but not... there?"

"Yeah." Tango looked unimpressed.

"That was his kind pulling his soul out of his body and forcing him to just Watch."

"Great. What does that have to do with the fibers of the soulbond?" Tango, as usual, was dry and blunt.

"Iris sensed Scar's connection to Grian. Used it to get his attention. That's why Scar was targeted. Who was your buddy, again?"

"Jimmy. Solidarity," Tango replied.

Skizz made a face. "Well that's why she grabbed you. Jimmy and Grian are the same... species. Different subsets of powers, but the same DNA, so to speak. Iris probably detected that both of you were bound to one of her kind but couldn't tell which one led to Grian. So she hurt you both to see which one got Grian's attention."

"Great," Tango muttered sarcastically. He stalked off and started destroying the tall grass to get wheat seeds.

"Grian feeds off misery?" Scar wondered aloud.

"He can," Skizz said. "His kind can feed on any human emotion. But misery and other negative ones are the easiest to elicit. And some of his kind think they... taste the best. His kind set up those games, Grian invaded them to ruin the meal by making the games fun. To punish him, they chipped away at his power and pulled him out for a while. It's been a power struggle the whole time."

Scar looked down at his legs. They were shaking but he couldn't feel it. Probably a bad sign. But he ignored the worry for that in favor of some unidentified emotion coiling darkly around his heart.

Betrayal.

"Why didn't he ever tell us?"

"He doesn't want to be different?" Skizz suggested. "He wants to play and have fun with his friends? Maybe live his life away from the crazy people? You saw what Iris was like."

"Yeah..." Scar hummed thoughtfully and started to massage his legs, one at a time, until the aches started to ease. Anger was trying to poke its head out, past the betrayal. Scar did his best to force it down. He wasn't an angry man. And Grian was one of his best friends. That didn't change the fact that Grian had been keeping a secret from him. Scar wouldn't have judged Grian for not being a normal Player. His jaw tightened. "How do you know all this?" he asked to get his mind off of the bubbling emotions in his gut.

Tango returned, seeds in hand and a wooden hoe on his belt. He wandered over to where a river stood nearby and tilled the soil before planting the seeds. He sat on the ground by Scar, still looking grumpy.

Skizz took a deep breath and sighed. "Well, Scarface," he said, "G can't hide what he is from me. I knew what he was the second I met him. Can't really hide the black wings and the mask and the purple darkness from an angel." His halo hummed into view and vanished. "His glamour that makes him look normal to everyone else is good and can't be detected or pierced by most forms of magic or most people's powers. But his kind and mine are on the same... level. So I can see through it. And even before I joined you all on the server, he'd come visit wherever I was living when he needed to talk to someone."

"So... does Grian always look like that? What we saw today? And what we've always seen of him was fake?"

"Fake is a strong word. A glamour just masks his power and the appearance. I've got a glamour on right now too. Keeps the wings and the halo from freaking people out. I imagine Grian does it for the same reason. To fit in with his friends. He wants to stand out on his own merit, not just because he's got the power levels of a minor deity."

"He does?"

"That's for him to explain."

—

Grian's teeth vibrated with the force of Iris' blade striking against his. Why did it always come down to violence with the Watchers? He could never seem to get them to listen to him otherwise.

Part of him wanted to fight dirty. To dig his fingers into her wings and tear her feathers out. But that wouldn't solve anything either.

Grian?

The voice was distant, small, echoey. Not heard through his ears. But felt in his mind.

He ignored it. He didn't have time to concentrate on anything other than Iris trying to destroy his home server by pummeling him into the ground. Not now.

Grian, we need to talk, the voice said. Louder. Clearer. Familiar.

I'm a little busy at the moment, Tim! Grian thought back, shooting his words like a lance down the connection. Even over telepathy, he knew he sounded strained.

This is important! Jimmy insisted.

Grian hurled Iris away from him, his wings beating at the air to keep him aloft. Buying him a couple seconds. You have reached Grian's voicemail. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you. He did his best impression of a cool, calm voice that he would have left on his answering machine, taking a moment to get his breath back before twisting and plummeting into a dive, bow out and arrow drawn. He loosed it.

Iris batted it away with her sword, ducking. Her sharp, gleaming, blindingly white teeth bared in frustration.

Their swords met again, hard enough for Grian to feel the vibrations down in his bare toes.

Grian, this is about Tango! He's in trouble—I felt it!

With a twist, he tried to disarm Iris, but she managed to flip in midair and maintain her grip on her hilt.

I literally just sent Tango to safety with Skizz—now will you shut up?

What's going on?

You remember Iris, right? My lovely "sister."

Yeah.

Guess who infiltrated Hermitcraft looking for me and who I'm trying to banish?

She didn't!

She did. Now shut up.

Do you need help? I can get over to fWhip for a faster portal to you.

I'm fine, thanks. Just shush. I'll let you know when Tango's back on Hermitcraft safe, yeah?

Thanks.

Cheers. Call you back later, Grian said.

Bye.

Jimmy's telepathic connection vanished. Listeners like him were naturally telepathic and could reach people from much farther away. Watchers, like Grian, could learn telepathy but weren't as adept. Grian had learned to be telepathic, of course. It was a great way to mess with his friends. But it would always take him more effort than it took Jimmy.

Iris slammed into Grian, sending them both sprawling in the pit Skizz had dug for his pyramid. Grian hit his wing joint hard as he impacted the ground. He clenched his jaw and grimaced in pain, pushing himself up into a seated position so he could get his feet under him. The back of his sword hand was scratched and the skin was nearly shredded from the impact. He dismissed his bow to put his other hand on the ground and hop to his feet. Gentle purple light began to coalesce around his injured hand. Skin began to stitch itself back together.

The thing about being a converted Watcher, rather than a naturally-born one, was that he could use his powers in different ways than the others. Like immediate healing.

Iris shoved herself to her feet and bent her knees in her defensive pose. “You can’t defeat me, little bird.”

“I don’t need to today. I just need to banish you from Hermitcraft. And impose upon you the understanding of what I will do to you if you dare go after my friends again. There won’t be enough left of you for the others to identify, understand?”

Iris spat blood—purplish black—to the ground at Grian’s feet.

Grian raised his sword. His power was still darkening the sky and rolling thunder. He concentrated on the chaos of it all and pulled.

Lightning forked down. Purple and bigger than a normal bolt. It struck Grian's sword. He dropped its point immediately and leveled it at Iris. The electricity arced away, toward her. Carving her out of Hermitcraft.

—

Scar looked up as thunder rolled across the small private server. The clouds turned from fluffy white to black and looming.

"Here he comes," Skizz said.

As if on cue, a figure fell through the clouds. Black shadowy wings furled close to a smaller body. Robe flapping around bare feet.

Grian nearly crashed into the area around spawn. He barely managed to twist his body and get his feet underneath him for a landing, but he hit hard and almost crumpled.

Skizz was next to him before Scar could even blink, taking Grian's arm and slinging it around his shoulders. "You're okay, G," he said. Almost like he was reassuring himself of that fact, rather than Grian. Tango ran over from where he'd been attending to the wheat he was growing. He'd brought back enough for a few loaves of bread so far.

"S... Skizz?" Grian's voice was wavering. Exhausted.

"Yeah, yeah. It's me," Skizz replied. "Why don't you come sit by Scarface."

Grian managed a weak nod. "I need... my..." Scar couldn't see the way Grian's forehead wrinkled under his mask, but by the way his mouth grimaced, he knew Grian was scrunching up his whole face.

"Don't bother with your glamour yet, buddy," Skizz said. "We're all okay with it, here."

Grian managed to tilt his head in Scar's direction. Whether he could actually see Scar through his mask, Scar had no idea. Grian didn't reply to Skizz, just let the latter help him sit down in the shade of an oak tree. He nearly flopped back to lie down, but tilted enough to instead crash into Scar's shoulder. Scar instinctively grabbed him and kept him upright.

"Scar?" Grian asked quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you afraid?"

"I'm not afraid," Scar replied.

Grian swallowed. "Yes you are. I can sense your emotions. You're terrified. Is it because of me? What I am?" As if magnetized, Grian's hand reached out and planted on Scar's chest, purple light drifting around the point of contact like a cloud—no. Like a whirlpool. Scar stared at it. The light was spinning and narrowing going up Grian's arm. His breathing was heavy and he was leaning hard against Scar's shoulder.

"Skizz. Skizz, pull me away. I can't stop it. I need to sto—I can't stop it!" Grian's voice turned panicked. Tango and Skizz each grabbed one of Grian's arms and dragged him back, away from Scar. Grian bit out a sound like it physically hurt him to be removed.

"What was that?!" Tango demanded, hair flickering faster than usual. Neither he nor Skizz let go of Grian's arms.

"I'm depleted. My body's seeking sustenance. Emotional energy to feed on. My kind tends to benefit off the negative emotions the best. Misery. Fear. Scar's terrified and my powers want it—need it—to rejuvenate. But I can't... I can't do that..." Grian arched his back, teeth bared as though in pain. "I told myself when I left that I wouldn't feed off my friends' worst feelings. It's bad—don't want... don't want to be bad anymore."

Scar watched, eyes flicking between Grian, Skizz, and Tango. Skizz looked concerned and sympathetic. Tango almost looked angry.

Scar cleared his throat. "I'm not scared of you. Or what you are, Grian," he said softly. The other three froze. "I won't lie. Feelin' a little bit betrayed that you never told me you're basically a god. But I'm scared for you. That you're hurting and exhausted." He used his cane to push to his feet and closed the gap. "If my fear and betrayal is what you need, take it."

Grian shook his head. "I can't—I can't do that to my friends—"

"Grian, listen to me," Skizz began.

But Scar cut him off. "You're not asking, mister," he snapped at Grian. "I'm telling you to take it." He pried Tango's fingers off Grian's wrist and brought Grian's hand back to his own chest. The purple whirlpool of light started spinning again. Siphoning the emotional energy directly into Grian.

Tango and Skizz seemed surprised, stepping back with raised eyebrows.

Grian and Scar stayed in the same position for nearly two minutes. Scar leaned on his cane, but he stayed standing while Grian knelt in front of him, hand raised and planted on Scar's chest as though unable to remove it.

Finally, Grian gasped and ripped his hand back. His wings beat a little to get him away from Scar, scrambling backward. "That's enough. That's enough. I'm okay now. I don't need more." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. With one hand, he reached up and balled his fist in his mask, ripping it off. He panted, staring at the ground. His eyes were wide, then narrowed as though blinded by the sunlight, despite being in the shade and tilted down, away from the sun.

"Better?" Scar asked.

Grian managed a shaky nod. "Loads. Thank you."

"That's what friends are for."

"Yeah... yeah." He tied his mask back on and massaged his temples. "I... I need to call Timmy back. Give me a moment." He looked about ready to collapse.

He did not, in fact, call Jimmy. Instead sitting in silence while continuing to rub his temples. Scar scrunched his eyebrows and looked over at Tango and Skizz, confused.

"Jimmy's telepathic," Tango explained. "He can read minds from across the universe if he concentrates hard enough. Grian's talking to him through their thoughts, probably."

"Ohhh. Okay. I get it," Scar said. While not, in fact, fully getting it.

After a few moments, Grian tilted his head up as though meeting everyone's gaze. "Right. I suppose I owe you answers," he said. "Before I start, what have you heard about the Watchers, Tango and Scar?"

[ryuzakemo128]

Call of Duty Headcanons Part 3

Content Warning: Dark themes. Mature Themes. Trauma. Violence.

Potential triggers: Violence, themes of war, trauma, and implied child neglect/abuse (due to the mention of a turbulent household).

If any of those things bother you. I suggest you click off this as soon as possible. Only you, and you alone, are responsible for the intake of media, with that being said. I hope you enjoy.

Summary: Headcanons on Katya's Appearance.

Masterlist/ dividers/ Credit (Dividers)

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part 3]

Things both twins have in common

(One) Both twins are the height of six feet and six inches tall, towering over most men and women like giants.

(Two) They both have the same striking eye colour, Icy Blue with a dark charcoal lining the edges of the iris.

(Three) Both sisters are incredibly fit and athletic, with lean muscle mass and defined features. Their years of rigorous training have sculpted their bodies into peak physical condition.

(Four) They share striking Slavic features, with high cheekbones, strong jawlines, and full lips. Their fair skin often carries a slight rosy tint, even in colder climates.

(Five) Their hair is naturally the darkest shade of black, often described as raven-black. Thick, lustrous and curly, cascading past their shoulders in a mass of curls which make a contrast in tone against their pale complexion. Often kept in tight braids or buns during missions for practicality. When they are down, they frame their faces dramatically, adding an air of mystery and allure.

(Six) Oksana's eyes often hold a colder, more calculated glint, like a feral feline trapped in a perpetual corner due to trauma and years of survival. Her features, while undeniably beautiful, carry a hint of hardness, a subtle tension around her mouth and eyes that speaks of a life lived on the edge. In contrast, Katya's eyes hold a warmth and compassion, a softness that draws people in. Her smile is genuine and infectious, and her features exude a natural grace and elegance.

(Seven) Both twins are ambidextrous, able to use both hands with equal proficiency.

Katya's Physical Appearance Headcanons

(One) Unlike Oksana, Katya’s back is free from scars. Katya never understood why she needed to take the blame for what she had done. Until she realised the extent of their biological father's and stepfather's cruelty. Naively believing her mother's excuses.

(Two) Unlike Oksana's penchant for black, Katya prefers a more vibrant colour palette. Her wardrobe is a mix of earthy tones and bold hues. She loves the way colours make her feel alive and energetic.

Her Favourite colour is emerald, green, which complements her icy blue eyes beautifully. While Oksana would not wear them. She often buys Katya vibrant accessories like sunflower pendant necklaces and the like.

Katya liked Oksana's preference for black, finding it mysterious and alluring. She often borrowed her sister's clothes, mixing them with her own vibrant pieces to create a unique style.

(Three) Unlike Oksana, Katya has no tattoos. She prefers the natural canvas of her skin, finding beauty in its simplicity. However, she's always admired Oksana's ink, finding them a form of powerful expression. She also liked the temporary tattoos Oksana does for her.

(Four) Katya's hands, while still strong and capable, are softer than Oksana's due to her slightly less intense training regimen. She has a talent for playing the piano, and her hands often bear the soft callouses of a musician. Despite her job as an Intelligence officer.

(Five) Despite her softer exterior, Katya is a skilled combatant in her own right. Her training is just as rigorous as Oksana's, and she possesses a deadly accuracy with firearms. However, she prefers to use her intelligence and charisma to defuse situations before resorting to violence. Something Oksana loved about her twin.

(Six) While both twins are incredibly fit, Katya has a slightly softer build than Oksana. She's still strong and capable, but her body is more proportionate and feminine. She enjoys activities like dancing and yoga, which contribute to her graceful and fluid movements.

However, she hates when she hears her twin getting taunted because she looked less feminine, it makes her blood boil because technically if they had the same job they'd have the same job they'd have the same build. She hated it when people would judge someone based on appearance alone. She would often get into arguments with people who would say such things.

Oksana did the same for her, which Katya appreciates in return, and Oksana normally takes her out to eat afterwards. To spoil her.

[10ths-writing-corner]

Day #2- Nowhere to Run

“If you only let me explain…”

Of course, the magician was cut off of his sentence as he had been for the past ten minutes. His hands sat in front of him, shackled. He did his best to stay still, since every little movement would only cause the iron bounds to tighten ever so slightly. Who would’ve thought he would been wearing the very same shackles he had created to protect the people of the circle…

“Silence! Nothing you say will erase your mistakes. The evidence is far greater than whatever you have to offer!” The man in the middle shouted, slamming his staff to silence him.

“There’s nothing to explain, it is clear as day what happened.” The woman to the right spoke next, her emerald eyes glared at Marvin, her gaze almost piercing through his very soul. It almost felt as if a boulder was being placed on his shoulders and he was being crushed slowly. “He felt jealous towards Mr. Jackson’s success. He build IRIS after all…”

“THAT IS NOT TRUE!” Marvin screamed, throwing himself at the three judges. What Marvin wasn’t expecting was to slam himself with an electrified field. The shock sent him flying backwards, a groan shooting from his mouth when he landed on his back. They had him caged too? His eyes close shut, but even then all he could see was Jameson’s terrified expression while he called for him. While he asked for his help… before being taken away…

Tears soon slide down his temple, getting lost in his vibrant mint chocolate hair. “I did not kill him…” Marvin whispered.

“That tome was off limits and forgotten for a reason. It was lost for a reason!” The man with the staff resumed. “Mr. Jackson created these rules for a reason, and you have always been one to break them, despite being a founder of the circle. You use your magic in a disgraceful way, for what? To entertain? To pull magic tricks?”

After catching his breath Marvin manages to sit. They always saw him as the weak link, his tittle didn’t matter. The only person that believed in him was Jameson and now he’s…

“Without me, the circle falls apart…”

“No, without you, the circle will rise.” The woman spoke once more. “You have nowhere to run, Marvin. You will pay for your crimes.”

The judge to the left had been quiet the entire trail, until now. Their cloak covered their features, though Marvin could tell by the way they rose from their chair the held a very delicate manner. The other two judges quiet and sat down, letting them speak. “Marvin…” Their voice was soft. “By the evidence we’ve gather, we find you guilty and charge you with treason for the murder for Jameson Jackson, founder of IRIS. We have no other choice but to sentence you to death.”

Tag list

~~~~~

@dmnfox @number1120 @chey-doodles @randowaffle @caesardoe @itsonlyparker @definitely-asexual-volcano @potatoarenice @lilsprout-exe @lildevyl @gotta-get-that-pma @hellspctre @justaninnocentstudent @anon-jameson @droid-dreamerr @glitchyartist @antis-gauge @ghostofodellion @miishae @ongaku-ato-kakikomi @innocent-angel3 @mysterio-is-the-truth @synder-sync @n-anon @immabethehero @fankayart @k--sm

[3rdgymbros]

— title; it’s nice to have a friend.

— pairing; zhongli x reader  

— summary; in which a lonely archon seeks out rex lapis to make a contract with him

— notes; this is my first time writing for genshin (i don’t play the game) so i hope it’s not too ooc !! special thanks to @degenerate-yandere and @hanniejji​ for their support !!

You've heard stories of Rex Lapis, of course. The parcel of land you rule over is tiny, but stories of his prowess in battle have reached even you and your people. Rex Lapis, the God of War, who understands battle and weaponry, strategy and bloodshed far more than you ever will, whose hands and weapons have drawn more than their fair share of blood.

And yet, your first impression of him is that his eyes are beautiful.

They're the first things that you're drawn to; those intense amber eyes, the deep gold reminding you of honey. Then, later, when you manage to tear your gaze away from his, you stare at the dark chocolate hair framing a breathtaking face. His eyes narrow slightly, but his features are otherwise schooled into impassivity as he takes you in, your body language stiff and prim, betraying the tension your body feels.

"The God of Flowers, I presume." His voice is cultured and smooth, with a rasp that makes your stomach flutter. A frown line mars the space between arrogantly slashed brows. "You wished to meet with me?"

You hide your hands in the folds of your robes, embroidered with thousands of handstitched pearls meant to resemble the flowers you so dearly love. You have to struggle to keep your scrambled, panicked thoughts from showing on your face, but still, real fear seeps into your voice when you say, "Yes."

You have to pause to take a breath, to steady yourself. "I'm – They call me the God of Flowers. And I want to make a contract with you. Please."

"Oh?" The intense magnetism he exudes grows in strength, becoming a near tangible impression of vibrant and unrelenting power. His white cloak ripples and lifts in the breeze to show the hard muscles of his stomach. Very studiously, you keep your eyes trained on his face. "And what would you ask of me?"

Your cheeks warm. This is a conversation you've played over in your head before coming to seek out Rex Lapis, but that doesn't make it any less daunting. Especially since your reasons for seeking him out aren't particularly profound. In fact, it's almost something that a child might ask. You have no desire for money, or gold, or precious gems. You have enough of those in your temple, with its maze of lavishly furnished hallways. His liquid topaz eyes are penetrating – trying futilely, you assume, to lift the truth straight from your mind. But now you can't look at him. You keep your gaze trained on the gold silk tablecloth, and it takes all your self-control to keep your hands motionless in your lap, not to smooth it down, to tug at the corners so that it lies flat.

Finally, when the silence becomes unbearable, you sigh, and your exhale of air brings with it the heavy scent of roses, mingling with a strange briny scent: waves crashing on rocky shores, dolphins diving. "Pinky promise you won't laugh?"

Your cheeks feel hotter than ever as you press your lips together, now all too aware of how naïve and child-like you must seem to him. Rex Lapis watches you closely, and you think that he might almost be on the verge of smiling. Almost. The ghost of a smile on his lips heightens your awareness of him to a physically painful degree. His earthy amusement makes him less of a god and more human. Flesh and blood. Real.

Your embarrassment eases briefly, but still, you hasten to explain, almost tripping over your words in the process. "Oh – It's what the children in my village do when they make promises, it just slipped out –"

"Ah. Another contract." Rex Lapis nods, sounding almost intrigued. When you dare to peek at him through your lashes, he's watching you with a peculiar expression that sets your stomach fluttering. "How is it done?"

"It's simple. You just link your pinky fingers together, and make a promise. And that's that."

"And that's that." Rex Lapis echoes. "Very well. Give me your hand."

Still uncomprehending, you do as he asks. You watch, entranced, as he twines his pinky with yours. Your pulse leaps when his grip tightens. His touch is electric, sending a shock up your arm that raises the hairs on your nape. "On this pinky promise, I give you my word. I will not laugh."

You soften, a small smile tugging at your lips, though your next words are anything but happy. "I'm lonely."

You can't remember who you were before the world made a ruin out of you. So many people you've loved have been wrenched from your grasp, your fingers still scouring claw marks into their skin as you'd clung to them with all your might. You have watched as the life has left their eyes. You have mourned them and you have envied them and you have missed them at every moment.

"I'm lonely." You say again, the words colored purple with your anguish. You open the palm of your hand, watching as an iris blossoms to life upon your palm. It seems to you ironic that while plants flourish to life around you, the same can't be said for the humans in your care, who are fragile and loveable, and rife with the stink of mortality. "I thought – It would be nice to have a friend. That's why I sought you out."

I'm weak. I'm scared of being alone.

Silence falls like a foot of fresh snow. Then something shifts in the air. As he stares at you, it's as if a shield slides away from his eyes, revealing a scorching force of will that sucks the air from your lungs.

And then Rex Lapis nods. "I accept."

"Oh." You say, all your breath leaving you. You smile, big and bright as relief spreads through you. As if conjured by your smile, the temperature rises, warmth raining over the space, as if sunbeams are falling from the force of your smile alone, like warm honey slowly pouring. "Oh – Yes. Um, how does a contract with you work? Do I need to sign anything?"

Again, there's that almost ghost of a smile on his lips, but the intensity of his gaze is searing. It feels as if his entire focus is on you. "Another pinky promise would suffice."

"Oh –" Why is that the only word in your vocabulary at this very moment? "Alright."

"In exchange for my friendship, I ask that you loan me your power whenever I have need of it."

"I accept the terms of your contract." Your throat is tight when you speak again, but you manage to get the words out. "Stay with me. Until the end – whenever that may be."

"I give you my word."

And again, you link your pinky with his, and as you do, power burns in the air, binding the two of you to what you've agreed.

It seems to you a funny thing, that right at the end of your life, you should remember your first meeting with Rex Lapis like this.

With much effort, you finally manage to open your eyes. It's excruciating. Your eyelids feel as though they're made of lead. At first, you can only perceive one thing: light. And with this slight stirring of consciousness, your body erupts into joint-wrenching pain. Nothing exists outside of your body, outside of all this pain that you know will consume you.

"It isn't his fault." You say on a choked whisper, feeling tears well in your eyes. You aren't sure if it's a plea or a prayer – the latter of which is ironic. An Archon praying? You'll do it a thousand times over, as long as life still burns in your body, if it only means that Rex Lapis will escape punishment for breaking his end of the deal. "Don't –"

Stay with me, until the very end, you'd told him.

Rex Lapis isn't here, but still you cling to him, holding him close in your final moments; the intensity of his burning gold eyes, the ghost of a smile on his lips, how his presence had made you feel safe for the first time in a century, the way he'd looked at you, as if he'd understood you.

You smile. And it is a fragile, broken thing. "It was a good life. Thank you."

And it's with a last exhale that your body melts into the dirt beneath it, covering the land in summer roses, the afternoon bringing their fragrance to full bloom.

It's the first and the last time that Rex Lapis ever breaks a contract.

[uwuwriting]

Soulmates w/ Dabi, Shirakumo and Keigo

Request: Hello! I just read a few of your writings &I'd just like to say they're amazing! Anyways, may I request some hc's for a soulmate AU w/ Dabi, Shirakumo, & Hawks?(all separate)- anonymous

Soulmate Aus have a shit ton of tropes so I went for a different trope on each boy bc I love them all. My man Dabi has dipped the last few chapters and I’m getting kinda deprived, although I appreciate him not burning my baby Shoto to a crisp so we good. Love ya.💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: angst with some fluff

 Dabi/Todoroki Touya II Interchangeable eye color

-Dabi’s outlook on love is really negative. 

-Growing up the way he did and in the environment he did, the possibilities in him believing or cherishing love and soulmates was low. 

-When he got his soulmate sign he was around 12. 

-It was the darkest moments of his life and he hated himself to no end. 

-When he woke up on that fateful Sunday morning he thought that he was hallucinating. 

-Then he imagined that this could be an after affect of his trauma, just like his hair. 

-His mind though drifted to his soulmate. 

 -He didn’t have a mark up until now and your eye color changing was one of the many soulmate signs out there. 

-As he stared at his left eye, the e/c orb staring back at him, he began to cry. 

-Sobs wracked his body as he clutched his eye. 

-This was unfair. 

-He shouldn’t have a soulmate, what good could he be to anyone?

-He is a failure and he is gonna bring down his soulmate as well. 

-So he hides it. 

-Puts a patch over his eye to conceal the new color blooming around his iris and when his family starts questioning it he buys contacts. 

-Natsuo helps him even though he doesn’t understand why his brother doesn’t want a soulmate. 

-Years pass until he finally meets the person that has changed his life. 

-Shigaraki was being a brat as usual, whining about needing new members for his little group. 

-Dabi couldn’t care less.

-This  whole charade with these losers would only aid him reach his ultimate goal. 

-He didn’t care about Shigaraki’s shitty ideologies and otherworldly desires, he just wanted his revenge. 

-His eyes scanned the so-called hide out in utter boredom, his gaze landing once again at the bar’s door left slightly ajar in case someone came looking. 

-He didn’t expect for the door to open though. 

-And as the grease old door creaked open a figure stepped into the room, clad in black from head to toe. 

-A mask was covering half of your face leaving only your eyes visible. 

-You scanned the place before your eyes landed swiftly on him, knocking the breath out of him as you locked gazes, e/c orbs baring into his own. 

-The vibrant blue on your left eye had him gasping for air. 

-It was stunning. 

-You moved to talk to Shigaraki, your voice albeit monotone and cold, sent tingles up his spine making his hairs stand at attention. 

-His eyes were glued on you, one of his hands subconsciously going to the left side of his face where his mark should be visible.

-It felt as if his contact burned his eye and he quickly took it off, not minding about possible infections since he didn’t wash his hands before touching his eYE DAMMIT YA NASTY AF. 

-His body was drawn to you, his mind screaming at him to talk to you to go close to you. 

-You knew he was your soulmate. 

-You had known the moment you stepped into the bar; no one had such a beautiful blue hue in their eyes other than your soulmate. 

-Despite your mutual desire to be close to each other you  held off for months. 

-Months of keeping distance, months of giving each other the cold shoulder. 

-It would all reach a tipping point soon and Dabi would finally understand what it’s like to truly love someone. 

-Until then though, suffer in your mutual pining. 

Shirakumo Oboro II Red string of Fate

-The string around his pinky finger always lay motionless for years. 

-It was slack and lifeless, no sign of his soulmate being remotely alive. 

-It really worried him, he thought that he might be one of the few unfortunate individuals who didn’t have a soulmate. 

-He talked to his friends about it and they all reassured him that his soulmate was just too far away from him so even if they tugged at the string he wouldn’t be able to feel it. 

-This reassured him all throughout middle school. 

-He started getting a little discouraged when he saw all his classmates getting their soulmate signs whether it be names tattooed on their wrists, one of their eyes changing color or a strand of their hair, other could hear faint music if they concentrated hard enough while others were unfortunate enough to feel their soulmate’s pain. 

-Shirakumo was left staring at the red string surrounding his finger. 

-He had thought about tugging at it, making the first step instead of waiting for the person on the receiving end.  

-But on this day, the day when both Aizawa and Hizashi got their respective signs he found himself tugging at the string. 

-At first he pulled lightly watching the string grow taught slowly and then go slack again. 

-He waited for what felt like a century before tugging again and again, more force being put in his pulls every time. 

-After an hour of waiting and tugging he was done. 

-Eyes downcast with a frown on his lips, he was ready to let this whole soulmate thing go. 

-At the end of the day he doesn’t need the universe to tell him who he should fall in love with; who he is destined to be with. 

-Then he felt it. 

-The lightest tug at his finger. 

-His eyes followed the red string as it straightened a few times before going limb again. 

-Aizawa walked in on him pulling the string like crazy, excited giggles leaving his lips when his soulmate responded with their own pulls. 

- “Shota I did it. T-they answered!”

-This whole string communication business lasted until the first day of high school. 

-As Oboro walked through the halls of UA he felt the string shift on his finger. 

-It was as if it was wrapping tighter around his finger, almost to the point that it hurt. 

-Maybe he was about to meet his soulmate that’s why the string was thinning. 

-Wait, meet them??

-He wasn’t ready to meet them!!!

-What if they didn’t like him? What if his hair was a bit too cloudy for their likes? Oh god his hair must be a mess because he flew here. Maybe he can dash into one of the bathrooms and fix it real quick. Will he be too loud for them? What-

-Lost in his own thoughts he completely missed the person standing in front of him and soon he was crashing into them, a small grunt leaving his lips as he maneuvered himself to cushion their fall. 

- “Oh God I’m so sorry, I was totally zoned out. Are you alright?” 

- “Why are you apologizing? I ran into you.” 

-He let out a chuckle as you scrambled off of him, dusting off your skirt before offering him a hand. 

-As he took it he felt his pinky being released from the pressure. 

-Right before your eyes you witnessed the red string that connected you both unwrap for your fingers, illuminating for a moment before completely disappearing leaving a sense of familiarity and warmth in its wake. 

-You both stared wide eyed at each other before awkwardly introducing yourselves. 

-It didn’t take long for you two to actually fall in love and if you’re being honest it’s was so easy to fall for him that you believed that even if you weren’t soulmates you would have loved him. 

-Even after years, even after that fateful summer, the sense of his presence and his warmth never left you; it was as if he wasn’t gone and he was still somewhere out there. 

-You were half wrong in that one….I think. 

Takami Keigo/Hawks II Name tattoos

-He got his tattoo when he was 13. 

-It had really awful timing if he was being honest. 

-The hero commission was isolating him completely, even from the few friends he had made around the facility he trained in.

-He couldn’t even begin to imagine what they might do if they find out he had a soulmate. 

-He truly wished he had a different soulmate sign or no soulmate at all. 

-He did everything in his willpower to hide the calligraphy of your name on his left wrist. 

-Bandaging it up, covering it with a watch even scribbling over it like he used to do when he was 9 and bored. 

-But at some point it became harder to hide it, harder to conceal the beautiful name that was printed on his wrist. 

-So he confided in someone. 

-One of the caretakers at the commission had taken him under their wing ever since he was a wittle toddler, he trusted them with his life. 

-When he approached them frantically grasping his wrist in attempts to hide the letters, they were both delighted and saddened. 

-It was nice knowing that this poor child had someone out there that was meant for him and would make him happy, replace every single one of these awful memories with new ones.

-Memories he would like looking back to. 

-But just like Hawks himself they knew that the commission wouldn’t allow this person to get involved with him, at any costs and they knew how far these people could go in order to guarantee Hawks’s undivided concentration. 

-So they helped him; they bought him some make up to cover it up and taught him how to apply it correctly. 

-By the time he was out of the hands of the commission *at least not in close reach* no one apart from them knew of his soulmate’s name. 

- “Now listen here Keigo, I want you to take good care of them when you finally meet them. And never forget that you deserve nice things, don’t let anyone take your happiness away.” 

-He did find his happiness. 

-It didn’t happen right away but it did come sooner than he expected. 

-He had learned about the new transfer student who began attending UA in the middle of the year. 

-He never heard their name but he knew they existed. 

-Turns out they were quirkless but were determined to become a hero despite their shortcomings. 

-After a few months he bumped into them and oh lord his wings have never been puffier. 

-He was  relaxing on the roof, away from prying eyes and loud people, just him and the birds *he found his people at last*.

-When he heard the door open he almost leaped off the building but paused at the sound of a soft voice. 

- “Oh I’m so sorry I didn’t know someone was up here.” 

-Turning around he came face to face with the most beautiful person he had ever laid his eyes upon. 

-For the first time in his life he stumbled over his words, a swift ‘It’s alright’ escaping his lips and before he knew what he was doing he was inviting you to sit with him. 

- “Wow you can see everything from here.” 

- “The view is better up in the sky if you ask me.”

-After a long pause he added. “I could show you if you want.” 

- “How can I trust you? Hmmm?” you teased. “I don’t even know your name.” 

-He let out a chuckle before continuing. “Could say the same for you but since I’m a gentleman I will grace you with my name. I’m Keigo Takami or Hawks if you wanna go with my hero persona.” 

-He saw your eyes widen as you stared at him, your eyes darting to his covered wrists. 

-Quickly you composed yourself straightening your shirt and extending your hand, the black letters of his name delicately engraved on your smooth skin. 

- “Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N L/N.”  

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[bitterpainting]

She wants to paint. There's so much on her mind, and she can't process any of it at all. Too much.

When she shifts in bed to sit up, the pair of arms around her waist tighten just slightly, pulling her back into place. Julia adjusts so she can face her spouse, their eyes shut tight in a stubborn attempt to stay asleep. Leaning on one hand, she brushes a lock of their hair aside as she whispers, "I'll be right back, I promise." If they heard her, they don't acknowledge, but they don't keep her rooted when she moves again.

Yasraena stays curled up beneath Enoch's crib as Julia pulls on a robe, Bel yawning as he hops down from the bed to sit beside her. Now dressed, she gestures for the dog to follow as she leaves the room, door shutting quietly behind them.

The house is still unfamiliar to her, despite being her a few days, and she relies heavily on Bel to keep from bumping into things as she walks down the hall and into the livingroom. There's a light that shines through the crack beneath the door that leads to her father's craft room. She leans against the wood to listen, a soft, deep hum coming from within.

Knock, knock.

The humming stops, "Come in," and resumes once more.

Julia opens the door slowly, peeking in to see her father at a massive loom, humming as he weaves a mostly finished piece. The walls are either covered with finished textiles in all manner of bright, vibrant colours, or shelves that hold the unwoven thread.

Bel walks ahead of her to curl up at her father's feet, leaving her standing just inside the room. Her voice is a hoarse, deadpan when she speaks, "It's late, you should be asleep."

"You get your bad habits from me, Juliel."

"..." Crossing her arms, she shuffles forward to watch at his side as he weaves, quiet for a long moment. "Abba, I'm sorry I didn't—"

She's cut off by him raising a hand, his eyebrows raised as he looks at her past dark curls, "Have I given you any trouble about it? No, so do not apologise, little jewel. You are here now. You stayed several days, and I am happy to finally meet your daughter and Kieviel."

"Abba, you knew Kieviel, I went to school with them."

"Ah, but I never met them as your spouse, that is a big difference, Juliel."

She rolls her eyes, finding a cushioned stool to sit down on so she can continue to watch him work. There's another long pause of silence, once again broken by Julia when she sighs, "I haven't even properly introduced you to Silva. I will... when she has the time to visit, I will."

"Ah, yes, you are married to many, that's right."

"Just two, Abba."

"I used to think you would marry your little friend Iriskree. Are you still friends with her?"

"Yes, Iris babysits Enoch from time to time."

"Good, good. You deserve more friends, Juliel."

"..." That doesn't seem right. She doesn't expect any other opinion from her own father, but... As bitter and prone to isolation as she is, it's any wonder she'd made as many friends as she had, let alone... "I've made more."

"Oh?" Mikha’el stops weaving to turn to look at Julia properly now, a warm, gentle smile on his face as he folds his hands on his lap. "Tell me about them, then."

"I've met a few in person, Hinata and Rook. If I'm honest, I'm a bit... overwhelmed. I'm not used to people not being turned away by just... how I sound and look." She fidgets, rubbing her thumb against her opposite palm, "Hinata is a sweet woman, she visited me first. She's... almost suspiciously kind, really. I almost feel like she'll pull the rug from beneath me when I fully let down my guard, but... I've never met someone so gentle before. It was odd to smile so much.

"Rook is also absurdly kind. They've given me more than I could have imagined ever asking for and I don't think I ever could have asked for it. All for... nothing, really. They didn't ask for any kind of payment. The least, and really the most, I could offer were paintings. They're the only reason I could visit you and Eema. They and Hinata are why I've been able to get genuinely good sleep the last week or so. No nightmares."

Her father grins, chuckling softly, "They have my eternal thanks, then. I wish I could have gotten their help when you were a baby, but 32 some odd years later is better than never at all." He reaches down to idly pet Bel, "Who else have you met, jewel?"

"A man named Hubert. He and his... I'm not sure what to call their relationship. He calls her 'Lady', but I think that may be a title? I would say she's his employer, but she seems very affection and fond of him. Her name is Calypso. I can understand where her fondness stems from, he's quite beautiful.

"A young man named Yugi... one of rook's loved ones named Wick... though I haven't interacted too much with Wick, Yugi is quite sweet. They're the reason I've wanted to expand my family, actually." Her hand subconsciously moves to rest on her stomach, "I know there are others, and I'm sure they'd be hurt if they ever knew I'd neglected to mention them, but..."

"Are you trying for a second child, Juliel, and you did not tell me?"

Julia looks up in slight alarm, but rolls her eyes when she sees the teasing, pretend hurt on his face. "Yes, we are. I'll be sure you're one of the first people to meet them this time, I promise."

Mikha’el chuckles and adjusts in his seat, relaxing, "You seem happy, little jewel. So what, then, has you up talking to me? It's very late, like you said."

Her lips purse into a thin line and she fidgets with one of the long strands of blond hair that falls over her shoulder. "I still can't look at the night sky."

"Ah, you still see it?"

"It never went away."

"And why is this keeping you awake now, Juliel? You said you could sleep well now."

"I can, but I'm afraid to look at the skies, still. What if it's still there, Abba, what if it sees me and the magic wears off?"

"Magic?" He starts, but shakes his head, "It is not vital for you to go out at night, little jewel, you don't need to test these things."

"Abba I want to go out at night. I want to paint the night sky. I want to be able to be anywhere but indoors at night if so choose. I'm hesitant to have Hubert come over because it would need to be past sundown, but he'd be trapped inside with me."

"Ah, does he have a mutation that leaves him sensitive to sunlight?"

"... not quite, but in a way, you could look at it like that." She rubs her thumb against her palm again, "What if it sees Auriel, Abba? What if it's haunting her, too?"

Her father hums in thought, rubbing a hand over the scruff on his chin, sympathetic look on his face. "Well... did Kieviel see the star the night she was born?"

"What? No. They've never seen it, Abba, no one has besides me."

"I've seen it. Your mother too."

Julia blinks. "What?"

"The night you were born we saw it. Just like you've said, like a hole in the sky. Have never seen it since. It is why I've never doubted you, Juliel. I just hoped it would go away for you as well."

After a moment of silence, she sinks down in her posture, rubbing her hands over her face. "No, they've never seen it." She repeats, "So at least I can rest assured she isn't being haunted. Still..."

"..." Mikha’el stands and walks over to rest a hand on Julia's shoulder, exhaustion clear on her face when she looks up, "There is a lot on your mind, I know there is. You are doing just fine. Better than fine. Come now. It's time for you to get some sleep, I am sure your Kieviel is missing you."

Julia sighs and nods, standing once her father takes a step back and giving him a hug. "I'll visit again soon, I promise." When she lets go he moves to sit back at the loom, he doesn't respond beyond a nod, resuming his humming as he continues to weave.

She starts towards the door, Bel stretching as he stands, trotting after her as she goes to leave.

"I'm glad those dogs have kept you such good company all this time. You've taken good care of them. They really were such a blessing to find so soon to you coming into our lives. Goodnight, little jewel."

"Goodnight, Abba."

[lene-loki]

Never Too Close

Summary: After the events of Avengers: Endgame, (Y/N) Romanoff is mourning the death of her sister Natasha. She is unexpectedly finding comfort in the presence of someone who shares the pain of losing the people he loved.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff!Sister Reader

Warnings: Character Death, Spoiler for Avengers: Endgame, Angst, Grief, Suicidal Thoughts

Word Count: 2264 Words

A/N: I hope ya’ll liked this Imagine. Please let me know if you want to get tagged on future Imagines or Series that I want to write. This isn’t proofread and please excuse grammaticaly and verbal mistakes since English isn’t my mother tongue. And now please enjoy!! With Love, Léne xx

(Y/N) = Your Name

The pouring of the rain sounds like a faint whisper in the distance. When I close my eyes and listen precisely to the rustle I can almost hear the voice I long to hear. I open my eyes when the wind starts to blow into my ear, making my whole body shiver. A raindrop lands directly on top of my cheekbone and gets mixed up with a teardrop that escapes my eye. The wet droplet almost feels like a passing kiss. As if she is standing right beside me and kisses my tears away or maybe she cries from heaven herself and her tears end up on my face. I like to think that she watches me from above. Seeing my every move. Despite the rain a familiar warmth is spreading through my heart, making me feel safe and not alone anymore. My eyes blink the tears away, trying to focus on the words that are written on the wooden cross in front of me. The fact that her death is still so recent that she has to wait for a stone to mark her grave, makes me sob. I have looked so many times at that wooden cross that I started to hate it. She deserves a beautiful, carved stone. Not a dirty, broken cross where her name already starts to fade. But she has to wait. Her coffin isn’t set enough to put a heavy stone on top of the earth. I wipe the back of my hand over my tearstained cheeks before I kneel down in front of the grave. Everyday I bring a new kind of flowers by. Making the earth dissapear in a vibrant, little garden. It helps my own mental health to transform the place of grief into a little paradise for her. And I hope this is exactly where she’s at now. In a paradise. My eyes tear away from the flowers before I start counting them again like I always do. Because the number of the flowers is the number of the days since she passed away. My chest hurts, my heart starts to crumble inside when I once again think about the empty coffin under the ground. My sisters body dissapeard when she sacrificed herself to get the Soul Stone. Now all that remained of her is the memory.

Although it’s past midnight when I leave the graveyard I can’t help but to ring Clint out of his sleep - as well as his wife and his children probably. He picks up the phone with a yawn, his voice raspy from his deep sleep. He is the closest I have to family now and he knows. He always cared for me and Natasha and now that she’s gone he’s supporting me more than ever. Giving me a shoulder to cry on no matter how late it is. That is exactly whe he’s never annoyed when I call him at times like this. My loneliness leads the conversation as I tell him that I don’t know where to go. “Where are you right now, (Y/N)?” I shrug my shoulders even though he can’t see. “I think I’m near the Avengers compound.” My voice is barely louder than a whisper. My throats stil sore from my hour long crying at Natashas grave. “I can pick you up. You can stay at mines if you want.” He suggests and I can hear him fumbling with the bedsheets in the background. Ever since Natashas passing, I stayed at the Avengers compound in her former room. But sometimes it gets too much being surrounded by her memories and her whole life in just that little space. Everything in her room reminds me of her scent, her smile, her voice, the look in her eyes - especially that tiny twinkle in her iris that always appeared when she felt extremely proud of me. I have to pull myself together to not sob again and alarm Clint even more. As much as I want to escape from the compound for a little while, I don’t want to wear out Clints care for me. I feel like I already asked too much of him. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry that I woke you.” I swallow the lump down in my throat in hopes he doesn’t hear how near I am to losing it all again. He sighs at the other end. “You’re sure?” “Yes.”   “Okay, love. Don’t apologize for calling me.” His voice sounds so soft I could fall asleep immediately on the side of the road. He just has this soothing affect on me. I hang up after telling him that I love him and walk in the dim lights of the streetlamps to the compound.

Inside the building everything is pitch dark. The only light comes from Wandas room. It’s red and spreads in chaotic rays around the space of her own four walls. She surely is training her magic since she still hasn’t full control over her powers what burdened her more than usually the last couple of days. I decide not to disturb the Scarlet Witch and seek refuge in Natashas room. I really try to sleep but since Thanos happened my nights are as restless as my hurting heart. I’m still wide awake physically but dangerously exhausted mentally when I hear voices in the early morning hours in the kitchen. Wandas voice makes me wonder if she’s been awake the whole night as well. I leave the room in my short pyjama shorts and my plain white T-Shirt. I wouldn’t fall asleep anyway so I might as well just get up and start another day of inner misery. I round the corner to the kitchen island where Pepper placed a large bowl of exotic fruits on top. The blonde showed me a sad smile since she’s lost in her own grief. Pepper disappears out of the kitchen - leaving me alone with Wanda and a familiar brunette man which I recognize from Tony’s funeral. I can’t remeber his name but I recall the pained expression on his face and the devastated haze over his pupils. He seems like he always looks like pure misery. “Good morning.” I greet them both shyly since they haven’t notice me yet. Wanda immediately sends a heartful smile in my direction while the stranger’s corners of his mouth just twitch the slightest bit upward - almost to tiny to notice. I also perceive his new hairstyle. The last time I saw him he had messy, long waves. Longer than shoulder length and a full beard. Now he has his hair cut short and looking neat with his jawline covered in dark stubbles instead of the fullgrown beard. “Bucky, this is (Y/N). She is Natashas’ sister.” Wanda explains him in her thick, sokovian accent since he developed the same look of recognition on his face as me. Now the puzzle pieces click together. That is Bucky Barnes. Steves’ best friend and the other Super Soldier. His facial features unravel in realization. “Oh, right. Hello, (Y/N). Nice to meet you again and I’m... Sorry about your loss.” He frowns at the last part. “Thank you, it’s nice to see you again in less sorrowful circumstances.” I try to lighten up the mood a bit because I don’t want to start my day already with a bad encounter that reminds me once again how miserable I am inside. Unsure if we should shake hands, Bucky’s metal arm jerks briefly in my direction but he instantly lets it sink again - wrapping the room in an uncomfortable silence. “Well it was nice to see you again. I got to go now.” I excuse myself from the weird situation and leave without breakfast to go to my Natasha’s room. I still feel uncomfortable calling it my room since it was Natsha’s place to live for so many years. I didn’t completely lie to Bucky and Wanda since it’s a new day and time to pick up new flowers for my sisters grave. I change into comfy short, cotton pants and an old, blue pullover from Natashas wardrobe before I leave the compound.

I take a cab to the same  flower shop I visit everyday. Where even the owner knows me by name already. Today marks exactly thirty days since Natasha died. A whole month without my older sister by my side. I ordered a special type of flower for this occasion. A bouqet of beautiful Royal Azaleas - the most precious flowers of our native country Russia. As beautiful as Natasha and I like how it brings a bit of our home to her - making her little paradise even more exotic. At the graveyard I am so consumed in my own thoughts to where I’m going to place the Royal Azaleas on the ground in front of the wooden cross, that I don’t notice right away the broad figure a few feet away from me. He’s standing upset in his posture  and bent a little forward above a grave. It’s the back of his head - his freshly done hair and the colour of his shirt that gives him away and I realise that it’s Bucky. I decide against it to walk up to him since he’s mourning in his own world as well and obviously needs his space. My eyes tear away from the picture of the broken man in front of me and I finally walk straight up to Natashas grave. I crouch slightly to put my bag on the ground. I brought a little shovel to set the new flowers into the earth directly in front of the cross - making the Azaleas stand out from the rest. It is when I walk over to the well a few feet away from me to pick up the watering can, that Bucky notices he’s not alone. The can is filled to the brink and quite heavy in my hand as I carry it to Natashas grave, losing waterdrops on my way there. I silently water the flowers - careful not to drown them in the lack of strength I have in my hand that is holding the water can. The whole time I can feel his stare on me and I can almost feel his inner battle if he should come up to me or not. A few moments later he starts nervously walking up to me while I clean the little shovel to stow it away in my bag. “Do you still the need the watering can?” He asks hoarsely as he comes to a halt beside my bend over figure - blocking the sun out of my view which throws a few rays on the water droplets. Making them sparkle inbetween the flowers of Natashas floral paradise. “No.” I smile softly at him and stand up again. He returns my friendly grin and takes the water can but doesn’t leave straight away. He hesitates a second unsure of if he should leave me alone again, but somehow I long for company - not wanting to speak with the wind again and hallucinate about Natashas voice. “I lost everyone. Natasha was the only one left of my family. Although Clint supports the weight of my grief to make me feel like I’m not alone I still feel like it. I always felt like I’m alone in this world and deep down I don’t feel like I belong to the Avengers either. It was Natashas community. Not mine.” My eyes start to sting with upcoming tears while I open up to Bucky. I don’t really know why I do this. I guess I never felt so out of place and so lonely like I did in the past days and it scares me. Bucky clears his throat, his glance burning holes into my soul as he watches every slightest movement of my facial expressions. “I went through losing the people I love so many times that I lost count of it.” He blinks the tears away which threatens to fall from his eyes. “After Steve left to live the life with Peggy he always dramed to have, I officially got left alone. Steve was so much more than my friend. He was my brother.” He sniffs. “And now I’m searching for a sign - just something that keeps me in this life.” I let my tears run freely as I identify his words as my own feelings. And I realise that we are two souls hurting from the same experiences building a connection to one another through the desperation of having lost any strength to keep living. “Without wanting to get too close to you, I think you just as broken inside as me.” He speaks up. His eyes are swollen and red, still glossy from fresh tears which haven’t stopped being reproduced and leaking out of the corner of his eyes. I strangely feel comfort in the detail that his blue pullover matches mine. My heart starts to pick up a pace as I cross a vulnerable line between us and say: “I think you can never be too close to someone. I’m sure closeness is what we both need the most now.” I gift him a teary smile which he returns with a faint tint of red across his cheeks. Our encounter feels like a big step for the both of us - coming out of our shells we’ve been hiding in like anxious snails and I could feel it in the beating behind my ripcage that it was towards the right direction.

[imbeccablee]

Luca Sea Monster Headcanons

🐟 When on land and in their sea monster form, it's slightly harder for sea monsters to breathe. This is due to them having gills as well as lungs. It's kinda like having asthma.

🐟 When transforming from sea monster to human and back, it kinda feels the way those flippable sequins things do. When going from human to sea monster, this effect is only noticeable if you pay close attention or if the change is gradual, like, say, being rained on.

🐟 Regardless of what form they're in, sea monster eyes glow in the dark. Just the iris. They're also still able to see very well in the dark even in their human form, though their sea monster form is still superior in that aspect.

🐟 When on land, sea monsters are constantly forgetting that things won't just float beside them if they let go for a minute. They can, of course, adjust, but this also has the opposite effect where they're afraid to drop anything in the water bevause they don't want it to break. Yes, this is inspired by those videos about astronauts coming back to earth and constantly dropping things. No, it's never not funny.

🐟 Contrary to popular belief, their clothes don't magically repair themselves when they switched from sea monster to human. Their tails either pop out the top of their pants, or through a pant leg/skirt. Due to this, many sea monsters opt to wear skirts outside of the water, regardless of their gender, especially if they're constantly switching between forms.

(basically just. Luca and Alberto in skirts. It's what they deserve.)

🐟 If they spend a lot of time unbroken in their human form, when they go back to their sea monster form, they experience phantom limb pain in their fingers and toes, since humans have more phalanges than sea monsters do. Likewise, it can be hard to adjust to having five fingers when you're used to four and five toes when you're used to three.

🐟 Sea monsters mate for life. On an unrelated note, sea monsters can also die of heartache and grief.

🐟 Sea monsters can hear higher frequencies than humans. This is because sound travels differently underwater, but the translation to being on the surface means they can hear things like dog whistles. It is very funny (in Giulia's opinion) watching sea monsters go alert at the sound of high pitched whistles and the like.

🐟 When sea monsters bruise, whether in their human or sea form, on their scales it'll appear as a poisonous, vibrant yellow color. This is based on nothing other than I think it'd look cool. Also, injuries will momentarily hurt more when you shift from sea monster to human or vice versa. The severity of the pain depends on the severity of the injury.

🐟 Likewise, sea monsters are more durable when in their sea monster form. Not by much, but they are definitely more immune to blunt force trauma when scaled verses when not.

🐟 Human hair you can cut. Sea monster headfins you cannot.

🐟 When the skin has only gotten partially wet and the scales haven't flipped up yet, the sea monster skin feels slightly colder than the human skin. Otherwise, it is indisguishable apart from the color.

🐟 Sea monsters do not have a mating season or heats or anything like that. This does not stop them from making the humans think they do for the comedy of it. It's fun watching them awkwardly talk around it when its springtime (according to Alberto. To Luca, it's really embarrassing and he wishes Giulia would believe him when he said Alberto was messing with her so she would stop wriggling her eyebrows at him during the spring every time Alberto isn't looking).

🐟 Sea monsters are fiercely loyal and protective. If they're comfortable around you, congratulations, you have at least one person who would literally die for you at any given moment. The way they show this feeling varies, but whenever the person they've attached themselves gets into physical harm/danger, they tend to take a more animalistic approach to defend them. Growling, bared teeth, clawed hands, the whole nine yards. It can be really off-putting to anyone not used to it.

[alecmagnuslwb]

Marriage is a Contract and My Signature is Unreadable

Read on AO3

John’s never seen a bride wear fishnets with their stunning white dress, but Dinah Lance is pulling it off somehow. Admittedly though John hasn’t seen that many brides that weren’t ghosts or the earthly demonic embodiment of some sort of hell beastie so maybe his experience in weddings and bridal wear is a bit skewed.

Of course he’s also a bit skewed because in his eyes no one at this wedding, not even the bride no disrespect to the woman who’s by far one of the few supers he can truly say he likes, is as stunning as his date. Zatanna sits beside him at their table, the reception in full swing now, her legs crossed the deep navy-blue asymmetrical dress she’s wearing showing off a tantalizing bit of her leg. Her tattoo, the twin to his peeks out from the front of the dress right next to the silver lining at the edges where the dress straps around her neck. She’s a fucking vision his Zatanna.

“I can’t believe they finally did it,” Zatanna says gliding her silver French tipped nails with little crescent moons on them along her glass of champagne. “I really thought Lois and Clark would be the only ones to take the plunge.”

Supers aren’t known for tying the knot, their world is so complicated and their relationships so wild they never find the time to actually get around to it. The fact that Dinah and Oliver managed to not only successfully get engaged, but plan a real wedding and have the ceremony without any major incidents happening in the middle is a miracle if John’s ever actually seen one.

“Who do you think’ll be next?” John says surveying the room. Every hero he’s ever met and ever butted heads with is here out of costume and all dressed up to the nines. There’s a congregation of Green Lantern’s by the bar, Superman is on the dance floor poorly attempting to floss as Nightwing laughs his fine ass off at him, the Flash is somehow dancing with his girlfriend and eating every item on the buffet simultaneously.  “Seems like two in a row will make a domino effect, yeah?”

Zatanna hums in thought her piercing blue eyes with the glittery navy blue and silver eyeliner around them shimmering in the light as she tilts her head in thought. She carefully scratches at the space beside the cluster of tiny rhinestones artfully placed around her right eyebrow and settles her eyes to a table across the room with a smile.

“Wally and Linda for sure,” she says tilting her head their direction. John swivels to look at them. Unlike Barry who’s still zooming back and forth from Iris to the buffet, Wally is wholly engrossed in every movement Linda makes as she talks rapidly her hands moving all about as she speaks to Mia Dearden on the other side of the table. That is a man wholly in love, enraptured by the woman he gets to call his own. John understands the sentiment as he looks back to Zatanna her dark blue painted lips still resting in a beautiful smile.

“What if it was us?” John asks leaning in closer to her a wicked smile on his face.

Zatanna snorts, a harsh indelicate thing that on anyone else would be unattractive.

“Aww, love you too, Zee,” John says faux offended falling back against his chair. He knew it was an absurd suggestion the moment he said it.

“I’m sorry, you know I love you,” she says holding up a hand attempting to hide her laughter. “It’s just look at us, we’re coming up on our first and only three-year anniversary. We’re not exactly known for being good at this.”

It’s a valid point. Despite the fact they have technically been together for over a decade they’ve gone through their fair share of ups and downs, break ups and make ups and even a few trips to hell and literal deaths. John has screwed up more times than he can count and even Zatanna has bungled it once or twice. Complicated has at almost all times been their relationship status, but the past three years, ever since John got his head out of his ass and finally decided to sort out this one particular aspect of his life they’ve been good, solid.

“Okay, true, but you’re stuck with me and we can’t act like there aren’t benefits to the whole marriage sham,” he says stretching his arms behind his head.

“It’s extremely comforting you called it a sham,” Zatanna says giving him a fondly exasperated look. “But you know maybe you’re right the tax incentives alone are a real benefit.”

“Now, the tax incentives would be appealing if I had ever in my life filed my taxes,” John says with a laugh.

“You’ve never filed taxes?” Zatanna says with a slightly startled look.

John just shrugs tossing back the remainder of his champagne. “It’s not like I’ve ever had any real upstanding type of job that would require me to fill out a W4 or whatever.”

“It’s a W2,” Zatanna corrects. “And John you live with me, our landlord made me put your name on the lease because he saw you there so much. You could totally get caught.”

“Eh, it’ll be fine,” John says with an unconcerned wave of his hand. “The fact that I’m not technically a citizen of this country is probably a bigger issue than the tax thing anyway.”

“John!” Zatanna exclaims with a laugh.

“What? You can’t have thought I actually went to a baseball park and held my hands up and did the national anthem or whatever,” he says kicking his feet up on the empty chair next to him.

“Clearly you haven’t considering that’s not at all how citizenship works,” Zatanna chuckles. “But hey there’s a potential benefit of marriage for us, citizenship.”

“Ah the romance of marrying not for love, but so the government pricks don’t send your ass packing,” John reaches out a hand tangling his fingers with Zatanna’s on the table his thumb running small circles into her hand.

Zatanna hums. “I guess lack of romance aside it wouldn’t matter since I can always just portal you back into the country on a whim anyways.”

John nods in agreement trying to come up with another benefit they might be able to actually take advantage of. “You couldn’t testify against me in court, that could be incredibly useful down the line.”

Zatanna raises one jeweled eyebrow, “Is there a crime you’ve committed lately you’ve neglected to tell me about?”

John thinks for a moment genuinely scanning his memories in case there is something he forgot to tell her about. “No,” he settles on confidently. He’s pretty sure at least. “I’m just thinking in general considering my track record in the past.”

Zatanna pats the top of his hand with a smile. “As if any prison could hold you long enough for me to even be asked a single question.”

John just laughs again, “Alright so maybe there aren’t that many marital benefits for us to take advantage of then.”

“No parents to satisfy,” Zatanna sighs. “And of course making medical decisions for one another doesn’t really matter when you use magic and superhero doctors that definitely don’t accept any sort of co-pay,” she adds on with a contemplative bite of her lip.

“Half your friends hate me,” John says thoughtfully with a chuckle.

“And half your friends are dead,” Zatanna says ruefully tapping a nail to her chin. “The wedding party would be abysmally uneven.”

“I haven’t bought a new tie in years,” John says tugging at the red thing around his neck. He looks hilariously basic compared to Zatanna’s ensemble essentially wearing what he wears any given day of the week the only difference being Zatanna had forced him into a subtly lace patterned black jacket for a change and repainted his chipped nails for the first time in two weeks. “It’d make the pictures look horribly out of place.”

“Plus let��s be real I’m a show woman, I’d probably hate having to share the spotlight with you for one day,” Zatanna smiles teasingly. John smiles back shifting so that he’s scooting his chair closer to hers. He lifts a hand to her face twisting a long dark hair that’s slipped from her twisty updo held in place by two sharp silver hair pins with crescent moons at the end to match her nails and tucking it back behind her ear.

“So, basically there’s not a benefit in this world or a thing that would change if we got married,” John says letting the silky hair go.

“The only thing I can think of is that I like shiny jewelry and you look hot when you wear silver rings,” Zatanna says reaching back and pulling the two pins from her hair letting it all fall across her shoulders, the one stand out streak of navy blue appearing as it falls.

“And we can buy each other jewelry anytime without a reason,” he says brushing the bit of hair that’s fallen into her eyes away.

Zatanna smiles at him once before standing holding out a hand that he instantly takes. She guides him to the dance floor twining her fingers behind his head slowly.

They sway slowly to some sappy love song John vaguely recognizes their eyes locked on one another.

“You know,” she says after a while her fingers pulling through the hair that’s getting a bit too long at the base of his neck. “Just because I don’t want to get married doesn’t mean I don’t want you for as long as I can have you, right?”

He does know that. It’s inexplicable to him why someone as bright and vibrant and good as her wants him, but she does and he intends to keep it that way till the demons or the cigarettes kill him.

“I know. I’m happy how we are, knowing us, and by us I mean me, marriage would end up mucking everything up anyways,” he says pulling her in closer his hands moving from their grip on her waist to the exposed small of her back. “We can just keep going to everyone else’s weddings and raiding their open bars.”

Zatanna laughs then leans up kissing him once soft and slow not even smudging her lipstick in the slightest. She stays close when she pulls back resting her head on his chest as they continue to sway.

“We really need to get your name off of my lease though, I don’t need the government showing up and trying to audit me,” she says softly. “I’d be a nightmare for Mistress of Magic brand.”

John laughs loud and bright leaning his head down to kiss her once atop the head already planning a minor break in to the landlord’s apartment. It’ll be okay if he gets caught, married or not he knows she won’t testify against him.

[ladyfloriographist]

Valentine

Pairing: Captain Nicholls (War Horse) x femme!Wife!Reader

Warnings: WWI setting, alternate ending fix-it of sorts?, war and death themes, bad for Joey good for James, writing letters (sometimes sexy), yearning, features Major Jamie Stewart (Benedict Cumberbatch)

XXXX

Captain James Nicholls poured himself a drink and gazed at the sepia photograph. He kept it in his barracks so that he’d always have something to come back to; always, a reason to return to his quarters alive.

He sighed, looking at your photograph. The lighting had been wonderfully golden that afternoon, and your hair had sat so prettily about your face. He picked up the small frame and traced over your image with his thumb.

The urge to write you overwhelmed him. He was certain you hadn’t yet received his most recent letter, having despatched it only yesterday morning—but the desire to feel closer to you was too strong to ignore.

It didn’t ease his heavy heart that the only thing he could do was send you words on a page written by his hand, but the thought of you ripping open the envelope and avidly reading his correspondence before eagerly writing him back compelled him to sit at his desk and scratch out a note.

James loosened the standard-issue khaki-green tie as he pulled a pencil from the top drawer of the desk. He flicked open the top button of the long-sleeved beige-green shirt and ran his long fingers through his neatly-parted, close-cropped, blond hair.

He cleared his throat, and hovered the pencil above the paper, before launching in:

My dearest, loveliest Mrs Nicholls, Today your photograph caught my eye more than it usually does. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you reclined on the chaise in the sunroom, the photographer’s bulb snapping pictures of your angelic form. My sketches of you like that keep me company still. But today was different. I wish the photograph had some way of conveying the colour of your eyes. This is not to say that I have forgotten the look of them. Quite the contrary, dear heart. My memory of the hue of your iris, the fathomless black of your pupil, and the curl of your lashes are of’times the only things that grant me sleep at night in this dreary France. My darling, how I long to see them again. To see the two perfectly shaped crystal orbs in your face and look into them until I lose myself in your soul.

James paused, and supped his drink. He glanced at your photograph on his dresser and a crushing weight descended on his heart.

He gulped down the knot in his throat and continued on:

I count the days until this bitter biting winter is over and we British return home to our loves. We are assured that triumphal victory over the Germans is in our sights and you, my dear one, are in my thoughts always.

He signed his name and addressed the envelope to the home you shared in south Oxfordshire, and it was only when he started to write the date that he realised the significance of the day. He smiled and wrote it at the top of the letter:

14 February 1915

XXXX

He was frustrated with no where to put the frustration, and cold with no way to shake the chill. James slumped down into his chair and sat with his head in his hands. His eyes burned.

He dragged his hands down his face and groaned. He’d buried too many today.

Alone in his barracks the Captain privately wondered whether King and Country were worth the cost of so much, so many lives, so many lessons on how to break a man.

Recalling the stench of the gas and the death soured his breath in his mouth and sickened his gut.

He visibly shook the thoughts from his mind and reached for the only relief and release he’d come to count on: a pencil and a scrap of paper, and the sepia photograph of you.

My love, the dearest Mrs Nicholls,

My sweet heart, I miss you.

James held the pencil in his hand, poised to say more, paralysed to write it. The blunted nib hovered over the textured paper and he swallowed, picturing your radiant smile, hearing the trill of your laugh.

He coughed. “Write on, Jimmy,” he murmured to himself, more surprised than he should have been at the croak in his voice. He flexed his fingers on the pencil and wrote:

It soothes me some to address you as my darling wife. Please do not think of me a lesser man, but it is a great comfort to me to know that you are mine and I am yours, and you wait for me on the other side. I fear I shall never see the end of it – this wretched mess. Lord knows many of my men will not—not anymore. The snow has given way to the muddy sludge of spring in the land of the ancient Frank and I find myself longing for nought but a flat, hard stretch of Earth to walk our staunch British soldiers through. They are weary, as I confess I am.

James stopped. He rubbed at his eyes and took a swig of whiskey, sighing as it burned down his throat. Cheap, but the best available. He wrote on:

My Joey doesn’t much mind the mud. A beautiful beast and I am lucky to rely on such a fearless creature. I shall enclose a drawing of the noble steed. I am told that soon we shall spot fruiting mulberry trees between the thick French forests of oak and beech. I can’t imagine anymore something so fresh and vibrant as a berry. Ridiculous trifle. Nothing here is as sweet or juicy as you, my love. My darling heart.

James laid the pencil flat on the desk for the last time tonight. He sighed, lost to reminiscence.

XXXX

Captain Nicholls tipped the glass to his lips only to find it was empty.

He huffed as he put it down on the desk and slid it away, wanting to get up and re-fill it but knowing he has perhaps had too much already.

James looked back at his drawing. It was quite the likeness, if he did say so himself. He hoped he’d gotten the relaxed fall of the towel right and commended himself on your shoulder blades and waist. He added some more details to your hair, and then some more shading to your back and the folds of the rippling towel that covered your lower half.

His favourite part was the way he’d captured your nose and chin, your face turned ever so slightly over your shoulder, your downcast eyes wordlessly beckoning him closer.

Absent-mindedly, James swallowed the excess saliva that had pooled in his mouth—a consequence of his own imaginings. He wished he had even one or two colours to add to your portrait, to bring the plain picture somewhat closer to the rich images he nurtured in his mind.

He wrote your name in the bottom right corner, and underneath it:

After a Bath Cn. JN Artois, Sep ‘15

James sat back in his chair, and as he gazed at his drawing of you he felt the stirrings of arousal, deep in the pit of his gut. He glanced to the side where your most recent reply lay, scented with a fine floral perfume from the array of pressed flowers: orange-toned iris, pink ranunculus, red rose, and purple-hued lavender.

And read them, he had—for what they truly meant.

I love you, you’d said. I’m promised to you. I’m devoted to you, and I want you.

I desire you.

His heart had leapt up into his throat at the small and precious bouquet, and he’d immediately set to work sketching you.

For a few moments James closed his eyes and let his mind drift far and away from the nightmare that plagued his days. He thought about the last time he saw you, on the morning he left Oxfordshire to take the ferry into France. You hadn’t let him out of bed until the last possible moment, and he hadn’t attempted to leave until then either.

He blinked slowly back to the present as his desire grew, then quickly picked up a pencil.

James wrote:

My darling Mrs Nicholls,

My dearest love, tonight I remember the time we danced together in our new kitchen. We’d just moved to Abingdon and everything was new. Your dress that night was full of red blooms and your bright red lipstick dazzled me. We swayed to Sweet Adeline, my darling, do you remember? You smelt like orange blossoms and evening jasmine, I remember.

He sat back in his chair and let the memories crowd him like a swarm of bees: how he’d kissed you and where he’d touched you and the way he’d fucked you so thoroughly that your hair pins had come undone.

You never did find that one rogue button that flew off as he ripped open your dress.

His desire became a hot, burning need—long and thick between his legs. He resisted the urge to touch himself.

It’s cruel, my love, he wrote. The gift of your flowers tantalises me. Memories of you flood my mind like the waves of the ocean flood the sandy shore. Would you do this, loveliest lady? Most sultry sorceress? Would you leave me with your kiss upon my lips and your taste within my mouth, on my tongue to tease and torture me so sweetly? I feel you even now.

James adjusted in his chair as a distracting ache settled at the juncture of his thighs. He was desperately aroused, so stiff and hard, so ready to take you to bed and open you on his cock—to watch you bloom for him like the petals on your soft, pretty flowers. He continued:

Like Henry’s Catherine there is witchcraft in your lips, but also in your deeds, and you enchant me. I ache for your touch, my darling.

James let his eyes fall closed and ran a light touch of his palm over his swollen cock. The sensation shot through him like a bolt of lightning from the Heavens and he shuddered. It had been so long. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and bit down.

Shall I take myself in hand and think of your sweet cunt? Your hot wet mouth? Your own soft hand? I am caught in your spell—I cannot resist, and I am too far gone for restraint. Dear sweet heart, were that you the flower and I the honey bee, I would horde your nectar for myself and eat all your sugary sweetness until it dribbled down my chin. Darling, how I long to dip my wick in your wax and feel you catch alight.

He dotted the period onto the paper with force, and threw the pencil onto the desk with a groan of frustration.

He breathed hard, panting breaths for a few moments, until he hastily unbuttoned the khaki slacks that confined him.

James decided to finish this letter tomorrow morning.

XXXX

“Ready, Jim-boy?” said Major Jamie Stewart good-naturedly, crossing one leg over the other and readying a pencil and small stack of papers.

James smiled as his friend and commander settled on the chair beside his cot. The Captain felt as though too much of a fuss was being made; as though he was taking up a valuable bed in the field hospital.

“Now, no funny business,” said the Major, his words in jest and his face faux-serious, “I’ll hear no pillow talk and I will certainly not dictate it.”

Despite it all, James had to laugh. Despite the pain that shot through his arm from his shoulder to his fingertips. Despite feeling like a deserter, a man who abandons his oaths and his friends. Despite wishing for nothing more than to be wrapped up in your arms.

Jamie smiled ruefully. He’d medically discharged that many men that by now, he could watch the emotions at war on their faces. He decided not to let his friend dwell on them. “How shall I start, Jimmy?”

James rested properly against the two flat, uncomfortable pillows beneath his head. He sighed, “My dear love, sweet Mrs Nicholls.”

Jamie scribbled onto the pages.

“First,” said James, “allow me to apologise—no. Not that, sorry Stu—”

Jamie scratched out some words.

“First, I must apologise,” James said, and Jamie nodded, “for the long interval in writing you back. Allow me to explain the delay, dear one.”

“Mhm,” Jamie hummed, his eyes trained on the paper as he wrote James’ words for him.

“There is no cause for alarm. I am well—no. I am… hurt, but recovering. Yes. Hurt but recovering.”

“Hurt,” Jamie echoed as he wrote dictation, “but… re-cov-er-ing… Yes, go on, Jim.”

“Two days past—”

“Three,” Jamie interrupted.

“Has it been three? Truly? Good God. Three days past we launched an attack on the Germans. Joey charged on ahead at a gallop and was struck by artillery fire. I am not sure where—no, Stu. Erm—struck by artillery fire and… and bolted behind the German line. In his panic he bucked me from his back and I fell. I know nothing more of his condition.”

James breathed deeply to steady himself. It would all be far less anxious if he could explain in person, but as it was, he was already behind in his replies to you and the trip back to Oxfordshire—in his condition—would not necessarily be a quick one.

At his friend’s silence, the Major looked up and said, “alright, Jim-boy?”

James cleared his throat and continued dictating his letter. “My injuries consist of a dislocated shoulder and a fractured radius, both on my right side where I came down hard on the ground.”

Jamie looked sceptical. “’My injuries consist’?”

James shot his friend a look and Jamie quickly scrawled the words onto the paper.

“I am to be discharged and despatched from camp shortly. Darling, you can expect me home by the end of the month.”

Jamie smiled at the endearment. “Anything else, my friend?”

James swallowed. “My heart beats to see you, dearest.” Hot tears swelled in the Captain’s eyes as an acute longing pierced his chest. He cleared his throat and looked up at the tent ceiling of the makeshift hospital. “Dictated by Major Jamie Stewart, forwarding address, all my love, Captain James et cetera, et cetera,” he mumbled quickly.

He felt the phantom touch of your hand wrap around his and he held back a sob. He was coming home to you, but the guilt of leaving his purpose, his men, and his commanders chased away any happiness with blazing torches and sharpened pitchforks.

Jamie’s warm hand gripped his shoulder. “James. I know, James.”

“Stu,” said James thickly, his eyes falling closed as warm, saline tears slipped down his temples and into his hair.

Jamie squeezed James’ flesh where he grabbed him, attempting to reassure his friend. There were no words for such moments where immense relief blended with crushing disappointment. Jamie felt his own eyes well with tears to see his strong, brave friend and soldier overwhelmed by such conflicting feelings.

He clutched James’ hand in his. “Jimmy,” his voice cracked on the nickname, but he continued on. “Jim-boy. If we post this tonight, by six o’clock, we can make the express.”

James sniffed and coughed. “Mm? And?”

“And, she’ll get it by Valentine’s Day, all things being equal.” Jamie squeezed James’ hand and gripped tight. “Valentine’s Day, Jim!”

James opened bleary eyes. “Do you mean that, Stu?”

Jamie snatched the pencil and leant the paper on his own thigh to write on it. “Tell me how to spell her name, Jimmy,” he said, “I’ll ask her to be your valentine.”

XXXX

Note: The song ‘Sweet Adeline (You're the Flower of My Heart)’ by the Haydn Quartet, first recorded around 1908 I think, can be listened to on the YT: https://youtu.be/jRA4fdZytJQ (under 3 min)