#the intensity of yellow and contrast with the blood

[nomohmoss]

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Seventy-Two

Two dragon eggs are laid. One in the rivers, one in the maelstrom.

Helaena had tried to warn her, time and time again. The egg that had been laid in the maelstrom had belonged to Maera. And the egg in the Rivers, Alys Rivers, was now staring Maera in the fucking face. A large shadow temporarily blocked light coming in from the small window, the witch’s form illuminated by the light of the hearth. Maera’s eyes widened as she watched the unborn child stir beneath the fabric of Alys’s dress, a silent dance of life within her womb. Alys’s hand instinctively moved to rest atop her swollen belly, a tender gesture that spoke of the deep connection between mother and child.

As Alys looked up, her cat-like green eyes with golden flecks met Maera’s gaze, holding it with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine. The witch smiled, answering the question that had not dared been asked. “I have the dragon's bastard in me. I can feel his fires licking at my womb.”

Maera took a shaky breath, her own hand instinctively coming to rest on her smaller stomach beneath her damp riding leathers. The contrast between Alys’s swelling belly and her own barely perceptible bump only served to heighten the turmoil of emotions swirling within her.

Anger boiled within Maera, mixing with a potent concoction of hurt, betrayal, and a deep sense of injustice. She felt a surge of violent rage coursing through her veins, the urge to lash out and seek vengeance consuming her thoughts.

"You look upset," the witch remarked casually, her tone almost taunting. "You needn't be."

Maera's jaw clenched at the sight of the woman before her, her frustration palpable. "You stand there, pregnant with my husband's child, and wonder why I am upset?" she retorted, her voice tinged with incredulity.

Alys sighed softly, a dismissive shake of her head accompanying her words. "It is the Gods' will, Princess. I have seen it."

The mention of divine will only fueled Maera's irritation further. She took a step closer to Alys, her posture tense with anger. "And I wonder," she began, her voice laced with sarcasm, "was the death of my aunt Viserra and her family also part of this divine plan?"

Alys lowered her gaze to her stomach as she absentmindedly caressed the curve of her abdomen. "It was necessary," she stated coldly, her tone devoid of remorse.

"Necessary?!" Maera's incredulous laughter filled the room, a mixture of shock and disbelief evident in her expression. She raised her eyes heavenward, as if seeking answers from the gods themselves.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Maera stepped forward once more until she was practically nose-to-nose with Alys. Their physical similarities were uncanny, but Maera refused to let that distract her. "My husband is a great man," she began, her voice firm and unwavering, "but he has been an idiot."

Maera's gaze bore into Alys's, her stance unwavering as she continued to speak. "You may be able to fool him with pretty words of prophecy, to manipulate him into laying with you and filling your womb," she continued, her voice dripping with disdain, "but I am not so easily swayed."

The witch simply hummed to herself, completely unperturbed by Maera's threatening demeanour. She turned her gaze towards the fire dancing in the hearth below the steel pot, the flickering light casting shadows across her features. The flames swirled and leaped, painting intricate patterns of orange, yellow, and red against the dark backdrop of the hearth. Occasionally, embers would crackle and spark, sending small bursts of light shooting upward before disappearing into the darkness.

“Fire illuminates the truth to those whose eyes are open. No flame is more powerful, nor burns as bright, than that of a dragons,” Alys declared, her voice was calm and measured, betraying no hint of the tension that lingered between them.

Maera furrowed her brow, puzzled by Alys’s strange fascination with the flames. Before she could question her further, Alys turned to look at Maera once again, her eyes reflecting the firelight.

“A great dynasty will be born from the blood of Aemond Targaryen,” the witch proclaimed with confidence, as if it were a proven fact. She rested one hand on her own swollen belly, a serene expression on her face as she seemed lost in thought. “My son…” without warning, Alys reached out to touch Maera's bump with her other hand. Maera's instincts kicked in, and she reacted without hesitation, grabbing Alys's wrist in a firm grip before she could make contact.

The sudden movement caused Alys to glance up, her cat-like green eyes meeting Maera’s with a mixture of curiosity and amusement as she continued, “…and your daughter will return the House of the Dragon to its proper glory. From their union will come the Prince that was promised.”

With a steely gaze, Maera continued to hold Alys's wrist in place, her jaw clenched in determination as she silently dared her to make another move. The action was instinctual, a protective gesture driven by a primal urge to shield her unborn child from any potential harm.

“You are mad,” Maera replied through gritted teeth, her fingers digging into Alys’s wrist, her nails forming crescent moons into the skin.

Alys simply smiled. “It is fate, Maera. Foretold by the Gods.”

Those familiar words. First uttered by the apparition of Lady Gael in her nightmares, the last words she would speak before the dream would tear away the memory from Maera. Helaena had also spoken the words in relation to the broken images that danced within her mind. And now Aemond’s whore had spoken them to her. Maera thought there would be at least be a glimmer of amazement in the stark number of incidents in which these words were spoken. But there was not. There was only bitterness, and unbridled fury.

The wooden door swung open with a resounding bang against the stone walls, causing both Maera and Alys to jump in surprise. Alys's gaze snapped to the door, her small grin betraying a hint of mischief as she managed to slip her hand from Maera's grasp. With practiced grace, she curtsied, head lowered demurely, one hand resting on her swollen belly.

Maera whipped around to face the door, her eyes widening as she saw Aemond standing in the doorway. His long silver hair was tousled, no longer perfectly straight as it had been when he left Kings Landing on his dragon. Aemond's violet eye met Maera's gaze, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face.

He furrowed his brow in a mixture of surprise and concern at finding his wife here, away from Kings Landing. A scoff escaped his lips, accompanied by a deep frown, as he realized she had defied his orders to remain in the capital. He opened his mouth, seemingly to chastise his wife, before his gaze fell onto the witch.

“My Prince,” Alys greeted him, before rising slowly from the curtsy, the movement strained due to her condition

Aemond’s gaze shifted from Maera to Alys, and in an instant, his reaction so pronounced that it seemed to freeze the air around them. His normally composed demeanor shattered in an instant, replaced by a visage of shock and astonishment. The muscles in his jaw tensed, his violet eye widening to the point where it appeared almost unnaturally large against the backdrop of his face.

Maera’s eyes bore into him, capturing every nuance of his expression as he stood there, frozen in the doorway, his single eye locked on Alys’s pregnant form. She noted the disbelief etched into his furrowed brow and the subtle trembling of his lips. Green eyes flicked back and forth between Aemond and Alys, studying their reactions with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Maera noted the absence of fear or concern in Aemond’s eye, no hint of guilt or remorse. It was a raw, unfiltered astonishment that gripped him, leaving him momentarily speechless.

The realization slowly dawned on Maera: Aemond was completely unaware of Alys’s pregnancy. The implications of this revelation swirled in her mind, adding another layer of complexity to the already tangled web of emotions she felt towards her husband and his whore. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Maera was the first to break the silence, an ominously light-hearted tone to her voice. “Well, this is certainly a surprise, is it not?”

She turned her head to glance at Aemond, who remained rooted to his spot, unblinking eye still fixated on the witch’s rounded abdomen. A bitter laugh escaped Maera’s lips. She had never witnessed him so thoroughly taken aback, not even in their childhood. Despite the tumult of emotions roiling within her, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at seeing Aemond so utterly vulnerable, his handsome face now white as a sheet.

“I am sure you have much to catch up on. I shall leave you while I go and settle in my rooms,” Maera declared before taking a step away from Alys and began walking towards her husband. But the she stopped suddenly in her tracks, turning to face Alys once again, as if she had forgotten something. “When is the child due to be born?”

Alys met Maera’s gaze steadily, her expression relaxed. “Two moons, Princess,” she replied evenly, her voice carrying an air of quiet confidence.

Nodding thoughtfully, Maera absorbed the revelation, her mind already processing the implications. She mentally traced back the timeline, realizing that the child would have been conceived around the time of the Harvest Moon Ball.

"Oh, Lady Maera, I can attend to my duties. Very. Thoroughly,” Aemonds previous words echoed in her mind.

Fucker.

The prince had remained in Kings Landing since that day, and whilst that meant that there may not have been adultery in the technical sense, the revelation still stung, igniting a fierce anger within her.

“Has the Maester attended to you?” The Princess asked, seeming concerned for the well-being of both Alys and the unborn child, evident in her voice.

Alys appeared momentarily taken aback by the unexpected question, her brow furrowing in slight confusion. “No, he has not,” she admitted, her tone tinged with uncertainty.

Determined to maintain control of the situation, Maera walked back towards Alys with measured steps. She knew that showing any sign of weakness would only give the witch an advantage. With every graceful movement, Maera silently vowed to handle the situation with cunning and strategy, refusing to let her emotions dictate her actions.

Maera forced a smile, masking her true feelings behind a façade of benevolence as she addressed the witch. “I have no qualms with the child in your womb,” she stated firmly, her words carrying a note of sincerity. “It did not ask to be put there and is innocent in all of this.”

Turning to gauge Aemond’s reaction, Maera found him still rooted to the doorway, his expression a mask of shock. Undeterred, she pressed on. “I will ensure you are examined by the Maester and that preparations are made for the child’s arrival,” she declared, her voice resolute.

Alys blinked in disbelief, gratitude mingling with her surprise as expression softened, a hint of joy shining through her guarded demeanor. “Thank you, Princess. That is kind of you,” she murmured, her tone sincere.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Maera’s lips, a glint of steel in her eyes as she responded, “Yes, it is.” Taking a deep breath, she let the sweetness fade from her voice, her words carrying a warning edge. “But do not mistake my kindness for weakness.”

Maera took another deliberate step towards Alys, her eyes roved over the witch’s form, from head to toe, taking in every detail like she would her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t help but pause momentarily on the prominent swell of Alys’s belly beneath her dress, a stark reminder of her husband’s betrayal. Yet, Maera maintained a façade of control, her expression unreadable as she locked eyes with the witch.

“That bastard in your belly is the only thing keeping you safe,” she sneered, each syllable dripping with venom. “If you touch my husband, no actually, if you so much as even look at him in a way I find distasteful…” She paused, raising a single finger to punctuate her threat. “One word to my dragon, and you will die. Screaming.”

Alys swallowed hard, her bravado faltering in the face of Maera’s unwavering resolve. Her jaw clenched tightly as she met Maera’s gaze, a flicker of fear betraying her composed exterior. “Is that clear?” Maera demanded, her tone sharp and commanding.

“Yes, Princess,” Alys replied begrudgingly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Maera hummed in response, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of her lips as she studied Alys’s reaction. With a final, pointed glance, she turned on her heel, shoulder-barging past her husband as she left the room.

She strode down the corridor, her footsteps echoing against the stone walls as she sought out the main chambers where she would be staying. As she walked, the silence was shattered by the muffled sounds emanating from the room she had just left. Alys’s voice, barely audible, was soon drowned out by the cacophony of crashing furniture, shattering bottles, and clanging metal. Despite the chaos behind her, Maera did not falter, her resolve unyielding as she continued on her path, refusing to look back.

The flickering candlelight danced across the stone walls of the chamber as the maid busied herself preparing the bath for Maera. The servants at the castle were similar in number to that at Rain House, much less than that of the Red Keep. It might have made her feel at home, it were not for the circumstances. The warmth of the water filled the air, mingling with the subtle scent of lavender that wafted from the nearby candles.

With practiced hands, the maid carefully undid the intricate braids that adorned Maera's hair, allowing the damp strands to cascade down her back in loose waves, dark brown and silver blended together. The laces of Maera's leathers were deftly undone, revealing her curvaceous form and the subtle swell of her growing belly. Despite the warmth of the room, goosebumps rose along her skin as she slipped into the steaming water, the heat enveloping her in a comforting embrace.

Maera sank into the bath with a contented sigh, the water soothing her weary muscles as she leaned back against the edge of the tub. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the maid, preferring to bathe alone in the quiet solitude of the chamber. Alone at last, Maera closed her eyes, allowing the warmth of the water to wash away the tension that had built up throughout the day. The gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the tub provided a soothing backdrop as she let herself relax, if only for a fleeting moment, in the midst of the turmoil that surrounded her.

As Maera lathered the soap in her hands, she felt the familiar tingle of bubbles forming, yet the soothing sensation did little to ease her troubled mind. With each pass of her hands through her brown locks, washing away the grime of travel in dragonback, she couldn't help but feel a sense of futility. No amount of soap and water could cleanse her of the turmoil brewing within.

The thought of Aemond siring a bastard filled her with a sense of helplessness. Would he acknowledge the child? And what of Alys, with her fanciful notions of fate and birthright? Maera feared the influence Alys might have over the child and the potential threat it posed to Maera’s own status as a princess of the Realm and her child’s status as Aemond’s heir.

Rinsing her hair, Maera couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty that clouded her thoughts. How long would she be forced to put up with the presence of her husband's whore? It seemed as though she was expected to tolerate the situation, to play the part of the dutiful wife. But Maera knew deep down that she lacked the strength and resilience to endure such a trial.

The sound of the chamber door opening and closing quietly reached her ears as she continued to bathe, signaling her husband's arrival. She didn't need to turn to know it was Aemond; the familiar presence and the glint of silver in her periphery confirmed his presence as he made his way toward the bed. The soft clinking of metal followed as Aemond began to undress, the distinct sound of his belt and the buckles of his doublet hitting the floor before being placed neatly on a nearby desk. His boots followed suit, the dull thud of leather against the stone floor echoing in the chamber as he removed them and set them aside.

Maera stole a glance across the room as she continued to wash, running the bar of soap across her chest and shoulders. Aemond sat on the edge of the bed now, clad only in his trousers and an oversized white undershirt. Despite his stoic expression, his single violet eye betrayed the emotions swirling within him—guilt, and perhaps even fear—as he watched Maera with a mixture of apprehension and remorse. She did not say anything and simply continued with the task at hand, letting the undeniable tension simmer in the atmosphere.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he finally spoke, his voice tinged with a rare note of meekness. “I did not know,” he muttered, his words almost lost beneath the sound of the water.

Maera glanced up at him briefly, her expression unreadable, before returning her attention to bathing. His words hung heavy in the air, but she made no move to acknowledge him. As she twisted her thick hair in her hand to wring out the water, he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I swear it.”

A humorless laugh escaped Maera’s lips, the bitterness evident in the sound. “I believe you,” she replied, her tone flat and devoid of any emotion.

Aemond’s head snapped up, surprise flickering across his features. “You do?” he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of hope and disbelief.

Maera nodded, though her gaze remained fixed on her task. “I do,” she affirmed, her voice soft but firm. “What I find hard to believe is how you could be so stupid.”

Aemond winced at her words, the weight of her disappointment evident in his downcast expression. “I am sorry, Maera,” he murmured, his tone heavy with remorse.

Maera hummed in response, her movements becoming more deliberate as she stepped out of the bath and reached for a towel. “Do you realize the position you have put me in? Our child in?” she continued, her voice laced with frustration and anger.

Aemond remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor as she began to dry herself off. Maera’s words hung in the air, the tension between them palpable. “It was not an empty threat,” she stated firmly, her eyes narrowing as she turned to face him. “It is a promise. Whatever love I have for you has implored me to be merciful.”

She ran the towel through her hair, squeezing out the water as she turned her back on Aemond, her gaze fixated on the flames of the hearth. “But if she steps out of line once, she will burn, bastard and all.”

The Prince’s reaction to Maera’s chastisement was subtle yet palpable. Though he remained composed, Maera could sense her words cutting him deeply. His eye was fixed on her bare form as she moved across the room, settling into a chair by the mirror to brush her hair, the silver streak standing out amidst the dark curls. Lost in thought as she brushed, Maera contemplated the brewing warfare, both within the Realm and within the walls of Harrenhall against the witch, Alys Rivers. Her mind buzzed with strategies and counter-strategies with each stroke of the brush, each possibility branching out into a web of intricate calculations.

She knew that resorting to brute force against the whore would only play into Alys’s hands, giving the witch the satisfaction of knowing she had rattled a Princess of the Realm. As easy as it would be to simply kill Alys and the bastard within, it only reveal weakness, casting Maera as the jealous wife unable to handle her husband’s transgressions. No, Maera resolved to play the long game, biding her time, and when the moment was right, she would strike with all the cunning and determination of a true Targaryen.

“ Gaomagon ao vēdros issa?” Do you hate me? The Prince asked, as he watched his wife in the mirrors reflection.

“Kessa,” Yes, Maera replied gruffly, her fingers untangling the remaining knots at the end of her hair. She glanced at Aemond’s reflection in the mirror, seeing the tension etched into his features despite his composed facade. It was clear that her words had struck a nerve, stirring up a storm of emotions beneath his stoic exterior. Yet, his gaze remained fixed on her, unwavering in its intensity, as if searching for something within her that he couldn’t quite grasp.

“Yn gaomagon ao jorrāelagon issa?” But do you love me?

His question prompted Maera to close her eyes and sigh deeply. The thought of him being reckless enough to give a woman is seed, and not even think about the consequences of what would happen if it took root in Alys’s womb, filled her with a potent mix of rage and despair. But, she knew that succumbing to such emotions would only weaken her position further.

“Hakotan sīr,” Begrudgingly so, she replied, bittnerness on her tongue as the words left her mouth. While Alys possessed the arcane abilities of a witch, Maera recognised she too was powerful within her own right. She was proficient with the sword, adept at forming alliances, had claimed one of the largest dragons in the world, and, most importantly, ensnared the love and devotion on the One-Eyed Prince.

She stood from her chair that faced the mirror, her bare form ensnaring Aemond to not tear his gaze away, making her way over to her belongings on the other side of the room. She reached into her chest that had been brought in by the guards and retrieved her dagger, the candlelight catching the glint of sapphires and emeralds adorning its hilt, casting mesmerizing reflections.

“I wish I did not. It would make things simpler,” Maera muttered, before turning to look at her husband and strolling towards him. Still sat on the bed, the Prince looked up at her, the silver hair falling away from his face. Approaching Aemond, who remained seated on the bed, his gaze fixed on her, Maera wielded the dagger with a confident air. She pressed its tip lightly against the exposed part of his chest beneath the loose shirt, the metal cool against his skin.

“For instance, I could slit your throat right now for how you have dishonoured me, and not bat an eye,” she purred, applying even more pressure with the blade. As she pressed even harder, Aemond's gaze remained locked on hers as he shuffled backward on the bed. Maera knelt on the mattress, her form following his until Aemond's head thudded against the headboard.

She straddled his hips comfortably, a satisfying smirk crossing her face as she could feel a hardness beginning to grow beneath the fabric of his trousers. “Yet whether to be divine intervention or not, my body will not allow me to press this knife deep enough to kill you.”

A sharp intake of breath escaped Aemond’s lips as the blade broke the skin on his chest, a thin line of crimson welling up in its wake. Maera brought the dagger up to her face, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of intensity and satisfaction as she observed her husband’s blood staining the metal. With deliberate slowness, she opened her mouth and traced the blade along her tongue, savoring the metallic taste of his blood, her gaze locked with Aemond’s, who watched with a potent blend of astonishment and desire, his breath hitching in response.

Grinding her bare core against him, a deep rumbling sound left his throat, his large calloused hands gripping the sheet below him, not daring to touch her just yet. Deciding that he was beginning to enjoy himself a little too much for her liking, Maera snaked her way back down is slender muscular form. The sharpness of the dragger ripped the fabric of the cotton shirt, revealing his toned stomach, a sight that had Maera licking her lips.

The knife stopped at the bulge in his pants and stayed there for a moment. She looked at his face, seeing the tenseness in his jaw and a dusting of pink on his cheeks as he attempted to steady his breathing. With a skilled hand, she hooked the blade underneath the laces, a gasp leaving the Prince’s mouth as Maera pulled the blade upwards, severing the strings that confined his manhood.

Her hand slipped into his breeches to wrap around his length and stroke him slowly, his cock hot and heavy in her hand. She lay on her side between his legs, mindful of her swelling abdomen, as she let her hand slide down his shaft, her touch intentionally light, seeking to draw out the sensation.

“What exactly did you think she would do with the seed you bestowed upon her womb when you lay with her?” Maera asked, her green eyes burning into his as she continued to pump him. No answer came as Aemond attempted to hold back a groan by tensing his jaw. That would not do. Leaning forward she kissed his tip, tongue darting out to catch a bead of his arousal that began to leak from his slit.

He threw his head back, a harsh thud against the headboard indicating that he was beginning to lose control. “Fuck,” he growled, knuckles white from holding the sheets so tightly between his fingers.

“Perhaps wipe it from her body and read what it said in the palm of her hand?” Maera inquired with a mocking tone, before taking him in her mouth. Aemond hissed as she sucked to the base of his length, not breaking eye contact, before coming back up and releasing the cock from her mouth. She tilted her head and continued to taunt him. “Or maybe conduct some sort of ritual and consume it?”

“Maera,” he breathed, the sound of her name from his lips sending a shudder down her spine and causing her core to throb. She wanted nothing more than for him to elicit more such sounds, loud enough even for that whore to hear.

Maera encapsulated him in her mouth once again, swirling her tongue around his tip, ensuring that her eyes were still on his face as he watched her, swiping his tongue against his bottom lip. She settled into a rhythm, bobbing her head up and down his length, noticing how he scrunched his face as the control he had continued to fray at the edges, his hips bucking upwards slightly causing his cock to hit the back of her throat.

As he attempted to entangle his fingers into her damp curls, Maera abruptly pulled back, causing the Prince growl disapprovingly. However, as he watched sit up and move to kneel above his cock, his pupil blew wide with lust, hands finally letting go of the sheets and resting on her plush thighs, fingers digging into the flesh.

“You are a Prince. In my eyes, you are a King,” she whispered in a sultry tone, wrapping her hand around his length and rubbing him against her your entrance so he could feel the slick that had formed there. She sank down slowly on his cock, their eyes remaining fixed on each other as they both gasped. “Not some pathetic wastrel who needs validation from a Strong Bastard,” Maera whined, placing her hands on his chest as she slowly continued to lower herself down, savouring every inch of him until he was fully inside of her.

After a moment she began to roll her hips, grinding against him so her clit pushed against his pubic bone. Her skin prickled at the sensation and that familiar coil in her stomach began to wind its self tighter and tighter. The bruising hold he had on her thighs faded as his hands snaked up her torso, stopping a moment on the small bump of their child, before landing on her large and rounded breasts.

He closed his eye before leaning in and taking one of her nipples into his mouth, the feeling of his tongue swirling around the nub making Maera’s eyes flutter shut. His teeth grazed the skin and her cunt clenched around him, head tipping back as she continued to ride him, Aemond’s hips now snapping upwards to meet her movements.

Deciding to regain a semblance of control, Maera cast her eyes downward to see him staring right back, suckling one of her breasts whilst squeezing and fondling the other. As he switched sides, Maera found herself able to speak. “I am yours because I choose to be. Not because of spells or fate. It’s because I say so,” she gasped, a warning tone beneath the pleasurable noises she made.

Maera picked up the pace, rocking more vigorously as she chased her own high, Aemond now planting his feet on the bed, thrusted upwards, much harder before, hitting that spongey spot within her repeatedly. All of a sudden, blinding white hot pleasure coursed through her veins as her peak hit her, her cunt fluttering around him as he fucked her through her orgasm.

“Seven fucking Hells,” he uttered through gritted teeth, his voice animalistic and feral as he chased his own high, biting his bottom lip so hard that it drew blood. As Maera’s mind became clearer, she continued to ride him, studying his face and paying close attention to his movements as his hips began to stutter, his pace becoming sloppier, his jaw becoming slack.

Aemond was seemingly about to peak, so she promptly hopped off his lap, his cock slipping out of her, glistening in the candlelight with her slick, leaving him shocked and somewhat dazed from the experience. Even though her legs were shaking from climax, she managed to confidently stroll to her chest of belongings, pulling out a nightdress and gown and dressing herself quickly. She caught the reflection of the Prince in the mirror. The image of him sat against the headboard, half-naked with his cock looking painfully hard after he was denied an orgasm was enough to make her chuckle to herself. A fitting punishment.

“I’m going to find a book in the library. Finish yourself off.”

Notes: Honestly, good for her 🖤

Tags: @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @0eessirk8 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @zenka69

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[delusionally-loveless-by-choice]

Lost in a cornfield..? Pt2

Scarecrow!Phillip Graves x Lost!Reader

summary: You learn a bit more about Mr. Scarecrow! There's something he wants to show you? What can that be?

warnings: horror aspects coming in later in the chapter >:), mention of blood, likely incorrect depictions/references to wrong periods because I forgot that light bulbs weren't invented until like 1879 (googled it), he kinda turns dark so big contrast to the first part loll

w/c - 2k

Part 1, Part 3

Author's note: its ass and its got a part 2 :)) also on ao3 under Phillip graves tag. also I know this is not a Phillip graves gif, I just wanted something to fill in so I might change it later

Oh, God, what hell is this place? You can’t help the horrified look that sits on your face, it’s paralyzing and a moment of vulnerability. 

One that the scarecrow catches.

He stares at you, watching the realization finally sink into you, and he can’t help the grin that stretches on his face as he watches your expression.

He sighs, clearly amused. “I don’t just protect this ‘cornfield’. In all honesty, this land is strange compared to the one you know.” His tone was matter of factly, “I’m a guardian of sorts, one that is bound to serve it. It’s more work than it sounds, but this job isn’t really my choice, more of a burden and purpose, y'know.” 

“This land.. It’s dangerous.” He makes sure to face you directly as he says this, you can feel the intensity of his tone. “There are things in the field that would do anything in its power to take advantage of your vulnerability. It also doesn't help that you’re their favorite meal: human.” He says the last part with an air of amusement; and though he’s looking at you, the way his straw hat is tilted, it hides a clear view of his eyes. 

His response doesn’t help your wariness. 

The scarecrow seems to take note of this. 

He then says, “But I’m not gonna let that happen.”

You nod and exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Well that’s reassuring.” You nervously chuckle. But it’s only slightly reassuring to your instincts that tell you that this field, this place, is more than dangerous.

"Just remember: this place has its creatures, but it has me too." He pauses, then adds: "I've lived here ever since I was a kid, so I know every nook and cranny of the field. Ain't no pest that's gonna sneak past me."

You see something move further within the corn. Graves snaps his fingers, and the plants rustle to block a pathway. "If we head left, we'll bypass these critters."

“Did.. did you just control the field..?” You ask bewildered. 

"Yes... The corn is a living, breathing organism. I can influence its growth and motion to an extent. The plants listen to my will." The scarecrow replies simply.

He pauses, and grabs your wrist to make you look at him. "Don't worry. The field is friendly to me--I grew up here, after all."

You look up at him, you finally get a look at eyes. They were blue but there was a yellow haze that slightly glowed further reminding you he was far from human. Whatever he was, he was terrifyingly beautiful, in the sense that you didn’t know what he was. Perhaps he was just a true eldritch horror. 

He pulls you along to walk after him.

No, he can’t be that.. Those are monsters after all.. and he’s a guardian, not a monster! You reassure yourself.

As you think and walk, you are reminded of his presence by the yellow haze of his eyes glancing toward you. He lazily turns his head away from you.

You can’t help but ask him, “How.. old are you, Scarecrow..?” this curious whisper of yours makes his ears perk.

He takes a minute to respond, as if he was thinking.

“I’ve been around for about… two-hundred and thirty years, or so.” He finally replies. “Thankfully my age and good looks don’t seem to go hand in hand,” he chuckles. 

The scarecrow smiles, then adds: "I'm proud that I've kept this place safe for so long--doing my duty, serving my purpose."

You don’t do much to mask your surprise. 

“Oh, that’s.. a long time..” You muttered.

Both of you walk for a bit, before you decide to speak again. 

“Uh.. so is there ever an end to this field? Or where are we going?” You asked, it wasn’t in an irritated tone but it sounded so.

He let out a short dry chuckle. “Sort of.. the best you're getting for an exit or end here is the house.” 

Finally with a smooth swift gesture with his hand, the corn in front of the both of you opens up.

There then lies a large acre of land, one that wasn’t infested with the corn. Though it was surrounded by the endless crop, in the middle sat a farmhouse.

It looked abandoned. A home that hadn’t taken up well with time.

The white paint was peeling, the wood of the home looked rotten. One storm, and the house is reduced to nothing.

Yet, there the home stood.

As he walked towards it without a second thought, you were gagged. 

Oh fuck, you distastefully think, but if he said it’s “a way out”.. Guess I shouldn’t judge..

“Follow me, this big ol’ thing has too many hidden entrances and exits.. I’ll take you through the safest.” he gestured for you to follow him as he made his way to the back of the farmhouse. 

You politely nod and follow him, trying to mask the faces you make at the house. 

He turns around to face you, walking backwards as he proudly says, “This beauty is the safest place to escape to in the fields.”

You smile at his pride, it's admirable and slightly adorable with that grin he has on. 

Though, as you look at him, your eyes trail down to his left side. On his waist, his flannel shirt adorns a large red stain.

You grab him by the arm and make him stop walking. A worried face plastered on, you ask, “A-Are you bleeding? Oh God..!”

"Huh? Oh, this?" The scarecrow asks, looking down at the stain, he seems unconcerned by your discovery of blood on him. "It's nothing, just old blood. I've been hurt in these fields many times before, and I've made it out alive."

“But this blood, it ain’t mine, darlin’,” he says with a sheepish grin. Almost like he’s trying to reassure you. But it seems to do the opposite, until you remember the encounter you two had earlier with that critter, as he calls them.

“Oh..” you mumbled. 

He gently pried your hand off of his arm, and started walking again. This time he directly leads you to the entrance he was talking about.

There are weeds, and junk, and rotten pieces of wood lying around. Then finally, there is a shitty little “door” that looks more like someone tried to board a window up instead of a door.

He unhooks the latch and pries open the door.

A wave of dust and spiderwebs go flying, and inside there lies only darkness. 

“C’mon, let’s head in.. there’s something I wanna show ya..” he says excitedly. 

You watch him duck and make his way in, and it doesn’t take longer than three seconds for you to follow after him in fear of being left behind.

It seems it was a basement of sorts that you entered through. It was dark so it was hard to see, but his blue eyes held that yellow glow that seemed to be all he needed to see.

He walked up some stairs and unlocked a door, one that presumably led to the main level of the farmhouse. 

“This way!” he called over to you.

You followed him deeper into the farmhouse.

He was slightly more ahead of you, solely because you were simultaneously looking around at the inside of the farmhouse.

In the main level of the home, there was some light shining from the orange hued sun outside that came in from the boarded up windows. 

The house smelled of wet wood and dust. Not surprising. 

What was slightly surprising was the furniture and general state of the home. The furniture looked so old.. very 1790. If the home was well taken care of maybe the entire place would seem homely.

Instead it felt haunted.

Not innately sinister, but just abandoned. By the owners and time.

You finished looking and turned a corner to find him. 

He stood at another staircase, holding his straw hat.  

This one clearly led to the second story. 

“All done?” he asked with a grin as he set the hat on the railing of the staircase.

“Guess so..” You mumbled and grumbled. “I thought you were taking me out of this place, not deeper into it. This farmhouse is probably dead in the center of this place with all the endless cornfield surrounding it!” 

“In time,” he quickly says, “right now it’s best that you’re here. The farmhouse,” he pouts his lips in a manner that makes it seem like he’s picking his words wisely, “has its own set of.. securities.”

His eyes make it back to yours, and before you can answer he speaks again. “Now you ready for what I wanna show you?” he asked with a grin. 

It was charming and alluring; his pearly fangs poking out and dimples on display.

It was enough to make any thoughts, defenses, and protests you had melt away.

You find yourself rolling your eyes and smiling back at him. 

“Alright.. what do you want to show me?” you finally ask with a raised brow.

“Jus’.. follow me.. It ain’t something I show to just anyone..” he says as he turns and starts to make his way up the stairs.

As you follow him up the stairs, he walks down a hallway, it’s not very well lit. 

You see the shitty discolored floral wallpaper that was definitely put up later in the owners residency from 1790. Behind the wallpaper you see the cracked walls and rotten wood that somehow surpassed the weird time.

Even in the shitty lighting you make out pictures that are hung up on the wall.

They show a family, a big one. 

One that probably lived in the house at some point and were the last known occupants before it turned into whatever it was now.

“Was this your family?” You ask him. 

He only hums, and you take that as all the confirmation you were gonna get.

You tear your eyes away from the wall and see him standing at the last door of the hallway.

It was especially dark, and for some reason you felt your body start to feel like it wanted to run. 

“C’mere, in here.” he says with that same charming grin, it makes you want to trust him even when your body is starting to vibrate with the urge to run.

He goes to open the door, and of course it creaks when it opens, it’s an old ass house.

And of course the inside is dark as shit, there’s no electricity, the house is from the near 1800s.

“After you,” his charming southern accent rings like sweet honey, and you walk right into the room.

He of course follows right after you and shuts the door behind him. 

The bit of light that shone from the hallway disappeared.

The sound of the door closing, the consumption of the room in darkness, and the click of the door being locked, cause you to turn around in the now dark to face the direction for which you think he is in.

The darkness doesn’t last, with a snap of his finger candles are set and the room is illuminated in a dim light.

Finally you get a good look at the room.

It’s small, and it smelled putrid.

You saw that the boarded up windows had curtains, but the material wasn’t cloth.

“What is..” you trailed off as the slow realization creeped in.

It was skin. 

Human skin. 

Your head reeled, you turned and saw that the rest of the room was adorned in furniture that was also made up of patches and pieces of skin stitched together. 

Your eyes wide, they searched desperately around the room but were only met with skin.

It covered every surface. 

The floor, the walls, the furniture. 

It was all human skin.

There were even a few faces stitched into the wall and ceiling, portraits that blended into the wall. 

Confused teary eyes wildly looked around the room.

You whipped around to find the scarecrow. He stood right where he had been, leaning on the locked door, the same grin plastered on his face.

This time it did nothing to ease you. Instead it felt sinister, taunting.

Your trembling lips try to say something but your voice dies in your throat.

Finally that southern voice you had some to familiarize yourself with spoke, his tone sickeningly sweet and that yellow hue in his eyes burned like the candles that lit the room, “What ya think? Beautiful, right darlin’?.”

[m0rbs]

hey, I'm assuming this was not your intention but drawing Spock with green skin is rooted in antisemitic imagery (really popular in those OG "Jews are Evil" propaganda posters). Yes, he has green blood but his skin is most definitely not green. And while I respect artistic freedom, drawing Spock green makes most Jewish folks feel incredibly uncomfortable and unsafe. The fact that Leonard Nimoy was Jewish and Spock himself is Jewish in beta canon just adds to it. I urge you to consider just color picking from his actual face to avoid this in the future and read up on the topic. Thank you for listening and I hope you have a nice day <3

I totally understand! This is actually a problem I try to be careful with; I try to never to make Spock’s skin tone an actual shade of green. A lot of it is color theory working against me; typically the undertone is olive, like my own, but blushing him with green instead of red definitely makes it appear more intensely green than I usually intend, and showing him in contrast with how warm I draw other characters (Jim especially) also exacerbates it.

I always appreciate feedback like this! It can be difficult for me to notice when I’m fucking up colors that way; Spock seems to target the worst of my blue/yellow colorblindness 😔 That’s no excuse for it, though. Thank you for checking me on this! I need to get over my habit of using yellow overlays on All My Art, that definitely doesn’t help things

[ginger-futch]

Return AU, Chapter 1, part 1 (warning for blood):

The lights were on.

Plaster littered the floor in dusty chunks, ceiling panels fallen from their places to expose wiring and pipes, the very front doors having to be picked open. It was abandoned, clearly so, for a whole decade, and yet the lights were still on.

She put a hand on her holster, and scanned every square inch of unlocked space in the front area.

Past the turnstiles, she found nothing but a locked shutter, a big blue light in the shape of a hand being the only indication of a locking mechanism.

The little store was empty, boxes emptied and shelves tipped over. A lone dismantled Boogie Bot sat on the counter in a splatter of reddish brown goo. The train circling the rail overhead was still running; at the back of her mind, she admired how the company's product was still functional years down the line, but at the moment it was just uncanny.

But, nobody was there, so she let her shoulders fall with just a little hesitation. Ransacked by edgelords as it was, it didn't look inhabited at all.

Sam went to check the door opposite of it, only to find it locked behind a colorful keypad.

CMYK? No.

Huggy colors? No.

... Train colors?

A chime sounded, and the doors slid open. She smiled to herself, a pinch smug. She wondered how many guests put the pieces together and just wandered into the employee area unsupervised. Did they have to repaint the train every time they changed the code?

For the most part, it looked like a regular security room; monitors lined the one wall, and chairs and desks filled much of the rest of the space. The recess in the wall with the ropes and pipes in it, and the TV with the VCR on the cart, were all interesting, but first, she made sure to check the desks.

This search yielded very little. A lot of old, dried out stationary, as well as hand-written reports of minor incidents and a drawer full of crumpled up employee complaint forms. The latter were at least a little interesting; at least in its last few months, the company was basically hemorrhaging employees. Complaints about having little time to sleep between shifts, not being paid overtime despite working well beyond full time hours, intimidation from higher ups, etc. contrasted heavily with the aggressively friendly image they portrayed.

She set her duffel bag down, and took out a simple plastic folder. Nothing special, just enough to keep things organized until she'd pick them up later. This room wasn't too humid or exposed to the elements, so she felt comfortable leading the documents there for now to be collected later while she was on her way out. Low priority, though.

As soon as she finished her task, Sam took the blue tape off the one desk, checked to see if it was wound (it was, good), and slid it into the VCR.

Dreamy music filled the room, and some animal part of her brain immediately raised its hackles. A memory, foggy and intense, overtook her, and her eyes immediately swept around the room, like every shadow had a predator waiting to leap out at her. She breathed in deeply from her nose.

In, out.

In, out.

In.... out.

And in a second, it faded into a dull sense of unease.

Before she knew it, the video unloaded a short tutorial on the GrabPack. She chuckled hesitantly at the part where the yellow stickman coworker got his head taken off, and remembered all at once how many employees she had seen with one of these things strapped to their backs. How was any of this approved by OSHA?

Though, given some of the complaints in the desk, she suspected the inspectors got paid off.

Looking back at her duffel bag, and taking a good look at the ceiling, she decided against setting up her tent for now. There weren't enough holes to worry about rain, the temperature was on the warmer side this time of year, and her cargo pants and utility coat were loaded with enough emergency supplies to last her a couple days before she needed to return to the van for more. For now, she had what she needed to go further in.

Using the GrabPack felt almost second nature to her, like picking up a bike again after a long time of disuse. Which was damn weird because last time she was anywhere near this place, she was a kid, and these things were dangerous in the wrong hands.

Thoughts of child safety violations quickly left her mind when she entered the grand hall. It was huge, just as she remembered it, and at the very center a towering Huggy Wuggy statue. In the bright moonlight, she could see the fur faintly moving.

Breathing.

Memories of giant toys come to life flooded her mind, and she had to take a step out and do yet more breathing exercises to come down. It was probably just a draft from the windows.

She forcibly perked up, and jogged right back into the room. Yeah... yeah! Just a draft. Just... don't think too hard on it.

Her eyes only barely grazed the plaque before the giant toy - it wasn't anything she didn't already know how popular this giant Sour Patch Kid was, given they were still selling bootleg Wuggies at the flea market - as she investigated the rest of the room. She tried her picks on the regular doors first, to little success. At least, not without heavier machinery; Sam left her power drill at home, so she'd have to save investigating those portions of the facility for a later date. Damn.

Finally, she tried the door with the one handprint, only for it to go black and give a concerning sound at the contact, a spark traveling down the wire to the next room over, labelled "POWER."

Jingle.

She turned on her heel, and saw... nothing. No other human being in the room. She almost sighed in relief, until she spotted a glint of gold in Huggy's raised hand.

A key that wasn't there before.

Fuck. He was alive. Or haunted, either or.

Hesitantly, she aimed her GrabPack for the key and snatched it out of his hand, watching as he didn't even flinch at the contact by the dangerous tool.

She almost proceeded to the Power room, but stopped herself.

How long has he been standing in that one spot, alone?

As terrifying as it was to stand in the same room as a nearly twenty foot living statue... he wasn't doing anything yet, and it felt kinda rude not to offer up something in return for his help.

Indulging her inner superstitious child, she took a bag of jerky out from one of her pockets - the nice homemade kind from the dried snacks stand at the same market as the bootleg toys - a napkin, and a bottle of water. Noting his lack of fingers, she laid out the napkin like a makeshift plate on one of the letter blocks, poured out an ample portion of jerky onto it, and left the bottle of water opened off to the side for him to take.

Stepping out a fair distance, she gave him a deep bow, and said sincerely, "Thank you for the key."

She felt silly talking to a statue that was only maybe alive, but hey, if she was wrong, no harm done.

Satisfied with her work, she continued off to fix the door.

...

There was more of the brownish red stains in this room, this time around the remains of a Bron toy. Narrowing her eyes, she took out her blacklight, and it lit up like a Christmas tree. There was a fair chance it was some kind of biological material, but blood wasn't the only thing that lit up under UV light; it could just as easily have been some kind of dried detergent or something containing lemon juice, for all she knew. She snapped a photo with her disposable camera, and put a pin on that thought. Whatever it was, it probably did not belong in a plastic kids' toy. She figured she'd pick it up on her second sweep of the facility and see if one of her classmates in Forensics could do a swab test.

She moved on to investigating the rest of the room; it almost resembled a locker room, except they held circuit breakers instead of shoes. Off to the side, a well lit poster hanged. Sam snapped a photo of that too, chuckling at the one rule.

A fuzzy memory tickled the edge of her brain. She was small again, angry and defiant with adults who acted like they hated her because they probably did. She was a bit of a turd as a kid, so she didn't totally blame them.

She was hiding for some reason. Looking for a way out, she thought. But the only doors going forward were locked, and so, she waited to get caught. In her stubbornness, she refused to come out and go peacefully, but instead give the workers a good sweat looking for her.

A man passed by the door she hid behind, and seeing the opportunity, she jumped out with a shout. The bastard nearly leapt out of his skin, dropping the clipboard in his hand as he gasped and nearly fell. His assistant, some mousey young nerd, squeaked and tripped over her own feet.

"God-damn it, kid!" he yelled, hand on his chest, "You nearly gave me a freaking heart attack!"

She was too busy laughing at his beet red face to even notice getting hauled off by security.

Sam in the present chuckled at the warm memory. Was that Leith Pierre? She didn't know, it wasn't like she was an expert on the small army of faceless old men who bossed her around as a squirt.

The end of the room held more stains, and a strange message scratched onto the wall:

ISNT HE WONDERFUL?

She doubted that a bored, edgy film student could have made it this far. What in the hell was going on in here?

She snapped some more pictures, and went to work fixing the wiring. It took a good second to rip the door off the one conduit, and with great hesitance, she fired the blue hand at it. The wire lit up, and carefully, she maneuvered it to touch the three power nodes, the lights turning back on fully with the final connection. Retracting the hand, she sighed when she felt no current hit herself.

She stepped out, feeling a great sense of relief... until she saw the empty podium in the main hall.

[queengiuliettafirstlady]

Portrait of a Gentleman 

Portrait of a Gentleman 

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Pairing: Clavis x MC

Part of One suitor One prompt challenge hosted by @violettduchess

Prompt: Water

Tag: Established relationship Introspective Insecurity Reassurance Kiss Fluff

Word Count  1918

Author’s Note: The uniform referred in the story are these.

A portrait may hide more things than one can imagine, a certain prince knows it well as he gazed intensely at it reflecting upon his brothers' talents and his lack of thereof, finding his worth only through the help of a girl who changed his world upside down with the mighty spell of love. 🥰

Tag list

@kitwicekissmedeadly @lordsisterxotome @aquagirl1978 @violettduchess @atelieredux @klutzyroses @randonauticrap @thewitchofbooks @princess-pray-a @itsjudesfault

You can find me on AO3 as QueenJuliet 😊

Thank you for everyone who will like, reblog, or comment please be gentle with me english is not my first language so please do not leave rude comments I apologise for eventual errors I hope you will like it 😊

The sun was shining through the windows casting its light on the vivid colors of the painting glimmering under its rays, suffusing the whole room in warm hues of yellow and orange except for a corner of shadow, hiding a peculiar visitor whose eyes were locked to the portrait hanged on the wall, his step slow, measured, as he approached it feeling their gazes staring at him. 

They were his brothers, all of them related to him by blood … and yet the more he spent time with them all the more he felt like an outsider they looked down at with a benevolent, if not slightly complacent, attitude for his odd antics, to judge, to chastise, to punish, to order around but not even one to understand him. 

He caressed them one by one, a glowing constellation of stars shining with talent as he stood on the side yearning to shine, waiting for the right time that never seems to arrive for him, seeing all their accomplishment bragged out and about in all the palace, sometimes reaching even behind the castle walls spreading all through the Kingdom as he gazed from the backscene hidden from the view, engulfed in the darkness, destined to the role of a secondary character, his servant and nothing more destined to live in his shadow as he shone bright in the world, waiting to be conquered at his hand and molded at his liking, making his blood boil at the injustice of it all, he was no less than him … then why he was always treated as such ? 

Mayhap he hated to admit but it was true, even though a part of himself refuse to believe so as he stared defiantly at him, gazing down at him, belittling him even from the painting,hate welled in his chest, for himself, for him, for every time he was looked from head to toe from someone, forcing to believe in his own value despite what everyone said, worthy in no one's eyes included his own.

 A longing gaze in his eyes his fingers brushed on his figure standing tall and proud next to Chevalier, smiling as ever but he could see clear as day the fakeness of it, how he hated that moment a self deprecative chuckle escaped his lips as he recalled the shrilling voice of the painter, who constantly told him to keep quiet to avoid making laugh all his brothers, but him staring down at him with his cold piercing eyes, disdain in his gaze at his antics impatient to waste time in such useless way. 

They were his brothers, a glowing constellation he did not feel part of.

Leon bigger than life, shining like the sun at the center of the crowd ready to accept and listen to everyone, a leader for them all, his smile so bewitching to befriend and conquer the most aloof and distant among the nobles, convincing effortlessly even the most sceptical person of the Kingdom, radiating warmth in stark contrast with

Chevalier haughty and proud as he looked down at everyone like the moon, far away and detached, his cold gaze harbor of justice to do what was best for the Kingdom, a true born genius praised and feared alike among the palace and the townsfolk, almighty and ever powerful destined to never see a defeat in every matter he decided to put his mind on. 

Jin a wistful gaze in his eyes as he stared at the painter, catching a glimpse of the deep distress in Luke’s eyes as he angrily loosened the collar of his shirt, not bothering to hide his ever hate for formal clothes, a light smile accommodating and polite curling his lips, impartial and fair in treating with everyone, his expression talked of pain and duty he took upon himself to keep his little brothers safe, doing his best to avoid any fight, master at de escalate any situation he was involved in with a wisdom beyond his age, covered by a mask he crafted to put a lid on his feelings focused entirely on his Kingdom.

Luke smiling as ever unaware of the darkness of the world, or so he thought, but he could see how devoid of emotions it was, a glimpse of discomfort in his green eyes as he stared listless at the painter not caring to seem interested in what he was not, his adaptability skills would have made him a great leader if he ever was interested in becoming it that is, but he wasn't, his indifference showed even through his official clothes he wore like an armor, a cage he broke free as soon as the painter proclaimed a break, swift to switch in his more comfortable clothes and to escape away from the palace until late at night.

Nokto and Licht two peas in a pod doing their best to smile yet he could see how empty and forceful it was, staring at the painter without really seeing him, similarities easiest to be noticed than the differences they did everything to underline to a world who decided to judge them since birth as nothing but an issue for the Kingdom they did their best to protect, the good instinct of Licht lead him to save and protect his people all the while pushing them away from the source of bad luck he believed to be, isolating from any crowd while Nokto embraced it, using everyone for his goals, negotiating his way through the palace gaining friends and enemies alike but doing it all to make his country prosper.

Yves looking as much uncomfortable as the twins but hiding it, a creature of perfection showed through every last detail of his shining clothes, standing still like a statue imposing his right to be there like everyone else, staring almost definitely at the painter daring him to tell otherwise, thing he was long accustomed to deal with.

A dry chuckle escaped his lips as his fingers lingered on his reflection looking back at him derisively, mocking all he ever was, all he pretended to be, something else than a sore loser, a mediocre fool with no talents, unlike his brothers everyone excelling in something he could not contemplate to be even remotely good enough at.

The not special prince of Rhodolite Clavis Lelouch nothing more than a troublesome hellcat no one feel the need for, the ever be servant of Chevalier overshadowed by him every step he take, his inventiveness brushed aside as craziness and maybe it was but not for him.

He brushed his digit on his face, his amber eyes shining with pride for a trap he had finished building, a low chuckle erupted from his chest before he could stop it, the screams of the waiter who ended up covered in floor and feathers made up for all the boredom he get that day alike the anger flashing in the butler’s eyes as he slip on the way too smooth floor of the hall.

His smile graced his face but he could see how tight he was, standing among his brothers and next to him, in his shadow in the painting like he was all in all his life, souring all the fun he had thereafter with his traps as the memory resurfaced in his mind.

It was the breaking of dawn and he was already up taking care of his uniform, the rays of the sun shining on the golden embroidery and buttons he spent so much time polishing one by one, it looked wonderful on him he straightened his posture as his heart swelled with pride for once he saw a King staring back at him from the mirror, but it lasted only a second, a blink and it was gone like the fleeting wishful dreams of a lunatic carried over by the wind away from him, destined to yearn for a thing he never was made to dream of.

It was when he saw him in the throne room that his heart sank heavy in his chest, he swallowed his wounded pride, masking his distress with a smile even if forceful, not in all the world he would have given him the satisfaction to see him crumbling in front of him to see his weakness in plain sight even though he already know of that shameful side of him way too much for his liking.

He looked radiating in his impeccable uniform walking tall and proud in the place he was destined to take on the throne, stopping only to sit in the armchair brought there for the occasion, a glimpse of hope flickered in his heart as a delicate sultry voice whispered in his ear that the game was far from over and there was plenty of time to overturn the cards, he only had to work harder to beat him, like he had all his life, craving to be noticed just once, to see his values recognised despite all he thought of himself, to feel, be even for once in all his life, to be special for someone and loved more than anyone else, to win his place in someone heart despite all his flaws, to be seen through his mask and accepted with everything he was and could not change.

He did not know he was crying until he felt something wet soak the upper hem of his shirt, he lashed his fingers away scared to taint that painting indelibly with the proof of his weakness, swift to slide his trembling fingers on his cheeks rushing in drying his tears, a look of terror glimmered in his misty eyes as he heard the door opening his heart clamoring loudly  in his chest in time with the soft yet heavy footsteps approaching him, nearer at each passing minute … he closed his eyes managing to keep at bay his emotions, reopening them only when a pair of arms circled around him closing on his back.

That contact, strangely so, moved him even more as a single lonely tear rolled slowly on his cheeks, he was to dry it off when he was caught off guard by her, her smile radiating acceptance and love as she looked at him melting her lips slowly on his. 

It was far from being the first time they kissed and yet that time felt more intimate as kissed her with all his passion, reluctantly pulling away only to melt his lips over hers again and again until they were breathless, overwhelmed by his love he leaned his forehead to hers taking her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing softly over her cheeks, looking straight into her eyes, his voice husky and needy as he murmured few inches from her lips.

“I love you so much, my little rabbit.” 

Her smile shining with the smoldering warmth of thousand suns melting his heat completely, making of him but a pup ready to obey her every order 

“I love you too, my leopard.” he kissed her once more feeling her fingers grip his shirt enough to steady herself amidst the untamable passion enrapturing them both in its spires staying like this enveloped in their own little world until noon, when he decided to bring her to his room ready to shower her in all the affection he held deep in his heart for her alone, with only the aster as audience for their peculiar spectacle enriched by the spell of the almighty power of love.

[masterqwertster]

I'm on a roll. Another Breaking, Mending chapter

Suit Up and Prepare for What's Next

“Not that you’re not rocking the au natural look, FCG. Love the fuzz. Don’t know if you’ve got a cat dick or no dick to be seen. But, I think it’s about time you got some clothes on,” Chetney says, tossing over his old pants and tunic and bringing the cuddle fest (with a still nude FCG) to an end. 

And getting a reprimanding hit for bringing up the obvious from Imogen. And Laudna. And Orym. Look, it’s not Chetney’s fault that full fur makes other people feel less awkward about nudity without actually changing the fact that it’s still a birthday suit.

Chet would almost say he’s surprised by the patience with which Ashton helps and teaches the aeormaton-turned-katari to wiggle into clothes that weren’t particularly tailored for their bodyshape (but hey, they’d managed digitigrade legs and a tail and fur all the times he’d wolfed out before), except that Ashton has always had a mile-wide soft spot for FCG and helping them out. 

Besides, it’s good to see their titan-blooded genasi finally settle out of that swinging state of dissociation and intense focus. Get Ashton back towards the caring grump that is his usual emotional state. 

Hell, everyone’s looking a little better in their emotional stability now that they’ve got FCG back. A little less taunt. A little less sad. A little less ready to go straight for the throat at the slightest threat to the group’s safety (which isn’t necessarily a bad thing to be ready to do, just not towards allies).

Fuck, it’s nice to cheat a sudden and violent death.

Once Ashton has Fresh Cut Grass settled into his clothes, they set him up on slightly unsteady legs and guide him through a little twirl to show the rest of Bells Hells how the borrowed duds look. Chetney has great taste in clothes, obviously. The blues of his old outfit are a nice contrast to FCG’s still fairly yellow tones. Though the pants bunch a little oddly at the reversed knees of the new katari and–

“Ashton, why the fuck did you tie the tunic up like that?” Chetney scolds, seeing the split hanging edges from the front pulled to the back and tied into a bow that folds up the hang of fabric in the back.

“Because Letters doesn’t know how to use legs, and I didn’t want them getting tripped up by this shit or getting his new tail tangled up in it,” Ashton grumpily defends. 

Which, okay, he’s got a point.

“Lay off, Chet. It’s cute!” Fearne says with a playful nudge, bustling forward to tie a decorative sky blue ribbon around FCG’s tail.

“Oh, uh, thanks, Fearne,” Fresh Cut Grass says distractedly, turned towards their tail and watching it flick about agitatedly, the streamers of the ribbon following the movement. 

Continue on AO3

[mistresslrigtar]

Reposting Yearning for @zelinkcommunity Zelink Week 2023 July 10

Rated M for blood, implied consensual sex (off page), one curse word

Summary:

Link is an embittered soldier fighting a losing battle in a holy war against the Demon King Demise, who is determined to claim Hyrule and the Triforce. When the goddess, Hylia, reenters Link’s life, his hope for victory is renewed. Their reunion rekindles their love for each other, but will it be enough to emerge victorious?

An AU origin story of a future princess, hero, and a magical sword

Chapter One - Yearning

“You have over-stepped your bounds and broken our most sacred rule!” Nayru’s blue eyes burn with an ire so intense Hylia fears actual flames may flare out to smite her where she stands before her three sisters in the central garden of their celestial palace.

The setting sun casts long shadows over the marble floor, and Hylia’s gaze drifts to the clouds, tinged pale pink and yellow, drifting past a nearby balcony railing. So peaceful as opposed to the tension settling between her and her sisters. 

Din looks at Hylia with cold amber eyes, her lips curling. “How could you consort…. with a mortal?” 

Of course, her sisters will never understand what it is to yearn for something beyond what they are and have been for eons. They cannot comprehend the joy of loving and being loved unconditionally. Link expects no more than what Hylia is willing and able to give. But what she feels for him — she would give him the sun, moon, and stars if he asked. 

“Nayru. Din.” Farore steps in, her green hair streaked with gold that shimmers in the waning light, holding her hands out to appease them. “She is a child.”

“Do not defend her, dear sister!” Nayru spits, turning her anger upon Farore. “The mortal is the child, and you encouraged her to pursue him!”

“I offered her counsel.” Farore’s green eyes return Nayru’s hard look with a firm one of their own.

“To do as she wills?” Nayru sweeps her hands in a broad circle indicating the landscape below them. “Toy with the affections of this mortal who is little more than a clay puppet of your creation, Farore?”

No. That is not what Hylia did. She never subjugated Link. She gave him the choice, and he chose to see her of his own free will. They began as friends, enjoying each other’s companionship and learning from each other. He taught her simple things like how to fish and hunt. And more complex things when they forged a sword together. He shared his hopes and dreams with her, and she shared stories of her life with her sisters and her love of music, teaching him to play her harp. Nayru knows nothing of Link’s kindness of heart and purity of soul. 

“His depth of feeling far outstrips yours, dear sister! And I love him!” Hylia’s hands fly to her mouth, but the words of truth have already been spoken. 

Nayru’s sharp intake of breath stills them all. Face paling in stark contrast to her midnight blue hair, her lips form a thin line that preludes a lecture. “To feel is to lose focus and the will to be decisive when action is necessary. Worse, to love is to lose your objectivity.”

“You will bring downfall to us all with this reckless behavior!” Din growls, tossing her flaming red hair over her shoulder, eyes wide with barely contained fury. 

Hylia’s love for Link has nothing to do with the chaos threatening the earth, and she has never allowed it to interfere with her sacred duties. “My love does not feel wrong to me.”

Nayru walks to the balcony railing and gazes at the landscape far below. “The point is moot; your mortal received notice today and is being sent across the continent.”

Hylia’s heart drops into her stomach at Nayru’s words. The other side of the continent is where the battle against Demise rages. It is a death sentence to any mortal sent to fend off the demons and monsters who lay claim to the land. 

“Nayru! No!” Hylia rushes over and falls to her knees at Nayru’s feet, clutching at the hem of her pale blue gown, not caring how she looks. Hylia turns her eyes upward, pleading for mercy. “Please, dear sister, you can stop this!”

“Your spectacle is unbecoming!” The words drip with Din’s anger, always simmering beneath the surface. She grabs Hylia’s arm and hauls her back to her feet. “The boy has a warrior’s heart; he may do well there.”

Hylia sways to regain her balance when Din releases her and reaches for the railing. It feels as if the room is spinning off its axis, for surely this cannot be happening. Perhaps it is all a dream. But no, Hylia feels the ache where Din squeezed her arm too tightly. 

“You know we cannot interfere. Our duty is to observe.” Nayru cocks her head to the side, her hair rippling in the slight breeze. “His love for you will keep him strong and determined to fight in your name.” 

Hylia turns to Farore, who has been frustratingly silent during the exchange. Surely she can be a voice of reason and convince Nayru to change her mind and intercede this one time. “Farore, please!”

Farore’s face falls as she shakes her head. “It is out of my hands, dear sister.”

Moments ago, Hylia had been in Link’s arms, the pair professing their undying love and sharing a kiss. The dream of building a life with him crumbles before her eyes. How foolish of her to think she would ever have been able to balance her relationship with him and her sacred duty without her sisters' knowledge. Now that the truth was revealed, there was no need to hide. Swiping angrily at her eyes, Hylia looks upon Nayru.

“You cannot stop me from going to him.” Hylia resolves that she will protect Link one way or the other. 

“Oh, dear sister.” Nayru reaches over and takes Hylia’s hands, holding them tightly. She pulls her away from the railing and over to the pedestal where the Triforce hovers. It spins on an invisible axis, surrounded by hanging vines of ivy. “You will not be able to. The battles being waged are increasing, and the demons are winning. We must act swiftly; therefore, we are leaving this plane and taking as many demons as possible.”

Panic swiftly replaces Hylia’s anger, and she looks between her three sisters to verify Nayru’s words. “What? When was this decided?”

“While you were neglecting your duty to liaise with your mortal.” Din purses her lips around the final word as if it leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

“The Triforce cannot be moved; it is allied with this plane. Are we to leave it unattended?” Hylia reminds Nayru.

“You speak truth.” Nayru's gaze does not waver, and Hylia’s hands begin to tremble in her sister’s firm grip. “Therefore, one of us must remain behind and devote her life to protect it at all costs against those that will continue to battle for domination below.” 

The blood drains from Hylia’s face as she realizes they have already decided who will remain behind. “You would sentence me to a life of loneliness and misery chained to the Triforce for one transgression?” 

“Sacrifices must be made in the name of love,” Nayru states. “By guarding the Triforce and saving the earth from demons, your mortal may be saved.”

Her mind reeling, Hylia looks between her three sisters. Words fail her, and bitter tears spring to her eyes, trickling down her cheeks to splatter on the marble floor. How can she refute the wisdom of Nayru’s words?

Joining hands, her sisters encircle her and begin to chant. The timbre of their voices blends as they recite the binding rite, dulling Hylia’s senses. A ring of light grows until she is engulfed, and she must close her eyes against blinding brightness. She feels her feet lift from the floor, and her back arches when the light coils around her body and limbs. Her mouth opens in a silent scream when an invisible chain tethers her to the Triforce. 

Plummeting to the floor, Hylia barely hunches over on her hands and knees before she retches. Nayru’s expression softens, and kneeling before Hylia, she pulls her long, golden hair from her face. “Dear sister, do not think this means we love you any less. Our sacred duty must come first. It has always been the way.” Hylia nods, shackles tightening about her heart as her power leeches away to form an impenetrable shield around the sacred relic.

Nayru lifts Hylia’s chin with her fingertips. “I will not leave you completely bereft.” Closing her eyes, she places her palm against Hylia’s brow. “I grant you the power of my wisdom; may its truth guide you along the critical path you must take. My favor goes with you, always.”

Rising, Nayru backs away, beckoning Din and Farore to join her. As they leave her, Hylia reaches out before Farore passes, gripping her hand. Her heart aching that she will be too weak to go to him anytime soon, she must try again to plead for mercy for Link. 

Farore looks down with shuttered eyes, her bottom lip trembling. “Farore.” Hylia presses her hands together, beseeching her. “Please cast your blessing upon Link, and offer him your protection. Do this final act for me, sister favored above the others?”

Farore hesitates, conflicted, more than likely fearful of overstepping her bounds concerning mortal life. Hylia has always been closest to Farore, and Hylia can only hope the bond they share will speak to Farore’s heart. Holding her gaze, Hylia silently pleads that Farore’s love for her will sway her to acquiesce.

Finally, Farore’s eyes soften, and she nods. “For you, dear sister, I will grant him my blessing. May my strength guide his hand in the battles that lie ahead and my courage shield him.”

“Thank you.” Hylia squeezes her hand one last time before releasing Farore. With a watery smile, Farore steps back to join Din and Nayru. As they fade from existence, Hylia calls to them one last time before she falls into a healing slumber. “I will honor my sacred duty and safeguard the Triforce in your name, dear sisters.”

Her sisters' plan works somewhat, and most of the demons depart, but the most powerful and persistent of all, Demise, the Demon King, remains. Hylia spends her days in meditation, focusing only on restoring her divine power once more. Once she does so, she can travel down to the surface to aid the Hylians in their cause. Until then, she can only stand helplessly by and watch from the astral plane as Demise’s monster horde ravages the land. 

And Link does possess a warrior's heart, as Din had said. Hylia witnesses his transformation from the gentle boy who taught her to fish, hunt, and forge a sword into a force to be reckoned with, fueled by bitter rage. He undoubtedly thinks she has abandoned him in his greatest hour of need. The darkness will inevitably seek to claim him and do everything within its power to extinguish the light that burns within him.  

The weight of his suffering nearly rips him apart, and Hylia weeps bitter tears. She aches to mend the fragments of his shattered spirit and unravel the shadows that claim him. Day after day, she dreams of cradling him in her embrace and easing the pain of his wounds - in flesh and spirit. She envisions a world where their love can blossom, flourish, and overcome any obstacle. Her passion for him burns ever brighter, despite the years that pass as she grows stronger again. 

She yearns for the day she can go to him. To finally lay beside him under a moonlit sky, sharing stolen kisses and breathless whispers of affection. She will kiss each scar won in battle and mend his ravaged soul. She will enthrall him into sweet submission, and he will worship her as he once did…. so long ago.  

Closing her eyes for one final healing meditation, Hylia senses him and hears his fierce battle cry. She reaches out to him with a promise –  Soon, my love. Soon. 

__

Present day:

“In the name of Hylia!” Facing a monster stronghold, the battle cry moves like a wave through the ranks of the troops rallied under Link’s command. The name tastes like ash in his mouth, but not because of the enemy fortress’s bonfires that rage in the distance. It’s been five years since he professed his undying love to Hylia, only to never see her again.

Since that sunny day that feels like a lifetime ago and belonging to someone else, he’s lost his mother and father. His sister married, only to become a widow while expecting a child. She now lives with her husband’s family on the opposite side of the world. Link has yet to see his nephew and doubts he ever will. He can only hope his sister remains healthy and has found happiness in her child.

Hylia’s loftwing pendant, her gift to him when they first met, bounces against the bare skin of his chest as he runs. He gave up calling to her three years ago, but he can’t bring himself to part with the necklace. When he can rest, his head fills with thoughts of her sitting by the pond at sunrise. Her beauty and grace are hazy memories that can still take his breath away. And his heart aches for her as strongly as it had when he was young and naive.

If she did return, he doubts she’d want the scarred, battle-hardened soldier he has become. So longing for something that was never meant to be only makes it more challenging to go on. The battlefield is no place for his youthful fantasies.

Soon enough, Link and his men are in the thick of a deadly fray, and the screams of men falling around him drive any further thought of Hylia from his mind. It isn’t long before his sword arm aches from striking and slashing so many of their foes that he has lost count. And still, it is to no avail; the horde just keeps coming. For every monster they kill, two more take their place. Through the smoke, Link sees the orchestrator of the chaos, the Demon King, Demise overseeing the carnage. With each passing day, he and his army grow more assertive, while the Hylians that remain to fight the war struggle to regroup. 

A blow to Link’s head sends him reeling, teeth clattering, biting his tongue. The iron taste of warm blood fills his mouth. Wheeling about, he viciously slashes his sword at a horned two-legged creature that had once been a wild boar until Demise’s magic turned it into a slobbering monster. Blood splatters across Link’s face and tunic when his blade slits the animal’s throat.

“Fall back! Fall back!” Link shouts as the animal topples to the ground. Chest heaving, sweat from the flames, and his exertion dripping in his eyes, Link sweeps his sword in an arc as he retreats. The smoke shrouds Demise, but his horde rages on, pushing further into the diminishing ranks of Link’s men. By the time they retreat to the neutral zone of their camp, over three-quarters of Link’s men are either dead or wounded. 

The stench of blood hangs heavy in the air, and the cries of the wounded and dying rend another gaping hole in Link’s ragged heart. Their forces are severely diminished, and they cannot withstand another assault by Demise. Already the Demon King has plunged this part of their continent into darkness. A darkness that threatens to encroach into all of the surrounding regions. What will happen when the last of the Hylians falls?

Link sees that the wounded are cared for and that the men still standing receive sustenance before reporting to his commanding officer. 

“What happened out there?” The general shouts, white mustache and mutton chops quivering angrily before the tent flap falls behind Link’s entrance. The older man takes an unhealthy swig of whiskey from a bottle before slamming it on a desk covered with battle plans. Liquor splashes over his hand to spill across the parchment.

“What do you think? You sent us into a slaughter. Same as always.” Link spits blood on the floor at the general’s feet. He stares the man down, the animosity palpable between them. Days of friendships and camaraderie are long past. The souls of all that have passed weigh upon those that survive. Coughing and the moans of the wounded filter through the tent’s thin canvas walls.

“See here, boy! You may wear a captain’s colors, but your insolence has no place here. Those men’s deaths are on your head!” The general’s one good eye burns, while the other, lost to battle long ago, is an empty socket covered by a patch. “And yet, you always prevail. One would think you were favored by the goddesses. If not them, then the demons themselves. Eh?”

It is not the first time this commander and others have insinuated that Link has divine protection. When he first joined the army, he was as green as they came, and no one thought he would last a fortnight. But as he prevailed, growing stronger and more skilled daily, Link also began to believe the rumors. That was before he found himself gravely wounded after a battle that left nearly everyone else dead. Link supposes he should consider himself lucky he survived. If only this was a world worth surviving and living for. Clenching his fists, Link’s jaw aches with suppressed anger that boils to the surface.

“Fuck you!” Link yanks at the forest green sash adorned to his tunic. “And you can keep your captain’s colors! I never wanted them or any of this!” With a ripping of fabric, he tears the sash free, exposing his chest and a jagged scar that runs the length of his torso. “I wear the scars of battle, same as you, old man.”

The general’s lips curl into a sneer, his steely grey eye brittle and mean, rakes over another scar stretching from Link’s ear down the side of his once smooth, boyish features. “Yes, not so pretty now, are you? If the goddesses ever did shine upon you, they certainly don’t anymore.”

“The goddesses abandoned us all long ago.” With a final defiant glare, Link turns on his heel and storms out of the tent without waiting to be dismissed. He welcomes the feel of the cool evening breeze against his burning skin. His boots thud on the uneven ground as he walks through the tumult of the camp. The suffocating smell of iron, and the charred flesh of the bodies being burned in bonfires at the edges of the battlefield, mingle with the rotten stench of all the decaying carcasses of Hylian and monsters that remain in piles to meet the same fate. Surely, this is what hell looks and smells like.

Longing for a moment of peace and quiet, he continues walking past his tent and enters the surrounding forest. But he can’t escape the turmoil of his mind and the thought that his commander is correct. Any favor Link may have had with Hylia is gone. Sometimes he wonders if any time he spent with Hylia was real or a figment of his imagination. 

However, the sword that bounces against his back as he walks and the pendant around his neck are bittersweet reminders of the life he once had and the moments he had shared with Hylia. He should have parted with both long ago but could never bring himself to do so. 

Slowing his pace, Link hears the faint sound of a babbling brook and heads in that direction. Dim moonlight filters through the canopy of the tall trees surrounding him, and in the distance, a wolf howls mournfully. The trees begin to thin, and soon he finds himself in a clearing with a stream running through it. Crouching on the sandy bank, Link splashes the cool water on his face. He dips his hands in the water again, washing the blood, dirt, and grime from his arms and chest. But no amount of scrubbing can cleanse his tarnished soul. 

Link stares at his reflection in the rippling water. He doesn’t recognize the blurry visage of a man with unkempt long blond hair and vacant eyes staring back at him, a ghost of someone he used to be. The moonlight reflects off the polished loftwing pendant resting against his heart. His lips form a grim line as he reaches up and yanks the charm, snapping the leather lanyard about his neck.

He grips it tightly, the pointed wings digging into his palm's flesh, but Link barely acknowledges the pain. He had told Hylia long ago he understood that her sacred duty came before him, but somehow he never thought she would actually have to choose. Uncurling his fingers, he looks down at the crimson bird resting in his palm. Maybe if he lets it go, he can finally find some peace. Slowly, he turns his hand over and watches as the weight of the pendant pulls the leather lanyard through his fingers. It falls into the brook with a quiet plop and disappears beneath the surface. He watches as the ends of the rope swirl in the eddies as the movement of the water pulls it downstream. Regret wells up in his throat, and Link swallows it down to lie heavily in his gut.

Wiping his hands on the skirt of his tunic, Link rises, reaching behind him to grab the hilt of the sword. It is the last weapon he forged at his apprenticeship, with Hylia by his side, eager to learn the craft. The blacksmith sent it with Link when he was called to the front lines, hoping it would bring him luck. Perhaps it did, as it had served him well, and Link was still standing. He releases the handle. He’ll keep the sword until death or the war's end - whichever comes first.

When Link turns, Hylia stands there, a white vision glowing in a shaft of moonlight, and a quiet gasp escapes his lips. Long golden blonde hair cascades about her slender shoulders, and shining sea-green eyes look expectantly at him as if it hasn’t been years, and she is patiently waiting for him to teach her something new.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. Link drinks in the sight of her, knowing she is probably an apparition but cataloging this moment all the same. She drifts with fluid grace across the clearing toward him, and he can’t seem to make his leaden feet move. His heart and mind war within him, one wanting her, the other wanting nothing to do with her.

“Link.” Her melodic voice is like a sweet caress to his ears, and the pointed tips prick, straining to hear more.

But the spell is broken when Hylia tenderly touches the scar on his face. The tendons in his neck stand out, and his jaw clenches. Swallowing, Link exhales a shaky breath through his nose. “Don’t.” His voice rasps as he jerks back his head and roughly grabs her hand with his callused one. “Don’t touch me.” 

Dropping her hand as if it scalds, he turns away, seeking distance from her effervescent beauty. It hurts too much to look at her. So pure and bright like a fallen star standing in this dark and dismal place. He sullies the air that she breathes just being near her. If Link thought he didn’t deserve her before, he knows he doesn’t now. Not anymore.

He reaches the tree line and stops, staring into the darkness beyond. Darkness that encroaches further within him with each passing day. Why did she come now, after all this time? After he was broken?

“Link.” Her voice is a whisper now, just behind his shoulder. He can practically feel the frisson between them, her hands raised, wanting to touch but refraining.

“Why are you here?” He can’t look at her again. Whatever bit of sanity he has left will surely break if he does. 

“Let me explain what transpired between my sisters and me.” An unspoken plea behind her statement begs him to understand and forgive. Link isn’t certain there is room in his heart for either, but he will listen. Goddess, be damned; she owes him an explanation.

[leosmaxromanoff]

As real as you want

Summary: Space and time became meaningless when you knew life after her.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Words: 7k

WARNINGS: Major character death, Mentions of self care, Grief, Mentions of shooting/ Shooting, Little blood and wounds.  

A/N: Please if you notice other trigger or something I left out let me know :)

Please enjoy.

*Not my GIF*

________________________

“How about we get out of bed?”

“Says the person with her arms and legs round my body?” 

You moved yourself to meet the face of the beautiful woman resting on your chest. She was snuggling on your neck but you could feel her cheeky smile making your heart flutter. With your arm embracing her, you left a kiss on her temple making her come out of “her” special place. 

“I know you love it детка” Purring the words on your neck she moved to your jawline leaving a little bite behind. “Mine.”

Every step forward was… Painful. 

It started every time you opened your eyes. For a brief moment you would keep your eyes closed and with your hand you would try to brush the hairs of someone that was no longer there. Every time your hand dropped to feel the empty space of an empty pillow, your heart dropped and froze with it. You would caress that place a little with your fingertips just to see if you could bring back the sense of having her again.  

When you finally get up you can’t avoid turning your gaze to the window. 

How many times have you found her staring at the window with a cup of tea in her hands? 

“Today I saw something really amazing. Some kids were playing on the street and another group of kids came, they challenged the children and started to play, the game became so intense that from one moment to the next the street was closed to give them more space and there were even people encouraging both of them. It was really cute.” 

Taking off your jacket you approached her and kissing her shoulder you started to look through the window. The lights of the city were mostly a light yellow and red. She could see the contrast of the buildings against not only each other but the dark sky. Only one thought filled her mind and it was how amazing her life was for being able to have this kind of view, you on the contrary, were thinking the same but instead of watching through the window you were watching her reflection. Her eyes were full with passion and hope. The way she smiled, biting her lips when she couldn’t suppress her happiness, always melted your heart.  

You took one of her hands and took her back to the living room, after leaving her cup on top of the chimney, you pulled her in a swift move against yourself with your arm embracing her from behind. Your gazes crossed for a few seconds before you reached the control of the speakers, goofy as you were, you raised your eyebrows looking at her and when you pressed the button to play the song the speakers started to sound crashed. Jumping both in your place, the control fell out of your hands. The giggles of your wife from behind only turn your cheeks red and when you finally held the control again, you instantly turned the speakers off and sheepishly tried to avoid your wife’s stare. 

“Sorry, I’ll buy new ones tomorrow” You looked at her a little guilty by the ruined moment. 

They way she could see how embarrassed you were by the color of your ears and cheeks only made her chuckle before caressing your flushed face. You lean into her touch with close eyes, feeling her warmth against your skin. 

“When have we ever needed something to do it ourselves?” The tenderness in her voice made you shiver. Looking directly into her eyes you took both hands and left some kisses on her knuckles before swaying with her in the free space in the living room. All the times you make her spin she would always step on your toes when returning. It was now your time to see her embarrassed but you would always, always, receive her with a loving kiss, either on her shoulder or neck. 

You both would giggle about it and then continue to move at the rhythm of your souls. 

When you see yourself in the mirror of the bathroom you search for the mischievous smile that she gave you every time after promising a hundred times how she would keep her hands to herself, resulting in you and her leaving late for work or making a call for a ‘sick day’.

Under the shower, you leaned against one of the walls with your arms for support as you watched the water run into the drain. The way you couldn't notice the difference between the water and your tears only made you feel frustrated. You took a deep breath but it ended up stocking your throat, making your chest feel compressed for a moment. You tried to keep your eyes open but the moment they closed your memories started to haunt you again. 

Spending time with someone means they will enter the same train as you, they will enter from the first station by your side or they will enter after a few, sometimes even halfway or even at the end. But just as they enter there will be people that will only last one and most of the time making peace with that is not easy. 

How could you make peace when one moment she was there with you and the next she was taken away from you?

With the water running through your face you start to carve the skin on your face. All her words echoing not only in your head, but in all the rooms of a place that once were your home. 

The both of you were outside the door of your apartment. The lights of the hall were completely off thanks to the lack of movement and you were greatly thankful for that. 

The two of you were sitting on the floor. Wanda was behind you with her back against the wall while you were in front of her but in the same position as her. She cupped you with her body from behind. The only sound that existed in your surroundings were only your sobs and the way you tried to control your breathing, the last failing miserably. Your lover caressed your back with one hand while with the other she embraced you from behind. 

Worry and concern fill her face while furrowing her eyebrows by not knowing what to do to calm yourself. With a deep breath she moves your head out of your knees and moves it to rest on her shoulder. 

“What do we do when we don’t see any further?” 

Your tears form a trail running down your cheeks and end up in the chest of your lover. She feels powerless for not being able to remove the pain from your heart, but if something she learned from being with you was not to give up. 

“Come on Дорогой, what do we do when we feel wrong?” She whispers leaving a kiss on your temple. 

“We try to see the things we’ve accomplished…” You respond in the same tone. 

“That 's right.”

“But it feels so dark right now…” 

Just like a pup who lost its way you turn your head to face your lover. Finding her eyes in the darkness your heart stops a little and for a brief moment all the pain and drowning feeling fades away and with the sweetest tone she closes the distance and joining your foreheads she responds to you.

“Then we make new ones. Come on, get up baby.”

Frowning at her you see how she gets up and next takes your hands just to help you get up. The lights of the hallway turn on and she sees you. You try to cover your face with your hands but she stops you from doing so and instead she starts to make a path of kisses following the same trail of your tears. Not only in a fond way, but with a lot of devotion and love, leaving every kiss reassuring her love and support for you. 

“I want you to count the steps from where you are to the door, okay Дорогой?”

You humm in response and take the keys from her hand.

One. Two. Three. Four.

When you’re in front of the door you start to search for the key that opens the front door. You’re still crying but at least you can take a few breaths. When you open the door you move a step back to allow her to come in, but she shakes her head and tells you to move first.

“How many steps baby?” 

“Four. Six if you count the ones we took to enter.”

“So with six steps we are in a warm and secure space, a space that you’ve worked really  hard to get…” She says while taking off her jacket, when she is finished she turns to you and helps you do the same motion. Before you could say anything, the grumble of your stomach attracts her attention. “How many steps to the kitchen Love?”

Between your tears and sobs you look at her in confusion. You think she’ll notice it and will explain it to you, but by the way she looks back at you, you know you’ll have to wait. In defeat you start walking and feel how her hand takes yours and follows from behind.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. 

When you get to the kitchen you stop and turn around to see her, but she takes the lead and starts to take some ingredients from the fridge. She made a move with her head inviting you to come and help her and without thought you approached her only to be received with a hug. You help her cook your favorite meal and without noticing from one moment to another you’re the one cooking everything and she’s sitting on the other side of the island with a cup of wine in her hand. 

Everytime you cut some ingredient or check the pan to avoid turning your apartment into the new room of Satan, the feeling of comfort in each action starts to warm your chest in a way that the tears that fall from your eyes are no longer only of sadness. A kiss on your cheek takes you back out of your thoughts and makes you smile.

When the food was ready and you served it, staring at your wife, a homely sentiment rushed through all your body. When the both of you were seated, she asked you the same question she did when you entered the apartment before you started to eat. 

“How many steps did you take from the entrance to the kitchen?” 

“What is this?” You leave the fork on the plate while you look at her defeated. 

“Sometimes…” She begins to talk looking at you carefully. “Maybe sometimes, to focus on our goals we need to take care of ourselves. Sometimes to make something external we first need to take care of ourselves. Sometimes taking good care of ourselves can help us see things differently. It will represent a challenge but starting with little things will make you start your track. I’m not saying it’s in all cases, but sometimes it’s a good beginning.” 

She got up from her chair, and walking around the table she tried to pull you up. You were definitely not in the mood and the internal conflict on your chest was already taking much of your energy. 

“I still haven’t picked up the table.” You look at her reluctantly and unintentionally a pout forms on your face while looking all the way except hers. She mimics your gesture and starts closing the distance while taking you from the hips. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll pick them up later” She says with a fake concern. 

“But it’s important…”

“You are important детка”

You had sold the car, so you started taking the subway to work after all. You remember very little of the first few weeks you used it.You would only look up to see where to put your ticket or card and look at the directions to see which one would drop you off at work. You avoided people's gazes and only looked at your shoes, the bustle of people was what kept you distracted from your thoughts but they had already consumed you by obscuring everything around you unless it was your front view.  

It was hurtful to see your most precious dreams being accomplished by other people when yours were taken from your fingers. It wasn’t just looking at couples or families leaving his kids at school or people with their pets. It was so much more. Someone smiling from a bad joke observing the admiration and happiness in people's eyes. The protectiveness over the most precious part of their life by avoiding strong pushes or covering the other with their own body. The joy of watching people making short dancing moves or parting their lips to lip sync a song. How could you look at them when you always look at her doing the same?

It was staring directly to a place where you no longer belong. The light that place once showed and shone upon you faded months ago and unfortunately for you, you weren’t able to go back.  

“I know детка…”

“I know детка…” 

Suddenly your gaze snapped ahead. For a brief moment your heart skip. Your breath hitched while your eyes looked all over the place. By the corner of your eyes you caught a color that you knew better than life itself. The way the curls of her hair moved only made your body flinch and try to get closer to it. 

How more desperate one can get and how much deception a broken heart can bear?

Before you could reach the woman in front of you, she turned and for a brief moment, just for a brief moment, with all your might wish time could stop. The smile you used to wake up every morning, the wrinkle of her nose when she tried to get her way, the joy and light on her eyes she always shared with you every time she looked at you.

The subway stopped midway before getting to the next station. It was a strong and abrupt movement. All the people in the subway shooked aggressively, you hold yourself to avoid tripping, but unfortunately, plans are not always what we want. The woman you saw tripped and without thinking your body moved to catch her, you cover her from behind and receive the slam by making contact not only with the floor, but also with the shoes of the people around you.

After a few seconds, both of you stay on the floor until you regain some sense and try to compose yourself by sitting up straight, but in doing so, the woman who was still disoriented laid on your legs while you were still holding her in your arms. And for the second time of the day your mind reminded you not only that she was no longer with you, but how you lost her. 

Move. 

Please, I’m telling you to move. 

People were running all over the place. Shouts came from everywhere and I just couldn’t move. Even though I wanted to move my legs to advance, they were completely static. Tightness in my chest makes it painful to breathe. After the sound of a second shot comes my eyes immediately searches for the woman that was no longer beside me. My blood runs cold when my sight finds her laying on the floor, and as if that were the signal, my body falls to its knees in front of her. 

When my hands move her to see if she’s conscious she lets out a grumble full of pain. Immediately I cupped her face with one of my hands to gain her focus but she didn't. With my gaze, I scan her body to look for a wound and my stomach drops when I see how the color of her shirt is completely red, full of blood in her abdomen. I look back at her when I feel how my shirt is being pulled against her direction. 

“Don’t”

“детка”

“No, stop. You can’t talk right now.” 

The sound of something crashing followed by two shots makes me cover her, trying to do the one thing I couldn’t before. 

“Thank you for allowing me to share my life with you…”

The lump in my throat makes me choke with my breathing. How could she smile in a situation like this? 

“No, you’re not leaving me. You can’t say something like that in this kind of situation.” 

Searching for a way of keeping her with me I drag her on top of my legs while embracing her to make some pressure on the wound and hold on until the paramedics come.

“There are so many things left unsaid. So many things to do. There is so much love left to be shown… SOMEONE BRING HELP!” You hold her even tighter against your body.

“Loo-” Not even finishing her first word, blood came out. Spilling out of her mouth and drops of it ending on my skin. 

How can I stay still while I feel how she’s fading away…? Why is she slipping through my fingers?

The warmth on my cheek makes me turn only to find her at the same level of my eyes. 

“You are hurting yourself even more, please don’t move until the attention comes.” You say with leading eyes joining your foreheads while kissing her with desperation. 

When you finish she tries to comply, but you look her straight in the eyes interrupting her.

“We’ve come complete into this life but you added to mine so much joy and light that not even in thousands I would be able to return it to you and show you how much love, respect and admiration I have for you, so please, don’t go yet.” I reached over the hand that covered my cheek while tears ran down my face. “Please let me keep making everyday better than the last. Let me hear your worries and sorrows. Let me make you laugh and help you in every need you have. Let me support you on your failures and celebrate your success. Let me hold the world around you every time it suffocates you and let me watch you when you finally conquer it. Let me be under your warmth today, tomorrow and the days to come…  ” 

The smile she gives you desperates you even more like being thrown to the sea, with an iron ball strapped to your feet, and even though you know you will not survive, you still try to swim up to the surface. You know by the look and tears forming on her eyes she recognises the words said, because they were the same you vow to fulfill the day you both attached your lives together. 

“Using your vows to gaslight me and God so you can keep me here with you?” She says in a cheeky way making you laugh between tears. 

“I would do everything to keep you with me, Love.” You looked at her like all those times before. Just like everytime you adored her. Your wife’s heart melted by the softness of your words, showing it by the tender look she gifted you. You furrow your brows in pure pain as you feel her thumbs brushing away your tears. The impulse to look away is very strong inside you, but not wanting to stop accompanying her in all possible ways during her last moments makes you leave a kiss on her forehead. “I just want you to know…”

“I know детка…” The words pierce your heart and internally you start praying for someone to come and help your wife in the despair of not wanting to move her any further.

“I’ll be fine” You move your head to kiss the palm of her hand only to turn your gaze and fix her again on her eyes. 

“Thank you for sharing your time with me. Thank you for letting me be by your side. Thank you for having so much patience and bringing me so much comfort.” The exhaustion on her face it’s more notorious as her skin becomes paler. “Thank you for being by my side every step of the way, good or bad, thank you for always being my support. Thank you for making every wish I had a reality…  And I’m so sorry for not having much time” 

The tears that once formed on her eyes finally made their presence on her face. You start leaving kisses in the same places the tears were falling. Her hand holding onto your clothes not wanting to let go of you. .  

“Wanda Maximoff you’re the love of my life and will always be. The love I have for you is greater than the pain so please don’t feel any sorrow.”

“You mean the world to me”

“You are my world”

“I love you детка”

“I love you Дорогой”

With eyes fully closed and smooth but passionate moves, you both kissed. With tenderness, love and history behind. In your mind you tried to record the feeling of her hand making you close to her as she caressed your face. You tried to keep how her weight felt against your body and the way your body received her, and just like all those times and years before, the both of you were one. 

And in that instant everything stopped. 

The warmth you were familiar with dissipated. The hand that held you hundreds of times was no longer pulling you against her and her presence was nowhere to be found. Your breath caught in your throat as you embraced her body against your own. And just as the closing act, you felt her last breath against your skin. You moved her towards you, and as you kept doing it, a part of you got lost as you felt her body not responding and her weight following the law of gravity, trying to stay on the floor. 

You pressed her with strength onto your chest, your breathing becoming more and more out of control as you are unable to get the air you need. Your cheek pressed against her temple, holding her like every night and morning you had shared, just as you had done just a couple of hours before.

Why like this? There were so many things unsaid. Why today? So many things left unmade. Why take her away from you? You’ve promised each other so much time. Why not take you with her? All the plans you both looked forward to accomplish. 

You were lost and the only thing you could hold onto was her. It was always her. The guttural scream that came out of your body was noticed by the police, two of them saw the lake of blood you were sitting in, and then noticed the body you were grasping. By the radio they called two paramedics to enter the place, but your mind was only focused on the woman in your arms to even care about them. 

With fondness you brush her chin trying to remove the blood and end up nestling her against your neck so she could rest in her favorite place. 

Seconds…

Minutes…

Hours…

Years…

Centuries…

Eternity…

You didn’t count the time and you didn’t care anymore. 

“Ma’am are you alright? We need you to please move.”

Ignoring him you chose to hang on to your wife for a little longer, but it seems that even for grieving there’s no time.

“We need to check your status and take the woman you’re holding to the hospital” 

When the man tries to reach out, you slap his hand without leaving your eyes from the lifeless face of your wife. 

“You wait for her to bleed out…” You chuckled bitterly making the paramedics to down their gazes. “I’m sure you can wait longer.”

“Ma’am are you alright?”

When you came back to your senses the woman was no longer on the phone and she was looking straight at you. The woman points to your face and when your fingertips touch your cheeks, you notice a trail of tears coming from your right side. Your attention shifts to the woman's concern, but you quickly snap out of your astonishment and a smile forms on your face, the people around you help you both up and before she can say anything to you the subway moves forward again and you arrive at the station. 

Once again, after a long day and a long time you were facing your apartment’s door, barely. The urge to call Kate and ask her if you could crash at her place was great but you knew it was too much, she didn’t have a problem with it, but you knew trying to avoid this place wasn’t of any good. Also sleeping in hotel rooms and with other of your friends only made you realize how many times in the last 4 years you had actually been in this place.

“Six steps to be in an empty space.”

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. 

Without even opening the door completely, her smell punched you in the face making your knees falter. With trembling steps you crossed the frame door and facing the wall started to take off your shoes. The moment you hand touched the wall instead of dropping the shoes, the thing that dropped was your stomach by watching the post-it and the words written on it.

My heart belongs to you.

Hurt. Pain. Rage. Sadness. Grief. Lost. Misery. Crushed.

All at once came to you in all directions. 

Images of a place full of joy and warmth. 

“STOP!”

Without thinking you took the piece of paper in your hand and crushed it with it. Throwing it in a direction you never wanted to go back. Only twelve steps were needed to get to the kitchen and four to get to the living room, but only nine were needed to take you back to a place you would always have found her embrace. Your gaze flinched when you saw the paper on the frame of the principal room and with regret you threw yourself at the last physical proof of her love for you.

You’re down now, but not because you’re weak, or you lack something… You’re human and it’s alright to fall, just don’t stay down…   

Her voice echoing in your head as you held tightly the paper with her handwriting on it.

“I have stained your memory” Restrained to your own guilt  the words came like a murmur. 

There are no other arms I would rather be held into…

“No place or time is enough without you.” With unbearable pain you brought your knees to your chest while with both hands you held the paper, wishing that it would somehow wrap around your heart and give back a little of what was left of her.

“And still you’ve been able to live… Have you forgotten my words детка?”

With sad and glossy eyes, just like a blur again, for the second time you got to see her again. The desire and impulse to move forward and take her between your arms overwhelms you but even though you want to do it your body doesn’t move. 

You see her and the moment you notice her hand approaching you, your breath hitch. 

“Uff… I don’t think we are in bed for you to be doing those kind of noise, детка” 

She is looking at you while wiggling her brows seductively while biting her lips, when her hand finally touches you, your heart skips. Your brain pauses for a moment trying to comprehend everything that is happening, but sometimes the heart is faster than the mind and with just one movement, a brief decision, even with fear… You lean into her touch. 

The fear of your head falling into nowhere faded away as you felt the warmth of your lover once again. Watching into her eyes after 4 years of sadness, you truly laugh. Your wife's gestures soften as she sees you smile once again.

With a broken heart you begged with all your might. “Please don’t go.”

She stretched your legs and sat on your lap, she cupped your face and kissed your forehead only to nestle your head on her chest. 

“Even if you’re a dream, at least until I’m gone… Let me have you in my dreams each night until I’m gone.” Feeling her body against you like all those times was overwhelming. It had been four years and feeling his body against yours again provoked a sea of emotions. How should you feel, what should you feel? and most importantly, what should you do?

How many times have you thought about holding her against you one more time? All the scenarios you once did were just that, images and places in your imagination that faded away. She was with you and again you didn't know what to do.

“What is with that face, Дорогой?” Gently she removed some hairs away from your hair and with her thumb started to caress your frown. “Sweetly as you look, frowning and crying, I really would love to see you smile my Love. For me?” You groaned and decided to rest on her neck, breathing the essence you longed for everyday. “Are you crying because I took your favorite hoodie?” 

The comment came out of nowhere, it was something so simple and silly that the only thing you did was burst with laughter. You took her by her waist with both hands and if possible close the distance between both. For the first time in the situation you saw without blur and appreciated her curvy hair and the way it fell from her shoulders, with the tip of your fingers you felt the material of the clothes she was wearing and by separating from her chest you saw that she was actually using your clothes. 

Returning to your place you leave short kisses on her neck and at the beginning of her collarbone, breathing her softly you started to go up again and kissing her jawline you got to her chin and finding her eyes, her beautiful green deep eyes, you saw how she looked at you, her eyes falling to your lips and returning to your gaze and for no reason, without being able to ask for it you saw and understand the desire in her eyes because it was the same desire that had been shaped in your soul and you begged for it to come.

Her breath hitch when she noticed the steady hold round her waist. You brushed your lips against hers when you felt her hands falling to your shoulders. The warmth sigh coming from her made your whole body shiver, for a moment the longing overpowered you and with urge you finally kissed her. 

She wrapped her arms around your neck and caressed the back of your neck. She deepened the kiss with necessity and the control you once thought you had, gave up completely as you let her take over your mouth… But what else could you do if you had always been hers?

Between the kiss both of you were smiling, breathlessly and reluctantly you separated a little only for her to continue kissing you on your cheeks and jaw.

“I’ve been loving you for more time that I’ve been missing you. For 15 years you have taken not only my clothes and food but you.” Taking her hands into yours, you start to leave kisses on her knuckles. “ You have engraved your name in my heart and soul that I’m yours.”

The resolve in your eyes made her hug you tightly. You were the most important and not even in death she had forgotten you. Trying to secure you from any harm she took you into her arms and with your legs wrapped around her hips, she led you to the room that saw you both grow, not only into each other's feelings but as a person. 

When you both reached the bed, she left you sitting on the edge, kneeling in front of you. 

The only illumination the room had was the light that came through the curtains from the street, you didn’t know how long the both of you stayed in that position but having her, looking at you intently and completely mesmerized by all your being made you feel overwhelmed. You try to turn your face away but then in a swift move you are now laid on the bed with her on top of you. 

“Don’t be ashamed of your beauty.” She ghosted her lips against yours but before she could kiss you, a pillow hit her making her falter and fall next to you. 

Amused by your actions she tilted her head and looking at you she said “Oh, you really don’t want to start this baby.” 

“I think I do.” You wiggle your brows and throw her another pillow. “Maybe in the end you were really a pillow princess considering how you’re hugging them.” 

You heard her grumble and say something between teeths before throwing the pillow at you and throwing another one that you couldn't dodge. You looked at her with fake surprise but charged against you with her body and started to tickle in your waist while with her mouth stuck to your skin he blew loudly, making the funniest and most disgusting noises you had ever heard.

After a few minutes when you finally surrendered and admitted voluntary, AKA forced to admit you were the true pillow princess. You were now resting with your body being hugged by her, calm filled your body by the way her hand caressed your head while the others were tangled with yours. Your eyes fixed in her hand made you head start to think about everything that had happened until now. Was this some kind of dream? Were you drunk? Maybe intoxicated? 

You started to frown again, calling the attention of your lover immediately. She shook your hands a little and when you looked at her again she kissed your forehead making you relax. 

“What is in that little head of yours?”

“Nothing my love.” You lifted your head a little and kissed her on her chin. 

“You don’t have to fear, I won’t leave unless you want me to.” Her words were soft, but her grip on you became stronger and firmer while saying the last words. 

“I don’t want you to leave.” In broken voice and broken heart. You turn yourself completely now facing your lover whispering with a brittle voice. “I want this to be real… I want this to be so real.”

“This is as real as you want it to be.” She sinks your body against her and tenderly starts to caress your back, making little patterns with her fingers over your shirt. “I won’t leave. 

And being by each other once more, embracing one another the same way your souls were attached. That’s how when the light of the sunrise filtered on the room found them. You were peacefully sleeping on the chest of your lover with your head nesting on her neck. Your arms holding her by the waist and your legs wrapped around each other. Leight on the other hand was still awake, she was still caressing your back and appreciating the way she was holding you once more. 

She kissed your temple and decided just to look at you one last time before tracing your face. Only being able to see you when you came to this place was her own personal hell. You only came to this place when you couldn’t bear the pain, so for the last four years she had seen you cry, begg, rage, sorrow and try again only to fall. But now everything was different, you were at peace, happy. She saw you laugh again and love, you both experienced the joy of sharing more time with one another and she was at ease knowing that those moments were the ones resting in your memories. 

When the sun's rays fully illuminated the room, giving you a smile, he woke you up, caressing your cheek gently. Your eyes fluttered with excitement at the sight of your lover, she wrinkled her nose before getting close enough to rub it with yours making you laugh.

“Can I come with you?” You said sheepishly with a little voice.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way Дорогой.” 

She leaned into you and brushed her lips softly as she kissed you. Your body tremble under her hold and instinctively your body curved against her, little giggles left your lips when feeling the tips of her fingers at the back of your neck. 

Little both you noticed when your bodies disappeared under the light, leaving in the room only the vague memories of a love that met their end tragically but found again to continue maybe in another place or another time. But your lover had kept her promise she made on her vows the best as she could after death, and protected you to have a rest without sorrow. 

If she had to choose between you passing away believing you did it in your lover's arms or telling you it was that morning on the subway, the answer was clear for her. 

You were so immersed in your world that morning trying to avoid the pain of your aching heart, that you didn’t notice the commotion in your wagon. The darkness on your sigh making you focus only on your feet made you unaware of the person on the other half of the wagon with a gun. But the moment you heard that woman calling the lovely nickname your wife told you years back was the thing that made you react. 

“I know детка…”

For the first time in years, you noticed not only a glimpse of the love of your life, but the fear of the people that usually shared the subway at the same time that you did. The smiles and laugh that once made you remember where no longer there. The music and the gestures of happiness and hope were replaced with panic and horror. 

When your eyes focused on the guy with the gun you saw how the woman was moving directly towards him making you react to the danger of her actions. She had someone. She had someone who she needed to return to.In your heart you couldn’t bear the idea of someone living the same hell as you. So when you tried to stop the woman from moving forward the man was already pointing his gun at her, you let your things fall into the floor and covered the woman with your body. 

After that everything went pretty fast.

For a moment, you felt relieved. 

The blasting of the gun resonated in all the wagon.

The subway stopped making all the people in the wagon, including you, stumble and fall.

The people took the gun away and between three men held him against the floor. 

The sound of the gunshot had left you with a ringing in your ears that increased or decreased as you moved your head. Dazed, you tried to get up again, failing as you were leaning on one of the tubes inside the wagon, you felt hands touching your left shoulder, but the mere act of turning around made you want to vomit. Trying to find focus, the first place you found was the woman in front of you. You watched as her lips moved, but no words reached your ears. 

Everytime you blinked, the image in front of you changed. It was like a battle between the image of the woman and the face of your wife. You closed your eyes for a little trying to focus again and while doing so your ears and mind were oblivious of the concern and worry of the people surrounding you, things like ‘She’s in shock’ ‘She needs help’ ‘She’s losing too much blood’ were words that were never registered in you. 

When you finally opened your eyes the spark on the eyes you well knew received you once again. A little chuckle left your lips before moving yourself a little only to appreciate the face you had longed for. For brief moment you were once again on that stupid shop were you loose her but this time she wasn’t dead, actually she was infront of you as if the situation never had ocurred. You quickly look for any harm or any wound, your eyes roaming her body searching any trail of blood on her clothes or skin, but you only discover her smiling at you brightly. 

Caressing her cheeks fearing of hurting her you started to cry in relief. She looked at you confused but you could only be grateful in the situation. “Thank you for allowing me to be me this time and protect you.” Those were your last words before you bleed out on the wagon of the city that once were the vivid image of all your dreams. And the only way the woman could repay you for protecting her was cleaning the falling tears of your eyes. 

The thing with death is that sometimes the souls don’t accept nor notice what has happened to them. Especially when your soul is always looking for something, or someone. So when the train gets to the station after stopping you continue your day as usual, the only thing changing is you visiting your apartment after so long. But as souls that once came together, they always find their way back. 

Maybe in another life or another time you could live once again with the love of your life. Nobody knew when or where but there was certainty in this. Particularly because you were gonna gaslight God himself if necessary to make it happen. 

But at least for the time being, before you both crossed the light, you were with her and she was with you. And honestly, nothing else really mattered.

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NEONATAL MEDICAL EQUIPMENT -DOCTROID

RADIANT HEAT WARMER

A radiant heat warmer is a type of medical equipment used in neonatal intensive care units (NICUs) to provide warmth to premature or sick newborns. It is designed to help maintain the baby's body temperature by emitting infrared radiation without the need for direct contact. This equipment is essential in NICUs as premature or sick newborns have not yet fully developed their ability to regulate their own body temperature, making them vulnerable to hypothermia. The radiant heat warmer works by creating a warm environment around the baby, helping to stabilize their body temperature and prevent complications. The use of this type of equipment, along with other devices such as incubators, is crucial in providing optimal care for premature or sick newborns in NICUs.

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LED PHOTOTHERAPY UNIT - BILICURE & BILICURE-SMART

Bilicure LED phototherapy is a non-invasive medical treatment used to treat jaundice in newborns. Jaundice is a common condition in newborns where the buildup of bilirubin in the bloodstream can cause yellowing of the skin and eyes. Bilicure LED phototherapy uses special blue LED lights to break down bilirubin in the baby's bloodstream, allowing it to be excreted from the body more easily. This type of treatment is safe and effective, and is commonly used in neonatal intensive care units (NICUs) to manage jaundice in premature or sick newborns. The use of Bilicure LED phototherapy, along with other medical interventions, can help prevent complications associated with jaundice and ensure the healthy development of newborns.

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NEONATAL PULSE OXIMETER -NONIN-TECH USA

A neonatal pulse oximeter is a medical device used to measure the oxygen saturation level in the blood of newborn infants. This device uses a non-invasive technique that involves attaching a small sensor to the baby's skin, usually on the foot or hand, which emits light and measures the amount of oxygen in the blood by analyzing the color of the blood vessels. The pulse oximeter can also measure the baby's heart rate.

The use of a neonatal pulse oximeter is important in neonatal intensive care units (NICUs) as newborns are more vulnerable to oxygen deprivation, which can lead to serious health complications. By measuring the oxygen saturation level, medical professionals can quickly identify any potential issues and intervene as needed to ensure the baby receives the appropriate oxygen support.

The neonatal pulse oximeter is a safe and non-invasive device that can provide valuable information to healthcare providers, allowing them to monitor the baby's oxygen saturation level and ensure that the baby is receiving the appropriate level of oxygen therapy.

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NEONATAL VEIN FINDER VEIN SEE NEO

The Vein See Neo is a neonatal vein finder device used to help medical professionals locate veins in newborn infants. It is specifically designed for use in neonatal units and is a non-invasive tool that aids in identifying suitable veins for various medical procedures such as intravenous (IV) access, blood sampling, and medication administration.

The Vein See Neo works by utilizing near-infrared light technology. When the device is held over the baby's skin, the near-infrared light is absorbed by the hemoglobin in the blood, while the surrounding tissues reflect the light. This creates a contrast between the veins and the surrounding tissue, making it easier for healthcare providers to identify and locate the veins.

The device provides real-time imaging, allowing medical professionals to visualize the veins beneath the baby's skin and determine the best site for vein puncture or catheter insertion. This reduces the need for multiple attempts and helps minimize discomfort for the baby.

The Vein See Neo is a valuable tool in neonatal care, particularly for infants with difficult-to-locate veins or those requiring frequent medical interventions. By improving the accuracy and efficiency of vein identification, the device can contribute to better patient care and outcomes in neonatal units.

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[spacecadetgoke]

Every Frame a Painting — There Will Be Blood

This shot from "There Will Be Blood" captures the dramatic moment of an oil derrick fire, a pivotal scene in the film. The image is dominated by the intense orange and yellow flames, which create a stark contrast against the night sky. The composition emphasizes the scale of the disaster and the immense power of the oil industry, symbolizing both the destructive and transformative potential of Plainview's ambitions. The use of lighting and shadows highlights the isolation and moral ambiguity of the characters, reinforcing the film's themes of greed, ambition, and the human cost of industrial progress.

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Classwork - Color Theory in Film

BASICS OF COLOR THEORY IN FILMMAKING

If we were to boil it down, color theory would be separated into three basic components. 

Hue 

Saturation

Brightness

HUE

Basics of color distinction.

SATURATION

Intensity of color.

BRIGHTNESS

Lightness or darkness of color.

SHADE

Want to make it more dramatic, can add black to the base hue which creates a shade. 

TINT

Want to make a color feel less intense or want to balance more vivid color combinations, you can add white which creates a tint. 

TONE

Want to reveal the complexities of a base color, can add gray which creates a tone. 

PRIMARY COLORS

They cannot be created by any other color combination. RYB and RGB are two sets of cardinal colors that all other colors are derived from.

the psychology of colors in filmmaking: 

RED: A deeper red raises blood pressure and can elicit fear and foreboding. It can also represent lust, love, and hope. 

BLUE: Calming to cold and isolating to passive and melancholic. 

PINK: In addition to femininity, pink also exudes innocence and empathy. 

YELLOW: Idyllic, naivete, and obsessiveness. insinuate madness, insecurity, and illness. 

PURPLE: A fantastical and ominous presence from purple, but also erotic and metaphysical.   

GREEN: Suggestive of nature, also can be denote immaturity, corruption, and danger. 

ORANGE: Warm, friendly, and sociable, also happiness, and exoticism. 

Balanced Color Schemes

Balanced color schemes refer to the harmonious relationships of colors on a color wheel. Monochromatic color palettes are harmonious. is based on a single hue with darker shades and lighter tints. 

MONOCHROMATIC

Monochromatic color schemes come in shades of a single color

COMPLEMENTARY

Contrasting drama (i.e. warm vs. cool). Complementary colors live opposite each other on the color wheel.

The dueling colors are often associated with conflict, whether internal or external.

Complementary colors combine warm and cool colors to produce a high-contrast, vibrant tension in the film.

ANALOGOUS

The colors don't have the contrast and tension of the complementary colors, they create an overall harmonious and soothing viewing experience.

Analogous colors are easy to take advantage of in landscapes and exteriors.

One color can be chosen to dominate, a second to support, and a third (along with blacks, whites and grey tones) to accent.

TRIADIC

Are three colors arranged evenly spaced around the color wheel (i.e. red, blue and yellow).

One color should be dominant and the others accented.

Triadic is one of the least common movie color schemes, but it can be striking and vibrant even when the hues are unsaturated.

Discordant Color Schemes

Discordance is a deliberate choice by the director to deviate from the balanced movie color schemes mentioned above to refocus attention. Discording colors can help a character, detail, or moment stand out from the rest of the film.

Associative Colors to Represent Characters & Themes

When a color or scheme is recurrently associated with a specific character, object, place or theme, it becomes a symbol.

Transitional Colors to Indicate a Change

When a recurring film palette or color shifts over the course of the film, it often represents a transformation in the character, story, or theme.

This is a powerful way to subliminally communicate a character or story arc in a visual manner.

"a well-placed movie color palette evokes mood and sets the tone for the film."

[mi4017uvinduratnakara]

EXPERIMENTAL ANALYSIS.

*This is a personal scene by scene analysis to explore and to practice film analysis (mostly focusing on light and colour)*

This is a analysis on the first few scenes in the animated short ‘’Rondo Across Countless Kalpas (Honkai: Star Rail)’’ (click this link (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5xueJq4Lwc ) to check out the official animation from youtube)

(Timestamp: 0:09)

The animation starts by unfolding the viewers to a blood red or scarlet red sea . With the sounds of the sea tide bringing a depth, a sensation of the deep sea waving at you. With the focus of the light bouncing off the waves/ tides it also makes it looks like a curtain. Judging how it does not reflect the night sky even though the dialogue states about a starry night supports the reference to evangelion by Hideaki Anno ‘’the blood red sea’’ alternatively referencing to ‘’crossing the red sea’’ , enriching the story telling that is about to unfold. It also foreshadows the short animation, bringing the themes of mystery and murder.

The scene then cuts off to a blurry figure slowly getting into focus with a more lighter yet warmer colour palette that contrasts with yellow tones. In this scene, the light is more obvious and sharpned through the character’s facial features and hair to bring a sense of tranquility aswell as harmony. With a soft classical music playing in the background, the sounds of the violin and piano that gives a little bit of a jazz music and sensual tone creates the stage for our hero (Acheron) and the villain (black swan) to take action.

The scene now cuts to two dancers entering the ball room, with the music getting louder and more critical as it also tells a story of emotions for the two characters. (just to clarify, the character black swan at the moment is taking the lead for the stage.) With how the camera is focused onto the two dancers while blurring the 2d PNG of other background characters. Aswell as the lights focused on our main cast initiates tension. Apart from the sensual tensions it creates, the music sort of gives this feeling of two characters fighting for a position in the ballroom. With the camera tracking the two dancers in the ball, the lighting hitting from far above, creates two silhouettes that stand out. It also feels like the hero (Acheron, white dress) is adapting to the villain (black swan, purple dress) with their movements in sync to each other and the music.

Slowly the scene transitions to black and then to a colour contrasting of blue and purple. This supports and states that the villain has taken a hold of the hero inside her domain (or so she thought).

Why I believe it is the villains domain is due to the fact that the windows that are shown in the background resembles to the villain’s accessories as well as the colour which could be considered a part of mise en scene as it is also foreshadowing the fall of the villain.

With the shift of colours the lighting introduced on the characters are now much more sharper and brighter than before. The scene still emphasizes the character’s silhouettes. With the close interactions of the characters as well as each scene being more and more intense intimidating as the music gets louder and faster. The light is also clearly giving the spot light to the villain at this moment.

[cleverchildblizzard]

Jinxo's Emotions

Sandy: Sandy represents happiness and playfulness. She enjoys playing tricks and pranks, such as throwing pies at friends or unexpected guests. When Sandy takes control, her face is divided into two halves that resemble a combined sun and moon. One half is calm and pastel white, while the other is painted roughly in bright orange and yellow.

Tiana: Tiana embodies sadness and aggression. She takes control when Jinxo is stressed or upset. Tiana often represents panic, anxiety, and sometimes aggression. If not calmed down during her panic attacks, she can become even more aggressive. Like Sandy, Tiana's face is divided into two halves. One half is calm and pastel white, while the other is painted roughly in dark and light blue. Tiana also has a tear drop painted underneath her eye on the blue side.When Tiana enters "Panik Mode," her already tumultuous emotions reach a peak, causing her face to flash neon red and triggering intense physical and emotional reactions.As Tiana's face transforms into a mix of pastel white and neon red, her distress becomes visibly apparent. Tears stream down her cheeks, matching the intense red hue on one half of her face. The tear drop painted underneath her eye on the red side further signifies her overwhelming sadness and panic.In this heightened state, Tiana's movements become more frantic and agitated. She may start to pull at her hair, grasping and tugging at it as an instinctual response to her escalating distress. Her body language conveys her desperation and inner turmoil, with clenched fists and a tense posture.As her panic intensifies, her crying may become even more pronounced, accompanied by hyperventilation or rapid breathing. Tiana's expression showcases her deep anguish, with furrowed brows, tightened facial muscles, and a look of desperation in her eyes.During this state, Tiana's ability to communicate may be compromised, and she may struggle to articulate her needs or thoughts. It is essential for those around her to provide a supportive and calm environment, offering reassurance and understanding.

Janet: Kinda another version of Jax.Janet is known as the rude and moody version of Jinxo, and she is the emotion most likely to appear. She enjoys making fun of people through slightly more harmful tricks, such as throwing water balloons or temporarily taking things from others. However, she always gives back what she takes in the end. Janet's face is divided into two halves. One half is a dark, groggy green, while the other is roughly painted in messy brown.

Scarlet: Scarlet represents fear and paranoia within Jinxo. She often takes control when faced with dangerous or unfamiliar situations, causing Jinxo to become hyper-vigilant and easily startled. Scarlet's face is divided into two halves. One half is painted in a deep, blood-red color, symbolizing intense fear, while the other half is roughly painted with dark shades of purple, representing paranoia.Other times when Scarlet is a bit calmer,one half of her face is calm and pastel white, while the other is roughly painted in deep shades of red and black. This contrast symbolizes the internal struggle between fear and calmness within Jinxo. Scarlet's expression is often tense and fearful, with wide eyes and a slightly panicked demeanor. She may engage in defensive or evasive behaviors, such as hiding or fleeing from perceived threats.

[aadiyogi123]

Shining Bright: The Mesmerizing Allure of Moissanite Diamonds

Introduction

In the world of fine jewelry, few gemstones capture the essence of elegance, luxury, and timeless beauty like diamonds. Their exquisite sparkle and enduring appeal have made them a symbol of love and devotion for centuries. However, the traditional allure of natural diamonds now faces stiff competition from a remarkable gemstone known as moissanite. In this article, we will delve into the world of moissanite diamonds, exploring their origins, characteristics, and why they have become a popular choice for those seeking a brilliant and ethical alternative to natural diamonds.

The Marvel of Moissanite

Moissanite, often referred to as "moissanite diamonds," is a gemstone with a fascinating history and an undeniable allure. It was first discovered in 1893 by Nobel Prize-winning chemist Dr. Henri Moissan, who found tiny crystals of the mineral in a meteorite impact crater in Arizona. Initially, he mistook these crystals for diamonds, but upon further examination, their unique properties became evident.

Moissanite possesses remarkable brilliance and fire, which are qualities that define a gemstone's sparkle and ability to disperse light. In fact, moissanite has a higher refractive index than natural diamonds, making it even more dazzling in certain lighting conditions. Its mesmerizing play of colors and intense sparkle have earned it a well-deserved reputation as a captivating gemstone.

Environmental and Ethical Considerations

One of the primary reasons for moissanite's increasing popularity is its ethical and environmental appeal. Unlike natural diamonds, which are often associated with unethical mining practices and environmental concerns, moissanite is created in laboratories through a controlled process. This means that there are no concerns about conflict diamonds, also known as blood diamonds, which have been associated with funding violence in war-torn regions.

Additionally, moissanite production is considerably less harmful to the environment. Diamond mining can have devastating ecological impacts, including deforestation, habitat destruction, and water pollution. In contrast, moissanite production is relatively clean and sustainable, contributing to its status as an eco-conscious choice for environmentally aware consumers.

Hardness and Durability

Another aspect that sets moissanite apart is its exceptional hardness. On the Mohs scale of mineral hardness, which ranges from 1 (softest) to 10 (hardest), moissanite ranks at 9.25-9.5. This makes it even harder than sapphires and rubies, and second only to natural diamonds. As a result, moissanite diamonds are incredibly durable and suitable for everyday wear, with minimal risk of scratching or damage.

Affordability

One of the most compelling reasons to consider moissanite diamonds is their affordability compared to natural diamonds. Moissanite offers a stunning alternative at a fraction of the price, allowing buyers to choose larger stones or invest in custom designs without breaking the bank. The cost-effectiveness of moissanite makes it an attractive option for engagement rings, wedding bands, and other fine jewelry pieces.

Color and Clarity

Moissanite's color and clarity are also remarkable features. While most natural diamonds contain slight imperfections known as inclusions, moissanite is generally eye-clean, meaning it has no visible flaws to the naked eye. This high level of clarity ensures a pristine appearance, further enhancing its beauty and allure.

When it comes to color, moissanite is typically near-colorless, with a grading of G-H on the diamond color scale. Some moissanite stones may exhibit a slight yellow or greenish tint, but this is generally difficult to detect, especially when set in jewelry. Overall, moissanite's color and clarity make it an excellent choice for those seeking a gemstone that closely resembles a high-quality diamond.

Customization and Design

Moissanite's versatility extends to customization and design options. Jewelry designers and consumers alike appreciate the flexibility that moissanite offers when creating unique pieces. Whether you desire a classic solitaire engagement ring, an intricate vintage design, or a modern and minimalist setting, moissanite can be tailored to suit your preferences.

Moissanite's brilliance and fire can elevate any design, making it a favored choice for both traditional and contemporary jewelry creations. Its exceptional light performance allows it to sparkle and shine in a variety of settings, from elaborate halo designs to sleek, understated bands.

The Emotional Connection

Ultimately, the choice between moissanite diamonds and natural diamonds often comes down to personal preferences and values. While natural diamonds have a rich history and tradition associated with them, moissanite offers a modern, ethical, and affordable alternative without compromising on beauty or durability.

For many couples, the emotional connection and symbolism of an engagement ring or wedding band are more important than the stone's origin. Moissanite allows them to express their love and commitment with a gemstone that aligns with their values while still capturing the essence of eternal beauty.

Conclusion

Moissanite diamonds have emerged as a dazzling and ethical alternative to natural diamonds, capturing the hearts of many discerning consumers. Their remarkable brilliance, environmental sustainability, affordability, and versatility in design make them a compelling choice for engagement rings, wedding bands, and fine jewelry. Whether you're drawn to moissanite for its ethical considerations, financial advantages, or simply its mesmerizing beauty, it's clear that moissanite diamonds have earned their place in the world of fine jewelry as a shining symbol of love and commitment.

[a-robots-portfolio]

LeT's ReViEw *cough cough* Today in Coaching we talked about looking back on the work of our previous term, and dropping some commentary on that. So hereby, my worst and best works respectively (in my opinion) and the comments I garnered:

First off: Little Red Riding Hood. This one was easy to critique: it sucked. I rushed it and it shows, since it lacks clear storytelling and the framing isn't half an interesting as it could have been. Sure you can see it's a wolf, but that's about where it ends. In future I'd like to experiment more with dynamic and interesting perspectives and poses, as well as just... better storytelling in the image. More fear, more drama, more eMoTiOn. That whole thing.

Alrightly, this one. I loved it, so my critiques here are less intense. I could've messed more with the lighting, perhaps. Overall, the colouring I'm very happy with, the story is very clear in the contrasts of blood and yellow police tape, and the materials were out of my comfort zone which is always a big plus (when it works out, of course).

That's about all I've got for now, so I'll leave it at that *salutes dramatically* cya.