#I understand that Victor didn’t want the second creature to hurt others | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

missmarquin · 4 years ago

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Wild, Interlude: Tiger

Yuri on Ice | Otabek/Yuri, Victor/Yuuri | Fantasy/Fairytale AU |

This is the story of a nomad and the unusual tiger that he meets, and how relationships can be built on something far more meaningful than just words.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

This is the second part to Wild, my current Otayuri Fairytale!

Read on AO3 for better formatting! And don’t forget to follow me on Twitter! :D

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Interlude: Tiger

Nikolai Plisesky wasn’t the kind of man to go down without a fight. The chase had been long and arduous, but satisfying in a way. His old bones ached, but he felt more alive than he had in decades, his entire being brimming with energy. He teetered at the edge of that power, blood on fire and hands tingling, ready to explode. Magic was like that sometimes. Wholly consuming, itching to be released.

“Think you’ve won, have you?” Nikolai yelled, chest heaving as his breath puffed out in clouds before him. Winter was bitter cold in Rus, even when you were used to it. “Do you think that this is the end just because you’ve backed me into a corner? Ha!”

“That’s it, old man,” said a voice from behind. Willful. Cocky. Young and inexperienced. Really, the child had no idea who it was that he dealt with. Part of Nikolai pitied him, for it wasn’t his fault that the Crown had sent him to meet his end.

Nikolai finally turned to meet the other sorcerer face to face, throwing his hands up in a motion of peace. And to be prepared, just in case he had to weave a quick spell. “You’ve found me,” he said.

The younger man was typical really, with wild, unkempt hair and dark eyes just the wrong side of mad. Black sorcerers, Nikolai mused with a grimace. Nasty bunch. “It was a good hunt,” the man said to him. “I thank you for not entirely wasting my time.”

“Get it over with, then,” Nikolai said back. They stepped closer to each other in tandem, closing the distance between them. “Put me out of my misery.”

“Oh you have it all wrong,” the other man said. At that, Nikolai paused, eyes slowly narrowing. He hesitated. “I’m not here to get rid of you,” the black sorcerer continued, “I’m here to bring you back.”

“I won’t do it anymore,” Nikolai said. “Forty years of doing their bidding and I’ve done a lot of questionable things. I’ve grown weary of hurting others and I draw the line at outright murder.”

“You know too much.”

“Which is how I know that they would never ask me to work for them again. So do it then, put an old man out of his misery,” Nikolai said.

The man looked cocky, mouth spread wide into a shit eating grin. Nikolai hated it; to be hunted down and ended by such a brat. It was an unbecoming end for a man as powerful as he.

“Where’s the fun in that?” the sorcerer asked him. “Where’s the satisfaction? No, I like my plan far better. You’ll live on as they curse your name. All you’ll be able to do is relive those memories as you are paraded around like a pet.” His fingers crackled with energy as he took his stance.

A well-recognized spell. “That’s it, boy?” Nikolai asked him with a booming laugh. “That’s all that you have? What will you turn me into?”

“You underestimate me,” the boy replied. “This isn’t a curse upon just you, but also every generation that will come henceforth. You are nothing but a beast, and so a beast you shall be. Shackled and paraded around, as will your kin to follow for the rest of time.”

“Or until the curse is broken,” Nikolai said. “There’s always a work around.” But still, Nikolai worried; a curse on a family line was high level magic.

“It’s too late, Nikolai,” the man said. “You can’t escape this time. The Crown considers this a mercy, really. You should be thankful.”

Nikolai watched him for a long moment and then he sighed. Nikolai was old and tired-- too tired to keep pushing back against the Crown of Rus. Too tired to push back against anything. He hoped that his daughter would forgive him for his next action. He hoped that his bloodline to come would understand. When he dropped his hands, the sorcerer smiled wide in triumph, as if he’d won.

But then, Nikolai spoke, powerful words that would change the future of the Kingdom and its Crown for a long time to come. Power surged through him as he called upon a counterspell. He felt it well up within him, magic thrumming through his bones. Nikolai didn’t need to fling it with his hands, no, his words held the power alone, as he spoke clearly and concisely.

“I accept your curse, because I am an old and feeble man, but heed my words. I curse the Crown back,” Nikolai said, lips quirking into a smirk as he watched the man pause in his own spell. “I curse this land to fester and rot, and the longer it rots, the further it will spread. I curse for my hatred and anger to sink deep into the soil, leaving in its wake petrified crops and fetid game.

“The Rot can be undone, but only by the hands of my line. You wait and see; Rus will crumble before your eyes and before long, you’ll come crawling back to a Plisetsky to fix it.”

The man’s gaze hardened as he finished his own spell, but Nikolai didn’t care anymore because what was done, was done.

Nikolai laughed and laughed, even as he felt his bones shift and break into something anew, the opposing spell burning through his veins as--

Yuri pulled back like he had been burned, eyes wide and chest heaving.

Seeing was an easy task and one of the first things that a sorcerer learned, but it could leave one tired and chilled to the bone.

“Shh,” Yuri’s mother crooned. Her hands were cool against his forehead, as she smoothed his bangs back. Yuri reached out, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress, trying to find enough purchase to ground himself. “Relax,” she said, leaning over to press her forehead against his. “That’s it, little one.”

Then she pulled back, moving to grasp Yuri’s face gently between her hands. “You are young, but old enough to learn,” she said to him. “Old enough to try and understand why we are here, and why we have to stay.”

They lived in the harem at the palace Rus, but his mother wasn’t one of the ladies, she was a servant. Low of station, low of rank. Quietly forgotten, despite her heritage and abilities. Despite their proud bloodline. It was meant to be an insult. The women housed there had always been kind though-- sympathetic even-- and they doted on Yuri as well, even if he didn’t get along with the other children.

He preferred to be alone.

And then there was his grandfather. The Pet.

Yuri turned to where his grandfather sat next to them. He wasn’t scared, not like the ladies of the harem. Even though Yuri had never known him as a man, he knew him. His mother had made it known that the lion wasn’t actually a lion at all, but holder of their name and magic. The man who had taught his mother everything that she knew, and in turn Yuri. His family.

Growing up, Yuri had accepted it, but never truly understood. Now he did, eyes burning as rage welled up within him. Young enough to have child-like innocence, but old enough to be told. Old enough to learn.

Old enough to feel the pain.

“Yurochka,” his mother said, and he looked back to her. “Do you understand?” she asked him.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“And you understand that this is my fate as well, yes?”

“Yes,” Yuri said.

She paused before saying, “As will it be yours, in time.”

Yuri’s eyes darkened in anger. His mother didn’t judge him though, she only pressed a hand to his cheek, smoothing her thumb over the soft skin there.

“I’ll stop it,” he said to her.

His mother smiled at him then, patting his cheek. She didn’t believe him, Yuri realized. She wanted to, and maybe she had said the same thing when she was young, only to be thrown into the harem as a servant instead. She had never gotten the chance and she didn’t think that Yuri would either.

Yuri was determined though; he was determined to end this, to right the wrongs that had been done to them. He turned to his grandfather once more, who was sitting on his haunches next to him, russet fur gleaming in the low lamplight. Honey-colored eyes look back at him, burning softly like soul-fire.

Yuri reached out, sweeping his fingers along the lion’s powerful jawline. Then he pressed his forehead against his grandfather’s, fingers moving to slip into his mane. “I’ll fix it, Grandpa,” he said, tugging at the fur gently, before combing through it. “I’ll end it, I promise.”

There was a low rumble in Nikolai’s throat, as moved his snout, nuzzling the side of Yuri’s face. Acknowledgement and agreement. Maybe annoyance or disappointment; it was hard to tell.

Yuri sank into the earthen scent of the lion, not really caring what his grandfather thought in the end.

He’d made a promise and he always held those true.

When Yuri was fourteen, his grandfather died.

Like every day before, they had said their good nights. Nikolai then nestled into the soft pad of pillows that he’d been allotted, chained to the far corner. Yuri slid into a cot with his mother. It was cramped, but Rus had bitter winters, the kind that killed with their cold. And even if a bit embarrassing, it was easier, tucked next to her, radiating heat as they tried to sleep through the frigid night.

When Yuri woke the next morning, he was warmer than usual, cuddled against something soft. His nose was tickled by musky smelling fur, but it was so warm that he just wanted to sink into the comfort of it--

He opened his eyes blearily, because something was wrong.

Yuri was tucked in next to an unusual cat, its body stretched out lithely beside him. It had soft red-brown fur, speckled with black spots. Dread settled deep as Yuri pushed it away, before he shot upright in the cot. There was an angry yowling sound, but then it cut off.

The creature paused, looking around, before dropping its gaze to its paws. It shifted from side to side, like it was testing its gait, stumbling slightly like a newborn kitten. Its ears stood tall, pointed tips ending in soft tufts. They twitched, as the cat’s face screwed up slightly, shaking its head, whiskers fluttering as it tried to gain its bearings.

The pit in Yuri’s stomach just fell deeper and deeper. Then the cat looked at him, eyes green like the rolling grasslands, but sad and knowing because--

His grandfather was dead, and his mother had fallen to the curse.

There was a commotion as one the concubines came into space, screaming at the sight of the unknown animal. Yuri’s mother hissed at the sound, darting to the side wildly. She was uncoordinated, not used to her low stature or walking on four legs instead of two.

But then there was a gasp, as the woman’s eyes roamed the room, before falling to the corner where the lion lay dead. A hush fell across everything as Yuri’s mother padded across unsteadily, stopping just before the long chain across the ground. She leaned over and butted at Nikolai’s face, but the lion didn’t budge. Or breathe.

His mother made a pitiful sound and the concubine covered her mouth in horror as she realized exactly what had happened.

Nikolai Plisetsky wasn’t a secret within the palace. His fate had never been explicitly stated, but everyone knew. Why else would you chain up a lion and call it Izmennik?

Eventually, guards came to take his grandfather away. His mother shrieked at them, hissing as they began to haul him off. Yuri just watched silently, quietly, hands folded in his lap as he sat on the cot.

The death of his grandfather hurt, but as much as Yuri had loved him, he hadn’t truly known the man, not like Anya Plisetsky.

It hurt more to see what had been done to his mother.

Barely a day had passed when Yuri was shuffled out of the harem by a palace guard.

He didn’t want to go quietly, but he also knew what would happen if he fought back. So he walked alongside quietly, head held high and fists clenched tightly at his side. He wouldn’t show weakness, no matter how tired he was, or how red-rimmed his eyes were.

Yuri was led into an opulent sitting room, trimmed with the finest of furs and silken furniture. Gold gilded the ornate crown moldings and granite floors were polished with such perfection, that Yuri could see his face in a clear reflection.

When the crown prince of Rus swept in, Yuri realized exactly where it was that he stood. This was the parlor of Victor Nikiforov himself. Yuri had seen the king more times than he could count, half-drunk and stumbling through the harem rooms in various states of dress, but this was his first time ever meeting his son properly. Victor didn’t peruse the harem to Yuri’s knowledge.

Victor was talking to a personal guard, a man of relatively slight build and feathery black hair. The guard was flustered, glasses slipping down his face slightly before he moved to adjust them, but he nodded along as Victor spoke a furlong a minute.

Victor paused when he caught sight of Yuri, cocking his head to the side.

“Why are you standing?” he asked, visibly confused. “Sit, sit! There’s a seat for a reason.”

Yuri didn’t at first, staring awkwardly at the armchair next to him. Victor sighed, running a hand through his silvery hair as he fell into the one opposite him.

“Please, have a seat,” Victor said, a polite and formal request this time.

This time, Yuri did as he was told.

The guardsman flanked Victor, moving to stand behind him. A servant brought over a samovar and tea cups, arranged neatly on a tray. Yuri eyed it warily, but Victor paid him no mind, motioning for the servant to pour them each a cup. Yuri watched as milk was added before the cup was handed to him. He took it carefully between his hands, because the gilded porcelain was likely worth more than his pathetic life.

“I understand that you are hurting,” Victor said to him.

Yuri knew the rules and stared at the liquid swirling around in his cup instead of looking up. He could feel Victor’s gaze on him, running the length of his figure. Then the prince sighed again, not out of annoyance, but out of exhaustion.

Yuri was surprised by that.

Victor decided to try another tactic. “What is your name?” he asked.

“Yuri,” he said clearly, and probably with more diction than the prince would expect. A dumb thought, because the Plisestky’s were educated and once even renowned. Their fall hadn’t affected that one bit, not with his mother’s insistence of learning to read and write, and speak like a person worth something.

“Yuri,” Victor said. “Please look at me.”

Yuri did. Victor sat across from him in all of his princely finery, fingers curled gently around his own little teacup. His face was finely made, with high cheek bones and a well-cut jawline. His hair sparkled like silver moonlight.

But his face was sad. He regarded Yuri with genuine sympathy and for a fleeting moment, Yuri thought that maybe the some within the Nikiforov line weren’t as bad as he’d been led to believe. But that couldn’t be. It had to be wrong. His grandfather wouldn't have lied to him.

The things that he had seen had been true.

Still, Victor cut an odd picture as a whole and it put Yuri on edge.

Always watch for the kind ones, Yurochka. Sometimes they are the nastiest of them all.

For once in his damn life, Yuri decided to listen to his mother’s advice.

“Things will change in the harem,” Victor said. “With your…” The prince trailed off, before he settled on, “Your mother’s primary function was to protect the women of the harem.”

Yuri cocked his head to the side at that and before he could stop himself, he blurted, “My mother was a servant.”

Victor let out a small laugh. “Yes, well, that is true. But she was also a carefully trained and highly skilled sorceress. Despite your grandfather’s indiscretions, your mother hadn’t done anything wrong. We offered her the honor of at least redeeming part of the Plisetsky name.”

They hadn’t offered her anything. The crown had forced her into servitude, but Yuri wasn’t dumb enough to accuse them of that outright. He took a sip of his tea instead, fingers so tight around the handle of his cup that his knuckles were white.

Victor watched him carefully and then said, “Which brings me to why I’ve brought you here. I understand that you are grieving and I wish that I could have waited, but--” He paused, leaning over to serve himself more tea.

Yuri wasn’t sure what surprised him more, the fact that he did it himself or that he handed the cup off to his guard. The quaint man behind him accepted it quietly. Sharing his teacup with an underling, how absurd.

But Victor didn’t look remotely phased, folding his hands across his lap as he looked to Yuri again.

“Your mother was the primary bodyguard of the harem,” Victor said to him. “We both know that that isn’t the case anymore, regrettably.” Victor didn’t seem regretful about it, not really. Only that his grandfather had passed away and that Yuri was grieving. “Which is where you come in.”

“Me?” Yuri asked, a little bit indelicately.

“Yes. Surely she was teaching you?”

Yuri hesitated. His mother had and even his grandfather to an extent, showing him what he could with sight. Yuri was good, fantastic even, well beyond decent and mediocre. He was a force to be reckoned with.

That being said, it wasn’t like they were public with these little lessons. The women in the harem weren’t known for being quiet, but they’d treated his mother kind and often turned a blind eye. Now it made sense. They protected their protector, even if it was only in a small and quiet sort of way.

Yuri had newfound affection for the concubines that occupied the harem.

“Yes,” Yuri finally said, knowing that there was no point in lying.

“Good,” Victor said with a nod. “Then you will assume her position.”

Yuri blanched at that, because that meant only one thing. “Aren’t men who work in the harem-- um--”

Victor blinked and thought for an excruciatingly long moment, baffled. Yuri could feel himself turn bright red, as he motioned vaguely to his crotch with supreme embarrassment. Ridiculous, Yuri thought, that it would be his main concern.

“Oh!” Victor said, mouth popping open into a small little circle. “Oh. Well, yes, usually.” Yuri felt himself squirm at the word usually, and Victor must have seen it because he immediately continued with, “But not in your case, I would think. You’re still young.”

“And virile,” Yuri said testily, unable to help himself.

The guard behind Victor still held his cup, but stood alert at the casual comment. The prince waved it off with a small laugh. “I have no doubt, Yuri.” And then Victor leaned forward in his chair, a shadow falling over his face as his expression changed just the slightest bit. “Surely, you know what the punishment for sleeping with a member of the harem is, yes?”

The crown prince didn’t look like an awkward goofball anymore; Victor looked like a wolf carefully stalking its prey, entirely at ease with slipping into the role quickly and efficiently.

Yuri swallowed. Yes, he knew the punishment. He’d seen it carried out in person. “Death,” he said.

Victor’s mouth curved into a cruel looking smile. “Yes, death. You would be no exception to that, do you understand?”

“I have no interest,” Yuri finally said. It was true. Even at fourteen, there’d never really been the desire to seek out one of the ladies and fall into her arms. In fact, Yuri had never posed much interest in anyone for that matter. Not the luscious curves of the concubines, or even the taut and hardened muscles of the men that stood outside the Pavilion entrance.

Victor looked at him, really looked at him, eyes sweeping over his form as he searched for a lie. Then he leaned back again, goofy little smile plastered across his mouth again as his more cheerful persona returned.

“I believe you,” Victor told him. “Your mother has served our ladies well. I trust that you will do the same.”

“Of course,” Yuri said, “but there’s a condition.”

Everyone in the room paused and Yuri cursed his stupid, dumb mouth for its impulsiveness. The man behind Victor held his cup in one hand, the other already on his sword, thumbing the hilt from its sheath in a maneuver so quick, that Yuri wondered where the bumbling fool with glasses slipping down his nose had gone.

Victor put his hand up. The guard paused, his almond shaped eyes narrowing slightly. “No, I’m curious,” he said. “Go on Yuri, speak freely.”

Well then. The prince had given him a rare opportunity to speak his mind, so Yuri took it for all that it was worth.

“Promise me that I’ll never have to see your naked ass streaking through the Pavilion. His Royal Majesty is bad enough and I could live an entire life without seeing you as well.”

Victor’s lips curled into an amused smile. “You won’t have to worry about that, I think.”

Yuri didn’t quite understand, but the prince didn’t seem annoyed one bit. It seemed more that found the mere thought of it funny.

“Yuuri will escort you back to the Pavillion,” Victor then said, waving towards the guard. For a moment Yuri was confused, because that wasn’t how his name was pronounced and the inflection was all wrong. He knew that he wouldn’t ever be allowed to go anywhere within the palace alone.

But then the guard let out a soft sigh from behind Victor. He rounded the chair, placed the teacup by the samovar carefully and then turned to Yuri.

“After you,” he said quietly as he motioned to the door. Yuri had known that the man was a foreigner, but his accent wasn’t something he’d ever fathomed. His mouth curled around Russian with elegance, everything carefully pronounced.

Not very guard like and more like an educated nobleman.

Yuri stood from the chair and placed his cup down as well, but then paused. “Actually, I do have a serious request, if you’d allow it.” Victor motioned for him to continue. “Can I get a zoology book or something? Whatever my mother turned into… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Victor was surprised by the request, blinking slowly as he considered then. Then he said, “I think I can manage that. Yuuri, if you please?”

Yuuri nodded slightly and they both looked to Yuri. Waiting. Right. Yuri bowed with an exaggerated flourish, because he had the distinct feeling that it would probably piss off Victor. And Yuri, being an admitted brat, just couldn’t help himself.

Victor huffed out a little laugh, but Yuuri’s mouth tightened the tiniest bit. There it was again, that tiny little crack in his shy, nervous demeanor. Yuri didn’t know how, but he could tell that Yuuri was the kind of man one shouldn’t cross, which was probably why he had been handpicked as the personal guard for the prince.

Yuri shot the guard an insufferable grin. “After you,” he said, motioning to the door.

Yuuri regarded him coolly, before he pressed a hand against the hilt of his sword casually.

Right. Yuri shouldn’t piss the man off. He left the room first, Yuuri close on his heels.

“Are the women tucked away?” Yuri asked.

Georgi’s mouth tugged into a frown, like he was offended that Yuri had even bothered to grace his presence. Yuri shot him a nasty glare right back, because even if Georgi was part of the prince’s guard, Yuri technically held a position higher than him. If you squinted.

But he was also a Plisetsky, so it didn’t fucking matter.

Eventually, Georgi answered, looking down at him from atop his horse. “Yes, they are.”

Yuri huffed in annoyance, but bit back a retort. There wasn’t a point in fighting with the man. “Alright then,” Yuri said, grabbing the reins of his own Bashkir. He pulled himself up elegantly, knowing that it would piss of Georgi.

Once rabble, always rabble, was the man’s generously used motto, and it didn’t matter that Victor expected him to behave. Georgi did, he just did so with complaint.

“I’ll fall back,” Yuri said. “Ride alongside the carriage. You stay up here. As long as we’re alert, we should be fine. Especially with that idiot up there.”

“Watch your mouth,” Georgi snapped. “That’s His Royal Highness.”

Yuri smiled back at the man, amused and not caring one bit. Of course it was Victor; The crown prince insisted on overseeing even the most innocuous missions personally, to his detriment even. He was a never ending annoyance for his royal guard, and it was the one thing that Yuri liked about the man.

Yuri also knew that despite Georgi’s threats, he wouldn’t actually do anything. The curse of the Plisetsky name came with nasty sneers and name-calling, but it also with a weird brand of protection. There wasn’t any point in harming him. Eventually the curse would get him. And because of Rus’ fucked up sense of revenge, that meant more.

So, Yuri pushed the limits when he was in the mood. Georgi’s dour demeanor never failed to put him there.

Finally, Georgi let out a long sigh. “Do what you will,” he said. “But heed your own words and keep alert. I know it’s been years since you’ve left the palace proper, so don’t get distracted by the grandeur of Rus.”

“Grandeur,” Yuri repeated. “Right.”

The thing about it was there was no grandeur in their homeland, not anymore. Not since his grandfather had cursed the land to rot away until their name was redeemed. Yuri had never seen the worst of it, but there were little signs.

A tree, pitted with black rot and decay. Festering patches of bare prairie, where grass refused to grow. Occasional game, walking stilted and stuttered and foaming at the mouth, until a bowman shot it dead.

Grandeur.

Yuri drove his horse around, doubling back to trot alongside the carriage. Concubines didn’t usually leave the Pavilion, but Victor was travelling west to settle a dispute with the neighboring Khaganate. Yuri didn’t like the idea of bargaining with the lives of women, but he had no say in the matter.

And so, the three most beautiful had been picked, dressed in finery and loaded into a carriage to head West. To head to their doom. Or grace. Yuri didn’t pretend to know anything about the Khan, or the kind of man that he was aside from the knowledge that he liked women and alcohol. Yuri flashed a look at the second carriage, chock full of their finest vodka.

Three days on the bumpy road, and Yuri hoped that it wouldn’t be for naught. His ass was sore from the saddle, he hadn’t slept well and he was exhausted. And there was still a week left, if everything went their way.

A horse parted from the front of their group, winding back. Victor’s personal guard, whom he irritably, shared a name with. Yuri was still annoyed by that, even a few years later.

“Boy,” Yuuri said. Boy. He said it softly, lips curling around the accented word. It was condescending as hell, but Yuri knew better than to comment on it. Of all the men in Victor’s cadre, Yuuri was by far the most deadly. His calm and unassuming demeanor belied his carefully honed skill, and Yuri had learned a long time ago that it wasn’t worth poking the hornet’s nest with a stick.

Yuri looked at him but didn’t bother answering. Yuuri looked tired, dark shadows under his thin rimmed glasses, but he held himself straight and relatively alert.

“His Royal Highness is concerned about bandits,” Yuuri said. “Will you send her to scout ahead?”

“He has the power to command her himself,” Yuri said to him, sounding only a little bit bitter.

Yuuri blinked slowly, before straightening in his saddle, hand slipping to his sword hilt casually. It wasn’t a threat; it was something Yuuri did when he was annoyed. Yuri being cross with him was always at the top of the list.

“You know as well as I do that she won’t listen to him.” A pause and the downturn of his lips. “Even if is expected.” The because he’s the crown prince was unspoken, but Yuuri leveled him with a heavy stare.

Yuri was the one to eventually back down, waving his hand. “Fine, fine, I’ll send her ahead. But next time, he rides his ass back here to tell me himself.”

“Boy,” Yuuri warned. There was the tiniest crack in his carefully crafted shell, and Yuri wondered if he’d finally pushed just a little too far. But Yuuri didn’t say anything else.

“Pah, whatever.”

Yuuri’s hand left his sword, but he watched him for an uncomfortable length of time, calculated and pondering. Just as Yuri was about to say something, the guard turned away, leading his horse back to the front.

Yuuri was a mystery. He was from the east, could read, write and speak Russian with impressive ease, and Yuri wasn’t sure that his shy and demure attitude wasn’t entirely an act. At the same time, he was a highly trained soldier with skill unlike Yuri had ever seen.

Being a Plisetsky was likely the only reason that Yuuri hadn’t killed him yet, with as much as he willfully disrespected Victor. There wasn’t any point in dwelling on it.

Yuri left out a loud whistle. A moment passed before a lynx came running from the underbrush to the east. Short in stature, but fast and quick, with thick and powerful legs of russet fur and black spots. The lynx moved to walk along side the company as they moved on, stretching its legs out.

He looked down and said, “Mom.”

Her large ears twitched as she regarded him, green eyes expressive and aware. Yuri sighed at the sight because he hated seeing her like this, reduced to such a thing, as magnificent a creature she was.

“His Royal Pain in the Ass is worried about trouble. Will you scout ahead and see if you can sniff anything out?”

His mother let out an amused huff at the nickname and then with one last little shake of her hind paw, she shot back into the brush.

Yuri stared after her, before turning his attention back to the slow crawl of their company. The carriage rolled alongside him noisely. Soldiers joked from behind, and if he squinted, Yuri could see Victor far ahead atop his horse, Yuuri just a hairsbreadth away.

Yuri let out a long and tired sigh, settling in the rest of the day.

Yuri was yanked awake. His mother hissed by his head, his sleeve ripping slightly as she pulled harshly at it. Yuri was still half-asleep, batting at her blindly. His mother let go of him to hiss properly, before biting at his shoulder.

“Okay!” he snapped, sitting up, trying to rub away the sleep in his eyes. “Okay, I’m--”

Their camp was in chaos. Yuri could hear the slide of cold steel as soldiers barked orders around them. And then more yells in a rural dialect, clearly not their men.

“Shit,” Yuri hissed, throwing his blanket back and jumping to his feet. His mother bit at his heels, trying to urge him to move on. “I know,” he snapped. She wouldn’t like it, but he would would deal with it later. Yuri had one job and one job only, and it was to help prevent exactly this kind of thing.

Despite the din around them and the camp alight with fighting, the carriage seemed unharmed when he reached it. Victor’s guards were mostly meatheads, but they had proven themselves somewhat worthy, as whoever had attacked their company hadn’t made it far into the camp.

Yuri threw the door open to double check. The three women cowered together in the corner, but were unharmed. “Stay here,” he told them. “Do not leave, no matter what you hear out there. Do you understand?” One nodded, the older one with pretty red hair, and all three stayed wisely quiet. Yuri let out a sigh, before pulling back and closing the door to the carriage.

He turned to come face to face with Yuuri, whose face was dark with a dangerous look, hand clasped tightly around a sword.

“Victor has disappeared,” he said to him, and Yuri barely processed that Yuuri had called the prince by his first name, not his title. His mouth parted, but Yuuri cut in. “Boy! Have you seen him?”

“No!” Yuri snapped. “I just woke and I checked on the women. I have no idea where the prince is--”

“We have to find him,” Yuuri said. “Leave the women for now; he’s the priority.”

“He’s not my responsibility,” Yuri said smartly. “In case you forgot, I owe nothing to the crown.”

Yuuri looked at him, eyes narrowed to tiny little slits, lips pulled into a thin line. He looked dangerous, treacherous even, and Yuri wasn’t stupid. Yuri knew that his head could be gone with a simple movement, rolling across the pavement as Yuuri slid his blade back into the sheath at his side.

But then, there was something that cracked there, a slip in that perilous facade. “I don’t ask for the crown, I ask for myself. Help me find Victor, please.”

Yuri blinked at that. He’d never heard Yuuri say please, let alone speak in such a pleading tone but--

“Fine,” Yuri said, and he hoped to high hell that Yuuri wouldn’t forget it. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Yuuri surprised him by reaching out and grabbing his wrist gently between his cold fingers. “A favor,” he said to him. “I’ll owe you a favor. Anything within reason.”

Yuri stared at him for a beat, before yanking his hand away. “Whatever. Bandits, I presume?” Yuuri nodded, hand falling back to his side. “You go that way and I’ll head the opposite. Maybe Victor hasn’t been dumb enough to pick a fight.”

Judging by Yuuri’s pinched expression, it was more likely than not. Suddenly, Yuuri’s constant attention and close handedness made since; if he didn’t play babysitter so well, the prince would have died years ago with all the trouble he found himself in.

Yuri darted to the left, already conjuring a spell just in case. Energy crackled at his fingertips, ready for a moment’s notice. He told himself that he didn’t actually care about Victor. He didn’t. The prince was an insufferable man, prone awkward bouts of childlike innocence, but Yuri knew better.

Victor was heavily underestimated, incredibly manipulative and freakishly smart. People called him charming, irresistible and loyal. Yuri called him insufferable.

But, despite everything the Plisetsky’s were known for, he’s treated them with an odd brand of dignity that hadn’t gone unnoticed by the court. They had to find Victor soon, because if he wound up dead, who knew what would happen then?

Or what Yuuri would do in retaliation, and honestly, that was a far more terrifying thought.

Yuri skirted the the camp. Their company wasn’t big and it seemed like the bandits weren’t numerous either. Ther camp was chaos, but only because they’d been caught unaware in the middle of the night, not because they were outnumbered.

“Well looksie here,” a man said, just a little too loudly in a rough, rural dialect. Yuri’s head snapped to the side and he ducked, crawling closer. “We thought you were just some merchants, but it looks like we’ve pulled a noble from his bed.”

Shit.

Yuri can just see Victor from his position where he was hidden. The prince was half dressed, but at least armed, holding a decorative sword that was worth more money than the cost of a house. Wisely, Victor didn’t correct the man’s assumption, only held out his blade.

“If you just leave, I won’t kill you,” Victor said. “I’ll even let your men go with you.”

The bandit was an older man, oily hair tied back and his thin body swallowed by threadbare clothing. “Nah, I don’t like that deal. I’d rather off you and steal the goods.”

Vitor sighed and held his sword out, taking a simple form, and Yuri was surprised to find that he seemed to know what he was doing. “Last chance,” Victor said to him. “I really don’t like to hurt people.”

The bandit spat at him and lunged forward. Victor met him in the middle, swords shrieking off of each other before he deflected the blow to the side. Victor was good, practiced even, and he wondered if he sparred with Yuuri. The bandit seemed just as surprised by his skill.

Yuri crept closer, prepping a spell, fingers jittering with energy. It wouldn’t do any good to jump into the fray unprepared and ill timed, so he waited for the right moment. And waited some more. Victor kept pushing the man back, blow by blow, and Yuri crept inching closer and closer.

And then Victor slipped, his boot sliding along a rotted piece of ground, slick with putrid soil and grass. He stumbled and the bandit smiled, raising his sword to take advantage of the moment.

There was no way that Yuri would be fast enough, even with his spell at the ready. The bandit was already closing in, blade parallel as he cut into Victor’s side.

A large blur jumped into the fray, yowling and hissing as it launched into the bandit. Yuri blanched, watching as his mother sunk her fangs deep into the man’s arm. The bandit cursed, trying to shake her off. She eventually lost her grip, dropping to the ground between him and Victor.

Yuri clambered over to the prince as his mother stalked between them and the bandit. They both hesitated, pacing opposite each other.

“I’m fine,” Victor grit out when Yuri reached his side, pale faced and holding a hand to his wound. It bled badly.

“I told Yuuri that I’d make sure you’d get back to him,” Yuri snapped, pulling at his hand, trying to get a better look.

There was something in Victor's expression that softened a bit, something that made Yuri want to pause, but it wasn’t the time for that. “It’s not that bad,” Victor said. “Go help her--”

Yuri was already turning, already prepping a counter spell, about to throw out bolts of lightening to help, but--

They were on the ground, tussling. The bandit had dropped his sword and swapped it for a hunting dagger; a better choice for close combat. His mother had lost the advantage and despite being more powerful, the bandit managed to slip the knife deep between her ribs.

“No!” Yuri yelled.

She didn’t go down without a fight though. With renewed vigor, she jumped high, clamping her jaw around the bandit’s neck, yanking. His shriek was cut off as he fell back to the ground, thrashing and gurgling.

Anya backed off and they all watched the man choke on his blood. Then she swayed slightly, falling to her side. Yuri found his footing just enough to run to her. She breathed shallow and rattling breaths, blood pooling from her mouth.

“No,” Yuri cried, pressing his fingers into her scruff. Her green eyes were clouded with pain as she looked to him and she let out a pitiful sound. Then her eyes slipped closed. “No, no, no,” Yuri said, shaking her. “Wake up. Mom, you can’t, you can’t--”

She was already gone, her chest still. Yuri felt tears slip from his eyes, but he refused to sob, wiping at his face angrily. He was a man grown, and men didn’t cry, they didn’t, they didn’t.

If he had only been a little quicker, a little faster, more prepared; then he might have been able to save her.

Yuuri burst into the scene, sword aloft and ready, immediately startling at the sight of Victor on the ground, pale and bleeding. Then his gaze fell across Yuri, who leaned over his mother, fingers stroking through her blood soaked fur.

And then, something struck through Yuri, a peculiar sort of sensation. Suddenly, he was hyper aware, pushing away from his mother’s body. He turned to Yuuri, who was leaning over Victor. He had pulled open his shirt to take a look at the damage and judging by the look on his face, it was worse than Victor had let on.

“How bad?” Yuri asked, standing back up and hobbling over to them.

“It’s not--”

“Not good,” Yuuri cut in, pressing his hand harshly against Victor’s side. The prince yelped. “It’s a bleeder and it won’t stop. There isn’t enough time for stitches--”

“Move,” Yuri said to him. Yuuri shot him a look, the one where his face took on a threatening edge.

“Do you want him to die? Move,” Yuri said.

“Boy--”

“I don’t have a lot of time,” Yuri cut in. He could feel it, the curse taking root. His skin prickled and it was like there was a slow-burning fire building in his core. “If you want me to help, I have to hurry.”

“What do you mean, you don’t have a lot of time?” Yuuri asked, resisting when Yuri tried to push past him.

“My mother is dead, which means--” Yuri broke off, annoyed. “Look, I can feel the curse transferring. Let me see, otherwise I won’t be able to help at all.”

Yuuri seemed to finally grasp what he meant and shuffled to the side. Victor was considerably paler than before, sweat beading along his brow. “It’s not that bad,” he said, and Yuri frowned at his instance.

“Stop talking, you idiot. You’ll tire yourself out.”

“That’s Royal idiot, to you,” Victor said, a bit delirious. The cut was fairly deep, but clean. It wouldn’t be hard to fix, but Yuri would have to work fast, because he could feel the magic welling up in him as the curse started to take root.

Victor’s head dipped suddenly and Yuuri caught him.

“Keep him awake,” Yuri said. “I need to focus on this.”

Yuuri shifted to pull him halfway into his lap, leaning over to brush the Victor’s sweaty bangs from his forehead. “Vitya,” he said softly, tapping his cheek lightly. Yuri paused only for a moment, flashing a glance at the two.

Victor mumbled softly, eyes creaking open and Yuuri smiled at him, murmuring something in his native language. Yuri felt like he was intruding, so he turned back to his work, calling forth a spell. He’d always been good at healing, so fixing the wound while a delicate process, wasn’t hard. He just needed to concentrate.

“Yuuri,” Victor sighed, and Yuuri brushed his fingers through his silvery hair, his voice murmuring low in that musical language of his.

The burning underneath Yuri’s skin spread to an itching frenzy. He was almost done, nearly there, just a little bit more. Sweat beaded along his brow as he focused on the delicate work, but it was hard to concentrate with the fire spreading through his veins.

He yelped, surprising Yuuri who flashed him a look of worry. “It’s nothing,” Yuri snapped, but it was everything, it was almost the only thing that he could focus on. Victor’s skin closed over, smooth and pale. He would need water and rest, but he would be fine.

Yuri sat back, grabbing at his arms, nails raking at his skin. “Shit,” he said. “Shit, it burns.”

“Boy--” Yuuri started, but Yuri screamed.

He screamed and screamed and screamed, as the fire consumed him.

It had taken several hours to pile up and burn the men who had attacked them.

Yuri had never felt so useless in his entire life.

It was an odd thing, walking on four legs. His entire center of gravity had shifted and the way that his limbs bent was unfamiliar. The first few steps he had taken, Yuri had fallen right over, tumbling to his side on uneven feet. Yuuri had tried to help right him, but he’d hissed in return, mouth moving awkwardly around a mouthful of fangs that he wasn’t used to.

Fur was hot, but also cool, and it was a strange sensation to try and get used to. And the smells. Yuri had never realized how terrible some things smelled, and how overwhelming other things were. Victor still smelled like blood even though he had changed into clean clothes hours ago, and was now resting quietly on a cot in his tent.

Yuri sat on his haunches by his mother, leg twitching awkwardly as he tried to figure out the best position. She was dead on the ground, body ice cold and lifeless. He stared. His eyesight was amazingly good in the dark, and he marveled at just how far he could see-- but she was the only thing that he could focus on.

Boots fell heavily behind him, crunching twigs and leaves along the rotted soil. Yuri smelled him before he saw him, the scent of warm honey and steel. Not what he would have expected, but then again, nothing was expected anymore. The world seemed utterly different now, the colors more intense and sharper. Smells rich and thick, and almost overwhelming.

All of it without his mother.

Yuuri stood next to him for a long moment and then did something unexpected-- he dropped to sit beside him, knees pulled close to his chest and slightly spread, as he rested his arms across them.

He didn’t say anything immediately, the silence companionable. Yuri realized then, that there was so much that he didn’t know about the guardsman. Despite his annoyance at his half demure, half dangerous personality, he didn’t dislike the man. But the extent of his knowledge was that he’d been brought to the court as a child, and that he was incredibly dangerous. That was it.

And now, he couldn’t ask him. He’d never be able to.

Yuri would never ask a person anything ever again.

It was dumb to think that Yuri had wasted his time, maybe, but it was something that weighed heavy on him. He’d gained so much in his transformation, but he’d lost the things that had made him human. As a child, he’d thought the curse would be fun; having the ability to be different, exploring things that you never would otherwise. Napping in pillows the entire day.

But now it felt like torture.

“I will never forget what she did for him,” Yuuri finally said. His voice was quiet and soothing, like soft river water that smoothed over stones. “For Victor. Or you, for that matter. The both of you saved him. So for that, I will never forget.”

Yuri was still figuring out how to express himself in his new form. He shifted slightly next to Yuuri, paws shuffling against the ground. Staring at his mother unblinking. Yuuri did the same.

Then, Yuuri stood and pulled the belt from his waist. He unsheathed his sword, dropping the blade to the ground. Yuuri then held the scabbard vertical and chucked it into the soil, using his foot to dig it in. He leveraged the thing, breaking into the hard earth that wasn’t yet rotted, trying to till it.

Yuuri wasn’t wearing his full uniform anymore. He’d pulled the jacket off and wore only the linen undershirt, half tucked into his pants. He was quiet as he worked at the ground, and Yuri watched in confusion. Then Yuuri dropped to his knees, dragging the sheath forward as he began scooping the earth away.

He was digging a grave, Yuri realized.

Yuri pulled up on unsteady feet and ambled over next to him, using his thick paws and sharp claws to help. The motion was awkward, but he eventually settled into it, and they worked side-by-side to dig a spot big enough to bury his mother.

Yuuri couldn’t lift her easily, but he managed, settling her into the grave gently. He said nothing as they covered her.

Then they stared at the mound in silence. Yuri couldn’t cry. It didn’t matter how much it hurt, tears wouldn’t come. So he just sat there forlornly. Yuuri reached out and pressed a dirty, soiled hand into his scruff, rubbing at it gently.

“Yuri,” he said to him, the first time he’d ever called him by his proper name. It’d always been you or boy. “I’m sorry. For everything. It isn’t fair. Not to her, and not to you.”

Yuri knew that he meant it. Yuuri was the kind of man that didn’t mince his words; everything that he said, was said with intent. In that moment, Yuri didn’t hate him and he saw why the prince was particularly close to this man.

They sat there and watched her grave until the sun rose.

Yuri was bored, he was always bored, but it never seemed like he was aimlessly doing anything. He watched the servants mill about in Victor’s rooms. He watched advisors come and go, and he listened in on their conversations, tail swishing behind him.

Sometimes Yuuri pet him as he knelt beside him, hands combing through his soft fur. Not out of pity, but out of genuine affection.

Loathe he was to admit it, Yuuri had grown on him. It turned out that his quiet demeanor wasn’t an act and he truly was an empathetic man. Just one that could slice a head from a man’s body with barely the flick of his wrist.

Yuri was even more annoyed by the fact that he didn’t hate Victor. He didn’t like him, he barely tolerated him really-- but he didn’t hate him.

And honestly, being chained up in the prince’s personal parlor was better than the harem, despite some setbacks. Like Victor’s intensely passionate relationship with Yuuri. It had come as a shock, but it shouldn’t have, not with how the guard had reacted to Victor nearly dying.

Or the way that he had treated Yuri in the aftermath of saving his life.

Yuuri helped Victor dress that morning. Victor stood half dressed, his jacket still open and chest bared. Yuuri slipped his hand along his side, fingers trailing the pink scar that the bandit had left. Yuri watched in boredom, rolled his eyes as much as a tiger could manage, and then let out a huff.

Both men glanced his way, and Victor laughed. “Alright, alright,” he said, as Yuuri went to button the garment up.

It wasn’t casual, what they had, and it hadn’t been for a long time. They were careful enough, and the servants kept their mouths shut. Victor’s advisors didn’t understand why he wouldn’t take a wife or claim an heir through the harem, but it was only a matter of time until something happened.

The idea didn’t sit well with Yuri. They had worked to hard to keep what they had and while Yuri told himself that his concern was only as someone who didn’t want to deal with Victor in the midst of massive heartbreak-- that wasn’t it. Yuri cared for them, even if it was the tiniest sliver of care that he would never admit to. Ever.

“There, there, Yurio,” Victor said, glancing in his mirror. “All dressed now.”

Yuri hissed at the dumb nickname, but sank into the soft touch of Yuuri’s hand. He knew exactly where to scratch, right behind his ear, and Yuri’s eyes sank half-lidded as he purred lowly. “Let Victor be,” Yuuri said softly. “Let him have that.”

It’s what he always said, so Yuri begrudgingly hadn’t bitten Victor’s hand off yet.

But, as the days wore on, Yuri learned that time flowed differently when you were a tiger.

Servants came and went, as did fashion trends. Victor no longer dressed in blues and silvers, it was now reds and golds, and tassels and chains. Yuri watched the prince dance around a prospective marriage proposal. And then another. And another.

Then one day, he realized that there were silver strands in Yuuri’s soft black hair, and that Victor had soft laugh lines around the corners of his mouth.

Yuri had no idea how much time had passed and it disturbed him greatly.

One night, Victor and Yuuri were having dinner together as they did every night. Yuri was chained up next to them, watching as they laughed and ate. Yuri had been given a meal as well, but he didn’t feel like eating.

He never felt like doing anything lately, it felt like.

Yuuri was the first to notice.

Later, as Victor was dressing down for a bath, Yuuri took the moment to come over to him. Yuri was laying limp, head cradled by his paws as he watched the room with little interest.

“Boy?” Yuuri asked him, nudging Yuri’s side with a slippered foot. When he didn’t answer, Yuuri knelt down to look at him directly. “Yuri?” he asked, the first time he’d used his name proper since Yuri’s mother had died.

Yuri let out a frustrated huff and Yuuri frowned, but didn’t ask what was wrong. It’s not like Yuri could answer him anyhow, not in a traditional sense. Instead, Yuuri just reached out, pressing his fingers into his warm scruff and scratched there for a long moment.

“I wish that I could say that it will get better,” Yuuri finally said to him, “but I don’t like to lie. But know this Yuri; Victor and I care for you.”

Yuri didn’t doubt it. Even as much as they annoyed them with their love-dovey sappiness, or Victor’s childish whining, or Yuuri’s quiet platitudes. Yuri didn’t doubt it one bit, because they didn’t have to treat him the way that they did.

He knew that it wasn’t only because they felt like they owed him something. Over time, things had changed.

Eventually, Victor peeked around the corner, wearing only a robe. When his face fell on them, it fell slightly, lips tugged into a soft little frown as he just watched, Yuuri’s fingers moving through Yuri’s fur with careful intent.

Yuri couldn’t help it, the soft feeling of the touch lulling him slightly. His eyes dipped halfway closed and Yuuri offered him a soft and rare smile.

“That’s it, Yuri. Get some rest.”

He would. Yuuri’s fingers left him as he stood. He heard the hushed murmurs between him and Victor, something something Vitya.

More time passed, weeks melting into each other as Yuri wasted the days away. One afternoon, the advisors of Rus held a small meeting with Victor in his parlor. Yuri lounged along his pillows, sprawled out and belly up as he stretched his back. He only half listened, until certain words caught his ear.

Yuri rolled over onto his stomach as his ears twitched, suddenly more alert.

That day, he learned that seven years had passed.

“Curses!”

Yuri opened an eye groggily, his sight quickly adjusting in the dark room. There was a servant near him, a basket of laundry tucked underneath her arm. She cursed again, trying to make her way through the pitch black parlor.

It was odd, Yuri thought. Usually a few oil lamps remained lit for such a reason.

The woman was young and cute, hair tucked into a neat little braided bun at the base of her neck. Not a new servant, but a kind one who would sneak him extra meat when she brought him his meals. She was trying to find her footing, but Victor wasn’t known for keeping his work tidy. Books and stacks of paper were strewn about with the express demand for them to be left alone.

“Chaos makes the brain work harder,” Victor had once told Yuuri. Yuuri had only sighed in return.

“Oh bother,” the girl sighed, but managed to pick her away across the room. She didn’t even pause to blink in his direction. There had been a time where the servants treated him with apprehension, but over the years he’d gained a reputation for being a lazy pet.

Years. Pet. Yuri hated the mere idea of it.

But then the girl tripped again, ankle curled into his chain as she went down entirely. The chain was pulled taut and Yuri along with it, slightly choked. She wiggled around, trying to free her leg, and the chain tugged a little bit more.

Yuri sat up, trying to move with the chain as she worked herself free.

And then there was a creaking of metal as his collar undid itself. It clattered to the ground, rolling slightly, the chain falling slack. They both paused.

“Oh,” the servant breathed, her eyes snapping to him, like she was suddenly afraid that he might attack her now that he was free.

But Yuri was more concerned with how weightless he suddenly felt, no longer chained down by a heavy metal cuff and lead. They usually checked the collar every once in awhile, but Victor had waved the thought away the last time it was brought up. It must have loosed and the girl tripping over it had pulled it apart entirely.

He stood properly, stretching his long body. She remained frozen to her spot on the floor, eyes as wide as saucers.

Yuri had been given a chance. He could escape into the wild, leave this place and never return. He could be free, instead of chained to the wall, suffering through monotonous routine as he watched everyone else live their lives.

He took a step forward and her voice hitched. She hadn’t meant to, but he was grateful to her. Yuri bent forward and pressed his forehead to hers. He closed his eyes and just felt, trying to show her his thanks.

Her fingers reached up into his fur. “You should go,” she said. “You should get out of here and never come back.”

Yuri pulled away and gave her one last look, before he quietly stalked through the parlor, leaving the girl behind. Everything was quiet in the dead of the night, as Yuri padded through the rooms.

Then he paused at a door, half open, lamplight flickering low beyond it. Hushed voices and murmurs, and Yuuri sighing a soft Vitya. Victor’s quiet laughter in response.

For a brief moment, Yuri wondered if he would miss them. Victor’s dumb antics, but quiet intelligence. Yuuri’s kind words and scritches, well placed when he needed them. Yuuri had once told him that they cared for him together. As a unit.

It wasn’t that it didn’t mean a lot, it was just that his freedom meant more.

Yuri watched the door for a long moment and then turned to the porch. Like most nights, the doors were thrown wide open to let the cool air. Curtains blew gently with a breeze. Yuri’s heart beat heavily as he neared them. Before he could change his mind, counted one, two, three and leapt.

It wasn’t a far jump to the ground.

Yuri was not prepared for the true devastation of The Rot as he made his way south.

Rus wouldn’t be safe for him. Victor wasn’t an unkind man, but he wouldn’t let Yuri roam free either. He’d allowed him freedom to listen in, whenever he held chambers in his private quarters, likely because he had never thought he’d escape.

Yuri was privy to a lot of private things and not above blackmail, even if he cared for them. The knowledge of Yuuri and Victor’s relationship alone was enough to get the guardsman executed with little thought.

Yuri didn’t want to, but he hold those cards close to his chest. Just in case.

The Rot was the worst near the palace at the center of Rus. The earth was dry and craggy, blackened with fetid soil. There weren’t any crops. The game left was insane with madness, tottering around on weakened limbs and foaming at the mouth.

Yuri had heard of the drain on resources, having to import food and crops from elsewhere, but he hadn’t expected this.

The people were worse. Children skinny and thin boned, and tired parents with dry-cracked hands as they tried to till soil that wouldn’t bloom anything.

Yuri knew how to reverse it, but as a tiger he was utterly useless when it came to casting magic. The Plisetsky line would end with him and Rus would tumble down alongside. Yuri wondered if it had been worth it, cursing his grandfather, and he wondered if they regretted it.

He didn’t linger. He pushed further and further south, days bleeding together with the distance that he put between himself and his home. The Rot lessened, patches of decay here and there, but it never disappeared outright.

Eventually, he reached the Steppe, rolling grasslands against a mountainous backdrop.

The Rot was here too, stretching into land that had nothing to do with a vengeful crown and a sorcerer who decided to fight back. For the first time in his life, Yuri was angry at his grandfather, and he pitied Victor.

He had known that the prince had tried to stop it. Victor was also obstinate though, and he already ruffled enough feathers among his court by not marrying or siring an heir. Even with the chance, he wouldn’t have asked Yuri for help.

Yuri sighed, a long breath that ended in a snort.

He would keep going, he decided. He would go further and further until The Rot was no more. It wasn’t his problem.

Yuri was free.

And then he came across a fetid bear and the dumbest nomad alive.

Yuri watched from afar, lazing about atop a stone outcropping as the man tried to reach for another arrow. There wasn’t one, his hand grasping around air. The man cursed before resigning himself to the end of his life.

Really, who hunted this far out with no help? Yuri couldn’t smell another human for miles, so the nomad’s home wasn’t near. He was alone. The bear ambled closer and Yuri sighed, raising up on tired and weary legs.

He was hungry anyway.

The bear was easy prey for a beast like himself, and The Rot only eased it further. Yuri tackled the bear down, claws dipping into his warm body as they raked across it. It’s throat tore easily underneath his mouth. It tasted sick, just slightly foul, but Yuri wouldn’t waste meat.

The bear wasn’t rotted enough to do him any harm, so he ate, tearing at muscle and sinew. Allowing for the nomad to run away and save his sorry hide.

But the nomad didn’t. Instead, he sat and waited. Watched.

When Yuri was done, he sat on his haunches and went about cleaning his paws. He didn’t like the way that blood crusted his fur, so the sooner the better. The nomad finally moved, slinging his bow across his wide shoulders.

Yuri finally looked at him. He was impressive, despite being short, his body broad with well honed muscles. He wore leathers and an embroidered tunic, typical of the clans in these parts. His hair was long on top and tied back with a simple cord, the sides of his head closely shaved. Well cut jawline and a slightly crooked nose, like it hadn’t healed properly after being broken.

Not unappealing. Handsome even.

The nomad turned to leave, but then paused and shot a wary glance to the bear. Yuri followed his gaze. Surely the man wasn’t that stupid, to think that the bear was worth taking with him. Yuri could stomach the fetid meat, but only barely. It wasn’t worth the risk.

The nomad raised his hands, before stepping closer to the bear, and Gods above, Yuri would have to resort to scaring him off. But he didn’t. Not immediately. He only watched.

The nomad then pressed a hand into the pouch at his side and said something. The dialect wasn’t the high class Russian that he’d been taught, but it was similar enough that Yuri understood. A prayer.

Yuri leaned forward in interest, curious as to what the man would do.

He threw the handful of ashes over the bear and thanked it for doing it’s job. Yuri knew that the tribes of the Steppe were a superstitious lot, but the action made him think of something else. A dark and pitiful night long ago, where Yuuri dug a grave for a woman that he didn’t even know, all so she could be laid to peace respectfully.

Suddenly, the nomad was far more interesting than before, if still the dumbest man he’d ever met.

Yuri followed him and the man let him, only noting that he was an odd thing. The nomad didn’t question him, he only accepted the fact that Yuri was quite the unusual tiger. Perhaps he was just as interested in learning about him in return.

So Yuri gave him the honor of his company.

As time wore on, he learned that the nomad wasn’t dumb at all. His name was Otabek and he was kind, patient and intelligent. He didn’t treat Yuri as something to fear, he treated him like a friend. Like a companion.

As an equal.

“Yuri?” Otabek asked, and Yuri was pulled from his thoughts. He’d done a lot of thinking, as of late. Otabek’s hand was already in his scruff, an automatic and practiced motion, as his honey brown eyes regarded him fondly. “We’ll have to go a little bit further today.”

Yuri didn’t know what he hated more-- the slow heat that built in his heart, or the ache that killed it when he remembered that he would forever be a tiger.

Still, Yuri purred under the touch, tail swishing behind him, before he followed Otabek into the snow.

#yuri on ice fanfiction #Yuri on ice #otayuri #otabek and yuri #Otabek/yuri #OtabekAltin/YuriPlisetsky #Otabek Altin #yuri plisetsky #fanfiction #fanfic

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heatherofthenight · 5 years ago

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Reaction to Smurf

As usual I avoided the internet today so I could stew over this season finale without external input. If you’ve come for the (shallow) dish on our poor babies, Deran and Adrian, you’ve come to the right place.

I had the bar set pretty low for the season finale because we’ve had an embarrassment of riches in terms of Adrian propelling storyline this season. Oh, and hot guys getting nekkid (hubba, hubba) and doing normal domestic things together (boop!). So, when viewed through my low-bar lens—I only asked that they not kill Adrian off—the finale was about what I expected.

Shall we begin? *hands Kleenex to shippers*

Deran & Craig & Passports

I was conflicted during this scene; Craig has steadfastly been in Deran’s corner, presumably since they were kids, so it seemed natural to me that Craig was expressing his wishes for his bro to remain in Oceanside but at the same time I was hoping for big bro to step up and be supportive of Deran’s decision to leave. Deran’s response—that Craig and Renn are amazing together and Craig was going to rock the parenting gig—we’re possibly the nicest things Deran has said to his brother, at least within our earshot. It seemed in that moment it was full steam ahead.

Deran & Billy & The Drop

The first sign of trouble for me was when Deran told Billy he was leaving. I thought Blabbermouth Billy would tell someone who would tell Pope or J and bam! One of them would resolve the ‘Adrian problem.’ *raise your hand if you’ve read Mary Shelley’s The Modern Prometheus*; I had literal conniptions while reading this because I thought Victor Frankenstein was leaving his new bride, Elizabeth, unprotected and damned if the Creature didn’t find a way into her room and strangle her…like I predicted. That was where I thought show was going and I wanted to bitch-slap Deran at that point for putting his precious in danger.

Deran & Pope & Home, Sweet, Home

This was the sweetest scene—Pope practically giving Deran permission to leave (you’ve wanted to get away from us since you were a kid) and this on the heels of Deran disclosing to Pope why he needed Adrian to leave (no one thinks Adrian can do prison time unscathed). Pope should’ve gotten away from Smurf’s influence a long time ago because in the few short day/s since she died, he’s seemingly pulled himself together like he could only manage for Lena’s sake. I still (naively) didn’t see a barrier to Deran’s departure.

Deran & Adrian & The Listing Ship

This. Was. Brutal. I understand why Deran had first, and second, and third thoughts about leaving but he had given no indication that we, nor apparently Adrian, saw that he might change his mind. With single mindedness Deran has been all about securing his relationship with his boo this whole season. Yes, Smurf is gone and Pope and Craig say they need him, but what changed for Deran? We wouldn’t know because the writers didn’t address it, at least not to my satisfaction. I’m huge on motive—I don’t always agree with the decisions characters are making but if I can follow why they’re doing things, I can usually fall in line. What happened here?

I’m sure this break-up is supposed to set up Deran’s drama for next season (watching Deran act like a bear with a thorn is his paw because he’s butt-hurt is a blast…not) but I make no bones about being a staunch Deran x Adrian shipper and I thought this was ‘go big, or go home’ time and instead it was meh. Deran caved to peer (brother) pressure? Adrian’s first time admitting he loves Deran is seconds before informing Deran he’s the worst thing that ever happened to him? Where was the sex? The hug? Kiss? Forehead touch?! I would’ve even watched a punch exchanged at this point because passion has defined this relationship. Yes, there was friendship, and history, but Deran’s feelings were so intense that at one point he asked his unstable brother to rough up Adrian’s then romantic interest and this season Deran not only lied to multiple people to protect Adrian but he contemplated taking a baseball bat to a cop and actually killed someone he saw as a threat to his beloved. Adrian going to the car, head down, while Deran imploded on the pier…*snooze*. I think they will always love each other, and we’ll see them together again in the future, but I haven’t figured out how.

Conclusion

Deran’s change of heart was, quite frankly, disheartening. If he left I knew he wouldn’t stay gone but I think I would’ve preferred them riding off into the sunset together and then Deran returning when his brothers had difficulties. No one asked me though which might not be a bad thing because 1) I never get predictions right and 2) show would consist of never ending scenes with actual comfort for the hurt show doles out to its characters.

I admittedly view the series through Adrian’s POV because he’s been the nicest person on the playing board although still no angel; he’s appalled at using children for blackmail leverage, his crimes are pretty low-key when you stack up what we know of his history against The Cody Clan, and he rightly held Deran accountable when he dabbled in creepy behavior—that’s about as close as I can come to syncing with a character on this show. Now his heart is broken and he’s being exiled, by himself, to a foreign county (I miss his flexing biceps, triceps and all-ceps already). Deran’s heart is broken and he is having the shittiest week he’s probably ever had since blowing it with Adrian by being a controlling, creepy stalker. I guess this ‘good-bye for now’ checks the boxes for drama which is show’s mission but I never got my requested make-up sex, cuddles or tears (okay, I got those and now Deran needs your Kleenex...and a hug).

They’ve left the door open for Adrian to come back (thank you for not killing him!) but how? He’s now fled the country (or so we’ve been led to believe) and the statute of limitations on his drug trafficking charges won’t run out for at least five years as far as I can tell—unless show fast forwards into future at conclusion of series I don’t see us, or Deran x Adrian, getting the HEA they deserve. I hope I’m wrong and we see our freckled fuck next season but at the moment I haven’t figured out how it can happen without hand-waving.

Non-Ship Business

I thought Pam would play a part in Smurf’s after life but I didn’t see her being the recipient of Smurf’s riches; if you’re going to kill your main character off, this is a pretty cool idea. Then there’s J and Pope—the new (business) power couple? Angela and Frankie—free to fuck things up? Blabbermouth Billy on the loose? Jake dispensing fatherly advice to Craig? And let’s not forget Smurfette’s lack of nurturing skills with her bambinos. I think next season has potential but please leave a message at the beep because I’m currently mourning the at least temporary break-up of Deran x Adrian. Prove me wrong, show, please! In the mean time, please pass the Kleenex back.

#deran x adrian #deran cody #Adrian Dolan #(shallow) review

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elizabethemerald · 5 years ago

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Stricklakerot - Do not fight over me.

@yellowmagicalgirl Here’s ship 2 of 4! Don’t worry I expended most of my angst on the Jlaire prompt! Not all but most. If anyone has any writing prompts they want, feel free to send me an ask!

Angor Rot has been revived again. He and Strickler are determined to fight for Barbara’s hand. But would she be able to stand beside the victor? “You left me, and then you terrified me, but I never stopped loving you.”

Barbara starred in horror at the ruins of her living room. Almost every single piece of furniture was broken or tossed aside. The trolls fighting to the death in her house fought without any regard for her things. Angor Rot the famed troll assassin pushed Walter Strickler, the changeling spy, away, slamming him into a wall. The impact knocked one of the pictures off the wall, the glass and frame shattered on the ground. She knelt and picked the picture from the broken frame.

Jim’s face, with his goofy smile looked up at her. His smile still looked the same, even with his tusks and horns and blue skin. She smiled back at the picture for a moment then turned at the sound of shattering glass echoed again. Walter had thrown one of his many knives, and Angor had deflected it right through the window. Her smile disappeared.

“Enough!” She screamed. “Enough you two idiots!”

Neither of them even turned to look at her. Focusing to much on the fight they were in. Fine. If they were going to be impossible, they were going to find she could be just as difficult. Barbara put the picture in her pocket then ran to her front door. There in its hiding spot was her knife. The blade glowed green with creeper’s sun. She grabbed the blade and jumped in between the two trolls, the blade carefully resting against her chest. Angor and Walter both froze, their expressions changing from anger to fear as they saw the knife in her hand.

“Careful Barbara! That blade has -” Walter started.

“Creeper’s Sun poison?” Barbara turned to him angrily, keeping the point of the dagger against her skin. “Even the smallest scratch will turn me to stone? Well then you two had better remain perfectly still!”

She had at least gotten their attention. She very carefully moved out from in between them so she could see them both at once. As much as she wanted to stop the needless fighting she didn’t actually want to turn herself to stone from tripping over the rubble.

“You two will both sit down and will talk this out. Now!” She snapped when they hesitated to move. Angor sat down on the couch, which immediately collapsed under his weight. Walter righted a chair that was covered in slash marks and several of his throwing knives sticking out.

“What is there to talk about with this changeling?” Angor said, his voice like two boulders grating together. “He enslaved me! Tried to kill the Haunter, your son!”

“I know his crimes Angor! Just as I know yours.” He fell silent immediately. Barbara continued speaking. “You two are so dedicated to playing the villains in your stories. You’ve both done things wrong. Tried to kill people who wanted to help you. And been successful more often than not.”

Barbara gestured angrily with her knife while she spoke. Walter watched the glowing knife whistle through the air, his eye’s wide.

“I’ve loved you both. I’ve seen the good and the love you have. And you still just want to throw your lives away. You both loved me in return, then decided I shouldn’t be able to love you. You pushed me away. You left me. Tried to convince me that you were these evil creatures by terrifying me.”

Barbara starred at Walter as she used her free hand to pull back the collar of the shirt revealing the narrow pin point scar from one of his knives. Angor glared at the winged changeling, then dropped his gaze in shame when Barbara moved her hand to lift up the edge of shirt, showing the scar on her stomach. Walter tried to glare at the assassin, but couldn’t put much strength behind the look.

“If you are both so dedicated to dying as the evil villain then why don’t I call my son here? He can put both you out of my misery. Or better yet,” She twirled the knife in her hand then slammed it into the coffee table. Her shoulders drooped as the one piece of furniture that had somehow survived the fight immediately turned to stone. “Save my son the trouble and do it yourself.”

Angor immediately grabbed the knife’s handle, but before he could pull it from the stone table Walter put his hand on the pommel.

“What are you doing changeling?” Angor asked. “I tried to kill her. I made every attempt on her son’s life. You should be the one who stays.”

“No it would be far better if you did.” Walter replied. “I tricked her and betrayed her and Jim’s trust. You should be the one survives this.”

“You two are so impossibly stupid.” Barbara said exasperated. “Is this seriously the point you think I was trying to make? Do you seriously think this is some kind of game of who I’m going to love after the other is dead?”

Barbara knocked their hands away from the knife, then pulled it out and flung it into the kitchen. She winced at the sound of something turning to stone. Hopefully she didn’t just turn the fridge to stone. She turned back to face them and grabbed one of each of their hands.

“I love both of you! I’m not going to choose or let you choose who I get to love.” She pressed their stone hands to her cheeks. Troll skin felt so strange. Not rough like the stones in her yard, nor polished like a gem. They also weren’t warm like humans or cold like rocks in a river. “I’m giving you the choice to be the hero of your stories.”

They both looked away from her, but didn’t try and with draw their hands. She could see the word growing on their lips. They both wanted to object.

“I know you both have done things you consider unforgivable. I can only speak for what you’ve done to me, and I forgive you both for those things. But you can try to do good in the world.” She paused as they looked away. First Angor then Walter pulled their hands back away from her. Barbara sighed and pulled the picture from her pocket. She let it slide across the table so it came to a rest in between them. “If you won’t do it for yourselves, do it for him.”

“Young Atlas.” Walter said sadly looking at the picture. He set his fingertips on edge of the pictures and was surprised to see Angor had mirrored that motion. “Haunter.” The other troll growled.

“No. Not Young Atlas. Not Haunter. Jim.” Barbara perfectly mimicked their respective accents. ��James Lake Junior. My son. A boy, who at fifteen was thrown into a magical world. Who has faced the worst the world has to offer. And yet Jim still saw the best in both of you.”

The two of them looked closely at the picture avoiding her eyes and each other’s. While they were silent Barbara kept talking.

“How do you think my son would have felt if he came home to see this? Two trolls he looks up to battling to the death in my living room? Possibly came home to find his mother turned to stone? Do you think he would have been happy to battle the survivor? Do you think he would have cheered when he used Daylight to kill one of you?”

“Angor. My son and his friends have been touched by magic in a way they can never come back from. You know what that’s like.” Finally Angor looked up at her. “Don’t you think you could guide them? Help them avoid the mistakes you made?”

“Walter, Jim thought of you as a father figure, long before the amulet called him. Wouldn’t you be able to guide him as someone who knows both human and troll worlds?” Walter looked up at her, his expression thoughtful.

“If my understanding of this world of magic my son has found himself in is correct, he will outlive me, probably by centuries. He is going to need help to do that. Guidance, not just on the battlefield. Guidance that you both can give to him. To help him be the best Trollhunter there’s ever been and to be best hero he can be.”

Angor moved to her side, dropping onto his knees. He put a careful hand on her stomach where the scar he had left now sat. “I am...sorry.” The words sounded like they hurt coming out. Like he hadn’t said them in too long.

Walter approached as well. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry Barbara.”

Before she could respond she felt a tingle on the back of her neck. Perfect timing, she thought. Several things happened all at once.

There was a crack and Jim jumped roaring out of a portal that appeared out of the air. His armor gleamed and his fangs were bared. His sword was in his hand and his shield on his arm. A second crack and Claire stepped through another portal. Black fire roared around her. Purple smoke billowed out from the cloak she wore. Lightning arced from her finger tips, her pupils black and purple. With another roar Toby came crashing into the front of the house his hammer a blaze. Before anyone else could move Barbara grabbed her hair.

“I will not have another fight to the death in my house!” She screamed. “Jim put your weapons away! Toby collapse that thing. Claire you put those flames out this instant.”

All three of the Trollhunters complied immediately. Jim allowed his weapons to vanish, while Toby clicked his hammer to its travel size. Claire called her magic to herself. As the last of the fire retreated she stumbled a little holding her face. The cracks that appeared on her hands and around her eyes vanished quickly.

Angor saw Claire stumble and rose at once to steady her. Walter moved to stand near Jim and Barbara went and stood near Toby.

“Young Atlas.” Walter said to her son.

“Strickler? Angor Rot? What are you doing here?” Jim asked in reply. He hadn’t relaxed enough for his armor to dissipate like his weapons.

“They were having a little argument, that I interrupted.” Barbara said, before turning to Toby. “I suppose I can thank you for the arrival of my son?”

“My Nana saw fighting in your house. She called me. When she described the trolls I knew I would need more help. Claire said she could open a portal to get them here.”

“You must be careful.” Angor was saying to the girl in question. “Big displays of magic like that might intimidate the uninitiated but if you find a foe who is aware, you waste your energy and may leave yourself vulnerable.”

“Has everyone decided not to kill each other, or themselves?” Barbara asked in annoyance. After everyone nodded, Jim allowing his armor to disappear, she continued. “Before we continue this reunion you are all cleaning up my house!”

Barbara helped Toby clean up the shattered door and with hanging a blanket in the doorway. Walter and Jim started pulling knives out of various objects around the room. Angor showed Claire how to use her magic to repair the furniture, the two of them weaving magic together. Soon the house was looking more itself. Barbara sighed happily. Two of her lovers were here, and if not friendly, at least working together, plus her son and his lovers. Everything was how it should be. Or almost everything.

“Mom?” Jim called from the kitchen. “Why is the Stove turned to stone?”

Honestly I love this story because each of the Trollhunters could end up with a mentor that knows exactly what they’ve been through and can provide comfort and guidance. Toby and Barbara as the two people left behind. The two mortals who have been forced to fight in this world of magic for their loved ones. Claire and Angor as the two people touched by Morgana’s magic. The two who gambled their souls to save their loved ones. Jim and Walter as the two who have their feet in two worlds. Both must balance their human needs with their trollish desires and instincts. Such an interesting dynamic!

#tales of arcadia #Trollhunters #Barbara Lake #angor rot #walter strickler #Stricklakerot #writing emerald

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random-imagines-blog · 6 years ago

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Imagine your first Christmas while dating a member of the Justice League (Alternate Endings)

Requested by: Anonymous

Christmas was always a big thing to you when you were little. Waking up, going into the living room and seeing the ribbons on presents sparkle with the lights on the Christmas tree was a magical experience. And then the impatience when your parents would make you eat your breakfast first, and you would squirm as you took the biggest mouthfuls, just to get it down quicker. The radio softly playing Jingle Bells when you opened the first gift of the year ... It faded as you grew older. Christmas was embarrassing when you were a teenager, and nearly forgotten about when you were an adult. But now that you reached your six month anniversary with the most amazing person that you could imagine - you knew you had to attempt to bring back some of the magic.

Arthur Curry

There was only one town that Arthur felt comfortable in, and that was the small town in Iceland where he would occasionally surface and drink his fill of whiskey. That meant that you had to go to him, rather than hope that he would come to you. You rented a small house in the town, and made it your second home so that you could be close to him, and it was here that you had decorated everything to fit with the Christmas season.

While Arthur was in the water, doing whatever it was that he did down there, you dragged a pine tree into the house on your own, cursing at the needles that were now all over the wooden floor, but decided to throw them into the fire that was lit in the fireplace to add more of that fresh winter smell that you associated with the season.

The only problem with the tree is that you couldn’t quite reach the top of it to put the star. It was just a small, store bought star that was very impersonal but flying your decorations from home would cost more money than you were willing to put into it. Not everyone could be as rich as Bruce Wayne, after all.

You made do with the tinsel, and the ornaments that you found in the general store. You didn’t understand what any of the words meant, since you barely spoke Icelandic, but attempting to say them as you hung them on the tree was amusing enough for you. Once again, you tried at the star at the top of the tree, pulling a chair from the kitchen into the living room and standing on it but alas - the tree and the roof were both much too tall for you to manage.

“What are you doing?” A gruff voice from the door caught your attention. A gusty wind, complete with thick snowflakes, blew into the room, making you feel chilly despite the fireplace being close to you.

“Putting the star in the tree, what does it look like?” You huffed, and stood on your tiptoes, reaching towards the trunk of the tree to keep your balance.

Arthur chuckled and stepped inside, finally closing and latching the door behind him. “Why?”

“Because it’s Christmas next week? I have to get you a waterproof watch or something - that’s an idea.” You were getting close - the star was almost attached but you slipped. Instead of finding yourself on the floor, two strong hands were around your waist, keeping you raised up. You looked at Arthur’s face, who averted his eyes to the lopsided, half-hanging star.

“Are you going to put it on or what?” He asked. You smiled and guided him to lift you a little higher so you could fix it, and then let him bring you down to the ground.

“There, now we can put up stockings. This one is yours. I don’t know what it says but it looks manly.” You let go of him and grabbed the larger stocking, which was a deep green with white trim, while the one you got for yourself was magenta. On his was written ‘Pabbi.’

Arthur looked at it and looked at you affectionately, with a grin on his face. “I’m your Daddy now, am I?” He asked with an eyebrow cocked.

Barry Allen

Barry had always been particular about his things. Only after two months of dating did he feel comfortable enough to let you sit in his second favorite chair rather than a bean bag that he hardly ever used and sat moldering in the corner.After four months of dating, he made you an account on his gaming consoles and let you play when he was there, but he kept them firmly shut off when he wasn’t. Now, at six months - you were going to force his hand a little bit and hope that it worked out well for the both of you.

On Christmas day, Barry went to go and see his dad, and let you stay alone in his little hideout, with the promise that you wouldn’t go out and leave it unlocked and exposed. You put your hand over your heart and agreed to those terms, then Barry rushed on out to the prison. You speed-dialled Bruce, who was number three on your phone after Barry and Alfred, and your Christmas gift to Barry arrived in record time.

A couple of things had to be moved, but you did everything so carefully that not only was nothing broken, you managed not to smudge anything with your fingerprints. You promised Bruce a favor in return, then put on the last few finishing touches in the room by wearing a Santa hat, and adding some tinsel to the top of the TVs, and a large bow on top of the new present.

An hour after he left, Barry returned, but the surprise swept him off his feet - literally. He clumsily slid halfway across the room, wearing out the soles of his shoes almost instantly. “What’s - what’s this?” He asked, his hands on his shiny new gift.

You made a deal with Bruce. In exchange for the fixed up wreck of one of his batmobiles, nonfunctioning of course because Barrie did like buttons a little too much, you would owe him a favor of his choosing. Anything as long as it didn’t involve hurting Barry, of course.

The Batmobile didn’t have wheels, nor did it have the top so it was a convertable style. Barry jumped right on in, and looked as excited as he did when he first ran around in Bruce’s Batcave, looking at everything.

“It’s your new favorite chair. I hope you like it.” You said, leaning over the hood, balancing yourself on your elbows and looked through the windshield. “I did have to move a few things but I can help you find new places for them.”

“I love it!” Barry said, putting his hands on the steering wheel and then honked the horn, making you jump slightly from the startling noise.

“Merry Christmas.” You said, once you collected your nerves.

“Merry Christmas.” Barry said, hands still on the wheel.

Diana Price

Diana was working late at the museum, though she could have taken the day off if she had wanted to. Though she had been away from her home island for decades, she still did not have a grasp on Christmas and why it was important to people. She preferred to just continue working, and treat it like just another day.

You, however, were the opposite. You took the whole week off, from Christmas Eve to New Years day. You told Bruce that unless it was actually life and death of the planet, not to give you a call because you did not feel like swooping in and saving the day when you could be at home in an ugly knitted Christmas sweater, drinking hot chocolate with festive marshmallows.

In the sleek Paris penthouse with the view of the Siene, you were playing your favorite Christmas movies on the tv. You were just coming up to the end of the Polar Express and were browsing what you should pick next when Diana finally came home. It appears even Wonder Woman could get cold, for she kept herself huddled in her black faux-fur coat.

“You’re just in time - Elf or The Grinch?” You asked, holding up the two DVDs for her to pick one. She took off her shoes and glanced over, her eyes barely taking in the bright colors of the movie covers.

“What is a ... grinch?” She asked, trodding over in her bare feet to take a closer look at the green creature.

“I know you’ve never done the whole Christmas thing but the Grinch? You’ve never seen the Grinch?” You said in dismay. You popped open the case and slid it into the DVD player, cutting off the Polar Express early. You knew how it ended, it didn’t matter if you missed it. “Come on, get comfy, have some of my hot chocolate.”

Diana joined you with curiosity, and during the movie, she was on the edge of her seat. The colors of the animation were so vibrant, she couldn’t take her eyes off of them. Colors that would be garish in the museum she worked in but fir perfectly in the film! Her hand went over her heart at the end, when everything turned out to be just fine. You had spent more time taking in her reaction than you had watching the movie.

“That was the grinch.” You grinned when it was over. “What did you think?”

“This grinch ... he was bad but he became good. I like that.” Diana smiled. “Now ... what is Elf?”

Victor Stone

“Victor, it’ll be fun, please? You’re the only one I know who could figure something like this out.” You used your best puppy dog pout, and held onto the string of Christmas lights that you had draped around Victor’s shoulders. Just from touching him, the lights were turned on despite them not being plugged into an electrical outlet. “If you’re not going to do it for me, then do it for your dad.”

Victor would do anything for you - if he thought that it was worth his time. It wasn’t that he was arrogant, he just had many other things that he would rather be doing, like research against the enemies of the Justice League. He was literally built for hacking at this point, and could be doing a lot of good. But corresponding up the Christmas lights to shine and shut off to the rhythm of Jingle Bell Rock?

“Victor...” You said, seeing how much he was thinking about it. “This is our first Christmas together, the three of us. We can make things feel ... comfortable.”

Victor inhaled sharply but then breathed out slowly. “Fine.” He muttered.

“Thank you!” You stood on your tiptoes so you would be able to reach his still-human cheek and press a kiss onto it. “Dinner will be ready in about half an hour, text your dad, will you?”

You left him to go into the kitchen of the apartment that the Stone men shared. Silas Stone had managed to find the recipe book that his late-wife had put together using magazine recipes cut and pasted right in. The perfect Christmas Turkey, the creamiest mashed potatoes, the stuffing with the most fiber - it was all here and you did all that you could to make the meal just as she would have. You wanted to make her proud, despite not knowing her.

As you set the table, you checked on the lights that Victor had programmed. It had only taken him a solid two minutes to do it. You pressed play on the CD player, and the lights started to flicker. It brought more joviality to the room. You were missing a Christmas tree, but the lights would have to do.

“Smells good in here!” Silas said, coming home from STAR Labs, rubbing his hands together to eliminate the last traces of cold. “Is that Jingle Bell Rock?”

“Sure is.” You grinned, setting the turkey down on the table. Never in your life have you felt like you were a part of a family like this. It was peaceful, it was happy, and you weren’t going to let anything bring you or the Stone men down today. “Victor did a great job with the lights. Do you want to do the honors of carving the turkey?”

Victor, who had been in his own head looking at Arkham files of someone he had been hearing about, turned to look over at you and his father, eye brightly glowing. It never scared you away, how much of him had been replaced by robotics. You knew the Victor Stone that was within. You softened him up with a smile and pulled a chair out for him.

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Victor said, finally giving in, shutting the majority of his programs down so that his full focus would be on his family for the night.

Clark Kent

“I think that’s the one we need, right there.” You said, stopping in front of one of the larger trees in the lot. “That’s going to fit a lot of ornaments, don’t you think cutie?” You asked, looking up at Clark who stood behind you and adjusted his glasses.

He took a good look at it then smiled. “If you think that’s the one - then it’s the one.” He agreed with you, and called over the owner of the lot to purchase it. Once he took the payment, he scrambled off so he wouldn’t have to offer to help carry it out of the array of other trees and bring it to the parking lot.

“It’s not going to fit in the truck, is it?” You asked, realizing that only after it had been paid for. You pursed your lips and tried to think of a solution to the problem. You could only think of one, and it meant looking up at Clark with a hopeful expression on your face.

He didn’t need to hear your words to know what you were thinking. Looking around to make sure no one was looking, he picked up the tree as if it were a light, fake one, and rested it against his shoulder. “I’ll meet you there?” He asked.

“Meet you there.” You confirmed, and kissed him on the cheek. Looking around one more time, Clark held tight to the tree then jumped into the air. Unlike most men, he didn’t come back to the ground right away, but rather flew in the direction of Metropolis Children’s Hospital.

You slipped out of the lot and got into Clark’s truck and followed the man in the sky, looking up whenever you were at a red light or a stop sign to see if you could still spot him. He was much faster in the skies than you were on the ground, so of course he managed to beat you there.

When you walked into the lobby, Clark was standing near the tree, but there were a good dozen children between him and it. When you approached, he put his arm around you and together, you took in the happy little faces of the children. “They had a special donation from Superman this year.” Clark announced. “Heard it from one of the nurses when I got here.”

“Wow! What lucky children.” You said, pretending to be amazed. “You know what - I think that the ornaments that you kids made last week would go perfectly on this new tree, what do you think?”

The kids all cheered, and nurses came forward to take the sicker ones in wheelchairs back to their rooms to collect the paper ornaments that they had made days before in an attempt to bring about the Christmas spirit. You wrapped your arms around Clark, and pressed your cheek against his chest.

“Thanks for doing this for me.” You muttered so that no one else would hear.

“It was your idea.” Clark said. Being a nurse in the Children’s Hospital wasn’t easy, but you wanted to bring joy, life and festivity into the halls, and having a superhero bring in a Christmas Tree was the best idea that you had in a long time. Seeing those smiles was worth the price, and Clark’s cold flight. His jacket was still damp from the falling snow, but you didn’t care - he was warm underneath.

“Merry Christmas.” You said, hugging him tighter.

“Merry Christmas. Now let’s go see what other ornaments we can find.” Clark said, shuffling along the hallways with you still holding on.

Bruce Wayne

Being with Bruce had meant that you had to get used to the glitz and glamour that came with being a celebrity’s partner. The three hairdressers working on your hair at the same time, being contacted by designers days before an event because they want to dress you, but the worst were the flashing cameras. Lights coming at you from all sides, every angle, and knowing that if you had made the slightest mistake, it would be in the tabloids in the morning.

But you know what?

Bruce was worth it.

You waved off the hairdressers and the make up artists and just ran a brush through your own hair. You dressed yourself in clothes that you had picked out three years ago. They weren’t in style but so what? It was the Wayne Christmas Party. Though it would be full of celebrities, you wanted to feel as comfortable as you possibly could. This was the you that Bruce saw just about every day when you visited one another - not a doll version. If it was good enough for him to fall for, it was good enough for the paparazzi.

The lights assaulted you and Bruce as you stepped out of the limousine and onto the walkway that would lead up to the mansion where the celebration was being held. A five piece band were conjoined near the walkway, playing some old Christmas favorites. Right now, it was Winter Wonderland, which did fit with the snow on the ground.

Bruce took your hand and helped you onto your feet, and you smiled at him gratefully. He looked handsome in his all-black attire, and you held onto his arm with confidence. Neither of you paid much attention to the cameramen as they hollered for you to pose or look in a direction or tell them who you were wearing that night. Bruce went so far as to raise a hand to get them to quiet down, but then the two of you proceeded up towards the well-lit house.

There was a band in there as well, playing 'Let It Snow’, couples were dancing, canapes and truffles were being served to anyone who even glanced at a server, and flutes of champagne were on every table for the taking.

“It looks beautiful.” You inhaled, seeing the beautiful gowns, the crystals hanging off of the chandeliers, and the large tree with the presents underneath it - most of them to charity but a couple to Bruce from old friends.

“Alfred did a good job.” Bruce nodded, looking admiringly around. He took off his jacket and it was given to a butler to be put into a wardrobe with the other coats, and another came and helped you to take off your own coat. Once your arms were exposed, Bruce’s knuckles caressed up and down them, bringing an electricity that made the hairs stand on end and your skin erupt in goosebumps.

“How about we dance?” You asked.

“I’m not a dancer.” Bruce said, stiffly.

“Consider it to be my Christmas present, then.” You insisted, tugging him onto the dancefloor. The song changed to 'Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’, and you wrapped your arms around Bruce’s neck and rested your head on his shoulder. You could hear his heartbeat, faster than the tune of the song but still a pleasant rhythm.

“You’re very persuasive.” Bruce joked, putting his arms around your waist, and leading you into a turning slow dancing.

“That’s why we work well together. You’ve got to have a bit of fun in your life somehow.” You teased his always serious demeanor.

“Well, since it is Christmas...” Bruce said, surprising you by moving a step back, taking your now free hand and lead you into a twirl.

“Still full of surprises.” You giggled, finding yourself back in his arms afterwards.

“Just wait until you see your present.” Bruce said, confidently.

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demonsonthemoon · 6 years ago

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Selfishly With You

Fandom: Harry Potter Word Count: 3657 Summary: Harry tries to understand what's so appealing about romance that he's losing all of his closest friends to it, and find the perfect confidant in one Luna Lovegood. Note: Posted in honor of #AggressivelyArospecWeek 2018. Based on these headcanons I posted last year.

Also available on AO3.

The shift came gradually, then crystallized in an uncomfortably sudden way.

He started seeing it happening during his fourth year. Most people had finally gotten used to him being Harry Potter, the Chosen One or whatever they called him. He had thought that from this point onwards he would be able to live his normal life as a normal teenager, and not be hero-worshipped for something he hadn't even actively participated in. He had thought he would be able to show others who he was as a person. That his personality wasn't only contained by his achievements.

And then the thing with the Goblet of Fire happened. His name was spat out, and suddenly he was the youngest contestant in the Triwizard Tournament, and nobody cared about him as a person anymore. People started asking for autographs again, treating him like a living historical figure and not just a fellow student.

And then there were the girls. Well, mostly girls. And the girls were the only ones who dared to say it upfront.

Of the few who didn't hate his guts for cheating or lessening Cedric Diggory's chances, there was a group that looked at him with stars and hearts in their eyes. One actually confessed she had a crush on him. Harry didn't feel comfortable pointing out that he didn't even know her name, and just said sorry and ran away.

Then Rita Skeeter started spreading rumors that he and Hermione somehow had a secret love affair. Harry couldn't figure out the logic behind it, considering there was absolutely no reason for them to keep it secret, had such an affair been going on.

And then, then, came the Yule ball.

All in all, his fourth year was when Harry Potter really started noticing how obessed with romance the world around him was.

It wasn't that he didn't think about it at all. Just that it confused him a whole lot. He was told that he had to find a partner for the ball, but he had no idea who he was supposed to invite.

“Well, usually people go with the people they're dating. Or they ask someone they have a crush on, see if they say yes. I guess some people also go with their friends? Just as a way to hang out?”

The answers he received were vague. He felt as if it was all organised into some kind of hierarchy. If you're not dating anyone, you ask one of your crushes. If your crushes say no, you ask a friend. In practice, he saw students ask people they barely knew to the dance over picking their closest friends. Harry figured he would have a lot more fun spending the night with someone he already got along with than a complete stranger but well... He was trying to be a normal teenager.

When people asked about his crushes, he thought about Cho Chang. About thinking she was pretty when they had played a Quidditch match against each other. Pretty and strong, and warm in a discreet way. They had talked a bit before, always about Quidditch, as fellow players more than as friends. But Harry had liked those conversations, and he felt curious about Cho, so he assumed that must be a crush.

So he asked Cho out. And she said no. And he went with Parvati Patil instead, althoug he didn't know Parvati at all and they didn't have much in common. And then there was Hermione, beautiful in her blue dress, dancing with Victor Krum instead of spending the night with her two best friends. At least she seemed to be enjoying herself, unlike Ron and Harry. He might not understand why, but he could appreciate that fact.

So it was during his fourth year that Harry realised he wasn't sure if he understood what other students meant when they said they had a crush on someone. There were those people he was interested in, wanted to know more about. Those people he wanted to be friends with, or maybe close to in some other way, though he wasn't sure what that other way was. Of course, there was wanting to kiss someone, wanting to have sex with them. But if he was honest with himself he wasn't against the idea of kissing most of his friends. And there were some people he thought he might like to kiss without really knowing whether he wanted to date them or not.

It was confusing, but most of the time he could just ignore it. He was a wizard, learning magic in a magical school, after all. And then there was the fact that an someone evil had killed his parents, tried to kill him on several occasions, killed a fellow students in front of him and was trying to take over the world. That was a rather big distraction from his confused sentiments about romance.

But after his fourth year came the fifth, and after the fifth came the sixth.

Sixth year was the year of love, at least for everyone else. All of his friends started talking about their various crushes. People bought love potions at Fred and George's shop. And still, Harry stood there, confused.

When Ron started fixating on Lavender Brown, Harry tried to be a supportive friend. He didn't complain about the fact that he barely saw Ron at all except for classes and their dorm room. He didn't complain about having to do his homework alone because Hermione said he had to do it himself if he wanted to learn and Ron just wasn't there anymore. Ron said that Lavender made him happy, so Harry tried to be happy for him.

And then he noticed. He noticed that Hermione was colder than usual. He noticed how hurt she looked whenever Ron ignored her because Lavender claimed his attention. And Harry tried to be supportive of her, too. He tried to find a way to comfort her without putting all of the blame on his best friend. He tried to convince her – and himself – that Ron still cared about them, after all, that it was all fine, it wasn't that important.

Hermione accepted to go to Slughorn's party with Cormac, and Harry thought for a second that taking a walk near the whomping willow sounded like a much better idea than staying here. When his friends enquired who he would take to the party instead, however, he didn't have to think about it for long.

Luna Lovegood was the obvious choice. Luna, who he had befriended the previous year in somewhat creepy circumstances. Luna, with all of her quirks and all the stares she attracted. Luna, who seemed to keep herself outside of the turmoil that was the romantic adventures of Hogwarts students.

She accepted his invitation with pleasure and an easy smile. With her at his side, Harry actually felt able to brave Slughorn's party. Between the professor's ambiguous attentions, Hermione's panicked state at the idea of having to stay close to Cormac for a whole evening, and a general distate for the politics that motivated party, Harry thought of Luna as a refuge.

The girl would make remarks about what other students were doing, and they would have been snarky said by anyone else. In her case, though, they were delivered with perfect innocence. Harry found himself containing his laughter more than once, even in front of Slughorn. The professor seemed to find Harry's choice of partner quite distateful, though he couldn't say so in as many words, risking to breach his own code of conduct.

Harry had to leave Luna for a moment, needing to speak to Slughorn some more, as well as help Hermione escape the grasp of her evening partner. He was surprised at having to deal with Draco playing gatecrasher on top of it all, and was tightly wound up when things started to wind down and he couldn't find Luna in the room.

He looked around once more, avoiding anyone who tried to talk to him, and finally stepped outside. Sure enough, Luna was sitting on a step a bit further down the hallway, swaying a little bit as if she was humming a melody to herself.

Harry wondered, for a moment, at how calming even just her presence could feel to him. She was different from everyone else. Different in a way that made you feel encouraged to become the truest version of yourself you could be, when with her. Luna didn't look at him like a hero or the Chosen One. She didn't look at him like a rare collectibe or a tool to be used. She saw him as a person, and her very attitude invited him to come to terms with that person. It was always an invitation. Never a forceful gesture.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked. She didn't seem distressed in any way but, if he was honest with himself, Harry wasn't sure he would recognize what distress looked like on the girl's features.

She looked up at him, not having noticed his arrival. The startledness was immediately replaced by one of the soft smiles that were her trademark. “Yes, of course,” she replied in a melodic voice. “I was just a bit overwhelmed. And scared that the Smergls would get to me. Although I don't think they would work on me. But you're never too sure.”

Harry walked towards her and she moved to the side, leaving him space to sit. “Smergls?”

“Oh, yes. Haven't you noticed the infestation?”

Harry shook his head. “What are they?”

“A kind of creature. They're very hard to see. Wizards actually aren't sure under which circumstances they reveal themselves. They feed off human energy, and attach themselves to people's heads, drawing them into a state of emotional excitability. They mostly affect younger people too. I'm not exactly sure, but I think there's been a breakout in our year.”

“Emotional excitability? So you mean the way all everyone's been talking about recently is who they want to date?”

Luna nodded. “This is one of the most noticeable side-effects of Smergls, yes. There are others.”

Harry smiled. Luna's strange ideas about the world often seemed far-fetched and confusing, but there was a simplicity and honesty to them that he appreciated. He settled more comfortably against the cold steps of the stairs.

“And you think you're immune to them?”

“Well, possibly. I'm aromantic, you see.”

This was one more term that was apparently part of the witch's everyday vocabulary but that Harry was unfamiliar with. He was very happy that Luna usually wasn't opposed to his incessant questioning.

“What does aromantic mean?”

“Oh,” Luna said with a tilt of her head, as if she was surprised that he didn't know. “It means I don't experience romantic attraction. That I don't feel the urge to date anyone.”

This was a much less magical answer than the one he had been expecting. It didn't sound like something she had read in The Quibbler.

“That's... How does that work?”

“Well, in much the same way romantic attraction works, I suppose. Except the opposite.”

“And it's not... Don't you...” Harry faltered. This felt much more personal and invasive than his usual inquiries.

Luna swayed her head two more times. “Don't I wish I was different?” She asked, as if it wasn't a loaded thing to say. Harry nodded. “I don't. I don't see why I would. It's not as if I could miss it, since I don't experience it. And I don't think it's something that important really. People are all made of different parts, and this is just a part of me.”

“That seems really wise. I'm not sure I would be able to think about it in that way.”

“Did you enjoy the party?”

She didn't give him any warning before changing the subject, but Harry was fairly used to that being another quirk of hers. He shook his head, then shrugged.

“Not really. I'm not... it's not really the kind of gathering I enjoy. Nobody is actually there to have a good time. They're just trying to gain things from each other. There's no... There's no warmth to it.”

“Mmh-mmh. I thought you weren't enjoying yourself. I'm sorry if I wasn't the best person to bring.”

“No, no.” He put a hand on Luna's shoulder. “You were actually the perfect person. Thank you for coming. This doesn't seem like your kind of party either.”

“It was interesting,” she said.

They both turned their heads as a student stumbled through the hallway in their direction. “Hey, Potter,” the boy shouted. “What you doing with the Loony-bin?”

Harry felt anger rise through his body. He started standing up. Luna tugged on his robe to stop him. “It's okay Harry.”

Still fuming, he turned towards the other student, who had already started walking in the other direction. “I'm having a good time with a good friend, is what I'm doing.” Harry shouted after him. “Asshole!”

He wasn't sure if the boy understood a word he had said, considering the way he was zig-zagging through the hall in a drunken stumble.

“Come on, Luna. Party's winding down anyway, I don't think they need us in there anymore.”

That particular party marked a turning point in their friendship. Harry hadn't really had the occasion to spend a lot of time alone with Luna before that, but he quickly discovered how much he actually appreciated her company. With Ron still engrossed in his relationship with Lavender and Hermione still angry about it all, he became more and more relient on moments alone with the blonde witch to relax. After arriving at Hogwarts, Harry had discovered how social a person he was. Summers were usually hell, with no one around to talk to. Spending time with friends what was gave him the energy to go through the day.

And that was what Luna was. A friend. Somebody he could look forward to seeing whenever they agreed to meet each other in the library or the Room of Requirements.

He didn't tell Ron and Hermione about his new friendship, which was slightly weird. At the same time, he felt like his best friends would only deserve the right to know when they regained enough of their wits to realise that the trio was slowly drifting apart.

And it felt nice to have this for himself. He didn't think of Luna as a secret – that would feel too much like she was something he was ashamed of and hiding. It was more that he enjoyed their friendship not being under scrutiny. He enjoyed being able to define who they were to each other without the pressure of external gazes.

When that thought crossed his mind, it made Harry stop. Was that a crush? Was he looking at Luna as something more than a friend?

The expression felt wrong. “More than.” His relationship to Ron and Hermione was going through hard times, but he still couldn't say that he felt closer to Luna than them. It was just that their relationship was different.

He tried again to think of what a crush was supposed to be. Butterflies in the stomach, a desire to kiss the person. Well, he did sometimes feel tingly with excitement knowing that he would be able to spend time with the witch. He found himself relaxing in her presence. As for kissing... Harry frowned. He guessed it would be enjoyable? He wasn't really sure.

All in all, he felt like all of his interrogations stayed inconclusive. He might or might not like Luna differently than he liked his other friends. He might or might not like to kiss her, depending on the situation and whether she would be interested or not and also depending on whether other things were supposed to be included after the kiss.

But anyway. Nothing would happen. Nothing could happen, right? Because she was aromantic. So it didn't matter. Harry would just be imposing himself on her and that was bad.

Luna looked up from the issue of The Quibbler that she was reading, lounged across a beanbag.

“Are you okay, Harry? You seem distracted.”

Harry put down the quill he had been holding. He hadn't written a word in possibly two minutes, and the ink had started to dry on the tip. He sighed, stood up from the desk he was seated at, and sat down on the floor next to Luna instead.

She smiled at him, and he found himself playing with a strand of her long blond hair that almost touched the ground.

Playing with her hair was probably not something he should be doing considering what was on his mind. He kept doing it anyway. It felt nice, intimate. And Luna didn't seem to mind.

Harry sighed. “I guess I am distracted. Sorry.”

“It's okay. You can tell me what's on your mind, if you want.”

He looked up at her. He didn't feel the urge to do anything with her. To kiss, or have sex, or whatever. He just felt comfortable. Really comfortable. And he wanted to cherish that.

“Are we friends?” He asked, and he immediately knew it wasn't the correct way to phrase the question.

“Of course we are, Harry.”

“No, I mean... I know we are. I know you're my friend. I just... I'm not friends with you like I am with Ron and Hermione.”

“I think everyone is different. And because of that, every relationship is unique. It is what makes meeting new people interesting.”

He let go of her hair, frustrated at his inability to express himself. “I know, I know. What I mean is... I don't know if I think of you as just a friend, or if I have a crush on you. I'm not gonna... I know you don't get crushes, and that's fine. I'm not gonna do anything. But I didn't want... I didn't know if it would make you uncomfortable, but I also just wanted you to know.”

Harry looked down at his hands. He wondered why he still hadn't learned to cast a spell that would create a hole in the earth he could fall into. Why weren't there spells for all the actually useful things?

When he finally looked up after a moment of weighty silence, Luna was slightly swaying from side to side, that movement she did that made it seem like she was always singing under her breath. She didn't look mad or hurt, Harry noted with relief. More like she was considering things.

She held his gaze for a while, still silent. It was finally Harry who spoke, needing to relieve his pent-up energy.

“Are we okay?”

Luna stopped moving and nodded. “Yes. I'm just thinking. I don't think I care, about how you feel about me. I don't think you need to care either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I told you that I don't want to date, and as long as you respect that and know that I don't feel romantically attracted to you, I don't see how the type of your feelings actually matters. I think we tend to associate certain forms of relationship with the type of feeling they entail, but there isn't any written rule about it. As long as we respect each other's boundaries and just enjoy each other's company, does it matter what type of relationship or feelings are involved?”

“I don't... I've never...”

“That's just the way I think, of course. I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable, Harry. If you feel like you have to take your distance, that's perfectly understandable. I don't want you to feel pressured into-”

“Luna. Luna. Stop. I'm not leaving. That would be... That doesn't make sense. I love spending time with you. You make me discover so many new things, and I feel like I can be truly myself around you, because you don't... You don't judge. You don't expect things from people. Sometimes I feel like you're the only person in this school who makes any kind of sense, because at least you're always yourself. And I... this is a very selfish way to say it, but I want to keep that. I'd like to be your friend, Luna. As long as you want me to.”

She smiled a little at that, which caused sparks to erupt inside his stomach. He smiled back. They were nice sparks.

Love potions, it turned out. This whole mess had been caused by love potions. Harry had spent all this time trying to be supportive of his friend's unexplained crush, and actually it hadn't even been a real crush at all. Not all was lost, though, since Ron and Hermione seemed to have realised that they potentially felt something other than friendship for each other, but Harry still felt he had a right to his frustration.

The good thing was, he finally had his best friends back. And in the middle of Dumbledore's machinations, he needed them. They were hanging out in the Gryffindor common room when Ron finally asked the question.

“So, like... I feel like I've seen you a lot less than before in the past few weeks. You keep disappearing on your own... Do you have a secret you're keeping to yourself?”

Ron punctuated his question with a mischievous smile, which made Harry shudder. “I'm not hiding a romantic partner if that's what you're asking. Also, please, never ask that again. Considering what I had to deal with with you and Lavender for the past month, I feel like you owe me that.”

Ron's cheeks quickly turned bright red.

“It's okay if you don't want to tell us, Harry,” Hermione interevened. “Ron and I were just curious.”

Harry nodded. “I know. And it's not really a secret I'm hiding. It's just... I think I prefer to keep it to myself for now. That's a selfish way to say it but... yeah.”

#AggressivelyArospecWeek #Meeni writes fics #Harry Potter #Luna Lovegood #Fanfic

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marblesarelost · 7 years ago

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Change Your Mind, Change Your Life

Chapter 8

The next morning, Darcy scooped up the last bite of her cereal, watching an episode of The Herculoids in the common room. She judged the amount of milk left in the bowl with a practiced eye; not quite enough for more cereal. Sad. She lifted the bowl, slurping a little as she drank the milk down, burping contentedly when it was gone. "Stay classy, Artoo," Tony said behind her, and she giggled. "You know it. You gonna veg out with me today?" She leaned backwards over the back of the couch, looking at him upside down. "I don't do cartoons. What's in the TV Guide for the afternoon?" Tony asked, grinning at her and coming all the way into the common room, hiking a hip up onto the side of the couch.

"Creature Feature?" Darcy offered. "I Was A Teenaged Werewolf and Godzilla with subtitles?" "Make it both Godzilla?" Tony asked, and Darcy pouted, her bottom lip sticking out. "Oh come on --" "Darcy," Steve's voice rang out from the hall. "You busy?" "Yep!" She replied. "Watching brainless TV and pretending the outside world doesn't exist for the day, Steve." Tony frowned as Steve came in, jumped onto the couch. "Share the blanket," he said, grabbing some of the brightly patterned fabric. He looked down at said pattern, then back up at her, raising an eyebrow. “Falcon?" "Tech enhanced and studly, this way no blow to your ego or Steve's," she shrugged. Tony considered, nodded. "Makes sense. So, Herculoids?" "Space Ghost next or the Tarzan/Zorro/Lone Ranger Hour?" She asked brightly. Tony saw Steve shaking his head out of the corner of his eye, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Space Ghost. Are you Jan or Blip?" "Definitely Blip. He saves everybody all the time," Darcy said, nodding firmly. "Steve, why are you still standing? You can't watch cartoons standing." "I'm not watching cartoons," Steve said, though he glanced at the screen. "There's Zorro?" "The Zorro/Lone Ranger/Tarzan Hour," Darcy replied helpfully. "I think it lasted two seasons in the eighties, and then Filmation did a reboot in the late 90s, early 2000s." "Thanks. Look, Darcy --“ Steve began, and she held up her hand. "Am I about to get a lecture?" "Not a lecture," Steve said. "I want to know why you didn't tell us about the situation in Eastern Europe escalating." "One; the Avengers are not the parents of the world, two, I asked him if he wanted you to know and he said no, and three, I know damn good and well you were briefed on the situation within an hour of my having the information so four, fuck off and let me watch cartoons." Darcy said the last with a bright, toothy smile, one that Tony recognized a bit too well; you don’t have the right to give me shit, was the sentiment behind that kind of smile. "I was not informed that you had gone on a date with him the evening before," Steve said, frowning. "Listen, Darce, I'm sure there's lots of perfectly nice guys in New York, heck, that work in the building, that would love to date you." "Wait." Darcy paused the cartoon and looked up at Steve. "Are you trying to tell me who I can date, Steve?" "I just.." He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight awkwardly. "He's not a good guy, Darce.” Tony watched all of this avidly, his gaze switching back and forth between the two, picking up the box of Lucky Charms beside Darcy and popping some into his mouth before it hit him, and he snickered. "I said I'm jealous, I'm jealous again," he sang, and Darcy paled. "Is that what this is?" She asked, slowly pushing the comforter off her lap and rising to her feet to face Steve. "Are you jealous, Steve?" "I just don't think you're thinking this through is all," Steve said. "He's talking a great game and he's got kind of a dangerous thing about him, gals like that, I knew a girl in Brooklyn who dated one of Meyer Lansky's friends because of that." "Hey. Steve. Stop now. You're just digging yourself deeper," Tony said, watching Darcy's face turn a mottled red. "Too late, you're fucked, been nice knowing you." "First," Darcy hissed, "you're not my dad, my grandpa, my brother, or even my cousin. And even if you were, you still wouldn't have the right to tell me who I can date, fuck, kiss, make out with or go down on. You got that, Rogers?" "I'm just --"

"Second," she interrupted him, poking him with her fingernail, "if you wanted a fucking date, you've seen me every day for the last year, you could have asked any time. I might have said yes. I might not have. I never really thought about it, because," she poked in time with her next few words, "you. Never. Asked." "Do you think that's all this is? Me being jealous? I'm just concerned because he's a dictatorial super villain and you're a civilian member of the support team. I'm concerned what kind of information he might be able to get out of you. I'm concerned about the safety of the team, and your safety." "You were scared to ask," she said, shaking her head. "And now you're jealous because someone else did. Someone you don't approve of. Someone you think isn't good for me. And you're using the other as a cover." She stepped away from him, still shaking her head. "We're done, Steve. If I keep talking, we won't be friends anymore." She reached for her blanket, folded it over her arm, and walked out, strangely dignified for someone wearing footie pajamas. "Tony -" Steve began, but Tony shook his head, standing up. "You fucked up, Rogers. You fucked up hard." He walked out as well, heading for his workshop. Once there, he called Pepper. "Pepper. Go check on Darcy, would you?" "What's wrong?" "Steve said some shit about her and Doom. I probably didn't help." "Tony..." Pepper sighed, and he quickly defended himself. "All I said was that Rogers was jealous." "Okay," Pepper replied. "I'll check in with her." "Take her shopping. Do something." "And what will you be doing?" "I'm gonna find something to work on, or else I'm gonna punch Rogers myself. It wasn't pretty, Pep." "Okay."

Darcy stomped through her apartment, seething. He wasn't even her boyfriend. One date. One. She'd expected a lecture, she'd expected a quiet conversation between friends, she'd expected better. Instead, Captain Motherfucking America had given her the equivalent of the "nice guy" speech. "Bastard," she muttered, flopping into the overstuffed ugly chair she’d thrifted, shaking her head. Jealous. He was jealous. "Fucker should have said something," she sighed at the ceiling. "He should have. He should have said something." She closed her eyes, tried to calm her breathing. "Fucker." A knock at the door jarred her out of her reverie. "Who is it?" "Pepper." "Let her in, FRIDAY." The door clicked open, and Pepper slipped in, closing the door firmly behind her before kneeling in front of Darcy, smiling gently. "You okay?" "Yep. Peachy keen." Darcy bared her teeth. It wasn't a smile. "Tony told me." "Figured." "You knew not everyone would approve." "I knew he wouldn't," Darcy said, sitting up, leaning forward. "But trying to hide his jealousy behind concern for the team is bullshit." "True. And you did the right thing, walking away." "I'm a grownup," Darcy nodded. "I didn't slap him. Even when he intimated I don't know what I'm doing." "Do you?" "No. But does anybody, when it comes to dating?" "Good point," Pepper agreed. "Want to go shopping? We'll get something lovely and elegant for the next time you see Victor. Tony’s dime." "Yes," Darcy agreed. "Something in green."

The reinforced heavy bag shook with every punch, Steve's labored breathing echoing in his ears as he poured his frustrations into physical activity. "Hey," he heard from behind him, and turned to see Sam standing there, hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Bad day?" One last punch. "Darcy's dating Doom." Sam tossed him a towel, and he wiped the sweat from his face. "I...didn't handle it well." "You didn't see the chemistry between them the other night after the fight at the pool?" Sam asked, and Steve looked away. "You did." "He's a dictator, Sam. Rules his country with an iron fist, what would he do with a swell dame like Darcy?" Steve crossed to the fridge, took out a bottle of water, drank it down in a few gulps, took out another and drank half of that. "He seemed okay the other night," Sam began. "Isn't he changing stuff in Latveria? Moving toward democracy?" "So he says," Steve snapped. "I've got legitimate concerns, Sam. Sure, he's saying all the right things right now, but what if he's not playing straight? Heck, how long until he gets a wild hair to go after Sue Richards again? At best, Darcy's a distraction to a guy like him. And I don't want to see her hurt." "Wow." Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Let's start with why you're so upset over this." "She's a member of the support team. She lives here. She's got a lot of info that Doom could use against us," Steve said, keeping his gaze on the bottle in his hand. "Nothing to do with the way you watch her sometimes," Sam said dryly. "Nope, you're not jealous." "My personal feelings aren't involved," Steve snapped. "This is purely about the team and about her value to it. Do you think I don't know that everyone seems to see her as a sort of baby cousin or baby sister? She charms Tony, she soothes Natasha and Clint, she does Wanda's hair --" "She does Bruce's dictation, she is literally Thor's adopted sister, and she plays video games with me and Clint," Sam finished. "She set up movie night for you, and she's teaching Vision how to knit, getting him used to tactile sensations and how to gauge his strength. Yeah, Steve. We all love her in our way. But you notice nobody else is freaking out because she had a date with Doom." "Natasha knew. Natasha helped her get ready," Steve said, shaking his head. "I don't understand how she of all people isn't seeing this as --" "Natasha isn't interested in her," Sam said flatly. "You are. And you're jealous, and you're angry with yourself because you think you waited too long." Steve's jaw jutted out, but he stayed quiet. "Darcy likes you. But Steve, as hard as it is for you to hear, she doesn’t like you like that."

“She doesn’t have to, I’m not standing here saying she has to, I just -- he’s not -- he’s not right for her. He’s not,” Steve insisted, and Sam shrugged.

“Here’s the thing, Steve. You’re a hero, you’re an all around good guy, but you can’t see the future. You don’t know that. You don’t know that he’s not gonna be good to her. You don’t know how this is going to end, if it’s going to end. She might break up with him. She might marry his ass. We don’t know, and you know what? That’s not on us,” Sam pointed out, half-smiling. “It’s not on us, man. She’s a grown-ass woman, okay. She’ll make her own choices. And she might end up with a broken heart, but you know what? Those heal. If he goes chasing after Sue Richards again, I don’t have any doubt but what Darcy will get ‘Tasha or Clint to fly her to Latveria, she’ll tell him off to his face and come home and eat ice cream and get over it. She’s a grownup.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not a security concern,” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s still an unknown at this time. Okay, I can’t say he’s an enemy, I can say I don’t know him, and based on his past, I don’t trust him.”

“Nobody says you have to. You just have to trust Darcy.” Sam clapped Steve on the arm. “Come on. Let’s go get a shake.” Slowly, Steve nodded and headed to the locker room.

DOOMBOT BRIGADE 1328 ONLINE.

…..WORKING….

UPDATE DOWNLOADED. PLEASE STAND BY FOR INSTALLATION.

…WORKING….

INSTALLATION COMPLETE. ORDERS WITHIN PARAMETERS. ACCEPTED.

The line of sleek metal war machines spread out, a faint blue glow about them as they began to advance toward the enemy’s position, the Ukrainian general watching from behind the lines via satellite feed. The once serene field echoed with gunfire within seconds, the Soviet forces opening up on the advancing robots, their green and chrome metallic bodies slender, but still making fantastic targets. Nothing happened. The machine gun fire didn’t slow them, didn’t stop them. An artillery shell’s whine was heard, then the explosion seen, driving up dirt, grass, debris. The line didn’t stop, simply walking through the crater left by the shelling, relentlessly moving forward.

“Advance behind the ‘bots,” the general ordered. “Slowly. Artillery, take their bearings and the force field into consideration as you figure trajectory.” The Ukrainian forces fell in behind their robotic allies, the infantry nervously looking around, wincing at the sound of gunfire ahead of them, weapons at the ready. The artillery boomed behind them, arcing up and well over the Doombots at targets beyond them.

APPROACHING OPTIMAL RANGE. WEAPONS CHARGED. ENGAGE ENEMY?

The general tapped “yes” on his tablet.

COMMAND ACCEPTED. ENGAGING ENEMY COMBATANTS.

Five thousand rifles rose in steel hands. Five thousand visual sensors found targets. Five thousand laser rifles began to fire as the Doombots kept walking.

WOUNDED ENEMY COMBATANTS. CAPTURE YES/NO?

The general swallowed, tapping yes.

COMMAND ACCEPTED. DISENGAGING 100 UNITS FOR CAPTURE/CONTAINMENT. FIELD AID YES/NO?

Yes again.

COMMAND ACCEPTED. ENEMY COMBATANTS RETREATING/RETRENCHING. PURSUE YES/NO?

No. The orders were clear; let the first few skirmishes retreat and send word back in hopes that the Soviet would realize they no longer held the upper hand, and would sue for peace.

COMMAND ACCEPTED. WARNING. WARNING. AIR STRIKE APPROACHING, APPROXIMATELY TWO MINUTES UNTIL ARRIVAL. ENGAGE FLIGHT CAPACITY YES/NO?

Yes.

A third of the brigade stopped in their tracks, their legs locking together, slowly rising into the air until they reached about fifty feet off the ground, then cutting through the sky as easily and as quickly as a bird, heading toward the approaching bombers and jets.

“Jesus Christ,” the general’s aide muttered, watching as the Doombots dealt out death, seemingly unstoppable. “Thank fuck he’s on our side. How many of these do you think he has?”

“What, robots or brigades of robots?” The general muttered. “Who knows?” The aide shook her head, eyes glued to the screens.

“Thanks so much for making me feel better.”

“I’m not trying. Doom is a genius. And just think, these are only the field troops. Have you seen the elite forces?”

“No. Do I want to?” She asked. In response, the general slid his tablet page over two pages.

“The elite forces are carbon copies of Doom’s armor,” he began, holding out the tablet so she could see. “Robotic, so they have none of his special talents, but they are capable of independent thought, they don’t rely solely on orders. They command his field forces in Latveria, and it’s said they have more abilities than the ground pounders.”

“Dear God.” She shook her head. “Attacking Latveria --“

“Would be, is folly. No one knows how many of these he has, no one knows how many of the field troops he has. All of that is secret. Not to mention the force field generators throughout the country.”

“Again. Thank God he’s on our side.”

Victor smiled to himself, watching through the cameras in the visual sensors of the ground troops as they engaged the Soviet throughout Ukraine, looking for weaknesses, areas to improve. There was always room for improvement. “Status report.”

FORCE FIELDS HOLDING. BATTERY CAPABILITY RANGING FROM 80 TO 95 PERCENT.

“Current losses?”

CURRENT LOSSES AT LESS THAN THREE PERCENT, was the answer from one of the Doppelganger Doombots.

“Excellent. What caused those?”

WIRING DISLODGED DUE TO SHOCK FROM ARTILLERY/BOMBING, FAULTY BATTERY, FAULTY SERVO GEARS IN JOINT AREAS.

“Have the faulty units returned to the technicians,” he ordered. “Delegate two units per compromised unit for recovery and return operations.”

AS DOOM COMMANDS, the Doppelganger unit bowed its head.

“What is the situation in Poland?”

ALL DOOMBOTS ARE IN POSITION FOR INTERCEPTION. NEW PROGRAMMING HAS BEEN DOWNLOADED, INSTALLED, UPDATED. AWAITING ENEMY COMBATANTS.

“Excellent. Continue current operational plans.”

The Ukrainian commanders were effusive in their praise. The casualty rate had been cut by eighty percent, every skirmish had ended with the Russian forces being forced into retreat, and they had taken back a full twenty miles of front. “It’s a slow process,” one of them said with a shrug. “And this is open terrain; I’m not looking forward to clearing cities, even with your ‘bots, Lord Doom. If you’ll forgive my plain speech,” the man added, looking a little chagrined as he remembered his manners.

“Good soldiers speak plainly,” Victor replied, nodding. “Taking cities is always a difficult endeavor, major, especially when civilians are at risk, and provocateurs are easily hidden.”

“We’ll work out the strategy,” one of the other commanders said. “One of the main issues is sniper fire. They won’t hurt the ‘bots, of course, but the men coming in behind them.”

“The Doombots are fully capable of flushing out sniper nests by tracing the line of fire,” Victor informed them. “And then flushing out the nests.”

“We’ll work it out,” the commander repeated, though he was jotting that down. “But so far, Lord Doom, your aid has been invaluable.”

“Better to put out my neighbor’s fire than to wait until my own wagon catches,” Victor paraphrased one of his people’s sayings. “My only regret is that it took so long.”

“The past is past, let it stay there,” another interjected, shrugging his shoulders, and they went on to discuss their next strategies.

When the teleconference was finished, he studied the battlefield, gauged the response of the New Soviet, and called for one of the Doppelganger units. “I must be away for a few hours,” he said. “Inform me immediately if anything changes.”

YES, LORD DOOM.

Stay Tuned, True Believers!

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thewritenerd · 4 years ago

Text

Victor and Adam: NaNoWriMo Last Day

‘So what will it do when it’s finished?’ at first there was no response and Victor had to wonder if Adam had even heard him. Then after a while he turned to look at Victor. ‘It’s supposed to be a device for taking books of the high shelves.’ ‘Didn’t you think of that months ago?’ ‘Yeah well I’ve been busy.’ Victor nodded. ‘Well is there anything I could help you with?’ Adam shrugged. ‘Sure. I need two hands for some parts of this anyway.’ So Victor sat himself down and watched as Adam worked. Occasionally holding something, or pinching something together, or keeping something steady when he was asked. ‘This would be some much easier if I could weld this together.’ Adam grumbled. Victor nodded. ‘Maybe we could look into that.’ Adam turned to look at him. ‘You’re joking?’ ‘No. This is clearly something you’re serious about. I won’t let you do anything like that unsupervised. But we can still go about getting you the equipment you need.’ Adam’s face broke into a smile at that. The first smile in days it seemed. It made Victor want to smile back. After a little over an hour Victor decided it was time to take the next step. He took a deep breath. ‘Adam. I’ve noticed you haven’t been yourself these last few days. And while you don’t have to tell me now, or ever if you don’t want to, I want you to know you can tell me what’s bothering you. Whenever you’re ready.’ Adam sighed and set down his pliers. ‘That’s the problem I don’t know what’s wrong. I mean at first it was because I felt like I let someone down.’ ‘Who?’ Victor asked. Adam shook his head. Was he unsure who or did he just not want to say it out loud? ‘It’s the same.’ Adam said quietly under his breath.

‘What?’ ‘My broken arm. It looked just like…’ he was quiet for a moment and it took Victor a second too long before he realised he was crying. Unsure what else to do he reached out and rubbed the back of Adam’s neck. ‘Why do these things happen to me?’ Victor sighed. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn about the world, and you don’t know the limits of your own strength, and that’s my fault. I should have taught you instead of chasing you off. I should have been there for you from the start.’ He hadn’t planned on saying the last part out loud but now it was out there he decided to continue. ‘I’m sorry. You’re just a kid but I refused to see it, and you got hurt because of it. Those things you did I should have been there to prevent them. But I wasn’t. You didn’t know any better and I did.’ He sighed and reached over to pull that infuriating strand of hair out of Adam’s face. ‘You’re a good kid. I wish I could have seen that sooner.’ Adam nodded and looked at him. Though he wasn’t crying anymore his eyes were still wet with tears. Though both his eyes were brown they didn’t quite match. One was so dark it almost seemed black, while the other was a chestnut brown. For a moment those eyes stared at him searching for something, sincerity, a sign of humour. They seemed hopeful but not fully trusting. Eventually Adam sighed and lowered his head. Victor wasn’t sure what he’d seen in his face. Or if it was what he’d wanted to see. He just hoped he knew he had been genuine with all he had said. ‘Right. Well I’d better go and get cleaned up for dinner. You should start thinking about doing the same.’ ‘Okay dad.’ Adam said seeming half distracted. Victor left the room and it wasn’t until he got to the bottom of the stairs did it occur to him Adam wasn’t being sarcastic.

Adam

‘I’m not a religious man Mr Frankenstein. But the word miracle is the only one that could possibly describe this’ Victor nodded in agreement. ‘It’s certainly unusual.’ Adam frowned. ‘I’m sorry but what is going on?’ he asked wondering if the two men had somehow forgotten his presence. ‘What’s going on is your arm has completely healed in a little under two months.’ The doctor cried. ‘That’s good right?’ Adam asked still confused. ‘Good. Perhaps. But definitely inhuman.’ Adam found himself flinching away at that word. Inhuman. It sounded no better than Monster or Creature. ‘So he won’t need any more treatment?’ Victor asked. ‘Absolutely none. Though I do wonder if you’d be willing to have more tests. .See how far this healing thing goes.’ ‘And what would that entail?’ Victor snapped. ‘Well… Maybe Adam should sit outside while we discuss it.’ Adam suddenly felt even worse than he had before. Though he couldn’t be sure of it was due to what the doctor was saying or the murderous expression on Victor’s face. ‘If you can’t say what it would involve in front of Adam then maybe you shouldn’t be suggesting putting him through that. He’s not some lab rat to be poked and cut whenever someone pleases.’ The doctor looked like he wanted to argue but quickly backed down. While Victor was no where near as big as Adam he was not a small man, slim maybe but not small, especially when compared to this doctor. And while Adam had never experienced such a thing himself he knew having someone bigger than you stand over you while visibly angry was a very scary experience. ‘Well. That will be all.’ The doctor said forcing a smile. Victor shot him another scathing look before standing up. ‘Come on Adam. We don’t want to waste any more of our time here.’ Adam followed after him, shooting the doctor one last look before closing the door behind him. As they headed down the corridor Adam noticed Victor was thinking hard. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. Victor shook his head. ‘Nothing. I’ve just been thinking. In the two years you’ve been around you’ve never gotten sick. I didn’t think anything of it. But now I have to wonder…’ Adam waited for him to say more but Victor remained silent. ‘What do you wonder?’ he asked. ‘It doesn’t matter. Come on there’s an ice cream shop just round the corner.’ The shop itself was a bit crowded with it being such a hot Saturday afternoon but Adam didn’t mind. In fact he was grateful to not have to sit inside with all those people watching him. It took him a while to choose a flavour but eventually settled on cherry with chocolate sauce, Victor just had vanilla. Once they were out of the shop they started heading back to the car. They had almost reached the car park when Victor stopped. ‘I just remembered I needed to pop into here for a second.’ He pointed to the shop they had just stopped outside. It was some stationary shop called Write Here Write Now. Adam wasn’t sure if he found the name corny or clever. ‘Here you can finish this.’ Victor handed Adam his half-eaten cone and disappeared into the shop. Adam peered through the window but found he couldn’t see much from behind the displays of typewriters and notebooks and pots of pens. He could vaguely make out Victor standing by the till with his back to the window. Adam watched as he leaned forward and seemed to write something, occasionally lifting his head to say something to the man behind the counter. Giving up Adam took a step back and took a bite out of the cone. As he waited he suddenly noticed someone familiar making their way towards him. He gave a quick wave which Maram returned. ‘Hey Adam.’ She said as she reached him. ‘Where’s your cast?’ ‘I got it off today.’ He replied. Maram blinked. ‘Really that fast?’ Adam shrugged. ‘What can I say. I’m a wonder of science and a freak of nature.’ ‘Maram. Aren’t you going to introduce your friend?’ a woman Adam guessed was Maram’s mum asked. ‘Oh right. Mama this is Adam. Adam this is my mum.’ ‘You may call me Mrs Karim.’ Mrs Karim looked pretty much how Adam imagined someone who spent most of their time fixing cars would look. She wore dungarees and a black long-sleeved shirt. Her trainers were mostly black with engine oil. ‘Nice to meet you mam.’ Adam said holding out his hand. Mrs Karim blinked at him and Adam suddenly got the feeling he’d done something wrong. Slowly he lowered his hand. ‘Sorry. I was told when you great a grownup you should offer to shake their hand.’ Mrs Karim nodded. ‘I understand. But as you’re a guy when you great a woman in a hijab you should place your hand over your heart.’ ‘Like this?’ Adam asked doing as she said. ‘That’s it.’ Mr Karim beamed at him. Adam smiled back. ‘So are you here alone?’ Maram asked. Adam shook his head. ‘No Victor’s in there. He pointed to the shop window. ‘Who’s Victor?’ Mrs Karim asked. ‘My dad. But he doesn’t like me calling him that.’

#long post #read more #victor and adam #nanowrimo #writing #writblr

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nuttersincorporated · 7 years ago

Video

youtube

A King of Worms sits on a throne of sorrow A King of Worms eats up a man’s tomorrow With a platinum mask your soul he’ll borrow And a clockwork solider is born and hollow

The King of Worms wears a crown of terror In the Court of Worms there is none fairer We are all equal beneath the surface layer Our souls are screaming and begging in prayer

The King of Worms saw fear, it is said The King of worms thought fear should be fed The King of Worms takes your soul to shred In the court of Worms, we are all dead

Thoughts under the ‘keep reading.’

‘The Machinations of Worms’ storyline brings us back to Lovecraftian horror with the Entity younger cousin. The King of Worms is terrifying, which of course was the point. He does a great job of embodying fear. If Lewis ever stops reviewing comics, he can always start writing horror stories.

I’m using the King of Worms poem as the opening quote. I know that each verse was revealed to us separately and it was never performed as a complete poem during the storyline itself. However, I could say the same thing about the Enitiy poem and the fandom still treats it as one poem. I’m not sure why the King of Worms poem didn’t get the same treatment. I think I might be the first fan to but the verses together. No regrets!

‘The Machinations of Worms’ storyline expands upon the mythology and lore of the reviewerverse. I love the idea of a pantheon of Outer Gods all based on technology in some way. It offers so many story possibilities. The two members of the Technumina we’ve met so far, MissingNo and the King of Worms, have been great, scary creatures. I look forward to learning more about the Technumina in future storylines.

One thing that this compilation doesn’t show, which helped to build the tension, was how the shelves behind the futon slowly filled with more and more cybermats. At the time, it felt like each episode they had multiplied.

I really, really love Linksano. I maintain that he’s slowly becoming a technomancer (someone who uses both technology and science) through his study of magic and the way he integrates magic into his creations and inventions.

Linksano was just so pleased with himself and excited to show Linkara when he brought Eliza, the toy foam lizard, to life. Truly, he deserves the title of Mad Scientist. However, he should probably get around to reading Frankenstein at some point. Mary Shelley wrote a very good book about why people shouldn’t do this sort of thing. Luckily for the comicrew, unlike Victor Frankenstein, Linksano isn’t a brooding mad scientist who’s horrified of his own creation and Eliza isn’t a misunderstood lonely monster who hates her own creator.

Speaking of Eliza; she’s great! She has a wonderful sardonic reaction to being brought to life. That’s probably why I headcanon her and Pollo get on together really well. She spent a year working things out and then came to the rescue everyone and drink coffee. Go Eliza!

It’s nice to see the Ninja Style Dancer playing a part in the storyline again. I understand why he isn’t used as much but it’s good to know he’s still an active member of the comicrew. Can we please have some sort of explanation of how his smoke bomb, disappearing act works? Is it magic? Is it science? Is it a ninja secret? I want to know! He somehow escaped a possessed cybermat, while he was onboard Comicron One using a smoke bomb. How!?

The battle against MirrorKara is fun to watch and I like the different but similar origin of his magic gun.

‘The Machinations of Worms’ storyline continues to hint that, ever since he came back from the future, 90’s Kid (now 90’s Dude) has been up to something the others don’t know about. It’s confirmed at the end that he’s working with Lord Vyce. I was always sure he had a good reason for his actions and this never shook my faith in him.

I was so happy when Vyce treated 90’s Kid with respect and actually listened to what he had to say. 90’s Kid often gets treated as the idiot but the truth is he’s a lot cleverer than people give hind credit for. He’s also been through a lot and should never be underestimated.

Seeing the characters turn up again after they’d been knocked out by the cybermats was creepy. Especially because they continued to act mostly normal. At the time, we didn’t know if they been replaced or were being controlled.

Allen doesn’t get nearly enough credit. He’d a genus and could crack a code in seconds that Linkara and Pollo hadn’t been able to crack in years. I love the fact that the government has protocols to deal with someone who works for them being replaced by an android.

Pollo and his multitude of bodies which can share his consciousness are just great. He is legion.

“It’s really weird seeing you all talk like that.”

“We are a group of robots sharing a single consciousness, fighting alongside robotic silver fish and a foam lizard brought to life using science. Normal is relative.”

I remember how, when ‘The Machinations of Worms’ storyline was first coming out a lot of people, myself included, were a little disappointed that we could see the reviewing room reflected in the masks. We thought it was a failed effect but then it turned out that even that was a part of the storyline and the masks were reflecting what was in Linkara soul. Lewis thinks of everything and he still manages to surprise me. Linkara’s soul is really, really, really darn creepy when we get a look at it.

I like Linkara in this storyline. He’s not turning evil in it and comes up with a lot of good plans and continuance plans to try and deal with what’s happening. It’s a shame they don’t work but that isn’t really his fault. I also like the fact that he still plans to exile Lord Vyce if possible rather than killing him.

Poor Linksano at the end. It takes a lot to shake him. Most of the time, he’s the one causing the craziest things that happen. However, he really didn’t know how to react to the knowledge that nothing they’d done had hurt the King of Worms. I’d be scared too, if I realized that a God that embodied fear had somehow been frightened to death.

“You do realise that people are going to write fanfics about this.”

“The hell do I care? I anit gonna be around to read ’em.”

After ‘The Machinations of Worms’ storyline we get the lovely and short storyline ‘Here and Back Again.’

I’m glad Jaeris finally reunited with his wife, got a way to go home and live there. He deserves to be happy.

The little bit of Joanna we got to see was good. Hopefully, we’ll get to see more of her at some point.

Want to know my thoughts on the other storylines? Here are links to them which I’ll update each time I give my thoughts on a new completion.

His Soul is Blue

The Other Insano

All That He Sees, He Conquers

A Piece of the World is Missing

His Blue Soul

Gun and Sorcery

Ghost of the Machine

The Machinations of Worms (you’re already here)

The Sleepwalker (I’ve not done thing one yet)

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mrneighbourlove · 7 years ago

Text

Snake who Smiles: Finale. Head of the Hydra

Baron Victor Von Zemalocke looked over the crowd of rioters that had gathered. At long last, his destiny was at hand. The Dragmires would pay for their insolence and barbaric nature in tormenting him. All the frustration and humiliation, they'd pay ten fold.

He took a deep breath and addressed the crowd.

"Faithful people of Hyrule, your liberation is at hand!"

The crowd cheered at his voice, weapons and torches raised.

"How long has this beautiful land been under attack by foreign demons? For the longest time Ganondorf and his Gerudo pillaged our lands? Their greed tore us down and made us rebuild our civilization time and time again. NO MORE!!!"

The crowd roared and roared, a wave of hatred rising.

"And now the Gerudo have brought the Lordeidians! Witches of terrible magic. They too selfishly brought a war. A war of darkness and insanity! How many of your family and friends were killed on the wedding day of the Bastard King and Queen!? TOO MANY!!!"

Zemalocke took a sword out and raised it high.

"Are you ready for the Hylian race to take its rightful place?!"

"YES!"

"Then we must FIGHT to defeat our oppressors! I promise you that freedom! We will rise from the ashes and I will lead you as King! Now we will march through the castle, annihilate all the puppets of the Gerudo and Lorliedian scum, and I will bring you the heads of Zarazu and Covarog himself!!!"

The crowd of angry hylian supporters cheered, along with a band of monsters Zemalocke paid off for extra muscle. This lot would prove most effective as his pawns and knights.

Zemalocke waved his sword and the explosives set off. "CHARGE!!!!"

"Covarog! Our children!"

"Are with my mother, you can't defend them right now. She's hiding in the hidden tunnels with them and Impa."

"Why are you taking me to the tower?! I need to be with them!"

"We can't move your wheelchair in the tunnels if you need to move! No one even knows where the bloody door is for the tower, just stay up here, and be quiet while I settle this."

Zarazu didn’t like it one damned bit, but she nodded in reluctant acceptance. “Be safe Covarog.”

The King gave his wife a kiss. “Always.”

Zizi saw the mob approaching from afar. She just could not run fast enough on her two legs. The Zemlja had called several of the Lorleidians to help their queen, as well as some of the townspeople. The soldiers were waiting for most of the mob at the gate. She could only hope her sister was somewhere safe. Surely Covarog had taken her to a place that was well hidden in the castle. He would not risk Zarazu's life when she could barely defend herself.

"I really hate to bother you in the same week, but I need you again Ve'nusa!" Zizi said in-between breaths for air. "I hope you're hungry!"

Malik waited in the main hall. The sounds of yelling and light combat could be heard behind the bared door. The High Commander looked back at the soldiers behind him. He wore the Golden Hybrid Iron Knuckle Armour his wife had given him, a terrifying symbol of power. "Captain Tulilad, I want you and the men to stay behind me as second wave of defense. I shall stay here and take the brunt of the attack. Any stragglers that get past me I want to be taken down without any mercy or hesitation."

"Lord Malik, with all due respect, there's a ton of them and one of you." Captain Tulilad readied his sword. "You can't possibly hope to defeat them all."

Some soldiers inspected their weapons, praying to the gods to get through the day.

"We're at his side, we'll help him drive the mob back."

"I know, but some of these are civilians as well, we can't hurt them, can we?"

"They're on the edge of treason, of course we can use deadly force."

"Our first priority is to protect the king and queen, and the heirs."

Malik looked down at Tulilad through his visor. His stare was cold and final and his eyes still. "I might not be the undead monster that could tank blows and go head to head with the blows of demons anymore, but I am presently, more protected, more skilled, and more powerful than any man or woman here, even as I am now."

Malik's grip tightens on his battle axe. "And you will remember, Captain, who we face. The man responsible is the mastermind behind all the attacks on the Royal Family. Any those that follow him are traitors plain and simple. Any come through that door, man, woman or child, with their hatred and racist malice, you will kill . Now am I clear Captain?"

"... if you get hurt, then I'm not the one telling your wife. She scares me more than you do." Tulilad muttered under his breath as the troops opened the doors. There were so many in the mob. He could not comprehend how Zemalocke was able to get so many people on his side. Hyrule and its inhabitants thrived under Covarog's and Zarazu's rule. The economy was at its peak and poverty rates were lower than ever. There was no need to worry about hunger or sickness due to the new magic. New homes, buildings, ports, and roads were being built. Why was there still so much hate? Tulilad would never understand how such a simple thing such a race could result in such a primal aspect of fear. So he fought, slicing his way through any foe in his path.

Malik's eyes went cold and dead as he charged forward. With a wide swing of his axe, he removed several men from their torso's in a fountain of blood and carnage. Fighting against momentum and stress on his body he turned the direction of the weapon to cut down more men. He needed to change weapons. The axe was too bulky. Not suitable for so many opponents, and especially with a new body like this. With the snap of his finger in mid swing he changed from his axe to his great sword, cutting down a woman from her neck vertically through her torso. The next movements he found himself fighting more signal threats, cutting them down one by one. Many were uncoordinated, but few had skill. Many blows harmlessly grazed off his armour, until finally a mercenary got close and hit the more vulnerable chainmail on Malik's hip. He grunted and took a defensive position. It was then he realized he was cut off from the rest of the men.

The rioters charged at him, and Malik went to work, fighting back, cutting down as quickly as he could each person that came close one or two at a time. What he didn't expect were a few creatures outside the angry Hylians fighting for Zemalocke. A Dinoflos tried to attack him with a bladed tail and an armoured Areoflos flew about making a swift strike to take Malik's head off. Perhaps they were paid. Maybe they missed Ganondorf's more tyrannical reign and felt cheated. Or maybe they were just stupid.

Malik ducked and rolled to the left, and with a quick parry, stabbed the Dinoflos through the chest. As he pulled out he was shot by a fire ball from behind by the Areoflos. Before he could strike back more rioters attacked him. Malik was getting sluggish in fighting so many. How many had he killed now. Seventy, eighty? He hated to admit it, but he was getting tired. He had not fought in a large scale battle since the last war, and back then his undead strength gave him unlimited stamina. How much more could he take?....

Asakonigei was still on the mends from giving birth, but was doing much better in the past couple of weeks. Revan was growing as the days passed by and was a happy baby as long as his stomach was full. However, the case with Zemalocke was one that kept her up at night. The baron seemed hell bent on making Zarazu suffer to torment the Dragmire family. She worried for her friend's sake as well as her family's. There was no proof yet according to her husband, but if he believed he was the culprit, then she’d believe too. What if his final intention was to drive all the Lorleidians out of Hyrule? Or worse, kill them?

Her answers arrived when she saw the mob outside of the castle door. Somehow, Zemalocke had rallied a force large enough to attack the palace. After ensuring her baby her safe along with Zelda and the Dragmire grandchildren in the tunnels, Asakonigei went back to look upon the betrayers. There was her husband and the guard, trying to hold off the mob from the castle doors. Malik was getting tired, his steps were faltering and his swings were getting chaotic. How long until sloppy? As strong as he was, he was now human and could tire more easily. She had to do something to help him.

Hurrying to her forge, Asakonigei dashed to the very back where all the metals available were stored. There were five towering figures covered with drapes. The Kovina knew it was a long shot, but it would have to do for now. Pulling off the covers, there stood knights. Perhaps her newest creations could help turn the tide of the battle.

Malik kept fighting as well as he could. So many tried to cut him down, but he kept pushing them back. Taking in his surroundings he saw that Zemalocke, for all his talk of a pure race, had hired quite the number of other species. Maybe he and his followers thought of them as slaves.

The worst came when the halls shook. Turning around he saw a very large and very angry Hinox rampage through. The large Cyclops roared and through a punch at Malik. If he wasn't so tired he would have rolled. Instead he summoned a shield to protect him and for his troubles was sent flying into a wall. The concrete broke along with a rib. Malik spat some blood, covering the inside of his helmet and rose to his feet as the Hinox stomped over to clobber him more.

"Damn Beast...."

Before the Hinox could land another blow, a blur of gray stood in front of Malik. It blocked the attack and then slammed its own fist into the cyclops. Four thunderous thuds struck the ground, causing the earth to crack. Each knight was different from the other in size and shape, not to mention their weapons were various as well. A sword, a mace, an axe, a scythe, and a halberd were in their clawed hands. It was a rather eerie feeling, seeing no eyes behind those holes in the helmet. With one swoop, the knight with the mace knocked back the mob a good distance to give the guards some time to catch their breath.

Asakonigei stood on the bridge's archway, up high from all the fighting, standing on solid stone. Her hands were spread out with strings of magic attached to the knights. These knights were her puppets and she intended to use them to her best ability. However, the only problem was, it took an immense amount of magic to be able to work them all at once.

"Love..." Asakonigei spoke as she poised her knights for the next wave. "I can't do this for long. It's really..." She grunted, trying to focus her magical energy. She should have trained more with the knights, but she never had the time. With the baby and all the work in the forge, it was so limited. "I'll need you to hurry..."

Malik nodded with gratitude and understanding. With having some breathing time for just a moment of relaxation he took a few breaths to gain his composure, then ran forward towards the Hinox. Channeling his energy he concentrated his magic and launched an energy spear into the eye of the Hinox. The monster roared with pain and stumbled about holding its eye. Malik wasted no time rushing forward and climbed up the Hinox, reaching his head. Summoning his Battle Axe, Malik ground his feet in and threw his arms down with all his might, roaring in ancient Gerudo.

"SLUUR!"

The axe split the skull of the mighty Hinox and with a sad moan it slowly fell onto its back. Malik slid down onto the monster's stomach and gripped the handle with both his hands, shaking the axe above his head in a display of victory and defiance. Some of the rioters grew scared and ran, a few into the jaws of a very hungry plant.

Ve'nusa was hungry and elated at having all this food. The plant seemed to grow in size with each traitor it consumed. Blood dripped down the fanged mouth while the tentacles kept the mob backing into the knights. Zizi hated having to use violence, but when it was against her family members, she would use whatever was necessary.

Asakonigei, on the other hand, was slicing as many intruders as she could. The knights moved as a formation unit, each making sure that the other had another open target. It was getting difficult to keep up such a fast pace. Still, she refused to let anyone touch her husband or the guards. Zizi seemed to be protected by the meat-eating plant of hers and those incredibly thick vines.

Malik looked around. Where was he? Where was Baron Zemalocke? A terrible feeling of dread filled the Commander. The Baron was not foolish to the details of the castle. If that snake could be anywhere, it would be hunting Zarazu. “Asa, I’m going after the Queen!”

Before she could reply he was already running off.

Zemalocke went through the hall with his closest guards. The mob would do its job, and more would rise to his aid once Zarazu was dead. Nearing the library he looked around at the book cases on the wall. One of the guards looked around carefully. "Sir, you sure this is it?"

"Yes fool. My son was very clear on what area he played with the bitches offspring."

Carefully sliding a finger along the books he pulled a red one down. A click popped and the shelf slid open. "Ah. There we are."

Walking down the secret hallway Zemalocke smirked upon seeing his final challenge. "Covarog. Fancy meeting you here."

"You won't go another step." Covarog growled at Zemalocke as he held his sword ready. "Whatever you hope to achieve will not work, Zemalocke. Hyrule is united under my rule, my wife's rule." The young king was ready to face whatever the guards had ready for him. Nothing was going to harm his beloved wife as long as he was breathing.

Zemalocke laughed coldly at Covarog. "Your kind brought death upon us. I will FREE the people under my rule. And I think the first thing I'll do is make sure every single Gerudo is wiped out for good. Along with those witches. Honestly if it was your brother I'd stay, but alas, you are nothing to me. Men, if you please." Zemalocke snapped his finger and his guards rushed at Covarog with agility and grace. One had a chain and blade, flipping in the air and throwing it at his head while the second rushed to cut his stomach open with a short blade.

Covarog managed to avoid the blades, however, these guards were dangerously quick. The chain caught on his sword while he managed to stop the other with his arm brace. He would have to get these guys out of the way before he could handle Zemalocke. Yet, the soldiers gave Zemalocke just enough room to sneak by Covarog. The king lunged for Zemalocke's foot but had to block a sword aimed at his head. His wife! He had to protect his wife. Kicking one of the guards in the face, he tumbled backwards down the steps with a loud crack.

Zemalocke simply walked by Covarog without a care in the world. "Goodbye Covarog. May Hell embrace you with open arms."

As he walked away another guard threw a bladed ball and chain at Covarog's kneecap.

The blade nicked Covarog's leg but still he kept fighting. He would not let Zemalocke hurt his wife!

Meanwhile, Zarazu was once again in her wheelchair. She was really beginning to loathe this stupid thing. Once it had served its purpose, she was honestly thinking about asking someone to set it on fire. It would be nice to watch it burn. While her legs would move a little, she still stumbled around like a klutz on them. Hearing noise on the stairs, she perked up.

"Covarog?"

Zemalocke’s foots steps echoed as he walked in. He took his final step at the top of the stairs. He looked at her with a gleeful smile. "Ah, Zarazu. So good to see you. Seems fate has lead me to you one last time."

Zarazu nearly shuddered at that creepy smile. Somehow, Zemalocke had gotten past her husband and she suddenly feared for his sake.

"If you hurt Covarog, I'll freeze you inside out!"

"Then how about we just skip the pretence and correct the term. I 'killed' Covarog." He looks at her furiously. "I don't appreciate the lengths you made me go over the years trying to put and end to you and your barbaric family."

"You're the plague in this society!" Zarazu spat at him venomously, knowing there was no possible way Zemalocke could ever hope to defeat her husband. "My family has done nothing to you! You're so stuck in the past traditions you cannot see how bright the future already is!"

"The future has a dark one that only I can prepare us for. That only MY rule will lead us away from. Honestly I'm glad that the poison hit you instead of its intended target. Maybe I'll keep your youngest son alive just for the sheer entertainment of seeing him grow retarded due to you giving birth to a poisoned rat." Zemalocke laughed cruelly at Zarazu.

"You will never touch my babies." Zarazu hissed at him. "Zahirog is alive and getting better. My twins are already showing signs of being great users of magic. Even if I am no longer on this earth, they have people to look after them. If you even dare to get near them, I'll guarantee you'll be ripped to shreds."

"No. They will die. I will spill their blood. But not before showing them the head of their mother. Show them what vile blood they came from."

Zemalocke draws his rapier. "Time to bleed Zarazu. And die."

If there was ever a time that Zarazu really hated being in a wheelchair, now was that time. She needed a weapon, something to try to hit him or stab him. Kanisa sure left a lot of books in this tower, but where was a damn knife when she needed one? At least there was a glass telescope for her to enjoy the stars during her pregnancy. Wait, that could work. Grabbing the telescope by the hilt, she held it as if she was going to swing a sword.

"You'll have to get through me first, you vile, filthy, two-headed son of a damn Dodongo!"

Zemalocke looked at her dead pan, then laughed hysterically, his accent really breaking loose. "I must say, you are making this far more enjoyable then I thought you would. Was annoyed when your sister failed to be raped, and the tree hugger's farms weren't all destroyed, but at least you've been entertaining.” He brought his hand to his mouth and chukled. “Ho, ho, ho. But oh no, you clearly have the range advantage now, what ever will I do?" Zemalocke keeps chuckling as he pulls a revolver on her and fires a round into her leg. Perhaps some pleasure first. Get one scream in.

The bullet stung horribly, making her leg ache. Yet, that was all she felt for now. Maybe it was not so bad since she could not feel such pain. At least that would give the adrenaline coursing through her system a bit more purpose. Biting her lip, she held back a pained groan. She had to move. With a deep breath, Zarazu managed to stand out of her wheelchair, wobbly leaning on the desk there for leverage. Her feet moved awkwardly as she still held onto the telescope. Well, now it was time for projectiles. Grabbing books as fast as she could, Zarazu mentally told herself she'd get Kanisa another copy later. She hurled them at the baron, doing anything to distract him in hopes she could reach the stairs.

Zemalocke manoeuvred around the books and gave the Queen a swipe across her arm. "Pathetic! This is what the Queen of Hyrule is capable of?" As she ran to the stairs he grabbed her by the hair and threw her back to the centre of the tower.

A yelp escaped her lips as Zemalocke tossed her to the floor. She hit the ground and reacted by pulling the rug underneath his feet, hard. Covarog would come, someone would come, she was NOT going to die by the hands of this maniac! As Zemalocke lost his balance, Zarazu kicked him in the knee, hoping to do some damage and then swung the telescope at his midsection.

Zemalocke grunted in pain at the kick to his knee. Grabbing the telescope he snarled at her. "You DARE lay a fibre of your filth against me?!" He threw the telescope to the side and smacked her to the floor. "Enough of this. First you, then the children you have hidden in those underground tunnels."

"You won't get my children!" Zarazu shot her hand forth and grasped his bare ankle to... what?! The shock was apparent on her face. Her magic... wasn't working?!

Zemalocke smiled like a mad dog seeing her magic not work. The medallion around his neck worked!!! "Foolish witch. Your powers have no effect on me! Superior Hylian Intelligence prepared me." He drives his sword through her palm, and grinds it around. “HAHAHA YOU’VE LOST!!!”

Covarog paced himself as two of Zemalocke’s goons prepared to strike. The King parried a few strike then threw a fireball of dark magic at one of them. They kept dodging about with incredible flexibility.

The King was getting tired. One of them lit a fire arrow and prepared to strike, when Ralnor drove his sword through the man’s heart. “No one gets to rough my brothers dashing face.”

Malik came running through and slammed his fist across the last guards head, caving in a part of his skull. He didn’t even stop, gaining a clear lead on the brothers. “Come on!”

Ralnor nodded to his brother, and when they heard Zarazu’s scream of pain, they knew time was running out.

Zarazu screamed as the sword pierced her hand. She gritted her teeth and yanked her hand away, the middle and index finger ripped apart from her action. Magic or not, she still had to fight. Scuttling backwards, Zarazu yanked a sharp letter opener from the desk.

"Coward!" She snapped at him. "Using dirty tricks!"

"Alas. Words. Words are all you have." Zemalocke smiles gleefully and draws his gun at her head. "Any last of them?"

"Yeah... you should have never called Malik a filthy undead right to his face when he used to be that way. He really hates it when someone does that."

Zemalocke didn’t catch on right away until Malik threw an energy spear directly at Zemalocke's gun shattering it. Another immediately in range at his head. The magic broke apart when it got too close. The Darknut Commander immediately rammed his blade at Zemalocke.

They each spoke in union as they clashed. "You bastard! How DARE you!!!"

Zarazu made sure to get out of Malik's way. There was no much she could do in this state without magic. Seeing that Zemalocke had some kind of force blocking her use of it in close range, there was no much she could do. Eyes watering, the queen wrapped her bloodied hand in a strip from her dress, securing it tightly. There had to be a way to get out of this mess.

"Zarazu! I'm coming!" Covarog's voice rang from the stairs.

Zemalocke kept his footwork light, dancing around Malik. Malik had taken off his helmet for this one occasion. He wanted Zemalocke to see the man who killed him, to look into the eyes of his superior.

"You tried to wipe my family out!"

"They deserved to be with the devil!"

Malik made quick motions, parrying back and forth with Zemalocke. He had the power, but the Baron had the speed. Zemalocke spun and cut Malik's cheek. "Fool, you can't win!" Drawing a second rapier he charged Malik. The duel bladed style was a fighting technique Malik was uncustomed against. He had to take on more hits. If he dodged, Zemalocke could go after Zarazu.

The way Zemalocke moved allowed the necklace dangling around his neck to come into view. Gasping, Zarazu knew immediately where she had seen a description of such an item. That was what limited her magic. The queen shouted, "The medallion! Malik, crush the medallion!!!"

Zemalocke snarled and kept fighting. "You're kind is over!"

Malik held his blade locked with Zemalocke's. At the stairs he saw Ralnor with his brother. If anyone was skilled with a precise strike it would be the Prince. He nodded at him. One shot at this. Zemalocke might feel threatened by multiple opponents and kill himself if it meet killing Zarazu.

"Kings have tried. Demons have tried. You won't even get a start."

Malik spat in his face, and bashed against the Baron's blades, knocking him off balance.

Ralnor was quick to withdraw a dagger. He had heard Zarazu telling Malik to destroy the necklace around the baron's neck. With absolute precision, it pierced the medallion, causing the ancient token to crack. Shattering to pieces, the item restricting magical energy was no more. Covarog held up his blade to strike Zemalocke, but Zarazu's voice rang out clear.

"NO!" The queen told her husband as the ice traveled from her fingertips to the floor, restricting the baron's movements by his feet. "He's mine. He threatened my children and my family... an easy death is much too merciful."

Zemalocke growled and raised to throw a sword at her. "I WON'T ALLOW-"

Malik cut him off by severing his hand. The Baron screamed in pain. "You dare make me bleed you animals!!!"

"Help me up." Zarazu told her husband, Covarog carefully lifting his wife. Ralnor stood guard, keeping a watchful eye out for any other traitors that may come up the stairs. On shaky legs, the Lorleidian queen had to hold onto her lover to keep upright due to the bullet in her leg and the blood loss from her shredded hand. "I might have spared your life for your son's sake... but you threatened my babies." She stuck a finger into his severed hand, having the ice spread throughout his arm. It stopped at the shoulder and the queen nodded at Malik. "Crush it."

screamed as his arm was frozen up. Malik nodded and snapped his finger, summoning a mace. With one strong swing he shattered the arm. Zemalocke's yell echoed throughout. "Don't you know who you're dealing with?! I am BARON Victor Von Zemalocke! You're master!!!"

"A Lorleidian has no master, a Gerudo has no master, a Hylian has no master, and you, Victor, are master of none." Zarazu froze the other arm, the ice creeping up ever so slowly to the baron's shoulder. "You're just a sad and pathetic man. You use low tactics to manipulate those less fortunate than you and cowardly hide behind others to do your dirty work. You're lower than dragon shit." She didn't have to tell Malik what she intended to do. "The other one."

"Love, is this necessary? Lorleidians do not condone vio-" Covarog was interrupted by his wife.

"The worm threatened my babies, threatened to show them my severed head before killing them." Zarazu silenced him with a look. "You will not deny me this."

"Then we do things the Gerudo way. The Ancient way." Malik spoke to Covarog in their tongue. He shattered the other arm. Zemalocke screamed once more, then started to laugh again. "You still deny your barbarism?! How low you maggots are?!"

"Actually, I think a touch of barbarism is exactly what I need right now." Zarazu traveled lower, starting with a leg. "Lorleidians had a penalty for treason against the crown; death. No arguments or excuses made, just death. However, it had a twist. If found plotting, then the traitor was usually thrown to the dragons. Yet, a failed assassination attempt? The king or queen was able to select their own method of punishment." She narrowed her eyes at him, a crass smile caressing her lips. "Care to guess what mine is? Malik crossed me once and he learned his lesson. It seems to me, you're not learning fast enough." She pointed. "Now that leg."

Malik scowled at Zarazu for bringing that up, and gave Zemalocke a kick to knock him backwards, his legs snapping off and staying in place. The Baron hissed with wrath as he wiggles around. "You'll all BURN! ALL OF YOU!!!"

"Sorry dear, just making a point, at least you got a new arm." Zarazu apologize as she watched as the baron wriggled on his back like a flipped turtle. It was just pitiful. Still, she found a tint of enjoyment for watching him suffer. "You don't get it, do you?" The queen bent down far enough to hold a finger under his chin. "There's always going to be scum like you, not liking changes in the kingdom or others that are difference. The only problem is that you'll gain no loyalties for being a racist asshole. You only gain loyalty and trust when you are kind..." Her eyes glanced to Malik. "And understanding despite what disputes were in the past." As the Baron's head started to freeze, Zarazu told him with a grin, "Don't worry, Victor... I'll see to it that your son is raised properly."

"This isn't over....you....bi-" Zemalocke's face was frozen with fury. His heart stopped beating and all his organs shut down. Malik looked down at the rioters below the tower that were left. Grabbing the body, he took it and threw it down to the people below.

Zemalocke was conscious the whole way as he fell. How could he fail? He was supposed to be King. He was supposed to rule. Immense fear filled him as he neared the ground. Mercy. He wanted Mercy. In his last moment, he tried to scream, but nothing of such magnitude came, instead, a simple hiss as his lungs failed him. He shattered into pieces hitting the ground.

His followers, upon seeing the body of their would be savour, surrendered immediately. Malik sighed thinking over how much devastation that man had brought. “It’s over.”

"You need to get that hand looked at." Ralnor gently touched Zarazu's crudely wrapped palm and she grimaced. "The Dusas can heal such a thing, right?"

"Yes, though, I'll probably earn another scar." Zarazu held onto Covarog heavily before looking at him in the eyes. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, just a few scratches here and there." The king sighed as he held his wife close. "I'm just glad you're safe."

"You should go check on Asa." Ralnor told Malik with a slight frown. "She's been fighting this entire time. She's probably on her last legs using her latest... um... puppet knights."

Malik looked down at all the Hylian traitors silently as they were arrested and round up. At the remains of their leader. How much destruction these people caused. His fist squeezed at his hatred of those people. Would it ever leave him fully?

Tulilad was breathing heavily as he walked to see if any of the fallen traitors were still alive. Some were arrested and the others were put out of their misery. Even Kelly was exhausted from fighting off so many enemies. Asakonigei, though, she looked like she was having a fit. Her entire body trembled with effort to keep the knights upright. The metal puppets were shaking, a few on their knees and the others using their swords as a cane to keep upright.

"Is... is that all of them?" Asakonigei asked, sweat drenching her forehead.

"I think so." Tulilad replied. "I hope so."

Kelly wiped the blood from her sword, absolutely drained, physically and emotionally. "You two ok?"

"I will be after I sleep until the end of time." Tulilad chuckled dryly as wiped some dried blood off his cheek. "... but before that a shower."

"It sounds like... Tulilad has the right idea..." Asakonigei slumped to her knees, unable to keep upright as her chest heaved for air. The magic strings connecting to the knights vanished and the puppets were dead still. Her hands shook terribly as she tried to take a moment to gather her bearings.

"Good to hear." Kelly leaned down, and, clearing the blood off his other cheek then down to his lips, kissed him.

Malik slowly walked in, observing the carnage.

"Asa? Are you well?"

"Hrm... I could perhaps be persuaded to wash your back if you ask nicely enough." Tulilad flirted with Kelly. "What do you say to that?"

Kelly smiled and kissed him again. "I'd like that."

"You first." Tulilad teased as he followed Kelly back to the castle. "I'm not cleaning up this mess. We'll let the rookies do it."

Asakonigei looked up at her husband with a sheepish, but tired smile.

"I... I haven't used magic like that since giving birth and..." The Kovina still shivered from the lack of magic in her system. "Well... I'm a bit out of practice. I think I used too much too soon..."

Malik nodded and scooped Asakonigei up. "Let's go to bed. Zelda can return our son later."

"I'm a bit icky, Malik." Asakonigei pulled at the front of her sweaty shirt for emphasize. "Might need to wash up a bit before sleeping. I could sleep for ages... and making Zelda a babysitter for now, hrm?"

"She owes me whatever I want after killing me..." Malik carried her away. At least the battle was won.

Alexander meekly looked at the floor as he was brought before the Queen. He wore a black suit for mourning.

The threat to the kingdom was gone yet it still left damage. Little Alexander was now an orphan. His maidservants had been watching after him for the time being. Zarazu felt sorry for the poor boy, yet she knew in her heart that Zemalocke was a traitor. There was nothing she could do or say to comfort him about the terrible stories floating around the castle. The most she could do was offer a safe place to stay.

"Alexander?" Zarazu spoke softly, her hand still wrapped in bandages. It would return to normal within a few days, thanks to the healing from the Dusas. Her leg was healing nicely, the bullet passing clean through her flesh. "I know you must think poorly of my family after all this mess, I wouldn't blame you. However, you have a choice to make for now. You can either stay here and learn at Hyrule Castle under the same tutors that teach Luimaya and Turagor, learning the ways of the royal court. Or, you can seek out a distant family member to go and live with until of age to resume rule of your late father's castle."

Alexander didn't know what to think. "I'm smart enough to rule my father's business Queen Zarazu. I don't HAVE any family left, and I won't let anyone else take hold of my family's property, our.....legacy...."

"I know you are, dear, I know, and no one will take what belongs to you, I promise. Right now, you're just still too young to be on your own." Zarazu tried explaining to him very carefully. "Do you know of anyone would can take care of you? An aunt? An uncle? Someone?"

"House maids."

"I meant blood relation, Alexander." Zarazu told the boy with a small frown. "The laws of our land state that a youngling like you has to have someone to care for him."

"No. They're all dead. I'm an orphan in every sense. Father gave me an education higher then most. I am more then qualified. Hand maids are fine."

Alexander kept his emotions as tight as he could, a little scowl on his face.

"... let us compromise, Alexander." Zarazu hobbled toward the young boy with her sole crutch. Standing in front of him, she gently placed her bandaged hand on his shoulder. "I'll let you go back to you castle if you take one of my caretakers with you. Most of the women have children that are grown and gone, a few are widowed. It would be a good job for them and you'd get the care you needed. You can even pick which lady you like best." She smiled quietly at him. "Though you know, you are always welcome to stay here."

"I..." Alexander tried to stay tough, but then hugged her, snivelling. All that he had been through was too much for him. "O-ok."

"Shh, shh, it's okay to cry." Zarazu bent down on a knee to hug the boy. "I'm here if you need me, no matter what it is. For what it is worth, I'm sorry about your father... but I am glad you are a good soul." She stroked his hair gently. "You'll be a fantastic baron one day and your land will flourish. Just make sure you come and visit once in a while, yes? Knowing Luimaya and Turagor, you'll be missed on our afternoon picnics."

"O-ok. I will." Alexander dried his tears and, letting go, gave Zarazu a bow. "I should choice a caretaker. And for what it's worth, I hope I’m a good Baron too one day. Different then my father."

"You'll be wonderful, Alex." Zarazu gave his head a small pat, smiling at the boy. "We'll all be here for you, cheering you on no matter what. You be safe traveling home and never hesitate to call upon me if you need me."

Zarazu hoped that the boy could be a beacon of hope, and a proper link for her people and Hylians in the future.

(Glad to finally have finished my second larger collaboration with @ridersoftheapocalypse! Expect more stories from us to continue in the future!)

#Snake who Smiles #Zemalocke #Zarazu #Klinge/Malik #Covarog

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gaysparklepires · 7 years ago

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25. Mirror

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I forced my eyes—frozen wide open with shock—to move, so that I could not examine too closely the oval object wrapped in tendrils of shivering, fiery hair.

Edward was in motion again. Swift and coolly businesslike, he dismembered the headless corpse.

I could not go to him—I could not make my feet respond; they were bolted to the stone beneath them. But I scrutinized his every action minutely, looking for any evidence that he had been harmed. My heart slowed to a healthier rhythm when I found nothing. He was lithe and graceful as ever. I couldn’t even see a tear in his clothes.

He did not look at me—where I stood frozen to the cliff wall, horrified—while he piled the quivering twitching limbs and then covered them with dry pine needles. He still did not meet my shocked gaze as he darted into the forest after Seth.

I didn’t have time to recover before both he and Seth were back, Edward with his arms full of Riley. Seth was carrying a large chunk—the torso—in his mouth. They added their burden to the pile, and Edward pulled a silver rectangle from his pocket. He flipped open the butane lighter and held the flame to the dry tinder. It caught at once; long tongues of orange fire licked rapidly across the pyre.

“Get every piece,” Edward said in a low aside to Seth.

Together, the vampire and the werewolf scoured the campsite, occasionally tossing small lumps of white stone into the blaze. Seth handled the pieces with his teeth. My brain wasn’t working well enough for me to understand why he didn’t change back to a form with hands.

Edward kept his eyes on his work.

And then they were done, and the raging fire was sending a pillar of choking purple toward the sky. The thick smoke curled up slowly, looking more solid than it should; it smelled like burning incense, and the scent was uncomfortable. It was heavy, too strong.

Seth made that snickering sound again, deep in his chest.

A smile flickered across Edward’s tense face.

Edward stretched out his arm, his hand curled into a fist. Seth grinned, revealing the long row of dagger teeth, and bumped his nose against Edward’s hand.

“Nice teamwork,” Edward murmured.

Seth coughed a laugh.

Then Edward took a deep breath, and turned slowly to face me.

I did not understand his expression. His eyes were as wary as if I were another enemy—more than wary, they were afraid. Yet he’d shown no fear at all when he’d faced Victor and Riley… my mind was stuck, stunned and useless as my body. I stared at him, bewildered.

“Beau, love,” he said in his softest tone, walking toward me with exaggerated slowness, his hands held up, palms forward. Dazed as I was, it reminded me oddly of a suspect approaching a police officer, showing that they weren’t armed…

“Beau, can you drop the rock, please? Carefully. Please don’t hurt yourself further.”

I’d forgotten all about my crude weapon, though I realized now that I was grasping it so hard that my hand was probably cut up now, too. I glanced down—as briefly as I could—down at my arm; the blood was still trickling down my forearm, leaving a small pool of blood in the snow.

Edward hesitated a few feet from me, his hands still in the air, his eyes still fearful.

It took me a few long seconds to remember how to move my fingers. Then the rock fell with a dull crunch into the snow, while my hands stayed frozen in the same position.

Edward relaxed slightly when my hands were empty, but came no closer.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Beau,” Edward murmured. “You’re safe. I won’t hurt you.”

The mystifying promise only confused me further. I stared at him, trying to understand.

“It’s going to be all right, Beau. I know you’re frightened now, but it’s over. No one is going to hurt you. I won’t touch you. I won’t hurt you,” he said again.

My eyes blinked furiously, and I found my voice. “Why do you keep saying that?”

I took an unsteady step toward him, and he leaned away from my advance.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered. “What do you mean?”

“Are you…” His golden eyes were suddenly confused as I felt. “Aren’t you afraid of me?”

“No?” I blinked a few times. “Why would I be afraid of you?”

I staggered forward another step, and then tripped over something. Edward caught me, and I buried my face in his chest and started to sob uncontrollably.

“Beau, Beau, I’m so sorry. It’s over, it’s over.”

“I’m fine,” I gasped. “I’m okay. I’m just. Freaking out. Give me. A minute.”

His arms tightened around me. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured again and again.

I clung to him until I couldn’t breathe, and then we were kissing. I don’t know who initiated the kisses, but it didn’t matter. We were holding each other tightly, fiercly. Kissing and kissing over and over again. My brain finally started working gain.

“Are you okay?” I demanded between kisses. “Did he hurt you at all?”

“I’m absolutely fine,” he promised, burying his face in my hair.

“Seth?”

Edward chuckled. “More than fine. Very pleased with himself, in fact.”

“The others? Alice, Esme? The pack?”

“All fine. It’s over there, too. It went just as smoothly as I promised. We got the worst of it here.”

I let myself absorb that for a moment, let it sink in and settle in my head.

Everyone was safe. Victor was never coming after me again. It was over.

We were all going to be fine.

But I couldn’t completely take in the good news while I was still so confused.

“Tell me why,” I insisted. “Why did you think I would be afraid of you?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, apologizing yet again—for what? I had no idea. “So sorry. I didn’t want you to see that. See me like that. I know I must have terrified you.”

I had to think about that for another minute, about the hesitant way he’d approached me, his hands in the air. Like I was going to run if he moved too fast…

“Seriously?” I finally asked. “You… what? Thought you’d scared me off?” I snorted. Snorting was good; a voice couldn’t tremble or break during a snort. It sounded impressively offhand.

He put his hand under my chin and tilted my head back to read my face.

“Beau, I just”—he hesitated and then forced the words out—“I just beheaded and dismembered a sentient creature not twenty yards from you. That doesn’t bother you?”

He frowned at me.

I shrugged. Shrugging was good, too. Very blasé. “No, not really. I was only afraid that you and Seth were going to get hurt. I wanted to help, but there’s only so much I can do…”

His suddenly livid expression made my voice fade out.

“Yes,” he said, his tone clipped. “Your little stunt with the rock. You know that you nearly gave me a heart attack? Not the easiest thing to do, that.”

In a swift motion, he ripped off a piece of his shirt and wrapped it around my arm where I had cut myself.

“I wanted to help… Seth was hurt…”

“Seth was only feigning that he was hurt, Beau. He recovered much quicker than he let on.” He shook his head, “Your distraction did help, though. But believe me, Seth could have handled things on his own.”

We both looked at Seth, who was studiously ignoring us, watching the flames. Smugness radiated from every hair in his fur.

“Well, I didn’t know that,” I said, on the offense now. “And it’s not easy being the only helpless person around. I wasn’t going to just sit on the sidelines—and I won’t be sitting on the sidelines next time, either!”

A dozen emotions flitted across his face before he settled on being amused. “Next time? Did you anticipate another war soon?”

“With my luck? Who knows?”

He rolled his eyes, but I could see that he was flying—the relief was making us both lightheaded. It was over.

Or… Was it?

“Hold on. Didn’t you say something before—?” I flinched, remembering what exactly it had been before—my conversation with Jacob. My splintered heart throbbed out a painful, aching beat. It was hard to believe, almost impossible, but the hardest part of this day was not behind me—and then I soldiered on. “About a complication? And Alice, needing to nail down the schedule for Sam. You said it was going to be close. What was going to be close?”

Edward’s eyes flickered back to Seth, and they exchanged a loaded glance.

“Well?” I asked.

“It’s nothing, really,” Edward said quickly. “But we do need to be on our way…”

He started to pull me into place on his back, but I stiffened and drew away.

“Define nothing.”

Edward took my face between his palms. “We only have a minute, so don’t panic, all right? I told you that you had no reason to be afraid. Trust me on that, please?”

I nodded, trying to hide the sudden terror—how much more could I handle before I collapsed? “No reason to be afraid. Got it.”

He pursed his lips for a second, deciding what to say. And then he glanced abruptly at Seth, as if the wolf had called him.

“What’s he doing?” Edward asked.

Seth whined; it was an anxious, uneasy sound. It made the hair on the back of my neck rise.

Everything was dead silent for one endless second.

And then Edward gasped, “No!” and one of his hands flew out as if to grab something that I couldn’t see. “Don’t—!”

A spasm rocked through Seth’s body, and a howl, blistering with agony, ripped from his lungs.

Edward fell to his knees at the exact same moment, gripping the sides of his head with two hands, his face furrowed in pain.

I cried out in bewildered terror, and dropped to my knees beside him. Futilely, I tried to pull his hands from his face; my palms, clammy with sweat, slid off his marble skin.

“Edward! Edward!”

His eyes focused on me; with obvious effort, he pulled his clenched teeth apart.

“It’s okay. We’re going to be fine. It’s—“ He broke off, and winced again.

“What’s happening?” I cried out while Seth howled in anguish.

“We’re fine. We’re going to be okay,” Edward gasped. “Sam—help him—“

And I realized in that instant, when he said Sam’s name, that he was not speaking of himself and Seth. No unseen force was attacking them. This time, the crisis was not here.

He was using the pack plural.

I burned through all my adrenaline. My body had nothing left. I sagged, and Edward caught me before I could hit the rocks. He sprang to his feet, me in his arms.

“Seth!” Edward shouted.

Seth was crouched, still tensed in agony, looking as if he meant to launch himself into the forest.

“No!” Edward ordered. “You go straight home. Now. As fast as you can!”

Seth whimpered, shaking his great head from side to side.

“Seth. Trust me.”

The huge wolf stared into Edward’s agonized eyes for one long second, and then he straightened up and flew into the trees, disappearing like a ghost.

Edward cradled me tightly against his chest, and then we were also hurtling through the shadowy forest, taking a different path than the wolf.

“Edward.” I fought to force the words through my constricted throat. “What happened, Edward? What happened to Sam? Where are we going? What’s happening?”

“We have to go back to the clearing,” he told me in a low voice. “We knew there was a good probability of this happening. Earlier this morning, Alice saw it and passed it through Sam to Seth. The Volturi decided it was time to intercede.”

The Volturi.

To much. My mind refused to make sense of the words, pretended it couldn’t understand.

The trees jolted past us. He was running downhill so fast that it felt as if we were plummeting, falling out of control.

“Don’t panic. They aren’t coming for us. It’s just the normal contingent of the guard that usually cleans up this kind of mess. Nothing momentous, they’re merely doing their job. Of course, they seem to have timed their arrival very carefully. Which lead me to believe that no one in Italy would mourn if these newborns had reduced the size of the Cullen family.” The words came through his teeth, hard and bleak. “I’ll know for sure what they were thinking when they get to the clearing.”

“Is that why we’re going back?” I whispered. Could I handle this? Images of flowing back robes crept into my unwilling mind, and I flinched away from them. I was close to a breaking point.

“It’s part of the reason. Mostly, it will be safer for us to present a united front at this point. They have no reason to harass us, but… Jane’s with them. If she thought we were alone somewhere away from the others, it might tempt her. Like Victor, Jane will probably guess that I’m with you. Demetri, of course, is with her. He could find me, if Jane asked him to.”

I didn’t want to think that name. I didn’t want to see that blindingly exquisite, childlike face in my head. A strange sound came out of my throat. I felt my breath quicken in panic.

“Shh, Beau, shh. It’s all going to be fine. Alice can see that.”

Alice could see? But… then where were the wolves? Where was the pack?

“The pack?”

“They had to leave quickly. The Volturi do not honor truces with werewolves.”

I could hear my breathing get even faster, more frantic, btu I couldn’t control it. I started to gasp.

“I swear they will be fine,” Edward promised me. “The Volturi won’t recognize the scent—they won’t realize the wolves are here; this isn’t a species they are familiar with. The pack will be fine.”

I couldn’t process his explanation. My concentration was ripped to shreds by my fears and rising panic. We’re going to be fine, he had said before… and Seth, howling in agony… Edward had avoided my first question, distracted me with the Volturi.

I was very close to the edge—just clinging by my fingertips.

The trees were a racing blur that flowed around him like jade waters.

“What happened?” I whispered again. “Before. When Seth was howling? When you were hurt?”

Edward hesitated.

“Edward! Tell me!”

“It was all over,” he whispered. I could barely hear him over the wind his speed created. “The wolves didn’t count their half… they thought they had them all. Of course, Alice couldn’t see…”

“What happened!?”

“One of the newborns was hiding… Liam found him—he was being stupid, cocky, trying to prove something. He engaged the newborn alone…”

“Liam,” I repeated, and my panic started rising higher. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Liam wasn’t hurt,” Edward mumbled.

I stared at him for a long second.

Sam—help him—Edward had gasped. Him who?

“We’re almost there,” Edward said, and he stared at a fixed point in the sky.

Automatically, my eyes followed his. There was a dark purple cloud hanging low over the trees. A cloud. But it was so abnormally sunny… No, not a cloud—I recognized the thick column of smoke, just like the one at our campsite.

“Edward,” I said, my voice nearly inaudible. “Edward, someone got hurt.”

I’d heard Seth’s agony, seen the torture in Edward’s face.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Who?” I asked, though, of course, I already knew the answer.

Of course I did. Of course.

The trees were slowing around us as we came to our destination.

It took him a long moment to answer me.

“Jacob,” he said.

I was able to nod once.

“Jacob,” I repeated.

And then I slipped off the edge I was clinging to inside my head.

Everything went black.

I was first aware of the cool hands touching me. More than one pair of hands. Arms holding me, a palm curved to fit my cheek, fingers stroking my forehead, and more fingers pressed lightly into my wrist.

Then I was aware of the voices. They were just a humming at first, and then they grew in volume and clarity like someone was turning up a radio.

“Carlisle—it’s been five minutes.” Edward’s voice, anxious.

“He’ll come around when he’s ready, Edward.” Carlisle’s voice, always calm and sure. “He’s had too much to deal with today. Let his mind protect itself.”

But my mind was not protected. It was trapped in the knowledge that had not left me, even in unconsciousness—the pain that was part of the blackness.

I felt totally disconnected from my body. Like I was caged in some small corner of my head, no longer at the controls. But I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t think. The agony was too strong for that. There was no escape from it.

Jacob.

No, no, no, no, no…

“Alice, how long do we have?” Edward demanded, his voice still tense; Carlisle’s soothing words had not helped.

From farther away, Alice’s voice. She sounded distracted. “Another five moments. And Beau will open his eyes in thirty-seven seconds. I wouldn’t doubt that he can hear us now.”

“Beau, honey?” This was Esme’s soft, comforting voice. “Can you hear me? You’re safe now, dear.”

Yes, I was safe. But was Jacob?

Then cool lips were at my ear, and Edward was speaking the words that allowed me to escape from the torture that had me caged inside my own head.

“He’s going to live, Beau. Jacob Black is healing as I speak. He’ll be fine.”

As the pain and dread eased, I found my way back to my body. My eyelids fluttered.

“Oh, Beau,” Edward sighed in relief, and his lips touched mine.

“Edward,” I whispered.

“Yes, I’m here.”

I got my lids to open, and I stared into warm gold.

“Jacob is okay?” I asked.

“Yes,” he promised.

I watched his eyes carefully for some sign that he was placating me, but they were perfectly clear.

“I examined him myself,” Carlisle said then; I turned my head to find his face, only a few feet away. Carlisle’s expression was serious and reassuring at the same time. It was impossible to doubt him. “His life is not in any danger. He was healing at an incredible rate, though his injuries were extensive enough that it will still be a few days before he is back to normal, even if the rate of repair holds steady. As soon as we’re done here, I will do what I can to help him. Sam is trying to get him to phase back to his human form. That will make treating him easier.” Carlisle smiled slightly. “I’ve never been to veterinarian school.”

“What happened to him?” I whispered. “How bad are his injuries?”

Carlisle’s face was serious again. “Another wolf was in trouble —”

“Liam,” I breathed.

“Yes. Jacob knocked Liam out of the way, but he didn’t have time to defend himself. The newborn got his arms around him. Most of the bones on the right half of his body were shattered.”

I flinched.

“Sam and Paul got there in time. He was already improving when they took him back to La Push.” “He’ll be back to normal?” I asked.

“Yes, Beau. He won’t have any permanent damage.”

I took a deep breath.

“Three minutes,” Alice said quietly.

I struggled, trying to get vertical. Edward realized what I was doing and helped me to my feet.

I stared at the scene in front of me.

The Cullens stood in a loose semicircle around the bonfire. There were hardly any flames visible, just the thick, purple-black smoke, hovering like a disease against the bright grass. Jasper stood closest to the solid-seeming haze, in its shadow so that his skin did not glitter brilliantly in the sun the way the others did. He had his back to me, his shoulders tense, his arms slightly extended. There was something there, in his shadow. Something he crouched over with wary intensity…

I was too numb to feel more than a mild shock when I realized what it was.

There were eight vampires in the clearing.

The girl was curled into a small ball beside the flames, her arms wrapped around her legs. She was very young. Younger than me—she looked maybe fifteen, dark-haired and slight. Her eyes were focused on me, and the irises were a shocking brilliant red. Much brighter than Riley’s, almost glowing. They wheeled wildly, out of control.

Edward saw my bewildered expression.

“She surrendered,” he told me quietly. “That’s one I’ve never seen before. Only Carlisle would think of offering. Jasper doesn’t approve.”

I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the scene besides the fire. Jasper was rubbing absently at his left forearm.

“Is Jasper all right?” I whispered.

“He’s fine. The venom stings.”

“He was bitten?” I asked, horrified.

“He was trying to be everywhere at once. Trying to make sure Alice had nothing to do, actually.” Edward shook his head. “Alice doesn’t need anyone’s help.”

Alice grimaced toward her true love. “Overprotective fool.”

Then Alice’s eyes slowly drifted back to me. She looked at me with a concerned, but confused expression on her face.

The young female suddenly threw her head back like an animal and wailed shrilly.

Jasper growled at her and she cringed back, but her fingers dug into the ground like claws and her head whipped back and forth in anguish. Jasper took a step toward her, slipping deeper into his crouch. Edward moved with overdone casualness, turning our bodies so that he was between the girl and me. I peeked around his arm to watch around his arm to watch the thrashing girl and Jasper.

Carlisle was at Jasper’s side in an instant. He put a restraining hand on his most recent son’s arm.

“Have you changed your mind, young one?” Carlisle asked, calm as ever. “We don’t want to destroy you, but we will if you can’t control yourself.”

“How can you stand it?” The girl groaned in a high, clear voice. “I want him.” Her bright crimson irises focused on Edward, through him, beyond him to me, and her nails ripped through the hard soil again.

“You must stand it,” Carlisle told her gravely. “You must exercise control. It is possible, and it is the only thing that will save you now.”

The girl clutched her dirt-encrusted hands around her head, yowling quietly.

“Shouldn’t we move away from her?” I whispered, tugging on Edward’s arm. The girl’s lips pulled back over teeth when she heard my voice, her expression one of torment.

“We have to stay here,” Edward murmured. “They are coming to the north end of the clearing now.”

My heart burst into a sprint as I scanned the clearing, but I couldn’t see anything past the thick pall of smoke.

After a second of fruitless searching, my gaze crept back to the young female vampire. She was still watching me, her eyes half-mad.

I met the girl’s stare for a long moment. Chin-length dark hair framed her face, which was alabaster pale. It was hard to tell if her features were beautiful, twisted as they were by rage and thirst. The feral red eyes were dominant—hard to look away from. She glared at me viciously, shuddering and writhing every few seconds.

I stared at her, mesmerized, wondering if I were looking into a mirror of my possible future.

Then Carlisle and Jasper began to back toward the rest of us. Emmett, Royal, and Esme all converged hastily around where Edward stood with Alice and me. A united front, as Edward had said, with me at the heart, in the safest place.

I tore my attention away from the wild girl to search for the approaching monsters.

There was still nothing to see. I glanced at Edward, and his eyes were locked straight ahead. I tried to follow his gaze, but there was only the smoke—dense, oily smoke twisting low to the ground, rising lazily, undulating against the grass.

It billowed forward, darker in the middle.

“Hmm,” a dead voice murmured from the mist. I recognized the apathy at once.

“Welcome, Jane.” Edward’s tone was coolly courteous.

The dark shapes came closer, separating themselves from the haze, solidifying. I knew it would be Jane in the front—the darkest cloak, almost black, and the smallest figure by more than two feet. I could just barely make out Jane’s angelic features in the shade of the cowl.

The four gray-shrouded figures hulking behind her were also somewhat familiar. I was sure I recognized the biggest one, and while I stared, trying to confirm my suspicion, Felix looked up. He let his hood fall back slightly so that I could see him wink at me and smile. Edward was very still at my side, tightly in control.

Jane’s gaze moved slowly across the luminous faces of the Cullens and then touched on the newborn girl beside the fire; the newborn had her head in her hands again.

“I don’t understand.” Jane’s voice was toneless, but not quite as uninterested as before.

“She has surrendered,” Edward explained, answering the confusion in her mind.

Jane’s dark eyes flashed to his face. “Surrendered?”

Felix and another shadow exchanged a quick glance.

Edward shrugged. “Carlisle gave her the option.”

“There are no options for those who break the rules,” Jane said flatly.

Carlisle spoke then, his voice mild. “That’s in your hands. As long as she was willing to halt her attack on us, I saw no need to destroy her. She was never taught.”

“That is irrelevant,” Jane insisted.

“As you wish.”

Jane stared at Carlisle in consternation. She shook her head infinitesimally, and then composed her features.

“Aro hoped that we would get far enough west to see you, Carlisle. He sends his regards.”

Carlisle nodded. “I would appreciate it if you would convey mind to him.”

“Of course.” Jane smiled. Her face was almost too lovely when it was animated. She looked back toward the smoke. “It appears you’ve done our work for us today… for the most part.” Her eyes flickered to the hostage. “Just out of professional curiosity, how many were there? They left quite a wake of destruction in Seattle.”

“Eighteen, including this one,” Carlisle answered.

Jane’s eyes widened, and she looked at the fire again, seeming to reassess the size of it. Felix and the other shadows exchanged a longer glance.

“Eighteen?” she repeated, her voice sounding unsure for the first time.

“All brand-new,” Carlisle said dismissively. “They were unskilled.”

“All?” Her voice turned sharp. “Then who was their creator?”

“His name was Victor,” Edward answered, no emotion in his voice.

“Was?” Jane asked.

Edward inclined his head toward the Eastern forest. Jane’s eyes snapped up and focused on something far in the distance. The other pillar of smoke? I didn’t look away to check.

Jane stared to the east for a long moment, and then examined the closer bonfire again.

“This Victor—he was in addition to the eighteen here?”

“Yes. He had only one other with him. He was not as young as this one here, but no older than a year.”

“Twenty,” Jane breathed. “Who dealt with the creator?”

“I did,” Edward told her.

Jane’s eyes narrowed, and she turned to the girl beside the fire.

“You there,” she said, her dead voice harsher than before. “Your name.”

The newborn short a baleful glare at Jane, her lips pressed tightly together.

Jane smiled back angelically.

The newborn girl’s answering scream was ear-piercing; her body arched stiffly into a distorted, unnatural position. I looked away, fighting the urge to cover my ears. I gritted my teeth, hoping to control my stomach. The screaming intensified. I tried to concentrate on Edward’s face, smooth and unemotional, but that made me remember when it had been Edward under Jane’s torturing gaze, and I felt sicker. I looked at Alice instead, and Esme next to her. Their faces were as empty as his.

Finally, it was quiet.

“Your name,” Jane said again, her voice inflectionless.

“Bree,” the girl gasped.

Jane smiled, and the girl shrieked again. I held my breath until the sound of her agony stopped.

“She’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Edward said through his teeth. “You don’t have to do that.”

Jane looked up, sudden humor in her usually dead eyes. “Oh, I know,” she said to Edward, grinning at him before she turned back to the young vampire, Bree.

“Bree,” Jane said, her voice cold again. “Is his story true? Were there twenty of you?”

The girl lay panting, the side of her face pressed against the earth. She spoke quickly. “Nineteen or twenty, maybe more, I don’t know!” She cringed, terrified that her ignorance might bring on another round of torture. “Sara and the one whose name I don’t know got in a fight on the way…”

“And this Victor—did he create you?”

“I don’t know,” she said, flinching again. “Riley never said his name. I didn’t see that night… it was so dark, and it hurt…” Bree shuddered. “Riley didn’t was us to be able to think of him. He said that our thoughts weren’t safe…”

Jane’s eyes flickered to Edward, and then back to the girl.

Victor had planned this well. If he hadn’t followed Edward, there would have been no way to know for certain that he was involved.

“Tell me about Riley,” Jane said. “Why did he bring you here?”

“Riley told us that we had to destroy the strange yellow-eyes here,” Bree babbled quickly and willingly. “He said it would be easy. He said that the city was theirs, and they were coming to get us. He said once they were gone, all the blood would be ours. Riley gave us his scent.” Bree lifted one hand and stabbed a finger in my direction. “he said we would know that we had the right coven, because the human would be with them. Riley said whoever got him first could have him.”

I heard Edward’s jaw flex beside me.

“It looks like Riley was wrong about the easy part,” Jane noted.

Bree nodded, seeming relieved that the conversation had taken this non-painful course. She sat up carefully. “I don’t know what happened. We split up, but the others never came. And Riley left us, and he didn’t come to help like he promised. And then it was so confusing, and everybody was in pieces.” She shuddered again. “I was afraid. I wanted to run away. That one”—she looked at Carlisle—“said they wouldn’t hurt me if I stopped fighting.”

“Ah, but that wasn’t his gift to offer, young one,” Jane murmured, her voice oddly gentle now. “Broken rules demand consequences.”

Bree stared at her, not comprehending.

Jane looked at Carlisle. “Are you sure you got all of them? The other half that split off?”

Carlisle’s face was very smooth as he nodded. “We split up, too.”

Jane half-smiled. “I can’t deny that I’m impressed.” The big shadows behind her murmured in agreement. “I’ve never seen a coven escape an attack of this magnitude intact. Do you know what was behind it? It seems like extreme behavior, considering the way you live here. And why was the boy the key?” Her eyes rested unwillingly on me for one short second.

I shivered.

“Victor held a grudge against Beau,” Edward told her, his voice impassive.

Jane laughed—the sound was golden, the bubbling laugh of a happy child. “This one seems to bring out bizarrely strong reactions in our kind,” she observed, smiling directly at me, her face beatific.

Edward stiffened. I looked at him in time to see his face turning away, back to Jane.

“Would you please not do that?” he asked in a tight voice.

Jane laughed again lightly. “Just checking. No harm done, apparently.”

I shivered, deeply grateful that the strange glitch in my system—which had protected me from Jane the last time we’d met—was still in effect. Edward’s arm tightened around me.

“Well, it appears that there’s not much left for us to do. Odd,” Jane said, apathy creeping back into her voice. “We’re not used to being rendered unnecessary. It’s too bad we missed the fight. It sounds like it would have been entertaining to watch.”

“Yes,” Edward answered her quickly, his voice sharp. “And you were so close. It’s a shame you didn’t arrive just a half hour earlier. Perhaps then you could have fulfilled your purpose here.”

Jane met Edward’s glare with unwavering eyes. “Yes. Quite a pity how things turned out, isn’t it?”

Edward nodded once to look at the newborn Bree again, her face completely bored. “Felix?” she drawled.

“Wait,” Edward interjected.

Jane raised one eyebrow, but Edward was staring at Carlisle while he spoke in an urgent voice. “We could explain the rules to the young one. She doesn’t seem unwilling to learn. She didn’t know what she was doing.”

“Of course,” Carlisle answered. “We would certainly be prepared to take responsibility for Bree.”

Jane’s expression was torn between amusement and disbelief.

“We don’t make exceptions,” she said. “And we don’t give second chances. It’s bad for our reputation. Which reminds me…” Suddenly, her eyes were on me again, and her cherubic face dimpled. “Caius will be so interested to hear that you’re still human, Beau. Perhaps he’ll decide to visit.”

“The date is set,” I answered, surprising myself with my confidence.

“Perhaps we’ll come visit you in a few months.” Alice said, backing up my lie.

Jane’s smile faded, and she shrugged indifferently, never looking at Alice. She turned to face Carlisle. “It was nice to meet you, Carlisle—I’d thought Aro was exaggerating. Well, until we meet again…”

Carlisle nodded, his expression pained.

“Take care of that, Felix,” Jane said, nodding toward Bree, her voice dripping boredom. “I want to go home.”

“Don’t watch,” Edward whispered in my ear.

I was only too eager to follow his instruction. I’d seen more than enough for one day—more than enough for one lifetime. I squeezed my eyes tightly together and turned my face into Edward’s chest.

But I could still hear.

There was a deep rumbling growl, and then a high-pitched keen that was horribly familiar. That sound cut off quickly, and then the only sound was a sickening crunching and snapping.

Edward’s hand rubbed anxiously against my shoulders.

“Come,” Jane said, and I looked up in time to see the backs of the tall gray cloaks drifting away toward the curling smoke. The incense smell was strong again—fresh.

The gray cloaks disappeared into the thick mist.

#Eclipse #Eclipse Revamped #The Twilight Saga Revamped #Edward Cullen #Beau Swan #Jacob Black #Gay Eclipse #Gay Twilight

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