#if i scaled the pattern up just a bit and maybe shrunk the ears down 🤔🤔🤔

[antisocialxconstruct]

He is..... complete. Oh my god that was SO much work but honestly so worth it for the natural fur variation effect. I've once again mucked up the face so he's got a weird little smirk BUT this time around I'm finally happy with the paws, so clearly I'm learning things :] I also understuffed him just a bit, I think it kept him from being quite as bowlegged as the first one.

bonus: you vs the guy she tells you not to worry about

[vegalocity]

18/22/33 for Spicynoodleshipping? (MK being a bit of a tease during the secret phase of him and Red...)

Prompt meme

18. Teasing kisses where one person blows air into the other’s mouth and runs away. // 22. A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party. // 33.An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it.

I refuse to have EVERYTHING in this continuity be borderline angsty so here have some cute

--

It probably wasn't the best idea to start treating their one-on-one encounters as more of a game, to let the others sort themselves out while they engaged in a friendly bout of sparring not unlike a pair of grade school boys who would wrastle eachother to show affection. But it was kind of hard to take someone as a serious threat when you know the exact buttons to push to turn them into a blushing mess. It didn't exactly hurt that Xiaotian had learned through a fair bit of Red Son's pre-activity ranting, that his parents didn't have a large scale plan at the moment and were mostly stalling for time waiting for correspondance from a possibly ally whom apparently had an abundance of magical items, though Red Son was pretty sure nothing would come of it, so most of the 'schemes' they'd been sending him on were mostly to keep Xiaotian and his friends on their toes and maybe snatch the staff if they got lucky.

It's not like there were any real stakes beyond this or that fancy sounding artifact that didn't even do anything beyond be old and valuable or even simple bragging rights no matter who won. (And Red Son didn't really care about the artifacts either since they were generally incompatible with DBK's power armor for 'whatever reason' so they'd be snuck back wherever they were stolen from in a week's time or so anyway) So there wasn't really an issue in just kinda... letting the mood be light as the two traded barbs and punches in equal measure.

And if the area they ended up in while battling was particularly removed from prying eyes then what was the harm in turning the insults into.. something a little more fun?

“Do you ever wear clothes that fit you? I'd love to see those arms in the daylight for once.” Xiaotian lost his footing at the coy comment and Red Son took the opportunity to slam him against a wall, length of his forearm pressing against his neck in a way that was only a little erotic. And oh.. that smirk was just cheating.

But he didn't pin Xiaotian's arms-“Big words from someone who covers a butt like that in a long coat.” Red Son squawcked and pulled away in shock, face lighting up as red as his hair and Xiaotian used the sudden distance to grab Red Son's wrists and spin them around, now pinning him to the wall. “Though I should be lucky that means I'm the only one who gets to see it.”  he huffed in Red Son's ear, and it was tempting to end this encounter one particular way... Soon they were just inches away, Xiaotian leaned in, waiting until Red Son's eyes flickered closed and he closed the distance remaining.

And then he blew a puff of air into Red Son's mouth, and turned heel, sprinting away cackling. “SEE YOU NEXT TIME HOT STUFF!”

“NOODLE BOY”

--

“I won't lie to you Noodle Boy, I've had multiple fantasies that started out exactly like this.”  'this' in question being Xiaotian pinning Red Son to the ground with the staff pressed onto his shoulders to ensure he couldn't move.

Xiaotian pulled away, though not by much, face lighting up with a blush he couldn't fight back, before proper embarrassment pulled in “Dude!” he whispered harshly “We're not exactly alone right now!”

“I think my upgrades to those Bull Clones will keep your dragon friend distracted for some time.” Sure enough the sound of rapid laser fire echoed from the other room and as was the sound of Xiaojiao swearing harshly.

“Red!”

“Relax, it's nonlethal.” He rolled his eyes “They don't even really hurt, it's the laser equivalent of knockout gas when fired point blank.”

“Still not cool dude.”

Red Son huffed at his disapproval, looking away to ponder, before smirking up at him.

“Would it help if I told you what usually happens after you pin me down and loom over me just like this?”

Unfortunately, they were back on topic and Xiaotian couldn't find the breath to tell him to knock it off. So Red Son took his silence as an encouragement to continue.

“So right about now, You'll usually say something clever about me being unable to fight you like this, to which I'd respond that I could combust my entire body and see how much you'd like to stay pinned to that, and so you'd reply that you know I wouldn't, because you know how much I love being pinned down by you.”

And oh did Xiaotian know that intimately.

“O-Oh?”

“Mmhm, and putting the staff on me without my gauntlet means I can't do anything but squirm while you do what you want with me.”

Wow was it easy for this situation to flip on its head.

“And-...And what do I usually want with you?” God that tone could drive him insane if he let it...He leaned in until his nose brushed Red Son's. His breathing must have been heavy, of the self pleased smirk Red Son had on his face indicated anything.

“Well that's where it varies, Sometimes quick sometimes slow, sometimes your hands go beneath my clothes, sometimes they rip them off, sometimes you'll tease me until I'm absolutely mindless with desire, other times you'll-Mph!”

Dammit only Red Son could get him riled up like this. The kiss was a little sloppy, but Xiaotian refused to care as his hands slid off the staff, the weight alone keeping Red Son pinned and sliding his hands down his chest, the familiar terrain made strange by the jacket. Oh man just the mental image had him all hot and bothered, but how would Red Son react if he decided to DO some of that? That last one sounded really tempt-

“XIAOTIAN” Xiaojiao's voice cut through the haze and snapped him from the lustful trance. He darted off of Red Son, taking the staff with him, and sure enough a split second later Xiaojiao burst intot he entryway, sword hefted onto her shoulder and clearly frustrated. “Let's get the hell out of here If I have to smash another robot while you're playing Hungry Hungry Hippos with Red Son I am gonna be pissed.”

Red Son hadn't gotten up from the floor, and must have ooked as though he couldn't from the distance, Xiaotian spared him one last glance, and despite his own frustration at their fun being interrupted, Red Son shot him a smirk, before pulling out a silver flip phone. Xiaotian felt his own blue burner phone vibrate with an oncoming text and pretended the flush on his face was from battle exertion.

–

“Noodle Boy! The time of reckoning has come!” Just because things had gotten more... casual between them didn't mean Red Son would ever tone down the theatrics. “The staff is ours now!” 'ours' being more metaphorical than t usually was granted Red Son was standing alone as he usually was recently. So thankfully Xiaotian didn't have to put away his amused grin as Red Sonc ontinued his pre-prepared spiel.

“You see Noodle Boy I've been spending our past soiree's observing! Learning... Uhm... Planning...and you see i've noticed a... pattern...” Though it seemed like he was running out of steam. “In regards to your fighting-Aren't you going to interrupt me with inane commentary?!”

“Nah, you worked hard on this speech.” Xiaotian waved a hand before winking “You're cute when you get all passionate.”

Red Son cleared his throat a bit awkwardly and huffed “As-As I was saying then... In regards to your fighting I've noticed that while the staff is your greatest weapon it's also  your only weapon. Therefore, I would challenge you to a battle with neither weapons nor magic, we put our arms down and try to kill eachother like civilized people!”

“I'm game.” He shrunk the staff down and hid it in its usual place, and began to stretch. Honestly Red Son wasn't even being subtle this time.

“Wait- Really?”

Xiaotian strode forward until he was nearly brushing Red Son's chest with his own. Right there in public. Sure nobody was around, but they could have been.

“Sure.” He leaned forward and placed a feather light kiss to his still bewildered sort-of-enemy-sort-of-boyfriend. “If you can catch me first!” he spun on his heel and darted away as Red Son was still re-engaging his brain from the action and heard a shreik of outrage

--

Send me stuff!

[darkobsidianquill]

Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness..

Chapter 25

"You know, I'm really impressed with how well you're handling this, Ginny," Hermione said later that evening as the two sat alone in Hermione's dorm room. Hermione had offered earlier to help Ginny with her Arithmancy essay, and the two had opted to do their work upstairs, since the twins, Lee Jordan, and Seamus Finnigan were busy teaching several of the pure-blooded students how to play muggle poker. They were being quite loud about it too.

"What do you mean?" Ginny responded, trying to look as if she really didn't know what Hermione was talking about.

"We both know how you used to feel about Harry," Hermione said, raising a single eyebrow, as if daring the other girl to deny it.

Ginny rolled her eyes and grimaced. "Yeah... well, not only was there the whole 'Boy-Who-Lived' legacy and my girl-hood crush, but he also saved my life, first year. I think it's understandable for me to have been a bit infatuated," Ginny said defensively.

Hermione smiled knowingly. "Still, like I said, I'm impressed with how well you're dealing."

Ginny sighed and set down her quill. "When the news first came out in the paper that Harry was gay, I was in total denial. I was absolutely sure that that rag of a paper was just spouting more idiotic lies. But then Harry himself confirmed it. I guess it made me realize that there really was no chance of any sort of romantic thing ever happening between us. Sure, a part of me was still in denial, but it was a pretty small part.

"I suppose I figured that if there really was no chance of him being my happily-ever-after, I could at least be his friend. Once the fear of screwing up my future chances with my 'prince charming' were blown out the window, my shyness was a lot easier to get over. It's a lot easier to act like menow, you know?"

"Yes. And that's really great, Ginny," Hermione said, smiling.

Ginny shrugged. "I guess. But like I said, part of me was still in denial. It really does seem so much more real now. It's still hard to wrap my head around the fact that Harry was snogging some boy and got marked up like that!"

Hermione blushed but grinned and nodded her head enthusiastically. "I know! I never would have thought he'd have it in him. But then again, I never would have imagined him dancing with Fleur the way he did back at the Yule Ball."

Ginny groaned. "Don't remind me of that night. I almost melted into a puddle, just watching him."

They both giggled for a moment before the two settled into a quiet moment as their eyes went unfocused and they were each lost in their own memories of that night.

"I wonder who it was," Ginny mused quietly after a long moment.

"Hmm?"

"Who Harry was snogging. I wonder who the guy is."

"I don't know. I'll admit I'm incredibly curious, but Harry does have a valid reason to keep it quiet. The tabloids refuse to leave him alone. Just imagine what they would do with the news that he was seeing someone."

Ginny nodded her head and looked solemn. "He just can't get a break, can he?"

Hermione sighed. "No he can't. I hope that whoever this boy is that he's seeing, he's good for him. Harry deserves whatever happiness he can get. Merlin knows he's seen more than enough misery over the years," she finished bitterly, thinking about Harry's horrible muggle relatives.

"Yeah," Ginny added with a sigh.

– –

Harry felt the sudden dramatic increase in the powerful swirling parselmagic around Tom and set his book down. He looked up and watched with stunned awe as the man sitting cross-legged on the floor several feet from him suddenly began to morph and transform, right before his eyes.

Tom's skin went pale gray and transformed into a diverse patterning of different sized scales. His nose flattened against his face, shifting into two thin slits. His lips thinned until they disappeared, his neck lengthened minutely, and a small, cobra-like hood stretched from the sides of his neck down to his shoulders.

His hair and eyebrows thinned and then vanished, leaving a perfectly smooth, bald whitish-gray head. His ears shrunk down to just two small nubs and holes, and his already slitted, red eyes, went even more serpentine than before, so that there were no longer any whites left to them now.

"Wow..." Harry whispered in awe as Tom suddenly heaved forward and panted from the magical draw the first successful transformation had wracked on his body.

Tom... well, maybe it was easier to think of him as Voldemort when he was like this. Now he looked like Voldemort... he sat there resting for a moment, gathering up his strength before he slowly stood to his feet. Harry scrambled to his feet and stood there, still awestruck by the person he saw before him.

"Will... will it be that hard to transform every time?" Harry asked, honestly a bit concerned.

Voldemort chuckled and it came out with some hisses. "No, Harry. It will get much easssier now. The first successssful transformation is the one that is the hardest. Each subsequent time I do it, it will be come easier and eassssier until it is second nature."

Harry nodded his head, thinking back to his own serpentine transformation that he learned for the second task. It had been the same way.

"So... wow..." Harry's voice trailed off as his eyes trailed up and down the other man's changed body. He could feel his own parselmagic reacting to Voldemort's. It was pouring off him in glorious, powerful, waves and it made Harry feel heady and hot. "Bloody hell... there has got to be something off about me that I still find you incredibly hot," Harry said in a surprisingly husky voice.

Voldemort smirked and rose a single hairless brow at him in amusement. He took a few casual strides to Harry and wrapped one of his gray, long-fingered hands around the back of Harry's neck, pulling him close and pressing his non-lips against Harry's. Harry moaned out in ecstasy as the magic shot through him and he felt his knees grow weak from the intensity. Harry's hands came up and fisted in Voldemort's loose open robes, pulling insistently for a moment before the older wizard pulled away, leaving them both panting with desire.

"You are... unbelievable," Voldemort said, with a wicked grin spreading across his lipless face.

"Wha... why?" Harry said, trying to pull himself back together.

"That you could still find such a creature as me desirable," Voldemort said, smirking. But Harry could see the slightest hint of that deeper emotion in the man's serpentine eyes.

"Harry smiled back up at him and slowly rose his hand up, brushing his fingertips delicately over the scaled skin of Voldemort's neck. The Dark Lord actually turned his head, exposing more of his neck to Harry's gentle caresses and the action filled Harry with surprised exhilaration. Harry's hand rested against the whitish-gray skin and brushed gently up and down, memorizing the strange, smooth texture, before he leaned in and placed his lips against Voldemort's long neck.

He sucked and licked hesitantly at first, still unsure what he was doing, but he slowly grew confidence. He pulled back and looked up to find two red, glowing eyes boring down into him hungrily. Suddenly, the snake-like face looking down at him morphed and shifted back into the handsome features of Tom Riddle.

Harry smiled up at the beautiful man and pulled himself up while Tom bent down and their lips met again. It started simple but grew in intensity as the two began to grope and claw at each other.

It was an occasion for celebration, after all. Tom had completed his transformation at last, and things could finally begin.

– –

"Harry, you have to see this!" Hermione said in an urgent hushed voice as she came to stand behind him in the Great Hall. It had been two days since Tom achieved his full transformation and Harry was supposed to be at the manor house that night for a rather special event. All he could do was hope that whatever it was that Hermione had to talk about, wouldn't make him late.

"What's up?" He asked turning around and giving her a concerned look.

She looked from side to side as if she were checking for eavesdroppers. Harry realized that Ginny was standing beside her looking just as anxious.

"It's about the book, Harry. We need to go somewhere private."

Harry nodded his head and stood from the bench seat he was sitting at. "Sure. I can always grab something from the kitchens later. Lets go."

Harry glanced over at Ron, who was deep into a rather enthusiastic conversation with Seamus and one of the 5th years that Harry didn't know very well. Ron didn't even seem to notice them going, so Harry pushed it out of his mind.

He led Ginny and Hermione to an empty classroom, and at Hermione's insistence, he put up one of his usual privacy wards.

"I really need to learn how to do those," Ginny said as she watched him silently casting the ward around the room.

"It's not that hard. So what's this about?"

Hermione dug into her bag and pulled out the bound parchment book that she had been translating the book into and opened it to a marked page before handing it to him. He looked at her questioningly, but she just nodded at the book. He glanced at Ginny and she rolled her eyes. "Just readit!"

G.s 14252

In the year of Gildred the Second, 14,200, the circle of Sight and Time gathered once again and foretold the end of this world. Just as our great race had to abandon our last home when it befell its fated destruction, we have seen that we will need to abandon this one as well. This saddens us greatly, however it is for this very reason that we convene the circle of Sight every hundred years. We have much time to prepare, this end will not come for many millennium. The High Council sees no risk that we will not find a suitable home and be gone long before this world's fate falls upon it, but it is with a heavy heart that we leave behind so many great and diverse beings. We can only save ourselves. The magical creatures of this world will be left to fend for themselves, and it was the non-magical Men of this world that our Seers have foretold will bring about this worlds destruction. We cannot save any of them. We have no choice but to leave.

G.t 14252

The Higher have managed to commune with the Magic of this world, and has told it of our Sight of this world's fate. The Magic watches over those of this world with the magical connection and would not want to see it's Children come to an end at the hands of the non-magical Men who are slowly spreading across the lands like vermin.

The Magic, however, was already aware of the eminent End of days, and did not need our warning. The Higher has documented that which the Magic has said of it's great intentions to save its Children.

The Magic cannot personally save those of the world, for its ability does not lie within direct interference. It can only provide its Children with the tools to save themselves, and point them in the right direction.

We have seen that there are those among the magical creatures who have chosen to breed with the non-magical Men. Their half-breed offspring have gained access to the magic, and have begun to learn to master their powers. But Magic has deemed that Man is not to possess this power, for it is their lust for the magic that will bring the End.

The Magic has decided to chose those among the magical half-breeds who are worthy to keep the powers secret and safe from those not worthy. It will be the day that those Men of non-magical blood, learn to steal it from those who have been deemed worthy, that the End will come.

G.t 14309

A half-breed Man of Magic has come to power. He is a cambion – the child of an incubus daemon father, and a non-magical daughter of Man – and he goes by the name Merlin Ambrosius. Magic has deemed him the first Lord of the Dark Magics. He has allied himself with one a non-magical Men, a king of Men by the name of Arthur Pendragon. Arthur's half-sister, by a different mother is also of the Magic. Her mother was of Fay decent and possesses great skill. Her name is Morgan LeFay and she has been deemed the first Lord of the Light Magics. Magic has chosen these two great powers to help guide those of both Magic and Men, to keep the power of magic from the non-magical Men. The two Lords must fight to maintain balance, but also to keep the power of Magic within those who Magic has deemed worthy. Each generation will spawn a new Lord – one of the Light, and one of the Dark, to take on the task.

The Lords have to keep the magic from the non-magical Men. If those of Magic's choosing can succeed in this task, they can save themselves, and the other magical creatures of this world from the coming End. If they fall to the non-magical Men, then all will perish.

Will these actions be enough to save this world? We do not know. We can only pray for those of this world as we make our final preparations to leave. We have found our new homeland and many are ready to depart. What will befall this world that we have called home for so many millennia? Will Magic's great plan save it's magical Children? Is their fate sealed? We will likely never know, for once we have left, we can never return.

Harry reached the end and paused. "Is this the end of the book?" He asked, looking up at Ginny and Hermione.

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head, "but it's as far as we've translated. It's almost at the end, there's only a little left."

"We need to finish it," Harry said, looking back down at the collection of bound parchment in his hands.

They were silent for a moment before Hermione spoke, "Do you... do you think it's true?"

"I don't know. I think it's possible. I know that those who speak parselmagic are descendants of a human and naga union."

"Naga!" Ginny gasped.

"Where did you hear that!" Hermione asked.

Harry looked up slowly contemplating his next words. "I... managed to find a book on the history of parselmagic. I special ordered it earlier in the year. Cost a small fortune," he lied easily. "Probably got it sometime around November. It was back when I was preparing for the first task and the dragons. It talked about how the magical lines that retained the ability to practice parselmagic were all descended from the Naga. Parselmagic is their type of magic.

"That's why I can perform it wandlessly. It's like how house elves and goblins can do magic without a wand. Naga don't need wands either, they have their own kind of magic. That's parselmagic. Thats also why parseltongue has a written language. Its the script that the Naga use."

Ginny and Hermione looked stunned.

"But how would that explain muggle-borns?" Ginny asked suddenly, glancing over at Hermione.

"Descendants of squibs who got exiled by their magical families, I reckon," Harry said, shrugging.

"You think I'm descended from a squib!" Hermione gasped and then looked thoughtful. "I wonder if it's true... I wonder if there's a way to find out."

"I'm pretty sure Gringotts can do it," Harry said, shrugging.

"Oh! I bet they can!" Ginny gasped.

"What? The goblins? How?" Hermione asked.

"They can do blood tests that determine lineage. Its one of the ways that the figure out if a claim to an inactive vault account is valid."

"Isn't that a dark art? Blood magic is banned!" Hermione gasped.

"Pfft," Harry rolled his eyes. "Like the Goblins give a damn about the Ministry's laws about those sorts of things. The Goblin Nation is sovereign with a mutually beneficial treaty in place with the Ministry. The Goblins are under no requirements to follow all of the Ministry's laws. Especially when the laws are banning something as useful as blood magic. Those bans are just made out of ignorance and fear, blood magic is only barely a dark art."

"You like blood magic?" Ginny asked, looking a bit unsettled by the idea.

"If it weren't for blood magic, I wouldn't be here. My mum used a life-for-life sacrificial blood ritual to save me from the killing curse."

Both girls were rendered speechless by this proclamation. It was Hermione that seemed to pull herself out of it first. "Wha... how... how do you figure that?"

"I've been doing some digging. Asking some people and searching through different things that might explain what happened that night. Everyone is convinced that it was something that I did that stopped Voldemort that night, but I'm convinced it was my mum. Not me. I was a perfectly normal baby up until that point. Dumbledore told me that he thinks the night Voldemort tried to kill me, some of his magic ended up seeping into me, and that explains the parseltongue, but I think it really only activated what was already there."

"What do you mean!" Hermione asked.

"I wouldn't be surprised if there was some naga blood somewhere in my ancestry. Chances are it was way back, and got diluted so much over the generations that any access to the parselmagic was lost. But when Voldemort attacked me and the blood ritual my mum did screwed everything up, some of his magic did go in me. But I don't think that would really have been enough to give me the ability to use parselmagic like I do. I'm convinced I had to have had some actual naga blood in me. Voldemort's power just gave it enough strength to make it active."

The group was quiet for another minute as they all took it all in.

"Are you sure you didn't get Morgan and Merlin mixed up?" Ginny asked Hermione, suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"Well, the translation said that Merlin was a Dark Lord! That's crazy! And it said that Morgan LeFay was a Light Lord! That can't be right."

"I don't know..." Hermione said slowly, "From what I've read, Morgan LeFay was supposed to be really renowned for her magical healing abilities. That's a very Light branch of magic.

"And just because Merlin is known as one of the 'greatest wizards in history', doesn't mean he didn't use Dark magic," Harry said.

"But Dark Lords don't help people!" Ginny hissed.

"Says who?" Harry asked, defensively.

"But... but they're Dark!"

"Dark doesn't equal evil, you know," Harry said, folding his arms over his chest and arching his brows daringly. "Dark and Light are branches of magic that they have a natural affinity for, not a direct indication of of their moral convictions."

Both Hermione and Ginny were frowning, and giving him hesitant, concerned, looks now and he knew it was time to backtrack.

"Hey, I'm just being the devil's advocate. It seemed relative to what we've just read here, that's all."

"Harry's right," Hermione said, eventually. "And he does have a point. Even if Merlin was technically a 'Dark Lord' he was the first one, and it had a much different meaning back then, then it does now. Anyway, do you really think that this could be true? What about the stuff about the... about the end of the world?"

"It made it sound like their prophecy, or whatever you want to call it, said that muggles would be responsible for it," Harry said slowly.

"I think it said that if the muggles found a way to steal magic from those with magic, that it would somehow be responsible for bringing about the end," Ginny said.

"And that it's the task of the Lords to keep that from happening," Harry said in a whispery voice with dawning realization. "That's why Voldemort originally went after the muggles. He figured that if he destroyed them all first, they couldn't destroy us."

"What?" Ginny asked.

"No! You don't think!" Hermione gasped. "You think he knows about this?" she asked, indicating the translated copy of the book.

Harry slowly nodded his head, his mind still whirling with this latest discovery.

Tom was actually trying to save the world, and no one even knew it!

"The thing is, it would never work. There're just too many muggles. And their technology is advancing too fast. Genocide would never actually work. In fact, it would alert them to our existence faster, and give them a reason to fight against us. A reason to try and steal our magic," Harry continued. "There has to be another way to prevent this... this End of days."

That's what Tom is doing now. Trying to find another way...

"Who do you suppose the Light Lord is?" Ginny asked suddenly.

"Hmm?" Harry said, pulling out of his musings and looking down at her.

"It says that every generation there's a light and a dark lord, and they have to fight to maintain the balance and they both have to work towards saving the world or whatever – right? So if Voldemort was the Dark Lord, then –"

"Dumbledore," Harry said with a very sure nod of his head. "It's definitely Dumbledore."

"That makes sense," Hermione said, agreeing. "It probably is him."

"So do you think Dumbledore knows about this then?" Ginny asked, pointing at the translated book.

Harry looked thoughtful for a long moment before shaking his head. "I don't think he does. Or if he knows any of it, I think he's mistranslated it. I don't think he really understands. Or maybe he thinks it's possible to save everyone. He thinks he can save the muggles and wizards. Voldemort was willing to sacrifice the muggles if it meant saving everyone else."

Ginny gasped and Hermione looked dumbstruck.

"You're suggesting that Voldemort was trying to save the world?" Ginny asked in a voice that suggested she thought he was absolutely mental. "That's ridiculous!"

"I'm not suggesting anything!" Harry backtracked defensively. "I'm just making some hypothesis off of what we've just read and what I know. That's all."

"That sounds like suggesting to me," Ginny said.

"Well, he had to have a motive, didn't he?" Harry barked back, defensively. "I personally, would like to know why he did the things he did. Why he came after me and why he killed my parents. If this is the reason why, then I'd like to know!"

"He didn't need a reason why, he was a psychopath!" Ginny yelled.

"And you think that all the dark wizards in Britain would follow him if he were just a psychopath? Besides – honestly? I would much rather my parents died at the hands of someone fighting for something they believed in, than being killed my some lunatic who just enjoyed killing for sport."

"I don't see how it makes a difference," Ginny retorted, but with less enthusiasm now. "Why would you want to humanize that monster anyway? He killed your parents. He's tried to kill you several times! He – he made that d-diary and nearly killed me!"

"I'm not trying to humanize him! I'm just trying to understand, alright? I mean, why the hell did he come after me of all people? Because he was coming after me; not my parents. My parents knew he was coming after me too. That's why my mum had that blood ritual prepared. She knew that Voldemort would be coming to kill me. Why? Dumbledore knows, but he refused to tell me."

"What do you mean, he knows?" Hermione asked.

"I asked him first year after the whole mess with the stone and killing Quirrell and he told me I was too young for him to tell me the truth. Meanwhile, I have to face Voldemort every year, blindly. Ignorant of what is really going on, and totally unprepared. All of the advanced training I've done, I've had to do on my own because he refuses to openly train me. Why? What does he really want with me? I think these are pretty important questions and I have every right to be asking them."

"Did you know that this book would talk about this?" Hermione asked out of nowhere and Harry came up short. "Where did you get this book?"

Harry's mouth floundered for a moment, wondering how to respond. His mind was working fast and he quickly settled on a plan.

"I was told that I would find something in this book that was important. That it would help me to understand what was really going on. But that was it. It was just... really vague and entirely unhelpful, but I was told how to find the book and that it was important. That's it."

"Told by who?" Hermione asked cautiously.

Harry swallowed. He knew that the next thing he was about to say would probably make Hermione paranoid, but it was the best thing he could come up with, and he felt like he could spin it to work for him.

"Would you believe me if I told you I think it was Magic?" Harry asked, cringing slightly.

"Magic?" Hermione deadpanned.

"Yeah, as in the er... entity Magic. You know, like if Magic was a sentient being or something? I think maybe it was a vision?" Harry continued, but it came out more as a question.

"A vision, Harry? Oh Merlin!" Ginny groaned and Hermione looked both worried and skeptical.

"Harry, what if it wasn't some magical entity. What if it was Voldemort or something? You said that you had some strange nightmares at the start of the year. What if it was that? What if it was a trick?"

"It's just a book, Hermione! And I'm positive the idea was not sent to me from Voldemort. Honestly!" Just a detached piece of his soul...

"How can you be sure?"

"My visions of Voldemort always made my scar hurt. This one didn't," Harry finished definitively and crossed his arms over his chest.

Hermione frowned and pursed her lips but didn't retort.

"Anyway, I think this stuff is important. I think that this is the part that I was meant to find. We need to get the rest of it translated so we can see if there's anything more."

The group agreed and finally disbanded. Harry checked his watch and grumbled at how much time that had taken. He barely had enough time to make it across the grounds and port-key to the manor.

He slipped into a bathroom, put on his cloak and a silencing charm and began to race out of the castle and across the grounds. His mind was still whirling with what he'd read, and wondering how he would bring it up with Tom. He hadn't told Tom about the book or what he was doing with Hermione and Ginny in translating it. He wasn't sure why, but he just hadn't.

He supposed it was just one of those things that he had wanted to find on his own. Would Tom think he'd been hiding things though? He hated the thought that the other man might suspect him of any form of secrets or betrayal. Especially so early on in their 'relationship'. He was afraid of doing anything wrong that would screw up what was happening.

He huffed in frustration. He needed to tell Tom. He wouldn't keep this hidden from the other man, no matter how scared he was of what would happen. He just had to be honest. The truth of the matter was that he'd long ago given up on the idea of the book providing him with anything other than an interesting glimpse into the history of a dead race. Or, what he had thought to be a dead race. He supposed this latest revelation meant that they weren't dead – they had just left.

Harry finally crossed the wards and pulled his sleeve up, muttering the activation into the port-key and disappearing with a soft pop.

– –

Harry was about half way up the stairs when he heard another pop in the entrance hall behind him. He turned around and saw the grizzled form of his Defense teacher, 'Moody'. He smirked. It had been a while since he'd been in the manor at the same time was when Barty made one of his infrequent visits.

"Hey Barty," Harry said, pausing on the stairs and waiting for the other man to join him. 'Moody' smirked and began to hobble up the stairs.

"Potter," he said with a nod of his head.

"Our Lord has regained his old appearance. Just giving you a heads up," Harry said as they began to climb the stairs together.

"He has? Have you seen it?" 'Moody' asked with an eager fire glowing in his eyes.

Harry smiled and ducked his head again before nodding. "I have. He's glorious."

They came to the door of the study and Harry knocked lightly on the door.

"Come," the voice called out in a commanding tone and Harry pushed the door open a bit and peered through. Voldemort was sitting in his office chair behind his desk. Opposite him in one of three chairs was Severus Snape. Harry smirked.

Snape twisted slightly in his chair and scowled at the sight of Harry standing there.

"We're both here. Is... he supposed to be aware of our other friend?" Harry asked, jerking his chin towards Snape, and then nodding his head back over his shoulder.

Voldemort smirked slightly and inclined his head. "Yes Harry. You are both to enter."

Snape's face betrayed his confusion and curiosity for a moment before he masked the emotions away.

Harry pushed the door all the way open and strode confidently inside and sat down in the open chair to Snape's right. Snape watched him with hatred in his eyes, but his gaze was instantly drawn back to the door. Harry watched as Snape's eyes went wide in absolute disbelief as Mad-Eye Moody walked in through the open doorway, glaring and sneering down at the Potions master.

"You!" Snape gasped. There was no masking the absolute shock on the man's face now and Harry snickered. Snape turned and glared again at Harry, who just kept on grinning as the supposed ex-auror limped his way across the room and sat down in the last remaining chair.

Voldemort didn't waste much time in explaining to Snape who 'Moody' actually was, but Harry had still greatly enjoyed the potion master's reaction to the revelation. Snape had apparently been there for about thirty minutes when Harry and 'Moody' had arrived, so his debriefing was already done. Voldemort spent the next fifteen minutes describing the tasks he had for the two professors at the school, which mostly just involved keeping their eyes open, and reporting on any conversations they had with Dumbledore or the other staff members that appeared to be of any value.

It was already expected that 'Moody' would not be returning as the Defense teacher again the next year. Not only would it look suspicious if a teacher was suddenly able to get around the jinx on the position, it would also be difficult keeping the real Alastor Moody alive inside his own trunk for that long. As it was, the ex-auror's health was already seriously failing and Barty wasn't sure the man would actually survive to the end of term, 6 weeks away.

The two professors were especially instructed to pay close attention and immediately report on, anyone voicing suspicions on Harry's Potter's behavior or loyalties.

The meeting was concluded and Voldemort instructed Harry to remain behind. Snape sneered at Harry as he passed and left the room. Barty smirked and jerked his chin in a departing gesture.

As soon as the magical energy of the two wizards had disappeared from the manor, Voldemort sat down, heavily in his chair, sighed, and morphed back into Tom Riddle. Harry smiled at the sight, pulled out his wand and banished the three chairs to the back of the room and sat down on the floor beside Tom's chair.

Tom's long fingers ran into Harry's hair and the younger wizard sighed happily. The two remained quiet for a moment before Harry gave a much more resigned sounding sigh and cleared his throat.

"I need to tell you something."

Tom's fingers stopped and he slowly removed them. Harry was about to begin when Tom stood up and motioned for Harry to follow. The younger was confused, but did as instructed. The two made their way down the hall and ended up in the library. Tom went straight to the chaise lounge and sat down on the end that had two backs, forming a corner and then patted the space beside him.

Harry eyed the spot with wide eyes for a moment before grinning and sitting down beside Tom. Tom wasted no time in guiding Harry's head down into his lap and Harry could only grin wider as he sighed happily in what he had just now decided was his absolute favorite position to be in.

"Now, Harry, what is it you need to tell me?" Tom said letting his hand come up and thread into Harry's hair again.

"Back, just a short while before I came to you, but after I had had several visions from in your head, I began to wonder about something I'd heard you think on several occasions," Harry began.

"You had thought about your 'task', but I couldn't quite figure out what you were referring to, even from the context. But I was curious. I asked the portion of your soul in me if he knew or if he could tell me anything about it. He said he couldn't, but he directed me to something that he said would help me figure it out. He told me to look underneath Slytherin's desk inside his study in the Chamber."

At this, Tom's hand stopped moving.

"I found the book. Obviously, it was in some language I couldn't read so I asked him if there was anything that would help me translate it. So he directed me to the book on the Old Aldric language. I slowly started working on translating it in my free time. I couldn't see anything in the book that answered my question about your task, and after I while I practically forgot that was the reason I started translating it.

"It ended up being the thing I used to get Hermione to think I'd started trusting her again. She needed to be included in something I was doing, and the bit of your soul told me that this would be a good project to do that. He told me that it would be 'enlightening' for her if she helped translate the book. So I got her a copy of the original text and she's been working on translating it in her free time ever since.

"All the stories, up until now, just seemed like historical journal entries from the ancient elves. It was fascinating in a historical sense, but none of it seemed relevant to anything important. That's the reason I never mentioned it. Like I said, I basically forgot that this whole thing started out with the intention of figuring out your 'task'. I don't want you to think I was hiding something. I would never hide something from you if I thought it was important, and I really didn't at the time. I feel stupid now, looking back, and I'm really sorry..."

"You got to the end," Tom's voice cut in.

Harry nodded his head. "Just about. Hermione and Ginny have been doing all the translating lately. I've helped a bit, but mostly I've just let them work on it while I hung around. It's given them the sense that we're still close and everyone else in Gryffindor always sees us hanging out together, which has helped convince people that I've made up with them."

"Ginny? Ginny Weasley? Isn't she the girl –"

"That had your diary in my second year, yeah."

"Hmm..."

"Yeah," Harry said and sighed heavily. "Anyway, Hermione and Ginny got to these three entries – one about the old elves' seers making some prediction about the end of the world. Then an entry about some group contacting Magic to warn it? But it already knew. That the prophecy basically said that muggles would bring about the end of the world by trying to steal magic that wasn't theirs. And that two lords would be selected from the magical-human half-breeds – from wizards – a Dark Lord and a Light Lord, and that it would be their task to stop the muggles from taking magic, and save the wizards and the magical creatures from the muggle's apocalypse..." Harry's voice trailed off and he sighed. "Is it true?"

"Yes, Harry," Tom's voice said softly. "There is a bit more to it than that, but that is the gist of it."

"I'm sorry if it seems like I was hiding something from you," Harry apologized in a strained, quiet voice. Part of him was terrified that Tom would be angry with him. "I didn't mean for it to happen like this. I swear I'll tell you of anything like this I'm doing in the future. It just seemed like a side pet-project to keep Hermione and Ginny busy. I didn't –"

"Shhh... it's okay Harry. I'm not angry," Tom said, reassuringly as he began to run his hand through Harry's hair again.

Harry heaved a great, relieved breath. "Really?" he gasped hopefully.

"Yes, Harry, really."

Harry sighed and nuzzled his face into Tom's thigh and smiled. The two were quiet for a moment before Harry spoke again.

"I'm glad it's you," he said in a near-whisper.

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad that you're the Dark Lord. If anyone can do it, you can."

Tom barked a small laugh and then sighed. "I hope you're right."

[thelastspeecher]

14, ford in merguckets

14. A shrunken sweater

In something that will likely become a pattern with these prompts (see: the the porch swing and couch ones), I’m turning this into a sort of milestone or significant moment.  But this time, with Ford and Tate.  Because yes, in the MerGucket AU, Tate is Fiddleford and Ford’s son.  Their only guppy.  Anyways, I hope you like it.

Send me an AU and a number and I’ll write you a ficlet!

               “Fiddleford, I’m home!” Fordcalled, setting his bag down by the door. He’d left on a quick trip to the surface, to pick up some old things fromhis previous life as a human.  He openedhis bag and dug through it idly.

               It’s more for nostalgia than actual use.  Ford pulled a tiny piece of clothing out ofthe bag.  What is this?  Oh, right, myfavorite sweater when I was a child.  Itwent through the wash and shrunk.  

               “Fiddleford?” Ford said.  “I brought back some things you might beinterested in.”  No response.

               Where is he?  Still holdingthe shrunken sweater, Ford swam off in search of Fiddleford.  He stopped by the nursery, his ears pickingup on wailing come from the room.  Fordhesitantly opened the door and was immediately blasted by loud screaming fromhis two-month-old son, Tate.  Tate wasthe only guppy that hatched in Ford and Fiddleford’s surprise (they decidedthat was a better word than “accidental”) clutch.  But despite the near-constant care andattention he received, Tate only stopped crying when he was asleep.  

               “I didn’t hear ya come home,darlin’,” Fiddleford said over Tate’s dissatisfied screams.

               “I can deduce why,” Fordreplied, swimming over.  Fiddleford wassitting in the rocking chair, Tate in his arms. Tate’s face was red and scrunched up as he continued to wail.

               “Nothin’ calms him down, I don’tunderstand,” Fiddleford said desperately. He stroked Tate’s wild hair.  “Imean, ‘cept fer singin’, but singin’ sends him off to sleep.  And I don’t want him to be asleep all thetime.”

               “Well, the last time I held him,he seemed a bit cold, so I put a blanket over him.  He calmed down pretty quickly,” Fordsuggested.  Fiddleford frowned.

               “But he ain’t cold rightnow.  If anything, he’s hot.  Worked himself up almost into a fever withall this fussin’.”

               “Maybe the weight is comforting.  Honestly, though, what do we have to lose?”  

               “Fair enough.”  Fiddleford took a blanket from the basketnext to the rocking chair.  He draped itover Tate’s tail.  Tate continued tocry.  Fiddleford moved the blanket upTate’s body, Tate’s crying getting quieter as he did so.  When the blanket completely covered Tate’storso, Tate was dead silent, staring at Ford and Fiddleford with wide eyes.

               “Was that all it took?” Fordwhispered, worried a loud voice might set off his son.

               “I- I don’t know.”  Fiddleford kissed Tate on his forehead.  “Did ya just want a blanket, baby?”  Tate giggled. “He- he laughed.  He ain’t donethat yet, he’s been so busy cryin’,” Fiddleford said quietly.  He leaned back in the rocking chair.  The movement jostled the blanket off Tate’storso, making him cry again.  “Is it theblanket?  Or does he just like to be covered?”Fiddleford wondered out loud, quickly repositioning the blanket.  

               “We can test it,” Ford said.  “I, uh, accidentally brought back one of mychildhood sweaters that shrunk.  Itshould fit Tate.”  He held out thesweater.

               “…Worth a try.”  Fiddleford removed the blanket.  Tate began to scream again.  “Oh, hush, baby boy, it’ll be okay,”Fiddleford cooed as he put the sweater on Tate. “Careful over the ears, don’t scrape up against yer scales, andthere.  Now yer all covered up.  Dressed like a cute lil human,” Fiddlefordsaid, poking Tate’s nose.  Tate giggledagain.

               “Holy Moses, I can’t believe itworked,” Ford said.  Tate beamed andreached his tiny arms out to Ford.  

               “Aw, do ya want yer Dad?”Fiddleford said sweetly.  Ford took Tateand smiled down at his son.

               “You’re a lot cuter when you don’tcry,” Ford remarked.  Tate giggled.  “Wow, when he’s not screaming, he’s such ahappy child.”  He stroked Tate’shair.  “…We should probably get himsomething to wear that isn’t a wet sweater.”

               “Yes, definitely.”

[honeylikewords]

Part 2

David was a strange man.

He could speak, but often chose not to. And whenever he did, it was as minimal as possible. Not because he was dumb, but because he simply felt no real need to speak unless he deemed it absolutely necessary. He was also a very large man for what it was worth; not something he could control, but still something worth noting. But what he could control was the mess of hair that entangled his face: Thick, curly, and dark, it as a head worthy of one of Christ’s disciples.

What was also in his control was where he’d chosen to make his dwelling space: a little cottage, set within the belly of the wood.

Whatever had possessed you all that time ago to enter the woods to retrieve his battered body had surely stayed dormant within you until it came time to see where the man himself lived. After all, following your treatment of his injuries, hunger, and sanitation, he returned to your abode not once, not even twice, but five times in two consecutive weeks! And always with something that you supposed was meant to be payment for your kindness: Salmon from a river so deep into the forest that you had never seen such scale patterns before; flowers that didn’t grow anywhere around the village or its fields; berries that, while the same kind as you picked, somehow tasted sweeter than what you were used to.

You always invited him in to share whatever edibles he gave you, and he would always silently accept it. But he never spent the night (you weren’t sure his great bid body could even fit on the couch). In fact, he also never came during broad daylight. Only at dusk, when few people ventured outside of their homes. Only when he knew for certain that his massive silhouette could camouflage itself under the cloak of night.

After so many visits (and so many impromptu dinners), you jokingly deemed it only fair that you got to see where he ventured off to at night after his fifth helping of blueberry pie. You honestly didn’t expect him to actually take you up on the light teasing. But as you sat on the clumpy but well-loved David-sized sofa, drinking leafy tea from a clay bowl, you had to admit that it wasn’t bad for a little shack in the woods. A bit more rustic than what you were used to, but it had its charms what with the little trinkets dangling from the ceiling, the dusty windows. It smelled like pine and warm dirt with hints of the herbs and spices that hung above a small stove. Homemade, lumpy candles lined the shelves alongside carved, wooden figurines of forest creatures (“Made them myself,” David proclaimed with evident pride). It was, in a word, quite cozy.

But once you got over the comfortability of the little hub, the question still stood: Why in blue blazes would he build any kind of dwelling space in the woods!?

“Aren’t you worried about the Guardian?” you asked as you fidgeted with your now empty tea bowl. David, who had been chopping up herbs for his own cup, stopped his activities to glance up at you. Beneath his thick beard, he smiled at your worried expression. This caused your face to portray hints of frustration.

“What?” you huffed. “It’s a genuine question! The people in my village say the Guardian’s as big as a house – as big as a church! It doesn’t matter if you’re a man the size of a horse, he could just eat you up. Heck, with your height, he’d probably love to have you: You could be breakfast, lunch, and dinner with just enough for a midnight snack!” But no matter what you offered, the smile on David’s face remained. In fact, it only seemed to stretch further and further with every claim you made before he looked down to shake his head. It did nothing to hide the quivering of his shoulders and the huffs built on quiet chortling.

You pouted and glared, giving up on ever trying to convince him of anything.

“Doesn’t scare me,” David said in his low, raspy voice. You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“I bet he’ll be scaring you when his knife-sized teeth are digging into your legs,” you muttered. Another huff of a giggle was David’s response as he poured you more herbal tea.

“He won’t hurt me,” the man insisted as he placed down the clay teapot with an expression of certainty.

You pursed your lips, not buying his persistence. “But how do you know that?”

David drew his own tea bowl to his lips, blowing gently on the hot drink within.

“He won’t.” The sip signified his stance on the matter.

David insisted that he walk you back to your village. At the very least, to the edge of the forest, where he knew you’d be safe. But the warmth and safety of David’s little home had surely morphed your thoughts to a certain degree, as you just didn’t feel it as entirely necessary.

“After all,” you said as you began walking the trail beyond his door, “it’s still daylight. If I hurry, nothing should be able to catch up with me, right?” As you glanced back, the giant was twiddling his fingers. He wanted to say something and you knew it, but whatever it was he wanted to say just wasn’t coming. And you didn’t have all the time in the world right now, so you gave him one last reassuring smile.

“David,” you insisted, “I’ll be fine. I promise.” You began stepping down the gravelly trail and further towards the trees that separated you from the civilization of David’s home to the complete wilderness of the wood. “I’ll see you some other time, then!” You gave the man one last wave, and disappeared into the thicket. Still standing in place, still quiet, still worried, David raised his hands to wave back at you. At last minute, he decided not to; you were out of sight anyway.

****

You were beginning to suspect that maybe the Unknown wasn’t as terrible as you’d been brought up to believe. The walk to David’s home, even with David sticking close by to lead the way, had been filled with a sliver of worry quivering about your gut. Every twig snap was initially perceived as a threat instead of a squirrel scampering about; every sound of tiny chipmunk feet pattering was confused for that of a much larger beast. But now, having spent some time in the forest (even if much of that time was taking place inside a cabin inside the forest), you couldn’t help but feel calmer about it.

Golden fingers of warm sunlight slipped through holes left between the leaves of the towering trees. Bushes scattered about your path, ripe with berries you could recognize as the ones David would gift you with. Every so often, a bird twittered in the distance. It felt so nice in here; how could anyone stand to not want to be in it for so long?

Snap.

Your heart jolted and your steps slowed. Now you remembered why. But you shook your head regardless and continued onward.

Probably just another squirrel or something, you reasoned. You weren’t about to let your fears dictate how you would enjoy this lovely woodland stroll. You walked on for a couple of more steps, your relaxation seeping back in.

Crickle.

Once again, your steps slowed. You took a look around, finding nothing out of the ordinary. You scolded yourself for letting your fearful upbringing get the best of you before starting, once more, down the trail. But your steps were slower. Quieter, carrying more hesitation. You tried to regain your earlier ease but found it more difficult. You perked your hearing, hoping to catch some birds conversing in the trees.

It was silent.

At first, at least. For the harder you listened, the more you heard it: A low, heavy breathing. It ruffled the air. It made the hairs stand on the back of your neck. And it was only getting closer.

You thought deep down – prayed deep down – that if you didn’t look back, then nothing would come of it. You were so very, very wrong. You questioned whether it was a figment of your imagination that the breathing sound was getting louder. Maybe you were listening to intently that it merely sounded like it was getting louder.

Crack.

You gulped your heart back down. That was too close. As was the breathing. You heard a rumbling. It wasn’t thunder. It was on the ground. It was nearly right behind you.

Your exhale shuddered out of your lungs, draining you from the inside of your strength. The temptation became too much: You looked back.

Giant. As big as a house – no … a church. Fur so dark that you at first confused it for the nighttime sky. A maw opened just enough to reveal a set of knife-like teeth dripping with saliva. Deep, red eyes, focused on your miniscule, shivering figure. Its bulk shrunk inward and outward with each heavy inhale and exhale.

The bear pushed its massive form onto its hind legs, eyes never breaking their stare upon you.

The last bit of air slivered out of you in the shape of a whimper. The subsequent roar the Guardian of the Woods released was enough to shatter the heavens with flocks of birds.

You couldn’t remember screaming. You couldn’t even remember running. All you knew was that by the time you realized you were doing anything, you didn’t recognize anything at all. You cursed both in your mind and by your mouth – you’d run off the blood trail!

Your heart thudded in your chest as you exerted as much energy as possible, twisting left and right amongst the trees, around rocks, over logs. But the pounding in your ears was drowned out by the pounding of the Guardian’s feet along the forest floor. The great thing lumbered after you, all too often gaining enough closeness for you to feel its hot breath against your heels. The edges of your dress ripped against stray branches and thorns, creating cuts in your legs along the way. Your shoes, having been lost along the sprint, couldn’t protect your poor feet from its frequent contacts with sharp stones and thick mud. You were too frightened to experience the full extent of the pain.

You weren’t sure when you started screaming again. You weren’t sure when you started crying his name, tears flying from your eyes and into the wind. You weren’t even sure why you started calling his name to begin with. But any sec your lungs would allow for the air, you would scream it: “DAVID! DAVID!!”

What use was it, though? To scream your throat raw, to call out for someone who probably couldn’t hear you and, even if he could, would not be able to reach you in time? As a frayed edge of your dress got caught on a particularly persistent piece of fallen tree, you released a screech. The Guardian pounced, miraculously falling short of your actual body but just close enough to get a mouth full of a piece of your dress. The adrenaline rush within you instilled just enough strength for you to rip yourself away shredding your attire even further. As the Guardian released a furious roar into the air, your eyes replenished themselves with tears.

As terrified as you were, you knew that your body could only keep up so much longer. The ache of your lungs and pain of all the scratches and pierces were beginning to catch up with you … As was the Guardian!

A spew of curses began to exit your mind and into your mouth. The heavy breathing was thundering behind you, an angered growl bubbling up and exploding in your ears. You could feel its serrated maw take a snap at your legs, causing you to yip and exert one last push of energy into your scurrying. You took yet another turn, weakly hoping that perhaps one more would shake the Guardian off of your trail.

Your heart plummeted into the very pits of your body when you came to realize how wrong you were.

It was a dead end. A very much dead end. No crevices to hide in, no way to climb out in the time needed. This was it: You were going to die here. You turned around, horror engulfing your wet eyes as you saw the Guardian slow its sprint. It knew it had you where it wanted you; why bother making the attack quick and easy.

Its red eyes glowered down at your pathetic figure with every step it took. You weren’t sure which would be worse: That its gait remain as large as it was, placing it closer and closer to you and thereby putting you closer and closer to your death; or that its steps were smaller, thereby dragging out the agonizing time you were already placed in. Regardless, you were petrified.

You took one step back. It took one step forward. You took another step back. It placed another paw forward, releasing a quiet snarl. Your eyes flew to its set of yellowed, daggeresque teeth and whimpered quietly. Your hands feebly rose in front of you as if in defense.

“No, wait,” you attempted weakly, but for what you knew not. “Please …?” You just prayed somewhere, deep down, to anything, to anyone that this thing could be reasoned with. As the great bear positioned itself in a form meant for pouncing, you knew that you had your answer. A small, high-pitched keen of a cry whistled itself out of your mouth as you pressed your back against the rock wall. You didn’t care that the structure bit into your back as you slid down it. You didn’t care that your legs stung and drooled with blood as you pressed them against your chest to create a fetal position.

You didn’t care about anything anymore: You were about to die. You closed your eyes, damming the saltiness of your tears to burn against them, and waited for the Guardian of the Wood to kill you.

The bellowing growl that echoed into the air signified your end, causing you to tighten inward one last time … Only to feel nothing.

Instead, what came was an impact, but not on you. It was a loud thud, followed by more growls and angry roaring only instead of coming from one bear, it sounded like … two?

Tears dribbled out of your left eye as you dared to crack it open. Amongst the murkiness created by the watery nature, you could just make out two figures. Both very big, both very dark, and both were bears. They were both also fighting one another. Ferociously, at that.

One released a howl of pain as the other bit its fleshy neck, prompting it to beat at it with a giant, clawed paw. You couldn’t help but cringe at the impact the slap had, enhanced further by just how loud the assault was. The slapped bear, however, appeared untroubled, returning the slap with ten times the aggression. Pearls of blood sprinkled the ground below. The air soon became filled with rumbling cries of rage, with heavy-handed slaps that resulted in deep cuts left by claws. The clicking of teeth gnashing together resonated with every snap, roars were muffled by fur with every bite directed wherever either bear could get it.

And you sat there, watching it all.

You wanted to leave. God almighty, you wanted to leave but you had no way of fulfilling that desire. Even if it weren’t for the two colossal fauna blocking the only exit, the pain and exhaustion in your body had finally caught up. You experimented with lifting yourself up from the ground, only to release a yip of agony and flop back down. Your legs had been rendered useless.

At the sound of your discomfort, one of the bears appeared to have forgotten that it was in the midst of a battle and looked your way. Your heart threatened to leap out of your mouth as its dark eyes became focused on your tiny, trembling form. This gaze only lasted a matter of seconds, however, before it was returned back into the fight by its opponent’s giant paw striking it across the face.

For whatever reason, it appeared that this slap had been the final straw for the darker-eyed bear. You could almost see its muscles rippling beneath its mass of dark fur. With very little effort, the dark-eyed bear brought its paws up and pushed the Guardian bear backwards. Further and further until its back was smashed against the sturdy rocks. It let up only for a fraction of a second before returning its paws against the Guardian bear’s chest, this time with much more aggression. It repeated this action over and over again, with every press back appearing more and more furious than the last. And with every slam the Guardian bear took, the more shaken its massive form seemed to become. The rocks behind it rattled but never gave way, trapping it in a position to be slammed over and over and over again against the hard barrier.

And just as the dark-eyed bear appeared to let up, it delivered one final attack: A bite, larger than before, showing nearly every single tooth that it had, set straight upon the section between its opponent’s neck and shoulder. You shuddered fearfully as it bit down hard, causing its victim to release a shrill, inhuman cry into the air. Any bird or quadrupedal creatures that had dared to stay anywhere within the radius before made haste to evacuate far away.

The bitten bear was only midway through its cry when its attacker released it from its jaw, only to be struck one last time. The bitten bear fell to the ground, only to momentarily scramble back up. In a moment of what you could only perceive as shock, its red eyes fell upon the biter one last time.

The biter threatened it with one last scream of a roar. Every tooth was shown, wordlessly stating that it would, indeed, bite again. Not wanting to risk it, the Guardian of the Wood fled back into the thick brush, petals of blood dribbling behind it as a token of its loss.

And then nothing.

The remaining bear’s eyes remained trained on the direction in which the Guardian had retreated, as if making sure that it was truly gone for good. Then it turned to you.

Your body froze.

This. This was the end. God, you concluded in your real final moments, had been cruel. He gave you an outlet to escape, but only with so very little help that it was deemed impossible. As the enormous bear lowered itself onto all four paws, it began to slowly close in on you. You could only help yourself by repeating your previous actions: Curl into a fetal position, screw your eyes shut, and wait for the end.

A tear managed to slip out of the corner of your eye and glide down your scratched cheek. A small keening sound, not unlike a tuning violin, slid out of your throat and became muffled against your tucked-in lips. As you felt the massive bear’s hot breath puffing against your face, your burrowed your head between your knees and waited for the indescribable pain of its big teeth to begin tearing you into ribbons.

You were therefore not prepared for the cold, wetness of its nose to press against your arm to release a hot exhale against it.

“Yikes!” you exclaimed, unraveling your body at the stimuli. Before you could close back in on yourself, however, the creature’s giant head intervened. It leaned forward, sniffing you, occasionally dragging its wet nose along your skin. Your body and breath both stilled. It was sniffing you the way dogs sniff their food right before eating it. It even opened its mouth to release its thick, rubbery tongue.

It pressed against one of your cuts, causing you to hiss. The tongue drew back along with the bear’s head as it glanced at you. You didn’t want to personify the megafauna, but you could have almost sworn that there was something actually human about its stare. Considerate, even. As though it was making sure that you were okay. After a moment of refraining, it returned its tongue, lapping at your scratches and cuts, always gently but also always retreating for a moment if you ever released a sound of discomfort.

All you could do was sit there and let it happen.

What a peculiar bear, you thought as you watched it clean you. Neither party made much noise besides your quiet hisses of pain and its occasional sniffs and snuffs against your skin. When it finished cleaning one arm, it took a step back and sat on its hindquarters and stared at you. It was as if it was observing you to see what else needed to be done. In the quiet moments between the two of you, you couldn’t help but give in to your previous suspicions: There was something about this bear’s eyes. They weren’t vacant or thoughtless like any regular animal’s. In fact, they appeared to be filled with thought. Filled with wisdom. Secrets that you had never known any of the animals back home to know.

In fact, the stare seemed to remind you of something: The guardians in your storybooks. They always had such caring yet stern looks about them, both in their illustrations and in your mind. Your mouth opened by a smidge as it all came to dwell in your thoughts.

Your throat hurt from your screaming. Your lungs hurt from their overexertion. Your mouth was dry from everything. And yet, you needed to ask: “Are … Are you … the Guardian of the Wood?” You said it so quietly and so hoarsely that even you could barely hear yourself. But the bear had heard you clearly.

It nodded.

“Oh,” you responded simply. “Th … Thank you,” you offered a small chuckle and sniffled. You brought a balled fist up to your eye to rub it free of tears. Instead, what it did was loosen the dam. Your smile, already in poor stability, buckled under pressure. And then it all came down: The realization of what had happened, what could’ve happened. The pain, the exhaustion. And the relief of being alive at all to even feel any of it.

You gasped for breaths of air as your nose and lungs became blocked with tears and snot. Your body shook in desperate need or something stable to find shelter upon. Your fingers, trembling with anxiety, curled themselves into your sore palms as your body, once more, began to curl in upon itself. You leaned to the side, ready to fall open the hard, gravely forest floor. Instead, you were met with a hot, furry pelt. Your tiny form sank into the Guardian of the Wood’s abdomen as its giant body encircled your own.

In fairytales, even the most frightened of children did not dare sob into the blessed robes of their saviors. But this wasn’t a fairytale. It was real. It was all so very, very real. And for that, you couldn’t stop yourself from crying into the animal’s fur.

The Guardian of the Wood didn’t seem to mind that you were muddying up its great, black coat with your snot and tears. It held its position, letting its coat catch your sadness and relief. Every so often, its warm tongue and cold nose would brush against the scratches and cuts lining your shoulder or back, cleaning it of its most heinous damages.

It was over now. It would protect you.

im physically shaking and i have no words