#this one counts as a 'love blooming in the battlefield' moment for me guys

[ducotte-real]

coping so hard. something something to be loved is to be changed

[starryikevamp]

愛の光

a napoleon imagine.

by: admin xuan

note: in case you were wondering, i really wanted to just title this ““the light of love” but both the count and arthur imagine had “love” in it so being the unoriginal person i am, i gave up and named this in japanese.

There’s many people who would claim to have no fears.

They would either boast, with an impressive inflated ego and a spectacular ignorance, or some others would simply say this devoid of any emotion. The proud, and the dead. But there’s always something that strikes fear into our souls— we are, after all, human. It is natural for humans to fear, and such sources come from million of things, including holes, sharp objects, etcetera.

And there’s one of them. It’s not darker than the rest, but it’s horrible. Nobody human in a sense could possibly come to like it. And this thing, this source of fear, is war.

You don’t know when an area was going to be blown up, or marched down by soldiers, and you don’t know when you might end up dead. All you can hear is the thunderous roar of aircrafts zooming past the sky like ravens meant to kill. To your left, there’s a mother holding her newborn, her hands working deftly to soothe the high-pitched high, while her eyes tremble. On your right, there’s a family who looked like part of their soul left along with their loved ones. The air stinks of uncertainty along with gunpowder, and fire is everywhere, and you don’t know where your feet is leading you to.

If you take cover for a few days, at the best, you would probably stumble upon a man with fatal wounds. There’s a piece of ripped cloth stained with black, a sign of long-dried blood wrapped around his shoulder, and his clothes are burnt and tattered at places. He barely has the energy to breathe, much less spare a glance towards you. He can’t move, can’t fall asleep, can’t do anything except to wait till he’s saved or succumb to death itself.

Fire. Screams. Gunshots. And blood.

Blood.

-

“...Napoleon. Napoleon? Are you listening?”

The sight of your eyes basked in worry snapped the said man back to reality and away from the snares of his mind. He reminded himself, briefly, that you would trouble yourself to no ends just to make him feel at ease, and immediately rearranged his features to a more relaxed one.

“I’m sorry.”

“Geez, you… oh well, whatever. I was just asking if you’d like to go with me to Theo’s art exhibition this weekend. He was just boasting about it to me this morning.” If Napoleon wasn’t listening, he hid it well. It’s almost like a default mode he’s in, especially when you’re at this proximity to him, he just can’t help but admire you, all while absorbing your words completely. Today, like any other days, you’re glowing. It wasn’t like a harsh glare of the sun, but more like the comforting dim lighting from a bunch of fireflies in a dark field. The type where you can fall back onto the soft grass, and allow those tiny sparks to overtake you gently.

Other suitable comparisons would be like the streak of light across the night sky as it approached dawn, or the silver threads of moonlight. It’s all about light with you.

“If you want to go, I’ll come along too.”

“Really? In that case then, thank you!”

There was only one thing that was comparable to the sun, in his opinion. And that was your smile.

It had been a Tuesday when you told him that, and as clocks tick away, the much beloved weekends finally arrived. The whole mansion was very much alive with buzz, however subtle it was. You and Vincent were of course, the middle of it all, being two balls of pure excitement, jumping around and being all over the place since early morning. The rest would’ve no doubt loved to join in, but it was too amusing to watch from the sidelines than to be directly involved.

Out of the rest, a few weren’t going, but majority was. Isaac couldn’t place the priority of his student’s education before this, and couldn’t join with much regret; Jeanne said he had some business to take care of, which probably wasn’t a really good thing. As an ally and friend, Napoleon would step in, but the former assured that he would be fine, and won’t she be sad if you came with me? convinced him well enough.

Regardless, the rest travelled together, something rare since everyone did what they wanted to do all the time. Until you arrived, that is. Somehow, your smile has been their motivation to do anything, and it was one common goal they all had— whether Napoleon’s happy or not, he couldn’t deny that you did have that effect on people. It was kind of like a drug in some sense. Even now, as you skipped happily alongside him, your arm carelessly linked with his, there was a carefree and beautiful smile, blooming like the most vibrant of flowers. The sight brought butterflies in Napoleon stomach.

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?”

A most nondescript building, just like the one Theo described, stood a few hundred meters away. From here, Napoleon could spy a few people streaming into it just as you spoke. Theo must’ve done something to attract them, since all the artworks were by talented, but unpopular artists. It was truly a kind thing to do, he decided, as the group drew closer to the entrance.

The exhibition, in summary, was an interesting one. Napoleon wasn’t one to pay much attention to the arts, and he realises it even more so whenever Vincent or Theo ask about his opinion on something, or even Mozart. Literature-wise, he didn’t fare as bad, but the point was that he did expect to breeze through room after room in this building. And yet, something about these paintings rendered him speechless, made him feel as if he was sucked into this otherworldly place— the stoic woman, the merry young girl on the swings, he could see all this happening in front of his eyes, like a animated picture.

And then he saw it.

The enormous painting of two worlds merged into one, namely, Hell and Heaven. The way the artist expressed their form of Hell was painful to even look at. Bare, bloody bodies twisting and turning, people moaning for salvation, all while standing atop of a black, burnt mass, and fire could be seen dancing in the background.

It reminded him of something.

Fire. Screaming. Blood.

Gunshot.

The moment it rang out, he stiffened. For a while, Napoleon thought the nightmares that he thought had faded long ago rushed back all to him, and that he heard it all in his head, but there were people screaming, running and shoving past him, and smoke assaulted his nostrils. His reflexes told him to run, but his eyes searched for you; you should be around him, nearby, or with one of the guys, and Isaac was tugging on his sleeve with surprising force, so he caved in and ran to the exit. All was well, or so he hoped.

One person was missing.

“Damn. Damn!” Theo muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly.

The building was now in flames, shining like an unearthly light amidst the deep darkness of the night, and Napoleon was starting to think that it might not be a fleeting nightmare after all. This was real. There were kids wailing, people screaming, there had been a gunshot, and there’s a fire. To him, Hell just presented itself in the human world; and to make matters worse, you were gone.

“I’m going in.” He declares to no one in particular.

“Are you out of your mind? We don’t even know if she’s trapped in there for sure. What if she’s somewhere out here, safe?”

Anyone who’s seen his expression that night would’ve said that he looked like a man on the brink of desperation. That there was a insane fire in his eyes rivaling the one right in front of him, and that he ran into the fiery inferno without even a second’s hesitation.

It was hot. Of course it was, with the long tongues of flames licking any surface possible bare, and the wooden structure of the ceiling was about to collapse any moment soon. The cement floor, however, was safe enough to cross, and with a great kick, Napoleon easily unhinged the door to the next room. He seemed calm enough, and one would’ve thought that he’s got his nerves together. It wasn’t true at all, for his mind was a mess of thoughts, ranging from what if it’s too late to what if I don’t find her. His muscles were the ones that deserved the credit for his fluid actions, toned by years after years on the battlefield. It was so vividly imprinted into his mind, and the images flash across his eyelids whenever he closes them. Crimson-dyed dried grass, the remains of a tattered flag dancing its last solo— it makes him sick. Just like that first time, bile threatens to spill out, and his heart is hammering away at his ribcage. He can’t move an inch, nor mutter a single word. It was terrifying to the core, and everything stench of death.

A single, weak cough. Then two. It sounded like heaven compared to the crackling of fire surrounding him, and the sight of you curled up in a corner of the room almost brought him to his knees.

You were decently away from any flame nearby, thanks to the lack of objects in the room itself, except for one painting that’s reduced to blackened metal and ashes on the ground. Your clothes were dirty and soot stuck to your sweaty limbs and face, but all that matters was that you were very much alive, and without anything like a bullet wound found on your body. Napoleon silently held you up in his arms, bridal-style, and although you could barely crack open your eyes to look at him through the sting, the way you relaxed into his arms brought him back to earth a little. It was a reminder, of how you trusted him with your life, and that you two would never be apart in times like this.

And so, just like that, the whole thing ends with the both of you exiting the place from the window in the room. Thankfully, you were on the first floor, but Napoleon doubted that it would’ve been a problem even if he jumped from the second. There’s the rest of the guys, for one, who attended immediately and somewhat frantically to you, and secondly, you weren’t majorly harmed. Napoleon had got you out just in time before you could inhale too much of the smoke, and you obtained some first degree burns, but it was overall a miracle that you should be generally fine after being stuck in a burning building.

Everything afterwards passed by in a flash. The fire and gunshot were caused by a man called Gauguin, and Napoleon would’ve liked to personally give him a piece of his mind, but he entrusted the task to Theo instead. It wasn’t really his part to interfere, especially when it concerns past grudges and such affairs.

He remembers so clearly when it happened. It was nighttime, and there was a gunshot, followed by screaming and fire, and later he discovered that he obtained a bleeding ankle. It would’ve been an eternal night, if not for his love of the dim little fireflies.

If not for his love of light.

[pillarsofdamnation]

Otayuri Fic Rec List

I came for the Victuuri, but several of my favorites had a side pairing I wasn’t expecting to enjoy so much: Otabek Altin and Yuri Plisetsky. I’ve seen some of the wank on the otayuri tag, so if you don’t like, don’t read.

I love long fics (>10,000 word count) and have this insane need to keep track of the ones I really enjoy. Here are both competed works and WIPs that I am following they are all complete now. 

UPDATED: January 27, 2018 (Based on fics I was reading in May 2017)

Guys, there are 16 fics here. I now have another 30 to add, but this post is getting too long. I will work on this in the weeks to come!

For this list “canon” are typically set post S1, “au” is a completely different universe and "au - canon divergent” is an au where one or both are still competitive figure skaters. 

I. Completed works

A cat in a corner by AphroditeB00w [E, 82,800 word count, complete although not marked done yet)]

(au, mafia, violence, slow burn, assassin/enforcer!Yuri, Part 2 of Shadow People) "You don't own me." Yuri spat at the stone-faced man across from him. "No," Altin agreed mildly, adjusting the cuff of his suit. "But you are owned."Yuri Plisetsky is a reluctant underling in Yaakov's organization in mother Russia. But everything starts shifting and stirring up when he starts working with Otabek Altin, the informant for the criminal gods. His once slumbering sexuality is shocked awake, and the careful facade covering his hate for Yaakov is cracked when he learns that Viktor is not dead after all.

A Heart Beats At Night by magicalyoyo [T, 154,000 word count]

(au, vampire!Yuri, werewolf!Otabek, elements of canon, angst, Victor/Yuuri side pairing) A lone figure ran along the sidewalk. Otabek would have mistaken him for a motivated jogger, if not for the sinewy, fluid movements and familiar figure. He jerked his bike over, skidding to a halt in front of the runner.

Otabek’s heart was pounding a sickening, dizzying rhythm, but he schooled his face into stoicism as he pulled his helmet off to get a better look.

“Yuri Plisetsky died two years ago,” he growled. “What the hell are you?”

a silver splendour, a flame by thehandsingsweapon [M, 113,200 word count]*** Main pairing Yuuri/Viktor with Otabek/Yuri is a significant side pairing

(au, angst, mcd (with qualifiers), fantasy, slow burn, magic) Fantasy AU. When a magic user’s craft fully matures it manifests in the form of a spirit guardian. Mages and elves bearing these familiars spend a year presenting them to each of the high courts throughout the year’s festivals. Both Viktor and Yuuri have their reasons for hiding the full extent of their gifts – Viktor’s been hurt before, when his own powers were used against him; Yuuri’s been warned that everyone will want his; what will happen when Yuri comes of age, and in doing so, makes two very bright stars finally cross?

A Stiller Doom by Tessa on Ice [E, 68,400 word count]***

(abo, angst, social justice, violence, abo, au-canon divergent) “It is in vain ot say human beings out to be satisfied with traquility: they must have aciton and they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many rebellions ferment in the masses of life which people earth.” - Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre.  NOTE: fic is currently unavailable due to an AO3 issue, but will hopefully be back. Really enjoyed this one. A lot of political drama. 

Adventures in Personal Growth (verse) by stutter [E, 23,700 word count for series)

(canon, pining, dom/sub elements, rough sex, read the tags) "When Victor was his age - younger, even, Yuri thinks, shame blooming in his chest - he’d made the whole world fall in love with him already. The long hair, the soft smile, the way he moved like he had a secret in his skin and he couldn't wait to share it with you. Yuri’s watched the tapes over and over. He could skate any of Victor’s early routines in his sleep. But he can't - the thing Victor could do so easily, the casual, guileless charisma he threw like a shadow - Yuri can't manage it on a single person, not even some moody Kazakh with a dumb haircut whose eyes are too far apart anyway - "(In Park Guell, Yuri takes a hard fall. Otabek picks him up.)

All the Right Notes by pastelplisetsky [T, 42,800 word count]

(au, music, slow burn, fluff) Yuri Plisetsky is an incredibly gifted piano player, known for his passionate and somewhat violent playing/compositions. But in order to compete in the famous Eurasia United competition (completely fictional), he needs a violin accompanist. Although he’s dreamed about this competition for years, he’s always worked better alone. Until a little-known, solemn, lovely violinist walks into his life. Inspired by Yuri’s Allegro Appassionato in B Minor, his free skate song.

the birth of comets takes place on the tip of your lashes by apollothyme [T, 16,600 word count]***

(au - canon divergent, angst, hurt comfort, blindness, friends to lovers) His second visit to an ophthalmologist occurs five months later. Just like during his first consultation, he doesn’t understand any of the medical jargon coming from the doctor’s mouth. Only now, after he’s done explaining everything in complicated, convulsed words, the man turns to Yuri with a smile on his face and explains everything once more, this time using terms Yuri can understand. Yuri listens. He bites down on his bottom lip and he does not cry.

Endurance and Peach Tea by chapstickaddict [T, 11,500 word count]

(canon, pining, slow burn, fluffy fluff) Yuri hummed. His body didn’t uncurl, but instead of pressing his face into the fold of his legs, he rested it on his crossed forearms. Tilting his face towards Otabek, he looked for the bronze metal. The colorful ribbon snuck into the folds of his jacket, hiding his prize from view. Yuri reached out, and Otabek let him pull the ribbon to bring the metal into the light.It was beautiful. Heavy and ornate, with the front masterfully detailed. The perfect symbol of success. Yuri flipped it over, admiring Otabek’s name carved along the back. Wait.“Did they spell your name wrong?” he demanded, straightening. Otabek made a noise beside him.

It takes three years for Yuri to figure himself out and get his head on right. He drags everyone along for the ride. Otabek is the only one to go willingly.

From Almaty, With Love by BoxWineConfessions [E, 115,900 word count]

(canon, pining, slow build, slice of life, part 1 of series) It’s quiet here. Even if the car alarm on the neighbor’s goddamn BMW has been going off for the past twenty minutes. Quiet, even though the alarm’s got the neighbor’s dog howling like crazy, and the neighbor works second shift and isn’t there to comfort the dumb dog. It’s quiet…They haven’t spoken to each other since that morning, when Yuri went off to go see his tutor, and Otabek went off to do whatever the hell it was he did in the mornings before he hit the rink. “You’re used to the noise?”“Yeah, but…I think I like the quiet too.” Or: Yuri spends the summer with Otabek in Almaty.

Half a Chance by ratherunneccessary [M, 55,900 word count]

(canon, angst, fluff, slow burn) Yuri has never cared about anything as much as he cares about skating. Until, one day, that changes. Or, Viktor falls in love with Yuuri, Yuuri falls in love with Viktor, Yuri falls in love with Yuuri, Otabek falls in love with Yuri, and somehow everything turns out okay.

I Will Not Break by kanekki [E, 39,000 word count] series Accuse Me Thus [E, 121,400 word count in 3 part series]

(canon, divergent after S1, DARK, rape/noncon, depression, anxiety, references self harm, references suicide, child abuse, part 1 of a series) Yuri has been supporting his family with his skating since he was a teenager, but now they are barely making it. How long will he be able to hold it together before everything falls apart? Series summary: After his gold medal win at the Grand Prix Finals, Yuri Plisetsky’s life completely falls apart. With the help of his boyfriend and skating friends, Yuri tries to pull himself back together.

in flesh and bone by csoru [M, 32,100 word count]

(canon, angst, long distance relationship, pining, hurt comfort) After recovering from an injury that cut his previous season short, Yuri makes a comeback with a new coach, a new country of residence, and a relationship upgrade. Still: perfection takes effort.

In spite of the world by Stone_Heart [E, 100,100 word count]

(au, fairy!Yuri, soldier!Otabek, domestic, hurt/comfort, war, slow burn, bonded) There was a shuffling from above him, loud banging noises as it came closer. Otabek braced himself. This person helped him. But… A pale face peered over the stairs, looking at him. He blinked back. Those eyes… bright green and ferocious. Those eyes were what he looked for on a battlefield. Not the scared eyes of a peasant or the pudgy eyes of a spoiled king. No, those were the eyes of a soldier.

Neon Pink Motorcycle by goldheart [M, 74,700 word count]

(au - canon divergent, angst, soulmate/soulmark, pining, slow burn, past child abuse) There are certain moments in Yuri Plisetsky’s life that he likes to forget happened at all. The time they were chased from the apartment, the landlord angrily spitting and waving threateningly at them when his mother couldn’t produce enough money for rent. Babushka’s funeral. The first time he fell in competition.He cannot forget that, under the black band he wears around his wrist like a shield, his soulmark may as well be nonexistent.

You’ll Live Without It by HyperionHero [E, 24,400 word count]

(canon, angst, fluff, pining) "Yuri smirks, thumbing the material of Otabek's hoodie underneath his team Russia jacket. When he catches himself smiling he blushes and pulls his hand back to his phone. It's fine, he tells himself. Friends totally wear each other's clothes..."Yuri Plisetsky is surrounded by love. It's like a sickness, claiming his friends, his rivals, the attention of everyone he knows. He avoids it at all costs... but what Yuri doesn't know is that love has a knack of sneaking up on people. Sometimes it brews for years, right under your nose, and you don't notice it until it's staring you in the face - taking the form of a stoic Kazakhstani man bound in leather.

Unsteady by otayui_oh_nice [E, 140,000 word count]***

(au, rockstar!Yuri, DJ!Otabek, abusive family, mostly fluff with some angst, Slow burn, tattoos) Otabek was going to kill JJ. He was going to take the next flight to Canada, hunt him down and kick his ass. Leo: I tried to stop him but he went and did it anyway, I’m sorry! (link)- Or: JJ uploads one of Otabek's remixes of Yuri's songs to YouTube and Otabek freaks out.- Or: what happens when you take episode 1, replace figure skaters with musicians and exchange Victuuri for Otayuri. Aka another strange AU no one asked for.