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lost-souls-wander · 3 years

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Hunter x Reader

Chapter 1

It happened very fast, and everything went out of control. One moment humanity was just doing its thing and living in order. The next week however, everything had changed for the worst. All because of some kind of green flue. Don't take me wrong, I was concerned in the beginning, the fear of losing my slightly rhythmic life sure had taken its toll on me, especially after everyone around me started to panic, including my parents.

"HANNA! You cant just leave us! HANNA!-" those were my dads last words to his ex-lover and wife as she had taken the car, and drove off with our supplies and food. Dad was a mess after after what happened. He couldn't properly take care of us anymore, he had lost a lot of sleep in a few weeks time, his behavior also worsened. He was quick to anger, and constantly irritated. So I took it upon myself to learn things on my own as he continued to reign terror on the last of his family. I had snuck out just a few hours before sun rise and grabbed my bike. My fastest form of transport at the moment, and made a quick tour to the library, as usual, but my dad never knew. And it was possibly better this way.It was empty and deserted, I could hear a few inhuman groans here and there but couldn't quite picture what these "zombie" like creatures looked like, our dad was pretty much a helicopter when it came to the outside world when the apocalypse hit and mom left. None was allowed outside the house at all, just him. And he alone went scouting for food and food alone, here and there some materials but never something for us, his children.I could see his state worsening by the day, and considered it top priority to get away as soon as possible with as much knowledge on how to survive as possible. The building of the library was thick with a musty sent of old books and dust, lots of iron too, which I could only guess was blood. I stayed away from the strong scent of iron and focused on getting to the herbology section of the library.In these times mankind forgot that the true power of surviving came from knowledge, no knowledge? No advantage. No advantage? Possibly a gruesome death would follow.My hands brushed the polished wood that kept the books in their place on the shelves, thinking of how many people had touched these books, read through them, and possibly never did something with the knowledge inside. It was a shame really. I wanted to perhaps become member of this society and yet here it was, crumbling away at these un-dead. It saddened me a little, and I was horrified for a while when I heard it. What was I gonna do now? My degree in art and drawing was pretty much useless now. At least I could scavenge for a cabin in the mountains and settle down there, far away from society, where no zombies or humans could reach so I could exist in peace.

I chuckled, a mid-tone raspy chuckle filled my throat and echo'd a little through the empty apocalyptic library as I stopped and continued thinking about what to do and where to go. But first order of business was to get knowledge from the books and find a place to escape to. Grabbing my black old school bag I ripped it open quickly, wanting to fill it with the necessary books and just get out of here, The sounds of the un-dead in the distance was off putting, and I wasn't taking a chance to be caught in the middle of a group of them. I might have not seen them. But I knew damn well that from the clips on TV that those fuckers were fast. And me without my bike? Not so much.

I grabbed the books by pairs, quickly turning them to their back side and skimming through what the book would hold.

Edible herbal plants... Seasonal plants... Look alike's and their dangers... Looked valid enough. It went like this for a few minutes until my bag was full with books about surviving in nature, herbs, and making shelters for the night. Although I doubted it would help against zombie apocalypses it was always good to know how to make something remotely sheltering and how to acquire food from its natural source.

I quickly flung my backpack over my back and quickly took in the noise around me, the hoard had gotten ever so closer, and it started to make me anxious. If I didn't get out of here soon and back home I would be in a LOT of trouble, perhaps more trouble than being chased down the streets by a hoard of zombies. So I speed-walked towards the exit, the broken doors were leaning against the framework that had red and black splotches all over it the doors pretty much being smashed in two pieces by something extraordinary big. A shiver ran down her spine, May did NOT want to know what was big enough to do that.

after leaving the library doors she quickly hid in the bushes, peeking in between the leaves to see there was any danger, the branches poked and prodded at her form, the twigs leaving nasty marks on her clothes and bare skin.

There! in the distance she spotted her bike, old and a bit rusty, but it did the job well, I looked around if there were any zombies walking around and about, the road was clear, and so was the road ahead. It was a bit strange considering I hear an entire group of them just a few minutes ago but that must have been the other side of the building, luckily not the way I needed to go in order to get home.

I got partially up and half crouched/ran towards my bike which was placed against the opposite building in an alleyway, the alleyway was filled with trashcans and bags that had been ripped open by rats and other critters that roamed the streets and needed some food. Not that it was of any use now, it was all rotten and left a horrid stench that made my nose scrunch up in disgust.

I got on my bike and quickly started to get home, it was then that I started to feel like I was being watched. I felt it crawling over my skin that there was something or someone watching me, maybe some of the other survivors? or perhaps a zombie? I didn't want to find out and started to bike a little faster.

And then it happened all so fast, an inhuman growl came from my left and I was flung off my bike, panic setting into my very bones as I felt the bike get out of my grip, my face looked upwards as I saw the dark sky with a few light rays from the sun. I felt the cold harsh ground on my back and the air flew from my lungs as I tumbled down the steep hill, the creature flung with me yelping in surprise at it's own actions, we both rolled harshly down the wall of the construction site that was never finished.

I felt whatever air I had in me leave my body as I harshly was flung onto ground and came to a stop on my back, I groaned in agony face twisting in pain. everything hurt, my shoulders were probably bruised beyond belief and my legs felt like they had been ripped off whilst still being attached to me. And don't even get me started on my head, it hurt like a bitch!

I continued to wallow in my own pain for a brief moment until I heard a scream that sounded like it came from the depth's of hell itself, and a squishing like sound like flesh had been impaled on high impact, until all that was left was sound of screams of pure agony.

I didn't want to look at what had happened, I was in so much pain and the adrenaline was so high in my system that I made a run for the hill and grabbed what was left of my bike and just went, the howls of pain in the background growing fainter and fainter as the black concrete enveloped my mind, the scent of iron in the air was even more noticeable than before, and the distant sound of zombies screaming left me in even more panic than before as I skidded to a stop in front of my house, put my bike back in its place and threw myself over the fence to climb in the tree, and get inside of my room.

I did not come down that day for food or anything else.

That night I laid in bed curled up in fear and confusion, what had attacked me? what was it even? was that a zombie?! panic and fear had settled itself deep into my mind, I did not want to go back to the library in fear of coming across whatever that was, but fear soon turned into a guilty sympathetic feeling as I remembered what had happened to it, it had gotten pierced by metal rods and maybe was there, slowly dying, starving to death. If it even was alive that is.

I shut my eyes, letting my dark room filled with plants and comfortable blankets fall from my vision as I let a restless sleep take over me, for the next up coming week I did not sleep well, only thinking about the creature that might still be stuck there. Waiting for whatever was next to come.

#Left 4 dead #fanfiction #fanfic #zombies #hunter #L4D #l4d #hunter x reader #Chapter 1 #thingie 1 #idk anymore Im just trying at this point #My wattpad failed me and I lost like 1000 words or something #Does anyone want to be tagged when I post the next update???#also pls say something if you do read this :'D #Quarantine is getting to me

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novelconcepts · 4 years

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fic: something to hang on to

When Jamie buys a camera, she isn’t really thinking about it. They’re driving through Virginia, stopped off at a little gas station; Dani’s outside filling the rental Jeep, which puts Jamie on snack-duty. At the counter, she spots a display of disposable cameras and, almost without thinking, adds one to the pile of sugar and caffeine. It isn’t a plan. Isn’t for any particular reason.

Dani, pawing through the plastic bag of their spoils, raises it from a mess of M&Ms and Pringles and says, “You like photography?” She asks it the way she asks everything, like every little detail she learns about Jamie is another brand-new color added to the shine of the world. Jamie shrugs.

“Never was much for it, but this brave new land is pretty enough. Don’t mind keeping track of it for later.”

It’s more than that, she thinks as Dani raises the viewfinder to her eye and clicks a photo of Jamie behind the wheel, one hand steering, the other stretching across the center console to rest on Dani’s knee. I almost lost you once, Poppins. Wouldn’t have had anything but my own memory to remember you by. This...this will help.

Later, much later, years later, Jamie will look back on that moment as one of her wisest. Later, on a bed she can no longer sleep in, holding a thick album between shaking hands, she’ll think some of the most important choices you ever make are split-second recklessness. A camera, tossed in at the last second. A habit, built on nothing more than needing Dani’s smile immortalized.

Open the album. Take a breath. Flip the page.

***

A photo: Dani sprawled on a red-and-white beach towel, chin propped on folded arms, gazing out away from the camera as though she has no idea anyone is watching.

They’re with Henry and the kids--the first time they’ve seen the Wingrave family since the events at the house, and, though they don’t know it, one of the last times they’ll see them all together--in Florida. It’s strange, Jamie reflects, watching Miles chase Flora across an endless strip of sand. Strange how much world can fit into one country. England was green, rolling with hill and fog and haunted by things older than any of them can imagine. Florida feels...young, somehow. Too warm, too bright, too perfect on a Saturday afternoon.

She’s hugging her knees, seated on a blanket with Dani sitting just an inch further away than she’d like. It’s the safe thing, the smart thing, but she misses her--misses the way they sit in hotel rooms and empty bars, knees touching, pinkies overlapping. Dani, in a sundress that matches the blue of her right eye, is laughing as Miles grabs Flora around the middle and tries with all his ten-year-old strength to hoist her off the ground.

“Miles,” Henry calls, his voice laden with the anxiety of a man who has only just begun learning how to parent. “Miles, be careful--”

“They’re all right,” Jamie interrupts, tossing a handful of warm sand toward Henry’s precarious perch on a plastic chair. "Have you been wound this tight the whole fucking time?”

He looks pained. “You’ll excuse me for never having raised two children before. They’ve been a bit...”

“Precocious?” Dani suggests brightly.

“Demonic?” Jamie says at the same time. Henry sighs.

“Adventurous, shall we say, to meet in the middle.”

“They haven’t been...” Dani’s smiling, the way Jamie has grown accustomed to over the last few months: a beautiful smile that never entirely reaches her eyes. It’s the way she smiles when she thinks she needs to wear a mask of stability, when she needs everyone to think she’s doing all right.

Henry frowns. “Haven’t been what?”

Dani shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “Scared? Having nightmares? I don’t know...”

She’s asking-not-asking about that night, like she told Jamie she wasn’t going to do. They don’t need me bringing it up, she’d said back at the hotel, holding tight to Jamie in a way that said she very much needed to talk about this against her own will. They deserve to just live their lives.

Henry looks puzzled. “Strange, but no. No nightmares. Flora had a few at the very start, before we left London, but...no. Not since arriving here.”

Dani nods like this is all she wants to hear, and rubs her cheek with one slightly-sunburnt hand, the moment passing into obscurity as Flora shrieks and Miles trips directly into an oncoming wave. It’s all good here, all sunshine and ease of temper, and Jamie watches Henry stand. Brush off shorts that look truly insane set against his pale legs. Go awkward-jogging into the surf to lift a giggling Flora heavenward.

“They make a fine little family,” she says, pitching her voice so only Dani can hear. Dani nods. There’s a tightness to her mouth that says she’s only half here, only half able to let the sun bake away the shadows. Jamie touches her ankle lightly, wishing they were somewhere less requiring of distance.

“I’m all right,” Dani says. Not a lie of intent, at least, though Jamie suspects it’s more that she wants to be all right. She watches Dani roll onto her front, eyes on the endless ocean, the children tumbling around in its gentle grasp, the man doing his best to keep up.

Could watch her forever, Jamie thinks, knowing it’s far too early to say something so catastrophically huge. She’s been having these thoughts more and more, wild notions of turning this brand-new adventure with Dani into a lifetime event. It turns a key somewhere deep within her chest, some far-off engine making a deep rumbling sound that sends her tripping toward a very real, very powerful feeling of terror.

Her hand slips toward the bag of sunscreen, paperback novels, sliced oranges. A camera, small and yellow and used mainly in moments like this one, emerges. Dani never notices as she brings it to her eye, frames Dani’s blonde ponytail and sun-pink skin, snaps a photo.

Later, when the pictures are developed and spread out across a hotel bedspread, shots of Miles with an orange-peel grin and Flora standing before a monster of a sandcastle intercut with Dani’s far-off pensive expression, Dani will touch the print. Lingeringly, fingers trembling just the slightest bit.

“Why this one?”

Because I loved you more than words could capture, Jamie will know it’s far too early to say. It’d be reckless. It’d be testing the bounds of something still fragile, still one-day-at-a-time hopeful.

“Why not?” she’ll say, and tuck the photo safely back into its sleeve.

***

A photo: Jamie and Dani, backs to the freshly painted Leafling sign, standing carefully apart with shoulders back and a small bouquet of flowers clutched in Dani’s hands.

They keep to themselves, mainly, but some of the nearby shopkeepers have been kind as The Leafling goes from mad late-night concept to brick-and-mortar reality. They bring welcome-to-the-block plants and casseroles that are mostly-edible, and Dani accepts each one with true Midwestern courtesy. Jamie leans back, watches the art of neighborly behavior being painted before her eyes: older women who compliment Dani on her earrings, young men bullied into helping move heavy boxes into storage by their mothers. Dani, in the middle of it all, wearing a soft pastel sweater and a smile that has finally remembered its own strength.

She wasn’t sure how this would go, if Jamie’s honest about it. She’s been telling Dani not to worry for weeks, telling Dani they don’t need to know much about a business to run this one. I grow, you arrange, we make out like bandits with all the nice Americans who value pretty things. It’ll be perfect, Poppins. She’s been saying it, and she thinks she even believes her own words most of the time, but there have been dreams. Anxiety running its red thread through her sleep, telling her she has no skill in this arena, no education to speak of, no idea how to survive in American business while hiding her relationship with her “business partner”.

The day the shop finally opens, Jamie has been saying “it’s going to be great” for so long, she almost surprises herself by rushing into the bathroom and vomiting into the toilet. Dani, expression warm and just the tiniest bit teasing, leans against the doorframe.

“You all right?”

“Perfect,” Jamie gasps, staggering to the sink and thrusting a toothbrush into her mouth. “Jus’ great.”

“Too late to turn back now,” Dani points out. “What would we do with all the business cards?”

Jamie groans, spitting mint foam and rinsing out her mouth. “You could show just the slightest bit less glee, Poppins. I’ve just run us into a brick wall of imminent failure.”

Dani laughs, coming up behind her to hug her tight around the middle. “We should probably at least unlock the doors for the first time before you decide it’s time to shutter them again.”

She’s good today, Jamie senses--not the fake-good where she tries her best to pretend she isn’t listening for some deep-down movement Jamie can’t register, but truly happy. Her body is relaxed, her hands certain as she tips Jamie’s cheek and kisses her calm.

“How,” Jamie gasps when they break, “are you not out of your bloody mind right now?”

Dani shrugs. “It’s like the first day of school. Spend all summer planning and worrying, but now it’s happening. Just gotta jump in.”

There are already people waiting when they arrive, to Jamie’s mingled horror and delight. Most of them are their fellow shopkeepers, waiting with the brilliant smiles of people who have already lived this particular nightmare themselves, and just want to pay forward the relief of customers actually turning up. They’re kind, these people--they don’t know Jamie in the least, don’t have the first idea what shadows lurk behind Dani’s eyes, but they take their hands, squeeze, and congratulate them all the same. Jamie thinks they even mean it, most of them. Americans are complicated, boisterous, scandalous people--but they can have such heart.

One woman, old enough to be Jamie’s grandmother, presses a bouquet of peonies against Dani’s chest. “For luck,” she says croakily, patting Dani’s cheek like she’s known her since Dani was three feet tall. “Dry ‘em, hang ‘em somewhere in the back. Remember we’re all rooting for you.”

“Rooting,” a man who owns a nearby pizzeria hoots. “Good one, Carol!”

Jamie almost rolls her eyes, but Dani is beaming. When the others make flapping get in front of the sign gestures, they can’t help but obey, standing with a perfectly-maintained half-person between their shoulders. She wants so badly to reach over, to take Dani’s hand, to kiss her with all the terror and relief she’d never known she could feel at once. Instead, she smiles as professionally as she knows how for the camera someone produces. It’s enough.

Later, tapping a finger against the print the photographer drops on their counter, Jamie says, “Look like I want to pass out.”

Dani glances toward the window, takes note of the empty street, presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’d have caught you.”

***

A photo: Jamie, sitting just behind Dani on a plush couch, arm wrapped around her waist, cheek pressed to flyaway blonde hair. Dani, grinning her widest, cheesiest grin, leaning back like she knows there is no world in which Jamie would ever let her fall.

There are parties, occasionally--usually thrown by other under-the-radar couples they get along with well enough for drinks, not so much that they truly build relationships. They like the quiet life, the two-person road trips, the easy silence after a long day. But, sometimes, life is grand and big and loud, and on those nights, they venture out into the world.

There are a pair of men maybe five years their senior who have been together for “a decade”, if you ask Mike, “a century”, if it’s Paul telling the tale. They’re good people, and their home is a safe space Jamie doesn’t anticipate finding.

Friends are hard, she thinks. Always were, but they’re so much harder once you’ve lost a couple.

Still: when Mike and Paul are set to celebrate a round ten years together (”An eternity,” Paul clarifies, leaning against the Leafling counter to invite them over), they go. Dani wants to, and it’s good seeing Dani want things like this. It’s been almost a year together, almost a year of exploring the map and one another, and Dani’s been getting softer around the edges, less prone to jumping at shadows. The Dani Clayton of a year ago wouldn’t want to attend parties, lest the beast inside leap while her guard is lowered; the Dani Clayton of tonight is holding up a dark green dress, brow furrowed.

“Too much?”

Jamie hums a moment to buy herself time. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you’d like to actually leave the house tonight.” Jamie wiggles her eyebrows, buttoning a black shirt and searching for a good pair of suspenders. Dani laughs.

“I think you can keep your hands to yourself for a few hours.”

“You,” Jamie points out, sidling up behind her and kissing her neck, “have always had entirely too much faith in me, Poppins.”

Dani is, however, a woman of her word when it comes to accepting social invitations, and soon they’re sitting on an exceptionally soft couch in an exceptionally loud living room. Jamie glances around, reading the environment, registering the two women holding hands by the coffee table, the men dancing near the kitchen, the way even the male-female pairs seem not to see anything odd. Mike and Paul have been doing this a long time. This is as safe a space as their own home.

She likes the way Dani relaxes, a little more with every drink tucked into her hand, a little more with a lit cigarette pulled from Jamie’s, a little more still when Mike nudges her and mutters, “Your girl looks good tonight, Clayton.”

She likes, most of all, the way Dani doesn’t flinch away when a Polaroid comes out. These are good people, brave people, smart people. If there are photos taken tonight, they will be pressed straight into the hands of their subjects, gifted away before the chemicals have even processed.

Dani presses back against her, seated on her lap, laughing at some joke Jamie hasn’t really been paying attention to. She’s too busy watching Dani’s profile, the way her head tips back when she’s really laughing, too hard to care what she looks like. Too busy reveling in how it feels to hold Dani in a setting so much more public than usual, her fingers stroking the soft material of Dani’s dress, her body burning and the most comfortable it’s ever been.

Later, with the Polaroid on the nightstand, the green dress on the floor, and a sheet tucked up against the fall chill, Dani says, “We should do that more.”

Jamie chuckles against her shoulder, kissing a patch of freckles. “This?”

“Yes.” Dani wriggles a little, giggling. “But also that.” She’s gesturing to the photo, propped between a lamp and copy of some old Shirley Jackson novel. “It was nice, wasn’t it? Not...”

“Hiding,” Jamie supplies. Dani makes a humming noise soft in her throat.

“I like not hiding you.”

***

A photo: Dani, eyes dark with a smolder only Jamie ever sees, a cigarette between her lips, hair loose around her shoulders.

Nights spent home with Dani, nights where there are no groceries to pick up, no accounting to be done, no errands waiting to be noticed, are Jamie’s absolute favorite thing in the world. There’s just something about this sense of home they’ve been building together, this sense of locked door and secured window and no one else invited to partake that gets Jamie the way nothing else does.

Especially Dani. Dani at home is less reserved, less careful. With every month that passes quietly, no sign of anything but her own mind, Dani gets a little less tight. A little less prone to gazing off into the middle distance. A little less likely to disappear from an otherwise-normal conversation, emerging several minutes later like she’s pulling herself out of a dream.

And, some nights, she’s not just here--she’s utterly present, every atom of her tuned to Jamie like they have no need of space between them, no need of separation. These nights, the nights where Dani strides into the room on a mission, are Jamie’s favorite of all.

“Why,” Dani says, leaning back in a kitchen chair with legs spread and head tilted to exhale smoke toward the ceiling, “are you looking at me like that?”

“Me?” Jamie teases. “You’re the one gazing at me like I’m some terribly interesting new buffet.”

She’s half-joking, but there’s something about the way Dani looks at her on this very particular sort of night, with every line of her body tuned toward Jamie’s, that makes her feel a stupid kind of brave. A reckless kind of excitement unwinds outward, until her fingertips itch to grab at Dani’s hair, her knees weak with the desire to pull Dani close.

She’s doing it now, smoking that cigarette with all the languid energy of a woman perfectly at home, watching Jamie with a faint smirk playing around her lips. No one else sees that smirk, Jamie understands, and it makes her a little faint every time she thinks it. To have something of Dani, some integral comfortable part of Dani that belongs solely to their apartment, their life together, is still a good fortune Jamie can’t entirely parse out.

Her hand moves toward the camera, small and plastic and containing some of the best memories of Dani she desperately needs to keep. Dani lets her snap off a shot, shakes her head when Jamie lowers the camera.

“That’s going to be one of yours.”

She says it every time Jamie tries to capture the white-hot energy of this kind of evening. Dani doesn’t like to see herself through this particular lens, gets fidgety and embarrassed at the sight of her own face etched with such a confident hunger. Jamie asked the first time if Dani wanted her to stop taking the photos altogether, and Dani had shaken her head.

“I don’t mind. But they’re yours, okay?”

She sets the camera aside, moving to take the cigarette out of Dani’s hand, taking a long drag and dropping it in an ashtray. The rest doesn’t need anything in the way--no lens, no embarrassment, nothing but the way Dani’s mouth opens beneath hers, hands already roaming. The rest is not Jamie’s, but theirs, a joint ownership of soft moans and soft skin and soft assurances that this is still, always, home.

Later, with Dani asleep, one hand thrown loosely over Jamie’s hip, Jamie will look at the photos that are hers and hers alone. Dani, mouth wet and swollen from a night spent confined to their bedroom around their anniversary. Dani, grinning and half-asleep, glancing over her shoulder to coax Jamie into putting the camera down, joining her among the blankets. Dani, smoke-haze around her face, wine glass in her hand, looking just past the camera at Jamie’s own desire.

Dani’s choice to share a life with her, Dani’s decision to share every inch of herself with Jamie, is more than Jamie feels anyone deserves.

***

A photo: Dani in front of the Eiffel Tower, sunglasses on, arms spread wide.

A photo: Dani kneeling at the Grand Canyon, gesturing bewilderment at the sheer scope of the place.

A photo: Dani standing before the alleged largest ball of twine in the world, looking rather like she regrets letting Jamie pick the destination this time.

They travel until Dani can’t stomach it anymore, can’t take the uncertainty of unknown roads and unmapped hotel beds--but, first, years of travel. Years of postcards and rental cars, of Jamie turning maps upside down and Dani being shockingly savvy in small-town situations.

These photos, more than any other, feel like they have to be taken for someone else’s idea of posterity, and Jamie feels a little strange, at first. Dani’s already seen much of Europe by the time they meet, and has no photos whatsoever to show for it. Jamie, who started turning up in photos for the first time as an adult, says, “It’ll be good to show ‘em off,” while never quite bringing herself to the edge of an unspoken follow-up question: to whom, exactly? It isn’t as though she and Dani are having children, isn’t as though there will be grandkids tottering around down the line to tune out their stories. Who, exactly, are these mementos for?

Dani is far too kind, far too pragmatic, to put the question to her. Dani only poses, grins, lets Jamie take all the pictures she wants, and then--camera tucked safely away once more--grabs Jamie’s hands and leads her into living it: the food, the outdoor markets, the snowstorms, the sun-kissed hikes. As the years go by, Jamie takes more and more photos, never quite able to explain to herself why it’s so critical. Never quite able to look away when Dani finally covers the lens with one hand and brings her close, kissing her like it’s the first time.

They stop looking at these photos together, after a while. Stop trying so hard to go back, as the days grow shorter and the exhaustion begins to steal the warmth from Dani’s smile. At first, it’s about moving forward--always one foot in front of the other. At first, every photo taken is set aside as a gift to another life. And then, finally, it’s about the moment they’re in, nothing more. Jamie sets the camera on a shelf. Refuses to look at Dani through any barrier but her own two eyes. Dani doesn’t like the snap-click of the camera anymore, anyway--each time, she flinches, like Jamie is about to show her a glimpse of whatever horror she’s been seeing in the mirror.

I only see you, Jamie promises, the ache in her chest so great, she’s sure it will swallow them both. But Dani can’t bring herself to look. Can’t bring herself, just in case Jamie is wrong.

Later--so much later, with eyes stinging and arms empty--she flips through the album and remembers Spain, California, Minnesota, Greece. Later, she finds Dani sticking her tongue out, spinning like a deranged nun out of musical, sitting quietly in a cafe with a small cup of coffee warming her hands. Dani, stiff-shouldered and trying not to laugh as Jamie made faces the one time they ever ventured back to Iowa. Dani, hair blowing back into her face, arms looped around Jamie at a terrifying, exhilarating first Pride parade.

And, in the back, the photos of Dani as only Jamie knew her. The sly grin a second before pinning Jamie to the couch. The sweet surprise from Jamie coming home early with dinner. Shot after shot of no make-up, or smudged eyeliner, or ruined lipstick, of Dani in pajamas on Christmas, or Dani in bed after a shower, or Dani laughing herself silly at nothing Jamie can remember now.

They’re all here, and they’re all Dani--all of Dani Jamie’s got left now--and still, they’re wrong. They sit, plastic and unyielding, beneath flimsy protective sheets, and they don’t laugh like Dani, don’t breathe out against her skin like Dani, don’t smell like Dani’s shampoo or swear like Dani tripping over a shoe in the dark or look at her with that solid, palpable love like Dani did and should still and never will again.

Jamie sits, album in her lap, staring down at Dani with paint smudged on her cheek and their then-new bedroom behind her, and suddenly can’t remember how to breathe. Had she known? Somewhere in the back of her mind that day in a gas station, picking up a little yellow disposable camera, had she known that one day, this would be all she had left of Dani? Surely not. Surely, she hadn’t believed it would go this way, all the way back then. Surely, it was one day at a time, and we’ll have time, and any day with you, Poppins.

Had she known? No. No, of course she hadn’t.

And yet, the idea of not having these in front of her--the idea of Dani’s face slowly, surely, washing away over time as Jamie fails to find her in a world so uncompromisingly cruel...

She touches a shot of Dani with her left hand covering her mouth, her ring gleaming gold against her smile, the day the state had legalized civil unions. Dani as gold as sunshine, in one of the last truly clean moments, before old ghost stories dug rotting fingers into their life. Her vision grays, her head suddenly too heavy to hold up.

She hadn’t known. But she’s glad. She’s glad she has, at least, this much to hang on to.

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #fanfiction #dani x jamie #jamie x dani #put it on the list of stuff you can blame jess for #as with everything I have ever written I thought it was going one way and then it did something else

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

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Stop the World

I’ve finally done it. I’ve finally come up with the dumbest soulmate au ever.

“Stop the World I Wanna Get Off With You” - The Arctic Monkeys

no tws, just nonsense

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When Priss and Essi had bumped into each other at one of Jaskier’s school recitals they had sung a gorgeous ballad about love and faithfulness, outlining their future adventures together and reassuring both women about their mutual compatibility. It had been a lovely, soft thing that ebbed and flowed like the evening tide. It hadn’t been very long, but it was gorgeous.

The dance they’d done as they sang together was simple. They swayed back and forth across the floor in each other’s arms, smiles brightening both of their flushed faces, two heads of nearly-matching golden hair shining in the flickering candlelight, Essi’s skirts swirling against Priscilla’s colorful tights.

Jaskier had been jealous of his friends’ early discovery, of course. He wanted nothing more than to meet his soulmate. Their song, whatever it was, would be beautiful! It would be fantastic! It would be something to cherish for a lifetime; he could feel it in his very bones. He and his beloved were meant for great things and he wanted to get started on their journey together sooner rather than later.

It was no surprise to anyone who knew Jaskier that once he’d obtained a degree in the seven liberal arts (with honors) from Oxenfurt University, he immediately took to the road. He hunted high and low across the Continent for his other half, crossing whatever borders necessary and sneaking into whatever parties or back alley gambling dens or theatrical functions he could to find out where his soulmate was hiding. He really did try everything, it seemed.

But Destiny helps those who help themselves, and Jaskier had been putting in a lot of effort.

He’d been on the road nearly two years before that fateful afternoon finally arrived. He was hungry, tired, and disappointed in himself. None of his original songs were doing very well and his funds from home were running out. When he finally reached an inn that would let him play, the patrons seemed less than enthused about his presence. He knew he needed to perform anyway; he hadn’t eaten in nearly two days and he hadn’t bathed in the last week either. Jaskier’s morale was very, very low.

Still, he needed some coin to survive. If not coin, perhaps the audience would be irritated enough throw some half-edible food his way, and that would be enough to get him to the next town. He strummed his lute and began his song, thrusting his hips and wiggling his eyebrows with every innuendo. Usually country folk loved the bawdy tavern songs, but Posada seemed to be an outlier. They hated it.

They hated him.

After he’d finished a handful of questionable ballads he knelt to collect the rolls they’d thrown. When he lifted his gaze to search for a place to take inventory, his eyes settled on a figure in the corner. A man with a relatively young, handsome face and an old man’s silver-white hair. He was glaring down into his mug with an expression like coming thunder and his nose was flared in annoyance with something.

The handsome stranger was moonlight-draped in the middle of an unusually warm spring and Jaskier felt his heart filling with something deep and unfamiliar as he stared from across the tavern floor. The sensation bubbled up from the depths of his soul and flooded his entire being from head to foot, magma-hot and thrilling. Like jumping from a sauna into a snowbank. Like falling from a great height into chilly water. Like- Like-

It felt exactly like falling in love all at once.

Jaskier could hear an unfamiliar heartbeat echoing through the back of his head, slowly transforming into a drumbeat, and he prayed that the stranger would look up. Quietly, a man nearby whispered, “Open Sesame.”

“We’ve places to go,” he sang, surprising himself. The words had ripped themselves out of his throat, unknown and unbidden until the moment of their conception. Oh! It’s happening! The music picked up and got louder. It’s really, actually happening!

Another line of song burst from his mouth: “We’ve people to see.”

“Let’s put ‘em on hold,” the villagers added, playing the part of Chorus harmoniously enough. The stranger in the corner was definitely looking at Jaskier now, his black-gloved fists clenched where they rested on the tabletop. The bard crossed the room in a rush, still singing, the predestination of their story taking over him: “There's all sorts of shapes that I bet you can make; when you want to escape, say the word.”

The stranger’s jaw clenched in an effort to bite back his line of the song and Jaskier’s heart, just a moment ago so full of love and excitement over this development, crashed to the floor and shattered into a million pieces. His soulmate was fighting their Destiny. He was refusing to sing along. Still, the lyrics persisted, flowing through Jaskier again, instead: “Well I know that getting you alone isn’t easy to do…”

“With the exception of you, I dislike everyone in the room. And I don’t wanna lie but I don’t wanna tell you the truth,” came the gravelly, soft baritone from his mysterious partner. When the stranger finally looked up, Jaskier noted that his soulmate’s eyes were a lovely honey-gold, shot through with lines of ochre. The bard, already head-over-heels and now suddenly more besotted than ever, gasped and smiled his way through his next line.

“I get the sense that you’re on the move and you’ll probably be leaving soon.”

“So I’m telling you,” they sang together. The stranger rose from his seat, fist unfurling slowly as he gently, nervously took Jaskier’s hand in his warmer one. They continued in harmony, “Stop the world cause I wanna get off, with you.”

“Stop the world cause I wanna get off,” Jaskier began.

“With you,” the stranger finished. They gasped when the music stopped as suddenly and strangely as it had begun. Their hands were still joined, fingers intertwined.

A few of the peasants clapped their congratulations to the new couple. Most of them shrugged and returned to whatever it was they were doing before, nonplussed by the predestined meeting of two souls right in front of them.

The world resumed its spinning and with it went Jaskier’s sense of stability. He stumbled forward, only to be caught against a broad chest by strong, capable hands.

“Why don’t we sit down and introduce ourselves?” his soulmate asked with that gloriously deep, sexy voice. Jaskier nodded and allowed himself to be guided gently into a chair.

“I’m Jaskier,” he smiled. The bard noted the heavy sheath leaning against the wall. It held two swords, each with a distinctive handle. His soulmate wore heavy black armor even in the midst of an unseasonable heatwave, and the wolf medallion around the man’s neck shone in the midday sunlight. Jaskier’s heart picked up its already frantic pace and he beamed. “You must be Geralt of Rivia, the infamous witcher!”

“Yet you do not flee,” the man raised an eyebrow. He was looking at Jaskier the way small animals looked at particularly boisterous children. Like he was curious but ready to run at any wrong movement.

“Why should I?” Jaskier shrugged. “You’re the one I was made to be with. Why shouldn’t I be with you?”

“You just said yourself that I am Geralt of Rivia, infamous witcher.”

“And?”

“Infamy doesn’t do bards well.”

“No,” Jaskier smiled shyly. He held everything before him: his heart, his meager belongings, his education, his talents… He just hoped it was enough to tempt his devilishly handsome, silver-haired soulmate into giving him a chance to prove himself. “But love does.”

#soulmate au #geraskier soulmate au #geraskier #and they were soulmates #geraskier fluff #getting together #arctic monkeys #YEAH THEY SING WHEN THEY MEET THEIR SOULMATE #IT'S LIKE HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL BUT WORSE #geraskier au #geraskier nonsense #bouncey's endless au collection #jaskier #geralt #posada #first meeting #idiots to lovers #soulmates #ficlet

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spiltscribbles · 3 years

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Any chance you could give us some Arabic speaking Remus headcanons? Loved your latest fic ❤️ 📚

OMFG gorgeous sugarplum! I legit only just was reminded of this while scrolling through my inbox right now! But my heart is finna burst!!! Thank you SO SO much and yes I would love to give some Headcanons about this! Especially since the next long story I’m working on includes this dynamic, and I’m so excited about it!! However, common disclaimer that while I am Arab and culturally Muslim even if I don’t practice like the rest of my family lol, I am Palestinian and not Syrian. So with every identity there are different experiences and customs no matter how closely intertwined. So I apologize for any inconsistency that a Syrian may read and disagree with, and please feel free to correct me<3 <3

The FIC this HC is from

So first off some background on his mum in the story

I chose the name Vivian based off a friend of a friend who’s uncle married a woman by that name back in Palestine, so it’s definitely extremely uncommon, but a fully Arab lady was named it, so like it’s my defense bahaha. But it also means lively, and coupled with Hussein as her maiden name which means beautiful, it just fit her personality to a t!!

She was born into a pretty secular family in Syria in the late 1920s, so there was a lot going on in that time period. But her dad was pretty influential, working in the government and such. Vivian was also the youngest of four girls and three boys so she was pretty spoiled tbh

She attended a boarding school in France through out her adolescence and decided to go to university there too, so she’s fluent in both Arabic and French, with pretty great English as well. Though she wasn’t exactly white passing, even though like a bunch of Syrians/Palestinians/Lebanese folk she was somewhat fair, she had distinctly Arabian features, like the large almond shaped eyes and thick lashes and thicker brows, and a long, largeish nose, accented by full lips. So she experienced a good amount of jeers and discrimination, especially when folks found out her surname. So I think she’s able to relate to Remus in that sense of being a wolf at least, and later on when he comes out as gay.

It was 1950 when she and a few of her girlfriends went to Wales for holiday after completing university. The second Lyall first spotted her in the woods while she was trying to make it back to the cabin near the Irish Sea with her mates, it was something like love, because duh. She was a fucking knock out!! A babe and a baddy! Literally so far out of his league its ridiculous! But on Vivian’s side, she was mostly just amused and a bit enamored by this cocksure Welshman who had the most endearing of crooked smiles that their son would inherit a decade later. So obviously she didn’t make it easy on him, but eventually she let him take her out on the last night of her trip, and was pleased to find out that they had the same sort of humor and the same passion for their careers and even the same love for the outdoors too.

They had a long distance relationship for two years while she went to grad school so she could teach about classics while Lyall himself was rising the ranks in the Ministry for regulation and control of magical creatures— Unbeknownst to her, the Floo network was very helpful with the distance. Just thank God Lyall himself is a Muggle born because he really had to fake the hell out of it lol.

So just to speed things up they got married on a lovely June evening in 1955, subsequent to Vivian excepting a professorial job in Cardiff after Lyall told her about the Wizarding world. At first Vivian thought e was tripping on some subpar edibles until he proved it by transfiguring her snuff box into a lovely broach that she kept for the rest of her life, So after Vivian was convinced, she became absolutely enthralled by all of the magic so completely.

They were trying for a few years when she finally became pregnant with Remus in 1959, and they were both so over the moon (pun unintended).

So like I said above, Vivian’s family are pretty secular, so I see her mostly practicing the cultural aspects of Islam. For example, every Friday— which is the equivalent to Sundays being the holy day for Christians— she lights up the instance that she always keeps herself stocked up on after her annual trip to Syria, instead of the typical candles she ordinarily prefers. And Remus swears that for the rest of his life whenever he smells it, he’s back to being a baby, puttering around the house and watching her dusting the shelves while humming quietly an Arabic song that’ played out the gramophone by a man who’s music would soon become regarded as the song of the people. Or Remus would recall being snuggled into her lap while she read him a novel on the windowsill. Or he’d simply remember listening to his parents laughter fluttering in the air while he fell asleep by the fire, subconsciously making the flower buds closest to him bloom with his untapped magic.

Remus’s first clear memory— thanks to the endless pictures— is when he was around four years old, before the attack, and they were staying in Vivian’s home town in Damascus. While the men congregated out doors for cigars and cards and the women in the living room chatting while snacking on watermelon seeds, his older cousins— who were all girls— dragged him off to one of the bedrooms and doted on him because he was the baby of that side of the family. And he remembers walking out in a set of one of their heels and a headscarf wrapped around his head which made his Mama and Tata and Aumties laugh out loud and croon over him, and all his uncles and Sido call him Aumty Remus.

The attack by Greyback happened soon after they returned to Wales, and I’m not gonna touch on it becs I’ not finna depress myself. But it was a January morning after his first transformation and he remembers that when he woke up, he saw the cookies stuffed with dates resting on his bedside with a glass of milk that Lyall had put a cooling charm on. And they’re indulgent treats that Vivian makes for both Eids every year even though they don’t celebrate them in any other way lol. But the cookies always reminds him of family and of feeling safe in his mother’s arms, and they still work to make him feel better even after the worst thing he has ever experienced in his short life.

Remus’s love of poetry came from both sides of his parents, but it was listening to his mother recite the story of Majnun Layla in it’s original Arabic that really made him glow for the art form, and brought him to discovering his favorites like Auden and Neruda.

There’s a ornate, wooden prayer box that has been past down on the Hussein side of the family for five generations, it was originally meant to hold a Qran but for the past three it’s simply just been a beautiful piece of decoration. So when Vivian gave it to Remus when he was headed off to Hogwarts, little Remus asked McGonagall to help him with locking charms so it could become a safe place for him to keep his most cherished of nicknacks ant momentos, so obviously, she silently added a charm to keep the wood nearly unbreakable and the extension charm atop of that, like Hermione with her bag, so that he could keep as many happy memories as possible inside of it, and she prayed that there would be so many that it threatened to burst.

The last time Remus opened the box was in 1996, when he was putting away the ring Sirius gifted him as a match to his own in some feeble promise of forever only weeks before James and Lily’s own engagement.

Once during first year, he and the lads were staying up late, trading stories about how they got their most ridiculous scars— after seeing the one that scraped across Remus’s left shoulder blade— But it got to a point where they were all feeling a bit nippish, so they went down to the kitchens for some of the chocolate pudding that was served during dinner that night. And Remus idly asked the house elves if they could make him a batch of Kinafa because he was getting home sick and missed when he and his Mama would dash over to the city whenever they were feeling antsy, and she’d take him to their favorite hooka bar after buying a round of the dessert— which is basically sweetbread stuffed with cheese— from down the block. And they’d stay sitting beneath the starlight, and talking about her job and his lessons from school while she’d let him try a discrete puff or two and they’d laugh about everything and nothing at all.

The next time they stopped by the kitchens one of the younger house elves presented him with the snack gleefully, and it tasted fine, just not like how they do back home. So Remus smiled warmly at Tipsy, the house elf, and thanked her with real sincerity.

But his face must’ve betrayed him because after easter break, Sirius plops down a fresh batch of them on Remus’s bed before leaping into his own, casually mentioning that he saw how grossed out Remus looked when trying the one the house elves made, and it was from a restaurant close to Grimmauld so it’s not that big of a deal, and then he rushed to cursing at James for stealing his favorite pen and swearing that if he broke it he’s gonna have hell to pay. Remus had only blushed and chuckled with a small smile on his face when he cut himself a small piece and finished the half sheet off with the rest of their house later that night during an impromptu party that the Marauders would become infamous for in later years.

It was the summer after second year when all the marauders visited Remus back home in Wales and when they heard Vivian call him Qamar practically every other sentence, which of course lead to endless ribbing and eventually to his nickname of Moony— even though it’s so fucking obvious and Remus loves and hates it in equal parts. God his friends are so fucking stress inducing!

Remus teaches the other marauders funny Arabic curse words and they use them in class so that they can talk shit about particularly disgusting Slytherins without them being any of the wiser. (Yes I did do this with my friends, and I’d do it again! POW! POW! POW!)

It’s from Vivian that Remus has an affinity for coffee as strong as shit, but also prefers his tea weak— specifically two sugars and a dash of milk. But seriously, if you’ve ever tried Arabian coffee you’d understand, that shit is so fucking strong it’s literally a hate crime LMFAO. But yeah, this habit is definitely a point of contention between him and Sirius— who’s actually so fucking posh no matter how much he wants to be punk, and he stands by only drinking black tea— like Merlin intended— and saying bugger off to any and all coffees. “Leave that shite to the French and Americans.” And Remus would try to keep himself from making eyes at him from across the table, because God Sirius is hot when he’s all fiery and impassioned, even when it’s about the dumbest, most inconsequential shit.

Something that’s sort of funny is that Remus was the first among them to become a fucking pot head and could drink them all under the table even though Sirius himself has got two stone and three inches on him. But Remus still refuses to eat ham, purely because he never grew up eating it and doesn’t care too now. Sirius had to specifically ask Euphemia and Monty to make turkey for Christmas dinner their sixth year just because he knew that Remus’s head would probably implode with the decision between being rude and not eating it or forcing himself to gag down the unfamiliar meat.

When Remus is really, really fucking drunk he definitely spends the night only speaking in Arabic! (Don’t look at me I’m trash just because I stole this from my own life lmfao) But yeah, it’s really fucking hilarious and Sirius swears to God he’s so fucking in love with him while listening to Remus ranting in the unfamiliar language. And he’s like positive that half the time he’s actually just cursing Sirius out but he doesn’t even care because it’s SO! DAMN! CUTE! And sometimes Sirius decides to speak French at a drunk off his arse Moony, who occasionally replies back in a stiff staccato before returning back to the easy Arabic. And it’s just a mess.

Ok so sadness warning

In my head, Vivian loses her fight against breast cancer the July after the Marauders graduate from Hogwarts, and afterwords Remus gets a tattoo of her name in Arabic on his chest, and the word for soul on the nape of his neck. He locks away that battered copy of Magnun Layla in the wooden box she gave him years ago, along with a woolen scarf that smelt like her perfume.

It’s Sirius who buys a set of prayer beads to hang off her photo above the mantel in the flat he and Remus share, and when Remus sees it he literally feels like he might crack open with tears, but opts to kiss Sirius thank you instead, and they stay tangled on the sofa for the rest of the day in quiet contemplation.

One night, in late 1979, while the war was only getting worse and worse— Sirius was hit by a cutting curse to the ribs. And it was really fucking bad, but thankfully James got him to his house in time for Lily to help and heal. He slept for the most part for nearly an entire day, but remembers snippets. Like when Remus had sprinted into the room with fear painted all over his soft features, and when James put a cooling cloth to his head. But most distinctly, Sirius recalls Remus gingerly lying besides him and Sirius talking gibberish at his boyfriend while Remus plunged his entire face against his back, eyes wet with tears and body shuttering as he squeezed him softly, saying something quietly in Arabic. Sirius obviously didn’t understand like 99.9% of it, but he did catch the word “Habibi,” which he instantly remembers as an old pet name Vivian use to call Remus with so much love it made her entire countenance sparkle. It’s an endearment that means beloved, or darling, and it feels like Remus is begging Sirius to stay with him and Sirius’s throat is still raw from the screaming, so he can only reply by dragging Remus’s hand up to his mouth and kissing his knuckles tenderly. And he knows that whatever he does for the rest of his days, he loves Remus Lupin with every cell in his body.

Oof this got mad depressing…. Chow anyways, I can add a picture of the container you’re suppose to use for the instance if anyone wants that?

Thank you again dear Nonny!!!

Ask Me For Headcanons About A Story I’ve Written Or For One You Want To See Written

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #MARAUDERS #THE HARRY POTTER SERIES #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #HEADCANONS #HEADCANONS BY LEN #FIC: MAMA LUPIN IS A BABE

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dweetwise · 3 years

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presenting the weirdest and crackiest but also fluffiest shit i’ve ever written, i bring you nearly 5k words of riconti snail au snippets. if you haven’t seen @skllyr‘s adorable art about them, you should!

ship: felix x ace warnings: none word count: 4850

Felix X Ace: Love is stored in the snail

Ace Visconti thought he’d seen it all; from lavish spectacles of prestigious poker tournaments to the dangerous underworld he inevitably ended up involved with, and finally to a realm where the laws of nature meant nothing and death wasn’t permanent. But what eventually takes the cake for Weirdest Shit Ace Has Ever Seen isn’t one of the otherworldly monsters hunting him or seeing one of his numerous wounds heal up right before his eyes; it’s a snail. A goddamn snail. It just appears at the campfire one day, sitting on top of a medkit Dwight reaches for and causing the boy to yelp in surprise once he sees the small stowaway. Ace doesn’t quite understand why everyone is suddenly so eager to take a closer look at a random slug instead of hearing one of his exciting and totally-not-embellished stories, but he joins the small commotion forming around the snail nonetheless. And then he suddenly sees why. The snail not only has an eye-catching light blue shell with a gaudy flamingo pattern on it, it’s also dressed up in tiny sunglasses and a baseball cap between its antennas. Ace looks down at his own pastel blue flamingo sweater and fidgets self-consciously with his shades, wondering whether he should bring up the uncanny likeness— “Is it just me, or does the snail look Ace?” Laurie asks, glancing between Ace and the bug with furrowed eyebrows. “No, I… definitely see a resemblance,” Dwight says. “What should we name it?” Claudette asks. “I mean it's a snail that looks like Ace, so… Snace?” Nea suggests. “Snace it is!” Meg decides, snickering at Ace’s misfortune. “I'm glad you're having fun,” Ace snorts, glaring at the snail for stealing his spotlight. The girls hurry to make a home for the snail in the medkit, which Ace finds all kinds of ridiculous. They give it some bandages and twigs to hide and "play" in, whatever the fuck that means for a snail, and Claud gives it edible flowers to nibble on.

Ace tries his best to ignore the snail, but when he gets back from a trial and sees some of the group passing it between their hands and taking turns to hold it, he can’t help watching them. It’s Dwight’s turn now, their leader cradling the snail in his hands and looking way too happy with the situation. “Do you want to try?” Dwight asks, noticing Ace's staring. “Uhh… sure," Ace says, not having the heart to ruin everyone’s good mood. He goes to grab the snail from Dwight's hand, lifting it by the obnoxiously colored shell— “Not like that, you absolute moron!” Jake snaps, slapping Ace's hand away. “You're going to hurt him. You need to slide him off, not lift upwards,” Jake explains, showing how to do it, plopping the snail down on Ace's hand. It's… slimy and kind of gross. The snail seems confused, feeling around with its antennas. And then, it slowly starts to slither forward. “It's kinda cute,” Ace realizes, watching the little snail face with its little shades. It's the coolest snail he's ever seen for sure, but he wouldn't expect anything less from his doppelgänger. “You go, little guy,” Ace encourages the snail, poking it gently on its shell in encouragement. The snail wobbles a bit, and then its tiny face turns to look at Ace, and— “Ew, it pooped on me!” Ace realizes and Dwight chokes on a laugh while Jake smirks smugly and removes Snace from his hand. Ace could just be imagining it, but the snail looks way too pleased with himself.

Other survivors join and, sooner or later, everyone except Ace seems to fall in love with Snace. “He's just like Ace,” their newest teammate, Kate, comments. “What's that supposed to mean, Sunshine?” Ace challenges playfully. “He's a little slimey but everyone still loves him!” Kate smiles brightly and Ace’s witty comeback dies on his tongue at the unexpected heartfelt remark.

And eventually, when their small group has expanded to over twenty people, there's Felix. And no matter how hard he tries, Ace can’t help sneaking glances at the serious German. He’s tall. Blond. Handsome. Rich. Smart. Did he say handsome? Oh, and Felix hates Snace. “This is our pet snail, Snace!” Steve introduces with an excited grin while giving Felix the tour of their modest campgrounds. “A… snail?” Felix frowns. “Yeah! Do you wanna hold him?” Steve asks, already reaching his hand into the medkit. “No!” Felix recoils away, before seeming to collect himself. “I'm, um… not a pet person.” Ace tries (and fails) not to take it personally that Felix finds Snace to be repulsive and will just scoff and roll his eyes whenever the others discuss him. What the hell is his problem, anyway?

And then, something never before seen happens; they get another snail. “Guys!” Cheryl runs into camp, looking out of breath and cradling something in her hands. “Look what I found!” Ace goes to look right along with the others, and in the girl’s hands is a pale snail with a dark blue shell and a pattern resembling a suit collar on its neck. It doesn't have fashionable accessories like Snace, but there’s a tiny briefcase next to it. “Oh my god! He's so cute!” Meg squeals, making the snail retract into its shell in fear. “Aww, he's shy!” Kate coos. “Are you guys thinking what I'm thinking?” Nea suddenly says with a grin, glancing between Felix and the snail. Several heads turn in the German's direction, taking in his dark blue suit and pale complexion. “…What?” Felix asks, just as standoffish as ever. “Snelix!” Nea exclaims proudly. When several others join in to cheer and chant Snelix’s name, Felix just sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose in a gesture that screams "end me".

Everyone is eager to introduce Snelix to Snace, gathering around the medkit, even forcing Felix to watch. “Look, Snace! A new friend!” Cheryl says, gently plopping Snelix down into the medkit. Snace immediately starts slithering toward him, while Snelix just seems confused, rooted in place. “Aww! He's excited!” Dwight smiles. Snace reaches out his snail whiskers in a greeting, and Snelix recoils, slinking a little into his shell. “Oh, he's nervous!” Kate coos. “Don't worry doll, Snace is nice.” As if sensing the woman's words, Snelix cautiously comes out of his shell, hesitantly reaching out an antenna. “There you go, bud!” Ace encourages his snailself. “Take it slow, don't scare him away.” He glances at Felix, standing at the edge of the group with his arms crossed. If only people had it as easy as snails— “Oh, god!” Nancy exclaims in disgust, making Ace look back at the snails. And seeing Snace groping Snelix with his antennas while backing him into a corner. “Hey!” Ace chastices. “What did I just say!?” “Someone save him!” Laurie urges, but it seems Snelix can take care of himself, turning around and slinking up the medkit’s wall. “Aww, he's running away,” Steve pouts. “Good,” Felix huffs quietly from behind the group, and Ace pretends not to hear him. He also pretends that the comment doesn't sting, after trying and failing to get through the German's cold exterior for weeks.

Quentin tries to give Snelix one of his medkits to give him a place to live, but Snelix refuses to go in until it's cleaned up. “What a little snob,” Quentin snorts. “Yeah, how weird is that,” Yui smirks and glances at Felix in a way that’s definitely not subtle. Felix just scoffs and crosses his arms but, thankfully, doesn’t take the bait.

“Guys, I think Snace is depressed,” Meg says one day, looking into the medkit with a frown. “He's not even eating!” Claudette adds worriedly. “Maybe he's dying of old age,” Feng snarks. “I heard that,” Ace shoots back without any real heat. The snail isn't the only one who is feeling under the weather, Felix ignoring him for the last few days taking a toll on his confidence. “What if he misses Snelix?” Cheryl frowns. “Maybe we should try to introduce them again!” Steve exclaims. “No way,” Yui says. “Just because they're both snails doesn't mean they have to be friends.” “Yeah, let's at least give Snelix some time to settle in first,” Jeff suggests.

“Oh shit! Help!” Nea shouts not long after their previous conversation. “What's wrong?” Jane asks worriedly, immediately going into mom-mode. “Snelix is gone!” Nea says, showing them the empty med-kit. Is only takes those three words for the entire camp to erupt into panic. “NOBODY STEP ANYWHERE!” Jane commands. Thus commences the search for Snelix, with everyone participating and even Felix looking surprisingly worried. They eventually find Snelix is Snace's medkit, where they're just sitting next to each other munching on some leaves. “Aww! He walked all the way to his friend!” Kate beams. “Look how cute they are together!” Cheryl smiles. Ace feels his face heating up upon seeing the snails' close proximity. It almost looks like they're sitting next to each other cuddling while sharing a meal. He can't believe Snelix would actually come around, not to mention go through all that trouble to be with Snace. Someone probably put him there, but nobody fesses up. “Are they k-kissing?” Dwight squeaks in surprise when the snails seem to interrupt their meal just long enough to move their tiny whiskers together. “They're snails,” Zarina deadpans. “Most likely just conversing,” Adam adds. “I'm so glad they're getting along now!” Claudette sighs in relief. “Bro… what if we kissed? And we're both snails?” Feng says, propping her elbows up on a tree stump to watch the snails together. “Best snails forever,” Meg grins, joining the gamer. Ace discreetly clears his throat and mentally kicks himself for being jealous of goddamn snails. Even if him and Felix are getting along better day for day, Ace doesn't have any illusions that he’ll ever get to kiss the handsome architect. Still, a man can dream.

The snails seem happy to share a living space together and the next day, Ace even catches Felix observing them curiously. “It's funny how well our snails get along now,” Ace says conversationally, coming up beside Felix. “I'm not that surprised,” Felix says, looking at the snails climbing over each other and seeming to play together. “Looks like he just needed a little push,” Felix says bashfully. And something in Ace's head clicks at the comment. “Were you the one who put him there?” Ace asks, and Felix immediately clears his throat self-consciously. “I just wanted to try it,” Felix explains. “Maybe it would go better, since everything wasn't so new and people weren't staring. And it worked out.” Are… are they still talking about the snails? Or their own, slowly blossoming friendship? “He's been alone for so long,” Felix continues, looking back to the snails now sharing a piece of cucumber. “He deserves to be happy.” Felix smiles an adorable little smile and Ace realizes in just how deep shit he is with his stupid crush on the man. “I've never seen Snace so happy,” Ace agrees. “Just look at his smug little face.” “I thought he always looked happy,” Felix remarks. Ace fights himself for a moment, debating on whether he should be honest or not, or if he's read the situation completely wrong. “Maybe he's never had a real friend before,” Ace says, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Felix glancing at him, but doesn't dare look away from the snails.

And then one day… “Woah—what's wrong with the snails?” Steve calls from the medkit, Claudette immediately rushing closer to check. And then the botanist gasps in shock and everyone else hurries there too. “What happened—oh. Oh,” Quentin says, face flushing red, and Ace peers over the teen's shoulder to… See the snails in the middle of snail sex. “They're fucking,” Nea states matter-of-factly. “Yes Nea we can see that,” Laurie hisses, face pink from embarrassment. “Wot the—they're both blokes, innit?!” David seems confused. “Snails are hermaphrodites,” Adam points out. “Gay snails!” Feng exclaims cheerfully. “It's not gay if they're—” Adam tries again. “If what, they don't make eye contact?” Feng snickers right back. “No, I mean if they have both male and female reproductive organs,” Adam explains, looking embarrassed now. Ace glances at Felix and sees him staring at the snails with his mouth pressed into a thin line. But… he's also blushing. “Gay snails! Gay snails!” Feng, disregarding Adam's explanation, starts chanting. Jane and Laurie eventually have to pull some of the more eager onlookers away by their ears to give the snails some privacy.

One day, Felix returns from a trial and walks to Bill’s spot a little outside camp to return a map he borrowed earlier. He never makes it that far, because he spots Ace out in the woods, looking much more focused than Felix has ever seen as he fiddles with something in his hands. Ace doesn’t even notice him approaching, and Felix takes the opportunity to freely stare at the man who’s been slowly but surely occupying more and more of his thoughts. Ace’s sunglasses are pushed up into his hair and his tongue is poking out in concentration, and it’s completely beyond Felix’s understanding how someone can manage to look both so handsome and utterly ridiculous. “What are you doing?” Felix asks, and Ace’s head instantly snaps up to look at him in surprise. “I’m, uh…” Ace falters for once in his life, lowering his hands to hide whatever he was up to, but Felix catches the glint of something metallic. “Is that a needle? Do you need stitches?” Felix asks, not failing to hide the concern in his voice. “No, I—” Ace starts, but then falters and sighs in defeat. “Promise not to tell anyone.” He doesn’t wait for Felix’s reply before reaching his hand forward, opening his palm to show Felix… A tiny pink baseball cap with a thread and needle attached. “For… Snace?” Felix asks, struggling to take in the information that, somehow, this flamboyant loudmouth is making clothes for his pet snail. “He deserves a proper wardrobe, okay?” Ace huffs jokingly but pulls the project closer to himself defensively. It’s surprisingly… endearing. “I didn’t know you sewed,” Felix says instead of voicing his embarrassing thoughts. “Yeah, well, it comes in handy,” Ace points out. “Can’t tell you how many times I had to patch up a shirt after I barely escaped the cop—uh, competition,” Ace catches himself, grinning sheepishly. Felix raises a curious eyebrow but doesn’t push the topic. Instead, an idea forms in his head that he can’t help expressing. “Could you make a scarf for Snelix?” Felix says, and almost instantly regrets asking after realizing how stupid that sounds. But it makes Ace perk up in interest, and soon a wide grin is spreading over the gambler’s face. “Sure, I can do that!” Ace beams. “Why a scarf, though?” Felix is already opening his mouth to say because he loves scarves, but thankfully is able to stop himself. “They’re stylish,” he says instead. “Well well well, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were starting to like the little slimy bastards,” Ace grins. “They might be growing on me,” Felix admits with just the barest hint of a smirk. Hopefully Ace realizes he doesn’t mean just the snails.

One evening, Ace is sitting by himself, looking at Snace and Snelix living their best life. They eat a little bit of some of the flowers Claudette gave them earlier, before Snelix turns around to leave and Snace immediately follows him. They slither away to a secluded corner, laying next to each other and doing their little snail kisses, until Snelix eventually slumps and flattens to the ground, seeming to fall asleep. Snace sits next to him for a while, before he carefully moves away, slinking back to nom on the flowers. “Putting your boyfriend to sleep, huh?” Ace murmurs quietly, not wanting to wake Snelix. “I'm jealous of your life, buddy.” Snace lifts his head from the flower, his little shades looking Ace's way. “At least one of us got what he wanted. You did good for yourself, high five,” Ace whispers, holding up his finger in front of Snace for shits and giggles. And Snace, the snail that absolutely hates him, lifts one of his antennas and briefly touches his finger in a high five before going back to his meal. “Woah,” Ace breathes, a grin spreading over his face and glancing around camp, wanting to see if anyone was around to witness the event— And his eyes meet Felix's, standing behind him, staring at Ace talking to his snail like an absolute idiot. And probably having heard everything. “It, uh,” Ace starts when Felix isn't saying anything, the German's eyes wide from surprise. “He high-fived me.” “I, er…” Felix stutters in return, before clearing his throat. “I got some moss for them from Red Forest.” “Oh, neat,” Ace comments. “Snelix just fell asleep, but maybe you won’t wake him if you’re careful.” “No, I don't want to disturb them,” Felix says, crouching down next to Ace and placing the moss next to the medkit. They watch the snails in silence, Snace finishing his midnight snack, Ace debating on whether he should bring up the previous conversation or not. “Thank you,” Felix says instead, before Ace can strike up a conversation. “…For what?” “For being patient with me,” Felix murmurs. “I know I can come across as… cold.” Well that's an understatement if Ace has ever heard one. “Hmm, I guess you could say you needed some time to…” Ace says, pausing for comedic effect while he waits for Felix to turn to look at him for the punchline. “Come out of your shell.” Felix huffs a surprised laugh and turns his head away, but not before Ace sees a beautiful smile spreading over his normally serious face. They keep observing the snails, until Snace has finally had enough of the flowers, moving to lay next to Snelix. “Oh, he's awake,” Ace comments, seeing Snelix groggily lift his head toward Snace. He pushes up Snace's shades, dislodging the cap a bit before doing another little snail kiss. “Damn, that's adorable,” Ace grins. And then there's a hand on his temple, and Ace freezes as his shades are gently pushed up into his hair. He turns to look at Felix, heat rising up his neck, feeling vulnerable without the glasses, not able to hide his wide eyes searching Felix's own in a silent question. Felix's face is redder than usual but he looks more unguarded that Ace has ever seen, gaze dropping to Ace's lips while the hand on his forehead moves to cup his jaw. Ace holds his breath, not daring to say anything lest he ruin the mood and permanently mess up his chance with Felix. His thoughts are little more than white noise and excited screeching as he tilts his head up in silent invitation, and that's all it takes for Felix to lean down and claim his lips.

“Snace is getting fat,” Feng comments one day. “What!?” Ace exclaims, offended. “No he’s not!” “Hon, he does look a little… pudgier,” Kate comments. “He’s just… bloated, okay?” Ace insists, huffing defensively. “He’s a fucking fatass,” Feng corrects. “Yeah man, he’s really letting himself go,” Steve agrees with an infuriating smirk. “Okay, rude!” Ace scoffs. “Felix—” he starts, turning to his newly acquired boyfriend for solidarity, but sees the little shit is shaking from quiet laughter instead of being upset on his behalf. “Babe! Don’t tell me you agree with them!” Ace gasps in mock offense, hand over his heart. “Every time I’ve looked at him, he’s eating,” Felix manages to point out between snickers. “Absolutely terrible, the lot of you,” Ace huffs, peering into the medkit where the completely innocent Snace is… Munching on some berries Claudette placed there earlier. “You were saying?” Feng snarks, making Ace shoot a glare her way while Felix is still holding back chuckles.

When Ace gets back from a rather uneventful trial some time later, he notices Jake staring intently into the snails’ medkit. As he walks closer, it becomes apparent that the snails are having sex. “Jake, what the hell are you doing?” Ace asks the survivalist. “They've been at it for hours,” Jake says, face just as neutral as ever and not taking his eyes off the writhing clump of snail. “I'm a little concerned by how much you like watching my snail get laid.” “Nature is lit,” Jake merely offers. So Ace shuts the medkit, feeling weirdly exposed by having his snail’s private life invaded like that. “Give them some privacy, sheesh,” he chastises Jake. “Prude,” the boy snorts.

It’s only a few days before there is another episode of, as Felix likes to call it, snail drama. “Felix!” Ace shouts, making Felix sigh in fond irritation and pause his sorting of their shared stash of items that Ace has left an absolute mess (again). “Yes, love?” he asks, doing his best impression of an exasperated husband despite them only dating for what can't be more than a few weeks. And then he sees Ace's face full of both alarm and excitement, and immediately drops what he was doing. “What's wrong?” he asks, feeling the panic quickly bubbling up. “SNACE IS GIVING BIRTH!” Ace exclaims ten decibels louder than necessary, grabbing a confused Felix by his sleeve and dragging him toward the snails' home. Sure enough, there's a small commotion around the medkit, and when Felix peers into it he can see Snace in the middle of laying eggs, Snelix by his side in solidarity. “Come on dude! Push!” Feng is trying to encourage the snail. “Shh, you're stressing it!” Claudette chastises. “I told you guys he wasn’t fat!” Ace huffs proudly. After ten or so eggs, the process seems to be over, and Snace happily slithers away to go snack on some leaves. “Oh,” Claudette says, bewildered. “What?” Ace says. “I, um,” the botanist falters. “They usually lay about a hundred eggs…” “A hundred?” Ace screeches. “Don't you think ten kids is more than enough?” “Only a small portion of them actually hatch!” Claudette hurries to add. “Maybe he's going through menopause,” Jake, not so helpfully, supplies. “I'm going to smack you,” Ace threatens. Felix just chuckles and lays a hand on Ace’s shoulder to settle him.

Excited about the possibility of baby snails, the survivors take turns watching the eggs for the next few weeks. Eventually, it’s Cheryl who screams: “Guys! An egg is hatching!” Felix rushes to the medkit before anyone else, and in an instant Ace is peering over his shoulder too, both looking at the transparent, tiny antenna pushing out of one of the eggs. Snelix and Snace are right by the eggs, eagerly waiting to meet their offspring. And then the small snail plops completely out and starts wiggling around, and Ace honest to god squeals. “Look, Felix!” he says, tugging on Felix's sleeve. “We're grandparents!” “I'm… not sure that's how it works,” Felix points out, even as he smiles at Snelix petting his child with his antenna. “I'm gonna make so much baby snail clothes for her,” Ace continues with a wide grin, nearly shaking in his shoes in excitement. “'Her'?” Felix asks, and Ace falters. “I'm, uh…” Ace explains, looking away. “You said your kid's a girl, I mean based on the ultrasound before you were taken, so I figured…” Something in Felix's expression softens, touched that Ace would remember something like that. He steals a quick kiss while everyone is preoccupied with staring at the family of snails.

“What should we name their kid?” Jeff ponders a couple weeks later, watching the baby snail climb all over Snace while Snelix anxiously hovers nearby. “Ask the grandpas,” Feng snarks. “Yeah, have you decided on a name yet?” Cheryl asks, looking up at Felix with wide, shimmering eyes. “Err,” Felix says, glancing at Ace for help. Ace grins and discreetly nods toward the eager Cheryl. “Oh,” Felix seems to realize. “Yes, we were considering Ch—ehm, Sneryl.” Cheryl gasps in awe. “She does look like a Sneryl,” Jeff agrees. “What? It doesn't look like any—” Feng starts, but at Jeff's pointed look, thankfully shuts up. “She's the spitting image of a Sneryl!” Ace says, smiling in encouragement. “Really!?” Cheryl asks excitedly, looking between Felix and Ace. “Ah… of course,” Felix says, and then the breath leaves his lungs in a pained “Oof!” as Cheryl rushes in for a hug. “Thank you! I love having my own snail!” Cheryl beams while Felix awkwardly pats her on the head and looks at Ace with an expression that screams 'HELP'.

Seeing Sneryl grow over the following couple of months, Felix takes it upon himself to start building the snails a house out of a commodious toolbox. He might put in way more effort than necessary, making sure to separate different rooms with interior walls and adding corridors to entertain the snails. “Hey handsome, what're you doing?” Ace asks, placing a kiss against his temple as he comes up behind him to see what he’s working on. “I'm building our snails a house," Felix explains. "They have a family now, a cramped old medkit won't do.” Ace stares at him for a moment, and then a wide grin spreads over his face and he suddenly looks like he’s about to combust. “You’re so friggin adorable!” Ace exclaims and pulls him into a hug. And then he refuses to let go, clinging to Felix’s back like a koala while he keeps working on the house, and Felix would be lying if he said he didn’t like it. “…Can you make a poker room for Snace?” Ace asks after having observed his work for a while. “Poker? But they're—” Felix frowns, turning around just enough to see Ace's exaggerated, ridiculous pout. “…Fine. But you're making the furniture.” “You got it, babe!” Ace grins, before seeming to notice something. “Hey, what's that?" he asks, pointing at a drawn square on the side of the toolbox. “Oh. It's going to be a door,” Felix explains. “But what if Sneryl goes out and gets stomped on?” Ace asks worriedly. “I just…” Felix falters. “Thought that maybe they needed some freedom. Especially Snace.” “Huh?” Ace tilts his head in confusion. “He was alone for so long, I… assumed he'd probably get bored of the family life,” Felix says, looking at the ground in thought. He’s embarrassed for bringing up the subject of Ace’s loyalty like this, but once again, the snails are proving a wonderful excuse to talk about topics they otherwise wouldn’t. “That sounds like a load of bullcrap,” Ace grins, making Felix look up at him, still frowning. “I've never seen Snace so happy. He knew what he signed up for and there's no way in hell he's leaving now.” The reassurance feels like a weight lifting off of Felix’s chest, and he can’t stop the smile spreading over his lips. Hesitantly, he grabs Ace’s hand still wrapped around him, and Ace brings them both up to brush his lips over Felix's callused knuckles. “I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Ace murmurs, the sweet sentiment making warm affection spread through Felix’s entire body. “I, uhm,” Felix blushes, clearing his throat. “Is this a good time to point out I just had the snails crawl over the back of my hand…?” Ace sputters and immediately wipes at his mouth while Felix lets out a few quiet chuckles.

Following the conversation, Felix can’t help but read into Ace’s answer. Especially with the other survivors engaging in another round of the popular “What’s the first thing you’ll do when we escape?” game, Felix finds it difficult to focus on anything other than the possibility of a shared future. So, when he catches Ace alone, he hesitantly brings up the option of the man coming with him to Germany. “I know the possibility of escaping is slim,” Felix babbles nervously after Ace isn’t saying anything, just staring at him curiously. “But I can’t stop thinking about it, and I wanted to see where you are—” “Babe,” Ace interrupts, grabbing his arm to ground Felix from his scrambled thoughts, giving him an encouraging smile. “I’d love to.” Felix breathes out a relieved sigh, returning a shaky but happy smile over not getting rejected. And then Ace smirks mischievously and Felix’s instincts scream “Uh-oh”. “On one condition,” Ace adds, holding a finger in front of Felix’s face playfully. “Um… which?” Felix asks, nerves resurfacing. There’s not much that would make him say no, and he hopes he doesn’t have to, willing to make sacrifices for a potential future together. “The snails come with us,” Ace quips sheepishly instead. Felix chuckles and shakes his head in amusement, before pulling Ace in for a soft kiss. “I wouldn't have it any other way,” Felix murmurs against Ace’s lips, silently thanking the two dorky snails that allowed this to happen in the first place.

#dbd fanfic #riconti #dbd crack #dbd #dweetwrites #ace visconti #felix richter #dead by daylight

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this-idiots-left-eye · 3 years

Text

In Plain Sight

Cover art by Stlyrica on instagram!! I’ll put a link to it in a reblog!!

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Summary: When Break hides Gilbert's favorite Christmas ornament somewhere in the Rainsworth manor, the Golden Trio must spend the afternoon looking for it. But why is it so special to Gil?

Notes: I originally wrote this for the prompt "Ornaments" in an alphabetical Christmas prompt list my friends and I did in 2017--(it was going to be part of a group of Christmas fics we all wrote for different fandoms. Some of the people in that group hadn't read PH, so that's why this fic has some explanations for who the characters are). Then I posted it for Pandora Hearts Month 2018 for the Golden Trio Prompt: Friendship. I hope you like it! I would really appreciate it if you could reblog and/or leave a comment to let me know if you enjoyed it!

“You’re the tallest, Gil, you should put the star on top!”

“Ooh! It looks yummy! Like a big cookie!”

“It’s not a cookie, Stupid Rabbit!”

It was a few days before Christmas, and the trio was at the Rainsworth manor. Finally, everything was ready for the holiday; a fire was dancing in its place, the stockings were all lined up on the mantle, and they had just put the finishing touches on the tree. The only one who hadn’t been informed about the festive season, was the sky outside; it had been raining for the past few weeks. There was a chill in the air, it was frosty, but snow hadn’t quite come yet. Still, they made the most of their time indoors.

“Perfect!” Oz exclaimed.

Oz Vessalius was the fifteen-year-old heir to the Vessalius dukedom, but after his escape from the Abyss that year, when he wasn’t off on adventures, and missions, he spent most of his time at the Rainsworth’s.

“It’s so pretty, Onii-chan!”

On account of the ten-year gap, Oz’s sister, Ada, was older than Oz now, but, no matter what, she would never stop seeing him as her older brother. She was on Christmas break from Lutwidge Academy, and more than happy to spend it at the Rainsworths, with her brother. She had, of course, brought her two cats—Snowdrop and Kitty—with her, (which Gilbert maintained a healthy distance from, due to his phobia of cats).

“The Rainsworths will have the best-decorated tree in town!”

Oscar, their uncle, was spending the afternoon with his niece and nephew too. He was a bearded, bespectacled man, with the same blonde hair and green eyes as the rest of his family. At the moment, he was sitting on one of the couches, with a cup what he called ‘tea’, but which the rest of them guessed probably had something stronger in it.

“I can’t take all the credit, Gil and Alice helped a little,” Oz joked.

“‘A little!��”

Gilbert was Oz’s servant; a dark-haired man, who often appeared cold and reserved, but who was rather sensitive, and a worrywart. He still sometimes acted as though they were only a year apart in age too, despite the fact that he was now ten years older than his master.

“Yeah, manservant!” Alice challenged, “More like we did all the work!”

“I was just teasing!”

“Well,” Sharon had a way of returning things to order with her calm and proper words, “you all did a wonderful job.”

Sharon was the heiress to the Rainsworth dukedom, and looked like a thirteen-year-old girl, though was really in her twenties or thirties—(they knew better than to ask her exact age). Her chestnut hair was usually tied back into a kind of half-ponytail, and, as always, she outmatched them all on style points; today it was with a dress of a wintery blue that looked as if she was trying to encourage the snow to fall. As per usual, she held a cup of tea in one hand—peppermint, she had informed them, for the Christmas season—and a pastry in the other. She was sitting at a small round table on the other side of the room, with Reim—duke Barma’s bespectacled, hard working, servant, who spent more time at the Rainsworth’s than anywhere else, with his two best friends—Sharon and Break.

“Well, I’m beat,” Alice stretched and yawned, “Seaweed-head, when are you going to make me some meat?”

Most Chains (creatures from the Abyss) didn’t look like Alice did; like a fourteen-year-old girl, with floor length brown hair, and an almost cat-like physique—(though it was a giant rabbit she often turned into). Also unlike other illegally contracted Chains, she did not have a thirst for human blood, although she did have a particular love for meat, as well as almost anything edible.

“I suppose I can make you something, now that we’ve finished,” Gil sighed.

“Oh? Have you now?” they turned to see Sharon’s servant, Xerxes Break, grinning as he poured himself another cup of tea. “Are you sure nothing’s…” he leaned back against the table, “missing?”

Break was a red-eyed, white-haired man, also much older than he looked. Even those close to him would say he was a bit of an acquired taste; his love for teasing, the creepy doll on his shoulder, and his general lack of regard for other people and their feelings, made it difficult for those subject to his mischiefs—such as Gilbert—to acquire any kind of affection for him.

Gilbert froze, turning his head slowly to the tree. His eyes immediately found the empty space where a certain ornament had been.

“Break!” he shouted, spinning back to him, “Must you do this every year?!”

“Let an old man have his fun.” Break grinned.

“I believe he must, Gilbert-sama,” Sharon answered Gilbert’s question, nonchalantly taking a sip of tea before continuing, “It has become something of a tradition.”

“I should have spent Christmas with he Nightrays this year,” Gilbert grumbled, reluctance in his motions as he began to pick up books, and other objects around the room, as if searching.

“You’re so mean,” Break chided playfully, then spoke a little more seriously, knowing Gilbert had no intentions of spending much time with his adoptive family, and real brother, “You’d rather spend Christmas with the sewer rat, than us?”

Gil gave him a death glare.

“Sorry…but what’s a tradition?” Oz asked, turning to Sharon and Break.

He wouldn’t admit it, but sometimes, especially with things like this, the ten-year gap could make Oz feel like an outsider.

“Every year Break takes Gilbert-sama’s favorite ornament,” Sharon explained, “And hides it somewhere in the manor.”

“Ooh! That sounds like fun!”

“It’s not fun, Oz!” Gilbert hollered at his master, “It’s a waste of a perfectly good afternoon! Not to mention annoying, and rude!”

Break laughed. Gil had yet to learn his outrageous reactions were what made this sort of thing so fun for the prankster.

“Don’t worry, Gil!” Ada bounded up to him, “I’ll help you look!”

Gilbert flushed, “T-Thank you.”

“What does it look like, Gil?”

He looked at Oz, then turned back to Ada, and explained it quietly enough that only she could hear.

She nodded, beaming, and began to look in a different part of the room.

“What’s the matter, Gil?”—Gil gasped as his master appeared suddenly at his other side—“You don’t want me to know what it is?” Oz’s laugh faded into a more puzzled expression when Gil averted his eyes, turning redder.

“It’s a secret, Onii-chan!” Ada answered for him, “You’ll see when we find it!”

He didn’t get the chance to ask anything more, because Alice broke in, having been observing all their interactions,

“Does…Does this mean I won’t get my meat?”

“Uh huh,” Gilbert sighed, “That’s exactly what it means.”

“No! I will not allow it!” Alice shook her head, and whirled around on Break, pointing at him in an accusatory manner, “Clown! Return Seaweed-head’s stupid ornament his instant!”

“It’s not stupid, Stupid Rabbit!”

“Aren’t you a spoilsport?” The Mad Hatter teased, then the doll on his shoulder, Emily, finished,

“Why should I listen to some dumb bunny?”

Alice growled, her hands clenching into fists. She spun to Gilbert, declaring as she ran up to him,“Then I won’t rest until I find that ornament! With the great Alice-sama on your side, you cannot fail!”

“Sure you won’t just get in the way?”

She kicked him in the shin, crossing her arms, “You’d be lost without me, Seaweed-head.”

“Don’t kick me, Stupid rabbit!” he rubbed his leg, “Now go look for it over there!” he stamped his injured foot back down and pointed to the opposite corner of the room, (to which she quickly ran, proceeding to tear her designated space apart in a matter of seconds.)

“Is this ornament really all that important, Gil? I mean, we have lots of—”

“Yes!” he answered before his master could finish, “it is!”

Oz sighed, knowing how attached his servant could get to things, “Alright. So…is us helping against the rules?” he asked, watching Alice destroy the room in search of it, Ada calmly remove things, and put them back where they were meant to go, and Gil as a mix of the two.

“Don’t you think we would have stopped them if it was, Oz-kun?”

Sharon shook her head, “It doesn’t matter who finds it, watching him search is the fun part.” Her mischievous side was showing; most of the time she was this prim and proper lady, but being close to Break had its effects.

“That’s right; the more people searching, the funnier it is when they can’t find it,” Break sang. “Though, tell me, Ojousama,” he turned to his mistress “are you merely saying that because you wagered he’d find it early—before 18:00?” he asked knowingly, sitting up on the table—(Reim gave him a look that could only be interpreted as: can-you act-any-less-like-a-servant?)

They turned to the clock—it was 15:00.

“Why do you want to know, Break?” his mistress asked with a tone of false interest, “Are you afraid your skills as a prankster have gone down with age?” she patted her mouth innocently with a napkin.

“What do you take me for, Ojousama?” he smirked, crossing his legs, narrowing his eyes at Gilbert, “He’ll need all the help he can get.”

Gilbert returned to him an even more murderous look.

“You… betted on this?”

“All part of the tradition, Oz-kun,” Break mentioned, stealing a mini pastry from Reim’s plate—(the incense was more than evident on Reim’s face, and probably why Break did it).

“It’s not money we wagered, though; If I win, Break has to swear off sweets over Christmas—as well as make me a lavish dessert full of those sweet things he can’t have. And if Break wins, I have to buy him an equally lavish amount of extra Christmas candy and sweets.”

“Nice! Break, I didn’t know you could bake!”

“He really can’t,” Sharon chuckled, “But it’s fun to see what he comes up with.”

Break glared at her.

“So… is this how you bet every year?”

“Sometimes it’s different. But it’s usually something to the effect of giving Break a taste of his own medicine…Though I seem to recall one year, I wanted Break to do this dance I had heard of in a book, if he lost. I believe it was called ‘Futterwacken.’”

“That’s a weird name for a dance!” Oz laughed, “So? How did that go?

“I suppose it is,” she smiled, “That was one of the tamer punishments, but, when he did lose, he refused—rather blatantly.”

“Really?!” he turned to Break.

“How many times must I tell you? I have no talent for dancing.”

“Truly, as a servant of the Rainsworth Dukedom, it would be better fitting that you learned,” she shook her head, then turned back to Oz, “Anyway, after that, we thought the chance to take away his candy was rather enjoyable.”

“Aw, I want to join the bet!”

Gilbert looked affronted, but before he could speak, Oz continued, boyish excitement simmering in his tone,

“Say, what if, if Break loses, I get to eat his candy instead?!”

Sharon and Break glanced at each other.

“Let me ask you something, Oz-kun;” Break set down his tea, “Are you willing to risk the consequences of such a wager?”

“Ehh…consequences?”

“Why of course. I couldn’t give little Oz-kun the chance of stealing my candy without the proper torment in store if he lost.”

“Eh…” Oz knew just how mean Break could get, and that this could very well turn into a prank war that ended in actual blood, “I think I’ll pass.”

“I always said you were smarter than you looked,” the Mad Hatter picked up his tea again.

“Maybe you could join in by helping me look, instead of encouraging them, Oz!” Gilbert whirled on him.

“Aww, do I have to?” the fifteen-year-old groaned.

“Oz!”

Oz turned to the masterminds, as if silently asking for them to give him an excuse not to.

“Hey, Oz-kun is sharp,” Break began, then Emily added,

“Probably smarter than these three put together!”

—two of the aforementioned three gave him what can only be described as ‘fight-me’ faces, and Ada looked disheartened—Break took no notice, and finished,

“So that depends; whose side are you on?”

“Well,” Oz thought for a moment, then mused, grinning, “it would be fun to see Break trying to swear of candy!”

“Is that so?” Break’s eye narrowed.

“In any case, why isn’t Reim-san helping?” he shifted the focus. “You’re not the kind of person to sit back while others are in trouble”

Reim sighed, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “While that may be true, these two are often harsher with me, than others. If I help you, I have a feeling I shall pay for it in some way later,” he shot them an icy look, “dearly.”

“Whatever do you mean, Reim-san?” Sharon asked innocently. “We thought you enjoyed our company.”

“Yeah, it’s only because you’re our favorite, Reim-san,” Break gave a fake sappy voice.

“Then pick a new favorite!”

“That’s not how it works! You have a lifetime guarantee!”

“Sharon,” it was Ada who spoke. She had been focused on searching on the mantelpiece, and inside the stockings, “Why are there nine stockings?”

“What do you mean, Ada?” Oz asked, stepping over to her.

“Well, I was just thinking; there’s me, Onii-chan, Uncle, and Alice,”—Alice looked annoyed at Ada mentioning her name—“since we’re staying here for Christmas,” she pointed at each of the stockings in turn, “and these belong to Sharon-sama, Break, Duchess Rainsworth-sama, and Reim-san, right? But who does this last one belong to?” she held the bottom of the last one, careful not to pull it off the mantle.

They turned to Break and Sharon, who glanced at each other, their mischievous grins fading into more somber, reminiscent expressions.

“It was Break’s idea,” Sharon answered.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit—“

“It’s for my mother…That has become something of a tradition as well. We just thought it would be nice, to have something to remember her by during the Christmas season.”

The tone in the room quieted; the rest of them knew that Shelly was Sharon’s mother, who had died sometime after Oz’s coming of age ceremony.

“That’s…actually really sweet,” Oz noted, “Break, I’m surprised you thought of it!”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you? And you say that like I’m cruel.”

“Well…” Oz rubbed the back of his neck, smiling nervously, trying to formulate a non- insulting answer in his mind.

“I think what Oz is trying to say,” Reim started out gently, then finished harshly, “Is that it’s high time you realized you can be a jerk, Xerxes!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say jerk’…” Oz began.

“I would,” Gil mumbled.

“My…I cant believe that you all….” Break began softly, then Emily jeered,

“Just figured that out now!”

The anger was evident on all of their faces.

“Really, why are you all ganging up on me,” Break grinned, without a hint of hurt in his voice, “when you should be focusing on the task at hand?”

“Because it’s your fault we’re in this mess!” Gilbert shouted, then ran his hand frustratedly through his hair, observing the mess they had made of the room, before demanding, “Is it in this room?!”

“Given up already, have you?” Emily teased.

Gilbert clenched his hands into fists, biting back a retort.

“Did anyone see him leave the room?!”

Everyone looked at Gilbert blankly, or up at the ceiling, trying to think if they had, realizing they had no idea, and knew full well Sharon could have used Eques to transport him when their backs were turned anyways. Gilbert put his hands on his hips, sighing at their silence “Alright. We have a whole manor to look through, it’s best we move on from this room,” he paused, turning again to Break, with malice in his eyes, “Right?”

“Sure, kiddo!” Emily replied, and he gave the fakest grin yet.

Gilbert gritted his teeth, then shook his head, directing them,

“Let’s split up; Ada, you go down the left hall, Stupid Rabbit, you take the right. I’ll go downstairs.”

“I won’t let you down, Seaweed-Head!” Alice sped down the hall, not even searching, as if she had forgotten the task she’d been given.

Ada nodded, “Come on, Snowdrop, Kitty!” she called to her cats.

Oz sighed, “Alright, fine. I’ll help too.”

Gilbert smiled, about to thank him, when Oz added,

“But I expect to be rewarded for my troubles!”

His servant rolled his eyes.

“I kinda need to know what it looks like, though, don’t I, Gil? You seemed to want to keep it a secret earlier.”

“You’ll…um….You’ll know it when you see it,” Gilbert looked anywhere but at his master.

Oz sighed, putting his hands on his hips, “Really? That kinda makes things harder, you know.”

“Oh, not up to the challenge, are you Oz-kun?” Break goaded.

“No, no, I can do it! I just feel like we’re not addressing a key part of the puzzle here!”

With that Gilbert pulled him out of the room and into the search.

Gilbert was right; it did seem like a bit of a waste of an afternoon; exhausting wasn’t the only word that came to mind after rifling through each room one by one, with no clue as to where it might be. Especially because the feeling began growing in them that Gilbert was way too attached to things, as well as that Break was, indeed, a jerk. They didn’t know how much time had passed before they met up again in the hall, everyone hanging their heads in shame and disappointment.

“What should we do?” Ada asked quietly.

“We can’t let the clowny bastard win!” Alice slammed a fist into her other palm to emphasize her point.

“That’s right!” Gilbert agreed, “For years I had to put up with his constant teasing, it’s high time we got him back!”

“I don’t think losing the bet is really going to make him stop. I mean, he’s lost before, right?”

“You don’t have to be so blunt about it!” Gilbert complained.

“Sorry,” Oz shrugged.

In the moment of silence that followed, Ada’s cat started rubbing against Oz’s leg, as if trying to comfort him.

“What do you think, Snowdrop?” Oz asked jokingly, picking up his sister’s cat, (Gilbert eyed it, a whine developing in his throat, scooching away), “Do you have any idea where it is?”

Oz gasped.

“What is it, Onii-chan?”

Tied into the cat’s collar was a ribbon, attached to a little ornament. He pulled it free and placed the cat on the floor (it meowed and padded away).

The other three gasped in turn, leaning in to get a better look at it.

“That bastard!” Gilbert slammed his fist into the wall behind him. “He knew I wouldn’t go near your cats!”

“Yeah,” Oz laughed, “leave it to Break to take the cheap shot.”

“What are we waiting for?!” Alice demanded, “Didn’t I just say we can’t let the clowny bastard win!”

“You’re right!” the others said together, and bolted down the hall.

“We found it!” Oz held the ornament high, like a trophy, as they burst through the door.

At the same moment that he held up the evidence, the hour chimed.

They each glanced at each other, then at the clock, which read exactly 18:00.

“My, my, isn’t this an interesting turn of events?” Break remarked, stretching, “It looks like it’s a tie, Ojousama.”

“It would appear,” Sharon smiled “In that case, would you please excuse me for a moment?” she gathered her dress and hurried out of the room.

“So, which one of you found it?” Break asked, walking over to them.

“I did.”

The prankster smirked, “What did I tell you?” he ruffled Oz’s hair, “Oz-kun’s sharp.”

“So… what does that mean about your wagers?” Oz tried to put his hair right. “Since you tied?”

“Just a moment Oz-kun,” he put his hand on Oz’s head, his sleeve falling over his eyes, and looked over their heads

Sharon quickly did return, a little out of breath, holding a small package wrapped in a ribbon.

“Here you are, Break!” she held it out for him.

He took it from her and unwrapped it, opening the little red box to reveal that it was filled with the the candy she had promised.

“Just the thing I needed” he patted her head, unwrapping a piece and tossing it into his mouth. “Better luck next time, Ojousama,”

Oz and Alice stared at him, open-mouthed, dumbstruck that he had beat them.

“Now I suppose I should get started on that dessert of yours,” he waited until the proper moment to add.

“Please do.”

“Huh?” Oz and Alice asked simultaneously.

“Since we tied,” Sharon spoke, as they both turned to them, “we both win.”

“So…does that mean the clown still has to swear off candy?” Alice asked hopefully.

“No—Unfortunately,” Sharon added, glancing at her servant, who rolled his eyes, eating another piece, “We both get the rewards of the wager, but no one gets the punishment.”

“More in the Christmas spirit, wouldn’t you agree, Ojousama?” he said between candy crunches.

“Since when do you care about ‘Christmas spirit’?!” Gilbert demanded.

“Better luck next year, I guess,” Oz tried to put a positive spin on it.

“Next year?!” Alice fumed, “I want to settle this now!” (Gilbert held Alice by the neck of her jacket.)

“Believe me,” Reim grunted, eyeing Break, “it’ll only end worse for you,”

“Who knows?” Break shrugged, “There may not be a next year, Oz-kun.”

Alice continued to seethe while the others glanced at each other, unsure of how to respond to such a statement.

“There you go again,” Reim scolded. “You can’t just mention something like that!”

Break dismissed him with a wave of his hand, chuckling to himself, and muttering something about his uptightness, as he made his way down the hall to the kitchens.

After Break left, Oz looked down at his hand, opening his fingers to reveal the little clay, painted oddity he was still holding. Alice came behind him and looked over his shoulder at it.

“What…is it?”

“You didn’t know what you were looking for?!” Gilbert questioned.

“Because you never told me, Seaweed-head!”

Gilbert looked away, clearly wanting to bite back, but without argument with which to do so.

Oz shook his head, staring at it. It was rather crudely made, ineptly painted. But he couldn’t mistake it for anything else—and Gil had been right, he did know it when he saw it.

Because he was the one who made it.

“I can’t believe you kept this, Gil.”

Gilbert looked away, nodding and turning red.

Now he understood why Gilbert was so intent on getting it back. This ornament had probably become a symbol to Gilbert—much like Shelly’s stocking on the mantelpiece was for Break and Sharon—for Oz himself. This ornament, through the years, had probably become tied to his faithful valet’s unending hope that his master would come back. Each year Break took it, as if teasing that perhaps he wouldn’t (and, maybe this was his roundabout way of him trying to prepare him for that), but Gilbert always got it back, as if displaying that he would never lose that hope.

“Oy! What is it?!” Alice demanded again, upset her ‘manservant’ wasn’t focusing all his attention on her.

“It’s a bird, Alice,” Oz answered simply.

“Really, how do you figure?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t look very good does it?” Oz laughed.

“Seaweed-head, why would a crappy ornament like this be your favorite?”

“Oy! You don’t see me criticizing your bad taste!”

“Bad taste?! I have impeccable taste! I eat meat every day!”

“That’s not what—”

“Its because I made it for him,” Oz answered her question quietly.

“You?” Alice laughed, slapping him on the back, “You have pretty poor skills, Oz.”

“Give me a break! I was a kid!”

Oscar laughed, walking up to them, “You’re still a kid, Oz. Yes…I can’t remember how old he was, but he made me, Ada, and Gilbert ornaments,” he laughed a little, putting his arm around Gilbert, “I remember how offended Gil was at his master making him a gift.”

“Yeah,” Oz laughed, they all looked up at Gil, who got steadily redder the more they spoke, “We had to force him to accept it.”

“Why are you surprised he kept his, Onii-chan?” Ada asked, “Uncle and I kept ours. They’re back at the Vessalius manor. But! we could bring them over here if you want!”

“That’s okay, I believe you! Still… Like Alice said, they don’t look very good.”

“But, like you said, you were the one who made them for us,” Oscar ruffled his nephew’s hair.

“What were the ornaments you made for them, Oz?” Alice asked.

“Well, I made Ada a little cat, and uncle Oscar a camera. I didn’t really know what Gil liked, so I just made him a bird. Funny, how your chain is Raven now.”

“How come you haven’t made me one, Manservant?!” Alice hit Oz on the head.

“Hey! I’ve been busy!” he rubbed the spot where she hit him.

“In any case,” Alice turned to Gilbert, jumping quickly to the next subject, “now you can make my meat, Seaweed-head!”

“Break’s using the kitchen, Stupid Rabbit!”

“Then let’s go to the market! I’m starving!”

Gilbert sighed into his hand, “Fine. Let me get my hat and coat.”

“Can I come with you guys?” Ada asked—Alice looked peeved, but Gil and Oz had already welcomed her.

“I’ll go check if Break needs anything!” Oz ran off towards the kitchen.

As Oz arrived, he saw that Break had changed out of his white coat and purple shirt into more casual closing—likely so he wouldn’t ruin his normal outfit. He had rolled up the sleeves, and was wearing a pink apron Gil sometimes wore when he cooked for them here, but which probably belonged to Sharon’s grandmother, or mother. He had already begun to make a mess of things; flour was all over the counter, chocolate was on the walls, somehow there were even ingredients in in his hair.

“You need some help?” Oz asked, half-jokingly.

Break looked up.

“Oz-kun,” he noted, then grinned, “You? Help me? Gotten bored of Gilbert-kun, and Alice-kun already?”

“Nah. I just wanted to know if you needed anything. We’re going to the store.”

Oz knew that Break could have asked for help from the staff, or Gilbert, but Sharon called him ‘Mr. One-Man-Show’ for a reason; sure, it might not taste or look all that good, but at least he would have made it himself.

“You really think I wouldn’t have come prepared?”

“But, if you won, you wouldn’t have to make—”

Oz gasped. Realizing something:

They both had bought the supplies ahead of time. Oz thought one of them would have to go to the store, depending on who won the bet, (perhaps dragging the other begrudgingly along), but they both had already bought the necessary ingredients. Which meant, either the food one of them bought would go to waste, or be used in some other way, or, regardless of who won or lost, they still intended to give each other the gifts.

“You already had the ingredients,” Oz thought out loud. “and Sharon-chan already had your candy...”

“So?”

“I would have thought one of you would have to go to the store, depending on who won.”

“What’s your point, Oz-kun?” Break pushed his hair back.

Oz shook his head, grinning like he now had some secret information. “Break, you really are a nice guy, aren’t you?”

Break put his hand on the table, turning to him, “Wipe that cheeky grin off your face before I do it for you.”

Oz put his hands behind his back, sauntering closer.

“Oh, nothing,” he whistled, “Just that, well, you do this every year, don’t you? Sharon likes to give you a taste of your own medicine if you lose, but you both use this an excuse to give each other extra gifts, don’t you? I bet it was your idea in the first place.”

“How do you know we weren’t planning to use the supplies in some other way?”

“Because you’re not considerate enough to let others use your stuff,” he grinned, “Didn’t you just say there would be punishment in store if I got your candy?”

“Well,” he smirked at Oz’s discovery, twirling the spoon in his hand, “‘nice’ would be stretching it. But maybe occasionally I’m not a complete ‘jerk.’”

Oz grinned. That was all the confirmation he needed.

As if he were brandishing a sword, Break flicked chocolate on Oz’s face with the spoon, “Now get out of here.”

Oz rolled his eyes.

“Good luck, Break!”

With that he exited the room, and ran to the front door to catch up with Gil, Ada, and Alice, who were gathered there, waiting for him.

“Break doesn’t need anything!” he called to them, “Let’s go!”

At first it may have seemed like a waste of time, but, in the end, Oz realized; an afternoon playing a game, learning that after ten years Gil had still cherished the small gift he had once been reluctant to accept, seeing how Sharon and Break found ways to bring each other joy, spending time with his friends, spending time with his real family, would never be a waste of an afternoon for him.

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ladyryukyo · 3 years

Text

spicy sweet potato chips

inspired by this incredible art piece by @artisadie

ao3 link

It has recently come to Ryo's attention that he is, it seems, perplexingly, a father figure to an unreasonable amount of children. Yes, that is apparently a Thing.

Ryo doesn't know who decided that all of these reckless, brave, stupid, brilliant kids should be put under his supervision but he would like a word or two with the responsible authorities. Where are these kids' parents? Who thought giving a twelve-year-old a spinning top with the necessary power to kill a man and then telling him to save the world from evil would be a good idea? Ryo doesn't actually know if any of them are twelve years old, all children look the same to him, even if one of them is his own kid. He just knows that there is no one to look out for them so he doesn't even hesitate to step up to the challenge.

Not everyone of the children immediately likes the idea of being supervised (protected). Some have been on their own for so long that they believe they can protect themselves better than any adult ever could (and he's not naming any names but he finds that Kyoya is the worst of them all). Ryo tries to respect their need for independence but- Ryo is stubborn. He'll wear them down.

Ryo knows that he finally succeeded when, one weekend in the middle of the night, he is woken by glass clinking outside of his bedroom. A glance at the too bright screen of his phone on the nightstand tells him that it is two in the morning and decidedly not the time for anyone to be surprise-visiting. He grabs Burn Fireblaze from its place on the window sill and prepares himself for whatever burglar was unfortunate enough to choose Ryo's apartment for a break-in.

When he steps into the kitchen with his launcher raised, the sight that greets him stuns him badly enough that he freezes for a good fifteen seconds. Kyoya glances at him briefly but seems to decide that he is not an immediate problem and sips calmly from his water glass. On the counter, Ryo can see two bottles of milk and the last bag of Ryo's favorite spicy sweet potato chips. The only light illuminating the strange scene is a streetlamp shining through the window and the light coming from the half-opened door of the fridge.

"Hey, dude. What are you doing here?" Ryo asks when he finally manages to unfreeze himself and lowers his launcher. He is a little embarrassed but he's not going to show it in front of the teenager who broke into his kitchen and stole his chips. He is not.

Kyoya looks between Ryo and the milk on the kitchen counter. He puts down his glass of water. "I ran out of milk," he says.

"Ah." They both pause. Ryo fidgets with his launcher and Kyoya drains the rest of his water. Ryo feels increasingly awkward. "How did you even get in?"

"The window lock is broken."

Ryo pauses, furrows his brows and throws Kyoya an incredulous look. "We're on the second floor."

"Yes," Kyoya says and doesn't elaborate further. He grabs the milk and chips from the kitchen counter and squeezes past Ryo through the doorway. "Bye. Sorry for... disturbing you."

The front door clicks shut behind him and Ryo is left staring at the wooden surface, thoroughly confused. He takes another look at the clock, sees that it's still two in the morning and decides this is a problem for his future self when he has had enough sleep and more brain capacity to think about this. He quietly mourns his chips and goes back to bed.

It doesn't take long for it to become routine.

The next time Kyoya surprises Ryo in his own kitchen, it's fortunately way past the middle of the night and Ryo is eating noodles directly out of the pot. He looks up when he hears his window sliding open and they make eye contact while Kyoya climbs in and jumps gracefully over the sink. It's not the first time Kyoya has done this since that strange two am encounter that Ryo isn't even a hundred percent sure actually happened. He knows this because in the last few days he noticed his spicy sweet potato chips going missing right after he went to buy three new bags. Kyoya stealing them is the only explanation he could come up with unless there are other people breaking into his apartment and taking nothing except for his chips and that just doesn't seem very likely.

Kyoya doesn't say anything when he opens Ryo's fridge like it's their regular Thursday afternoon, just raises an eyebrow at Ryo's noodles-out-of-pot situation. Ryo doesn't think Kyoya has room to judge considering that he's stealing from Ryo's fridge once again. Ryo is a functioning adult with adult eating habits, okay? He has to remind himself that despite his attitude and general approach to life saying otherwise, Kyoya is still a teenager. If Ryo knows anything about teenagers, it's that they're always hungry and just plain fucking weird.

He watches as Kyoya pulls out the last bottle of orange juice and chugs it straight out of the container while continuing to rifle through the fridge's contents. Exhibit A.

"I'm getting you a key," Ryo says suddenly. Kyoya barely pauses in his search for something edible that meets his standards but hums - in agreement, Ryo is fairly sure. He nods to himself, encouraged in his plans. Kyoya looks at him, sees him nodding, frowns and turns back towards his orange juice.

"You don't have any more chips, do you?"

Ryo snorts quietly at that. "No." And whose fault is that?

Kyoya purses his lips unhappily, and closes the fridge. "Buy more." He leaves the orange juice opened on the counter when he (once again) squeezes past Ryo to exit through the front door. He didn't even close the window, Ryo thinks resignedly, before going to close it himself.

The next day at the supermarket he looks at the three bags of chips in his shopping cart, struggles briefly with taking orders from a teenager, and then adds five more.

About a month later, one of Kyoya's raids coincides with a visit from Gingka. It was only a matter of time until this happened, Ryo knows this, but he still feels unspeakably weird about the whole thing. It's like two worlds that shouldn't collide colliding. It's, well, weird.

Gingka is telling him about his latest fight with Kenta, his eyes alight with excitement about the close outcome, when they suddenly hear the front door open. Gingka falters in his retelling and shoots Ryo a confused look. Process of elimination tells Ryo that this has to be Kyoya because the only other person who has a key to his apartment is Hikaru and she never shows up unannounced (as opposed to Kyoya who always shows up unannounced). He doesn't know what to tell Gingka other than shrug and watch what happens.

As always, Kyoya doesn't say a word to greet Ryo or announce his presence when he enters. They hear him rustling in the kitchen for a moment before he finally pops his head into the living room. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly when he sees Gingka.

"Hey, dude," Ryo greets him in an attempt to squash any awkwardness before it can occur. "What's up?"

Kyoya's eyes linger briefly on Gingka. It seems even he knows that this is kind of weird. "You're out of eggs," he eventually says and disappears back into the kitchen.

Gingka is staring very intensely at Ryo. Ryo squirms uncomfortably under his gaze but doesn't really know what to say to explain the situation. Yes, this is normal. Kyoya, your friend that usually avoids people but his own friends especially, steals from my fridge regularly, about twice a week. No, we haven't really talked about it. Yes, he has a key.

"Kyoya has a key to your apartment?" is what Gingka decides to focus on. "I don't even have a key to your apartment!" Okay, maybe Ryo can sort of understand why this is a concern for his one and only son.

"I can have one made for you," Ryo tries even though he knows that this isn't the actual problem. Gingka just continues to look at him, obviously weirded out.

Kyoya chooses this moment to pass the doorway of the living room with six bags of spicy sweet potato chips in his arms, one of which is held between his teeth. Gingka looks frantically between Ryo and Kyoya like he can't believe that this is happening right now, trying to discern who of the both of them is more qualified to explain this to him. It probably says a lot about Ryo that Gingka ultimately turns to Kyoya and his chips and ignores Ryo completely. Ryo gapes at his son's back but only Kyoya is in a position to see it. He openly snickers at Ryo's expression, the sixth bag of chips falling to the floor at his feet. It seems everyone is a traitor in this family.

"Are you," Ryo and Kyoya both turn back to Gingka, "are you stealing my dad? Is that what's happening here?"

Kyoya is shaking his head before the question fully leaves Gingka's lips. "No. Definitely not. You can keep him."

Ryo is so offended. He has never been insulted like this before. Inexplicably, he feels the urge to clutch his metaphorical pearls to his chest like a scandalized noblewoman, but realizes that's a tad too dramatic even for him before he can completely embarrass himself.

"Then what are you guys doing?" Kyoya and Ryo exchange a look over Gingka's head. Kyoya's eyebrows are raised almost imperceptibly. Ryo raises one shoulder then drops it back down when Kyoya frowns. Gingka is looking rapidly between the two of them, incredulity increasing. "Hello? Dad?"

Ryo straightens abruptly. "Right, yes." He turns to Kyoya. "What are we doing?" Gingka's frustrated groan quickly turns into a snort of reluctant amusement.

Kyoya rolls his eyes. "I'm going home. This is getting ridiculous." His gaze falls on the bag of chips he dropped on the floor. For a short moment, Ryo thinks he's going to ask one of them to hand it to him but then he doesn't. It's a shame. Ryo would have loved the image of Gingka holding up the bag of chips and Kyoya yanking it out of his grip with his teeth. He grins just thinking about it.

"Bye, dude. Get home safely."

Kyoya doesn't reply to that, of course, but he doesn't slam the front door shut with as much force as he could have so Ryo is counting this is as a win. When he turns toward Gingka, he is frowning at the bag of chips Kyoya left on the floor. He looks up at Ryo.

"Is that the last bag of your spicy sweet potato chips?"

Ryo stares at his son for a few seconds then puts his head in his hands. Unsurprised but mourning his loss nevertheless, he says, “Yes. Yes, that's the last one.”

#i love these two so much #the comic reminded me so much of andrew and coach wymack from aftg so i had to write this like them #i hope you like it i've never really posted like this on tumblr so this was an experience haha #metal fight beyblade #mfb #kyoya tategami #ryo hagane #mfb fic #help how do i tag #i wrote this

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whetstonefires · 4 years

Text

an exercise in worldbuilding

It is always simplest to start from a point and move outward, and so we begin in the Tower of Sight, where our twelve-year-old hero will first find himself summoned into this world.

The Tower is four hundred feet high, gently tapered, with a circumference of two hundred feet at its base, and the top three of its forty floors are filled with brass telescopes of every size, pointing in every possible direction, including several that do not exist within the normal three dimensions of space.

To the West these many spyglasses overlook a wide plain, all the way to the horizon, golden at this time of year and frequented mainly by roving herds of grazing beasts, both wild and tame. In the half-league nearest the Tower, tall grasses give way to the narrow strips of tilled fields, where the grain stands tall, almost ready for the harvest. If any harvest will come.

Near the other side of the Tower of Sight, a stone’s throw from the eastern point of the outer wall, runs a great river, green when the sun does not strike it directly, except in the spring when its tributaries flood and it turns to churned brown. There was a bridge here once, though it is long fallen but for the stubs of its pilings on each end, and nowadays all crossings are by ferry.

A small town clusters on both banks, even so. The roofs are of red tile, the stucco of the houses painted in shades of blue. It stands empty, but has not had time to fall into disrepair.

More farmland, speckled with villages in the same style of tile and paint, with wells in the center where they are not built on lesser watercourses, stretches away to the east, but if you look through one of the telescopes turned that way you will see it give way to blue mountains. (If you look through an enchanted telescope you may see trees without needles fail halfway up the nearest of the great peaks, and even these fail before the top, though there is a span of nearly barren stone past that line, before the snow begins.)

The range of mountains curves, and you can see them with the naked eye toward the south, on a fine clear day. To the North they fall away into a gentler, older range, which cannot be seen by ordinary human sight from this place, but which wrinkle the land between the plain and the sea into rolling green hills.

The green band of the great river cuts a sharp path through these after coiling its way lazily north over the flatlands, and spreads into an abbreviated delta full of sandbars which is generally considered a nuisance to navigate, though navigated it normally very much is.

There is a city there, the nearest one to the Tower; its outer limits have spilled up onto the hills, and its tallest spires can be made out with mechanical aid, but only one telescope in the place can cut through earth and stone to make out any of the doings of the city proper, and calibrating it to focus at a particular distance and not dismiss all solid matter is a tiresome nuisance, and only rarely worth the trouble.

The very brave and sure of foot can keep their eyes on the surrounding country all the way down the Tower, until their sight is cut off a few stories above the ground by the six shining white sides of the outer walls, because the most direct (if not the quickest) route between the ground and the great sky-searching telescope on the roof is a great spiral stair wrapping around the outside.

These stairs, like the outer wall and the tower itself, seem to be of marble, although a great enchantment must have been worked when the tower was raised for this to be so, because it is far stronger than any other marble to be found anywhere, and unlike marble statues erected in city squares has never suffered wear from the weather.

The wall and stair are of pure white, like the marble quarried in the much-contested eastern foothills of the Evrin Dulle, but the Tower of Sight itself is built of blocks veined with every color, pale blues and purples, reds and greens and golden-duns all mottling toward white and grey and black, as though its builders determinedly sourced their materials from every source of marble on five continents.

It is furthermore banded in three places with rings of solid color twenty feet high—first, nearest the ground, the warm pale red found in some of the ruins on the isles of Thassalen that is quarried nowhere anymore, and which no one knows where it came from to begin with, then the delicate even green still found in small quantities in the most seaward copper mines of the Farlon Barrens, and finally, nearest the top, the prized pure black found only in the village of Xemahan, some way inland from the Trident Coast.

The Tower is a beautiful and timeless construct of art, but our hero when he sees it from a distance for the first time will find the effect of so much color, triply striped and encased within a white spiral, slightly frenzied, and make a remark no one present understands about a Doctor named Seuss. His guide, the dousing tracker Amnaphi, will assume this person to be a famous astronomer from his homeland.

Within the even hexagon of its outer wall, the Tower encloses a great parkland, enough that if it was all put under cultivation it could easily feed as many people as could live in the Tower itself. And indeed, there are records that show the Tower of Sight was once incorporated as a town in just this way, before the Ten Years’ Winter.

For seven generations now the Tower has been held by the Watchers of the Stars, an order of wizards originally from the Duthwaithe, and they have kept it more as a retreat of contemplation than a working estate.

The only gate, in the southern wall, leads the visitor up a broad avenue paved in glittering granite, lined with stately beech trees, and just beyond these to either side an expanse of grass is rarely allowed to grow tall, as a small herd of goats is unleashed upon it once a week. At all other times, under normal circumstances, it is a pleasant lawn, where in the warm months what students have come as learners to the Tower may be found attempting to attend to their star-charts and metallurgy texts.

Thirty minutes’ easy stroll brings the visitor to a small artificial lake that lies at the foot of the Tower; it is stocked with several varieties of edible fish, which are caught by line as a recreational activity, and regularly served at supper. The wizard Chanult Foi, who was magister of the Tower for twenty years until last month, devoted a three hour block of time to ‘meditation’ every week, which took the form of fly-fishing from the nearest curve of the Tower steps.

To either side of the lake, and the Tower itself, are gardens: to the east, vegetables and herbs are grown, often with more artistry than prudence. The students generally have charge of this garden, apart from the more esoteric herbs which are tended to by a specialist, and competitions of aesthetic routinely spring up, resulting in elegant spirals of onions and gorgeously ornate trellises for the benefit of beans.

To the west grow the flowers, many of them with magical uses but some grown purely for their beauty. Kings have been known to try to sway the Watchers to their side with the gift of a particularly fine or rare live rose bush.

The northern third of the Tower’s park contains neatly regimented orchards, apples, pears, plums, and a few rows of carefully tended peaches and apricots, all clipped flat against low brick walls angled south and slightly west.

The brick absorbs the sun all day, and radiates its warmth back; fruit grown along fruit walls ripens faster and later into the season, and the peaches and apricots have survived every ordinary winter as a result, though normally they cannot tolerate this climate.

(For many years the proposition of sheltering some or all of the fruit walls behind glass, to increase their effectiveness, has been debated at the semi-annual colloquiums of the Watchers of the Stars; thus far it has always been rejected despite being rather more wizardly than simple fruit walls, which are not uncommon at these latitudes nowadays, because the space constraints of the current arrangement mean that the proposed design would require cutting down some of the existing trees and demolishing at least a few walls, and wizards, while enthusiastic about innovation in the abstract, hate change.)

The inside of the north wall itself is covered in grape vines. They were harvested three weeks ago, and pressed, but the wine-making process was interrupted after that point and the juice has all been drunk raw. There is currently considerable debate over whether the security risk presented by having a climbable side of the inner wall is serious enough to waste the potential food value of the vines’ future fruit by cutting them down.

The Tower grounds are filled with refugees.

The first to arrive were housed inside, battered survivors of the battle that killed Chanult Foi, bearing word of disaster. There was not enough space left after that for the river-straddling town of Meryn to all relocate to the Tower, so those who did not fit indoors set up camp around the rim of the lake—half clustered near the great doors and half in the partial shade of the last pair of beeches.

This division corresponds imperfectly to the usual split of the town by the course of the Meroda.

More have come since. From the villages nearby, and a few further away, although the further from the river they live the less willing farmers are to leave the grain standing in the fields even if the news has reached them. A wave of people fleeing ahead of the advance of the Moon People along the northern coast, joined and followed by people from the city who had the will and means to withdraw, but could not get passage on a seagoing vessel west, and so turned their hopes southward to this fortress of wizardry.

The lawns are now too trampled by human feet to have any extra substance for the goats, and the annual flowers have been crushed and the carefully tended bushes cut back in the flower garden to make more space.

So far the vegetable garden has not been uprooted, though it has been subjected to unsanctioned raids; one student has regretted aloud valuing beauty over efficiency at planting time, in the spring, when all seemed well. Makeshift pallets line the spaces between every fruit wall—the injured are being laid out here, now that the Tower is full, to get the benefit at night of the warmth meant to mature fruit.

Even the granite avenue is inhabited, now, although a corridor has been kept open to allow for what comings and goings remain necessary in the expectation of a siege.

The fishermen of Meryn, with additional labor sourced mainly from the nearby villages but also by delta and harbor-folk who liked their chances on the river better than taking their small vessels across the wide sea, go out every day to catch and smoke fish, and there are hopes that the advance of the Moon People will hold off long enough to let the year’s grain harvest be taken in.

With luck, care, and wizardry, everyone here should be able to survive the winter, if all the grain within sight of the walls can only be reaped and threshed and stored away.

(Space will be found for any herdsmen who, seeing the enemy advance, drive their beasts in to be slaughtered for the common pot; hope is being hung on this as well, although undoubtedly most of the plainsmen will rely on their own nomadic lifestyle to keep them out of the way and outside the focus of the Moon People, and will not come near settled habitation any time soon.)

This morning, the student standing north-sentry in the Tower of Sight saw a great column of smoke go up from the city of Tolphis, at the mouth of the Meroda. Magister Heron Yl Fanult, Chanult Foi’s successor, spent an hour carefully tuning the spyglass that can look through solid matter to confirm what they all knew: the Moon People had reached Tolphis, and sacked it in a day.

Half of them are making ready to turn south along the Meroda.

Fear is metal in everybody’s mouths. The ancient walls of the Tower will hold—should hold—they have always held before—the Tower of Sight has never fallen but by treachery or deceit, the enchantments laid in the ancient days are too strong…but the Moon People are the successors of the ancient magics, and just because they could not break the walls the last time they came, according to legend, does not mean they have not worked out a method now.

Everyone who has a weapon and the knowledge of how to use it keeps it close, as a comfort. Labors over the sharpness of the edge in the evenings, sometimes, when there is nothing else to do but sleep, and sleep will not come. People who have only the weapon and not the knowledge scramble to obtain the latter, and people who have the knowledge and not the weapon scramble to barter or improvise one.

Young wizards sit in their bunks, six each to rooms that were previously individual, and hold lighting cupped dancing in their palms. Practicing.

Outside, the blue hats and scarves of the townspeople and villagers mill about the edges of the lake, like floating petals caught in a swirling eddy. The people who retreated upriver from Tolphis can be found sitting still, today, because they are weeping.

Those who fled along the northern coast ahead of the storm are a mixed lot, more grim than panicking because they are the ones who retreated this far alive, scattered across the park in smaller groups—some with their heads decorously covered, though not always in the blues that are customary along the upper Meroda, others with naked crowns of braids, or cleanshaven in the nautical style of Hedro, where fur hats are worn for warmth rather than courtesy, and long hair is considered a risk because if it gets wet it cannot be easily removed, and this can cause a fatal chill.

The hale survivors of the First Battle of the Second Descent sit waiting in their leathers, jack-chains and helmets laughably inadequate armor against the coming danger, and yet the best hope now just as they were on Carun Tol once the wizard fell; their wounded lie still, except for a few who have been taken with fever and thrash at the foot of an apricot tree, or a pear tree growing heavy with yellow fruit.

A wizard specializing in physic, the same one who has had charge of the powerful herbs these four years, bends over a man who has been deprived of half his left leg. The golden threads in her green kirtle that mark her focus and her rank flash in the sun as it begins to sink, and sweat stands out on her brow. Threads have escaped from the braids pinned across the top of her skull: she has not had the chance to take them down for two days.

At the very top of the Tower of Sight, Magister Yl Fanult steps away from the telescope-that-looks-through-hills with a soft sigh. He makes his way around the circumference of the tower room to set his face into the viewplate of the great lens array of the roof, trained as it long has been upon the face of the moon. No change there.

He leans forward to peer through the narrow glass that has been turned on its articulated base to face the middle of the room, and relaxes very slightly. At least there has been no catastrophic alteration there, either.

He steps over the ring of silver set into the floor of the chamber. Lowers himself to one creaking knee and blows into the upraised spout of the ring of glass tubing inside of that, then hurriedly caps it, stands with care, and steps over that as well. He snaps his fingers for a spark that falls into the deep circular groove full of distilled spirits, and steps through that as well. He is not burned.

He bends another time and pours out the small copper pail of water he fetched himself from the well in the basement of the Tower, filling the final circle.

Steps over that, and pauses just long enough to breathe in.

At his feet lie a glittering piece of gold ore, a moonstone, and a carefully sanded round of pumice. Heron Yl Fanult lets the breath out again, and stoops.

He cannot take much time. He has only until the ring of fire dies.

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dhwty-writes · 4 years

Text

Chapter 1 - A Broken Witcher

We have now reached the scene that actually inspired me to write this, which is also depicted in @spielzeugkaiser‘s art. Originally, I wanted to stop after this. Now you can expect at least 5 other chapters, it seems. (Btw, if any of you is interested in betaing this, just shoot me a message)

Summary: Geralt and Ciri have been on the run for half a year. Through pure luck their path leads them to Lettenhove. The meeting with the Viscount, however, goes a lot different than they had expected.

part 1 | part 3

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Geralt was more tired than he'd ever been his entire life. They had been on the run for the better part of six months and no matter where they went, someone followed them anyways. It wasn’t necessarily Nilfgaard that was on their heels, he had realised that rather quickly. The problem was that for some reason or another more than half the Continent was looking for the lost princess he had found. In the end, it didn’t matter. She was his and his alone. His to protect, to raise, to care for. He wouldn’t just give her up now.

He wanted nothing but to get home, to get Ciri to Kaer Morhen where she would be safe, where she could grow and learn. He had contacted Yennefer about that, in the hopes that she could just portal them there, but she hadn't even responded the first few times.

Then, she had said that she couldn’t do it. That had been the end of their correspondence, with Yennefer saying she had more important things to focus on.

Then, there had been a fight. Ciri was uninjured, thankfully, but Geralt could still feel the strain days after. He guessed he should have needed stitches. But he couldn’t find it in himself to make Ciri do the gruesome work. His armour was battered and torn in many places and of all things he had lost his silver sword. Well, not lost. But it was in a fucking bad shape with shards and all. He was pretty sure the next time someone breathed too hard in its general direction it would break. Together with the rest of his gear, to be honest.

Then, Roach had died. That was alright, mostly. She had been a good horse and an old one. The end had been coming for quite some time. And she definitely hadn't been well enough to carry two people, even if one of them was a starving child and the other one a starving witcher. Still, she had probably chosen the worst time to die.

Because now they were on foot, hunted by basically everyone without coin for a new horse - or even food for that matter - and without a silver sword to earn new coin. Geralt found himself thinking of Jaskier and suddenly wishing that he knew how to sing. They had rarely gone hungry when they had travelled together. Then again, it probably wasn't the best idea to draw more attention than strictly necessary. On the other hand, he was, quite frankly, running out of options.

And that was exactly when it happened. He didn't know what it was - destiny? luck? Melitele herself come to save them? - and he didn't care: "Geralt!" Ciri exclaimed with big eyes, "there's a signpost! Maybe it can tell us where we should be going!"

He clasped one hand on her too-thin shoulder, guilt coursing through his veins. He hadn't had it in him to tell her that there was nowhere left to go. Instead he had said he had lost his way. He suspected that she knew the truth anyways.

But there it was. A tattered signpost with old letters, yet clear as day. Lettenhove - 4 miles. A tiny sliver of hope appeared before his eyes and he held onto it as best as he could. He knew that place, though he hadn't passed through it himself. Jaskier had mentioned it in one of his endless ramblings. No, not one, many actually. 'It's his home,' he remembered. Which meant that the Viscount of Lettenhove had to be his father. And maybe such a man would be willing to let a witcher and a child surprise stay, for only a week maybe. He could- he could do anything, earn a little coin or food at least and then they would be on their way again-

"Right," he said. "Let's go, it's only four miles left. If we hurry, we will be there before sundown."

He knew that it was just as likely that their various pursuers had found out about Jaskier's origins and that they would be waiting there for them, but he quickly pushed that possibility away. And if that were the case, well, it would only hasten a process that seemed already overdue.

In the end, he had been right. They arrived just before sundown to find a heavily garrisoned estate with the gates barred to them. He sighed and banged on the door.

"Who's there?" a guard called from the parapet and peered down at them. There was no disgust or fear when he took in the two swords and the armour. Geralt took that as a good sign. Still, he answered: "We haven't called for one of your kind."

"I know!" Geralt answered quickly, frantically thinking of words to say. Fuck, Jaskier had always been good at that. Geralt wasn't.

"Then why are you here?"

He felt Ciri's small hand in his and suddenly he felt better. "I am seeking refuge," he answered truthfully. “For my child and I.”

"Then seek it someplace else!" The guard turned to walk away and something inside Geralt broke. He looked at the frightened girl next to him, who looked up at him with wide eyes, as if he were a knight come to save her, as if he were a hero and thought of the fate that awaited her if they were turned away and-

"Please," he heard himself say, "I am a friend of-" He racked his brain, searching for the right title. "I'm a friend of his lordship's son!" he finally gave up.

"Master Julian?" the guard called down. "What do you want of him?"

"He is here?" That was the first good news he’d heard in months. "Please, if he is, relay this message to him: I thank him for the invitation. And I am in desperate need for apple juice." The guard barked a laugh and he ground his teeth. He knew it sounded ridiculous. "Just, please, tell him; I only ask for five minutes of his time."

The guard looked down at him and Geralt thought to see pity in his eyes. He ducked his head and hunched his shoulders as if that could make the two sets of eyes on him go away. He had always thought himself a proud man. They had called him many things in his long life. Monster, Mutant, Butcher. He had never caved. He had never begged. But now? What other option did he have?

"Wait here," the guard said and vanished.

Ciri tugged at his hand and he leaned down. Not that he could hear her better, he could hear her just fine when he was standing. But he had discovered that it made her feel calmer when he did so. ‘It makes her calmer when I act like the humans she knows.’ "Are you sure we will be safe here?" she asked.

He nodded. "More than anywhere else. Remember the stories I told you? About Jaskier?"

She looked at him with wide eyes. "Your friend?"

"I-" There was a lump in his throat that didn't belong there. "Yes, my friend. His father is the lord here." 'Or so I hope,' he didn't say. "And it seems he is here, too."

"So, he will let us stay?"

He clenched his teeth. He shouldn't get her hopes up, he knew. There was still a chance that they wouldn't let them stay after all, there was still a chance that they wouldn't want to take a risk, there still was a chance that Jaskier's sympathies for witchers didn't extend to his family- Melitele's tits, there was a chance Jaskier was mad at him with how he treated him the last time they had seen each other. ‘Fuck.’ A rather big chance, now that he thought of it. Still he said: "I'm sure they will."

They sat outside for nearly an hour. Geralt tried to distract Ciri from the wait and the hunger by pointing out different plants and their uses nearby. Unfortunately, none of them were edible. ‘And even if they were, we couldn’t just take them,’ he thought with a sigh.

The sun drew dangerously close to the horizon and he was just about to give up, when, to his surprise, the gates opened. There was a young woman, dressed in a colourful livery and walked while dragging her feet across the ground, accompanied by two armed guards. "The viscount will receive you now," she said quietly, "if you would follow me."

Geralt stood and put a protective arm around Ciri, gently nudging her forward. The guards fell in step behind them and the gates shut with a loud bang. Overall, it could have gone better, he supposed. Though, it probably also could have gone worse.

They were led through a nice and bright courtyard with roomy stables Roach surely would have liked - the thought hurt, though he would never admit it. There were flowers all over, flowing from pots on the ground and spilling over the railing of the gallery that framed the courtyard from all sides. The timber framing was light brown, nearly no contrast against the white infill and the sepia sandstone and the shingles were crimson red. It was so bright and colourful and peaceful, so very Jaskier and such an antithesis to the grim reality of Geralt's life.

Then, the doors opened and it hurt even more. There in the foyer of the north wing was Jaskier staring at him. Well, not Jaskier. A younger version of him, etched onto the canvas of a large painting. He was surrounded by four sisters and what he supposed had to be his parents, dressed in expensive silks and standing tall, as would be expected of the heir. He couldn't quite tear his eyes from it.

"This way, please, Sir Witcher," the servant said and after a moment he followed. There were another two guards standing in front of a heavy oaken door that opened for them when they approached. The hall that laid behind it was just how he had imagined: bright with a high ceiling, decorated with murals of flowers and fighting knights and he could swear some of them carried two swords. Ciri gasped and wanted to run off to marvel at one of the tapestries, but his grip on her shoulder tightened. Hopefully, there would be time for that later.

They were led to the dais at the narrow side of the hall, where three people sat on wooden thrones framed by twice as many guards. The two women on the left and right he though he recognised from the paining in the entrance hall, though they had grown much since the time it had been drawn. And in the middle of them sat- "Jaskier!" he exclaimed in surprise. Jaskier as he had never seen him before, dressed all in black with a sword at his hip and a stony expression on his face.

"The Right Honourable Viscount Lettenhove," the servant announced - corrected? -, "Julian Alfred Pankratz. And his sisters, the Honourable Janina and Józefa Pankratz."

Geralt blinked in confusion. That was not how he had imagined this reunion to go.

"You may bow, witcher," the older of his two sisters said.

Geralt frowned. "I don't understand," he said and took a step forward. At once he was met with crossed halberds and steely glares. "What is happening, J-"

"You may address me as "my lord", witcher," Jaskier interrupted him with a voice as cold as ice. There was not even a trace of recognition in his face.

The faintest hint of panic crept up his spine as he tried to comprehend what was happening. Did Jaskier not remember? Had he been cursed, maybe? But when he looked into his eyes he understood. "I-" His heart sank. Of course, Jaskier remembered him. And even though his face did not betray a thing, his eyes spoke of unbearable pain. 'Fuck,' he thought. "Of course," he said and bowed reluctantly, "my lord."

If Jaskier noticed the slight change in his voice, he didn't let on about it. "I am told you wanted to speak to me."

"Yes," he gritted out, forcing himself to keep his eyes cast downwards. "My lord, I am asking for refuge. We- we have nowhere to turn. A fortnight, maybe, or a week, if you will. For my daughter and I."

"Is this her?" the viscount stood and walked over to them, measuring Cirilla with his glare. "You're certain?"

"I am." He looked at him pleadingly. "Jaskier, please," he said quietly enough that no one else heard, "a week is all I ask, anything-"

"Józefa," he called to his sister, "take the girl and show her to a room where she can rest. And feed her, for Melitele’s sake. She looks as if she is about to keel over from hunger."

His sister stood and hurried over to them. She even smiled, fuck, and it looked so much like Jaskier. Jaskier had never not smiled when they had seen each other again. ‘Looks like I did a lot more damage than anticipated.’ He only tore his eyes from his apparently-not-friend when Ciri tugged on his hand and looked up at him unsure.

He just nodded. "You can trust her," he told her. 'We have to trust them.'

"The rest of you, leave, too." Jaskier made his way back to his place on the dais. "Not a word about any of this. I will have no rumours. Witcher, stay."

It took a few moments after the doors shut behind the last servant and a couple more of awkward silence before Geralt started speaking: "You're wearing black."

"Your observational skills are as formidable as the tales make them out to be," Jaskier answered, sarcasm dripping like poison.

‘Hm.’ In the past he had counted himself lucky that he had been able to evade Jaskier’s words that cut like swords. ‘Seems like I’m all out of luck.’ "It doesn't suit you."

“I’m in mourning.” He wrinkled his nose. "That's an insensitive thing to say to a man whose father has passed not a month ago."

Ah. ‘Shit.’ That explained a lot. Geralt silenced his tongue. He knew he could never win a verbal duel against Jaskier. The man in question, however, did not seem in any hurry to move the conversation forward. In fact, he looked quite content, glaring and keeping quiet. It made him uneasy. After a while he broke: "So?"

That seemed to amuse Jaskier, but he wasn’t sure. "It seems you are waiting for something, witcher."

Fuck, he had been able to read the man like an open book. Everyone had been able to do so, he had never met anyone nearly as expressive as Jaskier. ‘Where have you learned to hide all of that, you bastard?’ he thought and for once in his life he wished that his opponent could read minds like Yennefer.

His “Hmm” was met with more silence.

He shot him a look. Jaskier didn’t communicate without words anymore but that didn’t mean Geralt couldn’t. ‘Is this the way we’re doing this?’ it asked. ‘Fine.’ Jaskier wanted words? He could have words. "It seems you are stewing, my lord."

There was a crack in the facade, minuscule and nigh unnoticeable but below slumbered a bard lost for words after being told an unsavoury lie about his singing. A smile tugged at the corner of Geralt's mouth and apparently, that was enough to make him break: "You're an idiot, witcher," he hissed, quiet enough that he never would have heard without his enhanced senses. "What were you thinking? Coming here, knocking on my front door in the light of day? Couldn't you have snuck through the kitchens at night like any other person?"

He blinked, taken aback by the onslaught. “I didn’t even know you were here-,“ he tried to defend himself but was quickly cut short: “How dare you? How dare you turn up here of all places? There’s a whole continent for you! Only one Lettenhove for me.”

He measured the man who had been at his side for so long with his eyes. No banter, it seemed. No excuses either. ‘What do you want, Jaskier?’ he tried to ask him with his eyes. ‘Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you for us to stay.’

But he remained silent, neither his mouth nor his face betraying a thing.

Alright. He took a deep breath. He had begged a guard already. He could beg his not-friend, too. "I'm sorry, Jaskier,” he said truthfully, “but I have nowhere left to turn-"

"I know!” He was angry. Very much so. “Which is why I haven't cast you out, yet. You are relatively safe here for a while, what with Nilfgaard’s defeat."

His head jerked around to him. "Nilfgaard has lost?"

“Have you not even wondered why their goons stopped chasing you?”

He shrugged. “Can’t say I noticed. There were enough others to continue where they started.”

No answer.

“What happened?”

"You really don't know," he realised. "There's been a battle at Sodden. A second one. My reports say over thirty thousand dead, among them fourteen mages."

"When was that?" Fear ran down his spine. "Yennefer-"

"She's alive, as far as I know. But she was gravely injured." He leaned back in his seat. "Which is why she can't come and get you. Though I wouldn't advise it anyways. It might be safer for you to continue travelling on foot. How’s Roach?”

“Dead.”

“Pity. How long will you abuse my hospitality?”

He hunched his shoulders. “Until I think of a plan. Or until you throw us out.”

Jaskier frowned. “I will think of something. You’re no good at that.”

He shrugged. Jaskier was probably right about that. "And how do you expect me to repay you for your kindness?"

"Do not call it kindness, witcher, for it is not. Had you arrived without the girl you wouldn't have entered the keep at all." He folded his hands in his lap. "A promise will be enough, for now," he conceded.

He quirked an eyebrow. "A promise?"

"I will not ask for your oath; I know how little you like to get drawn into the affairs of us petty humans. But my shelter comes not without a cost."

"I didn't think it would." He had, actually. At least until he had stepped into the hall.

"You’re a terrible liar. I protect you with my name and walls. I clothe you and I feed you and those who are yours. In return you council me and protect me with your sword and body. At least, that is how it normally goes." He sighed and leaned his chin on his palm. “You see, were the circumstances different, I would not require such a promise at all. Alas, they are not. I am sure that pains you and me alike. You see, my momentary trust in your… loyalty is a bit exiguous at best.”

He ground his teeth and looked at his feet. "Right..." A flattened oath of fealty. ‘Jaskier, you bastard, if I had another choice-‘

"Unless you prefer the road."

"I do not."

"I did not think so." He extended his hand where a heavy signet ring rested.

He shot him another look. ‘Really?’

Jaskier quirked an eyebrow.

Geralt opened his mouth to ask if that was necessary but before he could say anything, Jaskier said: “It is.”

“Fine.” Reluctantly, Geralt drew closer and took the hand delicately between his own. He cast one last look upwards, pleading, almost begging – ‘Don’t make me do this, please.’ – but Jaskier remained stone-faced. Slowly, he bowed and graced the metal with his lips. "I am... at your service," he said warily, "...my liege."

"Good." Jaskier withdrew his hand and Geralt straightened himself. "Go now. I am in no need of you, witcher."

He exhaled forcefully and turned to follow the command grudgingly. When he had come to Lettenhove he hadn’t expected the day to end like this. He didn’t know what he had even expected but not- this.

He had come with the last of his strength, yes, but proud and standing tall. Now he was humiliated, humoured and honour bound by a man he had considered his friend for a long time. ‘And never said it,’ a traitorous voice in the back of his mind hissed.

And for what? For the hope that the man he had sent away would now not sell them out and save their lives. ‘Fuck,’ he thought not for the first time, ‘what have you gotten yourself into?’

#my writing #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #cirilla #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geraskier fanfiction #angst #angst with a happy ending #of witchers bards and broken hearts #OWBABH

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tonystarkbingo · 3 years

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Our TSB party is still going, and here is one of the games we’ve had fun with so far!

Fic Titles Game

Glitter - suggested by @phoenixmetaphor3000

@huntress79 - Idea: Dum-E teams up with Steve (other Avengers optional) to bring some Christmas cheer to their favorite in-house Grinch (aka Tony XD) Massive amounts of Glitter involved

@rebelmeg - tony kind of has an accidental thing for glitter. it's not his fault. the iron man suit has a glitz and glamour of its own, he's always told his eyes sparkle, and his favorite tie pin is that gaudy ruby one that pepper hates. he loves the stars, the way sunlight sparkles on the waves outside his malibu mansion, and he can't really be blamed when a tiny speck of glitter under a certain someone's eye catches his attention one december day.

@psychiccatpanda - Clint refills DUM-E's fire extinguisher with purple and silver glitter as revenge for Tony making Clint's most recent armor change to red and gold with body heat. Hijinks ensue.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Decorating the Christmas tree, the Avengers get into an argument over who is responsible for the missing tinsel. Half an hour later they find it, in a tangled web draped all over Dum-e. He objects strenuously to its removal, but eventually concedes to their assistance in rearranging the strands so he can still move.

@huntress79 - The Avengers are invited to a Charity gala, but they have to wear costumes that are NOT their usual ones. And of course, Tony can't resist an opportunity to rile up a certain Captain, just a little bit. Best way to do so: a dare, in this case who wears the most glittery costume. But what Tony didn't expect was that Steve comes up with his own counterdare... (author's choice ;))

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - It's pride, so there was bound to be some glitter floating around, it was inevitable. But this much? Someone was obviously being irresponsible with glitter and needs to be given a warning for the good of the world (and the Tower's cleaning bots). Tony follows the trail of glitter... all the way to Steve's room? Does this mean that Tony's crush on Steve actually stood a chance of being more than just a crush.

@ralsbecket - It was Steve's first Father's Day being Morgan's step-dad, and Tony helps her with cooking breakfast in bed and sprinkling red, white, and blue glitter on a handmade card (not particularly in that order). Steve still finds glitter everywhere weeks later.

@rebelmeg - i can't art very well, but i want art of the aftermath of tony opening a glitter bomb that rhodey left out for him

@huntress79 - (Stony) - During a mission in space, Tony and Steve are stranded on a planet, with no immediate way to get back. After a while, they encounter tiny little beings who introduce themselves as fairies. But while they can't fulfill their wish to get home (for whatever reasons), they might be inclined to use their glittery fairy dust for something else… (could also be used for a crossover with Hook/Peter Pan)

@rebelmeg (with some inspirational help from @dreaminglypeach) - tony coming home with glitter all over his suit and looking super smug, and everyone IMMEDIATELY assumes strippers. but of course it's gotta something completely different and silly. like... he wandered through the christmas department at the store and slipped on something and ended up sprawled on the glitter strewn floor

@yesmooshoe - Tony is somehow de-aged to around 5. The Avengers do their best to take care of him while they figure out what to do, but don't keep a constant eye on him. Tony likes all of his new friends though and wants to do something special for them, so he acquires a bunch of glitter and glue (maybe jarvis helps? maybe thor likes crafting? fuck knows.) Tony proceeds to embellish everyone's stuff - glitter all of steve's shield, thor's hammer, glitter all over Clint's arrows (which really throws off the balance but he can't be mad), and even a weird-looking red and yellow robot suit. When Tony is finally returned to normal he's upset with his younger self for how haphazardly he glued all the glitter to his suit, because it could have looked super cool if done well.

Collaborative effort that started with strippers and then went off the rails

Glitter lube

Scratchy, what a terrible idea

oh my god but imagine shitting out glitter

Edible glitter

Edible glitter on cakes

Edible glitter exiting the human body

So many glitter poop jokes and anecdotes

@ralsbecket - The Avengers are forced undercover for a mission to catch a villain red-handed, and this villain just so happens to work from the basement of a strip-club. Tony draws the short straw, but at least he can choose his own stripper name.

@lbibliophile-mcu - He's sure it looks very pretty. Gentle waves ruffling the surface of the bay. Each strand of grass on the dunes lined in perfect crystals of frost. Dawn sun painting the sky pink. And right there is the problem: dawn sun. It is far too early to have to deal with all these stray rays of light stabbing through his eyes.

(More under the cut!)

Vices - suggested by @ralsbecket

@huntress79 - (Stony) - Steve's a hard working cop on the vice, Tony's his "favorite" frequent delinquent (aka Tony's a bit of a bad boy who usually gets arrested by Steve, for rather minor things, but Tony can't shut up when Steve's around, so it's more for his talking than anything else) (Steve, of course, can be replaced by any other character, whatever floats your boat XD)

@rebelmeg - tony kicked a lot of these habits a long time ago. it's been ages since he's been high, or slept around, or partied until he literally dropped. but around this time in december, he's allowed a few of his other vices. his need for near-constant touch and attention. drinking. staying up to keep the nightmares away, and being coaxed to bed when he's so exhausted he's asleep before his head eats the pillow. eating all the food he loves that aren't that great for him. it's okay, though. this time of year, he's allowed.

@lbibliophile - "... This is not the worst thing you've caught me doing." And it was in that moment - confronted by the picture he made trapped in the grip of supposedly-helpful machinery - that Tony decided he really needed to prioritise a better way of getting the suit on and off.

@rebelmeg - some kind of profile art with the arc reactor depicted as one half of a vice clamped on tony's chest

@dreaminglypeach - vices: DUM-E was only trying to help squishy-dad with his work. He didn’t mean to get his hand stuck in a vice. If only sky-dad would stop chastising him and call for help…

@Magicadraconia16 - Dum-E does not understand why everyone keeps saying that vices are bad. They're very helpful tools! He loves the one that Tony gave him for his very own. He can show everyone, then they'll see! If only he can get it off of U's arm, first…

@huntress79 - Knowing that Tony will fall back to some of his old vices as soon as December rolls around, the whole Tower teams up to keep him from doing so (can be gen aka Avengers as a family, or end with your favorite partner for Tones)

@psychiccatpanda - [potential WinterIron] Bucky has been researching everyone on the team and it seems like the media has nothing better to do than to gossip about Tony Stark's vices - women, booze, and expensive cars mostly. The trashier gossip bloggers openly speculated on what (or who) Tony's latest mistake would be. When Bucky gives Tony a judgmental look after he's returned from being out (much longer than the hour Stark had said he'd be gone), Tony frowns. The bag clanks like metal. What the hell had Tony meant when he'd said he needed to 'go pick up some new vices'?? ((hint - it's actual vices. It always takes longer at Home Depot or any hardware store because Tony has to look at everything before he leaves!))

@tehroserose - [Stony] Steve had only one vice. Well, two, but they were related. He loved watching Tony's backside, and he loved getting him angry. The genius was so alive when he was angry, and then he was treated to a wonderful view of the amazing backside. Bucky was about ready to smack him upside the head for his kindergarten way of having a crush.

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - Before the serum there was a lot of things Steve couldn't experience, whether it was because of his conditions or lack of money. Steve's favourite thing about the 21st Century is all the foods and flavours. Being able to eat things he couldn't eat before. Being able to taste things he wouldn't've been able to taste before. Steve spends his military back-pay on food and treats... a part of him burns at the idea of spending his money this way, there were more beneficial things he could be doing with it... But he can't help himself, especially when some flavours taste like euphoria. Tony notices and decides to indulge in Steve's vices.

@huntress79 - (potential HawkIron) For the longest time, Clint always had to choose before a mission between wearing the team comms and his hearing aids, otherwise his ears felt like being in a vice. SHIELD didn't see it as a necessity to equip him with better things, but once he joins the Avengers, and Tony notices the obvious problem, things start to look up for the resident archer....

@huntress79 - Ever since he got free of the programming and came to live at the Tower, Bucky's been doing repairs on his metal arm on his own. But after a mission, putting his arm in a vice and working with the fine tools isn't the easiest thing to do. And Buck's too proud to ask anyone for help, be it Steve or anyone else. Good thing that he can't stop JARVIS alerting Tony to that particular problem... (can be friendship/mending bridges between them, or WinterIron)

5 Times Tony Stark was a Terrible Cook, Plus 1 That One Time He Finally Ordered a Pizza - suggested by @yesmooshoe

@tehroserose - Tony/Others, Tony/Rhodey end. Tony has always tried to cook for his dates. He wants to impress them. Problem is, he can't cook. And too many people just want the Stark money and lie and say it is good. Or they're too afraid/intimidated to tell the truth. Later, much later, he realizes they aren't good for him. Then there's Rhodey, who's never afraid to tell Tony that his cooking sucks... and then, after the last relationship ended, this time when the white lie was out of care, Rhodey again tells Tony his food sucks, let's get pizza. And they kiss, over the pizza.

@rebelmeg - first it was cookies. cookies burnt to a crisp that even ana jarvis couldn't salvage. second was spaghetti, so mushy and overcooked that rhodey couldn't stop laughing even when tony threatened to throw his enormously thick math textbook at him. third was that whole "raw in the middle" chicken incident that happy still won't let him live down, and fourth was the disastrous omelet for pepper. fifth was morgan's 1st birthday cake, and thank heaven's pepper was wise enough to ignore him and order a backup. this time, he's just gonna order a pizza.

@huntress79 - Tony The Cook: The Jarvises tried, Mama Rhodes as well, but for all his genius, Tony can't figure out a cooking recipe. Nonetheless, he tried to impress several various dates with his cooking skills. Needless to say that none of these attempts (both cooking and dating) ended well. Then, he meets Steve, a guy who doesn't care at all what they eat, as long as they eat together. And so, Tony orders pizza for their date…

@Magicadraconia16 - It's an unfortunate historical fact that Tony cannot cook to save his life (hmm, there's an idea for the next HYDRA kidnapping...). Rhodey's meal was burnt to unidentifiable cinders (seriously, even Tony doesn't know what it was supposed to be); Pepper's gave her an allergic reaction; Natasha chipped a tooth; Hulk came out and threw Bruce's food out of the (closed!!) window; and Steve got food poisoning. Steve!!! So when Bucky turns up in his workshop one day, Tony decides to selflessly save everyone from a hangry Winter Soldier and just orders pizza, instead.

@ralsbecket - 5 + 1 Pizza: Tony Stark was many things. He was a genius, he was a billionaire, he was a playboy, he was a philanthropist. The thing he was decidedly not was a good cook. It was one burnt omelet too many before Pepper begged him to just order out. The person delivering his pizza was... attractive. If he started ordering pizza on Fridays at 6PM every week for a month, that was nobody's business.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Tony just wants to offer a fancy home-made anniversary dinner. It's not so much that Tony is a terrible cook, but that something (or several somethings) always go wrong. His significant other's flight was delayed. He gets distracted by a minor crisis half way through cooking. He tries to prepare beforehand, but forgets to label it before leaving it in the common fridge. Had a mistranslated recipe or the wrong measuring spoons. Dum-e tried to 'help' while he was distracted. The next year, his SO requests that they just order pizza to eat cuddled on the couch.

@psychiccatpanda - Single dad Tony tries to do it all. He feels terrible about the amount of time his three kids (all under the age of 5) spend in daycare, but college will be expensive, so he works -and works. But he tries to make the after-work before-bed moments really count. Sometimes his carefully planned dinners don't work out. Monday, the slow cooker wasn't plugged in and their chicken and potato dish spoiled for being on the counter for almost 13 hours unrefrigerated. Tuesday they were out of bread and ate PBJ on the last three hot dog buns. Wednesday, he thought dinner was fine, but Peter declared it was 'too spicy' and so none of the kids would eat it. Thursday he burned the chicken nuggets in the oven because he had to help the kids with their baths, and Friday? Well no one was gonna talk about that again. Saturday Tony's ready to cry because he's pretty sure Morgan is coming down with something. So he orders pizza. When the pizza delivery guy arrives, holding Morgan, she barfs all down Tony's back. Pizza delivery driver yanks the pizza away and asks if he can come in to set it down in the kitchen, then helps out with the kids while Tony takes a shower.

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - It was meant to be romantic, cooking for a date. But with Tony it was definitely not romantic. Cooking for Rumiko he managed to burn everything, yet have the food still raw. Firefighters had to be called when he set his dorm alight cooking for Janet. Ty needed to have his stomach pumped after Tony's cooking (how was he to know what was too much alcohol, wasn't it meant to burn off?). Indries had stomach problems for weeks after Tony cooked for her. And he managed to poison Pepper... Needless to say, Tony wasn't a good cook... So when he scores a date with Steve Rogers, he thinks "why bother try? Steve is too good for me anyway", there was no way they were going to last. So he orders a pizza. Steve is relieved when he sees the pizza. He had been hoping Tony would pick something down to earth, worried he wouldn't know how to eat whatever posh food Tony put in front of him and make a fool of himself. Steve admits he doesn't know how to cook either. Maybe Captain America isn't so perfect. Maybe... Maybe this could work out. Him and Steve

@huntress79 - Of all the people, Tony has probably the most irregular eating rhythm. He has been known to try and cook for himself, but the results are less than stellar. So, one by one, each of the Avengers try to cook for him, until Steve joins him in the workshop with a small stash of pizzas…

@lbibliophile-mcu - It was all Steve Rogers' fault. Him and his insistence on 'team dinners' to 'promote bonding' and 'improve cohesion'. Not that Tony necessarily objects to the dinners - pending his schedule - but Steve seems to have this odd conviction that having home-cooked food is a necessary part of the ritual, and none of them can change his mind. Natasha tried logic. Clint tried begging. Bruce, he's pretty sure, is sneaking in pre-made food and just cooking the final steps. Thor thinks it's a great idea... but is always for some reason back on Asgard on his nights. But Tony is a genius, so he decides on a different approach. He grumbles a little bit, but otherwise doesn't complain when it's his night to cook. He cooks... and watches as each of the Avengers gives up on choking down the barely-edible meal. The next time he is rostered, the scene repeats. And the next. And the next. By the sixth time he is due to be cooking dinner, Steve comes up to him and politely - but pointedly - suggests that maybe they just order pizza. Tony thinks of the several meals worth of tasty leftovers hidden in the penthouse fridge, and graciously acquiesces.

I hope Thistle cheer you up - by @darthbloodorange

@rebelmeg - it was the pun war to end all pun wars. and it was probably going to end all of them. clint was fine, he loved puns almost as much as he loved pizza. steve hated puns so much he had taken up swearing. tony took sadistic glee in saving his worst puns for when steve was around. nat was famous for using the most clever of puns at unexpected moments. bucky could deadpan a pun so seriously it always took them by surprise. thor was terrible at it, still grasping the nuances of american english, but he sure tried hard. bruce tolerated it all and made half-hearted attempts at participation, though chuckling at his own puns was usually funnier than the puns. sam loved making puns, but hated it when other people did. it started creeping into other areas of their life, onto social media, in interviews, and at one point hawkeye was trending for awhile after he screamed out "THISTLE CHEER YOU UP!" whilst battling some kind of plant monster. tony helped, because he retweeted with the comment, "ooh, talk dirt to me."

@ralsbecket - So what if Tony had gotten laid off? So what if Tony had a mountain of bills sitting on his dining table? The only thing that mattered to him in that moment was his baby girl Morgan, with her hair falling out of the ponytail and her cute little lisp. She'd come back in from the backyard with a handful of dandelions, saying, "I hope thistle cheer you up, Daddy" so sweetly that for just a moment, everything was okay again.

@psychiccatpanda - [IronHawk] Tony's been working on the reams of paperwork that he's put off for SI. He's still not sure why it all needs to be done before the end of the quarter, but here he was. Needless to say, Tony Stark has been in a foul mood the whole week. The snide comments he usually keeps to himself have started to slip out and he feels guilty on top of the grouchy, so he decides to barricade himself in his office. He falls asleep on a sheaf of papers and wakes up with the impression of little ridges of paper on his cheek. It takes a moment (he hasn't been asleep that long) for him to fully realize the plant in front of him was real. An aloe plant - with a plate of chocolate muffins, fruit, cheese, and nuts. A post-it on the aloe's pot read, 'I hope thistle cheer you up,' written with a purple felt tip pen., which meant either Clint had left it - or Natasha pretending to be Clint.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Bruce looks at Tony, then back down at the spiny dried flowerhead in his hands.

"I know that you were getting frustrated trying to find these for your new fibre arts project, so I decided to help." His eyes light up as he realises the pun. "Thistle cheer you up!"

Bruce sighs even as he smiles.

"Tony... I appreciate the thought, but as you said, this is a thistle. I need a teasel."

@darthbloodorange - [Stony] - Tony really doesn't like his neighbour Justin. The man was always trying to find ways to report him to the local council. Mailbox too close to driveway? Reported! Weeds in his lawn? Reported! Fence too high? Reported! Didn't clean his pool that weekend? Reported! Lawn too long? Reported! It was ridiculous. But the council won't do anything because taking action against someone who's reported you (even if the reports were false) is apparently considered wrong and vindictive. There was nothing Tony could do but grit his teeth and bear it. One day Tony receives a box in the mail, addressed from his neighbour across the street. The handsome blond guy with the body of a Greek god and a garden that looked like a literal paradise. Steve Rogers. Tony wasn't too shy to admit (to himself) that he had a crush on the man. He eagerly tears into the box to find a small note and a lots of little bags of mulch wrapped in tissue paper. The note reads: "Tony, I've heard you be having some trouble. I hope thistle cheer you up. After the rain comes flowers. Ps. Throw these over Justin's fence." And so he does. Watching Justin battle all the weeds after it rains brings Tony so much joy. Especially when Justine reports him to the council and the council shrugs him off this time. He heads over to Steve with some home cooked food as a thank you gift and they get talking. Turns out Steve is an Environmental activist with a passion for guerrilla gardening. Tony is hooked. Maybe it has more to to with Steve then the revenge on Justin (as sweet as it was)

#tonystarkbingomarkiv #tsbmiv #tsb discord party #titles game #discord party games

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pbandjesse · 3 years

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Today was a nice day. I love spring. But I am sick of wearing the same 5 black things for work. I find it so annoying. But I am trying my best to make it work and feel cute. Shoe style helps. And hopefully a new hair style will help too? My consultation appointment is tomorrow so fingers crossed.

I had a pretty alright day though I wasted my morning. I could not sleep again last night. I was up until past 2am. It was not fun. But the actual sleep was okay.

Because I couldnt fall asleep I slept until almost 10. James texted me to see if I was okay. Mostly I was just. So tired. I was not a good temperature and I was uncomfortable and it sucked. But I forced myself to get up.

I made the bed and washed my face. I got dressed and felt pretty good. I had toast and grapes for breakfast. Sat in the dungeon with James. Played a little animal crossing. I just wanted to catch cherry blossoms. So I did that until I had 10 and then moved to the couch to hang out.

At 11 I decided I would put my skates on. I think I may try to skate outside this weekend, but I just moved our furniture in the living room and skated for like 20 minutes. It was nice. I feel pretty confident and my breaking is getting better. So I may move to trying to skate more outside. Alone. Even though that scares me.

After I skated I got my backpack and a snack, and kissed James goodbye.

I actually left like 10 minutes to early. I thought I would walk more but I still ended up at work to early so I sat on the bench outside and listened to my podcast. It was nice.

Work was pretty good. The only issue I had was that our classroom is very hot (the AC is actually broken! Ugh) and we are going to have 6 more students next week. So thats going to be a lot. But honestly besides that today was pretty good.

I spent some time setting up project stuff. I wanted to teach them the exquisite corpse game, so I drew up some sheets like I said I was going to. And it worked so well!! We played after snack and they really seemed to like it and after they asked all their questions we played two rounds and I collected all of them and showed everyone and talked a little about each one. Lots of laughs. It was nice.

I also made sheets for making the parts of the plant. And drew it up on the board. After gym they came down and I taught them about plants. We talked about edible plants and when some plants are only edible in certain ways. And how flowers can become fruit. And how some things are poisonous. And then I explained that they didnt have to draw the same flower I drew, that other plants have similar parts, like a tree or a cactus. And then they drew their own and it was great. They were very good workers today and I was really proud of them.

We just spent some time hanging out. Some kids were drawing. I read a few books to them. It was mostly nice. But also just long. The whole day just felt very draggy. Just slow. But we got to the end.

We put on a movie for the end of the day but there were only a couple kids left and they just wanted to lay on the ground. Which was fine. I was almost falling asleep honestly. And I got to go home at 530 and I basically rushed out of there.

I went home and was starving. I had leftover mac and cheese real quick while James finished their work. And then after 6 when James was done we headed out.

My bike was getting new breaks. So we walked to the bike store. I decided to also stop at the art store since its right there. I had never been in this one and was surprised how big it was. I will have to go back there soon. I could use some refreshed supplies. I got mold making stuff. And then headed down to meet James at the bike store.

As I came around the corner I went to say hi to James and then I saw a cat on the ground! A cat with a huge nose!! Turns out it was the shop cat and it let me pick it up and hold it and pet it until my bike was done. I was having a blast holding this very old man cat. What a sweetheart. Just a bag of bones that was purring up a storm. It was so nice.

Once my bike was ready I said goodbye to the cat and me and James biked to go have dinner. It was nice to bike. I need to work on doing it more. Stop feeling so stuck at home. But it was nice to be out.

We sat at a picnic table and ordered pizza and things. It was nice just being out together. I was feeling really tired though. I hate that Im just low level tired and disconnected all the time. But I was having nice date with my partner and I was happy.

We biked home. And I was a little frustrated with James because we had trouble finding a trash can so they were holding the pizza box and insisted on putting our soda cans in the pocket of their hoodie and then wouldnt stop complaining about them even though I kept saying to just put them in my bike basket. So I was just a little frustrated. But we got home and once we were inside it was fine.

We laid in bed and watched videos for a while. And at 9 we finally got up and I went and took a bath. Washed my hair. Shaved my legs and arms. One of my kids today kept rubbing my arm and telling me it was "sharp", I told them Im prickly like a cactus and we had a good laugh. But now I am smooth and ready for bed.

I hope I can sleep okay tonight. And then I will have a nice morning and have my hair consultation. And I hope you all have a nice day too. Goodnight everyone. ��

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abysmalll · 3 years

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Hi. I know it’s been a while. I try to stay active on here when I can, and I reblog photos I like or poetry that resonates with me, anything really, every now and then. I can’t believe I’ve had this blog since I was 14 years old. I’m turning 25 next month. It feels like I’ve lived an entire lifetime on the internet.

I’m writing this because I need to write about it. I need to accept this experience that I am having for what it is and putting words to it helps me. It helps me cope. And I don’t care if anybody reads it. Tumblr is a dead art anyway. This is me writing to the abyss of the internet, a love letter if you will, to myself, about a traumatic experience.

It has been a week since I accidentally drugged myself with 500 mg of delta 8 cannabinoid (in the form of a gummy). I bought this “sampler pack” of what I thought to be CBD gummies a couple of weekends ago while a friend was visiting from Florida. The shop did not seem sketchy, it was a legitimate dispensary, and the men behind the counter were wearing lab coats and seemed pretty knowledgeable about THC and CBD products. Originally, I bought the sampler pack thinking it was CBD isolate only. I didn’t even think the dosage was that high, maybe 25 mg tops. You know, CBD. The thing you can buy in lotions and bath bombs at those kiosks in the mall. The safe weed alternative: suitable for relaxing muscles, calming mind and body, and relieving anxiety. The sampler pack that I bought did not have many descriptions on it: just the brand and that it was a CBD + delta 8 gummy. I did not realize that delta 8 was another form of THC. I did not know that it was a synthetically / lab altered version of a part of the weed plant or anything that would cause me to get extremely high. When I saw the packaging, I just thought, cool CBD gummies. This will help me have a relaxing night, maybe a good night’s sleep. I never bought them with the intention to get fucked up. I never would have bought them if I knew what delta 8 actually was. To be fair, it was completely misrepresented to me by the men at the store I bought them from. I was under the full impression that this was a relaxing CBD gummy sampler. I did not know that, in reality, what myself and a friend were about to consume was 1000 mg of straight cannabis product (500 mg CBD + 500 mg delta 8). From all of the research I’ve done on delta 8 (now having experienced what I experienced), in reddit forums and the like, experienced users of the weed alternative say that they stay away from anything stronger than 100 mg. 100 mg is enough to fuck you up pretty heavily. To clarify, I took 1000 mg (half CBD / half delta 8). I basically had 25x the “strong” amount for experienced users. Now some people have a hard time getting high, their tolerance is pretty up there, and they need up to 400 mg to really feel it and feel it hard. To clarify again, I still had much more than 400 mg. Now to the experience:

My friend and I had just gotten back to my place after spending the day at a town festival (nothing big due to COVID, just a couple of booths set up of people selling their handmade products, animal shelters and sanctuaries giving out informational pamphlets and volunteer lists, etc.) We got lunch with a third friend after that. I was feeling totally normal. I had a beer at lunch, but pretty sober to say the least. We parted ways with our third friend and headed back to my house. I had originally given the gummies to my friend to hold on to (we would’ve taken them a few weeks prior when I originally bought them but we ended up not that specific night) and she brought them back to me so we could try together. I hesitated at first. I held the gelatinous square in my hand, thumbed it around a bit, a little anxious at the thought of “well I hope this isn’t TOO strong” and thought “what the hell”. And I ate it. She ate the other one. Little did I know how strong it would actually turn out to be. (For context: I am a very light smoker. I have a CBD pen that is 1:1 THC but is very mellow, and I smoke J’s every now and then because I don’t like the feeling of getting too high from bongs or other methods. My friend who ate the other gummy is a daily user. She smokes CBD joints and regular weed daily, eats edibles frequently, and is working on getting her medical card for anxiety).

I felt a slight giggly out-of-it-ness after 30 minutes - right away I was feeling it, feeling something. This was what I was expecting. A very mild happy vibe. This felt okay. This felt normal for what I thought I ate. This was what I had signed up for. I still felt pretty normal besides the slight buzz. Perfect. Just something to help me relax a little bit. Something to take the edge off. Akin to drinking a beer after a long day at work. I spoke in the parking lot with my friend for 45 minutes after ingestion and we both felt and seemed pretty normal. Keep in mind, edibles take time to fully kick in. In my head I completely forgot that I ate that gummy. I thought its full purpose had been fulfilled. I thought I was at the level I was supposed to be at all along. I felt fine. My friend drove home. Thank GOD she got home before it really kicked in. I would’ve felt terrible with that on my conscience if it hit her while driving.

And then I came back inside after she left. I noticed that I felt slightly more out of it, a little bit at a Dutch angle if you will. Nothing to worry about though. Just thought to myself; oh, I’m high. This was more than I was expected. But that’s okay. I told my boyfriend (with my tail between my legs: he’s not a huge fan of weed-anything but he doesn’t care that I imbibe every now and then). I told him “babe, I just thought you should know… That I ate a gummy with ___ and I’m actually feeling high right now”. And that was that. He smirked and said “okay pothead”. Went about our usual business. I smelled myself after standing outside in the heat for 45 minutes in that parking lot and thought, ugh I stink.

And then I took a shower.

I felt okay in the shower. Just normal. The hot water rolling down my body. I wasn’t having a break from reality. Not yet anyway.

And then I got out of the shower.

I wrapped my hair in a towel. I threw on an oversized t-shirt, something comfortable. The cool air after being in a hot shower wrapped around me in a ghostly hug. At this point in time, I don’t know if the drastic change in temperature triggered it. I don’t know. All I know is it had been an hour and a half since ingestion at this point and this act of getting out of the shower was the precipice for what I was about to experience. What I was about to fall into. I FaceTimed my friend to see how she was feeling. It hadn’t hit her at all yet. Okay, slight anxiety. Was I the only one feeling this? Was I feeling something I shouldn’t be? My boyfriend and I had given her a spare TV recently and I wanted to see if she was having any troubleshooting issues with it (she was hooking it up, seeing if the google chromecast still worked, etc). We spoke on FaceTime. I anxiously asked her if she was sure she wasn’t feeling anything.. I didn’t like the prospect of me being the only one feeling out of sorts. She insisted that she was feeling fine.

And then she couldn’t speak in full sentences. I thought it was me. I thought I wasn’t hearing her correctly, or processing her words in the way I should be. Anxiety. And then she said: OH. I feel it. I am high. This is not just CBD.

And then I fell.

Not physically. I didn’t physically fall down. I sat there on FaceTime with her, and I felt myself getting higher and higher, and I already had anxiety from what I thought would be a simple CBD sleepy gummy turning out to be a full on edible experience. I felt myself (my consciousness, whatever part of my personality that makes me - me) fall out of my body. I felt myself and my body disconnect. The only way I can explain it is that feeling you get when you’re falling asleep, and your mind isn’t fully asleep yet but your body is. Where you become aware of the fact that you’re falling asleep and you panic and your consciousness snaps back into your body and you jolt out of bed, alert. That feeling. That is the closest thing to what I was experiencing. Except I wasn’t sleeping. I was fully awake. I was tripping. And not only was I tripping, I was tripping BALLS.

I felt my heart lurch out of my chest. In a shaky voice I said “I have to go” and hung up. I jumped out of bed (I was FaceTiming her while laying in bed). I went to tell my boyfriend what was going on. I told him, “Hey- I’m not feeling normal. This isn’t supposed to be happening. I’m not supposed to be feeling this way right now”. I was going from anxiety mode to panic mode. I felt it happening. Except the whole time, I was high out of my mind. Completely, unexpectedly so. In complete and full honesty, I wasn’t associating this right away to the gummy. Because in my mind, I didn’t buy an edible. I bought what I thought was something else. I thought it was just a simple CBD gummy. Something to help me sleep. This couldn’t be causing me to feel this way, right? No. I have to be having a heart attack or something. Something’s wrong with my body. Something’s wrong with my brain. The two are not connecting. I’m phasing in and out. I feel my heart rate begin to rise along with my panic. I have an Apple Watch, and in a moment of clarity (and stupidity) I thought it best to put it on. I needed to check my heart rate. I fully thought I was having a heart attack and this mental detachment I was experiencing was the result of a serious bodily issue rather than the gummy I ingested two hours prior. I put the watch on. Heart rate is at 135. Okay, not terrible but not great. That’s the heart rate of a person who is jogging. That’s the heart rate of a person who is doing an exercise. I’m laying in bed. Why is my heart rate that high? Oh god. I’m feeling terrible. I’m feeling out of my body. My vision is getting darker and I feel like I’m inside my head watching everything happen on the giant movie screen that is my eyes, but I’m not outside of the screen. I’m experiencing this panic, but not in my body. I wish I could explain it better than this. I wish I could have it make sense to the average person. But the reality of it was that I was not experiencing something that you would normally experience unless you were blackout drunk, tripping balls, having a psychotic break, or drugged. Heart rate is creeping up higher and higher. I’m googling what a normal healthy heart rate is for a person of my size and weight (female, 5’2”, 110 lbs, 24 y/o). I read a sentence that says “if your blood pressure exceeds 180 or higher seek immediate medical attention”. I confused heart rate and blood pressure in the whirl of cortisol and adrenaline and fear. I check my watch again. 184 BPM.

Total. Fucking. Panic.

I felt my heart beating OUT of my chest. It felt like what I imagine holding a hummingbird feels like. It wasn’t beating, buzzing. My heart was buzzing. I thought, is this what it feels like to die? Am I going to die, right here, right now, in my bed? 24 years old? I just graduated college. I haven’t even started my first salaried job yet. I haven’t been married. I haven’t had kids. I haven’t bought my first house. I haven’t experienced so many things and I am about to die, right here, right now. My entire body was numb. Pins and needles. I thought: “I am having a heart attack. 184 BPM. My vision is going dark. I am fully going to pass out”. I yelled out for my boyfriend, at this point in the other room. He rushes in. I tell him what’s happening. He begins to panic. Not knowing how to calm me down. He tries to get me to do breathing techniques with him. It’s past the point for that. I told him, I need to go to the hospital. I need to be near a defibrillator in case that’s really what this is, a heart attack. Because I have a better chance of survival if I’m near a machine. If my heart gives out. I’m trying to communicate this as best I can, while being sky high. I can barely speak. He says, “okay we’re gonna go see ___ (our roommate, and a good friend of mine).” And he guides me downstairs. I stand up on my feet. I feel like I’m a thousand feet in the air and yet so incredibly small. We make our way downstairs to our roommates’ room. He knocks, she lets us in. I stumble in like a drowned rat, hair still wet from the shower. I must’ve looked fucking insane. She takes one look at me but I don’t see her face. I don’t process a face on her head. I just see a blur. I’m still panicking. Heart still beating like a hummingbird. I hear them talking in rushed tones but I don’t hear words. It sounds like the Peanut Gallery parents, if you’ve ever watched Charlie Brown movies. Womp womp womp womp womp.

Next thing I know, she hops out of bed and is wrapping me up in a blanket. She runs to her bathroom and grabs a pot of what smells like, lavender lotion? She’s rubbing it on my cheeks and face. I’m sobbing and all I smell is salt from my tears and lavender. She’s talking to me, but I don’t fully hear her. Like when you watch those movies of a person coming-to in the hospital and the faces of the people surrounding them in their hospital bed blur in and out, the voices fade in and out. I hear her ask me what’s going on. I tell her basically everything I wrote here, just now, but I don’t hear myself say it. The synapses in my brain aren’t firing properly. I know I’m doing things, speaking, but I can’t hear what I’m saying. I know I’m sitting here, wrapped in this blanket, but I don’t know where my body ends and the furniture begins. Cause for more anxiety. It feels like a never ending loop of fear and panic and sensory deprivation, or at least sensory overload? Who knows. My sensory experience is not of this Earth. Sitting in this space, in this room, hearing her talk to me, not really knowing what she is saying but knowing there is care behind it, gives me one small pin point of reality to hold onto. One tiny thing to save me from this seemingly endless nightmare. She takes the watch off of me. I hear her tell me I don’t need to be looking at that right now. No wonder my heart rate is through the roof. I’m giving myself a panic attack.

A panic attack. Is that what this is? Am I not having a heart attack? It sure feels like one. I guess they’re pretty similar. I was convinced, CONVINCED, I was dying. But here I was, some while later, wrapped in this burrito blanket in this room, and I was still experiencing things. Even if the experiences were warped and horrifying. It wasn’t death. But what was it then?

And then I remembered that I ate a gummy two hours earlier. I was having a drug induced panic attack. I was never expecting this. I was NEVER expecting this… What the fuck WAS this? It wasn’t normal. It was exactly what I discovered it to be later on, after researching the label of that sampler pack. It was 1000 mg of CBD and delta 8, a FDA-loophole for weed. And I was buckled in for the full fucking ride.

If you’re wondering what was going on with my friend, she was still high. She was experiencing a strong high from that gummy, but we had nowhere near similar experiences. I was on Mars. She, I think, fell asleep a little later on and woke up the next day ready to smoke again. I am amazed at how vastly different our experiences were. I would give anything to have had that kind of experience. I would’ve loved to wake up the next day, head slightly fuzzy, but feeling normal all the same, and been able to conceive of smoking weed. And if we’re being completely honest, I’m so incredibly grateful that she didn’t experience this. I would not wish this on ANY person. It was my fault that I ate that gummy, and I gave her one too. We could’ve both been fucked. At least it’s only me. My burden to carry.

But being alone in it is scary. And guess what. I woke up the next day, not feeling like myself. Not feeling normal. Not feeling present.

And I’ve woken up every day since in a completely altered state of being. I’m obviously here, I’m breathing, I’m trying to do regular tasks that I do every day. But everything feels so much harder. Everything feels fuzzy. My body feels numb. Some days are worse than others, but for the most part, nothing ever feels normal. I’m realizing that what I’m experiencing is DPDR from a drug induced panic attack. And I’ve cried every single day since that fucking day. It’s been a full week and I’m still having a break from reality. I still feel fuzzy, and like my head and my body aren’t connected, and I’m feeling depressed. I have racing thoughts. I can’t think myself out of this. I know it might seem like I’m fully lucid if I’m able to write all of this, but I’m writing this from a dreamlike state of semi-reality. I still don’t feel real, and people and places don’t feel real. Temperature changes send me into a panic. I zone out and realize that I’m not in my head and even when I “come to” I’m still not FULLY zoned in. My ears and head feel clogged, or like they’re full of cotton balls. I want so badly to escape this feeling but no matter what I do, everything feels surreal. I have no sense of time. I cannot process words. Even writing this, I guarantee you that I forgot 80% of it already. I have to reread things several times to make sure they make sense. If I’m watching a television show, I feel like I’m seeing characters talking to each other but not absorbing anything being said. How am I supposed to live like this? I’m so fucking scared. I can’t eat without feeling weird. I can’t sleep without feeling weird. I can’t do anything. I’m supposed to start my new job on Monday, and I have to be fully aware to do my training, and I’m so afraid of failing because I can barely do the bare minimum right now. I’ve considered going to the hospital but what good would that do? They would think I’m having a psychotic break and admit me to a mental hospital, where I’d be surrounded by unfamiliar people and settings, and be unable to leave. And I’d ruin my life. I’d ruin my job opportunity that I spent 6 months post-grad trying to get hired for, and I finally did. I’d ruin my ability to make an income. I’m terrified of ruining my relationships with people right now because I need so much more support from everybody than I ever do. I am so fucking terrified of my life right now because I do not feel real. I convinced myself the other night that I actually died on Saturday and I am not really experiencing any of this. I have anxiety attacks every day now. Little things set me off. I had an anxiety attack at my mom’s today and she is worried about me. Everyone is worried and nobody knows what to do, including me. I cannot live like this. It’s affecting my day to day life in such a strong sense that I can’t do minimal things. Everything frightens me. I just want to feel normal again. So badly. I would do ANYTHING to feel okay again. I just want to be me. Not this shell of a person. I feel like I fucked up my brain.

This isn’t a cry for help. I know realistically there’s nothing that anyone can do. That helplessness has set in. This is just me yelling at the void and hoping it helps me feel something better than this. I want to be real again.

#self #help #dpdr #me #drug induced panic attack #trauma #depersonalisation and derealisation #delta 8

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antihero-writings · 3 years

Text

In Plain Sight

Cover art by Stlyrica on instagram!! I’ll put a link to it in the replies!!

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Summary: When Break hides Gilbert's favorite Christmas ornament somewhere in the Rainsworth manor, the Golden Trio must spend the afternoon looking for it. But why is it so special to Gil?

“You’re the tallest, Gil, you should put the star on top!”

“Ooh! It looks yummy! Like a big cookie!”

“It’s not a cookie, Stupid Rabbit!”

“Perfect!” Oz exclaimed.

“It’s so pretty, Onii-chan!”

“The Rainsworths will have the best-decorated tree in town!”

“I can’t take all the credit, Gil and Alice helped a little,” Oz joked.

“‘A little!’”