#except for kit and nea

[ecstarry]

i feel like learning your online friend’s timezone is a way of showing your love

#yea im talking about all of you lovely people #i love you all sm #yes yes i remember most of you #most of you are american so its not that bad tbh #except for kit and nea #mutuals #online friends #time zone problems

[dweetwise]

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

[post-itpenny]

The Regret

A sequel to The Challenge.

Just as ridiculous as the first time. 

Dwight’s anxiety had skyrocketed to a level he never thought possible. Two trials after his run-in with The Legion and he had hardly slept, he couldn’t focus at all in trials, at the campfire he was always looking over his shoulder as if half expecting the masked teens to be right behind him.

Dwight adjusted his glasses as he made his way through the collection of tents and fragile structures that made up the survivors camp, coming to a small lean-to at the camp’s edge. Jake, like many of the vetran survivors, had plenty of time to gather the materials needed to make a more stable shelter. They never had to worry about rain but a warm place to sleep was still a luxury, Dwight had gone through enough nights sleeping by the fire without so much as a blanket to know this. He found Jake sitting outside the lean-to salvaging what was left of a beaten-up tool kit.

“I messed up.”

“I heard… Nea told everyone.”

Dwight sighed as he ran his hands through his hair, of course she told everyone.

“What am I going to do?”

Jake didn’t answer right away, instead taking the time to clean a few spare gears he had picked up somewhere. Dwight was used to this, he and Jake were two of the few that had been here the longest and understood Jake liked to take his time in answering; just as cool and level headed as always. Dwight once questioned Claudette why people didn’t see Jake more as a leader. Her answer was short- “he’s not meant for that pressure, that’s you.”

Jake finished his work, snapping the toolbox close before looking up at Dwight. “You and I both know the Legion has the combined attention span of a walnut. Keep low and give it a few trials, I garuntee someone else will do something stupid enough to outdo you.”

Dwight relaxed a little, Jake really did have a point.

The very next trial and someone really did outdo Dwight in level of stupid.

David King was running from The Huntress, as she threw a hatchet Feng screamed “yeet!” from behind and the killer just snapped. Pivoting on the ball of her foot and charging at the survivor with a speed Feng never thought her capable of. David panicked, Feng was on her third hook and he had to do something. David dashed ahead of the Huntress just as she threw a hatchet at Feng Min-

And David caught it.

Perhaps it was his previous life as a rugby player, or the power of adrenaline…. or maybe just pure dump luck. But David caught the hatchet by it’s handle, the blade inches from his face.

For once The Huntress was silent, staring open-mouthed in shock. David was surprised as well, looking at his wide-eyed reflection in the polished blade.

Feng however recovered quickly, dashing off without a second glance. The Huntress shook her head and yanked her hatchet free of David’s hand, taking off after the other survivor. Feng Min was hooked a few minutes later, David however didn’t come to his senses until the gonging of a bell triggered the endgame collapse. He and Adam being the only two to make it out that round.

That evening David’s catch was the only thing they could talk about. Truly legendary and what would be regarded by some of the survivors as King’s finest moment. The next day David was a part of the trial against The Nurse, the strange spirit seeming to regard the survivor with… uncertainty? It was very hard to tell what the apparition was feeling considering she wore a bag over her head and all. After a few minutes she seemed to make a decision-

And mori’ed him on the spot.

None of her usual soft regret came afterwards but Steve, who had been hiding nearby, swore on his ranger med kit he heard The Nurse rasp what sounded eerily like “yeet” before teleporting off.

When Dwight heard the story it was through Nea cackling about how The Nurse yeets herself around the map much to an annoyed David’s chagrin who was still struggling to get his breath back. Claudette fussing over him saying the killer really did a number on his windpipe.

Dwight chewed his nails, this wasn’t right, and he had a bad feeling it would get worse.

Two trials later and Nea was sneaking around Lery’s, with Nancy and Adam already dead it was just her and Tapp stuck with three generators. It didn’t help Nea was for once without a flashlight

She had just started working on a generator when spine chill went off. With no heartbeat she could only assume the killer, whoever it was, was either just out of range or had concealed themselves. Nea snuck away into the shadows, rounding a corner and climbing into a nearby locker despite her better judgment.

Nea held her breath, maybe it was Michael? He normally didn’t check lockers and she could get lucky. Unless it was-

“Boo!” Ghost Face laughed as he yanked open the locker door. Nea screamed and backed away only for the killer to grab her shoulder and pull her out of the locker. There was a bright flash and Nea found herself blinking away spots as the killer held up the screen of his camera for them both to see.

It was a picture of The Ghost Face and a panicked and confused looking Nea, the killer giving her a set of bunny ears.

“Yup, that’s definitely going on the wall.” Ghost Face chuckled, “ok Punk Rock you have two seconds.”

Nea was still trying to regain her sight, “wh-what?”

“One second.”

The survivor bolted, crashing into a stray gurney as she did so.

Nea probably wouldn’t have said anything except several copies of the picture were found on the log benches around the campfire soon after. They all laughed until Tapp asked the question of how the pictures got there.

The implications put them all on edge after that.

Dwight had become a nervous wreck, chewing off what was left of his nails as he made his way to one of the largest tents in the camp.

Nancy and Zarina had become instant friends over their love of investagative journalism. Nancy had been quick to begin documenting everything she could the moment she and Steve had first stepped into The Fog. She enlisted Jane to take every survivor’s testimony while she used every trial she was in to explore the nooks and crannies of the different realms to learn what she could. When Zarrina arrived these efforts were doubled. The tent served as a home base where their findings were stored and catalogued. Dwight, having never ventured inside before, was very surprised to see a map of each trial ground on display and an even larger map of The Fog half finished on a table.  

“These aren’t the normal maps,” he observed.

Zarina looked up from her writing with a grin, “correct!” Nancy had the idea to use a couple of the generator maps- along with a lot of observation- to make a detailed map of every trial. We found the totems, exit gates, and hatch don’t actually spawn at random! The Entity seems to like following patterns and will manifest these in a few choice locations.”

“No wonder you two find totems so fast!” Dwight gasped as he looked over the nearest map of Haddonfield in amazement at the detail. “So the larger map-”

“It’s a guessing game I guess,” Nancy chimed in. “We looked at how long it takes to enter a trial, what direction we were facing at the campfire vs. direction facing at the start of a trial, stuff like that. We could be wrong though… but we could also be right.”

Dwight looked at the maps in awe, then to the scraps of paper, stitched together notebooks, and folders that sat in stacks around the tent. It was all very impressive.

“Did you need something Dwight?”

Dwight shook his head, focussing again. “Y-yeah you guys have been taking notes on the killers yeah? H-have you noticed if-”

“They have been acting off yes!” Zarina grinned, grabbing three folders and flipping them open.

Inside were drawings Jeff had done of The Nurse, Ghost Face, and Wraith along with several pages on each killer.

“So yesterday Ash and Kate got back from a match saying The Wraith just followed people around ringing his bell the whole time. He even camped Yui after hooking her and rang that stupid bell in her face until The Entity came for her. Weird right?”

“Yeah I gue-”

“Then Nurse hardly says anything yeah? I think the most anyone heard was Nea who said the killer spent a whole match whispering some name over and over. Andy- Andr… I don’t know, Nea didn’t quite catch it. But what IS important is that The Nurse saying “yeet.”

“Though it was Steve,” Nancy pointed out, “he’s kinda dum-”

“But he is our only witness and no one has said that word in Nurse’s match at least in front of her AND she understood what it meant.” Zarina pointed out. “So with Ghost Face and the picture I now have a running theory.”

“What’s your th-”

“My theory is that perhaps just as the survivors can interact with each other outside of trials so can the killer’s! The Huntress must have said what happened in the trial with David-”

“So The Nurse got revenge?” Dwight questioned. “Why would she do anything?”

Zarina frowned, “first of all it’s rude to cut people off like that Dwight. But yes it may be that. My theory is that the killers are having a game of their own. Why else would Wraith and Ghost Face act so off?”

Dwight felt the bottom of his stomach drop out, “so would The Legion-”

“Sure why not,” Zarina reasoned with a shrug of her shoulders. “They’re a bunch of teenagers. Hell it might even have been their idea for all we know.” Zarina paused, as if she suddenly remembered something. “Hey Dwight, didn’t you-”

Dwight passed out again.

#dead by daylight #dbd #I still don’t know what I’m doing folks

[alwaysfarmed]

Survivor Headcanons p1

Tumblr format is more inspiring than the notes app and word pad and other writing things. Dwight Fairfield:

Nice guy, a little odd. He can get pretty defensive over himself and his voice often cracks when he raises it. He shows obvious frustration when doubt is placed upon him and goes into “work mode” where he completely dedicates himself to one thing, as if he’s trying to prove himself. He is not calm, but he IS collected (sometimes) and can organize things even in the most dire situations. The incredible part? It almost always works out. He seems to have an admiration for Meg, which could easily be mistaken for a crush. There’s something about her confidence that makes her stand out, and he wants to know how to be more like her. He shows the same kind of admiration for Laurie, though he is far more intimidated by her. After seeing the Shape and hearing that she had to go through HIM in the real world makes him terrified of her capabilities.

Most Hated Killers:

The Legion (can’t hide in lockers)

The Huntress (risky hiding in lockers)

Leatherface (When he came out, a Dwight face customization option came out. It was Dwight with bruises and stuff and the description said he got beat up by Leatherface so there’s that.)

Meg Thomas:

At first, Meg was a very angry person. She was torn about not being able to leave and she took out this grief in anger, throwing insults (and sometimes sticks) at nearly everyone. Since then, she’s definitely cooled down, but she still has her moments. At this point, everyone knows to stay out of her way both emotionally and physically. Especially physically. Meg uses her abilities to her best and is very resourceful when she needs to be, but nowhere near as resourceful as Claudette. She gets along with David surprisingly well, despite them both having very....strong.... personalities. She and Bill also get along. Bill acts almost as a fatherly figure for her. She also shares an odd sort of friendship with Nea. They argue a good bit, but they both exhibit a type of respect for one another. Different lifestyles, but that’s respectable. Meg has done her fair share of flipping off the killers............ and getting face camped. If she doesn’t hate a killer, its because she thinks it’s funny when she jukes them. This is especially the case with the Doctor. If she hates them, its probably because she can’t juke them. Or that they combat her running in some way.

Most Hated Killers:

The Hag (Even if you run, she can just TELEPORT)

The Legion (Too fast e.e)

The Clown (Slows her down and she hates it. The Entity is foggy enough, Clown.)

Claudette Morel:

Claudette is very kind and always helpful to anyone that’s injured. When she first arrived, she was terrified, but she slowly started becoming stronger. The thought of starting over, as terrible as the circumstances were, intrigued her. A lot. She could finally stop being so recluse and start over with people that have no previous expectations of her. Sweet! Finally, she could leave behind the loneliness of her previous hobbies and turn to something more.... altruistic. She puts herself at risk in order to save people and is very, very caring. She often worries about David and they argue over how he needs to take more care of himself, and Claudette is always the one thinking “told you so” when he gets put on the hook before anyone else. She also worries for Quentin and his lack of sleep. She likes to visit him when she can’t sleep and try and convince him to get some rest. She quite possibly has a crush on Jake, and its likely that its mutual. She’s always the most concerned about him, even when he should be the least of her worries (cough cough DAVID). She is well known for her amount of empathy. Sometimes...... just sometimes she can’t help but feel a little bad for even the killers.

Most Hated Killers:

The Nurse (How on earth is she supposed to heal anyone with this freak teleporting around. Plus, it takes forever to heal anyone with the anxiety she provokes.)

The Clown (This idiot is so freaky that she has to slow herself down to prevent further injury to whomever she’s healing. It takes too longgggg.)

Leatherface (This weirdo makes her drop my med-kit and she can never find the people that need her help the most. Plus, he almost always knows where she’s at. It’s freaky.)

The Doctor (Does this bigot have a degree? She guarantees you that he doesn’t. Somehow, just being near him makes everyone tremble. Do you know how hard it is to use a needle when your hands are shaking so badly?)

Nea Karlsson:

Nea is......... odd. She’s always thought she was a little too good for school and other organized things, so she rebelled. Her stealth is unmatched by anyone (except the Wraith who can literally turn invisible...... and the Pig........ Maybe even Tier 1 Michael- no. Nea is the stealthiest). She is the definition of immersed, and if it weren’t for this, she may have never bonded with Meg. Meg has the ability gifted to her by the Entity to be “Quick n’ Quiet” meaning she can perform loud actions very quietly in dire situations. Nea took note of this and they began discussing the strength of stealth. Nea is very nimble and almost always seems to be there in the corner of your eye. Kinda creepy. She’s never fit in just right, and she’s fine with that. She lives with a flashlight in her hand. She was a spray paint artist so if she can get her hands on anything artsy, she certainly will. As for relationships with other people? She hates Jake to put first things first. Sure, he’s kind of helpful once in a blue moon when he breaks a hook right in front of the killer, and he can keep his mouth shut when something happens to him, and he can keep the crows from giving away their location, but he’s a dick. This pompous asshole shares the common trait of not fitting in, but they all do, and the most fitting in Jake does is trying to fit his sarcasm and self-centered comments into any conversation, and it makes Nea’s blood boil. Her relationship with David is so-so. Nea gets a kick out of hearing him talk like a mad Australian.... since that’s what he is. But other than that, they don’t interact much. She talks to Feng every so often since the Entity gifted them similar abilities. She doesn’t really like Adam since he’s a teacher and all teachers have that stigma against drop-outs, but they talk sometimes. But the person she talks to the most is Quentin Smith. This sleepy boi immediately got her attention just by how completely and utterly useless he seemed. I’ll get more into this later.

Most Hated Killers:

The Wraith (She finds it hilarious to stun him and flashlight blind him, but the fact that he didn’t work for stealth annoys her. Just going invisible like that? It isn’t fair.)

The Legion (They tick her off because no matter how stealthy she’s being, if some idiot gets stabbed anywhere near her, they give away her location, immediately disregarding any effort she put into being hidden.)

The Doctor (Even if she managed to sneak past him right before his eyes and managed not to get caught, what’s the point? He’s going to electrocute her and make her scream anyways, that bastard. You can’t hide from the doctor and its annoying as hell.)

The Hillbilly (This inbred piece of shit is literally immune to flashlights. That’s her only complaint.)

Jake Park:

Jake is very connected to nature and is generally calm. He tries his best to help out with the hooks but does this idiot ever succeed? Sometimes. Everyone mutually agrees (except Claudette and Jeff) that Jake should put himself to use every once in a while and maybe do a generator or something actually useful. But other than that, Jake loves animals and long walks on the beach taking in the nature around him, even if its dreary and unsafe. He has a strong dislike for business types like Ace. He doesn’t like cops so he, at first, disliked Detective Tapp (he’s warmed up to him by now). He does like Jeff because he only helps him with his sabotaging cause. The entity gave Jeff the ability to break any hook he’s rescued from, so its the only time Jake ever does anything altruistic. How about it. The only headcanons I really have about Jake is that he’s an asshole to basically everyone except Claudette, since they both have a connection with nature and, hey, he needs somebody. Oh, and also he cleanses totems too. Nice.

Most Hated Killers:

The Pig (That damn pig is so crafty, isn’t she? After he breaks a hook, its completely in vain since It’ll just repair itself like ten seconds later anyways.)

The Spirit (If he took a shot for every time he cleansed haunted grounds....he’d be drunk enough to somehow be even more useless than he already is.) (Sorry Jake Mains)

The Nightmare (Jake just wants to leave. Screw blood warden, let him leave.)

David King:

David seems like the kind of guy to have a temper. I mean, he does, but its not super common that he does. He usually keeps pretty calm and just smirks at any rudeness or annoyances, but when he finally loses his cool? All hell breaks loose. Broken noses and bruised eyes are not something he holds back from in a fight unless its against a lady. Meg finds this incredibly annoying as she’d rather him break her nose than hold back just because she’s smaller. It is for her own good, though. David is surprisingly a very nice guy. He has a comforting presence, even if he looks kind of scary. He is very smart, despite the macho look, and he is one hell of a tough cookie.

Most Hated Killers:

Huntress (her attacks are hard to avoid for long, especially with the whole “no mither” going on.)

The Pig (Too easy to be caught off guard. He only has one chance and if he isn’t expecting the ambush, its game over ;) )

The Spirit (This freak pops up out of nowhere. And her katana is a little too close for comfort.)

#dead by daylight #dbd #headcanons #dbd headcanons #survivor main #survivors dbd

[the14ths-song]

DGM au where everything is the same except Nea has a drum kit instead of a piano

#it would be chaos #sweet hellish chaos #which suits Nea #nea d. campbell #nea campbell #neah d. campbell #neah campbell #dgm #d gray man

[shatteredskies042]

Betrayal-Part One

Michael Haghn shivered, fighting all his instincts to curl into a ball to warm himself. He knew he was losing blood, stinging pains at the edge of his consciousness seemingly miles away reminded him of the pain. His blue eyes were glassy, on the verge of going into shock from the sheer cold and injuries he had sustained. Counteracting this was fear and adrenaline, the latter left over from battle, and the former at the prospect of someone discovering him. He was a stowaway, and he knew everyone on this ship would kill him the moment he was found. Slumped against the wall of a tiny electrical closet, melted ice and mixed blood dripping onto the steel floor.

He fumbled for the small aid kit he carried, trying to fight the shock back. Sleep means death, he told himself, able to get the first strap clear, then struggling with the second. He could barely feel his fingers, but was aware they were shaking in his limited vision. The slick and numb appendages slipped off the case he desired twice, before hooking it the third time. Again, he struggled with the releases on the kit, and once they were conquered, another fight to get to the contents. He ended up spilling the items he sought, and blindly groped for anything he could use. He took a pad of gauze, and with stripping only half of the package off, pressed it to the bleeding wound on his neck.

Michael could not accurately describe his injuries to himself: The numbness from his submersion in freezing Siberian water made the pain disappear. His best guess was where he felt warm, his own blood trying to help him heal. He did not know how much pressure he could put upon his injury. With great effort, he blinked twice-

-To clear the snow from his eyes. The snow on the bank above him was far from solid, and the top blew in the soft wind. Checking his wind gauge, he reached his left hand up to his scope and slowly adjusted the calibrations. The Siberian winter made shooting like this tough, dealing with the wind and the higher air density. He would have to give his targets a bit more lead before squeezing the trigger.

“All callsigns be advised,” cracked loudly in his ear, drawing the same left hand back to manipulate his radio, turning the volume on the transmission down: “Dark Star has the targets passing the last phase line. Stand ready to engage.”

“Alpha check,” Alpha Six, the strike group leader called over the tactical network.

“Bravo’s go.”

“Charlie, check.”

“Check your fire and stay away from the explosives,” Alpha Six advised. “Same goes to the big guns. We don’t know how volatile these things are.”

“I thought the whole point of these things was that they were super stable, y’know, keep the blast in to magnify it,” a voice asked, belonging to one of the Charlie team machine gunners.

“Ours are like that. But these old Soviet pieces are probably almost fifty years old, who knows how stable they are.”

“Heads up, here they are.”

A soft breath left Michael’s lips, peeking through his scope at the small valley down range. His finger slowly-

-Relaxed, as Michael’s head lolled back against the bulkhead, staring at the cyrillic writing. A warning: he could read cyrillic, but in his hazy state higher thinking was out to lunch. He shakily pulled his hand from his neck, more feeling in his body, but unsteady. The blood on the half opened gauze pad was dried, and he no longer felt the warmth of blood on his neck. The blood on the steel surface had similarly dried up. How long had he been dreaming? At least he had not been found yet. Michael rolled his head, taking stock of his body. His plates had stopped much of the punishment, but he knew at least a dozen pieces of shrapnel had pierced his body. He could see the holes in his winter pattern BDU pants, and knew that the shrapnel that had pierced them had cut his legs.

The wound on his neck had been a close call, a piece of exploded rock had cut and nicked his carotid artery. The ice had covered the wound for a bit, and he had stifled the bleeding when he passed out the first time. Feeling had returned to his body, and several locations were reporting damage and injury. His health was steady for now, he could patch up the cuts and nurse the sprains easily. He reached for the spilled contents of the first aid kit, feeling his strength return slowly. His fingers grasped the aspirin, and he was able to extract three of the pills from their containers. Michael quickly took the three, closing his eyes and reaching for his canteen. He could not find it, and narrowed his eyes before resting his head against the bulkhead for but a moment. He snapped his head forward, before probing along his belt: He found the holsters for his fixed knife, and where he would have stored extra magazines for his pistol and rifles.

He felt nothing, except for his holster. In the holster, securely set was his always trusty handgun. He could feel a magazine loaded, and a thin smile graced his flushed lips knowing he still had a weapon. Knowing he was still effective, he leaned forward and started to check the holes in his pants and assessing the injuries. He bandaged them as needed, but only one injury needed that care.

Michael collected the remnants of the aid kit and returned it to his left pocket, before reaching for his weapon. His chest did not feel weighted by extra rifle magazines, and the best he could tell is that his vest was shredded or torn off. He knew the ceramic ballistic plates under his shirt were likely useless, penetrated by shrapnel and god knows what. He would have to ditch them in due time, off the side of the ship into the icy waters. He drew his Heckler and Koch USP from his belt, pressing the slide to confirm that he had a .45 round seated. The weight was familiar, twelve in the magazine and one in the chamber. It was all he had, so he had to make good use of it. He let the slide rack forward with a satisfying-

-metallic snap as he slammed the bolt forward. Even though the gunfire had ceased, Michael still assessed the snowy valley ahead of him, looking for movement among the bodies strewn in the snow. Crimson leaked from nineteen bodies, staining the snow and the smearing the finishes of the trucks.

“No movers,” Michael reported softly over the radio channel.

“Moving up to secure the payload,” one of the element leaders reported, a line of white-camouflage bodies rising from the snow and treeline a scant hundred yards from the killing valley. Michael swept the crosshairs of his scope over the fallen bodies of the mercenaries guarding the convoy, before relaxing as the team moved in past them.

“Strike one,” they reported from the first truck, before moving to the next.

Over the command net came another voice, “confirm strike on truck one,” their mission controller responded. “All callsigns, be advised we’re having issues with the Dark Star, blind in the sky.”

That caused Michael to furrow his brow, they deployed with a pair of Dark Star drones on every operation, and they had almost never had issues other than adverse weather. Chancing a look up into the sky, it was clear and blue, ideal for a pilot of any caliber.

“Strike two,” the assault element reported from the second truck, confirming it’s payload as the rest of the team stood by and secured the site. “Strike three, they’re all here.”

The sniper let out a sigh of relief, before the command net crackled again, the soft hiss of digital encryption transmitting over empty air. “Confirmed, we’re sending in the QRF and the experts. Hold the area, we’re trying to reestablish drone contact.”

The lack of coverage worried him, but they had operated without the drones before. The hard part was over, right? That was what he told himself anyway.

“Charlie-Five, looks like you won the pool,” one of the operators transmitted to him, the team leader, a confident SEAL named Bartlett.

“Dumb luck,” Michael responded, keying his throat microphone and smirking.

“Dumb luck the man says,” another joked. “Save some of that luck for when things go south, yeah?”

That drew a weary laugh, right before the whomping of helicopter rotors filled the skies.

“That puts the quick in QRF,” somebody noted on the tactical net.

“Let’s bring it in, then,” Bartlett called out, standing before the trucks while holding up his hand and twirling his finger around.

Michael stood, pulling his bolt action snipers rifle from his snowy hide, gathering his instruments, and then making his way down the hill he had shot from. He had a shorter walk than the other Charlie team snipers, offset by the rough terrain. Typically he would have operated with a spotter, but the nature of his position and the necessity of the operation made his usual spotter, Deacon, posted with one of the two assault elements. The other teams would have to make their way in from the cold, but it stood to reason they would be on site for a few minutes while the experts neutralized the packages.

He saw one of the team members crack a red flare in the open field before the bridge, marking the safest spot to land. He negotiated down the hill, making his way towards the bridge and the short valley where the trucks had been stopped. The bridge crossed an ice jammed river barely trickling into the open Barents Sea just a scant few miles north. The two elements of the strike force had set up on both sides, Alpha assaulting the convoy when it crossed through a small valley a hundred yards from the bridge, and Bravo operating on the other side in case the convoy was not stopped. The Charlie team snipers, like Haghn, provided overwatch from a multitude of angles.

He only slipped once, skidding a few feet before his feet found purchase again on the descent. A Black Hawk came into view, whipping the smoke from the flare around and touching down before the convoy. A half dozen figures had gotten out, had to be the expert team, Michael thought as he finally reached ground level.

He spotted a decent place to hold up, shaking up with the Bravo team near the bridge. A right angle of rocks that provided him some hard cover from any attacks approaching from the west. He vaulted over the slippery rock, brushing off a space to deploy his rifle bipod.

The command net hissed for but a second, long enough for the dead air to attract attention. Shortly after, he heard Colonel Bartlett’s voice, “TACC, say again. I repeat, TACC, say-”

He turned to look back at the Colonel’s position, and saw one of the recent arrivals holding a raised rifle, the white camouflage form of the team leader falling to the ground. Gunfire broke out throughout the valley, as multiple voices reported contact over the tactical communications link.

Michael spun, his rifle in his hands as he brought the scope up. He aligned with the man who had shot the colonel, holding low, knowing his scope was calibrated for a longer range as he squeezed the trigger. There was a puff, and the body fell. Michael got an agonizingly intimate description of the man, shaggy red hair and deep green eyes. Irish maybe? It hardly mattered now.

The deep rumble of helicopters returned, and explosions rocked the tundra. A pair of black helicopters flew overhead, not the Blackhawks the team had inserted in, a different design, he did not have time to figure that out. One flew to the west, coming towards him, firing onto the Bravo team positions; another stalked to the east, mopping up the members of Alpha caught in the open.

Michael could not see the former, too busy working the bolt of his rifle to engage the others. He barely got his second round seated when an explosion sent him flying forward, into the trickling riverbed. Michael lost his rifle in the air, his bones rattled. He was far from dead, but he knew his ordeal was only beginning. He hit hard, the rocks and ice crunching under him as his ballistic plates absorbed the impact.

Shaking off the tremendous shock, Michael reached for his other rifle, his normal assault weapon strapped to his back. He got his fingers around it, and managed to roll to his side despite every bone and muscle screaming for him to lie down. Rest was not an option. He got the weapon free, just as a wall of water, free of the ice jam, crashed into his body and finally took his consciousness.

The next few minutes? Hours? However long it was, time blurred. He woke up on the icy surface of a rushing river, floating into the Barents Sea. He passed clear of an old water mill, and flowed into a bay. His vision was blurry, fading in and out. Most of his body wasn’t responding, he felt no pain, no real damage done to his form. He knew that was not the case, as there was no way he walked out out of that battle unscathed.

He floated powerlessly, but raised his head to look at his surroundings. It took him a monumental effort to keep his eyes open in the ice, maybe it was for the best that he could not feel the rest of his body. There were buildings and more snow and ice around, but they were too far off to make out any features. His eyes locked onto a gray blob he seemed to be floating towards, it had to be a ship. He was approaching too quickly, and knew he would-

-slam the breaker with a wrench he had seen in the electrical closet. The panel sparked, and the lights cut out. Moving swiftly, with his pistol tucked in close to his body, Michael swept into the dark corridor and looked down the space. He pushed through the dark space until he came to a bulkhead. Michael pressed up against the wall next to it, then went to release the hatch.

When he pushed it open, a thud and a Russian curse followed. Michael pushed through, clearing the bright corridor before checking the man he had hit. It was a member of the crew, wearing a heavy coat and a high visibility vest.

The soldier reached over and checked the man’s pulse, he was fine, just out cold. He reached over and pulled the high-vis vest off, stuffing it into his pocket for now. Michael moved to the next bulkhead, and opened it, before finding one leading to the deck. Pausing by the door, Michael holstered his pistol, then released his belt and vest. He let them fall, then reached under his jacket and released his armor carrier and pulled it down. It dropped around his ankles, and he stepped over them. He gathered his tactical gear, and with it wrapped around one arm, he stepped out onto the cold deck.

The sky was grey, waves lapped against the hull below and a gentle but cold wind bit at his face. Nobody was around, thankfully; Michael walked to the railing and dropped the tactical equipment into the Siberian water. Striding away as soon as he dropped the items, Michael holstered his pistol at the small of his back, then shrugged on the high-vis jacket, looking for all the world like a dockworker. Ahead was the drab grey architecture of a Soviet-era port, and a gangway to the dock. He could see gates leading into the city, and that was where he headed. His mind still had yet to spool up for higher thinking, but the inklings of a plan tangled at his consciousness. Analysis pinged at some far away corner of his brain, churning over the outcome of the mission:

We failed, he thought first. Losing the drone, then what followed was not an accident. Whoever it was that took out the drone took out the command post, and took us out in the process. They’ve got the weapons, was the last thought, sending a chill down his spine that his clothing did not protect him from.

Michael passed the gate and the empty shack, guarded only by a bored man watching something on a TV screen instead of his post. Once free of the dock, he shed the hi-vis vest and continued walking, breathing into his hands and rubbing them together to warm himself up. He crunched through a thin layer of snow, but ice did not seem to cover the ground.

Surveillance, I need to get to the dock security building and review the tapes. He told himself, knowing that without a plan, he was helpless. I need to try and get in contact with Hereford and command, he told himself further. There had to be contingencies, plans, something he could take advantage of. Looking around, he spotted a small store and started making his way towards it. Maybe they would be sympathetic to him, and if all else failed, he had his pistol to rely on.

Michael checked the snow covered street, then jogged across with his aching muscles protesting every move. He made it across, and pushed open the door. A bell jingled, and he looked around slowly to check for cameras. Thankfully there were none, and the soldier proceeded to the counter. An elderly and greying Russian man slowly approached, welcoming him.

Michael closed his eyes and started speaking Russian, having learned the language early in his military career. He stated to the man that he was a sailor, his ship had just arrived, and he needed to use the phone. The Russian man nodded slowly, then shuffled back to return with an old telephone.

Michael sheepishly asked for a little privacy, since he was wanting to call a loved one. As the Russian backed off, he did not believe that the Russian did not have the best of hearing anyway, but operational security was not something to be trifled with. Michael thumbed the number for Hereford, then crossed his arms as he heard the dial tone pick up.

“Hereford Base, this is an unsecured line,” an almost robotic female voice picked up.

“Word of the day is barracuda,” Michael said quietly.

“Please hold.”

Several seconds passed, then another voice picked up: “Secure line, how can I direct your call?”

“Brig General Clarke, please.”

“I’m sorry, General Clarke is unavailable.”

“This is an emergency,” Michael insisted.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she responded. “General Clarke has been relieved of duty.”

Michael inhaled sharply, then asked: “transfer me to the base commander then.”

Another pause, then a male voice picked up: “General Hallister. Who is this?”

“General,” Michael breathed, “First Lieutenant Michael Haghn, I’m with-”

“Task Force BLACK, I know. You’re a wanted man.”

“I am, sir?” Michael asked, confusion washing over him.

“I know why you’re calling. This conversation is off the record: Task Force BLACK has been dissolved, Lieutenant. The operators were sent home, as was General Clarke.”

“What happened, sir?” he implored.

“I don’t know. But the orders came from on high. Higher than the Minister of Defense. It’s fallout from the mission in Siberia.”

“Sir, we were attacked. Unknowns, dropped in place of our QRF and the experts-”

“Michael I’m going to level with you,” the general cut him off: “you and the force deployed to Siberia is being blamed for the theft of three nuclear weapons you were ordered to secure. They are currently in the hands of unknown persons, and you and your team are considered nuclear fugitives.”

Michael took a sharp breath, his head swimming: he’d always been on the right side, but now-

“That doesn’t mean you’re out in the cold, there’s still a handful of people you can contact who know the truth. Our hands are tied, but we can try and help you. Do you know Charles Handaly at Langley?”

“Agency, helped us in Iran,” Michael remembered. “Took some desk job after he got hurt.”

“He’s now Station Chief in Moscow, give him a call, he’ll be able to help you. This is probably the last time we’ll talk, good luck Michael.”

The line promptly went dead. The soldier sighed deeply, setting the phone down and heading out of the shop. On the way out, he swiftly scooped a handful of Kopek coins from the tip tray. He made his way out, stuffing his hands in his pocket. He eyed a payphone across the street, and pushed his hands into the pockets of his thermal coat as he walked, trying to look for all the world like just another walker out in the cold.

He tucked into the small phone booth, trying to hide his face the best he could, slipping the coins in and connecting to an operator. In Russian, he asked to be connected to the American embassy in Russia. Once connected, an English voice asked who he would like to reach.

“Charles Handaly, is he in?”

One moment later, he was connected to Deputy Assistant Cultural Attache of the United States Embassy in Moscow: A position held nine times out of ten by a member of the Central Intelligence Agency.

“Handaly.”

“You’ve moved up from that time you fucked up your shoulder playing tennis,” Michael said quietly, a smile creeping into his voice.

A laugh came through the low quality handset, “not a lot of people know that. Hold on a second.” A hiss filled the line, then the Agency spook’s voice returned: “white noise, I gather you’re in a bit of shit, huh?”

“Just a bit,” Michael agreed.

“A bigger mess is coming your way too, in... About six minutes, a plane’s gonna land carrying a four man cleaner crew. They’ve got their orders.”

“Closeout sale?”

“Fire sale.”

“We didn’t do it, Charlie.”

“I don’t believe that you did for a second, Mike,” the agent responded. “But it’s not up to me. Enough people think you did, that’s why they’re going to be rolling into the Dvina Hotel to pick up their dead drop. Come to think of it, there’s one of em who looks like you if you grew a beard,” the CIA man reported. “He’s a smoker, and he’ll have to step outside to indulge his habit.”

Michael committed the information to memory, “what’s being said about the team? Are we dead?”

“Your death certificate got flashed to the DoD, if you got a will or next of kin, they’ll be notified. This is a crock of shit, Mike.”

“Tell me about it. Take care of yourself, Charlie.”

“You too. If you can get ahold of me, I’ll try to pass along whatever I dig up,” the Agency man responded, before the line went dead.

Michael pushed off, hanging up the phone and heading down the snow covered street. Along the way, he poked his head into a shop to ask for directions to the hotel the CIA cleanup team was supposed to be meeting at. Finding out it was over three miles away, he upped his pace through the cold streets as night began to fall over the city. He would have to hustle back to the docks, he had to review security footage, but acquiring identity papers, and maybe some local currency would go a long ways in the future.

Perhaps by coincidence, or sheer luck, Michael arrived at the hotel at the same time four very well built Americans arrived. As he walked, he hatched a plan to gain entry and surprise his target. Like in most buildings in Russia, smoking was prohibited on the property, however, as long as nobody with authority saw you, smoking went anywhere. His bet was that the other four American operators would object to their teammate smoking in their room, secondhand smoke being a detrimental factor to their health after all. He’d be kicked outside, probably somewhere out back.

Michael stalked around the building, finding the back open to a snow covered park. A concrete lot stood by service door, and a pair of industrial size dumpsters not far away. Michael looked to the trash bins, and jumped up on a metal step to peek inside. The smell was putrid, and a handful of flies buzzed around it in the cold. Quickly, he pulled a blanket and a length of pipe from the refuse. It was a good, heavy lead pipe, and the blanket was not too bad either. He tore off the dirtier sections, leaving enough to use for a scarf. He ran through his plan of attack again, then Michael started his best hobo impression. He climbed up onto the dumpster, poking around with his pipe length.

Soon enough, the service door opened and a broad American stepped out, a clatter of wood as he set up a doorstop. There was a flick of a lighter, then the sounds of deep breathing. Michael did not look that way, just dropped from the dumpster. He slunk around it, out of sight, drawing his USP and holding it close to his body. He edged between the two dumpsters, closing his eyes, then acting.

He burst from around the corner, raising his weapon and training it on the Agency operator. “Hands up,” he ordered quietly in Russian.

“You’re making a mistake,” the American replied.

[raynareveur]

What Would Your Characters Do Episode 1: THE THINNING

I recently watched THE THINNING and while it’s a great movie (it’s a prime example of great story tension, for one), there’s just one little thing that bugged me:

Despite believing a lot of things, I can't believe nobody thought of an "in case of failing" escape plan. The writer in me was just incredulous, and spent the rest of the movie coming up with a hypothetical escape plan. I mean, if failing the test means losing your life, and you think you're going to fail, you should come up with a backup plan. And this isn't a case of learned helplessness either. These kids were cheating, fighting, and running when they got a chance. (But it was all random, impulsive decisions when then the opportunity struck, clearly not something planned out in advance.) I get not trying to escape before you take the test, but after the results are announced, you're definitely going to die anyways. What's the downside of fighting for your life? You might fail (though you probably wouldn't if you had a decent plan), but what's the worst that can happen? They'll kill you twice?

So, I spent the rest of the movie imagining what my characters and I would do. Oh, the joys of being a writer. My never-resting, overactive imagination is a blessing and a curse. Finally, I gave in and wrote this little post.

Maybe I’ll make this a regular thing, maybe I won’t, but for now, I hope you enjoy this little thought experiment and writing exercise.

Behold, the failing students of the Novel class of 2017:

Me: Failed because I was writing stuff on Tumblr instead of studying. I'd know that and smuggle a knife (but one of those cool glass ones from YA Fantasy) and various other weapons into the school during all the non-test days and stash them in various places. Like the air vents, because nobody ever checks there. Oh, and also a drill/other power tool to drill through the metal lockdown sheeting. Then stab, drill, and otherwise fight my way out of there. And lockpicks. After some practice, I can pick a simple lock in about fifteen minutes. (Which isn’t practical in the real world, but Movie Logic will take care of everything.)

Nea, from my YA Snow White retelling: She's a resurrected sociopath vampire with a thirst for blood and revenge. 'Nuff said.

Helena, Felicity, and Rosalyn from two different YA Fantasies: They're not from the same book but the books are companion books, so I'll talk about them together. Helena and Felicity are both skilled thieves/con artists, so they would hatch an intricately planned, SIX OF CROWS-Style plot to break out. Rosalyn wouldn't fail, but she'd help her sister escape.

Evelyn from my android Rapunzel retelling: She's an android made out of metal. She'd just sit there quietly, knowing that she's not easily killed, until they give up and let her go.

Mira, Dante, Kit, Lili, Fabian, and Alice from my Alice in Wonderland retelling: Mira would blow something up with her magical powers, and the others would take the opportunity to run and formulate their own individual plans, which all include working against the others. Except for Fabian, who is a ghost and would be laughing at the living characters the whole time.

Via and Ana from my Julius Caesar retelling: One of them is a blood witch (meaning she can control any living thing's blood to kill them in a lot of different nasty ways) and the other is a necromancer. There's really not a lot of ways ANY exit plan they come up with could fail.

Gina, Henry, Emma, Jess, and Logan from my Paranormal Giselle/Stanford Prison Experiment retelling: Gina would make a deal with the angry ghosts of all the other people killed in the room, and unleash havoc upon everyone. The rest of the group would team up to stop her from killing innocents and also find a way to avoid dying themselves...which is exactly what happens in the book. I should probably stop now.

To end this post, I would like to say that the abnormal frequency of murder in all these escape plans are due to me being a YA dark Fantasy writer, not a serial killer.

#What Would Your Characters Do #WWYCD #writing

[dweetwise]

day 21: i don’t feel so well

prompt from: whumptober pairing: felix x ace notes: the hanahaki au nobody asked for. i’m still a little confused about the trope but i tried <3 warnings: descriptions of illness, injury and blood, temporary character death word count: 3130

“That was awesome! She didn't stand a chance!” Steve cheers.

“That's what she gets for camping. What a bitch!” Nea laughs

Ace grins despite the pain, steadying himself against Jeff's sturdy form while the four of them are making their way back to the campfire after a successful trial.

His head is swimming and there's blood staining his teeth, his back stinging from numerous bloody gashes from the killer's katana. But he's alive, even if he had to crawl out through the exit, his teammates not letting the Spirit secure the kill on him.

When they get back to camp, Steve and Nea are off to spin the tale of their rescue to the others, and Ace can't help but smile when they generously color the experience; just like he would.

Jeff supports him to sit down against one of the logs, offering a somewhat awkward "There you go, buddy" in encouragement.

Ace sees Quentin hand Claudette one of his med-kits and then the group's resident healer approaches him with determined steps.

“Hey, sweetheart—” Ace starts with a grin.

“Stalling isn't going to work,” Claudette shoots him down quickly, seeing right through his act. So Ace sighs dramatically and shrugs off his jacket, and the girl immediately hikes up his shirt to start cleaning the wounds on his back.

Ace hisses from the sting of some kind of alcohol, turning his attention back to the others to try to distract himself from the pain.

Most of the others are listening to to Steve's and Nea's story while the rest are scattered around camp, doing their own things. Kate is tuning her guitar, Jake is stocking one of his toolboxes, and Cheryl seems to be practicing the card trick Ace taught her a couple of days ago.

And then there's Felix.

Finally giving himself permission to look at the handsome German, Ace's heart immediately starts beating faster. He's not even doing anything, just sitting by the fire engrossed in a conversation with Zarina, but Ace is so infatuated even just Felix breathing is almost enough to make him blush.

He thought he was too old for schoolboy crushes like these, but then again how could he not fancy Felix? The guy has some absolutely god-tier genes, a chiseled face and ice blue eyes and a body to die for. He’s also smart, and sophisticated, and filthy rich.

And god knows none of those qualities had ever been Ace's strong suit.

At first Ace had thought his hyperfixation on the man was jealousy, but then his body showed him that was definitely not the case; he didn't want to be Felix, he wanted to be in Felix. The realization didn't phase him as much as it maybe should have, because even the straight-as-a-board Ash had commented on Felix's good looks. And Ace sure as hell wasn't even straight to begin with.

No, his panic had come from when he'd caught himself looking at couples like Jeff and Adam being mushy together and imagined himself and Felix in their place.

Ace had a healthy amount of confidence, though the others might not describe it that kindly, but he wasn't blind. Felix was younger than him, maybe not by an impossible amount but still enough to be noticeable. He was also model-tier gorgeous with a body to match, and while Ace wasn't bad-looking he also had a crooked nose and a build solely used for drinking and gambling.

All in all, he recognized when someone was out of his league, and even though he couldn't resist a cheeky flirt ever now and then, he knew his feelings would never be returned.

But he still allowed himself to look; sue him.

He's in the middle of an indulgent daydream about laying his head on Felix's lap like Kate is doing to Yui on the other side of camp, all the while effortlessly keeping up small talk with Claudette tending to his wounds.

And then he starts coughing.

It's not a normal dry cough, it wracks his entire body and keeps going, and he curls in on himself because damn it’s making his throat hurts and his lungs ache something fierce.

“Ace, what's wrong?” Claudette's worried voice cuts through the attack. He tries to reply but it just makes him cough more, and it's not stopping—

Something slimy lands in the palm he's using to cover his mouth and then he can breathe again, taking sharp gasps of air while his throat tingles from the abuse.

He looks at whatever piece of his organs he managed to cough up, the Spirit's blade probably having rearranged some of his guts. He opens his hand and sees—

A flower?

It's absolute covered in blood, but there's no mistaking it, a single flower sitting in the palm of his hand with some loose petals surrounding it.

Why did he cough up a flower? Where did he even get it? It looks like some sort of cherry blossom, a far cry from the Entity's pustulas or the forest bouquets they pick and use for offerings.

“Are you okay?" Claudette asks, moving to kneel beside him in worry. When she sees the flower, she gasps in surprise.

“What happened?” Meg is quick to join her friend, coming up behind Ace to peer over his shoulder. “Uh… did that flower come out of you?”

“I… guess so?” Ace says, his voice raspy and throat protesting being used.

“So you just, like… ate it? Before?” Steve cocks his head in confusion.

“Come on now, I'm not that stupid,” Ace snorts, some of his worry giving way to amusement over the incredulous situation.

“Then what the hell was that?” Meg asks, scrunching her face up in thought while poking at the gross flower.

“I’m pretty sure I know what’s wrong,” Adam raises his voice from across camp, straightening his back when all eyes turn to him. “It’s an illness, I recognize the symptoms."

“Can't say I've ever heard of a disease that makes you barf petals,” Ash offers, clearly skeptical, and Ace shares the sentiment.

“Shh, hear him out!” Laurie scolds.

"It's a Japanese folk story,” Adam explains. “Flowers start growing in a person's lungs, causing coughing and bleeding and..." he hesitates.

“Well?” Meg demands.

"And ultimately resulting in death, unless the condition is cured," Adam says grimly.

“Are you talking about hanahaki?” Yui pipes up before anyone can question the weird statement. “You know that's just a shojo manga trope, right?”

“It's also mentioned in historical literature,” Adam argues, though from the way he refuses to meet Yui's gaze, he seems to be embarrassed over the subject.

“Dude, nobody cares if you read girl comics, just tell us what the cure is,” Feng snorts, and that's probably the most concern Ace has ever seen her display over his well-being.

“It's—” Adam starts, before faltering, awkwardly scratching at his neck while looking at the ground. “Supposedly caused by unrequited love.”

There's dead silence in the camp.

And then Nea bursts out laughing.

“Jesus, what a story!” the tagger snickers. “Can you imagine Ace as a fairytale princess?”

“Honey, I think you might have gotten some myths mixed up,” Jeff says diplomatically, patting Adam's knee affectionately.

“Yeah, you probably just inhaled a flower in your sleep or something,” Steve encourages Ace.

“I'm pretty sure this is just a practical joke from our dear spidery overlord,” Ace chuckles and pointedly doesn't look Felix's way. Come next trial, his injuries will have healed anyway, including the weird burn in his lungs.

But they don’t.

Trial after trial, the Entity resurrects him and heals all of his wounds but the coughing persists, more and more flowers following.

Even the others are getting worried.

“That's it, bud,” Ash offers, patting his back while Ace is wheezing for breath after coughing up some more petals. “It's just a weird flu, you'll be good as new soon.”

“At least the flowers go with my shirt,” Ace jokes, voice reduced to a rasp, clearing his throat. “Pink was always my color.”

He's trying to keep his and the others' spirits high, since there doesn't seem to be anything they can do to fix the situation.

“We need to do something,” Ace hears Laurie hiss to Dwight, apparently disagreeing with his sentiment.

“B-but how can we even help him?” their leader, bless his heart, looks genuinely upset over Ace's condition.

“Maybe we should try Adam's suggestion," Laurie says.

“Yeah, except you know he wouldn’t tell us even if he did like someone,” Yui huffs from beside them. “Good luck getting an answer out of a compulsive liar.”

Ouch, but also fair. Ace sure as hell isn't going to reveal his dumb little crush, especially since Felix has avoided him since this entire goddamn flower thing started. He knows there's only a slim chance that Felix realizes what's really going on, but it still feels like rejection nonetheless.

He can deal with this. Even if it kills him, the Entity will just bring him back anyway. It's not even that bad.

But then it gets so much worse.

After a week, Ace is laying on his side while black spots dance around in his vision and he struggles to draw enough wheezy breaths into his lungs. His chest hurts, and his throat is so sore even just the air passing through burns like fire. He hasn't been able to speak in days, and that's almost worse than the pain, not being able to use his only coping mechanism of running his mouth until something sticks to lighten the mood.

His head is cushioned on Kate's thigh and he gets a tiny bit of satisfaction from the knowledge that at least he managed to lay in one pretty blonde's lap before dying, even if it’s the wrong one. The touch is comforting nonetheless, though the fact that it’s accompanied by Kate's girlfriend practically screaming in his ear kind of puts a damper on the whole thing.

“I swear to god, I will make every single person in this camp kiss you, do not test me,” Yui threatens, one of the few who haven't given up on curing him. “Is it Jane? Bill?”

If Ace had the energy, he'd probably laugh about her choices, curious as to why those two were the ones she picked. As it stands, he merely stares at her, wondering if his eyes look as dull and lifeless as he feels.

“He's going to die,” Jake says from somewhere to his side, but Ace doesn't even bother turning his head or denying the statement. Hurried voices shush the saboteur while Kate starts humming a melody to distract him, Yui glaring absolute daggers in Jake’s general direction.

His next trial, Jake's prediction comes true.

Ace collapses to the ground in the midst of a coughing fit. The flowers are growing even bigger now, he can feel them tearing at his throat and vocal cords, retching when they trigger his gag reflex on their way out. His vision blurs and then goes black, body finally giving up as the illness consumes him.

He's not even injured from the killer, but the pool of blood he falls into is big enough to cover the entire side of his face. He lays there, not sure if he's even breathing, just thankful that the awful coughing has stopped for at least a moment.

When he comes to, he expects the small comfort of the campfire before he has to go through the same thing again. Instead, he doesn't have enough energy to even open his eyes, slowly realizing he's still in the trial.

It takes him even longer to realize he's being held partly off of the ground, his body hanging limply in someone’s grasp. He idly wonders if a killer is going to mercy hook him, but then he hears something.

Crying.

Focusing on the sound, Ace realizes he's not just being lifted, he's being held in someone's arms. Someone is holding his near-dead body and crying.

With both his mind and body broken from suffering for so long, he allows himself to imagine it's Felix, even though he knows it's not true. Felix has shown he doesn't care, not talking to him and being so grossed out by his symptoms he’s barely even looked at him—

“Das tut mir leid,” is whispered against his hair, and Ace wonders if he's hallucinating or if his brain has given up on speech comprehension, because that sounded an awful lot like German.

Suddenly, he gains some of his strength back, his chest not feeling nearly as tight as it has for the past few days.

“Felix?” Ace asks, and even though it comes out as a raspy whisper, it's impossible to miss in the stillness of the quiet moment. The surprised hitch of breath he gets in response sounds impossibly loud, and he manages to blink awake just enough to see the tear-streaked, wide-eyed face of the person he never thought he could have.

And that's when the Entity decides he's bled on the ground long enough and he blacks out from blood loss.

When Ace comes to, he's no longer in pain. He can breathe. And he wants nothing more than to get back to camp and be reassured that he wasn't imagining Felix being there for him in his final moments.

He runs to the campfire, panting from exertion once he's illuminated by the familiar glow and shocked faces turn to look at him.

“What the—did you run here!?” Meg exclaims incredulously.

“Yeah,” Ace says, eyes scanning the small crowd of familiar faces, so focused on finding a particular one he doesn't even realize the implications of managing to speak without issue.

“Your voice!” Kate exclaims happily, and Ace pauses to collect some of his thoughts.

“Shit, you're right,” he says, a smile tugging on his lips for the first time in what feels like weeks.

“Welcome back, you bastard!” Nea cheers and flings herself at him in a sideways hug, and Ace stumbles to catch himself from falling, chuckling at her antics.

Claudette is sobbing, looking impossibly relieved, and the others are cheering among themselves, though Ace can't make out the contents because he sees a familiar figure making its way to camp and his entire world zones in on that person.

Felix looks up at the sound of the commotion, and Ace's heart breaks a little over how puffy his eyes still look, but then their eyes meet and Felix looks so hopeful—

“Hey,” Ace says, and it probably gets drowned out by the others, but Felix's eyes widen in recognition and he starts walking faster.

“Are you…?” Felix asks, close enough for Ace to hear him over the others shouting.

“He's fixed!” Nea answers for him, finally letting go of the almost painful hug in favor of smacking Ace on the back encouragingly.

Felix glances at Nea but quickly looks back at Ace, waiting for confirmation.

“Yeah, I… guess I'm cured,” Ace says, and it almost feels weird to hear his own voice again. “Or... You know, I hope so.”

Because he's still not sure about Felix's feelings, and he has no idea where they're going to go from here.

But he doesn't need to worry, because Felix's face lights up in a way he's never seen before, letting out a disbelieving, genuine laugh. And then he's stepping forward and cupping his cheek and Ace only has time to blink in confusion before his head is tilted up into a kiss.

“Woah,” Ace hears Nea exclaim, her hand leaving his back like burned. “This, uh… this is new.”

Ace smiles into the kiss and tunes out the rest of her and the others’ surprised babbling, grabbing Felix by the collar of his dress shirt and pulling him deeper into the kiss.

When neither of them are making a move to pull away, their friends seem to be getting fidgety from the show.

“Why don’t we go for a stroll in the woods?” Kate suggests, and the chorus of “Sure!” “Great idea!” and “Oh fuck yes get me out of here” that follow are enough for a laugh to bubble up in Ace’s throat and get swallowed by Felix’s mouth.

When the last pair of footsteps have hurried away, Felix deems it appropriate to finally break away from the kiss. Though he doesn’t go far, burying his head into the crook of Ace’s neck and shoulder and wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug.

“Welcome back,” Felix murmurs against his skin, and the warm affection spreading through Ace’s chest is a welcome change from the constant pain he’s been in for way too long.

“Didn’t expect such a thorough welcome,” Ace can’t resist flirting, hands sneaking up to rest on Felix’s incredibly firm back. The chuckle he gets in return reverberates through both of their bodies due to how close they are, and Ace wonders if Felix can hear his heart frantically beating in excitement.

“I’m… shit,” Felix eventually sighs, lifting his head to meet Ace’s eyes. “I don’t know how to make up for being an idiot. I just watched you suffer and didn’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay,” Ace says, but now he’s curious. “Why did you avoid me?”

“Because I was afraid that I'd get the illness too,” Felix says, looking at the ground in shame. “I thought any one of us could get it, and because of how I feel about you… I was scared I was next.”

The confirmation that Felix had feelings for him even before this whole clusterfuck started is enough to make more butterflies dance in Ace’s gut, a flush creeping up his neck over how the other is openly spilling his heart.

“If I’d have known I was the one causing it, I would have done something sooner. I’m so sorry," Felix murmurs, looking at him with sad puppy eyes.

“Hey, it's not like I was being very cooperative,” Ace points out, giving his most encouraging smile. “It's not your fault, it's the dumb flower sickness.”

“I'm sorry you had to go through that, regardless,” Felix frowns. “But… I'm glad it lead us here,” he adds with a bashful smile that makes Ace’s heart do a couple leaps.

“Figures the best and worst things of my life would happen simultaneously,” Ace flirts, and apparently Felix enjoys being called the best thing in his life, because his sappy smile widens even further.

Ace can’t resist diving in for another taste, capturing smiling lips in a kiss that lasts even longer than the first one and makes their friends groan and complain about “Geez, you’re still going?” when they rejoin them at the campfire.

#whumptober2020 #no.21 #i don't feel so well #dead by daylight #fic #blood tw #death tw #riconti #ace visconti #felix richter #dweetwrites #dbd #dbd fanfic #prompt #felix x ace #illness cw #vomiting tw