#oswald baskerville fanfiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

antihero-writings · 4 years

Note

Oswald has a nightmare about executing Lacie and she comforts him? :D

Notes:

Hey @el-of-the-daleys! So sorry this took so long!! I really hope you enjoy it!! <3

I actually am planning on adding to this fic something that wasn't in/is a little different from the prompt for a second chapter, haha!!

Since I wrote a scene fitting this prompt in “The Things He Left Unsaid”--(actually I believe that scene is why I was given this prompt?? Because you liked that scene?? Correct me if I’m wrong!!)--I wanted to go somewhere different with the scene/prompt this time. I started writing it...but it ended up being too different, and not actually fitting the prompt XD So I had to go back and write something that fit the original prompt, haha!! Don't get me wrong, I really like this chapter, I think it turned out really nice!! But I still liked what I originally wrote too, and think it takes it in a creative direction, and fits as a second chapter, so I plan on doing just that and finishing it and adding it as a second chapter!!

Anyways! I hope you like what I came up with!!

To others reading, I love getting prompts, and Pandora Hearts is my favorite series, so if you want me to write something for Lacie and/or Oswald, Pandora Hearts, (or anything really!), I'd be delighted!!

I'd really appreciate if you could leave me a comment and let me know if you enjoyed this!! They really do motivate me to keep writing, and make my entire week!!

Dismembered Duets (Ch1)

A song cut through the moment. Each note a twinkling, golden light falling about the atmosphere.

His sister was dancing in her room. A purple butterfly fluttering about her garden, bringing life to all the flowers around her. Her song. Her dance. Sheer wonderful absurdity, pollinating this black and white world.

And the puppets smiled in reply.

He wanted to join her, to dance and sing too…But something was keeping him back. Something physical, or something spiritual, he wasn’t sure.

A beautiful, gentle melody to sing him to sleep …Yet, as she continued, he found there was something dark, distorted, something…perhaps a little mad within it;

The harmony, every few seconds would cut with a dissonant note, like a misstep on the piano. An error of the foot.

As she kept going, the song, the dance, sped up, and the lapses became more frequent, though she didn’t seem to notice; just kept dancing as if this was all part of the plan.

And when the notes slipped, reality would crack. Or, more accurately, the cracks in the world—that is to say the chains holding reality together—would bleed into his vision.

He wanted to join her. To take her hands and twirl her around. Be her brother, her protector and confidant, in that beautiful insanity. To feel it too; for the notes to tickle his arms, wire his movements, to take root in him, to know what she felt as her voice rang and ran out.

He knew he shouldn’t. He surely couldn’t. The dance was not his. Not his to join. Not his to take and taint.

Still, he couldn’t just stand on the sidelines.

Oswald took a step forward.

A chain unlatched. A chain he didn’t even know was there. The sound wrapped around her right wrist, keeping her hand in place. She hung her head, looking at him, a smile etched on her features that—like the music—was just a little bit mad.

His mouth opened in horror. He took another step forward, this time to try to help her, to untie the chain—

With a loud clank a new chain wrapped around her left wrist, hanging her other hand in place.

“Lacie!” he cried, and decided taking it slow was the problem; he ran as fast as he could to her.

That only made everything happen in seconds: a chain around one leg, then the other, and her body flew upwards like her partner in the dance was lifting her into the air, and he knew they weren’t going to let her back down…

—(Was he her partner? Why were his movements chaining her? He didn’t want this)—

The next pierced her abdomen, and another through her chest, one through her leg instead of around it—blood flocking to each in turn—and the last, wrapped around her neck, though it didn’t slice through it.

By the time he arrived at her side it was too late. As he stood below, she hung there, her blood dripping onto his cheeks like the first drops of an intense rain.

But she didn’t yell or scream, or cry, or even ask what was happening. It was like she knew this was going to happen from the start. That smile stayed on her face, and it was more than a little mad now. An almost-maimed beautiful thing on her brother’s lonely, metal strings.

He stared up at her in horror, those violet eyes shimmering, pooling with red. He wanted to scream and cry, to run for help, to say something, anything at all, but no words came to him, none would adequately do the job, so silence was his pick of poison.

As the blood dripped onto him, instead of falling to the ground, it trickled and slithered onto his back—as if it was a living snake, with a mind of its own—and dove beneath his skin.

He cried out and pain, falling to his knees as knives jammed into his back. He didn’t even know where he was, what he was doing, or who he was for that matter—

—Was he Oswald; Lacie’s brother, who wrote songs in his spare time? Or was he Glen, without a second to spare, in charge of the whole goddamn world?—

When the pain subsided, sense and memory returned. He tried to lift his arm, to get up, to help his sister—she needed his help—

But his hand was too heavy to lift—

No, not his hand...for what he saw raise feebly in its place was a blackened claw…with the other end of the chain resting in its grasp.

He gasped, let go. But as it clattered to the ground, the tiles began to give way, all converging on the spot, collapsing beneath him. But before he could fall into the void something gripped his ankles and lifted him up until he was hanging upside down beside her, a fly caught in this twisted web, waiting for the spider to devour him.

An ugly sound reverberated around him, like a bubbling cauldron full of the worst poisons. It took a moment for him to realize it was Lacie laughing.

He jerked his head to look at her, to see her face, his sister’s beautiful face, twisted into a dollish, painted sneer.

No, it couldn’t be her laugh. Her laugh was the sound of butterfly wing beats on summer days, her laugh was the sound of a brook in spring, the wind rushing through the leaves in autumn, the fire crackling in winter—

She reached out and wrapped one of the chains around her arm, and pulled hard, enough that her brother, on the other end, was lifted up by the ankles until he was hanging upside down in front of the mirror on the mantelpiece.

Something told him not to look. Something very sensible. He listened: shut his eyes tight, refusing to look, to see it.

But he heard giggling to his side, a giggling that got closer, and soon he felt the dolls crawl over him. He tried to shake them off, but two made their way onto his head. They put their tiny porcelain hands on his eyelids and pried his eyes open, as Lacie whispered softly,

“You can’t look away from this, nii-sama.”

He almost yelped in shock.

It was him…but not him. A twisted, grotesque version of himself. His expression was marred with drops of red, like clawmarks across his handsome face. Speaking of claws, his hands had turned into the blackened, talons of beasts, and they were bloody.

And, worst of all, black as the night sky on a starless evening, four, great, feathered wings had erupted from his back, so big they obscured much of the room from view.

Was this him? No. It couldn’t be…Certainly not. What could have caused this? …How long had he been like this?

“If you wanted to play, Glen,” said that demented smile, the words no longer soft, “you could have just asked.”

And the puppets laughed in reply—

—(All except the black rabbit, who looked altogether too sad to join in)—

The toys climbed onto the chain holding him up, and jumped up and down on it as if it were a trampoline snickering as it started yanking him back and forth.

“Wait!” he yelled when he realized, too late, what was about to happen.

And as he swung into the mirror, cued by the sound of shattering glass only in his mind—

The sweet chorus of reality came in.

A twenty-year-old Oswald shot up in bed, his shirt sticking to his chest with sweat, his violet eyes piercing the dark like spears, trying to hunt something far from this room, all the while trying to temper his breath, his heartbeat, his dismay, to keep his prey from noticing his presence…and failing.

He’d been dealing with these sorts of sleep-induced traumas as long as he could remember—(No, calling them nightmares didn’t quite cover it).

Sleep was meant to be peace, but, spending so much time controlling his reactions, pacifying his hopes, his fears, when he relinquished his control to the night it could only bring all those pesky little humanities to the surface.

Knowing one day you’ll be sending your sister into nonexistence isn’t exactly a lullaby.

Knowing one day he’d be someone else, Glen, in charge of the world, and unallowed to deal with such human things as nightmares, unable to run to any sort of guardian for comfort from the demons didn’t help them go away today.

His breath remained heavy on his chest, feeling too warm and too cold at the same time.

The room was far too small.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed, marching out the door without a second thought, or changing his nightclothes.

Fresh air was what he needed. An escape from this oppressive place.

The nightmare echoed like a resounding gong throughout his head, its images repeating, its emotions resounding.

No, he couldn’t let this consume him.

After all. It would all be real some day.

He didn’t know how fast he was moving; if he was walking calmly, or running, but at some point he found air. The world outside smelled like daffodils and peace. The courtyard, it was once called, in some time far from now. At last he allowed himself to pause, take a deep breath—

And he heard singing.

He froze, his eyes widening.

He waited, sure this was just an addendum to the nightmare, that before long the notes would slip, become that mad melody…but they didn’t. They remained the gentle tone of a true, sane song. One of his own compositions, if he recalled.

He let the music pull him slowly along like a lifeline to a ship, until he saw Lacie in the middle of the courtyard, twirling around in her white nightdress, singing without a care in the world.

Of course she was up at fifteen in the morning singing. What normal person would be?

She dipped and swayed like a bird in the air.

He didn’t dare take a step forward. Didn’t dare try to join her. From the sidelines he interrupted;

“What are you doing up?”

“Asks my brother, who’s wandering around in his nightclothes.” She didn’t miss a beat, and continued dancing, despite the halt in music.

“Who could sleep with you singing like this?” He folded his arms.

She grinned, and it was that playful, mischievous—but still sane—thing. “I’ve only been singing for a few minutes, and your room’s on the other side of the manor. You can’t possibly have heard me.”

He didn’t reply, only looked away.

“Having trouble sleeping, Ni-sama?”

“What makes you ask that?”

“Please. You think I don’t know my brother well enough to know he doesn’t stroll around at midnight for fun?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Soo, my dear brother had a widdle nightmare.”

“Stop.” He said like the word itself would force her to obey.

“Ahh so a nightmare about me.” There was no hint of fear, or inclination of obedience in her.

His eyes widened.

“The usual, I presume?” She may well have been talking about what he wanted to order for breakfast.

He looked down and spoke softly. “…Yes.”

She walked up to him, and without warning, lunged for his hand.

“What are you doing?” He ripped it away, holding it up high.

“Dance with me.” She looked up at him with puppy dog eyes, resting her head on his chest, the grin on her face lined with mischief.

His eyes lidded. He pushed her away, before folding his arms over his chest; keeping them behind bars.

No. He shouldn’t. Besides, he didn’t want to; he wasn’t any good at dancing anyways. He’d just step on her toes, or worse.

She tugged on his arm, trying to free it from its bind.

“Pweease?”

He looked away, not budging.

This dance belonged to her. His part was merely the song—a song to which he never wrote lyrics. It wasn’t his place to dance to it. Only admire from a distance.

He didn’t want to chain her.

“Preeeeetty please?” She blinked girlishly. “What if I promised to do something for you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Will you clean your room?”

She pouted. “…Fine.”

He allowed his hand pardon.

She snatched it before he could give a caveat, or even try to protest. Her skin was cold against his sweaty fingers…but not an unwelcome cold. It was the kind of cold that was gentle, that could bring him back to reality.

The wind rushed by as she pulled him along, until they were beneath the colonnade, where the air was cooler, and fireflies were blinking in and out of focus.

He was pretty sure this was what it would feel like to be taken away by the fae folk.

Upon arriving, she stopped abruptly—(he almost ran into her)—and held out her other hand. He rolled his eyes before accepting it. Grinning, she began to pull him along into the moves, putting one hand on his back, and the other on his shoulder.

“You’re leading?” He frowned.

“I’d be pleased to follow your lead,”—she took a step forward, and he stepped on her toe, causing a smirk to spread across her features—“But something tells me you’re not up to the task.”

He glowered at her.

The notes spilling from her mouth as they swayed and spun back and forth, traveling through the pathways in the colonnade. …He stepped on her toes a number of times.

“You’re so stiff, nii-sama,” she noted. “You just need to loosen up.”

“Maybe I’m stiff because my sister is forcing me to dance against my will.”

She sighed fakely. “I guess my room will just have to remain a pigsty.”

He tried to loosen up.

Lacie didn’t continue the music for a moment, simply looked through the columns into the sky. “The stars are beautiful. It’s like they’re waving at us.”

He cast his gaze there too.

The sky was calm, the air fresh…it was hard to remain anxious out here, holding his sister’s hand.

“Yes.” He replied absentmindedly, then paused before speaking, “You never actually answered my question.”

She grinned slyly. “‘What am I doing up?’…Let’s just say you’re not the only one who the demons have an affection for.”

3 notes · View notes

phmonth · 3 years

Text

Phmonth21 (and Vncweek) Prompts!!

We have our prompts for Pandora Hearts Month 2021!! A huge thank you to everyone who voted!!!! 😘

Pandora Hearts Month is an event that regards the main Pandora Hearts trios (Golden Trio, Rainsworth Trio, and Tragedy Trio) and two bonus weeks, one in which we focus on any ships/friendships/ot3 fans chose and love, and another for Vanitas no Carte. You can create edits, fanart, drabbles, fanfictions, amvs and mms.

Please remember to tag this blog @phmonth2021, and/or me @i-prefer-the-term-antihero and/or Maddy @maddyisenough in your posts, to make sure we reblog them!!

I also made a collection on Ao3 for writers!! So please post your Ao3 fics to the collection, and/or tag your posts on Ao3 with Phmonth21 so i can find them!!

And don't forget to either put a link, or a “read more” on long fics if you are a writer (or long posts in general), so it’s easier for us to reblog!

For VNCweek tag your spoilers, folks!! There are plenty of people who are either behind, or haven’t gotten around to reading it at all yet but want to. So if you think something might be spoilery, better safe than sorry!

Lastly, don’t forget to join our discord if you haven’t!! It’s a fun place to discuss the series and more easily share your creations!!

Without further ado, here are the prompts!

Golden Trio Week (Alice, Oz and Gilbert), Feb 28th—6th:

Day 1, Sunday Feb 28th: Snuggle

Day 2, Monday March 1st: Obsession

Day 3, Tuesday Mar 2nd: AU

Day 4, Wednesday Mar 3rd: Spring

Day 5, Thursday Mar 4th: Present

Day 6, Friday Mar 5th: Gold

Day 7, Saturday Mar 6th: Rabbit

Rainsworth Trio Week (Sharon, Break and Reim), March 7th—Mar 13th:

Day 1, Sunday Mar 7th: Tired

Day 2, Monday Mar 8th: Crown and/or Blind

Day 3, Tuesday Mar 9th: Blush

Day 4, Wednesday Mar 10th: Glasses

Day 5, Thursday Mar 11th: Autumn

Day 6, Friday Mar 12th: Regret

Day 7, Saturday Mar 13th: Carnival

Tragedy Trio Week (Lacie, Jack and Oswald), March 14th—20th:

Day 1, Sunday Mar 14th 🕑: Silver

Day 2, Monday Mar 15th: Face and/or Influence

Day 3, Tuesday Mar 16th: Fire

Day 4, Wednesday Mar 17th🍀: Conscience

Day 5, Thursday Mar 18th: Maybe

Day 6, Friday Mar 19th: Ancient

Day 7, Saturday Mar 20th: Feather

Fan’s choice Week, March 21st—17th:

Day 1, Sunday Mar 21st: Doll

Day 2, Monday Mar 22th: Scarlet

Day 3, Tuesday Mar 23th: Trapped

Day 4, Wednesday Mar 24th: Letter

Day 5, Thursday Mar 25th: Winter

Day 6, Friday Mar 26th: Butterfly

Day 7, Saturday Mar 27th🥖🍷: Masquerade

Vncweek, March 28th—April 3rd:

Day 1, Sunday Mar 28th🌴: Rumor

Day 2, Monday Mar 29th🧡💖💛: Passion

Day 3, Tuesday Mar 30th: Myth

Day 4, Wednesday Mar 31th: Witch

Day 5, Thurday April 1st🃏: White

Day 6, Friday April 2nd✝️: Faith

Day 7, Saturday April 3rd: Dissonance

You are free to have fun with this!! As long as you tag it, NSFW is allowed! (Writing/tagging the ships is nice too). You can pretty much do whatever you want with the prompts!!

You can join any time, and use as many or as few prompts as you want!! And you don't have to post on the day if you can’t make it!! We’ll reblog things late.

For the trio weeks, as long as you make sure the characters from the trio are your main focus, it’s okay to use other characters in your creations too!!

Since nobody really said anything about my other post, the fourth week will remain Fan’s Choice week, as it’s always been. But just know, if you decide to write specifically about characters who aren’t covered by the other weeks, you get bonus points from me!!

Since we live across the world, you are free to post whenever the day is for you. I myself will be making posts according to my time, which is Central Standard Time in America.

Feel free to get started on making stuff early!!

We’re so excited to see what you make!!! Thank you for all your support!!

i-prefer-the-term-antihero

58 notes · View notes

this-idiots-left-eye · 3 years

Text

Hereditary Loyalty

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Summary: Do demon’s reside in the left hand after all? If so, Gilbert’s in need of an exorcism. || Exploring some of Gilbert’s internal monologue in Retrace: LXXVII/Chapter 78, and how current events relate to Break’s warning earlier in the series.

Notes: Okay so apparently I totally forgot to post my phmonth fics over here on this blog?? 🤦🏼‍♀️

This was written for @phmonth2021‘s prompt for Golden Trio week, Day 2: Obsession.

I’ve always wanted to explore what Break said about his loyalty being an obsession at this point, so that’s what this prompt made me think of.

I'll put links to this fic on Ao3 and FF.net in a reblog!

Also, fyi, I've started a Pandora Hearts series on my Ao3 so that those who only want to follow me for ph can do so!! So if you like my ph fics, please consider following it!! I post for ph more than any other fandom!

Your comments and reblogs mean the absolute world to me! Especially for less-well known series like this one! So I’d really appreciate if you’d leave me one!!

As Gilbert lay, half asleep on the bed, the sound of a bullet ricocheted off the walls of his mind. It echoed, growling louder, gaining momentum, as it traveled back and forth.

“I’ve always wanted to ask you this…How can you be so devoted to your master? That loyalty of yours…No, should I call it your obsession? Saying it’s whole hearted might sound pleasant to the ears, but the way I see it, it’s simply abnormal.”

“Believe whatever you want. Regardless of what you say I—!”

“Let me give you a word of advice. A loyalty that holds fast will become a blade…and will someday pierce those you hold dear. Open both eyes wide. That is, if you don’t want to end up like me.”

Those cursed words. The whispers of the bullet on its merry go round.

He’d taken them as an insult, then. Told himself Break wasn’t completely sane, after all. His devotion was indeed wholehearted, pure, and he wasn’t going to lose anything else.

They were a warning. A prayer for his well being. Not some misunderstanding or otherwise creepy proclamation. Break was too sane for any of their good.

Gilbert understood now. And he hated himself for understanding. Hated Break for being right. Hated himself for not listening. Hated Break for giving him something to not listen to. Hated the truth most of all, for just how nightmarish it was. All this had no right being real.

The gunshot rebounded again, and he dug his nails into his palm. His left palm. Always the left. Always the pain. Always the truth. The horrible memory. Though it would have been true without the memory.

Do the demons reside in the left hand after all?

He’d fired many bullets in his lifetime. Too many, perhaps. Some at targets. Some at Chains. Some at people. Some at the Baskervilles, who were somewhere in between. And he wasn’t always sure the decision to fire was right.

But those shots—even those situations a bit too ambiguous to be sure—didn’t echo for longer than a night.

This one. This one he knew would echo throughout his whole life if he wasn’t careful, or was simply a little too careless.

But there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing at all. He was bound and broken to Glen Baskerville, because that’s what he was: a Baskerville. Etched into his name, the fabric of his flesh, his being. So here he was, spending the night on the dark side.

Not Oz. No. Never. Never. Never Oz.

“Shoot him.”

His left palm was bleeding now.

His Master. His best friend. His dear light. He’d swallow and bathe in dark if only for a sliver of light. He’d never, never, never hurt his precious—

“A loyalty that holds fast will become a blade…and will someday pierce those you hold dear.”

Oh but it wasn’t a blade, was it? It was a bullet. There is a difference, yes. Blades are quiet. Far less risk of tainted memory.

Loyalty. But it wasn’t his loyalty to Oz that became the bullet, it was that towards Glen.

“Is the one you need really Oz Vessalius?”

Damn him. Damn him for trying to help. Damn Gilbert himself for thinking him nothing but a useless clown.

How can I know if I’m not with him?

He loved Glen, once. Looked up to him. Idolized him. Cut and polished as his successor, his copy. And, once upon a time, he didn’t mind.

This loyalty was more than pure and blind devotion. He knew that now. It was something far more deeply ingrained. Something that branded and stained, and may just maim. He loved Glen from the start, yes. He was kind. A good king. Even as a child Gilbert could tell that.

But at some point he couldn’t tell what was his true feelings, and what was the magic curving its way inside him like puppet strings.

Where was the oath written again?

No prince should be permitted to disobey his king, after all. Even those whose relation was bloodless. Hereditary loyalty.

Couldn’t we do this without anything attached? Can’t we let our bodies move according to the request of our souls?

So his loyalty towards Oz…was it something pure, or something that immured him? He always thought it his most honorable quality. He was his steadfast servant, his chivalrous knight. But perhaps he only latched on because he was puppeteered and programmed to be a creature of service.

“That loyalty of yours…No, should I call it your obsession?”

Maybe this was how things were supposed to be after all. There was no such thing as love or fate, or dreams. Just the strings, the spiderwebs. We’re all cocooned, waiting for the poison to kick in.

What was he thinking? How could he think he didn’t really care for Oz? How could their adventures, their time together really mean nothing?

He loved Glen too once. And he couldn’t tell if even that was real anymore.

Glen’s successor, his copy, his soul, his left hand, his wings—

Raven.

The one thing he stole from him. The contract half-fulfilled then. Promises broken. Promises that couldn’t help but be fulfilled. The one thing that would ever belong to him. A chain half-connected. The ship might just drift out to sea that way.

Raven, whose seal lay in his left hand. His ever cursed left hand. His symbol of Glen, still.

“You will be bound by your left hand again.”

He felt like his face might break as he tried to keep both the tears and laughter that simmered beneath the surface from boiling over.

Break wasn’t the only one who’d tried to warn him.

He hadn’t understood then. Hadn’t understood anything at all.

Raven. One of Glen’s four black-winged Chains. The first. The first drop of four poured into the vessel. A ceremony cut in half by the sound of screaming, and the smell of smoke.

Raven who he created his legal contract with because he thought he could save his master. Raven whose seal saved his master’s life and sanity. Raven who took them from Cheshire’s dimension, who protected him and Break from the Baskervilles.

Raven, who had only helped since he’d made his contract with him. Raven who he shared a connection with. Raven whose name he even took at times. A name he took once to save himself the pain of his master knowing who he really was.

Raven who perhaps could be of some good now.

He sat up.

Oz wasn’t merely the reflection of Jack. And Gilbert wasn’t merely the reflection of Glen.

Maybe Raven wasn’t a symbol of Glen’s tyranny either. Maybe he was just the opposite. Maybe Raven belonged to him. Maybe Raven’s fire was exactly what he needed to break the unbreakable.

And there is at least one benefit to being a Baskerville.

He looked at his left hand.

“Open both eyes wide. That is, if you don’t want to end up like me.”

He smiled, half mad. He had kept his eyes closed for far too long, and he knew even before he walked into the rain that he might just end up like Break after all.

#gilbert nightray #pandora hearts #jun mochizuki #mochujun #mochizuki jun #gilbert baskerville #xerxes break #oz vessalius #mochuzuki #oswald baskerville #glen baskerville #the baskervilles #Pandora Hearts fanfiction

13 notes · View notes

theravencawsatmidnight · 4 years

Note

Hello! i am the one who made the request for Gilbert Nightray, and i just want to say that i love it, thank you so much 💙, i also was wondering if i could request the same, Monster prompt 3 with Oswald Baskerville, from Pandora Hearts too, if not, just want you to read this and know that i love your writing, thanks 💕

Hi bb!! Im happy you like it omg!!! You are so welcome!🥰🥰

Monster Prompts #3 NSFW. “Im going to breed you” with Oswald Baskerville

Warnings. Non C . Impreg.

His quiet and polite attitude drew you in like a month to a flame. All it took was a couple dates and lavish gifts and you told him you wanted to be with him forever. And thats just what he wanted. He took his time making you love him after that. Agreeing to everything you wanted or needed. Everyday he got closer to his goal.

So one night while you were asleep in your lavish bed he snuck in and discarded the blanket to reveal your lovely body to him. Ah you always slept in such naughty things. He ran a finger up your thigh to your panties hooking a diget inder the fabric and slowly pullong down. You rolled onto your back and the panties slid off much faster down your legs and off your feet. He dipped a knee onto the bed separating your thighs taking in your lovely scent , lightly he lifted a leg to rest on his shoulder. He bit into your thigh drawing blood . He groaned loudly while he drank from you.

You tossed around waking up to see him feeding off you and your panties off. “Os...Oswald.” You rubbed your eyes and he looked over smiling.

“My dear . Im sorry i woke you.” He fished his already hard cock out of his pants moving closer.

“Its okay.. what are you doing?”

He rubbed the head on your pussy pushing lightly. You realized and pushed on his chest but he was to strong. He simply laughed pushing in.

“My dear.. im going to breed you.”

He held your hands down fucking you slow, enjoying every inch of yoh with a smile on his face . You cried trying to reason with him. Saying you werent ready and how you thought he loved you.

“My dear.. i do love you. Oh so much. I love you... i love... how you can give me children. I mean what else are you good for?” He asked picking up the pace.

You couldint believe this. You loved this man. It had been two years with him. He knew everything about you. Every secret, every detail, everything. It was all a farse. A play to get you to be his forever. And not the way you wanted.

You watched him through tears, pumping into you ever so gently , the smile never leaving his face. His did talk to you though, telling you how good your being, how hes going to give you the greatest gift of all. And when your all healed he can give you more , and more ... and more.

He leaned over your trembling body to bite your neck to drink, his balls slapping at your skin now that he was going faster. He drank lovingly, kissing your marks and making new ones right next to it. He grunted pushing all the way in cumming inside you.

“Oswald..” you cried into your arm

Oswald licked your neck and moved your arm so he could see that lovely face. “Oh no need to be so sad my dear. Im going to stay right here with you. Till you feel better. “ he laud down on your chest to lick at your nipple. His hard cock still inside you to prevent his offspring from slipping out.

#oswald baskerville #oswald x reader #pandora hearts fanfiction #monstermonth2020 #pandoraanon

22 notes · View notes

phantomstatistician · 5 years

Photo

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Sample Size: 675 stories

174 notes · View notes

delicees · 5 years

Text

If Lacie had met Jack on that fateful day things might have turned differently, Glen thought. Yet, fate finds her way as she always does - Jack and Lacie become close at once. At first Glen watched with wonder, the two of them are so alike at times it seems like they were made to be friends.

An uncomfortable irk slowly comes to him as the days pass; Jack and Lacie are a little too close. Lacie would talk and smile to him like they did in the old days, as siblings, then Jack suddenly appears and Lacie...changes. The softness in her eyes glint more dangerously. Jack would bother Glen and talk to him when he suddenly remember his appointment with Lacie and vanish without as much as a goodbye.

Time passes and the three of them settle into a fragile balance. Jack still visits Oswald daily, but all he does is talk about Lacie. Lacie still smiles softly to her brother, but there is a new side of her that they both know she is hiding from him. Or perhaps this side was always there. Oswald found that he became more uncertain.

[to be edited]

#Piece of Heaven #.incomplete #Pandora Hearts #Jack Vessalius #Oswald Baskerville #Jack Bezarius #Lacie Baskerville #fanfiction #.m

10 notes · View notes

chibi-n00b · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Pandora Hearts Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Leo Baskerville/Elliot Nightray, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added Characters: Leo Baskerville, Elliot Nightray, Alice (Pandora Hearts), Alyss | Intention of the Abyss, Oz Vessalius, Sharon Rainsworth, Ada Vessalius, Nightray Family, Glen Baskerville | Oswald Baskerville, Glen Baskerville | Levi Baskerville, Gilbert Nightray, Xerxes Break Additional Tags: Fanfiction, Characters Writing Fanfiction, Characters Reading Fanfiction, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boarding School, Roommates, Disgruntled Roommates to Friends to Lovers, Holy Knight, nerds falling in love, An Artist and His Muse, Fencing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, POV Alternating, POV First Person Summary:

Leo and Elliot are roommates at Lutwidge Academy, and while things don't start off so great between them, Leo finds in Elliot just the inspiration he needs to write a new fanfic. And Elliot himself can't help but be drawn in by his own curiosity about his new roommate, a transfer student who has absolutely no interest in his family ties who also shares his love of playing the piano and the Holy Knight series. And as the year goes by, they continue to grow closer and find in each other exactly they've been missing all along.

Gah, that summary is horrible. Oh well.

Anyway, here’s the first chapter of what is basically a fanfiction about writing fanfiction. I’m sorry if it’s bad. I’ll fix it up later, but I figured if I don’t post it sooner rather than later I won’t post it at all.

Hope you guys enjoy it!

Also, Happy Birthday Elliot Nightray!

#pandora hearts #pandora hearts elliot #pandora hearts leo #elliot nightray #leo baskerville #elleo #elliot x leo #elliot nightray x leo #fanfiction #fanfic #my fanfiction

8 notes · View notes

i-write-hurt-not-comfort · 4 years

Text

Pandora Hearts characters when they're on lockdown

sooo by reasonably popular demand, here they are! needless to say, this is a modern AU kinda thing. i had fun making these and projecting on everyone with my obsession with tiktok.

warnings: mentions of drugs, coronavirus related stuff

Oz-

• spends hours watching coronavirus tiktoks

• makes tiktoks all day

• learns every tiktok dance

• goes on really long walks for his exercise

• living off pot noodle

• takes up one of those treehouse recovery projects in his garden; uploads the whole thing on tiktok

• gets bored if he isn't doing something for even 5 minutes

Alice-

• literally hasn't left the house since lockdown started

• "someone else can use my one exercise per day because i don't want it"

• doesn't get up until 2pm

• watches Netflix all day

• living off takeaway because she can't be bothered to go out and buy food

Gilbert-

• isn't very good at staying inside all day but also gets anxious to go outside for too long in case the police tackle him for staying out too long

• doesn't go out to buy food until he literally has nothing left

• learns how to cook every dish in every cook book

• doesn't sleep at any point

Vincent-

• no one knows where he is

• "fuck the lockdown"

• finds creative excuses to go out a see people

• probably a drug dealer

• cuts up dolls when he's bored

• he's the one hoarding all the toilet paper, sells them for £20 a roll

Break-

• is the one making tiktoks which make fun of the 'one exercise per day' rule

• despite that, he doesn't go out

• dyes his hair a new colour every three days

• bakes really extravagant cakes and just lives off them

• can't leave the house due to a weakened immune system so forces Reim to do all his shopping for him

• stocked up on booze before the lockdown, and is now getting drunk every night

Reim-

• somehow gets more stressed out by working from home

• covers for Break on all the conference calls bc Break is still asleep

• has strict routine

• goes out for a run every day, within the allocated exercise time

• only goes out shopping for the absolute essentials

• keeps 5 types of hand sanitiser on him at all times

Sharon-

• life proceeds as normal

• is totally chill about everything

• calls Break daily to make sure he's still like... alive

• brings Reim and Break care packages and leaves them on their doorsteps

• goes on walks every day and starts a photography account on Instagram

• converts her conservatory into an art room and takes up painting

Elliot-

• lives with Leo because i said so

• gets super stir crazy and goes cycling or running for the max allowed time

• re-reads the whole of Holy Knight like 5 times

• gets into writing Holy Knight fanfictions because he has nothing better to do

• has to do all the shopping because Leo refuses to leave the house

Leo-

• spends all day reading

• refuses to buy a kindle so the Amazon delivery guy has to bring a new parcel of books to their house every day

• makes all the coronavirus memes

• honestly he is perfectly fine not having to leave the house

• would be living off pot noodle and coffee if it wasn't for Elliot forcing him to eat real food

• is definitely vitamin D deficient

The 100-years-ago Baskervilles squad (Levi, Oswald, Levi, and Jack, all living together)-

• they all become tiktok famous

• basically having a laugh the whole of lockdown

• open their own private pub in their kitchen

• stocked up on booze and pot before the lockdown

• get stoned every night

• constantly play drinking games and board games

• play Pandemic board game every afternoon; have yet to win

• one of them is the designated shopper each week

• they go on walks every few days, but are pretty good staying indoors most of the week

• Oswald and Jack have one (1) argument per day

~~ stay safe and stay indoors! :) ~~

#pandora hearts #ph #pandora hearts headcanons #my hcs #lockdown headcanons #quarantine #tw covid 19

69 notes · View notes

song-of-amethyst · 5 years

Note

Letter B, number 10 and Jack x Oswald as a pairing?

Letter B: Happy/fluffy

“Please tell me this tattoo is fake.“

“The shyly averted eyes did not make it any less unbelievable. He thought that it might have been Lacie’s idea; the man would do anything for Lacie, after all. In fact, he rather liked that side of him, it was reassuring and comforting. More than that though, Oswald doing something dumb was frighteningly endearing.

(It made him think they were not all that different, in the end.)”

Or, alternatively

“There was something in that smiling, unapologetically cute idiotic face that provided a clear enough answer. He might have been about to scold him for being so irresponsible, but the words ultimately died in his throat, softened by the childlike look in those green eyes as Jack hugged his arm, and the reminder that he was the one who fell in love with this moron in the first place.”

Please feel free to send me more! Send me a letter, a number and a pairing and I will write a drabble (or more).

Bonus: (Meanwhile in the Land of Eternal Angst that is canon verse)

“Shock and different degrees of sadness and anger built in his chest at the sight of the slowly revolving seal, yet the hand that reached for the hilt of his sword did not shake one instant.

Because at the very least, he could offer him the salvation of rebirth in a hundred springs. Because for the first time, his duty as a friend and his duty as Glen were aligned.”

13 notes · View notes

antihero-writings · 4 years

Text

The Things He Left Unsaid--Pandora Hearts Fic for Phmonth Tragedy Trio Week, Day 4: Breath (full fic!)

Title: The Things He Left Unsaid

Synopsis: But he kept it all inside his head/ What he saw he left unsaid/ And though he wanted to/ He couldn't talk to you/ He couldn't find the way/ But he would always say/ If I could tell her/ Tell her everything I see/ If I could tell her/ How she's everything to me/ But we're a million worlds apart/ And I don't know how I would even start. Oswald has never been much for words, but he does care about Lacie…Does he ever tell his sister how much he loves her?

Notes: This was written for @Phmonth19 Tragedy Trio Week, Prompt 4: Breath, as well as the song "If I Could Tell Her" from Dear Evan Hansen. And I hope you guys enjoy it too!! Let me know what you think!! This one goes out to @song-of-amethyst/Maisunadokei1856, who loves Oswald and the Tragedy Trio in general, and deserves more great fics for them, as well as for helping me come up with ideas for this fic, and to @gemini-in-tauro who loves Dear Evan Hansen and Pandora Hearts!! Please go check out their fics!!

Fic:

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“Oh, just that he thinks you’re…wonderful.”

Lacie’s eyes lidded. “This is still my brother we’re talking about?”

Jack laughed a little. “Definitely.”

“Remind me again, how long have you known him?”

“Fine, don’t believe me.” He hugged his knees, “But I’m pretty good at reading people. He’s just…not so much with the words,” he said in a deep voice, imitating the one they were talking about. “But I can tell he really cares about you.”

Lacie looked at the ground, those red eyes flickering. “How can you tell?”

“Well…” Jack looked up into the sky, thinking. “Your smile.” He turned to her, as if appraising that smile…which was not currently present on her face.

“What about my smile?”

“It’s sort of…” he traced patterns in the ground, “subtle, and perfect, and real.”

She scoffed. “What does this have to do with my brother?”

“See, I’ve only been around that smile for a little while, but your brother, well …he’s been around it his whole life. I have trouble believing anyone could be around that smile so long and not fall in love with it.”

“Riight…”

“Let’s see…whenever you get bored you escape your tower to watch the stars, dragging innocent boys into your schemes,” they both smirked, “and make up lyrics to his songs…What’s not to love about that?”

That coerced a smile onto her face. He noticed it, and sat up, continuing.

“He told me about your cooking for him. Like that time you made him a birthday cake.”

“So what?”

“He said it…” he swallowed like he didn’t want to say anything negative about her, “tasted horrible.”

“And?”

“He still ate it, didn’t he?”

She turned to the stream, considering it. “What else? What else did ‘my brother’ notice about me?”

“Well… if nothing else, there’s one I know he notices:” He pushed his hair back behind his ear as a breeze brushed by. “the way you sing and dance. You know, without reserve…like the rest of the world isn’t there.”

“Are you sure these aren’t all things a certain Vessalius boy thinks about me?”

His face split into a grin. “Quite the mystery isn’t it?”

She shoved his shoulder, knocking him, laughing, down into the grass.

“Alright so maybe I can’t know all that.” He sat back up. “But he does love you. I just…don’t think he knows how to tell you.” He paused. “You two are worlds apart, really. He, never straying from the rules. You, the unchanging free spirit.” he looked at her, then at the ground, like he wasn’t supposed to speak the words aloud. “But he does love you.”

She watched an ant crawling in the grass.

“Or maybe he notices when you two are talking about him behind his back!” they started as the object of their discussion spoke.

“O-Oswald!” Jack stood up, brushing himself off. “W-we were just talking about…”

His eyes lidded at him, then he turned to Lacie, who smiled sweetly, finishing Jack’s attempt at a lie with a too-overt truth.

“How much you looove me.”

He rolled his eyes.

*****

To say sleep eluded him wouldn’t have done the scene justice. Instead of resting quietly on his eyelids, sleep pummeled Oswald, tossed and turned him over like dough, sent him to the ground beside his bed, until finally the restlessness of his mind spilled out as tears on his face.

“Nii-sama?”

The little boy hugged his knees, hiding his face.

Lacie’s tiny feet pattered over to him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are.”

He hugged his knees tighter.

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid anyways,” he muttered.

She sat down next to him, pulling a blanket from his upturned bed around both their shoulders.

“You’re right, it probably is.”

He glared at her, revealing his tear-stained cheeks.

“But it’s keeping you up…so it can’t be completely stupid.”

He turned his head to the side, looking away, wiping his nose.

“It’s the ceremony tomorrow, isn’t it?” She cocked her head further to the side, trying to make him see her.

He didn’t reply.

“What are you scared of? …Is it the creepy door? It’s really not that scary once you go in!”

“No…And Master told you not to go in there without permission.”

“You don’t want to have a big ugly bird inside you?” she continued as if she hasn’t heard him.

“No it’s not that…It’s just…”

“You don’t want to drink its blood?”

“No…Ugh…That’s not…”

Lacie cocked her head to the side, at last listening patiently.

At her patience, Oswald turned towards her. “Master Glen keeps talking about how I’m gonna be his next bodily vessel, and I’m honored but…what does that mean?”

She blinked, as if to say What do you mean ‘what does that mean’?

“Well…When he starts putting these ‘Chains’ inside me…when I become Glen…Am I…Am I…Am I gonna stop being… me?” he squeaked, like saying the words allowed made them scarier.

Lacie paused a moment, putting a finger to her chin as if contemplating it, then simply said, “You think too much, Nii-sama.”

He folded his arms and looked away.

“I can’t pretend I understand half of what Glen talks about—”

“Master Glen.”

“—so I don’t really have an answer but…what’s the use worrying about it?”

He slowly turned towards her.

“If you don’t want to be his next ‘bodily vessel’—whatever that means—then why don’t you say something? Do something? Try to change it?”

“No…I-I…do…I mean, at least, I know I should…it’s just…”

“Then why spend time making yourself miserable thinking about what could go wrong? If and when that happens, you’ll be older, right? You’ll understand. You don’t need to keep yourself up thinking about it now.”

“But—”

She put her finger on his lips, then took his face and turned it towards her to tell him she wasn’t finished. “And you’ll always have me. Even if you become some creep, or monster, I’ll still be me. And I’ll be there to punch you if you do.”

A smile crept up onto his face. He rubbed his nose.

That was the first time he felt like he could breathe the whole night.

“You promise?”

She smiled, holding up a fist. “Oh, believe me, I will.”

That smile. More irrefutable than any argument. Like she refused to let the sadness reach her. Just that smile was enough. Enough to push the darkness away, if only for a moment.

She pulled him into a hug, and they rested their heads on each other’s shoulders.

He wanted to tell her. To tell her how much that smile meant to him. How grateful he was that she had cheered him up. How grateful he was to have her. How much it meant to hear that she wasn’t going anywhere, and she’d make sure he wasn’t going anywhere either. How much hope she gave him.

He took a deep breath.

He wanted to use it to say ‘I love you, Lacie.’

Instead he let it out.

*****

Lacie had always been atrocious in the kitchen.

Not just that she didn’t know how to cook, bake, or otherwise hold a whisk. She decimated the space. Even the simplest of recipes would end with the counters covered in sauce, batter, frosting, or other undisclosed semi-liquids; the bowls stacked around the room like she’d been trying to create a tower with them; spoons, spatulas, knives, and other utensils strewn about like they’d gotten lost on the way to the drawers. And that was nothing to say of the chef herself; her advancements in the field left her face and dress covered in ingredients. The servants always played rock-paper-scissors over who would have to clean her dresses after these endeavors (aprons, apparently, were too restricting… and her dress would get covered somehow, even if she wore them).

But it was Oswald’s birthday.

And she would be damned if she wasn’t going to bake him a cake.

The moment they learned of her plot, the servants, and any other people who didn’t want to end up in the splash zone, sectioned off the area as if it were a crime scene.

There was one, however, who didn’t mind insane situations, in fact quite enjoyed running straight into the daydreams of deranged little girls, and never missed a date with madness.

A few of the servants raised a finger as he walked by, as if to warn him, but thought better of it.

Glen opened the door, ducking as a spatula landed centimeters from his head, without a change in expression.

“This stupid batter won’t listen to me!” the little girl slammed her fists on the counter as another spoon clattered to the ground.

He chuckled. “Well, what exactly have you be telling it? Maybe if you stopped insulting it and actually had a decent conversation it’d be more prone to listen to you.”

She scowled at him.

He strolled over to her, throwing a “Let’s see what kind of mess we’re dealing with here,” over his shoulder as he observed the mangled batter. He dipped his finger in and tasted the concoction from which getting salmonella was the least of his worries. “Have you tried adding sugar? It always helps spruce things up.”

“Hmm,” Lacie grunted, pattering over to the opposite counter, stretching for the sugar container against the back wall. She glared at him when reached over and grabbed it with ease, dropping it in her hands, as if she wanted to do this all on her own.

“Now what?”

“Well, I’d suggest you add it in and mix it, but that’s just me.”

She proceeded to add it in in handfuls without measuring.

“This might help,” he slid a measuring cup over to her.

She used it…just not in the intended way; she didn’t pay attention to all those pesky little lines.

“Can we add chocolate?” she asked when she had sufficiently smothered the batter in sugar.

“Sure, add whatever you want,” he sang, grinning as she found the cocoa powder and, once again, paid no regard for rules or recipes.

They proceeded to spend at least another hour like this, with Glen giving her vague instruction, Lacie pouting as she followed it with her own flair.

In the end two chocolate covered gremlins stared down at their droopy, half-frosted baby and grinned…for very different reasons.

Glen went to retrieve Oswald, and once they finished dinner, they sang to him, presenting the monstrosity (which, if it was remotely edible, was only due to Glen’s suggestions).

Oswald stared at the slowly wilting gift like it was an insurmountable mountain he’d just been asked to climb.

He had some experience with Lacie’s kitchen adventures. One time she tried to feed him something she called “The Lacie special” but he was sure was a frog she accidently set fire to (…needless to say he did not finish). Another time she’d actually tried to make him a decent meal, and forced himself to eat enough of it that he spent the night puking it up. And now, apparently, he was supposed to eat this…thing in front of him.

Glen cut him a too-large piece and slid it over to him with a grin, and the air of an executioner serving a criminal his doom.

Oswald swallowed, digging his fork in with determination, then brought it to his mouth, preparing himself for the assault that was about to happen.

It wasn’t…good. Too sweet and too bitter at the same time, and the texture all wrong.

But it also wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

“What do you think, Nii-sama?”

He wanted to tell her the truth.

“Mmm hmm” he grunted, trying to sound satisfied.

She beamed proudly. “Good!” she pushed the plate closer to him. “There’s plenty more where that came from!”

Oswald looked to Glen for mercy, only to find he was trying to stifle his laughter.

He continued to shovel bites into his mouth, hoping this wouldn’t be the end of him.

He wanted to make up some excuse, wanted someone to rescue him.

But that would erase the smile from her face.

He wanted to tell her, regardless of how it actually tasted, how happy it made him that she would do this for him. He wanted to tell her how much it meant to him that she spent the day making this for him. He wanted to tell her that every birthday is happy as long as she’s in it.

He swallowed, taking a deep breath.

He wanted to say ‘I love you’.

Instead he kept eating the cake.

*****

When Oswald arrived at the top of the tower, his sister was nowhere to be found.

This wasn’t exactly a rarity. Lacie wasn’t the kind of person who liked to sit in towers quietly, talking to the birds and dreaming of a world out there. She went out and grabbed everything off the world’s shelves herself.

He picked up a few stray socks and ribbons—(he always found himself cleaning up her messes)—and stepped up to the window to close the curtains for evening.

…There she was, sprawled out on the grass outside.

He banged his head against the windowframe.

He knew well she was plagued by countless whims and impulses, and unburdened by a sense of discipline over them…still, why she would be out at this hour exactly was beyond him.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” He asked when her impulses had dragged him outside too.

“Shouldn’t you be?” she smirked.

He looked away, folding his arms, daring not to say you’re the reason I’m out here.

She patted the grass next to her as if she’s saved him a seat at the opera.

He rolled his eyes, but sat down all the same.

“What exactly are we doing out here?”

“What does it look like? Stargazing.”

His folded his arms, incensed there was a reasonable explanation for all this.

“What rhymes with ‘purple’?” she asked after a moment.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“The color.”

“I know what you meant… I’m just having a difficult time connecting stargazing to rhymes with purple.”

“They’re not connected, dummy.”

She pushed him down into the grass, making sure he didn’t miss her favorite show.

“I’m making up lyrics to one of your songs.”

“Oh.” His eyes widened at both her actions and her responses, then he paused, staring up into the pockmarked sky, admiring the view, thinking. “…I don’t think there are any rhymes for purple.”

“There must be…” she rested her head on his chest, staring up at the stars herself, “Maybe they just haven’t been invented.” She traced patterns on the back of his hand.

“You’d like to invent a word for one of my songs?”

“Maybe. Why? Are you against ‘shmurple’ being a word in one of your songs?”

“I’m not for it.”

She laughed. “Fine, I’ll pick a boring, real word.”

He carded his free hand through her hair, trying not to smile.

This was… nice.

He wanted to tell her off for escaping her tower, especially at this hour, but she had a way of pulling people into her antics, even her law-abiding brother at times.

Now, laying out in the grass, golden lights keeping watch over them, their breath carried away by the breeze…he thought he might like to stay.

He wanted to tell her that. How grateful he was for moments like this. That he wished this star-struck moment could last forever. Just him and his little sister hiding away from the rest of the world. Just Oswald and Lacie, no ill omens, no Baskervilles, no trials nor Juries, nor cursed titles and the responsibilities that came with them.

He took a deep breath.

He wanted to use it to say ‘I love you.’

Instead he let the stars have their moment.

*****

Another area in which Lacie had little to no expertise was, ironically, needlework. Plenty of girls in this day and age were prone to sitting on the couch quietly and embroidering, crocheting, sewing up a dress, knitting scarves, and other various projects that required needle and thread.

As established, Lacie, first of all, was not the type of girl who sat quietly on couches in general. She’d always been a rather squirmy child, preferring to go outside and play tag to sitting inside and reading, so the activity didn’t fit her personality in the first place.

Second of all the details had always frustrated her—too fiddly to keep her attention. All those tiny stitches, every one needed to be perfect, or it would throw off the balance of the whole ensemble…She liked when things were imperfect.

But she had to maintain appearances, and when she ripped her dress on one of her many adventures, it was her job to sew it back up again without anyone knowing.

‘Without anyone knowing’ being the key issue here.

“What’s that?” Oswald asked at one of the many parties hosted by the Baskervilles.

“Don’t be rude, Nii-sama! Just because you don’t think she’s pretty doesn’t mean she’s a thing!”

He tugged at the helter-skelter sewing job on her dress.

“Hey! What business do you have grabbing a lady’s dress!” she whisper-shouted—(though a few people still heard, and stared their direction, inching away)—in mock outrage.

He glanced out at the people, then returned to the object of discord, running his fingers along the haphazard stitching. “What happened?”

“If you must know…” she explained, knowing he had every idea what actually happened, “I was sitting in my tower, like a good girl, and suddenly this bird flew in and ripped it.”

Oswald’s eyes lidded.

“Terrible isn’t it?”

He grabbed her arm, pulling her through the crowd.

“First grabbing my dress, then my arm?! My, sir! You’re very forward.”

He rolled his eyes, bringing her to one of the servant’s rooms.

“Take that off.”

“Excuse me?!” she folded her arms over her chest.

“You can’t go walking around at a party in a ripped dress.” He rummaged in one of the drawers, picking out a needle and the correct color of thread. “It reflects poorly on Baskerville name.”

She puffed out her cheeks, like she didn’t really care about said name. “Fine.”

She slipped off her dress with barely a regard for modesty, revealing the petticoat underneath, dropping it unceremoniously into his outstretched hand.

He set it down on the desk, threading the needle and finding the blemish.

Always a source of embarrassment, his personality, on the other hand, always calm and calculated, following the rules and hating messes and imperfection, lent itself quite well to the delicate art of needlework.

Lacie stepped up to the window—(…where anyone could see her…)—observing the courtyard and any guests meandering through it.

As Oswald took a closer look at her inexpert attempt, he realized that she hadn’t simply poorly executed the patch…she had actually tried to create a little design. It looked to be a crude outline of a rabbit. He tried not to smile upon seeing it, proceeding to undo her efforts and begin his own.

Lacie wandered about the room, picking up objects, putting them down, making jokes about the paintings, before standing quietly and watching over his shoulder. He easily dragged the needle through the fabric, and there was a mesmerizing quality to the ease with which he could accomplish perfectly what was an impossible undertaking for her.

“My, Nii-sama,” she rested her arms on his head, “if I didn’t know better I’d think you were an old lady.”

He paused, eyes flickering to her resentfully, before resuming.

Once he finished, he held up the freshly repaired dress to examine it.

“Try to be more careful next time, alright?” he advised as he held it out for her, staring intently at her, “We wouldn’t want anymore birds swooping in and ripping it again, now would we?”

“Anything for you, Nii-sama!” she smiled too-sweetly and kissed his cheek, throwing it back on and rushing back into the soiree.

He stared after her.

Always so reckless, so quick to follow her desires—and not instruction—without regard for the consequences. Whether it be rushing off on some self-appointed quest, back into the party, making improper jokes, or creating a little design instead of just fixing what she’d broken. Barely a warning, a ‘please,’ or ‘thank you’ along the way.

Still, he reasoned as he put the supplies away, even though it annoyed him at times, he admired her.

He never did anything without calculating the risks first, and always followed directions, sometimes too closely. He did things by the book, without flourishes. To speak of birds…he was the bird that stayed in the cage like he was supposed to. She was the one who picked the lock and broke out into the sky, and drew pictures in the clouds with her wings. …Sometimes he wished he had the guts to fly with her.

He wanted to tell her how he appreciated her at least attempting to fix what she’d broken…he wanted to tell her how cute the little bunny she made was.

Instead of reprimanding her…sometimes he wanted to say ‘Thank you. Thank you for the adventures, and the jokes, and the whimsy, and the messes. I don’t get enough of that.’

He didn’t really want to tell her not to go on adventures…he wanted to tell her to take him with her next time.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that. Couldn’t allow it. Couldn’t tell her.

He could, at least, tell her he loved her.

But when he returned to her side, he merely listened to her conversations--(now a perfect representation of a Baskerville lady...at least in appearance. She may or may not have proceeded to speak with the guests about numerous risqué things...)

*****

Oswald’s fingers darted from note to note on the piano like a bird, carried free by the notes, the melody coming from his soul rather than his body.

He wasn’t the only bird here; with every flourish of the keys came another twirl from the woman beside him, lyrics spilling from her soul too, as if she wasn’t tied to the ground.

His eyes flicked from the keys, to the music, to her.

This was…beautiful. The song. Her lyrics. Her dance. This moment.

She was beautiful like this.

He never understood how she could dance and sing so freely, like it was just her and the music. If he ever tried to dance he tripped into something (more than likely another dancer), or else didn’t look very elegant. Whenever he sang he cared too much who heard him, who was watching, and if it sounded good, to get any true assessment of his abilities. Besides, he didn’t have the mind for lyrics. Words got all tangled up in his brain. Notes were simple, planned, and didn’t have all these meanings that could ram into each other, tie themselves up in knots, and get lost in translation. With notes he just had to put one after the other.

Yet from the first step she took, her whole life was a dance. So when she truly danced, it was something that transcended her own life; she was in another world, completely unaware of those around her, or even her own body…she was the song now.

The music closed off with an enchanting crescendo, the notes growing faster, her voice raising higher, until the song ended, and suddenly there was silence.

Slowly his fingers came to rest above the keys.

She walked up to him, smiling and panting for breath, leaning on the piano.

“That was wonderful Nii-sama, wasn’t it?”

He wanted to say Yes. Yes, it was wonderful, I loved your lyrics—(could do without the ‘shmurple’)—and your dance. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked when she’s dancing, how wonderful her voice was, and how much he liked the lyrics she gave his song.

He wanted to ask her how she could dance like that, like the rest of the world wasn’t there, and she was alone in the room with the song. Like she was the song. He wanted to ask her what she saw, heard, felt in the music that he didn’t, how, why she looked so free when she was dancing. What the beautiful messes and imperfections were beneath the calculations.

He wanted to say you were wonderful.

“How do you…do that?” he asked at least.

“Do what?”

“…Dance like that.”

“What’s that saying?” she put a finger to her chin, “‘Eat, drink, be merry, for tomorrow we die’?”

His eyes widened.

Instead of noticing his shock, she smiled, continuing. “Something like that.”

His gaze, dropped, along with the bottom out of his stomach.

And his thoughts changed direction. Now he wanted to say he was sorry, that she shouldn’t have to die. He wanted to bang on Glen’s door and demand that she live, that he not have to kill her—Lacie, his little sister, who he loved. He should be the one to protect her from all things that dared hurt her. He wanted to say that that’s no good reason to dance so beautifully, that she should dance for tomorrow, not just today.

“I’m starving!” She took his hand and pulled him up. “Let’s get something to eat! Maybe some meat?”

He liked her alive. He liked the songs, and the dances, and their meals, and conversations, and adventures. All that would end when she died. He wanted to tell her just how much he wanted her to stay alive.

And that night, when sleep bullied him like it did all those years ago, he wanted to run to her room, to weep on her shoulder and say how much he was dreading the ceremony, how much he wished she didn’t have to die, how he didn’t want to kill her, that he was going to fight it after all. He wanted to beg her to take him off on one of her adventures, so they both stay alive…stay the Oswald and Lacie they were all those years ago, beneath the stars.

He wanted to say ‘I love you.’ ‘I love you.’ ‘I love you so much.’ ‘Don’t leave me here alone.’ ‘Punch me in the face, I’ve become a monster, just don’t sit quietly and let it happen.’

‘I love you, Lacie.’

But he stayed in bed.

*****

It was a lovely ceremony. Everyone thought so. Everything went flawlessly, each cue followed without a single hiccup.

The Baskervilles bowed profusely to him, and spoke of how honored they were to have such a decisive and devoted leader. Levi—(Levi now, not Master Glen anymore)—had commended him for an impeccable performance—

(it wasn’t a performance was it? They all treated like it was some glorious show, but this was real. This was…this was blood and death and—)

There had been no tears when she died. This was not sad. This was not loss. This was justice. This was virtuous, and noble, and proper, and right. Everyone had told him so since they were children. That’s all her death was, a period at the end of a sentence. The signing of a contract.

(A contract selling his soul.)

And he almost believed them. From the very beginning this whole becoming Glen thing was a great honor, a golden opportunity, and the margin for error, for what if they’re, what if this is, wrong? was a small black spot in the corner on an otherwise spotless painting. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t dare let that spot consume this immaculate image, made by people who knew better than him.

Everything perfect. In its place. No hiccups. No spots. No broken rules, or uncalculated errors.

No messes.

That’s all she was to them. A mess Glen made, that he needed to clean up.

Glen slipped into his quarters after the dinner, after shaking hands with all the friends and strangers who had come to watch, congratulating him for earning such a privilege as the name ‘Glen.’

Glen did not retire early, did not tell them it wasn’t the honor they thought it was, did not show anything was amiss. For nothing was.

That day he was some sort of machine, an automaton sent and meant to follow others’ bidding, and he did so without a slip. He was built to be the master of the Baskervilles, and carry on their name properly, programmed to eradicate every distortion against this design, especially those anomalies created by him. If he made a single mistake, it meant something was wrong with his code, with the calculations he was made of. Glen held himself high, and breathed easy, guiltless and free.

However, when he arrived in his bedroom he did not hang his cloak up neatly in the wardrobe. He did not pour himself a nightcap and slip into his nightclothes, before sliding into bed and sleeping soundly, knowing he’d received a great reward, and done his job well, as he was programmed to.

Nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong with what he’d done. Nothing was wrong with him.

Glen was, as he should be, the picture of the Baskervilles. Glen had done everything right, and was marked with a name that said he would continue to do so…if not, the chains holding the world together might just fall apart.

Oswald hadn’t taken a single breath that day.

Try as he might to deny it, there was still something human left in Oswald.

When he clicked the door shut behind him, he stayed there a moment. He pulled off his red cloak, jacket, and cravat slowly, and threw them it onto a chair with a certain violence, tossing off his socks and not caring where they landed, before leaning his head back against the grain of the door.

Now, now that he was alone, out of the reach of those who programmed him, allowed to be flesh and blood, allowed to breathe again… every breath he should have been taking that day slammed into his lungs at once, tumbling one after another, punching, dragging their nails along the back of his throat as they climbed onto his tongue, then fell from his lips like blood.

He was not metal and mandates. Not here. Here he was…so very alive.

Oswald was becoming painfully aware of just how alive he was.

How many breaths had he taken in the last minute? Five? Twenty? Fifty? A hundred? A thousand? Stolen from the atmosphere. Stolen from…

Had he had this many breaths before? Had his life been composed of this much air? Every second, every minute, every hour. Every day, every week, every year. A chain of breaths, each one a reminder he was still alive, he was still him.

All he needed was one. All he would have ever needed to use was one.

One to speak her name.

One to tell her. To tell her how much she meant to him.

One breath

“You sin is…”

Two breaths.

“That you were born with these eyes of ill omen…”

Three.

“…and that you are a threat to the peace of the Abyss.”

Inhale

Your sin is…

Exhale.

Your very existence.

He put his face in his hand, his hair leaking between the cracks in his fingers.

All he needed was one.

But he could have used more. He could have taken five to say a sentence. Thirty to say a paragraph. He could have taken a couple hundred to make a speech or two. He had enough to spare. He could steal that many before getting caught.

Instead, they tuned his tongue into a weapon…and he let them.

All he needed was one. One to tell her.

To tell this girl that her smile was, at times, the only thing that kept him going. To tell this girl how much he appreciated how she spent her time baking for him, and sewing bunnies into her dresses. How much he loved those moments when he sat with this girl and watched the stars. How much he loved the lyrics she gave to his songs. How much he loved watching her run from her cage, and fate, and dance like she’d die tomorrow.

To tell this girl that her very existence was much more than a gift, rather at times the only thing that kept him alive, kept him sane, kept him him.

All he needed was one breath.

And he used his breath to tell her that her existence was a crime. To follow his program, the script set for him. Instead he chained this girl, wild and free, to the ground, and the ceiling. He used his breath to her to steal hers away.

In all those years he could have paid a single breath to make his thoughts reach her.

Right now he’d pay all of them.

He slid down the door till he was sitting on the ground.

“Say something. Do Something.”

He could have fought this. Long ago. He could have done something. Back then he could have said he didn’t want to be Glen after all. He could have run from the house with her and never come back. He could have run away all those years ago.

He could have run away yesterday.

Today he could have done something. He could have not stood before that door, and drank that blood. He could have said “I won’t be Glen. I’d rather she lived.” He could have stood up, the Jabberwocky’s blood in his veins, and said “No, no I won’t do it. I won’t kill her. I’m Glen now, and now I say she lives.”

And even if he had kicked and screamed, and lost all the same… he could have told her. Told her how much he cared. He would have at least had that.

It seemed so simple.

Thank you.

Thank you for your smile. You never knew how wonderful it could make someone feel.

Thank you for the cake. I hated the taste, but I loved the look on your face.

Thank you for the starlit evenings, and the lyrics I couldn’t come up with.

Thank you for the whimsy, and the adventures, and the messes.

Thank you for the music, and dances.

Thank you for…existing.

It wasn’t that hard to say.

So why had the words died every time they rose to the surface? Why had he let those breaths out instead of taming them into words?

“I love you.”

Three little words. One breath. Half a breath. Why had they seemed so big and unconquerable, and hard to get out all those years?

And he realized, that breath catching in his throat, that today, here, now, now that she was in the Abyss, now that she was gone, now that he’d never be able to say those things to her—

He had said the words aloud.

All those years, thinking and waiting and wondering, them simmering beneath the surface, never able to reach the air.

Now he had spoken them without even taking a second to consider them, the breath, the words, falling from his lips without him knowing, calculating, or thinking.

And once they spilled out, they started to simmer and burn on his tongue, they started to bubble, like all those breaths hitting him at once; all those years of silence, crying out;

“I love you.” He whispered into his fingers, like the words were the discordant notes to a broken music box, “I love you. I love you. I love you…Lacie…”

And with her name, the name of the girl with red eyes and an untamable heart, he felt something burn in his own eyes.

This wasn’t just some girl. This was Lacie. The one who sat with her brother and comforted him when he was sad, who joked with her brother, and dragged him outside, and made a beautiful mess of things. Not a child of ill omen. Not a distortion to be eradicated. Not a mess herself. This was his sister, who he loved.

It always felt like they were in different dimensions, but now they really were worlds apart, divided by time and space and—

This was his sister. Who didn’t deserve to die.

Glen was an impeccable leader. Glen didn’t hesitate to kill that which posed a threat. Glen wasn’t sad. Glen did what needed to be done, and it didn’t matter who she was.

But Oswald felt the drops against his skin, his hands unable to dam up the stream, the image of his sister hanging from the ceiling, and his own voice putting her there burning in his memory.

All Oswald wanted was to hear his sister’s feet patter up to him. All he wanted was to see his sister smile again. All he wanted was to eat his sister’s horrible cakes again. All he wanted was to sit and watch the stars with his sister, and come up with rhymes for words that have none. All he wanted was to clean up his sister’s messy room, and fix her ripped dresses. All he wanted was to be able to tell his sister off for running off on some adventure. All he wanted was to hear his sister sing, watch her dance, again. All he wanted was to feel his sister’s hands on his head, and her breathe into his hair sweet words about how she loved the world that hated her.

How she loved the brother that killed her.

He tried to let out this breath, but it would only come out in pieces, letters, words, now, always the same ones, the words, unsaid, that would forever haunt his lips;

“I love you, Lacie.”

16 notes · View notes

phmonth · 3 years

Text

Vote for phmonth (and VNC) daily prompts for Phmonth21!!

Here is the link to the prompts list to vote on for phmonth this year!! Please vote for 7 in each category!!

If you don’t plan on participating in all the weeks, and only want to vote on one or two, that’s fine!! Also, feel free to still vote, even if you don’t plan on participating!! The more people voting the more helpful it’ll be.

I hope you guys like the prompts!!

i-prefer-the-term-antihero

11 notes · View notes

this-idiots-left-eye · 3 years

Text

Premonitions

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Character Focus: Glen (Oswald) Baskerville, Jack Vessalius, Vincent Nightray, Gilbert Nightray, Kevin Regnard, Oz Vessalius

Summary: Jack, Glen, Vincent, and Gilbert thought they were going on a relaxing vacation in the mountains, but a creature from The Abyss has a bit of an adventure in store...or is it a warning?

(Written for the Phmonth19 Tragedy Trio prompts "Wolf," "Ruins," and "Winter.")

(For those who’d like some Glen, Jack, Vince, and Gil cuteness. I definitely enjoyed writing some! It's something I've wanted to write about for a while)

Notes: This is actually a fic for Phmonth19! It was for the Tragedy Trio prompts "Wolf," "Ruins," and "Winter."

I liked a lot of the prompts during Phmonth19, and wanted to find a way to use multiple simultaneously. I liked the idea, but ended up struggling with where I wanted to go with it, and having too much to do during Phmonth19, so it didn't get written then. But I liked it enough to continue it and return to it eventually.

I hope you enjoy it even so!! Please know that when you comment you are both making my entire week, and motivating me to keep writing more fics like this one!!

Premonitions

A young boy weaved in and out of the crumbling artifices, hopping down from a half-broken wall to a mossy ledge on a lower level of the ruins. It was probably a room in the past. It wasn’t now.

They’d warned him not to go in here. But if forbidding something was incentive for most kids, it was practically a command to him.

They told him it was dangerous, unsafe, that anything could fall and crush him, or crumble beneath him, not to mention that there was a sort of energy here: it infected people, made them into madmen and monsters, and if said monstrosities didn’t attack and kill you…you might just become one yourself.

As if he needed a better invitation.

Most regretfully, he hadn’t found any horrifying monstrosities yet. Just a bunch of cracked stones and sewer rats looking for corpses to clean off. Occasionally something shimmered in the dirt, but more often than not it was just a rusted piece of metal, or cracked bit of glass.

He kicked up a board to see a dagger laying there. He frowned, considering it, before picking it up, examining the details on the hilt. Might make a nice souvenir if he could manage to clean the rust off.

He couldn’t help but wonder what happened here. People said this place was dropped into the Abyss, that it had become a hole to swallow all that dared to enter. But what exactly did that mean? He’d heard of the Abyss, and the Chains that lived within, but never of anything other than sinners being dropped into it. What kind of atrocities had everyone there committed to warrant the whole city being dropped into the Abyss?

He kicked another rock, before glancing up, his red eyes widening.

A wolf sat in front of him.

He hadn’t even heard its footsteps. It just sat there on the wall above him, swishing its tail. He took a few steps back.

It was gold and ethereal, its tail long and wispy, like a gust of wind frozen into flesh. Said tail flicked back and forth. White eyes left trails in the air—like slits in a mask, only letting the golden light inside it break through the eyes—yet they held no mal intent—(he’d learned to be able to see that, to feel it, almost). It seemed intelligent.

Was this one of the monstrosities they warned him about?

His hand tightened around the dagger.

The wolf stood, but after it took a few steps forward it looked over its shoulder as if to ask “Are you coming?”

The boy took a step forward himself, to run after its disappearing tail, compelled by some inclination; he knew he ought to follow it, that it wanted to show him something.

“Kevin! Kevin!” A familiar voice called from far away. “I’ll not have you sullying the Regnard name with another one of your insolent games! If you get eaten by some Chain you’ll only have yourself to blame!”

When Kevin looked back the wolf was gone.

*****

Jack breathed deeply through his nose, as he entered the cabin, then breathed out just as noisily.

“Smell that mountain air! I just love the snow, don’t you? I always feel like something’ amazing is going to happen!”

Glen rolled his eyes, dropping their bags—(which Jack had made him carry inside, citing the fact that he was carrying Vincent).

“Say, Jack…” the boy sitting on his shoulders spoke, “do you think we’ll see the northern lights up here?”

“I don’t know! …What do you think, Glen?”

“Probably not.”

“Aww!” Vincent pouted, bumping his fist on Jack’s head.

“Ow!” Jack reacted in an over exaggerated way.

“Eh! I’m sorry!”

When Jack had found out about the cabin the Baskervilles owned in the mountains he knew it would be the perfect place to spend a few days relaxing and playing in the snow—and what better way to remember how to have fun than to bring Gilbert and Vincent along?

When Jack brought up this idea, Glen had blatantly refused. Ever the responsible leader, Glen didn’t take vacations from his duties. But lately he had started having conversations with the rose bushes, and everyone agreed he could stand a few days off.

Glen was just starting to unpack their stuff when—

“You guys want to go sledding?” This was Jack’s voice, of course.

It was a resounding “yes,” from the kids, complete with jumping up and down and shouting.

“We just arrived,” Glen grunted. “Wasn’t the point of this trip to relax?”

“And what better way to relax then hurling yourself down a snowy mountain on a thin piece of wood?”

Glen blinked. “Reading.”

Jack grabbed his arm, pulling him out into the snow. “Don’t be such a fuddy duddy. Come on!”

Glen glared at his friend as he promptly dragged him off into the snow.

Soon they were flying up to the tallest hill they could find on Raven, then, after they successfully reached the top, they proceeded to push each other down it on sleds, with much giggling and whooping (from everyone except Glen). When they reached the bottom, they would fly back up on Glen’s chains—(who seemed to enjoy the show).

At one point, a little while into the festivities, Vincent was waiting for his turn when something in the corner of his eye flickered. He turned to see in the woods, behind a tree, a creature.

Vincent froze when he met the wolf’s gaze, a shiver running up his spine, more than just the cold, his face twisting in fear.

“What’s wrong, Vince?” Jack put a hand on his shoulder, glancing from the terrified boy to the empty air he was fixating on.

The wolf ran in a figure eight around two of the trees, brushing up against them, its form leaving tracks in the air. Then it paused again to stare at the boy with white, smoky eyes.

It didn’t look completely there.

Vincent pointed shakily towards it.

Jack put a hand on his shoulder. “…Where?”

He pointed more emphatically.

“I’m sorry Vince, I…I don’t see anything.”

“What’s going on?” Glen asked, hopping off Raven and landing beside them with Gilbert in a flurry of black wings.

Vincent just kept pointing, his finger a vibrating signal.

Glen’s eyes widened.

“What is it?” Jack demanded.

“It’s a wolf. Or at least…” he paused, noticing the strange color, and misty nature of the creature.

“I don’t see it,” Gilbert said softly.

“That’s okay,” Jack crouched down by him, “Neither can I.” He stood back up to his full height, reasoning with Glen, “If you two can see it, and we can’t…”

Glen nodded at him, before taking a few steps forward, and finishing the thought:

“I think, more likely than not, its something from the Abyss.” He squinted at it, watching it playfully thread the trees. “I think it wants us to follow it.”

Vincent tensed at the idea.

Glen looked over his shoulder, his eyes flicking to the boy. “I can always go after it by myself if you’d like to return to the cabin.”

“Oh it’ll be fine! Don’t worry!” Jack took the hands of both boys. “With Master Glen with us, nothing’s going to hurt us!”

Glen rolled his eyes, but Jack’s words seemed to comfort them.

Un-summoning Raven, Glen walked in front, the other three following a short distance behind.

When the spectral wolf saw they were going to heed its call, it moved further into the forest, always dancing around the trees as it waited for them to catch up.

They followed it quite some ways—(especially since they were tired from all the sledding)—until the trees stopped abruptly in a cliff edge. Jack had to put his arms out in front of the boys to keep them from walking any further.

As they raised their eyes, they saw across the gorge a plateau.

“I-Is it still there?” Gilbert asked softly, looking all around them.

Vincent and Oswald looked around but the wolf wasn’t anywhere close to them.

“There!” Vince pointed after a moment. The wolf was across the gorge, weaving in and out of a stone ruin on the plateau.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Gilbert asked nervously. “Maybe we’ve followed it far enough…”

Glen had already summoned Jabberwocky, and was currently climbing on its back.

“You coming?” He asked the group flatly, holding out his hand.

The three glanced at each other, before Jack helped the kids onto its back, and hopped on himself. Jack hugged the boys tightly, as Gilbert held just as tightly to Glen’s coat.

The wind was cold and biting as they flew through the air, but the ride was very brief, and they landed moments later in a puff of dust in the center of the ruins.

“What is this place?” Jack asked the air, and no one answered.

They ventured cautiously into the ruins, at first sticking together, but soon curiosity overtook them, and they each wandered in separate directions, captivated by different rooms. The place wasn’t too vast though, and thus didn’t allow them to stray too far from each other.

Glen found the throne room, or where it most likely once was; a huge empty room in the center of the ruins, empty, save for the collapsing chair, backed by the skeleton of a large window, holding broken pieces of colored glass. He slowly marched up to it, running his fingers along the ghost of the chair, looking out the window at the now frozen water far below, wondering what sort of king ruled here.

When he turned around, the wolf was sitting in the center of the room, swishing its tail at him. Glen was sure it wanted him to understand something, but he couldn’t quite discern what.

He noticed at the side of the room there was a large structure. At first he mistook it for a collapsed bit of wall, but upon closer inspection, he realized it was a piano. He set his fingers on a few of the notes, but they only gave a croak.

It’d been too long.

He lifted his head and raised his voice to ask the wolf about the place, and learn if it could respond, but it had moved on.

Gilbert found the old kitchen, the food there long since turned to compost for rats and roots. Then he found the servants’ quarters not too far from there, full of rotting bedframes and hungry mice, wondering what sort of servants were here, and if their king was as noble as Glen-sama.

He didn’t see the wolf pass beneath the doorframe behind him.

Vincent found a room that likely belonged to a child. It was faded, but there was paint on the walls: designs of flowers and vines. He almost stepped on a clay sculpting of a bird that may have served as a toy, once.

On a broken dresser he found a box which, once opened, turned out to play music, the notes discordant after years of rust and neglect.

He thought he saw something else, and lifted up the half-bug-eaten board. He immediately dropped it, wishing he hadn’t, the something that was there making him cover his mouth in shock and horror.

He felt a nudge at his back, and almost screamed, whirling around to see the wolf behind him. Fear glued his lips, welled his eyes with tears.

The wolf cocked its head to the side, as if confused by his fear. It licked his hand, and Vincent drew back, though it felt like a brush of wind.

“W-W-What do you want?!” He stammered.

But he could not understand the wolf’s words.

Jack descended a staircase a bit further out of the way and found—more in tact than much of the buildings—a dungeon.

It was a large stone room, lined with cells, sectioned off by rusting bars. He pressed one open with a creak and found an empty room, and a skeleton. He continued on until he found one without a skeleton, whose bars were bent, as if the person within had managed to escape through them. He entered through to find there was a journal in this one. He picked it up, brushed and blew off the dust and frost, the pages just as creaky and unwilling to budge as the doors.

He sat on the floor where he found it and began to read. Many of the pages were too damaged by time to read, the ink fading, the pages crinkling and crumbling, but he could make out at least bits of the story. It seemed the writer was in love with a girl, but, due to her being the ruler of this kingdom’s queen, they could never be together. As the pages continued, the writer seemed to grow more and more obsessed with her; his phrases containing less and less sense and sanity. Jack couldn’t tell exactly how he ended up in the dungeon, nor how he apparently broke out—if the bends weren’t made by weather or time—but in his not-quite-sane state, he must have done something very stupid. Maybe a lot of things.

When the final pages became too illegible, he looked up and saw in the waning sunlight, the tally marks on the wall. As he began to dust and defrost them, he realized the whole wall was covered in them. He ran his hand over the grooves, thinking of how long this person must have been left alone inside himself, and what that might do to a person.

He couldn’t see the wolf pacing around his feet, reading over his shoulder, couldn’t feel the wolf trying to nudge him, nor hear the wolf try to ask him voicelessly: “Do you understand? Do you understand?”

“There you are.” A deep voice broke the silence, almost making him jump.

Glen was standing in the doorway, Vincent and Gilbert at either side of him—(Vincent clinging to his coattails rather tightly).

“Did you find anything interesting?”

Jack set the journal on the floor beside him, standing and stretching, yawning the words: “Not really, no.”

Upon noticing the pink light cast on the floor through the small window, Jack asked, “Do you think we should head back?”

Glen gave a curt nod, turning around to leave, and Jack ran to catch up.

*****

A young boy with golden hair and green eyes stood in the midst of a ruin; a caved in part of the city—or what once was the city.

After putting his hand to his chin in thought, and a good dose of looking around, he pulled a watch out of his pocket. When he flipped it open it began to play the soft tinkling notes of a somewhat sad song.

“I still don’t know what exactly happened here,” Oz muttered softly to himself, “but…I’m going to do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He didn’t see the wolf poking its head out from around a wall behind him, didn’t see its ears perk up, nor, now that someone had finally heard and headed its warning, hear its satisfied howl;

“Thank you, Dear Rabbit.”

6 notes · View notes

filzmonster · 5 years

Text

song-of-amethyst replied to your post

“Top 5 Ships of my heart Rules: list 5 of your OTPs and tag 5 people. I...”

GilBreak is no crackship, they're totally valid! :D Do you see a lot of people say they are the other's left eye? <3 (also, I don't like to admit how much I relate to the tragic ships thing but here we are) On a more personal notes though I'm very interested in the PH crackships :p *has quite a lot of these too*

Oh look, I’m procrastinating again

nladsfhalksfhasdf I feel so validated right now ?? :’) Honestly I feel like there are not that much people in the fandom that actively ship them and I’m just here ?? starving for content ?? xD

(I mean. looking at the fandoms we’re in there’s not much of a choice we have but to let our hearts be broken by the same couple of idiots over and over again. It’s heaven for masochists.)

Oh boy. I show you mine if you show me yours I’ll put it under a read more since I can already see myself escalating with this. Also most of the crack ships basically boil down to Gilbert x Anyone Else b/c that’s just the kind of trash I am ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Gilbert x Reim

I fully blame that one special manga scene for this ship. The one in which they are having a tea party and Sharon tells Break that Gilbert learned how to cook because of him and then Gilbert spends two pages gushing about hOW AWESOME REIM IS and that just kinda did it for me (together with all the other little scenes these two get throughout the manga). Because when you think about it, they are very close age-wise, they probably spend a lot of time together and they both bond over what an asshole Break can be. THERE’S POTENTIAL THERE OKAY. Also they would have a very healthy, supportive relationship and it would just be the purest thing ever ?? So yeah. totally shipping them.

Gilbert x Lottie

I FULLY BLAME THE OTHER SPECIAL MANGA SCENE FOR THIS OKAY. The one in Last Dance ?? Where Lottie and Gilbert are bugging Reim b/c they found out he proposed to Sharon. IDK it just hit me how nice their dynamic seemed over those short couple of pages ?? Also I feel like they would really understand each other - they both have Master issues, they are both Baskervilles, they both lost people they cared about, they both had to do horrible things, they both got betrayed by Jack, they both had a special connection with Oswald/Glen, they are both kinda mother hens let’s be real. But they still did very different things with their common ground. Gilbert chose to sort of abandon Oswald/Glen because he couldn’t accept his decisions, while Lottie chose to stop him but still stayed by his side instead. They could talk about these things and it would be such an interesting conversation!! Aaaand someone in the fandom once said that since Lottie likes to cook too, she could help Gilbert learn how to cook with only one hand and just !! imagine !! the cuteness !!

Okay this is the part where it gets really crack-y okay pls don’t judge too hard

Leo x Gilbert

HEAR ME OUT. Bonding over Elliot’s death ?? Bonding over Oswald ?? Bonding over that whole Glen Baskerville thing in general ?? Bonding over Vincent being a self-sacrificing idiot ?? Bonding over Oz & Oz’ death ?? Just. Them being there for each other in ways no one else could be there for them. They are both servants. They are both kind of Glen B. (even though Gilbert isn’t anymore but like. he was supposed to be, he grew up being prepared to take over that role, something must have stuck) They both lost the same people. It probably wouldn’t be like. a very good (as in healthy and based on trust, true love) relationship, but it would be an interesting, darker one. It also probably wouldn’t last but that’s not the point of shipping anyway is it ??

Gilbert x The other Nightray siblings

Okay. This one is. Going to take a while to explain. I once read a pretty dark Gilbert x Vanessa fanfiction and that was when it just ?? occured to me that while we don’t get to see much of the other Nightray siblings (RIP I guess) except for Elliot (with whom I do not ship Gilbert with because they actually have a brother-brother bond in my eyes tbh) they still have potential to have interesting dynamics with Gilbert (and Vincent, too, so I guess I ship Vincent with them, too). Especially when you look at it from a ‘we are using each other for things’ point of view. Like them using Gilbert to try and get to Raven’s power or just using him for the Nightray’s dirty work in general. Gilbert using them for information he could pass on to Break. The Nightrays are already a pretty dysfunctional bunch so why not add that kind of dysfunctional relationship/dynamic, too ??

Gilbert x Sharon

I don’t have an excuse for this, they are just both really nice & caring characters and they would deserve each other okay. With that said:

Vincent x Sharon

If I remember correctly, Jun once stated that an arranged marriage between Vincent and Sharon was supposed to be a plot point in the manga so ?? I could see it work in a ‘we are both highly political and totally maybe not on the same side so we’ll just really use each other for our own gain and whups what do you mean we could also team up and be badass together ??’ way. Break would probably kill Vincent first though so

Break x Rufus Barma

I once got a fanfiction promopt for them so. I blame the person who prompted me. I can’t un-see it, you know ?? B/c once I started to think about their potential dynamic in order to write the fanfic, tHE DYNAMIC WAS JUST THERE OKAY. IT WAS JUST THERE. and it would work ?? I mean. The relationship between these two would probably be based on them constantly trading secrets and informations with each other and trying to out-plot the other one, but they could still be a pretty good couple. Much like Vincent x Sharon: they would just team up and screw over everybode else together.

Oswald/Glen x that Nightray dude that warned him about Jack

b/c why not ?? We know next to nothing about that guy so why not make him someone who cared about Oswald and tried to give him some love because Oswald dESERVES IT OKAY.

Jack x Arthur Barma

Again: why not ? Arthur totally had a crush on him and it would make Jack betraying him so much more brutal and cold hearted (or Jack was actually also in love with him but his obsession with Lacie was still stronger).

Jack x Miranda Barma

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (honestly if I wouldn’t read Jack as kinda grey-ace / not interested in other people besides Oswald and Lacie, these two could just have some kind of. friends with benefits relationship without the being actual friends part.)

Ada x Vanessa

It would be like Romeo and Juliet but gay They could either be using each other to get information, or they could be actually in love and just. be tragically seperated by their family feud.

Lottie x Sharon

The female power couple I deserve. They are both Queens. They both care a lot about the people important to them. They are both willing to make sacrifices and they are both very smart on an emotional level. Also they could totally bond about the dumb men in their lives.

Oz x Break

... I don’t even know why myself. They are just very similar to each other and it would be like one bunny bumping heads with another bunny.

Reim x Lottie

J U S T. do it for the aesthetic, if not for anything else ?? They are both really smart and - out of their respective groups - the ones who look like they have their life together the most but actually don’t

Elliot x Alice

No idea where that one is coming from tbh, they just seem like they would kinda. click. with each other. also imagine the look on Oz’ and Gilbert’s faces

Alice x Gilbert

In a world where the Tragedy Of Sablier never happened, these two grow up together and have a very ‘slow burn childhood friends to lovers’ trope going on. f i g h t m e one day Gilbert is sad so Alice gives him a very cute stuffed rabbit (“this one always protects me when I’m sad I can lend him to you”) and from then on they just share the stuffed rabbit with each other as their protector

I ... I think that’s it. I’m not even sure if you read until here tbh xD Like I said, please try not to judge too hard, a lot of these are very lowkey ships. aLSO FEEL FREE TO TELL ME YOURS PLEASE I AM CURIOUS TOO !!

#song-of-amethyst #songofamethyst #replies #w o w this escalated like. A LOT.#I'm sorry.#in other news i successfully procrastinated until the point where i don't have time to do the thing i procrastinated anymore so.#a win?#i don't think so but whatever.#I'M SORRY I AM TALKING SO MUCH ANLSDKHFASDF #<3

8 notes · View notes

antihero-writings · 3 years

Text

Hereditary Loyalty

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Summary: Do demon’s reside in the left hand after all? If so, Gilbert’s in need of an exorcism. || Exploring some of Gilbert’s internal monologue in chapter 78, and how current events relate to Break's warning earlier in the series.

Notes: This was written for @phmonth2021‘s prompt for Golden Trio week, Day 2: Obsession. (Sorry it’s late!)

I’ve always wanted to explore what Break said about his loyalty being an obsession at this point, so that’s what this prompt made me think of.

I will likely need to edit and/or add to this, so forgive me for any little typos!

Your comments and reblogs mean the absolute world to me, especially for less-well known series like this one! So I'd really appreciate if you'd leave me one!!

As Gilbert lay, half asleep on the bed, the sound of a bullet ricocheted off the walls of his mind. It echoed, growling louder, gaining momentum, as it traveled back and forth.

“Believe whatever you want. Regardless of what you say I—!”

Those cursed words. The whispers of the bullet on its merry go round.

He’d taken them as an insult, then. Told himself Break wasn’t completely sane, after all. His devotion was indeed wholehearted, pure, and he wasn’t going to lose anything else.

They were a warning. A prayer for his well being. Not some misunderstanding or otherwise creepy proclamation. Break was too sane for any of their good.

Do the demons reside in the left hand after all?

But those shots—even those situations a bit too ambiguous to be sure—didn’t echo for longer than a night.

This one. This one he knew would echo throughout his whole life if he wasn’t careful, or was simply a little too careless.

Not Oz. No. Never. Never. Never Oz.

“Shoot him.”

His left palm was bleeding now.

His Master. His best friend. His dear light. He’d swallow and bathe in dark if only for a sliver of light. He’d never, never, never hurt his precious—

“A loyalty that holds fast will become a blade…and will someday pierce those you hold dear.”

Oh but it wasn’t a blade, was it? It was a bullet. There is a difference, yes. Blades are quiet. Far less risk of tainted memory.

Loyalty. But it wasn’t his loyalty to Oz that became the bullet, it was that towards Glen.

“Is the one you need really Oz Vessalius?”

Damn him. Damn him for trying to help. Damn Gilbert himself for thinking him nothing but a useless clown.

How can I know if I’m not with him?

He loved Glen, once. Looked up to him. Idolized him. Cut and polished as his successor, his copy. And, once upon a time, he didn’t mind.

But at some point he couldn’t tell what was his true feelings, and what was the magic curving its way inside him like puppet strings.

Where was the oath written again?

No prince should be permitted to disobey his king, after all. Even those whose relation was bloodless. Hereditary loyalty.

Couldn’t we do this without anything attached? Can’t we let our bodies move according to the request of our souls?

“That loyalty of yours…No, should I call it your obsession?”

Maybe this was how things were supposed to be after all. There was no such thing as love or fate, or dreams. Just the strings, the spiderwebs. We’re all cocooned, waiting for the poison to kick in.

What was he thinking? How could he think he didn’t really care for Oz? How could their adventures, their time together really mean nothing?

He loved Glen too once. And he couldn’t tell if even that was real anymore.

Glen’s successor, his copy, his soul, his left hand, his wings—

Raven.

The one thing he stole from him. The contract half-fulfilled then. Promises broken. Promised that couldn’t help but be fulfilled. The one thing that would ever belong to him. A chain half-connected. The ship might just drift out to sea that way.

Raven, whose seal lay in his left hand. His ever cursed left hand. His symbol of Glen, still.

“You will be bound by your left hand again.”

He felt like his face might break as he tried to keep both the tears and laughter that simmered beneath the surface from boiling over.

Break wasn’t the only one who’d tried to warn him.

He hadn’t understood then. Hadn’t understood anything at all.

Raven. One of Glen’s four black-winged Chains. The first. The first drop of four poured into the vessel. A ceremony cut in half by the sound of screaming, and the smell of smoke.

Raven who perhaps could be of some good now.

He sat up.

Oz wasn’t merely the reflection of Jack. And Gilbert wasn’t merely the reflection of Glen.

Maybe Raven wasn’t a symbol of Glen’s tyranny either. Maybe he was just the opposite. Maybe Raven belonged to him. Maybe Raven’s fire was exactly what he needed to break the unbreakable.

And there is at least one benefit to being a Baskerville.

He looked at his left hand.

“Open both eyes wide. That is, if you don’t want to end up like me.”

He smiled, half mad. He had kept his eyes closed for far too long, and he knew even before he walked into the rain that he might just end up like Break after all.

40 notes · View notes

antihero-writings · 3 years

Text

Glints (Ao3 | FF.net)

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Summary: The color silver shows up a lot during Oswald's life, namely in the form of sharp things. Only at the end does he understand the color's true nature.

Notes: This was written for @phmonth2021, Tragedy Trio Day 1 prompt: Silver. Sorry it's so late!!

If you liked this fic, please consider commenting!! You have no idea how much your comments mean to me. They make my entire week, and motivate me to keep writing stories like this!!

Silver glinted in the moonlight. Little Lacie smiled, mischief in every motion, and rushed at her brother.

Oswald nearly lost his balance dodging her jab, shutting his eyes and swiping feebly at air thereafter.

When he opened his eyes he saw she was standing there, raising an eyebrow as if to say Really? At least give me a good fight.

He righted himself, standing up straighter, holding out the sword to show he was ready, trying to actually feel ready…and ended up wincing and bracing himself as she rushed at him.

“Come, nii-sama.” She lowered her sword. “You have to at least try to fight back!”

“But…I don’t want to hurt you.”

She smacked him on the rear end with her sword, making him jump.

“You’re not gonna. And I know that’s not the real problem. Now really try this time. I’ll even let you take the first swing.”

He took so long to situate himself in the right position that she rolled her eyes. When he swung she smiled and parried his move.

He tried to think, and think fast. He went for her side, she parried that too.

“How did you get so good at this? I don’t recall Glen-sama teaching you.”

“That��s because I taught myself!”

When she made her own attack he shut his eyes and raised his sword, and was surprised to find it struck against hers.

He opened his eyes to find she was grinning at him.

“Practice,” she said like he’d answered his own question. “Just like you’re doing now. That’s how.”

The small victory, added to his sister’s encouragement, gave him newfound confidence.

After a series of attacks and parries, she put her leg behind his to trip him, taking his sword as he went down.

“That’s not fair!” He spluttered.

“Looks like you still have much to learn, nii-sama.” She smirked, crossing both swords. “But you’re getting better. Maybe Glen won’t totally crush you during your next lesson.”

******

As Oswald looked in the mirror, violet glinted in silver.

A new sort of darkness had overtaken his eyes.

Or maybe it was darkening at this moment.

Was it sorrow? Was it guilt? Or was it something more vicious than that?

He remembered. Silver was once such a beautiful color. Sword fights in the backyard at one in the morning when they were too little to hold the swords right. Treasure, teacups, music boxes, and clocks. The mirrors were merely there, never malicious with their words.

As he watched those chains pierce his sister and hang her suspended bloody in the air, and he spoke those cursed words, he thought that silver was a terribly ugly thing, holding reflections of even uglier.

In the days following, as he greeted the mirror in the mornings, he found it was no longer benign; its words were hissed, hurtful and malignant. His eyes looked like someone pulled the buttons off a stuffed animal’s face, revealing the holes and stitches behind them.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever see either the color silver, nor his own eyes, as something beautiful again.

******

Clanking, clashing, the glinting of sun off of silver.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Glen-sama!”

“And Jack!”

“Jack?”

“Jack Vessalius!”

“You know, that boy who’s always hanging around Glen-sama!”

“What are they doing?”

“They’re fighting!”

“Fighting?!” There was fear in the word.

“Not like that! It’s all in good fun!”

Jack jumped back sharply, sucking in his stomach, Glen’s blade narrowly missing.

Glen tried not to smirk, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, circling his friend like some animal intent on its next meal. He knew Jack didn’t stand a chance against him.

Jack curbed his any surprise with a smile, holding his sword up higher.

“If I didn’t know better I would have thought you were actually trying to kill me!”

Glen clicked his tongue as if to say Maybe you thought right.

When Glen came at him Jack blocked it just in time clanking dotting the air as swing after swing met each other in the air.

Glen’s next move nearly found its mark, but Jack ducked, rolling along the ground to avoid it. Before Jack could strike him in the back Glen’s sword met his once again.

Jack looked up at him, violet cast over his shoulder upon his friend like he was a small worthless thing.

Jack’s attempts to get back up found him kicked in the chest and relieved of his sword. Glen stepped on the blade for good measure, holding his own to Jack’s throat.

“I win again.”

******

The silver was drunk, drunk on red, seeing orange in dizzying displays. Orange and black, gold and red. Painted roses. Purity turned to dread.

Blood drained along his sword. The blood of innocents. Of women and children.

This was the name of mercy. This was the name of tragedy.

The green of Jack’s eyes stuck out like the only living plant in a greenhouse in which the rest of the foliage burned. He always thought those eyes held nothing but water, warped reflections, and masks.

As he held out his sword, he saw his own violet eyes too. He saw them in mirrors and each day, but this was perhaps the first in a long time darkness there didn’t convict him of wrongdoing, but rather assured him he was doing right thing.

That didn’t make it any easier.

This was the work of a madman, a monster, who needed to be stopped at all costs. The damage mitigated as much as he could at least.

But that madman was his best friend.

Once he saw silver as a beautiful thing, as it symbolized late nights laughing, and early mornings singing.

Then, years later he saw it as a repulsive thing, far too sharp, too ravenous, too permanent.

Now, he saw it as somewhere in between. Sometimes the only thing that can fight the dark is with a sharper darkness, one that has been forged in the light.

That didn’t make it beautiful, but it made it something more than ugly.

The silver in Jack’s hand carved across Gilbert’s back.

Sweet, little Gilbert, who only wanted to help. Sweet, little Gilbert who never did a thing wrong. Sweet, little Gilbert who Glen always thought Jack was fond of.

That silver was teeth and tongue, and maybe it wouldn’t kill him, but it was enough to show the truth behind his best friend’s eyes.

He learned that day that silver was neither evil nor good. Silver is merely a lens of men, showing the truth behind the eyes, the appearance, the intentions. Reflections sometimes speak louder, truer words than real images. And that means the color can be both beautiful and terrible, sometimes at the same time.

And on that day, it was both sheer horror and a sheer relief when silver severed him to pieces.

******

But death, for Glen Baskerville, did not mean the end of him. His soul merely traveled, lodged itself within the chest of a young boy unable to face his own eyes.

He knew what that was like.

So afraid of his own soul, was he, that he put a silver sheen between his eyes and the world, so he could never see the world as it was, nor could the world see him as he was. The color convicted him; though it obstructed the truth, it shouted that very truth at him every morning he put them on.

And that boy was right to not want to face the truth, for once he faced his own eyes, all he could see was the dark. Once the silver revealed the truth of the boy’s identity, he could do nothing do stop Oswald, nor could anyone else. Oswald would fix the past, without a Chain, or the Abyss’ will, no matter the cost or casualty.

All would be set right. All the tragedy would be circumvented. A new world would be erected, one which was saved from all this blood, and in which silver would be but a benign color.

So on a certain day, centuries later, a day on which memories walked and nightmares daydreamed, he raised his sword above his little sister’s head.

He had killed her once before. Worse than killed her. At least now she could return to the world anew. This wasn’t some sort of previously unknown and umentioned evil act. He was just doing what he already did, except moving the date earlier in time. Early enough to rewrite his past crimes. To spare the rest of them the pain of his mistakes.

But silver is a lens and judge of men. Once you face the color, it will always tell you your true intentions.

He hadn’t been able to catch her last words, all those centuries ago, and he couldn’t stand it.

“Forgive me, nii-sama.”

She had looked at him that day—today—like she suddenly understood it all, and he couldn’t stand it.

Had she known? Had she known that her existence would be the cause of all this tragedy? Was that why she felt the need for forgiveness? Or was it something more than that?

As he grew up, had she seen in her brother, the eyes of a man who once raised a sword over her head?

Or—smiling fool—did she see today, in the man who raised a sword over her head, the eyes of her brother?

God he missed that smile.

This was the moment. The moment he’d been waiting for, longing for, hunting down. The moment when he’d set the entire universe, right.

But…the new universe may be right, but it would be one in which Lacie never got to spend those early mornings—(or late nights, depending on your definition)—teaching her brother how to sword fight.

This Oswald would never eat with his sister, or play with her, or hold her close when one of them had a nightmare.

This Oswald would never get to see his sister grow up to be a beautiful, and half mad woman, who ran about the world, giving broken men reasons to live, when they got into arguments.

This Oswald would never see his sister smile again, nor hear his sister’s laugh again, nor her beautiful singing voice.

This Oswald would never capture her song in a music box so that he could let it out on the days he felt saddest.

Silver fell with the snow.

I still have much to learn, don’t I?

15 notes · View notes