#pandora hearts fic

[antihero-writings]

If Everything Breaks

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Summary: Break doesn't like to dance…but maybe just this once || A tale of Break as he grows accustomed to his life with the Rainsworths. My fic for the Chained Pandora Hearts Zine! Written to go alongside @paraffinegg’s art!!

For a while I’ve had some headcanons on how Break picked his new name, and I thought, what better time to write about it than my zine fic!

When Kevin opened his eyes, the light was too bright. No…not eye-s. Just the one. The other’s empty socket throbbed like mad.

As said eye adjusted, vague shapes became clearer: the bed he was on, the tables and chairs around him—(too lavish a room for him)—and finally a person.

“My name...is Alice.” 

He shot up, knocking his head against the headboard.

She laughed...an oddly bright sound.

Framed in sunlight, a woman was smiling at him.

“Where am I?” he demanded, voice hoarse.

She raised an eyebrow. “It’s rude to address a duchess’ daughter so informally, you know.”

His eye widened. This unassuming lady was a duchess’ daughter?

“I am Shelly Rainsworth. ...You showed up at our door covered in blood. ...Quite an entrance, I must say.”

The Rainsworths? He searched his brain but couldn’t find record of the name.

“And you are?”

No one had asked his name in a long time. And if he had told them, well…he would’ve had to kill them.

No one had asked his name in a long time. And if he had told them, well…he would’ve had to kill them.

“You killed so many people! What a fool you were!”

Best not pronounce his identity just yet. For her sake.

“You don’t want to tell me.” There was no question, nor distrust there. “That’s fine. But I need something to call you.”

Her smile was not wicked, nor pitying.

It had been a long time since anyone treated him like more than a monster to be feared, or a toy to plucked and prodded—his important parts ripped out; broken like all the promises of a better world—

“...keep breaking just like that…

If all the people break, and the world breaks…

and everyone and everything goes mad…

Then I can be normal...right?”

He looked away, reaching for his left eye, finding bandages and blossoming pain where sight was supposed to be. He grimaced before answering softly:

“Break. Just…Break.”

********

A world bathed in golden light, music coiling in the atmosphere. With its cues feet glided, hands entwined, and dresses fluttered just above the ground like broken butterflies’ wings.

A cacophony of meaningless noise.

It’s all mad. 

Kevin stood by the stairs as if painted there.

It wasn’t that he disliked balls…okay, no, he did; balls, banquets…gatherings of any kind, really. But, this was the Rainsworth’s party, so attendance was mandatory.

Too bright lights, too loud music, gossip picking at his skull, and, well…people. It all blended together to create a painful buzzing in his head.

The crippled butterflies flew in the other direction around their cage.

“Come on, Cheshire, let’s dance!”

The dancing was the worst part. All those moves to remember, so much to get wrong...and for what? A good show? He had no talent for it, but hopping around, without stepping on anyone's toes—a trained monkey to someone else’s tune, and an uncompromising paradigm—held no appeal for him anyways.

Count the seconds. How many left?—

What do I have left to lose?

“Be it my arms, my legs…I grant you whatever your heart desires!

So please…change the past for me!”

Count the steps. Trace the sequence.

So many wasted moments in pursuits of stillborn dreams, the pattern already predetermined.

“It’s that man.” The hiss came from the side of the room.

He knew who they were talking about; whispers were his loyal familiar.

Kevin wasn’t looking, but he could feel her eyes burning holes in him, like she was trying to snuff out a cigarette.

“The one the Rainsworths took in.”

A second burning hole. His thoughts would surely catch fire.

He shut his eye, his knuckles white on the staircase railing.

“Have you seen his eyes?”

He silently refuted her statement: Nope. Just the one, Dear. The other was stolen away. Apparently they’re a precious commodity to little lunatics in the center of the universe.

“I know right? Red.”

Fingers shoved into his eye socket, pain boring through the hole left…

Screaming rending the air—was it his voice? His throat was burning—

“Fu-fu It’s beautiful.”

“They make him so creepy!”

“I still don’t understand why they took him in.”

“Don’t they know how to take out the trash?” Laughter like venom.

He leaned back, putting his hand on his forehead, trying not to let it travel to his socket.

The words wove around his inner works, pulling taut. He tried not to think of death—(theirs, or his own)—as an excuse, or escape. But too often his mind drifted to a darkened room full of coffins, and a little girl begging him to stay.

Was it his fault, then? Was all of this…inevitable?

“Break!”

The word was a crack in reality. Another, better world, reaching out to him.

If there is such a thing.

He looked up, as if at the bottom of a mineshaft, to see Shelly on the staircase above him.

The thing about being in a high position is one gains the luxury of indifference; those in power rarely care for those below them. They can afford not to.

She caught his eye and motioned for him to come up to her.

...The Rainsworths were different.

“Come quickly, there’s a man covered in blood!”

Dare he? Surely he must stay against the wall, he was plastered there after all.

This room shone gold. Yet the Rainsworths were brighter; they were a kind of light those in the room knew nothing of. So bright were they that those in the dark dare not touch them, for fear of being shown in the sun for what they really were.

She put her hands on her hips.

...He dare not disobey.

And what was becoming of him? He didn’t feel brighter since meeting them. What if it was the other way around? With each step closer he swore he could hear the pieces of his shattered heart jangling in his chest, and wondered if instead he’d leave them all bleeding on those sharp edges.

A blur went by, closely followed with—

“Dance with me, Reim!” Little Sharon came pelting after.

Reim hid behind Sheryl’s chair on the floor below, and Rufus proceeded to scold them.

Laughter like sunshine breaking after rain.

He looked at Shelly, who raised an eyebrow.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile in perhaps…ever.”

He was smiling? Better wipe it off.

“So…something tells me you don’t feel like dancing.”

“I never cared for it, Shelly-sama.”

“Let’s see, you don’t care for;”—She counted on her fingers—“people talking to you, people looking at you, people…aaand dancing now.”

He rolled his eye. “I mean it. I really can’t.”

“What do you say to a lesson?” She held out her hand.

He stumbled back.

Was this some punishment? He tried to think of anything he’d done to deserve this.

“It would disgrace a lady such as yourself to be seen dancing with a servant.”

“We could use a good scandal.”

“I—” he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d step on your toes.” He was running out of excuses.

“I don’t doubt it.”

What wasn’t she getting about this?

Shelly bounced her hand persistently.

No. He couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Wouldn’t. Dare touch her. Surely he’d infect her. Why was she bothering with him? Pestering him, like she always did. Like everyone always did. Treating him like a lost puppy, when they should just leave him in the rain to die.

The request was soft: “Please dance with me, Xerxes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “…What did you call me?”

He never spoke of his past, but he knew those whispers, ever at his heel, were indication enough of something dark in his ill-conceived adulthood.

“Well, I figured if you’re keeping a fake name, you’ll need a second. Or, in this case a first—Break sounds better as a surname, don’t you think? And I thought Xerxes was rather fitting.”

“How?” He snorted. “Isn’t it a name for ancient kings and heroes? I fail to see how I fit that.”

How could a knight wear the name of a king? How could a villain bear the name of a hero?

“That’s why I picked it.”

He backed up, his eye widening.

He didn’t understand what she was, or why she ever spoke to him. All that light was sickening...yet…

This woman saw him, not as a monster, or a toy…but as some sort of hero. How was that possible?

The name didn’t fit right. But she smiled at him, and though the light was sickening... it was oddly warm.

“Break might not like to dance, but tonight we are not Break and Shelly. I am the Queen of Hearts, and you are my Mad Hatter.”

“...Who said I was mad?”

She grinned.

“You must be, or you wouldn’t have come here.”

He could choose to turn away, leave this place, believe the whispers snaking through him. Reject the name, her kindness, her light.

He sighed, averted his eye—

Just this one. 

And took her hand.

[longlivethewhump]

5 whump fics I highly recommend

If you like whump without a whumper, I'm sure you will enjoy these fics.

Attack on Titans

beyond the walls (written by Federtanz, link here, one-shot) : if you are craving for levi whump then read this one. He's suffering (a lot) from broken ribs during all of the story.

Fullmetal Alchemist

Crash (written by Sevlow, link here , one-shot). Ed and Roy are caught in a car accident. Roy is gravely wounded and ouch, this must hurt like hell.

One Piece

Spots of the Leopard (written by Eilike, link here, 3 chapters) : there's a very interesting flashback of Sanji suffering from broken ribs after his fight at the Baratie. What a shame he didn't have a scratch in the manga !

D. Gray-Man

Breaking Point (written by Fortune Maiden, link here, one-shot). This is about our poor Lavi being tortured, and the way his health is slowly deteriorating.

Pandora Hearts

00:00 surgery (written by Katy Starcatcher , link here, one-shot) : Break has to endure a painful surgery without anesthesia. TW this one is a little bit gory.

-------------------

Thank you sooo much everyone for following me ! I love sharing stuff with you and the whump community is wonderful. When I was young I used to think I was insane for liking whump and I was ashamed of it. But now I know it's totally okay and that I'm not alone!

[lana7779]

People should really be careful when saying things like "hey, you should write (insert the randomest idea)", because by god, I will make it happen.

So here we are, 2.5k words of Gil taking out Break's hairpins...

Yuuuup... That's all this is...

Pulling out your partner’s hairpins as a metaphor for sex.

Gil was angry. Overall, relieved, of course, but still, very angry that Xerxes didn’t tell him. Didn’t tell him that he was blind, and carried that weight in secret. 

After Yura’s mansion when they got back the Rainsworth mansion and the debrief was over, they each went to their rooms, but Gilbert followed Xerxes to his. 

When he arrived, he saw the blind man fumbling with his hair pins, turned away from the mirror on the dresser because he no longer needed it. That angered Gilbert even more. He stalked into the room, not bothering to keep his presence a secret and slammed his hands down on either side of the Mad Hatter, trapping him with his body against the wood behind him. 

Break jumped a bit at the abrupt sound, Gilbert’s anger radiating off of him practically like heat. He kept his hands by his hair, looking in the direction in which he could feel the younger was near him. And he was so damn near. The reason Gilbert’s anger was comparable to heat is because he was indeed close enough to feel every fibre of Gil’s being. 

Gilbert probably felt like he could get this close only because Break couldn’t actually see him. Whatever the reason, his presence was penetrative, though not unwelcome. It was his favourite little pathetic Gilbert after all… What could he possibly do to him that Sharon already hasn’t put him through with her harisen? Although, being this close to the Raven, he truly did not know what to expect. So he pretended as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Aside from that loud bang of Gilbert’s hands against the dresser. 

The Raven breathed heavily, composing himself to not scream at his mentor in such close proximity. It would be rather counterintuitive to yell at someone whose all other senses except for sight were sharper now. Or could Break be going deaf as well and wasn’t telling him that either? 

Either way, all that came out of him was a measured sentence, the only question that he needed confirmation on from the source himself. Head bowed in front of his mentor, he asked. “You really can’t see… Can you?”

Despite showing the best fighting Gilbert has seen from his teacher in a while, the sight of the older fiddling with the hairpins was quite pitisome. At this point, he was wondering if eyesight was truly the issue or just lack of skill in the hair department. 

Break thought of a million different ways to retort to that question. To tease Gilbert about barging into his room like that and to now be bent over him like so. He wanted to. He really did. But at the end of the day, he could not be more grateful to the person that saved him from committing an irreversible mistake. He lowered his hands from the back of his hair in defeat. In an unnaturally small voice, he confirmed the younger’s suspicion. “No.”

Break both heard and felt the sharp inhale that Gilbert took. It was so… desperate… as if a part of Gil hoped for the opposite answer. But there he was, disappointing his subordinate. 

At this point, Gil decided to look up into Break’s unseeing eye. It was so unnerving, because Break looked back at him, and for a moment, he thought he could see recognition and some sensory input, but no. The iris was unfocused, not looking him directly in the eye as one would in this close proximity. Break was just doing his best estimate to figure out where he should be looking. 

Gil let out a defeated sigh, seeing how there was nothing to be fighting here for. No bargaining nor anger will do him nor Break any good here. He took a long look at his mentor and the situation they were in. He was in Break’s room, effectively pinning him against his own dresser, a blind man, no less. How opportunistic of him… Granted, had he tried to do so earlier, it would have definitely ended with his being thrown out in the most creative ways Break could conjure at the time. Now though, all Break did was stand there, accepting fate for what it was. 

Gil leaned forward to look behind Break’s head at the mess that was created there after a whole evening, which also happened to include a fight. With his breath ghosting over Break’s ear, he asked quietly. “How did you even get them in there?”

With Gil this close, Break suddenly felt uneasy, a slight heat rushing through his body. They’ve never been this close before outside of training and fighting. There was something… intimate about this moment. Not only that, but Gil’s sudden change in tone. Going from angry to soft after Break’s confession really put him through some mental hoops. 

This close to Gilbert, he could smell the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke. He tried not to inhale too deeply so as to not appear as if he was actively sniffing his student. Though, he dared say, the scent was pleasant to his taste. However, the warm breath on his ear… there was nothing he could have done to suppress the shiver that ran down his spine. In hopes that Gilbert wouldn’t notice, he answered his question. “Sharon…”

But Gilbert noticed. How could he not, being this close to someone, and being the one with eyesight. Break’s visible bodily reaction was very noticeable and Gil couldn’t help the smile that passed on his lips. He brought a hand up to hover over the back of Break’s hair, trying to find the best place to start with the hairpins

Break only continued to talk in an effort to disguise his growing comfort at being this close to another man. “She really likes all things dress up and hair, so naturally she was the one to--ahh…” 

Gilbert finally touched his hair, barely, but still noticeable enough to make Break lose his train of thought and gasp in awe over how nice the sensation felt. 

Gilbert pulled his hand back when he heard and felt the gasp. He only touched a few of the strands to see if they were a good beginning spot, but Break’s reaction made him hesitate. “Hm? What is it?”

“Nothing!” Break shook his head, embarrassed with himself at his own reaction. ‘What the fuck was that?!’ 

“Alright… you let me know if I’m hurting you, okay?” Gil reassured and went back to being infinitely close to Break. 

“Mhmm,” Break hummed his agreement and immediately fought back a low whimper once Gil’s hand actually fully immersed itself in his hair. What was this boy doing to him???

When Sharon played and fiddled with his hair, it didn’t feel like much. Just a necessity he had to sit through. But with Gilbert… the whole ordeal felt different. He was oh so aware of their proximity, but also there was something about knowing that Gil’s rough gun handling hands were doing the most miniature of tasks such as taking hairpins out of someone’s hair...

His mind swam. Maybe he should just call Sharon in here and get this over with, with no further complications to their relationship. Instead, he found himself gripping Gilbert’s forearm unconsciously, tilting his head in the direction of Gilbert’s head. What was wrong with him?

However, shortly after he realized he was holding onto Gil’s arm, Gil used that arm to return his hold on him. Recognizing this, Break’s thoughts shifted to, ‘what is wrong with him???’

Gil didn’t understand why Break suddenly decided to hold onto him, but he felt it would only be right to return the favour under the pretence that this way Break would hold still better and let him focus on his task. Or maybe he was hurting him, and Break was too proud to admit it, but instead transferred that pain into gripping him? This particular pin was a tad more tangled than the rest and he was really fumbling with it. Especially one handed, since he dared not let go of Break with his other hand. It was comforting in a sense, to them both, to be holding each other during this task.

Feeling Gil’s hand in his hair felt unlike any sensation he’s ever witnessed. No longer caring about why he was feeling this way, Break decided to just let himself get swept away in the soothing sensation of having someone fiddle with your hair. Since his hand was gripping Gil’s arm, he focused on how the muscle moved beneath the coat and skin. How firm and sturdy Gil felt in his hold. How strong his student has grown from the small and scared child he’d met a decade ago. 

He found that oddly comforting and unconsciously began leaning forward into Gil. He noticed that Gil pressed firmer into him as well, almost leaning his chest on his shoulder. ‘What is he doing…?’ 

Only being able to use one hand made the task more difficult, so with no other option, Gil decided to get his mouth involved. To do that though, he had to really lean into Break to be able to grasp the hairpin with his teeth. They could just change positions, but… somehow that felt like more work and he was comfortable enough as it was. Plus, he was practically already there. “Lean forward more, I can’t see…”

Break’s eye widened, and while he was dumbfounded, Gil used his hand to push his head into his shoulder. He gave a surprised gasp, his hand gripping Gilbert more earnestly now. His breathing picked up at being so intimately close to Gilbert, even closer than before, which is already the closest they’ve ever been. Now he was forced to inhale the scent of Gil’s coat, and to be practically embraced by his student. What a peculiar situation…

Now having a better visual on the back of Break’s head, Gil held onto the clump of messy hair with his hand and leaned in with his face to grasp the pin by his teeth. He felt Break stiffen underneath him and smirked to himself. This must be something new for his mentor as well. He had to admit, he rather liked this arrangement, for once putting Xerxes Break in an unfamiliar territory and watching him squirm as he was now. 

With the first pin successfully out of the white hair, he leaned back. Ideally, he’d have loved for Break to see him with his prize between his teeth, but alas, he will need to compensate. He pulled back slowly, talking lowly around the pin in his mouth, with his breath brushing right up against Break’s ear. “I got it…” 

Break bit his lower lip to fight back another involuntary whimper at both the sensation and action. ‘Did he just take it out with his teeth?’ He was able to deduce that much from the way Gil spoke, and how close he felt the younger’s face to the back of his head. He tried not to show his bafflement in his voice. “That one was really stuck in there, eh?”

Gil dropped the pin onto the dresser and leaned back in to get the other ones. “Mhmm,” he hummed. “The rest should be easier to get out.”

Break squeezed Gil’s arm when he felt Gil’s hand go back to touching his hair. “It’s okay, take your time…”

And so Gil did, take all the time in the world, slowly pulling out pin by pin, leaving Break to gasp, tremble and pant in his arms. After a few particularly gorgeous sounds from the older, Gil couldn’t help his own heart rate spiking, leaving him to breathe shallowly, which Break picked up on and played off of. They did not need to speak aloud to let their bodies talk for themselves. Especially when Gil’s hand would travel in between pins, just casually massaging gently the back of Break’s head. That bit in particular made Break lose composure and gasp louder than normal and grip Gil’s arm tighter. He even tried tilting his head back in pleasure a couple of times, but Gil just pushed his head right back against him, as that hindered the progress on getting the hairpins out. 

Another moment that made Break forget what was happening was when Gil would deliberately breathe against his ear hotly and sweetly. For no other reason, just because. Just because Break’s reactions likely fueled his own internal sensations, which he wasn’t hiding as well as he thought. Break could both feel and hear it. 

Particularly when Gil would get too close and actually faintly brush his lips against Break’s ear, making them each gasp in surprise, but carry on as if nothing happened. 

Soon enough, Break returned to looking more like himself with his scrunkly looking hair and the pile of bobby pins laid on the dresser beside them. Break wasn’t quite sure what to do now that that was over. As much as he enjoyed the moment, it was rather… peculiar, in the best sense of the word.

He still did not let go of Gil. Gil tried leaning back as soon as he was done, but Break kept a firm hold on him. Break’s next words surprised him. “This doesn’t have to mean anything, right?”

They just shared the most intimate moment of their lives with each other, gasping and trembling in each others’ holds without speaking a single word of it, the arousal running high between them, and Break was still holding onto him with an unyielding grip. 

Gil leaned back in to be eye level with Break again, face to face for the first time since he started pulling out the pins. “Just helping a blind man with his hairpins. Nothing more.” He whispered sweetly. 

He leaned in closer to Break’s face so that their noses would be barely touching and their lips hovering just over one another. Break was about to tilt his head to make their lips touch when Gil whispered reassuringly. “You can let go of me now…”.

Break hesitated for a split second, but did as was told. What a silly thing he did, holding onto Gilbert like that. He promptly released his grip and looked away, hand coming to hold the edge of the dresser he was still leaned back against. 

He expected this to be that, and for Gilbert to turn around and leave. That’s why despite Gil leaning away from his face, he was surprised to feel Gil caress the back of his head one last time, twirling a strand of his hair between his fingers before finally stepping away from him completely. 

With his unspoken message delivered, Gil walked out of the room quietly. If Break wanted more, he knew where to find him. 

[sainz100]

upcoming Carlos x chess content soon ❤️♟️✨

[sunsetsmakemesad]

Last day🥲

[genspiel]

did. did alyss think that red eyes would be perfect for cheshire because. those with red eyes are the only ones besides glen who can approach the core. and alyss is kind of half merged with/the spokesperson for the core. and cheshire is very dear to her. just like lacie was to the core---

[notxjustxstories]

oc pride challenge 2023 ↬ tropes week ↬ cast full of gay

tag list: @witchofinterest, @megdonnellys, @foxesandmagic, @villanele, @sunlitscribe, @arrthurpendragon, @pinkykitten, @bravelittleflower, @ochub, @anotherunreadblog, @valdrinors, @eddysocs, @ocappreciationtag, @stareyedplanet, @superspookyjanelle, @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle, @raith-way, @noratilney, @richitozier, @wordspin-shares

[crazymecjc]

every day I am haunted by the fact that we know next to nothing about what happened in the ten years between oz getting thrown into the abyss and the beginning of actual plot. there’s lore in there!! there’s soup!!! Give It To Me!!!!!!!!

[hes-a-tough-kid]

I’m lost…

[antihero-writings]

The Uninvitation

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Summary: Shelly's funeral was very nice. Everyone said so. Break isn't so sure. As he stands at her grave, an unwelcome visitor shows up. Written for the Pandora Hearts Month 2023 Prompt: "Grave."

It was a very nice funeral. Everyone said so.

As if funerals can be nice.

Sure, the sun was shining, the snow was sparkling. Maybe that made it nice. But should the “niceness” of funeral be measured in the kindness of the weather, and the youth of the flowers?

Then again, of course it was nice; Sheryl had spared no expense; the ceremony, the food, the flowers, the decorations were each extravagant in their own ways. Shelly surely wouldn’t have cared about pomp and circumstance, but nice plates and vases were all Sheryl had, so the rest of them weren’t about to stop her.

Sheryl always stood tall, but one day Break found her hunched over Shelly’s things, holding tight to one of her dresses, smiling softly, weeping. When he sat beside her, even though he didn’t ask, she told stories of when she was a child, murmuring old proverbs about how mothers shouldn’t have to bury their daughters.

So, no. They weren’t going to stop her.

And as she sat telling him stories, she had had the audacity to pause, look up, and ask, “Xerkkun, how are you faring?”

He smiled and said, “Don’t worry about me, Sheryl-sama.” in the most nonchalant voice he could manage.

Even though they both knew she had more than one reason to worry.

On a normal day, she would have pressed him on the matter. That day, she nodded, and looked away. They both knew talking about it would only be the hammer that smashed their fragile forms into bits.

How was that ‘nice’?

…Then again, of course it was nice; Reim had insisted on organizing it, he and Rufus shouldering as many of Sheryl’s burdens as they could, (though she still insisted on carrying more than her fair share). Rufus could be heard barking about how the roses were supposed to be red, and how the table was supposed to go over there, and the banners were all misaligned…

Break would never admit it, but he was grateful.

Then again, of course it was nice: the speeches everyone gave were full of the prettiest words.

The officiant said some generic adage about the Abyss one always hears at these things, and how she would be back to this world before long, which made everyone put their hand over their heart, and their kerchief at their eyes.

Sheryl told stories about when Shelly was a child, and liked to steal her shoes, and when she was an adult and liked to steal her duties, interrupted by those proverbs she iterated earlier, until Rufus had to take her, sobbing, off the stage.

Even Rufus, with his flowery, old words made a speech that was nice enough. Break had rolled his eyes about his turns of phrase, and profuse tears, but…even then.

It was nice.

Sharon told them all she wanted to say something, and they feared she wouldn’t get beyond the first sentence. They feared this was too much weight to put on a little girl who had lost her mother, even if she willingly took the weight on herself. But she stood tall at that podium, and voiced her speech and her stories with pride and eyes that shone with both joy and sorrow, and the crowd breathed a sigh, knowing she was far braver than they realized.

She’d make a wonderful duchess some day.

And yes, Break couldn’t deny, that was altogether nice.

They even asked Break if he wanted to say something. And maybe he did—he wouldn’t start sobbing halfway through—but…somehow he knew, if he started speaking about the woman who saved his life in more ways than one, then the words just might gush out of him until he was yelling, and cursing, and laughing like a madman. So he said something about how it would be ridiculous for a servant to speak at a noblewoman’s funeral, and bit his tongue.

He laughed to keep from crying, and he was sure they thought he was crazy. And maybe he was. He had never been someone particularly likable at first glance, and had heard gossip for a long time—about red eyes, bloodstained pasts, and underseved blessings—and wasn’t about to start caring what the world thought now.

He didn’t cry. No one would fault him if he did—it was a funeral after all. Still, he didn’t intend to.

Maybe that made him strong. And maybe that made him afraid.

Afraid he’d live up to his name.

Maybe it was something about caring. Crying meant showing he cared, cared a lot, cared too much. And caring meant losing. And crying meant a little girl and coffins and snow and “Don’t leave me!” and “Do you want to change the past?”  and “They were the most important people to you, and you couldn’t save them.”

And that wasn’t very nice to think about.

He always carried candy in his pockets, and the funeral was no exception. Some people probably thought he was insensitive, but it was all he could do to keep from biting his tongue until blood was all he could taste.

They were all fakes anyway. He didn’t want to waste his words or his tears on them.

Maybe the ‘niceness’ of a funeral is measured in how much sobbing one can hear. True, there was rather a lot of it. Even if they didn’t know her, and were only crying on general principle, rather than any specific memories, and later they would go about their days with dry eyes, and forget the nice funeral, and the nice woman.

Did that still count as nice?

The Nightrays were there; Gilbert had said he was sorry (sounding as if he thought it was his fault) and he meant it. Vincent, toeing the ground and playing with his hair, said it was all very sad, and hadn’t meant even that. (And Break would have done something violent and stupid if it wouldn’t have caused a scene). The other Nightray siblings bowed, and respectfully offered his condolences. The Vessalius’s were there too, or at least what was left of them. Oscar had tried to make them all feel better with words of encouragement, and beverages to cleanse the soul, and Ada had bawled, even though they never met.

Sure. Maybe that was nice.

Shelly was a ‘Kind girl.’ A ‘Strong woman.’ A ‘Wonderful duchess.’

Maybe that’s why they thought it was nice; they all had very fond memories of the woman who was nice.

They didn’t even know the half of it. The sunlight, the, smiles, the salvation.

He opened the box, and she was waiting for him there at the bottom.

What happens when she fades into he wind too, like all the shadows?

Despite the strength in her speech, Sharon had wept silently into his coat. He ran his hands through her hair softly, all the while praying this nice funeral would end soon.

And even then, even when she had been crying so much, for so long, even then she had the strength to stand up straight, to give sorrowful smiles, and bittersweet words to all the porcelain nobles who told her how sorry they were, what a shame, and what a nice funeral it was, and if she needed anything, don’t hesitate to send for them.

Well, she definitely had her mother in her.

Three queens on the chess board. How did he end up with them?

They all offered their condolences. With fake words, and fake sympathy, and fake offers to help.

They didn’t really know her.

As the funeral ended, Reim asked Break if he wanted a drink. It was appealing to have a quiet drink with a friend, who knew Shelly, and knew him, and wouldn’t fill the air with empty platitudes. But, if there were ever a day he wished he could drink to forget, it was today. So he laughed and said he was thinking of staying and talking to her for a while. But he knew his laugh didn’t sound quite right.

Reim nodded, patted him on the shoulder, and walked away.

Break decided to stay. To stay, and talk, alone (at last, alone,) to her grave. His words weren’t for the masses…but he’d spare a few for a stone.

When he finally stood alone memories—the good, the bad, and the beautiful—came like a flood, and he found himself at a loss for what to say. All the ‘Thank you’ and ‘I’ll miss you’s seemed worthless in the face of a name and a date on a headstone. The end of a life.

Is that all a life is? Some wordy flowers, some flowery words, a tear or two, a date on a headstone, and a nice funeral?

The last time he stood at a headstone everything was wrong with the world. Grief wasn’t a heavy, sad thing. It was a writhing, hot, angry thing. It came with a desire for vengeance, not against those who took them, but against time. And maybe, today, after the forward march, time was still unjust tyrant, and still needed a sword run through him. Or maybe Shelly lived the best life she could, and she wouldn’t want him to to be mad—in emotion or in mind .Would rather he hold flowers than a blade.

He still had the sword beside him. Just in case time came knocking.

And standing here, trying to think of what to say, and how to say it, his eyes stung with water. He sat there silently thinking until the silence filled up his lungs.

Today, grief was a heavy, sad thing.

And in this moment, alone, at the grave

Reality broke.

It cracked, and the pieces fell. Were stolen away. Something bore into it, and two red eyes shone through the hole.

“Do you want to change the past?” Asked the shadows in a deep, discordant voice.

And Break paused, eye widening, the red shimmering, swimming in itself.

See? Crying meant the Abyss.

Then…a smile crept onto his face. A spreading, stretching, stained, disdainful thing.

“Where might you be from?” He asked in the most nonchalant voice he could manage.

“I’ve come from the Abyss to help you. I can change your past, if you let me.”

Break looked down, still smiling, scoffing. “That would be a lovely thing, wouldn’t it?” He chuckled. “Make it so she didn’t have to die. Not that day at least.”

The hole grew bigger, pieces of reality falling off.

“Maybe,” Break continued, looking at the ground, “there’s another strand of time in which everything's alright."

“Yes, yes, exactly! I think we can help each other!”

A hand reached out of the hole. Cotton and lies.

“Maybe.”

Crying meant the Abyss.

And caring meant “Promise me you will keep living your life with everything you have until the very end.”

His staff clicked.

“Or maybe you're ruining a perfectly nice funeral." He chuckled. "You should find a better source of sustenance than human souls."

When he turned around to head back inside, reality refused, and only ash remained.

[pyrriax]

hi tumblr im pyrr pyrriax and im in my trimonthly artist arc, lord help me and all the projects that are currently sitting in my drafts while i am lured in by the siren song of drawing

[okamigamer1]

Happy Pandora Hearts Secret Santa Exchange Holiday time!

@lana7779 I was your exchange partner and I wrote Break x Gilbert modern day established relationship fluff fic! I hope you enjoy it💚❤️🎄 Merry Pandora Hearts 😁

@i-prefer-the-term-antihero

[cinammonelles]

Remember when i said i was gonna be more insane abt pandora hearts?

Yeah, this is the result. Enjoy <3

Summary:

Jack Vessalius was like a perfectly still body of water. Unchanging, serene, picturesque. Like the calm before a storm. No one knew what lay under that calm, unruffled exterior that gave away nothing. He was but an apparition. A shell of a human being, like they say. A shell that was given a name by a little girl one snowy day.

[sunsetsmakemesad]

A fic for day 5 of phmonth

[genspiel]

spontaneous headcanon that the reason noise has nightmares about turning into a monster and duldee looks humanoid and is capable of taking over human bodies is because duldee was one of those people who somehow ended up in the abyss and turned into a chain and it still retains some warped memory of that experience

[nandalikesstuff]

Going Back to Those Times

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Characters: Oz Vessalius, Gilbert Nightray

Summary: Many have said that the child we once were is never lost, it’s only waiting inside us for a chance to go out and play again. Gil and Oz have just proven that theory true.

A/N: Like I've said, one of my goals for 2024 is to finally finish all the wips that have been collecting dust on my folder for ages. This fic is a part of this project and a specially difficult one at that, because:

1) Believe it or not, this fic was supposed to be a fill for a prompt on the kink meme in LiveJournal (computer says I started it in 2011, which makes sense, but somehow feels wrong, where did time go?); and

2) Do you think past!me wrote down what the prompt was or saved a link to it anywhere? She did not! :D So I had to put together a plot and ending for this fic from the thousand or so words I had already written for it and my very vague memories of where I was intending to go with this.

Bright side is: I did it! Not exactly sure how close it is to the prompt it was supposed to fill anymore, so uh, if you had a prompt on the kink meme that involved Gil and Oz playing as kids again in some way and you happen to see this, I hope you like it! And I hope everyone else likes it, too!

If you prefer, also read it on AO3!

~~**~~

When Gilbert Nightray got out of his bed that day, he expected and resigned himself, as always, to face all kinds of strange, scary, dangerous, and very likely to cause serious body damage situations. And all that setting aside the part where he would eventually have to actually go out of the Rainsworth mansion to hunt the human-eating monsters that were known as “chains”.

He did not expect, however, that an apparently harmless excursion to the market would lead to him finding himself thrown to the ground and then smashed by five of what should be the most annoying, tireless, relentless and devious kids he had ever seen.

Aside from his master Oz, that is.

Gilbert felt all the air being forcefully pushed out of his body and struggled to get it back, but, with the combined weight of the children pressing directly onto his ribs and lungs, this task seemed almost impossible. He gasped, desperate for air, and tried to scream and make the kids get off of him, but only managed to get out a strangled whisper.

One of the kids – he couldn’t possibly tell which one – started to scream and roar in victory, giving the cue for the others to follow him and start a deafening noise.

An alert started to sound off in his head (“You need air NOW!”) so he did the next thing that had come to his mind and used his arms to lift himself from the ground a little. The kids didn’t even notice, but it was enough to stop his chest from being crushed and to get the air back into his body. His breath was, of course, a bit erratic, but, as he was not facing imminent death anymore, he could focus on other important things such as: how he would get out from under those children?

He tried to search for Oz and ask for help, but his view was currently limited and the blond wasn’t anywhere in his line of sight. Feeling completely hopeless, he dropped his head to the ground, groaning and trying to ignore the kids’ cheering, and went back to the events that had brought him to this ridiculous situation.

~~**~~

Gilbert had woken that morning to a mansion immerged in complete silence, what was, considering the people that lived there, rather odd and suspicious. Plus, having lived most part of his childhood with Oz Vessalius, he knew that silence was never a good thing.

While he washed himself and changed, his mind rushed through the possibilities of evil plots that could be being put into action at that exact moment. Horrible images started rushing through his mind: Of the mansion being blown up or he being thrown in a room full of cats or… Who even knew!? (And no, he wasn’t paranoid, thank you very much. Some of those things had actually happened before, especially the ones that involved cats).

Afraid of what he would face once he started wandering the corridors, the raven considered, for a moment, staying in his room and pretending it had nothing to do with him, but the fear of what could actually happen if he didn’t keep an eye on Oz and Break was enough to make him storm out the door, looking for them.

The obvious place to look at that time would be the dining room, as it was breakfast time, and, surely, as soon as he approached the door he heard Oz’s voice coming from behind it, but the one answering the blond was not who Gilbert had expected.

He opened the door to find Oz chatting animatedly with Reim (Well, the younger boy was chatting animatedly, the other was just listening, but seemed to be having a good time nonetheless). There was no one else there, which was odd. Where were Sharon, Break and that stupid rabbit? His master looked up at him when he entered the room and gave him a smile:

“Hey there sleepy-head. It was about time you woke up, Gil!”

“Good morning, Mr. Nightray.” Came Reim’s greeting soon after.

Deciding to ignore Oz’s comment, he took his place at the table, sitting right in front of them.

“Morning…” He looked over at Reim, trying not to look too curious, but he must have failed it, because the other soon added:

“I came to deliver some documents that master Barma wanted Lady Cheryl to analyse, and then I ran into Oz, who was kind enough to invite me for breakfast.”

One mystery solved. There was still the other one.

“I see… And where are the others? I mean, that stupid rabbit is probably still asleep, but where are Break and Sharon?”

It was Oz’s turn to ignore part of Gilbert’s comment. He had known since long that all the animosity between Gil and Alice was just for show, so he didn’t even pay any mind to it anymore.

“Sharon wanted to give Alice another one of those ‘lady lessons’ and took her to the city. Break went with them, of course, and he also said we could have the day off.”

At this, the raven-haired man sighed visibly in relief. So there wasn’t any evil plan being plotted, after all, thankfully (Okay, so he was just a little paranoid. No one could blame him for it after all he had been put through). More relaxed, he filled himself a cup of coffee. The rest of the morning went down smoothly.

Things continued calm until the middle of the afternoon. The others still hadn’t come back, so Gil and Oz were killing time at the library. The blond was sitting on the floor, back against one of the shelves while reading one of his adored Holy Knight books, and Gilbert was on the nearest table, filling up some paperwork, when the boy lifted his head and said the phrase that was bound to be the source of all of Gilbert’s nightmares:

“You know, Gil… I could really use some cookies right now…”

Gilbert didn’t even look up. The other wasn’t seriously asking him to drop everything to go bake cookies, was he? Didn’t he remember what had happened the last time he tried?

“So go ask one of the maids to bring you some.”

“But I want the ones that you make!” Oz almost but whined. “You were never able to finish them last time and I have been craving your cookies since then!” (Damn, so he did remember).

Receiving no answer, Oz huffed, immediately changing his tone of voice.

“Come on now, Gil; don’t make me turn this into an order, because you know I will.”

Yes, Gilbert didn’t have a doubt he would…

He really didn’t feel like making cookies at the time, but if that was going to make Oz happy, then he didn’t really mind.

The raven sighed, although it was only for show, and pushed his chair away from the table.

“Fine, I will make your cookies. I’ll be back in an hour or so, ok?”

“Oh, really?! Thank you, Gil!”

Gilbert rolled his eyes as he left the room. Oz had the sweetest of smiles on his face, as if he hadn’t just blackmailed him into doing just so, the manipulative brat…

Oz chuckled as he heard the library door closing. They were nice, these times when they played their little games, Gil pretending he didn’t like to obey Oz’s orders and the boy pretending that he didn’t give a damn. It was something they had been doing since they were kids, the only difference being that there used to be a lot more whining and crying from the (now) older’s part. But it was ok, most of the times. If the game was always the same, it would eventually become boring, but not with Gil. With Gil it just felt nostalgic, safe, welcomed... Just like home. Even if that “home” was always surrounded by deep darkness.

Caught in his own thoughts for a while, the book was lowered to his lap, almost forgotten. The sound of the opening door pulled him back to Earth with a startle, but he quickly composed himself and was back to his book-focused appearance by the time Gilbert appeared on the door frame.

“Wow, back already? You must be the quickest cookie-baker in the whole world!”

Gilbert huffed, not finding the slightest fun on the lame joke and thereby deciding to ignore it.

“The cooker said they have run out of vanilla extract because of the amount of deserts prepared for last night’s dinner and today’s lunch so I offered to go to town and buy some, since we are on a day off anyway. Just thought I should let you know.”

“Whaaat? You are not going to invite me to go with you? Are you abandoning me, Gil?”

Gilbert had only been teasing, and the comment was said on a tone not meant to be taken seriously, but shocked that his master would have that impression about him, Gilbert quickly sputtered a desperate excuse.

“What?! No! A-As if you needed any kind of invitation, idiot. And weren’t you the one that said that was going to stay glued to that book the whole day, anyway? I thought you would prefer staying here.”

“Huh? All alone? No way! I prefer going to town with Gil, it’ll be way more fun!”

Oz rushed to the exit, grabbing his sleeve, and started to pull him through the corridor, but that excited façade didn’t fool Gilbert. He had learned how to see through these expansive actions; that forced joy. He could count on his fingers the times Oz had really had fun after returning from the Abyss, and having to watch his desperate attempts of bringing back his old self, on continuing to seem untouched by the events surrounding them, clutched at his heart with an iron claw and ripped it to pieces.

No, even this was a false nostalgia, somewhat. There had been a lot of darkness surrounding Oz, even back then, that was why Gilbert was always doing – had always done – everything his master wanted, everything he thought might make him happy. But before his father’s ritual, there had at least been real innocence, real happiness in Oz and in plenty of his moments, specially when he was with his uncle Oscar and Ada. Now even those moments seemed tinged with a hidden angst.

If he didn’t know Oz as well as he did, though, it would be impossible to see. As he walked to and around town towards the market, the other boy chatted and ran everywhere, pointing at birds and interesting objects on the shop windows, and even making Gilbert chase him once or twice. Gilbert couldn’t help but wonder about the picture they painted, him all black and moody and Oz all golden and smiles, everyone that saw them would think they didn’t have a care in the world, though deep down he thought Oz was always ever so energetic because, if he stopped, then his thoughts would catch up to him.

“Hey, Gil, let’s take a shortcut through here!”

The call cut him from his thoughts, and he looked around to find Oz waving at him and pointing at the entrance to the park.

“That is not a shortcut. It will take us at least twice as long to get to the market through there.”

“No, no, it’s a shortcut. Trust me, Gil.”

Well, what was he supposed to do? Say he didn’t trust Oz? He begrudgingly followed the other into the park and off the path through the trees until they came to a clearing in the middle of the woods. Well at least it seemed like they were walking in the general direction of the market and should-

Something hit him on the back of the head, and he acted in a fraction of second, grabbing Oz by the arm and pulling him behind him as he turned around and pointed his gun in the direction of the enemy.

Unfazed, an angry looking young boy threw his ball in the direction of Gilbert’s face now, making him duck fast not to get hit.

“Hey, old man! Get out of the field, you are interrupting our game!” The boy yelled at him, and Gilbert quickly hid his gun away before yelling back.

“Don’t shoot balls at people, you know how dangerous that is?!”

“I wouldn’t have to shoot my ball at you if you didn’t walk in the middle of our game in the first place!”

Some other voices yelled in agreement behind him, and Gilbert looked around to see there were three or four more kids around, and no indication this was a playing field of any kind.

“Well, you shouldn’t be playing in the middle of nowhere like this. Where are your parents?!”

“None of your business!” The boy had the audacity to blow a raspberry at him, but before Gilbert could argue further, Oz got free from his hold and walked around him.

“A game? What game are you playing?”

“It’s a game I invented.” The boy said, sounding all cocky. “It’s called ‘monster’. The monster needs to try to shoot the ball at the others and if he hits someone, that person will be the new monster.”

“Woow, sounds super fun, can I play?”

“Sure!”

“Oz, we don’t have time to play, we need to go to the market and back to the mansion.”

“Aww, but Gil!”

The boy grabbed Oz’s hand and started pulling him away. “Don’t listen to that ugly nanny of yours, come play with us!”

The other kids cheered as Gilbert simmered in rage at being called an ugly nanny. He grabbed Oz by the back of his shirt. “No, we don’t have time to spend with these brats. Let’s go, Oz, or don't you want your cookies?”

Oz whined a little more, but soon his pout turned into the devious smirk Gilbert knew so well. He had a feeling he would not like whatever came next.

“Hey, I just thought of a new cool game we can play!” Oz said, and the other kids looked at him with confused faces. He pointed straight at Gilbert, and Gilbert immediately knew he absolutely would not like whatever came next.

“That guy is a super ugly, super mean monster, and we are the knights that are going to bring him down! Whomever can hit him with the ball, wins!”

“Oz, wait a-“ Gilbert started protesting, but had to jump to the side to avoid a ball one of the other kids had already thrown at him.

“Let’s get the monster!” She yelled and all the other kids, including Oz, cheered.

Oh, fuck.

Gilbert spent the next minutes running, dodging and jumping as the kids ran around him shooting and kicking the ball in his direction, trying to “kill the monster” or whatever it was. Oz gleefully joined in the torture and his attacks were the hardest to dodge since he knew Gilbert’s movements so well. It wasn’t particularly tiring or difficult after being trained most of his life by Break to fight Chains, but it was getting pretty annoying.

An idea suddenly stroke Gilbert and he wondered how he hadn't thought of it before. The next time one of the kids threw the ball at him, he grabbed it and held it high above his head.

“Game over, I win.”

“Aw man, that’s not fair!” One of the kids complained.

“That wasn’t part of the game!” Another joined.

The kid that had had an issue with him from the start looked angry for a moment and then gave a devious smirk that rivalled Oz’s and yelled:

“The monster is cheating! Let’s get him, guys!”

There was another round of yelling and before Gilbert could understand what he meant by that or react, one of the kids jumped at him from behind. He wasn’t expecting it so he lost his balance and stumbled, but he would have been able to recover, if the other kids didn’t follow soon after.

He fell to the floor with a scream, a couple of kids landing on his back and the others jumping after them in a pile over his body that left him unable to breathe. One of the kids – he couldn’t possibly tell which one – started to scream and roar, giving the cue for the others to follow him and start a deafening noise.

An alert started to sound off in his head (“You need air NOW!”) so he did the next thing that had come to his mind and used his arms to lift himself from the ground a little. The kids didn’t even notice, but it was enough to stop his chest from being crushed and to get the air back into his body. His breath was, of course, a bit erratic, but, as he was not facing imminent death anymore, he could focus on other important things such as: how he would get out from under those children.

He tried to search for Oz and ask for help, but his view was currently limited, and the blond wasn’t anywhere in his line of sight. Feeling completely hopeless, he dropped his head to the ground, groaning and trying to ignore the kids’ cheering as he tried to think, and that’s when he heard it.

Laughter. Pure and joyous laughter that he hadn’t heard in a long time.

His head jerked in the direction of the sound, and he could slightly make out Oz sitting on the floor and laughing like this was the funniest thing he had ever seen in his life.

He had missed that sound so much. Oz’s real laughter, without any sign of being forced or hollow, like the one he had had when they were both kids. Before Abyss, before his father, before chains or Baskervilles; it elated him, it was his most favourite and the best sound in the world. It made Gilbert so happy himself, he almost started crying from the relief of it.

He would do anything to keep that sound alive.

With renewed strength, he pushed himself up, making the kids fall on their own pile behind him, then he turned around, glaring down at them, and said:

“Now you have made the monster angry. I am going to eat all of you!”

He fake-growled and the kids screamed and scattered as he chased them randomly around without any intention of getting any of them. After a few seconds of this, he turned and looked at Oz. The other boy was looking at him with a surprised look on his face, half thinking it fun and half disbelieving, so Gilbert turned to him with hands half raised in claws, and fake-growled again.

“And you! You turned against me! I’m going to eat you first!”

He ran towards Oz and was pleased to see him reacting just like the other kids: with a fake scream and starting to dash around. He ran after him for a while, and almost exploded from happiness when he heard Oz laughing again, before he took a sharp turn towards one of the other kids that were nearby and continued chasing them randomly around the clearing among the trees.

Every once in a while, the game changed: soon the kids organised themselves into a monster hunting squad, and started chasing him again, then the ball was rediscovered near a tree and they went back to something more similar to what the boy had explained at first, with the “monster” trying to catch the others by hitting them with the ball, which somehow turned into a soccer match, and a game of hide and seek, and another round of tag.

Every time Oz laughed or smiled or cheered together with the other kids, it made Gilbert laugh, too, and soon he had forgotten that his own laughter had also died over ten years ago or that he was a hunter and a killer, the Raven from the Nightrays, and not simply a boy playing together in the park with his best friend.

This is what they were supposed to be, they were supposed to have had more of this, still years of this to come. They had been robbed from themselves and each other, their lives turned upside down, but this was their defiance: they could still laugh, and smile and play, and every time they did, they were taking back a little piece of what had been stolen from them, they were back to being just boys and best friends playing in the park, with freedom and their whole lives ahead of them.

They would never be able to go back to those times, but they could pretend and heal for a while, at least.

~~**~~

The sun was already setting when Gilbert and Oz finally sat down on the grass propped against each other, exhausted and trying to catch their breaths. The other kids said goodbye and waved as each disappeared back to their own homes, inviting them to come back and play again tomorrow. Even the boy that had initially disliked him said they could come back anytime; it made Gilbert smile.

“I’m completely beat, I hadn’t run so much in ages.” Oz remarked, and Gilbert had to agree.

“How was this somehow more exhausting than taking down a Chain? What do kids nowadays eat?”

His dramatic statement made Oz laugh again, and Gilbert beamed. He would never get enough of that sound.

“What made you change your mind, Gil?” The other suddenly asked. “I never thought you’d start a game yourself, but you were almost having more fun than me.”

The raven didn’t know what to say for a moment. He didn’t want to bring attention to Oz’s present happiness – and general unhappiness, by consequence -, in fear it would make it disappear, so he just shrugged. “I just wanted to teach those kids a lesson for piling on top of me, and I guess I got carried away.”

“I see… You were really cool when you called yourself the monster like that, I couldn’t believe it!”

The comment made Gilbert blush a bit. “Don’t make fun of me, I was just going along with what you said.”

“I’m not! You were really cool, I mean it.”

They stayed silent for a little while longer, until Oz said, almost inaudible:

“Thank you, Gil.”

It took Gilbert by surprise, but then he smiled, and put his hat on Oz’s head in place of an answer.

“Come on. Let’s go find a cab and go back to the mansion, I can’t walk the whole way back again.”

They found their way back to the main entrance of the park and Gilbert hailed a carriage for them to climb into. Oz fell asleep almost instantly, and Gilbert contented himself with watching over him on their way back.

It wasn’t until they were back at the mansion that he realised they had forgotten all about the vanilla extract and the cookies, but it was okay. They had gotten something way more precious instead.