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“Oh gods,” Barry says, in the same tone of voice he uses upon discovering remnants of horrific rituals, multiple-murder crime scenes, or Angus getting his hands on thousand-page books.
“What is it?”
Barry points up, above the spice cabinet, where they’d stowed the confectioner’s sugar and the bags of chocolate treats. That space is now emptied, the counter space below it littered with the corpses of dozens of mint and raspberry truffles.
“Queen help us,” Kravitz breathes.
The two of them follow a trail of powdered sugar like breadcrumbs down the hallway, through the foyer, beneath the ornate crystal chandelier, and right out the front door. Barry looks at Kravitz, Kravitz looks at Barry, and they share a long moment of sheer anxiety before Barry reaches bravely for the door handle.
Tiny snow angels litter the yard in the shape of little elves. Three snowmen guard their mailbox, one’s stick arms crossed, one flexing, and one bent down to receive a misshapen lump of snow identified as a dog only by its leaf-ears and tongue.
Neither of them spot the twins crouched behind the bushes and giggling early enough to dodge a snowball to the face.
Re: the tiny twins AU… What do you think of the headcannon that young Elves really should not have processed sugar? [Feel free to use this as a chaos prompt for a ficlet]
Published
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