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pepprs · 2 years ago

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HI so… per my last post today i did nothing but play video game ♥️. i havent done a wobbledogs post in a couple weeks in bc i got an ear infection and then my wifi adapter broke lol but here are some dogs i have loved recently... (im leaving a lot out bc.. there have been SO many since my last post. but these are like my favorite favorites over the last couple weeks)

this is vasthy! idk why i love them so much i just think she looks rly cool. a lot of the dogs she’s related to look kinda similar but.. idk she specifically just rly grew on me :D

this is PIGLET and they are just a happy little guy!! i wasnt expecting to love him so much but their pinkiness just makes me so happy and i love his little eye shape (it’s charlotte’s! in fact i may be wrong but he might be descended from her now that i think abt it? which would be funny bc of charlottes web lol charlotte and then a pig….) and also he was always just super friendly w the other dogs lol. i just loved having him around. an all around good guy

this is BEAK!!! i dont have many good pictures of her and u cant really tell from this one but she is my first dog who got honest to goodness horns out of nowhere…. and she has a UNICORN HORN at that! ive tried to keep horns on her offspring but i havent been successful yet and its rly frustrating lol but i will work on it

this is beanie! i think she’s piglet’s descendant somehow.. just an all around cool pup who loved holding dirt in her mouth <3

this is dumbo (named for those GIGANTIC wings) and he is the wobbledog equivalent of the get stickbugged meme lol. he had a difficult life bc as he got older he had trouble walking around bc his body got so long and his wings were so huge and his legs couldnt support him. so he would just do a lot of flips to move around and get stressed out all the time and i caught him in some funny poses (like the one pictured) but.. overall he did not have a good time. but i like him a lot and i wish i had done more to make sure he wasn’t in distress all the time

this is FLOCKA my absolute beloved!!!! (i FULLY meant to name him floppa after the meme bc of his coloring like the big cat… but i got it mixed up w flocka and by the time i realized my error "flocka” had already grown on me 💀💀💀) he only had 1 leg and he had a rude personality so instead of getting stressed he would get really angry.. and he absolutely STOLE my heart bc i started watching him rly closely and learning what would stress him out and removing the stressors before he could react to them badly! i was rly excited and proud of kinda coming up w a language to interact w each other... like he couldnt grab food a lot of the time so i would move it to this specific spot against his forehead that he would always get it from and things like that. idk i just love when dogs have like a unique personality or way of doing things that stands out and then i feel like i bond w them lol (throwback to charlotte 🥴) but thats flocka!

and THISSSSS is wammawink (solid green body, lighter red face... yes named after the centaurworld character 🥴) and her daughter wiggly (yellow hearts on green body, darker red / pink face)!!!!! wiggly is my first ever worm dog and bc of her i have completed every single achievement in the game except for one wing angel and i am SAURRR excited. wammawink only has two front legs (i kinda cheated by finding a dog code on the discord that i figured would give me a good chance of having offspring with 2 front legs 😭 but i nabbed her as soonas i saw her) and i had a TON of dogs w only two back legs to try to pair her with... it was actually soppy from one of my earlier posts who was the other parent to wiggly so that was rly cool since i loved them so much! i also am very amused / pleased that wiggly looks SO much like bambi.. like the same coloring and everything except bambi’s face is brown, same face shape and eye shape and pattern, etc.... so true of her <3

AND FINALLY!!!! LAST BUT NOT LEAST!!!!! IS MY BABY BOY CUB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i am OBSESSED with his nose and as soon as i saw it i knew i couldnt let him go. look at his little paws i am SICK!!!!!! look at his EARS! HIS EYES! HIS SNOUT!!! WAUGHGHGHGGHH!!!! BABY BOY BABY!!!!!!! the pictures dont convey it (also all of these are from before he was an adult bc i was so focused on getting a worm dog when he grew up lol.. as an adult his ears and nose turned into a light purple and im still not used to it) but cub is absolutely fucking LARGE. he is maybe my biggest dog ive ever had. he was already a pretty big puppy and he maybe tripled in size as he grew up to the point where he can’t really sit inside the den now without having to bend his head. also this was more exaggerated when he was a puppy / juvenile but when he flies his wings kinda.. jerk him backwards and all over the place and splay out his hind legs? and i am SO obsessed w it its the cutest thing ever in the whole world. i love himmmmm 💓💗💝❣️💖💞💗💓💞💝💖❣️💓💓💞💗💖💝❣️💓 (also he literally picked up the fucking VACUUM and was flying with it in the first pic. icon behavior)

#wobbledogs #purrs #scratching and clawing and biting and gnawing and howling at the one winged angel achievement. i have no idea how to get it or to raise my c #chances of getting it but i need to complete this game. it will be the second game i have ever played to completion (the first being ilomilo #except i never got the multiplayer achievements i think 💔 but the singleplayer achievements i got and that was like 10 yrs ago. i haven’t pl #played a game to completion in 10 YEARS! well actually no wait there’s been like monument valley and stuff and journey of the broken circle #too i think and i still have to finish pikuniku but im like almost there. idk. point is this is the first game with achievements that ive #almost finished and it’s exciting and also a little silly but im proud of myself

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paellaplease · 4 years ago

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HAII!! if it hasnt been done yet, could you do revali x reader with basorexia? maybe reader really wants to give him a kiss but she really cant since,, yknow she has lips and he has a fuckin beak so she just decides to give him a lil smooch on the cheek? idk that was just an idea i had in mind, u dont have to write it!

22. basorexia - the overwhelming desire to kiss.

pairing: revali x reader summary: revali spirits you away to enjoy the new years eve festivities.

In the darkness of your room, you awoke to the sound of a soft tapping on your window. Twisting in the mess of blankets and pillows, you pushed aside the papers and textbooks that had accumulated at the foot of the bed, noticing only then that the candle at your desk had long since extinguished.

Head pounding, you rubbed at your tired eyes, feeling heavy. How long had you been asleep?

The tapping grew more insistent, forcing you to get up. Grumbling, you allowed yourself a second to stretch, ignoring how your room felt like water sloshing in a glass.

"Yeah, yeah. Hold on!" You said, hobbling to the window. Brushing the mess of hair from your eyes, you pulled the curtains away and roughly pushed it open.

The culprit hovered outside, eyes bright and smug. Revali looked very much at home though he was floating at a dizzying distance away from the ground. In the sleepy haze, he looked like a painting of some myth you had read before, with the late night sky as his backdrop and the outline of your window as his frame.

"Took you long enough."

"Apologies. I thought some tree branches were hitting the glass."

The Rito made a show of turning in the air. "Funny, I don't see any nearby trees."

"I know," you sighed, disappointed.

Revali rolled his eyes and poked his head through the window, feathers brushing past your cheek as he ignored your personal space in favour of scoping out your room. The stiff turn of his neck as he looked around reminded you of the curious and confused little birds that landed on the sill from time to time.

"Quite a dreary home you have here." Gesturing to the overall darkness, he pointed to your stack of scattered papers. "You shouldn't study without proper lighting, it's bad for your eyes."

"I was asleep."

"Why, I'm surprised. And here I thought you were one of the festive many who choose to stay awake at an ungodly hour in order to count down the remaining seconds of the year."

"Well," you shrugged, not wanting to meet his eyes. "Not like it's anything special. New year, same shit. What difference would a countdown do?"

Biting down on your tongue, you stopped yourself from saying anymore. The cold breeze sifted past the light shirt you were wearing, making you shiver.

He was right, normally you were one of those people who stayed up, excitedly watching the hands of the clocktower tick til they reached midnight. You enjoyed the energy of being in a collective crowd, waiting with bated breath for the first inhale and exhale you would take into the brand new year.

The final month on the Hylian calendar brought a sense of relief and a hope for new beginnings. Usually today of all days you were at your happiest, jumping at the prospect of celebrating along with the rest of the kingdom and yet…

That sinking weight clawed at your chest again, forcing you to clamp down on it once more.

You grimaced. There it was; that bitter feeling. Hylia. How annoying. It twisted in your brain like an angry snake, pulling down your mood and enthusiasm along with it.

Last year you wanted to cheer and dance until the morning light. Now all you felt like was staring at the wall. Or falling asleep.

You blinked, turning back to the window to see Revali patiently waiting for you to continue. Feeling your face warm, you hustled your brain to get a move on. A coherent thought would be great right about…now!

"Hey have you ever wondered why they don't grow trees on this side of the castle? It's not fair the more expensive quarters get all the pretty greenery. I mean, non-noble guests still need that sweet oxygen everyone keeps raving about, you get me?" Shut up brain, that's enough. I said a coherent thought. C o h e r e n t.

Stars in his wings, Revali shook his head but answered anyway. "I agree, it's hardly fair. Also go change into something warm, we need to get you outside."

"What? Why?"

Something in the Rito's expression clued you in to the fact that he wasn't in the mood to play stupid. You've been sitting in the dark for the past few days and it didn't take a private investigator to know it was playing tricks with your head. "Fine, but when I say we go back--we go back, got it?"

He huffed, turning around to give you some privacy. "I promise on my honour."

The brightly lit lanterns of the town square made you squint as you shuffled closer to your guide, the sound of the city loud in your ears.

Though less prominent, the twisting feeling in your gut continued, making you more hyper-alert than usual to the world around you. Adjusting the sleeves of your coat, you followed Revali past the streets, the Rito expertly navigating through the sea of people.

Somewhere along the way he had taken your hand, and you told yourself it was a good way for you both to stick together. Wouldn't want you getting lost and spending the final minutes of the year playing an elaborate game of hide and seek after all. He was a great friend like that. Nevermind that everytime you would hold his wing a little tighter to remind yourself that he was there, he would always squeeze back.

You needed a distraction.

Just focus on everything that's not him.

The night was alive with the sound of music. It didn't matter if you partied with an alcoholic drink in hand, or a glass of milk, everyone in Hyrule was filled with an addictive buzz that came with an event that only happened once a year. Vendors with bright smiles called out from their stalls, the smell of freshly baked sweets or the sizzle of a barbecue beckoning you to take a closer look. To your left, a group of friends raised their hands in the air, loudly welcoming a Goron that had turned up late but regardless had finally arrived.

The archer followed your line of sight, guessing the question bouncing in your head. "Daruk is in Eldin, probably rattling Death Mountain with that story again about the Moblin camp and the barrel of explosives."

"I love that story."

"Of course you would."

"Sorry about your feathers though."

"Whatever, they grew back."

"How about the one's on your--"

"Anyway," he interjected quickly, playfully nudging you to the side and glowering at your laughter. "We've been told to 'take a break'. The other Champions have chosen to spend this day with their families and loved ones. We are planning to regroup and continue preparations in the days following."

"How about you?"

"I already said it."

Your cheeks coloured at the implications of his words, mind replaying the previous sentence. Families and loved ones. Families and loved ones. He didn't even hesitate. You both were not related. So that left you with...

"Woah!" Digging your heels into the dirt, you abruptly paused your brisk walk and saved yourself from colliding with the archer's back.

Stopping at one of the stalls, Revali held two fingers up. You glanced up at him questioningly but he refused to give anything away, expression relaxed. The vendor returned quickly, the Rito thanking them quietly and placing the payment on the bright yellow table cloth along with a large tip in their jar.

He turned around, dropping a square shaped pastry into your hands. It was some kind of rice cake, with a fluffy exterior and a golden baked surface that smelled of butter and felt warm like the sun.

Taking a bite, you smiled at the hints of coconut that were hidden in its sweet flavour. The sticky treat was familiar somehow. "Is this so luck sticks to you in the new year?"

Revali scoffed, though failed to hide his own smile behind the cake held in his wing. "You said the same thing when we first met. You need new material."

"Says the baron of bird puns."

"I am the king." He punctuated the statement by biting into his own rice cake. Offering his wing, he gently took your hand once more, turning back to step again into the busy promenade.

Following him, you noticed that the crowds ever so slowly began to thin. A lantern lit hill was coming up. The grassy expanse was dotted with a few people, though it was blessingly not as populous as the town square. "I should be the one that's surprised. Thought you hated crowds unless their attentions were all on you."

"It's tolerable so long as I am with good company."

The both of you walked up the hill with an unspoken agreement to make it to the top. Taking a seat on the grass, you allowed yourself to breathe, chest heaving from the small burst of exercise after days of being sedentary.

The twinkling lights of Castle Town stretched out before you. Gazing at it, you could imagine all the untold stories hidden in the glowing little pockets of the alleys and in the hushed whispers behind closed doors. Funny how in a city so full of people, one can feel so alone.

Revali was the first to speak, breaking you from your thoughts. "I think I can understand now. Looking at it from this distance, it really can feel like nothing much has changed."

You continued to stare at the lights, trying to focus on a certain string in an attempt to ground yourself. "Yeah. Sometimes it feels like though the world continues to spin, I'm remaining completely still. Just stagnant."

Frowning, you ran your hands through the grass, feeling the dirt shift under your fingers. You could feel your frustrations building, bubbling up to the surface with no way of dragging them back down.

"And the challenges just get worse every year. How am I going to face those old problems and these new ones if I'm still the same lost person I was back then?"

Your voice echoed at the last sentence, making you hide your head in embarrassment. That was loud.

Some strangers relaxing on the hill turned around to flash you an annoyed glare, before quickly returning to their picnics after spotting the Great Eagle Bow on your friend's back.

"I'm so sorry." You wanted more than anything then to dig a hole and hibernate preferrably for the next hundred years or so. "I'm yelling, that isn't like me. I'm so so--"

"There's nothing to be sorry about. You needed to say it." He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. There was a serious element to it that made it a little hard to breathe. "There is one part of that I don't agree with, however."

"What is it?"

"That entire section about you, how did you put it, stagnanting." He twisted a wing in the air, thinking on his words before pointing a feather directly at your face. "You're fully capable of enacting the change you want to see in yourself."

You felt a little dizzy now. But another kind of dizzy, one very different from the vertigo you felt waking up in the darkness of your room.

"And who said you were exactly the same as you were back then? You've changed. In a good way. You're stronger and more capable of things I'm sure the person you were two years ago or even less couldn't even fathom doing."

Turning to face you, Revali gave you his full attention, compelling you to do the same as the cadence of his speech joined the steady rhythm of your own beating heart. From the back of your mind, you could barely register the sound of people gathering together, their voices floating into the cold night air.

'Ten!'

"It's difficult to see your own progress from a distance."

'Nine!'

"So take my advice and start looking at yourself up close for once."

'Eight!'

He had that expression on his face, one that said he was thinking too hard about something. It was like watching him try to pull the planets together with just a piece of string. His brows were furrowed so deep that your fingers wished to run over his feathers and smoothe the worried creases.

'Seven!'

You slowly reached out to him, giving him enough time to back away. Revali stilled as your hands traced up the nape of his neck, leaning in as his pulse thrummed underneath the soft pads of your fingertips.

'Six!'

He opened his beak the moment you reached his face. You paused, half expecting him to tell you to let go and pretend like it never happened.

Instead, he called out your name.

'Five!'

He said your name again, though quieter now. It was enough to tug at the invisible force drawing you two together. Enough so that the polite distance nervously enforced by the both of you gradually began to dissipate, trailing away like a ribbon of smoke as you both leaned in closer.

'Four!'

"May I--," He cleared his throat, eyes darting away for a second before they were back on you again. Bright green in the lantern light. Emeralds in the desert sand.

'Three!'

"May I kiss you?"

"Yes."

'Two!'

"Your way or mine?" You couldn't help but joke. Revali smiled, exhaling a soft joyful laugh before pressing his forehead to yours.

'One!'

'Happy New Year!'

An earth-shaking boom rattled your ears, but all you could think of in that moment was Revali and the feel of his feathers against your skin; the utter elation of being so close to someone you deeply cared for and that cared just as deeply for you.

In the dazzling light you lifted your head from his, both your eyes meeting for a brief moment. Hands moving, you gently angled his face with a steady hand, feeling then the soft, butterfly light brush of his wings on your waist.

Closing your eyes again, you leaned in to press your lips against his beak, the blush on your face warmer than any fever or furnace. The Rito's soft sigh was barely audible as you trailed your kisses upwards, stopping at the red circle on his cheek.

Revali laughed again as you turned his face to press a kiss to the identical red mark on the other side. "You're very thorough."

"You deserve it." You beamed. "And this is just the beginning, just you wait at the end of the countdown I'll--"

"Actually my dear," he grinned, pointing to the sky.

"Huh?"

Above you were the vibrant colours of the firework display. It was beautiful and awe-inspiring, but a confirmation that you were definitely minutes in to the new year.

"Oh," you said, before shaking your head with a smile. "It's fine, we got 12 more months to prepare ourselves for the next one."

Revali nodded, pulling you closer so he could press your foreheads together again.

"Indeed," he grinned. "Now will you finish your sentence? What exactly were you going to do at the end of the countdown?"

fin.

#revali x reader #revali #botw #revali botw #prompt fic #more taggs later #i wrote this entirely on my phone so apologies for any errors #been thinking about this for a long time #also very late but happy new years #paella writes

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bioodorange · 4 years ago

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||How I See The Pastas||

This was originally supposed to be how they looked but I decided to go for mental aspect and explain why as well PLEASE like, reblog and share your thoughts on this in the comments or inbox

Below the desciptions are images i’ve compiled and some art (if you know the creator please tell me so i can credit them) for a visual

dont forget to like reblog and share your thoughts with me, I spent a few days on this so i’d appreciate this

Jeff the Killer

So lets start with the obvious- jeffs pasty white toothpaste lookin skin

But realistically he wouldn’t be completely covered in scars

It would be blotchy, with pink fleshy patches among the burns

He most likely has contracture scars, third degree burns that turn the skin a pale white and tighten the skin

This explains his gaunt features and skin color

Now we have to take into account the vodka that was splashed on him, he’d probably have worse burns there with exposed flesh and damaged nerves

This would result in gnarly exposed skin, a damaged scalp and maybe damage to his teeth and eyes

Realistically, Jeff wouldnt have burned off his eyelids that alone would have resulted in blindness and death

Than his smile, his signatuure mark would probably be more of a gangly bloody scar mess

Pastas heal faster and aren’t really human, he’d have to recut his smile pretty frequently making it pretty jacket up because ltes be honest hes far from clean

ANd than his hait being chard black is very unlikely because as nasty as he is he s h o w e r s

not very frequnetly given his living situation and untreated burns but people can figure out how to wash hait and not much else

also i think its funny he’d shower with a plastic bag on his face to avoid getting soap in his nasty infected scars-

His hair would probably be dry and cut unevenly, more of a dark brown color with blonde undertones

Not to mention his burned scalp, hair probably wouldn’t grow there so he’d have a cool unintentional side shave

Jeff would also be a tall individual, he cant really eat, snacking on things from his victims homes giving him a more skeletal build

His personality and mindest is about as pretty as his face- but he most likely has a very screwed up headspace

Lacking in self care, maturity and sanity its fair to say he’d be a brash and violent person

Fun Fact: While researching this I learned that some versions of the joker had facial scars in the shape of a smile

Ticci Toby

So tobys age, unlike a lot of pastas, is pretty well agreed on, 19

So unlike when he was first a proxy toby most likely has stronger facial features and facial hair

Because shaving and hygiene isn’t first priority for pastas (gross-)

He stands around 5′7 and has grayish skin

Toby i feel is picky about foods, not only is it hard for him to eat its hard for him to keep food down

He’s malnourished explaining his thin figure and grayish skin

His hait is dark brown and a curlish mess, unkempt but short so it doesn’t get in his way

I’ve always seen him with a small gap in his teeth, because I can

And since toby can’t feel shit I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to eat rocks simply because he fuckin could

So some chipped teeth that are a bit uneven

Along with his CIPA and not eating enough Toby would bruise easily and have lots of scars, from things like cutting his finger on accident or getting mauled by a racoon

I wouldn’t be surpised if some of his joints were a bit screwed up, because whenever theyd beak or fracture he wouldn’t notice, this would probably happen a lot causing them to not heal correctly

One of tobys habits is nailbiting but he cant te;; when too far is too far

His fingers may be abit odd looking, knobby and discolored nails because of how exetreme his habit is

Would most likely have bandages around his fingers frequently to prevent the habit

So theres a lot of debate about tobys cheek was it the CIPA or the car accident, I beileve the accident because his other cheek is completely fine, theres damage from the OUTSIDE to inside and considering his sister died in the accident its unlikely he survived unscathed

Fun Fact: only a small handful of people have ever been diagnosed with CIPA, less than 500 (documented) cases around the world

Bloody Painter

So Helen is often seen as quiet emo painter boy

but uh no <3

Personaly i beileve he suffers from narcisistic personality disorder, exetreme importance and that he is always victorious and gets what he wants

This sporuts from the constant heavy invalidation from classmates, toxic friends and neglect from his parents

He doesn’t hang out with people because he doesn’’t lie them its because they never let him in the past and he beileves he’s better than them

But this also links to deep rooted insecurity and social anxiety/being inept completely

Him being nice is basically so you like him, he wants validation amd admiration not love

Unlike the other pastas he’d be a more clean well kept one a helthy figure and some tattoos bevause he can

I beileve he lives in socity, finding hus victims in girls and men alike who fall for his charm

he uses hhis skill and ordinary appearance to blend in on the streets

From his behavior helen most likely keeps his hair a bit shorter and clean

He always looks his best

Has chapped, and picked at lips because of his anxieties

Aswell as his breakdowns- his identity is completely in his head, he is very unsure of who he is and takes the delusions in his mind as reality

Unrelated but paino fingers-

And finally in order for his art to be as perfect and amazing as him, he has to be apart of it

Thus using his own blood in his pieces and the body parts of those he admires

Covers his scars with clean bandgaes

But his paintings turn brown and dry out, he’s always in need of a new medium

Is most likely anemic from all the blood he looses and has a paler skintone

Clockwork

ahh yes finally someone who knows what self care is-

helen, i love you buddy but you need to stop

But anyway natalie has a stronger, athletic build

She often chases her victims and gets in altercations, relying on strength most of the time

on that same note, this would defintelty cause many scars on natalie

Wether it was a bite mark or scars from a kitchen knife, shes got lots of scars

A few even on her face

Now, for the clock in her eye that thing is like holding her skull together at this point, realistically

She is probably delicate and cares for it becaise 1) it hurts 2) if it gets screwed up that could cause a lot of problems

natalie would be a smart person, I wouldn’t be surprused if she had a few other stray stitches or bandgaes wrapped around a fresh wound

For more visual-ish things uh m u l l e t (credit: @cum-looking-sock-mf in a chat like 4 months ago)

She has one, fight me on it

but also thick and curlish hair so I also riase you

Undershave

just y e s

I can also see her getting tattoos over certain scars on her arm, just to make them look not so ugly

I feel like clockwork wishes things worked out better

Wishes for another chance but knows she’ll never get one

Thus her taking goof care of herself

Natalie throws herseld into her “work”, keeping her body in shape and killing people

Its a way to avoid her life and that it is- a huge, sad mess

Shes an outgoing impulsive individual, confident but questions her actions

She’s also unstable- protective and loyal but explosive and strong

Jane the Killer

Jane is the final one, im sorry I couldn’t do more theres a photo limit and I wanna bash my head into the wall

Now a main different between her and jeff is she had surgery and lie treatment

Janes skin is still greatly scarred but it is greatly healed

She takes care of it and had skin grafts

Her face is disfigured, a scarred smile and burns around

But unlike Jeff she doesn’t recarve the cut so its a cleaner line and a lot healthier

Janes hair took a rather long time to grow back, but it did!

She has a slightly long pixie cut a bit choppy but she doesn’t mind

Her wife definetely cuts it for her and you can fight me over that

I can see Jane having a lot of facial trauma, scars around her nose and cheeks

She was young when she started killing and went for the over the person, pin them down kill which didn’t work out

She switched to a silenced pistol after awhile, you know like a smart person

Janes arms and legs are in alright condition where most of the burn trauma is on her back

She has a leaner but healthy figure but like boobs-

Like clockwork and Helen she takes care of herself

She doesn’t kill as frequently, going after a few of jeffs victims before him and is of course, actively hunting him down

Her eyes are a pale green and she wears makeip to fill in her eyebrows because those bitches take a long time to grow back

fun fact: jeff has no eyebrows, fight me

#jeff the Killer #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #slenderverse #slenderverse headcanons #jeff the killer head canons #ticci toby headcanons #ticci toby #bloodypainter #bloodypainter headcanons #clockwork headcanons #clockwork #jane the everlasting head canons #jane the everlasting #jane the killer #jane the killer headcanons

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ive-got-ships-to-draw · 4 years ago

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Home

Legosi x Louis short fanfic

(Contains some angst, and some mild gore, but nothing too crazy.)

Just a few more blocks.

His apartment had to be close. Legosi had been walking for a while... He wished he hadn't landed on his leg weird, cuz now he had to limp home. It's very hard to hide a limp, too...

This thought brings him back to Louis's leg injury back at school. He performed on an injured leg, flawlessly. He still feels that admiration fill his chest every time he thinks back to those days. The brilliant light shining on both of them, that he could stand with someone so bright. And yet this deer held so much darkness... And this dumb wolf was going to have to worry him later with his wounds that are a little too much to completely hide.

Fights were becoming the norm. At least he was taking damage for those who didnt deserve it. What's a few more scars compared to being devoured? Nothing. It's just scratches. A little blood...

Alright, a lot of blood. Its honestly making his head spin at this point. But it's okay. He's almost home. He can wrap himself up, eat a quick meal and clean up in the morning. He's sure Louis and Haru are going to be mad, but that's the norm too... He'll have to promise to be more careful next time...

Made it. Just have to get up the steps...

God, why are there so many steps? Agh, now they're all slippery too... Just hold the railing tightly. Inch your way up...

...Almost there...

...As he rounds the corner clumsily, he notices a figure by his door. His face is illuminated by his phone screen. Legosi's heart drops as he realizes it's a very frustrated Louis. He's tapping his foot and glaring at the screen.

Crap. There's no way out of this. Legosi isn't exactly subtle with his loud panting and limping. Louis shivers, noticing a large, looming figure coming closer, but as he realizes it's a wolf limping, he freezes.

His face subtly shifts between surprise, horror, relief, and burning anger. He shines the phone's flashlight in Legosi's direction. Legosi winces, but slowly raises his hand in an awkward greeting.

".... Hey, Louis... Sorry, I'm kinda... In bad shape. But I'll be fine if I just-"

Louis tries to relax his face, but can only manage a stern glare. "Give me your keys, you dumb wolf."

"Huh?"

"YOUR KEYS. I'LL HELP YOU INSIDE."

Legosi awkwardly fumbles, searching his pants pockets and hands them over. They're warm and wet. Louis swallows back a shiver and unlocks the door, swinging it open. He then quickly drapes Legosi's arm over his shoulder and helps him inside.

Sitting him down on the floor, he flips the lights on and stares at the wall for a few seconds. He's too afraid to see what state Legosi is currently in. He knows he's bleeding and has an injured leg. His mind wanders and he fears the worst. After collecting himself, he turns to face him, trying his best to manage a calm expression. It doesn't last long, however...

Legosi is almost collapsed on the floor, both arms loosely holding him up. Chunks of his fur are missing, with blood seeping down from torn flesh. He's got bruises, deep scratches along his arms, other mysterious wounds, a twisted ankle, and blood is pooling on the floor.

"... Seriously, did you fight a shark or something?"

"It was a bird, actually. Three of 'em... Their beaks are sharp..."

"God..." Louis grips between his eyes for a moment, then rushes to the cabinets.

"You've been stockpiling medical supplies like we told you to, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Good."

Louis grabs the supplies and lays them out next to Legosi. He swiftly tends to his bleeding wounds, cleaning them with peroxide. Legosi flinches, stifling a growl at the burning pain. Louis grimaces a bit, knowing how painful it must be...

"Almost done..." he says this like a doting mother, relaxing his face slightly. Legosi relaxes a bit as well, focusing on Louis's face as he concentrates on wrapping up his arm tightly. Louis seems a bit disheveled, but it's not much of a surprise. This was a lot to throw at him all at once...

"... Quit gawking."

"Sorry... I must've made you worry..."

"You think? I've been texting you, waiting for any response, for 8 hours. When I don't hear from you, I just... can't help but assume the worst. I..."

His words get caught in his throat and he let's out a frustrated sigh. Finishing wrapping a cut on Legosi's arm, he bows his head a bit. His antlers rest at Legosi's shoulders. "... You have a habit of getting into the most dangerous situations. So it's very easy to assume that you're not safe when you're not... around me..."

He lifts his head, eyes distant. "... Every time... I meet someone... Who I come to respect... It doesn't last." A slow shake of his head, then he lifts it slowly, their eyes meeting. "I just want this to last... I can't let this keep happening. And you cant keep coming back like this.

Legosi looks away, shame forming a tight knot in his stomach. A gentle hand turns his head back. He swallows hard, prepared for any sort of punishment for his foolishness. "Please... Don't do this to me or Haru again, if at all possible. Or at least call us... We want to know you're okay."

Louis bows his head with a pained expression. He firmly holds Legosi's shoulders. "I'm tired of seeing my loved ones so beat up and bloody... But the last thing I want is for you to just die in an alley way somewhere. Alone..."

He lifts his head, their eyes meet once more. Legosi hunches down to meet his height out of habit.

"...I'm glad you came back. I'd appreciate it if you could learn to run away once in a while... But as long as you come back to me, I'll be here for you. You stubborn, reckless wolf..."

Legosi fights back his urge to hug Louis and get blood all over his clothes.

"... I'll clean this up. You need to rest. Also, I'll be borrowing you kitchen. If you don't pass out in the next hour or so, we can eat a quick meal before bed."

Legosi's tail thumps the ground lazily and his stomach growls. As crazy as this night has been, he feels a wave of relief and gratitude release all the tension in his muscles, and he smiles, watching Louis pick up garbage and clutter around the room and prepare the kitchen.

He's very glad he's home right now...

#beastars fanfic #legosi x louis #beastars legosi x louis #legosi x louis fanfic #angst #hurt/comfort #legosi #louis #fanfic #fanfiction #still not very good at writing this stuff yet #sorry if there are any spelling errors #i tried my best #louis x legosi #legousi #legousi fanfic #whump

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laurelsofhighever · 6 years ago

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The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 31 - Arrival

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

Fifteenth day of Justinian, 9:32 Dragon

It took the Siren’s Call another two days to sail around the northern points of the Storm Islands and reach Dunedyn, stronghold of the Clayne. The weather had stayed clear, with stiff winds that pushed the ship onwards through waters that grew ever busier with foreign ships, traders and humble fishing vessels alike that gave them a wide berth or yelled cheery halloos across the white-tipped waves. Now, anchored south of the hold in the deep, sheltered waters of the Lee, the settlement’s brightly painted buildings stood out like jewels against an emerald hillside, the rope of a rich necklace draped over contours of rock leading down towards the harbour. That would be the ship’s final destination, but only once the most important members of the delegation went ashore and made their formal greetings to the Storm Giant and his retainers.

Already dressed in her finery, Rosslyn stood by the bowsprit, her eyes cast out over a trio of fishing trawlers closing their nets around a shoal of mackerel, and the birds above them taking advantage of the easy meal. Lilac and gold, the morning sky warmed her face, wrapping her in isolation from the commotion on the deck as the longboats were loosed from their moorings and lowered over the side. Somewhere close by, Cuno, roused from his torpor by the activity, was barking at a seagull that had had the audacity to perch on one of the port lanterns. She paid him no heed. In less than an hour she would be face to face with her grandfather again, would have to look him in the eye and remember she was the one who had gone chasing glory and left the Seawolf to die.

“Guess that answers my question,” said a voice at her elbow. She blinked and turned to see Tabris, her hair braided and clothes washed, but still with bare feet stained by streaks of tar. ”No one with a face that puckered like an arsehole ain’t nervous.”

Rosslyn scowled at the description, but shrugged it off and turned away.

“Riiiiight,” the elf huffed. ”Reassuring, that is.”

Rosslyn’s mouth quirked in a humourless smile. “I wouldn’t have thought I’d be your first choice for reassurance.”

“You know what they say about beggars,” came the tart reply.

“What’s on your mind?”

There was a pause as Tabris clambered onto the rail, chewing her lips in a rare show of deliberation as she decided her answer. Even despite the added height, she came in almost a head shorter than the human woman.

“See, I’ve been tryin’ to figure,” she said once she was settled. “You shems have got enough fancy words and blood ties between you, you don’t need me to get your ships. So what am I doin’ here? You got me out of baldy-whatshisface’s clutches, and I heard the tellin’-off you gave the princeling, but don’t go thinking I’m fooled that you’re doing this for the elves.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” Rosslyn answered bluntly. “I’m doing this to get revenge on the cur that murdered my family, and to stop Loghain bringing in reinforcements that he can use to win the war, so that I won’t be hanged at the end of it.” She tilted a wry look at over her shoulder when the elf opened her mouth to speak and closed it again just as quickly. ”Was that not the response you expected?”

“Got the arrogance about right.”

“What does it matter if I care, so long as our goals align?” she asked. “You care, and that’s why you’re here – it’s why you tried to rescue your kin and then ran all the way to Redcliffe, through a war-torn country, on the off-chance the king would help you when you couldn’t do it alone. The Clayne will listen to you, don’t worry about that.”

“I’m worried about after,” Tabris sneered when Rosslyn once more turned her attention to the sea. “What happens to me after I’ve cheeped like a sparrow for you to get your soldiers? I killed a shem lordling.”

“The king has pardoned you.”

The elf scoffed and tossed her hair out of her eyes. “And of course that makes all this –” she gestured vaguely to her ears “– magically disappear. You lot have no clue – and don’t think I didn’t notice about not being invited to this little beach party you’re having. What are you even looking at out there?”

With a sigh, Rosslyn raised her hand and pointed to a speck above the circling gulls, which grew out of the glare of the sun like an after-image. “It’s a gwyrling – they’re like griffons, but smaller. It’s rare to see one, especially at this time of day. It must have hatchlings in the cliffs.”

The speck solidified into a creature with narrow, barred wings and a wickedly curved beak. In the space of a heartbeat, it swerved on a point and dived among the flock of gulls and they scattered, screaming in alarm. One, weighed down with the prize of a fish between its claws, dodged too slowly, and didn’t even have time to cry out as the gwyrling punched down and struck it across the back of the neck. The bird went limp, the fish wriggled free and splashed back into the water, and the gwyrling beat back up into the air with a flick of its long, leonine tail.

“That was really something,” Tabris drawled.

“The Clayne have augurs who would certainly think so,” Rosslyn replied, betraying a hint of impatience. “They read patterns in the flight of birds and use it to interpret the will of the Lady of the Skies.”

“You believe in that tosh? What future gets predicted by that?”

“That would depend.” She smirked. “Are you the gull, the gwyrling, or the fish?”

“Your Ladyship!” Morrence hopped up to the deck, looking small in the light leather armour she and the others had adopted for the journey. Her hair too, was braided out of her eyes, a far cry from the practical tail she usually wore. “We’re almost ready to go, but His Highness is still below.” She spared a cool glance for Tabris and back to wait for orders.

Rosslyn glanced to see the first of the boats being lowered over the side. “I’ll see what’s keeping him. And as for you,” she added, lowering her voice as she turned back to Tabris. “The sea doesn’t care what you are, and the gods don’t care if you believe in them or not. They help those who help themselves, and out here, there aren’t any alienage walls to hold you back.”

“Surprised you managed to get all those fancy words out around that silver spoon stuck in your gob.”

Alistair stood in front of the mirror borrowed from the captain’s quarters, trying not to sweat in his new clothes. The stuffy cabin didn’t help, but it was Brantis fussing with the lay of his sleeves, shooting questions about what he should do in increasingly specific and unlikely situations, that really had him agitated. With the outcome of the war hanging on the success of the mission, and Rosslyn’s grandfather being the person he had to impress, anything shy of tripping over his own boots and falling flat on his face would be reason to celebrate.

“And with which hand should you give an item on the table, should you be asked for it?” Brantis asked in his reedy voice.

“Is that a likely scenario?” How many people just casually asked royalty to pass the salt?

“It does to prepare for all eventualities, Highness,” came the officious reply.

Sighing, Alistair turned his attention back to his outfit, to the contemplation of whether the rose pattern stitched into his jerkin was too much. As far as he could tell in the dim light, the red and gold suited the tone of his skin, and set off well against the bright cream of his shirt. He had already tested the practicality of the ensemble. Given that it lacked the ostentation favoured by those like Franderel, he still had enough range of movement to be able to fight without tearing a seam if the situation called for it, though the heavy, fur-trimmed mantle he had been forced into might make him choke with the heat first.

He paused on his reflection, letting his eyes drift over the snarling shapes tooled into the rich leather. He never thought to sport the War Dogs, the symbol of the bloodline that had once discarded him, and yet there they were, one on each shoulder, offering a legitimacy that for the first time felt like something lighter than a curse.

Brantis was still fussing.

“Surely I’m ready now? I’m really not sure how much more preparation I can take. Surely it would be better to… uh…”

Rosslyn stood in the doorway. His eyes dragged up and down her form, drinking in every detail.

“How are things proceeding?” she asked as she glided into the room. A varnished box canted against her hip, tucked under her arm.

“Quite well, Your Ladyship,” Brantis replied. “Quite well. His Highness will do us proud, if he will remember his manners.”

Alistair blinked. “What?”

He had been too busy staring to listen. The grey shimmer of her light coat brought out the sharp colour of her eyes, the cut of the material flared out from swaying hips, the deep blue inner lining a backdrop for white doeskin breeches that clung to deep curves and lithe, strong legs. When he managed to pull his gaze from that sight, it caught instead on the set of her shoulders and the way the open collar accentuated the fine tendons of her throat. She turned her head and her hair, pouring artfully over one shoulder, gleamed gold where a wreath of aurum leaves curled around from a knot at the nape of her neck. The whole effect was understated but striking, a casual display of power leagues away from the ill-fitting dress she had worn on Summerday.

“… and your esteemed grandfather will of course have the final word.”

They had carried on an entire conversation without him. Glancing between Brantis’ sidelong, exasperated looks and Rosslyn’s dry amusement, he felt heat flare all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Will you leave us?” she asked the chamberlain, with a touch of pink in her own pale cheeks.

Brantis bowed and hobbled away, and the two of them were alone. She crossed to a bulkhead and set down the box she had brought with her, which had completely slipped his attention in his ogling. Curious, he made out her personal sigil on the lid – a Falcon gripping a Laurel branch in its talons – but she had already crossed the space to stand in front of him and his throat dried up too much to ask about it.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

He tried to laugh. “Well, right now I’m not quite sure whether the eels rolling around in my stomach are there because of seasickness or nerves…” Or how stunning you look. He swallowed. To cover the treacherous line of his thoughts, he turned back to the mirror and brushed his hands down his front. “This lot could feed a family for a month – I feel like such a fool in it.”

“Ah, but you don’t look like one,” she pointed out, grinning. “That’s the important thing.”

“Ha-ha.”

Fighting back her smirk, she appraised his attire with a critical eye, then came forward to readjust the seams Brantis had been playing with for half an hour, loosening them enough to give him room to breathe again. In theory.

“It suits you.” Her hand lingered on his chest, the heat of her palm seeping through the fabric.

He coughed. “There’s, uh, not as much gilt as I was expecting.”

“Only merchants and Rivaini aristocrats weight themselves down with gold,” she chided gently. “Nobility should be seen in how you carry yourself, and there’s more besides – patronage of the arts, appreciation of craftsmanship, the cultivation of taste… actually, on that note, I have something for you – a gift.” Her glance darted away to the box on the bulkhead and he found himself following her as she went to retrieve it.

“Rosslyn…”

“I meant to give it to you later, on the island, but I thought… it might give you some extra confidence.” She chuckled, the smooth certainty of a moment before faltering as she held it out to him. “It seems silly to say that out loud.”

“Not at all! This – this is for me?” he checked. “Really? I – wow, I don’t – I mean…” He could count on one hand the number of gifts he had received in his life, and the number that had come unprompted… well, that required significantly fewer fingers.

She shrugged, flustered. “It’s nothing too grand, but it’s a tradition for vassals of the realm to give a gift to the heir apparent once their status is made official, and when we were delayed in Invermathy, I realised it completely slipped my mind. There’s an artisan there who used to work for my family and –”

He reached out to touch her shoulder, to snap her out of her sudden nervousness, and the edge of his thumb accidentally brushed her neck – he never expected the skin there to be so smooth.

“You still need to open it,” she said in a small voice.

He started, cleared his throat, snapped his gaze to the box resting on his palm and bit his lip as he flicked the catch on the lid. A gift, entirely for him.

He stared. Nestled in a cushion of blue velvet was a pair of leather vambraces embossed with intertwining shapes dyed in a multitude of colours. He recognised dragons, and eagles, and forefront of them all a red War Dog rampant with a gold-petalled rose caught in its snarling teeth. The workmanship was exquisite, almost too perfect to wear for fear of damage, the tooling so precise it seemed as if the figures had been persuaded rather than worked into the leather.

“These must have been expensive,” he blurted.

Rosslyn’s face, an instant before so open and anxious waiting for his approval, closed off, a sour line pulling at her mouth.

“A gift is worth more than its base value, don’t you think?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to imply – I mean, I know with the war and everything you’ve had to –”

“The condition of my finances is none of your concern,” she snapped. “I wasn’t thinking of the expense.”

“No, I know - Rosslyn…” He sighed, staring across the chasm of space that had suddenly risen between them, without her moving a muscle. “I’m sorry I offended you. So much for the start of an illustrious diplomatic career, don’t you think?”

She searched his face, stung pride warring with doubt and something else that flitted by too quickly for him to name.

“What did you mean to say?” The question was teased out slowly, deliberately.

“Only that…” Maker, let him get the right words this time. “Nobody’s ever thought of me enough to – to do something like this for me. I only ever got things that were practical before – I used to go to bed at night and pray to the Maker to make me grow taller so the housekeeper would be forced to make me a new shirt, but it didn’t work nearly as often as I hoped.” He chuckled, but the tale only made her brows contract. “This… I am truly grateful – truly – I don’t know how else to express my gratitude, I…”

“You like them, then?”

He nodded. “They’re… Would you help me put them on?”

She smiled, the tension disappeared from her shoulders, and everything was alright again as she raised her hands to take the box from him. The vambraces lifted easily out of the velvet pile, stiff and polished and smelling of beeswax, with just the right amount of give in the straps. Rosslyn returned and brushed his hands away so she could do up the knots for him, working the laces through the eyeholes with a deftness that had Alistair transfixed. When the first one was fitted to her satisfaction, she turned to the other, and his free hand settled on her waist, supple leather and samite warm under his fingertips.

“What is that?” he asked.

She glanced up. “What?”

“That smell, some kind of flowers – in your hair.”

“Oh.” She tucked a phantom strand behind her ear, biting her lip. “It’s jasmine.”

“Jasmine,” he repeated as she went back to her task. “It’s nice.”

“Thanks… All done.”

He held up his hand to view her handiwork. The knots were neat, the vambrace itself well-fitted - not long enough to impede his movement but not so short that it made his arm look overly brawny. Rosslyn was smiling at him, patient, bemused by the childish enthusiasm he betrayed in his admiration of the War Dog snarling on his arm.

“I know you didn’t expect anything,” he admitted, swallowing past the lump in his throat, “but I think I’m a little bit sorry I don’t have anything for you in return.”

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. “You don’t owe me anything for this.”

But her gaze flickered to his mouth, just a tiny movement of her eyes which he caught nevertheless, and he wondered if perhaps she was daring to ask for the return in a kiss. He wanted her to ask. They stood so close she had to tilt her head back to see him properly, so close his hand still on her waist felt the soft swell of her ribs as she breathed, the tension running like corded rope through her limbs. Beneath them, the ship pitched in the swell, tilting them further into each other’s space, and he realised if they did this now he wouldn’t want to stop.

“We – we should go,” he managed, to keep himself from staring.

She loosed a breath – relief? disappointment? – and stepped back. “We – yes. The tide will turn soon. It wouldn’t be a very good first impression to keep the Storm Giant waiting seven hours for it to turn back.”

“Right. Yes, of course, just let me…” He reached past her for his sword belt and buckled it while she waited, and then followed her out of the cabin. They kept a careful distance as they strode up into the light and bustle of the deck, to Isabela barking orders so she could be heard over the noise of the dog, and Morrence already setting Connor into the first longboat next to Wynne.

“Your turn next, Your Highness,” she said as they approached, offering a hand to help him over the rail. “Don’t think about the drop.”

“You could have told me that before I looked,” he replied, and peered dubiously over the side. The longboat floated fifteen feet below, still lashed to the hull of the ship but rolling against the moorings like a horse tossing its head at flies. One false step on the frankly perilous ladder and he could easily fall between the two barks and be trapped underneath, dragged down into the depths by the weight of his fancy clothes.

“There’s nothing to it,” Rosslyn reassured him with a squeeze of his shoulder. “I’ll go ahead and guide you down.”

The tails of her coat flared behind her as she swung over the side, almost as nimble as one of the sailors. Only Alistair saw the white grip of her knuckles on the ropes, and the careful frown as she judged the last step between the ladder and the boat, but she smiled encouragement up at him.

“Move one limb at a time,” she instructed. “Like you’re a lizard.”

“Am I a handsome lizard at least?”

She only rolled her eyes.

“Is the Storm Giant scary?” Connor asked, when Alistair had finally inched the last few steps into the boat. “I heard he can kill someone he doesn’t like just by looking at them.”

“What nonsense,” Wynne chided next to him. “Not even a basilisk can do that.”

Rosslyn shifted in her seat and winked at the arl’s son. “The Storm Giant isn’t a basilisk.”

A shout came from above and the lines holding them to the Siren’s Call went slack, gathered in by two of the crew, who scrambled down the ladder and took their places, one in the rowing seat and one by the tiller. With a final salute to the captain, the rower pushed off from the side with the butt of an oar, with enough force to drive them out into open water. The second boat with their guard-captains and herald followed shortly after, two motes of dust on a clear blue slate. Though the water was mostly calm, spray curled back at them from the oars, and once a rogue wave slapped against the hull, rocking them all sideways. Rosslyn flinched, a muttered curse hissing under her breath, but gentle fingers wrapped around hers where they clung to the board, and she shot a grateful smile to Alistair next to her.

They made it through the breakers mostly unsoaked, though the moment they touched solid ground jarred hard enough to make Alistair fall forward and smack his knee against the hull. Rubbing out the tingles, he straightened and stepped out onto a beach of black pebbles, unable to help craning his neck at the sheer basalt cliffs warding back the sea. The ground swayed beneath him, but no, it was just his balance reasserting itself after so long on the water.

“Is landsickness a thing?” he asked Rosslyn. “Because I think I have it. This feels weird.”

“You’ll get used to dry land again, just in time to make the crossing back,” she laughed as she stepped out next to him.

“Who’s that on the path?” Connor called from the boat.

The rest of the party turned to where he was pointing. A set of rough stairs had been cut into the rock, commanding a view over the whole bay as it carved down from the emerald cliffs above. There was no other way up, at least not that Alistair could see, and he tried not to think about the potential consequences of a bad first impression; the tidemark stained the rock a full armspan above his head, and with no other shelter from the waves, the defenders would only have to wait.

And there was the Storm Giant himself, Lord Fearchar Mac Eanraig, bearing down on them. Tall, with a shock of flyaway white hair and broad shoulders wrapped in dyed plaidweave, he marched at the head of his retinue with the pride of a full-crown hart, an enormous spiked mace girded at his hip. Without quite thinking about it, Alistair drew closer to Rosslyn’s side as their host descended the last few strides towards them. She noticed, and brushed her hand along his thumb in a brief show of reassurance. But when he caught her eye, she wasn’t smiling.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #da:o #dragon age au #alistair x cousland #alistair theirin #cousland #rosslyn cousland #tabris #ferelden #thedas

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rebellingstagnationblog · 6 years ago

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Let There be Peace on Earth - World of Color

For @crazy-fangirl-10 and @alliterative-albatross who both asked for Drake and Negaduck moments similar to last year's "Auld Lang Syne" chapter. I hope you like this one and that it holds up to its predecessor!

Standing on the roof of the cabin — though how anyone could call this place a cabin was beyond him; damn McDuck and his inflated sense of normalcy — Negaduck surveyed the surrounding tree line. There was no sign of F.O.W.L. anywhere. There hadn't been since he'd sent the survivors back to the Negaverse with his Foursome losers and Steelbeak. Negaduck still wasn't sure to make of Steelbeak; he'd always played the field, but now it seemed that he'd found a side where he was gonna set up camp. Negaduck just had to make sure his loyalties were in the right place once he got back home.

For now, Negaduck walked past the plastic reindeer and Santa in his sleigh to the roof of the carriage house, eyes sweeping the area for any other disturbances.

He was fairly confident that the night would be quiet, that the threats were gone, but he wasn't going to take any chances. If he hadn't taken the chance and come here when he'd overheard some wayward Eggmen talking about a cabin retreat while out in patrol in the Negaverse, he wouldn't have known about the F.O.W.L. attack. Gosalyn, Darkwing, McDuck, Launchpad would've have had to fight F.O.W.L. on their own. And Negaduck wasn't confident that they would've been able to keep the agency at bay. He shuddered to think of what might have happened if he hadn't been there. Gosalyn called him over-protective, and it was a relief that he was. No one was gonna touch his girl. Or ruin her Christmas.

Hopefully this hadn't. His being here. This whole F.O.W.L. battle. He'd wanted to keep the fight small, to allow Gosalyn and her family time to enjoy their day without interruption.

But since when had things gone his way?

At least now he could ensure nothing else would disturb them tonight. F.O.W.L. was gone — at least, they looked to be — and Negaduck would stay on patrol the rest of the night. Just in case.

"I can hear you brooding from here," came Gosalyn's voice. Negaduck turned to see her standing on the roof of the main house, bundled in a coat, hat, and mittens. She smiled when he looked over.

"Get back inside," he said, walking over to her so he wouldn't have to raise his voice. There were others in the cabin and he didn't want to call attention to himself.

"I wanted to thank you," she said. "For keeping us safe."

"You're welcome," he said, crossing from the carriage house to the main house to stand beside her. "Now, go inside."

Gosalyn studied him. "They're gone, you know. F.O.W.L.. They won't be coming back here tonight."

"Yes, we're a great team and you're a strong fighter and I'm proud of you." He gently took hold of her elbow and guided her back to the window that served as the entry point to the roof from the main house. "Go inside—"

"We're safe, though. Why are you sending me away?"

He gripped her elbow and faced her. "I'm not— I wouldn't send you away."

"You would if I was in danger."

"There's nothing," he soothed, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. "No threats, no danger."

"Then sit with me," she said, grabbing his arm and tugging him to the edge of the roof.

"No, Gos—"

"You just said there was no danger." She brushed some snow away before sitting down, her legs dangling off the edge.

"And I need to make sure it stays that way."

"Come on, sit next to me."

"It's Christmas Eve," he said around a sigh. "You should be with your family."

Gosalyn smiled up at him. "I am."

The very breath was stolen straight out of Negaduck's lungs.

He was family?

Holding out a mittened hand, Gosalyn asked, "Please sit with me."

He'd always been powerless to resist her.

Gripping her hand in his, he settled on the roof, his feet hanging over the side. Gosalyn scooted closer so they were pressed together shoulder to shoulder. They were facing the front yard, alight in all variations of Christmas decorations.

All was still. And Gosalyn helped to warm him, sitting as close as she was.

"You were saying something about being proud of me?" she asked, glancing at him with a mischievous smile on her beak.

Negaduck rolled his eyes and she laughed.

"Kidding aside, we've beaten F.O.W.L. how many times now? And they still can't beat us." She nudged him lightly. "We do make a good team."

"Cant argue that," Negaduck said. He looked at her. "You really are a strong fighter."

Gosalyn ducked her head, smiling shyly.

He reached out a hand, slipping his fingers under her chin to turn her face towards his. "And I am proud of you. Not just of your heroism, but of you as a person. You're very impressive, Baby Girl, and I wouldn't change a thing about you."

Gosalyn smiled and leaned into his chest, arms circling around his waist. Negaduck wrapped an arm around her, head resting atop hers.

The comfortable silence was broken a few minutes later when a voice asked, "Can I join you two?"

Negaduck sent a scowl over his shoulder at Max, whose head was poking out of the window.

Gosalyn looked at Negaduck, studying his expression. "Only if you want him to, Papa Wolf," she said quietly. And he knew she meant it. She'd give Max some excuse if he gave her the word.

Oh, what the hell?

It was Christmas.

He sent Max a sharp nod and the young man climbed through the window. Gosalyn sent Negaduck a smile before Max sat on her other side, handing her one of the steaming mugs he'd carried out with him.

"Didn't you bring enough for the whole class?" Negaduck sneered.

Max cradled his mug in both hands. "Mr. Mallard has yours."

"He what?" Negaduck turned to see Darkwing sitting beside him before holding out a mug. "Max and Gos like peppermint schnapps in theirs, so I made yours myself," he murmured. Just loud enough for them to hear. "There's no alcohol in yours."

Stunned into silence, Negaduck took the drink, which turned out to be hot chocolate.

"Merry Christmas to ya!" Goofy said with a huge grin as he sat next to Max.

"Nice to see you again, Negaduck." Launchpad sat beside Darkwing.

Still unable to think of any words, Negaduck glanced at Gosalyn, who just smiled and shrugged before drinking her hot chocolate. Not knowing what else to do, he took a sip, the rich taste and smooth texture rolling over his tongue pleasantly before he swallowed, the drink warming him all the way down.

There were worse ways to spend Christmas Eve.

Definitely less awkward ways.

But the silence was, amazingly, comfortable.

Everyone seemed content to sit and watch the lights in the yard below or gaze at the stars twinkling above. Gosalyn was leaning against Max, which Negaduck understood. He did. They were in love or whatever. He was fine.

Glancing over at Darkwing at on point made him nearly smile because his counterpart was glaring at the young couple with as much resentment as Negaduck was sure was reflected in his own expression.

The silence was peaceful and Negaduck was really starting to sink into it when the front door opened and out spilled the rest of the household. The triplets, Scrooge McDuck, Scrooge's nephew and his girlfriend, and two colorful strangers. They all delved into the snow, piling the powder on top of itself and shaping it into snowmen.

Negaduck was a heartbeat away from tossing his mug at Darkwing and taking off into the forest — he wasn't sure how Scrooge would take a super villain sitting with his house guests on the roof of his cabin drinking hot chocolate — when Scrooge McDuck himself looked up and locked gazes with him.

Negaduck stilled.

Like a damn deer in the headlights.

Just letting the tycoon take what he wanted.

After a few heart-pounding moments, Scrooge smiled and tipped his hat before turning to help Louie with his snowman.

Negaduck released his breath in a sigh, feeling like he'd just passed some kind of test, and downed the rest of his hot chocolate in one swallow, the burning awakening his senses.

"Is this right, mija?" One of the tropical birds asked, looking up to the roof.

Gosalyn smiled. "Pack it more tightly together and it'll stay better." She leaned out of the circle of Max's arms to explain to Negaduck, "That's Panchito. He and José," she pointed to the other stranger, "are friends of Donald's."

"I am surprised you are not also banned from building snowmen," said the one who went by José, grinning up at Gosalyn as he smoothed the edges of his snowman.

"There's not gonna be a snowman fight," the red triplet said, piling more snow onto his and Panchito's snowman while Panchito took Gosalyn's advice and packed it in tightly. "She can build as many snowmen as she wants."

"Why'd you ban her?" asked Negaduck, his protectiveness rearing up. "She too good or something?"

"She's much too good," said the blue triplet. "And Huey's a sore loser."

"Am not!"

"You totally are!" said the green triplet as he carved a design into the snowman's face.

"Listen, you want to go up against an opponent who is your equal, right?" the red triplet argued. "That way you're evenly matched and the competition becomes more fun. Cause it's up in the air and is anybody's game. That's interesting."

"We get it," called Max. "You aren't Gos's equal. I'm sure I can find someone more on your level, like an elementary school kid."

Everyone laughed as the red triplet scowled. Negaduck glanced at Max, hating the kid a little less.

The group in the yard continued to build their snowmen, chatting amicably with one another. The rooftop occupants sat in comfortable silence, finishing their mugs of hot chocolate.

Darkwing shifted beside him, pulling out something from his pocket. He handed Negaduck the Flashquack. "It has a homing device," he said. "Put in the coordinates here," he pointed to a small panel underneath the device, "and it'll return to you."

Negaduck took it and nodded his understanding before pocketing it himself.

"Thanks for calling me in," Darkwing said.

"I didn't want to," sneered Negaduck. "I know Christmas is for family. But F.O.W.L. had pulled out all the stops, so. The Flashquack it was."

"You don't need to put that Gos is in danger for me to answer the call."

Negaduck glanced at Darkwing, who met his gaze before continuing, "I meant it when I said I'd help you. Gosalyn or not, I'll answer."

Negaduck swallowed and glanced down at his mug which he was gripping hard in his fingers. He gave a sharp nod before allowing his gaze to wander down to the village of snowmen being constructed in the yard down below.

The cold eventually sent everyone inside, Goofy, Darkwing, and Launchpad wishing Negaduck a merry Christmas before heading back. Max took Negduck's mug and sent him a grin. "Have a good night. Thanks for keeping us safe from F.O.W.L.."

Negaduck nodded and the boy disappeared through the window, leaving Gosalyn and Negduck alone.

Unwinding the scarf from around her neck, Gosalyn reached out to secure it around Negaduck's throat. "Don't stay out here too much longer."

"Just gonna make sure the woods are clear."

"Then you'll go home?"

Negaduck hesitated and Gosalyn sighed. "Well, at least find someplace warm to stay tonight." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Papa Wolf."

Negaduck caressed her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers. "Merry Christmas, Baby Girl."

She stood and gave him a stern look. "Remember. Not too long."

He saluted and she went inside.

Sitting on the roof of for only a moment longer, to savor the quiet and decorations and warmth that was curling pleasantly within, Negaduck got to his feet and repelled down the back of the house, starting his last patrol for the evening.

Negaduck was thorough, going through the trees on all sides of the cabin and checking behind every rock, bush, and snowdrift.

And if he happened to end his reconnaissance in the front yard where he was able to see all the decorations adorning the cabin, well. That was okay.

"You fight well," came a voice to his left. He turned, Glock halfway out when he saw Scrooge McDuck standing beside him also admiring the decorations.

Negaduck faced the cabin, pushing his weapon back into his pocket. But he kept his fingers curled around the handle. Just in case.

Clearing his throat, Negaduck said, "You're not so bad yourself. For an old man."

Scrooge chuckled. "Old perhaps, but thoroughly experienced."

A breeze swirled through the yard, its harsh chill cutting Negaduck to his core.

Scrooge pulled his coat more securely around himself. "Ye should not be out here in this cold."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going."

"Ye misunderstand me, lad," said Scrooge, turning to face him.

Lad? Was that payback for the "old man" jab from earlier?

"There's a vacant room on the ground floor, which is ideal for a quick getaway if one is needed." Scrooge glanced back at the cabin. "There's a bathroom next to it as well. Both are under the staircase so they're isolated. Something to consider."

"Why? Because it's Christmas?" Negaduck sneered. He hated charity for the sake of the holiday. People needed help all the days of the year, not just the 31 in December.

"Because ye kept us safe," Scrooge said, eyeing Negaduck over his spectacles. "And I hear ye keep Gosalyn out o' trouble to the best of your abilities no matter the time o' year. That alone earns ya a stay. The girl's a bit o' a whirlwind."

Negaduck bit back a chuckle and uncurled his fingers from his pistol. "Wouldn't want her any other way."

"Nor I." Scrooge tapped his cane on the ground. "I'll wish ye a good night, lad. The room's open if ye want it."

Negaduck wasn't sure what possessed him to do it, but before he could stop himself, he'd blurted out, "Merry Christmas, sir."

Scrooge smiled. "The same to ye." He went back into the carriage house and closed the door with a soft snap.

Negaduck stood there until another gust of wind spurred him into movement.

The front door was unlocked.

He made sure to turn the deadbolt behind him before walking past the Christmas tree to find the open room.

#darkwing duck #negaduck #season of light #geronimo series #25 days of ficmas #gosalyn mallard #drake mallard #scrooge mcduck

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doctormctiddy · 6 years ago

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merry christmas, frens!!

(listen, i know its still november. but you cant stop me.)

anyway, this is a fic i found buried in my drafts that i started writing.... last year? And i finally finished it. So yay!

Brief summary: Julian, who doesn’t celebrate Christmas, asks Gloria, who does, if she has any Christmas stories to share, as he had previously done with her. Though she has no memories to tell stories of, she does have one story that she can show off using her magic...

Enjoy! ♥

( A Christmas Carol belongs to Charles Dickens. )

It’s a simple cold night in Vesuvia, and while there’s no snow to be accounted for, the chill that rattles those that step outside is unmistakable. Thankfully, the warm fire roaring in the corner and the blanket over top of her and Julian kept her warm enough that Gloria forgot about the cold. The comforting smell of snickerdoodles lingered on him, and she was glad for the silence.

Until Julian moved his head to speak.

“Gloria,” he begins, “I don’t believe I’ve ever asked you, but…” she raises her head from his chest to meet his gaze, and suddenly his words fumble, face flushing red, “Um… do you have any favourite Christmas stories?”

Gloria cocks an eyebrow. “Christmas stories?”

“You know, like…. stories with your family from around the holidays,” he continues, and the corner of her lips lift in a smirk.

“Oh, like your story of how you set your cape on fire lighting the menorah with Portia?”

“Of course you remember that story,” he chides, rubbing her head, and she bursts into giggles… and then she falls silent, biting her lip in thought.

“Well…. I mean….” she hums, scrunching her face, “I don’t remember my family, and I can’t think of anything involving Asra…. but I do know a story, related to Christmas.” Scooting closer to his warmth, she lifts her arms from the blanket. “If you wanna hear it, that is.”

His soft smile told her the answer to that.

Julian always loved when she told stories, and tonight was no exception. Gloria’s face broke into a grin, leaning up to give him a quick kiss before returning her attention to her arms.

“This is a story of a man, who’s ideals were completely changed over the course of one Christmas,” she begins, “But this isn’t your typical Christmas story.”

“Why not?” Julian asks, watching sparkling, golden light fall from her fingertips.

Gloria smirks. “Because it involves ghosts.”

His eye widens as the light starts to take shape into what he assumes is the main character of the tale. A hobbly old man, donning a top hat and cane, wearing a flowing coat, barely five inches tall, glowers at Julian’s close gaze, before lifting his cane and whacking the doctor’s beaked nose with it.

“Humbug!” he squeaks, shaking his cane. Julian rubs his nose, retracting his face, and Gloria giggles.

“Hush now, Ebenezer,” she chides him, and the figure puts his hands on his hips, “Julian, darling, be careful with him.”

“He should be careful with me,” the doctor responds with a frown, and Gloria giggles again in response.

“Anyway… Julian, Ebenezer Scrooge. Mr. Scrooge, Julian Devorak. Now, be a good old man.” Little Scrooge’s frown deepens, and Gloria waves her hand again, setting the scene. More golden light shapes and forms, until Julian is looking out over a bustling street, stuffed with brick buildings and snow, decorated from head to foot in Christmas-y glory.

“We start in a northern town, on a little island known for its finery, many years ago,” Gloria begins, “It’s Christmastime, and the air is filled with excitement. People are merry, the shoppers bustle through the town, others come home to their families…” and she starts laughing, seeing a small group of carolers made of gold light start singing something in Latin, “and songs fill the street from every corner!”

“It’s beautiful, dear,” Julian smiles, turning his head to look at her, “You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

“Thanks, Julie.” With a wink, however, she added, “but you’re not getting a kiss until after the story is done. Helps me focus.” When he gives her a joking pout, she lightly punches his arm and returns her attention to the scene, waving her hand again. The street whirls around in a shower of sparkling light, until it shows the inside of a counting house. Little Scrooge sits hunched over a desk, counting coins in tiny golden towers, while another little person sits at a smaller desk, furiously scribbling away with his quill. With a start, he turns and waves at Gloria and Julian, who wave back, before Scrooge snaps.

“Cratchit!” says the old miser in a high pitched, nasally voice. Cratchit, shoulders slumping, returns to his scribbling.

“Mr. Scrooge is the embodiment of all things anti-Christmas,” Gloria continues, “the absolute worst of them all. Hates everything to have to do with the season.”

“Why?”

“No one knows for sure. However, even he keeps Christmas in some happy remark, for it was on this very day, seven years ago, that his former business partner, Jacob Marley, died and left him the counting house. More money for him to have, you see. And Bob Cratchit is someone who works for him- a good man, working to earn a meager salary to support his family.”

Julian watches the door to Scrooge’s counting house open, and a younger man enters, jovial in his high pitched voice.

“Scrooge’s nephew Fred,” his love explains, “nearly the complete opposite, invites Scrooge to Christmas dinner. The miser declines,” Scrooge does so, “calling Christmas a-”

“HUMBUG!” Scrooge squeaks out again as Fred exits the store. Gloria gestures to him.

“... Well, you know.”

Julian listens in as two more men, seeking donations for the poor, enter the shop, only to be dismissed in a similar fashion by Scrooge, before a small bell chimes. Cratchit and Scrooge rise, and start to leave, as Gloria changes the scene again.

“It’s Christmas eve, you see,” she explains again as the light whirls up and around, “one of the few nights that Cratchit can take off of from his job a little early. But Scrooge still wants him there the next day, bright and early, like normal, despite the Christmas festivities.”

“What an ass.” Julian interjects.

“I know!” she agrees.

Finally, it settles on Scrooge sitting in his bedroom, dressed in nightclothes, eating. Before taking another bite of what Julian assumed was soup, the old man looks up and frowns at the pair.

“Young love,” he chides, “bah! You both should be doing something useful with your lives!”

“Can I please squash him?” Julian begs with a wince, “He’s starting to sound like Lucio…”

“No, you are not squashing Scrooge!” Gloria reprimands, watching the small man suddenly bolt behind his wingback chair. “Look at that, you spooked him!”

“It wasn’t old bird beak over there!” Scrooge calls, before pointing a gnarled finger at the now shaking door in his room. The magician jumps suddenly.

“Right, right! Anyway, it was Christmas Eve, nearing closer and closer to midnight, and Scrooge was about to have a visitor.” Julian watched her grin turn nearly evil, and he had to squish down the desire to kiss her right then and there. “A visitor of the supernatural kind.”

Suddenly there was a high pitched wail from behind him, and Julian turned his head sharply, only to duck as a small golden specter flew right for his head, chains rattling and boxes dragging behind him.

“Whoa!”

Gloria burst into laughter as the ghost floated around above the set, only pausing for a jolted moment to wave at her. “Hello Mr. Marley. Nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you, Miss Morgenstern!” And then he continued on his wailing journey, before bursting through Scrooge’s bedroom door.

“That’s Marley?” Julian asked, raising his head.

“Well, he has been dead for seven years at this point.” She says with a shrug of her shoulders. Turning back to the story, she goes on, “Marley arrived from beyond the grave to warn Scrooge about his otherworldly fate. If Scrooge didn’t change his ways, he would be doomed to eternity to be just like Marley- covered in chains and boxes as a wandering spirit.”

“I wear the chain I forged in life!” Marley calls, “Do you know the weight and length of the chain you bear, Ebenezer?”

“And with that, Marley says that he will send three spirits to help Scrooge on his journey of self discovery. But first, he has to be a dramatic little bugger about it.”

Marley looks up at her first, hopeful, and Scrooge follows, eyes wide with fear.

“May I?” Jacob asks, and Gloria nods.

“Julie, you may want to duck.”

“Again?” The doctor asks, “Not more ghosts-”

Suddenly Marley wails again, and several more spirits made of Gloria’s golden light- all wearing chains, each different in appearance, come from behind, and Julian yells, ducking down, before the spirits swirl around him. A little lady ghost even whacked his nose with a mirror on her chain, before floating over to Gloria.

“You really can pick ‘em!” She says, before floating off to the set. And suddenly, Julian laughs, seeing an all too familiar tiny ghost floating around, wrapped up in chains, bearing a false, shimmering golden left arm.

“They’ll never survive without me!” cries tiny Ghost Lucio, rolling around from his wrapped up chains. “They’ll never forget me! Untie me!”

“Never on your life,” says another gentleman ghost who floats by, “you’re awfully rude.”

Lucio inchworms down to the set, and the other ghosts, with Marley in tow, begin to spiral around Scrooge, who screams and makes a break for it, diving into his bed- and with a glittering golden poof, they’re gone.

“And the bell tolls one,” Gloria says, satirically sollem. Julian snorts, watching little Scrooge shake in his bed. The candle on the table in front of them suddenly started to glow and mold, until, emerging from the wax, came a spirit in what appeared to be a ballet costume of some kind. They were thin, with curly hair that hung just below their ears, with a halo of gold on their head. More lit candles adorned this halo, and three lit candles were attached to each of their arms. As they twirled around, more wax dripped from the edge of their tutu. Scarily wide eyes glowed like open flames, but the spirit themself seemed kind. With a noise akin to bells chiming, they floated up between the pair of lovers, bowing gracefully.

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past,” they said, rising. “Apologies if I startled you.”

“No need,” Gloria says, “It’s good to see you again, Past.”

“This isn’t Asra…” They realize suddenly, floating closer to Julian, who blinks owlishly. “Who are you?”

“J-Julian.” He responds, going cross eyed to see the little ghost.

“My boyfriend,” Gloria whispers excitedly, and as Julian blushes, Past’s aura glows a bit brighter.

“In that case, I simply must put on a good show!”

As they float away towards Scrooge, Julian looks back at Gloria. “D-did you just call me…”

“Yes,” she reaches up to kiss his reddening cheeks, “because it’s true.”

“Darling, if you do that again, I don’t think I’ll be able to listen to the rest of the story…”

“Alright, I’ll stop the story, if it’s what you want.”

“No, keep going. I want to find out what happens. I… I can wait.”

“Good choice!” exclaims Past, and Julian jumps, “I don’t want to go away yet! I just got here!”

“Get on with it!” Scrooge interjects from under his bedcovers, and Gloria snorts, rolling her eyes and turning back to the set.

“My apologies. Anyway…. As the bell tolled one, the Ghost of Christmas Past,” said ghost did a sudden, perfect pirouette, “appeared in Scrooge’s bedroom, rousing him from the meager amount of sleep he had managed to achieve.”

“Take my hand,” Past said, offering one wax coated hand to Scrooge, who, reluctantly, grabbed it. With a giggle from the ghost and a cry of fear from the old man, they took to the sky, and Gloria waved her hand again, watching the scene change. The two flew around the shop, nearly running into everything. Even with Scrooge on their hand, Past managed to perform a little ballet routine near perfectly, with Scrooge’s long, old legs stumbling behind. Julian laughed at the display, before the scene set in front of them again. And with each word Gloria spoke, the characters complied, and the scene changed- much like a little theatre.

“To help Scrooge grow in his character, they visited past Christmases- his past Christmases, in fact. Scrooge had been neglected as a child, and had a little sister, who died at a young age, but not before she had a son.”

“Then that Fred fellow was her son, I take it.”

“Yep.” A small pause to wink at him for getting the answer right, “And then, years later, Scrooge became apprenticed by a man named Fezziwig, who was a jovial old chap, and at one of his parties… he fell in love.”

The scene set before them, however, was of a high spirited party. A rotund man spun what Julian assumed was his wife around, and the audience clapped and cheered as they danced. A mad fiddler worked his bow strings furiously with a small band, and people laughed and drank.

“You want to dance, Julian?” Gloria asked suddenly, and he laughed.

“We wouldn’t fit!”

“Yes, but we can still hear the music.” Suddenly grabbing his arm, she pleaded, “Please, Ilya?”

Oh God, not the Ilya card. She always pulled that to weaken his resolve, and he was always weak to it… of course, the cries from the small party crowd of “Dance wit her, man!” “C’mon, y’ old haggard!” “Le’s see if them long legs o’ yers are good fer more than bein’ tall!” weren’t helping either, and finally, he sighed.

“Alright, alright.”

Gloria brightened, giggling and rising from the blanket they had engulfed themselves in, and Julian followed. He heard Fezziwig clap his hands, and the little band started their tune up again. With a sudden devilish grin, he grabbed Gloria by the hand, pulling her in close and twirling her around. The magician squealed and laughed, her feet dangling at his shins as he lifted her, one arm around his waist and the other in his hand. The little crowd cheered, and suddenly between the taller two floated Christmas Past and Scrooge, who were dancing on their own- Past more enthusiastically than the old miser, who was once again forced to stumble behind, shouting bloody murder at the top of his lungs. They both laughed, dancing along to the small band’s song, until it began to slow, and so did their dance, until it stopped, and they both stood there, gazing into each other’s eyes. Julian moved first, laying his lips over hers, his hand sliding to hold her face, and Gloria’s other hand moved to hug his waist.

“No mistletoe required, huh?” she laughs when he pulls away, and he rubs their noses together.

“It never is, my darling.”

With a dreamy sigh, she regrettably slipped out of his arms, sliding down to hold his hands. “C’mon. Before they all start yelling at me to get on with it again.”

As the two settled back on the couch, Julian was shocked to find a dizzy Scrooge leaning on Christmas past, watching a different scene completely unfold.

“I release you, Ebenezer.” said the girl sitting in front of the desk of the young Scrooge. And with a whirl of her dress, she was gone.

“Oh… right.” Gloria clears her throat, settling the blanket back on top of them. “Ebenezer had managed to fall in love, but as the years waned on from that, money became more important. Eventually, money became the only thing that mattered to him anymore.”

“I don’t wish to see more of this!” Old Scrooge called out, and with a sad look, Past snapped their fingers, taking to the sky again. As the scene set back to Scrooge’s bedroom, the ghost floated up to the couple, bowing again.

“You did beautifully, Past.” Gloria praised, and Julian swore he saw them blush at the compliment.

“Yes, indeed,” he added suddenly, “it was a lovely performance.”

“Thank you both, very much!” And with a wave goodbye, they burst into flame, vanishing. The clock stuck again, two this time.

“And so the clock strikes two,” Julian speaks again, with the funny solemnity of Gloria earlier. She giggles.

“Don’t steal my job along with my heart, darling!”

Suddenly, Scrooge’s room expanded, and fading into view was a mound of food. Christmas carols played on a small orchestra rang out, and a booming laugh, though still high in pitch, echoed through the set. A man came into view, wearing a green robe, and bearing an immeasurably long amount of ginger hair, which floated up around his head like a halo. A single candle floated in the middle of it, and holly decorated the entire ponytail. He had a cheerful, lined face, and his robe reminded the doctor of the white shirt he was currently donning.

“A bit of a low cut for a ghost, is it not?” Julian teased, and Gloria grinned.

“I can’t help what he wears.” They watched the spirit grab a staff of oak wood and garland, where a single emerald glowed at the top, and she waved. “Hello Christmas Present!” “Merry Christmas, Miss Morgenstern!” He called, waving back. “Good to see you again!”

“Good to see you too!”

Scrooge entered the room then, and Gloria began the narration.

“The Ghost of Christmas present,” she said, “there’s a new one every year, supposedly, but this is the one that always works with me. To help Scrooge better himself, he takes the man around to Christmases currently happening.”

“Touch my robe,” the spirit said to Scrooge, and the old man does. Much like they had with Christmas Past, the two rose into the air as the set spun around, before it settled on a little house, hardly bigger than the main room of Asra’s shop.

“Oh!” Julian exclaimed as Scrooge and Present settled into the set, and more characters started appearing. “Isn’t that Cratchit?”

“Yea! This is his house,” Gloria explained, “And this is his family.” She leaned in suddenly, cupping a hand over his ear and whispering, “And you see that tiny kid with the crutch? That’s Tiny Tim. He’s important, so pay attention.” As she drew away, Julian nodded vigorously.

“You have my word.”

“Great.” Cracking her knuckles, she settled into the story again. “Bob Cratchit’s family isn’t the best off, Scrooge notices first. And with a little help from Christmas Present, he realizes that poor Tiny Tim is destined to die if he doesn’t get the help he needs.”

“I see an empty chair by the fire,” speaks Christmas Present solemnly, “and a small crutch, carefully preserved.”

Suddenly Julian whips around to Gloria, who furrows her brows, “He doesn’t die, does he?”

“Hush, love! You’ll find out.” With a wiggle of her fingers, the set changes again. “The Christmas party of Fred, where they catch the household making fun of Scrooge. Not much happens here, only Scrooge realizing he could’ve been a better Uncle. And then….”

Another set change, and Christmas Present, once jolly, now looms over Scrooge, melancholy. Scrooge watches, horrified, as two small, scraggly children emerge from Present’s robe.

“Are they yours?” he asks, fearful and wide eyed.

“They are mans,” says the spirit, “this boy is ignorance, and this girl is want. Beware them both, but especially the boy.”

“.... Now I can see where this wouldn’t be considered a Christmas story,” Julian says, squinting down at the kids. Ignorance takes a swipe at him, and he keens, scrambling back to Gloria.

“I told you to be careful, Jules.”

“I’m just curious…”

Suddenly the two children lept at Scrooge, and the scene goes black for a moment- and rises, seeing Scrooge cowering alone, arms over his face, as the clock strikes three. The man slowly lowers them, before looking up behind him. Julian and Gloria look up too, and on a shadowy part of the wall, out melts a black, hooded finger, surrounded by black smoke… though, less intimidating, as they were about seven inches tall. Gloria grips Julian’s arm excitedly as the spirit descends upon the stage.

“This is my favourite part,” she whispers to him, as the Ghost cranes their head to up the couple. “Hi Christmas Future! Good to see you haven’t changed.”

There was a beat, and the Ghost raised a single skeletal hand, waving slightly, before turning their attention back to Scrooge.

“The Ghost of Christmas Future, or Christmas Yet To Come,” Gloria narrates again, hand never leaving Julian’s arm, “The final spirit of the night, here to show Scrooge the consequences of his current actions. This is the real climatic part of the story, just you wait.”

Rather than taking to the air, Christmas Future raises a single, boney hand, and points to the other side of the scene, which melts away, golden light turning into black and white.

“The Ghost shows Scrooge visions of uncaring gentlemen talking about the death of someone supposedly important,” Gloria continues, “Along with a joyous Fred, the Cratchits saddened by the death of Tiny Tim-” Julian gasps, bringing a hand over his mouth, and she squeezes his arm, “and Scrooge’s old maid selling off things to a pawnbroker. Along with… something else.”

The scene is completely black and white now, and the only thing on it, aside from Scrooge and Future, is a gravestone.

“That’s not…”

“It’s not Tiny Tim.”

“It can’t be… does that have Scrooge’s name on it?” Julian’s uncovered eye widens, and Scrooge suddenly cries out, lamenting to the Ghost before him.

“Scrooge begs to change, pleads with the Ghost. Christmas Future only points intensely at the grave as Scrooge grovels, until suddenly, as Scrooge falls into the grave….”

The scene swirls in a black shadow, until Gloria’s golden light takes over again- and there was Scrooge, tangled on his bed in the sheets, completely alive.

“... He awakes in his room, a changed man.”

Little Scrooge leaps up suddenly, dancing around his room and throwing on his coat and hat over his sleepwear, and running off. Gloria grins.

“And he really did change, you know,” she finishes, as the entire cast takes to the scene, “helping Tiny Tim being one of the first things he ever did on his changed path.”

The cast starts to bow, and Julian claps at them all, and with some final waves, the scene and characters vanish completely.

“What a lovely story,” Julian finally turns to face her, and she blushes.

“I know it’s not what you had in mind, but…”

Without hesitation, he leans in, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her lips to his, a pleading noise echoing from the back of his throat. She retaliates, reaching up to cup his face. After several kisses, he finally pulls away, touching their foreheads together.

“Sorry… I couldn’t wait,” comes his sheepish grin, “But…. you don’t need to worry. It was perfect. It showed what Christmas means to you, much like what Hanukkah meant to me whenever I told you my stories. And I couldn’t be happier, my darling.”

“Thank you, Ilya.”

#the arcana #the arcana game #julian devorak #fan apprentice #ace apprentice #gloria/julian #my writing #fanfic #ace ♠ reads the cards

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