#scrooge fanfic

[simpofhans]

I STARTED TO READ IT AND OMG THIS IS THE BEST SCROOGE X OC FANFIC THIS MOVIE IS FUCKING UNDERRATED 😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[sakuramoti0903]

crossover(Ducktales×Frieren)

[thezoe611]

It's not too late for "ugly Christmas sweaters" right^^'? "Unstoppable" is based on "Geronimo Saga" by @rebellingstagnationblog

[tealottie]

HELLO EVERYONE please check out me and my friend's new fic that's finally coming to light! We're gonna try to post every other week or so, so keep an eye out for that This first chapter is really short and Della kinda sucks but she'll get better I promise!

[thatguystudio]

Ducktales: An Animatic Of Claws & Cutlasses!

An AU Story By Slimer @webby-vanderslap

TEASER

[denaliwrites]

f i c m a s t e r l i s t

p o l i c i e s (please read before making requests!)

b a d s a m a r i t a n The Best of You, Honey, Belongs to Me Blackthorn Cover Myself in the Ashes of You Dumb Ways To Die Enough of You to Dull the Pain (18+) Hellbent Looking For A Godsend Hit Me With Your Best Shot I Got This Feeling On A Summer Day (18+) I'm Gooey in the Middle Baby Let Me Bake In His Eyes A Flaming Glow Intrigued and Afraid Keep You Like An Oath (18+) Killing Me Softly My Baby Shot Me Down (18+) Not Much Between Despair and Ecstasy (18+) Only Touch That Gets Me Melting (18+) Run Rabbit Run (18+) Say My Name Send a Thousand Kings Away Shia Surprise Something Good to Celebrate Stop, Look and Listen, It's Halloween! Taste of a Poison Paradise Trust in Me, Just in Me With Your Scars and Your Lonely Heart Your Body's a Secret Girl and You're About to Spill It (18+)

t h e b o y s Watch That Butcher Burn

b r o a d c h u r c h Always Leave Me With a Hungry Heart Am I Doing This Right? An Art to Life's Distractions Beating Like A Kick Drum Girls Like Girls Like Boys Do It's Been a Long, Long Time Love's Perfect Ache Now and Again We Try to Just Stay Alive Regale You With A Gourd-geous Tale Say You'll Remember Me Say You'll Remember Me (Denali's Version) Tell Me It's A Nightmare What My Heart Was Worth

d o c t o r w h o Cuddle, Meet Puddle Cute Things Don't Blink (Part 1) Don't Turn Your Back (Part 2) Don't Look Away (Part 3) Dreams See Us Through (Part 4) Hate the Feeling of Falling Have a Holly Jolly Christmas Horrible Things Isn't That Wizard It's How I'm Made Let Me Come Home Little Creepy House Love Letters On the Brave Shit The Origin of (Love Bug) Species What Beautiful Things I'll Wear When the Crypt Doors Creak You Know That I Would Jump Too

d u c k t a l e s Tales of Daring

g o o d o m e n s All I Want For Christmas Aziraphale's Favorite Author Dance on a Tightrope of Weird Free as My Hair His Love is All in Me How the Wine Plays Tricks on My Tongue Lockdown Blues Making Biscuits My Heart's a Stereo Naked in That Garden (18+) Out There Making DuckTales Pickin' Up the Pieces of the Mess You Made Road to Hell Something Meaty For The Main Course Step Too Far Tongue Tied Your Love is Holy (18+)

f a l l o f t h e h o u s e o f u s h e r Tomorrow I Shall Be Fetterless (18+)

f r i g h t n i g h t Emptiness to Melody Everybody Scream in Our Town of Halloween Fixed Up to the Nines Howl Like an Animal in the Darkness I'm So Hot I'd Fuck Myself (18+) I'm Starvin', Darlin', Let Me Put My Lips to Somethin' Late Night Devil Put Your Hands On Me (18+) Make Me Glow Night of Long Fangs (18+) Parade of Dancing Skeletons Talk So Pretty (18+) Who Are You Supposed To Be, Criss Angel? (18+)

h a u n t i n g o f b l y m a n o r ???

j u r a s s i c p a r k / w o r l d Best Behavior The Future Ex Mrs. Malcolm

p r o d i g a l s o n But Then My Stupid Phone Beeps Never Fallen From Quite This High Office Supplies Rude Boy They are the Hunters, We are the Foxes Trigger Happy With a Sense of Poise (18+)

s l o w h o r s e s Imposing Figure Inappropriate

[alex31624]

The Ducks take a vacation in…

Ok, look, I'm a fluff writer. That's my thing, that's what I like to do.

I'm also a horror fan. I wasn't allowed to see horror as a kid, and now I saw like 60 horror movies in two years.

With this one, I'm actually trying writing horror for the first time. And this one is not graphic, but things should scalate from here.

This is a rated M fic, so… yeah…

If you don't want to read something like that, you can always check my family friendly works.

"A Duck's Life" series

Part 1 - You and Me (5/5)

Part 2 - Fishing Day (2/2)

Part 3 - One of Us (1/1)

Part 4 - Legacy (5/5)

Part 5 - Life with May and June (7/7)

Part 6 - For You (1/1)

Part 7 - Who I Am (1/1)

Part 8 - Everyday Chronics (5/5)

Part 9 - Definitely not a Date (1/1)

Part 10 - The Words I Want to Say (2/2)

What if...? (One-shots, in spanish for now, 6/?)

A Good Team (Louie and Violet love story, 8/8)

Duckverse June 2024 (4/4)

Sing! (Dewey tries to sing, 1/1)

[zonnedu15]

Guys what if I write an Age of Calamity/Breath of the Wild fanfic loosely based on the A Christmas Carol story. Guys what if King Rhoam is a Scrooge-like figure not indulging in his daughter’s “silly” festivities? What if the late Queen of Hyrule is the ghost of Christmas future and shows him his BoTW gravestone? GUYS???

[kazoosandfannypacks]

Mine (scroldie drabble)

requested by @dragonflauz

There was one good thing about loving your enemies. You could always count on them to give you your space. Surely, Scrooge thought it was normal when Goldie ran out on him again. Surely, he didn't notice the crystal clear droplets falling from her eyes as she turned tail and ran. Surely, he wouldn't follow her.

But she was wrong about Scrooge McDuck. He'd follow her anyways.

"Come to say goodbye?" Goldie asked.

"Goodbye?" he asked, and he took her hand, and met her surprised and tear-stained with his, and he told her plainly:

"Goldie, I'll never leave you alone."

(a/n and tags under the cut)

a/n: this one was fun to write too! thanks for the ask!

taglist: i do not currently have a scroldie taglist! if you'd like to be added to one, let me know! 

send me a ship and a number and i'll write a drabble!

[teaboxcarmarbles]

I wanted to draw art for Kyprish_Prohetess fanfic Masks Within Masks https://archiveofourown.org/works/42864048/chapters/107684214

Check out there fanfic it’s Good 🦆❤️💙😊

[sweettjrose]

Happy Holidays @violetganache42!!!

I am your Secret Santa and have written you a short story starring some of your and my favorite characters Webby and Scrooge. I hope you like it and have a wonderful holiday season and a happy new year!!!

Thank you so much to @duckblr-secret-santa for letting me participate!

[flowercrowngods]

j.r. harrington's christmas carol

in prose. being a ghost story of christmas. a modern au.

stave i

Three things in John Richard Harrington‘s life come with absolute certainty: tax returns, unsweetened black coffee three times a day, and the permanent headache once December inevitably rolls around, over time wandering from his temples to just behind his eyes, worsening his already sour mood.

“Idiocy, all of this,” he mutters under his breath as he pushes open the door to his office, leaving behind his stammering secretary and the ungodly blare of Christmas songs he cannot seem to escape this year. It’s grating on his nerves, and he hangs his hat on the coat-tree, damp with water because it never snows anymore. 

All the better for traffic, at least, because not a day passes that he has nowhere to be. Snow tends to thwart these plans. 

“Absolute humbug,” he grumbles once more, shucking his coat and smoothing a hand over the lapels, keeping them immaculate despite the rain.

There is a stack of documents on his desk, and it is a blessed vision, that. None of that dilly-dallying that the rest of the world seems so adamant on indulging this time of year, no. Not for John Richard Harrington, real estate magnate and financier by trade. The world of Money is not about to stop just because workers all across the globe are wont to forget about their employment for a few days of illusion and play-pretend. 

“Bah!” He sits down and finds note upon note from long-standing business partners and loyal clients, wishing him a Merry Christmas and expressing gratification and happiness towards their business this year. 

While Harrington does appreciate the loyalty and the premise of future business, he does not need their Merry Christmasses nor their Good Tidings. What he needs is responsible, determined employees who do purposeful work regardless of the holidays. 

But all he gets is a bunch of ungrateful, aimless good-for-nothings who, instead of working as they are expected to, spend all of December beseeching him to grant them just two days of Christmas vacation — and every year they get the same answer: “Stay home for Christmas and find yourselves unemployed.”

And every year they make the decision to come into work, restoring Harrington’s faith and goodwill that at times has been known to go so far as to sending them home a half hour early — paid! He is not a monster, after all; no matter what they say. He is a realist. A capitalist. A wise investor and a driven businessman. And business, he knows, at times necessitates a compromise. 

He will, however, not compromise a whole year’s work for a meaningless holiday that is in dire need of a better soundtrack. How people do not grow tired of listening to always the same songs on repeat each and every year is past him, and he won’t even try to understand it. So long as they keep their miguided cheer far away from him, he does not care if the first noël is born or if the midwinter is indeed bleak. 

A knock sounds against the heavy wooden door and he frowns, already anticipating the person behind the door even as he keeps sorting the stack on his desk, sorting mail into dedicated piles of business, sentimentality, and Steven. The latter has been empty for years now, but that is just as well. 

Another knock, and the old Harrington growls, his eyes flitting to the door as though he were capable of making the person behind it disappear by sheer willpower alone. Although he has to concede that making Cratchit disappear would be a poor move, as the man is one of his most efficient. Their acquaintance could be excellent if only Cratchit weren’t so adamant on experiencing the Christmas cheer each year without pause. 

John Richard sighs and leans back in his chair, still frowning at the door as he bids him inside. 

“Cratchit.” 

“Merry Christmas, sir!” Cratchit says, a glint of tease beneath the unfortunately entirely genuine sentiment that ricochets right off of Harrington’s scowl and returns to its sender, only brightening the man’s smile. 

“Tell me what you want and then get back to work, Cratchit. I don’t pay you for… lallygagging.” 

 Cratchit’s smile falters a little, and he clears his throat. “Well, you see, sir, my son. He has flown in from overseas, arrived this morning, in fact. Has come home for Christmas for the first time in three years, you see. He will stay over the holidays, and so I was wondering if, perhaps, you would make an exception this year and show a little heart—“ 

“Heart!” Harrington exclaims, effectively shutting up his stammering employee. “Compassion! And where will that get me, Cratchit? Let’s say I concede this year, you lot will expect it every year from now on. Add to that a vacation for New Year’s Day, and maybe a few days give or take until work ethic declines and you will only work from one holiday to another. Isn’t that what will happen, hm?” He scoffs, shaking his head in derision. “Compassion… I expected better from you, Cratchit.” 

The man withers, and normally Harrington wouldn’t mind that, would study his misery and hold it against him in future debates. But something about it, something about that grin disappearing, and with it that glint of something so youthful even though the man is only a few years his junior cracks at something inside him. Something that feels a lot like that empty stack of mail on his desk. 

“Please,” Cratchit says. “Please, sir, just… Just half the day tomorrow. It’s—“ 

It’s Christmas. It's humbug! 

Anger rises inside him and barely contains himself as it coils and bubbles inside him. “Get out,  Cratchit, before I’ll have you escorted outside.” 

“But sir—“ 

“Get out!” he shouts, watching as Cratchit flinches, entirely too soft for this world. Marley wouldn’t have hesitated to fire him thrice over for even trying to bargain over this. 

But Marley is dead seven years now, and Harrington is the only hard-headed man in charge of these good-for-nothings. And maybe it’s that; a tiny, misguided shred of mourning his business partner; or maybe it’s his hand reaching for the non-existent stack on his desk and finding his hand empty. Maybe it’s heart, as Cratchit put it, even though John Richard is known not to have one, and he is not inclined to disagree. 

Whatever the reason may be, Harrington calls, before Cratchit can hastily pull the door shut behind him, “And when you come back after Christmas, I expect to see you at your best performance, Cratchit. Understood?”

The man blinks, his eyes wide as saucers as he regards Harrington, his mouth falling open as he loses whatver composure he might have possessed before this. Five seconds pass and Harrington is inclined to take back his words when Cratchit shake shimself out of his stupor and falls into a tirade of gratitude and disbelief that Harrington really has no time for, calling for his assistant to escort Cratchit back downstairs. They have work to do after all. 

When the door falls shut once more, leaving the grand office in silence, he allows himself a moment to breathe and regret his moment of softness, hearing Marley’s grouching insistence that softness and compassion in a capitalist’s world will only lead to ruin and bitterness. 

But bitterness is there in Harrington’s life regardless, especially around this time of year. 

*** 

There is another certainty in John Richard Harrington’s life: He does not get nightmares. There are no terrors haunting him, no ghosts of future or past relationships to linger in the back corners of his mind, waiting to come out at night when he lets his guard down. 

That, however, does very little to explain this nightmare of Jacob Marley warning him of an eternity of sorrow and chains if he does not see the error in his ways, if he does not better himself and reconnect with the heart tapping a steady but withering beat in his chest. 

“I don’t undestand!” he calls into the void as the world spins around him, light becoming darkness and darkness turning into light, blinding and disorienting him as he feels colder by the second. 

“I wear the chain I forged in life,” Marley’s apparition says as Harrington falls, scrambling away from the Ghost, feeling real fear for the first time in his life. “You will be haunted,” resumed the Ghost, “by Three Spirits. Please them and yours will not be the same fate as mine. Expect the first one tonight, when the clock strikes One. The second will find you the night after that at the same hour. And the third will come when Christmas Eve turns into Christmas Day.” 

He shakes his head, refusing to believe this Ghost, ready to bargain that she should meet all these Spirits at once if they were real, that they should reveal themselves and absolve him of what crimes they think him to be guilty of. But Marley holds up his hand, forbidding John Richard to speak, and he does hold his tongue — more out of fear than real obedience. 

Before he knows it, the room fills with horrible wails of lamentation and regret, self-accusatory and begging for absolution so sorrowful that Harrington feels a cold shiver travelling down his back, a sensation he is not at all familiar with. 

And then, as quickly as it started, the spectre is gone and silence returns, the show is over. There is no time to collect himself, because he gasps awake the next moment, feeling no different than just seconds before and wondering if it really was a dream or if he was hallucinating. Unfortunately, a hallucination is just as impossible as a nightmare. 

The alarm clock on is bedside table shows 12:19 a.m. 

And for some reason, fear still coursing through his veins, John Richard Harrington decides to stay awake. Pretending not to count down the minutes until the clock stikes One and be assured to still exist in a world where ghosts aren’t real.

[sophfandoms53]

Hi, same ‘how can I make this about Striker’ anon from before. I dont know how to feel about the ‘Satan is Striker’s father theory’ because on 1 hand I guess it could work??? But also it just doesnt sit that right with me, like I feel like if Striker was literally half sin he’d act/be more powerful than he was shown to be so far. My numerous ideas for his backstory basically change by the daily because I think about him too much but I only gave credence to the ‘Striker’s half royalty’ idea once and even then I wrote it in a way where Striker didnt know about it/had zero idea that was the case to begin with.

Not to mention that him being half-royalty would technically be a way to dismiss his (very valid) arguments about the upper class but maybe thats just me imagining the worse case scenario. For all I know it could be the most well-executed plot point ever.

If Satan isn’t Striker’s father than once we actually see the Envy Ring we’re gonna get ‘Leviathan is Striker’s father’ theories instead because they’re both snake-based. If Striker IS half royalty, than I could imagine it to be some sort of goetia, maybe, but half deadly sin? Next Striker ep appearance would need to have him pull off the most insane shit ever that a imp cant do for me to consider it plausible

I’m responding to this so late but omg anon yes you’re so right.

I feel like the only way the twist of Striker being a half blueblood could work would be if he straight up didn’t know about it and/or if they suddenly give him more power and strength that we’ve never seen from any other imp, like you mentioned. But again regardless of him knowing or not, like you also said, it completely negates his entire character and everything Striker’s said up to this point about royals and how they treat those lower than them.

Which only continues to be validated to the point where Blitz is now echoing his sentiments in canon. So like ??? It wouldn’t make sense for the show to suddenly invalidate Striker’s points after directly paralleling his words with Blitz’s.

Striker’s entire existence is to be a dark reflection of Blitz anyway. They’re two sides of the same coin. Striker is who Blitz would be if he let himself drown in his sorrows and his grief. If he let his anger control him. If he let himself do things alone. For as much as Blitz pushes people away he cares too much about others to truly let himself be alone.

As far as we know - Striker has always been alone. Or at least we know he’s been alone since he lost everything. Which is honestly the big thing people are missing when they talk about the Striker is Satan’s son theory - the entire scene where Striker voices his grievances to Stolas about his experience with royals.

This is the scene that tells us everything. And if it was meant to foreshadow something as huge as Striker being a literal sin’s child then the dialogue choice and the BODY LANGUAGE of Striker during this monologue would be insanely different.

The emphasis this scene gives to his claims of having to live a hard life, losing everything, and being talked over. That is Striker talking about his experience.

His feelings. His loss. His anger.

He is SO angry. Too angry for it all to just be about being a bastard son.

I’ve watched, analyzed, and thought SO MUCH about this moment right before he cuts Stolas’ ropes.

The pure disgust and anger on his face. The way he shakes. His eye twitches. He grinds his teeth. He growls. He’s pissed.

This is insanely personal to him. This is part of him. This is who he is. This disdain runs through his veins. He’s made it part of his identity. He was so scorned that he just cannot let it go.

This is not just anger about a royal parent or a loss of status.

This is anger from a man who was failed by Hell’s system and has not healed from it. He has not allowed himself to heal and he refuses to.

This is Striker’s way of taking back control that he once lost.

And not even mentioning the fact that Striker’s canonically a WANTED MAN in TWO Rings.

Wrath (y’know Satan’s ring) AND Pride.

Considering royalty in this universe is all about status and reputation, you’d think a sin wouldn’t want their kid just having their face plastered everywhere like that?? Cuz it’s embarrassing?? Just wanted to point that out😭

[thezoe611]

"Nega-Scrooge looked at the little mouse with confusion, not understanding what he wanted to get to… …But it all made sense when Timothy pulled out a pink bow, worn with time… The old duck felt that he lost his speech when he saw that treasure that he thought he had lost. -… I'm sorry… You told me that if I stole again, they would beat the scientist… but I couldn't help it… - Timothy confessed, with his ears down-… I'm so sorry…- he apologized, holding the cloth object closer. Nega-Scrooge looked at him with shining eyes, unable to control his emotions when he saw his treasure again. With trembling hands, the old man held up the faded pink bow, while his mind was invaded by little Webby's memories of him. The girl always smiled mischievously, with her black bear teddy in her arms, as she ran alongside the triplets, wanting to participate in some training, to which Donald scolded them, saying they weren't ready, watched by Launchpad, Fenton, Gyro and several members of the clan… … Oh… His family… The old duck clung to the pink bow as if his life depended on it, eyes squeezed shut, unable to hold back the tears, overwhelmed with pain… and relief… …He didn’t lose his last treasure… Gosalyn looked at the mobster from where she was… The old duck who always watched with a smirk as Nega-Launchpad hit her, now cried like a heartbroken old man… … She was never going to forgive him for everything that Nega-Scrooge put her through… but… but she couldn't help but feel sorry for that poor old man… The young woman looked at Negaduck, who was staring at his enemy, serious. She took his hand, which he immediately clung to, not looking at her. -I-I'm sorry… Don't cry… I know you're mean… but don't cry…- Timothy asked, moving closer to the wheelchair. -Oh… Timothy Cratchit…- Nega-Scrooge looked at the little boy, smiling despite the tears running down his cheeks- What you have done… has been cruelty- -Eh?! B-But…!- the kid was confused, but the old man chuckled, tired. -As I told you before… You have great potential, lad… You could become a fearsome villain when you grow up- Nega-Scrooge told him, stroking his head, making Timothy blink-… But also so much empathy… That's what makes children so wonderful… They never cease to amaze you… - he assured, lowering his arm, and looking at his counterpart, who had approached, placing his hand on Timothy's shoulder. -… You don't deserve any empathy for what you did, and you know it…- the billionaire told him- But you have my understanding… If that can be worth anything…- -… Stingy… - the mobster smiled tiredly, leaning his back on the chair…"

Okay, this week marks 3 years since Unstoppable! I still have a lot of love for that project… even though I almost went crazy translating everything to English (and I know there are still spelling mistakes, I still apologize for that^^') (I guess that has put me behind with the "The Beauty and the Beast" project. I know I'll suffer when I finish and have to translate, but I'm not giving up yet!)

The thing is, I wanted to draw one of my favorite scenes, when Nega-Scrooge gets back the only thing he has left of his little Webby. I find his situation so profound and tragic. Yes, he should never have used Gosalyn to hurt Negaduck, and he was the one who tricked the villain in the past and tried to kill him… but losing practically his entire clan… The loss of the triplets, Webby, Donald, Gyro… It hurt him too much, and it gave him a great desire for revenge.

And Timothy appears. A child who, didn't change the mind of Mafia Boss McDuck, but made him remember how wonderful and mischievous children can be… opening once again the horrible wound of loss.

And although in the story Negaduck confesses [SPOILER] that he didn't kill the kids, that it was an accident caused by them, that would not have changed Nega-Scrooge. He would still blame Negaduck, he would still want revenge on him, and he would use the most precious thing for the villain for it: his love for Gosalyn, the closest thing he has to a daughter.

So yes, a rather complex character, one that I would have liked to write more about, I don't deny it.

I thank @rebellingstagnationblog again for allowing me to write this story. And also for the entire Geronimo Saga. Those stories helped me in a very stressful moment, to the point that this tumblr page is dedicated only to drawing random things from the story^^'

So that's it, three years since such a project in English. Thanks for reading^^!

[story-blossom]

Last night I reread the fanfic A, B, C,-Death and this morning I came up with a continuation summary.

i.e. I keep coming up with new ways to make Dewey suffer.

Read the OG before you read my summary.

Dewey died six times before he started adventuring with Scrooge. When he died at seven, he asked Death if his mom was still alive. Death didn’t respond at first. But Dewey begged and begged, and Death figured he wouldn’t remember anyway, so he told him. When Dewey came back to life, he felt the firm resolve that his mom was alive (he didn’t know where this resolve came from) and remembered only vague impressions of his meeting with Death, like a fuzzy dream. 

After he started adventuring, he died multiple times a month until he started getting better at it, then he died less often. Sometimes he died with excitement, because the dangerous thing he did made him feel so cool. Sometimes he died with a bitter anger that turned into melancholy. After Dewey died, he remembered his other deaths. But each time he came back to life he forgot. One time Dewey and Death had tea, and Dewey asked why him? Why did he have eternal life, of all people? 

After Dewey found out how his mom was seperated from the family, he realized he still felt this resolve that his mom was alive. So he told Scrooge to start building rockets again and look for her. But it had taken Scrooge a decade to come to any sort of semblence of acceptance, and he thought Dewey was just being delusional. He tried to break it to him gently, but Dewey got mad. The great, stubborn Scrooge McDuck had given up on the thing that mattered most to him—his family. Dewey told him to build a rocket for him and he would go looking for his mom, but Scrooge freaked out. If Dewey did that, he could meet the same fate as his mom. In this universe, Dewey listened. 

But in another universe, he went behind Scrooge’s back. Stole his money and the blueprints, built a rocket and went looking for his mom. The rocket was hastily built and began to implode on itself as Dewey left the atmosphere. Dewey attached the air tank and escaped from the rocket. He ended up orbiting the earth until he lost oxygen and died. He briefly met Death and then came back to life. But he still had no oxygen, so he died again. He is stuck in this loop indefinitely.

[nessihow]

Tenseness 2. First Day. [Ebenezer Scrooge x Reader]

The streets of London in December were impossible to walk through in a reasonable amount of time. Arabella knew that, and she knew she should have left home with more time to spare, but one thing led to another, and she ended up spending more time than necessary at her vanity. Now she was five minutes late, but her hair was perfectly styled. When she finally spotted the office of her temporary employer, her sense of urgency was replaced by nervousness. He was going to kill her for being late.

Arabella knocked several times on the door handle. Even though she had opted for a fairly thick skirt that day, she could feel the cold wind seeping through the seams of her clothing. Her tight corset had made it difficult to walk quickly and breathe at the same time, so not only did she feel sweaty, but she was also fatigued.

"SEVEN minutes late on your first day of work," Ebenezer said, opening the door haughtily, his lips pursed in anger. He hated tardiness and wouldn’t allow any of his employees to arrive at such hours. However, despite the warning words with which he threatened Arabella, she did have a certain privilege for being Marley’s daughter.

Scrooge had spent the night reflecting on why he had agreed to let her cover for Cratchit. He couldn’t help but remember all night the sensation of Arabella's body hugging his, and he couldn’t help but want to relive it. He thought about her beautiful hair and her lovely lips, about how her cheeks creased when she smiled and her eyes seemed to squint. These were details he had noticed ever since the girl had become a woman. It was hard to admit, something that stuck in his throat if he tried to swallow it, something that deeply embarrassed him. That night, he tossed and turned under the sheets, unable to sleep.

When he left his house in the morning, he could only lie to himself and try to conclude that letting her work wasn’t about keeping her close, but about respecting her father’s memory.

"I'm sorry, sir, I... My maid forgot to wake me at the proper time, and I had to hurry," a little white lie wouldn’t hurt her boss. The woman wasn’t about to tell him about her grooming habits.

"The work is on the desk," he said, letting her step inside the office. He was angry at her for being late, but he didn’t want her freezing in the cold snow. "I need you to start organizing the loan contracts by year and alphabetically; I need to improve the organization." The young woman stepped into the room, somewhat bewildered by the sheer number of papers piled on a single table. She wouldn’t have imagined that so many folders could be stacked with balance.

"Why do I feel like Cratchit doesn’t do this?" murmured the brunette, reluctant to believe that the redhead earned his pay by sorting files. Still, she sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair and tried to make herself comfortable.

"Because he doesn’t, but that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?" he smiled sarcastically, his grin resembling that of a cat, causing a certain unease in Arabella’s stomach. Well, it wasn’t unease, but she couldn’t describe the warmth she felt in her chest every time he smiled and mocked others. He was rude, ill-mannered, and sharp-tongued, but the rumble of his cruel laughter in his throat sounded so masculine, so manly, that the young woman closed her eyes tightly, trying to focus.

"I don’t want you bothering me all afternoon; this will keep you busy for quite some time. Do not come into my office for any reason. Understood?"

"Of course, Mr. Scrooge," she replied with an innocent smile, watching the man quickly avert his gaze from her and retreat into his den.

...

Ebenezer had used "quite some time" as an understatement. When he placed that stack of papers on the table, he thought Arabella would quit and go home. However, she had lasted several hours longer than he had estimated. For his part, he was terribly behind on his own tasks. He couldn’t stop ruminating on the conflict brewing within him, which had kept him from sleeping well. Everything was working against him, making it hard to do a decent job.

Even he didn’t know what he wanted from Arabella. It was hard to admit that he enjoyed her company. Ebenezer Scrooge didn’t enjoy anyone’s company, quite the opposite. It was a miracle that he wanted to share space and existence with someone of his own volition.

He tried to hide it, and to hide it, he needed to push her away. That’s why he had left the house that day intending to make her life miserable, hoping she would quit helping Cratchit with his work. That way, he could save her full wages and rid himself of the growing longing for that woman.

His anger grew noticeably when Arabella didn’t show up at seven o’clock sharp. Deep down, he felt his disappointment wasn’t caused by her tardiness but by the fear that she might not show up at all.

"Sir, I’ve already..." Arabella entered the office after politely knocking. She wore a satisfied smile and clasped her hands together in anticipation, only hoping that Scrooge would recognize the good work she had done.

"Didn’t I tell you not to bother me?! Are you deaf or simply disobedient?" The silver-haired man was forced out of his thoughts by the woman’s presence. He looked at her and felt ashamed. He had been thinking about her all afternoon, and now he couldn’t even look her in the face. What a calamity.

"Excuse me, Mr. Scrooge. If you’d let me finish, you’d know that I’ve already completed the task you assigned me," the young woman crossed her arms with a frown, indignant at the older man’s behavior. Any other employee would have held back the biting retort she gave him, but she felt bold enough to bite back. After all, even she had realized the game Ebenezer was trying to play.

"Only a few hours have passed; I’ll have to see it with my own eyes," he exclaimed, rising pompously from his chair and striding toward the bookshelf. Prudence growled from her bed as she watched him, and the brown-eyed woman shared a knowing glance with her.

"Tell me, Mr. Scrooge, are you blind or just picky?" Arabella risked whispering those words in a near-clandestine tone. She stood just behind him, at a short distance, as he reviewed the spines of the documents, verifying that everything was indeed in order. Then he turned to speak with arrogance.

"I’m not picky; I’m a perfectionist. I like precision, excellence, and punctuality, unlike some others," Ebenezer was willing to play along, determined to show her that despite everything, he was still in charge.

"Who would’ve guessed... Look how crooked your tie is," she said, referring to his necktie, which was at her eye level and within reach of her hands. Scrooge shuddered noticeably at the feel of her hands on his chest. They were so delicate, a touch so different from his own, so unlike what he was used to. He felt the hair on his neck stand on end, the gray strands bristling. He froze for a few seconds that felt like hours. Had he not lost the ability to react, he would have immediately pushed her away. But for some reason, he waited until she finished adjusting the knot as if it were an obligation.

She stuck out her tongue in concentration, and that was when Scrooge cleared his throat, nervous and yearning for fresh air.

"Enough!" he suddenly pulled away, averting his gaze and fleeing from the younger woman. "I want you to transcribe all the payment letters that have arrived this month so we have a copy of each in case the original gets lost or destroyed," he ordered in a harsh tone.

It seemed the boring task of sorting documents hadn’t been enough to wear down Arabella’s determination, as she responded to orders with defiant smiles. Scrooge glanced at her out of the corner of his eye again, almost thinking aloud.

Does she want to work? Well, good for her. She’ll find out what work really means.