#welp angst boat here we come

[nellycanwrite]

Chapter 60: Missing

Alma had spent the night thinking in a daze.

Her darling son had told her that the vision would most likely be ready in the morning. After all, it was such a big fortune that he had to foretell. It always took him time to conjure up any sort of foresight as significant as this; he needed all the space and time that he needed, he always explained. Despite her impatience, she knew it was inevitable. Plus, she could understand his sentiments.

As the seer of the Encanto, Alma had always relied on Bruno for future dangers—to make sure that there were no imminent threats that would compromise their way of living. She was afraid that she had given such a toll on him when he was a child; to be meek and nervous at the anxieties that ate up on her son at a possible thought of heartless mercenaries that would somehow find them in their refuge despite the magic that had kept them hidden away in this corner of the world. Yet her thoughts would drift to the miracle, then to the future generations that would inherit the gifts. The sacrifices of Bruno’s visions were things that assured a prosperous future for their descendants. She had to make sure that everything was safe. Perfect. 

For the family.

Alma hadn’t noticed that she fell asleep while sitting, her head laid uncomfortably on her arms whilst she slept facing the candle on the windowsill. It was barely the start of dawn, the fog of early morning still obscuring the rays of sunshine that peaked above the mountain refuge. Casita has waved the window frames in greeting—a habit that the sentient house had developed whenever the matriarch awoke from her slumber. She felt her bones creak and protest as she slowly stood, the shawl that wrapped around her shoulders slipping ever so slightly at the slightest jostle. She hastily wrapped it around her again and shook her head; how careless could she be to have fallen asleep in the midst of her lonely thoughts?

She was getting old.

“Ay, Pedro,”  she whispers, ever so gently picking the locket that contained her husband’s portrait and kissing the faded frames. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Give me strength for the family. For the Encanto.”

There was something off with the ambience of this particular morning—maybe it was because of Mirabel’s failed gift ceremony, maybe it was because of her worries for the candle’s flames—but she couldn’t quite tell. There was a tension that hung in the air that weighed on her chest and made it hard for her to breathe. She knew in herself that she was getting impatient, especially with the time Bruno had to take to procure such an important vision, but this far from the anxieties that ate up at her as she stayed up all night to think. 

She was getting more and more worried. 

Whilst she trudged her way across her room to prepare for the morning’s activities, a hasty knock rapped on the wood. She jumped at its urgency, raising a brow in question as she breathed out and wrapped her shawl closer to herself. Who on earth would be knocking so early? It wasn’t even six in the morning yet. 

“Settle down,” she ordered as she twisted the cold metal of her doorknob. Alma blinked in confusion at her eldest daughter, Julieta, already clothed with her everyday wear and her apron, her fingers fiddling with the herbs taken from her pocket. She stood taut and frazzled, her eyes blinking in rapid succession as she looked at Alma, then to the direction of the nursery, then settling back to her mother’s eyes. The matriarch frowned in worry; Julieta was never the one to panic. That was Pepa and Bruno’s job. “Ay, Julieta,  calm down. Why are you in such a rush,  mi vida?”

“I—” she started, but her words got stuck in her throat as she tried to speak. There was a raw fear that made itself known in her eyes, a look that Alma found oddly familiar. “I—I woke up early to ask Bruno about Mirabel and…and—” 

“Breathe,” Alma put a hand on Julieta’s shoulder, her heart racing at her eldest daughter’s panic. “Go right to the point.”

“It’s Bruno’s door!” She finally exclaimed, eyes wide and wavering. Alma had to blink and process the information; what was wrong with Bruno’s door?

“What is it about Bruno’s door?”

“It’s—it’s dim!”

“Dim?” Alma’s voice was quiet, like the squeak of a mouse. 

“The magic! There’s no magic on the door!”

Without a second thought, Alma had tightened the shawl around her shoulders and practically raced out of the door, Julieta right in her heels. There was no reason for Bruno’s room to be dim. There was no reason for her own son’s magic to be dwindled into nothing but cold wood! Her thoughts raced with her frantic steps; was Bruno alright? Did he procure the vision?  What was happening to the magic?  

She gasped and stumbled, her feet glued to the ground whilst she held the wall to support her own weight. Up the stairs leading to Bruno’s room, where the foreboding image of her son stared down at her with a frown from above, was dim.

“H-how could this be?” She asked. Julieta did not answer. Alma stomped her way towards the door with urgency. When she opened Bruno’s room, she could see the cracks that lined the rock, as well as the sand that overflowed in a tide from the hourglass archway. The matriarch gripped her shawl in worry—heart sinking, stomach falling, her world slowly turning gray and sporadic. Unpleasant thoughts swirled in her mind at every harrowing scenario, making Alma hastily approach the falling curtain of sand that divided them and Bruno’s tower. “Bruno?! Bruno!”

“Watch out!” Julieta had to hold back Alma from running headfirst into the sand. There were no more stairs that led down the steps; just a steep drop to a pile of sand that fell precariously from the ceiling. As Alma peered down the drop, she was sure she would’ve gotten a few broken bones if Julieta hadn’t stopped her. And considering her old age, she was sure no amount of magical healing would snap her back in shape. Julieta’s voice shook as she tried to hold back her worries; she was the eldest sister, after all. There was no time for pointless panic. “H-he’s not here, mamá. I tried for an hour. There’s no one here.”

“This cannot be!” Alma exclaimed. Despite her fruitless struggles, Julieta had a firm grip on her. What if something happened to her precious son? What if he was all alone up his tower without aid? What if he was alone and scared without his mother to protect him? How could she live with the guilt of not trying hard enough to look for her when he could be in danger? She had lost too much, she was never going to lose another loved one again!

Alma needs to know if Bruno was okay. 

“I need to know if  mi Brunito  is alright! His door couldn’t just go dim without reason!”

“Mamá! You can’t go down there; it’s too dangerous of a drop!”

“I don’t care!” 

“W-what’s going on?” Pepa’s voice rang through the desolate room. She was still dressed in her nightgown with her hair loose and unkempt. Although the traces of sleep still lingered on her face, she was on full alert; brows furrowed in utmost worry, shoulders raised at the sight of the dim door, breath hitching at the sight of her usually stoic mother in the verge of hysteria—held together by the thread of forced sanity that was Julieta. From Pepa’s head sprouted a cloud. A gray cloud. It wasn’t a good sign. “Why is Bruno’s door…”

“We don’t know,” Julieta answered, her tone strained. Forced. “And we can’t find Bruno anywhere.”

“Let go of me, Julieta!” Alma wailed, struggling against Julieta’s hold. Pepa stepped back in surprise, the cloud above her head getting bigger by the second. There was a cold draft in the room that passed them by and gave them shivers, the signs of a fruitful dawn now reduced to a gloomy drizzle. Alma paid no mind to the subtle change of temperature—something she would have nitpicked on Pepa’s control over her powers—and continued to try and pry away the hands that held her in place. “Your brother might be in danger! He still must be up in his vision cave!”

Amidst the ruckus, Alma didn’t realize that Felix and Agustín had joined Pepa near the entrance to peer into the commotion that was her own panic. They watched as the embodiment of grace, poise, and authority herself had succumbed to the turmoil of paranoia; of the assumptions that stemmed from a dimmed wood of her only son’s door. Agustín was the first to act as he went up to help Julieta hold Alma in place. He blocked the older woman from the sand curtain, almost slipping down himself as he did so. Felix went to his wife’s aid and reminded her to calm down; the clouds above the Casita had rapidly spread across the Encanto and covered the sky in a blanket of gray showers. Julieta grabbed Alma’s hands to try to steady her, to ground her from her escalating thoughts. 

“Mamá, I told you, it’s dangerous to go down! And his room is unstable, who knows what would happen if we climb up!”

“That is my son!  I need to find my son!”

“What’s going on?”

Everyone turned quiet. Deathly quiet.

Alma had ceased her reckless attempts to leap into the sand and slowly turned, eyes widened in absolute terror. How can she explain all this to you? You, who had stared into the cold, dull wood with great confusion, who had stood with shaking knees as you shivered from the cold that came from Pepa’s cloud, who gawked at the sight of your mother-in-law—eyes pleading, breath hitching, stomach churning—as your lips quivered when you asked again;

“What’s happening?”

“I—” Alma started, but her throat tied itself in a knot. She had to look away as you stepped closer. 

“Answer me. Please,” Your voice was low. It brought chills up everyone’s spines. Your grip on Bruno’s wedding ring tightened, the metal burning in your hand. “Why are you all in our room? And why isn’t the door glowing?”

“Have you seen Bruno?” Julieta was the first to speak up. She had to wince when the sound of her voice had cut through the room—the tension was so thick that any type of noise would cut through like a knife in the air. You shook your head. 

“He wasn’t there when I woke up. I was about to look for him, but then…” You paused to divert your attention at Alma, her back still turned to you. Yet, for some reason, you didn’t think you were looking at your mother-in-law. Her back was hunched, chin held down, and her arms were wrapped around herself as if to find comfort. This wasn’t the woman you knew; this was someone else entirely.

“Mamá, please. Answer me. What’s happening?”

Alma took a deep breath—the only indication that she had heard you—but she made no such signs to answer. So you tried again, this time, more desperately.

“Mamá…”

She still didn’t answer.

“Hermana,  I don’t think—”

“Answer me!”  Everyone winced and stepped back in shock, yet Alma remained undisturbed. You had to hold back the choked sobs that started to wrack your body as you took a step forward. You held the ring closely to your chest whilst you controlled your breathing. 

Felix stepped forward to put a hand on your shoulder. “Calm down—”

“No,”  you slapped his hand away. “I woke up alone in the nursery—Bruno never leaves the bed without me! He left his ring behind so I had to go find him to give it back, and now I find out you’re in our room while his door is dimmed out and all of you are here screaming your asses off! So don’t tell me to calm down!”

“Hermana!”  Julieta tightened her grip on Alma’s shoulders. Whether or not it was an act of self-comfort or a reassurance for the older woman, Alma didn’t know. You were always so quiet when you talked with her. So meek and obedient. Yet in the face of your husband’s disappearance, all of that was thrown out of the window. The room turned colder, the clatter of Pepa’s teeth as she shivered at the eye of her own drizzle already seeping into her clothes. Yet she nor Felix did no such actions to move. Their eyes, along with Julieta’s and Agustín’s, were fixed on your shivering gait that dared anyone to challenge you and your outburst to the head of the household.

Alma drew in a deep breath. How could she lose her composure when there were signs of imminent danger? Mirabel’s failed gift ceremony, Bruno’s sudden disappearance, his dimmed door—why had she spiraled into a panic first? Was she not the leader of the refuge? Was she not the matriarch that foresees every affair in the Encanto?

For a moment, Alma had descended into a mad dive into her grief. Yet she needed to be strong; for the people, for her familia …

For the Encanto.

She breathed in again, this time steadier. She shook Julieta's hands off her, regarded Agustín with a firm stare, and turned to you with her chin up and her back straight—just like the many lessons that she would have drilled into you at every second of every day. 

“I apologize for the unsightly display,” Alma said while gripping her shawl tighter around her chest. She locked eyes with you and frowned. “Control your temper. We’ll get to the bottom of this. There’s no use panicking. Bruno must be around here somewhere.”

Her control over her emotions was something to be praised, you thought. No one would have recovered from almost keeling over in grief and suddenly becoming poised. It was as if her outbursts were non-existent in the first place. 

It amazed you. But it terrified you at the same time. 

You stayed silent, your head now bowed and fists clenched until your knuckles turned white. The metal of Bruno’s ring sunk to your hand painfully, but you were numb at physical afflictions at this point. Although you knew Alma made sense, you still couldn’t hold down that disgusting feeling in the pits of your stomach. It was waiting to be released. To be freed from its chains and out for the world to see in full display. You never wanted to lash out to your godmother, never wanted her to be disappointed. To be mad. 

But you were awfully close to screaming at her face in frustration. 

“I have to go find him.” You marched past Alma and went face to face with the curtain of sand. There were no more steps to aid you in your descent, so you slid Bruno’s wedding band on your finger—just on top of your own—and got ready to jump. However, two pairs of arms held you back and nearly hoisted you into safety. 

“It’s too dangerous to go down, you know that,” Agustín told you. He leaned forward and whispered silently into your ear. “Calm down.”

“Let go of me!” You struggled against their grip, but they had a firm hold on you. Felix and Agustín dragged you back to safety; away from the dangerous drop below. You felt the wind pick up in speed and the air growing colder by the minute. 

“Enough of this,” Alma said as you struggled. “Do not let your impulses get to your head.”

‘Like you’re no better.’  You desperately wanted to snap. But you held your tongue.

“Mamá, please! I need to find him, make sure he’s okay! He’d never leave his ring behind!”

“We’ll wait it out until the evening. He might just be somewhere in the house.”

“There’s no time for waiting!”

“Easy there—” You didn’t let Felix finish when you grabbed his arm and intertwined his legs with yours. With one swift motion, you managed to sweep his feet off to disturb his balance and managed to throw him entirely off of you to the side. You heard everyone in the room gasp as you continued to do your work with Agustín; grabbing hold of his sleeves and using his own height to his disadvantage as you ducked down low and flipped him with you. He managed to hold on tighter than you expected, so you elbowed him on the gut and threw him off of you with more force than you had expected. He landed on his back with a painful  thud.  

“I’m sorry, Felix, Agustín,” you muttered. Julieta ran past you to nurse them to health. Pepa did the same and tried to help her husband up whilst muttering calming mantras to herself, yet this served to be futile when the cloud above her head grew and started to thunder.

“Y/N!”  Alma bellowed, her voice commanding. You flinched when you heard it, but you continued your way past her in strides. “You have to think rationally! Control your emotions! We do not know what has happened to Bruno’s room nor do we know the extent of how dangerous it is inside. You must think before you act—do not let your emotions get the better of you!  This is not what I have taught you. ”

You stopped in your tracks just as you were ready to jump off. You stood still and unmoving, your toes barely passing the edge of the hourglass archway. Your heart pounded against your chest as you thought of your darling husband. He was just with you the night before. He shared with his deepest fear, the vision of Casita’s ruin, even made love to you to ease both of your fears. It was odd for you, that time. But now, as you thought of the way you had woken up that morning—cold, frightened, and alone with nothing but his ring on your hand—you had feared for the worst.

It felt like an unspoken goodbye.

That scared you beyond words imaginable. 

You gathered that it might’ve looked strange to them; to see you so frantic despite your usually calm demeanors. They didn’t know your fears, didn’t know the burden of knowing something that would cause a rift in the family, they didn’t know your deep-rooted fear of the possibility that your husband might have… might have—

“Mamá,” you started. There was a tremble in your voice as you spoke. You grazed the metal of Bruno’s ring on your finger; it was warm to the touch, but it felt incredibly empty. “I know you taught me how to think things through. You taught me control over my whims, you taught me how to be a proper lady; someone who would take over the reins of leadership when you’re not around. I know you’re holding yourself back from going down this pit and running up there yourself. I always admired you for that, I really do.”

You heard her approach, the weak shuffle of her feet a clear indication of her stress. “Then come. Let us wait for Bruno to come back. There’s no reason for you to endanger yourself any further.”

Just as you felt the soft touch of her hand on your shoulder, you brushed it off and turned to lock your eyes with hers. You felt rogue tears escape your eyes when you shook your head. You always followed Alma’s every order, always abided to her rules. But now—

“I’m sorry, Mamá. But I’m not like you. I’m not as strong as you.”

This will be your first time disobeying your godmother. 

Then you jumped. 

The sand that dropped from above you pelted your skin unpleasantly, the fine grains blinding you the moment you tried to make sense of the harsh tumble you experienced from the fall. Luckily, there was already a big enough pile to cushion you from your fall. But it didn’t prevent the way it grazed your knees until you felt that familiar tingle of crimson from your wound. You heard the cries of the people above you as you ran forward without a thought past the signs of Bruno’s statues and into the winding steps of his rundown tower. You felt tremors shake the earth as you went up and up and up the stone, all crumbling at your feet as you passed them in a hurry.

Bruno had to be okay. He  should  be okay. 

Up you go through the cracks and the crumbling stone.

Bruno had to be okay.

Your foot slipped. You felt the sting from another wound of your ankle as the jagged ledge cut flesh. 

Bruno wouldn’t leave you.

Echoes of a fallen sandal resonated in the tower. You felt the cuts and scrapes on the soles of your left foot. 

Bruno would never leave you.

The grazes on your elbows stung as you clumsily tripped over your own feet. But you got back up and ran again. The pain from your wounds was nothing compared to the one in your heart. It suffocated you as you huffed and puffed. You never did stop running. It felt like you swallowed the bright embers of fresh charcoal.

Your breath was short—labored, frantic—almost manic, in a sense. He had to be up there. He had to. Bruno would never leave you. Bruno wouldn’t leave his children. Bruno loves his family, and he won’t do anything to abandon you. He should be there. He’d be sitting in his silly red chair while reading the ridiculous novelas your father lent him. He’d be mumbling to himself and scratch his chin at a phrase he couldn’t quite get. He’s perk up when you’d open the door, stretch his arms wide for you to take, and you’d crash into his arms and dance the night away. Just a few more steps up. He’ll be there like usual. He’d be there.

Bruno would never—

Your whole world stopped as you reached the peak.

It was silent in this space of solitude; where the cold wind bit into your bruises and froze your fingertips into shards of piercing ice. You dropped to your knees like a sinner in the feet of their prosecution, eyes blankly staring ahead at the missing bridge of your salvation. There lacked the wobbly rope that connected you to your only hope of ever finding your husband, left only with the wooden posts that once held up a path to the vision cave.

And there you felt the sting of tears that slid down your face in uncontrollable amounts. It gushed without regard to your desperate attempts to control your emotions. Yet you found the action futile. There, laid before the witness of a crumbling tower, was a woman of despair. You clawed your throat at the invisible chokehold that rendered you painfully breathless, fisted your hair in attempts to wake yourself from this horrible nightmare, and pounded on your chest and begged to the Lord in the Father’s Prayer for mercy.

Bruno left you.

He left you. 

You curled into a ball with silent cries while kissing his ring in a desperate attempt to call him back.

But you knew it was a fool’s errand.

And you cursed yourself for being a fool and ignoring the signs. 

[wyn-n-tonic]

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part IX

Word Count: 3,087 Warnings: PTSD. Children. Fluff. Angst. Emotions. Dialogue heavy bullshit. Author's Note: Welp... this is it, y'all. I posted the first chapter of this on March 4, 2021, and it's coming to a close today on April 5, 2021, and I'm... a goddamn mess. I'm not ready to let these characters go, both the TF boys and my own character in Leah. I really appreciate all your kindness and encouragement throughout writing this, my whole heart belongs to you. Thank you, I hope you love this as much as I love you.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

Her room is painted like a sunrise. He remembers the first time he went up there, like it was the first breath he ever took. All rising pinks and melting blues.

He wanted her to feel that freedom from the beginning.

Leah’s hands climb his back, a kiss pressed to the hot skin between his shoulder blades as he dips to pluck his peaceful little girl out of slumber.

“Baby, let her sleep.”

But he’s shaking his head, careful with hers in his hand, “she can sleep later, I need her with me now.”

“Hmm,” she hums, turning him to guide him back to their bedroom, “keep that enthusiasm.”  

Their shuffle is quiet, Luna’s big eyes slipping back to sleep nestled into her fathers shoulder.

He’s been home for over half a year and as he crawls back into bed, baby and wife clinging to him, part of him still can’t believe it. That after everything he told her, she let him stay. That, like tonight, she’s soothed the new nightmares like the old. That he celebrated Christmas with them, Luna’s first.

That he watched her lift herself up and take her first steps. That after all he had done, those first steps were towards him.

That he helped blow out the candles that he helped light, on the cake he helped make for the little girl who has her daddy’s eyes. His dimple. His smile.

One hand splayed across each of their backs, he’s talking to Leah but directing it at Luna when her bright brown eyes open again to find his.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers, Leah’s soft hand falling on his under her small back, “I’m sorry that mama and papa woke you up.”

She reaches a tiny hand up to his face and he melts into the small touch of her, his heart swelling at the unbelievable luck he has in chances granted again and again when a little, “papa,” tumbles forward in the softly lit room.

He feels Leah jump and his eyes snap to hers before they both fall back to Luna, just over one year.

“She just sa—“

“Say it again, baby,” Leah coos, tears spilling over Frankie’s eyes.

She doesn’t understand but as she grabs for him, the small voice repeats, “papa,” and he didn’t know his heart could feel so full despite all the compounding moments of fullness she’s brought to him. That they both have.

He bites his lip while looking into Leah’s glassy eyes and knows that her heart is just as swollen in this moment and all the others.

“The next one’s first word will be mama,” his hand finds the small swell of her lower belly, “I promise.” —————

She presses a coffee cup into his hand before taking a seat across from him on the living room floor, baby toys and blankets strewn across the space between them.

“What happened?”  

He takes a deep breath, finding the words he spoke out loud to his team in Lorea’s mansion, “A serious fuck up.”

“I figured that much, Francisco, but what happened?”

So he tells her and she lets him.

He tells her about the seventeen grand of Santi’s own money. How he promised himself no live fire and let himself and his desperation to give her and Luna and himself the best lead him into shattering his soul again. Ripping it up as life drained from the eyes of his fellow human beings and how he didn’t even have the protection of a flag on his shoulder to ease a semblance of that pain. How even if they were bad guys, they weren’t his bad guys to worry about.

He tells her about the helicopter crash, the result of his own greed for the money and for a lack of conflict led to more loss and conflict. How he doesn’t know if he’s the one who fired first on that village but he knows he fired, an automatic weapon slung across his shoulders as easily as the diaper bag he carries through the grocery store for her.

He tells her about the crumbling mountainside, how all he saw at the bottom looking down was himself never coming home to his girls. How that’s when something within him finally snapped, when he and Will silently decided to take the reigns from Tom and Santi’s hands.

He tells her about the fire, burning hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep warm in the freezing air that wrapped around the Andes. About the gunfire that followed them through the rocks in the morning sun.

About standing over Tom’s dead body, the relief and guilt crashing inside him like a warm front meeting a cold one. How he thinks he’ll feel those both every day that he wakes because, unlike the survivor’s guilt easing through you on active duty at the knowledge that this just happens sometimes, this time was different.

He tells her that, after all of that, he threw millions of dollars down a snowy ravine in the middle of Peru where no one would ever see it again, not even his girls who needed it so much because he realized it wouldn’t be fucking worth it for them to have it if it meant not coming home.

He tells her how he almost shot that kid in the jungle. How he would’ve shot every kid standing between him and the boat to get home to his own.

He tells her that he thinks, at the end of it all, Santiago and his plan ended up doing more damage to that country than not.

She listens intently, focused wholly on him. Her face never breaks but he can see the cogs turning behind her eyes, trying to take it all in. Trying to understand.

“I understand if you want me to leave, if you never want to see me again,” he reaches out for her hand, a shiver of shock running through his spine when she doesn’t pull away from him.

Blinking as the words catch up with her, her head shakes, “I just got you back, Francisco, you promised me you wouldn’t leave again so why the fuck do you think I want you to go now?”

“Because what I did is unforgiv—“

“It’s not, there are terrible men in this world who do worse everyday,” he sees the slight sheen of tears coat her lashes, “and you helped stop one of them.”

“There will be others to take his place,” he says around a sip of his drink, his coffee gone cold in the spaces between all his words.

Her hand gives a squeeze to the one it holds, “there will always be others to take his place.”

His breathing evens out, anchored in his chest by a warmth he doesn’t deserve, “there's something else you need to know.”

He tells her about the five million dollars they were able to make it to the boat with, “we signed it all over to Molly and the girls. Will and Benny and I, we decided to do so while Santi was sleeping. We figured, ya know, at least we were coming home. It wasn’t really money we were losing since it was never ours to begin with, Tom’s family lost everything and they didn’t even know it.”

The tears do come now, streams running down his face, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how close you came to losing everything and not even knowing it too.”

His stunted words around the hiccups in his throat draw Luna’s attention, her babbles reaching out to him the way she tried to soothe Leah’s over the weeks prior. Their attention is on her now, eyes wide as she lifts herself with the couch for leverage.

She toddles one step towards his still shaking body before tumbling forward, his hands dropping the now empty coffee cup and Leah’s hand to catch her.

He pulls her small body close, hiding his face in the crook of her neck to inhale the scent of baby lotion. As she giggles in his ear, he looks up to Leah’s soft face, “the boys and I still took three hundred thousand.” —————

“You're fucking insane,” Deana doesn’t quite whisper into Leah’s ear, “a whole ass baby with another one barely even a year old, have you heard of a condom?”

“How many mimosas did you have already, D?”

Kristyn struggles with her key in the door, a large bag in hand, “judging by the slight slur, I’m going with about three so far.”

“Fuck off, K,” she points, turning back to Leah, “I'm just saying that if that big goofy idiot husband of yours goes on another of his boy’s trips, I will kill him this time.”

Her fingers are still quoting around the air as the threat falls around them, Frankie’s attention at the other end of the room grabbed away from the pureed carrots of Luna’s lunch.

“Well,” Kristyn interjects, holding the bag forward, “that’s why I come bearing the gift of one Benjamin Miller, he couldn’t be here because of a boy’s trip.”

“What do you mean?”

Leah looks back at Frankie, his eyes now turned to the conversation. She sees the pain and confusion there, he didn’t know.

Kristyn follows Leah’s gaze before looking back at the older sister in front of her, “he promised me this was his last one and he’s sorry it had to take place during your baby shower but,“ she holds the bag out again, “he says you’ll like this one.”

“It's not a shower,” Leah rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kristyn interjects, “a sprinkle. Whatever.”

“It’s not even that since, ya know,” she looks down at the tiny bundle in her arms, “he's already here.”

“A birthday present then,” she beams, “Benny says he’ll set it up when he gets home.”

Frankie’s laughter finds them now, choking around the baby food he’s trying to convince his stubborn daughter of—she’s not and she’s learned how to voice that disgust with all thanks given to her Uncle Benny.

“Baby, it’s another military surveillance camera.”

Kristyn laughs, “yeah, our whole house is strung up with them at this point but they come in handy to watch the neighbors since I’m nosy.”

“When did they leave?” His voice is small, a slight worry behind it.

Kristyn lets out a breath, “about four hours ago, he made me promise not to tell you until he was gone.”

He just nods his head, a silent clock beginning to tick in his brain. —————

It’s been two weeks since he heard from Ben or Will.

The boys have been here day in and day out since they came home last year, always were before that and even more so now that all they truly had was each other and the families they were making with and around each other.

Benny ran through Kristyn’s apartment complex screaming her name so loud as he started to bang on her door that he was met with a baseball bat. Now that idiot was going to be his brother because the sight she was met with was one of Benjamin Miller on his knees with a ring in his hands.

They gave them space with the baby’s arrival, small and short visits until Leah felt ready to have them all over again. He spoke to them that morning as he shaved the night’s stubble away, they talked like they were coming by and how they couldn’t get enough of their new nephew. How they were getting him the best present.

Frankie runs his forefinger and thumb along his mustache now, the compromise of facial hair he settled on. He didn’t want his full and sparse beard but he also felt lighter at the way Leah laughed into him with every brush of his lips.

He’s pacing the living room, bouncing the baby as Leah and Luna nap upstairs. There's only silence and the soft gurgling of a newborn when the quiet knock comes.

Already close to the entryway, he closes the distance and whispers a silent prayer to himself. A prayer that this isn’t bad news. That this is Will or Benny, not using their keys out of courtesy to the newness of little life inside his home.

He opens the door and is met with the tired eyes of Santiago Garcia.

“Hey, Frank,” he says. All bravado of his being seeped from him and replaced with, what sounds like, apology.

He adjusts his son in his hold, ushering the shorter man in so the warmth of the house doesn’t keep seeping out, “I thought you were in Australia.”

“Yeah, well,” he turns to face Frankie again as the door closes, “I make some really shit decisions sometimes.”

Frankie scoffs, half a laugh hidden in the sound. He’s not wrong but he’s not exactly right either.

“Can I get you something to drink?” He’s walked through to the kitchen, the shorter man falling in pace beside him, “we’re a dry household right now with the baby and my therapy bu—“

“Nah, Fis-Frank,” he stutters, “just came to talk to you. And Leah. She around?”

“She’s resting but I can pass along a message if I like it.”

Santi reaches into the leather folder he always carries around and produces a booklet, the one from the lawyer in St. John’s.

But different, a different cover and date, a different name stamped across the front.

“The boys sent me to give you this alone, said we needed to talk about a few more things than just this. Said I needed to apologize to you and to your wife, that I owed you that for so much but especially roping you into that shit last year.”

“Water under the bridge,” Frankie replies softly, changing direction to move through to the living room, “I gave up on an apology a long time ago and Leah never expected one, but nobody’s mad at you.”

Frankie carries the bassinet into sight from the kitchen before walking back, “what is this, Pope?”

“It’s your cut, we went back.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re stupid and greedy and we fucked ourselves up getting it in the first place so we figured we’d go back and we figured we fucking owed you.”

Frankie squints at the shorter man, searching his eyes for the hint of a joke he’s not laughing at. There is none. His cold brown stare is dead serious.

“This is my apology to you, Fran—“

“Frankie,” Leah’s voice filters into the room, he can hear her sleepy shuffle as she pads across the carpet now, “did you feed Santiago while I was asleep or should I?”

“I fed him, baby,” he calls over his shoulder.

He looks back at the man who helped shape his life, tears welling in his eyes, and hears Leah talking about ordering Chinese for dinner as she crosses the threshold but he doesn’t hear her. He can’t hear anything over the squeeze around his midsection, Santi’s quiet strength taking all of his air and senses.

He lets go as quickly as he grabbed him, Leah’s presence heavy in the room now and he crosses the room to gather her in his arms, a kiss pressed to each cheek and then her hair. He’s careful not to hug as hard as he had Frankie, conscious of her still healing body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between them, “for everything I’ve done and everything I wasn’t around for.”

She’s trying to catch her breath, trying not to cry herself, “it's oka—“

“I should’ve been here for you guys.”

Her small hand comes up to pat the curls, a little more gray than a year ago, “you are now.”

He pulls away from her, a hitch in his voice as he says, “can I hold him?”

“Yeah,” she nods, “but you gotta wash your face and hands, no tears or snot on my baby.”

He mumbles to himself about how that makes sense as he moves to the sink, fumbling over the soap in the holder as he shakes with nerves.

She makes her way across the kitchen, wrapping her still sleepy being around that of her wide awake husband. The low lying winter sun is filtering through the windows, bathing everything in soft, warm light.

She sees the golden cover of the booklet on the counter and taps it, “what's this?”

Daylight Family Trust is stamped across in big bold words.

“That was the boy’s trip,” he whispers, “that’s our cut.”

He watches her as she slowly reaches for the document, the one that explains how this all works and looks between the men.

“How much?”

Santi rips a paper towel from the roll, “about thirty-five million.”

Frankie holds her as her knees start to give out but she’s still looking at Santi, she’s still looking for the joke he never made.

“Daylight's your call sign, you know,” he says cooly, “all the wives get one too, did he ever tell you?”

She shakes her head, looking at her husband now and thinking of all the times that very word fell from his lips.

“On our last real deployment,” Pope continues, “he was flying as the sun was setting and the sky was pure gold over the desert—“

Frankie’s eyes never leave hers, arms tight around her now.

“—he said it reminded him of the way the gold flakes in your eyes reflect the sunlight back at him, he called you Daylight until he got home and shed the callsigns altogether.”

“Frankie?”

He presses his lips into her forehead, his hand a heavy weight on her lower back that says, I’m right here.

“Your daughter has the same golden flakes in her eyes, like you, Daylight.”

Frankie runs his thumb along the swell of her cheek, "all I wanted to do last year was get home to you both, all I wanted was to make it right and see that reflection of light back at me through you both again.”

He leans down to softly press his lips to hers before nuzzling his nose into her hair, “our son has them too, the same gold in his eyes, it was the first thing I said to Ben when I walked out of the delivery room.”

"It was the first thing they said to me," Santiago says, "when they got off the plane." 

“Like me?” Her voice is soft, the heaviness of sleep still clinging to her limbs.

“Mmhmm,” Frankie hums, “like Daylight.”

TAG LIST: @justanotherblonde23​ | @notcookiebelle​ | @greeneyedblondie44​ | @icanbeyourjedi​ | @princess76179​ | @knivesareout​ | @phoenixpascal​ | @lexi-b-writes​ | @empress-palpat1ne​ | @mouthymandalorianalso​ | @starlightmornings​ | @soyelfuegoquearde​ | @darnitdraco​​ | @green-socks​​ | @the-feckless-wonder​​ | @hnt-escape​​ | @sarahjkl82-blog​​ | @klaine-92​

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Amalia

For @artsymeeshee​. Thank you for everything you do for us, for providing plenty of fluff, over-protective Ford content, and angst with a happy fluffy ending. Love you!

~~~~~~~~~~

The snow reflected the tiny amount of sunlight the capital of Iceland received. Spring was coming, though still a ways off, but the large island still welcomed the sun that was starting to rise earlier every day and stay longer as February was coming to a close.

She opened her eyes as the sunlight reflected on the Sea and sparkled like magical dust. She stood proudly on her beam, her favorite Nest, and stretched her back and paws, letting her claws escape her tiny little beans, and then hide again, a secret weapon for any enemies, though she had few. Really, apart from some rude Cubs shooting tiny metal balls at her, the world was fairly kind to her. Big Animals in thick coats gave her Pets and occasionally Food, coming in big Machines and soon left. Some of the Machines made dark clouds, some looked like they were controlled by fluffy white clouds. She liked them all, and was Happy to make sure no Bad Machines or Bad Animals in thick coats came on her Land.

Sometimes, when things were quiet by the sea, she would go Exploring. Cubs would play with her, maybe a Bad Animal or two would try to hit her with a collection of straw at the end of a stick, but she was fast and agile and was never hurt too much. Nothing she couldn’t handle. Today she thought she might go Explore her Land, but something caught her attention. An Animal was standing on a Machine.

The fur on the top of it’s head was fluffy. She wanted to play with it. It had glass in front of it’s eyes, for whatever reason, and had a coat like her’s: thick and blue, but a darker shade, not light like snow, like her’s. She blinked at the Animal and watched it. It took in a deep breath, smiling, and a Hole opened on the side of the Machine and a Path appeared, sliding down onto her Land. “Come on, Stanley, we have a lot to do today!”

“What’s your rush, Sixer?” Another voice could be heard as the Animal left it’s Machine and a second Animal appeared. This one had something red on it’s head, though it didn’t appear injured, and it also had glass in front of it’s eyes. She didn’t want to be seen right now, so she hopped down from her favorite sleeping spot and hid behind some boxes. “We’ve got all day, and if you really wanna sight-see we can stay here tomorrow, too.”

“Yes, I suppose so, but then we’ll have to wait another day for Mabel’s package for us in Ullapool, Scotland.”

“Good point. But we can always visit this place again on our way back to Oregon.”

“Fair enough. Well, how about a quick walk and then we’ll restock on supplies.”

“S’long as we can stop at that bar tonight.”

“Deal.”

The two Animals smelled similar, but not identical. They were a Pack. A Herd. A Family. She watched them venture further into her Land, but she let them. They were Good. She could tell. She emerged from her hiding spot a little after they passed her and watched them go. She wanted to go with them, but she didn’t want to be caught. She would have to be sneaky.

She carefully walked behind the Animals with glass in front of their eyes and watched them. The Animals were a wonderful Pack. They talked and laughed and played, pushing every so often, playing like she used to with her brothers and sisters, and she smiled at knowing they were having fun and learning how to be good fighters. When the Animals were joining other Animals on busy parts of her Land, she climbed up the stone Dens and walked on the tall place to watch them and be close to them. She was good at being sneaky; they did not know she was there.

Sometimes the Animals would go inside the Dens. When this happened she would sit and wait for them to come out. Sometimes they came out with nothing new, other times they would come out with Gain in their holds. When they walked, she walked with them, either behind them or above them. Too soon the Sun was setting again, and she found the Animals going back to their Machine. She was Sad, but walked behind them at a safe distance and watched them enter their Machine.

Behind the boxes, she laid on her belly, resting her face in her paws, Sad that the Animals were going away. She liked them. But then she heard something that made her lift her head and her ears stop being droopy. She looked up at the Machine and found the Animals coming back! They had no Gains with them; they must have left them in their Machine, and decided to go out Exploring again! She watched from behind the boxes as the Animals walked into a Den not too far from the Sea, and she made a Plan.

She had been Sad when she thought the Animals were going away forever, like all the other Animals did. Very Sad. She never wanted to be that Sad again. She carefully sniffed the Path and decided that it was Safe, so she trotted on it, through the Hole, and was on a Machine.

She was a little bit Scared. She had never been on a Machine before, but she could smell her favorite Animals everywhere and could feel the Sea beneath her. She loved the Animals and the Sea, and she knew she was Safe. She decided it was time to go Exploring! This Land was big, but not too big, so it wasn’t Scary. She walked around and could smell more of her favorite Animals’ scent from inside the Machine, inside the Den. There was a Hole with a small opening, leaking out the smell and light, so she pushed the Hole open a little more and entered the Den.

The den was Warm and Safe and smelled of her favorite Animals whom she loved. There were tiny Suns here and there inside the Den. There was something big and Cozy in the Den, away from the Hole. She hopped onto it and pawed at it and rolled around it. It smelled like the Animals the most and she almost fell asleep, but she wanted to Explore some more. And she was hungry. Maybe the animals had Food in this Den.

She stood and sniffed. Something smelled Good. Smelled of Food. She followed the smell to something tall that held weird rectangles with black scribbles on them. There was a small container Animals used to hold Food. This was wet and black, but she lapped at it anyhow, but it was not Good. Not Bad, but not Good. Oh, well. She would find Food later. She wanted to Explore some more.

She hopped down from the tall place and smelled as she Explored. The Land went down at the farthest part from the Hole. It looked a little Scary, but she could still smell her favorite Animals, so she hopped, hopped, hopped down carefully. She was surprised to find two fluffy Nests inside this deep part of the Den. This must be where the Animals slept. She could tell; it smelled the most like them. She smiled and hopped up onto one and rolled around and played with the fluffy stuff. It was Fun and Cozy and Warm and Safe and Good.

She stopped to stretch and yawn. She was Tired. She decided to sleep here, but where? She needed her own Nest. At the end of one Nest, there was a box. She loved boxes, and this one had a tee tiny Hole that could be made into a bigger Hole. She hopped down and stretched her front paws and head into the Hole, pushing through it. The whole box was filled with Warm fluff that smelled of her favorite Animals. She was excited. Her own Nest was Warm and smelled like her favorite Animals! She slipped in, circled, and tucked herself in to go to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

After some tasty food and warm beer, the brothers returned to their home on the water, tired and ready for bed. It was very cold and bitter out in the night hair, but that only made the warm boat more welcoming and more appreciated. However, Ford was a little annoyed at finding the door cracked open, letting in cold air. “Stanley, I thought I told you to close the door all the way.”

“Sorry, Ma, I was hungry.” Stan said sarcastically and shrugged as they went inside.

Ford sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed and locked the door tightly. “Good thing I’ve almost perfected our security system so we won’t have to worry about being robbed.”

Stan rolled his eyes and yawned into his hand. “Welp, I’m beat. You coming to bed or do I gotta drag you there myself?” He asked, shrugging his trenchcoat off and throwing it on the couch on his way to the stairs downward for the bedroom.

“No, no, I’m coming.” Ford said tiredly and followed his brother down into their bedroom. “I’ll be taking a shower so if you want one you’ll have to wait.”

“Nah, I’ll take one in the morning.” Stan answered, peeling off his beanie and yawing again, ready to collapse into his warm bed and not move again until sunrise.

Ford moved to the far end of the bedroom, where the bathroom was located, and turned on the shower so the water could warm up. Meanwhile Stan groaned, seeing how Ford had done laundry that morning and now his twin had to pull the warm extra blankets and quilts out from the chest at the foot of his bed.

Stan opened it groggily, not expecting to stare down at the context for a full minute until he was capable of speech, but here he was.

“Uh… Sixer?”

“Yes, Stanley.”

“We have an expected guest on board.”

Ford stopped unzipping his blue hoodie and joined his brother at the chest, who’s eyebrow was raised in unapproval. The aged scientist, however, was stuck with a blank facial expression while he tried to digest the fact that there was an animal curled up on top of the stack of blankets and quilts.

It looked like a cat, though it was unfair to call her a cat. Passersby may assume so without a second glance, but this creature appeared too abnormal to be a kitten. She had pointy ears coated in thick fur to keep out cold hair, light-blue fur that could blend into snow, a tiny button black nose between huge, round, baby-blue eyes, a small floof of fur on the top of her head, and a skinny tail with fluff for fur at the end. It appeared so small and helpless in the mess of blankets, looking up at the brothers with shiny eyes filled with wonder. After a moment of silence, Ford grinned and placed his hands on his knees to be closer to the anomaly without frightening it, and he spoke to her with a voice as quiet as a mouse and soft as silk.

“Hello. Where did you come from, my dear?”

“Dunno, don’t care.” Stan moved towards her and said, “I’ll put her back outside.”

Ford’s senses heightened and he gently grabbed his brother’s wrist to stop him. “Hold it, Stanley, there’s no reason to kick her out so quickly. She’s not doing any harm.” Ford returned his smile to the anomaly and cooed softly as he reached for her and let her sniff his six-fingered hand. “Come here, little one, it’s alright.”

The anomaly happily sniffed Ford’s hand and rubbed the side of her head onto his palm, begging for pets, which he happily gave. The eldest twin carefully scooped her up into his harms and scratched her, finding her favorite spot, until she was practically putty in his hold as he scratched her under her chin. 

Stan stared in disbelief and snorted. “Are you kidding me? You spent most of your life around dangerous monsters and you’re gonna let one on our boat?”

“She’s not a monster.” He scolded lightly and smiled again as she purred against his chest. He held her out to him to see better and added cheerfully, “Look how cute she is, Stan!”

“Yeah, until it decides to eat our face!” Stan argued, a hand up in defense.

“She won’t hurt us.” Ford said firmly and held her close to his chest again, letting her lay on her back so her four little limbs were up and trying to catch his wiggling fingers. “I bet she was cold and hungry and was trying to find shelter. Isn’t that wight, wittle one?” He cooed in a low voice. “Who’s a hun-gy wittle anomaly? Are you, are you?”

“Don’t feed it!” Stan yelled after his brother as he went upstairs. “Then it’ll want to stay!”

“Great idea, we’ll feed her so she’ll want to stay!”

“That is NOT what I said!”

Ford rolled his eyes and laughed down at the anomaly when she caught his fingers and licked him with a rough tongue. She wasn’t even trying to hurt him. She was playing and happy to give his hand a little bath. “Don’t worry, my dear. Stanley is right about one thing: I’ve met many aliens and monsters and anomalies in my day, but I can tell when one has nefarious purposes and when one does not, and you don’t. You’re a good little girl; I can tell.”

One handed so he could still cradle her, Ford opened the freshly filled cabinets to hunt for something the strange animal would eat. “Hm, let’s take a look at your teeth.” He gently pulled down her mouth and as surprised how little she fidgeted and fought him. “Interesting. Only half of your teeth are carnivorous. You must be able to adapt to plants or berries if needed. Very well, let’s see… oh, here. You’re lucky Stan talked me into picking up tuna.”

At the time it seemed ridiculous to buy canned tuna when they could fish for dinner whenever they wanted, but Stan said they should still get it because canned goods never expired and fishing wasn’t always successful, so Ford opened the can and placed it on the table and sat the anomaly down while he tidied up a bit, stacking his notes and books and putting his cold coffee in the sink. From the sounds of it, Stan had hopped in the shower since Ford was apparently too busy playing host to bathe, which was fine by him. He sat in a chair, watching how the anomaly ate.

She was definitely not skin-and-bones, but she ate quickly, plunging her face into the can and eating happily. Ford chuckled and pet down her back. She was fairly clean, if not a little weather-beaten. Clearly she could take care of herself, but why should she when he could? Okay, sure, Stanley was a little apprehensive about taking in a strange anomaly as a pet, and perhaps Ford shouldn’t be so quick to take her in as a pet. She might not be happy cooped up in a boat with two old men. In fact, if she lived on this dock, she might do this often, visiting sailors for food and shelter and then leaving in the morning. 

“Well, if you want to leave, I won’t stop you,” Ford said to her as he watched her eat. “But if you want to stay, you’re more than welcome to.”

The fluffy anomaly sat up and looked at him with kind eyes. Ford smiled at her, and could have sworn she returned with a tiny smile. He slowly reached for his journal, a green book with a golden six-fingered hand and a crescent on the cover, and opened it carefully so as to not scare her. The anomaly sat perfectly still, watching him, as he turned to a clean page and pulled out a pen to begin sketching her. He titled his head to the side to get a better angle of her, and he stared to find her doing the same, mirroring him.

Ford smiled and titled his head the other way, and sure enough the little one followed his lead. Chuckling, he decided to push his luck and he straightened his head and stuck his tongue out at her just a little bit. The anomaly stared at him, and sure enough, a tiny pink tongue poked out at him. Ford snorted, bit his lip, and continued sketching. He noticed her tail was wagging, like a dog’s might when happy, and he added that to his notes. He had no idea what to call this species, so he left the title blank for now, deciding he would come up with a species title once he had more information. 

They must have been at that table for an hour or so, because soon Stan’s rough voice called from the bedroom sharply, “Sixer, if you’re not down here in two minutes…”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Ford called back and grinned as the little anomaly yawned, making the tiny tongue stretch out and curl inwards slightly. The old man carefully pick her up and carried her with him into his shared bedroom. Stan was in his undershirt and boxers, shaking his hair dry with a towel as he sat on his bed, and he growled when he saw the animal still in his twin’s arms.

“Please tell me you’re not taking it to bed.” He snarled.

“No, of course not.”

“Good.”

“She deserved her own space.” Ford said as he pulled a pink blanket out from the chest and placed it neatly, still folded, on the floor between the beds. “She can have her own bed.”

“What!?” Stan yelled as Ford got on his knees and let the anomaly climb down onto the blanket to give it a try. “I’m not letting that thing sleep in here! What if it turns into some blood-sucking monster in it’s sleep and kills us both?!”

“That won’t happen, don’t be so paranoid.”

“Oh ho! That’s a new one!” Stan laughed harshly, but quickly turned sour again. “Can’t believe you're not a bit more guarded with that thing? What makes you think you can trust it?!”

Ford shrugged. “A lot of people lately have proven to me that I can trust others. Besides, there’s good in her. I can tell.”

Stan blinked at his brother. It was like this was a completely different man than who had come out of the portal. Well, okay, Ford knew that before they had even started sailing that Ford wasn’t the same person he was when he punched Stan in the face, but still. Stanford Pines really had changed a lot.

“It’s just for one night, Stanley.” Ford eased as he took off his hoodie and slipped off his boots, preparing for bed. “She’ll leave in the morning and find some new friends to provide food and shelter from the next cold night, I’m sure of it.”

Stan rolled his eyes and laid down with his back to the fluffy pair. “Fine, whatever.”

Ford had to admit that he was a little chest-fallen that his brother was a little cold towards their temporary house-guest, but he can recall their niece telling Ford that Stanley appeared to have a burning hatred for a certain pig, but everyone knew he loved Waddles very much. Perhaps he was trying to prove he was still a tough guy, or perhaps Stanley didn’t want to get attached to the anomaly so he wouldn’t be disheartened when she was gone. Ford knew he could handle her leaving tomorrow if she wanted to, he would be happy to have met her and that she was happy, so with one final scratch between her ears, ruffling her little floof, Ford took off his glasses and turned off the lantern, letting darkness overtake the bedroom.

“Goodnight, Stanley.”

“G’night, Sixer.” The younger twin managed to grunt.

Ford smiled, relieved that at least his brother wasn’t angry at him, and he slept soundly as the warm boat kept the cold late-winter air away.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford was the first one to wake up. Or at least the first one to rise out of their bed. He slipped on his glasses and was happy to find the little anomaly where he had left her last night: curled up like a kitten on her folded blanket. He took the time to scratch her behind her ears before heading towards the shower.

The aged explorer could understand why Mabel was so attached to her pet pig, Waddles. There was immense satisfaction in caring for something or someone and having them care for you in return. While that is the fundamental basics of human relationships, homo sapiens tend to over complicate such relationships with intense emotions and lack of logic. Other species, like most animals on Earth, allowed this principle to be basic and easy, simple. Give love, get love.

Throughout the years, Ford had indeed come across hundreds of thousands of different creatures. True, a vast majority wanted to eat his face, but to be fair he had been in their climate and they were hungry. That was the beautiful circle of life. Some creatures were perfectly friendly and could even offer some companionship, but none of the creatures Ford had met would stay for long and he knew better than to get too attached; he was too busy trying to take care of himself to add a pet to his list of responsibilities. However, if an animal who enjoyed his company wanted to walk with him in the forest or up a mountain, he wouldn’t stop it or go out of his way to scare it off, knowing full well something else would capture it’s attention or Ford would have to hop through a hole in space-time and the animal would run off, less inclined to follow the kind stranger to an alien world.

Still, a small part of Ford had missed the idea of having a pet. He can remember enjoying Shanklin’s company as a child and being very sad when he had died, though not nearly as heartbroken as Stanley had been. When he had discovered the Shapeshifter as a hatchling, there was a reason he had quickly associated it as a pet, despite Fiddleford’s arguments against it. Perhaps if the encounter hadn’t ended so ugly or if he hadn't been so distracted with Bill and the portal, Ford might have taken in a pet to give him company when it was time for Fiddleford to return home. Maybe a low-maintenance cat or something unique and different. Maybe he would take in a plaidypus. He had enjoyed that anomaly’s company.

As the warm water made it easy for the old sailor to think, he seriously considered adopting the new anomaly as his pet. He knew that Stanley would warm up to her eventually, he just needed time to trust that she wouldn’t go savage on them. Really, there was no real issue or obstacle in his way. They were financially stable, so they could afford to take care of her, there were no other pets that might get jealous of her, they would always be around her so she would never be neglected or abandoned on the boat. Really, the only obstacle Ford could see was that the anomaly might not want to stay.

If Ford had learned anything about wildlife is that animals pick the humans just as much as humans pick the animals. There must be a mutual agreement to love and care for each other in their own unique way, but if one if not willing or incapable of returning the affection, then the arrangement wouldn’t work. There was a large possibility that the anomaly was perfectly happy being a peaceful stray and didn’t want to be tied down to one boat and one pair of sailors, which was perfectly fine. Like Ford had said last night, if she wanted to leave, that was okay. But if she wanted to stay Ford would be nothing short of delighted.

As Ford emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist and a towel in his hand, shaking his fluffy charcoal gray hair dry, he found the sweet anomaly on his bed, playing with his blankets, rolling around and pawing at the soft fabric. He smiled and hung up the towel in his hand as he approached the anomaly, who stopped playing to receive pets and lick his six fingers.

“Good morning, my dear. Sleep well?” He whispered, knowing full well she couldn’t respond, but she looked so happy and well rested, even her fur appeared to host some bed-head. Ford glanced over at his twin, who was still fast asleep, limbs sprawled everywhere and snoring peacefully with his mouth wide open. He grinned, having an idea, and he gently picked the anomaly up from his bed and placed her on Stan’s bed, just by his legs.

As Ford got dressed for the day, he watched as the anomaly pawed at the blankets and then walked up to Stan’s face, then sat and watched him for a moment. Ford had to bite his lip to keep from laughing when the anomaly lifted a soft beanie paw and gently smacked Stan’s nose, playing like she had found a ball. By the time Ford was fully dressed the anomaly had climbed up to Stan’s chest and sat close to his face, happy to only watch him sleep.

The sudden weight on his chest stirred him and Stan groggily opened his eyes and was shocked to find two large baby-blue eyes staring closely at him. “ARG!” He yelled and sat up quickly, making the anomaly jump down from the bed and hide under the bed.

Ford laughed good-naturedly while Stan growled in his throat and put on his glasses. “Ford!”

“Good morning, Stanley.”

“What is that thing still doing here, I thought she was only staying just for the night!”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll leave once we leave.” Ford reasoned as the anomaly slowly crept out from under the bed and rubbed herself against Ford’s legs.

Stan grunted, not sure if he should believe his wishy-washy brother, but it was too early to fight this battle, so he yawned and popped his back and made his way upstairs to make coffee.

The anomaly followed Ford everywhere he went. When he went upstairs, so did she. When Ford sat at the table, she hopped onto it. He smiled and got up for a second, seeing how she turned her nose at his coffee, and he poured her a small plate of milk. She happily lapped it up while the twins sipped their coffee and went over their plans for the day, one purposely ignoring her and the other occasionally petting her or scratching her behind the ear.

About an hour later Stan and Ford were ready to leave for some sightseeing while at Iceland’s capital. The anomaly followed them out of the cabin of the boat and hopped on the wall of the Stan O’ War II and watched them walk away. Ford even waved her goodbye, not sure if this would be the last time he would ever see her or not. Again, it was totally fine if she decided to leave. But the fact remained that Ford would be immensely grateful if he found her still on their boat when they returned.

Stan privately decided that it was best to get his brother’s mind off that little menace, so hopefully when they left the dock and set sail tomorrow morning they could leave this whole ordeal behind them. The two brothers had a good time cracking jokes and laughing as they visited historical sights, museums, and other amazing things the capital had to offer about their culture and history. For lunch they sat at the park with warm sandwiches and listened to a street performer sing and beat a drum about a mountain troll wanting to get married.

Having seen everything they had wanted to see, Ford and Stan decided to head to the Stan O’ War early and leave the docks before dinner. Ford was a little disheartened to find the anomaly no longer on the wall of the Stan O’ War, which again, was fine. She was a wild animal and could do whatever she wanted. And no, Ford was not upset over the fact that she wanted to move on.

So why on Earth was he so jubilant, could feel his heart do a cartwheel of joy in his chest, why he grinned so happily, at the sight of her on one of the lounge chairs, bathing in the sunshine and only awoke because she sensed someone’s presence and she smiled up at him and went to rub against his legs again.

Ford picked her up and held her close to his chest, alone with her since Stan had gone inside to start on dinner and probably didn’t even know she was here. The old scientist sat in the lounge chair and petted his new pet softly, making her purr against his hold.

“You’ll need a proper name, my dear.” Ford thought out-loud. To help decide which best suited her, he listed some names out to see if they sounded right for her. “Luna? Ivy? Amber? Periwinkle? Maybe something more sophisticated, like Alessandra? Stella?” Ford tilted his head to the side as they looked at each other. She coped him curiously.

He chuckled and rubbed her head. “You are a strange anomaly. Hm… while Anomaly isn’t a suitable name, maybe something along those lines. Maybe… Molly? No, close, but you don’t quite look like a Molly, my dear. How about…” And then suddenly, he had it. Ford knew what to call her. It was perfect. It was unique, just like her. Ford smiled peacefully at her and settled with, “Amalia. I’ll call you Amalia from now on.”

“Alright, Sixer, we ready to set… oh, great.” Stan stopped when he saw who Ford was with and he glared at the strange anomaly.

“Say hello to Amalia, Stanley.” Ford said happily and held her up to him to see. She poked her little tongue out at him.

Stan glared at his brother. “Amalia? You named it?!”

“Yes. So? Is there a problem?” Ford asked with a raised eyebrow, bringing Amalia back to his lap, a little tired of Stan’s cold attitude.

“Stanford, you’re not supposed to name it.” He growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Once you name it, you start getting attached to it! Now get it off the boat, we’re leaving now.”

Ford looked down at Amalia, who was curled up in his arms, and then back up at his brother firmly. He hated to push him, but this was important to him and he genuinely felt like Stan was being unfair. “No.”

Stan blinked at his twin. “I’m sorry?”

“No,” Ford said calmly. “Stanley, please. I think she wants to stay, and I want her to stay. Yes, she is probably a wild animal and can take care of herself, but she shouldn’t have to. Why should she when she could have a loving family who takes care of her? I know you’re a little apprehensive that she’ll turn on us, but as my brother I’m asking that you trust me and let me keep her. Please.”

Stan stared, no longer visibly angry. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Ford. He did, more than anyone, and if someone who used to not trust anyone found this little ankle biter worthy of his hard-earned trust, then Stan had to give that little fur-ball some credit. Not to mention that Stan could remember a time when the tables were turned and someone had agreed to help keep a certain possum a secret. At the memory Stan couldn’t help but smile. 

He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and admitted defeat. “Fine, she can stay. But she’s your pet, which means you feed her and clean up after her, you keep her out of my stuff, and if one day we wake up missing a finger or an eye, I’m blaming you.”

Ford grinned; he could see right through Stan’s tough-guy persona. “Thank you, Stanley. You won’t regret it.” He stood and hurried off the boat. “I’ll go buy some supplies for her before we leave! Thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Stan muttered, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe how happy his brother had looked when given permission to keep that little gremlin. Stan hadn’t seen Sixer that happy since they first began their adventure.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford couldn’t find a pet store within close range, but he did find a convenient store that might have the bare minimum he was looking for. Cans of meat, maybe a soft bed, toys, a brush, etc. Though there was no sign saying “No Pets Allowed,” Ford wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t allowed to bring Amalia inside with him, so he decided to play it safe and hide her in his hoodie.

At first she was tucked in by his chest, her tiny claws clinging to his sweater with no pain to his skin, but Amalia soon climbed up his neck and he had to put his hood up to hide her. She made her way up the right side of Ford’s neck, curling around the back of his head, and resting her front half by his left shoulder, giving Ford a small, furry scarf around the back of his neck, and curling up for another short nap.

And no, Ford was not crying next to the shelves of cat litter.

pt.2

[sardinesandhumbugs]

“Why didn’t you say h-how bad it was?” for Ratty and Rat Sr

A/N: This is what I get for asking for angst I regret nothing XD Welp, one angsty boi coming right up ;) (This does focus on Ratty and Rat Sr, but I threw in a bit of Badger. For good measure.)

Want to request a prompt? Find the list here!

x

The Rats keep busy in the weeks following Toad Senior's death.

It isn't easy; winter was already on its way before the accident and the boating season has long since passed for the year, but they try all the same. Their doorstep is flooded with animals dropping by with condolences disguised as coincidental convenience and, although Ratty is sure his father would prefer to grieve in peace, the door remains unlocked. And so the bitter days pass in a blur of proffered meals and sympathy cards and pitying looks.

Mr Badger is the exception.

Mr Badger has been a familiar face in the riverbank home for as long as Ratty remembers, yet now his presence is more frequent still. Unlike the Riverbankers, he visits not with home-cooked meals, but with drinks; not with sympathy cards but reminiscences of half-forgotten memories; not with pity but with grief.

By now, Ratty knows well the stench of grief. His home is stifling with its cloying, claustrophobic scent, a parody of the death it follows in the wake of, but the grief of Mr Badger is quite another beast compared to the tired mourning of Ratty's father. There is a desperation to it. A terror of things slipping from his grasp, a grief that does not simmer but burns.

During such visits, Ratty leaves them to it. Their sorrow feels private, two friends gravitating towards one another in the absence of the third who had once shone so brightly, and he is out of his depth in the decades-old friendship.

"Plus Mr Badger is always so... austere," Ratty says in one of his visits to Toad Hall. He sits along the jetty, feet hanging over the water while Toad – already Toad, no longer Toady – fumbles with the newfangled camera that is perched precariously close to the edge. "And I know he's having as hard a time of it as anyone," Ratty is quick to add, lest his words be taken in a thoughtless light, "but it's just... I don't know. The way he looks at me sometimes, it's almost with..." Grief? Pity? "Guilt."

"Guilt?" Toad echoes from the recesses of the camera. Parts of the contraption that should probably never see the light of day lie scattered across the pier. Ratty knows better than to question this mechanical biopsy. "Whatever for?"

Ratty catches a metal screw before it rolls off into the river. "I don't know," he says. Grief, he could understand; pity, he could tolerate; but the guilt unnerves him in a way almost akin to fear. "And I'm not sure I want to."

In the end, he has no choice in the matter.

In the end, he wishes he could claim he was surprised, but the truth has been a monster caught out of the corner of his eye for months, flickering in odd, tell-tale moments. It lingers in the simple cold that has tarried too long in his father's lungs. In the laughter that turns to coughs and the bouts of sleep that never leave his father rested. In the harried grief of Mr Badger.

Ratty knows there is something wrong with his father, but he clings onto the belief that death could not be so cruel as to strike twice.

It could not, he tells himself as his father's fur dulls and his eyes dim.

Even death must have its mercy, he pleads as he gathers the half-drunk tea from his father's shaking paws.

Even it must see that this household has borne its burden of grief, he rages as his father shivers beside a roaring fire.

He stares at the towel, bloodied from his father's latest coughing fit, and his world shatters.

He stands in the too-hot kitchen with paws shaking, so alike his father's and yet so not, and holds out the damning evidence between them. "How long have you known?"

"Ratty–"

"How long?"

He doesn't mean to shout, but his voice echoes off the walls and the evening chorus outside falters for just a moment.

His father sighs, and now Ratty can hear the tell-tale rattle in his lungs. Is it louder than yesterday, or does it only sound that way because he is listening for it? "It's been worsening since spring."

"Since..." Ratty takes a steadying breath. It doesn't work. He turns his feet to pacing the room, ignoring the heat of the room that crawls beneath his fur. "All that time spent pampering to Toad's ego, managing his fads, when I should have been focusing... when you knew..." He halts that thought, drifting too close to the current of grieving anger within. "Why didn't you say how bad it was?"

"I didn't want you to worry."

Ratty swears, for once not caring at the raised eyebrow it causes. "Well, I'm worrying plenty now."

"There's nothing you can do about it."

"How can you be sure?" Ratty demands. "We could – there must be something – someone – medicine or doctors or help that can... that might know–"

His father's paw curls about his, bringing him to a sharp stop before he can circuit the stifling room again. "There isn't."

"But how can you be sure?" And then it hits him, that strange living grief that has scared him for so long. "Badger." For a heartbeat, he wants to rage at the injustice of it all, of Mr Badger knowing the truth all this time while he – while his father's own son – must find it in a blood-soaked towel, but then he sees the fatigue in his father's faded eyes and understands, even if he does not entirely forgive him. Grief has haunted this house enough from Mr Badger alone, and Ratty can only imagine the weight from him alongside would bury them all.

He sits, perched on the arm of a seat while the world around him settles into a new, unfamiliar future. "How long do you have?" he whispers.

"Badger thinks I'll see Christmas," his father replies. He smiles. "We must be thankful for small mercies, mustn't we?"

Ratty thinks there is nothing merciful about it at all.

[meganlpie]

The Tale of Bucky Barnes -Final

Here it is(Finally)! The final part of my Medieval/Galavant AU! All Avengers belong to Marvel and all familiar plot lines belong to the creators of Galavant. 

The Tale of Bucky Barnes masterlist

Warnings: Longer part this time. Duels, angst, drunkenness, FLUFF! And a little humor.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader, Preserum Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Peter Parker, Brock Rumlow

No sooner was lunch finished did the kids all beg for more of the story. Sam sat back in his chair and let out a sigh of content. "Alright. Let's see…where were we?" Bucky spoke first, "Bucky and the princess finally admitted their love for one another." The children nodded and Tony continued, "And Bucky volunteered to be Tony's champion in the duel against Clint." Everyone else started speaking until Sam held up his hands. "Okay, okay! I got it. Now here's what happened next…"

         The next day, everyone was pulled from the cells and outside to the arena where the duel would take place. Clint was already prepping. "Bucky?" you questioned. Bucky looked at you with a smile on his face. "Don't look so worried, Princess. I told you; I will win this for you. Then we can go anywhere we want." You smiled at him and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Good luck." Bucky entered the arena and prepared himself.

         Tony and Brock were up in the royals box with Natasha. Tony looked worried while Natasha and Brock looked smug. You bit your lip in concern. You knew Bucky was good, but so was Clint. There was absolutely no predicting the outcome of this match. As both men readied themselves and Tony stood along with Brock to announce the start, you held your breath. Bucky and Clint took their stances and everyone was on the edge of their seats. You'd never felt so much tension in one place.

         Just as Tony and his brother opened their mouths, another sound carried on the wind. The sounds of trumpets and galloping hooves. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked around until the horses came into view. When you saw who was leading them, you breathed out an "Oh no."

         "Hello, Y/N!" the young prince astride the horse called down. Bucky looked back at you in confusion. "You know this kid?" You nodded, feeling your face heat up. "Yes. That's Prince Peter. He's the crown prince of a neighboring kingdom and…my fiancé." Bucky nearly dropped his sword.

         "WAIT A MINUTE! FIANCÉ?!" Steve cried, finally getting into the story. "No. No way. Steve did NOT just deal with all the nonsense between those two and witness them falling in love JUST to find out that she's got a fiancé!" You all stared at Steve for a minute. He closed his mouth and his ears turned bright red. "Easy, Cap. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation," you said. Sam nodded and continued on.

         "Fiancé? He's a kid!" Steve exclaimed. "It was arranged by my parents. Believe me, I've been trying to get out of it for years." Bucky was still in shock. Why didn't you tell him you were betrothed? At least you were trying to get out of it. Yet another reason to save your life. Still, the admission had thrown him. He didn't even hear Tony announce that, in honor of the guests, the duel would be postponed until the next day.

         Back in his cell, Bucky paced again. He tried to come up with a solution. And finally, he had one but he needed to talk to Tony. That was easy enough since he was representing the king in the duel. The guard took him to Tony's chambers after only slight hesitation. Then, Bucky managed to convince Tony down to the nearest tavern.

         "How would you like to take back your kingdom without worrying about losing the duel?" Bucky asked. Tony arched a brow as he downed another whiskey. "The only way that can happen is if Brock dies." Bucky smirked and nodded. Tony's eyes widened. "Wait, you mean…?" Another nod and Tony's lips curled up in a smile. "You want to kill my brother?"

         "It's the only way. We can sneak in tonight and kill him while he sleeps." Tony thought for a moment before he spoke again, "I'm going to need another drink or five if I'm going to do that." With a laugh, Bucky ordered another round. And another. And another. In fact, by the time the two left the tavern, they were both drunk.

         Tony was not a quiet drunk. At all. The whole way back into the castle and down to the dungeons, he kept singing about how he was going to kill Brock. Bucky wasn't much better, but at least he was a little more quiet. "Bucky?" you asked. Bucky grinned lazily at you. "Hello, Princess. Gosh, you're pretty. And not just your face. Your brain. It's like your beautiful brain exploded all over your face."

         "Are-Are you drunk?" you asked and Bucky nodded. "Yep. Man, I should have kissed you when I had the chance. But I knew that, once I did, I'd never stop. It would be one of those forever kisses." You shook your head fondly. Tony tried to whistle at Bucky, but ended up just spitting a little. "Welp, off to kill the king," Bucky announced as he grabbed Tony and pulled him from the dungeon. He didn't remember much after that.

         "So did they do it? Did they kill Brock? And what about Prince Peter?" Your son asked. "Wait, who now?" another voice asked. You all turned to see Peter there. "Just in time, kid. You made your story debut in Wilson's adventure tale. Apparently, Prince Peter is engaged to Princess Y/N." Peter's face turned red.

         "Uh, sorry Mrs. Barnes, but I don't like you like that." You let a laugh burst out of you. "That's alright, Peter. I'm pretty happily married." Bucky kissed your temple and Sam cleared his throat. "Can I continue?" You and Bucky both looked sheepish. Sam took a deep breath and pressed on.

         Bucky woke in the cell with a splitting headache. "Oh…god," he groaned. "Serves you right," he heard. He looked over to see you smiling at him. "Oh god, what did I do? What did I say?" You licked your lips and bit back a giggle. "Well, you and Sleeping Beauty over there," you gestured to the cell on the other side of Bucky's where Tony was sleeping away and continued, "Tried to kill Brock. He caught you and threw you in here. You're both to be executed at sundown tonight."    

         Bucky shot up, suddenly a lot more sober than he had been. He'd failed. He had failed in everything he'd set out to do. He'd failed to "save" Natasha who hadn't even wanted to be saved. He failed to win your freedom. He'd failed in seizing his moment in the sun. He had failed.

         "Hey," you cooed, "It will be alright." Bucky shook his head as he got up and made his way over to the bars separating you. "How can you be so sure?" You smiled sadly at him. "Because I know you, Bucky. I know that we'll find a way out of this. Together." Bucky grasped your hands and tried to return the smile.

         Just then, the doors opened, causing you to jump. Bucky stiffened in place and Tony finally awoke at the sound. "W-What? Clint?" he questioned. You and Bucky looked more closely and, sure enough, it was Clint standing there with one hand on the hilt of his sword. After dismissing the guards, he grabbed the keys and unlocked the cells.

         "You have to hurry," he said plainly, "The guards are stupid, but it won't take them long to learn Brock didn't summon them. There's a boat waiting for you on the shore behind the castle." Bucky's brows furrowed in confusion. What was going on here?

         "Why are you helping us?" you voiced Bucky's unasked question. Clint flicked his gaze to Tony for a brief second. "Because I may be a dog, but I'm a loyal one. Tony's been my king and my…friend, for a long time. Get him out of here and keep him safe. That's all I want in return for letting you go. Now go. I'll take care of Brock and the guards."

         Bucky went to work making sure everyone was ready to go while you stared at Clint. "Now why are you really letting us go?" Clint chuckled softly and smiled. "A story for another time, Princess. Go on." You said nothing more as Bucky grabbed your hand and pulled you after him.

         Your little group didn't stop moving until you reached the shore. Captain Banner nodded at you from one of the lifeboats. In the distance, his ship waited for her captain to return with his passengers. You assisted Bucky in getting everyone on board the boats until it was only the two of you left on the shore.

         Bucky gently took your arms, making you face him. "Whatever happens next, we're in this together, Princess. You and me." You beamed up at him. "I promise. I love you, Bucky." Bucky pulled you a little closer, whispering that he loved you too. And, as the sun began to set, Bucky leaned down and finally pressed his lips to yours in the kiss you had both been longing for.

         "The end," Sam declared, earning cheers of joy from all around the room. "Best. Story. EVER!" Your son cried out. "It was pretty great," you agreed. You leaned your head on Bucky's shoulder with a sigh as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Murmurs of agreement washed over the room. Sam sat back in his seat with a triumphant smile on his face.

         Once more, your youngest made her way over to Sam and sat next to him. "Uncle Sam?" He glanced down at her. She gaze at him with wide, innocent eyes. Before she even opened her mouth, Sam knew what was coming. "Can you tell it again?" Sam let out a laugh. "Sure thing. Way back in days of old, there was a legend told about a hero known as Bucky Barnes…"

(a/n: There you have it! It took forever, so I’ve decided to end it there. I don’t want to go another year without writing the next part.) 

TToBB tags: @a-girl-who-loves-disney​ @thors-magic-hammer​

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard​ @brewsthespirit-blog​ @sirkekselord​ @aikibriarrose​ @lady-of-lies​ @esoltis280​ @sdavid09​

Marvel Tags: @jotink78​ @iwillbeinmynest​

Avengers Only Tags: @thisismysecrethappyplace​

[secretshinigami]

can't look at those eyes

Shinigami: @hazblogs Kira: @ikathemadhatter Prompt: LawLight Little Mermaid AU where Light is a mermaid Characters: l lawliet, light yagami, sayu yagami, misa amane, minor characters Warnings: angst, character death Author’s Note: hi !!!!!! it me !!!! i sincerely hope you like what i wrote, ika, because… it strayed pretty far from your original prompt. but i just wrote and wrote and it’s almost 4k of angst and there is…. uuuuh… very little lawlight aaah. welp. have fun reading and find the story on my ao3 @Hazazel !! Word Count: 4k

From his seat near the window, L has a clear view of the little town port where the fishermen come and go, busy bees surrounded by nets and dingy boats. Though lately there has been some change – one boat, that was missing two days ago, was finally found. Her owner’s dead body thrown carelessly in the fishing net.

Just like the others.

L doesn’t know who’s doing this – because it’s obviously someone, these are murders – but he desperately want to. Sighing, he drags his seat closer to the table, where papers pile so high it’s a wonder they haven’t fallen off. Some of these papers look important, with the royal seal on them, but some are lowly harbingers of boredom that he wishes Watari would let him skip. Tough luck, Mello says. We’re not potential heirs for nothing.

Sometimes L just wishes for some… spice, some challenge. Something to stop the constant buzz of nothing, right behind his eyelids.

But oh, be careful what you wish for.

Sharp teeth puncture skin, and a trickle of blood gets lost in the water. The man’s face is barely visible over the deep sea.

“Speak,” the creature says in a rough voice, vocal chords strained after staying out of the water for so long. “Speak or you’re dead.”

“I dunno !” the fisherman screams. “I dunno where she is ! They took ‘er some place and we ne’er saw ‘er again !”

“Die, then,” the creature says, and he almost carelessly maintains the man’s head underwater until he’s stopped moving, and then some. He tosses the body in the little boat, still entangled in the fishnet, and dives with the speed and precision of an otherworldly fish. His long brown tail disturbs the boat as he sinks deeper and deeper, bubbles rising in a thin spiral above his head.

Light isn’t sure if what he does still has a purpose, but he’ll do it nonetheless. Protecting the kingdom is his duty as a royal, and getting Sayu back is his not so secret motive. His sister was captured moons ago and there’s still no trace of her body, which leads Light to think she’s still alive, captive on land – the worst fate a mermaid could suffer. As he reaches the palace, after dashing through empty streets of coral and bones, he is greeted by Mogi, the entrance guard, who curves his tail in greeting.

“Your Father is waiting for you, Highness.”

Light nods, and he doesn’t lose time gazing at Sayu’s favourite seashells in the main gallery – he needs her back, that’s all.

“You’ve been continuing those senseless killings,” his father tells him, without raising his eyes from the document he’s studying. “Light… I know you miss her. We all do. But this can’t go on. We won’t get her back, and you’re not helping our cause.”

All these words make sense separately but Light can’t turn them into a cohesive whole. Not helping ? What would, then ?

“Allow me to go on land, Father,” Light pleads. “I could – I would be able to learn more about where they keep her. I could free her, Father, I know I can.”

“My son… this nonsense has to stop. I forbid you from approaching the surface. Ever since her eleventh birthday, your sister wanted to get closer to the open air, and see where it got her.” Soichiro sighs, obviously pained, but Light can’t get past the blame he lays on her – a child, innocent, in need of protection. In need of help.

“As you wish, Father,” Light says through gritted teeth. His fists are balled by his side and he barely contains the fury in his movements as he exits his father’s throne hall, blindly swimming through the corridors until he’s out of the palace, in the seaweed garden. He stops on the remains of a rudder, jerky series of bubbles escaping his gills, and that’s where Misa finds him.

She silently holds his hand, and he squeezes as hard as he can. She’s heard all his rants – about how his father is abandoning his own daughter, how he’d find her if he just went up there – so he doesn’t bother repeating himself. Misa slowly sways her burgundy tail and hums a tune, a thing she always does when there’s something on her mind that she can’t say. Light’s head fins flutter irritably and she finally stops.

“Light… You know what’s left to do.”

He sighs. “Then help me pack.” They gather his crown, some throwaway jewels and polished glass in a knapsack, and Light squeezes Misa’s hands one last time before setting off to the west.

One more fisherman, and this time, he doesn’t appear to only have been drowned. Sharp bite marks punctuate his neck and arms, leaving no other choice for L but to go see her.

He hates her as much as he is fascinated by her, this otherworldly creature spinning endlessly in the castle’s dungeon. Her dark tail swishes to and fro, her head fins flutter with fear and she wrings her hands in constant worry. From the wait up, she’d almost look human – if it weren’t for the spotty skin, the scales, the fins, the gills, the gigantic eyes, the – she does not look human.

L isn’t sure if he should be afraid.

“Do you eat humans ?” is the first question he asks. She turns towards him with a blank stare.

The mermaid is in a giant glass container, about a metre high, which only allows her to be submerged horizontally, and doesn’t give her enough space to jump. As if she could, with the heavy cage surrounding her fish bowl. She speaks, but only bubbles leave her mouth, sound lost in the water. Can she even hear him ?

“I think one of your kind is killing our fishermen to try and get you back…”

Her eyes widen, which would be comical if it didn’t make her look even more frightening, and she starts slamming her fists on the glass walls. Fine cracks start to form under her knuckles, but she doesn’t stop until they widen and shards hurt her fingers. The sting of the cuts must wake her up from her frenzy and she backs away, curling her tail around herself, rocking back and forth.

L will get no more from her and he leaves, bare feet wet with seawater.

The cave is deep beneath the city, and Light takes three days to get to it. Sunbeams don’t reach that far, and the only light comes from oddly shaped seaweed, and the little animals that hustle about. He’s not sure this was a good idea, even with Misa’s encouragement, because – people have gone and never returned from this place. He could be one of them, and what would happen to Sayu ? She would have no one. She would die.

He can’t allow it.

When he enters the cave, his eyes don’t accommodate to the absence of light immediately, and all he can rely on to crawl further in is his fins and his sense of smell. Gradually, the dark lightens to grey, and he can start to make out shapes – shelves with glass bottles, endless jumble of half-carved driftwood rotting away, and…

“Oh my,” a croaky voice says, “what have we here !”

“I’m-”

“I know who you are,” the witch says. He moves, and Light can make out his shape, unnaturally long tail and pale blue skin. His eyes glow a faint yellow, and his hands are clawed. “And what would Prince Light want from me ?”

“My father won’t let me go to the surface,” he explains.

“And you’re throwing a tantrum ?” the witch answers, before laughing, brittle sound that hurts Light’s ears. “I don’t mind. I’m so bored these days, anything would seem interesting.”

“I can pay you,” Light says. He gathers up the jewels he brought, but the witch carelessly waves at him not to bother.

“Your little stones don’t interest me, Prince.” He says the word mockingly. “I have much more… fun ideas of how you could pay me for my services.”

“What do you want ?” Light says, defeated.

“Your voice.”

“My… voice ?” he says, perplexed.

“You’d be able to enchant anyone on earth with that pretty voice of yours, mermaid. It’ll be much more interesting to see you flounder without your best asset.”

Light sees red – but he has no other choice. He grits his teeth once more and nods, wordlessly grabbing the vial of murky-coloured potion the witch gives him.

He can hear his gleeful giggles as he swims away.

It takes Light another four days to reach the surface, and from there on the beach. His head pops over the water and he spots a boat, followed by a trail of seagulls. He downs the disgusting potion in one go.

At first he feels nothing. The water flowing in his gills and out again doesn’t seem any warmer. And then it happens all at once – the flow of seawater stops and he feels a sharp pain shoot through his tail, neck, face, everywhere. It only lasts for seconds, but it feels like a lifetime, and his wails gradually subside into nothingness as the potion overtakes his body.

He floats, tossed around by the waves. The sea has never seemed so cold, or so salty, or so daunting. He doesn’t feel the hands picking him up and dragging him in the boat.

If there is one constant in L’s life, it’s grievance hour in the palace gardens. This has been going on for as long as he can remember, and Watari always made sure he could sit by the throne and whisper his advice in the King’s ear. These days there’s a whole shedload of kids sitting by the throne. Mello is one of the most earnest, Near is the most sagacious, and Linda the most apt at forgiving, but they all look up to him. He is, after all, ten years their senior, first in line to inherit the throne, and… he has a known knack for those little detective stories. It’s like a game, he told Ade one day, it’s like solving the great puzzle of justice (that’s why he chose Near and Mello as next in line – they, above all the other kids, get that).

There has been one more constant, lately. A new face showing up in the village. He is young, with brown hair and eyes of that indescribable colour of the sea at sunset. His skin is light, his features sharp, so sharp, and his hands look like they’ve never known manual labour.

In one word, L is absolutely convinced this is the man murdering the fishermen in the village. At first he thought it was only a mermaid – another one – but lately palace staff have gone missing too. That’s something only a land dweller could have done. He wouldn’t have pinned it on any of the people he knows, and a new face, just in time for the new murders ? Come on, that’s a godsend.

He now has a chance at getting rid of the mermaid, catching the fisherman killer, and having a great deal of fun. No one, not even Backup, could ruin this opportunity.

He’s just gotta find proof.

Light is not stupid. He knows he’s being trailed, he just has no voice to make it known that he’s perfectly aware the palace fiend is nearby. He keeps stopping, looking back, seeing no one, and then as soon as he walks away the echoing footsteps start again. He has better things to do that play hide and seek with this dimwit, he thinks, and he decides to hurry back to the inn, where he’s being lodged until the villagers can find what to do with him.

His heart starts beating a little harder when he notices someone has left a letter for him again. The inn tenants have left it on his bed, and he avidly unwraps what he thinks is the latest piece of the enigma the prince (it’s him, there’s no other way) is slowly letting him in on.

Sure enough, a new page of scribbles, a key and several small pebbles fall from the envelope when he shakes it, and he takes a moment to admire them, licking the pebbles for the sensation of salt on his tongue – oh how he misses the sea… but he’s going back soon, he swears. He’s so close, he can feel it, so close to discovering where in the palace they hide Sayu, and if he has to kill every rotten villager standing on his path, then so be it.

His teeth and his senses aren’t as sharp but he’ll make do. A quick glance out the window proves that he was right – the blond kid from the palace is loitering in front of the inn, probably debating going in and being recognised, or remaining outside and failing his secret mission or something. Light finds it all very amusing.

He’s been on land for… several weeks. He’s starting to lose track of time. At first he was afraid – he feared he’d get imprisoned as well. But all it took was for his eyes to water (strange thing human bodies do) and they all changed their mind – apparently, his ensnaring powers still work a little. They’d decided he would stay at the inn, and they would… tolerate his presence, it seems, until a consensus was reached.

When he first entered the palace gardens for the grievance session, he could barely contain a sneer. Everything was so… earthly. The sun hit his skin with renewed vigor, and dirt got inside his sandals. The king was sitting on a throne made out of wood, and there was a strange boy perched on the steps leading to that throne. The villagers explained how they found him, and asked for guidance, but then the boy whispered something to the king, eyes set on Light.

He knows, Light thought irrationally. He knows everything. He’s gonna get me killed, fuck, I need to do something first or he’ll have the upper hand.

Nothing happened, however. The king didn’t declare him enemy number one or order his arrest. The boy just bit his thumb a little and then went back inside the palace.

That’s when the letters started. Light took a little time to gather where they were coming from – the text had no rhyme or reason, and he couldn’t even decipher most of it. It took several of these letters for Light to understand that the letters were sent out of order and that he had to piece them back together to unlock their meaning. So far he has five of them, and he feels like he’s close. The latest letters have mentioned a “she” imprisoned in the palace, hence why Light has been using palace staff to try and get in – unsuccessfully so far, and resulting in several casualties.

The newest letter makes Light pause. He reads it again, unsure of whether he got everything right the first time, and swallows his angry scream not to wake up the people next door. “She’s useless”, the messy scrawl says, “I don’t think we’ll keep her much longer”.

Light’s throat hurts from the scream it can’t let out. The air comes out as a hiss, and he doesn’t even bother reading the rest of the letter before storming out the inn by the back door, and running to the castle.

Oh, he’s been waiting for this. He planned everything and now he only has to watch.

L’s room overlooks the entrance to the dungeons, and sure enough, here the mystery man goes. He is pretty sure the body of a guard will be found by morning, but he… doesn’t really care. The gifts, the letters, everything was just not obvious enough until tonight – really, it’s quite disappointing. But maybe mermaids don’t work like that. Anyhow, L will know tonight that he was right.

His footsteps are silent on the stairs, and he creeps slowly towards the castle gardens. If he guessed right, this mermaid has incredible strength, and would be able to lift her up and carry her to the sea. A morbid part of him wants to see if she’ll recognise him, or if she’ll kill him on sight. He hopes for… he doesn’t know.

Sure enough, indistinct voices come from the lower part of the dungeon, and then a scream. There goes another guard, L guesses. Is he really the only one immune to mermaid trickery ? The villagers all seem to have accepted Light like they would a meek child. How old was he ? Years, centuries ?

Or maybe it was L who was too late. When he arrived to the dungeon, he could only find the mermaid, and no trace of her human counterpart.

He doesn’t have the key. How could he be so stupid. The prince gave him the chance to free her and he forgot the key, cage too sturdy even for him. So he waits, hidden in the dark, until the prince appears, because he will. He doesn’t know what to do – threaten him ? He could easily break his neck, even with the weak remains of his strength, but… the prince probably doesn’t have a key on him, and Light would lose his only ally.

He waits a little longer for the prince to finish scanning the room from the entrance, before slowly releasing a sigh when he’s certain he wasn’t noticed.

“I was sure he’d come here,” the prince says. “Sounds like he wasn’t here for you after all. Maybe he wasn’t even a mermaid and I made that all up in my head. I was so sure though…”

Light’s teeth clamp down on his lip so hard they draw blood. His feelings threaten to bubble out of his mouth, too loud breathing alerting the prince of his presence in the room. Eventually the prince leaves, and Light walks closer to the cage. Sayu’s eyes widen when she sees him, and he has to gesture pleadingly at her not to make any noise.

“Oh, Light !” she whispers. “You shouldn’t have come.”

Nonsense ! He wants to scream, caution be damned, tell her that he’ll be back for her, but… he can’t. His voice was stolen from him and he can’t.

He leaves at dawn, when he can’t stay any longer. Today a grievance session will take place, and the palace will soon be full of people. He hasn’t come back to any of them, but he thinks today he should. He stands in the back, hidden by a tree, and listens to the villagers make complaint after complaint. Nothing stands out, they don’t even talk about him – they really have grown used to his presence…

“We have an announcement to make,” the king ends up saying. Whispers run wild through the crowd, and it takes a few minutes for the silence to come back. “We will be releasing the mermaid.”

“What ? No ! You can’t do this !” come the cries from the villagers, but Light hears nothing of it. Blood rushes in his ears and he can hear it on a loop “releasing the mermaid”. Was it that easy ? He can’t believe it.

“She is of no use,” the king continues, “and we fear the recent murders have been in retaliation for her captivity. We already have a suspect, that we will be arresting shortly.”

That’s him, Light thinks. He can’t run away though – not until he’s seen Sayu free with his own two eyes.

He has only one thing left to do. Leaving the shelter of the tree, he cautiously walks closer to the throne, and catches the prince’s eye. The prince smiles at him, still biting his thumb, but no one comes to imprison him. A chill runs down Light’s back – he’s been played like a mouse between a cat’s claws.

The mermaid is released at dusk. She screams in that strange tongue of hers, thrashing no matter what they say to calm her, and as soon as she hits the water, she dives, and she isn’t seen again. Good riddance, L thinks, and, that’ll teach them for trying to meddle with what should be left alone.

The boy is here, tears barely concealed, and long after everyone has left, he’s still standing, fists balled at his side, shoulders shaking.

L doesn’t know what to do. Should he arrest him now ? He’s got all the proof he wants, which… might not be substantial enough for a court, but eh, he’s a prince. He can get away with more things than the local police.

The boy eventually leaves, and L resists the urge to follow. He might end up dead, he tries to reason, but the boy’s eye shine red under the setting sun, and the tears welled up there look like blood.

Light waits by the sea. He only comes back to the village when hunger is intolerable, at first, and then not at all.

Misa shows up on the fifth day, when he’s so dehydrated he could pass out. Her eyes are sad, but determined. She speaks so softly he doesn’t understand, and hands him a vial – a witch’s vial, cold to the touch, the potion inside it oily black and repulsive. Light downs it in one go, just like before.

The effects are immediate this time. First, he feels warm all over, and he falls forward into the sea with a sigh of delight, while his tail reforms and his lungs fill with water once more. He wants to dive deep, desperately, but he can’t see Misa anymore. He looks around, confused, until a hand reaches out from – the surface ?

His head pops up above the waves, and he sees her. Misa has hoisted herself up a rock, and she’s looking down at him. She would cry if she had human eyes, Light thinks. She’s holding a vial with a potion not to dissimilar from his own, and she drinks it as quickly as she can – before he can stop her.

“No !” he tries to scream, but his voice is hoarse from disuse. “Misa, no !”

She smiles sadly, and holds out her hand. Light reaches out, and out, but he can’t seem to reach her in time.

In a matter of seconds, Misa has turned to foam, and he’s left looking at a rock beaten up by the sea, surrounded by white nothingness. He remains silent. He has no words, nothing to say – she knows already.

When he dives, Light doesn’t look back.

[radarsteddybear]

Just Christmas

Fandom: DuckTales 2017

Summary: Scrooge doesn't quite bring the kids home in time for Christmas, and Donald can't help but be upset about it.  Takes place right after "The Impossible Summit of Mount Neverrest!"

Warnings/tags: Christmas, family, angst (with a happy ending), introspective

Inspired by this Tumblr post.

Crossposted to AO3 and ff.net.

Donald had been so certain that this year would be a good Christmas.  No, a great Christmas.  He’d been able to get a few odd jobs here and there, and since he didn’t have to pay for dock space or utilities or regular meals anymore, he was actually able to afford nice presents this year.  He’d make his patented Christmas hot chocolate (not to be confused with regular, every-other-day-of-the-year hot chocolate), the boys would each open one present from him in the houseboat before moving over to the Manor for breakfast and the rest of the presents, and maybe he and Scrooge would even tell the kids about the Christmases they used to have...well, before.  And maybe they’d have a Christmas music dance party (a holiday staple on the houseboat), have Christmas dinner (a joint effort between Donald and Mrs. Beakley), and watch an old Christmas movie or two.  Probably interspersed with a few foam-dart-gun fights or something else equally disruptive and unsuitable for the house.

At least, that was how Christmas was supposed to have gone.

Instead, Scrooge had taken the kids on yet another crazy adventure, making sure not to mention it to Donald until he’d gotten them thoroughly excited and invested in it, with the promise that they’d be back in time for the holiday.

Welp.  Officially, the holiday had started at midnight ten hours ago; on a normal Christmas morning, the holiday would have started three or four hours ago when the kids would have excitedly bounded into his room to wake him up for presents and that Christmas hot chocolate.  But presents remained unopened, the hot chocolate had long since gotten cold, and the small Christmas tree--small this year only because the houseboat was small--was only partially decorated.  Boxes holding ornaments, lights, and tinsel were scattered on the floor, waiting for someone to come along and fight over how to string them on the tree and the surrounding boat this year.  The only part of the houseboat that was ready for Christmas was the smokestack, which Donald always did on his own, though it was weird not having Huey guiding him and holding onto the ladder.  Usually, all of this decorating was done a week or two before the holiday itself, but between schoolwork and all of the adventures Scrooge had insisted on taking the kids on, they hadn’t had the time.

The clock ticked loudly on the wall.  Anger boiled inside him, coupled with the bitter taste of “I told you so” from the part of him that still held onto the old pain from all those years ago.

Finally, Donald heard the sound of a motor coming from outside.  He threw on his scarf and marched over to the mansion, where Scrooge, Launchpad, and the kids were just coming in the front door.

“Where have you been?” Donald demanded, putting a swift end to the laughter and smiles.

“Having the best sledding adventure of our lives,” Dewey said, giving Webby a high-five.

“We climbed Mount Neverrest,” Huey clarified.  “Well, except Louie, who stayed behind.”

“Hey, no treasure, no Louie,” Louie said with a shrug.

“Are you forgetting what day it is?” Donald said to Scrooge, arms crossed tightly.

“What, it’s December--” Scrooge thought for a moment.  “I suppose it is December 25th,” he said, almost to himself.

“And?” Donald said, raising an eyebrow.

"Relax, Uncle Donald," said Louie.  "It's just Christmas."

Donald felt like he’d been punched in the gut.  "Yeah," he said.  "Just Christmas."  He turned around and walked out the door, out of the mansion, and to the houseboat, softly closing each door behind him.  He looked sadly at the partially-decorated Christmas tree and the open boxes of ornaments, wondering why he had even bothered.  He retreated into his bedroom, where at least there weren't any holiday reminders to make him feel foolish and forgotten.

Donald's thoughts swirled bitterly.  How could it be 'just Christmas’? met Well, sure, we rarely had much for Christmas, so I guess it was never really special, which turned into I did all I could to give them the best Christmases I could, why did I even--how could-- and suddenly Donald's thoughts were drowned out by the sound of sobs.  Big, heavy, ugly sobs, the kind he hadn't been able to cry in years because he was an adult and an uncle and he couldn't let the kids see him cry like that.

They didn’t last long, though, before he was swallowing them back down and raking a hand over his face to wipe the tears away and bring himself back to the present.  Donald Duck was an adult and a uncle and Christmas was just another day and wallowing in self-pity never got anybody anywhere.

Donald went and got himself a glass of water, pointedly ignoring the used-to-be-hot chocolate on the counter.  He drank it slowly, forcing himself not to think of anything else until he was done. There.  That was better.

Donald had options.  He could go back into the Manor and pretend nothing had happened and still do Christmas.  But he still didn’t feel ok enough to pretend everything was fine.  And what if they were already doing Christmas without him?  Donald felt his throat tighten again.  But if it was “just Christmas,” why would they even be celebrating at all?

A sudden flash of anger ripped through Donald.  Just Christmas.  If it was “just Christmas,” why bother having anything Christmas-related up?  He spun on his heels and stormed over to the half-naked tree.  Donald grabbed it by its upper branches and yanked it down onto the floor, sending ornaments rolling around the floor like marbles.

Donald stood seething over the tree, staring down at the mess he’d made.  As if Christmas hadn’t been ruined enough already.  His throat tightened again and his chest started to hurt.  Donald buried his face in his hands.  Why did he always manage to make everything worse?

He started thinking again.  He could go to Grandma’s house.  She was always there with a listening ear and a fresh batch of cookies (not to mention some work that needed to be done, but Donald never minded).  But somehow, showing up at Grandma's unannounced on Christmas crying about how Scrooge had ruined Christmas by taking his kids away from him for the day felt like...overreacting.  Besides, Donald seemed to remember a Christmas or two where Scrooge hadn’t gotten him and Della back until halfway through the holiday, and Grandma had never seemed to mind. Then again, Scrooge very well may have told her not to expect them until noon or later.  And besides, Gus would be there, and, while Donald liked Gus well enough, he didn’t much like him being around when he was pouring his heart out to Grandma.  Not that Gus seemed to listen much, but he didn’t always seem to understand the concept of “private conversation.”

Donald could--he could start drawing up the papers to transfer guardianship of his nephews to Scrooge.  They seemed to like him better than Donald, anyway.  Honestly, they always seemed to like everyone else in the family better than Donald.  And that might not have mattered so much if Donald were actually their father, but he wasn’t.  Maybe they would be better with someone else.  Scrooge would certainly be able to care for them, and a lot better than he ever had.  With Scrooge, Huey, Dewey, and Louie could miss all of the Christmases they didn’t care about.  They’d fit right in.

Donald shook that thought out of his head.  No. No, he was definitely the best guardian for the boys, even if it didn’t always feel like it.  Gladstone and his luck would have taught them that they deserved to have everything for nothing. Grandma was much too old to raise three kids full time, and she couldn’t quite afford it, not in today’s world.  Fethry was too flighty and all over the place to raise three kids.  And Scrooge?  Well, aside from the fact that he was responsible for...well, he was much too busy and distant and he didn’t know the first thing about kids, let alone raising them.  Not to mention the danger.  

Donald put his glass in the sink and made a decision.  He had to get out of the houseboat, if only for a little while.  His head definitely needed clearing, and guzzling water wasn’t going to do it.  He grabbed his coat and his car keys and left, locking the houseboat behind him out of habit.  He made his way to his little red car and drove down the long driveway, giving absolutely no thought as to where he was going to go.

After about an hour and a half of driving aimlessly through and outside of Duckburg, Donald finally felt like his head had cleared.  The drive had reminded him of when the boys were babies, and he’d drive them around to sooth them to sleep.  Except this time, he’d been the one who’d needed to be soothed.

Donald pulled his car into the Manor driveway and shut off the engine.

Tomorrow would be a new day.  It wouldn’t be Christmas anymore, and they’d be able to put all of this behind them.  Donald would repurpose the boys’ gifts for their birthday, and they could all pretend this never happened.  At least until next year, when Donald might just decide to go away by himself for the holiday.  He wondered if anyone would notice…

“Uncle Donald!”

Donald turned in surprise as four ducklings ran over to him as he stepped out of his car.

“Where have you been?” Huey demanded, hands on his hips.  

“Yeah!  We saw the Christmas tree on the floor and thought--” Louie stopped himself.

“I just went for a drive,” Donald said brusquely.  He locked the car doors with a beep and started to walk around to the back of the Manor.

“Wait!” Dewey said.  “You--you have to come in that way.”  He pointed to the front door.

Donald sighed.  He just wanted a nap.  “Kids, I--”

“Yeah!  We fixed Christmas!” Webby said, bouncing up and down.  “Come on!”

Donald followed the kids, wondering what exactly “fixing Christmas” meant.  He wasn’t sure he was quite ready to get his hopes up, though a certain warm, fuzzy feeling blossoming in his stomach clearly felt otherwise.

“Merry Christmas!” the kids shouted as they pulled Donald through the door.  

A large, still-dripping banner echoing the kids’ sentiments in bright red paint hung over the stairs.  Scrooge’s professionally-decorated Christmas tree (the professional, of course, being Mrs. Beakley) stood in the corner, as it had for the last few weeks, protectively guarding a much fatter pile of presents than had been there yesterday.  A fire crackled in the fireplace, and Donald made a mental note to make sure that had been Mrs. Beakley’s doing rather than the kids’.  A crockpot sat on a small table next to the tree, surrounded by freshly-baked (by the kids, judging from the lopsided shapes) cookies.  

“What’s...this?” Donald asked.

“It’s Christmas!” Dewey said as Huey poured a ladleful from the crockpot into a mug and handed it to Donald.

“What’s this?” Donald asked again, peering suspiciously at the warm brown liquid inside.

“It’s your Christmas hot chocolate!” Dewey said.  “Huey made it.”

That did not exactly inspire confidence.  “What did you put in it?” Donald asked, examining it as if he could somehow figure out each individual ingredient if he looked hard enough.

“What you put in it,” Huey said.  He counted off on his fingers.  “Eggnog, hot cocoa powder, cinnamon, nutmeg--”

“Wait!” Webby said.  She pulled out a pastry bag and piped a generous swirl on top of Donald’s drink.

“--and homemade whipped cream,” Huey finished.  “That was Webby’s idea.”

Donald took a sip.  It was good.  Really good.  

“Wow,” he said.  He gave Huey’s feathers a ruffle.  “Looks like someone’s been paying attention.”

“Hang on!” Dewey said, over by Donald’s stereo, evidently brought into the house by the kids.  He pushed a button and the sound of Bing Crosby crooning “White Christmas” gently filled the room.  “Now it’s Christmas.”

The sound of heavy footsteps and a tapping cane drew their attention to the stairs.  A familiar figure emerged from the shadows on the landing and slowly made his way towards the happy group, stopping in front of his nephew.

“Donald,” he said.

“Scrooge,” Donald replied.

Scrooge looked away.  “I just wanted to--” He fiddled with his cane.

“Yes?” Donald said, crossing his arms.

Scrooge sighed.  “I wanted to apologize,” he said.  “I shouldnae have taken the kids on a trip during the holiday without ye.”

Donald nodded.  “There are going to have to be some changes,” he said.

“We can talk about that another time.”  Scrooge side-eyed the kids.  “Privately.”

The two stood in awkward silence for a moment before Scrooge turned towards Webby and his nephews.

“Now you kids open those blasted presents already.  I didnae put up all this just so they could sit there for the next year.”

The kids gleefully ran towards the Christmas tree, and soon the room was filled with bits of torn wrapping paper and excited oohs and ahhhs.  

Donald raised an eyebrow.  “I’m surprised you actually splurged on gifts.”

“Yeah, well.”  Scrooge looked supremely uncomfortable.  He waved a hand dismissively over the joyous scene before him  “Bah, humbug,” he said, turning to retreat up the stairs to spend the rest of the day angry at the world for all of its “crass commercialism” and “empty sentiment.”

Ah, tradition.

After the annual Christmas music dance party and a big Christmas dinner of roast turkey and all the trimmings, the family settled in to watch Christmas on Bear Mountain, a tradition that Donald had retained even after cutting ties with Scrooge.  Donald found himself with a nephew on either side and the third hanging on the back of the couch near his shoulders.  Webby was curled up into her grandmother on the other side of the couch, and Scrooge was sitting over in the chair, and if Donald didn’t know any better, he would have sworn that the old codger was enjoying himself.  

Huey snuggled closer into Donald’s side.  “I’m really sorry about earlier, Uncle Donald,” he whispered.

Donald couldn’t help but smile as he gave his nephew a squeeze.

“Yeah,” Dewey added from somewhere around his right ear.  “But we’ll make it up next year.  It’s going to be the best Christmas ever!”

Donald chuckled.

“Personally, I blame Uncle Scrooge,” Louie said, garnering the attention of everyone in the room.  “What?”

Well.  He wasn’t entirely wrong.

Lucky for Louie, the film’s opening music was fading into the background as the opening credits transitioned into the first scene, regaining everyone’s attention.

Donald watched the movie with a smile on his face.  This had turned out to be a pretty good Christmas after all.

[dachosmin]

Chocolate Box 2016

Hi there, dear writer!

I’m very excited to be doing Chocolate Box! Since I have a million ships, I’ll try to just throw out a short idea or two for each pairing in the interest of sparing you 10,000 words of me blabbering about why I love all of these characters and relationships so very very much. But rest assured I do love them, and despite the brevity of my prompts, I really will be thrilled with anything you come up with for any of these pairings!

Fandoms

Captive Prince

Gentleman Bastards

Westworld

The Dresden Files

The Lord of the Rings

General Likes

Gen Kinks

Time travel fix it AUs, Time loops, Reincarnation

Meddling Gods and Goddesses

Costume/Architecture/food porn

Historical AUs- Viking, Egyptian, Heian, Reconquista, Roman

Guidebook Style (travel guides, custom guides, history guides, food/clothes/grammar  guides)

Myths, fairytales, epic poems

Vivid and poetic imagery, a sense of magic and wonder

Supernatural elements left unexplained

Ship Kinks

Enemies to Lovers/reluctant allies, captivity/hostages

Arranged Marriage Fic

Hurt/Comfort of all of the flavors

Easy-Amnesia, esp the cheesy kind where A forgets their relationship with  B

Drunken Confessions, bedside confessions, presumed dead funeral  confessions

Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings

Kink… Kinks

Begging, crying

Praisekink

Bondage, restraint, denial

Dubcon, under the influence sex

Experience mismatch/instructional sex

dirty talk, humiliation

…tentacles

Captive Prince

Auguste/Damen/Laurent

Option A: a wild canon divergence appears! Auguste lives! I would be happy with both pwp or fluff or plot, but please keep the angst light for this one (I have the books for that!) Maybe both the brothers are taken as spoils of war by Damen? Or the duel happens, Damen secretly spares Auguste, and years later Kastor still rebels and sends Damen to Laurent?

Option B: canon happens, and Auguste watches, first as a sad and horrified ghost unable to help his brother as awful things happen, then as a matchmaker, subtly influencing things to get Damen and Laurent together, and finally as a voyeur, possibly getting off on his brother getting off and possibly super guilty but unable to help himself. Yay?

Gentleman Bastards

Jean Tannen/Locke Lamora

These two are melodramatic as all hell, I’d love something iddy and over the top to match. Locke fakes his own death for reasons and Jean puts on a funeral and weeps over his grave while alternating between cursing Locke out and eulogizing him, which Locke awkwardly interrupts? They have to pretend to be married and are each suffering stoically for what They Can Never Have?!?! They attend a masque ball as part of a con and kiss and there’s weird identity porn?!?! Either is sex pollen’d and the other has to take care of him while silently cursing his life? YES PLEASE.

And on that note, I will also happily accept straight (hah) up porn. I believe for all his bravado, Locke is at his core very self-flagellating, especially after the events of the first book. I can see him getting drunk and wanting Jean to punish him, and Jean not having any of it and worshipping his body all up and down the damn bed. Or, you know, Jean stoically resisting Locke’s seductions because he doesn’t want to take advantage and Locke getting increasingly frustrated that his seducing isn’t working. Except then it works. Yay.

Westworld

Bernard & Dolores

This is the only “&” pairing I put, but I’m no less fascinated by it! There’s so much to go off here! In a way they’re siblings, in a way she’s his child, before their awakenings she was just a tool to him... I would love to see any moment in their convoluted relationship, or echoes across it. Feel free to play with messy timelines and unreliable narrators!

Hector/Teddy

I’m 110% sure they’ve been made to have sex before, either in a storyline or for the gratification of someone like Charlotte. Would love to see some part of it; it doesn’t have to be explicit- if you want to detail a bit of hero/villain flirtation in a storyline that would rock too. If you want to go deeper and play off the idea of a pwp for the gratification of the reader mimicking the storylines for the gratification of the park visitors, I’d be fascinated to see what you come up with!

Dolores/Teddy/Wyatt

I didn’t nominate this but gosh does it interest me! I assume, based on end of season spoilers, that this isn’t a strictly literal pairing? But I’d love to see how Teddy is torn between the damsel in distress he loves and the soldier he hates, and how he reconciles them as the same person. If you want to do weird hallucinations in the vein of the show, I could see a threesome as a manifestation of this struggle? Also they’re both really hot, sue me?

The Dresden Files

Harry/Thomas

I will read anything about these two, but I love the pairing most when not everything has been neatly resolved yet. So give me the guilt, the pining, the angst, Thomas’s anger over Harry’s little incident on the boat, Thomas’s guilt over using his hunger, Harry’s fear about going darkside and his revulsion to monsters- any and all of it!

Charity/Michael/Harry

Someone mentioned this pairing to me ages ago and it’s fascinated me ever since. Harry has always sort of idolized the Carpenters and their goodness and his perfect life while at the same time telling himself he doesn’t deserve any of it. Perhaps Charity and Michael finally snap and try to show him he does. Through gentle domestic schmoop or a hot threesome where they both get all dommy on him, up to you!

Margaret/Lasciel

As I recall, there’s a projection of Margaret hanging around Harry’s mind, and of course Lasciel is in there too. Have they crossed paths? Margaret flirted with the darkness; I can see them hitting it off in Harry’s subconscious.

Lara/Thomas/Harry

I’m imagining this as “Lara seduces Harry in order to make Thomas jealous and it ends with a dubconny messed up threesome that’s one part hatesex (Lara-Thomas), one part angsty pining (Thomas-Harry), and one part really confused (Harry).”

Lara/Lasciel

Lara is a succubus and Lasciel is a fallen angel that specializes in seduction. What would have happened if Lara picked up Lasciel’s coin instead of Harry? One-upmanship pwps are also welcome!

Jared/Ebenezer

Jared and Ebenezer were reportedly on good terms as young men. That must have been an explosive pairing- a demonic assassin and a hotheaded young wizard, blowing things up across 1700s Europe. And then something went wrong in Istanbul, and now they’re bitter enemies. What happened? And do they still angrily/guiltily/angstily think of each other?

The Lord of the Rings

Aragorn/Boromir

I’d love something that plays with Boromir’s conflicted feelings about Aragorn- on the one hand he’s sort of a usurper and has none of the outward polish that one might expect- but on the other hand Boromir is drawn to him despite himself. 

Boromir/Faramir

YES more brothers! I am just realizing that this letter is v incest heavy. I love these two, for all we don’t get to see them interact together. Boromir’s protectiveness! Faramir’s hero worship! Guilt! Shame! Angst!

Faramir/Witch-King

Welp! File this under “things I didn’t know I wanted.” Umm if we matched on this one, please note I am quite fine with dubcon and noncon, but please no detailed mentions of maiming. And, uh, no fluff for this one?

Aragorn/Haldir

UI know Haldir isn’t technically supposed to be at Helm’s Deep, but that meeting and that hug! We-might-die tomorrow late night conversations and makeouts? Or if you are book-canon only, perhaps a look at their various meetings in Lorien?

Eomer/Faramir

They have very different personalities and cultures, and I’d love to see those clashes played with. Culture clashes and miscommunications! How do you flirt in Rohan?! Arranged marriages! Brothers in arms we-might-die tent sex while trying to be quiet ahh!

Aaaand that’s it! Thank you so much, dear writer!