#when della Asked me to....dam.....

[the-writer-nerd-ro]

My friend @soupy-drawz drew this excellent comic about Trans Louie that I loved so much I had to write a little sequel to it. Go read the comic here

Thank you, Soup, for letting me write this!

"Aw man, now I look like a-" Louie's breath caught, eyes widening.

"Like a boy."

Louie smiled then, hesitant, laughing a little at his stupidity. His stupidity. How had it taken him so long to see it? When he'd always had no trouble seeing all of the angles before?

Maybe because until now, a stranger had stared back any time he'd looked in the mirror.

And now Louie finally recognized himself.

He would have to file it away, of course. Pull his hood up while he schemed the best way to tell his family he was trans. They already called him Louie, that didn't have to change. He could deal with everything else for a while.

He could deal with other people not seeing him as he finally saw himself.

Or, at least he thought he could.

However, the second he stepped out of the bathroom, reaching to adjust his hood, he ran into the one other person who always saw all the angles.

Della froze. "Louie, your hair-"

"It was getting too long," he shifted from foot to foot, avoiding eye contact.

"It looks good. You look like-"

"Me," Louie finished for her. "I look like me."

Della beamed, "Yeah, you do."

To Louie's surprise, Della gathered him into a hug, whispering, "It's more than a haircut, isn't it?"

Tears sprung to his eyes unbidden.

"How did you know?" He asked, keeping his voice low.

"I've never seen you look this happy before."

"Is it okay?' Louie asked, knowing he didn't need permission, wanting reassurance anyway.

"Of course it is. Do you want to talk about it?"

Louie nodded a little, "I haven't really felt like myself, when I look in the mirror I've just been seeing someone else."

Seeing you, he thought, though he did not say it.

Della nodded. "Mirrors can be cruel and unforgiving."

"But today, when I finished cutting my hair, it was like all the pieces finally clicked together. I wasn't me before. I guess I got so good at lying I started lying to myself. I'm not a girl. I've… I've never been a girl." Saying it out loud felt like a weight off of his chest.

"I'm proud of you, Louie. I'm proud to call you my son."

The tears came faster now, and he buried his head in her shirt.

"Why didn't I see it before?" He sobbed.

"Hey, hey. There's no timeline for these things. It's never too late to find out who you are. There's no shame in taking longer than other people."

Louie didn't say anything, just clung to his mom while he composed himself.

It felt like he'd wasted his life pretending to be someone he wasn't. But maybe Della was right. Maybe it wasn't too late.

"Will you help me tell the others?" He requested when he'd finally dried his tears. Now that the dam had broken he didn't want to bide his time and hide his truth.

"Of course."

[moonbeam-dragon]

Light of Our Lives Part 3

Moonrise! Here’s more of this. Enjoy some legitimate development of character. This will be a little more filler than anything. But whatever. Tw: Gosalyn is guilty of manslaughter technically, some Dewlyn, I actually let them swear for the first time wooo.

Gosalyn was quiet over dinner. It wasn’t unusual. Recently she’d had these spurts where she’d be withdrawn and solemn. Drake had hoped they’d become less frequent, which they had, only barely.

Launchpad had invited Della and her kids over for a couple days. They were staying in a hotel in town, but had had dinner with the Mallards the last two nights. Della and the kids had been rather worried about Gosalyn. When Drake explained what had happened, they understood why she was acting so weird.

Now here she was, poking at her peas and potatoes, not talking to anyone. She half-listened to Louie and Della as they went on about an adventure they’d had together. Normally, she would have been interrupting for more details, laughing and gasping at the interesting bits. But tonight she was just quiet, not noting any of the things that were being said.

“And we got out with the loot,” Louie concluded.

“And glory to our names!” Della added, putting an arm around her youngest.

Dewey laughed a bit. “You’re making me wish I’d gone with you.”

Louie rolled his eyes. “This required a bit more class and agility than you have. Plus, there was only enough room for two people in that vault. It was cramped, man.”

Drake looked over at Gosalyn, hoping she’d give some remarks. She didn’t. Now that he took a good look, it seemed like she’d only taken a bite or two out of her potatoes. Dewey glanced up to speak to Launchpad and Drake, but saw the concern on the dad’s face. He traced it back to Gosalyn, who sat next to him, and frowned deeply. She was never so quiet. “Hey,” he whispered, putting a hand on her arm. “Do you want to go talk?” Gosalyn didn’t pull her arm back, but she didn’t respond. She slowly looked up at Dewey, green eyes hollow and sad. Dewey felt his heart break a little at the sight. He nudged her arm. “Let’s go to your room and talk after dinner. You should eat a little more.” Gosalyn shook her head, stiffening. Dewey rubbed her arm and turned back to his plate. “At least don’t waste mashed potatoes,” he said lightly.

Gosalyn couldn’t help the small smile on her face when he said that. It wasn’t forceful, just a suggestion. She did love her dad’s mashed potatoes… Gosalyn picked up her fork and finally started eating. Drake noticed Dewey had said something to her. He didn’t hear what, but he was glad it got her focused enough to eat.

When everyone was done, Launchpad suggested they all move to the living room and watch something. As they headed over, Dewey felt the arms of his jacket get pulled. He looked back to see Gosalyn just staring at him. He looked back at the others. Should he make an excuse? Webby caught his eye and almost asked if he was coming, but saw Gosalyn and instead nodded silently. She’d cover him. Dewey followed Gosalyn up to her room, watching her. She shut the door behind them and looked at Dewey. “I can’t live with myself,” she said, one of her first words that night. “The last three weeks have been hell.”

Dewey frowned and stepped a little closer. “I know. Drake told me what happened at the dam.”

Gosalyn looked at him with teary eyes, then suddenly screamed and kicked the ground. “I’m such a failure! I’m a horrible person!”

Dewey shook his head, holding his hands out to her. “You’re not a horrible person.”

“I let people die, Dewey!” she snapped, going over to her desk. “Three people. A family.” She grabbed a newspaper off of it and threw it at him. Dewey caught it against his chest. He stared at his friend in shock. How was it that Gosalyn could be so quiet and isolated one moment, and suddenly yelling and burning with self-loathing. He unfolded the paper and saw a picture of a family on it. They were mice, two wealthy-looking parents and a young daughter. “I couldn’t get them out in time. The parents fought until they pulled each other off. And their daughter-” She stopped herself and slammed her fists against her desk. “She fell. I tried to pull her up, I did. But there was only so much I could do! She slipped and I dropped her. I let an innocent child die!”

Dewey stared at the picture. The girl looked pretty young, at the very oldest nine. “You tried to save her. Doesn’t that count?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Gosalyn said. “I couldn’t. If I’d just held on a little longer, she’d be alive.”

“You did save a lot of others,” he pointed out. “There are a lot of people who owe you their lives.”

“I owe that child her own life,” Gosalyn said. “Her parents brought their demise on themselves. They fought while we were hanging above the dam. But that little girl tried to follow me. She trusted me to protect her. I broke that.” Dewey looked up at her, seeing tears fall onto her desk, which she was hunched over on. “She’s gone because of me. She’s washed out into the bay because of me.”

Dewey shook his head. “Gosalyn, that’s not it at all. If you hadn’t done anything, they’d all be mind-controlled or sick or hurt.” He walked over to her and set down the paper. “THink of everyone you did save. Do they think you’re a bad person? Of course not! You did everything you could.”

“Not according to them,” Gosalyn spat, smacking the newspaper. “Did you read any of it? ‘Why didn’t Quiverwing Quack do anything about the Pilligas family?’ ‘Does Quiverwing Quack truly care about the innocents of St. Canard?’ ‘Quiverwing Quack: Does she value the lives of bystanders?’”

Dewey rolled his eyes. “The press always says things like that. But they never know the truth. You do. Do you value the bystanders?”

“Yes!” Gosalyn said. “I do. But I’m powerless to protect each of them. What good am I if I can’t stop things like that?” she asked.

Dewey watched silently. He didn’t know what to say. He had never been in her situation before. Not exactly. But he couldn’t really empathize with her over that. When he’d accidentally killed somebody, he’d fought a bad person to protect his family. It was better not to try and compare those. But there was one story he heard from Launchpad he might be able to use. “You’re a good person because you feel guilt and remorse. Your dad couldn’t even do that.”

Gosalyn looked up at him, eyes teary. “What do you mean?”

“He accidentally killed someone. Granted, they technically lived. But he didn’t know that,” he said. When Gosalyn gave him a confused look, he shrugged. “I found out that he accidentally pushed the Liquidator into a vat of poisoned water. He thought he’d died and shrugged it off. Launchpad said that your dad said, and I quote, ‘Cases are so much easier when the bad guy offs himself like that.’”

Gosalyn’s eyes widened. “But- But that was a villain. This was-”

“He wasn’t a villain until then,” Dewey reminded her. “Sure, he was a sour man and a criminal, but he had done nothing that deserved death. He deserved at least some mourning, but Darkwing didn’t feel bad.”

Gosalyn sighed shakily. Did her father really let someone fall and not get upset over it? “I can’t let this go like he did,” she said. “I can’t forgive myself for letting her die.”

Dewey put a hand over hers. “Then don’t forgive yourself. But you can let her rest in peace. And let yourself relax. You tried your best. You saved so many people. But you didn’t quit on her.” Gosalyn looked up at him, breathing more heavily and shakily. “You can respect failure, but not a quitter. And you are not a quitter. You have the decency to recognize that you failed. The guilt you feel proves that you’re good.”

Gosalyn took a deep breath. “How can I be Quiverwing if people died on my watch?”

“People died on your dad’s watch. Good and bad. And he’s still out there, being the best he can be,” Dewey told her. “You’re a great hero. I know you can’t see it right now. But when you see yourself the way I do, you will.”

“I think Quiverwing needs to be put away. Just for a while,” she whispered. “I can’t handle that pressure anymore. I’m not ready to have the city depend on me like this.”

Dewey pulled Gosalyn into a hug. Maybe if he held her tight, he could hold all these dark thoughts out for a little while. He ran a hand through her hair as she relaxed into his body a little. He felt a spot on his jacket get wet. He sighed and hugged her tighter. As Gosalyn just broke down, he whispered comfort to her and ran a hand through her hair. Most people would look at the Duck brothers and think “they’re not good with feelings.” That wasn’t exactly true. They didn’t often have reasons to be sappy and sentimental, but they were able to. But Dewey would deny it if his brothers asked if he’d held Gosalyn tight and rubbed her back to soothe her. He hoped she wouldn’t tell anyone. He’d hate to be made fun of for something so personal.

He eventually led Gosalyn over to her bed, letting her rest and lean into him. He almost felt like he should say something more, but nothing came to mind. Maybe he didn’t need to try and convince her she was okay. Maybe Drake and everyone were going about it wrong when they tried to tell her she wasn’t right about this whole thing. Maybe she just needed to feel like shit. Maybe she just needed someone to keep her afloat instead of pulling her out. Maybe he could keep her afloat until she could pull herself up.

Gosalyn held onto Dewey’s jacket tightly. It was comforting just to have someone there who could take care of her. Someone who could just be there so she wasn’t alone. She lost the concept of time. She only knew it was a long time before her sobs calmed down and she was just sniffling, holding his jacket.

“I think Quiverwing needs to be put away. Just for a while,” she whispered. “I can’t handle that pressure anymore. I’m not ready to have the city depend on me like this.”

“Then put Quiverwing away,” Dewey said, taking her hands. “We’re young. We have all the time in the world to go on adventures and save lives. Your dad is taking care of the city.”

Gosalyn smiled and fell into Dewey’s arms. He caught her and held her close. “I think I’ll get better,” she said with a watery voice.

“I know you will,” he told her. After a few minutes of him ust rubbing her back to calm her hitching gasps, he asked, “When was the last time you slept properly?”

“I don’t even know,” Gosalyn said. “It’s hard for me to sleep at night with all this in my head.”

“Have you told your dad?”

“Yeah. But it doesn’t help much. He tries. I'm sorry I can’t do this for him,” she whispered. “But warm milk doesn’t really help this sort of thing.”

Dewey hummed. “I get it. Sometimes I stay up all night because I get nightmares from certain adventures. Getting crushed by a giant worm and watching your brother make out with it just doesn’t feel right.”

Gosalyn pushed away from Dewey to stare at him. “Wait what?”

“Long story,” Dewey said with a small laugh.

“I’m willing to listen,” she said.

Dewey smirked. “Fine. I can tell you a bedtime story.”

Gosalyn chuckled a bit and pulled away. “Let me put on something more comfortable,” she said, going over to her messy closet.

Dewey blushed and turned the other way. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He fiddled with his jacket sleeves for a minute and only looked back when Gosalyn said.

She was wearing an oversized green sweatshirt, which looked like something she’d taken from her dad, now sitting on her bed, hugging herself. Dewey pulled off his jacket and left it on the bed, scooting next to her and putting an arm around her. “So, Huey and I overheard a call from our cousin Fethry. They were known for coming up with some great story, only to show them a rock or something, right? So Huey and I decided to go anyway.”

Gosalyn smiled as she listened to Dewey go on and on about this old adventure. She would occasionally make a comment about something, but was mostly quiet and attentive. It was progress, Dewey told himself. He wasn’t sure when Gosalyn drifted off, but he looked down to see her head on his chest, eyes closed peacefully. He smiled, resting back on the headboard.

The door opened a few minutes later, and Drake was standing there, suddenly looking confused. Dewey put a finger to his beak, nodding towards Gosalyn. Drake came farther into the room. “You got her to sleep?” he asked, looking almost offended.

Dewey nodded. “She just fell asleep.”

“How did you get her to sleep?” Drake whispered.

“She cried herself exhausted. She dozed off while I was telling a story,” he reported, trying to stay quiet and still so he wouldn’t disturb her. “Did you need her?”

Drake shook his head. “I was wondering where you two went.” He sat at the foot of the bed, frowning at Gosalyn. “I was worried about her.”

Dewey nodded. “So was I. I still kind of am. But I think she’ll get better.”

“You do?” Drake asked. He’d started seriously thinking Gosalyn might not be able to get back up. The remorse she was dealing with had started getting into her whole life, distracting her from school, eating, and sleep.

“Yeah. She will,” Dewey told him confidently.

Drake smiled gratefully. He stood up and stretched. “Welp, why don’t you come downstairs and watch Pelican Island with the rest of us?”

Dewey shifted to get up, but Gosalyn’s hand suddenly tightened on her arm and she whined. Dewey smiled and moved back. “I don’t think she’ll let me. Maybe I’ll stay here a little longer?”

Drake chuckled at Gosalyn’s sudden grip. He nodded and went back to the door. “Two things. One, no clowning around with my daughter,” he said, glaring a bit. Dewey blushed but nodded in understanding. “And two, if she starts sleep-walking, restrain her and call for help. There have been too many incidents.”

Dewey almost asked what the heck he meant, but Drake left, leaving only a sliver in the door. The teen boy looked down at Gosalyn. She might be hard to restrain, but okay. He pulled the blanket over her, smiling. “Goodnight, Gos,” he whispered.

And Gosalyn slept, peaceful in knowing that her beautiful city was safe.

There. This was shorter but I wanted to finish. I didn’t mean to spend so much time on this but oh well. Farewell, best of luck, avoid roasted cabbage, don’t eat earwax, and look on the bright side of life!Moonset!

[salted-caramel-tea]

alright my long awaited (nobody asked) thoughts on the new maneskin album as a bitch that had way too much maneskin on her Spotify wrapped.

OWN MY MIND - 7/10

I rlly fuckin vibe w this song . the instrumentals in my opinion are some of the best in the album . ive been walking about going do u wanna do u wanna own my mind to the point where its annoying ppl.

GOSSIP- 9/10

don't ask me why this song just has a little bit of girlypop to it. anyway I dance in my bedroom to this this is what this song was made for. drunk women to dance around in their bedrooms in a tshirt and underwear. do your sexy little drunk jumping dance throwing ur hair around u will have such a good time. tom morello FUCKS btw.

TIMEZONE - 8/10

made my cry what the fck . my u key is sticky btw I might jst be missing the u from words sometimes . anyway im a sucker for a rock ballad . the Spotify notes saying it was the least thought out song by dam as an anxious love letter,,,, my heart. the raw emotion in his voice. its gonna send me over the edge

`BLA BLA BLA - 6/10

this was probably my lest favourite from the album it just didn't make me feel any kind of way. is it a bad song by any means ? no I think its fun and the storyline of the song is rlly interesting in the whole depicting the perspective of the most toxic boyfriend and playing it in a way that ridicules him but musically it just wasn't my style as much as the other tracks were

BABY SAID - 8/10

BASS LINE !!!!!!!!!!!! SLAY !!!!!! its got a good build to it and i rlly like the overall song it reminds me of something but I cant place what . this is gonna be another one I end up dancing to . it feels like an updated version of a song that would be on il ballo della vita . u know . it has il bella della vita vibes. I fuck w it

GASOLINE- 8.5/10

IVE BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS ONE !!!!!! genuinely I wanted it on the album since we got the teaser last year its such a good song with a powerful message the only thing is I wish it had a bit More going on like the heaviness of the song builds with every 'were gonna dance on gasoline' (and it did a little) so its just musical rock madness by the end if u catch my drift. its still a fucking banger tho and im so happy its on the album

FEEL - 7/10

this song reminds me of something and I DONT KNOW WHAT IT ISSSSSSSS. maybe its something 90s early 2000s but I cant figure it out. parts of the album have very britpop or like 90s rock vibes anyway the lil 'im about to make u feel' then straight into the guitars gets me pumped and I love it

DONT WANNA SLEEP - 7/10

big fan of the instrmentals and when dam shouts when he sings bt its just nit my fave from the album. I do love the dichotomy of the music and the lyrics and Thomas played w that guitar solo

KOOL KIDS- 100000/10

obsessed. very 90s britpop. the rawness the emotion behind it the fact that he was drnk when they recorded it the frustration with the sneering and snobbery of people post Eurovision the references to everything that happened over those weeks the 'eat my shit' at the end. its powerful what does it mean to be cool why is there so much pressure on people to look and act a certain way why do we have all these preconceived notions on people based on everything down to the music they listen to . I love it .

IF NOT FOR YOU - 10/10

im a scier for a rock ballad. the fact this was done in a one-take. the vocals the strings the instrumentals in general its just so gorgeous . im sobbing listening to it rn . I want this as my first dance as my wedding I really do I need to get my boyfriends approval tho. and he actually needs to propose first which won't be soon. I have time to convince him

READ YOUR DIARY - 7/10

I know that this is kinda a dark song about obsession but,, what is that melody . the chorus just goes so hard . its so good. AGAIN THOMAS BRINGING IT ALL TOGETHER WITTH THE GUITAR SOLO !!!!!!!!!

MARK CHAPMAN- 9/10

Im still learning Italian. but this song fucks so hard. genuinely all of their Italian songs are amazing I don't thinks there's one bad one. but the pace the guitars the bass the drums (all of them basically) I love some fast paced rock I love his voice I love this fucking song . Thomas u fucking genius the guitar solo SLAYED !!!!!!!!!!1

LA FINE - 10/10

im quitte literally obsessed w this song. ive made my mm listen to it. I power walk to class listening to it. it has that Teatro d'ira vibes to it very much zitti e buoni in nome del padre moments kind of lividi Sui gomiti vibes as well and girl. thats my fave album. it fucks. this song . and I love how they use their music to discuss important issues and serious topics

IL DONO DELLA VITA- 7/10

the storyline of this song is so interesting in its awareness of appreciating the things you have and what's around you and appreciating the little things and I can see this being phenomenal on stage and being recognised worldwide . I like faster paced songs but I love this song and I think the way it all builds and comes to a climax at the end is gorgeous before it slows down again for damiano and vic to all it all together. brilliant

MAMMAMIA- 10/10

girl it was number 2 in my wrapped second to zitti e buoni. makes me feel like a whore makes me want kill someone in a sexy way its fantastic. sexy ass bass line too. bass player is ALSO sexy.

SUPERMODEL

I was torn on this song when it first released bt the more one been listening to it the more I like it . love the nirvana reference. low waisted pants on onlyfans I pay for that <- best part of the song .

THE LONELIEST- 9/10

this is my mums favourites of the ones ive made her listen to . she likes the music video as well. again I cannot stress enough that domino is such a talented writer his lyrics are genuinely so poetic so beautiful and the band are so talented at building around the lyrics to portray the same form of real emotion with their instruments as domino does his voice everything just fits together and it creates masterpieces. I love this fucking song

the fact that a 6 was the lowest rating here today. I love maneskin fr I believe what theyre doing is reigniting the poplar interest in rock music and they are going to go so so so far . theyre genuinely some of the most talented people of our generation theyre insane. I really hope they expand their tor dates for future tours bc one uk show in england during my uni exam season is killing my Scottish ass . im obsessed w their music fr.

[resistanttodarkness]

A Brief Summary of Immortals, by Nathan Barrow

Hello, dear readers! Can you believe it’s been a whole year since President Della Frienze’s crazy inauguration speech? Life has certainly taken some turns since then!

I feel I would be failing in my duty as a journalist if I did not recap this historic event. And besides, this post can serve as a nice little summary of the world of Immortals as a whole! I’ll have Josh pin it to the main page! (Editor’s Note: Nate made this thing too damn long to pin it to the main page. It’s a mess as it is. I’ll make it a separate page on the site, or something.)

When President Frienze took the stage, everyone thought it was going to be your run-of-the-mill celebration speech, going over campaign promises and the like. Boy were we wrong! Out of nowhere, she drops this bombshell- “While I know this is meant to be a celebration for myself, my party, and those who voted for me, I must deliver an important message. Magic is real.”

Insane, right? I don’t think there was a sound on Capitol Hill for five minutes straight! Why’d she wait that long, anyway? To show she was serious? To check the audience for some Immortal agents? Boggles the mind, right? Anyway, she continued-

“Since nearly the dawn of human civilization, there have been people with the ability to perform inexplicable feats. Creating fire, water, lightning from nothing. Flight. Speaking with animals. The list goes on. These people are Immortals, named as such due to their unaging forms.”

To think she didn’t elaborate on that bit! Unaging! Bit hard to hide that for so long, right? I had to dig this up on my own last year, if you’ll recall. Turns out it’s more complicated than simply being “unaging”. An Immortal ages normally, and can even choose to pass away from old age if they so wish. But, they can also “reset” to the age of 25 from any age past it. Wild! 

The memory of seeing it in action still gives me goosebumps. Back when I interviewed Blake Ravitz over at the dam- The work was getting to him, even at only 35 years old. I guess Immortal powers take a lot to use. But I’ve seen 40-year-old Immortals do similar jobs just fine. Maybe some Immortals have more power than others? I’ve gotta make sure I ask the next one I interview about that!

This next bit’s real juicy- “However, at the end of a grueling war between Immortals in the Dark Ages, Mortalkind forced them into hiding. No longer. I welcome the Immortals of the United States of America to reveal themselves, and I urge my fellow world leaders to do the same.”

And then she just left! Didn’t let a single person interview her! 

It took a few days after that, but shows of Immortal powers started popping up everywhere. Every single news channel in existence just had hours of B-roll playing of people doing crazy things! I think the media bigwigs were in just as much shock and awe as the rest of us!

Since then, things have been weirdly calm. Sure, you have the occasional anti-Immortal protest, but I think the type who like to punish people for being themselves tend not to be as powerful as they like to pretend they are when faced with firebending, lightning-shooting, flying wizard people!

Otherwise, you mostly have Immortals just… Living life, but with the option to use their powers. I mentioned Blake Ravitz working at the dam, but I’ve also heard about psychic warehouse workers, and zookeepers that make the animals the happiest anyone’s ever seen them!

And the best part? This isn’t ruining the workforce! I mean, there aren’t really any Immortal abilities I know about that can help you flip burgers or run the register, so we aren’t fully out of crap jobs, unfortunately. But the thing is, Immortals have always been among us. If anything, the workforce kinda just got shuffled around a bit.

There is one sticking point, though- While law enforcement now has Immortal powers to work with, so do criminals. As such, things on that end have been a rapid cat-and-mouse endeavor trying to match the right Immortal cops with the right areas of jurisdiction to best deal with whatever powers the criminals there have.

And, unfortunately, my lovely home of San Francisco has been one of the places that hasn’t quite caught up on that front. We’ve been dealing with a rash of bank robberies that the SFPD can’t pin down. 

But, that’s not for this post. I’ll be doing a deep dive on that particular story in my next article. Who knows, maybe the problem will be resolved before then!

[helsknight]

goodnight sweet prince...

(this piece is dedicated to della @micer2012 because of her absolute dedication to the exiavojtmmc community) (and also because he said that he liked this style and every time i see him post comments on my art it makes me happy)

[fandomwritings-cm13]

The Case of the Missing Maid (A Paul Drake fic) -- Chapter 3

Pairing: Paul Drake x OC (Maisie Sciortino)

Summary: Lots of twists come with the case of the now deceased Mr. Delacruz and Mrs. Howard. But what of Lara? Who is the murderer?

Warnings: mentions of murder (no graphic descriptions), lots of dialogue, a great deal of tears (Maisie goes through a lot, cut her some slack)

A/N: Finally a little interaction between Maisie and Paul :) Please let me know what you think. Also, requests are open! Feel free to send an ask or a message or you can fill out the form in my masterlist.

Word Count: 1161

“I think something may have happened to Lara,” I say, my mind numb as I stand just inside my workroom. 

“What do you mean, Ms. Sciortino?” Mr. Mason inquires.

“She-.... On the phone, she-...” 

A sob breaks loose, and the dam breaks. Tears flow freely down my cheeks as I sink to my knees where I stand.

A strong, masculine arm wraps around me, steadying me, and my head contacts his shoulder a mere split second later. His hand rubs my back, likely in some attempt to console me. Frankly, I think I’m beyond the point of consolement.

“Paul, take Della and check on Mrs. Delacruz at the Peaceful Meadows Hotel,” Mr. Mason commands. I can feel his voice vibrating through his body. “Call here when you have her.”

“Are you sure that’s the right thing, Perry?” Ms. Street questions.

He nods, his chin lightly bumping the top of my head once. “I’m sure.”

I hear the door opening, footsteps shuffling out, and the door closing again. A couple seconds later, the front door opens then shuts.

“Ms. Sciortino, let’s-” Mr. Mason begins, stopping when I shake my head quickly. “The floor certainly isn’t the most comfortable place to be.”

“I’m sorry,” I sniffle, pulling back slightly and wiping my tears with my hands. “I-... It all just hit me all at once.”

“No need to apologize. A lot has happened over the past twelve hours.”

“What if-”

“You can’t think that way. Paul and Della are going to find her, no problem. We should be getting a call from them shortly.”

I nod slowly, leaning further away from him. His arm loosens around me.

“Have you had breakfast or anything to eat yet today?” Mr. Mason inquires.

I shake my head, not looking him in the eye. “Couldn’t stomach it knowing that Lara was being arrested for a crime she didn’t even commit…”

“Your testimony will help. Bradley’s, too.”

“She’s still been through far more than someone in mourning should.” I sigh, looking up at the ceiling as more tears well up in my eyes. “I just wish my brother was here…”

“I can arrange for him to come into town.”

I shake my head. “Not possible. He’s on a dig in Egypt.”

“My apologies.”

“No need. He’s doing what he loves, hopefully not worried about me.”

“Shall we go to the island?”

I nod slowly.

Mr. Mason grabs my elbow to steady me and pulls me to stand with him, his other hand steadying me further at my waist. He waits another second before guiding me out of the room, opening the door but keeping his hand firmly on my elbow. He pulls the chair back for me, and I take a seat. Once I’m settled, he pushes me closer to the countertop and then takes a seat beside me.

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Mason?” Harriet asks as she approaches the countertop. 

“Some breakfast would be nice,” he replies with a smile.

“Bacon and eggs alright? I should still have some in the warming oven.”

He nods once. “Perfect.”

Harriet disappears back into the kitchen, and Mr. Mason turns to me. He opens his mouth to say something, but the phone ringing interrupts him. Without missing a beat, he gets out of his chair and goes to the phone.

“Hello?” he answers into the receiver. “Oh, Paul! How’d it go? Did you find Mrs. Delacruz?” 

There’s a pause as Mr. Drake answers. 

Mr. Mason’s brow furrows, and when he speaks, his voice is serious. “What do you mean you couldn’t find her?” 

Another pause.

“Contact Tragg and find out what happened. On the double, Paul.”

He nods once then hangs it back on the hook.

He stands there for another second before turning to face me. His brow is still furrowed, and there’s a frown on his lips.

“What happened to Lara?” I ask, my voice small and trembling.

“They couldn’t find her,” Mr. Mason answers. “She never even checked in.”

“So she was calling from somewhere else, not the hotel.”

Mr. Mason nods.

“Alright, brunch is served,” Harriet announces, her voice chipper.

I turn to look at her but can barely see her through the tears welling up in my eyes.

“What happened?”

“Lara is missing.”

With that, the dam is once again broken. I put my arms on the counter and rest my head on them, allowing the tears to fall again. 

Mr. Mason keeps his distance from me, and even Harriet doesn’t attempt to comfort me.

A knock on the door startles me into sitting upright. I don’t know how long has passed since Mr. Mason hung up the phone. 

I watch as Mr. Mason approaches then answers the door.

“Lieutenant Tragg,” Mr. Mason greets, “back so soon?”

“Yes, back so soon, Mr. Mason,” the lieutenant retorts as he steps into the door. “I’d like to speak to Ms. Sciortino.” He looks over in my direction. “Ah, the woman of the hour.”

I shift in my seat, turning to face him a bit better.

“How much money would you say you make in a year, Ms. Sciortino?” he asks bluntly.

I shrug. “Probably about $5,000, maybe more with my various interests and investments. Why? What does this have to do with Lara?”

“We found her dead a short while ago.”

“You what…?”

“She’s dead.”

“No, no, she can’t be. She-... She’s…”

The tears overflow all over again.

“We have your statements from the bank, which show you withdrawing large sums of money at a time,” Lieutenant Tragg continues. “So, the district attorney has some questions for you.”

I nod quickly. “Just let me…” I pause, trying to slow my breaths down. “Just let me collect myself first, and I’ll go with you.”

. . . . . . . . . . .

“But Perry, I’m not finding anything,” Paul states, slumping in his seat beside Mr. Mason’s desk.

“She didn’t kill her closest friend, her friend’s husband, or their maid,” Della replies. “Someone else had to have done it.”

“The question is who, Della,” Perry sighs. “What do we know about the maid?”

Paul fishes his notebook out of his suit coat pocket. “Well, she was the sister of Ms. Sciortino’s gardener, Bradley Jones. Ms. Sciortino hired her for the Delacruzes, to help Mrs. Delacruz out around her house.” His eyes continue down the page as he pauses for a brief moment to determine what to say next. “She had been working in the house since October of ‘56. She’s married to an Arthur Howard, has been since ‘51. Apparently, the couple wasn’t in a good financial situation. Bradley said he asked for help getting Heidi a job. Said Ms. Sciortino felt very badly for the girl.”

“So she was employed by Mr. Delacruz?”

Paul shakes his head. “Nope. She was paid by Ms. Sciortino every week.”

“Have you located Mr. Howard?”

Paul sighs. “Had no such luck, Perry.”

“Well, find him. I want to talk to him, see if he knows anything.”

[twilighteve-writes]

Feather One Divided -- Chapter 11: The Pull

Feather one divided, fate’s ties frayed,

Fractured and wedged, scattered and gone.

After sharing an unsettling dream of Felldrake, the Three Caballeros decided to join back together with Xandra to form a stronghold in case the sorcerer returned. But Felldrake’s plans proved to be bigger than they expected, and when he struck so close to home, it was all Donald could do to keep his family – and himself – together.

(Also available in AO3)

(Chapter 1)

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A cutlass, a broadsword, and a spear united.

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“Home.”

Della tilted her head at Donald’s answer, but it was Uncle Scrooge who voiced their thoughts. “What do you mean, home?”

Donald turned to them, eerily slow. For some reason, Panchito and José both mirrored the motion in the exact same time, exact same speed, exact same direction, and Della was suddenly regretful of the times she and Donald decided to pull the creepy twins prank on anyone they deemed funny enough to pull that one on. It was fun when she was doing it; it really wasn’t fun to see it happen before her eyes. The golden glow really didn’t help matters, either.

“It’s home,” Donald said, voice almost toneless. It was still eerily clear instead of the scratchy voice he normally spoke in. “It’s in Duckburg.”

Uncle Scrooge rolled his eyes. “Of course it is,” he grumbled. “We’re getting back, then.”

“Where exactly is the Well, though?” Della asked. “Do you have a more specific location?”

Donald’s eyelids fluttered. “The sea,” he said after a beat. “By the Money Bin.”

“Okay, great, thanks, can you drop the seeds and drop the whole gold glitter thing now?” Della asked again.

Donald tilted his head the other way; José and Panchito both mirrored the motion. They had to be doing that on purpose.

Xandra was the one who answered. “I don’t think he can drop it.”

Della blinked at her. “Wait, what? Why? He just needs to drop the seeds.”

“It’s not that simple,” Xandra said. “If he drops it, the connection breaks. And we don’t know if the Well is the type of location that changes every time it wants to move or not.”

Magica hummed with interest. “Is that not the sort of magic that is less draining if you just leave them be? Leaving him be for now might be better for him in the long run than cutting it off prematurely.”

“Yeah,” Xandra confirmed reluctantly. “I don’t like it either, but… I guess if we can let them rest while Donald is still doing this and maybe have them use the Orb of Remedies at the same time, it will lessen the load.”

“Is there really nothing else we can do?” Della asked just as Uncle Scrooge began rummaging for the orb.

“Not really, no,” Xandra said, shaking her head. “You can probably connect to his magic to help feed the need for the connection to keep going, but it’ll drain you and you need to pilot the plane. Also it’s really draining, I don’t recommend it for you.” She glanced at the three Caballeros. “I guess… I can supply them with my magic, too, but I don’t think mortals can survive a deity’s pure magic.”

“Put that as a last resort, then,” Uncle Scrooge said, placing the orb in Donald’s hand. His fingers curled around the orb, but it was almost an instinctive reaction. He didn’t seem all that present, still. Uncle Scrooge sighed and fixed Donald’s hat and turned to Della. “Let’s go back to Duckburg, then. Land by the Money Bin. We’ll set up camp there unless the location changes.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “But we’ll rest here for now if you’re not up to it, lass.”

“No, I’m fine,” Della said. She wasn’t at her best, but she could still fly back home okay. “I’ll rest more once we’re landed.”

Uncle Scrooge hummed, but kept his eyes on her. She ignored the doubtful stare, plopping down on the pilot’s seat and glancing at how Goldie helped Xandra coax Donald to sit down and wear his seatbelt correctly. Once she made sure everyone was safely strapped in (and double and triple checked, just to be sure), she had the plane soaring in no time and made a beeline to the Money Bin.

Once she landed, he helped Uncle Scrooge wrangle Donald out of the plane while Xandra herded Panchito and José to follow. Their connection with Donald had started to tire them out, with their magic being siphoned away. A part of Della was jealous of them, missing the way Donald’s ocean wrapped around her when they let their magic connect and communicate with each other. As she let Donald plop down on a chair, she let her magic snake in and wrap around Donald’s, feeling the transformed magic that no longer felt like the sea sluggishly flow beneath her sky.

And then the current snapped hungrily and latched onto Della’s magic, leeching off of her and drinking greedily, like a man trapped in the desert desperately clawing for water. Della let out a muffled gasp of surprise, and Donald’s head snapped up, a sudden, sharp awareness in his eyes. He pushed Della away and barricaded his magic, cutting off the connection between them. Della swayed back, blinking away the dark dots in her eyes.

“Don’t,” Donald snarled, voice scratchy. The gold glitters seemed to dissipate for a split second before they were back, and Donald closed his eyes and breathed, slumping into his seat.

A pair of strong hands caught and steadied her. She looked up to meet Xandra’s eyes.

“I told you it’ll drain you,” Xandra said, frowning in displeasure.

“You didn’t say how much,” Della rasped.

“I also said I don’t recommend it for you,” Xandra pointed out. “Donald, Panchito, and José would be fine; the amulet boost their magic like crazy. You don’t have that boost.”

“Will she be okay?” Uncle Scrooge asked. His voice sounded far and muffled. Oh boy, was this magic exhaustion? Was that a thing?

“Probably, if she rests,” Xandra answered, and oh, her voice sounded even more muffled.

“I’m good, I’m good, I’m gonna rest, it’s okay,” Della half-mumbled, half-slurred as she pulled herself free from Xandra’s hold. She slumped into a seat a few chairs away from Donald’s, feeling creeped out by the way the wild magic still felt like it was hammering away at the dam Donald built to reach hers. She scrunched her eyes shut and sighed, internally cursing the building pain in her head. Magic migraine. Fun.

She closed her eyes, determined to ride away the pain until she felt okay, and when she opened her eyes again she realized she had fallen asleep at some point, and she had felt loads better. She kneaded at the crick in her neck as she looked around, finding Uncle Scrooge arguing with Magica, voice low, with Goldie looking away with an unreadable expression in her eyes. Something about wishes. Xandra stood over José, Panchito, and Donald, who gathered together at one corner, all three still glowing softly gold.

Della blinked when she realized that the three had donned armors; a gold-and-blue one for Donald, a broze-and-red one for Panchito, and silver-and-green for José, though the colors were slightly covered by the glittery gold they still held. It had dimmed somewhat, but it was still shining brightly, covering Donald, José, and Panchito in identical aquamarine-and-gold that reflected off every surface.

José seemed to realize she was staring, and he offered a small smile. “Final battle, my friend,” he said. “Time to get serious.”

“Your get serious is to get sets of armor?” Della blurted.

“And weapons,” Panchito confirmed. His voice was much more subdued than usual, but he still held up his spear in gusto. José held out his own weapon, a one sided sword with a slight curve that Della had no idea what the name was, and behind them, Donald caught her gaze and showed her his own straight sword.

“Sweet, do I get any?” Della asked again.

“Sorry, buddy, but those are Caballero exclusives,” Xandra said with a grimace.

Della blew a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Well that’s disappointing.”

“You can fly, you’ll be fine,” Panchito said.

“Ehhh, it’s still not as cool as toting about weapons in shining armors like you guys.”

The gold that glittered about Donald’s person pulsed. He turned to the sea, staring into the depths. “The Well’s calling,” he murmured.

“It’s starting to appear, then,” Xandra concluded. She glanced to the clear sky, looking at the hanging full moon and the brightly shining Venus.

“Well, then,” Godie said, drawing attention to her, “I guess it’s time for me to go.”

“You’re not joining us?” Della asked.

“Oh, I know when to pick my battles,” Goldie said with a shrug. “I can’t fight with magic. Getting my wish is tempting, sure, but I think Scroogie here would rather wish for his family’s safety. Can’t really argue with that, with how much trouble you get into.” She looked away and added under her breath, “And getting skewered with magic isn’t my favorite pastime.”

“You’re not just saying you’re backing off because you want to raid my bin, are you?” Uncle Scrooge asked with narrowed eyes.

“For once, no! I’m as surprised as you are!”

Donald ignored the banter and walked closer to the water. Della followed his gaze and saw the beginnings of a whirlpool materializing in the water, and it slowly grew bigger.

Donald’s golden shine grew stronger, as did the gold that enveloped both José and Panchito. The other two Caballero joined Donald by his sides, bluish gold pulsing. With each pulse, the glow grew stronger until the three were a beacon in the night, nearly overtaking the generous light of the moon. Their magic soared and screamed in scattered, staccato flares, Donald’s coursing water swooshing underneath and José’s sunset and cocktails warming Della’s throat and Panchito’s rowdy music tapping against any available surface. Their magic ran amok and hooked themselves to any other magic nearby, not greedily sucking like Donald’s was earlier but simply trying to rouse them up. Soon, Della could feel elongating shadows and creeping dusk that was Magica began flicking about, her natural magic peeking through even without the amulet to channel or direct it. Goldie’s followed, curtains and masks and warm smiles with a thousand meanings peeking through fabric. To Della’s surprise, something flicked and flared in Uncle Scrooge, and the ring of gold coins hitting one another jingled in her ears. Soon, Xandra, too, shone gold, and the feeling of whizzing arrows wrapped around Della’s torso and triggered her own magic.

White plumes bloomed around her as wind picked up, blowing her hair up and lifting her feet off the ground. She breathed as the sunny summer sun seemed to warm her face.

Distracted by the rising of their magic, they didn’t pay attention to the whirlpool.

The next thing Della was aware of was the sensation of being slapped in the face with pure darkness that rolled her over like the ocean waves, and Della gasped, trying to pull air into her lungs and found herself unable to. Panic hit her full force.

She screamed.

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In the end, they didn’t really need to tail anyone, not really.

When Drake got the plane to park by Launchpad’s garage, it was clear that it wouldn’t fit all of them. Somehow, he managed to calm the ensuing protests with a simple, “Look, I know, but this is what we have and planes don’t grow on trees.”

Dewey wanted so very badly to point out that the plane he brought looked suspiciously familiar to the one used by the other vigilante running about Duckburg, Darkwing Duck, but he, Huey, and the girls agreed not to say anything for now. There would be time to interrogate him later.

Well, Dewey knew. But it wasn’t like it was his secret to tell, and he knew when to shut up when he really had to, so.

Fenton took his sweet time equipping the plane with stronger radar capable of withstanding and detecting magic. Dewey suspected he was stalling to keep them in the manor for as long as possible, but Fenton assured them he was working as fast as he could. Dewey doubted Fenton could lie, so he decided to trust him. Apparently, upgrading the radar took Fenton almost a day on its own due to the complexity of how magic was scienced enough to be measured and detected.

It was the next day, the day before what Dewey had come to dub as the moon and star day, when Fenton finally sprung out of the plane, exhausted and sweaty and greasy, with a chipper but tired “Done!”

“You could’ve been faster if you let me help,” Drake said, half grumbling.

“Nope! I told you already, magic radar and GPS is tricky. It’s prone to exploding in your face, and the only reason this one didn’t is because I’ve exploded enough to know how to avoid that.” Fenton jumped out of the plane and grabbed a bottle of energy drink and downed it in one go, ignoring the judging look Webby and Violet shot him. He put the bottle down and clapped. “Now then! Let’s see if this works.”

“Uh-uh, no, no, no. Back off, I’m operating the plane,” Drake said sternly. “You’ve messed around with my plane enough.” Behind him, Huey added another note to his evidence that Drake Mallard is Darkwing Duck list, which had been growing steadily longer the more time they spent with Drake.

“Um, I’m the pilot here,” Launchpad said.

“It’s still my plane,” Drake grumbled. Huey underlined the note he just scribbled three times.

Drake started the plane with an ease of having done it many, many times, and activated the radar. It beeped loudly, and Dewey scrambled up to see the map. “So? Does it work?” he demanded.

“Seems so,” Drake said.

“I also upgraded it a bit, so it should be able to reach more distance now,” Fenton chirped. “It should be able to detect active magic. I don’t know how to track dormant magic yet.”

“Cool, now let’s – “ Drake paused. “That’s weird. There’s a close one there. I think that’s… Scrooge McDuck’s Money Bin?”

“Then that must be Uncle Scrooge and the others,” Huey concluded. “No one else in town has magic other than us.”

Dewey turned slowly to Fenton. “Heyyy, Fenton… you’re good with tech, right?”

“Um.” Fenton shifted to create a distance to Dewey. “Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering if you can hack into the security cameras so we can see what’s happening inside.”

Fenton’s mouth dropped open and he worked his jaw silently for a moment. “No,” he said at last. “I’m – no. Not doing that.”

“But that always happens in the movies!”

“Dewey, I get what you mean and I understand why you’re asking me,” Fenton began, “but I will be breaking so many laws if I do that and I will lose my job and I will end up in jail, and that will break my M’ma’s heart, and I will not break M’ma’s heart because I will not survive that.”

“Aw,” Dewey pouted, but he decided to back down. It wasn’t like he could do it himself.

“Isn’t it weird, though, that they’re back in town?” Webby pointed out. “I thought they were going to go around looking for the Well.”

“Maybe the Well is there,” Violet said.

Lena stared at her. “Maybe the Well is there,” she echoed. “Do we – how do we make sure of this? Can we just go there?”

“I don’t see why not,” Webby said with a shrug. “I mean, I’ll want to stop by my room first so I can grab some stuff. We’ll probably need a first aid kit, for starters. Do you think my grappling hook will help? Should I just go for my crossbow?”

Drake tugged at Launchpad. “Did she just say crossbow?” he hissed into Launchpad’s ear, though still loud enough for Dewey to hear.

“Yeah? She has regular bow and arrows too,” Launchpad said, and Drake looked like he was about to faint just from that.

Huey, though, glanced at the clock and shook his head. “No. Not now, anyway.”

Dewey turned to him in betrayal. “Why not?”

“I checked the astronomical calendar, Venus is going to appear at around 3.30 in the morning,” Huey said. “It’s almost sundown. I think we should just take a nap for a while and go to the bridge to the bin at, I don’t know. Two?”

“Oh,” Dewey said, blinking. “That makes a lot more sense than just barging in now, I guess.”

Huey huffed. “Of course it does. There’s a reason why I make plans.”

Webby turned and purposefully stared at Launchpad. “So, can you take us there later, Launchpad? Please?”

“Uhh, I guess if that’s the only way I can keep my word to Mr. McD about keeping you safe,” Launchpad muttered.

“You shouldn’t use the plane, though,” Drake said. “It’ll be so obvious. They’ll know you guys are there before you even land.”

“Wait, have I been upgrading your plane for nothing?!” Fenton blurted, and Drake laughed. Launchpad sighed while the two men bickered and ushered Dewey, Huey, Webby, Lena, and Violet back to the manor. Dewey complied, mostly because he’d given Launchpad enough stress lines in one day and was about to give him more later on.

They camped out in the boys’ room, with Huey and Violet both setting up way more alarm clocks than strictly necessary, but when Dewey complained about it Huey just gave him a flat, unimpressed look that he had seemed to perfect in over the years he was brothers with both Dewey and Louie. “We all know you sleep through your alarms a lot, Dewey, I’m not taking chances,” he’d said, and Huey had to be grateful Dewey loved him because how dare he.

It took a while to fall asleep, with them being as wired as they were, but Dewey was stubborn and he would take a nap and fall asleep out of sheer fricking will if he had to, and eventually sleep claimed him at last. He felt ridiculously offended when the alarm clocks brought him back to the waking world, but he pushed it aside in favor of hounding Launchpad to get them closer to the bin.

Just before they left the room, Huey paused and rummaged through Louie’s stuff.

“Hue?” Dewey called.

“Just a sec – there we go,” Huey breathed, pulling out Louie’s golden khopesh. He strapped it to his back and looked at Dewey solemnly. “Just in case.”

Dewey exhaled. “Yeah, okay.”

They made their way to Launchpad’s garage and found him asleep, with Drake atop of him and Fenton nodding off while slumping against the two’s sides. Violet approached them and shook them awake.

“It’s time,” she said, cool and matter-of-fact like usual.

Launchpad groaned and turned over. “Five more minutes, Mom,” he slurred, unaware that him turning over had Drake falling off and waking grumpily while Fenton blinked blearily at them both.

Violet, for her part, was staring at the three in incredulous surprise. She turned to Webby. “Do… do I sound like a mother?” she asked.

“No,” Webby said, at the same time as Lena chiming a “Yes”. They looked at each other and shrugged, opting instead to pull the three adults up.

“Okay, okay, I’m up,” Drake grumbled, rubbing his eyes. Launchpad finally rose from his slumber at his side, while Fenton was already reaching for more energy drink.

Despite the rough awakening, the drive to the bridge was surprisingly smooth. To Dewey’s absolute bewilderment, Launchpad was a much better driver when sleepy.

“Wait, wait, stop, stop, stop,” Huey urged suddenly as they neared the bridge. “If we get closer they might realize we’re here. We need to keep our distance.”

Lena stared at the stretch of ocean between them and the bin. “We’re still miles away from them.”

“That’s the idea,” Huey said. He took out a pair of binoculars and tossed Dewey another pair. “Come on, let’s check this out.” He ran to the edge of the road, practically leaning to the rusty railing. Drake, who followed him out, pulled him back.

He frowned when Huey shot him a glare. “What? I’m not risking you falling off,” he said.

Dewey ignored them, choosing to use the binoculars to survey the Money Bin. There would be time to tease Huey about Dewey being the reckless brother later.

The sea was calm, though for some reason Dewey felt like there was a note of agitation in it. Having lived by the sea practically his whole life, he’d learned to read the ocean until he could recite every wave and every current like the back of his hand. Huey and Louie both could do the same, though they were nowhere near Uncle Donald’s level, who always seemed to be able to tell the ocean’s mood with just a glance. Now that he knew it was partly because of his magic, Dewey kind of wanted to tell Uncle Donald that he had been cheating the whole time.

A spark of something gold caught his eyes, and he zeroed in on it. “Hey, what’s that?” he exclaimed, mostly to draw the others’ attention.

Huey scanned with the binoculars again. “It looks like some… sparkles? Gold?”

“Is it Louie?” Webby asked.

“No, I don’t think that’s Louie,” Huey said with a frown, still looking. His magic buzzed for a moment, straining. “Doesn’t feel like Louie. And the color is wrong.”

Dewey checked again. “Yeah… it’s different. Louie’s is kinda green. Like that gemstone. This one is more… blue?”

Huey turned to look at him. “Do you think that’s Uncle Donald?”

“Does it feel like him?” Dewey shot back.

Huey frowned. “No, but I don’t know. Sometimes magical artefacts make your magic feel different, right?”

Dewey muttered a soft yeah and turned back to look at the glittering dot of gold in the distance. It pulsed.

Huey lowered his binoculars. “Something’s wrong.”

Dewey felt it just after Huey closed his beak. It rippled through the water as the gold pulsed again. Almost without meaning to, Dewey took a step back.

Something flew overhead, wingbeats loud in the silence of the night as the sea itself seemed to still. Webby broke the silence with a gasp and a whisper. “Felldrake,” she said.

Dewey looked up and for the first time since his connection with Louie was gone he could feel his magic sparking unbidden. Leopold was flying too fast for him to follow, but he could see Felldrake’s form on his back, holding a smaller figure who gleamed gold-and-emerald in his hands. Louie pointed at somewhere at the sea, near the Money Bin, and Felldrake directed Leopold to it.

He kept his eyes on the flying figures and ran to the bridge. He couldn’t even make three steps before Huey grabbed him by his wrist, yanking back.

“Let’s go!” Dewey urged.

“You said we wouldn’t engage!” Huey hissed. “We’re not getting close.”

“Why would we even bother coming here then?!”

“To observe! To make sure things are okay!” Huey snapped. “To step in, later, if we have to! I’m not going to let us just run ahead and get in the thick of things and then get Mom and Uncle Donald hurt because they got surprised we just popped up!”

“But that’s – “ Dewey bit his tongue and looked away. He did promise Huey to stay back. “Okay, but give me a leeway. If there’s a chance to grab Louie when Mom and Uncle Donald and Uncle Scrooge are busy, we’re doing it.”

“Only if we’re sure no one’s getting hurt,” Huey relented after a moment. Dewey could take that.

“Guys,” Lena interrupted, voice faint. “Guys, look.”

Turning to the direction Lena pointed, Dewey couldn’t help the sharp gasp he took. The sea had formed a whirlpool, from which a deep darkness swelled into a bubble, a tiny dot of light inside it. The gold that was Louie pulsed along with the dot, as did the bluish-gold in the Bin.

“Is that… the well?” Webby asked, squinting at the whirlpool.

“That can’t be, that looks nothing like a well,” Huey protested.

“Oh, I don’t know, Huey,” Launchpad said nervously. “Looks can be deceiving.”

“What’s it doing?” Fenton asked softly, but the disturbed tone caught their attention. They stared at the bubble of darkness, and Dewey felt leaden trepidation weighing down his chest when the bubble seemed to breathe and grow bigger with each passing second.

Lena held her hand out. Her amulet glowed softly. She frowned, likely trying to sense what was happening, then her eyes grew wide as she scrambled to retreat. “Get back!” she yelled. “The whirlpool’s – !”

The warning came too late – or maybe it didn’t matter at all. The darkness swelled and exploded out, crashing and sweeping them into a wave. Dewey closed his eyes and tried to grip the railing, but the darkness swallowed him whole and he was left with a sensation of drowning in open air.

The rush dissipated. Dewey opened his eyes to survey his surroundings.

He was no longer in Duckburg.

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The ground was hard and rough. Stones, instead of earth.

That was the first thing Donald realized when he came to. Rough cobblestones against his cheek, grating his beak, gravity pressing him down against the stones and making him sore.

The next thing he realized was that he was no longer glowing with glitter-gold that overtook his person, and that his head feel clear again. Mixing his magic with the seed’s had made him feel like he was wading through mud, like his thoughts were slowed while all his attention was taken by the Well’s call and nothing else could stick.

Oh, shoot, where were the seeds? They weren’t in his hand anymore.

He groaned and pushed himself up, and there were a dissonant chorus of groans all around him. Looking around, he realized that José and Panchito were with him, decked in armor and holding their weapons, and he belatedly realized he wore his own armor and held his sword in his hand. With them, Xandra sat up with a grunt, shaking her long hair and fluffing it up as a result. There were more groaning, and Donald realized Della, Uncle Scrooge, Goldie, and Magica all woke by him.

So the whole gang was here.

Della rubbed her neck and looked around, locked gazes with him, and perked up. “Don! You’re not glowing anymore!”

Donald blinked. “Um, yeah?”

“Do you feel okay?”

He blinked again and stared at his hands. “I surprisingly do? This is weird. I thought I was going to pass out or something.”

“Normally you would. You probably don’t feel that way because we’re not in Duckburg anymore,” Xandra piped up. She pursed her lips. “It’s probably going to be hell once you got back, though.”

“Eh, I’ll deal with it then,” Donald replied flippantly. “Does anyone know where the seeds are? I don’t have it anymore.”

Uncle Scrooge looked around and plucked something from the ground. “I got them. They fell here.”

Donald nodded and heaved a sigh of relief. He really didn’t want to lose the seeds. He stood and felt his grip on the sword, correcting it when he realized he was holding it wrong. It had been a while and he never really had any formal training on how to use the sword (barring the little time he spent at King Arthur’s kingdom, but he wasn’t sure that really counted), but it was always instinctual, how he knew he had things right or wrong the moment his hands closed on the sword and his body was covered in the Caballero armor. He wondered how much of it was him and how much was magic.

There was a scuffling sound, and Donald turned to check. To his surprise, he saw Huey, Dewey, and Lena, staring at them like deer in headlights.

“Okay, why are you kids here?” Della asked, sighing.

“Um,” Huey said.

“It was Dewey’s idea!” Lena blurted.

“Hey! Huey agreed! You all agreed!”

Donald pressed a palm to his forehead and tried to muffle a groan, feeling the start of a migraine building in. Thankfully, Della could handle the kids, and she had started to calm them down and managed to coax them to tell why they were there at all. Then came tumbles of words over why they were there, and Donald clenched his fists.

“But why are they here but not the rest?” Uncle Scrooge wondered. “It doesn’t make sense – oh. It’s magic, isn’t it.”

Xandra hummed in agreement. “Seems like that. Proximity is a factor too, I think, but everyone here has at least a little bit of magic.”

“Okay, but where is here exactly?” Goldie cut in. “Is this some sort of a separate dimension?”

“Sort of, yeah,” Xandra said. “I guess the Well of Wishes is the type of place that likes to hide in a pocket dimension.”

“So how do we get out?” Della asked.

Magica scoffed. “The only way you get out of any labyrinth. You look for the exit. I’ll bet my amulet you have to get to the physical well to get to the exit.”

Donald glanced at José and Panchito. They both shrugged, and José exclaimed, “I suppose that’s as good a plan as any. There’s only one road and I’m not fond of traveling that way.” He gestured to behind Donald, and Donald turned to check, and he had to agree with José.

They were standing in the middle of a cobblestone road, and the corner from which the kids appeared had somehow disappeared. Around them was a great expanse of grey-white fog, and the road behind them was completely obscured from view, and so dark it was almost black. In contrast, the road ahead of them was brighter, with the fog seemingly less thick. Donald wasn’t keen on exploring the dark road, either.

“Only one way to go, then?” Goldie asked with a bitter smile.

Donald stared at the brighter road and let out a breath. “Only one way to go,” he agreed.

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

When Webby blinked the darkness out of her eyes, things were silent.

When she looked around, she realized Huey, Dewey, and Lena were gone.

Her breath hitched in her throat. “Huey? Dewey! Lena!” she called, to no avail. They were nowhere she could see, and her voice could only carry so far.

“Webby,” Violet called, and Webby whispped her head to her so fast a sharp pain stabbed her in the neck. She hissed in pain but otherwise ignored it, rushing to Violet’s side. She was standing by the railing, staring at the sea. Webby followed her gaze and let out a gasp.

The whirlpool had disappeared, but the bubble of darkness was still there. Except it wasn’t a bubble of darkness with a tiny speck of light inside anymore; it was a big bubble with things in it, like a giant snow globe. The colors looked muted and greyish, but Webby could see things moving in it. She grabbed a binocular that either Huey or Dewey had dropped and used it to survey the bubble and bit back another gasp when she realized her friends were there along with the adults.

Louie, Felldrake, and Leopold were nowhere to be seen, inside or out of the bubble.

“They’re – they’re inside,” Webby stammered. “Why are they inside? Are they trapped?”

“Oh no! We have to bring them back!” Launchpad yelled, already climbing over the railing.

Drake pulled him back. “Okay, no, stop. I know we say let’s get dangerous all the time but I don’t think I can pull you out if you drown because you’re big, and that snow globe thing is far from the shore.”

“And I don’t think we can do anything about it, anyway,” Fenton added, using the remaining binocular to look into the bubble. “We don’t have magic. If my experiments trying to measure magic with Huey, Dewey, and Louie were anything to go by, we won’t be able to pop that bubble with any nonmagic means.”

“Then… we’re just stuck here, doing nothing,” Violet concluded. Her brows creased unhappily.

“The least we can do is monitor it,” Fenton said. His tone mirrored Violet’s frustrated one.

“What if we get closer?” Launchpad piped up. “We can at least see if they’re okay inside!”

“I told you already that I can’t bring you up if you drown, LP,” Drake said dryly.

“No, with a boat!” Launchpad said. “We can go to the harbor and borrow a boat!”

“Doesn’t Uncle Scrooge have a trawler?” Webby asked, remembering the trawler they had used when they retrieved the Three Feathers Pin in Lady Gullianne. “If we can get to Uncle Scrooge’s garage and get it out to the sea soon – “

“Is it the same as Donald’s boat? Because that one looks like it’s seen better days,” Fenton said doubtfully.

“No, it’s a different boat,” Webby assured. “Uncle Donald’s boat is fine, it’s seaworthy, but it’s not as fast as the trawler.”

Launchpad’s gaze hardened. “Okay, I’m getting the trawler!” he said. “Webby, Violet, you two stay here and see if anything happens, okay? Fenton, look after them.” He turned to Drake. “Come on, DW, help me get the trawler out. We’re getting dangerous.”

Drake nodded readily and followed Launchpad to the car. It soon zipped out through the Duckburg streets like lightning, and Webby prayed that they would get to the manor and get back to them safely.

She turned back to the bubble and took a deep breath. Surely they would be okay. Her family was ridiculously smart and capable and strong. Surely that was enough to keep them safe.

The bubble didn’t offer reassurance. Webby’s fingers ghosted over her bracelet and she stared silently at the bubble, watching the shine of the full moon wash over it, and wished with everything she had that everyone would come back safe and sound.

[vanilla107]

The Apology

Okay, so I binged the entirety of Ducktales over the last couple months and now I'm in a new fandom (whoo-hoo!). 

The inspiration of this fic came from the fact that Scrooge was going through quite a difficult time with the boys after he told them how Della went missing. He lashed out at Webby saying that she wasn't family and HOLY SHIT MAYBE THAT LINE BROKE ME??

It was never addressed again in the series (well not that I remember) and I really wanted Scrooge to apologize so that's how this fanfiction was born!

Thank you for reading! If you want to yell at me about She-ra, Ducktales, Miraculous Ladybug or musicals, then message me!

Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed it leave a comment!

Read on AO3

---

“But there was a reason I came here before seeing your work-”

“Oh is it a new adventure? I’ll start packing!” she squealed but he gently grabbed her hand to stop her from running off.

“That reason is to apologize to you, Webbigail.”

--- The following months after the attempted Moonvasion, Scrooge McDuck pays a visit to the one duck he owes an apology too, Webbigail Vanderquack.

Webbigail Vanderquack grinned as she closed the trunk of the files she had now over-flowing with information of Christine van Duck, a distant relative of Scrooge McDuck and famous opera singer, who she had met just several hours ago after in the South of Italy. The adventure had been a simple ‘whodunit’ mystery and it didn’t take long for them to find out who the culprit was. She selected the photo of Christine on the opening night of one of her most well known performances, her brown eyes sparkling and the striking blue satin dress she wore contrasted with the red backdrop of the curtains.

Webby got her step ladder and took the one photo she needed and pinned it to her board, the red lines connecting with the other relatives of Scrooge. The young duck stood back and admired her work as her door creaked open. She turned to greet the visitor, expecting the one of the usuals: Huey, Louie, Dewey, Lena or Violet but she never expected the man she admired herself, Scrooge McDuck, to be standing there.

“Mister-! Mister McDuck I...I wasn’t expecting you!” she screeched as she fell off the ladder in a panic only to be caught by the billionaire, who managed to catch her just in time.

“Woah! Easy there lass! I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he chuckled as he placed her back on the ground and picked up his cane that he had dropped.

“I...I just didn’t think you’d ever come into my room so you startled me!” she said scrambling back to her board and trying to cover it with the curtain on either side.

“Webbigail, what are you hiding-?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all! Nothing suspicious of your family history or your genealogy! Nope!”

“Um...you should slow down you might trip-”

Before he could finish his sentence, the young duck tripped over her legs and she fell to the floor once more, the curtain ripping and exposing the board of the McDuck family that she was so desperately trying to hide.

The Scotsman was silent as he stared at the board filled with photographs, documents and red string.

“Webby...did you do all of this?”

“Yes! No! I...yes I did,” she said, her cheeks flaming red with embarrassment.

It wasn’t that she was embarrassed showing her interest for the McDuck family. She loved every aspect of the crazy family and the fact that she got to go on adventures with them daily was a dream come true but the very duck she idolized, witnessing her efforts...it was a different story. It was like being a proud fan of a famous pop star. You didn’t mind showing off your love of them to your friends or the world and it’s okay because what is the chance that the pop star will see it? But then one day said pop star rocks up at your house unannounced and see your room full of posters, merchandise and it’s just mortifying.

Even though she lived under the same roof as the billionaire, there were at least a hundred rooms in the mansion. There wouldn’t be a reason for him to be in her room but there his stood.

Standing in her room and looking at her life’s work.

“Is this...is this my whole family?” he asked, gently trailing a finger from one picture to another, following the red string.

“Yes...well no...there’s a few distant relatives, a couple family friends and on the extended side-”

She went around the board and pulled out the hidden extension, making the board twice as long. On the board there was a list of all of Scrooge’s enemies, acquaintances, family friends he didn’t really consider family friends, distant relatives that he didn’t even know were relatives, cousins twice removed and the employees at the Money Bin.

His jaw dropped and Webby felt her stomach churn in panic.

“You...you did all of this yourself?” he murmured, reaching out to touch a photo of him and the boys.

She looked down to the floor, clenching her hands into fists. There was no point in lying and even if she did, she was a terrible liar.

“Yes. It’s my life work. I know it’s kinda creepy especially since you’re here now and looking at it all-”

“Lass this is amazing!” he said excitedly.

“-And I know that it’s weird collecting information that you probably already know- Wait what? Did you just say-?”

“You heard me! It’s amazing Webby! And with regards to your previous statement...I think you might have more information than the official McDuck archives! This’ll give Quackfaster a run for her money!” he laughed before looking through the extended board more closely.

“I...I...Thank you...I’m glad you like it,” Webby said, in shock that the Scrooge McDuck said she might have more information than the archives she had spent years trying to get into until the boys came along. “I...I mean it’s nothing in comparison to your parent’s home. That castle is filled to the brim with McDuck history.”

“While that may be true, you have documented accounts of every adventure we’ve had so far. The current archives haven’t documented my adventures since my last one which was quite a while ago and I’ll bet me lucky dime that you know all the history already?” he asked with a smile and Webby couldn’t contain her excitement.

It was like a dam inside her exploded, her passion leaking from every feather on her body. She rushed around her room, collecting maps, postcards and her trusty journal.

“I know as much as I’ve read! My knowledge on certain people was restricted initially but when Louie, Huey and Dewey moved in, they’ve given me access that I never would’ve had. Going on adventures with you guys helps too!” she said cheerfully, showing him the journal of carefully curated adventures they’ve been on completed with drawings.

Scrooge leafed through her journal gently, being careful to read the first few pages before handing it back to her.

“Bless me bagpipes, this is impressive Webbigail! I’m a little surprised I haven’t seen this sooner.”

“O-Oh, it’s not like I hide it or anything. You’re always so busy at the Bin and after we come back from adventures, we can be a little tired. It’s also a history of you and you know a lot about your family anyway-“

“I was talking about why you haven’t showed me.”

“Oh...well I um...it is a little weird. I know Huey, Louie and Dewey support me wanting to learn about your family but...it’s not every day that the duck you look up to waltz into your room and sees that you’re passion is the history of him and his family. It’s an obsession and even though you are fully aware that I like your family history, it’s different seeing a huge board leaking with information.”

“I think it’s spectacular! If anyone tells you different, then they have no taste. You can tell them that the richest duck in the world told you that,” he said as he straightened his hat and gave her a smile.

Webby giggled, her face still warm from the previous embarrassment but a comforting warmth spread through her body.

“Hmm...I’m sure there’s an internship at the archives... I’ll have to ask Quackfaster,” he murmured and Webby felt her heart grow a thousand times bigger at those words.

“But there was a reason I came here before seeing your work-”

“Oh is it a new adventure? I’ll start packing!” she squealed but he gently grabbed her hand to stop her from running off.

“That reason is to apologize to you, Webbigail.”

Her giggling stopped before she looked up at him, a confused expression on her face.

“Apologize? For what?”

The duck looked down, regret on his face.

“Remember when you and the boys found out the truth about the reason Della was gone...the day we were all trapped on the Sun Chaser? I told you...you that you weren’t family,” he said, wincing as if the memory physically hurt to remember.

Hearing those words again was like a punch to the gut.

Webby would be lying if she had to say she hadn’t cried herself to sleep that night, those words echoing in her head. After rescuing her grandma from Black Heron, Scrooge had given her honorary family status and the title of his great niece.

But all of that was ripped away in a sentence that day.

“Yeah...I remember,” she said, her voice already wobbly.

She took a seat on her bed and he joined her, placing a hand on her shoulder

“I wasn’t thinking rationally and I let my emotions get the better of me. Bringing up Della and being blamed for the reason she was gone...it reopened a wound that had been festerin’ for years. I’m sorry Webbigail, you and your grandma are family and mean the world to me. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Of course I forgive you Mister McDuck,” she said and jumped into his arms to hug him.

He was frozen at first but recovered quickly as he hugged her back.

“That’s Uncle Scrooge to you missy,” he smiled and when they broke off the hug, he was startled to see that she had tears dripping down her face.

“Oh no, no crying today. Here you go, lass,” Scrooge said as he gave her a handkerchief and she blew her beak loudly, smiling happily through the tears.

“Now, I’ve already told the boys that we’re going on an adventure to find the ancient texts of Lalakii that were lost in a raid hundreds of years ago. The Lalakii tribe is desperate to get them back and we need to return it to them. Any treasure we find is ours, per the agreement I made with them, but those texts are our main priority. We leave for the Frenzy Jungle in an hour.”

Webby nodded as she wiped away the last of her tears, the load of emotions ebbing away slowly.

“Oh and Webby, I’d like to go on an adventure with you. I’ve been on so many with the boys but only one with you and we made a great team then. What do you say? I’ll even pack in your favourite drink!”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, shaking with excitement.

“Great! I’ll see you downstairs in an hour! I need to go pack.”

“Wait Mister- I mean Uncle Scrooge...you know my favourite drink?” she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity. She knew he had difficulty remembering it last time.

“Of course I do! It’s juice like you said after we saved your granny,” Scrooge said with a grin before walking out of her room whistling a happy tune.

He heard her let out a squeal of happiness and as he walked down the corridor he felt a weight lift off of him. He had been carrying that on him for months but after the return of Della and the Moon invasion, he was always preoccupied. But after properly apologizing to Webby, someone who he really cared about, it all felt right.

“Alright, now time for a new adventure!” he said as he pulled out his phone and dialed Quackfaster.

“Morning Quackfaster! I’m about to go on another adventure-”

“Ugh, Scrooge you know I can’t keep up with your adventures! The last time I went with you and Donald, I nearly-”

“No, no. You don’t need to come with. You remember Webbigail Vanderquack?”

“The crazy girl who’s obsessed with your family history and wouldn’t stop trying to get into the archives?”

“That’s the one,” he chuckled as he turned right to his bedroom. “Is it possible for her to be added to the database for the archives?”

“Sir...that database has every shred of your family history. Are you sure about granting Webbigail access? She isn’t directly related to you and you know that your bloodline isn’t exactly clean.”

“Webby is fascinated with my history and I would be surprised if she didn’t know that my great great great great uncle Francis Duckley was a serial killer. If you add her to it, you won’t have to catalogue every adventure I go on. Webby has a whole journal about every single adventure I’ve been on up to date. She can help you around the archives.”

“Hmmm...I don’t need help running the archives but having an assistant to catalogue your adventures will help immensely. Especially with how often you’re going on trips these days now that Della’s back,” Quackfaster replied, a smile in her voice. “Fine, I’ll add her but it’s your responsibility to make sure she doesn’t abuse the system.”

“Excellent! Now, I must go pack. I’m off to Frenzy Jungle!”

[ellanainthetardis]

How damaged is Haymitch? Maybe Four will give us a clue...

[ff] or [ao3]

Chapter 54 :  Screw Bad Days

“Would you relax?” Effie hummed, snuggling into his side to nuzzle his neck. “This is supposed to look candid.”

He sighed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, watching the shore line without truly seeing it. It was warmer in Four than it had been anywhere else so far and he had discarded the jacket of his suit at the Justice Building and had rolled up his sleeves to Harwyn’s clear irritation. Effie had given up on her coat too, she was wearing a pink tight dress with silver platform shoes so high he wasn’t sure how she could walk on the sand without twisting her ankles.

“Give me a cigarette.” he demanded, well aware there were some in her small silver clutch.

“Certainly not on camera, no.” she refused without departing with her smile.

“Thought it was supposed to look candid?” he scoffed.

She laughed her fake laugh, loud enough that it would be audible a few feet away. He couldn’t see the cameras, that was the point. They were supposed to have sneaked away from the Tour party for a romantic little stroll along the seaside. They were being filmed from afar, it was that time of the day when they should be stressing that their affair was a love one so nobody would get it into their head to buy themselves the Two-times Quell Victor back in the city.

He just wasn’t in the mood to lay thick the public displays of affection.

The speeches had been difficult.

Neither Mags nor Finnick had any family and the boxes in front of him had remained empty but the giant pictures had stared back at him. The resentment from the people had been palpable too, the tension high even as he had rushed through the speeches in a desperate attempt to make it go faster. He had killed Mags and he had had a hand in Finnick’s death. People weren’t likely to forget that.

It was Shella who had shaken his hand on behalf of Four’s victors and her grip had been far too strong, her stare far too cold. She would have gladly strangled him there and then, Haymitch had surmised, not only because Mags had been her mentor once upon a time but also because she and Brutus had had a fling back in the days and Brutus was dead when he was alive. Alina might want to believe the surviving victors wouldn’t hold a grudge but he wasn’t naïve enough to believe everyone would be that generous.

They would have to look out for Four during the next Games.

“You found out where Annie is?” he asked, distractedly running circles on her shoulder with his thumb. How much longer would they have to romantically stroll? Certainly they had all the footage they wanted by now? And there was still the fishing boat to visit on the schedule, he thought. And then there would be a long hour of prepping and the dinner and…

“According to Della, she hasn’t left her house since the Reaping.” Effie answered, sounding sad.

Four’s escort, at least, wasn’t as resentful as others had been so far. He wasn’t impatient to get to One and Two. Cashmere and Enobaria had been legends there. But on the other hand, they respected strength so they might be happy to see him. Careers Districts were twisted that way.

“If she needs anything…” he hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much leeway he had but if he made sure it was discrete…

“The other victors are keeping an eye on her. From what I understand she has troubles coming to terms with everything.” she explained. “She hasn’t been left to fend for herself, do not worry.”

“Good.” he muttered even if it was anything but.

He had been worried about Annie. And he wanted to make things right by Finnick and Mags. He had a responsibility to…

Four was a beautiful place, he noticed absentmindedly. It might have been the District that had marked him the most during his first Tour. The ocean… He could remember thinking how much his brother would have loved it. Now though… He felt impermeable to its beauty. He watched but didn’t really see. It might have been his last opportunity to walk by the ocean but he simply couldn’t care.

Not when it made him remember about the sound of waves crashing in the distance while he ran for his life. Not when he could still see the ocean giving on the dam. Not when the arena was so present in his mind.

He was trapped in it.

Literally.

“Shella will take up the senior mentor role next season.” Effie says quietly, the seriousness of her voice contrasting with the soft smile on her lips. He didn’t know how she could do this so well, keep up the mask at any time. “You and Peeta will have to watch out. She is…”

“Already figured.” he cut her off.

The you and Peeta was painful. Despite Alys’ presence he didn’t like the reminder that she wouldn’t be on their team anymore. A Game without her seemed… unbearable.

As if she had read his thoughts, she snuggled closer once more, placing a hand on his chest to effectively put a stop to the strolling. He turned to face her, not really surprised when the hand trailed up to his cheek. Her lips were warm and tasted like strawberry. He didn’t like kissing for show but it could have been worse. It could have been someone else.

He wrapped his arms tight around her waist and deepened the kiss to something that was a little less romance and more passionate. She hummed a little in protest because she had purposefully instructed him to keep it sweet that day but whatever objections she had were soon forgotten. Her nails dug hard into his nape and she gave as good as she got.

He lost himself in it, allowed himself to pretend his elevated heartbeat had to do with kissing her instead of stress.

“Wanna go home.” he mumbled against her lip. “So badly.”

And he wasn’t sure at which point home had become their apartment in the city but it was the place he craved right then, the place where he somehow felt safe, where it was easier to forget about Peeta’s rightful resentment and his haunting memories.

He wanted the blinding colors to wrap around him, cradle him and comfort him.

“Soon, darling.” she promised. “Only three districts left and we will be home.”

And she would be officially discharged as his escort.

And he really didn’t want to think about that.

And they would have to go back to Twelve after the party at the Presidential Mansion anyway. For the Banquet.

He couldn’t see the end of it.

He rested his forehead against hers and breathed out slowly. He just wanted some peace and quiet. Just that.

Movement on his right had him stepping in front of her before he could think twice about it, his hand flying to his belt where his knife used to rest. It was only the main director of the Tour though who came to tell Effie they had all the footage they needed. Effie nodded and thanked him while Haymitch tried to convince himself no one was out for their blood, that this was Panem not arena-Panem.  She ushered him back up to the pier to the waiting Mayor and he made an effort to appear at least a little less confused than he felt.

There was more acting involved. Smiling and waving at people who had so obviously been paid to look happy to see him that it was almost ridiculous. The Mayor was tensed next to him, as if too aware that an incident could happen at any moment, too aware also of what it would mean for his District. Peeta and Effie were walking behind Haymitch, doing a decent job of pretending not to notice the tension.

They visited a fishing boat, discussed how beautiful Four was in tones of fake enthusiasm, Effie managed to place how much she loved their oysters – she always promoted local trade in that way, it was apparently deemed good to keep workers’ spirits up by acknowledging them. To the owner of the boat’s insistence, Haymitch tried fishing. He failed and they all pretended to laugh about it.

They all looked like they were having the time of their life.

And it made him a little sick.

°O°O°O°

The hot water drummed hard on the back of his neck but Haymitch could barely feel it. He braced both hands on the tiles of the shower and he kept his head bowed, staring at the water pooling around his feet, not understanding why it was so clean when it should have been red with blood.

He was covered in blood, wasn’t he?

Mags’s blood?

‘Help’, she had whispered. He could still hear her raspy voice, hear the obvious effort to make herself understandable… Help. And what had he done? What had he…

Forgive me.

That was what he had begged of her. Forgiveness. A stupid thing to ask when you were about to murder someone. Had she granted it? He couldn’t remember. It was a blur. He remembered the softness of her skin under his forehead when he had leaned in. He remembered the sickening noise of the knife entering the side of her neck. He remembered how still she had become when she had breathed out.

He remembered…

Finnick’s suddenly limp body under his. The arrow jutting out of his eye like one of those squirrels Katniss sometimes brought back home. Not much blood.

Not much blood.

“Nice job.” he used to praise her when she tossed one on his kitchen table, amongst the bottles of liquor. “Perfect shot.”

He felt sick.

The people in Four had been glaring at him. He had felt their hatred, he had understood it. Why wouldn’t they hate him? He had taken both of their victors. He had…

He shook his head, rubbed his face and then brushed his damp hair back. He turned the water off, not sure how long he had been in the shower but instinctively knowing it had been long enough that Effie would come looking before long. He had escaped as soon as they had climbed back on the train while she had stayed to entertain the others in the living-room car.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been but he knew it had been some time. An hour. Maybe more. She didn’t like it when he spent that long in the shower. She knew he spaced out. She knew he tended to turn the water so hot he was likely to burn himself. She knew he could scrub himself raw if she didn’t check regularly.

He was that guy who needed a minder now ‘cause he was also the guy who had tried to swallow an entire bottle of sleeping pills.

Except he wasn’t anymore, was he? He hadn’t tried anything in the last six months. The last six months had been spent playing house with Effie where he had tried to ignore his memories with determination. His guilt.

And now he was waving and smiling at a crowd who hated him with good reasons, praising the enemy that had enslaved them. And he wasn’t even that bad at it, lying, pretending…  

What had he become?

He stepped out of the shower on shaky legs and wiped the steam off the mirror over the sink. In the brief moment before it got clouded again, he met a stranger’s eyes. He had gained back the weight he had lost after his withdrawals and the Games. He looked… healthy.

He had been eating well in the city. Maybe not as often as he ought to but the food was rich and Effie obsessed over her diet so badly that, since he usually ate the same thing she did, he had ended up eating far better than he ever had in Twelve. Fruits and vegetables and yoghurts along with the occasional treat.

So he looked healthy, healthier than he had ever been probably. Even his hair didn’t look as greasy and limp as it used to. Not with all the fancy shampoos she bought and he used because it was right there in front of him and he kind of liked the smell.

He didn’t look Capitol.

But he didn’t look like someone from Twelve either.

He looked…

He looked like a normal guy. Someone from a wealthier District maybe.

And that wasn’t right, was it?

Not what he deserved at all.

He toweled his hair dry, locked in swirling thoughts that told him he deserved pain and nothing else. He was a murderer. What he needed was punishment.

Stepping out of the bathroom was almost like jumping in a bathtub full of ice.

He breathed a little more easily in the steam-free room. The guilt was still gnawing at him but it wasn’t all-encompassing. Not when he could focus his attention on Effie who was sitting at her dressing table in her nightgown, scribbling away on familiar little cards.

She glanced at him in the mirror when he came in, her eyes roaming on his naked body with a slightly displeased pout. Probably because his skin was too red for her comfort.

He made a beeline for her and she simply put her pen down and turned around on the stool, watching him sit at the edge of the bed with her head tilted in curiosity. He took her hand in his without a word, his thumb nervously playing with the iris-shaped ring, letting her presence wash away some of his dread.

After a few minutes of him saying nothing, she crossed the short distance and straddled his lap. She was a little at a loss, he supposed, she always was at times like this. She wasn’t sure what to do with him and it made him feel even worse. He had told her once that he was sorry for being such a broken thing but she had shushed him and he had never dared offer that particular apology again.

She kissed him and he responded because that was her way to make him feel better and he was desperate to feel better. It grew heated. Heated enough that he could pretend he wasn’t still thinking about his blade in Mags’ neck or holding Finnick down while Katniss shot him. He splayed a hand at the small of her back when she started rocking against him, his body accepting her comfort even if his mind was taking longer to catch up.

She pulled the nightgown off her body and he stopped kissing her to bury his face between her breasts with a small groan. This is home, he told himself, it’s the only thing that counts. He licked the plane between her breasts, bit down on the swell of the left one, brought his free hand up to grab the other...

Her fingers ran in his hair, down his nape… Her nails dug hard in his shoulder when he nipped too hard at her nipple and he hissed almost in relief at the pain. And for one second, a blissful whole second, his mind shut down. No more Mags. No more Finnick. No more wondering what kind of mutt that Quell had made him. Just pain and blind relief.

He looked up at her uncertainly but she didn’t notice, too busy kissing the line of his jaw… Her nail was scratching against his nipple in a way that sent blood running south very fast… Her other hand was back around his nape, tilting his head further so she could… Her teeth nibbled on his neck…

“Harder.” he whispered.

She paused for a moment and then complied, biting strongly enough that he closed his eyes and groaned. She immediately licked the abused flesh, kissed it to make it better, but he stretched his neck away from her, wanting to keep the sting going as long as he could.

“Haymitch?” she asked uncertainly, leaning in to capture his lips again.

He kissed her back, breathing hard through it, as he worked out just how he could get his mind to shut up.

“I…” he hesitated against her lips, not sure how to word that. “I wanna do something different.”

“Alright.” she agreed, sounding a bit wary to his ears. “What do you want?”

She would give him anything he asked for. He knew that perfectly well. If he had asked if he could fuck her in the ass, something that another woman would probably have killed him for, she wouldn’t even have blinked before offering to go fetch the lube. When it came to sex, very few things were off limits to her. It was him who set boundaries more often than not.

Which was why he was so taken aback when she recoiled at his next words.

“Want you to hurt me.” he mumbled.

She was off his lap and across the room in a flash. With her back to the wall, she crossed her arms in front of her chest, half glaring at him. “No.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Because. No.” she snapped.

He studied her, not quite understanding why she looked so distressed all of a sudden. He wasn’t asking something so incredible by Capitol standards. And he was sure she had played dominatrix for other men before. She had done everything.

“I’ve hurt you before and you said it was okay.” he countered. They’ve always been rough and he had always enjoyed giving her orders. She liked giving orders now and then. He didn’t understand what…

“It was different.” she hissed.

“How?” he scoffed. “Seems like the same thing to me.”

“It was different because I wasn’t using sex as a way to appease my conscience.” she scowled, looking furious. “I have never asked you to hurt me because I felt I needed to be punished.”

“No?” he sneered.

That was a lie if he had ever heard one. All those years… And particularly the first ones… When they had tumbled against a wall, clawing at each other’s skin, tearing up each other’s clothes… It had been little else but trying to find comfort from their pain, blowing off steam, seeking oblivion for a few minutes… And she had always begged in his ear to fuck her harder, harder just so she could stop thinking so…

She had the good taste to blush a little but she pursed her lips hard. “What do you want me to do? Tie you up and whip you like that Peacekeeper did? Add some scars to your collection? It might make you feel better but it won’t do anything for me, I assure you. And what if it triggers you, Haymitch? What if your subconscious decides I am a threat and tries to hurt me? Isn’t that the reason why you never wanted me tied up or completely at your mercy? Isn’t that the reason you never wanted to push that far? You hate not being in control. You hate…”

“Hold your fucking horse.” he spat, lifting defensive hands. “I ain’t saying I want you whipping me. Where the fuck do you go and get those ideas? I didn’t mean hurt like that.” He shook his head and stood up, rummaging around the dresser’s second drawer for a pair of clean sweatpants and a shirt. “Forget it. I’m gonna go for a walk. Need some air.”

And probably a quiet place to take care of his hard-on.

Her hand fell on his arm, light and hesitant. He froze but didn’t meet her gaze. In the corner of his eyes he saw her biting down on her bottom lip nervously.

“I apologize. I thought…” she breathed out. “You have been very bent on hurting yourself every time you can get away with it, Haymitch. The boiling water in the shower, the cigarette burns…”

“Wasn’t on purpose.” he snapped defensively. He sometimes dropped cigarettes because on bad days he was craving a drink too much and his hands weren’t steady. It wasn’t like he had gone and applied it to his skin on purpose. It wasn’t like that. Not quite. Not all the time. Not…

“I do not know how to help you.” she admitted in a quiet whisper, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. “I almost wish you would start drinking again. It is a self-destructive habit I know how to handle. This… I do not know how to handle this. I keep worrying I will find you with another bottle of pills in your hand, only this time I will be too late and…”

He kissed the rest of that sentence away.

“Never.” he growled against her lips. “I promised.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, propping his head on hers. “It’s this fucking Tour. It drives me nuts. It was getting easier in the city. It was getting…” Maybe not better but… Yeah… Easier. They had a routine, habits… Habits were easy. Habits were good. “Every time we step off this train I go back to the arena. Every time I…” He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of her shampoo. “Wasn’t… Didn’t mean I wanted you to hurt me bad. Sorry I asked.”

She tightened her arms around him and nuzzled his neck. “No… I am sorry I overreacted. I know we don’t have the healthiest relationship when it comes down to it but… Hurting to punish you for deeds you are not truly responsible for, no matter what you tell yourself, is a bit too extreme for me.”

“It’s okay.” he shrugged.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked.

“Forget it.” he muttered, embarrassed now. What he had had in mind what clearly a lot more vanilla than what she had been picturing. He hadn’t been about to suggest they go all chains, whips and leather.

Her mouth searched his. He evaded it for a few seconds and then gave in because she was rubbing her fingers in his hair and it felt good. He lost himself in the kiss, let the heat grow back between them, let her nudge him toward the bed. He ended up flat on his back and she ended up straddling him again, her breasts rubbing pleasantly against his chest with every undulation of her hips.

Eventually, she stopped kissing him to brush her lips down his jaw only to bite down hard on his neck, without warning, at the junction between neck and shoulder. He groaned and cradled the back of her head, his hips buckling up.

She licked the path up his jaw, sucked his earlobe in her mouth before whispering in his ear. “Is that the sort of things you wanted?”

“Yeah…” he admitted, clenching his fist at the small of her back to stop himself from rolling them over. “Drive me crazy. Make me stop thinking. Make it last.”

She hummed absentmindedly, brushing her nose against his cheek, down his throat, nipping at his collarbone. “I can do that. Truly, you should not have used the term hurt for this. Hurt means hurt, Haymitch.” she chided him. “This is only playing.”

“Be hard.” he muttered, barely believing what was coming out of his own mouth.

That was exactly everything he had always refused her. When it came down to it, he was the one in charge. Always. He never surrendered. He never…

She sucked his nipple into her mouth and he grabbed her ass with both hands, grinding her down on his erection. She immediately sat up and frowned at him, coiling her hands around his wrists and bringing his hands in front of her.

“Now, now…” She clucked her tongue in disapprobation. “I never said you were allowed to touch, did I? Behave or I will tie you up.”

There was a question in there, he thought. A choice. It could remain an empty threat or it could be a possibility. It had always been a big no-no for him. And now after everything…

But a part of him craved it.

To surrender at last.

“Yeah?” he snorted. “You can try.”

She lifted a stern eyebrow. “You are being very naughty, darling. You are not supposed to talk back.” She grinded herself on him back and forth, putting pressure where he desperately wanted it only to stop, his wrists still secured in her firm grasp. “Not if you want this. Do you want this?”

“Fuck, yeah.” he mumbled.

“How badly?” she asked, sounding almost bored.

“Badly.” he offered. She didn’t look very impressed and he rolled his eyes. “What the fuck do you want me to say? I want to fuck you.”

“Language.” she rebuked, letting go of one of his wrists to whack his chest. “I do not think you are grasping the concept here… You are not going to do anything to me. I am going to do everything to you. You will simply do what I say when I say it. Yes?”

Again with the underlying question.

“Yes.” he growled his consent for the third time.

“And if I am not satisfied… You will be punished as I see fit.” she insisted, slapping his thigh behind her for good measure. “Yes?”

He rolled his eyes again. “Get on with it then.”

“Oh, that’s it.” she huffed, getting off him. “I had enough of your cheek. Punishment it is.”

He propped himself on his elbows, watching her curiously as she rummaged around the room for… He smirked when she grabbed a couple of his discarded ties. That was something he would bet she had been desperate to do for years.

He scooted back up the bed until his head was on the pillow. He couldn’t help but wrap his hand around himself when she crawled back on the bed on all four, looking all seductive and…

“None of that.” she ordered, spanking him once. It stung but not for long. She wasn’t aiming to hurt. “This is mine to play with. Not yours.” He sulked, not quite liking that part as much. He didn’t like being treated like an object – even if he had made the same claims about her body quite a few times. “Now… Be a good boy and put your arms up.”

He put his arms above his head, realized that the position felt far too much like being tied to a whipping post and abruptly placed his hands back on her waist before she could knot the tie around his wrists. He closed his eyes and breathed deep a few times. It wasn’t that difficult to ground himself, not with her familiar weight on his chest.

Her lips brushed against his shoulder, her tongue retraced the shape of the scar there…

He spread his arms eagle style.

“Like this, yeah?” he asked, his voice a little rough. “Not hands together. And not my ankles.”

She didn’t ask if he was sure but she didn’t rush to tie him up either, giving him plenty of times to get out of it again. Her mouth traveled up the inside of his arm, paused in the crook of his elbow to lick and nip and then went up again, to his wrist. When she finally wrapped the tie around it, fastening it to the metal frame of the bed, and secured the knot, it was so loose that he would have had no difficulty at all breaking out of it.

That was the point, he figured. He was restrained but only just enough to make him feel like it. When it really came down to it, he was free.

She repeated the process with his other arm and it was a slow torturous process that left him throbbing for her and wondering what had even gone through his head in the first place to want something like that. Make it last, he had told her and he had no doubt she would, when all he really wanted was to sink into her warmth.

“Now you are all mine.” she sighed with satisfaction once she had secured the second tie. That left her with a few spares and she brushed the end of one against his chest distractedly. “Should I blindfold you, I wonder?”

“No.” he said at once, very clearly and without a moment of hesitation.

Being tied up was enough experimenting for a night.

She must have known why he was refusing but she giggled all the same, hitting him lightly with the tie she was holding as if it was part of the game. “You want to watch… Wise choice.” She licked his lips. “We shall make it a good show then, shall we not?”

And then she started touching herself.

And while all he wanted to do was break free and touch her, he lied there and watched as she rubbed herself with that tie he now had a newfound appreciation for, his mouth parched, and hard enough that he was certain he would come as soon as she would finally touch him.

She had promised a show and she made it a good one.

He was pretty sure the moans and the writhing were exaggerated for his benefit but fuck if it wasn’t hot… And then, of course, she came and his own hips buckled because… There was a damp spot on his stomach where she was sitting, it was driving him mad. When she brought her fingers to his lips, he opened his mouth and sucked on them without thinking twice about it.

“Lick me clean.” she ordered but then she took her fingers away and he was thrown by the contradictory order until she crawled closer and straddled his face.

It wasn’t as good as being inside her but it might have been the next best thing. Not having the use of his hands made it more difficult to pleasure her but it wouldn’t be said he couldn’t rise up to a challenge.

“Come back here.” he groaned when she moved away after a few minutes. He knew she had liked it. There were signs that couldn’t be misread.

He got spanked once for his troubles. It had been hard enough to sting a little and he glared at her.

“None of that now.” she warned him, leaning down to blow on the sensitive area, making him wriggle. He wasn’t prepared for her biting down on it. What he wanted was to yelp in surprise so why he moaned instead was beyond him. She grinned at him, always so pleased when she could get noises out of him. “Did you like that, darling? Where else should I bite next?”

She blew on his lower stomach but instead of biting she licked this time. All the way to his navel.

“Effie…” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Wasn’t the deal.”

“Drive me crazy. Make me stop thinking. Make it last.” she quoted him, running her hands on his inner thighs, forcing him to spread his legs. Not something he did often. “Be hard, you said. I do not think I am the one who is hard right now…”

“Effie…” he begged.

She was hovering over his dick and his dick really wanted some attention now. Games were all well and good but…

He did yelp when she bit down on his inner thigh hard enough to leave a bruise. That was his thing. He was the one who left hickeys near her sex to remind her who she belonged to. Before he could protest about her stealing his moves, her tongue poked out to circle his head. Then her teeth scraped his length. Then she spanked him again.

He was going to come.

He was so sure he was going to come that he groaned in frustration when she pinched his base tight enough to block the nerves and preventing him from doing anything else but throb.

Then he stopped trying to keep up with what she was doing. She pinched and bit and nipped and sucked and licked and kissed and whacked and spanked and she did it all over again without pattern and…

He clung to the ties that were so loose now from all his wriggling it was ridiculous to pretend they were keeping him in place anymore and watched her torture him and he never wanted it to stop all the while desperate for release.

He chanted her name without even realizing it, his brain lacking the blood to remind him he was usually too proud to do something like that. He was desperate. Truly desperate. He wanted to come but no matter how many times he pushed his hips up, she wouldn’t release her grip on his base and allow him his reprieve…

He was half delirious when she finally sank on him. She was so wet and warm that he sighed in relief. She barely had time to move her hips twice before he exploded.

He was too spent to do anything but watch her get off on him for a second time. She slumped on his chest and it was a mess. A very sticky mess that they would need to take care of before they went to sleep. But, right then, it didn’t seem like a priority.

He slipped his hands out of their useless bounds and wrapped his arms around her. She almost purred in contentment.

“My wrists hurt.” she complained.

“Your own fault for torturing me that long.” he grumbled, nevertheless bringing her hand to his mouth so he could kiss her wrists better.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” she hummed sleepily. “Did I do it wrong? I did not want you to feel entirely powerless. I will be harder next time.”

His eyebrows shot up at that and he wrapped his hand around her nape, squeezing it. Not too hard but not too soft either. “Next time, I’m in charge.”

“Oh, do I get to be tied up?” she asked, a bit hopeful.

He thought it over and then made a face. “Ain’t sure it’s the best idea, sweetheart.”

She grumbled something under her breath he didn’t quite catch. He was too tired to try and decipher it. He combed his fingers through her hair instead, letting himself drift off. They would just have to deal with the mess in the morning after all.

“Did it work?” she asked. “Do you feel better?”

Well, there certainly wasn’t enough room in his head to relive bad memories anymore. His brain wasn’t irrigated enough for that.

“You should screw bad days out of me every time.” he mumbled.

It was still the best remedy.

[sciatu]

A maggio e giugno, una delle attività che io e il mio amico Santu dovevamo assolutamente fare era mangiare le ciliegie di Tindaro. Lui ovviamente non condivideva questa nostra attività che consideravamo una missione. Anzi, probabilmente se avesse saputo che eravamo noi a fargli scomparire diversi chili di ciliegie ci avrebbe trattato come ladri portandoci dai carabinieri. Ma noi non ci sentivamo ladri; ne avevamo discusso tra di noi ed io citai a Santu mio zio Gerolamo che mi aveva spiegato che i ladri sono quelli che portano via le cose, ma se tu mangiavi le ciliegie o le nocciole o le nespole proprio sotto l’albero, allora non eri un ladro. Essendo mio zio Gerolamo un imprenditore di successo con attività diversificate che andavano dal fare l’idraulico alle pompe funebri, il suo giudizio convinse Santu. Cosi nei pomeriggi di maggio io e Santu entravamo periodicamente tra gli alberi di ciliegio di Tindaro e ne mangiavamo quante più potevamo. Tindaro un giorno disse al bar ad un suo collega che gli chiedeva numi sulla sua battaglia contro quelli che lui definiva (impropriamente per noi) ladri di ciliegie, gli rispose che aveva avuto un’idea che gli avrebbe permesso di prendere sul fatto i ladri, e sorrise in modo cattivo. Quel pomeriggio andammo per curiosità a vedere cosa intendeva Tindaro. Tutta la distesa di ciliegi era tranquilla e silenziosa e la studiammo a lungo nascosti dietro la muraglia di ficodindia che la delimitava. Alla fine notammo che contro una piccola casupola di pietre era appoggiato un sacco lungo che ci appariva molto strano. Girammo intorno alla proprietà ed incominciammo ad osservare meglio il sacco che era appoggiato contro la parete della casetta sotto una finestra senza infissi. Ascoltando bene sentimmo un forte russare provenire dal sacco. Santu , muovendosi come un gatto si alzo ed entro nella casetta dal lato vicino a noi e che non poteva essere visto dalla facciata della casa dove era appoggiato il sacco. Vidi le mani di Santu spuntare dalla finestra e allacciare fortemente con del fil di ferro la parte alta del sacco che era chiusa sommariamente da un pezzo di spago. Tornato Santu ritornammo sul lato opposto della coltivazione facendo rumore a mangiando voracemente le ciliegie stando bene attenti di essere nascosti dagli alberi. “Vi pigghiai – urlo qualcuno dal sacco – ora vi fazzu vidiri jo….Malanova chimm’aviti…” il sacco si muoveva come se avesse mille spiriti, ma Tindaro non riusciva ad uscire finchè non cadde di lato e contemporaneamente ad una sonora bestemmia gli partì un colpo dal fucile che aveva con se. Il sacco prese fuoco ma noi eravamo già lontani. La sera Tindaro aveva un braccio fasciato e raccontava della lotta contro quattro catanesi che lo avevano imprigionato ma che lui, liberandosi, aveva ferito con il suo fucile caricato a sale. Di fronte a lui, noi lo guardavamo mostrando meraviglia e stupore per il suo coraggio mentre mangiavamo le sue ciliegie rosse.

In May and June, one of the activities that I and my friend Santu had absolutely to do was eat the cherries of Tindaro. He obviously was not aware about this activity that we considered a mission. Indeed, probably if he had known that we were going to make him disappear, several pounds of cherries, he would treat us as thieves bringing us in front to carabinieri. But we did not feel like thieves; We had discussed this point between us and I told to Santu my uncle Gerolamo’s thought; my uncle explained to me that the thieves are the ones who take away things, but if you eat cherries or hazelnuts or raspberries just under the tree then you were not a thief. Since my uncle Gerolamo was a successful entrepreneur with diversified activities that went from doing the plumber to the funeral parlor, his judgment convinced Santu. So, in the afternoons of May I and Santu went periodically among the cherry trees of Tindaro and eaten as much as we could. One day in the bar Tindaro has been asked from a colleague news about his battle against what he called (improperly for us) cherry thieves; Tindaro replayed him that he had an idea that would allow him to take the thief and smiled badly. That afternoon we went curiosity to see what Tindaro meant. All the expanse of cherry trees was quiet and silent and we studied it for a long time hidden behind the wall of the prickly pear that bordered it. We noticed that a small stone house was leaning on a long sack that seemed weird. We rolled around the property and began to look better at the sack that was leaning against the wall of the lodge under a window without frame. Listening well we heard a strong snore coming from the sack. Santu, moving like a cat gets up and went in the little house from the side next to us and that could not be seen from the front of the house where the sack was leaning. I saw Santu's hands coming out of the window and fastening with the iron wire the high part of the sack that was summed up by a weak piece of string. When Santu came back, we want to the opposite side of the cultivation making noise by vigorously eating the cherries hiden in the trees. "I swore to you," someone yells from the sack, "now you see me now ... .Dammed to you ..." the sack moved as if he had a thousand spirits, but Tindaro could not get out until he fell to the side and at the same time to a blasphemous blasphemy a shot start from the shotgun he had with it. The bag caught fire but we were far away. In the evening Tindaro had a wrapped arm and told of the fight against four Catanians who had imprisoned him but that he, having been released, had wounded with his shotgun loaded with salt. In front of him, listen his story, we looked at him with wonder and amazement for his courage while we ate his red cherries.

[whimsicalwriterwrites-blog]

Behind the American Dream

THIS IS A MIMIC OF THE GIFT OF THe MAGI BY O’HENRY ONE HUNDRED TEN THOUSAND THREE HUNDRED THIRTEEN DOLLARS. That was how much money it would take to get Della the brain surgery that would save her from the cancer gnawing away at her cognitive functions. There was no possible way to pay the bills, his son’s tuition and that amount required to rescue Della from death’s rough grip. James couldn’t save his wife, and that fact chipped at the piece of his heart dedicated to her everyday.

But life goes on. He drove his son, Mark, to school everyday. He went to work, tried his hardest to find ways that he could pay for the surgery without drowning in debt, and he picked up Mark and asked the child of 8 how his day went. His son’s response was always the same.

“It went well, dad. Can we go see mom today? Is she better?” This question repeatedly broke James’s heart even more. Though, his response stays the same.

“Sorry, kiddo. You still can’t see her. You know I want you to, but your mom asked early on that you not be subjected to seeing your mother like that. I haven’t seen her recently, so I don’t know how she is doing.” That was a lie. James’s office was near the hospital Della was at, so he visited her everyday and ate lunch next to her. He used that time to tell Della how Mark was, and just how things were going in general. She had lost the ability to reply long ago, but he liked to think that she could still hear and process what he was saying, even if the doctors told him that she couldn’t.

“When will she be better, dad? I want to talk to my mom.”

James opened his mouth to reply but then promptly shut it. He processed this question. How could Mark, a mere child, understand that he was going to lose his mother? That his mother had told him if the surgery was too expensive, not to do it and keep Mark in his prestigious school? How was a child to understand that? James thought his son couldn’t understand, so he did what any parent would do. He lied.

“I don’t know when she’ll be better. But she will, kiddo, she will.” The remainder of the car ride was silent. The lie laid heavy like walls of a city steadily rising between the father and son.

 A few weeks passed, and little had changed. The only thing that had changed was the time. It was Christmas, which only made James feel more upset and distraught. He had decided that he would get Della a gift, though he didn’t know what yet. He thought that he would splurge a little on a gift for her. Even if she couldn’t use it, it’s the thought that counts.

So he went shopping. He brought Mark and promised they’d give it to her together. It was right to let the child see his mother and give her a gift. They walked down the decorated halls of the shopping centre and looked in the windows of every store that they saw. Finally, toward the end of the centre, they stumbled upon an adorable little jewelry store that neither of them had ever noticed before. They walked inside and where in awe at the gorgeous assortment of bejeweled items. There was everything from necklaces to an incredibly sparkly scarf. The duo looked toward the back of the store and saw the most beautiful set of combs that they had ever seen. Della’s hair used to be so beautiful before cancer had struck.

“Dad, I know you said mom’s hair isn’t the same anymore, but do you think we could get these for her? Because it will be back to normal one day, right?” The child sounded so hopeful that not even James’s very best efforts could’ve swayed Mark away from that opinion.

“Maybe we could, kiddo, maybe we could.” James then called over an attendant and asked about the price. Now, the price was so outrageous that it shall not be repeated, but James paid it anyway. He had to sell his prized  gold watch to do so, but he did it.

On Christmas day, after opening a very small amount of presents, the father and son got in the car and drove off to the hospital. Once there and outside to door of the room, James took his son aside.

“Mark, when we go in there, I want you to be prepared. Mom can’t talk to you, but I think she can hear you.” Mark only nodded in response. They walked carefully and quietly into the room, as though the soul resident of it was asleep. Though she was in a death bed, she wasn’t quite asleep in it, yet. The colour drained from Mark’s face at the sight of his mother. His jaw hung open, like inviting the bugs of the world into it was better that seeing his mother this way. Mark then turned abruptly to his father.

“Dad, could I talk to her alone?” The child’s eyes were glassy, and it looked like that glass would break and he’d fall into tears at any moment.

“O-oh, of course, kiddo.” James then backed out of the room having only stolen a few glances at his wife of 13 years. When he was back in the hall, he cracked open the door just a little to peak at his wife and son in what could very possibly be their last moment together.

“Hey, mom. It’s Mark, your son. I miss you. I know dad is trying to stay strong for my sake but I know he really misses you too. He keeps saying you’ll be fine in the end. I believed him before, and when we bought these for you. But he’s been lying more and more without you around. You made him a better person, mom. You really did.” The sad child’s dam broke, and he cried away the night on his mother’s death bed.

James didn’t often wear socks. I was just something he didn’t do. He’d always been told to, mostly by Della, but he never did. Now, he decided to finally take her advice in one last desperate attempt to make the universe give her back to him. Digging around in his sock drawer, he heard an odd sort of clanging sound. Digging further, he found an envelope with his name on it, written in elegant cursive that was his beloved’s handwriting. Opening the letter, a golden chain fell to the floor. He picked it up but took more interest in the letter.

“Dearest James, In a perfect world, I wouldn’t ever have to write this letter. Unfortunately, our world is far from perfect. You finding this means two things. One is that I am most likely gone, and that you have finally decided to wear socks. On another note, that gold chain is for your watch. I do hope you like it, as I sold my hair before I was bedridden in order to purchase it. I hope this isn’t the last you hear from me, but in case it is, know that I love you more than life itself. The world love doesn’t seem to cover how much I care for you. But it’ll have to do. I love you, James. Til death do us part. Yours forever, Della” 

It was at that moment that James’s heart finally shattered. There he sat, on his knees, in front of a sock drawer, in his townhouse. As he sat there he zoned out. The world fell away and the only thing left was him and the voices in his head.If he hadn’t zoned out, he would’ve heard the phone ringing. He would’ve picked it up, and he would’ve heard some deeply tragic news.