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minisugakoobies · 1 year

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Day 5 ❄️ JHS

Kinks: praise kink, Christmas cookies

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: holiday, smut, Brother's Best Friend!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: swearing, kissing, just some good ol' fashioned fingerbanging in the kitchen, a bit of exhibitionism, praise kink, maybe a touch of sub/dom between reader and Hoseok, once again I am writing Stoner!Hobi with the addition of stoner himbos Joon Tae and JK, egregious use of the word 'cookies' as metaphor for reader's 🐱

Word Count: 3K

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: Your brother’s best friend Hoseok really likes your cookies

A/N: I wrote this one in one shot, in a fugue state after watching Hobi's 2022 MAMA performance. Please picture that Hobi here. 🥴

Please don't be a silent reader 🥺 I'd love to know what you think! 💕

Day 4 ❄️ Kinkmas Masterlist ❄️ Day 6

Grey snow slushes under your boots as you slowly make your way home from the bus stop. Another double shift down. Working as a server around the holidays is miserable. Between the irate shoppers making non-stop demands and the incessant Christmas music blasting through the overhead speakers, it’s enough to turn anyone into a Scrooge.

But it’s fine. You’ll live. Just a few more days and the holidays will be behind you. And so will all these double shifts, hopefully. You’ve been saving up so you can have enough for the first and last month’s rent on a tiny little studio apartment a few blocks from here. A fresh start to the new year, in a place of your own. Where you can enjoy some peace and quiet for once.

A place free from the chaos that greets you as you slip your key into the lock of your current home and swing the door open. Smoke floats past you into the hallway. Scrunching up your face, you peer past the clouds to find, as always, your twin brother and his friends crowded around the living room tv, absorbed in a mission in some stupidly loud, obnoxiously violent video game, laughing and shouting and throwing elbows (and occasionally, a fist or two).

“About time you got home,” your brother calls out as you peel off your boots and puffer coat, hanging the latter on the broken rack by the door. Namjoon said he’d replace that four months ago when he and his friends broke it during a particularly raucous game of flip cup. You know he’s waiting for you to do it. You’re always the responsible one around here.

“I told you I was working a double,” you remind him, rolling your eyes. He never listens.

The others gradually realize you’re standing there. It’s like watching the world’s slowest wave undulate around the room. First Jungkook spots you from beneath his bucket hat and lifts a hand. A few seconds later, a very sleepy-eyed Taehyung notices Jungkook’s hand in the air and raises his own. Then Hoseok, the only member of the crew sitting quietly, splayed across half the couch in his oversized tee and dark joggers, rakes his eyes over your tired frame and gives you the chillest of nods, head barely tipping as his lips quirk in a silent smile.

Ignoring the fluttering in your stomach, you nod back. “Hey guys.” You’re too exhausted to even bother to ask them to keep it down. They would, politely, for about five minutes, before the chronic blowing through their veins made them forget. So why bother.

You shuffle into your bedroom, strip off your uniform, pull on some fleecy pants and a long-sleeve tee, and slide on a pair of cushy slippers. The act of physically removing your day brings a sense of relief, helped along by the comfy clothes. You’d love to climb directly into bed, but you can’t. Not just yet.

Your brother and Jungkook are locked in a double headlock when you emerge from your bedroom. Probably arguing about something that one of them did in the video game. It’s never anything serious with those guys, but it does get messy sometimes, and as you stroll through the room towards the kitchen, you quickly grab the lamp from the end table and place it on the ground before Jungkook’s arm can knock it over.

Money’s been tight for a while, not helped by the rise in rent, the rise in utilities, the rise in everything basically, so between that and the little nest egg that you’ve been stashing away, you’ve had to get a little creative with your Christmas gifts this year. As in, you’re creating them from scratch. You connect your phone to the little speaker in the kitchen and put on a relaxing playlist as you wander around the small space, pulling out ingredients and tools until you have everything you need to make your favorite cookies.

The music drifting from the speaker isn’t enough to drown out the noise from the living room, but it doesn’t matter. You fall into a trance, measuring and mixing, turning mere ingredients into food, into love. Everything else falls away. Nothing else matters but this. Baking brings you zen.

Unfortunately, your activity does not go unnoticed. The scent of baking cookies fills the air, and before long, you have visitors. Invaders, more precisely. On the hunt for your goodies.

As you pull the first tray out of the oven, a head pops in the doorway. A hat, really, pulled down so low you see nothing but pink lips adorned with a silver ring. “You makin’ cookies, Noona?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is that gingerbread?” a low voice drones behind Jungkook, as Taehyung follows him into the room. “Smells so good.” Namjoon is right on his heels, mouth hanging open a little as he spies the rows of perfectly baked gingerbread people resting on the warm tray.

“Yes, it is, but these aren’t for you, so hands off, okay?” You raise an eyebrow, looking at all three men. They nod, and you turn away to put another tray in the oven. “These are for my friends. If you’re nice, maybe I’ll whip u- HEY!”

There are three gingerbread people missing when you turn back, and all three men are chewing while exhaling loudly, trying not to burn their mouths on the hot cookies as they devour them. As they all reach for a second, you grab a spatula and swiftly slap their hands.

Whack whack whack!

“Mmph!” Taehyung protests, rubbing his hand. He chokes down what’s left of his cookie. “That hurt, Noona!”

“Well, maybe listen next time and you won’t get smacked!” You brandish the spatula like a wand, pointing it at each.

A gentle chuckle sounds from the doorway, where Hoseok is propped against the frame, laughing at his friends’ pain. “Tell ‘em,” he says, crossing his arms. “They gotta learn.”

You bite back a grin, rolling out more dough.

“Sorry, Noona,” Jungkook mutters. “But can’t we have a couple? ‘M so hungry.”

“That’s because you’ve been smoking all goddamn night,” you grumble, pressing the cookie cutter in. “Namjoon, if you don’t get your friends out of my kitchen right now, I’m going to try making real gingerbread people next. Starting with you, Jungkookie.” You shoot Jungkook a look, the one that he always tells you reminds him of Namjoon, even though you’re fraternal twins and don’t look a thing alike, and he holds his hands up in defense.

“Come on. Be happy she only used the spatula, she’s lethal with that rolling pin,” your brother informs his friends as he shepherds them out of the room. “Yo, Tae-yah, you still got that hookup with that girl at the dumpling shop?”

Hoseok remains behind, studying your work. You don’t mind. Of all your brother’s friends, he’s usually the most respectful, quietly observing the mayhem around him. You’re used to the sensation of his eyes on you.

Sometimes it’s what you think about, late at night, lying under the sheets, hand down your panties, biting your tongue to muffle your cries. Those dark eyes, watching you.

“These are for your friends?” Hoseok finally speaks, pushing himself off the door frame. Hands in his pockets, he strolls towards you, still watching as you prepare another batch.

“Yeah. Not a lot of money for gifts this year, so…” you shrug. The heat from the oven has turned the tiny room into a sauna. Your fleecy pants feel like a terrible choice. Wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand, you look up at Hoseok, and he laughs.

“You’ve got a bit of…” He trails off as he steps closer, and your breath catches in your chest as he raises a hand to brush across your forehead. His gentle fingertips come away with flour on them.

“Th-thanks,” you stammer, quickly busying yourself with the dough again, cutting out enough to finish filling the tray.

“So can I have one then?”

“Uh…” Loud yelling from the living room tells you that your brother and the other two have started their game again.

Hoseok leans against the counter, heart-shaped mouth set in a soft smile. “You said they’re for your friends. We’re friends, right?”

Friends. Right. That’s what you are. “Yeah, sure.”

He beams then, a brilliant smile that flashes across his face in an instant and then disappears. Even though the cookies are identical, he takes a moment to examine the selection before picking one.

“This one looks perfect,” he announces, and you hum distractedly, moving cooled cookies into containers. Even though you’re not looking at him, you know exactly when he bites into the cookie, because he lets out a loud moan. “Mmmmm!”

You hum again, trying to ignore the fact that his effusive response went straight to your gut. You continue to pack the treats away, filling the tins you’ll be giving to your friends.

“Didn’t know you had this talent,” he muses, chewing thoughtfully. “Why’ve you been hiding it?”

“I haven’t been hiding it,” you laugh, cocking an eyebrow. “I just haven’t had much time to bake lately.”

“Yeah, I noticed you haven’t been around much,” he states, and you hope he doesn’t see the way you freeze momentarily at his words. “You’re working yourself to death. You gotta take time to relax, you know.”

“Oh? Never heard that before, thanks for the advice,” you grin. “I just gotta get through the holidays and then I can relax.”

“In your new place, right?” He reads the surprise on your face. “Joon told us you’re moving out.”

“Yeah, I am. I just need my own space.”

He nods.

After sliding the last tray in the oven, you help yourself to a cookie.

Hoseok grins. “There you go, that’s more like it. Enjoy a little treat. They’re really good.” He tilts his head. “Can I have another?”

You have just enough cookies to fill all the tins you’d purchased, just enough batches for all of your friends. But what’s one more?

“Yeah, okay, but that’s it.”

Again, he deliberates before choosing one. As his teeth sink in, he lets out another groan, and you clench involuntarily at the way his voice drops into a low rasp. “Fuck, these are so good!”

Is this what he sounds like all the time? Maybe it’s a good thing he’s always so quiet when he’s here. Because you’re wet enough that you can feel your underwear sticking to you as you start to clean up.

“Seriously, what do I have to do to get one of these tins?” he asks, tapping on a lid.

You nearly bite your lip in half as you keep all your suggestions at bay. “Listen, if you really want some, I’ll just make another small batch, okay? I think I have enough ingredients left…”

“Mmmm, you’re such a good baker! The best!” Hoseok moans around a mouthful, and you’re not sure if it’s his husky tone, or the words themselves, but something hits you like a bolt, and you swallow thickly.

And then you whimper.

Your eye is immediately drawn to Hoseok, like your body wants you to see his reaction even as your brain is cringing. He pauses with his hand to his mouth, little gingerbread legs in the air, and stares at you for a moment before he blinks.

“Uh, this batch will just take a minute,” you inform him, nervously grabbing your spatula again for something to do.

Hoseok just nods. “It’s nice of you to make some more. Thank you.” He shifts a little, comes closer so you’re between him and the counter.

“Oh, that’s - sure. You’re welcome.” Waving your spatula to emphasize that it's nothing, you start to measure your ingredients again, hyper aware of his nearness. If you turned your head right now, you know you’d see those dark eyes watching you. It’s so tempting, but you keep pouring your flour.

“You’re such a sweetheart, you know that?” he says, but it’s really more of a purr with all that bass rumbling through his voice, and again you feel that pulse of arousal hit you, and this time you clearly whine.

Again, you glance directly at Hoseok as the sound fades, and can’t move as his eyes slowly wander down to your breasts and back.

“You’re always so good to us when we’re here. Always taking care of us. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He moves towards you, slow and sure, his arms coming up to grip the counter on either side of you, caging you in. “Like tonight, cleaning up so we don’t break stuff. Or feeding us, even when you say you won’t. Such a sweet girl.” You’re gripping the spatula so hard, you think it might crack. If you leaned forward just the slightest bit, your nose would brush his. “Such a good girl.”

For once, you’re thankful for the loud commotion in the living room, because it means your brother did not just hear you moan, “Fuck, Hoseok,” in the kitchen.

You’ve never seen such a wicked smile from your brother’s best friend as he gently peels the spatula from your hand. “You like it when I call you a good girl?”

What is happening to you makes no sense. You spend all day getting called ‘good girl’ by patronizing customers and sexist assholes. And yet when Hoseok rolls those words around his pretty pink tongue, you become a whimpering, wet mess.

Maybe it’s because he seems to mean it. Or maybe it’s because it’s him. Either way, you let out a strangled noise at his question, and his grin sharpens.

“That’s what I thought.” His lips hover over yours. “Can I kiss you, sweet girl?”

The only way to answer him is with your own lips, tilting your chin up to meet his mouth. The kiss is soft, lingering, like he’s taking his time studying your lips the way he’s always studying you with his gaze. Then he slides his tongue out, tapping at your bottom lip, and you let him in, let him press his body against yours, nearly gasping when his hard length pushes against your hip.

“Hoseok, you want some dumplings? We’re getting some!”

As if your brother’s voice were a bolt of lightning striking between you, you and Hoseok split apart. Hoseok looks at you for a moment, chest rising as he catches his breath.

“Nah, man, I’m good. Got a sweet treat instead,” Hoseok shouts back. You roll your eyes and he smirks.

“Aw, did you get a cookie? That’s not fair!” Jungkook exclaims.

“Shut up, you had one too, dumbass!” With that, you hear the recognizable sound of your brother and Jungkook wrestling again.

A sudden yank on the waistband of your pants draws your attention. Hoseok tugs again, and then he slips his fingers beneath.

He doesn’t move his hand, just slides it into your pants, and stares into your eyes. You hold your breath as you hear another shout.

“I want another cookie, Noona!” Taehyung yells. “Aren’t they good, Hoseok?”

Hoseok crooks an eyebrow, just the slightest bit, and you nod. His fingers dip between your thighs, and when they find the wetness there, he hisses. “They’re so good, Tae-yah!” he declares, middle finger disappearing between your folds.

Your hands grasp at his biceps as you pitch forward, moaning at the sudden intrusion. His finger is long enough to curl perfectly into your most sensitive spot, and he employs a rapid tickling motion that makes your knees buckle.

“Hoseok, holy fuck!”

Is this really happening? Are you really letting your brother’s best friend fingerfuck you in the kitchen? Where anyone could walk in and see him knuckle deep in your throbbing cunt?

Yes, it is. And you know what? You deserve this little treat.

“Ah, sweet girl, I just love your cookies so much.” Hoseok licks his lips as he adds a second finger. “Can’t resist.”

Taehyung calls again. “Can I please have another?”

“Focus on the game, hyung, damn!” Jungkook yells, but not a second later adds, “Can I have one too?”

The thrusting of Hoseok’s fingers makes it hard for you to think straight. Everything about this moment makes it difficult, honestly - the way his arms flex under your fingers, the way his cock keeps bumping against your thigh, the way his eyes haven’t left yours for a second.

“Tell them no,” Hoseok whispers, thumb ghosting over your clit before he presses into the nub firmly enough to make your hips buck into his hand. “No more for them!”

“N…” Hoseok pushes against your clit again and you see stars. “No, no cookies for you!”

There’s a burst of laughter from the living room that perfectly covers the wail you let out as Hoseok fucks you with three fingers, hard and fast.

“Good girl,” he whispers, free hand cupping the back of your neck to kiss you. “So sweet, so good for me.” And with that praise, you come with a muffled cry against his lips. When your cunt stops clenching around his fingers, he removes them, and brings them to his mouth to suck them clean.

You groan, lightly pushing on his chest. He laughs, taking a step back, and you suck in a deep breath, trying to regain your composure. “Don’t make me grab the spatula.”

“Think you’ll do any baking in your new place?”

Caught off guard by the question, you furrow your brows. “Probably?”

“Good. You better text me if you do.” His gaze roams your body again, and you swear you feel an aftershock from your orgasm. “I definitely want more of your cookies.”

Masterlist ❄️ Find me on AO3 ❄️

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harrysfolklore · 1 year

Note

putting the christmas tree with harry !!

this is my entry for @watchmegetobsessed’s fanficmas 2022 !! i hope you like it 💕

if you want exclusive blurbs and tropes SUBSCRIBE TO MY PATREON

ask me anything | masterlist | likes and reblogs are appreciated !

NAUGHTY LIST

The calendar marked that it was December the 19, and you and Harry still didn't have a single Christmas decoration up in your house.

To be fair, you just spent the past month travelling across South America for Harry's last shows of 2022, but now after a quick stop in Los Angeles, you were finally home in London.

So after complaining about how your house looked so sad and dragging Harry to the nearest store to buy some decorations and a tree, your plan of the evening that consisted on getting your house in the Christmas mood started.

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere you go." you and Harry sang along to Michael Bublé's voice that played on the speakers.

"Oh Christmas songs, I am your slave." Harry said as he passed you a couple of ornaments to hang on the tree.

"Did you just quote your tweet from 2014?" You turned around to look at him with a small smile, he was wearing a red jumper with brown corduroy pants and everything about him looked cuddly.

You loved being home with him.

"I don't know, maybe," he shrugged before continuing, "Mum called, wants to know if we're still coming this weekend."

"Of course we are, Christmas with the Styles for the second year, I wouldn't miss that for anything." you happily said, over the two years you and Harry have been together, his family had become your second one, they received you with open arms last Christmas and made you feel like one of them.

"Remember how nervous you were last year?" a smile made its way to Harry's face as he remembered last year's Christmas, since you and Harry started dating during his 2021 tour, you only had the chance to meet his mum and sister once when they visited him for one of his shows in LA, and Christmas was going to be your second meeting.

"Give me a break, okay? It was my second time meeting your mom and I was going to crash in her house for the holidays, of course I was going to be nervous." you told him as you hung more ornaments and decorations in your tree, it was almost done and you were very happy with the results.

"And they ended up loving you, baby, just like I told you," he moved to stand behind you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pressing a few kisses to the side of your face, making you lean into him "Tree looks good, we did a great job." he kissed the side of your face again, lingering his lips there for a minute.

"We? Harry I basically did all of that on my own while you sang Christmas songs the entire time." you playfully complained, turning around to face him and place your hands on his stomach, the material of his jumper soft in your hands.

"Heyyyy! That was mean!" he made his typical 'Heyyy' face, making you throw your head back as you laughed.

“I’m so happy to be spending the holidays with you again,” you ignored his complaints and decided to be soft for a minute. It was the perfect season for it, after all, “This year was just amazing, and I can't wait to see what next year has for us, if you'll still have me, of course."

"Baby! Of course I'll have you, I'm wrapped around your little finger and you know that," he kissed your nose sweetly, making you scrunch your face a little, "Besides, who's going to put up my tree next Christmas if you're not around? I'm going to turn into Scrooge!" you rolled your eyes with affection before speaking.

"So that's the only reason why we're dating? Because I put together amazing Christmas trees?" you decided to play along with him.

"That and your fantastic arse." he placed his hands in your bum making you squeal and laugh.

"Wish I could said that your arse is fantastic too but," he raised his brow, waiting for you to finish your sentence, "I was taught not to lie to others."

"Oh come on, my arse is spectacular and you know it," you laughed at his antics again, he could be such a man-child sometimes, "You're being so mean to me today, I might have to do something about it."

"Yeah? Like what?" it was your turn to raise your brow and tilt your head, waiting for his answer.

"I'm putting you on my naughty list." he grabbed you by the hips, making your chest collide with his, you instantly moved your hands to place them on his neck.

"You have a naughty list? Who else is there?" your eyes moved to his lips for a moment, dying to taste the red wine he had been drinking from them.

"Just you, actually." he smirked and finally kissed your lips, happiness filling both of you to be home for the holidays.

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drivinmeinsane · 4 months

Text

Decorating ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Six ※ Sebastian Wilder / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: You and Seb reach a compromise when it comes to the holiday season at the jazz club.

※ Rating: No mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Established relationship, Tooth-rotting Fluff, Gratuitous Christmas Vibes

※ Word count: 1434

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

Leaning a little too far out to weave in the string lights between the branches of the Christmas tree that you’re decorating, you feel the step ladder wobble precariously under your feet. A hand immediately presses against your lower stomach to steady you before it’s joined by a second one on your hip. The top step of the ladder is not the most secure place to be.

“Careful,” Seb says, sounding tense.

“I’m almost done,” you say in the effort to reassure him. You tuck the end of the plug amongst the needles of the tree, right against the trunk.

Satisfied that no one will be able to see it, you call the precarious job finished and take a step down onto the rung below. Sebastian does not take his hands off of you. You know he won’t be satisfied until you are off the stepladder entirely. Looking down at him, you can’t resist brushing your fingers over his hair. It’s loose, not yet gelled since it’s only the two of you here. He’s in a loose shirt and comfortable pants. The jazz enthusiast is soft and approachable like this, not the serious, buttoned up pianist in a tasteful suit. He won’t be until much later. The club doesn’t open until 6 tonight, and it’s not even quite noon yet. The two of you have plenty of time to get everything ready.

Christmas music plays quietly in the background. You had insisted on bringing your old CD player and a stack of holiday disks to the club for this decorating process. It was one he hadn’t been looking forward to, being rather scornful of the holiday in general. His experiences at the restaurant as a gig worker during the Christmas season hadn’t helped him foster warm feelings for it.

“Tinsel, please.”

He lets his hands slide free from your body and fetches what you requested. He offers it to you with a flourish, a knight presenting a sword to his keeper. Seb sounds fond as he offers up the length of navy blue plastic. “Here you are, my liege.”

“Thank you, good sir,” you respond grandly, lifting it from his presenting palms.

Starting from the top of the tree, you anchor the tinsel and work your way downwards. Sebastian circles around to the opposite side to assist so you do not run the risk of toppling head first off the stepladder. His long reach is beneficial, and he works with the same attention to detail as he gives to his music.

“I’m thinking I might have the band do a seasonal set once a night. Whatever music feels right. Christmas, Yule, Kwanzaa, Chanukah…” He announces conversationally, passing the tinsel end to you from the other side of the tree.

Stuttering to a stop, you let the garland dangle forgotten in your hand. You lean around the tree to look at him incredulously. He raises his eyebrows at your blatant staring.

“But you hate the holidays.” You don’t even bother phrasing it as a question. It’s just a fact about the man across from you.

“Mmm, but,” he shrugs, “you like it. A relationship is about compromise sometimes. You work with me so I work with you. We both get what we want.”

“Which is?” You ask, utterly baffled.

“I get to see you happy. You keep me from being a scrooge. It’s all about balance.”

You roll your eyes at him with a fond smile. “I don’t know about that, I think you’re still pretty scoogey.”

“That’s not a word,” Seb protests.

After waving a dismissive hand at the amused man, the two of you arrange the tinsel in content silence. Sebastian occasionally hums a melody as you work, parts of songs that he has been composing for the past few weeks and months. You abandon the stepladder to kneel at the bottom of the tree to finish. Seb works in the end of the strand on his side. The two of you step back to survey the tree, the musician coming to stand at your side. It looks promising. You’re about to tell him so when he nudges your hip with his.

“What?” You question, turning to him.

He doesn’t say anything, just does it again, adding a gentle tap of his ankle to yours. Oh, you get it now. Casting him a smile, you offer him your hand, palm down. He takes it willingly and pulls you into a spin. The dance turns into a lindy hop. The two of you are a mess of held hands and dramatic spins. Each time you pull close together, he brushes his mouth over yours in a playfully fleeting kiss.

Dizzy and with sides aching from laughter, you let Sebastian pull you against his chest. He holds you in his arms, letting you lean against him. He gently sways, matching the beats of the still-playing seasonal music.

“Ornaments next?” His voice rumbles in his chest, against the side of your face.

“Yeah,” you respond into the sharp angle of his collarbone before reluctantly pulling away from him. You take his hand and tug him after you towards the boxes.

“Here,” you say, offering him an ornament. “You get the honor of putting the first one on.”

He takes it with careful fingers and secures it onto a branch. The small, piano shaped ornament dangles merrily from its new home. It was what the two of you had settled on. Seb gave you his blessing to decorate the club in preparation for the month of December as long as your choices were appropriately themed. Which was not a problem as you had confirmed that you would be sticking to a theme of instruments and jazz musicians.

You were rather proud of the ornaments. You had gotten a small stockpile of hanging photo frame ornaments and presented them to Sebastian alongside a stack of photos of jazz musicians. He had excitedly relayed lore about his favorite artists for hours as the two of you slipped the pictures into the frames while seated at the bar. He’s talking about them again now as you both settle into a rhythm, passing each other around the tree as you decorate.

“-into Five Spot for a while, but people thought he was kind of crazy because of the way he played the piano. He would get up and dance for moments at a time, then sit back down and play a flurry of notes like he was possessed. He really was something.” Seb is gesturing wildly with his hands as he talks. You worry for a moment that he’s going to launch the ornament he’s holding clear across the club.

Catching the way you’re looking at him, he puts the ornament he’s been gesturing with on the tree. “What?”

“Nothing, I just love you.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, crinkling his eyes. “I love you too.”

While Sebastian busies himself with finding a place for the last ornament, a trombone, you pick up a cloth wrapped bundle. You offer it to him when he turns away from the fir. “Here.”

The musician takes it with curious hands and unwraps it. He looks up from the tree topper with a stunned expression. You could almost swear you see tears starting to well up in his blue eyes.

“This is…” He trails off, you don't often see him speechless. “Thank you.”

“Let’s get this on the tree?” You ask, reaching out and giving his hands a gentle squeeze.

He shakes his head when you gesture for him to do the honors. Instead he places the topper in your hands. You start to ask him what he’s doing, but then his hands are on your waist and he’s giving you a boost so that you can put it on the top of the tree. A joint effort, unexpected and sweet. You manage to get it on securely and Seb takes care when lowering you back to the floor. As soon as your feet touch the wooden boards, you kneel and plug in the lights, wanting the full effect. Sebastian tugs you in so that your back is against his chest, his arms locked around you.

“It looks good,” he says.

Your partner is right. It does look good. The cool tinted lights are reflected in the brilliant blue of the tinsel. The effect is almost that of neon signage. The ornaments sit proudly amongst the branches, all indicative of passion for the history of jazz. At the very peak of the tree, welded of brilliant polished steel, is the logo for Seb’s.

#12 days of goosemas #la la land (2016)#la la land #sebastian wilder #sebastian wilder x reader #la la land fanfiction #sebastian wilder fanfiction #ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling fanfiction

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failedintsave · 6 months

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Bucci Gang HCs Nobody Asked For

Sleep Edition

Bucciarati

Sleeping: sleeps either 2 hours or 12, no in-between; sprawls like a starfish and snores like a chainsaw when he isn't just catnapping; blanket thief, but ends up kicking most of them off the bed; one old, flat pillow; has to set 50 alarms to wake himself, but rouses easily to the sound of his own name

Pajamas: oversized t-shirt and soft shorts (emphasis short) for lounging, but usually strips butt-naked to sleep

Abbacchio

Sleeping: takes 90min on average to actually fall asleep, usually rests 4-6 hours a night, waking multiple times; side/stomach sleeper, doesn't roll more than a few times a night; mostly quiet, sighs a lot when he's deeply asleep; owns multiple weighted blankets; gets up just before sunrise without an alarm every day and is therefore in charge of making coffee

Pajamas: loose tank top and sweatpants

Mista

Sleeping: spends as many nights on the couch as in his own bed; snork mimimimi; dreams vividly and loves to analyze them out loud the following day; always manages to get a cool 7+ hours, even with the Pistols waking him at midnight sharp for a snack; likes a single blanket with no topsheet; wears his hat to bed; very groggy upon waking but generally cheerful in the mornings

Pajamas: socks and boxers most of the year, cartoon-patterned flannel pants in the cold months, no shirt ever

Fugo

Sleeping: keeps his bed pushed in a corner and sleeps with his back to the wall; talks in his sleep, usually muttering about something he read that day (brain won't quit); gets a solid block of 6 uninterrupted hours on most nights, and Do Not Disturb him before then if you value your life; prefers a vintage, twin bell alarm clock over a radio or buzzer

Pajamas: Ebeneezer Scrooge-ass nightshirt

Narancia

Sleeping: can and will pass out anywhere, anytime, for however long he needs (sleep schedule who?); tummy sleeper but often draws his knees under his chest and hikes his butt in the air like little kids do; so much drool; sometimes has night terrors and ends up crawling into bed with Fugo or Mista after; sleeps through alarms and has to be shaken awake more often than not

Pajamas: tee with the sleeves ripped off and gym shorts

Giorno

Sleeping: able to go lights-out as soon as he settles down; sleeps flat on his back, hands folded over his chest, still and quiet all night; has 10+ pillows and lies in them like a nest (also one stuffed frog); rolls and pins his bangs every night; wakes naturally when his room brightens because he keeps his curtains and blinds open for his plants to get sunlight

Pajamas: owns several sets of matched silk pajamas in different pastel shades

Trish

Sleeping: insists on 8 hours of beauty rest and will complain about dark circles and the risk of wrinkles if she doesn't get it; sleeps curled up, hugging a pillow; wears a sleep mask and uses a white noise machine (prefers rain sounds); also wears a mouthguard but only uses it about 50% of the time

Pajamas: either a sports bra and shorts, or whatever comfortable-looking item she's stolen borrowed from 'her boys,' fuzzy bunny slippers

#this has been rotting in my drafts for ages #ran out of colors so gio and trish have to share pink sorry kids #silly hc hours. maybe ill do more of these #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #guido mista #panacotta fugo #narancia ghirga #giorno giovanna #trish una #jjba

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nahoney22 · 1 year

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Outcast (part 2/2)

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

Ebenezer Scrooge X F!Reader

word count: 4.5k

•gif is mine, please credit if used•

With you never seeming to leave his mind, what happens when his irritable nephew comes by and offers company for a dinner party this Christmas. Will he accept and will he pick you as a date?

Masterlist

Warnings: none, fluff. Scrooge still a little bit of an arse but we love that for him. Quite a heated 😚, not really happy how it turned out ngl I was rushing towards the end. Not proofread.

Part one | Part two

Never had Scrooge been so perplexed about his own feelings before.

The ounce of kindness he had shown last week was playing on his mind both for the good and bad. Good in the sense that it made him feel positive to do something for another yet, the outcome was not at all what he expected.

As you kissed his cheek, clearly overcome with joy in that moment, Scrooge felt sickened soon after. He let his guard down so quickly, something he had never done before in many years. Though, he did replay the moment you had leaned into him and placed your soft lips to his cheek. It sent waves of butterflies in his stomach whenever he thought about it or glanced in your direction.

He simply refused to let something or someone like that get to him again. He’s adamant about that, so certain never to feel that weakness… until you walked into his office.

“Sir?”

As he was scribbling furiously, just thinking about you and the little peck on his cheek, the point of his quill almost pierced the parchment on his desk as he gazed up at you - heart aflame.

“Y-yes?” He clears his throat, sitting up straight and pushing his messy work to the side. “What is it?”

You enter, closing the door behind you. “There is an issue with one of these logs you filled out last week.” You say, a little nervous as correcting your boss was something you never wanted to do and even felt a little out of turn in doing so.

His eyes narrow and holds out his hand, gesturing for the book to which you hand over. A small shuddering breath escapes him however as the touch of your fingers briefly touches his own but you don’t seem to have noticed. Good.

As he checks everything over, he’s almost horrified to see that indeed, there was a mistake. It was only a minor error, a simple misplacement of a decimal point but that is besides the point. He never made mistakes.

Eyes glancing down at the date, he cringes mentally to see it was the exact date he had succumbed to some good in his life. “Ah,” he tenses, fingers flexing against his desk as he suddenly finds it hard to look up at you, “I see.”

You nod slowly, feeling quite a little tense yourself. You wouldn’t particularly say that Ebenezer went back to his old ways, but he had been fairly distant with you. Perhaps you hugging him and giving a small kiss on the cheek was out of line. Though, you believed he would have addressed it, surely? So for now, you kept quiet just as he had been.

“It has been corrected.” He notes, making the necessary changes to the book before sliding it towards you, finally glancing up in your direction. Had your skin always glowed that certain way? Subconsciously he swallows the saliva that built in his throat, wiping his sweaty palms on his suit pants under the desk. “Is there… is there anything else I should be aware of?”

You shake your head. “No. That will be all.” Swiping up the book, you turn to leave but stop as an abrupt noise of a chair scraping across the wooden floor caught your attention. Looking over your shoulder, you raise a brow to see Scrooge standing straight, looking at you but his face reads confusion and nervousness. “Is everything the matter?”

“Yes, I uh,” he struggles to find a reason for his sudden burst of bizzare behaviour, “I saw a spider on my desk.”

“Oh,” you begin to walk back towards his desk to deal with the pesky critter but he quickly moves round the front of his desk and holds his hands up.

“That is quite alright. I can deal with it.” His arm extends, a gesture for you to head towards the door and get back to work.

You’re quick to notice his tone seemed different. There was no anger, no snarky comments he just seemed… peculiar. “Well if you insist.” He walks with you to the door, his hand grasping the handle.

“Indeed I do.” He nods firmly but when you smile at him, his knees go weak and he finds himself smiling too. A rare but handsome sight.

You’re both staring at each other, breaths both a little shaky as clearly you both think about the elephant in the room. If you took one step closer to him, you’re bound to be chest to chest and although you find yourself tempted, you know in your mind that it would be foolish. However, you were unaware that he was thinking the same. He could cloud your senses in a matter of moments, he could take you in his arms and tell you that you’re special for making him feel this way. Subtly, his eyes flicker to your lips…He could perhaps kiss you too if you would allow him.

But, before he could open his mouth (if anything was going to be said anyway) the door bursts wide open sending you tumbling onto the ground upon impact.

“UNCLE EBENEZ- oh dear, are you quite alright?”

You’re rubbing the back of your neck as you sit up to see what could have possibly made you fall so much. Vision blurred briefly, you squinted to see two men looking down at you, seemingly worried glances on their faces.

“What do you think you are doing? Barging in here without invitation?” Your boss snaps at the younger gentleman who has now crouched down in front of you, extending his hand to you.

A look of apology plasters the man’s face, once you sit up and get your bearings. “I was just so excited to see you Uncle and to share my exciting news! Now help me first with this pretty creature I clumsily sent flying.”

Scrooge was shooting flames through his eyes at the back of his nephew's head and a wave of jealousy overpowered him just for a brief second. He thought you were pretty? Bah! Only he can express those secret feelings.

Oh, so he knew you were pretty. Dare he say he also thought you were positively enchanting too. He sighs mentally, that simply did not help his case in trying to get this feeble feeling inside him about you to fade.

Both gentlemen take a hold of your arms and in a matter of seconds, you’re hoisted straight onto your feet. One of the men lets you go and you lose your footing just slightly as you didn’t prepare yourself for such a quick helping. Something wraps around your waist and you’re pulled into something tall and slender. Oh yes, your boss.

Eyes widening, you glance up towards Scrooge and are surprised to see how red his face had gotten. You suspected it could be one of three things. One, there’s a window open and a very cold draft has blistered in. Two, the clear anger he had towards this other gentleman or three, the proximity between the two of you. Oddly enough, you wish it to be the third.

Your face cringes a little at your thoughts and you could almost slap the back of your hand for thinking that way about your boss. But dare you admit he had been on your mind an awful lot?

“There! No harm done. Apologies Miss….?” The young man politely asks for your name to which you give it, standing straighter but for some reason, Scrooge’s arm still held you rather close in case you were going to slip if he let go.

“A very beautiful name may I say.” He charmed with a beaming and rather infectious smile. He then looked between the two of you and a curious brow was raised. “Now then Uncle, I was not aware you were courting someone?”

Both of your bodies stiffen and you’re blushing ridiculously. So doing what you think is the right thing, you step out of his grasp and give him a small nod and then turn to his supposed nephew. “N-no it is not like that. I am merely just one of his workers.” You gush quickly, self-consciously straightening out the skirt to your dress.

Harry’s mouth falls into a small ‘o’ shape and then looks to his Uncle again. “Oh that’s a shame as I was wondering if you and my loving Uncle here,” he grins at Scrooge whose face shows nothing but irritance, “would like to come to a Christmas party I am hosting tonight! Well, I say me but it is really Hela.”

“Hela? Who is that?”

“My wife. I suppose you would know that if you had shown up to my wedding last spring.” The tension was a little too thick for your liking. So quietly, you excused yourself and swiftly left Ebenezer’s office.

The pair of them watch you leave and once Scrooge has closed the door behind you, he is already practically growling at his ‘foolish’ nephew.

“She seems nice, Uncle.” He hints a little too playfully for his liking, making the man scoff and move back to his desk and sit back down.

“What is it you want?” He sighed miserably, picking up his quill and getting back to business.

Harry places his hands on the desk, leaning a little down towards his Uncle as if to get his full attention. “I already stated. You, maybe that rather attractive lady you have working for you, my home for a Christmas party tonight!”

Ebenezer pauses for a second and checks a small Callander to his left before returning his gaze back to his work. “Christmas is not for another seven days.”

“It’s an early party! Oh come on, Uncle please? I never see you and Hela is more than thrilled at the thought of you finally making your acquaintance with her.

The older man lets out an obvious heavy sigh and places his quill down. “I think you and I are both aware that my presence is not tolerable, Harry.” He leans back, folds his hands together over his chest and ever so slightly gazes to the window where he saw you. “Besides I also do not think that she will appreciate my company either for the evening.”

There was a doubtful glance on Harry’s face as he looked towards you and then to his Uncle. “I would not be too sure about that…”

Scrooge was quick to pick up on his meaning and merely scoffed once more but it did pique his curiosity. “How so?”

Harry smirks just a tad. “Well, before I interrupted you both I did see the way you were looking at one another.”

He narrows his eyes. “Which is how?”

“You will see.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

He did not how he managed to lure Scrooge into his plan for the evening but he did. And how Scrooge even managed to convince you to come with him was a miracle all by itself.

Alas however, he stood in front of his old and badly cared for mirror as he straightened out his old dresswear and dusted off his shoulders. It was a little looser than he remembered from around twenty years back when he had a more muscular build to him but, he had nothing else. Although critical of others, he’s surprisingly a critical of himself.

He found himself once more, as usual nowadays, scoffing to himself at the thought of trying to impress another but as he grabs his cane and hat, he takes a steady breath and makes way towards your home.

One step, then another and another he feels nerves tingle in his belly as he tries to think of any good conversation starters or anything that isn’t remotely work related too.

Perhaps he could make a comment about the music that will be played. No doubt it will be joyful and full of cheer that already seemed to be giving him a headache before even stepping foot into his nephews home. Or maybe he could compliment her appearance? His eyes widen at the thought, would he even dare? Would it be out of turn for him to do so? As he walked up the cobbled path to your little humble home, he clears his mind, takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.

There is some silent cursing from behind the door as you hurried to get your shoes on and wrap a scarf round your neck for the winter season. With everything you needed, you yourself inhaled a deep breath and opened the door to see a pink-cheeked Ebenezer.

“Good evening,” you say softly, steppping out and locking the door behind you before you turn to ace him once more, “you look… very smart, Sir.”

He’s truly blown away by what he sees. Your hair is styled to almost perfection aside from the stray piece of hair that dangled down the side of your cheek. You’re sporting a simple yet elegant looking gown that made you look effortlessly beautiful and there was only a simple slither of makeup on your cheeks. You looked beautiful before in his eyes but now he was a little breath taken.

Your shy yet awkward smile was enough to signal that he had just been stood gawping at you rather than address you so he quickly clears his throat, gives a little stomp of his cane and raises his head. “Thank you ma’am, you too look, uh, quite devine.”

He extends his arm to you, knowing this was probably an okay move to make and his throw was correct once you link your arm though his and make haste.

The walk there is silent, a little awkward at first until Harry’s house came into view. “I was not aware you had a nephew, Sir.”

The topic is a little sensitive for him as it would be for most but your curiosity was not at all one of malice. “I thought I told you that you’re allowed to call me by my name and not Sir.” He replies to you with a pointed expression yet there was flicker of a smile hindering on his face somewhere. “But to answer your question, he is the son of my late sister.”

Your face drops but you do slowly start to remember that there is a picture on hiw desk of him as a young boy with a young girl. There is an ache in your heart and as you begin to apologise he holds up his hand to stop you.

“No need for that. Although I found him barely tolerable, he is still my nephew if that did mean the loss of my sister. Alas, we move forward.” He grumbles the last part. Gods, he really is getting a little soft if he now thinks of Harry as ‘barely tolerbale’ rather than intolerable.

When you both entered Harry’s home, you both had never felt so much like outcasts in your lives. Although your dress was nice it was nothing compared to the gowns that the other ladies were wearing and Scrooge, obviously, stuck out like a sore thumb and folk seemed to avoid him like the plague.

Your coat is removed by one of the servers that Harry must have hired for the evening and even though you protest a little, it was still taken from your shoulders as did your scarf, Scrooge’s hat, coat and cane as well.

“Uncle, Ma’am! How lovely it is to see you both here. Thank you for coming.” Harry yells over the crowd, some odd glances being tossed in your direction. You grow a little self conscious, wrapping your arms around yourself whilst trying to show somewhat dignity. With many prying eyes, looking you up and down the company you’re keeping is not the most favorable. Which is a shame since you did not seem to mind that part.

“This is a lovely… home you have.” Scrooge says through slightly gritted teeth, well out of his comfort zone as he gazed up to the large sparkling chandelier above the pair of you. As expected, the music was terribly cheerful for his taste but from the corner of his eye he sees you humming gently to the music. Maybe the difference in music tastes was enough for him to try and dislike you less which was seemingly starting to feel impossible. Especially when he sees how calm and talkative you are with Hela who comes over.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet the man who likes to hide away from us.” Hela had teased playfully, earning a hearty laugh from her husband and even a small one from you.

Scrooge releases a strained breath, trying to hold in any rude comment he had the desire to make. “Pleasure’s all mine though please, do not get used to it…”

He felt a small nudge to his side and he glanced down at you, a dubious look on his face as you gave him a stern glance. “You have a lovely home.” You beam at Hela, turning your attention back to her. “I’d be glad to come and visit again and I’m sure Ebenezer would too.”

Hela leans into her husband, smiling fondly at the two of you as she swirls the contents in her glass around. “Say, how long have you two been married?”

It was a good job you weren’t drinking tonight because otherwise whatever you had consumed would have been spluttered all over the floor. With a deep inhale of a sharp breath, you felt rather confound. This is the second time this has happened in the space of very few hours and if it were to happen a third, you would feel compelled to say just under a year.

“Not married. She is,” Scrooge clears the thick tension, clearing his throat and holding his chin high, “too good for me.”

Your heart swells a little at his words though there is a small pang of empathy in your mind. Behind the tough exterior, you had definitely seen his soft side and therefore you knew there was good in him. Good enough for you at least.

Before Hela could speak up, seeing the abashed look on your face, the music swells into a more slow-tempered melody. “This song is my favorite.” Harry chimes, taking his wife’s hand in his and leading her to the open floor.

The two of you stand back, watching couple join together in a dance and if you didn’t feel out of place before, you certainly did now.

For some reason, your mouth decides to speak for you before your mind could process. “Do you dance, Ebenezer?”

“Not if I can help it.” He quips without a second thought but when he does think, he looks down to you. “D-do you?”

You don’t meet his gaze, instead smile a little at his stutter. “No.”

As you turn your head, you’re almost breath taken as his eyes bore into your own. They’re intense but not ones that will make you shake in fear - instead - they were ones that caused a bonfire in your heart. “Would you like to go somewhere quieter? The music is a little too loud for me.” You suggest, giving a little white lie in the process.

His heartbeat quickens and although this mind was screaming no, his heart was saying yes. He nods and the two of you quietly leave the room and decide to slip into an unoccupied drawing-room.

When the door closes, you're both alone. The sound of music from the other room does resound off the walls but it was quite nice. Though, you could hear your heartbeat strumming in your ear.

You walk towards the center, hands clasped together at your front as he takes in the architecture. “Your nephew's home really is lovely. He must have done well for himself.”

“Yes, well I would like to imagine that my brother-in-law had sought him in the right direction after mine and my sister's upbringing.” There was a bitterness in his tone, taking a walk round the room and subtly admiring the large pairings and portraits along the walls.

“Life was rough for you?” You question, watching him as he traced a delicate finger along the mantle above the fireplace, expecting dirt but nothing to show.

“Quite. My father was not a kind man and was not a good role model to have.” His shoulders slump slightly as he heads towards one of the many large windows, eyes casting out towards the downward snow. “I had to provide mostly for my sister and mother because although he was a rich man he spent his way into debtor’s prison.” He seethed, closing his eyes tightly as a wave of memories flashed before his eyes.

You watched him and there was a temptation tingling in your fingers to reach out and place a comforting arm to his shoulder but you held back as something didn't seem quite right with you. “Ebenezer, forgive me if I am out of turn to speak this way but you speak ill of your father and his debts. Yet, many people owe you debts.”

Slowly, he turns his head to look at you. As you stand there, twiddling your fingers he understands what you are getting at but was certainly not ready to have his pride shot down by your truthful words. “That is the career path I chose and if people choose to ask for money, I will loan it. If they can not pay me back then I either double it or they themselves can be sent straight to debtors prison too. And owe me debts you say? I like to believe that you are also part of this job are you not? As well as Bob?”

His words were rather high strung, wanting to catch you out as if he should argue with you, as if it would break the mold forming between you two. Though, you raised a brow and gave him an almost disappointed look. “I am merely someone who checks the logs and stacks shelves. I do not communicate with your clients as that is your role. I chose this job as I wanted to do just something no matter how undignified it may seem to others. To do something that was not expected of me.” You speak proud and true, not falling for whatever it was he was trying to insinuate.

“I saw kindness in you Ebenezer. I know deep down you do not want these poor folk we have to end up just like your father did.”

There’s a sting in your words but so painfully true. And that sealed it for him, it was impossible to dislike you. You spoke freely and were not hesitant in your words with him. There was no shying away and the fact you saw the good in him rather than the blackness of his heart meant that he too could believe he was good.

So, he chuckles. A true hearty one at that.

“What is so funny?” You quiz, unsure whether to be offended or not as he approaches you.

When he stops in front of you, he is merely inches away from his chest pressing to yours. “I am amused as to how a lady like you can see so much positivity in someone so cold.” Words just above a whisper, you’re entranced by your boss and you audibly gasped as his hands take hold of your own and he slowly brings them up. “Your hands are rather cold too.”

Jittering breaths, you look down at the hands that held your own and bravely close the gap between you two with just a step closer. “Perhaps you could keep them warm for me?” There’s teasing in your voice and he falters just for a second. His mouth instantly waters and you see his Adam’s apple bop up and down at your proposition.

“I would be g-glad to.” He nods, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and before you know it, your hands are being raised towards his lips and a warm blow of his breath cascades over your knuckles.

His eyes flicker up at you as he does this, seeing your eyelids flutter close as you bask in the warmth of his breath warms your soft hands. Daringly, damned to hell with how inappropriate it was being intimate with his colleague, his lips graze over one knuckle. Then the next. And then the rest.

“S-Sir, what if someone sees us?”

There’s a low chuckle from him that sends vibrations over your body. “I told you not to call me that.”

You hum in slight amusement though you were a little light-headed at the current events. “That did not answer my question.”

“Then,” he pulls his lips away from your last knuckle on your right hand and moves his gaze to the door and then to you, “they will pity you for being seen with a man like me.” For a second there’s a glimmer of sadness in his eyes and so you release one of your hands from his embrace and carefully place it on his cheek.

“Do you know what else is cold?” You say quietly, trying to keep your breath as steady and not unwavered as possible.

“I am unaware. What is?”

In for a shilling, in for a pound.

“My lips.”

His eyes widened at your indirect proposal but your face showed nothing but sincerity. So, he did the thing that he tried so hard not to even think about doing and leans into your touch, arm snaking around your waist until you’re flushed against him. “Is this what you desire? I… I am not a good man.”

With a wry smile you softly nod your head. “Yes, and you are a good man even if you do not see it yet.”

Overcome with the emotion of being wanted, his free hand moves to the back of your head and nestles in your hair as he captures your lips in a somewhat desperate and needy kiss.

You’re almost knocked off your feet as his lips descended on yours, his eyes tightly shut as if he were to open them for it all to be a dream. When you reciprocate, even beginning to move his lips along his, he relaxes.

You could feel your heartbeat speeding up, your other hand placing it to his chest to see if you could feel his; and you can. His head tips, welcoming the feeling of warm and soft lips but he almost faints as your tongue brushes against his lips yet he welcomes the foreign yet exciting new sensation.

Both of your breathing gets a little heavy, fingers tightening on your waist and you gasp as you’re moved back, back pressing to the wall.

Nothing could have expected you for this moment, nothing at all. Although as your tongues probe at one another, swallowing each other’s soft and welcoming moans, you’re completely blown away at how assertive and dominant he became. Especially when one of his hands travels up the bodice of your dress and presses to the side of your neck. His lips leave your now slightly plump ones and you’re shivering in ecstasy as his lips instead caress at your cheek, then your jaw and soon found home on your neck.

Maybe, you both should take this back to his place before you could spoil both of your reputations.

tags for those who wanted a part 2: @8e-h-e8 @simp123321 @jazz-53 @xxsapphire14 @chocotacobread

Masterlist

#ebenezer scrooge x reader #Scrooge x reader #Scrooge x you #scrooge a christmas carol #ebenezer scrooge #Scrooge #not sw related

307 notes · View notes

parmmykitty · 4 months

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Expect the 3rd chapter when the bell tolls one! I'm sorry but I can't make the ghosts all someone Wesker knows in cannon since I'll run out of people quick, so I'm gonna improvise. This is its own little universe that doesn't make sense in the bigger picture, but it's fine. (I'm also making my own lore of his childhood there's literally nothing to work with but the wiki page. Sue me.)

The R.P.D. Christmas Carol pt. 3

Scrooge!Wesker x Secretary!Reader

Pt.1 Pt.2

The sound of a phantom grandfather clock resounded throughout Wesker's bedroom at one o'clock sharp. The tune of the clock ending in one final ring to indicate 1 in the morning.

Wesker's eyes flew open with the final chime. The room was just as it was when he had gone to sleep an hour prior. The moonlight coming in through the window gave a sense of peace and made him less tense.

All at once the room came to life when the door slammed open hard enough to damage the wall. With it a blinding light shinging in Wesker could barely make out the figure coming in through the door. He shot up in bed, reaching for his gun for the second time that evening. The silhouette floated in the room in a strange mix between seemingly floating and swimming. As she entered the room the door shut behind her blocking the light and making the room dark once again.

"Let me guess. You're the ghost here to show me the error of my ways?" He said sarcastically.

"Yeah, and you better be grateful for it." The ghost responded smoothly. With the light gone Wesker could finally see what the ghost looked like. It was a woman who seemed of Asian descent with short black hair.

Floating at Wesker's eye level she expectantly waited for his reply, "And what, may I ask, makes you the ghost for the job?"

"I'm the ghost of Christmas past. I'm sure you can guess what I'm here to do."

Wesker stood upfrom the bed with his gun firmly in his hand. "And if I choose to not listen to you?"

"You'll simply suffer in damnation strangled by the chains of your sins in the deepest pits in hell," The ghost responded amusingly, "but at least give me a chance. It's not like you'll be able to fall back asleep before the next ghost comes anyway."

Wesker stared into the ghosts eyes searching for an ulterior motive, but found none. Not only that, but she did have a fair point. At the very least something amusing might happen if he went along with the ghost's silly story.

"Fine, but don't expect me to get a bleeding heart with one conversation."

The ghost laughed before forcefully grabbing his wrist and dragging him to the door she just came in through, "who's aid anything about a conversation?" She laughed. "This is a hands on approach." The door flung open relighting the room. When the two reached it the ghost gave him a hard push and in shock he fell through the door as if there was no floor to stand on.

After a small falling sensation Wesker fell directly into the ground. Expecting the fall he had no time to brace and fell fully into the snow. The usual harsh winter weather feeling like room temperature eventhough he was shirtless and in only pajama pants.

"Nice landing, Wesker," the ghost floated down calmly.

Glaring up at the ghost as he got his his feet he realized he had moved to a whole different town. The usual city streets of Raccoon City being replaced with thick forests and a single large mansion. "The Wesker House. This place was destroyed after all the other Weskers died. What is this?"

The ghost turned to the large mansion that loomed above them. "This is where you grew up, right? Bring back any fond Christmas memories?"

"Aren't you supposed to tell me the memories? What use are you if I have to think them myself?"

"Fine."

The environment changed around them changing to the inside of the house. Inside there were kids sitting along in chairs and on the staircase. All of them with serious faces and seemingly studying.

"Do you know anyone here?" The ghost looked over at him.

"Obviously."

"What about him?" The ghost pointed over to an ajar door that led to what seemed to be an office. Inside a small boy with blonde hair sat inside talking with a man. The kid could barely be ten, but anyone could tell that it was him. That small boy was the same Wesker who was ten in 1970.

"I'm sure you can guess who that is. It's fairly clear who it is."

The ghost turned to him with a small pout, "You're no fun. You know that right?" Sighing, she once again grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the door. "If you wanna learn anything. Listen."

Poking a head in and looking around Wesker immediately remembered the conversation.

"You're the brightest kid we have here Albert. Of all the things you've chosen to do you decided to waste your own time on frivolities. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Mr. Wesker had his arms crossed and leaned against the front of his desk. In contrast, Albert had his head down without meeting his eye.

"I was just trying to be nice, sir. All the books in the library said that's what I should do this time of year," the sadness in the kids voice was clear to Wesker's ears. He could vaguely remember the feeling too.

"In what way was that nice? By wasting all the other children's time? Spreading these ridiculous stories about Santa Clause of all things. You should be studying not daydreaming. You have a test the Saturday, no? I don't want to see you out of your room until then. Be lucky this is your first time in my office or things would have been a lot worse for you," the man lectured.

Weser turned around immediately and made his way to the door. "Let me out. I've seen enough. You've made your point."

The ghost caught up from behind him and looked at him. "Already? Well that was fast. But, I really do have to be sure you're ready for the next ghost. Poor thing might cry if you're mean to him."

Again he world changed around them. This time once again the city streets were around them. In front of him sat Racoon Park and instantly his stomach dropped. The sense of dread he felt was incomparable to anything since this very day he had come back to.

"You can't be serious," he said sharply and turned to look at the ghost.

"What? Did something important happen on this day? Care to share?"

Walking away from her and towards where he knew she wanted him to be Wesker couldn't help but remember everything. No matter how much he wanted to turn away and bury his head in the sand he knew the quicker he got this over with the quicker he could go home.

"Another year goes by with no wedding, right, Albert?" The words tore through his chest and gripped his heart.

"Is that your dear secretary, Wesker? I'm sure there was no nepotism involved that got them that job," the ghost said.

"I told you before. My research has been keeping me more busy than usual. We'll be married when I can give you more of my time," a younger Wesker about 35 years old stood beside a person on the park bench. There was no one else in sight on this particular Christmas Eve.

"I'm getting a sense of deja vu. Isn't that what you said last year too? And the year before that?" The person smiled sadly up at the younger Wesker.

"Because things haven't changed, and with me being the main researcher things have been taking longer," the younger Wesker answered them and sat down beside them on the bench.

"Nothings changed, huh? Something has changed, Albert. You have. You don't love me anymore. Do you? The love is gone from your eyes, Albert. There's no need to keep up this charade. You married your work before me. I will always be your friend, but I can't be waiting for love I won't get. Goodbye, Albert. I'll keep in touch."

They walked away leaving Wesker alone on the bench. The younger sat in shock unable to voice anything.

The older Wesker on the other hand turned furiously to the ghost," What do you gain from showing me this?! How will showing me these Christmases of all the others change how I view them?! You've only reminded me how terrible the whole damn holiday is!"

"Who said anything about making you like Christmas," the ghost smoothly said, "I'm here to make you stop being an asshole. To make you see that you are what is ruining your life. Maybe you were influenced as a kid to be a dick to everyone, but there is no excuses for an adult!" The ghost shouted in his face.

A wave of dizziness passed over him all at once. Closing the eyes to relieve the pain he felt a sense of vertigo before opening his eyes once again. When he did he was back in his bedroom. All the lights out in the room leaving it dark as if he just woke up.

The sound of pots and pans rattling with the sound of someone singing Christmas songs could be heard downstairs in his kitchen. Rolling his eyes Wesker decided to go and see what the next ghost wanted from him.

Walking into the kitchen he was surrounded with the smells of a huge Christmas feast. An inhuman sized turkey laid on his dining table stuffed between other festive dishes. At the head of the table was a young man in Christmas robs with blonde hair and blue eyes. His singing of carols could be labeled mediocre at best but he still belted the lyrics to his fullest.

When the ghost opened his eyes he let out a pathetic squeak and dropped a turkey leg he was using as a conducting baton. "I'm sorry. I didn't know Past was done with you already," he sheepishly said, "I'm the ghost of Christmas present. Nice to meet you!" As Wesker looked over the ghost who seemed more like a twink than an omniscient being he couldn't help but roll his eyes.

~~~~~~~~

@aoi-targaryen

#albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #resident evil #wesker x reader #ada wong #leon kennedy

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natalynsie · 1 year

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random ducktales headcanons in whatever order I think of them

Louie likes math. He acts like he doesn’t because he thinks it’s dumb and nerdy, but he likes math.

In a human AU, Huey would wear cargo pants, track pants, or jeans on occasions. Dewey is a jeans every day type-of-guy, he doesn’t own any pants besides jeans. Louie always wears sweatpants or track pants.

Researching Scrooge really got Webby into American history. She loves learning about Scrooge when he was in America. Some of her favorite periods to learn about; The Gold Rush, the Roaring Twenties, the Great Depression, primarily the early Gilded Age.

As Dewey gets older, he gets a passion for writing. His overactive imagination is a tool for this. He also uses inspiration from his childhood fantasies and incorporates them into his stories. For example, he makes references only he would get about Dewey High in his writing. He does primarily action/adventure and realistic fiction.

Louie gets easily embarrassed about his hobbies. He starts by doing them nonchalantly, but when he realizes people are noticing, he starts doing them in secret.

Huey does not get art, primarily poetry, plays, or anything written. It just goes right over his head. He hates English class and Shakespeare.

When Lena likes something, she draws it a lot. Whether it be her magic, people, friendship bracelets, or even just a little trinket she found, she’ll draw it. These drawings go into her most beloved sketchbooks. But she also has the Sketchbook of No Return, in which she draws things she hates as a way of getting her emotions out. Sometimes she even blacks out the page after drawing it.

Violet introduces Webby to Ancient Civilizations. They study early history together, from Mesopotamia to India to Greece.

Huey and Violet get competitive when they do Junior Woodchuck things, but they get along really well otherwise. They both have passions for science and nature.

Boyd and Huey are best friends, and hang out all the time. Despite being a robot, like all Gearloose’s inventions Boyd feels human emotions. Huey finds this extremely fascinating. Louie likes to tease Huey about being friends with a robot, but Louie doesn’t really have many friends himself so he can’t say much.

Gosalyn feels awkward at the huge sleepovers the Duck and Vanderquack family are always hosting. Her only friend at them is Dewey, while everyone else knows each other. Even Boyd knows Lena and Violet. Plus, Gosalyn doesn’t even know the rest of the Duck boys. But, eventually she warms up to everyone after being super competitive in games and sort of cold as a defense mechanism.

Lena and Violet dye their hair together sometimes.

Panchito and José eventually become known as Uncle Panchito and Uncle José.

Huey, being terrified of Dewey’s carelessness, finds Louie to be his Comfort Sibling™

Louie is kind-of into knitting???

Fethry, Gladstone, Donald, and Della always came to Scrooges for the Holidays. Every Holiday. Winter and Spring break too. They all got pretty close. Plus, adventuring was not Donald and Della exclusive.

Donald is the only one who can tell the triplets apart when they do their hair the same way and wear the same clothes.

One time Louie stole Webby's skirt because he wanted to know what it was like to wear one. He's also done this with Scrooge's clothes.

Dewey cannot cook for the life of him, but Huey is a master chef. Huey also makes the best soup-and-salad combos. Louie is in the middle ground, but for some reason finds baking much easier.

One time Della, Donald, Fethry and Gladstone played War together, but on teams. Donald and Gladstone wanted to see whose luck would outweigh the others, so they teamed up. The game was cut short because the table got knocked over and the cards fell through the floorboards. They looked for the cards but couldn’t find them.

May loves drawing and June loves reading, and they like to write books together. Daisy gives May fashion tips for her characters, and reads the books June recommends.

Webby likes to photobomb Dewey's selfies.

Gosalyn and Louie scam people together.

Webby and Lena have a playlist of both their favorite songs. They sing to all of them at their one-on-one sleepovers.

Lena and Violet both like heavy metal.

Gosalyn was extremely girly as a child.

Lena reminds Scrooge of Donald when he was younger.

Drake adopted Gosalyn (obviously).

Lena and Huey lowkey have beef.

Dewey was actually laid first.

One time Dewey accidentally called Storkules his Uncle Storkules. The man was never happier.

Panchito became a sky pirate once but Don Karnage booted him.

Boyd really likes listening to Huey talk about his passions, which is good since Huey goes on and on about them. Donald thinks it's so sweet that Huey has such a good friend. Boyd is Donald's favorite of all of the boys' friends.

Louie's khopesh is his favorite treasure ever.

Della was Donald's best man at his and Daisy's wedding. It didn't matter that she wasn't a man.

Launchpad and Drake nerd out together for at least three hours a week.

Drake cannot handle affection. He gets all awkward when someone tells him they love him or when someone hugs him.

When Louie isn't around, Boyd is the number two comfort buddy for Huey.

Violet and Boyd get along really well, and Huey gets jealous of Violet. But they primarily hang out in JW meetings so it isn't crazy.

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justaboot · 1 year

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18 for the violence ask game

18 - it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

OKAY ALSO IN HONOR OF YOU LIKE? Klondike everything???

Maybe this is me, but I grew up in a city made from like, THEE biggest gold rush in North American history, so as a kid I DEEPLY hyperfixated on gold rushes and there's SO MUCH FUN STUFF TO PLAY WITH FANDOM-WISE.

YALL. THE KLONDIKE GOLD RUSH WAS SO INTERESTING AND COMPLICATED. DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD A PERSON HAD TO WORK TO GET THERE?

33 miles of BRUTAL trail, lugging a LITERAL METRIC TON OF SUPPLIES. LIKE. THEY LITERALLY DIDN'T LET YOU INTO CANADA IF YOU WEREN'T CARRYING A METRIC TON. So a journey people thought would take days took MONTHS, because you had to go one load at time, put it down after a few miles, and go back for the next load.

And the last stretch before hitting the Canadian border? THE GOLDEN STAIRCASE

BRUTAL 45 DEGREE ANGLE CLIMB. GET FUCKED.

Finish lugging your stuff up the top? Congrats, pay duties on your METRIC TON OF SHIT YOU HAULED, and then CUT AND STRIP LOGS TO BUILD A BOAT AND RAFT DAYS TO DAWSON, AS WINTER CLOSED IN AND ICE FILLED THE RIVER.

Goldie got to Dawson before Scrooge, who hiked the trail. Assuming Scrooge hit the road as soon as possible, unless you were very wealthy, this (and other much worse paths) was the only real way at the time. Women hiked it too, in short skirts with leather leggings underneath, or in mens' trousers.

Anyway, Goldie hiked the Chilkoot Pass. I've decided.

And once you got there? GOD there's so much cool history.

GOLDIE WAS A DANCE HALL GIRL.

Once the shows were done, they'd push all the chairs aside and the men would pay to dance with the women, waltzes and square dances and such. Of COURSE Scrooge would look down on that! It's not just a waste of money to pay to see a show, but to pay for a dance! Come on! He does go in when he strikes it rich, so like...

Idk, I've got a fic brewing in my docs somewhere of Scrooge and Goldie having to go to a miner's meeting, which was a little unofficial court held by the miners to deal with petty issues, (you wanted to go for other people, so they'd be there for you), and all the men get jumpscared by Glittering Goldie showing up next to the Scottish Reclusive Asshole, filthy and wearing his pants. Someday that'll happen.

ANYWAY I JUST REALLY LIKE DAWSON'S HISTORY ITS AND KLONDIKE SCROLDIE COULD BE SO MUCH MORE THAN A CABIN IN THE MOUNTAINS.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#HI #Ducktales #Scroldie #Scrooge Mcduck #Goldie O'gilt #My great great grandfather hiked the chilkoot trail and was a klondike sourdough #mission status SICK

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random-blep · 1 year

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Okay okay so I completely forgot I straight up had pajama headcanons for characters so like here they are

Diluc: has a full nightgown like the one scrooge wore in a Christmas carol. Full length goes to the floor

Kaeya: this man wears so little to bed. This is for convenience and comfort. He's like the type to just wear his underwear to bed.

Jean: she seems like the type to be so exhausted she ends up just sleeping in her shirt and pants from the previous day. But when she has the energy to not immediately crash she has those cute night gowns. Goes past her knees

Lisa: seems like the type to sleep with a sleep shirt and no pants.

Klee: she has a good choice between matching shirt and pants combo , a cute night gown, and onesies. It's just so she has choice for what will make her most comfortable.

Razor: he isn't knowledgeable in the whole pajama thing. He sleeps in his day clothes.

Bennet: he seems like the type to have a mis matched shirt and pants combo because he had it matching but he lost the top for the set. The set tho looks old and worn cause he's unlucky and stuff happens

Fischl: she likes her pajamas to either be shorts and an oversized shirt or something like that

Albedo: I think he hardly rests like Jean, except he feels like a he sleeps in just shorts/pants kinda guy when he does sleep

Venti: this man sleeps fully clothed , he only pretends to be mortal so the sleeping in clothes thing doesn't bother him

Rosaria: gotta have pants and a shirt, gotta always be ready to get up at any notice.

Zhongli: he seems like the type to wear whatever he's in the mood for. Nightgown, shirt and pants, naked. Whatever's most comfy for him at that moment. But he does seem like the type to have a robe to put on when he needs to get out of bed for anything

Xiao: he sleeps in his clothes cause he's the type to sleep where he drops. If he were to take proper rest I think what would be good for him would be to wear an oversized shirt and shorts.

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virtie333 · 5 months

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Here's another funny thought from me about Marc and Steven: Remember the Halloween costume idea I had? What if Steven, for fun sometime during Christmas, decides to prank Marc again and wears a full Santa Claus outfit just before Marc is back in control? And Steven's excuse is that Marc needs some Christmas spirit.

I can see it now...

Steven walked in carrying a rather large box, making Layla frown.

"What is that?" she asked.

"Just a little something for the party tonight," Steven told her with a little smile.

"I though Marc was going to the party with me?" Layla responded. "Did he change his mind?" While Marc (and Steven by default) had been raised in the Jewish faith and considered Christmas nothing more than a commercialized holiday used to bilk gullible consumers out of their money, he knew Layla missed celebrating Christmas. She had been raised in the Coptic Church, but had fallen away from it after her father died. When she had been invited to a Christmas party put on by one of her father's old friends here in London, she had talked Marc into going with her. Scrooge that he was, she wouldn't be surprised if he had decided to back out.

"Oh, yes!" Steven said, raising his eyebrows as he grinned. "He's still going. I just thought I would get him ready." He proceeded to open the box and pull out a Santa suit. "Now I know Santa probably isn't an Egyptian tradition, but I'm sure everyone at your party will appreciate it." He giggled slightly as he began to change into the full Santa regalia.

Layla couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, Steven." She sat down, curious to see Marc's reaction. "You know, we do have Santa in Egypt, even if we celebrate Christmas in January versus December," she said, trying not to ogle the man in front of her as he stripped down to his boxers.

She watched at Steven pulled on the red flannel pants and coat, added belly padding included, boots, belt, and of course, the white beard and hair with the Santa hat. White gloves followed.

Steven spun around and then looked at Layla. "Well?"

"Nice," she said, nodding. "You are in so much trouble."

"It'll be worth it," he said softly, then turned to look at the mirror.

Layla could see the change, even with the ridiculous fluffy beard covering his face. She could also see the immediate tension as the man before her stiffened, staring into the mirror.

"STEVEN!!!!!!"

This actually helped me to confirm the idea that I would make Layla a Copt in my WIP. Thank you!

#ask box #nkp1981 #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #layla el faouly #santa claus

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emilou-keen-gear · 6 months

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Request short story from AO3

Title: Stolen Luck Part 1

Writing Prompt: A reader from AO3 wanted a story with Gladstone and Lena.

Word Count: Approx. 4500

Gladstone had the same fond regards for his great-grandmother as she had for him. Essentially they both mutually detested each other. His parents insisted on going to the Nursing Home once a month, and Great-Grandmother was pleased—even eager—to talk to her grand-son and his wife. But as for Gladstone, she made some sort of comment on his behavior or how he looked or something else, and that was enough of a hint for Gladstone to leave her room, away from her raised hospital bed and creepy antique dolls that stared at him with glassy eyes to go wander around the rest of the building.

And there was plenty to do in the Nursing Home. Some kids might not think so, but Gladstone didn’t mind it. Well, aside from the lingering smell of old people and whatever food they were eating that day. In fact, he liked it. In the common area, he could find a few of the more mobile residents watching TV or playing cards or doing a puzzle, and they always called for him to join them. Some constantly asked his name, age, and year in school, and he politely answered. He understood that memory was hard for some of them.

A few even called him by the wrong name, mistaking him for their son or grandson or someone else. It was a little sad, so Gladstone was especially polite, and he wasn’t known for being a polite little boy.

But that day, he didn’t go to the common area to see the regulars. Instead, as he was passing by some of the rooms, a voice called out to him.

“Hey. Hey, you. Kid. Get over here.” The voice was quiet and raspy like a whistle that was rusting, but it was still strong and deep.

Gladstone stopped, glancing in. The room wasn’t the same size as the others. It was huge, like four times the size of his great-grandmother’s. It had all the same medical equipment as the other rooms, but it was filled with some of the most beautiful things Gladstone had ever seen. There were paintings on the walls and shelves lined with so many little statues that must have been made of real gold with gems inlaid in them. The man’s hospital bed wasn’t the cold-looking metal ones the others had, but large and grand, like something a millionaire would own. There was other furniture in the room, a large, leather couch, a nice recliner, lamps and a coffee table. There were other things, too; a large-screen TV, movies, a cappuccino maker, and stacks of leather-bound books.

The man was also different than the rest of the nursing home. Although he was just as old as the others, there was still a hint of youth about him as if something about him hadn’t aged. He was dressed in a silk bathrobe and nice pants. His room didn’t have that old-person, nursing home smell. Instead it stank of some sort of cologne and cigar smoke. The latter came from a fat stogie that the man was smoking while in bed.

“You shouldn’t be smoking that. The nurses will get mad,” Gladstone said.

“Not at me. They always let me smoke,” the man said in his raspy voice.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get cancer?” Gladstone asked. It was all anyone talked about when it came to smoking. The thought of cancer was enough to make Gladstone not want to smoke, not that he was ever tempted since the smell was noxious.

“I’m one-hundred and ten years old,” the old man said. “I don’t care about cancer.”

Gladstone was surprised then skeptical. The man didn’t look old enough to be one-hundred and ten years old. But then again, Uncle Scrooge was supposed to be quite old himself and kept going on those adventures.

“Do you want to know the secret of getting to be this old?” the man said, leaning closer to Gladstone. He made a gesture for Gladstone to come closer, then he reached into his robe and pulled out a necklace that appeared to be made of a broken bone.

“Have you ever heard the phrase: Lucky Duck?” he asked Gladstone.

Gladstone nodded.

“And have you ever used the wishbone of a turkey after Thanksgiving and made a wish?” the old man asked.

Gladstone nodded again.

“Well, this is the larger piece of a broken wishbone of a duck. One of the luckiest ducks ever to have lived,” the old man said with a smile.

Gladstone’s eyes widened. “You mean a wild duck, right? The kind that we feed in the park and fly south for the winter.”

The man’s eyes turned steely. “No, not that kind of duck.”

Gladstone gulped. He should have known. The bone was far too big to have belonged to a Thanksgiving turkey, much less a wild duck.

“Legend had it that when the luckiest duck in the world finally died, his body was dug up by two sorcerers who wanted to use the duck’s luck. They took his wishbone and put a spell on it,” the old man said. “Then they broke it in two. The one who held onto the larger piece of the wishbone made this necklace, which gives the wearer unending good luck. As for the other, the one who had the smaller piece, I don’t know rightly what happened to him, but I heard he died of bad luck.”

The story intrigued Gladstone. As far as made-up stories, it wasn’t bad. But he couldn’t help his eyes from straying to the wish bone necklace, wondering if it could be true.

“How did you get it?” Gladstone asked.

“I stole it,” the old man said, looking somber.

“Stole it?”

“Yeah. You see, my partner and I, we were archeologists,” the old man said. “You see, that sorcerer, he had great luck. But then a rival sorcerer stole the wishbone from him, wanting the good luck. Not long after, he died a horrible death. Then the sorcerer who stole the necklace got the good luck, but it was stolen from him and soon after died a horrible death. This happened for years and years until finally someone died of natural causes and the necklace was buried with him.

“Then my partner and I dug him up, somewhere in Mesopotamia,” the old man reminiscence. “We’ll we called ourselves archeologists, but sometimes, we kept what we found. And my partner decided to keep the necklace after reading a journal of the history of the necklace. Pretty soon, he was getting lucky with a lot of things. He won every contest he entered. He gambled and never lost a single coin. Every horse he bet on crossed the finish line first. He found money on the streets.

“And I’ll admit, that made me jealous. After all, we both found it at the same time. So I stole it away from him.”

Gladstone could tell where this story was going. “And he died a horrible death.”

“Not really. He did break his leg, though,” the old man said with a laugh.

Gladstone frowned, feeling as if the old man was making a fool of him. “Why didn’t the necklace kill him?”

“So, I have a theory,” the old man said. “When a person wears the necklace, good luck is attracted to them and it keeps bad luck at bay. But the bad luck is like a rubber band around your wrist. If you only pull the rubber band a little bit, it’s not going to hurt you. But if you stretch it as far as it goes and releases, it’s going to hurt like Hell. Well, my partner only had the necklace for a couple of months, not enough time for the bad luck to build up to kill him.

“My partner knew I had stolen it from him and demanded it back. I suppose I could have run away because I was now getting a lot of good luck, but he was still my partner and I like to keep things square. So we made a bargain: he would have the wishbone for one week and me the next. That way the bad luck could only hurt us a little.

“After a while, my partner and I noticed that even though we only wore the necklace a week at a time, the bad luck blowback was getting more and more dangerous. At first it was just little things like sitting on a tack or losing our wallets, then it got worse and worse. My partner was afraid of what would happen if he kept passing the wishbone back and forth, he would regret it. So he gave me the wishbone entirely to me.”

“I bet you’ve been awfully afraid of losing the necklace or having it stolen,” Gladstone said.

“You bet!” the old man exclaimed.

“Well, if you’re so lucky, why are you here? You look as if you could take care of yourself,” Gladstone said. He wouldn’t want to live in a nursing home.

“Well, the necklace can’t protect me from everything. My relatives said I was too old to live by myself. And this place isn’t so bad, as long as I get my own way,” the old man said, sitting back and chuckling. “But, it does get a little lonely. I don’t get any visitors. I’ve seen you here many times. You talk to a lot of the folks here.”

“My great-grandmother doesn’t like me. So I find other people to talk to,” Gladstone said with a shrug. “It’s better than being bored or listening to Great-Grandmother.”

The old man laughed. “You’re a good boy. I can tell. So I’m going to give you something.”

Gladstone thought that the old man was going to give him some quarter or candies. The most someone ever gave him was a two-dollar bill, which wasn’t a common denomination and he still had it because he thought it was cool. But his eyes widened as the old man reached around his neck and took off the wishbone necklace, holding it out with two fingers.

“You’re giving it to me?” Gladstone asked in disbelief. He only half-believed in the story, and his belief was dropping even more as the necklace was being offered to him. If the necklace was as lucky as the old man said, he would never give it up. And especially with many decades of bad luck hanging over his head.

“Yes. Take it. It’s yours,” the old man said.

“Aren’t you afraid of the bad luck?” Gladstone asked, trying to make it sound snarky but he was feeling a little worried.

“I’ve lived long enough,” the old man said with a twinkle in his eye. “It’s time to pass the luck on to someone else.”

Gladstone reached out for the necklace, thinking that he would take it just to appease the old man then dump it in the trash. The old man probably had dementia or Alzheimer’s or something, and the necklace was just junk. Who knows, maybe he gave weird necklaces to all the kids who came into his room. When Gladstone wrapped his hand around the necklace, the old man grabbed him, holding him tight.

“You need to decide quickly. You either keep it for a short time then get rid of it, or you keep it forever. You hear?” the old man said.

Gladstone nodded solemnly to the old man, who then let him go. The way that the old man was looking at him and how he talked, it was starting to scare Gladstone. Once he was free, he ran out of the room, just wanting to get away from the crazy guy. He barely stopped before barreling into Margie, an old woman who had met several times, who was ambling down the hallway.

“Oh, aren’t you a handsome, young man,” Margie said, taking Gladstone’s arm. “Will you come play cards with me?”

“Uh, sure,” Gladstone said, still holding the necklace. He put it in his pocket.

In the common area, Gladstone played cards with Margie, and he found that no matter what game they played, he won every time. Not that Margie minded.

“When a young man wins so many times, he deserves a reward,” Margie said, taking out her purse.

She said this every time and would give Gladstone caramel sucking candies, which he didn’t mind although a bit too sweet for him, so he said “Thank you” and held out his hand politely. Instead of candies, she handed over a crisp twenty-dollar bill.

“What? This is too much,” Gladstone said.

“Oh, you keep it. You’re such a nice young man. Just don’t let your luck spoil you,” Margie said.

“Uh…” Gladstone said, not quite believing things. Never had he been given so much money, not even by his own parents or relatives. But what made him nervous was Margie mentioning luck. “I think I should go find my parents now. Thank you, Ma’m.”

“Such a good boy,” Margie said again and prepared her pack of cards to play solitaire.

As Gladstone headed to his great-grandmother’s room, he pulled out the necklace and took a look at it. The wishbone had a gold chain attached to both ends of the bone through small holes drilled in it and galvanized with metal. The broken end where it was split apart looked to have been sanded so it wouldn’t poke anyone. The bone wasn’t white but different shades of grayish brown as it aged, and it was covered in a shiny resin that gave it a jewelry feel to it. But despite the work done on it, it was still ugly.

Gladstone put it on, glad to see that it hung very low on his neck and that his shirt and stiff collar covered it up. With a deep breath, he stepped into his great-grandmother’s room. This would be the real test to see if the necklace was what the old man said it was.

“Um…Mama. Can we go home, please?” he said quietly, trying to be as polite as possible.

“How rude,” Great-Grandmother said so soon after Gladstone said. “You’re parents are visiting with me. Don’t interrupt them.”

Gladstone’s mother smile wanly and whispered to her husband. “It is almost dinner time.” She started to stand up.

“Now, you sit back down,” Great-Grandmother ordered crisply. “Don’t go rushing off because the child is a little bored. In my day, children were seen and not heard, that is if they were seen at all. We never got in the way of the adults, and your son can stand to wait a little longer." She cast a disapproving stare at Gladstone that made him wither away a little.

Gladstone looked down at his feet. Stupid necklace. So much for it being lucky.

But then the walls began to shake and the floor trembled behind them. The shelves vibrated and the medical equipment on wheels rolled slightly.

“Earthquake,” Gladstone’s father said, pulling his wife and son closer to him.

Great-Grandmother clutch the blankets on her medical bed, her eyes wide and mouth open. “Oh, my babies. My babies. They’re going to fall.”

The antique dolls were dancing, wiggling back and forth with the shelves, but they were moving from sitting position to lying down, dangling from shelves.

Gladstone didn’t really do anything. He never intended to. He just so happened to be near one of the shelves when a doll dropped in his lap. He was so surprised that he moved back, and another doll dropped on him. He instinctually held onto them, and watched in surprise as one by one the dolls flew into his embrace. It was even more surprising that their porcelain faces, arms and legs never once cracked against each other.

When the earthquake ended, the entire shelf of dolls were in his grasp, and he could barely see above the mountain of curly hair and lacy dresses.

“It’s over,” Gladstone’s father said. “Is everyone fine? Anyone hurt? Grandmother?”

“My babies,” Great-Grandmother said, her hand to her breast. “Boy…Gladstone. Bring them here.”

Gladstone carefully walked to his Great-Grandmother, not moving his arms at all. He waited patiently as the adults removed them from his arms one-by-one until they were all safe on the bed.

“They’re all safe,” Great-Grandmother said aghast. “Not a single one is chipped. And thanks to you, my dear boy.” She patted his head and kissed his cheek.

That was the most surprising thing of that day. Great-Grandmother didn’t call anyone “dear” but less gave them a kiss. And that wasn’t the end of things. She reached into her bedside table, took out a box that require a key to open—he knew she kept her money locked in the box to prevent the nurses from stealing it, as if they ever would—and gave him a twenty-dollar bill

“Grandmother…that’s very generous,” Gladstone’s father said, just as surprised as Gladstone.

“This is not spoiling the child,” Great-Grandmother said in her no-nonsense tone. “He did a good thing, and children should be rewarded for services.”

“Thank you,” Gladstone said, putting the money next to its brother in his pocket. He was feeling very rich. However he did feel a bit guilty. After all, he didn’t do anything. He just so happened to be right under the shelves during the earthquake.

They visited with Great-Grandmother for a while longer, the nurses rushing about in the hallways as they checked up on all their patients, sticking their head in to make sure nothing was broken or anyone hurt. And after a while, Great-Grandmother excused them with a smile and a wave, looking much different from the old woman they usually visited.

“Can we have an earthquake every time we visit?” Gladstone’s father whispered in the hallway.

“Hush, dear,” Gladstone’s mother said but she was smiling. “Let’s just hope that this fine spirit of hers lasts. And it’s all thanks to you Gladstone, sweetie. You were very brave during the earthquake.”

Gladstone soaked in the praise as they walked down the hall. But they all stopped as a pair of EMTs pushed a rolling gurney out of one of the patient’s rooms, a black body bag right on top.

“Oh, go ahead, folks,” one EMT said, spotting the family.

“Oh, my,” Gladstone’s mother gasped, hand to her mouth. “How unfortunate.”

“Was it the earthquake?” Gladstone’s father asked the EMT.

“He had a heart attack, probably from the stress of the earthquake,” the other EMT said.

As they passed by, Gladstone’s parents tried to hide Gladstone from the view, but as they passed, he caught a glimpse of the room beyond the EMTs.

It belonged to the old man who gave him the necklace.

Gladstone put a hand to his chest, feeling the necklace against his feathers under his shirt. He believed now. So he had to make a decision. Was he going to get rid of the necklace, pass it on to someone else or perhaps bury it before the bad luck built up too much? Or was he going to keep it?

***

Twenty five years later…

Gladstone stepped out of the beach house at the edge of Duckburg, feeling refreshed and wonderful. He always felt refreshed and wonderful no matter where he slept. He once had stayed the night in a jail cell and had slept peacefully there—why he was in the jail cell, he had no idea, but it turned out to be lucky since he had overheard where a pair of thieves had hid their loot and earned a reward when he turned the information over to the police.

He didn’t own the beach house. A man at the airport—a complete stranger—had rented the beach house for the week and he had been called in on an emergency at work. It was non-refundable. And Gladstone had talked to him for five minutes, five polite, lucky minutes, and the man called the rental agency and had everything transferred to Gladstone. What are the odds? With Gladstone, always in his favor.

A week in a beach house.

Gladstone was the type who went where the wind takes him, having never needed job or permanent home. All his basic needs were taken care of, and since he never kept anything that he picked up for very long, never collected souvenirs or anything other than memories, he could easily live anywhere in the world. Whenever he ended up in Duckburg, he always tend to crash at his Uncle Scrooge’s place, but once in a while, he’d win a free hotel room or something like that.

This time, it was a beach house, which so happened to coincide with some of the most beautiful weather he had ever seen in Duckburg.

He was so lucky.

As he walked down the boardwalk to the eateries on the wharf, he tested his inner self to see what he was in the mood for. Pancakes? Parfait? Pastries? Maybe something more exotic. He had to decide, otherwise his luck wouldn’t know where he wanted to go. Or maybe it would just send him some money so he could decide later.

As he searched the ground for the usual twenty dollars, he patted the front of his shirt which was his usual habit. The necklace that he always kept hidden under his shirt was always a comfort to him, although it didn’t look like the same necklace he was given as a child. Instead of a gold chain, he had replaced it with silver since gold was eye-catching, and after seeing so much of the color from his Uncle Scrooge, he thought it was a little gaudy. Besides, silver looked better with green. As for the bone, he couldn’t stand seeing it as it was and worried that someone would think him macabre for wearing something like that, so he had it plated in silver as well. It was a strange looking necklace, that’s for sure, but at least it didn’t look as if he were wearing ancient body parts.

A flash of green caught his eye and he bent down.

“Nice, twenty dollars,” Gladstone said, picking up the crisp bill. Now he was set for the morning.

Just as he saw a pretty, little café that met his fancy, a person turned right into him and they ran into each other, shoulder to shoulder. It was only a slight bump, but it was enough to knock Gladstone to the ground.

“Ow,” Gladstone said, feeling the pain of his tail cushioning his fall. He expected an apology and a welcomed hand to help him up, but instead he saw a man in a gray hoodie hurrying away. “Hey! What’s the big idea?” he shouted. Grumbling, he stood up and brushed himself off, finding a tear in his new jacket. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Rassa frassa jerk no good—“ He stopped himself. “Oh, no. Now I’m sounding like Donald.”

It was a strange occurrence for something like this to happen to him. His lucky charm couldn’t exactly change people, but usually something that seemed like bad luck would lead him to good luck. In the meantime, all he wanted was a bagel and a cup of coffee.

As he stumbled into the café, he said found almost every table filled and the noise level barely low enough that he heard from the hostess up front that it would be a fifteen minute wait. It ended up being thirty, and when he was finally seated, the table wasn’t wiped down and he stepped in a wad of gum.

“What can I get you?” a curt waitress asked.

Gladstone didn’t have to look at the menu. “Coffee and a bagel.”

“We only have pumpernickel right now,” the waitress said.

Gladstone blanched. He hated pumpernickel. “Toast then. Wheat bread,” Gladstone said with a sigh.

He then waited much longer than it should have taken to make toast, and when it finally came, the toast was cold, had too much butter and was not wheat bread. As for the coffee, it wasn’t spectacular like he was used to, and the waitress didn’t bring any creamers for him. After he tried to flag down the waitress several times, he gave up, scarfed down his sub-par breakfast and went to the cash register to pay for the meal.

“Here and the rest is tip,” Gladstone said, handing over the bill he had picked up. Not that she deserved such a gracious gratuity, he thought.

The hostess snorted and muttered, “Lousy tipper. Go figure.”

“Huh, what was that?” Gladstone asked.

“Nothing,” the hostess said with a shake of her head.

Gladstone frowned. “If I’m not mistaken, I did hand you a twenty-dollar bill, right?”

The hostess shook her head. “No, you gave me a five. It barely covers your meal, sir.” She gave him a judgmental look.

A five? No, that couldn’t be possible. He always picked up twenty-dollar bills.

“I’m sorry. My mistake,” Gladstone said, reaching for his wallet. He was certain he would have several wayward twenties that he had picked up on his journeys. His hands came up empty after searching his pockets. His senses dropped to the floor.

His wallet was gone.

“No. No, where is it?” he said, searching his jacket and every pocket, coming up empty again.

“Where is what, sir?” the hostess asked, looking irritated.

“My wallet. It’s gone,” Gladstone said.

The hostess had a look on her face as if she had heard that line before.

“No, it’s really gone,” Gladstone said. “I’ve lost it. I lost my wallet. This never happens to me.”

“Sure,” the hostess said, her beaks pressed in a thin line. “If you lost it here, it hasn’t been turned in, but you can check back later.”

Gladstone realized that the waitress couldn’t grasp just how terrible of a thing for him to lose his wallet. But then he remembered the guy bumping into him, that had knocked him to the boardwalk and left in a hurry without an apology. The guy must have been a pickpocket.

Gladstone fumed as he stormed out of the café. This shouldn’t have happened to him. Bad things don’t happen to Gladstone Gander. He had never been robbed before. He never was ignored like this before. And he never had such an unpleasant morning, not since that old man had given him his lucky charm.

He automatically raised his hand to feel the outline of the jewelry under his shirt, but as his fingertips traced just under his collar bone, he felt nothing but his own body and feathers. He pulled back his jacket and shirt collar, looking down, expecting it to be askew or something, for there to be a reason why he didn’t feel it.

But it was worse than he thought. The necklace was gone.

And so was his luck.

***

This story will probably be in three parts. I didn't want to do more stories with multiple parts, but I felt I needed to post something soon because I've been having problems working on my computer. I got into a slump this week but I'm back up.

This story in no ways reflects any Gladstone Gander cannon information or my own headcannon. It was just something that I came up with and I just went ahead with it. I know it's very similar to the episode with the Phantom Blot, but I'm going with a different angle that I hope will sound great.

#ducktales 2017 #ducktales #fanfiction #gladstone gander #Lena #spooky story

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tokuvivor · 10 months

Text

Duckverse June Week 4: Beach Day

Oh, this is going to be fun. This story is based around the Clamboree, featured in @justaboot’s story And a Sixpence in Your Shoe! If you haven’t read it yet, you absolutely should. And with that, I give you…

Clamming It Up (A Sixpence Story)

The Clamboree had been going full steam all day. All told, it was one of the best days of Huey’s life.

Not just because his mom was finally home for them to do it together (though that was a big reason).

After the chaos that had hung over the family the past few weeks with the presence of Velma Vanderbucks, especially yesterday’s wedding, the Clamboree proved to be the perfect respite following the madness.

The sun was shining, the temperature was just right, and there was plenty of action. He loved seeing the enthusiasm bursting not just from his family, but from all the families scattered around the beach.

He felt that the orchestra could have sounded a little better, but in the grand scheme of things, he didn’t care. He was just happy to perform with his fellow Woodchucks. Besides, it wasn’t like they had to be perfect in their execution.

As the afternoon gradually slipped into evening, Huey beamed proudly at all he and the rest of the troop had done. Sun, sand, and seafood. What more could one ask for out of an end-of-summer shindig?

After Huey was done performing at the bandstand, he felt that warranted another round of food. After all, performing music was hard work, especially for an instrument like the cello.

His family seemed to be scattered around the beach in various places. Uncle Scrooge and Goldie were crowded together, as were Uncle Donald and Daisy. Webby camped out between them, trying to balance eating with keeping an eye on The Pete House. Dewey, their mom, and Launchpad were eagerly waiting for their turn at karaoke. Mrs. Beakley was still on a roll at the dunk tank, and Louie had ultimately surrendered to the carnival games and decided to fix a plate of food himself.

Huey looked over near the rocks, noticing a log lying next to the array, and two familiar figures perched on top of it.

Huey perked up, making his way over to his two friends.

“Violet! Boyd!” he exclaimed. “Room for one more?”

The other two Woodchucks looked over at Huey.

“But of course!” Violet replied.

“C’mon, Huey,” implored Boyd. “There’s plenty of room!”

Violet and Boyd scooted over, and Huey slid in between the two.

The two of them had clearly been exerting themselves quite a bit over the course of the day, too.

Violet had, of course, come with her fathers and Lena. All day, she had ambitiously buzzed around the beach, taking in everything, helping out wherever she could. She was also impressively strong when it came to hauling in lobster traps. Her dark, curly hair, usually pulled into a tight bun, hung loosely around her shoulders, her Woodchuck hat perched on top. Her uniform was partially unbuttoned, exposing a bit of her teal bathing suit. The cuffs of her pants were soaking wet.

Boyd, meanwhile, for the first time, had come with Dr. Gearloose, whose usual aversion to going outside was prevalent in the fact that he had brought a massive bottle of sunscreen for himself and Boyd. In fact, the little parrot still had some white blotches visible on his face and arms. He had been busy all day himself, catching various forms of ocean life, both for consumption and observation, running items back and forth for the various areas, and, like Huey and Violet, performing in the orchestra.

“That’s a rather interesting facial design, Hubert,” Violet commented, noting Huey’s face paint.

“Oh! This,” responded Huey. “Webby and I got matching Scars of the Ancients.”

“Fascinating. I am impressed with the detail.”

“Webby showed Mila a picture for reference,” Huey explained. “Anyway! Wow. This has been quite a day.”

“Yep!” Boyd responded.

“Indeed it has,” Violet agreed. “Our troop has certainly pulled it off well.”

Huey nodded. “I can’t believe how many people came this year!” he exclaimed.

“I’m glad that Dad was willing to come,” Boyd said happily.

Violet peered over at the chicken scientist. “He is certainly covering all his bases when it comes to sun protection,” she noted. “Anyway…uh, may I address the elephant in the room here? Well, not a room, but you two know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Huey replied. “Go ahead.”

“Excellent,” Violet continued. “I just wanted to note, on a whole, this has certainly been more enjoyable than yesterday.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” muttered Huey.

“I agree,” Boyd concurred.

“I cannot believe that your uncle almost ended up marrying that…that she-devil,” Violet spat out. “I must say, she seems to make even Magica De Spell look like a saint.”

“Hey, you’re just lucky you didn’t have to, for all intents and purposes, live in the same house as her,” Huey reasoned. “Also, thanks again for your assistance with all that, Violet. You and Lena, really.”

“Any time,” Violet responded. “I will admit, it was rather fun assisting with the whole plan to get Ms. O’Gilt to crash the wedding. Admittedly, prior to yesterday, I had only seen the crashing of weddings in movies. Trust me, our fathers have seen a lot of those.”

“That was quite the reveal, though!” Boyd exclaimed in between bites of paella. “How you all just laid it out, piece by piece, for Ms. Vanderbucks, her plan just gradually seeping through her fingers like sand.” He leaned over and scooped up a tiny fistful of sand to make his statement, letting it run out through his own fingers.

Huey laughed, then stopped abruptly.

“What is it, Hubert?” Violet asked.

“The plan…” he began.

“What about it?” Boyd wondered.

“It wasn’t just about taking control of Uncle Scrooge and, by extent, his riches,” Huey explained. “It was also about splitting us up. Including, but certainly not limited to, taking me, Dewey, and Louie away from Mom, as the courts would have ruled her as unfit, and sending us to boarding schools.” He put particular emphasis on that last S.

Violet and Boyd were in absolute shock.

“I would very much like to say that she could not do that, but given both your mother’s past and her doubtlessly countless ties to many, she very much could have and would have,” Violet snapped.

“And she would’ve gotten away with it, too,” Boyd added.

“And it would not have been fair, all the same,” Violet finished. “But that, I guess, is how the hush puppy crumbles.” She took a bite for emphasis.

“No. It wouldn’t have,” agreed Huey. “I’d have been away from my brothers, away from my family, away from you guys, and I just wouldn’t have been happy with any of it.”

“Neither would we,” Boyd responded. “Being a Woodchuck wouldn’t be the same without you here.”

“Concisely put, Boyd,” Violet agreed. “That is why, structurally speaking, triangles are the strongest shape. Each side needs to rely on the other two for support. Two sides, all on their own, would just result in a collapse.”

Huey beamed. He pulled his two friends into a side hug. “Thanks, you two,” he replied. “I’m glad to have friends like you.”

“So am I, Huey,” Boyd added.

“Here, here,” Violet finished.

They spent a little more time talking, laughing, and joking, and then they heard, “Hey, Huey! You coming or not?”

The three noticed Dewey, waving madly.

“Wait, what?” Huey yelled back.

“Mom and Uncle Donald are taking us to the Creamery for milkshakes soon!” Dewey replied.

“Oh! Right! Coming!” Huey called.

He looked back between Violet and Boyd.

“I take it that is your cue,” Violet deduced.

“Yeah,” Huey replied, sighing. “This was still great, though! I’m glad I had a chance to talk to you two, at least. I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Okay!” Boyd responded. “Bye, Huey!”

“Farewell, Hubert, Warrior of the Ancients,” Violet added cheekily.

And Huey set off towards his family, making sure to throw his plate and cup away in the process. ‘What a weekend,’ he thought. ‘I mean, a wedding, stopping an ancient snake deity, living it up at the Clamboree, now milkshakes? I’d like to see that be topped. Just not immediately.’

He took one last look at the beach, then turned back, visions of milkshakes dancing in his head.

#ducktales #huey duck #violet sabrewing #boyd gearloose #duckverse june #beach day #ducktales fanfiction

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