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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years

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addiction, m | myg ending

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, mentions of past hoseok x reader

summary: Min Yoongi saves a life and then has sex. Is it the best choice? No. Does he do it anyway? Yeah.

warnings: non-idol!AU; in which everyone makes bad choices; slow burn; rated M (18+) for language, mentions of drug use, mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts, mentions of past cheating, smut (oral, m and f receiving)

Fuck it.

He had to do something. Yoongi stood up, grabbing his phone. His white t-shirt got caught in the chair and he stumbled, cursing at himself. He was a mess already and nothing had happened yet. He grabbed his black sweatpants and yanked them on, opening his door with purpose. Being in limbo wasn’t going to help him, so it was time to take the situation in his own hands. He strode to her door, heart pounding in his chest.

Get a grip, he scolded himself.

He tapped his knuckle against her door, saying her name loudly. Startled by his own volume, he lowered his voice, chewing on his lower lip as he spoke.

“Hey, I want to show you my mixtape. If that’s okay with you,” he finished awkwardly, wincing. He should have thought about what to say. There was a long silence. He pressed his lips together. He was losing his nerve. Each second felt like an eternity.

And then he heard the rustle of fabric. He could sense a form on the other side of the door. For some reason, he lifted his hand and touched the wood, knowing it was the only thing separating them now.

“The song… the song we worked on. I really want you to hear it.” Please.

He heard the lock turn and the door opened. The eyes that looked at him, he would remember for the rest of his life. Bloodshot, giant black pools that threatened to swallow him alive and a sadness he knew all too well. Her hands were stuffed into the sleeves of her huge grey sweatshirt and the matching long shorts made her look even smaller, a tiny thing quivering in her doorframe.

He was tall enough to see past her, into her room. It was a neat room, except for the low table at the foot of her bed. The tabletop was covered in photos that he couldn’t quite see. And in the center was a glass palette.

With ten lines of white powder.

His eyes widened. Panic shot through his veins and he grabbed her collar, inspecting her face, her nose, dragging her into the room. She didn’t even fight him, a dead weight in his hands. Her expression was lifeless, tired.

“How much?” he scowled, “How much did you take? Tell me!”

“I didn’t take any yet,” she replied calmly. Too calmly.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled. “You’re a drug addict.”

“I am not lying.”

His panic was thinning out into anger and confusion. And then she said it.

“I’m not a drug addict, Yoongi. I’m trying to die.”

He froze.

“W-what?”

He looked down again, at the pictures. They were pictures of two people. She was smiling in those photos, eye bright and reflective with the fullness of life. She looked younger, happier. Her arms wrapped around a young man, who had an equally bright smile, heart-shaped and cheerful.

It was slowly sinking in. He let her go, eyes scanning over the photos. Pictures of them in matching outfits. Pictures holding hands. Pictures of them kissing. He looked back to her and she was staring at the photographs too.

“Aren’t they nice?” She whispered softly. “They’re such nice pictures. He always took good pictures, my sunshine.” She chuckled darkly, an ugly sound. “But photos only highlight of the good times. They don’t show the bad times.” Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath. “They don’t show his coke habit. They don’t show me enabling his habit, becoming a runner so he could have easier access. They don’t show me begging and pleading, doing degrading things so he can get another dose.”

Her hands went to head. She gripped her hair, breaking his heart with every word.

“I killed him as much as he killed himself.”

The information hit him like a truck. Speechless, he began to piece things together. The signs were there from the beginning and he didn’t even think about it because he would have never fathomed this in his wildest dreams. Guilt and comprehension hit him all at once. She could have kept the door locked and snorted the cocaine. What if he hadn’t chosen this moment? What if he had waited ten more minutes? She could have overdosed and he wouldn’t have known until days later.

But she had opened the door. She opened the door and let him see.

“What happened?” he murmured quietly.

She threw her hands out of her hair, nails raking down her face and neck. “We had a stupid fight. I told him I would be there to help him detox. We tried,” she wailed, throwing her fists against the wall. “He was shivering and pleading and exhausted. He told me he couldn’t do it. I told him he could if he actually tried and he blew up, telling me I didn’t understand.” Her voice was a panicked ramble as if she was reliving that night. He wasn’t even sure if she remembered he was there anymore. “He kept yelling at me, saying all I had to do was call Seokjin and throw myself at him. I said I was done being Seokjin’s whore just so he could get high. He stormed out, screaming that he would get his own.” She slammed her fists against the wall, screaming into it. The sound chilled Yoongi to the bone. She continued, blind to his presence. “I should have chased after him.” She slid to the floor, knees smacking the hardwood hard. “I should have gone. But I was so tired. I was so tired of it.” Her voice dropped.

“I was tired of him and it haunts me every day.”

He swallowed. It was obvious she had never said this aloud before to anyone.

“Next thing I know, he’s dead because of dirty coke.” She shuddered, arms covering her head. “I handed him a dishonorable death and I didn’t even go to his fucking funeral.”

“Why… not?” he asked softly.

She cackled, a terrible sound. “Why would I go? I never met his family. I was his drug dealer.”

He turned to the pictures. “It looks like you were his girlfriend.”

She finally looked up at him. Her glare was so sharp it could cut steel. “And what if they found out? Mom, Dad, meet my girlfriend who also gives me access to cocaine,” she scoffed.

They stared at each other, but they weren’t looking at each other. She was looking at her own demons, her own past. Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to look into pain in those dark orbs. It took him several minutes before he could speak again.

“You still deal, don’t you?”

Her voice was as distant as her stare. “You don’t get out that easily.”

They stayed like that for a moment. He had to do something. Anything.

Taking a deep breath, Yoongi sat down on her floor. She didn’t turn her head to look at him. Weirdly enough, the moment didn’t feel as alien to him as it should have. Maybe it was because he too had been at this road as well, although at that time he hadn’t quite formed a plan on how to follow though. He didn’t know what he would have done if the resources had been available.

“Do you remember,” he murmured, trying to keep the anxiousness out of his voice. “Do you remember that time where you gave me advice on what to wear for that concert?” He chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “You made fun of my clothes and hair back then.”

Her eyes shifted to him. He continued, voice a little stronger now that he had her attention.

“You also brought me chicken that night and left me a note, wishing me well.” He smiled at the memory, holding her gaze now. “I wanted to tell you back then.” He wanted her to know. “Thank you.”

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t make fun of him. She looked a little taken aback.

He scratched his cheek, pressing his lips together before he spoke again. “I couldn’t tell you then, but back then, I really couldn’t afford to eat sometimes.” Without realizing it, he felt his eyes water. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. “Remember that time you were making beef and my stomach growled so loud that you laughed?” He chuckled, a small smile on his lips. “It was a great laugh. I’ll remember it always.”

Her shoulders trembled with uncertainty. “Why… why are you telling me this?”

“Because I didn’t then. And I should have.” He looked deep, deep into those eyes. “I should have said something because I am grateful to you.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “I didn’t do anything.”

“No, you did.” He caught her eye again, preventing her from looking at the ground. “You gave me a chance when no one did and I won’t forget it.”

She was silent. He hoped she allowed herself to understand. He was no knight in shining armor; he couldn’t make her mind see what he saw. It wasn’t that simple and he knew that. He also knew that humans had vices. Humans fell into patterns and they believed in them, even if they were senseless to other people. He was guilty of that too.

She was so close and yet so far. No. She was actually getting closer. Leaning towards him, looking into his eyes. Maybe her eyes weren’t so dark after all. They didn’t seem so dark when she was close like this. Her lips were slightly parted, so full and pink. He didn’t move. She stopped, centimeters from his face. She began to pull back and he grabbed her shoulder, stopping her.

It was a terrible idea. He replied before she could say anything.

“I don’t care.”

He closed the distance himself, pressed his lips to hers. You’re a rebound, this isn’t going to cure depression, this doesn’t discount the fact that she’s a fucking drug dealer – he pushed all those thoughts aside because he did not care. Her hand gripped his shirt and pulled him closer, kissing him roughly. He held her arms as she climbed into his lap, igniting him with wild kisses, stealing his breath. She sucked on his tongue, making him moan, letting him go to kiss his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. His hands slid down her arms, finding her ass and pressing his fingers into the fabric of her shorts.

“Yoongi…” His name like a prayer falling from her lips.

It was wrong, so wrong, but he wanted it so bad.

Her lips pressed against his earlobe, making him shudder. Her tongue laced around his earring, tugging lightly, making him shiver. If it wasn’t real, he didn’t want to know. If it wasn’t right, he didn’t want to believe it. Her teeth nibbling on his ear, making him moan. Her hands slid up his shirt, fingertips against his chest. Such thin hands but they seemed to feel all of him, setting his skin ablaze.

His fingers hooked the elastic of her shorts and pulled them down, dragging her underwear down with them. She kicked them off herself, getting on her knees, kissing down his neck, sucking the sensitive skin. It hurt a little but he barely registered it, cupping her bare skin with his palms.

He whispered her name pleadingly. She looked up, breathless, locking eyes with him.

“You should stop me,” he panted.

One final warning because he wasn’t sure if he could stop himself anymore. One final moment where they could turn back and maybe not do this.

She cupped his face in her hands, pressing her forehead against his.

“I really don’t want to, Yoongi.”

She kissed him, throwing caution to the wind. He reciprocated, sliding his hand up her back. Her skin was so soft, cool against his heat. He unhooked her bra with one hand, attempting to tug her sweatshirt off. She slid out of it, pushing it aside, leaving her naked over him. He looked over her body, scars dotting her skin as thin white lines. Lithe and strong, holding the weight of her past on her shoulders. He licked his lips, pulling his shirt over his head, letting it drop beside them. He looped an arm around her waist, pressing her against him, shuddering as he felt her nipples press against his chest.

“Who knew you were hiding such amazing breasts under those clothes,” he teased, voice low. Her cheeks flushed red and she gave him an indignant look.

He turned them over, putting her on her back. He kissed down her neck, licking her collarbones slowly, tongue dipping in between them. Down the curve of her breast, tongue leisurely teasing the tip of her nipple. She whimpered, one of her hands in his hair. His free hand traced her side, feeling the fullness of her hips. She tasted so good, better than his dreams, better than he imagined. He sucked, enjoying her soft mewls and cries. He dug his fingernails into her hip, holding her down as he flicked her nipple with his tongue. Her hand tightened in his hair, curling the black locks around her fingers.

He stopped, smirking above her nipple. “Is that why you said I would look better with longer hair?”

Her cheeks and ears reddened. Fuck, she was so cute. She spoke, surprising him.

“You don’t like it?” she asked, voice quivering.

He dragged himself up her body, pressing his clothed hips in between her legs, letting her feel his erection.

“I like it,” he drawled, his lips brushing against hers. “Lose yourself to me.” Let me take care of you, even if it’s only in this moment.

His hand ran down her body, grabbing her hips and shoving them against his, grinning as he felt her wetness smear against the crotch of his pants. She moaned, her back arching, a moment he burned into his mind. He kissed down her chest again, tongue lapping her nipples. Her fingers raced up the back of his neck, tangling themselves in his hair once again. He kissed down her stomach, his lips against her soft skin. He could smell it now, the heavy scent of her sex. He spread her thighs wide, fingers dipping into her flesh. He buried his nose into it, moaning as his lips tasted her, stickiness coating his cheeks and chin. A slow, languid lick of her slit made her cry out his name. He teased her lips apart with his tongue, rubbing the tip against her walls. Like honey, her taste coated his senses. He felt drunk off her taste alone. His tongue expertly traced circles around her clit, not quite touching it, but telling her he was avoiding it deliberately.

“Yoongi…” she whined. Her hand pressed against his head, trying to push him down. “Please.”

He brushed his nose against her clit, lifting his head slightly. She whimpered and he grinned.

“Please what?” he purred. His voice was deep with lust. “I want to hear it.”

He couldn’t help it. He wanted to hear her desire for him in words.

She pouted. “Touch my clit.”

He reached between her legs and pressed a single finger against the sensitive spot. She flinched, making him grin. He rubbed, slowly, slowly.

“Like this?” he teased. Her other hand was clutching in the white t-shirt. His.

She gasped as he increased the pace, not moving too widely, but concentrating the vibrations of his hand on her clit. Her hips twisted but he held them down, watching her come undone in front of him, head thrown back as he rubbed faster. Moaning his name, chasing her orgasm.

“Cum for me,” he breathed against her skin. “Cum all over my hand.”

She sank her teeth into her lower lip, stifling her scream as she came onto his hand, liquid coating his fingers suddenly. He immediately replaced his hand with his mouth, licking furiously. It was so intoxicating that he closed his eyes, moaning into her pussy as he lapped up her juices, pressing his tongue against her clit. Her hips bucked and he held her still, feverishly licking the sensitive nub. She gasped, shoving her hips against his mouth.

“Fuck, Yoongi, fuck!”

He flicked his tongue against her clit mercilessly, holding her thighs apart firmly so she couldn’t close her legs. Her back arched so high and tight he was afraid she was going to snap.

“Fuuuuck, Yoongi!”

His name punctuated her orgasm, hips shaking as she flooded his mouth. He sucked up her juices greedily, sticking his tongue inside her and feeling her walls clamp around his tongue. Sweat clung to his brow and back but he didn’t care. He lifted his head, a perverse satisfaction coming over him as he watched the string of her juices following his chin before snapping.

She lay against the floor, panting, a little hoarse. He crawled back up to her face and she kissed him without hesitation. If this was sin, he would happily go to hell.

They broke apart, his forehead resting against hers, hands on either side of her.

“Yoongi…”

Please say my name again and again. “Yeah?”

“Let me take care of you too.”

She pushed him, gently, and he obliged, taking her hand as she nudged him to standing position. He saw the table out of the corner of his eye but he looked away. She hooked her fingers along the sides of his pants and pulled them down, freeing his semi-hard erection. He looked down at her. She reached up and circled her fingers around his cock, holding it loosely. He felt it twitch at the attention of someone new.

A small smile. She leaned forward and pressed her soft lips against his balls. He shivered at the strange sensation. Normally girls would go straight for the dick. She pressed the flat of her tongue against his balls and licked him all over. His skin erupted in goosebumps, stunned by the pleasure of her tongue wrapping around his balls and taking them in her mouth. He watched in fascination as she looked up at him, balls deep in her mouth and her hand wrapped around his cock.

He breathed her name, amazed.

She bobbed her head up and mouth, slowly stroking him. Saliva dripped down her chin and onto her chest, sliding down her breasts. He could see precum leaking out of the head and she casually spread it around with one finger, making his knees weak. He moaned as she removed her mouth from his balls. She guided him to her mouth, holding him in place as she ran her tongue over the head. He shut his eyes, seeing stars.

“Shit, I’m going to fuck your face at this rate,” he hissed.

He heard her small, “Heh.” And then she engulfed him with her mouth, hot, wet, lips tightening around his cock as she took him in. His eyes practically rolled into the back of his head. She went deep, so deep the head pressed against the back of her throat. He didn’t know how she had the skill to go so deep and, honestly, he didn’t want to know. She sucked him slowly, but each time she went down, the head of his cock scraped the roof of her mouth, increasing the sensitivity each time. He kept his hands flat against the wall, not wanting to grab her head and ruin her pace. One hand held his cock steady as the other cupped his slippery balls, smearing the saliva all over them.

It was so wet, so hot that he was sure he was going insane.

She sped up, sucking harder. Groans tore from his throat, legs shaking from the intense pleasure. He tried his best to keep his hips still, not wanting to accidentally choke her and cause her to stop.

“F-fuck me,” he moaned, feeling her tongue wrap around the head and her lips tightening around him. He couldn’t think straight anymore. He gasped her name and shot his orgasm into the back of her throat, sensing her hands releasing him suddenly. They gripped his thighs as she swallowed, the sound so audible and obscene that his cock twitched with desire despite being spent.

They stayed like that for a moment, her tongue gently encircling him. His cock left her lips with a soft plop, lips shiny with saliva. He slid to the floor, their clothes a mess around them. His chest heaved with effort. She was breathing hard too, staring at him.

He licked his lips and leaned in, kissing her gently. She clung on to the kiss, inhaling his scent.

When they broke apart, they locked eyes, the obviousness of their inappropriate moment hanging between them. He was a little ashamed, sitting naked in her room, having sex after what was almost a suicide attempt. He was still breathing hard, heart beating fast from anxiety and arousal.

He wanted to hold her. He wanted to give her everything and more. He wanted to be the light in her eyes, but that was a foolish thought, a pipe dream, and a promise he didn’t know if he could keep.

Still, he wanted.

But somehow, those eyes didn’t look so dead anymore. Somehow, they were really looking at him, not just through him. She wordlessly scooted towards him and placed her head against him, ear against his chest. He wrapped her arms around her protectively, resting his head on her hair. From this position, he could see the sun tattoo that was underneath her left shoulder blade. Behind her beating heart. It was a simple tattoo, a circle with dashes around it. He traced it with his fingertip absentmindedly. He could guess who it was for.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. Held him like she was never going to let go.

masterpost

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myaekingheart · 3 years

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121. The Double Date

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3 index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

The one thing Rei hated more than social situations was people who remembered halfhearted invititations to social situations. Unfortunately, on a Friday night, such was the case. Apparently Mikazuki had taken her careless offer for barbecue to heart. So now here Rei was in a dress that was all too tight for her comfort sitting in Yakiniku Q forced to smile and laugh over sake on the worst thing imaginable: a double date.

“Come on, everything is going to be fine” Kakashi reassured her as she got ready. She turned to glare at him and the tip of her lipstick smeared across her cheek, a sharp red line like a warning. Kakashi smiled sheepishly, reaching for a tissue and tenderly wiping her face clean. “Really, Rei, there’s nothing to worry about” he assured her. “It’s just four friends going out for food. That’s all.”

“That’s not all, Kakashi” Rei muttered. She capped her lipstick and raked her fingers through her tangled hair. “Anything can happen when four friends go out for food.” Truthfully, she wasn’t even sure if Tenzo and Mikazuki qualified as friends. Her and Tenzo didn’t know each other well enough. Mikazuki was kind and familiar but also strange and sometimes even suspicious. It was that same suspicion that was taking root in her stomach right now.

“It didn’t seem to be a problem on your birthday” Kakashi reminded her. “That was four friends going out for food.”

Shaking her head, Rei turned to color-correct the red splotch on her cheek in the mirror. “Yeah, but that was Guy and Sekkachi. That’s different. They’re practically family.”

“Then this should be a good change of pace” Kakashi mused.

Rei scoffed and shook her head. “You don’t know me very well, do you, Kakashi?” she jested. A sigh broke past her lips as she attempted to gather her fluffy hair up into the signature ponytail. “Maybe we should just call the whole thing off. Tell them we’ll do this some other time. For what it’s worth, I didn’t even mean it when I invited them to dinner.”

“But they took it seriously” Kakashi continued. “We’re supposed to meet them in less than a half an hour. It’s a little too late to back out now, don’t you think?”

Rei glanced to the clock and knew that her fiancé was right. She fastened her ponytail tightly at the crown and muttered, “At least there should be plenty of alcohol.” Heaven only knew she was going to need it.

Yakiniku Q seemed quiet for a Friday night. The usual drunkards huddled around the bar mumbling inaudible nonsense to one another but the dining tables stood fairly empty. The sight of it only further heightened the eerie paranoia pulsing through Rei’s veins. Where were all the people? A clap of thunder roared in the distance, the sky overhead threatening rain. Rei squeezed Kakashi’s hand a little tighter.

Mikazuki and Tenzo had already stolen a table at the back of the restaurant, chatting quietly with one another between sips of sake. A rising feeling struck Rei’s chest at the sight of them, a red flag urging her to run. Anxiety and embarrassment firmly rooted themselves in the pit of her stomach, overwhelming her with each step nearer.

Kakashi and Rei settled in side by side at the other end of the table. Kakashi eyed her curiously as she sucked in her gut and shimmied her skirt down her thighs in an effort to get comfortable. In the back of her mind, Rei cursed herself for choosing something she had evidently outgrown—a dress that Naru had picked from the Kawakubo dress shop so many years ago. It had been so long since Rei had gone out on a Friday night, she thought it was only appropriate to dress for the occasion. As she stared at her bland closet, she tried to envision what Naru would choose. Unfortunately, Naru’s tastes were five years outdated for Rei’s body. Her stomach squeezed tight against the fabric and her breasts were borderline spilling out of the already low-cut neckline. Mikazuki shot her a cautious glance as she took another sip of her sake. The tension mounted.

“So, congratulations on making captain” Tenzo commented, but it was clear that he was distracted. Rei shifted as she willed his line of sight to rise. Kakashi regretted not bringing her a jacket. “It’s definitely, a, uh…” Tenzo stammered. “A big endowment.”

Mikazuki’s face turned bright red, a pathetic yelp escaping her lips. She dropped her eyes and took an anxious sip of her sake. “I’m sure you’re very proud” she murmured.

Tenzo spluttered, stumbling over the words he couldn’t form in his mouth, as he met Kakashi’s brief but warning gaze. Truthfully, Kakashi didn’t understand why Rei felt obligated to squeeze herself into something so small and risqué in the first place. Her nervous laughter, the way she shifted in her seat, only further emphasized her anxiety. Kakashi took her hand under the table and gave it a tight squeeze, a sign of solidarity, a prayer to calm down. When words failed him, Tenzo sighed in defeat and took a long, desperate swig of his drink.

A painful stretch of silence passed between the four of them, interrupted only by the sizzle of beef on the grill and clink of ice in their glasses. I knew this was a bad idea, Rei thought to herself. She peered out the window to the hazy street below, watching passerby rush into the nearest shops to beat the rain. The bellows of drunks at the bar blurred into an incomprehensible white noise. Raindrops raced each other against the glass. Streelights flickered in the distance.

When Mikazuki finally broke the silence, Rei initially did not hear her. It wasn’t until Kakashi tapped her shoulder lightly that Rei snapped out of her daze. She had no idea how much time had passed but it somehow simultaneously felt fleeting and eternal.

“I just said h-how are the new recruits?” Mikazuki repeated. The uncertainty in her voice, the restraint, made it clear that she regretted having to ask again. That a part of her had hoped that they could just sweep her inquiry under the rug, forget she had ever said anything.

“Fine” Rei croaked in response. Her vision refused to refocus. “Th-they’re fine.” She cleared her throat, readjusted her dress yet again. Her skirt kept riding up as if hellbent on flashing everyone. She glanced down at her thighs and suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Her gaze snapped back up to the beef grilling in the center of the table, to Mikazuki sliding strips onto her plate, to the smell and the texture and the color and the flames. Rei pinched the skin of her thigh between thumb and forefinger, focusing on the sting of her nails, tried not to linger on thoughts of flesh. “They’ll need a lot of work but they have potential” she added.

Tenzo chuckled as he poured himself another drink. “Well, if that one kid of yours is any indication, you certainly have your hands full” he commented. Rei arched a brow. Truthfully, they were all going to be handfuls. Squinting, Tenzo thumbed through the index of names and faces in his brain. A few moments passed before he finally mused, “Sukui, I think his name was?”

“Oh. Him” Rei sighed. She could only imagine what Sukui Yukio must be like in the men’s locker room. But then the thought of the men’s locker room at all—sweaty men, barbaric men, naked men—caused her stomach to lurch yet again.

“Yeah” Tenzo laughed. “He’s a real exhibitionist in the locker room. If I have to hear him mention his resemblance to—”

“Keihaku Goman, I know” Rei interrupted, shaking her head. She lifted her glass to her lips, took a delicate sip. The sake burned her throat but in a good way. In a numbing way.

Blank and confused, Mikazuki searched their faces for a hint before quietly asking, “W-Who’s Keihaku Goman?” She tried to remain composed but with every passing moment, she was beginning to feel more and more outcasted in the conversation.

“He was the main actor in the Icha Icha film adaptation” Kakashi explained. “At least until he got fired and recast for Makeout Violence.”

“Oh…” Mikazuki gave a minute nod, taking another sip of her drink.

Rei took a long swig of her own, reveling in the warmth radiating through her body. She felt like a tiny little flame growing ever stronger, ever more invincible to the rushing rain surrounding. The knot in her stomach began to loosen. “I’m sure with time they’ll get better, but their teamwork needs a lot of improvement” she continued.

“Well, you’ve certainly learned from the best” Tenzo mused, motioning to Kakashi. His arm swayed as if the hinges in his shoulder were coming undone. He lifted his drink almost as if in salute before finishing off his second glass.

Kakashi shook his head, swatting at the air dismissively. “I didn’t come here to be praised” he remarked. Though his voice was stern and steady, there was an undertone of humble delight in his words. He wrapped an arm gently around Rei’s waist as he added, “I’m sure Rei will be a far better captain than I ever was.”

Rei blushed and shook her head, swirling the sake in her glass. “I didn’t come here to be praised, either” she countered. “This is a learning experience for me, too.”

“Have a little more faith in your abilities, Rei” Kakashi replied. “Everything will fall into place eventually.”

Mikazuki nodded in agreement. “Remember when we first joined the ANBU? Things felt so chaotic and intense but with time, we got used to things. And now you’re a captain.”

“I hope you’re right” Rei sighed, taking another sip of her drink. “Because right now, it feels a whole hell of a lot like wrangling cattle.”

“Or babysitting” Tenzo offered.

Rei laughed softly as she nodded in agreement. “I’m just glad I don’t have to do it all on my own” she replied. “Yugao has been a great help so far.”

“I’m sure” Mikazuki said softly. On her face was a smile that was both polite but forced. Generous. Tense. Rei tried to brush it off as she drained her glass and poured herself another. Mikazuki took a delicate bite of her beef then as she added, “It’s certainly a big responsibility. You’re practically in charge of everything. Do you even have time to sleep? Your complexion looks awful.”

Rei sucked her teeth as she carelessly threw a few strips of beef onto the grill herself. Truthfully, though, she wasn’t very hungry. “I sleep…” she muttered in offense. “Balancing work and our personal lives has gotten a little bit tougher and we’ve had to make some sacrifices but, I mean, that’s life. There’s nothing we can really do about it.” Kakashi was taken by the sharp undercurrent in her voice and his heart ached for her. He knew exactly what she was referring to.

“Tell me about it!” Tenzo exclaimed. He tilted the bottle of sake against the rim of his glass but when nothing poured out, he paused, squinted, shook the bottle, peered inside, then shrugged in defeat and tossed it over his shoulder. The bottle shattered with a crash behind him. Kakashi winced. “I mean, being in the ANBU at all is overbearing enough. Mikazuki and I barely get to spend time together as it is! I can only imagine how much less free time you have as a captain.” A waitress passed by their table, quizzically trying to decipher the origin of the bottle behind their booth. Tenzo stretched himself across the table and flagged her down, dutifully requesting another bottle of sake for the group. The waitress glanced to the others as if searching for their approval before giving a single nod and scurrying back to the kitchen. Satisfied, Tenzo flopped back into his seat and continued. “You know, I’ll admit, I was a little disappointed when I didn’t make captain! Spent my whole life in the ANBU and this is how they treat me? I think I deserve a little recognition, you know? But the more I started thinking about it, the more I realized everything I’d be giving up. After all, I need the free time to…sit. And exist. Like a tree! Like a big, beautiful tree! Rei, I don’t envy you one bit.”

Rei forced a polite, panicked smile. “Well, uh, thanks for that, Tenzo” she muttered. Kakashi leaned forward and slid some freshly cooked beef onto a plate for the both of them, encouraging Rei to take a bite but she simply shook her head and took another sip of her drink. “I’m not really hungry” she whispered.

The moment the waitress turned the corner, Tenzo’s eyes lit up and he reached across the table for the bottle of booze. He poured himself another glass sloppily, spilling sake around the immediate area. “You know, this is nice!” he exclaimed. “We should go out like this more often. If only Mikazuki and I could find the time!” Turning to his girlfriend then, he drunkenly pondered, “When was the last time we even went on a date? February? It’s like we never have time for each other anymore! What is that about?!”

“T-Tenzo, please…” Mikazuki whispered. They were beginning to attract attention. She took an anxious sip of her drink as she glanced apologetically to the patrons eyeing their table. Never before had she so strongly wished to be invisible.

“You know” Tenzo continued loudly, “How you two are managing to plan a wedding with all of this, I will never understand! Can you even plan a wedding with work like this? Is that even possible?” He chuckled to himself then as he gazed at his sake longingly. “If you ask me, I bet it’d be so much easier to just elope! What do you think, Mikazuki? Do you think we should elope?”

Mikazuki yelped in shock at the prospect. “T-Tenzo!” she exclaimed, burying her face in her hands. “Please, restrain yourself!”

Clearing her throat, Rei replied curtly, “We’re, uh, we’re making it work.”

In a show of great enthusiasm, Tenzo slammed his fist against the table and wailed, “I’m just so happy for you guys!” His eyes teared up momentarily but Rei was unsure whether it was due to his overwhelming emotion or if he was simply too drunk to function. “You’ll invite us to the wedding, right? I mean, we’ll have to check our calendar, obviously”—here, he drunkenly smirked at his girlfriend as if their conflicting schedules were an inside joke they were both in on—“but how could I miss the wedding of the century? Kakashi Hatake, renowned ninja, getting married!”

Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

Rei hummed in agreement as she brought her glass up to her lips. Just as she was mid-sip, however, Tenzo blurted out, “When are you guys going to have kids?!” and Rei immediately spluttered her sake across the table, coughing and gasping for breath.

“I-I’m sorry, what?” she croaked. She glanced to Mikazuki who sat there stone-still and mortified. Her cheeks burned bright red.

“Kids!” Tenzo repeated. “You know, babies!” He sighed and rested his head on the table, whining, “Kakashi would make such a great dad.”

“I-I don’t know about that” Kakashi replied anxiously. Now he was the one feeling uneasy. He glanced to Rei, searching her face for signs of the inner turmoil he was sure was spiralling in the pit of her stomach now.

Shaking his head, Tenzo insisted, “No, he really would! I mean it!” He turned to Mikazuki with bloodshot eyes and added, “It’s like he was made to make babies! You know?” With a groan, he dropped his face onto the tabletop and muffled, “I bet you guys would have so many babies.”

Nervous laughter broke past Rei’s lips as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Let’s just, uh…take one thing at a time.”

Tenzo laughed as if something about that was funny, hoisting his head up off the table. As he did so, his eyes landed on the karaoke machine at the other end of the restaurant and once again, his eyes lit up. “Hey, look, the mic’s open!” he exclaimed. Before any of the others could react, he catapulted over Mikazuki in the booth and stumbled toward the modest little stage. With each step, he willed himself to move faster, faster, faster as if the mic was at risk of being snatched up by someone else.

“Is he always this eager?” Rei asked, wide eyes watching Tenzo trip over the wires as he clutched the microphone tightly.

“Whenever sake is involved, apparently” Mikazuki sighed.

Chuckling, Kakashi turned to his fiancée and mused, “Remind me not to let Tenzo drink at our wedding.” Rei shook her head and nestled herself warmly against Kakashi. In the back of her mind, she wondered at what point in the night it would be reasonable to leave.

The karaoke machine switched on with an electric whir. Bright neon visuals pulsed on the screen behind him as he scrutinized his options. A static suspense hung in the air as he flipped through the song list until finally, he made his choice. The upbeat intro of none other than “Build Me Up, Buttercup” blared through the speakers. He made eye contact with Mikazuki as he belted out a verse about being let down by a lover, passionate and out of tune. Mikazuki’s face grew even redder as she sunk down in the booth. The other patrons in the restaurant seemed to pay no mind to her and for that, she was grateful.

“You know, he’s not half bad” Kakashi commented, tapping his fingers rhymically against the table.

Rei snorted and tilted her head back so as to better view him. “I didn’t realize you were deaf.”

Kakashi clinked the ice in his glass and replied, “It sounds better after a few drinks.” The irony was that he was hardly even drinking at all.

By the time Tenzo reached the chorus, Mikazuki had finally cracked. She excused herself and hurried to the bathroom, weaving through the crowd that had formed up and down the walkways of the restaurant. “How much do you want to bet she’s going to escape through the bathroom window?” Rei joked.

Kakashi shook his head. “I don’t think she’d do that.”

“You never know” Rei replied. “After a night like this, I’d be desperate for the nearest exit.” And deep down, she had to admit that she was.

“We’ll leave soon” Kakashi assured her. “After all, you have work in the morning, anyway, don’t you?”

Rei scoffed. “We all do.” She wouldn’t be surprised if Tenzo called out sick the next day. Heaven only knew he was going to be nursing a monstrous hangover. As the chorus swelled, Tenzo clenched his fist in a moment of power ballad passion and swayed his hips to the tune. The mic screeched but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I didn’t know he could get his voice that high” Rei laughed.

“I didn’t want to know he could get his voice that high” Kakashi replied. In the privacy of their little booth, he tugged his mask down to take a discrete bite of food before holding out a piece to Rei but yet again she shook her head. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?” he asked.

“Yeah, positive” Rei replied. She kept her eyes locked on Tenzo’s performance in an effort to avoid Kakashi’s scrutinizing gaze.

“You really should eat something” Kakashi urged.

“In this dress?” Rei laughed. “I’ll bust open like a can of biscuits. I’ll just grab a snack when I get home. Besides, I’m not really a huge fan of beef tongue.” Kakashi pursed his lips, displeased but not willing to fight with her on the matter. If she wasn’t hungry then she wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t going to force food down her throat. He only hoped she’d stick to her word about eating at home.

As the song faded out, Mikazuki slipped out of the bathroom and crawled back into her seat. Tenzo rushed to the table, his adrenaline rushing and a massive grin on his face. “Do you think they’d be pissed if I sang another song?” he asked. Before anyone could answer, he swatted at the air and exclaimed, “Ah, fuck it! I’m gonna go again! But first, refreshments!” He reached across the table for his glass and the bottle of sake, smirking confidently as he attempted to pour himself another glass. He had grossly miscalculated his aim, however, and spilled alcohol right into the tabletop grill. The flames flared with a roar of heat, licking at the ceiling maliciously. Tenzo immediately jumped back, dropping both his glass and the bottle, and releasing a clipped shriek.

Fuck. Rei immediately leapt to her feet before the flames could caress her cheek, but their heat was enough to make her lightheaded. Kakashi pulled her back as an extra precaution, holding fast in defense. Channeling all of her chakra into her mouth, Rei shot a sharp jet of water at the flame, effectively extinguishing it in a matter of moments. It was quick thinking like that, she supposed, that got her promoted to captain in the first place.

The door to the kitchens burst open as the restaurant owner came running to their table, shrieking profanities at them about burning down his dining room. Kakashi quickly dug in his pocket for some cash, slamming it on the table, before grabbing Tenzo by the arm and ushering the four of them out into the night air.

“I guess we’ll have to cross Yakiniku off the list of available places to eat” Rei huffed once outside. She smoothed her bangs back as she attempted to catch her breath.

“Unfortunately” Mikazuki sighed. She toed the dirt and muttered, “Their food wasn’t that great, anyway.”

Tenzo bellowed from the street about how he’d be back for an encore next week before spinning on his heel and accidentally walking straight into a wall. “Do you think he’ll be alright?” Kakashi asked, glancing to Mikazuki.

Shaking her head, Mikazuki replied, “I better walk him home just to make sure.” She readjusted her purse on her shoulder as she approached her boyfriend, taking his forearm gently and guiding him in the direction of his apartment. Kakashi and Rei waited until they turned the corner before glancing to one another with stifled laughter. If there was ever a reason as to why they never went out, this would be it. And to think, a disaster like this could’ve been easily avoided if they just hadn’t bothered with trying to be social. Chuckling in disbelief, Kakashi wrapped an arm around his fiancée and together they returned home.

The following morning, Rei stood in front of the full-length mirror in the ANBU locker rooms as she changed into her uniform. She pinched at her belly fat and poked at her thick thighs. If anything, this is just proof I need to go on a diet, she thought to herself. She couldn’t even comprehend how she had gained so much weight in the first place. Getting back in shape was going to be a hassle that she was not looking forward to facing. It was bad enough that the previous night had taken a far greater toll on her than she expected. She slept through three alarms and was forced to skip breakfast. She may have outgrown her dress, but her bad habits were evidently one size fits all. Groaning, Rei pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets and fell back onto the nearest bench.

“Rough night?” a voice then asked. Rei peered up through the gaps between her fingers to find none other than Arai looming over her. A smug grin painted her face.

“Why are you always in my business?” Rei asked, sitting up. “Don’t you have anything better to do than stalk me?”

“I’m not stalking you” Arai countered. “If I was, I would’ve already known why you were so damn tired.”

Rolling her eyes, Rei muttered, “Fair point.” She strained her arm so as to scratch her upper back and yawned widely, feeling pathetic. Not as pathetic, however, as Mikazuki. As Rei opened her eyes, she caught sight of the doe-eyed ninja skirting around the wall of lockers, a wad of dirty civilian clothes clutched close to her chest. Without even bidding Arai a simple see you later, Rei slid into Mikazuki’s path with a devilish grin. “So, how about Tenzo, huh?” she asked, raising a brow.

Mikazuki yelped in surprise, tossing her clothes in the process. Pastel tunics and cotton leggings cascaded to the dirty tile floor. “W-w-what about him?” she stammered.

“Oh, nothing” Rei replied, shrugging. “I just didn’t know he was such a party animal.”

Sighing, Mikazuki dropped to her knees and began gathering up her clothes. “He puked in a bush on the way home and I had to crash on his couch to make sure nothing happened in the middle of the night” she explained quietly, eyes downcast and embarrassed. She rubbed the tension out of her neck with a soft whimper, proving that perhaps Tenzo’s furniture was not the comfiest.

The one thing that stood out to Rei, however, was that Mikazuki slept on the couch. Her and Tenzo had been dating for quite some time now. Wouldn’t it have made more sense for her to sleep in his bed with him? For a moment, Rei was suddenly struck with the horrifying possibility that Mikazuki truly was as virginal as she appeared to be. But no, that couldn’t have been the case. There had to be another explanation. Maybe it was simply more convenient to give Tenzo space while he was sick. Maybe Mikazuki didn’t want to impose, or for Tenzo to get the wrong idea while under the influence. Rei was sure there were scores of valid explanations but she supposed she had just grown so accustomed to her very intimate relationship with Kakashi that none of them seemed to make any real sense.

“Sounds like quite a party” Arai interrupted from across the room. “If you ask me, it’s no fun unless someone barfs their brains out.”

“That’s disgusting” Rei cringed. Arai shrugged, seeing no fault in her comment, before skirting around to help scoop up the rest of Mikazuki’s clothes. Mikazuki thanked her quietly before scurrying off to drop her laundry in the bin. Before any more could be said, the dull alarm in headquarters sounded to signify the start of the morning briefing. For once, Rei was grateful for the interruption.

She skirted around the crowds to find her team, rambunctious as always for an early morning shift. As she took her seat, she briefly scanned the room. It came as no surprise that Tenzo was nowhere to be seen.

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Daniel Michaelson: Beaten/Numb

(for @whumptober2019 - combining yesterday and today’s themes of Beaten and Numb - plus @pinkcupboardwitch’s excellent suggestion of psychological whump/mind games. TW: Serious injury/violence and physical abuse, noncon touching, noncon kissing, implied/referenced torture, implied/referenced noncon, I really cannot emphasize enough that Abraham Denner is a bad bad man)

“Red!”

Abraham’s voice echoes across the small clearing and Daniel’s head jerks up instantly where he kneels in the dirt, a bit of red hair flopping over one eye, wincing as the sudden motion aggravates the new bruises around his neck from last night.

“Come here, boy!”

I’m not your fucking dog, you piece of shit. I am twenty… something years old - how old am I? I don’t remember anymore, why don’t I remember how old I am…

No. Stop it. Those aren’t the right thoughts. Be good, Red. It doesn’t matter that you can’t remember things. All that matters is that he wants you now.

You have to be good.

You want to be good.

He’s been carefully looking over the last few carrots from the spring planting, trying to decide just by looking at the thin green tops if they’re ready to pull for tonight. Abraham has a venison roast out of the freezer thawing in the sink - he likes roasts if you put onions, carrots, and potatoes in and cook it forever, until all the vegetables have gone soft and taste like the meat and the venison is as soft as beef.

Daniel knows how to cook everything just the way he likes. He can’t remember if he likes roasts or not - there’s never enough food, and he takes what Abraham will give him and he’s grateful for it.

Thank you for letting me eat, Abraham.

He lets his fingers trail across some carrot leaves, frowning at the lack of sensation he feels. After living here and being forced to use harsh cleaning chemicals and bury his hands in boiling water - after Abraham’s knives and the barbed wire and worse - Daniel can’t really feel much with his hands at all.

It doesn’t matter. His hands work well enough for gardening and cleaning and cooking and worse - and sometimes the lack of feeling is a relief. None of it matters, nothing matters, just that Abraham is calling, and he needs to stand up, but he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to go.

Because he’s not a fucking dog.

Part of him still wants to refuse, even knowing what happens when he does, even knowing there are worse things than a little bit of cutting that can be done to him.

His heart is speeding up with his anger, pounding into his chest, and that’s not good; Abraham wants him to want to be his good boy, to be happy to be called, not pissed off.

He practices breathing in: inhale - I’m not a person, just the puppy - hold for five, exhale - no one wants me but Abraham now - inhale - My family thinks I’m dead and no one is looking for me - hold for five, exhale - I love Abraham and I want to be good - and feels his heart start to slow, a little, the dangerous anger starts to fade out, replaced by the way Abraham wants him to think.

Part of his brain wails that none of it is true, the thoughts Abraham feeds into his mind with the breathing exercises, at the end of a knife, licking the blood from his throat. Part of his brain wants to scream that there has to be some way out of this hell, but he tries not to listen, because there isn’t, and telling himself there is might make him less numb.

His body isn’t his own. His life doesn’t belong to him. If he starts trying to fight that knowledge again, he’ll scream and scream and never stop.

Be good. Be Red.

Red is numb.

Red is a good boy.

“Oh, little Reeeeeed… come here, boy…” Abraham’s voice is a singsong, but he doesn’t like to call twice. If he has to call three times, that’s breaking a rule.

Always answer when Abraham calls.

“Coming, Abraham! I’ll, um, I’ll be right there!” He glances over at Nate, who is wearing waterproof boots, real pants meant for the outdoors, a heavy shirt to protect against the hint of chill in the spring air, and gardening gloves, digging up some potatoes and tossing them into a basket next to him.

Nate moves slower than he does, thanks to the one busted hand. He has to dig with the little shovel, lay it to the side, pick out the potato, and then pick the shovel up and do it again, since the other can’t quite close enough to grip.

The two of them meet eyes, warm blue on mossy, faded green, uncertainty and more than a little worry written across both of their faces. “Wh-what do you think he wants?” Daniel asks, in a low voice he knows won’t carry far.

With Nate, he’s still a person, just for a few seconds at a time - in stolen kisses and touches while checking traps together, in furtive moments when Abraham sleeps and Nate comes to lay with him on the living room floor, in the old movies they watch sometimes and laugh along with.

On the best days - when Abraham leaves them alone while he goes on supply runs (Danny still securely chained to the living room wall, he’s not going anywhere, and Nate won’t ever leave again, they all know that now) and Nate teaches Danny how to waltz, to tango, to do all kinds of dancing with his chain scraping the floor.

Sometimes they talk about Nate’s career as a professor and how Danny wanted to be an anthropologist. They break the rules and think about a life other than this.

Then, and only then, does Daniel let himself stop being good and really just let himself be Daniel, the person that used to live in his body, when he didn’t have to be good, when he didn’t want to be.

When he lets the careful numbness crack and tries to find happiness, because he’s going to be here until he dies and if he can’t sometimes be happy he’ll lose his fucking mind.

But then Abraham always comes back, and his voice is back in Danny’s head and his hands are on his body, the body that doesn’t belong to him, it belongs to Abrahm Denner because Daniel Michaelson doesn’t exist any longer, just Red - and Red only exists for Abraham, to be hurt whatever way he wants, forever.

Nate only looks away from him, back to the potatoes. There’s a moment where his jaw becomes a hard line and the green eyes go flinty and angry. Then he slumps forward and goes back to work, slowly shaking his head. “D-d-doesn’t matter. You h-have to a-a-answer.”

“I don’t want to,” Daniel whispers, because he can say disobedient things to Nate and know that he’ll never tell Abraham he said them, thought the wrong way, didn’t want to be good. “I don’t ever want to, Nate. I don’t… I don’t want to try harder.” He drops his voice to a whisper, says the words he’s never, ever allowed to say. “I fucking hate him.”

“I kn-know, Danny-” Nate catches himself with a wince, even though there’s no way they were overheard. “R-R-Red. Sorry. I’m w-w-w-working on it, oh-okay? I’m t-trying to f-f-figure it out I, I h-h-have an idea, but… Go on b-before he g-g-gets mad.”

Working on what? What are you figuring out? He doesn’t dare ask. Nate might be having disobedient thoughts, too, fighting the same anger deep within himself that Daniel fights each and every day, the person he used to be screaming to get back out.

Daniel shoves that person even further away, buries him under the puppy. The puppy doesn’t think the wrong things, the puppy wants to be good. Abraham will know if he’s not being the puppy, he’ll know, and then the memory of last night’s fingers squeezing the air from his throat will be the least of his problems.

He hops up to his feet, turning and half-jogging across the yard, trying to be visible to Abraham as soon as possible, to prove that he really is answering the order immediately, just the way he wants. His throat aches as he takes in deeper breaths but he ignores it. He’s good at ignoring it by now, at letting all the different places he feels pain run together into a comforting nothing-feeling.

He’s good at it, but the person-thoughts trickle back in.

I used to be a person. I used to be more than this. There used to be more to living than trying to figure out the next way he’s going to hurt me. I have a little brother, he’s still out there somewhere looking for me.

Stop it. Never think of any life before or after this one. This is all there is. No one is looking. Noe one cares. Everyone thinks you’re dead. You know the rules, Red, remember the rules.

Never think of any home but this.

There used to be a home other than this.

God damn it, no, there isn’t any home other than this, not for me, not ever again.

“I’m, I’m right here, I’m coming right away, Abraham, I’m coming!”

Abraham laughs, the braying sound bouncing off the trees, and Daniel winces but doesn’t slow down as it settles into his bones, crawls under his skin, until he can feel the echo in his fingernails and down to his half-frozen numb toes in the wet grass.

Abraham can turn even obedience into something to laugh at - make out of his willingness to do as he was told a joke about the phrasing of his words, and he feels the grime that lives eternally on his skin all over again.

Dirty and empty and hollow but that’s okay, it doesn’t matter, what matters is that Abraham wants him right now and he needs to be good.

The metal cuff on his ankle shifts as he moves, a flash of old pain as the metal rubs against the skin that’s been some version of raw or open or scarred since he came here, and he can feel the slightest chill in the air right through the threadbare T-shirt and pants he always wears. He’s barefoot - it’s warm enough not to waste boots on the puppy, Abraham said this morning, and even though his feet and his toes are so cold they’ve gone numb, he doesn’t dare disagree.

If he’s good, he can get his feet close to the fireplace and warm them up later, maybe. Or at least take a bath, but Daniel doesn’t like baths, because Abraham always watches him. Makes comments. Sometimes pushes his head under the water in the giant old clawfoot tub. Sometimes does worse than that.

He’s not really supposed to not like it, because he’s supposed to want whatever Abraham wants, even though he hates it - hates his eyes and his hands and his fucking mouth - and…

Daniel stops himself from thinking, slowing to a trot, trying to breathe.

He has to force himself to focus, to think of the ache in his left side, the bruising around his throat. Focus on it, use it to settle his heart, to push away the anger that might otherwise boil out of him and end with being in trouble again. If he can’t calm down, there would be more ways he could be hurt, there would be worse than what’s already been done.

He can be made worse than broken.

There are so many things worse than dead, and Abraham knows them all.

Inhale.

I will never leave here.

Hold for five counts.

Exhale.

I want to be good.

Abraham is standing over along the side of the cabin, near the cellar, and Daniel skids to a stop twenty feet away, his face carefully set into his usual eager-to-please nervousness, trying to hide the disobedient, roiling thoughts underneath the surface.

The cellar doors are open.

No.

I don’t like the cellar. The cellar is dark. I don’t like the dark.

“Wh-why, um, why is the cellar, the-…” He trails off, voice cracking. “Abraham, I-… why are you, I don’t like to see those doors open, I don’t want-”

all alone in the dark, all alone all alone all alone

“No one gives a fuck what you like or want, puppy. Why did you stop so far away?” Abraham has his head tilted slightly to bask in the weakly warm sunlight of spring. The yellow sunshine make his skin seem even whiter, less human than it normally does - brings out the suggestion of deep shadows underneath the high cheekbones, turns his light eyes into glittering opaque glass Daniel cannot read, like the sheen of ice on a lake.

There are things underneath the ice in Abraham Denner’s eyes. Dark things that drag Danny under into the cold water, to keep him there forever.

“I, um, I stopped because I saw the cellar-”

“Why would that bother you, puppy?” Abraham smiles, a bright smile that shows his teeth, only a shade whiter than his skin. It’s never a good sign when he smiles like that. It’s never a good sign when he doesn’t, either.

“It, um, I don’t… I don’t like the cellar-… when you put me in the, the cellar, you, um, you leave me there.”

“Only when you’re bad, little Red. Are you going to be bad today?”

“No! No, I won’t!” Danny swallows back revulsion at the nervous fearful whine in his own voice, twisting his fingers into the fabric of his T-shirt in a helpless, childlike way he can’t seem to stop. “I won’t. I’ll be good. I want to be good for you, Abraham, you know, you know I want to be good now. J-just like Lyken says, in the show, I want to be good.”

Please please please not the cellar, please

“Hmmm… you’re so good at saying what I want to hear, aren’t you? But you’re still too far away. I said come here, Red.” Abraham holds out one hand, white fingers curled slightly, a clear command, invitation, and thread all in one.

Don’t hesitate, never hesitate, never reject a touch.

Daniel’s body jerks into automatic motion before his brain can catch up and remind him that he hates this - this place, this man, the breathing exercises, every single fucking thing about his life but Nate - and instead he keeps his eyes on the open cellar, on the yawning gaping black hole in the ground, the first few rickety steps visible, maybe a patch of the dirt floor beneath if he stood close enough.

He doesn’t want to stand close enough.

alone in the dark

Never hesitate when Abraham wants you, his brain shrieks the reminder, alarm bells ringing. He made him call twice already, he stopped too far away, he’s courting disaster if he hesitates now. He steps forward and ducks his head, leaning his face into Abraham’s touch.

A cold palm rests against his cheek, Abraham’s thumb pressing just a little into the scar that curves over his cheekbone, long fingers just brushing his earlobe. He swallows against the surge of nausea, forces it back before it can make him go any paler than he already is.

Puppies don’t get sick at their owner’s touch.

“Good boy,” Abraham says in a low, pleased rumble, and Daniel tries to feel reassured by it and not dirty and ashamed. For a second, there’s only silence and the vaguest hint of breeze moving his hair, the chill that seems to slip right through the thin cotton of his clothing, raising goosebumps on his arms and making him shiver. “That’s my very good boy. I want to ask you something, little Red - and it’s very, very important that you be honest with me.” Daniel tries to breathe.

I love Abraham and I want to be good.

No one will ever find me here.

“Wh-what do you want to ask?” Abraham’s hand slips down from his face and drops slowly to his throat, curling around, fingers placing themselves perfectly over the bruises, following the map laid out of exactly where Abraham had cut off his air last night.

The barest bit of pressure against the mottled bruising makes a fresh new wave of fear run through him as he gasps, and he’s not choking - he’s drowning. It’s not the lack of air - it’s the overwhelming frozen touch, the look in those odd nearly-colorless eyes, that pulls him under the water for the dark things to devour and holds him there.

“Pl-please don’t-… don’t do that again,” Daniel whispers. “D-Don’t take my air, please, Abraham, I, I need the air…” He’s taking in what breath he can, hands clenching into fists to keep himself from trying to grab at Abraham and pull himself free.

It won’t work, and he’ll just get in trouble for breaking the rules.

“I don’t have to, if you answer my question. Little Red, would you like to go in the cellar today? Just for four hours or so?”

every time he puts me down there, they go, they’re gone for weeks and it’s harder and I get so weak, I get so hungry, I ran out of water last time, I don’t want to be alone, I don’t, I can’t, please no, please not the dark

“No!” It’s more an exhalation than a sound, whistling air around the grip on his throat, the aching of the bruises. He’s taller than Abraham, but staring into his eyes always makes Danny feel so fucking small. “I don’t, I don’t want to go down there, please, Abraham, please don’t make me.”

“No? Only for four hours and you say no?” The hand leaves his throat, sliding along the edge of his shirt’s neckline, trailing along his shoulder. Daniel shivers and holds himself still, dropping his eyes down to the ground, hands still at his sides.

“I, but-…” But what if you’re lying and you leave again. He can’t say the words, because suggesting Abraham is lying is disobedient, but sometimes he does lie. Lies and puts Nate in the car and leaves Danny in the cellar with his hands tied for a month until he runs out of food and begs and begs and begs and somehow Abraham always seems to know when Danny is about to lose his mind from the isolation and hunger and thirst and reappears to take him back up the stairs, dirty and frightened and full of the need, the deep deep need, to be so good it never happens again. “But I, I can’t go down there, I hate it-”

“Poor thing, you’re so scared of the cellar, aren’t you?” Abraham’s voice is sweet, and loving, and Daniel hates this voice most of all - it’s a lie, Abraham hates him, only loves hurting him, because there are things like Danny in the world that only exist to be hurt. “What kind of grown-ass man is scared of the dark, little Red?”

He knows what Abraham wants him to say. He knows, and he hates it, and the person part of his brain tells him to spit in his face, punch him, give him another black eye and take his punishment afterward. But the person-voice is getting very, very small and weak compared to the, to the…

“I’m not a grown-ass man,” Daniel mumbles down at his feet. “I’m just the puppy.”

There’s a silence, and he glances up from behind a curtain of wavy red hair to see Abraham smiling at him, a wide and beaming, proud smile. Danny had, after all, just done a perfect trick. Like putting up his paws to beg for a treat. Roll over, sit, stay, that’s what’s left of Daniel Michaelson.

Daniel’s face burns with humiliation.

“That’s my good boy,” Abraham breathes, and Daniel shudders at the joy in his voice, the way the touch of his fingers changes, becomes more intense somehow, more purposeful.

Daniel turns his head to the side when Abraham’s hand slides up into the back of his hair. He never pushes him away. He never fights back. He closes his eyes, slowly, trying to focus on the way his eyes feel when closed, how his eyelashes are long enough that he can almost feel them brush his skin - he tries to deaden his skin to Abraham’s touch, to not even notice any longer.

Be numb. Be good. Go away in his head and come back when it’s over, when whatever it is Abraham intends to do is over.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Abraham murmurs. “I know what you’re up to, and you know I don’t like that. No escape for you.” The fingers tighten suddenly in his hair, he’s gripped on until Daniel can feel a flash of pain in his scalp and the velcro-like rip of a bunch of hair being pulled out of his skin, yanking his head backwards hard until his back is arched and his eyes fly open to stare up into the blue sky above.

Breathe. See the sky? The sky is still there, no matter what happens to him. No matter how small or inhuman or broken he gets, the sky is still there.

Let him do whatever he wants. Be good.

No one is coming to save you.

“I was thinking I would give you a choice,” Abraham spoke mildly, as though he wasn’t tearing Daniel’s hair out with the strength of his grip, slowly forcing his head further and further back until Danny finally realized what he wanted and buckled his knees, dropping like a stone to kneel in the dirt.

Cold damp from the wet grass began immediately to soak into the knees of his pajama pants, along the front of the shins. He kept his hands carefully at his sides, and now, staring up from the ground, he wasn’t looking at the sky. He was looking right into Abraham’s face as the man leaned over him.

“I’m bored and I want to play a game. You don’t get choices very often, do you?”

Danny tried to shake his head but it only pulled on the grip on his hair and he hissed in pain and went still again, swallowing, his throat aching as if to remind him that his hair wasn’t the only injured place right now.

There was never just one injured place, really.

“N-No Abraham, puppies don’t get choices. They, they like when their owners choose. I b-b-belong to you, so you, um-… You choose because you, you own me, my body, um… I’m just the puppy.“ He recites the words automatically, rewarded with a loosening of Abraham’s fingers, breathing a sigh of relief as sharp pain went back to a dull ache. “What, um, what kind of choice are you going to give me? What’s the game?”

He didn’t want to make a choice. If he didn’t have to make a choice, he felt safer, none of it was his fault or his responsibility. It was all being done to him, and Daniel had learned how to handle that, to go away in his head and let it happen to someone else.

Making a choice made him part of it.

“You’ll like this, puppy. You can choose to go in the cellar for four hours…”

Daniel whines in the back of his throat, a helpless unconscious sound of fear, shifting where he kneels in the dirt. The yawning darkness along the side of the cabin has a physical weight in the back of his mind, a constant drumbeat of panic and the dark things and the pressure he knows will settle over him down there, the buzzing static nothing, the dwindling apples and water day by day by day until it’s gone and still he’s all alone…

“Not your favorite option? Well, maybe you’ll need to think that over. You can go in the cellar for four hours, unharmed, just put your handcuffs on… or… We can learn about something else.”

“Wh-what?” Daniel will do anything, anything to stay out of the cellar, anything at all, and he looks up with a desperate plea in his eyes. “I, whatever it is, Abraham, if you, if you’ll let me choose, I-”

“Ever had your shoulder dislocated?”

Daniel blinks, and the fingers finally leave his hair entirely and brush down the back of his neck, along the line of his shoulder, then back down to his shoulder blades, rubbing at it through the fabric of his shirt. “Uh, um, I… n-no, no I haven’t.”

“Oh, let’s find out, shall we? Last night when I put my hands around your neck you pulled away from me. You’ll know better than to pull away from me next time, won’t you?”

Daniel takes in a deep breath - or tries, but he can’t manage more than a gasp. “I, um. You’re going to- to pull out my shoulder?”

“Dislocate it. Then I’m going to hang you by your arms in the smokehouse until the sun goes down. It’s only nine-thirty, Red. That’s a lot of hours to hang by a dislocated shoulder. Or… four hours in the cellar. That’s not so long, is it, to live in the dark?” Abraham’s hand wraps around the ball of his shoulder and Danny starts to shake, unable to stop himself, to hold still like he’s supposed to.

“That’s your choice,” Abraham says, in a voice that’s nearly a purr. “Do you want to go in the cellar, or do you want to dislocate your shoulder and hang out in the smokehouse for a few hours? You choose, Red. All on you.”

If I choose the cellar he’ll leave for days again, he and Nate, and I’ll be alone in the dark.

“N-No, I don’t, I don’t want to, I don’t want to choose-”

“Sssshhhhhh. No one gives a fuck what you want.” Abraham leans down as close as he can get, licks along the shell of Daniel’s ear with his cold, cold tongue. Daniel groans unwillingly - it’s an awful feeling, the wet and the cold - but Abraham mistakes it for something else and laughs at him, breaths of cool air against his dampened skin. “Oh, you like that, huh? We can learn more about that little response later. First, make your choice. I’ll count to ten. If you don’t choose by then, I’ll come up with something even worse.”

There is always something worse that Abraham can do to him.

Daniel tries to breathe, to practice his breathing exercises, but nothing comes. Instead he only gasps, half-chokes on his own fear, staring at the blackness of the cellar, then up into Abraham’s delighted, dancing eyes.

“I, I don’t want to, I can’t choose, Abraham, please, please you choose, please don’t make me-”

“One… two… three… four…”

I love Abraham and I want to be good. Making a choice is good. Making a choice is what he wants.

I don’t want to go into the cellar, I don’t want to be alone in the dark.

Please no, please no, I don’t want to hang by my shoulder, I don’t want to do that either.

“Five… six… seven… running out of time, little Red…”

Not the dark, not alone in the dark, please God don’t leave me alone in the dark again

My shoulder’s going to hurt so much, so much

If I don’t choose he’ll do something even worse, so much worse, he can always do something worse

“Eight… nine…”

“M-my shoulder!” Danny bursts out, nearly a shout, reaching up without thinking to grab onto Abraham’s arms in supplication, staring up at him with wide, panicked blue eyes glittering with tears. “Pl-please, Abraham, I can be good, I’ll be so good for you, please just don’t make me go down in the cellar again. Please, my shoulder, we’ll do my shoulder!”

“Good choice.” Abraham presses a kiss to the top of his head, then to the side of his temples, against his cheek where the line of the scar is, licks at the notch in his jaw, down to the pulse beating wildly in his neck. “That’s my very good boy. You try very hard for me, don’t you, Red?”

“I-I do, I can try harder, I’ll try harder-”

“Good. Good, good boy. Now.” Abraham disentangles himself from Danny’s grip, steps back and puts one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping his upper arm in an implacable frozen steel clamping. “Count to five out loud. On the count of five, I’m going to make you so fucking sorry you pulled away from me last night. And you keep your eyes open and on me the whole fucking time.”

Danny nods, slowly, raising his eyes to meet Abraham’s again, trying to practice his breathing, desperately trying to cling on to some calm, some sanity, as his mind screams at him to disobey, to be a person, to fucking run.

But he can’t run. He can’t fight. He can’t do anything, except what Abraham wants.

Inhale. No tears, no tears, no tears. Stay calm.

“One… t-two…”

Hold.

“Three…”

He can feel the tears in his throat, knows they’ll come out in his voice. Abraham’s grip tightens.

Exhale - shaky air, but Abraham doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t say anything, anyway, only stares right into Daniel’s terrified eyes.

Danny can feel the cellar pulling at him, wishing it had been his choice, all alone in the dark might have been better, only four hours…

But it’s never only four hours, it would be days, and he can’t be alone in the dark again.

Be good be good be good.

I don’t want to be in the dark.

“F-Four… oh god, Abraham, I can’t, I can’t, please-”

“One more, Red.” Abraham’s voice is gentle, loving, soft with affection, soothing his jangled frightened nerves. “Be my good boy and just one more number… if you take this well I won’t even leave you all day, that’s how good I am to you.“

“F-f-f-five, please, I’m so sorry I pulled away, I won’t do it again, I can try harder to be good please don’t-”

There’s a sudden horrifying pressure on his arm and shoulder, cracking and grinding somewhere deep within him, then a pop as Abraham pulls his arm apart with inhuman strength and a smile as wide as the sky. There’s a moment where Danny’s arm feels strange and loose, a half-second of horrified anticipation, and then - and then the pain hits and his brain bursts into an agonized explosion.

Danny tries to twist away from it, but that only pulls his shoulder more in Abraham’s steady iron grip, and he hears the sound of a horrible wailing scream tearing apart the air before he realizes the sound is coming from him.

The things that live behind Abraham’s eyes are pulling him down, pulling him under, and they’ll feed and feed and feed on his pain.

He is screaming so loud he cannot hear the lust in Abraham’s voice as he pets into his hair, murmuring, “That’s my good fucking boy, little Red, I wonder what else makes you scream like that…” His fingers card through the wavy red hair as Danny curls around himself, gasping - he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, the ends of his fingers on that side are tingling and half-numbed and the pain throbs and throbs into his lungs, he can’t breathe.

“Pl-please, God, please, I’m so sorry, Abraham, I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t, I won’t ever pull away again, please make it go back in, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’ll be good, I’ll be good-… oh god, oh god it fucking hurts, I’m so sorry-”

“I love you so fucking much, puppy,” Abraham speaks in a thick, throaty voice, pulling Danny to his feet as he screams again, pulling him close, nuzzling through the tears tracks and against the scars, pressing kisses as Danny cries in heaving sobs, but he doesn’t pull away.

He’s too lost in the pain and the strange way his whole arm feels loose, like it could just fall off of him at any moment, the way he can’t take a deep breath, the way every nerve-ending in his body is somehow connected to his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Danny whispers with Abraham’s lips on his scars, cold tongue licking up his tears. “I’m so sorry I’ll never, I’ll never, I’ll be good I want to be good, please, I want to be good…”

When Abraham kisses him, Danny’s mouth is open as he tries to gasp in breath to beg some more, and Abraham’s mouth on his is so fucking cold and steals all of what little air he can find.

But he doesn’t - he can’t - pull away.

Abraham finally pulls back, smiling at him, touching the side of his face with an expression like a proud father. “You’re so gorgeous,” He says softly, the words buzzing and dancing and bursting around and through the white noise in Danny’s head. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re hurting for me, my sweet little Red. Just two hours in the smokehouse, I think, that’s my good boy. Then I’ll help you…” Abraham presses a kiss to his forehead, laughing at the wide blue eyes that barely see him, the audible whistling gasps for breath around the ache. “And you, my darling, my sweet boy, my good puppy, can help me. You don’t need a working arm for that.”

Then he drags him by his dislocated arm towards the smokehouse across the yard, laughing every time Danny stumbles and cries out at the new flash of agony.

Nate, still working in the garden, hears the scream and jerks his head up, jaw hardening into that straight line again, teeth ground together so hard they hurt. He can only stare, hearing Danny’s pleading and begging and continued pained shrieking, Abraham’s wild, joyful laughter, braying and echoing around and bouncing off the trees.

Then he looks back down at his work, digging the next potato out of the earth with furious zeal, digging and digging and digging until his fingernails are caked with dirt and the basket is nearly full and still, still Danny is screaming.

The screams eventually coalesce into slurred words, occasional shrieks.

Nate knows what"s happening in there. Daniel, after all, isn’t the first man Abraham’s played a game like that with. Bram rigs the game, he always wins. Anyone stuck playing is always, always beaten.

Last time it was Nate - and his choice was a broken knee (I love you so much… you’ll never fucking run again, will you, baby?) or Ashley choosing what part of him to bury her knife in… and Ashley’s eyes had been staring far too long at Nate’s pelvis.

Nate swallows hard as he listens to Danny’s throaty wail, begging Abraham’s forgiveness for what he’s done wrong, promising to do better, try harder, be good, if only he’ll let him out and make it stop.

His knee begins to throb, a very old pain, in time with Danny’s pleading.

The sound of the smokehouse door slamming shut - and Bram’s joyful laughter as he heads back into the house - muffles Danny’s wailing until it sounds like nothing more than wind, until it quiets down to hopeless, hoarse sobbing.

The sun goes on shining and the sky is a beautiful, bright, clear blue.

It’s going to be a gorgeous spring, and Nate is running out of time.

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shewhowantsmouseears · 6 years

Text

fake wedding dimeshipping nonsense!

So I don't remember if I've ever shared this here (possibly not, it was years ago) but since I've gotten more Dimeshipping fans on here, why not upload it? Years ago I had this idea of Scrooge and Magica (1987 DT + comics, which explains why I mashed Ratface and Poe into one being) pretending to get married to get Magica's family off her back, with all the shenanigans that would naturally ensue. I've tweaked it a bit since then, but here are some scenes I wrote all those years ago! And for the unfamiliar, yes, these are all canon characters -

Granny de Spell - Magica's well-meaning but overbearing blonde Granny. Rosolio - Dim-witted warlock who's in love with Magica. (I did make him an oocly jerk, and sometimes to insane degrees, but, well, again, this was written years ago XD) Witch Child - Magica's niece, because everybody's got nieces in disney. Samson Hex - Magica's so-called apprentice, who's not that talented. (admittedly i've never read any of his stories, just gleamed it off INDUCKS)

Anyway, here we go! warning, LONG AS HELL.

The only sounds filling the gigantic dining room were that of clinking silverware, and mouths chewing food. To the left side of the table was Magica's family - Granny sipping her wine contemplatively while eyeing Scrooge, with Poe on her shoulder offering sympathetic looks to his sister. Witch Child occasionally hummed, enjoying mushing the fancy food together to create new concoctions. Samson Hex's fork rhythmically tapped against the plate, too nervous from the tension to even think of eating. Rosolio was also looking at Scrooge, but his look contained more anger than curiosity, glaring daggers at the man who "stole" his woman.

To the right side of the table was Scrooge's family. The triplets were hiding their vegetables under their napkins, exchanging glances with themselves, and Webbigail, who easily enough entered into a staring contest with Witch Child (and lost.) Daisy was the only one smiling, doing her best to try and lift everyone's spirits, often complimenting on how delicious the food was. Donald was clearly struggling to keep his beak closed, chest shaking with suppressed laughter.

At the front end of the table stood Duckworth and Ms. Beakly, ready to serve more food at a moment's notice, but also looking for ways to escape this clearly awkward situation. At the other end of the table sat the "happy' couple", matched in their miserable expressions. Scrooge was doing his best to ignore the looks on him, cutting so hard into his beef that his plate began to suffer damage. Magica was swirling yet another sugar cube into her tea, no doubt by now more sugar than actual tea.

Suddenly Granny lifted her head, arms crossed. "I've just noticed something, dearie."

Magica raised the cup to her beak. "Enlighten me."

"We've been here for an entire week... and I have yet to see you kiss your future husband."

Magica spat out what little tea was in her mouth, Scrooge's knife split his plate, Rosolio dropped his utensils, Donald burst out into hysterical laughter, Daisy elbowed Donald in the ribs, and now all eyes were locked on the "couple". When the noise had settled, Magica and Scrooge looked at each other for the briefest of moments before returning Granny's attention.

"That's... that's..." Magica hesitated for the right words. "That's personal!"

Granny merely smirked. "Is it? I've seen Donald and Daisy do it six times these past few days, and they're only dating."

Donald promptly shut up, and Daisy rubbed her temples. Scrooge attempted to retaliate. "We're not very 'in' to public displays of affection."

"Is that so." Rosolio cut in, hands gripping the table. "If I were in your shoes, I'd never stop kissing her! If I wasn't some fiance-stealing crook, I'd kiss her right now!" He hissed. "But I'm a gentleman."

Scrooge grumbled deep in his throat, and looked to Daisy, clearly demanding some aide. She seemed to shrink in her seat a little from his intensity. "W-Well, uh... you just haven't been here long enough! Give them the right time and place, and they smooch up a storm, let me tell you." This was met with gags from the triplets, and Donald shoving bread into his mouth to keep from laughing all over again.

"I don't see anything wrong with this time and place." Granny replied, eyes never leaving her granddaughter. "Is asking for a kiss really such a difficult demand?"

"You're ruining a perfectly nice dinner." Magica glowered, standing up, chair pushed back. "All you ever do is demand things! You can't ever believe, you always need proof!" Scrooge had fallen silent at this point, lost in thought.

"You don't find it strange that a couple never kisses? I've barely seen you hold hands." Granny reached behind her to pat Poe's head. "Isn't that right, Poe?"

Poe was ready to molt from the glare Magica was giving him. "Uh... w-well... that is... oh, wow, that ham looks delicious, is anyone else going to have a slice?"

"What do I have to do to convince you, and get you out of my life, you horrid woman!" Magica screeched, slamming her palms down on the table. "Do I have to throw a parade about how much I love him? Write a novel about all of our affairs? I told you I'd get married, so I'm getting married, you're never satis-"

The next instant was a blur in Magica's mind when she would recall it later on. The "blur" was Scrooge ever so calmly getting out of his seat, and then, with all the speed of a cheetah, placing one hand on her cheek, his other fingers in her hair, and pressing his beak to hers as deeply as possible.

Simultaneously, everyone's jaws dropped - save for Donald, who had fallen backwards onto the floor, nearly in pain due to how much he was laughing. Magica's entire face had gone redder than the wine in Granny's cup, her body unable to move, frozen in place. She didn't even appear to be breathing. Was she even aware that they had become the center of attention? Her wide eyes didn't seem to be looking at Scrooge, but off, in the distance, trying to pinpoint some place of coherent thought, like she couldn't decide what to do or think. Time had gone still for her.

Then, slowly, to the note of everyone, her eyes lost that distance, and her muscles relaxed. Her eyelashes fluttered, before settling on closing completely, accepting, or pleased, or both. The color faded from her cheeks, though it was eternal in doing so. Just as quickly as it had started, it was ending, as Scrooge's hands left her face, and he pulled away from her. Their eyes opened, and it was impossible to tell what they were "telling" each other in those looks. Scrooge then promptly sat back down, adjusted his spectacles, and dabbed his beak with a napkin, as if nothing had happened at all. "Duckworth, I think we're all ready for some dessert."

"... Yes, sir." He was just grateful to leave the room for a few precious seconds.

Scrooge looked to Granny. "Satisfied?"

Granny didn't reply, but managed to close her mouth. She did, however, clear her throat, trying to get Magica's attention. As for Magica, she was still standing, eyes still transfixed, giving the impression she was half asleep. When she sat down, it was with certainly less finesse than Scrooge, loudly plopping down, nearly falling over, as if she'd been struck by lightning. Scrooge caught the entire spectacle, and couldn't help but wear a prideful little smile. He still had it.

"And that's when they're in public!" Daisy chirped.

~*~

"What in all hells was that?!" Magica screeched at Scrooge, once they were alone in his bedroom and trying to settle for the night.

Scrooge was buttoning his nightshirt, rolling his eyes at the tantrum. "If I didn't do that, they'd never shut up."

"You couldn't have warned me?" She sat on the bed, kicking her feet to show off her displeasure.

"What couple do you know that warns the other before they kiss?" He placed his nightcap on his head, and turned to her. "If you want this charade to work, we're going to have to be a lot more..." He shuddered to say it. "...affectionate, when your family is around."

Magica groaned, clutching herself, feeling her skin crawl, and leaned on a bed post. "Disgusting... why can't they just get back on their brooms and go home!"

She began to ramble once more about how much she hated her family, and so Scrooge tuned out, used to the rant. Would it kill her to be quiet for more than two minutes? He shook his head, reminding himself that all these headaches would be worth it. Soon enough, he'd be rid of her, and would actually be able to relax for a while. He rubbed his spectacles with his fingers, in a cheap attempt to clean them. Yes, soon, he'd be able to relax, and he'd have this entire room sanitized to get rid of any sign that she was ever there, that she was ever on his bed, in his bed...

... Get rid of any sign that he ever kissed her, that he ever held her, that he ever ran his fingers through that black hair that seemed to pool over with such soft and silky tenderness that he could feel it it for ages, that he ever pressed her delicate frame to his own body to feel her heart beat rapidly against his chest, that he ever looked into those deep eyes that never really reflected him but instead had their own cosmos of stars glittering inside to pull him in and never let go...

She flopped on the bed, sighing heavily, perhaps unaware that her thin nightgown was riding up past her long shapely legs. "Well?" She turned her head to him, some of her hair falling down her face. "What are you waiting for?"

His heart leaped into his throat - she surely didn't mean that. "What?!"

She raised an eyebrow. "Turn off the lights, I want to sleep already."

Oh. Right. Yes. Lights. Surely. That and nothing else. Dammit, she was getting to him. "Don't go around demanding things, free-loader." But the spectacles came off, the lights came off, and the ducks were soon enough both in bed, as far apart from each other as possible, as per the norm.

Once again, they had something in common - both remained wide awake, thinking over the day.

~*~

Ever since Magica De Spell had been forced to live within his mansion, Scrooge McDuck made sure she was never alone, so she couldn’t pull any schemes involving his dime. So that evening, when he walked into his library and realized the woman was completely alone, there was a mild panic within him. Nearly slamming the door behind him, he nearly forgot why he had entered the room in the first place as he stormed up to her, temper flared. “And just what do you think you’re doing!”

The sorceress had been lounging on a long sofa, surrounded by photo albums, and casually glanced up at him. “What does it look like I’m doing?” His glare didn’t falter, so, with a roll of her eyes, she flipped a page as she answered. “Research.”

That drove him into an even further panic, fingers tightening on his cane. “I knew it! You can’t be trusted! I can’t believe I was foolish enough to ever let you in my house! If you’re not gone by the time I count to three, I’ll - ” But the threat was suddenly dismissed when Magica pulled out one photo and showed it right into his face, almost onto his beak. It was of a particularly plump bird, with blonde hair and a flower hat, standing proudly beside a decaying old riverboat. There was a squiggle of handwriting right on top of the woman’s dress, a signature, reading ‘Belle Quack.’ Scrooge was quiet.

“Ever since that Brigetta woman barged in here…” Magica slowly put the photo back in its place. “I got curious about what other women you’ve had.” There was an odd tone in her voice that the elder duck couldn’t quite place. It seemed like an imbalance between jealousy and disbelief.

He cleared his throat, trying to regain his dignity. “For the last time, Brigetta and I were never involved. It’s all imagined on her part. And…” With this explanation, he waved airily with his hand, trying to make the entire matter less important than it was. “And… well, Belle is just a business associate.”

Magica quickly whipped out another photo. “Was Tilly Billbrook another business associate?” Judging by the flirtatious look this next woman was giving the photographer, the answer was obvious.

Scrooge quickly got defensive, crossing his arms. “Oh, what’s it to you? This whole marriage is a sham, what do you care if I’ve been with a few women?” Though he knew that "few" was an understatement, and wished she would just close the darn book already.

“I don’t.” She put the photo back, and sat up straight, her tone never changing. “I just find it interesting, that’s all. And I don’t want any other crazy women coming after me and accusing me of stealing you.”

He held up a hand, trying to placate her and end the conversation. “I can swear to you, that won’t happen again. I’ve made it perfectly clear my life is dedicated to my money, and not to having someone on my arm.”

The sorceress clicked her tongue to her cheek as her finger traced down a page. “Klondike Kate here doesn’t seem to think so.”

His cheeks were beginning to redden but he refused to believe it. “All right, those women don’t count, I was young, and it was a very long time ago.” Immediately he regretted saying so, as Magica whipped out yet another photo, this one only dated a few years ago. Signed ‘Fiona Rapson’, this one didn’t even look to be half his age. “That… no, you don’t understand, she was just doing a news segment…” Whip, another photo, ‘Mrs. Williams’, only slightly older than Fiona. “I was just lending that woman some help, and - ” Whip, again, now ‘Rosy Curenbois’. “Now that one is completely out of context!”

Finally, she closed the book, loudly and forcefully. The two glared at each other, though oddly unsure just why they were so mad. The staring context continued until Scrooge growled, deep in his throat, and turned away, ready to leave. “Put it back where you found it. Any mess you make, you have to clean up.”

A derisive snort came from her. “What I don’t get is how you kept getting tricked by so many gold diggers.” She stood, ready to put the photos and book right from where she got it.

However, Scrooge stopped where he was, having been ready to grab the door handle out. Slowly, he turned his head back, making sure he heard right. “Gold diggers?” There were a few in the batch, but to say "so many"? That wasn’t right at all.

“Of course.” Though she had returned the book to its original place, she was now scanning the others among them, wondering what else was good reading material. “Digger after digger, until they nearly dug your grave for you. I would've thought you'd have learned your lesson after a while.”

After a moment, Scrooge caught the underlying message of her spite. “You’re implying all of those women were only attracted to my money and not me?” His pride had taken a direct hit. Granted, many of those women and those incidents were ones he longed to forget, but he had earned those stalkers fair and square.

“I’m not implying it. I’m saying it. What woman in her right mind would only go after you?” Such a notion made her laugh, her devilish cackle that usually came with a magic spell. “Take it from me… wrinkled, whiskered stubborn men aren’t high on a woman’s list for men we want. Those women probably flocked to you the second you opened your wallet.”

His fingers began to tape on his cane, irritation building. Bad enough that this implication was being made, but being made by her of all people? This had to be fixed as soon as possible. “Did it ever occur to you that I could go after them?”

Now Magica laughed even harder, leaning on a book shelf for support. “Oh, please! Like you could get any woman on your own! Scrooge McDuck, the casanova!” She began banging her fist against the bookshelf, shaking with laughter. The very idea! Of course all of those women had been only after his money; it was the only thing that made sense. He was old and ugly and miserable, and she couldn’t wait to be rid of him after this fake marriage ordeal was over. So she laughed and laughed, trying to calm herself and catch her breath, and even when her body had settled, snickers still escaped. Maybe she could think of another good insult to lobby at him, one he wholly deserved.

Magica would have come up with one; had not a single finger pressed behind and onto her, between her shoulder blades, and rode itself past her neck and into her hair. The startled screech that came out of her could have shattered glass, and in an instant her head was turned to look at her attacker. Naturally, there stood Scrooge, though now he stood so close to her that personal space no longer existed. She could also glance at his eyes, and knew the look he was wearing at once. It was that expression when he was angry, but didn’t look angry, and instead was bottling up the anger so he could do something calm and precise. A tranquil fury, one could argue, that allowed him to get revenge in a given situation.

She had seen that look many times during their heated battles when she had been trying to get his dime, and knew she was in big trouble. Though her eyes widened in fright, she would not admit her fear, and returned her face to the books, beak high in superiority. “Very funny.” Her eyes tried to look at the titles of the books again, but again she was startled by his touch, as now his hands were on his shoulders, giving her a comfortable squeeze. For a man his age, the touch was very firm. Now her laughed was forced, and obviously so. “Ha… ha ha. Did I hurt your ego, Scroogie Darling? Ha ha… haaa…” How was he working the knots out of her muscles? She didn’t want to know.

Instead, she rolled her shoulders hard, trying to shove him off with a grunt. His hands retreated, but then located elsewhere, one arm wrapping around her waist, pressing her back into his chest. His other hand listlessly weaved through her hair, making sure not to tangle as he played with it. His touch was very gentle, yet containing a trace of power in it, saying that she couldn’t stop him if she tried. Magica stared straight ahead at the books, her entire body freezing up defensively. “W-what… do you think… you’re doing?” Even though she was perfectly aware what he was doing, she just didn’t want to admit it was her fault things were leading this way.

“We’re engaged.” Scrooge replied, but even his voice had changed to fit his vengeance. “I believe this is what fiancés do with one another.” Now he stressed heavily on his accent, yet his voice was quiet, almost a whisper. He was breathing directly in the direction of her ear, and she could almost hear his smirk. “Is there a problem, Magica?”

To hell with him, she would not admit what he was making her feel! She’d rather die! With that resolve, she shut her eyes tightly, ignoring her beating heart and flared cheeks, trying to think of distractions. She tried to conjure up images that would anger her, upset her, make her laugh, do anything that would make her stop feeling the soft caresses he was administrating to her neck. Think of something, anything, she told herself! Being in jail, trying to stitch together old dresses, memorizing old spells from hundreds of years ago… Yes, she could focus on that… Focus on the crinkled old paper with that distinct smell…

… Or focus on his hot breath on her neck - damn him to the furthest pits of hell!

All of a sudden, his support was gone, and she found herself falling backwards with an outward cry. She was caught with one arm, as it turned out Scrooge was just dipping her low, and it was a wonder none of his bones were breaking at his age. Holding her close yet still dipping her low, he leaned in so that their beaks were just barely grazing one another. She could nearly see herself reflected in his eyes, and inwardly swore at how stupidly flustered she was looking. But the assault wasn’t over, if Scrooge’s continued speech was any indication. “Magica, darling.” A few of his fingers came under her bill, and tilted her head up even more. “What in the world makes you think I couldn’t have you if I wanted you?”

In all of her years, Magica had never been looked at or addressed to in such a way. She did have men sometimes after her, but they were nothing like this. None of them carried such intimate passion in their voices, nor carried a supreme sense of dominance in their eyes. They had wanted to woo her, whereas this man looked like he wanted to capture her. It was becoming very difficult to come up with any kind of rebuttal. Scrooge McDuck was not supposed to be like this, and she had never even dreamed he could be like this. It just wasn’t making sense, and her mind was fizzling out. It took all of her remaining strength just to speak, and even then, it was stammered and weak. “Y-Y-You… wouldn’t d-d-dare, McDuck.”

He dared. Magica, by this point in the sham, had thought she was used to kissing Scrooge, and being kissed by him, in order to fool her relatives and the press. Proving her wrong yet again, when his beak came on top of hers, she was lost. She wasn’t foolish enough to think it contained love, but she did know it contained hunger, possession, and that there was no use fighting it. If that wasn’t bad enough, a hand was cradling the back of her neck, delicately pressing all of the right spots in her spine. There was definitely experience in these movements, lessons had been learned, and he was implementing all he knew.

Perhaps she would have had a fighting chance if it was just a single, solitary kiss. However, the old man wanted her to remember this, and to make sure she never doubted his abilities again. So there wasn’t one kiss, but another, and another, and another, each one greater than the last, quick breathes of her name, not letting up even when Magica was nothing more than a sagging lump of a stunned sorceress. All other men were just cold fish compared to what he was doing to her. All of this power, combined with the fact it was Scrooge McDuck of all people doing this to her, it was more than her mind could handle. Frankly, she considered it a miracle she could hold onto her consciousness.

Finally, he granted her a small mercy, pulling his mouth back only to whisper to her ear again. “Do you still think all of those women were gold diggers? Or…” A small kiss to her cheek. “Do I have to keep convincing you?” He growled again – but unlike before, which had been a growl of petty annoyance, this one was pure predator, as if she didn’t have a choice in the matter. She felt she didn’t have it. She felt… she felt… oh, every god and goddess that blessed magic, she felt…

Then his supportive weight was gone again, and she landed splat on the floor in a heap. Scrooge stood up straight and tall, smoothing down his clothes, and adjusting his spectacles. Whistling a merry tune, he picked up his cane that he had set aside before he attacked her, and casually strolled out of the room. When he opened the door, his nephew Donald nearly ran smack right into him. Fortunately the younger duck managed to stop in time, skidding to a halt, and bent over to catch his breath. “I-I’m sorry, Uncle Scrooge!” he spoke quickly, wanting to get Scrooge’s rant at him over as soon as possible. “I know we’re not supposed to let her out of our sight, but I was just getting a sandwich, a really small one, and the next thing I knew…”

Much to Donald’s surprise, Scrooge didn’t rant, and even shrugged. “Not to worry, Donald. She’s in there.” He jabbed a thumb back into the room behind him. “And she won’t be doing any damage for a while.” Off he walked, whistling the same jaunty tune, and to Donald, he seemed relatively proud of something. Just what, the boy couldn’t guess, and assumed it was monetary matters as always. Curious, Donald entered the library, and found the witch still lying on the floor, twitching here and there, unable to move naturally of her own accord.

Donald took one look at her demented smile, and quickly turned back around to leave. “Nope, I don’t wanna know.”

~*~

Granny De Spell flipped a page, and, ignoring her granddaughter's protests, continued to show off the old photos of their past and homeland, with the triplets pestering her with questions. Scrooge continued to check his watch, waiting for the moment he could be free and attend to his work, instead of listening to nonsense he couldn't care less about. It wasn't until Louie said the following that curiosity finally reached him.

"Say, is that Magica?" The duckling prodded one photo. "She looks so different!"

All eyes went to that photo, and it was a general agreement that there were differences between the Magica of the present, and her in the photo. Aside from years younger, the photo showed her in a brilliant red dress that appeared to be swaying off her, a fresh rose placed within her hair, her hands waving about in jubilation, and, perhaps strangest of all, looking happy not for reasons of malice or misfortune upon others. Just an actual, pure happiness for whatever she was doing. She didn't appear to be aware her photo was being taken, dancing in the crowded street, attracting the eyes of many young fellows in the background.

"Ah, yes, that's her during one of our Romanian festivals." Granny chuckled lightly, pulling the photo out of the book. "It happened to fall on her birthday that year, so we splurged and celebrated as best we could. She had quite a fetch of suitors back then!"

Present Magica had burning cheeks, arms crossed, refusing to look at the group. "Are we quite done here?"

"What are you being so bitter over?" Granny clicked her tongue. "It's a nice photo. And you should dress like this more often. All of that black is so depressing."

"No one would want to see me in that." A roll of her eyes from the sorceress.

As the argument rolled on, Scrooge kept his eyes on the photo, and found himself, as always, disagreeing with Magica.

~*~

The overture hadn't even begun yet, so the ducks knew a long night was ahead of them. Scrooge irritably tapped an arm rest, glancing over at his "future wife". "When, exactly, is your grandmother going to stop insisting on these bonding moments?"

Magica didn't even look at him, eyes ahead, upper and lower beak rubbing together in a frustrated grind. "I don't like this anymore than you do."

The third in the row, however, was not as agitated, as the goose rubbed his hands together in excitement. "Isn't this exciting, Magica? When was the last time we got to see a play together?"

"If I recall correctly, never." Magica leaned back into her seat, sighing. She would preferred sitting next to anyone - blabbermouth Daisy, annoying Donald, busybody Granny, ANYBODY, but, no, there was Rosolio, gazing at her in a sickening wave of love while making several attempts to touch her hand.

These attempts did not go unnoticed by Scrooge, raising an eyebrow at the other male. "Rather unlike a gentleman to try and hold a married woman's hand."

Rosalio now looked at the elder, love turning into hate. "Rather unlike a gentleman to try and steal a fiance. I still haven't forgiven you, and I never will."

"My heart breaks." Scrooge rolled his eyes. They both went on to ignore the woman's groans.

"I'd be surprised if you had a heart, underneath all that ice and money!" The goose hissed, crossing his arms in indignation. "What do you have that I can't give her?"

"Money."

"Besides that."

"Power."

"Besides that."

"Respect for her personal space."

"Besi - hey!"

Magica straightened up for a moment to see if the other families were nearby. Why was she suffering alone? Rosolio was relentless, continuing on despite the fact the orchestra had begun playing the overture. "I've known her forever! I understand her better than anyone! You just want her for her beauty!"

Scrooge, at least, had managed to lower his voice, so he wouldn't shout over the music. "And yet, despite all that, I'm the one she's marrying."

"Just admit." Rosalio narrowed his eyes, and pointed an accusatory finger at his enemy. "You've got a hold on her, don't you? Blackmail, threats, you're forcing her to do this! A man like you treats women like another dollar!"

Scrooge didn't reply so easily this time. Not out of lack of answers, but the sheer idea that he did not treat women well - he, who loved his mother, who adored his sisters, who had all but adopted Webbigail, who always lifted a finger to aide Daisy - was something he would not take lying down. The duck and goose almost appeared to enter a staring contest of anger, and then, the richer one cleared his throat. "Magica?"

"What now?" A bitter snap.

His arm extended out and around her shoulders, and suddenly, she was pushed in close, her head on his shoulder. Keeping her pinned there with his elbow, he began running his fingers through her hair, being careful not to create any knots. "Is that more comfortable for you, darling?"

Two birds went a bright red. Magica, her cheeks with embarrassment, mouth agape in sheer shock. Rosolio, his entire face, a fury that was struggling to be capped. Scrooge happily smirked at his opponent, before returning his false attentions to his bride, using his free hand to take one of hers, and running a thumb over the top of it. As for Magica herself, her voice was a desperate whisper. "Scrooge, what do you think you're doing!"

"Just enjoying myself." He held up her hand to kiss the knuckles, and then was back to addressing Rosolio. "She does like it when you touch her hair, right? You are the expert and all, having spent, what did you say, 'forever' with her?"

"Scrooge!" Magica squirmed, but he wasn't letting her go anytime soon.

"What? It's an innocent question." McDuck desired a camera, just to catch Rosolio's expression, perhaps make a game out of all the veins that were popping. "And maybe I could ask him for advice about you, since you two used to be fond of one another. Or was that just him?"

"Leave me out of your idiotic jealous fists, you miserable old miser!" Was she shaking? She was definitely shaking, fully aware that several of the playgoers were ignoring the stage, preferring the performance going on within those three seats instead.

"For example!" Scrooge let go of her hand, stopping the hair action to support her back, and tilted her beak up with his fingers. "Perhaps you can tell me, Rosolio, my good man, exactly what way our darling Magica prefers being kissed?"

The straw broke on the camel's back, and Rosolio stood up in his seat, roaring, throwing off his hat, and reaching for his magic wand - and, with a single THWACK from Granny's purse - what do you know, the rest of the families just so happened to be right behind the trio - he was down, a knocked out mess on the floor. Seconds of awkward silence followed, as others turned back or forward in their seats to watch the play that had begun minutes earlier. Scrooge released his hold on Magica, allowing his hands to relax in his lap, wearing a grin of victory. Magica sunk into her seat, upset that there was no rock to hider under. "You enjoyed that far too much." She murmured after a moment.

He put a finger to his beak. "Shhh. I can't hear."

~*~

Though night had fallen, neither of them were ready to sleep just yet. Scrooge was at his desk, going over a few more tax forms, while Magica was standing before the large vanity mirror, looking herself over in silence. Eventually she huffed, Daisy's words still ringing in her head. "Scrooge. I want your honest opinion on something."

"What is it?" He continued his work, hardly caring for the question.

Hesitation, and then a sigh, adjusting herself, hands on her hips, smoothing her nightgown down. "Do you think I'm beautiful?"

Whatever question Scrooge had been expecting, it wasn't that. He looked up, then at her, to make sure his hearing was in tact. "...What?"

"It's a simple question!" She pointed at herself, growling. "Do you think I'm beautiful?"

Warning sirens blared off in the miser's mind. He had to get out of this line of questioning as soon as possible. "... Is this because of what Daisy said, because Donald told me-"

"Just answer!" She stormed up to him, grabbing his chair and turning it around so he would fully face her. "It's not that difficult! You either think I'm beautiful, or you think I'm not!"

Not that difficult, his foot! His eyes darted around for any sign of an exit. "... That's... It, I, Uh... Oh, what do you care what I think!"

Although he prepared himself for further argument, it was not given. Instead her face fell, and she released his chair, retreating to the mirror. "I see." Her fingers pressed her face, now easily seeing all the wrinkles and lines of time. It seemed she believed his answer meant "no"'.

"Jiminy Cricket." Scrooge groaned, and stood up from his seat. "I didn't say you weren't!"

"You didn't have to." And now she could see all the split ends in her hair.

"It's not like that... it's..." He faltered, trying to think of an adequate explanation. "I don't... I never... You'd never see me as handsome, would you?"

A quick glance his way. "Of course I would."

Goodness, she was just throwing him all kinds of loops tonight. His spectacles almost fell off due to the surprise on his face. "...What?" he repeated.

"I hate you, but I'm not blind." Her eyes went back to the mirror. "Not to mention all those girlfriends I keep hearing about."

"I've... they weren't... I explained those!" Now it was his turn to storm up to her. "I've lived a long life, and... and... Brigetta has never been my girlfriend, I don't know where you're getting that idea, and... further... more... will you knock that off and look at me!"

So she did, upset, holding herself. Women, honestly! Scrooge ran a hand down his face, closing his eyes. "Fine, fine... I've never actually looked you as, as a woman... so... I'll do it now. Then I'll tell you what I think."

"Fine." Hmph.

A deep breath was taken, trying to expel the past from his mind. Ignore his own hate, everything she had done to him, who she was... and just look at the body. Judge that, and only that. He opened his eyes, and looked from bottom to top. Her legs were strong and shapely, with one foot nervously tapping the floor in impatience. Though her frame could be seen as delicate, there were hints of muscle here and there, showing the years she had worked alone to get what she wanted, the trials she had gone through to get certain spells. Her hands were small, but firm, gripping her arms intensely. Her hair was growing longer, he noticed, slowly starting to go beyond shoulders, giving off an appearance of black silk. She wasn't wearing any make-up, and that was for the better, as her cheeks would be rosy all on their own. Though her eyes were worried and saddened, they still shone clearly, attentive, colorful and alive as jewels she longed to have.

He exhaled. "Yes, you are beautiful. Now will you be quiet?"

A pause, and then she nodded, turning away to head to bed. "There now, was that so hard?"

Scrooge scratched the back of his head.... Was that so hard? She had no idea.

~*~

Magica hadn't been invited to many engagement parties in her left, but she had a distinct feeling they were supposed to be a lot louder and less awkward than this one. The rented ballroom was full of friends, family, and even some news groups, that were timidly picking at the buffet, making idle chatter, but mostly staring and gossiping at her and Scrooge. She couldn't really blame them – Scrooge McDuck, richest man in the world, settling down to marriage? And to his enemy, Magica DeSpell, no less! What had been a simple plan to get rid of her annoying family had managed to snowball into a national phenomenon. Magica hated Scrooge for not giving her the dime, hated her family for that stupid wedding contract, hated Daisy for thinking of this plan...

And, right now, most of all, hated the outfit she was being forced to wear. It was an exact replica of the red dress from the photo album, except it had been tailored in size to fit her age. It wasn't uncomfortable, in fact it was a perfect fit, and she didn't dare ask how the numbers of her body had gotten out. It looked good on her as well, giving her a slim appeal, and there was no question she looked beautiful in it. The hate was not entirely with the dress itself, but of its origins. How shocked she had looked the other day, receiving the boxed cloth, arriving straight from Romania, and signed as ordered by her "future husband".

There was an addition to the dress that was not in the photo, however. The red collar around her neck, holding a single silver bell, carried plenty of hate as well. She was sitting next to Scrooge at a long table covered in a white cloth, and cast a glare at him. She flicked the bell with her fingers, the noise getting his attention, stopping him in his drink of tea to look over calmly. "What is this?" she lightly hissed. "I feel like a pet cat."

"It warns to me when you're getting close." His tone was of a cruel joke, smirking, but then he shook his head, resuming his drink. "I thought it'd look nice. And you'll pay me back for all of it when this farce is over."

"I can't afford it, and you know it." Her hands settled in her lap. "Why would you even get me this ridiculous outfit in the first place? Do you need to humiliate me that badly?"

He placed his cup down. "Your grandmother was right."

Now that was rare to hear. "About what?"

"You shouldn't wear black all the time." He left it at that, his cup empty.

She went silent, and fingered the bell again. How she hated that bell, that collar, that dress. She hated that he bought it all for her. She hated that he had thought of her and that he remembered the photo. She especially, deep down, hated how happy it had made her. The bell jingled with the lump in her throat.

~*~

Rosolio clutched his hand, having gotten used to the pain in his left arm – this new one to his right hand was out of nowhere, almost making him drop his wand. Ignoring his opponent for the moment, he looked to where the shot of magic had come from, up in the sky.

Hovering high above, Magica was firmly holding onto her broom, her own wand clutched firmly in her hand, aiming right at him. She appeared out of breath, using all of her energy to arrive there as fast as she could force herself. Upon her shoulder was Poe, and he was suddenly jerked off by his sister. "Go, get them out of here!" She snapped, never taking her eyes off of the enraged sorcerer.

"O-O-On it!" The raven stammered, stretching out his wings and flying down to the confused ducks below. The rental tuxedo store was halfway decimated, but Scrooge and Donald were still intact, though slightly bruised due to Rosolio's efforts. Poe grabbed Scrooge's cane, trying to urge him to move along. "Come on, we've gotta get outta here!"

"Wait a minute!" Scrooge yanked his cane back, using it to point at the goose. "What in blazes is going on with him?!"

Rosolio was distracted by Magica, sputtering and growling as he tried to get his wand to work again. "You should have stayed at the church! I'm going to end this!"

She began to hover in closer, taking her time, wanting to stall as long as she could make it. "If you continue using the Forbidden, you'll wind up killing yourself. Stop this madness, and put down your wand!"

"Never!" In defiance he raised his weapon again – a bright light emitted from the top, sucking in the air around it and making the sound of a hideous tornado.

"HIT THE DECK!" screamed the raven, and, joined with the male ducks, took cover behind one of the crippling concrete walls. Though they couldn't see the attack, they heard a tremendous blast hitting the wall, almost enough to deafen, and the wall suffered great damage, creating hot red cracks and dismantling the edges. It was obvious that it would not survive a second round of the same attack.

With her stalling tactic failed, Magica commanded her broom to head straight down, and once she was close enough, she jumped off, hitting the ground on her heels, and striking Rosolio in the side with her wand. Although he cried out, he parried with her, wands sparkling off fizzling lights as the two fought one another, using all of their strength to try and drive the other away.

Scrooge grabbed Poe roughly by the left wing, demanding answers. "Explain! Everything! Now!"

After some terrified crowing, the smaller bird managed to choke it out. "H-He's using the Forbidden! They're spells that cost you a year of your life every time you use them, because of their power! They do things that only the gods are supposed to have control over! He managed to learn two of them – the first one causes permanent love!"

Donald found his traditional hat among the debris, and plopped it back on. "Somehow I doubt that's the spell he's using on us now, so what's number two?"

The hideous whirling noise began to make itself known once more, as Poe's wing was released. "Death!"

Fortunately by the time the spell hit the wall again, this time shattering it apart, the boys had scrambled away, although they were scraped by falling pieces. However, with the store crumbling apart, and now other buildings beginning to take damage from the war of the wands, the hiding places were becoming few and far between. There was no way to get out, aside from the sky above, and Poe was very sure if he tried to get away that way, he'd earn yanked off feathers. As they tried to make due with what used to be front desk, they also got a good view of the fight, able to see that Magica was trying her best to disarm Rosolio, but he wasn't showing his love any mercy. Their wands were pressed heavily against each other, with colors and fires exploding off of the contact, flying off into the distances.

"The others will be here any minute." She hissed, both hands firmly on her long, thin wand, unable to tell in some places if she was sweating or bleeding. "Even you aren't strong enough to stand up against them!"

"Then I'll use the Forbidden on all of them!" He roared at her, madness gleaming in his eyes. "Even if I only wind up with one year to live, it will be more than McDuck will see again!"

"And you think that will make me love you?!" Her shoes were beginning to crack, she knew he was pushing her luck. Her fear was being realized – she wasn't strong enough to defeat him. Hoping that such terror was suppressed from being expressed, she continued pushing and fighting, hoping that if she could not defeat him, she could at least wear him out. "Be a man, Rosolio! Accept your losses!"

"I've – lost – nothing!" He wasn't even looking at her in the face anymore – no, he was staring hard at her neck, where that belled collar – that damned collar! - was STILL being worn, and it only added on to his rage, his wand changing colors – and then it was suddenly thrust to her stomach – it was not the Forbidden, for the wind was still in tact – but before anyone could blink, there was violet colored electricity at her gut, and she was sent flying, back – back- back - she was now laying several feet away, sprawled onto her stomach.

The scream of her name left Scrooge's mouth without him knowing it, and he abandoned the desk, much to the dismayed shouts of his nephew. He threw his cane aside, running without thinking to get to her side, becoming breathless in seconds. He knelt down on the streets now made of rubble, and took her into his arms – to his great relief, she was breathing, though a scarlet line was now trickling down her face. Her eyes opened halfway, and her voice was cracked. "What do you think you're doing...fool."

"Saving your hide." But as he pressed her close to his chest, he realized there was still no way to escape. Running down the now abandoned roads would just earn a chase from Rosolio, and with Magica's weight in his arms, his age, and the exhaustion he was feeling already, it wouldn't be much of a track record.

Speaking of the disgruntled goose, the sight of the lovers together caused him to hold onto his wand so tightly, his fingers dug into his hands, creating deep cuts into his palms. "Get away from her!" His voice no longer sounded of this world, so tangled up in jealousy and insanity. "She's mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!" With every chant of the word, the whirling noise and the light became whole once more, becoming terrible warning signal atop his weapon.

Magica gave Scrooge a light shove, trying to sit up, and aim her wand right back at Rosolio. "Get out of here. I can handle him."

"Are you daft?" Scrooge's arm came around her shoulders. "You can't even stand up." His free hand joined hers, holding the wand with her, and his voice became soft. "I'm not leaving you alone."

She said nothing, but the wand now pulsed under their hands, gaining power. No spell can defeat the Forbidden, she knew this, it was one of the earliest things all those of the magic world learned. Yet there were other lessons that rang in her head, as Rosolio's light grew brighter, as her own wand changed colors.

Magic is connected to your emotions, to your belief, to your body, to you. It cannot give without receiving something in return. The harder you try, the harder you believe and wish for it, the stronger your spells become. That is why it is discourage using it for money and for power. Those things can only last you so long, and your magic will suffer for it. Only when you have something true to fight for, will your magic be supreme.

Her wand lifted, Rosolio's wand lifted, they aimed, and, feeling the rush of confidence and sheer strength rushing from her arms and throughout her entire body right back to the wand in a circle of infinity, she shut her eyes tightly with a single tear escaping, and exhaled, felt she needed to tell him, must tell him, if anything else he had to be told, "Scrooge, I - "

THWACK!

Rosolio fell onto the ground, face flat down, his wand rolling out and away from him. A lump was on top of his head, and, standing behind him, holding Scrooge's cane, was Donald, now twirling the lump-maker in his hand. "So, I guess that means I finally give that ten cent raise?"

~*~

It was around noon, and thus Ducksworth was in the dining room, ready to help serve the residents of the mansion. As he entered, he noticed Scrooge had already sat down, and was jotting down notes on a small piece of paper. The butler cleared his throat to make his presence known. "Tax season again, sir?"

The duck shook his head, looking up for only the briefest of moments. "Just experimenting with something." Tapping the pencil to his beak, he decided it was safe enough to share his findings. "You know the belled collar I got Magica for the engagement party?"

"Of course." the butler walked over to be next to McDuck. "She wears it constantly now."

Scrooge's beak twitched, suppressing a smile that fact brought. "I know... but I've noticed something. This is just a guess, but I think any time she's pleased by something, she fiddles with that bell."

The dog raised his eyebrows, a bit intrigued. "What makes you say that?"

"Little things." The pencil now tapped the paper. "For example, let's see... ah, yes. When Rosolio got her that bracelet, the one with the emeralds, she played with the bell, and we all know how much that witch loves jewelry. Then she did it again when she got that letter fro Madam Mim, her best friend. Then, today, when Daisy was asking what color the wedding invitations should be, she touched the bell when Daisy suggested red. And I told the chefs to remake the lobster salad from the party, because I saw she had three servings of it, and will definitely ring when she has it for lunch today." Scrooge looked up, a little proud of his accomplishment. "So what does that tell you?"

Ducksworth bit his tongue, wondering if he dared really comment. "...To be frank, sir? That tells me you pay rather... close attention to the likes and dislikes of Miss De Spell."

The smile vanished from the duck's bill, eyes wide and a hint of red on his cheeks. He slammed the pencil onto the table, his cheery voice now a grating growl. "Don't you have lunch to serve!"

"Of course, sir." Off he went to the kitchen, hoping his pay wasn't cut for pointing out the obvious.

Scrooge began to cross out what he written, hoping to hide his embarrassment, and mentally remarked on the foolishness of his servant. It had been harmless observation, that was all! Moving to erase his frustration, he stopped when the woman herself strutted in, wearing the collar, and sat down a few seats away from him. True to form, she crossed her arms, already impatient. "Well, where is it?"

"Professional meals take longer than boiling noodles over a cauldron." He quipped, relaxing, and watching the doors to the kitchen carefully. Mere minutes later, Ducksworth had returned, and placed a bowl of lobster salad in front of each duck, and then went about fetching glasses of water for them.

Magica idly poked the leaves, huffing. "Can't your chefs make anything original? Didn't we already have this?"

"Either eat it, or your next meal will be ice cubes." But his tone wasn't bitter, stirring his fork in his bowl as he kept his eyes on the collar. If she rung it, his theory would be correct.

The sorceress made a "hmph" noise, before eating. A few bites into it, she paused to take a drink, and one hand pushed some hair back, stroked her neck... and then touched the bell, echoing a small "ding ding" noise.

Triumphant, Scrooge pointed a fork at her in his victory. "I knew it!"

Glass half empty, Magica placed it down, staring at the accuser. "What?"

"You ring that bell every time you're happy about something!" He gestured to her neck with her utensil, grinning and absolutely ignoring Ducksworth's knowing look from the corner.

The woman took a quick look at her hand, and then was quicker to remove it. "Don't be stupid, it was a nervous habit." She didn't even appear to notice she had been doing it in the first place.

"You're like a little girl." There was sneer with that, leaning back in his seat. "Just admit you do it."

"I will do no such thing." Her arms were crossed once more, the meal ignored. "Because I don't do any such thing!"

"He has a list." Ducksworth was at the table again, grabbing the slip of paper before Scrooge could make a jump for it, ignoring the yell of his name from the writer. He handed it over to the surprised sorceress, and much to Scrooge's chagrin, she could read it despite the crossed out lines. When she was finished, she crumpled it in her hands, throwing it behind her, which the butler went to go clean up, and use an excuse to exit the room.

She was instantly on her feet, agitated, tapping her foot on the floor. "Do you have nothing better to do than study my neck?"

"How am I supposed to ignore that constant ringing?" He jabbed a fork into his food, preparing himself for the fight that was about to ensue. "Why don't you ever take it off!"

"If you hate it so much, you shouldn't have bought it in the first place!"

"Maybe I shouldn't have!"

"Then don't buy me anything ever again!"

"As if I would ever waste my money on someone like you!"

They spat insults back and forth at each other, loathing increasing with each lobby, until Magica stabbed her salad with a fork, and menacingly jabbed the utensil at him, threatening to shove the implement and the leaf attached to it in a place where the sun didn't shine -

Until the door to the living room was knocked, followed by the cheery voice of Magica's grandmother - "Hello, sweetie!" - and without waiting for the all clear, opened the door anyway, gazing upon the frozen scene of her granddaughter holding a fork of food to the supposed fiance. Silence followed as Granny adjusted her glasses, making sure she was seeing correctly."'Husband" and "wife" took their time looking at each other, wondering how to fix the mistake, and keep playing the game. Granny spoke slowly, skepticism clear. "I'm sorry, was I interrupting something?"

Gears whirled in Magica's mind, and, shaking a bit, she placed her empty hand on Scrooge's shoulder. "Not at all, Granny! We were just enjoying lunch." Continuing to use a voice laced with a mix of sappy sweetness and acidic adjectives, she waved the fork to the man's mouth. "Say 'ah', Scroogie darling."

Wishing he could say a few words that weren't for ladies ears, he complied, allowing the fork to enter past his lips, and quietly chewed the greenery as Magica sat back down, wiping the utensil with a napkin. She spoke again once she deemed it clean enough. "What brings you by this hour, Granny, without a call or a single word of warning?"

Not believing the act for a second, the old woman strode up to her granddaughter, hands behind her back. "I just wanted to ask about the music that would be played at the wedding."

"A church organ is all we need." Scrooge replied, once he had swallowed the forced food.

The relative scooted next to Magica, blond hair falling past her glasses. "Haven't you thought about it? Music can set an entirely new theme for a wedding! How about a choir of-"

"No." Said the couple in unison, trying to get back to eating.

"Then how about the jazz styling of - "

"No."

"We could always spring for country-"

"No."

"Not even a classical waltz theme?"

"No." But this time, after the duo had said it, there was a faint "ding ding" that followed. Magica went perfectly still upon realizing what she had done, and her face flushed deeper than the lobster's shell in the salad as she felt Scrooge's smirk boring into her from the back of her head. She was on her feet fast enough to knock her chair backwards, grabbing her bowl and storming out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Granny stared where the chair once was, puzzled at what had just taken place. "What on earth was that about?"

Scrooge held up his glass of water, taking a steady sip. "Why, I haven't the faintest idea." He waited until Granny had left to chase after her granddaughter to admire his smug appearance in the reflective glass. Of course he had been right, his theories always were. Why, he had even more examples of her doing that action that he hadn't written down.

When Daisy showed the witch family the McDuck photo album, and displayed the one of him in his younger Klondike days, ding ding.

When he had asked her to dance during the engagement party, ding ding.

When he and Rosolio were arguing who really did know Magica better, ding ding.

When they had to fake kiss again in front of the family along with some new reporters, ding ding.

His confident expression faded, as each new recollection began to create a startling theory in his mind that was wholly unwelcome.

~*~

"What is magic?"

Tea on the patio, with the fading sunset, that is where and when the strange question had been asked. Magica held the cup in her hand, having paused in her drink once the words had left the miser's mouth. She looked at him, making sure she had heard correctly. Since one of his eyebrows was raised and his gaze was curious, the question had been real. Quietly, she resumed her sip. "Why do you ask?"

"It bothers me..." He replied, voice already annoyed. "... when things happen with no explanation. I've seen you buy potions and wands, and buying a weapon is something anyone can do... but you also can conjure up spells all on your own. It should be one or the other. What's the difference?"

She traced the outline of the cup. "... Yes, almost anyone can buy weapons. But that doesn't mean everyone can use them. If a man who has never used a gun before picks one up, he will not fire straight, and he might even wind up injuring his hand in the process. One needs experience before mastering bought weapons."

"But even then... a gun is a machine. You speak of experience with the supernatural."

A shrug with one shoulder. "I could teach your nephews how to use bought spells and potions for the rest of my life, but even when they turn gray, they would never be as powerful as myself, or other sorcerers and sorceresses."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the insistence of that term. She always got angry if she was called anything but a sorceress. For the sake of learning, he'd put that aside for now. "And why is that? What makes you and your ilk different from me and my nephews?"

"Blood. Genetics." Catching the skepticism in his expression, she smirked. "Is it that much of a surprise? Like any genetic anomaly, magic is inherited. If a man with blue eyes and a woman with blue eyes have a child, there is a stronger likelihood that their child will also have blue eyes. My father had magic, my mother had magic, so Poe and I had magic."

"Poe doesn't use magic." He refilled his cup. Some stars were beginning to shine out. The moon was hidden behind faint clouds. "I've never even seen him try."

"It's a part of his transformation." Her eyes looked away, uncomfortable with the subject, yet still willing to relent. "When I turned him, I didn't just change his outer appearance... I changed his blood, his DNA. The only thing left that is truly him and our family is his memory. We are no longer blood related."

There was a tense silence. At first, the elder was ready to ask if Poe knew... but... it became clear in his own mind. If Poe hadn't been told of it, the raven would have figured it out on his own, when he couldn't perform even the most simple feat of magic. Perhaps that was why Granny treated him as more of a pet than a grandson, since he "wasn't" a grandson to her anymore. Yet as the older one kept thinking, he could recall moments where Magica treated Poe not quite as an equal but still as family. Even now Magica looked decidedly unpleasant, with an emotion he thought she wasn't capable of - guilt.

Scrooge cleared his throat. "That still doesn't explain some things... all right, so you got it from your parents, who got it from your grandmother, and back and back... where did it all start?"

She took another drink before getting back into the conversation. "With the gods, of course."

"Of course." A derisive snort.

"It's natural of you not to believe... but there were ancient times where it was commonplace for everyone to believe in gods. But as science and technology advanced, people disregarded their beliefs... but not everyone did. Those others, in fact, praised the gods for these advancements. But the people also became worried that, at this rate, belief would be stomped out everywhere, and future generations wouldn't believe in the gods. So they prayed and sacrificed, begging the gods for a way to keep belief alive. The gods decided to bless these people with magic."

"I've seen more believable nonsense in Donald's comic books." A wag of the finger. "Where is your proof?"

"Our own history books... which are up to interpretation. No one is alive from those days, so for all I know, it could be false. But it's just easier to believe that story." Her cup became empty.

"I still don't understand it all. How can your body, just because of a few select strands of DNA, be able to do things mortals can't?"

She looked down at her hands, placing the tea cup away. "... Desire."

"Desire?"

The only light between them was a single flame, flickering brightly over a red candle. Magica took the candle holder, a faded golden color, grasping it lightly in her fingers. With her other hand, she held up her wand in preparation. Then with a soft and quick breath, the fire was gone. "You can light this again easily enough with a match, you can do it all by yourself, with your own hands. With magic... it deeply depends on what you want. You must want it with all of your heart." She pointed the wand at the burnt tip, and they both glowed deeply - in the blink of an eye, the candle was lit again. "I desired warmth and light. Desire... and desperation. Us of the magic cannot blend so simply into mortal society. Sometimes our lives are not easy. We become desperate to continue living, as our kind die out."

The candle was the same as it had been minutes ago, as if it had never been blown out. Night was settling in. The fire was reflected in her eyes, and her face was illuminated. How much time had passed since he invited her to tea out on the patio? She placed the candle back down on the table. He watched it a little more before speaking. "If you don't have any children, the De Spell line dies with you."

"And another magical family is eliminated from the gene pool." A snap of her fingers, putting her wand down. "But I don't care. I've never cared too greatly for children... I can barely stand your brats. When I have the amulet granting me the power of the Midas Touch, I will be rich enough so that my line is eternally remembered. Our wondrous last stand. It's the same with you."

He did not respond, and felt no need to. Just a nod. He could see where she was going with that reasoning.

"Even when the worms are eating your bones, everyone will still remember the name Scrooge McDuck. No nephew of yours carries that same last name. You are the last of the clan McDuck, and with your wealth, you will be remembered forever. That is a magic no sorcerer could create... the power of immortality."

This time, he crossed one arm over, and pointed a finger at her. "About that, immortality... and I don't mean that whole 'remembrance' thing. Why can no sorcerer do that? I imagine wanting to live forever would generate tons of powerful desire."

One of her legs crossed over the other. "... That is even stronger proof that the gods gave us this power."

"Explain."

"There is a branch of spell work that is called The Forbidden, because it is exactly that - forbidden. Using those spells threatens to expose magic to the entire world, and would create havoc, making us the new gods of the world. As punishment, whenever someone uses such a spell, they lose a year of their life."

"That's hardly proof."

"Well, it's not like when they use it, a god suddenly appears and smacks them upside the head. They just die much sooner than expected. After it happened enough times, the mathematics were figured out."

"Have you ever used one?"

A soft chuckle. The sun was gone. "I'm not stupid, as much as you're inclined to think so. I want the rest of my life to enjoy my riches."

"So what are The Forbidden?" A few fireflies were making themselves known in the close gardens. Scrooge would silently shoo one away if one get too close, but Magica would allow one to crawl along her arm if it wanted to.

"Extending someone's life span. Shortening someone's life span. Death. Love-"

"Now hold on." he cut her off, leaning in. "I've seen you use plenty of love potions and spells."

"Mediocre things." A dismissive wave of her hand. "Those types had time limits, and only seized part of the heart. The Forbidden Spell Of Love captures the entire heart and mind, for all time. It's a love akin to madness. The victim cares for nothing but the caster... not even their own health. That spell has been the cause of much bloodshed. Helen of Troy was a victim, as was Romeo and Isolde..."

His brows furrowed. "... Wait... do you mean Romeo and Juliet? Tristan and Isolde? Those are made up stories."

"So is magic, to some." A smile, and then she stood. "It's getting cold. I'm going inside."

"One more question." He stood as well. "Do you actually know how to use The Forbidden?"

Her eyes met his. "Yes. For the sake of our dying history, sorcerers and sorceress are even taught those spells. Granny, Samson Hex, Rosolio, even Witch Child could use one, if their desire was strong enough."

He picked up his cane, that was previously laid against his chair. He appeared amused. "Should I take it as a compliment that you've never desired me dead that strongly?"

She approached the doors. "Fool. If you died, that dime of yours becomes worthless. Then I'd have to find the next richest man alive." Though her hand was on the door handle, she did not press on it. She could feel his eyes on her, still inquisitive. A sigh. "All right, what else?"

"Those gods... if they gave your people magic, that makes these supposed divine beings useless. They wouldn't need to help your people anymore, since they could help themselves. What became of them?"

She stayed where she was, even as he walked up to her. Slowly, she turned to look at him. "We believe they help the non-blessed. The mortals. They give you strength... you just aren't aware of it. When you desire something that desperately... they are there to lend that power. Fate changes. Miracles occur. They can't do this to everyone... without belief, their abilities grow weaker all the time. But they will live on so long as humanity does. Because desire... always exists."

They stared at each other. The candle was still lit. There was no wind.

"You're saying, if I desire something strongly enough, the gods will help me?" He had desired many things in his life, he knew that well.

Desire and need are two different things, they both thought. People need food and water, need comes with survival. Need is primal, and can over ride the mind in order to get it. Deaths can be as a result of an unfulfilled need. Desire is different. Desire is a pain that cannot be described, yet, with time, it can be pushed away. People can live without desires being fulfilled. Yet there is not a single person who has ever lived who has never felt desire at least once.

There are also people who let desire consume their lives. They feel without this wish being granted, they are better off dead. If they allow it, a desire can control a person. That's when the desire becomes a need. That's when the gods can no longer help.

The door handle was gripped. "It's possible. But they have better wishes to grant than the ones of a rich old miser. So, probably not." The door was opened, and she was soon gone.

When he could no longer hear her footsteps, he returned to the table, and picked up the candle holder. He blew it out. "Yes," he murmured, touching the remains of wax. "Probably not."

~*~

When, exactly, did he realize she was a woman? It felt like such a ridiculous thing to think about, but during the course of their lives, he supposed he never really acknowledged that about her. Of course he knew she was female, but due to all of her aggravating attacks on his dime, he had just molded her into 'that person'. He had always been satisfied with that state. She was his enemy, there was no need to change that. Things could have stayed like that, if it wasn't for this entire ruse.

Now here he was, hugging her, having her lean onto his body, fully aware of what she was and who she was. She felt so small against him, as powerless as a doll, her head resting on his chest. No objection had been made to the embrace, as it had started out as an accident. They were descending the stairs, ready to get some lunch before having another dreadful afternoon with her family, when suddenly, nearing the last steps, she had tripped and fallen forward. He not only caught her, but instinctively his arms had gone around her. Though now she was capable of standing up and walking on her own, neither made any attempt to leave.

The gigantic mansion of a home was silent. The only thing that could be heard were their light breaths, and his heartbeat so close to her ear. She wasn't even returning the gesture, her arms curled up on his chest. Of course he was in no rush to see Magica's family again, and there were other reasons not to leave this moment. He just couldn't think of them right now. Frankly a lot of his mind was refusing to work right now.

Wasn't she supposed to be pushing away to make some scathing comment? He was almost afraid to see what kind of expression she was wearing. The more time that passed, the more sense reached into his head. With great reluctance, he moved his hands, grabbing her by the elbows, and ever so lightly pushed her away by mere inches. Her wide eyes showed that she was initially surprised, but her look settled in understanding. Except he still hadn't really let go, and judging by his grip, still wasn't planning to.

He apparently wasn't planning on doing anything at all, yet she appeared to be expecting something. Maybe she understood this situation better than he did. His grip eased, not entirely holding her in place, but still enough to be felt. It became a staring contest, his confused and slightly bewilderment to her anticipation and patience.

Just then, the door to the dining room creaked open, and Ducksworth stepped in, mouth open to announce, again, that lunch was served. But when he caught sight of the ducks in such a position, who were now staring right back at him, he hesitated, then stepped back, closing the doors and leaving them. The spell broken, Magica abruptly shook her arms loose, and stuck her bill up high, indignant. Once again, they had become enemies. It was if nothing had happened in those past few minutes. That was completely fine with Scrooge.

Yet as she walked by him, her arm brushed against his, and for the faintest of moments, her cold fingers ran up his arm. Feeling his heart jump into his throat, he turned to look at her, but she was already at the door, opening it to leave. She glanced back at him, still wearing her usual expression of distaste, leaving him to wonder if he had just imagined that fleeting sensitive touch. She left the room, and he would only join her once he was positive his face was no longer red.

#scrooge mcduck #magica de spell #dimeshipping

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