Three gift drabbles!
Three gift drabbles!
First, a Halloween OUAT drabble for Faye--takes place in my Season 3B AU where Rumpel's sacrifice broke Pan's curse and then Belle brought Rumpel back from limbo, but without his dark magic.
Belle was humming to herself as she placed the pewter skull brooch on the orange and black streamers she had decorated the interior of the pawn shop with.
“Well, you’ve certainly given the place the right atmosphere,” Rumpel commented. Other trinkets were attached to the streamers and dangling from strings. “But you’ll have to keep an eye on some of these things-we can’t let them fall into the wrong hands.”
“Why?” Belle asked, as she hopped down from the stepstool. “I assumed that since you’re no longer the Dark One, these were all harmless trinkets now.”
“Most of them are,” Rumpel agreed. “A lot of them are the objects of Dark Ones past-some of them, I used during my time as the Dark One. But, alas, the Dark One isn’t the sole user of dark magic-dark magic exists independently of the Dark One.”
“I wish you’d told me that sooner!” Belle chided, backing away from the pewter skull brooch.
“They are all harmless in their current state,” Rumpel assured her. “Magic is… It’s difficult to describe, but it isn’t some simple thing that you can snap your fingers and expect things to happen exactly the way you want. Regina took many years to learn magic, and recently made the switch to light magic; though she’s found it easier, it’s hardly a walk in the part. For instance, Miss Swan hasn’t even fully tapped into her light magic yet. Dark magic takes much more concentration; your intentions have to be dark. For most of the people in town, we wouldn’t have to worry about that. Our risk would be from outsiders who could, if given the opportunity, make off with the items or attempt to reactivate them from within the shop.”
Belle glanced at the brooch, and at the other items.
“How big of a risk do you think that is?”
“To put it plainly, my dear, while it is a concern in the long run, it isn’t something that I would lose sleep over for one night,” Rumpel said. “But, I think, it would be wise to consign these items in a safe place after the holiday is over. But for tonight, I think the only mischief we have to fear will be from costumed ghouls with silly string.”
The bell above the door jingled as the door opened.
“Hey, Papa-whoa…” Neal trailed off as he and Henry entered the shop and saw all the decorations.
“…I like what you’ve done with the place,” Henry commented.
“I, um… I seem to remember some of this stuff…” Neal said, pointedly looking at the skull brooch.
“Well, it certainly won’t be used for the purposes they were intended for,” Belle promised. “I’ll keep an eye on them to make sure they are all accounted for.”
“And after tonight, you will never see them again,” Rumpel added. “I can’t use them anymore, and in the event that we get another dark visitor, they won’t be able to use these against us.”
Neal’s face fell.
“You… you think that’s possible?”
“As much as I want to believe that it isn’t, we must be prepared,” Rumpel sighed.
“He’s right, Dad,” Henry said. “As long as there’s light, there’ll always be dark. But the light can still win every time.”
“…The boy is right, Bae,” Rumpel said, looking to Neal. “If I can lose my dark magic and have it turn light, then there is hope for Storybrooke. And no matter what lies outside this town, I promise you that I will protect you, Belle, and Henry.”
Neal gave a nod.
“That’s a promise I know I can believe,” he said.
A birthday Carmen Sandiego drabble for i_heart_rocka--
The ACME Informant, Messenger, and Inspector watched with interest as their friend and colleague, the ACME Techie slowly began to inspect the walls of their quarters.
“Hey, Fellas,” the Recruiting Officer said, as he approached them. “What’s--?”
“Shhhh!” the three of them said, putting their fingers to their lips.
“Sorry,” the Recruiting Officer said, in a whisper. “But what’s going on here?”
“Our compatriot has discovered an anomaly in the building architecture,” the Informant said. “Actually, he guessed it was there after that time I moonlighted as a construction worker and made a hole in the Chief’s office wall.”
“Yep, old Techie here is convinced that there’s a network of passageways within the building,” the Messenger said. “And the existence of such a network would be a boon to my neverending array of practical jokes.”
“And, you know, help us in the event of an intruder,” the Inspector deadpanned.
“Yeah, and stuff like that,” the Messenger said, with a wave of his hand.
“How old is this building, anyway?” the Informant asked. “I mean, if it’s really old, we probably should have expected it. Old buildings have passageways in them all the time.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s been our headquarters since Agnes Acme started the agency,” the recruiting Officer said.
“Spooky, secret passageways, a building over 200 years old… We could film a B horror movie right here,” the Messenger said. “It Came from the Walls of ACME: the Zombie Jamboree!”
“I got it!” the Techie exclaimed.
The others stared in awe as a part of the wall pushed down into a switch, and the entire panel of wall moved to the side.
“Hey, it’s dark in there,” the Informant said.
“It wouldn’t be a spooky, secret passageway if it was well-lit,” the Messenger said, sagely. “Well, who’s up for a little exploring?”
“Well, I was kind of thinking we send some sort of remote-controlled device first to make sure it’s safe,” the Techie pointed out.
“…Who’s up for a little exploring by proxy?” the Messenger corrected himself, without missing a beat.
The Informant snarked.
“Well, I have to admit, even I am curious as to what’s in there,” the Inspector added. “Who knows how long anyone has been in those passageways…”
“Yeah, maybe there’s something interesting hiding in there,” the Recruiting Officer mused.
“So, Techie, you have a thing we can use to explore the inside?” the Informant asked.
“Sure do,” the Techie said, proudly, taking a device out of his pocket. “A new and improved remote-controlled mosquito-with a tiny LED light that will help us see what it sees in there!”
Within minutes, the electronic mosquito was in the passageways looking around.
“There seem to be all sorts of boxes,” the Techie said, watching the video feed. “No way to tell what’s in them yet, though. This particular branch of the passageway keeps going-past the rec room, past the cafeteria, past Schwemphf’s office--”
“Excuse me, but could you say that again?” the Messenger said, cupping a hand behind his ear.
“Past Schwemphf’s office,” the Techie repeated, with an amused shake of his head.
The Informant snarked again.
“I have a feeling that the next few days are going to be very interesting around here…” he predicted.
“Infy, my friend,” the Messenger replied, rubbing his hands together in glee. “You are so right.”
And an MFU drabble for Kelsey--
Napoleon now entered the apartment with his arms full of small bags of roasted chestnuts.
“I think I cleaned out that street vendor on the corner,” he said with a grin, as he poured the chestnuts into a glass bowl. “Did you get the cider?”
“Da, I did,” Illya said, handing him a glass with some cider in it. “How is it?”
“Well, it looks good,” Napoleon said. He drank a gulp of cider and then coughed, his eyes watering.
“Is it too strong?” Illya asked, concerned. “I was not pleased with the strength of it, so I added some vodka.”
Napoleon caught his breath and managed a patient grin.
“Illya…” he said. “I asked you to get hot cider, not hard cider.”
“That is exactly what I made-warmed and everything. Although I do not know why you want it warm; you will feel much warmer when you drink it, regardless.”
“Yes, but I asked for hot cider, not hot hard cider.”
Illya blinked, glancing at Napoleon in confusion, and Napoleon glanced back at him.
“Okay, I think something got lost in translation…” the American said.
“Napoleon, go to any pub in Europe, ask for cider, and I guarantee you that you will get this-except not warmed up,” Illya stated.
“See, we call that hard cider over here,” Napoleon said. “Hot cider is hot apple juice-you can get it spiced with cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg… It’s a standard autumn treat. Goes well with roasted chestnuts.”
“I’m terribly sorry…” Illya said, looking slightly embarrassed. “I shall go make some for you, then.”
“Nah, you know what? We’re off tomorrow; this will be fine.”
Napoleon sat back on the couch and put his feet up on the table. Illya rolled his eyes and moved the bowl of chestnuts away from Napoleon’s feet to the other side of the table.
They ate and drank and talked--about the inevitable arrival of winter and about where their U.N.C.L.E-related travels would lead them next, but it was after a quantity of the cider had been consumed that Illya suddenly got very open about topics he normally didn’t bring up.
“Y’know, ‘Poleon…” he said. “You astound me.”
“Thanks,” Napoleon mused. There was a noticeable blush on his face from the cider he had drank.
“I am happy,” Illya continued
“That I astound you?”
“Da. I am happy with you here-you make things s’interesting. Life in Berlin was… routine.”
“You’ve got a strange definition of routine…” Napoleon mused, chuckling into his glass.
“Outside of missions, nothing remotely interesting happened to me… Until I met you.” Illya took another drink of cider. “You have given my life a new meaning, ‘Poleon. We have been partners for nearly two years now, but it astounds me how I… How you have changed me…”
Napoleon idly tapped his fingers on his glass until he was suddenly aware of Illya looking at him intently.
“Sooooo…” Napoleon said, shrugging. “Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”
“Both.”
“…Oh.”
“S’good because I cannot recall when I have been happier. S’bad because I am afraid of losing it… Losing you.”
Napoleon swallowed a lump in his throat; he hadn’t been expecting that. Illya rarely wore his heart on his sleeve, though a few drinks could get him to open up somewhat, but even during the times they drank together and Illya opened up, he had never said something so full of raw emotion.
“I…” Napoleon trailed off, shaking his head. “I dunno what to say. I can’t even promise you that nothing’s gonna happen to me.”
“Nor can I promise you. We cannot make such promises in our line of work,” Illya agreed. “But, still, you must know what… what I have to say.”
“Huh?”
“‘Poleon, you have done so much for me-taken me into your home here--”
“Well, you pay half the rent--”
Illya shushed him.
“Let me finish,” the Russian instructed. “And you also brought me into your family. You look after me when I am injured, and you do things like this…” He gestured to what remained of the cider and the chestnuts. “To make sure that I am happy. I am grateful; these gestures mean more to me than I let on. In fact, there are more things I wish to say to you that I do not let on.”
“I know,” Napoleon said.
“Hmm?” Illya asked.
“What you wanna say. I know,” Napoleon said, with a smile. “Because I feel the same way.”
Illya blinked a few times, but then managed a small smile.
“I knew, too.”
They talked a bit more until the drink made them weary; Illya slumped against Napoleon and was soon asleep, using his shoulder as a pillow as Napoleon supported him with an arm around him as he drifted off soon, as well.
The future was never certain, but for now, they would both cherish what they had.
First, a Halloween OUAT drabble for Faye--takes place in my Season 3B AU where Rumpel's sacrifice broke Pan's curse and then Belle brought Rumpel back from limbo, but without his dark magic.
Belle was humming to herself as she placed the pewter skull brooch on the orange and black streamers she had decorated the interior of the pawn shop with.
“Well, you’ve certainly given the place the right atmosphere,” Rumpel commented. Other trinkets were attached to the streamers and dangling from strings. “But you’ll have to keep an eye on some of these things-we can’t let them fall into the wrong hands.”
“Why?” Belle asked, as she hopped down from the stepstool. “I assumed that since you’re no longer the Dark One, these were all harmless trinkets now.”
“Most of them are,” Rumpel agreed. “A lot of them are the objects of Dark Ones past-some of them, I used during my time as the Dark One. But, alas, the Dark One isn’t the sole user of dark magic-dark magic exists independently of the Dark One.”
“I wish you’d told me that sooner!” Belle chided, backing away from the pewter skull brooch.
“They are all harmless in their current state,” Rumpel assured her. “Magic is… It’s difficult to describe, but it isn’t some simple thing that you can snap your fingers and expect things to happen exactly the way you want. Regina took many years to learn magic, and recently made the switch to light magic; though she’s found it easier, it’s hardly a walk in the part. For instance, Miss Swan hasn’t even fully tapped into her light magic yet. Dark magic takes much more concentration; your intentions have to be dark. For most of the people in town, we wouldn’t have to worry about that. Our risk would be from outsiders who could, if given the opportunity, make off with the items or attempt to reactivate them from within the shop.”
Belle glanced at the brooch, and at the other items.
“How big of a risk do you think that is?”
“To put it plainly, my dear, while it is a concern in the long run, it isn’t something that I would lose sleep over for one night,” Rumpel said. “But, I think, it would be wise to consign these items in a safe place after the holiday is over. But for tonight, I think the only mischief we have to fear will be from costumed ghouls with silly string.”
The bell above the door jingled as the door opened.
“Hey, Papa-whoa…” Neal trailed off as he and Henry entered the shop and saw all the decorations.
“…I like what you’ve done with the place,” Henry commented.
“I, um… I seem to remember some of this stuff…” Neal said, pointedly looking at the skull brooch.
“Well, it certainly won’t be used for the purposes they were intended for,” Belle promised. “I’ll keep an eye on them to make sure they are all accounted for.”
“And after tonight, you will never see them again,” Rumpel added. “I can’t use them anymore, and in the event that we get another dark visitor, they won’t be able to use these against us.”
Neal’s face fell.
“You… you think that’s possible?”
“As much as I want to believe that it isn’t, we must be prepared,” Rumpel sighed.
“He’s right, Dad,” Henry said. “As long as there’s light, there’ll always be dark. But the light can still win every time.”
“…The boy is right, Bae,” Rumpel said, looking to Neal. “If I can lose my dark magic and have it turn light, then there is hope for Storybrooke. And no matter what lies outside this town, I promise you that I will protect you, Belle, and Henry.”
Neal gave a nod.
“That’s a promise I know I can believe,” he said.
A birthday Carmen Sandiego drabble for i_heart_rocka--
The ACME Informant, Messenger, and Inspector watched with interest as their friend and colleague, the ACME Techie slowly began to inspect the walls of their quarters.
“Hey, Fellas,” the Recruiting Officer said, as he approached them. “What’s--?”
“Shhhh!” the three of them said, putting their fingers to their lips.
“Sorry,” the Recruiting Officer said, in a whisper. “But what’s going on here?”
“Our compatriot has discovered an anomaly in the building architecture,” the Informant said. “Actually, he guessed it was there after that time I moonlighted as a construction worker and made a hole in the Chief’s office wall.”
“Yep, old Techie here is convinced that there’s a network of passageways within the building,” the Messenger said. “And the existence of such a network would be a boon to my neverending array of practical jokes.”
“And, you know, help us in the event of an intruder,” the Inspector deadpanned.
“Yeah, and stuff like that,” the Messenger said, with a wave of his hand.
“How old is this building, anyway?” the Informant asked. “I mean, if it’s really old, we probably should have expected it. Old buildings have passageways in them all the time.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s been our headquarters since Agnes Acme started the agency,” the recruiting Officer said.
“Spooky, secret passageways, a building over 200 years old… We could film a B horror movie right here,” the Messenger said. “It Came from the Walls of ACME: the Zombie Jamboree!”
“I got it!” the Techie exclaimed.
The others stared in awe as a part of the wall pushed down into a switch, and the entire panel of wall moved to the side.
“Hey, it’s dark in there,” the Informant said.
“It wouldn’t be a spooky, secret passageway if it was well-lit,” the Messenger said, sagely. “Well, who’s up for a little exploring?”
“Well, I was kind of thinking we send some sort of remote-controlled device first to make sure it’s safe,” the Techie pointed out.
“…Who’s up for a little exploring by proxy?” the Messenger corrected himself, without missing a beat.
The Informant snarked.
“Well, I have to admit, even I am curious as to what’s in there,” the Inspector added. “Who knows how long anyone has been in those passageways…”
“Yeah, maybe there’s something interesting hiding in there,” the Recruiting Officer mused.
“So, Techie, you have a thing we can use to explore the inside?” the Informant asked.
“Sure do,” the Techie said, proudly, taking a device out of his pocket. “A new and improved remote-controlled mosquito-with a tiny LED light that will help us see what it sees in there!”
Within minutes, the electronic mosquito was in the passageways looking around.
“There seem to be all sorts of boxes,” the Techie said, watching the video feed. “No way to tell what’s in them yet, though. This particular branch of the passageway keeps going-past the rec room, past the cafeteria, past Schwemphf’s office--”
“Excuse me, but could you say that again?” the Messenger said, cupping a hand behind his ear.
“Past Schwemphf’s office,” the Techie repeated, with an amused shake of his head.
The Informant snarked again.
“I have a feeling that the next few days are going to be very interesting around here…” he predicted.
“Infy, my friend,” the Messenger replied, rubbing his hands together in glee. “You are so right.”
And an MFU drabble for Kelsey--
Napoleon now entered the apartment with his arms full of small bags of roasted chestnuts.
“I think I cleaned out that street vendor on the corner,” he said with a grin, as he poured the chestnuts into a glass bowl. “Did you get the cider?”
“Da, I did,” Illya said, handing him a glass with some cider in it. “How is it?”
“Well, it looks good,” Napoleon said. He drank a gulp of cider and then coughed, his eyes watering.
“Is it too strong?” Illya asked, concerned. “I was not pleased with the strength of it, so I added some vodka.”
Napoleon caught his breath and managed a patient grin.
“Illya…” he said. “I asked you to get hot cider, not hard cider.”
“That is exactly what I made-warmed and everything. Although I do not know why you want it warm; you will feel much warmer when you drink it, regardless.”
“Yes, but I asked for hot cider, not hot hard cider.”
Illya blinked, glancing at Napoleon in confusion, and Napoleon glanced back at him.
“Okay, I think something got lost in translation…” the American said.
“Napoleon, go to any pub in Europe, ask for cider, and I guarantee you that you will get this-except not warmed up,” Illya stated.
“See, we call that hard cider over here,” Napoleon said. “Hot cider is hot apple juice-you can get it spiced with cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg… It’s a standard autumn treat. Goes well with roasted chestnuts.”
“I’m terribly sorry…” Illya said, looking slightly embarrassed. “I shall go make some for you, then.”
“Nah, you know what? We’re off tomorrow; this will be fine.”
Napoleon sat back on the couch and put his feet up on the table. Illya rolled his eyes and moved the bowl of chestnuts away from Napoleon’s feet to the other side of the table.
They ate and drank and talked--about the inevitable arrival of winter and about where their U.N.C.L.E-related travels would lead them next, but it was after a quantity of the cider had been consumed that Illya suddenly got very open about topics he normally didn’t bring up.
“Y’know, ‘Poleon…” he said. “You astound me.”
“Thanks,” Napoleon mused. There was a noticeable blush on his face from the cider he had drank.
“I am happy,” Illya continued
“That I astound you?”
“Da. I am happy with you here-you make things s’interesting. Life in Berlin was… routine.”
“You’ve got a strange definition of routine…” Napoleon mused, chuckling into his glass.
“Outside of missions, nothing remotely interesting happened to me… Until I met you.” Illya took another drink of cider. “You have given my life a new meaning, ‘Poleon. We have been partners for nearly two years now, but it astounds me how I… How you have changed me…”
Napoleon idly tapped his fingers on his glass until he was suddenly aware of Illya looking at him intently.
“Sooooo…” Napoleon said, shrugging. “Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”
“Both.”
“…Oh.”
“S’good because I cannot recall when I have been happier. S’bad because I am afraid of losing it… Losing you.”
Napoleon swallowed a lump in his throat; he hadn’t been expecting that. Illya rarely wore his heart on his sleeve, though a few drinks could get him to open up somewhat, but even during the times they drank together and Illya opened up, he had never said something so full of raw emotion.
“I…” Napoleon trailed off, shaking his head. “I dunno what to say. I can’t even promise you that nothing’s gonna happen to me.”
“Nor can I promise you. We cannot make such promises in our line of work,” Illya agreed. “But, still, you must know what… what I have to say.”
“Huh?”
“‘Poleon, you have done so much for me-taken me into your home here--”
“Well, you pay half the rent--”
Illya shushed him.
“Let me finish,” the Russian instructed. “And you also brought me into your family. You look after me when I am injured, and you do things like this…” He gestured to what remained of the cider and the chestnuts. “To make sure that I am happy. I am grateful; these gestures mean more to me than I let on. In fact, there are more things I wish to say to you that I do not let on.”
“I know,” Napoleon said.
“Hmm?” Illya asked.
“What you wanna say. I know,” Napoleon said, with a smile. “Because I feel the same way.”
Illya blinked a few times, but then managed a small smile.
“I knew, too.”
They talked a bit more until the drink made them weary; Illya slumped against Napoleon and was soon asleep, using his shoulder as a pillow as Napoleon supported him with an arm around him as he drifted off soon, as well.
The future was never certain, but for now, they would both cherish what they had.