nitr0glycer1ne

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober/Duckvember Day 16 - Best friend

Heeeeyy look who's FINALLY updating!! I thought this chapter would be much shorter, but I got really carried away by Lena and Violet, it almost wrote itself. I hope you enjoy the result :)

-

“We’ll clean our guest room tomorrow, but in the meanwhile, you can sleep with Violet.”

Colin finishes with a smile, and Lena nods. Her fingers are tightly gripping the armrest of the comfortable couch she’s sitting on, next to Violet; she’s not nervous, not really, but she needs something to physically anchor her in reality. Because none of this feels real: being back from the shadow realm, Webby being safe and sound and still her best friend, and her getting to live in a real house, with real living, breathing beings, after being offered so by a new friend.

The word still feels somewhat alien to her. It used to be something she’d hear only from her aun- from Magica, and it wasn’t ever spoken without disgust and contempt wrapped all around it. And although Lena has grown accustomed to hear it being used as its intended meaning, as a term of endearment from Webby, it’s still a bit weird to think that yeah, she is someone’s friend, she has friends- oh, using its plural is even more bizarre, and Lena hopes it’s something she never grows tired of.

“Would you like to come and see your new sleeping quarters, Lena?” the small bird sitting next to her offers.

The question sounds very detached, but Lena now knows it isn’t, she knows it’s just the way Violet speaks, emotions sometimes having trouble to show beneath the polite and wordy sentences the young erudite strings.

“Yeah, sure.” the duckling agrees, getting up and stretching her arms, a bit stiff after the long discussion she’s just had with the Sabrewings.

---------

Lena had been worried at first, when she had understood she wouldn’t be allowed to stay in the McDuck mansion. Webby had done her best to ask, plea, beg her grandmother and Scrooge for her best friend to stay with them, especially since she had nowhere to go save for a small, humid basement by the beach, but the adults had remained firm. Webby hadn’t needed to give Lena and Violet a full report of Bentina and Scrooge’s reasonings; the two girls had managed to hear it all, thanks to the makeshift stethoscopes Violet had crafted, sticking the devices on the office’s door and listening to the whole argument.

Lena can’t blame them, especially after what Magica did to Scrooge and his family. She had expected the outcome – but what she hadn’t expected had been the softness the old billionaire had explained his reasonings to Webby, and how he had carefully added that maybe, after Lena had grown used to a life amongst the living and without Magica’s influence, he would be happy to take her in.

Still, Lena had been left homeless after that discussion, and although it had worried her, she had done her best not to show any of that concern to her best friend. And that’s when Violet had intervened, before Lena could even attempt to lie to Webby:

“Perhaps I could call my parents. We have a spare room, and I am most certain they wouldn’t mind welcoming you at all, Lena.”

The usually snarky duckling had been left silent, for once- just like Webby. And before Lena could brush off Violet’s offer, her stupid pride getting in the way of a comfortable bed in a comfortable house owned by normal people, Webby had jumped at the small bird, giving her the warmest and most joyous hug she could- which, by Webby standards, meant that the two of them had ended in a happy pile on the floor, soon joined by Lena.

Surprisingly enough, Violet’s dads had agreed easily. One of them, Colin, is a preschool teacher, and he loves children; and although Lena is no toddler, she’s glad it made him open to the idea of fostering a duckling made out of someone’s – someone who very recently wreaked havoc on Duckburg – shadow. Her surprise must have shown on her disbelieving face, because Webby had been quick to elbow her:

“Not everyone’s like Magica, Lena.” the girl had smiled. “People are usually nice and happy to help.” “Yeah, I guess.”

Her reply had been as noncommittal as possible, but there’s truth to Webby’s words – it’s just that it’s still hard to imagine a world without Magica, even though there’s nothing Lena wants more.

“Are you alright, Lena?”

A pair of dark, inquisitive eyes had intently been watching her. It had startled Lena a bit, but she had remembered it had nothing to do with suspicion or malice; it had just been Violet’s weird, yet somewhat charming, analytical approach transpiring in her soft, piercing gaze.

“Yeah, it’s nothing. It’s just… weird to think I’m gonna have a room all to myself, in a real house and not in some abandoned, underground hideout.” “It’s going to be awesome!” Webby had chimed in, jumping on her spot. “We’ll help you carry all of your stuff, and then we can go shopping and you can get even more stuff to decorate, and-” “Woah, easy there, Pink.” Lena had fondly stopped her friend, still a bit dizzy at the perspective of living an almost normal life. “I don’t think Mr and Mr Sabrewing are going to be very happy if I just barge in and go all Extreme Makeover on their house.”

Violet had giggled, a charming sound startling both her friends and making them smile.

“I don’t think they would mind that much, actually. Papa is rather fond of that show, and he loves nothing more than spending an afternoon choosing a new plant, or a new shelf, or some new décor.” “Sweet, I guess I’ll go all out then!” Lena had entertained the thought. “Like, paint the walls some sick dark purple, with some crimson splatters here and there.” “Oh! Oh! And a black floor to make drawing summoning circles easier!” Webby had added. “Mmh, perhaps even an altar of sorts.” Violet had continued. “Surrounded by enough shelves to store old ritual scrolls, and mystical books of all kinds.”

And thus, the night had ended, with the three girls grabbing sheets of paper, colored pencils and glitter pens to draw their ideal room and jot down ideas.

 ------------

Now that Lena stands in Violet’s room, that conversation feels so distant. There’s a world between being told that you’re going to be fostered by a family, and actually setting a mattress on the ground, with soft pillows and freshly washed bedsheets. Lena’s been promised a lot by Magica, and almost all of those promises have been nothing but empty words used to ensure her absolute obedience. Which is why it’s eerie to have someone be true to their words, for once.

“Are you alright?”

It’s when Violet speaks to her with the tiniest hint of worry in her voice that Lena realizes she’s been staring at her pajamas for a few minutes. They’re nothing fancy, just sweatpants and a tee-shirt Largo’s leant her, since she’s too big to fit in Violet’s clothes, but they faintly smell of cinnamon, and the scent is reassuring for some reason. Like she’s holding on to something that isn’t hers, something that belongs to someone else who’s been happy to give it to her.

“I’m fine.” Lena finally answers, realizing that she is telling the truth. She’s a bit lost, but she is fine. “I’m just gonna get changed.” “Sure.” Violet nods gently and offers her a kind smile. The small bird is sitting on her bed, wearing her own turquoise pajamas, her wild hair down to her lower back. “I’ve set a toothbrush for you in the pink glass near the sink. You can use whichever toothpaste you like; mine is strawberry flavored, and my fathers’ is mint.” “Thanks, Vi.” Lena nods, and gets out of the room.

The whole process of reaching the bathroom, putting her pajamas on, brushing her teeth and coming back to Violet’s room is almost surreal. Lena still has trouble believing all of it is real; it feels like a dream, and it almost hurts with how simple and good the mundaneness of it all feels. There are tears pricking at the corner of her eyes when she slips under the warm blanket Violet’s given her; she blinks them away, hoping her new friend hasn’t seen them.

If she has seen them, Violet doesn’t say a word about it. She does ask something, though:

“Would you like to sleep with one of my stuffed animals?” the purple bird offers, gesturing towards the end of her bed, where a few plushies are neatly lined up. There’s a shark, a teddy bear, a duck and a rabbit; they all look equally soft, taken care of and warm, comforting to the touch. Lena is tempted to accept, but she feels it would be too childish.

“Nah, it’s okay, but thanks.” “As you wish. Good night, Lena.” “’night, Vi.”

Violet claps her hands, and the ceiling light turns off. Lena whistles, amused by the fancy system. But the sudden darkness cuts her amusement short, and she feels her throat get tight and painful. Her breathing quickens, and Lena shuts her eyes quickly, trying to ignore the obscurity surrounding her.

It doesn’t work.

Even though her eyes are closed, Lena can still feel the darkness around her, she can feel its heavy weight on her body, pushing the blanket on her, pushing and pushing until her chest is tight and breathing is almost impossible. Her thoughts are racing, panic and fear and determination a toxic cocktail drowning her brain; sweat rolls down her forehead, cold beads dripping on her beak; her mouth is drier than a desert; and suddenly there’s a hand on her shoulder-

Lena screams, something feral and heartbreaking, and her upper body stands straight, leaving the sheets beneath her damp with cold sweat. The ringing in her ears barely calms down enough for Violet’s voice to reach her:

“I’m sorry, Lena, I didn’t mean to startle you...”

There’s a hint of panic and regret in her friend’s tone, but Lena’s brain is too saturated by terror to pick up on it. The door opens, and the sudden light filling the room abruptly brings Lena back to reality. Violet’s parents are standing in front of her, slowly making her way near her mattress. She tries to pace her breathing, hating the tears she can feel rolling down her cheeks, when a gentle, warm hand finds her trembling shoulder:

“Are you okay, kid?” “It’s my fault, Dad.” Violet apologizes, taking Lena’s hand in hers and not letting go, her grip gentle but firm. “I heard her breathing quite loudly, so I got worried, and I wanted to check on her, but… I…”

Largo embraces them both, making sure to leave some room for Lena to reject his hug if she’s overwhelmed by his presence. She doesn’t; Lena’s never been much of a hugger (Webby is an exception), but in that instant, the embrace feels like a lifeline, and she throws herself into it, openly sobbing now. Violet makes sure to wrap an arm around Lena as well, her small hand rubbing soothing circles in her back. Colin slips outside of the room, leaving his husband handle the situation.

Time stands still, in the best way possible. Warmth slowly fills Lena’s freezing body. Her sweat dries, and so do her tears. Her breathing steadies, her heart stops pounding. The fog heaving over her mind lifts, leaving her thoughts clear.

Lena takes a deep breath and scoots back, away from Largo and Violet. Her friend slides next to her, keeping a respectful distance but making sure to let Lena know she’s here- she’ll always be here.

“Do you feel better, Lena?” Largo asks as his partner steps inside the room, two steaming mugs in his hands and a small box tucked between his arm and his hip. “Yeah, I just… I dunno.” she shrugs, stifling a yawn. The panic attack has drained her, and she doesn’t even have an explanation to what just happened. “I have no idea what just… ugh.” Lena sighs, angry at herself for losing control like that. “It might have been because of the dark.” Violet suggests as Colin hands her and Lena a mug of hot cocoa. “Perhaps it triggered some strong, deep fear inside of your psyche. I’m sorry, I should have thought about it.” “Hey, don’t beat yourself up, Vi.” Lena objects, hating to see her friend’s remorseful expression as the small bird’s grip on her mug tightens. “It’s not like you could have guessed I would lose it just because you turned the lights off!” “But-” “Lena’s right, little bird.” Colin softly cuts his daughter, petting her unruly hair. “Your father and I tend to forget that because you’re a genius, but you’re only eleven.” “Yeah, Vi. You’ve done so much for me already, so don’t feel guilty about it, okay? It’s nothing. I’ve survived worse stuff, trust me.” “Okay…”

Violet drinks some of her cocoa, not entirely convinced. Lena does as well, the rich, creamy beverage feeling like ambrosia as it slides down her parched throat. It’s almost like liquid comfort, especially with the small marshmallows floating in the foaming cocoa.

“I also brought this.” Colin adds, a triumphant smirk on his beak as he holds a small box up. “Violet’s old nightlight. No more darkness that way.” “Thanks.” Lena smiles, her beak sporting a chocolaty mustache. “No problem, kid.”

A comfortable silence falls on the room, Colin setting the small lamp up while the girls finish their cocoa under Largo’s tender gaze. The two older birds then bid the girls good night, closing the door behind them. Lena fills the beginnings of a panicked storm filling her lungs, but relief washes over her when she notices the nightlight shines faintly near the door, providing just enough light so the room isn’t filled by the cold, aggressive obscurity.

Lena is about to bid Violet good night, when she notices the girl is slightly hunched over in her bed. Frowning, she gets up and slips under Violet’s covers, startling her friend.

“It’s just me! Do you mind if I spend the night here? The mattress’ comfortable, but…”

Lena doesn’t finish her sentence, and she doesn’t need to. Violet removes the stuffed lion lying between them, tucking it under her other arm, and scoots towards the wall so Lena can be comfortable as well.

“Hey, Vi, why are you looking so sad?”

The light provided by the small lamp is faint, but just enough to allow Lena to see the way Violet’s beak is twisted in a small frown, her brows slightly frowned and her eyes looking down.

“It’s not because of my little episode earlier, is it? Come on! That was nothing important, no need to-” “I disagree.” Violet’s soft voice cuts her. Lena’s surprised, but she lets her friend talk. “It is important. You must have been through so much, between how Magica behaved towards you and being trapped in the shadow realm… you shouldn’t have to endure any of those hardships anymore.” “Yeah, I could have done without all that and what happened just before, but…”

Lena hesitates, careful in her choice of words. The raw vulnerability Violet is displaying in front of her is preventing her from being her usual almost blunt self.

“Things happened, and there’s nothing we can do about them.” Lena finally sighs, her arms wrapping around Violet in what she hopes is a reassuring, comforting hug. “And things will keep on happening, because I can’t just forget the stuff Magica’s done to me – believe me, I wish I could. But Vi… what you’re doing, all of this, helping Webby summon me even though I could have been dangerous, helping me save her and not being mad at me for putting her in danger, accepting to be my friend after all the nasty stuff I said about you, taking me in with your family… all of that is gonna help me move on from my past. You have no idea what all of this means to me. Vi, no one forced you to do all of that, and you still did it, and then some more!”

It’s taken Lena all her leftover strength, and all her breath. She hates opening up about her feelings, about how hurt she’s been, about how hurt she still is sometimes. But Lena knows it’s what Violet needs to her, and with everything the girl has done for her, it’s the least she can do. Her pride taking a small hit is nothing compared to the sheer kindness Violet has offered her before she was even back from the shadow realm, and Lena hopes she managed to convey just how grateful she is for Violet to have helped her get a second chance at life, at friendship, at happiness.

Violet’s eyes meet hers, the two purple pools shining with tears as the small bird hugs Lena closer.

“Hey, I’m still short on air, don’t squeeze it all out of me!” Lena teases, the banter helping her go back to her usual self, to put the intense fright behind her and bask in the present, in the way she’s spending her night in her new home, with her new best friend. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to do that.” Violet smiles. “Hmm, yeah, I think we should work on that.” Lena nods. “Too much time at the library, not enough punching stuff. Webby’s good at finding stuff that needs to be punched, so I’m sure you’ll get some exercise real soon…”

Lena takes a deep breath before adding:

“…lil’ sis.”

It’s nothing; two words, spoken hurriedly, almost silent in the middle of the night, and Lena is as surprised as she’s delighted with how good and natural the words feel on her tongue. Violet gasps when she picks up on them, making Lena blush.

“I look forwards to this, sister.”

No fanfare, no “aww this is so sweet Lena I’m touched!”, no tears. Simply a small smile and a reply that comes as naturally as Lena’s nickname, and it’s so perfectly Violet that it immensely satisfies Lena.

They fall asleep shortly after, exhausted by their day, happy to be in each other’s arms, happy to have found each other. --------------------------------------------------------------- I'm really happy to have finally written something about Lena and Violet! I'm a bit disappointed we didn't see Lena moving in with the Sabrewings, but I hope we can see them in S3 :) I wanted to write something different for Lena. She's brave and fierce, and I felt like it could be interesting to show a more vulnerable side of herself - same goes for Violet. I hope neither were OOC. I also like that it was an opportunity to reuse Largo and Colin, my headcanon dads for Violet from chapter 1! :)

Panic attacks are the worst.

#ducktales #ducktober #violet sabrewing #lena de spell #team magic #Webby Vanderquack #my writing #my fics #fanfiction #hurt comfort #friendship #violet and lena

[nitr0glycer1ne]

!!!!!! Thank you this is so neat!!!! I’m so sorry I didn’t see your art earlier T-T I love your style!! And I’m super happy and flattered you were inspired by my AU //u\\ your drawing is top notch, it gets both Negadrake (I like that name ooooO)’s madness and sorrow across *o* 

The movie’s ruined

I lost my big break

My hero tried to kill me…

And ohoh! I blew myself up!

Y’all mind if I uhhh…make an angst roleswap!AU with Jim and Drake???

Negaduck Drake (Negadrake??) design very much inspired by @mistress-arts and the whole AU inspired by @nitr0glycer1ne​ who has a great fic about it on their blog! 

#look at this awesome art!!! #that-cunning-mind #negadrake #ducktales #negaduck!drake au #au #drake mallard

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober/Duckvember Day 15 - Back to school

Heya! I didn't really like the original prompt for day 15 (sorry...) so I went with this one instead :) Hope you enjoy some Mallard-McQuack family fluff! (feat a small appearance of one of my headcanons: Gosalyn has ADHD).

--

It's 6 am when you wake up, the pounding alarm dragging you away from your agitated sleep. Launchpad starts turning, grunting and moaning something unintelligible, so you quickly turn your alarm off before pressing a kiss to his forehead and caressing his cheek. It seems to do the trick, as he does something resembling a smile before falling back into slumber. You sigh, stretching your weary arms before getting up. It's far too early for you, and your body is sleepy and begging you to go back to bed, but you won't listen to it - not that it's used to you listening to begin with.

You make your way to the kitchen and brew some coffee to help your head get rid of the fog blurring your thoughts. The bitterness works its magic, and you finally start working on the reason you were up in the first place - breakfast. Breakfasts are usually simple in the Mallard-McQuack house: toast and eggs for you, cereal and bacon for Gosalyn, and sugary cereal with coffee for Launchpad.

However, today's a special day, so you're going all out. You take the box of cookies you baked yesterday from where you hid it, on top of the highest shelf. You had needed help from your boyfriend to hide them here, for the modest fee of one chocolate chip cookie, a small price to pay compared to the number Gosalyn would have gulfed down if you had left the box out in the open. You open the box, eat one of the cookies and are pleased to find they're still just the way you've left them yesterday, golden with dark chips, crunchy on the outside and tender in the middle. Satisfied, you put some of them in a plate, trying to make it look extra appetizing.

The next step is easy: grabbing oranges from the counter and squeezing them. The machine is a bit loud; Gosalyn is a heavy sleeper, so you're not afraid to wake her up, but you do hope LP won't be disturbed. Once the carafe is full, you put it in the fridge and then get on to making pancake batter, a recipe you've learned from your grandmother years ago and still remember clear as day.

You hum as you mix your preparation, the fresh ingredients combining in a soft batter, your wrist firm and flexible, and a smile on your beak. You've always liked cooking; well, you've always liked what keeps your hands busy, be it by sewing or cooking or, lately, tinkering with the gadgets LP has gotten you from one of his friends - Fenton? yeah, that's the guy's name - but cooking is special. There's something almost magical in seeing the pleasure with which the people you cook for eat what you've poured so much love into making for them. It’s something you had forgotten, but that feeling had rushed back when seeing your boyfriend and your daughter's merry faces after eating the simple mac and cheese you had cooked on the day Gosalyn had officially become Gosalyn Mallard.

(She insists on calling herself “Gosalyn Mallard-McQuack”, and even though it's not going to be official before a few months, several papers and a wedding ceremony, neither you nor LP correct her.)

There's a spring in your step as you put the batter on the side of the counter and make your way towards your room. You carefully walk to the bed and you gently pet your boyfriend's head, before kissing him on top of his beak and whispering:

“Good morning, babe.”

LP opens an eye, then the other, before lazily grinning at you. He throws his arms around your waist, and before you know it, you're sprawled on top of him in a tight hug. Your heart can't help but flutter like a high school girl's, which would be embarrassing if it was because of anyone else. But it's because of Launchpad McQuack, Duckburg's kindest duck, everybody's friend and, most importantly, your boyfriend, so it doesn't count.

“'morning Drake.” he mumbles, still half asleep.

As much as you'd happily stay in his embrace all day long, you have some important stuff to do today, so you give him a peck on the bill and untangle your limbs from his.

“We'll have all the time you want for a hug later, LP, but you gotta get up now. Today's special, remember?”

You stand up, and you clearly see the realization hitting him all at once, his eyes widening and a strangled gasp leaving him as he sits up.

“AAAAH!!! Today's Gos' first day of school!!” he yelps. “Nice to see you remembered.” you tease him, amused by the embarrassment across his face. “Don't worry, I, of course, took care of everything, you just have to go in the kitchen and wait for us.” “Sure thing!”

You fondly look at your boyfriend jumping out of bed, and then you walk to your daughter's room. You make sure to knock twice before going in, and sure enough, you find her sleeping deeply, her small chest rising and falling with every breath. Something tightens in your throat, and you sit on her bed, overwhelmed by the sheer love overflowing you. You reach for her head and soothingly pet the ginger strands, and for what must be the thousandth time since you've adopted her, you thank your lucky stars that the duckling was put on the quite lonely road of your life.

“Hey, honey.” You speak softly, your fingers still petting her head. Gosalyn groans a little in her sleep, but before she has a chance to turn around, you speak a bit louder: “Gos, it’s time to wake up.” “Hmmm… five more minutes…” “No can do, honey, not today.”

You feel a little guilty at denying her request - the kid is very good at weaponizing guilt, even when she’s not fully awake. You get up and open the curtains, letting sunlight reach inside her room. Gosalyn growls a bit and tries to cover her eyes with her arms, but you’re faster and grab her wrists gently:

“Ah-ah, young lady! Not on my watch.” “But daaaad!” your daughter whines theatrically. “I’m tired!” “Well, that’s on you for staying up past your curfew yesterday.”

Gosalyn grumbles, but she sits up and stretches her arms. Satisfied, you give her a small peck on the forehead before heading downstairs, loudly announcing you’re going to make the pancakes and that she’d better join you quick if she doesn’t want LP eating all of them.

-----

Breakfast went great, as expected. You have quickly glanced at the clock after Gosalyn had put her fork down, gasping when you had realized you only had twenty minutes left before the bus arrives. (Launchpad has kindly offered to take Gos to school with his car, but you have declined. You’re not exactly sure that it would be good for the kid’s first day at school to start with a crash.)

Gosalyn is upstairs, brushing her teeth and listening to some weird CD Lena’s lent her. She’s trying to sing as she’s cleaning her teeth, which means you’ll probably have to scold her for getting toothpaste all over the bathroom’s mirror again, but that’s not the most important thing right now.

“Do you need help, DW?” Launchpad asks, standing behind you and startling you.

You loudly curse as the knife you were using slips and you cut your finger on the edge of the sharp blade. Thankfully, the cut isn’t too deep nor too big, so it’s not a life threatening emergency this time.

“Oops, sorry.” your boyfriend apologizes, looking embarrassed. “You need a band aid? Antiseptic? Or-” “I’ll go get that, LP, just finish preparing Gos’ lunch.” you mutter, at first glaring daggers at Launchpad and then softening your gaze after only seconds.

LP nods, and you rush to the bathroom. Your boyfriend is… not exactly the best at cooking, but he knows how to pack sandwiches and cookies, so it’ll be enough for today. You feel kind of weird when you climb up the stairs, as if something is missing. And you soon understand why, when you step inside the bathroom – your daughter isn’t singing anymore.

Instead, you find Gosalyn sitting on the edge of the bathtub, looking downwards and kicking her legs. You know that posture, and you don’t need words to understand just how anxious your daughter is feeling at the moment. You sit right next to her, and wrap an arm around her shoulders. She leans into you, before getting up and giving you a tight hug, her face buried in your chest, messy ginger strands tickling your beak.

“What’s wrong, kiddo?” you ask, patting her back. “… dad, what if things… go bad, at school?” her muffled voice reaches you. “What do you mean? Me and LP have run a background check on all of your teachers, and-” “No, dad. What if the other kids…”

Your heart sinks as you finally understand why your usually cheerful girl means. Gosalyn isn’t known to really care about what other people think of her; the duckling is unapologetically herself, and you couldn’t be a prouder father. But at the same time, you know just how rough things have been for her lately, between her grandfather’s death, being kidnapped by an old enemy of her beloved grandfather, and being adopted. Her life has been quite hectic, and it’s normal for her to feel a bit disorientated.

Besides, she’s going to find herself in yet another unfamiliar place again. Sure, she’s going to the same school as the triplets LP has introduced her to a few days ago, but Gosalyn is as stubborn as you and has the same tendency to hate relying on others. On top of that, it’s been three years since she’s last been to school, given that her orphanage had its own classes. It’s also going to be her first time going to school with the help of her ADHD medication, and you can easily see why that could scare her, for a number of reasons.

So you take a deep breath, and you speak as gently as you can:

“Gosalyn Mallard-McQuack. Look at me.”

Surprised to hear you use the name she chose for herself, Gosalyn lifts her head and takes a small step back. You move your arms from around her back to let your hands rest on her shoulders, and you look at her with all the determination and love you can gather.

“It doesn’t matter what the other kids think of you. What does matter is that you stay true to yourself, and that you’re proud of yourself. And if the others don’t like you – well, sucks to be them, because they’re missing out on the bravest, most clever, most wonderful friend they could wish for.” “Dad…”

You ignore the way your eyes fill up with tears, or the slight quiver in your voice as you continue:

“Go show the world what you’re made of. Don’t look down, don’t apologize for being who you are. Show them all how bright you shine!” “Thank you, dad!” she yells as she gives you yet another hug, her wet bill pressed against your chest. “I’ll make you and LP proud!”

You can’t help but laugh as you return her hug. You suddenly hear a sniffing sound, which abruptly brings you back to reality, and you find Launchpad standing in front of you, wiping his eyes and holding a brown paper bag.

“That was so sweet…” he cries. “You’re so lucky to have each other, and I’m so lucky to have you…” he stops for an instant, reaching for his pocket from where he fishes a tissue, before continuing: “…but the bus is here, so-” “What?!  Come on, Gos, you’re gonna be late!”

You snap Gosalyn’s lunch from Launchpad’s hands, and the three of you dash down the stairs, making your way to the living room. Your daughter puts her favourite sneakers on - the ones that light up when she clicks her heels - Launchpad grabs her backpack, and you make your way to the small room where your and LP’s impressive Darkwing Duck memorabilia collections are displayed. You smile fondly in front of one of the shelves, before grabbing the only object displayed on it. You brush your thumb on it, gently, the memories fondly rushing back to you as your fingers follows the dips of the mark your face left in the cheap metal.

“DAAAAD!” Gos’ shout reminds you what you intended to do in the first place, and you run to the front door, where she’s waiting for you, backpack on her shoulders and a weeping LP holding her hand. “Sorry, had to get you a proper lunch box.” you smile as you hand her the old box.

Her eyes widen when her hands hesitantly wrap around the handle. She looks at you, mouth hanging open, as if to ask permission, as if to ask if this is really happening. She knows the story behind the seemingly wonky Darkwing Duck lunchbox – of course she does. You’ve told her ten, maybe twenty times, and every time she’s rolled her eyes or teased you a little. But today, Gosalyn’s hands are shaking under the heavy weight of what you’ve entrusted her with. Her fingers caress the dented surface of the box, just like yours have moments ago.

LP has the same look of disbelief on his face, but it’s quickly replaced by an impossibly fond expression as he watches both of you, not daring to interrupt the almost solemn silence hanging in the room.

Gosalyn finally snaps out of her trance-like state, and she almost steps outside, but before she starts running towards the yellow bus angrily honking, she embraces you in a last hug, and her words are barely audible:

“Thank you for everything, Dad.”

You proudly smile as your pat her back and watch her dashing towards the bus, not letting your eyes leave her until the bus has left and moved far, far away. And even then, you don’t move, your heart still beating insanely fast. Launchpad wraps a shaky arm around you, and you lean into his strong frame.

Everything will be okay, for you, for them. And in fact, Drake Mallard has probably never felt prouder or happier.

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

Hope you liked that cheesiness! I tried to stay true to Drake's character, although maybe I made him too soft... tell me what you thought of him! Also wrote in 2nd person once more, it's fun to do.

#drakepad #drake mallard #gosalyn mallard #launchpad mcquack #mallard-mcquack family #ducktales #ducktober #family #drake & gosalyn #my writing #my fics #fanfiction #fluff

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober/Duckvember Day 14 - Alternate Universe

Hi! Well, I love AUs, so I had a blast trying to come up with one here! The AU part isn't obvious at first, but you'll see quickly what it's about. Be warned that this chapter mentions a main character's death, and its tone is far heavier than previous entries. With that being said, I hope you enjoy!

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It’s 9 pm when Donald gives a kiss on each of the triplets’ foreheads. It’s a bit late for them, he knows it, but he had to work overtime today to fill in for a coworker who had called in sick (when Donald knew said coworker actually went for an extended weekend vacation in Florida). The triplets are sharing the same bed, tucked under two blankets, so they can keep each other warm. The winter is particularly cruel this year, and the boat’s walls aren’t enough to prevent its freezing bite from reaching the Duck family. But the ducklings will be alright: they have each other and a comfortable, pleasantly warm bed their uncle made sure to heat before bedtime, thanks to bottles filled with hot water.

Huey gets his kiss first, and he gives Donald a small hug before holding his favorite stuffed toy closer. Dewey is next, grumbling a bit – but Donald knows it’s just for show. The triplets are only six, but Dewey insists that he’s “almost an adult” and “doesn’t want to do baby stuff anymore”. Donald isn’t very worried about that; a few months ago, it was Huey who acted that way, and it lasted an impressive three weeks.   Finally, Donald makes sure to give Louie an extra kiss as well as a comforting hug. Louie has had trouble sleeping lately, since his brothers have decided to get rid of the night light. He doesn’t show it, or at least tries not to, but Donald knows how to decipher the slightest change in his boys’ behavior. Which is why he never complains when the youngest triplet timidly slips into his room and asks to sleep with him after a nightmare, even if Donald has been working thirteen hours that day and doesn’t really need to be woken up in the middle of the night.

“Good night, boys. I love you.” “Good night uncle Donald.” Huey and Louie yawn in unison, Dewey having already fallen asleep.

Donald turns the bedside table’s light off and leaves the room, making sure the door stays slightly open so a tiny ray of light can reach the room and bring Louie some comfort.

It’s his turn to yawn when he steps inside the living room. He does the dishes and briefly considers watching some TV before deciding against it – he just wants to go to sleep as soon as possible, his weary body yearning to find the comfort of his bed and to fall into blissful sleep. Donald grabs his pajamas from his room and heads to the bathroom, taking an express shower and brushing his teeth before the final step of his nighttime ritual. He tiptoes to the triplets’ room and, making sure not to make the tiniest noise, opens the door just enough to check they’re asleep. Thankfully, they are: Huey is on his back, arms tightly hugging his stuffed dinosaur, Dewey is sprawled over his brothers, and Louie is in fetal position, seemingly calm and not having a nightmare.

Satisfied and relieved, Donald smiles and heads to his room. He lies down and sighs in contentment, happy to enjoy the comfort of his bed after a day spent in the assembly line of a factory.

But his satisfaction is short-lived: he’s barely had time to slip under the blanket when a loud noise resonates nearby, and the boat is suddenly rocking, although the sea is calm. There’s a groan of pain, and then someone loudly knocks at the door.

Donald’s heart races in fear and confusion; he’s not behind any payments, he doesn’t own anyone money, and he doesn’t know anyone who could have decided to pay him an impromptu visit. The knocking continues, growing more insistent; panic rising in his throat, choking him and tasting like bile, Donald dashes outside his room and towards the entrance of his boat, hoping the commotion hasn’t woken his kids.

He doesn’t even check through the peephole, his priority being to make the banging on his door stop. Donald brutally opens the door, and his eyes widen when he finds out who exactly has been disturbing him so rudely.

There’s a very tall and large bird standing right in front of him. He can only make out his basic features thanks to the obscurity of the winter night, but it’s enough to see the stranger is ripped – because, for some reason that probably defies nature’s law, a faint light is radiating from said stranger. Curiously, even though the biting cold is making Donald shiver seconds only after opening the door, the curious bird is only wearing what looks like a short and thin tunic. The stranger also has a large pair of fluffy white wings fluttering behind him, and long blonde hair frames his face like a halo. The muted light the unknown bird is emitting allows Donald to see the basic features of his visage: large, shining honey eyes, a long beak, and a jovial smile.

There’s an instant of silence during which Donald blinks in confusion, wondering if he’s suffering from a sleep deprivation-induced hallucination, and during which the stranger beams at him like he’s looking at the eighth wonder of the world. After Donald closes his eyes, pinches his arm, grimaces in pain, and opens his eyes, the stranger is still there. He’s about to ask him what he wants, when the tall bird beats him to the punch:

“Ah, Donald Duck!” he booms, his voice elegant yet loud, far too loud for Donald’s poor, tired ears to stand it past 10 pm after spending a tiring day at work. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, after all this time I’ve heard about you!”

There’s a lot of questions rising in Donald’s chest from that sentence alone, but they’re pushed back to the back of his mind compared to a more urgent matter:

“Would you keep it down? I have three kids sleeping in there.” he sighs, pointing his index at the boat behind him. Donald’s teeth start chattering as the cold penetrates his body further and further, in spite of his thick pajamas. “Oh, of course, I apologize!” his visitor lowers his voice, although it retains its bombastic tone. “Hubert, Dewford and Llewellyn! Oh, I can’t wait to meet them as well!”

Donald’s eyes squint, and he can feel his fists tingling with a very familiar feeling. It’s one thing for a complete stranger to visit him at indecent hours, it’s another entirely for said stranger to know his nephew’s names.

“What do you want?” the duck hisses, paternal instincts kicking in and overriding everything else, like the freezing air surrounding his body. “Who are you?” “Ah, sorry for not introducing myself earlier!” the stranger apologizes, looking sincerely regretful, his voice still low. “I am Storkules, and I am your guardian angel!”

An awkward silence follows. The stranger – Storkules, apparently – has managed to completely take Donald by surprise, making him blink several times before he looks particularly suspicious and takes a step backwards.

“Look, I don’t know if you find this funny, but it’s far too late for you to be playing pranks on people. Good night.”

Donald turns around, but just before he steps inside his boat, a hand grabs his wrist. The duck immediately spins around; he hates physical contact with people he isn’t familiar with. Thankfully, Storkules’ hold isn’t brutal in the slightest, feeling like a warm cuff around his shivering feathers.

“I promise you I am, Donald. I was sent by my father, Zeus, to look after you.”

Donald sighs. Apparently, the colossus is being serious – well, maybe Donald would rather say delusional – so the duck decides to humor him in an attempt to get him to finally leave.

“Okay, let’s admit you’re right and you’re my… guardian angel.” He sighs, pinching the skin right above his beak. “Then where were you when I was raising three infants on my own? When Huey had a peritonitis and he almost…” Donald chokes up on the last word, unable to finish his sentence. “Or when Della…” another sentence left incomplete.

Storkules lets go of his wrist, looking particularly pained at the tears budding in the corner of Donald’s eyes. Donald catches his soft gaze and wipes his eyes angrily, not wanting pity from anyone.

“I am sorry about all of that.” Storkules apologizes, and Donald is surprised at the sincerity of his words. It’s not the empty, premade apologizes people give him when they learn of the death of his twin sister in a disastrous plane crash; it’s genuine concern and empathy. “I watched you taking care of the fiery, brave and unstoppable Della Duck’s three beautiful children all on your own, I saw all the sacrifices you did for them. I wanted to help you sooner, but…” Storkules sighed, “my father can be very obtuse, sadly. He rarely gives angels the permission to help humans, and I’ve been trying to convince him for the past six years – thankfully, he has finally given in to my dearest wish.”

Donald takes a moment to process the information, his throat aching and a tight knot forming in his stomach. It’s been so, so long since he’s talked about Della; he hasn’t even said her name out loud since the boys were four, when Dewey had asked why they didn’t have a mom.

“How… how do you know about Della?” he finally manages to get out, almost choking on his twin’s name. “She had a guardian angel of her own.” Storkules explains, a faint smile growing back on his beak. “My beloved sister, Selene. She had been watching over Della ever since your sister was nine, one night she prayed to the stars after-” “After Mom and Dad’s death.” Donald finishes for him, his breath short, memories that have been buried long ago rushing to the surface of his mind, flashes that warm his heart as they shatter it. “Yes.” Storkules nods. “Selene was deeply touched by Della’s pain, and she begged my father to let him help her and serve as her guardian angel. She implored for years before she was finally granted permission to watch over your sister and help her in any way she could, from the day you both turned thirteen.”

Donald thinks back to that time of their lives – a complicated period. Scrooge was having trouble dealing with two teenagers, Donald was going through a particularly difficult time and channeled all his anger and bitterness at the world into his music, and Della… Della had issues too, especially obvious with the way she insisted on taking care of Donald when he didn’t need or want it. But she always kept going, and every night she went to sleep with a smile on her face. Sometimes, on full moons, she would sneak out of their room – it was a common occurrence on regular nights, to be fair, and Donald himself was guilty of the same infraction, but on the nights the moon shone bright in the sky, Della only returned right before dawn. Della would also sometimes smile for apparently no reason or speak alone when she thought no one was watching.

If Storkules is right, then her having a guardian angel, probably invisible to the rest of the world, explains Della’s behavior back then. But it also has another implication, one that has Donald suddenly feeling like raw anger is taking over him, one that has him raising his voice:

“Then why didn’t Selene protect her from- from- when-”

His fists curl into Storkules’s tunic; but the large bird doesn’t flinch, remaining calm, which only feeds the duck’s ire.

“Guardian angels have rules they’re bound to, lest they be destroyed.” he explains as bitter tears roll down Donald’s beak. “Selene couldn’t save Della from her terrible fate. She tried, putting her very life on the line- but father stopped her attempts, not wanting to lose her. To this day, my cherished sister regrets not having been able to save her beloved Della.”

Donald lowers his head, the situation making far too much repressed emotions and forgotten memories flood his whole being. Before he knows it, he’s kneeling on the floor, openly crying, his members feeling drained, his hands letting go of Storkules’ tunic and sluggishly falling to his sides. Storkules envelops him into a tight hug, his embrace almost too tight, but he’s radiating warmth and comfort, and Donald lets himself be surrounded by the light soothing his heart and his body.

“I am deeply sorry about Della.” Storkules says, petting Donald’s back. “I wish there was something, anything I could have done to help her and Selene. I wish I could have been there to help you raise your treasured nephews. And now that I’m finally allowed to be by your side, I swear on my life that I shall do my best to provide you and your family all the support, the help, the protection, the safety you need.”

Donald weakly nods. It’s been six years since he last allowed himself to be so vulnerable, always putting a strong front on for the three boys he loves so much. Letting go of all his sorrow, his rage, letting himself be comforted and soothed is more liberating than he could have expected. He only flinches when he hears a noise behind him, and Storkules lets him go, allowing Donald to spin around and find himself face to face with three ducklings, looking sleepy but mainly worried. Huey is holding Louie’s hand, and Dewey is in front of them.

“Uncle Donald? What are you doing here?” the triplet clad in blue pajamas asks, puzzled. “Why are you crying? Did someone hurt you?” Louie worries, his grip on Huey’s hand tightening. “And what are you doing here all alone?” Huey finishes.

Donald quickly looks over his shoulder: Storkules is still here, looking at the triplets, basically hopping in his spot, sheer happiness and a childlike excitement on his face, no doubt internally cooing at how precious they are. The duck can’t help it; the angel’s smile is contagious, and he smiles at his nephews, hugging the three of them as tight as he can, basking in their presence and the pure joy having the ducklings in his life brings him.

“Nothing, boys. Let’s go inside, okay? You’ll catch a cold. You can have some warm milk before going back to bed.”

Donald lets the hug linger for a little while, before letting the kids go. Dewey grins at him and rushes to the kitchen, excited at the perspective of a late-night treat; Louie gives his uncle a last, small hug before following his brother, and Huey looks attentively at Donald, taking his uncle’s hand in his:

“Are you okay now, uncle Donald?” “Yeah, Huey.” Donald nods, affectionately ruffling the boy’s head. “I’m okay.”

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Guardian Angel AUs are a weakness of mine... The reason Della sneaked out on full moons is because it's the only time when Selene can take a full corporeal form, allowing Della to physically interact with her. It's important to her, because I feel like Della is a very physical person with her loved one. Also I'm mad at myself for putting Donald through so much angst... him and Goofy are tied for best Disney dads!!! I love Donald! I also wanted to write the nephews being younger that what I'm used to. I hope they weren't too corny. Also this AU could maybe end up in Dorkules because it's a cute wholesome underrated pairing!!!

#ducktales #donald duck #dorkules #huey duck #louie duck #dewey duck #huey dewey and louie #donald and storkules #ducktober #guardian angel au #alternate universe #guardian angel #fanfiction #my fics #my writing

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober/Duckvember Day 13 - Duckswap (Age Swap AU)

Hi! Ok so I have no idea what Duckswap is, so I went with the idea that it's an AU where the characters' ages are swapped? So here's my take on that, with more details:

- The triplets are around thirty. Huey is a marine biologist and also a Junior Woodchuck troop leader, Dewey is a stunt actor and hosts a weekly show on a local radio station, Louie works in marketing. They live together and they’re raising their nephew and niece, Donald and Della, who are eleven, as well as another nephew of theirs, Scrooge, who’s only two. - The three of them also take turns being Gizmoduck, Duckburg’s protector; nobody except for Webby knows of their secret. On top of that, everyone else thinks there’s only one Gizmoduck. - Webby is the triplets’ adopted sister; she’s a year older, and she’s an archaeologist as well as a novelist. - Launchpad is eight, he’s a big fan of Dewey and lives in the triplets’ neighbourhood. Dewey often babysits him and LP considers him his best friend. - Fenton is seven, and he’s in Huey’s JW troop. He has a huge imagination and wants to become a scientist AND a superhero. He’s also convinced Gyro’s his best friend. - Gyro is nine, he’s in Huey’s troop as well. He doesn’t get along well with his family or his peers, and prefers to read on his own or work on his many, many inventions. - This is the basis for this oneshort; if I do write more about it, more characters will be included, such as Lena, Drake, Violet, Mrs Beakley...

Enjoy!

“Do I really need to wear those?”

Dewey lifted his eyes from his current task, which consisted of tying the laces of Launchpad’s roller skates, to see his best friend’s face. The duckling looked unsure, holding the kneepads in front of him.

“I’m afraid so, buddy.” Dewey answered as he finished the tight knot on one of the laces. “Just in case of another crash.” “But you’re not wearing any protection!” Launchpad countered, his bright eyes looking right into Dewey’s. “True, but I’ve been doing that for like, forever.” the older duck grinned, ruffling the ginger strands coming from under Launchpad’s helmet. “It’s your first time, though.” “Okay, that makes sense!” the duckling finally gave in, carefully putting the pads on.

Launchpad wasn’t really rebellious; he just liked to ask a lot of questions, and to get to the bottom of things. If he was satisfied with the answers Dewey or other adults gave in, he had no issue doing what he was told.

“Are you ready?” Dewey asked, getting up after checking one last time that his best friend’s roller skates were securely fastened to his palms. “Yeah!” the boy roared, punching the duck’s fist and making an explosion noise afterwards. “Ooookay, let’s dew-it then!”

Dewey took Launchpad’s hands in his, facing the duckling. Launchpad struggled a bit to get up, and it took him a few moments to regain his balance after standing up, but he did a good job at keeping his balance when Dewey started slowly skating backwards, Launchpad following eagerly.

“You’re doing great!” Dewey beamed, proud of his disciple. “Think you can handle a little more speed, LP?” “Sure can!” Launchpad shouted, starting to mimic his friend’s movements instead of letting himself be dragged. “Okay!”

Dewey carefully let go one of Launchpad’s hands, moving elegantly so the two were skating side by side. Launchpad did have some trouble keeping his balance, and he was grateful Dewey was still holding his left hand, but he quickly understood how to move his legs and how to keep his equilibrium. Dewey was proud of his student; it seemed like Launchpad had a gift when it came to learning various skills that involved moving objects, like biking, skiing or even surfing. Sure, the duckling had a tendency to fall or crash into walls or people after going too fast and losing control, but he never got seriously injured and it never discouraged him from learning new skills.

Dewey feared the day when Launchpad would get interested in learning how to drive bigger things, like motorcycles or cars, but for now he couldn’t be a prouder teacher.

“Dewey!” Launchpad exclaimed, giddy. “I-I think I’ve got it!” “Awesome! Want me to let go?” “Yeah, I’m ready!” “Okay, LP! Three, two, one, go!!”

The older duck was true to his word, and Launchpad found himself skating on his own, his legs pushing on his roller skates and making him go faster. The duckling couldn’t help but laugh; he liked it even more than skateboarding, adjusting the pressure on his knees and on his ankles to put the small wheels in motion, going faster and faster, dodging irregularities on the road, avoiding the people crossing the street, laughing all the while.

“That’s it, LP, you’re doing amazing!” Dewey shouted, still skating, staying a bit behind LP to keep an eye on him. “THIS IS SO COOL!!” Launchpad yelled, going even faster, his gestures precise and sharp.

Dewey fondly watched his best friend speed down the road, but started to find that Launchpad was perhaps going a little too fast.

“LP, slow down!” he screamed, hoping the duckling would, for once, listen to him. “GO FASTER? OKAY!” “NO, SLOWER!”

Dewey started skating faster, trying to catch up with his disciple. He knew what happened when Launchpad was enjoying himself too much, especially when it involved going very fast down a very steep road. He only hoped that Launchpad would, for once, be aware of his own limits, or that in the worst case scenario, he would reach LP before the kid could wreak havoc.

“AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!”

Well, so much for those plans.

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“Come on, please!” “I said no.”

Fenton pouted. He had been trying to convince Gyro to play with him for the last ten minutes - but the chicken hadn’t given in, staying on his favourite bench, underneath a tree. Gyro was reading a heavy tome Fenton had already seen him with, something about quantum physics. It was one of Gyro’s favourite subjects - Fenton preferred chemistry.

“Please, Gyro! And after, we can do whatever you want!” “Once again, no.” “But please! I can’t play Gizmoduck if there’s no villain to stop!” “Then I’ll be your villain, if you want!”

Fenton happily spun towards the duck who had just spoken - his favourite adult and the leader of his Junior Woodchuck group, Huey Duck. The marine biologist was smiling brightly at him, and the duckling threw himself around his waist.

“Hi Mr Huey!”

Fenton was one of the most polite children Huey had ever met. Even after being given the permission to call him by his first name, the duckling still had trouble letting go of the “Mr” in front of Huey’s name. “Hey, Fenton.” Huey ruffled the feathers on top of the small duck’s head, before looking at the other kid. “Hey, Gyro.” “Huey.” the chicken nodded, readjusting his glasses before returning to his book. “Mr Huey, look, look! I’ve made some adjustments to my suit!”

Fenton stepped away from the scientist, proudly showing his homemade armour to the duck. It was crafted out of cardboard, paint and markers, but the duckling had managed to make it look pretty amazing. Just like Gyro, Fenton was a perfectionist and had a gift to make remarkable creations out of mundane materials – the only difference being that Fenton’s inventions were mostly play-pretend, and Gyro’s were actual attempts at creating fully functional machines and gizmos.

“Let me see that.” Huey asked, kneeling down to the excited boy’s level. Huey took the time to admire every modification Fenton had made since the last time, which mainly laid in the freshly painted lines on the back, and in the small LEDs embedded in one of the arms’ control panel. “Great work, as always.” The scientist finally concluded, getting up and chuckling at the look of absolute joy on Fenton’s face. “No doubt you’ll scare the villains away before they even attack you!”

Despite having pretended he couldn’t care less about the younger boy’s latest improvements on a bunch of cardboard, Gyro was watching the two ducks interact from behind his book. He couldn’t help but feel like joining them; he loved tinkering with his own creations, and he liked reading in the park while enjoying the warm spring weather, but he also yearned to do more simple, basic things kids his age did, like playing pretend or playing soccer. But Gyro had his own ways of doing those activities, and other kids resented him for that; which was why he pretended not to be interested when one of them had the strange idea to invite him.

Thankfully, Huey seemed to sense his hidden dilemma, for the duck sat next to him and gently spoke:

“You know, I think Fenton would sincerely like to play with you.” “Yeah, I know.” the chicken scoffed. “But I’m not a baby, thanks.” “There’s nothing baby-ish about playing superheroes and villains at your age, Gyro.” There was no reproach in Huey’s tone; the scientist was simply speaking his mind to the kid. “You’re incredibly smart and mature for your age, and I know that can be tiring sometimes. No shame in unwinding a little, you know?”

Huey respected the pensive silence Gyro let linger between them, before getting up:

“Well, if you want to join in, we’ll stay nearby.” the scientist said, walking towards where Fenton was pretending to fly, a few meters away. “The battle between Gizmoduck and Dr. Abyssmos promises to be legendary.”

Gyro nodded with a small “hmpf” before getting back to his book. However, Huey’s words had planted a seed inside of him, one that urged him to forget acting like an adult for once, a voice that was growing stronger and stronger and that he had trouble ignoring. Rolling his eyes, Gyro put his book aside and got up with a heavy sigh.

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“No, get back here!”

Louie lifted up a very unhappy Scrooge from the sandbox. The duckling gave his guardian a dirty look, complete with a pout, which Louie scoffed at.

“Yeah, get mad if you want, but it’s time to go back home. I know you, and if you don’t get your nap, you’re all cranky.” “No nap!” the small duck protested as Louie put him in his stroller, making sure the restraints were fastened. “Not tired! Scrooge wants to play!” “You’ve played for over an hour, buddy.” the duck wearing a green plaid shirt countered, gathering the toddler’s toys that were scattered all over the sandbox. “You built lots of sand castles, dug a lot of holes and even found a treasure.”

The “treasure” in question was a coin Louie had hidden in the sand when Scrooge had been busy bickering with Goldie, another toddler they often met in the park. The coin was safely tucked in the front pocket of the toddler’s overalls, where Goldie couldn’t steal it easily.

“Okay, now, let’s go- HEY! Get back here!” Louie screamed.

Scrooge had taken advantage of the situation: since Louie had been busy checking the whole sandbox and turned his back to the duckling the whole time, the clever toddler had unclasped the stroller’s restraints and ran away. Thankfully, “running away” didn’t mean he had gotten far, since even though he was quick, Scrooge’s waddling was no match for Louie’s hurried steps.

“If you keep this up, no dessert for you tonight.” The adult warned when he scooped Scrooge up in his arms, making sure the duckling looked him in the eye. “And I’ll take your treasure.”

A shocked gasp left the duckling’s body as Scrooge protectively put his hands in front of his pocket. Louie made sure to give the kid his trademark Evil Smile for more effect.

“Good. Napping isn’t so bad! You don’t know how lucky you are. I wish I could still nap.” Louie sighed, putting Scrooge’s toys in his bag and seating the toddler in the stroller.

His days were rather exhausting: he had to balance between his day job, his two nights a week patrolling Duckburg and fighting crime and raising three kids. Louie knew his brothers had it just as bad – Huey especially, since his job required longer hours and on top of that he was a Junior Woodchuck troop leader-, but he still craved for a quieter life sometimes. He’d never, ever want to be separated from Donald, Della and Scrooge and even less to be separated from Huey and Dewey; but sometimes, he wished he could have a day, or even two, only to himself.

“Louie?” Scrooge asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. Louie couldn’t help but smile; after all, the kid was very perceptive for his age. “Is Louie okay?” “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it.” the duck promised, ruffling the feathers on top of his relative’s head. “Come on, let’s go home! If you want, we can play adventurers after your nap.”

An enthusiastic cry was his answer, and Louie started making his way towards the park’s exit, pushing the stroller in front of him.

--------

“Give it back!” “Come and get it!”

Della was running as fast as her body would carry her, her laughter echoing in the ears of her angry sibling. Donald was chasing her, screaming nonsense and drawing everyone’s attention on them.

“I said to give it back, Dumbella!” “Hey!”

Donald smirked when his sister, offended, turned around and started running towards him. That always did the trick when Della wouldn’t listen- he had called her that countless times, and it was still as efficient as the first time he had found the nickname.

“I told you not to call me like that!” Della screamed, charging towards him. “Then you shouldn’t have stolen my stuff!” “I stole your stuff because you wouldn’t listen to me!” “And I wouldn’t listen to you because you never leave me alone!”

Their increasingly loud shouting match drew everyone’s attention on them, but the twins didn’t care. They were used to it- they were a pair of hot headed ducks, and screaming came as natural as talking to them, especially to Donald. So they kept yelling at each other, the original reason of their argument long forgotten. Donald and Della were standing in the middle of one of the parks’ alleys, inches apart, ears ringing with the others’ deafening screams.

“STOOOOOPPPPP!”

The pair was immediately shut up by the one person who could out-scream them. They turned towards the source of the loud shriek, who was standing right next to them, looking both annoyed, disappointed and a bit sad. Webby’s arms were crossed, and although she was silent, the twins dreaded a bit what was to come. Their aunt was never violent towards them, but she had an impressive aura when she wanted to.

“Guys… why are you fighting?” Webby asked calmly after an awkward moment. “Della stole my journal!” Donald was quick to gather his spirits and accuse his sister, angrily pointing at her. Della scoffed, the incriminating volume coming out of her pocket. “Is that true?” “Yeah, but Donald ignored me! So I had to get his attention somehow, right?” “True, but taking his belongings-” “You’re really annoying, Dumbella! I don’t always want to talk to you! I have a life outside of you!” “Yeah, well, so do I! But that doesn’t mean you have to ignore me all the time!”

And the Duck twins started another round of screaming their heads out. Webby frowned; Donald and Della had a tendency to have small spats, but this was unusually violent by their standards. She had to get to the bottom of it. The two of them were suffering from the situation, she saw it in the way Della’s eyes were filled with tears and with how Donald was growing more and more unintelligible.

“Ok, OK! STOP!”

The archaeologist physically put herself between her nephew and her niece, taking one of them in each arm, hugging them.

“Guys, this isn’t like you. Is this really about Donald ignoring you? And is this really about your journal?”

Webby knew she was right when Donald stopped speaking and Della looked away, suddenly very interested in the ground. She wasn’t very patient, or patient at all really, but she knew better than to try and squeeze the truth out of them. Her patience was rewarded when Della spoke up:

“It’s just… stuff happened at school today, and I wanted to take Donny’s mind out of it.” “What happened?” Webby asked softly, noticing the subtle way Donald twitched a bit. “Is this another Beagle boy situation?” “Yeah.” Della sighed.

Webby wrapped her arms tighter around the twins, suddenly feeling very protective of them. The Beagle boys were a gang of bullies in the kids’ school. They targeted pretty much everyone, but lately they had latched at Donald in particular. They had tried to be nasty to Della, but she and Donald had kicked those tendencies out of them – Huey had been the only one to somewhat scold them for hitting other kids, and their three other guardians had congratulated them. So they had gone to Donald in retaliation – except that instead of trying to hit him, they had found an approach that was far more efficient, and that was to make fun of him and his speech impediment. Huey and Webby had discussed it with the bullies’ parents and the kids’ teacher, but that apparently hadn’t been enough.

“What did they do this time?” “I don’t wanna talk about it.” Donald mumbled. “But, Donny-” Della tried. “Della.” Webby gently interrupted her. “We’ll see about that at home, okay? I promise you both your uncles and I are not going to let those little hooligans keep doing that to you.”

Donald wiped his eyes with the cuff of his shirt, nodding silently. Della left Webby’s embrace to throw herself at her brother, giving him a tight hug that Webby joined in, soothingly petting Donald’s head. She knew how difficult it was for the duckling to properly express his emotions, even with the help of his therapist, and she didn’t want to make him even more uncomfortable by talking about his issues in the middle of the park.

“But first, how about some ice cream?” the archaeologist offered with a smile, taking a step back.

Two pairs of eyes shone back at her, and two eager ducklings nodded their approval. Each of them took one of her hands, and the trio made their way towards’ the park’s food kiosk, near the entrance. Webby ordered for the twins and for herself: she knew their tastes by heart, and once again got it right, if the large smiles they gave her when she handed her their respective frozen treats was any indication.

“A triple chocolate sundae for Della, and a sea-salt parfait for Donald, there you go!” “Thank you, aunt Webby!” the twins said in unison.

They were about to bite into their desserts when they heard a loud scream, followed by a second, higher one. Startled, the three ducks turned their attention towards the source of the noise.

A small duck, mounted on roller skaters, was coming at them extremely fast, flailing his arms as if to slow down. Another one, covered in cardboard, was running after him and yelling him to stop; he was followed by a young chicken who was screaming what seemed to be instructions. Webby had barely noticed that Dewey and Huey were also running towards them, trying to catch up with the poor duckling, when all of a sudden-

CRASH!

Della was the fastest to react, hastily putting her sundae on a nearby table and making her way to where the skating duck, which had turned out to be their neighbours’ son Launchpad, had crashed, which was in another table, with Donald having been between them. The result was a mess: the table was broken and missed a leg, Launchpad was sitting on the ground and looking dizzy, and Donald was lying near the other duckling, his eyes closed and ice cream splattered all over his shirt.

“Donny!” she yelled, relieved, when her twin opened his eyes and waved at her before finding himself nearly strangled by the strength of Della’s sudden hug. “Are you okay?” “I can’t breathe-” “Are any of you injured?” the duck covered in cardboard asked, waddling towards Launchpad and helping him get on his feet. “Gizmoduck will-” “What is going on here?!”

Webby had been walking towards her nephew, but she turned around and faced a very surprised Louie. Huey and Dewey had reached her as well, both out of breath. Scrooge, comfortably sitting in his stroller, was also looking at the remnants of Launchpad’s crash, apparently very intrigued.

“I tried to teach LP how to roller skate.” Dewey sighed. “Didn’t turn out well.” “It never turns out well.” Louie winced, looking at Donald. Della was thoroughly inspecting him, and he looked very annoyed about it - which meant he was probably fine. “It’s a wonder he never injures himself.” Huey added. “Fenton and Gyro tried to stop him when he passed by us, but Gyro’s instructions were probably too complicated and Fenton was just screaming “halt, citizen, in the name of the law!”, so that might have panicked him even more.”

Gyro had taken a small pouch of his pocket and was looking at LP’s roller skates, either making sure they weren’t faulty or trying to improve them somehow, speaking to himself and sometimes giving a skating tip to Launchpad, who nodded at every single one of his tips. Della and Donald had sat down on a table, and were both digging into Della’s sundae, the girl looking fondly at her twin and sometimes glaring at Launchpad. Louie had taken Scrooge out of his stroller and handed him to Fenton: the kid loved toddlers and babies, and was very good at handling them, and Scrooge was very intrigued by the duckling’s homemade Gizmoduck armour.

Huey, Dewey, Louie and Webby couldn’t help but smile fondly at the kids. They were a handful, they were hard to understand and sometimes hard to talk to, but they brought so much joy in their lives that they would never have it any other way.

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

Ahhhh this was so fun to write! Let me know if I should write more of this AU! hmu on twitter @ sarahnitr0 !!

#ducktales #ducktober #launchpad mcquack #dewey duck #huey duck #gyro gearloose #fenton crackshell cabrera #louie duck #scrooge mcduck #Webby Vanderquack #donald duck #della duck #dewey and launchpad #huey and fenton #huey and gyro #gyro & fenton #louie and scrooge #della and donald #della and webby #donald and webby #my writing #my fics #writing #age swap au #au #alternate universe #age swap

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober/Duckvember Day 12 - Fanfic scene

Hi! Temporarily skipping Day 11 because I feel more like writing than drawing atm, and I'm drawing a comic for Day 11 (so far I've drawn 1 page out of 3 woo) I interpreted the prompt literally, as you'll see :) I hope you'll enjoy! It was inspired by one of my favorite moments from "Friendship Hates Magic!" 

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Darkwing was tied on the torture chamber's table, metallic restrains making sure the slightest movement was impossible. No matter how hard the vigilante tried to break free, the restrains wouldn't budge, the cold metal digging further and further into his feathers.

"Hahaha, Darkwing Duck!" an evil voice boomed in the room. Darkwing tried to see where it was coming from, but the room was plunged in darkness, and he could only faintly make out a silhouette. "End of the line!" The mysterious person made his way towards our hero, who gasped in surprise. He had thought his worst enemy was dead, but had apparently been wrong, for Evil Darkwing Duck was now standing in front of him. "Evil Darkwing Duck!" Darkwing Duck spat, not losing his cool even though he was in such a dire situation. "I should have known it was you. This case had your foul smell all over it!" "Ohoho, then it looks like I outsmarted you, dear brother!" "You're no relative of mine!" "Hahaha, why won't you admit the truth, my dear twin?" Darkwing Duck struggled once more against his bonds, the brave hero fighting against the immovable restraints with all his might. Meanwhile, Evil Darkwing Duck grabbed a chainsaw. It seemed that everything was lost, but then! "Stop right there, villain!" Someone jumped through the window, facing Evil Darkwing Duck. He was wearing a bomber jacket and an aviator helmet, and was also proudly wearing a Darkwing Duck pin on his scarf- it was none other than Darkwing's very own sidekick, Launchpad McQuack!

"Interesting way to introduce this character." Mrs Beakley approved with a nod. "A dynamic entrance usually makes for a memorable first scene."

Launchpad smiled with a childlike glee, delighted to see how much the housekeeper seemed to enjoy his Darkwing Duck fanfiction. He hadn't shown it to anyone else; he did have an account on a popular fanfiction website, but Launchpad mainly used the site to read other people's stories and had only posted a few one-shots there, none involving his self-insert. He knew self-inserts were generally frowned upon, so he kept this particular fic to himself, simply enjoying how happy it made him to work on it. Mrs Beakley didn't seem to be disturbed by said self-insert, though, which was a good thing. He had only given her his private Darkwing Duck fanfiction because he had been swept by the moment, by how joyous he had been to finally be able to find someone in real life who was as much into the masked vigilante as he was, that Launchpad hadn't really thought about it when he had handed her the thick notebook that meant so much to him.

Besides, he had no idea about Bentina's stance on shipping, and didn't want to introduce her to his more romantic stories before knowing if she liked Quackervolt - Launchpad was pretty open-minded when it came to shipping, but he didn't know if that was the housekeeper's case.

"Soooo... you like it?" the large duck grinned when Mrs Beakley delicately turned another page. "If I like it? Oh, Launchpad, I adore it!" Bentina returned his smile, her eyes leaving the notebook to find her new friend's. "You really have a knack for writing. It's too bad the show's over, I'm sure you could have submitted that script to them!" "Oh gee, that means a lot!"

Scrooge's driver blushed, nervously rubbing the back of his head. Darkwing Duck was everything to him; it had been a constant in his life, something that had always managed to lift his spirits when he was feeling down. Which was why if someone as cultivated and stern as Bentina Beakley deemed his work worthy enough to be turned into an actual episode, it made Launchpad's chest puff with pride.

"Is that all there is?" Mrs Beakley asked, sounding disappointed, when she reached the last page covered in the pilot's messy handwriting. "Or is the rest in another notebook?" "Nope, it's all there. I uh, I have lots of other ideas but I just haven't had time lately to put them on paper, what with all the adventurin' Mr McD had us doing. Not that it's a bad thing!" Launchpad was quick to correct himself. "Oh, don't worry, I see what you mean." Bentina nodded in understanding, carefully putting the notebook on the coffee table near the couch. "But if you do get around to writing a sequel, or perhaps several sequels, make sure to lend them to me!"

Mrs Beakley concluded by wrapping her arm around Launchpad's shoulders in an affectionate gesture, one the pilot was eager to return, almost throwing himself at the housekeeper. He loved physical contact, whether it be ruffling Dewey's feathers or holding Webby's hand when she invited him to tea parties in her room, or even hugging Louie that one time he had found him crying in the kitchen after a nightmare. It was just in Launchpad's nature to enjoy feeling the presence of people he liked, to convey how much he appreciated them by the slightest brush of a feather against a feather.

He was especially happy to be hugging Bentina now: unlike him, she was seldom seen giving physical gestures of affection, except to her beloved grand-daughter. Of course, Mrs Beakley had a heart of gold and was fiercely protective of the McDuck Manor's inhabitants; but she had vastly different ways to show her affection. It was embedded in the way she made sure Donald's room was always ready if the sailor was to suddenly want to sleep closer to his nephews, it was etched in the comfortable silence she offered Scrooge when his rants about mundane issues slowly turned into far more personal confidences. It was something delicate, woven into her attitude and acts so smoothly that you barely noticed it, the polar opposite of Launchpad's loud and bright shows of affection.

When Launchpad offered her a tight hug, Mrs Beakley couldn't help but smile; even though Scrooge's driver sometimes annoyed her or made a mess in a room she'd just cleaned, she couldn't stay mad at him for long. Launchpad never did anything maliciously - he was always true to himself, and honest in every sense of the word. The only thing she regretted was to not have taken the time to know him better before today, although she promised herself to spend more time with the pilot from now on.

“You know what, Launchpad?” the older duck asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes when her colleague finally let go. “We should film this. Right now.” “Really?!” the pilot exclaimed giddily. “Oh, this is gonna be awesome! Wait right here, let me get my DW costume and my camera!” “You have a costume?” the housekeeper inquired, curious. “Oh, yeah, wait- there it is!” Launchpad proudly exclaimed, taking a hat, a mask and a cape out of his closet. “Haven’t made the suit yet, but that’s already good!” “Did you sew this?” Bentina asked, getting up to see the costume up close. It was definitely handmade, but it was crafted expertly, and the seams were almost invisible. She couldn’t help but be surprised: she had seen the pilot be very clumsy, she had seen him crash planes and cars and even a lawnmower once, so she couldn’t have imagined Launchpad was that good at something that required patience and precision like sewing. “Sure did.” Launchpad beamed, flattered by the way the housekeeper admired his work. “They don’t do adult sizes, so I had to. You wanna try it on?” “Really? May I?” “Of course, I’m sure you’ll be an awesome Darkwing! And I’ll be a great Launchpad! Come on, lady, let’s get dangerous!”

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Dont hesitate to hmu on twitter @sarahnitr0 !

The sub plot with Launchpad and Beakley becoming friends was so good!! They're really good, they contrast each other and can learn a lot from the other. And seeing Mrs Beakley loving LP's script and be so excited to film his self insert fic was amazing so I wanted to do something with that :D Also it was my first time writing Beakley, I love her so I hope I did her justice :v

Side note LP is the kind of guy to leave lengthy reviews on every fic he likes lets all agree here (Also he ships himself with DW obviously >w<)

#launchpad mcquack #bentina beakley #mrs beakley #ducktales #launchpad and beakley #ducktober #my fics #writing #my writing #fanfiction

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober/Duckvember Day 10 - DT87

-FInally, I'm writing for two of my favorite characters: Fenton and Gyro!!! When I was a kid and read Donald or Scrooge comics, Gyro was my favorite character :) at first I wasn't really happy with his portrayal in DT17, but I've come to really like him as his own character. I just hope that season 3 will be the occasion to see him being friendlier to Fenton... I didn't watch DT87, but I did look Fenton up and decided to use one of his main traits in this story. Hope you enjoy!!

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It’s only been four days since the intern has started working with you, and you already can’t stand him.

He’s loud, he’s behaving as if he’s injecting himself with adrenaline and energy drinks every second, he’s clumsy and, worse of all, he doesn’t understand the concept of personal space. You suppose it’s not out of a particular desire to annoy you, that it’s simply the way he is- still, you can’t help but shove him away when he comes too close, whether it be to read a blueprint over your shoulder or to bring you your morning coffee.

Well, at least you’re thankful for that. Although you love the latte from the shop down the road leading to your employer’s Money Bin, you can’t stand the barista, some kind of stuck-up duck who looks at you as if you have the plague or something. The intern doesn’t have this problem; he’s the kind of person to enjoy chatting with everyone. The proof is that he keeps talking to you, even though you’ve spent the last four days making it clear that you don’t want him to.

The concept of silence is apparently something Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera has yet to understand.

Oh, well. At least he brings you a tall, warm cup of latte with two sugars every morning, just the way you like it. You’re kind of impressed it’s only taken him four days to get it right, but there’s no way you’ll tell him that. He’s already glued to your hip like a puppy, following you everywhere and asking question after question; no need to encourage this behavior by making him think you’re proud of him or something. Yes, it’s flattering to have someone calling you by your actual title of Doctor (with five PhDs, thank you very much) and be constantly impressed with your inventions, it’s a nice change from the money obsessed morons who keep scolding you about your creations turning evil (like it’s your fault!), but Fenton manages to make that praise insufferable.

It’s not like you even wanted an intern to begin with. You were perfectly happy in your laboratory, your sacred domain, the one where your reign was absolute and your decisions unchallenged, a safe retreat from Scrooge McDuck’s office and his stupid board of executives, the ones who go on about unnecessary costs and who want to restrain your genius. You didn’t need anybody.

But one day, Scrooge told you he had signed a partnership with Duckburg University, something about receiving funding for research if you took in an intern- an unpaid one, of course, he had been quick to precise. You had scoffed; as if Scrooge had been willing to pay for one more employee. You had been furious, too, and you had screamed, outraged; but in the end, you had given in, in part because your employer had threatened to fire you, but mostly because you need those funds, desperately. Your inventions, as brilliant as they are, don’t exactly come cheap, especially since sometimes (okay, maybe often) you have to clean up the mess they’ve done.

So you have ended with Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, of all people.

You haven’t chosen him. Actually, he has been the only one to apply for the position; it had been quite a blow to your ego, since you thought every student in the university’s science curriculums would have rushed at the opportunity to work with the brilliant Dr Gyro Gearloose.

But they hadn’t.

You had quickly brushed it off; they had been too scared, that was all. Your genius intellect could be threatening, you knew it. They had simply not felt up to the task.

You had barely looked at Fenton’s file before he came, eager-eyed, on his first day. Sure, he’s the best student in his curriculum, and has already done an internship in a small laboratory- not that any of this means anything to you.

Others simply can’t get on your level. It’s not boastfulness; you’re simply stating a fact. Others don’t get you. You solve problems before they’re done exposing them, you connect dots they can’t even see.

And no matter how much enthusiasm Fenton pours into his new job, no matter how he watches your every move and takes notes on everything you do or say, no matter how many times he’s said he admires you, it’s never going to make up for the tremendous gap between your brains.

After four days, you’re finally done with having a twenty-five-year-old behaving like a fourteen-year-old groupie looking at you as if he’s watching an animal at the zoo. So you snap and, even though Scrooge asked you to let him simply observe you during his first week so he could get used to your lab before properly assisting you, you send him to the small deck on the other side of the room with a thick pile of paper, aggressively asking him to fill it. He nods with a proud smile, and just as if you’re wondering if he’s going to cry of joy or something equally ridiculous and disproportionate, he dashes to the small desk and gets to work.

You sigh and finally go back to your own project, relieved and enjoying the peace. You’ve given Fenton the part you hate most about your work- calculations. Of course, you’re good at math, that’s not the issue; it’s just that it’s so time consuming, time that could be spent actually building the things based on your calculations.

You’ve been tinkering for a while, trying to get your newest project to work as intended – it’s a little thing, a light bulb built on a small metallic body, but you just know it’s going to change lives. You’re screwing the light bulb on, when you hear quick steps behind you and you cringe, wondering what Fenton has come up with to disturb you again.

“Dr Gearloose, it’s all done!” he proudly explains, a stupid smile on his beak, as he hands you the heavy stack of paper.

Your eyes widen and you blink slowly. You can feel anger building inside you, and you get up, aggressively taking the papers from his hands.

“Are you mocking me?! There’s 150 pages in there-” “157, actually-” “Do not interrupt me, intern! This is filled with fifth degree equations and functions that take over a page to write! Do you think my work is based on primary school mathematics?! There’s no way you have filled all of them in, in-” you quickly glance at your watch, “less than two hours!” “But I… I have, Dr Gearloose!” he looks lost, and he reminds you of a puppy you’d have yelled at. “I swear! And… and I checked all of my calculations!”

You quickly flip through the thick pile, and you’re astonished to see that, indeed, all the pages are filled with numbers and letters, all in the neatest handwriting you’ve seen a scientist have. You have trouble believing they’re not made up, and you have even more trouble believing he’s had the time to check all the operations.

“Did you make up those numbers?” you ask, squinting your eyes. “I swear I didn’t! I just… I’m good at calculus?”

You laugh, a dry laugh without any trace of joy. You know people who’re good at mental calculations- hell, you’ve seen your own employer accurately counting how much money is in his bin with a single glance. But you’ve never heard of anyone capable to give the answer to fifth degree equations without needing a paper and a pencil.

You only believe in what you see, so you let the pile of paper fall on your desk with a heavy bang, and you grab your calculator.

“You’re good at calculus, really.” you snort. There’s no way. There’s simply no way. You can’t do it, so there’s no reason Fenton can. “Yeah!” he nods vigorously. “Alright, then, intern. Let’s see about that. If you’ve solved and calculated all of this, as you claim you have, you’ll have no issue with a quick test? That shouldn’t be difficult for you, right?” “Anything you want, Dr Gearloose!”

He looks so eager to prove his innocence that you want to slap him. At the same time, you can’t help but feel the tiniest prick of guilt at his distressed expression. You quickly press a few keys on your calculator, coming up with a complex operation, one that Fenton’s sure to have trouble with.

“Okay, then. What’s the thirteenth root of-”

You’re not angry enough to simply say the number. There’s a bit of curiosity overtaking your irritation, and you write the number on the board near you- it’s a hundred digits long. Fenton nods, locks his eyes on the monster of a number you’ve challenged him with, and you can practically see the gears turning in his mind. You can’t help but be intrigued by the look of concentration on his face, although you don’t have the time to fully take it all in, because not even ten seconds have passed when he answers:

“45 678 912.”

Your beak slightly hangs open as you check your calculator, and sure enough, Fenton’s right. Your eyes quickly move, staring at his expression. He doesn’t look smug at all- if anything, he looks hopeful, like a child showing his parents a good report card.

Unable to believe in what you’re saying, you quiz him again. You ask him to calculate the fourteenth power of a number, you write down operations that take the whole board; and every time, in a few seconds, Fenton answers you correctly.

At first, anger boils within you, maybe tinted with jealousy- you push that thought away, there’s no way you’re going to be jealous of Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera. But as you write more and more, as your fingers almost tremble above the calculator and your wrist tires from the pace at which you write the equations and calculations down, you can’t help but feel giddy, and you almost smile when Fenton correctly solves the last problem.

It’s been a while since you’ve found someone who can challenge any aspect of your intellect; you’re not even sure that’s already happened. And Fenton looks so happy to calculate everything you throw at him, so glad to please you rather than to impress you, that you can’t help but be contaminated and feel a bit of his enthusiasm.

“OK, intern, that’ll be it.” You finally announce. You’re stubborn, some would even say obstinate; but you’ve had enough proof of Fenton’s extraordinary ability. Not that you’re going to use those terms with him. “I guess you do calculate faster than most people. Have you always been so quick?” you inquire. You can’t help but be curious about things you can’t fully comprehend; you’re a scientist, after all. “Ah, thanks, Dr Gearloose!” Fenton beams. “I guess so. I just… I don’t know if it makes sense, but I like numbers- I always have. I’m good with them, and… this is stupid, but it’s… comforting, in a way? I just… picture them in my head, and it’s like they move on their own when I have to do math, if that makes sense. Sorry, it’s weird.” “Stop apologizing all the time, it’s annoying.” you groan, hating the way Fenton’s words resonate within you. “I guess it makes sense.”

Of course it makes sense. It’s the same for you; you can see how atoms can interact, complex chemistry formulas and molecules dancing in your head, you can exactly picture how circuits work, how the electricity will run through them. You’ve always seen the world that way, and you’ve never understood how people who don’t manage to have the tiniest grasp on reality. But Fenton’s your intern, not your confident, so you’re not going to tell him all of that.

Not yet, at least.

“Well, since you like numbers that much, I guess you’ll be happy to do all of those annoying calculations now.” you announce, turning back towards the small robot lying on your bench. “Of course, Dr Gearloose!”

You don’t need to see his face to feel the joy and pride radiating from every fiber of his being.

Just like he doesn’t need to see yours to sense the tiny smile on your beak as you wonder if maybe, there’s a small chance you’ve found someone you can truly discuss with.

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The ability I used is 1987!Fenton's impressive capacity to count things at a single glance. I changed it to fit his character better, since 2017!Fenton isn't an accountant but a scientist.

That might have been obvious with the fics focusing on Louie or on Jim, but I really like using fanfiction as a way to dive into a character's personality, to understand why they act the way they do, how they could act in certain situations. I love character studies!!

I think Gyro's arrogance comes from not really being challenged or threaten by another character's intelligence, which makes him feel superior but also isolated and not really able to communicate with other people. I feel like he'd be threatened by Fenton at first, but maybe slowly warm up to him when finally coming to terms with the fact that Fenton's skills can match his in some areas, and that it's good to finally be able to have someone understand him.

#gyro gearloose #fenton crackshell cabrera #ducktales #dt17 #ducktober #my fanfiction #my writing #my fics #gyro & fenton

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober/Duckvember 9 - Headcanon

Hi! My writing schedule for this is very hectic, but I've been working a lot lately and Death Stranding is out, so both of these have been keeping me busy... sorry!! I'll do my best to catch up on duck fics! I did a combo with this one since it features 3 headcanons of mine :) More on them in the notes at the end, so I don't spoil the story! Also first time writing Panchito and José so I’m stocked!! Enjoy!

It was supposed to be a calm Saturday in the McDuck Mansion.

Mrs Beakley was cleaning the hallways, Huey was absorbed in trying to earn his calligraphy Junior Woodchuck badge, Dewey was filming yet another episode of Dewey Dew-night in the triplets' room (even though it was the middle of the afternoon, since his filming sessions had been rescheduled courtesy of Donald and Della’s joint efforts), Louie was teaching Webby the ropes of advanced kart drifting techniques in his favorite racing game, Della was busy doing some maintenance work on the Cloud Slayer, and Launchpad was at an amusement park with Drake and his friend's adopted daughter Gosalyn. And since everyone was busy doing rather calm activities, Scrooge had taken the opportunity to sit in the library, comfortably seated in his favorite armchair, newspaper on his lap and a cup of warm tea on the small table near him, within hand's reach.

It was supposed to be a calm Saturday – “supposed” being the keyword.

Suddenly, an abominable noise akin to a deafening mix between a dying screech and an explosion vibrated through the whole house, startling all its inhabitants. Right after that first audible assault, a guitar riff resonated in every corridor and every room, its melody (if you could call it that) generously peppered with false notes. And as if it wasn't enough, a stream of somewhat rhythmic banging was added, and soon after what could only be described as the sound that someone recklessly stepping on a piano would make.

“What is that?!” Louie screamed, more annoyed than scared. He had looked forward to spending a normal day for once and was most displeased with the horrid cacophony. “I have no idea!” Webby answered excitedly, dropping her controller. “Let's investigate!”

The girl dashed out of the room, and Louie had no choice but to follow her. He really didn't want to, but the sooner they found the source of the disturbance, the sooner he could get back to his video game. As the ducklings were running in the corridors, trying to find the room the problem was coming from, they came across a very irritated Dewey.

“I was doing an interview!” he explained. “Whoever or whatever is making that noise will have to do some serious apologizing!”

Louie rolled his eyes, and the three kids kept running. They ended up in the entrance hall, the noise getting louder with every step; when they reached the bottom of the stairs, Della, Huey and Mrs. Beakley were already busy trying to locate the source of the noise. Said noise was still barely bearable; Huey in particular was looking particularly distressed, his hands tightly protecting his ears.

“What is going on here?!” Della yelled, her voice hard to hear above the cacophony. “I thought it was you, Dewey!” “What?!” the duckling shouted, offended. “Why would you think that?!” “Shut up!” Louie screamed as he held Huey’s right shoulder and pressed his older brother close to him, to comfort him and do his best to soothe his nerves. “You’re making it worse!”

Dewey was about to answer the youngest triplet but was cut short by his great-uncle joining them in the hall. Curiously, although he should have been the most annoyed by the sudden racket, Scrooge looked tired and resigned rather than angry. That startled even Mrs Beakley, who couldn’t help but ask:

“Mr McDuck, do you have any idea what-” “Yes, I do, Beakley.” he sighed, rolling his eyes and making his way to the manor’s right wing. “And I’ll put an end to it.”

Webby was the first to follow him, followed closely by Dewey and her grandmother. Louie stayed behind with Huey, waiting until his brother’s breathing had slowed down before they joined the rest of the group. They found themselves in the garage, where the noise was so loud it was painful to bear.

Since Launchpad had moved to live with Drake and Gosalyn the week before, the mansion’s garage had been eerily quiet without the constant, faint sound of Darkwing Duck reruns, or more recently, old rock songs. Now, however, the garage was anything but quiet, and the manor’s inhabitants understood why when they opened the door and found themselves face to face with what seemed like a fever dream.

Donald was wearing an old, tattered flannel shirt Della was sure he must have gotten as a birthday present twenty years before, and he was playing on an equally old electric guitar, his fingers running on the instrument with a surprising speed, but with a disastrous result. Donald had also combed his hair to resemble a fringe, falling on his forehead, stopping right before his eyes that were tightly shut closed as he was passionately shouting in what was probably an attempt at singing. Next to him, an antique accordion was propped on a chair, next to a flute and an acoustic guitar.

He wasn’t alone: two other persons were with him, and the four children were surprised to recognize him as Donald’s best friends, the ones they had met back in Brazil.

Panchito still had his sombrero on, but he was wearing tight denim pants and a leather jacket with shining spikes on the shoulders rather than the bright red outfit he had worn when they first met him. He was also singing, and was sitting behind worn drums, playing them with all his might, the sticks banging ferociously against the instrument. José was as into their “musical number” as his friends: he was standing behind a keyboard, hands expertly gliding on the keys, playing somewhat better than Panchito and Donald – which wasn’t saying much. He had gone through a wardrobe change too, wearing a white shirt with more buttons undone than fastened and slick black pants. José was singing his heart out as well, and sometimes his left hand left the keyboard to reach for a tambourine and shake it for a bit.

Huey and Della were in absolute disbelief at the scene, while Louie snorted and quickly reached for his phone, recording the disastrous attempt of a musical performance. Webby was confused, blinking quickly and looking at her grandmother for answers to her silent questions, Mrs Beakley answering only with a tired sigh. Scrooge was about to charge towards the trio, cane in his hand, but Dewey was quicker and louder:

“UNCLE DONALD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

His scream was so loud that Donald and his friends stopped immediately, drawing sighs of relief and pleasure from everyone else. He opened his eyes, and found himself face to face with a very angry duckling.

“Oh, bom dia, Donald’s family!” José greeted, not fazed in the least by Dewey’s tone or attitude. “It’s been a while!” Panchito added, smiling. “Yeah, yeah, hello. It’s not everyday that I can get prestigious guests on my show, and just when I was about to start interviewing Glomgold, you had to do… whatever that is!” “Glomgold?!” Scrooge almost choked as he heard his rival’s name. “Yeah!” Huey chimed in, having finally calmed down since the source of his discomfort had disappeared. “Do you really have to play so loud?” “And so false?” Louie added, saying out loud what everyone thought.

Donald looked a bit distraught, and Panchito and José looked at each other, confused.

“We weren’t playing out of key!” the rooster countered. “Si, it has been a while since we last practiced, but-” “It was atrocious.” Della provided. “Aw, come on, Dellita!” Panchito brushed her off. He stood up and ran to properly greet her, giving her a tight hug. He hadn’t seen her since she had visited Donald between two flights during his college days, and his duck friend had told him and José all about what had happened to her. “Come here! I’m so happy to see you!” “Sim, Della, you haven’t aged a day!” José smiled after giving her a hug of his own. “Flattery isn’t gonna make me less mad about you!”

Donald couldn’t help but feel a strange sensation in his stomach as he saw his twin sister reuniting with his best friend, a warm feeling tinted with nostalgia that brought a tear to his eye. He blinked it away, and when he opened his eyes, it was to find himself face to face with Scrooge, who was looking particularly crossed.

“Lad, the “no band practice in the manor without my permission” rule still applies.” “Uncle Scr-” “Band practice?!” Webby squealed, running away from Panchito ruffling her hair to Scrooge and Donald’s side. “I didn’t realize! It’s true that the three of you were the Three Caballeros! Since you said that last time, I did some research but didn’t find anything online!” “We were very, ehm, how do you say? Ah, underground!” José provided. “But I could give you a cassette we recorded. I have several back home.” “Aww, you kept them?” Panchito beamed, throwing his arms around his friend. “I’d love to, Mr Carioca!” “Please, call me José, docinha.” “Why… why would you want that?!”

As Webby explained how happy she was to put her hands on a tangible piece of Donald Duck’s history, Panchito and José decided to back their friend up, since said friend was looking a little guilty under Scrooge’s severe glare.

“Scrooge, sorry! We were so happy to celebrate the Three Caballeros’ revival that we might have gotten a bit carried away!” the parrot apologized with a smile. “Yeah!” Panchito added, firmly patting the old duck’s back. “We’ll be more careful in the future, promise!” “What do you mean, in the future?” Mrs Beakley sternly asked, her head already aching at the perspective of having to endure more of this torture. “You didn’t tell them, Donald?!” José gasped.

The duck rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“I… was waiting for the right moment and didn’t have the occasion?” “Told us what, Donald?” Scrooge squinted, sensing something not pleasant in the least was about to happen. “Donald said that since your garage was free now, we had all the space we wanted to practice and work on new songs for our upcoming album and concerts! Los Three Caballeros are officially BACK!” Panchito loudly exclaimed, José smiling in approval and Donald feeling very, very little under his uncle and Mrs Beakley’s intense stares.

A collective groan ensued, save for Webby’s enthusiastic “Yeah!”.

-

It was my first time writing Panchito and José, I hope I got them right! I took Spanish as a 2nd language (French being my mothertongue, English was my 1st foreign language in school, Russian my 3rd and Latin my 4th. Sadly I've lost almost all of my knowledge in Russian...) and don't speak Portuguese or Brazilian Portuguese so feel free to correct me. More on the 3 headcanons:

1) Sometime after season 2, Launchpad moves out of McDuck manor and goes to live with Drake and Gosalyn, although he still stays close to Scrooge and his family, especially Dewey! It starts as a simple roommates situation, but since I love Drakepad it ends with them in a relationship :)

2) Huey is gifted. It's probably me projecting, but Huey has a lot of traits often found in gifted people: being book smart, having interest in always learning new things and skills, trying to understand everything, being kind and trying to be as helpful as possible, and being easily anxious and prone to anger outbursts. I could go into detail about this haha, in fact I probably will in the form of a fic later in this challenge that will have Huey interacting with someone I also headcanon as gifted c: 2.5) And I can see Louie as being the one to calm him down the most easily when Huey has a spike of anxiety or a panic attack. Louie is good at reading people and he's also quite sensitive, which is why I can see him looking out for his big brother. Dewey just doesn't realize it, I think he has more difficulty reading people and understanding how they feel, especially if they try to hide it.

3) And of course the main focus of this fic, THE THREE CABALLEROS GETTING BACK TOGETHER !!! I really wanna see this in the show, even if it's just in passing. We know that Panchito and José will be in S3, and I really would like to see them and Donald playing music, even if it's just in a flashback or something!!

#the three caballeros #donald duck #panchito pistoles #josé carioca #ducktober #ducktales #webby wanderquack #huey duck #dewey duck #louie duck #della duck #scrooge mcduck #bentina beakley #fanfiction #my fics #my writing #dt17

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober/Duckvember Day 8 - Ship

Hooooo there it is!!! Some Drakepad!!! Well, some pre-relationship Drakepad, but still! And also I get to write Lena and Gos for the first time! My headcanon is that Gosalyn is a year younger than Webby (HDL's age), and that Lena "is" a year older than Webby. Gos and Violet are the same age, but Violet skipped a grade. Also I mainly took inspiration from the original Gosalyn, though I did make her a bit more done with her dads maybe??? Please enjoy!

“Uuuuugh!” “What’s going on, Gos?”

The redhead let her head slump on the table, while Webby gave her a puzzled look. It was rather unusual to see Gosalyn look so discouraged; the fiery girl was usually the first to motivate other people when they felt down, and was a seemingly endless well of energy. But Gosalyn had seemed a bit distant since the morning. Since they were a year older, Webby and Violet didn’t have classes with her; but when the three of them and Lena had met up before classes, Gosalyn had already seemed a bit down.

“It’s my dad.” she mumbled. “And Launchpad.” “Are they arguing about whether or not you should be allowed to stay up past nine again?” Violet asked, finishing her yogurt. “No, thank God.” Gosalyn answered, her face still again the table. Lena, who was a grade above Violet and Webby, looked at her with a small smile. “Then come on, spill the beans."

Drake had bonded with her and Violet’s dads, and while she considered him a friend, she also loved teasing him, since he was very easy to tick off.

“It’s just that they won’t go out together! It’s annoying!” Gosalyn complained, lifting her head from the table and rolling her eyes. “They look at each other all lovey-dovey, Launchpad basically lives in our guest room and acts like he’s also my dad, and when they argue it’s like seeing an old married couple!”

She almost added that they fought crime together, but she wisely decided to keep quiet about that last fact.

“It’s true that I did hear Launchpad talking to Dewey about the many ways in which your dad is amazing and looks dashing and stuff for half an hour the other day.” Webby remembered as Lena snickered and Violet nodded in understanding. “It was sweet, but also pretty funny to see the exact moment when Dewey’s face lost all expression. He does that a lot when he’s bored.” “See!” Gosalyn roared. “That’s why I’m talking about! There’s nothing not romantic about that! But when I tell dad that he should date Launchpad, he gets super pissed off!” “Hmm…” Violet lost herself in her thoughts for a moment, gathering them. “Maybe you should try a different approach, if direct confrontation was inefficient.” “I’m sure I could make some sort of love potion.” Lena offered, eating the last piece of her fruit salad. “They’re already in love, dummy!” Webby smiled and affectionately ruffled her best friend’s hair. “But I have another idea, and I’m sure you’ll like it!” “You do? Really?”

Webby nodded, offering her friend the brightest smile she could. Gosalyn couldn’t help but be a little bit scared.

-

“Ahem. Ladies, thank you for being here today!” “You literally dragged us here right after school.” Lena reminded Webby, who coughed a little. “Details, details, my dear Lena. Anyways, let’s kick off Operation Drakepad!” “Drake… pad?” Violet asked, tilting her head. “Is that a portmanteau of my dad and Launchpad’s name?” Gosalyn asked in disbelief. “That’s so… cheesy. Exactly like them. I love it!” “Thank you, Miss Mallard.” Webby bowed, pleased. “But I’m not the one who came up with the name. Meet my associate in romantic cases, Hueeeeey Duck!”

Like a proud mother, Webby pointed her two indexes at the duckling who was standing right next to her.

“Why does he have to be involved?” Gosalyn asked. She didn’t mind the Duck triplets at all; but she was curious as to why Webby had decided Huey would be, in her words, “a precious ally”. “Oh, because he was the other brilliant mind behind Operation Fendra!” “Fendra?” Lena repeated. “Huey, seriously?” “Hey!” Huey replied defensively. “It was a great name! Short, efficient, straight to the point!” “Silence!” Gosalyn yelled. “Was that operation about making two idiots in love realize that they’re in love?”

Huey and Webby looked at each other, suddenly embarrassed.

“… kind of?” the girl answered. “OK, and did it work?” “Weeeell…” Huey hesitated. “Not really, but we didn’t really have a backup plan for the eventuality of one of them being a spy sent by Mark Beaks to infiltrate Gyro’s laboratory, so it… wasn’t a failure either?”

Lena, Violet and Gosalyn looked at each other in disbelief. Gosalyn was starting to look even more disappointed than during lunch, so Webby was quick to do her best to avoid further damage:

“But there’s no reason it shouldn’t work for Drake and Launchpad! I mean, I don’t think either of them own a laboratory? Or that they’re an enemy of Mark Beak?”

Gosalyn thought back to the time her father had investigated a case involving the egotistical and childish owner of Waddle, but she remained silent. After all, Launchpad had been investigating alongside Darkwing Duck, and there was absolutely no way the loyalty the pilot had towards her father was anything but genuine.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” “Then the plan should be an absolute success, I guarantee it!” Webby giddily promised, although Huey looked a bit more skeptic. “And what is than plan?” Violet inquired, curious. “Will you tailor it to the targets’ personalities and interests, or is it something you can apply to every situation and soon-to-be couple?” “A mix of both.” Huey answered. “The idea is to set them up for a date, and to try to make it a date they’ll enjoy.” “So, Gos!” Webby turned her attention to her redhead friend, who seemed a bit lost, somewhere between tempted by the idea and being in utter disbelief at the somewhat surreal scene that was unfolding in Webby’s room. “What do you think your dad would like for an ideal, romantic, sure-to-sweep-Launchpad-off-his-feet date?”

Gosalyn did have an idea, but she wasn’t sure making the date Darkwing Duck theme was going to help set a romantic tone- it would just be like one of their regular Darkwing Duck marathons.

-

“It’s really nice for your boss to invite us for dinner.”

Launchpad, Drake and Gosalyn were in the pilot’s car, an old thing that had seen better days but that Launchpad lovingly took care of. The trio was headed towards the McDuck manor, the two adults sitting in the front while Gosalyn was in the back, seemingly innocently reading comics. However, her mind was focused on what awaited her father and his almost-boyfriend that night.

“In fact, it’s almost too nice.” Drake continued suspiciously. “I mean, he does owe us for the heroic help I provided when those aliens invaded us, but still, isn’t it a bit weird for Scrooge McDuck to-” “Daaad.” Gosalyn rolled her eyes. “Geez, can’t you enjoy a nice gesture from an old man?” “Gosalyn is right!” Launchpad nodded. “Mr McD is nicer than people think. He took me in when I didn’t have a place to stay, you know!” “Mmmh.” Drake nodded. “Still…” “You worry too much!” Gosalyn scolded, putting her comic aside. “That’s what too much crime fighting will do to you.” “What?! There’s never enough crime fighting, young lady!” “Whatever. Just… let Darkwing in the car for tonight, okay? Be Drake and have fun.” “Yeah, DW! It’s gonna be a fun evening!” “Launchpad, don’t call him that!”

They had been so busy bickering that they barely noticed they had arrived. Launchpad almost crashed the car when parking it in front of the garage, but the three of them arrived in one piece in front of the manor’s entrance. Out of habit, Launchpad was about to open the door, but Drake gently grabbed his wrist and rang instead. A surprised Mrs Beakley opened them.

“Launchpad? What are you doing here? I thought you wouldn’t be coming back here before Sunday.” “What?” it was the pilot’s turn to be puzzled. “We’re here for dinner?” Drake clarified, suspicious. “The one Scrooge McDuck invited us to?” “Dinner? Mr McDuck hasn’t told me-” “Oh hey, hi Launchpad! Hi Mr Mallard! Hi Gos!”

Webby had sled right in front of her grandmother, offering the trio the warmest and most welcoming smile she could. Mrs Beakley looked at her granddaughter, suspicion growing more and more obvious on her face, but the girl ignored the heavy gaze she felt on her back:

“How wonderful of you to join us for a magical evening sure to please your minds and your palate! Please, come inside.”

Launchpad stepped inside the house, oblivious, but Drake kept looking at Webby as if she had grown a second head. He then glanced at his daughter, but she raised her shoulders, the very picture of innocence. Sighing, Drake followed his friend. When Gosalyn entered the manor, she saw Mrs Beakley was talking with Lena in a hushed tone, looking somewhat displeased but mostly perplexed. The redhead understood Webby hadn’t told her grandmother about their plan, probably because she would have done everything in her power to dissuade the kids from putting it to execution.

And, to be honest, Gosalyn couldn’t blame her.

But the plan was now in motion, for better or for worse. Gosalyn had, of course, been heavily helping Webby and Huey with it; but in the end, the last steps were entirely up to them, and she truly hoped it would succeed. She would never forgive herself if her meddling somehow hurt her father and Launchpad’s relationship; but she truly believed neither of them would do the first move, and that someone had to intervene, for their own good.

She met with Violet and Lena, who had apparently managed to convince Mrs Beakley to let them handle the situation if the way the housekeeper had gone upstairs while muttering “children…” half annoyed and half affectionately was any indication.

“And now, we wait.”

 -

“Woah! Did you change the decoration? The kitchen didn’t look like that last week!”

While Launchpad looked around the room, amazed, Drake felt like he had stepped into one of those trashy novels oozing with over the top romanticism. Every surface available was covered in rose petals and candles, save for the table at the center of the room, covered with a pink tablecloth. Soft jazz music was playing, and strings of small paper hearts had been taped to the wall.

One of the Duck triplets – Drake still had trouble telling them apart, this one wore a white shirt with a red bow tie – greeted them, a napkin thrown over his arm.

“Ah, welcome, welcome! Your table awaits, gentlemen.”

The duckling guided them to the table, which was around two meters away from them, and let the two adults sit down. Launchpad was still looking around, marvelling at the gentle and cosy atmosphere the candles gave the room, while Drake listened to him, feeling a smile blossom on his beak.

It was when Webby brought them a menu, one that only had a single option available – labelled as “Cupid’s Choice” and whose main dish was a plate of meatball spaghetti – that everything clicked in Drake��s head. Gosalyn’s enthusiasm when she had told them of the dinner, the way she had been looking at him and Launchpad all day long, Beakley’s confusion, the ridiculously romantic decoration of the room-

Gosalyn may not have been his biological child, but she was definitely his clever daughter. She took so much after him, and after Launchpad too, now that he thought about it.

And as a complete understanding of the situation hit him, Drake laughed, taking Launchpad by surprise.

“DW- uh, I mean, Drake, what’s going on?” “Oh, nothing, nothing, don’t worry.” Drake reassured his friend, looking at the emerald eyes he could get lost in, noticing for the first time how close their hands were, resting on the table. “I’m just looking forward to this dinner.”

-------

And of course the dinner was a success!! Let me know if I should write it! I'm just weak for the Mallard-McQuack family......... and Webby and Huey's matrimonial agency of sorts... and Team Magic befriending Gos.... I hope I did this pairing justice, it's my favorite DT17 ship!!

#drakepad #drake mallard #launchpad mcquack #gosalyn mallard #ducktales #ducktober #violet sabrewing #lena de spell #lena despell #Webby Vanderquack #huey duck #bentina beakley #mrs beakley #dt17 #my writing #my fics #team magic

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober/Duckvember Day 7 - Redraw/Rewrite

Heya! I decided to change the theme from redraw to rewrite, and chose the ending of one of my favorite episodes, The Duck Knight Returns!. Except, there might be a twist... Enjoy!

Two Darkwings ran towards the terrifying machine, but only one managed to stand in front of it and push the other, and Launchpad, out of the way. Launchpad’s eyes met the youngest Darkwing’s, their fiery brown shining bright with sheer heroism and a mischievous spark, then-

The explosion was as deafening as it was heart shattering, blinding Launchpad and the man standing next to him. They couldn’t even see if Darkwing was injured, not with the heavy smoke filling the space around the giant electric rod that had gone up in flames. There were screams in the studio, but none of them reached Launchpad’s ears, filled with a painful ringing and a throbbing sensation of guilt. He should have run towards what was left of the machine, even though there was little hope Darkwing was uninjured, or even that he had survived, but he couldn’t, his legs frozen in place and in time.

Launchpad only managed to turn his head from the disaster when he sensed someone collapsing next to him. His watery eyes found the crumbled form of Jim Starling, kneeling on the ground, his body limp and slightly trembling. His hat had been blasted a few meters away by the explosion, allowing Launchpad to glimpse at the actor’s face, seeing all of the regret and the misery of the world on it.

And then, Launchpad wasn’t looking at his cherished idol anymore. Jim Starling was nothing more than an old, bitter man, desperate for attention and clinging to his past glory as if clinging on to life. There was no Darkwing Duck in that instant- only a sad man coming to terms with the disastrous consequences of his hubris.

-

Launchpad found himself sitting on a chair in the studio, facing the wall as if to make sure what was left of the disaster wasn’t in his field of vision. He hadn’t any recollection of how he had ended up there, but the boy sitting next to him was a clue, as was the warm plastic cup he handed the pilot.

“Didn’t find real hot chocolate here.” Dewey apologized. “Only the stuff in vending machine where they put water instead of milk… buuut, I did find some marshmallows to put inside!”

Dewey smiled at his friend, adding a few of the sugary treats in the beverage. Launchpad gave the kid a weak smile, nothing like the joyous smile he seemed to have in all circumstances. It pained Dewey to see such hurt on the pilot’s face, but he hoped things would quickly be back to normal.

“Hey, it was an amazing fight, wasn’t it?” he tried to cheer his friend up. “I’m sure Darkwing, I mean, the one who wasn’t a bad guy, is somewhere under that pile of junk. He looks pretty strong!” “Yeah…” Launchpad nodded, sipping some of the cocoa. It was barely drinkable, but he truly appreciated the gesture nonetheless. “He’s a real strong guy.”

Launchpad kept on drinking, and Dewey kept on talking, hoping to help his friend regain his usual optimism. The duck had barely finished his drink when a hand tapped on his shoulder:

“Hey, you’re the guy who tried to stop the fight between those two actors, right?” “Yeah, why?”

There was an unspoken surprise in Launchpad’s answer. He quickly got up, finding himself face to face with a police officer, behind which stood a handcuffed Jim Starling. He still had his Darkwing costume on. The fabric was torn in some places, but it was overall in good condition in spite of the rough fight it had been through. He was still missing the hat, but the mask had stayed on, and there were faint wet trails right beneath his eyes, slightly darkening the fabric.

“Starling here had something to tell you.”

The actor sighed and rolled his eyes. Clearly, he was annoyed and had trouble saying what he wanted to. Launchpad somewhat expected him to rant about the way he betrayed him when he sided with the other actor – whose name, Launchpad realized with painful guilt, he had never bothered to ask -, so the pilot was quite taken aback by the words Starling mumbled:

“I’m sorry, kid. I guess I’ve been a bit too far.”

It took Launchpad a few moments to get past his initial surprise, and he was about to answer, but Dewey was quicker than him:

“You sure did!” he scolded angrily, putting himself between Launchpad and Jim. “Why- how could you do that? Isn’t that pushing the whole method acting thing a bit too far?! That guy was a huge fan, you know!”

Launchpad had seldom seen Dewey get so angry. The small duck was glaring at the former actor, and Jim was answering with a look equally heinous, except his glare was tinted with sadness.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” he spat. “Do you know what it’s like to go from being a famous and popular actor to being treated like a nobody barely good enough to do store openings?!” “You’ll tell that to the judge.” The policeman growled, not enjoying the way the discussion was going. “Come on, now. We’re going for a little ride to the nearest police station.” “Wait!” Launchpad finally yelled.

The three other ducks looked at him, perplexed. Launchpad took a deep breath, before locking his eyes with Jim’s:

“Mr Starling. I’ve always been your biggest fan, but…” he hesitated. He wasn’t that good with words, and was very aware of it; however, it was important for him to convey his feelings on the whole debacle to his idol. “… this was plain wrong. I admire your work, and you deserve more recognition for it… but you shouldn’t be acting like one of those villains Darkwing Duck fought all the time! You should be doing the exact opposite! When I’m at a loss as to what to do in a situation, I always ask myself “What would DW do?” and I think you should ask yourself that, too! You’re as strong and capable as you were in your prime, and it’s such a waste you’re using all of those amazing capabilities of yours to do… that!”

Launchpad concluded his monologue with a vague flailing of his arms. Dewey had watched him unfazed, used to the long rants his friend could go on when talking about his favourite show, and the policeman had looked at Launchpad as if he had gone insane. But Jim hadn’t. He hadn’t blinked during the whole speech, his eyes glued to his fan, and had felt the sheer admiration and happiness and love for Darkwing Duck radiating from the duck.

And as the policeman had dragged him away, he had given the smallest of nods, whispering the tiniest “I’ll think about it.”

-

The whole filming crew did their best to clean up the set, and to find the missing actor. But he was nowhere to be found; not even the smallest piece of fabric or feather remained on the set. Launchpad had helped them, looking everywhere; but he hadn’t found anything, save for a few splatters of what seemed to be purple paint. He had still searched through the whole studio and even the alleys surrounding it, desperate to find the actor he had gotten along so well with.

But he had never found him, and it was a very weary and sad Launchpad who drove Dewey back to the mansion. Dewey had live tweeted most of the action and sent his brothers text about the situation; and when the duo stepped on the front porch of the manor, Mrs Beakley opened the door, guiding them to the dining room, where dinner awaited them. It was late, since Launchpad had insisted on looking absolutely everywhere in his frantic search for his new friend, and the rest of the mansion’s inhabitants had long left to their respective rooms, although Dewey was sure he’d find his brothers awake and awaiting him with a lot of questions.

After eating their steaks, Dewey started to head towards his room, but was stopped by Launchpad:

“Hey, buddy. Thanks for your help, today.”

Launchpad’s regular smile was back on his beak. A bit weaker than usual, but it was a good start and warmed Dewey’s heart all the same.

“Anytime, buddy!”

Dewey didn’t try to escape the tight hug that followed.

-

A purple trail of dye stains the dirty water running through the sewers, dripping from a manhole and splashing in droplets. It paints a trail, one that leads to a duck slightly hunched over, his breathing a bit ragged from the way his lungs have been exposed to an important quantity of smoke in a short amount of time. His forehead is throbbing in pain, the deep ache echoing all the way to inside his head, as if it has taken over some of his brain. His hands are balled into fists, trembling under the force the duck is clenching them with. His clothes are a mess, cheap purple dye dripping from his coat, which is slowly turning yellow. A large red hat, its brim dented and burnt in some places, covers his face, hiding an almost feral grin and eyes widened in a crazed stare.

“How could I be so blind? Adoring such a monster, treating him as an idol? Ha! And to think I was so eager to ask him for advice, to share the spotlight with him…”

His breathing gets quicker and his voice raspier and louder as he keeps on talking to himself:

“After I worked so hard to earn that role, the role I dreamt for so long, the role I was born to play! Well, then, fine! So be it! If I can’t be Darkwing Duck, if that old fool wants the role so bad he’d lie for it, that he’d kill for it…”

He starts laughing, a laughter void of any joy, his head tilted back and his eyes glued to the ceiling.

“Then he can keep it! I’ll show him, I’ll show them all, how I’m better than him! And then, that idiot will be a relic of the past, and people like Launchpad will see how they were making the same mistake than me! I’ll show them the truth, even if I have to cause a few accidents for them to finally see that fossil for what he is!”

His laughter gets louder, and his pupils are blown wide, drowning the warm pool of his brown irises in cold darkness. ------ I hope you liked the idea of Drake becoming Negaduck and that the other characters weren't too OOC! I stand by what I said for Day 5 : like writing for Jim. I feel like if Drake was believed to be dead or at least MIA because of what he did, maybe that would be a wake up call. He wouldn't do a 180 degrees and become super nice, of course; he has a bad temper and an ego out of proportion. But it could be the start of something new. Maybe he'd become Darkwing IRL, maybe not... And Drake of course has a big ego. I can't imagine him turning evil with the way events played in canon, but what if getting so close to death and almost killed by his idol had been too much, on top of the concussion ? (I tried to hint he had a head trauma possibly injuring his frontal lobe, as that kind of serious injury can cause shifts in personality, plus the frontal lobe is, amongst other things, the one responsible of inhibitions). I also liked writing Dewey and Launchpad's friendship. It's a really cute and fun aspect of the show!

#ducktober #dewey duck #launchpad mcquack #jim starling #drake mallard #negaduck #darkwing duck #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #my writing #my fics #dewey and launchpad

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober/Duckvember Day 6 - Money

Haaa I'm trying to catch up as best as I can!! Last days were a bit hectic and before I knew it I was late on this project... I'll do my best to have entirely caught up on Monday! Please enjoy this drabble, it was interesting to write.

Donald is pretty good at lying, and even though his nephews are clever, he still does a good job of fooling them. At least, that's what he thinks, and he's partially right: Huey and Dewey tend to believe him easily, even when his tone is evasive or his statements don't exactly add up. Louie, on the other hand, isn't as gullible as them. People tend to think of him as the lazy triplet, or treat him and Dewey as if they were simpletons (especially compared to Huey) ; but the thing is, his brain is actually constantly working, coming up with schemes to do as little as he can, and analysing his environment and other people to make the most of them.

That's why he's so good at reading people. Louie doesn't like to say he's using people: he doesn't enjoy thinking of other living beings as tools or pawns in his plans. Nevertheless, his schemes sometimes require the cooperation of other people, be they conscious of it or not; so the duckling has to be extra talented at understanding people. On top of that, he has to be good at manipulating the truth- he doesn't lie, of course, he would never. It's just that sometimes, he has to bend reality juuuust a little so people will be more cooperative.

Which is why he's the first to realize that maybe his uncle Donald is more tired than he pretends when he gets home past 9 pm. Or that there's a chance things might not be fine when people in black suits come knocking at the boat's door before sunrise. Or that even though he's smiling and saying he's not hungry and that he's fine, maybe Donald is skipping a lot of meals and working a lot more around April 15.

And Louie could use those informations to his advantage. It's what all the videos he watches online and all the business books he's found at the library advise: using knowledge as a weapon, or at the very least as a formidable tool to gather resources or lay the foundations of your business. But Louie doesn't. People call him the evil triplet, and he has no problem with it, sometimes reclaiming the title and using it to explain or excuse his actions. But being evil doesn't mean he doesn't have basic integrity or ethics. And although he's not even ten, Louie sees clear as day why Donald lies so much to them, even though their legal guardian is supposed to be a model on morals, behaviours and values.

It's the same reason Donald still takes care of them after almost ten years of the triplets pulling pranks on him, teasing him and costing him Lord knows how much without contributing anything. The same reason his first instinct when Dewey had almost crashed the boat while attempting to drive it in spite of Donald forbidding it had been to rush and hug his nephew before yelling at him. The same reason he often slips into their room when they're asleep (save for Louie, he's been having trouble falling asleep ever since Huey and Dewey have decided to get rid of the star shaped night light) and gives each of them a small kiss on the forehead.

It's just too bad that all that energy, all that love can't be converted to cold hard cash that could keep their bodies warm in the winter and their bellies full at the end of the month.

So Louie helps as best as he can. He's not sure he can repay everything Donald does for them, but he can try. Thinking of it, it's even like Donald makes an effort to hide exactly how much he does for his nephews- which is a notion Louie still has trouble understanding.

Nonetheless, he's going to do his best to repay him, one day. One day, they won't have to live in a tiny little boat anymore; a mansion, a yacht, the possibilities are endless. One day, when Louie becomes the world's youngest millionaire, his uncle won't have to work two jobs so him and his brothers can afford their toys and phones; in fact, he's going to give Donald a yearlong vacation around the world.

Louie writes all of the things he's going to buy Donald, and Huey and Dewey and himself, in a thick notebook he hides in his clothes drawer, along with his numerous business ideas and schemes. He doesn't want anyone else to see it- corporate espionage is a real thing, and also he makes fun of Huey for journaling and doesn't really want to have to endure a lecture on basically doing the same thing. So the notebook stays hidden beneath his messy pile of clothes, hidden from envious eyes.

Or so he thinks. After all, Louie isn't aware that Louie Inc. has a potential investor who makes sure to put a few dollars aside every month to invest in the company when the project takes flight, and Donald doesn't mind that it stays that way.

#ducktales #ducktober #louie duck #donald duck #dt17 #my writing #my fic #fics #fic #fanfic #fanfics #fanfiction #fanfictions #my fics

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober Day 5 - Madness

It wasn’t his fault.

Of course it wasn’t. How could it have been? The kid- Launchpad, or some stupid name like that- is a fan of his. Big fan, actually: he’s here at every single one of his signings, even though he always faints before getting an autograph (or just three, no, scratch that, one intelligible word out of his bill). He’s helped him sneak on the set for that stupid, worthless piece of trash masquerading as a Darkwing Duck reboot. Really, the kid’s not to blame.

(Never forget: Jim Starling’s fans are the best of the best; such a grand actor wouldn’t settle for less.)

No, it’s his fault. The moron pretending to be one of his admirers to better con him and his fans. The liar manipulating the fan into not trusting him, into rising against him. The sham making him question his motives, his actions, his purpose. The nobody trying to make it big by riding off his fame.

Yeah. He’s a nobody, for sure. No one’s ever going to remember his name in five years- hell, he’ll be surprised if anyone remembers it in five months.

But he will. Oh, he definitely will.

You don’t forget your archenemy’s name like that, no- it stays engraved in bright neon letters in your brain, it’s burned forever in your neurons until you’ve destroyed him, grinded him into dust, made him kneel before you and respect you as he should, as everyone should-

So, no, he’s not going to forget the monster’s name until said monster is nothing more than a quivering mess of tears and pain and anguish and hurt and-

(Deep breaths. Remember what the doc said. She’s an idiot, but she was right on that one. Focus on your breathing.)

…

(Okay.)

He might not be the brightest when it comes to technology (he’s already an amazing actor, come on, you gotta leave some stuff for the others), but he’s a fast learner, and the shameless attention whore is bad at hiding his presence on the web. It was ridiculously easy, actually- as easy as it’s going to be to make him pay dearly for everything.

He’s compiled everything in a single folder, one he’s copied on a USB drive. He can’t help but snicker every time he checks its contents once more; it’s probably the more important role the useless pile of feathers calling itself his “biggest fan” will ever play. His nemesis- the one he’ll gladly destroy before taking his sweet, sweet revenge on everyone else.

(The list is lying in his RV, he thinks? Probably somewhere behind an empty 24-pack, or beneath an improvised ash tray. Suits the “people” on the list right.)

He’s almost giddy when he thinks about what he could do to him, which blow to strike first.

For all his talk and panache when he’s facing villains (there are a few videos on the net, none of them getting past a few hundred views), “Drake Mallard” has actually quite a lot of weakness, and he almost salivates when he lists them all in his head and sees in great detail how to exploit them. There’s two of them he especially likes thinking about, getting lost in realistic daydreams (no, not “daydreams”, they’re rehearsals) about the many ways he could break the fucking freak if he were to push the right buttons.

That little brat he’s taken from some kind of dumpster – or orphanage, whatever, same thing – for starters. Oh, that one’s delicious. He hates kids anyways- and this one looks particularly nasty. Loud, opiniated, an activist or something, ugh – the whole package. It would be so, so funny to see him whimper and cry and beg all because of a little girl- oh, he can’t wait-

Or the other thing he really, really likes, and that Drake really, really likes too: the very fan he heroically saved at the cost of his own life (yeah, OK, he survived, but he could- should? - have died, so.)

The irony would be delectable- something out of a movie, it brings a tear to his eye. (At least, it would have, before. The meds really don’t help with the dry eyes and the dry mouth.)

It’s a cruel dilemma, one he always ends up back to. The brat or the fan? The little girl or the overgrown child? And why not both- how greedy and wonderful it would be-

Sadly, all those plans bubbling in his genius brain will have to wait. There are more pressing matters at hand, like the fact that someone’s been knocking at the door for a while. He sighs; he really thought he’d finally be at peace after hiding his RV in the woods, but apparently people always manage to find him.

Journalists, the police, even a private eye that one time- don’t they have anything better to do? He understands that people want to chance to bask in a movie star’s glory, but Jim Starling’s been dead for four months now, so why do they keep coming back?

The knocks get more insistent, so he sighs and gets up from his creaking bed, his hand automatically reaching for the chainsaw beneath it.

-

I love Jim as a character, there's so much the Ducktales crew could do with him and I can't wait to see what becomes of him!! I hope the writing wasn't too chaotic? I tried to write as if following Negaduck's train of thoughts so I wanted it to be at least a bit chaotic!

On a personal note, I headcanon Jim as having narcissistic personnality disorder and bipolar disorder :x and the meds used to treat bipolar disorder can cause dryness of the mouth as a side effect which was what I referenced here for those who didn't know :) I'm in medschool and less than 2 years before residency, and I want to be a child psychiatrist as psychiatry is my favorite subject so feel free to talk with me about it if you want! Like if you have your own headcanons about other characters or share/dont share mine about Jim I'd love to know!

Haaa I ramble but psychology and psychiatry are really subjects I enjoy ;;;

#ducktales #ducktober #jim starling #ducktales spoilers #my writing #my fics #my fanfiction #negaduck

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober Day 4 - Relic

I'm not Louie's biggest fan, but the way he reacts in McDuck Manor Mystery when he finds out what Dewey's been up to... wow. So I wanted to build something on to this, and to explore Louie's character because season gave him lots of character development and made me like him more :) (side note Huey's my favorite triplet so I'm stocked for season 3. Can't wait to see my boy suffer!) "Louie. Louieeee."

The duckling feigns sleep, but Dewey is very familiar with Louie's techniques- they've been sharing the same room for almost eleven years now. The only difference is that this time they're not on Donald's boat, or in the room Scrooge's given them in the manor- they're in a hotel room somewhere in Scotland. The hotel was thankfully booked by Launchpad and not by Scrooge, which means their small crew is split up in two rooms instead of being crammed in a single one. Near the door, Huey is fast asleep on the room's couch, his hat over his eyes and his hand near the ground, fingers hovering above his Junior Woodchuck guidebook. And while Dewey and Louie got the room's double sized bed, Webby has the single bed; she's wrapped in her blanket, slightly moving in her sleep, sometimes whispering or grunting. "Hey, Louie." Dewey tries again, careful not to wake the other two ducklings up. "Louie. Louieeeeeeeee." When the youngest triplet doesn't answer him, Dewey does what he has to do and punches him in the shoulder, a true and tested method which once again succeeds. Louie winces in pain and turns around as best as he can, seeing that he's wrapped up in three blankets, looking menacingly at his brother. "What?!" he whispers as angrily as he can. "I knew you were awake!" Dewey triumphs, air punching. "Cool, was that all you wanted?" the youngest sibling spits. "No, no, don't worry. Actually, I, uh... I wanted..." Dewey's good at a lot of things, but he's terrible at apologizes. Whether it's his pride getting in the way, or his tone sounding impossibly fake, it's always tough for the duck's apologizes to sound sincere. But this time, it's particularly capital for him to get his feelings across; he's done something he's really, really not proud of, and he hurt one of the two people he was actually trying to protect. "I'm sorry." Dewey finally blurts out, his eyes avoiding his brother's perplexed gaze. "For... lying about mom. And telling Webby before telling you and Huey." "'s alright." Louie shrugs, turning his back to Dewey. "Now let me go back to sleep." "It's not alright, and you weren' t even sleeping!" Dewey almost screams, managing to keep it down to an angry whisper. He knows Louie- Louie never really shows when he's hurt, he hates feeling vulnerable and showing it. He knows that Louie needs more sleep than Huey and him, that he normally never takes more than a few minutes to slip into slumber. "I'm sorry, Louie, okay? I really mean it. I promise I won't do any more research on Mom unless you and Huey are part of it." "Whatever." Louie's voice has that slightly trembling edge to it, and Dewey knows what's going to happen next. So he gets up, runs to the other side of the bed and sits on the ground, finding himself face to face with his brother. Tears are silently gliding down his cheeks, and Dewey can see a piece of fabric poking under the blankets Louie's wrapped in, the duckling nervously playing with its fringes. He recognizes it from earlier: it's a blue, worn scarf. Their mom's blue, worn scarf. "Louie, I'm sorry." Dewey says again, his eyes watering as the selfishness of his actions hits him at full force. "I- I- I didn't mean to hurt you, I wanted to protect you-" Dewey truly realizes how wrong the situation is when Louie doesn't counterattack, simply sniffing and holding the scarf close. He waits, eyes watering at seeing what he feared most, hopelessness and guilt clawing at his heart. "I miss her." Louie finally calms down enough to whisper. "We've never met her, but I still miss Mom." "I miss her too." Dewey replies, blinking tears back- he can't collapse in front of his younger brother, not when Louie's so fragile and open. "And... and I really want to find out what happened to her." he hesitates a second, before adding: "... Let's find the truth, okay? The three of us. With Webby's help. No more lies, I promise." Louie messily cleans his face with his pillow, before asking: "Pinky promise?" Dewey's mouth is filled with a bitter taste. Pinky promises are not something to be taken lightly amongst the triplets. They have meaning, and they concern only grave subjects; they're rare oaths, ones that engage a person's integrity. But Dewey understands why Louie needs reassurance of his brother's intentions. He sees it in the way Louie's fingers are clasped on the scarf as if it's the only thing keeping him grounded in reality- and right now, maybe it is. "Llewellyn." Dewey takes a deep breath and holds his pinky finger in front of Louie's face . "I swear on my life that I won't ever search about Mom's whereabouts again without you or Huey." Louie nodds, apparently satisfied. He takes a few moments to regain his composure, even though his beak is still wet and his eyes still red. He brings his hand up, the one holding on to Della's scarf- and as his pinky wraps around the one in front of him, Dewey's hand brushes against the old fabric, soft and fuzzy and smelling faintly of lavender and of the unknown.

------

I'm not Louie's biggest fan, but the way he reacts in McDuck Manor Mystery when he finds out what Dewey's been up to... wow. So I wanted to build something on to this, and to explore Louie's character because season gave him lots of character development and made me like him more :) (side note Huey's my favorite triplet so I'm stocked for season 3. Can't wait to see my boy suffer!)

#ducktober #ducktales #dewey duck #louie duck #dewey and louie #my fanfiction #my fics #fanfiction #my writing

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober Day 3 - Secrets

Hiya! Oh gosh I'm so sorry about leaving without notice for so long... turns out it was a bad idea to work on both this AND Inktober during October, so I focused on inktober...... but I have nothing planned for November, so I'm going to continue with this and finish this challenge, hopefully! 

Donald's eyelids could shut close any moment- unfortunately, he's driving, so he's doing his best to keep his heavy eyes focused on the road. He can see the sea glinter in the distance, with its waves smoothly shining under the setting sun. Another ten minutes or so, and he should finally be home, if the triplets didn't make the boat explose or sink while he was at work.

Donald hates leaving the three of them alone. Because they're awfully crafty and clever even though they're barely eight years old, but mainly because he's terrified he'd leave them on the boat only to return and find they've disappeared. It's happened before; he let his adventurous sister out of his sight and his mind for a few days, and she was gone. She's been gone for eight years now. Which is why Donald's so tired today. Even though he sometimes takes up to three jobs at the same time and almost overworks himself to keep his family fed and safe, Donald knows his limits and tries to never work more than fourteen hours a day. Except for the days surrounding a certain date- June 9th, today. Donald will happily work twenty four hours shifts he can, and even beg for overtime. He'll get stupid with sleep deprivation and exhaustion, he'll put his brain in a fog it can't see through, he'll do anything to lose his sense of time. Every 9th of June, Donald turns a year older. And every 9th of June, he's reminded she probably isn't. Having a twin means sharing your birthday, which most people would find issue with. A birthday is a special day, your day, the day where people celebrate your very existence; it's a yearly privilege to treasure. Yet, even though they used to argue and bicker and fight, Donald and Della were more than happy to share their birthday and celebrate it together; they couldn't imagine life without the other, without insult matches ending in laughter, without adventure and treasures, without courage and love. Until Donald had to. He parks his car and exits it with a yawn, wondering if maybe he should buy a bottle of something before going home. Donald has never really drunk alcohol since college; but the weight of memories and sorrow grow heavier each year, each day, every time he sees the three lovely boys she never got the chance to see, and he feels like maybe, for once, he should indulge in some liquid amnesia.Donald's thoughts are cut short when he glances at his boat and sees dark smoke rising from the small chimney. All traces of weariness vanish from his overworked body, and he rushes to the boat, screaming nonsense as his heart pounds, a sickening burning smell growing stronger with every step, . Donald finally opens the door, expects the worse- And finds a scene of pure chaos. Huey is trying to cook three things at the same time- although it's impossible to tell what he's supposed to be making, since the contents of the three pans are similarly burnt. Dewey is looking through his CD collection, quickly scanning through them and putting them in the music player lying on the ground, skipping audio tracks every three seconds or so. Louie is, for once, not letting his brothers do everything in his place; he's sticking things on the wall, sheets of paper with a colorful letter on each of them, spelling "HAPPY BIRTH-" so far. They all look collectively at their uncle when the door shuts close behind him, loud enough for the sound to reach them in spite of the music player blaring old rock songs, Donald's favorite tunes to hum as he cooks diner for his boys. "UNCLE DONALD!" they all screech before running from their respective spots, tackling their speechless guardian to the floor. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!" they scream in unision, their small beaks poking at Donald's chest. It takes Donald a moment to fully process the situation- the balloons scattered in the room, the candles neatly settled on the counter near the fridge, the handmade party hats on the table. It's been years since he's had a birthday party, and- Three confused ducklings step back from their uncle as he starts to laugh, first nervously then happily, a radiant smile shining on his face and tears streaming down his beak. "Uncle Donald?" Huey asks, worried. "Are you... are you okay?" "You're not mad, are you?" Louie checks, perplexed. "We thought-" "I-I'm not mad, boys." Donald promises, still crying, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "I'm just- I didn't expect you to-" "The element of surprise is always key when you're planning a surprise birthday party!" Dewey roars, merrily running to his guardian and giving him a hug. "Otherwise it's just a birthday party and you never have those!" "Yeah, you always do something nice for our birthday, but you never do anything for yours..." Huey adds, joining his brother and wrapping his arms around his uncle's waist. "So we thought we'd take the matter into our own hands." Louie concludes, patting Donald's back. "We even have gifts for you!" "But no cake, sorry..." Huey winces. "I... kind of burnt it." A deep, warm joy radiates through every fiber of Donald's being as he holds his three nephews close and thanks them, enjoying the way Dewey gladly hugs back and how Huey holds him tighter and how even Louie joins in the group hug. Every 9th of June, Donald gets a year older. And maybe she doesn't, maybe she does; but what's for sure is that every 9th of June, Donald is granted another year with the three stars shining in the dark sky of his life.

--------

Hope you enjoyed! I love Donald a lot! He has his flaws but he's an amazing father who does the best he can for his boys!!

#donald duck #huey duck #dewey duck #louie duck #ducktober #huey dewey and louie #huey dewey louie and donald #ducktales #my writing #my fics #fanfiction

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober Day 2 - Loneliness

Hello!

Here's the 2nd entry, featuring Webby! I love Webby. She's hyper and a bit of an adrenaline junkie, but she's also smart and sensitive.

Enjoy!

-------

With a heavy sigh, Webby collapses on her bed, eyes fixated on the ceiling.

She never thought it could happen to her, with her almost surreal ability to turn every mundane task or happening into a fully fledged adventure, and especially since she lives in the McDuck manor, but Webbigail Vanderquack is totally, utterly bored.

She's been living in Scrooge's giant mansion for almost twelve years now, and she knows every inch of it - at least, every inch of the rooms she's allowed to be in (and of a few she's definitely not supposed to step in), and she doesn't really feel like breaking into one of the Forbbiden Rooms - capital letters, because if their access is forbbiden to her then it must be very important rooms, filled with treasures and secrets and mysteries beyond her imagination -, especially since their locks are very tricky to pick and her last attempt ended in her granny making her go without dessert for two weeks.

She'd go and have a chat with Scrooge, especially since the old duck has been opening himself to her lately, but he's currently at the Money Bin for an emergency meeting with his board. She could try to talk her grandma into playing with her the newest game she created the day before which involves homemade plushies of the manor's inhabitants and of some members of the Duck family - Webby's really proud of the little sailor beret she's sewed for Donald - but Bentina told her she'd clean Scrooge's office, since he wasn't in it. She could work on the impressive board hung up on the wall of her room, but she's done that two days ago and hasn't discovered anything new about Scrooge's family since.

With another heavy sigh, Webby grabs her favorite teddy bear and hugs it tight.

She'd never, ever trade her life at the mansion for the boring, regular life of a kid her age, don't get her wrong - but sometimes, the manor is too big and too empty, and she'd like company. Schoolmates, friends- at least one friend, one she could phone and talk with for hours on end, one she'd make friendship bracelets with, one she'd go on perilous adventures with. Adventures outside the boundaries of the McDuck manor, even - Webby's giddy and frightened at just the thought of stepping outside the manor's gates. 

Her gaze is still on the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. They're not glowing at the moment, since her lights are still on, but it's still soothing to have them here. 

Once, her granny read her a story about stars being able to grant wishes, if there's something you really, really want with every fiber of your being, with all your heart. Webby knows the stars she's currently looking at are nothing more than plastic, but she decides to try, staring at them with all the intensity and willpower her body holds - and boy, does her small body house willpower - and she prays really, really hard, a long litany in which the word "friend" comes up often.

And as a little girl is wishing upon plastic stars, on the other side of Duckburg, someone nervously gets in his car, three excited boys waiting for him on the backseat.

#Ducktober #Ducktales #webby vanderquack #My writing #Fanfiction

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober Day 1 - Magic

Hello and welcome to Ducktober 2019!!

I'll follow @abiskibita list of prompts, writing something for each of them instead of drawing because I already have something going on for Inktober.

It's been a little while since I wrote fanfiction so I'm happy to return to it! Also excited since it's my first time writing for this fandom :)

Enjoy!

------

In an evening, Violet Sabrewing's world shatters.

She's in her room, quietly reading her latest find in Duckburg's library: a tome of Greek myths, a rare edition featuring the legend of Selene. Soft jazz music reaches her from downstairs, where her fathers are listening to the radio; all in all, a perfectly normal evening.

And all of a sudden, screams pierce her ears. They're coming from outside; dozens of panicked cries, followed by the deafening maelstrom of car honks, sirens and anguished laments of children. Violet puts her book on the nightstand, her heart racing as she makes her way to the window, where a spectacle beyond imagining awaits, something out of a cartoonish nightmare.

Vaguely duck-like shapes are roaming the streets, some chasing after terrified bystanders, other floating above the ground, passing in front of her window, a pure black mist with red eyes glowing menacingly at her. Everything seems to be in slow motion, as if time itself has gone mad; panic and even terror fills her small being, and she collapses backward, sweat rolling down her pale forehead and small spasms shaking through her whole being.

It goes against everything she knows, everything she thought she knew. Things like that, monsters that she sees in the horror flicks her Papa likes so much don't- shouldn't exist. Her brain seems to liquify more and more with each second, questions and alarm bells and fright extending their cold tendrils in the billions of neurones she's proud of.

Her grasp on reality seems to weaken, and she tries to convince herself its a dream, a nightmare, it has to be, this nonsense violates every law known in this universe-

She tries to pinch herself, but finds she can't, her amygdala overriding everything in her brain and paralyzing her, chest heaving and muscles catatonic.

Violet doesn't notice her shadow behind her, the dark shape cast by the dying sunlight. She doesn't notice it's crimson eyes and deranged smile as the shadow detaches itself from the ground, she doesn't notice it extending its claws-

And then Colin and Largo Sabrewing burst through the door, Colin dashing towards their daughter and shielding her from the monstrous creature while Largo punches it, his raw rage bursting in a scream that shatters his vocal cords. Displeased, the shadow creeps behind the small bird and disappears in the hallway, leaving Largo to rush to his partner's side.

Colin is cradling Violet's slumped form, soothingly petting her hair as his daughter cries for the first time in years, Largo joining in and whispering words of reassurance and swearing to protect her no matter what, to stay by her side.

-

In an evening, Violet Sabrewing's world shatters.

But she will rebuild it, she promises to herself as she walks towards Duckburg's library, her backpack filled with a brand new research journal, her diary, her pencil case and two sturdy tote bags.

Brick by brick, piece of knowledge by piece of knowledge, she'll build it anew. It's what she knows to do best: collecting information, adding it to her database, seeing how it contributes to shape reality. So far, the supernatural hadn't been something Violet had considered to be part of the universe- well, then she'll have to think differently, to comprehend how she can incorporate it into her understanding of reality.

Stepping inside the sacred temple she holds so dear, Violet's walk is more determined than ever.

------

Violet has canonically two dads! AFAIK they haven't been revealed yet so here's my headcanon for them :) Colin is named after colibri, French for sabrewing. Largo is named after the scientific name for the sabrewing, Campylopterus largipennis.

See you later today because I'll have to catch up!

#Ducktober #Ducktales #Violet Sabrewing #Fanfiction #My writing

[nitr0glycer1ne]

✰ My Redbubble shop is officially open!  ✰ I’m proud to offer those designs for sale on various pieces of apparel, as stickers, on notebooks and more!  More designs are to come in upcoming weeks  ♡ Head over here if you’re interested : https://www.redbubble.com/fr/people/nitroglycerine?asc=u

#redbubble #shop #shop open #artists on tumblr #merch #self promo