#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ʀᴇᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ❞ ◌ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ ¦ 「 Drake 」

[ducktales-wco-oo]

(Tag Dump - Headcanons Pt1)

[ducktales-wco-oo]

🤱 ‘ + Hey Drake, how was your mom's cooking?

{ ☆ }  ❝  Oh... Well, uh... I don’t really—  ❞  Drake awkwardly begins with a bark of a laugh and a rub of the back of his neck, gaze averting to the side as he feels a forbidding chill travel up his spine that he had hoped was long dea— overcome. Truthfully, he tries to keep from thinking of his mother. His parents in general. Not that they were bad people! At least, not by the standards he’s witnessed and experienced elsewhere. Not even close. Absent, perhaps... Uninterested. Unsupportive. Un— Oh. Right.

Cooking.

❝  I usually just whipped up whatever I could, since there was always food in the house and my parents were always—  ❞  Not. Coughing into his closed fist, hands then move to rest at his sides, chest puffed out and haughty confidence radiating off in waves, attempting to drown out the uncertainty of before,  ❝  I got pretty good if I do say so myself! You’d be surprised what a kid can learn to make with grit, determination—  ❞  Hunger.  ❝  —and NO adult supervision. Heheh... Heh...  ❞  What is meant to be a show of levity just ends up sounding false. Weak. And Drake can practically hear his theatre teachers lamenting about it.

Cheeks tinting pink with shame, gaze flits away as Drake suppresses a grimace as best he can. He knows he’s really just avoiding the question. He wasn’t asked about how well HE can cook; even if he is working on a cookbook and likes to think his recipes are pretty good whenever he manages to follow his own instructions correctly. Damn milk. He was asked about his mother’s cooking. He just... wishes he could think of something to say that wouldn’t be a bald-faced lie.

It’s not so much the act of lying that bothers him. He’s done it before and will do it again. Just comes with the territory, be it heroing, acting, existing... It’s the need to. The realization that he couldn’t recall how a meal of his mom’s tasted to save his life. Not a single, solitary one. But- that can’t be right. Certainly he had a favorite meal. A favorite memory. Hell, even one that SUCKED. At least it’d be something to say.

Something to have.

❝  I uh... I’m even writing a cookbook now. Figure it might help some other kid in need of... stuff to whip up when the parents are out. Had to make some substitutions when it came to ingredients in my earlier recipes though.  ❞  Another cough into his fist, gaze averting and cheeks dusted pink. ❝ Not everyone has access to the kinda stuff I did...  ❞  That is, before— ...

❝  I dunno. Maybe it’ll do someone some good.  ❞  { ☆ }