#Lydsfics

[pastthebutterflies]

Quest Added: Saving Fowling Village

In other words...A Sonic BotW Au!

Read here or on Ao3!

And thanks to my beta reader/lovely gf @crystallizabethine!

There wasn’t a lot Sonic remembered from before his nap these days, but one fact he did know was that the foxes had been the fastest race in the region. As a bustling village with elite warriors that used twin tails to soar for miles, they had been instrumental in the fight against Robotnik and his army. While the rest of them had attacked from land and sea, the foxes had swooped in from above to snatch weapons straight from enemy hands.

Now, walking into the village, only remnants of their history remained. Runways had long since been blocked off in favor of filling the area with extra supplies or new shops. The spiraled, jutting rock they had built their home on had become more of a hindrance than an advantage as its locals trekked up and down the platforms they had built years prior. Despite this, the foxes seemed to have done well for themselves, considering most of the world had been overrun by bloodthirsty robots for the past century.

Except for, well, the whole tail thing.

Where before, Fowling Village had been a shining haven filled with foxes drifting lazily overhead or soaring from landing to landing, now they scurried along on fluffy, calloused paws that thumped along the wood floors. As kind as ever, they welcomed Sonic with open arms and directions toward the divine beast soaring overhead.

“Too high,” the shopkeeper muttered with disdain as she wrapped his supplies in soft cloth. “We foxes planted our feet on the ground a century ago, after that Robotnik started nosing too close into our business. Shot down too many good soldiers- or so I heard. Our elders decided then and there that no fox would risk a flight again, not while that Robotnik and his bots were still lurking around.”

Guilt curdled in his stomach. His own confrontation with Robotnik was enough to keep him asleep for a hundred years. He hadn’t been around to help in the fallout, he could only imagine the shockwaves that hit the regions after he and Shadow both fell, followed quickly by their companions. The region’s only line of defense all that time had been dependent on Shadow being stubborn enough to wait for Sonic to wake up and come headbutt Robotnik into oblivion. 

Knowing that he had, in part, caused the foxes to change their entire lifestyle sent a shard of deep, burning shame spearing straight through his chest. With any luck, no other region will have followed suit.

The shopkeeper shoved the bundle of arrows into his arms and heaved a sigh. “Most of us did, anyway.”

“Most?”

The shopkeeper snorted, “see for yourself. He sticks to the outskirts, these days.” She glanced up as she shoved his rings under the counter, eyes sharp. “One day, he’ll learn to keep his feet on the ground. For all our sake.”

After a night spent in the hotel a few floors above, Sonic gathered up his belongings and headed into the woods to search for food to store for later. As soon as he took down the divine beast, he was southbound for the desert. Getting rations and water now meant he wouldn’t have to worry halfway across a dried out wasteland. 

Probably.

But the deeper he went, the more Sonic discovered that most of the plants in the area had already been picked clean. He wouldn’t have expected the foxes to be scavenging this far from the village, not when the sound of bots still rang in the distance. Foxes were brave, sure, but not stupid. But then, if it wasn’t the villagers, who-?

Unless the shopkeeper had been telling the truth and an outcast really was staying somewhere nearby. Assuming things hadn’t changed too much, he remembered a small clearing Nine had showed him, ages before the battle, with any luck, maybe it would still have some berries he could scrounge up. 

Shockingly, finding the clearing had been easy work. Despite the time passed, a lot of the old paths he had traveled were still the same, if more worn than he remembered. The hard part, however, was the fact that it certainly wasn’t home to just berries anymore. With how much overgrowth had spread across the area, he could see the appeal of taking over the space, Sonic just hoped he wasn’t encroaching on anyone’s territory.

As far as shelters went, the space didn’t offer much, but clearly provided a home safely out of sight of the bots roaming nearby. A thin ream of cloth had been unfurled and fashioned into a leaning tent that jutted out from where it was stuck to a tree and stuck into the ground with a thin metal rod. A bundle of blankets sat against the tree, surrounded by bits and bobs from what Sonic was almost certain was Robotnik tech.

He took a step closer, maybe someone was still inside who could explain. 

How in the world-?

The snap came before Sonic fully processed what was happening. A loud crack sounded and suddenly Sonic was flying up through the air as something wrapped around his ankle and held him there, dangling upside down in front of the tent.

Feet were quick to drop to the ground behind him as a voice snapped behind him, “back away from the tent and maybe I’ll let you go.”

Sonic swung uselessly back and forth. 

The voice behind him sighed, “oh…right.”

Rustling sounded from somewhere behind him as Sonic wiggled his free leg to spin in a circle. It worked, possibly a bit too well when he spun too fast. He whipped around in a circle as spots of green-brown-orange-green flashed past. 

Snap!

The pressure against his ankle vanished and with it, the only thing holding him in place did too. He crashed to the ground in a pile of limbs and rope, spitting out a mouthful of dirt as he sat up.

Wide blue eyes were staring down at him as he did so. Covered in dirty, unkempt fur, the kid staring back at him couldn’t have been more than eight or so. Behind him, two thick tails whipped back and forth.

Which made him really question the crossbow clutched between his fingers, directed straight at Sonic’s forehead.

On instinct, his hands went up as he scrambled to his feet. “Easy, kid. Easy, I don’t want any trouble, honest.”

The kid took several, staggered steps backward. He jutted the crossbow toward Sonic again, as if waiting for Sonic to spring into action. When no attack came from either side, they stood staring the other down. 

Eventually, the crossbow dropped to the kid’s side while his finger remained on the trigger. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’m a friend,” he promised. “I’m guessing you don’t have a lot of those.”

The kid’s frown only deepened, “that doesn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

And if that wasn’t the question of Sonic’s life. New and old. To save the village, followed shortly by the world? To find some supplies? Or maybe to help out a kid who reminded him far too much of the friends he left behind a century ago?

“I was looking for you, actually. Some of the locals said you were good with tech, that true?”

Actually, they had had a lot more to say about the kid’s other talents first, until he had shoved the tablet under their noses and asked if they knew anyone who could help him upgrade it in a final bid to change the subject. Only then had another child hesitantly mentioned that some locals went to the kid when their own tech needed fixing. Judging by the meager supplies he had seen in the tent, he guessed they didn’t pay much. If at all.

When Rouge had tossed him the tablet- weeks ago, at this point- she had mentioned it was already on the fritz and would need upgrades to continue functioning properly and stop this entire mess. 

And maybe when he frowned, the kid looked a little too much like Nine had, all those years ago. He was outsourcing, was all. It wasn’t his fault if the help he found happened to look like old friends. He couldn’t save the world without it, after all.

Finally, the kid nodded and snatched up the offered tablet. Now wholly distracted, he wandered over to the tent with his head bent low and started tinkering with the tools from his belt. 

He waited for any indication that the kid would pick up the crossbow, now sitting at his side, again. When none came, Sonic slowly came to sit beside him, close enough to watch his work, but far enough that he wouldn’t get in the way.

“The name’s Sonic, by the way.”

“I know,” he muttered. “You’re here to stop the beast, like you did in the Echidna domain.”

“The news has already made it here?” He and Knuckles had only regained control of his Divine Beast about a week ago. When he left, word was still spreading through town, much less this far across the kingdom.

He shrugged, “kinda. I’ve been keeping tabs on you, too.”

Sonic opened his mouth, ready to ask how exactly he was accomplishing that then realized that, no, actually, he didn’t want to know.

“I’m Sonic, by the way,” he said again.

The kid shot him a glance. “I know? You already mentioned that.”

“Which is usually the part where the other person would introduce themselves. So you are…?”

“Uh, Miles. But I prefer Tails,” he said, reaching to pull his own two close as he watched Sonic through narrowed eyes.

The villagers had spoken of the kid with such disdain that Sonic had almost been expecting to find some brat raring to bite him the first chance he got. And while he wasn’t entirely certain Tails wouldn’t bite, Sonic was getting the feeling his reputation had been highly exaggerated. 

Flight had been something to be revered among foxes back in Sonic’s day. Not everyone had been capable, but those that could had been highly respected and often sent on the village’s most important missions.

Like fighting Robotnik’s army. 

To think, two tails- flight- meant being ousted from the village now, especially so young…Nine would have been disgusted with his people. 

Sonic was, too.

Maybe Fowling Village wouldn’t do right by this kid, but Sonic certainly would.

He reached a hand out to knock against the kid’s knee. “It’s good to meet you, Tails.”

The beginnings of a smile twitched against Tails’s lips. 

“I should be done soon. But it would really speed things up if you went into the village and grabbed me some extra parts. I have some extra rings you can take with you.”

“Keep them, kid. I’ve got plenty, what do you need?”

It was true for once, too. He had picked up a few odd jobs on the trip over and had enough to last him a few more weeks if he was careful. Plus, he wasn’t about to let Tails spend his own rings fixing something he messed up.

This was how, ten minutes later, Sonic found himself walking back into the village’s only shop to dig through their bucket of spare parts collected from Robotnik’s defeated bots.

“I apologize, I’m sure that boy is sending you all over Mobius to collect parts for him. It must be so degrading, having to put up with his nonsense when you are trying so hard to save our world.” 

The shopkeeper from before leaned across the counter as she spoke, a few other patrons snickered into their paws. 

“Yeah,” he snapped. “Saving the world and everyone in it, which includes the child you all have left to fend for himself in woods brimming with bots.”

The bag in his hands, now filled with much more than Tails had originally asked for, dropped down on the counter with a heavy clang.

“Did you know, a century ago foxes like him were revered for their skills? They were at the forefront of the fight with Robotnik and personally helped me seal him away, all to protect the future. Only to come back and find you tossing those same people aside to ease your own guilt.”

A handful of rings clattered across the counter as Sonic snatched his bag back up. The shop and its patrons had gone silent, openly staring as he walked toward the door.

“You’re lucky I’m better than you,” he called. “Or I would let the Divine Beast have its way with this place.”

By the time Sonic returned, Tails had effectively dismantled and rebuilt the entire tablet until it was almost unrecognizable. 

Tails was already rambling about the work he had done once Sonic sat down and passed him the bag. 

“I hadn’t realized how primitive your technology had been back then. Honestly, I’m not sure how you were getting anywhere with that thing. Your map was wildly out of date-” so that was why he kept getting lost. Who knew? “-Don’t worry, though, I updated it all for you. Using it now should be a breeze.”

Five minutes later and Tails was passing the newly dubbed Miles Electric (“I hope you don’t mind. Calling it a tablet just felt so…ancient.”) back to him. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting every new feature and how it shined in a way it hadn’t since long before his big nap.

Tails watched him the entire time, explaining everything he had done, including what had changed, what had been upgraded, and what he had added in just for fun, as he put it.

“It should be much more useful for you now in your fight against Robotnik.” Tails was openly smiling now, like he knew he had done well and was hoping that maybe Sonic would say so, too. 

He rocked back on the balls of his feet, tails finally coming to life to flutter behind him. Not flying, but coming close. 

It hit Sonic once again that this was just a kid, younger than even Nine had been when they met. Too young to be so unkempt and out on his own like this. Which made this part all the easier.

“This is fantastic, Tails, thank you. Really, Robotnik won’t know what hit him.” He sighed. “But I think this might be too much for me. This is a lot of change to take in all at once.”

Tails’s brows furrowed, “but you can learn right? It might take a while, but you could figure it out and then get right back to fighting Robotnik.”

“I could- and I will. But I was thinking, the world has changed a lot in the time I was gone. It might be a good idea if I had a guide, someone who knew more and could help me navigate the new world. A partner of some kind.” 

“Oh, right. I guess that would make sense. You could talk to some of the elders in the village, they would probably have some suggestions.”

Tails turned away to tug on the drawstrings of the bag. His eyes stayed focused on the ground, but Sonic could see the way they began to dim. 

“Actually, I was thinking it could be you. If you’re not too busy around here, that is.”

The drawstrings dropped to the ground as Tails whipped his head up to look at him. He frowned, “why?” Sonic tried to look relaxed as he shrugged, “why not? You seem to know enough to help out, plus you’re way more interesting than any of the others I’ve come across around the village.”

“...Are you sure? The villagers won’t be as willing to help you if they find out we’re working together.”

“Meh, I think I already burned that bridge anyway.”

“Wait, what did you-”

“Anyway, what do you say kid, wanna help me take down Robotnik?”

A long stare as Tails looked him over for any sign he might have been lying. Any suggestion the offer could be a cruel trick. 

Another long suffering moment, then, “I’m stubborn. If you let me tag along, you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

“A little company would do me good. It’s better than talking to bots, anyway.”

“The villagers aren’t the only ones who would be upset about seeing us together,” he warned.

“Then they can go through me. I mean it, kid, if you want to come, there’s a spot waiting for you. Or do you have a few more scare tactics you wanna try first?”

“You mean it?”

At this point, Sonic wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him until the offer finally sinks in. Instead, “I do. I really do.”

Tails leaned back on his palms, pushed himself up, then grinned as his tails began to lift him into the air. His gaze landed on the distant figure of the Divine Beast, still circling the village. Its cry rang through the air.

“Great, then let’s start by saving Fowling Village.”

[pastthebutterflies]

Flashes of the Battle (Come Back to Me in a Blur)

Summary:

“We’ve been waiting such a long time, Sonic. Please, say you’ll save my best friend.”

One hundred years after Robotnik invaded, the great hero Sonic is known only as a myth to most of Mobius.

Or-

Oversleeping is a bitch when the world is counting on you.

Read here!

Or check out my ao3 here!

Finally had time to finish editing and upload this! Updates will be sporadic but hopefully not too bad!

[pastthebutterflies]

She Who is Made of Salt

“Gosalyn,” a sudden, sharp tug sends her skidding to a stop. She’s spun around to meet Darkwing’s wide, worried eyes. “Slow down for a second, would you? We- we should talk about this.” “About what?” “About-” one hand gesticulates wildly in the space between them as he tries and fails to find the word he’s looking for. “This. You- leaving. We talked about this.”

Ao3

Gosalyn knows Grandpa hasn’t been gone that long, but the time it took for his rules to go out the window is still all of none. 

In the first month since he had vanished from the face of this dimension, she stayed close to the house, sneaking in and out as she saw fit. Slipping in and out the back window had become second nature after a while, especially when the front door was still too risky. Not that she spent long inside, it wasn’t right without Grandpa. What had once been warm, familiar, indisputably home, was now dark and foreign. Dangerous, if she hung around too long.

All that, unfortunately, changed once she started bunking at Darkwing’s hideout. Where before, she was free to roam and investigate as she pleased, now there were curfews and rules and restrictions she wasn’t used to. Someone actually expected her to come home at night.

“It’s for your safety,” he had told her one night as she curled up on the couch. They hadn’t gotten around to finding her a space yet (space meant long term, long term meant Grandpa was no closer to coming home and- yeah. She would stick to the couch) and she refused to take his bed, no matter how many times it was offered, meaning most nights ended with both of them sprawled out in the living area while the tv softly played old Darkwing Duck episodes until she fell asleep.

She wasn’t sure how safety and crime-fighting could easily coexist, but Gosalyn was quickly finding that her and rules couldn’t. Curfews were nothing new, Grandpa had always told her to be home by the time the streetlights came on, a request she had always been careful to fulfill. 

But now, in this lonesome, new world, she has spent the past month disregarding that and every other precedent she had ever been set, forgive her if getting home before dark is the last thing on her mind.

Her phone battery is long since drained by the time she makes her way back to the hideout. The sun has set over the city and the quiet that falls around her on the way back is comforting all the way up until it comes to a screeching halt the second the door shuts behind her.

“Gosalyn!” Darkwing shoots up from his spot under W.A.N.D.A., who is loading a map of St. Canard that pauses the moment she comes closer. “Where have you been?”

“Researching? Like I said I was this morning?” She waves the sheaf of papers she had snagged from Grandpa’s home lab in the air as proof, but this does nothing to ease the frown on Darkwing’s face as he strides over.

“You were supposed to be back hours ago, why weren’t you answering my calls?”

She shoves her hands in her pockets and shrugs. “Sorry, my phone died a while ago. But! I did find Grandpa’s early plans for the Ramrod. It’s not the final cut, obviously, but they’re still enough to go off while we track down the stolen ones.”

She moves to sprawl on the couch, more than ready to stamp down the small stem of guilt growing in her stomach. She hadn’t meant to worry him, not really, but if she wanted any hope of bringing Grandpa home, they needed those plans. End of story.

“Gosalyn.”

“Come on. We need to upload these and get moving!”

“Gosalyn,” a sudden, sharp tug sends her skidding to a stop. She’s spun around to meet Darkwing’s wide, worried eyes. “Slow down for a second, would you? We- we should talk about this.”

“About what?” Her arms come up to wrap around her middle, hiding the plans from view. Somehow, she thinks that’s not what Darkwing wants to talk about right now. 

“About-” one hand gesticulates wildly in the space between them as he tries and fails to find the word he’s looking for. “This. You- leaving. We talked about this.”

She hugs herself tighter, “I got distracted, sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time, too.” He sighs; runs a tired hand over his face. “Look, Gos, I know this is hard for you, but I set the rules for a reason.”

“Yeah, so I can’t get anything done. How am I supposed to help if I can’t go out alone during the day, have to be home by sundown, and can’t be seen coming or going from the tower? Real flexible.”

“Kid, Bulba is still out there. For all we know, he’s looking for you.”

“Haven’t I proven that I can take care of myself? If Bulba wants to try me, let him. He’ll be in for a rude awakening when I knock him off his feet again.” Granted, last time she had had the luck of the Ramrod sending him flying into a wall on her side, not that Darkwing needed to remember that right now.

“I know you can, but anyone can be taken by surprise, I think I proved that when that Steelbeak fellow dropped in last week.”

Her grip tightens on the plans, the entire reason she had to go back for them was because of Steelbeak’s sneak attack. Launchpad had shoved her in the closet with her crossbow when the security cameras had started picking up strange movements outside, by the time she had gotten out, the hideout had been a wreck and the plans were long gone. The bruise on Darkwing’s bill was still a deep, ugly yellow.

Despite what he seemed to think, she wasn’t some little kid, she was Gosalyn Waddlemeyer and she could take care of herself. She had been doing just fine with Bulba on her tail before and could continue to watch out for herself now. She appreciates Darkwing’s help, as well as everything else he has done for her lately, but that doesn’t mean she needs a babysitter.

“I was on my guard the whole time, if he snuck up on me, I would have been ready.” 

“And if you hadn’t?” Darkwing kneels to grip her by the shoulders, fingers tight around the fabric of her hoodie. “Don’t forget, this is the same man who had no problems throwing you off a building if it meant protecting his reputation. He isn’t going to hold back next time, either.”

Neither will Gosalyn if she gets any say in the matter. 

He continues, “You’re trying to help, I get it. You’ve got a lot at stake if we can’t recover those plans. Just...don’t put yourself needlessly in the line of fire. Your grandpa would never forgive me if something happened to you on my watch, heck, I’d never forgive me.”

Her grip slackens a little at that and the plans fall from her hands. She watches them flutter to the ground, carefully avoiding Darkwing’s eyes on her.

“Fine,” she says after a few, hard-pressed moments. “I’ll stay here and let you guys handle it, is that what you want?”

Gosalyn pulls out of his grasp and hops onto the couch, turning her back to the rest of the room. Silence follows as Darkwing stands, shell-shocked where she left him. Then, footsteps, followed by a dip in the cushion beside her. She peers out from between where her head rests between her knees to see Darkwing smiling sadly at her, hat in his hands. 

He always looks so different without the entire getup, more civilian, like someone she would pass on the street without looking twice. Nothing like he usually was.

“I know you want to look out for me, but I was hiding from Bulba long before I ran into you guys. I know what I’m doing,” she says.

“But that doesn’t mean it has to be that way, now. I want to help, please, let me.”

Slowly, Gosalyn unfurls to lean against the back of the couch. 

“What if Bulba does find me? Got a plan for that?”

“Simple, it’s not happening. If he wants vengeance, he can find it somewhere else, he’s done messing with your life.”

A smile tugs at her lips, Darkwing’s confidence is comforting if a little misplaced considering he just had his tail feathers handed to him a week ago by someone half Bulba’s size. Regardless, she appreciates the sentiment. 

“Big words from a little guy, think you can handle it?”

“Aren’t you shorter than I am? And yes, I know I can.” He stands and drops his hat back on Gosalyn’s head with a flourish. “Now, what do you say we take a look at those plans?”

[pastthebutterflies]

Through the Vents to Grandmother’s House

Part one of a silly little au I’ve had in the back of my head for years now. Webby and the triplets have swapped places in a sense and yes, I would absolutely love to ramble about this au, thanks for asking!

Ao3

When Webby first arrives at McDuck manor, she can’t quite believe her eyes.

The main foyer alone is enough to make her jaw drop, never mind the rest of the house, including her bedroom.

When Granny went missing, Webby wasn’t sure what she had expected to happen. Most likely, she would have been shipped off to one of Granny’s former partners from her old business until she had been found and safely returned home. She could have stayed with Mr. Drake or maybe Doctor Hooter, from accounting.

However, what she hadn’t expected (not today, not yesterday. Not ever, if she was honest) was to be dropped at the doorstep of Scrooge McDuck, patriarch of the renowned adventuring family, the richest duck in the world, and, apparently, dear old friend to one Bentina Beakley.

She clutches her suitcase (the only thing she had been able to pack in time) a little tighter as she stares up at the driver who had picked her up- a talkative, red-haired man. Launchpad, apparently- and who Webby was pretty sure was the Della Duck staring down at her from the doorway.

“Hey, kiddo,” Della said, awkwardly waving at her like she wasn’t quite sure what else to do. And yeah, that was most definitely her, Webby had heard her voice enough times on Granny’s old radio, reliving adventures from her childhood, to know.

Now though, that same voice, usually so excited and lilting, is tinged with nerves Webby didn’t know she posessed. Della and Launchpad exchange a glance that Webby is pretty sure she isn’t supposed to catch, then look back to her. Launchpad clears his throat.

“So! If you’ll follow me, Mr. McD has a room set up for you until we find your grandm- ack!” Launchpad winces harshly as Della’s elbow meets his ribcage, sharp enough that Webby can practically hear the thud from where she stands.

“Let’s find that room, huh?”

They trail down the hall and up a flight of stairs, then circle through a maze of more hallways, all lined with lightly swinging doors, until they reach the only one still locked tight. Here, Launchpad slips off, leaving Della with a small, rounded key and a nod to Webby, his lumbering footsteps fading behind them.

“You can decorate however you want,” Della says as she turns the key in the lock. “I don’t know what you were able to bring, but we can pick up whatever you’re missing, or see if the boys have it, they won’t mind.”

“The boys?” She asks. Webby knew Della had sons, but after continuous threats from old enemies of Scrooge’s, they had largely been kept from the public eye. Rumor had it they sometimes popped up in town, but nothing substantial had ever come from it and, by now, no one knew them well enough to recognize the three if they did.

Della brightens. She lets the door swing open and together, they step inside.

“My sons,” she explains. “They should be in their rooms right now, finishing their lessons, but you’ll see them later. Dinner is in a few hours, take some time to settle in and explore if you want.”

It’s a bigger space than Webby is used to. At home, her room was at least half the size with her bed in one corner and a cluster of shelves stuffed with books and old notepads under the window. It was small, but it was hers and some nights, if she was quiet, she could hear Granny sparring down the hall.

Now though, the silence is deafening and she is reminded all over again how utterly alone she is here. Della and the others, as nice as they appear, weren’t her grandmother. Granny may have trusted Scrooge to look after Webby in her absence, but Scrooge has yet to show his face, much less help her or Granny get back where they belong.

“Hey,” Della says. She kneels and gently rests a hand on Webby’s shoulder. “Your grandma is a tough lady, we’re gonna bring her home.”

Della’s tone is sincere, polished off with a small smile, different from the ones she’s seen in photos over the years. More genuine, like it has been reserved just for her. Something about it tells Webby that she means it. Della, and the rest of the family, she hopes, are going to help her fix this. One way or another.

Webby just isn’t sure how long she’s willing to wait.

Della leaves Webby to her devices soon after.

Her bag is slumped next to the door. She hadn’t had time to pack much before Launchpad had arrived, so she mostly has clothes and a few odds and ends she remembered to take before she left.

She drags it across the carpet and to the dresser, laying out shirts and skirts and sweaters in neat rows like she would any other day. The room, even as she fills it with her presence, feels cavernous and overwhelming, like she could shout and hear the echo all through the night, a stark reminder that, no matter how nice it may be, this room, this house, isn’t where she belongs.

Tears well up in her eyes as the realization hits her. Webby slumps against the dresser, pulls her knees to her chest, and sighs. She keeps her eyes shut tight against the tips of her knees. Granny has never been the type to disappear, not without a good reason. She’s gone on long trips before, sure, mostly to help old friends out of a bind. But she always came back and never would have left without telling Webby. What happened today- it wasn’t like her. Granny had left the night before, she wasn’t supposed to be gone longer than a night.

But only Launchpad had been waiting when Webby had returned from school.

There was a mishap, he said. Granny was gone. No one knew where she went, much less where to find her. Granny was, for all intents and purposes, gone. Webby doesn’t quite know what to do with that.

Suddenly, before Webby can sink further into the hole she finds herself spiraling into, a creak echoes across the room. She freezes.

Granny raised her with a stark paranoia surrounding the rest of the world. Every bump in the night had been a risk if left unchecked and Webby had given endless lessons on self defense as a result. Blocks to kicks to flips, drilling her over and over again until Webby could fight a grown duck in her sleep.

As another creak sounds, Webby shoots to her feet, hands balled into fists as the metal grate covering the vent in front of her falls to the floor.

There’s a pause, followed by an explosion of angry whispers as three ducks spill out of the vent in a tangle of limbs.

“Dude, ow.”

“Hey!”

“Move.”

The duck on the top of the pile is the first to roll off. He falls to one side and leaps to his feet as his friends continue their struggle on the floor.

He glances around, eyes wide until he lands on Webby. He grins.

“Guys! ” The duck blindly flaps a hand at his friends as he bounds up to Webby. “Hi! You must be Webby, welcome home! Well, not home, I guess, more like home for now- or forever, maybe? Are you-”

“Hey, let her breathe,” says the duck in red. He puts a hand on the other’s shoulder and pulls him back. Then, to Webby, “sorry about Dewey- he gets excited.”

The one in green snorts, “that’s one way to put it.”

“I’m Webby,” she says because she is certain any other response would just come out as a verbal key smash right now.

“I told you,” the blue one shouts.

“No one doubted you?”

“Both of you, cut it out,” the red one says.

The three start to argue amongst themselves, each of them struggles to shout over the others which causes a cacophony of noise to once again fill her room. She isn’t entirely sure what it is they’re fighting about and honestly, she doesn’t really care to find out.

All she knows is that the noise is attacking her eardrums in a way that leaves Webby covering her ears and scrunching up her eyes again. She isn’t great with so much input all at once, never has been. So the sudden attack coupled with the heaviness of the day- any more and she might have to start throwing books.

“Stop!” She yells after a moment, and they all fall quiet.

“Ooh, guys, she’s upset.” Says the blue one as realization dawns on his face.

“Yeah, Dewey, we got that,” says the green one, not glancing toward his brother, but sending a sympathetic glance her way.

“Thank you.” Webby scrubs at her eyes. Granny wouldn’t want her breaking down like this, not over a little thing like homesickness. Or noise. She could deal with that later, right now, there were more important problems at hand. Such as the three boys crowding around her.

“Ignore them,” the third steps forward. “I’m Huey, these are my brothers, Dewey and Louie. I’d say they aren’t always like this, but that would be a lie.”

She laughs. The anxiety ebbs at the edges of her mind, still disconcerting and all too present, but beginning to fade. In its place, a small bubble of excitement starts to take up residence. “Do you guys always go through the vents like that?”

“Duh, it’s the only way to get around.”

“That and it’s way quicker than dealing with people,” Louie tells her. He pulls out his phone, where he shows her what looks like a map of the entire ventilation system throughout the mansion. “Huey made it, I navigate, Dewey...narrates. We have a system.”

“Uncle Donald said to give you space, but we figured you could use some company,” Dewey says.

They glance around the room, taking in their surroundings for the first time. “Isn’t this Scrooge’s old library?”

“No way.”

“Scrooge would never-”

Webby frowns, actually, he’s not wrong. On closer inspection, that may be exactly what this is.

Her bed, which is propped up high above their heads, is lined with shelves that lift up her mattress and mold themselves into two out of the four walls, with a ladder propped against one side. The far wall looks out over the front yard, giving a wide view of all of Duckburg. The fourth, where the door sits, still propped halfway open, is decorated with wallpaper and outdated wood paneling.

Overall, removing the addition of her bed and a dresser, the room largely resembles a long-forgotten library.

Webby crosses to one of the shelves that make up her bedframe and pulls off a thick, dust-coated book, titled “The (Current) Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck, circa 1946” and opens to the first page.

The others crowd around her as she flips through the pages, carefully lifting each one as she goes, wary of the way the paper seems to crumble under her fingertips.

“Jeez,” Louie mutters. “He never lets us in here, what makes you so special?”

The book goes back where she found it and she shrugs. “Your mom said Granny used to be close with Mr. McDuck, maybe that has something to do with it?”

“I didn’t realize Scrooge had friends outside the mansion.”

“I didn’t realize Scrooge had friends.”

“They used to work together, I think. It’s funny, Granny never mentioned him.”

Already distracted, Huey turns from where he kneels by the window, notepad in hand as he jots something down. “We all know Scrooge has his secrets, after Mom...I wouldn’t be surprised if there was more we didn’t know about.”

“Where did they say your grandma was, again?”

“They didn’t,” she says.

“Oh,” awkward. “Well...you wanna go crawl through some vents?”

Ten minutes later, Webby is on her hands and knees crawling through the- surprisingly clean- ventilation system that connects all of the mansion. Louie leads the way, with Huey hot on his heels, shouting directions. In the back, Dewey gives a hushed tour of the mansion, pointing out their bedroom, the living room, as well as several rooms seemingly dedicated solely to storage. Most appeared to be filled with old gear and memorabilia; old swords, glimmering gemstones, specially molded shields. She has only ever seen so many amassed artifacts at the Duckburg National History Museum and even they couldn’t compare to the sheer mass of what they pass over.

“Someday,” Dewey whispers as the others carry on. “Huey wants to get all of this transferred to a museum or something, says it’s sad, seeing so many learning opportunities locked away like this. Better than sitting here forever, I guess.”

And it is sad, in its own way. Everything is stacked carefully, with cards under each pedestal to commemorate the item’s history, according to Dewey. But most of the items look as though they hadn’t seen the light of day in decades. She pictures striking out on epic adventures as often as the McDucks used to, with grandiose speeches of impending peril and bravery, bringing home priceless artifacts, only to turn around and stow it away the same way it had been before they had found it, and shivers. Huey may be onto something.

They move on after that, leaving the treasures to gather dust. Up ahead, Louie and Huey start arguing over where to go next, until Dewey joins in, suggesting a new idea entirely, which sets them all off again. None of them seem to realize that, as they continue to move, they end up following Louie’s lead.

Relatively certain she can follow their voices to catch up later, Webby pauses outside the nearest grate and lets the fresh air rise up to greet her. Despite being dangerously close to summer, the vents are much warmer than she had expected them to be. This hadn’t been exactly how she planned to spend her day, but when the only alternative is sitting alone in her new room, she finds that she is more than content with this.

The triplets are exactly what she would expect from the McDucks. Growing up, everyone in Duckburg was familiar with the stories surrounding Scrooge and his family. Donald and Della had come to stay with him as kids and from there, a legacy was born. The adventures they undertook were the stuff of legends. Della, wild and largely unpredictable, had been their pilot. She had led the way across every continent up until the day she had announced her three eggs. Donald, on the other hand, had always been right alongside Scrooge, stomping his way out of any situation if it meant keeping his family safe. And Scrooge, right at the head, had led the way, each and every time, until the day he just...Stopped. Some say it was to protect his great-nephews, others suspect a greater conspiracy. Most don’t care.

Webby has always followed them closely. With the kind of history they carried, how could she not? The entire family is like a walking, talking mystery, waiting to be solved. Waiting for her to solve. Even now, as she listens to her new friends fade into the distance, the idea sends an excited jolt up her spine. The answers to the greatest mystery in town- right at her fingertips.

A new wave of energy passes through her and she shifts to go join the others when she pauses.

Whispers begin to drift up through the grate at her feet as she passes over what Dewey had said is Scrooge’s personal office (“we are not allowed in there, under any circumstances. Wanna see what I stole from it?”)

“There’s something off about this, Uncle Scrooge, you know her better than any of us, you can’t sit there and pretend this is like her. Beakley was always more careful than that, especially with her granddaughter on the line. She’d never be that sloppy.”

As Webby peers down, she sees Della sitting across from Scrooge himself, looking tired. She leans back in the leather chair, one hand dragging across her jaw as she stares over at him. Scrooge, to his credit, looks every bit the duck Webby remembers seeing in the papers, if several years older, now. Even so, he strikes an imposing figure as he hunches over his desk and glares a hole through the carpet.

“Aye, this isn’t like Agent twenty-two. I was under the impression that she gave this life up,” he snorts. “For protection, she said.”

Webby pauses, ducking just out of the way of the grate. Below, the conversation continues.

“She was looking out for the only family she has left, I seem to remember you doing the same thing when the boys were still ducklings.”

“And I turned to my family! She could’a done the same and we wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”

Suddenly, she hears a gasp and scuttles further back, only to find Dewey staring back at her. “Find some gossip?” Dewey leans further over the grate to stare down at the two and grins.

“Agent twenty-two,” Webby whispers to herself. They were talking about Granny, right? Who else could they be discussing? But that didn’t make any sense-

“Wait,” Dewey frowns. “Why are they-? Webby, we should go. Now.”

Before she can protest, Dewey is dragging her further into the ducts and away from the conversation.

“And Webby?” She hears as they go.

“We honor Bentina’s wishes.”

Then, they turn the corner and the conversation drifts out of earshot.

[pastthebutterflies]

Gosalyn's Super-Awesome-Summer-Fun-Family-Bonding-Day

Check out our zine! Read and/or donate here or check it out on Twitter! This was my first zine and I’m really proud of how it all came together! Be sure to look at every one else’s contributions!

Ao3

Without further ado...

Despite what Darkwing wants to believe, breaking the window was never a conscious decision on Gosalyn’s part. 

The bat? Yes.

The baseball? Also yes.

Finally giving into every chaotic instinct she has ever suppressed and hitting the ball toward the window, leaving behind a pile of glass and a cacophony of honking below as her ball rained unholy terror on innocent bystanders?

Only slightly.

But really, she thinks as Launchpad and Darkwing not-so-subtly argue a room over, this is as much their (his) fault as it was hers. If Darkwing could ease up on his constant paranoia and let her leave the tower for more than an hour at a time- or better yet, unsupervised- Gosalyn may have actually had a place to release the anxious energy that had been building in her stomach since the start of the summer. 

So really, the blame can be split sixty-forty (respectively) between Darkwing and herself (leaving none for Launchpad, who has snuck her out with him from time to time). 

Her feet have practically worn a hole through the tile by the time they both emerge. Not for the first time, she can practically feel the exhaustion radiating off them. Since May and June’s appearance, months ago, everyone has been more on edge than ever, as if they still expect F.O.W.L. agents to rise up from the shadows and wreak more havoc than they already have. 

As a result, Gosalyn has spent her summer thus far with W.A.N.D.A. as her only company, streaming videos the others send as they continue on with their adventures as if nothing had changed. 

The triplets following their mom into a potentially bottomless pit during a camping trip.

Boyd earning yet another Junior Woodchuck badge so efficiently that it put veterans to shame.

Webby bonding with her newfound sisters at the beach, digging up forgotten relics.

Everything kids her age are supposed to be doing. 

Mostly.

Gosalyn groans, stops, and lets herself fall face-first onto the couch.

A small, ugly part of her suggests things would have been better if she had just told Darkwing no when he first offered to let her stay. At least then she could be out in the world doing something useful- like looking for Grandpa, something they had yet to make much progress on. The thought is fleeting and quickly replaced by late nights curled on the too cramped sofa, watching Darkwing Duck reruns after long days of the three of them staring at computer screens until their eyes started to water and still coming up empty-handed.

They were trying, Gosalyn knew that.

But she also knows that she’s a kid and kids aren’t built to spend so long cooped up inside. It isn’t natural, especially when she can practically see the ground baking outside and kids half her age racing around unsupervised.

Though, perhaps just as unnatural, she notes when she finally sits up, is Darkwing- no, he’s definitely Drake right now- is waiting at the end of the couch, watching her with a sheepish expression as Launchpad walks up behind, giving him a pointed look, before sending Gosalyn an overly enthusiastic thumbs-up. 

Drake clears his throat. “It has come to my attention that I may-” Launchpad starts hacking behind him- “I have been a little strict in regards to your safety, recently, and may have had a hand in creating today’s…incident. To make up for it, Launchpad has suggested we-”

“Go out for a super-awesome-summer-fun-family-bonding-day!” Launchpad cuts in. 

He’s practically bouncing beside Drake, energy suddenly rolling off of him in contagious waves.

“A little?” She says after a moment, turning back to Drake. “I fell off a building and handled it just fine, remember?”

“Because I caught you-”

“Ah, ah- semantics. Now, where first?”

As it turns out, putting Launchpad in charge of their ‘super-awesome-summer-fun-family-bonding-day’ (no, he wouldn’t change the name. They tried.) may have been a less than stellar idea. Despite spending most of his time hanging out with children, Launchpad didn’t seem to know many places kids her age actually enjoyed. 

Gosalyn wants to say she isn’t surprised given…literally everything she knows about Launchpad, but after so long with Webby and the boys, she figured he would have known a place or two. 

Instead, Gosalyn finds herself staring down a gleaming sign for the St. Canard Outdoor Museum of Transportation. Beside her, Drake is glancing around like he’s expecting something much cooler to pop out at any moment, while Launchpad is bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands flapping gently at his sides.

She and Drake exchange a quick glance before she shrugs. If Launchpad thinks that this is the best place to spend their day, she’s willing to go with it for now. It isn’t like she has much better to do at the moment. 

The sun beats down on them as they make their way through the turnstile. When they round the corner, the first thing Gosalyn sees is a train engine parked on a single piece of track, stretching halfway down the aisle. Beyond it, she sees more of the same- trains, ships, trucks, all of Launchpad’s wildest dreams all contained in one painstakingly perfect lawn.

Upon spotting the engine, Launchpad turns and spreads his arms wide, a grin splitting his face.

“We’ve got ice cream, we’ve got trains, cars, and most importantly,” he gestures toward a spot in the distance, where Gosalyn could just make out a small crowd beginning to gather. “Surprise entertainment.”

Drake is glancing around, still looking uncertain. “Launchpad? This isn’t quite what I had in-”

Before he can finish, Launchpad slings an arm around Drake’s shoulder and pulls him close. The move is enough to send him sputtering, the remainder of the sentence long gone.

“Shhhh, shh,” he says. “Take it all in, beautiful, isn’t it?”

With that, Launchpad once again takes the lead, guiding them up and down the aisles, pointing out the different sights and rattling off facts about each of them as they go, as if he has been waiting his entire life for a day like this. Which, Gosalyn thinks, maybe he has. Between the constant adventures and mortal peril, she can’t imagine there was much time for typical family bonding with the McDucks. 

She’s actually kind of surprised by how much she enjoys wandering around. Not all of Launchpad’s facts really stick (and the rest will all be forgotten by tomorrow), but his voice is familiar and comforting in a way that convinces Gosalyn to relax despite the sweltering heat and the tension she only now realizes has been building in her shoulders. 

Eventually, they slow to a stop beneath the shadow of a wrecked ship, supposedly recovered just outside the borders of the Bermuda Triangle (“The Queen of the South, Mr. McDuck donated this one himself!”). By now, the three of them are slicked with sweat and even Launchpad has ditched his usual jacket for just his T-shirt. 

Drake slides down against the side of the ship, which Gosalyn is certain is very, very against the rules. She slides down beside him. “As fascinating as this has been, LP,” he says. “What do you say we take a break and cool off?”

Launchpad blinks as if just realizing they had reached the end. Glancing at his watch, he frowns. “Right, cool off. You guys do that. I’m gonna…go this way now, for no particular reason that you totally shouldn’t be wondering about. Ha!”

He takes a step backward, then another, maintaining awkward eye contact with each of them until he’s stumbling around the corner, nearly taking out a corner of the ship as he does so. Gosalyn pretends she doesn’t hear the sound of pounding footsteps against the pavement a moment later.

With that, Drake and Gosalyn are left to sit in uncomfortable silence. Around them, she can hear families passing by, laughing and meandering about as if they have nowhere they’d rather be. 

Lucky ducks.

A cough, followed by several more, all incredibly, stupidly forced. “Right then. Ice cream?”

“Ice cream.”

They order quickly and find a bench where Launchpad will be able to find them before sitting. Her feet are starting to ache from walking all afternoon and one look at Drake reveals the same- slumped shoulders, dangling feet, yet, almost shockingly, a soft smile on his face. He’s gazing off into the distance at some fixed point she can’t see. Something in her stomach twists, and Gosalyn realizes she’s speaking only after she’s started.

“Sorry about your window,” she says in one breath, hugging her arms around her middle. “I really wasn’t trying to destroy your hideout.”

“Destroy my - oh...right.” Drake’s face twists into an expression she doesn’t recognize. Regret, maybe. 

If she squints. 

“Kid, I-” He pauses. Takes a breath. Starts again. “Look, I made a promise that your grandpa is coming home one way or another. But Taurus Bulba is still out there. Villains like Bulba are out there. You and I have both seen what they are capable of. I just want to send you home in one piece. Keeping you home was supposed to keep you safe…I didn’t realize I was just hurting you more.”

Drake sighs heavily, she can practically see the weight settling against him. “I’m so sorry, Gos.”

The feelings starting to pool in Gosalyn’s stomach are enough to make her want to crawl under the bench and never come back out. She knows Drake cares, has since he first invited her to stay. But they never really discussed it, never really put words to the little family the three of them have built. She still resents being held back for so long, but seeing Drake so close to dissolving into a mushy, dorky-looking puddle makes her hold back, just a bit.

“Yeah, well, for what it’s worth, I know you’re trying or whatever. Grandpa would…he’d appreciate it. Except maybe the whole ‘letting me become a vigilante’ thing.” She snorts. “Pretty sure he’s gonna kill you for that one. Wait, does this mean I get to go out on patrols again?” Her crossbow has been gathering dust for way too long at this point.

A stricken look flashes across Drake’s face, that is quickly- and poorly- hidden with a laugh. “Babysteps.”

She jabs her spoon into her ice cream, more than ready to argue her point, when Launchpad approaches, out of breath with a set of tickets in his hand. 

He doubles over, panting. “Go- we gotta-”

Hands wrap around Gosalyn’s middle, hoisting her over Launchpad’s shoulders. Behind them, she hears Drake getting to his feet as well. They’re moving quickly as the sun sets overhead.

In minutes, she’s deposited back on the grass, this time with a clear view of the sky. Around them, other families are beginning to settle in as well. 

Launchpad and Drake settle on each side of her, the tension in their shoulders finally fading completely.

“I was scared we were going to miss it,” Launchpad says, passing the tickets over for her to see.

As she goes to look, a loud boom rattles the sky. When she looks up, it’s half-expecting to see F.O.W.L. or Bulba in a looming ship, ready to ruin her day again. But all she sees are red-purple-gold sparks raining down around them. 

Another boom and the fireworks continue, finally letting her sit back, the fight slowly draining out of her. The crowd around her lets out an awed gasp, followed by the kids in front of her leaping to their feet to get a closer look- as if leaning on their tip toes will get them closer to the sky. A part of her wants to join them, but Launchpad and Drake are warm at her sides; the good kind that almost- almost - tugs at her eyelids.

Babysteps, Drake had told her.

Leaning into his side, Gosalyn thinks she can work with that.

[pastthebutterflies]

Hey!!!

I’m in a zine! Check out @dt17summerzine on Twitter for details!! (And if you’re my family finding my blog after it gets released bc you apparently enjoy reading the things I shove into the world…hey). Super pumped to show you guys my contribution soon!!

[pastthebutterflies]

Transmission Lost

Every time Della closed her eyes, she saw her boys, growing up alongside Donald and Scrooge. The two would take care of them, she knew that. But that didn’t stop the longing to go home from getting stronger with every day that passed. She trusted her family. She had to trust them.

Or if you prefer, check it out on Ao3!

When the moon mite appeared mid-transmission, Della’s heart lifted- actually lifted- in her chest. Despite her time spent in zero gravity, Della tripped as she darted past the tripod and off the ship. The mite’s screeches were the first real sound she had heard that wasn’t her own voice in, well, it might be the only sound she had heard.

By the time she had bound off the boarding ramp, the mite’s pincers were already wrapped tightly around the ship, ready to rip it up and out of the ground. Its bright red eyes squinted as it examined the Spear, shook it, then let it fall slowly back into place, causing a thick cloud of dust to rise up around them.

Debris drifted up from where it had settled weeks ago as the ship shook. Della hadn’t secured the camera before running out and she was mostly certain she hadn’t stopped the recording, either. Hopefully her transmission would still go through. They weren’t much- she wasn’t entirely convinced they were even sending- but they were the closest she had to meeting her kids at the moment. She couldn’t be there for them in person, but they deserved everything she could manage to give until Scrooge found her.

As the mite’s gaze remained turned toward the ship, Della rolled toward an open crater and dropped down. A crash sounded as the mite lumbered across the moon’s surface, its feet slapped against the rock, searching; for her or scraps, she wasn’t sure. Della pressed closer against the bottom of the crater, her leg was held carefully, terribly still to keep from clinking. Any wrong move was a mistake Della couldn’t afford to make.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her boys, growing up alongside Donald and Scrooge. The two would take care of them, she knew that. But that didn’t stop the longing to go home from getting stronger with every day that passed. She trusted her family.

She had to trust them.

Now, in the face of the mite blocking her only way home, Della steeled herself against the ground, smacked her gum against her teeth, and launched herself into the air.

For a moment, she soared, the stars were at her back as the Earth cast its shadow across her. Then, Della crashed against the mite’s head. It reared back at the sudden weight as she clung on. The mite shook vigorously to fling her off, but Della held tight as they moved further and further away from the ship. Its growl’s and her own, garbled screams were all she could hear as they lumbered forward.

Think of the kids, think of the kids.

The mite shook again, this time nearly succeeding in pulling her loose. Together, they stumbled on. Its pincers continued to kick up dust around them, forcing it down her throat and in her eyes.

She coughed, hard. Once, twice. Her mouth was coated in the stuff, dust and black licorice tangled together in the worst combination possible.

As the mite wobbled, Della’s grip began to slip. The Spear was far enough off now, the mite wouldn’t be doing anymore damage today. Hopefully. Losing the closest thing she had to a home right now would be incredibly unproductive, especially when said home was also her only chance of getting back to Earth someday.

She let her grip loosen, just barely. For the second time in so many minutes, Della flew. She curled tight into herself as she sailed back to the ground. The mite lumbered on ahead, suddenly bored of her. Its footsteps echoed ominously around her until, finally, they faded into the distance.

Only then does Della let herself slump onto her back. The area was clear now, with the mite nowhere in sight, but the damage was already done. Above her, the Spear of Selene was now tilted at a sharp angle, not bad enough to risk moving, but enough to notice when she tried to go to bed later. She would have to find a way to keep the ship from falling the rest of the way over. She could secure it, but that would require more supplies than she had on hand at the moment, or would have, period.

Heading inside revealed about what she had expected. What few belongings she had brought with her were scattered around, no longer secured to the shelves, while her camera floated past her head in slow, lazy circles around the cockpit.

Her hands shook as she set the room right- or as close to it as she could get at the moment. The mite had caused more damage than she wanted to think about, but if it came once, chances were, it would come again. Whatever the mite was looking for, it hadn’t been found, yet. Up until now, Della had thought she was the only one on the moon, evidently that wasn’t the case.

The camera continued its orbit around her head as she moved. For the most part, it seemed to be intact, minus a few new, minor scrapes. One leap and Della had snatched it out of the air to set back on the tripod. Later. She could finish her transmission once she had the rest of the ship back in order.

Della peered out the window into the direction the mite had scurried off to. She’d been taken by surprise today, but the next time that thing tried to ruin her chances of getting home, she would be ready.

The Moonlanders were...fascinating.

Despite having almost no knowledge of life beyond their crater, their technology was some of the most advanced Della had ever seen. They didn’t have rockets or any form of efficient travel, really, but their defense systems were better than any that Earth had to offer.

Penny and Lunaris in particular seemed to favor the golden blasters that hung from their belts. Penny’s usually sat just within reach, with her hand often hovering just over the hilt, like she expected the world to turn on her at any given moment.

Though that may have just been a Della thing.

She couldn’t tell.

Throughout the rest of the city- what little Della had seen of it- a relaxed air began to settle over her. The citizens themselves were more bright-eyed than she remembered most people back home being. As Lunaris guided her to the center of the city that first day, curious eyes followed her down every street, regarding her with wonder. Few approached, too wrapped up in their curiosity to consider coming closer. Those who did mostly rattled off questions about Earthlife or the Spear before launching into a nervous spiral that left Della with little time for actual answers.

That first morning, after Lunaris had left her to her own devices with her ship, no new Moonlanders approached. The time was spent alone, dedicated to repairing the newest damage left by the moon mite just by Lunaris and Penny found her. Like before, the Moonlanders peered out their windows, curious, but not quite brave enough to approach her.

Had they ever seen an outsider? Lunaris said that the city had been concealed for cycles, since his father had reigned. Back home, no one believed there were any signs of life on the moon, no mites, certainly no hidden civilizations. There was just…the moon and the unexplored territory it represented. Crashing landing there so long ago, she hadn’t actually expected to find any company, now that she had, Della wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it.

The adventurer in her wanted to write down everything she saw to someday bring back home. Her JWG had been filled ages ago from her time spent on the spear, would Penny let her borrow some paper? Did Moonlanders even have paper? Or did they write on gold, too?

The familiar spark of adventure had reignited deep in her belly. The moon, once so quiet and empty, had suddenly become a hub of previously unexplored life.

Now if only she could find a way to be part of it.

As it turned out, the best way to get a Moonlander to like her was to keep talking. A few hours of rambling and half the city was crowded below Della’s platform, shouting up questions every few minutes. They wanted to know everything about Earth culture. So much that she was actually...kind of running out? Having grown up around Scrooge, Della wasn’t in short supply when it came to storytelling, but the more she told them, the more they wanted, the more enthralled they became.

So much so that, when Penny suggested the Moonlanders head to Earth, Della couldn’t say no. She recognized the hope in their faces and felt it welling up inside her own chest.

Despite the wonders of their own home- the gold, the tech, the gold-  the Moonlanders loved Earth. Who was she to tell them no?

When the Spear of Selene’s malfunction threatened to strand Della once again, she leapt into the pilot seat before she could even fully open her eyes. There was no time to stop, no time to think. She tossed the Spear’s manual to Lunaris and closed the overhead. The engine rumbled underfoot as she strapped in.

In the distance, the sun rose slowly over the Earth.

Returning to Earth was like a shock of cold water in winter. The landing dipped her toes in, stepping into open air was an unexpected splash.

Staring up at Scrooge’s mansion was like being submerged completely.

She was home. Not in her ship, not battling a moon mite in zero gravity, or sleeping on an alien’s couch, home. The word itself felt foreign, suddenly. After so long spent curled in the cockpit, alone, Della wasn’t quite sure she remembered that feeling anymore.

Between her fingers was the old photo. She, Scrooge, and Donald surrounded her eggs, grinning widely, taken just after she told them the news. On the back was her drawing of the boys, drawn back when she only had her imagination to go off of. After seeing them on the tv she had repaired, she had considered updating the drawing, but decided against it in the end. Her first ideas may have been wrong, but after having held onto them for so long, she couldn't quite bring herself to change it.

In the other hand was her old guidebook, crammed with every note she had taken during the repairs, every random hope or dream that came to mind. Not quite a diary, but the closest record she had to the time she was gone.

Della clutched it tighter. There was so much to do, so much to remember. The Moonlanders would be following her with their own ships soon enough. They deserved to have a home waiting for them, like the one waiting for her. She didn’t want to forget, not yet. Maybe not ever.

As she stepped away from the ship, Della tucked the photo into her guidebook, then took her first steps toward a familiar life.

The mansion hadn’t changed.

At least, not in the ways that mattered. Ducksworth was still around, in his own way, as was Agent twenty-two- Beakley, she was Beakley, now. Both still roamed the halls as if the rooms were as familiar to them as they were Della. Which, she guessed they would be, maybe even more so these days.

Her bedroom, she quickly discovered, had been largely untouched, not that she had spent much time there, yet. There was too much to do to be spending time lazing around in bed. She could sleep when she was dead, right then she had ten years of catching up to do.

She did notice though, that for every room untouched, there were about five differences she was yet to discover. The living room, once sparsely decorated with photos of Della, Donald, and Scrooge, was now overflowing with shots of the entire family. To one side was a photo of Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Mrs. Beakley’s granddaughter- Webby?- crowded together holding up a large, rusted shield, while Donald looked on nervously in the background. On another, a larger, red haired man stood with Dewey propped on one shoulder as they stared wide-eyed at something behind the camera.

The rest of the room had stayed nearly the same, if a bit more worn than she remembered. At the moment, Louie sat draped across one end of the couch, while Dewey and Webby crowded together on the other. Scrooge was pacing back and forth, a smile twitching at his lips, while Huey sat perched on the edge of the coffee table, his guide book open in one hand while the other nervously clicked a pen.

Open, closed, open, closed.

“So you were on the moon? This whole time,” Huey said. He leaned forward, eyes taking her in for the hundredth time in the past ten minutes, so close that she was scared he would crash beak first into the carpet if she so much as twitched.

She nodded, “my ship was damaged in the crash, it took years to get it up and running again.”

“So, she was telling the truth, Selene really didn’t have a spear,” Webby said.

Della’s face scrunched up in spite of herself, “Selene never had a spear, she had an-”

“Orb,” Dewey interrupted. “We know.”

“Right, of course you would know her by now.” Had met her dozens of times, probably. Storkules, too.

Behind them, Scrooge’s face screwed up like he had swallowed a lemon, he took a deep, quiet breath, then looked up at her.

“Della...After you repaired the ship, how did you get it running again? Last I checked, there was no gold on the moon.”

“Wait, wait. Hold up,” Louie said, “you fueled her ship with gold? Yeah, and I’m the selfish one around here.”

All eyes were on her. Her stomach did a somersault and landed in a pit of butterflies. Now or never.

Later that night, after an admittedly disastrous dinner and even worse bedtime, Della could finally breathe. The boys were, hopefully, sleeping off a sugar high; putting the fizz rocks in the cake hadn’t been her greatest moment (in retrospect neither had been telling them about her encounter with the Gilded Man). She tried to tell herself it could have been worse, she could have set one of them on fire or lost them in a game of extreme hide and seek, both of which had been a recurring problem between her and Donald as kids. “It could have been worse” wasn’t the highest bar in the world, but she could raise it as they went.

Baby steps.

“Settling in okay?” She jumped as Scrooge approached to stand beside her.

“Everything is so...Different. They’re so different.”

“Time stopped when you were up there, but down here, the world kept spinning. We didn’t leave you behind, but you certainly have some catching up to do, lass.”

“All three of them are everything I hoped for and more. I’m so proud and I barely know them yet. I-” She paused, not sure how to fully articulate the next part to make sure he understood. “Thank you, so so much for looking out for my boys. I know it couldn’t have been easy, especially between you and Donald, but it means so much to know you were both there when I couldn’t be.”

She looked up and frowned. Scrooge wasn’t smiling, like she hoped he might be. He’s got that same sour lemon face from before. Her stomach lurches, she’s missing something.

“Wait- what aren’t you telling me?”

He sighed, heavily. “I think it’s time we had a talk, lass, just you and I.”

As the night inched closer to morning, Della slipped silently into her bedroom.

Scrooge never knew his nephews. Donald took them and left before they could hatch. Her sons grew up on a boat , never knowing her or their family. How many nights had they sat up, wondering? What had Donald told them? What hadn’t he told them?

She chewed her gum, it felt like a wet paper towel by now and still radiated black licorice.

Della hated black licorice, she hated gum. She wanted to breathe again, like she was supposed to. There was no air on the moon, no oxygen,  Except-

She wasn’t on the moon.

Not anymore.

It was only then that reality finally seemed to hit her. Della was on Earth, she had fixed the Spear of Selene, she had found gold, and she had made it home.

She wasn’t on the moon.

She could jump and hit the ground again in seconds. Her stuff didn’t float around the room and neither did she. Della could breathe. She hadn’t done that properly in ten years.

Without looking to see where it would land, Della spit the gum out of her mouth. A wet smack hit the carpet. Her lungs spasmed, stuttered, then went on as normal. She could breathe again.

“I never met them,” Scrooge had told her.

The force of the thought sent Della to her knees. In a matter of hours and a series of every dumb decision she could possibly make, Della had singlehandedly managed to pull her family apart at the seams.

She never wanted this, never in her worst nightmares. One last adventure, one final moment of freedom before she settled down for a while. She was supposed to go up, come back down, then be there for her boys when they needed her most. If she had just waited maybe life would be different, better even.

She glanced up, looked around. This was her life now, like it or not. She was back, really in her old bedroom, surrounded by her family. She couldn’t bring back the lost time, but she could make up for it.

Della dipped down again, fingers reaching to press against the carpet.

She stayed there, curled on her knees for a moment, forcing careful breaths into her lungs. She blinked back tears as the feeling over took her. This was really her bedroom and she really could breathe again. No more gum, no more-

“Mom?”

“Tur- Dewey!” She shot up, quickly scrubbing at her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Dewey twisted from one foot to the other, hands wrung together, tight as could be. “Couldn’t sleep, sorry, I just- forget it. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As he turned to hurry back out toward his room, Della’s heart flew up to sit in her throat.

“Hey, wait, come in for a second.” She wasn’t sure she had the right to ask that. She wasn’t his mother... yet. But maybe- maybe she could be.

“Yeah, Mom?”

Della stood and crossed the distance between them. Without letting herself pause to second guess, she pulled Dewey close and hugged him tight. After ten long years, she finally had her son- one of them- in her arms. She didn’t plan on ever letting go again.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I’m so sorry. I never should have left you boys, if I had known what I was giving up that day, I-” She held him at arm's length. “I won’t leave you, any of you, ever again and I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you if that’s what you need.”

Dewey wriggled out of her grip. His face was frozen, carefully drawn together with an emotion Della couldn’t quite pin yet, but she guessed was somewhere between panicked and completely lost. Della was starting to realize he made that expression a lot.

He wasn’t moving, why wasn’t he moving? Dewey just stood, stock still, face rigid. She wanted to reach out again, hold him until she could figure out what else to do, but this was his moment. Whatever he did next, Della would take it.

Her heart continued its heavy rhythm in her throat.

Thump, thump, thump.

Then, before she could blink, Dewey was back against her chest. This time, his arms wrapped tight around her middle.

His words were muffled through the fabric of her shirt, but the message came across clearly enough, “I’m glad you’re back.”

[pastthebutterflies]

Simple Solutions

Sometimes the answer to your problem is closer than it appears. Marcy didn't know it would be so simple.

Just a short little thing to get some feelings out about the finale, reblogs appreciated! Enjoy!

(Ao3 link in the reblogs!)

Marcy would never say that she had the worst family in the world.

They weren’t particularly stern or overbearing. Never set harsh rules, gave a somewhat lenient curfew, and mostly free reign of the city. They supported her gaming habits, whether that be video or table top, even tried to join in from time to time, when Anne or Sasha didn’t want to. Otherwise, she was usually left to her own devices.

Over all, her parents were good people. Logically, she knows this. She also knows this means she doesn’t have much room to complain when things at home do go wrong. Marcy has seen Sasha’s parents, heard about the rules, the constant raised expectations, seen the way it rubs at her when she thinks no one is looking.

She knows it could be worse.

But, as she storms away from the house, her parents sitting shell shocked in the living room, what Marcy also knows is this: it isn’t fair . 

The tears are coming hard and fast, now. Fat droplets are bubbling up at the corners of her eyes, no matter how many times she wipes them away with her sleeve, threatening to drop with every step she takes. Still tucked in her pocket, she can feel her phone blowing up, likely with messages from her parents that she can’t bring herself to look at yet. 

Marcy has never really fought with them like that. Not one of that caliber, that is. There was once, when Sasha brought her and Anne to a concert downtown, long after sundown, after coaxing Marcy out her bedroom window. In the end, she had nearly shattered her ankle on the way down and had lost all her devices for a month once her parents found out she was gone. Sasha had been there for that one, had convinced her to push back on the punishment (“We’re teenagers now, Mar, what else did they expect?”), which had only caused her grounding to be extended from a week to a month (she would only admit to Anne later on that she sort of…“Wish Sasha had stayed out of it, pleasedon’ttellherthough.”). 

With that as her only real reference, Marcy gets the feeling that there might be a difference between sneaking out with friends and screaming how they ruined her life, followed by a swift exit, complete with slamming doors and heavy footsteps.

School had ended hours ago, she realizes. Anne and Sasha don’t even know yet. They don’t know yet. How is she supposed to-?

It’s Anne’s birthday, too. 

The pit that had been steadily growing in her stomach since she left home gets ever larger. It sucks up every piece of her like a particularly hungry black hole and leaves her stomach feeling like it might cave in on itself if she isn’t careful. 

She pictures arriving at Anne’s front door, empty handed (she still hadn’t had time to find anything decent, not with finals around the corner) with nothing but bad news to bring the night down. For a moment, she considers skipping out, entirely. She would probably only make them feel worse in the long run. Even if Marcy didn’t bring it up right away, her mood felt almost tangible, like they would be able to see the black cloud hanging over her head as soon as she approached. 

By this point, the street she finds herself on is nearly empty. Thick, dreary clouds overhead are gathering overhead, accompanied by a wind that sends Marcy curling further into her jacket, hands tucked deep in her pockets. One is wrapped around her phone, which is still vibrating steadily. Funny, considering her parents aren’t typically ones to text so much, no matter their moods.

It isn’t until she stops a few minutes later that she decides to risk a glance. When the screen lights up, Marcy is more than ready for a scathing voicemail from her dad or a novel from her mom, asking her to come home, but instead, she only finds a stack of unread messages from Sasha. Most are asking when she will be by, along with a reminder that Anne’s party started half an hour ago. 

Marcy winces, she was supposed to be there ages ago. At this point though, she leans against the shop beside her, what was a few more minutes? 

The messages get swiped away and she looks up, ready to head out with a somewhat clearer head than she had a few minutes ago.

That’s when she spots it, nestled on an otherwise empty shelf behind the shop window. 

The first thing Marcy notices is that the box is smaller in person than it had appeared in the book. Which she supposes makes sense, drawings from old books like that rarely translate well to real life, size wise. But the jewels along the side still shine in the dim light, green, pink, and blue, running along the frog carving beside it. If she hadn’t seen the sketch in the library that afternoon, she doesn’t think she would have recognized it. Probably would have kept walking, maybe would have noted its potential in a campaign down the line, before she continued down the street.

But as it stands, she does know that box and when she lifts her phone, the picture she took before already pulled up, her heart stutters at the perfect match.

Another text from Sasha comes in. There are still none from her parents.

A portal to another world.

Another buzz.

It would never work. These kinds of things only ever happen in video games, fantasies. Life has never been kind enough to just present this easy of an opportunity to her. Marcy has had to work for everything in her life; her grades, her achievements. 

Her friends.

Life doesn’t grant any favors.

Even so, this doesn’t stop Marcy as she lifts her phone again and snaps another photo to quickly send off to Sasha. Her phone pings a second later, essentially setting the rest of her night in stone as Sasha plots out their mission.

It won’t work, of course it won’t. 

Magic doesn’t work like that here. Besides, it looks so small, sitting up there, nothing like the power it supposedly emanates. Still, Anne would probably enjoy the story behind it and she was looking for a new jewelry box, anyway.

When she eventually continues down the street, the box left to sit until later, her shoulders feel a bit lighter than they had when she left home. Her friends still don’t know, she can’t put it off forever. 

Tonight, she tells herself. After they’ve had their fun.

In the meantime, what’s the harm in waiting?

[pastthebutterflies]

Crossing the Barrier

“Camila sighs, pulls out her phone, and dials Luz’s number again as she continues down the street. Wherever she is, Camila trusts her daughter to keep herself safe; what she doesn’t trust is Luz’s ability to stay out of trouble. 

Like the dozen other times Camila has called, the call goes straight to voicemail, where Luz’s voice instructs to, “leave a message, bro!”  before beeping.

“Call. Me,” she repeats for the hundredth time, then hangs up.” 

I wrote this back when the promos for the second half of season one were premiering. Obviously it’s the furthest thing from canon at this point, but what’s fandom if not full of canon divergence at any given opportunity?

AO3 link in the reblogs!

Luz isn’t answering her phone.

In theory, this isn’t unusual. There used to be days that she would take hours to respond, start typing, then take another hour before actually sending the message. On its own, this was nothing to worry about, Camila knows this.

However, when there is an unanswered voicemail sitting in her inbox saying that Luz never arrived at camp- now she worries.

The voicemail came during Camila’s shift at the hospital. A blessing in disguise, really, had she been able to answer right then, there most likely would have been more cursing than speaking. On the other end, had been a tired sounding woman, calling regarding Luz’s absence at camp and whether she would like a refund sent over, a week after camp had begun.

Until that moment, Camila had never understood the feeling of having her heart stop in her chest, she had dealt with enough hiccups over time to take life in stride. Freezing up at the first sign of trouble, especially in the operating room, led down dangerous paths if she wasn’t careful.

Every time her friends had discussed how their children were able to make their heart pound with nothing but a sideways glance, she would laugh. Luz could be a handful at times (many, many times), but Camila couldn’t recall a moment she had felt her heart truly stop.

This time, though, she felt it. Camila’s heart froze inside her chest, the blood drained from her face. Luz wasn’t at camp and she certainly wasn’t at home. 

If she had never made it to camp, that made it likely Luz had never set foot on the bus. Meaning she hadn’t run away from camp, thankfully, but also- where could she have gone?

She doesn’t know where her daughter is and now Luz isn’t answering her. Of course she isn’t. Answering would be too easy, too simple. Too not Luz.

It’s almost as if she knows. Which begs the question: how long had Luz planned to keep this up? She must have known camp would call, eventually. What then? 

What now?

Camila sighs, pulls out her phone, and dials Luz’s number again as she continues down the street. Wherever she is, Camila trusts her daughter to keep herself safe; what she doesn’t trust is Luz’s ability to stay out of trouble. 

Like the dozen other times Camila has called, the call goes straight to voicemail, where Luz’s voice instructs her to, “leave a message, bro!”  before beeping.

“Call. Me,” she repeats for the hundredth time, then hangs up. 

Shoving her hands in her pockets, Camila pauses as she realizes she had passed the house by nearly a block. 

She turns to head back, she still needs to call the camp, and nine-one-one, and Luz, again- then froze as what could only be a small owl hops down the sidewalk with...were those her keys?

“Hey!”

The owl freezes, head tilting, before it continues to hop down the sidewalk, this time twice as fast as before, her keys dangling from its beak.

So, not only is her daughter suddenly missing, but she’s also getting robbed by an owl. Not for the first time, Camila wonders if she should have stayed in bed that morning.

As the owl makes its escape, Camila barrels after it. Chasing after a rogue owl on a busy street isn’t her finest moment, but given the way her day has been going, she thinks she deserves a pass. 

This also means that, when the owl disappears into the abandoned house she always warned Luz not to go in as a kid, she doesn’t hesitate to dart in after it. 

The door shuts with a heavy thud behind her. The dust settles and, after a moment, she realizes that the owl has vanished. In the silence, she can’t hear the telltale clack of talons against old wood. In fact, she can’t hear much of anything, beyond the sound of her own heavy panting filling up the small space.

She spins around, scanning the floor, and spots her keys, abandoned in the center of the room. The owl must have dropped them on its way up to the rafters, then couldn’t come back down when she came in. 

She snatches them up before any other birds can swoop in and steal them for their nests, then turns to leave. Camila takes a step toward the exit and immediately hits solid wood. 

Where before had been thin air, now sits an old door, which sits dead center of the room. An eye sits in the middle that seems to watch her every move. Around her, the rest of the house remains unchanged, unaware of the oddities happening within its walls.

Camila frowns. An odd, possibly magical door hidden in an abandoned house that supposedly leads to nowhere, just down the street from where her daughter was supposed to have been picked up? The scene has Luz written all over it and leaves no doubt in Camila’s mind that she is somewhere on the other side of this door.

She has to be.

Practically on cue, the door rattles, once, twice- before it creaks open as if to invite her inside. 

Stepping over the threshold is like...Well, like stepping into another world. Somewhere nearby, the murmur of a crowd rises up. The new room- tent?- is dimly lit and filled trinkets she would normally find in a thrift shop. Gaudy jewelry, busted tapes, chattering teeth…

Ahead of her, light filters in through the only other exit in the tent. If Luz really is in this place, Camila knows she will find her somewhere beyond that door. She had to.

Lifting the flap sent sunlight streaming directly into her eyes, temporarily blinding her. The noise, once a low din, now swept up and threatened to bowl her over.

The first thing she sees as her eyes adjusted is the crowd that hurries by, all in a rush to move on, just like back home except- these aren’t people, not all of them. Beasts shuffle by, all towering over her with horns, or extra eyes, or missing limbs.

Camila’s feet root to their spot as her heart shoots into her throat.

This isn’t...home. Not by a longshot. 

And her daughter  is here.

“Luz!” She shouts before she can stop herself.

In front of her, a figure, much closer than she had first thought whips around, followed by two others.

Luz’s eyes widen as she sees Camila, jaw dropping.

“Mom?”

[pastthebutterflies]

Amantes Maledic

Fundamentally, human dances and witches’ balls sound the same: fine clothes, plentiful food, corny decorations, endless dancing. Amity has to admit, without the added risk of being cursed hanging over your shoulder, human dances almost sound like more fun. Almost. Or, Luz and Amity go to a dance and gay panic ensues. 

Read here or at https://archiveofourown.org/works/25159519 

The Hexside Enchanter’s Ball is the quadrennial highlight of any learning witch’s life.

Amity hadn’t been, not yet, no one at Hexside had, but her parents insisted it would be the best night of her young life.

The ball, fun fact, had been where her parents had met for the first time. Both being adept spell-casters with a twin knack for illusions, it was a wonder to half the student body that they hadn’t met stumbled upon each other sooner.

But her father, having been the night’s first victim of what was known as the Lovers’ Curse, had slipped off to the hall to sulk alone only to find her mother in a similar state soon after. The rest, as they say, is history.

(“The curse may be meant to break hearts,” her mother says one day, staring lovingly at her ring. “But I think it mended mine.”)

According to Luz, who, since joining Hexside’s ranks, had taken to skipping up beside her in the halls between classes, human schools held their own Enchanters balls- called dances , there- once, sometimes twice a semester. How they don’t lose their charm happening so often, Amity isn’t sure. A ball is a special night, meant for moments like her parents’, happening every few months, to her, they lose all meaning.

(“Then there’s this one called the Sadie Hawkins Dance, where the girls ask the guys out. I was never really sure where that left me, though…” Luz tells her one day as they walk to class. She’s not quite sure what a Sadie Hawkins is, but Luz seems into it so she tries to like it too.)

Fundamentally though, human dances and witches’ balls sound the same: fine clothes, plentiful food, corny decorations, endless dancing. Amity has to admit, without the added risk of being cursed hanging over your shoulder, human dances almost sound like more fun.

Almost.

So, a few days later, when Luz asks her to go as her date, Amity is a little less than surprised. Their relationship as it stands is rocky at times, but overall hardening into something stable, familiar.

They’ve kissed, once, in the heat of the moment after a particularly grueling rescue from the Warden’s prison on the edge of town. Neither of them had mentioned the moment and since then, Amity was nearly tempted to believe Luz had forgotten all about it.

That is, until a bundle of flowers fall out of her locker as she’s leaving.

The flowers, yellow human world orchids if she isn’t mistaken (she isn’t), are tied together using a loose ribbon with a small card attached. In Luz’s careful handwriting she reads:

Turn around? <3

When she does so, Luz is already waiting, having somehow snuck up behind her. She’s rocking on her heels, wearing a crooked grin with her fingers tangled together in front of her.

“I know the whole ‘being seen in public with me’ bit isn’t really your thing and that our relationship is kind of-” Luz makes a scattered up and down gesture with her hand that actually sums them up rather well, “but do you want to go? With me? To the dance, I mean.”

The entire speech comes out in a single, rushed breath that leaves Luz looking as if she had just run a mile. With every syllable, her eyes had gotten wider, until, by the end, there are two wide saucers where her eyes should be.

“Luz, I-”

Don’t trust her, she thinks. Luz had helped the twins that night in the library, this was all just another trick. But she stopped them, too. Not to mention helped her stop Otabin the Bookmaker from sealing them both inside his story with him forever. But the abomination trick- which she had apologized for.

Saying no would be so much easier, she thinks, then, unfortunately, remembers that she still has the fifth Azura book in her bag. Yet another thing Luz hadn't had to do.

Amity looks to Luz, to the flowers, back to Luz. Her heart stutters.

“I’d love to.”

The week leading up to the Enchanter’s Ball, Amity’s parents dart around in a flurry of excited preparation.

She and her siblings are swept up into the commotion until they’re tried every piece of formal wear in the Boiling Isles. Her mother drags Amity and Emira all across town until they eventually agree on something suitable, while their father takes Elric to get his suit fitted.

Overall, it’s a busy week filled with nothing she finds all that important, but goes along with for her parents’ sake. The dress she eventually settles on is a mix of purple and black that stretches to her knees- a bit simple for her family’s usual taste, but it’s comfortable, she likes it, and she thinks Luz will too, so it stays.

She isn’t sure what Luz will show up in. Considering she had jumped here from the human world with only her backpack, Amity isn’t sure where she’s planning to find clothes without any money, short of raiding Eda’s closet. With how secretive Luz had been about the whole night, Amity doubts she’ll know much of anything until they get there. But, knowing Luz, she had a feeling things will work out exactly as they’re meant to.

Well, that, or the entire evening will descend into chaos like they are prone to when Luz is around. She figures there’s a fifty-fifty shot.

“You know, break her heart and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

The morning before the ball, Willow chases her down on their way to school. It only takes her a moment to realize that they are stopped in the same clearing as the day Willow’s ‘abomination’ had stolen her spotlight in class...so she had tried to have Luz dissected. Good times.

The glare Willow wears as she plants herself in front of Amity is more threatening than she ever remembers her being in all the years they had known each other. She’s almost proud, Luz must be rubbing off on her.

Still indignation pokes at Amity and pushes her to snap back, “Or you’ll what? Poke me with one of your thorns?”

Willow crosses her arms in a way that’s so Willow, that it causes a twinge of regret to rise up in her chest. “I’m not the one you should be worried about, or did you forget that Luz lives with a demon king and the most powerful witch on the Boiling Isles?”

Amity scoffs, “please, King? He’s harmless.”

“But Eda isn’t.”

She’s heard the stories from Lilith countless times. Eda was- and still is- a menace when she wants to be. She won’t admit it, not to Willow, but Eda is the last person she wants to get on the wrong side of.

“I won’t hurt her,” she promises, and means it.

“I know.”

That night, her parents think she is going alone and, for once, the twins don’t try to correct them. Her parents wouldn’t care that Amity is going with a girl, people don’t care about that nearly as much as they seem to in the human world- it was more the human aspect that concerned her. Humans weren’t common in their world and neither Amity nor the twins were exactly keen on explaining that she was kind-of-sort-of dating the first one to visit in over a decade.

Instead, when it came time, the three of them slipped out the front door and went their separate ways. Elric and Emira vanished as soon as the house was out of sight. They claimed that, with every adult worth worrying about being distracted, the opportunity in front of them was too good to waste.

She hadn’t asked for details.

When she arrives, Luz is nowhere in sight. Running late, most likely.

As her classmates begin to file into the building, she waits outside, pressed against the wall. The wind ruffles her skirt as she scans the crowd, but there’s no sign of Luz, not even as Gus and Willow head in, who seem to be searching as well.

Inside, the music drifts out to shake the walls of Hexside so hard she can feel the vibrations underfoot as she waits. Party of a lifetime, now she just needed to enjoy it.

Eventually, the crowd thins out and leaves Amity alone. If she heads in now, chances are that she will find Luz waiting, ready to bounce off the walls all evening and wondering what took her so long. With all the students flooding by, she had probably missed her heading in. Nothing to worry about.

Knowing this, Amity stays outside a moment longer, scanning the empty treeline, before she kicks off the wall and finally heads in.

Down the road, just out of sight, Luz swallows around the lump in her throat, then pushes ahead.

The Lovers’ Curse, otherwise known as “Amantes Maledic,” has been with the Hexside Enchanter’s Ball for as long as time can tell.

First cast against Delaney Wail and her date, Frederick Morrister, by an angry ex-lover at Hexside’s first ever Enchanter’s Ball, the two were doomed to be bitterly torn apart by night’s end. However, inexperienced but powerful, the spell’s caster not only cursed Wail and her date, but the entire ball.

On that fateful night, every couple in attendance is said to have turned on one another in the span of an hour and, in the process, nearly tore the school apart from the inside out. Though the spell has since lost its potency, legend says that each year, the curse will still take a victim.

-Pg. 198 of “A Cohesive History of the Enchanter’s Ball”

Luz still hadn’t shown.

Amity has checked every place she can think of, then checked them again. But the dance floor is no less wild than she would expect one filled with wild, sugar-crazed witches to be, the buffet is still in stock, meaning Luz, with King most likely sneaking in behind her, hadn’t yet been raided, and Gus and Willow only look at her pitifully when she asks if they knew what was going on. She’s not here.

Luz isn’t here, but Amity is, alone.

There’s no one else around she can sit with, either. Boscha and her other friends aren’t exactly her biggest fans at the moment and sitting with Willow and Gus by herself is asking for an awkward time. If Elric and Emira were here, she could hide with them, but they’re off doing who knows where doing who knows what and Amity isn’t sure she wants to get involved in another one of their schemes anyway.

After a final loop around the room, Amity all but throws her hands up, and Willow was worried about her being the issue.  

Stupid Luz, stupid dance, stupid- what were you thinking?

Deep down, she should have known this was going to go downhill. Every second with Luz was another way to crash and burn, the girl was a walking disaster magnet. For all Amity knew, she was off helping the twins on their latest plot- or this was their latest plot. But, she wouldn’t, this time wasn’t like the library, she hadn’t known.

With no one around to see, Amity kicks the wall, only to hop back, hissing, as her toe connects with solid stone.

“Come on,” she cries as she flies off balance.

Her arms start to flail as she tumbles backward, only to suddenly stop just as she expects her head to meet stone when arms wrap around her middle and pull her back up.

Better than bleeding out in an abandoned hallway, she supposes.

As soon as she’s back on her feet, Amity spins around, a thank you on her lips, when-

“Luz?”

Her outfit is a patchwork mishmash of tuxedo, bright pink skirts, and heavy leather boots, in a way that’s handsome and beautiful all at once. She’s thoroughly, one hundred percent Luz. In short?

She looks absolutely stunning.

“Amity!” The sudden sheepish expression she wears doesn’t match the rest of her at all, it’s unnerving.

“Where have you been?” She demands.

“I-”

“Did you realize I’ve been waiting all night and you couldn’t be bothered to show? Did Eda need you for some crazy spell? Is that what’s important to you?”

Hurt flashes across Luz’s face and, for a split second she thinks good, then remembers what Willow said and knows she has to prove her wrong, if only for Luz’s sake.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says. “That wasn’t fair, whatever happened probably wasn’t your fault. You just really worried me.”

“No,” Luz says, arms wrapped tightly around her torso. “I should have told you sooner. About tonight. I got scared, I almost didn’t come.”

Oh, oh .

She really should have seen that one coming. Of course Amity couldn’t keep this, she had never had it to begin with.

“You didn’t want to be here, not with me.” She backs up, ignores the way her voice breaks. “Gus and Willow are inside, you should go find them.”

She pushes past Luz to find the exit, a bathroom, somewhere that isn’t here. She knew it, knew it.

“I was scared of the curse,” Luz shouts behind her.

At that, Amity pauses, frowns. Turns around again.

“The what?”

“The curse ,” she repeats. “The Lovers’ Curse, the one everyone keeps talking about.”

Amity blinks and presses one hand to her temple.

“You...Thought we were going to be cursed?”

Face red, Luz nods.

A part of Amity wants to laugh, another part wants to kiss Luz on the spot and never let her go, while a third, much smaller part still wants to walk away while she has the chance.

Thankfully, logic steps in and tells her to take Luz by the shoulders.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

She shrugs, “look, I still don’t get all the ins and outs of the Boiling Isles. I was scared it might all be some dumb joke or just another thing I didn’t understand. I wanted you to think I knew what I was doing for once.”

There’s a good chance Amity is blushing, hard, right now. In the darkness of the hall, she hopes Luz can’t tell.

“I don’t think anyone has ever cared that much before,” her hands slide down to intertwine with Luz’s. She leans close and kisses her on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Never,” she promises. “And if it helps, I heard Ervin Fowler and his date stormed out about an hour ago.”

“Those two? They seemed so solid…”

“It’s a curse, what did you expect? If it helps, they’ll both bounce back by tomorrow. Their relationship may be a mess, but the physical effects of the curse don’t last long outside Hexside.”

“So, they’ll be okay?”

“As okay as you can be after a bad break-up.”

They’re both less tense, now, she can feel it in the way Luz’s shoulders drop, not wound up, like she was waiting for the final blow. An easy grin has taken over her face, as well, the one that, on a good day, would mean she was up to something.

“Hey,” Amity says after a moment. “Do you wanna dance?”

“More than anything.”

As they slip into the crowd, the music quickly rises up around them, filling up the space between them until there’s nothing left but her, Luz, and the beat.

As the world slips away, Amity leans in and holds on tight.

[pastthebutterflies]

It’s For You (Little Lady)

As it turns out, running away to a magical alternate dimension to avoid her problems ended just as badly as Luz thought it would.

Part two of what’s now my “Camila Comes Through the Door” series! I’m posting this late, so feel free to point out any glaring mistakes. Otherwise enjoy!

Ao3 link in the reblogs!

So, fun fact!

As it turns out, running away to a magical alternate dimension to avoid her problems ended just as badly as Luz thought it would.

In her defense, Luz really hadn’t expected her mom to actually find a way into said dimension (thanks, Owlbert). The plan had always been to stick around until the end of the summer, then head back home acting as if yes mom, camp was very educational and yes mom, she really did feel much more like everyone else now. Then, in theory, continue jumping back and forth with the door to continue her training and see her friends. Without Camila ever finding out about said secret double life.

Needless to say, those plans all went out the window the moment Camila stepped through the portal, right into Eda’s booth, where she had spotted Luz immediately and tried to all but drag her back home.

Fortunately- or unfortunately, depending on who she asked- King had been so surprised by the sudden arrival that he had shot straight from Luz’s arms and into the air, shocking them all enough for Eda to suggest they head back to the Owl House before they drew too much attention to themselves.

Which was what led to Luz hiding in the kitchen with Eda as King and Hooty chattered endlessly to Camila about who knew what and most definitely did not help the situation.

Eda leaned against the counter, staring boredly as her eyes tracked Luz’s movements back and forth across the floor with one hand in her hair while the other gestured wildly in the air.

“-And how did she even get here? Owlbert is so good at staying out of sight, how did he get caught?” She groaned. “And why did he have to find Mom of all people?”

“Kid, he’s an owl. Even your world has those, of course he was out in the open. She said he took her keys, which are shiny, not to mention strange and unusual compared to the ones we use on the Isles, they would have sold like wildfire. Obviously he was going to take them.”

“But why my mom? Of all the people-” she glanced through the door, where Camila is staring slack jawed at King, who was pointing intensely at a drawing in one of his demon books, animatedly speaking over Hooty, who seemed to have made a home around her shoulders. Surprisingly, Camila seemed less concerned with this part, or maybe she was trying to ignore it, the same way she did sometimes when Luz would say something a little too out there. At this point, she really couldn’t tell.

Maybe that was a good thing.

“So you smudged the truth a little bit, we’ve all done it. Heck, I do it all the time,” Eda snorted. “Look, you’ve got two options. Either you can run off again, maybe to one of your friends’ houses for the night and let King and I keep her busy.” She pictured slipping away to Willow’s for the night and letting Eda deal with this in the meantime. A wave of guilt washed over her almost immediately at the thought. Stupid conscience.

“Or,” Eda continued. “You can go out there and talk to her. Lady just found out her daughter lied to her for a month and spent the last twenty four hours thinking you were- poof! Gone. The least you can do is let her know you’re alright.” She pushed off the counter and shrugged, turning toward the door. “But hey, do what you need to. You know I’ll help out either way.”

With that, Eda headed into the living room to slump next to Camila and finally pull King away. She watched Camila’s shoulders relax just a bit at something Eda said. The look makes the lump that had been forming in Luz’s throat for the past hour begin to harden. She had always wanted to tell her mom, eventually. Preferably after she came home, safe and sound, and could prove that no, actually, it wasn’t dangerous at all Mom and that she arguably learned ten times as much on the Boiling Isles than she would have at camp.

Now-

Life was never supposed to go this way.

With a heavy sigh, Luz took a final glance toward the open door- if she ran, she could get to Willow’s by dark- and took the first step into the living room.

“You discover a magic door in the one place that I’ve spent years telling you not to go to, chasing after an owl that stole the book you just threw away, and decided that staying with the strange witch you just met- no offense, ma’am- all because you thought it sounded slightly better than camp? Not to mention giving me a heart attack in the process.”

She was taking this...far better than Luz thought she would. Her mom had never been one prone to yelling. Still, Luz had expected at least a small outburst this time. Yet, Camila had sat patiently through her explanation, waiting until the end to say much of anything. Eda had interjected a few times- the two of them got along surprisingly well, she was noticing- but for the most part, Luz had filled the silence for the past hour, catching Camila up on everything she had missed, or in some cases, adding new context to some of the messages she had sent over the course of the summer.

“Didn’t you kind of do the same thing just now? Same owl, same door…”

Over Camila’s shoulder, King cut a frantic hand over his throat, abort, abort, he tried to say, too little too late. If Luz wanted to back out, she should have done that weeks ago. Now that she was in, she may as well go all the way.

Camila blanched at that, “To find you. You’re the only kid I know that would leap through magic portals at the first opportunity. I should have figured sooner. Those messages were so vague, and the letters-”

Letters?

She could come back to that one later. For now-

“I’d do it again,” she said quietly.

Across from her, Camila stops in her tracks, brows burrowing deep into her eye line. “What?”

Even Eda glanced up at that, unsurprised, while an odd expression played on her face. Both of them remained quiet, waiting for her to continue. King however, took the chance to run across the floor and clamber into her lap. One hand lifted to scratch between his ears as she continued.

“I’d do it again,” she repeated. “Mom, I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you wanted, but- I can’t be the person you want me to be. Not then, not now. I’m happy here, happier than I ever was at school or camp. I can’t go back to feeling like that all the time, like I don’t belong or knowing that no one understands. I won’t. The people here,” she thinks of Willow and Gus and Amity. King and Eda. “They understand. They all know what it’s like not to fit in. I can’t want to lose that.”

King burrows deeper into her lap, sending a wave of comfort through her skin. He’ll want to talk about it later tonight, before bed, the way they usually do when things go wrong during the day. Assuming she was still here tonight, that is.

Her mom was frowning, then suddenly, she was crossing the space between them and wrapping her arms around Luz, tight as can be and whispering under her breath, “Te quiero,” to Luz or herself, she isn’t sure.

After a moment, she draws back, hands still on Luz’s shoulders, the telltale flood of tears in her eyes. “When I realized you never made it to camp, the only thing I could think of was that I wished I had never let you leave. You were so far away and I couldn’t find you. I would have searched everywhere for you- even another dimension.” She hugs her again, hard. “I can’t lose you, not again.”

Luz’s heart stuttered in her chest, the same way it did every time they had spoken in the past weeks. Only this time, she didn’t hold back. Her arms wrapped tight around her mom’s middle to squeeze as hard as she could muster. Between them, King squeaks indignantly and bolts back toward Eda. Her nose was buried deep into the scrubs Camila must never have changed out of before stumbling upon the door. She smelled like chemicals and antiseptic and home. Her other home, now.

When they finally pulled back, tears are tracking down Camila’s cheeks, mirroring the ones Luz can feel on her own face.

“You’re happy here, aren’t you?” Camila glanced around. She takes in King and Eda, Hooty still twisting nervously in the corner. The odds and ends stacked along the walls. Luz.

She nodded once to herself, seemed to reach a decision. She stood. “Okay.”

“...Okay?”

Camila glanced to Luz, to Eda, then back to Luz. “You can stay,” she said, finally. “For the summer. But it’s back to school in the fall. If Miss Eda is okay with it, that is.”

Eda shrugs, “Meh, kid’s kind of grown on me.”

“And,” Camila added. “I’m staying, too.”

Luz’s feet send her shooting up before she entirely realized what was happening. “You’re what?”

“When I can, of course. I’ll still have work during the day and a house to look after. But I’ll be around, as often as I can.” Camila glanced around again. This time, Luz couldn’t tell if she was judging the place or mentally mapping out where she could fit herself into both the house and the dynamic. When she spoke again, her voice was softer than Luz expected to hear it today. “If this is important to you, I want it to be important to me, too.”

The words alone are enough to send Luz flying if she let them. She hadn’t expected it to go this well, much less be able to stay. And having her around? Able to finally see the things Luz loved, in a setting where her interests were encouraged- the norm, even. The lump from before had finally begun to dissolve, trickling down her throat and rising up again in the form of a happy shout.

She leaned forward to wrap her arms around Camila again, this time dragging Eda forward as well as she muttered confusedly under her breath. At their feet, she felt King’s claws tap against her ankles as he followed suit.

“Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you.”

When they pulled away, Camila turned to her, eyes serious. “From now on, I need you to be honest with me. No matter what, do you understand? No more running off without telling me, no more secret magic shows; honesty from here on out. And I’ll do my best to understand all... this.”

A laugh bubbled up from deep in her stomach, “deal.”

In the end, Camila wound up spending the night and calling in to work the next morning. Luz spent most of the evening and a good portion of the night delving into what she had seen so far on the Isles, including Willow and Gus, the Blights, Hexside. She activated the few spells she knew, as well, sending bursts of light into the air while Eda sits back, demonstrating the way they were typically cast.

It was odd, seeing her mom so relaxed. She had changed from her scrubs to one of Eda’s old shirts that read fabulous and flawless in sprawling pink font across the front and a pair of her old sweats. In the future, they were hoping to have a more long term setup for the times she stayed over. Which made Luz question why she had gotten the upstairs closet the whole time- but she would deal with that later.

Right now, she was willing to keep drawing up her spells and finally getting to show off to someone as amazed as her at the process. There was still more to talk about, like going to Hexside and Eda’s curse. Both of which were likely to cause ripples in the future, but for now, Luz was content to share the world she had fallen in love with, with the only person from home that mattered.

For now, Luz dragged her pencil across the page and let the light rise up between them.

[pastthebutterflies]

A Little Thing Called Trust

“Louie Duck is smart, very smart. He spots the angles that others miss, finds the threats everyone else passes right over. As it stands, Lena De Spell is the biggest threat in this entire mansion. All it would take is one sideways glance and she knows, knows it would all be over. If Louie suspects her for even a moment, Lena will be out on her tail feathers before she can say De Spell. Knowing this, Lena swallows her panic and takes a seat on the other end of the couch.”

Wrote this for the day 8 Duckvember prompt, Frenemy, and thought this would be perfect. Takes place somewhere between Jaw$ and the start of the shadow war.

Or, if you prefer, read it on my ao3!

Lena isn't a fan of Louie Duck. 

Webby speaks the world of him, and his brother’s, for that matter, but Lena knows better. The kid is smart, too smart, for his- or her- own good.

In the days since Lena has begun visiting McDuck manor, it has become harder and harder to ignore the strange stares Louie sends her way when she and Webby pass by. Most nights, the triplets are off on their own, causing their own brand of chaos in a different wing of the house, leaving her and Webby to hike up to Webby’s room where they, usually, dig through old accounts of Scrooge’s adventures while Magica whispers in her ear until lights out.

But tonight, her luck, as it often does, seems to have run out. Webby is out with Scrooge and Dewey at the Money Bin until further notice and Huey and Donald are out repairing the houseboat, totally deaf to the outside world.

Normally, under such circumstances, Lena would head to Webby’s room on her own while Magica staked out the place. Today though, upon arrival, Beakley had answered the intercom as she normally did, let her in, and promptly sat her in the tv room. 

She glances around, confused as Beakley rounds the corner, duster in hand. Not a hello or the typical prompt to head upstairs to wait for Webby. Really, Lena thought she and Beakely were beyond this.

“Spring cleaning,” comes a voice at the other end of the couch.

A hefty weight sinks in Lena’s stomach as she turns to face Louie, who lounges against the arm of the worn couch, a can of pep in one hand and the tv blaring in front of him.

“What?”

“Spring cleaning,” he says again, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Beakley likes the place to herself once a month for deep cleaning,” he adds dramatic air quotes here, “and banishes everyone else for the day. I only survived because she knows I won’t leave the couch- surprised she even let you in the door. Webby must have begged her.”

The idea that Webby wants her around enough to face down her own Granny is touching, if she thinks about it too much. This, of course, results in Lena stuffing the feeling down as deep into her subconscious as it will go to mull over later and turning back to the situation at hand. 

Which is, to put it bluntly, not great.

It’s not that Louie isn’t a good guy, if Webby is to believed- she is- it’s more the opposite, really. Lena isn’t, and never can be, a good person. Dark magic  literally runs through her veins, it’s her life source, her very being.

Louie Duck is smart, very smart. He spots the angles that others miss, finds the threats everyone else passes right over. 

And as it stands, Lena De Spell is the biggest threat in this entire mansion. All it would take is one sideways glance and she knows, knows it would all be over. If Louie suspects her for even a moment, Lena will be out on her tail feathers before she can say De Spell.

Knowing this, Lena swallows her panic and takes a seat on the other end of the couch.

The two of them sit in silence for a while. The sounds of Ottoman Empire reruns and a vacuum in the distance are the only barriers between Lena’s head and the wall. Across from her, Louie is looking less awkward as he scrolls absent-mindedly on his phone and occasionally snorts at the tv. To all the world, they give the appearance of two awkward acquaintances waiting for a mutual friend to return and rescue them. If only.

Her foot starts to kick at the bottom of the couch the longer she has to wait. This week’s sleepover had been planned last minute, so Lena had no way of knowing when Webby would be returning or if tonight’s visit would be worth it. The only thing Lena really has going for her right now is that Magica isn’t leering over her shoulder for once. Little victories.

“So,” Louie glances up from his phone, eyeing her with an expression Lena can’t place. “You and Webby, huh?”

Lena’s heart stops beating in her chest.

All at once, the world seems to stop spinning, leaving Lena to grasp with full force to stop at the edges of the couch so she doesn’t go flying into orbit. 

He knows, she doesn’t know how he knows, but he  knows. Meaning if Louie had figured her out, it was only a matter of time until the others did as well.

The swell of panic that surges up her throat tempts Lena to shoot to her feet right then and there, but she swallows the feeling as well as she can and forces herself to act nonchalant. 

“Yeah? We’re friends, what about it?”

Louie shrugs, looking about as relaxed as Lena wishes she could feel right now. “Dunno, you two just seem close is all, wanted to know how that was going.”

Impossibly, he manages to sink lower into the couch. One arm has disappeared completely between the cushions, so only his hand sticks out, while the other is strewn across his stomach. He glances over at her, eyebrows raised, then looks back at the tv.

“Isn’t that how best friends are supposed to be?” It’s almost an honest question, neither her nor Webby had much experience in the ‘friendship’ category. For all Lena knew, they were doing this all wrong. 

“It’s weird, I guess, Webby didn’t know many people until recently, you know?”

She did, a bit. Webby didn’t bring it up much, but she had mentioned her isolation in the mansion before. Until Huey, Dewey, and Louie came along, she hadn’t left the mansion. Ever. She was like her very own Rapunzel, sitting up in her tower, with a grappling hook in place of yards and yards of golden locks. 

Not that Webby needed a prince to come rescue her. Chances were, she would leap out of the tower and figure out a plan on the way down. 

Louie goes on, eyes narrowing as he stares Lena down. “Look out for her, all right? Webby’s smart, but she’s still getting her land legs,” he leans closer, “I don’t want her trusting the wrong people.”

Ice creeps along Lena’s veins as Louie holds her gaze. She suddenly feels much smaller than she ever has before. If Magica were around, Lena had the feeling she would say to cut Louie out of the picture before he could rat her out to the rest of the family. But as it is, she stands firm and stares right back.

A beat passes, Louie softens. 

He leans back again, still watching her, then takes a long sip off his pep. After he swallows, he opens his bill again and sighs.

“Keep an eye on her. Webby really likes you, so, if she trusts you...so do I. “ His tone gets stern again, “don’t break that.”

The ice in her blood slowly begins to thaw as he speaks. Louie doesn’t suspect her, not yet. He’s just a brother looking out for his newly deemed sister. That, she can work with. 

Lena lets out a sigh of relief and nods. 

“I’ll guard it with my life.” 

As they fall back into a more comfortable silence, Lena leans into the cushions and smiles. She may not be able to trust Louie Duck, but she can respect him. Anyone willing to look out for their family like that is okay in her book. If the roles were reversed, she likes to think she would do the same.

She smiles.

Maybe, when Magica finally exacts her revenge, Lena can convince her to spare Louie, too.

[pastthebutterflies]

Like the Emptiness of Space

It’s technically the sixth where I am, so I’m posting this now, lol. Just a short little drabble I wrote for the day 6 prompt for Duckvember.

Or if you prefer, my ao3!

When Della crashed on the moon, it wasn’t the first night that was the hardest, or the second, or the third. Back then, she still hoped Uncle Scrooge would come find her, knew Donald would take care of the eggs while she was gone. Back then, she still thought this was all a funny story she could tell the boys once they hatched. None of it was supposed to last longer than a week.

Now though, ten years later, staring at the rickety television set up on her workbench, Della thinks she may have finally found the hardest night.

Static flickered across the screen, sending a jolt of panic through her stomach, before settling back on the news station she had managed to find a few minutes ago.

The clearer the screen got, the more her heart seemed to hammer in her chest. Her boys were ten now, old enough to function mostly on their own, yet still so, so young. They weren’t at all like her drawing, as she had expected (she had never been much of an artist), but seeing her boys, really seeing them, for the first time, hurt her in a way she couldn’t quite put into words. 

They’re small for their age, or maybe they aren’t, maybe they’re absolutely perfect (of course they are, they couldn’t be any other way), she didn’t have much experience with children and never got the opportunity to learn. But as she watched the screen, the boys smiling widely toward the camera, surrounded by uncle Scrooge and Donald, suddenly that was all that mattered to her. 

The newscaster’s voice echoed in her ears; Magica De Spell and the Shadow War, her boys saving the town right alongside the rest of their family. Pride swelled in her heart to near bursting as she felt her smile grow. They were growing up exactly the way they deserved to and, more importantly, they were okay. Donald had done right by them. Him and Scrooge both. 

She would have to thank them for that. Profusely.

Della knew she messed up- messed up badly. It was a fact that hung over her head every single day and she had spent every free moment since the crash drafting apology after apology in her mind as she tried to figure out how to look her boys in the eyes and convey exactly how sorry she was and always would be for ever leaving them.

The screen flickered again and Della knew for certain that tonight and those to come would be her hardest yet. Now that she had seen them, now that she knew her boys were okay (better than okay, she realizes, they were heroes, just like the rest of their family), it was all she could do not to take a running leap and jump back to Earth through sheer force of will. Her family was so close that it was hard to stand one more second on the Spear if it wasn’t going to take her home. Not when all Della wanted was to hold her boys in her arms for the first time.

Instead, as if it could ever come close to being enough, Della reached out to stroke the television. In response, the screen flickered a final time, then went out, plunging the room into darkness.

Without fuel, Della was no closer now than she ever was to getting back. Yet, somehow, she was more certain than ever that her time on the moon was quickly coming to an end. She didn’t know how or when, all she knew was that someday- someday soon- the Spear of Selene was going to fly again, and when it did? 

Her boys would be waiting for her.

[pastthebutterflies]

A Puff of Smoke

This one isn’t entirely his fault, if you ask King. Not in the slightest, actually. It isn’t his fault Luz decided to vanish in a puff of smoke.

Read here or at https://archiveofourown.org/works/25929370!

Fundamentally, King is bad at keeping track of things. It’s a core piece of who he is as a demon. He acknowledges this, not out loud, granted, but he does acknowledge this.

Since moving in with Eda, he has lost not only his crown (lost, then subsequently found and brutally destroyed), Francois (turned up in the laundry a week later. The horrors he must have endured are unimaginable-), and, just now, an entire human teenager (yet to be recovered, but certain to turn up).

This one isn’t entirely his fault, if you ask King. Not in the slightest, actually. It isn’t his fault Luz decided to vanish in a puff of smoke. 

Literally.

One second, they were ready for bed, rolling out the sleeping bag and hunkering down like they do every night, the next, Luz is dropping the bag, brows furrowed, then  poof- there was a thorough lack of Luz in the room. 

He sits by the door, contemplating running to find Eda and making her deal with it, when he remembers that it’s just them for the next few nights while Eda makes a delivery for an out of town customer. Or, was just them. Now there’s just King. King and the empty air where Luz once stood.

Not good, he decides. Very much not good.

When the smoke settles- grey and thin like fog after a heavy downpour of boiling rain- he sees the sleeping bag, still sitting half unrolled where Luz had dropped it, and creeps toward it.

He sticks one tentative paw out to bat the edge of the fabric, shields his eyes. When nothing explodes, he peeks out between his fingers, sees nothing of note, and decides it must be safe to get closer to slowly unfurl it the rest of the way. 

Despite his wishes, everything is exactly as he expected it to be. Unrolling the bag reveals no hidden messages or a secret miniaturized Luz trapped inside. All he sees is bright blue fabric with a small indent where he usually curls up. Nothing that would suggest anything was wrong. Because there isn’t. Not yet. People disappear all the time, this is probably just another human thing, like sweating, or puberty. Luz would be back any second to laugh the whole incident off and go to bed. He's sure of it.

 Ten minutes later and he isn’t so sure anymore. 

The bed is getting cold and Luz is still nowhere to be seen. The smart response would probably be to call Eda and let her know her apprentice had vanished in a puff of smoke. Assuming she believed him, also assuming he could reach her. Now that he thinks about it, King isn’t sure he knows how to manage either of those. Which is fine. Probably. Onto plan B.

Does he have a plan B?

Of course he does, he just has to think of it first. After that, it will all be smooth sailing. Easy peasy.

When nothing immediately comes to mind, he heads downstairs to look for a way to call Eda. Normally, she would enchant Hooty to send messages in case things went, in her words, horribly wrong. But her buyer had written her in a hurry and demanded she come as soon as possible, meaning there hadn’t been time to set up the spell.

Eda was a day out by foot- even longer by paw. By the time he managed to find her, explain what had happened, and got them both back (hopefully by staff, his feet wouldn’t stand for another day’s walk), they would have been gone nearly two days. King isn’t sure how long he has, but he knows two days is two too many. If he wants to do this, he has to do it now. 

But first, he has to figure out what this is.

The smoke had crept in relatively quickly, without either of them managing to notice. What he knows: There was no smell and it left as quickly as it appeared. Now, Eda has made a number of enemies over the years, it’s one of the (many) drawbacks of living with her. King also knows that many of these enemies are relatively skilled in their fields, meaning that any number of them could be enacting their revenge plot right this second. 

A witch then, likely skilled in magic and, as they usually were, very, very upset.

What he doesn’t know: who said witch is or what it is they may want. Or if Luz is really involved or has just been pulled in from the sidelines by mistake.

King hurries back upstairs and finds Luz’s bag, awkwardly strapping it against his side. Its contents may not be of much use to King, but he knows Luz has started keeping predrawn spells on her, which could come in handy once he finds her. After, he takes Francois and carefully slips him in the bag as well with his head left to peak out the side. Just in case.

As King turns to leave, he pauses. He takes a moment to straighten out the now abandoned sleeping bag, he wants it to be ready when they get back from- wherever it is he may be headed. Because there is no way they aren’t sleeping for the next ten hours when this is over. With that settled, he starts toward the door.

Without a signal on Luz’s end, King has no real way of knowing where to go, so when he leaves, every step is going to be a guessing game to find the right way. He wishes Eda were here, she would know what spell had been used and exactly where to go or, at the very least, she would pretend to know. Or Luz. If Luz were here there would be no problem, they would be sleeping right now. And sleeping sounded so much better than death defying adventure.

Sighing, he glances back, only slightly considering curling back up, when the smoke returns. 

It creeps along the floor, inch by silent inch, same as the first time, narrowly missing King as he leaps up onto one of the shelves. A low rumble racks the house, knocking books and trinkets off the shelves and sending them plummeting to the floor with a series of resounding crashes. If Hooty feels the way the house shifts, he doesn’t bother to investigate. 

Dumb owl.

King, now left as the house’s final defender, presses further into the shelf to watch as a knelt figure takes form. They start from the ground up, smoke gathering in small, swirling whirlpools to create feet, followed by ankles, knees, hips, continuing upward to sit in the smoke, faced away from King.

The figure pushes itself to its knees with a shudder. Its head hangs, forming a creeping silhouette in the fog. The sound of its harsh breath fills the room.

As the figure struggles, King takes the distraction to slip out from the strap of Luz’s bag, push it close to the edge, whisper a quick apology to Francois, and let it fall to the floor with an unceremonious bang. As the figure jolts, King launches headfirst from the shelf to land directly on their shoulders.

“Out of my house, evil scum!”

He makes contact with a hefty  thump  and, together, they crash to the floor in a heap. While they try to recover, he kicks at the figure with his heels, one after the other in a blind attempt to keep them down. Before he can get far, though, hands come up from behind to wrap around King's paws to pull him off as he scrambles for their eyes.

“King, what’s your problem?”

He freezes. Goes rigid in their grip. “Luz?  Luz! You’re back!” He rolls away, suddenly feeling much less vicious as he sees Luz staring down at him, bewildered. “Wait, where did you go?”

As Luz sits up, she rubs her forehead and keeps her eyes tightly screwed shut against the light. 

“Ugh, remind me to never travel by spell again. Zero out of ten, worst experience of my life.”

Spell? As in witch? He was right. Except who-

Oh.

Oh right.  Eda.

She crawls over to bed, King following, then continues, “turns out the delivery was a scam, Eda pulled me in for back up, said she meant to bring both of us, but the spell went wrong. She’ll be back in the morning.”

Luz hunches over, one hand clamped over her mouth. Her face is green, something King is relatively certain humans aren’t supposed to be able to do. 

“Are you...okay?” King isn’t equipped to deal with human sickness, before Luz had used one of her colorful bandages to fix him up, but this time there aren’t any physical problems. Just that weird green look she sports and whatever is about to spew out of her mouth.

She swallows once, twice, breathes deeply through her nose.

“I just need to not be conscious right now,” she tells him once the green look has started to recede. She lurches again, this time slowly leaning back after to curl against her pillow. King follows suit, this time taking the spot near her head, instead of her feet.

Next to him, Luz turns over, one hand reaches to rest on his back and scratch softly. 

“Thanks for waiting up,” she says, only half awake. “Even if you attacked me, it means a lot.”

“Someone had to guard the place while you were slacking. Besides, it’s no fun being left out of the action.”

“Well, next time I get sucked up by a mysterious fog, I’ll make sure to take you with me. Deal?”

King curls closer, burrowing deeper into the blanket, “deal.”

[pastthebutterflies]

At the End of the Day

Growing up, Taurus Bulba was almost as much of a constant in Gosalyn’s life as Grandpa was.

Or, Gosalyn grew up with Bulba. She was bound to have a few thoughts following his betrayal.

(Ao3)

Growing up, Taurus Bulba was almost as much of a constant in Gosalyn’s life as Grandpa was.

Not the same as Grandpa, of course. But constant all the same, like a shadow, always staying right on the edges of her vision.

She could recall him in the way most kids her age could remember a distant uncle that no one is quite sure how they’re related to. The kind that stopped by birthday parties, but stuck to the fringes of the crowd and never stayed long, but somehow always managed to make a scene before he left. 

Despite this, Grandpa had always spoken highly of Bulba. Always commenting on their latest projects, scattering compliments toward his work as if Bulba were the smartest man he had ever known. Grandpa had always been nice that way, to everyone he met. It didn't matter if they deserved it, he just liked making people happy.

Bulba and Gosalyn had never been close. Despite his and Grandpa’s apparent friendship, he often failed to stop by the house. When he did, Bulba was always entirely business, shuffling in the door with a stack of equations to correct or papers to sign, then out again without so much as a glance Gosalyn’s way.

Not that she minded. Their ideas of  fun  were bound to be vastly different and she had never had any interest in finding out exactly how much so. She pictured him sometimes, holed up in that glass office of his, surrounded by his work, all alone, then thought about her own projects, the skates, the crossbows. She wanted to hate his projects now, but his work was still Grandpa's work, and that was a lot harder to hate. That still never stopped the way her stomach flipped when she thought about it too hard.

She got to work in the lab with them, some nights. Long after the rest of the staff had gone home and weren’t around to scold her for being where she shouldn’t. Usually, Gosalyn would linger at the edges of the lab to work on her own projects while Grandpa and Bulba would get a head start on the next day’s work. 

Those nights, the ones when she slipped into the upstairs office, where even Bulba could forget she was around, were some of the worst.

Bulba didn’t yell. 

This was a fact she learned very quickly (after several ruined prototypes, as well as a few  finished  projects). Bulba could be quick to anger at the best of times, but he never yelled. Somehow, the steady, harsh tone she had heard slip out some nights proved to be even worse. 

His clipped, carefully chosen words always seemed to hit Grandpa the hardest when no one else was around to hear them. They cut through him like a knife to butter, making him sag in a way Gosalyn usually only saw after she got in trouble again at school, like he would really prefer to be as far away from the room he was in as possible, but the door kept changing from a push to a pull. 

It was nights like those that Gosalyn realized exactly how little she liked Taurus Bulba. And more so, how little she trusted him. 

All this came to a head the night Grandpa rushed to the lab and never came home.

She should have gone with him, she realized that later on. Should have followed behind under cover of darkness, stowed away in the trunk,  something. Anything, really, if it meant Grandpa wouldn’t have been sucked so far away she was left pulling strings to try for a glimpse at where he could have gone.

Darkwing-  Drake, she was allowed to call him that now, off duty- said it wasn't her fault, that for all they knew, she would have been sucked in too. Launchpad liked to say the same. So did Dewey. As did just about every other duck she had come across. lately

What they didn't seem to realize, she thought, is that she  knew this. Gosalyn didn't think of herself as particularly self-sacrificing; what was the point of giving up then if it meant she couldn't do more down the line? 

But in that moment, struck with the choice of staying there,  home, in St. Canard or leaping inside that portal right alongside Grandpa, she knew what she would have chosen.

They would have been stranded who knew where with who knew what- but they would be  together. And that would have been how they eventually found their way home, too, and put a stop to Taurus Bulba once and for all.

Together. 

Instead, she was rooming with a dorky superhero who tried a little too hard to keep up his persona along with his maybe-but-not-quite boyfriend that, in her professional opinion, should in no way still have been standing. And yet…

Yet, she still felt so  happy. 

The Solego Circuit plans were long gone, lost to the world at the hands of some F.O.W.L. agent with a strong right hooker and an even tougher beak. Bulba still wasn’t talking, either. Locked away in the deepest cells S.H.U.S.H. had to offer, he had yet to give them any hint as to how to build- and  stabilize- a functioning Ramrod. 

Without him, they had been left to work with what Huey had found lying about the lab and in his JWG. 

By all means,  happy  shouldn’t have been in her vocabulary at the moment. The furthest from it, actually.

But sitting in the tower, each night after coming home from patrolling the city, and falling asleep to Drake and Launchpad’s Darkwing Duck marathons in the background, she could feel it, bubbling up in her chest like a geyser. Small spurts, at first, growing steadily the longer the feeling lingered. 

Deep down, the anger she aimed at Bulba, the blame she knew would never fade, still sat like a rock in her chest, catching against her heart at every turn, every moment she felt like she might finally be doing better. 

The anger always returned, full force, when she wished she could push the feelings down and never face them again. 

This, though, the smile she could feel tugging at her lips, the music in her ears, the lights spilling from the tv as she curled up on the couch, the blanket draped around her shoulders. Those always return, too. At just the right times to drag her up, up, up, right when she thought she couldn’t be pulled further down.

Wherever he is, she hoped that Grandpa knew she hadn't forgotten about him. Wouldn't stop until she could pull him home or dive into whatever world he had been trapped in herself. 

Mostly, she hoped he feels as safe as she did then. That in the strange place he had been pulled into, he can find a place to call home in the meantime.

[pastthebutterflies]

Finding Your Place

Daisy was exactly the kind of girl Della expected Donald to fall for. She was ambitious, loud, and most of all, absolutely terrifying when angry. The woman, if Louie was to be believed, had taken down a fully trained assassin on her own, while armed with nothing but a handbag, all to protect the guy who trapped her in an elevator ten minutes prior. Needless to say, Della appreciated that in a girl.

Posted this on AO3, then passed right out and forgot to put it here! Enjoy this early morning edition instead (now with less formatting mistakes!)

Read here or at https://archiveofourown.org/works/25704181

Daisy was exactly the kind of girl Della expected Donald to fall for. She was ambitious, loud, and most of all, absolutely terrifying when angry. The woman, if Louie was to be believed, had taken down a fully trained assassin on her own, while armed with nothing but a handbag, all to protect the guy who trapped her in an elevator ten minutes prior. Needless to say, Della appreciated that in a girl.

Still though, waking up to find Daisy standing in the kitchen that morning- a full three hours before she was supposed to be there- was more than a little unnerving.

As Della had shuffled her way into the room, in all her ratted pajama glory, Daisy had perked up immediately. A smile bloomed across Daisy’s face as she placed her mug on the counter and bounded up to meet her (a morning duck, then. Della could never understand it, but she could appreciate that).

“Hi!” Daisy said, already sticking out one hand toward Della. “I’m Daisy, you must be Della, right?”

She blinked once, twice. Took the hand. “Ah- yeah. Donald mentioned you would be coming today,” for dinner, “good to finally meet you.”

“Isn’t it? Donald has told me so much about you, it’s so nice to finally be meeting the family.” Daisy was more chipper than Della had pictured, but that might be the morning fog talking.

She glanced around and realized the room was empty except for them. “Where is Don, anyway? He didn’t leave you here, did he?”

“Well,” Daisy frowned. “He was here. One of the boys came in a minute ago, he looked a little panicked.”

“Those three better hope I don’t find out what they’re up to. They know better than to start trouble this early. Eh, I’m sure Donald has it handled, he knows how to wrangle them better than I do most days.”

“He’s pretty good with them, huh?”

He really, really was, if she listened hard, she could hear them down the hall. Donald was yelling as something hard thunked against the wall. Louie cackled in the distance.

“Ignore that, Donald definitely knows what he’s doing. Usually. Have you had breakfast yet?”

Daisy’s eyes drifted toward the door as another crash shook the walls. Dewey must have touched something he shouldn’t have. Again. Donald probably didn’t want his and Daisy’s second date- was being trapped in an elevator and saving an internet mogul’s life considered a first date?- to get sidetracked by an ancient curse or a living mummy or whatever it was that the boys had awoken that time, so maybe she could keep Daisy busy for a few minutes, just long enough for Donald to get a handle on the problem. Then Della could take over. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to know more.

“Come on,” Della said, and grabbed Daisy by the elbow. “I’ll show you how to make my famous firework cake, just don’t tell Donald.”

Together they set about making breakfast. They dance around each other fairly easily and, as it turned out, Daisy wasn’t so bad at making a mess of the kitchen like Della usually did. Double the people, apparently, didn’t mean quicker clean up, just twice the mess. By the time they had finished, batter dripped down one end of the pan in a colorful, fizzy mess of sugar and carbon.

The cake itself wasn’t the worst she had ever seen, not the best either. It sort of drooped to one side of the plate and onto the counter, where it rested heavily against the marble in a way that would make Beakley tsk at them both, had she been in the room.

“Not bad for a first try. You do much cooking at home?”

“Some,” Daisy wiped her hands on a rag, then stood back to admire their work. “My mom used to bake a lot when I was a kid. She usually let me do the decorating.”

“You’re a designer now, right?”

She nodded, “eventually I graduated from a piping bag to a sewing needle, not quite the same medium, but the rest is history. Donald mentioned you’re a pilot?”

“Yep, have my own plane and everything. Well, I co-own her these days, not that I mind. Once you get past the ever present fear of death, Launchpad is actually a decent guy.”

They started to wipe down the counter, before Beakley could discover the mess, leaving the cake near the stove for the others to find. Della hadn’t planned on making so much, but the batter was there and they certainly had the time.

“Launchpad- he’s the red-haired one, right? Kind of a giant?”

“Sounds about right,” she said.

“Sorry, Donald’s just given me so many names in the past few weeks, it’s getting hard to keep them all straight.”

Tell her about it. Even after being back for weeks, Della was still trying to balance everyone. At least she had the benefit of seeing them all the time, Daisy didn’t even have that. Just an admittedly decent memory and whatever photos Donald kept in his wallet (which, if she thought about it, was probably a lot).

“You’ll get-”

“Mom! ”

The shriek echoed through the kitchen as Louie came skidding around the corner, with Huey and Dewey hot on his heels. Each of them were wide eyed and panting, as well as armed with spears and swords they must have pulled from the walls. The three of them stumbled across the floor in a rush to crowd around her legs as their voices overlapped in panicked explanations.

“It came out of nowhere-”

“-It was hunting me-”

“-looked like a ghost!-”

“-and can walk through walls-”

“-Louie did it! ”

She looked to Daisy, who, to her credit, didn’t seem very alarmed. She watched from her spot by the counter, glanced between the four of them and the doorway, then down at the still fizzing plate in her hands. Della crowded the boys closer to her and watched as Daisy’s face settled into a hardened grimace.

A shout- Donald, most likely- spurred her into action. Daisy swung around the counter, plate in hand, and darted into the hall. As she went, Della tightened her hold on the boys, ready to pull them away or jump into the fray at a moment’s notice. But, as Daisy ran out, she got the strangest feeling she wouldn’t need to.

In the hall, she heard Daisy’s footsteps slamming against the wood accompanied by another shriek, a crash, and, finally, a resounding pop!

A moment later, Daisy came back around the corner with Donald trailing, dazed, behind her. Despite this, a goofy grin had grown on Donald’s face as he followed Daisy, one Della had seen more times than she could count as kids. Her brother was falling, she realized, he was falling hard . Good thing the feeling seemed to be mutual.

“That. Was. Awesome,” Dewey said, popping out from behind her. Huey and Louie followed, looking slightly less impressed, but impressed all the same.

“You didn’t even see anything,” Louie said, subtly glancing between his brothers and Donald.

“Who needs to see when you can hear? That explosion? Donald’s shrieks of terror? Nothing short of awesomeness.”

“Guys, guys-” Huey stepped between them to break up the forming argument.

As they argued, Della spared a glance to Daisy and Donald, who were still wiping what seemed to be a mixture of soot and cake off their clothes. They were grinning at one another, still caught up in the haze of adrenaline, entirely unaware of Della’s eyes on them.

Della glanced to the boys, who were still fighting excitedly amongst one another, to Daisy and Donald, who were still caught in each other’s grips, with seemingly no plans on letting go, only the intent to hold on tighter.

She smiled, Daisy was going to fit right in.