#even if it was to 'make scrooge vulnerable' or whatever

[mrgladstonegander]

im not even the biggest bradford fan but whenever i think about how they got rid of any nuance or self-criticsm they could have on the "kids going on dangerous adventures and having to save the world" in favor of just having bradford be evil despite giving him an understandable backstory and then trying to prove hes REALLY evil by making HIM be the one to tell della about the spear and that he was ~pure evil the whole time~ THAT ⬆ is how i look

[beggars-opera]

Hey, so we don't talk enough about A Christmas Carol as being at least a little bit about not continuing a cycle of abuse and neglect, both against others and yourself.

In the book little Scrooge is left languishing over the holidays in a boarding school for some never-explained reason, but it is made very clear that this is miserable and unfair, and that his father is doing this on purpose. His sister specifically comes to tell him that "father is so much kinder now than he used to be, that home's like heaven." This also reflects a bit of Dickens's own childhood when his father went into debtor's prison and little Charlie was forced to support his family working full time in a shoe-blacking factory at the age of 12 (which is also why so many of his books seem to have a moral of "hey, kids are people too and maybe we shouldn't make them work in the mines.")

Whatever family reunion happened after didn't work out, because Scrooge continues believing that no one is coming to save him and pulling himself up by his bootstraps at the detriment of all other social relationships is the only way forward. And the more he lives by that philosophy, the more miserable he gets, because obviously he pushes away anyone who has that hope that he lost. They threaten to break down the walls he's built and teach him that a big pile of money doesn't have to be the only thing that he can rely on, if he'd just let himself be vulnerable and have a relationship with people who care about him, because they're out there even if he's ignoring them.

There is a certain type of person still very much out there who thinks this way. "I've never been happy in my life, so no one else has a right to be either. I was abused in my childhood so it's only fair that everyone else suffer as well." We see this in parents who still try to use corporal punishment, and in wealthy people who ignore the social factors keeping others down and scream that everyone else is just entitled, that only those who suffer and scrape deserve happiness. And they especially hate the people like Fred who represent the past that could have been, who have maintained hope for the future, and seem to be rubbing their optimism in your face, when in reality they're just maintaining hope because it's the only way you can survive.

It's so important for Scrooge to actually see the impact this thinking has on both himself and multiple generations. Rich people have this weird hangup about this story because they think Scrooge is bad because he's rich. He's not, he's bad because he's a horrible person and a miser - he doesn't use his money to better anything, including himself. Salting the earth, everyone suffers here, including him. And he learns that he's going to die old and alone without ever having spent or enjoyed his money, and that his family feels sorry for him, and that the nameless masses of poor people out there that he decries so much are in fact living, breathing people, including tiny disabled kids who don't deserve to suffer just because you decided life isn't fair.

In the end he takes responsibility for actually uplifting the people in the next generation who are trying to make the world a better place and no longer punching down, because it doesn't have to be this way. So many people out there just give up hope because things are hard and they think trying to improve things is a pointless exercise that makes them look dumb. How dare you grow a year older and not an hour richer! How dare you marry for love! That's the only thing more ridiculous than a Merry Christmas! When in reality, there are plenty of people who would love to see them happy if they just had a chance.

It's really sad that, while the language used to describe it has changed, these problems still persist. That people feel so wronged and isolated that they spend their days ensuring everyone else will be as well. That they fail to see their fellow humans as fellow humans who are just as deserving of love and kindness and a roof over their heads. I don't care what time of year it is, we should all be lifting each other up rather than tearing each other down.

[sageteapost]

| Yandere! Ebenezer Scrooge Headcanons |

[ Ebenezer Scrooge x GN! Reader ]

TW & CW + Tags: Yandere and dark themes, unhealthy relationship, abuse of power, manipulation, kidnapping, hints of stalking. Do not read if this is potentially triggering. I do not condone this type of relationship. This purely fiction. (Relationship not initially established at beginning. GN! Reader.)

Summary: Headcanons of pre-visitors and post visitors of yandere Ebenezer Scrooge.

[(A/N): This might floor some people, but my god, when I saw A Christmas Carol on Netflix I died when this man came on screen. Never would have known I'd fall for Scrooge of all people in 2022. ]

Pre-Visitors:

Ebenezer is a cruel man. And until he met you, you weren't any different from anyone else.

Before the three ghosts of Christmas see him, he's much more strict. Cold. And a bit selfish.

He knew that the way he felt about you wasn't normal nor healthy. Did he care? Not really.

Scrooge would keep you away from the outside world, saying how it's for your own good and the world isn't deserving of your presence. That you only need him and no one else.

After all, he does have the money and influence over others to do whatever he wants.

Anyone getting bit too close to you? Suddenly they find themselves in a huge amount of debt where they might not even be able to pay it back in their lifetime.

Scrooge doesn't even need to put someone in debt, as his presence is more than enough to sway someone to follow his orders to stay away.

He also uses money as a way to make you stay. Whether that be showering you with whatever your heart desires or saying how only he could provide what you need to survive.

Should you accept his affections, he'd struggle to hide that long lost warmth in his chest he feels when you say so.

But don't get things confused. Scrooge may soften his rough edges with you, but that doesn't mean he'll be totally vulnerable.

Probably would kidnap you eventually. He wouldn't do it himself, but pay someone else do it instead and stage it to look like an accident.

Who would question him? No one. At least, no one would dare.

"Leave? Absolutely not. You couldn't, even if you wanted to. It's too dangerous for someone so fragile like you. Now tell me, who would protect you without me?"

Post-Visitors:

Following the events of what had transpired that Christmas, you could definitely say Scrooge is a changed man.

His cold and stern attitude switched over to a much more gentle and kind one. Perhaps, that might have saved you from enduring his old self.

He'll continue to be stern, but definitely not as much as before. And he's much nicer towards you as well.

Spoiling you with gifts, affection, and attention. Whatever you desired, he'd give to you on a silver platter.

The differences between him now and in the past are that he would use less forceful means to keep you where he wants.

Compared to pre-visitor Scrooge, instead of using money and intimidation tactics, he'd start by being more protective and even possessive towards you.

Slowly appearing in places you're frequently at, either approaching you directly or quietly watching from a distance.

He says how he's doing this because he loves you, and he wants to keep you safe.

He doesn't want to lose you. He can't lose you. He's been alone since Isabel left and for the first time in forever, he finally feels that lovely warmth in his body once again.

Should you feel the same, he'd be overjoyed. Perhaps this was all worth it in the end, he thinks. You love him, he loves you. That's all he could ever want.

Scrooge would either convince you to stay with him permanently, or kidnap you if you said no. Again, trying to justify his actions so that he can keep you safe.

He won't let you go. Never.

"Don't you see, darling? I am doing this because I love you! Why can't you comprehend that? You'll be safe and loved with me, so why do you wish to leave?"

[yandere-toons]

How would a Nibling reader handle Della and Scrooge along with Donald and the triplets? They all would definitely have some different ideas of how to keep her safe and make themselves the favorite.

Donald Duck, Huey Duck, Louie Duck, Dewey Duck, Della Duck, Scrooge McDuck, Gladstone Gander, Fethry Duck (Platonic Headcanons)

Warnings: yandere, psychological manipulation, toxic mindsets.

A.N. – Why not add Gladstone and Fethry?

It is hard enough to be a member of the McDuck-Duck extended family with all the complicated relationships, but being the favourite of so many makes it that much worse.

The nibling most likely lives with Donald on the houseboat. He prefers to be the chaperone on any trip outside the boat and goes as far as to forbid long-distance journeys.

Della takes immediate offence at this and claims that adventure is to the mind what water is to the body, and she is happy to whisk the nibling away on an adventure without getting Donald's permission. Adventures with Della range from riding with her on the Cloud Slayer to visiting the Moon goddess Selene.

Scrooge agrees that a little fun in life is healthy, and he tells Donald to be more lenient lest he discredits himself as a guardian. Even so, Scrooge dislikes being excluded from the adventure and demands to be included in the future. He worries that his nibling is vulnerable without him.

Gladstone feeds into the attitude of “whatever the nibling wants, the nibling gets.” Whatever is wanted, Gladstone purchases the most expensive and glamorous version. It comes through express delivery with a signed card so that no one forgets who bought it.

He is proving his superiority in the gift-giving department, and it irritates Donald to no end every time the mailman knocks on his door with boxes of designer clothes and a new sports car in tow.

Fethry wishes to show his nibling the wonders of the deep blue sea. He either calls or arrives at the house unannounced, asking his nibling to come with him to the underwater laboratory without telling anyone else.

Gladstone occasionally gets in on this and gives Fethry and his nibling a ride on the Gladyear Blimp.

There have been several instances where the rest of the family panics because of this and scrambles to recover their nibling. The lack of communication on Fethry's part leads Scrooge and Della to blame an imaginary kidnapper, while Donald is the first to suspect his cousins.

As Scrooge and Della interrogate familiar enemies such as Glomgold, Donald phones his cousins and makes arrangements to track them down if neither of them answers. The triplets overhear Donald's plan and wear down his patience until he lets them tag along.

While aboard the Gladyear Blimp, Gladstone treats his nibling to drinks, snacks and all the amenities his luck can buy. Fethry displays his jars of krill and talks about Mitzy, as sharing his interests is his way of bonding with his nibling.

Scrooge chastises Gladstone for his careless indulgence of their nibling's whims, arguing that Gladstone is teaching the wrong values and encouraging laziness. Gladstone contends that he is helping his nibling live the good life.

Scrooge counters this by offering his nibling a room at McDuck Manor, where he promises to teach the ways of how to become a self-sufficent bilionaire.

The triplets want to join each outing their nibling takes, and Dewey suggests that they become stowaways should their request be denied. Louie acts as a distraction for those who arranged the trip, while Huey orchestrates the whole scheme.

None of the older ducks are bothered by this, except Donald when his nephews' courageous spirits and knack for attracting danger pull his nibling into an adventure. Della welcomes her kids onto the Cloud Slayer and acts like her nibling is one of her own.

Family reunions are a catastrophe of desperation and passive aggression. Della is itching to sweep her nibling into the cargo plane and set off on the next adventure, which results in Donald arguing with her and trying not to let his nibling out of his sight at the same time.

The triplets compete with each other over who gets to spend what amounts of time with their nibling.

Scrooge monologues about how he acquired his vast wealth in the hope that his nibling will want him as a mentor, and Gladstone periodically interrupts him to hand his nibling a jewel he found on the ground.

Fethry has little to no sense of competition, choosing instead to follow his nibling around the area and share oceanic facts.

As the reunion comes to an end, everyone offers the nibling a place with them for a while. Whoever is chosen will take great pride in it and, except for Donald and Fethry, will flaunt it when the others are nearby.

If the nibling decides to live alone, each duck protests against the decision. A compromise is eventually reached that involves having one member of the family visit every day, but the nibling is allowed to choose who it is.

Choosing to live with someone outside of the family leads to a long-running showdown. This person becomes the target of resentment and envy, which manifests itself in Donald having a furious outburst if they so much as irk his nibling in his presence.

Scrooge joins Donald in belittling them if his nibling ever gets upset with the person. Scrooge insinuates that this fool is inept and undeserving of his nibling's time, while Della keeps urging her nibling to follow her on an adventure and forget about everything else.

Gladstone insults this new roommate in that covert sort of way that sounds innocent but is truly malicious. Fethry continues to visit his nibling no matter how late in the day it may be and regardless of whether the person knows who he is.

[greywindys]

As someone who's starting to write Gorillaz fan fiction (very late to the party, lol), may I ask for tips for a good characterization of the band?? What character traits do you like to see the most when you write/read?

OOo congrats, and good luck! And of course. I'll try to answer the best that I can, but I'll be honest with you - I don't read much Gorillaz fic because I've historically had trouble finding work that matches how I see the band, and I eventually stopped looking for Gorillaz fic altogether (though this doesn't mean I won't read them if someone recs me something with my interests in mind). I've always been under the impression that my characterizations and interpretations of band dynamics have been pretty unique, though I make it work somehow by having canon justifications for all the choices I make. So basically....feel free to disregard my suggestions because I may lead you down the path of what's less popular, I won't be offended lmao.

Anyhow, this kinda leads into my first pointer - it's good to have at least some canon justification for the choices you make. This may sound limiting, but it doesn't have to be! I think too many people stick to one particular way of portraying 2Doc and/or the band in general and miss out on a lot of interesting, new directions stories could go. For example, back around last Christmas, I had a discussion with friends about a joke Christmas Carol AU. Initially, people were like, “Murdoc is Scrooge.” This makes sense! But why couldn’t Russel or even Noodle get chance at being in this role? It’s not as intuitive, sure, but imo, it could definitely work. Familiarizing yourself with the canon and how that could translate to an AU or a new scenario can go a long way and make your story stick out, and you might be surprised at the kinds of interpretations you can defend.

I always like to re-read ROTO when I'm getting into the Gorillaz writing ~zone. It helps me sharpen up on the dialogue and speech patterns.

Researching home towns, local slang, important pop culture and significant events of the past and present, etc can help add more depth to your characterization. I remember researching Brooklyn in the 80s for a Russel fic I did a while back, and I received a lot of positive feedback about how realistic and relatable it made my depiction of Russel.

Don't be afraid to expand on canon within reason. One of my favorite self-indulgent hcs is nerdy 2D. Canon establishes him as a horror/zombie film enthusiast. I like to take it a step further and throw sci-fi and fantasy into the mix. He makes the occasionally LOTR or GOT reference, or be setting reminders on his phone so he doesn't miss the newest terrible SyFy Channel original movie when I'm writing him. It makes him more endearing to me for whatever reason.

As for character traits...this is very subjective, so go with your heart. Your unique perspective, whether it matches up with what's "popular" or not, is important. A lot of times, it make the story feel more genuine. All interpretations are valid, too, and just because it may not be one person’s preference, doesn’t mean someone else won’t enjoy it. Personal favorites of mine include: Murdoc with a vulnerable side, Murdoc with a talent for writing, Latino Murdoc, guarded/introverted Noodle, taxidermy enthusiast Russel, self-centered 2D, egotistical 2D, 2D with a backbone, sports fan 2D.

I hope this sort of helps. If you have any other questions, feel free to ask!

[quiverwingquack]

with her most trusted ally

Bentina Beakley flees the FOWL base with a child she’s not entirely prepared to take care of, but there’s one person she trusts to run to.

Scrooge McDuck.

Written for @beakleyappreciationweek & the Day 1 prompt “trust.” AO3 link in reblogs!

———

“We’re here.”

Bentina takes a deep breath, struggling to steady herself. She knows that outwardly it won’t change a thing, she’s worked hard on concealing her emotions in her years with SHUSH. But if there’s one man in the world that could see through her, it’s Scrooge McDuck, and she’s about to knock on his front door.

The mansion looms overhead, tall enough to conceal the moon above, making the world around her seem so much bigger than she is. The sky is dark, only the pale porch lights casting shadows into the night, and it’s quiet enough that her footsteps almost echo as she gets out of the car. It’s not often Bentina Beakley feels vulnerable, but today is a day unlike any other.

She’s got a little girl to protect.

The baby is just starting to wake from a long nap as she’s pulled from her seat, blinking at Bentina with sleepy eyes. She’s bundled up in the softest cloth Bentina could find on short notice, and though it’s no baby blanket, she still looks comfortable. Far more than she did in that… that test tube where Bentina had found her.

“There you are, dear,” she murmurs, studying the baby’s face for any sign of discomfort. “You’re alright.”

The baby yawns, letting out a soft squeak, and her heart practically melts. How could those fiendish FOWL agents even think of using such a small, innocent thing as a weapon? She practically shudders at the thought, then shoves it away. She doesn’t have time for could-have-beens at the moment.

She turns toward the front steps, taking a deep breath. “We’re going to be fine. Mr. McDuck will be willing to help.”

The baby won’t understand, of course, but it calms her to say it aloud. She doesn’t voice the fears she’s quieting as she approaches the steps, doesn’t acknowledge how scared she is of being turned away or arrested for kidnapping a child that she’s got no claim to.

Instead, she mentally rehearses the story she’s come up with to explain, leaving as much of the truth in it as she can. She looks down at the baby one more time, and smiles gently as she slips a soft ribbon over the little one’s head, tied with a pink bow. It makes her look even more adorable, simply gazing out at the world with innocent wonder.

She shifts the baby to one arm, reaching out with the other to knock on the door. And then, she waits.

It takes a long minute for anyone to navigate the mansion, and judging by the lack of cars in the driveway, Scrooge is here alone. He’ll have to put down whatever he’s doing to come and greet her, and he’ll likely grumble the whole way. She remembers nights in foreign hotels while on missions, and how every time he had to answer the door, he’d complain about being interrupted. They’ve been to more than a dozen countries together, and known each other for decades, but some things always stay the same.

It’s because of this that she’s not surprised to hear him muttering as he approaches the door, yanking it open with frustrated force. What does surprise her is how quickly his gaze softens, taking in the sight on his doorstep. She’d expected to stumble over her words, however carefully she usually chooses them, not for him to gesture inside without so much as a single question.

They’ve kept in close contact—he knew she was headed to the FOWL base, was the only one—so she supposes it makes sense. She hadn’t mentioned anything about a baby before, but here she is with one, and thousands of miles away from where she said she’d be right now. She realizes, as she steps inside the mansion, that it must be obvious her last mission for SHUSH has failed.

“I’m sorry to disturb you at such a late hour,” she begins, before he’s even got the door closed. “I wasn’t sure where else to go, and I knew it would be safe here, so I….”

“Dinnae ye worry, Twenty-Two,” he offers her a gentle smile, then gestures for her to follow. “Yer always welcome here. Come on now, I’ve got a kettle on the stove already.”

She trails behind him on the way to the kitchen, taking in the silence of the house. It seems they are indeed alone, the once-vibrant mansion now totally still. It’s haunting, and Bentina thinks to herself that something this big should be full of life. Instead it seems devoid of it.

When they reach the kitchen, there is indeed a kettle on the stove. There’s a single cup on the counter beside it, and Scrooge is quick to pull another one out. She takes a seat at the small breakfast table while he hunts for jasmine tea, knowing she can’t stand his preferred nutmeg. Despite her unease with her surroundings, there’s a comfort to be found in the familiarity of their relationship.

“Can I ask about yer bairn?” He questions, once he’s set out the milk and sugar. “If yer comfortable tellin’ me, that is.”

“Oh, it’s—it’s alright,” she stumbles, already uncomfortable with lying to him. Especially about something this big.

The baby, as if acting on cue, shifts in her arms. She adjusts the way she’s holding the little one, beginning to rock her gently. “Her name is Webbigail, or Webby for short. My granddaughter. I’m… all she has.”

“Oh, Bentina,” he shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I… thank you,” she can’t quite think of anything else to say. He seems to have mistaken her anxiety for grief, and for once she’s grateful for years of training herself out of being expressive. Apparently she can still keep a few things from him.

The room falls silent for a moment, both of them thinking, but the kettle's whistle quickly brings that to an end. It briefly startles them both, and the baby whimpers at the sharp sound, so Bentina focuses on calming her while Scrooge prepares their cups.

The room settles back down as Scrooge brings her a steaming white teacup and saucer, then joins her with his own. He watches her move to cradle the baby with one arm, then take a sip. It’s just the way she likes it, of course, and the taste reminds her of so many late nights and early mornings with her partner. Of studying casefiles to prepare for missions and making jokes about villains’ outfits, of talking about nothing while eating dinner in foreign hotel rooms.

It reminds her of times when she felt loved.

“How long do ye think ye’ll be stayin’?” Scrooge asks, pulling her from the reminiscence. “We can set ye up in one of the bedrooms tonight, if yer thinkin’ it’ll be a while.”

“I appreciate it. I’m… not quite sure,” she admits, setting her cup on it’s saucer. “Everything is different now.”

“That’s alright. Yer safe now, an’ I’m happy t’ have ye here. Both of ye.” He reaches out to put his hand over hers. “We can worry about all that later. Fer now, all ye need t’do is take care of yerself an’ look after yer wee one.”

Bentina knows he’s right. She’s always had a tendency to think too much, and that’s just about the opposite of what little Webbigail needs right now. “Okay.”

“D’ye want a shower, or some rest? I can look after Webbigail fer a little while.”

It’s only then that Bentina realizes how rundown she must look. Her outfit is rumpled, pulled from her suitcase last-minute, and she assumes her hair must be similarly frazzled. She barely slept an hour last night, and it’s been a taxing few days. As hesitant as she is to let go of the little one at all, she knows she really does need it.

“That sounds fantastic.”

It doesn’t take long for her to find herself in one of the manor’s many bedrooms, setting her bags down and getting ready for a shower. All too soon, everything’s ready, and she has to hand Webbigail off to Scrooge. And though she knows she shouldn’t be, she’s terrified to do so.

She’s thought of dozens of reasons things might go wrong, from Webbigail getting hurt or worse to FOWL catching up to her and taking the little one back before she can stop them. But despite all of that, she knows it’s Scrooge. Her partner in taking down Black Heron, her most trusted ally when it came to needing a SHUSH agent, and most importantly, her best friend.

So when he opens his arms, she carefully hands her precious bundle over. The baby settles down in his arms, and all his usual boldness and bravery seems to disappear, replaced simply by a tender, gentle gaze.

“Hello, Webby darlin’,” he whispers as his eyes meet hers for the very first time.

Bentina hardly dares to disturb this moment, quietly slipping off to shower and leaving them together. It’s far from any reaction she expected, but it’s also far from unwelcome. Perhaps Webbigail simply has the power to befriend anyone she comes across.

She isn’t in the shower for more than a few minutes when she starts to hear singing. She’s washing her hair at first, and can’t quite make out the lyrics. She identifies a few words of Scottish, but it isn’t until she turns the water off that she realizes it’s a lullaby.

Once she’s dressed again, she heads back into the bedroom, finding Scrooge sitting on the end of the bed. He doesn’t seem to notice her, wrapped up in rocking Webbigail to sleep. His expression is one Bentina’s only seen him wear when he’s around his niece and nephew, and she can hardly describe the feeling it carries.

There’s a softness in his eyes, watching her fall asleep. A gentle smile as he sings, and though she can’t understand the words, Bentina knows there’s care behind them. As if he wants to soothe and protect Webbigail in the same way he would any of his sister’s kids, or the little ones that Della’s expecting… oh.

He loves her.

Scrooge let her in without a question, and she didn’t even have to explain. She still hasn’t told him half of what she was prepared to. But he cares about her and obviously fell in love with Webbigail already despite not knowing anything about her. He’ll help her take care of a baby she's not entirely prepared for, and give them both a place to live and belong.

For the first time in many, many years, Bentina Beakley is home.

[ai-higurashi]

@beakleyappreciationweek 2021

Day 6: Vulnerable

I don't usually write and this is kinda short so hope you like it!

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

It had been a pretty regular mission if someone asked Scrooge. 

Sure, he had somehow gotten captured this time (in hindsight, maybe all the times Bentina had stressed about NOT putting unknown things in his beak had a slight point. Not that he was going to admit it out loud, even less to her face, any time soon though), so most of the work had fallen into 22's shoulders with the extra task of rescuing him. But still, pretty subpar villains compared to the ones they usually dealt with, paired with pretty common goals and a poorly put-together plan made it so the events of the day were unremarkable at best, and he had almost completely forgotten about them by the time he settled reading in the hotel's shared bed, Beakley diligently finishing touching up the main points of her report before joining him with a book of her own.

Eventually he had been so engrossed in his book, detailing the mysteries that surrounded a certain artifact that had recently caught his eye, that he had lost all sense of the time.

Until a soft, steady, rhythmic sound he had never heard before pulled him out of his trance and made him scan his side of the room startled, book gripped hard in his hand in case he needed a weapon, taking for granted his partner would cover the other side. 

But it wasn't until he turned to check with her that he found the source of his alarm and his breath stopped for a moment.

Because Bentina "Agent 22" Beakley looked deceptively defenseless curled under the blankets next to him with her pale hair messily scattered all over the place and shining slightly under the soft combined glow of his night lamp and the crescent moon, long lost to a deep slumber for the first time since they had met all those years ago.

And there he sat, staring at her in bewilderment, trying to remember a single occasion he had seen her like this in their many shared travels.

No matter how tedious the mission had been, how grueling and challenging the fight had gotten nor how many injuries she received from it, Agent 22 had always been awake to see him fall asleep.

Moreover, while Scrooge prided himself on being an early bird, no matter how early he awoke, Bentina was already going about her daily routine, moving silently like a shadow around the room to avoid waking up her partner. He had tried waking up before his regular hour before for a change but somehow she seemed to anticipate when that would be and fix her sleeping schedule accordingly every single time.

Logically he knew she would sleep during the period in-between. After all, common sense was one of her strongest suits, she wasn't reckless enough to enter a battle sleep-deprived, especially not when so much was at stake in every single one of her missions. Plus, she had trusted Scrooge as far as to give him her real name years ago and their bond had only gotten stronger since then.

She simply had never allowed herself to lower her guard to that degree around him during his waking hours.

Of course, he could hardly blame her. After all, old habits die hard, especially if they're the ones keeping you alive. 

Until now.

A small whimper suddenly broke his line of thought, making his attention snap back to the spy next to him, who, in a more awake state, would have never been caught dead making that sound in front of anyone.

Whatever dreams plagued her mind surely weren't pleasant as she whimpered again, her breathing speeding up and her body getting more restless by the moment, until he instinctively put a hand on top of her head, stroking her hair gently with a comforting shush, like he would do ever so often for Hortense or Matilda when they were little kids.

And then he froze.

He expected her sharp senses to snap her awake gasping, her fighting response to kick in and her self-defense instincts to take over in order to subdue the perceived threat, and immediately braced himself for the heavy impact of a bruising hit that never came.

Instead, under his astonished eyes, Bentina sighed and her breathing evened out again, burying her face in the pillow and snuggling closer to his warmth, mumbling something incoherently.

He didn't know if she was fully aware of it yet. But whether on purpose or by chance, Bentina Beakley trusted him enough to allow herself to be vulnerable. 

And if, much to 22's confusion, his smile was a little bit too smug when the morning came and the sun rised, well, could you really blame him?

[tainted-wine]

Where Keigo gets a break, because he accidentally plucked himself of his feathers- and it’s winter and birb man can’t keep himself warm, so reader just snuggles with him- and it’s so cute and wholesome~!

"Many northern birds handle winter the way we’ve been told since we were children: flying south, usually to more tropical regions. However, there are many species that are willing to stay and face the harsh winter head-on. Foraging birds will often travel in flocks and pick at just about anything, from seeds, to insects, to larvae that hide beneath the tree bark. Raptors are constantly on the hunt; each meal builds up fat for extra body warmth.”

“Man, I wish I could just let myself go every winter and fatten up. If only I didn’t have an image to uphold.”

“Most birds will roost in sheltered areas. These include abandoned hollows or the dense inner branches of trees. Small songbirds in human-populated areas will sometimes crowd themselves in the birdhouses built in yards.”

“Of course they do. Sing-songy pussies, taking all of the human handouts.”

“Bigger birds like geese grow an extra layer of downy feathers for insulation. All birds will regularly fluff up their feathers to keep warm.”

“Me too! Too bad all of my damn feathers are gone. Tell me, oh wise narrator, what can a helpless bird like me do now?”

You can only handle Hawks’s bitter commentary on the nature documentary for so long. “You can always change the channel. I just thought a little nature would be good for your health.”

He hmphs and snuggles deeper into his thick blanket. “It was nature that put me in this situation,” he mumbled. For whatever reason, he continued to watch.

You shook your head and finished heating the hot cocoa. You told him that tea would be a much better option to keep him relaxed, but the moody hero was more interested in drowning his sorrows in chocolate.

You’ve seen him in much more vulnerable states, but there was something about this time of year that turns Hawks into a special kind of grumpy. He was, dare you say, a scrooge. 

A lot of it probably has to do with the unfortunate fact that his body simply wasn’t built for the cold, yet his job forces him to be as active as he always is, even during harsh snowstorms.

This entire week involved less villain-hunting and more of preventing accidents among reckless civilians. He’s made it clear to you many times how awful it is to fly through the chilly air with low visibility and while making sure his wings don’t freeze over. The last straw dropped this morning when he saved several people from a pileup on the icy highway, using up the last of his feathers.

You returned to the couch and hand him the cup of pure chocolatey warmth. He grunts out a ‘thanks’ before dangerously gulping down the hot liquid. “Careful!” You yelp.

He slows down for your sake, opening up his blanket cocoon to invite you in. The two of you cuddle as the birds endure the dead of winter on television.

“Are you feeling feverish at all? No cough?” You ask.

“Nope.” His superiors have shown mercy and will allow him to rest even after his wings fully grow back, to prevent him from getting ill. The pushy bastards are lucky that he hasn’t already caught a cold while patrolling in these frigid winds.

You plant a kiss on his reddened cheek. “Good, then I can still do this.” Several more quick pecks, and you can feel his face lift into a smile under your lips. You’re both quickly captivated by a peaceful scene of birds gorging themselves at a large feeder.

“For many, birdfeeders are a sanctuary during these harsh times. It also serves as the perfect opportunity for bird watchers to find multiple species right in their backyard.”

How beautiful. You rested your head on your boyfriend’s shoulder as you took in the variety of plumages and songs, all gathered together for a shared meal.

“But they aren’t the only opportunists.”

In a sudden eruption of noise and feathers, a large shape whizzes by and scatters the birds. The feeder sight is now empty, save for a hawk that lands on a nearby perch...with an innocent sparrow in its talons. It wastes no time digging into its fresh catch.

Your hands fly up to your face. “NO!”

Hawks spills the contents in his cup as his arms fly up triumphantly. “YEAH!”

[stargaze-sunflower]

More Dewey and Louie bonding!!! Hope you like it!!! :]

Summary: After the events of Emma Glamour's party, Dewey and Louie have a lot to talk about.

Ao3 Link     Word Count: 4138

Louie really should’ve known that things wouldn’t go according to plan, but despite everything that had happened to him and his family, he had still managed to hang on to some hope. He was sure that he’d collapse into a puddle of despair and shame if he ever let go of hope entirely, and that wasn’t the type of life that he wanted to live. It was hard sometimes, because hope was fragile, and Louie himself felt easily breakable, most days.

He hadn’t wanted his scheme to be as vulnerable as he was. Seeing the angles was supposed to be the thing that he was good at, the one thing that was his. In a family full of adventurers, he’d thought that he had finally found his place as the strategy guy, as someone the others could trust to be on top of things. Someone that they could rely on, rather than someone they merely tolerated.

Emma Glamour’s party had been a chance to prove himself. A chance to finally show that his schemes weren’t all dangerous and harmful and worthy of getting him kicked out of the family selfish. He had wanted so badly for it to be a success. He’d thought that if he just tried hard enough – Scrooge was always telling him to just try – then it would all work out fine, and he’d finally stop feeling like there was something wrong with him. He’d stop feeling like everyone was always trying to fix the parts of him that they didn’t like.

It was a failure. But then, his schemes usually were, weren’t they? They brought nothing but bad things – caused nothing but trouble. At least The Caballeros got to play at the party, even though they hadn’t made the It List. Even though Louie had done nothing right.

Dewey had been the one to save the day, in the end – ever the hero – and Louie was proud of him, he was, but there was still a pit in his stomach growing bigger and heavier and harder to ignore.

.

(“You’re nothing new.

You’re not original.

There is nothing ‘It’ about you.

So tell me, why would I ever listen to you?”)

.

Louie sighed deeply, just the memory of the words enough to send sharp, aching pains bursting in his chest. He gripped the glass of water in his hand a little tighter, trying desperately to ground himself. But just like the rest of the ideas he’d had that night, it didn’t quite work out.

Currently he was standing behind the desert table, leaning against the wall and trying to pretend that he wasn’t hiding. Quite a few of the party guests had left already, but some had stayed to listen to the music that José and Panchito were playing – Uncle Donald had gone to sit at a table to talk with Daisy – and to enjoy the free food. Multiple people had even gone up to Dewey to congratulate him for winning the approval of Ms. Glamour. Something that Louie had not been able to do, at all, in any capacity. But he was fine. It was all fine.

He took a deceptively calm drink of water, trying to stop the rising wave of emotion that threatened to clog his throat and spill out of his eyes. He supposed he could only lie to himself for as long as he could ignore his feelings, and he was admittedly having trouble with that, at the moment.

“Thirsty?” a voice asked brightly, way too close to his right ear, and Louie almost choked on the water he hadn’t been able to swallow yet.

Dewey was standing next to him, smiling widely and rocking slightly on his feet, probably still absolutely ecstatic about the attention he’d received for his yo-yo ‘tricks’.

“Did you sneak up on me on purpose?” Louie asked, half accusing and half resigned.

“No,” Dewey said, grabbing a cookie and taking a bite out of it. “I called your name, like, twice before I got here.”

“Oh,” Louie said, any other possible response having fled his brain.

Louie set his glass of water down on the table in front of him as Dewey popped the rest of his cookie into his mouth, finishing it in record time.

“Still aren’t listening to me, huh?” Dewey teased, although there was something genuinely questioning in his tone.

The knot in Louie’s stomach twisted sharply at the reminder of how he’d treated his brother that night. Dewey hated feeling like he wasn’t being listened to, or acknowledged, or seen as useful. Louie knew that, and still he’d spent most of the night ignoring everything Dewey had tried to suggest.

“I guess not,” Louie replied, guilt tangling in his stomach and crawling up his throat. “I’m really— I just—”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit, but it didn’t bring the same comfort as his hoodie might have.

“I…I’m sorry,” Louie finally managed, and he felt like it wasn’t enough, like he it would never be enough. “I didn’t mean to— Well, I did, but…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dewey said, waving him off, and Louie glanced at him in nervous surprise. “I mean, I’m not gonna say that it didn’t hurt, because it did. You know how I am with, uh, that sort of thing.”

Dewey rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, and the guilt in his stomach turned into sharp stabs.

.

(“Look, your plans, your schemes, they only lead to bad things for your family.”)

.

“But you’re not normally like this, all high-strung and whatever, which— which makes me think that maybe something else is bothering you,” Dewey continued, and Louie gaped at him in shock, his hands falling out of his pockets to hang still at his sides. Dewey’s brow was furrowed, and he was staring at the table in front of them intensely, obviously in deep thought. “And that doesn’t make it okay, but like, it makes it understandable? I don’t know.”

Dewey shrugged, shaking himself a bit before turning towards Louie with a little smile.

“I forgive you, you know, in case you need to hear it,” Dewey told him, and there was no trace of a lie in his eyes or deception in his voice.

Louie had to blink back tears at that, at the pure, sincere way that Dewey had just spoken to him, at the way he just understood Louie and his emotions, and how he was willing to forgive the mistake he’d made, especially when he already felt terrible about it. Dewey was his brother, who could apparently tell when something was bothering him, and Louie was both intimidated by that and thankful for it.

.

(“If you want to be a part of this family, you’ve gotta stop.”)

.

“Thanks, Dew,” Louie said, his voice softer and calmer than it had been in hours.

“No problem,” Dewey said happily, and he reached up to ruffle Louie’s hair before he could protest.

Louie glared sideways as he fixed his hair, not actually all that mad. Dewey just grinned at him, but a few seconds later it softened around the edges, and something concerned crept into his expression. Louie winced.

“You wanna talk about what was going on with you tonight?” Dewey prompted, nudging his shoulder lightheartedly, and Louie huffed.

“Not really, no,” Louie said.

“You sure?”

He turned to Dewey with his beak open, fully intending to repeat himself with confidence and grace, but the words died in his throat. Dewey was looking at him too honestly, too concerned, too ready to listen to him when Louie had done nothing but ignore him for the whole night, and it was enough to change his mind. Dewey deserved an explanation, and Louie was tired of lying, anyway. Because apparently - according to Emma Glamour - he wasn’t very good at it.

“No,” Louie admitted, voice strained as he practically forced the words out. “This is just… I really wanted things to be perfect, and I guess it kind of got out of hand.”

Him and Dewey took a moment to take in the messy room and remember the hostage situation. None of that had been Louie’s fault, really; sometimes it felt like chaos just followed their family around wherever it went.

“Why was it so important to you?” Dewey asked eventually. “Like why tonight, you know?”

Louie frowned deeply, brow furrowing as he tried to think of how best to explain how he felt.

“You know how Huey is super into being a Junior Woodchuck?” Louie asked, deciding to just wing it, and Dewey gave him a strange look, but nodded. “Okay, so, that’s his thing. He wouldn’t mind if we did it with him – he even wants us to, sometimes – but if we were better at it than he was, I think he’d lose his mind.”

Dewey chuckled a little, and that was enough to tell Louie that he was still listening, so he barreled onward.

“And then there’s— You’ve got that talk show thing, Dewey Dew-night, and that’s something that’s yours. But if I made my own talk show, like, uh— like Lunar Louie or something—” Dewey snorted, and Louie couldn’t help but smile a bit, even as he kept going almost frantically. “If I did that, and my show was more popular, then you’d feel like you weren’t— you’d feel bad.”

Louie trailed off into silence, and Dewey didn’t try to fill it, possibly sensing that he wasn’t quite done, but needed some time to think.

“I… I do schemes. That’s my thing. It’s basically the only thing I can do—”

.

(”This is the one thing I’m good at. Why can’t you see?”)

.

“—and then you kept telling me that you could do more to help, but I was scared that if I let you, then you’d be better at it than me, and if you’re better at scheming then me then what even— What else can I do? I’m not—"

.

(“You’re nothing new.

You’re not original—“)

  .

“I don’t know,” Louie finished. “I just— I wanted to prove myself I guess.”

“To who?” Dewey sounded like he’d been punched in the stomach. Louie avoided looking at him.

“Everyone, I guess. Mom, Uncle Donald, you.” Louie put his hands back in his pockets, attempting to conceal their trembling. “Myself, most of all.”

“Louie, you— you don’t have to prove anything—”

“But I do!” Louie whipped around to face him, suddenly irrationally angry. He was surprised to find that the tears in his own eyes were reflected in Dewey’s. “Our family are a bunch of adventurers, Dewey. That’s what they do. And I can’t— I—”

Dewey reached out for him, but Louie backed up a step, not ready to be comforted.

“Uncle Scrooge thinks I’m lazy, and Mom thinks that I— that all I do is cause bad things to happen, and I just— I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Louie said, his voice ending in a broken whisper, and he pulled his hand out of his pocket for the sole purpose of wiping at his overflowing eyes. “I can’t do anything right. Or—or good.”

Dewey stared at him for a few long, agonizing seconds, and then his trademark expression of determination took over his face, stronger and more serious than Louie had seen it in a while.

Oh, boy.

“C’mon,” Dewey said, leaving no room for argument, and he grabbed Louie’s sleeve on his way by, dragging him along behind him.

Louie glanced nervously around them as he was tugged along, taking note of Uncle Donald, who was still sitting at a table with Daisy on the other side of the room. And speaking of tables—

Dewey stopped next to an empty one. Just like the others it was covered in a long white tablecloth that touched the floor, and Dewey gestured downwards pointedly. Louie raised an eyebrow, which was probably a strange expression on someone who had just been crying, but whatever. Dewey just gestured again, a bit more forceful, and Louie sighed before dropping to his hands and knees. He crawled under the tablecloth and Dewey followed, letting it fall back into place behind him when they were both in.

They were left sitting in soft lighting, on a squeaky-clean floor – Daisy probably wouldn’t have settled for anything less – and Louie had to admit that it was less overwhelming than standing at the edges of a large room feeling sorry for himself; feeling sorry for everything.

“Okay, look,” Dewey said, sitting there in his DJ Daft Duck suit and still managing to sound like he meant business. “You remember when Uncle Donald was racing against Uncle Gladstone ‘cause of that weird luck vampire thing?”

Louie could only nod.

“And he was gonna give up, but you stopped him. You kept him going. You inspired him,” Dewey said, every word said clearly and sincerely. “You’re good at that.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And what about that time with Mom,” Dewey continued, “when you were able to convince her to go back to help Uncle Scrooge and the others stop the moon invading? We may never have left that island – or gotten home in time to help – if it weren’t for you giving her a pep talk.”

Louie exhaled shakily, remembering how stressful that whole situation had been. Dewey grabbed his hand and held it gently between them, even as he kept talking, looking at him with warm eyes.

“You helped Webby when she lost her optimism, and you were able to make her start believing in people again. You were able to help her remember that there are good people,” Dewey said, and he squeezed his hand, smiling gently as Louie blinked against the moisture in his eyes. “There are good people, Lou, and you’re one of them.”

Louie sniffled, wiping at his face with his free hand as he avoided eye contact.

“It doesn’t always feel that way,” Louie said.

“I’ll believe it when you can’t,” Dewey said simply, and Louie finally looked at him.

Dewey was staring back at him with a slightly nervous expression, like he wasn’t sure if he was saying the right things or not, like he was worried that he wasn’t being helpful. The knot in Louie’s stomach and the pain in his chest finally abated, and he tried out a small smile.

“Thanks, Dew,” Louie said softly, and he wasn’t feeling up to a full-on hug just yet, so he leaned his side against Dewey’s and squeezed the hand he was still holding.

Dewey exhaled quietly, his shoulders dropping as he relaxed.

“Anytime,” Dewey told him, and he sounded like he meant it.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, the sounds of the party muffled through the expensive tablecloth. There they were in fancy clothes, at a fancy – wrecked – party, and they were hiding under the table like they used to hide in clothes racks at the store as little kids. Louie suddenly couldn’t help but chuckle a bit.

Dewey turned to look at him, possibly a little confused, but as soon as their eyes met, they both lost it. They sat there giggling on and off for at least two minutes, and every time they’d almost calmed down, they’d make eye contact and burst out laughing again.

“This isn’t funny,” Louie said helplessly, wiping away tears of mirth. “We shouldn’t be— Why are we laughing?”

“Would you rather cry?” Dewey asked, grinning like a loon.

“I am crying, Dewey.”

“That’s good crying, though,” Dewey pointed out. “You’re smiling at the same time.”

Louie shoved at him playfully, and Dewey started giggling again, swaying with the force of Louie’s push before popping back upright.

“I could comment on how weak of a shove that was, but I’m not going to,” Dewey said, with a teasing lilt to his voice, and Louie rolled his eyes.

“How gracious of you,” Louie said, words dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve been insulted enough for one night, anyways.”

Louie leaned back on his hands, finally feeling relaxed and mostly at ease. It was amazing what Dewey could do, really, when he put his mind to it.

And speaking of his brother, Dewey was suddenly being creepily silent. Louie turned to check on him with a raised brow, and Dewey was looking back at him with confusion and a sort of vague concern.

“What do you mean?” Dewey asked, dead serious, and Louie blinked.

“Uh, what do you mean what do I mean?”

“The insult thing you just mentioned,” Dewey clarified. “What did you mean by that?”

“Oh,” Louie said simply, trying to buy himself time to think of how to distract Dewey from the subject, which his brother was picking up on, if the narrowed eyes were anything to go by.

“Don’t lie to me,” Dewey said, somewhere between a plea and a warning.

“Look, it’s nothing—”

.

(“You’re nothing new—")

.

Louie cleared his throat and tried again. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said. “It’s not even worth mentioning.”

“Your hands are shaking, Louie,” Dewey said pointedly, and he grabbed the one nearest to him to hold it once again. Louie huffed in frustration and glared at his traitorous appendages.

“I’m doing jazz hands,” Louie deadpanned, and Dewey snorted.

“No, you’re not.”

Louie sighed resignedly, and Dewey squeezed his hand.

“Tell me?” Dewey asked, and Louie forced himself to meet his wide, pleading eyes. “Please?”

Louie groaned, tilting his head back to stare at the bottom of the table, because now he absolutely had to explain himself, or Dewey would go around looking like a kicked puppy for days. Louie couldn’t have that on his conscience; it already had enough to worry about.

“You remember when I went to talk to Glamour, right?” Louie began, sitting up, and Dewey nodded. “Well, she definitely had some interesting things to say about what she thought of me.”

Dewey’s hand tensed in his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“…Like what?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Louie rushed to say. Emma Glamour was one of the people that Dewey looked up to, and he was reluctant to crush his dreams, and maybe even a little afraid that he would agree with her. “It— It wasn’t anything that isn’t true.”

“What did she say?” Dewey reiterated, and Louie figured that he couldn’t put it off for any longer.

“Just— Just that I was, uh—"

.

(“You’re nothing new.

You’re not original.

There is nothing ‘It’ about you.

So tell me, why would I ever listen to you?”)

.

“—that I was nothing special. And not worth her time, or— or even worth listening to,” Louie said haltingly, doing his best to pretend that he wasn’t bothered. “She had me all figured out, and she— she didn’t think that what she saw was very impressive. Or ‘It’, as she put it.”

There was complete and total silence after he finished talking, Dewey unnaturally still next to him. Louie breathed slowly and deliberately, trying to calm his nerves.

Without warning, and certainly without grace, Dewey suddenly stood ramrod straight next to him, shooting up so quickly that Louie dropped his hand and leaned back in surprise. Being under a table, of course, Dewey didn’t make it very far before bumping into the bottom of it, hitting it with such force that the whole thing rattled; Louie very faintly heard a fork fall to the ground a few feet away. Dewey dropped back down onto his knees with a grunt of pain, rubbing the top of his head.

“Dewey, what the—”

“She can’t talk to you like that!” Dewey exclaimed angrily, already changing course to crawl out from under the table. “She just— I can’t believe—"

Dewey continued his nonsensical furious rambling as he made it out from under the table, Louie following behind him frantically, getting the vibe that his brother was on his way to do something stupid.

“Dewey, wait—” Louie grabbed him by the wrist, keeping him from storming off. “She was well within her rights to call me out on trying to con her—”

“There’s calling you out, and then there’s straight up mean—"

“She was right, though, okay?” Louie said desperately, his arm shaking with the effort it was taking to hold Dewey back. “I needed to be taken down a notch.”

“You’re eleven, Louie! None of what she said was helpful, she just— She’s an adult and she said that to a kid!”

Dewey was still attempting to barrel onwards, and he was very slowly making progress. Louie groaned in frustration and leaned even farther backwards to try and slow him down.

“Okay, but— Dewey, what are you even gonna do?” Louie asked. “You can’t just flat-out attack her at her own party, and Uncle Donald already yelled at her ‘cause of Daisy—”

“She’s about to see my yo-yo skills way up close and personal,” Dewey said, almost muttering, and he stumbled a bit from the persistence of Louie’s grip on his arm.

“Dewey, stop,” Louie said sternly, although there was an element of begging in there, too. “Dewey, please.”

His brother finally came to a halt, and though it felt like they’d been going for hours, they’d only made it about five feet from the table they’d been hiding under. Dewey turned to look at him, his gaze fiercely protective and maybe a little lost, and Louie kept his grip on his sleeve, just in case.

“It’s not worth it,” Louie said quietly but clearly.

“Yes, it—”

“It wouldn’t change anything,” Louie amended, and then he tried for a smile, although he was sure it looked awkward. “And Huey would be disappointed in us if you got arrested.”

“Huey would already be throwing punches,” Dewey said, but some of the tension in his shoulders was gone.

“Please,” Louie said lightly, “he’d give a stern lecture at worst.”

“Agree to disagree,” Dewey shot back, shrugging a little, a small smile forming on his face, reluctant but persistent.

Louie huffed a laugh, looking around nervously to see if anyone was staring at them. He ended up making eye contact with Uncle Donald, who was staring at them with his brow furrowed in concern, already halfway out of his seat. Louie grinned, infusing as much reassurance as he could into it, and gave a thumbs up with the hand that wasn’t latched onto Dewey’s wrist like an octopus.

Their Uncle hesitated for a moment, obviously conflicted, but then he sunk back into his chair, shooting them a look that clearly said ‘Be Good’. Louie sighed in relief and turned his attention back to Dewey.

“You sure you don’t want me to avenge you?” Dewey asked, a bit teasing but with an undercurrent of truth. If Louie wanted him to, he really would give Emma Glamour a piece of his mind.

But Louie had had enough drama for the day – maybe even for the rest of the week – and just knowing that Dewey was ready and willing to defend him made him feel lighter and happier than he had been in a while.

“Nah,” Louie said, finally releasing his hold on his brother. “I think we’ve caused enough chaos for one night.”

“Barely,” Dewey said jokingly, and Louie rolled his eyes.

After a moment of comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s presence, Louie couldn’t help but yawn. Dewey glanced at him in amusement.

“Tired?” Dewey asked, and Louie just shrugged. “D’you wanna leave now? I think Launchpad would come get us if we called him.”

“What about Uncle Donald?”

“I don’t think he’d mind if we left without him,” Dewey replied, jerking his head to indicate where their Uncle was sitting with Daisy, listening to her talk with rapt attention. “He seems pretty busy.”

“He’d freak if we left without telling him, though.”

“Yeah.”

“…So who’s gonna tell him?” Louie asked, and Dewey huffed.

“Why can’t we do it together?”

“Because one of us has to call Launchpad.”

“We can do that together, too,” Dewey said, beginning to grin.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Efficiency, Dewford,” Louie shot back, already pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Ugh, you sound like Huey,” Dewey complained, but his tone was light.

“One of us has to,” Louie said, dialing Launchpad’s number.

Dewey stared at him as the phone rang, and Louie raised a single eyebrow as he stood with it held up to his ear. Dewey groaned.

“Fine.” Dewey threw his arms in the air, turning away to hide his smile. “I’ll go tell Uncle Donald we’re leaving.”

Dewey walked off, and Louie finally allowed himself to grin fully. Nothing could quite cheer him up like lighthearted bickering with one of his siblings, and no one could pointlessly argue for as long as Dewey and Louie could. It was something that Louie felt was special; something that was theirs. Maybe it was nothing new, but it mattered.

And that was enough.

[ramblingguy54]

Webby’s Serious Vulnerability & Need For Happiness.

The McDucks meant everything to me. Not just because of their great name, but because they were a great family. One I thought I could be apart of, but now it’s gone...Guess the name, McDuck, didn’t mean much after all...

Webby’s desire for making others happy has been her greatest strength as a character. A beckon of hope others can be drawn to, much like it was for Lena’s case being best explored. Webby even helped Penny find her place in their big crazy world of Duckberg, but what happens when she tries to help a personal matter that, as Dewey said, could only make things worse? Even though this episode wasn’t the angst trip I was speculating it to become for our second visit to Castle McDuck, it shines an interesting introspective upon Webby’s emotional vulnerability once again. Something we saw before in Lost Harp Of Mervana once Webby realized Beakly had lied to her about trusting people in general. It’s not just one part of her character, but the entirety of who she is as a person when it comes to her unwavering philosophy of hope. Webby’s newfound confidence toward facing unknown stuff after getting outta the mansion helped because of others supporting her, too. Webby feels like she owes so much of herself for what this family gave to her life emotionally because she didn’t have much of anything in a long awhile, other than Beakly, obviously. It’s no surprise Webby Vanderquack has been a pretty lonely kid as evidenced by her particular episode quote from Woo-oo, “Ehhh, my granny is a bit overprotective. She trains me to be ready for anything, but then says I’ve got everything right here...”, showing how much solitude she endured socially. Webby got this idea into her head she owes her life to Clan McDuck’s lineage, basically. Which is why she tried everything in her power to manipulate the family into making up.

Webby’s helpful friendly morality has been played up for laughs before, like in New Gods On The Block, but here Webby is very controlling attempting to force moral solutions upon a complicated situation, revolving around inheritance of who’ll become the next statue pedestal. For good measure, Webby pulls upon Dewey’s strings for being noticed as the “best child” and formulates another idea ending in more escalation upon an already feuding family. Doesn’t help Huey & Louie stumble into this room at the worst possible time for added consequences. They were both already getting on each others nerves, so it sent them into adding fuel upon this bigger fire becoming a gigantic one as an end result. All of this was moral karma for Webby’s need to make others happy, even if it meant using her own methods to force a solution. Webby is certainly Scrooge’s biggest fan alright, considering his severe need for control rubbed off on her. The kid wants people to be content she’ll go so far as to push that idea, so Webby can feel happy about herself, too. Webby’s optimism was greatly praised in They Put On Moonlander On Earth and the writers wanted to criticize why putting so much stock into an idea of, “Everyone needs to get along, so I can feel happy!”,  can also be a double edged sword in its own right. Sometimes you do need to step away from an already bad situation making things simmer down. Dewey did have a point to an extent about family fighting being a tricky situation. However, it’s not until Webby cuts all the bullshit simply to speak from her heart. No more lies or tricks, but a simple sentimental statement about why she feels the need to repay a debt to the Duck Family. Only then, could their squabbling actually stop.

I set out to preserve their history, but I destroyed it all. The past, the present, and the future...

Webby gets stricken with serious guilt seeing how much damage her meddling around has caused. Besides feeling awful about how she tried taking advantage of the situation, it made her question if they were all their name was cracked up to be. All the studying she did by herself about Scrooge’s ties and legacy are being called into suspicion. If their historical achievements are great, than it can be argued in turn this causes more harm than good for a future together. When you’re at each others necks about who will succeed whatever they’re getting handed it stirs up more issues down the road. The McDuck pride is their greatest strength, yet weakness, from what this episode study displays. Remember Dewey’s research into Della’s disappearance and questioning whether or not she was a genuinely good person? Consider Webby’s introspection as a callback to it, reflecting upon her own value, where if she has put so much faith into who they are seeing them like this, than what does that make her? I’m definitely keeping this as an important mental note for future reference in the next last batch of episodes. She keeps seeing the ugly side of how people can act, including her own family, making this poor kid question everything Webby has held true to for a lot of her life. Dewey had that exact dilemma in Season 1′s episode, The Spear Of Selene, being so terrified of the possibility Della was a self centered traitor to his family. He was scared of being related to somebody who didn’t care for her family at all, making him wonder if that too makes him bad for solely being biologically tied to Della?

Webbigail, no doubt, feels a similar weight of seeing an uglier truth she’s afraid to accept. That not everyone means well in their intentions all the time. She got a taste of that back in Impossibin with Beakly’s extremist behavior about preparing for FOWL’s inevitable threat upon their lives. Now, yes, Beakly did mean well, but she showed a type of ferocity Webby is used to seeing her direct at their enemies, instead of the girl’s general direction. It terrified her for that period of briefness watching Beakly not pull her punches, at least until the end anyway. Factoring in all those variables showcases Webby’s greatest obstacle, her unconditional faith. Although, save for what happened in Mervana, Webby’s not one to doubt people often, since she was quick to forgive Beakly’s oversight a couple of episodes ago. The scary thing though is Webby did doubt everything these McDucks stood for in this moment and that’s very concerning for what they’re foreshadowing in her future conflicts, particularly with Beakly.

That girl believes the best in people, especially Merpeople. If she finds out they’re lying, she’ll be devastated.

When you’ve got her crumbling up a deeply cherished photo Webby held dearly to heart, that’s a big red flag going up there in my mind. If Webby’s already going that far in how hard she’s taking harsh reminders of stuff, then Beakly’s secrets are gonna destroy her emotionally. Food for thought to consider. Mirroring this picture with Beakly’s line from the Lost Harp episode really puts it into perspective about how truly sensitive Webby is to facing an unkind world.

[darlingsdevil]

Forever Preserved in A Frame

Summary: The Van der Linde gang is notorious for their outlandish Christmas parties, but John Marston will have none of that. It’s Christmas after all.

A/N: A Secret Santa gift to Seb from the @real-rdr-facts server! I hope you enjoy!

Tags: 1920’s AU

RDR2 Masterlist

Merry Christmas !

•••

The Van der Linde gang was notorious for its outlandish and extravagant Christmas parties. No expense was spared. The finest food, champagne, music, everything about the party was big. The gang’s largest speakeasy — a grand basement decorated with imported luxuries was the center of it all. The speakeasy was hidden underneath a bookstore, the gang owned the entire block of buildings, entrances could be made through any of the buildings. Bouncers stood watch at every hidden doorway, waiting for the passerby to mutter the password to get into the party.

Anybody who was anyone was at the party. Which meant Arthur was required to go. He hated those things. They were obnoxious. He hated making small talk with stupidly drunk corrupted politicians, bigwigs in companies who exploited their workers, rancid people he had no interest being near. But following Dutch and Hosea meant all the politics. They had a reputation to uphold, the entire party was one big business transaction. A show of sorts.

Arthur tightened the tie around his neck and placed his hat on his head, feeling the dread of the party creep on him.

“Come on, John!” Arthur yelled as he walked towards the front door, his voice booming through the spacious apartment. He tapped his foot impatiently, looking at the watch on his wrist.

Arthur sighed. “John!” He shouted again. No response. Where was the little bastard? He already had a headache..

He found himself at John’s bedroom door, he knocked on it loudly.

“Open the damn door, John.”

No response again. Arthur managed to get the door open, only to find it was empty. A cold chill filled the room. The window was wide open, the bedroom vulnerable to the frigid night.

Arthur cursed and rushed to the window. Footprints were on the fire escape, they were fresh too. The raging blizzard hadn’t covered them up entirely. John must have just left.

Arthur made it to the street shortly after that, following John’s footprints down the street into a back alley. They were going to be late. All because John decided to play runaway for the night.

He examined the footprints, they led up to a large electrical box, big enough to climb onto. The snow had been disturbed at the top of the box. John must have climbed on it. What the hell was John doing? From there, he could have jumped onto the fire escape and made it up to the top of the building.

Goddamnit.

Arthur would have to explain everything to Dutch and Hosea. Though he was worried about the younger boy, Arthur wasn’t foolish enough to search for him in a blizzard. John was smart enough to handle his own, he had been on the streets a majority of his life, one night was no trouble.

•••

The bouncers let Arthur into the club, he didn’t even need the password. The party was booming downstairs, as he walked down the steps he could feel anxiety bubbling in him. Small talk, stupid dances, schmoozing with rich folk was far from his style. Dutch and Hosea wanted him there.. so he had to be.

He fidgeted with his cufflinks nervously as he examined the crowd. Not many people he recognized, some people he recognized from TV, other people he had become acquainted with through business deals, some people just had the face of looking familiar. The crowd wore their finest clothes, pearls and lace, white gloves and fancy dress shoes all hidden behind snake eyes. It was all very nauseating to him. The chandelier and ice sculptures reflected the fakeness of the crowd.

He would have to grab Dutch and Hosea when they weren’t entertaining a large group of guests. The two men dazzled in the room, if it wasn’t for all the expensive decor they would be the brightest thing in the room.

Arthur was stuck sitting in an uncomfortable party while John got to do god knows what out in the middle of a blizzard, it was almost unfair. He grabbed a champagne flute from a server and leaned up against the wall.

“It’s almost romantic, isn’t it?”

Mary-Beth found him first. A young writer sponsored by Dutch because he was fascinated with her work.

Arthur looked at her curiously. She looked out into the crowd of people.

“You know, the waltzing, the music, the fancy dresses. It’s all so Victorian,” She said dreamily.

“These things get boring after awhile,” Arthur replied, boredom apparent in his face.

“It’s my first time coming to a party like this. It’s all so elegant.”

“I wouldn’t call it elegant.”

“Well, what would you call it?” Mary-Beth asked him, looking at him with curious eyes.

“Loud. Fake. Annoying,” Arthur grumbled.

Mary Beth scoffed humorously, “Aren’t you a Scrooge.”

“Only during these parties.”

“Well, Mr. Duffy has been eyeing me all night, I’ll leave you alone to whatever,” She gestured to Arthur’s wallflower appearance, “This is.”

“Hope you enjoy the rest of the party, Miss Gaskill,” He called out to her.

“As to you, Mr. Morgan,” She smiled sweetly as she waltzed over the room to Kieran.

The dancing picked up, Arthur watched as Mary Beth led Mr. Duffy to the dance floor, he looked nervous and giddy. The music was fast and fun, most people began gravitating to the floor.

Sean MacGuire, head of the smuggling business of Irish cream and whiskey danced drunkenly with Miss Karen Jones, heir to a banking fortune. She blushed each time Sean’s hand slipped further down her waist. Lenny Summers who owned a prominent publishing firm chatted with the drunken fools as well.

He wasn’t much for dancing, no one would ask him anyways.

•

It was only a matter of time before Dutch and Hosea found him. They came knocking midway through the night, when all the introductories were finished. Arthur had drank two glasses of champagne, it was rare he got to entertain himself with such a fine bottle. He didn’t even really like champagne but it was Christmas, he deserved to let loose through the only viable option.

“Arthur, my boy!” Dutch called out to Arthur, arms outstretched for a hug. Arthur hugged him,

“Where’s John?” Hosea asked, glancing around the room to spot the teenager.

Arthur drew a breath in as he began, “About that.”

Dutch and Hosea’s happiness fell from their face, that line was never good, especially coming from Arthur.

“He escaped the apartment right before we were going to leave. Followed his tracks, went to the rooftops, I wasn’t going to break my damn neck looking for him during a snowstorm so I came here instead.”

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Hosea asked.

Arthur shrugged, “Didn’t want to bother you. Figured he could handle himself for awhile.”

“You sure he wasn’t kidnapped?” Hosea said quietly, leaning in close to him.

Arthur nodded, “Only one set of footprints, I followed them all the way to the roof until I couldn’t anymore.”

It was silent for a moment as Dutch decided what to do.

“We can’t send any men out tonight, they’re drunk out of their minds and we can’t pay anyone to look for him. Streets are bare. I don’t think even the cops would look for him on a night like this,” Dutch replied, his brow furrowed as he worried about John.

“What should we do then, Dutch?” Hosea asked.

“Let’s get our coats. We have to look for him before it gets too late.”

•••

The whole car ride was near silent, the street was eerily but expectedly deserted. The streets felt almost ghostlike. It was late enough into the night that most people had retired from a night of partying, it was early to a gangsters standards but civilians were schedule abiding people.

They checked Arthur’s apartment first. He had slipped a paper in the door to see if John had come by. He hadn’t.

Then they checked the alley in which he had made his grand escape. Not there either. His prints were mostly covered. Arthur cursed John for being so foolish, he would no doubt get a scolding and Hosea’s unbearable look of disappointment. It’s what the little brat deserved, running off like that on Christmas.

They decided to check the waterfront. Dutch drove the car wordlessly as Hosea and Arthur both checked their sides of the street to see if there was any sign of him.

Nothing. Streets were bare. It was hard to see with all the snow too.

They decided to drive by Sisika Center, the tree loomed tall with its bright lights in front of Saint Denis’ largest building complex. It had been packed leading up to Christmas, but now not a soul was out. Couples and families gathered by the tree, but Arthur was never much fond of looking at a lit up dead tree.

There was no one there as expected, Arthur sighed at the sight. Where the hell was the stupid boy?

Suddenly someone jumped in front of the car, Dutch swerved the car quickly, swearing loudly as the harsh snow littered the windows.

Dutch lost control of the car for a few seconds until he regained it, he slammed on the brakes and everyone held their breath until they were sure the car had stopped moving.

“What the hell was that?” Arthur asked, his heart still beating loudly.

Hosea was already halfway out the car. “John!” He shouted.

Arthur and Dutch stepped out quickly, John was standing in the middle of the road, standing with his hands on his hips almost annoyed.

“Took you long enough!” He shouted over the storm.

“John! Get over here now!” Dutch bellowed, the headlights illuminated John in the road as snow swirled around him.

“Come on!” John shouted, turning tail and running down the street.

Arthur shared a glance with the two.

“Well go after him, Arthur,” Dutch said to him, pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering all sorts of insults.

Arthur set off after him, except John stopped right in front of the tree. Arthur was damn near ready to tackle the foolish boy, but there was something serene about watching his brother stare bewitched at the twinkling lights. Arthur caught up with him and stood in silence for a moment.

“Before you say anything let’s wait for Dutch and Hosea,” John said, his eyes remaining fixed on the tree.

Arthur let out a sigh of annoyance. Eventually they heard the crunch of footsteps against the snow.

“John! What the hell was that?” Dutch called out.

John was dressed for the cold, he had mittens, boots, a large coat and a hat. The rest of the men only had on their tuxedos and furs.

“I’ve been out here all night. I knew you’d show up.” He began to explain, turning to Dutch and Hosea.

“You’re always at that stupid party, I never get to see you during the holidays, and if I do you only show me off to your rich friends like I’m some charity case,” John said, frustration filled his voice.

Dutch and Hosea both frowned.

“For once, I want a real Christmas instead of some party with a bunch of strangers. Like a family would have.”

The storm had let up, instead the snow twirled lazily through the sky, causing the snow from the bright lights to look like diamonds falling from the heavens.

Dutch and Hosea looked at Arthur for some confirmation.

He shrugged, “I don’t like the party either.”

Dutch and Hosea stared at each other for a moment.

“Then let’s stay away from the party for the rest of the night, what do you say, Dutch? The boys deserve a real Christmas,” Hosea suggested. John broke out in a bright grin.

Dutch sighed and nodded, “Alright.”

Arthur was surprised at the stunt John had pulled, as much as he hated the party, it was definitely out there. In truth, he expected nothing less from the delinquent. Running off wasn’t anything special to him, but on the night of the party was. All to get Dutch and Hosea’s attention.

“Thank you,” John said sincerely, he was relieved Hosea and Dutch hadn’t yelled at him yet.

The snow continued to swirl, almost like ribbon.

“I almost forgot!” John said quickly, digging into his pockets, he pulled out a slip of paper.

He handed it to Hosea. Hosea smiled warmly and showed the picture to Dutch, then Arthur.

It was a photo of the four of them, sharing a laugh at a table, Arthur had placed his hat on top of John and John barely fit into it, the hat covered most of his view.

It was a nice memory, a few months back. So much had happened since then it had slipped all of their minds.

“Where did you get this?” Arthur asked, examining the back of the picture.

“Albert Mason took it when we were at the grand opening of Pearson’s restaurant, remember?” John replied.

“Ah, yeah, now I do.”

•••

They returned to the apartment, Dutch and Hosea swinging by their respective homes to retrieve the gifts they had bought.

John was ecstatic to open gifts in a home next to a fireplace rather than a spiffed up basement. He had gotten everything he had wanted. Arthur smiled warmly at the sight of it all. There was no party chatter, no drunken fools, no fakeness, it was all genuine. It was no performance. It was cozy and homely, and joyful and everything Arthur had secretly wanted out of Christmas.

The framed picture sat on the fireplace for years for many more Christmases.

Sometimes John liked to pick it up and show baby Jack the photo. The infant recognized all of them, and giggled happily at the sight of his father’s family. Many more memories had been made since then, but John liked to think this was where it all truly started. The parties were still thrown, this time moved from Christmas Day to Christmas Eve. Both John and Arthur were forced to attend.

John looked at the back. It was a distant memory now, though the picture had not collected dust.

John, Arthur, Dutch & Hosea

Circa 1924.

•••

[stargaze-reblogs]

Alright, so... I added more to that catboy louie fic that I wrote ajsdkak

Ao3 Link    Original Post

.

His family takes it in stride, because at some point that’s all you can do, really. Especially when it comes to his family in particular.

Scrooge reacted awkwardly, and Webby reacted very enthusiastically, with a squeal and bright, happy eyes. Uncle Donald fussed over him a bit, promising that they’d look for a solution, and Della had patted him on the head – avoiding the ears – and told him that things would be just fine. He’s not sure if he believes her, but oh well.

Louie takes it in stride, too.

Not much really changes, aside from the little, frustrating things. His tail was constantly knocking things over, because he had absolutely no frame of reference for just how long it is, or how it even works, yet. He’ sat on it often, over and over, to the point where he eventually just started laying on his stomach. He’d lay on his back, sometimes, but for some reason that felt like a more vulnerable position. It only happened when he was comfortable with the environment and the people around him.

His ears were less of a spatial problem, and more of a practical one. His hearing was better, now, and it took a few days to realize that not everyone was shouting at him – as if turning halfway into a cat had damaged his hearing – but rather, it was just him; just a new thing to get used to. Webby could hardly sneak up on him anymore, and he could hear people coming down the hall whole seconds before his brothers did. He was even beginning to be able to tell who it was just based on footsteps.

On the other hand, though, he wasn’t used to things being so loud. And it was because of this issue that Louie discovered yet another odd trait he’d developed.

He and Huey and Webby had been sitting innocently on the couch, catching up on Ottoman Empire, since it was a rare day when nothing much was happening. Louie was laying on his back, head in Huey’s lap, feeling at blissfully at ease.

And then Dewey entered the room.

“Hey guys! Look what I found!” Dewey exclaimed, and that in itself was startling enough, but then he pressed the button on the air horn in his hand, and Louie’s new ears felt like they wanted to rip themselves from his body.

And apparently, the rest of his feathers agreed with that sentiment, because they all came to life and stood straight up, each and every one of them puffing out instantaneously as Louie sat up and slammed his hands – his very fluffy hands – over his ringing, sensitive ears.

The air horn cut off as Huey slapped the device out of Dewey’s hands, scowling at him, but Louie could still hear an echo of it banging around in his brain. He closed his eyes and shook his head violently, as if that would help, and when he opened them, everyone was staring at him.

Webby had her hands covering her beak, eyes sparkling and lightly vibrating like she was barely holding herself back. Huey was just staring at him in mild shock, and Dewey was standing next to him, grinning and looking absolutely ecstatic, like Christmas had come early. Louie hesitantly uncovered his ears, which popped back up into place. Webby squealed quietly next to him.

“What?” Louie asked, a frown tugging at his beak. He had already been scared half to death, and now they were just being rude. “What are you looking at?”

Dewey snorted like he was trying to keep from laughing hysterically, and Huey just sighed, a small smile playing on his face as he gestured widely at Louie’s whole person.

“Look down, Lou,” Huey said, amusement coloring his voice, and Louie furrowed his brow and followed his advice.

He looked down, wondering what on earth was happening, and all he saw was feathers. Feathers, puffing up and away from his body, sticking out from underneath his hoodie, and making his tail grow to nearly twice its usual size. He suddenly understood why the air felt colder than normal. He reached up on autopilot to feel his face, and found much of the same embarrassing situation. His face was fluffy. His whole self was fluffy. Super fluffy. No wonder everyone looked like they were about to have a breakdown.

Louie scowled, and Dewey finally burst into laughter; the image of a puffed-up, grumpy Louie was apparently too much to handle. Webby was cooing something about how adorable he was, talking rapid-fire and bouncing in place on the couch.

“Oh, for the love of—” Louie grumbled, frantically trying to smooth his feathers down. “Why? Just—just why?”

“I’ve read about this,” Huey said excitedly, walking quickly back to the couch and sitting back down. “When cats feel scared or threatened, their fur puffs up. Sometimes it’s to make themselves look bigger when faced with predators.”

Louie turned to glare at Dewey, who was leaning over the back of the couch and grinning at him.

And apparently, while the adults had been trying to figure out how to fix his little problem, Huey had been researching cats. Excellent.

Louie buried his (fluffy) face in his (fluffy) hands and groaned.

“This is the worst,” Louie said, mildly irritated and tired of surprises. “I’m going insane, why is this my life?”

Huey laid a calming hand on his shoulder, Dewey ruffled his hair from above, and Webby smiled at him warmly, fondness in her eyes. Louie suddenly felt a little better, and he could feel his feathers falling back into place.

“Whatever happens, whether we can fix this or not, you’ll be fine,” Huey said, full confidence and truth in his voice. “And you’re not alone in this, we’ve got your back. We’ll catch you if you fall.”

Louie sighed, feeling the last of the tension leave his body. Maybe things would be okay, as long as he had his family to back him up.

“Yeah,” said Dewey, a suspicious smile growing on his face. “But if we miss, that’s fine, too.”

Louie stared at him.

“I’m sure you’ll land on your feet,” Dewey finished, grinning madly, and Louie wondered if anyone would notice if Dewey mysteriously went missing.

After all, Webby could imitate Dewey pretty well.

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

I hope that that turned out alright! :3

Special thanks to @nonbinaryboyd for giving me the idea for this!

[waveypedia]

“I’m in love…shit” the quintessential gyro

Gyro never meant to get attached to Fenton.

If he had known the bumbling, awkward, cheerful coworker would carve out a little nook for himself in Gyro’s heart, Gyro would have fought his superiors twice as hard on hiring an intern.

He had already given every excuse he had, but Scrooge was worried for him alone in the lab day after day, and the Board was tired of shoving precious funding at doomed inventions that blew up in their faces.

(Gyro was tired too.)

But somehow Gyro’s sheer force of will wasn’t enough, and he ended up saddled with the literal ball of sunshine and energy that was Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera. The duck essentially transformed into a mini hurricane in his precious lab, wreaking havoc and wrecking Gyro’s concentration. He never seemed to tire, both physically and emotionally, no matter how much meaningless work and hurtful insults Gyro threw at him.

Gyro never remembered dancing on Dr. Akita’s heels and shoving his thousand inane ideas in his mentor’s face. Yet Fenton greeted Gyro every morning with his too-bright grin and a plethora of new ideas. He followed Gyro around the lab like an unwanted puppy, asking a million questions a minute, forcing Gyro to multitask and make mistakes on his precious inventions. He also seemed to have a special knack for popping up in Gyro’s personal space right as Gyro was about to finish an important and tenuous process, startling him and, more often than not, making him mess up and have to start over.

Gyro did not regret making the bathroom his workspace, which was rather immature by his standards, but Fenton took it in stride, just like everything else. He didn’t even realize right away! What an idiot.

Although, the personal space and questions may have been the only characteristic of young Gyro that Fenton didn’t adopt. Despite them having zero similar physical characteristics, the younger duck served as a painful window to Gyro’s past self. 

Gyro… didn’t really know how to handle it. He certainly was no Akita; he lacked his old mentor’s eerie calmness and quiet confidence in spades. But Fenton was unmistakably Gyro, but a Gyro lost to time, a Gyro that crashed and burned and died twenty years ago.

Sooner or later, something was going to to go horribly, terribly, miraculously wrong. Something was going to break Fenton’s spirit forever. It would break him, like how 2-BO broke Gyro, and how the Spear of Selene ensured he would never recover.

Fenton was just a disaster waiting to happen, and as Gyro’s intern, Gyro would most likely be there for his failure. The thought of essentially watching a repeat of 2-BO from the outside, watching Fenton’s unshakable friendliness and passion crumble and shatter irreplaceably, terrified him. It was like watching a horror movie with dramatic irony, where the audience knows about the killer but the characters don’t, and the audience just watches them die slowly one by one, with the sickening sensation that something bad is about to happen and there’s nothing they can do to stop it.

Truthfully, there is something he could possibly do. He could talk to Fenton, but the thought of laying all his failures and terrors bare on the table terrified Gyro. For all his scientific genius, he is a disaster in a conversation, and not even Fenton’s inconceivably strong friendliness can save him. He can’t go to Mr. McDuck about it, because his boss would probably tut gently and pat Gyro’s back awkwardly and spout nonsense about rewriting history and we can handle it and good on you, lad, you care about him!

Wait. Since when did Gyro give a shit about Cabrera?

Only because watching Fenton skip and stumble down his old path, knowing only disaster and hardship awaits him at the end, felt like someone cut open old wounds that never really healed.

He didn’t care. No, sir.

And then, the unthinkable happened. 

When Gyro, Fenton, and a few of the McDuck clan ended up in danger, Fenton hotwired Project Blatherskite. It was still under construction and never meant to be used as anything vaguely resembling a superhero, but here they were.

“How could you be so stupid?!” Gyro snapped at Fenton over and over in the aftermath, but he was drowned out by the adrenaline-infused praise of his peers and Beaks’ creepy hero-worship. Scrooge, Dewey, and Launchpad seemed to have somehow developed the idiotic idea that Gizmoduck was prescisely the superhero Duckburg needs, and that Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera was just the duck to wear the suit. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Like all well-written dramatic irony, Gyro saw the picture fall into place before it happens. The Gizmosuit will be Fenton’s downfall the same way 2-BO was Gyro’s. His intern was about to crash and burn, and there was nothing Gyro could do about it since no one seemed to listen to him.

He felt like screaming and screaming until his throat was hoarse and his voice was gone, but it wouldn’t make a difference.

He was only a kooky, crazy scientist with a sharp tongue and a pessimistic, nihilistic worldview in their eyes. 

So he took matters into his own hands and fired Fenton and the first sight of heroic activity.

Really. A robotic suit built by Gyro Gearloose supposedly protecting a city? Yeah, please. Gyro may be an idiot but he’s learned from his mistakes. He knew Gizmoduck would be Fenton’s 2-BO already, thanks universe. He was just trying to minimize the damage. Fenton would have to get hurt whatever happens, but at least maybe the city of Duckburg can remain standing for another day. Unlike Tokyolk.

But the firing blew up in Gyro’s face, and Scrooge, crazy and reckless old man he was, hired Cabrera back. As a fucking superhero.

As soon as Mr. McDuck was out of sight, Gyro slammed his back against the hospital wall outside of Fenton’s room and let his knees give out, sinking into gravity’s embrace on the cold, hard floor. He buried his head in his hands, bunching his fingers into fists under his glasses. Hot tears pricked against his eyelids.

He had failed. Failed to protect Fenton from the casualties of the Gizmosuit. Failed to stop it from happening again, with more fatal results next time, despite his vehement protests.

He was going to watch Fenton’s spirit get crushed, or worse, watch Fenton die, in this stupid suit, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Fenton’s scary mom came around and berated Gyro for firing her son and letting him get into danger. Gyro wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He had been trying to prevent Fenton from getting into danger!!

“Have a heart,” Officer Cabrera had snapped at him. “See if you can find the ability to actually care a little bit about my son.”

That’s why I did what I did, Gyro wanted to scream. And then he froze, because he doesn’t care about Cabrera.

Does he?

Oh fuck, he does.

Gyro would have buried his head in his hands had it not already been there.

Caring only makes it harder.

He cared about Dr. Akita, and 2-BO, and look where that got him. He cared about Della, who was lost to space because of an invention Scrooge trusted him with making. He cared about Lil’ Bulb, which got him stolen by Mark Beaks and twisted into a trashy piece of tech that nearly killed them all.

He still cares about all of them.

As time went on, and Gizmoduck became a household name, no one seemed to catch onto Gyro’s fears. Not even when Fenton nearly died, twice in five minutes, and Gyro had to rebuild the entire suit from scratch instead of letting Gizmoduck die out like a sane person. Not even when Mark Beaks’ insane obsession with Gizmoduck ended with Huey and Webby in danger, Gyro himself locked in a closet and electrocuted (he’d very much like to have a talk with Ms. Dee for that offense) and Fenton’s secret identity in the hands of a very dangerous woman. All so Beaks can feed his stupid ego.

Gyro’s daily nightmares, once filled with images of 2-BO wreaking havoc on Tokyolk and Della vanishing from any and all communications permanently, had a new element to them. Fenton, sometimes in his Gizmosuit, sometimes without, dies and fails and breaks in a million different ways each time. Gyro woke up screaming every night. It never got easier.

He can no longer play at not caring about Fenton.

Then Della came back, crashed a Spear of Selene outfitted with more gold than original parts, but it was a Spear of Selene all the same, and it brought Della, alive and well. The Spear of Selene had doomed her, but Oxy-Chew had saved her. When Della squeezed all life out of him in a tight hug and then punched him in the arm because black licorice, Gyro?!? Seriously?! Gyro didn’t know how to react.

He had always thought his invention killed her, but it turned out to have saved her.

Gyro’s worldview, previously unshakable, was suddenly rocky, cracks winding through the foundations, with this discovery.

Maybe his failures weren’t as black-and-white as they seemed. Maybe he wasn’t an irredeemable monster.

Maybe Fenton won’t fail at all.

It all came to a head one day when Huey brought 2-BO, somehow alive but malfunctioning, into his lab. Gyro shoved down his long-lost, precious memories of 2-BO in Akita’s lab before he- it- destroyed the city it was supposed to protect. They returned to the site of Gyro’s greatest failure, where he broke the way Fenton might will soon, and Gyro’s careful plan falls apart. 

Just like the Spear of Selene, Gyro realized he was wrong. Tokyolk’s destruction was never his fault. It was never his failure or his weight to bear. It was Akita’s, not his or 2-BO’s.

And when he rises from his slapfight with his former mentor to see his invention, riddled with Akita’s corruption, towering over Fenton, helmetless, injured, and vulnerable, he had a lot of decisions and epiphanies to come to in a split second.

2-BO- Boyd- was not evil. Gyro wouldn’t let Akita’s tampering bring death and destruction to Tokyolk, again, and to Fenton.

Tokyolk may have never been a true failure of Gyro’s, but he still won’t let Fenton fail here.

He brought Boyd back in a way he never would have thought of previously. He had acquired a kid now, and that means it’s time to come clean to Fenton.

His intern- no, coworker- accepted Gyro’s terrors more easily than he expected, and somehow weaseled Gyro into promising to call him the next time he has a nightmare.

Gyro didn’t expect to keep that promise, but he did. And he called again, and again, and again.

And somehow that turned into a budding friendship, one based on a mutual passion for science and care for each other.

Because Fenton cared about him, Gyro realized one day with a shock, the same way he cared about Fenton.

Gyro buried his head in his hands and hoped he was done with heart-stopping epiphanies. But he wasn’t, not yet.

He had one more to go, and it came at one of Mr. McDuck’s fancy company parties that his kids and Mrs. Beakley had weaseled him into spending a lot more money than he would have liked. Gyro allowed himself a small chuckle at his boss’ indignation before he dragged Fenton off to make fun of all the frivolities of the party.  

As he and Fenton pushed their way through the mingling crowd towards the food table, Gyro hapazarded a glance back. Fenton, clad in a white-and-lavender tux that he had blushed and fingered at Mrs. Beakley’s inspection of it before the party, claiming it belonged to his father. But it fit him well, and accented the soft color of his feathers. The warm yellow light of the candles and chandeliers did as well, and as Fenton passed Launchpad his face lit up in a brilliant smile that warmed Gyro’s heart and brought a small smile of his own to his face.

Then it dropped just as suddenly.

I’m in love… shit.

Gyro stiffened and dropped Fenton’s hand, causing the aforementioned duck to immediately pause his quick greeting to Launchpad and whip around towards Gyro, his beautiful face twisting in concern. Gyro waved him off and sprinted away, ignoring Fenton’s cries of protest and worry, and dove into a small storage closet stocked with brooms and mops. (Mrs. Beakley would be furious if she found him here.) He slammed his face into his hands and dropped into a crouch on the floor.

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

How on earth was Gyro supposed to handle this?! He had just gotten used to Fenton as a coworker and friend.

Surely Fenton would resent him if he confessed and upended their already tenuous relationship.

A small, hesitant knock sounded on the door. Gyro groaned. Ugh, speak of the devil…

“Uh, Gyro?” Fenton’s voice drifted through the door. “Are you in there? I thought I saw you run in here… I could have lost you in the crowd, but you kind of stand out… I know you don’t like parties, but it’s not like you to run off unless something’s really wrong…”

Gyro stayed poised on his toes to run, despite the fact that he was trapped in a tiny supply closet with nowhere to go. He didn’t trust himself to reply, so he stayed there silently, holding his breath in anticipation.

After a moment of silence Fenton groaned and dropped his head against the door. The bang startled Gyro, his already-racing heart speeding to new heights. 

“Ugh, stupid. Talking to an empty supply closet.” Fenton muttered to himself. Gyro’s heart ached, especially since he really was listening. 

“Fenton, it’s okay. I’m in here,” he called nervously. His voice was quiet, never rising above a whisper, but somehow it reached Fenton’s ears and he heard the other duck slump against the door in relief.

“Oh, good. I was worried about you, Gyro,” Fenton replied softly. Gyro thought he might have heard a bit of affection in his tone, but he scoffed to himself. Obviously not.

Fenton was an idiot, but even he wasn’t enough of an idiot to actually care about Gyro. Not in the way Gyro apparently cared about him.

Ugh, love was stupid. Harder to figure out and navigate than friendships, and that was saying something! And it was on its way to destroying one of the only precious friendships Gyro had managed to secure.

Ugh. If only he was aromantic like Huey, who had nervously come out to him recently. So much easier.

(Huey would happily debate him on this later for sure.)

“Gyro?” Fenton called again, and Gyro realized he had never replied to his worried coworker. Another failure. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he replied back awkwardly. His tone was stilted and hesitant in a way that juxtaposed his usual unshakable aggressiveness and bluntness, which gave Fenton pause and only made him more worried. 

Fenton hesitated for another moment before calling a worried goodbye and ducking away, probably to find Della or Mr. McDuck. Gyro groaned and cursed his own misfortune.

He knew he cared about Fenton, and he had for a long time. So why did it have to get infinitely more complicated?

He pulled out his phone to text Della and Launchpad. They both had been through many relationships, and knew the ups and downs well.

Gyro sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead in frustration. 

Somehow he’d figure this out. He just had to make sure his stupid feelings didn’t get in the way of his friendship with Fenton.

Since there was no possible way Fenton could reciprocate them, right?

~

HI I FINISHED A WRITING REQUEST FOR THE FIRST TIME IN TWO YEARS DFGHKL;LKHGFGHKL LET’S GO this actually isn’t one of the old ones i got it recently so it doesn’t feel like a full victory but we’ll get there!! I’ve actually been in major writing block recently so I wasn’t expecting to write today, but I woke up this morning with this idea and wrote this in two hours (which is why it’s so bad sdfghgfd) but i finished it and i’m so happy enjoy

this ended up being a little more of a gyro character study than i intended and it feels shitty and a lot like my old writing sorry. it’s unedited mostly, so i apologize for any grammatical errors.

anyway hope you like it! thanks for reading! if you liked this (why) check out my other writing under the #my fanfic or #wavey writes tags, at my ao3 analyticamethyst, or at my wattpad PurpleDragon2003 (I’m not really active there though). I also might open writing commissions soon, so if you like my writing and you’re in a position to commission me please keep an eye out for that! Thank you I love you so much <3 <3

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Febuwhump 5: “Take Me Instead”

Cömmenté? Validátion? Please?

Summary: The triplets get kidnapped by evil scientists. It’s about as bad as it sounds.

Trigger Warnings: broken bones, torture, kidnapping, human experimentation  

1560 words

There were three cells.

Three glass cages, all spaced out evenly. But only one was in use. The triplets had been shoved in there by some faceless people in lab coats hours ago.

For a long time, nothing happened. The triplets were left alone, and while that should have been a comfort, it only served to put them on edge. They had no idea what these people wanted with them.

They didn’t like the look of the lab coats.

A door opened, and a few of the people filed in, their focus primarily on clipboards and tablets that they were holding.

As they approached their cage, Huey put himself in front of his brothers definitively. If they wanted to get to them, they’d have to go through him first. And he would not let them get to Dewey or Louie.

But they didn’t actually do anything. They stood at various points, all a few feet from the cage, just looking at them. Looking at them and writing things on their tablets and clipboards. They weren’t even trying to get closer.

Huey clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to get rid of the gross sensation of vulnerability that was quickly descending upon him. They were so exposed like this. It was creepy.

Occasionally the people would change position slightly, moving around the cage and observing the boys all the while. What were they doing? 

It dragged on for a while. The room wasn’t silent, per se, but the lack of noise was still driving him mad. On occasion, the people would talk to each other, but it was always so quiet that they couldn’t hear them through the glass.

They were being observed like a 4th grade science project, and Huey didn’t like it.

Just as these thoughts surfaced, something finally changed.

A few of the people set aside their things, and then, with the press of a few buttons, the door to their cell opened.

Dewey took a tiny step forward, but Huey put his arm in front of him, effectively stopping him from continuing.

Dewey didn’t argue.

The three of them watched warily as the people approached the cage swiftly.

The thing was big enough that these obviously-adults could step in no problem, even if it was a little cramped. But they didn’t stay for long. 

They grabbed Louie, ignoring his startled yelp, and began to drag him out.

“Wait, stop!” Huey demanded, trying to free his brother from the people’s grip. “Where are you taking him?”

They just bat him away like he was an insignificant fly. Huey was right back at Louie’s side in an instant, clawing at them. Dewey was on the other side of Louie, throwing hits and doing his best to help.

But these people were so much bigger than them, and they were outnumbered, too. Huey and Dewey were nothing but a minor inconvenience to them, and before long, they’d successfully dragged Louie from the cage, the other two still locked inside.

“What are you doing?” Huey asked, growing desperate. 

“Hey, we can talk this out, can’t we?” Louie attempted, grunting as he was practically manhandled. “Stop dragging me!”

His struggling hardly deterred them, and he was forced over to an area of the room filled with weird machinery. There were computers, what looked like a hospital bed, and, most notably, this giant machine that had two very thick metal plates, sitting vertically from each other.

It took two of the people to hold Louie down once they’d all but thrown him on the gurney-type-thing. 

“Come on, I’m sure you have better things to do than — hey!” Louie cried, helpless as his arms were strapped down.

The machine from before, the big one, was brought to life, and Huey’s stomach began twisting in knots. 

“What are you doing?” he asked again, pushing against the glass like it would suddenly give way if he just didn’t stop trying. 

The other people were still just taking notes like they had nothing better to be doing.

Louie’s leg, his left one, was forcefully placed between the two metal plates, and just when Huey understood and a cold horror settled over him, the gap between the plates began to close.

“Oh my god!” Dewey shouted at the same time as Louie gave a pained cry, the plates meeting on either side of his leg.

Louie grit his teeth, grimacing in pain.

“Increasing pressure,” someone mumbled, and though it didn’t look like the plates had moved, Louie’s panic made it clear what was happening.

Dewey and Huey threw themselves against the glass with a renewed vigor, banging against it. “Stop it!” Dewey said, bashing his body against the wall.

“Do you feel anything?” one of the scientists asked.

“Excuse me?”

“In your leg,” she clarified.

“I — no? My brother is the one you’re hurting, and if you don’t stop it right now, you’ll regret it!” Huey shouted, slamming against the glass yet again.

“Increase pressure,” the woman instructed.

At Louie’s pained scream, the other two grew frantic. “Take me instead!” Dewey insisted. “Just stop hurting him! Take me! Please!”

The otherwise unoccupied people were furiously scribbling down notes like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Oh god,” Louie was saying, repeating it over and over again like a prayer. Maybe it was. “If — if you stop, and let us go, we can get you money. I’m talking thousands — millions! Whatever you want, okay? Just — gah! Please!” he begged, voice strained with cries he was struggling to hold back.

“Do you feel anything?” one of the others repeated. 

“Let him go!” Dewey demanded.

One of the men let out an angry, throaty sort of sound something akin to a growl. “Increasing pressure,” he said, and though the boys couldn’t see his face, they knew he was glaring. It was easy to hear, with a tone like that.

Louie screamed so loud it made Huey’s ears ring, followed by a noise that was somehow even louder. Somehow even worse. A horrible crack resonated through the air, and as a screeched sob tore itself from Louie’s throat, Dewey and Huey were right back to screaming, too.

They were yelling so much that even Huey was having trouble differentiating between himself and Dewey’s words, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was what they’d done to Louie. All that mattered was that somehow, they needed to get them to stop.

Wordlessly, the scientists began resetting the machine so that Louie’s leg was released, and he was unstrapped from the gurney.

Something that might have been hope blossomed in Huey’s chest. When they put Louie back in, he could get out. And he would make them regret everything they’d just done.

But they didn’t bring him back to the cage. Instead, they released him, watching as he collapsed to the floor.

“Get up.”

“I can’t,” Louie sobbed.

They roughly dragged him to his feet. “Walk.”

“W-walk?” he sniffled, confused.

“Walk back and forth along this area.”

Louie whimpered, taking a shaky step forward. He wailed at the pain, but took another step anyway, dragging his broken leg behind him in a limp.

Back and forth. They wouldn’t let him stop no matter how much any of them cried or begged. Louie mostly just cried. Like he didn’t think it was worth it to argue.

They asked Huey and Dewey if they felt anything again. Huey, despite the faint gross feeling in his own leg, just glared at them. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but everyone felt wrong and twisted when watching other people get injured. Especially when it was his brother, who he was supposed to protect. He wasn’t supposed to let anything bad happen to him, and yet… 

“Fuck you!” Dewey spat, and for once, Huey wasn’t about to lecture him about language.

Louie finally collapsed with a broken cry, gripping his leg. “I can’t,” he said through tears, “It hurts, I can’t…”

Huey had never seen Louie so… openly distraught. Then again, he’d also never seen Louie tortured by evil scientists, so.

One of the scientists approached Louie calmly, patting him on the head in a way that seemed like it was meant to be fond. Louie flinched away.

They pulled a lollipop from the pocket of their lab coat, pressing it into Louie’s hand. “For good behavior,” they said. Huey shuddered in disgust.

Two more of the scientists came over and finally, finally all but dragged him back into the cage. The second he was released, he collapsed on the floor, Huey and Dewey by his side in an instant.

The door closed before Huey could lunge at them.

“It hurts,” Louie admitted, curling against his brothers weakly. “It hurts so much.”

“I know,” Huey said, running his hands through Louie’s hair helplessly. “We’re… we’re gonna be okay. Uncle Donald will come for us. And Uncle Scrooge, and mom, too. I bet they’ll be here within an hour.”

Louie screwed his eyes shut tight, nodding. Huey and Dewey shared a nervous look. It had already been hours. Where was their family? Shouldn’t they have been saved by now? What was taking them so long?

“Test #1 was a failure,” one of the scientists was saying. “However, Subject 3 was much more cooperative than expected. Test #2 will commence tomorrow.”

[callme--starchild]

Trouble Sleeping

Penumbra had never had trouble sleeping. Even with Della's snoring echoing in the room, she had always managed to fall asleep when they lived on the Moon; but now that he had a room in her uncle's domains, it was impossible.

She didn't know if it was because of the transition from the Moon to Earth, the weight that gravity installed on her, and she could easily rule out the snoring that somehow was louder because she had gotten used to them, but she just  couldn't .

She tried any position that made her feel more comfortable and even considered kicking the woman out of bed—perhaps the fact that she was so attached to her was the problem; but an awake Della Duck was more problematic than a sleeping Della Duck.

Besides that she could barely move her limbs.

Maybe she could walk the halls. Both Della and Donald had already guided her enough through the mansion that was already unlikely to be lost in them.

Again.

And maybe it allowed her to reduce the amount of energy in her body. She was so used to always being alert and going through Tranquility until the dream dominated her that she saw that as a more feasible hypothesis.

With more effort than was required, she took Della's hands and carefully removed them from her hips, attentive to the duck’s grunts until she instantly released her and turned, turning her back and snoring again.

She put a hand on her chest to sigh with relief and withdrew strands of hair that had strained to her face, holding her breath to get out of bed.

In that she was not worried about waking her roommate. She knew she had a heavy enough dream not to wake up to the movement in bed until she was forced to it.

And that she gave a little jump in the bed when she managed to get up didn't seem to wake her up either, so the former lieutenant and captain didn't seem to have anything to worry about either.

She slowly left the room and closed the door again. The lights were completely off, the Moon being the only one that illuminated the halls.

But the truth is that she still didn't get used to the absence of sound. Though it was her gun firing, Della roaming the room rummaging through her things while still chattering, the Moonlanders walking the halls of her home planet, or even her friends' family playing or talking to each other, Penumbra couldn't remember the last time she was surrounded by so much silence.

It was awkward, in a sense. And she found himself involuntarily humming Della's lullaby until she fell silent, feeling the heat rise up her cheeks. Unfortunately, the presence of the Duck family in her life had had more impact on her than she thought, but she would deny that Della's was the one who had the greatest influence as she walked the halls, observing the closed doors of the rooms.

She had not yet memorized in which rooms Donald and the other family members slept, and that each closed door was the same as the other did not help her at all. She really wanted to see if she had someone to talk to so she could sleep.

After all, Della's children and the little duck that always accompanied them seemed really interested in knowing her better as well as her uncle, Della was the one who knew her most and the interactions she had with Donald have been really scarce that currently the only thing he knew about her was that she was friends with his sister.

These thoughts, however, were interrupted when she approached the main staircase, from which she could see a light burning in one of the adjoining rooms and could hear the sound of webbed feet, at which her military instinct appeared. Holding on to the railing, she tiptoed in every rung—fortunately being well secured so that they do not squeak.

That the movement remained at the same level indicated to the alien that she was being silent enough, which really surprised her when her movements were always noisy.

But if someone was really trying to get into the family's territory, they were making a serious mistake, especially if they thought they could go unpunished. Because while she didn't have her ray gun, she still had her fists, and her vast training had made her as powerful as a weapon.

“Stop there!” Ignoring the noise she might cause, she kicked the door. On the other side, Donald started, releasing the fragile ivory cup he held between his wings.

But despite the efforts of the duck, it was Penumbra who managed to catch the object before it touched the ground.

“Hey! What is the big idea?!” and though she showed no signs of understanding him because, in addition, he had murmured, Penumbra acknowledged that he was angry at the abrupt way in which he snatched his cup while recovering his breath “do you want to wake up the children?”

"Um... sorry?" She blinked, watching how a dark, smoky liquid was served. Coffee, or so they called it. She really didn't care.

However, the Moonlander did not perceive the sound of footsteps, so they could easily assume that the rest of the family was still in their lethargy. That served to make Donald sigh, calming down again.

"You can't sleep either, huh?" He took the cup slowly turning it in circles, grinning grimly at his reflection, barely visible, in the black coffee.

Penumbra, despite not fully understanding the duck, could distinguish some words and denied. Despite the absence of light, the former captain was able to perceive the black bags under his narrowed eyes, or the way his nightcap was twisting.

Donald showed no signs of moving except to put the coffee maker in the sink, drinking loudly from the steaming black coffee.

“What are you thinking about?" Penumbra entered the kitchen, leaning on the island while looking at the sailor.

She didn't know if it was about the hour, the adventure that the family had had hours ago, or the recent job that takes up a lot of his nighttime (whatever that was), but she couldn't deny that he looked too exhausted for her taste.

And she could not assure that this exhaustion was only physical.

"Nothing, it's silly..." Donald spoke slowly, dragging the words so that Penumbra could understand him more easily.

The alien blinked. “We have all night” the ‘or until the dream defeats us’ was implicit, and she knew that the earthling recognized it by the way his gaze barely softened as he took another drink at his coffee.

But Donald knew that it was not healthy for his mental health to suppress his problems, or that is what Jones told him when he began attending his anger management classes. Sure, it had been a few days since the Moonvasion, but that didn't mean his insomnia began.

It had begun since he was discovered that he was a descendant of Don Dugo, the anxiety of not knowing if he would survive facing Felldrake had caused the Caballeros to spend sleepless nights sharing their concerns; it had intensified when he began to see for his nephews even when they were in the shell with fear that they would hatch prematurely, but he had managed to moderate them when the nightmares diminished until his return to the mansion, and his loss on the desert island—

He shook his head and he perceived the stony-skin alien, observing with a severe expression but waiting patiently while trying to articulate his words.

"Have you ever felt... small?" He observed the creamy cup sideways, still perceiving it hot but distilling less smoke.

On the other hand, Penumbra's eyes widened.

“Small?” If she deciphered Donald's words or tried to know what he meant explicitly, she didn't know exactly. Something told her he wasn't being literal.

The duck nodded, leaning on the kitchen island in front of the former lieutenant, stroking the handle of the cup with his fingertip and sniffing the caffeine. That still will not generate an effect on him was already surprising.

“Missing, that you do not belong to a place or… to a group of people?” With uncertainty, he fiddled with his fingers, looking anywhere except in the eyes of his companion.

Even the Moon, having been his prison, looked lovely.

For a moment his voice was more scratchy than usual, and he feared that would make it more unintelligible to Penumbra. He really hated to be so vulnerable, especially to people he was not so familiar with; but despite his strict attitude, Donald saw himself in her.

And he felt he could trust. That is, though Della used to be dumb, she had managed to sympathize and see something that he still didn't.

But if he were attentive to the Moonlander's reactions, he would have perceived her eyes opening in realization after she understood Donald's message even though he had somehow made his voice less understandable.

Her people had been able to empathize with the Earthers as soon as they discovered the true intentions of the General, partly because they were not a warlike society and could not deny it. But she was still in that process.

The gravity, the strange customs of which Della did not speak in her not-so-absurd-anymore stories, the difficulty she had to socialize with people who were not the twins’ family, and even talk to Scrooge had been complicated because he was always alert despite Della's constant reminder about their friendship.

Honestly, she couldn't blame him. The only Moonlander he interacted with at the time was Lunaris while invading his planet; she couldn't judge that he thought prejudicedly.

She felt that she still had a long way to go to call Earth her new homeworld.

Unless she decided to return to the Moon and command under a new mandate, but the truth eradicated that neither she nor the Moonlanders wanted to remember that for a few moments they were the bad guys.

"Hmm," Donald humming, savoring again the strong essence of black coffee over his heavy eyelids.

It was at that moment that she realized that she thought out loud. But the duck's distant gaze attracted more attention.

"Is that what prevents you from sleeping?" For a moment she wanted to think that it wasn’t like that, and that Donald simply wanted to know her more or rather, to bring up a topic of conversation, but he had been too specific with the question that it could not go unnoticed, and that his eyes soften more did nothing but make her lean on the kitchen island next to him, folding her arms on her chest.

The sailor hesitated before sighing heavily, removing his sleeping cap to start fiddling with it and wrinkling it further in the process.

"I really thought they were looking for me, that my warning had really come to them." He spoke slowly, dragging his words so that she could understand him, seeing sideways that she tilted her head without softening her brow. "But the moment I saw my sister and my uncle, they did nothing but scold me because I was supposed to be on the cruise... they didn't even know if I took the bus that would take me.”

He constantly moved his arms trying to emphasize his point, and the more he spoke the more he could feel the anger, helplessness and essentially tears threatening to pour out of his eyes, roughly carving them with the sleeve of his shirt.

"They must have their reasons. Don't be so rude to you.” Penumbra was perhaps not the best comforting people, she recognized that. She never managed to do it with Della, and she certainly didn't presume to do it with Donald, but she knew she should try when she clumsily put her hand on his shoulder and felt him too tense.

She had seen in the first instance that he was the bravest man in two worlds and that he was not as puny as she had believed.

"I know, maybe I'm being very selfish. But it hasn't let me sleep for whole nights, and I don't think coffee can keep covering that. Since Della came back we have done nothing but venture and every time I get tired faster” he made another sip of his coffee to discover that he had already drunk everything and sighed heavily. “I understand that she wanted to spend time with the boys, I would have voluntarily moved away from being here so she can recover the time lost with them. But what would they not even have thought of calling me, even if they thought I was on the cruise, to tell me that my long lost sister had returned? They know me better than that, they would know that I would left everything to come ‘ere."

“And where were you, by the way?" The alien asked after a few seconds of silence, tightening her grip when the sailor tensed even more, if that was possible. He, meanwhile, let out a yawn from his beak for what he believed would be the first time in days.

She accepted not having understood the majority, but some keywords that allowed her to decipher the message. Although she really didn't understand what that croissant he was talking about so much.

"She didn't tell you?" Fantastic. Just fantastic. Donald had muttered under his breath as he rubbed the bridge of his beak, remembering the reprimands of his twin and uncle because he ate with despair as soon as they served dinner, ignoring the grunts of his stomach (the truth was that he was already used to it, while his nephews could eat when they lived with him in the houseboat) and the desire to eat something that was not sand and sea water.

Maybe I should go to that island for a year, he thought sarcastically. Or return to New Quackmore Institute. No one would notice that he left even if he was on the border between Duckburg and St. Canard. Maybe the triplets needed help, and the truth is that he wanted to see what happened to them, Ari, Rug Bear and Xandra after so long.

"I didn't land in Duckburg as I expected, but on a desert island for months. Though I made a new friend, I doubt you can meet him. He died at the hands of my cousin” for moment, he dragged his words more than usual and looked at nothing trying not to concentrate again on the sand in his plumage, the wounds of his body, the constant fights with crabs, the sand and salt water running down his throat. The constant efforts he made in swimming out only to be returned by a wave, send distress signals that, due to his bad luck, were destroyed when airplanes and rescue boats passed, the constant fights with crabs.

And having to hide from the spacecrafts as soon as the invasion began, remembering the blows on his stomach, how he was captured against his will and the small legs of the scorpion entering his shirt and walking on the back of his neck—

Penumbra snapped quickly in front of the lost look of the duck, to which he blinked rapidly.

"I'm sorry." For a moment his gaze was blurred, making him question whether it was the black coffee or the sleep deprivation.

The Moonlander sighed. She didn't know whether to take into account that for a moment Donald's breathing had accelerated, as well as the feeling of inconstant beats in his shoulder blades.

"... And how did you survive?" She couldn't lie, that question was going through her thoughts since she met the twins on the ship, but she had never found the perfect time to do it without disturbing the family, fully aware that they didn't know about it and that he didn't I was interested in revealing it.

Finally, she pulled her hand away when he felt the duck's deep breath while he calmed down.

“Honestly? I don't know, my luck never tends to be in my favor” but it had been so ironic that she doubted it was satire.

The bitter expression of the former lieutenant focused on the duck. His limbs were shaking slightly, gripping the ivory cup so tightly that the possibility that he could tear it apart was not minimal, and the prominence of his dark circles made him look... old.

"And... why don't you talk to them? They seem to know much more than... me, of these things" she swallowed, pride included, trying not to say that they seemed to understand him better "they could help you."

It was definitely the lack of sleep that made her to say so many silly nonsenses. Yes, that was it.

For its part, the duck had to fight against his willpower not to laugh mockingly, doubting before moving away from the alien to approach the sink and open the tap, carving his eyes as he grunted before beginning to rinse the cup withstanding the cold water.

"Do you really think Uncle Scrooge will agree to help me? He has become more stingy than I remembered, besides..." What was stingy? Penumbra thought, before shaking her head and watching Donald, who had suddenly hunched over and moved slower "I doubt he will, now that Della's back."

Well, now the former captain was confused. In the short time that she had been living with the twins, both seemed to have enough appreciation, looking like a great team and only one duck at the same time, intelligence and strength alike (maybe it was the 'twins thing' that Della hasn't stopped chattering since they entered the mansion together); nevertheless, he had spoken with such disdain his sister's name, and his touch while doing the dishes had become more aggressive that still surprised her that it did not show signs of a crack.

"What do you mean?" She snapped when Donald continued to growl under his breath, before stamping the container against the counter, creaking when an extensive crack appeared on its surface.

"She was always Scrooge's favorite, everything she wanted was given to her instantly, many of those things even behind my back." The image of the Spear of Selene landing shook his mind for a few seconds, and he couldn't help to squint, "me? Unless it was a necessity, he hardly spent a penny on me."

The guitar to channel his anger and find a more de-stressing hobby, speech therapies to understand him better. A part of his mind clouded the fact that he and his sister both supported his liking for grunge music, even buying clothes with which he could feel more comfortable with himself; the money imposed by his uncle when he told him about his anger management classes behind Della's back, or how much these therapies helped him have a more intelligible dialect, at least until he stopped attending them after their discussion.

"I'm not really sure..." At what point was she fully understanding Donald? She didn't know, but she appreciated it, she could have a more bearable conversation with him.

"Anyway," he sighed as he turned off the faucet. He dried his hands and laid the dishes in the wringer, "thanks for listening, I suppose. I needed someone to talk to."

"Um…"

What was she supposed to say? 'No problem'? Donald needed... help? And she didn't think she could provide it. She tried to think that at least he was more responsible than his sister and washed the dishes, but knowing so abruptly that he carried that way of thinking, and that it did prevent him from sleeping for entire nights, went beyond what she knew. On the Moon, she had had the General to talk about her problems, and Della had had both her and Lunaris, but to know that Donald didn't, and that he also carried that weight because he thought the family wouldn't mind causing a bump on her.

"Is nothing?"

But her mind knew there was something. And she doubted being able to carry that fact.

━━━━━

When Della woke up in the late-night, she was certainly surprised not to see Penumbra, but the truth was that she couldn't blame her either.

She could understand that all this represented a big change for her, even she had had a hard time getting used to how much everything had changed in the manor and with her family since her first day back on Earth, so she tried to downplay it and go for a glass of water to the kitchen, her dry throat being able to more than her reason diminished by sleep.

However, of all the scenarios she would have expected to see as Scrooge McDuck's niece, certainly Donald and Penumbra on the same stage was not one of them.

Don't misunderstand her, she love her brother; but he was so reluctant to talk to new people and much more to enter into trust, at least so fast.

But this? She didn't know how, or when, or why, but both of them had fallen asleep sitting on the stools of the kitchen island, their heads resting on the furniture and snoring listening. Penumbra had her hand resting on Donald's back in an attempt to hug and they both used their pillow arms, and she couldn't help smiling.

Though it was charming, she didn't want to imagine her uncle's (or worse, Beakley's) reaction when he (she) saw them sleeping there.

"Pss, Penny." She approached them slowly, modulating her voice to be heard. Penumbra was who was closest, and could not help shaking her shoulder slightly. "Penny?"

The Moonlander growled before slightly opening her eyes, blinking until her eyes got used to the glimpse of Della's shadow.

"What are you doing 'ere, hun? Was the bed too soft for you?" Despite the joking tone, she couldn't help looking at the alien with concern as she carved her eyes to withdraw sleep from them.

"No, I wanted to..." from the corner of her eye she saw Donald, sleeping soundly and calmly "walk a little before sleep."

Had she doubted? They didn't know, neither was able to think properly about fatigue.

"And you met Donnie, should I guess?" Despite that, she couldn't help smiling while looking at her twin. "Though it's nice that you want to know each other better, don't look for places so uncomfortable to rest, what would my uncle say about that?"

Despite that, Della laughed, covering her beak so as not to startle the exhausted duck.

"It doesn't seem to bother him," that, and he really needed to sleep. Penumbra couldn't help but look sideways at Donald, who seemed to be in deep sleep despite the awkward position he was in.

Given that, the woman could not help smiling with melancholy, a sad glow in her eyes. When was the last time she saw her brother that tired, but it was from experiences away from home that he really did not want to explain to date?

"So it seems..." She leaned gently against Penumbra's arm to feel her hand further ruffling her hair, kissing her cheek quickly before she could complain, "can you help me take this boy to his boat? I may not know Donald as much as I should after so many years, but I know my brother, and I doubt he wakes up so easily."

Surprisingly, Penumbra glimpsed the nostalgia on her roommate's face when she gently patted her twin's back, and though she was still a novice on the subject of feelings, she knew there was something behind Della's gaze.

But maybe she would leave it for another time, she already had enough with a sibling's problems.

 "Sure, why not?” She tried to show unconcern, approaching the sailor before the duck could say anything.

But Donald snored unexpectedly, startling Penumbra and Della had to snort so as not to give a laugh that woke the man.

"I told ya," she was smiling amused, and the Moonlander rolled her eyes before carrying the sleepy duck.

It was simple, she had already done it on the Moon and he wasn't heavy. But she didn't remember him being so light, he weighed much less than Della when they used to weigh the same!

She literally expected him to weigh more thanks to the weight of gravity!

Penumbra sighed regretfully. It was better for Donald to talk to his family soon or else she would do it, and she wouldn't think she'll have the same touch.

[drummergirl231-2]

Me:

(Goldie analysis and speculation under the cut)

I just wanna see one sweet kiss between them, like in the good old days!

But in all seriousness, and before a meme turns into a discussion (aka, debates and complaints about the show), I just wanna say how much I love that the writers put the effort into characters to make them three-dimensional. Even the most confident of characters have their fears and insecurities.

I can only interpret Frank’s “Hmmmmmm,” as a confirmation. We’ll probably be learning a lot more about Goldie in the near future that he doesn’t want to give away.

For now, it seems that for whatever reason, Goldie fears true emotional intimacy and vulnerability. She tries to be strong and remain in control. 

She prefers to use romance as a means for material gain. But it doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings for Scrooge. It just means she’s afraid to let her guard down. Maybe because of the time period in which she grew up, she’s afraid of being seen as the lesser. She doesn’t want to be viewed as weak, or conquerable. 

And of course Scrooge doesn’t view her that way. Scrooge has his faults, but misogynistic creeper isn’t one of them. 

Sometimes people have trust issues because they’ve been hurt. Other times, they have trouble trusting because they are untrustworthy and expect similar behavior from others (remember Lena’s “This is exactly what she wants you to do because that’s exactly what I would have done!”). Goldie may have been hurt when she was young, or her own sketchiness has made her wary of everyone else. Maybe it’s both.

I’m really looking forward to seeing Goldie around and learning more about her. And while I’m not exactly rooting for her and Scrooge to wind up married or anything, I wouldn’t mind seeing Goldie show Scrooge some genuine affection without smacking him across the face with a tin pan.