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a-sirens-melody · 4 years

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i can’t believe it’s true, i get to love you

It’s finally here!! I’m so excited to share my first drakepad fic. Get ready for 5k words of absolute sap kjskhdg (I’ll reblog with the link to my ao3)

This is part of a series I’m developing too, Let’s Get Engaged! so there will be more of this au.

Enjoy!

***

“Uh, DW? Why are we parked across the street from Mr. McDee’s movie studio?” He heard Launchpad ask behind him. “I don't think W.A.N.D.A said there was any crime here.”

“I, um.” His hands were shaking. “I have something I want to show you.” He double checked the brakes of the Ratcatcher; he didn't need to crash his only ride into the wall as the Thunderquack was already in need of repairs. That sounded like something that would happen to Drake Mallard, not Darkwing Duck. He needed to be Darkwing Duck for just a little longer.

Patrol had been busy tonight, to the surprise of both partners. They'd had to foil seven house break ins, five robberies downtown (three of which had been at the mall), and even got dragged into breaking up a bar fight on the other side of St. Canard. That last one was an unexpected surprise, but at least the stench of alcohol and yelling about… sports? Mothers? Darkwing had no clue what it was even about. He wasn’t sure what higher power he had pleased, but he was grateful for the distraction from the precious cargo he had safely tucked away in his jacket pocket.

He had been planning this for one month, two weeks, and three days. Not that he's been counting or anything. The big moment was almost here, and he felt like he was going to throw up.

Because tonight, Drake was going to propose to Launchpad.

They had talked about this before. Actually, Launchpad was the one to bring up marriage. A year ago, two years into their relationship, the pilot had very bluntly asked him, “so what do you think about marriage?” In that moment, Drake thought that all his head injuries acquired from three years of crime fighting had caught up to him and his brain was truly not working.

After recovering from his mini heart attack, the two discussed and came to the conclusion that both of them really liked the idea of becoming husbands. Loved it, actually. But neither was ready to handle all the planning and stress of a wedding yet. Hell, Launchpad had only been living with Drake and Gosalyn for a couple of months.

Still, that didn't stop Drake from imagining the scenario at least once a month. Launchpad kneeling down with a ring in a pretty box and scooping up Drake to kiss him. Drake getting on one knee instead and offering a golden or silver ring (he hadn't been sure, at first, what color would suit his beloved best) after an incredibly sappy speech.

What was that he said before about planning for a month? Scratch that out. He'd been dreaming of the moment for a year, but started considering for real three months ago. He asked Launchpad again for his opinion on the matter, just to check that they were still on the same page, and almost died on the spot when his answer was now a confident “yes.” If they lived in a cartoon, Drake surely would have floated off the ground surrounded by tiny pink hearts.

He thought about any and all locations that marked a special milestone in their relationship. The movie studio where they first met, the tower where they constantly met on hero business, the McDuck Enterprises building where they found their first supervillains together and met his future daughter. In the end, the former won because it felt like that was the true start of them. Because of their meeting there, the events of the past three years occurred. That point in time marked the beginning of many changes in Drake's life.

He hadn't spent one month, two weeks, and three days scrambling for a location. That sounded utterly unromantic and incredibly unprepared. No, that was the amount of time he had spent finding the courage to actually ask.

Now the moment had finally arrived. And he was not backing down.

After making sure the motorcycle was properly parked, he hopped out and strode to Launchpad, offering a hand. His boyfriend still looked confused but smiled at the gesture and took it, getting out of the seat. “Such a gentleman.”

“I try.” Darkwing flashed a grin back. Thankfully, his hands had stopped shaking and his voice betrayed none of the frayed nerves within the valiant vigilante.

They continued to hold hands as they crossed the street. Once on the sidewalk, they looked up at the building. It had been closed for the night already, the lights dimmed and the only soul seen was a lone security guard on patrol.

“Man.” Darkwing was drawn out of his daydreams and looked over to Launchpad. “It's been a long time since I've seen this place. Brings back memories, huh?”

Darkwing hummed in agreement. For a while after the failure of Darkwing: First Darkness, the only memories he had of this place were bitter. It was here that his big break as an actor had literally gone up in flames before his very eyes. It was here that his idol Jim Starling, a man he had looked up to the moment he laid eyes on the first episode of Darkwing Duck, had tried to kill him only to be buried in the remains of the set in a sick sense of karma.

But after spending more time with Launchpad, he had grown to see it as a landmark of new beginnings in his life. He hadn't met the pilot here, but they really began to bond when Launchpad broke into his trailer. After trying not to damage several previous pieces of merch, they quit fighting each other and started playing with Drake’s action figures, of all things. As odd as the circumstances were, it was nice. Somewhere along the way, he told the other duck about what he personally called his origin story (yes, he knew it was nerdy, but it felt right and no one was going to make him stop).

And Launchpad didn't make fun of him or call him ridiculous for keeping a beat up lunchbox after all those years. No, he nodded his head and looked on in… admiration. Then he yelled out something about getting Jim to stop fighting Drake and talk together about how they could both fix the movie and. Well. They both knew how that went.

Demise of Darkwing aside, it was the first time in Drake’s life that he had felt completely understood. He didn't have to hide his love of Darkwing for fear of rejection, instead he was encouraged to geek out as much as he wished.

And when the rain machine stopped and the ashes of set pieces and the dream of a starry-eyed boy were all that remained, when Drake thought all hope was lost, what did Launchpad do? He told him to get back up. He convinced Drake that he could become Darkwing Duck for real. He even let Drake autograph his poster, an action which he'd dreamed of doing the moment he started acting.

Three years of what he would call his best (and first) romantic relationship, one alien invasion, one spirited little girl, and another found family full of feisty adventurers later, Drake wouldn't change the events of his life for anything. He’s tried so many times to tell Launchpad how much he appreciates him and the warmth and the love he’s brought, but it always feels like words are never enough. That doesn't mean he won't stop trying, though, as he said, “I knew coming here would change my life all those years ago. I'm so glad I was wrong.”

He snuck a peek at Launchpad and was pleasantly surprised to see his boyfriend blushing. “Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Never thought the worst movie I'd ever seen could open the doors to the best years of my life.”

Darkwing choked and looked away again, cheek feathers turning pink. “I-I, uh. Yeah. Me too.” He squeezed his boyfriend's hand as he tried to regain his composure. When he succeeded, he began again the speech he had spent hours practicing and pacing in his room over. “I thought all I needed to make my life complete was a starring role in a big movie. That I could inspire other kids like me as a solo hero.”

He faced Launchpad again, softly smiling. “But you. You crashed into my life,” he raised his hands here at Launchpad’s smirk, “pun not intended. You showed me that I could have a good family, I could surround myself with people that really loved me for who I was. Adopting Gosalyn, meeting the Ducks- I never would've done that if you hadn't pushed me to. Hell, I wouldn't even be Darkwing Duck without you.” He stepped closer and cupped the pilot’s cheek. “And, of course, you will always have a special place in my heart.”

Launchpad’s eyes widened and there was a faint hitch in his breath. “Drake, what are you saying?”

“Launchpad, I-” Just as he was about to reach in his pocket for the ring, Drake stopped.

He still had the mask on. He was still Darkwing Duck.

No, no, he couldn't propose like this. Sure, Launchpad knew Darkwing Duck and Drake Mallard were one and the same and that it was still his boyfriend under the mask and ego but- but it was the principle of the thing, okay!?

He wanted to ask the love of his life to marry him in honesty and vulnerability. And to do that, he had to be Drake Mallard. He had to find somewhere more private.

“Wait.” Darkwing grabbed Launchpad's hand and began to run to the nearest alleyway. “I need to do this with no risk of being spotted.”

“Um. What are you doing now?” His partner asked as he shoved themselves into the dark, quiet alley between what looked like a jewelry store and a hair salon. Launchpad looked confused and- wait, were those tears?

Shit, shit, shit. That wasn’t supposed to happen! That wasn't part of the plan! “Honey! No no no, don't cry, I just wanted-” Scolding himself, he tore off his hat and mask. There. Now Drake Mallard could take out his ring and propose and hopefully calm his partner down. “I wanted to ask if-”

He reached his hand into his pocket and froze.

There was nothing there.

Frantically, he searched his other pocket and checked both of them again. His heart sank as he came up empty handed, and he remembered where the ring was.

He hid the box in one of the boxes of smoke bombs earlier that day. In his panic to get out onto the streets and running through his plan and his words ninety nine times, he must've forgotten to take it with him.

Which meant that his fool-proof proposal plan was no longer fool-proof.

“Dammit!” Drake hissed, angry tears forming. He could've kicked the wall, but he didn't want to scare LP. He tried to ignore the hot shame simmering inside him as he covered his face with his hand. “God, I'm sorry, sunshine, I left something-”

“Drake?” Launchpad's voice was hushed and gentle, the complete opposite of Drake's current mental state.

Drake shushed the voices in his head and looked up.

Launchpad was giving him a soft, knowing smile and his eyes were still watery but he didn't look sad. Actually, he looked thrilled. “Are you... asking me to marry you?”

Even if his original plans were ruined, Drake was still going to see this through. So he took a deep breath, relaxed his shoulders, met his boyfriend's gaze, and said, “yeah. Yeah, I am. At least, I tried to.” He pinched his fingers in between his eyes and huffed a sigh. “Would've helped if I hadn't forgotten the ring. You deserve a romantic proposal, and I somehow failed at the bare minimum.” He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up.

“Hey. You didn't fail at the bare minimum.” Launchpad was standing closer now, determination in his gaze. “You took me to the place that marks the beginning of our friendship and gave a really sweet speech about how I've made your life better. The fact that you don't have a ring to give me doesn't make that any less meaningful.”

“God.” Drake shuddered, relief flooding his body. He'd been so caught up in his setback that his actions earlier had completely slipped his mind. Launchpad was right. The ring wasn't the most important part; the proposal itself was. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, overwhelmed with emotion. “I love you so much.”

Launchpad pressed his beak to the top of his head in a kiss, and Drake soon felt a familiar pair of warm arms snake around him. “I love you too, babe.”

For a few minutes, neither spoke and simply basked in the presence of their lover. Drake found himself processing the past few minutes more and discovered another realization.

He hadn't gotten a clear answer yet.

He was strongly tempted to bury his head further into Launchpad's chest, but he had another important question. Plus, if he had to ask more than once, he would run the risk of dying on the spot from sheer suspense. “Um, so. I didn't screw up my proposal to you.” Launchpad gave a comforting hum as Drake lifted his face to make eye contact once again. “And it made you happy, but. You didn't really answer my question. So. Launchpad, will you marry me?”

His smile was brighter than the sun. “Yes!” His hands drifted up to Drake's side and picked him up. His fiancé- fiancé, oh god, it's real now, not just a dream- threw him three inches into the air, laughing. Drake smiled and joined in, then cupped his hands around Launchpad's face and pulled him into a kiss once he was safe again in his arms.

Drake heard Launchpad sigh and felt his partner tighten his arms around his waist. Drake opened his beak, deepening the kiss. Launchpad made a pleased hum before doing the same, and Drake's mind went pleasantly blank.

It felt like hours had passed by the time Launchpad pulled away. Drake bit back a whine and lowered his hands to wrap around his fiancé’s neck.

“Okay, as much as I want to keep kissing you, we should probably go back to the tower. I don't think either of us is gonna be able to focus on patrol anyways.” Launchpad flashed a small smirk, but his eyes were still sparkling. “Also, you need to put your mask back on. It would be really unromantic if someone found your secret identity out,” he added, as fleeting as an afterthought.

Drake let out a small laugh. “You're right, that would totally kill the mood. Could you let me down, please?” He was gently lowered to the ground at that and took Launchpad's hand again. “Oh! Also!” He had gotten carried away in the moment, but there was another good reason to go back to the tower. “Your ring is there.”

“Did you hide it and then forget to get it back out when you were getting ready to go on patrol?” Launchpad guessed.

“Yup.” They started walking back to the Ratcatcher, swinging their clasped hands back and forth. Drake felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off of his shoulders. He did it! And Launchpad said yes! Even if it wasn't exactly perfect, he would remember tonight as one of the best nights of his life.

His fiancé suddenly stopped in his tracks. “Wait. I forgot to tell you something.”

Drake turned to face him. Something about that statement made him wary. “What?”

His figurative feathers were smoothed over when Launchpad smiled again. “You're not the only one who was planning to propose.”

Drake's entire face went red, and as he could faintly hear the other duck say, “I'll show you when we get back”, amidst his stuttering.

“You're gonna be the death of me someday, LP, did you know that?” Drake sighed when he had stopped bi panicking. He scrubbed his face with his hand and walked over to the motorcycle, hopping on.

“Better me than a supervillain.” He heard Launchpad walk over and get on behind him, felt strong arms wrap around him in anticipation. “Besides, you love me,” was whispered in his ear.

“Okay, we're going now,” Drake choked out. He was definitely blushing again. He turned on the motorcycle and pulled out onto the road.

With that, they sped off into the night.

***

Once he parked the Ratcatcher, Drake practically scrambled off and sprinted to the pile of boxes in the far right corner labeled Smoke Bombs! Do NOT Touch!! Launchpad was right behind him, chuckling under his breath.

“Which one, which one…” He muttered under his breath, looking for the one with the marker he had put on it. A minute later, he found a box with a large black X on its side. “Ah ha!”

He stuck his hand in the box…

And immediately set off a few smoke bombs.

“Okay, note to self,” Drake said, coughing, “don’t hide your engagement ring with little delicate spheres full of smoke.” He waved one hand around to clear the air and used the other to very gently pry the ring box out.

“Tada!” He opened it to show Launchpad the dark purple ring he had chosen. “Your ring.”

“No way!”

“Um. What?” Okay, definitely not the reaction he was expecting. He tried not to let his nerves get the best of him again. “Is it the wrong shade? Or would you rather have a normal ring?”

“Huh? Oh, no! It’s beautiful!” Launchpad rushed to reassure him. “I just think it’s kinda funny.”

What? How was this funny? “Launchpad, you’re not making any sense.”

“Here, I’ll show you!” Launchpad pulled a similar back velvet box out of the pocket on his left sleeve. He flipped it open to reveal a ring small enough to fit Drake’s ring finger.

A ring that was the exact same purple as Launchpad’s.

“We got the same ring!” They exclaimed at the same time, meeting each other’s gaze and giggling.

“Oh my god. What kind of soulmate magic is this?” Drake couldn’t believe it. This felt like the sort of thing that only happened in fairy tales or really cheesy rom coms. “Hold on a second. Is this what you were doing that one time you said you were picking up lunch?”

“Yeah.” Launchpad said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure how to explain a trip to the jewelry store without giving it away. Plus, it was a pretty spur of the moment thing. You know how bad I am at lying.”

Drake chuckled. “You said you were on your way to Hamburger Hippo at ten am. I was definitely confused. Why purple, though?”

“Gold and silver didn’t feel like they fit you, and I wanted a ring that would represent something special to both of us. So, the first thing that came to mind was Darkwing Duck! ‘Cause you love it as much as I do, maybe even more, and it’s what we bonded over first and you’re Darkwing Duck, so. It felt right.”

Drake could relate to that. As fun as ring shopping had been, it hadn't started out as the easiest task on his list. Launchpad didn't strike Drake as much of a jewelry person. He had never seen Launchpad wear any jewelry casually, and the fanciest thing his work uniform required was a tie. Even on the few occasions his partner wore a suit, the cufflinks had been provided.

There was a slight blush on his fiancé's cheeks and his hands flapped as he rambled, and Drake felt positively smitten. Again, what kind of soulmate magic was this? It had to be magic; what other explanation could there possibly be for the way they seemed to think as one? “That’s so sweet of you, LP. Actually, I got your ring for the exact same reason. Except for you being Darkwing, ‘cause. You know. You’re my partner.”

“And you’re my Darkwing.” Launchpad whispered, gazing with the softest eyes and his words pulled Drake under a tidal wave of emotions. His Darkwing, his Darkwing, his Darkwing-

“You sap.” Just as he thought he was done crying. He wiped away tears. His face hurt from smiling so wide and his cheeks felt like they were on fire. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

Launchpad grinned just as widely. “Neither can I. Before we go back home, though, can I ask you one more thing? Two, actually.”

Drake took a deep breath and nodded, fanning his face.

“I know you asked me first, but I really wanted to ask you and I’ve got my ring so-” Launchpad was bouncing up and down on his tiptoes, running his hands over the zipper of his jacket. He looked like a puppy, all frantic energy and big hopeful eyes. “Can I ask too? Please?”

Drake laughed and nodded. “Of course, sunshine.”

“Yes!” With that, Launchpad cleared his throat and got down on one knee. “Drake, you’re so special to me. You’re the first partner I’ve had that really understood me. That loves my favorite show as much as I do, and knows what it’s like to build your personality around it. You’ve been there for me in the best and worst times, and you’ve given me the best adventure I could’ve asked for: living my childhood dream with someone I love and that loves me in the same way. You already know my answer, but I need to know-

“Will you marry me?”

“Oh, Launchpad. Yes.” His heart felt like it was going to burst. God, it was really happening. This was better than any lovestruck dream he had conjured in the past year. Drake ran over to the other duck and flung his arms around his waist. He was once again surrounded by strong warm arms and sighed happily.

“We did it. We’re gonna get married.” He could hear Launchpad’s voice rumble low in his chest. “Can we have a Darkwing Duck themed wedding?”

“Oh my god, yes!” Drake pulled his head back up, eyes sparkling. “We could totally coordinate our suits and the decorations and the cake, oh my god, we’re gonna get to eat wedding cake together, and-” He paused his rambling as a realization struck him. “Hold on. Is it gonna look weird if I have a wedding themed after myself?”

“I mean.” Launchpad blinked. “We’re both talking about the TV show Darkwing Duck, right?” Drake nodded. “Then, I think it’s fine. If anyone comes that doesn’t know you’re also Darkwing Duck, they’ll probably think of it as an obsessed fanboy thing. And everyone that does know, will probably understand.” He squeezed Drake’s hand with a grin. “It’s our wedding.”

“Our wedding,” Drake echoed. Oh my god. They were having a wedding. Together! Because they were getting married to each other! He started flapping his hands to try to let out some of his pent up joy. “Our wedding! Oh my gosh, we need to tell people! And send invitations and start writing our vows but I don’t know if that’s something you have to do separately or you can coordinate somehow and-”

“We’ll have plenty of time to get all that sorted out,” Launchpad responded, taking a hold of Drake’s beak and tilting his head up to look at him. His eyes were warm. “But, sweetheart, it’s almost three am and I don’t know if anything’s even open. I’m excited too, but you gotta take a deep breath.”

Drake did just that. “Right, right. Don’t need to pass out before we get home. That would also kill the mood.”

Launchpad chuckled. “Shall we?” He gestured to the open foyer.

“Wait, wait, one last thing!” Drake’s gaze had caught Launchpad’s hand and there was still a certain something missing. Something he had already forgotten once, and he was not going to make that same mistake again. His partner jumped a bit at his sudden outburst, and smiled in apology. “Sorry, this really is the last thing, I promise. Do you want me to put on your ring for you?”

Launchpad’s eyes widened. “Right, rings. We should be wearing them.” He smiled back, gaze drifting to Drake’s left hand. “Can I put yours on, too?”

“Of course.”

And finally, after months of dreaming and pacing and purchasing, Drake took the hand of the love of his life and slipped on his ring. Launchpad did the same, and Drake could hardly breathe. They held their hands up to the light, admiring the way the rings sparkled.

“So why is it that you’re supposed to put your engagement ring on your left hand?” Launchpad tilted his head to view his ring from a different angle. “Is it for protection?”

“I’ve heard it’s because your left hand is closer to your heart.” Drake explained. He saw Launchpad compare the distance from his hands and his chest, brow furrowed.

“But. How’d they figure it out? I can’t tell which one is closer!”

“Maybe they made it up to sound sappy. I don’t really get it, either.”

“Huh. That’s weird. Anyways,” Launchpad shook his head and offered his hand out. “Shall we go, then?”

Drake giggled and took his hand. “Yes, we shall.”

***

When they arrived at home, the stars were still shining. Drake would always be thankful for the shortcut built into their house in Duckburg. When he and Launchpad had decided to move in together, the most difficult decision had been choosing where exactly they wanted to live. Drake didn't want to leave St. Canard without a hero to protect it, and Launchpad didn't want to move away from his job and his family.

Fortunately, his pilot worked for the richest man alive who had no intentions of letting Launchpad leave if he didn't want to. With Scrooge’s money, they had a secret tunnel constructed that led from their house to Darkwing Tower accessible via two blue chairs in the living room. Travel was instantaneous, so Drake didn't have to give up his city and Launchpad didn't have to give up his job (it also meant he could come on patrols without sacrificing so much sleep. In the early days, Launchpad barely got any sleep driving for six hours total back and forth every night. It was scary to Drake how dedicated his partner was sometimes. Endearing, yes, but scary all the same).

He was going to try to stay quiet as he entered the house, he really was since he was expecting to find Gosalyn asleep in her room. It was a school night, so she should have been asleep.

Sleeping, however, was not what she was doing when he found his fourteen year old daughter awake on the couch in the living room. She was spread out, feet kicked up on one of the arms and scrolling through her phone. The second she heard the chairs activate, however, her eyes darted over to her fathers and dropped the device and scrambled over.

“Dad! Papa! How was patrol tonight?” Her eyes glittered with excitement. She always loved to hear about their patrols whenever she couldn't go. Which was often because she had school on weekdays and needed her sleep. Sleep that she was currently not getting for reasons possibly not unknown to Drake.

He arched an eyebrow. “It was fine. Only had a few robberies to stop, but you probably knew it was a quiet night. Speaking of which,” he crossed his arms. “It's three am on a Thursday. What are you doing out of bed and still awake?”

“I couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd wait for you guys. And I can see,” her eyes landed on his ring, grin growing wider, “that tonight wasn't as uneventful as you said. Not in the sense of crime fighting, anyway.”

She turned to Launchpad and asked, “so how mad was he that you beat him to it?” He started to explain but Drake cut in with some squawking of his own.

“What do you mean, ‘beat him to it’!? How did you even know he was planning to propose too?” He finally asked, pointing a finger at Gos.

“Oh, I asked her if I could marry you.” Launchpad answered. “‘Cause, she's your family and I wanted her to know.” He seemed shy all of a sudden, blushing slightly and twisting his own ring.

Somehow, Drake felt his heart swell with even more love as his breath caught in his throat. “Oh. That. Makes sense. And that's. That's really sweet of you, LP. Oh my god, I'm so happy I'm gonna marry you.”

His fiancé grinned back, silly and sweet. “Me too, babe.”

The moment was interrupted by their daughter gagging and rolling her eyes. She still had a slight smile on her face, though. “God, go get a room. Anyways!” She clapped her hands and turned back to Launchpad. “You didn't answer my question. Did he fling a smoke bomb at you or something?”

“Hey!”

“No, but he did set some off on accident…”

As they explained the events of earlier that night, Gosalyn listened with rapt attention. She only interjected twice, both times, “I told you so,” and both directed at Drake (she had caught him pacing in the kitchen one day and demanded an explanation, to which he told her everything. She told him he had nothing to worry about as “you guys are so in love, it's sickening sometimes”). When they were done, she asked if they had any ideas for the wedding yet. Ignoring their clear choice for overall theme, the answer was no, so they brainstormed possible locations and the beginning of what was sure to be a very long guest list. By the time Gos brought up food, it was four thirty.

At that point, Drake declared that it was too early for this and said they should all go to bed. Gosalyn didn't argue, as the wedding talk had finally tired her out.

They tucked her into bed, kissed her cheek, and said goodnight. Launchpad was already in their bedroom and Drake was following him when Gosalyn spoke up.

“Dad?”

He turned around. “Yeah, sweetie?”

She met his eyes and gave him a soft smile. “I'm really happy for you.”

He smiled back. “Thanks.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Gosalyn.”

He and his fiancé didn't get much sleep. They spent the rest of the night talking in hushed whispers, showering each other in soft kisses, or simply holding one another.

Because they said yes.

And that small word opened a new door, one they were both thrilled to walk through.

Together.

#note to self: write fics in tumblr #and google docs at the same time #copying and pasting is so painful #but anyways hope you enjoyed!!#ducktales #drakepad #drake mallard #launchpad mcquack #gosalyn mallard #darkwing duck #my writing #lets get engaged

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psychosistr · 4 years

Photo

Steelbeak fankid- Valentino

Behold, my Steelbeak OC fankid! Art by @thefriendlyfour , full bio below the cut!

Physical Description: A young American-curl breed of cat with the breed’s signature curled-back ears and a medium-thick coat of black fur across his lanky body- minus a white heart-shaped spot on his torso which is usually hidden by his clothes- and is still a bit short for his age, with the tops of his ears stopping just below Steelbeak’s chest. Lost his tail when he was little, so he only has a small stump left of it until he gets adopted and his dad has Dr.Rose Gold make a prosthetic one for him that’s made of steel like his dad’s beak. Has amber colored eyes that, when paired with his breed’s curled back ears, tend to make him look like a devil when he grins or laughs maliciously.

Outfit: He’ll never admit it out loud, but he admires his dad’s sense of style and tries to mimic him while still making it his own. Wears a white button-up shirt with whitish-silver buttons and three-quarter style sleeves, a red western-style bow tie, a red vest with silver buttons that’s left mostly open with a small grey paw print pattern along the button holes and a larger paw print on the back, a black leather belt with a silver buckle, and black slacks with a white waistband that blends in with his shirt and pockets lined with silver studs.

Gender: Demiboy that usually goes by male pronouns because it’s easier for others to understand, but appreciates it when others ask him if/acknowledge when he prefers using other pronouns.

Sexual Orientation: Still figuring it out since he’s young, but so far has a preference for boys given a few of his past crushes.

Age: 14

Nicknames: Val, Stumpy, Devil Cat, King, Fluffy.

Val is his preferred nickname and what most people end up calling him.

The middle three are names used by his gang and their enemies.

Stumpy= Mean-spirited nickname regarding his missing tail.

Devil Cat= How people see him when he’s grinning and showing off his sharp teeth with his fiery eyes and curled ears that look like devil horns.

King= His title within his gang and what most of his underlings call him.

Fluffy= Used exclusively by Steelbeak and he knows Valentino hates it.

Real Name: Valentino was given his name after being adopted by Steelbeak and, as far as he’s concerned, that is his real name.

Had another name he was called while in foster care, but refuses to say what it was and would refuse to answer to it if anyone ever called him that.

Background:

Abandoned as an infant and found in a cardboard box in an alleyway in the middle of winter- he was very sick from it and his survival was questionable for several weeks following his rescue.

Spent his early years in and out of foster homes and orphanages all over St Canard. This gave him a pretty cynical view about people in general after a while since they always ended up giving him back for being a “problem child” or he’d run away because he didn’t like the way he was treated.

The “problem child” comments were from him doing things like taking stuff, hoarding food, not obeying orders, and questioning authority.

The times he’d run away ranged from him finding the people annoying to cases of actual neglect or abuse-the worst experience being when his tail was purposefully slammed in a door and he wasn’t taken to the doctor until it was beyond saving and had to be amputated off.

No one ever believed him about the incident since he was the “problem child”.

Despite his personal experiences, he knows there are good foster homes and orphanages out there- he just ended up dealing with the worst of the worst in St Canard.

By the time he was eleven, he’d had enough of being caught in the city’s toxic foster care system and ran away to start a life for himself on the streets.

Ended up forming a gang with other kids and teenagers he’d met from his time in foster care, quickly taking the lead-role since he was smart for his age and good at coordinating/planning raids, pickpocketing without getting caught, memorizing police patrol routes, dividing loot appropriately, and intimidating others into listening to him.

The gang was called “The Broken Pawns”, with the higher-ranking members all having chess-related titles- he was the King.

One day, his gang executed a raid on a store that turned out to be a secret SHUSH base and they unknowingly stole some boxes containing flash-drives/SD-cards full of confidential files. They didn’t know this, though, and were extremely confused about why they suddenly had a bunch of men in suits chasing them down.

While running away, he ended up bumping into Steelbeak. The chief officer was confused about why SHUSH would target a kid, but got roped into a fight with them to avoid getting caught himself. After fighting them off, he questioned the kid and figured he must have stumbled onto something REALLY valuable to SHUSH and wanted to get his hands on it.

The kid wasn’t a fool, though, and worked out a deal with Steelbeak: His gang had a protocol when chased by higher-up authorities after a raid that involved them splitting up and remaining separated with no contact for a while to avoid everyone getting caught, so it would take a few weeks for them to get all of the boxes that were taken from the SHUSH base together again. The kid wasn’t very good at fighting on his own, so Steelbeak would protect him while they waited for the rest of the boxes to arrive at his base and he’d stay at Steelbeak’s home so Steelbeak could make sure the kid didn’t try to run away or double-cross him. Once he got what he wanted from the boxes the gang stole, Steelbeak would let them keep any other valuables and he’d part ways with the kid once he got his share.

Steelbeak agreed to the terms of the deal, though he originally planned to just double-cross or ditch the kid after he got what he wanted and either take everything or let SHUSH take him. After a while, though, he found himself getting attached to the kid because he reminded him so much of himself at that age- scrappy, conniving, clever, distrusting of others, and one heck of a pickpocket.

After a few weeks of living together, teaching the kid things like cooking, saving him a few times, and just general bonding with him, Steelbeak decided he liked the kid and wanted to keep him around and the kid, oddly, felt the same- it was weird for him to have an adult that treated him with respect without trying to change him or discourage him from doing stuff like stealing or lying. They talked it over and Steelbeak ended up adopting him, naming the kid Valentino after his deceased father.

Current Status: Lives with Steelbeak and attends school during weekdays while still running his gang after school and on the weekends when he doesn’t have plans with his dad.

Personality:

Valentino generally has a cynical and antisocial attitude towards most people, usually finding them boring or annoying. However, he can grow to like certain people if they show him respect and don’t try to control or change him- like his gang or his dad. Those people are the ones he’ll generally be more relaxed around and make jokes with or try to protect when there’s danger.

As a leader for his gang, he’s cool under pressure and won’t freak out even when there’s a gun being held to his head while also being cruel and calculating enough to know how to make others listen to him- a baseball bat to the head or clawing out someone’s eye usually does the trick.

A bit of a kleptomaniac and opportunist, Val will take advantage of any possible opportunity to steal something from, frame, and/or con someone for whatever he can get out of them.

This part of his personality doesn’t apply to people he actually likes, but he WILL still try to swipe stuff from them in a joking way.

Example of this is him constantly trying to take Steelbeak’s wallet and the two of them laughing about it every time he gets caught or almost gets away with it.

Interesting Bonus Facts:

Val’s had terrible problems with his balance and equilibrium ever since he lost his tail as a kid. He can still walk and run okay, but if he needs to make sharp turns or move quickly in different directions he tends to fall over. He’s gotten good at getting up quickly afterwards, but it makes it hard to do stuff like fight and dodge attacks.

This is slowly remedied after getting his prosthetic tail from Dr.Rose Gold and receiving combat lessons from Steelbeak.

Because the only white spot on his body is usually covered by his clothes, most people think he’s just a black cat and that he’s bad luck, resulting in general distrust and contributing to people classifying him as a “problem child”.

Has a loving but cheeky relationship with his dad- they like being sarcastic with each other and saying playfully mean things, but they know it’s all in good fun and they love each other a lot.

Val knows his dad will always support him and have his back if anyone actually tries to insult or hurt him, but Steelbeak still respects Val’s independence and pride so he allows him to handle things his way first and only steps in when it’s an emergency or if his son asks him to help traumatize someone.

Doesn’t really have a favorite weapon when fighting since he’s still learning how to fight, but in a pinch he has a tendency to bring out his claws and go for the eyes.

Enjoys messing with adults/older teens that think they’re better than him by saying something very intelligent and/or scary for a kid that makes them do a double-take and ask him to repeat himself but he just looks at them “innocently” and acts like he didn’t say anything.

“If I slashed your radial artery, it would only take you 90 seconds to die in a pool of your own blood…hm? What? No, I didn’t say anything.”

I personally enjoy imagining that Steelbeak adopted Val a few years after the canon timeline for Darkwing Duck, so Valentino and Gosalyn are about the same age and go to the same private school (it’s one of the better ones in town and Steelbeak wanted his boy to have a good education since he never got one).

The first time Steelbeak comes to a parent-teacher conference, he gets jumped in the hallway by an irritated Darkwing Duck who thinks he’s there to cause trouble or corrupt the youths of the school. He has a hard time believing that Steelbeak’s just there to meet his son’s teachers, even after Val comes out into the hall to find out what’s taking him so long (he thought Valentino was being threatened or coerced until the kid nailed him in the stomach with his backpack full of textbooks). While Darkwing argues with Steelbeak, Valentino manages to swipe his wallet and reveals Darkwing’s secret identity (“Oh, you’re Gosalyn’s dad?”). The two adults agree to a (reluctant) truce when attending school functions to keep their kids from getting suspended or expelled.

This leads to many awkward/tense but funny interactions between Drake Mallard and Steelbeak’s civilian identity “Pauly” where they constantly try to one-up and insult each other while being forced to interact within the socially-regulated confines of school events and PTA meetings.

Example: Parents are asked to contribute to a school bake-sale. Drake makes cookies that are very popular at first, but then Steelbeak shows up with something fancier like lemon-meringue cupcakes with real toasted marshmallow meringue on top and he just smirks while Drake’s seething over being dethroned as the best baker in the PTA.

Valentino and Gosalyn aren’t exactly friends, but they do think it’s funny watching their dads constantly look like they’re one step away from killing each other while arguing over whether or not a new school regulation should be implemented or not.

They run scams together sometimes for quick cash and respect each other’s skills at conning suckers out of their money.

Also, they tend to sympathize with each other since they were both orphans who ended up being the “unwanted kid” until being found and adopted by their respective dads, so they’ll stick up for each other if someone tries teasing the other for being adopted or not looking like their dads.

#darkwing duck #dwd #darkwing duck oc #dwd oc #steelbeak #Valentino #my OC #Drake Mallard #Gosalyn Mallard #tw: mentions of child abuse #trigger warning #mentions of child abuse #with a happy ending

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cyndalyssa · 3 years

Text

Name: Rosella Macawber

Age: She’s about five years younger than Morgana; heavily depends on how you think supernatural beings age

Gender: Female

Species: Monster/Fae Duck

Occupation: Waitress (and occasional gardener/landscaper) at Shadow Chateau, Superheroine in Training

Super powers: Earth Magic (Geokinesis, Animation of Stone, Petrification, basically any spell that involves dirt, stone, minerals, etc.)

Weaknesses:

Silver

Cast/Wrought Iron (typically manifesting as allergies, though they also weaken her magic),

Water (erodes at her strength until she can barely move, she also can’t swim and sinks like a rock; however, she can drink it just fine, she’d just rather not take a dip in it)

Appearance:

Tiny twig of a woman with a terrible case of baby face.

Brown feathers, prehensile green hair done in a single braid (typically behaves like tentacles when unbraided) with a hot pink daisy at the base, rose pink eyes (which can turn red when she’s in attack mode).

Teeth are selectively sharp and claws are retractable (usually borne when she’s angry).

Typically wears a green sleeveless tunic, brown capelet with a hot pink rose pin, string belt holding a tan magic pouch to her left hip, brown leggings and darker brown flat shoes.

Personality: Optimistic, excitable, curious, and friendly; quite independent, but also lonely to the point of stir craziness; tends to be stubborn, prideful, and a little fiery, especially when she feels her identity as a person is threatened.

Relationships:

Morgana Macawber (cousin, big sister figure)

Tuffy (her cat made out of rocks; BFF)

Mattias Macawber (father, lukewarm relationship)

Undine Macawber (eldest quadruplet sister, hostile relationship)

Ashmay and Zephra Macawber (other two older quadruplet sisters, lukewarm relationship)

Darkwing Duck (ally, mutual annoyance but begrudging respect)

Launchpad McQuack (friend, usually the one to educate her on Normal stuff)

Gosalyn Mallard (odd friendship where they’re kinda kindred spirits but with opposite tastes; occasionally Rosie babysits her and it’s wild)

Liquidator (enemy, will absolutely NOPE out of Dodge upon seeing him)

Quackerjack (enemy, there’s a stupid mutual grudge between them)

Bushroot (some kind of weird complicated friendship despite being on different sides)

Biography:

Once upon a time, Mattias Macawber went traveling for a few years, only to return to Transylvania with four eggs that he quietly admitted were his, and that the woman he produced them with was dead. He spoke little more of the matter, despite everyone’s curiosity, and just sought to raise the children like any other monster.

Rosella was the last of the girls to hatch, and at first, she seemed like a regular monster, looking like she’d be a witch with animated hair. However, as she grew older, it became clear that she just couldn’t fit in. No interest in their macabre society, no desire to be scary or gross, and no magic ability save for manipulating dirt and pebbles. It grew worse when upon stumbling into Normal territory, she discovered their colorful flora (a far cry from the deadly and scary plants monsters grow), among other things, and immediately took a liking to it. She was already bullied by the other monsters for being weak; having adopted a cute and colorful persona, she was now tormented for being the odd duck of not just the esteemed Macawber Family, but all of monster society.

By the time she was an adult, she was shoved to the outskirts of monster society, and often even excluded from her own family—her only friend was a cat (named Tuffy) she made out of rocks and endowed some of her life force into. Not many visitors came her way, and when they did, it’s usually just to grab something from her magic stone/crystal/sand collection and run before she can offer them tea. So, her life was full of loneliness, filling time with gardening, making artisan crafts, and practicing her earth magic—it was enough to make her a bit stir crazy. Still, as much as she yearned for acceptance, she held a stubborn pride in who she is.

Things started to change when her cousin Morgana sought her help in landscaping around her restaurant, the Shadow Chateau. It was initially meant to be a temporary affair, and they’d part ways after the work was done. But, things took a turn when the fairy bounty hunter/hitwoman Goldenrod captured the Macawbers at the restaurant--save Rosie, who was ditched by the other members of the family and left to figure out which magic door at the castle led to the manor in St. Canard. She helped Darkwing Duck and co. rescue them, and then angrily chewed out her kin for leaving her behind and overall treating her like dirt.

Realizing that Rosella was unhappy with her life, Morgana felt pity for her, and offered her a job and a change of scenery. Despite said job being a waitress for the restaurant—involving being dressed to match an aesthetic she cares little for—Rosie ecstatically accepted (albeit with the condition that they transport her garden to a new plot of land, so that no vandals destroy her hard work when she’s gone), seeing it as an opportunity for a fresh start in this strange land of St. Canard.

This fresh start would involve the insanity of superheroes and supervillains, supernatural forces following her and Morg to the city, aliens, spies, mutants, and more… but hey, her life’s more interesting, and she’s starting to make friends.

Open to RP: If anyone cares.

Random facts:

Her mother is a faerie, and only two know (her father and a local doctor (who was confirming the girls’ relation to him, given that he just randomly showed up with eggs; Mattias paid him to keep quiet about their other half)).

However, everyone else does sense something off about Rosie (and her sisters, but she sticks out), enough to theorize that she’s actually a faerie changeling (well, they’re kinda close?). Some of Rosie’s peers had even taken to calling her “fairy princess”, which infuriates her.

She has a scarily extensive knowledge of geology—after all, if you had the power to command the earth, wouldn’t you want to better understand your element? She has a rock collection to boot.

She’s an avid homesteader, given that she’s been taking care of herself for years with various home skills like gardening, cooking, textile work, etc. As interesting as St. Canard is, living in the city gets her a little on edge, and she hopes to someday live independently in the country like she did before (that said, she doesn’t want to go back to a friendless life and would love visits).

Whatever you do, do not threaten her garden. She will throw boulders at or sic golems on you at best. At worst... let’s not think about it.

Though she has a distaste for the spooky, gross, and freaky things that are mainstream in monster culture, she ain’t gonna complain about the food--she actually enjoys it, her faves being the bug dishes. Otherwise, with Normal food, she has a ravenous sweet tooth, dislikes salty foods, and everything else ranges from okay to pretty good.

Character created by and belongs to @cyndalyssa

Bio Template nicked from @duckverseoc

#darkwing duck #dwd oc #rosella macawber #character bio #lyssa does a thing i guess

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my-intrests-are-yours · 4 years

Text

Confessions After A Coffee Date

Hey @fan-art-ic, I participated in the @ducktalessecretsanta2020 event and got you! I wrote a Drakepad winter date just for you, I hope you like it.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. We made it through the year and I’m happy to give you this gift.

Drake hated the winter season. It makes crime-fighting all a bit harder and makes not crime-fighting even worse. Drake hates the cold and if this was any other day he’d be hiding under his blankets seething at every degree drop.

On any normal day, Drake would be, what Gosalyn likes to call, a hermit, but it isn’t any other day.

Launchpad is spending the holidays with us and he wanted to meet up at a quaint little coffee shop downtown. Drake knows Launchpad has a family, two, in fact, so he’s quite confused why he’s not with any of them. Not that he minds, of course, Drake is always grateful for anytime the pilot could spare for the two of them.

He tries not to think too hard about why that is.

A gust of winter wind sent a shiver down Drake’s spine. People are hustling and bustling on the sidewalk beside him. Cars are honking and everywhere he could hear ten different Christmas songs blasting.

Drake’s not a miser but he never really got the hype around the holidays. That was until Gosalyn came into his life. Losing her Grandpa this year had dampened her holiday spirit a bit. It wasn’t until Launchpad came stumbling through the Lair entrance with an armful of gifts and holiday decorations that her mood brightened just a little.

Drake is amazed at that man. Never as he met someone so wonderful as Launchpad.

“Drake, Drake, I’m here.”

The unmistakable voice of his favorite pilot shakes Drake away from his thoughts.

“Hey, LP,” Drake greeted his buddy. Launchpad stopped for a minute, giving the superhero an odd look. His cheeks are slightly flushed. It must’ve been the weather.

Launchpad sat down right next to Drake. The pilot’s knee gently brushing on his. The superhero thinks he might’ve caught a virus or something because it got suddenly hotter.

The pilot calls over the waitress and they put in their orders. Launchpad ordered a cheeseburger with fries and Drake ordered the same. The masked marauder was too busy looking at his friend to even realize what he said.

Launchpad is not wearing his usual get-up, the mallard notices. He doesn’t have his hat on for once. Has his hair always been that smooth? He’s still wearing his iconic bomber jacket, but he’s wearing a blue sweater beneath it. A purple scarf wraps around his neck. Drake’s not sure why but something about that scarf just fits him perfectly.

Once the food arrived they started up a conversation.

“Sorry about the wait. I know you don’t like the cold.” Launchpad apologizes. “I had to go back to Duckburg for something.”

“Don’t worry about it LP.” It warms Drake’s heart that someone knows him this well enough. “I got here pretty early. Gosalyn practically threw me out of the house this morning.”

“That right?” The pilot was smiling. He’s always smiling when they talk about Gosalyn. Shoot, Drake is smiling too. The little thief had really squirmed herself into their hearts.

“Yeah, she was all fired up about our lunch.”

Drake and Launchpad continued for a couple of hours. The food was already gone but the two of them still kept talking. About work, adventures, Gosalyn, and of course Darkwing. It was easy. It was nice. Drake and Launchpad practically see each other every day, but they never seem to run out of conversation.

Before the two of them knew it, three hours had already passed and the two of them had to get home. Drake had promised Gosalyn he would cook a nice dinner for them.

After paying Drake and Launchpad started making their way back to the lair. He doesn’t really know why, Drake hates the cold, but he insisted that he and Launchpad walk back to the lair.

“You know,” Launchpad starts drawing Drake’s attention, “I really like talking to you, DW.”

Drake blushes.

“I talk a lot with a lot of people. The conversation’s pretty easy for me, but when it's us talking it's way easier than anything I’ve ever done before. The last date I went on was incredibly awkward. We’re friends now, but something just didn’t click.”

Drake’s whole face is already red. If it was possible it would be redder. Date!? Was this a date? Oh my gosh, this was a date? What am I wearing?! If this was a date I should’ve worn date clothes. Launchpad deserves Date clothes.

“It’s not like that with you though. We get started talking and we just keep talking. I've been feeling things since Gosalyn came into our lives. And every day I’m out there with you, fighting crime, living the dream, those feelings just grow more and more. When we had lunch, it just confirmed what I already knew.”

Lunch. He let Launchpad pay for Lunch. He should’ve paid for lunch. Launchpad comes here in the cold dressed up all nice. Takes him out on a wonderful date and he couldn’t have even bothered to pay for lunch!

“Drake,” Launchpad calls out, “I can hear you thinking.”

Having his name called out like that stops the mounting panic attack in Drake. Launchpad is looking at him so deeply. His smile is kinda happy and slightly scared like Drake could ever hurt him. It melts the Mallard’s heart.

Drake takes the initiative for once this whole “date” and takes the pilot’s hands on his own.

“LP, I’ve never met anyone as wonderful, as amazing, as kind as you. The day you came into my life was the day everything seemed to turn up brighter. These past few weeks have been amazing and when you came into our home carrying gifts and talking about spending the holidays with us instead of your other families it made me so happy for reasons I didn’t even realize. But… this whole day has been amazing. Lunch has been amazing. Some detective I am because I didn’t even realize how obvious my feelings were.”

Drake is crying a bit, Launchpad is too. He takes a breath.

“I love you”

Launchpad couldn’t take it anymore, he was full-on sobbing. He brings Drake into a tight hug. They are gripping each other so tight. It took a while before the pilot could properly form a word.

With Drake in his arms, he whispers something to his partner’s ear. “I love you, too.” And goes in for a kiss. They don’t know how long they’ve stood there, a few minutes, felt like hours. But once the tears subsided, the two of them walked hand in hand to cook dinner for their ward.

Drake still hates the cold. Never was a fan and never will be a fan. But when Launchpad is on left and Gosalyn saddled up right beside him, the winter chill stands no chance to the warmth his family provides him.

#ducktales #drakepad #drake mallard #launchpad mcquack #secret santa 2020 #ducktales secret santa #it got a little cheesy but hey what's a little cheese to this mess of a year

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mighty-ant · 4 years

Text

No Shortage of Spirit, Part One

“We’re looking for Gosalyn Waddlemeyer.”

Hearing her full name spoken in any manner is almost never a good thing.

It’s Abuelo, exasperated and arms akimbo, “Gosalyn Alondra Waddlemeyer, if your room isn’t clean five minutes you can forget about ‘Return of the Mole-Monsters 2!’”

It’s her teachers, who are far less patient: “Gosalyn Waddlemeyer, we do not play with the frog dissections.”

“Gosalyn Waddlemeyer, I don’t care if Tank was calling you names, we never solve our problems with violence!”

“If you can’t sit still you’re going straight to the principal’s office, Gosalyn Waddlemeyer!”

It’s the police officer on their doorstep, his bowed shoulders framed by the falling snow. “Are you Gosalyn Waddlemeyer? There was an accident at your grandfather’s lab. I need you to come back to the station with me.”

Gosalyn hasn’t slept well since she was placed in Mrs. Cavanaugh’s foster home. The other kids aren’t particularly rowdy or mean nor do they smell, and Cavanaugh is strict in a matronly way. But the bed isn’t hers, there aren’t glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling in the shape of the Pleiades star cluster, and the house is too big and too quiet at night.

She has regular nightmares about Abuelo dying in the fire that ravaged his laboratory, but pretends they aren’t the main reason sleep has become an uphill battle.

The fact of the matter is that Gosalyn usually stays awake into the long hours of the night, when the house is settling, the lights are dim, and even Cavanaugh has retired that evening’s whodunit. This night is no exception.

Except that at close to two in the morning, a knock at the front door draws Gosalyn from bed entirely.

Perhaps she’s wary because it reminds her too much of the last normal night of her life, making tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches on the stove in anticipation of Abuelo’s return, nevermind that he was running a little later than usual. Perhaps the weeks at Cavanaugh’s, while terrible and lonely, have been uneventful besides her grief and a stranger at the door in the middle of the night is new. Whatever the reason, Gosalyn pushes back the covers and creeps out of the bedroom she shares with one other girl who is very shy and mousy and Gosalyn is too afraid of scaring away to try and befriend.

Once she’s out in the hall, she hears the floorboards on the first floor creak as Cavanaugh shuffles, grumbling, out of her own bedroom. She flicks on a few lights as she goes.

Gosalyn crouches on the stairs’ topmost landing where, obscured in shadow, she has an unobstructed view of the front door directly below.

“Who could that be...and at this hour,” Cavanaugh mutters as she undoes the locks, but leaves the security chain in place as she opens the door. “Can I help you?” she demands through the barest inch of space she creates.

There’s an explosion of sound, a clap of thunder shattering the remaining stillness as the front door is slammed open, the security chain giving way under the force. The door bounces off the wall and Cavanaugh jerks backward with a sharp gasp, clutching at the front of her tartan robe.

Three men shoulder through the doorway, their features thrown into contrasting shadow and light from the lamps within and the darkness beyond. The trio, a lanky horse, a short ram, and a stocky goat with wickedly sharp horns and a pinstripe suit, carry themselves with casual menace and the promise to act on it.

“Who-who do you think—I-I’m calling the police!” Cavanaugh cries.

“Go right ahead,” the goat replies in a voice so nasal it would be funny under literally any other circumstance. “We’ll be done before they get here.”

The men behind him snicker, reaching beneath their jackets as though in search of weapons.

Cavanaugh sounds faint. “What-what do you want?”

“We’re looking for Gosalyn Waddlemeyer,” he says.

Gosalyn’s blood turns to ice, freezing every one of her limbs, her muscles, her very breath. She looks on the scene below her in mystified terror as a voice at the back of her mind insists that she must be dreaming. She wishes she could believe it.

“I-I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Cavanaugh’s voice shakes through her lie.

“Sure you do.” The goat smiles. A single gold tooth catches the light. “Just tell us where the brat is and nobody else has to get hurt. There’s plenty of other kids here, right? It’d be a damn shame if we took the wrong one.”

Gosalyn isn’t especially fond of Cavanaugh on the best of days and she knows that she isn’t exactly her foster mother’s favorite person. She refuses to call her ‘Mrs. Cavanaugh’ for one thing; she broke a vase last week playing indoor hockey, loosened the lid on the ketchup bottle before yesterday’s lunch and got in trouble for swearing at school. And even though Abuelo is the only person who’d ever been on her side, Gosalyn thought that for all of Cavanaugh’s gripes, she would at least care when it mattered.

Her gut gives a sickening lurch as she is proven wrong.

Instead of staring the man down, Cavanaugh ducks her head. Instead of standing her ground, she takes a step back. She points up the stairs to where Gosalyn is hiding.

“Second door on the right,” she says quietly.

Fury jolts Gosalyn out of her immobilized state and she’s on her feet in the next instant, bolting down the hall behind her.

“Hey! Did you see that?” one of the men snaps.

“It’s the kid! Grab her!”

“Gosalyn!” Cavanaugh cries, and the sound of her voice ignites Gosalyn’s fury into a white hot rage that is so overwhelming it practically deafens her.

There’s a tree beneath the window at the end of the hallway. For weeks, Gosalyn has been trying to find the perfect time to climb onto the roof and jump to it and tonight it seems she’ll finally have the opportunity.

She wrenches the window open as the men thunder up the stairs and pulls herself up over the sill and out onto the roof. The night air washes over her in a frigid embrace, momentarily stealing her breath and making her break out in goosebumps. It’s a strange counter to the heartbeat pounding at the base of her throat, adrenaline suffusing her body with electric energy. The shingles are slick and freezing cold beneath her bare feet, her steps small and measured to ensure she doesn’t go sliding off the roof.

The men are clamoring at the window, none of them small enough to fit through and follow her. Their grasping arms swarming out of the black portal are like something out of the horror movies she so enjoys, and Gosalyn resolutely looks away, focusing on the tree just beyond the roof’s edge. She’s five feet away. Now four.

“Move it—get out of the way, you idiots!”

It’s the goat with the funny voice.

“Kid, we ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he says, in a tone that’s cloying as dollar store syrup. She’s learned to bash in the shins of people who talk to her like that. “Come back here before you fall off the roof. That’ll hurt for sure.”

Gosalyn doesn’t turn around.

She’s three feet away from the edge.

“Kid,” he says, voice hardening. The sweetness turns to stone. “Kid, get back here now. Goddamnit.” Scrabbling, presumably as he tries to fit through the window. “Get outside! The boss wants her alive.”

Gosalyn jumps off the roof, and hears the goat give a strangled shout. She lands solidly on a tree branch, so solidly that it almost knocks the breath out of her. The bark scrapes her arms and palms and even her face, and her eyes sting, though only partially from the pain. The men are still yelling from the window so she starts her descent as quickly as she can. Leaves and sharp branches catch on her hair and jab her through her pajamas, but she doesn’t allow herself to falter.

She falls out of the tree more than climbs down and pain flares along her side, the lawn a poor cushion. But Gosalyn pulls herself to her feet and runs, blindly, down the street and toward the glimmering lights of downtown St. Canard.

Gosalyn doesn’t know if she’s still being followed, and she’s too anxious to stop running. St. Canard is a bustling city at all hours, and the rumble of every engine, the movement of every shadow, every shout that sounds too near, sends her heart skidding against her rib cage. In her blind panic, she strays toward far more desolate streets, alleyways choked with garbage and muck, lit only by a handful of orange streetlights. She’s in the part of town that Abuelo always taught her to avoid.

It could be hours, it could be minutes, but having run with nothing more than the clothes on her back, she finds herself exhausted, freezing, and utterly lost.

Eventually, she’s forced to stop in one of the many identical alleys, her chest heaving and lungs burning from her desperate, endless sprint. What she wants more than anything is to curl up on the ground and not get back up again. She wants to cry, and scream and rage because this isn’t fair. Why can’t she be asleep in bed, in her real home with the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and Abuelo just down the hall, alive and loving her and fighting for her.

The earsplitting roar of a motorcycle jolts her back to her dismal reality, filthy, graffiti-covered walls looking back at her and sirens echoing mockingly in the distance. The icy chill of fear drips into her belly at the sight of a monstrous black motorcycle skidding to a stop, blocking the mouth of the alley. Its dismounting rider is too far away for Gosalyn to make out any details of their appearance, but she doesn’t stay long enough to look closely.

She wasn’t dumb enough to rest in an alley with a dead end. The opposite entrance spills out onto the empty street, less than two dozen feet away. With a few minutes of running, she’s certain she’ll make it to a more populated area of town.

Without giving herself time to hesitate, she bolts out of her hiding place.

When Gosalyn doesn’t hear the stranger pursuing her, she risks a glance over her shoulder. While the motorcycle hasn’t moved, the alleyway gapes emptily behind her. She turns back around just in time to slam headfirst into something solid and unyielding, but also slightly soft. Knocked off her feet, she falls hard on her backside and her collection of bruises twinge sharply in painful unison.

A stranger stands over her in a yellow jacket and black cape, features shadowed by his wide brimmed crimson hat.

“Whoa there, kid,” he says, his voice unfamiliar and rasping. “Watch where you’re goin’, huh?” His tone is sardonic, but he offers her his hand to help her get back up.

“Get away from me,” Gosalyn snaps, scooting back and pushing herself painfully onto her feet once more.

He raises his hands defensively, amusement curling his long beak. Standing now, she can make out his eyes behind the black mask he’s wearing. “Easy,” he says. “Name’s Jim. I’m one of the good guys.”

Gosalyn doesn’t roll her eyes but it’s a very near thing. “That’s exactly what one of the bad guys would say,” she retorts. She clenches her empty hands into fists, wishing more than anything that she had something to defend herself with.

Jim lets out a huff of laughter, friendly and warm. “You’re not wrong there, kid.”

He doesn’t move to grab her, or threaten her. He doesn’t move at all, standing casual and confident like a character from one of Abuelo’s old movies. His outfit is certainly reminiscent of the mysterious, masked vigilantes she saw captured in black and white, almost as if he’d been plucked out of another century. But his colors are all wrong, lemon yellow and canary red and black so dark it blends into the shadows of the alley. It’s like someone tried recreating Zorro while looking in a funhouse mirror.

“You were following me,” Gosalyn says, rubbing her arms, encircled in her own embrace for a semblance of warmth. Winter is always slow to leave St. Canard, even in March, and with her adrenaline having long since dwindled, the cold is swift to set back in.

Jim grimaces and kneels in front of her. She takes another step back and he lets her go without reaction. “I was keeping an eye on Hannigan and his gang ‘cause I knew they’d be gunning for ya. Didn’t realize they’d already squeezed your address outta your case worker.”

Gosalyn starts at that. “Is Mrs. Muddlefoot okay?”

She’s never particularly liked her case worker; her face is stuck in the perpetual plastic smile of a Barkie doll that becomes pained when Gosalyn comes in with a grass stained jersey or holes in her jeans. She always ends their appointments by suggesting Gosalyn might have a better chance at getting adopted if she acts more like a girl, whatever that means.

Abuelo is the one who put a fútbol at her feet, the hockey stick in her hand. They waded in tidepools together, pockets bulging with discarded shells. He held an umbrella over her head as she splashed in puddles and displayed her mudpies on the windowsill like they were works of art.

Gosalyn is as much of a girl as she ever wants to be. And she’s never going to be adopted.

But it’s not like she wants Mrs. Muddlefoot to get hurt, especially not because of her.

Jim shakes his head, offering a crooked smile that sets some of her nerves at ease. “Nah, she’s fine. Gave you up pretty quick, though.”

Gosalyn scoffs. Disgust roils inside her like a tumultuous sea, burning her from the inside out. “I’m not very popular,” she says, and the truth hurts, broken glass on her tongue. Abandoned twice in one night. She’s sure it must be some sort of record.

She glances back at Jim, who watches her behind a mask that hides whatever he’s thinking. “How did you know they were gonna come after me?” she asks.

“‘Cause I know the guy they work for,” Jim replies.

Frustration wells up in Gosalyn, who was never known for her patience even before the attempted kidnapping. What’s the point of finding someone with all the answers if he only gives her half? Forgetting her fear, her outrage bursts free as she throws her arms in the air. “And why does he want me? Who is he? And why are you helping me?”

Jim leans back under the onslaught, laughing. Under the mask and beneath the shadow of his hat she can make out his brows quirking in amusement. “Geez, so many questions!” he says. “But I don’t blame ya, kid.”

Gosalyn looks on in momentary confusion as he fiddles with the clasps of his cape before removing it entirely. He swings the loose cape around and surprises her by holding it out to her. Gosalyn’s eyes snap to his, and he nods at her, expression wry. “Can’t have you freezing to death while you interrogate me,” he says. Gosalyn scowls at him and snatches the cape out of his hands, which he releases with a laugh.

“Alright, Lightning Round,” he says. “The goat who’s after you is called Hammerhead Hannigan, the other two are Hoof and Mouth. They work for a guy I’ve been trying to find myself. Maybe you know him? Goes by the name Taurus Bulba.”

Gosalyn, busy wrapping herself in the surprisingly thick material of Jim’s cape, is shocked into stillness. It’s hard not to be startled when the last time she heard that name was in a police station, rattled off right after Ernesto Waddlemeyer on the victim list.

“He….he was my abuelo’s lab partner,” she says numbly. Jim watches her silently, looking unsurprised by the news. Indignation replaces lack of feeling, and she’s relieved to feel anything at all. She glares at Jim. “He’s dead. They both are. For months now. They were working late and there was an accident. A-a fire. It burned the whole building down.”

“What if I told you it wasn't an accident?” Jim replies, utterly serious. “What if I told you Bulba was trying to get in with some shady characters and the deal was that he off your gramps before he could join the club?”

“I’d say you were lying,” Gosalyn bites out, without the certainty of before. Her body trembles, though not from cold and her grip on Jim’s cape tightens to the point of pain. She remembers Taurus Bulba, his personality larger than life, his charisma enough to fill a room. Always laughing that big booming laugh, always smiling. He would wrap his arm around Abuelo’s shoulders, their difference in stature (almost two feet!) always so amusing to her, and call Abuelo his “better half.”

“Who else knows you well enough to want to kidnap you?” Jim says.

“Why would anyone want to kidnap me?” she demands, grasping desperately for reason on a night where all reason has fled. Strange men storming into her foster home with her name on their lips, hunting her, forcing her to leave her life behind for the second time in four months, only in a far more permanent fashion.

Jim draws her back to the present. “He was working on some sort of weapon wasn’t he?” he says. “Your grandfather.”

“The Waddlemeyer Ramrod,” Gosalyn replies at once, memories of Abuelo’s blueprints littering the kitchen island rushing back to her. She remembers waking up in the middle of the night to a hushed argument in the kitchen, sneaking downstairs to see Abuelo and Bulba standing on opposite sides of the island, the blueprints between them.

You can trust me with the arming code, Bulba said. If not me, who else?

I’m just trying to be careful, Abuelo insisted.

“It was like a gravity disruptor. I think only Abuelo had the code to start it but he’s...” she trails off, realization cemented and horror growing.

“Well there you have it.” Jim stands, folding his arms across his chest. “Bulba must’ve gotten the gun and thinks you know how to make it work.”

“But-but I don’t!” Gosalyn steps back, wrapping her arms around her ribs as if to hold herself together even as she comes apart at the seams. Jim’s cape slips, but doesn’t fall off her shoulders completely.

Her family was so small, just her and Abuelo, but Bulba had almost been part of it in his own way. Always there, as far back as she can remember. No coworker of Abuelo’s had been closer to them, or known her so well. On the most recent anniversary of her parents’ death, he took her to get ice cream so Abuelo could have an hour’s solitude after their visit to the cemetery.

It’s impossible to imagine that the same man could, what? Fake his own death? Burn a building to the ground? But it has been a night of dangerous impossibilities, and the brutal truth of it slams into her with the gentleness of a brick wall.

Murdered. Her grandfather was murdered. It wasn’t bad luck, it wasn’t fate, it wasn’t an accident. He was stolen from life, stolen from her, by a man who had sat across from her at the dinner table as their guest more times than she can count. There was no one else who benefited from Abuelo’s death. No one but Bulba had known them so well, ingrained themselves so completely into their lives.

Gosalyn finds that she can’t quite breathe, her vision swimming behind a haze of tears. It is her third betrayal of the night and it is perhaps the most crushing blow she has ever been dealt.

“Hey.” Jim’s voice softens, and Gosalyn nearly starts at the sound of it. She’d almost forgotten he was here, witness to her dissolution. He tugs his cape up over her shoulders, securing it around her. “You and I both know that doesn’t matter if you know the code or not. If they get a hold of you, it’s game over.”

Her eyes burn with tears and she’s too exhausted to keep them at bay. Not anymore. “What am I supposed to do?” she asks, and hates how her voice shakes. “I can’t keep running from them. D-do I go to the cops?”

Jim barks a harsh laugh. “Yeah right, the cops. What a joke.” He straightens up and grins at her, a smile sharp in his shadowed face. “No, kid. You’re not running away. Not when you’ve got me.”

“You?” Gosalyn roughly wipes away her tears. “You’ll...help me?”

“You want revenge, don’t you?” The way Jim says it, it’s clearly not a question. “You want to get back at the people who killed your grandfather? Who tried to kidnap you?”

Gosalyn shivers at the word.

Revenge.

It’s a word that doesn’t belong in a rank alleyway brimming with refuse and slush from spring thaw. It’s too big to be claimed by the orphan trembling in her pajamas in the midst of it all, pathetic and weak and abandoned.

But then again, why can’t it be hers? She’s been betrayed so deeply so many times, maybe she even deserves it.

Revenge.

Something cold and slimy and black fills the bleeding hole that grief has carved out of her chest. She wants the pain to stop, she wants to inflict it on someone else, and most of all she wants to stop feeling so alone.

“Yeah,” she says. “I do.” Tears burn like licks of flame on her frigid cheeks, and in that moment she feels incredibly young. But she’s no fool. Gosalyn stares hard at Jim, her eyes red-rimmed. “But why do you want to help me?”

Jim chuckles. “You’re smarter than you look, kid,” he says, teasing, and Gosalyn rolls her eyes with a huff, amused despite herself. He’s strange, and there’s something comforting about that.

His tone verges back into seriousness. “I’m actually after the organization Bulba’s working for. They call themselves S.H.U.S.H. and they’ve got their hands in just about everything. If I can get to Bulba then I’ll be one step closer to taking them down.”

Gosalyn blinks, looking at Jim in a new light. “So you’re like...a superhero?”

He makes an incredulous sound, the darkness beneath his hat hiding his expression from her. “Exactly, kid. A superhero with the whole world against him. But it sounds to me like we both want the same thing.” Jim offers her his hand, tilting his head so the sickly yellow glow of the streetlight hits his face and their eyes meet. “So what do you say, kid? Partners?”

She takes Jim’s hand. It’s not a difficult decision to make.

“Partners,” she agrees.

#ant writes #gosalyn mallard #gosalyn waddlemeyer #tw minor character death #rip abuelo waddlemeyer #jim starling #negaduck #darkwing duck #a year-old story finally in the making

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animatedminds · 4 years

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Let’s Get Dangerous Review!

It’s dangerous. In a good way. <cue dramatic music> Okay, obviously there’s more thoughts than just that. I’ve been waiting for it for weeks, and it arrived just as awesome as I hoped. For the first time, let’s give my full movie style review to the double length Ducktales special: “Let’s Get Dangerous.”

The spoilers are open and widely discussed, so maybe don’t look past the following image if you haven’t seen the episode yet.

To note, I’m not entirely convinced that this was actually meant to be a pilot. It definitely does introduce a new status quo for the Darkwing trio of characters (minus Honker for now, here’s hoping they haven’t forgotten him), but it’s also a very remote story that still tries to take place within the context of Ducktales’ universe, so it really depends on what they choose to do.

But let’s just get down to it.

First off, as I mentioned in my earlier post… Taurus Bulba. He was maybe the biggest and most eye-catching aspect of the first part of the episode, as one of the few elements we hadn’t already seen yet, and his reputation as a really, really bad guy has quite preceded him. As I may have gushed somewhat about, he’s one of the best parts of the special.

James Monroe Inglehart, for those living away from the Disney scene for a decade, is an actor and voice actor most famous for being the original Genie on Broadway’s Aladdin. A grand, bombastic presence, he generally plays characters who - much like the genie himself - a big, jolly, kind but maybe a little mischievous souls that take the attention of a room and brighten up the characters’ day - like Lance, in Tangled the Series. The most interesting thing about Bulba is that Inglehart brings that exact same energy to the role, and so Bulba keep that jollity and lofty personality in a package that becomes increasingly less nice as the story goes on. As someone who keenly remembers Taurus Bulba as cruel monster willing to hurt kids and capable of crushing Darkwing like nobody’s business, the contrast was immediately fun to watch - and I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

In this story, Bulba is recast from a crime lord intending to use a super weapon go on an endless plundering spree to a FOWL scientist with a respectable reputation who intends to use a super weapon to take over the world, and the transition goes off fairly well. The end result is a pretty standard mix of superhero fight and Bond plot, as Bulba ends up holed up in his lab with his squadron of elite supervillain minions - all plundered a particular fictional universe - with the heroes having to break in / escape from his captivity and stop him before he destroys everything. It’s very Silver Age, with Bulba in the role of maniacal villain, and he’s contrasted very well with Bradford - who is as always an antagonist who prides himself on pragmatism. This contrast leads to some great moments: Bradford’s increasing frustration with the cavalier attitude of both the heroes and the villains gives him the best stint of characterization he’s had since the beginning of the season - he basically spends the whole episode arguing with everyone about how badly thought out their actions are, while also badly hiding his own secrets.

The Fearsome Five (of which Quackerjack is voices by his original actor) are great to see, though used minimally. If you’re expecting to see classic show dynamics between the villains and Darkwing, that’s not really what they’re used for. Mostly, they’re minions with personality, and they’re more there to establish both to the audience and to Drake the character himself that he is ready to take on really big threats even with his lack of superpowers.

But enough about the villains, on to the heroes!

A couple episodes ago, with the Halloween episode, I criticized that story for not balancing its A and B plot all that well. This episode does not have that problem. The story is actually maybe about three fifths Darkwing’s story, and the rest of it is Scrooge and the nephews as they figure out what Bulba is up to independently of Darkwing and try to stop him themselves. It’s somewhat similar to Timephoon, where they’re there constantly and are doing their own bid to solve the story but the focus isn’t primarily on them. Instead, we have some of the best “HDL actually matter to the story” bits of the show, where they escape Bulba’s prison on their own and lead Bradford out, all the while slowly figuring out that something is shady about the guy. Meanwhile, Scrooge gets stuck in the original Ducktales universe’s most memed scene, which was a fun gag (but not the best gag - that would be the one and only Bonkers D. Bobcat as the Harvey Bullock-style cop in the Darkwing show).

Which I suppose can lead to a digression about the mad science bit here. The alternate universes here are… interesting. I always pay special attention to how things like time travel or other dimensions or alternate universes work in a series, and this one reminds me the most - I think - of DC’s Dark Multiverse: a collection of universes that are both explicitly fictional but made real because people created them. Ultimately, it’s less as if the OG Darkwing universe exists independently of the Ducktales universe and more that the in-universe Darkwing show as a world based off of it that the characters can reach into. I wish the episode had delved into that more, and now you’ve got people trying to use it to look for more establishment of OG Darkwing elements (though I was fine with it being separate, perceiving anything else as rather needlessly inexplicable), but ultimately that is not specifically what the episode is about, and is kept rather separate.

So what is the episode about? Like you didn’t already know…

As always, Gosalyn Waddlemeyer is a little girl whose grandfather was done away with by Taurus Bulba, and who falls into Darkwing’s lap over the course of his adventure with him. Here, her grandfather is (possibly) still alive, just lost in the ether a la Gravity Falls’ Grunkle Ford. And like the mighty glazed McGuffin, Darkwing’s goal in the episode is less strictly defeating Bulba as it is helping her get her grandfather and her home back. Gosalyn here is self-sufficient and action oriented (it may be my inner Brooklyn 99 fan talking, but I loved Stephanie Beatriz as her, and kind of wish she had gotten a wider range of lines), taking on her own crusade against Bulba until she realizes she can go to Darkwing for help, and is constantly trying to pull him into the fight - even while he is reluctant, and no matter what the danger - so that they can win and she can get justice. But in the end, she has to accept that they might not be able to.

As a longtime Batman fan, I immediately recognized a plethora of Robin references with Gosalyn. She’s a kid who’s family was taken from her by a villain, given a surrogate home by the hero - like Dick Grayson. She’s a street tough who originally met the hero committing a crime, and who is both skeptical of his heroism and heavily critical of his flaws - like Jason Todd. And she’s a young genius with a lot of scientific knowledge, tech skills and common sense - just like Tim Drake. There’s even elements of Carrie Kelley or Terry McGinnis there, in her determined if not gung-ho approach to heroism despite her circumstances and the hermit-like behavior of the hero.

And in the end, this is a fairly apt comparison, because Gosalyn essentially ends the story more as a Robin figure than previously, now as Darkwing’s more of a ward and official sidekick alongside Launchpad. The story does not, to note, involve her being adopted by Drake or becoming Gosalyn Mallard. Indeed, they don’t really end up having that sort of relationship. They’re distant and don’t really know how to relate to one another, and not about to broach the subject of family except in distant terms. There’s ultimately far less emphasis than before on Gosalyn and Drake being similar and hitting it off on a personal level, or even really Drake keying into Gosalyn’s potential and spirit as a person vs an element in his adventure. Throughout the story he regards her as a victim to be saved, then ultimately as an ally with potential to be respected, and in the end he gives her an offer to take up the mantle along side him while they search for her family… which ultimately creates something very different.

For people expecting something a little more akin to the implications the show made with Gyro and BOYD, Gosalyn here. The implication that they could be a family is brought up by Launchpad, but neither Drake nor Gosalyn are really there at the end of the story - I want to say they’re not there yet, but the way the story goes gives off the impression that the dynamic duo dichotomy is the relationship for the two the writing is most comfortable giving them.

Again, I’m a longtime Batman fan, so I understand and appreciate the nod. It gives them a really cool status quo that’s distinct from what came before it. Still, the strong father/daughter relationship between the two was very much the heart and soul of the original show, an endearing quality that created the character traits we love about both characters, and ultimately one of the primary characteristics that set the Darkwing family apart even from most comic book superhero stars - so even if they made something great out of it, it’s a shame to see Ducktales ultimately keep that relationship at arms’ length.

But that’s less a criticism and more just something I wish they had chosen to do differently - and it makes sense for the 2017 team’s take on Darkwing, which has always been more focused on “irrepressible hero who doesn’t give up” - a pluckie rookie growing into his competence - than “former fool whose great potential is unleashed through the people around him.” The latter is there, sometimes, but it’s not prominent. Original Darkwing was a man made better by his daughter, while the modern Darkwing doesn’t quite need that to find the hero within.

The only (and I mean only) criticism I have is the way the characters kind of jump around in how they respond to things. Drake wanting more crime, and then freaking out when super crime shows up and it’s way more than he thought he can handle is fine, and is one of the better character bits in the special. It being unclear whether Drake is against fighting supervillains because he thinks they’re too powerful vs because he doesn’t want to risk Gosalyn’s safety is another thing, though - it seems the show intended to imply the latter but forgot to include the line somewhere, so it’s not inferred until later and Drake suddenly benching Gos towards the end lacks set-up.

For her part, Gosalyn is suddenly and quickly afraid to fight for a brief moment so Launchpad can inspire her to face impossible odds, even though it was hardly the first time she had done so in the special. The ending I think wanted the characters to be somewhere that the rest of the special hadn’t gotten them to yet. But it’s all good - it ends well, so all’s well. Best gag of the episode, btw? Fenton, who is awful at keeping his secret identity secret, has hooked up Darkwing with his own hi-tech hero lair. Darkwing, despite supposedly being a detective (or at least an actor playing a detective), ends up as one of the two or three people remaining on Earth who hasn’t figured out that Fenton is Gizmoduck. Darkwing considers himself good friends with Fenton, despite hating Gizmoduck. It’s actually very funny.

It’s as of now unclear what is coming up for Darkwing. We know the St. Canard characters are going to factor in more as the FOWL plot progresses, and this episode kicks that plot into high gear - the characters now know about FOWL and their intentions, and are preparing themselves for a far more dangerous fight than usual. In short, with the midseason comes the renewed focus on the primary plot of the season, as per the usual. Like I said before, while I’m not as on board as most with the idea that this was a pilot, St. Canard was definitely established here - with series regular Zan Owlson as it’s new mayor, and a general aesthetic and set of protagonists. It wouldn’t be remiss for a future episode this season to take place there (though we know Negaduck isn’t happening this season).

The new few episodes, however, are focused more on the quest for Finch’s treasures and FOWL, so that’s going to have to wait for a while. We’ve been promised, as I recall, an episode that brings all the kids together (unless that’s part of the finale), which is nice - I may have mentioned before that the best episodes of the series have been the ones that put the kids (who are the characters with the most focus throughout its run) together and let all their personalities run through an adventure together - and with the cast growing somewhat constantly, it’s nice to know that no one is being forgotten.

Either way, I give the episode a great deal of recommendation - I only had a couple things that bothered me, and a few wishes for different choices, and ultimately I’m planning on watching it a ton of times just like I did the first Darkwing episode. From a classic Darkwing fan, and in the words of Bat-Mite, it’s a different intepretation to be sure, but not at all one without merit.

So thanks to Frank Angones, Matt Youngberg and the Ducktales crew! I hope my virtual thumbs up reaches them somehow, but either way, it was a good day to be dangerous.

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quiverwingquack · 4 years

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The View From Under the Bed

Gosalyn is bold, courageous, and smart, but beneath her troublemaking exterior she’s just a child. A child who lost her parents too young to remember them, and then her Grandpa, and then was sent from foster home to foster home, where things just kept getting worse. She’s overwhelmed by emotions she can’t make sense of, alone and reeling in the wake of a tragedy nobody bothered to ask if she was okay after. There’s only so much her spirit can take before she breaks.

AO3 link in reblogs.

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The house is quiet. Gosalyn’s window is open just enough to let a whisper of a breeze in, ruffling her green curtains like emerald waves. She has her warmest blanket and a soft pillow, and she’s nearly asleep.

The lights are off in the hall, which means her Grandpa is in bed himself across the way. She lies there, dozing and nearly fully asleep, but then the sound of shattering glass startles her to alertness. She scrambles to get up, on instant anxious alert that Grandpa might have slipped and broken his bedside water glass. She stops with her little feet barely hanging off the bed—that crash was far too big to be a smashed cup. The only other things that could’ve made that much noise while shattering are the TV or the window.

She hears an unfamiliar, loud voice, and ducks under her bed instead of heading to the door. Her heart begins to pick up pace, first as if she’s jogging and then to the speed it hits when she’s at an outright sprint across the soccer field. A tense moment passes, how long she’s not sure. Footsteps walk in, and the light clicks on for a moment. A squeaky, nervous voice calls back out into the hall, “Where’s the gorl? The boss ain’t gonna be happy if this little accident don’t take care’a her too!”

“Maybe she’s at a friend’s house, huh? Oh, uh, maybe we should’ve asked ol’ Waddlemeyer where she’s at.” A second voice, scratchy and hoarse, replies from somewhere far out of sight. She hears a thumping sound and a handful of curse words, but doesn’t react, startled into a frozen stillness and holding her breath as long as she can.

“Well we can’t now. Keep looking for ‘er.” The first voice, belonging to a pair of dirty white shoes and pinstriped pants, vanishes, shutting the light off on its way. Probably an old habit, but the sudden darkness doesn’t help her nerves. Despite that fear, Gosalyn doesn’t move, releasing a long breath and drawing another in. Her head starts spinning and she fights back bile in her throat. What did he mean they “couldn’t now?” What had they done with Grandpa?

Her whole body is tense, and she feels like she might explode if she can’t catch her breath soon. Grandpa didn’t make a sound, and she’s worried he’s not even out there anymore. And what if he isn’t? What if he’s hurt, or gone, or…. Gosalyn tries to push all the bad thoughts away. She can’t do a thing from here, squished in this shoebox of a space, can only wait and listen and try to keep her breathing, which is quickly getting more rapid, somewhat quiet.

For the most part, she’s successful in silent panicking. She lies there as unmoving as the forgotten toys and dirty laundry she’s curled up among. She waits until they walk through the house, voices and footsteps growing distant, and stays frozen until the back door opens and closes, and then everything falls still. Too still—she’s got to do something.

Her exit from her hiding place is quiet, the sounds of her scooting out of the tiny space ringing into empty air. The house is very, very cold now, icy air rushing in in full force from across the hall. She clutches her arms, pulling her short sleeves toward her elbows as she pokes her head out the door, gazing around like a deer on a night-dark highway, scanning the shadows for lingering threats.

The end-table beside the bathroom door is crooked, the potted plant on top now sideways and halfway over the edge. Someone had tripped on it in the darkness, and she thinks briefly of the stumbling sounds and the cursing from earlier. A sense of dread fills her as she compares that to the total silence that surrounds her now. As she approaches Grandpa’s door, she begins to tremble violently.

Later, she’ll remember exactly how each footstep across the hall feels. The heaviness of her legs, the tickles of cold air and fear ruffling the feathers on her arms, and how her heart feels like it’s collapsing in on itself when her search comes to a stop.

Her Grandpa is lying on the floor, crumpled like a dropped doll, his life pouring out onto the hardwood. Gosalyn’s beak falls open in a scream that she feels will go on forever, if only in a small part of her mind.

She can’t quite remember the details of what comes after. Mostly silence, alone for a moment, and then sirens arrive, painting the house in their swirling emergency lights. Somber blues and harsh reds fill every window, but none of them are quick enough to help. She’s shuffled outside when officers flood the place, hurrying to take note of the mess left in the wake of tragedy. Voices reach her from every angle, from worried neighbors in pajamas, staring from their lawns and porches. She hardly has the energy to react but it’s enough to make her want to wail like the police sirens are.

The fray isn’t all terrible, though, as from it comes a set of warm hands, offering her a coat to wrap around her skinny shoulders.

She looks up at the one face in this sea of onlookers with concern for her. Her savior-of-sorts is wearing big orange earrings and has a police badge hanging over her chest. She stands straight and tall, projecting confidence along with her warm personality. Gos can tell this is a trustworthy woman.

“Th—thanks,” Gosalyn manages to whisper, drawing the big jacket around her shoulders. She sinks onto the cold concrete of the porch steps, and the officer sits with her. It’s winter still, cold frost clinging to the grass, but the cop doesn’t seem to mind the chill.

“I’m Officer Cabrera,” she tells Gosalyn gently, ignoring the clamor of fellow officers yelling to one another from inside and across the yard. “What’s your name?”

“Gosalyn,” she croaks, voice sore from more than just the screaming. Everything is a terrible whirlwind of others invading her space and ignoring her and she can hardly focus under all the things she’s trying to comprehend. “Gosalyn Waddlemeyer.”

“That’s a pretty name,” she murmurs, smiling warmly. Empathetically. Gosalyn will receive a lot of condolences in the coming days, lots of sorry smiles and empty apologies for a crime that they weren’t there to see. But this smile, the gentle presence here, is genuine, and it helps Gos muddle through the haze clouding her head.

“Thank you,” Gosalyn replies, thinking of her grandfather’s lessons in manners. Thinking of him in everything she does, really, before and after all of this. It just didn’t hurt before, and now… now she feels like the blinking neon of a vacant hotel, calling out for anyone to see her and come near.

“You’re going to be alright,” Officer Cabrera promises. “It might be a while, a few months or a year from now, but I can promise you, you’re gonna be alright. You’re strong enough to get yourself to that point.”

Somehow, in the cloud of fierce frustration, the hollowness of misery, and the emptiness of losing control, Gosalyn takes the promise to heart.

The officer asks her what happened, asks her what she heard and saw and did. It hurts, but she does, down to the feeling of the hardwood beneath her and the bloody red that was spilling everywhere, staining everything including her memory. She tells the whole truth because she knows that if she does it will be easiest for these cops to catch the pinstriped suit-wearer and the unseen voice in the hall, and whoever “the boss” was that they mentioned.

Officer Cabrera takes all of it down. She asks a few questions, but mostly nods and just takes Gosalyn’s words down as if she’s copying the words of a prophet. Gosalyn wonders, numbly, if any of this will make a difference.

Doesn’t really affect Grandpa either way, she thinks, heart bitten with something sour at the things she isn’t able to do.

She takes a shaky breath when she’s said all she can, stares blankly out at the yard. The sun will be up soon. The sky is already lightening in daily preparation for morning. Then all the frost on the grass will melt, and the clingy gray clouds overhead will either blow away or turn to a storm.

Gosalyn doesn’t know if she would prefer it to be snow or rain, but snow would remind her of holidays at home and thunder used to scare her into Grandpa’s arms. In any case she’s going to have to face the world without a home and family now. For all her spirit, for all her bold choices and brave moves, she’s left dizzy and chilled thinking of how massive the world is. She has no one to look up to anymore, after losing both her parents when she was small and now her Grandpa at the age of ten. The thought of loss sets in as much as the anxiety of loneliness does, and she’s left with a heavy sadness that she’s entirely unequipped to handle.

Officer Cabrera drives her to the police station before daybreak, and she’s handed off to a social worker with too-long legs and a nasal voice. Gos hands back the comforting jacket and they part ways, and she begins to understand quite quickly that the world is not in her favor anymore, if it ever was at all.

She’s allowed to pack a single backpack of her things before they make her move on. They’ll sell the house to pay off her grandfather's loans for lab equipment and projects, and most of their things will be sold off too. No relatives to give them to, or Gosalyn would be going to them. It’s what he had wanted, they say, so despite her protests it’s what’s going to happen.

They let her back to the house on a supervised trip, and she heads up to her room quickly. It’s a mess and she knows she’s got to leave most of it behind, staring at a floor littered with toys she’s never going to play with again and clothes she won’t wear anymore. The next chapter of her story is one that will be narrated by people who hardly know her, and she knows most won't care for her much, if at all.

She grabs a change of street clothes, ones she won’t mind getting torn up. She has a suspicion that anything with sentimental value is going to be hard to wear given the person who made it valuable to her is gone now. Then, she glances around the room at the discarded possessions, and makes the first hard choice of many.

She won’t take any of it.

Instead, she opts to leave her bedroom again and look quickly away from the now sealed-up room across the hall. She slides down the banister one last time, much to the chagrin of her babysitting social worker. She heads to the tv room, and starts gathering up the Darkwing merch.

Grandpa didn’t care much for the old show, but Gosalyn? There was nothing she loved to do more, and still does, than watch a rerun of Darkwing. She tucks the figurines and the plushes and the dvd set into her bag, careful with each one but determined to make her little collection fit in the space she’s been allotted for her whole life to be packed into.

Her social worker frowns in the doorway. “Wouldn’t you rather some dolls, or a dress or two?”

“You said I could take anything I wanted!” Gosalyn retorts quickly and sharply. Her heart is full of something dark, a storm raging against the boxes she’s always forced into. “I want this.”

“Alright, alright,” the tall bird stands up a bit straighter. She shakes her head, as if she can’t believe a little girl would choose these things above all else. But Gosalyn is not, nor has she ever been, just any girl.

Someone will see that in her again someday, she hopes. If she’s going to survive she’ll need someone who understands.

The backpack is full when she’s done with it, just a small bit of room at the top for something special. She looks up to the row of pictures on the wall, heart aching like a wildfire burnt through it. One memory preserved physically, despite the fact she’s got all of them in her phone.

She pulls down the framed picture she’s most fond of, one of the two of them in his lab. She’s got shorts on, band-aids on both knees from a roller hockey accident, and a lopsided smile with her missing front tooth not grown in yet. He’s grinning both over her, sitting on the counter beside him, and the invention he’s presenting to the camera. The ramrod, she remembers him saying. She can’t quite remember what it did, but she knows it meant the world to him. His pride and joy, he would always joke, and she’d protest that that was her title to wear.

She tucks the photo away carefully as she can, and hauls herself to her feet. She looks around, suddenly struck with the thought that she’s not going to come back here ever again. She had always assumed this would be home til she went off to college, but now…. She’s headed out into the world alright, she just thought this moment would come after she learned to drive and got to vote, not before she turned eleven.

Gosalyn pauses by the door, ignoring her social worker herding her toward the car. Her hockey stick and skates are in the corner here, forgotten momentarily but not forever. She turns to her supervisor, putting on the puppy-dog eyes, making herself look as sweet and pleading as a kid possibly could. “Can I take these too?”

“They do state just the one bag, you’ll be able to settle in easier with less to un… pack….”

Gos makes her lower beak quiver best she can. She hardly has to lie, but figures there’s a trick to be pulled here. “I gotta leave all this behind, and I miss my Grandpa so much, I just want this.”

“Oh, alright. Two more things won’t be too much.” The social worker sighs the sort of sigh that says “I’m not being paid enough for this,” and gestures to the equipment.

“Yes!” Gosalyn cheers, plucking the skates up by their laces. She cannot believe that worked! She’s got to try that again sometime. Meanwhile, though, she’s looking forward to at least having hockey to help her through.

The thought isn’t a hope meant to last, though. She just doesn’t have time anymore, nor a consistent set of guardians to support it. She’s sent to four different foster homes in six months, thanks to her spirit.

The first is a set of prim-and-proper first-time parents who, with their white walls and white carpets, soon decide that fostering isn’t for them, really. Not after Gosalyn unintentionally smashes the pot of the single succulent on their coffee table, staining everything with the dirt.

The second home is an experienced couple, two kids already there waiting on Gosalyn to make three. She has her eleventh birthday there, and even though she tells her temporary guardians and the other kids what day it is about four dozen times, it goes forgotten. It’s because of that that her skin is crawling with heat and her hands are itching to let out some energy, and they find an outlet when, in a string of poor events, one of the other kids calls Gos’s Darkwing plush dorky.

It makes something in her heart snap, something she’d been forcing away since Grandpa’s death, and she chips the kid’s tooth in one swing. He cries for an hour and they’re quick to tend to him, but Gosalyn bruises her knuckles and gets ignored, and told to sit on her bed unmoving until they come to take her away again. She decides she’s taken the world record for the worst birthday ever.

Her third home, she’s placed with a strict single mother. On drop-off day she hears her ever-nasal social worker call her a “problem child, but not a problem for you, I’m sure.”

This is her longest stay, and what she thinks will be her worst. This woman, who she’s instructed to call simply “Mother,” demands she earn her keep. Cleaning bedrooms and bathrooms top to bottom, cooking(which she’s quickly told will not be her chore again, after she sets the fire alarm off and ruins their lunch), and laundry washing and folding fill her days. She hardly has a chance now to play with her figurines, but she doesn’t trust “Mother” not to take them away and oh-so-conveniently forget to give them back. She also doesn’t trust the other kids, who are all older and meaner, not to ruin them. She doesn’t unpack a thing, and ends her stay by knocking over “Mother’s” hand-carved mahogany end-table while trying to stir up a little fun and play a game of baseball indoors.

Grandpa would be disappointed in her, she figures on the ride to her next home. But he’s not here, and without him she’s got to take care of herself by any means necessary. When those means are breaking things or lashing out, that’s just survival. He would understand, he would always understand. Maybe he would scold, but he would know she’s just a spirited kid and she needs a guardian who understands that to take care of her right.

Her fourth foster home is as far from understanding as she could possibly get.

This one isn’t much of a home at all, really. The woman of the house, an ashen-faced lady who seems to have lived a million lives already, doesn’t talk much. She’s friendly, but quiet, and Gos can tell right off the bat she’s super unhappy. There are no other kids here, their oldest just having moved out. The house is a tribute to their four kids, with pencil-marked heights in the doorway and photos up all over. It’s haunting how lived-in the place looks compared to how quiet and empty it is.

It’s the man of the house she’s got to worry about, almost immediately. He greets her with a grunt and a closed fist at his side, and she keeps her head down for the first few hours. Something about his size and the darkness in his expression make Gos’s skin light up in goosebumps.

They have pasta for dinner, and he doesn’t eat a bite, complaining that his wife “ought to know by now he doesn’t eat that carbs crap.” He walks out, slamming a door, and Gosalyn is left wide-eyed to watch as the house falls still. It reminds her of a Halloween attraction, how often she’s left anticipating being spooked by loud noises or violent actions.

He slams a lot more doors after that, breaks a few plates and cups, yells more than anyone she’s ever met. His wife, obviously worn to exhaustion, doesn’t even try to calm him down. He swings at her and she dodges, but ends up battered anyway.

Gos gets a black eye on her third night there.

She doesn’t intend to anger him, but she sure does, just by being there. She isn’t sure if it’s the spot she picked to sit in at the table, or the cup she poured her juice into, or if it’s just how he is that gets her hurt, but she ends up getting hit hard. She falls to the floor with a yelp and hides under the table holding the spot that got struck, shaking like a frightened chihuahua. As soon as he storms out she bolts to somewhere more safe, everything else forgotten.

Her temporary room(they’re all temporary) has a mirror on the back of the door, floor to ceiling. She leans against her bed and faces it, looking at the off-colored, sore spot around her eye and over her cheek. She’s no stranger to injuries, not after playing so many sports. This one just stings more because she didn’t have a choice but to take it, and he didn’t receive any penalty for it.

She thinks of the way Grandpa would put ice over her bruises and bumps, put band-aids on her scrapes, and chokes on a sob. She will not cry, she hasn’t since the night she lost him. She’ll be fine. She’s strong and spirited and she can do this.

A rough, ragged breath claws its way out of her throat and through her beak anyway.

Gosalyn pulls her framed photo out of her bag. She looks at the two of them grinning at the camera and lets out a whimper without meaning to. She wipes the unfightable tears away roughly, denying herself even a moment to think about it. She looks at her grandfather’s smiling face through a blur and her shoulders shake with the force of trying to breathe through the ache.

“I miss you,” she whispers. “I wish you could tell me where I’m supposed to go from here.”

Footsteps in the hall alert her to someone else coming, and she shoves the photo away. Her heart is racing for what feels like the millionth time lately, and, thinking of that tragic night, she shoves her backpack under the bed and ducks under after it. She’s not strong enough to fight him.

Her foster father bursts through the door, slamming it against the wall. From her hiding place she can see dust drift down from the wall, a sign of damage. But what in Gos’s life now isn’t a bit damaged? Even Gosalyn herself is broken goods these days, or at least the people around her act like it.

Her foster father pokes his head into the closet, huffing like a bull before it charges. “Where did that whiny brat run off to?”

She breathes slow, quietly, holding and releasing it to keep herself still. Her whole heart is left hoping he won’t check her hiding place. And she’s fortunate in that regard; he leaves without looking under the bed. He closes her door roughly, but she lies still for a while after anyway, staring into the distance and trying to make sense of the lump in her throat and the shiver down her spine.

He yells some while she’s busy focusing on breathing, then Gos hears a feeble protest from her foster mother. Nothing will come of that, she knows, and waits until she hears the front door slam. He’ll get in the car and drive for a while; if they’re lucky he won't be back til dawn. She’s wedged under the bed well, so her vision is limited, but when the slammed door shakes the house, something falls into her line of sight. She gives herself a moment to be sure of safety, then scoots out from under the bed to investigate.

It’s her hockey stick, now lying across the floor, one end propped up a tiny bit by her skates. She looks it over in a fondness now ruined with a sour sense that she’s being treated unfairly. She’s missing the ice and the… thrill of… playing on it…. She has an idea.

She doesn’t have to stay here, does she?

There’s nothing for her to pack, really, she never unpacked when she got here. She thought of shattered plates and of the memories she’s got with her Darkwing collection, and knew it was safest to keep herself bottled up. Her love for those things hasn’t been appreciated in months. She just has to wait until midnight now, her foster mother long gone to bed and her foster father still out. She slips to the kitchen, the forgotten dinner still sitting on the counter uneaten. She abandons it there despite her hunger, her black eye still stinging.

She heads for the back door, in the formal dining room. On the wall there is a huge framed photo, these parents standing proud with their kids. She can’t stop herself from wondering as she looks at them, practiced and perfect smiles, if those kids got hurt like she does now. If their growing up and leaving caused his anger, or if they just learned to hide from it when they were smaller, like her.

And she wonders if any of them ran like she’s about to.

She closes the door quietly after herself, scales the fence with athletic ease. Beyond this old house is a vacant field, full of thistles and litter and dead grass. She watches her step around discarded plastic bags and broken glass bottles, hands shaking and head spinning. She’s never considered something like this before, but she’s never needed to, and she’s starting to sweat as she thinks about what she’s walking into. She’s got no idea what she’s doing.

If she stays, the spirit her grandfather praised so often will be crushed like a wildflower under a hunter’s boot. She will no longer have the space and time to love what she does, to play sports or watch Darkwing or make trouble just for the fun of it. She’ll be trapped, as she already kind of is. Destined to do her foster father’s bidding, to clean up broken things and to always be waiting for the door to slam. She doesn’t want to spend her life wide-eyed and hiding. Even if she’s sent on to a new place, they’ll just try to tamp down the fire burning inside her and she just wants to be able to choose for herself what she does.

She finds a main street, but keeps out of the streetlights. Her foster father is still out in the city someplace and even though St Canard is huge, a voice in the back of her head whispers that he will catch her again if she’s not careful, so she doesn’t let herself be seen. She feels like there’s eyes on her at every corner, no matter how much she tries to tell herself that’s just her head playing tricks on her. Just her imagination, just her making up things like shadows passing overhead and noises in the alleys she’s passing.

These roads are ones she travelled with Grandpa often, ones she remembers now with a heaviness in her chest. Many of the places she’s passing are places she remembers going with him. That alone makes this walk hard, but piled on top is a sense of urgency about getting where she’s going. Every time she hears or sees an oncoming car, she’s nearly overwhelmed with a temptation to leap into the shadows, and just as she heads for the darkened alleys between buildings, the shadows make sounds she can’t see the sources of. Everything around her feels like she’s about to be pounced on by some invisible predator, caught and dragged back to the house of broken things and painful wounds.

She thinks to herself as she walks that maybe the threat of being spotted isn’t what’s scariest. It’s not being able to protect herself, and not having anyone left in her life strong enough to do so that’s actually willing to stand up for her. She wasn’t strong enough to do anything but hide the night Grandpa died, so what would make her strong enough to be her own hero this time? She’s tried to fight for herself, with other kids at least, but she always loses out in the end even if she wins the fight.

Tonight’s her night, though. Whatever happens next, she will let happen, but she needs to let go for a minute. If she can have five minutes to skate, maybe find a puck to whack around, she’ll go quietly wherever they want her to. She just needs to get this constantly suffocating weight off her chest and she thinks that breathing in some icy air will do that.

The front doors are locked, of course they are, but Gosalyn knows this place. It used to be her home away from home. One of the back doors is always propped open, even at night, because the security guys use it to get out to their cars and they don’t want to get locked out. She slips inside easily, spots the guard at the camera station asleep.

He’ll be out for a bit, and she knows they only keep one night guard on staff on weeknights. She played a lot of locker room pranks with her old teammates, and they learned things like that after their first few tries failed. The stars are aligning. She’s finally got a chance to do something for herself!

She sneaks through the main hall. She hasn’t had the ability or time to be on the team this season, and she’s sure what used to be her locker is full now. There’s nothing left in that locker room for her except memories that’ll hurt.

She pushes open the door to the ice, which is crystalline and smooth. The rush of cold air that hits her is a lot like the icy air when she crawled out from under her bed to find a body on the bedroom floor across the hall. But this is different too, for all the right reasons, and it feels like a homecoming. This is a cold beak split wide in a smile, cheering as they win a game. This is a wind across her cheeks, thrilled in the heat of the match.

This is what she was born to be doing.

She sets her backpack by the gate, swaps her sneakers for skates. There’s a few discarded pucks at the bottom of the stairs, probably forgotten after practice. She plucks one up and the familiar weight of it spreads a smile across her face. She’s got this.

The ice is polished smooth after yesterday’s skating, and the air is crisp and still. The only lights are the two golden emergency lights, leaving a lot of shadows around the rink. Unlike the shadows on her journey here, though, these are just a background. She doesn’t bother to stop and consider what they might conceal.

She opens the gate and steps onto the ice gently, her racing heart calming at last. She pushes forward with her right foot, gliding onto the rink. The gate clicks behind her, echoing before the whole big room fades to silence once more. She takes a deep breath, a cool breeze gracing her cheeks.

She sticks her arms out just a bit, her hockey stick clutched in one hand, gracefully skating along. When she reaches the far side of the rink, she leans to turn, and then tosses her picked up puck onto the ice a few feet ahead. She’s here at last.

It takes one swing to launch it into the goal across the way. Even without practice for months in a row, she’s still got good aim. The realization sends a smile across her face--they took so much from her, but they can’t take this. She swings wide around the goal, knocks the puck back out, and begins to skate her way across the rink again, guiding it forward.

She speeds up, pushing herself to her limit. Her legs start to burn, and the cold air starts making her throat scratchy, but she’s focused only on the puck, on launching it into the net over and over and over again. She twirls and turns, going through the motions of moves she’d half-forgotten, locked away in houses she never belonged in. They all come back to her easily, and her eyes stay trained on her little black target, concentrated—

A knocking sound catches her attention. A pale fist is tapping the side of the rink beside the gate, echoing into the stillness of the half-lit room. It’s shadowy, but she’d recognize this person even if he were no more than a solid black silhouette. Golden buttons are the easiest thing to see, catching what dim light they can and reflecting in sparkles. A massive hat hangs over the newcomer’s eyes, shielding his face, but she knows it’s masked anyway.

“Hey, kid?” He calls out, and it’s unmistakable. This is the same face, same voice, that she used to watch on the news with Grandpa. She’s stunned and for a moment just slides along the ice, trying to string even half a coherent thought into place. The visitor, for his part, just leans against the wall of the rink, watching and waiting.

She pulls herself together somewhat, in the span of a minute, and skids against the ice, her skates catching in it and leaving gashes behind. So much for a peaceful moment to herself, she thinks, but it’s absent of the usual bitter anger. This is—well, she knows that costume. Her beak drops open and her heart starts to race viciously. The onset of shock has her half-breathless but somehow she manages to choke out his name. “Darkwing?”

Her voice is somehow too loud and too quiet. It echoes off the empty bleachers, same as every noise in here does, but it’s a sound made in surprise so it’s not much more than a gasp. He replies with a smile, a friendly one that his too-big hat and too-dark mask can’t obscure.

“What’re you doing out here? It’s almost two am.”

“Skating!” She chirps, as if that isn’t obvious. Her heart is starting to feel less like it’s going to leap out of her chest, and she regains her balance for the most part. She pushes off again, moving to make a loop around the rink that would put a bit of distance between them. Vaguely she wonders if her current guardians called in some help, if he’s here to haul her back. Suddenly she’s less sure about letting them take her after tonight.

She watches him the whole time she skates away, and he watches her in kind. This rink is the smaller of the two in the building, which she chose because she’s out of practice, but that means there’s only one way off the ice. One exit, and he’s standing right beside it, blocking the way. To make it worse, her only possessions are piled up over there too, including her shoes. Even if she was willing to abandon her stuff(she’s not) and run for it, if she thought she could get away(she doesn’t) she isn’t going to get anywhere in her skates.

“I noticed that. You’re pretty good at it.” He doesn’t seem to want to hurt her or take her back, so her anxiety starts to dissipate, but she’s sure something is coming to rip the rug out from under her. Isn’t it always? Adults wanting her to sit still, Gosalyn, be good. Gosalyn, stay home. Gosalyn, sports are for the boys.

She’s done listening.

“Thank you. Uh, what are you doing out here?” Her surprise is mostly faded, seeing as how he’s no more than a person standing there. Instead, she grips tighter to her hockey stick, turning white-knuckled at the thought she’s going to lose out again and be dragged somewhere she’s unhappy.

“Well, I was on my patrol, making sure the city’s safe, and I saw someone out at this hour who probably shouldn’t be. I wanted to investigate.”

“I’m fine. You can go, I’m just gonna be here a little longer.”

“Aren’t your parents going to worry about you?”

“Don’t got parents,” she declares, punctuating her sentence with a hit on the puck. It slides flawlessly into the goal, as every one has tonight. “Nobody’s gonna worry about little old me.”

“Well, I am. Worried about you, that is. You’re what, ten? And you’re out in the city alone.”

“I’m eleven,” she says boldly, chasing her puck. She raises her volume a little so he can hear. “I’m old enough. And nobody’s gonna care I’m out here, and I’ll be gone way before they open so they’re not gonna even notice.”

“Well, Miss Old-Enough, you’re still a kid, and it’s my duty as a hero to make sure you’re safe. Don’t you have a home to go back to?”

“My name is Gosalyn!” She yells, whacking the puck and shooting off after it. She catches it before it whizzes past Darkwing, and slows to a halt just out of his reach. She’s not wearing a helmet or anything, so he can see her green eyes and she can see his dark ones, though they’re kind of obscured by the shadow of his hat.

“Gosalyn,” he corrects himself, letting his question go. Her actions sort of answer that for him. His eyes peer over her, and she wonders briefly what of her physical damage he’s taking in. “Have you eaten lately, Gosalyn?”

“Uh, no,” she recalls the smashed plate and swinging fist that replaced last night’s meal. And her foster father had been stomping around at midday, so she’d hidden in her room instead of getting lunch. “Not since breakfast yesterday.”

“Do you <i>want</i> something to eat?” He offers. The genuine concern in his voice is heavy, and like the officer the night everything changed, she knows he’s looking out for her.

“...yes, please.”

He gives her space, lets her swap skates for sneakers and lead the way outside. It’s as if he knows she’s nervous having him close enough to touch her, so he stands back. It makes it easier to trust him when he guides her to a Hamburger Hippo for some late night fries and a burger, and tells her she can have it however she wants. She thinks about coming to these restaurants with Grandpa and how she’d always get extra cheese on the burger, and she’d inevitably get some on her shirt.

DW tells her it’s a good choice, and carries her soda for her. It’s strange, having someone willing to let her choose. It’s been a while since that’s happened. They make their way to a rooftop above the nearest intersection, and watch the cars pass and the lights turn their cycle.

It’s quiet for a long moment. She scarfs down her food, hands trembling so hard that the ice in her cola clinks against itself. She doesn’t want him to tell her the meal is over when she’s still got some left, because that would just leave her hungry sooner since she didn’t get it all down. She downs her burger before the lights have cycled three times around the intersection below them.

Darkwing is quiet, at first, just like she’d always thought him to be. But then he turns to her, watching her eat from a bit of a distance. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe, you can slow down. I’m not gonna take it from you.”

“How did you—” Gos looks up at him, then sits up straighter, assuming her cool kid attitude again. “Yeah, whatever. What do you care about me anyway?”

“You shouldn’t be alone out here,” he murmurs, looking down at the traffic. A red car has pulled up to the light, coughing out smoke as it rumbles. She covers her nose with her sleeve, and he flicks his cape out dramatically to clear the air as the car rolls down the street.

“St Canard is a good city, but not all of the things in it are.” He shakes his head absently. “You need a roof over your head. A family.”

“I lost my family a while ago,” she says bitterly, forcing tears away. “The stupid and mean and ugly foster parents could care less.”

“I’m going to guess one of those foster parents gave you your shiner, huh?”

She pauses for a long moment. He knows anyway, she doesn’t have to say it. She watches a green station wagon approach the lights below. There’s a kid in a blue shirt sticking his whole head and shoulders out the window, spiky white hair bouncing as the car comes to a stop. She can hear the driver squawking at the kid to sit back even from this distance, and in other circumstances she would laugh. It’s as if the universe is taunting her with this loving relationship, something she wants so badly but it’s just so far out of reach.

“...He gets really angry. He threw some stuff and broke it, and—and I didn’t mean to do anything, but he started to hurt me anyway.” Gos’s voice rises in pitch as she speaks, so she takes a breath before her next sentence, trying to stay level-headed for Darkwing. “I don’t care what the social worker says, I’m not gonna make them my family.”

“If he hit you, you aren’t going back. I’ll take you down to the offices in the morning and have a friend of mine make sure he stays away from you.”

Gos stops eating, slowly looking up to him. She was so sure he’d call her whiny or tell her she needed to listen to the adults in her life. Her social worker and the foster people before always did. “What?”

“People don’t run away for no reason,” he turns to her, and for the first time she can see his face entirely unobstructed by shadows. He’s looking right at her with a gentle expression. “It’s wrong to force you into a situation you don’t want to be in, especially if that situation is one you’ve obviously been hurt in. Sometimes you won’t have a choice, given that you’re a kid, and you might be in a place you don’t like. But if you’re in a place you’re unsafe? They should listen to you, and protect you. It’s awful that’s not always the case.”

“Oh. Well… yeah. I don’t want to do that.” Things fall quiet for a moment, but then Gosalyn realizes something. “You mean that from experience, don’t you, Darkwing?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” He takes to watching the road below, and his brow furrows with something she feels but can’t name. “It took me a while to meet the people I love, and I dealt with a lot of awful people before I met the good ones.”

Things fall silent between them for a long moment, but then he declares, “You’ll find that too, eventually.”

She scoffs, crumpling up a wrapper from her food. “I’d sure like to have what I did with Grandpa again, but that’s over. I kinda gave up by now on finding a home that cares like that. Nobody else wants me anymore.”

“That’s the brilliant thing about life, Gosalyn.” He gazes out at the city lights, as if they hold the secret to what he’s about to say. She looks out there too, nibbling on her fries while she listens.

“You always have a chance to find something better. There’s a lot of people out there,” he gestures with his cape, a sweeping motion encompassing the huge city and the world beyond it. “A lot of people both good and bad. Someone is bound to meet you, and to want you to become part of their life. Someone who will want you and all that spirit you’ve got.”

“...spirit?” She asks, voice small. She looks away from the sparkling city lights. Darkwing nods seriously, returning the look, and smiles a bit to reassure her. “Of course. It takes a lot of spirit to get yourself safe like you did tonight. Maybe you didn’t have a place to go, but you got out of there on your own.”

“Thanks, Darkwing,” she murmurs. His words sit heavy against her chest, settling in, and she feels warm. Safe. She did get herself safe, didn’t she? Maybe there were better ways than going to the ice rink, but she sure found capable hands to help her. And that’s pretty alright, she thinks. Grandpa would probably be proud.

She finishes her food and talks with Darkwing a while longer. Not about anything in particular, mostly just talking to fill the silence. Even just having his attention focused on her makes her feel warm inside again, though. He’s made it clear he can see her, something no one else has lately, and for that she trusts him to take her to the social worker’s office when dawn begins to break. She doesn’t much want to have him leave her, and to be alone again, but he kneels down on the front steps of the building to promise her she won’t be. He’s a hero of the shadows, but he will be there to protect her on her journey’s next step. It’s his job, he reassures her, and she feels a bit of confidence and strength in moving on. Chasing the family he promised her is out there.

It’s the first time in months she’s got someone in her corner, handing her even the smallest bit of control over what happens to her.

Her next destination is a group home in the city. Unlike the others, where the kids were just names on the waiting lists, these kids are about to be adopted. Within her first week one of the six kids vacates his bed, off to live with his family. Two of the others have met their prospective parents. The situation gives Gos a bit more hope for herself, and the kids here are all much nicer. On their best behavior to get to their families, she supposes.

And she’s only there a few weeks before she meets her own.

Drake is friendly, and she likes him immediately because he’s wearing a Darkwing shirt the day they meet. He’s also short—they’re almost the same height, and she’s eleven—and she picks on him every time they meet up. He jokes with her too, about how constantly messy her hair is and how she’s often covered in dirt from playing in the yard or street. She feels comfortable calling him Dad before the paperwork is done, even, and it’s a pretty quick process.

Launchpad’s big and not as smart, but full to the brim with kindness and fun ideas. He’s always down for buying her lunch or going to do crazy stuff, like doing every ride at the city carnival or, when she finds out he’s a pilot, taking her to fly over the city. He even lets her take the controls for a couple of minutes, and she relishes the feeling of holding the sticks for a week.

She realizes Drake is Darkwing pretty quick. He claims she just caught on because she’s smart, and she’ll take the praise! But she knows, honestly, he’s just not hiding it well. He lives for attention just like she does.

And really, living with a superhero and his pilot partner is her dream. Plus her dad has like, every tiny bit of Darkwing merch he could find, so when she gets to move in with them she’s in heaven. She gets everything she wants, and hardly ever even has to ask. It’s a bunch of her fantasy dreams of days gone by, wrapped up into a beautiful reality.

Still, it takes the heaviness of her Grandpa’s death to make her truly feel like it’s home.

The day was always bound to be a rough one, in general, but it’s really a bad day dawn to dusk. Her soccer game is rained out, and LP’s flight home from a trip with the McDucks is delayed because they can’t safely land with it so stormy. And with her new buddy Honker grounded for one of their escapades she’s got no distractions from the heavy ache that’s started to claw open her chest as she thinks more and more of Grandpa. She spends a long while thinking about that dark night, about the broken glass and the cold.

Her head turns to a sort of haze, and she can’t quite figure out why. Her room stretches out around her, full of shiny new things and evidence of love from her dads. She can hardly breathe looking at what she has while thinking of what once was. Her usual fiery spirit fades into something cold, a vice gripping her chest ‘til she starts panting, hands shaking, and she crawls under the bed hoping the closeness of it will help fill the yawning sinkhole where his love used to be.

The carpet pressed against her side and her cheek help to ground her, and the mattress creates a closer ceiling that blocks out the sensory input of the million and one things in her room. Slowly, with care and focus, she claws her way back to reality, gripping the fabric of her shirt that hangs over her shoulders until she realizes she’s made her knuckles ache, and releases it.

She hears her phone buzz on the bedside table where she left it, but ignores it. The carpet’s cool against her cheek, and she doesn’t have much energy. The familiar sense of wet, suffocating grief has filled her chest like water in a balloon and she focuses instead on breathing in, holding on, letting go, over and over again.

From her spot on the floor, one eye squished shut from the way she’s ended up, she looks to the space where the wall meets the floor. Her eyes blur with tears she doesn’t want to shed and she notices that the paint on the wall isn’t covering it very well. She’s almost laughing at this situation, because it’s kind of silly how she knew today would come, but was unprepared for this feeling anyway.

Thunder crashes outside, and she draws her knees to her chest. Stupid storm. She should be out there celebrating a soccer victory and greeting Launchdad when he gets home. The world must hate her, leaving her—another rumbling bout of thunder and a flash of lightning shuts the power clean off.

Great.

She doesn’t even feel like moving then. Dad can get the lights back on, she’s seen him have to dozens of times when she or Launchdad pop the breakers when fiddling with cars in the garage. She just lies there, in the dark, holding her knees to her chest and missing Grandpa’s laughter and dumb jokes.

Her phone buzzes again, and the lights don’t come back on. She stays still, quiet, painfully hollow….

“Gos?”

Her dad’s voice is quiet. She hears him step inside the doorway, and a pause follows. Her phone buzzes again, and she hears him looking around the room. The closet door opens, she sees his feet appear as he starts circling the bed looking for her.

She expects him to leave then, like the times before when people missed her hiding away, but this time is different. Before, she never wanted anyone to find her, and was never discovered. Today, when she’s feeling so vacant and aching, so desperate for love to fill the emptiness, she watches him kneel beside the bed and peek under it. She looks out at him, and can hardly blink in greeting.

“Hey, sweetheart. Do you want some company?”

She nods, and her cheek rubs against the carpet. It’s uncomfortable but she doesn’t have much fuel for anything more.

He lies down beside the bed. Distanced, like that rooftop night, but close enough to remind her she’s not alone in the universe.

“LP called. He’s driving home instead. It’ll be a bit longer, but he won’t miss dinner.”

Gos’s energy is zapped, so she lies still, but looks at him to show she’s listening.

“We aren’t going to patrol in the rain. Plus he’s tired, for sure. So you’ll have us all night, that’s good news. And… let me think…. Well, the power outage isn’t good. It’s the whole street at least. The good part is this means we can put a little fort up in the living room and read some darkwing comics, if you want. I just bought some batteries for the flashlights.”

She nods slowly, lifting her head a bit. Those are good things.

“Okay. We can do that. I was going to make dinner, but since the power went kaput I’ll get Hamburger Hippo delivered, soon as LP gets a bit closer. Get you some fries and a burger.”

“...extra cheese?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Same as always, you can have anything you want.”

She scoots toward him, and out from her hiding place. Her heart still feels like a popped water balloon, emotions splashed everywhere, and the tears are finally here, threatening to splash on her shirt in a more literal sense. But she’s got good things that came from choices she was allowed to make, and that helps some.

He sits up, and holds her close while she needs physical comfort. She hiccups and hugs him close as she can. It hurts, this day, and all the things in it, but in the middle of her emotional hurricane, she knows she’s finally been found and brought home in every way that matters.

#ducktales #darkwing duck #gosalyn mallard #drake mallard #officer cabrera #m'ma cabrera #launchpad mcquack #tw child abuse #tw running away #fanfic #mine!#jay’s fics #my longest fic & my proudest work please leave me a comment or whatever on it #also this is my last big dt17 gos hurrah before we see her! we've almost made it!

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