#hey look i had more launchpad feelings

[sherewrytes]

ℂℝ𝕌𝕊𝕀ℕ', 𝓒 𝓼𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻

The soft hum of city life buzzed around you as you adjusted the strap of your Diesel purse on your shoulder. The night air was cool, tinged with the faint scent of freshly baked pretzels from a nearby food cart. Neon signs flickered, casting vibrant colors onto the sidewalk as you made your way to the entrance of The Vibe, an exclusive club in the heart of downtown L.A. Your heart pounded with excitement and a hint of nervousness. Tonight was a big night for Connie, your boyfriend of six months, as he was set to perform his new single for the first time.

The bouncer nodded at you, recognizing you immediately. Being a top fashion model for Ony’s girlfriend’s new and upcoming fashion label, Xera, had its perks. You smiled back, offering a polite nod before slipping inside. The interior of The Vibe was a kaleidoscope of flashing lights and pulsing music, a perfect blend of chaos and harmony. You scanned the crowd, spotting familiar faces and a few industry moguls. Connie’s performance tonight was more than just a gig; it was a potential launchpad to stardom.

As you made your way to the VIP section, you couldn't help but reflect on how far you and Connie had come in such a short time. You were once just a graphic and web designer, content with your creative world behind the screen. Then Ony had introduced you to his girlfriend, Delle Ceasar, and suddenly, you were thrust into the glitz and glamour of the fashion world. Meeting Connie at one of Xera’s fashion shows had been serendipitous. His charisma, talent, and genuine nature had drawn you in from the moment you laid eyes on him.

"Y/N!" a familiar voice called out, snapping you from your reverie. You turned to see Ony making his way towards you, a grin plastered on his face. His arm was draped over the shoulders of his girlfriend, Delle, who wore one of her latest Xera creations. They looked like the ultimate power couple.

"Hey, Ony! Hey, Delle!" you greeted them, exchanging hugs. "Y’all ready for Connie’s big night?"

"Absolutely," Ony replied, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "This is just the beginning for him. And for you too, Y/N. Y’all like the ultimate dream team."

Delle nodded in agreement. "You’ve been his rock, Y/N. He’s lucky to have you."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thanks, y’all. I’m just glad to be here for him."

As the night wore on, you found yourself by Connie’s side backstage. He was pacing, a bundle of nerves and energy, his usual confident demeanor slightly shaken. You placed a hand on his arm, stopping his frantic movements.

"Hey, babe," you said softly, looking into his eyes. "You got this. I believe in you."

Connie stopped, taking a deep breath. "Thanks, Y/N. I just… this is huge, you know? don’t wanna mess it up."

"You won’t," you assured him. "You’ve worked so hard for this. Just go out there and do what you do best. I’ll be right here, cheerin' you on."

He pulled you into a tight embrace, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "What did I do to deserve you?"

You laughed, the sound light and filled with love. "You just be you, Connie. That’s more than enough."

The moment finally arrived. The lights dimmed, and the crowd’s chatter hushed to a murmur. You stood in the wings, your heart pounding in time with the opening beats of Connie’s new single Mister Misfit. He stepped onto the stage, the spotlight catching the gleam of determination in his eyes. As he began to rap, the words flowed effortlessly, his voice commanding and raw. The audience was captivated, swaying and nodding to the rhythm.

You watched, pride swelling in your chest. This was Connie’s moment, and he was seizing it with everything he had. The connection you felt with him was undeniable, a bond that had only grown stronger over the past six months. As he finished his performance, the crowd erupted into applause, and you couldn’t help but let out a cheer of your own.

Connie looked over, his eyes finding yours in the sea of faces. He smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that spoke volumes. This was just the beginning, not only for his career but for the journey you were on together.

Connie walked off the stage in the nightclub straight backstage to you and scooped you up in his arms. "Thanks for being here Ma. If you weren't I'd choke up there." You giggled as her spun you around. You say Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Ony and his bf walking up to greet Connie on his performance. Connie put you down to dap up both Eren and Ony

"Got to say man Con' I was a lil worried about this new single since it's a bit different than your usual shit. Most people don't dabble with new sounds this early on." Armin said to Connie.

Armin came from big family of the largest record company Paradia Records were all his friends were signed to with more than favorable record deals.

Connie rolled his eyes, taking the blunt from Eren's hand to spark it and take a drag "Yah man, told you and your old ass fam I know my shit when it comes to music" Armin laughed knowing Connie was right.

Everyone left backstage and headed to the VIP section of Mikasa's family nightclub The Vibe to turn up.

After the show, you found yourselves cruising through the city in his blacked-out Corvette, the night alive with possibilities. "Differences" by Ginuwine played softly from the speakers, a fitting soundtrack to the evening. Connie reached over, entwining his fingers with yours.

"Thank you for believin' in me, Y/N," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I couldn’t have done this without you."

You squeezed his hand, looking at him with all the love you felt in your heart. "And I couldn’t imagine bein' anywhere else. We’re in this together, Connie. Now and always."

The car ride was smooth, the city lights whizzing by as the music filled the silence. Connie glanced at you, his eyes soft and full of unspoken promises. "You know, when I was out there tonight, all I could think about was you. How you’ve been there for me through all the grind, all the late nights. You my ride or die, Y/N."

You smiled, your heart swelling with emotion. "And you mine. Ain’t nothin’ we can’t handle together."

He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Remember that time you stayed up with me all night, helpin’ me write those lyrics? Man, you had some bars! I was like, damn, my girl got talent."

You laughed, remembering the night vividly. "Well, I do what I can. We make a good team, don’t we?"

"The best," he agreed, his grip on your hand tightening for a moment. "I ain’t never had nobody like you, Y/N. You different."

The words of Ginuwine's "Differences" seemed to echo his sentiment, the lyrics weaving a tapestry of your journey together. As the car cruised down the highway, the cityscape morphing into quieter suburbs, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. This was your life now, a mix of hustle and heart, dreams and determination.

"You know," Connie said after a while, his voice soft, "I been thinkin’... we should celebrate tonight. Just you and me. Get away from all this for a minute. How about we head to that little spot by the lake? The one you love so much."

Your eyes lit up at the suggestion. "That sounds perfect. Just us, some good music, and the stars. Ain’t no better way to celebrate."

Connie smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Then it’s a date. Let’s get outta here, ma."

As you left the city behind, the road stretching out before you, you felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Life had a funny way of bringing people together, of creating connections that were both unexpected and extraordinary. With Connie by your side, you knew that no matter what the future held, you were ready to face it head-on, together.

The night was still young, and as the two of you cruised towards the lake, the stars shining brightly above, you couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning. A story of love, dreams, and the unbreakable bond that tied you and Connie together.

Lemme know if you want this to be a multific

[giddlygoat]

As a platonic relationship, how would you write/headcanon Drake and Launchpad being best friends?

hey, thanks so much for the ask!! i actually think about drakepad as besties a lot because the idea of them being platonic soulmates rattles around in my noggin like a ball in a bell

i will be perfectly honest, i don’t think much would actually change. like, i tend to view many of their interactions in the show through a romantic lens, but they also read well as close friends. i like how affectionate they are with each other, even in little ways. drake never hesitates to get in LP’s personal space with his dramatic gestures and constant shirt-clutching, and LP, while more conscious of himself, also has no apprehensions about it. it reminds me of friends i’ve had and some interactions with my siblings lawl.

drakepad in a platonic context is just so delicious though like . i’ve always viewed them as friends first, if that makes sense? like, they know and trust each other so wholly. they work together like a well oiled machine. they’re ingrained and immovable parts of each other’s lives. all of this is true regardless of whether or not they also kiss about it. that kind of dynamic makes me so incredibly happy.

i love the concept of launchpad hyping drake up like no tomorrow for a first date or listening in rapt attention as drake gushes about someone he admires. they would wingman each other so hard dawg.

truthfully, i think the way launchpad carries himself in the show is somewhat influenced by his feelings for drake. he not only wants to impress drake and lift him up, but also goes out of his way to supply every little thing he can presently and emotionally. he pours a frankly unhealthy amount of himself into their relationship that drake doesn’t nearly make up for in his own efforts, so their relationship definitely has toxic aspects.

looking at launchpad and drake as platonic, i imagine the dynamic would change a bit. launchpad is still a people pleaser and a love-through-service kind of person, and drake is still an unstable egotistical user, but there’s no romantic tension warping anyone’s behavior significantly.

launchpad still holds drake’s opinion incredibly high, but he isn’t as afraid to say no, for example. drake still takes launchpad for granted and deflects most anything that isn’t direct praise, but he knows LP isn’t stupid.

even with all their flaws, i think they really do make each other better. and yes, launchpad will ALWAYS be like a dad to gos. that’s not negotiable.

[tokuvivor]

May I please request “alright, who am i beating up?” for Donald & LP?

You certainly may! Alright, let’s do it.

I give you…

Splitting Time

Originated from this post.

Donald couldn’t sleep.

It was unseasonably hot for this time of year. Heck, it was September; it was supposed to feel more like fall by this point!

He glanced at the clock. 4:30.

“Well,” he figured, “I went to bed fairly early last night. Might as well get up now. As they say, early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.” He chuckled, remembering the first time he ever tried to turn in early. It ended with his alarm clock (the old-fashioned kind) broken, his mattress destroyed, and Donald himself somehow ending up looking like a snake charmer.

He made himself some coffee, and then went outside to enjoy it. After a couple sips, he heard a loud noise coming from inside the mansion.

“What the heck was that?” he shouted. He out down his coffee, and picked up an oar, ready to attack whoever might be intruding in the mansion at this hour.

The noise got louder as he approached the mansion. “Alright, you son of a gun!” he shouted. “Come get a taste of my oar!”

Except it wasn’t an intruder. It turns out that Donald wasn’t the only one in the house that decided to get an early start.

“Launchpad?”

The pilot looked up from his cereal. “Oh. Hey, Mr. D.”

“What the heck are you doing up so early?” questioned the sailor.

“Night patrol with DW,” replied Launchpad. “Then gotta bring Mr. McD to a big meeting at the Bin later today.”

“Wow,” chuckled Donald. “Anyway, why don’t we take this outside? Everyone else is probably still asleep.”

“Sure,” Launchpad answered. “Do you want anything?”

Then Donald realized he had left his coffee on the houseboat. “Oh, phooey, I forgot my coffee,” he grumbled. “I’ll get myself some OJ, I guess.”

After Donald poured himself a glass of juice, he and Launchpad made their way out onto the patio, sitting on the edge of it.

“Not too bad, I guess,” commented Launchpad. “Certainly compared to in there.”

Donald nodded in agreement. There was at least a light breeze rolling by in the pitch black of the early morning.

There were several moments of silence. Then Launchpad spoke. “Hey, Mr. D?”

Donald turned towards Launchpad. “Mmm?”

“Am I a good pilot?”

Donald was shocked by the question. “I mean, you’re a bit unorthodox, but I would say yes, you are. Why?”

Launchpad sighed.

“Did anyone say that you weren’t? Alright, who am I beating up?”

“Whoa, whoa! Mr. D,” exclaimed Launchpad, holding his arm out in front of the smaller man. “No one has. It’s not like that. I guess it’s just that sometimes, I doubt myself.”

Donald looked at Launchpad curiously and intently. “And why do you doubt yourself?”

“I mean, look at me,” Launchpad commented. “I crash.”

“Well, yes,” Donald responded. “But you know how to do it right. I, along with the rest of the family, sorta expect it from you by this point.”

“Okay, okay, you’ve got a point there,” admitted Launchpad. “But beyond that, like, since your sister came back, we’ve kinda split duties on the Sunchaser. But she’s way better than me at this whole piloting thing. And I feel like Mr. McD prefers her to me. And ever since I started doing Darkwing and Pilot stuff in St. Canard, well, I haven’t been needed as much here, anyway. It feels like I’m looking over my shoulder.”

“Look, buddy,” began Donald, putting his hand on the pilot’s arm, “just because you have more responsibilities to attend to, it does not mean you’re any less important here. With Uncle Scrooge’s elevated push to find the Missing Mysteries, he needs all the help he can get. And as for whether he favors Della over you, that’s baloney. He appreciates both of you as his pilots. And Della is not perfect as a pilot, herself. She would likely be the first to tell you that. As long as you both get people where they’re going, as long as you get back up, dust yourselves off, that’s all that matters at the end of the day.”

Launchpad nodded.

“And hey,” continued Donald, “we understand that Drake and Gosalyn need you more now, too. You don’t have to keep rushing back and forth between Duckburg and St. Canard. You can absolutely find a way to be both Darkwing Duck’s sidekick and Scrooge McDuck’s pilot.”

Launchpad continued nodding, taking a gradual sip of juice. “What would that mean?” he wondered.

“Well, for one,” explained Donald, “you could try staying over at Drake’s apartment more often, instead of wearing yourself out getting back here. If you’re not in the best shape to get Uncle Scrooge to that meeting later today, Della could always do it. How about you sleep on it, and figure it out when you wake up?”

“Alright. I will,” Launchpad replied. “Thanks, Mr. D.”

“You’re welcome, Launchpad. Have a good sleep.”

The two put their dishes in the sink, and then Launchpad headed off to the garage to sleep off his patrol.

Donald headed back outside, returning to the houseboat to get back to his coffee. Sure, it was probably cold by now, but he didn’t care. It was worth it being able to help his friend out with his present situation.

[godfrey-the-chaos-duck]

(this is late because I was super busy yesterday but idc)

Webby Week Day 2: Vacation/Sleepover!

Planning a vacation, Webby had realised, was far, far different to planning an adventure.

Scrooge certainly enjoyed it less, for a start. All the hassle of preparing, but with no death-traps, ancient curses or lost tribes - and no treasure to show for it at the end, either.

Donald, quite on the other hand, was revelling in it. He had his suitcase all packed, and he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt that looked like it was from 1996, and a pair of glittery sunglasses.

Huey was all packed too, as he had been for the last three days ("A Woodchuck must always be prepared", he had said when Louie was confused why he was packing so early)

Dewey couldn't wait. He had a travel playlist all picked out, with requests from some of the others (Della had suggested some of her favourites from Powerline, and Dewey just couldn't say no) and was more than ready to make this the most epic vacation in all of history.

Even Beakley was excited (though she still insisted on bringing survival gear and weaponry - the main advantage of having Launchpad and Della as pilots was that airport security wasn't a problem).

Now the day had arrived. They would touch down in Madrid, and have the most relaxing week of their lives.

But something - no, someone - wasn't here yet.

"So, is Lena coming, or are we just gonna wait here?" Louie asked, as Webby tried not to look too disheartened.

"Well, I haven't heard anything from her yet today," Webby answered, "Can we just wait a couple more minutes?"

"It's ok, Webby," Della said, kneeling to meet her eyes, "I'm sure she's just finishing getting ready, that's all."

"But what if she forgot?" Webby looked anxiously at her, "What if something came up and she never told me? What if she's sick, or hurt, or-"

"Whoa, calm down that brain of yours," Della put a hand on her shoulder to bring her back to the present, "I understand you're worried, but I'm sure she's fine. How about you text her again, and see?"

Webby opened her phone.

Sure enough, a message popped up on the screen.

"On the way, sorry I'm late, I got caught up with Violet, see ya soon Pink 💝" the message read. Webby smiled.

"See? What'd I tell you?" Della ruffled Webby's hair, making her giggle.

A few minutes later, there came a knock at the front door.

"I'll get it!" Webby bolted down the foyer, and opened the door. There, with a backpack on, and looking very pleased, was Lena.

Webby ran up to her and hugged her.

"Hey," Lena said, "I'm so sorry, I woke up late, and Violet insisted on trying to teach me some Spanish..."

"It's ok, you're here now," Webby replied, "But I was kinda worried about you."

"I still can't believe your family's letting me come on vacation with you," Lena looked around, "I mean, sleeping over is one thing, but I guess this kinda feels weird, like I shouldn't be here."

"Don't ever say that," Webby told her, "You're the best, and we're lucky to have you."

"Besides, if anything crazy happens, it'd do us good to have a sorceress around," Dewey pointed out.

"Nope, nothing crazy is happening this week," Louie said, "We are going to Madrid, and I am going to sit down, sunbathe and eat churros!"

"Ah, you're here!" Scrooge smiled when he saw Lena, "Let's get going, shall we?"

Lena nodded.

"To adventure!" Della cried.

"No," Webby responded, "To vacation!"

[thecrusadercomrade]

So, how'd Trickening hold up? How were Donald and Della (with their angel/devil costumes and their dynamic here)? How'd you like Scrooge, Donald, Della, Huey, Dewey, Louie, Webby, Launchpad, and Beakley's costumes? How were the haunted house monsters? How well were Huey and Louie's stuff handled with Huey wanting to trick or treat like the old days and Louie wanting to simply get as much candy as possible, with their chat in the end of the episode?

An angel and a devil were a very good choice for those two XD. Wasn't too impressed with Della wanting to utterly traumatize kids here. At least Donald was there to reign her in a little bit before everything ultimately went wrong. I'd definitely consider myself more of a Donald than a Della.

Scrooge had a good costume, but I wasn't very sympathetic to him this episode. Not handing out candy but also going to get candy from everyone else, and then charging people for candy? He'd be an antagonist in any other Halloween episode/movie.

I liked Donald and Della's costumes, as I've already said. Very fitting.

Huey's was cute, and probably closest to the "traditional" Halloween costume you'd expect, being cheap but also having a lot of effort put into it.

Dewey's costume was at least fun and creative, even if it was lazy.

Louie's costume was just lazy, but also a little funny so I can't complain.

Not so sure if Webby's research checks out, but hey, at least she has the passion!

Never would've expected Launchpad to go for the slasher villain style of costume! Of course, considering he didn't know what Halloween was, I doubt it was on purpose.

Was Beakley in the episode? I don't remember her, I can't find any images of it when I look it up, and I even skimmed the episode again but couldn't find her.

Pretty meta that these classical monsters are having to dress up as more modern horror icons just to get the same reactions of terror that they used to invoke.

I feel like Louie and Huey both represent two sides of the holiday. Louie represents the people who only really care about the candy and getting as much as possible, while Huey is much more into the spirit of Halloween, making cool costumes, going door to door, that sort of thing.

[emilou-keen-gear]

Case Closed/DT AU Part 1

Drake spotted Launchpad coming in through the film studio door. It wasn't unusual for him to come by after his shift with the SCPD, especially since the studio had free food for the crew and nobody minded an off-duty police officer stopping by and taking care of some of the leftovers. However, when he saw that Launchpad wasn't alone, he remembered that his best friend had been talking about his childhood friend visiting. They walked in, hand-in-hand. According to Launchpad, "You'll like her."

That remained to be seen. Not that Drake was distant or anything, he just had a hard time liking anyone. Now that he'd starred in a few big movies, he realized how fake some people could be, wanting to be friends with someone famous. But he supposed that no matter who his best friend dated, he had to at least be civil.

"Hey, Drake," Launchpad said, bypassing the table of food to greet his friend, although his eyes strayed as if taking in the variety of snacks. "I'd like you to meet my friend, Charity Agapo."

"It's a pleasure," Drake said. This was the first time Launchpad mentioned Charity's last name, and he thought it sounded familiar.

"Likewise," Charity said, taking his offered hand and shaking it. She had a big smile on her face. Like, fan-girl big. She might be one of...those girls.

"Warning, Drake. She's a huge fan," Launchpad said with a wink.

Charity softly elbowed the large duck. "Launchpad..." Her smile lessened and she tilted her head down, but she still looked at Drake with a twinkle in her eye.

Yes, definitely one of those girls. Not that he minded fans. The more he had, the better he did in the box office. He just hoped she wasn't too...enthusiastic.

"She's also a singer," Launchpad said. "Did I mention that? She's with a recording company in New York."

"Was," Charity corrected, straightening her back. "I left them. I'm signing a contract with a company here in St. Canard later today. It's why I'm moving out here."

"She sounds great," Launchpad said. "We should go to one of her concerts."

Drake nodded noncommitally. He hadn't heard anything about her, but then again, he didn't really follow music, especially pop. Charity looked like she was a pop singer.

"I can't believe you're friends with Drake Mallard," Charity said, looking to Launchpad. She then turned to Drake, pulling a hand on his arm. "He didn't tell me until today. Can you believe this guy? Totally pulled the wool over my head."

Drake was a bit astounded at how friendly the girl was. Here she was, her arm around her boyfriend's, and she was practically flirting with him. He was definitely going to have to keep his guard up around her. Whatever was her goal, he was not going to be the one that hurt Launchpad.

That's when he recalled where he had heard the name Agapo. It was a case he had worked on several years ago while investigating Steelbeak's organization. He had done business with an Agapo. Was she related? Was it coincidence that she had moved to St. Canard.

And didn't Launchpad mention that she had come from money, that her family was well off. Well, anyone who associated with FOWL probably was well off, and they didn't come by their money by working hard.

Drake decided that when he returned to Darkwing Tower that night, he would definitely be investigating Charity Agapo.

***

Just a little work on my Case Closed/DT Au. I'm not writing a full story (maybe if I feel like it in the future) but I want to do a few scenes here and there. I plan on doing a lot more, playing with the story and the characters more and more.

[panfluidme]

Twins of Chaos

Master Post, Chapter One

CHAPTER TWO: A PERFECT JOB

Once in the room, they set down their stuff, and decided to just hang out and discuss their next plans.

"Obviously, we're going to need a job and an apartment."

Leo nodded. "Right. I'll start job hunting."

"I could sell some machine blueprints to scrape by until then?"

"You don't need those blueprints, right? I don't want you to sell things you need, or might need."

"Oh. I'll still have them. I'll make them digital and sell them there."

"Alright, then," Leo shrugged.

Donnie sat on his bed, tapping his fingers on his legs. "This feels weird."

Leo looked at him with a questioning look.

"You look so different. I haven't seen what I look like, but I assume it's not pretty?"

"What are you talking about?" Leo asked. He got up, and grabbed Donnie's hand, then brought him to the mirror that was on the bathroom door.

Donnie blinked, staring at his reflection. "That's me?"

Leo nodded. "Yep."

Donnie looked at Leo. "We look more like twins like this than in our actual looks."

Leo nodded again. "Correct again, mi hermano."

"We're still not twins, but we do look like it."

"Yeah, we could really fool everyone into thinking we're actual twins with this," Leo laughed.

"Hm. Do you want to?"

"Only if you do," Leo said.

"I'm fine with it. Sounds like fun."

"Then that's a plan," Leo nodded.

Donnie grinned. "Well, Nardo, then we'll be twins. Like you've been constantly claiming for years."

"Yeah, so let's do this," Leo smiled at him. "We got this."

"I think this might do us some good."

Leo nodded. "Yeah. So, let's just chill out here, do some job searching online, and we'll see what tomorrow brings."

Donnie nodded. "I brought my laptop."

"And I have my phone," Leo said. He went back and sat down on his bed, pulling out his phone.

Donnie sat on his bed, taking off his battle shell and opening it up. Leo kept scrolling through job information. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to do. He never really thought about actually getting a real, human job.

"Oh. Would you look at that? The studio downtown is looking for background people to star in an animated show," Donnie mumbled to himself.

"Wait, really?" Leo asked, getting excited about that. He always had this out of reach dream of being an actor, but given his way of livelihood, that was always out of reach.

"Yes."

"Can I see that?" Leo asked, walking over to Donnie.

Donnie showed him his screen. "The shows about talking birds. They haven't figured out the full cast yet."

"Have they held auditions yet?" Leo asked.

"Not yet. It's next Monday."

"What do you think, D? Should I audition?" Leo asked.

"I think it would be a fitting job for you."

"Hey, you should audition too! We could do it together!" Leo suggested.

"Me? The guy who rarely expresses emotions audition for a show?"

"Yeah! I think it could be fun! And who knows, you might just find some sort of... hidden talent, or something."

"Sigh, if you think I should, I will."

"And if we don't get cast, that's okay! At least we're trying it!"

Donnie nodded. "Are you hoping to get a bigger role or...?"

"Well, I'll take whatever I can get, but I think I'm gonna go for a main role," Leo admitted. He was feeling pretty confident about it.

"Okay. Looking at the audition lines, I believe Dewey Duck would be a good fit for you. Or perhaps Launchpad or Louie."

Leo read through them. "Yeah," he nodded. "I think I'm gonna go for Dewey, honestly. Sounds like his characters really fits my vibe, you know?"

"I'll just play one of the Begal Boys that have one or two episodes."

Leo nodded. "If that's what you want to go for, then go for it!"

Donnie smiled and kept scrolling through the list of characters. "Hm, Mark Beaks is kinda interesting."

"He seems like your type of guy," Leo chuckled. "Egoistical and tech savvy."

"I am not egotistical. If anyone is, it's you."

"We both are," Leo claimed.

"Eye roll."

"Alright, Donnie, do you realize how big this is? This could be our big break," Leo said.

"It could be." Donnie looked at the screen. "Maybe I'll go for Mark."

"Whatever you want, dude," Leo said supportively.

"I do think we shouldn't go as Leo and Donnie. Cause if Raph or Mikey watch it and see our names in the credits, they'd know how to find us. Especially my name. Who goes by Donnie or Donatello these days?"

Leo nodded. "We need fake names." He thought for a minute. "Aha! Got it! I'll be Benjamin Joseph Johnson! Ben Johnson on screen."

"I shall be Joshua Max Johnson, Josh for short."

"Yeah, alright, sounds good!" Leo said.

"We should practice our lines."

Leo nodded. "Yeah. We've never done this before. This is gonna be an experience."

Chapter Three

[katikacreations]

I'm curious, are you still into DuckTales? And were you also disappointed with the lack of character development with Gyro after 'Astro B.O.Y.D.' (including the lack of development of his relationship with Boyd and Fenton, as we barely know what their interactions look like)? What were you personally hoping for?

Hey there! Sorry I haven't been around much. Yes, I still love Ducktales! I've been a Disney Duck fan since I was a kid so that love isn't ever going away. I got the deluxe artbook just the other day, and I'm excited to eventually finish the Boyd and Gyro fic... it's just probably going to take awhile. It's a big story and I want to do a good job, telling it well :) But I did feel pretty let down by the end of the series, and the fandom has gotten pretty quiet… Not to mention I've gone through a lot of big life changes, so I haven't had as much time for writing fic or drawing fanart. Yeah I was disappointed by the lack of Boyd and Gyro after they had such a fantastic story in Astro Boyd, but I understand why we didn't get to see them any more - the crew was struggling to try and tie up all their loose ends with the short span of time they had left. But frankly I think they could have done a better job and used their time more wisely, and that some of the things they made episodes about were ideas that should have been in season 2 or 1.... But it is what it is. I think in a lot of ways they were phoning it in during season 3 and so there were some real stinker episodes as a result. I was really hoping to see Dr. Akita come back with FOWL, even if only as a silent cameo, but I knew deep in my heart that we wouldn't get that... Realistically Boyd's presence in the narrative should have been a game changer, he's a powerful ally for the McDuck family, and it would have been much more interesting to see FOWL develop a countermeasure for him, rather than just find the "funniest"way to nerf him in the finale lol. (The combat robot that destroyed a major world city has their head fall off in a plane crash but the flesh and blood children are all completely unharmed?) Hell, I would have accepted "Boyd was damaged in the fight during Tokyolk so we can't take him with us" or something like that, if they really wanted to write him out of the conflict. Or "Boyd jumps out of the plane to deal with the missiles and gets hurt in the process". If I had my way, I would have taken Launchpad's big hero moment and moved it to the Darkwing 2-parter episode, and I would have taken Manny's reveal and put it in the Halloween episode, and that would have improved both of those eps (which were also lacking IMO), and bam, now there's more time to allow Gyro, Fenton and Boyd to do things in the finale.

I know I would have liked to see Boyd helping Huey somehow... and it would have been nice to see Gyro asking Fenton for help and acknowledging his competence... Maybe instead of Launchpad wearing the Gizmosuit, Gyro getting to wear it (since it was originally for him), but then afterwards admitting that it's better if Fenton wears it... Stuff like that! Sorry if this got a bit long and rambly, but I hope it answers some of your questions!

[lovevalley45]

#fictober22 day six

"Adaptable, I like that"

fandom: naddpod (campaign 3/ba2mia)

word count: 627

The Mothership recruit office was a massive downgrade from the Living Wood. Compared to the lush greenery, the sterile waiting room made Callie feel like the life was drained out of her. Granted, she already felt like the life was drained out of her. But this was a new opportunity, a chance to prove she didn’t need fucking Glenn. 

She looked up at the poster on the wall of a trio of A-Class Synth Knights, posing in their crackling blue armor. For a moment, she worried if it’d class with her gloomy blue demeanor. But she figured it’d compliment her quite well, the sparks complimenting her eyes. 

The door to the office opened, and a halfling woman stepped out with a clipboard in hand. “Calliope Pet- Petrichor? Is that how you say it?”

She shot up. “Yes, that’s me. But you can call me Callie.”

The woman nodded. “Right. Come in.”

The office she stepped into had slightly more personality. A few photos lined the wall, along with more posters of Synth Knights. There was a photo on her desk of the woman and someone else in armor with a signature at the bottom, next to a nameplate engraved with the name “Gloria Greenbloom.” 

Callie sat in the chair across from her, hands clasped together. Her application had been scant, to say the least. Her only experience was working for her family’s smuggling business, and she couldn’t really put that down. Certainly not when the last thing she’d done for them was running off with a dragon egg she should have sold. 

“So, Ms. Petrichor,” Gloria said, “why are you interested in becoming a Synth Knight?”

“I needed a change,” she told her. “Had a rough breakup, kinda wanted to find a new purpose in life. And I ended up here, and saw the posters, and said, ‘Hey, that sounds like a good time, right?’”

Gloria hummed, looking down at her clipboard. “It says here your previous experience was as, uh, a courier?”

“Lots of folks in Merringate have family in the Feywild, I’d shuttle back letters and things like that,” Callie explained. 

“And for any weapon experience, you listed your umbrella.” At that she glanced at her warily. “There’s no weapon guidelines for the Synth Knights, but…”

“Oh.” Callie picked up her umbrella from where she’d laid it at her feet. “It doubles as a sword and a shield. I’d open it, but, you know, bad luck.”

“Adaptable,” Gloria muttered under her breath. “I like that.” 

She scribbled some more things down, leaving her to get more and more nervous. “Adaptable” was good, right? It was sort of the Eladrin nature to shift with the seasons - she’d been a rainy spring since she could remember, but spring was a season of change. It was a season of growth. 

Gloria put down the clipboard and opened a drawer, taking out a thick packet of paper. “All Synth Knight recruits have to go through an eight-week training program, including a clinical evaluation before your Monostone installation. Lucky you, one starts next week.” She handed her the packet. “Go to Launchpad Academy for orientation next Monday at 8 AM.”

“Does that mean I’m in?” Callie asked, taking the packet. 

“You’re in if you don’t flunk the test,” she told her. 

Well, that seemed easy enough. “Alright. Thank you.”

She started to stand up, but Gloria said, “Uh-uh, you still gotta sign some papers.”

“Oh, right.”

This was a new step forward - well, as long as her sister didn’t find her. It was a step away from her, and Glenn, and towards something better. 

As she signed the papers, she asked, “Mothership offers mental health services, right?”

“Once you’re a Synth Knight, sure.”

Callie clicked the pen closed. “Just checking.”

[glowyjellyfish]

Wow, I was not expecting to enjoy this episode this much!

-Launchpad was so Good throughout! Once again I am full of Launchpad feelings! He doesn’t know how to handle rejection and his instinct is to flee and he was TRYING SO HARD to be respectful and keep his distance!

-side note: while I rewatched before the new episodes began, I formulated a theory that each season isn’t just about one of the kids, but one Kid, one Adult, and one Villain. Season one was Dewey, Scrooge, and Magica, season two was Louie, Della, and Glomgold. Season three’s kid is Huey, and the villain is probably FOWL as a whole, but I wasn’t sure yet who the Adult was and now I am pretty well convinced it’s Launchpad. He’s been very prominent and showing a lot of feelings, and we haven’t even gotten up to the big DWD episode of the season. Everything lines up with my Sad Launchpad Theory, and I believe Kit and Molly will be involved in his past.

-LOVED Webby’s bonding with Penny?? Like, holy shit, that was a good reason to pair them up, here I thought it was just because it would be fun.

-Dewey’s always a blast and is Jenkins the rival Frank Angones hinted at for him? Rival/nemesis? Hilarious if true, the internet kept proposing Important characters and even I thought maybe Gosalyn, but no it’s just some random kid who got local-news-famous instead of Dewey. That is great.

-...is it weird that I am thrilled that Launchpad and Penny aren’t dating but are now BFFs? I mean, first of all, Launchpad truly is everybody’s friend. Second, I prefer to see Launchpad/Drake between the lines of my duck shows, and I assume that’s probably not going to be allowed, but I enjoyed the concept of Launchpad/Penny and was getting more onboard throughout this episode. Which makes this the best of both worlds for me. And finally, oh my goodness, I am sure Disney wouldn’t allow it but damn that was a meaningful pause she gave between “earth” and “men”. So in conclusion I am now happily shipping Launchpad/Drake and Penny/Della and want to see them go on many disastrous double dates.

-oh and let’s not forget that I spied a little Disney’s California Adventure reference with Glomgold’s face on the ferris wheel. I’d like to believe the gondolas--sorry, glomdolas--and the prospect of getting stuck on them was a WDW reference, but I am not sure how likely such a reference would be.

-overall the episode was just a wonderful ride.

[mackeydoodledoo]

The Florals: Prologue

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x (Fem!)ReaderMC

Summary: You and your best friends are one of the most popular local bands. After a gig you meet the bartender, who has caught your eye and interest.

Chapter Warnings: None

A/n: Okay so, I know I had this story out here before but I deleted it. But, I’m going to give this series another shot.

Chapter Key: Italics = Thoughts, +*+ = Time Skip

Chapter Theme: Weekend - Clubhouse

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

It was really never a dream… For You, Pine, Rose, Poppy, Lark to form into a band. You called your band, “The Florals”. This was because your names are either a plant or a flower. Well, Pine is named after well… A pine tree. None of them had ever done band. The only thing you all did together was high school marching band. Pine and Rose were in color guard, Lark and Poppy were in the front ensemble, and you were in the battery of drumline; snare. However, you were the only one who did indoor drumline. However, all of your friends; Rose, Poppy, Lark and Pine came to every single one of your shows. So you didn't feel alone. You got to see one of your good ol' friends in the admin team. The both of you went to high school together as well.

"Hey," Lark called

You turn your head to look at them.

"You ready??" They ask as they get on their motorcycle

You nod as you pack your sticks, pad and Lark's launchpad and get into your Blue Chevrolet Camaro. Poppy packs her guitar and gets into her Mustang, Rose packs her bass and gets into her red jeep and Pine puts her backpack into her passenger side as she settles into her Chevrolet Colorado. Left to her by her parents after she moved out. You all followed each other to the Banks' Theatre. Roses' parents own a whole theater, performing theatre to be specific. They also installed two bars on each side of the theatre. It's a wide space. It looks more like a warehouse than a theatre but it's been remodeled to look like one.

+*+

That was your band’s first show. So it was kinda a chill night. But it was mostly your parents, family and family friends that night. So it wasn't all out than you all had hoped. But it was still nice to see them support you.

+*+

That was one year ago. It's The Florals first year anniversary. And we are thriving. No record label has recruited your band yet but you were all okay with that. Your friends decided to play for the fun of performing, 

"Already a year??" Pine asks

"Surprisingly so," Poppy replies

"Though this is the last show of the summer," You say, “So let’s make this final show the best one yet.”

You were were all of age to drink so you headed to the bar post show.

You, Lark, Poppy, Pine and Rose were in the middle of chatting and seating yourselves along the bar.

“Hey, the usual please,” You call out to the bartender 

“Your usuals?” The bartender asks 

The bartender turns around. Your expression of happiness drops to your mouth hanging agape, your eyes widening at the beauty.

“Sorry, I’m not familiar with your usuals,” She says, “I’m quite new to this place.”

“N-no worries,” Your mouth curves into a nervous smile, “Lark here drinks whiskey, Poppy one chair down drinks sangria, Rose in the next chair drinks rose wine, Pine in that last chair usually drinks a margarita.”

“And you?” She asks, turning her head over her shoulder to look at you as she’s grabbing some cups

“Whatever your favorite is,” You say, sighing into a smile

“Say less,” She smirks, turning her head back to face the back of the bar

You were too stunned to even move to look at your friends. The way her green eyes glistened in the bar lighting.

“Hey, you okay?” Lark asks you

You however, continued watching the bartender make the four drinks, noticing she hadn’t started on yours yet.

I mean... She’s making my friends’ drinks first, plus, it was a kind of packed night...

She wore what looked like a black shirt, a grey cardigan; the sleeves almost went over her hands. You didn’t know what it was about women wearing almost oversized sweaters and cardigans, but you found an absolute attraction to them. 

“I call this one, the Scarlet Witch,” The bartender brings your drink

Your head jolts up from sitting in the palms of your hands, realizing you were sitting on cloud 9 the entire time.

“Oh!″ You yelp, “Thanks.”

When the bartender walk off to tend to other patrons. You take a sip of the ‘smoky’ drink and  you look over to your friends; every single one of them staring at you dead in the eye.

"What?" You ask

"You're totally into her," Lark teases

"Shut up," You snarl

"I can read you well Bates," Lark continues to tease you, "you should totally ask her out."

"I literally just met her… the hell why would i ask her out already?!" You ask, trying to keep it low

The bartender giggles and turns around.

"Well asking me out is a bit of a stretch but I'm willing to take a walk," She answers

Your cheeks heat into a blush as you get up and grab your jacket as the bartender wipes her hands and comes out from the bar. She smiles while you nervously put on your jacket, oddly not breaking eye contact on her. The strawberry-blonde wraps her arm around yours and the both of you head out of the theatre for the evening walk.

“So uhh,” I start, “What’s a pretty woman like yourself working as a bartender?”

“Needed to make extra tips, saw an ad to work at this place, so I took it,” She explains, “You guys play really well for a local band.”

“Well, we’ve been doing music all of our lives, “You explain, “So, we actually formed this band out of an extra credit assignment for band class and I guess... It just really stuck with us. People were begging us to put on more gigs in the school.”

“Well, did you?” She asks

“Yeah,” You chuckle, “It was kinda difficult to perform in a band while still being in high school, but we somehow made it work.”

“And your hair... Is it real?” She asks

“Sure is,” You say, enthusiastically

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Wanda stop walking. You turn to her and notice how her eyes illuminated.

“Oh...Right... I forgot to mention my hair glows sometimes,” You say, “I don’t know why or how it does it but... It does.”

She chuckles, “My name’s Wanda, by the way.”

“Strelitzia, Strel for short,” You reply with your name

“Strelitzia?” Wanda asks

“It’s the scientific name for the Bird of Paradise plant,” You explain the meaning behind your name

“I like it,” She smiles

Wanda smiles and it feels like she’s tugging at my arm. 

Is she really into me already??? No… Not yet…Don’t get any ideas stupid

“Do you do anything else other than making drinks?” You ask

“I used to do some modeling stuff but... I stepped back for awhile, too stressful to keep up with he viewers’ expectations of women body.” Wanda says

“That’s honestly stupid,” You groan, “Society is always trying to control women. Not for it...”

“I have also done some forms of acting,” Wanda adds, “But, they’re not ‘silver screen’ material.”

“Really now?” You ask, “You ever thought about going back?”

“not right now, but maybe one day,” She says

The both of you continue making the round around the building, listening to the passing cars.

“Well, Strelitzia,” Wanda starts, “As much as I’ve enjoyed our little conversation, I have to go back and close up and for you to head back to your friends.”

Already?... Damn, I really wanted top get to know her… 

The both of you head back inside and your four friends are still there. You seat yourself next to them and slip back into their conversation as if you’ve never left. All the while catching a couple glimpses at Wanda. Sometimes the both of you even catch each other staring at one another. 

“Ladies, the theatre is closed now,” Wanda states

“Oh,” You say, checking your phone, “Shit we really did go and lose track of time...”

And with that, You and your friends pack their things, accept for your drum set, and take your leave. You take one last glance at Wanda and she puts on a  leather jacket. She looks over and catches you staring, she smiles. You snap out of your daze, but you couldn’t help but look over one more time. She winks at you before turning off the bar lights.

“Strel,” Lark calls

You turn to them.

“You coming or what?” Lark asks

You nod and catch up to her and try to catch one last last glance at Wanda however, she was gone. You begin following Lark to their motorcycle.

“You and that bartender huh?” Lark smiles

“Shut up,” You sigh, “And her name is Wanda by the way.”

“Wanda huh?” They ask, “Sounds like a witches name.”

“I mean, she did name a drink of hers ‘The Scarlet Witch’,” You say, “I’m not one to make assumptions Lark.”

You hop into your car as Lark gets on their motorcycle. The both of you follow each other home. When you all looked for places of your own, the places were coincidentally all within the block. You owned a warehouse studio apartment, across the street is a record shop Lark’s uncle owns; Lark lives just above it. Next to it was one of those tall houses one sees in the city; Pine and Rose room together and Poppy lives in an apartment complex next to it. 

Chapter 1

[bastillewolf]

Shinigami Eyes (II)

Pairing: Corpse Husband / Reader

Summary: After you distastefully kill Corpse in a game of Among Us, he wants you to make it up to him and invites you to come over for the week.

Notes: Thank you so much for the love on the previous chapter, I’ve never gotten this many notes before. I hope you enjoy, and maybe leave an ask if you want to? I can’t promise I have time to do them, but I’ll pick out a couple.

Also, I might rewrite this. I kinda rushed it because I wanted to finish it by tonight, but there will be a final and third chapter to this afterwards. Please do let me know what you think.

Tag list CLOSED!

Shinigami Eyes - Pt. II

5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Impostor

You were teamed up with Sean.

Your fist violently slammed down on the desk. “Goddammit! I don’t want to be impostor anymore! This game has no compassion for my poor nerves.” It was the third time in a row now, and you were really craving to do normal tasks now without all the scheming. “Fuck it, I don’t care if they kill me. I’m just gonna do my thing without thinking about it.”

You decide to follow Toast for a bit to watch him do some task. You kill him in Laboratory. You vent back to Launchpad and take your time walking towards MedBay while the kill button restores. You meet up with Corpse, and follow him while pretending to do wires in the Y-hallway. You watched the green bar go up, and continued. Sabotaging and then fixing lights, you made sure your place with Corpse was settled. Then the body of Lily was reported.

As you expected, Corpse easily vouched for you as he’d seen you do a task. The round was skipped, though Rae was sussed for ‘chasing’ Sean, by his own words.

“Corpse, you’ve grown weak,” you muttered to chat.

You were in Greenhouse, and decided it would be best to kill him there and sabotage Reactor. “Sorry baby, but I can’t keep following you around.” You quickly set off Reactor and murdered him in front of the plants. “Your blood shall keep the plants hydrated.” You did an evil laugh. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works, though.”

You vented down to MedBay and as you walked out you met up with Rae. She’d be the vouch who would confirm you weren’t anywhere near Greenhouse. “I’ll just have to fix my own sabotage so they’ll never suspect me.” You helped her with the handprint, and noted Sykkuno and Felix being there. Sean sabotaged lights, you killed Sykkuno, and ran out to follow Lily into Laboratory. Felix reported the body.

“Holy shit,” Rae gasped. So far, five people had died. You only needed to kill one more person. “It was Felix!”

“Wait, what?” the man in question asked. “I was fixing Reactor!”

She mentioned that only you, Sykkuno, Felix and herself had been there and that you’d helped her do handprint. “Sykkuno must have fixed it, and then you killed him!”

Sean asked if you’d seen anything.

“No, the lights were out. I followed Rae into Laboratory after the scan.” Your voice didn’t tremble or raise, a tactic you’d taken up from the best lair in the group. Well, the one who was now dead. Oops. “I haven’t seen Felix this entire game, though.”

He was evidently at a loss for words, so the group was quick to vote for him.

Pewds was ejected.

Victory.

You thanked Sean for a good game who was laughing his ass off. “I can’t believe you did Corpse like that! Poor guy!”

“I deadass thought you were innocent,” Corpse replied, “I’m hurt.”

“Why do you still sound dark and menacing when you say something like that?!”

You agreed with Sean heartily, “He’s just salty I’ve bested him at his own game.”

“Hey now, no need to actually insult me.”

The group laughed. You decided to call it for the night, right before Corpse did the same.”

 ***

He was calling you again. “What is it this time, you salty?”

“Salty? Nah, never,” he said, but you weren’t convinced.

“Then why you calling?”

“What, I can’t call my friends after playing a nice round of Among Us?”

“Not when you lost the game and you call the person who you lost to. Kinda sus, dude.”

“Alright, maybe a little salty.” You smirked.

“Aw, you need me to make it up to you?”

He laughed. “What did you have in mind?”

A bunch of thoughts, most not rated PG-13, crossed your mind. You were suddenly starting to feel uncomfortable. This was probably just something innocent, which got twisted in your fucked-up mind. You shrugged, “Uh… I don’t know.”

“I got an idea.”

“What is it?”

“Come over this week. You said you needed a break, right?”

“That sounds more like you’re doing me a favour instead of me making it up to you.”

“I don’t have any friends. You’d be making it up to me by being the first physical person here in years. I usually don’t invite people over.”

“Wow, I’m flattered. So, you don’t consider me to be your friend after all?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he chuckled.

“Sure, sure. Tell me that again when my presence suddenly brightens your life making you not want to get rid of me, ever.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

 ***

You walk through the gates following a hoard of people, all the while still feeling drowsy from not getting any sleep during your flight. At least you didn’t have any turbulence and landed safely. Glancing around here and there with no result, you figured Corpse would be waiting outside, until you spotted a figure clad in black a little ends away by the escalator. You were glad you were still awake enough to have found him, because he appeared to silently linger halfway behind a fern.

At least, you hoped it was him. The only indications were his clothes, mask and dark hair. You saw him run a hand through it, and identified the chipped black nail polish and familiar rings. Oh yea, that was him alright.

He seemed to be paying more attention to the floor until he saw two feet appear in his line of sight. “Hey,” you awkwardly greeted. A bit taken a back, he replied, “Oh, wow. Hey.” A mask was covering the bottom of his face, but as far as you could see his eyes were a very dark shade.

“Wow?” you repeated. He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Yea, sorry. It’s a compliment.” You held your elbow out in a safe-distance gestured hello, but he shrugged you off. “You’re gonna be staying with me anyways.” Suddenly in a daze, you felt him wrap his arms around your waist and instantly hugged him back. His baggy sweater felt warm and soft to the touch, and strands of hair tickled your face. You very much tried to repress your smile and blush, but how could you? Hugging someone wasn’t supposed to feel this good. When he pulled back he reached down to take your suitcase from you. “I don’t own a car, is it okay if we take a cab?”

“Y-Yeah, of course,” you stuttered, “But it’s on me. Same with food and stuff.” “Don’t worry about it,” he chuckled. “No, you’re letting me stay with you and a hotel would’ve been a lot more expensive than this. It’s my treat.” “Yeah, we’ll see.” He gave you a look and even with the mask you could tell he was smirking underneath it.

It’s about half an hour drive to his apartment complex, and it’s rather nice. “All that YouTube money paying off, huh?” you asked in amusement. “You’d know,” he replied. You insisted on carrying your suitcase up the stairs yourself, which he silently shook his head at, until after a few flights he noticed you struggling and settled on carrying the thing in between the two of you. “How many clothes did you bring?” “Oh, it’s mostly filled with bricks I might need to throw at your head.” He laughed at that.

His apartment was simple, but cosy. “Home sweet home,” he said, almost sarcastically. You furrowed your brow at him. “I’m sure you could’ve had it a lot worse.” He reluctantly agreed.

He helped you set down your luggage in what appeared to be his bedroom, where the curtains were still closed and the black bedsheets fresh. He had a few pieces of fanart up on his wall, and some on his closet. You turned to him and gave him a look. “You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

He quickly shook his head, “You’re not sleeping there. If you won’t let me sleep on the couch I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“If you’re sleeping on the floor, I’m sleeping on the floor.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he murmured. “What?” “Nothing.”

He suggested playing video games as you were both too tired to do anything else. You’d landed quite late yet were still confused about what time it actually was. Flying is weird. You hopped onto his couch and grabbed a controller.

He sat down next to you, but suddenly seemed tenser than before.

“You okay? You can just go to sleep if you want to.”

He shook his head, “Nah, I don’t sleep a lot. It’s fine.”

You didn’t stop looking at him, though. He was still wearing that mask. “You don’t have to take it off, if you don’t want to. I understand if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that, I just…” He took a deep breath. You hadn’t expected him to take it off then and there. You stared at him, your mouth slightly agape, controller barely held by your numb hands.

“Disappointed?”

It was as if he was expecting you to make a face or something, but you didn’t give him anything, except for a blatant “Nope” and an “Are we gonna play now or what?”

“You don’t have anything else to say?”

You shrugged, and looked him up and down again. “You’re kind of what I imagined you to be.”

“What’s that?”

“Handsome.”

Neither of you could stop smiling for the rest of the night.

You eventually forced him to sleep in his own bed, even going as far as to shove him into the room and keep your weight against the door so he couldn’t get out, so he eventually relented. “Inviting you here was a mistake.” “How come? All I’ve done so far is look after you!” “You’re a nightmare.”

You mostly stayed in for the week, which you didn’t mind at all. Being in such a closed-off environment with someone you got along with was nice. He attempted to get you to lift the weights in his room and succeeded for around fifteen minutes until you nearly dropped a dumbbell on your foot. You ordered take-out from his favourite restaurant, watched horror movies until you adapted to his sleeping schedule because you were too scared to close your eyes now, and even streamed a bit together with your friends.

“Wait, is Corpse with you?” Rae had asked.

“No, I’m at Corpse’s. He’s sitting across from me so I can’t see his screen but we’re gonna have to share the Discord unless you want to hear an echo.”

“Ah, man! You got to see his face, too?” Sykkuno whined.

“Stop simping, Sykkuno. You get enough attention from him already.”

“Don’t worry, I still love you,” Corpse said.

“Huh?”

It was probably a good thing that you got teamed up again, because you could indeed start to see his hands shaking right as the word ‘impostor’ appeared on the screen. You reached over and stroked it with your thumb. He smiled gratefully back at you.

“Just please,” he pleaded later that day, “Sleep in the bed. If only for one night.”

“No. I’ve heard about and now seen your sleeping habits. If you take the couch you’re never going to get any sleep.” You made a real effort to show him how comfortable you were – even though your back had started to hurt already after the first night – by crawling underneath your blanket and rubbing your head into the soft pillow. He snorted.

Next thing, you feel yourself being lifted by an arm underneath your knees and one around your back. “Corpse! Put me the fuck down!” you shrieked. You knew he lifted weights, but how the hell did he still have the energy as an insomniac? He ungracefully dropped you onto the matrass and turned the lights off. “Good night.”

You quickly got hold of the back of his hoodie before he could leave and pulled. He fell down next to you with a low huff. “Fine, I’ll sleep in the bed. But only if you sleep here too.”

“I snore.”

“Don’t care.”

For some reason, there wasn’t any tension or awkwardness. You were comfortable, and the soft rhythm of his breathing seemed to soothe you. He called out your name, to see if you were still awake.

“Hm?”

“…Thanks for coming over.”

“Any time.”

This was how you would spend the rest of the nights, and whenever either of you woke up suddenly curled up around the other, you didn’t mention it or move away from it. It was the first time in years Corpse got a few nights of complete rest.

[mighty-ant]

First Rule of Fight Club

The first and last time Fenton broke a rib, it was in the process of an emergency eject from the Gizmosuit as it careened over Duckburg Bay, seconds before it was consumed in the conflagration of a reactor core overload. 

This time, several well placed and devastatingly painful blows by Steelbeak, F.O.W.L’s heavyweight, did the trick, not to mention being bodily thrown into the surprisingly solid form of one terror that flaps in the night. 

With the protection his suit typically affords him, Fenton had hoped that when it came to broken ribs (out of all 206 bones to break) his case would be of the one and done variety. But when his and Darkwing’s cell opens, any wishful thinking on his part is thrown out the window before spontaneously combusting. As smiles and relief rush to fill the void left by the dread of watching Launchpad being pummeled in a grossly outnumbered fight, the adrenaline that had kept Fenton standing and numb to all his aches and pains chooses that instant to abandon him. 

Launchpad is still in the Gizmosuit (and not looking too shabby) destroying the locks on the other nearby cells. Manny is helping him in the endeavor, looking a fair bit different than the last time Fenton saw him: flaming eyes, wings, an actual head! If Gyro ever thinks of trying to fire the guy, Fenton wishes his former-boss luck. But the kids are celebrating, the latest danger in a never ending line has been dealt with and Fenton’s glad of it, truly. 

But now the right side of his ribs are pulsing with an acute kind of pain every time he breathes. Whereas Darkwing strides out of their prison cell no worse for wear, Fenton grimaces as he clutches at his side to avoid any unnecessary movement jostling his injuries. 

If Mamá finds out, she’ll never let him hear the end of it. Forget any lofty aspirations of moving out, she’ll chain him to his bed and cue up the last ten years of Patos de Pasión to keep him occupied. 

Launchpad (Gizmopad? Maybe they’ll stick with Gizmoduck for branding purposes if LP ever has reason to be in the suit again) pauses his crusade to blow open as many F.O.W.L’s prison cells as he can long enough to sweep Darkwing into a hug, the larger-than-life duck letting out a yelp as he dangles several feet off the floor. 

“Great job, Launchpad,” Fenton manages, smiling genuinely despite the pain in his ribs. “Handles like a dream, doesn’t it?” Truly, Launchpad was a sight to behold in his suit, accomplishing what not even Fenton and Darkwing’s combined might could. He can’t help but notice that thus far, Launchpad hasn’t crashed once.  

With the visor tilted up, Launchpad’s face is bright despite the darkening bruises on his cheekbone and eye, courtesy of Steelbeak’s fists. “Actually, she pulls a little to the left, Fentonino,” he laughs, hardly recognizable as the beaten, despondent man who minutes ago was unable to muster the strength to stand. 

“You were incredible, LP,” Darkwing squeaks from where he’s still locked in Launchpad’s embrace, made that much more unbreakable by the nigh indestructible armor. He pats the outside of Launchpad’s arm. “But uh, maybe save the hugs for later?” 

Launchpad drops him at once and Darkwing sways unsteadily but keeps his feet. “Oh, sorry about that, DW! Guess I don’t know my own strength.” He looks over at Fenton again and Fenton recognizes the dual promise and unintentional threat of a Launchpad-issue bearhug in his eyes. 

Panicked, and certain that if his ribs aren’t already broken they definitely will be if put under pressure of one of Launchpad’s hugs, crushing in their force sans any sort of augmenting armor, Fenton fishes for the first excuse he can think of. 

“Hey, Launchpad, buddy, with you already in the suit, would you mind flying up and freeing the people on the upper levels?” He straightens as he speaks, hiding any evidence of hurt as best as he’s able. No need to worry Launchpad or hurt his feelings. When his ribs aren’t pulsing in tune with his heartbeat, Launchpad’s hugs rank only behind his Mamá’s in terms of comfort level. 

“Oh, that’s a good idea!” Launchpad deploys the rockets on both pauldrons with startling speed and the visor comes down over his eyes, making his grin seem that much bigger. “I’ll be right back. Don’t worry, Fenton, I’ll be out of the suit in two shakes.” He blasts off, quickly scaling F.O.W.L’s endless prison, and again Fenton wonders at Launchpad’s ease in expertly maneuvering another feat of engineering he could never hope to understand the workings of. 

“No rush,” Fenton murmurs, dropping from his painful, forced stillness as he wraps an arm back around his ribs. 

Beside him, Darkwing tugs nonexistent wrinkles out his suit with an endearingly brusque laugh. “Yeah, good luck getting that suit back. LP’s a natural in that thing.”

Fenton would laugh if he wasn’t afraid of jostling his torso. “I don’t mind, really. Besides, I’m probably grounded for the foreseeable future.” Bruised ribs if he’s lucky, broken if he’s being realistic. Either way, he’s on bedrest for the foreseeable future. 

Darkwing starts to turn to him, his brow knitting beneath the mask and beak downturned in confusion before a red blur rockets into him. 

“Drake!” 

Fenton startles at the cry of the civilian name, so incongruous with the stark cells towering above and the ancient stonework beneath them. Gosalyn collides against Darkwing’s side with enough force to propel him back a step. He laughs, full throated and bright, and the sound of it brings a smile to Fenton’s face unbidden, briefly trumping the ache thrumming through his body. 

“Hey, slugger!” Darkwing says, equally exuberant, clutching Gosalyn tight against his side. He pushes her back the next moment, kneeling to see her fully. “Are you alright? No broken bones, no internal bleeding? How many fingers am I holding up?” 

Fenton can already see the beginning of swelling around Gosalyn’s cheek, perhaps from some mind-controlled Beagle Boy’s glancing blow, and it certainly doesn’t skip Darkwing’s notice. But it’s without inordinate worry that he prods at the bone with the careful hand of experience and clearly finds nothing troubling beneath her feathers.

 Gosalyn pushes his face away playfully, grinning as she feints a series of blows at his armored midsection. “I’m doing better than you are, old man,” she grins unrepentantly. 

Darkwing gasps, utterly aghast. “Old man?” he repeats in betrayal. “I’ll show you old—I’ll have you know I moisturize!” 

Gosalyn ducks out from under his arm, avoiding his attempts to entrap her. “Oh, believe me I know,” she mock shudders, dashing behind Fenton to use him as a living shield. “I’ve seen you walking around the apartment with all that goop on your face.” 

“Goop!”

“Hey, Fenton,” Gosalyn says, forcing him to crane his head back to meet her smiling eyes. “What did you think of my new trick arrows?” Her grin takes a hit, faltering in the wake of it. “Were you able to see them from inside the cell?”

“Yes, yes of course!” he rushes to say, turning around to address Gosalyn properly and relieve the stress on his ribs. “The miniaturized beehive, right? What an incredible idea, Gosalyn! And not to mention effective. How did you manage to contain the bees for a timed release?” 

Gosalyn’s smile returns to its hundred-watt capacity. “I used a bee smoker to get them in and keep them calm until they were ejected from the hive. I actually got the idea from all the wild gizmos in your suit.”

“Really?” Startled delight flares through Fenton, as humbling as the time Donald showed him that picture of Huey in his homemade Gizmoduck Halloween costume. “Well I-I’m touched, Gosalyn. It’s impressive work, no doubt about it! It’s something I can even see incorporated into the suit, with your permission of course.”

“Once I’ve sorted out the patent,” Gosalyn replies smartly. 

“Wait a second,” Darkwing sputters behind her. “What suit are you—Gosalyn, you knew Fenton was Gizmoduck?”

“Who doesn’t?” She and Fenton respond in unison, amused and deadpan respectively. 

“Well,” Darkwing sniffs, a blush darkening the rosy hue of his feathers that Fenton’s always thought rather becoming. “No one knows my secret identity.”

“You mean nobody cares enough to know,” Gosalyn retorts sweetly. 

Fenton fails to muffle his snort of laughter in time for all that it’s drowned out by Darkwing’s affronted gasp. But like most thirteen-year-olds, Gosalyn’s attention is swiftly diverted before Darkwing can come up with a response. “Oh, hey, there’s Boyd! Gotta run, I still feel bad for not finding his body. Seeya out there, Giz,” She punches Fenton in the arm, not particularly hard (he’s seen her make Darkwing wince before) but it’s the arm he’s clutching as subtly as he can over his ribs so he flinches instinctively. 

Thankfully, Gosalyn is in too much of a rush to notice, already calling out to Boyd before she’s even moved two feet away. But Darkwing is still here, standing far too still, and Fenton reluctantly looks back up at his erstwhile (one-sided) rival. 

Darkwing is eyeing his middle with an unfairly amused expression, hovering somewhere between commiseration and mockery. 

“What?” Fenton grimaces, despite knowing the jig is up. Darkwing missed the fact that he was Gizmoduck for six months so maybe his injury will fly over Darkwing’s head too.   

Obviously, Fenton isn’t that lucky. 

Darkwing smirks like the often infuriating son of a ganglion he is. “Never been in a real fight before, have you?”  

Fenton could tell him about the time he broke his thumb trying to punch the senior boy who threw his lunch in the trash every morning because Fenton was weaker, because he spoke too fast, and skipped grades like his bullies skipped classes. Or Mamá teaching him how to form a proper fist once the cast was off and knowing it would do no good because he belonged under a mountain of textbooks and college applications, not a schoolyard brawl. Or even when he stared down Mega-Beaks’ hulking brutality in his father’s old suit and launched a projectile of Fentonium down his throat. 

But this isn’t the place for such stories. They wouldn’t hold much shock value either, not for Darkwing, whom Fenton has been a consummate companion on the nights when the lair is too quiet, the darkness gaping, and Darkwing’s vision swims with old fears and memories that better fit the realm of nightmares. 

Darkwing is throwing down a gauntlet, for once in jest, even if Fenton is loath to pick it up. 

“I usually have an indestructible, super-powered exoskeleton to help me in that department,” Fenton replies, maybe a little bit snippily. He can blame it on the broken ribs. 

Darkwing laughs the laugh that Fenton is becoming unfortunately fond of, so theatrical he has to wonder if Darkwing practices it in the mirror, ever the consummate actor. “Usually,” Darkwing repeats pointedly. “Not all the time. And if what I saw earlier was any indication, you could use a bit of refresher as to how us mere mortals handle ourselves in a fight.”

Fenton chuckles, wincing at the twinge that follows the involuntary movement. “What, are you offering, Wingy?”

Darkwing grins. “To teach Gizmoduck how to throw a punch? You bet.”

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” Fenton sighs, glancing skyward. Still, Darkwing’s teasing coaxes a smile out of him. 

“I’ll never let you forget it,” Darkwing agrees. 

“When do you propose we begin lessons? In case you forgot, I’m not exactly fighting fit,” Fenton gestures at his right side, embarrassment flaring hotly up the back of his neck as he does so. 

He’s video-chatted with Darkwing while the man set his own broken and dislocated fingers with little more than pithy curses and an ice pack; he knows of Darkwing’s absurdly high tolerance for pain, has heard from Launchpad and Gosalyn alike how he fights until he’s bloody, until he can barely stand straight, how he gets back up no matter what. A broken rib or two hindering Fenton so completely seems trivial by comparison, laughable compared to the pain Darkwing puts himself through on a regular basis, purposefully or not. 

Darkwing scrutinizes his middle with a thoughtful pout for half a second before reaching forward. He nudges Fenton’s insufficiently supportive left hand away and prods gently at his ribs. Darkwing’s hands are warm through his shirt and heat races up Fenton’s neck for an entirely different reason. Darkwing’s thumb lands on a place that makes Fenton inhale sharply in surprise more than pain, but Darkwing pulls his hands away. 

“I’d give you about five weeks, give or take,” he says thoughtfully. 

It takes Fenton a mortifying number of seconds for the words to compute. “O-oh, you think so, Dr. Duck?”

Darkwing laughs, self-deprecating and accepting of it. “I have some experience in this department.” 

It’s an unfortunate truth, but Fenton still grimaces at the reminder. “So classes start in five weeks?”

 “Try not to get in any more fights until then. Y’know, real ones.”

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” Fenton retorts, relishing Darkwing’s familiar teasing now that it’s free of the sour tinge of showboating.

He pats Fenton on the left shoulder, lighter than he usually would. “Better get used to it, hero.”

Self-doubt twinges in his gut like a bruise, like a knife being thrust in and twisted. Fenton pushes the feeling to the back of his mind and hopes his voice doesn’t waver too much. “So I’m a hero now, huh? Even though I haven’t saved reality?” 

Darkwing rolls his eyes, exactly the same way Fenton’s seen his ward do. “C’mon, let’s see if we can’t get LP to give you back your ‘super-powered exoskeleton’. I have a feeling this adventure isn’t over yet.”

“What’s wrong?” Mamá asks. 

Considering she can’t even see him, her head bowed as he touches up her roots, Fenton feels safe in laughing. “What? Nothing’s wrong.”

Mamá clicks her tongue, dissatisfied. 

Like usual, they’ve brought a kitchen chair into her bathroom for her to sit in while Fenton sections her hair and applies chestnut dye to where her gray roots have begun to show. It's been their routine every two months since he was a high school sophomore and Mamá first trusted him anywhere near her hair with his manos mocosos. Her words, not his. He can confidently say that his hands haven’t touched anyone’s mocos, including his own, since he was three years old. But he digresses. 

There’s a comfort to the routine, even now. The world and its problems takes a backseat as Fenton snaps on gloves, nitrile ones from his own supply since the ones that come with the box of dye were created for the likes of Storkules rather than any regular-sized being. He drapes a towel over Mamá’s shoulders and she’ll play bachata on her phone, songs that she and Dad used to dance to. When Fenton first started dyeing her roots, the music was on a disc she’d play on their old CD player that would constantly break and Fenton would constantly have to fix.

Now that years-old familiarity is but a single fixed point amid a whirlwind of change, as his boxes begin piling in the hall and his bedroom of twenty-eight years steadily empties. High school textbooks and sweaters he outgrew a decade ago go into bags marked for donation, Mamá coos over his ‘Class of 2000’ robotics camp shirt, and excavating the underside of his bed unearths the entire comic run of Danger Mouse and a Gimozduck helmet he lost last year. His molecular models are packed alongside Galaxy Wars collectibles and spare toolkits, each box containing another piece of his life labeled and sealed away.

 “You spoke to the electrical company?” Mamá asks suddenly. “You’ll have power when you move in, pollito?”

“I can take care of it myself, Mamá, I know my way around a circuit breaker after all,” Fenton replies with put-upon innocence as he searches Mamá’s third section of hair for any hint of gray he might’ve missed. 

She reaches back to swat at him and he doesn’t move fast enough to avoid her. It’s heartening when his healed ribs don’t even twinge. “Qué tontería,” she mutters, ignoring his laughter. “I’d arrest you myself if you didn’t find some way to cause a citywide blackout first.”  

“Well, hey, that was just one time.”

His new apartment is by no means a palace (he’s positive he saw alternaria mold growing behind the showerhead), but being near Hookbill Harbor means it’s affordable and closer to the Money Bin than Mamá’s house is. Besides, with Gyro splitting his time between Mr. McDuck’s labs and SHUSH’s, Fenton had been hired on full time, an achievement of his that Mamá can finally brag to her coworkers about. Not that it stops Gyro from continuing to call him Doctor-Intern, though Fenton’s sure he doesn’t mean anything bad by it. Probably. 

“It’ll take some getting used to, not having you underfoot all the time,” Mamá says fondly. “No more pies on my ceiling or experiments blowing up in the kitchen.”

Fenton grins as he starts on the final section of Mamá’s hair. “I’ll stop hearing about the time I accidentally incinerated Mrs. Ave Nueva’s avocado tree.”

Mamá sniffs. “‘Accidentally,’ he says.”

“I was ten!”

“That’s hardly a convincing alibi.” 

Fenton shakes his head with a laugh, resigned to the knowledge that this is one of my arguments he won’t win. “Tilt your head forward,” he asks, dipping his brush into the plastic bowl of prepared hair dye. It’s easy to lose himself in the repetition of his task, and the scrape of the güira and strumming guitar from Mamá’s playlist blurs together in a comforting haze, only broken up occasionally by a whiff of ammonia from the dye. Mamá hasn’t said if she wants to keep their standing appointment, but Fenton can only assume that’s the case considering how often she’s called salons scam artists over how much they charge for dye jobs. 

He’s almost done when she speaks again, concern gentling her voice. 

“Estarás bien, todo solito?” 

Fenton huffs, amused if unsurprised by the question. It’s the third time she’s asked in as many days, twice more than last week, her uneasiness increasing in frequency the closer they get to his move-in day. While he can admit to a certain melancholy in leaving the only home he’s ever known, there’s an undeniable excitement to the freedom he’s looking forward to experiencing. No one will be complaining about him pulling all-nighters and cluttering his desk with crumpled cans of Red Steer anymore, that’s for sure. 

“Claro que sí, Mamá. I’m not completely helpless on my own,” he tries to joke. 

“I know, cariño,” she says, more seriously than he anticipated. Mamá looks up, meeting his gaze in the bathroom mirror. “You haven’t been helpless since you were six and built that ridiculous potato cannon to protect me from bad guys.” Fenton still remembers that; the barrel was crooked, and all he ended up accomplishing was breaking Abuela’s favorite vase. “But you put yourself in so much danger as Gizmoduck, flying alone all over the city like you do, and I can’t be there to help if you get hurt.” 

Fenton is a nervous talker, a tic he hasn’t been able to shake since high school, but now he finds himself grasping for words that vanish before fully forming, slipping through his fingers like smoke. Mamá doesn’t lie, she doesn’t sugarcoat, but she has never spoken so bluntly on how she feels about Gizmoduck. About him being Gizmoduck. 

He often thinks back to waking up in the hospital two years ago, groggy from the morphine, his broken body heavy and aching. Mamá had pulled him, soaking and burnt, off the dock and from his hospital bed pressed a featherlight kiss to his temple, just beneath the bandages, all the while fully aware of what had reduced him to that state. She’d known it was him in the suit, soaring over the bay in a blur that ended with a calamitous explosion, but she hadn’t said anything. Once Fenton learned the truth, he assumed she simply understood that he was doing what needed to be done. 

Now, he wonders if fear kept her silent on the matter. 

“I didn’t know you were so worried,” he says lamely. 

Mamá reaches for the shower cap on the counter, pulling her hair, thick with dye, up and out of her face with practiced movements. Fenton supposes she should look silly with a polka dot shower cap on her head, but even with hair curlers and under-eye patches Mamá has never been anything short of impeccably put together. 

“I’m your mother, I’m always going to worry.” She turns in her chair to face him, squeezing his wrist above the gloves he’s still wearing. Her smile is warm but worn at the edges by lines of stress and age that Fenton wonders if he’s responsible for. How many gray hairs he just helped hide are there because of him? 

“I never said anything because I knew how important being Gizmoduck was to you,” Mamá says, tugging on his wrist to help her stand. He hears her knees crack. “My job isn’t the safest either, but I turned down a promotion because I didn’t want to be stuck in an office doing paperwork until retirement. I may not be getting thrown through any buildings or fighting plant monsters, but I understand why you’re sticking to it, pollito.”

It’s been five weeks since Fenton last donned the suit and he’s felt no desire to change that, nevermind that yesterday’s check-up proved Darkwing right. One broken rib and a mess of bruising are fully healed, with barely so much as the occasional twinge proving he was ever hurt in the first place. Not that he’s done more than glance at the cleverly disguised briefcase half hidden behind his wastepaper basket, ignored and left to gather dust as the packing process kicked into high gear. He doesn’t think Mamá has realized what it is. He’s been too anxious to tell her. 

The only place the suit features is in his nightmares, where it falls off of him in pieces like jagged shards of ice, impossible to put back together. He lands frail and exposed at Beaks’ feet, at Gandra’s, at Steelbeak’s, over and over again and it’s terrible because it’s true, because it’s happened, because he’s been beaten so many times and he’s tired of being afraid. He’s tired of being tired. 

 Three years of broken bones, sleepless nights, and electrical burns are finally catching up to him and he feels like a slapdash and hastily put together invention from his childhood, broken pieces rattling around in his depths, impossible to find much less repair. 

Gizmoduck is a leaden weight hanging around his neck and he’s never known what to do but let it drag him down. 

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear I'm not completely alone,” he says, wishing dully that it were true. Fenton smiles for Mamá’s benefit. “Darkwing has offered to teach me some hand-to-hand combat.”

Mamá rolls her eyes, bustling out of the bathroom. “Ese loco morado?”

He scrabbles after her, a genuine laugh surprising him when it bubbles up his throat. “He's not...that crazy.”

She hums noncommittally, and Fenton follows her into the kitchen where she throws open the fridge. “No one sane runs around in tights and a cape,” Mamá says, shuffling through Quackerware containers of that week’s leftovers. “He looks like he belongs in the circus, Fenton.” 

He doesn’t anticipate the blazing streak of protectiveness that lances hot up his spine when he thinks of Drake’s—Darkwing’s smiles when he gushes about Gosalyn’s smarts, her spirit. Darkwing slumping over the keyboard mid-conversation after powering through three straight nights of patrol on nothing but his blistering determination and four pots of coffee, St. Canard’s own Atlas, nursing a busted beak and a black eye and still laughing at Fenton’s dumb electron jokes.

Luckily, instead of all that, he blurts, “He made his suit himself, Mamá. I gave him the materials, a-a Kevlar polymer that was his idea, it’s virtually indestructible and allows for full flexibility and range of motion.” 

“Calma, calma,” Mamá says, pinning him with a wry look that he immediately recognizes, as well as the sense of foreboding it sends crashing over him. “You like his circus act, don’t you?”

Fenton huffs, his face feeling hot as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Of course I like him, Mamá. He can be...difficult sometimes but I really believe he’ll be a great hero.”

“I’m sure his muscles had nothing to do with it,” Mamá mutters into the two day old container of pasta she turns to examine. 

His sense of foreboding trips and tumbles down the stairs, hitting every mortifying step on the way down, and scattering his thoughts all over the kitchen floor like one of his flimsy molecular models. Fenton’s face feels like the surface of the sun as he changes the subject without subtly.

“Hey! How about you let me worry about dinner? And you can set up for our Patos marathon before you have to wash the dye out.”

Mamá looks amused as she allows herself to be guided into the living room. “Okay, pollito,” she says, humoring him and making no attempt to hide it. “Should I expect tall, dark, and loco to come to dinner sometime soon?”

Fenton garbles something unintelligible and flees back into the kitchen, pursued by Mamá’s laughter. He sticks his head in the fridge to avoid answering and his dread cools the blush in his cheeks more than the blast of refrigerated air ever could. It settles on his chest like a block of ice, slowly melting and spreading through his veins until it suffuses his entire body. 

He’s not like Darkwing, too stubborn, too passionate for his own good. Fenton has been cracking under the pressure long before his ribs gave way, and once he gives up Gizmoduck, he knows a true superhero like Darkwing won’t want anything to do with him. Not as a friend or...anything more. 

  Darkwing punches him in the face for the second time. 

Fenton swears when he hits the mat, landing hard on his tail feathers. Darkwing laughs, not even out of breath, the jerk. “Hey, language! One of your young, impressionable fans could be lurking around.”

“Is that jealousy I hear?” Fenton winces, rubbing his cheek. He knows it’ll bruise, and Darkwing didn’t even put his full strength behind it. He’d be unconscious if that were the case. 

Darkwing huffs, and his expression is somewhat chagrined when he offers Fenton a hand up. “You were supposed to dodge that.” 

“I tried.”

The sun is setting over St. Canard and through the tall windows of Darkwing Tower it paints the training area in brilliant shades of gold. Half of Darkwing’s face is dripping in it while the other is already engulfed in indigo shadows, a nearly perfect split that Fenton has a hard time tearing his eyes away from. Darkwing’s forgone his uniform today, just wearing a pink shirt that’s tight around his biceps. By contrast, Fenton feels like he’s sweated half his bodily fluids into the neckline and underarms of his shirt. 

“Well then, let’s try again,” Darkwing says, with a smile that isn’t even forced like Fenton half-feared. Without the mask, his expression is delightfully open, hiding none of his easy confidence. He raises his hands in front of him, palms out and fingers slightly curled. “Start from the beginning; show me your punch.”

Fenton blows the sweaty fringe out of his eyes with a hard breath. He curls his right hand into a tight fist and punches solidly into Darkwing’s palm with a satisfying smack. 

“Not bad,” Darkwing says, and Fenton’s traitorous heart skips at the approving rise in his voice. “Now let’s try the left. You want equal strength, or as close as you can get to it, with both arms in case one is out of commission.”

“How would that happen?” Fenton grunts as he dutifully begins punching with his left. 

“Oh you know,” Darkwing says airily, “breaking your arm when you fall into the bay and having to swim to shore. Being handcuffed to a Crowmanian gangster. Slipping in the shower and spraining your wrist.”

Fenton gapes, faltering before he can throw another punch. “There’s no way all of that really happened to you.”

Darkwing winks, sending Fenton’s stomach into a fit of somersaults. “Daring duck of mystery, remember?” 

He moves away to pick up the strike pads he has stacked against the wall with all of his other training equipment. Darkwing slips them on, tightening the Velcro straps, and smacks them together. “Okay, now for real, Fentonino. Gimme all you’ve got, and we’ll see where we go from there. Can’t have Gizmoduck running around not knowing how to throw a real punch.” 

Fenton flushes up to his eyebrows, not that it’s noticeable with the sheen of sweat he’s already worked up. “The suit calibrates my punches for me, calculating the force and the trajectory. That way I don’t knock someone’s head off by accident.”

Darkwing grimaces theatrically. “Thanks for the mental image. Now quit stalling! You’re not in the suit right now.”

 No, he’s not, and Fenton feels that difference keenly with every tumble he takes to the mat and every bruise along the line of knuckles. It’s liberating in a way; Fenton has never been the athletic type, always preferring hunching over a video game controller than tumbling after a soccer ball with the kids on his street. 

Working the suit is taxing and rewarding in equal measure but he doesn’t come out of fights feeling proud very often. When the fighting gets bad, he’s clawing to succeed against forces stronger than his own, to protect the people counting on him. Being punted through skyscrapers by 2-BO and halfway getting his head crushed didn't end in his victory. That he walked away from that fight at all was the real win. 

The greatest consequence he can face here is a couple more bruises for Mamá to cluck over and a healthy dose of embarrassment. The latter, of course, is already taken care of. 

Fenton starts punching. Right. Left. Right. Left. Left again. Right. He focuses on keeping his shoulders loose and fist steady as Darkwing had taught him, on each punch landing solidly against the strike pads. He hears Darkwing’s grin in his voice. 

“Good, Fenton! Now remember your footwork—stay out of my range unless you wanna taste the floor again.”

Darkwing moves forward and Fenton moves a step back, keeping his blows as constant as he’s able as Darkwing raises and lowers and pulls the strike pads out of his range. It’s a bit like a dance, but one reliant on angles and violence and balance rather than following a beat. Fenton has two left feet anyway; he bets Darkwing’s an excellent dancer when he’s not getting caught up in his head and tripping on air. 

He risks a glance at Darkwing’s face and is promptly floored by the expression of narrow determination on his face, certainly mimicking Fenton’s own up until that moment. All at once, the confusion of the last five weeks hits him all at once, with all the force of a runaway train. 

It was sparked by Darkwing’s initial invitation in the dust and dark of the Library of Alexandria and exacerbated by Darkwing’s frequent texts, not on superhero business, but just to check on Fenton, how he was healing, how the packing process was coming along. It’s not unlike their interactions when Fenton was still keeping half his life a secret from Darkwing and letting him come to his own erroneous conclusions instead; like they’re still friends, like nothing’s changed. And it’s nice all of it, it’s great in fact, but no less bewildering considering he’d thought Darkwing would cut ties with him after learning the truth, not try to create more. 

And because Fenton can never stop his mouth from blurting every idea that pops into his head, no matter how traitorous, he’s midpunch when says, “I thought you hated Gizmoduck?”

Darkwing freezes, and Fenton’s treated to his utterly gobsmacked expression in the seconds before Fenton’s punch connects. But not with the strike pad. In his shock, Darkwing lowers his arms just enough for Fenton’s fist to blow right past them and straight into his face.

Fenton’s punch makes him stumble back a step, which under different circumstances might’ve been a point of pride, unmooring the hero who doesn’t bend or break. But it’s impossible to know how much was on account of his punch or simply catching Darkwing off guard. 

Darkwing blinks wide, startled eyes at him, one hand reaching up to rub his cheek before he pauses, as if remembering the strike pads still wrapped around them. “What?” He says, more quietly than Fenton’s ever heard him. Darkwing looks confused and Fenton doesn’t blame him; his mind is churning so fast it might as well be in another galaxy. 

“Why are you helping me?” He demands, and Mamá might have told never to look a gift horse in the mouth but Fenton’s been playing catch up since Scrooge McDuck sauntered into his hospital room and handed him the chance to be a hero. “You’ve barely made fun of me, the great and powerful Gizmoduck who can’t even throw a proper punch. I would’ve thought you’d have a field day.” 

Darkwing’s eyes drop to the floor before flashing back up to Fenton’s face. The guilt that he finds there is nearly scorching in its intensity. 

“I….maybe,” Darkwing admits haltingly. With clumsy movements, he unstraps the strike pads from around his hands, avoiding Fenton’s gaze again. “Before, I might’ve.”

“Before?” Fenton repeats, not letting up. He’s rarely so confrontational out of the suit but Darkwing’s always been good at pressing his buttons, intentionally or otherwise. “Before what?”

Darkwing isn’t looking at him again as he sweeps a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck, putting it into more disarray than their sparring had caused. The smile he musters is more of a grimace. “Before I knew you were Gizmoduck.”

Fenton blinks. His hands, wrapped by Darkwing in boxing tape at the start of the evening, tremble as he closes them into fists at his side. “I don’t understand.”

Darkwing rolls his eyes, so endearing in its familiarity that Fenton feels it like a blow to the chest. “You’re right, I hated Gizmoduck. Or, I hated the idea of him, I guess. All I ever wanted to do, all I ever wanted to be, was a hero, and here was this nobody in a kickass suit showing up out of nowhere and getting everything I’d ever wanted: fame, respect, merchandising tie-ins. Here I was trying to make my mark when Gizmoduck had already broken the mold.”

“You were jealous?” Fenton hedges, like it doesn’t make all the sense in the world considering the interactions between himself and the terror that flaps in the night when the truth was still an insurmountable gulf between them. But in his defense, there is very little in his life that Fenton deems worth anyone’s jealousy: a Mt. Neverrest’s worth of student debt, the three hours of sleep he’s lucky to get every night, kissing his Mamá goodbye and knowing that this might be the day that fate decides to take her away from him, or vice versa? 

Darkwing huffs, melodramatic to a fault, and plants his hands on his narrow waist. “And here I thought you were some kind of genius?”

Fenton goes to pinch the space between his eyes, not in the mood for Darkwing to give him the runaround. “Darkwing—”

“It was the way you talked about him,” Darkwing says, like Fenton hadn’t spoken. He’s staring hard at the mat, brow furrowed beneath some troubling weight. “Whenever Gizmoduck was brought up and you, I don’t know, tried hiding him from me I guess, you talked about him like he was some kind of taskmaster, hounding you at all hours, never letting you take a break.” 

“It’s not too far off the mark,” Fenton mutters, unsure if Darkwing can even hear him. Unsure if he wants him to. 

Darkwing shakes his head. “It made me hate him, pal. Like, as a person. That’s why I fought with him...you, all those times.”

Unspent agitation flutters through Fenton’s stomach, up into his healed rib cage, through his veins like the wingbeat of a thousand butterflies. He’s never been the sort to start a fight before but Darkwing is watching him with eyes wide and wary, the sunlight fading from his feathers, and maybe Fenton wants to be the impulsive one for once. 

“So what, all this was just a long-drawn-out way to take out your frustration on Gizmoduck?”

Darkwing sputters. “You punched me!”

“Well I’m sorry!” Fenton yells right back. 

Silence plunges between them with an almost palpable crack in the air. Fenton’s chest heaves for breath and Darkwing stares back at him, his face softened by frustration and worry. The sun is setting, long tendrils of gold clinging to the Lair and Darkwing’s eyes as the cool shades of evening roll in to fill the empty spaces. 

“I don’t hate you, Fenton,” Darkwing says in that soft tone of utter sincerity that he’s used with Gosalyn and Launchpad but never him. 

Fenton isn’t sure he’s breathing; the tips of his fingers are beginning to feel a little numb and he feels as though he’s swallowed an electrical current. “What changed?

Darkwing laughs, a thin, strained sound. He gestures sharply at Fenton with an open palm. “You! Fenton, I learned it was you. How could I hate Gizmoduck then?”

It’s too close to the fantasies that Fenton’s guarded close for months, buried so deep he almost forgets about them most days. Fantasies where Darkwing learns the truth behind the Gizmoduck helmet and is elated, where he takes Fenton’s hands in his own and asks to be partners, to help Fenton shoulder the load, where he draws Fenton impossibly close with a hand on the small of his back—

“I almost wouldn’t blame you,” Fenton blurts, despite the voice in the back of his head (sounding suspiciously like Gyro) spitting, Abort! Abort, you idiot! “I’m not Gizmoduck’s biggest fan myself.”

“What?” Darkwing’s brow crumbles like a bad car accident. 

Fenton could make a joke. He could change the subject. He could do anything but spill his guts and admit the horrible corrosive fear that has eroded him from the inside out for the last year: that Fenton is nothing without Gizmoduck and Gizmoduck is everything without him. 

“I’ve been thinking of retiring as Gizmoduck,” he admits with the delicacy of a reactor core overload. 

Darkwing couldn’t look more horrified if Fenton had slapped him straight across the face. “Because of me?”

Laughter trips off Fenton’s beak, verging on hysterical until he reigns himself in. “No, Darkwing, not because of you. It’s….something I’ve been considering for a while. I know I’ve helped a lot of people as Gizmoduck, and I don’t regret it, but it feels like I should be doing...more.”

“More?” Darkwing repeats incredulously. “Fenton, you said it yourself, you’ve saved Duckburg dozens of times, you’re world-famous—”

“Which anyone could do with the suit!” Fenton interrupts insistently as he steps closer. “The suit does all the work, Darkwing! I was a scientist before I put it on and I’m still a scientist now, and I can-I can do more than get punched through buildings and blown up over and over again.”

“Okay,” Darkwing says gently, palms raised in conciliation. “Okay. Maybe you’re right, Fen. You’re the smartest guy I know, and if you put your mind to it there probably isn’t anything you couldn’t do. But you’re not replaceable either. Sure maybe some other schmuck can fly the suit around and rescue cats from trees, but you’ll always be Duckburg’s first superhero. That means something.”

 Fenton lets out a breath he feels he’s been holding for the last five weeks. Darkwing may be a good actor, but the utter sincerity in his face could not be rehearsed. “You really mean that.”

Darkwing cracks the first smile in what feels like hours. It lights up his face even though the gloom of twilight has settled over the Tower. “Course I mean it.” He reaches out to Fenton with uncharacteristic caution, and Fenton looks down in confusion as Darkwing gently takes his hand in his own. 

“The superhero scene is changing,” Darkwing says as he begins the methodical process of unwrapping the boxing tape from around Fenton’s hands. Fenton’s gaze zips up to Darkwing’s face, calm in its concentration, down to his hand, and back up again, with no clue where to focus. He’s not sure if he’s breathing. “It’s not just you and me anymore; there’s the kid with blue hair who can do magic, that terrifying Moonlander, Boyd. All the superheroing doesn’t have to be on you.”

Fenton makes a sound he thinks could pass for a laugh. “How is it that Boyd’s name is the only one you know?”

Darkwing shrugs, unrepentant. “He and Gos hit it off after the whole thing at the Library of Alexandria. They’ve had a couple sleepovers at the apartment. Gearloose is even thinking about letting him start going to the same school as her. Let him socialize with normal kids, y’know? Not just a lightbulb and a demon.”

“Don’t let Gyro hear you call Lil Bulb that,” Fenton says breathlessly, overwhelmed by this new facet of Darkwing the father. “Or Lil Bulb for that matter.”

The last of the boxing tape is unwound from Fenton’s hand, but Darkwing doesn’t move away. He doesn't let go of Fenton’s hand either. If anything, his grip tightens. When Darkwing runs a thumb over his aching knuckles, Fenton thinks he might break his ribs all over again from how tightly he’s holding his breath. 

“I get it,” Darkwing says, and it takes Fenton several hard blinks for his mind to circle back down from where it’s gotten lost in orbit, “You need a break. I don’t blame you. Heck, before I had Gos and LP making sure I slept, I could relate.” His thumb is still sweeping back and forth over Fenton’s knuckles, calloused and warm, more reliable than a metronome. Fenton doesn’t dare look up now, afraid of what he’ll find on Darkwing’s expressive face. His voice has gotten low and intimate in the space between them. 

“So lock yourself in your lab for a little while,” he goes on. “Focus on solving world hunger or creating a hoverboard or whatever you science types do. Keep the suit in storage or sublease it for a bit. I can think of one pilot who’s eager to get behind the wheel.” 

Fenton stutters through a laugh, curling his fingers hesitantly around Darkwing’s. “You’re being strangely reasonable.” 

Darkwing huffs, exaggerated insult personified. “I resent the implication.”

Fenton looks up, and it’s the best and worst decision he could’ve made. Darkwing’s eyes rove over his face like they’re cataloguing every detail, from the gauntness of his cheeks due to lack of sleep to the scars beneath his right eye from when Megabeak shattered his visor, while still searching desperately for more. Fenton’s never been the focus of anyone’s undivided attention in a way that didn’t end poorly for him: see Beaks, Beaks, and oh, Mark freaking Beaks.

Darkwing looks at him like he’s trying to drink his fill and knows he never will. 

Fenton wonders if Darkwing sees the same expression reflected back at him. 

“You know,” Darkwing says softly, too quietly to break the spell that’s fallen over them. “If you don’t want to get back in the suite again, ever, that’s okay too. I’m not saying...I’m not telling you what to do. But whatever you choose I’ll...I’ll be here. If you want me to be, I mean.” He squeezes Fenton’s fingers and that feeling travels straight to his heart, where Darkwing’s grip tightens equally. “You’re already strong, whether or not you can throw a punch.”

“Managed to land one on you, didn’t I?” Fenton grins crookedly, hoping to distract from the way his eyes have, mortifyingly, begun to burn. He thought Darkwing would be the last person who would understand, and he’s never been so grateful to be proven wrong. 

“You caught me by surprise,” Darkwing stresses. “Underhanded tactics don’t count.” He lifts his other hand and Fenton doesn’t move, doesn’t dare breathe, as it follows a steady path upward to hover over his cheek. He watches Darkwing’s throat bob as he swallows with the same attention to detail he would devote to a delicate experiment. “Though, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for punching you in the face. Twice.” Darkwing winces, genuine yet silly, and Fenton thinks he might be smitten. 

“Then I’m sorry for punching you in the face, too,” he says with not even a fraction as much sincerity. 

Darkwing breathes a laugh through his nose and his thumb alights on Fenton’s cheek with the slightest caress. “No you’re not.”

Fenton hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels, but he’s too overwhelmed by Darkwing's nearness to care overly much. “No, I'm not.”

He feels Darkwing’s hand tremble against his cheek. Fenton’s eyes flit from Darkwing’s face to his mouth, and his stomach tightens when realizes Darkwing is doing the same to him. He sways into Fenton’s space, yet lingering impossibly far away. 

“I..um…” Darkwing rasps, “I promise I didn’t ask you here just to kiss you.” 

He looks uncertain in a way that eases Fenton’s own fears and instead bolsters his courage enough to take that final leap forward. 

“I know.” 

Fenton sees Darkwing’s—Drake’s—eyes widen as he leans in, before his eyes close and they’re kissing, tentative and trying, chaste even. It’s little more than a press of lips and Fenton hardly has any experience in this department but when he tilts his head just so, Drake makes this punched out sound that zings up Fenton’s spine, and their kiss begins in earnest. 

Drake loosens the hand gripping Fenton’s and instead splays it around the right side of his newly healed rib cage, Drake’s wide palm so warm it practically sears through the thin material of Fenton’s shirt. His stomach swoops as if from a great height, like the rare times he takes the suit out flying when there’s no fight to be had, just the crystalline joy of freefall knowing something is there to catch him. 

Fenton grabs Drake’s elbow to center himself as his mind spins away from him, fully absorbed in the moment while at the same time feeling as though he’s been sent hurtling through the stratosphere. 

Their kiss turns languid and toe-curlingly slow before Drake abruptly pulls away, his breath hot against Fenton’s cheek. 

“It’s a school night,” he pants, apropos of nothing. 

Fenton blinks dazedly. “Huh?” 

Drake chuckles breathlessly, and this close Fenton can see the small nicks and scars on his beak and face, reminders of three decades worth of fights, both won and lost. The hand on Fenton’s cheek has since moved to cradle his jaw and Drake’s thumb strokes just beneath his eye in a caress that has Fenton leaning into his palm. 

“Gosalyn has school tomorrow,” he explains sheepishly. “LP’s watching her at my apartment but he’s not that great at enforcing bedtimes.” 

 “So you have to get back,” Fenton guesses with a small smile tugging at his beak. 

Drake winces, squinting one eye shut. “So I have to get back. Not that-I’m not kicking you out or anything, you can come with if you want, if you don’t mind some yelling about curfew and how I’m a despicable despot for making her go to bed before eleven.”

Laughter weaves its way between them, familiar and warm. Drake hasn’t moved away and neither has Fenton, their bodies still incredibly near, their hands still on each other, though the fervent need to touch and be touched has reduced to a simmer. Instead their closeness is reassuring, a reminder that the last five minutes were real. 

“Well, if you’re sure, then I’d like to come along,” Fenton manages, clinging tightly to the courage that propels him into the path of bullets and lasers and bombs, which suddenly seems so easy when compared to the everyday terror of emotional vulnerability. “We should...talk some more.”

Drake squeezes Fenton’s waist once, ducking his head mischievously. “I like talking,” he says. 

Fenton makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Believe me, I noticed.”

“Wha—hey!” Drake laughs through an impossible smile. “I thought this meant you weren’t allowed to make fun of me anymore.”

“Hm, pretty sure it’s the opposite.”

“Out-snarked by Duckburg’s golden boy. I’m losing my touch.” Drake shakes his head in disappointment before reluctantly pulling away from Fenton. “We can head over now if you’re ready. You’ve never been on my bike before, have you?”

Fenton pretends to think hard on it, fighting off a smile that threatens to break his facade. He feels almost giddy, as if the weight of his dread and guilt these last weeks and months has sloughed off him and finally allowed him to breathe freely. The future may be uncertain, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. 

“We could always use my way,” Fenton offers innocently. 

Drake turns, his smile quirked in amusement. “Your way?” he says. It takes a second before panic strikes down any other expression. “No. No. Fenton, don’t you dare!”

Fenton grins, and without a shred of remorse calls out, “Blathering blatherskite!” 

The innocuous white briefcase he’d left by the entrance activates with a hum at the utterance and the Gizmosuit propels itself through the air toward its current master. 

[tokuvivor]

For the platonic sentence starter “that sounds dangerous, I’m in!”

Alright! Works for me! And since you told me dealer’s choice, I’m going with…Della and Launchpad!

I give you…

It’s a Long Way to the Top

Originated from this post.

“-and flags. Check! Alright, I’m ready to go.”

Launchpad was ready to head off to the Junior Woodchuck Lodge, when Della walked past, curious about why he was wearing his troop leader uniform.

“Hey Launchpad. Where are you off to?”

“Oh! Hey, Ms. D,” Launchpad replied. “I’m going out to the lodge to set up for next week’s Junior Woodchuck Wilderness Challenge.”

“You’re going all the way out to the lodge, so you can set up a bunch of flags along a treacherous course where kids have to duke it out to hopefully become a Senior Woodchuck by the end of it?” reiterated Della.

“Yes…” Launchpad replied cautiously.

“That sounds dangerous. I’m in!” Della responded.

“I mean, I don’t think I really need any help for this-aaaaand you’re hugging my leg.” Launchpad looked down, and the motherly pilot had indeed wrapped her entire body around Launchpad’s leg.

“Please?” Della pleaded.

“Well, okay,” Launchpad relented. “I could use the company, anyway!”

“Great!” Della chirped. “I’ll go put on my uniform!” And she zipped off towards her room.

Launchpad always enjoyed being a Woodchuck troop leader. Especially for some of his younger friends. And he did appreciate Della’s help, both with taking a lot of the load off him as a pilot and with Woodchuck stuff.

Not two minutes later, Della skidded back out in front of him, dressed in her Woodchuck uniform, backpack on her shoulders. “Alright, I’m ready. Let’s go!”

Even though she was a couple decades removed from her Junior Woodchuck days, Della couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement whenever she entered the grounds of the Woodchuck Lodge. The smell of mountain air, all the memories she had amassed at the lodge, the thrill of looming adventure (if she was lucky).

“Ahhhhhhhhh!” she sighed when she and Launchpad arrived. “Smell that air!”

“Smells kinda neutral to me,” noted Launchpad. “But then again, it’s got that sorta quality to it that I just like, I guess.”

“What sort of quality?”

“Clean, calm, pleasant. I think it’s some sort of French term that’s what I’m looking for,” waxed Launchpad.

“I think you’re right,” Della responded. “Ah, we can ask Huey about it when we get back.”

“Speaking of Huey,” Launchpad commented, “how does he feel about getting another shot at this whole Senior Woodchuck thing?”

“He’s a little nervous, but I think he’s ready,” answered Della. “He’s already had two goes at this, and I think the third time could be the charm for him.”

“You’re not still resentful about two years ago, right?” Launchpad wondered.

“Pffft! Nah, of course not,” Della smirked. “Violet deserved that ish; I was just being a total Woodchuck mom. Besides, it’s a stupid thing to still be worked up over two years after the fact. Was over and done for me pretty quickly.”

Launchpad breathed a sigh of relief. “Good,” he grinned. “I figured, but I just wanted to confirm.”

The two got out of the Jeep, and headed towards the woods, flags in tow. Launchpad pulled out a list.

“What’s that?” Della asked.

“A list of the various places we have to place the flags,” Launchpad answered.

“But don’t you sorta have it committed to memory at this point?” Della questioned.

“Well, yes, but just in case,” Launchpad admitted, shaking the paper a bit. “Besides, keep in mind who you’re talking to.”

“Oh, you are not that bad!” scoffed Della. “Besides, I’m sure we could bang this out pretty easily together.”

“Really?” Launchpad questioned.

“Really. I could do this in my sleep, even. Keep in mind that I was a Senior Woodchuck, myself,” Della noted. “Got my sash on these very grounds.”

“Alright,” Launchpad replied. “Let’s do it.”

So the two entered the forest, ready to lay out the first flags on the course. It would start out easy, but gradually get more difficult. Della and Launchpad anticipated this, so they each had pickaxes, rope, and harnesses in tow. Eventually, they had to scale a rocky cliff, which led towards the volcano.

“Doesn’t get much easier at this point as I get older,” commented Launchpad. “Especially since I’m much bigger than the kids.”

“Hold on,” Della replied, and before Launchpad could respond, Della scaled past him, carefully minding where her hands and feet were, until she was close to the top.

Launchpad looked confused.

“Okay, scale out towards here!” Della called back.

“Um, okay?” Launchpad called back, confused. He scaled along the rock face, making sure not to fall. Once he got close enough to Della, she steadied herself on top of the ledge, swinging the rope out for Launchpad to grab. She then watched him carefully as he climbed up, pulling in the rope as he did so. Eventually, he got to the top, where Della grabbed his hand (she could only really grab onto one with both of hers) and pulled him onto higher ground.

“Oof! Thanks,” grunted Launchpad.

“No problem,” Della replied. “Now, how far along is that volcano?”

“Not too far,” Launchpad answered. “Along…this way.” He pointed out a narrow path.

Pretty soon, Della and Launchpad could feel the air getting hotter and thicker, and they knew they were close.

“I see it!” Della shouted.

And sure enough, just up ahead, in all its burning glory, was the volcano.

The duo’s pace quickened until they got to the bridge. Della took a deep breath.

“Crap, it’s been years since I’ve been up here,” she remarked.

“If you keep your eye on the other side,” commented Launchpad, “it’s easier to contend with.”

Della nodded, stepping onto the bridge. Her legs wobbled, but she forged ahead, with Launchpad just behind her. A few minutes later, they were at the other side.

“Aaaand that’s it,” said Launchpad. “We’ve made it to the last checkpoint.”

“Woo!” cheered Della, high-fiving Launchpad excitedly. “Soooo…how do we lower this thing?”

“Like this,” Launchpad answered, sliding a stone on the side of the marker. Suddenly, the stone pillar they were standing on descended into the lava.

“Do you get how we don’t get hurt by the lava when this thing goes down into it?” Della asked.

“I still don’t,” Launchpad admitted.

Before they knew it, they had descended into the cave below the volcano. They both had fond memories of this place: Launchpad honoring his younger friends, and Della cheering on Huey in his previous bids for the title of Senior Woodchuck. Even in defeat, he kept a positive attitude.

The duo stood there, taking it all in.

“Never gets old, Ms. D,” Launchpad remarked.

“I can see how it doesn’t,” Della agreed. “Oh, boy, I can’t wait for next week.”

“Huey’s gonna be fine,” commented Launchpad. “He’s been working really hard at this over the past year.”

“I know,” Della replied. “I’m so proud of him.”

“Me, too,” Launchpad admitted. “So, yeah. That’s it. Thanks for helping me out with this, Ms. D.”

“Hey, thanks for giving me an excuse to get out of the mansion,” shot back Della. “Let’s find the exit, shall we?”

“Sounds good.” And the two friends, adrenaline still pumping, headed down a passageway towards the mouth of the cave.

[moonbeam-dragon]

Positive Charge Part 9

Moonrise! Elmo and Drake are officially together! And Launchpad has his own love life to worry about. Which makes it pretty awkward for Gosalyn. Tw: Cursing, mention of Quackerjack being a little toxic, lazy writing of video games, please don’t start a shipping war.

Gosalyn shifted in her chair. Nothing about this felt right.

Her dad was on a date. A dinner date. At their house. It was fine that she got to meet her dad’s new boyfriend. Or at least re-meet him.

But Elmo was Megavolt. Knowing that made Gosalyn very uneasy. Sure, he’d never hurt her. But she’d been kidnapped, even accidentally, by Megavolt so many times, she went stiff whenever his hand reached for the salt near her.

But nothing upset Gosalyn more than the fact that Elmo was sitting in Launchpad’s seat. And Launchpad wasn’t here. He was on a date of his own. His fiance had visited St. Canard just for him so he was gone.

And Gosalyn felt a little left alone.

“How about we go watch some television?” Drake suggested, pushing his chair out. “I think they’re playing re-runs of Pelican’s Island.”

Elmo nodded, getting up from his seat. Gosalyn laughed silently. He was like two feet taller than Drake. “Sounds fun. Huh, Gosalyn?” he said, looking at the young teen.

That was odd. Gosalyn was so used to Megavolt referring to her as “hey, kid,” “little redhead,” “brat,” or “you know, you remind me of me sometimes, and that’s not a good thing.” So hearing her actual name, along with such calmness, unsettled her.

But her dad was succeeding a mission. And he seemed about about it. So she was going to play along. The girl smiled. “Yeah! I’ll put the plates away. You two go ahead to the living room, I’ll be right there!”

Gosalyn took the moment she was alone in the room to sag. It was hard being on her best behavior. She could if she wanted. But trying to be polite when her father’s arch enemy was dating her father- Come on, that would upset any kid!

She went back out to the living room to sit down with her father, using the duck as a space between them. Then Drake’s phone rang and he stood up. “Hello?” he said, unsure who the caller was. He gasped and put a hand on the back of his neck. Gosalyn saw his index finger make five taps. The code. This was a call from S.H.U.S.H. in the evening. That only ever ended in long nights. “Sorry, dear. I need to take this,” Drake said, not specific about who he was addressing. “I’ll be in my study. You two start the show.”

Gosalyn watched as her dad abandoned her, going up to his study and closing the door. She fidgetted, not knowing what to say or do. She’d rather go to her room but that would be rude. Gosalyn got up and went to the stand under the TV. “Between you and me, I only watch that show to entertain dad,” Gosalyn said awkwardly. “If it’s alright with you, I’m going to put this baby in instead.” She held up the case to a Whiffle Boy disk, then placing it in the machine.

Elmo’s eyes widened instinctively. He was surprised when Gosalyn wasn’t attacked by a blur of red and purple. Oh, Quackerjack wasn’t here. Elmo didn’t like it, but he felt relief in being able to so much as think of the game in peace. “You, uh, you play Whiffle boy?” Elmo said, watching as Gosalyn grabbed two controls and sat on the couch. She took one for herself and pushed the other one to Elmo.

“Oh yeah. I got to compete in a competition. I don’t mean to brag, but I won and went to Whiffle Town,” she said, smirking proudly. Yes, this was the first fight with Quackerjack. She just wanted to test something. “As an ‘electrician,’ how do you like video games?”

Elmo shrugged, watching Gosalyn select a level. “I’m alright with them. I don’t get to play a lot,” he admitted. “But games on machines are cool. Last I checked I was pretty good with them.”

Gosalyn nodded to the control. “Let’s see about that. It’s hooked up to two-player.” Elmo looked down at the control uncertainly. He couldn’t help but feeling wrong for this. He’d been in accomplice in many recent attacks on Whiffle Boy. People probably thought Megavolt hated the game. But really, he’d always wanted to try it. “Well?”

Elmo took the control, sighing. Quackerjack wasn’t here. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. Or hurt Elmo, for that matter. “Team mode?” he asked, watching the screen.

“Sure,” Gosalyn said. “It would be rude to beat your down. You’re our guest.” The girl batted her eyelashes, feigning innocence.

“Heh. Sure,” Elmo said. “I’m sure I’d be able to win if I had to.”

Gosalyn laughed. “We’ll see.” She pressed start on the game, and the Whiffle characters appeared, Weasel Kid in the center. “Take this, sucker!”

Elmo had his character leap into action to help, throwing attacks and setting defenses whenever he saw fit. All those years fighting Dipwing had taught him a thing or two. This was when his brain was most in focus. He was predicting his opponents next move and trying to keep one step ahead. “You play often?” he asked, leaping over an obstacle.

Gosalyn nodded, eyes fixed on the screen. “Yeah. I’m not crazy obsessed with it. But it’s fun. Besides, keeps my hand-eye-coordination sharp!” she said, sending a blow to their opponent. She missed, though, and got defeated. “Come on! I always glitch out there. You saw me send that attack, right??”

Elmo nodded, hitting restart. “Try to hit and dodge a little faster. You’ll want to send something with range so you can get out of the way.” Gosalyn did as instructed, but the Weasel Kid managed to speed up and hit her suddenly.

“Oh, come on! This has to be a cheat!” she complained, hitting restart again. “Let me guess. I can improve skills by buying a pack? Nope! Not falling for it.” She groaned when she got the same result. “Why you little-” She restarted once more, furiously trying to beat up the Weasel Kid.

Elmo noticed her struggling. Her eyes were fixed so tightly on the screen. It wouldn’t hurt if he helped. He pointed at the wire, sending a shock so that the signal would go through more quickly. This time, she maganed to strike down her opponent and win the level. “Great job, Gos!” the rat said.

Gosalyn jumped up, pumping a fist in the air. “Finally! This means I have beaten the update!” she bragged. “I’ve got to be the first in my class to win the whole thing. Wait ‘til I tell Huey and Dewey. Oh, they’re gonna be SO jealous!”

Elmo smiled. There was something… oddly satisfying about making her happy. Maybe it was the way she was already prepared to gloat over victory. Or perhaps it was the way she celebrated: by hyping herself up and doing little karate moves around the room.

She looked an awful lot like someone he’d seen around. Like a lot. There was something so memorable about her. And yet he didn’t remember.

Ah, whatever. It was but a trivial comparison to someone he didn’t remember well enough for them to matter.

“So what else are you interested in, Gosalyn?” Elmo asked, cossing his legs to get comfortable .Something toldd him that Drake was going to be on thet phone for quite a while.

___

Launchpad twirled his fork around in his spaghetti. “It’s just weird with all these new changed happening. Gosalyn’s a teenager now. I’m moving back to Duckberg. And Drake’s got a boyfriend. And I’m very happy about all of that. It’s just… I can’t help wishing that this was going a little slower.” He looked up at his fiance, blushing sheepishly. “Sorry. I went off there. This is about us.”

“Yeah. And that means you should get to say your piece,” a voice said softly. “When we’re together all the time again, we won’t have to have one huge emotional speech. Just a pow-wow any time we need help.”

Launchpad took his lover’s hand, practically staring with hearts in his eyes, “How did I get so lucky to have someone like you?”

“You are lucky. I’m surprised you menaged to tear my walls down long enough to make me fall for you.”

“And normally you’re so stubborn. It’s fun watching you get flustered and then pretend you’re not and then get to see you giggle,” Launchpad said. He could go off about the things he loved most about his partner. They were opposites. But what little they had in common was strong. What they differed in, they complimented one another nicely.

Della leaned closer, the candle light shining on her face. “Shut up,” she said, face turning red. “Look, I’m glad you can come to me with things. It makes me feel like I’m starting off right,” she said. “It’s nice to start off right.”

Launchpad moved his hands so both cupped hers. He was almost four times her size in all, so her hands were tiny within his. “Yeah. I just hope I’ll be leaving everything behind alright,” he said, glancing down. He was worried about how Drake would handle anything on his own. Raising a teenage daughter, being a superhero, the whole situation with him dating Megavolt. He had faith in his best friend. But goodness gracious he could make bad decisions if he wanted something.

“I’m sure you will. You’re good with conflict resolution,” Della said with a warm smile. “That just might be why I fell in love with you.” She leaned up to kiss his beak briefly but sweetly.

___

Elmo left the house close to midnight, still talking to Gosalyn as he went out the door. Drake was glad the two had managed to get along while he was gone. “Okay. I hate to break up the conversation, but you need to go, babe. We all have work or school in the morning,” he said. “I really shouldn’t have let you two stay up this much.”

Elmo laughed, ruffling Gosalyn’s hair. “It was fine. The kid’s got spirit,” he said. Her red hair stuck up with his hand as a result of the static.

Gosalyn laughed it off, smoothing her hair and pretending not to notice. “You should stay over sometime. For a sleepover.”

“A sleep over?” Drake repeated. “Gos, sleepovers aren’t really an adult thing.:

Gosalyn looked up at her dad. “I meant with me. Not you, duh.”

I was tired when I wrote this. Forgive me if it went to fast. Farewell, best of luck, avoid roasted cabbage, don’t eat earwax, and look on the bright side of life!Moonset!

[sugarrushproductions]

Darkwing Duck Reboot

Trouble

"Gos, when I asked you to try have a good day, this isn't what I meant," Drake said, holding up a bucket of two broken phones and two mean letters ripped up. The letters weren't written by her, they were just thrown at her.

"Technically, you told me that a week ago," Gosalyn said from the couch. She had a sly smile painted on her features and a confident stance. Drake dropped the box on the coffee table.

"Gosalyn, that doesn't mean you get to break two kids phones and give them black eyes this week!"

"You saw those notes!" Goslyan shot back.

"Yes, I did. But that does not excuse the black eyes and broken property! Now LP and I have to pay that." And the phones the two kids had weren't cheap. They were the newest model of phones, had the best connection possible. Gosalyn faltered at that.

"I- I'm sorry. About that..." Gosalyn muttered, not looking him in the eye. Drake sighed and looked outside, the sun setting in the background of the city.

"Look, we'll talk about this more tomorrow. I gotta go on patrol."

"Drake-"

"The Sabrewing's will be popping in every now and then, so no TV or phone unless it's an emergency. And you will be having dinner over there. Got it?" Gosalyn nodded feebly. And with that, he grabbed his jacket and case with his costume and headed out.

. . .

"Wanda, any crime?"

"No sir," the computer said. "But Launchpad is on his way up. And say please next time!" Drake couldn't help but feel his face light up, his cheeks heat, when he heard that LP was on his way. The same way they always did when Launchpad was near.

But the feeling was replaced with worry. Launchpad always tried to come to St. Canard to vist him, but that meant a three hour drive both ways. Six hours in total and he stays awake most of the time, so sleep is out of the question.

Drake just wished-

"Hey DW!" Came Launchpad's deep,  bright, and bubbly voice. Drake's heart flutter.

"LP!" He said, turning around. If the guy was tired, he didn't show it. His beak was upturned in a smile like this was were he always wanted to be. Like Drake was the only thing he wanted to see.

But of course, Drake only saw that as a friend happy to see another friend.

"How's Gos?" Drake's flustered happiness faded when Gosalyn was mentioned. "That bad?"

"She broke two kids phones and gave them black eyes." Launchpad winced. "Yeah. And the only way they wouldn't sue is if we paid for the phones and if she was expelled. Luckily I talked them out of that part. They settled for her being suspended for a week and detention for three days afterwards."

"Well, that's better than nothing," Launchpad sighed, going to sit next to him.

"I just don't get why she did it. I mean, those letters were terrible, but that-"

"What letters?"

"Those two kids she beat up. They said some pretty mean things."

"Like?" Drake really didn't want to get to into it, but with Launchpad's innocent curiosity and concern, he couldn't stop himself.

"Like, you don't belong here, you're just a stupid- I'm not saying that word- you don't have any parents, that guy isn't your real dad."

"What kind of trouble did they get into?" Launchpad's voice turned angry, and his face turned just the slightest bit red.

"Unfortunately, no-"

"Excuse me, lovebirds," Wanda interrupted. The two jumped in surprise at her voice. Neither noticed how red the others face turned. "But since you two are crime fighters, I thought you would like to know that a bank was just robbed."

"Where?" The two said in unison. If Wanda had eyes to roll, she would have.

. . .

"Ok, Wanda said that the robber was seen retreating to the sewers," Drake said, then muttered while stepping around something that he hoped was just poop, "Why he went down here, I'll never know."

"Probably because you can get almost anywhere in the city from them," Launchpad said, clearing the way just a little more so Drake wouldn't have that much grossness touch him. The duck in question was clutching onto his cape like it was his lifeline.

"Still, there are better ways to get around. Like the roof tops or-or the backalleys. Not a disgusting sewer!" Launchpad refrained from giggling at the high pitched squeak that was in his friend's voice, instead offering some hopefully comforting words.

"Come on, DW. This is nothing. Me and the McDuck family have been through way worse. We once had to deal with a sandy pyramid and colony of burrito loving Egyptians."

"There is no way that's real," Drake laughed, thinking that LP was just joking to make him feel better. But Launchpad quickly told him the whole story. It was so intriguing and wonderful that Drake forgot that he was in a sewer.

Until he saw a flash of black movement from the corner of his eye.

Stopping only enough to Launchpad where to go, he began to run after the person. He stepped through the filthy green water, stepping on white stuff that he didn't dwell on what it could be, and used his grappling gun to get over a chasm in strangely the same fashion as the chasee.

Launchpad would have to go around the long way, but no matter. He had cornered him.

"Your time of running is over, villain," he said in his most threatening superhero voice. All he got in return was a strangely familiar deranged laugh.

"Oh, that's right," the man said, in such a familiar voice that he was sure he knew from somewhere. "You see me as the villain and you as the hero.

"Well.... maybe your right."

When the man turned around, Drake saw someone he never thought he'd see again.

Jim Starling.

(I am catching this up to where I am in another place, and after the schedule will be random)

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