#louie duck angst

[seldomscilence16]

Whumpober day 1:

Race Against the Clock

Search Party | Panic Attack

Fandom: Ducktales/Duck Universe

…

Trembling limbs against his chest, a grip on his shirt from a tight little fist, teary quiet gasps. He does his best to rock back and forth at a steady pace, a buzzing numbness having filled his limbs long ago making it difficult to tell which way he leans. His mind screams at him to do something, anything, but he knows he’s tried everything in the book and then some, and he curses his luck now more than ever, for putting someone he loves in such danger.

His hold tightens at the thought, pulling the duckling just that much closer, his unsteady heartbeat likely doing nothing to help the boy. He runs his fingers through matted head feathers, gently adjusted each one, brushing away dirt and muck. The little head leans into his touch, stuttered breathing more apparent, he takes a long slow breath, holds it, and releases. For several breaths he waits, soothing the child in his arms as best as he can in such a hopeless situation.

“Unca’ Donald… are we gonna die here?” The weak rasp breaks his heart all over again, the breathless quality, the wet undertone that speaks of tears and panic.

“They won’t let that happen.”

Donald doesn’t know if it's a lie, but it's bitter on his tongue. At the very least, they would come for the boy in his arms.

Please.

…

“Mr. McDuck, if they are in there…”

“Spit it out.”

“Their air supply would have been limited to begin with, depending on how long they’ve been in there… if they’re still alive, they have very limited time.”

“Then I suggest everyone goes faster.” The old duck grinds the words out, trying to keep a lid on his temper as he grips his cane hard enough to cause the wood to creak, hard enough to make his joints ache.

“This is miles worth of underground tunnels, with traps and aging structure alike, anything could go wrong-”

“Then keep Gladstone around! I don’t care what you have to do! Just find my boys!”

“..Yes sir..”

“Uncle Scrooge, are you okay?”

He turns to the young voice, his temper washing away like an avalanche of snow on a candle. Three pairs of eyes stare up at him, tired rings underneath and so scared, but asking him if he was alright….

“Everything’s fine kids. Just, a lot of ground to cover.” He forces a reassuring smile onto his beak, ignores the shake to his hands and the waver in his step, anything to give these kids hope, but this is usually someone else's role, someone far better at it then Scrooge.

“You… really think they’re in there?” Webby is staring at- what once was- the entrance, now crumbled and blocked by the landslide the storm caused earlier.

The entrance to an underground maze, with rumored treasure in its center, old and hidden and discovered by their youngest when reading a book gifted to him. A book from somewhere Scrooge could still not identify. The youngest had gone off on his own, and Donald had found out first, a scribbled note left in their wake that had taken Scrooge too long to figure out. Now, now they’d been in there who knows how long, in who knows what condition, and apparently now on a time limit.

“Yes, and we’re going to find them.”

“Hello, we’ve come to assist!” The voice comes from above, the sound of jets reaching their ears belatedly.

Boyd and GizmoDuck descend from the sky, landing not far from the family, just above them, floating down with an open umbrella is José Carioca, and above him Panchito Pistoles with a parachute. Unexpected and unplanned for, Scrooge stares with a raised brow, feeling a headache begin to pound in his temples, this situation did not need anymore stress.

“How in the blazes did you even know about all of this?”

“We keep track of Donaldo’s wellbeing.” José drawls.

“And Dewey texted us.” Panchito’s grin is sharp.

“Webby texted us.” Lena and Violet pop into existence, several gasps and ‘holy feathers’ released from the group.

“Huey.” GizmoDuck says sheepishly.

“I’ve found several tunnels!” Boyd cuts in, eyes glowing as he scans the ground.

“Let's get started then.”

…

Fingertips bloody, hands sore and injured, Donald continues to dig at the rubble. Louie sleeps fitfully behind him, curled into a tight ball with the cape from donalds shirt as a pillow. His lungs take trembling breaths, he can’t tell if the unfulfilling feeling is coming from the lack of air in the room, or his own panic at the fact. If he doesn’t do something, his little boy will die, he will never see his family or friends again, he will never create the life he wanted, he will die here. Young, on an adventure he never asked for, terrified and injured and cold and running out of air, Donald couldn’t let that happen.

His breath hitches, inhaling more dust and dirt than air, as a larger bit of rubble dislodges. He moves it out of the way with a grunt, the barest bit of vigor returning at the thought of progress. As he turns back to continue digging, a rumble shakes the space, he lurches backwards, shielding Louie from falling dust and rocks as he waits it out. When the dust settles, he glances sideways to find a new layer of rubble atop the small dent he had made, the pile reaching farther in. The tight feeling in his chest increases, and he’s sure tears would come if he wasn’t so dried out. Huddled over the still sleeping Louie, Donald cries silent dry sobs, until there's not enough breath to do so, until his arms have simply locked, and his vision blurs, and the shaking begins again, and he can do nothing but shield a dying child.

He whispers a silent apology. To Louie. To Huey and Dewey. To Webby. To Della, wherever she is. To Scrooge. To everyone who loved the bright boy beneath him, and to all those he failed.

Darkness edges at the corners of his vision, a trembling spot of green all he can see through the dust, a light shines off to the side, but he can’t bear to look away. He can’t leave him.

Noise echoes around him as a warped unidentifiable mess, perhaps people in the after life after his head. Movement, the place is probably about to come down, he forces his limbs to hold, with every last bit of strength he has. Something touches his shoulder, something warm that breaks through the numbness ever so slightly, the walls had been cold… he doesn’t understand-

“Donaldo, breathe, please.”

“Zé?” He croaks, terror filling him at the thought his friend was on the other side.

“You’re safe. It's okay, we got you both.”

Oh…

And Donald allows the darkness to take him.

[starlingdrawz]

Alexa play daddy issues- wait no wrong one

*mommy's your issues*

No one gets peace on my blog >:3

Commissions

[sometimes-they-come-back-237]

// Don’t make me happy // Don’t fill me up with hope // Don’t make me think that anything good can come to me //

// Look at my bruises // Look at this graze in me // Can’t you see how it’s growing inside, eroding me // But now I understand and now I’ve come to know // When sewed by evil hands, how quickly you can grow //

// What good are you to me now // When all you do is take // What good are you anyhow // What promise can you make //

// What good are all of your words // Without you, she’d still be here //

// Using your traitorous words // You took the stars away //

// No good and poisonous words // Making the world to fall //

// What good could you ever do // If any good at all //

~

Fandom - DuckTales 2017

Lyrics - “What Good” from The Book Thief the Musical

[itzy-pitzy]

Traumatised boy ♡

Yeah, we got Duke of making a mess, traumatized boy, and Hmm, I wonder which triplet will be next (evil laughter >:3)

And if you want to know what happened to Louie, then click this LouieAuAngst and read what I wrote below the drawing

[ducktalesenthusiast]

tiktok didn’t like this so maybe you guys will 🙏🙏

[redleaderblockhead]

Why am I this way?

Stupid medicine, not doing anything

What the hell is fucking wrong with me?

I guess there’s no remedy, I’m so terribly lost

Lyrics from: LosT by Bring Me The Horizon

[lackablazeical]

First thing ever posted on a03 all by mah lonesome, enjoy!!!!!!

[losingmymarbelles]

random snippet of my (other) fic wip bc i’m having massive writers block rn

[drawingducktalesducks]

ooooh i wrote a thing, aaah here it is. weblena. au. slice of life, humor, slight angst, thought exercise, what-if, same rating as show

There are no Terrafermians in the subway.

(not that that'll stop them)

The tunnel doesn’t collapse. Beakley never fidgets with her glasses, adjusting them like a TV antennae as if that would change the image of Lena, quintessential sullen teen, helpfully applying a crowbar to the train cars’ stuck pin.

This just before the train crash.

Before the unconsciousness, the feeling of being dragged across a rough stone floor.

Before Beakly wakes up to see Lena’s wide, terrified eyes, and feel hands yank her out from under the falling train car not a second too soon.

"You-?" "Yeah- me. Let's go."

There’s no moment of tearful reuniting with Webby, the boys, and Launchpad. No anxious voice in the dark, Lena’s voice, checking in-

"Everyone here, everyone okay-?"   

There are no Terrafermians in the subway.

There is no moment of Beakley inviting Webby's new friend over for pancakes.

Instead, there's only a slow trudge up out of the tunnels, and the grim look on Beakley’s face as she marches them all back onto the street.

-

“Granny-”

"No."

"Granny, just listen!"

Webby starts again, journal of theories forgotten in her hands, grip so tight the binding squeaks in protest.

“You don’t understand! Lena’s a good person- she just LOOKS like a mysterious, enticing, rebellious teen ne’er-do-well with a love of trespassing and vandalism! Which she is, actually."

Webby admits with a thoughtful head tilt.

"And she does. Do that. She did it just a second ago, to prank Huey with me, and it was really funny!" Beakley's scowl deeps and Webby hurries on. "But she's also-!”

“First the Beagle Boys birthday,” Beakley mutters, steering Webby on with a firm hand. “You insisted that was an accident and that she never intended to put you in harm’s way.”

“She didn’t! She-”

“And I was almost willing to believe it. Almost."

Beakley storms down the sidewalk, sensible low heels clacking on the pavement with a sound so sharp it should've been sending up sparks.

"After all, what teen hasn’t done something immensely foolish to impress someone else, only to regret it afterwards? Likewise, lying about the ‘educational’ Mole Monster film. Mostly harmless, if irritatingly irresponsible. But this.”

The hand on Webby’s shoulder tightens.

“This goes too far. She knew entering that tunnel could put all three of you in danger. There were warning signs everywhere, and yet she led you down there regardless! No, I'm sorry." Beakely shakes her head, glowering behind her square framed glasses. "That girl does NOT have your best interests at heart.”

Currently Webby’s heart is pounding in her chest. “I’ve been in worse danger before! Much, much worse!”

“Only with myself or Mr. McDuck supervising you.”

“I had Lena with me!”

Beakley snorts. “Oh yes, how reassuring. I’m sure she would have done everything in her power to keep you safe, and not run off to save her own skin. Again.”

At that the boys trailing behind them finally speak up.

“I mean to be fair, it was us she wanted to feed to the Tumblebums that one time, not Webby.”

“Yeah, her and Webby were supposed to slip off together while we got traumatized. Then my dear brothers decided to use me as bait instead, which, I feel, is obviously worse-"

“She just wanted to stop us arguing!”

Huey’s feet patter as he hurries to catch up.

“It’s my fault too, for getting all worked up and angry over some made up subterranean monsters- that’s why she got the idea of going down there in the first place! She was trying to help!”

“By putting you all in danger, as opposed to debating the issue safely above ground, obviously.” Beakley remarks dryly.

“And and AND!” Webby jumps in craning to peer pleadingly up at her grandmother. “We could’ve said no! She wasn’t going to force us down there or anything!”

“Well.” Huey hedges, hunching down, awkwardly honest. “She did throw my guidebook down the stairs…”

Webby stamps on his insole. Huey yelps.

Ducking out from under the protective hand of her grandmother Webby turns to face Beakley, forcing them all to a stop.

“Granny, please.”

Somewhere nearby there’s the sound of four people knocking into each other and tumbling to the sidewalk.

Webby ignores it. Taking a deep breath she says, softly. “...She’s my best friend.”

Bentina Beakley looks down at her, posture tired, eyes sad.

She sighs.

“… no, Webbigail. Not anymore.”

And the whole world falls out from under Webby’s feet.

“Yes she- yes she is!” Stammering, Webby tries to hear herself over the thundering in her chest. “She is and nothing you say is going to change that! Right Lena!?”

No one answers.

Webby looks around. “Lena?”

Launchpad, Huey, Louie, and Dewy stare back at her from under a nearby street lamp. The shadows around them are empty. No one else is there.

Lena is gone.

“Good riddance,” Beakley says, her hand settling back on Webby’s shoulder. “You are not to see her again, even if she does reappear, understand? You four are all good children with bright futures ahead of you-”

“Five, missus B.”

Beakley rolls her eyes. “Yes alright Launchpad, you five. The last sort of friend any of you need is someone like that.”

Weak-kneed, the weight of her Granny’s hand makes Webby sag.

Someone like that. Someone like that…

The words echo the rest of the way to the car and all through the long, silent drive back home.

It continues as they trudge through the double doors of McDuck manor, as Beakely hesitates on the landing outside the library and Webby's room, as Webby walks past her to brush her beak and heads back to the loft, quietly shutting the trap door behind her.  

Webby doesn't sleep.

Later, long after her Granny has given up on patrols for the night, a climbing rope dangles its way down from Webby’s window.

Webby has somewhere to be.

Tonight, she has something more important to think about than her Granny’s rules.

Rushed tracks lead down the sandy beach towards a set of stepping stones, and a derelict, empty stage....

-

This time Webby leaps the stones with a single long jump.

"Lena, are you here?!"

Frantic, she doesn’t even bother with a summersault as she thumps down on the moldering floorboards, eyes darting hopefully at every shadow.  

“Lena? Lena!”

The cavernous stands make her already loud voice even louder. Webby waits one breathless moment, then rushes on.

“Please be here, please be here, I don’t know where else to look for you if you’re not here!”

Blurring across the stage Webby yanks back the tattered curtain and races behind the leaning and broken stone columns, checking every corner, chanting all the while.

“And also please please don’t be mad! I’m sorry I didn’t say more to my Granny, and sooner, and better. But most of all please be here! Please?”  

There’s no one behind the curtain or columns. No sounds answer her, except her own panicked voice.

Slowly, Webby comes to a stop at the edge of the stage.

“…Lena?”

'Lena?' echoes back the amphitheater, hollow and abandoned.

She stands there a long time. Listening. But just like on the playground, and just like on the street that night, the dark corners of the world stay empty.

And Lena doesn’t answer.  

Knees wobble. Webby sits down hard on the old theater floorboards.

“Oh.” Pulling her legs up to her chest she tucks her bill against them, eyes filling as she starts rocking herself slowly back and forth, back and forth. “Okay. Okay. You’re not here right now. That’s okay.”

Lena doesn’t answer.

Webby shudders. “No. It’s not okay.” The tears spills over. “It’s not okay. It’s not okay.”

She blinks hard, still staring out into the stands.

“You- you didn’t even wait to hear me tell Granny she’s wrong about you.”

A whimper.

“We didn’t even get, to say goodbye…”

Burying her head in her knees, Webby wraps her arms around her head and squeezes tight, shuddering.

And behind her, a trap door opens.

The hinges of the mechanism make no sound, well-kept and carefully oiled into silence, and the figure that trudges up the steps also moves with practiced sneakiness, even with her arms full of ropes and bent-over pieces of rusty old piping.

Lena stops on the last step, bright green converse pausing mid-air, expression surprised.

Then she frowns.

“Uh, Pink? You okay?”

Vehemently Webby shakes her head without looking up.

“Okay? No! I’m n-not okay! Granny thinks my best friend is a ‘bad influence’, banned you from the manor, and won’t let me out unsupervised anymore! And and and-”

Her breath catches with a sob on every ‘and’.

“I never got your address or phone number or had time to surveil you, or plant a tracker, so the only place I know you like is the place we met- but you’re not here! And now,” she chokes, “now Granny says I'm not supposed to see you again and worse I don't know how to find you so I’m REALLY never going to see you again….”

Lena’s eyebrows skyrocket into her side-brushed bangs, then drop down like dark and moody thunderbolts.

“Are you kidding me?” she groans, “Ugh, what is with her!”

Slumping over, Lena dumps her armful of supplies and drops herself next to Webby on the stage, shoulders falling into a brooding slouch.

“I mean, I get that Tea Time doesn’t like me, but I didn’t think she’d try putting you on lockdown over it.”

Fabric rustles as Webby nods into her skirt. “I know. She’s a- a little overprotective.”  

“A little?” Lena seethes.

Webby giggles. “Maybe a lot.” Sitting up with a sniff she scrubs her eyes on her sleeve. “She means well and I don’t want to break rules, it just hurts so much, and I miss you and… Wait, Lena!?”

Beak dropping open Webby whirls around, gaping.

Lena smiles back at her.

“Hey.”

And in an instant, Webby’s eyes are full of tears again.

“Lena!”

Launching herself forward Webby has Lena wrapped in her arms a split second before the tackle sends them slamming to the floor.

An ‘oof’ of air burst from Lena, thanks to the hug or the impact or both. Face half covered with Webby’s hair she grimaces up at the night sky.

“Wow great, missed you too.” It comes out as a wheeze. Having the air knocked out of you is a good excuse for being breathless. “Th-thing is, I’m really not much of a hugger…”

“Oh!”

Jolting upright Webby holds her arms out wide, as if they were dangerous weapons that could kill with a touch. Which they were.

“Right! Hugs are like whatever, or whatever- But you’re here!”

Pulling her arms in Webby hugged herself tightly and did a happy little wiggle as Lena sits up again.

“Even though it’s the middle of the night, you’re here! Were you waiting this whole time? Is that rope? And a crowbar!?” Every observation brought on a new level of excitement and new intensity of the wiggles.

Lena grins. “Yep. It’s rope and nah, I haven’t been here the whole time, had to go get some stuff. Like rope. Aaand a crowbar. Then I figured, hey, this sort of thing is way easier when it’s dark out anyway, you know?”

Jumping to her feet Webby pumps her fist in the air triumphantly.

“Yes! No! I have no idea what you’re talking about! What thing?”

Leaning an elbow on one knee Lena props her cheek on her fist and watches Webby, grin softening.

“Like, climbing over big fancy gates and up mansion walls to see my best friend, and stuff.”

Webby gasps. “You were going to break into the manor for me?”

“Well, try anyway.” Oversized, off-shoulder sweater slips a little further down as Lena shrugs. “Parkouring up walls isn’t really my thing, not everyone’s an amazing awesome acrobat like you, Pink, but eh. Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“Oh.”

Webby bites her bill, happy look fading into something hesitant.

“…to see your friend?” she echoes back cautiously.

Lena raises an eyebrow. “Uh yeah, duh? What, you thought I was just gonna-” a finger snap and a vague flutter of Lena’s free hand indicates the deepening gloom of night. “Ka-pwsh out of there and be bored without you for the rest of my life?”    

Webby winces. “I guess? A little?” Her hand burrow into her skirt, grip crinkling the neatly ironed pleats.

“I thought… I thought you were angry at me. For not standing up to Granny better, about you.”

Both Lena’s eyebrows shoot up this time. “She’s your grandma, Webby, what’re you gonna do? Send her to time-out?”

Webby smiles weakly. “Heh.”

“I’m pissed at her, not you. And.” Leaning in, Lena makes a show of hiding her beak from non-existent observers in the empty stands. “To be honest she’s not even wrong. I’m a VERY bad influence.”

Hands relaxing, Webby smile comes back with a twinkling in her eyes.

“No you’re not. You look all cool and smooth on the outside, but you’re all soft and gooey on the inside. You’re the best.”

Lena snickers, lounging to her feet. “Sure, and you broke rules just to come looking for me. I’m sure Colonel Crumpet wouldn’t blame that on bad influence at all.” She holds up a hand, palm out. “Who’s the rebel now?

Webby high-fives her with a laugh and doesn’t let go.

“Me! I’m a rebel now!” Gleeful laugh turns into a nervous giggle as she swings her and Lena’s hands between them. “Oh Granny’s going to be SO MAD when she finds out….”

“Who’s gonna tell her?”

“Also me, probably. Or maybe my empty bed, if I’m not home in the morning.” 

“Orrr…”

Lifting their linked hands Lena leads Webby in a little giggling twirl before letting go with a flourish.

“You could be back in snug in bed before she even knows you were gone.” Bending down she started sorting through the pile of ropes and break-in implements. “Only after having some fun first, of course. How long until she notices you’re missing?”

“Hmm.” Webby hums, absentmindedly rubbing the hand that had been holding Lena’s. “Her next security sweep should be in approximately two-and-a-half hours.”

Lena looks up, pausing her search with a flat stare. “Security sweep? Seriously?

It’s Webby’s turn to shrug. “My Granny really likes a secure perimeter!”

“I guess I can dig that...” Muttering, Lena leans back down and pulls a couple of small cannisters from the jumble. “I can also think of at least three adventures we can have before you’ve gotta head back.”

Webby perks up so quickly her hairbow seems to snap to attention. “Adventures?”

Lena tosses her a cannister with a grin. “You up for it? I’ll even walk you home after.”

The sound that escapes Webby would have shattered the stage lights, if they hadn’t already all been smashed.

“YES! Yes to adventure!”

Bouncing up and down on her heels she makes a move as if to pounce on Lena again, then checks herself and clasps her hands together around the cannister instead.

“With my best friend!”

She pauses and blinks down at the thing in her hands.

“An adventure in… painting?”

“You got it.”

Tossing her own spray paint can from hand to hand Lena leads the way to a second set of stepping stones, these ones heading off the stage and into the stands.

“Okay so for this first adventure we’re gonna need to ditch the rope and get some water balloons. And paint. More paint. Like, a lot more paint. I’m thinking something in pink, maybe a day-glow... You cool with messing around with the Beagle Boys some more, right?”

Webby skips after her, almost floating on every step. “Totally! We only ALMOST died last time, after all!”

Lena snickers. “Yeeaah it sounds bad when you say it like that.”

“Bad as in good?” Webby askes, coming alongside her.

“Bad as in awesome.” Lena agrees, clinking their cans together in a toast.

“Aha!” Webby cheers as they set off into the patchwork shadows of the city night together. “I knew it! Oh hey you know what these spray cans remind me of this time Granny let me test out bear spray on a real bear, for practice, just to be safe, before dropping me off on the survive or die island for holiday, but- you know that phrase ‘kicking the can down the road’? It comes from this game kids play together and I’ve never had anyone to play it with but it sounds fun and anyway, the bear, right! Well back then I remembered that thing about the can kicking game too! And I got so excited I dropped the can and kicked the bear…”

The night deepens as Webby’s fills the air. Lena watches her, quiet and smiling, as the shadow lengthen around them.  

One shadow, trailing reluctantly at Lena’s heels, pulls itself up a wall and twists itself into a new shape. The sharp figure of woman appears, with a short bob of ‘hair’ and a disgusted scowl.

Blegh...

The shadow hisses, soundless as the darkness.

If playing along with this pink little wretch doesn’t get us into Scroogie’s manor soon, I am going to be SICK.

Lena’s shoulders twitch.

It’ll be worth it. She thinks back at the shadow as it coils in behind her, insubstantial and somehow still breathing down her neck. So just shut up for a sec and let me focus.

Shut up?

An accusatory hiss rasps in her ear, discordant against the backdrop of Webby infodumping about the origins of pepper spray.

Are you telling me to shut up? ME?

Lena flinches.

The shadow dances at her back, it’s whisper turning ice-cold, smooth and scornful.

Poor little dumb-dumb Lena, so desperate that you're actually enjoying this, aren’t you...?

No, Lena think back quickly, wrenching her eyes away from Webby’s beaming smile and back to the street ahead of them. I’m not. I’m really, really not.

Hmm….  

If Webby had looked up right then, instead of being busy reading out the ingredients listed on the spray paint can and listing all the ways they could be easily weaponized, if she had looked up, she might have seen Lena’s smile slip at the corners.

She might also have noticed an exhausted slump in the teen’s shoulders, or realized she’d seen a similar sad, guilty look in her Granny’s eyes only a few hours beforehand.

Or maybe not.

Lena hadn’t chosen to live under an abandoned theater for no reason, after all. She was very good at lying.

Especially to herself.  

[maelstrom-of-emotions]

Ducktales Part 4

I have no excuse for this madness, I feel like I'm stalling, honestly. It's a bit rusty, so my apologies for that.

If you're new, might I suggest reading Part One, Part Two, and Part Three first? You can read all of the parts here, this should help it make some sense, though honestly, even I don't know how to navigate this madness, it was supposed to be a Louie comfort fic, how am here? Alas, there's no turning back.

⁂

"We're totally interrogating him after this, right?" Dewey asks, the words falling out of his beak before he can stop them. The silence in the room is as thick as the as the syrup on pancakes, and it's making his nerves stand on end. 

"Oh, absolutely," Huey quips back, a wry smile playing at his beak. It seems instinctual, but no humor can cover up the red-rimmed eyes and the tear tracks that streak his face, it makes something in Dewey's heart, ache, fierce and burning, and he finds the words spilling out of his beak like spilled ink.

"I'm sorry," he says, and the words come tumbling, like an avalanche, so desperate to see the end that he can't make out the beginning. "I'm sorry for yelling at you like that—accusing you of—I didn't mean—I don't mean it like that. I was just—just mad, at the world, at Louie, at myself—and I was so disappointed that I hadn't figured it out before, that I wasn't doing anything now—and I guess I just felt a little drifted of, you know, like I couldn't help him, and I just exploded—which wasn't right—and I just, I'm sorry."

It's not structured or framed properly, and it probably doesn't make sense, he doesn't even attempt to make sense of it, but before he can apologize, for the speech or for his actions he's not sure, Huey smiles, because he's always been the one able to understand, whether ciphers of bumbling brothers. 

"I'm sorry, too," Huey says, fiddling with his hat. "I didn't mean to imply that you were reckless, or that you didn't care, I was just, I worry, Dewey, sometimes, it feels like all I can do, and it still doesn't help me. You were researching about Mom for weeks and I didn't even notice and now Louie's hurt, and I didn't even..." Huey trailed off, voice faltering as though it hurt to speak. "Sometimes, it feels as if I'm failing to be a brother, ya know?"

"Huey, no, you're a great brother, you take care of us when we're sick, you're honestly like a mini-Uncle Donald. It's just, being Scrooge McDuck's nephews kinda became a full-time thing, didn't it?" Dewey chuckled dryly. 

"You can say that again," Huey muttered bitterly. "It's just, it feels like we have no control over anything, anymore, you know. The variables have no fixed, they keep on changing and you have to keep on making new equations to find them, and it's just, exhausting. There's no pattern, though I'm sure Louie probably found like seven, and it's just, terrifying. I watched you climb out onto the wing of a plane hundreds of feet in the air while it's on the edge of toppling over, I watch the world teether on the edge of shattering, I watch Louie almost drying and Uncle Donald getting kidnapped, I watch myself getting used to kidnapping attempts like they're my Junior Woodchuck Guidebook, I watch everything crumble with the horrifying revelation that it's normal, that I'm used to it."

Dewey can't say anything, because he can't find anything to say. He's had those thoughts sometimes, staring out of the window at a blank, starless sky. Looking at the abyss that always seems to stare back. Looking at space and wondering about the cosmic demise of your own mother and wondering, how on earth were you supposed to keep up with it? And they hadn't been able to, had they? Louie was hurt, Huey was hurt, and everything was just so chaotic. 

"I guess," Dewey begins tentatively, because it feels like he should say something, anything to fill in the wound that had been bleeding for so long. "When we were with Uncle Donald on the houseboat, it was all peace, you know? Like, the worst thing that would happen was that I'd set the houseboat on fire or Louie would would set it on fire because of a spider," he laughs weakly at his own words, the simpler days. "And now, it's like everything and anything ends up in a disaster, a clusterfuck of things that just go wrong that you wonder if bad luck is genetic, and you just want to breathe, not because there's not enough oxygen, but because there's not enough time to appreciate the things keeping you alive. And you just, you feel so old, you wonder if your joints are supposed to hurt, and if you're supposed to lean to one side to avoid the bruise that was formed by a plane crash, that you look at the scars from things you would have never thought to meet, and you wonder if you actually did die, instead of being husks of the people you once were."

The tears are flowing now, and he doesn't know why, doesn't know why he's crying and why the emotions rage inside him like they do, but it feels so good to let it out, to say it out in the open, instead of buckling it down with fear of destroying the only thing you have left. "And it's just, incidents are supposed to shape character, not chip them away. Stuff like this, they're supposed to bring people together, not make them so far away."

"Dewey," Huey mutters, and his brother's eyes are glossy, he can see his beak quivering, and it makes something burst in him.

"I just don't know what to do anymore," Dewey murmurs, and he rubs his eyes furiously. "Stupid tears." He rubs them until gentle hands pull his wrists away, and Huey stares at him for a minute before pulling him into a hug and Dewey buries his face into the crook of his brother's neck and wishes he was younger, when he was able to believe that nothing could hurt them, not when he was in Huey's arms. It breaks something inside of him, and he sobs harder.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, not sure what he's apologizing about but the words spilling out all the same. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," Huey whispers, his hand steadily rubbing soothing circles on Dewey's back. "It's going to be be okay, you'll see."

They stand there, for god knows how long, but when Dewey pulls away there's a small smile on Huey's face, just like the fragile smile Louie had given him earlier that day, and the glass shards in his chest seem to join together a bit, just the smallest amount. 

"We're the Duck Boys," Huey smiles at him, tender and loving. "Good or bad, we do it all together—you, Louie and me."

"No matter what?" Dewey can't help asking, the childish hope oozing off his voice like an overfilled smoothie. 

"Until the end of time," Huey affirms, and there's something in his voice, something sure and secure, like Uncle Donald when he came back from a fired job or a bad day, so assuring that you couldn't help but believe it. 

And after everything, after today and every other day the world decided to throw in the towel, Dewey lives for that piece of hope. 

[diowogenies]

does it have to make sense

[thatjesterel]

I drew a lil duck dude, and couldn’t decide on how I wanted the shading + background to look so I did 2 versions

[starlingdrawz]

Teen Louie doodles lol

He probably should've knocked

Like father like son

[delladuck]

As someone who loves Della, but does admit she has faults as a person and a parent, it does kind of bug me how often people are willing to demonize her as a parent based on just two moments? The big one is what she said to Louie in GlomTales (which I stand as being just bad writing) but also I've seen people accuse her of not loving or caring about the boys as much as Donald did even before they hatched, based solely on one flashback that we only see via screenshots, not even hearing any of it?

Oh my gosh. Don't get me started...(LOL) The amount of fics I have to turn away from because of the villainization of Della is ridiculous. She's just a person (er duck), and she makes mistakes! She's so complex and well-rounded, and her faults make her interesting. People who insist on making her the antagonist in the Duck family's life (especially with Louie) in fan works probably hate their own mom because they're 13.

I remember how crazy the fandom was throughout all these events when these episodes aired... it was exhausting lol. It all comes down to needing to be more open minded and thinking more critically about characters and their personalities, roles, and relationships. I don't think a lot of people are willing to do that tbh-- and it's annoying because it's unreal that people were getting mad at a mother for punishing her child.

I completely agree with your point about the GlomTales line just being bad writing. It's nice to see her end up being on good terms with Louie by the end of the season though! So I don't know why some fans got so fixated on his punishment (probably because of the angst but it's not good angst when it gets hyperbolized and out of character...).

I believe no matter how many times Della canonically apologizes or displays healthy relations with her family, people will still bash her. Which is unfortunate when male characters like Scrooge are glorified after never apologizing and are just as faulted. The Spear of Selene was a mistake by Della, but personally, I feel it's not worth pointing fingers, because the important thing is that they were able to be a family again <3.

[itzy-pitzy]

I don't know what I'm doing, but here you go

A lil sweet but toxic Louie angst

An Au where Doofus kidnapped Louie and also is very in love/obsessed with him. Sadly, his family is very worried about him after he went missing for some weeks, even months, they start to think he may be dead until Goldie wents on one of Doofus parties where she sees Mcduck missings nephew, of course after some thinking she wents and tells Mcduck about what she saw, I still didn't think that far if they'll succeed taking Louie back or if something will happen so yeah,

Almost I forgot to tell you that Louie has electric bracelets, so when he tried to run away, he got shocked after the shock lil boy passed out

I love angst ♡♡♡

[redleaderblockhead]

So take me for granted

I know I never really meant that much to you

All our memories will be erased

The only way out is forward

As far away as I can get

Where to now?

What happened to my fucking purpose?

I am just a stone sinking, broken and numb

Where to now?

The way you made me, made me worthless

Truth is, in the end, we all end up alone

Can you feel me calling your name from the balcony seats you left empty?

Can you feel me tearing apart everything we used to be?

Lyrics from: Nothing Shameful by Dance Gavin Dance feat. Andrew Wells