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mighty-ant · 2 years

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Stone by Day, Part Four

Part Three

ao3

When Drake finally wraps his head around the gargoyle sharing a cell with him, and not the man-eating FOWL science experiment he was half expecting, the first thing he feels is relief. And not just for himself.

Gosalyn isn’t the only one anymore.

Of course, following on the heels of that relief is a swiftly sinking dread.

I’m going to be alone again.

A part of him had always known that this was how the adventure was going to end–her safe with her own people, him dragged back under the mantle of Darkwing, chewed up and spat back out by his city. Her wellbeing has superseded his happiness for a long time. Maybe since the first night Gosalyn turned to stone in his trembling arms, his suit stained with her blood when she got herself stabbed trying to protect him. Or since he mistook her for an attacker and twisted her arm on the orphanage roof, even.

There are boxes of sugary cereal in his kitchen that weren't there two months ago, colored pencils and crayons scattered across his coffee table. He’s gotten used to folding child-sized t-shirts on top of the dryer, and learned how to brush hair without tugging on the knots. Drake isn’t ready to say goodbye to it all. But he will. It’s what’s best. He’s no gargoyle, for all that he apparently has the sleeping schedule of one.

Speaking of gargoyles.

The orange behemoth in front of him isn’t Gosalyn’s grandfather, that much Drake knows for certain. For one, he’s orange and Gosalyn very helpfully described her grandfather as green-skinned, with gray sideburns and curling, goatlike horns. This guy is almost on the opposite side of the color wheel, and without any horns to speak of. He is big, though, easily seven feet, about as tall as Gizmoduck in his armor. Part of Drake dreads Gosalyn ever getting that tall when she grows up, if he even gets to see it. She’d never let him hear the end of it.

“So,” he starts, awkwardness tangling his tongue. Introductions have never been his forte. There’s a reason he appears in a cloud of smoke and vanishes again before anyone can force him to make small talk. “You…know me.”

A slightly alarming prospect, considering SHUSH has taken pains to ensure he remains more mystery than man in the tabloids. Gosalyn just happened upon him one night and decided to follow him around; it took Drake about a week to realize he had a second, child-sized (sorry, hatchling-sized) shadow. He desperately hopes the big guy hasn’t been tailing him too, or else he’s really lost his edge.

The gargoyle grins at him like it’s Christmas come early, nevermind that he’s been locked in this cell for gods knows how long. Drake should probably look into that.

“Course I know you!” The gargoyle chuckles, and it’s a little disarming how effortlessly it transforms his fearsome face into such a warm expression. “I’m a big fan.” He lumbers forward, and it’s through sheer force of will that Drake doesn’t retreat from someone who looks like he bench presses semis in his spare time. He reaches out with a single sharp talon and carefully cuts the cable tie still holding Drake’s wrists together. And here he was planning to dislocate a thumb to get himself free.

“I mean, uh.” The gargoyle takes a step back, looking abashed. “I’ve heard good things from-from Giz and the others.”

Drake is briefly distracted by relief; he lets out a breath, the tension in his body easing when the gargoyle surrenders the few feet of space between them and he stops feeling so cornered. Then he has the wherewithal to scoff. “You sure you got the right Darkwing? The Justice Dweebs and I aren’t exactly organizing playdates.”

The gargoyle huffs, wry amusement replacing his earlier uneasiness. “Never would’ve guessed.” He crouches, the same way Gosalyn does when she’s been standing around for a while. In her case, Drake suspects that it’s the posture that feels most natural to her, whether because of her age or her specific gargoyle body type. A body type that this gargoyle definitely doesn’t share. As big and barrel chested as he is, it’s almost like he’s trying to make himself look a little smaller.

Drake crosses his arms, eying the gargoyle as he leans against the wall. The wall of his prison cell. Right, time to get back to business.

He doesn’t know how long the gargoyle’s been here (days, maybe, if he really is Gizmoduck’s missing person), but it looks like FOWL has left him alone. Most wounds would’ve been healed by stone sleep, but this guy’s clothes aren’t even torn around where an injury would’ve been. And sure, Drake can’t imagine any Egghead or hired goon like Hammerhead wanting to go toe-to-toe against a seven-foot gargoyle, but there are ten hours of the day when the guy is solid stone. And in this place, a sitting duck in every sense of the word. Gruesome as the thought might be, if FOWL wanted the guy dead, he’d be dead and dust by now.

So the question remains: why have they left him alive? And for that matter, why is Drake?

“We’ve established you know who I am.” He pushes off from the wall to slowly circle the gargoyle. All this mystery is making him anxious. “But you’ve got me at a disadvantage.”

The big guy doesn’t move, other than to turn his head and keep Drake in sight. He looks unperturbed, maybe a little curious, but definitely doesn’t seem threatened by Drake’s patented ‘bad guy prowl’. And Drake suddenly wonders, if this guy does turn out to be a FOWL plant, could he beat him? If it came down to it and this gargoyle was all that stood between him and going back home to Gosalyn, keeping his word to sing her lullaby 2.0, would he be able to win?

He’s never had one, single person to fight for. Everything he’s done since burying Drake Allard has been for the city: the belligerent deli owners, the teens playing hockey in the streets, the single moms walking home in the dark. All of them important, but all of them nameless. Gosalyn chose her name, then she chose to give it to him, and with it, someone Drake can live for and not just a cause to die for.

The gargoyle offers Drake his hand, massive, orange and taloned. He could probably crush all 27 bones in his hand but Drake’s no coward, so he reaches out to take it. The gargoyle surprises him twice. First by wrapping his hand around Drake’s forearm instead, his talons easily swallowing the whole limb. Second by smiling up at Drake, boyish and bright, without a trace of guile.

It’s a nice smile, and that realization breaks something in Drake’s brain.

“Sorry about that,” the gargoyle says. “The name’s Launchpad. Launchpad McQuaid.”

Drake numbly allows his hand to be tugged up and down in a handshake. “I, uh, didn’t know gargoyles could have last names,” he replies inanely.

Launchpad laughs. “Then you must not know many gargoyles.”

Immediately, Drake’s limbs lock up in panic. It’s a dead giveaway but he can’t help it–not when he’s been torn from nightmare to nightmare of Gosalyn being discovered, being taken like her grandfather, ripped from his arms and strapped down to a dissection table like the ones he discovered only a few hours ago.

Launchpad’s brow ridge furrows in confusion over Drake’s reaction, as if thinking back to what he just said. When his prodigious jaw drops, Drake winces.

“Wait, you have met other gargoyles?” he exclaims. “How? Where? I know there’s a lotta weird stuff in St. Canard, but–”

“Shh!” Drake yanks back his hand to wave them both frantically at Launchpad. “Heron could’ve bugged the cell!”

He shakes his head with utmost confidence. “Nah, she stopped bothering when I kept finding ‘em.”

“Finding them?”

“Don’t miss much with ears like these.” Launchpad grins as he wiggles his ears, and yeah, okay, they’re practically big enough to use as sails. “I can hear the electricity buzzing in the wall.”

Still, Drake is too cautious to discuss Gosalyn openly, in a FOWL prison cell of all places, and Launchpad seems to pick up on his reticence. “It’s great that you’re finally in the loop, though. Gargoyles are kinda an open secret over in Duckburg. The Guild hadn’t been sure whether or not to tell you. Joke’s on them, I guess.”

“Yeah, joke’s on–hold up.” Drake backtracks, and righteous indignation floods him with the same intensity as his customary 11 p.m. triple shot espresso. “You’re Gizmoduck’s missing person,” he repeats, finally grasping its significance. “You’re telling me that Gizmodork knew about gargoyles before I did?”

“Maybe you would’ve known sooner if you didn’t play hooky at every meeting,” Launchpad teases. Drake surprises himself by flushing a little under his mask; with his coloring and the low lighting, he doubts it’s obvious. But how embarrassing.

To make matters worse, Launchpad isn’t wrong either. If Drake had just sucked up his pride, for once, and attended the meetings like Gizmoduck practically begged him to every month (and SHUSH technically required of him) maybe he wouldn’t have been so blindsided by Gosalyn’s appearance in his life. He would’ve known about stone sleep, instead of having his heart stop when Gosalyn first turned cold and heavy in his arms after staining the front of his suit with her blood. She might’ve trusted him weeks ago and he would’ve known about her grandfather that much sooner, could’ve had the full force of the Justice Guild at his back when they raided the Bulwark Building and rescued the old gargoyle from whatever tortures Bulba and FOWL’s scientists were planning–were possible even enacting as they speak.

If he’d listened to something other than his own ego, he certainly wouldn’t be sitting uselessly in a locked cell with a gargoyle who Gosalyn should’ve met ages ago, if only to prove that she isn’t as alone as she fears.

Drake paces.

He walks away from Launchpad–one, two, five, seven, ten steps one way, ten steps back, there are no windows and only one door, and if he’s getting claustrophobic he can’t imagine how the gargoyle feels. “How long have you been here?” he demands. “What’s the guard rotation?”

Time is a precious commodity, and stuck at a standstill, Drake can feel it rushing past him, drowning him in sand like a massive hourglass. He doesn’t have his watch, synced up Gosalyn’s (he already knows he’ll be too late to sing her lullaby 2.0 tonight), his gear, or even his damn hat. Everything useful was stripped from him and now he’s just a guy in a domino mask with some decent martial arts training that doesn’t amount to anything when compared to a man in indestructible armor, a literal Greek god, or the seven-foot gargoyle in front of him. Drake is mortal, painfully human, and he’s never felt his weaknesses so keenly.

Launchpad startles, straightening under Drake’s brusque tone.

“Uh, it’s been three,” he grimaces, “sorry, four days. And I haven’t seen any guard other than Hammerhead.”

Drake paces some more, scanning the walls, floor, and ceiling as he goes. There are two circular air vents, too small for anything bigger than his arm to fit through. No loose paneling either–the walls look and feel like solid steel.

“What have you tried?” he shoots over his shoulder.

When Launchpad takes a few seconds too long to answer, Drake turns around. “To escape,” he reiterates. “What have you tried to escape?”

“Here’s the thing.” Launchpad won’t meet his eyes. He isn’t even looking at Drake, instead zeroed in on where he’s tapping his first talons together. “I haven’t…tried to escape.”

Drake, very mature he thinks, resists the urge to shake Launchpad. It would probably be just as successful as rocking a brick wall from side to side. He doesn’t, however, do anything to lower his voice, and it cracks through the air like a whip.

“What–why not!”

Launchpad raises his hands defensively. “Hey, I know how that sounds! But-but I can’t try anything. They’re holding another gargoyle here, I’m sure of it, and I can’t risk Bulba or FOWL ki…hurting them.”

“That’s…insane.” Drake scrubs both hands over his face and through his hair, throwing it into disarray. On a normal night he’d cared about that–his image is half of his advantage against the scum he faces, arriving in a cloud of smoke, all silent menace, cool and collected while they panic and swear–but right now he couldn’t care less. He doesn’t care if Launchpad sees him unraveling, more man than mystery now, because everything that could go wrong tonight has done exactly that. Except that he’s not dead. Yet.

“You do know how insane that sounds, right?” Drake really needs to hammer that point home. Of all the gargoyles in the world to get stuck with, however few there are, he had to get stuck with the one who refuses to help him see his dau–his charge again. Not that he knows that’s what he’s doing by making himself a martyr, but still. “Do you have any idea if the gargoyle is even here? And what’s stopping Bulba from just killing them whenever he wants? Or you?” The next thought that arises is chilling, but he mentally apologizes to Gosalyn and presses on. “Do you even know if they’re still alive?”

Launchpad smiles weakly. For such a big guy, he’s doing little to defend himself from Drake’s panic-driven onslaught. “I think that they are. I hope they are. But don’t worry about me, Darkwing. I’m, uh, I know Scrooge McDuff, so FOWL knows better than to mess with me.”

(In the back of Drake’s mind, the namedrop of the richest man in the world by a gargoyle strikes a familiar note. After all, Gosalyn told him that twenty years ago, an old, rich human offered her clan sanctuary in Duckburg. Could McDuff have been that human?)

In any event, Drake might actually yank his hair out. Gosalyn, if he ever sees her again, will call him Baldy for the rest of his life and he’ll gladly take it if it means he’ll get to hear her voice. “I’m not worried about you!” he sputters. “I’m worried about–”

Should he just tell Launchpad he has a kid waiting for him at home–a gargoyle kid–in the hopes that he’ll take Drake’s insistence that they get the hell outta dodge seriously? Is it worth the risk of FOWL listening in, despite the assurance of Launchpad’s supposed super-hearing that they aren’t being monitored? Is he willing to put Gosalyn’s safety into question ever again, no matter how low the chances are?

He isn’t. Of course, he isn’t.

Turning away from him, Drake takes a breath. “Listen, Launchpad, I don’t have the benefit of rich friends. I need to get out of here, now. Can’t you, I don’t know, put those muscles to good use and knock down this door or something?”

Behind him, Launchpad’s already mellow voice is low and apologetic. “I’m sorry, Darkwing. I don’t think I’m gonna have time to do that.”

Oh for the love of Mike.

“What do you mean you don’t have–”

A familiar sound stops him dead in his tracks. It’s the quiet crackling of stone that he’s grown used to hearing following a clumsy lullaby, old cases-turned bedtime stories he’s censored for young ears, or sleepy tales of an expansive jungle canopy and a weeks-long journey. Only one time has the sound accompanied painful, clawing dread: when Gosalyn was apologetic and bleeding in his arms, before she went cold and terrifyingly still. But this is a close second.

Drake already knows what he’ll find when he turns around. He does it anyway.

Launchpad’s regretful expression has followed him into stone sleep, and his sightless eyes are locked onto where Drake had been standing last.

He’s too late. It’s the next day.

Drake is allowed a few hours of sleep, but with the big, scary gargoyle out of the way, he isn’t surprised when Hammerhead and a half-dozen Eggheads flood the cell and drag him away.

He hadn’t pegged Bulba as the sort to get his hands dirty.

White collar criminals tend to earn their title for a reason. They keep well out of the way of the action while the poor mooks they hire have to reach into the blood and mud to fight and claw and scrape to do their dirty work, to survive.

And anyway, it’s the stooges who Drake usually goes after. He’s one guy–he can’t dismantle an entire criminal empire, not on his own at least. When he’s taken out a couple dozen lower level punks, the ones hitting up stores for protection money and threatening his citizens, and gets enough dirt on their bosses, he’ll pass it all over to SHUSH with their infinite reserve of agents to do the official takedown.

At most, the few crooked CEOs Drake has faced will have a halfcocked pistol tucked in a desk drawer that they don’t know how to use, and the kingpins who inherited their empires never had to stab a buddy in the back (sometimes literally) to stake their claim at the top of the heap. They have other people to do the fighting and the torturing for them because evil as they are, they lack the proper experience to get the job done. Might even think themselves above it, until they find themselves helpless at the business end of his fist.

Point being, Drake doesn’t expect Bulba to take charge of his beating, or to do it so expertly.

The Eggheads bound his hands again and hung him from a hook in the middle of an adjacent cell, all very by the book, interrogation-wise. He can brush the floor with the toes of his boots so he doesn’t have to worry about his arms getting wrenched out of their sockets just from the weight of him hanging there, which was nice of them, if unintentional. Bulba’s cells might be gargoyle-proof, but they lack the state-of-art shackles and torture devices that Buzzard’s Eggheads are probably used to.

Hammerhead worked him over first. No questions, just fists and headbutting, still sore about Drake getting him arrested the last five times. Not that Drake made it easy for him, kicking Hammerhead in the gut when he was almost out of reach and kneeing him in the crotch when he was close enough. Hammerhead ended up more out of breath than Drake, his nose swollen up like a grapefruit from Drake’s kick to the face back in the elevator, greasy hair hanging in his eyes and fancy gangster tie all undone.

Then Bulba, lurking at the back during his “interrogation,” steps forward.

Sometimes it’s hard to tell what you’re gonna get when it comes to these scientist types. There’s the cold and calculating sort like SHUSH’s Sara Bellum, who doesn’t care who you are or what you’ve done as long as you get out of her way. Then there are the sickos, the real mad scientist types, who hurt people for the twisted joy of it. Black Heron is the latter, obsessed with human experimentation, torture, and weapons of mass destruction, to name a few of her hobbies. Seeing her out of her snake pit isn't a good sign on a normal day, and seeing her shacked up with Bulba and the millions at his disposal is a terrible sign.

Back in that shadowed room, when Drake woke to find himself tied to a chair, Bulba had struck him as the Bellum sort of scientist, albeit with a better sense of humor. But then Bulba hands his exquisitely tailored suit jacket to a hobbling Hammerhead and rolls up his sleeves with a savage sort of grin, and Drake feels a prickle of uncertainty in the back of his mind.

They hadn’t bothered with removing his suit armor–just their luck, since they’d have a devil of a time trying to pry him out of it anyway–but even through three layers of kevlar micromesh, Bulba nearly knocks the breath of his lungs with one punch. His fists rain down on Drake in a punishing onslaught, a raging storm of unbridled power with no compunction about unleashing it on another. The elegant man who exchanged cheesy supervillain banter with Drake is gone, a mask that Bulba has allowed to slip, revealing someone wild in his place, artless in his recklessness, like a child with a new toy that he can’t wait to break.

Bulba’s punches remind Drake of the beatings he received at the hands of his own schoolyard bullies–all power, no skill. It’s almost bewildering in its familiarity. As Drake’s lip splits and blood fills his mouth, he’s struck with the half-crazed urge to ask, Do you remember beating up a Drake Allard behind the equipment shed in eighth grade? Kinda nebbish, glasses, liked to wear Dolly Parton shirts?

But what Bulba lacks in training he makes up for through his sheer size, the breadth of his fists, the coiled power of his muscles. He’s the sort of man who’s come out on top of every fight he’s ever been in because he’s the size of a mountain, and abuses the hell out of that fact.

Bulba has a pinkie ring on one finger; Drake can tell by the way it rips a hole in his eyebrow. Blood pours into his left eye, but that doesn’t matter so much when it’s already swelling with the beginnings of a black eye. Blows to his torso, cushioned by his armor, mean bruised ribs instead of broken. He sees the fist aiming for his jaw and he moves with it lest he lose any teeth. But he needn’t have worried about the last one.

Just like Drake’s schoolyard bullies, Bulba tires quickly. Untrained as he is, he’s putting 100% of his energy behind every punch, burning himself out instead of pacing himself. It’s a wasteful, childish technique that only works when he wants to pummel his victims into submission through quick, brutal, overwhelming force. It only works on people who aren't used to receiving beatings on the daily. When they haven’t trained themselves to overcome any measure of pain and get back up. Every. Single. Time.

Bulba backs off, huffing and puffing like he just sprinted up the last twenty flours of Bulwark Tower. He grins as he wipes sweat off his brow. “So quiet, Darkwing. Not in the mood for witty repartee?”

Drake gathers a mouthful of blood and spits, aiming for the mirrored surface of Bulba’s custom leather A. Testoni dress shoes. Bullseye. “What, you want color commentary? Somebody sounds insecure.” He grins, teeth almost definitely tinged pink with blood.

Hammerhead takes a little step away from him. That feels pretty good.

Bulba huffs a laugh, shaking out his fist. His bloodlust has receded, once more tucked neatly behind the mask of an unruffled businessman. He examines Drake with a strange, eager gleam in his dark eyes, as a scientist might a new laboratory specimen. It makes Drake’s skin crawl.

“I’d heard you could take a beating,” Bulba observes, still out of breath. “But I’m impressed. You don’t stay down, do you?”

Drake sneers. “Not ‘til I’m in the ground.”

Bulba hums thoughtfully. At a gesture, Hammerhead steps forward to help him back into his suit jacket, though Bulba adjusts his tie himself.

“You’re small-time, Darkwing. You know that don’t you? An ant among giants.” He begins to circle Drake as he tugs on his sleeves, straightening his ruby cufflinks. Drake wishes he were free, if only so he could stuff those cufflinks down his throat. “Take that Hercules fellow. Everyone thinks it’s a gimmick, that he’s just another superpowered freak. Or an alien like that imbecilic Moonlander. But he’s the real thing. A Greek god, in our own backyard. Life really is stranger than fiction, and so few people actually know it.”

“So you figured out the obvious. What do you want, a gold star?” Drake grunts, wiggling his thumb as subtly as he can. He wonders how long it would take him to dislocate the bone from this angle and slip his hand out before anyone noticed.

Bulba stops in front of him, head tilted to the side, and Drake stills.

“I want to know what you get out of this, Darkwing. This isn’t your place, here, in the light. The shadows are your hunting ground; corrupt cops and court jesters are your prey. All this magic and mayhem isn’t your usual scene. But now, despite what your instincts must be screaming at you, you’ve thrust yourself under the biggest spotlight in all of St. Canard,” Bulba grabs hold of the chain keeping Drake suspended from the ceiling, dragging him in close, until he can count the beads of sweat dotting Bulba's bald head. “And you still haven’t told me how you knew about the gargoyles.”

And here Drake had been hoping that Bulba’s apparent insanity overrode his intelligence.

“What, you want my whole life story while you’re at it?” Drake grunts, unable to completely hide his discomfort. Bulba’s right about one thing–he isn’t used to this amount of attention, especially from the crazies he usually fights. It’s usually more along the lines of a frantic punchup in a lightbulb factory or abandoned toy warehouse than getting tenderized like a slab of meat followed by one of the weirdest therapy sessions he’s ever had.

Bulba scoffs, releasing Drake’s chain. He takes a step back, eying Drake up and down, pointedly unimpressed.

“I don’t need it. I figured you out after our first conversation.”

“Oh yeah?” Drake can’t help but goad him. He’s lost every defense but his attitude, and he’s not about to let that last shield fall in front of the likes of Bulba and Hammerhead Hannigan, nevermind how cold dread zings through his gut at the bored certainty in Bulba’s voice. Whatever game he’s playing, it’s keeping Drake away from Gosalyn, Launchpad in the next cell, and wherever they’re holding Gosalyn’s grandfather in this labyrinthine tower.

“You act and speak before thinking–clearly you’re used to working alone,” Bulba starts. “And more than that, you’ve always been alone. An only child, if I had to guess, starved for the attention of his parents and his peers, when it wasn’t negative, of course.” He leans in, insufferably smug, resident Darkwing historian that he apparently is. “Definitely bullied. You’re defensive enough for it. And your need to prove yourself the strongest, scariest superhero around also leads me to believe you were weighed down by the expectations of a parent. Most likely the father. Isn’t it always?”

Drake tries, and fails, to headbutt Bulba when the slimeball leans back with an insufferable smirk just in time to avoid the blow. “Does the big scary scientist have daddy issues?” Drake jeers.

“Ah, childish insults,” Bulba enthuses. “The poor man’s wit. But not in your case, eh, Darkwing? Your reputation speaks for itself. You, my friend, are known for your silence as you throw yourself into all manner of life threatening danger. Because it’s not your life you fear for, is it? That’s been forfeit since you first put on that ridiculous mask and cape. So what changed? Whose life do you fear for? You’ve always been a protector, but perhaps that title has grown more literal. Closer to home.”

Drake swallows reflexively. He doesn’t like thinking about his life before Gosalyn anymore–the great, yawning abyss that was his lonely routine, the filth he so willingly waded into. She’d given him something to fight for beyond the anger that had long since burnt through him, leaving the ashes of disillusionment behind. He’d been living a shadow of a life, and like Bulba so astutely pointed out, was unprepared to be dragged back into the light.

Before, he’d been angry. Then, he felt nothing. Now, he’s afraid, afraid for her, more afraid than he’s ever been, and he doesn’t know how to hide it.

“Hm. A recent change, perhaps,” Bulba observes, apparently on a roll now. “And one that would have brought you here, to my building, to seek something out. Or rather, someone. A gargoyle,” he says with such terrible certainty that Drake’s heart stutters. “The one that my aged specimen was mumbling about.” Bulba grins with a mouth full of gleaming, perfect teeth. “You, Darkwing, have a gargoyle hatchling in your care.”

Terror unlike any he’s known since he was a child, helpless and weak, blinds and deafens Drake for several seconds. Rationality takes a moment to right itself.

He doesn’t know about the Tower, he reminds himself over the cacophony of blood roaring through his ears. The sun’s up. Gosalyn’s safe as long as she doesn’t leave.

Even in the midst of his panic, Drake’s detective brain latches onto Bulba’s use of past tense. His stomach drops even as fury wrenches through his heart like a hot iron brand.

“Was?” he demands, lunging forward on his chain. “What’ve you done to him? Where are you keeping him?”

Bulba chuckles. “Your loyalty is commendable, Darkwing. Especially for a creature you’ve never met. You didn’t meet him, did you?” he clarifies, sounding curious.

“Never had the pleasure,” Drake growls.

“Well, he had a singular mind, let me tell you,” Bulba enthuses with gleeful, off putting passion. “I’ve never witnessed such genius from an untrained source. Everything he knew about physics, transdimensional reality–it was all just theory! He’d only ever read about it in books, but he was able to put that knowledge to use with remarkable ease. I’m ashamed to admit, without his help, the device wouldn’t be nearly as far along as it is.”

Drake has officially lost the thread of the conversation. “Wha–device?” he sputters, confusion and latent anger simmering in a nauseating stew. The continued use of past tense has dread tightening in his gut like a vice.

But Bulba rambles on as if Drake hadn’t spoken. “Did you know, we weren’t even looking for gargoyles! Far from it. FOWL lent me a few teams of Eggheads to patrol for your little playmates, and to throw the Justice Guild off the scent before they could interfere with my plans. But when they reported that they’d encountered a live specimen, well, I wasn’t about to look a gift gargoyle in the mouth, now was I? As plentiful as the creatures are in Duckburg, they’re too well-protected by their proximity to McDuff. And by the time they migrate to his sanctuary upstate? Forget about it!”

Drake jerks forward on his chain, as ineffectual as a fish dangling from a hook, but he’s too angry, too scared, too damn baffled to care. “What the hell are you talking about? What plans? What did you do to the gargoyle, Bulba?”

Bulba blinks, like he’d forgotten Drake was even in the room. “Wow,” he says. “You really don’t belong up here.” He holds his hand open behind him, beckoning to Hammerhead with a wiggle of his fingers. Drake watches with sharp trepidation as Hammerhead slips a slim, black case out of his inner jacket pocket and presses it into Bulba’s waiting palm. He opens it to reveal a single syringe filled with clear liquid. “You should’ve stayed small-time, Darkwing. You weren’t ready for the spotlight.” Bulba clicks his tongue, disappointed, as he removes the syringe and taps on the needle.

Panic licks up Drake’s throat like hot fire but he grits his teeth and strengthens his glare. “Oh yeah? Then what was the point of all this if you were just gonna kill me?”

I’m sorry, Gos. I'm sorry I failed you.

“Kill you?” Bulba repeats with a surprised laugh. “No, no, Darkwing, you misunderstand. We’ve got to get you ready for your big scene. Nothing less than a grand finale for our hero.”

At his nod, Hammerhead darts forward and grabs a handful of Drake’s hair, jerking his head roughly to the side. With his neck exposed, Bulba jabs him with the syringe, emptying its contents in one quick go.

As Drake’s vision swims and the blackness of oblivion drags him under, he hears Bulba croon, “Just wait till you meet your co-star.”

#ant writes #IM FINALLY BACK #with more gargoyles!#duckgoyles au #gargoyles au #gargolyes #darkwing duck #drake mallard #launchpad mcquack #taurus bulba #ducktales 2017 #stone by day

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jcmorrigan · 3 years

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Rank all the disguises that Megavolt and Quackerjack wore in “Stressed To Kill” from best to worst in your opinion. BTW, thanks for reblogging my fanart of those 2 as Dr. Heebie and Dr. Jeebie.

Okay, just rewatched this, and I'm gonna go worst to best because that order's more fun. I'm also expanding the parameters - it's every outfit they wore. I'm gonna do a separate list first for the ones we were told about but never saw, and that I wish we had seen.

THE UNSEEN, WORST TO BEST:

4. A cowboy and an Indigenous American

The 90s were, uh, a weird time when it came to cultural appropriation. I'm not too mad we didn't see these getups, especially since Megavolt in a feather headdress already happened in "Comic Book Capers" (which is how I know it was him). Oh, but he was also in a cowboy hat in the giant magnet episode. Neither of these was anything special. Except, y'know, the headdress was awkward because 90's appropriation

3. Two pumpkins

Kinda vanilla, and probably identical, but let's face it: this would've been hecka cute. Imagine the slapstick potential! One of them probably trips and falls over and rolls for like a BLOCK!

2. Pirates

If Megs is wearing the pirate outfit from Darkwing Doubloon, then I definitely wanna see that again, because that was a nice outfit. Quackerjack, of course, wears THE EXACT SAME THING HE ALWAYS DOES in that episode, but he's described as being one of two pirates, which means this time, he ACTUALLY WORE THE COSTUME, so please, give me the forbidden Pirate Quackerjack!

1. Circus clowns

They already are clowns. Let me see them wear their true colors of clownitude. Also think of all the colors! The polka dots! There's so much you can do with this aesthetic, and it'd work so well for them since they usually wear bright colors to begin with!

THE SEEN, WORST TO BEST:

6. Firefighter Quackerjack

This one barely counts, but what the hey. Thing is, he went to all the trouble of putting on the hat and getting a tiny fire truck in order to light that fire, so why didn't he go for the coat as well? Rest of the uniform? I want to see him commit a heist as a firefighter and have an axe strapped to his belt that he attempts to use in close combat but fumbles and drops harmlessly on his foot. Also, Megavolt didn't get a corresponding outfit, so booooo.

5. Pharaohs

These guys have been wearing crazy costumes all dang week and then all of a sudden, they show up wearing just pharaoh headdresses and no other part of the costume? I mean, I guess that avoids another weird 90s cultural appropriation incident, but it's also so vanilla. C'mon, you guys can step it up. Now, I’ve just been reminded that this is because they literally just stole the headdresses from the museum and decided to wear their loot home, as opposed to coming up with an actual disguise, so this can get a pass to some extent. Still, you know these boys would’ve loved to wear EVEN MORE historical costuming from that same museum.

4. The community service jumpsuits

No, not a disguise, but I think they look kinda neat in these. I like the running gag that Quackerjack never takes off his jester hat no matter what else he wears. I think the Paddywhack episode is the only time we ever see him without the hat, and that's for maybe three seconds as he's sucked into the vortex. That hat is part of him.

3. Their normal outfits

Okay, I just wanna talk about how great their designs are, okay? The bright colors. The fact that they're pretty much palette opposites - QJ is red and purple while Megavolt is yellow and blue with a little orange. The way their aesthetics are completely different, but also totally complement one another. You see them committing crimes together and you're like "They just GO. They MATCH."

2. Doctors Heebie and Jeebie

Absolutely classic Quackerjack-and-Megavolt disguises. Lab coats, masks, the immersive experience. Princess, you've pointed out that they actually look more like dentists, and that's CORRECT, and it's even funnier that way because they still get away with it. The longer that scene goes on and the more Darkwing just DOESN'T REALIZE who's in front of him, despite, y'know, the JESTER HAT, the funnier it gets. I'm always a sucker for when Paper Thin Disguises inexplicably work. It's peak humor.

1. Shakespearean actors

Okay, but this had to take the cake! Quackerjack in old English clothing with a waistcoat? Snappy! MEGAVOLT IN A DRESS, THOUGH? PERFECTION. I also love that his complaint is that by that point, it's getting "boring." He never has any aversion to the dress due to femininity, and does a cute little curtsy with it later in the scene - no, his problem is just that it's the fourth costume in the same night. But it's a very beautiful dress, and it suits him quite well. I like that he's comfortable enough with his masculinity to rock it.

But, uh...c'mere. Got a secret for you. Okay, you ready? So Quackerjack's outfit is mostly earth tones with a green vest. Megavolt's is a purple gown with corset lacing in front. They're...they're Eugene and Rapunzel from Tangled. This was years before Tangled was even a concept but SOMEHOW they are wearing a pretty convincing Tangled cosplay. Food for thought.

#quackerjack #megavolt #darkwing duck #quackervolt #stressed to kill #this was a fun ask <3

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dadweebking · 3 years

Text

Train Yard Meetup

Hallooooooooooo peeps! It has been forever since I posted something I wrote, BUT ALAS, I have been motivated to write something about Dewey and Gosalyn. Hope you all enjoy it. ^^

Word Count: 4522

“Thanks for coming over when I needed you, Launchpad. Would’ve been a long day to stiff through this yard with only Gos and me.”

“Hey no problem, DW. I’m always happy to help you guys out whenever I can; even when I can’t!”

As the sun had already been setting for the past twenty minutes, Darkwing Duck, Gosalyn, and Launchpad were investigating the massive train yard at the edge of St. Canard. Earlier in the day, Darkwing and Gosalyn had managed to catch a couple criminals who were working for an up and coming crime boss wanting to wreak havoc in St. Canard. While under interrogation, they fessed up to a delivery that had been made recently by rail and stated some goods that would be used to commit more crimes were in a few boxcars that were surely spread out at random in the yard by now.

DW phoned Launchpad if he wanted to help, since it was only him, Gosalyn, and a couple grumpy yard officials that would scope out the area. As per usual, Launchpad happily accepted.

The three met up with the yard officials and the yard manager at the entrance, where they stood there, patiently awaiting their arrival.

“Ah, glad to see you’re here, Darkwing. Thank you for arriving on short notice.” The manager greeted.

“You’re welcome citizen!” He saluted. “I’ve brought two extra sets of eyes to help cover more ground so we can find these cars more swiftly.” He moved aside to show Launchpad and Gosalyn, who saluted and just waved nonchalantly respectively. The yard manager seemed pleased with this idea.

“Oh how lovely!” She beamed. “I’ll leave you to it then.” She began to walk away, but then turned back towards them suddenly. “Oh, just keep in mind, you might want to steer clear of line 4. We’ve got an incoming train that’s delivering half its load tonight. Shouldn’t be too long now until it gets here.” She warned them.

“Thank you madam, we shall be extra vigilant!” He struck a dramatic pose and shifted his pupils side to side with a glare.

With a final thumbs up, the yard manager headed back towards her office.

As she left, the two officials lazily walked up to them with little emotion on their faces. Holding their hands out, they passed a couple radios to the three visitors. “She told us to give you these since we’re splitting up. She’ll also be able to monitor our progress.”

Everyone took one radio and then DW wasted no time in sending everyone off.

“Right. We’re all here, and we have the radios to contact each other. Launchpad, you take the farthest end, you two take this side, and I’ll cover the opposite side of LP.”

“I guess that means I’m taking the lot closest to track 4.” Gosalyn finally spoke up.

“Correct. Just be careful once you hear the train coming. The sooner we’re done here, the sooner we can head back, alright?”

She nodded and with that, the 5 split up to their respective points.

At this point, one could say Gosalyn isn’t being her usual self. Right now, she doesn’t have as much energy as she normally would for this kind of adventure, though to be fair, chasing those two crooks on foot for over forty minutes through the back alleys of St. Canard earlier today was pretty exhausting. Not to mention the physical fight once the crooks were cornered, and even they were tired at that point. Darkwing decided to check out the yard literally right after they confessed to the delivered goods as to not waste any more time.

So yeah, Gosalyn kind of wants to call it a day right about now.

She still decided to press forward because she knew that once she put all the work in today, the night’s sleep will be even more rewarding. Besides, she’s got four other people scouring the yard. This shouldn’t take too long right?

Wrong.

The sun had fully gone down now. She groaned as she opened the door to what felt like the hundredth car that night for her but when she looked back, she could see she just passed the 1/3 mark on that one line of cars she started with on track 3. Each car so far had nothing in them and she was tempted to just skip a few cars here and there to clear this line easier, but the manager piped in through the radio advising everyone to check each and every single car because she didn’t know which car had the material.

She wanted to open her mic and ask if the materials and the car they were in should be in the manifesto she had, as was protocol for train yards, but she decided that if it was materials for committing dastardly deeds, they might’ve just smuggled it in the car without anyone’s knowledge. Shaking her head from thinking too much, she picked through the car only to come up with nothing once again. With a defeated sigh, she put the produce she had back into the crate and was about to hop out of the car before the manager’s voice piped into the radio again.

“Guys heads up, the train’s coming on track four.”

“We’re far from it, so we’re good.” The guards radioed back.

“Same here, I’m just about done with this line of cars on the other side of the yard.” Darkwing chipped in.

“Hey DW I see you!” Launchpad chimed in happily. “Yes, hi Launchpad, I see you too.” Darkwing chuckled, amused.

With a slight giggle, Gosalyn opened her mic and spoke into it. “I’m on the line of cars on line three, right next to it. Thanks for the heads up, Miss.” She poked her head and looked to her left to see the headlights drawing closer, but still not in the yard yet. At the corner of her eye, she could see a line of oil tankers separating her from the next boxcar. In her haste to get some shut eye at home, she hopped off the car and sprinted towards the next car, but the train was still moving fast, blowing its horn as it got closer to the line of cars she was at. With the rails grinding next to her by the oncoming train fast approaching, she dove between two tankers and waited a few seconds before the locomotives finally roared passed her and immediately applied the brakes to stop before it reaches the other end of the yard.

With the train still going at a fast pace, Gosalyn thought it better to wait in her spot until the train reached a more suitable speed for her to walk besides. After about two minutes, that time had come and she finally moved from her spot and walked to the boxcar, still panting from her spur of the moment sprint. However, she heard what seemed like someone else sprinting on the other side of the moving train. She looked under and sure enough made out a pair of webbed feet planting themselves and pushing off of the ballast past her. She couldn’t see the upper half of the person though and made the impulsive choice to follow them.

She kept pace with the person for another minute before she saw their feet make a sudden turn into the line of cars on line five. It caught her by surprise as she immediately skid to a halt. Running back to where she saw them turn, she tried picking up her radio again but couldn't feel it in her pocket. She mentally face-palmed herself; in her effort to keep up with the freight hopper, the radio must’ve bounced out of her pocket a while back. Sure enough, looking back, she could see the stationary red glowing bulb just a little ways away from where she began her chase.

However, she made the split second decision to keep pursuit, and ran a little bit down the passing train. She then grabbed onto the rail of one of the dirt hoppers and gingerly made her way across the narrow front walkway and then hopped off on the other side, and then climbed past the cars on line five. She was so lucky to see the figure climb up the line of cars on line six about 5 cars ahead. In an instant, she hopped over the cars next to her and caught the figure off guard as they had been running in her direction this time. He skid and stumbled to run in the other direction and Gosalyn once again gave chase.

“HEY!” She called out, but the figure ignored her. She tried squinting to see who it was, but with little lighting in the yard, she couldn’t make out any color. They then hopped back over the line six cars, and then again over line five, and Gosalyn followed suit. The moving train had slowed to about snails pace, and the figure ran in the opposite direction of the moving train between lines four and five. However, Gosalyn hopped the moving train again, this time running next to the train between lines three and four. She pushed herself to keep going, as she felt like her lungs were about to explode with all the running she endured today.

She could see the figure’s feet slow its pace and Gosalyn smirked. The end of the train was finally coming up and she put whatever effort was left in her to keep running, and she had caught up to the figure. Once the end of the train had past, she wasted no time and dove across the track, tackling the figure and causing them both to roll across the hard ballast with grunts. Once they came to a stop, she pinned down the person and was finally able to see who it was.

What she saw shocked her to the core.

There, with his back digging into the hard rocks underneath, lay Dewey Duck. They had landed in the halo of a lamppost so she knew her eyes can’t be deceiving her, but she blinked hard just in case. It was him alright. He was struggling to remove his wrists from her grip, but let out a gasp when he finally opened his eyes and saw who was on top of him. The struggling stopped and both ducklings were trying to get their breaths back after running for what seemed like forever. He then smiled.

“Oh hey Gosalyn! What’s up?”

That question threw her off guard. Not only the question itself, but the way he asked it like it was some friendly outing and that nothing was out of the ordinary.

She let go of his wrists and they fell onto his chest as she staggered back, still in shock.

“What are you doing here?!” She spread her flailed her arms as she continued to breathe in and out heavily. “Duckburg is so far away! Why are you hopping a train this late at night!?”

Dewey grimaced as Gosalyn screamed in his face, his now free arms protecting his face. He cracked open a single eye as she finished but before he could reply, he could hear some mumbling just a little ways from them. Gosalyn got up and walked away, leaving him dazed and confused. He slowly managed to get himself off the ground, his body sore all over. As he fixed his zoosh, Gosalyn picked up the radio from the ground, where a worried Darkwing’s voice blasted through the speaker.

“Gos what’s going on?! I heard yelling, are you ok?! We told you to steer clear of-!”

“I’m fine!” She cut him off. She screamed it since she pressed the button as he was still rambling, meaning there would’ve been a two way interference and they couldn’t hear each other. That seemed to do the trick, as she let go of the button and he stopped talking. Soon he came back on, his voice more gentle this time.

“What happened then?”

She began walking back towards Dewey, who was still trying, and failing, to fully fix his zoosh. “Is Launchpad there?”

“Yeah I’m there. I mean, I’m not with DW, I’m on a different line of cars now.” She rolled her eyes in slight amusement and looked to see that she now had Dewey’s attention, although he was still messing with his zoosh.

“Uh, can we meet at Launchpad’s location. I wanna show you guys something.”

The guards piped up the radio again, sounding confused. “You can’t just say what it is over the radio, kid?”

“No, this is something I want the other two to see. It’s unrelated to our current issue, but it’s still important.” A few seconds of radio silence went by as everyone seemed to contemplate. Dewey was staring at her with a blank look as he was completely disconnected with the whole ordeal.

“I don’t know, kid, if it’s not related...” The guard trailed off but before he can pick it back up, Darkwing came back over the radio in support.

“If she says it’s important to Lp and I, I’m sure your boss wouldn’t mind if we spare a few minutes.” As if right on cue, the yard manager’s voice echoed through the speaker.

“I do not mind at all, Darkwing. I’ll keep you on your ‘few minutes’ claim though; don’t be too long please.”

“Will do, madam! Gos, I’ll see you with Lp.”

Gosalyn only let out a hum of agreement before looking to see Dewey just checking his surroundings before his eyes locked with hers. She motioned for him to come towards her and he playfully waltzed to her side. Once he got there, she held his arm for a brief moment to instruct him. “Follow me, and please don’t wander off.” She begged as he nervously scratched the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Hey... I don’t do it often.” He said in a low voice.

“Your family told me you do it almost every crazy adventure you guys go on together. I oughta hold onto your arm the whole way to where we’re going.” She grumbled

“Alright fine!” He exclaimed. “I wasn’t planning on running off anyway, my body’s too sore for more adventures today, and that’s saying something!”

Gosalyn immediately released her grip on his arm and he moved it around to try and dampen the soreness. While doing that, she could see all the dirt and dust that was still on his clothes and feathers and felt a small rush of guilt sweep through her. She cringed when she saw some scratches that she deduced he must’ve gotten from their tumble when she tackled him.

“Hey, um..., sorry for... ya know. That.” She said as she pointed to his battered form. Looking down, Dewey tried to dust himself off again, though he still looked the same as a few seconds ago.

“Ah, it’s fine. We couldn’t really see who each other was anyway. I thought you were one of the yard guards chasing after me; it was pretty scary.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, you’re lucky I wasn’t. They would’ve probably locked you up by now for trespassing. What were you doing on the train, anyway?” She asked with genuine curiosity.

The mood on Dewey’s face instantly fell and he looked down at his feet as they continued walking. “I don’t know. I didn’t mean to ride the train all the way from Duckburg to St. Canard. This is St. Canard, right?” He asked in an uncharacteristically timid fashion.

“Of course it is. Where else did you think we were?” She questioned him with a puzzling look.

“I don’t know! I couldn’t read any signs I passed, and since you guys are here, I made the assumption.” He had a bit of frustration present in his tone and face, prompting her not to pry any further allowing him to continue.

“I had a fight with my family at home.” He finally said dejected. Gosalyn looked up at him with concern as they both stopped walking by this point. He sat up on a stationary car’s walkway as Gosalyn leaned on the frame of the car next to him.

“On our adventure today, I accidentally started a landslide. It was pretty boring at that point, and I wanted to see if I could find something more exciting around us. I wasn’t even by myself for more than ten minutes before the ground gave way and almost swept everyone off the mountain. We all made it, but everyone gave me a piece of their mind the whole plane ride back. I ruined the whole trip for everyone and I already felt super bad about it. I didn’t need everyone else to make me feel worse.” He picked up a rock from where he was sitting and threw it as he stopped talking for a brief moment. Gosalyn could agree with that last little tidbit when she first met him, Drake, and Launchpad.

“After an early dinner, everyone went their own separate ways in the mansion so I just walked out the door and wandered around town before coming to the railroad. I threw some rocks around, blowing off some steam before I heard the train about to pass. I’ve hopped on trains before but only rode them for a few seconds when they were going slow enough for me to hop on and off with ease. Heck, I even climbed the signal bridge before many times.

“I saw a boxcar that was unlocked and I felt super lucky because I’ve always wanted to see what was inside one. I climbed in and just wanted to get a glimpse before getting off, but the train started to move faster and faster. I didn’t notice until I turned around, wanting to jump off but it was going too fast and I didn’t want to fall flat on my face. I felt even worse then because I didn’t know where I was going. I was hoping the train would slow down soon, but once it passed the city limits, I just stayed put until... well until I reached here.” He spread his arms out, emphasizing the whole yard with the “here” comment.

Gosalyn, fully into the story, finally blinked and let out a simple “Wow.”

“Yeah.” came the remark from Dewey. “The train was way too loud, I had to cover my ears almost the entire trip. It wasn’t all bad though, I passed some scenery that was oh so beautiful! Seriously, the freight lines have way nicer scenic backdrops and locations than the passenger trains.” His mood seemed to do a complete one-eighty, causing Gosalyn to giggle at his sudden mood shift. Her giggle seemed contagious as now Dewey giggled too. He hopped off the car and they both continued to walk non-stop towards Launchpad and Drake.

“Man, that must’ve been one heck of an experience.” Gosalyn commented, nudging his arm.

“It really was, though I doubt I’ll be able to do it again. Uncle Donald’s gonna preeeeeeetty fumed when he hears about this. Cannot wait for that.” He cringed. It wasn’t just Donald who’d he hear from, but everyone else as well. Again. He was absolutely dreading it.

“What are you guys doing here, anyway?” He asked Gosalyn now, wanting to change the subject. She just shrugged.

“Ah you know, typical Superhero biz with Drake and Lp. This thing, though, is pretty mundane. We’re just looking through car after car looking for some equipment that would’ve been used to commit a lotta crime in St. Canard. New wannabe crime boss and all that.” She explained with a carefree attitude, although she let out a yawn straight after.

For the next two minutes, they just conversed about anything until Launchpad and Drake’s form came into view.

“LP!” She called out. The two looked towards her and he waved as Darkwing looked slightly relieved.

“Hey Gosalyn! What’d you find that’s so important.” He asked with a bounce in his step.

“Not ‘what’, Launchpad. ‘Who.’” She corrected, causing both adults to look puzzled before stepping out of the way to reveal Dewey standing behind her. With a small wave, he smiled sheepishly.

“Heeeey Launchpad.” He quietly sing-songed.

“DEWEY!!” Launchpad wasted no time in grabbing the duckling and swinging him around in a massive bearhug. “I didn’t know you guys were here!”

“T-They’re NOT..., Launchpad.” He grunted, barely managing to utter those words. He stopped and gently held Dewey in front of him to let him explain. “It’s just me. They don’t even know I’m here.”

Gosalyn cringed next to Drake, who had a concerned look of disapproval on his face.

“Oh.” Launchpad let out. He seemed to think for a moment before setting him down. “Well that’s not good.” He said with the utmost sincerity. Dewey just rubbed his arm in shame.

“He had a fight with the family, hopped a freight train, didn’t mean to stay on but got stuck, and I tackled him when he got off thinking he was just some random shmuck.” Gosalyn explained to the adults.

“Yeah, thanks a lot.” Dewey said with a tiny smirk, hoping to lighten the mood.

“I said I was sorry!” She fired back.

Not a moment passed before Launchpad’s cellphone started ringing. The caller?

Scrooge McDuck.

Dewey felt a sense of dread flow through his body as Launchpad answered the call and put it on speaker.

“Launchpad! We need you back at the mansion as soon as possible!” Scrooge’s voice boomed through the phone’s speaker, a demanding tone laced with a bit of panic trying not to be shown.

“Why?” He asked. He may not be the smartest tool in the shed, but Launchpad knew what he was calling about. He just felt like Dewey needed to hear what he had to say.

“Dewey has seemingly disappeared! We’ve searched the entire mansion and the neighboring areas, but he’s nowhere to be found! We’re all gonna look in the city so we’ll need all hands on deck! We might even pay the Beagle family a visit.” He said with venom in his voice.

In the background, the four could hear everyone making a game plan and Donald rambling away.

Dewey was slightly taken aback by how everyone sounded. While a part of him was a bit relieved they still cared, he became more scared of how they’ll react once he gets home. Gosalyn only smiled seeing how much his family cared for the blue duckling.

“Hold on sec, Mr. McDee.” He pressed the speaker button again, turning off speaker mode and handing the phone to Dewey.

“HOLD ON?!” His voice blasted through the ear speaker, causing Dewey to almost drop the phone. Scrooge started angrily shouting at the phone, berating Launchpad for seemingly putting him on hold during a family crisis.

“U-Uncle Scrooge?”

That shut him up immediately, causing everything to go silent for a second.

“DEWEY!” His uncle exclaimed with jubilance, causing him to instinctively hold the phone away from him at arm’s length to keep his ear from hurting. In doing so, he accidentally hit the speaker button again and everyone he was with could hear the gasps and shocked exclamations of the other family members as they seemingly crowded around the wealthy duck and his phone.

Gosalyn’s smile only grew.

“Hey...” Dewey murmured into the mic, mimicking the same tone he gave Launchpad when they first saw each other tonight.

“Lad what are ya doing over there?! Ye nearly gave Donald a heart attack! Myself too! Everyone here’s been worried sick for hours and-”

“I know!” He cut his uncle off. “I didn’t mean to make you guys worried. I just...” He contemplated on lying, but decided that’ll only make things worse. That and he couldn't think of anything else to say. “I got onto a train but got scared to get off because it was going too fast for me to get off without hurting myself badly. I rode it all the way to St. Canard and found Launchpad by some miracle. I’m so sorry you guys, I really am!” He was on the verge of tears at this point. He really didn't want to be reprimanded and scolded again, especially since he’s well aware of how much trouble he had caused today.

“Lad, of course we’re disappointed but we’re not angry with you. We’re more relieved than anything else that you’re alright and safe with Launchpad at the moment.”

They could hear the phone moving around, and suddenly Huey began speaking.

“Look, Dewey, we all realized we were a bit harsh towards you. You’re not the only one to wander off and start something crazy on an adventure; I’m guilty of it, and so are Louie and Webby. I, for one, am sorry about today.” Voices of agreement came from the aforementioned green and pink ducklings. Dewey wiped his tears and with a sniffle, began talking once more.

“Thanks guys, and I’m really sorry for everything today. Really.”

“Dewey, we forgive you.” Came the voice of his Uncle Donald. “We’re just glad you’re safe and hopefully learned your lesson.”

Dewey let out a small chuckle. “I definitely did, Uncle Donald. No more free train rides, I promise.”

“Just come home with Launchpad, alright?” Scrooge commented. “We’ll talk a bit more when you get here. Sounds like you have quite a story to tell.”

“Ok Uncle Scrooge. I really love you guys. See ya soon.” A chorus of byes all came from the phone as he hung up and handed the phone back to Launchpad.

Gosalyn strode to him and put an arm around his shoulder, offering a bit of extra comfort.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” She asked him sincerely. He only shook his head and held the hand on his shoulder in his hand.

During the call, he saw her smiling at him and his family’s conversation and it made him feel better throughout the conversation. He looked back to her with a glimmer in his eyes.

“Thank you.” He whispered with the utmost generosity. Using her free hand, she patted him on the other shoulder, whispering back, “You’re Welcome.”

They let go of each other and looked to the two adults, both with smiles on their faces after witnessing their exchange.

Shaking his head back to reality, Darkwing went back to business mode. “I guess since we have an extra set of eyes at our disposal, I suppose we can make up for lost time, right?”

“Pleeeeeease! I’m so tired!” begged Gosalyn.

“You didn’t seem tired just now with Dewey.” Launchpad commented obliviously.

“Launchpad!” She exclaimed. This caused Dewey to snicker and Darkwing to raise an eyebrow. Launchpad just blinked.

“I’m going back to my line of cars with Dewey. The sooner we get done the better. C’mon Dew.” She grabbed his hand, and the two set off back to where they first found each other tonight, but not before Darkwing called out, “Be careful you two!”

Whatever he meant is anyone’s guess.

#Dewey Duck #Gosalyn Mallard #darkwing duck #launchpad mcquack #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dewey x gosalyn #can be viewed as platonic or romantic #dewelyn

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thefantasygirl3 · 4 years

Text

Negaverse stories: You're gonna have a bed time

Genre/warnings: Comedy, Slice of life, Action.

Word count: 5 287

Summary: The Darkwing Ducks are having a bit of a family dispute, with half of the team refusing to sleep at a proper time. An argument breaks out but is quickly interrupted by a villain attack. Now they will have to fight crime with only two heroes on top of their game.

Notes: I decided to continue writing some fun little adventures for my negaverse boys, because I refuse to let this hyper fixation go. I hope it’s a fun little read for you all. Edit: Gonna link my fanfiction.net as well, which might make it easier for some to find my stories.

Night was falling over all of st. Canard as people were already tucked in tight to sleep. Midnight was getting closer and closer. Quackerjack was fast asleep on the couch, snoring and drooling as he laid sprawled out cartoonishly. But as he was snoring loudly, a loud noise suddenly woke him up and he rolled off the couch and face planted on the floor. He let out a low groan and pushed himself up off the ground, his attention directed towards where the noise was heard, which happened to be the workshop. The duck headed over to the door and peeked inside. He saw Megavolt, sitting by the workshop table with the dismantled stereo he had started working on getting fixed earlier that day. Quacks gave away a soft yawn as he entered the room, walking up to the distracted man and stood beside him. "Hey, Sparky. How long have you been working on this?" He asked as he tilted forward to get a peek at his work. Megavolt gave his wrist watch a quick glance before he answered with "since 6 I think". "What?! You've been working for 6 hours?! When were you planning to go to bed?!" He huffed angrily and leaned in close to the rat, making him move away so he could see what he was doing again. He got angry that the stubborn rat just ignored him and kept working. "Sparkyyyy! You can't keep doing this! You need to go to bed at a reasonable hour and actually SLEEP!" He scolded him while he took the tools out of his hands and put them back into his tool box. "Hey! I'm busy, ok!? If I get into the zone, I can't just break my concentration! I need to finish it before I can stop!" He responded frustrated as he tried to take the tool box back, but Quacks moved it out of the way. "No! You need to go to bed! Now!" He demanded and put the tool box on top of his work shelf. "I'm not a kid! You can't make me!" He growled as he walked over and took it back down. "Wanna bet?" Quacks said with an annoyed squint, grabbing a hold of the box as well.

Meanwhile Bushroot was laying in his bed, sleeping soundly. Until he woke up, muttering under his breath "... I'm thirsty". He pushed himself up from his bed and wandered out into the hallway so he could grab a glass of water. That was until he noticed some light escaping the bottom of Liquidator's door. He cocked his head a bit and decided to take a peek inside to see what was going on. Liquidator was sitting by his computer, editing some ad he was tasked to make. Bushroot slipped inside and walked up beside him. "Hey. Bud. What… um… are you doing there?" He asked him softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. The dog turned his head around and gave him a tired smile. "Ah. Hey Reginald. I'm just finishing this ad before I call it a day" He explained as he looked back at the screen to continue his work. "You know it's almost midnight, right?" The plant asked and looked at him curiously. "... oh. Oops" He muttered as he saw the time in the corner of the screen.

Bushroot sighed and crossed his arms, shaking his head and muttering "Oh bud. We've discussed this!". "It was a mistake! I swear!" Liquidator tried to excuse himself as he turned around to the other man. "Liste bud. I know how you feel. You want to make sure it's perfect. You want to impress the rest of the guys so they will respect you. It's a totally legit feeling to have. But overworking yourself and tiring yourself out isn't going to solve anything" he told him as he put his hands on the other's shoulders reassuringly. "But… it needs to be good. I can't send in something bad" the water man replied with a frown. "You won't! You're too self critical. It was good the way it was, doesn't need 10 reworks" Bushroot sighed and gave his shoulder a light pat. Liquidator gave a small smile and muttered "you're right. Maybe I should get some rest". "There we go. Now, save your work and get to bed" the other man said with a grin and watched as his friend started turning off the computer, before he quickly added on "Oh! And I'll be taking the power cord". "WHAT?! YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" He suddenly yelled as he turned around to face the still calm plant. "It's just to ensure you don't turn it back on in the middle of the night. And don't use the 'what if I need to start early' excuse. You're the only one who's putting that stress on yourself" he told him off with a stern voice, as if speaking to a kid. But they were then interrupted by a loud sound from downstairs.

The two rushed over to the stairs and saw the other half of the Darkwing Ducks pulling and tugging at a screwdriver. "LET GO OF IT! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME SLEEP!" Megavolt yelled as he struggled to pull the tool loose. "Oh yes I can, if I knock you out cold!" Quackerjack replied as he tightened his grip on it. Then the two noticed the other men by the end of the stairs, staring surprised. "... workaholic refuses to sleep?" Bushroot asked with one raised eyebrow. "Overgrown baby throwing a tantrum" The other duck answered as he got distracted enough for Megavolt to take the screwdriver back, making him give the rat a hard glare. "Alright guys. This is getting ridiculous! You two need to get a hold of yourselves and get working on a proper sleep schedule! These sleeping problems are going to affect our work!" He groaned and put a hand to his face, letting out a big sigh. "Yeah. I agree. You guys can't pull more all-nighters. You need-" before Bushroot could finish, a small alarm went off, signalling that something bad was happening in town. The dog and rat grinned and ran over to the couch that would get them to their secret hideout, taking the opportunity to escape the discussion. "Sorry! No time to discuss this! Justice awaits, chuckles!" Megavolt said with a satisfied grin, plopping himself down onto the couch beside Liquidator. The other two just sighed and walked over to sit down with them, pulling the lever that was disguised as a statue which spun the couch and transported the four to their base.

They emerged from a secret entrance, already dawning their hero outfits as they landed stylishly. Megavolt rushed over to the computer and started to tap away at it. "According to the drones, there is a big collection of police around the tool shop. Though on closer inspection, most of the officers have been knocked out cold. And there appears to be some sort of white smoke coming out of the entrance and windows" he informed the others as he tapped away at the keyboard. "I think those are clouds" Bushroot added as he walked over to get a better look. "Aha! That's it! This must be the work of King Dreamland! He's putting all those cops and security to sleep so he can rob the store undisturbed!" Quackerjack announced as he pointed at the light, soft looking clouds, already rushing towards the van so they could get going to stop the crazed criminal. Liquidator let out a yawn and dragged himself over to the van and hopped into the back, muttering "right. Then let's get dangerous!". Bushroot groaned as he stepped inside it as well, grumbling annoyed about how neither he or the rodent should be doing anything dangerous in their state. Megavolt sat down in the passenger seat beside the clown, glancing over as he got the car started. "You know I can still drive. You don't gotta-" as he tried to convince him he was perfectly fine to drive, the duck gripped the wheel tightly and hissed like an angry cat, shutting up any further argument. He then hit the gas and they drove off downtown.

They soon reached the store, parking right behind the cluster of police cars and unconscious cops, floating around on soft, fluffy clouds. "Definitely the work of King Dreamland" Megavolt remarked as he watched a sleeping officer drift by the car. "And it seems his work is almost done!" Bushroot exclaimed as he pointed at the figure inside with a big bulky bag of things in his hands. This caused the Darkwing Ducks to hop out of the van and rush the building while pushing clouds out of the way.

As they got inside, they spotted the hazmat suit wearing villain with cute cartoon stickers of clouds and stars on it, still loading up the bag with wire cutters and a sledge hammer. "We are the terrors that flap in the night! We are the alarm clock that wakes you up one hour late!" Liquidator started talking as purple smoke began to fill the store, causing him to swing around and stared at the cloud of smoke. "Ah! Darkwing Ducks!" King Dreamland yelled in surprise as he backed up from the voice. "Aw come on! At least let us finish our intro!" He groaned frustrated as he reeled back and launched his fist towards the villain, knocking him back into a shelf of nuts and bolts. Quackerjack quickly grabbed a hold of his toy wind-up teeth and threw them at him, causing them to bite down onto the suit sleeve and pinning it to the shelf. He started tugging harshly at the captured sleeve, grunting as he couldn't get it loose. "How dare you?! I'll have your heads for this!" He yelled while using his other hand to pull as hard as he could. "Zip It, snore fest!" Megavolt mumbled as he aimed his finger at him. His view suddenly got a little blurry and he let out a soft groan, feeling a bit of tiredness take over for a short moment until he shook himself back to reality and fired a bolt of lightning. Dreamland gasped and covered his face, but took a peek after he heard the bolt miss him, bounce off of a circle saw and shoot right back at the group and knock Bushroot to the floor. "GHA!" He yelled as he hurt his back upon landing. "Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry, leafy!" The rat exclaimed in shock as he ran over to help him up.

King Dreamland took this opportunity, while the hero team was distracted and reached back to his backpack tank and grabbed the hose nozzle on the side. He pointed it at the befuddled green man and whispered "night night" before he fired a white puff of cloud at him. Megavolt heard the noise behind him and suddenly shouted "Watch out!" And pushed his friend out of the way. The cloud then completely engulfed him, making him disappear within it. Quackerjack gasped and covered his beak in disbelief, shouting a weak "No! Megsy!". He soon came back out from the cloud, lying lazily on top of it with a big, relaxed smile. "Hey… this is… pretty nice" He mumbled with a soft yawn. "You terrible tired tyrant! Hope you enjoy the prison beds!" Liquidator growled and ran at the suited man, hardening his hand so it would give him a hard smash. But the villain noticed how slow he was seemingly going and swiftly redirected the punch towards the teeth holding him stuck. As soon as he was freed from the shelf, he hopped back and pointed the nozzle at him. "You seem tired, doggy! Isn't it past your bedtime?" He said in a cocky voice before he fired another cloud at Liquidator, capturing him as well. "Well this has been fun, but I gotta get going. The night is still young!" The villain yelled back as he ran out the door and left the remaining two heroes with their friends now out of commission.

Bushroot ran over to Liquidator and gave him a light shake. While laying on his stomach on the cloud, he curled up into a ball and murmured "just five more minutes please, Reginald". "No! Liquidator! We need to catch that guy! Don't give in to your sleepiness!" The duck yelled while trying to shake him awake. Quackerjack, on the other hand, gave the rat a curious look. "... how are you feeling, smart guy?" He asked with a twist of satisfaction to his voice. "Sooooo… good… I think I'll take a little power nap" he answered his friend as he closed his tired eyes and let his leg dangle lazily over the edge of the cloud.

"Quackerjack! We have to get them off of these clouds! Come on! You've got to have something in your pockets that will help!" Bushroot ran over and shook the jester's shoulders violently. "Oooor! We don't do that! Think about it for a sec, spuds! These two finally WANT to go to sleep! We just got our little domestic issue solved for us! King Dreamland just did us a favour!" He said with a smug grin on his face, removing the leaf hands off of him.

Bushroot lit up from that realization and glanced between the two sleeping heroes. "You're right! They're sleeping like babies! But… what now? How are we going to stop King Dreamland?" He asked with a worried expression. "Pfffff! We've taken down villains separately before! The two of us can take on this one weirdo!" Quackerjack said confidently and put an arm around his fellow duck. "Yeah! You're right! Let the sleepyheads rest while we handle the hard work!" The plant nodded and chuckled, grabbing his friend's arm and pulling him out of the shop, in the general direction of the villain.

King Dreamland was walking down the street, cackling to himself as he flung the bag of tools over his shoulder. "Wow! Those guys were having an off night!" He mused to himself while speeding up his pace. But he was soon caught off guard by a tree branch suddenly appearing in his way and knocking him over. "Good job, tree friend! Now, you better stop whatever you're planning to do with those tools right now!" Bushroot yelled as he and Quackerjack were rounding the corner, starting to approach him. The villain pushed himself up from the ground and rubbed his head, quickly reaching for his nozzle and firing it at the two. The clown duck pushed his friend back and pulled out a gun from his endless supply of toys, firing it at the cloud. It caused an umbrella to pop out of the barrel, blocking the white puff from consuming them whole. "Darn!" Dreamland yelled as he turned right around and escaped the two while they were distracted. "He's getting away! After him!" Jacky said as soon as the umbrella was closed, pulling his co-hero along to give chase.

King Dreamland ran as fast as he could from the heroes, making a sharp turn into the mall. The two chasing him were slowly catching up, spotting him as he dashed into the mall and quickly following after. As they got inside, they scanned the area to determine where he went. "... There!" Quackerjack yelled and pointed at the bad guy, just entering into a sports shop. They ran inside and started looking around for him. They didn't spot him immediately, so they searched around the place. After a second of looking, Bushroot bumped into him. He screamed in fear and began to run. The plant man yelped surprised and started to run after him. "What are you planning to do with those things, you fellon?!" he yelled after him as he was right on his heels. "You'll see! Once my scheme is put into action! Ahahaha!" he laughed diabolically and held up the bag triumphantly. "OOOH! When I catch up, you'll pay for what you did to my friends!" Bushroot growled angrily as he just kept running, starting to pant a bit as he was getting exhausted from running. Quackerjack just stood beside them both, giving a quizzical glance between them. "What are you doing?" he asked as the other two looked at him confused. They then glanced down and saw that they were just running on a treadmill. "Oh. Well that's embarrassing. Anyways, I'm off!" King Dreamland jumped off the treadmill and ran out the shop again. "We got to catch him!" Jacky said and pointed towards the door. "Get me off of this thing first!" his friend yelled as he was still running and panting. "Oh. Right" he muttered and reached over to push the first button he saw, hoping it would turn it off. It just sped the treadmill up and shot Bushroot back into a wall of jump ropes. He was dizzy for a second, until the other duck pulled him up off the ground and dragged him along.

They ran into the next store, which was a music store, and saw the villain trying to sneak out the back door. Bushroot extended his arms and grabbed a hold of an electric guitar, slamming it into the hazard suited man and launching him into a drum set. He emerged with a big, broken drum around himself. Quackerjack started laughing and pointing at him, finding the slapstick hilarious. Dreamland growled angrily at being humiliated. It was then he spotted where the hero was standing, right underneath a hanging piano. How cliché, but perfect. While bushroot approached to apprehend him, he wriggled his arm loose and sprinted over to the violins, grabbing one of the bows and using it to cut the rope holding the piano and sending it plummeting down onto the jester's head. Bushroot gasped in horror and stared at the broken mess of a musical instrument. The suited man took this opportunity to bolt out the front door with his bag and ran as fast as he could. "Quackerjack?! Are you ok?!" the duck ran over to the piano and asked worriedly, rummaging through the debris until he found him. He sat up straight and swayed slightly, spitting out some piano keys before he could crawl out of the wreck. "Just fine" he muttered before heading out with his friend and pursuing the villain again.

They were soon walking through a hobby store, looking through the isles to find the bad guy. They headed down an isle with different types of paint lining the shelves while darting their eyes all around them. They kept completely quiet as to be able to hear him. It made the entire place eerily silent, like a ghost house. King Dreamland was spying on them from the other side of the shelf, watching them draw closer and closer to his position. As soon as they were near, he gave the shelf a hard shove and made it topple over towards the two. Bushroot looked up at the falling shelf and gasped in shock, giving Quackerjack a push out of the way before he was buried in pain bottles. The other duck yelped surprised before he gave away a growl and looked up at the villain, who ran away and started climbing a shelf. He bolted after him, pulling out a yo-yo from his pants and swinging it around as he got ready to attack. As soon as he reached the bottom of the shelf, Dreamland had already made it up there and picked up a big jug of pink paint, dropping it right down on top of his head. It made a painful indent into his noggin and he fell back onto the floor, getting a thunk on his beak by his own yo-yo, just for some salt in the wounds. "Ha ha ha! Wow! You guys suck! Guess you're nothing without all your team! You better just give up, I can see the bags under your eyes from here! I'm off to blow off some steam… all over town! See ya!" He taunted the two, blowing a raspberry at them, which stained his visor with spit before he hopped down and rushed out the back.

Bushroot managed to wriggle himself out from under the shelf, being completely covered in different splashes of color. He rushed over to Quacks and helped him up off the ground concernedly, looking at the jug that was still lodged into his head. The jester pulled it off of himself and straightened himself out with a proper tug on his hat tails. He then looked over at the plant man, starting to giggle quietly. "Wow. You're looking even more colorful than Megavolt during June!" He joked and snorted into his hands at the rainbow colored duck, who just rolled his eyes and pulled his friend off the floor. "Come on, Quackerjack! We gotta go and find where he went!" He grumbled and rushed both of them out the mall. "But where would he go to "blow of steam", huh?" The other asked as he got no chance to even put back the jug of paint before they were off. "Blow of steam… hmm… all over town! He's going to release his clouds all over town! Probably from a wind turbine! We got to hurry!" Bushroot realized quickly as he pointed towards the nearest wind turbine and headed towards it at top speed.

They arrived at their destination after a bit, immediately noticing that the lock on the door had been cut. "So that's why he got tools!" Bushroot growled angrily and stared at the wide open door, thinking over what their plan of attack was. His head was a little cluttered at that moment, having received a real beating earlier and been running around a lot, so he just shook his head and tried his best to focus. Quacks, on the other hand, just walked right inside. But he then saw the long stairwell leading up to the top and stopped right in his tracks. "... UUUUUUGH! Why STAIRS!? I'm tireeeeed!" He whined and leaned back in defeat. "Come on. We'll make it up there. We need to. For our friends!" The other duck sighed exhausted and began climbing up the stairs, determined to get the bad guy.

A few minutes later, they had reached the top. They were both huffing and puffing heavily, eyes bulging out of their heads as they stopped to catch their breaths. "After this… I'm removing the top floor… of our house!" Jacky groaned and hunched over while leaning on his knees. Bushroot leaned back against the door behind him to rest his tired legs, but was surprised as it started to slowly slide open and make him fall backwards out of the doorway. He looked up with a surprised look until he saw their target a bit away, carrying and setting up a smoke machine. "Hey! Stop right there!" The jester yelled and hopped out beside his friend, pointing at their enemy with a pissed look, mostly because of the pain he had caused them.

King Dreamland turned around and looked at the two weary heroes, grumbling a flippant "geez, do you guys ever give up?". He then set down the smoke machine and pulled the nozzle from his backpack, aiming it at them both. "Alright. You found out my plan. So now what? What are you planning to do to stop me? I mean look at yourselves! You're going to pass out any second" he spoke casually to them as he lightly waved his weapon around, showing how nonchalant he was about all of it, clearly not taking the whole situation seriously. "Don't underestimate my stubbornness-" "determination" "DETERMINATION! We'll put a stop to you right now!" Quackerjack yelled at him and pointed a firm finger while glaring irritated. "Alright. Put a stop to this" he shrugged and shot a big cloud at them. The jester gave away a shriek and covered his face, preparing for the collision. Bushroot shot up from the floor and extended his arms, wrapping them around the other's waist and janking him out of the way.

King Dreamland growled in rage and stomped his foot. "Why won't you lay down and die?!" He shouted as he glared at the two with absolute fury. Quackerjack looked down at his pockets and started rummaging through them to find something he could use to stop the villain on a rampage. He then felt something in his pockets that he didn't expect to have. It gave him an idea and he looked over at the plant holding onto him. "You have to toss me!" he told him hurriedly. "Huh?" he just responded to the cooky duck's request, not sure he heard him right. "THROW MY BODY AT HIM!!!" he then shouted, startling his friend into just doing as told and throwing him as hard as he could. Quackerjack flew straight at the villain and before he could fire another cloud, he was tackled and had a crazy clown climbing and scuttling all over his body, like a racoon who was also an expert climber. He stumbled around while he was being jerked left and right from the whirlwind of a hero. "Get… OFF ME YOU TIRED LOON!!!" He shouted as he finally managed to rip him off and toss him towards his co-hero, knocking him to the ground.

Bushroot quickly pushed Quacks off and got up to rush at the king, ready to whoop his butt. He picked up a sledgehammer from the ground that his enemy brought and swung it at him. But he dodged out of the way and backed out of yet another swing at him, avoiding every attempt at knocking him down. "Man. You guys really suck at this! Can't even land a punch!" He chuckled and grabbed a hold of the hammer, janking it out of his hands and aiming the hose in his face. "Time to visit dreamland."

He shot him right in the face. But he was not greeted by a soft, fluffy, sleep inviting cloud. He was instead splattered in the face by a load of pink. "H-HUH!?!" Dreamland exclaimed, bewildered as he looked into the nozzle and only saw pink. He then looked towards his back to see what went wrong, to discover that his usual tank had been replaced by a jug of pink paint. He then looked up at the other hero and saw him holding up the actual container, giving them both a thumbs up. Dreamland stared at him in shock, unable to believe he was outsmarted by two extremely exhausted dummies. This was unbelievable! He couldn't accept this! But as he was starting to have a breakdown of rage, bushroot looked over at Jacky and yelled "Rubber band!", Which he was tossed quickly and snapped it around the villain, finally capturing him. They both walked up to each other and jumped up and down in joy, cheering about their victory until the tiredness finally started to set in and they fell over onto the ground. "... Let's just get the other two." "Yeah. Let's go" they concluded while laying limply on the ground.

They had finally made it back to where they first had fought King Dreamland and helped the cops wake up before they handed him over to them. They then went inside and spotted their friends, peacefully floating around and sleeping soundly still. They looked so much better than they did earlier, well rested and happy, having these relaxed smiles spread out on their faces. "Ha… They must have had a nice nap" Quackerjack muttered with a fatigued smile as he stared at the sleeping Megavolt, then made the cloud disappear with this tool he took from Dreamland, causing the rat to fall down onto the floor with a thud. "Huh?! Whu?!" he suddenly woke up and looked all around him confused, not sure what had just happened. Quacks handed over the tool to Bushroot, who used it to get rid of the cloud from under Liquidator. But unlike the other duck, he gently caught the dog before he fell onto the floor. "Huh? Hey! How dare you?! I- Uh… Wait. Where did he go?!" he asked puzzled as he looked around, helped back onto his feet by the guy holding him. Megavolt got back up again and rubbed his neck a bit. "Hey… I'm feeling pretty refreshed! Huh!" he pointed out and stretched his arms, letting out a small groan. "Glad to hear it, sparks" Quackerjack grumbled and patted his shoulder. As the rat turned around to him to say something, he immediately stopped himself and looked shocked at his friend. He looked HORRIBLE! Baggy eyes, tired expression, slouchier posture than usual. He was looking absolutely EXHAUSTED! Liquidator thought the same as he got a good look at Bushroot. "Uh… hey… Reginald… Feeling ok?" he asked nervously and put a hand on his shoulder. "You two look like trash!" Megavolt just said, pointing at them both. "Well I was trying to be nice about it, Elmo" he grumbled at the straight forward remark.

"It's ok! We're fine! We captured King Dreamland and everything is good now!" Bushroot told them while trying to look like he wasn't currently dying. "Yeah! We are totally fine!" Quacks added on and grinned at their friends. "... Clearly you're not. You're zombies!" Megavolt sighed and walked over to them, starting to lead them outside towards the van. "Yeah. You two need to go to bed immediately!" Liquidator added in and opened the back of the van for his friend to hop in. Quackerjack opened the driver side door to get inside, but was pushed to the side by the rat, who sat down in the seat. "No. You are not driving like that. Get in the passenger side!" he demanded, pointing to the other side of the car. The duck grumbled angrily and walked around to the other side. He got in and sat down while glaring at his friend. Bushroot looked at Liquidator and muttered "It seems the sun is starting to rise… I'm worried I won't be able to go back to sleep." "Yeah! I don't even feel that tired! It's so early anyways now, so I probably won't be able to fall asleep anyways!" the jester noted to Megavolt, but was completely ignored by him so he could drive.

As they made it back home, Quackerjack was fast asleep in the passenger seat, snoring and drooling onto his shoulder. Liquidator looked over at Bushroot, who looked like he was about to faint as well. "Hey. We're home. Let me help you inside" he spoke softly as he gently put his arm around his shoulders, helping him out into the garage. Megavolt walked around to the passenger side and opened it up, picking the sleeping duck up and just carrying him inside without complaint or snarky comment. Gosalyn was just walking down the stairs, hearing someone coming home. She was in her pyjamas, holding onto Mr. Banana Brain and rubbing her eyes. "Another mission?" she mumbled sleepily, then noticed her two dads, one half asleep and one completely knocked out. The dog hushed her softly, nodding a little towards Quacks. He let out another gentle snore and leaned his head into Megavolt's chest. She nodded and smiled, walking over to him and laying the doll into his lap. "Night daddy" she whispered to him before she turned around to Bushroot and whispered "Night papa" to him. "Good night, my little apple seed" he murmured sleepily. Liquidator and Megavolt both grinned and started heading upstairs to put both the dorks to bed, finally.

#Megavolt #quackerjack #bushroot #liquidator #darkwing duck #negaverse #Gosalyn Mallard #nega megavolt #nega quackerjack #nega bushroot #nega liquidator #nega gosalyn #fanfiction #fanfic #friendly four #dwd fanfic

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pilyarquitect · 4 years

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"Don't make me tape your mouth shut” with Gosalyn and Huey

93. “Don’t make me tape your mouth shut.” Huey and Gosalyn

“… and this is why birds migrate south when the cold arrives.” Huey smiled finishing his explanation. He loved to share his knowledge, and in this case, he was sharing this knowledge with his newest friend, the red-haired girl they met on St. Canard.

Currently, the two of them were walking towards Uncle Scrooge’s bin. The girl walking at his side looked at him with a little annoyed appearance.

“Wow, that’s super interesting” she sounded sarcastic “I’d never guessed it, specially having a scientist grandfather!”

How stupid! Gosalyn was right! how could he have forgotten about her grandfather? Dewey told him about doctor Waddlemeyer and that he was family with the duckling at his side.

“Ops… true, sorry Gosalyn…”

Huey felt ashamed for this, but Gosalyn just smiled and kicking the duckling in red on his arm she just laughed, showing she wasn’t mad with him.

“You can call me Gos,” she said with her habitual energy.

Huey looked at her in surprise. It was the first time the red-haired girl told him to call her by her abbreviated name.

“Okay… Gos… can I ask you something?”

“Sure, go ahead,”

Huey took a deep breath just hoping the girl wouldn’t be mad for the question he was about to do.

“Why did you asked me to come with you? As far as I know… you befriend Dewey first, and… you seem to understand perfectly well each other… why me?”

Gosalyn opened her eyes wide. She probably didn’t expect this question at all. She looked away for a while. She was silent for so long that Huey considered on repeat his ask, but fortunately, it wasn’t necessary.

“About that… Dewey is a great boy, but he doesn’t seem to be the cleverest boy in town. I guess you know that better than me. And for what I wanted to do; I needed the cleverest person possible.”

“Oh! And this person is me?” Huey felt excited someone could considerer him the cleverest person.

“Nah, I think it’s Fenton.” Clarified Gosalyn “I know he helped Darkwing Duck to try to find my Grandfather.” She pointed at Huey “ But… I don’t know Fenton personally, and I’ve found out you know him,” now she crossed her arms over her chest “so… I though you could be the one to head me to Fenton so by doing so I can talk with him… I need to talk with him.”

“About your Grandfather?” wondered Huey. Since Dewey explained him she was trying to find her grandfather that could be trapped in one of those multiple dimensions, the red-dressed triplet regret to had been so insensitive saying they should destroy that machine before it was too late.

“Yes…”

They arrived to the bin, but Gosalyn stopped at the entering door. Huey also stopped seeing her depressed attitude. Huey hated to see people sad. He had to cheer her up!

“You know? I know at least two more people that can also help,” he explained putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh really? Who?” asked Gos with slight hard voice. Huey smiled. He knew she just try to look as if nothing affected her, but the older triplet guessed she was curious to know the answer. And… who was he to keep her in the dark?

“On one side, Dr. Gearloose, the head scientist of my uncle Scrooge,” explained Huey opening the bin’s door.

Gosalyn smiled mischievously entering to the bin. She realized what Huey was trying to do, and honestly, she thanked him it.

“Right… and the other one?”

Huey smiled proudly, joyful to give her the answer.

“Gizmoduck.”

Gosalyn’s reaction wasn’t at all the one Huey expected.

“Are you serious? Gizmoduck?”

“Yes… he’s a superhero, the best one!” Huey put his best proud voice “But he’s also a good scientist!”

“The best… superhero? Him? Are you kidding?”

Huey arrived to the elevator door and pressed the button to call it. After do this, he turned surprised to the red-haired duckling.

“Wait, you don’t think Gizmoduck is the best superhero?”

“Obviously he isn’t,” replied the girl crossing her arms again.

“Oh right.” Huey also crossed his arms “Then, who’s the best superhero for you?”

“There’s only one answer to this question: Darkwing Duck!”

“Seriously? Now who’s kidding? First of all, original Darkwing Duck is a character of a TV show, and the one we met on St. Canard was someone to crazy to believe that could bring into real life this fictional character. He’s just a normal citizen that will end up hurt if he continues doing what he does.”

The ding behind him told him the elevator was here. The doors didn’t take longer to open.

“How can you say that?” almost screamed Gos “We could tell the same about Gizmoduck. He’s just a normal guy with an incredibly dangerous armor. He could get hurt himself, he’s not a superhero,”

Passing Huey, Gosalyn entered the elevator. Huey opened his eyes wide after hearing Gosalyn’s words.

“What?” Now it was him who sounded angry while entering the elevator too. Nobody speak like this about Gizmoduck. Nobody! “I won’t let you say those things! Gizmoduck is the greatest and coolest superhero that has ever existed!”

“Don’t make me tape your mouth shut.” Threatened Gosalyn pointing him with her index finger “We both know what you said isn’t true. The best superhero is Darkwing Duck, he fights without armor.”

She moved until to the other side of the elevator leaned against the wall of it.

“Maybe Darkwing doesn’t have armor,” said Huey in order to defend the hero he admired “but he has a lot of gadgets to help him to fight, as well as Gizmoduck’s armor. But Gizmoduck has all his gadgets on his suit. He’s the best.”

“No way!” screamed Gosalyn “To have all the gadgets together doesn’t turn someone a better hero!”

“It doesn’t to not wear an armor either.” Pointed Huey “But Gizmoduck has been doing this for most time than Darkwing Duck. He’s better.”

“No, he isn’t, it’s Darkwing Duck.” Taking an step forward.

“No Gizmoduck.” Answered Huey also stepping forward.

“Darkwing!”

“Gizmo!”

The two kids were face to face now.

“Darkwing!”

“Gizmo!”

The elevator doors opened revealing the lab, but apparently not Huey nor Gosalyn noticed it. Fenton was walking through his working space when he heard the doors opening and saw the kids inside the elevator looking furiously each other.

“Kids? Why are you arguing?”

“For nothing!” answered both at the same time.

The brown plumage duck raised an eyebrow. Well, if they wouldn’t want to talk about it, he could do nothing. The adult duck cleared his throat.

“Oh, okay then… why are you here?”

Huey and Gosalyn looked each other.

“Well Fenton” began Huey “we’re here because…”

#prompt list #fanfic prompt #ducktales #Huey Duck #Gosalyn Mallard

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keyofjetwolf · 4 years

Text

Pitch Me your thing!

HELLO HELLO MY SUNBEAMS. For most every category, there was an impressive turn-out for pitches, so I thought we’d utilize the weirdness of this year’s GIFTENING to give something new a try. The popular vote winner for each category will happen on the first day, but on the second, the winner will be chosen from YOUR PITCHES. Mostly those pitches will be to me. The exception is in Miscellaneous, where you’ll be pitching to my family, because what I want to do and what is most entertaining isn’t necessarily the same thing.

So! How will we do this thing? GLAD YOU ASKED. I’ll link you to a form in a minute with space for one pitch. Once you fill it out, you’ll be asked if you want to do another. There’s no limit to the number of pitches you can send in! But remember that if you submit multiple entries for the same category, you’ll basically be competing against yourself.

NOW WE’VE GOT SOME RULES FOR DOING THIS (which I mostly stole from Holligay, because I have no creativity this year). Please read them carefully! I’ll toss pitches that break any of these, and I’d rather your hard work not go to waste.

Pitch Me is open for your submissions from RIGHT NOW (22 December) through the very last day of this hellyear (31 December) at 11:59pm MT.

The thing you pitch must have come from what was nominated for THE GIFTENING 2020. (Full list of those nominations in every category below the cut on this post.)

Entries must be unsigned! I’m looking to chose based on the pitch alone, regardless of who submitted it.

The pitch itself must be 100 words or less. HAVE PITY ON ME I CAN ONLY CONSUME SO MUCH.

If you’d like to get some help, ideas, feedback, all that good stuff, the Discord is a FANTASTIC resource I encourage you to use.

HERE IS YOUR PITCH SUBMISSION LINK

And, as promised, below the cut you’ll find the list of all the nominees in every category you guys sent in this year. IT’S A LONG LIST HAVE FUN WITH THAT

Anime

A Place Further Than The Universe/Sora Yori mo Toi Basho Ace Attorney (Gyakuten Saiban) Action Heroine Cheer Fruits Aggretsuko Aho Girl Air Master Akuma No Riddle Alien Nine Angel Beats! Angelic Layer Appare-Ranman Aria Aria the Animation Arrietty/ The Secret World of Arrietty (Ghibli film) Ascendance of a Bookworm Azumamga Daioh Baccano! Beastars Black Cat Blood + (the series) Bloom Into You Blue Drop/Tenshitachino Gikyoku Bodacious Space Pirates (starting right where you left off) BOFURI: I Don't Want to Get Hurt, so I'll Max Out My Defense Boku no hero academia Bubblegum Crisis Card Captor Sakura: Clear Card Cardcaptor Sakura Castlevania the Animated Series Cells at Work Chaos; Head Chihayafuru Code Geass cowboy Bebop Cyborg 009 Death Note Death Parade Deca-Dence Demon Girl Next Door Demon Slayer (Kimetsu no Yaiba) Diebuster: Aim For the Top 2 Dog Days dorohedoro Dot Hack//SIGN Dr. Stone Elfen Lied Erased (Boku Dake Ga Inai Machi) Escaflowne Excel Saga Fantastic Children Fate/Zero Flip Flappers Fresh Precure Fruits Basket 2019 Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Ga rei Zero GaoGaiGar gekkan shoujo nozaki-kun Ghost in the Shell: Standalone Complex Ghost Stories (dubbed) Girls' Last Tour Great Pretender Hoseki no Kuni/ Land of the Lustrous House of Five Leaves/ Saraiya Goyou Inari konkon koi iroha Interviews with Monster Girls Inuyasha Isekai Izakaya "Nobu" Jellyfish Princess/ Kuragehime JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 4: Diamond is Unbreakable Kaguya-sama Love Is War Kaleido Star Kannazuki no Miko Keep Your Hands Off Eizouken! Kemono Friends Kiki's Delivery Service Kimi ni Todoke: From Me To You Kino's Journey/Kino no Tabi (2003) Land of the Lustrous (Houseki no Kuni) Little Witch Academia Lord El-Melloi II's Case Files EP0 {"A Grave Keeper") Love is Hard for an Otaku Love Live! Sunshine!! lupin the 3rd part 4 Madoka: The Rebellion Movie Magic knight rayearth Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha March Comes in Like a Lion Mardock Scramble Master of Martial Hearts Mawaru Penguindrum Megalobox Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid Mob Psycho 100 Mobile Suit Gundam (1979) Monster Mushishi My Bride is a Mermaid (Seto No Hanayome) My Love Story!!! My Neighbor Totoro My Next Life As A Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom My Roommate is a Cat NANA Naruto Natsume’s Book of Friends Neon Genesis Evangelion (hateblog) New Cutey Honey Nichijou Ōban Star-Racers One Piece Ouran High school Host club Outlaw Star Paranoia Agent Perfect Blue Please Save My Earth Pop Team Epic Pretty Cure Fresh Princess Jellyfish/ Kuragehime Princess Mononoke Princess Principal Princess Tutu Project A-Ko promised neverland (/yakusoku no neverland) Psycho-Pass Ranma 1/2 Re: Cutie Honey Re:Creators Read or Die (OAV) Red Garden relife Revolutionalry Girl Utena Rose of Versailles Ruroni Kenshin Sailor Moon Sailor Moon (viz dub) Samurai Champloo (english dub) Sarazanmai School Days School-Live! Scum's Wish Senki Zesshou Symphogear (listed as just "Symphogear" on Crunchyroll.) Serei no Moribito (Guardian of the Spirit) Shin Sekai Yori (From The New World) Shirobako Shoujo Kageki Revue Starlight Showa Genroku Rakugo Shinju Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle Smile Pretty Cure (Japanese original)/ Glitter Force (english adaptation) Snow White with the Red Hair Sound Euphonium Strawberry Panic (yuri) Sweetness and Lightning The Devil is a Part-timer The Devil Lady The disasterous life of saiki k (saiki kusuo no Sai Nan) The End of Evangelion (movie) the Promised Neverland The Twelve Kingdoms Tiger & Bunny Tokimeki Tonight ToraDora Tsubasa Chronicle Umineko When They Cry Valkyrie Drive: Mermaid Vinland Saga Violet Evergarden Whispered Words (Sasameki Koto) With a Dog AND a Cat, Every Day is Fun Yona of the Dawn Yu Yu Hakusho Yugioh Duel Monster Yuki Yuna is a Hero Yuri Kuma Arashi Yuri On Ice!!! Zoids: Chaotic Century Zombie Land Saga

Non-Anime Animated

Adventure Time Amphibia Animainiacs (Original) Animaniacs (Reboot) Archie's Weird Mysteries As Told By Ginger Barbie Life in The Dreamhouse Batman the Animated Series Big Guy and Rusty the Boy Robot Big Mouth Bob's Burgers Bojack Horseman Bravest Warriors Captain N: the Game Master Carmen Sandiego (1994) Carmen Sandiego (2019) Castlevania (Netflix) Cats Don't Dance Coco Courage the Cowardly Dog Craig of the Creek Cyber Six Daria Darkwing Duck Dragon Booster Dragons: Riders of Berk DuckTales (2017) Exo-Squad Fern Gully Fillmore! Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends Futurama Gargoyles Glitch Techs Godzilla: The Animated Series Green Lantern the Animated Series Hedgehog in the Fog (Ёжик в тумане) Hey Arnold Hilda Infinity Train Iron Giant JEM Kim Possible Kipo and the Age of the Wonderbeasts Legend of Zelda animated series (1989) Legion of Super-Heroes Liberty Kids Magical Girl Friendship Squad Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart The Legend of Korra Moominvalley Motorcity My Little Pony (Classic, NOT FiM) My Little Pony: Equestria Girls: Rainbow Rocks Onyx Equinox Over the Garden Wall Over the Moon (2020 film) Owl House Primal Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure Redwall Rise of the TMNT Roco's Modern Life Rugrats RWBY Samurai Jack Seis Manos She-Ra (1985) She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) Sonic Boom Spartakus and the Sun Beneath the Sea Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse Star vs. the Forces of Evil Strange Magic Super Mario Brothers Super Show Superman: The Animated Series Teen Titans The 13 Ghosts of Scooby Doo The Animals of Farthing Wood The Dragon Prince The Hollow The Legend of Tarzan (TV series) The Magic School Bus (1994) The Mysterious Cities of Gold The Pirate Fairy (Disney Fairies) The Powerpuff Girls (1998) The Real Ghostbusters Thundercats (1985) Thundercats (2011) Transformers: Prime Tuca and Bertie Twelve Forever Undone Venture Bros Wakko's Wish Wakfu Wander Over Yonder We Bare Bears (TV) Winx Club Wreck-It Ralph (2012) X-Men Evolution X-Men: The Animated Series Xiaolin Showdown

Live Action

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea 28 Days Later 3rd Rock from the Sun A Series of Unfortunate Events American Horror Story: Asylum Babysitter's Club (2020) Batman (the old Adam West version) Better Call Saul Black Mirror Blackbeard's Ghost (Peter Ustinov) Boston Legal Boy Meets World Boys Over Flowers Bromance (Taiwanese tv series) Brooklyn 99 Buffy the Vampire Slayer Cadfael Cagney and Lacey Charmed (2018) Chopped Cleopatra 2525 Cloak and Dagger Clue (1985) Community Crazy Ex-Girlfriend Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance Dead Like Me Dead To Me Deadwood Death Note (Netflix) Derry Girls Dimension 20 - The Unsleeping City Doctor Who (New) Doom Patrol Dracula's Daughter (1936) Escape to the Chateau Farscape Fingersmith Galavant Godzilla (2014) Gokushufudo (2020 Japanese TV drama) Golden Girls Good Omens H20: Just Add Water (somewhere in seasons 1-2) Happy New Year Harley Quinn movie Hateblog a REALLY STRAIGHT soap opera. Haunting of Bly Manor His Dark Materials (HBO series) Holes Hot Fuzz House Inception Inside No. 9 Iron Chef America Joan of Arcadia Julie and the Phantoms Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle Kamen Rider Build Kamen Rider Ex-Aid Kamen Rider Fourze Killing Eve Knives Out Letterkenny Leverage Little Women (2019) Lucifer Matlock Majisuka Gakuen MASH Merlin Mission Impossible Ghost Protocol Money Talks (1997 film) Motherland: Fort Salem Murder She Wrote Mythbusters Nailed It! Never Have I Ever Once Upon a Time Orphan Black Pen 15 PGSM Pi (1998) Picnic at Hanging Rock (2018) Pride and Prejudice: A New Musical Puppy Bowl Pushing Daisies Rome (hateblog) Russian Doll Sabrina Sense8 Sera Myu: Un Nouveau Voyage Shameless Sierra Burgess Smallville So Weird Star Trek: TOS (or their films) Star Trek: The Next Generation Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Star Trek: Voyager Stargate Atlantis Suckerpunch Supernatural (out of context speedrun the last three episodes) Sweetheart Switched at Birth Tall Girl Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles The Addams Family (1964) The Big Flower Fight The Booth at the End The Bride With White Hair The Crown The Fresh Prince of Bel Air The Good Place The Kissing Booth The L Word The Librarians The Magicians The Muppet Show The Pregnancy Pact The Room The Steve Harvey Show The Stranded The Untamed The Witcher The Wolfman (1941) Torchwood Twilight Zone (original) Twin Peaks Ultraman Nexus Umbrella Academy Van Helsing Warehouse 13 Warrior Nun What We Do In The Shadows (tv show) Will & Grace Wynonna Earp X-Men 2: X-Men United Xena: Warrior Princess

Miscellaneous

Alpha Flight #41-62 Anime music dance party, the logistics of which are to be determined! Ask Hot Pocket and/or Mina-pup AskSharknado: Giftening Edition Attempt to make French macaroons Commentary on old Goggles Critical Role Crowdsourced: A Black Mirror-style day where Jetty has to ask what her choices are of the audience for everything! I give you a menu, you decide what she has for dinner? What does she wear? Does she walk on the track or do the eliptical? Does she go to a movie with Doc or play a video game with Mike? Can be done alongside other stuff. Doodle Day Dramatic readings of fan fiction! Drunk History (or whatever your favorite subject would be) with Jet Wolf! Drunk Sailor Moon Exorcising Closet Ghost Fic Prompts Day Figuarts Day! (Not specifically freeing anyone, just various fun poses and such) Guess the plot of a show based on its opening Her Shim-Cheong (manhwa) House of X/Powers of X Hubby's Choice IDW Jem comics liveblog Intros Only (watch show openings, give commentary, guess what show is about, etc.) Jackbox Games Jet Wolf paints along with Bob Ross Jet and Doc go to Heaven/Hell, respectively: Jet gets to write reams of words about the awesomeness of Rei Hino and Doc has to read all of them and say ONLY NICE THINGS. Jet does Tiktok dances Jet Liveblogs Holligay: A Nature Documentary Jet Ranks Sailor Moon Image Songs Jet Reads Goosebumps Jet Reads Legion of Super-Heroes Jet redesigns the Wolf and Gay offices! Jet shows off her knitting Jet Wolf attempts to recreate scenes from Sailor Moon with Mina and Hot Pocket and/or whatever is in the house Jet Wolf reacts to Sailor Moon tiktoks (in blog form) Jet Wolf reads Love and Rockets. Jet Wolf reads the Jem comics by IDW Jet Wolf reviews her old top 100 Sailor Moon moments list Jet Wolf talks about Archie Comics Jet Wolf talks about each cel she owns and why they are so awesome. Jet Wolf writes Poetry Jet Wolf's Top 5's Jet, Hubby and/or family play board games Jetty Rants and Raves Jet Wolf tries to crack the Gravity Falls Codes Kiwi Blitz on Hiveworks Let's Play on Webtoon Liveblog: Favorite X-Men comic book arcs Livestream Pathfinder one-shot LOONA (Collection of music videos with an ongoing story/universe about GIRLS who are FRIENDS and SAVE THE UNIVERSE) Lore Olympus on Webtoon Mike regales us with "the story of your love" while you get increasingly embarrassed Mina and Hot Pocket day - liveblog like a nature documentary Mister Tsukino Does His Taxes and the Household Budget (Sailor Moon fan comic by Shadowjack) Nancy Drew: Ghost Dogs of Moon Lake Not So Shoujo Love Story on Webtoon Pitch Mishaps for Untitled Senshi Game (it is a lovely day in Juuban, and you are a Horrible Minako.) Pitching hubby's favorite media at (readers/holligay/jill/momigay) Playing with dolls (because how could 3 women not have any dolls between them) Re-Take By Studio Kimigabuchi (All Ages Version) Real or Fake Anime (people submit descriptions of anime you guess if it is an anime that actually exists or not) Reviewing succulents Scavenger hunt! Not entirely sure how it would work, maybe folks could send in asks for you to show things like your favorite Rei Hino object, or the thing that's been with you the longest, etc. sewing/knitting/baking tutorial Share or rant about a Roman history topic Sleepless Domain on Hiveworks Talking to Docholligay 2: Doc Harder (basically you talking to Doc's future womb evictee while still in there and telling them stuff like say the greatness of Rei Hino) The Monster Duchess and Contract Princess (manhwa) The Polar Bear Plunge--I take Jetty to our finest Lake Elmo in January, and she jumps in! Note: THIS IS NOT DANGEROUS, WORRYWARTS. I'll bring a life preserver, I've done it before, and I would do it with her if I weren't pregnant. The Senshi Helpline--The Senshi, taking your advice questions, here and now! The World of Moral Reversal Virtual knitting/crafting circle! Let us craft and chat with you! What-If #24 Gwen Stacy Lived Worm the web serial Write an explanation for a drawing we send you! Yuri Hell's Kitchen

#THE GIFTENING 2020 #THE GIFTENING 2020 admin stuff

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incomingalbatross · 4 years

Text

Okay, it’s been a day and now I have mostly-coherent thoughts on Let’s Get Dangerous, so I am writing them out. Spoilers under the cut!

There were things I like and things I didn’t like, honestly. I’m gonna start with the negatives.

...I’m just gonna say it: I don’t love New Gos as much as Gos Classic. Which, to be fair, I kinda expected, because that’s a really high bar!! New Gos is a good kid, just... not quite what I expected. She’s clearly older, for one thing, and more... toned-down?

In general, I would say she’s a little less baby than Gos Classic, and a little more YA Punk Heroine. Which is valid. It just doesn’t make for an instant bond, for me.

I am... also genuinely disappointed by the final offer of “wanna be my crimefighting partner?” I mean, it makes perfect sense for where they’re at, as opposed to their original counterparts--not only are they planning to find her Grampa, but we already got the “You’re not my family!!” and I guarantee you Reboot Drake has internalized that one. He’s trying to look out for her without overstepping! He’s doing his best!

...BUT. But having them end as “partners” and not actual family just feels wrong. (And there’s also added dissonance because I can’t help thinking how much Drake Classic would blow his top at the idea of inviting Gosalyn to fight crime??? Are you crazy??? She’s a KID!!!!)

(...That said: if Reboot Gosalyn is anyone other than Quiverwing Quack next time we see her, I’m suing. But she will be QQ--she’s already been shown with a crossbow and everything! Nice work there, to be fair.)

Related: are we allergic to the word “dad”?? I know it made more sense to say “family” some of the time, since Gos has probably never had parents in her life, but... after a while it felt like there was some Writer Mandate that that was the only usable word. Or maybe that’s a DuckTales thing in general, actually? Not sure. I just feel like “You’re not my dad!” would be a slightly more likely line in context (or “You’re not my Grampa!”) and have packed more of a punch.

Those...were really my only negatives, I think.

On to the positives!

I love Reboot Drake. So much. He’s earnest and endearing and still just ridiculous enough to still be Darkwing... and his Dad Energy was off the charts here, which is the TRUE mark of a Drake Mallard.

Also his voice actor does such a good Darkwing. You can tell he’s put serious study into this.

Okay. OKAY. Taurus Bulba...

TAURUS BULBA IS LANCE. LANCE FROM TANGLED.

I had to pause and then IMMEDIATELY text my sister when I found that out. Like... really??? Congrats, Disney! I wouldnt have said it was possible, but you created a Taurus Bulba I’m unable to hate!!

Also... Dewey. If ever you’ve used your theater kid powers for good, do it now. ...Get us a Musical Episode with Taurus Bulba in it. I need him to have a Villain Song.

Drake being literally the only person ever to NOT know Fenton is Gizmoduck is honestly an EXCELLENT twist on their dynamic. And given their reboot personalities, of course they get along outside of the suit--I mean, they should, but the identity thing means we still get some fun secret-identity conflicts.

No one told me there were this many The Good Place actors here. First Steelbeak turns out to be Derek, then the buzzard is Shawn (EXACTLY the same role too, honestly) and the computer/Ganrda Dee is Tahani?? I JUST watched S4 of TGP, guys. You have to stop hitting me with actors I actually recognize! It’s weird!!

(And then I have to consider things like “Abed and the Tenth Doctor and Lance are all in the same scene. Oh, there’s Shawn from the Bad Place. Oh look--” CONSTANTLY.)

Okay, I’ll admit it: Dewey seeing himself in Gos’s need to find her grampa and deciding to "be her Webby” was really sweet. Good kid.

I enjoyed the name-dropping of DWD villains and actual episode names (although... “Just Us Justice Duck” was underrated? By whom?? It’s a CLASSIC!)

Thing I REALLY appreciate: So 2017 DuckTales is, like, five notches less Cartoony than Darkwing Duck. HOWEVER, in both DW eps so far Drake’s personal physics have seemed to be two or three notches more cartoony than everyone else’s (see: the piano bit in the first ep, and the filing cabinet in this one). This delights me.

They gave us two hummed lines of “Little Girl Blue”and it was still enough to make me go “yoU CAN’T JUST DO THAT”

Miscellany:

The multiverse stuff is has Big Implications and ties in really well to established Darkwing canon, meaning they could really easily meet their original counterparts. It also seems to echo a plot from the comics, if I’m remembering rightly, where a different member of the Family Darkwing got lost between dimensions.

However... this is meta?? Because it means their in-universe Darkwing show is apparently also another reality. Which is WEIRD, because... that one (at least to the point covered in the meta-show) didn’t have a Gosalyn. Or a Launchpad. How can you have a real Darkwing without them?? What is that reality like?? Is the meta-show an accurate representation?? I have QUESTIONS

Also I really really want Gos Classic’s adult self to fall through a portal and hang out with this gang for a while. And her dad too. (Drake Classic would yell at his younger self for letting Gos fight crime, but then he would adopt him. The Dad Instincts are strong... and Reboot Drake could use a non-crazy older Darkwing in his corner!)

#i feel like i had more to say #but this is already very long #so let's go with this #it is late and i should be in bed #but The Meta #darkwing duck #let's get dangerous #let's get dangerous spoilers #ducktales

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mighty-ant · 3 years

Text

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.

#ant writes #long fic #gizmowing #DW asks Fenton on a date and he spends the next 5 weeks having a crisis #fenton crackshell cabrera #darkwing duck #darkwing dad #drake mallard #M'ma is the real MVP #gosalyn mallard #launchpad mcquack

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