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robinine-blog:

Toy Memories – Gladstone

There’s a pond on Grandma’s farm, and at the bottom of that pond lies a toy airplane. Once it was a brilliant red, shiny and new. Now it’s colours have faded away, dulled to a pale beige. Once loved, but not forgotten.

 

This is how Gladstone remembers it.

 

Della’s running ahead, she’s laughing. She’s teasing. She’s not looking at him, she never does when Donald’s around. There’s a toy in her hands, and a story on her beak. She’s a pilot, a daring hero, there’s pirates chasing them.

 

He sniggers, cause the baby is chasing them, he trips and tumbles, pirate Fethry has tears in his eyes.

 

Don picks him up.

 

“I don’t wanna be bad!” Fethry says, and Donald hugs him.

 

“Del? Let Fethry be the hero?”

 

Della’s spinning, she never stays still. But she grins at Donald. “And we’ll be the dreaded Sky Pirates!”

 

Della gave over the toy to Donald. Who with great ceremony entrusted it to Fethry.

 

And Gladstone pouts, because Della never lets him play with her toys. They’re ignoring him! Why are they paying attention to the baby!

 

Della spin Fethry, and he goes faster and faster. She let go.

 

And Gladstone remembers being so upset, they’re ignoring him!

 

He trips Fethry.

 

Fethry goes tumbling over. The red plane glistening bright as it flies towards the pond.

 

Splash.

 

Fethry bursts into tears.

 

Gladstone bolts. No one comes after him.

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robinine-blog:

Toy Memories – Fethry

There’s a pond on Grandma’s farm, and at the bottom of that pond lies a toy airplane. Once it was a brilliant red, shiny and new. Now it’s colours have faded away, dulled to a pale beige. Once loved, but not forgotten.

 

This is how Fethry remembers it.

 

He’s small and slow and can’t keep up. The others keep racing ahead of him, but he’s a determined little Duckling, his head lowered as he hurries after them as fast as he can.

 

There’s laughter, and Della is spinning, faster and faster, the bright red plane held high.

 

Fethry watches in amazement, as Della’s dress flares out, her hair whipping around her face, and her laughter bright and cheerful and as lively as her plane. Fethry falls backwards still unsteady on his feet. Donald helps him up, brushing Fethry off.

 

It’s Donald that hands him the toy, after a few words with Della. She’s watching him expectantly. Fethry remembers the joy, spinning around like Della had done. Laughing with abandon.

 

His grip slips. The plane went flying.

 

And landed.

 

Splash.

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A Wish The Heart Makes Part 6

The road was long and dusty. Lloyd looked all kinds of adorable in his wide brimmed hat and happy smile.

Jay kept glancing down, reminding himself that Lloyd was still small, still young. And it was his happy smile, not the mock evil one Lloyd had adopted when they first met.

They’re quiet for the moment, but Jay is just waiting for Cole to say something. Why did he think it was a good idea to invite Cole along? He and Lloyd would have been fine on their own.

A small hand slips it’s way into Jay’s. It makes his heart skip, how did the younger him not instantly fall in love with adorable little Lloyd? How could they let so many bad things happen to him?

“What is it like?” Lloyd asked, “Having parents?”

Swamped with guilt, Jay glanced to Cole.

Cole’s holding Lloyd’s other hand, and he looks as lost as Jay feels.

“It’s like having a teacher.” Cole said, “One that really wants you to succeed and invests a lot of time into you.”

“Oh.” Lloyd said, he sounds glum, and his head drops. The hat hides his face from view.

Jay feels even worse. “It was… safety and home, knowing there’s always someone in my corner, someone who will at least try to understand you, who wants to protect you, someone who will help you up every time you fall or fail.”

“Oh! Like you guys.” Lloyd sounded more cheerful.

Cole is staring at Jay, like he hasn’t seen him before.

“Yeah.” Jay laughs nervously, squeezing Lloyd’s hand. “We’re family. You’re our crazy little brother, and we’re going to look after you.”

“And even if something happens to us, we want to make sure you’ll be okay Lloyd.” Cole said. “Given a choice, we’re not going to leave you, but we don’t always get a choice in these things.”

Lloyd nodded, “You might get banished, like my dad.”

“And if that happens, we’ll do everything in our power to come back to you. But it might take a while, so…” Jay looked up as a familiar sight came into view. “We’re here.”

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A Wish The Heart Makes Part 7

“Jay!” Jay was immediately hugged by his mother, “Why look at you, you’ve spouted up since you left.”

Lloyd let go of Jay’s hand and ducked behind Cole.

“Um yeah, about that…” Jay started.

But his mother was off, “And you must be Cole. Jay hasn’t stopped talking about you.”

“Hey Mrs Walker!” Cole waved.

“None of that dear, you can call me Edna. And who is this little fellow?” She asked, peering around Cole.

Lloyd buried his head in Cole’s side.

“That’s Lloyd, Mum.” Jay said, “We’ve sort of adopted him…”

Edna turned to Jay, tears in her eyes, “Jay, oh my little boy.” She hugged him again.

“Mum?”

“Now you three come right in, I have some home baked cake, and we’ll sit down and talk about this.” She pulled away, dabbing at her eyes.

“That would be great Edna.” Cole said, crouching down to pick Lloyd up.

“Ed! Jay’s come to visit! And he has news!” Edna yelled, heading into her home, and ushering the boys inside.

“Coming Edna!” Was heard echoing from across the junkyard.

Jay bit his lip, giving a concerned look at little Lloyd. He was so different from the version they knew from before, quiet, shy and uncertain. What had they changed?

“It’s kinda complicated.” Jay said, suddenly nervous at the expectant looks from his parents.

“We’re from the future.” Cole said bluntly.

“Okay, maybe not that complicated, but we don’t want to let our other selves know we’re here. We were kinda expected to go back to the future, but we haven’t, and we’re pretty sure we’ve fixed things so we don’t go to the past in the first place, but now we’re stuck here.” Jay babbled.

“And we grabbed Lloyd, because something bad was due to happen to him in the future, and we couldn’t just leave him there. He’s a good kid.” Cole said.

“But now we’re a little afraid we might still fade out, or something might happen to us, and then Lloyd would be alone again.” Jay picked up the tread, almost talking over Cole.

“And you can’t ask your younger selves for help.” Edna said.

“They’re not ready.” Jay and Cole chorused.

Ed and Edna exchanged looks.

“Look, I know I’m not really your son, but we didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“You know…?” Edna had tears in her eyes again, as she blindly reached for her husband.

“You’re the best parents we know.” Cole said, “And if you don’t want to get involved it’s fine. We just wanted a backup plan for Lloyd, he deserves a childhood.”

“No.” Ed said, “Jay, you should always know you can come to us, even if we aren’t your real parents. Lloyd, and all your friends, are more than welcomed here.”

Jay swallowed back tears, “Thanks Dad.”

“Now don’t you dare be a stranger Jay Walker!” Edna said, “I expect plenty of phone calls and letters!”

“Mum! But what if the other me sees?” Jay asked.

“You’re barely here dear,” Edna patted him on the arm, “And when you are, you are far more interested in poking around the junkyard than reading my mail.”

“That went well.” Cole commented as they left, running his hand over the vehicle Jay and his parents had thrown together in a couple of hours.

“My parents are occasionally awesome.” Jay said, focusing on the road.

“So…” Cole trailed off, wondering how to ask about the odd subtext he had pick up on, that all three of the Walkers had skillfully talked around.

“I remembered the extra cake.” Jay said.

Cole glanced back, his mind immediately bringing up the sense memory of Edna’s delicious baking. “Kai’s not going to want his piece, is he?” Deciding, if Jay didn’t want to talk about it, he would leave it alone, for now.

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The Past is a Different Country

robinine-blog:

Be warned, I think I spot an emotional rollercoaster ahead

Chapter 1: The Paparazzi Attack

Dewey made his glaceless way downstairs, bouncing off a wall as he followed the smells and sounds of breakfast.

He entered the dinning room and was immediately  sure Louie was up to something.

If bumping into a wall hadn’t woken him up, he was now.

“Good Morning” he sang out cheerfully. Scrooge smiled at him and gave him a nod, uncle Donald waved but didn’t look up, Huey’s and Webby’s greetings was just as cheerful and Louie grinned.

Not his usual smirk, but a grin. There was an air of affected innocence surrounding him and as Dewey studied his brother he became sure Louie feeling rather pleased with himself.

Louie was definitely up to something.

Dewey gave Huey a questioning look, who gave him a clueless smile, then Donald, who was half heartedly making notes and referring to his phone, Webby who was talking at Huey, then finally to Scrooge, who seemed to already be halfway through the Duckburg Times.

Alright. No one else had noticed Louie was up to something. Time to distract.

Dewey served himself some porridge, upending the pot of honey, sneaking glances at his Uncles. Huey gave him a look, his eyes rolling upwards, before pushing a large glass of milk towards Dewey. Webby gave him an amused look, and she paused in her tale, perhaps sensing the mood in the room had shifted.

Dewey grinned at them he set the now empty honey pot down, and glanced at Louie. Louie considered him, and pushed the peanut butter his way.

“Dewey. Fruit.” Uncle Donald directed, waving his pen towards the bowl of fruit.

“Peanut butter counts.” Dewey waved his spoon.

“Peanut butter? On porridge?” Uncle Scrooge pulled a face, putting aside his newspaper “Really lad?”

“It’s good.” Dewey through a sticky mouthful.

“It’s disguising.” Webby exclaimed.

“What do you like Uncle Scrooge?” Huey piped up.

“Salt. Or a little cheese.” Uncle Scrooge declared.

“Eww!” Dewey pulled a face, as Louie dropped out of sight.

“Sweets are all well and good, in their place” Scrooge began a lecture.

“It’s breakfast!” Dewey interrupted. “It’s meant to be sweet!”

“And that will hardly going to carry you through the day lad!” Scrooge rose from his chair.

“Dewey!” Dewey stood on the chair so Scrooge couldn’t loom over him. “My name is DEWEY!” No one else seemed notice the door opening.

Scrooge paused. “Dewey.” He conceded, face pulling tight, “I didnae mean…” He paused again.

“Dewey. Fruit.” Donald said, glaring at Scrooge. “And sit down. Both of you.”

Distraction successful. Dewey grabbed some blueberries and kept his head down, grinning into his porridge.

Louie had better share.


Louie ducked out of the dinning room, tucking his hands in his pocket, tugging at the plastic envelope hidden there.

He needed somewhere private to hide and well lit enough to read. The mansion had more than enough of the first, but the second was harder, what with most of the unused rooms being shut up.

But Louie has planned ahead, scouted the lay of the land, finding an unused bedroom with a window seat. He settles in behind the curtains certain that no one is going to find him. (Except Webby but she’s wouldn’t be looking for him for a while)

Huey would cut it open, Dewey would tear into the envelope, Louie traces along the seams and pulls it apart where it’s weakest.

His heart is beating a little fast, but his hands are steady as he turns the glossy magazine over. He’s on the front cover.

“What is it like like living with the Richest Duck in the world? An exclusive interview with Louie Duck, nephew of the renowned Scrooge McDuck.”

Louie grins. It’s a good photo. But did Fergus keep his word?

He opens up the magazine, checking the contents. And pales.

‘The mysterious disappearance of Della Duck.’
‘The most likely heir to the McDuck Fortune’
‘Donald Duck, respected war hero or lunatic?’

It goes on and on, Louie shakes as he turns the pages, it’s his family, he recognises names and pictures. He doesn’t know these stories. His stomach twists and he wants to throw up.

How much did uncle Donald hide from them? Why do strangers know more about his family than he ever did?

Water drips onto to page as he opens the article on his Mom, the writing is too blurry to read. There’s a picture of his Mom climbing into a small aircraft.

He can’t.

This is bad. This is wrong. He made a mistake. He didn’t know they were going to do this.

He can’t breathe. The room is too dusty.

He wants Uncle Donald.

Huey was totally up for a day entertaining himself. He had plans. Louie had vanished, and Dewey had grabbed Webby for more exploring. There’s pieces of his model aircraft scattered all over his desk and he’s carefully checking he hasn’t lost anything in the move to his new bedroom when something breaks his concentration.

He tilts his head and listens.

Someone’s crying.

Oh. Oh no. His heart sinks. He was really looking forward to working on his model. He hopes Dewey and Webby haven’t gotten into something dangerous. (Again)

He sighs, knowing he’s not going to rest until he finds the source, and drops the pieces he’s holding back into the box.

It’s louder outside his room, and coming from above, so he silently makes his way to the staircase.

He doesn’t have to go far.

Louie’s curled in a ball, arms wrapped around his knees. He’s sobbing and Huey settles down next to him. Louie tries to talk, but nothing is coming out.

Huey rubs his back and waits for Louie to calm down enough to speak.

Instead, a crumpled magazine is shoved at him.

“Mom?” Huey stuttered, his heart clenching, clinging to Louie as he reads the article.

It’s horrible. There’s dozens of digs against Uncle Donald and Scrooge. It’s a full out attack on their family. Huey is shaking.

He growls, and for a moment all he wants to do is tear the horrible magazine to pieces and set them on fire.

“We’re telling Uncle Donald” Huey declares, dragging his brother to his feet and half carrying him down the stairs. It’s a good thing Louie’s his height because he’s barely able to support himself, they’re both shaking so hard.


Donald thinks he’s having a good day. His CV has gone off to a dozen different job adverts, and he’s already had a response from two, one asking for references and another asking if he’s available for a phone interview.

Uncle Scrooge almost apologised. (He’s getting better at it.) And Mrs Beakley is having a day off, so Donald gets to cook lunch and dinner today.

He’s anticipating the look on his Uncle’s face.

Then he hears it.

“Uncle Donald!” Huey sounds strident, his voice wavering.

The hob goes off. The lid is placed on the sauce pan. He’s pretty confident  he’ll be able to salvage it.

His boys need him.

They look a mess, Louie is pale and clinging to Huey, half hiding behind his brother, his breathing coming in shaky gulps, Huey is shaking, his hands clenching around the lump of glossy paper in his hand.

“What’s wrong? Where’s Dewey?”

“They printed trash about Mom!” Huey wails, shaking the paper, a magazine Donald realises, catching sight of a familiar photo.

There’s a chill seeping into his bones, his hear shutters and everything goes grey and muted. He can barely understand what Huey is saying, and Louie is just repeating I’m sorry again and again.

They hurt his boys.

Scrooge is interrupted from his research by the familiar sound of a McDuck (or in this case a Duck) losing his temper.

“By Dismal Downs, what now?” He utters, deciding to investigate before Donald broke anything and give his nephew a good shaking if need be.

What he sees is unforgivable, the lads look terrified, and he yanks his nephew up. “Look at them” He hisses.

“Uncle Scrooge,  it’s not Donald’s fault.” Huey pipes up, there’s a thunderous expression on the lad’s face, the first warning sign that Huey is on the verge of displaying his own version of the McDuck temper. He holds something out, and Scrooge drops Donald to take it.

Smoothing out the much crumpled paper he immediately sees the problem. “I’ll handle this” Scrooge growls.

“No.” Huey said, folding his arms “First, I want to know what really happened when Mom disappeared. Not the lies they printed”

“Agreed” Dewey said, dropping down from his perch in the rafters, Webby just behind him.

Scrooge glances at Donald. It’s his decision.

“Alright.” Donald slumped, defeat written across every feather. “Alright boys.”

“You didnae need to lad.” Uncle Scrooge accent thickened.

Donald gave him a look. “They deserve to know.”

“I was there too you know.” Scrooge presses, but there’s an undercurrent of uncertainty in his voice.

Donald looks at him, and for once there’s none of the barely hidden resentment in his gaze, only grief deeper than the marine trench and their shared burden of guilt.

The silence between is heavy, and the kids inch closer to each other. Louie’s tears have dried, he’s starring at the floor and leaning on Huey. Huey has a protective arm around Louie, but his eyes are stormy, Dewey’s landed on Louie’s other side just in front of his brothers and is bouncing from foot to foot, and Webby is watching with wide eyes, her hand twisted in Dewey’s tee. They can’t help the undercurrent of excitement and dread rolling off of them.

Until Donald speaks.

“Can you tell it Uncle Scrooge?” Donald’s voice is flat, a little bit angry, but mostly hurt.

Scrooge flinched back from the open disdain.

“I can try.” Scrooge comes back with, the closest he can admit to that he’s as unready to face this memory as Donald. His hands tighten on his cane, recognizing that this could be the start of an old argument, one he’s not sure either of them will walk away unharmed from.

“Alright.” Donald looked away.

“Alright” Scrooge echoes, not sure he’s heard right. “Into the study with you lads, I’ll put the tea on.”

“Webby too.” Dewey says, clutching her arm.

Scrooge nods. “I shalt tell this tale again.”

@donaldtheduckdad and so it begins

Part 2 can be found here:

http://robinine-blog.tumblr.com/post/165160561770/the-past-is-a-different-country

The story continues here

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Beginnings – Part 2

meiloorun-notthefruit:

Part 1 can be found here


7,000 miles from the city of Duckburg and the state of Calisota, it’s raining in Rio de Janeiro. Hard.

Trying to take shelter from the relentless weather is a sole duckling currently huddled in a tree, duffel bag hanging from its branches, over sized hoodie doing a proper job of keeping him dry but terribly, horribly sweaty. He feels light headed. And homesick.

Donald hates it. He absolutely hates it.

His stomach is rumbling and the rations are almost gone. He should go back. He should take his stupid duffel bag and walk his dumb old self back to the airport and at least try and find a way to get a ticket back to Duckburg – the flight attendants or airport workers would surely take pity on him, in his current state. He wants to do that, he really does, but that’d be giving up.

That’d mean being proven wrong again. Donald doesn’t want that.

Donald wants them to witness it, wants to show his family that he’s telling the truth: he wants Grandma to see that mama and pop’s death hasn’t changed him that much. Donald wants to prove to Fethry and Gladstone that he can still be adventurous, that there is a difference between Della’s recklessness and actual bravery; just because he’s been more cautious since the accident doesn’t mean that he’s a chicken. He’s not a coward. He’s not.

Most of all, Donald wants to get away from Della. Sure, she’s his twin, but recently since their parent’s death, she’s been scaring him – the look in his sister’s eyes, the way she’s been acting – Donald can’t exactly put his finger on it but it’s unsettling. Della’s always pushed her limits, but now it’s almost as if she doesn’t care what she’s doing anymore; Donald can’t keep track anymore of how many times he’s had to physically hold Della back from doing something incredibly stupid, even for her reckless standards.

How many times he’s reached for her, hoping and praying that’d she’d reach back. Della does – she always does – but Donald doesn’t think he’s going to be able to take it (take anything), the day she let’s herself get washed away.

The day he fails in catching her.

So he doesn’t wait; he runs. He runs as far away as he possibly can with the money he has – to the place mama and pop had pinned to the refrigerator.

It’s a nice place isn’t it, mo laochain? Imagine it, all four of us, on a family vacation on the Brazilian beaches; it can’t beat Scotland’s cliffside views, but it’s a close second. One day Donald, one day.

The day never came; only a few months later the accident happened and Hortense McDuck and Quackmore Duck were buried in the family plot and Della and Donald were sent to Grandma Elvira’s farm. For once, Gladstone hadn’t been insufferable: Donald had actually appreciated his presence; Della had gone quiet for a month, so his cousin had been the only reliable companion. Fethry had been too little.

But even talking to his closest relatives hadn’t helped all that much; Donald can still see the car wreck when he closes his eyes.

So here he is, far away, trying to escape the familiarity so he can escape his bad dreams. So he can escape well meaning relatives. So he can escape his sister, who is slowly but surely self destructing.

He’s made it this far. He’s not turning back.


Notes:

This chapter is shorter than I’d like it to be but ¯_(ツ)_/¯

aw yes, good ol’ duck family angst. Expect possible update tomorrow, but also don’t expect it tomorrow cause I’m bad at updating.
Whoops.

Also, Donald’s been alone for three days. Somebody plz protect this duck child.

image

I almost dashed straight past this, then I was the cutest little duckling staring at me, I rolled up, considering how long it was and if I was too sleepy to read after a very long day, yep, too sleepy, rolled down.

There was a cute little duckling Donald staring at me with a hopeful look.

I couldn’t not read after staring at that hopeful look.

And I’m so glad I did, this is fantastic, you did a great job, my eyes are full of tears and my heart goes out to tiny Donald, ow, oh my heart. Della, how could you?

My friend, my heart is broken, please gather the pieces and return them with the next chapter.

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Daisy’s folly

The day dawned bright and beautiful, and Daisy was already awake and wavering between dresses.

The night before she had put out her favourite blue dress, but now in the light of the new day she wasn’t so sure.

Maybe purple…?

She checked her bag, finding the bus timetable and checking the time.

Donald was going to be so surprised.

Pink bow she decided, as she almost fell over her pink heels, diving back into her closet to find a sparkling violet top.

She puffed up her bow as she stared into her mirror, gathering her courage.

Bus.

Was she crazy?

Well… maybe crazy for her favourite sailor boy.

She stepped out the door, breathing in the fresh morning air and carefully avoiding the dew wet grass as she clipped her way to the bus stop.

Daisy hesitated as the bus approach, the dusty double decker shuddering to a halt, the doors jerking open with a screech.

A chill ran down her back.

For Donald.

She smiled as she stepped aboard, trying and failing to ignore the sweat patches and fraying sleeves of the driver’s uniform.

She held up her ticket, and the driver nodded, and Daisy cautiously stepped over the discarded bottle, and grabbing the bar as she avoided the greasy looking patch, winkling her beck at the discarded wrappers and papers on most of the seats.

The bus jerked forward suddenly, and Daisy swung on a bar, settling with a bump into the nearest hopefully clean seat.

She perched on the edge and glared at the other passenger, a large pup who had sniggered at her graceless drop, and he ducked his head and turned to look out the window.

It was a beautiful day.

Donald was so lucky.

She smiled, and pulled her notebook out of her handbag, tapping her pen against the spiral wire as she considered her plans for the day.

First a phone call to let Donald know she had arrived, a walk through the park under the blooming sakura trees, lunch at the cute cafe she and Minnie had discovered last month, then a boat trip this afternoon…

It would be perfect. Romantic.

Show Donald she was serious and committed and… maybe…

She shuddered as she got off the bus, feeling the multitude of unfriendly eyes on her back, and a few that were far too friendly.

Her eyes scanned for the phone booth, frowning as she noticed the broken glass, and carefully stepping around.

For Donald.

She took a breath. She could do this.

Donald would be here soon. They were going to have a great day.

It was Donald’s Birthday, she was going to make it the best day ever!

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