Companion piece to Leaving the Nest (can be read in any order)
Ao3
After Bradford is defeated, it takes hours for the adrenaline of the day to wear off.
Fenton calls his mother, who brings half of Duckburg’s police force over much sooner than should be humanly possible. Any questioning stares are met with amused shrugs and Gyro’s passionate declaration to never get between Officer M.A.M.A. Cabrera and her son. Spoken from experience, of course. Officer Cabrera’s officers and the superheroes present arrest FOWL’s goons. (Pepper gives May and June goodbye hugs.)
The villains are gone, of course, having split with the help of Magica’s sorcery and a harmless raven on her shoulder. They’d left with winks and playful smiles tossed over their shoulders. Almost friendly, but not quite. Familiar. The promises of future tussles and battles left unsaid in the desert air. No one says anything outright, but the villains’ smooth departure puts a smile on everyone’s faces. It’s the promise of a next time. Of countless adventures to come. Bradford, for all his meticulous and careful planning, lost.
Goldie steals Manny away to ride into the nearest town and comes back with a cooler of snacks. Uncle Scrooge - Dad (Dad!) - and Granny level their fiercest glares at her and pointedly ask if she paid for them. Goldie giggles behind her hand and avoids the question, dropping a packaged ice cream cone in Dewey’s hands. He lights up, and Dad melts just like the ice cream under the hot desert sun.
Webby, sitting blissfully between Dad and Granny, has a perfect view of their conversation with Goldie. She keeps shooting Webby weird looks, like she isn’t quite sure what to make of her. Honestly, Webby doesn’t really blame her. Webby has always been Granny’s granddaughter through and through, and she inherited Granny’s disdain for Goldie and protectiveness of Dad.
Webby leans against Dad, and he puts an arm around her. Steady and protective, although she can feel his heart fluttering in his chest. He’s exhausted too - he went through perhaps the most today, at least physically. They’re both too tired to speak, at least right now, but they’re content enough to be in each others’ presence.
Dewey leads the other kids to the ice cream, and they wave her over. Gosalyn passes a cone to her, and Huey hands her a napkin. She sits sandwiched between Boyd and June, eating ice cream on the ramp of the plane. Violet is holding Lena’s cone because Lena is busy weaving friendship bracelets for May and June.
Webby glances back to where Dad and Granny have set up camp. Members of their family are filtering through, offering assistance and comfort. Donald’s leading a team to fix the plane, and Ludwig is bringing a group through FOWL’s headquarters like a tour guide, to pick up any evidence and missing mysteries. Gyro is off to the side, painstakingly fixing Boyd’s body and the Gizmosuit, with Della hovering over his shoulder and making snarky remarks he pretends to be bothered by.
Soon they’ll be in the air, and she still hasn’t talked to Dad. Really talked to him.
Fear starts to pool in Webby’s gut. He seemed to take it well enough, but that was in the middle of the fight. What if he doesn’t want to be her father? What if this changes her relationship with her other family members?
Webby squeezes her cone so hard it cracks and melted ice cream spills onto her hand.
Why should a piece of parchment, magic or not, decide her family, when she’s spent years cultivating and choosing the perfect family of her own? For better or for worse?
A familiar hand waves in front of her face, green sleeves flapping in the slight breeze, and Webby jumps, startled. Her family, no longer contentedly eating their ice cream, are all staring at her with varying degrees of worry.
“Hey, Webs?” Louie blinks at her and shoves his hands back in the pocket. “You were kinda spacing out there.”
Webby shakes herself back into the present and grins sheepishly at him. “Sorry. What’s up?”
Louie jerks a thumb inside the plane. “Mom just came by. We’re about ready to start heading back. Reinforcements just got here, and they’re going to take everyone else home.”
Webby blinks and casts a quick glance around the desert, cultivated by years of spy training and adventuring. Della is indeed a few paces away, talking to Launchpad, next to the broken plane wing looking as good as new. On the other side of the plane, Amunet and D’jinn are talking to Goldie and Storkules as they enter Gladstone’s blimp. The desert is clearing out, and those who haven’t already left are busy packing up any supplies.
Dad and Granny amble over with the rest of the adults into the plane. Dad stops in front of them, placing his cane on the ground with a clink and folding his hands over it. He’s smiling, tired but fond. His eyes rest on Webby for a moment longer than everyone else before moving on.
“All ready, kids?” Dad asks, his beak quirking up in a familiar cocky smirk, and something fond settles in Webby’s gut.
“Ready,” she replies firmly with the rest of them, smiling, and enters the plane, ignoring her growing nervousness. She’s with her family now. She’s safe.
--
When they’re all safe and settled in the belly of the Sunchaser once again, after Launchpad’s little snafu with the emergency hatch release, Webby seeks Dad out.
He’s sitting in the seat closest to the cockpit, talking with Aunt Daisy. Webby’s full to bursting with nervous energy, but, as she knows, it’s all for naught. His face lights up when he sees Webby coming. Aunt Daisy, as savvy and clever as she is, gives Webby a fond, knowing smile and slips away with a pat on Dad’s knee and a ruffle of Webby’s hair.
Hesitantly, Webby jumps into Aunt Daisy’s chair and maneuvers herself to face Dad. She busies herself for a few moments by fidgeting with her friendship bracelet.
Dad rearranges himself to face Webby, too. “What can I do for you, lass?” he asks, but she can tell from his tone he already knows where this conversation is going.
“So. Um.” Webby tugs at the hem of her skirt, bunching it up in her fists and hurriedly smoothing it out again. “Dad.”
“Dad,” he repeats, his voice full of wonder and amazement. A small smile tugs at his grin, threatening to burst and split his face.
“Can we talk?” Webby asks nervously. Her voice breaks a little on the word talk, and Dad noticeably winces.
“Of course,” he replies, awkward and stilted. “Go ahead.”
“Well…” Webby stares down at her skirt, then back up at Dad with glassy eyes. “Do you love me?”
Dad jerks, shocked. It’s clear that of all her questions, he certainly wasn’t expecting that one.
“Like a daughter,” Webby clarifies. “Do you love me like a daughter?”
Dad’s face changes, softens. It’s unreadable, but not unkind.
“Of course,” he replies softly.
Webby flinches and glances to the side, at the wall of the plane. Anywhere but Dad’s face. She tries to hide her discomfort, but it’s clear he notices.
“Do you… not want me to?” he tries.
Webby shakes her head. “Of course I do,” she replies softly.
“Then why…” he trails off. He has a million clauses he could finish the sentence with, but they all hang heavy in the air between them, unsaid.
Webby can’t look at him. “I… I don’t want you to only love me because I’m your daughter,” she replies. Her voice breaks on the word daughter. “I want you to love me because I’m me.”
“Webbigail Vanderquack.” Dad stares at her incredulously. “I paid full price for your birthday party. And it was only a front! How can you think I don’t love you?!”
A shocked giggle bursts out of Webby. After a moment, Dad joins her in his own giggling fit.
“I know you love me,” Webby replies quietly after their giggles have died down. Dad’s smile sags, and his expression turns serious and forlorn. “But it’s not the same. I- I know I’ve always been Granny’s granddaughter. It’s a little different. I love you, but I hate that we’re family because a missing mystery said so, and not because we love each other.”
Dad’s expression softens. “Oh, lassie.” He opens his arms, and Webby crawls into his embrace without a second thought.
Dad smooths her hair and tucks his chin onto her head. “Did you know,” he says, his voice muffled by the embrace, “that technically, May and June are my daughters too?”
Webby’s eyes burn. “Hmm?”
“Aye,” Dad continues. “If you were made from my DNA, and May and June were made from yours, then they’re a part of me too. Maybe they’re more like my granddaughters, but the point stands.”
Webby buries her face further into Dad’s coat and doesn’t respond. She’s not sure how too.
“Point being, May and June are my family, and I will treat them as such. I’m sure they’re marvelous young girls, and lovely sisters for you, my dear.”
Dad shifts his embrace so he can see her face. He holds her gaze with a steady and serious look.
“But they’re not my daughters. You, Webby darlin’, are. Do you know why?”
Webby shakes her head.
Dad hugs her tighter. “Because you always have been,” he replies, his voice thick, and oh. “Maybe not with that exact label, but, as Lena would say, labels are weird. You’re my family. You’re one of my kids. I know you, and I love you, Webby darlin’.”
“I… I know I didn’t make the effort to get to know you when you were young,” Dad continues. “I will be the first to admit I regret that. I’ve made a lot of mistakes when it comes to family. But I’ve had the honor of watching you grow these past years, and of being your family. And I wouldn’t trade that for the world.”
Webby nods. She knows they’re both thinking of earlier that day, when Scrooge’s declaration was put to the test, and won, but only narrowly. He doesn’t make that statement lightly.
Dad shifts, and his embrace loosens. His expression turns troubled and almost… nervous? It scares Webby by osmosis, but a part of her that she hasn’t processed yet thinks it’s comforting that he’s just as scared as she is. It’s new territory for both of them, but they’ll conquer it together.
“Webby, lass,” Dad begins, hesitantly. “Do you… not want me to be your father?”
Webby hums thoughtfully. Out of all the questions that had arisen in the wake of the Papyrus’ reveal, she hadn’t directly considered this one. It had been at the back of her mind, waiting, lingering.
Despite the lack of deliberation time, Webby knows the answer. She’s always known it, from the moment Bradford had confirmed her ancestry.
“Yes,” she says confidently, so firmly that it startles Dad. “It’s like you said. You’re my family, and that didn’t change.”
Dad’s face softens, and his shoulders slump with relief, and his grin threatens to split his face. Webby grins back, a mirror of his own.
“But,” she continues. “I… I like calling you Uncle Scrooge, too. It feels right to call myself your daughter, but it also feels right to call myself your niece. Does… is that okay? Does that make sense?”
“Of course,” Dad replies, shifting his arms. “I think I know how you feel. You are my daughter, and my niece. You’re one of my kids, and that will never change.”
He smiles wryly. “I do like having this special connection to you, though, lass. I have many heirs, but you’re the heir of Clan McDuck. That’s not something to take lightly. I’m proud of you.”
“I’ve never had a father,” she says after a minute. “Granny told me about a father, and a mother, too, but I never really knew them. But I’ve always had you.”
“Aye, Blaise,” Dad replies. “Your so-called ‘mother’ was your grandmother’s niece, if I remember correctly. Arianna. She and Blaise were sweet, if a bit airheaded, from what your grandmother’s told me. They were in a car crash shortly before you were bo- before your grandmother brought you home.”
Webby hums. “I didn’t know they were real.”
“Aye, they were very real,” Dad confirms. “As I’m sure Louie or Goldie will tell you, the best lies are closest to the truth. I’m sure they would love you, dear.”
“I don’t know them,” Webby counters softly. She tilts her head back to look Dad in the eyes. “I never will. But I know you.”
He beams at her. “Exactly, lassie.”
Webby shifts back into his embrace, and they sit together for a minute, the plane’s rumblings shaking them both slightly.
“Does this mean Goldie is my mom now?” Webby asks suddenly, her beak quirking into a grin.
Dad startles and squawks. “Ack, no! I know Louie calls her Aunt Goldie, for all the blasted- but now. Er, I suppose, that’s up to you, lassie,” he finishes somewhat awkwardly.
Webby smiles contentedly and leans her cheek against the fabric of his coat. “That’s okay,” she replies. “It’s my family and I get to choose the members.”
Dad grins proudly, and they lapse back into silence for another few minutes. The adrenaline, both from the harrowing events of the day and the nerve-wracking yet highly anticipated conversation with dad, slips out of her veins, and the heaviness of sleep tugs at Webby’s eyes.
Dad eventually breaks the drowsy, comfortable silence. “I’m proud to call you my daughter.” he murmurs into her hair, and Webby beams. “I’m proud you’re my family, not because that blasted Papyrus says so, but because you chose me. That means more to me than all the money in my Money Bin.”
Webby snuggles deeper into his embrace, her eyelids drifting closed. “Likewise, Dad. I love you.”
He smooths her hair down. The last thing she hears before she falls asleep, blissful and safe, is: “I love you too, Webby darlin’.”
~
god i. finale came out today and anyone who’s talked to me can verify that i’ve been in constant Duck Mode all day. head full only ducks. i’ve been struggling with motivation lately (as always lmao) but it struck today in the form of my absolute favorite dynamic in the entire show.
if you were in my circles back in 2018, around when confidential casefiles aired, you might remember that i talked a lot about webby and scrooge. i remember requesting them in almost every writing prompt request i was offered. i don’t talk about them much nowaways, and i’m not sure why, because i still love them. regardless of how you feel about the twist in the finale, the pure, unconditional love that webby and scrooge show each other makes me so, so happy. I almost added a section with beakley, because she's an important part of webby's family as well and they need to have a conversation, but webby and scrooge needed their moment. i'll write it later.
this is a bit of trying to make sense of how the theme of found and chosen family fits in with webby’s new biological relation to scrooge and a bit closure. scrooge isn’t the best at having these important conversations, but webby’s pretty good at sticking up for herself when need be.
arianna and blaise are actually based on my OC versions of webby’s parents i made a long, long time ago! arianna was a shush-turned-fowl agent, and blaise was a fowl technician. my plan for them was that they were working for fowl (which was, at the time, based on darkwing duck’s fowl) and eventually, they both cut ties and became freelance villains in st. canard and duckburg. the duck family would fight them, they’d recognize webby and beakley, and the truth would come out. the arianna and blaise mentioned here aren’t my old versions of them, but i wanted to pay tribute to that little picture webby had on her board of her parents. i figured they had to be someone, especially since the woman looked a lot like beakley. my headcanon is that they really were a librarian and an artist, and that beakley raised webby in their images as a tribute to the family she’d lost. also, it didn’t come up in the fic, but blaise is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns!
when watching and rewatching the finale and watching gifs of it, something that struck me was how awestruck and euphoric scrooge acted when he found out. i think most of us focused on webby’s reaction, and beakley’s, but man, scrooge gets so quietly emotional and it means everything to me. this is basically a love letter to that quiet joy, scrooge and webby’s relationship, webby’s beautiful relationship with family, the finale, and ducktales as a whole. i love this goddamn show, and i’m going to miss it so much. see you, space cowboy.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
i don’t really feel like formatting this for tumblr atm (might do it later) + i spent so long on the text message coding on ao3 so here is the fic! please interact if you like it c:
~
“I don’t know, Polly,” Trucy says at last. “On one hand… she’s my mom. She’s our mom. I’ve missed her since I was very little. And I know she had no idea we existed for the longest time. But…”
“But she knew, and she waited so long to tell us,” Apollo finished. “She made Mr. Wright keep her secret, too.”
“Yeah,” Trucy sighs. “Polly, I… I want to know her. Daddy- My old Daddy, that is- and Uncle Valant told me such amazing stories about her. I’ve dreamed of knowing her most of my life. And she was so nice when we met her as Lamiroir… but it hurts.”
“Betrayal hurts,” Apollo echoes. “When someone keeps a big secret from you, it… it hurts.”
--
The day Thalassa Gramarye finally decides to break her silence, and the fallout that follows.
Lena comes to the Nine-Tailed Diner just often enough for the waiters to know her face, but not often enough for them to know her name. She prefers it that way. The anonymity is comforting, but she knows in her gut it’s just an illusion when the waiters give her familiar smiles as she slides into her usual spot in the corner.
There was a time, before she met Webby, when Lena would scowl and duck her head away from the waiters’ friendly greetings. Where the mere notion of being noticed would make her gut churn and blood boil.
Not anymore.
Lena taps her carefully manicured nails against the smooth table as she waits, watching the cozily bustling diner. She’s not usually one for nail polish, but Dewey was just so excited when he saw the color that perfectly matched her magic, and despite her snarky exterior she couldn’t say no to Dewey’s infectious excitement when he bounced up to her with the bottles of nail polish. She smiles at the memory.
If Lena from a year and a half ago could see her now, she’d be unrecognizable. That’s not such a bad thing, Lena muses.
She pulls out her phone and quickly scrolls through social media, smiling when a picture of Webby pops up on her feed. Webby doesn’t post much, but when she does, just seeing her face never fails to make Lena smile.
The noise of the city and the harbor outside eventually fades into a calming white noise in the back of Lena’s mind. She’s used to the city. It was her home for fifteen years. But the sound of a particular car pulling up to the curb jerks Lena out of her thoughts, and she presses her face to the window, filled with an almost childlike glee.
A familiar car, light green and blocky and just as eccentric as its owner, putters at the curb. Lena can only see into the drivers’ side, but she snorts as she spots a familiar stupid-looking hat and chuckles to herself. Soon enough, a familiar face pops out from the other side of the car, looks to the corner window expectantly, and waves enthusiastically. Lena grins and waves back.
The bell on the diner door jingles, right on schedule, and Lena’s friend nearly sprints over to her booth.
“Hi, Lena!” Boyd chirps, and Lena grins.
“Hi,” she responds, significantly less energetic but with the same sentiment behind it.
Every month, Lena and Boyd meet at the Nine-Tailed Diner, just the two of them. It started one day when it was supposed to be all of the kids, but the McDuck kiddos were called away on an adventure, Violet had a school project, and Gosalyn was busy in St. Canard. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize how similar Lena and Boyd’s unique situations and backstories are.
Lena didn’t realize how lonely she was until she had someone who shared her experiences.
Boyd rubs at his elbow. It’s a nervous stim, and Lena’s attention is piqued. If Gyro said something insensitive to him again, well, he may be tall, but he’s a skinny twink, I can take him—
“Lena?”
Lena bites back a swell of nervousness and feigns casualness. “Hm?”
“How… do you feel about Webby?”
Lena blinks. “Well, I like her. You know that, dummy.”
“Yeah, but… how does that feel? You know… liking someone?” Boyd won’t meet her eyes.
Lena frowns. “What do you mean? Doesn’t everyone feel that way?”
Boyd stares at the table, lip trembling, and Lena ponders.
She doesn’t entirely know how to describe how she feels about Webby. Before Webby, it was just her and Aunt Magica. The two of us against the world, Lena always told herself, but it was always the world against Aunt Magica, with Lena sandwiched in the middle. And then she grew to hate Magica as well, like she always should have. For so long, Lena only knew hatred and apathy, whoever it may be directed to.
And then she met Webby.
And then she met Webby, and everything changed.
Webby was—is—a literal ray of sunshine. When Webby’s smiling face pops up in Lena’s view, when her bubbling laugh or high voice makes Lena’s heart sing. It’s stereotypical and cliché beyond belief, much to Lena’s chagrin, but that’s how she feels . If Huey offered her a thesaurus he must have stored in his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook somewhere (that thing has everything — it’s kind of ridiculous, honestly) she wouldn’t change it. There’s no other way to describe it.
“I… don’t know,” Lena hums. “Just… whenever I see her, I instantly feel better. It’s free serotonin, y’know?”
Boyd hums in acknowledgement, and after a moment of semi-awkward silence Lena continues.
She’s never been all that good about putting her feelings into words. She’s not particularly wordy like Huey, and she doesn’t have Violet’s extensive vocabulary (although she’s picked up quite a few words and phrases from the Sabrewing family). Not that she cares about it. It makes these kind of conversations difficult, though. But for Boyd, she will try.
“She was the first person to ever care about me,” Lena muses, fidgeting with the hem of her oversized sweater under the table. She’s had it forever. It feels like home, in the same way Webby does. “She has a special place in my heart. She was my first friend, but it’s different than my relationship with the boys, or Vi, or you.”
Boyd nods and avoids her gaze. He’s unhappy with that conclusion, although Lena can’t fathom why.
“So… by that logic,” Boyd begins, “I should be in love with Huey, right?”
Lena shrugs. It is true that Huey directly parallels Webby in their respective situations. “However you want to define it, dude.”
Boyd flexes his fingers. He’s still unhappy.
“Look, I’m not gonna judge you,” Lena says, snorting slightly and raising her hands placatingly in front of her. “I know homophobia is A Thing, but I literally just talked extensively about how I’m head over heels for another girl, so…”
“Homophobia is terrible,” Boyd responds finally. “I genuinely do not understand how people could think such a thing! How does one act so cruelly to another just because of something so trivial as sexual orientation?”
Lena presses her lips together. “Beats me, dude.”
After a moment, she adds, “So what’s your problem, then?”
Boyd’s head jerks up. “Huh?”
“You’re clearly disappointed about something ,” Lena says, gesturing with her arms and raising her eyebrows. “I know you well enough, ‘cause of these dumb meetings. I’m just gonna point out they were your idea.”
Boyd smirks, ever so slightly. “You love them, though.”
Lena looks away and crosses her arms pointedly, but allows the smallest of smiles to slip through her mask. Boyd cackles at that.
“But seriously. What’s botherin’ you?”
“By all accounts… I should feel that way about Huey. I don’t care about genders, and I feel differently about him than I feel about you and the other kids. But saying I love him, it just doesn’t feel right.” Boyd rubs at his arm.
“Hey, that’s fine!” Lena replies. “That’s kinda how I feel about labels, y’know? Webby likes ‘em, but I don’t.” She narrows her eyes and leans forward with her elbows on the table. “Is Huey pressuring you? ‘Cause if he is I’ll—”
“No! Nononono, Lena, it’s fine,” Boyd chuckles nervously, raising his hands placatingly in front of him. “If anything, I guess I’m pressuring myself. Logically, based on all accounts I have consulted, I should be in love. But…”
Lena gives an exaggeratedly frustrated sigh, making Boyd chuckle despite himself.
“Look, Pink tells me aaaaalll the time that my magic isn’t logical. Especially friendship magic. It follows its own rules, and it’s about looove and the power of friendship or whatever. So cheesy. But I guess your love might be the same thing.”
Lena takes a deep breath and leans back in the diner booth. “Stop pushing your feelings into dumb little boxes they don’t belong in. They won’t fit.”
Boyd smiles at her, small but not muted. “Thanks, Lena.”
Lena glances away, staring pointedly out the window. “Whatever. Don’t expect it to happen again.”
Boyd just giggles at that. His laughter is frustratingly infectious, and after a moment Lena finds herself chuckling alongside him.
The rest of the afternoon flits by, and for the life of her Lena cannot recall what they talked about. But their first topic of conversation, and Boyd’s worry, sits heavy on her mind for a while to come.
--
When Doctor (unofficially, shh, if the news got out that he had never finished his doctorate because of those ridiculous geese Gyro would be ruined ) Gyro Gearloose secured a job with McDuck Industries, he did not expect his precious lab would be run afoot by small children. Not even by Fenton, who acts more like a small child than some of these literal small children sometimes.
It’s almost closing time, but that has never mattered to McDuck Industries’ research branch. Even if Fenton and Manny go home eventually, Gyro has spent weeks on end in the lab. He will outlast them all.
Well, he used to. Before his team and his boss dragged him out to see the sunlight. And before Boyd.
For the record, Gyro did not forget about closing time. Not this time. He was working with that infernal little rodent, who, along with the blue nephew, had somehow wormed Mr. McDuck into allowing her to take some freelance work in the research department. Gyro’s department.
...He did have to admit that Gadget Hackwrench was frustratingly proficient at mechanics and machinery. Especially since she was so small. She was a great help to Gyro’s newest project, which required a lot of rough mechanical know-how.
Gadget, unlike the rest of them, was not incredibly self-sacrificial and actually liked clocking out when she was supposed to. She had to go home to her Rescue Avengers, or whatever they were called. Gyro couldn’t wrap his head around her way of thinking.
So they were tinkering away at the panel of the machine when Gadget glanced at the clock and reminded him of her obligations. She was packing up when Boyd came in.
“Dr. Gearloose!” Boyd, chipper as ever, entered the lab and bounced up to Gyro’s workstation. He was a bundle of energy, reminiscent of the blue and pink children. His hands darted around him like a hummingbird, never quite staying in one place long enough for Gyro’s tired brain to process. After a minute of unconsciously trying to watch and comprehend it, Gyro glanced away and rubbed at his forehead under his glasses while Boyd greeted Gadget with the same enthusiasm.
Wait. Was it really enthusiasm?
Pushing his glasses up his nose, Gyro watched carefully as Boyd flitted around Gadget, mentally comparing his movements and stims with what he knew of happy Boyd. And yes. It was off.
Gadget packed up, and Gyro slowly but carefully placed his wrench down and turned to face Boyd, leaning against his desk in a facade of casualness.
“So.”
“Can you fix me?”
Gyro pinches the bridge of his nose. “What did you do?”
Boyd clasps his hands nervously in front of him. “No. No. Nothing! I just… I know how I’m supposed to feel, but I don’t feel like that! So I must be broken!”
Gyro stares at Boyd like he’s grown a second head —- which, with Gyro’s robotics, is actually plausible. “Pft, you’re not broken. You think you could be broken?! I made you, kid. I fixed you up after Akita tampered with you. The great Gyro Gearloose does not make mistakes.”
Manny taps something unsupportive, and Fenton and Gadget both —- purposefully badly —- hide their laughter. Gyro screeches something incomprehensible at them. It doesn’t matter what he says; the point gets across.
Boyd is still staring up at Gyro, with that hero-worship puppy-dog look in his eyes that he wears so well, and he looks so scared that Gyro’s heart twists. His body sags, and he sighs and rolls his eyes and gestures for Boyd to follow. He perks up, and is immediately at Gyro’s heels with a characteristic grin, but his hands are trembling. Did he teach himself to do that?
Gyro kneels in front of Boyd, behind his desk, and stares into his eyes. Not in a symbolic way —- if he focuses just right, he can see the circuitry in his head.
Gyro purses his lips. “Everything looks fine. I told you I don’t make mistakes.”
“But—- But Lena’s in love with Webby and Dewey’s had three crushes in the past month and I don’t feel anything like that, ever! Lena says it’s fine but she’s had one girlfriend and that worked out for her perfectly and I’m happy for her and Webby, I really am, but I don’t know how to make it work for me and it must be some sort of error in the programming and I—-I just want to be a real boy!”
“Whoa, whoa!” Gyro shoves his hands in front of him reflexively. He pulls them back, out of Boyd’s face, when he processes and realizes how overwhelming that gesture could be. Boyd buries his face in his hands. “You are a real boy.”
Boyd gives him a tiny nod and doesn’t respond. Gyro’s throat feels tight and constricting, bile building up inside. He wants to say something and break the tension and silence, but he doesn’t know what or how.
“Love isn’t everything,” he says lamely after a minute. “I didn’t fall in love until Fenton, honestly. Not for real. Della said something about ‘demiromanticism,’ whatever the hell that is, and she says Mr. McDuck is the same way, but honestly I don’t really care. I don’t need to compartmentalize and hyper-analyze every aspect of myself that way. But if you want to, you could talk to her. Or the red nephew. He’d know.”
It’s weird, being this open and honest about his thoughts and feelings that aren’t inventions and blueprints. A part of Gyro is screaming at himself to close, shutter the windows and pull the walls back up and raise the prickly spikes to defend against anyone who dares get close. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, really.
Strike that. He knows why. It’s Boyd . He’ll do anything to bring that kid’s sunny disposition back. And he knows why he’ll do that, too.
“Demiromanticism?” Boyd places a finger on his chin and tilts his head ever so carefully to the side, testing out the feel of the word. “What’s that?”
Gyro shrugs lazily. “I dunno. Some fancy way of saying I only want a relationship with people who get close to me. Which is a very exclusive circle.”
Boyd pauses. Blinks. Gyro can nearly see the wheels turning in his head. “If there’s a term for that, do you think… there’s a term for going all the way? A term for never wanting a relationship?”
Gyro raises his eyebrows. “Probably.” He reaches for his phone. Boyd could search for it in his internal search engine (proudly programmed by Gyro two months ago, since search engines didn’t exist twenty years ago, but for the record if he had thought of it Akita hadn’t had him on such a tight schedule he could have done it. For the record.)
“Aromanticism,” Gyro muses, reading out loud. “The lack of romantic attraction. Does that sound about right?”
“Hmm,” Boyd puts his finger to his chin again. “It fits! I like it!”
Gyro smiles, that soft and gentle smile reserved exclusively for Boyd (and Fenton, sometimes). “Perfect. Now get out of my lab. It’s past closing time.”
Boyd sticks out his tongue, playful. “Like you care. Don’t stay up too late!”
Gyro just smiles in response and resolves himself to not make any promises he won’t keep.
Boyd gives him a quick, tight hug goodbye. He always gives hugs, to say hello and goodbye and everything inbetween, and Gyro is never quite prepared for them, although he certainly doesn’t mind them. Gyro isn’t very comfortable with touch or affection in general when it doesn’t come from a select few people, but he never protests. Boyd is one of those “select few people”.
If today’s hug is a bit tighter and longer than usual (but still brief, since Boyd knows well how Gyro clams up with physical affection, even if it’s from him, and he respects that), neither Boyd nor Gyro say a word.
Boyd says his goodbyes to the rest of Team Science (Gadget is long gone by now) and skips out of the room. “I can’t wait to tell Huey about this! He probably knows all about aromanticism! It’s probably in his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook!”
Gyro leans against his desk, the cuffs of his shirt catching on the corners. “You do that, kid.”
“And Lena! She’ll be happy to know I figured it out, even if she won’t say so!” Boyd chirps. “Thanks, Dr. Gearloose!”
Gyro’s wry smile turns into something monumentally more sincere and real. “No problem, kid.”
The elevator dings and Boyd is gone. Gyro used to revel in the lab’s silence, but even with the background noise of Fenton, Manny, and Lil’ Bulb tinkering away at their respective projects (and decidedly not saying anything), it feels uncomfortably quiet without Boyd’s incessant chatter.
He hums softly to himself and picks up his phone to call Della before she hears about this from Huey and berates him for not telling her right away. He puts on a new pot of coffee for when he comes back, and lets Fenton know he’s going on his break.
“You know the workday technically ended half an hour ago, right? You don’t need me to clock you out,” Fenton replies, grinning. He can read Gyro like a book.
Gyro rolls his eyes and grumbles under his breath, but waves his former intern off.
As he walks out, he pictures Boyd. He would be sitting in the limo, brimming with excitement, tapping his fingers eagerly on his legs with barely contained enthusiasm. Launchpad picked him up for a sleepover at Mr. McDuck’s, so by this point he should be almost home. He’ll burst into the mansion and spill his discovery to Huey before he catches his breath, and he, Huey, Webby, and Violet will make a board and a list of thoughts and information on aromanticism while Dewey tries to catch popcorn in his mouth and Lena and Louie add snarky comments. They’ll all chime in with their own experiences and eat lots of sugary snacks until they eventually fall asleep in a pile of pillows and blankets and each other on the living room couch. Boyd will come into the lab on Monday and tell him all about it, and maybe Huey will as well.
Gyro smiles fondly to himself as he steps into the hallway outside of the lab and leans against the wall, pulling up Della’s contact on his phone. The tab on aromanticism is still open on his phone, and he scrolls through it idly, taking note of all the information and how it could relate to Boyd.
He’s not fit for this role in Boyd’s life. But he loves Boyd, so he’ll do his best. And Dr. Gyro Gearloose’s best is a feat they tell tales of.
Across town, in the mansion, sitting on her sleeping bag in her pajamas and sneaking handfuls of gummy bears behind Violet’s watchful eye, Lena shares a similar sentiment. Boyd explains what he’s learned, bursting with excited energy in the form of overenthusiastic gestures, and Lena wonders why this little, enthusiastic kid decided to choose her as a sister figure.
But she’s not complaining.
Lena sneaks another handful of gummies and wraps her arm around Webby, who makes a bright, contented sound and snuggles into her side. No, she’s definitely not complaining.
~
i wrote this almost a year ago actually, for the Because We're Family LGBTQuaranzine! (@ducktaleslgbtquaranzine) This is a nonprofit pay-what-you-want zine, with all of the money going to DirectRelief, a charity dedicated to Covid relief in countries that have been hit hard by it. I had a lot of fun working on this zine and this particular piece, and I worked with a lot of great people. The zine is chock-full of amazing pieces and really talented, skilled people, and all the proceeds go to a reputable cause. I cannot recommend it enough!
this piece is pretty close to my heart because it encompasses a lot of my favorite things - weblena, lena & boyd friendship (they have SO many parallels i think they would get along so well!), and gyro being a father to boyd! in all honesty, this was my very first zine and i was really nervous, but i had so much fun writing this and i'm grateful it was such a good experience!
a lot of boyd's confusion about aromanticism is taken straight from my self-realization process. that's some good ole projection, baybee! i didn't have anyone like huey, but it's certainly difficult to figure out what romantic love really is and how that affects you and your relationships. it's like a puzzle. it's not explicitly mentioned in the fic, but i'm autistic, and boyd is pretty heavily autistic-coded (and god i could go on for hours about that, and i have before, but i'll spare you all the tangent, although i'll happily talk about it if you want me to), which adds this whole other obstacle when figuring out aromanticism, because we struggle with social relationships and fitting them in boxes. sometimes labels feel really comforting and satisfactory, but sometimes it's a real puzzle to fit into these boxes that weren't always made for us. sometimes they fit, and sometimes they don't. it was pretty fun exploring that from a slightly different perspective, as well as putting some of my own thoughts and experiences into words.
if you ever wanna talk ducktales, writing, these amazing characters, or really anything hmu here or on my twitter! thank you for reading, and please leave a like/reblog/comment (i read tags) if you enjoyed it!
Gyro arrives at the lab at six A.M. on the dot, two hours before call time. The lab is empty, for once. He slips through the elevator doors and darts around the lab, putting on coffee (even though he’s already had two cups at home), and arranging his papers.
At last, he settles down at his desk, fully prepared to get a good amount of work done before Fenton and Manny bustle in with their noise and cheer that used to bother Gyro oh so much.
He’s excited to have the lab to himself, for once. Even Lil’ Bulb is still charging, as it’s too early for him too.
Gyro lifts his pencil, ready to write… and lowers it, unable to think of a concrete idea.
He struggles to put words and calculations on paper, and only gets a couple steps in before he inevitably loses focus again.
“This is ridiculous,” Gyro spits at the empty air, startling a sleepy Lil’ Bulb out of his slumber. “I am Doctor Gyro Gearloose. I do not lose focus.”
Missing the rest of your team? Lil’ Bulb flashed at him in Morse code.
It’s a testament to how far Gyro’s come since Fenton’s original hiring that he only crosses his arms indignantly and mutters a quiet “Maybe.”
It’s not physically possible, but Gyro knows Lil’ Bulb is smirking, somehow.
He busies himself by bustling around the lab, taking inventory of mundane machines and ordinary tools. The lab is still uncharacteristically silent, but at least with Gyro’s manually manufactured noise it’s somewhat bearable.
Fenton, bless him and his errant punctuality, arrives a blissful seven minutes early.
“Good morning, Dr. Gearloose!” he chirps, dropping his bag on the floor with a thud that would’ve made the Gyro of a year ago scoff, but today’s Gyro just sighs in relief. “How are you today?”
“Unproductive,” Gyro grumbles. He’s reluctant to admit the supposed cause of his unproductivity, but knowing Fenton it’ll come out sooner or later.
Fenton hums in response. “Sorry about that. Hopefully you’ll escape your funk! In my experience, a refreshing walk always clears my head!”
Gyro snorts. “I’m not going outside, Doctor Intern.”
“I’ll get you out there someday,” Fenton replies, not swayed in the slightest.
“Whatever you say,” Gyro says, waving him off and turning back to his workstation. Fenton’s presence in the lab is noisy, which used to bother Gyro to no avail. Now, it seems, he can’t focus without it.
“Huey’s coming later today,” Fenton calls over as he makes coffee. “He has a promising project he’s presenting.”
Gyro snorts goodnaturedly. “You make it sound like a school assignment.”
Fenton shrugs. “Huey’s words, not mine. Besides, I think that format works well for him. It does for me, too.”
Gyro snorts in lieu of a reply. He actively chooses not to tell Fenton it works for him as well.
As their conversation fades out, Gyro settles down at his desk. With his coworkers’ chatter floating around him, he slides easily into a focused headspace. In fifteen minutes, he’s made more progress than he had in the hour before his coworkers arrived.
While Gyro tinkers with a gadget, he’s vaguely aware of Fenton getting up and crossing to Manny’s desk. Usually he’d pay more attention, but he’s busy cursing ridiculously small screws.
“Dr. Gearloose,” Fenton calls. It only half registers, and Gyro hums in response, waving a hand dismissively.
“Dr. Gearloose,” Fenton says, a little more insistently this time.
Gyro starts. He blinks down at his project, which is nearly completed. “What do you want, Doctor Intern?”
Fenton quirks a brow. “Can you look this over?”
“We’re having trouble with it,” Manny clops via Morse Code. “Could use an extra eye. Or four.”
Gyro rolls his eyes behind his aforementioned glasses. “What are you, six? I’ve never heard that used outside the elementary school playground.” But he acquiesces, crossing the lab and settling his hands on his hips as he eyes the gizmo Manny’s been working with.
“It’s the double-sided shrink ray,” Manny says, pushing it towards Gyro with his hooves.
“We were able to activate the shrinking command upon request, but it’s unstable,” Fenton says, carding a hand through his swoopy hair. “The beta waves are successfully translating into gamma rays, but some of the neutrons are glitching.”
Gyro pushes closer to the table. “Let me see.”
“That’s why we called you over,” Manny clops, but steps back. Fenton chuckles softly, making Gyro roll his eyes.
He picks up the device and squints at it, examining it from all angles. After a little while of tinkering, he drags a nearby chair over. Fenton drops a cup of coffee next to him, but he barely notices it.
The lab falls back into its quiet - but not silent - rhythm while Gyro works. It’s comforting.
During the second dissection attempt, Gyro lets out a small “Aha!” and tweaks a few wires. Triumphantly, he leaps out of his chair and holds the device out to Manny, puffing out his chest. “That should do it!”
Manny twists the device sideways and fires. Simultaneously, an apple and a pile of paperwork shrink into almost-nothingness.
“You did it!” Fenton’s grin splits his face in two. “Thank you, Dr. Gearloose!”
Gyro still finds it difficult to meet Fenton’s gaze when he’s so openly enthusiastic and supportive, even now. He settles for glaring at the coffee maker behind him, pointedly not looking at Manny either, even though he’s laughing. “Of course. It was nothing.”
Fenton’s smile softens, but it’s no less genuine. “Well, we still appreciate it.”
Gyro crosses back to his desk. “Well. It was nice to actually get some work done.”
Fenton frowns, dropping his pencil to focus on Gyro. “What do you mean?”
Gyro drops his gaze, gritting his teeth. “Well… maybe… I’ve unfortunately gotten used to your incessant, needless background noise,” he finishes in a rush, scowling. “It was too quiet this morning.”
Fenton beams back at him. “Aww, Dr. Gearloose! That’s so sweet!”
“It is merely an observation,” Gyro grits out.
“Admit it, “ Manny says. “You love us.”
Gyro only huffs in response.
“Well, it’s nice to work with you too,” Fenton says, still smiling widely. Gyro would say his grin is too wide, but for some reason it doesn’t quite bother him like it used to.
He’s grown fond of it. He’s grown fond of them all.
ii.
There are three constants in life. Change. Death. Gyro Gearloose’s inability to leave the underground lab for long periods of time.
Della texts him just often enough to be a nuisance, but not often enough for him to justify blocking her (it would result with a very angry Della in his lab, a volatile variable he’d rather not contend with, especially when Fenton, Launchpad, and Scrooge fulfill that dangerous category as well. He knows this from experience.). The familiar buzz of Gyro’s phone, once startling from disuse, is now a surprisingly comforting constant of the background noise in the lab. Gyro’s a scientist working under Scrooge McDuck, with Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera and Manny the Headless Manhorse in his lab - he has to be able to tune out the white noise.
You. Me. Coffee. Della texts. She leaves no room for argument, which frustrates Gyro to no end even though he’s the exact same way. He sighs, tucks his phone under a towering pile of papers, and resolves to ignore her until the time she’s set for their gathering has passed.
But Della cannot be swayed that easily. Nothing can stop Della Duck.
At five minutes to their set meeting time, the elevator doors open with a ding. All of the lab’s primary occupants are present, but Gyro is too buried in his work to notice.
He does, however, notice the next noise. It’s impossible to ignore.
“Heeeeyyy, G-Man!!!” Della chortles, all exuberance and energy. She’s next to Gyro’s desk before he can say “Blathering Blatherskite!” (Hey, it was his catchphrase before it was Fenton’s!). She slams her hands on his desk, sending papers flying. Gyro squawks in protest, but Della ignores him.
Della shoves her face in his personal space, grinning like a maniac. Gyro maintains his death glare for a moment longer before slumping into his chair, dropping his head into his arms.
“I’m not going for coffee with you,” Gyro groans. “I have enough on my plate right now,”
“Enough of that,” Della nags, smacking his shoulder lightly. Gyro just groans in response. “You prooomiiised!”
Gyro’s head snaps up. “I did nothing of that sort,” he hisses, low and dangerous. “I didn’t even reply!”
Della smirks triumphantly. “But you did see it,” she says, tugging on Gyro’s perfectly pressed shirt. “So you were ignoring me! Now you have to go.”
“Of course I was ignoring you,” Gyro replies matter-of-factly. “I hate you.”
Della grins at him. “C’mooooon, you looooove me. Now let’s get going!”
Gyro turns pleading eyes back towards his crew. “Tell her! Tell her we have work to do!”
Fenton smiles at him apologetically. “Dr. Gearloose, you worked really hard today and got a lot done. You deserve a break!”
“Yeah,” Manny clops. “Also, I’m kind of tired of hearing your inhuman screeches whenever something goes mildly wrong. No offense.”
At that, Gyro treats his coworkers to one of said inhuman screeches. None of them enjoyed it very much, it seems.
Which is how Fenton, Manny, and Lil’ Bulb (betrayal!) ended up bodily shoving Gyro into the elevator with Della dragging him by the shirt and pressing the buttons for him, Gyro glowering furiously all the way.
“You’ll regret this!” he vowed, shaking his fist. “You will rue the day! The great Dr. Gyro Gearloose will never forget this act of betrayal!”
“Aw, you care!” Della says flatly as she opens the elevator door. “Now c’mon, let’s get some coffee in you that’s not from your lab machine. You look like you need it.”
—
By the time they’ve arrived at Della’s fancy coffee shop across town, ordered, and gotten their drinks, Gyro has calmed down considerably. Nursing two coffees that will be sure to give Gyro a heart attack someday, he settles in across from Della on the patio. Outside the thin fence separating the restaurant from the sidewalk, passerby flit along on their way through the city. Downtown Duckburg is usually far too crowded and populated for Gyro’s taste, but today, separated from the hustle and bustle of the crowd and sated by the infuriatingly good (if ridiculously expensive) coffee, it is… palatable. Almost enjoyable, although there’s no way he’s telling Della that.
Della grins at him like she can read his mind. (Did Mr. McDuck mention anything about a mind-reading artifact last time he stopped by the lab? Or did the Narration 3000 reach her hands? He could’ve sworn he sold it for scrap metal…)
“So.” Della sets down her coffee on the table and leans forward with her head resting on her hands. “Gy-man. Nerd. Mr. Mad Scientist. Bearer of Bad Taste.”
Gyro frowns. “Excuse me? Bad taste? I’ll have you know that black licorice is objectively the finest taste in existence. You have bad taste.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, buddy,” Della says, lazy and lethargic, smirking like she just won a presidential debate.
Gyro huffs and crosses his arms, turning sideways in his seat to face away from Della as much as he can. She cackles.
“You’re a dummy,” Della says, smiling fondly.
“I’m a world-renowned scientific genius,” Gyro replies, rolling his eyes.
Della snorts. “I know. You’re still a dummy.”
“Impossible.” Gyro wants to say more, but Della laughs and laughs. They dance easily between insults and compliments, toeing the line between teasing and hurt. Their arguments continue, sometimes flitting dangerously towards genuine. They both revel in the fact that an average eavesdropper wouldn’t be able to tell if they’re friends or not.
Sometimes Gyro himself can’t tell if they’re friendly or not. But he knows for certain they’re friends, at least.
Before he knows it, his coffee cup is empty.
iii.
After Della returns to the mansion for Dewey’s flight lesson (a phrase that made Gyro want to flee into an underground bunker for a year) Gyro heads back to the lab and vows to actually get something done for the rest of the day.
Unfortunately, in his life, things rarely go the way he wants them to.
Even with Huey in the lab (why did Fenton agree to work with him once a week anyway? Why did Gyro agree?) and Manny, a surprising force of calm, out for lunch, they make it an entire hour without incident. Before things inevitably go wrong.
The first sign of trouble is the explosion that rocks the Money Bin.
It takes all of them by surprise. Gyro and Huey scramble to save their projects while Fenton calls for the Gizmosuit. With the Gizmosuit’s enhanced strength, Gizmoduck shoves aside debris and forces open the elevator doors only to find a supervillain already there.
To their credit, the supervillain, a broad-shouldered orange lizard with medieval-style armor, seems just as surprised as Fenton.
They narrow their eyes at Gizmoduck behind their mask and drop into a fighting stance, their fists raised and their weight centered beneath them. “I don’t know how you predicted that I, the Liliputan Lizard, would raid Scrooge McDuck’s coveted lab. But now that you’re here, we will have a battle for the ages!”
While the villain monologues, Gizmoduck’s head snaps around to stare at Gyro and Huey. He can feel Fenton’s piercing gaze through the impenetrable visor.
“Get to safety!” Fenton hisses through his teeth, flapping a frantic, dismissive hand.
“But-” Huey steps forward, raising something he’s holding, but Gizmoduck just shakes his head and turns back around, readying for the villain’s attack.
The force of their gadget knocks Gizmoduck into one of the side tables. Taking advantage of the chaos, Gyro snags Huey’s arm and hightails it into an all-too-familiar closet.
“Dr. Gearloose!” Huey yelps, stumbling along at his heels. “Wait!”
“Blathering blatherskite,” Gyro scowls, peering frustratedly through the tiny gap in the closet door. “I’ll never get anything done at this rate. They’re going to ruin all my projects!”
“Dr. Gearloose,” Huey snaps, tugging at Gyro’s sleeve insistently.
Gyro spins around. “What, kid.”
Huey clutches whatever he grabbed close to his chest and peers up at Gyro with wide eyes. “We have to go out there and help! I have-”
“No way,” Gyro says, cutting him off. “That would mean too many variables. I’m not about to see another project crushed to bits because you want to get in the way.” He glares out into the fray, fists clenched. “Although I have half a mind to go out there and punch that guy for messing with my work.”
Huey presses up onto his tiptoes to peer around him. “But I can make a difference,” he insists, impassioned. “Look.”
Huey holds up his object, and Gyro reluctantly turns away from the fight to examine it. He pushes his glasses up on his beak to get a better look.
A short, stiff antenna pokes out from a small rectangular box with a big red button in the middle. As far as gadgets go, it doesn’t look very impressive - but looks can be deceiving.
Gyro adjusts his glasses. “Did you make this?”
“Fenton helped,” Huey confirms bashfully. “It discharges electricity, in both large bursts and streamlined blasts. Theoretically, it can reprogram circuits and switches, although I haven’t had any chances to test it out yet.”
“Just my luck,” Gyro grumbles, dragging a hand down his face. So that’s what they’ve been working on. “Well, I’ll tell you a secret, kid. I test all my inventions to the nines, and they all seem to blow up in my face. It’s worth a shot. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, anyway.”
“Not all of them,” Huey says, smiling in a way that’s far too knowing for a twelve-year-old boy. He steps in front of the doors, readying the remote.
Gyro reaches for the unlock button he’d painstakingly installed after one too many times of getting stuck in this closet.
Huey steps around Gyro to peer through the gap. “If we cross behind these tables here and Manny’s desk, we’ll have a clear shot at the elevator. I can use my remote on it.”
He glances up at Gyro, eyes wide. “Is that good?”
Despite himself, Gyro’s beak quirks up. “Yeah. Let’s get these jokers out of my lab.”
Huey’s face lights up. Gyro snaps his head away, unwilling to let the sappy moment go on for any longer, and punches the unlock button with far more force than necessary.
They duck out of the closet (with an undignified sigh of relief from Gyro) and behind the worktables. Almost unconsciously, Gyro scampers just ahead to slip closer to the tables, keeping his body between Huey and the fight. (With the tables between him and the fight, of course.)
Within seconds, they clear the worktables and duck behind Manny’s desk. Huey steps out, angling his remote to the most precise degree. He’s got a clear shot - but he’s also out in the open.
Gyro’s fingertips hover just over the hem of Huey’s sleeve, not quite holding on. But if anything happens, he’ll pull Huey back to safety.
Hopefully.
At that moment, Fenton dives towards them to avoid an oncoming attack. Gyro can tell the moment he sets eyes on the pair - his jaw tenses and his shoulders flick back. In the back of his mind, Gyro wonders if it’s even noticeable to others. The supervillain certainly doesn’t seem to notice.
Does he really know Fenton so well he can read the nuances in his body language?
It feels nice.
The softness blossoming in Gyro’s chest is unfortunately overridden with adrenaline and fear, and he barely registers it. Gyro gives Fenton a tiny nod towards Huey, who waves his remote.
Gyro can see Fenton grapple with the situation internally, before eventually giving up and turning to distract the Liliputan Lizard. He grabs them by their shoulders and spins them, hauling the villain so his back is to Gyro and Huey.
Gyro nods begrudgingly. Smart.
With the window Fenton’s given them, Huey lunges forward and blasts a stream of electricity at the elevator. It dings, and the floor numbers at the top whir and whir. They don’t settle.
The Liliputan Lizard’s head snaps up. “Huh?”
Huey frowns, deep in thought. Gyro doesn’t mirror his cliché thinking pose, but they’re both pondering the same dilemma: What now?
A fresh surge of adrenaline pumps through Gyro’s veins, and, on impulse, he jumps out and does something twelve months ago he wouldn’t even have considered.
“My lab is filled with dangerous, votile inventions,” Gyro snaps, intentionally drawing out his words with more annoyance than he feels. He steps out from behind the desk, away from the elevator. “You just messed up my project! You’ve doomed us all!”
He points an accusing finger at the supervillain and wills it not to shake. “Don’t you see what you’ve done?!”
The Liliputan Lizard shoves Gizmoduck away (no easy feat) and strides towards Gyro, slow and confident. His tail lashes behind him, knocking a vial of bubbling fluid to the floor, but they don’t even flinch. Gyro drops his hands at his side and clenches them into fists.
“Ah, Gyro Gearloose,” the villain says, smirking. “I almost forgot the reason I came here in the first place. Thank you for reminding me.”
“It’s Doctor Gyro Gearloose, actually,” Gyro intones, holding up a finger. “And what is that oh-so-important reason? Surely it cannot be more important than my projects. Which, may I remind you, you’ve ruined!”
The Liliputan Lizard is close enough to touch now. They stop an arm’s length away from Gyro and settle into a wide second position with their weight centered. It’s a position of power.
“The double-sided shrink ray,” the villain drawls. “Hand it over.”
Gyro narrows his eyes. “And why should I do that?”
“Well, I’ll trash your precious lab, for one,” the Liliputan Lizard says, gesturing lazily to the already trashed-lab. Gyro growls. “More than I already have, of course.”
Gyro takes an unwilling step back, his feet moving of their own accord. Something hard brushes against his back. His hands hesitantly fall on the edge of Manny’s desk.
“So what’ll it be, Dr. Gearloose?” The Liliputan Lizard mocks, stepping forward into Gyro’s personal space again. He snarls.
Gyro chances a glance behind him. On Manny’s desk, glinting underneath the overhead lights, lies the famed double-sided shrink ray.
Oh, if only he hadn’t given it to Manny for the finishing touches today. Today, of all days!
Gyro chances a glance back at the scene before him. Fenton’s still on the ground, and Gyro staunchly refuses to acknowledge Huey in case the villain will see him.
Is it worth it?
Gyro’s fingers graze the corners of it.
“Hey!” A bolt of electricity, sparking blue, arcs into the villain’s side. They double over, revealing Huey behind them. “Leave Dr. Gearloose alone!”
Fenton rises to his feet just in time and cracks his knuckles. “All right. Playtime’s over.”
The Liliputan Lizard whirls around, snarling, as Gyro twists and steps sideways. “Like you can stop me! I’m getting this shrink ray, like it or nooooooooooooooooooooot!”
Tinny screeches pierce Gyro’s ears, but it’s the most damage he takes. The once-mighty Liliputan Lizard stands tiny on the lab floor, joined by Manny’s desk lamp.
Slowly, Gyro lowers the shrink ray. “Stay out of my lab,” he snaps, sharp and biting as always, but with a rather uncharacteristically dark undertone. “Stay away from us.”
Gizmoduck scoops the tiny figure up in his gloved hands, muffling any protests. “I’ll get him out of your feathers, Dr. Gearloose!” he says with the awkward, stiffly polite manner they use to protect Fenton’s identity.
Gyro nods once sharply as Gizmoduck leaves. All of his adrenaline leaves him in a rush, and he sinks heavily into the nearest chair (which happens to be Manny’s, but he’s out for lunch and Gyro can’t bring himself to care).
“Dr. Gearloose!” Huey scampers over to him, eyes wide. “Are you okay?” He bustles around to Gyro’s side, not waiting for a reply. “The Junior Woodchuck Guidebook advises to rest after stress.
Gyro takes a deep breath. “Yeah, well, I did have a quiet day planned. Mostly.”
“With your track record, that’s highly inaccurate,” Huey snorts, raising an eyebrow.
“I’ve had enough excitement for one day,” Gyro grumbles. “All my excitement was planned for later, thank you very much. I’ll take a quiet rest of the day.”
iv.
Except things are never quiet in McDuck Industries’ Research and Development.
It’s a surprise when the elevator dings, signifying an arrival, but the figure that emerges is no surprise at all.
The elevator is still in pieces and sparking with remnants of Huey’s electrical blast, but that’s never stopped Scrooge McDuck. In fact, he probably finds the challenge appealing.
“Gyro, my boy!” Scrooge says, spreading his arms open wide. “
“Mr. McDuck,” Gyro acknowledges his boss with a nod. “What do you need? Progress checks?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” Scrooge saunters over to Gyro’s desk, glancing around the lab. He smiles to himself, the kind of smile only a secret brings, like a joke just before the punchline.
“I thought you could accompany me out, eh?” Scrooge says, light and lilting. “I’ll let you choose where we go~”
“I sense a conspiracy,” Gyro grumbles, dropping his chin. He levels a fierce glare at Fenton, who hides a triumphant giggle behind his hand.
Scrooge tugs on Gyro’s arm, gentle but forceful. “Come on. It’ll do you good, laddie!”
“I already had one spontaneous outing today,” Gyro grumbles. “With your niece.”
Scrooge only beams brighter. “Ah, good lass!”
With a little more poking and prodding, Gyro begrudgingly allows Scrooge to drag him out the door and into his car. True to his word, Scrooge lets Gyro choose where they go. For a while he drives around aimlessly, with the intent of wasting time until Scrooge gets bored and lets them go back. But before Gyro can see his plan to fruition, he spots somewhere he’d actually like to go.
“Ah, the library. Good choice, lad!” Scrooge praises as they step out of the car. “All the wee lads and lassies prefer that blasted telly to good, old-fashioned books.”
Gyro frowns at Scrooge. “I’m not one of your kids.”
Scrooge just snorts and brushes past him, leaving Gyro to run in his footsteps.
When Gyro catches up to Scrooge, he finds the older duck humming to himself in front of a displayed stack of books about Inducknesia. Planning for a new adventure, probably. Gyro laments the lack of science books in the front and starts to head to the back in his search.
“Excuse me,” a familiar voice pipes up. “This book will likely interest you, Dr. Gearloose.”
Curious. Of course everyone should know the name of Dr. Gyro Gearloose, acclaimed inventor and mad scientist, but unfortunately that just isn’t the case. Yet.
So just who is this mysterious stranger?
Gyro whirls around to find a familiar-looking child, holding a thick leather-bound book patiently out to him. He squints at her.
“Violet Sabrewing,” she supplies helpfully after a minute of dead silence.
“Ah.” Gyro nods awkwardly at her. Isn’t she one of Pink Niece’s friends?
Scrooge wanders over, likely to check that Gyro hasn’t somehow set the building on fire in the five minutes he’s been gone. His gaze lights up at the sight of Violet. God, all the Duck-McDucks are weak for children. “Ah, Violet! What brings you to the library today?”
“Hello, Mr. McDuck,” Violet says politely. “I’m looking for references on micronanite portal technology.”
“Ah, micronanite portal technology!” Scrooge says blusteringly, grinning wide to hide his confusion. Gyro snorts.
Violet’s smile flattens. “You have no idea what that means, do you?”
“I’m afraid not,” Scrooge confesses abashedly.
“It uses miniscule robotic parts to create wormholes in time and space,” Gyro jumps in flatly, earning him a nod of approval from Violet. Gyro tries not to sneer, since Mr. McDuck would likely chastise him for it. He doesn’t need approval from a child.
Even if it is a very, very smart child. Who’s working with micronanites, which Gyro didn’t get to study until he was working under Dr. Akita. Who’s also friends with the Niblings.
Scrooge chuckles softly. “Thank you, Gyro.”
Gyro nods sharply.
Scrooge turns his attention back to Violet. “That sounds… interesting! I look forward to seeing your adventure with this technology,” he says kindly. “
As they converse, Gyro wanders away to peruse the library. Every so often, he passes by Scrooge and Violet, deep in conversation.
Eventually, Violet leaves, and Scrooge finds Gyro flipping through a book of scientific theoreticals. “I’d say it’s about time we left, eh, laddie?”
“Finally,” Gyro mutters, but he makes them stop to check the book out. Scrooge smirks knowingly at him.
On the drive back, Scrooge prattles on about his latest adventure. The constant socialization is zapping Gyro’s energy exponentially by the minute, but Scrooge seems content to fill the silence himself.
It’s only when they’re walking into the Money Bin does Gyro finally initiate conversation.
“You have a weakness for children,” Gyro tells Scrooge flatly as he walks into the elevator. “You should spend more time humoring them instead of me.”
Scrooge smirks at him. “Really,” he says teasingly. Gyro feels like he’s somehow fighting a losing battle, although he has no recollection of entering any kind of argument. “Aren’t I, though?”
“I’m not a child,” Gyro tells him again.
“Neither are Donald and Della,” Scrooge responds immediately.
Oh. Oh.
Quick as a flash, Gyro spins away from Scrooge, pressing a fist to his beak. Behind him, Scrooge laughs heartily.
After he’s composed himself, Gyro steps away from the episode. Scrooge pats him on the back, harder than he usually does. Gyro stands there frozen for a moment, hesitant, before giving into his instincts and pulling Scrooge into a tight, impulsive hug.
Scrooge lets out a grunt and coughs dramatically, but he hugs Gyro back just as tightly.
Just then, the elevator doors open with a ding and out steps Gyro’s favorite person in the whole world.
“Hi, Dr. Gearloose!” Boyd chirps. “I went down to the lab to see Huey, but he just went home, and Dr. Fenton said you’d be up here!”
Gyro smiles fondly and turns away from Scrooge. “I was just about to head down there, but now I guess I don’t need to.”
Boyd takes Gyro’s hand as they leave. Gyro smiles down at it, soft and loving. Lil’ Bulb hops from Boyd’s shoulder to Gyro’s, and he keeps carefully still as Lil’ Bulb clambers across his head to perch on his favorite shoulder.
As they pass, Gyro turns to say goodbye to Scrooge, who looks like the cat that caught the canary. Gyro raises a questioning eyebrow.
Scrooge’s triumphant smirk turns into an all-out, unabashed grin. “Where do you think you got it from, lad?”
Gyro looks at Boyd blissfully clinging to his hand and Lil’ Bulb contentedly perched on his shoulder, and chokes.
v.
Within minutes, Boyd and Lil’ Bulb are safely packed away into Gyro’s rickety car and on the road. Gyro slides in one of his cassette tapes Boyd likes, one of the eighties soft rock tracks his dad gave him. Lil’ Bulb perches on the dashboard, fiddling with the volume dials. They coast through the streets of Duckberg with Boyd’s bright chatter and electric guitar notes floating through the car.
Gyro relaxes at the wheel, slumping back in his chair and exhaling gently. He’s often the personification of road rage. It feels odd to not white-knuckle the steering wheel today. But when Boyd came back into his life, and subsequently into his car, he has made a conscious effort to not let frustration get the better of him. At least, not when he’s driving a two thousand pound death machine with a child inside (robotic child or no).
But to Gyro’s delighted surprise, he’s found that Boyd’s mere presence calms him more than any of Donald’s breathing exercises or Dickie’s yoga classes. When he’s with Boyd, he loses tension he didn’t even realize he had.
After a quick drive, Gyro pulls into an offshoot of the Duckburg Mall. Boyd’s out of the car before Gyro’s fully parked, making the chicken roll his eyes and grumble under his breath. When he’s ready, he steps out of the car with the full intention to admonish Boyd. But one look at his excited face and the way he bounces eagerly on his toes, and all feelings of frustration vanish.
On Gyro’s shoulder, Lil Bulb cackles via Morse code. Gyro pointedly does not look at his other son as he takes Boyd’s hand and lets him lead them to their destination.
“Huey and I come here all the time,” Boyd babbles as they cross the parking lot. “We always get the Sugar-Free Butter Pecan, because Huey doesn’t do well with sugar.”
Gyro ruffles where Boyd’s head feathers would be. It’s metal, but warm to the touch, just like Boyd. “You can have sugar, though.”
“Yeah,” Boyd replies, unperturbed. “But I like the routine.”
Gyro nods in understanding. They reach the ice cream shop and peer up at the menu. “Do you want to get that today?”
“Hmm.” Boyd puts a finger to his chin, contemplating. After a moment, he brightens like a lightbulb - somehow more than the actual lightbulb on Gyro’s shoulder. “I think I’ll try something new today! I’m not with Huey, after all.”
Gyro hums in agreement and examines the menu himself. They order and choose a small table outside the restaurant, overlooking the parking lot.
“Did you have a good day?” Boyd asks, digging in with his spoon.
Gyro thinks about how his day started crappy and unproductive, but immediately flipped when Fenton and Manny came into the lab. He thinks about how Della’s impromptu visit, for all of his frustration at the break in routine, provided a much needed excuse to see his friend. He thinks about his terror and fury when a supervillain entered the lab, and the rush of adrenalinic joy helping Gizmoduck gave him. He thinks about his quiet afternoon out with Mr. McDuck, and how he’d missed researching in libraries as well as hands-on in labs. He thinks about how the people he cares about shaped his day.
He turns his gaze towards Boyd and Lil’ Bulb, who fit perfectly into that category.
“Yeah,” he says, smiling softly. “I did.”
Behind Boyd, the sun is setting, with pinks and purples blossoming across the tangerine sky and seemingly setting the clouds ablaze. The grapefruit-orange light of the setting sun makes Boyd and Lil’ Bulb shine. Gyro’s heart clenches and aches, but it’s with love.
Boyd beams back at him. “I’m glad.”
“You’re my favorite person,” Boyd says, tilting his head back to gaze unflinchingly into Gyro’s eyes. Although the self-deprecating side of Gyro vehemently denies the sentiment, but somehow his words ring with a truth Gyro can’t deny. He may not believe in himself, but Boyd does wholeheartedly.
Gyro splutters and coughs, still unused to open affection after all this time. After a minute of struggling to cope, he settles on setting his ice cream down so he won’t squeeze the cone so hard it cracks. (It’s happened before, but it was fueled by anger, as many things are in Gyro’s life.)
Boyd reaches up to take Gyro’s free hand. “You don’t have to say anything. I know this is hard for you. But I want you to know how I feel.”
Gyro bites the inside of his beak and rubs his thumb over Boyd’s hand. “I… I wish it wasn’t,” he whispers, surprising even himself with the rare display of vulnerability.
Boyd scoots his chair over next to Gyro’s and leans against him. Gyro exhales, feeling a knot of tension leave his chest, and leans back.
Lil’ Bulb, already perched on Gyro’s shoulder, scampers over his head to settle on Boyd’s shoulder. He rests his head against Gyro’s shoulder, settling directly between them.
Gyro squeezes Boyd’s hand tighter. Boyd squeezes back.
“You are loved,” Boyd says.
Gyro smiles. “I know.”
“Thank you.”
~
this is my piece for the Gyro Gearloose zine run by @georgiarose and glo.draws! I had a wonderful time working on this zine, and there are so many amazing pieces in it! It’s free to download, and we’re asking for donations to the Crisis Text Line in lieu of payment. I highly recommend checking out the entire zine!
For this piece, I wanted to explore the variety of relationships Gyro has with the people around him. he’s such a fun character and i love writing for him so much!
both the micronanites and huey's gadget are references to existing tech in disney animation (which i probably spent too much time researching to represent accurately akfghak). cookies if you can guess them!
thank you to @mrpinniped for the beta and to the entire Gyro Zine server for the lovely encouragement and feedback!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
i might make this one its own post later, but for now i’ll put this out! please read and enjoy c:
-
Summary: Directly after State v. Misham concludes, Klavier shuts himself away from the world. He never expects anyone would care enough to notice his disappearance, especially not now... but the people who care about him will not stay away.
-
Klavier doesn’t let himself cry until he’s home alone.
There’s an old saying that he’s heard passed among the court during his seven years as a lawyer, but he’s never been able to pinpoint its source: A lawyer can’t cry until it’s all over.
Well, it’s all over, now.
Klavier makes his way home from the trial mechanically, almost entirely zoned out. He congratulates Apollo and Trucy on a job well, well done, and pretends not to notice the concern layered just below the joy. He doesn’t stay as long as he usually would - Phoenix Wright surfaces a few minutes later, and Klavier makes himself scarce. Now that he knows Wright was set up - that he helped set him up - he can’t burden Wright with his presence. If their roles were swapped, he certainly wouldn’t want to see himself.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Contrary to popular belief (his parents), Min-Gi is not a morning person.
He’d trained himself into getting up and going to bed early, first at his parents’ insistence, then as a necessary skill for all the classes he was taking in high school (Gotta make that college application shine!). Yet given the choice, he would happily stay up all night and wake up extremely late.
On the train, all of Min’s obligations and restrictions suddenly vanished. Although his schedule was primarily dictated by not dying, which led him to sleep and wake up at odd hours (and telling time on the train is a complicated task anyways), he started sleeping in later and later. Now that he’s off the train, and most of his days consist of driving, songwriting, and practicing, he’s free to wake up as late as he wishes.
It’s why he finds himself slowly slipping into the world of wakefulness one unassuming Thursday morning. The van is already moving, as per usual - Ryan doesn’t mind the quiet mornings as Min sleeps away. Golden rays of sunlight peak through the van’s windows.
In the driver’s seat, Ryan is spotlighted in one. The sun’s brilliant hues turn his brown hair into shades of tree bark and make his soft skin glow. He’s beautiful.
Ryan is a morning person, in contrast to Min, but he would very much like to be a night person. They’ve spent ages lamenting the fateful injustice. Unlike Min, who used to force himself to go to bed early even if it meant lying awake in the dark for hours, Ryan chooses to just run on little sleep. He’d go out and party and/or perform all night, crash for a few hours, and wake up at his usual time.
He’s been getting better, though. Just like Min, they’ve both been making bounds of progress now that they’re off the train and free from restrictions. Every time Ryan goes to bed at a decent hour, it eases the worry in Min’s heart.
They’re both doing so much better now. Min never thought he’d be grateful for getting spontaneously kidnapped by a magical death train, but he and Ryan are so much happier now than they’d ever thought they’d be.
Ryan glances over, smiling fondly. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”
It’s a running joke between them, one that started way back on the train with Kez, but Min’s heart never fails to make a little jump whenever Ryan calls him beauty.
“Morning,” Min replies, stretching. He digs around in a bag at his feet. “Did you move the songbook?”
“Yeah, I was working on it earlier,” Ryan says. He jerks a thumb behind him without taking his eyes off the road. “I left some new lyrics and chords for you to look over.”
Min smiles. “Thanks.” Following Ryan’s directions, he grabs the songbook, a blue pencil, and his coveted mini-synth. Items in hand, he carefully slips into the passenger’s seat and buckles up.
Ryan shoots him a quick grin and turns his music off so Min can write.
For the next few hours, they stay as they are - Ryan keeps them on track to their next gig, while Min tackles the lines Ryan wrote earlier. It was a bit of a learning curve, figuring out how to write songs together, when they first started out. Ryan only knew chords and tablature, while Min only knew notated music from his viola days. Now, though, a couple months into their journey, they’ve worked out a good system. Whoever comes up with lyrics or a melody first (usually lyrics, and usually Ryan) will pen it along with any chords or notes they can think of. The other will look it over, edit it, and add the missing element. It usually makes for a solid first draft.
Min twirls the pencil in his hand. Blue. His favorite color. Ryan usually writes in a red pencil, from a set of colored pencils he stole from his younger brother before leaving. It makes contributions easy to distinguish when writing and editing.
Every so often, while Min looks over Ryan’s ideas, he’ll pull out his mini-synth and tap out a melody. Both of them find it easier to create melodies with an instrument in hand. Min may not play his mini-synth on stage like Ryan plays his guitar, but it still makes him happy to play it regularly. Not as a toy, not as something he has to hide from his boss and his parents, but as a genuine instrument.
As he writes and plays, Ryan listens. He keeps his attention on the road and map, but chimes in every so often with little affirmations and suggestions.
“Is that a D?” Ryan muses. “Under a G?”
Min thumbs the corner of the page. “Yeah, I think it sounds cool. Thoughts?”
Ryan graces him with a patented Ryan Akagi grin, all teeth. “I like it! I’ll look it over when you drive.” Ryan squeezes his fists on the steering wheel. “I’m really glad we’re working together, Min. This is way better than anything I’ve written solo.”
Min ducks his head, cheeks flushing. “Oh- Uh- I like writing with you too,” he replies. “
--
In the afternoon, they pull over and Min takes the wheel. Sometimes at this time they stop for food - they’ve made it their mission to catalogue all the small restaurants across Canada and America on the way to New York for future reference. But today Ryan got a late start on driving because he was songwriting (“Inspiration strikes when it strikes, Min! Who am I to deny my muses?” Never mind that Ryan is uncharacteristically close-lipped about what/who said muses even are), so they eat separately in the car. They step out to stretch for a minute, and Min hands over the songbook and food. Then they’re off again.
Ryan makes a few more edits with his red pencil, but they always collaborate on the second pass. At both of their insistence, they have to wait until one of them isn’t driving to truly discuss it. Min thought he might have to put his foot down on this, but Ryan was insistent - he’s an experienced driver and knows far to well just how dangerous and difficult driving is.
The afternoon passes without much fanfare. Min keeps his eyes on the road while Ryan edits and eventually breaks out his guitar. The highway is long, flat, and unassuming. Few other cars pass them.
It’s for that exact reason Ryan gets an idea that is both brilliant and stupid.
“Min. Min. Minminminminminmi-”
“What.” A feeling of dread washes over Min before the words are even out of Ryan’s mouth.
Ryan grins toothily at him. “I’m gonna stick my head out the window.”
Min chokes on air., surprised. “Wh- Ryan. Why would you want to do that? Didn’t you have enough thrills on the death train?”
“Eh,” Ryan says, shrugging. “I’ve always wanted to do it, but i couldn’t exactly do it while driving when I was touring alone. Besides, my parents would never let me.”
“For good reason,” Min grumbles, but in his gut he knows Ryan’s already won.
Ryan frowns at him. “Look, I’m not stupid. I’ll be careful. I won’t lean so far out of the car that I’ll fall. I’ll come back in if there are more cars or it looks like I might hit something.”
“Or if we start turning,” Min warns.
Ryan’s replying smile is blinding. “Does that mean it’s a yes from you?”
Min rolls his eyes. “Just try not to die. If I show up to the venue with only half the band, the manager won’t be happy with me.”
“Yes!” Ryan punches his fist in the air and dances triumphantly - or, he dances as much as one can while sitting in the seat of a moving van.
Ryan rolls down the window and sticks his head out. He’s crouching on the seat, half-standing, in order to fully fit through the window. His upper body is out of the car. His arms wave and flail, making his jacket sleeves flutter even more violently in the wind.
Min starts to shout a warning, to yell about safety precautions, to give into the panic in his heart and yell get down, but the words die in his throat the minute he lays eyes on Ryan’s face.
Ryan is joyful. Euphoric. Happy. He has always been a smiley person, but times where he is truly, unadulteredly happy are rarer than you’d think. Here, riding half-outside of the van while they drive to their fame and dreams, he seems truly free.
Min smiles. God, he loves that man.
Ryan glances back, the light reflecting off his glasses, and flashes Min an adrenaline-fueled grin and a shaky thumbs up. His ankles wobble a bit. Before Min realizes what he’s doing, he reaches out and grabs Ryan for support.
Ryan’s mouth drops open in a small ‘o’. Min moves to take his hand back, but before he can, Ryan twists and reaches back inside the car to grab Min’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks.
Min freezes.
Ryan is smiling, more bashful and careful now than before. He’s still happy, but… nervous? Anxious?
Min’s heart flutters. He manages to smile back.
“I got you,” he says, although it comes out as a whisper.
“O-oh,” Ryan whispers. His eyes are wide and soft. “I… thank you, Min.”
Min ducks his head awkwardly. “You’re welcome.”
The rest of the drive is quiet. It’s not awkward, but it’s not as comfortable and natural as it usually would be.
Something has changed.
Min grips the wheel tighter and stares down the road, for a lack of real target. If looks could kill, the road would be up in flames.
It’s… confusing. He’s not sure why a change in their dynamic is so upsetting and off-putting. He and Ryan have gone through so many changes over the years, and they’ve always been able to come back to themselves in the end.
Besides, it’s not like they had an argument. Or even a misunderstanding. All they did was hold onto each other to keep balance. Why does this feel so monumental?
Min chances a glance away from the road to look at Ryan. He’s curled up in the passenger seat (because Ryan seems incapable of sitting normally when he’s not driving) with his guitar. The songbook, flipped open to their latest draft, is balanced precariously on Ryan’s knee. He’s bent over to read it accurately, which must be difficult, especially in the dim light. But he seems to be managing. He’s humming softly to himself, almost too quiet for Min to catch it. As he’s focused on the road (no matter how much he wants to listen to Ryan’s ethereal yet natural and homey singing) the melody floats in and out of focus. Ryan is also plucking at his guitar, playing mostly individual notes instead of chords. It’s calming and comforting, not to mention beautiful. If Min weren’t driving, he might just fall right asleep. Even though he’s the one playing, Ryan seems drowsy as well, judging by the way he’s leaning against the back of the seat.
As they draw closer to their destination, Ryan seems to consciously shake himself into wakefulness. He sits up and puts the songbook away to focus fully on his guitar. As Min pulls off the highway and navigates the city streets, Ryan tunes his guitar and warms up.
They run through a couple vocal exercises together, practicing harmonies and lyrics as well as warm-ups. Min is a bit shaky since he’s focused on the road, but he and Ryan know their songs by heart, and the warm-up does the job. He’s still a bit jittery as he pulls into the venue parking lot, but that’s normal. He hasn’t quite shaken his stage fright yet, but as long as he has Ryan at his side, he’s able to perform. More than that, he has fun performing.
Besides, Ryan confided in him a while back, before their first real show. “You’re not the only one with stage fright, Min,” he’d confessed. “Yeah, I love it, and the adrenaline basically cancels out the fear, but it’s still there. You just have to go for it.”
Min had felt comforted enough to perform with that, with the admission that even the seemingly-fearless Ryan Akagi, who’d always seemed more at home on a stage than at his actual home got stage fright. But then Ryan had hesitated, glanced down, and taken Min’s hand. Min’s heart had nearly stuttered to a stop in his chest. He almost missed what Ryan said next.
“Besides, it doesn’t matter if you get stage fright or not,” Ryan had said cheerfully, too cheerfully, although Min barely noticed. “All that really matters is if you enjoy what you’re doing. It’s more admirable to conquer your fear in order to chase your dreams than to not have fear.”
Min had smiled back, shaky but euphoric. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, not unlike how he felt onstage. “That’s very profound.”
Ryan had laughed and squeezed his hand. “Eh, I have a lot of experience. Listen to me, I’m the master!”
The mood subtly shifted with the joke, and suddenly they were laughing and Ryan let go of his hand and they were pushing the synthesizer on stage and it was all a blur from there until the curtain went down and Ryan was squealing and hugging him and picking him up and screaming We did it! You did it!
What a first show.
Min shakes himself back to reality and pulls into the venue parking lot. Ryan jumps out of the van before Min is fully parked, despite Min’s loud protests. He rolls his eyes and lets Ryan run ahead anyway.
While Ryan gets checked in with the manager, Min parks and unloads Barold and the rest of their equipment (which is pretty much just Barold now, since Ryan took his guitar with him in his haste). He heads inside, he and Ryan set up, and then they’re standing onstage behind a lowered curtain, waiting in darkness and silence for their cue.
Suddenly, Ryan turns around and flashes Min a thumbs-up and a bright smile. It’s more jerky and jittery than usual, probably because of the nerves and adrenaline. He seems a little more on edge today, though.
“We’re gonna do great!” Ryan promises, grinning.
Min smiles back. “We’re gonna do rad,” he replies. The tension between them dissipates, and the curtain goes up. Ryan turns toward the crowd, beaming his particular I’m-on-stage-but-I’m-really-enjoying-myself smile, and greets them. The crowd goes wild.
Energy floods Min’s body, and he grins back at the crowd. Ryan counts them off, and they burst into their opening number with the power and passion it requires. The crowd screams, but Min can barely hear them over the music and Ryan’s voice.
He’s living. Far more than he ever was before.
They both are.
--
After the show is a blur of chatting with audience members, grabbing something to eat, and scheduling another show. By the time they head to the hotel, Min’s exhausted. But he dutifully puts all the equipment in their hotel room and locks up the van before he collapses into bed.
Ryan is already in their room when Min comes in. He’s sitting on the bed, facing away from the door, with his hands on his lap. Most striking is the absence of his guitar. Ryan may have been playing all day, but it’s rare for him to be without his instrument and yet so still like this.
Ryan, to his core, is always moving. Even when he’s not physically moving, he’s always singing, humming, thinking. Yet now, he sits in absolute stillness.
“Ryan?” Min whispers. His voice is quieter than he intended, but Ryan jumps at it all the same.
When he turns, he’s smiling disarmingly, but it’s too wide and shaky to be natural. Ryan may have convinced someone else with that expression, but Min knows him too well to be fooled.
Min strides into the room with three short steps, locking the door behind him. He stops in front of Ryan, so close their knees are almost brushing. Ryan blushes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I- Nothing.” Ryan won’t meet his gaze.
Min scowls. “Come on, Ryan. Aren’t we past this? Didn’t the train teach us not to do all this not-talking crap?”
Ryan flinches. “I- Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m just… thinking.”
“About what?” Min finally moves, stepping around Ryan to sit on the bed beside him. He takes care to keep his voice soft and gentle. He doesn’t want to scare Ryan again. Whatever’s going on seems to have him skittish all of a sudden.
Ryan bites his lip. “Min, I… you know I care about you, right?”
Min blinks, surprised. “Of course I do.” Hesitantly, he reaches out to take Ryan’s hand, running his thumb over Ryan’s knuckles. “I care about you too.”
Ryan blushes. His cheeks are nearly scarlet right now. Min’s a bit too tired to unpack that all on his own right now, but he knows it means something. It spurs him on, gives him a burst of courage and energy in the adrenaline crash phase after a show. “I’m glad we’re-” He’s about to say friends, but the word dies on his lips. Suddenly, it feels all wrong, but he can’t put his finger on why.
Slowly, Ryan turns to face him. His eyes are wide and anxious, his lips slightly parted, but there’s a set determination in him that shows in his face. He reaches out to take Min’s other hand, and… leans in closer.
Min finds himself leaning in simultaneously. Soon they’re close enough Min can feel Ryan’s breath on his lips. It’s hot in more ways than one.
Oh. Oh.
So that’s why today, Ryan’s hand on his wrist, the trusting and yet shocked expression of his, felt so weird and so right at the same time.
Their eyes meet. A silent exchange passes between them.
Do you want to do this?
Yes. Do you?
Yes.
If asked after, Min couldn’t say if he initiated it or if Ryan did.
All he knows is the gap between them is now nonexistent, and Ryan’s lips are on his, and suddenly it’s everything he’s ever wanted.
The kiss is slow. Hesitant. Exploring new territory, figuring out boundaries. But it’s not awkward.
No, they are Ryan and Min, Min and Ryan, Chicken Choice Judy, and they have come much too far to be awkward. They’ve been building towards this moment since they first met, even if they didn’t know it.
It feels like a found puzzle piece of himself Min didn’t even realize he was missing. Now, he is complete. Now, they are complete.
Now, they are both truly living their lives to the fullest.
~
this fic is just: *headcanon* *headcanon* *headcanon* *hea-
oh man i almost didn't finish this one in time. it's still the 12th here, though (by a couple hours!), so i'm good! it's hard to write a full one-shot every day, but i've already come farther than i thought i would! i told myself i would finish this today, and i did! i also told myself i would finish the week and my remaining prompts, and i will. :)
title is from new days by dreamcatcher. that's the second time i've used it as a title but the last one was for a zine fic so i can get away with using it here, lol. i really love that song, so that's why. the lyrics translation are absolutely nothing like this, but for some reason it gives off road trip vibes (at least to me), so it works really well for this particular piece!
okay confession time: i think this is the first kiss scene i've ever written lol. i was writing it and i was like "hey wait a minute i have no clue what i'm doing have i done this before??? i don't think so???" it didn't help that i didn't intend to write a kiss scene, but i got to the place where i'd intended to end it and it felt like the natural progression. i'm gonna go research good kiss writing after this. i would've done it while i was writing, but i didn't want to post this any later than i had to
i have a bunch of infinity train snippets and wips i wrote right after book 4 aired and my interest in the show peaked, and i really thought i had something that would fit well for off the train but i guess i didn't?? maybe i just daydreamed it and never actually penned it skfhksl. so i was kind of flying by the seat of my pants for this one. i think it's my favorite of rymin week so far though! it was also the most fun to write. i really love introspective pieces. ryan and min off the train, after their relationship is repaired, when they're in a much better place and truly happy with each other, is also my favorite time in their lives to explore. they're so much happier and healthier, and they can truly start to explore themselves and realize their dreams.
if you have a piano or something on hand you should play the d and g notes together. they sound heavenly. in choir two years ago we had that chord and i have never forgotten it because i love it so much.
if you ever wanna talk infinity train, writing, these amazing characters, or really anything hmu here on my tumblr or twitter! thank you for reading, and please leave a reblog/like/comment if you enjoyed it!
and now, for my next number, i’d like to return to the classics
Rymin Week Day 7: Domestic
1 2 4 5 6
Ao3
~
It’s been years since he lived primarily in his van on tour, but Ryan will never not be grateful to always have a kitchen.
Early morning sunlight streams through the soft white curtains as he goes through the motions of breakfast. The curtains were a gift from one sister, the cookware a gift from their old manager before she got promoted. The sleek fridge, which Ryan opens next, was a careful purchase he and Min worked together to carefully pick out, as is the same for most of their furniture. The eggs he pulls out from inside it are from their local farmer’s market, where all the vendors know them by name. Not because they used to be semi-famous rock stars, but because they come by every week toting instruments to serenade the shoppers with.
Ryan coats the pan in nonstick cooking spray and cracks the eggs into it. Salts it. He puts the ingredients away while he’s waiting for it to cook and pours two glasses of water.
Then, all that’s left is the waiting.
Ryan finds one of his guitars leaning against the wall in the next room. Their apartment is chock-full of all kinds of musical instruments they’ve accumulated over the years. After all the fuss Ryan had to go through to get his first guitar as a teenager, it feels both strange and gratifying to see how far he’s come.
One instrument they do not have is a viola. Min has played it on his own, usually on lease from friends, but he won’t play it regularly enough to buy one. Ryan is more than happy with that.
Ryan sits down on top of the counter and plucks a few, soft notes on his chosen guitar. He doesn’t have any particular melody or song in mind; he just lets his fingers play what they wish.
In no time at all, the eggs finish cooking. Ryan regretfully sets down the guitar to flip them and slide them onto plates. Just as he’s turning off the stove, the sound of a door opening down the hall and resounding footsteps reaches his ears.
Ryan snorts.
His husband emerges into the kitchen, hair still messy from bed. Even after all these years, Ryan’s heart flutters at the sight of him.
Min leans down to steal a kiss off the top of Ryan’s head. “Ooh, eggs. Are those for me?”
Ryan swings the plate away, nearly spilling the coveted breakfast. “Of course not. I cook for myself. Never for my handsome husband.”
“Hmm, too bad.” Min grabs a fork and leans in for a bite. “Hey, these are good!”
Ryan laughs and leans against Min’s chest. “Almost as good as your ability to come running as soon as there’s food ready. I swear, Min, it’s superhuman.”
“Only if it’s your food,” Min promises, struggling not to laugh.
Ryan cackles. “Of course. I see how it is”
Min kisses him again and steps away. “I’ll get the table set if you plate the eggs and get some fruit, dear.”
“I can do better than that!” Ryan dishes out the eggs on two plates and cuts some oranges up. He walks over to the toaster and drops two pieces of toast in. “A full breakfast. How about that?”
Min laughs and pulls a tub of butter out of the fridge. “Lovely, thank you.” He peers at the plates. “Eggs and toast. How downright American of you. Would you like some bacon with that?”
“Hey, at least it’s not post-war,” Ryan quips back. He stretches his arms over his head and sets the plates down on the table. “Eh, that would take too much time.” He leans over to peck Min’s cheek. “After all, I would hate to miss breakfast with my lovely husband.”
Min beams. “Good choice.” His wedding ring twinkles in the early morning sunlight.
Ryan sighs dreamily. “Man, am I glad I married you.”
“Me too.” Min’s smile is fond and so full of love it makes Ryan’s heart swell. When he smiles, all his wrinkles soften and curve upwards like little smiles themselves. Ryan loves to kiss each one.
“So.” Min straightens out and pulls out his phone. “We have a practice session at 4 today, booked at the venue for Saturday’s performance.”
“Okay, good.” Ryan nods. “I want to run through the new arrangement Train to Nowhere.”
Min shakes his head, chuckling. “We’ve been playing that song for forty years, Ryan. Shouldn’t you know it inside and out?”
“I just want to tweak some things for this arrangement,” Ryan shoots back, not unkindly.
“Ryan.” Min reaches across the table to lay his hand on top of Ryan’s. Their wedding rings make a soft clink sound when Min’s hits his. “It’s going to be fine. The fans love that song, as do we. We know it well.”
I know, I know.” Ryan squeezes Min’s hand and glances away. His eyes catch on a vase of beautiful purple flowers. I need to water those today, he notes offhandedly. “That’s why I want it to be as good as it can be.”
“It will be,” Min promises.
Ryan smiles. “I believe you.”
Min laughs, reaching across with his other hand to squeeze Ryan’s cheek gently. Ryan laughs, batting his hand away. “Of course you do. You should listen to your husband more often, Ryan.”
“What are you talking about? I always listen to you,” Ryan snorts.
Min waggles his finger. “Ah-ah, that sheet music you bought last week would beg to differ,” he says. “I told you we already had it in a songbook somewhere.”
Ryan crosses his arms, faux-affronted. “Excuse me for wanting more music to play!”
“I don’t care about that. Just spend our money on music we don’t already have,” Min says, leaning back in his chair with a smile.
Ryan shrugs and lets out a small huff of laughter. “I can do that.”
“Good.” Min gets up to clear their plates. “I’m going to go grocery shopping and then call my parents. Do you need anything?”
“No, but I’ll pop on that call if you don’t mind,” Ryan replies, standing up. “And can you grab some cheese? And the-“
“Those crackers you like, the ones that come in the blue box, I know, I know,” Min says, laughing and shaking his head affectionately. “It’s on the list.”
Ryan walks over and wraps an arm around his husband. “Ah, you know me so well. Thanks, babe.”
Min shrugs him off, laughing. “Stop calling me that! It’s not classy!”
“Pfft, okay.” Ryan kisses Min on the cheek before releasing him. “See you in a few hours?”
“You know it.” Min waves and kisses him goodbye before he’s out the door.
Ryan hums softly to himself as he cleans up the kitchen. It starts out as a B-side from one of Chicken Choice Judy’s earlier albums - their third, if memory serves correctly. Four years after they’d escaped the train, when their career was steadily taking off and they started touring outside of North America.
Ryan shook his head, chuckling softly to himself as he wiped a dish clean. “Man, what a time.”
As he works, the tune slowly shifts into something more original and unique. Something new. When he notices the change, he immediately scrambles for a pen and paper. Luckily, there’s a large notebook of blank sheet music in the drawer under the microwave for this exact reason.
Ryan flips past pages of sheet music penned from similar scenarios to a blank page. He leans against the counter, writing down notes and chords and lyrics as time slips away. Before he knows it, he has a full song on his hands and Min’s returned.
“Hey, honey,” Min says, dropping the grocery bags on the kitchen table and leaning in for a kiss. “Whatcha got there?”
Ryan tips the sheet music notebook over so Min can see. “A new song. I’m calling this one ‘Sunsets’ for now. What do you think?”
Min hums thoughtfully as he peruses the notes. “It sounds pretty, Ryan! May I suggest a ukulele rift here?” He taps the third line down as he talks. “I think that would add to the image.”
Ryan grins. “You’re a genius, Min.” He’s said similar statements many times over their forty-year music-writing career, but it never gets old.
Min preens, laughing. “Oh, I know. I’m gonna call my parents in a few, okay?”
“Sure. Call me when you’re ready.” Ryan doesn’t take his eyes off the music as Min leaves.
When he eventually hits a block, he puts away the groceries. He’s just finished when Min pokes his head out of the office door and beckons.
“Hello, Ryan!” Min’s mother greets when he steps inside. “Lovely to see you.”
“You as well, 어머님,” he replies, squeezing into the office chair next to Min. It’s not supposed to be big enough to fit them both, but they always seem to manage. Min laughs and tries to bat him off, but it’s halfhearted at this point. Ryan has been doing it for long enough that Min gave up a while ago. Besides, they both know Min likes the subtle affection.
“Just get another chair,” Min’s father grumbles, not unkindly. His wife gives him a small nudge on the shoulder.
“Leave them alone. Let them enjoy each other’s company,” Min’s mother replies, shaking her head in mirth. “If they’re still in their honeymoon phase after all this time, that’s on them.”
“엄마, please,” Min sighs, burying his head in his hands. His mother just laughs.
--
At precisely four P.M., he and Min are settled onstage at Saturday’s venue. It happens to be a beautiful outdoor amphitheater with vines and greenery gently climbing up the pillars holding up the stage’s ceiling. The audience area is open-sky and curves gently downward, like a bowl.
Ryan stands in the center of said “bowl”, guitar hanging from his shoulders by its strap. He raises his arms to the sky and spins, taking in everything.
From his place onstage, behind his synthesizer, Min laughs. “What are you doing?”
“Just taking in the sights.” Ryan does a final spin for good measure before turning to face Min. “It really is quite pretty.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Min gazes up at the orange-tinted sky with a soft smile. “Our manager really outdid herself with the booking this time. We’ll have to thank her.”
Ryan clambers up on the stage, silently wincing at the height gap between the audience floor and stage floor. He’s really not as young as he used to be, is he? “Should we send her flowers?”
“I think she really liked the sunflowers we got her last time. They were on her living room table when we visited her.” Min places his fingers on the keys, hovering just above them. “Maybe chocolate, too.”
Ryan laughs. “How cliché. Is there something I should know?” He waltzes over to Min and wraps a lazy arm around his husband, leaning all of his weight into Min’s shoulders.
Min laughs and shoves him off. “Please, do I have to come out to you again? Not all of us are interested in women, you know.”
“And what a great loss to the female community it is. The ladies of the Min-Gi Park fan club will have to go in mourning,” Ryan giggled. “But really, flowers and chocolate sound nice. She’ll like it.”
Min gave him a thumbs-up. “Sound check?”
Ryan gives his guitar an experimental strum. It echoes across the amphitheater beautifully, filling the bowl with sound and vibration. He whoops. “Let’s get this party started!”
“Not until Saturday, or else we’ll have some very unhappy neighbors to contend with,” Min admonishes, laughing. His fingers fly across the keys. “I’m good too.”
Ryan taps his mic. “Then let’s get ready to rock!” His voice booms across the venue. A few peacefully roosting birds take flight, squawking indignantly.
Min rolls his eyes. “Leave the poor birds alone, and you have a deal.”
“Please, we all know they just want to hear us play.” Ryan fishes his guitar pick from his jacket pocket and holds it poised over his guitar strings. “How do you feel about Train to Nowhere as a warm-up?”
“Fine by me,” Min says. His eyes don’t leave his synth. “It’s my favorite song to play with you, Ryan.”
“Well, of course,” Ryan says. “It’s what got us together, after all. In more ways than one.”
Min laughs. “Well, I can’t argue with that. Care to count us off?”
“Oh, I was just waiting for you to ask.” Ryan raises his pick and grins. “Five, six, eleven, twelve!”
Somewhere in Canada, the sun sets over a practicing music duo in the early 2020s. They laugh and goof around on an empty stage as birds and a few curious passerby stop to watch. The notes of their original hit song, “Train to Nowhere,” grace the evening air.
In the middle of the song, their eyes meet. They do not speak outside of the song lyrics, but an entire conversation passes through their gaze. It’s all they can do to not run to each other and hug each other right then and there.
After all, Ryan and Min-Gi Akagi-Park have lived a lifetime with each other. And they will live out the rest of their lives with each other, happy and content beyond imagination.
~
i'm not korean so i'm not sure if the words i used for min's mother are right. if anyone knows better and sees i'm wrong, please tell me! the website said the word min uses ( 엄마 / eomma) is the informal way to say mom, and you only use it for your own mother. the word ryan uses ( 어머님 / eomeonim ) is formal and often used for mothers-in-law. eomma is really similar to the hebrew word for mother, which is amma. i think that's fascinating because hebrew and korean are not similar languages at all. lingustics as a whole is fascinating because you can see where languages and dialects split off from each other and where/why that happened in history. it's also really cool to see languages so similar to each other you can communicate with someone else in two different languages. languages also have cognants (not sure if i'm spelling that right) where a word is basically the same across multiple languages. it's really interesting to see in this modern world of quick and easy communication how many cognants we have, especially for semi-recent terms (the technology unit in french was SO easy). anyway sorry for the tangent i just really love linguistics
man i wasn't planning to write for today until i realized i'd overestimated the chapter count and it felt weird to not write aksdgfjs. i hope i can keep to this schedule of writing every day but school will probably put a hard stop to that. gotta get out as much writing as i can before then! i started writing this at like 9pm i'm so sorry if it's messy dkfhjfkd
we've come full circle! this started with baby rymin and now we have much older rymin. poetic cinema........
the euphoria i got everytime i wrote "his husband"......... they are MARRIED gamers!!!!!
this is a callout post for every time i pour myself a bowl of chips at my aunt and uncle's house and all five of them suddenly think my bowl is a free-for-all even though the bag is sitting right there. stop i am not a chip dispensary. do not be min-gi akagi-park leave my chips alone
title is from uhhhh i don't know what it was called (some indie thing) but it was in my last winterguard show (fuck covid i wanted a senior season) and it just popped into my head. or it might have just been a voice line from something i heard it in another show with different music. whatever it's almost 1 am i'll look it up later. i put it on my titles doc (which is 90% song lyrics and which my brother likes to call the "song lyric moodboard" even though it's just a bullet list) out of impulse and nostalgia and never really intended to use it but it actually fits really well here?? who knew
it didn't make it in but i imagine that ryan and min have a parrot named kez and they've taught it some of kez's favorite and most iconic phrases. imagine you are visiting acclaimed musical duo chicken choice judy's house and you hear a parrot squawk at you "Why do you hate fun, Min." another thing that kind of made it in but not quite was that ryan has all those weird guitars. im picturing this one my temporary songleading teacher at camp, who's a professional musician and probably the most famous jewish folk artist out there (which is a very niche group so he's not really famous), brought out once. it was really small and had like eight tiny strings all crammed in together and it both fascinated and terrified me. i have no idea how you can play that without accidentally pressing all the wrong strings all the time but dan nichols can do it so i've decided ryan can do it too
tomorrow is au day... you know what that means... *shoves rymin into my current hyperfixation*
if you ever wanna talk infinity train, writing, these amazing characters, or really anything hmu here on my tumblr or on twitter! thank you for reading, and please leave a reblog/like/comment if you enjoyed it!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
to coda - In music, a coda is a passage that brings a piece to an end. The "to coda" marking tells the musician to jump to the coda after playing through the piece once.
Ryunosuke, Susato, and an important sunrise conversation between siblings on the boat ride home.
-
Ryunosuke spends the first sunrise away from England alone on the deck of the boat taking him home.
It’s been twenty-four hours since they departed from England, as evidenced by the sky spilling into oranges and purples. Just like it did reflected onto his and Kazuma’s swords.
He leans his elbows on the railing and stares absently back in the direction of England. If he squints, he can nearly see the blurry figures of Iris, Sholmes, and Kazuma, steadily growing smaller but still waving persistently. Ryunosuke suspects they continued to wave long after the boat was out of sight. Iris and Sholmes, at least. Maybe Professor Mikotoba too. Sholmes’ presence seems to make him lighter, looser, more carefree. Ryunosuke regrets not staying to see more of it. As Iris and her coveted stories told him, they are quite a pair.
But he has to return to Japan. Professor Mikotoba was right. It’s time.
