Donro Week Gift Day

This is amazing , thank you!! I love Donald and nephews fluff, and how he made a great birthday for the boys even if it didn't go to plan.

Happy Holidays @dandyfelines I am your Secret Santa! I hope you enjoy this fic :) Sorry it took so long, its been a busy month.

@duckblrsecretsanta2023

Boats

Fanfiction for Day 3: Boats of @donro-week!

Shape of Change

As he pushed his cart down the street, Gyro Gearloose spotted a curiosity in the front yard of 1313 Webfoot Walk. 

Donald Duck sat on the grass folding a paper boat. 

In fact, he surmised, given the sprinkle of scattered paper boats strewn around him, he had been folding them for some time.

Gyro was of an investigative disposition, so he abandoned his cart of tinkerings and gadgets to uncover the mental mechanisms behind the paper-folding mania.

This sheet of paper had Donald bound in an unblinking transfixation. His tongue stuck out in concentration as he folded it. In this state, the usual nuisances of squirrels chattering above him or the hiss of nextdoor neighbour Jones' lawnmower seemed to roll off his bubble of hyperfocus. He could commit his mind to any little oddity, and that quality always endeared him to Gyro.

He made a cacophony of his entry, knocking the mailbox and exclaiming, "Morning, Donald!"

Donald perked up at Gyro's arrival, as he always did, and waved at him. "Hiya, Gyro!"

“What have we here?” He eyed Donald's fingers pressing a crease into the sheet of paper, folding two symmetrical halves.

With a smug grin that betrayed his bemusement, Donald said, "Why, these things? They are called paper boats."

For the sake of theatrics, Gyro sighed. He joined him in the grass, smiling despite himself. "Very funny. But what for? Helping the kids' with a school project, perhaps?"

Donald's face of cheer unmasked into something morose. "No, I just wanted to get out of the house. A lot has been going on, and it's overwhelming." He flopped backwards into the grass. The paper boat tumbled out of his grasp, joining the rest in becoming bright white lawn ornaments.

Gyro waved a fresh sheet pinched between his fingers and let it rustle. "Shall I take over on boat-making while you rest?"

A single thumbs up popped out from the grass. 

So he started folding, flipping, creasing the sheet of paper with the press of two fingers, hearing it schliff. He transported himself to a time of short desks, tall teachers, and recesses spent in the library, all to access the long-buried knowledge of how to fold a paper boat. No memory was perfect, of course, but eventually, he had a crooked paper boat cupped in his two hands. Some corners stuck out in places and others were dulled by fold retakes. Asymmetry defined each face.

He turned to show his creation of irregular polygons to Donald, who had already sat up with crossed arms and a smug look on his face. Presumably, he had made Gyro’s earnest attempt to create a paper boat into a tragic spectacle.

"Hey, you," Gyro grunted. Possessed by a mischievous urge to get back at the little duck, spurred on by whimsy, he balanced the misshapen boat atop his bill.

It immediately toppled downwards.

Donald snickered, and then there they were. Two adults playing in the grass making paper boats. Donald quacked in laughter, and it wasn’t that amusing, really, but he replayed the moment the boat fell off his beak and maybe it was a little bit funny, so Gyro started laughing too. And was there anything better than sharing a little chortle together on a sunny morning?

When the laughter bubbled down, Donald said, "It's alright."

"Hm?"

Donald picked up a blank sheet. "Folding paper shapes is hard. Surprisingly hard. It requires a lot of attention and precision, and at first it felt like I couldn't ever do it well."  His hands worked deftly as he continued, "The boat looks so different from a flat piece of paper, and I'm not very good at visualising how each fold affects the shape. But, you know? I took it little by little. Even though I don't see how, I have to trust that each fold matters." Presented in two hands, he held a freshly made paper boat with crisp edges and clean faces.

“I see we’re not really talking about paper boats, are we.”

Donald tilted his head with a smile and looked at him teasingly. “Nah, I was talking about paper boats.” He set the new one down on the grass. 

Gyro chuckled. “If you say so.” They were, after all, surrounded by paper boats.

"But… I do feel better. The mess indoors has got nothing on me." Donald flexed an arm for emphasis and winked.

Right then, a curiosity struck at his heart.

Gyro leaned forwards and nuzzled the tip of his beak into Donald’s cheek feathers. 

They were soft. Donald leaned into the preening and it filled him with warmth, the kind he felt when they shared a hug, he supposed. The moment passed as quickly as it arose, and mid-morning air filled the gap between them. 

Donald moved to stand up, but his legs trembled. For a second, he inhaled, waiting for something to be released, but he only expelled a breath. Then, he smiled brightly at Gyro and extended his hand out to him.

Naturally, he took it. 

“I’ll help you clean up the yard.”  That was all that needed to be said.

Gyro assessed the task ahead. There were many paper boats littered around the grass. Still, he couldn’t imagine the yard without them after everything that had transpired. It must’ve meant something to Donald, because he kept sneaking glances back at Gyro. He didn’t know the shape of this change, or what it meant. But for now, he simply picked up each boat, one at a time.

QOTD: What's your favourite thing about Donald Duck?

If I had to pick one thing, it's his perseverance. In pretty much every iteration of Donald Duck, he doesn't give up when it's his big moment. He'll come close to it, of course, but at the end of the day he pulls through. He doesn't succeed all the time, but that's what makes him remarkably relatable and admirable. This quality is tied with the fact that he is a family-oriented person. I think Donald is at his most charming and likable when his loyalty and love for family is at the forefront.

My hypothesis is that in like 10 years gen z is gonna have a big cult boom the way the boomers did in the 70s

ducks are not found family. ducks are forced family. by far the funnier trope

It's great you've been motivated to write the book again! What helped you get back into it? Your prior comment on how the craft of writing is undervalued in this digital age left an impression. I feel we are on the cusp of an era promising some wild, alarming possibilities. It's easy to feel anxious or lose hope. I worry my approach to making a living will be rendered obsolete in the next decade, and be forced to adapt to a new world using old skills. I always did prefer paper books to digital.

Generally speaking, my tried-and-true method of working through any mental block is to develop a bigger and better perspective. Yes, we are on the cusp. When a dramatic change descends upon people, it's normal for the first reaction to be an overreaction, especially if you are among the directly impacted such as writers/authors.

Looking back at similar historical moments, the early predictions were rarely accurate because they were anxious overreactions. No matter how big the potential for change, the process of change eventually runs up against a wall of stasis, in the form of people's deeply ingrained memories, beliefs, values, and habits. (You've brought up a great example as one of many people who still prefer paper books despite the convenience, cost-savings, and widespread availability of ebooks.) Thus, in the end, though change is inevitable, it is never as fast and dramatic as people fear.

Additionally, modern culture has a short attention span, and the novelty has already started wearing off as people get more familiar with the flaws and limitations of AI. AI is not something you can rely on and trust for final answers on important matters. Mostly, it is there to remove the burden of tedious mental work, which frees up time and energy for more meaningful tasks. One reason human beings still dominate the world is their ability to "domesticate" and neutralize threats, and the process has already begun with AI.

Yes, generative AI threatens to flood society with meaningless content at best and harmful misinformation at worst. The answer to the false and the meaningless isn't to give up on truth and meaning, is it? If you believe it is a matter of grave existential importance, then the answer is to do more to ensure that truth and meaning prevail.

Fell Family Week!

Welcome to the Fell Family Week! Celebrate the bond between Alear, Veyle, Nel and Rafal as a family from September 9th to September 15th!

Day 1: Cozy / Masking / Journal Day 2: Spicy vs Sweet / Defect / Post-Engage Day 3: Bucket list / Mourning / Fell Xenologue Day 4: Gift / Missed opportunities / Memory Day 5: Embarassing moments / Perfect / Bad Ending Day 6: Favorite foods / Photograph / Extended Fell Family Day 7: Free!

Remember to tag @fellfamilyweek in your works and/or add #fellfamilyweek for your works to be featured!

The only rule is that because this is a week celebrating the four as a family, works containing romance between them will not be accepted. Other pairings are fine though!

(Artwork by @raikkuno)

HAPPY 90TH BIRTHDAY, DONALD DUCK!

The day you were made was the start of the Duckverse bursting forth! Who would've ever thought that 90 years later you would have fans who would become part of it?

Sending you all our love, Donald Duck!

Love,

Dio, Shelly O'Chunks, @a-little-birdy-told-me, @stoopakoopa, @donze-trash, Zeke, @momonoki23, @dandyfelines, @polisena-art, @monkey-li, @kiiwiighost, Paw_Draws, Stylus, @flakatita, @daamazingmeepers and @puffywuffy8904

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A special thank you and good job to all of you who joined in this 90th Birthday Donald Duck collab! Despite their differences, our Donalds meshed so well together and this came out beautifully.

A team is formed...

The opening theme for Parvey: The Interdimensional Singer! (An indie cartoon coming in the far future...!)

Alflear Week (2)

enjoy this unedited first draft lol. More sad Alear than Alflear, admittedly. For @malflearweek

The blizzard was cold. Nothing alive should be here. He just had to do his work for Sombron… for Father. It should have been simple, solitary. But now there was someone with his face. He looked just like what he saw in the mirror, except his hair had a blue half. Instead of two crimson eyes, he had a blue one.

He could summon Emblems, too. Was he a Fell Dragon too? But those Emblems could talk. Their faces shone with life. Their hairstyles were vibrant with colors. His own Emblems looked unfeeling and lifeless. Fell Dragons didn’t need such things.

The person across from him had companions in the Emblems and a group of humans. They all rallied behind the strange dragon. He didn’t shout at them or threaten them. His voice was soft, welcoming, and responded to his followers’. It was strange. That was supposed to be a weakness. Leaders weren’t supposed to have companions. But they smiled at each other. For some reason, they all listened to him.

There was another strange thing. The human with the flower garland held his hand. He squeezed it back. The way they looked at each other, he thought this was love. Not the love he felt for his sister, or the one he wanted from Father. This was the strange love he saw in picture books.

He had to fight them. It made his stomach churn. He took so many lives already, and now he had to fell someone who looked like him. Maybe that was why everyone loved the one with his face. He didn’t look like someone who had to kill mercilessly. No, this was the thinking of a defect. It was time to fight.

The human with the flower crown– Alfred, he’d heard– met his sword with a lance. He was strong, but… his attacks were tepid. This, too, was strange. He had seen Alfred dispatch the corrupted with ease. He only needed a single, mighty swing. Now, when engaged in combat with a distinct advantage, this human couldn't disarm him.He locked eyes with his opponent. The fierce anger that burned when he fought the corrupted dissipated. Instead, he looked sad. Perhaps not sad, but pity, he realized. For him, a defect? For him, someone who couldn't fully silence the swirl of doubt in his heart? Could a dragon like him be pitied?

It was the one with his face who struck him down, his hands trembling around his sword. Even at the brink of defeat, he was pitied. They were stronger than him. They should use it to finish him off. He shouldn't be here anymore. But they just faded into the snowstorm, their dark figures knit together as one.

He wasn’t strong. He could not love. What did he have? The last of his energy drained out as he lay in the snow, he dreamed about what it was like to be loved.…From the distance, a dragon with luminous blue hair approached.