𝙿𝚎𝚐: 𝚆𝚊𝚒𝚝, 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞?

Hi ,

I hope you’re doing well. ❤️

I’m writing to you with a heavy heart and a lot of hope. My family is in grave danger because of the ongoing conflict, and I’ve set up a GoFundMe campaign to try to save them. 😢

Could you please share my campaign post from my profile? Even a single share could be crucial for us. 🙏 If you’re comfortable, feel free to share it on other social media platforms too.

Our campaign has been verified, and it’s entry number 264 in their Master List on their spreadsheet.

Thank you so much for your kindness and support.

Listen I am very sorry, but I'm going to have to decline this, hope you're well though ❤️

You can read on AO3, or here gang idc

---

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Fandom:

DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)

Relationship:

None

Characters:

Mark Beaks, Coach Beaks

Additional Tags:

Blood and Injury, Blood, Blood and Gore

Language:

English

Stats:

Published:2025-03-09Words:1,020Chapters:1/1Comments:1Kudos:2Hits:6

Can't think of a title holy shit

1anon1

Summary:

...

Notes:

⚠️ BLOOD WARNING ⚠️ So this ain't canon like at all. I wrote this at 3am don't judge.

Work Text:

“I kept telling you to hit the ball—to hit the ball!” Coach Beaks' voice thundered through the empty locker room as he yanked Marcus’s arm. “But every time you try, you miss!”

Marcus struggled against his grip, but it was no use. His father’s fingers dug into his sleeve, his frustration boiling over. With a sharp shove, he pushed Marcus against the cold concrete wall.

“I thought I told you to actually participate in the game!”

Marcus winced, the sting of his father’s words cutting deeper than the rough impact against his back. He lowered his gaze, his voice barely a whisper. “I-I’m sorry, Father…” he murmured. But the apology hadn't even left his lips before his father’s voice crashed over him again. “‘Sorry’ isn’t gonna cut it, young man!” He pinched the bridge of his beak. “God, you're such a disappointment.”

…

There was a brief pause. Mark covered his head with his hands, his chest tight as tears threatened to spill, but he blinked them back fiercely. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold it together. Coach put a hand on his chin thoughtfully. “You know,” he mumbled, “we’ve used the bat for practice and in games… Wait here, Marcus.”

Marcus didn’t move an inch. He kept his head down, his breath shaky as his father’s footsteps echoed across the tile floor. His chest felt tight, his stomach twisted in knots. Wait here. The words hung in the air, heavy with something unspoken. Then came the sound—metal scraping against metal. A locker opening. A pause. The unmistakable clink of a wooden bat being lifted.

Marcus swallowed hard. His pulse quickened.

Mark looked up when he didn’t hear his dad's footsteps anymore.

Without hesitation, he swung.

The bat struck Marcus hard across the ribs. A sickening thud echoed through the locker room. Marcus gasped as white-hot pain exploded through his side. He crumpled to the floor, clutching his ribs, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

“You wanna cry now?” his father sneered, looming over him. He tapped the bat against the floor, impatient. “Get up.”

Marcus tried. His arms shook as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees, but his body screamed in protest. His ribs ached with every shallow breath.

“I said get up.”

Another strike. This time across his shoulder. Marcus collapsed again with a sharp cry, his vision blurring as pain overtook him.

“Pathetic,” Coach Beaks muttered. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his beak in frustration. He turned and tossed the bat back into the open locker with a loud clang.

“Clean yourself up before you go home,” he said coldly. “And don’t let your mother find out about this… This won’t be the last time, either.” He rolled his eyes.

With that, he walked out, leaving Marcus curled up on the locker room floor, his body shaking, his breath uneven, and his father’s words burning deeper than the bruises forming beneath his feathers. He was left there, crying and alone.

After a while, he finally managed to sit up. He leaned against the wall, his breath shallow, and coughed weakly.

Marcus sat there, his back pressed against the cold concrete wall, gasping for air. A sharp cough wracked his body. He raised a hand to his mouth, feeling something warm on his tongue. When he pulled his hand away, dark red stained his feathers.

Blood.

His stomach twisted, but he forced himself to stay calm. He pulled his knees up to his chest and cried silently, his face pressed into his arms. His tears, once on the verge of spilling, now flowed freely as his body trembled. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pain to subside, but it lingered—throbbing deep in his ribs and shoulder.

Minutes passed. Maybe more.

He slowly brought his hand to his face, rubbing his eyes, trying to wipe away the tears.

Finally, Marcus swallowed hard and forced himself to move. His limbs protested, his ribs screaming with every shift, but he grit his teeth and pushed forward. He needed to get up. He couldn’t stay here. If anyone saw him like this—if his mother found out

Marcus shook his head. No. He had to pull himself together.

With trembling hands, he reached for the nearby bench, using it for support as he dragged himself to his feet. His vision swam, his legs threatening to give out beneath him, but he steadied himself. One breath at a time. One step at a time.

He wiped his mouth, trying to ignore the taste of iron that lingered in his throat.

FLASH.

"Focus, Beaks," he muttered to himself under his breath.

He slowly raised his head from his arms. Was he…

He looked around—his office. His desk. His computer, flashing with the latest figures.

It was all right there. The world he’d built. The world he owned.

The office door opened as a duck with her hair in a messy bun, wearing a black skirt suit and heels, knocked on the door. “Mr. Beaks? The board is ready to see… you…” she paused when she saw his state. “Mr. Beaks? Are you alright?”

Mark rubbed his face, brushing away the lingering fog of the dark memory. "Y-Yeah. I'm okay," he murmured, blinking again. "Just a little trip down memory lane. Nothing to worry about. I'll be there in a second, Melanie." He forced a quick, reassuring smile.

She hesitated, her eyes lingering on him, but she nodded. “Right. Ready when you are.”

Without another word, she shut the door behind her, her footsteps descending until the sound of them faded, leaving Marcus alone in his office once again. The only noise now was the faint hum of traffic outside.

He sat in his chair for a moment, staring down at his hands. The urge to cry bubbled up again, but he pushed it away with a heavy sigh. He stood and headed for the door, the sound of his talons clicking against the tile floor echoing in the silence.

He was Mark Beaks. And nothing was going to bring him down. Not anymore… Right?

HOW DOES SOMEONE HAVE THIS MUCH TALENT?!❤️

Have been trying out 2d puppet animation in After Effects :3

I'm definitely thinking of making the other characters too at some point!

This happened fr

URGENT HELP🚨🚨🚨🍉🇵🇸

Hello,

How do you do ? I hop to be in a good condition.

This is my special campaign

We hope to help us by donating or sharing to others.

Every donation makes a different even if it a small.

As you know, the war began on October 7 and lasted ten months. During this period, we were unable to obtain food, drink, or treatment because we did not have money.

There is no source of income for the family at the present time, so we are unable to buy food, clean water, and medicine, especially after we are afflicted with the ongoing infectious diseases spread in the north like Hepatitis C disease.

Our house has been damaged a lot since the beginning of the war. We are from the north of Gaza and we are still in the north and have not displaced to the south. We displaced 10 times from place to another seeking to safety .

We hope for your help and support, even if only a little.🙏🙏

Vetted by Femme intifada on telegram.

Also, vetted by gazavetters on tumbler and my number is #60

My campaign was recently vetted by butterfly effect group on Instagram and my number is #964

This is the link if you would to read our story well 👇👇

https://gofund.me/4e896ac1

Thank you all

‼️ EVERYONE ‼️

Unfortunately, I cannot donate for some personal reasons. But if anyone else can I beg you. Help them. FREE PALESTINE 🍉

I. Worked. Hard. On. This @gooseworx

2024.06.05

ITS PRIDE MONTH BABY, WOO

Hope y'all have are safe

Don't forget there are ppl who support you just the way you are.

If your still having trouble figuring yourself out, it's ok

You have all the time in the world to figure yourself out

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

Other

Fandom:

DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)

Relationship:

None

Character:

Mark Beaks

Additional Tags:

DepressionMark beaks DEFINITELY has depression

Language:

English

Stats:

Published:2025-03-28Words:459Chapters:1/1Hits:0

Inner demon's

1anon1

Summary:

I guess that's what you get when your a savvy tech billionaire "genius"

Notes:

Writing my first series chat!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1:

——————————————————————

Work Text:

Mark didn't know what to do anymore. He is a billionaire, but he failed. He tried to make his own ideas from scratch, but he failed. He tried to live, but he obviously failed at that.

Mark sat on the edge on the bed, letting a sad groan before flopping to his back on the bed. It was a king sized bed, but that felt too big, too empty, like a stage where he was supposed to be playing the role of a successful billionaire and businessman. He looked at the ceiling with tired eyes, seeing the fan spin round and round. His phone rested beside him, the screen was dark, complete silence. No notifications-no on checking in, there was no one needing him.

He rolled onto his side so he could face the starry night, blankly staring into the window that overlooked the city. Somewhere down there, there were people living real lives while he was just…stuck. With a sigh, he grabbed the nearest pillow and pulled it over his face, muffling a frustrated groan. He had everything he could ever want and more. So why did everything including himself feel so meaningless?

Mark let the pillow fall to the floor with a quiet this before sitting up again, running a hand through his feathers. His chest felt tight…a little too tight, like there was something sitting on it, pressing down, refusing to let him breathe at all. He limply swung his legs over the side of the bed, getting up and resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor..

The silence in his penthouse was absolutely deafening, the kind that made his thoughts louder and harsher. He didn't get it. He used to love having this life! The luxury, the way people viewed him. The validation life gave him. But now? Absolutely nothing, only walls…expensive, lifeless walls.

Mark let out a hollow laugh, but it died in his throat as quickly. Fun. Well that used to be his whole thing, right? The guy who never took anything seriously, who never had to give a care in the world. But now? Now, even the things that used to distract him felt like dead weight, pointless reminders of a version of himself that didn’t exist anymore.

His gaze shifted to the large desk, cluttered with unfinished projects, blueprints, and abandoned plans. He used to pour himself into every detail, believing that if he could just make the next big thing, it would all click. But now, the papers were just reminders of how much he had failed. They were all meaningless—just scribbles on paper that led to nowhere. Just like everything else in this empty, lifeless damned penthouse. Just like him.

——————————————————————

Notes:

A short piece this time, but I will try and make the next chapters longer. Hoped you enjoyed!

Follow me on Ao3 if you like this stuff or is a Mark beaks fan!

1anon1

🤫